by Kate Hill
The hazel-eyed man grasped Matthew’s arm and shook his head. “It always amazes me how fast Immaculates heal. That’s a nasty gouge, though.”
Matthew pulled away and stooped by his bag in the corner, searching for the proper supplies to clean and bind his arm. As he scrubbed the wound, the girl knelt beside him, her small hand taking the wad of gauze from him. “Let me help you.”
“Who are you people?” Matthew demanded.
“I’m Gareth and this is Geneva. You’ll meet the others at one time or another, I’m sure.”
“But what is that group?”
“The people here, vampire and human, are outcasts. We’re the insane, the young, the weak, the prostitutes, parentless children, single mothers. Anyone society doesn’t want.”
Matthew glanced at Gareth.
Geneva asked, “Am I hurting you?”
He shook his head, glancing at her, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she looked at him. Her eyes didn’t hold the expression of a thirteen-year-old. They looked almost as experienced as Dulcie’s as they lingered over his shoulders and chest in his sleeveless black T-shirt.
“I know it must seem strange to you,” Gareth continued. “If you are what you say you are, what are you hiding from? What’s your story? Who are you?”
Matthew glanced at his odd companions, not willing to trust either of them. He felt both probing his mind and threw up the mental barriers he’d learned from Adam and Brett, as well as repeated an incantation to defend himself against their telepathy.
The girl narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, “A warlock, too. Your skill surprises me.”
“Why?” Matthew asked.
The girl’s fingertips traced his cheek to his bearded jawline. “You’re so young and beautiful.”
“Geneva!” Gareth shook his head.
“He is young.” The girl glanced over her shoulder at Gareth, her pert little nose wrinkling with annoyance. “Stop ordering me around. You’re not my father or my lover. In fact, there are times when you should count yourself lucky to be my friend.”
“You little fiend.” Gareth grasped her upper arm gently, but hard enough to drag her away from Matthew.
She struggled. “He needs blood.”
“And he could drain you in a heartbeat,” Gareth scoffed. “I’ll give him what he needs, then we can talk business.”
“I don’t want or need anything from you.” Matthew stood, already feeling stronger.
“We all help each other here,” Gareth told him.
“And you’re either with us or against us,” Geneva stated. “If you’re against us—”
“You don’t know how badly I take to threats.” Matthew growled.
“We don’t want to upset you,” Gareth said. “The group of people you met below relies on each other. We protect one another, see that everyone survives in this…filth. You’re obviously on your own. We don’t know why, but if you’re willing to live in peace with us, we’ll do the same. We’ll help you if you help us, but to do that we have to get to know one another.”
“I’m very selective,” Matthew stated.
Geneva’s gaze raked him once more, and she licked her lips, the tips of her fangs glistening white. “So am I.”
Matthew sighed. As he leaned down to close his bag, the shoelace with his wedding ring fell out of the neckline of his T-shirt.
“That’s very special to you, isn’t it?” Gareth nodded toward the ring. “It’s a wedding ring.” Matthew ignored him, but as he slipped the ring back under his shirt, a sick feeling twisted his stomach. How he longed for Dulcie!
Gareth sighed. “I’ll be honest with you. We need you much more than you probably need us. Those creatures you fought down below were only two of many. They must be contained, but there are so few vampires with the strength and skill to do so. They’re not just stupid beasts—they think. It seems that each generation grows more and more intelligent.”
“What are they?”
“The closest description would probably be werewolves. They’re not like the creatures of legend, though they have some of the same characteristics. Like vampires, they’re another race. Did you even know that? Our kind are not supernatural monsters, but living beings.”
“I’ve known that for a long time.” Matthew grasped his hair and clutched it at his nape. Until it had grown long, he’d never realized how heavy and wiry it was.
“God,” Gareth murmured. When Matthew turned to him, the hybrid’s eyes were wide. “You’re that doctor who’s been all over the news. Matthew Winter.”
For a moment, Matthew forgot to breathe.
“You’re the one who found the cure for the poison, the one that had been killing our kind for thousands of years. You’re part of that Network—”
“I am not part of the Network!” Matthew snapped. “Believe me.”
“You may as well be.” Geneva’s lips curled in disgust. “You’re all alike, you perfect vampiric specimens. I don’t care how pretty you are, I despise you!”
She flew at him, but Gareth caught her.
“Strange. We tested you, and you don’t seem to live up to your reputation. You don’t seem like the kind of man who’d take bribes and commit murder.”
“I’m not!”
Gareth tilted his head to one side, thoughtful. “Then perhaps you need us after all. You want to stay hidden, don’t you?”
Instead of replying, Matthew asked, “What tests did you supposedly give me, other than seeing if those things would tear me apart?”
“First, you didn’t kill the boy when he tried to jump you. Second, you chased after me to protect Geneva.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” Geneva relaxed, and Gareth released her. “So what is your story, Matthew Winter?”
“My story is none of your business.” Matthew gathered his belongings. “I’m going.”
“Matthew, you don’t have to run,” Gareth said. “We’ve told you our story. We protect each other. The vampires care for the mortals and immortals who are too weak to care for themselves. The mortals provide the hybrids with blood to live, an even exchange, and the few Immaculates who exist among us are given hybrid blood in return for their help. Join us. Tell us what’s happened to you, and if we judge you worthy—”
“No!” Matthew snarled. “What the hell is wrong with everyone? Everybody is a judge. Who gave you the right to such power?”
“We have to judge to protect ourselves. We have to know we can trust you.”
“You trust me? You led me into the sewer where you tried to have me eaten alive. If anyone should be demanding proof of trust, it’s me!”
Gareth glanced at Geneva. “He’s right.”
Geneva looked annoyed, but she nodded as she glanced at Matthew. “So how can we prove ourselves?”
“Stay here for a while,” Gareth suggested. “We have no intention of turning you in. To do so would bring the Network here. Believe me, we don’t want them. They’ve caused us more harm than good.”
“Doesn’t his brother head the Network?” Geneva asked. “Couldn’t he help you, Matthew? He’s supposed to be all-powerful, killer of the First Father.”
“Believe me, he’s not all-powerful. Just stubborn.”
“Spend some time with us, Matthew,” Gareth said, “see how much you’re needed. See how we’re able to care for each other. Your mental shields are strong, but I can sense your loneliness and frustration. I’m sorry about the tests we forced upon you, but we had to know what you’re made of, what your heart is like.”
“Your heart.” Geneva approached Matthew and climbed onto a rickety chair so she was closer to his stunning height. She tugged the shoelace from his shirt and let the wedding ring rest in her palm. “Is it already taken?”
Matthew jerked the ring from her hand. “Rule number one for dealing with me is never mention this.” He held up the ring for both of them to see. “Understand?”
Geneva opened her mouth to speak, but Gareth clamped a hand over her lips, lifted
her from the chair and placed her back on the floor. “We understand perfectly. You will not regret giving us a chance, Matthew, and your skills, both in fighting and in medicine, are greatly needed here. The sun will rise soon. We’ll leave you to rest for the day. I’ll give you some blood first.”
“I don’t want your blood,” Matthew told him, his eyes boring into Gareth’s. “Yet.”
* * * * *
Once Gareth and Geneva had gone, Matthew flopped onto the bed and stared at the cracked, water-stained ceiling. He wasn’t accustomed to having nothing to do and nowhere to go. He missed his work, missed his family, but most of all he missed Dulcie. Still, this new group—or gang—he’d reluctantly become associated with piqued his curiosity. Unfortunately, he still felt hesitant to walk the streets by day for fear of being recognized.
“Doubtful,” he muttered to himself. “I certainly don’t look like the guy they’re showing on the news. I wonder how long it takes for something like this to blow over?”
Matthew closed his eyes, listening to the sound of traffic, passing trains and voices on the street below. Eventually, he drifted off.
He awoke a couple of hours later, the sun still bright behind the smog outside. Slipping on sunglasses, he left his room, jogged down the rickety steps and strode along the sidewalk.
Several people glanced at him and stepped out of his way. Two old ladies sitting on a porch, their gray hair in curlers, their plump bodies draped with flowered shifts, stared at him with a combination of fear and curiosity. Matthew wondered exactly how many people in the neighborhood knew about him.
As he turned a corner, footfalls echoed behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed a group of youths followed him but kept their distance. As they walked, others from apartment houses, alleys and storefronts joined in the group. Matthew sensed their agitation, anger and fear. He smelled it, heard it in their heartbeats. Smiling wickedly, his own irritation and the stress of hiding tore through the thinning surface of his self-control.
The footsteps behind him quickened, but instead of hurrying, Matthew slowed his pace. As he turned, several of the youths lunged at him with chains, knives and—to Matthew’s disgust—sharp wooden stakes.
Growling deep in his throat, he leapt onto a fire escape and clung to the rusted metal. He kicked two of the boys in the face, sending them sprawling into their companions.
“What do you want from me?” he demanded.
“We don’t want anything from you!” snapped a middle-aged man from the back. The man walked with a limp, and Matthew saw a lifetime of misery in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. “You’re the one who wants something from us! Your kind wouldn’t spit on us, but here you are, thinking you can hide among us to save your rich white ass!”
“Rich white ass?” Matthew repeated, his eyes flickering with a combination of amusement and irritation. “I see several Caucasians among you.”
“Oh, Caucasians,” mimicked a tall, thin redhead with a straggly beard. “He sees several Caucasians. I guess Gareth and Geneva were telling the truth. We got us a genuine yuppie Immaculate here. A doctor, ain’t that right?”
“That’s right,” Matthew gloated, “can you spell that?”
“I bet Gareth said you could fit in with us. That we’d help you if you help us,” the middle-aged man continued. “We just want you to know something. Your kind has made our lives hell. You only give a shit about yourself. Get this straight, we don’t want anything from you. You stay out of our face, and we’ll stay out of yours. Gareth and Geneva said you can stick around, and we’re not about to disrespect that.”
“Before you respect someone else, you have to respect yourself.” Matthew glared at them.
The redhead’s teeth clenched. “Watch that mouth of yours, or you might find your heart cut out in your sleep.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “I rarely sleep, and you don’t want to mess with me.”
“So you think you’re a tough guy—”
“Ross.” A teenage girl in baggy pants and a black tank top touched the redhead’s arm. “He knocked out the wolf things, remember?”
The redhead took a step back, fear crossing his eyes. He said in a gruff voice, “Yeah, I remember. Don’t mean I’m scared of him, though.”
Matthew pounced from the fire escape and the crowd dispersed, except for Ross, who ran halfway down the street before he stopped and turned, his face as red as his hair. Several of the younger kids giggled at him, and teased, “Sure. Ross ain’t scared of the Immaculate.”
“That’s all we wanted to tell you.” The older man drew himself up to his full height and looked down a nose that had been broken several times. “Just because Gareth and Geneva want to get tight with you doesn’t mean the rest of us do. We don’t like what you stand for, and we don’t like you.”
“I couldn’t care less. I don’t like you either.”
No one commented, though he saw hatred in several pairs of eyes before the group left him alone.
Matthew sighed and continued down the street, unhindered.
He stopped at a manhole, slipped the cover aside and dropped to the sewer below. He wondered if the hybrids would be as hateful as the mortals. Funny how they blamed him for their situation. He’d never done a thing to them. It wasn’t like he’d been raised by a filthy rich family and never worked a day in his life. His father was a blue-collar worker. Matthew had been blessed with keen intelligence and a high IQ, but that didn’t mean he was exempt from the same basic responsibilities his parents had expected from his siblings. He’d always had a job and had worked his way through medical school in combination with the financial help his parents had generously offered. Matthew had never considered himself lazy, nor did he look down on other people. He felt proud of his intelligence, but as a child had often tried to hide it in social situations. He’d wanted to fit in, but in his youth, particularly after reaching vampiric puberty, he’d been set apart.
He pulled the manhole cover back into place and climbed down to the damp ground. The scent of the others lurking there, probably asleep, filled the air. So few vampires liked to travel by day, and some were severely allergic to sunlight. He had to admit he appreciated the dimness as he walked. The odor was another story.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” The short female hybrid from the day before—the one wearing only the bra—stepped around a corner, directly into Matthew’s path. This time, a black thong accompanied a zebra-striped bra with round cutouts over the nipples. One of the pink nubs was pierced with a silver ring. By the disarray of her matted hair and the way she rubbed her eyes, Matthew guessed he’d disturbed her sleep. “Don’t tell me you need a fix right now. Mindy Muff don’t start work until after dusk.”
Mindy Muff. Matthew repressed laughter. “I don’t want your blood.”
“Good,” she yawned, “but if you change your mind, it’s fifty—”
“I don’t pay for blood or for sex.”
At those words, she seemed to awaken a bit. Her full lips curled over sharp little teeth. “Oh sure. You’re too good for that, aren’t you? Let me tell you something, piss-pot. I get more doctors, lawyers and politicians coming to me than I do horny little teenagers and their potbellied dads!”
“Good for you.” Matthew turned down the corridor to his left, away from her.
She shouted, “And you’re all cheap bastards! Always trying to get more for your money! Keep walking, Mr. Thing! Keep on walking, but you’ll be back when you need some good, red hybrid blood!”
“I’d rather die of thirst.” Matthew ran his tongue over his teeth, as if cleansing them just from the thought of biting through her dirty flesh.
Ahead, the sound of voices and laughter caught his attention. A rat ran over his foot. He watched it scurry around a turn before he continued toward the voices.
In a small room Gareth, two hybrids and an elderly mortal played cards.
“You know this is no fair,” said one of the hybrids, a sle
nder Asian with smooth, handsome features. “Jimmie and Gareth can read minds way better than we can.”
“Are you saying we’re cheating?” the mortal man laughed, his pale blue eyes buried in a mass of wrinkles. His hands, covered with fingerless gloves, shuffled the cards. He dealt swiftly.
“We’re winning on our own merit, Paul,” Gareth said to the Asian. He glanced at the muscular blond hybrid seated across from Paul. The blond wore baggy black pants and a half-shirt, exposing his muscular, tattooed abdomen, shoulders and arms. “What do you say, Vick?”
The blond shrugged. “I can’t tell. I was changed what, a month ago? Damn shooting. If Mindy Muff hadn’t bitten me—”
“Come on over, Matthew,” Gareth said. “Join in the game. You any good at poker?”
“Oh, come on, Gareth.” Paul threw down his cards. “You really want him to play?”
“Give him a break.” Jimmie coughed into his cupped fist, then spit at a rat staring at the men from a corner. The rodent scurried off. Jimmie’s wrinkled face turned to Matthew. “Get your butt over here, kid. Better start gettin’ to know you if you’ll be around for a while.”
“So do you play, Matthew?” Gareth asked again.
“Cards? No, not really.”
Paul and Vick exchanged broad grins.
Vick scooted aside, offering Matthew the floor beside him. “Park it.”
“I say we up the stakes,” Paul suggested.
Gareth glanced at Matthew. “They’re out for your blood.”
“What a surprise.” Matthew took his place in the group. “So how do you play?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Ha! Gotcha this time. Full house, Immaculate freak.” Paul thrust down his cards, gloating at Matthew. “Beat that.”
Silently, Matthew spread his four aces and the king of spades.
“Bullshit!” Vick growled, his fangs glistening against his full lips. “You’re cheating! I thought you said your telepathy was bad.”
“It is.” Matthew shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have beginner’s luck. Want to play another hand? I’m sure I’ll lose this time.”
