Chapter Four
It was early Sunday evening and Cally was in her room. As she finished sewing the zipper into a black miniskirt, her home phone rang. Setting aside her scissors and thread, she picked it up before it could roll over to voice mail.
"Hey there, girl," Melinda said, not bothering to identify herself.
"Hi, Melly. What's up?"
"Nothing much. I was wondering if you wanted to go check out this new club tonight. I used to party at the Belfry, but I need a new place to hang. Scuttlebutt has it that the Viral Room is a VIP club."
"VIPs?" Cally frowned.
"You know: Vampires Into Partying." Melinda laughed. "What about it? Wanna check it out?"
"Are Bella and Bette coming?"
"Those two? Clubbing? Are you serious?"
"Okay, I'm game. I need an excuse to get out of the house-my mom has been driving me nuts!"
"I hear that. When do you think you'll be ready? I can send a car around for you. . . ."
"No, that's okay," Cally replied quickly. The last thing she needed was one of her friends accidentally getting a look at her mother. "I'll meet you there. How's midnight sound?"
"Great. The witching hour it is. See you at the club."
Her mother, as usual, was reclining on the red velvet chaise lounge in front of the television. Tonight she was watching Near Dark with a pair of wireless headphones clamped over her ears in grudging concession to the condo board's most recent complaints.
Cally leaned over and lifted one of the headphones, speaking directly into her mother's ear. "Mom, I'm going out to the clubs tonight."
"Don't forget to pick up the laundry from the cleaners first," Sheila replied. "I had them dry-clean your school blazer. Honestly, Cally, it looked like you'd worn it to a slaughterhouse! Next time try and be more careful when you open the blood packets the school gives you for lunch."
"Don't worry, Mom, I will," Cally promised. She was relieved that her mother did not question her explanation for the bloodstains. If she knew that her daughter had been attacked while at school-by Lilith Todd, no less-Sheila would freak.
"That's nice, sweetie," Sheila replied, unaware that she was talking to an empty room.
Lilith sat on the corner of her bed, staring at the number printed on Kristof's business card. Marshaling her courage, she quickly punched the numbers into her cell phone before her resolve could fade.
The phone on the other end of the line rang. And rang. And rang. She was afraid the call might go to voice mail when she suddenly heard an older, masculine voice.
"Hello?"
"I'm trying to reach Kristof . . . ?"
"Speaking."
Lilith never got nervous around humans. In her mind, nervousness was connected to fear. And with the exception of Van Helsings, what did she have to fear from humans? After all, she was faster, stronger, deadlier, and prettier than all of them, wasn't she? However, for some reason she found her mouth dry as cotton as she spoke.
"This might sound weird, but I'm calling because you gave me your card at the Dolce & Gabbana boutique on Madison-"
"Ah, yes! The blonde!" She could hear the smile in his voice. "So, you have changed your mind about my taking your picture?"
"Maybe I could stop by your studio sometime soon . . . ?"
"How about tonight?" Kristof suggested.
Lilith smiled, pleased at how quickly the photographer had risen to the bait. "You mean that?"
"I never say things I don't mean. Unless I'm in love, of course," Kristof said with a laugh. "And even then, I wait until the third date. I am going to be very busy, starting tomorrow. If you want me to take your picture, it will have to be tonight or not at all."
"I think I can make it-I'll need to know where you are, though. All I have is your phone number."
"Very well," Kristof replied, and rattled off an address in Tribeca. "By the way, since you know my name, it is only fair that I know yours."
"My name is Lili-" Lilith was about to give her full name when she thought better of it and caught herself midway. If Kristof noticed her oddly clipped response, it did not register in his voice.
"I'll be here waiting for you, Lili."
Cally arrived just as the cleaners were locking up for the night. She quickly paid for the laundry, which was waiting for her in the collapsible shopping cart Sheila had dropped it off in the night before.
As she began pushing the heavily laden cart back to her apartment, she passed the remaining low-income six-story structures that had yet to be bought up and turned into overpriced lofts. Cally thought about how nice it would be to finally go out on the town for the sake of having a good time, not because she needed to roll drug dealers in order to pay the light bill or buy a new pair of shoes. Ideally, she would have preferred to go out clubbing with Peter, but that was impossible. Suddenly a tall, gaunt male figure stepped out of a darkened doorway just ahead of her, blocking the path. Cally quickly recognized him as Johnny Muerto, one of her former schoolmates at Varney Hall-on those rare occasions he'd bothered to come to class.
"Looky what we got, boys," Muerto said with a nasty laugh, motioning to his half dozen followers, who emerged from the shadows to cut off Cally's escape.
"What's the matter, oldie? You get lost on your way to Bloomingdale's?"
Muerto was scarecrow thin with a face that resembled a skull with skin stretched over it. An unruly shock of hair, as black and shiny as the feathers on a crow, hung down to his shoulders. Rumor had it that Muerto had personally driven stakes through the hearts of two oldies who'd made the unfortunate choice of slumming on New Blood turf.
"What are you talking about, Johnny?" Cally asked.
"I'm no oldie and you know it."
Muerto's lizard lips pulled back into something that was more snarl than smile, revealing yellowed fangs.
"The grapevine has you attending Bathory Academy."
"And you believe that?" Cally retorted, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. Even though she was pretty good at hand-to-hand and could summon storms and lightning, there was no way she could take on all seven gang members at one time, and they knew it.
"Well, you certainly ain't hanging round like you used to. So what am I supposed to think?"
"I'm surprised you think at all."
"Ah. You hurt me, Cally . " Muerto tapped his rib cage with one crooked, clawlike finger. "Really, you do."
While she was distracted, a shifty, rat-faced gang member reached out and snatched the laundry cart away from Cally.
"Keep your hands off my stuff, you creep!" she yelled as he dug through her belongings, tossing clothes in every direction.
"Muerto! Look at this!" he squealed, holding aloft a school blazer.
"Give that back!"
Cally tried to snatch the telltale jacket, only to have her arm grabbed.
Muerto pointed at the crest. "What's this? Looks like a big ol' B. Wonder what that stands for?"
"I said give it back, Johnny!" Cally shouted.
"Oh, I'll give it back to you," Muerto said. He twirled the jacket like a matador's cape, keeping it just outside her grasp. "But first you have to surrender that kiss you owe me."
Cally raised her right hand and an arc of electricity shot from her palm, striking the rat-faced gang member. Then she turned and fled.
"Don't just stand there!" Muerto shouted. "Get her!"
Cally ran as fast as she could, the gang cackling and screeching at her heels. She knew better than to scream for help. The families who lived in the shadows of the Williamsburg Bridge had learned long ago that it was safer to turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to those things that wandered their neighborhood after the sun went down.
Cally ducked between a couple of tagged-up old warehouses, but halfway down the alley she was driven to the ground by a pair of razor-sharp claws slamming deep into her back.
"Quick, tie her hands!" Muerto screeched, resuming his human form. "She can't call lightning if they're pinned behind her!"
Cally bit her lower lip as one of them planted a knee in her back and tied her hands together with a length of wire. Although her vampire heritage meant her broken ribs were already healing, the pain she felt was still very real.
Two gang members yanked her to her feet by her bound wrists, holding her between them.
"What a shame," Muerto sneered. "Like my mama used to say: 'All that flapping, only to die within sight of the cave.'"
"If you're going to kill me, get it over with," Cally spat.
"Kill you? Is that what you think I want to do?"
Muerto feigned indignant surprise. "All I ever wanted from you was a kiss. Just one little kiss!" Muerto's tongue flickered, tasting the air like a snake. "The first time I try, you punch me in the throat and knee me in the cojones! The second time you nearly fry me and then run away! Why? Am I so damn ugly to you? Or is it because you think you're so much better than me?
Is that it?
" I could have been nice to you, Cally. Very nice. But now I'm about to be very nasty. And when I'm finished with your fine, oldie ass, my boys are going to be even nastier."
Suddenly the alley was awash in the blinding glare of xenon headlights. Muerto instinctively raised his stickthin arms to cover his light-sensitive eyes. Cally could see the outline of a car blocking the alleyway behind the gang members.
"Let the girl go," the driver said, stepping out of the car. His voice was very deep, with a distinctly Mediterranean accent.
"You're on Impaler turf, asshole! Back off!" Muerto snarled.
The passenger climbed out of the car and spoke in a voice as hard as steel. "He said leave the girl alone!"
"On whose orders?" Muerto hissed, flashing his fangs in defiance.
"Mine," the passenger said.
The driver reached inside the car and switched off the headlights, revealing two men dressed in the dark suits, black shirts, and crimson silk ties of the Strega. The driver looked to be in his early thirties, with a huge head and hands the size of catchers' mitts. His passenger was considerably younger but carried himself with the confidence of a much older man.
A look of open fear crossed Muerto's face, and his sallow features grew even paler. "A thousand pardons, sir! I didn't realize it was you!"
"That much is evident, fool!" the younger man snapped. "Now do as I command and let the girl go!
She's a friend of the family."
"Forgive us, sir! We had no idea!" Muerto pleaded as he freed Cally's hands.
"If I want to hear your voice, Muerto, I'll ask you a question. Now go fetch her belongings."
"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"
"Now!"
As Cally watched Muerto and his gang screech in fear and instantly take wing, she was reminded of the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.
"Are you all right, Miss Monture?" the younger man asked.
"I'm okay, I guess. But how do you know my name?
Have we met before?"
"No. But I know who you are, Cally," the stranger said, flashing a warm smile. "After all, my sisters have done nothing but talk about you for the last few days."
"Your sisters-?"
Running his fingers through his excellent haircut, he straightened the lapels of his Armani suit. "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Faustus Maledetto. But you can call me Lucky. And this is my driver, Bava."
"Maledetto? Then you're Bella and Bette's-?"
"Older brother?" He laughed and nodded. "Yes, I am. I just happened to be about on business, as it were, when I saw your predicament."
"How did you know it was me?"
"I saw the lightning strike," he explained. "There are no other fledglings in the city who can do such a thing."
Cally lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "So your father's talked about me as well?"
"Of course," Lucky replied. "Ours is, after all, a family business."
There was a loud rattling sound and Cally turned to see Johnny Muerto trotting up the alley, pushing the laundry cart as fast as it could go.
"H-here's the clothes, sir!"
"Don't bring them to me, you moron! They belong to her!" Lucky said, winking at Cally.
"Sorry, sir," Muerto said sheepishly, turning to Cally. "I mean, I'm sorry, miss. I folded them as best I could-"
Lucky stepped forward and grabbed Muerto by the scruff of the neck. "Hear me, Muerto, for I have no intention of repeating myself on this matter: this girl is under protection of the Strega. If you, or one of your pathetic followers, so much as look in her direction again, I'll rip off your head, savvy?"
"Y-yes, sir," Muerto stammered.
"Good." Lucky shoved the gang leader aside, taking out a crimson silk handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his hands. "Now get out of my sight."
"Yes, sir." Muerto bowed as he backed his way down the alley. "You are most merciful, sir."
"I despise that little scarafaggio, " Lucky spat as he watched Muerto scuttle back to his gang. "If it were up to me, I would have destroyed him." He turned to his driver and pointed at the laundry cart. "Bava, put Miss Monture's things in the trunk."
"Hey! What's going on?" Cally asked as Lucky's undead servant popped open the trunk of the Lexus.
"There's no need to be alarmed," Lucky assured her.
"The least I can do is drive you home."
Cally was not sure whether she should accept
Lucky's offer. Even though he was her friends' older brother, he was also one of the Strega and therefore a very dangerous man. Besides, she did have a boyfriend, even if she couldn't tell anyone he existed. Peter might not appreciate her taking rides from this handsome young guy.
Still, there was something about Lucky Maledetto that intrigued her. Cally glanced at her watch. She was running late and the man did just rescue her. Under such circumstances, it would be terribly rude to turn down his offer-wouldn't it?
"Here you are, safe at home," Lucky said, turning around to smile at Cally.
"Thanks for the ride, Lucky."
"It was nothing. It's good to finally put a face to a name. You're even prettier than my sisters said."
"Thanks." Cally could feel her cheeks turning pink.
"I'm glad we met tonight, too, Lucky. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."
"I'm just glad I could be of some assistance, that's all. Speaking of which, doesn't your family have undead to handle errands, instead of placing you at risk?"
"It's hard to keep undead servants in a two-bedroom condo, I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me," he apologized. "I forget that not everyone lives the lifestyle my family does, even those with Old Blood pedigrees. I can send Bava to help get your laundry to your apartment if you like."
"No! No! There's no need to do that," Cally replied as she climbed out of the car. "You've done more than enough already. Please give my best to your family."
As she turned to go inside the building, Cally glanced up and saw the curtain covering her living room window suddenly drop back into place. Oh, boy.
Her mother was waiting for her just inside the door. "What are you doing getting mixed up with the Strega?"
"You're spying on me, aren't you!" Cally replied angrily.
"It's not spying if I just happened to be looking out the window!" Sheila retorted. "And you still haven't told me what you were doing getting out of a car full of Strega goons."
"They weren't goons!" Cally replied. "At least, not all of them."
"That man I saw unloading our laundry from the trunk of the car-is that who you've been seeing?"
Cally rolled her eyes in disgust. "You've got to be kidding, right? Do you really think that's the kind of guy I'd go for? Besides, he's undead!"
"What about the one who waved at you? Who's
that? Vinnie Maledetto's son?"
"So what if it was?" Cally said testily as she trundled the laundry cart down the hallway. "Lucky gave me a lift back home, that's all. He was just being nice because I go to school with his sisters."
"You hang out with Vinnie Maledetto's kids?" Sheila gasped, a stunned look on her face.
"Duh, yeah! They're my friends, Mom. Bella and Bette, remember? I went to Bergdorf's with them yesterday."
"You only told me their first names!" Sheila protested. "You never said they were Maledettos!"
"I didn't think it mattered," Cally grunted as she removed the folded laundry from the cart onto her bed.
"Maybe if you paid half as much attention to me as you do to your stupid vampire movies, you'd know what was going on in my life!"
"That's who you've been sneaking off to see, isn't it?"
Sheila said accusingly. "The Maledetto boy! Don't lie to me. I know it's true!"
Over the years Cally had learned that it was far easier to tell her mother whatever it was she wanted to hear rather than try to reason with her. On those rare occasions when her mother felt compelled to interfere in her life, she was like a terrier going after a rat. Better she believe a lie than know the truth.
"Okay!" Cally sighed. "Yes! I've been sneaking off to see Lucky Maledetto! There! Are you happy now?"
The look of consternation on Sheila's face was replaced by alarm. "Cally, you've got to promise me that you'll never see that boy again! And you have to stop being friends with his sisters, too! Vincent Maledetto is the sworn enemy of your father!" Sheila said. "There is a vendetta between your bloodlines!"
"Why should that matter to me?" Cally snapped. "I don't even know who my father really is!"
"Cally, you have to believe me! The Maledettos are nothing more than assassins and thieves!"
"That might be true," Cally replied, pulling herself free of her mother's grip. "But at least Vinnie Maledetto is actually involved in his kids' lives, okay? He cares about them! That's more than I can say about my dad-
whoever the hell he is!"
"But your father-"
"My father can rot in hell for all I care!" Cally snapped. "If he doesn't want me to have anything to do with the Maledettos, he can get off his ass and tell me himself, face-to-face. Otherwise, he can go screw! Go back to your movie, Mom. I've got to get changed."
"But-"
"Get out of my room!"
Sheila flinched visibly and then scurried out of the room. Cally slammed the door after her.
Sheila crossed the hall into the master bedroom, locking the door behind her. She sat down on her bed and picked up the phone. In the nearly seventeen years since he had walked out on her to return to his wife, she had only called him one time: to inform him that Cally's grandmother was dead. All other contact had been initiated by him. They had agreed it was safer that way.
After five rings, a cultured British voice came on the line. It was his manservant, of course.
"Curtis? It's Sheila. Tell him we've got trouble."