Pretty When She Dies (11 page)

Sliding off the bed, she looked down at Rob's body. The rage she had felt earlier still burned in her. She felt shame that she could kill without remorse.

Rubbing the side of her nose with one finger, she cocked her hip, and stood over Rob, looking down at him with intense hatred. She now fully understood what she was capable doing. Somehow, the slaughter of the people in the fraternity did not seem like her actions. It was as if she was another person doing unspeakable things. Even draining the crazy woman earlier in the night had not made her feel inhuman. In her mind, she had rationalized that she had saved the woman's children from having their crazy mom barge into their home and murder their father.

But this...

She subconsciously licked her teeth.

“I enjoyed this,” she said softly.

It shamed her how much she had enjoyed killing Rob, but she could not deny it. The last two nights were a blur of bad luck and terrible actions. This one incident had taught her one thing for certain. She liked what she was now. For the first time in her life she knew exactly what she wanted.

She needed to find another of her kind. Someone to teach her how to control her powers and guide her as to what she should or should not do. Fuck Professor Sumner. She would find her own damn way and show him a thing or two about survival.

Tugging on her black jeans, she formulated a plan in her mind. It would take some time, but she was sure she could find one of her own kind. Hell, she'd go to freaking New Orleans if she had to. Fishing around on the floor, she found her socks and glared at the dead man as she pulled them on.

Maybe she was fucked up, but she had been fucked up ever since she walked in on her Dad doing her slutty cousin. Stomping her feet to get her boots on all the way, she glanced at the covered mirror. Flipping it off she walked over Rob's body and quickly packed up her bag.

Hot anger filled her once more as she thought of Rob grabbing her and trying to rape her. It was far too reminiscent of what had happened between her and Professor Sumner. She would not let herself ever be in that situation again.

Picking up the pack of cigarettes, she pulled one out and tucked it between her lips. She lit it and took a deep drag and savored the moment. After shoving her hat onto her head, she yanked the door open and walked outside. Impulsively, not even sure if it was the smart thing to do, she vaulted over the rail and landed with a thud on the ground below. Nothing hurt, nothing felt sprained, nothing felt wrong.

Looking up she saw the night clerk staring at her through the window in shock. Walking over to the door, she yanked it open. She felt the dark power inside of her swelling up, and she said in a low voice, “Sleep.”

Without a word, the clerk fell face first onto the counter, hit it with a resounding smack, then slipped out of sight onto the floor. Sliding over the counter, Amaliya avoided landing on the man and headed for the small office visible beyond a cracked door. As she suspected, a series of three monitors was set up and an ancient VCR whirred loudly as it taped the scenes. Hitting eject, the tape slid easily into her hand.

She would destroy it later, once she was far away from here.

Climbing onto the counter, she sat and pondered her options. She could set Rob on fire and let the whole thing burn, but she had heard children in the other rooms. Her name wasn't recorded here and she could be a million different girls in Texas with her dark hair.

“Eh, fuck it,” she said. She slid off the counter and landed lightly on the floor.

She'd risk it. Besides, how could the cops ever think she could rip a man to bits?

Confident that she was okay, she walked out into the night and the glass door swung back with a soft whisper.

***

“We may have a serious problem,” Roberto decided as he stood, arms crossed over his chest, watching the large screen TV with great interest.

Cian looked up from where he sat at his glass and chrome desk nearby. His four flatscreen computer monitors were flashing a variety of images and text. His hazel eyes rimmed with dark lashes regarded the other man, then looked toward the TV. “What is it?”

“Cult killing in East Texas,” Roberto answered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He was on the slim and petite side of the scale in appearance, but had broad shoulders. His dark hair was sleek and swept back from his high brow. His green eyes flicked toward Cian.

“It looks highly suspicious.”

“Like something
he
would do?” Cian frowned and stood up sharply.

He was medium height despite his age. He was not exactly sure how old he was, but he was old enough. Clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, he did not look like the man behind countless successful business and companies sprawled across Texas. He looked like a young man in his late twenties with short, scruffy, brown hair.

“Something he would definitely do,” Roberto answered. “It's mass confusion and people in complete terror of Satanists.”

Bare feet padding across the floor, Cian peered at the TV for a long moment, watching and listening to the repeat of the evening news.

His ever faithful human servant, revenant, or whatever the latest tag was from some gawdawful game or book, stood next to him rubbing his chin, and looking deeply thoughtful. Emulating Roberto, Cian crossed his arms and looked equally disturbed.

“It sounds like a fledgling kill,” Roberto decided.

“I agree. He probably turned someone and let them loose.” Cian collapsed into a leather and steel chair and let his legs sprawl out in front of him.

“They are probably already dead by now if they are this insane.”

“Not a clean transformation, I don't think,” Cian answered in his light Irish lilt.

“Should I go and check it out?” Roberto asked.

“No, not if he is still out there. I don't want you risking it,” Cian said firmly. Rubbing his face with his hands, he looked more and more upset. “Dammit. It's been so long since he has been heard of I had hoped that someone had finally found a way to kill the bastard.”

“It's hard to kill someone so old,” Roberto said with a soft sigh and turned down the sound on the TV with the remote.

Cian nodded slowly, and then tilted his head back. The soft lights of his loft apartment in downtown Austin gave off a warm glow and gave a nice sheen to the hardwood floors. He loved his home, but the mere thought of The Summoner being somewhere in Texas, no matter how big the state was, did not make him feel safe.

“God knows I tried to many times,” he finally said.

“I could go and see if the fledgling is still around and kill it before it causes more harm.”

“Too risky. You know the games he plays. He may be trying to lure me out of my territory. He'd use you as a pawn,” Cian answered.

“There may be more than one. They found one forest grave with an occupant and another that was empty.”

Cian shook his head and swore softly. His Gaelic accent was more pronounced when he was upset. “It sounds like he's either playing another one of his damn games or he is trying to lure me or someone else out. Someone who gives a damn about keeping us hidden behind the veil.”

Roberto sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward.

Steepling his fingers together, he peered over them intently. “If there is a fledgling and it is mad and out there killing-”

“I'm getting married in two months,” Cian said sharply. “I worked hard for this life. You know it. I'm not about to leave my city to go out there and hunt a fledgling down and kill it. Most likely the fledging will get itself killed by the sun. It may already be dead.”

“What about those?” Roberto waved to the screen as it once more showed the parade of body bags being taken from the fraternity house.

“They won't rise unless blood was exchanged,” Cian assured him.

“But they could also rise as ghouls,” Roberto reminded him. “More dangerous than a fledgling at times.”

“I don't think so. Modern technology seems to have that phenomenon under control. Morgues, autopsies, and embalming. Pleasant ways to deter the mindless undead.” Cian rubbed his fingers along the curbed armrest of his chair. “Can we contact an independent contractor to deal with it?”

Roberto slowly sat back in his chair looking very thoughtful. His green eyes looked toward the Texas Capital building looming out of one of the windows. “Perhaps. I'll make inquiries. Since the purge of '78, not many want to deal with you.”

Cian shrugged. “You'll figure it out.”

“We could call in Summerfield,” Roberto suggested.

“He died of cancer a few months ago, remember? His son is taking over the hunt. I don't trust the son to keep my deal intact past his father's death.”

“Have you met him?”

“No, not yet.” Cian shook his head once more with disbelief. “I don't care for him to know my face. His father swore my file was destroyed and I believe him. It is best to keep quiet especially to keep Samantha safe.” The thought of his mortal fiancée made him sigh deeply. He had to keep her lovely innocence safe. It was tragic enough she was willing to take him on, despite knowing his true nature. But she drew out the good in him and he loved her for it.

“Find a necromancer if you can,” Cian said after a long beat. “The Summoner's power is all based in death.”

“Agreed.” Roberto rose to his feet, hearing the clear order in his master's voice.

“And keep an eye on the news statewide. If the fledgling is out there, I want to know where it is.”

Roberto nodded and elegantly walked away.

Cian, meanwhile, sprawled in his chair and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Great, just freaking great.”

Amaliya felt relieved when Dallas finally faded away into the horizon.

The bus felt warm despite the cold air from the air conditioning vent that brushed over her arm. She sat close to the window watching the terrain slide into the pitch blackness of the night.

Sweeping her hair back with one hand, she looked over at the young man snoring loudly on the seats across from her. There were not that many passengers on their way to Abilene, so the bus was relatively empty. Her feet tucked up on the armrest, she was nestled down in her chair, her back against the window, gazing off over her shoulder at the darkened landscape.

After leaving the motel the night before, she had found her way to another one and settled in for the day. She had picked up a roll of duct tape at a convenience store and used it to tape the curtains shut.

Like before, she barricaded the door. She had slept soundly for most of the day.

Only when her dreams turned dark and disturbing had Amaliya forced herself awake. Sliding off the bed, she had curled up in the corner covered with the comforter, terrified of the sunlight pressing under the crack of the door. She had felt vulnerable and lost. She did not feel safe again until the sunlight slowly faded away and night had come.

Sliding her fingers through her hair, Amaliya tried not to think of the nightmares. They were more memory than nightmare, and she knew it. In the dream, she had been pressed up against the outside wall of the dorm building. The professor savagely bit and pulled at her throat as she struggled. She had fought him valiantly, but he had kept her pinned easily as her blood flowed in a warm gush over her chest. The pain she had endured and her terror still lingered in her consciousness.

Rubbing her eyes, she pressed her lips tightly together. Tonight she felt more...human. Tonight her head felt clearer and she felt more connected to the world around her. Maybe it was being in the bus surrounded by other people trying to get home, but she felt more like herself. And she felt more vulnerable.

The blood lust from the previous night seemed like a dim memory. In fact the whole night seemed like a surreal blur. But it had happened.

She remembered every moment with a hazy sort of recollection. And she remembered how much she had enjoyed her last kill of the night.

Hell, she remember how much she enjoyed the killings in the dorm back at the college.

I could kill them all
, she thought, looking around at the other passengers.
If I wanted to, they would die at my hands and not be able to stop me.

Finding no solace in that thought, she looked away from the moonlight-drenched trees to the tips of her scuffed boots. Rubbing the side of her nose, she sighed, then started to fiddle with the stud tucked into her nostril.

Amaliya seriously hated what she had done at the frat house, but she was having trouble feeling guilt. It did bother her that she could be causing the same pain that Professor Sumner had caused her. Yet, she liked the feeling that she could take down someone as huge as Rob and not feel an ounce of remorse.

“Seriously fucked up,” she muttered.

The newspaper was tucked under her legs. It had nothing about Rob's death, but a lot about the slaughter at the campus out East. The rumors of Satanists were getting even wilder. She noted that Professor Sumner was listed as one of the six missing people. She was also classified as missing. The media had printed her driver's license picture where she was twenty pounds heavier with her natural blond hair. It looked nothing like her. For once her aversion of getting her picture taken seemed to have worked for her.

As far as she could tell, she wasn't being searched for as a living person. They thought she was dead. Even her father had said he felt she was dead and gone. Obviously, he was lying through his teeth.

She supposed after she tossed him and her brother around, he had figured out she wasn't alive. The final leap from the house had probably confirmed it.

The newspaper had a description of her open grave and described her dorm room as being riddled with mud and blood. The police finally had come out and said they believed she had been murdered and that her body had been taken with the killers. They couldn't explain her empty grave, but they were convinced the Satanists had carted off her dead body.

What her Grandmama and cousin thought of this, she had no clue.

But she had a feeling Sergio was convinced she was running from the Satanists. He had probably reassured her grandmother that she was fine and on her way to see her. Of course, what was really happening was even more absurd. She was a vampire running from her killer and creator.