I didn’t know where the kitchen was but the place wasn’t that big. I’d have to run into it sooner or later. Besides, there was only one path through the boxes, strewn clothes, and “equipment”.
In the kitchen Aylmer fished an old tin box from deep within a cabinet. It jangled as he opened it, revealing a snake pit of keys. He stirred a finger into the mess, finally extracting a key ring heavy as a jailer’s. “Here. So you can get in tonight after the New Year’s thing. Although why you’d want to be in the middle of that mass idiocy…don’t wake me, okay? And make sure you relock everything after you’re in. Don’t forget the chain. And get all the bolts. You’re staying only one night, right?”
“One night?” I dropped the keys into my bag, wincing when something went crack. “Come on, Ayl…I mean Van. I had to call in some major favors to get you clearance. Whatever they do, Bujný a Zvuk Magie is a big international player.” I found a kettle but had to wait for the rusty tap to run clear, so I set it down to hunt tea. “That’s worth at least four nights.”
He sat at the table and took off his foil hat. “I said thank you.” His face was petulant. “Two.”
“Three nights and we’re even. What was that job for, anyway? Times Square came up in the conversations several times.”
His face closed down. “Twyla, I want to tell you. But I can’t.”
I smiled. Him and his conspiracies. “Because then you’d have to kill me?”
“No.” He practically snarled it. “Because you wouldn’t believe me. Nobody believes me when I tell them my theories.” He wore a two-year-old’s frustrated pout.
I found a tea canister I recognized as Aunt Myrtle’s, probably from when Aylmer moved out five years ago (at the age of thirty-seven). “You don’t have to tell me then, Ayl-Van.”
“But I want to tell somebody. It’s brilliant. I’m a genius.” He glanced furtively around, then ran out of the room. I was at the tap, filling the kettle when he returned with an ominous-looking metal suitcase which he hefted onto the table with a grunt. But when he opened it, it was filled with nothing more sinister than toggles and flashing lights. Still, he was very earnest as he flipped a couple switches, then a couple more. With another furtive recon of the room he motioned me closer. I put my head next to his.
Even that close I barely heard his whispered, “Vampires are real.”
No duh. I just had sex with one in a limo on the way from the airport.
But v-guys were supposed to be this big secret, so I only said, “I see.” After all, Aylmer was just guessing. He couldn’t know. I set the kettle on the stove, turned on the gas. Flames licked bits of burned food, making them flame like charcoal.
“You don’t believe me?”
I was careful to keep my face neutral. “Sure I do, Van. Although I was wondering how you figured it out. If you-if we have any proof.”
“We don’t yet. But we will. I knew I could count on you, Twyla.”
“Sure.” I busied myself washing out mugs (desiccated spider bodies don’t steep well) wondering how he’d guessed. Just because he was right for once didn’t mean he was any less crazy. “Count on me how?”
“I came up with a plan. A brilliant plan. See, vampires are natural predators. Appeal to their predatory instincts and they’ll come out of the woodwork. We get it on film, instant proof.”
“I don’t follow.”
He snorted. “And they say you’re the smart one. C’mon, Twyla. What’s a vampire’s prey? People. And what city has the most people?”
“ New York.” I saw where this might be headed, and didn’t like it.
“Exactly. And what’s the biggest outdoor event?”
I really didn’t like where this was going. “The Super Bowl?”
“At night, dork.”
And wrong city, but that wasn’t my point. “Vampires aren’t only awake at night-”
“Who’s the expert here?” He eyed me suspiciously. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”
He really meant I wasn’t taking him seriously enough. I set a mug of chamomile in front of him, dunked the bag to stir the smell. The action and scent were reminiscent of Grandma Tafel, which I hoped would calm him. “Seriously, then. Times Square on New Year’s Eve. So what?”
“Normally the vampires try to blend. Even though it’s illegal to carry liquor in, people are already so drunk or just high with excitement that they don’t notice a thing, and the vampires get away with it.”
“Wait. Are you saying vampires are killing people at the New Year’s celebration? Wouldn’t we see the bodies the next day?”
“Vampires can drink from humans without killing them, silly. And they generally don’t drink in public, but New Year’s Eve is the exception.” Aylmer picked up his tea, waved the mug over the suitcase. Flipped a switch and did it again, peering closely at the blinking lights. Whatever they whispered to him, he apparently felt safe enough to finally drink. “So here’s my brilliant plan. We hypnotize the vamps to remove their inhibitions. They fang up in full view and people start screaming. Running. The running further fires the lurking predator and whammo! Tons of damning footage. Maybe even a few corpses if we’re lucky.”
I fell into my chair. “You’re going to remove whatever inhibitor keeps vampires from killing people? That’s no better than being a murderer yourself!”
He pouted. “It’s their fault for not believing me. Once I have proof, everyone will believe me. They’ll have to.” His eyes narrowed on me. “I don’t know why I tell you things. I don’t know why I tell anyone!” He kicked back his chair and marched out. Came back, banged his briefcase shut, took it and stomped back out.
I heard the slam of the bedroom door, sat for a moment processing. Vampires gone berserk, humans dying in droves. It was crazy. Aylmer couldn’t possibly do what he’d threatened. I held my mug but didn’t drink.
At some point the sun set and I got up to turn on the lights. Yes, it was crazy, but if there was even a possibility Aylmer could deliver on his threat, it was too horrendous to ignore. I needed more information.
I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for my friend Nixie Emerson.
Chapter Three
“Vampires?” Nixie laughed. It sounded slightly off to my ears, but I wasn’t sure. A musician would have known-they can hear cues in the voice the rest of us miss totally. In this case, though, the musician I’d ask was the one doing the laughing. She said, “Why would you think I’d have the 411 on vampires?”
When talking with Nixie, I find it useful to shade toward her own brand of punk speak. “Girl, we don’t have time for a dodge. My cousin the madman is planning to out a whole bunch of bloodsuckers in Times Square tonight. Control their thoughts with hypnosis or something. So I’m asking you-is that possible? Do you or Hottie Hubby know anything that might make vampires go all fangy and drink people to death?”
There was a deep murmur from the background. “It’s Twyla.” Nixie was apparently speaking to said hottie hubby. Lips smacked, faithfully reproduced by my phone. “The vampires in the Big Apple-” smack, “-are in deep shit.”
The smacks told me they were in bed, doing it again. Near as I could tell they were always doing it. It was one of the things that clued me that Nixie’s hottie wasn’t entirely human. I thought of Nikos and shivered.