by Rachel Caine
The worst, most real monster in here was Jeremy, who looked the color of exposed bone, and whose eyes were as alien as anything you’d find on earth. His smile was something he’d learned, not something he felt, and even though he was small and wiry and looked pathetic in his baggy khaki pants, I was so afraid of him it was hard to breathe.
But he kept his word.
We made it out, into the cold, sharp wind; overhead, the rusty Grim Reaper creaked as he swayed. I saw nothing moving outside except some rolling tumbleweeds and blowing trash.
Jeremy walked off a few feet, then stopped, staring up at the sky. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep, slow breath, as if he wanted to drink in the world around him. For that moment, he looked his physical age – I had no idea how old he really was, but he looked maybe a growth-spurt thirteen, maybe fourteen. Really young to become a vampire, but depending on when that had happened, thirteen or fourteen might have been adult, pretty much.
But my heart went out to him, anyway. He’d been locked away in a cage for peoples’ entertainment, for God’s sake. No matter how scary he was, how divorced from human emotions, he didn’t deserve that. Nobody did.
Jeremy said, without opening his eyes, “You’re wondering how old I am.”
Well, THAT was uncomfortable. “Yeah,” I said. “Kinda.”
“I died when I was fourteen,” he said. “But that was a really long time ago. I’m not a kid.”
“I guessed.”
“You know I could kill you and be gone before your boyfriend could catch me, right?”
“Husband,” I said, and held up my left hand, because I knew that even in the dark he could see the ruby wedding ring. “Newlyweds.”
I’d managed to surprise him, a little, because it looked like his eyebrows rose up just a touch. “Huh,” he said. “So you’re one of those who thinks vampires are some kind of sex gods, right?” He coupled that with a little, creepy laugh.
“No, I’m someone in love with a guy who happens, unfortunately, to be a vampire,” I said. I’d had lots worse hazing from lots worse people than him, especially after marrying Michael. “Personally, I think vampires are the opposite of sexy, mostly. Being dead and all. But he’s my guy, and he’s different.”
“We’re all different,” Jeremy said. “And deep down, we’re all the same. We’re alive because we didn’t want to die and we were ruthless enough to make it happen. Your man’s a killer too. Sooner or later, he’ll realize it, and so will you. Probably be kinder just to kill you now.”
“Try it,” I invited softly, and made sure I had the knife in a firm grip. “I grew up in Morganville, sonny. I’m not Bambi.”
That made him smile enough to show teeth. Wow, so not an improvement. “Even wolves get eaten,” he said. “Especially when they’re away from their pack – ah. He’s back.” He sounded a little disappointed, but in the way that someone might be at a restaurant when they learned the kitchen was out of their favorite dessert. I didn’t hear Michael coming back, but all of a sudden he was there, staring at Jeremy with flickering red eyes. Wary.
“Eve,” he said, and held out his hand. I went over and took it, and his fingers felt cool and strong as they closed over mine. “He’s got the ability to cloud himself. Most vamps do, to a certain extent, but he’s really strong. You’d never see him coming.”
“You either,” Jeremy said. He took in another deep breath and held it, as if he was enjoying the smell of the desert air. He let it out slowly, and said, “Tell Amelie I’ll be by when I feel up to it. Got to get some space around me right now. Ain’t fit for friendly company.” He looked sharply at Michael, suddenly. “Don’t you even think about stopping me. Ain’t got no reason to hurt you, but I will if you get in my way. You make Isis forget?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Better get going, then.”
Michael frowned, and pulled me closer. “Jeremy? What are you doing?”
“I’ll be to Morganville someday,” he said. “Not now. Tell her. Now leave unless you want to lose your wife. She’s a pistol, and she’d taste real good right about now.”
Michael had made Amelie a promise, but he wasn’t about to risk that. “We’re going,” he said. “I’ll tell her what you said.”
“Good.” Jeremy walked back to the dark ride, to the Grim Reaper with his cheap tin scythe looming overhead. He looked weirdly at home there, and even though I was watching him, focusing in, he seemed to just … blend into the darkness. “I’ll be around.”
He must have pushed a button, because suddenly the creepy organ music boomed out of the speakers, and lights flashed on and off, making the Grim Reaper look like he was all raved out. Cars began to shuttle forward, all empty.
He was waking up the whole carnival with the racket.
“Let’s go,” Michael said, and we ran for the car. I didn’t ask any questions until he’d put it in reverse and raised a cloud of dust around us as he drove for the farm road access, made the turn, and headed for Morganville. Not for safety, but at least for familiar territory. I didn’t breathe easier until I saw the white glow of the Glass House, our home, in the headlights, murky through the vampire-thick tinting.
I don’t think either of us wanted to know exactly what Jeremy had in mind, but I Google-flagged articles with the name of the carnival. There was an eerie silence for a few weeks after we got back, and then the mentions started appearing, slowly.
The haunted dark ride. Missing people. Investigations finding nothing.
He was out there, moving with the carnival, haunting it like a hungry ghost.
It was pretty selfish, but frankly, I hoped he’d stay out there.
I didn’t want him in Morganville.
Ever.
And that was the last time I’d ever take a chance on one of those rides, however cheesy, however safe.
“Hey,” Michael said from behind me. I shut the lid on the laptop, and Jeremy’s latest missing person, and leaned back as he put his hands on my shoulder and bent to kiss my neck – not in a vampy way, just in a sexy way. “You’ve been on there for hours. Ignoring me?”
“Never,” I said, and stood up to face him. “Real life’s so much better than internet life.”
He agreed with a kiss, a long one, sweet and cool, hot in ways that had nothing at all to do with body temperature, although his mouth took on heat from mine the longer they touched. I loved that, seeing the effect I had on him. I could change him, at least briefly; sometimes, when I woke up in bed with him, my body heat had transferred to him so effectively that he felt alive again. He loved that, too. It made him feel connected, alive, and … human.
“Bed,” he said, in a whisper that vibrated against my skin. “You and me. Now, Mrs. Glass.”
“Right now,” I agreed.
And I left all the dark rides behind for something much wilder and better.
If you’re smart … you will, too.
