The Vampire Affair. Livia Reasoner
“Like vampires?”
Max said, “There’s a war going on. You may not see it or hear anything about it, but it’s happening regardless.”
“As for the other two,” Brandt went on as if they hadn’t been arguing, “once they were destroyed, nothing was left of them except their clothes. We’ll dispose of those. No one will come looking for them.”
“No reason to, right? Since they’re already dead?”
He inclined his head. “Exactly.”
Jessie’s knees were suddenly too weak for her to continue standing. She sank back down on the sofa and covered her face with her hands for a moment as she tried to take it all in. As far as she could see, there were only two options: either she had imagined everything and was truly insane, or else the things that had happened tonight were real and Brandt and his friends were telling her the truth.
And she knew she hadn’t imagined it because her throat still hurt where that son of a bitch had grabbed her. As a journalist, she had learned not to believe anything she didn’t see with her own eyes. Well, she had seen this, and felt it, and knew now that she had to accept the truth of it.
“All right,” she said as she lowered her hands and looked up at Brandt. “You guys kill vampires. I want the whole story.”
Brandt shook his head and said, “There’s not much else to tell.”
“The hell there’s not. For starters, why didn’t security come running down here as soon as the fight broke out? They had to have seen what was going on, on their monitors.”
“They didn’t see anything except what those acolytes wanted them to see,” Clifford said.
“Acolytes?”
“The two who attacked you and Ted, and their friend who took off,” Brandt said. “I’m sure they hoped that by killing us they could move up in the hierarchy.”
“Hierarchy?”
Max said smugly, “It means the ranking system within a group.”
Jessie glared at him. “I know what the word means. I’m a journalist, after all.”
“You work for one of those sleazy tabloids. That’s hardly what I’d call journalism.”
“I’m freelance, damn it! Maybe I’ll sell a story about you lunatics to the New York Times!”
Brandt moved in front of her with a hand upraised. “Settle down,” he told her. He added over his shoulder, “And you’re not helping matters, Max.”
The big man snorted in disgust and turned away.
Jessie didn’t like being told to settle down. Just because Brandt was rich didn’t mean he could boss her around. Still, she was curious enough to suppress her irritation as she switched her attention back to Michael. “What did you mean about the security personnel only seeing what those killers wanted them to see?”
“Vampires have certain…characteristics.”
“You mean like not showing up in mirrors? Are you saying that you can’t see them with a camera, either?”
“That happens to be true,” Brandt admitted. “But they can also alter a human’s perception for a limited amount of time, make them see things that aren’t there…or not see things that are. For example, vampires are not shapeshifters. They don’t turn into bats or wolves or even mist. But they can make someone who sees them think that they do.”
“So they cast a spell over the rent-a-cops?”
“Basically. The effect will wear off soon, although that depends on how long the third one hung around to continue it and cover up his escape. Also, calling it a spell implies some sort of magic, and it’s really more a matter of their vampiric condition allowing them to tap into previously unused portions of the brain—”
Jessie held up a hand to stop him. “Let’s just call it a spell,” she suggested. “I’m already mind-boggled enough. I don’t need a science lesson on top of it. The question now is…who are you, and why do you, well, kill vampires?”
Clifford said, “I’m not sure how much you need to go into the details, Michael.”
“I want answers to my questions,” Jessie snapped. “Or else I might have to go to the cops and tell them what happened here tonight. You already said you can’t afford to have the authorities poking around.”
She knew she was taking a chance. She was alone with three obviously dangerous men, and even though she was athletic and had studied martial arts in addition to the rough-and-tumble experience she had picked up as a kid, she knew she was no match for them. They could do whatever they wanted, and she wouldn’t be able to stop them.
But she had seen something in Michael Brandt’s eyes…Not friendliness, exactly. Maybe more like a touch of respect for her tenacity, and for her ability to absorb everything she had heard and seen tonight and roll with those stunning punches.
She wished, suddenly, fleetingly, that she could see something else in Michael Brandt’s eyes. Something like interest, or even desire.
Jessie pushed that thought out of her head. This wasn’t the time or place for such things.
Yet whenever that certain spark existed between people, it was no respecter of time and place. It happened whether or not it was convenient for the man and woman involved.
“You don’t want to try blackmailing us,” Max said.
Brandt shook his head. “She’s not blackmailing us. She can’t do anything to harm us.” He turned to Jessie. “You know perfectly well the police would never believe your story, don’t you, Miss Morgan?”
Jessie didn’t say anything. She just looked at him stubbornly and defiantly.
After a moment Brandt went on, “But if I tell you the truth, will you give me your word that you’ll let this drop and allow us to go about our business?”
“Maybe,” Jessie said. Get the story first, she told herself, and worry about the details like lying later.
Brandt shook his head. “Not good enough. I need your word.”
Why did he think her word counted for anything? She was just one of those sleazy tabloid reporters, wasn’t she, the bane of rich celebrities like him?
But he was willing to put his trust in her. For some reason, that made her heart pound a little harder in her chest.
“All right,” she said. “You have my word on it.” If she wound up breaking that promise, she would deal with the moral aftermath in her own way.
Brandt nodded. “All right, then. Clifford, I think we could use some coffee.”
“I’ll see to it,” Clifford said.
“Max, if you’ll deal with that other matter…”
Max grunted in assent and left the room. Only after he was gone did Jessie realize that Brandt had probably sent him to dispose of the clothes that had been left when the two acolytes disintegrated.
Think about that later, she warned herself. For now she needed to just concentrate on getting to the truth.
Brandt pulled an armchair over and sat down facing the sofa where Jessie sat. As always, no matter what he did, he looked relaxed and at ease.
“For hundreds of years,” he began, “a struggle has been going on between the forces of darkness and the forces of light.”
Jessie nodded. “Yeah, yeah, good versus evil, I know. Get to the vampires.”
A flash of annoyance flickered through his eyes. “You make it sound more simple than it really is. But in a way, you’re right. It is just the