Redemption (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (31 page)

P
iss and dirt, sex and blood. Live in the first, pray for the second. Life was turning out to be one cold bitch.

Owen leaned against the dirt wall in the underground storm shelter. The remnants of his scathe—two older vampires plus the girl, Sherry, and four half-used humans—had been living here since the mill village burned and Aidan’s people had begun combing through the caves. Hell,
live
was an exaggeration, and calling this glorified bog hole a shelter was too kind.

Still, for all of his brother’s dotted i’s and crossed t’s, Aidan had missed this little corner of Penton. All it had taken was tracking down a former resident, applying a little fangular pressure, and the sorry old redneck had spilled his guts. Some cotton mill boss had gotten all antsy about tornadoes and dug a hidey-hole under the mill, complete with an entrance tunnel from outside. Smelled like mud and mold, but at least it had a couple of rooms in which they could spread out. Well, he could spread out in one, and the rest could cram their sorry asses in another.

A groan from the shadows made him smile. “Ready for another go-round, love?”

Lucy stared at him from the corner, her sweater in rags, arms and legs wrapped in silver chains. She shook a strand of hair out of her hunger-lightened eyes, which reflected equal parts fear and hatred in the light of the battery-operated lanterns.

He’d caught her leaving Aidan’s house, the stupid bitch. Thought she could be a hero. Although she’d end up being more useful to him this way.

“You should’ve taken me out at the start, Lucy, or joined me for true. Now we’re going to keep playing till you tell me something useful.”

Owen picked up the silver dagger from the dirt floor and wiped the blade on his thigh with exaggerated slowness.

“You’re going to kill me anyway.” Lucy’s voice sounded flat, but her eyes were riveted on the knife. “What’s in it for me if I tell you anything?”

“There are worse things than death, love. For example, what would happen if I left you in this hole, wrapped in silver so you couldn’t escape? You’d starve, of course, but you wouldn’t die. You’d grow thin and shriveled till you were nothing but a pile of bones and a pair of hungry fangs. Helluva way to spend eternity, darlin’.”

He’d spent two days carving into her skin with the silver blade, cutting figures and words in blood and letting her suffer till she healed. Hours of breaking fingers and letting her writhe till the bones knitted themselves. He’d borrowed the technique from the rumors about how bloody Mirren Kincaid used to work, before he got soft and joined the Penton fun house. Had to admit, it worked. Lucy finally looked worn out and scared.

He laughed at her wide-eyed stare. “Hadn’t thought of that, had you? So tell me who I can get to sell Aidan out from the inside, and I can at least promise you’ll really and truly die.”

Sullen silence.

“Suit yourself, then.” He twirled the knife so its silver blade reflected the light in flashes. “Shall we spell again? Maybe on that pretty face this time?”

She leaned against the dirt wall, sending a clump of damp earth rolling. “I still don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on killing Aidan. I mean, why go to so much trouble after all these years?”

Owen pricked his palm with the tip of the knife, watching it heal, and then repeated the action. “Well, love, it’s a matter of survival. I don’t give a shit about Aidan, personally. In truth, he probably hates me worse than I hate him.” Flick, bleed, heal.

“Then for God’s sake, why?”

“Because I’m not ready to die at the hands of whoever’s playing executioner for the Tribunal now. Got in a bit of trouble back in Dublin, enough for a death sentence—unless I get rid of Aidan. Then my death warrant disappears. It’s quite the incentive.”

“Oh my God.” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Aidan wondered if the Tribunal was backing you but he didn’t think they’d actually do it. Why don’t you just kill him if that’s the whole point? I mean, you followed me to his house. You know where he lives.”

“And what would be the fun of that, now?” Owen wiped his knife on his pants leg again. “Of course, now that I’ve told you all my secrets, you don’t ever get to leave me, sweetheart.” Pity he couldn’t take her with him, keep her in silver chains for his own amusement. But it was another mouth to feed, and he was tired of playing the provider.

Lucy eyed the knife, and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “None of his lieutenants will flip on him, Owen. Doesn’t matter what you do to me. I was your only shot.”

He cocked his head. “Doesn’t have to be a lieutenant, Lucy. Actually, the lowest of the low is better, less likely to be detected. Give me a human.”

Lucy hung her head and mumbled something.

He crawled toward her, lifting her chin with the point of his knife and sending a trickle of pale blood dripping. “What did you say?”

She repeated a name.

M
ark showed up in place of the breakfast tray, all dressed up in a navy suit and striped tie. His unruly blond hair was even combed and in place.

Krys gave him a once-over. “Nice. Special occasion?”

“I have meetings for Aidan today, so I’m in business-manager mode,” he said, grinning. “I clean up good, though, don’t I? Just wanted to see if you’d join me for breakfast.”

Breakfast? As in going out? Hell yes, although there had to be an agenda. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I have a surprise for you.”

Krys looked at him suspiciously, but grabbed her shoulder bag off the chair and followed him into the hallway. They made the trek from the subbasement to the basement, through the maze of crates, and climbed the vertical tunnel into the clinic administrative office without talking.

Krys clambered into the office and stopped at the sight of Tim, the volunteer fire chief and Mirren’s fam, sitting at the
desk. He was working on a laptop, his broad frame and big hands overpowering the small keyboard.

“Hi. There’s not another fire, is there?”

He laughed. “No, I’m building the town today, not burning it down.”

“And is there a lot of construction in Penton?” Krys thought she’d like Tim if she got to know him better—he was open and friendly, and seemed like a nice guy. She wondered why Mirren had both Tim and his wife as fams while Aidan only had Melissa.

Tim raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

Interesting. Krys knew she wasn’t in the inner circle, and there was no reason for them to tell her things that she didn’t need to know.
Shouldn’t
know. The more she got involved in the goings-on of Penton, the more likely she’d do something stupid like sign on as a permanent resident. She’d been overcome with Aidan-itis last night, ready to hang her doctor’s shingle and put up a picket fence. The morning had brought with it some common sense. She needed to go slowly and think about what she really wanted.

“You got a few minutes to look at some stuff I’ve pulled together for tonight?” Tim picked up a stack of papers and waved them at Mark.

He shook his head. “We’re going for breakfast and then over to Mill Trace. But I’ll stop by after that.”

It was Tim’s turn to look surprised. “Mill Trace, huh? Well, OK then.” He studied Krys curiously. “Don’t forget to come back for these.”

They walked down the hallway toward the sunlight pouring through the glass front doors. It was so bright that Krys had
to shield her eyes from it. She felt like a mole digging out of its hole into blinding, dazzling daylight. “So, what’s at Mill Trace?”

Mark laughed. “Food first. Then the surprise.”

Breakfast turned out to be a monstrous spread at the Penton Café, and Mill Trace a shady street full of early-twentieth-century houses, many with wraparound porches and balconies off their second floors. Very old South, with big yards and lots of mature shade trees. It would probably be beautiful in the summer with the green lawns and leafed-out branches.

“What do you think?” Mark maneuvered his silver Toyota along the street, finally ending in a cul-de-sac with three houses situated around the circle.

“I think it looks familiar.” Krys looked around. “Wait, that’s Aidan’s house, isn’t it? I recognize the greenhouse. And you live next door.”

“Right—last time you came in the back way, from the clinic escape tunnel.”

Krys took a better look at Aidan’s house. She hadn’t been able to tell much at night, plus they’d gotten distracted. Boy, had they ever.

It was a grand two-story home, painted a pristine white and fronted by tall shrubs that sheltered most of the columned porch from view. At least a dozen garden gnomes kept watch over the flower beds.

She looked at Mark, eyebrows raised. “He has garden gnomes?”

“He thinks they’re funny. Buys them when he travels.” Mark shrugged. “Vampires have really warped senses of humor.”

Mark pointed past her out the passenger window at a neat house with a broad screened-in porch. “Mel and I live there. ’Course, she’s at the clinic right now.”

He pulled the car to a stop just past his house, killed the engine, and took the key from the ignition.

Krys glanced at the third house, a square white one-story with a pretty, arched entry leading onto the small porch. “Who lives—” She did a double take at the car in the driveway. The Dinosaur sat there, complete with its Georgia license plates and the small dent in the right rear bumper. She’d backed into an SUV in the Trader Joe’s parking lot in Atlanta a week after she’d bought the thing and could never afford to get it fixed.

She turned to Mark, her mind full of questions. Had they given her car to someone? Were they letting her go? Why did letting her go feel more like sending her away, and how stupid was that?

Mark held out a key. “Your new house, or at least your house for as long as you want it. I’m having the rest of your stuff brought over this afternoon. Aidan wanted you to have the pick of a couple of places, so if you don’t like it I can let you see more. But this really is the nicest one.”

Krys stared at him for a split second before snatching the key out of his hand. She opened the car door but stopped as soon as she got out. She didn’t know how to act, what to feel. Elation, fear, disbelief—they all scrambled for room in her brain. She wondered if people who’d been in prison felt this way when they finally were released and the prison doors closed behind them, nothing but freedom and an uncertain future on the horizon. Mark came up behind her, slipped an arm around her shoulders, and squeezed. “It’s OK. Take your time.”

This was silly. It was just a house, temporary quarters. The front door wasn’t locked, and she stepped inside. Shining hardwood floors graced a large open space furnished as a combination living and dining area. A brick fireplace took up the right
wall, and a door in the back led to a small hallway linking a kitchen, bathroom, and two well-furnished bedrooms. It was nicer than any place she’d ever lived. Ever. Her parents had lived on the poor side of Birmingham, and she’d been a broke student since leaving home. The sub-suite didn’t count.

When Krys finished her tour of the house and returned to the living room, Mark had taken his suit jacket off and sat in one of the armchairs.

“Why?” she asked. “I mean, why do this?”

Mark looked at her for a few seconds before answering. “Sit down a minute.”

He remained silent as she perched on the end of the sofa nearest him. “Aidan asked me to find you a house. I think he really cares about you and wants you to see what it’s like to live here without being locked away. If you want to get in that ugly-ass green car and drive back to Americus, a lot of people will be disappointed, including me and Mel. And especially Aidan. But no one will stop you. All we ask is that you leave during daylight hours because it’s safer right now, and let someone know you’re going so we don’t worry.”

Wasn’t this what she’d waited for, wanted? To be free? To go home?

Crappy apartment, a hospital job with long hours, pecking away at her debts for the next ten years or more, all the backbiting and status-climbing that went on in medicine.

As she was faced with the reality, her life back in Georgia looked sterile and empty and she desperately didn’t want it anymore. No doubt about it; she’d become Patty Hearst.