"How can I help you?" The warmth in his voice matched his eyes. Then he smiled. "Whatever you tell me will remain confidential."
Cammie nodded. She had expected that. "I don't know what you know of the Westrina Center, but most of its employees are children of vampires."
Brooker nodded. "Anita Constantine's work is familiar to anyone in this business. She is a pioneer."
"I've been working for the Westrina Center for nearly three years in Eradication." Brooker leaned back when he heard that. Cammie ignored the movement and continued. "When the memories came back, I moved out of Eradication and into Records. I also hired a private detective to find the brother I had protected when I was eight years old."
"I thought Anita believed in no contact with the past."
"She opposed my search." Cammie ran a hand through her hair. This man, with his calm voice and searching eyes, made her feel nervous and relaxed at the same time. "I would have quit when I found out where he was, except that no one knows. My brother is missing. I came to Eugene to track him myself, and the trail led me to a cow-bar in Portland."
"Vampires," Brooker said, without surprise.
"Vampires. I don't know how he's involved, if at all, but I do know that one of his friends hangs out there. I also know that Ben's not the first Westrina Center adoptee to disappear in the last few years."
Brooker nodded. He got out of the rocking chair, went to his desk, and filled a pipe. "Mind?" he said, holding it up. Cammie shook her head. He stuck the pipe in his mouth, held a match over it, and sucked on the end until the tobacco caught. Then he returned to the chair.
"Your problem reflects a blindness the Westrina Center has held all along," he said. The smoke smelled faintly of bay leaves. "The idea that if a person is removed from the problem, the problem will go away."
Cammie frowned. "That's not true. Eradication programs deal with unresolved memory."
"Really? Or do they take advantage of your pain to get cheap, willing labor?"
Cammie stood. "I came here for help, not for criticism of my life and friends."
Brooker waved his pipe. "I'm not criticizing, merely offering another viewpoint. Please, sit down."
She sat again. She had been reacting angrily to people all day. Maybe she should listen.
"I work with ACVs like you," Brooker said. "Many were adopted out of the Midwest by the Westrina Center. These kids—adults now—find that they share many things in common. A need for occasional violence, sleep disorders, deep unexplained fears. People whose fathers were vampires when they were born also have a longing for blood that begins in puberty, and is tied to a hormonal change that we do not understand."
"There's no proof that vampirism is inherited," Cammie snapped. She had read the books. She knew the risks. But no one had used scientific data to make the connection. The data was too hard to collect.
Brooker smiled. "That's right. There is no scientific proof, but there is strong evidence. Over fifty percent of a vampire's children become vampires themselves. And that doesn't count the children who go on to work in violent professions."
"I had no blood longing in puberty." Cammie was sitting up straighter. She didn't want to let this go. It was the same point that Thornton had made. These Western hicks had no concept of true vampirism.
"The change seems to come later for women. It seems to be tied to the peak sexual drive." He put the pipe in his mouth and puffed before continuing. "I am not saying that you are a vampire."
"The sunlight confirms that." Cammie resisted the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest. She wanted to appear as open as she could, but she was wasting her time here. Brooker wasn't going to help her.
"The Westrina Center's problems have always come because they treat vampires like criminals instead of like people with an awful disease." Brooker's gaze remained on her face as he spoke.
Cammie shifted on the couch. "They tried to treat the disease in the ’60s[C&F116] ."
"Yes, by simple counseling, not by taking into consideration the physical changes the vampire goes through. Instead of examining the changes, the Center went to the other extreme. After the massacre in Wisconsin, the Center managed to get the eradication laws passed. Eradication is as ineffective as simple counseling." He puffed one more time. The pipe was annoying her. He had no right to talk about addictions when his was so obvious.
"Look," Cammie said, moving to the edge of the couch. "We disagree on methods and treatments. You clearly aren't going to be able to help me. I was hoping you had a team that would investigate the bar with me, and help me find my brother. I don't want a lecture on the benefits of treating vampires."
Brooker took the pipe from his mouth, and rested his hand on the arm of the rocking chair. The room was silent except for the rustle of his clothing as he moved. "Eradication is illegal in the Pacific Northwest. No one here has the training you need."
"Which is probably why you have a problem." Cammie adjusted the legs of her jeans before standing.
"It seems you have the problem," Brooker said. He looked at the couch as if she were still sitting there. "The treatments didn't work for you. You are the one here, wrapped up in your own past, instead of moving into your future."
"Ben is my future."
Brooker shook his head. "Your future is somewhere else. Your brother left your side, what, twenty years ago? You are searching for a man you never met, hoping to find a boy that you lost. Or, perhaps, are you searching for a bit of yourself?"
Cammie stopped beside him. "The Westrina Center made sure I found every bit of myself that I needed."
"You don't sound very happy about it." Brooker leaned back and looked at her. His eyes were wide and dark. "Tell me, Miss Timms, have you ever been happy?"
For a moment, she saw herself in college, sitting on the Union Terrace, feet propped on a metal chair, a cup of tea beside her. The sun fell across her bare legs. The blue water of Lake Mendota sparkled, and nearly a hundred sailboats caught the light. She had been reading Camus, and in his bleak philosophy, had found a soulmate. Then a student crossed in front of her, blocking the sun, and the feeling passed. Nothing else came to mind. "I don't need your analysis, Brooker."
"You came to me for help," he said. "Sometimes people don't know what kind of help they need."
She smiled at him, but the smile wasn't friendly. The anger she had felt all day bubbled within her. She clenched her teeth so that she wouldn't yell. "If I needed therapy, Doctor Brooker, I wouldn't come to you. I'm sure that your addictive patients must appreciate the way you smoke your pipe. It must give them courage for their own recovery."
"Anger is often the first step out of denial," Brooker said.
"Perhaps." Cammie grabbed the doorknob, turning it as she spoke. "Or perhaps it's the only sane response to your particular version of hooey. I'm sorry I wasted both of our time."
She opened the door, then closed it behind her carefully so that it didn't slam and disturb the receptionist. The girl was typing on a late model IBM PC and didn't look up as Cammie made her way to the front door.
Outside,[C&F117] the fresh air blew the stench of bay-scented pipe tobacco off her. She would have to change clothes. Time to return to the hotel anyway. The day had gotten her nowhere. She had some decisions to make.
She got into the car, and drove back to the hotel. The drive across Eugene was easier, because she had done it once before. Somehow, going north worked better than driving into the south. The streets were laid out better, the one-[C&F118] ways not as confusing as they were climbing into the hills. She passed the Safeway and the two-story office buildings. The greenery pleased her and helped her relax. Strange place, this city. The Hilton and a retirement center near Skinner Butte were the tallest buildings in the area. Most buildings were short and compact, giving the city a trim, low-key look.
When she reached the Hilton, she drove right into the parking garage and took the elevator to the main lobby. Despite the calm she had managed to superimpose on
herself in the drive, her hands were shaking. Damn that man for his presumptiveness. He had no right telling her how to live her life.
A package was waiting for her at the front desk. She noted DeeDee's return address, then stuck the package under her arm. The elevator ride was interminable. When she reached her room, she unlocked the door, went inside and tossed the package on the bed.
For the second day in a row, the maid had opened the curtains. The sunlight refreshed her as nothing else could. Cammie kicked off her shoes and sat in the overstuffed chair beside the window. She closed her eyes and willed the trembling to stop.
The Westrina Center's policies worked. They had worked with her. She was calmer than she had been, better even. Her search for Ben was something she wanted to do, not something she had to do. She wanted to know that the brother she had killed for was happy.
As if she knew what that meant. Brooker had at least been right about that.
Cammie opened her eyes, got up, and picked up the package. It was thick. She ripped the red and blue envelope, then pulled out the files.
A note, in DeeDee's flowing handwriting, said simply that she found nothing in Active, and that she hoped Cammie was well. Cammie studied the note for a long moment. What had happened to DeeDee that placed her at the Center? Did people in Reception need the same qualifications as people in Eradication? Pretty DeeDee, with her sharp tongue and expertly applied make-up. Right now, Cammie would give anything to talk to her face to face.
But it would have to wait. Cammie pulled out the first file and started to read. Typical case, over sixteen years ago. Single mother goes crazy, kills all her children by draining their blood. All but the youngest die. The youngest, a year old at the time, spared because his mother was already sated. Neighbors called the police. They arrived to survey the carnage and stake the mother. The infant, after a stay in the hospital, got adopted to the Northwest through the Westrina Center.
Cammie sighed, and rubbed her eyes. Her stomach was queasy. She had read case files before, and all of them were personal horror stories, each graphic in its own way, each so tragic that words could barely describe them. Twenty years ago, children had no way out. Even now, it took documentation, a court battle, and pretty damning evidence to rescue a child.
Or the staking of a parent.
In front of the child.
The sun had gone behind a cloud, and the room was cold. Cammie got up to turn on the heat when she noticed the blinking light on her phone. Odd that the desk hadn't given her the message when she arrived. She and the clerk had been so concerned about the package that neither of them thought to check for phone messages.
Cammie dialed the operator and asked for her message.
"A detective Thornton called. He said it was important."
"She," Cammie corrected reflexively. She hung up, and called the number Thornton had left. It was a direct line into the police department. Cammie went through two officers—not the switchboard—before she got to Thornton.
"Thought you weren't going to call," Thornton said, her voice even deeper through the phone lines.
"I just got the message," Cammie said. "What's up?"
"You get those files?"
Cammie frowned. "Yes."
"Your brother's in there?"
"I don't know. Let me check." She leaned across the bed, and picked up the envelope. It only took a minute of thumbing through the files before she found Ben's. "Yes. But I thought you wanted all of them."
"I do," Thornton said. "But your brother's the important one right now."
Cammie's throat was dry. "Why? What have you got?"
Thornton sighed. "I don't got it. The Seattle Police do."
Cammie didn't like Thornton's tone. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine, so far as I know. But that girlfriend of his isn't. They found her in Elliot Bay, body weighted down. She would have disappeared forever if she hadn't snagged on a boat anchor."
"She's dead?" Cammie gripped the receiver, her fingernails digging into the plastic. "Did she drown?"
"Oh, no, honey. She was dead before she hit the water. Something ripped her neck out and drank all her blood, and it sure as hell wasn't the fish."
Cammie lay back on the bed. The room was spinning. She forced herself to breathe.
"You okay?" Thornton asked.
"Have you told her mother yet?"
"Not yet. That's next on my list of pleasant tasks for a sunny afternoon."
"I want to go with you to Seattle."
"I'm not going. This belongs to the Seattle police. I just thought I would send them as much information as I could. Can you get a copy of that file down here ASAP?"
"I don't think Ben did it," Cammie said.
Thornton didn't reply for a moment. In the silence, Cammie could hear two male voices argue about the best microbrewery in the city. "If he didn't," Thornton said softly, "then he might be in the Bay, too. I'm sorry, honey. But the information could help."
In. Out. Breathe, Cammie. Breathe. The room's spinning slowed. "You're right," she said. "I'll be there in a few minutes. You got a copy machine?"
"Not one that works. There's a copy shop on Fifth. Easy to get to if you're walking."
"Okay." Cammie hung up without saying goodbye. She was numb. Vampires everywhere. How could Anita think this area was risk-free?
Anita. Sarge. It was time for backup. Cammie could no longer face this one alone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The nest was quiet when Ben let himself in about two hours before sunrise. The front room still smelled of blood and incense, but someone had put away the mattresses and straightened the couch. A single light burned near the hallway entrance. The silence made Ben's hair stand on end.
"Finally."
He whirled in the direction of the voice. Mikos sat on the cane-backed chair near the covered window. His body was hidden in shadow.
"Where have you been?"
Ben felt like he was still in high school and his father was interrogating him. "You said I couldn't bring a new cow here. So I didn't."
"Then you haven't heard the news," Mikos said. His voice had a flatness that Ben had never heard before.
Ben shook his head. The contentment he had felt when he left the hotel vanished. He took a step toward Mikos, unable to see Mikos' face in the shadows. "What happened?"
"The police found your little pregnant girl." Mikos didn't move. His stillness, and his tone, were eerie.
"Candyce?" Ben couldn't keep the fear from his voice. "She was alive, then, after all?"
"Oh, no. She was very dead. The boys dumped her in Elliot Bay and didn't make sure she sank."
A shudder ran through Ben. Candyce. She had been the head cheerleader in high school. Her hair caught in a ponytail, eyes vibrant and alive. She had made the other girls look like they were standing still. Her enthusiasm always caught a crowd, always caught him.
He hadn't wanted her to end up like this.
"The police found her body, then."
"My, we're astute this evening. What were we doing, sniffing garlic?" Mikos stood. His body had a power that Ben had never noted before. Mikos stepped into the light. The veneer of civilization had left his face. His features looked sharper, ragged, more dangerous. "Where were you tonight?"
"I hit a few bars, and then I went to the Sheraton."
"Whose name did you use?"
"Williams’."
"Whose car?"
"The girl's."
Mikos let out a breath of air. It sounded like a hiss. "She still alive?"
"Yes," Ben said. "And she enjoyed it. She'll think it's some fantasy thing."
"Good." A strand of hair fell across Mikos' forehead. "We're going to dump the Targa and the Williams cards. That identity is gone."
Ben nodded. He was shaking. The police could trace him to Candyce. Anyone could have seen them. "That's not why you waited up for me."
"You're right." Mikos put his hand on Ben's shoulder. His palm felt heavy
, as if he were holding Ben down. "The entire incident has me thinking. We haven't been planning your life, Ben, and we need to. We need to control your future better."
"What do you mean?" Ben wanted to pull away from Mikos' grip, but knew he didn't dare. The feeling of youth remained.
"We'll give you identification, a new car, and establish a residence for you outside the nest. I want you to find a woman and get her pregnant if you still can. You need an unimpeachable history. Then we'll move forward on our plans for political gain." Mikos fingers were digging into Ben's collarbone.
"Why now? Because of Candyce?" Ben was confused. The blood he had drunk had left him logy and exhausted. The weight of Candyce's death preyed on him.
"And because of Van." Mikos let go of Ben's shoulder and ran a hand along his neck. He traced Ben's jaw line with his thumb, then moved it to Ben's lips. Ben remembered the champagne taste of Mikos' blood and felt a longing for it, even though he was full from his night out. He found it hard to concentrate on Mikos' words.
"We need to get you out of the nest until you and Van settle this thing," Mikos said. "She has more ammunition to use against you with the others now that the cow's body has been discovered. It's better to take you out of here for a while, let the entire incident cool down, then bring you back as a full-fledged hereditary, with, I hope, children."
Ben nibbled Mikos' thumb. His blood was cool, but effervescent. and delicious. Compelling. "I don't want to leave," Ben said.
With his free hand, Mikos grabbed Ben's right arm and nipped the wrist. The surge of blood through Ben's own veins made him hard. He didn't want to leave. He belonged here. Like this.
"You may stay if you would like," Mikos said against Ben's skin. "I am merely suggesting a course of action. You only have a short time to get a cow pregnant—a few months, maybe a few years. You need to focus on that first, and then we begin our political work."
Ben moved his own mouth to Mikos wrist and bit. More blood, thin but bubbly, traveled into his throat. He wasn't sure who was seducing whom, whose power flowed the strongest. "I don't want to wait," Ben said. "I want to begin now."
Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel Page 24
