The Last of the Red-Hot Vampires

Chapter 17

"This is downright creepy."

"Meh." I made a half-hearted shrugging motion to accompany the word, trudging along behind the group of people who chattered in excited whispers, occasional startled gasps punctuating their conversation.

Sarah stopped to give me a gimlet eye. "Meh? Meh! This is not in the least bit meh!"

"You're talking to someone who has been to hell itself, and had a chat with the man in charge, not to mention facing down a gauntlet of Hashmallim, which in my humble opinion is a thousand times worse than the aforementioned demon lord. Something so simple as a haunted house holds no fear to the likes of me."

"I almost liked you better when you were a pigheaded skeptic," she answered, making a face.

"Oh, I'm still a skeptic…about most things I am. There are some I won't dispute fall well out of the bounds of what can be explained by existing science," I answered, obediently stopping when the ghost-hunting group leader waved everyone to a halt. "I haven't seen any proof yet that this house is anything other than extremely old and"—I sniffed the air—"evidently inhabited by a very large family of rodents. I wish Theo was here."

"That's the third time in an hour you've said that—ooh, what was that?"

"Sorry, that was me," one of the men in the group called out, sheepishly answering a cell phone that had made an odd buzzing noise.

"Fine, I'll take it back. I don't wish Theo was here—I wish I was with him, instead."

"We'll wait here for the two missing members," the group leader announced in a loud whisper. "They're just outside the building. I'll go meet them at the door and escort them here. While we're waiting, let's take a few baseline readings of this upper floor. Those of you on the communication team may want to get into your meditative states and see if any entities contact you."

"People in a new relationship are always so cloying," Sarah said as she sank down gracefully into a lotus position, adopting a peaceful look on her face despite the cold, damp, and rodent-infested ambiance of the three-hundred-year-old mill we were presently occupying. "You don't see Anthony and me clinging to each other."

I plopped down next to her with considerably less elegance. "You've been married sixteen years. I assume by the time Theo and I have been together that long, I won't mind if he spends the evening off doing mysterious things that he refuses to tell me about except to say that he hopes it will give us some direction regarding the whole Hope situation."

"Hush. I'm meditating."

I hugged my knees as I sat next to a softly humming Sarah, shivering slightly in the cold midnight air. We were on the top floor of one of the oldest standing mills in England, a notoriously haunted mill which had a checkered past that supposedly included several murders, three suicides, and during the 1970s, a rash of Satanic rituals. The interior of the mill wasn't anything special to look at—for the last hundred years it had alternately been used as office space, apartments, and, finally, storage. Although I didn't have the paranormal radar that Theo assured me would come with time, I didn't sense anything in the building that felt remotely different.

"Hey, look," I said softly, nudging Sarah with my elbow. The group leader, puffing slightly at all the stairs, emerged from the staircase with the two latecomers in tow. "It's Milo from the séance."

"Mmmhmm. They belong to the group, I believe."

"I'm going to say hi." I got up and went over to the newcomers with a smile. Milo introduced his wife, who gave me a curt nod before exclaiming that she wanted to spend a few minutes communing with the spirits of the mill.

"The wife is a believer," Milo said to me in a quiet voice. We moved to the other end the room, perching ourselves on a rickety metal table that lurked in a corner. "I've tried to reason with her, but…" He shrugged.

"I know how that can be. I'm not saying I can't accept that there are some things that seem to escape logical explanation…" That was pretty much a given now that my life had become something outside of logic. "…but most people don't even try to look for a reason that things happen. If they see a light in the sky, it must be an alien."

"Exactly," Milo agreed, watching the group as they sat in a circle for a group meditation. "Logic, that's the key to it. You seem like a very logical person."

I smiled. "It goes with the territory. I'm a physicist, you see. Logic is more or less my forte."

"Really?" He turned an interested face on me. "You don't happen to like puzzles, do you? The brain teasers? I am mad for them, but seldom have anyone to share them with, since the wife doesn't like that sort of thing."

"Logic puzzles, you mean? Car A leaving Los Angeles at thirty miles an hour, and a train leaving Chicago at sixty, that sort of thing?"

"Well…somewhat. I used to belong to a logic puzzle group in university, but have lost touch with most of the members."

"Ah. I'm not much of a puzzler, but those things seem to me to be set up to be easily solved if you just take the proper steps."

"That they are." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then a smile spread across his face as he nodded toward the group in front of us. "Would you like to try one out?"

"A puzzle?"

"Yes. One to do with this group?"

I looked at the six people in front of us. "You're kidding. Logical ghost hunters?"

"Something like that," he said, laughing. "Look, there are five members there, plus your friend Sarah. That's the makings of a logic puzzle."

"I'll take your word for that." I sat back on the table, pleased there was something else to do other than watch ghost hunters communing with spirits. "I don't know if I can match someone who used to make puzzles, but I'll give it a shot."

"That's the ticket! Let's see…you know their names, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't. I missed the introductions because I was in the restroom when everyone met at the local restaurant."

"Perfect. I've known these folks for the last eight years, and I can tell you that each of them—this is excepting your friend, of course—live in different towns. Now, let me see, we need a third element, something you can't tell by looking at them…hmm. Ah, got it. Each one of these teams has members with a different supposed psychic specialty."

I raised my eyebrows, looking them over again. With my newfound knowledge of things paranormal, I didn't see any signs in them that they were also "in the know," so to speak. "OK. So I'm supposed to guess who has what psychic ability?"

"Supposed psychic ability," he said with a wink. "Name, psychic ability, and town, how's that sound?"

"Better than being bored," I laughed. "Let's do it."

"Right, then. The psychometrist and Mr. Brand both like their tea without milk. The telepathist from Newberry and Mrs. Floring, the medium, don't get along well. The mind reader comes from St. Bartleby."

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, scrabbling around in my purse. "I need some paper to write this all down. Telepathist and Floring, medium, don't get along…St. Bartleby…OK, go on."

"Now then, Susannah, Mr. Bitters, Michael, the Ouijist, and the person from Learing-on-Bent all usually arrive together. Mrs. Lee and Timothy are always late. Daniel the channeler and Carol sing in a local choir."

"Oh man, this is getting good," I said, writing it all down. "It's just like a logic class I had eons ago in college."

"Daniel Richings doesn't live in Bartleby. Carol doesn't live in Leewardstone."

"England has the best town names…got it. Any more?"

"Just one. If you asked Mrs. Lee if she had been with the club longest, she'd say no, that was her friend from Edmonds, with whom she'd grown up in her town of Newberry."

"Hmm. OK. Let me see here…" I eyeballed the info I'd written down, decided it was nothing more than mathematics disguised as words, and assigned each bit of information a numerical value, then began to arrange them in equations that made sense.

"Take as long as you need, although it looks like the meditation is about up," Milo said, one eye on the group.

"I almost have it…no, wait, that won't work…hmm…she can't be there and there at the same time…aaaaah." I looked up with a smile.

"Figured it out, did you?" Milo asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"I think so. I am cheating a bit in that I can see there are only two women in the group, but even so, it makes sense that since the telepathist is from Newberry, and Mrs. Lee claims the town of Newberry, Mrs. Lee must be the telepath. Since she doesn't arrive with Susannah, then by the process of elimination, Mrs. Lee's first name must be Carol, which means that Mrs. Floring, the medium, is Susannah. She can't come from Newberry, St. Bartleby, or Learing-on-Bent, but could live in Leewardstone or Edmonds."

Milo smiled. My confidence rose.

"Since Mrs. Lee's friend is from Edmonds, and Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Floring don't get along, that means she's from Leewardstone. Daniel Richings doesn't live in Bartleby, nor can he live in Newberry or Leewardstone. Thus he has to live in Edmonds or Learing-on-Bent."

"What on earth are you doing?" Sarah frowned at me. "You're playing games while we are trying to conduct a very serious scientific investigation?"

"Just passing a little time," I said hastily, shoving my sheet of paper at Milo. "Are you all done with your humming?"

"It isn't just humming, it's opening ourselves up to…oh, why do I bother? Honestly, Portia, I'd think you could display a little more respect for what we're doing here, given the fact that you are what you now are," she said with a vehement whisper as she pulled me after the assembled group.

I tossed Milo an apologetic smile. He read over my paper, and gave me a thumbs-up, which I interpreted to mean I'd figured out the rest of the puzzle correctly. "Milo and I were just amusing ourselves while you guys were opening up and such. He's some sort of puzzle enthusiast. Did you know that his wife and the other woman don't get along?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed my wrist, hauling me along after the group. "Come on, we have a room to investigate. Mr. Richings says he has recorded a temperature drop of eight degrees there on three separate occasions."

"Probably just a draft," I muttered, but kept my voice low. I had promised Sarah I'd spend the evening with her temporary ghost hunting group in exchange for her help finding out what happened to Hope, and despite my wishes to be elsewhere at that moment—Theo's arms came to mind as a good alternative—I'd do what I could to see to it that Sarah had an enjoyable evening.

Why do I sense a profound feeling of martyrdom from you?

I smiled at the voice in my head. I'm feeling particularly saintly tonight.

Is it that bad?

Nothing I didn't expect. A bunch of people running around with equipment measuring drafts and electromagnetic flux, and jumping at every creak and pop.

It's only for a few hours. I'm sure you will triumph over such exacting circumstances.

Indeed. Why are you talking to me, not that I'm complaining? I thought you didn't want me bothering you?

Sweetling, you never bother me. You do, however, distract me from matters at hand. It's your breasts. And thighs. And lips, and legs, and all the other bits in between. Theo's words were accompanied by such erotic mental images that I found myself getting aroused right there in the middle of a cold, mouse-riddled mill.

If you don't want me running out of here, hunting you down, and wrestling you to the ground to have my way with you, you'd better stop sending me those sorts of thoughts.

Would you really wrestle me to the ground? he asked, sounding intrigued.

Absolutely. How goes the info-hunting?

He sighed. Not so good. The nephilim I contacted knew nothing.

Crap. So we don't have any leads?

No, we have one. My nephilim friend mentioned a vessel who evidently was very tight with Hope. But I can't find the man—he seems to have run to earth just like Hope.

A vessel is a person?

In this instance, yes. Vessels serve mortals, under the direct rule of the principalities, who in turn take their orders from powers, and the powers, as you know, are directly beneath the mare.

Sounds very much like the little old woman who swallowed a fly.

Pardon?

Nothing, just a joke, and not a very good one. So what now?

I'm going to continue to try to locate the missing vessel. I'll meet you at the pub after your ghostly group is finished, all right?

I suppose so, although I'd be happy to help you—

Sarah would be hurt.

"Portia?"

It was my turn to sigh. You're right. Saint Portia it is for the night, then.

His laughter was warm and made me smile despite my cold, uncomfortable surroundings. You're no saint, sweetling. But we can discuss that later tonight.

You're on. Take care of yourself, all right?

"Portia!" Sarah shook me, her face suspicious. "You look all moony-eyed again. You must be talking to Theo. Did he find Hope?"

"Not yet, no. He's trying to find some Court member who supposedly is friends with her."

"Ah. Smart man." She flashed me a smile, waggling her eyebrows. "In more ways than one, eh?"

"Absolutely. So what's up with the cold spots?"

Her face lit up. "Oh, it's so exciting! Mr. Richings has measured a drop of eleven degrees in the corner! Come see it!"

I admired the cold spot, keeping the thought to myself that the lack of insulation and patchy repairs in the wall were more likely to contribute to the chilly air than an unseen ghostly presence. While the group excitedly took more measurements and made furious notes, I sidled over to Milo.

"So, is your name Lee or Floring?"

He smiled, holding out his hand. "I don't think we ever were properly introduced, were we? It's Lee, Milo Lee. And Carol, my wife, is over there, but you've already deduced that. It must be all that work in physics that gives you an analytical mind, eh?"

"Oh, I don't know, I think people tend to be born left-or right-brained. You're pretty left-brained yourself. What do you do? As an occupation, that is."

"Customer service for a large corporation. I live to serve," he said, with a hint of an eye roll and a mock bow.

"Ah. That must be challenging. I don't think I could deal with unhappy people for long."

"It's horrible. I've hopes to advance very soon, though, so it's an evil I'll bear a bit longer."

"Good for you. So how long did you say you and your wife have been ghost hunting?"

We passed the next hour chatting about minutiae, both of us watching with indulgent eyes as the ghost group moved from room to room. By the end of the second hour, with nothing to show for their work but some numbers written down from instrument readings, even Sarah's enthusiasm was beginning to drag. We drove back to the pub in relative silence—her in contemplation of the meager proceedings of the evening, and me in anticipation of seeing Theo again.

I went to bed alone, my errant vampire-cum-nephilim still out on his vessel hunt. When I found he wasn't back at the pub, I offered to help him hunt for the Court member, but Theo insisted he was almost done. Even separated by some thirty miles or so, he seemed to sense the exhaustion that was making it hard for me to think. I didn't argue when he ordered me to bed, just sent him an image of what I intended to do to him when he made his way back to me.

My dreams were confused, but much more vivid than I remembered in the past. I woke frequently at little noises in the pub, but, sadly, remained alone. I slipped into a nightmare where giant wasps stung me repeatedly. Slowly it melted into something much more pleasant, the stings of the wasps morphing into little fluttering brushes of wings as the wasps changed into brilliant blue hummingbirds. I writhed with pleasure on the ground, naked, warmed by the sun that shown down with such intensity that I could feel its heat deep inside me, in dark, hidden places that only came to life when Theo was around. The soft, gentle touches of the birds' wings didn't soothe me, however—they made me squirm even harder, leaving me wanting to both escape their oddly erotic touches and pull them tighter to me. One of the birds landed on my belly, giving me a long look with its dark eyes before dipping its head and stabbing at my hip with a long, sharp beak.

"Sweet mother of reason," I gasped, suddenly awake. Theo's head was bent over my hip, his dark curls brushing against my skin as the pain of his teeth piercing my skin was already melting into something so pleasurable I never wanted him to stop. His fingers fluttered for a moment against aroused, sensitive flesh, then plunged inside me in a move that had me arching back into the bed, my hips rising to meet the movement of his fingers.

Salus invenitur, Theo moaned into my mind as he drank deep from me. You taste sweeter than nectar, Portia. How can something so wonderful hurt so bad at the same time?

My body tightened around his fingers, blinding me to everything but the need I felt within him, and the answer that lay within me.

"It's too much," he said, lifting his head from my hip. His eyes were black as polished ebony, his face hard with hunger and passion and want.

"No," I said, feeling as if my guts had been strung tight. I pushed him onto his back, and climbed over him. "But this may be."

He tasted as I knew he would—hot, male, and incredibly wonderful, the firm flesh of his penis both silky soft and as hard as steel. He moaned aloud, his head thrown back against the mattress, both hands clutching the sheets beneath us as I took my time exploring him, reading his mind with ease, noting what drove him into a frenzy.

His rising passion and arousal fed mine. The knee I was straddling while I pleasured him jerked beneath me, pressing tight into my own sensitive flesh. The bolt of ecstasy that ripped through me as a result took me by surprise, but not as much as Theo suddenly grabbing my hips and hauling me up his body, thrusting upward into me as he pressed me down. Existence ceased to be, my world, the entire universe, narrowing to the man beneath me who urged me, with little cries of pleasure, to ride him faster.

How did I exist this long without you? Theo asked as his mouth closed over my breast, his teeth sinking deep into my soft flesh at the same time he exploded into a tremendous orgasm, the strength of it pushing me over into my own. His body pulsed and pumped into me while I quite simply ceased to be me, the Portia I'd known for thirty-eight years, and became instead the Portia who was part of Theo. I'd never believed that a woman needed a man to be complete, but this was different. This wasn't a matter of social mores or gender issues, or even the biological need for a mate. I knew to the depths of my soul that Theo enriched me in ways that no other human could, and that knowledge shook me.

It's strange, isn't it? Theo's hands stroked gently up my back as I lay on his chest, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, my breath ragged and jerky against his shoulder. One minute we're going about our business in life, and the next our beings are so tightly intertwined with someone else's, there's no way to separate them again.

I don't want them separated, I said without thinking, then realized that what I said sounded weak and cloying.

His hands stilled for a moment. I could never think you weak, love. You are the strongest woman I know.

I lifted my head to look into his eyes, half fearing there would be pity or something just as painful in them, but to my relief they were filled only with satiation and an unabashed love that made me want to sing with happiness. I'd say I was sorry this happened, but I'm not sorry. I regret that your soul has been lost through my ignorance, but even that can't dampen the joy you bring me.

Silly woman. He pulled me back down onto his chest, his body still buried deep inside me. His lips were sweet against mine, his words sweeter still as they brushed gently against my mind. What's a soul compared to this?