by Sarah Zettel
Five minutes. Five minutes. I chanted silently. I measured my steps. I counted seconds in heartbeats and slow, steadying breaths. I resisted the urge to try to reach my thoughts out to Anatole. I couldn’t tell, though, if I was afraid I wouldn’t find him, or that I would.
The Aldens’ house loomed up in front of me. Anger turned up the heat inside me, burning straight through the fear. I was ready to march straight up to that front door and bang on it—hard. Make a racket, wake the neighbors, force somebody in this ritzy neighborhood to pay attention to what was going on around them. But I stopped myself. If I tried to get in the front door, somebody might just wonder what gave me so much confidence. I had to put on at least some kind of show of sneaking in.
So I ducked down the path between the houses. I’d hop the back gate to the garden and get into the kitchen through the French doors. Half the time I’d been working there, those were left unlocked. I curled my finger around the cool wrought-iron gate and lifted one foot.
The gate squeaked and swung open. I bit my lip and backed up a step. But it was too late.
“Come in, Charlotte,” called Karina.
My mouth went dry. My heart tried to duck under my ribs. But where was I going to go? I put my hand in my pocket and my thumb on the trigger of my ridiculous little spray bottle. Fat lot of good it would do me if she had a gun or a witch with her. But for the moment, it was all I had.
I moved slowly forward, shuffling down the flagstone path, trying not to jump at the shadows stirring in the warm breeze. Slowly, I eased myself around the corner of the brownstone mansion. There on the patio, Karina Alden sat at a little glass-topped table. Trudy was just emerging from the kitchen, carrying two steaming mugs with her.
And there was the final piece of the puzzle. Karina couldn’t reproduce the Arall without somebody who could reproduce the magic that went into it. There was only one person who might know that part; someone Karina could trust, and someone, not a Maddox, who needed the money.
“Hello, Trudy,” I said.
“Hello, Charlotte.” She set the mugs down on the table; one in front of Karina, one in front of an empty chair.
“Thanks.” Karina wrapped her hands around her mug. “Looks like you were right. She would come right away if she thought Brendan was here.”
My heart wobbled, tipped, and fell. I glanced up at the curving stairs to the balcony, and at the dark windows and the silent house. “It was a bluff.” And I’d fallen for it. I knew you could work magic with a cell phone. I’d seen Brendan do it. I knew Trudy was a witch, one of many in this whole cluster of double-crossing who could have been working with Karina. Despite this, I didn’t do anything to confirm where Brendan actually was. I didn’t call Lloyd, or Linus. I didn’t go to Brendan’s apartment, or even sneak Anatole up to the side of the house to see if he could sense him. I’d thought Brendan was walking into a trap, and I panicked; now I was the one trapped.
Karina smiled and nudged the empty chair out. “Sit down?”
I walked down the steps to the patio. I focused on Trudy and Karina. I did not look at the garden wall. “So,” I said to Trudy, “I take it you never did get around to calling Pete?”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have any choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Yeah, but it’s not always a good one,” Karina said with a sigh. “Especially not when it involves going to prison for murder, right, Trudy?” Trudy turned her face away.
“This is about that NYU kid, isn’t it?” I said. “It wasn’t Adrienne who killed him. It was you.”
“It was an accident,” Trudy murmured. “That’s all.”
“She got hold of the wrong bottle.” Karina shook her head in a mock sympathy creepy enough to stand the hairs on the back of my neck on end. “Back in the day, my mother was more willing to help friends out with her potions. Trudy wanted a love potion, but she got it mixed up with the store of the Arall she had left over from the Five Points Riot. At least, that’s the story and they’re sticking to it.” She gazed at the steam rising from her mug. “For what it’s worth, Mom says it was an accident too. Trudy says she gave the boy the potion in good faith. The problem is, she’s not sure Linus O’Grady would believe that. Neither was I.”
“You’ve been working on this a long time, haven’t you?”
Karina shrugged. “Not this specifically. I knew I’d find some way to make the family pay what they owed me. Sit down, Chef. Trudy’s made coffee.” She pushed the mug across the glass.
I ignored her. “I know Linus O’Grady, Trudy. He’d listen.” I put all the conviction I had into that, and got exactly nowhere. Trudy just shook her head, her mouth drawn tight. She thought it was too late. I could see it in the set of her shoulders and the way she refused to catch my eye. She’d thrown in with Karina, and there was no way back.
“You can go now, Trudy,” said Karina. “I know you’ve got a flight to catch.”
Trudy nodded, then headed for the French doors. Pausing, she turned and lifted her eyes to mine. “I am sorry,” she told me again.
I just shook my head. She might be telling the truth, but it was way past mattering to me. Trudy turned away fast, then vanished into the kitchen. I let out a long breath and took a couple of steps forward. I couldn’t worry about her anymore. Anatole was out there in the dark. He was listening, and by now he knew it was all a trap. But he’d be waiting for a chance to come get me out. I had to keep Karina talking and make sure that chance showed up.
“So, where’re your folks?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Oh, you know, out and about. Wedding business.”
“Your dad’s keeping your mom out of the way, isn’t he?” I’d reached the table. I could have grabbed her. This didn’t seem to bother her at all. “He knows what you’re up to.”
“Some of it,” Karina admitted. “Except he thinks it’s all a frame-up to keep Henri from being able to blackmail Mom.”
“Didn’t think he’d go for the profit motive?”
“No. Surprising coming from a man who spends his days making money for other people, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “That’s all right. Once Mom’s in jail, the Maddoxes will just leave him by the wayside, and it’ll be over.” She had her fingers wrapped loosely around her mug, but she wasn’t drinking.
“You hope.” I felt a gentle stirring, not in the air, but in the back of my mind. It was Anatole, and he was getting closer. I did not let myself turn. I circled the table, as if intending to sit down in the empty chair. Karina tracked me with her gaze.
“Look, Charlotte. I’m sorry about the phone call, but I needed to get you out here. There’s no reason we can’t work out a deal.”
“What kind of deal did you work out with Oscar?” I shot back.
Her face twisted up tight and her eyes brightened. It took a couple of tries before she could form a new sentence. “That was a mistake.”
“Which part? Trusting him or killing him?”
“Both,” she whispered. But then she shook herself and her calm certainty returned. “I really never thought he’d try to steal the Arall out from under me.”
Tears glittered in her hard eyes. She cared about Oscar; I was sure about it. She might have murdered him, but she cared about him on some level anyway. It was just the witches she didn’t give a damn about.
It hit me. “You think they’re monsters, don’t you?” I said. “Not just the vampires. You took your grandfather’s ideas a step further. You think all the paranormals are monsters, including the witches.”
“Well, they’re sure as hell not human,” she snapped. “Prick them, they don’t bleed. Poison them, they don’t die. Come on, Charlotte, sit down. Have some coffee.”
I reached out and picked up the mug. Karina smiled, and, I swear, she licked her lips. But then, I knew she had no poker face. I brought the mug closer to me, letting the steam waft against my face. There it was again, that faint, bad, metallic smell. Probably she’d thought
it would be masked by the bitter odor of the fresh, hot coffee, and for just about anybody else it might have worked.
I dumped the whole thing into the nearest planter.
“Hey!” Karina started to her feet.
“You didn’t really expect me to drink that, did you?”
“No, not really.”
Karina tossed the contents of her own mug right in my face. I shouted and stumbled backward, trying to knuckle hot coffee out of my eyes and wipe it off my cheeks. A cold wind blew past me. Karina laughed, and then she choked. I blinked hard, and my vision cleared.
Anatole stood on the patio. He had one of Karina’s arms twisted behind her back, and he had his hand around the back of her neck. But she was just grinning, and both of them were staring at me.
“What?” I shook coffee droplets off my fingers. The metallic smell was all around me, getting deep into my nose, and tingling on the back of my throat and the insides of my cheek. I must have swallowed some of the stuff. I coughed and spat, and it didn’t help.
“What is that?” whispered Anatole. “What have you done to her?” His mouth was open, as if he were trying to swallow the steam as it dispersed on the breeze.
Oh. Shit.
“It’s the Arall,” I said. “Anatole, she’s got the poison working. You need to get out of here.”
“Oh yes, Anatole,” said Karina brightly. “You really should get out of here.”
But Anatole wasn’t retreating. He swayed on his feet, hard, almost losing his balance. He lifted his hands away from Karina, who obligingly stepped aside, so he could move toward me with a slow, predatory grace. I could feel the cold that surrounded him shifting and changing. I could feel his fascination reach out to rivet me in place—fascination and hunger.
“It’s a complex little formula,” Karina said. “It renders humans irresistible to vampires. It’s also extremely corrosive. Even if they just bite through the skin, it rots out their mouths and fangs, generally past their ability to heal before they die of starvation. Of course, it’s not too good for human skin either, and when ingested, it’s poison, what with the methyl alcohol and so forth. That’s why it’s the last resort. You see, it kills the human as well as the vampire.”
“Bet it blisters like hell,” I croaked. Maybe it raised hives, so that somebody who died of it might look as though he’d had a really bad allergic reaction.
She nodded. “We’re going to have to work on that. You should be starting to feel it right about now.”
She was right. My throat and mouth had started to itch. So had my eyelids, and my eyeballs—not just my eyeballs, but the sockets underneath, and my face, and my neck, and the backs of my hands. And none of that mattered, because Anatole was coming toward me, and his hunger was worming its way into the pit of my own stomach.
“Run, Charlotte,” Anatole croaked. “Please. Run away.”
Karina laughed, and that bright, brittle sound kicked me into gear.
I lunged sideways and snatched up the nearest wrought-iron chair. Karina jumped back, and it whistled as I swung it past her and ran toward the house. Anatole hissed hard behind me, and I felt hope warring with the hunger. He thought I was running away.
I, on the other hand, was thinking that if the Aldens had splashed out for safety glass, I was hosed. I screwed my eyes shut and swung the chair against the French doors. Glass crashed all around me as the window shattered, and the burglar alarm screamed blue murder.
“Nice try, Charlotte,” said Karina. “But it’s too late.”
There was no time to answer her. I leapt through the shattered window and hit the tiles running. Glass grazed my skin, and it drew blood. Swell. That’d just be fuel for the fire inside Anatole. Plus it was going to hurt like hell in a minute. I slammed through the door to the back stairs and started up as fast as I could move my feet. I had to get to my room—my warded room; the place Brendan had made safe for me.
Cold and hunger crawled against my back. Anatole was right behind me. I threw myself up the steps, two at a time. Survival put my systems on overload, and every portion of my body was focused on running toward safety. The burglar alarm screamed and whistled and clanged. I rounded the landing, dragging air into my burning lungs. I couldn’t breathe. My vision swam. My throat was way too tight, and my tongue filled my mouth. The itch spread down from my eyes across my face and down my arms.
My feet shot out from under me. My chin slammed against the stair tread, banging my teeth together and missing my tongue by a hair. I screamed as I felt Anatole’s iron grip around my ankle.
“Charlotte…,” he whispered. It was almost his lover’s voice; that warm, seductive voice that made me want to come close—almost but not quite.
I grabbed at the stair rail, but my hands were thick and clumsy as if I were wearing oven mitts. And they itched. Oh God, they itched. “Anatole, stop,” I croaked. “You don’t have to do this.”
“The hunger’s going to kill me,” he grated. “I cannot die. I cannot!”
I made myself twist around. Anatole was on his knees, holding my ankle. His face was ghost white, and his eyes were flat and dead.
“No,” I made myself say. “This isn’t you, Anatole. This is the Arall. It’s making you crazy!”
“Exactly.”
Karina’s voice came up from the landing below us. My vision was blurred from the swelling in my eyes, but I could still see her grinning. If I hadn’t hated her before, I did now; she was just like her grandfather at his very worst. She’d decided who the monsters were, and now she was going to clear them out of her way.
One finger at a time, Anatole released his hold on my ankle. I tried to pull away, but pain screamed up my leg. Something had broken in there. I was dead. I was so dead. I pulled myself up one stair—and another.
“You did this.” Anatole bared his fangs at Karina. They were long, thin, and curved like a cobra’s. “You’re waiting for me to kill her.”
Karina faced him and all the anger pouring off him in ocean waves, and she smiled. “Well, you could go ahead and try to drain me. My mother will save me, or Grandfather will. Blood’s thicker, even when you’re just the T-typ. And after that, Granddad will take the gloves off and you’ll be dead anyway.”
Anatole staggered to his feet. “It would be worth it to meet you again in hell.” He started down toward her.
“No, Anatole!” I couldn’t stand. My ankle couldn’t take it. My ears rang, and my vision was closing in. I shoved myself feet-first down those stairs, sliding down on my belly. Anatole ducked sideways, and I slammed to a stop on the landing. Karina stepped neatly to one side.
I pushed myself to my knees and, with my burning, swollen fingers, groped in my pocket for my spray bottle. “I can’t let you,” I croaked. “You’d be killing yourself.”
“Charlotte, get out of the way.”
“No.” I pulled out the bottle. The itch was digging through my skin down to my bones. I wanted to stab my nails into my skin and tear it off. Wood snapped under Anatole’s fingers as he tried to keep from moving off the stair where he stood.
“You’ll have to kill him,” said Karina calmly. “And then you’ll die anyway. It’s what we call a win-win.”
“Charlotte, save yourself.” Anatole staggered down one step. He was starvation. He was terror. He was trying to shield me from the riot of need pouring out from him, but it wasn’t doing any good. I hurt; I burned. I was going to die. Karina Alden was giggling.
“Charlotte.” Anatole stumbled down one more stair. He was losing to the hunger. If he made it to the landing, he was going to drain me dry, and we both knew it.
“I’m sorry, Anatole.”
I took aim with my bottle.
And I got him square in the kneecap with a load of holy water and garlic oil.
Anatole screamed in pain and toppled sideways over the railing, down to the main floor. The noise he made landing was the worst sound I’d ever heard.
“Bitch!” shrieked Karina.
“So’s payback!” I turned the bottle on her and got her right in the face, same as she’d gotten me. I didn’t have any magic poisons. I’d just added cayenne pepper to my mix, because not everybody who sneaks up on you in alleys is undead.
Karina screamed as the garlic and pepper hit her eyes. She staggered and fell back, and down, and I heard something go snap before my eyes swelled all the way shut, and I started screaming too.
“Charlotte!”
“Freeze! Police!”
Brendan. That was Brendan and Linus O’Grady. But all I could do was wheeze and cough. Well, okay not quite all. As Brendan bolted up the stairs toward me, I discovered I could pass out too.
31
When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. It was the same wing I’d been in after last year’s fire. My favorite nurses, Dawn and Gordon, were still on duty. They gave me a fair amount of crap for taking up their bed space again, but that was okay; I was alive to take it and that, at least, felt really good.
Plus, this time I didn’t have to get my head shaved, and healing up after a bad case of hives and blisters hurt a lot less than healing up after a bad case of second-degree burns and smoke inhalation, even when you added in the busted ankle.
I had a steady stream of visitors too. Zoe, Reese, and Marie stopped by to keep the staff around me well fed and to let me know that the Times critic hadn’t shown up at Nightlife yet. Felicity came by to tell me that the kill fee was already in Nightlife’s bank account and that she and Mel were teaming up to coordinate a blowout charity bridal show. Brendan held my hand and let me in on the latest on his meetings with the city council. Of course, as soon as the ambulance took away what was left of Karina and as soon as O’Grady arrested Adrienne in the middle of intermission at the Met, Brendan had gone straight to city hall and offered to leave the job. They were deciding the question now.
