Angel's Pain (7 page)

“Right. Antipsychotics for the undead. Makes all kinds of sense.”

She shot Roxy a look. “If it's not that, then what?”

“I don't know. Some kind of possession?”

“You don't believe it could be drugs, but demons seem like a possibility to you?” Briar rolled her eyes.

“Maybe some other vampire is messing around with her head, then?”

“Why would anyone want to?”

“I'm damned if I know!” Roxy lowered her head. “I know, I know, you're as baffled by this as I am. I just hate seeing her in pain. And so confused by it. And the way she's changing…No, I don't like it. I want to help.”

Briar lowered her head, because it was becoming too heavy to hold up. The sun must be near to rising. “The Reiki helps. Both of us.”

“That's something, anyway.” Roxy patted Briar on the shoulder. “Go on to bed before you collapse and I have to carry you. She's out for the day. She'll be fine until sundown.”

“Yeah, but what then?”

“We'll decide when it gets here.”

Briar nodded and went back into the bedroom. She just managed to crawl into the lush nest of teddy-bear-soft fabrics before the sleep took her gently into its embrace.

 

In the basement of the mansion in Byram, Connecticut, the ten-year-old boy stood in the open doorway and stared at the man inside the room. Derrick Dwyer dangled. His hands were chained together, the chain looped over a hook in the ceiling. His toes barely reached the floor. The man's head hung low, chin touching his chest. He was barefoot. His shirt was gone, and so was a strip of his skin, on his forearm. It looked as if someone had peeled him there, like peeling a potato.

He wasn't dead. Matt could tell, because he was still breathing. It was raspy enough to hear without listening too hard.

His father must have gotten whatever he wanted from the man, because he'd told Matt to get him down and tend to his wounds, as he'd gone running from the house. That had been an hour ago, and it had been pretty close to sunrise, so Matt thought wherever his father was going, it must have been pretty important.

He knew what his father was. A vampire. They were mean, evil creatures, but he didn't suppose they could help it. And besides, now that his mom had died, his dad was all he had left.

So he tried to obey and not be too afraid, though he sure did see a lot of things to be afraid of.

He grabbed a wooden chair and dragged it closer to the man. Then he climbed up on it, but he couldn't reach the hook in the ceiling. As he stood there, contemplating what to do, the man moaned and lifted his head just slightly.

“Hey, are you awake?” Matt asked him.

The man lifted his head higher and stared straight into Matt's eyes.

“Father said I should get you down now. Only I can't reach.”

The man kept staring, as if not understanding him, so Matt pointed upward until the guy looked up, too, and saw the hook beyond the boy's reach.

“If you can get up on this chair, though, you could probably get it off yourself. You think you can?”

The man nodded weakly, so Matt hopped down from the chair and then steadied the older guy so he could get up onto it. It took some doing. The man was weak, and his wrists were bleeding. But he finally got up onto the chair and got the chain off the hook. He lowered his arms with a groan, gripped the back of the chair and climbed down again.

“Here, give me your hands.” Matt tugged the key from his jeans pocket and waited. When the man lifted his hands, Matt slid the key into the little lock, wincing at the blood that was all over it, and popped the wrist shackles open.

They were not handcuffs. Handcuffs would have been worse. These things had wide metal bands that had cut into his skin as he'd hung there, but Matt was pretty sure handcuffs would have cut him clean to the bone.

The guy peeled off one manacle, then the other, grating his teeth and baring them in a grimace of pain.

“Can you walk, do you think?”

“Not very far. Why? Where are you takin' me?”

“Well, I wasn't supposed to take you anywhere. Just patch you up and leave you locked in here. But it's daylight, and my father didn't come back, so he won't be home until dark. And I'm all alone, 'cause the drones are all sleeping, too. Not that they're any fun, anyway.” He knew he was talking a mile a minute. His father would have cuffed him upside the head and told him to slow down, be quiet, say only what needed saying and then shut the hell up. But this old man seemed to be listening with interest, and maybe even a little amusement.

“So you can come upstairs if you want. I can bandage you up way better up there. And you can take a shower or a bath—if you think it won't hurt too much. And then we can eat—I never have anyone to eat with. 'Cause, you know,
they
don't eat.”

“I know.”

Matt took the man's hand and led the way out of the room, through the basement and to the stairway that led up to the rest of the mansion.

“Why do you think your father didn't come home before sunrise?” the prisoner asked.

“Prob'ly just got too busy. I'm sure he found shelter in time.”

“Would you be terribly upset if he didn't?”

Matt paused on the stairs and stared up at the man. “Well, I'd be an orphan then, and I don't really want to be an orphan.”

“He told you your mother is dead, then?”

“Yeah.” They reached the top of the stairs and entered the main level of the mansion. “What should I call you?”

“You can call me Derry, if you want.”

“Derry. I like that. You can call me Matt. It's what Mom used to call me.”

“All right, Matt. I don't want you to get into trouble for this, you know. Are you sure you won't?”

“He'll never know.”

Derry nodded. “Well, first things first, Matt. I think we'd better tend to these wounds. Some ointment, some bandages, a nice washup, and maybe some pain relievers, if you have any in the house.”

“We have all that. I'm in charge of making the shopping lists. Father never lets me go out to the grocery store, but I make the lists. It's one of my jobs. The downstairs bathroom will be easier for you. It's this way.”

The man was smiling at him as they made their way into the bathroom. “Does your father ever let you go anywhere, Matt?”

“Oh, he takes me out sometimes. But only at night, of course, and never around other people.”

“It must get pretty borin' and lonely.”

“Yeah. Well, you know, I have tons of stuff. An Xbox and a PS3 and a Wii, and every game they ever invented for any of them. So not so much boring, but yeah on the lonely, and I get crazy being in this house all the time.”

“Hmm.” They entered the bathroom, and Derry took a seat on the toilet—lid closed, of course. Matt got all the first-aid supplies from the cabinet and laid them out on the sink counter for him. He soaked a gauze pad in peroxide and handed it to Derry, then soaked another and kept it for himself. “You work on those wrists. I'll get started on your back.”

“Okay.” Derry turned, then winced as Matt began cleaning the welts and cuts with the soaked pad. Matt tried to be careful, but he knew it had to hurt like mad.

“I…wonder,” Derry said, in between sucking air through his teeth in pain.

“What?”

“Well, if you're sure your father won't be back until nightfall…”

Leaning around to face him, Matt said, “He
can't
come back before nightfall. Vampire, remember?” He grinned and was happy when Derry grinned back. Then he tossed the gauze pad in the garbage pail and grabbed the tube of triple antibiotic ointment. “This won't hurt as much,” he promised. He tried to dollop it onto the hurt places without too much contact, then handed it to Derry.

“You know, we could sneak out for a while. Maybe go to the zoo, a fast food joint for burgers and fries, a game arcade, a park. We could have fun, Matt.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it, Derry?” Matt laid the strips of gauze over the wounds, then stuck them in place with adhesive tape. “I don't know why you didn't just tell him whatever he wanted to know to begin with.” He shook his head sadly. “It's always best to do what he says.” Then he finished and came around in front. “You really feel good enough to go out, Derry?”

“Well, I don't of course, but…you helped me. I owe you one. And this might be our only chance.”

“Yeah, that's for sure.”

“If only there were a car…oh, wait, there's my car. Your father brought me here in his, but I heard him tell the drones to bring mine. I wonder if he still has it?”

“Sure he does,” Matt said. He was wrapping gauze around Derry's ointment-covered left wrist now. “It's around back.”

“Really? That's great. I love that car.” Then Derry frowned. “Still, I don't imagine you know where he keeps the keys.”

“Of course I do,” Matt said. He finished the first wrist, taped the gauze in place, then began wrapping the other.

“So what do you think? Should we do it? Should we get out of here for the day?” Derry asked.

Matt frowned hard, taped off the gauze, then turned to the counter to shake three tablets out of a pain reliever bottle. He handed them to Derry and spoke sternly, making his eyes very serious. “All right, but if you start feeling weak or sick or anything, we'll just chuck it and come home, okay?”

“Of course that's okay,” Derry said, and patted Matt on the head.

“And my father can never know.”

“Absolutely,” Derry promised. “You have my word on that.”

So Matthias carefully gathered up all the items he'd used and put them away, and then he took Derry's hand and led him through the house in search of some clean clothes.

 

Derrick Dwyer admired the boy. He was mature for his age, probably because he'd been forced to learn to fend for himself. He was smart as well.

Not smart enough to realize, though, that he was about to become a hostage.

Derrick had been pushed beyond the edge of his endurance, and while he liked the kid, he wouldn't hesitate to use him.

Or even kill him, if necessary.

W
hen she woke at sundown, Briar rose instantly. She'd never been one to linger in bed. When the sun sank and the power of the day sleep vanished, it happened, for her, all at once. Her eyes opened wide, her mind came sharply alert and her senses automatically scanned her immediate surroundings for any hint of a threat.

She found none and sat up, flipped back the covers, got out of the bed and listened. But the house remained quiet. The others were likely a bit slower to rouse than she was. And as for the mortals, Roxy and Ilyana, they must be napping or in some other part of the mansion.

There was no reason to hurry, but Briar always felt as if there was, always felt in a rush to do whatever there was to be done, always felt a vague sense that if she slowed down or relaxed at all, something would catch up with her. Something bad. She never bothered to analyze that feeling. It was just the way she was.

Besides, there
were
things to be done. Important things. Roxy and Ilyana had planned to spend some time on the Internet during the daylight hours, scanning the news for any signs of where Gregor might be. Locating him was her only goal right now, and she was entirely focused on it.

The sooner she knew where he was, the sooner she would be able to go after him. Alone, without this gang of white-hats weighing her down, probing her psyche, trying to find some kind of redeeming quality in her soul.

They never would. She didn't even
have
a soul.

Briar chose clothes from the duffel bag she hadn't bothered to unpack, seeing as she didn't intend to be here that long. Then she headed into the bathroom to clean up and dress and run a brush through her hair. By the time she finished, she sensed that the others were up and active. They were gathering now in one of the rooms below. She could feel their energy there. There was a sense of excitement that perked her attention. Roxy must have found something, then.

Briar hurried from her bedroom, then stopped in the living area of the suite, her attention drawn to the closed door. She wasn't sensing Crisa. Could she be sleeping? The thought that she might have expired during her rest niggled at the back of Briar's brain like claws scratching at her mind, drawing blood. Swallowing hard, she faced the door, lifted her chin and strode forward to fling it open.

Crisa's bed was empty, the covers rumpled and tossed. Her backpack was open, clothes strewn everywhere around it on the floor, including the ones she'd been wearing when she'd gone to sleep.

A breeze touched Briar's face, and she turned toward the window. It stood wide open, sheer white curtains dancing like ghosts.

An unfamiliar rush of panic drove her across the room to the windowsill, and she leaned out, staring down, half expecting to see Crisa's broken body lying below.

But there was no sign of the troubled girl.

“Dammit. Where the hell are you, Crisa?”

As she honed her senses, Briar felt something. Something dark and compelling. And then it overwhelmed her completely as she somehow melded with Crisa's mind, felt what she felt, saw what she saw.

When she opened her eyes, Briar saw trees and bushes all around her, and sensed the steady, powerful but uneven movement of her legs, plodding, setting her feet down one after the other as she moved through the brush. Branches smacked her face, stinging her, but she ignored those, driven forward. Ever forward.

Crisa!
Briar cried out to her mentally.
Crisa, where are you? Where are you going? Why didn't you wait for me?

The reply came in a rush, in a mental voice that was nothing like the girl Briar had known. There was no innocent adoration; this was no naive child who didn't understand the ways of the Undead or of the world in general. Instead, this response was dark, deep, angry and determined.

Leave me alone!

Crisa, listen to me!

No!

And just like that, the door to Crisa's mind slammed and Briar landed back in her own body with such a jolt that she nearly fell over. She had to grip the nearby bedpost to keep her balance. She wouldn't have believed Crisa even knew how to block her thoughts that way. And yet, she just had.

Something unfamiliar twisted in Briar's gut. And then she released the bedpost and turned for the door, running, not walking, intent on reaching the group below, Reaper in particular.

And she kept on running, her mind racing, until she was downstairs and bursting into the room where they all stood.

And then she paused and took stock. Since when was her first instinct in times of trouble to run to them? To run to
him?

 

Reaper looked up when Briar burst into the den where they had all gathered upon waking. Roxy had called them there, and was, even at that moment, leaning over a laptop computer, punching up news stories. Ilyana was at her side, a good six inches taller and painfully lean where Roxy was lush and curvy.

“There were four incidents, all the same, each in a different state, and all apparently took place overnight,” Roxy said.

“It had to be Gregor,” Ilyana added. “Somehow, he's responsible for every one of them.”

“Even a vampire couldn't have been in four states at once,” Seth was saying.

Reaper ignored them, his eyes focused on Briar's face, and a second later he was beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder to snap her out of wherever she'd gone inside her mind.

“What is it, Briar? What's happened? Is Crisa all right?”

Her eyes shifted into focus again, met his. “She's gone.”

“Gone?” He was blank for a moment, before the meaning grew clear to his mind. “Crisa's
gone?”

Briar nodded hard. Her eyes seemed strained with worry, and her jaw was tight. “Her bedroom window's open. She changed clothes before she left.” Blinking twice, looking down but clearly not seeing, he thought, she went on. “We have to find her.”

“We will.” Reaper turned to face the others, who had fallen silent one by one at Briar's entrance. “We'll split up into teams and head out in different directions. Everyone try to home in on her and—”

“I don't think so, Reaper.” The declaration came quietly, but in a firm, determined tone, from the mortal Ilyana. She'd straightened away from the computer and squared her shoulders. When he shot her a look of disbelief, she pushed a hand through her short platinum hair, a slightly nervous gesture. And yet she went on firmly, saying, “We just got our first solid leads on Gregor. Finding him is our mission, or am I mistaken about that?”

Reaper held her gaze and he didn't bother making his voice gentle. “
My
mission is to find him.”

“It may be your
mission
,” she said, her tone softer now, “but it's
my
goal in life. There's nothing more important to me right now.”

She was afraid of them, he thought. All of them, and Briar in particular. That she was showing enough courage now to disagree with him instigated a surge of admiration for her guts, in spite of the irritation that came with it. “And yet you've never told us why,” he said.

“I don't freaking give a damn why!” Briar let the words burst from her in a rush, fueled by emotion he'd rarely seen in her. “Look, mortal, it was my goal in life, too. But now Crisa's missing, and you know she can't take care of herself. Finding her takes precedence.”

“This from someone who pretends not to care about her,” Roxy muttered. “I knew better the whole time, of course, but—”

“Can it, Roxy.” Briar swung her gaze around the room, letting it land on the others. Seth and Vixen, Jack and Topaz, Mirabella. “No one among you wants to get Gregor more than I do, believe me. But this is Crisa we're talking about.”

“She's one of us,” Vixen said. “She's more important than any mission.”

“She's not more important than mine,” Ilyana said softly. She shared a look with Roxy, who nodded her agreement.

“Why?” Reaper demanded.

Ilyana looked at him, then lowered her head and shook it slowly.

“Oh, for the love of God, Ilyana, just tell them, will you, so we can get on with this?” Briar snapped. When Ilyana turned her wide eyes toward her, Briar rolled her own in return, then turned and paced away. “I don't have time to fuck with you and your secrets while Crisa's out there in danger.” She turned again, facing them. “She had a kid with him. With Gregor.”

Reaper hadn't thought much could surprise him, but this certainly did. He looked from Briar to Ilyana in disbelief.

“She and Gregor were together and had a son, then Gregor took the kid. He still has him, as far as she knows,” Briar explained. “That's why she wants to find him so bad. To get her kid back.”

“How do you—” Reaper began.

“I overheard her telling Roxy. And for what it's worth, Ilyana, I totally get it. And I've got no problem with you going after him, and I'll probably even help you by fulfilling my own need to slit the bastard's throat and watch him bleed out. Slowly, I hope. But nobody is going anywhere until we find Crisa.”

“You have a child?” Topaz whispered, staring at Ilyana and ignoring Briar now. “Gregor has your son?”

“Oh, my God,” Vixen whispered. “Oh, my God, you poor thing. That poor child.”

“Look, Ilyana,” Seth told her, moving to stand beside her. “I know you don't like vamps, and we all get that. But you're with us now. And you'd better believe we'll help you get your kid back safe and sound.”

“Absolutely,” Topaz agreed.

Jack was frowning, his gaze jumping from the white-hats to Briar, and finally he shook his head in frustration. “The kid is fine. Crisa isn't. I think it's pretty easy to figure out where our first priority has to be.”

“But we just got our first real clue as to where Gregor is—” Ilyana stopped herself, blinked, and started over. “How do you know he's fine?”

Jack held her eyes. “I saw him from time to time when I was with Gregor. You must have, too, Briar,” he added with a look her way.

“I didn't know who the hell he was. Gregor kept him pretty much away from the rest of us.”

“He's treated well, Ilyana. He's cared for, fed, kept healthy, never physically abused.” Jack nodded. “He'll be fine. Crisa might not be, if we don't find her soon.”

“We have a lead on Gregor's whereabouts,” Ilyana argued. “If we wait, he'll move on. We may lose our only chance.” She shook her head firmly. “No, you all go after Crisa if you want. I'm going to find my son.”

“What she said,” Briar snapped. “You can go after her kid if you want, but I'm going after Crisa. And unlike the mortal here, I don't fucking need anybody's help.”

“Wait, wait, just calm down for a minute, both of you.” Reaper looked from one to the other, shaking his head. “Roxy, tell us what you found on the Internet. The short version.”

“A houseful of bodies, drained of blood, every item of value taken, no effort made to conceal the crime.”

In spite of herself, Briar asked, “Where?”

“Fresno, Salt Lake City, Dallas and Oklahoma City.”

Briar frowned. “I don't—”

“The same crime, committed in all four places, overnight. Bodies found this morning. The ones in Dallas were found before sunrise, and the initial reports include puncture wounds in the throats of the corpses, though later medical exams say there were no such wounds.”

“They would vanish with the first touch of sunlight,” Seth muttered.

“All right. All right.” Reaper paced away, then back again. “We can't let Gregor slip away with an innocent child. Nor can we ignore the fact that Crisa, who's our charge, for all intents and purposes, and every bit as much an innocent child as…as…” He sent Ilyana a questioning look.

“Matthias. I call him Matt,” she said.

“As innocent as Matt, is in danger.” He narrowed his eyes. “Gregor couldn't have done all those raids at once. There's something off here.”

“We need to split up,” Seth said. “Much as I hate to say it, I think it's the only way.”

Jack nodded at the younger man. “I agree. We need to check out all four crime scenes
and
search for Crisa. And there's no earthly reason to argue about what to do first, when there are enough of us to do it all at once.”

Reaper nodded and looked at the others. “Everyone agree on that?”

They all nodded. Ilyana said, “Great. Roxy and I will—”

“You two make a great team, Ilyana, but I don't like your chances against Gregor on your own. You're mortals, both of you. I want vampires on every team, just to be safe.”

“I'll go with them,” Mirabella said.