The Watcher

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Why would he ever think that?

  Shit.

  Maybe I'm thinking too much.

  I can't do anything about David. I have no idea how to find Max. I'm tired and I still have the vestiges of a hangover from last night. Now that I'm alone and the adrenaline has stopped pumping, there's an annoying, dull ache behind my eyes. I want nothing more than to find a bed and get some sleep.

  I crank over the engine.

  If I try to make Beso de la Muerte tonight, I'll be on the road at least two hours. Too long for the way I feel to say nothing of the fact that once I get there, where will I sleep? The idea of curling up on the bar floor or trying to get comfortable in the backseat of this car is not appealing. I plan to cross the border at Mexicali, so it would make sense to spend the night in Calexico. It's only a short drive south from El Centro and there are a couple of truck stops offering big food and soft beds. Won't need the food, but a bed would be nice.

  I release the emergency brake and coast onto the road. If Williams takes care of Belinda Burke tonight, Culebra may be there to greet me when I pull into Beso de la Muerte tomorrow. If not, I'll still have one day to come up with a plan. In any case, a search for Culebra would have to start in that town.

  Within thirty minutes, I've found a place that looks like it might offer more beds than bugs. I visit a gasoline station washroom first, though, to scrub Alan's blood from my face. Can't walk into a motel office looking like a character from a horror flick. Evidently blood-spattered jeans aren't cause for alarm, though. The manager doesn't give my clothes a second look.

  Once in my room, I open the suitcase Williams left for me. I don't know what surprises me more, the very short, very see-through nylon nightie or the thong underwear. I dangle a red number by two fingers. This is how Williams sees me? Or did Ortiz do the shopping? Must be Ortiz. The bra is two cup sizes too large. Maybe his girlfriend did the shopping.

  Lucky Ortiz.

  I paw through the rest—jeans, a couple of T-shirts, a sweater. Not much. At least I can take comfort in the fact that he doesn't expect me to be gone too long.

  But short time or no, I have no intention of wearing that nightie. I peel off my clothes and, after a long, hot shower, climb naked between cool, crisp sheets.

  Chapter 24

  It's amazing what six hours of uninterrupted sleep can do. After a shower and clean clothes, I feel almost human.

  Still pissed at Williams for dumping me out in the middle of nowhere, and still without any real idea of what I'm going to do, but almost human.

  On my way out, I stop for a newspaper in the coffee shop. I'm curious how the press, especially the local press, is spinning what happened yesterday.

  The guy behind the counter does a double take when he looks at me. Then he narrows his eyes and flips the paper over so I can see what he does.

  The headline reads, "El Centro Woman Rescued in Palm Canyon Shoot-out." And there is a picture of Dan, Sylvie and me looking like deer caught in headlights.

  A picture of me.

  It's a grainy picture, but good enough so that even the counter man recognizes me.

  I don't know which of us is more startled. This is the first image I've seen of myself since becoming a vampire. In truth, I didn't know I could be captured on film. I assumed not, that it would somehow be tied to the casting no reflection thing.

  Evidently, I was wrong because here I am, looking— what?

  Thin. If the camera adds ten pounds, I'm downright skinny. But the muscles in my arms are lean, defined, and my shoulders look strong.

  The counterman clears his throat, disturbing my analytical appraisal. He taps the newspaper with a forefinger. "It is you, isn't it?"

  I see no reason to deny it. I nod.

  He grins and hands me a pen. "Will you sign the paper for me?"

  I start to laugh, but realize he's serious. This guy knows who I am now, autograph or not, so I scrawl my name under the caption. He grins wider. He reaches behind the counter and pulls out another copy of the newspaper. "Here." He thrusts it into my hand. "On the house."

  He's looking around like he wants to announce my presence to the world. I slip away before he can.

  Safe behind the wheel of the rental, I can't help but stare at the picture. My hair looks a little too long but nothing like it would if it grew naturally.

  When I was human, it grew fast—really fast. I had a standing appointment for a haircut every four weeks. It's been months now, and from the picture, I'd gauge it to be maybe a half inch longer.

  I touch my hair, run my fingers through it. The texture feels the same. Williams probably knows someone who specializes in cutting vamp hair. He does have his colored, after all. Or should I let it grow?

  Weird how I never thought about it before. Or how I was going to handle getting a haircut. Can't go back to my salon with its wall-to-wall mirrors, that's for sure.

  Wow. I'm amazed at the emotions stirred up by seeing this picture, this image of the vampire Anna. I can't help staring at the face that's mine, but not quite. Something's changed. More than the hair.

  The eyes.

  My eyes.

  Captured by the flash of the camera, they glitter like obsidian in a dark cave. Am I the only one who thinks they don't look quite human? The guy at the motel didn't seem put off. I wish I could see what he did when he looked at me.

  Not that I miss mirrors. Vanity was never a concern of mine. In truth, I was never a girly-girl. I liked running with the boys. I liked short hair and jeans. I liked having a strong rather than voluptuous body.

  I guess it's a good thing now, isn't it? I hold the picture up. Don't think vampire females come in voluptuous sizes.

  I slap the paper down on the seat. I guess one way to keep track of my appearance is to have a picture taken once in a while. Another nugget to add to the list of Helpful Suggestions to Aid in the Care and Feeding of Vampires. A book I intend to write someday.

  I have one more stop to make before heading for Mexico. Last night I noticed a hunting outfitters store at the edge of town. I pick up a sleeping bag, coffee pot, premeasured coffee packets, and a down-filled jacket. The best down-filled jacket. Not that I need it. Vampires don't feel air temperature the way human's do. I get it as a present for Trish. Why not? It's Williams' idea to get rid of me and Williams' money I'm spending.

  This time, no one asks for my autograph. In fact, no one pays much attention to me at all except to take my cash and bag my purchases.

  Fame truly is fleeting.

  The border crossing at Mexicali is a much-abridged version of the one in San Diego. While not as many tourist-laden family sedans wait in lines to cross, there are almost as many commercial trucks. It's a slow process. And I have to remind myself that I'm going west on Highway 2 once I get into Mexico, not east the way I would if I were coming from home.

  The drive is as uninteresting in this direction as it is from the other. The rental car is a sedan that practically drives itself. I figure it's going to take me about an hour or so to get to the dirt turnoff that leads to Beso de la Muerte. I wonder what I'm going to find when I get there.

  I wish I could call Max. If he joined me, we could go after Foley together and make him take us to Martinez. We have leverage now. Alan's death. Even if he has a story about how he did it to protect Dan and Sylvie, he wouldn't be able to explain not coming forward.

  And Foley is the one looking to collect a million dollar bounty. Max seems to have cut himself off from all his contacts—including me evidently. Something Foley obviously doesn't know. He must still think I can lead him to Max. Maybe all the angst I've suffered over breaking up with Max is moot. He's taken care of it for me. A quick call to my voice mail confirms my thinking. The only messages I have waiting are from David. Nothing from Max. But David has left ten of them, escalating from apologetic to frantic.

  I delete them. Williams said he would call David and explain my absence. I'm happy to let him do it. I have no desire to speak to Davi
d, especially today. Gloria's restaurant opens tonight and I'm sure he'll be gushingly excited. I wonder if he even realizes how appropriate the date is. Today is Halloween. High holiday for witches.

  Once on the dirt road, the rental demands more attention. It bucks and skitters, clearly not as comfortable with ruts and potholes as it was with asphalt. It takes both hands on the wheel to keep it centered.

  It takes almost as much effort to ignore the fear building in my chest. Approaching Beso de la Muerte, I have an overwhelming urge to turn the car around and flee. The same creepy dread that immobilized me the day Culebra disappeared is back. Suddenly, staying at Avery's doesn't sound so bad. If I turned around now, I could be back there in—

  I hit with a sickening crunch of metal on metal. The airbag deploys with an explosive rush of air and powder and noise, knocking my head back against the headrest with tremendous force. Then I'm ricocheting forward toward the steering wheel, bouncing off the rough textured airbag, the skin on my cheek flaying off with the impact. I have a fleeting thought that if my face hit the bag dead on, my nose would have been smashed flat.

  Then, just as quickly, the bag deflates. The car's engine stalls and cuts out. I rock in the seat, holding my head in my hands, trying to collect my thoughts. When I open my eyes to see what the hell I hit, all I see through the shattered windshield is smoke curling from the ruined engine.

  And?

  A shadow, curling toward me like another wisp of smoke. Formless, faceless until a slit opens and a sound like distant thunder fills my head.

  I have him. You can't help. Go back.

  I climb out, legs shaking with the effort. Have who? Culebra?

  But the apparition is gone. The only smoke is the black plume from the engine. I smell hot oil and gasoline. I have to hang on to the side of the car to propel myself forward. Where did it go? What did I hit? Eyes search, first the air, then the ground. I expect to see something—an animal, a deer maybe, fallen beneath the tires.

  But there's nothing.

  Nothing.

  I hold out my hands, groping like a blind man to understand what could have caused the collision.

  At first, I'm flailing at air. Then, I feel it.

  I suck in a breath, laying both hands flat against—I don't know what—but it stopped my car as surely as any brick wall would have.

  With one big difference.

  This wall is invisible.

  Chapter 25

  An invisible wall? The witch's doing? Must be. I've made the trek into Beso de la Muerte on this very road a hundred times. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if there had been a wall. I knew there was some kind of spell protecting the place, but this spell almost gave me a concussion.

  Why is it here now? And why tell me that she has Culebra? If she thinks that will make me go away, she doesn't know me very well.

  I slump back against the car. Smoke is still curling up from under the hood and both front tires are flat. The hood is folded back like an accordion. No sense in even trying to start the damned thing.

  Resuming my blind mouse act, I feel my way to the right about a hundred feet from the car. The barrier stretches on. The same to the left. I stretch up on tiptoes, but can't feel a top to the thing, either. It's as smooth as plastic to the touch and about the same temperature as the air.

  I return to the car and lean against the passenger side door to review my options. If I call Williams, what are the chances he takes my call? I'd guess pretty slim. He may have even set this up. It's his style for sure. Strand me in the middle of nowhere to keep me out of trouble. I doubt even the special effects would be beyond him, although he'd know the hint of Culebra in trouble would be enough to spur me on to Beso de la Muerte, not discourage me from trying. No, this can't be Williams' doing.

  I think David would come get me, providing I could pry him away from Gloria on her big day. But that would involve explaining what I'm doing out in the middle of a Mexican dirt road in a rental car that's just smashed into an invisible wall.

  Call a tow truck? I doubt an American company would drive out here and a Mexican company would most likely hold the car for ransom if they'd even venture this far from Tijuana. 'Course, it would serve Williams right if he ended up having to pay for the car. It could get sticky for me, though, too, if it's discovered I'm carrying phony ID.

  My headache comes roaring back.

  There is one other person who might help. The only other shape-shifter I know besides Culebra. Daniel Frey. I reach for the phone and flip it open.

  No service.

  I stare at the screen in disbelief. No service? Is this Williams' idea of a joke? Send me into Mexico with a phone that doesn't work out here?

  I shake the phone in frustration. It doesn't improve the situation. The message remains the same. No service. Shit. I've just spent half an hour trying to decide who best to call and it turns out, it doesn't matter. The fucking phone is no good.

  I get out of the car and throw the piece of shit as far into the desert as I can.

  Now what?

  It's at least a thirty mile walk back to the border. As a vampire, I could do it and not break a sweat. The problem is I came here for a reason. Culebra. Of course, without a phone, I'm stuck out here with no transportation. Until I get to the saloon. I know Culebra has a landline and as far as I remember, he didn't take the time to have it disconnected before he disappeared.

  I look in the direction I hurled the phone. Probably shouldn't have done that. If Culebra's phone is not working, I might have gone back toward the main road and caught a signal.

  Good job, Anna.

  I approach the wall again. This time I push at it as hard as I can with both hands. It's unyielding. I kick at it. Beat it. I even take a couple of steps back and run full force at it. I bounce off it like a damned tennis ball. I try to shimmy over, but it's slick as glass and I can't get a toe- or handhold. If I try to jump it without knowing how tall it is, I'm sure I'll end up on my ass in the dirt.

  Frustrated and furious, I lean back against the wall and lower myself to the ground.

  Think.

  I need help. I need someone I can reach telepathically. I've never tried to summon anyone or anything using only my mind. I don't know if it's possible to reach out that way at all, let alone from a distance.

  And yet …

  A niggling thought tickles. Someone has reached out to me, though, many times. In fact, he pops into my head seemingly at will. Casper. He's pulled my butt from the fire twice before. The first time when I was captured by the Revengers and later, when Ryan, my niece's friend, was in trouble and I had no way to get to him. I don't know who or what he is. I just hear his voice in my head. I gave him the name Casper because he's like the friendly ghost in the comics.

  Maybe I can work the magic in reverse. I haven't heard from him in weeks, since I started working for Williams, in fact, but what harm will it do to try?

  I stand up and close my eyes.

  Casper.

  I open my eyes and tilt my head to listen. Nothing. I squeeze my eyes shut again and force everything out of my head.

  Casper. Can you hear me?

  Shit, with my luck, he's probably on vacation. I suck in a breath, concentrate harder.

  Casper. Damn it, you have to hear me. I'm in trouble.

  You don't look like you're in trouble.

  The voice makes me jump. I didn't expect the summoning thing to really work. I smile.

  Good. You heard me.

  Of course I heard you. You were screaming in my head.

  Well, I wasn't sure if you'd answer. You never did any of the other hundred times I called you.

  You didn't need me the other hundred times. You just thought you did.

  His sarcasm should trigger an angry response. But not now. I want him on my side. I gesture around. Can you see where I am ?

  Of course. I see what you see.

  Then you see the problem.

  You wrecked your car? You calle
d me because you wrecked your car? You mistake me for a tow truck?

  I should be so lucky. I swallow that smart-ass reply, modulate a little pleading into my voice. Check it out. What did I hit?

  I let my eyes sweep the front of the car. Show him that the engine is smashed flat where it hit whatever the hell it hit. Show him that there's no natural, physical reason to explain the damage.

  Hmmm.

  Glory be. I think he gets it.

  Looks like you hit a force field of some kind. Casper's voice reflects a spark of interest.

  That's what I think, too. How do I get around it?

  You don't. It's there to keep you out.

  The way he says you grabs my attention. Keep me out? Me, specifically?

  I "feel" Casper nodding. Can't explain how, just know that he is.

  I need to get to Beso de la Muerte. If something erected this force field, there has to be a way to get rid of it.

  No response at all from Casper this time.

  Come on. Help me out here. If a spell made it, there must be an antispell to dissolve it.

  There's a tingling in my head. As if Casper is arguing with himself about something. I take that as a good sign and wait.

  Finally, he says, There is no "antispell." Only those who erected such a barrier can destroy it.

  Those who erected it? You mean it took more than one?

  Yes.

  So, it wasn't Culebra then. As far as I know, he works alone in Beso de la Muerte. But what did Williams say about Belinda Burke and her coven?

  I feel Casper's mind grab onto that thought and a shimmer of concordance ripples through me. He says, Yes. A coven could accomplish such a thing as this.

  How do I get around it?

  A pause. Do you know how a witch gets her power?

  Williams said it was from the earth.

  Yes. From the earth. Not of it.

  And the difference is?

  The barrier rests upon the earth. It is possible to get underneath.

  I cast a doubtful eye toward the hard packed desert sand. Not without a jackhammer and backhoe.