Chapter Thirty-eight

9:00 P.M. EST, Friday, April 16

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

Meena could only stare wordlessly at Alaric as he went on. “Lucien-that wasn’t his name back then-and his half brother went into hiding after Vlad, for reasons unknown but likely related to his ambitions to conquer the world, bragged to Stoker about what he was. That was how one of our officers managed to track him down and stake him.”

Alaric had settled back into the armchair and was regarding both Meena and Jon, but mostly Meena, with a grimly serious expression.

“Then Stoker’s novel came out and the name Dracula became infamous and synonymous with evil. His sons have been hiding in the general population ever since, frequently changing their names and professions, trying to stay one step ahead of us. But I can assure you, Vlad Dracula’s death at the hands of the Palatine a hundred years ago made his eldest son, now calling himself Lucien Antonescu, the new prince of darkness. He has to be exterminated.”

Alaric’s blue-eyed gaze was so direct as it met Meena’s, it again riveted her to her seat.

“And you’re going to help us do that, Meena Harper, by telling me where you spent last night with him, so that we can find him and put him-and then all the members of his clan, the Dracul, whom we believe are the vampires responsible for killing those girls, as well as almost killing my partner-down.”

Meena stared up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. She couldn’t stop remembering Lucien’s face as he’d told her the story of the woman who’d plunged to her death in the Princess’s River rather than be taken prisoner by the Turks.

If what Alaric was telling her was true, that woman had been Lucien’s mother, whom he’d watched commit suicide before his very eyes.

Those dark eyes that Meena had found so filled with sadness.

And no wonder!

But that was impossible. Because if he’d actually seen Vlad the Impaler’s wife kill herself, that would make Lucien five hundred years old.

On the other hand, if she hadn’t been his mother, why else had Lucien made such a special point of showing her Vlad Tepes’s portrait? It had to have some special, personal meaning to him.

Except…

There was no such thing as vampires.

Was she really supposed to think Lucien Antonescu was a vampire who’d magically transported himself into the museum, knocked out all the guards, and turned off the alarms…just to impress a date?

Except…

What had happened to all the guards?

And what about the bats? The bats that had attacked them outside of St. George’s Cathedral?

“It can’t be true,” she said faintly, shaking her head. “He never…I mean, he seemed so…normal.”

Except for the part where he’d been absolutely perfect.

Even to the point that she never got a sense that he was going to die someday. Of course not.

Because he was already dead.

What had Leisha said that day on the phone when Meena had told her about Shoshona getting the head writer gig? If someone who can tell how everyone she meets is going to die can exist, why can’t vampires?

Suddenly cold, Meena reached for the blanket lying on the end of the couch, the one Jonathan often napped all day underneath.

But her arm fell short, and she didn’t seem to have the strength to stretch for it.

He was already dead.

Oh, God.

Vampires were real.

And she’d slept with one.

“They’ve learned to blend over the centuries,” Alaric said with a shrug. “They’ve had to, in order to survive. Look at your neighbors, the Antonescus.”

Jon’s jaw dropped. “What?” he cried. “You’re not trying to tell me that-”

“It’s never struck you as odd,” Alaric said, “that you’ve never seen them outside in the daylight?”

Meena and Jon exchanged glances.

“I’ve seen Mary Lou outside in the daylight,” she said. “All the time.”

“Where?” Alaric demanded. “Tell me one place you have seen her.”

Meena opened her mouth to say that she’d seen Mary Lou on the street plenty of times…outside the building…in the grocery store…at the deli counter…

But then she realized she’d never seen her in any of those places. Never once.

“I’ve seen her in the lobby,” Meena murmured. The chill she felt seemed worse, suddenly.

“Maybe,” Alaric said. “Coming up from the garage where she and her husband keep their car, with its specially tinted windows.”

“Well…yes. I’ve seen her there. She seems to always be there.” In her wide picture hats. And gloves.

“Wait,” Jon said. “They have that huge terrace. They just had us over for cocktails on it.” Then he added, “Although it was after sunset.”

“But they’re huge donors to cancer research!” Meena cried.

“Jack Bauer can’t stand them,” Jon said.

“The dog doesn’t like them?” Alaric asked Jon, ignoring Meena.

“Hates them,” Jon said. “Has a fit every time he sees either of them in the elevator. Always has, since the day we got him.” He looked over at Meena. “Come to think of it, he wasn’t particularly fond of Lucien, either, was he, if the growling I heard in the hallway last night was any indication.”

Meena looked uncomfortable. Jon was right, of course. Still. “Jack Bauer is nervous. He always has been. That’s why his name is Jack Bauer. He has a lot on his mind.”

“He appears that way,” Alaric observed.

They looked at Jack Bauer. He was sprawled on his back in his dog bed, all four legs splayed, his belly and genitalia on full display, his tongue lolling as he dozed.

“Well,” Meena said. “Not all the time, of course.”

“I think,” Alaric said, “that the reason your dog is so nervous in the elevator and hallway, and not when he’s at home, is because he’s a vampire dog.”

“Now my dog is a vampire?” Meena cried indignantly. “Who next? Me?”

“I didn’t say your dog was a vampire,” Alaric said calmly. He had an infuriating habit of never losing his cool…even when he was threatening someone with a deadly weapon. “I said he was a vampire dog. Some animals, particularly dogs, are more sensitive to the smell of vampiric decay than others, and because of this they have been used since the very early days of man to help track and control the vampire population. Some have even been bred for tracking and capturing vampires. It appears your dog may have some ancient instinct for sensing and alerting at them.” Alaric shrugged. “I suppose you scolded him for it,” he added, “but he was only trying to warn you about an evil that you yourself failed to sense.”

Meena, feeling ashamed-because she had scolded Jack Bauer for his behavior and even locked him in a bathroom overnight-was relieved when Jon changed the subject.

“If the Antonescus are vampires,” Jon asked, “why haven’t they bitten us, then, like someone did these girls?” He gestured toward the photos on the coffee table. “It’s not like they haven’t had plenty of opportunity.”

“Because then we would have caught them,” Alaric said. “Exactly the way we’re going to catch whoever did this to these girls. Since your boyfriend has become prince, vampires have been under orders to go underground, taking care not to draw attention to themselves by murdering their victims. Instead, they just find weak-willed ‘donors’ they can use as human feed bags, draining them slowly, a little bit at a time. Only instead of the word donor, try using the word slave.”

Meena let out a bitter laugh. “And you think Lucien is using me as one of these slaves? Well, think again, Mr. Wulf.”

“Yeah,” Jon said, looking skeptical. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s nothing really weak-willed about my sister. I don’t think anyone could make her their slave. Except a love slave, maybe.”

The minute Jon said the words love slave, Alaric got a strange look on his face.