Destined For a Vampire (2 page)

“You can if you have very powerful blood,” Lucius said, looking at me meaningfully.

Pieces started sliding into place and I gasped. There was only one really powerful vampire that I knew of, and I had no doubts that he was both capable enough and evil enough to perpetrate such an atrocity.

“Lars.”

I remembered the way Lars was able to influence my mother and Trinity, the effect he had on people without even trying. I couldn’t imagine what he might be able to accomplish if he put forth more effort, put forth more thought and energy, more planning into his deception.

Lucius bobbed his head indecisively. “Eh, possibly, but I was thinking of someone even more powerful. This person would have to be able to control the memories of not only humans, but another vampire as well. And, if Bo is who I think he is, he himself is very powerful. It would take someone incredibly old to subvert him.”

“Wouldn’t they have had to feed Bo blood in order to do it?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought it was kind of an ongoing thing? I mean, three years is a long time. Wouldn’t they have to feed him blood continually, over the years?”

“Yes, they would.”

“Well, then how could someone have been feeding Bo vampire blood without his knowledge? And his mother, too?”

“It wouldn’t be as hard as you might think. Bo’s mother would’ve been the easier target. Humans always are. And she worked at the hospital, correct?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, if someone was rendezvousing with her fairly regularly, enough to keep her under their control, then that same person could’ve been infecting the bags of blood she was taking to Bo.”

“Oh,” I gasped. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Such ruthlessness, such impossible blackness. The person who could plan and carry out such a heinous deception would have to be evil incarnate.

“Who would do something like that? Who
could
do something like that?”

“Someone like an elder probably, someone powerful beyond imagination.”

“You knew many of them, right?”

“Well, I knew
of
them. I’m not that old. The elders walked the earth long before my time.”

“Any idea which one could’ve done something like this?”

“That, I’m not sure of, but I intend to find out.”

“Do you think this could have anything to do with Heather?”

Just before Bo “died,” he’d asked me to pass a message along to Lucius, the name of someone he believed to be connected to his father’s death. That name was Heather. No last name, no other information—just Heather.

“I suppose it’s possible, but there’s only one way to know for sure.”

“Find Heather.”

Lucius nodded. “Find Heather.”

“Well, where do we start?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that? You have a life to live. Besides, lass, I’m much more…
resilient
than you,” he teased with a wink.

“I’d like to help if—”

“I know you would, and if there’s something that you can do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Somehow I doubted that, but I really had no other choice but to let him do his thing. I had no idea where to even begin to look for a vampire named Heather, much less how to do it without getting myself killed in the process.

“What about Bo? How do we go about finding him?”

“That’s up to Bo, lass. He’s staying away for a reason. My guess is that it’s to protect you.”

“From what?”

“More like from
whom
. If Bo’s thinking the same thing I am, he knows that the vampire we’re dealing with is trouble with a capital T. Very dangerous. That’s not someone he’d likely want you involved with.”

“But I’m already involved. He can’t
un
involve
me.”

“No, he can’t do that, but he can surely try to keep you well-hidden from here on out.”

“Well-hidden? But I’m not hiding.”

“To a certain extent you are. The less contact you have with Bo—the less you are exposed to his blood—the less likely it will be that any other vampire can identify you, at least not without a very close encounter.”

“But he doesn’t have to stay away from me to accomplish that. All we have to do is
not
drink each other’s blood. That shouldn’t be too hard,” I said. But then, when I remembered that Bo would no longer have the poisonous vampire blood softening his thirst, I reconsidered. “At least not for me.”

“Even if Bo’s thirst is not an issue, it’s still not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my place to tell you that. Some things, you need to hear from Bo.”

“Well Bo’s not around so—”

“He will tell you in his own time and that’s all I will say.”

Both his tone and his expression brooked no argument.

“Isn’t it my decision anyway, whether or not to endanger myself?”

Lucius merely shrugged.

I wanted to rant and rave and bluster, to tell Lucius that nothing mattered except being with Bo. No risk was worth being apart from him, but I knew arguing would do me no good. It wasn’t his decision, wasn’t his fault. It was all up to Bo. I had no choice but to wait for him, wait for him to decide the time was right to come back to me.

Disgruntled and aggravated, I stood.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get to school. They’re watching attendance more closely than ever since all the recent disappearances and accidents.”

That’s what all the vampire activity had been labeled by both media and law enforcement—“disappearances” and “accidents.”

Lucius rose as well, walking with me to the door.

“Please do come back and visit, Ridley. I’d like to keep in touch, especially if you hear from Bo.”

I was perturbed. Lucius had irritated me.
He
was supposed to be the one giving
me
answers, telling me that Bo was alright and how to find him, not the other way around.

I nodded and smiled, a gesture I knew was tightly polite. I wasn’t feeling particularly warm at the moment.

********

The only thing I knew for sure was that I needed to see Bo, needed to talk to him, and the only way I knew to do that was to catch him visiting me. So, one night I went to bed, determined to stay awake long enough to nab Bo as he came into my room.

As I lay there, listening vigilantly, I began to fantasize about seeing Bo again

—touching him, talking to him. I thought of his silky dark hair, his nearly-black walnut eyes, his perfectly-carved lips. It gave me cold chills just to think of feeling those lips on mine and hearing his voice again.

I hadn’t had any contact with him since the night he’d come to my room after his supposed death, an incident that I was more convinced than ever was not a dream. But I remembered every detail about him as if I’d seen him only hours before. They were permanently etched into my mind, onto my heart.

From the night he’d visited me after his “death”, I’d awakened at some point every night since with his indescribably soothing tangy scent swirling in the air around me. But there was never any sign of Bo, though. Each time, I’d cut on the lights and walk the room, looking for him, reaching out with all my senses. The neighbors probably thought I had insomnia. But never, not once, did I find any trace of Bo, no evidence that he’d been there except for the smell in my nostrils and the ache in my heart.

Tonight, however, I was determined to stay awake, all night if need be, until he visited. I wanted to catch him red-handed. Even more than I wanted answers, I wanted, no
needed
, confirmation that he was alive. I needed to touch him, to feel his cool skin beneath my fingertips. I needed to know that he was out there…

somewhere.

It was during my fight against sleep that it occurred to me that I could always visit Denise Bowman, Bo’s mother. It was possible that I might be able to glean something from her reactions and the way she spoke about Bo, like whether or not she was still grieving and if she knew he was alive or not. Even if she didn’t, she might hold valuable answers, whether she was aware of it or not.

The next morning, I woke to the persistent buzz of my alarm. I growled at the ceiling. I’d fallen asleep.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, smothering a scream of aggravation. My irritation was impossible to maintain, however, when Bo’s mouth-watering scent wafted up from the material and teased my nose. It was strong, as if he’d lain there at some point, resting his head on the pillow beside mine. I wondered if he’d laid down beside me while I slept. The thought was as thrilling as it was frustrating.

It did serve to improve my mood, though. My body seemed to know what my mind only suspected. Bo had held me during the night, and the knowledge of that, the elation of it was enough to keep me going for a little while longer, until I could see him again.

After I showered and dressed, I realized that I had no idea how to get in touch with Denise Bowman. What little I knew of her was that she worked third shift at the hospital, which meant that, even though I hated to intrude so early in the morning, my best chance of catching her would be after she got off work. Like right about now.

I rushed through the rest of my morning ritual and hit the door at a run. I drove at breakneck speed to Bo’s house, determined to intercept Denise before she crawled into bed for the day.

The driveway at Bo’s small white cottage curved around and stopped right in front of the back door. So when I pulled to the top of the drive, I could see the rear bumper of Denise’s blue Volvo peeking out from behind the house.

Pulling to a stop just short of the wagon, I shut off the engine and sat inside my cooling car watching the kitchen window for signs of life. I could see that a light was on, but I didn’t know if that meant she was still up or she had just forgotten to turn it off. But then I saw a shadow pass in front of the glass, so I got out and walked to the front door.

As I raised my hand to knock, I thought I heard hushed voices and something scooting, like maybe a chair or some other small piece of furniture being moved.

Whoever was inside quickly quieted, however, so I just shrugged it off and rapped my knuckles lightly on the metal part of the screen door.

It only took a few seconds for Denise to answer. When she pulled open the heavy wooden door, she smiled in greeting.

It wasn’t quite the smile that I was expecting. It seemed a bit tight, like maybe she was irritated. I wondered if she wasn’t very happy to see me.

“Hi, Ridley,” she said, opening the screen door and motioning me inside.

I was relieved that she remembered me. But before I let that encourage me too much, I reminded myself that her memories of me weren’t important. It was Bo they were after, Bo they were trying to erase. If Lucius’s theory was true, that is.

“Hi, Mrs. Bowman.” I stopped just inside the living room and turned to face her.

“What brings you out so early?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep.”

Leaving the front door open, Denise only moved a short distance into the room, hovering near the exit as if she was hoping this wasn’t going to be a very long visit. I tried not to let her body language dissuade me.

“Well, you did. What can I do for you?”

Right down to business,
I thought.

Luckily, I’d rehearsed a bit of what I was going to say, although it seemed that most of my planning was for naught since she was intent on rushing me.

“How are you doing?” I watched her face carefully, gauging her reaction.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

That answer didn’t tell me much. It could’ve meant that she was putting on a brave face. It could’ve meant that she knew Bo was alive. It could’ve meant that she was taking enough drugs to kill a horse in order to cope with her grief. But it also could have meant that she wasn’t grieving at all.

“I’m doing better, I guess.”

She looked at me blankly, nodding her head as if she didn’t know what to say.

“Actually,” I began. “I wondered if you had any baby pictures of Bo that I could use for school. With all the…disappearances and stuff, we’re doing a Halloween masquerade to raise funds for a memorial and I thought it would be nice to have some baby pictures of everyone to put into the slideshow at the end of the dance.”

I watched Denise’s brow wrinkle in confusion. Her expression said that she was searching for some meaning in what I’d said, but she was finding none.

“Bo?”

“Yes.”

“Bo,” she repeated, this time as if she was trying to recall something about the name, as if she was trying to remember where she’d heard it. Her own son’s name. Supposedly.

With a sinking feeling, I realized that it was highly likely that Lucius was correct in his suspicions. It appeared that Denise Bowman was not Bo’s mother.

“Your son, Bo,” I added helpfully.

“Bo,” she said again. Then, as if light was dawning, she must’ve latched onto a memory, whether real or fake I couldn’t know. “Right. Bo. Oh, um, let me see. Maybe there’s something in his room.”

She walked past me toward Bo’s room. Quietly, I followed. Denise stepped through the doorway and just stood staring at Bo’s bed as if she’d never seen it before.

Confused, she looked around, taking in the dresser and the chest then glancing back at me.

“Do you think there would be something in here?”

I felt my eyes widen in uncertainty and disbelief.
She
was asking
me?

“Maybe. I’m happy to help you look,” I offered uncomfortably.

“That would be great.”

Reluctantly, Denise walked to the dresser and slid open the top drawer. She rifled through the contents like she was picking through the clothes of a stranger, which is what I suspected that Bo was to her—a stranger.

With a sigh, I turned to rummage quickly through the night stand and then made a show of going through the chest while she fumbled through the rest of the dresser drawers.