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different handwriting. Smaller, no less neat. 3:00, Ned. That was all, no last name, no reason for the
meeting. And Bruce didn't make the appointment. Methinks we have a clue. Be still, my heart.
Ned was a short form of Edward, just like Teddy. Had Malcolm had a meeting with the hit man of the
undead? Maybe. Maybe not. It could be a clandestine meeting with a different Ned. Or maybe Bruce
had been away from the desk and someone else had just filled in? I went through the rest of the planner
as quickly as I could. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Every other entry was in Bruce's large,
rolling hand.
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Malcolm had met with Edward, if it had been Edward, two days before the first death. If that was true,
where did that leave things? With Edward a murderer and Malcolm paying him to do it. There was one
problem with that. If Edward had wanted me dead, he'd have done it himself. Maybe Malcolm panicked
and sent one of his followers to do it? Could be.
I was sitting in a chair against the wall, leafing through a magazine, when the door opened. Malcolm was
tall and almost painfully thin, with large, bony hands that belonged to a more muscular man. His short,
curly hair was the shocking yellow of goldfinch feathers. This was what blond hair looked like after nearly
three hundred years in the dark.
The last time I had seen Malcolm, he had seemed beautiful, perfect. Now he was almost ordinary, like
Nikolaos and her scar. Had Jean-Claude given me the ability to see master vampires' true forms?
Malcolm's presence filled the small room like invisible water, chilling and pricking along my skin,
knee-deep and rising. Give him another nine hundred years, and he might rival Nikolaos. Of course, I
wouldn't be around to test my little theory.
I stood, and he swept into the room. He was dressed modestly in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt, and
blue silk tie. The pale shirt made his eyes look like robin's eggs. He smiled, angular face, beaming at me.
He wasn't trying to cloud my mind. Malcolm was very good at resisting the urge. His entire credibility
rested on the fact that he didn't cheat.
"Miss Blake, how good to see you." He didn't offer to shake hands; he knew better. "Bruce left me a
very confused message. Something about the vampire murders?" His voice was deep and soothing, like
the ocean.
"I told Bruce I have proof that your church is involved with the vampire murders."
"And do you?"
"Yes." I believed it. If he had met with Edward, I had my murderer.
"Hmmm, you are telling the truth. Yet, I know that it is not true." His voice rolled around me, warm and
thick, powerful.
I shook my head. "Cheating, Malcolm, using your powers to probe my mind. Tsk, tsk."
He shrugged, hands open at his sides. "I control my church, Miss Blake. They would not do what you
have accused them of."
"They raided a freak party last night with clubs. They hurt people." I was guessing on that part.
He frowned. "There is a small faction of our followers who persist in violence. The freak party, as you
call it, is an abomination and must be stopped, but through legal channels. I have told my followers this."
"But do you punish them when they disobey you?" I asked.
"I am not a policeman, or a priest, to mete out punishment. They are not children. They have their own
minds."
"I'll bet they do."
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"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"It means, Malcolm, that you are a master vampire. None of them can stand against you. They'll do
anything you want them to."
"I do not use mind powers on my congregation."
I shook my head. His power oozed over my arms like a cold wave. He wasn't even trying. It was just
spillover. Did he realize what he was doing? Could it actually be an accident?
"You had a meeting two days before the first murder."
He smiled, careful not to show fangs. "I have many meetings."
"I know, you are reeal popular, but you'll remember this meeting. You hired a hit man to kill vampires." I
watched his face, but he was too good. There was a flicker in his eyes, unease maybe; then it was gone,
replaced by that shining blue-eyed confidence.
"Miss Blake, why are you looking me in the eyes?"
I shrugged. "If you don't try to bespell me, it's safe."
"I have tried to convince you of that on several occasions, but you always played it . . . safe. Now you
are staring at me; why?" He strode towards me, quick, nearly a blur of motion. My gun was in my hand,
no thinking needed. Instinct.
"My," he said.
I just stared at him, quite willing to put a bullet through his chest if he came one step closer.
"You carry at least the first mark, Miss Blake. Some master vampire has touched you. Who?"
I let out my breath in one long sigh. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding it. "It's a long story."
"I believe you." He was suddenly standing near the door again, as if he had never moved. Damn, he was
good.
"You hired a man to slay the freak vampires," I said.
"No," he said, "I did not."
It is always unnerving when a person looks so damn blasé while I point a gun at them. "You did hire an
assassin."
He shrugged. Smiled. "You do not really expect me to do anything but deny that, do you?"
"Guess not." What the heck, might as well ask. "Are you or your church connected in any way to the
vampire murders?"
He almost laughed. I didn't blame him. No one in their right mind would just say yes, but sometimes you
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can learn things from the way a person denies something. The choice of lies can be almost as helpful as [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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