This is where we’re going, Della thought at the tragedy of Stacy’s failing body. They would become old, but before that, they’d be actual women, with all the qualities Wolfie had rejected from everyone but Mrs. Jones.
She opened her fist, where she’d been carrying the bag of pills. As the recruits sat in the grass, pulling it out by the roots and madly trying to scrub their bloodied skin clean with it, Della opened the bag.
Nowhere to go but here.
She enjoyed the first lift of hope she’d felt in a while, then took one pill. Two. More.
As she lay back on the grass, the blades pricked at her skin, her fingers, and she looked at a sky that was warming with color.
She smiled, already drowsy. But perhaps that was because of everything but the pills. She was so very ready to sleep.
Noreen said, “Wolfie never cared what became of us, did he? If he were still here now, he would only replace us with others. More Queenshill classes, more recruits to take up our spots.”
Stacy had been watching Della with the pills, a sense of longing in her old, faded blue eyes. Della offered the bag to her, and she accepted it, taking her fill, too.
The train approached, and the recruits blankly watched as it streamed by. Stacy handed the bag to Noreen, who consumed the rest of the pills. Then she joined Della on the ground, linking hands with her and Stacy, friends until the end. This time, they wouldn’t lose each other to Mrs. Jones.
Sunrise burgeoned, even as the sky grew fuzzier in Della’s gaze. It reminded her of a pastel bunch of yarn unwinding from a spindle as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep. She thought she heard the recruits whining as they stood over Della and her friends, the three of them still holding hands.
Then the girls left Della, Stacy, and Noreen alone, running off, crying.
The final thing she remembered was the sensation of flying like a raven into the wide open sky, free and disembodied, before being swallowed by a black stain that hugged her in a floating, liquid peace that finally welcomed Della to the home she’d always tried so hard to find.
TWENTY-FOUR
THE SOUL-SEARCHING
ADDLED by discomfort, Dawn cradled her sling-bound, cast-covered broken arm while wandering down a hall in the old headquarters, passing the paintings that had been refilled by the Friends hours ago. The spirits rested peacefully in sleep mode, the portraits reflecting beautiful women from various locations, from a fifties-inspired diner to a log cabin in the woods to a tepee.
It’d only been about fifteen minutes since Dawn had gotten back, having taken a cab from the hospital emergency department, where she’d told the docs and nurses that she’d been a victim of a hit and run on a deserted lane—hence the broken arm, the gouge in her thigh, and the various cuts all over her. No one from her hunting team had been there to see the med professionals be all “hmmm” about the gouge in Dawn’s leg in particular; Dawn had insisted that Natalia and Kiko take Jonah straight to headquarters after they’d stopped chasing the humanized vamp girls and picked her and Jonah up in one of their modified Sedonas.
Of course, Dawn’s ER car-accident lie hadn’t explained the mass of red markings on her face, either. She hadn’t been able to wipe off the splashes of dragon’s blood that seethed from the side of her face opposite the beauty spots, but she’d told the staff it was only a birthmark.
Yet Dawn knew it had to be worse. Much worse. She just wasn’t sure why right now.
After passing Mary-Margaret’s Savannah sunset portrait, Dawn entered her dad’s room, finding it empty. She didn’t know why she’d even come here, because Eva had left a landline message telling the team that Frank was still resting from his sickness in the temporary headquarters. Based on Breisi’s empty portrait, Dawn expected the Friend to be with him, especially since he’d probably needed comfort after being turned human again and getting the soul stain. She only hoped that Breisi had found a little time to recharge in her picture before she’d gone to Frank.
Dawn came to stand in front of Breisi’s picture, which featured the lab in L.A. where she’d been so at home. What would her Friend think about the splashes of dragon blood on Dawn?
It charred below her skin, not so much on it. In fact, the blood seemed to be inching farther into Dawn, encroaching like a mini army.
But that had to be in her mind, which she was definitely losing now that Costin wasn’t here.
She leaned against the wall, against her good arm. She’d taken some Tylenol, but the injury that had needed the most medicating had been Costin’s disappearance, because he’d been gone so suddenly; she’d always thought that, when his mission was done, she’d have time to say whatever it was she’d never been able to say to him, before he got yanked off the earth and put into that “better place” he’d earned.
Even though she’d been trying to fend off the panic of not knowing where he was or how he was doing, Dawn found it hard to concentrate now. And she kept looking at Breisi’s empty lab portrait, wishing for a sympathetic ear for probably the first time in her life.
When she heard someone come into the room, she perked up, hoping Breisi was back. But she turned to find Jonah, bandages marring the skin that had once been so smooth and vampire perfect after Jonah had become a vamp and his body had healed from the self-inflicted facial scars he used to have as a human the first time around.
Now, he had a slightly rosier human color back in his face, and he moved without the ease of a preternatural. He wasn’t even dressed in the “I must look like a cool vampire” way he’d adapted, instead wearing a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved blue top under a cable-knit sweater. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his dark hair hiding his brow.
He was . . . just a guy.
“I could’ve picked you up at the hospital if you’d called,” he said.
She couldn’t get over the lack of ethereal glow about him. Relating to his normalness was . . . awkward.
“I used a cab.” She hadn’t wanted him to go far from Kiko, so she’d taken care of herself. She’d asked the psychic to watch over Jonah, based on his returned, tainted soul.
“I’m surprised you haven’t launched a full- out search for Costin in every nook and cranny of London,” Jonah said.
If she thought Costin might still be in the city, and not someplace far out of it, she might’ve been out there, injuries and all. The Friends were already doing their best to try, anyway, as they combed London for any clue of him.
“Where would I look for a Soul Traveler?” She wasn’t sure if she meant to lighten the mood or really ask him, in case he had any ideas.
“I wish I knew.” He paused, then said, “Kiko took Costin’s old field of fire portrait out of storage and put it in your bedroom. He was hoping that Costin might’ve landed there, just like he used to when he would take rests from our body before we were a vampire.”
The painting had been a way station for him during the agreed upon free time he used to give Jonah, back when Costin could move in and out of the body for short durations. But he had needed to root to humanity, so he couldn’t stay away from Jonah for long.
“Maybe he’ll find the portrait,” Dawn said, but she was lying to herself. Costin was more than a Friend. He’d always been more, and he’d made a deal with The Whisper to be rewarded accordingly. A fire-filled painting wouldn’t be his ultimate prize.
Jonah took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms in front of his chest, where she guessed he felt the heaviness of a soul stain. It was telling that the former vamps who managed not to go nuts or commit suicide right away were the ones who seemed to have more to come back to, like Dawn with her need to make up for what she’d done to Costin, Eva with her longing for a second chance with Frank, and now Jonah with what Dawn suspected was the yearning to find Costin again. She’d bet that Frank’s true love for Breisi was keeping him sustained, too.
They had each other. They had purpose. And she’d never known how important that was until now.
&
nbsp; “Who wants to go outside, anyway?” Jonah asked, reverting back to the earlier topic as he stood there, looking awkward, too. “Did you hear any newscasts on the way back in the cab? Things are dicey out there.”
“No, I didn’t.” She went to Frank’s bed to sit on it, too tired to stand anymore.
“There’re extra cops on the streets because of ‘terrorist rumors.’ ”
“Rumors that could’ve stemmed from those reports about the charmed humans the girl vamps used the other night?”
“That’s probably a part of it. But Natalia also heard some chatter on a police scanner. There’re girls in custody, and they’re wearing torn, bloody clothes and babbling to the cops about fire and hunters.”
Sounded like the Underground girls hadn’t all disappeared into obscurity like Dawn had hoped. “Any talk of vampires from them?”
“Not yet. I wonder if they were trained to keep quiet about their own roles, and even in their craziness they’re obeying.”
“It’d be great if they kept quiet.” Still, the team needed to think about getting the hell out of London before heat came from any authorities who might connect them to “terrorism.” Detective Inspector Norton would probably do his part to shield them—Costin had trusted their ally to that extent—but who knew what might happen with other cops?
Yet she didn’t want to go anywhere. What if Costin did return and he couldn’t find them . . . ?
“Also,” Jonah added, “there was the explosion near Highgate last night.” He cleared his throat, an acknowledgment of the Underground victory. “It scared the people around the area, but the authorities haven’t found a cause for it yet.”
“Hopefully they won’t because the Underground’s gone.”
As Dawn’s dragon’s blood marks seemed to flare even lower into her, she thought that, wiped out or not, nothing could erase the image of the dragon’s final smile.
But she made herself forget. At least for as long as she could.
“The other big story of the day,” Jonah said, “is a trio of suicides, plus some murders up in St. Albans.”
“Girl vamps?” Dawn said.
“Yeah.” He stared at the carpet. “A group of Friends reported that the vamps we met on the Queenshill campus, Della and Noreen, were two of them. Not sure who the third was, but they were laid out in the grass near some train tracks, just like they’d fallen asleep with these sweet smiles on their faces. Friends think it was due to overdoses.”
Oh, God.
It was one thing to kill vampires, but another to hear about the suicides of humanized vamps. And young girls besides.
Dawn rubbed at her face. Della and Noreen. Especially Della. Even though Dawn didn’t know how old the girl had really been, she had the feeling Della was really just a kid inside. Someone innocent who’d gotten caught up with these damned dragon vampires.
Had the girls taken their lives because they thought no one would care enough to stop them? Dawn remembered being a teenager, too, and a lot of times, she hadn’t even needed a soul stain to hate the world around her. But with these girls, had it been impossible for them to live with all the bad things they’d done as vamps? Had the stains taken every last bit of hope and persuaded those kids that there hadn’t been any way to face life with such darkness in them?
Dawn’s marks thudded, as if trying to answer her. As if trying to say, “You could be Della, too, if you’re not careful. . . .”
“I keep waiting for him to come back,” Jonah said, pulling her out of her mourning. He was talking about Costin now. “He’s out there somewhere, Dawn. He has to be, especially if there are remaining blood brothers to kill. That was part of the deal with The Whisper.”
If only she could be so optimistic. “We don’t know exactly what The Whisper had in mind when he recruited Costin as a Soul Traveler, so we need to be prepared for the worst. Maybe he really is gone.”
When she looked up at Jonah, she saw something in his eyes that she couldn’t grasp. An openness that had escaped her, even with Costin. So she glanced away. After all the fights she’d gone through and all the psychotic-ass things she’d seen, she had no idea how to handle this gash inside of her—a wound that made her arm and leg seem like pinches in comparison.
“Why didn’t The Whisper tell Costin it would happen so fast?” Jonah asked. “Maybe The Whisper wasn’t sure what effect the dragon’s death would have on his line, even though we knew their blood weakened generation after generation and we could’ve taken an educated guess that the dragon would have the biggest effect of them all.”
“So you think the blood brothers are dead, too, and that’s why Costin’s not around? Do you think that the remaining ones turned human and they just destroyed themselves, like the lower vampires tended to do? Masters have been vampires longer than their progeny, so if they found themselves without the talents they’d had for centuries, alone and isolated, wouldn’t they find a way to end it faster than anyone?” Then Dawn thought about how Benedikte had craved humanity back in L.A. “Unless they wanted to be human.”
But none of this explained why Costin had just . . . disappeared. He’d been taken faster than the time required for any blood brothers to even realize they’d turned human. Costin’s mission had seemed to end before any suicides could happen.
She tried to recall the last time she’d seen his topaz eyes, but she couldn’t. All her moments with him just jumbled together, and she couldn’t latch onto any one of them.
But something she could hang on to was the fact that it should’ve been her death that made Jonah’s body human again and allowed Costin to escape the undead matter. In a way, she felt cheated out of that.
Sick. A tiny laugh jittered out of her, even though this wasn’t funny. Maybe the pain from her wounds was screwing up her system. Or maybe she really was sick. Sick because she’d sunk so damned low since just over a year ago, when she’d met Costin. Sick because he wasn’t here anymore. Sick because everything seemed so abstract right now—an avant-garde painting under carnival lights.
“I guess,” she said, trying to end the discussion, “all that’s left of the dragon is our stains. Like a gift that keeps on giving from big daddy. It obviously doesn’t disappear with a higher vampire’s death, and that’s why me and Eva had it after Benedikte died.”
“That’s why we have it now.”
Hell, she had that and more, she thought as the dragon’s blood kept burning.
But what exactly brought the soul stain out on the skin? Dawn hadn’t been a vamp for very long and she’d had more problems with the stain than Eva. But did it have to do with the amount of time you were a vamp . . . or with the bitterness you had when you weren’t? Eva had tried valiantly to erase her old life and become “Mia Scott”—she’d found new hobbies, a new home. She’d tried very hard to keep any anger or despair at a distance. Dawn had let emotion fly. Plus, unlike the other vamps, Eva might have avoided suicide by submerging her real self in another identity. But was that a sort of suicide in itself?
As for Dawn, she wondered if she’d been running from death by causing it. . . .
“At least Costin wouldn’t have gotten a stain after the dragon died,” she said, wanting to move on. “Right?”
“Right. I was the one who lost my soul when I became a vamp. He was only along for the ride because he couldn’t get out of my altered body. He should be in his state of grace, wherever he is.”
Jonah sat on Frank’s bed next to her. It was strange, smelling his human skin—the earthiness of it. She missed the preternatural buzz of energy from his body.
He said, “Have you thought that maybe Costin was pulled away to take care of loose ends for the other Undergrounds? All of their lower vamps might’ve gone crazy before succumbing to the stain—if all of them even do—and he could’ve been assigned damage control. Maybe he’s so busy he hasn’t had a second to contact us. You know how it is when you’re fighting vamps.”
“That task could take a long time to
deal with.” But at least that’d mean he was out there.
She must’ve looked just as forcefully optimistic as Jonah or something, because he seemed pleased that she was going along with his theorizing.
But false hope wouldn’t do either of them good in the long run. “Wouldn’t it just be nice if that damned Whisper would give enough of a shit to drop us a line about it, either way?”
“Or to extend a bit of gratitude for saving the world?” Jonah added.
That got a self-aware smile from her. The good of the many outweighed the good of the few.
“If Costin would just come back,” Jonah said, “I’d even give up my body again.”
Surprised, she frowned at him.
“I know it sounds weird,” he said, “seeing as all I did was complain about being stifled. But now it’s like living in a really big house by myself. That was how I went through most of my life before Costin came into it, and I didn’t like it then.”
“Him being gone has made you a recluse again.”
He nodded, and the exact problem with Jonah became real apparent.
The grass was always greener, whether it was about hosting a Soul Traveler or wanting what someone else possessed. If he did get Costin back, he wouldn’t be happy for long.
“You think,” she said, “that having Costin here again would find you the peace you need?” To conquer the stain?
“Yeah. I’d do anything for what I had.”
Anything, she thought. She’d said the same a year ago, when Frank had been missing and Costin had asked her what she’d do to find him.
“Careful what you say, Jonah.”
“Why—because I might get what I ask for?” Jonah smiled. “If only.”
She saw something off in his gaze—a gleam of the Jonah who had used a razor on his face once when Costin had said he was looking for a different body to inhabit.
This was the real Jonah.
Deep In the Woods Page 24
