And then, just as he’d been about to nod off into the world of dream journeys, he’d felt them all around him. He’d felt their fear of him, their hatred and their intentions. His punishment for taking a meal without compensation was to be death, it seemed. They carried weapons, he sensed it. And he knew by the vibrations in the very ether between them and himself that those weapons would be used on him without hesitation.
Yes. There was no question. He felt it. Violence. Barely contained, crouching like a tiger about to spring.
And so he had no choice. He wanted nothing from these humans. He meant them no harm whatsoever. It was his own race he must wipe from existence, not theirs. All he intended was to eat, to sleep and to be on his way. This devastation he was about to unleash was entirely their own doing.
Sighing in resolution, and with no small regret, he had opened the doors of his haven and meted out justice. He’d focused the beam from his eyes on the men who leveled their weapons at him. The light shot forth, a blue-white stream that widened, opening like the wings of a great, deadly bird, so that all of them were caught in it. The soldiers went still as the beam hit them. Their eyes widened as their bodies began to vibrate, frozen within the grasp of his power and unable to break free. And then, one by one, they exploded.
When it was over, an eerie calm fell over everything around him. The silent stillness of death. It was like no other emanation. When the souls fled the bodies of the living, especially in such massive numbers all at once, they left a vacuum behind. A space devoid of sense, of sound, almost of air.
Utana stepped down from the box-on-wheels, and he walked amid the remains. True carnage, this. Pieces of the humans littered the stone like ground, and hung from the motorized vehicles and the tall, light-emitting poles, and from the lines that seemed to be strung everywhere in this world. It was a terrible waste of life, and all for nothing.
As he looked at the death and mutilation around him, he thought of the healing power he had taken from James of the Vahmpeers. He had not yet attempted to use it, but he had no illusions that it would be effective on bits and pieces of men. He would first have to sort them, leaving none out, nor mixing any together. Such a task would be impossible, and would take days—weeks, perhaps—even to attempt. No, it was of no use. Were they not meant to die this day, they would not have placed themselves in his path. The higher being knew far more than did the earthly one. Their fate had been sealed; there was no undoing it.
He picked his way among the limbs and gore, amid the tiny fires dancing from their motor-driven conveyances, and the smoke spiraling all around him. He saw more humans, watching from a safe distance, and he felt only fear and terror coming from them—no attack. Pausing, Utana bent low to scoop up a dead man’s weapon. And as he held it, he closed his eyes briefly and absorbed its vibration through his palms. It took only seconds for him to understand how the weapon worked, how to use it, what it did. And so he gathered up a few more before moving on.
More soldiers would come after him. No army would let so many deaths go unavenged. He had not wanted war with the humans, but it seemed inevitable now.
His bare feet were cold as they slapped down on the wet stonelike substance with which modern man had apparently paved the world. The rain was lighter now. He would find clothing and shelter, a base of operations from which to work. The vahmpeers had moved to somewhere not far from this place. But they would know of his nearness now. Word of his deeds this night would surely spread. And then they would flee. If he hoped to catch up to them, to wipe them from existence, he had to find them before they did.
Washington, D.C.
“You can go in now, Senator,” the curly haired receptionist said. Marlene MacBride rose from the vinyl chair she’d been warming for the past twenty minutes, smoothed her pencil-slim skirt over her thighs and strode to the door. She was staring at the plaque that adorned it. Special Agent Nash Gravenham-Bail. As she lifted a hand to tap before entering, the door swung open, and she glimpsed a broad torso and a large file box coming toward her.
The box bumped her chest before she had a chance to move out of the way. She automatically gripped it, and the man behind it spoke.
“Senator MacBride. Sorry about the wait, but I think you’ll find everything you need in here. Enough to get you started, at least.”
Marlene lifted her stunned eyes from the box to the face of the man shoving it at her. It was the scar that caught her attention, as she would guess it did most people’s upon meeting this man for the first time. It was a thin pink line, raised a bit, that began at the outside corner of his left eye and angled across his cheek to the center of his chin.
“Line of duty,” he said. “Besides, it’s intimidating. That’s a bonus in my line of work.”
She shifted her focus from his scar to his eyes. Wet cement, they were. “Mr. Gravenham-Bail?”
“It’s a mouthful, I know,” he said. “I still cuss my parents out on a daily basis for the hyphenated name thing. I mean, really, just pick one already. Make a decision.”
She nodded.
“Easier if you just call me Nash.”
“Mmm.” He still hadn’t let her into his office. She was standing in the doorway, holding a box that was getting heavier by the minute, and getting absolutely nowhere with him. “Look, Nash, I was expecting a meeting with you. So you could brief me on all this.”
“Oh, really? I thought you’d want documents. Files.”
“Well, those, too, but—”
“Look if you want a meeting, we’ll set one up. Week after next?”
“I’m afraid that—”
“Barbara,” he called, and started moving forward. Marlene had to either back up or let him walk right into her. He backed her into the reception area, pulling his office door closed behind him. “Barbara, schedule me a sit-down with the senator, here, for the next free afternoon I have. A full hour. And, uh, get someone to help her down with this file box, will you?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Nice meeting you, Senator MacBride. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
He extended a hand to shake, looked sheepishly at the box that was occupying both of hers, then turned and was back in his office, door closed, before she could say boo. Hell, this wasn’t going well at all.
Nash closed his office door, counted to sixty and picked up the phone. “Babs, she gone yet?” “The elevator doors just closed on her, sir.” “Great. Get me a flight to Maine. Bangor, or as close to there as possible.” “Right away, sir.”
Nash needed to get his hands on this resurrected monster, get him under control. He would not rest until every last vampire was obliterated. If even one remained, they would make others. Like damn lice. They were parasites. You had to pick ’em clean to end the infestation. And you had better get their eggs, too, unless you wanted to start the process all over again. In this case, that meant the so-called Chosen. Humans with the rare antigen in their blood that made them susceptible to the disease the Undead had dubbed the Dark Gift. It wasn’t a gift. It was a freaking mutation. The only humans who could become vampires were the carriers of the Belladonna Antigen, so they would have to be eliminated, too. As soon as they’d served their purpose.
The Dymphna Project would take care of that. And by the time pesky Senator MacBride waded through the paperwork mountain he’d handed her, it would all be over.
But in order for his plan to work, he needed to find this Utanapishtim, this madman from another age, another world. He had to win the man’s trust, so he could wield him like the weapon Nash intended him to be.
And then, when the war was over and humans were victorious, he would destroy the so-called immortal last of all, and end the age of the vampires for all time.
He was going to save mankind from the scourge of the Undead. And no junior senator from Nebraska was going to get into his way. No matter how good she looked in a skirt.
St. Dymphna Psychiatric Hospital
Mount Bliss, Virginia
And as it turned out, that was a damned good thing. Then again, she’d never believed in coincidence.
Roxy had been a friend to the vampires all her life. And her life was a long one. Longer than most of the folks who carried the Belladonna Antigen in their blood. They were known as the Chosen, and word was, they didn’t live to see forty.
She’d seen a hell of a lot more than forty, but she wouldn’t admit how much more. Not under torture. Besides, age was just a number.
Roxy had no desire to become a vampire. But she damn well wasn’t going to stand by and watch them get wiped out of existence, either. Her vamp friends had been good to her. Saved her wrinkle-free hide more than once.
So when she got notification from Uncle Sam that she was to report to some out-of-commission loony bin with all the other Chosen, to be protected from vampire attack, she knew it was time to take action.
Vampires didn’t prey on the Chosen. They were like spooky-ass guardian angels to them. Couldn’t help themselves. One of her kind got into trouble, one of their kind showed up to bail them out. Usually did a little oogly-boogly mind shit on the way out, just to erase the memory and keep their cover intact.
Vamps weren’t the only ones who could play oogly-boogly mind games.
Roxy had made herself disappear. As far as the government knew, she was on the run, avoiding compliance with their summons, while in truth she was right under their noses, with a false ID and a freshly minted nursing license, working as an R.N. at St. Dymphna’s. Forged paperwork, a little witch-craft—yeah, she was a card-carrying spell-caster— and bam, she was hired.
And she was damned glad to be in the place, too, that day when she greeted the newest guests, Jane and Melinda Hubbard, at the front door.
The mom and daughter looked like two photos of the same person taken twenty years apart. And they looked scared, too.
“Hey, now. There’s no call to look like that,” Roxy said. “Know why?”
Melinda stared at her, huge blue eyes seeing right through her, she thought. “Why?” the little girl asked.
Hell, the kid’s gaze was so intense it sent a little shiver up Roxy’s spine. But she shook it off and smiled. “Because I’m here. And I’m going to give you my personal promise that nothing bad will happen to you while you’re here. You’re gonna be my special friends. And no one messes with Roxy’s friends. Okay?”
Jane smiled a little, hugging her daughter closer.
“She’s like me, Mommy,” Melinda said softly. R
oxy felt her smile die as Jane shot her a look. Quickly Roxy glanced around to make sure no one else had heard, and then she knelt down to put herself at eye level with the little girl. “I am like you,” she whispered. “But that has to be our little secret, okay? No one else can know.”
“Why?”
Roxy swallowed hard. She had not intended to tell these people—nor any of the other captives— who or what she was. It was too dangerous. Now she had a seven-year-old apparent psychic to contend with.
Roxy bent closer. “I might get into trouble if you tell. Okay, honey? You know how to keep a secret, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Melinda eyed Roxy up and down. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Then looking up at her mother, she said, “She’s good.”
Roxy’s brows went up. There was definitely more to this little girl than the antigen they shared. Speaking at a more normal volume, she said, “I’m gonna find you guys the nicest room in this place. Come on with me now. We’re all up on the fourth floor.”
As they headed for the elevators, Jane leaned in close. “What’s going on around here, Roxy?”
Roxy glanced up and to the right, where the wall met the ceiling, meaning in her eyes. And she knew when Jane followed her gaze and spotted the camera mounted there. “Eyes and ears, hon,” she whispered, a big, fake smile on her face. “Everywhere.”
Jane nodded and lowered her head, face averted from the camera. “I’m just trying to find out if it’s safe here for my daughter.”
“Should have done that before you brought her here,” Roxy said.
“Then we’re leaving.” Jane started to turn away toward the big entry door.
Roxy clasped her arm, and squeezed hard enough to get her attention and stop her in her tracks. “They won’t let you leave. You didn’t notice the armed guards walking the perimeter? The electric fence around this entire place? You’re here now. And you’ll have to stay here.”
“But—”
“No buts. No choice.” The elevator doors slid open as Roxy released the woman’s arm but continued to hold her eyes. Her false smile had vanished, and she realized it and pasted it back on again. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you both. And when the time is right, I’ll get you out of here.”
“That’s why you’re keeping your…condition… secret?”
Roxy nodded as she hustled them into the elevator. “You want the zoo cages left unlocked, best have a monkey posing as a zookeeper, don’t you think? Now come on. You blow my cover, we’re all done for. And for heaven’s sake, smile. You’ve gotta look like you’re glad to be here. All right?”
“All right.”
They stepped inside, all three of them, and the elevator doors slid closed. As they rode upward, Roxy added, in a very soft whisper, “Don’t let them know she’s different. That would be…bad.”
The mother shifted her blue eyes to the little girl, who stood between the two adults, her knapsack on her back, a teddy bear peeking from the top. Tears shimmered in Jane’s eyes, but she blinked them away and tightened her grip on her daughter’s tiny hand.
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 50 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005. Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her soul-mate, Lance. They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places. Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction
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Forever Enchanted
Annie's Hero
Table of Contents
Part One: Once Upon A Time...
Part Two: If This Be Magic
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Three: Happily Ever After.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Fairytale (Fairies of Rush) Page 31
