“Don’t touch her,” I said in a low voice. “If you hope to get even an ounce of cooperation from me, you’ll leave her alone.”
Karn’s gaze swung toward me, and he studied me for a long, quiet moment. “I believe you, Dr. Jameson. Your stubbornness is well known. And I also believe that if I killed your darling Dove, you’d find a way to escape, or die, rather than help me.” He cocked his head, his gaze filled with the same kind of excited fascination a scientist might have for a particularly successful experiment. “If you give me any trouble, I will hurt her. And I know a lot about pain. I spent a lifetime mastering the art of torture.”
Fear pulsed within me, so much so that it nearly negated the pain. Sweat dripped down my temples and slicked my throat. “When this whole thing is over, and you have whatever it is . . . then what?”
“I’ll let you go.”
“Liar,” said Miss I Have No Decorum.
“We’re vampires,” he said, flashing his fangs at us. “We can make you forget you ever saw us. There’s no reason to kill you.”
“If you have glamour,” said Dove, staring daggers at Karn because, apparently, she didn’t enjoy breathing. “Why aren’t you using it? You could make us help you.”
“You know everything about vampires, do you?” he asked. He looked like he might be reconsidering his decision to let Dove live. “Glamour is overrated. It’s better to gain cooperation the old-fashioned way.”
Something about his tone set off my bullshit radar. No one did things the hard way unless they had to . . . so why didn’t Karn use glamour? Wouldn’t you use a valuable tool such as the ability to make people do as you wished? I was an archaeologist. If I had a tool that could help me uncover the historical treasures on a site faster, without any harm to the location or the objects . . . why would I get out the brushes and tweezers?
Dove opened her mouth again, probably to comment on Karn’s IQ or perhaps just say something snarky about his fangs—and I hissed, “Shut up!”
She pressed her lips together, and her eyebrows dipped into one of her patented frowns, but the girl stopped talking.
Karn offered me one of his thin-bladed smiles. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”
I said nothing, offering only a half shrug. He didn’t seem to care that I didn’t want to engage with him. He was the coldest man I’d ever met. Were all vampires like him?
“We only have a few hours before dawn,” said Mr. English Vampire.
“I only need a few minutes. But you are correct. Getting off the campus is wise,” said Karn. “If that bitch mermaid alerted anyone to our presence, we may have to deal with unwanted visitors.”
“Mermaid?” asked Dove.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Doriana is apparently a creature of the sea.”
Dove stared at me to gauge my seriousness, and then she nodded. “That actually explains a lot.”
“You two do natter on,” said Karn. “Gag them, and then make sure their bonds are secure.”
A god-awful shriek filled the room. The sound was so sudden, so horrific, we were all startled by it . . . even the vampires. My skin prickled with unease, and even stoic Dove looked unnerved.
The vampires’ expressions turned wary, and they spread out, apparently looking around for the source of the tortured wails. I couldn’t see well beyond the creepy green glow of the electric lantern, but I wondered how well vampires could see. One of their supposed powers was excellent vision. The better to hunt you with, my pretty.
The screams were loud and endless.
As one faded, another would rise.
The shrieks made my skin crawl. I didn’t have the luxury of putting my hands over my ears, and I could see that Dove might have been wishing for the same ability. Instead, we endured the tormented cries because we had no choice.
The temperature plummeted. Jeez! It felt like someone had turned the air-conditioning to an Arctic setting. I could see little clouds form as I puffed out panicked breaths. I glanced at Dove; she looked like she was struggling to maintain her composure.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. I could no longer dismiss the idea of ghosts as ludicrous. I’d met three vampires and a mermaid tonight. And hey, what was a visit from the spirit world on top of that three-layer hell cake? Still . . . I couldn’t fathom the idea of hearing—much less seeing—the ethereal form of my murdered mother.
A memory flickered. It was so rare for me to think about those times, about what had happened. My grandfather had been the buoy in a raging, bloody sea. I remembered him, and all that he did for me, but before that . . . it was a dull gray area. The color bled away and all that remained was the dark.