Hunting Daylight (9781101619032)

by Maitland, Piper

  Tatiana. She had taken Vivi and now she had come for me.

  “Open the door, Caro,” she shouted.

  Everything moved too fast. I stepped backward, screaming for Raphael. She lifted her boot and kicked in the door. The glass shattered and clinked to the floor. Wind blew in through the broken glass, stirring Tatiana’s hair. Behind her, in the garden, I heard gunshots, and a man shouted.

  She lunged through the space where the glass had been, into the room. I spun around and ran toward the doors. She beat me to them, wrenched the handles, and grabbed me. I twisted at the waist and pulled her hair.

  “Cunt,” she said, and shoved me to the floor. She pounced on top of me and sank her teeth into my neck. I felt a burst of pain below my ear, heard sucking noises. She was too strong, and I couldn’t fight her. A memory broke through my panic. My blood might be a weapon. She could be sensitive to my hybrid antigens. I let my arms drop to the floor, hoping she’d think that I was succumbing to her neurotoxin. She would expect me to become paralyzed.

  I lay still, listening to her swallow. Jude had told me long ago that vampires weren’t automatically allergic to hybrids. First a vampire had to drink a hybrid’s blood. During that initial encounter, the vampire would not have a physiological reaction. Because he’d never been exposed to the antigen, he would have no antibodies. But the first moment he drank a hybrid’s blood, the vampire’s super immune system would start building antibodies to the antigen. The next time the vampire bit a hybrid, the result could be fatal. This wasn’t a theory. It was a scientific fact, like a human’s reaction to bee stings, nuts, shellfish, or penicillin.

  Tatiana had most likely consumed Keats’s hybrid blood. If so, her own immune system would have made antibodies. The allergic reaction occurred swiftly in immortals.

  I waited. She sucked my neck harder, her throat clicking, the coppery smell of blood rising up. Her body pushed hard against mine, as if she were enjoying herself. What if she hadn’t drunk Keats’s blood? What if she’d never been exposed to a hybrid’s antigens? A fissure opened up inside me, and all of my fears rushed out. I would die.

  Then she started breathing faster and faster.

  I’ve got you now, I thought. The anaphylactic reaction was beginning. Her blood pressure would start to drop; she’d wheeze and break out in itchy hives. The more blood she swallowed, the greater the allergic response.

  Drink, drink, drink.

  Tatiana’s body went rigid, and her boots scraped through the broken glass. She braced her hands on the floor and rose up, my blood running down her chin. Her pupils were dilated. Her lips had turned faintly blue; she pursed them and released a harsh breath. It sounded like a stick being dragged through gravel. The bitch was going down.

  I pushed her away from me, and she rolled onto her back, banging her fist against her chest. I saw a diamond horseshoe ring on her pinkie. She’d killed Gillian?

  From the hallway, I heard footsteps. The logical part of my brain told me to open the door, to let the men handle it. But a blood lust welled up inside me. She’d murdered Gillian. She’d killed my husband; taken his wedding ring and put it on Keats’s finger. She’d stolen my daughter. She was responsible for Mrs. MacLeod’s death.

  Tatiana rolled over and scrambled to her hands and knees. Her chest heaved. A thread of blood and saliva fell from her mouth, onto the floor. Red welts were breaking out on her face and arms.

  Raphael was knocking on the door. “Caro?”

  “Tatiana broke in,” I called. “I’m okay.”

  As I felt my blood stream down my neck, I wanted her to die. I kicked her ribs. A burst of air rushed through her teeth. Another round of gunfire exploded on the lawn.

  I heard the distant sound of excited Italian voices. She lifted her head, blinking toward the shattered French door. “Gambi?” she called in a slurry voice. “Siphi? Moyo?”

  My heart was pumping so hard. How had Tatiana and her killers gotten to the island? Raphael’s men patrolled the lagoon, and armed guards were posted on the boat dock. I dug my fingers into her scalp and yanked her head back. With my other hand, I picked up a long shard of glass and pressed the pointy end against her carotid.

  “Where’s my daughter?” I said. I felt the glass slicing into my fingers, but I didn’t let go.

  She opened her mouth wide and dragged in a breath. “Fuck you.”

  I pushed the shard in a little deeper, and a dark string ran down her throat. “What have you done with her?”

  “Goddammit, where are my men?” She clenched her teeth.

  I heard Raphael and the men kicking the door, calling my name.

  “Your husband fucked me.” She broke off and wheezed. “He cried when we finished. And then he fucked me again.”

  “Where have you taken my child?”

  Her gaze clouded. One side of her mouth kicked up in a grin. “I killed my mother,” she said, her voice thick with phlegm. “I’m late for my dancing lessons. I should go now.”

  Mental confusion was part of the anaphylactic reaction. She wasn’t going to tell me where to find Vivi. And unless I pumped more of my blood into her mouth, she would regain her strength and break my neck.

  “This is for Keats and Vivi,” I said, then dragged the glass over her throat. Blood spurted over the front of her black top. She made a gurgling noise. Her hands reached up. I kicked them away.

  “This is for Mrs. MacLeod and Gillian,” I said. I cut her again. Blood hit the wall behind her and streamed down.

  “This is for Jude.” I carved notches on her cheeks. I felt the glass slash deeper into my own hands, but I kept going. A wet coldness seeped around my feet. Her pupils grew and grew, eclipsing the blue irises.

  I’d killed her, and it still wasn’t enough. I’d crossed a moral barrier. I had taken a life, and that meant I was no different from her.

  I felt someone grab my shoulders. “She’s dead, mia cara. She can’t hurt you.”

  My hand opened, and the shard clinked to the floor. “She wouldn’t tell me where Vivi is.”

  Raphael knelt beside me, folding his hands over mine, trying to stop the blood. “You’re hurt. Beppe, call Dr. Nazzareno.”

  I leaned against Raphael, and my knee skidded over the wet floor. It was impossible to know where Tatiana’s blood ended and mine began.

  PART SEVEN

  TIMING IS

  EVERYTHING

  CHAPTER 50

  Vivi

  BIOMEDICAL LABORATORY—LEVEL 3

  AL-DÎN COMPOUND

  Two days later, Vivi was walking around Jude’s lab, tracing her finger along a black counter. Her mind was alert, taking in details, but it also felt blunted. Not a benzo kind of numb, but an emotional blankness, as if all the wires in her brain had been disconnected. Inside, she felt nothing. No fear, no sorrow, no shock.

  She paused in front of a huge stainless steel hood. It rose up into the ceiling.

  “This looks like the exhaust fan over Uncle Nigel’s stove,” she said in a flat voice.

  Jude looked up from his desk. “Yes, it’s a fume hood. It takes smoke and chemical odors out of my lab.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else about the hood, but Vivi turned toward a stainless-steel freezer and opened the door. The bright light made her wince, and frost curled out of the shelves, swirling up into the reddish air.

  “What’s up with the weird light in this compound?” she asked. “Does it kill germs?”

  “No.” Jude wheeled away from his desk and moved along a black counter. “Colors give off energy. Blue and purple have the most. Red has the lowest. It doesn’t hurt Mustafa’s eyes. His disease caused him to be hypersensitive to all light.”

  “But he’s not in your lab. Why can’t you have fluorescents?”

  “If Mustafa can’t have light, no one can.”

  “That figures.” She closed the freezer, and the air around her got darker. She walked over to Jude. “Are you working on my blood?”

  “Yes.
”

  “What are you looking for again?”

  “Proteins.”

  “Like the protein in a rib-eye steak?”

  “No.” He smiled. “These proteins are called monoclonal antibodies. They neutralize other proteins by attacking them. Think of them as a SWAT team. They block a compound called IgE.”

  “What’s that?”

  “IgE is what causes vampires to burn when they get in sunlight.”

  “Why would that be in my blood? Daylight doesn’t bother me.”

  He set a pipette in a stand, then rubbed his forehead. “A quarter vampire produces a special type of monoclonal antibodies. These are proteins in your blood—and your special MAs will allow vampires to walk in daylight.”

  She forced herself to breathe as she opened a drawer—it was empty—then closed it. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Oh, Meep. I wish I were kidding. I’ve known about your proteins since you were a baby. After Mustafa kidnapped me, I tried to hide this information. But he found out. Vampires don’t have MAs. However, we do have IgE—this makes us sensitive to light. And your MAs will block Mustafa’s IgE. He wants to walk in daylight.”

  That figured, too. Suddenly she understood. “Is that why we’re here? So that old poop can take a sunbath?”

  “I’m sorry, Meep. I tried to keep you safe. But now he’s forcing me to make him a serum out of your proteins.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now?”

  “I’m extracting your DNA.” He lifted the lid on a water bath and removed a vial. “You might have a special gene. It’s called RH1, the low-light gene. Vampires don’t have it.”

  “Do humans?”

  “No.”

  “This is getting worse and worse.” She crossed her arms. “What makes you think I’ve got this gene?”

  “I’m following orders, Meep.” He transferred the vial to a large machine and closed the lid. “If I find the RH1 gene, I’ll cut the DNA into fragments. And then I’ll sequence the DNA code. I’ll do another test. A PCR. That stands for polymerase chain reaction. Basically this means I’ll zoom in on a portion of your DNA and copy it over and over. Then I will make a serum.”

  “That’s a lot of trouble.”

  “Not really. Insulin is made in a lab,” he said. “That’s a drug that’s used in diabetes.”

  “I know what that is.” She looked away. In her mind’s eye, a picture of Keats rose up, his hand caught in the reins as he led Ozzie along the paddock.

  “Some diabetics need insulin injections to control their blood glucose,” Jude said. “Years ago it was made from the pancreatic glands of pigs and cows. Now insulin is made in a lab like this one. Scientists isolate the gene that makes insulin, they spiff it up a bit, and add it to a mild strain of E. coli. The insulin gene begins to make insulin.”

  “My friend Keats was diabetic. He died.”

  “I’m sorry, Meep.”

  “He injected himself twice a day. But what does that have to do with me?”

  “I’m going to study your IgE proteins and isolate the gene that makes them.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Well, it’s more complicated. I have to add a DNA enzyme and place the gene on little rings of DNA called plasmids. The spiffed-up IgE gene will be introduced into a bacteria—a mild form of E. coli—and the gene will make more IgE.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “I’ll do trials on mice. If they go well, I will inject Mustafa with the serum.”

  I hope he croaks, she thought. “If the serum works, what happens to me? Does the gene need a human body in order to survive?”

  “No, the gene can function in the bacteria. But don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here.” He swiveled his chair away from the desk. “You see that fume hood? It has a pipe that goes all the way outside. I will disable the motor, and then you can climb inside. It’s got metal notches along the sides. Just be careful. When you get out, run.”

  “And then what? The compound is fenced. Guards are all over the place.”

  “I’ll distract them.”

  “How?”

  “We’ve got some huge bats on this level. They’ve already killed a few scientists. I’m going to release them from the chamber. They’ll wipe out the compound.”

  Bats? She shivered. Was that what she’d seen through those little windows the other day?

  “How big are they?”

  “The size of a goat. Huge teeth. Claws. They’ll take down this compound in ten minutes.”

  “But they’ll be trapped on this floor with you.”

  “I haven’t figured that out. But if I find a way, the bats will use echolocation to find their way upstairs.”

  “Maybe I can help. I can open the doors in the stairwells.”

  “You’re a dandy girl, Meep. But you can’t leave your dorm.”

  “I can try.”

  “No. Too dangerous. I’ll find a way.”

  “If I get out, what happens to you? Won’t the bats kill you?”

  He hesitated. “No, I’ll stay in my lab.”

  Yes, they will. “How will you open their chamber?”

  “There’s an air lock.”

  “Where?”

  “In the control room. It’s not staffed. Too many people have died.”

  Vivi felt something stir inside her chest, and she grabbed his hands. “Listen, I can help you escape.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You need to know something about me. You asked why I wasn’t staying with my mom. It’s because I make people bleed. Raphael found a doctor who could teach me how to control it.”

  His eyes opened wide. “You’re hemakinetic?”

  “I can also influence thoughts. It’s called Induction. Do you know about it?”

  He shook his head.

  She gave him a quick summary. “When I got here, Dr. Hazan gave me pills, and I couldn’t Induce. I spit out the pills. And now I can do stuff. Remember the other day, when Fadime brought me here for the blood samples? He wouldn’t leave. So I Induced him.”

  “So that’s why he went into the hall.” Jude rubbed his chin.

  “If I can hurt Mustafa and his men, you and I can get out of here.”

  “No, we can’t. There are thirty-eight men in this compound. Ten vampires, including myself. The rest are human mercenaries. And they’re armed. I don’t know how Induction works, but I don’t want you to try.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll come up with a plan. Promise that you won’t do anything until I do.”

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Vivi

  MAIN FLOOR—LEVEL 1

  BANQUET HALL III

  AL-DÎN COMPOUND

  Three nights later, Vivi was seated in Mustafa’s dining hall, listening to his stories of Vlad the Impaler. He sat in his thronelike chair, dishes spread out on the table—lamb kabobs, tomatoes, pitas, and yogurt. Silver candelabras flickered over his gaunt face as he talked about Vlad’s long-suffering wife.

  “Did she really kill herself?” Vivi asked.

  “I did not see it happen,” he said. “But I heard tales.”

  As he talked, his face took on an incandescent glow. She saw something else, too, a crazy spark behind his eyes, as if he were illuminated from within by his own self-love.

  While Mustafa described the trajectory of Mrs. Dracula’s fall and the extent of her injuries, Vivi frowned. “Why didn’t Vlad turn his wife into a vampire?”

  “She despised him,” Mustafa said. “He killed her father.”

  You’re gonna kill mine, too, Vivi thought. The minute Mustafa got that serum, he wouldn’t need Jude or Vivi. Genes were little shit-heads that could function in bacteria and didn’t need a human body. She and Jude had to escape. Could she even fit up that exhaust duct? Climb three whole stories? What if she fell? Maybe it wouldn’t kill her, and she’d end up like a rat in a cage.

  No, I won’t be trappe
d.

  I have to go after Mustafa right now, Vivi thought. He might not invite her to the banquet again. She remembered the Napoleon quote. The time to deliberate had ended; she needed to stop thinking and go make people bleed. This might be her last chance. She’d make the Turk bleed. Lots and lots. But she didn’t want to hurt the ferret.

  She was conscious of her lungs expanding and deflating. Then she slung out a thought.

  Give Bram to Vivi.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe. She forced air in and out of her lungs.

  At first, nothing happened. Then Mustafa’s forehead creased. He stopped talking, and then his hand slid up to the ferret. “You are lonely, Bram?”

  YES! Bram is lonely.

  It was tempting to hold her breath and give Mustafa a nosebleed, but she held back. What if he got angry? What if he knew about her hemakinesis? He’d summon Dr. Hazan, and they’d pump her full of benzos.

  Mustafa handed Bram to Fadime. “Let Vivi have him.”

  Fadime stretched out his arms, and his jacket opened, showing a holster. He took the ferret, then hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes. Do as I say.” Mustafa waved his hand in a shooing motion. His sleeve fell back, showing an IV catheter taped to the inside of his wrist.

  Fadime put Bram in Vivi’s arms. A musky odor rose up as she petted him. He felt so cold. The way Arrapato felt. Was the ferret a vampire, too?

  Mustafa was smiling. “He is yours to keep.”

  “Mine?”

  “As long as you live, my dear.”

  Vivi swallowed. Her spit tasted like rust. Don’t freak out. Be calm. She bent closer to Bram, waited a few seconds, then glanced up. “Bram wants to know how much longer that will be.”

  Mustafa’s eyes drooped at the edges. “That depends on you. And your father.”

  A drop of perspiration skated down her neck. “But you will kill us, right?”

  Mustafa’s gaze sharpened. “Do you fear death?”

  “No. And I don’t mind pain,” Vivi said. “Just don’t hurt Dr. Barrett.”