There. Second last stall on the left.
Damn, didn’t he wish he had a knife or something. All he had was this bag.
He let the strap out, until the bag was almost brushing the floor. If he could swing it at the right height and angle, wrap it around the neck, pull it tight.
And manage not to smack himself in the head, it would all be good.
Another few steps. His left hand reached out for the door. If it was bolted, he might have to kick it in. Better to test it first. He pulled his right arm back, ready with the bag.
He shoved at the door.
The door swung inward.
A shriek sounded. The man cowered back. Pants still up. Toilet unused. He’d been hiding.
He slid down the wall to the floor and started scrambling under it into the next stall. Sebastian lunged forward and grabbed his leg. Faded jeans, just like Sebastian had thought. The man cried out again, kicking. Sure enough, cowboy boots. One scuffed heel just missed Sebastian’s chin.
“Come on, Sebastian, get him.” Charlie stood in the stall doorway.
“Help,” Sebastian said.
Charlie shrugged. “Sorry. It would take me too long to concentrate to get solid enough. You’ll be finished by the time I’m ready.”
Typical.
Sebastian yanked, dragging the man back under the wall. As he slid, the man rolled over. He snarled and lunged forward, jaws snapping. Best defense, he probably figured. Sebastian brought the bag up and smashed the man across the face. He fell back, stunned for a moment. Blood trickled from the left corner of his mouth where his cheek had lacerated against his teeth. Normally this would mesmerize Sebastian but he could smell the sourness from here.
Infected.
The man had been bitten by a vampire, but not turned.
And he wasn’t In-Between either.
What the hell was he?
Sebastian climbed to his feet then dragged the man up into a sitting position on the toilet. His head lolled then began to right itself. Awareness came back into his eyes, into his face. He glared at Sebastian. Blood dripped from his mouth and splattered on the front of his plaid shirt.
“Who are you?” Sebastian said.
“What are you?” the man said. “You have been tasted, I smell it on you, but you do not serve.” His nose wrinkled. “What kind of thing are you?”
“Tasted?” Charlie said. “Sounds kinky.”
“Shut up,” Sebastian said, over his shoulder. He turned back to the man on the toilet. “Not you. You keep talking. What’s your name? What happened to you?”
The man shook his head of shaggy brown hair. “I have no name. Only what She chooses to call me.”
Sebastian could just about hear the capitalization of ‘She’ in the man’s voice. Reverence. Deference. His stomach clenched in nausea.
“Who chooses for you?” he said.
For a moment, he didn’t think the man would reply. His lips thinned. His shoulders hunched. His hands on his lap lifted up toward his mouth. He wiped at the side, smearing the blood across his lips, then he stared at his hand as if spellbound. He licked the blood away and closed his eyes, sighing.
When they opened, he looked right at Sebastian.
“You already know,” the man said. “You’ve been tasted.”
You’ve been tasted.
Sebastian’s feet took a step back, pulling him away, as if his body already knew what the man was talking about, already knew because he recognized that particularly sourness above all others. He had only ever smelled it a small handful of times but he would never forget it, had, in fact, recognized it the moment he’d caught the scent in the bathroom.
But no, it couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. He couldn’t let it be.
Her.
Bianca.
Remembrance flooded him. The crunch of leaves under his feet. The sick-sweet scent of moist vegetation, the remains of autumn’s debris decaying underfoot and the tantalizing buds of the new life promised by spring on the trees. His feet stumbling on the uneven ground. The suggestion of movement between the trees. Then that smell...
That sour smell...
And the feel of her fangs tearing into his neck.
She’d been the start of this, the beginning of everything. Torn his old life away from him and left him with shards to try to build a new life, one that still cut and bled even as he tried to pull it together.
Bianca.
“Where is she?” he said.
The man shook his head. His blood-smeared lips twisted into a smile. “I’ll not tell you anything, freak.”
Freak, look who was talking but the word sank into him even though he didn’t want it to. Freak. He was a freak even among the In-Between, had been so since Bianca had left him poised on the brink. Too far across to even be normal to the In-Betweens, it had just gotten worse and worse since he’d handled that book, that damned evil book written on pages of dried human flesh by the first vampire.
Now even this guy, this vampire servant or whatever he was called him a freak too.
Maybe he’d better start living up to that reputation.
“Where is she?” Sebastian said.
He pitched his voice just so, a little low with a special lilt at the end. Just enough to present the question into the man’s mind.
Enough to gain a foothold.
The man laughed again then his voice sputtered to a stop. His blood-smeared lips frowned.
Feel it now? Feel it? Feel me?
The man shook his head. Shoulders shuddered as if a shiver ran up his spine. Brent (yes, his name was Brent) bent over as pain pulsed at his temples. Fighting, he fought the feeling, the strangeness, wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let it in, no… He couldn’t…. No…
Sebastian closed his eyes. He took a deep breath then a moment later felt the echo in another body, in Brent’s body. He felt his feet clad in black runners standing solidly on the speckled white floor tiles and at the same time, felt them encased in worn leather cowboy boots so old they had molded to his feet. His favorite boots, bought ‘em almost ten years ago and he’d only had to resole them once. Best damn boots he ever bought, worth the five hundred even though his girlfriend, Amy, had yelled holy hell at him for it. He kept the boots and got rid of the girl. Another good decision, because now there wasn’t any other space in his mind for anyone other than…
Her.
He’d just been a regular guy before Her, just a mechanic, second in line to Fat Louie who had lost over a hundred pounds but not the nickname. Living in a three story walkup on Bleeker Street, a stone’s throw from the shop. Crappy neighborhood with cracked sidewalks and crackheads on the corners, begging for change or looking like they’d beat you for it, but they never bothered him. Not since he used these very same boots to kick one in the stomach as it made a lunge for him. Word got around. Don’t mess with the man in the cowboy boots.
He’d been working late that night. Fat Louie’d left early for his grand daughter’s first birthday party. Quite the formal occasion. Fat Louie was even going to wear his clean overalls. Brent stayed behind, working on the transmission of old lady Michaelson’s Pontiac, a car he swore was almost as old as the lady herself. Normally he didn’t like old ladies, they were snarky and complained a lot, but Mrs. Michaelson always baked cookies and brought them in, even went as far as to ask their favorite kinds.
He preferred chocolate chip. And he was looking forward to a plateful of homemade ones when She walked in.
He hadn’t even heard her, she was just there at his elbow as he bent over the engine. He smelled the sourness over the heavy stench of grease and motor oil.
Her sourness cut through like nothing he’d ever smelled before.
He’d wrinkled his nose and started to straighten, feeling someone at his elbow. Just as he turned, he saw the curtain of dark hair, red lips pulling back from teeth that looked impossibly long. How could anyone have teeth like that? Then he was shoved hard against the grill of the car. Chrome edges du
g into his back. Hands gripped his shoulders. He tried to break the grip. Strong, too strong. Then that sourness grew and grew until the exquisite bite in his neck.
He sank down and down...
Stop! Sebastian had to pull back. How easy would it be to sink into that memory, into that trap? He could feel the tendrils of her control woven through Brent’s mind. That memory was the last one that was his alone, everything else came from her, her influence, her desire.
Sebastian had never felt this in a person who wasn’t an In-Between or had been turned. Brent was still human but he’d been... tainted. Taken over. He was a puppet now. His mind a shell for what she wanted. Probably a steady supply of blood until she drained him dry, or a lure.
Or something else?
Had vampires been able to do this before and just not because of the structure they’d set up with the clans? Had the dissolution of their social order forced the vampires into new and different ways of trapping and manipulating humans?
Had he done this when he destroyed the book?
Was it his fault?
The vampires in Rome had been doing something new. Was it this kind of enslavement? Had he made a mistake leaving the In-Between?
But he’d had to, he had to get home. His family was in danger.
And hadn’t he put them there?
No, he couldn’t travel that road down to guilt. It wouldn’t do him any good. Let his subconscious take the trip, he had other things to deal with.
Like this man, and Bianca.
Brent slumped against the back of the toilet, head down, brown hair stringy with sweat. His breathing sounded labored. His hands rested on his lap, giving the occasional twitch. That sour smell had a certain underlay of decay about it. Sebastian had to wonder how much of the man’s mind was still his? How long before he fell into pieces for good?
Was there any way back from this for him?
Sebastian would like to think so, would like to think he could do something to help Brent get back to his regular life. It had felt like a pretty nice life with work he enjoyed and friends. The man deserved that life. Hell, Sebastian deserved that life, but if he couldn’t have it, maybe he could still give it back to Brent.
Please let him be able to do that.
“Brent, can you hear me?” he said.
The man let out a soft moan. His head shifted to the right. It tried to lift then slouched back down, like a man trying to wake but being unable to break the spell of a dream.
“Listen to me, Brent,” Sebastian said. “I can help you return to the garage, to Fat Louie, to fixing cars, to everything. Tell me where she is.”
He pushed the emphasis on ‘she’, knowing Brent would hear it and understand. But was Bianca enough in his conscious mind to hear it as well? Could she listen and see through Brent like some of transmitter? Was that even possible?
Sebastian had no way of knowing. But he knew she had some kind of control over him. How Brent responded would tell him one way or the other, whether her control was live or conditioned.
“Brent, tell me where she is.”
This time, the man’s head lifted. Bloodshot eyes stared at Sebastian. Heavy lines pressed down along the sides of his mouth, dragging his lips down into a frown. Shoulders slack, he leaned forward a little. His lips trembled.
“Can’t…”
Sweat popped out on his forehead. It trickled down the sides of his face. Hair stuck to his skin. His mouth kept moving a little, as if trying to form words.
“Can’t…”
“Easy,” Sebastian said. “Take it easy. Let’s take it slow. Is she within ten miles of here?”
The stark lines around Brent’s face eased. The tension in his neck lessened. He gave a slow nod.
“Okay, within five miles?” Sebastian said.
Another slow nod.
“Three miles?”
One more nod.
He narrowed it down to two miles. Damn close. What time was it? In the perpetual lighting of the airport, it always appeared to be daylight but Sebastian’s time sense was screwed up from the flight. When had he landed? He couldn’t even remember what time it would be in England now. Dousing fitfully on the plane had messed that up for him too.
Dammit.
Two miles…
He had the four hour layover. Certainly he could sneak out, deal with Bianca and be back in plenty of time to board his plane.
Couldn’t he?
He couldn’t just leave, knowing the one vampire who was the greatest threat to him, the one who could pull him across that narrow line between In-Between and vampire, was right here and he could finish with her once and for all.
He had four hours. What the hell else was he going to do?
“Brent, it’s time you went back to her,” Sebastian said.
CHAPTER 8
With the right pressure, the right Influence in his voice, Sebastian compelled Brent to stand. The man wavered a moment, then steadied. Sebastian backed out of the stall. Brent followed.
Sebastian kept backing away until he felt another stall door behind him. Brent turned to face the aisle, ignoring Sebastian. He began to move forward, gaining speed as he went.
“You’re letting him go?” Charlie said. He stood beside Sebastian, against the stall door.
He’ll lead me to Bianca.
Brent reached the door and headed out. Sebastian waited another moment and followed.
The bright lights of the airport hall stabbed at Sebastian as he slipped out of the bathroom. He winced at the pain flaring in his temples. Damn, he’d forgotten how bright it was in here. He really needed to get sunglasses but there was no time. Already he could see Brent halfway down the hall, heading for the main hub.
Dammit.
Sebastian dodged through the crowd, past men and women, some dressed in business suits and carrying various computers or smart phones, others dressed for vacations, carrying brochures and books. Why did they all seem to step in front of him as soon as he got close? Over the smell of sweat and cologne, he still smelled the sweet scent of their blood.
And it called, it always called…
That and the fucking light. His feet stumbled. He righted himself and pushed on but he wasn’t fast enough. Brent reached the end of the hall and turned left. He disappeared around the corner.
Fuck.
Sebastian was too far away.
“Dude, you suck at this whole following people thing,” Charlie said. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He moved in front of Sebastian. For a moment, Charlie remained solid-looking, then the edges of his body and clothes became thin and wispy. He began to glide forward, still moving his legs, but he flowed at a speed impossible for the rate of his walking. As if by instinct, people moved out of the way without even looking, leaving a clear path for Sebastian.
Okay, that was cool.
No, it was cold.
As Sebastian followed the path cleared by Charlie, he felt the temperature drop in the air as if this section was being blasted by frigid air conditioning. He clenched his teeth together to stop them from chattering. His hands tightened into fists. He hurried as fast as he could, trying to get his muscles to create heat but the cold seemed to leach any warmth out of him.
Was this what those people were feeling?
They reached the end of the hall. Sebastian looked left. The short corridor led to the security exit out of the airport. If he left, he’d have to find a way to sneak back in. That would mean exerting enough Influence to bypass security. Did he have the strength right now?
Bianca…
He couldn’t just leave her here. He had to finish it, finish her.
He nodded to Charlie. “Let’s go.”
Leaving the airport was as easy as walking out the door. Outside, Sebastian found the day was darkening toward twilight. Maybe another forty-five minutes to full dark, another forty-five minutes before Bianca was at her full strength. If he could find her before then, it would be easy.
&nb
sp; He spotted Brent halfway through the parking lot on the right, a large concrete field of cars stretching out as if into the distance. The air felt heavy with the stench of exhaust but at least it smothered the smell of blood.
Sebastian stepped off the sidewalk and headed for the parking lot. He heard a hiss and click as multiple lights in the parking lot switched on. Must be on a timer. The sky was darkening but not yet that dark.
Please, not yet that dark.
Bianca wasn’t the strongest vampire he’d faced, but she was the one who’d bitten him. She had a foothold in his mind, a connection she could exploit. That made her more dangerous than another vampire. He didn’t want to face her at night.
He would if he had to.
But he could really use a weapon.
He started looking for anything, even a piece of rebar but only gravel and dirt covered the surface of the parking lot. He threaded his way among the cars, passing Fords and Toyotas, Escalades and Mazdas. How many cars like this had Brent worked on at his garage? Would he ever be able to work on them again? If Sebastian killed Bianca
(no, when)
would Brent be freed to return to his life? Was enough of him left to do that?
What would happen to him if there wasn’t?
Sebastian pushed the thought away. He couldn’t think about that. Bianca had enslaved the man. He deserved his freedom, no matter what that meant.
Ahead of him, Brent reached the end of the parking lot and continued to the right, heading across a green area. Farther in the distance, Sebastian spotted a row of trees, already becoming indistinct against the darkening sky.
No, dammit.
He sped up until he was almost running. He scraped against the cars, almost bouncing off several before he kept going.
His legs would be a mass of bruises after this.
He reached the green area and started to hurry across. Brent was halfway to the trees now. Spongy grass yielded under Sebastian’s feet. Away from the parking lot, he caught the fresh scent of the grass and an undercurrent of water. Of course, the lake, just nearby. It smelled different than the ocean, not as tangy.
No salt water here.
Brent reached the tree line. Sebastian sprinted forward, feet pounding on the ground. His heart thudded in his chest. The khaki bag bumped against his back as it swung from his shoulder. He reached the tree line a minute after Brent disappeared.
Retribution of Soul: Book 3 of the In-Between Page 10
