Companions of the Night

by Vivian Vande Velde

  His expression told her nothing. She should probably be mentally preparing herself for death—that would be more useful than pleading. But how did one prepare for death? And while she was trying to work that one out, he stepped back. Then he released her arms and stepped back farther. With a slight smile he bowed his head to indicate acceptance. For the moment.

  She still couldn't see that his teeth were long enough to have done what he had been about to do. But she had no doubt how close she'd come to dying. It was hard to get her voice to work, but she asked, "What assurance do I have that if I help you in good faith, you'll let me and my family live afterward?"

  Ethan looked surprised, then he laughed, seeming genuinely amused. "None."

  She realized that, like Regina's, his ready smile was most often pretense. She supposed that after a couple hundred years vampires had probably heard everything, seen everything, done everything already; no doubt most of the time they were bored out of their minds. She wondered—same old question, but with a new twist—how old Ethan really was. Old enough to have developed acting skills, definitely. And to be a good judge of people. He had seen that she would respond well to a poor frightened victim, so that was what he had been for her when he needed her help last night. No doubt he could convincingly be other things for other people.

  In a moment all trace of humor was completely gone from his face. His voice was neither harsh nor threatening; he might have been reading course descriptions from the college catalog: "Of course, if I even suspect the possibility of betrayal, your family will be the ones to pay for it." His voice got even softer. "Believe this, Kerry: An easy death is only one of the choices I can offer."

  He waited to see that she believed, which she most emphatically did. Then, "Come," he said, putting his hand out for her.

  She took one step forward, to show that she would follow and he didn't need to hold on to her. He didn't move, so they stood face-to-face looking at each other until she finally gave him her hand. She shivered as his cold, strong fingers closed around hers. How are vampires made? she wondered. Had a vampire bitten him when he'd still been mortal? Human, she corrected herself. He'd referred to nonvampires as human, as though humans and vampires were two different species. Which probably made killing people easier. The stories she'd read and movies she'd seen offered conflicting methods. Surely there was more to it than a vampire's victims becoming vampires; after enough years of that, there'd be more vampires than humans. Or was there something about being bitten a certain number of times? And what about being buried in unconsecrated ground? Kerry wondered if Ethan had spent any time in a grave The thought made her shiver. But he only led her as far as the desk, and if he noticed—he didn't comment.

  Ethan sat down and turned on the computer; it made the distinctive high-pitched squeals that indicated it was attached to a modem. He watched her while he waited for the screen to come up, probably to see how quickly she caught on to what he was doing. It took a couple seconds. Fast, slow, or average? she wondered, sure that he could tell from her face the moment she guessed, though she couldn't tell anything from his face. And she doubted she could have even in better light than from the flickering monitor.

  Once the prompt appeared, he typed, one-handed because he was still holding onto her hand: "Had to leave abruptly. Regina can't come. I'll catch up when I can. Michael."

  "Is that your real name?" Kerry asked, trying to decide whether he looked more like a Michael or an Ethan.

  He looked in her direction but didn't answer, and in the dim light she still couldn't make out his expression, if he had any.

  "You're warning the other vampires, aren't you?" she asked. "What is this, a bulletin board for vampires? You all subscribe to the service and every day—every night—you check for secret messages to see if anybody's on your trail?"

  "Something like that," Ethan acknowledged.

  "I thought the big advantage of being a vampire was living forever, not having to be afraid of anything."

  Ethan didn't answer. He stood, and this time he headed downstairs. They made their way without turning on any lights. Part of that could be thorough familiarity with the house, but Kerry was beginning to suspect that Ethan could see in the dark a lot better than she could, especially after he skirted a kitchen table that Kerry didn't see till she collided with it.

  He paused long enough to let her rub her bruised hip.

  "Are there other vampires in Brockport you need to warn?" Kerry asked.

  "Oh yeah." Ethan's sarcasm was thick enough to recognize without seeing the smirk on his face. "Brockport, New York, is a regular hotbed of vampire activity."

  She put that down as something to remember. It might prove useful at a later date: that Ethan and Regina could well be the only vampires in the area. Or was that just what he wanted her to think? "So, what were you and Regina doing here?" she asked.

  He was back to not answering.

  "What about Rochester?" she continued. "Any vampires there? Or in Buffalo?"

  He pulled her around to look directly at her. She could barely make him out in the soft glow that was all that reached them from the light now on in the living room. "Don't," he warned in a soft and matter-of-fact voice, "make a nuisance of yourself."

  "Sorry," she said. "I don't know what I need to know to keep both of us alive." Not that Ethan was, strictly speaking, alive.

  "You don't need to know about other vampires," Ethan told her.

  "Right," she said. And then again—because it couldn't hurt, "Sorry."

  Vampires in Rochester and Buffalo, she noted mentally.

  Ethan opened a door that could have led directly into a blank wall for all she could make out in the dark. But he took a step down, she could feel that. "I can't see a thing," she said. "If you've got the extra energy to keep me from tumbling down the basement stairs, that's fine, but wouldn't it be easier on both of us if you just turned the light on?" She hoped she sounded as brave as she thought she did.

  He stepped back onto the same level and reached behind her. The light over the basement stairs came on. "Better?" he asked.

  "Yes." Politeness couldn't hurt. Even if it wasn't sincere. "Thank you." Not that she liked the idea of going down there with him. What can he do to me down there, she tried to console herself, that he couldn't have done just as well upstairs?

  Besides bury my body when he's through?

  But Ethan said, "Sometimes I forget," by which she took him to mean sometimes he forgot human limitations, which was probably as close to an apology as she'd get from him. Just when she'd worked that out he added, "Don't become a smart aleck."

  He tugged on her arm, the only warning she got before their hasty descent of the stairs.

  The idea of burying didn't seem so clever when Kerry saw that the basement had a dirt floor. Were any of Regina's victims down here? she wondered. Was Ethan planning on burying Regina?

  The place was a mess. It looked as though Regina had gone through at least two sets of furniture for every room and piled all the extras down here. Among all the other stuff, Kerry spied a moped, practically furry with dust. That seemed to be what Ethan was heading for. But he stopped just short of it, picking up instead a red-and-yellow can that sloshed when he shook it. Gasoline, Kerry's father would say, belongs in a garage or shed; it's dangerous in a house.

  And where's Dad now? she wondered.

  "You're not going to—," she started.

  He did. He poured great dollops of gasoline on a green damask love seat with tassels.

  "But what about the neighbors?" she demanded, not quite having the courage to grab his arm She couldn't have made him stop in any case, but she felt guilty for not making the attempt It was a five-gallon drum, and it had sounded just about full "What if the fire spreads?"

  "Not likely, with a brick exterior," Ethan said. "And it's necessary in any case. I have no idea what she has here, what people could find. Old pictures, papers. Seeming anachronisms that might get someone thinking."
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br />   It was how vampires survived, Kerry realized: people not thinking about vampires anymore, not believing, seeking rational explanations. Like assuming that vampire hunters were crazies. No wonder he was jumpy at the idea of a big old houseful of proof. He still had hold of her hand, and he pulled her along as he kept on pouring gasoline all the way up the cellar stairs, across the kitchen, into the living room, and up the stairs to the second level. The automatic light had come on in the guest bedroom closest to Regina's room. Kerry balked, but he dragged her along as effortlessly as a child with a pull toy.

  He pulled her into the room, carefully set down the gasoline can, then shoved her against the tall antique armoire on the wall opposite from the bed. "Little girls who hang around with vampires need to get used to dead things," he said, blocking her escape by leaning against the armoire with an arm outstretched on either side of her. "In fact, little girls who hang around with vampires already are with dead things."

  Kerry had no idea how to handle the sudden fierceness in his voice. "I'm sorry Regina is dead," she said, thinking that might be it. Or that the acknowledgment of his possible grief might make up for her earlier mouthiness.

  "Regina," Ethan said, "has been dead—" But he cut off whatever he had been going to say, evidently deciding that was something else about vampires she didn't need to know. "...for a long time," he finished with a blatantly insincere smile. "And I very much doubt any living soul is sorry."

  He shoved her toward the bed The sight wasn't as bad—and it was worse—than she'd anticipated. There was the hair, which Kerry recognized, but the body looked the way she imagined an unwrapped mummy might look: charred, blackened, and withered, more like a hairless monkey than anything human. Even the nightgown Regina had been wearing and the sheets beneath her were scorched Kerry glanced at the windows.

  "Obviously opened at some point during the day," Ethan said vehemently. "Then reclosed to look normal."

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked, which—while not a safe course—was the least-likely-to-provoke-him thing she could think of to say.

  "Open all the windows," Ethan replied, returning to his customary bland tone.

  "Fine," she told him. She had been afraid he'd want her closer to—perhaps even touching—that thing on the bed that had been Regina.

  There were shutters. She'd guessed right. She flung them open and raised the windows, all the while aware of Ethan behind her, pulling loose all the sheets and bedcoverings, and wrapping up Regina's body. "Get the other windows on this floor," he ordered.

  She considered making a break for it, but if his hearing was as good as his eyesight, he'd know before she made it past the first step. She remembered how he'd stood in front of the house listening and had known something was wrong. "What do you hear?" she'd asked. "Nothing," he'd answered. Was it that he couldn't hear Regina's heartbeat? Her once-every-ten-or-fifteen-seconds heartbeat? And once they entered the house ... Kerry shuddered. He'd started swearing as soon as he opened the door, and he'd gone right to Regina. It could only have been the scent of her spilled blood.

  There was no use trying to run.

  Kerry had gotten five windows in three rooms open when Ethan called her. "I'm not—," she started.

  "That's all right."

  She figured he knew exactly which windows she'd opened, and how hard she'd exerted herself for each one. She'd never before been so conscious of her heart pounding in her chest, her blood flowing through her veins.

  From the doorway, Kerry saw that Ethan had Regina and her bedding on the floor, rolled up in a quilt that he'd gotten from the quilt rack at the foot of the bed. From the smell of gasoline, she realized he'd doused the mattress.

  As soon as Kerry walked in, he struck a match and tossed it onto the bed. The fire started with a great whoosh, faster than she'd have imagined.

  Her inclination was to run immediately, but Ethan handed her the matches. "Three more," he told her. "The first down the basement stairs, the second in the living room, and the third tossed up the stairs right before you leave."

  "Me?" Her voice came out as a squeak. It was hard to concentrate with the room so hot already and the overpowering smell of the gasoline. The book of matches sat in her hand, strangely heavy and incongruous. It was obviously a wedding favor—silver bells on a white background, with the message "Steve and Beth, May 24, 1947."

  "The first down the basement stairs," Ethan repeated, "the second—"

  "—in the living room," she finished, "and the third on the stairs." He was keeping her alive to help him; if she didn't start helping soon, he was bound to reconsider.

  "Very good," he told her.

  As she ran out of the already smoky room, she was aware of him picking up Regina's body easily and flinging it over his shoulder. He was only a step behind when she veered off toward the kitchen. She lit a match, thinking only at the last instant to make sure she wasn't standing in a puddle of gasoline before she dropped it.

  She lit the second match in the living room, but her hands were shaking too hard to get the third going. The smoke was stinging her eyes, her throat felt as though she'd been drinking gasoline, and she thought, If he wants a third, he can do it himself.

  Ethan was already sitting in the car, the engine going, when she slammed Regina's front door behind her.

  She could scream. She probably would have time for one Fire! or Vampire! or Help!

  But only one.

  She got into the car, very much aware of the bundle in the backseat, the decapitated body of a murdered vampire. Very much aware of the living—more or less—vampire beside her.

  And very much aware, before they reached the end of the street, of the dark smoke filling the darker sky behind them.

  Chapter Eight

  AFTER SEVERAL MINUTES of driving, Kerry roused herself enough to ask, "Where are we going?"

  "Bergen Swamp," Ethan answered.

  "There's a swamp in Bergen?" The Bergen town line was about two minutes from Main Street, Brockport. "I thought Bergen was mostly farms and student housing."

  Ethan glanced at her. "Well, it's hardly in the same category as the Florida Everglades But, yeah, it's a swampy, wooded area. Good for hunting."

  For a moment Kerry thought he meant vampires hunted people there. Then she realized he meant game hunters, after deer and rabbits. "Oh." She was unable to hide the relief in her voice.

  He glanced at her again, and again what she was thinking must have been transparent. He sighed, loudly, and shook his head.

  Kerry looked around at the familiar countryside rolling by in the darkness: fields and occasional houses. Her heart did a quick flutter, but she tried to keep her voice casual. "I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but you passed through Bergen about five minutes ago."

  He gave her one of those looks she was beginning to think of as a vampire-thinks-of-amusing-thought-that-is-amusing-only-to-other-vampires look. "I thought we were talking about long-term goals," he said. "We have a couple errands to run on the way."

  "Such as?"

  "You aren't going to like them, so I'd rather put off telling you." He saw her expression and laughed. "But I doubt they're as bad as what you're thinking."

  What she was thinking was that they were heading off toward Rochester to find a victim for him to feed on. The awful, frustrating thing was that—even if that should turn out to be what he intended—when the time came, chances were there would be absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it.

  She forced herself to think of alternatives. Maybe he was telling the truth. For once. They were definitely going in the direction of Rochester, and there was little else between here and there except towns even smaller than Brockport.

  Rochester. It suddenly came to her. He was going to enlist the help of other vampires. Which probably significantly increased her chances of losing her own blood.

  He was watching her, evaluating, still amused. "Besides," he added, "we have time to kill."

  And she
was sure he was aware she could think of two ways to take that. She intentionally ignored one of them.

  "What about my family?" she demanded. "Aren't you forgetting them?"

  "Definitely not," he answered brightly. "They're absolutely the only control I have over you."

  It wasn't exactly the answer she'd anticipated. "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "They're in danger. Now, unless you know that they're being held captive in Rochester—and I don't see how you could know that unless—" She stopped. Was Ethan involved? Had he arranged for Ian and her dad to be kidnapped as part of some elaborate vampire scheme to ... But she couldn't work it out in any way that made sense at all.

  Beside her, Ethan waited patiently for her to continue.

  "Unless you know that they're being held captive in Rochester, we seem to be headed away from them."

  "I have no idea where they're being held," he told her. "Was that what you were asking?"

  "I was asking ... I was pointing out, because of the time involved ... Couldn't you do whatever it is you're going to do with a phone call?"

  Ethan gave her a puzzled look and said, "No," in a tone strongly indicating she was wrong about the purpose of this trip being to communicate with Rochester vampires.

  She said, "What if whoever has Dad and Ian..." She needed a deep breath to continue. "...kills them while we're busy running your errands?"

  "Kerry, I don't know who has your family. But if they're still alive—now, at this moment—it doesn't make sense for whoever has them to kill them. They're useless dead."

  "Unless I don't know they're dead."

  "There is that," he acknowledged. "But there was nobody at your house. I would have heard. And I would have known"—he was saying this last part slowly, phrasing it carefully—"if your father and your brother were dead in the house. If there had been a quantity of spilled blood, I would have known it."