Lust for Life (5 page)

I say “supposedly” because I’m a diehard skeptic, and that’s where my power lies.
My blood as a human—and my mind as a vampire—can reverse the effects of holy water,
which is supposed to leave permanent scars. This magic runs in my family, but no one’s
blood was as powerful as mine. Too bad I had to die and deprive vampire-dom of their
best ever skin-care regimen.

“Lanham stuck me in IC,” I point out to Elijah, “and I’m not connected to the divine
at all. I think that was his point.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the Control wanted to see if I could neutralize my comrades and their alleged
paranormal abilities.”

“Huh. As long as they’re not using you to mess with your fellow vampire agents, in
the fine tradition of the Immanence Corps.”

I grimace at his reference to Project Blood Leash, the movement spearheaded by my
former IC commander (“former,” because I killed him). Last April, Colonel Petrea and
his daughter Tina raised most of the corpses lying in Sherwood Cemetery. He manipulated
the zombies’ actions through blood magic, hoping to use that same kind of control
on his fellow vampires. An unintended side effect was the spread of a mutant chickenpox
virus that killed me and Franklin’s boyfriend, Aaron.

“IC wouldn’t dare mess with vampires while the Project Blood Leash investigation is
going on. They’ll be sanctioned as it is. But even if they try to use me that way,
it won’t work. I’m not that powerful. It’s not like I can de-vamp someone.”

Shane and Agent Rosso take aim at the person-shaped targets, the water in their pistols
colored blue and red, respectively, so they can see where they hit.

“Hmm.” Elijah rubs his chin. “If someone had that power, to unmake a vampire, wonder
how many of us would volunteer?”

Agent Rosso’s voice rings out. “Fire!”

They aim for the heads. Shane starts out too low but adjusts his angle until the target’s
face is soaked in blue water. A real vampire’s eyes would be gone.

“Wouldn’t it be safer to practice with regular water?” I ask Elijah. “That’s what
we did in my basic training.”

“Enforcement agents have to learn to handle holy
water and get used to the splash back, because it does happen, no matter how you protect
yourself.” He pushes up his left sleeve, displaying the lighter underside of his forearm,
where half a dozen black scars lie scattered like seeds.

“Isn’t that the arm you lost in the zombie attack?”

“Yep.” He rubs the dark brown skin. “When it grew back, all my old scars were there.
Funny, huh?”

Agent Rosso lowers his weapon and turns to us. His look of warning shuts us up.

We stay quiet while Shane and Rosso finish their target practice, then Elijah steps
down for a round of hand-to-hand training. Shane pummels the shields Rosso holds up.
His legs and arms blur as he executes the maneuvers I remember from orientation, and
many more complex ones. I wouldn’t want to meet Shane in a dark alley. If I were anyone
other than myself, of course.

When they’re finished, Shane and Agent Rosso walk over—or rather, Rosso walks, Shane
staggers. He towels off his face and gulps water, looking human in the best way possible.

“Hey.” He leans over and gives me a quick kiss.

I look past him at Elijah and Rosso. “Can you guys come work him out like this at
home? I love it when he sweats.”

Shane grimaces and pinches the front of his damp T-shirt. “I’m off to take a shower.
Be back in five.”

I watch him stride toward the locker room with Rosso, his gait much steadier than
a moment ago. Then I hop off the bleacher and help Elijah collect the equipment.

“So how does your arm feel?” I ask Elijah while we drag the mat off the center of
the floor. “Now that it’s back.”

“Itches like a motherfucker, deep inside where I can’t scratch, so I guess it’s still
healing.” He drops the mat on the stack beside the wall, then reaches back and undoes
the Velcro straps on his stakeproof vest. “But at least I’m back on the job.”

We collect the holy-water pistols and punching pad thingies and carry them to the
equipment closet, where I nudge the light switch with my shoulder.

Elijah puts the punching pads on a shelf. “But you know what? If I hadn’t been injured,
I probably would’ve been on strike anyway.”

“Because of Petrea and Project Blood Leash?”

“You know it.” He gives me a look of regret. “It’s hard for recruits to understand,
especially when you’re left all up in the air about when you’re gonna serve your tour
of duty.”

“Why would I be dying to join an organization that wants to control my every move—literally?”
I hang Elijah’s stakeproof vest on a wall hook. “I just want to start so I can get
it over with. Sorry, I know this is your calling, but I’m only here because I have
to be. Same with Shane.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind once you’re in.”

“You mean once I’m brainwashed by the military machine? I don’t think so.”

“Beats working at a desk job.”

“I like desk jobs—climate-controlled environment, frequent snack breaks, office gossip
with my best friend. Oh, and if I screw up? No one dies.”

He shakes his head and says with a chuckle, “Sounds boring.”

•  •  •

“You looked hot working out in that gym,” I tell Shane as we enter the Control headquarters
command building. “It’s a macho side of you I don’t get to see much.”

“You know what they say.” He swings his gym bag in an exaggerated fashion. “Some men
choose machismo, and some have machismo thrust upon them.”

I’m about to make a comment about having machismo thrust upon
me
when I hear footsteps around the corner. We slow as we approach the main command
hallway. It’s a human female, judging by the sound of her heels clicking on the spotless,
polished floor.

I instinctively drop Shane’s hand, to adhere to the no-PDA-in-uniform rule, before
realizing we’re not in uniform.

The woman approaching is quieter than most humans, so I bet she lives with vampires.
When I was a human living with Shane, it was hard to get used to his stillness, but
ultimately I found it soothing and became hyperaware of my own noises. As a vampire
myself, I’ve found the hardest part of passing as a human is learning how not to go
completely motionless around them, like a predator among prey.

Which we are, of course. The Control knows this, and yet, thanks to people like Colonel
Lanham, it treats us with respect instead of fear. Except when it doesn’t.

We turn the corner to see a face from my worst nightmares.

“Special Agent Codreanu-Petrea.” Shane nods to the
fiftyish flame-haired woman, then takes my hand again, knowing I need his touch.

I swallow, glad we’re not supposed to salute indoors. My hand would be shaking all
the way up and down. I clear my throat to address her, but she steps in to save me.

“Agent McAllister. Agent Griffin.” She gives us a warm smile. “Please, call me Anca.
My last name is a mouthful.”

It’s more than a mouthful—it’s a horror. Codreanu was the name of the founder of the
Iron Guard, a fascist group that terrorized Romania during the thirties and forties.
Their anti-Semitism was so vicious, even the Nazis asked them to ease up. (I know,
because they were the subject of my last college paper.)

And Petrea? That’s the surname of the man I killed.

“How is your training coming along?” Anca asks Shane in a faint Romanian accent.

“Very well, thank you.” Shane blinks twice—a gesture I’ve noticed has replaced his
old smirk. He’s about to say something ironic. “It’s more to my liking than I would’ve
thought.”

“Excellent. We need good vampires like you in Enforcement.”

“Good vampires, as opposed to good humans?” I ask her. “Or good vampires, as opposed
to bad vampires?” I’m not being pedantic . . . okay, I am being pedantic, but this
isn’t about my compulsion. I want to know how she feels about vampires now that her
undead husband is dead forever.

Her smile tweaks into a crooked curve. “We need good people.”

That didn’t answer my question, but she’s a superior officer (agent, whatever), so
I can’t go all
Law & Order
on her.

She shifts her leather file folder to her left hand and reaches out to touch my arm.
“And, Ciara, how are you handling your new life?”

Suddenly thirsty and extraconscious of the heat of her skin relative to mine, I resist
the urge to step away. “Fine, thanks. It’s not that new. I’ve been a vampire over
six months now.”

She gives me a bemused smile. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Even
just a chat, woman to woman. I’m not a vampire, but I lived with one for thirty years.
I’ve fought beside them. I teach Advanced Human-Vampire Relations at orientation.
So I know what you’re going through.” A business card appears between her fingers.
“Call me? I feel responsible for what you are, and I am so very sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“My daughter stole my necromancy texts to raise those
cadaveris accurrens
.” That’s the Control term for zombies. It means “running carcasses.”

“I know, but—”

“Tina did it because she thought Stefan and I were disappointed in her lack of magic.”
Her voice is nearly as mesmerizing as a vampire’s. “If we’d been more supportive parents,
she wouldn’t have had to prove herself in such a shameful way. And you wouldn’t have
died.”

The rage still simmers inside me. Tina got a reduced sentence in a Control correctional
facility in exchange for ratting out her dead-undead father. But
I want to see her in a civilian prison for the deaths she caused.

I hold it all in and just say, “Thanks. I’ll call you.”

I don’t realize until after we say good-bye and turn down the hall that I actually
mean it. Special Agent Codreanu-Petrea could be useful in more ways than one.

5

No More Words

Lieutenant Colonel Winston Lanham usually sports a head shaved so close, you can check
your lipstick in the reflection—not that I would recommend it. But every so often
he lets it grow out to a quarter-inch buzz cut, as if to prove he still has a full
head of hair.

Right now he has about three weeks of light brown growth the length of indoor-outdoor
carpeting.

As we enter his office, he turns from his vast, wall-size bookshelf. “Griffin. McAllister.
You’re early.”

I check my watch. “We’re five minutes late, sir.”

“For you, that’s early.” He points to a pair of chairs on the other side of his wide
oak desk.

Even in the act of sitting, Lanham shows more precision in movement than any other
human I’ve met. He could end us without breaking a sweat—I know from experience.

I try to keep my eyes away from the nameplate on his desk, L
T
. C
OL
. W
INSTON
L
ANHAM
, to stop myself from making anagrams of his name.

Too late.
SHAMAN LINT NOW.

“I trust your training is going well?” It’s a question only because Lanham lifts his
voice slightly at the end of the sentence. There is but one correct answer.

“Yes, sir,” we both say.

“I’m looking forward to activating both of you soon in your respective divisions.
Naturally, you’ll want to start your service as close as possible to each other.”

“Thank you, sir.” I add, “And we’ll have off the week of December twenty-first for
our wedding, right?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You plan a long honeymoon?”

“Sadly, no.” Sunlight makes travel risky for vampires, which is why we chose the shortest
day of the year to get married. We plan to spend a few nights in a nearby vampire-friendly
B and B. “But my mom’s getting out of prison just before the wedding. I’d like to
have some time with her.” Assuming she doesn’t permanently pass out when she discovers
her daughter’s a vampire.

Lanham’s eyes soften for a moment, as if I just made him sad. If my already keen observation
skills weren’t further enhanced by my vampirism, I’d think I was mistaken. He’s never
shown anything resembling personal concern for me. He saved my life earlier this year,
but probably because I am useful to him.

“I understand.” He makes a note on his legal pad with a glistening bronze-colored
fountain pen.

I look at his nameplate again as my anxiety ratchets up a notch.
INHALANTS MOWN
.

Shane speaks up. “Sir, we ran into Special Agent Codreanu-Petrea in the hall.”

“Oh?” Lanham adjusts his dark blue tie. The cracks in his composure, however tiny,
are making me nervous.
“How would you describe the nature of your interaction?”

“She was nice,” I tell him. “Too nice. Either she still doesn’t know I killed her
husband, or she’s buttering me up as part of a vengeance plot.”

“The details of Lieutenant Colonel Petrea’s death are classified. Anyone not present
on the scene only knows that he was killed by a fellow agent in self-defense. And
anyone who
was
present on the scene—”

“—is either dead or one of us. Except the agent who was Petrea’s sidekick. The only
one Elijah didn’t shoot to death. If the agent was loyal to that family, why wouldn’t
he tell Ms. My-Grandfather-Was-a-Fascist?”

Lanham frowns. “First, we don’t know for certain that Anca is related to Cornelieu
Codreanu. Second, we’re preventing the agent in question from speaking to anyone we
haven’t authorized. As one of the key conspirators of Project Blood Leash, he’s in
a Control penitentiary, awaiting trial.”

“Sir, if I may ask, how is that investigation going?” Shane’s respectful demeanor
contains an edge of anger. “The vampire agents are getting restless. They want results,
or more of them will walk.”

“The investigation is proceeding as fast as I can push it. But I’m only one man—one
man who has been known to bend over backward to accommodate vampires.” He pauses to
glare at us until we nod in acknowledgment for all he’s done. “As for Anca, she’s
been extremely cooperative in this investigation. She’s eager to clear her family’s
name of the wrongdoings perpetrated by her daughter and her late husband.”