Authors: S.E. Lund
"I don't blame him at all. Not one bit,” Reynolds says. “I've always figured the program would come back to haunt us. The powers that be thought they could control these vampires, thought they had it all figured out. But you don't give predators free rein, knowledge of military ops, clandestine procedures and weapons and expect to control them. Pride goeth before a fall, as the saying goes."
Reynolds downloads and prints off a half-dozen research papers that are classified and that detail procedures used in Operation Black Knight, as it was called. I look at the insignia at the top of some correspondence Reynolds shows me and think about the Lorraine Cross tattoo on Julien's neck.
After Reynolds leaves with one of Julien's other employees, I sit in the seating area and read the papers, one after the other, studying the methods, the materials, and wonder how to replicate any of it. It's far beyond anything I've done in my labs in university, although I'm able to grasp the basic science. If the Council really wants to do this, they'll have to set up
an
ultra-modern lab and hire professionals.
I make notes in a lab notebook I asked Vasily to buy for me, and try to think of all the technology and equipment such a lab would need. Some of this is very advanced. There are some less technological things they could do in the short term – to depress a vampire's immune system, to allow them to daywalk – but if they really wants to replicate what the military did to vampires like Julien, they really need more of that drug they gave him to start. The nanotech.
As I dig deeper into the research papers Reynolds found, I realize the military scientists hadn't altered his genes permanently – they either suppressed the action of the defective genes on a temporary basis or activated others on a temporary basis. The plan was to implant slow-release nanoparticles that would keep a steady level of drug in the vampire's blood, withdrawing treatment if they felt a need for whatever tactical reasons. They'd get boosters every six months, to ensure that a certain level of drug remained in his system. They could withdraw treatment if the vampires failed to cooperate. Julien must have stopped working for them within the past six months if he’s still able to daywalk.
The Council has the money, apparently, to afford to build a lab for this. What they lacked was the knowledge of how to deliver the gene therapy agent. I figure for the right amount of money, they could probably convince some researchers to do the necessary lab work. It could be done. The work absorbs me for the rest of the evening. It's well beyond my pay grade, but I give it a shot. If I'm not going to be Julien's little pet, I have to do something of value. Besides, this is what my mother did. In doing this, at least I'm following in her footsteps, which is what I wanted from the start.
Except there’s one little complication. I don’t have Michel. But I have Julien walking around me, looking almost identical to him, looking at me like I’m a piece of meat he can’t wait to eat. I can practically feel his lust for me from a distance and it’s distracting.
It’s arousing.
CHAPTER 9
“If you wish to be loved, show more of your faults than your virtues.”
Later that afternoon, Julien arrives and takes off his trench coat, hanging it on the coat tree by the door. He's in his casual clothes, a pair of faded jeans and a long white linen shirt open at the collar. Reynolds is with him. He speaks with Vasily and then comes over to where I'm seated, working on my summary of the literature.
"The Colonel reports you two had some luck today. We're going downstairs to celebrate a bit."
I look at him, wondering why he's including me. Probably just to rub it into me how wrong I've been about Kate.
"I probably should keep working. I don't know if it would be good for me to go down there, considering."
"Considering that Kate will be there? No, it would be a good thing. I insist."
I shake my head, already feeling my gut knot at the idea of having to meet her again. "I think I'd be bad company."
"Humor me, Eve. Considering what trouble you caused me over this, I think a little penance is in order."
I sigh. "Why not just give me a hair shirt to wear."
"Nah," he says and smiles. "This will be much more fun."
I relent with extreme reluctance and follow him back to the door, where Vasily and Reynolds stand.
Down in the fourth-floor apartment, Kate is waiting for us. I'm surprised to see her dressed, although her clothes hardly cover her. She's wearing a tiny black muscle shirt that shows how thin she is, her ribs sticking out, her breasts small, her hip bones sharp angles, visible from beneath a short jean skirt. She looks like some kind of sick punker, with her dark hair in a mess, dark circles under her eyes.
"Hey, where the fuck have you been? You got my stuff? I'm sick." She coughs, the sound so wet and raspy that I think she must have pneumonia.
"Yes, love, never fear," Julien says. "I have your stuff. Go get your kit. It's party time."
Kate goes over to the kitchen and returns with a small leather case.
"Come in, friends," Julien said, his voice ebullient, "and have a seat while my brother's dear angel Kate, gives herself a little taste of heaven." He sits on one of the couches and Kate sits next to him.
"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Kate says, frowning. "Jesus, quit with the theatrics. And who are these people?" She barely glances at Reynolds and me, before grabbing the package of powder Julien takes out of his pocket, almost shoving him out of the way in her haste to spread out her drug paraphernalia.
"Just some acquaintances of Michel's. Sit!" Julien says, pointing to the couch across from him. Reynolds looks at me with wide eyes and complies, sitting down across from Julien. I sit next to Reynolds.
"Vasily – music. We needs some sweet music for Kate to shoot up to."
Vasily goes over to the sound system. He flips through satellite radio channels, and then finally selects one. Soon, mellow jazz plays, the music not too loud, just background – it sounds like Miles Davis. He remains there, as if he can't bear to watch Kate. I wish I could do the same. I've never seen junkies actually shooting up in person – only in television reality shows. It's even worse in real life when you're not separated by a screen.
"What is this?" Kate says, looking at the packet.
"Only the best," Julien says. "Michel insists I get you pharmaceutical grade."
On her part, Kate is busy arranging her equipment, spreading it out, lining it up, her actions jerky, impatient. Out of the case comes a new short tip insulin syringe, a spoon, two small vials of liquid – one clear, one slightly yellow. A lighter. A blue rubber tourniquet. Some small balls of cotton about the size of the end of a cotton swab. A couple of packages of alcohol swabs.
"How was your day, Kate?" Julien says, his voice playful. He watches me intently.
Kate ignores him.
"Where the fuck is Michel?"
"He's going to be away for a while," Julien says. "Remember I told you I'll be looking after you now?"
"What-the-fuck-ever."
She focuses on the process, her hands almost shaking. She cleans off the spoon with a swab, dumps the powder into the spoon, draws up some of the clear liquid in the syringe, and then uses the plunger of the syringe to mix it up. Next, she holds the spoon over the lighter flame until the liquid boils. She drops a small piece of cotton into the mix and draws up the liquid in the syringe through the cotton.
"Nothing to say to your sugar daddy, Kate?"
"What the fuck took you so long? I told you I'm sick."
"Just trying to keep you alive, love," Julien says, smiling. He looks at Reynolds. "If she had as much as she wanted when she wanted, she'd have OD'd by now."
She grabs the tourniquet and wraps it around her upper arm in a slipknot, pulling the end tight with her teeth. She slaps her upper arm to reveal a vein but I can see a half-dozen needle marks already there. She then cleans her arm with another alcohol swab, inserts the needle, pulls back on the plunger to ensure she has a vein, dark red blood filling the tip, and releases the tourniquet, slowly injecting the liquid into her vein, pulling a bit more blood back before finishing.
I'm horrified and mesmerized at the same time.
Kate sits back, closes her eyes and sighs, the empty needle on the couch beside her hand. Julien picks up the needle and places it on the table.
"There you go," he says, stroking Kate's hair. "Feeling better?"
Kate doesn't respond, just lies back slack-jawed.
"So," Julien says, turning to Reynolds. "How goes the battle?"
Reynolds is still agog at Kate's shooting up in front of us and struggles to speak. He opens his mouth a few times, and then looks at me. I look away, at my feet, and the far windows – anywhere but at Julien and Kate. It's about the saddest thing I've seen for a long while, and makes me feel like an incredibly small and petty jerk.
"Oh, don't mind Kate," Julien says. "She has a bit of a smack habit. She decided to go out and get some extra for herself one day – against the rules, I might add – and got arrested. She went to jail instead of rehab, because you can get junk in jail but not in a hospital and she didn't want to detox or do methadone seeing as she's on her way out. She shoots up two or three times a day – four on a bad day. We won't hear much out of her now. I just like to keep her around for a while, in case she stops breathing," he says and looks at her, his head tilted to one side. "One of these days though. . ."
At that, I stand and leave the seating area, unable to sit and watch any longer.
"Where are you going?" Julien says, his voice low. "Come back and sit down."
I swallow hard, biting my lip to keep control. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"Be quick."
I find the bathroom and close the door and lean against it, my emotions at the edge. What a bastard! He arranged all this just to make me feel like the petty jealous female that I am. He could have told me that Kate was dying. Why Vasily didn't tell me is confusing. Perhaps he didn't know how bad she is.
My hands shake, my stomach in knots, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I won't cry. I won't.
I grab some toilet paper and hold it to my eyes, mopping up the moisture, blowing my nose.
"Eve . . ."
"Be right there."
I flush the toilet and run the water, drying off my hands on the cleanest-looking towel there is and then take in a deep breath. I go back to the seating area and sit back down beside Reynolds. When I look up, Julien has a joint out and is lighting it. He offers it to Reynolds, who shakes his head.
"No thanks," he says. "Makes me throw up."
"You must be sensitive to THC," Julien says, taking a hit. "What's your poison?"
"Do you have any scotch?"
Julien blows out the smoke and turns to the sound system where Vasily stands.
"Vasily, my dear man. Do we have any scotch?"
Vasily bends down and opens a cabinet on the dry bar. He holds up a bottle of Glenfiddich. Reynolds nods.
"Good man," Reynolds says when Vasily brings over a glass and the bottle.
Julien sucks on the joint, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs, and then blows it out slowly. He takes another hit and then holds the joint out to me. "Here, have some."
I shake my head, avoiding his eyes.
"That wasn't an offer."
"I don't do drugs," I say.
He shakes the joint in front of me.
"That wasn't a request. It was an order, Eve."
"Do you have any vodka? I'd prefer a drink."
"Smoke this."
"You can't force me."
"Oh, I can." He extends his hand to me again. "Would you like to see me? There are ways."
I relent, not wanting to see him try, for I suspect he could easily do it and I don't want the evening to devolve into some kind of strange drug assault. I take in a weak puff of smoke and inhale it briefly before coughing it out. I try to hand it back to him.
"No, you finish it," he says. "I've got another one all ready for myself." He lights another joint and pulls hard on it as if he's desperate to get stoned. He blows out a lungful of smoke and leans back. "Vasily, what are you having? Don't tell me it's vodka or I'll throw something at you."
"I'm Russian. Drinking vodka is like breathing." Vasily sits on the third couch, bringing his bottle of vodka and an icy shot glass with him. He pours a shot and then holds the glass up to the group. "Vashe Zdorovie –your health."
Julien and Reynolds hold up their respective poisons and I follow suit, holding my joint up.
"Your health," Julien says.
Vasily then downs the shot and smacks his lips.
"Oh Khorosho – it feels so good." He winks at me. At least he still likes me.
"Eve," Julien says, pointing at me with his joint. "You're letting it burn out. Smoke it. It's some really good stuff."
I take another puff but try not to hold the smoke in too long. I don't want to lose control for fear I say something really stupid.
"Come on," he says, waving his hand. "Finish it off. I don't want it wasted. Besides, you look all uptight like you don't enjoy our company." He turns to Reynolds. "Do you think she looks a bit uptight tonight?"
Reynolds takes a sip of scotch and leans back, his arm on the back of the couch behind me.
"She could use a bit of lightening up."
I finish off the joint and then hand the tiny stub to Julien.
Kate moves, lifting up her head for a moment, her eyes still closed.
"Get me a smoke."
Julien makes a surprised face.
"The sleeper awakens. Yes, dear Kate. A cigarette for my little lady." He grabs the pack of cigarettes and lights one, then places it between Kate's fingers. She just sits there with it in her hand, not even bothering to smoke it.
Julien and Reynolds talk about the research and I just sit there, listening. I'm starting to feel the pot, my body feeling languid, liquid, my limbs filled with a pleasant heaviness, my mouth a bit numb. I lean back and close my eyes as well, enjoying the feeling of euphoria despite my best intentions.
"Ah, Kate. Isn't she just the life of the party?" Julien says to Reynolds. "A laugh a minute is dear Kate."
"Stop it," I say, the words slipping out of me almost without my knowing it. "Just stop it."
A silence. "Excuse me?"
I open my eyes with great effort.
"You made your point." When I see Julien's expression, I shut them again. Damn.
"Oh?" His voice is amused, that lopsided grin on his face. "And what point was that?"
I shake my head.
"No," I say, waving at him, my arm feeling like it's made of cement. "We're not getting into this now."
"Into what?"
"You know very well what."
"No, I don't think I do. Why don't you explain to us what this is?"
"Nope." I shake my head, which is a bad idea, because the room spins.
"Oh, I think you better."
"Uh, uh."
"Colonel," Julien says, his tone one of exaggerated confusion. "Do you know what Ms. Hayden is referring to?"
"I have my suspicions."
"Oh, that's right. You're a psychiatrist on top of being a grunt. So tell me, what do you think she's talking about?"
I open my eyes and glance beside me to Reynolds. I shake my head.
"Don't."
Vasily speaks up.
"I thought pot supposed to make people happy. Is not working."
"Whatever do you mean, Vasily? Why, I'm happy as a lark, here with little Kate by my side."
I stand up again.
"I've had enough." I'm on the verge of saying something I might regret. My legs are unsteady and I wobble a bit. "I want to go back upstairs."