"What the hell were you doing?" Anita asked.
Cammie looked up. Anita stood beside her, arms crossed, the matronly look gone.
"She okay?"
"I've got one orderly with her now and I've got a call into Dr. Eliason because he's the only one she trusts." Anita's face was red. "Don't you understand? She hates women. Her father taught her that women are dangerous and you proved it by killing him. What were you trying to do?"
"I was trying to—" Cammie stopped. She couldn't explain, not the dreams, not the desire to get Janie out of her head. "—to talk to her."
"Well, don't," Anita said. "You've got another eradication tomorrow and I want you thinking about that, not some little girl whose life is no longer your concern. And I don't ever want to see you in this wing again. Do you understand that?"
Cammie nodded. She was trembling. Apparently Anita wasn't going to fire her—at least not yet.
"And, Cammie?"
Cammie froze. She stared at the stacks of papers with children's names on them behind Maria's desk.
"If you have not chosen a counselor after that eradication tomorrow, I will choose one for you. Is that understood?"
"Yes." Cammie's voice came out small and timid. She felt like a child herself, a child who expected to be punished. She couldn't stay any longer. No matter what Anita wanted her to do, Cammie couldn't. She had to get some air.
She walked slowly down the hall, feeling Anita's gaze on her back. It was the first mistake Cammie had ever made, but it was a big one.
The glass door was cool to her touch. As she stepped outside, the air felt brittle. Still, the sunlight was warm and soothing against her face. Dream image. She tried to shake it, but couldn't. She turned back for Anita in time to see Eliason go through the side door. She clenched her fist and leaned against the small oak that they had built the sidewalk around. She could talk to Eliason. She would wait.
Chapter Eight
Ben found a black silk suit that fit as if it were tailored for him. From what he could tell, without a mirror or any sort of reflecting glass to confirm, it made him look taller and older. At least, he hoped it did. All this training and explaining, the uncontrollable instant erections, and his confusion had all made him feel about thirteen. He needed something to give him a little age and dignity.
The argument between Van and Mikos left him unnerved. Van had been right about control, but Mikos seemed to be in charge. Ben didn't want to do anything to get thrown out of this place—at least, not until he understood better what was happening to him.
The clothes felt good against his body. If this was vampirism, no wonder the vampires didn't want the humans to know what it was really like. All of his senses were stronger, and he had never been able to achieve such ecstasy before. He doubted many people had that chance. He would learn control from Van, but he would never forget how to lose himself completely in the moment.
Someone had left a pair of socks and dress shoes outside his door. He put them on. The socks were made of a soft wool. The shoes were too narrow, but he could wear them. He would ask for a proper fit later.
The party sounds had grown even more wild as he made his way to the front lobby. The music beat had a sexual rhythm to it, and the raw fresh scent of blood had overtaken the cigarette smoke.
The haze began even before he found the open door leading into the party area. Laughter and light talk filtered around the music. He recognized some of the faces from the night before. Most were well dressed, holding goblets like Vangelina had taught him. Some had their hands on glassy-eyed people who swayed to a rhythm all their own. A naked man grabbed Ben's crotch.
"Please," the man said. "You're the virgin. Please."
Saliva dripped in Ben's mouth. He ran his tongue along his teeth. They seemed sharper than they had before. The man's hand got tighter, and Ben's penis sprang to a kind of life. The smell of fresh blood made him crave.
A hand clasped his shoulder. "Found him." His guard from the night before. The guard was blond and slender as a woman. He didn't look as if he had any strength at all. Ben reached up to caress the guard's cheek, but the guard caught his wrist. He dragged Ben away from the naked man. More men than women lay on the mats tonight. Ben looked at them with longing. Maybe when he got back, he would have a chance—
"Thought you said Van fed him," the guard said as they reached Mikos in the front foyer. "I saw him groping some sick cow with maybe a quarter ounce of blood in him."
"Hungry already?" Mikos asked. Mikos was wearing a suit as dark as his hair. It gave him a brooding look and accented his long features.
Ben glanced back at the crowd. One of the women writhed on her mat, hands playing with her own breasts. "I'd prefer to stay, sir," Ben said.
Strong fingers grabbed his chin and turned his head. Mikos face was so close that Ben could feel warm breath on his cheeks. Mikos smelled of mint. No blood at all tonight. "First," Mikos said very softly, "You do not call me sir anywhere. We look to be the same age to the outside. Second, you will control your lusts. If you cannot, I will control them, which will be both unpleasant and painful. Do I make myself clear?"
Ben's groin tightened with the memory of pain. He tried to nod, but couldn't. "Yes," he said, lisping the s because of the pressure of Mikos fingers.
Mikos let him go. Ben staggered backwards and caught himself against the wall. "Tonight," Mikos said, "you will do everything I tell you."
Ben nodded. They had to get out of there. If he didn't leave soon, he would go back to the cots, no matter what Mikos said.
"I don't think this is a good idea," the guard said.
"Shut up, Josef."
"The last newbie we took nearly got us all killed," a male voice said. Ben turned. This man was short and dark with muscles that matched Van's. He looked as if he were in his teens, but his eyes had the weariness of age to them.
"This one's different. He'll listen to me, won't you, Ben?"
Ben met Mikos' gaze. Mikos' eyes were as bloodshot as they had been the night before. "We'll be coming back here when we're done?"
Mikos smiled. The smile did not reach his eyes. "I'll pick out something special for you myself—if you still want it."
The phrase made Ben frown. Were they going to change him? After working so hard to make him like them? Was there something more going on here?
"Come on." Mikos opened the door and they stepped in the dark hallway. No lights illuminated the passages, but Ben could see better than he could the night before. When the door closed behind them, the sounds of the party became a thin bass thud from behind the walls. Four men walked with Ben and Mikos—Josef, the man who had spoken, and two others Ben didn't recognize.
They stopped in front of the elevator. Mikos pushed the down button. "All right," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Ben, these are my companions. You have met Josef. Meet also Dolph, Ernst, and Sven."
The three men made no movement to acknowledge their names. Dolph was the man who had spoken to him. Ben could not tell the other two apart. They were dark and powerfully built. Their suits matched. They looked like secret service agents he had seen on television—their physical appearance identical so as to make them difficult to identify.
"They will listen to me, about everything, as you must. This has to go quickly. We must return with plenty of time before dawn."
The elevator's iron doors creaked open. The men got inside. With a quick glance back toward the apartment—he wanted to be back sooner than dawn—Ben followed.
They went below street level to a parking garage. Their shoes clicked against the pavement. They stopped beside a black Lexus with tinted mirrors. With a chirrup, the alarm went off and Dolph got in the driver's side. Mikos and Josef crowded into the front seat. Ben found himself in the center back, straddling the hump, his suit being crumpled by two men twice his size.
The car purred to a start. They wound their way out of the garage and into the dark streets.
After midnight, the downt
own streets were empty. A foghorn sounded in the bay. Eerie white streetlights cast ghostly reflections in the fog.
"SeaTac, Dolph," Mikos said, and leaned back in the front seat, apparently unconcerned.
Dolph turned on a narrower street and followed it to the freeway interchange. The freeways floated above like an elaborate maze from a science fiction movie. No one spoke. The only sounds were the car's wheels on the pavement and the whoosh of other cars as they passed. By the clock on the dash, they had driven for more than [C&F56] half an hour by the time Dolph started following signs leading to SeaTac International Airport.
"Southcenter," Mikos said.
The car hissed along smaller roads that lead to a ’50s[C&F57] suburban housing development. Ranch style houses built to accommodate starter families had been modified and refurbished to fit families that had never moved out of them. Mikos gave quiet directions, interrupting the silence with a "left" or "right next block." Finally he said, "thirteen-thirty-two" and Ben took a moment to realize that Mikos meant an address.
The men beside Ben stiffened, and the temperature seemed to rise. The car stopped in front of one of the ranch houses. In the glare of the porch light, Ben noted a redwood deck that ran around the house. Aluminum siding gave the house's sides a shiny appearance. The two-car garage was open, and a Porsche was parked to one side. Oil stains showed where another car should have been.
"He here?" Josef asked.
"He's here," Mikos said.
They got out of the car. The slamming doors echoed on the quiet street. Down an alley, a dog barked, the sound deep and throaty, almost threatening. Mikos led the way up the driveway. Before Ben could follow, Dolph grabbed his arm. "You do anything wrong," he said, "and I will hurt you in ways you have never heard of before."
The threat was soft. "I'll be careful," Ben said.
The crawly feeling had returned. When Dolph let go of him, Ben rubbed his arms. A jittery sense, too rough to be adrenaline. The last time this started, he had gotten dizzy and weak.
He and Dolph followed the group into the garage. Mikos stood back as Josef worked the lock. The door opened easily and they stepped inside.
The house was dark and reeked of unwashed dishes. Still, Ben could see. The kitchen had also been remodeled. A stove island that was not part of the original plan stood in the center. Pots and knives hung from the ceiling of the bar. One of the knives was missing.
Ben could also smell a faint trail of dried blood that ran from the kitchen to the living room. Mikos followed the scent, and turned on the living room light.
"Have you reconsidered?" His voice was soft, urbane.
Ben rounded the corner into the living room. One of the other men was closing the curtains. The room was done in stark whites. A fireplace stood at one end, and above it, a Miró. Ben recognized it from his three semesters of art history.
A balding middle-aged man wrapped in a blanket sat in a rocking chair next to the fireplace. He was overweight, the flesh on his face hanging in folds. His skin was an ashen gray, his eyes glazed—not with a sexual high, like the people at the party, but with exhaustion. Bloody-handprints smeared the blanket and a small pool of dried blood had formed beneath the chair.
"Couldn't face me alone?" the man asked. The words were muffled through his swollen lips. "Had to bring reinforcements?"
"I could have killed you this morning," Mikos said. "But I value you, Ian. We have worked well together."
"The money is gone, Mikos. I can't raise that much in 24 hours."
"It doesn't look as if you tried," Mikos said. "I left you in that chair."
"I need a week," Ian said.
Mikos reached over and put his hand on the back of Ben's neck, pushing him forward. "Ian, meet my newest associate, Ben. Ben, Ian. Ben is a virgin, Ian."
Ian's body tensed. His grip on the blanket tightened.
"Before I found him, he had been starving."
"I barely stopped him from draining Sheila last night," Josef said.
"He's had two glasses of 'wine' today. Not quite a pint. Just enough to whet his appetite."
The saliva was back in Ben's mouth. The man in front of him was human. He could hear the blood whispering through the man's veins.
"I am not lying to you," Ian's voice was shaking. "I will have the money for you in a week. You can have anything you want until then. I have more paintings in the back—"
"What use do I have for excellent forgeries?" Mikos asked. "Really, Ian. You know me better than that."
Ian threw off the blanket. He wore only a pair of shorts beneath it. As he struggled to get to his feet, he wobbled. His knees were flattened and bruised. He had bite marks all over his chest and neck.
Ben trembled. Part of his mind noted all of this and was appalled. But his body smelled the blood. His body controlled.
"Please, Mikos," Ian said. "Please give me time."
"I gave you time," Mikos said. "I want the money now."
"If you kill me, you'll never get it," Ian said.
"Ah, but I will. It is so easy to get control of your holdings." Mikos let go of Ben's neck and pushed him forward. "Just a sip, Ben. Just a sip."
Ben collided with Ian. He wasn't going to bite him—the man was begging—but the scent of dried blood filled him. Ian pushed at him weakly. Ben's teeth brushed Ian's shoulder, then he sank them in. The blood was fresh and thick. He tried to stop at a sip, but it tasted so good. Ian squirmed and with one hand, Ben held him back. Another erection built, but Ben ignored it. He didn't want to be sexual with this man. He wanted one sip. One long sip.
Finally he pulled his head away. Ian had stopped struggling. He lay on the chair, eyes half open. Mikos and the others stood around him.
"I tried to stop at a sip," Ben said, his words slurring. God, he still wasn't full. He had never been so hungry in his life.
Mikos did not smile. "You have more control than I expected, boy. You were supposed to kill him."
The words set[C&F58] something free in Ben, something that rational voice in his head had held back. "Kill him?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, lunged against Ian, ripping into his neck, tearing the flesh back and drinking, drinking. This time, he did free his penis, and played with it with one hand while he sucked. The blood-coated flesh tasted good too, and he ripped at it, taking huge chunks and swallowing them.
Finally he bit into an artery, and the blood spurted down his throat. Someone else grabbed his penis and stroked it, and more hands covered his body until he was all taste and sensation, nerve endings alive and tingling and throbbing. The blood inside him gave him a warmth he had never had, and hands on him made him feel so wonderful. As the last bit of blood pulsed into him, he felt an orgasm build. He arched, anticipating it, and the hands let him go. The disappointment stalled the orgasm and he looked up, bloody and confused.
Mikos' cool hand cupped his cheek. "You're not done yet, boy."
They stood him up and gave him a towel so that he could wipe off his face. Mikos kept one hand on Ben's shoulder. When the trembling in Ben's body ceased and he became flaccid, Mikos turned him toward the rocking chair.
Ian's hair twisted crookedly on his head. The left side of his face was gone. Clean white skull shone through the gaps in the skin. A flap on his neck had been ripped back, and the tendons stood out. Large, gaping wounds flayed his chest.
The blood churned in Ben's stomach.
"Such lovely work," Mikos said. "Imagine what you would have done if you were starving."
"I didn't do that," Ben said.
"Ah, but you did." Mikos voice was soft and mocking. "And you enjoyed it."
Ben shook himself free of Mikos, and walked over to Ian. The smell of blood made him want to bury his face in those awful remains.
"They are prey. They are cows. They are dinner," Mikos said. "You see them as important and that is wrong. They are nothing compared to us. They are nothing like us."
"What did he do?" Ben asked.
"Do
?" Mikos laughed. "He got in my way when I needed an example. He didn't do anything."
"I killed a man for nothing?" Ben whispered.
"You killed a man for supper, and learned the extent of your powers." Mikos slid his arm around Ben's shoulder. "You needed to know what kind of damage you could inflict. If your intelligence is appalled, you will learn control. If not, you will have a short, but sensual life."
Ben glanced back at the body. The fresh scent of blood had become tainted, almost like spoiled milk. He was appalled. He was. He had to be. "Van called me your dog," he said. "You're not going to make me do this all the time, are you?"
Mikos laughed. The sound was deep, throaty, and charming. "Ah, Ben, you must learn. I have not made you do anything. You have chosen to do it all yourself.
Chapter Nine
Eliason had not turned on his car alarm. Cammie was in luck. She glanced around the Center's parking lot. The Children's Wing looked empty. Everyone must have been focusing on Janie—on Cammie's mistake.
She picked the lock on Eliason's ten-year-old Ferrari, and slipped into the passenger seat. The interior still smelled of leather and gleamed as if someone had done a recent polish. Only the analog systems on the dash and the wide construction made it look like a car from the early ’80s instead of one build in the ’90s[C&F59] .
He remained inside a long time. She dozed off and awakened several times before she heard his footsteps on the walk. She braced herself. When Eliason yelled at her, it was worse than Anita. He knew how to get to her.
He unlocked the driver's door and slid in. "Hope you didn't damage the lock," he said.
She didn't look at him. He brought the scent of light cologne mixed with rubbing alcohol into the [C&F60] leather mix. "I was trained by the best."
"Does that mean I sue Sarge if the lock's broken forever?"
"Nah," Cammie said. "I'm richer than she is."
"Probably." He ran his long, slender fingers on his jeans. "You been out here all morning?"
"I didn't expect you to be inside so long." She closed her eyes, waiting for him to launch into her. She had given him the opening.
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