Dead But Not Forgotten (23 page)

Nick liked to leave his mark on me, he'd said, and I'd been so happy to be his.

And yet it wasn't the sight of my neck that got me; it was the girl in the background of the photo, carrying a tray loaded with bottles of TrueBlood: Bethany Rogers, my coworker and roommate, who would die the night that photo was taken.

It had been Bethany's death that got to me, finally. Of all the shit I'd seen—humans coming out of the john with no memory of when they'd gone in, vampires talking about us as if we were cattle, human boyfriends or girlfriends disappearing to visit mystery aunts or uncles and never returning—at Bethany's death I saw through the veil.

I guess that's called growing up. That moment when you see yourself for real, as opposed to how you think you are. When they found Bethany's body in that Dumpster, I suddenly realized I was about five minutes from my own ignominious death. That the missing men and women weren't visiting long-distance relatives, that vampires were killers, and that I was letting two beautiful demons drain me dry.

By that point, of course, I knew better than to up and quit. How many times had I seen human employees stomp into the manager's office, only to wander out, dazed? They'd appear the next night pleased as punch to work the job they'd sworn they were quitting the previous evening.

Why kill us, when we could be made to forget we were unhappy?

So for damned near three months I smiled, sold Bat's Wing T-shirts, and made love to Nick and Trey until the dawn broke when I'd saved just enough money to pack up my truck with a single suitcase of clothes and drive as far as I could that day, and the day after, and the day after that, until my money ran out. That had been over a year ago, and here I was. Ready to run again.

And I wasn't even sure why, really. There'd been no attempt to follow me. I'd heard through various channels that the vampire community in Texas had some serious trouble, and quite a few vamps died in a shooting. Maybe Nicholas and Trey were dead; they certainly hadn't come after me. So I wasn't sure whom, exactly, I thought I had to run from.

Except maybe that blond girl in the picture, looking so happy in the embrace of two lovers who could have killed her and not given a single solitary shit.

That Desiree was a rotten layer of my onion I sure hoped I'd carved out.

I turned off the phone and leaned back in my seat, brushing angrily at the tears that had formed in my eyes. I flipped my visor down to check my mascara in the mirror there, swore, and flipped it back up.

The desert was never dark when the moon had any heft to it, and tonight the landscape was lit like a strip mall parking lot so I could clearly see the puffs of sand kicking up quite a distance away.

Something was coming toward the Mission, and I doubted it was anything good.

I started the truck. If I left now and got right on the highway, I would be well away before the vamps arrived.

This isn't my fight,
I reminded myself.
I've escaped all this shit.

Ricky, Father Bryan, and Lupe be damned.

The puffs of sand kept coming, closer and closer. I made my decision and threw my truck into drive.

Father Bryan jumped when I kicked open the door that led from the foyer into the kitchen. Sister Kate didn't look up from where she was bandaging Ricky's foot, but Sister Maggie gave me a small, fierce smile.

I held the duffel bag in my right hand out to her, my movement limited by the shotgun cradled in my left. She came to take the bag, wincing at its weight.

“Company's coming. How's the patient?” Ricky moved his head at the sound of my voice but didn't open his eyes.

“Already healing, but he has a way to go,” said Father Bryan, blanching as I began unpacking the duffel I normally kept hidden in a lockable hidey-hole above my wheel well. “Do you really think we'll need all that?”

I loaded the two service revolvers with silver bullets. “If we're dealing with vampires, yes. These won't kill them but it'll hurt a whole hell of a lot. Do you have silver for that gun I saw earlier?”

“No.”

“Then take one of these.” I passed him one of the guns. “Sisters, can you shoot?” The women shook their heads, so I threw each a can of silver aerosol, sticking the other revolver and my last can of silver mace into my belt.

Then I lifted the final item contained in the black duffel. It was my pride and joy, my baby, my most beloved possession.

She was a Stryker Strykezone compact crossbow. Her name was Lolita and she was powerful enough to bring down any wicked old wolf a nice young lady might meet in the woods.

But she was loaded with wooden bolts, all the better to kill a vampire with.

“You ever have vampire guests, Father?” I asked.

He was staring at the crossbow in horror, undoubtedly wondering who the hell I was, really. I felt that acute pang in my conscience that I often developed in his presence. I'd never told him about being a fangbanger, and I hated the idea of having to admit the truth once this was over.

Then again, we might all be dead in a few hours, so I couldn't worry about that now.

“Yes, once,” he said, answering my question about vampire visitors. “Members of the new patrol coming to introduce themselves.”

“Where were they able to enter? Think carefully, this is important.”

“They came through the chapel, into the courtyard. Then they knocked on the main door.” Father Bryan waved at the set of big double doors that led from the big entry room just off the kitchen into the courtyard.

“Did you have to invite them inside?”

He frowned. “I don't know if they came in at all . . . I'm sorry, I think they just stayed in the courtyard.”

“Crap. Well, you've got a conundrum, here. The Mission is partially public, but it's also your home. So I'm not sure if the whole invite-only thing works for this place or not. Clearly the chapel and the courtyard are fair game, but hopefully they can't get into the main living area.”

“Is house of God,” Sister Maggie said, clutching the large crucifix at her neck. I shrugged.

“Doesn't matter, unless they're baby vamps. If they could come into the chapel, they can come in here. I've parked my pickup across the chapel doors. They'll have to move it before they can come in . . .”

Suddenly, from outside, we heard a huge crash, as if someone had flipped over, say, a junky, if reliable, Chevy truck. I grimaced and picked up Lolita, after passing the shotgun to Father Bryan.

“Your truck,” said Sister Maggie, white faced.

“Fucking vampires,” I swore, channeling Father Bryan. “Father, let me do the talking. Sister Kate, come with us. Sister Maggie, you stay with Ricky. I imagine it's him they want. Spray anyone you don't recognize, you hear me?” Sister Maggie nodded, clutching the aerosol can.

“No,” said Ricky groggily. He struggled to sit upright, reopening the wound in his side. Setting down my crossbow, I rushed to push Ricky back down.

“Ricky, you gotta stay here. You're beat to shit.”

“No,” he said.
“Mi hermana . . .”

“I know, honey. And I'm'a do my best to get her back, okay? But you can't help. I know you want to . . .”

Ricky tried to sit up again and got pretty far with his supe strength, despite my pushing on both his shoulders. “Desiree, I help you, please.”

I managed to shove hard enough to get him back on the table. “Ricky, you can't walk.” I pointed down at his mangled foot. “Let us handle this. But you can protect Sister Maggie.” I passed him the silver mace from my belt.

He glared at me. Sister Maggie took over for me, holding him down.

“Come out!” yelled a male voice from the courtyard. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“I gotta go. We'll be fine and I'll get Lupe back.” For a split second I let my hand rest against his cheek, forgetting he was a supe, remembering only the sweet boy who took the trash out for me every night.

And who had such killer cheekbones.

With a sigh I pulled myself away. I picked up Lolita, motioning for Father Bryan and Sister Kate to follow. Together, we left the kitchen, closing the door behind us to walk toward the big main doors of the Mission's house. There, I pulled open the right-hand door's speakeasy-style grille and peered out cautiously. About fifty feet away, two vampires held a battered Lupe between them. Her clothes were dirty but intact, her hair falling over her eyes where she hung limply in her captors' arms.

“Howdy!”

I jumped back, looking away to keep from getting glamoured as a large gray eye popped up in the grille. The eye backed away, revealing a scruffy, pale face. I kept my gaze trained carefully on its chin.

“Don't look in his eyes,” I warned my friends. “Anywhere you can shoot is fair game, but avoid the eyes.”

“We found one of your shifters,” the vampire said, indicating Lupe. “Which is perfect, as you seem to have some property that belongs to the man who hired us.”

I looked over at Father Bryan, who shook his head in confusion.

“Lupe, you all right?” I called. The girl didn't move.

“She's kinda out of it,” the vamp said. “We had to tranq her. Y'all understand—couldn't have her going all hairy on us.”

“If you've touched her inappropriately, I will cut off your man parts and feed them to you,” I said.

He laughed. “She's fine. We kept your property in fine fiddle, just like we know y'all did our boss's. To make our exchange real tidy-like.”

“He must be talking about the group Ricky brought in last,” Father Bryan whispered before I could tell him to shut up. Suddenly, the vampire's obscenely pink mouth was framed in the door's grille.

“Exactly. They don't belong to y'all. Or to us, actually. We're just doing a job, see, so nobody needs to get hurt.” The vamp moved back from the door again.

I was pretty sure that, like most vamps, they weren't armed. And they obviously couldn't come into this part of the Mission without invitation, or they wouldn't be out here chattin'. They'd have ripped our throats out and called it a day.

Now that I could see the other players and had some inkling as to the cards they held, I made my decision.

Ready to turn and get this game started, I heard a noise from the kitchen that gave me pause.

“Fuck,” I said. Assuming we'd been wrong and that the vamps had gotten into the house, I nearly shot Ricky when he hopped on one foot through the kitchen door into the foyer, Sister Maggie clinging to his waist and pleading with him to stop.

He wore only an apron and carried a jacket.

“Hace frio,”
he said, holding it out to me, his face set stubborn as an old mule's. Or a Cajun's. I knew I'd lost this battle.

“Thanks, Ricky,” I said, moving to take the jacket from him. But instead of giving it to me, he held it open, helping me into it. He turned me around, zipping it with trembling fingers.

“Is my sister,” he said, his pale face stricken. Before I could assure him I wouldn't let Lupe come to any harm, he cupped my jaw with one of those big hands I'd been dreaming about earlier.

“Is you,” he said, his voice rough.

Hot tears pricked my vision. No one had cared if I got hurt for quite a while, and certainly no man.

“You sit here,” I said, pushing him back to the low bench that sat next to the kitchen wall. “Keep your mace.” I took it out of the apron pocket where he'd tucked it, wrapping his fingers around it. Looking deep into his pain-filled eyes, I told him the truth. “We need to talk when this is over, but we will. 'Cause it will be over and we'll both be fine. So will Lupe. You need to trust me, though. Okay?”

After a second, Ricky leaned his forehead against mine. Warm breath puffed against my lips as he spoke. “
Sí
, Desiree Dumas. Okay.”

I nearly kissed him right then and there, but Daddy always said there was a time and place. He'd been talking about displaying taxidermy, but it was still good general advice.

“Good. Now, everyone back up and get ready,” I said, straightening abruptly and moving to the big doors. My fingers felt clumsy as I unlocked them, swinging them open and backing up, all the while keeping a firm grip on my crossbow.

“There you are! I was getting worried y'all had forgotten about us!” the vamp shouted. In full view, he looked even shabbier. Ripped-up fatigues and an army-green shirt strained over his chubby belly and thighs, and his compadres weren't much better. They also looked rough, in old denim and faded tees.

“You're not Border Patrol,” I said, starting to get a handle on the situation.

“Hell no, we ain't,” said the leader, whom I deemed Fatty. “Like I said, we're just here to do a job. Your shifters have been giving my boss a hell of a time—taking his merch, messing up his deals. He's tired of it. But I'm a patient guy.” He spit a pink gob into the sand at his feet. “And I get that we all gotta make a living. So I tell you what, you give us the group we're missing and we'll give you the girl.
If
”—he paused, picking at one long fang with a dirty fingernail—“y'all promise to stop interfering.”