On the main floor, men cry and cough as they crawl over the Oriental rugs, eyes squeezed shut. I double - check the rubber seal of my gas mask as Shane pulls me through another thick white cloud.
He shields me as we make our way down the hall toward the foyer. We sidestep a man on his hands and knees, puking. By the open front door, where the air is clearer, a black - clad Control vampire and a stake - bearing Fortress guard are fighting hand to hand. The thud and crack of fists and feet sound nothing like they do on TV. Each impact feels like a punch to my own gut.
Shane steers us to the right, through the piano room. “We’ll go out through Benjamin’s office.”
I hurry toward the open double doors, relieved I gave the Control such a detailed layout in my original plea for help. I hear Jeremy’s footsteps close behind me.
Shane slows abruptly as we approach the office. “Wait, someone’s in there.”
Ned steps into the doorway, a dull black pistol in his trembling hand. His eyes are bloodshot, his face soaked in tears.
Time seems to stand still as my gaze adheres to the darkness at the end of the gun barrel.
“You killed Gideon.” He waves the pistol. “Both of— Augh!” He yelps as Shane tackles him in a blur of motion.
A deafening crack, then a whistle past my ear. I scream and drop to the floor. Jeremy lands beside me, his arm over my back.
Another crack, not as loud but just as sickening. Then the crash of broken glass.
“Come on.” Shane helps us up. “Hurry.”
My legs wobble as I try to run across the office, the sling on my arm throwing me off balance. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other instead of the fact that five seconds ago, my head almost got blown off.
“Watch the glass.” Shane leads me through the splintered frame of what used to be the French doors of Benjamin’s office. I step around Ned’s twisted body onto the back patio. I look back into the house and realize Shane just tossed my would - be murderer over thirty feet through the glass doors.
“Oh my God.” Jeremy peels off his mask and gapes at Ned, then at Shane. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet.” Shane picks the pistol out of the rubble. “He wasn’t bluffing, Ciara.” He raises the weapon to point at Ned’s chest. “He was going to kill you.”
“Shane, no!” I put out my hand, resisting the urge to grab his arm. “We’re safe now. Let’s just go.”
He hesitates for a long moment, holding the gun steady as he aims. Finally he takes a deep breath, then clicks the pistol’s safety and lowers it to his side.
“No.” He drags his gaze up to the Fortress’s turreted façade. “We’ll never be safe.”
26
Mysterious Ways
“I knew I’d get you to listen to that emo crap,” Jeremy says to Shane across the back of the Control van, which sits down the block from the raided Fortress.
“I’m not listening to it, but it seemed like the best way to get the message across, especially after I realized we were extracting you on a Thursday.”
“It was perfect.” I snuggle against Shane’s side as he strokes my hair. The residual fear of almost getting killed has left me shivering despite the van’s cranked - up heat. “Except for the part about the cyanide.”
“You really thought we’d risk your lives with poisonous fumes? The tear gas was bad enough.” He uses his thumb to wipe a bit of nonexistent wetness from my cheek.
“So tell me about Sara.”
Shane tenses. “I swear, Regina and I had no idea the guy doing all this was Benjamin Zadlo.”
“I assumed his name was Amberson, like Ned’s, though Lanham did say they could be half brothers.”
His mouth twists in a bitter scowl. “The Control knew, since they were monitoring the place. This might’ve been avoided if they’d just shared more of their information.”
“And ruin an investigation they’ve been conducting for years? Besides, you’re one to talk, keeping secrets about Sara. So spill.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Sara was the reason I finally broke up with Regina.”
“This was a couple years ago, right?”
He nods and runs a heavy hand through his tangled hair. “Where to start . . . they met at a club in D.C.”
“Was she Regina’s donor?”
“No, they were just good friends. Sometimes when Sara’s boyfriend got really bad, she stayed with us at the station.”
“In your apartment?” What happened to no humans allowed? “Wait, what do you mean, when Benjamin got really bad?”
“He hurt her. When she met Regina, it was mostly pushing and arm twisting, but things got worse fast. The first time he punched Sara, it took all five of us to keep Regina from killing him. A homicide watch, you might say. This guy was an asshole, but he was still human, not to mention an up - and -coming captain in the Control. If she’d hurt him, it would’ve jeopardized the agency’s protection of the station.”
Jeremy folds his arms. “Why am I not surprised this guy was a girlfriend beater?”
My mind fuses another connection. “So Regina changed Sara to a vampire so she could defend herself?”
“That was a big part of it.” His eyes narrow. “And Regina wanted a new pet.” He shakes his head, as if dismissing his own accusation. “No one could deny it was what Sara wanted. She even signed a VBC form.”
“A huh?”
“Vampire By Choice. That’s not the official name, but it’s what we call it. It’s a Control form.”
“So if she gave her consent, what was the problem?”
His lips tighten into a thin line. “Just because someone wants to die doesn’t give anyone the right to kill them. Making a vampire is murder.”
“According to who?”
“According to me.” His eyes are dead serious, and he taps himself in the chest. “I’m Catholic, remember.”
The irony of a pro - life vampire does not escape me. “Is that why you broke up with Regina?”
“It’s why I finally gave up on us. We hadn’t been a real couple for years, but once in a while—” He glances at Jeremy, and I sense he wants to say more.
I prompt him. “So Sara became a vampire. Then what?”
“Then the soap opera began. Sara was powerful and hot and could suddenly have any guy she wanted. And she wanted all of us.”
“Did you—”
“No.” He puts up his hands. “I knew how toxic that would be, with me and Regina’s breakup. But Sara kept trying. And one day Regina walked in on . . . Sara trying.”
My chest tightens. “Regina killed her?”
“Of course not. But she started letting her go her own way. I guess you could say Regina turned into a negligent parent.” He lowers his gaze. “We were all to blame for not taking care of her. Infant vampires can be so annoying, but that was no excuse to let her go out alone the night daylight savings time ended.”
“Oh God,” Jeremy says. “Sunrise an hour earlier.”
Shane gives a faint nod without looking at him. “Sara wasn’t getting enough to drink, and sometimes she’d pass out or fall asleep. So she’d set her cell phone alarm to wake her in time to come home, like I used to do at your apartment.”
“Oh my God.” The cruel truth dawns on me. “The cell phone reset the time but not the alarm. That happened to me last year.”
“Miracles of modern technology.” He grimaces. “Regina called her, but it was too late. Sara was driving back to the station, racing the sun. She lost.” He closes his eyes. “We heard her screaming.”
I touch his arm gently. “I’m sorry.”
The back door of the van opens to reveal Colonel Lanham.
“Did the medics check you both over?” he asks me.
“We’re fine now,” I tell him. “How’s Ned?”
“Early signs indicate swelling of the brain. He’ll probably be in a coma for a while.”
I put a protective hand over Shane’s knee. “Ned shot at me.”
&n
bsp; “Don’t worry. We have people at the state’s attorney’s office. No charges will be filed.”
“Did you ever find Benjamin and Luann?” I’m afraid to ask about my dad.
Lanham frowns. “They escaped, but not for long. We’ll need to debrief both of you ASAP, separately.” He includes Jeremy in his glance. “Maybe you’ll remember something that can help us find them.”
We both nod, then Jeremy says, “Sir, I have a lot of questions.”
Lanham nearly laughs, then catches himself before he can commit this unnatural act. “That is, no doubt, the understatement of the day. Major Ricketts will collect you in a few minutes. She’ll answer your questions and take your statement.” Lanham turns to me. “We’ll be speaking soon.”
“No doubt.”
I wince as he slams the door shut.
“So dude,” Shane says to Jeremy, “after all this, what are you going to write?”
“No idea.” Jeremy pushes back his limp curtain of blond hair. “I sure as hell can’t write the truth.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We’ll come up with something better.”
Lanham waits exactly twelve hours to track me down for our “speaking soon.” Friday afternoon finds him in my apartment suggesting that I should repay the Control for saving my life by giving a year of said life to their employment.
“I told you, I’m not a team player.” I shove aside the contract he puts in front of my face. It’s ruining my appetite for this bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese (something I swore I’d never again deny myself if I got out of the Fortress alive). “My blood’s not enough, you want my sweat, too?”
Lanham frowns, then seems to remember something. He reaches for the long black coat draped over the dining room chair. Out of the pocket he pulls a black pleather square, which he opens with the flick of a thumb.
“The badge of an active Control agent.”
“Ooh, pretty.” I examine the silver sun insignia, surprised it’s not in the shape of a fist. Then I notice the green flashing lights above a tiny keypad embedded near the bottom edge. “What’s with the bling?”
He snaps shut the badge holder. “A dynamic security system. An agent’s codes are refreshed every seventy - two hours, sometimes more frequently. This way if a badge is stolen, it can’t be used as a forgery. Or if an agent goes rogue, their security code can be nixed immediately.”
“Wow, you must have some high turnover rates to warrant such a complicated system.” I take another bite. My mac ‘n’ cheese is getting cold, which makes me cranky. “You can’t win me over with super-sweet spy toys, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t expecting to. But if you encounter someone who claims to be a Control agent, now you’ll know whether he or she is a fake.”
“Do the lights go out when they don’t put in their new code?”
“They turn red.”
I wonder if somewhere in the back of a drawer, David has a red - lit blinky badge.
“As for your employment,” Lanham continues, “I assure you we could make it worth your while in other ways than—”
“Stop.” I hold up my fork. “If that’s all you came here to talk to me about, you may leave.”
Lanham puts his hands behind his back. “Very well. I’d like to show your video of the Fortress bloodbath to the executives at the Family Action Network. Not the supernatural part, of course. The rest of the ritual ought to be enough to scare them straight.”
“And they’ll leave the station alone?”
“I imagine they’ll cut ties with the Fortress immediately. Without the extra funds from this source, they can’t afford new translators to override radio signals. And I suspect they’ll want to run as far away from any connection with WVMP as they can, lest the public discover their association with Satanic- looking rituals. Not to mention arsonists, as we believe the Fortress to be behind the going-to-hell threats as well.”
“Tell FAN that Jeremy and I will make up a reason why they’ve abandoned their crusade, one that will let them save face. They’ll confirm it with the Rolling Stone fact - checkers.”
He nods. “Good. That should sew things up on that end.”
His ensuing silence forces me to ask the question. “No word about my father, I suppose.”
Lanham hesitates. “He wasn’t at the Fortress at the time of the raid. We had the place surrounded, and there were no other escape corridors except the hidden door in the back of the basement closet.”
Which I really wish I’d found while I was sitting in there— not that I would’ve had the key. “If my father has the same power I do, he’s not safe in the hands of the Fortress.”
“We understand that.”
I stab the macaroni left-handed, trying not to show my burgeoning concern. “Any leads on where he might be?”
He blinks slowly. “I’ll let you know.”
I grit my teeth around my fork. He’s not telling me everything.
“The vampire Wallace has been returned to our custody,” Lanham says. “With your permission, I’d like to investigate if your blood can cure his injuries. It would be delivered intravenously, of course, since he can’t currently swallow.” He pauses. “Without your blood, he’ll likely starve to death.”
“If you can give him my blood by IV, why not feed him that way the rest of his life, with bank blood?”
Lanham frowns.“Part of the purpose of this operation is scientific inquiry.”
“An experiment.”
“Yes.”
I drop my fork in the empty bowl with a clatter. “I have a request.”
I beckon Lanham to follow me into the kitchen, where I turn on the stove’s exhaust fan to shroud our voices from Shane in the bedroom, who may or may not be asleep.
“What’s this about?” Lanham asks.
I lean against the stove and meet his steel - blue gaze.
“Let Shane go home for Christmas.”
He doesn’t blink. “Absolutely not. A ruling was made when his father died. I couldn’t overturn that if I wanted to.”
“Don’t be such a Scrooge.”
“We both know it’s not about one holiday. If his mother were his sole remaining relative, his case review might have had different results. She would die before he aged much further, or would at least be deemed senile if she told anyone her son was a vampire. But his sister is young and has children. If he doesn’t cut off contact with them now, it will be that much harder in ten or fifteen years when we need to change his identity and location.”
“Everything could change in ten or fifteen years.”
“Nothing changes when it comes to humans and vampires.”
Wanna bet?
I take a deep breath.
“I’ll work for you.” My hand tightens on the edge of the counter. “After I graduate. I’ll sign a year’s contract today. Just don’t make Shane hurt his family again.”
He folds his arms. “Be careful.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re willing to make this sacrifice, become something you hate, for the sake of a vampire.”
I consider defending my feelings, telling Lanham that Shane would do the same for me, if not more, that he’s already sacrificed and given more of himself than I ever could.
Instead, I just hold his gaze and say, “Yes. I am.”
In the midst of figuring out how to find my father, and in the midst of recovering from arm surgery and a brush with death, and in the midst of offering a sample of my blood to a paramilitary organization, who may or may not be satisfied with a few vials . . .
I have a paper to write.
It’s 3 a.m. now, seven hours before this assignment is due. I stretch my back over the edge of the dining room chair and look at Shane, who quietly tunes his guitar on the sofa. He’s wearing a WVMP baseball cap backward, so for once his face isn’t obscured by his pale brown hair. He twitches his jaw as he tunes, and the action sets off his sharp, high
cheekbones.
Shane stops tuning and shifts some sheet music on the coffee table in front of him. He’s teaching himself to play Buffalo Springfield’s “A Child’s Claim to Fame,” in response to folk -rock requests from the hippies at his gigs.
My computer boops to signal a batch of incoming e - mail. One of the messages takes longer to download than the others. I freeze when I see Colonel Lanham’s address with the subject line “An Offer”. I swallow hard as I open the attachment.
A contract. A year’s employment with the International Agency for the Control and Management of Undead Corporeal Entities.
At the click of a mouse, it comes out of the printer to my side.
1. My tenure at the Control will start within thirty days of my graduation or thirty - six months from today, whichever comes first. Damn. I was hoping I could weasel out of it by never getting those last three credits.
2. As a consultant, my boot camp attendance is encouraged but not required. Yay, no one calling me a maggot.
3. Starting salary: more than I make at the radio station. Bonuses for hazard pay.
No clauses saying I have to travel extensively or that I can’t sleep with a vampire. I uncap my pen and ease my right arm out of the sling.
Shane’s voice trickles through the air between us, singing something about lullabies and make - believe.
I look into our kitchen at my spice rack, at the automatic dishwasher, at the refrigerator, where he’s left so many notes.
None of his compulsions will improve with time; in fact, they’ll get worse, until Shane’s life is so regimented we’ll have to schedule our spontaneous sex. I can slow down his fading, reverse some aspects of it (music, for instance), but ultimately I have to accept what is and what can never be.
Eyes wide open, I sign the contract. Then I take it down the hall to the study and fax it to Colonel Lanham’s office.
As the last sheet jerks through the machine, transmitting my future, I wonder if I’ll get to wear one of those bitchin’ black uniforms.
I come back to the living room and lean on the wall at the corner. “What’s it called when the Catholic Church gives you special permission for something that goes against the rules?”
Bad to the Bone Page 28
