Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires (112 page)

Shane looks over my shoulder. “His color's a lot better now. I think he'll make it after all.” He reaches for the packet of gauze on the nightstand. “Thank you for your kind donation, ma'am. Please help yourself to juice and cookies before you leave.”

“So what happened after you were turned?”

“Regina took me to a veteran donor, and I drank a human for the first time.” He sits up, then tears open the gauze and presses it gently against my neck. “I felt better.”

“That good, huh?”

“It was like I'd found everything I was ever looking for. Blood's a lot like drugs, but it makes you strong instead of weak. All the other vampire crap—never seeing the sun, not enjoying food, having to find, flatter, and fuck donors you don't even like—blood makes it all worthwhile.”

I move his hand so I can hold the gauze myself and press more firmly than he would dare. “So you were happy, then, after you turned.”

“Hell, no. Regina and her friends had to put me on suicide watch. They'd force-feed me blood, then nail me into a coffin before sunrise. A coffin, for Christ's sake.” Still holding my hand, he stretches out beside me again, closer than before. “Finally the Control stuck me in one of their nursing homes for rehab. Two years later, David visited and offered me this job. They wouldn't let me leave, said I wasn't ready. So I escaped and refused to go back, because I finally had something to live for.”

I tighten my fingers around his. “I'm glad Regina gave you another life.”

Shane touches his forehead to my temple. “Me, too,” he whispers. “Now.”

He kisses my cheek softly. I slide my hand up his arm, then remove it quickly as I remember his burns. I look down and gasp.

“You're healed.”

He sits up and rotates his smooth, unmarked arm in the lamplight. “Whoa.”

“David said holy water always left scars.”

“I know, but there's nothing.” He stares at me. “It must've been your blood.”

“But if blood could heal holy water burns, someone would've figured it out by now.”

“I don't mean any blood, Ciara. I mean
your
blood.”

The awe in his eyes makes me shiver. “What's so special about my blood?”

“Good question.”

I check the gauze pad. The red spot looks normal to me. “If I'd known it would heal you, I would've let you drink me right away.”

“Thanks.” He marvels at his arm again. “I'll remember that next time you shoot me with holy water.”

“Besides, it would've been so romantic, very Buffy and Angel.” Now I know I'm delirious.

“Very what?”

“TV shows. After your life. We can rent the DVDs if you want to catch up.”

“We'll have lots of time once the nights get longer.”

Suddenly I can imagine the time. Cuddling in front of the TV with Shane and a mug of apple cider. Hanging with the whole VMP gang around David's fireplace—with the humans closest to the flames, of course—shooting the shit and arguing over who was the most talented Beatle.

This time, such a future doesn't feel like a vise or a straitjacket.

A knock sounds at the door. Shane lies down and shoves his healed arm under the covers. “Who is it?”

Regina opens it far enough to fit her face. “The Control's here. A bit late, but at least they can help clean up. You almost done?”

“We're done, we're just recovering.” Shane peeks at the sleeping Travis. “He'll need to drink in another couple hours, but he'll survive, barely.”

“Poor bloke.” The sympathy in her voice sounds genuine. “How about the sunnyside? She make it?”

“I'm right here,” I say, “and yes, I'm fine.”

“Good. That colonel guy wants to see you.”

In a few moments, Colonel Lanham's voice comes from the door. “Ms. Griffin, your father called us.”

I close my eyes against a wave of dizziness. “Where is he?”

He hesitates. “I was hoping you'd know.”

My eyes slam open. “He's skipped town?”

“I'm afraid so. When he phoned, we thought he was still with his guard, so we didn't trace the call.” He moves next to the bed where I can see him without turning my head. “But we'll find him. One of our agents was killed here tonight. More humans might have died because of his treachery.”

“Did he say why he did it?”

“No. Near as we can figure, he was acting as a double agent for us and Gideon. At some point he switched loyalties. Maybe Gideon paid him more.”

My eyes grow tight around the edges. “He never switched loyalties. He just stayed loyal to himself.” Nice game, Daddy.

“What about the station?” Shane asks him.

“As far as we're concerned, Elizabeth can stay alive. The Control will continue to support the mission of WVMP in keeping the six of you off the streets, as it were.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, wondering how long we can fool the IRS. “Can I go home now that Gideon's dead?”

“Certainly. With two of his top men in custody, we should be able to dismantle his compound.”

“Don't count on it. Those people want to be there. There'll always be another Gideon.”

“Nonetheless, we'll do our best to ensure your lives return to normal.” He looks at the three of us sprawled on the bed and seems to hear his own words. “Relatively speaking.”

“You're getting really good at that.”

“I'm an excellent driver,” Shane says in his best Rain Man imitation as he shifts into first gear.

I look back at David's driveway, full of black vans belonging to the International Agency for the Control and Management of Undead Corporeal Entities. Luckily, out here in the country all this hubbub won't attract attention. Then again, if David lived in town it would have been harder to attack him in the first place. Location really is everything in real estate.

These thoughts, along with my lingering light-head-edness, fail to distract me from the day's biggest devastation.

“Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.'”

Shane concentrates on second gear before answering. “I didn't have to tell you so. You knew.”

“I thought I was being careful with my father, not giving away too much. But I never thought he'd take Gideon's
side. It explains everything—why Gideon was stalking me that first night I came to the station, why he didn't turn me into a vampire.”

Shane gives me a long look, then turns off the lane onto the country road. “He wasn't going to turn you into a vampire. He was going to kill you.”

“How do you know?”

“You said he was going to bite your neck standing up. That can cause an air embolism that would've stopped your heart or given you a stroke. You wouldn't have lived long enough to be turned.”

I grab the door handle, expecting a surge of nausea. Usually a phrase like “air embolism,” even out of context, would make me need to lie down. But after a few deep breaths, I just feel glad to be alive.

“What was the last ‘last song' you played for me, the night I was at Gideon's? Our, uh, reception died.” I omit the reason, that Jim had smashed the radio against the door.

“I'll play it for you on my next show.”

“Just tell me.”

“That's not how it works. How are you feeling?”

I sigh at his change of subject. He'll do what I want, but in his own time. “A little sore when I turn my head. Otherwise okay.”

“Good, but that's not what I meant.”

Ahead of us, a rabbit darts halfway across the road, then changes its mind and springs back into the weeds.

“I feel stupid. I thought my father was lying about something, but I figured it had to do with his wife and whether they had any kids. I should have put all the pieces together.”

“You had a lot on your mind with the con.”

“I should have warned David about him. Dad has a talent for wrangling confessions.”

“People feel better after they share their darkest sins. They feel lighter.”

He's right. Now that my moments of adrenaline and heroism have passed, the weight of what I did earlier today sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I can undo that deed, but the knot in my gut won't leave until I tell Shane. Even if it means losing him.

My phone rings. Franklin.

“Figured you'd want to know,” he says. “David's okay. He'll be in the hospital overnight, but he won't need surgery.”

“What did you tell the doctors?”

“That David was attacked by a stray pit bull.”

“Did they believe you? This is the guy who publicly claimed to run a vampire radio station.”

“Just play those last three words back in your head. That ought to answer your question.”

After two months of this job, sometimes I forget how ridiculous it sounds. “Can David talk?”

“He's asleep. Before he conked out, he told me to ask you if you're taking the job.”

“I'll see you guys on Monday.”

“That doesn't really answer—”

I hang up. “It's official,” I tell Shane. “We saved our boss's life.”

“Time for a raise.”

We stop at the traffic light connecting David's road to the highway. In the red glow, I look at Shane's bandaged
arm. Beneath it lies unblemished skin—we covered it so no one would see and ask questions.

“There must be a simpler explanation for your recovery. Maybe I have a rare blood type or Rh factor, whatever that is.”

He glances at his arm. “The burn was so bad it only hurt for a second, then went totally numb. That's third degree. It should have taken weeks to heal and left nasty scars. But it's like it never happened. You did something.”

“My father thinks people can be healed by faith—their own or someone else's.”

“Maybe, but neither of us expected me to get better.”

“Plus I have no faith.” I point to the bumper sticker on the car in front of us.
Eternity, Your Choice: Smoking or Non-Smoking.
“Heh. As long as I'm already dead, I'll take smoking. Speaking of which, I could really go for a cigarette. Is that a side effect of being bitten? Someone should tell Philip Morris.” I look at Shane, whose expression has sobered. “I'm just kidding.”

“You really don't believe in heaven and hell?”

“No, I don't.” I manage to scrub my voice of most of the scorn I feel. “I don't believe in any of—” I suck in a sharp breath. “Shane, that's it!”

“What's it?”

“It wasn't my faith that healed you. It was my
lack
of faith. I'm like a desanctifier. An anti-holy.” This pleases me more than it should.

He laughs. “Wait. You're saying your skepticism is some kind of holy-weapon neutralizer? That's ridiculous.”

“Never underestimate the power of the scoff.”

He shakes his head. “Man, that's really heavy, as Jim
would say.” The light turns green. We turn onto the highway, downhill toward Sherwood.

An even better thought occurs to me. “Maybe I changed you permanently, made you immune to sacredness.”

“That would be nice.”

“Then you could go to mass again.”

“Who says I want to?” He looks at me, then back at the road. “Maybe on Christmas and Easter. But how would we find out it was permanent without burning me again?”

“Good point. I suppose we could hold clinical trials, put an ad for volunteers in the
City Paper
.”

He laughs again, then goes silent. “I can't wear this bandage forever. The others will notice.”

“Tough. I won't be a walking pharmacy for vampires. I didn't exactly get my jollies from being bitten.”

“I know. It makes your sacrifice that much nobler.”

“Please. I'm no saint.”

“You're loyal to your friends, and that's good enough for me.”

I don't answer, knowing I have evidence to contradict him.

We get home to my apartment, and I use my own key for the first time since Sunday. As I push open the door, its rubber bottom edge slides against today's mail.

“I'll get it.” Shane picks up an envelope and hands it to me. On the front is my name written in a handwriting I wish I no longer recognized.

My dizziness returns, having nothing to do with shock or blood loss. I sink onto the bottom step leading to my apartment. Shane flicks the switch, and for the first time in months, the overhead light comes on.

I look up at it. “My landlord finally changed the bulb.”

“Or maybe the Control guard got bored during his stakeout.” Shane sits beside me. “You want me to read it for you?”

I shake my head and slide my thumb under the envelope's edge, feeling a strong sense of deja vu from opening the Skywave check.

The letter looks scribbled in haste, perhaps on a vertical surface, as the pen seems to have run out of ink a few times.

Ciara
,

First, I never intended to betray you. In fact, my alliance with Gideon was probably all that prevented your death at his hands. But I'm sorry for the lies. Every one of them.

They'll catch me soon, if they can. I'll go back to jail, perhaps for the rest of my life. In that event, please, please come see me. Forgive me.

Those last two sentences are underlined so hard the pen poked holes in the paper. My rib cage seems to constrict. The rest of the words are barely legible.

When you were younger, I told you about our family curse. I said it was salesmanship, that we could make anyone buy what we offered and beg us for more. It was meant as a joke, since the power of persuasion is usually a coveted gift.

But every gift is a curse in disguise. Because eventually we run out of suckers, and the only fools left are the people we love.

He must not have had time to sign it. It's folded unevenly and wrinkled from being crammed in the envelope.