Day 6 Part 1
Shouldering his bag as he exited his building, Sands saw the rented limo the doorman had hailed for him. He pulled his knit cap down and tossed the small carry-on into the back seat.
Before he left the club just forty-five minutes earlier he'd gotten money and a passport in the name of Jeffrey Sheldon out of his safe. It was one of half a dozen passports he kept for emergencies. That and the wad of cash would allow him to leave no credit card trail.
Now, as he got into the cab, he noticed the driver. The man wore a turban, full beard and mustache. His skin was dark, and he dressed in the type of clothes Sands associated with northern India. He'd known a few words of Hindi once upon a time, but he couldn't even recall "hello" now.
"Kennedy," he said. He sat back as the cab pulled slowly out into the darkened, snow-clogged streets.
Sands' chest was tight as he thought about leaving Victoria like that, with no real explanation. He turned his face to the wet windowpane, covering his mouth with his hand as he stared out at nothing.
The motion of the limo pulled him back into focus. How long before she received the note? The privacy partition began to slide down, distracting his thoughts.
"Excuse me sir?" the driver looked at him through the rear view mirror. His thick accent rolled across his tongue. "Traffic is very heavy, this could take a while." He arched his eyebrows awaiting a response.
"Whatever," Sands sighed turning his head to gaze out the dark windows into the wet streets once more. He thought about how he would pass the time if Victoria was with him.
Even though he sat almost still, he felt as if ants were crawling around inside his skin. He wanted to be with Victoria. He wanted to follow Abberline's wishes. Hell, he had to follow Abberline's wishes. The guy had saved his hide back there in Hungry. Leaning back, Sands reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out tobacco and papers. Having a second thought he asked, "Can I smoke in here?"
"Whatever you like, sir," the limo driver answered in a sing-song tone.
Sands carefully tipped the leaves into the paper and then rolled the tobacco into a small thin cigarette. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, absently staring at it. Hell, he could always stop again.
Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and felt himself relax just a bit. Fishing around, he discovered the ash tray and crossed his legs. He wasn't fond of flying and here he was, dashing through snowy streets at what?, ten miles per hour? It would take him quite a while to reach the airport. He pulled his carry-on over and unzipped it. Reaching inside he pulled out the book he had been trying to read for the past month and looked at the cover.
"Tropic of Cancer." he spoke to the empty space. He frowned and tried to make himself comfortable and flipped opened the pages thumbing his way to the place he'd left off.
He'd read the book a few decades ago when it first came out and it had seemed pretty rough and shocking then. Now it seemed more dated, but sill an interesting look at an era. He wondered why he'd started it again. Oh, yes, someone had been discussing it on a radio talk show. He sighed. Well, he could always pick up something, some mind-candy, at the airport gift shop.
"Sir, we're in luck!" the driver exclaimed cheerfully, "the traffic is breaking up ahead. An accident slowed the roads."
"Good," Sands smiled insincerely and nodded. The sooner this adventure began the sooner he could return. He took another long drag on the cigarette. Interesting though, Abberline's maker. Victoria will understand. Again his thoughts drifted to her.
He tossed the book onto the seat of the limo. Let the next traveler read it. He took long drags on the cigarette, thinking of Victoria, remembering their evening and wishing he could have stayed to enjoy more if it with her. He recalled the scent of her, how her skin tasted against his tongue.
The thoughts led his mind along paths of sensuous imaginings, more entertaining than Henry Miller. Soon they were at the international terminal. Sands got out, tipping the driver, grabbed his cases and headed for the Virgin Airlines counter.
Abberline had said for Sands to try his new talent, he had already decided that he would only exercise that gift as a last resort. He really didn't what to stand for the 11 hour flight. As he approached the counter, Sands put on a dazzling smile and his full English charm.
"Good morning, sir." The brown haired clerk inquired, "How can I be of assistance to you this morning?" She looked to be in her early forties. A golden ring was on her left ring-finger. Married, Sands thought absently as he removed his knit cap and ran fingers through his long hair.
"Good morning. I would like a first class seat on the next flight to Heathrow." He handed over his passport, which he knew she would ask for. "No luggage. Just a carry-on."
The clerk took his passport and began clicking away at the keys. "Oh sir, you're in luck," she smiled pleasantly. "We had a last minute cancellation. New York to Heathrow, non-stop leaving gate 26 in 30 minutes."
Sands glanced at the clock. It was almost one a.m. The computer printed up his ticket. The clerk stamped his passport and handed both documents to him. He fished into his pockets and pulled out several hundred dollar bills. "Thank you sir, enjoy your flight."
"Thank you." He slung his carry-on over his shoulder, then paused. "What is the film?"
"You have a wide selection, sir," she told him with a smile that spoke of hours spent in the dentist's chair having her teeth whitened.
"Oh, thank you." He didn't know what to say. He'd not traveled on Virgin in a while. Maybe he had better change that. A selection. Sounded more entertaining than a paperback from the gift shop.
He walked briskly through the airport, navigating security with his wit and vampiric charm, reaching gate 26 just in time for the boarding call.
Handing over his ticket, Sands flashed a brilliant smile at the male flight assistant who was taking tickets, took his ticket back, then proceeded onto the plane. The familiar smells of the airport assaulted his nose as he passed through the loading tube: diesel fuel and soggy carpet. He would be glad to get above these fumes.
An underlying excitement trickled through Sands as he settled into first class. Air hissed from unseen vents. People murmured in soft tones as they settled in. A female flight attendant almost immediately appeared beside the armrest of Sands' plush seat. He looked up the length of her, half-expecting her to resemble Victoria with her long legs, but the face was merely pretty, not interesting. Not Victoria's face. "May I get you a drink, sir?" She flipped open a small menu with one hand. "Or a blanket?" He flashed a quick insincere smile. "Champagne and Red Bull, please. And I'd like to figure out how the movies work." Her gaze had locked with his as he spoke, and she seemed half mesmerized, even though he hadn't tried to control her. It was going to be a long flight. Six hours later, having taken the train from the airport to Victoria Station, then walking to his current location, Sands stood at the Starbucks's close to Earl's Court Station, looking at the selection of coffee mugs. He picked one up and read the front. "I've used up all my sick days, so I'm calling in DEAD." That tickled his funny bone. He decided to buy one for himself, one for Victoria and one for Andre. He had his own new mug filled with a dark Ethiopian coffee, then strolled out onto the sidewalk, his little, quickly-packed case over one shoulder. Abberline had said he would call, but so far the cell in Sands' inside coat pocket was silent, so he walked down the street toward a hotel he remembered, one that catered to tourists trying to save money. He'd stayed in the same hotel about twenty years earlier when he was sneaking his way through London. It was close to the subway. Very convenient. Going up the three steps into the old building, Sands found himself the only one standing at the desk. It took just a second for a older man wearing a badge identifying him as "Scott," to emerge from the office behind. Flashing his passport, Sands signed in, paid cash for three nights and told Scott he might stay longer. Scott was very polite, informing him of the free continental breakfast and handing over the key to a room on the second floor. Actually, it was the third floor, Sands adjusted to European way of counting floors as he climbed the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Make that lift. It was all coming back to him, after all, he mused, wasn't this the country of his birth? And death. Thinking of the mugs tucked into his satchel, he smiled. The key worked. It was an old-fashioned metal one, not one of those credit- card-looking ones. It gave Sands a sense of time standing still as he entered the room with its ten foot high ceilings, burgundy wallpaper, and thick curtains. It held three single beds, all his, and a bathroom with a huge tub with shower. That was what he wanted most right now. A long hot shower. His coffee was growing cold as he went into the bathroom and turned on the water. The pressure was pretty good for such an old hotel.
The shower revived him, though he still felt like sleeping after the stress of the past day. He reached into his case and took out the recharger for his cell phone's battery and the adapter so he wouldn't fry it on the UK DC electrical plugs. Sands walked from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went over to the bed. Plugging the adaptor and charger in, Sands carefully placed the phone into the charging cradle and laid down on top of the bed.
Rain began to pelt lightly against the rooms two tall windows, lulling him to sleep. As his mind drifted away, he remembered Victoria up against the wall of glass. Was she missing him, he wondered.
Something woke Sands from a sound sleep. He lay in the exact position he had fallen asleep in, which was normal for his kind. The towel around his hips was still damp, as was his hair. The room was much darker and colder. Looking at his watch and adjusting for the time change, he realized it was almost five p.m. What had woken him? A subtle sense of alarm fluttered along every nerve. He rose, suddenly wide awake. Moving with preternatural speed into the bathroom, he dressed and returned to the bedside to get his now fully- charged cell phone. He paused. The sound of many footfalls in the hallway caught his attention. His glance went to the door. He could detect the clear sounds of metal on metal. Someone was picking the lock. Someone was actually trying to break into his room. Someone with lots of friends. Focusing, Sands pulled in his thoughts, his sense of self, cloaking himself both mentally and physically from anyone who might enter the room. Silently he thanked Abberline for the gift of invisibility. He looked around, then began to climb. By the time the door quietly opened, Sans was balanced with both feet on the top of his bed's headboard, his hands grasping the molding, his body perfectly still. His vampiric shield made him invisible to all but a master. Almost twenty young vampires crowded into the room and began searching it, whispering to one another that "He must be here." The were oblivious to him perched on the headboard, as they charged, ducked, poked into the wardrobe, and even opened the window and leaned out. A chorus of curses erupted when they realized they could not find him. Their hatred and anger a tangible emotional wave hitting Sands. He was very glad he was hidden. A young vampire was easy to handle or even kill, but this many was another issue. He wasn't sure how he could handle this many. And why had they hunted him down? He studied their angry pale faces. They appeared to have been turned when they were between sixteen and perhaps twenty-five. They all dressed alike in black or red clothes, looking much like the patrons of his club, The Darkness. Why? Had they been frequenters of a similar club here in London and then all turned? But who would do such a monstrous thing? Questions buzzed through his mind as he stood statue-like, waiting for them to give up and leave his room. Anger began to burn in him, too. Anger at the intrusion. Anger at his inability to handle the little mob. And Anger at whomever had turned so many young ones. He felt the muscles in his jaw complain as he clenched it overlong. The strange vampiric brood was there for a good hour before they decided the vampire they were looking for wouldn't return while they waiting for him. In that hour Sands was able to study the group dynamics. The leader of the group wasn't the oldest looking. He looked perhaps 18, but the others all followed his lead. They called him Staker. Not promising, as far as Sands was concerned. Were they hunting older vampires in hopes of staking them? Staker's lieutenant was a young woman called Tamika. She spoke with a vaguely Caribbean accent overlaid with a London-English. She must have been away from the islands since her childhood. She was tall, model-good- looking, and brooked no arguments. She backed Staker up on everything he said. When Staker decided they might as well leave, she was the one to start for the door first. Sands didn't move for a while after they left. He just stood silent and still, making sure none of the youngsters had inherited the gift of invisibility, as he had.
Once Sands decided it was probably safe, he still remained hidden. Again his inner sense of warning went off. Very quietly, his hotel room door moved open, then shut again. He never saw who did it. There were no footsteps. No one entered. But Sands sensed something. He stared into the room, his head tilted to the side as he listened intently, then suddenly, out of thin air, Abberline stepped toward him. "You've gotten very good, Sands," Abberline said. "I know you're here, but even I cannot see you." With a sense of relief, Sands allowed his shield to fall and he stepped down onto the bed. "What was that?" "Ah, you mean the hoard? That was why you have been called." Abberline flashed a very brief sad smile. "It's spreading, like a disease. My Master wishes to meet with you now." "Where?" Sands was ready to get out of the hotel room. It felt dirty now. "Right here." The voice was not Abberline's. Sands looked and saw suddenly standing next to Abberline was another vampire. This one appeared to be in his early twenties, two or three inches taller than Abberline, with foot-long straight black hair. He looked for all the world like he belonged on a surf board in California, except for the exotic tilt of his eyes, the plugs the size of pennies in his earlobes, and the sense of agelessness about him. Sands quickly decided that sense of agelessness was due to the extreme serenity that emanated from the slender tall vampire with the dark, almost Polynesian tan and soft smile. "Sir," Sands said, bowing. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Pao Ling, Abberline's Master, thus his Master. "I understand you like to be called Sands," Pao Ling said. "Call me Zack. That's the name I've been using most recently." "Yes, sir." Sands raised his eyes to look into Zack's. He'd never been near such an ancient powerful vampire before. Or had he? He suddenly realized he'd seen this young man before. Somewhere. His thoughts raced back. "We met," Sands finally managed. "In 1965. At one of Andre's parties. On Carnaby Street somewhere." "It's not a very long street," Zack said. "Yes. I remember you." His head leaned to the side as he studied Sands. "You reminded me of Abberline that night." "Of me?" Abberline sounded almost offended. "Your eyes." Zack suddenly folded down into a tailor's position on the floor. "Be seated, my children." The other two vampires immediately sat, forming a small triangle. "We have a threat to our kind," Zack said. "I wish you two to get to the bottom of it and stop it at its source. Once we have taken care of that, we can eliminate the problem." His gaze went from Abberline to Sands. "Of all the vampires I am related to, you two are probably the best equipped to handle this delicate situation. There is an ancient vampire turning dozens young humans. He or she does not train them. Does not teach them of our ways. They are simply turned and left to fend for themselves. They are usually frequenters of the Goth scene, which means they know something of our kind in a mythic, fantasy sense. They will expose us if something isn't done." Zack paused, looking from Sands to Abberline. "They are hunting for older vampires to teach them. Once they capture one, they take him to their hideouts, learn all they can, then drink him dry. This must end." "You foresaw this," Sands said softly, his gaze locking on Abberline. Abberline shrugged. "I foresaw there would be a need for you to receive the gift of hiding. I foresaw your abduction by Viscalli. I did not see that there would be...children involved." "So that's it, then?" Sands looked down at his hands. "We will find who is doing this and stop it. Then we have to kill all these young ones?" "There are too many." Zack's face took on an air of sorrow. "There is no other way. We don't turn this many in a century. Our mystery vampire has turned over a hundred in the past two weeks from Budapest to London. I think it must be an ancient one, because some of them have very strong powers for being so newly turned." He looked at Abberline. "They are prodigies like you were, my son." "Prodigies running like wild wolves," Abberline spoke thoughtfully. "Dangerous. I can think of no way to spare them. But I shall continue to think about it. First things first, we shall seek out their creator." He touched Zack's knee. "Have you any ideas about the one who is doing this?" Sands waited to hear the answer, leaning slightly forward. Zack's dark eyes rose to the ceiling. "All of us who are a few thousands years old can hide ourselves. You will have to seek out the trail. Do not confront him yourself. You will need me. Even together the two of you would not stand a chance again an ancient one." His eyes sparkled darkly. "We have powers you cannot imagine." Suddenly Sands wanted a cigarette very badly.
Shouldering his bag as he exited his building, Sands saw the rented limo the doorman had hailed for him. He pulled his knit cap down and tossed the small carry-on into the back seat.
Before he left the club just forty-five minutes earlier he'd gotten money and a passport in the name of Jeffrey Sheldon out of his safe. It was one of half a dozen passports he kept for emergencies. That and the wad of cash would allow him to leave no credit card trail.
Now, as he got into the cab, he noticed the driver. The man wore a turban, full beard and mustache. His skin was dark, and he dressed in the type of clothes Sands associated with northern India. He'd known a few words of Hindi once upon a time, but he couldn't even recall "hello" now.
"Kennedy," he said. He sat back as the cab pulled slowly out into the darkened, snow-clogged streets.
Sands' chest was tight as he thought about leaving Victoria like that, with no real explanation. He turned his face to the wet windowpane, covering his mouth with his hand as he stared out at nothing.
The motion of the limo pulled him back into focus. How long before she received the note? The privacy partition began to slide down, distracting his thoughts.
"Excuse me sir?" the driver looked at him through the rear view mirror. His thick accent rolled across his tongue. "Traffic is very heavy, this could take a while." He arched his eyebrows awaiting a response.
"Whatever," Sands sighed turning his head to gaze out the dark windows into the wet streets once more. He thought about how he would pass the time if Victoria was with him.
Even though he sat almost still, he felt as if ants were crawling around inside his skin. He wanted to be with Victoria. He wanted to follow Abberline's wishes. Hell, he had to follow Abberline's wishes. The guy had saved his hide back there in Hungry. Leaning back, Sands reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out tobacco and papers. Having a second thought he asked, "Can I smoke in here?"
"Whatever you like, sir," the limo driver answered in a sing-song tone.
Sands carefully tipped the leaves into the paper and then rolled the tobacco into a small thin cigarette. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, absently staring at it. Hell, he could always stop again.
Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and felt himself relax just a bit. Fishing around, he discovered the ash tray and crossed his legs. He wasn't fond of flying and here he was, dashing through snowy streets at what?, ten miles per hour? It would take him quite a while to reach the airport. He pulled his carry-on over and unzipped it. Reaching inside he pulled out the book he had been trying to read for the past month and looked at the cover.
"Tropic of Cancer." he spoke to the empty space. He frowned and tried to make himself comfortable and flipped opened the pages thumbing his way to the place he'd left off.
He'd read the book a few decades ago when it first came out and it had seemed pretty rough and shocking then. Now it seemed more dated, but sill an interesting look at an era. He wondered why he'd started it again. Oh, yes, someone had been discussing it on a radio talk show. He sighed. Well, he could always pick up something, some mind-candy, at the airport gift shop.
"Sir, we're in luck!" the driver exclaimed cheerfully, "the traffic is breaking up ahead. An accident slowed the roads."
"Good," Sands smiled insincerely and nodded. The sooner this adventure began the sooner he could return. He took another long drag on the cigarette. Interesting though, Abberline's maker. Victoria will understand. Again his thoughts drifted to her.
He tossed the book onto the seat of the limo. Let the next traveler read it. He took long drags on the cigarette, thinking of Victoria, remembering their evening and wishing he could have stayed to enjoy more if it with her. He recalled the scent of her, how her skin tasted against his tongue.
The thoughts led his mind along paths of sensuous imaginings, more entertaining than Henry Miller. Soon they were at the international terminal. Sands got out, tipping the driver, grabbed his cases and headed for the Virgin Airlines counter.
Abberline had said for Sands to try his new talent, he had already decided that he would only exercise that gift as a last resort. He really didn't what to stand for the 11 hour flight. As he approached the counter, Sands put on a dazzling smile and his full English charm.
"Good morning, sir." The brown haired clerk inquired, "How can I be of assistance to you this morning?" She looked to be in her early forties. A golden ring was on her left ring-finger. Married, Sands thought absently as he removed his knit cap and ran fingers through his long hair.
"Good morning. I would like a first class seat on the next flight to Heathrow." He handed over his passport, which he knew she would ask for. "No luggage. Just a carry-on."
The clerk took his passport and began clicking away at the keys. "Oh sir, you're in luck," she smiled pleasantly. "We had a last minute cancellation. New York to Heathrow, non-stop leaving gate 26 in 30 minutes."
Sands glanced at the clock. It was almost one a.m. The computer printed up his ticket. The clerk stamped his passport and handed both documents to him. He fished into his pockets and pulled out several hundred dollar bills. "Thank you sir, enjoy your flight."
"Thank you." He slung his carry-on over his shoulder, then paused. "What is the film?"
"You have a wide selection, sir," she told him with a smile that spoke of hours spent in the dentist's chair having her teeth whitened.
"Oh, thank you." He didn't know what to say. He'd not traveled on Virgin in a while. Maybe he had better change that. A selection. Sounded more entertaining than a paperback from the gift shop.
He walked briskly through the airport, navigating security with his wit and vampiric charm, reaching gate 26 just in time for the boarding call.
Handing over his ticket, Sands flashed a brilliant smile at the male flight assistant who was taking tickets, took his ticket back, then proceeded onto the plane. The familiar smells of the airport assaulted his nose as he passed through the loading tube: diesel fuel and soggy carpet. He would be glad to get above these fumes.
An underlying excitement trickled through Sands as he settled into first class. Air hissed from unseen vents. People murmured in soft tones as they settled in. A female flight attendant almost immediately appeared beside the armrest of Sands' plush seat. He looked up the length of her, half-expecting her to resemble Victoria with her long legs, but the face was merely pretty, not interesting. Not Victoria's face. "May I get you a drink, sir?" She flipped open a small menu with one hand. "Or a blanket?" He flashed a quick insincere smile. "Champagne and Red Bull, please. And I'd like to figure out how the movies work." Her gaze had locked with his as he spoke, and she seemed half mesmerized, even though he hadn't tried to control her. It was going to be a long flight. Six hours later, having taken the train from the airport to Victoria Station, then walking to his current location, Sands stood at the Starbucks's close to Earl's Court Station, looking at the selection of coffee mugs. He picked one up and read the front. "I've used up all my sick days, so I'm calling in DEAD." That tickled his funny bone. He decided to buy one for himself, one for Victoria and one for Andre. He had his own new mug filled with a dark Ethiopian coffee, then strolled out onto the sidewalk, his little, quickly-packed case over one shoulder. Abberline had said he would call, but so far the cell in Sands' inside coat pocket was silent, so he walked down the street toward a hotel he remembered, one that catered to tourists trying to save money. He'd stayed in the same hotel about twenty years earlier when he was sneaking his way through London. It was close to the subway. Very convenient. Going up the three steps into the old building, Sands found himself the only one standing at the desk. It took just a second for a older man wearing a badge identifying him as "Scott," to emerge from the office behind. Flashing his passport, Sands signed in, paid cash for three nights and told Scott he might stay longer. Scott was very polite, informing him of the free continental breakfast and handing over the key to a room on the second floor. Actually, it was the third floor, Sands adjusted to European way of counting floors as he climbed the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Make that lift. It was all coming back to him, after all, he mused, wasn't this the country of his birth? And death. Thinking of the mugs tucked into his satchel, he smiled. The key worked. It was an old-fashioned metal one, not one of those credit- card-looking ones. It gave Sands a sense of time standing still as he entered the room with its ten foot high ceilings, burgundy wallpaper, and thick curtains. It held three single beds, all his, and a bathroom with a huge tub with shower. That was what he wanted most right now. A long hot shower. His coffee was growing cold as he went into the bathroom and turned on the water. The pressure was pretty good for such an old hotel.
The shower revived him, though he still felt like sleeping after the stress of the past day. He reached into his case and took out the recharger for his cell phone's battery and the adapter so he wouldn't fry it on the UK DC electrical plugs. Sands walked from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went over to the bed. Plugging the adaptor and charger in, Sands carefully placed the phone into the charging cradle and laid down on top of the bed.
Rain began to pelt lightly against the rooms two tall windows, lulling him to sleep. As his mind drifted away, he remembered Victoria up against the wall of glass. Was she missing him, he wondered.
Something woke Sands from a sound sleep. He lay in the exact position he had fallen asleep in, which was normal for his kind. The towel around his hips was still damp, as was his hair. The room was much darker and colder. Looking at his watch and adjusting for the time change, he realized it was almost five p.m. What had woken him? A subtle sense of alarm fluttered along every nerve. He rose, suddenly wide awake. Moving with preternatural speed into the bathroom, he dressed and returned to the bedside to get his now fully- charged cell phone. He paused. The sound of many footfalls in the hallway caught his attention. His glance went to the door. He could detect the clear sounds of metal on metal. Someone was picking the lock. Someone was actually trying to break into his room. Someone with lots of friends. Focusing, Sands pulled in his thoughts, his sense of self, cloaking himself both mentally and physically from anyone who might enter the room. Silently he thanked Abberline for the gift of invisibility. He looked around, then began to climb. By the time the door quietly opened, Sans was balanced with both feet on the top of his bed's headboard, his hands grasping the molding, his body perfectly still. His vampiric shield made him invisible to all but a master. Almost twenty young vampires crowded into the room and began searching it, whispering to one another that "He must be here." The were oblivious to him perched on the headboard, as they charged, ducked, poked into the wardrobe, and even opened the window and leaned out. A chorus of curses erupted when they realized they could not find him. Their hatred and anger a tangible emotional wave hitting Sands. He was very glad he was hidden. A young vampire was easy to handle or even kill, but this many was another issue. He wasn't sure how he could handle this many. And why had they hunted him down? He studied their angry pale faces. They appeared to have been turned when they were between sixteen and perhaps twenty-five. They all dressed alike in black or red clothes, looking much like the patrons of his club, The Darkness. Why? Had they been frequenters of a similar club here in London and then all turned? But who would do such a monstrous thing? Questions buzzed through his mind as he stood statue-like, waiting for them to give up and leave his room. Anger began to burn in him, too. Anger at the intrusion. Anger at his inability to handle the little mob. And Anger at whomever had turned so many young ones. He felt the muscles in his jaw complain as he clenched it overlong. The strange vampiric brood was there for a good hour before they decided the vampire they were looking for wouldn't return while they waiting for him. In that hour Sands was able to study the group dynamics. The leader of the group wasn't the oldest looking. He looked perhaps 18, but the others all followed his lead. They called him Staker. Not promising, as far as Sands was concerned. Were they hunting older vampires in hopes of staking them? Staker's lieutenant was a young woman called Tamika. She spoke with a vaguely Caribbean accent overlaid with a London-English. She must have been away from the islands since her childhood. She was tall, model-good- looking, and brooked no arguments. She backed Staker up on everything he said. When Staker decided they might as well leave, she was the one to start for the door first. Sands didn't move for a while after they left. He just stood silent and still, making sure none of the youngsters had inherited the gift of invisibility, as he had.
Once Sands decided it was probably safe, he still remained hidden. Again his inner sense of warning went off. Very quietly, his hotel room door moved open, then shut again. He never saw who did it. There were no footsteps. No one entered. But Sands sensed something. He stared into the room, his head tilted to the side as he listened intently, then suddenly, out of thin air, Abberline stepped toward him. "You've gotten very good, Sands," Abberline said. "I know you're here, but even I cannot see you." With a sense of relief, Sands allowed his shield to fall and he stepped down onto the bed. "What was that?" "Ah, you mean the hoard? That was why you have been called." Abberline flashed a very brief sad smile. "It's spreading, like a disease. My Master wishes to meet with you now." "Where?" Sands was ready to get out of the hotel room. It felt dirty now. "Right here." The voice was not Abberline's. Sands looked and saw suddenly standing next to Abberline was another vampire. This one appeared to be in his early twenties, two or three inches taller than Abberline, with foot-long straight black hair. He looked for all the world like he belonged on a surf board in California, except for the exotic tilt of his eyes, the plugs the size of pennies in his earlobes, and the sense of agelessness about him. Sands quickly decided that sense of agelessness was due to the extreme serenity that emanated from the slender tall vampire with the dark, almost Polynesian tan and soft smile. "Sir," Sands said, bowing. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Pao Ling, Abberline's Master, thus his Master. "I understand you like to be called Sands," Pao Ling said. "Call me Zack. That's the name I've been using most recently." "Yes, sir." Sands raised his eyes to look into Zack's. He'd never been near such an ancient powerful vampire before. Or had he? He suddenly realized he'd seen this young man before. Somewhere. His thoughts raced back. "We met," Sands finally managed. "In 1965. At one of Andre's parties. On Carnaby Street somewhere." "It's not a very long street," Zack said. "Yes. I remember you." His head leaned to the side as he studied Sands. "You reminded me of Abberline that night." "Of me?" Abberline sounded almost offended. "Your eyes." Zack suddenly folded down into a tailor's position on the floor. "Be seated, my children." The other two vampires immediately sat, forming a small triangle. "We have a threat to our kind," Zack said. "I wish you two to get to the bottom of it and stop it at its source. Once we have taken care of that, we can eliminate the problem." His gaze went from Abberline to Sands. "Of all the vampires I am related to, you two are probably the best equipped to handle this delicate situation. There is an ancient vampire turning dozens young humans. He or she does not train them. Does not teach them of our ways. They are simply turned and left to fend for themselves. They are usually frequenters of the Goth scene, which means they know something of our kind in a mythic, fantasy sense. They will expose us if something isn't done." Zack paused, looking from Sands to Abberline. "They are hunting for older vampires to teach them. Once they capture one, they take him to their hideouts, learn all they can, then drink him dry. This must end." "You foresaw this," Sands said softly, his gaze locking on Abberline. Abberline shrugged. "I foresaw there would be a need for you to receive the gift of hiding. I foresaw your abduction by Viscalli. I did not see that there would be...children involved." "So that's it, then?" Sands looked down at his hands. "We will find who is doing this and stop it. Then we have to kill all these young ones?" "There are too many." Zack's face took on an air of sorrow. "There is no other way. We don't turn this many in a century. Our mystery vampire has turned over a hundred in the past two weeks from Budapest to London. I think it must be an ancient one, because some of them have very strong powers for being so newly turned." He looked at Abberline. "They are prodigies like you were, my son." "Prodigies running like wild wolves," Abberline spoke thoughtfully. "Dangerous. I can think of no way to spare them. But I shall continue to think about it. First things first, we shall seek out their creator." He touched Zack's knee. "Have you any ideas about the one who is doing this?" Sands waited to hear the answer, leaning slightly forward. Zack's dark eyes rose to the ceiling. "All of us who are a few thousands years old can hide ourselves. You will have to seek out the trail. Do not confront him yourself. You will need me. Even together the two of you would not stand a chance again an ancient one." His eyes sparkled darkly. "We have powers you cannot imagine." Suddenly Sands wanted a cigarette very badly.