Chapter Nine
"Are you sure this is the right address?"
Sonja nodded. "It's the only Dr. J. Caron listed in the phone book. What's the matter? You weren't expecting a gothic castle with gargoyles and a moat, were you?"
"No, but I thought it'd look, you know, different somehow."
Sonja gazed at the building across the street from the rental car. She didn't want to admit it, but she'd been expecting something different, too. The surrounding houses reflected the Mediterranean revival architecture popular in the 1920s. The low, pastel-colored single-family dwellings lining the curving streets hardly looked like the kind of neighborhood to shelter a lord of the undead.
In the gathering dusk healthy-looking men and women, outfitted in expensive jogging clothes with Walkman earphones clamped to their heads, shared the streets with people walking their dogs. A few blocks over, newer, no doubt even more expensive, buildings were being erected on the site of property damaged by the '89 quake. She had a hard time picturing Morgan strolling down to the corner grocery for a six-pack of Calistoga Water and a package of squid-ink pasta.
"Wait a minute! Someone's coming out. Is that him?"
Sonja stared at the middle-aged man standing silhouetted on the front porch. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit cinched by old-fashioned leather suspenders. The suit jacket hung over one forearm. His hair was graying at the temples and pulled into a brief ponytail, his eyes shaded by lightly tinted aviator glasses.
She closed her eyes and pictured him as he'd appeared twenty years ago: a debonair, jet-set English playboy bent on a wild weekend in Swinging London. His strong, Gary Grant-like features rippled, revealing glowing eyes and sharp fangs. She could hear the sound of his laughter as he forced her to take his cold member into her mouth. She pulled herself free of the memory before she relived the agony of simultaneous penetration.
She was shivering and her breathing had grown ragged. Palmer stared at her.
"You all right?"
"It's him." She was surprised how hard it was for her to even speak. She felt strangely feverish. She'd spent the better part of two decades looking for this creature, and all she could do was stare at him. Now was her chance. She could leap out of the car and nail him before he had time to reach the Ferrari parked in the drive. But all she did was shiver and gasp like a malaria victim. It felt as if her marrow had been replaced with lead.
Morgan got into his sports car and pulled out into traffic. If he glanced in their direction, neither Sonja nor Palmer noticed it. The minute the Ferrari disappeared around the corner, the lassitude gripping Sonja loosened.
"Do you need to go to the hospital? You looked like you were going into shock."
She shook her head angrily, more to clear herself of the paralysis than to deny she needed help. "I'm okay now... I was afraid something like that would happen."
"What do you mean?"
"Morgan created me. Part of me - the vampiric self - was made in his image. I'm a member of his brood. The minute I saw him, I wanted to kill him. And I couldn't move! It was like someone had thrown a switch, shutting off my nervous system."
"You mean you were hypnotized?"
"It was more like my self-preservation instinct had been triggered. Some part of my brain considered killing Morgan the same as killing myself."
"Are you saying you can't lift a hand against this guy?"
"No!" Her denial was harsher and louder than it needed to be. She winced and fought to regain control of her temper. "It's a matter of will. That's how Morgan broke free of his own creator, Pangloss. He proved himself to have the stronger will."
"What about you?"
She shrugged. "I'll find that one out the hard way. Okay, since we're here and we know the monster of the house is out, what do you say to a little visit?"
Palmer sighed and pulled a leather wallet from his raincoat pocket. He flipped it open, displaying his collection of lock twirls.
Sonja grinned. "I like a man who's prepared."
It took only a few seconds for Palmer to pick the lock on the front door. He hesitated before opening it, gesturing to the sticker affixed to one of the windowpanes set into the door face.
Warning! This house protected by Phelegethon Home Security Systems!
"We'll just have to chance it. I'm betting Morgan wouldn't want the police showing up to check out a call."
"Whatever you say, boss."
Palmer crossed the threshold, wincing in anticipation. Silence.
Sonja moved cautiously into the vampire's nest, her head swiveling like a radar dish.
"He's not much on interior decorating, is he?" Palmer whispered.
The living room was devoid of furniture. The floor was covered by an off-white wall-to-wall carpet. To his left, Palmer glimpsed an equally barren dining nook.
"This isn't where he lives. It's just a nest. It's convenient for maintaining his identity. Kind of the vampiric equivalent of a place in the city. Most nobles have nests scattered all over the world, mostly in major metropolitan areas, places were the neighbors wouldn't consider an absentee owner unusual."
"Jesus, this place gives me the creeps."
Sonja held up her hand for silence. She sniffed the air and frowned. "Do you smell something?"
"Now that you mention it, smells like one of the neighbors is having a barbecue." His stomach rumbled in response to the aroma.
She moved down the hall and stopped in front of a closed bedroom door. The smell of cooking meat was stronger than before. She turned the knob and stepped inside.
The gloom was illuminated by a small color television set atop a plastic milk crate. Opposite the flickering television was an easy chair. Sitting in the chair was a middle-aged man dressed in a rumpled suit. The reek of roast pork filled the otherwise empty room.
The man watching the TV slowly turned his head toward the visitors. Palmer was aghast at the lobster-red color of the man's skin. He looked as if he'd been boiled alive. The man opened his blackened lips and let his jaw drop.
Sonja was suddenly backpedaling, trying to escape into the hallway. Palmer stared in horror at the smoke and steam leaking from the boiled man's ears and nostrils. He almost looked funny like one of those old Tex Avery cartoons.
A gout of flame leapt from the boiled man's throat, striking the wall a foot from Palmer's head, some of it splashing onto his shoulder. Palmer was too surprised to cry out, although he could smell his hair crisping.
Sonja grabbed him by the arm and jerked him out of the room. The pyrotic was getting to its feet, preparing to vomit another ball of fire. She slammed the door and hurriedly doffed her leather jacket, tossing it over Palmer's shoulder and forearm, smothering the flames. Satisfied the fire was out, she dragged Palmer in the direction of the front door.
Palmer looked back in time to see the boiled man lumber into the hall after them. He moved as if unused to arms and legs. He also seemed to be sweating bullets. Then Palmer realized that the man was dripping fat like a hot candle. The odor of frying bacon was omnipresent.
"We're leaving! Okay? We're leaving!" Sonja shouted at the melting man.
The pyrotic halted its clumsy advance and stared at them with the opaque eyes of a baked fish. It was still staring when they closed the door.
"I said I'm sorry, okay? How was I to know he had a fuckin' pyrotic as a home security system?"
They were back at their hotel, Sonja applying the last of the salve to Palmer's burns.
"I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into this shit! I knew it! But do I listen to myself? Now I nearly get myself flash-fried by an escapee from a carnival sideshow!" Palmer winced as Sonja wrapped the gauze bandage around his upper arm. His right shoulder blade throbbed in time to his pulse.
"C'mon, it's not that bad. You've suffered worse." She nodded to the scar crossing his heart.
"You could have gotten us killed!"
"I could have gotten you killed. And for that I deserve the rebuke. I guess I was trying to prove something to myself, that I wasn't scared of the bastard. I was careless and stupid and you got hurt. I didn't want that to happen."
"You and me both."
Sonja finished dressing his wounds in silence. Palmer tried to find the strength to ignore the touch of her hands. At first the pain and fear had been enough to fuel his anger, but now it was fading. He wanted to stay mad at her. Being mad at her was a lot safer than liking her. He suddenly realized she'd said something to him. She was seated cross-legged on the floor, looking up at him as he perched on the corner of the bed.
"What was that? I didn't quite catch it."
"I said I keep forgetting you can't regenerate. I have to keep reminding myself how frail humans are."
Palmer allowed himself a smile. "I've been called a lot of things in my time, but 'frail' wasn't one of them. You keep saying 'human' like it's a brand name. Don't you still consider yourself, at least some part of you, to be like us? You're not like Pangloss. There's still something alive in you."
"Are you trying to flatter me? Don't answer that!" She smiled and leaned her chin into her palm. 'You know, most vampires would consider being favorably compared to humans a gross insult. Humans are no more than milch cows - reliable producers of the two things vampires need to survive: blood and negative energy."
"What about you? Are you insulted?"
She smiled again. "No. Because I'm not a vampire."
"Huh?"
"Oh, I've got all the traditional vampiric qualities - fangs, a taste for the 'forbidden vintage,' nocturnal habits,, the powers of hypnosis and all that jazz. But I'm not a true vampire. I never died, you see. I'm a freak - a species of one."
Palmer didn't know what to make of this confession. He'd assumed Sonja's shunning of the daylight was because she would burst into flames and turn into a charred mummy. It hadn't occurred to him that she might sleep all day because she'd been up all night.
"You must be lonely."
She tilted her head, studying him from behind unreadable mirrored lenses. "Do you like me?"
His cheeks colored and he became interested in counting the dots in the acoustical tile. "Well, uh, it's just that I...
"I understand." Her smile disappeared and Palmer heard his own words echoing inside his head. You must be lonely. Right on. Way to go, Mr. Milch Cow.
"What I meant to say is: Of course I like you." He was surprised to hear himself speak those words. He was even more surprised when he realized he was telling the truth. "You saved my life."
"Only because you were in danger on account of me. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be involved in this mess. You might not even have had your psychic powers activated. You'd be - "
"Stuck in the state pen, getting my teeth knocked out and my asshole stretched, with no hope of parole until the next millennium. Believe me, as weird and as dangerous as this shit is, I could be a lot worse off." Palmer leaned over and touched her chin, tilting it upward. He didn't know why he did it; it just seemed like the thing to do. Just like it seemed natural to pull her into his arms. He felt himself growing hard and that, too, seemed natural. It had been months since he'd last had sex. With Loli.
He tried to shut the thought from his mind, but it wouldn't go away. Everything had seemed right and natural then, too. It had all seemed like some kind of beautiful, happy accident. He'd become so cynical it had made him naive. And Loli played him for the fool. From the very beginning she'd been in charge, manipulating him like a puppet on a string until he was no longer his own man. It had been a trap from the beginning, baited with honey and hot meat. And he'd never once suspected it until he'd faced the butcher on the killing floor. And the butcher had Loli's face.
Palmer made a strangling noise and pushed Sonja away from him. He pressed himself against the headboard, staring at her with wide, horrorstricken eyes. His penis went limper than cold pasta. "You're doing this! You're making this happen! It's not me, it's you!"
Sonja's face crumpled, and for a moment it looked as if she was going to cry. Then her features hardened and the left corner of her mouth curled into a humorless sneer. Her voice sounded ragged, as if her lungs were full of ice and razor blades.
"You fuckin' idiot! You're so damn neurotic, you don't even know what you really want, do you? You think I'm making you do this? Okay, I'll make you!"
Palmer tried to cry out as her will poured into him, seizing his brain in an invisible vise. All he could manage was a groan. His whole body felt numb, as if he'd been given a massive dose of Novocain. Although he could not feel any discomfort, the lack of sensation was worse than actual pain.
"Are you scared stiff yet? No? Then I'll have to see about that."
Palmer whimpered as his penis stirred. The numbness made it feel like it was a hundred miles away. He was vaguely aware of movement, but nothing else. The next stage was familiar. The last time he'd known such pain had been in New Orleans, when he'd narrowly escaped the "charms" of the succubus. His penis felt like an overinflated balloon on the verge of bursting. He gasped and struggled to keep his eyes from bugging out of their orbits.
"I could keep you like this for hours. Days, if I so choose. Of course, your bladder and testicles would rupture long before then. And even if you escaped being killed by your own sperm and piss, the blood vessels in your penis would be ruined for good. Assuming gangrene didn't set in and the doctors aren't forced to amputate, you'd be impotent for life." Sonja shook her head. "I don't understand what she sees in you. She must have a real weakness for fucked-up wimps, jerks with a taste for destructive relationships. You know what I mean, don't you?" She leaned forward, thrusting her face into Palmer's own. "Or do you need reminding?"
Her hair stood on end, waving like strands of seaweed. Palmer stared as Sonja's hair grew before his eyes, doubling, then tripling its length. As he watched, the hair turned from dark to light, becoming a raw honey blonde. Then her face rearranged itself, her flesh rippling, like a reflection in a disturbed pool. Then he heard a wet, squelching sound as the bones restructured. Her lips swelled, her chin becoming baby-doll round, her cheekbones sliding into place with a grinding sound.
Loli smiled down at him, her eyes screened by twin reflective mirrors.
"Hi, baby. Did you miss me?"
Palmer screamed.
He was free of the paralysis, his erection was gone, and he shivered like a half-drowned cat. Sonja stood in the far corner, her back to the wall, staring at the bed. Her face was her own again. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if she was struggling to keep from vomiting - or keep something from escaping.
"Get out!" She sounded as if she was in pain.
The sight of Sonja hugging herself, rapping the back of her head against the wall as if keeping time to unheard music, was almost enough to make Palmer forget what had just happened. Almost.
"Get out of here before I hurt you, damn it!"
Palmer couldn't tell if she was pleading or threatening him. He hurried into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could hear her talking to someone - or thing - and that she was being answered. Then he heard furniture being trashed.
Palmer retreated to the bathroom. He needed to take a shower. He wanted the hot water to turn his flesh the same boiled-lobster red as that of the pyrotic. Maybe if he could scrub off a layer or two of skin he'd feel clean again.
He sat on the toilet, smoking a Sherman's with shaking hands, and watched the steam turn the mirror opaque. It almost obscured the tobacco demon squatting on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes, the roar of the water in his ears, and heard Chaz's ghost whispering its warning again.
Yer in love with her already! You don't even know it yet, but I can see it in th' folds of yer brain.
And the horrible thing was, it was true.
Ghost Trap
A savage place! As holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted.
- Samuel Coleridge, Kubla Khan