Alliance

by Lacy Williams as Lacy Yager

  “I—”

  A piercing alarm cuts off whatever Rachel started to say. She curses—barely audible over the noise—and then comes the sound of running footsteps.

  “Come on, Rach,” I chant under my breath. I’ve got my foot poised over the gas pedal so when she comes out of the side door we’re outta here.

  “Miss Campton!”

  Crud. The faint voice is unmistakably male and sounds authoritative.

  “Miss Campton!”

  Sounds like a scuffle now, and my hope deflates in my chest. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

  “What do you think you’re doing, young lady? You don’t have permission to leave campus.”

  “Sorry, Shane,” she mutters, and then the line goes dead.

  I curse.

  Chloe slaps me on the shoulder.

  “Sorry.”

  Crud, crud, crud. I knew it couldn’t be this easy to get Rachel out of here. My frustration is at a boiling point. I haven’t been hunting in several days, because I can’t leave Chloe without protection. I can’t get anyone at social services to get off their butts and help me get Rachel back. And now she can’t escape the school building.

  “It’ll be okay,” Chloe says, shifting to sit back in her seat correctly. “We’ll have to just make another plan. Hey, look!”

  I follow her pointing finger to the door I was just watching and see a figure in a hooded sweatshirt duck outside and start jogging for the street corner.

  “Is that Rach? How’d she get away?” Chloe wonders.

  “Nope, she’s too short.” I can tell it’s a female by the shapely legs, though. Oh, crap. It’s Blondie. Is she out for a hunt?

  She hails a cab.

  I look over at Chloe. I don’t like to take her on the chase, but I don’t want to miss an opportunity to take out Blondie and possibly some other vamps she could lead us to.

  The cab pulls away, and I shove the truck in gear and follow. Or try to, anyway. There’s a lot of cabs in Boston, and traffic sucks. I miss the Midwest.

  I track her to a rundown neighborhood that looks to be a prime hunting ground. Streetlights burned out, homeless guy on the corner, yards filled with junk and more dirt than grass. Yep, this is the kind of neighborhood where you don’t call the cops if someone turns up missing.

  Blondie jumps out of the cab and dashes up to a front door of one of the houses in the middle of the street. Is she just going to bust in like that? It’s not a hunting style I’ve seen before, but she is pretty unusual.

  I throw the truck in park and toss Chloe a stake, just in case. “Stay here. Lock the doors.”

  “What’s going on? If she’s hunting, shouldn’t she be sneaking around?”

  I don’t tell her I’m wondering the same thing, I just slip out of the truck and slam the door. Blondie bangs on the front door—I can hear it from two houses away.

  I stay in the shadows between the houses and get closer. I’m downwind, so hopefully she can’t smell me. Even if she can, I can take her.

  Someone inside the house screams. Without hesitating, Blondie kicks in the front door and disappears.

  Crud. I can’t just run in without knowing if the house is full of vamps.

  I palm my knife and find a window on the side of the house. Even from outside, the smell of filth is nauseating.

  Through the window I see what looks like a living room. In the center of the room, a burly man holds a little girl by the neck. She’s turning blue.

  A teenage girl—not Maggie—runs in from another room and launches herself at the man, but he knocks her away with a backhand. She crashes into a glass china cabinet and falls to the floor. She’s weeping, so I know she’s still alive.

  I start to stand up. Someone needs to intervene here. Before I move, Blondie tears into the room from a different door. She kicks the man’s knee out from under him, sending him to the ground. She breaks his nose with the heel of her hand. It’s really a beautiful move.

  The man is stunned enough to let go of the child. The little body slumps to the floor, unmoving. The girl in the corner, who now has blood all over her, is sobbing and screaming.

  Blondie leans over the kid and touches her neck, and I bend my knees in preparation to launch through the window. I can’t let the little girl die. Blondie lowers her head and I freeze. Am I about to watch her rip out the jugular of an innocent child?

  But then she covers the kid’s mouth with her own and I see the little chest rise. She’s doing CPR? The girl coughs and Blondie gathers her up into her arms. She moves to the teen and I wait for her attack—the girl is covered in blood. Instead, Maggie helps her up and gets her to hobble out the door Maggie came in only moments ago.

  I can hear them talking through the thin walls of the obviously cheaply-built house.

  “Where are we going?”

  Blondie sounds completely calm when she answers, not even winded. “We can’t discuss where you’re going right now, but I promise you’ll be safe.”

  “What about my clothes? Can I pack a bag?”

  “No. We need to leave. Quickly.”

  “I don’t have any money. I don’t have any way to get out of here.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. It’s taken care of.”

  I come around the corner of the house as the girls step onto the slanted front porch. They stop. I hesitate, still in the shadows. It’s obvious the two girls need help, so I can’t kill Blondie yet.

  “Where’s the cab?” Maggie asks. Then she uses a very unladylike word. “I asked him to keep the meter running—” She juggles the small girl in her arms and reaches into a pocket, pulling out a slim silver object. Cell phone.

  “Hey!” A yell from the back of the house makes the other teen yelp, and Maggie pulls her down the rickety steps into the front yard.

  Something slams inside the house. I can’t believe the guy is standing after that punch Blondie gave him, but apparently he’s mad enough to try for more.

  The teen girl with Maggie starts to cry again, which causes the little girl to whimper. Maggie dials the phone and looks back at the house like she doesn’t quite know how to handle everything all at once.

  Crap. Am I really going to do this?

  I step out from the shadows. “You need a ride? My truck’s down there.” I yank my thumb toward where I left the truck and Chloe.

  “Shane?” Blondie’s voice reeks of disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  A loud curse and footsteps getting closer give me some credence as I jog over to the group on the sidewalk. “I’ll tell you later. Do you want a ride or not?”

  Now that I’m close I see her eyes are green. Green, even with the bloody teen standing so close to her? I can’t believe it, but I have to. I’m looking right into the evidence.

  “Yes,” Blondie breathes. “We want a ride.”

  I lead the way to my truck before the creep makes it outside. No way I’m letting Blondie into the cab with Chloe, so I pull down the tailgate. She frowns, but moves to lift the little girl up in the truck bed, then pushes the teen up there too before hopping in herself.

  I latch the tailgate, and Blondie and I stare at each other from about a foot away. I’m intensely aware of her closeness, her lavender smell, and not in the way I’m used to—what I’m feeling right this second has nothing to do with violence.

  “Give me your jacket.”

  Her words knock me free from the spell I’m caught in. “What?”

  “Samantha is bleeding all over the place. Unless you have a first aid kit in your truck, give me your jacket.”

  She can’t have it—there are two knives sewn into special pockets in the seam and I can’t risk her finding them. I move over to Chloe’s window and knock on it. “Hand me some bandages, will you?”

  Chloe quickly gives me what I’ve asked for, wisely keeping her mouth shut. I toss them back to Maggie, who catches them expertly and then sits with the other two girls against the toolbox that spans the back of the
truck bed, near the cab. It’s one of the heavy metal ones made for construction workers who carry tools around. Except mine is filled with my kind of tools. Weapons.

  “Mind telling me where I’m going?” I call out as I cross in front of the truck.

  Maggie rattles off an address across town from E.W. House, not one that I recognize.

  “You’re welcome,” I mutter as I get in.

  ~o~

  The sun’s first rays brighten the sky when Maggie walks out of the two-story girls’ shelter and down the walkway toward where I’m parked. Her entire body droops, as if she carries the weight of the world and is exhausted by it.

  She looks up, seems surprised to see me.

  I push off the truck where I’ve been leaning—I got too antsy sitting in the cab—and take a couple steps toward her.

  “My—Chloe’s asleep,” I explain, jerking my head toward the truck. Maggie’s got a scrape on her left cheek, I notice for the first time. It’s partially healed already—thank you vampire abilities—but it bothers me.

  She nods. Her eyes slide behind me and then back to my face. “Thanks for your help last night. It was… nice.” She doesn’t sound too sure about that. “So did you… follow me?”

  “Um. Yeah, I guess so. That makes me creepy, but I’m glad I was there.” I am? “To help. How did you know that girl was in trouble?” I rush on before I can examine my previous thought too closely.

  “I met her in the hospital and she called me, so I went.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes. Why did you follow me?”

  We seem to be dancing in circles here, but I kinda like the challenge.

  “I saw you leave your school and I didn’t think the rules allowed that. I guess I wanted to… make sure you were okay.” Okay, so that’s a lie. I followed her with the intention of killing her, but something changed between then and now.

  “Are you heading back to your school? You want a ride?”

  “In the back?” A slight quirk of her lips tells me she’s teasing, but her question reminds me why I put her in the back in the first place. Chloe.

  It would be too weird to ask her to sit in the truck bed now that there are only three of us, but I can’t risk her being able to grab my kid sister. Think, Shane, think.

  “Hop in,” I say, and open my door for her. Chloe stirs, starting to wake up.

  Blondie peeks into the truck, probably taking note of the single bench seat. Yep, that’s right, vampire girl: you get the middle. If you cause trouble, I’ll filet your heart.

  She clears her throat nervously. Do I make her uncomfortable? What a laugh. She’s a vampire, and if I didn’t know any better, I make her nervous.

  Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes a little hop into the truck, sliding into the middle seat. I catch a whiff of her lavender scent again. How does she still smell that good after the events of the evening?

  “Hi,” Chloe says on a yawn.

  “Hey, Chloe. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

  My sister looks at Blondie with wide eyes, then back at me as I get in. She leans a little more on the passenger door. Good girl.

  I turn the truck towards E.W. House. Hopefully we’ll beat most of the morning traffic, so I’ll only be stuck sitting next to a vampire for twenty minutes instead of forty.

  Blondie’s cell phone rings. “Hello? Hey, Hannah. I’m on my way back. No, I’m fine. Rachel’s brother is driving me.” A long pause. “I can’t talk right now. I can’t talk right now. Okay, see you.”

  Well, there goes my chance of killing Blondie and ditching her body. If someone is expecting her at the school and they know that I’m with her, I won’t have a good alibi for the cops. Guess I’ll have to play nice again.

  I reach to flip the radio on and my hand brushes Blondie’s knee. She flinches away, which makes Chloe jump, which makes me go for my knife and my hand hits the volume knob instead, filling the cab with loud static. I punch the “off” button. Okay, so no music.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  The silence stretches and is getting really awkward—all I can focus on is the heat of Blondie’s thigh pressed against mine—when Chloe bends over and reaches under her seat. She comes up with a handful of granola bars.

  “Breakfast,” she says cheerfully. How that girl can survive on a couple hours sleep I’ll never know. “Want one?” She extends one of the bars to Blondie, who waves it away.

  “Um, no thanks.”

  Yeah, it’s not blood-flavored, Chloe.

  “Shane?” Chloe asks.

  “Not right now.”

  “No wonder you had that gauze in your truck last night,” Blondie comments.

  We’re at a stoplight, so I look around the interior of my truck and pretend it’s the first time I’m seeing it. I can’t help but flush with embarrassment. Not only are the floorboards covered in fast food trash, but there are also clothes—Chloe’s—and shoes—mine—plus a couple books, a Boston street map, even some cash.

  It looks like I live out of my truck. Maybe because I do, for the most part. Still, how humiliating to have her see all this.

  “So how did you know those girls?” Chloe asks around a mouthful of granola.

  “I met them at the hospital the same day I met you.”

  “You didn’t know them before that?”

  Blondie shakes her head, sending the scent of her shampoo towards me. It’s different than the lavender. Apple, I think.

  “Why’d you help them?”

  This is nice. With Chloe awake, she’ll do the inquisition for me. Thank you, eight-year-old’s curiosity.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, if I were in that kind of trouble I’d like to know someone willing to help me out.”

  I hold my breath waiting for Chloe to pop off and say she expected Blondie wouldn’t help them because she’s a leech and blow our cover, but my kid sister surprises me by ignoring the question.

  “How old are you?”

  Blondie’s hand twitches in her lap. “Seventeen. How old are you?”

  Seventeen human years plus how many immortal? A hundred? More?

  “Eight.”

  I haven’t been paying enough attention to the road—more interested in what’s going on inside the truck. I’m too close to the car in front of me, and when it slams on its brakes I have to swerve into the other lane to avoid rear-ending the guy. Blondie’s shoulder crashes into my chest and her cheek brushes my jaw before she rights herself in her seat. Her hand creeps across her lap and I reach for the knife under my left thigh, but she just tightens the lap belt.

  “Sorry,” I mutter again.

  Maggie smiles and her eyes flicker to my face and away. “So, eight is what… third grade?”

  “Yep,” Chloe answers.

  “Well, I hope I’m not going to make you late for school since you’re taking me back.”

  “Oh, I’m home-schooled.”

  “You are?”

  Great. Thanks, Chloe, way to make her suspicious. It’s obvious Blondie has more connections with the state and social services than I first thought. I don’t need her asking questions about Chloe.

  “Yep. Shane and—uh, my—uh, mom,” the lie sounds like just what it is coming from Chloe’s mouth but she soldiers on, “teach me. I like math and history best, but geography is really fun too. Last year I learned how to read maps. I got to plan the route when we came from Indiana to Boston and we didn’t get lost once.”

  Chloe, that’s TMI! I try to broadcast the thought to her telepathically except of course there’s no such thing. Thankfully, Blondie doesn’t seem to know what to say to Chloe’s rambling monologue. This gives Chloe a chance to ask another question.

  “Where’s your family at?”

  This time Blondie hand balls into a fist, and when she speaks her voice has an edge. “They’re dead.”

  Did she have something to do with their deaths?

  “Did you have any siblings?” Chloe plows on, completely
oblivious to how uncomfortable she’s making Blondie.

  “A twin brother and a younger sister.”

  “How did they die?”

  “Chloe,” I warn.

  Blondie’s knuckles are white now, but the rest of her is motionless. I’m curious about how her family died, but I know she can’t answer that question truthfully.

  “Sorry,” Chloe mumbles.

  “It’s okay. I just don’t like talking about it. It was a long time ago.”

  Blondie visibly relaxes and her arm rubs lightly against mine. I expect her skin to be cool—she’s technically dead after all—so I’m surprised when a jolt of heat passes through me. She tucks her arm tighter against her side and farther away from me.

  “I like your accent, where are you from?” Chloe continues her interrogation.

  Blondie’s shoulders tense up again at the change in subject. “England, originally. I haven’t been back there in forever so the accent tends to come and go.”

  “Why haven’t you been back?”

  “Bad memories I guess. It’s easier to forget things with distance.”

  “So you don’t have any family here?”

  “Well, I have my best friend Hannah, and she’s practically my sister. And I have a twin brother that lives in San Francisco.”

  A twin vampire?

  “Why does he live so far away?”

  She shrugs, bumping her shoulder against mine. Whose brilliant idea was it to put her in the middle? This is dumb, I don’t need to be all touchy-feely with a vampire.

  “Doesn’t he miss you?” Chloe prods.

  Blondie laughs once without humor. “I doubt it. We have different views, so we don’t get along very well.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “What different views?” I chime in. Being a vampire seems pretty standard: sleep all day, prowl at night, and kill humans by sucking them dry of blood. How can she have a different view?

  She considers this for a minute. “About everything—life in general. He’s sort of a snob who thinks he’s better than most people, and I don’t like that kind of mentality. He thinks I’m crazy for considering all people equal.”

  “So there’s no discrimination in your book at all?”