Cravings (15 page)

"Really really bad?" he teased.

She shook her head at him, unsmiling. "I don't have words to explain it to
you, to make you understand how bad. And he was in power for hundreds of years,
and with vampires, the older you are, the more power you gain. He was considered
completely unstoppable, for centuries.

"And she killed him, Daniel. She just—just woke up one night and killed him
and took his seat of power and there was nothing more to be done. No warning, no
formal declaration of challenges, nothing. It was like she rose one day and
said, 'I think I'll kill the old vampire king,' and then it was done.

"And to do that, she had to be more powerful and more wicked and—and—" She
paused, remembering something she'd heard, a scrap on the wind, a whisper. "They
call her Elizabeth, the One. The most powerful vampire in two thousand years.
And she's fated to rule at least two thousand more."

"Wow," he said respectfully.

"So I
strongly
urge you to reconsider this notion you've gotten
about—"

"No."

"Idiot," she muttered.

"Ah, but I'm
your
idiot, bay-bee. And howcum you don't reconsider?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why go see this Liz the One at all? Let's hang out, have some more fun."

She blinked, caught completely flat-footed by his offer. "That's a nice… a
wonderful offer… but this is something I have to do. It's like her name is in my
head, all the time. Like she's calling me to her." She shuddered. "I imagine
there's thousands of us on the way to Minnesota these days."

"Talk about a creep-out. Come take a shower with me."

"Why?"

He made an exasperated sound. "Because."

"We're wasting valuable driving time."

"We've got the whole damn night, and just half an hour to go."

"Fine," she grumbled, and rose from the bed, but secretly she was glad; glad
to keep half an hour between her and the queen.

THE shower was delightful. She'd forgotten. Daniel was all slippery hands and
long limbs and broad pecs and the water beat down on them and then he kissed her
and one thing led to another and he was bleeding again—

"S-sorry."

"Shut up," he groaned, "and move a bit to your left."

—and then they were writhing together beneath the spray, and at the height of
her pleasure she grabbed the shower curtain, which let go with a
pok-pok-pokking
sound and tumbled her onto the bath mat.

"Wow," Daniel panted, peering down at her. "Just like the shower scene from
Psycho
. Except a lot sexier."

"Help me up, you idiot," she said, hardly able to speak, she was laughing so
hard.

"As soon as I can take a step without falling on my ass, I'm all yours."
Moving like an old man, he turned and shut the water off, then settled into the
tub with a sigh. "Damn!"

"I have to say, if I was going to break the no-shower barrier, that was the
way to do it."

"Anybody ever tell you you're really… uh… flexible? Like, Olympic gymnast
flexible?"

"Not in the last few hours. You should see what I could do if we filled that
tub."

"Eh? What could you do?"

She sat up and tweaked his ear—playfully, she thought, but he yelped and
jerked away. "Oh, sorry, forgot my own strength. Anyway, I don't have to
breathe, remember? One time I was in a mood—"

"You? Naw!"

"—and instead of hiding underground I spent the day in the middle of Lake
Michigan, just walking around on the bottom. Did you know there are muskies
bigger than me down there?"

"That's the saddest, and creepiest, thing I've ever heard."

"Oh, it's not so bad. Anyway, my point is, think of the fun we could have in
a hot tub!"

He didn't say anything, so she stood, shook herself, grabbed a towel, and
started blotting herself dry. "Well, I suppose we should check out and hit the
road. No time like the present, let's get the show on the road, pick your
cliche—Daniel?"

"I sort of locked up when you said hot tub," he admitted, shaking his head
like a dog. "Damn! Okay, we have to find one right now."

"Forget it," she giggled. "We have to get going. We've pissed away enough
time tonight already."

"Rain check," he said grimly.

"Fine, fine."
If we live through the night, I'll do you in a public
fountain if that's your pleasure
. "Now let's get dressed and get out of
here."

"Sure thing, Nancy Drew!" he said enthusiastically, climbing out of the tub
on rubbery knees. "Lucky for you I've got more clean clothes. Try to resist your
unholy urge to shred them or eat them or whatever you've been doing to my
jeans."

"I'll try," she said solemnly, and shrieked as he smacked her bare ass on the
way past.

 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

WAREHOUSE DISTRICT

 

"STAAAWWWWWWPPPPPP!" Andrea screamed, and Daniel stood on the brakes again.

"This—is—very—bad—for—my—car—" he managed through gritted teeth as his
Intrepid narrowly avoided crashing through a wooden fence.

"I'm sorry, I just saw it out of the corner of my eye…" She was out of her
Daniel-mandated seat belt in a flash and standing beside the car, staring at the
building. "Will you look at that?"

Daniel climbed out, panting from the adrenaline surge, and leaned against the
car. "Look at what? It's an old building. News flash, dead girl, we're in the
warehouse district."

"You can't see that?" She knew he couldn't smell it, but how could he not see
it? The letters were a foot high.

"See what?"

She pointed. "It says 'Private Library; Patrons Welcome.' "

"Uh… says it where, exactly?"

"There. Right
there
. The letters are a foot high and they're written
in dried blood. In fact, that's interesting in and of itself… how do they keep
it from wearing off? Washing off in the rain? Crawling with bugs?"

"Who the hell cares? It doesn't have anything to do with—oh, shit," he added,
falling into step beside her. "You really are Nancy Drew. Why check this out?"

"I've never seen a welcoming sign in blood before. Maybe—" She looked at him
doubtfully. "Maybe you—"

"No
way
."

"Okay, okay, it was just a suggestion. A logical suggestion from a vastly
superior intellect, but ignore me, see if I care."

"Well, I will."

"And stay behind me."

"Pass!" His hand clamped firmly over her elbow. "Man oh man, like this area
of town wasn't creepy enough without vampire buildings."

She paused outside the door, which looked like it was hanging on only one set
of hinges, tapped, then watched in amazement as the door straightened, settled,
and slowly swung open.

"Eeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh," Daniel creaked.

"Hush up!" she hissed. "This is creepy enough without your sound track."

They both stepped inside, expecting a dusty warehouse. Instead, they saw
shelves and shelves of books, low lighting, a hardwood floor gleaming mellowly
from countless applications of wax. The place smelled like old paper, wax, and
coffee.

Daniel whistled. "This place is bigger than the libe at the U of M."

"Of course it is," someone said from their left, and they both jumped.

"Sony," the woman said. "I thought at least one of you could hear me coming."

Daniel and Andrea stared at her in frank wonder. She looked like someone's
mother… her chocolate-brown hair was streaked with gray, and her brown eyes were
bracketed with laugh lines. She stood straight and erect in her dark blue suit,
frothy white blouse, tan panty hose, and sensible shoes. She was very pale, but
the lightest touches of makeup on her face served only to play up her features,
not make her unusual coloring stand out.

"Welcome to the library," she was saying. "I'm Marjorie, the head librarian.
How can I help you, Andrea?"

Daniel gasped and his fingers sank into her elbow like claws.

"Ouch!"

"Andy, she knows your name!" he hissed in her ear. "Let's get the hell out of
here!"

"I'm standing right here, dear," Marjorie said dryly.

Andrea plucked Daniel's hand off her elbow. "I'm sorry, I've never been here
before, how do you know my name?"

"You have been here, dear," Marjorie said, looking at her with something like
compassion. "You just don't remember. When Nostro's followers finished with you,
you and the other girls were brought here for cataloging."

"Say
what
?" Daniel growled.

"We took fingerprints, DNA samples, everything. In case you survived your
first decade and found your way back here, we could tell you who you were. Had
been," she corrected herself. "Of course, the other girls never rose, poor
things, and you wasted no time leaving town. We tried to talk to you, but…"
Marjorie shook her head.

"But… I don't remember any of that! I thought I'd been buried, or—"

"You assumed you had been. But those who die at the hands of a vampire are
brought here when it's at all possible. Of course, in the first place very few
of them come back, and in the second, there's little we can do to help them, but
when they
do
return we have their credit cards, their checkbooks—we
keep all those accounts open, we help you hang on to your house—or sell it, if
that's your wish—in fact, kudos, Ms. Mercer! You're about three and a half years
ahead of schedule. And showing up with a sheep, of all things!"

"A what?" they said in unison.

"Oh. Ah. Pardon me." Marjorie coughed into her fist, a dry sound like a
bullet. "I assumed… I assumed you were keeping this nice young man for feeding."

"Well, she isn't. I'm her driver, so there," Daniel snapped. "Anything else
going on is between two consenting adults."

"Yes, of course."

Andrea was rolling her eyes. "Daniel, could you not pick a fight with the
first vampire we meet?"

He ignored her. "
And
I want to know about the fucks who killed her.
What happened to them?"

"Well… nothing, at the time. Nostro was still in power. But now that
Elizabeth, the One, has taken the throne, things will change. Three of them, in
fact, died defending Nostro's throne." Marjorie smiled. It was kind of
terrifying, like watching winter grin. "Too bad, so sad."

"Awwwwwww," Andrea said, feeling for the first time in a long while like it
was her birthday.

"As to the others, you could certainly take your grievance to Her Majesty.
You have considerable cause. What they did to you…" She shook her head.
"Shameful.
No
excuse. We're not animals."

"Well, thanks, but I'm a little new around here to ask the queen to solve my
problems. I'm—"

"We're."

"—just here to pay tribute. We stopped when we saw your sign."

"I'm flattered!" Marjorie actually clapped her hands. "And you have no idea
how much good it does this old lady to see you in such control of your
faculties. Why, you could be fifty years old!"

"Really?" she said, thrilled. "That's so nice of you."

"And to think you came to see the library when you have pressing business
with the queen."

"What's—uh—what's she like?"

Marjorie fixed her with a paralyzing stare. "She is unlike any vampire
sovereign I have ever seen, and I have lived through three."

Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea could see Daniel mouthing numbers and
counting on his fingers.

"I'm eight hundred sixty-eight years old, dear," Marjorie said. "If you were
wondering."

"Are you
shitting
?"

Andrea elbowed him sharply in the side. "But—Marjorie—why aren't you the
queen?" She could get behind a queen—a scholar—like Marjorie.

Marjorie made a face like she smelled something bad. "Ech! Not hardly. This,"
she said, her hand indicating the huge library, "is my passion. I'd rather eat a
garlic sandwich than run the world. Can you imagine the headaches? The
paperwork? The hostess duties?" The ancient scholar actually shivered.

"Oh. Um, do you know where we can find the new queen?"

"Certainly. Nostro's holdings now belong to her—that law is a thousand years
old—and his old properties are out on the edge of Lake Minnetonka. I'll get you
a map."

She clacked away in her sensible shoes and Daniel let out a breath. "That
nice middle-aged lady is older than America? Shit!"

"Much older, and be nice. She could have ripped both our heads off and used
them for bookends."

"Yeah, well, she might be super decrepit, but I'm still—aagggghhh!"

"Here you are, dear," Marjorie said, coming around—somehow—from behind them.
"I've marked the queen's territories in red. You should have no—well," she
added, fixing her gaze on Andrea, "
you
should have no trouble."

"Thank you very much, ma'am."

"Feel free to poke about in the stacks before you leave—hardly anybody ever
comes here to
read
," she said with a disapproving sniff.

"Wh-what do they come for?" Daniel managed.

"Maps."

"Oh. That's a toughie, Marjie."

She fixed him with a forbidding look. "Marjorie. And thank you for your
sympathy, shee—Daniel."

"Thanks again," Andrea said. "I'll be back, if the queen doesn't kill me. I
love libraries."

"You're welcome here any time. As to the other matter…" Marjorie made a vague
gesture and clacked off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daniel whispered in her ear.

"Don't do that, it tickles. And I guess it means I'm supposed to find out for
myself. Come on, let's look me up in here."

They found the Ms after a few minutes. The library was a peculiar combination
of the old card catalog system, and up-to-date computer files. They found a card
which simply read, Mercer, Andrea. DOB 07/29/76; DOD 07/29/97.

"Oh, that sucks!" Daniel cried. "They killed you on your birthday?"

"My twenty-first birthday," she added thoughtfully. "Must have needed people
that exact age for his dumb ceremony. Barely drinking age forever… oh, the
humanity!"

"You're in a weirdly good mood," he muttered, jumping at small noises—who
knew when Marjorie would appear out of nowhere again?

"I like libraries." She took the card with her name on it and inserted it
into the slot in the computer. Instantly information about her began to scroll
down the screen… there was her old house, there was her high school, her
parents' names and occupations, her grandparents… there were her college
transcripts, including her transfer paperwork to St. Olaf… there was her credit
report, there was her bank account… "Huh. Would you look at that?"

"It's creepy, is what it is. Creepy dead librarians keeping track of your
whole life, lurking here waiting for you to come back… yech!"

"It's a pretty logical system, actually—what the hell?"

"What, what?"

She froze the screen. Under Affiliations, there was a single name: Sinclair.

"What's a Sinclair?"

"I have no idea. I don't affiliate with any vampires."

"Shit, you barely affiliate with me."

"I wish we could cross-reference my file with Sinclair's to find the—whoa."
The computer unfroze and started to do exactly that. In a few seconds, they were
staring at the screen, which read:

04/06/00. His Majesty King Sinclair, passing through Des Moines on business.
See transcript.

"Let's see it," she ordered.

Instantly a dark, slightly amused voice came out of the computer. "I was
passing through town—this was a couple of years before I became Elizabeth's
consort—and back-trailed a young vampire. It was a chilly night; I thought she
might need a hand. She was
very
young; I doubt she knew her own name at
the time. She was afraid and wouldn't come with me. I made a few attempts and
left her to her own devices. See if her description matches anyone in your
files: about five foot six, shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes, pale
coloring—hereditary, not as a condition of being dead—slender, no tattoos or
birthmarks that I could see, but she had a beauty mark high on her left cheek.
Transmission ends."