Star, Starland Vamp Series, Book 1 (4 page)

“Has the burning stopped?” Fredrick asked, and for the first time, I really saw his face. My vision was so acute I could see every line, every curve of his face with amazing clarity.

“Almost,” I answered calmly, still lying down. The pain had dissipated enough for me to speak coherently. “No need to kill me now.”

“That’s my girl,” Fredrick said with a smile.

I tried to smile, but failed miserably. I decided to talk to take my mind off the pain that still lingered within my body. “Did you get those bastards?”

“Abigail
!” Fredrick exclaimed, laughing at my word choice. In those days, women never used words so profane. “But, yes, I got them.”

“Good,” I answered, beginning to regain control over my fingers and toes. Then as the pain left my hands I clenched and relaxed each, one by one. Then a thought occurred to me, “My father?”

Fredrick just shook his head, but said nothing.

Remembering my father and what he meant to me, I turned my head so Fredrick couldn’t see and let the cold tears slide slowly down my face, drenching the pillow. Those were the first tears I cried as a vampire. It wouldn’t be the last, but I assure you, I made others shed plenty more.

Fredrick later told me that the Revolutionary War began on that day, my first day as a vampire. On that day, the Battles of Lexington and Concord were the first of the war, and we were right in the middle of it all.

But that was many years ago.

***

The lights of the freeway brought me from my reverie, flashing brightly, neon reminders of the present. As I looked around, I realized we were on I-95 and crossing into New York.

“I must have been in my own little world for a while,” I said to Rick, who was still driving. Vampires never grew tired, but needed to rejuvenate from time to time, like going into a coma, or into hibernation.

“You were out,” Rick replied, glancing at me with a smirk. “And I thought you were tough,” he teased.

“Tougher than you, pretty boy,” I replied with a smile.

Rick laughed. “Now that, I do not doubt
!”

Looking at Rick and thinking back to that day, he had not changed one bit over more than 230 years. Amazing. And his personality hadn’t changed either. He was still the same caring person now as he was then.

“Rick, can I ask you something?”  I asked, watching him in the dim light.

He half smiled, and looked at me from the corner of his eye. “You know you can. What’s up?”

I sat sideways in my seat with my arm over the back, still watching him. I leaned the side of my head on my hand. Rick waited. He was always so patient; nothing like me. “Rick, why did you do it?”

In the dim street lamps that passed, Rick’s eyebrows pulled together. Actually, I have 20/20 vision in the dark. All vampires do. His eyebrows smoothed as he understood my meaning. “Make you a vampire, you mean?”

I was still watching him as he drove. “Yeah, why’d you do it? Why didn’t you just let me die?”

Rick’s face grew serious again. Over the last 230 years, I’d never asked him that question. “To save your life. I couldn’t bear to watch you die.”

I nodded, understanding. Rick was the one person I could be vulnerable with. After that day, he took me under his wing, cared for me, and taught me the ins and outs of being a vampire. A good vampire. And here he was, still caring for me now. “Thank you, Rick.”

He smiled a half smile, shaking his head in disbelief. “What brought all this on?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking.”

After a moment, Rick answered, taking his eyes off the road to look at me, “You’re welcome.” He smiled and shook his head. “Now get some rest. We’re almost there.”

I looked at the clock. Had we been driving for about six hours?  Then a thought occurred to me, “Where are we going, anyway?”

Rick smiled broadly, already knowing what my reaction would be. He was clearly enjoying this. “Cooperstown.”

I rolled my eyes. “New York?” I asked, incredulous.

Rick laughed, eyeing the expression on my face. “Is there any other?”

“Oh, Heaven help us all,” I replied. Small town, USA. Great. “We’re going to need it.” Then I threw my head back against the seat, trying to block out Rick’s peals of laughter.

“Go ahead,” I replied, leaning back in the seat. “Have your fun.”

Rick was laughing so hard he was crying. “Oh, thanks, I needed that
!” He said, now dabbing at his eyes. He knew how much I hated small towns. Boring. Not enough action. But if we were trying to protect someone, that’s the best place to be. In a small town, you can hide in the open and no one will notice a thing. Cooperstown was in upstate New York and as small as small town gets.

“Okay,” I said, having had enough. “You’ve had your fun.”

A second later Rick was still trying to suppress a smile.

“If you were anyone else …”

“Yeah, yeah …” Rick replied. “You’d miss me too much.”
             

“Yeah, like a hole in the head,” I mumbled, then changed the subject. “What’s his name?”

“Who?” Rick was still dabbing at his eye, trying to collect himself.

I punched him in the arm.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” Rick was still smiling, but managed to pull himself together.

“The kid’s!” I said, trying to get Rick to focus, which sometimes wasn’t easy. “The one we’re supposed to protect. Abbott’s son?”

Rick was suddenly all business. “Zachary Davis.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “Why Davis?”

“He’s using his mother’s last name for protection,” Rick replied. 

“Does he know?” I asked, trying to put the pieces together. Outside the window, the exit signs passed us like neon beacons under the streetlamps lining the expressway.

Rick shook his head. “I’m not sure. Probably. Hell, for all we know, Davis might be Abbott’s real name.”

I nodded in agreement. It was common for CIA operatives to use aliases. “What else?”

“What do you want to know?” Rick countered.

“The usual,” I replied, inhaling deeply. “Where does he go to school? What kind of friends does he have? What does he look like? You know.”

Rick drew in a sigh. “Well, he’s a senior at Cooperstown Central High, on the football team, and is a good student.”

“This is all coming from Abbott?”

“Yes.”

I nodded. Just because Dr. Abbott said it doesn’t make it true. “What about his friends?”

“Not quite sure,” Rick said, looking at the road. “I haven’t met him yet.”

I nodded.

“Do you have a file on him?” I asked, still turned sideways in the passenger seat.

“You know I do,” Rick replied, then quickly flipped open a secret compartment under the dashboard. In it, a manila file folder and a Kimber Solo 9 mm handgun rested. I smiled. “Some things never change.”

Rick laughed. “Hey, that’s my baby.”

“I thought
I
was!”

“No, you’re my daughter. Don’t forget that,” Rick said, joking.

“Okay,
Dad,”
I replied, sounding like a typical teenager. “I guess I should start practicing.”

Rick laughed, averting his eyes back to the road.

I opened the file and, even though it was dark, I could read the paperwork perfectly. On the top was his birth certificate. Hummm … born in Virginia Beach, Virginia, eighteen years old … the usual. There was a personality profile. Let’s see … he’s a good student, honor roll, plays football, baseball, and soccer, on the varsity team. Okay, so he’s a jock. When I moved the papers, a picture of a boy—actually a young man—was looking at the camera with a casual half smile. A beautiful smile, if I might add. Humm … I picked up the photo to get a better look. At least, that’s what I told myself. The first thing that struck me about him was his eyes. They were almond shaped azure blue that had a depth to them, uncommon for a boy his age.  His eyes peered out from behind sun-streaked blonde hair, with bangs that fell lazily over one eye, but was cropped short on the back and sides. His neck was strong and fell to broad shoulders with tanned skin. Not bad. I closed the folder.

Rick smirked at me from the corner of his eye. Obviously, he was watching me.

“What?” I feigned innocence.

Rick’s smile broadened as he averted his eyes back to the road. “Nothing, nothing at all,” he said, then smiled, catching glimpses of me from the corner of his eye.

“Let’s stop and stretch for a bit,” I said. Anything to divert the attention away from me. I really didn’t need the exercise, but it would be good to get out for a bit.

“Okay,” Rick relented, taking the next exit. “We need gas anyway.”

Rick pulled into the first gas station and up to the nearest pump and turned off the key.

“I’ve got this,” I said as I walked toward the convenience store. It wasn’t a good idea to use credit cards or ATM cards that could be traced.

“Be careful,” Rick called sarcastically over his shoulder, smiling.

Without looking back, I flashed him the bird over my head. I heard his contagious laughter as I walked into the store. Inside, I walked straight to the soda cooler. My throat was burning a bit, but not enough for blood. But there was something about Mountain Dew that I had a weakness for. Cool air rushed toward me as I opened the glass door and grabbed one out of the cooler, then headed for the register.

A frail, kindly old man with thinning grey hair stood behind the counter. He was not very tall and not very lean. He sported prominent creases around his eyes, probably from laughing throughout his life. This man appeared to have lived a happy life. Over the last 200 some years, I became good at reading people. Other things I was good at was reading emotions and mind control, but the later I used sparingly.  

I threw a pack of Juicy Fruit on the counter along with the Mountain Dew.

“You doing okay today, Miss?” the nice old man asked, ringing up my purchases.

“Yes, sir,” I answer politely, making small talk. He seemed like a nice enough old man. “If the weather just holds out. We have a long drive ahead of us.” Actually, I didn’t know how far we were going and the weather wouldn’t have been a deterrent, but it was something to say. No use in not being polite.

He patted my hand that was resting on the counter. “I’m sure it will.” If he only knew what he had just done. I smiled.

Suddenly, a nervous looking brunette man with wild eyes in his late teens opened the door. The pheromone level this guy excreted was maddening
!
See, when humans are nervous or scared, their body emits pheromones that vampires can detect. It helps us track our prey. For his sake, it’s good that I wasn’t dying of thirst because his crimson blood was pulsing deep within his veins under the thin skin of his throat, calling to me …

“Geese,” I said, throwing back my head, closing my eyes. “Not now.”

And I was supposed to keep a low profile.

Immediately, the guy threw open his overcoat, revealing a sawed-off shotgun. Probably sawed it off himself. His hands shook as he pointed it at the frail cashier behind the counter, who held up his hands and looked at me apologetically.

“How much?” I asked the cashier casually, indicating the items on the counter as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Didn’t you hear me, bitch?” the young man yelled into my ear. The shotgun in his hand visibly shook.

I looked outside at Rick who was watching the exchange and held up my hands as if to say, "What the hell?” Rick was laughing hysterically.

In one fluid motion I took the weapon from his still shaking hands and pointed it at his gut. “Now who’s the bitch, bitch?”

“Hey …” the guy stammered. The frail man behind the counter watched the exchange with his hands up, taking a step back. “I don’t want any trouble …” Pheromone guy was suddenly changing his tune.

“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you want,” I corrected, expertly cocking the shotgun and pointing it right between his eyes before he could bat an eye. “Now,” I began again calmly, “why don’t you hurry home like a good little boy and leave this poor man alone.”

I smiled sweetly.

“What the hell?” Suddenly the guy grew some balls. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He lowered his hands, then made a move for the shotgun.

Within the flutter of an eyelash, I grabbed his arm and threw him against the counter. And in the same fluid motion, I was behind him with the shotgun pointed at the back of his head. I had his body print.

“I’m the bitch with your shotgun,” I answered menacingly as the sides of my lip curled upward. My green eyes flared. “Who do you think
you
are?” I asked, then my body quivered and morphed, changing into him. Within a second, he was looking at an exact carbon copy of himself. “A punk?”

“Whoa,” the punk staggered back a bit, his eyes wide.

“Or a guy who picks on little old men?” I continued. Again, my body quivered, changing until I morphed into an exact replica of the old man behind the counter.