Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires (101 page)

“How do you decide?”

“Whatever feels right.” Jim takes my arm and turns it over to reveal its pale underside. I want to rip it out of his grip, but I remember from Shane what fighting back will get me.

“Don't do that.”

The firmness of my voice seems to surprise him. He lets go but doesn't apologize.

Without taking my eyes off him, I slowly slip out of bed.

“What's wrong?” he says.

“I'm afraid.”

He stretches one bent leg into the space I left behind. “Afraid of me?”

He wears a veneer of innocent surprise. I think of how he became a vampire while Jim Morrison sang onstage. Now he seems to be channeling the Lizard King himself.

The door swings open. I've never been so glad to see Lawrence.

“Six o'clock news,” he says.

He marches me and Jim quickly down the hall, then up the stairs to the basement level. The television is in commercials when we get there. Ned waves to me from the other side of the room. I look for the white-haired man I saw behind the porch screen this morning, but as
far as I can tell, Ned and I are the only humans among the dozen or so beings gathered around the TV. In addition to Lawrence, there's the woman who drank from the man on the love seat this morning, as well as Jacob and Wallace, Gideon's two other bodyguards.

But where's—

“Good evening.”

I jump. Gideon's standing right behind me. He must have followed us up.

“I trust you are well rested,” he says.

I try not to shrink as I step away from him. Jim loops a protective arm around my shoulders, an almost brotherly gesture. A few minutes ago I would've queased at his touch, but compared to the rest of them (even Ned), Jim seems quite human.

The commercial ends, and the news anchors turn from their phony camaraderie to face the audience. I squint at the tiny screen to see the blonde on the left—Monica something or other—deliver the latest:

“They said they were vampires, but now they're changing their tune. Last month a local radio station brought a unique twist to the airwaves. WVMP, the Lifeblood of Rock V Roll.” Footage of Spencer playing at the Smoking Pig party appears as she continues. “The disc jockeys, who each host a show from a different era, claimed to be real vampires. Michelle Sims is live in Sherwood.”

An establishing shot of VMP's radio tower puts a lump in my throat. The camera pans down to show the news correspondent standing outside the station with David. “Thanks, Monica. I'm here with WVMP general manager David Fetter. Mister Fetter, you've decided to end
the vampire promotional scheme at the peak of its popularity. Why?”

David focuses on the correspondent. “We had a few fans that took the endeavor a bit too seriously. We appreciate their enthusiasm, but when they started stalking our DJs and shaking stakes at them, we felt it was time to stop. Safety is paramount.” Despite his ironic smile, his voice sounds hollow, and not just from the TV's ancient speaker. Less than a day ago, he pulled a stake out of the woman he loved.

The correspondent points at the bright sky.

“Can you prove they're not really vampires?” She flashes an impish grin at the camera. “Can you bring one outside to interview?”

David shakes his head. “Right now they're busy with production work. There's a lot more to being a DJ than talking on the radio for a few hours.”

“This'll only take a minute. Let's bring one out.” She beckons the camera operator to follow her toward the front door.

David's gaze goes sharp, then sly. “Wait.” When Michelle turns back to him, he tilts his head as if to tell her a secret. “Do you want to know the truth? The real truth?”

“Of course,” she says, eyes gleaming.

“We're not being threatened by stake-toting slayer wannabes. The real menace is a rival gang of vampires who live in a bunker near Camp David. They think our promotion threatens the anonymity vampires need to survive.”

My jaw drops to form a capital O, as in, O Holy Shit. I don't dare look at Gideon.

The correspondent blinks at David for a moment, then chortles. “Fascinating.” She mugs for the camera. “Tell us more.”

“I'm afraid I can't,” David says, “not without endangering us all. Believe me, you do not want to mess with these folks.”

He steps away to end the interview. Michelle catches his sleeve.

“Wait, what about—”

“No more vampire talk. It's been fun, but now it's time for them to go back in the coffin.” He gives her a smirk and what looks like a wink.

She laughs as she turns back to the camera. “There you have it: a vampire Mafia headquartered near Camp David. In Sherwood, I'm Michelle Sims.”

“Thanks, Michelle.” The anchorwoman raises her eyebrows at her cohost. “So would that be the jurisdiction of the FBI or the Secret Service?”

“More like the
National Enquirer”
he says. They share a lively laugh. “Now for the weather, let's see what—”

Ned switches off the television. All eyes turn to Gideon. He strokes his chin, staring at the blank gray screen as if he expects it to give him more answers.

I clear my throat and start to sidle away. “Well, that was good for a laugh.”

Fast as a cobra, Gideon snatches the back of my neck and yanks me close. Jim reaches out to stop him, but Wallace and Jacob seize his arms.

Gideon lifts me until I'm standing on my tippy toes near his pale, perfect face. My knees turn to water, and only my state of total dehydration keeps me from losing bladder control.

He places a smooth finger against my lips. “Don't speak,” he whispers. “I'm thinking.”

He begins to pace, dragging me along. I fight not to stumble, for fear he'll jerk me up and snap my spine in the process.

“It's either stupid or brilliant,” Gideon mutters. “But which? Perhaps both. They laughed, they all laughed. But they were already laughing, and even if ninety-nine people laugh, the hundredth person might wonder, might come looking . . .”

None of his henchmen speak up with advice or insights. He's surrounded himself with yes-men. If he turns me, will I be another blind disciple?

He continues to mumble, his grip on my neck pulsing. I can feel the anger building in him with every step, every incoherent word. His movements get jerkier, his pace faster as he hauls me with him, until I have to run to keep my head attached to my body.

He stops suddenly and looks at me. No, not
at
me—
inside
me. His black gaze starts at my temple and slides down my neck to my heart, the way Regina's fingernail traced Lori's blood vessel. My veins seem to constrict under his cold glare, as if they know they're under assault.

I am prey.

Gideon sways a little to the rhythm of my pulse. Slowly he pulls me closer, his huge hand tilting my head, fingers threading through my hair and exposing my neck. My dry lips emit a soft, “No.”

“Shh.” When he speaks, I can see his fangs. “It hurts less if you don't struggle.”

His lips graze the skin just below my ear. Instinct takes over, and I push against him, but it's like trying to shove
a Clydesdale. Gideon's other hand slides up my waist and tightens around my lower rib cage.

“Be still,” he whispers again.

My body obeys, even as my mind screams a thousand protests. I'm going to die now. I think of Shane, and my parents, and Lori. A tear slips out of each eye.

“Don't!” Jim shouts, and I hear a struggle behind me.

“Another move,” Lawrence growls at him, “and you're staked.”

Gideon's tongue flicks over my neck, like a snake smelling its food. Halfway down, it stops. The heat of his breath and the heat of my blood strain for each other, burning my flesh between them. Against my skin I feel his mouth open wide.

“Uh, sir?” comes a small, clear voice behind me.

Gideon's grip tightens on the back of my neck. “Yes, Ned?” he hisses.

“Feel free to correct me, but it might help to consider the big picture here. Keep our eyes on the prize, as they say.”

Gideon goes still as a stone. “Explain. Carefully.”

“Think about what's most important to you, how you plan to accomplish it, and how killing the girl might complicate those means and, ultimately, hinder those ends.”

Gideon's fingers twitch and tremble, squeezing me tighter. I wince as my flesh bruises between our bones. My ribs feel ready to snap.

He gives a feral grunt and shoves me to the floor. My hands barely rise in time to keep my face from hitting the rug. I scramble to crawl away, even though there's nowhere to go.

Someone grabs me. My hand lashes out, but Jim
catches it. He helps me to my feet and puts himself between me and the other vampires.

Gideon advances on Ned, who, instead of backing down, beams at the vampire's approach as if it's a visit from the pope.

“Get me another,” Gideon growls. “Now.”

Ned reaches inside his shirt and pulls out his cross. Gideon pauses. Ned yanks the cross's chain to break it. Gideon nods, then seizes his shoulder and drags him toward the stairs.

Before he descends, the vampire turns to me. “You think you want answers.” He gives me a blood-freezing glare. “You don't want these answers.”

As Ned's taken away, a beatific look on his face, he tosses the cross in my direction. On reflex, I reach forward and grab it before it hits Jim.

After a few moments, the others follow Ned and Gideon, except for Lawrence, who sits on the couch and opens an old edition of
Life
magazine.

“Why did Gideon let me go?” I ask him, my mouth drier than ever.

“You heard what he said.” Lawrence flips a page. “Better not to know some truths.”

I can believe that, and I'm not about to look this gift life in the mouth. I open my hand to see Ned's gold cross with its broken chain. Should I keep it? Maybe it would be rude not to. The man did save my life.

I think back to the moment I almost died, and everything that passed through my mind. The people I loved, the things I never got to do.

Jim heaves a relieved sigh and moves for the closest chair. I tread behind him and hold out the cross like a
weapon. When he turns to sit down, he starts a little at the sight of the symbol, then relaxes.

“Man, you scared me there for a second.” With a nervous laugh, he takes my wrist and draws my outstretched hand to the hollow of his neck, where the T-shirt ends. The cross presses his skin with no effect.

I drop the necklace on a bookshelf, realizing there was one thing that never joined the memories and regrets in my panicky, verge-of-death brain.

A prayer.

Franklin, of all people, picks me up. Lawrence waves goodbye to me and Jim from the porch, with a subtle smile that says he'll be seeing us again sooner than we'd like.

“I'm going back to the station.” Jim gestures to his car. “Got a show at three.” He fumbles in his jeans pocket for his keys.

“Thanks for staying with me,” I tell him. “I think.”

Jim shrugs, then turns and slouches back to his Charger. He glides his hand over Janis's roof, as if to reassure her that everything's okay, Daddy's home now.

Franklin watches him leave, then turns to me. “You all right?”

I shake my head. “But I don't want to talk about it.”

“Good, because I don't want to hear about it.” He opens the truck door and points to a plastic shopping bag on the floor of the passenger's seat. “Thought you might be hungry and thirsty.”

I tear open the bag and find two bottles of water, a turkey
sandwich, and half a convenience-store aisle's worth of snacks.

Let no one speak evil of Franklin in front of me. Ever.

He places a short call to David to let him know I'm out of danger, yet not quite ready for a full debriefing. After several miles and several minutes' worth of face stuffing, my mind finally turns from the trauma of the recent past to the dread of the near future.

“What's going to happen to the station?”

Franklin frowns. “Elizabeth didn't have a will in her office. Tomorrow night David wants to search her apartment in Rockville.”

“Why not during the day?”

“If there's a safe, he'll need Shane to crack it. Hopefully it'll contain papers that'll help us keep the station in the event of her death.”

“But she was already dead.”

“It wasn't so long ago that she had to get a new identity. As far as the IRS is concerned, she's still alive. Sooner or later, some business contact or creditor—someone other than us, in other words—will report her missing.”

“Then come the cops.”

“The first place they'll look for her is the station.”

“Including the vampires' apartment.” I wipe my hand over my face. “And we can't report her missing without losing the station. It'll be sold for parts, like Jim said.”

Thinking of Jim reminds me of Gideon's visit to our room. I suck in a sharp breath, almost choking on a corn chip.

“I need to call David back. Now.”

Franklin flips open his cell phone, hits a speed-dial number, and hands it to me.

Halfway through David's hello, I blurt, “Antoine was Gideon's son.”

Franklin curses, swerving the truck almost across the broken yellow highway line.

David, on the other hand, is silent. I pull the phone away from my ear to check the reception. Three out of four bars. “David, you there?”

“You're fucking kidding me.”

“Not just his son. His progeny, too.”

Another long silence. “I don't believe this.”

“I don't think he knows you killed Antoine, or that Elizabeth was connected to him.”

“He wouldn't have staked her if he'd known. They don't hurt their own blood.”

“He didn't mind hurting Travis.”