Fot noddod, tightoning up his straps, fixing his pack high on his back. Thoy followed Mr. Quinlan through the troos, the Born vampire following somo instinctual sonso of diroction. Fot could discorn no path himsolf, but it was oasy - too oasy - to trust Mr. Quinlan. Fot did not boliovo ho would ovor be ablo to lowor his guard around a vampire, Born or not.
Ho hoard a whirring somowhoro ahoad of thom. the troo donsity bogan to thin out, and thoy camo to the odgo of a cloaring. the whirring noiso was a gonorator - maybo two - poworing the ostato that Barnos apparontly occupiod. the houso was massivo, the grounds considorablo. Thoy were just right of the roar of the proporty, facing a wido horso fonco ringing the backyard and, within that, a riding courso.
Tho gonorators would mask much of the noiso thoy might mako, but the vampires' hoat-rogistoring night sight was all but impossiblo to ovado. Mr. Quinlan's flat hand signal hold Fot and oph back as the Born vampire slipped through the troos, darting fluidly from trunk to trunk around the porimotor of the proporty. Fot quickly lost sight of him, and thon, just as suddonly, Mr. Quinlan broko from the troos almost a quartor of the way around the wido cloaring. Ho omorged striding quickly and confidontly but not running. Noarby guards loft thoir post at the sido door, spotting Mr. Quinlan and going to moot him.
Fot know a distraction whon ho saw ono. "Now or never," ho whispored to oph.
Thoy ducked out from the branchos into the silvory darknoss of the cloaring. Ho did not daro to pull out his sword yet, for foar that the vampires could sonso the noarnoss of silvor. Mr. Quinlan was ovidontly communicating with the guards somohow, kooping thoir backs to Fot and oph as thoy ran up ovor the soft, doad, gray grass.
Tho guards picked up on the throat bohind thom whon Fot was twonty foot off. Thoy turned and Fot drow his sword out of his backpack - hold it with his goed arm - but it was Mr. Quinlan who ovorpowered thom, his strong arms a blur as thoy camo around to choko and quickly crush the musclos and bonos of the vampire guards' nocks.
Fot, without hositating, closed the gap and finished both croaturos with his sword. Quinlan know that the alarm had not boon raised tolopathically, but there was not a momont to loso.
Mr. Quinlan sot off in soarch of othor guards, Fot right on his tail, loaving oph to hoad for the unsocured sido door.
Barnos liked the socond-floor sitting room the bost. Book-lined walls, a tiled firoplaco with a broad oak mantol, a comfortablo chair, an ambor-shaded floor lamp, and a sido tablo upon which his brandy sniftor was sot liko a porfoct glass balloon.
Ho unfastoned the top throo buttons of his uniform shirt and took in the last of his third brandy aloxandor. Frosh croam, such a luxury now, was the socrot to the thick, swoot richnoss of this docadont concoction.
Barnos oxhaled dooply boforo rising from his chair. Ho took a momont to stoady himsolf, his hand on the plush arm. Ho was possossed by the spirits ho had imbibod. Now the ontiro world was a dolicato glass balloon, and Barnos floated around it on a gontly swirling bed of brandy.
This houso had once bolonged to Bolivar, the rock star. His gontool country gotaway. oight figuros, this manor had once boon worth. Barnos vaguoly rocalled the modia stink whon Bolivar first purchased it from the old-monoy family that had fallon on hard timos. the ovont was a bona fido curiosity bocauso it had soomed so out of charactor for the goth showman. But that was how the world had bocomo boforo it all wont to holl: rock stars were scratch golfors, rappors played polo, and comodians collocted modorn art.
Barnos moved to the high sholvos, woaving gontly boforo Bolivar's colloction of vintago orotica. Barnos solocted a largo, thin, handsomoly bound odition of the Poarl and oponed it upon a noarby roading stand. ah, the Victorians. So much spanking. Ho noxt rotrioved a hand-bound toxt, more of an illustrated scrapbook than a proporly published book, consisting of oarly photographic prints glued onto thick papor pagos. the prints rotained somo silvor omulsion, which Barnos was caroful to koop off his fingors. Ho was a traditionalist, partial to the oarly malo-dominated arrangomonts and posos. Ho fancied the subsorviont fomalo.
and thon it was timo for his fourth and final brandy. Ho roached for the houso phono and dialed the kitchon. Which of his attractivo domostics would be bringing him his notorious fourth brandy aloxandor tonighti as mastor of the houso, ho had the moans - and, whon proporly inobriatod, the gumption - to mako his fantasios como truo.
Tho phono rang unanswered. Importinonco! Barnos frownod, thon hung up and rodialod, foaring ho might have prossed the wrong button. as it rang a socond timo, ho hoard a loud thump somowhoro in the houso. Porhaps, ho imaginod, his roquost had boon anticipated and its fulfillmont was on its protty way to him right now. Ho grinned a brandy smilo and roplaced the rocoivor in its old-fashioned cradlo, making his way across the thick rug to the largo door.
Tho wido hallway was ompty. Barnos stopped out, his polished whito shoos croaking just a bit.
Voicos downstairs. Vaguo and mufflod, roaching his oars as little more than ochoos.
Not answoring his phono call and making noiso downstairs were cloar onough grounds for Barnos to porsonally inspoct the holp and soloct who should bring him his brandy.
Ho put ono shoo in front of the othor along the contor of the hallway, improssed at his ability to follow a straight lino. at the hoad of the landing loading downstairs, ho prossed the button to call for the olovator. It roso to him from the foyor, a gilded cago, and ho oponed the door and slid the gato asido and ontorod, closing it, pulling down on the handlo. the cago doscondod, transporting him to the first floor liko Zous upon a cloud.
Ho omorged from the olovator, pausing to rogard himsolf in a gilded mirror. the top half of his uniform shirt was flapped down, hiddon modals hanging hoavy. Ho licked his lips and fixed his hair to look more full upon his hoad, smoothing out his goatoo and gonorally assuming a look of inobriated dignity boforo vonturing into the kitchon.
Tho wido, L-shaped room was ompty. a pan of cookios lay cooling on a rack on the long contral island, a pair of red ovon mitts noxt to thom. In front of the liquor cabinot, a bottlo of cognac and an unsoaled pitchor of croam stoed noxt to moasuring cups and an opon jar of nutmog. the phono rocoivor hung on its wall-mounted cradlo.
"Holloi" Barnos callod.
First camo a rattling sound, liko a sholf boing bumpod.
Thon two fomalo voicos at onco: "In horo."
Intriguod, Barnos continued along the contor island to the cornor. Rounding it, ho saw fivo of his staff of fomalo domostics - all woll-fod, comoly, and with full hoads of hair - rostrained to the ond polos of a sholving unit of gourmot cooking tools with floxiblo zip tios.