Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (55 page)

I'm never going to find them. Which means I'm never going to find him.

She collapsed on a bench outside the Stardust Hotel, wondering what to do next. Her legs hurt and her head was pounding. She didn't want to spend Chess's mom's money on a hotel—but she'd noticed police officers making people move on if they tried to sleep on the street.

Why did I come here? I should have put an ad in the paper: “Desperately Seeking Thierry.” I should have known this wouldn't work.

Even as she was thinking it, something about a boy in the crowd caught her eye.

He wasn't Thierry. He wasn't anything like Thierry. Except for the way he moved.

It was that same rippling grace she'd seen in both Thierry and Maya, an easy control of motion that reminded her of a jungle cat. And his face… he was almost eerily good-looking in a ragamuffin way.

When he glanced up toward the Stardust's tall neon sign, she thought she could see light reflect from his eyes.

He's one of them. I know it. He's one of the Night People.

Without stopping to think, she jumped up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and followed him.

It wasn't easy. He walked fast and she had to keep dodging tourists. He was headed off the Strip, to one of the quiet dimly-lit streets that ran parallel to it.

It was a whole different world here, just one block away from the glitter and bustle. The hotels were small and in poor repair. The businesses seemed to be mostly pawnshops. Everything had a dingy depressed feeling.

Hannah felt a prickling down her spine.

She was now following the only figure on a deserted street. Any minute now, he'd realize she was tailing him—but what could she do? She didn't dare lose sight of him.

The boy seemed to be leading her into worse and worse areas—
sleazy
was the word for them, Hannah thought. The streetlights were far apart here with areas of darkness in between.

All at once he took a sharp left turn, seeming to disappear behind a building with a sign that read,
DAN'S BAIL BONDS
.
Hannah jogged to catch up to him and found herself staring down a narrow alley. It was extremely dark. She hesitated a moment, then grimly took a few steps forward.

On the third step, the boy appeared from behind a Dumpster.

He was facing her, and once again Hannah caught the flash of eyeshine. She stood very still as he walked slowly toward her.

“You following me or something?” he asked. He seemed amused. He had a sharp face with an almost pointed chin and dark hair that looked uncombed. He was no taller than Hannah, but his body seemed tough and wiry.

It's the Artful Dodger, Hannah thought.

As he reached her, he looked her up and down. His expression was a combination of lechery and hunger. Gooseflesh blossomed on Hannah's skin.

“I'm sorry,” she said, trying to make her voice quiet and direct. “I
was
following you. I wanted to ask you something—I'm looking for someone.”

“You found him, baby,” the boy said. He darted a quick glance around as if to make sure that there was nobody in the alley with them.

And then, before Hannah could say another word, he knocked her into the wall and pinned her there.

Don't fight,” he panted into her face. “It'll be easier if you just relax.”

Hannah was frightened—and furious. “In your dreams,” she gasped and slammed a knee into his groin. She hadn't survived Maya and come thousands of miles to be killed by some weasel of a vampire.

She could feel him trying to do something to her mind—it reminded her of the way Maya had captured Ha-nahkt's eyes. Some kind of hypnosis, she supposed. But she'd had enough of hypnosis in the last week. She fought it.

And she fought with her body, unskillfully maybe, but with utter conviction. She head-butted him on the nose when he tried to get close to her neck.

“Ow!” The Artful Dodger jerked back. Then he got a better grip on her arm. He pulled the wrist toward him and Hannah suddenly realized what he was doing. There were
nice accessible veins there. He was going to draw blood from her wrist.

“No, you don't,” she gasped. She had no idea what would happen if she lost any more blood to a vampire. Thierry had said she wasn't in danger as long as she kept away from them for the next week, so she presumed that if she didn't stay away, she
was
in danger. And she was already noticing little changes in herself: her ability to see better in the dark, for instance.

She tried to wrench her arm out of the boy's grip—and then she heard a gasp. Suddenly she realized that he wasn't holding her as tightly, and he wasn't trying to pull her wrist to him. Instead he was just staring at her hand.

At her ring.

The expression on his face might have been funny if Hannah hadn't been shaking with adrenaline. He looked shocked, dismayed, scared, disbelieving, and embarrassed all at once.

“Who—who—who
are
you?” he spluttered.

Hannah looked at the ring, and then at him. Of course. How could she have been so stupid? She should have mentioned Thierry right away. If he was a Lord of the Night World, maybe everybody knew him. Maybe she could skip the witches altogether.

“I told you I was looking for somebody. His name is Thierry Descouedres. He gave me this ring.”

The Artful Dodger gave a kind of moan. Then he looked
up at her from under his spiky bangs. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” he said. It wasn't a question, it was a demand for agreement. “I didn't do anything to you.”

“You didn't get the chance,” Hannah said. But she was afraid the boy might just take off running, so she added, “I don't want to get you in trouble. I just want to find Thierry. Can you help me?”

“I… help you. Yeah, yeah. I can be a big help.” He hesitated, then said, “It's kind of a long walk.”

A walk? Thierry was
here
? Hannah's heart leaped so high that her whole body felt light.

“I'm not tired,” she said, and it was true. “I can walk anywhere.”

The house was enormous.

Magnificent. Palatial, even. Awe-inspiring.

The Artful Dodger abandoned Hannah at the beginning of the long palm-tree-lined drive, blurting, “That's it,” and then scampering off into the darkness. Hannah looked after him for a moment, then grimly started up the drive, sincerely hoping that it
was
it. She was so tired that she was weaving and her feet felt as if they'd been pounded with stones.

As she walked up to the front door, though, her doubts disappeared. There were black roses everywhere.

There was an arch-shaped stained-glass window above the double doors, showing a black rose that had the same intricately
knotted stem as the one on Hannah's ring. The same design had been worked into the crowns over the windows. It was used like a family crest or seal.

Just seeing all those roses made Hannah's heart beat faster.

Okay, then. Ring the doorbell, she told herself. And stop feeling like some Cinderella who's come to see what's keeping the prince.

She pushed the doorbell button, then held her breath as chimes echoed distantly.

Please. Please answer….

She heard footsteps approaching and her heart
really
started to pound.

I can't believe it's all been this easy….

But when the door opened, it wasn't Thierry. It was a college-age guy with a suit, brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and dark glasses. He looked vaguely like a young CIA agent, Hannah thought wildly.

He and Hannah stared at each other.

“Uh, I'm here to… I'm looking for Thierry Descouedres,” Hannah said finally, trying to sound confident.

The CIA guy didn't change expression. When he spoke, it wasn't unkindly, but Hannah's heart plummeted.

“He's not here. Try again in a few days. And it's better to call one of his secretaries before showing up.”

He started to shut the door.

A wave of desperation broke over Hannah.

“Wait!” she said, and she actually stuck her foot in the doorway. She was amazed at herself.

The CIA guy looked down at her foot, then up at her face. “Yes?”

Oh, God, he thinks I'm a nuisance visitor. Hannah suddenly had a vision of swarms of petitioners lined up at Thierry's house, all wanting him to do something for them. Like supplicants waiting for an audience with the king.

And I must look like riffraff, she thought. She was wearing Levis and a shirt that was sweaty and wrinkled after tramping around the Strip all day. Her boots were dusty. Her hair was limp and disheveled, straggling over her face.

“Yes?” the CIA guy said again, politely urgent.

“I… nothing.” Hannah felt tears spring to her eyes and was furious with herself. She hid them by bending down to pick up her duffel bag, which by now felt as if it were loaded with rocks.

She had never been so tired. Her mouth was dry and cottony and her muscles were starting to cramp. She had no idea where to find a safe place to sleep.

But it wasn't the CIA guy's problem.

“Thank you,” Hannah said. She took a deep breath and started to turn away.

It was the deep breath that did it. Someone was crossing the grand entrance hall behind the CIA guy and the breath delayed Hannah long enough that they saw each other.

“Nilsson,
wait
!” the someone yelled and came bounding over to the door.

It was a girl, thin and tanned, with odd silvery-brown hair and dark amber eyes. She had several yellowing bruises on her face.

But it was her expression that startled Hannah. Her amber eyes were wide and sparkling in what looked like recognition, her mouth was open in astonishment and excitement. She was waving her arms.

“That's her!” she yelled at the CIA guy, pointing to Hannah. “It's her! It's
her.
” When he stared at her, she hit him in the shoulder.
“Her!”

They both turned to stare at Hannah. The CIA guy had an expression now. He looked stunned.

Hannah stared back at them, bewildered.

Then, seeming dazed, the CIA guy very slowly opened the door. “My name is Nilsson, miss,” he said. “Please come inside.”

Stupid me, Hannah thought. Almost as an afterthought, she pushed straggling hair off her left cheek, away from her birthmark. I should have told them who I was. But how could I know they would understand?

Nilsson was talking again as he gently took her bag. “I'm very sorry, miss—I didn't realize… I hope you won't hold this—”

“Nobody knew you were
coming,
” the girl broke in with
refreshing bluntness. “And the worst thing is that Thierry's gone off somewhere. I don't think anybody knows where or when he'll be back. But meanwhile you'd better stay put. I don't want to think about what he'd do to us if we lost you.” She smiled at Hannah and added, “I'm Lupe Acevedo.”

“Hannah Snow.”

“I know.” The girl winked. “We met before, but I couldn't exactly introduce myself. Don't you remember?”

Hannah started to shake her head—and then she blinked. Blinked again. That silvery-brown coloring… those amber eyes…

“Yeah,” Lupe said, looking hugely delighted. “That was me. That's how I got these bruises. The other wolf got it worse, though. I ripped him a new—”

“Would you like something to drink?” Nilsson interrupted hastily. “Or to eat? Why don't you come in and sit down?”

Hannah's mind was reeling. That girl is a werewolf, she thought. A
werewolf.
The last time I saw her she had big ears and a bushy tail. Werewolves are real.

And this one protected me.

She said dizzily, “I… thank you. I mean, you saved my life, didn't you?”

Lupe shrugged. “Part of the job. Want a Coke?”

Hannah blinked, then laughed. “I'd kill for one.”

“I'll take care of it,” Nilsson said. “I'll take care of everything. Lupe, why don't you show her upstairs?” He hurried
off and opened a cellular phone. A moment later several other guys dressed like him came running. The strange thing was that they were all very young—all in their late teens. Hannah caught snatches of frantic-sounding conversation.

“Well, try
that
number—”

“What about leaving a message with—”

“Come on,” Lupe said, interrupting Hannah's eavesdropping. With that same cheerful bluntness she added, “You look like you could use a bath.”

She led Hannah past a giant white sculpture toward a wide curving staircase. Hannah glimpsed other rooms opening off the hallway. A living room that looked as big as a football field, decorated with white couches, geometric furniture, and abstract paintings. A dining room with a mile-long table. An alcove with a grand piano.

Hannah felt more like Cinderella than ever. Nobody in Medicine Rock had a grand piano.

I didn't know he was so rich. I don't know if I can deal with this.

But when she was installed in a sort of Moorish fantasy bathroom, surrounded by jungly green plants and exotic tiles and brass globe lights with cut-out star shapes, she decided that she could probably adjust to living this way. If forced.

It was heaven just to relax in the Jacuzzi tub, drinking a Coke and breathing in the delicious scent of bath salts. And it was even better to sit up in bed afterward, eating finger sandwiches
sent up by “Chef” and telling Lupe how she came to be in Las Vegas.

When she was done, Lupe said, “Nilsson and everybody are trying to find Thierry. It may take a little while, though. See, he just stopped off for a few minutes on Saturday, and then he disappeared again. But meanwhile, this house is pretty well protected. And all of us will fight for you—I mean, fight to the death, if we have to. So it's safer than most other places.”

Hannah felt a roiling in her stomach. She didn't understand. Lupe made it sound as if they were in some castle getting ready for a siege. “Safe from…?”