Kerrelyn Sparks: Vampire Mine

Connor’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell!” He leaped toward the screen and punched the buttons to record and turn up the volume.

“—reached the pinnacle of my journalistic career,” Corky said, motioning to her guest. “It is an honor to have you on my show, Casimir.”

Father Andrew gasped. “That’s Casimir?”

Connor zipped over to the desk and hit the alarm button that emitted a sound too high-pitched for human ears. The Vamps and shifters in the fellowship hall would hear it and rush to the office within seconds.

Connor glanced down at the dagger in his knee sock while he reached overhead to make sure his claymore was in place. “Tell them I went to DVN,” he told the priest, then teleported away.

There was a big sign posted just inside the Brooklyn headquarters of the Digital Vampire Network. Auditions tonight for All My Vampires ! Male romantic lead role.

Connor frowned as he pushed his way into the crowded waiting room. Apparently, over a hundred young Vamps wanted to star in DVN’s most popular soap opera. They’d come dressed for the part, most of them in black tuxedos. Others had opted for costumes: a gladiator, a matador, a Dracula with a long silk cape. Connor wrinkled his nose at the staggering scent of cologne and hair gel.

“Hey!” A young Vamp in a black trench coat and dark sunglasses nudged him. “You have to get in line first to fill out the forms.” He pointed a black-painted fingernail at the queue that snaked around the room.

Connor reached overhead and pulled out his claymore. With a chorus of gasps and squeals, the lads parted like the Red Sea.

“Aw, shoot, he brought his own props,” muttered a young Vamp in a cowboy costume. “And that kilt looks awesome. I wish I’d thought of that.”

“Damn.” A Mr. Darcy impersonator tugged at his lacy cravat. “I knew I should have gone with the butch look.”

Connor strode toward the receptionist desk.

The girl’s mouth dropped open at the sight of his drawn sword. “I—I—”

She appeared incapable of communicating in a coherent manner, so he skirted the desk and headed for the double doors behind her.

“Wait!” the receptionist cried. “You can’t go—”

Her words were cut off when the doors swung shut. He hurried down the hallway, hoping to find the recording studio before Casimir could escape. If he could kill the bloody bastard tonight, the Malcontents would scatter in disarray. Countless human lives could be saved.

He spotted the red flashing light outside a studio and resisted the urge to rush in with a war cry. Instead, he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. It was dark by the entrance, but across the room, two dim lights illuminated the stage. Connor weaved silently around the cameras, which appeared to be turned on, although they were unmanned.

“You know I love you,” a male voice whispered behind a monitor. “You make me look so good.”

Connor groaned inwardly. The voice didn’t belong to Casimir, but to Stone Cauffyn. Apparently, now that the Nightly News was over, the newscaster was dallying with a lover, perhaps a makeup artist who made him look good.

Connor rounded the monitor and discovered Stone in a passionate embrace with . . . his hairbrush.

“Aagh!” Stone jumped and his brush clattered onto the floor. “I say, you scared the dickens out of me.”

Connor didn’t know which was more bizarre: a man who used the word dickens or a man in love with his own hairbrush. “Where’s Corky Courrant?”

“Look what you made me do.” Stone grabbed his brush off the floor and inspected it for damage. “Dash it all, I could have scratched it.”

“Where the hell is Corky Courrant?”

“No need to use such coarse language. And I strongly suggest you put away that medieval monstrosity of a weapon.” Stone turned toward the monitor where he could see his own image and ran the brush through his thick hair. “I say, I do sorely miss the good old days. Regency England, don’t you know? When genteel people behaved with proper etiquette and—”

“Ye bloody whoreson, tell me where Corky is!”

Stone huffed. “Miss Courrant is not here. Thank God. She wanted to sully this stage with an unsavory character.”

The studio lights turned on.

“What’s going on here?” A bald-headed man stood by the studio door, his hand on the light switch. He eyed Connor suspiciously. “I’ve called security.”

“I am security,” Connor replied. “Where’s Corky Courrant?”

The bald-headed man sighed. “This is about that stupid interview with Casimir, isn’t it? I told her it would cause trouble.”

“Unsavory character.” Stone Cauffyn shuddered.

Connor gave the men an incredulous look. “He’s a wee bit more than unsavory. He’s a bloody terrorist.”

“You think I don’t know that?” the bald-headed man asked. “His pal Janow held people hostage in this studio. Thankfully some MacKay S and I guys showed up— Hey, is that where you work?”

“Aye.” Connor strode toward him. “Where is Corky?”

“She threw a hissy fit when I said she couldn’t interview Casimir here. I told her to take a few weeks off to cool down. Next thing I know, she’s sending me a DVD of her interview—”

“From where?” Connor interrupted.

Before the bald-headed man could answer, he was shoved farther into the room by Angus MacKay and three other Vamps who had attended Mass at Romatech. All four of them had their swords drawn.

“Where is Casimir?” Angus demanded.

“I don’t know.” The bald-headed man nodded toward Phineas, Ian, and Jack. “I remember you guys from the Janow incident. You’re from MacKay Security and Investigation.”

“I’m Angus MacKay. And ye are?”

“Sylvester Bacchus, station manager.”

“Tell me.” Angus stepped closer. “Are ye aiding and abetting a known terrorist?”

“No!” Sylvester ran a hand over his bald head, which was gleaming under the bright lights. “I told Corky I didn’t want any part of it. I sent her on vacation, but then she sent me the DVD—”

“From where?” Connor asked again.

Sylvester shrugged. “She didn’t say. The package was postmarked California, a few days ago. Hollywood, I believe.”

“I say, what a fortuitous coincidence.” Stone patted his hair as he regarded himself in the monitor. “There was a report that someone spotted that unsavory character in Los Angeles.”

“Several nights ago,” Connor muttered. “That’s when the interview must have been recorded. Casimir could be anywhere by now.”

“The devil take it.” Angus sheathed his sword.

“Merda ,” Jack grumbled. “I was hoping to kill him tonight.”

“Yeah,” Phineas agreed. “And the really shitty part is that bastard’s back in America.”

Stone shuddered. “Such coarse language. Thank God this isn’t being broadcast to my listeners.”

“Sod off,” Connor told him.

“Humph.” Stone lifted his chin and marched toward the door. “You’re just jealous because your hair is unruly and barbaric.”

“You mean your hair is real?” Phineas asked as Stone passed by. “I thought it was a rug.”

Stone gasped and ran from the studio, clutching his hairbrush to his chest. Phineas grinned and did a high five with Ian.

“Sylvester, do ye still have the envelope Corky sent?” Connor asked. “We need that, and the DVD she made.”

“Sure.” The station manager rushed out.

Angus retrieved his cell phone from his sporran. “I’ll call J.L. Once we get a location in California, he can check it out.”

Connor nodded as he sheathed his sword. J. L. Wang was a fairly new Vamp, but as a former FBI special agent, he knew how to get the job done. “We should check every place in America that Casimir has teleported to in the past.” Those locations would be embedded in his psychic memory, so he was more likely to use them than risk an unknown destination.