Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

Nikolaos stood to one side. Her face was cold, angry. Her voice, when it came, echoed through the room. “I am older then anything you have ever imagined. Did you think daylight holds me prisoner? After a thousand years?” She walked out into the room, careful not to cross in front of Burchard and Zachary. She glanced at the remains in the coffins. “You will pay for this, animator.” She smiled then, and I had never seen anything more evil. “Strip them of the rest of their weaponry, Burchard; then we will give the animator a treat.”

They stood in front of us but not too close. “Up against the wall, animator,” Burchard said. “If the man moves, Zachary, shoot him.”

Burchard shoved me into the wall and frisked me very thoroughly. He didn't check my teeth or have me drop my pants, but that was about it. He found everything I was carrying. Even the derringer. He shoved my cross into his pocket. Maybe I could tattoo one on my arm? Probably wouldn't work.

I went out to stand with Zachary, and Edward got his turn. I stared at Zachary. “Does she know?” I asked.

“Shut up.”

I smiled. “She doesn't, does she?”

“Shut up!”

Edward came back, and we stood there with our hands on top of our heads, weapons gone. It was not a pretty sight.

Adrenaline was bubbling like champagne, and my pulse was threatening to jump out of my throat. I wasn't afraid of the guns, not really. I was afraid of Nikolaos. What would she do to us? To me? If I had a choice, I'd force them to shoot me. It had to be better than anything Nikolaos had in her evil little mind.

“They are unarmed, Mistress,” Burchard said.

“Good,” she said. “Do you know what we were doing while you destroyed my people?”

I didn't think she wanted an answer, so I didn't give her one.

“We were preparing a friend of yours, animator.”

My stomach jerked. I had a wild image of Catherine, but she was out of town. My god, Ronnie. Did they have Ronnie?

It must have showed on my face because Nikolaos laughed, high and wild, an excited tittering.

“I really hate that laugh,” I said.

“Silence,” Burchard said.

“Oh, Anita, you are so amusing. I will enjoy making you one of my people.” Her voice started high and childlike and ended low enough to crawl down my spine.

She called out in a clear voice, “Enter this room now.”

I heard shuffling footsteps; then Phillip walked into the room. The horrible wound at his throat was thick, white scar tissue.