“What are you thinking about, Eva?”
None of your business. “I’m still wondering why you’re here. You never did answer my question.”
“Maybe I want to ask you out, too.”
I laughed, but the sound that came out was more like a terrified squeak. “You’re joking.”
“Yes,” he said. His eyes were as hard as pearls. “I was joking.” His gaze flicked to the gold rose on my top. He touched it, as though it were a real flower, then looked at me, a half smile crooking his mouth. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It went with the outfit,” I said lamely. “Matched my earrings.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Of course.”
The moment stretched taut between us. Then he sighed and pulled an envelope from his back pocket. The Consortium’s fancy “C” was embossed on it. I opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper.
After reading it, I looked at him. Anger burned a hole right through me. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you!”
Chapter 5
“We’re not taking the library from you,” said Lorcan. “We’re simply moving it to the new building within the Consortium compound.”
The compound, which had more security than a movie star’s wedding, was still under construction on the former site of the Barley & Boob Barn. Most of it was done, though. The largest building was the Consortium headquarters. There were also facilities for scientific and technological development, housing for staff and for donors, security operations, and even a prison. It appeared that one of those Chiclet- white structures had been built for the new Broken Heart library.
I loved my little library. Not just the books upon books, old and new, crammed on the dusty wooden shelves, but the library itself. The LeRoy home had housed the library practically since Broken Heart was named a town. The LeRoys were one of the founding families. This library wasn’t just a storehouse of knowledge and of entertainment; it was also a family legacy and a heritage to pass down to other generations. Funny how much of a claim I made on it, considering I hadn’t known of its existence until a little more than a year ago.
I balled up the letter and tossed it at Lorcan. The paper bounced off his shoulder and onto the step. “You’re overseeing it. The whole thing. What am I supposed to do?”
“You will still be a librarian,” he said.
I didn’t want to be a librarian. I wanted to be the librarian. Before I came to Broken Heart, I was a single mother who made ends meet by waitressing. When I took over my grandmother’s legacy, I got the one thing that had eluded me my whole life: respect. I had a position in the community, a real job with a real purpose, and I was someone my daughter could be proud of.
“Why didn’t Jess tell me?” I asked.
“She found out tonight. She was . . . angry.”
I was sure he’d understated her reaction. “Angry” was probably a poor adjective to describe it. Jessica had been the biggest advocate of keeping Broken Heart as intact as possible. Her family, the McCrees, had been one of the founders of our town right along with the LeRoys.
“Jessica is not on the board and not privy to the decisions that we must make,” Lorcan continued. “The fact is, Eva, the Consortium owns Broken Heart. We have to remake it so that we can implement our plans for a parakind community. The Broken Heart library will be incorporated into the new, secure building.”
Terrible sadness washed over me as I rose from the steps and walked into the yard. Automatically I looked for Lucky. I knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t come tonight. A deer cantered over to me and butted my clenched fist. I loosed my hand to pat her and looked up at the falling-apart Victorian with its peeling paint and sagging wraparound porch. The old girl was past her prime. I hadn’t been able to do much to rejuvenate her, either.
The Consortium had loads of material— books, scrolls, and God knew what else—in its own library. Lorcan was the author of many of those books, too. I’d never thought that my little piece of bibliophile heaven wouldn’t be able to coexist with the Consortium’s.
“You can choose any place you want in the compound,” said Lorcan. “Or any house in town. Whatever you want—I’ll make sure you get it.”
“Wait a minute. You’re taking my library and my house?”
Lorcan flinched, as if I had slapped him. He nodded, but his gaze skittered away from mine. “The house is on the perimeter of Broken Heart’s border. It’s a blind spot for us. We need this location to strengthen our security measures.”
“You’re going to tear down my house! It’s been here for more than a hundred years. It was one of the first buildings erected in this town.” The deer wandered away. I looked at the pocket of woods that curved like a wobbly crescent around the LeRoy home. “We shouldn’t destroy the history that’s already here. We should preserve it.”
You would think a four-thousand-year-old vampire would know something about preservation of the past. Or maybe he’d seen so many things crumble into dust, he realized the futility of saving anything. I walked back to the battered and paint-chipped porch steps and sat down. Gazing at Lorcan, I said, “Why did you deliver the news?”
“I wanted you to hear it from me. I’ll work with you in the new place—how it’s set up, what programs to implement, and so forth.”
Lorcan the librarian. He knew more about books—more about the world—than I ever could. Bet he knew the Dewey Decimal Classification system backward and forward. Hah. He probably knew Melvil Dewey, who had created the DDC in the 1870s.
“Yes, I knew him,” said Lorcan.
I frowned. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say anything about Melvil Dewey.”
“Didn’t you?” One eyebrow quirked. “Dewey was a brilliant scholar who loved the English language, despite always trying to simplify it. Bit of a lecher, though.”
“He gave women employment opportunities,” I said, defending the man.
Lorcan nodded. “True. But he was a man of his times in many ways.” He waved as if to dispense with the subject. “How long will you need to move out?”
Disbelief was like a splash of cold water. “You’re serious.” I stared at the squirrel near my shoe. He twitched his tail, his empty paws extended toward me. I dug through a nearby treat bag and gave him another acorn. “How long is the Consortium willing to give me?”
“As long as you need.”
“Generous.” The word dripped with sarcasm.
Lorcan said nothing. What else could he say? Shoot. I was used to loss. It should’ve been no big surprise to lose my job and my residence. After all, this old house and its crowded library made me happy. Happiness was fleeting. Hadn’t I learned that time and time again? Comedian Denis Leary said happiness was a five-second orgasm or a chocolate chip cookie. How miserably true. I didn’t care what Lorcan said about my involvement with the new library—it wouldn’t be the same.
“I’m protesting,” I said. “I’m going to appeal!”
“Eva.” He sighed, and rose to his feet. “There is no appeal.”
The finality in those words made me realize that fighting the Consortium’s decision would be like pounding my fists against a brick wall. All I would get for my effort would be bloody fists.
“I am sorry,” he said.
He opened his mouth as if to say something else—then apparently changed his mind. He stood there, silent, his eyes full of misery, and the tension stretched taut between us.
Finally, he sighed. “I suppose there is nothing more to say.”
“There’s always more to say,” I pointed out. “The hard part is choosing which words you want to use.”
His eyes glimmered with amusement, but the emotion was soon drowned by the ever-present sadness. “Until I find more appropriate words,” he said softly, “I shall say good-bye.”
“My mom used to say, ‘It’s never good-bye. It’s until I see you again.’ ” I didn’t know why I was trying to be so nice to a guy who had just delivered a bad-news bomb. All the same, I lifted
my hand in a wave and said, “Until I see you again.”
He inclined his head, his lips curving into an almost smile.
I watched in amazement as he rose into the air. He waved good-bye and zipped across the sky.
The squirrel finished the second acorn and scurried onto my lap. No house. No library. No nothing. I scratched the squirrel’s furry little head and sighed. He chittered, his brown eyes intent on mine. “Thanks, sweetie,” I said. “But I don’t think I can fit in your tree.”
I looked around and not for the first time considered how far away my home was from town. The forest that curved behind the house marked the border of Broken Heart. Every so often I could hear patrols pass by as they made perimeter checks.
I suppose that from a security standpoint, the LeRoy homestead was very vulnerable. And that made us vulnerable. The idea that the Wraiths or something worse lurked just outside town made me shiver. I wanted the town protected, but more than that, I wanted Tamara protected.
Sometimes you get what you get. You can piss and moan, Eva, or you can look for the new opportunity.
My mother’s philosophy had kept me on course for all my life. Even so . . . I looked at the decrepit building and wanted to cry, just a little. It was home.
But not for much longer.
Tamara, as usual, was dressed in unrelenting black. She eschewed the term “Goth,” though she kohled her eyes, wore bloodred lipstick, and brought the word “sullen” to a whole new level of meaning. Her hair, which used to be the same color as mine, was cut chin length and colored raven black except for the two cherry red stripes on either side of her face. She also had both eyebrows and her belly button pierced with silver rings—and that was the compromise.
“Did you feed?” Tamara asked.
“Yes, Mo-ther.” I finished tying my bootlaces, then stood up and stomped my feet on the old wooden porch. Thud. Thud. Thud. Sturdy. That was good, considering the terrain I was headed for. “Where’s the flashlight?”
“In here,” she said, handing me a black backpack. “So’s your cell phone. I would’ve packed a snack, but y’know . . . ew.”
When I was pregnant with Tamara, every kind of life cycle fascinated me (for obvious reasons). I studied the moon phases most fervently because I was way into symbolism and the whole “light in the darkness” thing appealed to me. That’s why I knew that tonight’s lunar phase was the “waning crescent.” Lord-a-mercy, I knew all kinds of useless information. Ask me how much water a new toilet flushed and I could tell you it was one-point-six gallons. See? My brain was a compendium of weird facts.
“Sunrise is in one hour,” said Tamara sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“I know how to tell time.”
“I wasn’t sure,” she said drolly, “since you don’t have a watch.”
“I have acute vampire senses, thank you very much.” I slung the backpack over my shoulder and saluted my worried progeny.
“If your senses fail, then it’s ustulation via dawn’s early light.” She grinned evilly. “You don’t want to end up a grilled steak.”
“Ustulation?” I stopped my useless warm-up and gaped at her. That little fiend! “Reminding your mother that she can be burned or seared isn’t very nice.”
She grinned. “Nyah nyah. I used the word of the day before you did.”
Tamara and I had a daily contest. The “word of the day” was chosen from a list we kept pinned to the wall. Whoever used the word first got ten points, and any use of the word during the rest of the day received five points. At the end of the month, we tallied ’em up. If I had more, she did any heinous daylong chore I wanted. If she had more, I forked over fifty bucks and drove her to the nearest mall.
“Okay, okay. You get a ten-pointer.”
“Sore loser.” She had that look—the one that said she was trying to decide if she should show indifference or concern. Sighing deeply, she said, “It’s a dog, Mom.”
“I know. But I’m worried about him. He might be injured.”
“Or he might be at someone else’s house mooching their food.”
I didn’t think so. Lucky wasn’t a moocher. I knew there was something wrong—otherwise he’d be around.
Tamara gave me a quick hug, which was thoroughly unlike her. Showing affection to the parental unit was strictly verboten. Since she was in a mood to accept a hug, I risked kissing her cheek. She said nothing, but grimaced in a manner that suggested acid had been applied to her skin.
Chuckling, I jogged down the steps to the cracked sidewalk meandering through the huge, weed-filled front yard. I waved to her, she waved back, then vroom—I was outta there. Tee- hee. Using my new powers to put on the speed always gave me a thrill.
Within seconds I reached the area me ’n Tamara had named Ooky Spooky Woods. Broken Heart was surrounded by pockets of thick, tangled brush and densely packed trees.
You’d think a vampire with the ability to run fast, jump high, and hit hard wouldn’t be afraid of walking into a little ol’ forest at four a.m. Still, my non-beating heart gave a little squeeze as I entered the woods. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped under my boots. I was tempted to get out the flashlight, but truthfully, I could see perfectly well.
“Lucky,” I called. “Here, boy! C’mon, sweetie. Where are you?”
A gold-furred cat wearing an ankh around her neck leapt onto a fallen trunk and sauntered toward me. She stopped about half a foot away and stared at me.
“Hi, Lucifer.”
The cat dipped her head as if acknowledging my greeting.
I sat on the log. Lucifer watched me for a moment, then started giving herself a bath.
Lucifer was the only known vampire cat in existence. Johnny Angelo, 1950s movie star and reluctant vampire, accidentally Turned her. Jessica told me that Johnny’s first donor had been a very drunk man. The alcoholic blood affected Johnny and before he knew it, he’d awoken in a Dumpster with the vampire cat sleeping on his chest. He claimed he couldn’t remember Turning the cat, but there she was, fanged and feline.
I had met Johnny a few times, but he wasn’t exactly talkative. If you looked up “brooding” in the dictionary, his picture was probably next to the definition.
“Meow,” said the cat.
Funny, I couldn’t really get vibes off her. She didn’t seem to think I was made of catnip, either, like most kitties I ran across. She meowed again and turned around as if to say, “You are no longer worthy of my attention.” She trotted out into the darkness, her golden tail waving like a flag as she disappeared under some shrubs.
Grabbing the backpack, I held it in one hand as I leisurely strolled in the opposite direction. My thoughts turned to doomed love.
I had been a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old the summer Michael Hudsen noticed me. Typical story of a crush gone awry—so key up the violins and hand out the Kleenex. Title it Shy Geek Meets Handsome Jock. Michael had just graduated from our high school and broken up with his cheerleader girlfriend. I couldn’t believe he remembered my name, much less that I liked the color blue. (I don’t like it anymore. Green is my favorite color. Blue sucks.)
Michael spent two months seducing me with words, flowers, romantic gestures. The week before he was leaving for an out-of-state college, I gave him my virginity.
He gave me Tamara.
I didn’t bother going back to high school. Instead I got a job, opened a savings account, and checked out every available library book about pregnancy and parenthood.
Branches crackled and leaves fluttered around me. What the heck? I looked up, fear tingling my spine. Even with vamp vision, I couldn’t see anything—or anyone—above me. “Big squirrels,” I muttered. “Or raccoons. Mutant ones.”
The brush was too dense and the ground too pockmarked with holes to venture off the path. I leapt over a log, suddenly nervous. Chill out, Eva. You’re a big bad vamp, remember?
Then I heard it. Something loped behind me, growling softly. Being in the creepy forest with growling crea
tures reminded me vividly of my dreams. Don’t panic. Could be anything: wild dog, coyote, mutant raccoon. I dared a peek over my shoulder.
The creature was huge and fast, coming at me like a lion after an antelope. Good God! It smelled like it had taken a bath in the sewer. Lorcan? No. Impossible. He was cured.
Terror skittered through me, ravaging my ability to think. The creature howled—an unearthly cry that vibrated my bones. I swear to heaven, I felt its fetid breath on my neck, its claws scraping at my back. I looked over my shoulder again. The thing had gotten closer, but not near enough to grab me. I could see its eyes, glittering with malice and hunger.
My death was in that gaze.
I veered off the path and dared the gnarled and tangled foliage. Immediately, my foot connected with a fallen branch. I couldn’t stop the tumble. I went down hard, skidding facefirst into a knotty bush. By the time I’d extracted myself and gotten to my feet, it was too late.
The monster had caught up to me.
And he’d brought friends.
Chapter 6
An unearthly howl reverberated through the woods, but the terrifying sound didn’t come from the three lycans drooling and growling in front of me. No, the noise came from behind.
I nearly wet my pants.
In the blink of an eye, a four-legged beast leapt in front of me. He had fur as black as a starless night.
“Lucky!”
He barked acknowledgment. Growling fiercely, he forced the three scary beasts backward until I had enough room to run.
So I did.
Big bad vamp, my patootie. I was scared witless. I didn’t hear any fighting or scrabbling or yowling. I didn’t want to look back, but I finally dared it. I didn’t see anything but the dark, tree-filled path, which is probably why I smacked into a large oak.
Stunned, I landed ass-first in a pile of rotted leaves and dirt.
I jumped to my feet, but couldn’t quite get my balance. The three beasts burst from the brush on my left and I whirled, hands out, as fear pumped through my undead heart.
Don't Talk Back To Your Vampire Page 4
