Humph. Stone lifted his chin and marched toward the door. Youre 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. Ill 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.
Aye, Angus agreed. Jack, go with Lara to the compound in Maine. If Casimirs there, call for backup.
Will do. Jack teleported away.
Ian, go to New Orleans to warn the coven there, Angus continued. Then go to Jean-Lucs place in Texas to let him know. Is the school well guarded?
Aye, Phil is there with his werewolf lads. Ian teleported away.
Phineas, I want you and Robby to check out St. Louis, Leavenworth, and those farms in Nebraska, Angus ordered. As soon as I get Corkys DVD, Ill be returning to Romatech, so call me there to report.
Got it. Phineas teleported away.
That leaves the campground near Mount Rushmore, Connor said quietly. The accursed place where Casimir and his minions had slaughtered innocent people twice before. The same place where Robby MacKay had been held captive and tortured. If Connor had to lay a bet, he would wager this was Casimirs favorite location in America.
Angus sighed. I dinna want to send Robby back there.
I understand. Connor knew what it was like to be burdened with bad memories. Ill leave right away.
Angus reached out to stop him. Ye shouldna go alone. Drop by Romatech and take one of the shifters with you. Carlos or Howard.
Ill be fine.
That wasna a suggestion, Connor. It was an or
He teleported away before Angus could finish.
A strong wind whistled through the forest, rustling the trees and welcoming Connor with an unmistakable odorthe scent of death. Connor swore silently as he weaved among the trees. How many mortals would have to die at this campground before the place was permanently closed? Sean Whelan of the CIA had covered up the last massacre by telling the media that a flu virus was to blame. No doubt the owners had cleaned the place up and invited more happy campers. More victims for Casimir and his minions to terrorize and kill.
Connor stood in the shadow of a large tree while he scanned the surroundings. Casimir could be long gone, or he might be hiding in the nearby caves.
A storm was brewing, building pressure and moisture in the air. Thick gray clouds swept across the three-quarter-full moon and blotted out the stars. A banging noise echoed through the campground, an unlatched door or shutter abused by the wind.
A sudden gust flipped his kilt up in the back, and he winced at the chilly air on his bare arse. He twisted at the waist to push his kilt down, and the wind ripped another lock of hair free from the leather tie at the nape of his neck. He hooked it behind his ear and continued his silent surveillance. Far off in the distance, he could spot the carved presidential heads of Mount Rushmore, the granite gleaming white among the dark hills. No doubt Casimir enjoyed the irony of mentally enslaving and murdering Americans so close to a monument of their strength and freedom.
In the clearing, the wooden cabins were dark. Connor couldnt hear any sound coming from them, no moans from dying mortals, no heartbeats. He would check them later, but for now, he assumed they were empty.
The banging noise and odor seemed to emanate from the main lodge, a rustic building made of stone and varnished logs. He sprinted toward the lodge, positioned himself next to a window, then peered inside. A large leather couch, several wooden rocking chairs, a table with a half-played game of checkers. Glowing coals in the hearth of a large stone fireplace. A homey, friendly-looking place if you didnt count the lifeless bodies on the braided rug.
Anger and disgust roiled in his gut. There was nothing he could do. Casimir and his minions were probably gone. The bloody bastards had already done their worst.
Still, he didnt want to be caught unprepared, so he drew his sword before teleporting inside. He checked the entire building. Empty. He latched the banging door, then returned to pay his respect to the bodies left in a neat row on the braided rug. Seven bodies. Throats slit to conceal bite marks, but not a drop of blood to stain the rug. Theyd all been drained dry. Rigor mortis had not set in, so theyd died this evening, probably soon after sunset.
His anger grew, threatening to erupt. His grip tightened knuckle-white on the hilt of his sword. The Malcontents would have used vampire mind control on the campers to force them to submit. Two families, he assumed, since there were two sets of parents. Two lovely mothers. Three beautiful, innocent, young children. The controlled fathers would have watched helplessly while the Malcontents murdered their wives and children.
Rage flooded him, making his heart race. Emotion this intense made the blue of his irises glow, tinting his vision with an ice-cold blue. His fists clenched with the need to kill. Please, let them still be in the caves.