"Dammit!" Grabbing the boy's wrist, Loken felt for a pulse. It was strong but irregular.
Dropping the boy's arm, Loken sat down to wait for the final outcome.
Roshan prowled the outside of the warlock's laboratory, his senses testing the night. Loken had been there earlier that evening but there was no indication that Roger West had been with him.
Where had Loken taken the boy?
Frowning, he dissolved into mist and entered the building. The laboratory was empty. Jimmy Dugan's body was gone, though the smell of fear and blood and death lingered in the air.
Leaving the building, Roshan regained his own shape. If Loken wasn't here, then he must have taken Roger West home. But why there and not here?
A thought took him to the warlock's house. As soon as he neared the front door, he caught the heavy scent of the boy's fear. They were here.
He was wondering how he might gain access to the house when he heard a faint scream from the direction of the basement. Roshan cursed softly as a second scream reached his ears. It was a cry of such torment that it seared his soul. And then it came again, a wordless cry of agony, a heartrending plea for help.
Even knowing he couldn't enter the warlock's house without an invitation, Roshan couldn't resist the urge to go to the boy's aid. Using his preternatural powers to unlock and open the door, he took a step forward, only to be repelled by the power of the threshold and the wards the warlock had set around the entrance.
Roshan swore softly; then, knowing there was nothing he could do to save the boy, he transported back to the Nocturne and called the police.
Roger West's head rocked back and forth as Loken's knife cut into his flesh. The stink of his own waste filled his nostrils, mingling with the scent of his blood. Nausea roiled in West's stomach. So much blood. So much pain. He tried to summon the energy to move, the strength to free himself from the warlock's power, but it was futile. He could only lay there, helpless and afraid.
Loken watched through unblinking eyes as blood flowed from the deep gash he had made in the boy's forearm. "The wound isn't healing. It appears an injection doesn't work," he said, thinking aloud. "Perhaps the blood has to be ingested."
Pulling another vial out of his coat pocket, he lifted the boy's head and held the vial to his lips. "Drink this."
Unable to resist, Roger West opened his mouth and swallowed the thick red fluid, only to vomit it up again. It ran down his chin and chest, sprayed over Loken's shirt, dripped from the table to the floor.
Cursing, Loken jumped out of the way. "You will drink this and you will keep it down," he said, and pulling a third vial from his pocket, he held it to the boy's lips.
"Damn you," West said weakly. But he drank the contents of the vial.
"We'll give it a chance to work," Loken said, glancing at his watch. "Perhaps an hour or two." Tearing a strip of cloth from the boy's shirt, he used it to gag the boy, then strapped his arms and legs to the table. "Rest while you can," Loken said, and turning off the lights, he left the basement.
Returning to the living room, he was about to go into the kitchen for a bottle of beer when he felt a draft. Walking toward the entry, he saw that the front door was open.
Frowning, he gathered his power and murmured an incantation. A moment later, a shadowy image took shape on the porch. He recognized it instantly. Roshan DeLongpre.
Loken grunted softly. What had DeLongpre been doing here?
He was still considering the possibilities when a police car pulled up in the driveway. Two policeman, both young, got out of the car.
Loken stepped out onto the porch. "Good evening, officers," he said with a congenial smile.
"Mr. Anthony Loken?"
"Yes."
"We had a report that screams were heard coming from this house."
"You must be mistaken. I've been here all night and I've heard nothing."
"Do you live alone, sir?"
"Yes, I do." He smiled again. "The only screams heard here tonight came from my television set."
"Do you mind if we look around?"
Loken shook his head. "Help yourself." He took a step back, allowing them entrance.
One of the officers went to search the house. The second policeman stayed with Loken, one hand resting on the butt of his revolver.
"Can I offer you something to drink?" Loken asked. "A cup of coffee, or a soda?"
"No, thank you."
Loken nodded. He listened to the footsteps of the first officer as he moved through the house. There was nothing to worry about. The door to the basement was invisible, protected by a recent enchantment no mere mortal could detect.
Perhaps five minutes passed before the first officer returned to the living room. "Let's go, Frank, there's nothing here. Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Loken."
"That's quite all right." Anthony followed the two officers to the front door and watched them leave. He even waved as they pulled away from the curb.
And then he closed and locked the door. Something would have to be done about Mr. Roshan DeLongpre, he mused. Something permanent. And painful. And then he smiled. Perhaps Mr. DeLongpre could take the boy's place in the basement.
Whistling softly, he went downstairs to see how his latest experiment was coming along.
CHAPTER 19
Brenna waited up until after midnight and still Roshan didn't come home. It never took him this long to feed. Where was he? She didn't like the answer that came to mind. He was a handsome man gifted with the preternatural allure of a vampire. Women looked at him wherever they went… She shook her head, refusing to entertain the thought that he might be with another woman.
Moving through the rooms downstairs, she turned off all the lights but one, then went upstairs to get ready for bed. Morgana trailed at her heels, meowing reassuringly.
Undressing, Brenna pulled her nightgown over her head, then slipped into bed. Morgana curled up beside her, one paw resting on her arm.
Turning on her side, Brenna gazed out the window, one hand idly stroking Morgana's head. Even though she was growing used to life in this century, Brenna sometimes wished she were back home. Life had been so much simpler there. Harder in many ways, but simpler nevertheless. There was still so much in this century that she didn't fully understand. Wars in places she had never heard of. Diseases that were unknown in her time. Inventions like the washing machine that made doing the laundry easier but somehow robbed her of the satisfaction of washing her clothes by hand. The dryer dried her clothes quickly but they lacked the fresh smell of clothing dried in the sun. With so little to do, the days seemed longer.