Shane’s face remains impassive. “I don’t mean change divisions. I mean change locations. If you’ll come with me.”
My spine turns cold. “You want to leave?”
“I can’t stay here at the station. I know what I did was justified.” He swallows, and I wonder if that was the truth. “The other DJs will say they know it, too, but I can see it in their eyes. They think I’m a murderer. I was the one to end him, to plunge that stake into his—” Shane shifts his lower jaw from side to side, and I wonder if the tears are finally on their way. “They can’t mourn him with me here.”
“I’d have to get a transfer, too. You think the Control would do that?”
“Married agents usually stay together. Like Agent Sellers and Captain Wayne-Sellers from Indoc?”
“But they’re both in the same division with jobs at headquarters.” I point to my lonely engagement band. “Besides, we’re not married yet.”
“Then let’s change that. We’ll move the wedding up.”
“Shane, no. I’m not rushing our wedding. We won’t give Jim the honor of turning our lives upside down.” I put my hand on his knee. “Think about it before you decide what you want. It would mean leaving the station, leaving Sherwood, probably leaving Dexter.”
He gives me a sharp look. “Dexter?”
“If the Control deploys us somewhere, it could be some field situation where we wouldn’t have a permanent home. That’s no life for a dog. Plus, he’s a vampire, which makes him extra freaky about routine.”
“Okay.” He runs a hand over his head, back to front. “We stay for Dexter.”
I offer him an out. “If you still feel this way at the end of our contracts, and you want to stay in the Control, then we’ll ask to be deployed somewhere stable away from here. Somewhere we can keep Dexter.”
“That makes sense.”
“In the meantime, we need to go deal with the DJs.”
“I know.” He gives a long sigh. “I’ve lived in Sherwood for more than ten years. It’s probably time for a change.”
“You’re a vampire. Change is bad.”
“Usually.” He shifts to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Maybe not this time.”
9
Stand by Me
The DJs are still gathered in the common room when we enter. Noah and Regina sit together on one end of the foldout couch. Spencer is in the kitchen, pouring Jeremy a tall glass of blue Gatorade. Deirdre is slumped over the table, her cheek pressed against the marbled linoleum surface, an open bottle of rum in her hand. Monroe sits in one of the overstuffed brown armchairs with his gleaming red acoustic guitar, softly picking an old blues tune that I recognize but can’t name. I’m glad Adrian hasn’t moved in yet—at least he’s spared this tableau of misery.
Shane comes with me to the center of the room by the coffee table. He starts to cross his arms, then drops them and simply stands straight, eyes forward. Like a soldier. “If you guys have something to say to me, say it now.”
Deirdre lets out a growl. “I have a lot to—”
“Not you. You’re done.”
Spencer spreads his hands. “What do you want us to say?”
“I think he wants a round of applause.” Regina throws up her arms. “Or maybe we should do the wave.”
Spencer looks confused by the latter term. Then he turns back to Shane. “You gonna defend what you did? Killin’ one of our own with no warning? Deirdre told us you didn’t say a word to Jim. You just staked him like an animal.”
Shane stares straight ahead, as if he’s making an official report, not discussing the death of a friend. “Jim has demonstrated his superior strength on numerous occasions. In the time it took me to say a word to him, he could’ve torn off my head. More likely Ciara’s head, since she was closer.”
I resist the urge to rub my neck. “It’s true. You guys remember Thanksgiving three years ago. He threatened to kill Shane in front of all of us.” I glare at Spencer. “You’ve seen the way Jim acted around me when he thought we were alone.”
“I seen it.” Monroe sets down his guitar with a low hum, then stands and comes toward me. “I was the one found them, remember? In his room, covered in her blood. The way he was at it, he woulda chewed straight through her neck if I—” He stops, his hand halfway to me. It starts trembling, which I’ve never seen it do before. Monroe lowers his hand, then stares at it like it’s not even attached to him. “This is all my fault. I shoulda ended it that night.”
“I stopped you. We thought my cousin Cass would die if he died. We thought we needed Jim to bring her back.”
“We were wrong.”
“Then look at it this way: if we’d killed Jim that night, then Deirdre would’ve died, alone in her house. As young as she is, she’d never have survived her maker’s death.”
Deirdre shows no reaction to this, just keeps scraping the black-and-white label off the rum bottle with her jagged thumbnail.
Noah speaks up at last. “I never support killing, you know that. Yet I cannot help but admit I am relieved that Jim is no longer a threat.”
“What if he wasn’t a threat?” Jeremy’s voice is faint from loss of blood. “What if that nursing home rehabilitated him? Isn’t that what they’re there for?”
“You think maybe he didn’t escape?” Regina twists her studded leather bracelet so hard it squeaks. “Maybe they let him go on purpose because he’d gotten better?”
“He wasn’t better!” I tell them, nearly yelling. “After Halloween I checked to make sure Jim hadn’t escaped and set the bomb at the Smoking Pig. Lanham said nothing had changed. Jim was still a prisoner under guard.”
“Maybe Lanham lied.” Regina gasps. “Oh, no, wait, Colonel Stick-up-His-Ass has never lied to you. Except all the times he’s lied to you.”
She has a point. Lanham has saved me so many times, literally and professionally, it’s easy to forget his motives could be mixed at best.
Spencer examines the bits of pencils scattered on the chair. They’re smooth at both ends, like unsharpened golf pencils. “Looks like these were shaved off flush with his skin.”
He holds one of the pencils up to the kitchen ceiling light. “His body mighta healed around the wound and sealed it off. Which woulda made ’em harder to get out.”
“And if only one or two actually pierced his heart,” Noah points out, “it could still pump. He could still live.” He rubs a spot on his chest an inch down and to the right of his heart, probably remembering the time he took a crossbow arrow there. “Also, it would leave room for the final killing blow.”
No one but me looks at Monroe or Shane, the ones who delivered Jim’s wounds.
“So he was walking around with those things still inside him.” Regina shudders. “I wonder if he could feel them.”
“I bet the Control wondered, too.” The DJs won’t like my next conjecture. “They might’ve wanted to study him. How often do they get a half-staked vampire in their midst?”
“They could make one anytime,” Regina says with a snarl.
“Technically they could, but politically? No way. Not with the uproar over Project Blood Leash. Right now the Control is tiptoeing around the undead so we don’t all quit. Another anti-vampire injustice would destroy the agency.”
Deirdre scoffs. “How is keeping Jim alive with stakes in his heart not an anti-vampire injustice?”
“Every society treats their criminals worse than they treat regular people.” Noah sits on the corner of the couch. “They don’t have the same rights, so they are used and discarded.”
“If Jim was useful to the Control as some sort of lab specimen, they would’ve had him under maximum security.” Shane examines his left hand, stretching and flexing his fingers. “But they obviously didn’t.”
“Then they did let him go on purpose.” Jeremy sips his Gatorade. “Maybe the Control sent him as an assassin.”
“But why would they?” Noah asks. “He was a danger to humans and other vampires. Releasi
ng him would go against everything they say they stand for.”
“They stand for ‘whatever it takes,’ ” Regina growls. “If the Control wanted you and Shane dead, the best way to do it would be to let Jim go. They wouldn’t whack you directly.”
“But we’re valuable to them.” I glance at Shane. “Right?”
“You were valuable,” Regina says. “With no more anti-holy blood, you’re just another vampire.”
“She was a vampire when she saved my life.” Monroe points to the left side of his head, where a holy-water blast took his skin, skull, and brain, all of which grew back. “She had the power with just her thoughts and her words. This girl’s more than just another vampire.”
“True,” Regina admits, then says to me, “You do have a lot of enemies. It’s one reason why I like you.”
“We may never know how Jim escaped,” Shane says, “but we should assume it wasn’t an accident, and watch our backs.”
“I bet Jim could tell you how he escaped,” Deirdre snarls. “Oh, wait, he can’t because he’s dead.” She takes another chug of cheap rum.
The phone on the end table rings. It’s an inside line, from David’s office. He often comes in at seven a.m. to set up the syndicated morning news programs.
I go to answer it, then hesitate. “Does David know what happened?”
“We told him.” Spencer is lining up the pencil segments on the table in order of size. Deirdre reaches out to the pile of Jim’s clothes. Spencer pushes it closer to her.
I answer the phone. “Hey, David.”
“You okay?”
“Better than I could be, I guess. What’s up?”
“Colonel Lanham’s here to see you.”
“Already? Who called him?”
“No one. Apparently Jim had some kind of tracking device in him. All the high-value prisoners wear them.”
I eye the line of pencils. “Spencer, did you hear that? Is it in one of those?”
He squats down level with the table, then selects the smallest pencil and hands it to me. Sure enough, next to the graphite inside lies a silvery gray fiber.
David continues. “The sensor also detects the temperature difference between a vampire’s body and the surrounding air. That way they know when and where an escaped prisoner dies.”
Makes sense. No point wasting resources trying to find a vampire who’s already gone poof.
“Lanham wants you and Shane to debrief him,” David says. “Bring Deirdre, too.”
• • •
Shane and I help Deirdre stagger upstairs to the office. She insists on bringing the rum. Whatever keeps her quiet.
Lanham is waiting in David’s office, his height and presence making the room look even smaller than usual. “Griffin. McAllister. I understand there was an incident and that James Esposito Jr. is now dead.”
Deirdre lets out a wail and slumps to the floor next to Lori’s desk.
I speak over her noise. “He’s dead because he got away from you guys. How the hell did he escape?”
“We’re looking into it. There’s been a report of an incident outside the facility where he was staying. Perhaps it was a diversionary tactic.”
“Your security must suck if you have to jab prisoners with tracking devices.” When he glares at me, I add, “Sir.”
His jaw shifts. “I can’t reveal details about our correctional facilities’ methods. But remember, ever since the vampire agents’ work slowdown, we’ve been understaffed agency-wide.”
A convenient excuse. Or the truth. Or both.
Lanham looks down at Deirdre, who’s clutching the legs of Lori’s chair and whimpering now instead of wailing. “This must be Ms. Falk.”
“Jim’s most recent progeny,” I tell him. “She called us for help because Jim abandoned her and she was starving. While we were there, he showed up. I guess he was looking for sanctuary before the sunrise.”
Lanham gives me a sharp look. “You ‘guess’? He didn’t state his purpose?”
I shut my mouth. Shane can tell him, and he does:
“Sir, I acted immediately, in the belief I was defending my life and those of Agent Griffin and Ms. Falk.” Shane swallows, almost imperceptibly. “I struck without warning.”
“I see.” Colonel Lanham fingers the rim of his black cap. “Which part of your training led you to believe this was the right tactic?”
Shane stands even straighter. “The part where we’re taught how to fight those older and stronger than ourselves, sir. We’re to use any weapon at our disposal. Including surprise.”
Deirdre practically spits. “There’s a difference between surprise and cold-blooded murder.”
Lanham holds up a hand. “Before anyone says another word, I need to interview the three of you separately, lest one account color the others.” Lanham looks at Deirdre and gestures to Franklin’s empty office. “Ma’am?”
She lifts a bewildered gaze from the floor to his face. A tear hangs from each set of eyelashes. Lanham squats in front of her and extends his hand to help her up, like she’s a child, and not a vampire who could tear out his throat with one leap.
“Would you join me for a few minutes, please?”
I’ve never heard his voice so gentle. But his other hand, hidden from her, hovers near the stake holstered at his ankle. I know from experience, Lanham is the world’s fastest-drawing bureaucrat.
Deirdre stares up into his eyes. Maybe she trusts him, or maybe she can smell the wood of the stake. But she grasps his hand and lets him lead her to Franklin’s office. They shut the door softly.
A car rumbles into the parking lot outside. Lori’s, judging by the engine sound.
“I called Lori and told her what happened,” David says. “I figured she’d want to know right away, and that you could use her support.” He gives me a grim smile, and I want to hug them both.
Less than a minute later Lori jerks open the door at the bottom of the stairs. She must have sprinted from the car.
“Ciara, oh my God, are you okay?”
She tackle-hugs me, once again forgetting how dangerous it can be to do that to a vampire. But I just embrace her, holding my breath so I can’t smell her blood, close to her skin from running.
“I’m okay. It’s good to see you. It’s good to see anyone normal.”
Lori examines me, picking over my shirt and hair, as if the trauma has left stains or lint. “Did Jim hurt you?”
“He didn’t even touch me, thanks to Shane.”
She beams at him. “Our hero! A knight in flannel armor.”
“I don’t feel much like a hero right now.”
Lori puts a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. He was your friend.”
Shane looks at his feet. “Not for a long time.”
An uncomfortable moment passes. There’ll be a lot of these to come, I’m guessing.
Finally Lori says, “David told me that Jeremy saved Jim’s progeny. Denise?”
“Deirdre. He didn’t even hesitate.” I guess there’s more than one kind of hero today.
She moves toward her desk and peers at the Cats of Greece calendar hanging above it. “Weren’t you supposed to bite Jeremy this weekend? Wasn’t Sunday the big day?”
I find it funny that she remembers that. Then again, I have been talking about it a lot, out of nervousness and anticipation.
“Shit,” Shane says. “Now you can’t even drink from him for at least two weeks.” He puts his hands to his head. “Worst possible timing.”
David and Lori each say a variation of “Huh?”
Shane gives me a gentle but pointed look. “Do you want me to tell them?”
“No, I’ll do it.” I suddenly need to sit down. On my way to my chair I search for words that will convey the seriousness of my situation without throwing Lori into hysterics.
I speak to the floor. “The same quality about me that let me heal holy-water burns also . . . doesn’t want me to be a vampire. So I’m a crappy vampire. It’s maybe why I hat
e to be bitten and why I can’t bring myself to bite a human. And why I—why I’m already acting old, with the obsessive-compulsive business. I’m fading.”
The room is silent except for the murmur of Colonel Lanham and Deirdre’s conversation behind Franklin’s door.
I finally look up at Lori, expecting to see tears running down her face, or at least filling her blue eyes. I expect whimpering.
Instead she gives Shane a sharp look. “Unacceptable. What can I do to help her?”
His smile is warm and wry. “Keep her up-to-date on all the latest everything. TV shows, music, fashions. Take her to every new movie. Teach her all the—” He gestures to my phone sitting on my desk. “—the technology things.”
“Got it. What else?”
“Be understanding.”
“Got it. What are you doing?”
“Racking my brain to find her a new donor. You’re pregnant and now Jeremy’s out of commission for two weeks. I’ve gotta find someone for her to drink—and preferably bite—as soon as possible. She needs the best nutrition she can get.”
Lori’s lower lip trembles. Great, now she feels guilty for not being my donor anymore.
“Just a second.” She turns on her heel and drags David into his office. Before shutting the door, she reaches out to the volume control and cranks up the music in the upstairs speakers.
“Ow.” I rub my ear as his office door slams shut. “It had to be Regina’s show, didn’t it?” Bad Religion grinds their chords from the ceiling into my brain.
“Hang on.” Shane walks stealthily toward David’s office. He presses his ear to the door. It swings open.
“Geez, a little privacy?” Lori snaps at him, then strides over to me. “Ciara, we’ve agreed. You can bite David if Shane supervises.”
My mouth falls open. “Bite . . . David?” I can’t even look at him. The first time I saw him after I turned, we practically jumped into each other’s arms. The attraction wore off once I got into a regular feeding schedule and David got used to me being, well, magnetic. But we have a history.
Lust for Life Page 8
