I hate mornings. Detest them. I have hated mornings since I was a kid. Back then I developed a technique for ignoring them, or at least for making them less abrupt, that I still use to this day, nearly twenty-five years later. Fixing on some unpleasant event from the day before, I visualize it in detail, find a phrase that best describes it, then chant it over and over until all the meaning drops out. That allows me to kind of hypnotize myself first thing in the morning, right after I wake up, so that I can make the transition into daytime more smoothly Today, the technique was not working particularly well, but it was delaying the inevitable rising from bed, searching for my cigarettes, and fumbling to make a cup of coffee to take into the shower with me.
The phrase, when I located it, was fairly straightforward. "I hate Vampires, I hate Vampires, I hate Vampires." My story was quickly turning into every journalist's nightmare of too much information and not enough angle. I should have taken the piece on windowsill gardening instead of this nightmarish assignment. Gardening might be boring, but at least I would have been done by now. If I had to interview one more child of the darkness, complete with silly clothes and fake fangs, I'd happily drive a stake into my own heart.
"I hate Vampires, I hate Vampires..." I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised, in a city like New York, that there were countless freaks, more numerous than what some might call the normal population. Yet, these people believed so earnestly that they were Vampires, swishing about the city in capes and combat boots, drinking their own blood, then scurrying off to their day jobs at espresso shops or hair salons. "I hate Vampires." As if in agreement, Felix hopped onto the bed beside me, meowed once, and rolled over on his back so I could scratch his belly "What do you think about Vampires, little baby?" A loud purr was his only response. Bored even with my own thoughts, I stumbled into the kitchen and ground some coffee, filling the French press pot.
While the water boiled, I opened the window and crawled out onto the tiny fire escape for a smoke. When I had first looked at this place, the agent had called this a balcony. She had also called the one-bedroom apartment cozy I called it tiny but had taken it anyway, figuring that it was by far the best I would get on my writer's salary, at least until I could get a book deal for something. My agent had told me that she would shop around the Last Cowboy idea, but I wasn't certain that I wanted to write about Tucker.
I was trying hard not to dip into the money Mother had left me, so I had taken this apartment temporarily, but as in most things, temporary turned into one year, then another, and now it was three. It wasn't so bad, I had plenty of money left over for clothes and nights out, plus, it was close to Harrolds' offices so I could walk to work any time, day or night. A perfect setup for me, since I had made a promise to myself that until I had firmly established myself in the world of journalism, I would give up any pleasure except my pattern of casual relationships.
Two of the firemen across the street were reading the paper, sitting in lawn chairs on the station driveway. They smiled and waved. Strange alliances are formed in this city, I thought. Local No. 24B Manhattan Firehouse was directly across the street from my apartment building and at least a dozen times a day the station wound up to respond to a variety of emergencies. The siren was always quite an earful, but mostly I didn't mind. The noise got me out of bed, my urban alarm clock, and the firemen provided a worthy diversion as they hustled around with axes and hoses in their rubber clothes, or better yet, washed the fire engine in T-shirts and shorts. I liked to think that they watched out for me, making sure I could get into my building without too much hassle from the street loafers. Or maybe they just liked my ass. It was hard to tell, but I guessed it didn't matter much.
Even if it was my ass and not the person attached to it, they still would probably come to its aid if anyone tried to hurt it.
The whistle of the teakettle interrupted my nicotine reveries. Stubbing it out, I returned to the kitchen where Felix was waiting patiently by his dish. I poured him some dry food and he rubbed against my leg in appreciation. With coffee in hand, I headed for the shower, setting the cup on the ledge and adjusting the water to just short of scalding. Most people sing in the shower.
Not me. The shower has always been more like my aquatic office. I do my best thinking there.
"I hate Vampires," I muttered again. This story was going to be the death of me. Not that the information was lacking. Quite the opposite. The research on Vampires had been routine, even interesting, and certainly productive. Harrolds' archives held first-class information on practically everything. Anything else I had gotten on-line or at the library. Some of the material had just appeared each morning, dog-eared and underlined, on my desk - the efforts of an eager, or enchanted, underling seeking some brownie points, it seemed.
I had expected to be bored out of my mind, but had actually ended up somewhat intrigued. The mythical world of the Vampire was quite rich, and a far cry from the hordes of silly kids I had interviewed. Maybe that could be my angle, I thought, the difference between the Vampire myth I had discovered in folk tales and literature, and the way that the current fad was so Hollywood, focusing only on the fangs and blood. In folklore, Vampires were believed to arise after being buried, and these revenants definitely did not spring up on cue wearing black capes and bearing fangs. Outside of Dracula, most historical characters fitting the Vampire bill were pathetic creations of frightened pre-literate societies, since bloodthirsty Vampires could handily explain away contagious disease, overwhelming lust, inexplicable murders, and other kinds of mysterious but completely human phenomena. Still, I wondered, why the continuing fascination? What was it about the Vampire myth that kept its hold on humanity?
Tonight would be the last event I could possibly bear, a view I had shared with my editor, when he announced Ric had been assigned to take photos of the party. As if things weren't problematic already, working with Ric would be the icing on the cake.
My thoughts wandered briefly to him, and how we had so recently called it quits on our mild little romance. Actually, in all fairness, I had called it quits. Not enough material for the long haul, I had said at the time, as if I had ever even wanted a long haul. Looking back, maybe I should have let him break up with me and I suppose it had been a little cold to do the deed by leaving a message on his answering machine. Oh well. Live and learn. None of that mattered anymore, now that there was Tucker. Thinking of him brought a smile and a delicious tingling to my body. Talk about opposites attracting. When this story is wrapped up, I thought, it's definitely time to pay him another visit.
Or should I? Maybe Tucker was better left as a precious memory, one not sullied by the unpleasantness of the inevitable breakup. What, was I going to leave my job at the magazine to work on the weekly LonePine Gazette? And surely there was no place in Manhattan for Snort, and Rex would hate it, not to mention Tucker. But, despite all the obvious obstacles, and my strict rule of never staying with a man for more than three months, I wanted to see Tucker again and felt somehow we could figure anything out together. I wasn't sure why I was having a fling with a man over 2,000 miles away who lived in a trailer, unless I was in love, whatever that was. He certainly had said nothing about love or forever, thank goodness, but still, I could tell that he was feeling something. After this story I thought, I'll go back.
If this story is ever done. The invitation for tonight's affair had arrived two days ago, careful calligraphy on gold brocade paper promising "A Thoroughly Diverting Evening of Vampiric Delights." Whatever. Another chance for the uninspired undead to show off their pathetic nature. At least it was being held at the Weeber Gallery, a strike in the direction of respectable pretentiousness.
Many an untalented artist had developed investment potential at the hands of Max Weeber.
The phone rang, but I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the shower, letting the machine get it. No one I knew would call me this early, unless it was an emergency. A few minutes later it rang again. Cursing, I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around me, squeezing excess water out of my hair. I dripped over an indignant Felix as I lunged for the receiver.
"What?" I expected someone from the office.
Instead, a refined British voice replied. "Ms. Vaughan?"
"Yes."
"My master wished me to call and ascertain whether you would be attending our little gala tonight."
"Your master? What are you, a dog?"
"Yes, just so. Can we count on your attendance then?"
"I'll be there with bells on. Or should I say crosses?"
"Quite. Splendid then, I will inform the master. He will be most pleased."
"Listen, I thought Vampires slept during the day."
"Oh they do, Ms. Vaughan, they do." There was a click, and he hung up. Well, at least this party sounded like it might be a little classier than the mosh-pit spectacles I had been privy to for the last two weeks. I ruefully surveyed the red marks on the back of my hand. At the Spartacus club last week, a fat little man in a cape with plastic fangs sank his teeth in unexpectedly. I grinned at the memory of him hopping up and down and cursing in a most human way after I had stomped on his toes with my spike heel.
I read the paper, finished the pot of coffee, made another and drank most of it as I worked on the story. The phone rang again, but I checked the caller ID and saw that it was Ric. He didn't leave a message. I checked the clock and smiled. Since the party took place at night, there was no sense rushing into work. I thought about all the things I should have been doing. Going for a run, picking up my dry cleaning, following up on that phone call yesterday from a disgruntled assistant in the mayor's office, getting a new cleaning lady; the list was endless. Instead, I crawled back into bed to think a little more about Tucker and to read one of my Vampire research books, a piece written by some twentieth-century priest.
It was well after noon before I woke up. Felix watched me change into my office wear, a charcoal gray, tailored blazer with pinstripes, matching pants with cuffs, and a turquoise blouse. Just for old times' sake, I slipped on the cowboy boots, and checked the final result in the mirror. Not bad. The haircut from last week was a definite improvement. I liked it better just below my shoulders rather than halfway down my back. Made it swing more when I walked. Mugging a bit for the mirror, I was satisfied that anyone I happened to run into would be impressed even before I opened my mouth. On the way out, I checked the mail, disappointed that there was nothing from Tucker, but I had never really figured him for the writing kind.
At the office, things were in the usual state of turmoil, with Stan lumbering from desk to desk and making important editorial observations like "Where the hell is your story," and "You call this writing?" I waited until he returned to his office, knocked at the door, and he barked for me to come in.
"What do you want and how long is that damn story going to take?"
"I'll have it done by next Monday."
"Good, except I want to see it Friday." He returned his attention to a folder on his desk, scowling. I waited quietly. "You're still here," he said at last, without looking up.
"Yeah, I just have one tiny question, more of a favor, really. I was hoping there was someone else who could take photos tonight..."
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Ric's the best we have, you are the best we have. Therefore, he goes."
"It's just that..."
"I don't want to be indelicate here, but you are the one who tumbled into the sack with him. You're a big girl. Deal with the consequences."
"But..."
"End of story."
"But, Stan..."
He scowled menacingly. "Listen, your last story about the cowboy was good, maybe the best this magazine has run. But when it's all said and done, it ran in my magazine, therefore my decisions." He looked at his watch. "And shouldn't you be getting ready?"
I sulked over to Ric's desk and he looked up with wounded pride and a glimmer of hopefulness showing in his eyes. "Get it straight," I said before he could open his mouth, "I don't like this anymore than you, so just read the damn notes, we'll go to the party and you can take your little pictures." I flagged down an intern and shoved some money in her hand. "Tuna on rye. Mayo, mustard, lettuce. No onions. And an iced tea." She looked at me blankly. "Go."
"Getting a little bit of an ego, aren't we?" he said, as the girl rushed out. I silenced him with a glare.
A few minutes later, I was eating my sandwich while he leafed through the notes and the outline of the story. "You could play this role," he said at last.
"Me? A Vampire?"
"You've got some of the characteristics down pretty well already. What's it say in Webster's? A beautiful, unscrupulous woman who seduces and leads men to ruin."
I thought my response was pretty calm, given the thunder and lightening inside. "If I thought it would do any good to say I'm sorry, again, I would. But it won't, so let's just be grown up and get on with this assignment. It was only three months." And the best three of your life, I thought. "We have to work together, so please try not be petty."
"Me, petty?. At least I have the decency not to break up with someone by phone." He saw my anger flare, raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. Forget I said anything."
He looked expectantly to me for sympathy. I had none to give out. I just smiled with complete insincerity to get myself out of this situation and took Ric's limp hand. God, I hated it when men acted in this insipid way. Ric brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.
"It's just, you're hard to get over," he mumbled.
I said nothing, knowing my silence was likely to be more effective than any words could be. It worked and Ric's mood changed quickly. Silence always embarrasses men, makes them posture. Ric was true to his gender.
"I bet I can find another vamp tonight at our little party. Let's get this little blood-sucking show on the road, shall we?"
The Weeber Gallery looked quite innocuous from the outside. A young man was waiting at the door to inspect invitations. After showing him ours, he ushered us inside. It was a pleasant surprise to find the gallery well lit and crowded with an interesting mix of attractive people, not a single one of whom was wearing Gothic accessories or who appeared to be anything other than wealthy patrons of the arts gathered to view an exhibition. The pictures, granted, were disturbing. Huge canvases covering nearly the full height of the loft walls, dark and primal with looming shapes and hidden currents of erotic power. Other than that, it was quite sedate. No funeral fugues playing, or Halloween props serving as centerpieces with flickering candelabra and fake cobwebs, nothing at all to reveal the Vampire theme the invitation had promised.
No sooner had we entered than a young lady attached herself to Ric and diverted him away I supposed that some might find her attractive in a breasty sort of Hollywood-starlet way As usual with Ric, I was left to myself, wondering how long I would have to stay there, when a very distinguished older man approached. He was not particularly attractive, of average height, slim and fit, with jet black hair highlighted by just a touch of gray in his sideburns. His skin was smooth and pale and he wore an unremarkable gray suit that stood out only in its simplicity and impeccable cut. But as he introduced himself, his voice was low and powerful, like that of an animal, and his eyes burned fiercely.
"Good evening, Ms. Vaughan, I am Julius, your host and," he gestured behind us, "master of ceremonies, so to speak. I am so glad you could make it."
"How could I say no?"
"How indeed?" He arched his eyebrow smugly.
"It's certainly not what I had expected."
"That could be interpreted a number of ways. I trust you are not disappointed."
"Not at all, pleasantly surprised, really."
"A glass of wine, then?"
"Please."
He snapped his fingers and a young man brought two glasses of Pinot Noir. "From my private reserve."
"It's wonderful. May I ask you a question or two?"
"Of course, if I may ask you a question or two as well."
"Me first. Where are the Vampires?"
"Why, Ms. Vaughan, you're talking to one."
"And all the others?" I looked over his shoulder at the genteel crowd.
"Also Vampires. Well, most of them. Some are Vampires by lineage only. They have yet to take the final step, the leap of faith, one might say."
"I guess after the people I have been interviewing for the last several weeks, this crowd seems rather tame in comparison. No fangs, or strange piercings, no blood swapping. What's behind it all?"
"Quite simple really. The others you speak of are phonies, charlatans, wishful thinkers. Many of those you now see before you have been alive for hundreds, even thousands of years. But you doubt me, as you should. Now it is my turn. Tell me about your family, I am curious as to how a woman of your obvious good breeding came to be a reporter for such an insignificant magazine in this squalid city."
"I guess I'm important enough to be invited here. But that's beside the point. My life is not any of your business," I quickly answered, but felt a curious desire to tell him more about myself.
"Oh, but it is, it is." His voice was so mesmerizing, his hands so hot and soothing on my arm, that my words seemed to be physically coaxed out of me by his very presence.
"All right, here's the Readers Digest condensed version. I never knew my father, he died in a hit and run accident a month before I was born. My mother never remarried. With the money from his insurance settlement, we lived quite comfortably. I was raised primarily in New York and Europe, Swiss finishing schools, French at the Sorbonne. Educated in a manner, my mother said, of which my father would have approved."
His eyes burned. "I'm sure he would have, had he been alive to see you."
"Did you know my father?"
"No. Not at all."
"Then why do you care?" And why was I telling a total stranger things about me that no one else knows?
"You interest me. I enjoy your... writing skills. If you are to write of us, if you are to know us, then I would know you. Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"
"All I have left of my father is a faded picture, a large man with a kind face who my mother loved absolutely." Julius seemed to wince. "Now they are both gone and I am alone and spilling my guts to someone who thinks he is a Vampire. Isn't it funny how things turn out?"
"Hysterical." He patted my hand. "If only they could see you now. They would be so proud." His words sounded almost sincere, but there was mockery dancing just behind them. I pulled my arm free.
"Please excuse me for a moment." He slipped away, leaving me unsteady in the center of the room. I looked for Ric, but he was nowhere to be seen. Julius was talking in low tones to a beautiful woman with raven hair, his head bowed close to her ear. She nodded and disappeared through the throngs of people, who parted silently to allow her by. I was really starting to feel nauseated, and was cursing myself for revealing so much about myself. And I hadn't even turned on the tape recorder when he was talking. Why was Julius so interested in me? I'm not delusional about my powers of attraction. Most of the women here were clearly in awe of him, so why was he so interested in me?
He rejoined me, his approach a study in controlled power. "Now where were we? Oh, yes, you were telling me about your lovely mother and how she always handled things with such tact and grace."
I was almost embarrassed at the attraction he held over me, the force he exerted.
My pulse was pounding in my ears, the blood felt dense, like tar pumping through my veins. "You knew my mother, then?"
He glanced at his watch. "We shall have to continue this at some other time, the festivities are about to begin. If you will excuse me." He pressed his lips close to my ear and whispered with a shocking savagery. "Do not move from this spot. I shall be back for you shortly." A thrill of fear ran down my spine and I stood rooted to the spot in spite of myself as he strode to the center of the room and clapped his hands. All heads swiveled to study him as the lights dimmed.
"May I have your attention, everyone. As you know, tonight is the annual Turning celebration, and we are honored to have a special guest." He looked in my direction and several of the guests whispered briefly studying me. "For those of you expecting more pomp and circumstance, I fear you will be disappointed, but I am in no mood to prolong the ritual. Tonight, I am tired, and expediency will be the standard. Acolytes, present yourself." A group of almost twenty men and women of various ages stepped forward into the center of the room. I wondered what sort of charade this was?
Julius snapped his fingers and, on cue, twenty chains dropped from the shadows of the ceiling to hang six feet off the floor. "Your clothes." The group quickly shed their clothes, standing nude before the assembly, yet not at all uncomfortable. Instead, they stood relaxed, hands at their sides, completely exposed.
"Attendants, make them ready."
Twenty others stepped forward, men and women. They carried short lengths of rope with which they quickly fastened the hands of those standing nude above their heads, tying them tightly to the hooked ends of chain. The erotic image was startling, twenty naked people bound with their arms above their heads. And there appeared to be no unity of age or form. I could see several middle-aged women, their bodies softened by age, but still quite attractive; young men with knots of muscle and hairless chests; other women in the prime of beauty with slim hips and full breasts; one man of remarkable girth, and another who must have been close to seventy, his flesh wrinkled and fitting loosely, but his eyes burning fiercely Next to him, a teenaged girl with a body like a Greek boy and pierced nipples couldn't quite hide the anticipation in her eyes. As for nationality, there was no regularity there, either; some were white, some black, one was Indian, and the girl was Asian. The incongruous body types, ages, and skin colors made the whole spectacle that much more lovely. My earlier sense of discomfort was rapidly being replaced by a sense of privilege, at what I quickly came to expect was an elaborate performance art piece. I only hoped Ric was not in the coatroom with Ms. Silicone U.S.A. and could actually get some shots of this. No matter what these people had planned, this already beat any other party or night club I had been to so far. My thoughts were clearing now that Julius had left, and a new slant on the story was forming in my mind, a very kinky story about fetishism and Vampires.
"Take your places," Julius intoned, sounding almost bored. The attendants stood beside them. "Knives." Twenty blades gleamed in the half light. I sucked my breath in, hoping this wouldn't be some sort of gross scarring ceremony. Everyone held their breath expectantly waiting for Julius. He raised his hand. "Kill them," he said simply.
Twenty blades flashed out across twenty exposed throats, flesh parted, and a torrent of blood poured forth. Almost simultaneously, my knees gave out and I sank to the floor, barely stifling a scream. Their bodies twisted, spasmed, and their eyes rolled back in their heads as hideous smiles swept across each face. I fought the urge to retch, watching in horrified fascination as their life's blood washed across skin.
From his bloody vantage, Julius made eye contact with me, and smiled at my reaction, then drew a tiny blade from his vest. Two men were suddenly at my side, holding me up with grips of steel, forcing me to face the spectacle and not fall again. Although terrified, my eyes nevertheless were drawn to Julius who, with a delicate motion, pulled the knife across his own fingertips.
Blood welled up from them and, never breaking our trancelike stare, he moved to the nearest body One hand absently stroked the cold flesh, cupped the man's genitals, lightly touched his hair, and then he slowly inserted his own bleeding hand deep into the gaping wound in the man's throat. His hand lingered there for a few seconds, then he moved to the next body.
The process was repeated at each lifeless body. Man or woman, young or old, he let his hands move sensuously across their bodies, trailing blood with them. The process seemed to exhaust him, his face growing strained as he continued. Occasionally, he paused to lick a trail of crimson from some woman's breast or the inner thigh of a man, his tongue languidly following the rivulets.
This seemed to bolster his sagging strength, at least momentarily.
After he touched the last man, Julius turned to the crowd, his face drawn and lips stained with blood. "We will welcome our new brethren to eternity as they awaken. For now, let the festivities continue." He wrapped a white cloth around his damaged fingers and crossed the floor toward me.
I struggled to break free and, to my surprise, the men let me go easily. I rushed toward the door, avoiding Julius. It was locked from the outside and I pounded on it futilely. Julius appeared next to me and quietly placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
I could only stare at him in disbelief.
"Would you like to leave?"
I nodded mutely.
"Come," he said, "let me see you to a taxi."
"Ric, where is Ric?" I whispered.
"Your friend? Not to worry, we escorted him home before the celebration began. His presence was not appropriate, especially given his advanced state of inebriation. Have no fear. He is in good hands."
As Julius drew a key from his vest pocket, he continued, his tone imparting a sense of calm in my mind, which was struggling to comprehend what I had just witnessed.
"Do not worry You are precious to me in a way you do not yet understand. And do not fear for those whose death you have just witnessed. In a short time, they will awaken to a new world."
His voice kept me mesmerized inside a dark silence but under that blackness, my fear was rising. I struggled to maintain the silence as he opened the door and, taking my arm, escorted me into the night. The air was cool and clear, and free from the smell of death and I breathed deeply, gratefully. I kept moving, unsure of anything except my need to get away from this madman. I had to reach the police quickly.
"I shall be in touch, my sweet," he said, after hailing a cab. As I bent down to get in the cab, he pulled me back to him and kissed me on the lips. He tasted cold, like kissing copper. The kiss was short and then he bowed low, saying something I could not quite hear, something about a Queen. There was an edge of mockery in his voice. As I slid into the back seat, he directed the driver and paid him in advance. I could feel the power of his voice weakening its hold on me as we drove uptown. And then I began to scream.
NEW YORK CITY
September 26, 2001, 12:14 P.M.
He stood in the doorway of the apartment. The darkness from without and within met in him and he wore it about his features like a cape and cowl. He cleared his throat and one of the men already standing inside turned toward him.
"She's not here, sir."
He sucked in a dry breath. "Your passion for so eloquently stating the obvious never ceases to amaze me."
The young man bowed his head. "Sorry, sir."
"It is not supplication I desire. I merely want to know where she is."
"Julius," a voice called from deeper inside.
"Yes, Elita, have you news?"
She stepped from the bedroom holding a note in one hand and a struggling cat in the other. Her emerald eyes blazed from the shadows and a pearl necklace looped around her throat glinted faintly almost lost against the marble skin exposed there.
"Perhaps. I found this in the bedroom, a note detailing the feeding procedure for this delicate creature," she said nodding at the cat, "named Felix."
"Hello, Felix," Julius said as he stroked the struggling cat's head. "It would appear the princess has fled the castle." He arched an eyebrow. "The question is where might a frightened young thing such as herself seek sanctuary?"
"Her friends, family?"
"We can rule out family since she has none." He smiled tightly "But the male photographer seems an obvious choice. Elita, take two and see what you may find."
She smiled and stepped past, dropping the note to the carpet, but holding the cat tighter against her chest. "Poor thing must miss his owner," she said, stroking it softly "I followed it home," she said to Julius. "May I keep it?"
He nodded and, in the silence of her departure, pointed a slender finger at one of the shadowy figures remaining. "Are you familiar with this type of machine?" He pointed imperiously to the darkened computer sitting impassively on the cluttered desk.
"I believe so," the young man responded.
"Have a go, then," Julius said, taking up a position behind the chair. His attendant turned it on and the screen flared to life, lighting the dark room with a pale indigo. Manipulating keys and mouse, the file manager was soon displayed. Inside, they found document titles and the two scanned them wordlessly until Julius tapped his finger to the screen. "Correspondence. Let's take a look at that one, shall we?"
Letter after letter flashed across the screen, mostly pertaining to business.
"This is getting us nowhere. Open the address book." He dragged his finger down the screen, his fingertip making a dry, whispering sound.
"What exactly are we looking for, sir?"
"What we are looking for, my young acolyte, is a clue. A name. A destination. Wait, what's this?" His finger rested on a name.
"Why, seems she kept in contact with her little cowboy." He smiled. "Isn't that sweet. She has a hero." He snapped his fingers.
"Desard."
An impossibly thin man with a crooked smile detached himself from the shadows to stand beside him.
"Yes, boss?"
"Find out where," he studied the screen, "LonePine, Wyoming is. When Elita gets back, I want you two to take a little trip. Take as many as you like, but don't come back without Elizabeth Vaughan."
"Yes, boss." He slipped past into the hall.
"Desard," Julius called, "I don't want any loose ends."
Desard leaned back through the doorway. "How loose is loose, boss?"
"Use your discretion." Julius turned back to the computer, his mind already moving in a new direction. "Go back to the main files.
That one, Vamp." He smiled a faint smile, a parody of happiness. "Let's see just how much our little princess thinks she knows."