42nd & Lex (25 page)

Zaid’s words are on a loop in my head and
they make my stomach churn. I am one deep breath away from hurling all over the
car’s sleek interior. One hundred years and no aging. There is no way that is
possible. What the hell am I talking about; I’d seen more than a few things
that were supposed to be impossible proved possible in the last week. The
thought that I might have overreacted springs up in my brain and waits to be
acknowledged.

Serge wanted to throw his phone across the
room. He had taken the night off to deal with Mark and instructed his
replacement to call him if Abri Cole showed up. He’d called all right. Right
after she’d left. Alone.   

“You fucking idiot. I told you to call me if
she showed
up
. Not when she left,” he barked into the phone.

“Man, I know.” The young valet tried to
sound sorry, but he wasn’t. Serge was a prick. “I wasn’t on duty when she came
in. I got there late. T’was Carlos that saw ‘em come in. I’d been there about
ten minutes when she come bustin’ out the front door like the place was on
fire. O’Reilly wasn’t with her and she took his car. Didn’t say where she’s
headed, just tore off like a maniac. Carlos said he had a tracker with him man.
A tracker.”

Serge’s blood ran cold. A tracker was bad
news. While there were many reasons why someone like Lucan O’Reilly might be
entertaining a tracker at the Enclave, Serge couldn’t help but think it was
because of Mark. Because of him. “How long ago did O’Reilly leave?”

“’Bout ten minutes ago with the tracker and
another human woman in tow. The girl left just a few minutes before that,” the
valet replied. “Why you care so much ‘bout this girl, man? She's pretty and
all, but she's human.” He spit out the last word as if it was something vile. “And
O’Reilly’s already put his mark on her if you know what I mean, man.”

Serge hung up without answering. He checked his
watch. Ten minutes. She could be anywhere in the city by now. Serge took a deep
breath and tried to be logical. If she’d left in a hurry without O’Reilly, then
they must have had a fight. So it was safe to assume she wouldn’t be returning
to his apartment at the Chrysler building. She would probably be returning to
her own apartment. Alone.

Serge searched his pockets for the address
he’d held on to for the last few days. It had only cost him $9.95 online to find
out where Abri Cole lived. It was mighty careless of her not to have an
unlisted phone number or at least a post office box given what she did for a
living. Didn’t she watch primetime television dramas; it’s always the attorney that
gets capped by the disgruntled ex-husband. 

      Now where the hell am I going to park
this damn thing? Tearing off from the Enclave and heading to my own apartment
seemed like a good idea fifteen minutes ago, but now I have the issue of where
to park a hundred thousand dollar car in my less than upscale neighborhood. A
spaced opens up about a block from my building and I put my rather rusty
parallel parking skills to use. I really need to drive more often. Of course,
if I stop seeing Lucan I won’t have the opportunity or the need anymore. There is
no way I am keeping the Evora, no matter how much I want to. 

I get out and lock the doors. I am barely
legal on my distance from the curb, but I don’t care. Besides, if I get a
ticket, it won’t go on my license, it will be Lucan’s problem.  

I hurry down the block to my building
feeling exposed and alone on the dark street. It is too quiet for this early on
a Friday night. I have my key out and ready to go when I walk up the steps. Thankfully,
they are in my purse and not back at the Chrysler. I don’t have a chance to use
them, however. The building’s super is standing in the lobby and pushes the
door open for me.

“Hi Mr. K. How are you?” I ask. “Thanks for
opening the door.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Cole. I’m good. You’ve
been gone a lot lately. Working hard?” he asks. It’s always bothered him that I
am out on my own at night. He looks out for the elderly and single tenants of
our little dilapidated building.  

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’ve been working a lot
lately. I’m calling it a night early tonight, actually.”

“Good girl. Get some rest,” he smiles. “Well,
g’night Miss Cole. Be sure to keep that door locked. I heard someone trying to
jimmy the door open a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, thanks. I will.” Surely, it wasn’t
Lucan. He wouldn’t try to break into my apartment building, would he?

I change into a pair of sweats and flop down
my couch. I am too wound up to sleep. I need to think. So far, all my thoughts
have centered on not seeing Lucan again. But if I want to be completely honest
with myself, I know that isn’t possible. That bubble labeled overreaction that's
been floating around my head since I burst out of the Enclave pops up again to
be acknowledged. 

I have taken everything Lucan’s told me in
stride until this point, no matter how unbelievable it’s been. My unwavering
acceptance of the impossible just reached critical mass tonight and I snapped.
One just can’t override a lifetime of rules and logic without a second thought.
Lucan probably understands that. That’s probably why he hasn’t called or shown
up at my door. He’s giving me my space to come to this conclusion on my own. I will
get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, clear my head, and call him in the
morning. I will at least give him a chance to explain before I make up my mind never
to see him again.

Ugh! Who am I kidding; I love this man. I
told him so on like our third date. I am just going to have to accept the fact
that logic is not always going to apply to Lucan and me. We are meant to be
together, weirdness and all.

I brush my teeth and take off my make up
before crawling into bed. The pillows and sheets still smell of Lucan and
desire sparks in my belly. Fuck. I really messed things up tonight. I could be
in bed with him right now if I’d just stuck around to listen to Zaid’s
explanation. I toss my usual pillow to the floor and bury my face into the one
on Lucan’s side of the bed. It’s not long before sleep overtakes me.

I am startled awake by a loud crash down the
hall. I’ve lived in the city long enough to know better than to investigate the
source of a noise that is not contained within the walls of my apartment. Instead,
I get up to double check that my front door is triple locked and that the
security bars are across the window that leads to the fire escape. Fumbling in
the dark, I find my cell phone on the nightstand and use it to light my way to
the living room. On the way, I notice that Lucan has called several times. I will
call him in a minute, after I check the locks and the window.

The screen on my cell goes dark again. This
is useless. I fumble against the wall, feeling for the switch that controls the
lamp next to the couch. My vision is a little blurry, having fallen asleep in my
contacts. I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.

The blow strikes hard and fast, knocking me off
my feet. Before I hit the floor I manage to push the button to redial Lucan’s
missed call. The phone spins out of my hand across the floor. I hear it ring
once before the voice in the room curses. I hear it ring again before I smell
the blood that can only be running from my head. I hear it ring once more
before I lose unconsciousness.          

Serge searched desperately for the ringing
phone under the couch, under the coffee table, under the makeshift shelves that
held the ancient television set. There was little doubt who she called before
he made contact with her head. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard. He’d
forgotten that humans weren’t as strong as vampires and didn’t require much
force to subdue. The smell of her blood was so enticing that he almost forgot what
he was looking for. 

The phone rang again and he located it under
the rickety dinette set. He heard the caller answer as he retrieved it. 

“Hello? Abri?”

He recognized the voice and recoiled. He’d
been correct. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Hello? Who’s this?” Lucan demanded on the
other end of the line. His acute hearing allowed him to hear Serge even though
the phone was several feet from his mouth. “Abri?”

Mustering his courage—after all this was
what he’d been working towards wasn’t it; Serge lifted the phone to his mouth. “No
love, this isn’t Abri.”

Lucan let forth a string of Celtic curses. “Who
the fuck is this? What have you done to her?”

“It’s not what I have done, Luke. It’s what
I'm going to do.” Serge replied, finding his resolve and then some. He was no
fool though; he knew Lucan was close by, if not already in the building. Serge
had to act fast. He ended the call and tossed the phone aside.

He locked the front door to slow down Lucan
O’Reilly when he arrived. He hadn’t needed to break in thanks to the ever
obliging super. Serge had amped the poor human so hard he had willingly given
up his master key set. That being after Serge had slipped inside behind a
drunken couple of college students too blitzed notice him flashing past. Humans
were so simple he though as he picked Abri’s limp body off the floor. He was glad
to no longer be counted among their ranks.

Serge moved to crush Abri’s cell phone under
his heavy boot. It didn’t give as easily as he anticipated and he stumbled under
the uneven weight of his prize. He deposited Abri in one of the tattered
kitchen chairs and tried again. The Blackberry cracked and crumbled underneath
his boot. The crunch masking the tiny sounds of the front door’s locks giving
way once more.

Satisfied that the phone was destroyed,
Serge moved to hoist Abri over his shoulder again. Before he could get her in
his arms, the front door opened and the light from the hallway spilled into the
living room. That was fast, he thought, and quiet. 

Serge hadn’t been so stealthy when he’d unlocked
the door moments before. He’d dropped the heavy master key ring on the floor
outside Abri’s door. Then, after he’d gotten the locks undone, the security
chain caught, briefly thwarting his entry before he’d pried the links of chain
apart with is thumb and index fingers. He’d made his way in and closed the door
only to trip over a pair of high-heeled shoes in the middle of the floor. He
was lucky to have made it that far before Abri came in.

The hall’s fluorescent lights penetrated
deep into the darkness of the apartment, blowing his cover, before Lucan shut
the door again. The darkness surrounded them again. Not that it mattered, they
could both see just as well in the dark as in the light. 

“I should have known it was you, Serge. I
saw how you looked at her that first night.” Lucan spoke first as he moved
closer to Abri, the smell of her blood burning in his nose and lungs. “What
have you done?”

“Nothing yet, O’Reilly. She’s still alive. It
wouldn’t serve me to have her die. She’s too important.”

“Important for what?” Lucan asked, trying to
occupy the vampire’s thoughts, distract him from his plan.

“For me. She belongs to me. And I won’t make
any mistakes this time when I turn her.” Serge replied. His thoughts shifted to
Abri slumped over in the chair next to him. Oh the fun he was going to have
draining her and then making her his forever.

“This time?” Lucan asked. “What have you
done?”

“How many times are you going to ask me that,
Celt?” Serge replied. “What I’ve done or not done is none of your concern. But
what I'm going to do, well, that’s probably another story. But you’re a smart
lad, you can figure it out.”

Serge was momentarily caught up in the smell
of Abri’s blood. He could feel the pleasure centers of his brain firing off
like a lightning storm. Serge had been an addict in his human life and those
urges had carried forward into his vampire life, finding a new high to seek in
his lust for blood. He struggled with the Enclave’s rules about feeding; the
high he got from the hunt was much preferred over the mundaneness of getting
sustenance from a willing participant. His fangs ran out with such force at the
thought that his hand flew to his mouth on instinct with being hit in the
face.   

Lucan seized the opportunity, launching
himself at Serge. Two solid and nearly unmovable bodies collided with a force
that sounded like a bomb going off, sending a shockwave out across the building
and making it shake. 

“She’s mine.” Lucan growled before sinking
his fangs into Serge’s throat. 

Almost immediately, Lucan drew back from the
gaping wound in Serge’s neck. He spat the blood from this mouth onto Abri’s
floor, nearly missing a throw rug. He knew that taste. Serge’s cryptic rant
about what he’d done or not done made sense now. When Mark broke into the Chrysler,
they had exchanged a few blows and blood had been drawn. Serge tasted of Mark’s
blood. He had been the one to create the Halfling. Lucan tossed the bleeding
vampire to the floor.  

Abri stirred on the chair, nearly falling
off as she regained consciousness. “Lucan?” she cried out weakly.

“I'm here,” he said, wiping the blood from
his mouth. He was glad the lights are off and she couldn’t see him clearly.
“Just stay still.”

“Here?” she asked. “Lucan, my head hurts.”

“Yes, I'm here. You’re safe now,” he soothed,
refusing to think that she might not want him here given how well dinner had
gone; refusing to consider it was Serge that placed the call so he could gloat
at his capture. Lucan was glad he had decided to wait out the night outside
Abri’s building just in case she called and wanted to talk. He was also pissed
that he hadn’t notice Serge slip inside.

Always the opportunist, Serge sprinted for
the door while Lucan was distracted. “For now, Abri, love. For now,” Serge said.
His words were slightly garbled from the wound dangerously close to this voice
box. Thankfully, he would heal in a day or so. “But rest assured, little one,
you are mine, not his.”