Violets Are Blue

He said it so matter-of-factly.
Snap your neck
.
    The second one spoke then. He was right in her face. She saw the long canine fangs. “If you hunt for the vampire, the vampire will hunt for you,” he said.

Chapter 82

    SHE WAS gagged, then roughly thrown onto the rear seat of a pickup truck. The truck started up and took off with a jolt.
    Jamilla tried to concentrate on everything about the trip. She counted off the seconds, kept track of the minutes. There was stop-and-go city driving, then faster, smoother riding, possibly on Route 1.
    Then a very bumpy road, possibly unpaved. She figured the trip took approximately forty minutes.
    She was carried inside a building, some kind of ranch house or farm structure. People were laughing. At her? They wore fangs. Jesus. She was put down on a cot in a small room, and her gag was removed.
    “You’ve come looking for the Sire,” the one who called himself William whispered, his face up close to hers. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, Inspector. This one will get you killed.”
    He smiled horribly, and she felt as if she were being both ridiculed and, at the same time, seduced. The one called William touched her cheek with his long, slender fingers. He lightly caressed her throat, stared into her eyes.
    She was repulsed, wanted to run away, but couldn’t do anything. There were a dozen or so vampires here — watching her like she was meat on a spit.
    “I don’t know anything about a Sire,” she said. “What’s a Sire? Help me out here.”
    The brothers looked at each other, shared a knowing smirk. A few of the others laughed out loud.
    “The Sire is the one who leads,” said William. He was so calm, so very sure of himself.
    “Who does the Sire lead?” she asked.
    “Why, anyone who will follow,” William answered. He laughed again, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at her expense. “Vampires, Inspector. Others like Michael and myself. Many others, in many, many cities. You can’t imagine the extent of it. The Sire stands firm with simple directions for what to think, how to act, things like that. The Sire is not accountable to any authorities. The Sire is a superior being. Are you starting to understand? Would you like to meet the Sire?”
    “Is the Sire here now?” she asked. “Where are we?”
    William continued to stare down at her. He was definitely seductive. Disgusting. Then he leaned in closer. “You’re the detective.
Is
the Sire here? Where are you? You tell me.”
    Jamilla felt as if she might retch. She needed her space. “Why are we here?” she asked. She wanted to keep them talking, keep them occupied for as long as she could.
    William shrugged. “Oh, we’ve always been here. This used to be a commune — California-dreaming hippies, mind-altering drugs, Joni Mitchell music. Our parents were hippies. We were isolated from other ways to live and think, so we depended on each other. My brother and I are unbelievably close. But we’re nothing, really. We’re here to serve the Sire.”
    “Was the Sire always at the commune?” she asked.
    William shook his head and gave her a serious look. “There were always vampires here. They stayed apart, left the others alone. You had to join them, not the other way around.”
    “How many are there?”
    William looked at Michael, shrugged his broad shoulders, and they both laughed. “Legions! We’re everywhere.”
    Suddenly, William roared and went for her throat. Jamilla couldn’t help it — she screamed.
    He stopped inches away from her, still growling like an animal. Then William purred gently. His long tongue licked her cheek, her lips, her eyelids. She couldn’t believe what was happening.
    “We’re going to hang you and drink every last drop. The most amazing thing — you’re going to enjoy it when you die. It’s ecstasy, Jamilla.”

Chapter 83

    I HAD returned to Washington, and I was taking a much-needed day off. Why not? I hadn’t seen enough of the kids lately, and it was Saturday, after all.
    Damon, Jannie, and I went to the Corcoran Gallery of Art that afternoon. The little creeps fiercely resisted the museum at first, but once they were inside the Palace of Gold and Light they were completely entranced. Then they didn’t want to leave. Typical of them.
    When we eventually got home at around four, Nana told me I was to call Tim Bradley at the
San Francisco Examiner. Give me a break. This case wouldn’t stop. Now I was supposed to call Jamilla’s