by Rachel Caine
“I’m not stupid.” He glanced up then, and the shine of his eyes was bitter-bright. “I’m not going to be on the wrong side of the fang for long,” he said. “And when I’m one of them, you better believe that I’m going to be taking my fair share. Money, sex, blood. Whatever I want.”
Jason and Shane were two sides of the same coin. Both had come from abuse, both had felt vulnerable and frightened and alone, abandoned by everybody who was supposed to protect and care for them. But Shane had come out of it forged into something strong, something that wanted to fight to protect others.
My brother was just a carbon copy of his own abuser, ready to pay his pain forward. And I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t help him. Couldn’t do anything except what I’d done for him my whole life.
Walk away.
“Who is it?” I asked him. “Who’s biting you?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“She’s really pretty,” he said. “Blond. I think you already know her. I’ve seen her with you.”
Not Amelie, obviously; the whole idea she’d stoop to this was … just no. “What’s her name?”
He bared his teeth. “Why should I tell you? What are you going to do, report it? That’d be a first for you.”
“Jason, you never wanted to be a vampire. Neither of us did.”
“Why not? You think I’m not worthy or something?”
Worthy didn’t enter into it. The idea of my brother on a permanent vampire power trip was a really bad one. I felt sick, and anxious, and afraid; whoever was biting him had to be feeding him a line of bullshit. The vamps didn’t like to turn new recruits. It was some kind of a risk to them, and a burden. Michael had been the first one turned in a very long time, though there had been some complications to that. Nobody had been made a vampire since.
Why Jason, of all people?
“I know you don’t believe this,” I said, “but I do care about you. I always have. You scare the shit out of me, but I think deep down you know this is wrong. You still want to be … better. I know you can do it, I’ve seen it. You helped people. You even saved our lives. Why do you want to—to become this?” Not a vampire, but something worse.
Something truly without a soul.
He stared at me for a long second, then picked up the shotgun he’d laid aside and began slotting cartridges in with solid, even thunks. “Because it doesn’t hurt as much,” he said, and racked the shotgun with one hand. “Time to go, sis. Reunion’s over.”
He meant it, and I was acutely aware of what that shotgun he held could do to me, to fragile human flesh and bone. I didn’t think he’d do it, but I didn’t know. I didn’t really know him at all anymore.
“Who is she?” I whispered. “God, just tell me.”
I didn’t think he would. Maybe he didn’t think he would, either. But finally, as I was leaving, he said, “Naomi.”
I forced myself to keep going.
But walking out of that room, leaving my vampire-to-be brother making weapons of vampire mass destruction, made me feel sick and helpless and—worst of all—guilty.
Again.
I found that blond vamp-bitch talking to Oliver, in his office. And it was on.
They both heard me coming, of course, and whatever serious conversation was under way was cut off before I heard a word; I didn’t care, at all, because bloodsucking politics was the least of my concerns or interests at the moment. Oliver had guards, and one of them stepped into my path. He was big.
I didn’t care.
“You!” I yelled, and pointed around him at Naomi. “Blondie. Get your room-temperature ass out here!”
“Well,” Oliver said, “this is an interesting development. By all means, Naomi. Go. I assure you, we’re quite done with our conversation.”
She glared at him. I was used to seeing the nice, mannered Naomi, the one who seemed so sweet and buttery-soft; this one looked almost dangerous. “You’re a fool,” she told him. “We’re far from done. You can pretend to the throne all you like, but you’re nothing but a usurper, and always were even in your breathing days. You’re no king.”
“And I assure you, I know your origins as well. Amelie was generous with you, and kind, but rest assured that I will not be so well mannered.” He smiled the thinnest smile I’ve ever seen, and maybe the most dangerous. “Come near her again and I will end you. See to your noisy little … guest.”
The guard stared down at me impassively as he held me off; he must have been almost seven feet tall, and his shirt was big enough to make three dresses, and not cocktail-length, either: formal wear. I tried to give him my war face. “Better step off, Tiny,” I told him. “Me and the princess have business.”
“Do we?” Naomi laid a gentle hand on his arm, and Tiny moved for her. She gave him an absent smile and took his place in front of me as Oliver slammed his office door behind her. She winced a little at the noise. “Oliver might have been nobly born, but he has the manners of a pig farmer.”
I didn’t waste any time. She was turning on the charm, and I couldn’t afford to let her defuse the ticking bomb of anger inside me. “It’s about Jason—”
The kind glow in her eyes died instantly and turned into something about as warm as an iceberg. Her hand flashed out and fastened around my arm in an unbreakable grip, and she turned to Tiny with a sudden, brilliant smile. “There’s no need to disturb others with this nonsense. I’ll take her to my quarters.”
“Ma’am,” he said.
“Hey! Not agreeing!” I tried to pull free, but of course that didn’t do any good at all. “Let go, bitch!”
“I stand corrected,” she said smoothly, with another apologetic look at Tiny. “Oliver’s hardly the only one with the manners of peasants. You should respect your betters.” I tried to drag my feet, but she pulled me effortlessly down the hallway, opened another unmarked door, and pushed me inside.
Then she locked the door behind herself and leaned against it as she let me go. I backed off, holding my sore arm, watching her with wary intensity. It was really hard to see her as a threat. She had a certain … delicacy that made her seem vulnerable and breakable.
That probably worked really well for her.
“You’re biting my brother,” I said. “And he says you’re going to turn him vamp. Are you?”
She said nothing. It was as if I hadn’t spoken at all. She swept a gaze over me, head to toe, then back up again. “Of all the clothing you could have chosen.” She sighed. “Why is everything you wear either cast off by some ridiculous mummers’ show, or filled with sharp edges? You could be attractive, in your way. It pains me to see Michael wasting his potential on you.”
“Hey!” I’d expected a lot of comebacks, but not … fashion critique. “Excuse me, Project Runway, but I asked you a question! Are you biting my brother?”
“Jason,” Naomi said thoughtfully, as if she was running the name over in her mind. That could take a while. She was about a gajillion years old. She walked away from the door and over to a beautiful old sofa, something in bone white wood and pale silk that matched the rest of the antiques in the room. The whole place looked like it had been ripped out of some French palace before the guillotine had gotten started—and so did she. I could actually imagine her with those high powdered wigs and giant sideways skirts from the movies. “Jason—ah, the felon.” She shrugged and settled herself on the sofa, gracefully, of course. “He’s of no concern to you.”
“Did you hear the part where he’s my brother?”
“According to Jason, you’ve rarely acted the part of family,” she said, and shook her head a little, sadly. “Abandoning him in his hour of need. Turning your back. Hardly the actions of a devoted older sister.”
I’d been a child, too. Terrified. And Jason had always been the strong, aggressive one, even then, but there was no sense in telling her anything like that. Trying to justify myself made me feel sick. “I’m not talking about the past, I’m talking about what’
s going on right now. You’re biting him. Feeding off him. And you’re telling him you’re going to turn him. Are you?”
“Perhaps.” She fussed with the corner of a small crystal vase on the table next to her, and seemed completely fascinated with the sparkle. “One needs allies, and of course servants. Jason has unique qualities that would make him an excellent vampire.”
I laughed a little crazily. “You admit it. Oh my God, you actually think it’s a good idea to give my brother fangs? He is a sociopath, lady. Look it up.”
“I hardly need to,” she said. “One doesn’t survive the centuries by preying on the blood of others if one is vegetarian. Or overly empathetic.” A dimple formed near her mouth; on anybody else, at any other time, it would have been charming and cute. “I assure you, I take no sexual advantage of him. He is, as you would say, not of interest to me.”
“Yeah, yeah, vampire lesbian chic, I get it.”
“Actually,” she said, and now I got her full attention, “I have no interest in either sex, beyond what use they may be. Romantic love is an illusion, invented by poets and purchased by fools. I told you, and Michael, what was necessary at the time to make you understand that my goal was not to seduce him, only to … help.”
“Help.” My voice had gone flat and hard now, and I was starting to calculate my chances of getting out of this room alive. She was explaining too much. That meant she wanted me to know how clever she was. Never a good sign for the long-term survival of the listener. “Why the hell did you want to help us at all? Considering how Michael was wasting his potential and everything.”
“Because it opposed my sister’s wishes, of course. It showed me in a reasonable light. And I gained some supporters that I would not have otherwise had. None of this is about your great love affair, foolish girl. Marriages never are. They are alliances, politics, power. They are the politest form of war. If Michael chooses to squander his own power, then I will at least take advantage of the situation.” Naomi smiled. It still looked lovely and tentative and charming, but I was starting to realize that she just had much better camouflage than the others. Underneath, she was still all teeth and hunger and cold, cold ambition. “Now. Your brother. He does have some wild tendencies, but those can be controlled with a firm hand. I’ve had a niais with spirit before.”
“A what?”
“Niais? The vulgar call it an eyas. A young hawk. A fledgling.” She rolled her eyes at my incomprehension this time. “A newborn vampire. Do they teach you nothing of your betters here?”
The insult to Morganville’s educational system didn’t faze me, but the implication that she was my superior did. “You keep your fangs off him from now on,” I told her. “Nobody’s allowed to turn a human without authorization. There are laws against it.”
“Oh, yes, laws.” Naomi dismissed that with a graceful wave of her hand. “Old and outdated, these laws of Amelie’s. My sister always tried to put leashes on us, but we are not dogs, dear one, we are wolves. And Amelie is hardly in a position to enforce her laws now. Oliver won’t care; he’ll be busy turning his own small army. It will come to battle eventually. He’s no king, as I just told him. He has no God-given right to rule.”
“And you do?” I crossed my arms. “The Magic 8 Ball says doubtful.”
She gave me a blank look, which proved she was not as cool as Oliver; that was tragic. He at least knew what a Magic 8 Ball was. But her confusion didn’t last long. Not long enough, for sure. “You want your brother? Very well. I can trade him back to you, Eve. He would be a formidable ally, but I am prepared to sacrifice, provided you help me in something most critical.”
I didn’t trust her. Not at all. But Jason deserved the attempt from me, didn’t he? “What exactly would I be helping with?”
“Research,” she said. “Only research. And I promise you, it is research that Oliver needs as well. Your friend Claire means something to Magnus; the draug target her, and I wish to know why, and how it can be of use to us. You must help me discover it.”
“But—” That felt uncomfortably like betraying Claire, somehow, and yet it was also something I knew Claire was wondering about herself. She could see the head draug, Magnus; nobody else seemed to be able to unless he wanted it. It was a good question, and even Claire wanted the answers. Win/win.
Unless there were traps I couldn’t see. And there probably were. “Okay,” I finally said, reluctantly. “I help you find out why Claire can see Magnus, and you back off my brother and promise not to turn him. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said, and smiled. There was that dimple again. “May I send for tea?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAIRE
“Just tell me,” Claire said to Shane. She was getting annoyed with him just now; he’d been silent ever since they’d settled the matter of examining the map, determining safe routes, and discussing transportation for the latest mission to Morganville High School.
And, of course, going anywhere with Myrnin, which had been a lively, interesting discussion that had ended with Michael saying that he was coming along and if Myrnin tried anything he’d stake him with silver.
There was absolutely no question that Michael meant it. Even Myrnin figured that out.
“Tell you what?” Shane asked. They were sitting in the backseat of the car, and Michael was driving, which was a huge improvement over the prospect of Myrnin doing it; his modern-vehicle-piloting skills were—to put it mildly—tremendously bad. They were driving a standard-issue black vampire sedan, with tinted windows, although as best she could tell, it was gloomy and cloudy outside. Myrnin was in the shotgun seat in front, which left just the two of them in the back. It felt private, even though it really wasn’t.
Why you still sit so stiffly. Why you touch me as if you can’t believe I’m really there. Why, when nobody’s paying attention, you look so … lost. She couldn’t ask him those things yet. He was supposed to be better; he insisted he was. Michael, when she’d pulled him aside on the way to the car, had said he seemed okay.
But she knew he wasn’t. No idea how she knew, but she just … did. He wasn’t right, though he was faking it really well. It wasn’t the kind of discussion they should have in front of Myrnin. Or maybe even Michael. There was something way too personal, private, intimate about those questions.
So instead she said, “Tell me what we’re supposed to be out at Morganville High School looking for, because I know it’s not their amazing chem lab.”
“You’d be right about that,” Shane said. “Although to be fair, chem class did turn out some would-be meth cookers—right, Michael?”
“Would-be is right. They blew themselves up in a trailer at the edge of town,” Michael said. “Not exactly an endorsement of our fine public school system.”
“Which way?”
“Either way.”
“Good point.”
God, Shane sounded fine, but when she touched his fingers she felt him shiver, then grab hold tight, as if he was clinging to a life raft in a stormy ocean. The question he’d asked last night kept haunting her. Are you really here?
Was he?
“You didn’t answer my question,” Claire said. “What are we looking for?”
“Let me have my moment,” he said. There was something weird in his voice now. “Always dreamed of being the one to come up with the answer.”
She suddenly didn’t want to push him anymore. Instead, she just held his hand and scooted over close. He put his arm around her, holding her closer.
As if she might just … fade away.
Michael rolled the car to a stop and said, “We’re here, guys. Shane, gonna need a plan now, please.”
“Wait,” Myrnin said, staring intently through the window. He had brought along his giant boom box thing, and now he clicked the switch on it and turned it off, and Claire heard the faint, whispery sound of the draug singing. It wasn’t much, but it was there. Myrnin hastily flipped the machine on again. “We’re too close to the infected s
ide of town; they still have enough numbers to call, at least for now. We should be quick about this. Shane, I do hope you know where we are going …?”
“Sure,” Shane said. “It’s a shed at the back, near the field house. Michael, you know where it is. You can drive around there. Just go around the building and park right there in front of it. I think it has a storage sign on it.”
“Locked?” Myrnin asked, as Michael put the car in gear again.
“Yep,” Shane said. “Big chain with a padlock. But I’m pretty sure you strong vampire types can take care of that, right?”
Michael maneuvered the car through some twists and turns, then hit the brakes and brought them to a movie-worthy skidding stop, throwing gravel in a wave ahead. “Stay in the car until I open the doors,” he told Shane and Claire. “Myrnin, you get the lock and open the shed. Anything else?”
“Open the trunk,” Shane said. “What we’re looking for is pretty big. We’ll need vamp muscle to move it.”
He’d never asked for that, as far as Claire could remember …. Shane, saying he needed more muscle for something? Sometimes he accepted help, but he rarely asked. Even Myrnin seemed to recognize that. He didn’t make any quips or taunts, just leveled a sober look at her boyfriend, nodded, grabbed the boom box, and left the car, fast, on the passenger side. As Michael swung open the car door beside Shane, Claire heard the snap of metal breaking, which must have been Myrnin snapping the chain, the lock, or the door itself; there was a dry, high-pitched squeal of hinges as her own car door popped open. Claire stepped out, and saw that Michael had also opened the trunk, as Shane had asked.
The shed they were facing was really that—a shed, sheet metal, nothing fancy. The ancient cigarette butts littering the gravel around the side showed it was the smokers’ hangout. Probably the stoners’ as well; those groups usually shared space away from everybody else, since both things were illegal. She headed for the open, gaping metal door, and stopped, because Shane had stopped.
He was staring at the school.
