by C. T. Adams
I kicked off my shoes and dropped the lunch outfit into the laundry the minute I made it through the front door. It was good to be back. I felt a lingering sadness about the church, but there was nothing I could do. Besides, I really was proud of Mike. He was being transferred to Rome. That was just so cool. He’d been working so hard, for so long. It felt good to see him succeed.
I was sweaty and stinky from dealing with dusty old boxes of records and the amazing volume of mostly useless stuff that had accumulated in the church basement. I needed to clean up. A shower would get me clean, but it wouldn’t do anything to head off the sore muscles I’d earned from good old-fashioned hard work. Besides, I like long, hot bubble baths. Yeah, it’s girly. So sue me.
I ran water into the tub, digging under the bathroom sink for the aromatherapy mixture. In no time the room filled with fragrant steam as sparkling white bubbles foamed up from the water. I eagerly stripped off the soiled sweat suit, kicking it into the corner near the hamper. I turned off the taps and climbed into the tub, sliding my body under the suds with a sigh of utter contentment.
I dropped my shields, and immediately felt the buzz of the hive in the back of my mind.
I think I may know who stole the eggs. She’s a human who was tied to Monica and the Denver hive. Would it be possible for you to track her and see?
The sing-song trilling replied immediately. With effort we can track nearly any human. Only the strongest of you can block us out. Who is this woman?
Her name is Amanda Shea. She was married to Dylan Shea, who was one of your hosts.
There was a pause that lasted long enough to surprise me. We remember her, Not Prey. We will check.
Fair enough. I cut the connection and resumed my bubble bath with a thrill of absolute delight. When the bubbles were gone I scrubbed myself clean and climbed out to dry off. Even though it was early, it had been a rough day. I wanted to be at my best when Tom came home, so I decided to take a nap.
We all make mistakes.
10
I dreamed of Amanda. We were in the high school gym and she was screaming at me about something or other. A crowd of kids were gathered around, sniggering. I might be older, but she was popular, the first freshman to make it onto the varsity cheerleading squad. She wore the uniform, the black sweater stretched tight across her ample chest, the short pleated skirt showing off a pair of muscular legs. Every time she moved you could see a flash of the gold fabric inside the pleats of the skirt. Her face was distorted with rage, and she kept screaming that I was a fucking murderer who deserved to die along with all the other Not Prey.
The kids in the background started laughing, and as I looked from one to another I noticed that every one of them had fangs. Amanda moved, drawing my eyes to her, but she’d changed. Instead of the angry cheerleader, I saw the deranged woman who’d attacked me in my apartment. Her eyes were wild, with no hint of sanity. She held the same old-fashioned needle she’d used to try to infest me. The same scars marred her arm. “We’ll make you pay, Katie.
Pay for everything you’ve done to us.” A kid with Dylan’s face stepped forward, he pulled up his sleeve, extending his arm. She plunged the needle into his flesh, and he screamed. As I watched, the egg hatched beneath the skin. I could see the movement of the hatchling through his veins.
I struggled, tried to force myself to wake, but the dream was too powerful. All I succeeded in doing was to shift the image.
I floated above a scene from suburbia. Below me was a split-level house of white wood and tan brick with an attached garage. A basketball hoop had been mounted above the garage door. The whole scene was illuminated by a pair of bright halogen security lights mounted on the front eaves. The yard was as perfectly groomed as any golf course, not a weed in sight, every blade of grass of an exact height. I could make out individual leaves moving in the chest-high hedge that lined the concrete driveway.
My eyes zoomed in, focusing on the movement.
There was a figure crouched behind the hedge, hidden by a veil of leaves. It waited with patient malice.
A car rounded the far corner, slowing to pull into the driveway. It was an older model Ford Mustang, candy-apple red, with a gleaming white leather interior. The girl driving it was high school age. She was very pretty, and very familiar, though I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before.
The girl pulled the car to a stop in the driveway. I saw her reach across to retrieve her purse from the floorboards.
The bushes shifted, the figure moving carefully up to the small gap between the hedge and the corner of the garage. The car door opened, causing the interior light to come on. When the girl turned to close the car door with a brisk slam, a figure in a hooded sweatshirt leaped forward and struck.
There was no fight. The first blow, a brick to the back of the girl’s skull, dropped her to her knees. I watched, helpless, as a gloved hand used the girl’s hair as a handle and pulled her head back to expose her vulnerable neck.
Fangs struck home, and the vampire fed.
Try as I might I could not see the creature’s face. Its body was hidden, so I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. When it had finished feeding, it pulled a knife hidden somewhere on its person, and with one smooth movement, slit the girl’s throat.
“Kate, are you all right?” Tom’s hands shook me awake. “You smell terrified.”
I gasped for air, my hands automatically going to my own throat. He pulled me close, and I let him hold me until my breathing steadied and my pulse slowed to its normal rate. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare. You’ve had nightmares before. They don’t mean anything.
It hadn’t felt like a nightmare. It had felt real. I could still smell the sweat and blood, hear the night sounds in the distance. I shuddered again.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head and forced myself to speak. “No.” I pulled back, and he let me. “Just a bad dream. I’m being an idiot.”
“You are never an idiot.” He gave me a smile, but the wattage was lower than usual. There were lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and I caught a faint whiff of smoke.
“What time is it?”
“3:00 A.M.”
“And you’re just getting in? What happened?”
Tom lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He was moving slowly, as if it were an effort to do even the smallest things. “I was at the station for the safety meeting when a call came. All available units, so I got snagged to help out. A small commuter jet crashed into the shopping center where Stapleton Airport used to be.”
“Oh shit.”
He closed his eyes, and there was such pain in his expression that I cupped my hands around his face. “It was bad.” He whispered the words.
“I can guess. You look exhausted.”
He barely had enough strength to nod. People think that werewolves are super-strong, and they are—but spending even supernatural energy comes with a price. “I am. I spent most of the night in wolf form, searching for survivors. We got a lot of people out. Even the ones who died during the impact. It’s … hard when there’s nothing left for people to bury.”
I knew he was remembering his own family, who all died in a blaze when he was a teenager. He got out his sister, who died at the hospital, but they never found his parents. I smoothed down his wet, still smoke-scented hair gently. “Then take off your clothes and lay down. Get some sleep.”
“I think I’ll do that.” He was slurring his words a little, as though it almost took too much energy to speak. I’d seen him like this once before, after another bad fire, when he’d worked himself to the point of collapse trying to find and save victims trapped inside the burning building. It was part of what made him such a valuable member of the fire department—his ability to become a search and rescue animal that didn’t burn and could breathe smoke without suffocating.
He managed to get his shoes off before he fell over and began snoring. I managed to tug and roll him until he was
fully on the bed. That done, I slid naked onto the bed beside him. I fell asleep with my body curled around his and didn’t dream this time.
I woke before Tom did. Bright sunlight was flooding the apartment. I slid carefully out of bed so as not to disturb his sleep. He’d taken a week of vacation, but thus far it hadn’t been at all restful. Still, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s a firefighter now because of his family. He hadn’t been able to save them, though he’d tried. So he saves other people, other families. I can understand that.
I pulled my running clothes from the dresser and carried them into the bathroom. It had felt so good yesterday that I decided to try it again. Probably pushing myself, but hey—whatever works.
I brushed my teeth and hair, then wrapped my knee. That done, I pulled on my mint green shorts with a matching jacket over a white sports bra and plain old cotton underwear. I dug around in the clean laundry basket until I found a pair of matching tube socks to wear under my favorite running shoes. I finished dressing and was ready to face the morning in just under fifteen minutes. Still, before I went out the front door I made sure to tie on my fanny pack and clip on a knife. I probably wouldn’t need to be armed for a quick run to the newsstand for the morning paper and cinnamon rolls, but I prefer safe to sorry.
I got the coffeemaker started on the way out the door, and was off and running while Tom snoozed away upstairs.
I love Denver. I love the sights, the smells. Most of all, I love the weather. You never know what you’re going to get from one hour to the next. Seasons exist, but because of the altitude, the mountains, and just the nature of things you would have random warm days midwinter. Conversely, you could get a sudden snow or frigid temperatures in late spring. You just never know. Today was gorgeous. The sky was clear. Bright sunlight peeked between the skyscrapers, slowly taking the worst of the chill from the concrete caverns. Seventeenth Street was already humming with traffic. I’d chosen Seventeenth to avoid the foot traffic that clogs the mall during the early commuter influx.
I caught a good rhythm and was breathing easy when I turned onto Broadway. My goal was Lenny’s Newsstand on the corner of Colfax. He calls it a newsstand, but it’s a good-sized store crammed with not only newspapers and magazines from around the world, but a fair number of books, magnifying glasses, reading lamps, and miscellany. It has that musty smell that comes whenever you gather together enough books and old newspapers and is run by Leonard Levine, named for the grandfather who founded the place. It gets a lot of traffic from the political types who work just down the street at the state capitol.
The bell to the shop door rang as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Several patrons were inside, most of them middle-aged to elderly men, dressed in elegant suits in traditionally muted colors, carrying expensive briefcases. It wasn’t until I was nearly to the counter that I recognized the man paying Lenny for his Wall Street Journal.
P. Douglas Richards turned to face me. His welcoming smile didn’t show even a hint of fangs and didn’t reach his eyes.
“Good morning, Not Prey.” It wasn’t his voice that came through his lips, or at least not only his voice. No, there was that odd, sing-song choral tone to it that meant I was speaking to the entire Queen collective.
I stood stock still, trying to act casual despite the fact that every human in the store had frozen in place, their eyes glazed and blank.
“We would speak with you.”
It looked to me as though they were speaking to me, but I bit back the smartassed comment.
“You are correct. Amanda Shea is in possession of our young. But we cannot find her. We have tried. There is something wrong with her.”
Their collective anger stabbed at me like a knife, and I felt the pain building behind my left eyeball. But my shields held. They weren’t in my mind. Yippee!
“It is much like your new talent for blocking us out.”
I considered that for a moment. It wasn’t easy. Their power and rage beat at me like a club, and the throbbing pain made my skull feel like it was going to explode.
The last time I’d seen Amanda had been when she attacked me in my apartment. We fought. I won. She’d fallen out the window to the pavement below and it hadn’t killed her.
“You’ve thought of something.” The voice belonged to P. Douglas alone.
“What would happen if a human tried to infest herself and couldn’t?”
He paled and stepped back, his expression horrified. “Tried how?”
I dropped my shield, opening the door to my mind, letting him see the memory of a wild-eyed Amanda, wielding the syringe like a weapon as she showed me her arm, told me how she planned to infest me, make me queen.
“That … that’s an abomination.”
I couldn’t argue, and didn’t try.
Not Prey. You cannot lie to us. Is this true? Did she do this thing?
She did.
There was a long silence, as if the world itself held its breath.
She is insane and dangerous. Not just to our young, but to you humans as well. Every egg that hatched inside her body released its yolk, making her stronger, faster, and increasing her psychic power exponentially. She will be able to heal nearly any injury. If she has done this thing, she is a monster, a monster of great and terrible power. Without the control of a hatchling tied to the hive—
I shuddered in reaction to their horror, their fear.
Do you know where this woman is?
No. I didn’t have a clue.
Can you find out?
I’m not a detective. You’d be better off—
They cut me off mid-thought. Not Prey, we offer you a deal. Find this woman for us and, should you survive, we will show you a way to bring your brother and many others like him fully back to themselves.
My jaw dropped. It must have for the sudden amount of cool air and exhaust fumes that assaulted my tongue. You know what they say about deals that sound too good to be true. They are. But maybe I’d misunderstood. Find her. Just find her and you’ll do this?
Their words left me feeling sudden chills up my spine. Find her and survive.
But then I thought about Bryan, the way he used to be; thought about Michael, and his fear about what would happen to the zombies in his care when they closed the church. I even thought about Dr. Simms, and the daughter he was so desperate to save. I said the only thing I could say under the circumstances.
I’ll find her.
11
Agleaming black Lamborghini Diablo with tinted windows was parked at the curb in front of my building by the time I finished the run home. The driver’s side window rolled down. From what little I could see, Carlton looked particularly spiffy this morning. He was wearing a black dress shirt artfully unbuttoned to show an expanse of muscular chest, over black dress pants. I couldn’t see, but was willing to bet the watch on his wrist was a Rolex, and the shoes were hand-sewn Italian leather.
“Mornin’, Buffy.”
I put on my very best manners. “Good morning, Carlton. This is quite the surprise. I wouldn’t have expected to see you here bright and early on a Wednesday morning.” I put the emphasis on the word bright. It earned me a smile that flashed his fangs.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been ordered to keep tabs on you. Seems the ladies think you’ll lead us to the eggs, but they don’t expect you to survive the process. I’m supposed to be the clean-up crew.”
“Good to know they have so much faith in me.”
He laughed. “I think I’m beginning to like you, Buffy.”
“Take a couple aspirin and lie down. I’m sure you’ll get over it.”
His chuckle followed me as I went through the front door of the building and hit the elevator button. By the time it had reached the third floor Tom had the apartment door open and was waiting for me. He wore only a pair of red and white striped boxers and a thunderous expression.
“Lewis Carlton is parked downstairs, Katie. What in the hell is going on?”
I shoved the newspaper and bag of cinnamon rolls into his hands as I passed by. He stared at me, openmouthed. I pretended not to notice, going into the kitchen and pouring myself a huge mug of steaming coffee. “It’s a long story. We may as well talk about it over breakfast.”
Tom turned slowly, his eyes following my every movement. “You’re actually going to tell me?”
Sighing, I turned, leaned my back against the kitchen cabinets and gave him the dirty look that comment deserved. “I don’t want to screw things up with you, Tom. I just don’t know any other way to operate. But I’m trying really hard, so give me a break. Yes, I’m going to tell you.”
“Am I going to like it?” He pulled the apartment door closed and walked over to the kitchen island. He dropped both the newspaper and pastry bag onto the white tile surface before he pulled up the nearest stool.
“Hell no,” I admitted. “Even I don’t like it.” I took a long pull of coffee. It had cooled enough during the trip home that it was the perfect temperature. I let the taste rest on my tongue for a few seconds. The scent wafting from the cup was absolute heaven.
“So … spill.”
I did.
He stood there blinking stupidly long enough that I had time to pour myself another mug of coffee to drink while I waited for the inevitable explosion of recriminations. When I turned back, he was still silent, but his expression was determined. “What’s the plan?”
