A Fall of Silver (31 page)

Perhaps it was ti
me to give her the whips back. She might be calmer and more inclined to listen if she felt safe and the presence of her weapons hanging from her belt seemed to reassure her.

Martyn Sutton had
somehow managed to keep the rest of his clan away from them despite his tenuous control so arming Quicksilver might not be too risky. At the moment, Sutton seemed strong enough to consider it.

A
niggling doubt seeped into the back of his mind. Father Donatello was missing, and Kethan had no information concerning his disappearance. Didn’t that mean that something had gone terribly awry and that he was wrong about Sutton?

Had he been wrong to meet Sutton halfway
and believe in his sincerity? The clan leader obviously felt threatened enough to want a cease-fire with the church, their historical enemy. Only Kethan’s unwavering faith in the possibility of grace drove him to hold out a hand to the master vampire. If Kethan did nothing and allowed humans like Quicksilver to slaughter the undead, they would get no second chance, and Kethan knew just how precious that slim chance was.

To be able to start again, fresh.
To have a new life.

To be able to fall in love
and have a family. A
true
family. A real life, in all its glory and misery, laughter and tears.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, h
e caught sight of the bed behind him and his mind slipped sideways. The seductive thought of a family,
children and grandchildren
, took his breath away, but the feeling did not last.

Quicksilver
wasn’t the only one with extra baggage. As so many Country and Western songs twanged, love had done him wrong. His mistakes would make a hit on the Country music charts, that’s for sure.

A flushed, achingly intense first l
ove had seduced him and then converted him into a vampire four hundred years ago. In less than a week, she moved on to another lost soul, leaving him to deal with his fate as best he could. Since that disaster, he’d had plenty of time to get over it.

Now, h
e had to learn how to survive the crazy vicissitudes of a normal human life all over again and not waste it for one transcendent night. He intended to marry and have children. He intended to
live
this time, which was why he needed to be cautious. A woman like Quicksilver was not the sort of woman a man took to the church to meet his priest.

“You ready yet?” she called, poking her head through the door.

Kethan buckled his belt and shrugged into a dark jacket. His dour reflection said he might have chosen clothing a little brighter and less funereal. The black jeans, dark blue shirt, and black jacket made him look like some sort of Irish hoodlum vampire.

Ironically
, Quicksilver had dressed in her white jeans and leather jacket, making the two of them look like chess pieces: white versus black.

Your move, sir.

He walked over to a shoulder-high safe bolted to the floor in the corner of the room. The combination was simple, the last two digits of the pivotal years of his life: ’12, the year he was born, ’21, the year he died, and ’01, the year of his rebirth.

“Here
.” He pulled the heavy door open. “It may be wise if you take your whips.”

“Why?”
Her voice was sharp although her eyes blazed an avid, intense blue.

When he glanced up, she
stood in the doorway, leaning forward. She had clasped her hands behind her back as if physically restraining herself from leaping forward, knocking him away, and grabbing her weapons.

“I’m not sure who
’ll be at the meeting. We should be prepared.”

“I’m always prepared.”

Holding out her coiled whips, he pulled them back a fraction at her words. “Promise me you won’t use these unless you have to. Our goal isn’t killing vampires, it’s finding Father Donatello. Clear?”

“Sure.
We want to give everyone a second chance.” She snagged the whips and reached behind her back to fasten them to her belt. Although she bit her full lower lip, the trembling vestige of a triumphant smile shone from her face as if the whips completed her, made her feel whole. “I won’t use them. I promise. Unless I have to.”

“Why does that not reassure me?”

She laughed and stroked his cheek, her eyes bright. “Because you’re a smart man.”

“
Then may God have mercy on our souls. If you believe that, we really are in trouble.”

“
Don’t worry. You’ll feel better when it’s all over.” Her eyes locked onto his. “What if I promised not to do anything unless you tell me to?”

He nodded. Smart. That would be smart.
“That sounds reasonable.”

“At least you won’t think I’m a sociopathic killer.”

“No one does,” he said.

“Right.”

He grimaced and led her out, trying not to let his mind linger over the shape of her hips and long length of her legs, both emphasized by her tight jeans. Despite his efforts, every few seconds, he lapsed into a sexual fugue state, remembering odd sensations, the way her mouth felt, the touch of her hand….

Time
distorted, and his awareness of the present eroded until he found himself “waking up” to find he had no idea how he’d gotten down the stairs and outside, or what Quicksilver was saying. He couldn’t afford to go blank in the middle of talking to Martyn Sutton or whoever had Father Donatello.

“
We’ll take my car,” he said as Quicksilver headed toward her motorcycle, parked at the curb. Maybe driving would keep him focused.

“That piece of crap?”

“Yes.” The motorcycle was too exposed, too vulnerable. He couldn’t shake his unease. He glanced up the street and moved closer to her. Suddenly, he felt overly protective even though she was the one least in need of protection with her whips at her waist.

As they climbed into his car, h
er brows drew down and her mouth pursed as if she contemplated an unpleasant topic. “Will it start?”

“Of course.” He laughed
despite the cold drops of sweat trickling down his sides as he turned the key in the ignition.

Thanks be to God
!
The car started.

The meeting place wasn’t far
; nothing in Grenville was very far since an odd curve of the Potomac River cut off expansion on the north end of town and it could only grow southward. Sutton had selected the field behind the Grenville High School this time, nervously trying to avoid using the same place more than once. His skittish behavior irritated Kethan and prevented them from relaxing in a neutral environment long enough to make headway with their negotiations. All they had time to talk about was where they might meet next and where the conveniences were for the humans.

If Kethan hadn’t been so determined,
he’d have given up the minute Quicksilver barged into the room. However, he believed in his goal and knew that at least a few vampires might be weary of their half-lives. Some might have become the undead through no fault of their own and could eventually stumble upon the way back if they lived long enough. Only time would allow them to make the final gesture toward salvation, if their nature was capable of it.

Whe
n he brought the car to a halt in the school’s parking lot, the vehicle rattled for a full minute before it exhaled and died. Quicksilver glanced at him. Her brows rose, and he shrugged. When it was time to leave, the car would either start or it wouldn’t. It was in God’s, and his mechanic’s, hands.

Martyn’s SUV was
parked at the opposite end of the lot. The expanse of macadam around them was empty except for a few crushed soda cans and browning tufts of grass breaking through cracks marbling the black, tarry surface.

An eerie sense of foreboding weighed against
Kethan as he scanned the deserted lot. His shoulders tensed, and the skin across his forehead tightened. The red-brick high school looked more like a prison than a school, with small, high windows with wire-reinforced glass and heavy, metal double doors.

A
six-foot tall chain-link fence divided the grounds into depressing utilitarian sections. Clusters of trash collected at the base of the fence, and the sidewalks were scarred by swaths of black graffiti. The air reeked of suppressed teenage rage and futility. The atmosphere eerily echoed the emotions he’d sensed when he first met Quicksilver.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded himself from the car an
d walked around to her side to open the door. Only time would tell if he were right in believing she could change. He hoped to God he was.

Quicksilver glanced at Kethan
in surprise. “I don’t see anyone.”

“They’re here.
That’s Sutton’s car.” He opened the door for her.

“I don’t
feel
them.” She stood up and walked a few feet away. Turning slowly, she lifted her chin and gazed around, trying to sense them or catch the foul, dusty odor of rotting wood that always clung to the undead.

A curl of mist seeped out of the woods
, rolling in thick waves across the street. Slowly, it enveloped an outstretched wing of the school. The eerily silent bank of gray unfurled tendrils and spread between the thick, black trunks of the leafless trees bordering the parking lot. Cascading across the oily black surface, the mist gradually surrounded them. The air grew dank with the damp, moldy smell of fresh earth and fallen leaves.

“
Sutton?” Kethan called, facing the advancing fog.

“Please. Be quiet,”
Quicksilver spoke in a soft voice, her body so tense she could hardly swallow. Her breath froze in her chest. They were out there, waiting for them.

Vampires
.

“This isn’t like Sutton—”

“What do you mean?” Her lips barely moved as she whispered.
Don’t make a sound. Don’t let them know where we are.

“H
e was a farmer and carpenter when he was alive, an average guy. He came here for a new life in fifteen-eighty-six.”

“So what?”

“He doesn’t go in for vampire theatrics.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”
Peering through the fog, she moved closer to Kethan. Droplets condensed on her eyelids and slipped down her cheeks like rain. Her right hand stole around her waist, seeking the comfort of her whips. With a solid handle in her hand, she could face anything. As she unfastened the leather strap holding one of the whips, the muffled creaks sounded abnormally loud. She froze, listening.

“
I don’t like this,” she said quietly. “I don’t sense Sutton, or his people.”

“You can feel them?”
Kethan studied her.

Yes—I’m a freak. But you knew that,
didn’t you?

“Yes
, can’t you?” With shaking hands, she tucked a whip handle under one arm and pulled on a pair of translucent half-gloves. The gloves left her fingertips free but protected her palms from the monofilament fall of the whip. The silvery fall would slice through her hand just as easily as a vampire’s neck if she had to pick it up.

“
No. Not unless I see or touch them.”

“Super.”
Flipping the whip loose, she snapped it through the air and then coiled it in her hand. The long length of the fall, merging into the thong and final popper reassured her. There was no mistaking the cold, clammy feel of a vampire’s dead flesh. Anyone could identify a vampire that way. She snorted, feeling again the sensation of being different and out of sync with the rest of the human world.

“Please, Quicksi
lver. We’re here to meet Sutton and find out about Father Donatello, not to antagonize them. I’d like to get him back alive if possible.”

“Face it, he’s dead.” She watched his face harden with anger.
Her heart thudded with pain, but she forced herself to face the worst. If she accepted it now, it wouldn’t hurt so much later.

“I’
m asking you to stand aside.” The lilt returned to his voice, a hint that he was losing control. “Follow my lead. There’s no need for threats, and I won’t ask again. Please. Do as I asked or go back to the car.”

She
shook her head. Of the two of them, she had the best chance of surviving and saving Father Donatello. She refused to abandon the gentle man to a stream of useless words. “Sure, laddie, faith and begorrah, I’ll be as meek and mild as a lamb.”

Her
sarcastic rendition of an Irish accent cranked him up to the point where he could only stare at her, speechless with fury. His hands opened and shut into white-knuckled fists. Even the soft scrape of a footstep on the pavement behind him failed to break through the red haze of his anger.

She glanced over his shoulder.

“Mr. Hilliard.” Martyn Sutton stood a few yards away. Tension turned his round face into a white mask glistening in the mist like damp, unfired clay.