Real Vampires Don't Sparkle (27 page)

The girl rolled her head back and forth, her skull hard and warm against Matheus’ thigh. He reached toward her, skimming her hair before he snatched his hand away. Quin’s grip tightened; Matheus shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, speaking to Quin’s tie. “Quin, please.”

Quin cupped Matheus’ chin, forcing his head up. Matheus blinked, his gaze sliding away from Quin’s examination.

The girl inched closer, pressing her chest against Matheus’ shin. Matheus stared at flowered wallpaper and thought about how he would never smell cookies baking without thinking of this moment.

Matheus felt the girl’s heart beating, vibrations transferring through bone. It seemed too fast, too fragile to belong to a human. He’d held a mouse once, warm and shuddering between his palms, Matheus shaking in concert as the first realization of power and scale burst into his mind. He must have been five or six years old, but all that remained clear in his memory was feeling the mouse’s bones moving under its skin and the terrible choice offered to him. Sometimes, he thought he let the mouse go. Sometimes, he didn’t.

“They’re charming,” Quin said, releasing Matheus. He turned to Apollonia with a broad smile. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Apollonia.

“How much?”

“Pardon me?”

“How much for the pair?”

“Oh, they aren’t for sale.”

Quin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Miss Parker, how long have we known each other?” he asked.

Apollonia folded her hands in her lap, pursing her lips. “It must be close to fifty years,” she said. “I believe you came here the same year they rebuilt the pier.”

“Half a century,” said Quin. “I’ve done you some favors in that time, haven’t I?”

Apollonia’s smile grew stiff. Matheus had the feeling of someone following an elephant through a minefield. He closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.

“When it suited your needs,” Apollonia said.

“True. However, in the future, my needs might not be so line with yours,” Quin said. “So, how much?”

“Now what?” Matheus asked.

“St. Anne’s,” said Quin. “We’re just going to drop them off, understand? We are not getting involved.”

Matheus started the engine, watching in the girls in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. They huddled together, the loops of their bows drooping against each other. The one on the left wore Quin’s jacket, the one on the right, Matheus’. The lapels hung open, a revealing a narrow strip of skin, the sleeves pooling in their laps. Neither girl had spoken a word, even as Quin carried them out of Apollonia’s cottage.

“Are they going to be okay?” Matheus asked.

“No,” Quin said. He rested his elbow against the window, pressing his fingertips into his temple. “Maybe. After years of therapy.”

“Jesus.” The road blurred, the lights expanding into starbursts. He forced back the curses threatening to escape, slamming his hand on the steering wheel instead. The car jerked to the right, nearly sideswiping a bread truck. The driver beeped as he swerved, the high, stinging note piercing even the Merc’s shielded interior.

“Fuck!” Matheus yelled, yanking the car into the correct lane.

Quin gave him a sharp look.

Matheus compressed his lips until the muscles around his mouth began to ache.

In the backseat, the girls drew their legs up, contracting into each other as though they could merge to a single point. One of them began to cry, tiny, gulps of air betraying the repressed sobs.

Quin released his seatbelt, then twisted around until he knelt on his seat, clutching the headrest for stability.

Matheus stared straight ahead, cutting through lights and around turns with vicious accuracy.

“Shh,” said Quin. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re going to take you somewhere safe. Is that okay? Can you talk?”

His questions contained no urgency; Quin maintained a soft, repetitive tone, cycling like slow waves on an empty beach. He used the soothing technique, but Matheus didn’t object. He didn’t imagine the girls had had a lot of comfort over the last three years. Matheus glanced in the rearview mirror, flinching as one of the girls met his gaze. She looked down in a millisecond, but Matheus couldn’t un-see the terror etched into her expression. Apollonia had broken the girls and made them her own.

“What are your names?” Quin asked. “Not the names Miss Parker gave you, your real names.”

The girls didn’t respond. The girl in Quin’s jacket pressed her face into her sister’s shoulder, her fingers curling into the other girl’s hair. Quin reached over the seat, slow, carefully movements, clasping the tail of the girl’s bow between his first two fingers and pulling it free. The ribbon whispered in the enclosed space as it slid into his fingers. He removed the other girl’s bow, then tossed both ribbons out the window. They caught the wind for a brief second before falling beneath the tires of an oncoming car.

“I can’t believe you paid that woman,” Matheus said, unable to keep silent any longer.

“Not now,” said Quin. He addressed his words to Matheus, but kept his attention of the girls.

Matheus flipped on the signal to turn with a sharp slap.

“You should have made her wear a collar like a—”

“I said, now not.”

“Ripped off her head and—”

“Sunshine!” Quin snapped. “You are not helping.”

Matheus glanced in the rearview mirror. A sinkhole formed in his stomach. In a span of twenty seconds, he’d managed to undo any good Quin might have done.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…. Sorry.”

Quin turned back to the girls, his calm mask back in place.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Everything’s okay. He just has issues expressing emotions other than anger.”

Matheus figured Quin directed that more at him than the girls. “Do not,” he muttered.

Quin ignored him. Over and over again, he told the girls they were okay, they were safe, a constant stream of reassurance. The girls swayed with the movement of the car, the one in Matheus’ jacket watching Quin as her sister tugged on her hair.

Matheus listened with one ear, caught glimpses in the rearview mirror when he couldn’t help it. The girl’s lips moved, opened and closed without forming any identifiable sounds. Her eyes fixed on Quin’s mouth, mimicking its movements with her own. The road grew blurry again and Matheus had to blink rapidly to clear his vision. He pulled up to the hospital’s emergency room, the neon-white floodlights around the automatic doors offering a convenient excuse.

“Wait here,” Quin said. “Leave the car running.” He climbed out and opened the rear door, coaxing the first girl out with the strange calming influence. She dropped to her knees, hair hanging over her face, fingernails scraping over the rough pavement. The second girl, the one in Matheus’ jacket, hesitated. Her lips bent and parted, puffs of air escaping with each new shape. Quin leaned into the car, holding out a hand. The girl leaned forward, her chin resting on the top of Matheus’ seat. Her breath whispered across his ear, carrying a sound on the edge of hearing.

The leather squeaked as the girl slid over the seat.

Matheus held his head down, jumping at the slam of the rear door. He counted in English, focusing with singular intensity on each number. He thought about watching American television as a teenager, sitting for hours, rewinding the same scenes hundreds of times, straining his tongue until the words flowed out naturally, matching the movement of his lips to the actors on the telly. He thought about what language meant.

The car shook as Quin opened the door and folding himself into the seat, fitting his long legs into place beneath the dash.

With numb fingers, Matheus steered the Merc through the parking lot. He tried to stop thinking.

“What did she say to you?” Quin asked.

Matheus glanced at him, then at the road. An ambulance swung into the parking lot, red lights reflecting in the Merc’s mirrors. Matheus flicked on the right turn signal, but keep his foot on the brake.

“Are you sure they’ll be all right?” he asked. Stupid question, but he asked anyway. “Maybe we should stay with them.”

“Do you want to be arrested? They’ll be fine. What did she say?”

Matheus sighed. “Brenda,” he said, turning out of the hospital parking lot.

Quin’s fingers skimmed over his cheekbone, too quickly for Matheus to react. “Christ, you’re a softie,” Quin said, rubbing his thumb over his wet fingertips.

Matheus tightened his grip on the wheel. “Shut up,” he said.

“Matheus Taylor, defender of the innocent.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“A thin layer of brittle anger and gooey marshmallow inside.”

Matheus slammed on the brakes. His seatbelt snapped tight across his chest. Quin slid forward with a violent jerk, his head bouncing off the dashboard. The car behind them honked, the driver giving them the one-fingered salute as she veered around the Merc.

“What the hell?” Quin asked. He pushed himself up, dropping back into his seat. A faint mark crossed his forehead, the Mercedes logo imprinted next to his right temple. Another car zoomed around them, narrowly missing the SUV in the other lane. Quin reached for Matheus’ wrist, but Matheus bashed his hand away.

“You knew what Apollonia was doing and you didn’t do anything,” Matheus said. He recognized his voice, but it felt as though a long tunnel separated his words and his mind. “You just let that happen. Fuck, you couldn’t even tell me beforehand. If it weren’t for this connection thing, I swear to God I would kill you.”

“Sunshine—”

Matheus shuddered.

“Don’t. Don’t say they were just humans. God, they’re barely even that anymore. Is this what passes for acceptable behavior in the otherworld?”

“In some places,” said Quin.

Matheus looked at him, and wished he hadn’t. The distance closed in an instant, bringing everything he held at bay into the forefront. Shaking and dizzy, Matheus climbed out of the car, slamming the door after him. Quin followed a half-second later, one arm resting over the top of his open door. Matheus took a few steps down the street, feeling as though bands were being tightened around his chest.

“Get in the car, Matheus,” Quin said.

“Fuck you!” Matheus whirled around. “You fucking, psychotic….” He broke off, turning around again.

Quin’s shoes scraped over the pavement as he left the car. A beat-up Toyota passed, slowing down for a good look. Black smoke billowed from its tailpipe, leaving behind the smell of exhaust.

Matheus heard Quin stop behind him.

“I know what we have to do to survive,” Matheus said, speaking to the empty street before him. “But that doesn’t include degrading people and treating them like animals. We aren’t better than them and if you think we are, then…then you can fuck off. I’ll find someone else.”

Quin sighed. “You’re right,” he said.

“And don’t tell me—what?” Matheus twisted, tangling his feet together in his haste. He tilted sideways, fumbling for his footing.

“I said, you’re right.” Quin caught Matheus’ sleeve and tugged him upright. He let go as soon as Matheus regained his balance. He shoved his hands into his pockets, giving Matheus a small shrug.

“Then why?” Matheus asked, anger lost in the confusion.

“Apollonia is strong, stronger than Grigori. She’s held this city for the last two hundred years. Attacking her would mean starting a war. A lot of people would die, including humans. Sometimes things have to be overlooked.”

“It’s awful,” said Matheus. “I hate this.”

“We’re not that different from humans,” Quin said. “Being what we are doesn’t make us evil. Some of us are decent, some aren’t. Everything is gray, Matheus. Eventually you’ll figure that out.” He flicked his arm out, glancing at his watch. “Come back to the car.”

Matheus trudged after Quin, sinking into the Mercedes’ warm leather with a soft sigh. He clicked on his seatbelt, then started the car. Wrapping his hands around the wheel, he waited for a couple of cars with out-of-state plates to pass. They turned right at the stop sign, the wrong way down a one-way street.

“Can we go home?” Matheus asked. “Please?”

“We can’t,” said Quin. “We still have to see Zeb.”

“I don’t think I can take much more,” said Matheus. He noticed Quin put on his seatbelt this time.

“Zeb’s one of the decent ones. You’ll be okay.” Quin rubbed the back of Matheus’ neck, calluses rasping over sensitive skin. A whole new feeling slid into Matheus’ bones, warm and liquid and disquieting.
You’re safe. You’re protected.

Matheus wondered if he’d ever be able to trust his own emotions again. Relief and disappointment warred for supremacy when Quin took his hand away.

“We’re going to Mayfair,” Quin said, naming one of the neighborhoods near Matheus’ former apartment. Like a lot of the named neighborhoods, Mayfair had been a village before being swallowed up by the sprawl of the city. Over the years, Mayfair had gone from being low-income, blue-collar homes to a quirky arts center with more vegan restaurants per square foot than anywhere within a hundred-mile radius. Matheus had walked through Mayfair every day on his way to work, guaranteeing a bad mood for at least three hours.