Vampire Most Wanted
Page 2
“I hope he wasn’t bothering you?” she said apologetically as she took the boy’s hand.
“Not at all,” Marcus assured her.
The young mother smiled again and then nodded and turned away with the boy, saying, “Come on, honey. Your daddy is waiting with your sister in the Ferris wheel line. They’ll be worried.”
Marcus watched them go and then turned his gaze back to Madame Divine’s RV. The door was closed now as were the blinds. He couldn’t see the woman anymore, except in his mind’s eye, and he was definitely seeing her there. Madame Divine was more than memorable in her Gypsy getup. A white peasant blouse, worn off the shoulders, a crimson underskirt, a bright teal scarf skirt, an orange sash tied at the waist with gold chains hanging from it and tinkling merrily, a wide leather belt, and a crimson scarf around her head. Gold hoops had dangled from her ears, a gold chain hung around her neck, several gold bracelets dangled from her wrist, and knee-high black leather boots with stiletto heels strapped up the front of her legs had finished the outfit.
The woman looked damned sexy in the getup, so sexy in fact that when she’d straddled the would-be wife killer, Marcus had wanted to pull her off the man and onto his own lap. He’d been rather startled by that urge. Marcus hadn’t been interested in women for a while. Okay, for a couple millennia. Still, he hadn’t come across a woman like Madame Divine in quite a while either. The woman was walking sex in her getup, and his body was waking up and responding to it.
Obviously he had a Gypsy fetish, Marcus thought wryly. It made as much sense as anything else at the moment. Certainly more sense than his own life presently did. It appeared at the ripe old age of 2,548 he was having a midlife crisis of sorts. That was the only explanation for how he found himself doing a favor for Lucian Argeneau.
Marcus smiled wryly at the thought. Lucian Argeneau was not only the head of the powerful Argeneau clan, but also oversaw the Rogue Hunters and led the North American Immortal Council. Rogue Hunters were the immortal police force; they hunted down rogue immortals to be presented to the Immortal Council, who then passed judgment on them and sentenced them to whatever punishment they saw fit, often death.
As the head of those two organizations, Lucian could arguably be the most powerful immortal in North America. It was hard to imagine him needing anyone’s help. But he did. He was searching for a family member, his niece Basha Argeneau, who had been thought to be dead for millennia, but who might now be alive after all . . . and who he feared had gone rogue.
Which was how Marcus had come to find himself at the carnival, eyeballing the trailer of a woman he couldn’t read and found incredibly sexy. Not that his not being able to read her bothered him. If this was Basha Argeneau, she was even older than he was, and younger immortals usually couldn’t read immortals older than themselves. It wasn’t like any of the other signs of having met a life mate were cropping up, like renewed interest in food and such. Thank God, because if she had been a possible life mate and was Basha Argeneau . . . well, that would have been a doomed relationship from the start. Because Basha Argeneau was considered rogue . . . and rogues were executed. The last thing he needed at this point in his life was a rogue life mate.
“Hey! Marco! Are you going to stand around stuffing your face all night or help me with the pogo stall?”
Marcus glanced around with surprise to find Kevin Morrow walking toward him. The twenty-year-old carnie was tall and stick-thin, his face a collection of freckles so thick that from a distance it looked like a tan. Up close though you saw that his face was definitely freckled, and it was also presently scrunched up with displeasure, reminding Marcus that he was only supposed to take a fifteen-minute break from helping to man the food stall.
“I was—”
“Stuffing your face,” the young carnie interrupted dryly and then turned away, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on. If you’re hungry you can have a corn dog while you work. It’s probably better for you than that sugary fluff anyway.”
Marcus blinked and glanced down at the cone with the half-eaten cotton candy the boy had given him several minutes ago. Or what had been half-eaten cotton candy. There was nothing left of the sweet treat now. Surely he hadn’t eaten it? He hadn’t eaten in more than a millennium. He didn’t remember eating it. But he did have a sweet taste in his mouth that was rather pleasant.
“Damn,” he muttered, tossing the cardboard cone into a garbage bin as he headed after Kevin. He’d eaten it. Couldn’t read Madame Divine, and was lusting after the woman. Oh, this wasn’t good.
Two
Divine saw the last customer out of her trailer and then paused on the steps to peer along the midway. It was midnight, closing time, but the lights from the various attractions still glowed all along the midway. The tinny music still played too, but the rest of the sounds were dying down. The loud hawking by ride jockeys trying to lure people to their rides, and the agents trying to lure townies to the games, had died off. The laughter, chatter, and squealing of the townies enjoying the attractions were dying off too as the mad crush of people that had filled the area earlier dropped to a trickle of stragglers heading for the exit.
Without people filling every space, you could now see the mess that had been left behind. Discarded food and drink containers littered the midway, dropped and kicked to the side rather than placed in the garbage bins supplied at regular intervals. They were interspersed with half-eaten burgers, corn dogs, and ice cream cones left to melt on the tarmac where they fell. Among the mess she could see a pair of tiny running shoes and even a wrinkled T-shirt or two left behind and wondered how the owners had left without them. The shoes belonged to a child who might have been carried out, but hadn’t the parent noticed the bare feet? As for the T-shirts, a lot of boys removed them and hung them through the loops of their shorts in the heat of the day, but shirts were required for rides and had to be re-donned if they wanted on. The only thing she could think was the owners of these particular T-shirts had lost them on the way out. It made her wonder how upset they would be when they got home and realized they were gone.
The music suddenly died and the Ferris wheel lights blinked out. Divine glanced toward it even as the lights on several other rides followed suit. Everything was beginning to shut down. Within moments the midway would be dark, the rides and stalls locked down for the night. The cleanup would be left for morning rather than waste the electricity to keep the lights on to do it now. It was more cost-efficient to do it in the bright light of day. Besides, by then some of the discarded foodstuff would have been gobbled up by local dogs or vermin, which would save a bit of cleanup time.
Divine’s gaze swept the darkening midway, the structures mostly black shadows against the moonlit night. Within moments the first of the carnies would finish their shutdown and be headed for the back lot beyond the front of her RV where the trailers all were. There would be drinking and laughter as they unwound from their long day and the stress of dealing with the public. Divine sometimes joined them. Not to drink, since that did little for her. She went to enjoy the camaraderie. She usually sat and nursed a cup of tea outside Bob and Madge Hoskins’s trailer on a nice night. If it was raining, they’d move inside to dissect the day and talk about how good or how poor the take had been.
Divine shifted her feet, briefly debating whether she should do so tonight. It was the greenie Marco who was making her hesitate. Most immortals, like mortals, considered carnies beneath them, not seeing the long, hard hours they worked, only seeing their shabby unkempt appearance, and bad teeth for lack of money and time to fix them. In fact, Marco was the only immortal besides herself that she knew of who had chosen to spend time with the traveling carnivals over the years, and his presence now was troubling.
She suspected Marco had to be rogue and hiding out to have found his way to the carnival. If that was the case . . . well, the last thing she needed was for a rogue to draw the attention of the Rogue Hunters to her carnival. Divine had managed to hide in this environment for a good hundred years. She didn’t want someone like this new guy blowing that for her. The safest thing to do was to avoid the man, and since she couldn’t guarantee he too wouldn’t go to visit with the Hoskinses . . . well, she thought, perhaps she should bypass her usual routine of relaxing with the couple this night.
On the other hand, greenies often had homes to go to at night. If they didn’t and stayed here with the carnies, they usually sat on the fringes, away from the owner and his wife. It might be okay for her to join the couple and unwind a bit. Certainly, she had no need to go hunting tonight. Allen Paulson had supplied her with dinner.
Decision made, Divine popped the lock on her RV door. She then headed around her vehicle for the back lot where Bob and Madge had parked their own private RV. The couple had several vehicles for business, including a trailer where they hired greenies and handled customer service issues. They also had several games and rides, but they never traveled without their own RV for living and sleeping in. After a long day dealing with carnies and customers alike, a private space to retreat to was a necessity.
The back lot was a large area, almost as large as the carnival itself. Here there were half a dozen RVs belonging to the better-off full-time carnies who had stalls, rides, or ran games, but there were also bunkhouse trailers with tiny rooms big enough for a bed or bunk beds and a small walking space. Divine suspected you’d have more room in a prison cell, but all it was for was sleeping so in that sense it served its purpose. There were usually four to six bunkrooms in each trailer; some bunkhouses had their own lavatory for the inhabitants to share, some didn’t. For those without, there were other trailers with mobile lavatories in them. There was also a trailer that served as a schoolroom for those children traveling with carnie parents, as well as a laundry trailer and a couple of small trailers that acted like small markets, corner stores, or drugstores, depending on which one you used.
In effect, the carnival was a small traveling city carrying everything they might need with it. A carnie didn’t really have to go into the towns they visited at all if they didn’t want to unless there was some specialty item that wasn’t available in the traveling stores.
“Miss Divine.”
Slowing, she glanced to the side, nodding in greeting when she spotted Hal walking toward her with a slight limp. A lifelong carnie, Hal was short, wiry, bowlegged, and had more wrinkles, and fewer teeth, than an elephant. The man had one good tooth in his mouth—a nasty, brown thing that looked like it too should have been pulled or fallen out by now. Divine didn’t like stereotypes, but some of the carnies lived up, or actually down, to those things said about them: hard drinking, fast living, rotten teeth, and old before their time. Hal fit every one of those stereotypes. Still, she liked the man.
From what Divine had read in his mind, Hal had earned every one of those wrinkles, and hadn’t lost all his teeth to rot. In fact, it appeared he’d lost half of them to alcohol-fueled brawls over the years. He was also as honest as could be. He’d tell you flat-out to lock your stuff up or it would go walking. “Finders keepers,” he’d add with a wink, making it more than obvious who would help it go walking. You couldn’t fault the man for that. At least he gave fair warning. Few people did.
“Your limp is a bit better,” Divine commented as she watched him close the last few feet between them.
“Ah-yep.” He grinned at her, showing off his one good tooth and a lot of gum. Running his fingers through his scraggly gray hair, he nodded his head and added, “All thanks to you. That remedy you gave me worked wonders. The gout’s goin’ away toot sweat.”
Divine’s lips twisted upward at the mispronunciation of “tout suite,” but she didn’t correct him.
“Another day and I won’t be limping at all,” he continued, beaming, and confided, “Haven’t been limp-free in so long, I’ve forgotten how it feels. And I just wanted to thank ye kindly, Madame Divine. I haven’t felt this good in more than a decade and it sure is nice.”
“You’re welcome,” Divine said, smiling faintly. She’d noticed the man seemed to be doing more poorly than usual a couple of towns back. It hadn’t taken mind reading to know he was suffering with his gout, and Divine had whipped up an old remedy for the ailment that she knew from her days running with the Gypsies. As he said, it appeared to be working relatively quickly. Of course, it would have worked quicker if he would refrain from red meat, coffee, and alcohol. But that was asking a bit much of the old man.
Divine could have slipped into his thoughts and controlled him, making him give up the booze and the other unhealthy food items that contributed to his problem, but she had no desire to control other people’s lives. Animals like Allen Paulson were one thing; she had no qualms at all about preventing him or his ilk from harming or killing anyone for financial gain, but other than that, Divine was an advocate of the “live and let live” credo. She didn’t want anyone controlling her actions and behaviors, and had no need or desire to control others. It was her opinion that people who did try to control others were sadly lacking in self esteem . . . and there seemed to be a lot of them. Judging by all the people starting movements to try to get the government to stop this and ban that, they also seemed to have a hell of a lot of time on their hands. She couldn’t help thinking that if they got a job, or a lover, friends, a hobby, or—hell—even a life, they’d be a lot more fulfilled and wouldn’t look to control what others did as a way to satisfy themselves.
“Well, I just wanted to thank you,” Hal said again, “And let you know your efforts worked before I head out to celebrate with Carl.” He hesitated and then added tentatively, “And see if you maybe wouldn’t want to join us? We’re going into town, McMurphy’s Irish Pub. I stopped there the last time we were in Bakersfield and they have the best ribs I ever tasted. Oak-smoked I think the gal said they were. Real good,” he assured her.
“Not at all,” Marcus assured her.
The young mother smiled again and then nodded and turned away with the boy, saying, “Come on, honey. Your daddy is waiting with your sister in the Ferris wheel line. They’ll be worried.”
Marcus watched them go and then turned his gaze back to Madame Divine’s RV. The door was closed now as were the blinds. He couldn’t see the woman anymore, except in his mind’s eye, and he was definitely seeing her there. Madame Divine was more than memorable in her Gypsy getup. A white peasant blouse, worn off the shoulders, a crimson underskirt, a bright teal scarf skirt, an orange sash tied at the waist with gold chains hanging from it and tinkling merrily, a wide leather belt, and a crimson scarf around her head. Gold hoops had dangled from her ears, a gold chain hung around her neck, several gold bracelets dangled from her wrist, and knee-high black leather boots with stiletto heels strapped up the front of her legs had finished the outfit.
The woman looked damned sexy in the getup, so sexy in fact that when she’d straddled the would-be wife killer, Marcus had wanted to pull her off the man and onto his own lap. He’d been rather startled by that urge. Marcus hadn’t been interested in women for a while. Okay, for a couple millennia. Still, he hadn’t come across a woman like Madame Divine in quite a while either. The woman was walking sex in her getup, and his body was waking up and responding to it.
Obviously he had a Gypsy fetish, Marcus thought wryly. It made as much sense as anything else at the moment. Certainly more sense than his own life presently did. It appeared at the ripe old age of 2,548 he was having a midlife crisis of sorts. That was the only explanation for how he found himself doing a favor for Lucian Argeneau.
Marcus smiled wryly at the thought. Lucian Argeneau was not only the head of the powerful Argeneau clan, but also oversaw the Rogue Hunters and led the North American Immortal Council. Rogue Hunters were the immortal police force; they hunted down rogue immortals to be presented to the Immortal Council, who then passed judgment on them and sentenced them to whatever punishment they saw fit, often death.
As the head of those two organizations, Lucian could arguably be the most powerful immortal in North America. It was hard to imagine him needing anyone’s help. But he did. He was searching for a family member, his niece Basha Argeneau, who had been thought to be dead for millennia, but who might now be alive after all . . . and who he feared had gone rogue.
Which was how Marcus had come to find himself at the carnival, eyeballing the trailer of a woman he couldn’t read and found incredibly sexy. Not that his not being able to read her bothered him. If this was Basha Argeneau, she was even older than he was, and younger immortals usually couldn’t read immortals older than themselves. It wasn’t like any of the other signs of having met a life mate were cropping up, like renewed interest in food and such. Thank God, because if she had been a possible life mate and was Basha Argeneau . . . well, that would have been a doomed relationship from the start. Because Basha Argeneau was considered rogue . . . and rogues were executed. The last thing he needed at this point in his life was a rogue life mate.
“Hey! Marco! Are you going to stand around stuffing your face all night or help me with the pogo stall?”
Marcus glanced around with surprise to find Kevin Morrow walking toward him. The twenty-year-old carnie was tall and stick-thin, his face a collection of freckles so thick that from a distance it looked like a tan. Up close though you saw that his face was definitely freckled, and it was also presently scrunched up with displeasure, reminding Marcus that he was only supposed to take a fifteen-minute break from helping to man the food stall.
“I was—”
“Stuffing your face,” the young carnie interrupted dryly and then turned away, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on. If you’re hungry you can have a corn dog while you work. It’s probably better for you than that sugary fluff anyway.”
Marcus blinked and glanced down at the cone with the half-eaten cotton candy the boy had given him several minutes ago. Or what had been half-eaten cotton candy. There was nothing left of the sweet treat now. Surely he hadn’t eaten it? He hadn’t eaten in more than a millennium. He didn’t remember eating it. But he did have a sweet taste in his mouth that was rather pleasant.
“Damn,” he muttered, tossing the cardboard cone into a garbage bin as he headed after Kevin. He’d eaten it. Couldn’t read Madame Divine, and was lusting after the woman. Oh, this wasn’t good.
Two
Divine saw the last customer out of her trailer and then paused on the steps to peer along the midway. It was midnight, closing time, but the lights from the various attractions still glowed all along the midway. The tinny music still played too, but the rest of the sounds were dying down. The loud hawking by ride jockeys trying to lure people to their rides, and the agents trying to lure townies to the games, had died off. The laughter, chatter, and squealing of the townies enjoying the attractions were dying off too as the mad crush of people that had filled the area earlier dropped to a trickle of stragglers heading for the exit.
Without people filling every space, you could now see the mess that had been left behind. Discarded food and drink containers littered the midway, dropped and kicked to the side rather than placed in the garbage bins supplied at regular intervals. They were interspersed with half-eaten burgers, corn dogs, and ice cream cones left to melt on the tarmac where they fell. Among the mess she could see a pair of tiny running shoes and even a wrinkled T-shirt or two left behind and wondered how the owners had left without them. The shoes belonged to a child who might have been carried out, but hadn’t the parent noticed the bare feet? As for the T-shirts, a lot of boys removed them and hung them through the loops of their shorts in the heat of the day, but shirts were required for rides and had to be re-donned if they wanted on. The only thing she could think was the owners of these particular T-shirts had lost them on the way out. It made her wonder how upset they would be when they got home and realized they were gone.
The music suddenly died and the Ferris wheel lights blinked out. Divine glanced toward it even as the lights on several other rides followed suit. Everything was beginning to shut down. Within moments the midway would be dark, the rides and stalls locked down for the night. The cleanup would be left for morning rather than waste the electricity to keep the lights on to do it now. It was more cost-efficient to do it in the bright light of day. Besides, by then some of the discarded foodstuff would have been gobbled up by local dogs or vermin, which would save a bit of cleanup time.
Divine’s gaze swept the darkening midway, the structures mostly black shadows against the moonlit night. Within moments the first of the carnies would finish their shutdown and be headed for the back lot beyond the front of her RV where the trailers all were. There would be drinking and laughter as they unwound from their long day and the stress of dealing with the public. Divine sometimes joined them. Not to drink, since that did little for her. She went to enjoy the camaraderie. She usually sat and nursed a cup of tea outside Bob and Madge Hoskins’s trailer on a nice night. If it was raining, they’d move inside to dissect the day and talk about how good or how poor the take had been.
Divine shifted her feet, briefly debating whether she should do so tonight. It was the greenie Marco who was making her hesitate. Most immortals, like mortals, considered carnies beneath them, not seeing the long, hard hours they worked, only seeing their shabby unkempt appearance, and bad teeth for lack of money and time to fix them. In fact, Marco was the only immortal besides herself that she knew of who had chosen to spend time with the traveling carnivals over the years, and his presence now was troubling.
She suspected Marco had to be rogue and hiding out to have found his way to the carnival. If that was the case . . . well, the last thing she needed was for a rogue to draw the attention of the Rogue Hunters to her carnival. Divine had managed to hide in this environment for a good hundred years. She didn’t want someone like this new guy blowing that for her. The safest thing to do was to avoid the man, and since she couldn’t guarantee he too wouldn’t go to visit with the Hoskinses . . . well, she thought, perhaps she should bypass her usual routine of relaxing with the couple this night.
On the other hand, greenies often had homes to go to at night. If they didn’t and stayed here with the carnies, they usually sat on the fringes, away from the owner and his wife. It might be okay for her to join the couple and unwind a bit. Certainly, she had no need to go hunting tonight. Allen Paulson had supplied her with dinner.
Decision made, Divine popped the lock on her RV door. She then headed around her vehicle for the back lot where Bob and Madge had parked their own private RV. The couple had several vehicles for business, including a trailer where they hired greenies and handled customer service issues. They also had several games and rides, but they never traveled without their own RV for living and sleeping in. After a long day dealing with carnies and customers alike, a private space to retreat to was a necessity.
The back lot was a large area, almost as large as the carnival itself. Here there were half a dozen RVs belonging to the better-off full-time carnies who had stalls, rides, or ran games, but there were also bunkhouse trailers with tiny rooms big enough for a bed or bunk beds and a small walking space. Divine suspected you’d have more room in a prison cell, but all it was for was sleeping so in that sense it served its purpose. There were usually four to six bunkrooms in each trailer; some bunkhouses had their own lavatory for the inhabitants to share, some didn’t. For those without, there were other trailers with mobile lavatories in them. There was also a trailer that served as a schoolroom for those children traveling with carnie parents, as well as a laundry trailer and a couple of small trailers that acted like small markets, corner stores, or drugstores, depending on which one you used.
In effect, the carnival was a small traveling city carrying everything they might need with it. A carnie didn’t really have to go into the towns they visited at all if they didn’t want to unless there was some specialty item that wasn’t available in the traveling stores.
“Miss Divine.”
Slowing, she glanced to the side, nodding in greeting when she spotted Hal walking toward her with a slight limp. A lifelong carnie, Hal was short, wiry, bowlegged, and had more wrinkles, and fewer teeth, than an elephant. The man had one good tooth in his mouth—a nasty, brown thing that looked like it too should have been pulled or fallen out by now. Divine didn’t like stereotypes, but some of the carnies lived up, or actually down, to those things said about them: hard drinking, fast living, rotten teeth, and old before their time. Hal fit every one of those stereotypes. Still, she liked the man.
From what Divine had read in his mind, Hal had earned every one of those wrinkles, and hadn’t lost all his teeth to rot. In fact, it appeared he’d lost half of them to alcohol-fueled brawls over the years. He was also as honest as could be. He’d tell you flat-out to lock your stuff up or it would go walking. “Finders keepers,” he’d add with a wink, making it more than obvious who would help it go walking. You couldn’t fault the man for that. At least he gave fair warning. Few people did.
“Your limp is a bit better,” Divine commented as she watched him close the last few feet between them.
“Ah-yep.” He grinned at her, showing off his one good tooth and a lot of gum. Running his fingers through his scraggly gray hair, he nodded his head and added, “All thanks to you. That remedy you gave me worked wonders. The gout’s goin’ away toot sweat.”
Divine’s lips twisted upward at the mispronunciation of “tout suite,” but she didn’t correct him.
“Another day and I won’t be limping at all,” he continued, beaming, and confided, “Haven’t been limp-free in so long, I’ve forgotten how it feels. And I just wanted to thank ye kindly, Madame Divine. I haven’t felt this good in more than a decade and it sure is nice.”
“You’re welcome,” Divine said, smiling faintly. She’d noticed the man seemed to be doing more poorly than usual a couple of towns back. It hadn’t taken mind reading to know he was suffering with his gout, and Divine had whipped up an old remedy for the ailment that she knew from her days running with the Gypsies. As he said, it appeared to be working relatively quickly. Of course, it would have worked quicker if he would refrain from red meat, coffee, and alcohol. But that was asking a bit much of the old man.
Divine could have slipped into his thoughts and controlled him, making him give up the booze and the other unhealthy food items that contributed to his problem, but she had no desire to control other people’s lives. Animals like Allen Paulson were one thing; she had no qualms at all about preventing him or his ilk from harming or killing anyone for financial gain, but other than that, Divine was an advocate of the “live and let live” credo. She didn’t want anyone controlling her actions and behaviors, and had no need or desire to control others. It was her opinion that people who did try to control others were sadly lacking in self esteem . . . and there seemed to be a lot of them. Judging by all the people starting movements to try to get the government to stop this and ban that, they also seemed to have a hell of a lot of time on their hands. She couldn’t help thinking that if they got a job, or a lover, friends, a hobby, or—hell—even a life, they’d be a lot more fulfilled and wouldn’t look to control what others did as a way to satisfy themselves.
“Well, I just wanted to thank you,” Hal said again, “And let you know your efforts worked before I head out to celebrate with Carl.” He hesitated and then added tentatively, “And see if you maybe wouldn’t want to join us? We’re going into town, McMurphy’s Irish Pub. I stopped there the last time we were in Bakersfield and they have the best ribs I ever tasted. Oak-smoked I think the gal said they were. Real good,” he assured her.
