by C. T. Adams
The three of us made it into the building and across the lobby. We were moving as carefully as we could, but even then there were moments when Tom would give an involuntary gasp of pain. I reached awkwardly with my left hand for the elevator button, with Carlton supporting most of Tom’s weight as we waited for it to arrive.
“What happened?”
Tom was being stubbornly silent, so it was Carlton who answered.
“He defied his Acca. She said you were a threat to the pack, told him he had to give you up. He said he wouldn’t, that he’d leave the pack first. So she pulled over, beat the shit out of him, and left him on the side of the road in a snowbank.”
I stared, openmouthed with shock long enough that the elevator arrived. The doors slid open and Carlton lurched forward.
I hit the button for my floor and the doors whooshed closed. “Mary did this?” My words were dangerously soft. Anger is hot. Rage, for me at least, is cold. At this moment I felt an icy fury. She could have killed him, wolf or not, he could have died, right there by the side of the road.
“My choice.” There was pain in his voice, but determination as well. “Not yours.”
Carlton gave me a look over the top of Tom’s bent head. I recognized it as a warning. I just wasn’t sure whether I was ready to heed it. Because while it might have been Tom’s choice, it was my fault. Oh, he’d defied her all right. But she’d been pissed at me and had taken it out on him.
“There’s always a price for defying the boss, Reilly,” Carlton said. “It was his choice, his price to pay. Just like I’m going to pay for this.”
“You’ll catch hell for bringing him here?” It made sense that he would. But then why had he done it? Even after having seen into some of his thoughts, Lewis Carlton just confused the hell out of me.
“Duh. No shit, Sherlock. They’re our enemies.” He gave me a look that said as clearly as words that I was being naive to the point of stupidity. “But the trouble I get into for this is nothing compared to what’ll happen if they find out I told you what I’m about to.”
“I thought they knew everything you did?” The tone of my voice made it a question.
He shook his head and smiled, baring his fangs. “Eventually I’ll be strong enough to pull out by myself, but not yet. Still, having Fido. here with me cut me a break. It’s helping me block them out.”
The elevator jerked to a stop. Tom gave a small moan of pain and I flinched in sympathy. The three of us shambled forward. Lewis supported most of Tom’s weight while I opened the heavy steel apartment door, then the two of us helped him over to the couch. Tom collapsed onto the soft surface. Groaning, he turned and lay down, closing his eyes.
I went to the walk-in closet and retrieved one of my mother’s old knitted afghans and used it to tuck Tom in. Kneeling by the couch, I stroked his blood-matted hair and fought down alternating waves of rage and sadness as he drifted into sleep. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, a soft snore passing his lips.
“You really love him, don’t you?”
Carlton’s voice startled me. I’d forgotten he was there. It was a stupid mistake to make. Under different circumstances something like that could get me killed.
I kissed Tom’s forehead and rose to my feet. “Yes. I do.”
“If you try to deal with his Acca on this behind his back you’ll be handing him his dick on a platter.”
“Poetic.”
He grinned. “Maybe, but I know you. You’d ignore subtle.”
I couldn’t argue. He was right. But it was a little alarming that he understood me that well. He really shouldn’t.
“So, I’m supposed to just—”
“Let him handle it. He’s a big boy. It’s his business. Let him deal with it. It’s not like you don’t have enough problems of your own.” Carlton walked over to the recliner and took a seat. I hadn’t invited him to, I’d hoped he’d say his piece and leave. It was ungrateful of me. He’d saved Tom after all. But even though I liked him, I couldn’t trust him.
I sighed. “I’d offer you something, but I haven’t had time to go to the grocery.”
“Not a problem.” Using the lever on the side of the chair, he pushed it into a reclining position. I fought not to laugh. Big as the chair was, he dwarfed it. The foot rest hit him mid-calf and his head stuck up above the back.
“So what did you want to tell me?”
“We’re setting you up.” He turned, looking me straight in the eye. His expression was serious enough that I forgot all about the chair.
“Excuse me?”
“Your ex-girlfriend is an abomination. She can’t be killed with a bullet. I knew that when I pulled the trigger.”
“So what does it take to kill her?”
Carlton settled himself deeper in the chair, his eyes scanned the apartment, taking in everything. “You ever watch the old vampire movies?”
I just stood there staring at him for long moments. I’m sure my jaw had dropped. I could almost feel the breeze on my tongue. “A stake in the heart? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not just a stake, Buffy. Once you stake her, you take her head. And, if you can arrange it, you cremate the body.” He’d taken off his sunglasses. Looking into his eyes I could see that he was deadly serious.
“Sweet Jesus!”
“I was supposed to let her kill you, then take her out.” Carlton closed his eyes. He seemed perfectly comfortable, utterly relaxed. He’d been wearing the same clothes for more than twenty-four hours, but they didn’t look particularly rumpled. Nor was he half as tired as I would have expected.
“So why didn’t you?” I was honestly curious. As he’d said before, disobedience always has consequences, generally severe ones. “She was ready to do the job, and I couldn’t have stopped her.”
“I like you.” He turned his head. His eyes met mine, expression intent. “Hell, if I’d met you a year or so ago, I’d be giving Fido here a run for his money.”
I blinked. It was the last thing I would’ve expected to hear. I was flattered, but at the same time thinking about it made me nervous as hell.
“Thank you. I’m flattered. A little startled, but flattered.”
A grin lit up his face. “You should be.” He hit the lever and stood in a blur of motion too quick for me to follow. “Be careful, Buffy. You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.”
19
Tom slept on the couch. I got up to check on him several times during the night. Each time his face had healed a little bit more. It was fascinating, and a little bit spooky. I was furious with Mary, but Carlton was right. I had to let Tom handle this. I hated it. But that didn’t make it any less necessary. If I expected him to respect my ability to deal with the Thrall, then I had to show him the same respect in his dealings with the pack, at least I did if I wanted the relationship to work. But it wasn’t easy.
I was wide awake bright and early, despite the interruptions to my sleep to check on Tom. I knew that if I kept moving around the apartment I’d wind up waking him up. It would be far better for him to sleep through as much of the pain as he could than be up and miserable. So I got dressed and ready as quietly as I could, left a note on the refrigerator, and tiptoed out of the apartment to run a couple of errands.
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned—” I spoke the words I had learned by rote back when I was in second grade. Like most Catholics, I hate going to confession. I know I need to. I even feel better afterward. But I still hate it, particularly now that they’ve instituted their “friendly” policy where you sit face-to-face with the priest and talk. There isn’t even the illusion of privacy. I mean, yes, even back in the old days there was a good chance that Father John would recognize my voice and say “Now, Katie—” but if I didn’t want to be recognized I could go to one of the other churches, walk into one of the old-fashioned booths with a screen, and know I couldn’t be recognized.
Today, instead, I was sitting in a nice little room with a statue
of the virgin mother and a pair of metal folding chairs. In the seat opposite me was a short, round, middle-aged priest with a mop of coarse dark curls liberally laced with gray. His hooked nose was out of proportion with the rest of his face and would have completely dominated his appearance if it weren’t for his bushy dark brows that looked as though they might crawl off his face at any moment.
I needed advice from somebody who didn’t have a stake in the situation and would be able to keep his mouth shut. Thus, I’d very deliberately taken a very early and fairly long bus ride to give my confession to the priest at St. Patrick’s Parish in Wheat Ridge. St. Pat’s is an octagonal building built of white stone. It sits at the crest of a hill and sparkles in the sun, or gleams in the moonlight. The pale stone sets off the colors of the stained glass, so that they glow like jewels. It’s not a big church, but it has a healthy, active parish. Masses are well attended every week, not just on the major holidays. I still prefer Our Lady church, but St. Pat’s is my second favorite.
I love Michael, but I so didn’t want to discuss my relationship with Tom with him. No. Just, so no. Oh and my other reasons for going to confession wouldn’t make him happy either. So I’d set the alarm painfully early so that I could go to 7:00 A.M. confession at a church in the suburbs.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Reilly?”
So much for anonymity.
“Father—”
“Akins. I’m sorry if I startled you by using your name, but you’ve appeared prominently in the news a number of times, and I’ve spoken with Michael about you often enough that I feel as though I know you.” He smiled benignly.
Better and better.
“This isn’t easy,” I admitted.
“It isn’t supposed to be. Just talk to me.”
I talked. I started with the ordinary sins, things like missing mass. Then I took a deep breath and launched into my relationship with Tom. It was awkward, but not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.
“But that isn’t really why you came here, is it?” His small brown eyes were piercing and carried the weight of his intelligence and experience. I got the impression from the look he gave me that there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen or heard. “You’re here because of what happened in the mountains.”
“They could have died, Father.”
“Your friends?” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. He had big hands, rough, as though he were accustomed to using them for physical labor rather than the usual priestly duties.
“Yes. They could have been killed. Rob almost was. And in spite of the confessions by all the vampires, the police seriously considered charging him. He could have had to go to trial for assault and he has a record.”
“He did attack those teenagers.”
“It was self-defense. They were Thrall. They were trying to kill us.”
“They were trying to kill you.” He corrected me. He was leaning forward, his dark eyes intent.
“Yes.”
“And you feel responsible.” The air-conditioning kicked on, making his stole sway slightly.
I met his gaze steadily. “Yes.”
“You’ve been talking about your friends. What about your enemies? I know there were many wounded. Were you directly responsible for any of them?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.” It sounded defensive, even to my own ears.
“But you would have?” He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. I could feel the weight of judgment in his stare.
There was no getting around the question, and telling the truth wouldn’t put me in any worse light. “Yes.”
“Did you go up there intending to kill?” He was deliberately pushing me. I knew it was his job, but that didn’t make me any less angry about it. I had to close my eyes and take several deep breaths to calm down before I answered the question.
“I didn’t plan on it, but I knew it was a possibility. Amanda is insane. I knew it was a trap.”
“And rather than call the police, you went up there yourself.”
“Yes.”
“I think we can add pride to the list of sins.” It was a dry observation and probably not far from the mark. I knew I should think about that, and I would. But we had finally come upon the root of my visit here, and I couldn’t not talk about it.
“The thing is, I learned something up there, something important.”
“Yes?”
“Rob was dying. To keep the hosts alive, the queens offered me a deal. They’d show me how to heal him if I helped them connect the hatchlings to Carlton as their queen.”
“You accepted?”
“Yes. I helped them, and we healed Rob. In fact, I think … I think I might be able to heal other things. Before I started looking for the eggs for the queens they said they could show me how to heal Bryan and some of the other zombies.”
I paused and his face took on a whole new light. “That’s wonderful. Michael will be so happy!”
“It is wonderful … and … well, terrifying. I mean, this is something only I can do. No, wait, the queens can do it. They can even heal coma victims. They actually did that once. For a price.”
“Ah.” He nodded and gestured with his hands for me to continue.
“So how much of it is pride? The Thrall say that Amanda is an abomination. According to the rules they can’t lie to me. So I have to believe them when they tell me that she has phenomenal psychic abilities and that the only way to kill her is to cut off her head and stake her in the heart.”
The priest was dumbstruck, his eyes wide with shock.
“I could tell the cops, but, if she’s as strong as the queens say, Amanda could cloud the minds of the police. They’d be totally vulnerable. Besides, it’s me she’ll be coming after. She’s going to try to kill me. I know it as well as I know my own name. I can’t just sit back and let her murder me, and with the powers the Thrall eggs gave her she’d cut through the cops like a hot knife through butter. Am I supposed to ‘let them handle it’ when I know they can’t; that good people will die?”
“So you intend to kill her.” His voice was heavy with disapproval.
“I don’t want to.” It was the absolute truth. I didn’t. I still remembered the good times, when she’d been my friend. I still liked her mother. “But the Amanda the world knew—the human who might have been saved—is already dead and gone.”
I’d come looking for advice, for comfort. But I wasn’t going to get any. I could tell from the rigid anger in his posture, the stern tone of his voice. “I can’t give you absolution for this. You know it is wrong, know it is a mortal sin, and yet you are determined to do it anyway.”
“So what do you suggest? Am I supposed to just sit back and let her murder me, and kill anyone who might get in her way in the process? Should I walk to my death, knowing full well that all of the zombies who might be saved, will remain trapped in their own minds?”
His fingers clenched together until the knuckles were white and he stared so hard at the candelabra in the corner that it should have been able to float through his will. “There has got to be another alternative.”
“Fine. Tell me what it is. I’m dying to know.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. I was starting to get well and truly pissed. I was tired, angry, and afraid. I was sick of this priest implying that somehow the fact that I was being hunted and harassed was all my fault.
“Kate, you are a singular human being. You’ve been given extraordinary talents. You’re supposed to use them in the way God intended.”
“And how do I know what God intended?”
“That is the tricky part. But I’d remind you they’re called the ten commandments, not the ten suggestions.”
“So you don’t have any constructive thoughts, right?” I snapped. “It’s just good luck and fare thee well, but don’t do anything horrible, even though everyone else gets to.”
“No.” His eyes flashed, but he controlled his temper. “But I’ll pray about it.”
“So w
ill I.”
I got up and left. He hadn’t given me absolution or told me my penance. We hadn’t said the usual closing prayers. But the conversation was over.
I was preoccupied when I stepped out of the church, which is why I tripped on the first step and fell with bruising force onto my knees.
That stumble probably saved my life.
I heard the explosion a fraction of a second before the stone above my head splintered, sending sharp shards of rock in every direction. I flung myself flat and began belly-crawling backward as fast as I could. A second shot rang out. It hit barely an inch from my face. Jagged bits of stone dug into the skin of my cheek as I scanned the area looking for the shooter.
An old red pickup was parked across the street from the church. There were two men. The passenger was reloading his rifle. The driver had started the engine running.
I heard sirens in the distance. The cops were coming. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the door to the church opening. Strong hands grabbed me around the ankles, pulling me inside as the rifleman fired again.
As the door swung closed I heard the squeal of tires. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I tried to stand, but my knees gave out on me half-way up. I would’ve fallen on my ass if Father Akins hadn’t caught me.
“You’re bleeding. How badly are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I gasped out the words.
“You are not fine.” He half dragged, half carried me into the church proper and dropped me into a pew. “Your face is a mess. There’s a splinter of rock sticking out of your skin not a half inch away from your left eye!”
I hadn’t felt the pain until he said it. Adrenaline is an amazing thing. It can mask pain and give you the strength to fight or flee. Right now my heart was pounding in my chest so loud I could barely hear the sirens outside or the shouts of the police as they came through the church doors. But by the time the ambulance arrived to take me to the hospital for the second time in less than a week, I was completely wiped out.
