Real Vampires Don't Sparkle (55 page)

“The what scale?”

“Nothing. We should go.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Matheus. “I’m super. Fantastic. Fabulous, even.” He let out a manic giggle, then closed his eyes with a sigh. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

“Sunshine, if you don’t want me—” Quin stopped.

Matheus opened his eyes.

Quin was staring at the floor, rubbing a hand over the top of his head.

“If you didn’t want to me to—”

“We’re in a genocidal lunatic’s torture factory,” said Matheus. “Maybe we can postpone this until we’re not three seconds away from being discovered?”

“I just—”

“Quin, seriously, of all the horrible things I imagine you might do to me, forced sodomy is not one of them, okay?”

“It was only a kiss, Matheus.”

“I know,” Matheus said. “Okay? I know that. This is why I didn’t want to talk about this now. You’re being weird. Stop it. Go back to being…you. Please.” He paused, licking his lips. They felt swollen. He counted the ceiling tiles, then cleared his throat. “I did want…you know.”

“All right,” Quin said slowly.

Matheus risked a glance at Quin’s face. He relaxed, the tension slipping down from his shoulders.

“What’s the plan?” asked Quin.

“Plan?”

“You do have a plan?”

“Define plan.”

“You waltzed in here without a plan? Are you insane?”

“One,” said Matheus. “I didn’t waltz. That would have been far too conspicuous. Two, most likely, thanks to you. Let’s go.” He opened the door, waving Quin through.

“How did you think we’d get out?” Quin asked, squeezing between the desks.

“I kind of hoped you’d take care of that,” said Matheus.

“I’ve been unconscious!”

“And whose fault was that?”

Matheus cracked the door to the hallway. When had so many people decided to show up? Shouldn’t they be home sleeping? Did they all have to come in for the exciting new specimen? Was there an evil scientist union? Surely, working all night violated their regulations. Matheus wondered how to organize an impromptu strike. He glanced over his shoulder to see Quin glaring at him.

“What?” Matheus asked.

“You shouldn’t have come here. Do you have any idea—?”

“Hey, I am rescuing your ass.” Matheus poked Quin in the breastbone. “Again.
I
don’t run off like a suicidal idiot and leave you to go all batshit buzzy when I get captured. Again.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Quin slapped Matheus’ hand away.

“Right, and I do?”

“We are not having this argument here.”

“Too late,” said Matheus.

“You have no idea what you are—” Quin broke off as the door swung open.

“Wha—” said a voice behind Matheus. He dodged to the side, a rush of air breaking across his face as Quin darted forward.

Quin grabbed the man’s collar, throwing him down to the floor with one hand and shutting the door with the other. He dropped a knee on the man’s spine. Matheus winced as he heard the pop. A high-pitched wail followed, cut off by a wet, smacking sound. Quin gripped the man’s head with both hands, blood smeared across the tiles. He bent down, fangs extended.

“Wait,” said Matheus. “Don’t get blood on his clothes.”

Soft, breathy moans escaped the man’s mouth. With an abrupt jerk, Quin snapped his neck. He yanked off the man’s lab coat, then rolled him onto his back.

“Was that necessary?” Matheus knelt next to Quin, untying the man’s shoes with stiff fingers. He tried not to think about the fact that he was robbing a corpse.

“Yes,” said Quin.

Matheus looked at him. Quin’s features had locked, but a jagged edge marked his movements. He used a sliver too much force, held his joints a fraction stiffer. Matheus thought of the hidden, sparking wire inside Quin, appearing where the insulation had worn through. He rubbed his solar plexus, wondering why he felt as though he’d been the one to get the shock.

“Okay,” he said.

“Dammit!” A button clattered onto the floor. Jaw clenched, Quin worked on the rest, destroying two more buttonholes in the process.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Matheus. He reached for the man’s belt, then stopped. Craning his neck in the opposite direction, he undid the buckle with the tips of his fingers.

Quin rattled off a long stream of Latin, too quick for Matheus to translate. He did catch the word for
mother
several times, but he assumed Quin wasn’t asking for his mommy.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” Matheus said. “You know, later.”

“I can’t imagine anything I’d be less inclined to do,” said Quin. He pulled off his tattered shirt, and slipped on the man’s. He grimaced, fingering the cheap fabric with the expression of a person who’d just been served a road kill tartare. The sleeves ended three inches above his wrist; the chest billowed out like the sail of a ship.

“Right.” Matheus tossed the pants and belt at Quin. “Silly me, thinking you might have actual emotions.”

“Sunshine, he’s dead. It’s over.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” said Quin. He stood up, tightening the belt around his waist. “Are you ready?”

Matheus stared straight ahead, his fists bulging out the pockets of his lab coat. Tingles started at the back of his neck, burning between his shoulder blades to the base of his spine. Quin walked beside him; his stolen clothes made swishing sounds with each step. Matheus felt like he walked next to a strobe light. Each
shuf-shuf
shouted, “Intruders! Intruders!”

“Relax,” said Quin quietly.

“You relax,” said Matheus.

They passed a woman carrying a tray of test tubes filled with yellow liquid. She flicked a disinterested glance at Matheus, then turned into one of the labs. Matheus jumped as a loud burst of the laughter exploded outward.

Quin veered to the right, knocking his shoulder against Matheus’. The laughter cut off as the door rolled shut.

“This is your idiotic plan,” said Quin, as they turned to the corner. The elevator doors stood open; a man and woman, both carrying laptops, walked out.

“Shut up,” said Matheus. “Just shut up. We’re almost there.”

The laptop couple split up, the woman going left, the man toward Matheus and Quin. Quin inhaled harshly.

“Just keep walking,” whispered Matheus. “Act like you’re supposed to be here.”

“I know, Sunshine,” Quin said. “I am perfectly capable of controlling myself.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Quin bumped his shoulder again. Matheus thought about how some sharks nudged their prey before they struck.

The man paused, tapping on a window. He motioned to someone inside, making an improvised sign language with his free hand.

Matheus watched him as they approached. The woman inside shook her head at the man. With pursed lips, he set the laptop on the floor. He sketched out a box with his hands, his mouth moving into exaggerated shapes. Matheus was close enough to smell the lingering odor of cheap Chinese food on the man. He didn’t dare look at Quin. The woman shook her head again, then pointed to the door. Lips pursed even more, the man stooped to pick up his laptop. He turned, giving them absent nod. One step, then two.

“Hey!”

Quin spun around. In the same instant, Matheus grabbed his arm, clinging with both hands as Quin tried to shake him off. The man ran for the lab, the woman watching the scene with one hand covering her mouth.

“Call security!” the man shouted, pushing the door shut manually.

“We have to run!” Matheus said, his fingers digging into Quin’s forearm. He hoped Quin didn’t decide to snap his wrists. From the expression on Quin’s face, Matheus reckoned he had a fifty-fifty chance of a serious maiming.

“Sunshine—”

“No! For fuck’s sake, stop trying to kill everyone!”

“Trying?” said Quin.

“Quin!”

“All right, all right.”

Matheus dropped Quin’s arm. He ran for the elevator, pounding the call button until the plastic casting cracked. “It’s not coming!”

“Matheus.” Quin sauntered down the hall, stopping beside Matheus.

“What? What, Quin? What now? I’m an idiot, okay? I get it. I fucking get it!” Matheus kicked the elevator doors. He had to, because the only other option was to sit down and start weeping. He’d gotten so far on sheer nerves, but he’d run out. Now he just wanted to curl up and sleep for a month. Frustration could break a person as neatly as torture.

Quin cleared his throat and pointed to the door marked
Stairs
.

“Oh,” said Matheus. “Well. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure,” said Quin.

They sprinted down the stairs. Matheus skimmed his hand along the railing, jumping the last few steps to the landing. The door to the third floor burst open as they turned. Guards spilled onto the landing, firing wild shots, crossbows bolts bouncing off concrete walls.

“Faster, faster!” Matheus yelled.

“This is a terrible plan!”

“I know! Just fucking run!”

Matheus only skimmed the edge of the steps, taking them two at a time. Some of the guards had the idea to stay on the landing and fire down. Others chased down the stairs, barely bothering to aim. Chips of concrete burst into the air with every missed shot. Heavy footsteps pressed down from above.

Matheus risked a look behind him. His stomach dropped as the tip of a bolt bobbed a meter away from his face. He ducked at the sound of the trigger. The bolt whisked through the strands of his hair, a long sting following in its wake. They reached the landing on the second floor.

Quin stopped, pulling Matheus to the railing. “Remember to roll,” he said.

“What? No—” Matheus’ words turned into a shriek as Quin tossed him over the railing. He hit the ground feet first, crumpling as pain jolted up his legs like a lightning strike.

Quin landed next to him, rolling to his feet and dragging Matheus out of the downpour of bolts.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Matheus said. He balanced on one leg, using the wall for support.

“Shake it off,” Quin said.

“My ankle’s broken, you unbelievable dick!”

“Probably just a sprain.”

Shouts travelled down the staircase, a makeshift echo chamber distorting and amplifying the sounds. Matheus judged the guards to be on the second-floor landing. They had only a few seconds. He managed a couple of hops, then stopped, wobbling back and forth.

“For God’s sake,” Quin said. He scooped Matheus into a fireman’s hold, ignoring Matheus’ squawks of protest.

Matheus bounced as Quin kicked open the door to the garage. Quin’s shoulder dug into Matheus’ gut, grinding his organs. He closed his eyes, tried to think of a more nausea-inducing form of travel and failed. He clung to handfuls of Quin’s shirt for some semblance of control, but didn’t find much. His face smacked into Quin’s lower back as Quin lurched to a halt. Matheus craned his neck, trying to see under Quin’s arm.

“Put him down.” The man spoke with a guttural accent, each word slotted into place with the precision of a puzzle piece. A factory-machined sentence, beautiful in its engineering and as warm as tempered iron.

No
, thought Matheus. He staggered as Quin set him upright, grabbing his arm for support. He kept his eyes on the cement, afraid to confirm what he already knew.

At the edges of his vision, he saw a line of boots. He assumed legs, and torsos, and arms complete with crossbows, were attached to those boots. Behind them, Matheus heard the rest of the guards reach the bottom of the stairs. The tip of a bolt pricked the back of Matheus’ neck.

“You have caused quite a bit of trouble,” said the voice. “Pardon me.”

The line of boots parted, allowing a pair of gleaming black leather shoes to walk forward. The soles crunched over the grit-covered floor.

Oh, fuck, no,
Matheus said.
No, no, no, no, not
him.
Not here.
He shook, turning his head until his nose brushed Quin’s shoulder.

“Sunshine?” Quin asked quietly.

“Raise his head,” said the voice.

The guard behind Matheus grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled.

Whimpering, Matheus looked at the man standing in front of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-laced, pale blond hair. Heavy lines bracketed his mouth, but he retained a dignified handsomeness. His blue eyes didn’t blink as he gazed at Matheus.

“
Guten Abend, Mattias
,” he said.

“
Vater
,” said Matheus.