by Inez Kelley
Chapter Seventeen
Lacy stared at the elevator panel for a long moment. Her brain was numb, rapidly shutting down from emotional overload. The other part chanted to run, to hide, to keep herself safe. Safe from what? An angel and her wicked henchmen? In what fairytale did that shit make sense? Disney, Mother Goose and Hans Christian Andersen had missed a story or two. The Brothers’ Grimm, however, had a goldmine just waiting to be written.
She hit number One.
Her jaw dropped when the doors whisked open on the main floor. A tornado had torn through the common room and not one piece of furniture was left intact. Glass crunched under her sneakers from shattered bulbs as she edged along the wall. A lone blinking orange light flickered in a demolished pinball machine, lilting to one side like a capsized boat. Her foot hit the red billiard ball and it rolled sluggishly under the broken couch.
She needed to hide. She darted down the hall, streaking past room after room. The Roman bath was too exposed. The medi-room had too many memories and none of them pleasant. Myth’s office would be stupid.
In desperation, she ducked into the library. The musty scent of old books clung to the darkness. Three reading lamps and an overhead light were available but she crouched in the dark, tucked behind an overstuffed chair. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she waited.
What was she waiting for?
The knife in the back of her jeans pressed along her spine. She drew it out, gripped it with both hands. Easing back onto her butt, she deliberately took a huge breath and blew it out slowly. Exhaustion descended, falling on her shoulders like a dump truck full of gravel. They weren’t going to come after her. If they’d wanted to kill her, they’d had ample time to do that. After all, they were all murderers.
She couldn’t process a single thing, not any more. A chaise lounge sat before an unlit fireplace. Using the last of her conscious thought, she crawled to it, shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her shoulders like a blanket. She shoved the blade under a small throw pillow, her fingers curled around the hilt. No wonder Dray had slept like this. They were all monsters.
Weren’t they?
She was asleep before she could think of an answer.
“Damn, he’s a bruiser,” Rex groaned under Vike’s weight.
Zale shook his head. The Roman talked too much. He watched as Nomad shoved the mattress back into place. Normally he wouldn’t be here, preferring to leave the men to themselves to heal, but Sela requested he make sure Vike was as comfortable as he could be. For all her power, her heart was too tender at times. He did her bidding without complaint. Unlike Rex.
Dray fingered the severed wrist restraint then tossed one to Zale, who caught it absently. There were several marks along the cut-line, where Lacy had just scratched the leather surface. Zale scowled at the bed, imagining how she’d positioned herself to cut the band free. She had to have held some sort of knife in her teeth. He’d thought removing the door hinges had marked her determination. This was far more telling.
He made a mental note to not underestimate her. Lacy apparently had a healthy will to live.
The Viking had succumbed to sleep before the elevator had finished its short trek. They stripped him from his clothes and maneuvered him onto the bed face down and cleared out, leaving Nomad to do his medical thing while Zale stood watch. It only took a few minutes and then Nomad stood, eternal weariness lining his face.
“He won’t sleep long. I padded his Mark but that’s all I can do. Healing that’s going to take a while, several weeks at least.”
Zale nodded. That had been Sela’s intention. Nomad patted his leg and Omen trailed him out of the room. Zale turned to follow when Vike’s pants rang with some country song.
His stomach clenched. That was the same melody that Lacy used when her sister called. He waited until all the Forsaken left the apartment to pick up the discarded pants, digging for Lacy’s now silent phone. The text on the screen turned his blood cold.
“L, package delivered 4 u. Weird shit happening. Need 2 tlk. R U ok? Call me, A.”
Without a thought, he pocketed the phone and stepped onto Vike’s balcony. Every apartment and downstairs room boasted an exit to the courtyard. They were convenient for when Leaping and he used it now to Leap to Annie’s porch, shielded by the night. The itching in his Mark told him the house was being watched. For pure intimidation, he walked to the steps and scoured the view with a visible snarl. A fight would be welcomed right now, but no Leeches challenged him.
Frustrated, he turned back and grabbed the knob. The door was locked this time. He rapped one knuckle against the wood in a short burst of irritation.
“Who is it?”
Zale gritted his teeth. As if the Third would announce themselves, Hi, we’re here to kill your body and box your soul. “Zale.”
A chain rattled and light shone in a thin crack, one dark brown eye visible. A relieved sigh rang out and Annie swung the door open. “What are you doing here this late? Is Lacy okay?”
Her long hair was slightly damp and she’d changed into different clothes. More sleepwear, he supposed, judging by the thin material. The extremely short shorts barely covered her behind and the top had tiny straps edged in lace that continued down over her breasts to end in a tiny centered bow. He lifted his eyes on her face. “What package was delivered?”
“I just sent that text. How do you know about it?”
“Where is it?”
She motioned for him to follow. On the kitchen counter sat a small pizza box and a plain manila envelope. He strode to the counter and gingerly picked it up. There was no address, just Lacy’s name in block print and blue ink.
“Who delivered it?”
“The pizza guy said someone out front gave it to him, but I didn’t see anyone.”
The Third didn’t play games. They hadn’t wanted to risk getting caught or recognized. A clueless delivery boy would see it made it into the right hands without incident. Zale brought the paper to his nose and inhaled. Bombs and poisons weren’t the Third’s style but he wouldn’t have lived this long if he wasn’t cautious. There was no fume of explosives or sound of sliding powder. He could detect nothing of any substance inside at all.
Ripping the envelope open could be a mistake. His hand reached for his left arm but he halted. Annie had seen him Leap but she didn’t know about his tattoo. Knowledge battled for safety in his mind for one second then he called his dagger.
Annie gasped and stepped back as it formed in his hand. “You forgot to mention that little trick.”
He sliced along the side, not the flap, and shook the contents onto the counter. A single rectangle floated to the Formica. Confusion narrowed his eyes as he picked it up. A newspaper comic and nothing more. A snort warmed his throat. The Third had a sick sense of humor. They’d sent Lacy a Hagar the Horrible comic. The cartoon Viking bore zero resemblance to Vike.
Annie peered around his arm. “A comic strip? I don’t get it.”
She wouldn’t. She would never deliberately send an innocuous clipping to someone to draw them out. Had Lacy come to retrieve this message, they’d have taken her before she set foot on the porch. The paper crumbled in his fist. The Third watched this place, watched Annie and waited for Lacy. If Dray hadn’t stood guard last night and gotten her to drink alcohol, they may have gotten her.
A small vial and syringe resting on a paper napkin shifted his focus. “What happened to your insulin pump?”
A slender shoulder shrugged. “I alternate between the pump and injections. My numbers are up and down tonight and this makes me feel more in control.”
“So you need insulin?”
She nodded. “I was about to take it when you knocked.”
“Then take it.”
A hesitant look crossed her face but her mouth firmed. She sat at one of the two barstools and pulled the napkin closer. With efficient movements from obvious practice, she swabbed her skin with a damp white square, filled a syringe from the vial and jammed the tip into he
r thigh. Zale’s chin jerked back. She acted as if this was nothing, as if she were merely tying her shoes or brushing her teeth. She briskly rubbed the injection site and tossed the needle into a red box beside the stove with ‘biohazard’ written on it.
“Now what do we do?”
Her question tore his eyes from her thigh. He pulled a business card from his wallet, idly thinking it was the first he’d ever given someone. “Memorize this number. If anyone gives you something like this again, call me immediately. Even if they just ask about Lacy, if you don’t know them, call me.”
She took the card hesitantly. “She’s still in danger, isn’t she?”
“She’s safe for now.” She would be as long as she stayed in H2Q. He’d found her asleep in the library before heading up to Vike’s apartment. They’d known she was still in the complex. Alarms and the invisible gates automatically activated every time they all ventured to the Hall of Infamy.
Warm fingers slid over his arm. “Zale, I know you said they don’t want me, but couldn’t they use me to get to Lacy?”
Tension formed behind his eyes and he rubbed at it, casually removing her hand. “They can’t. You’re like poison to them.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I’ve been called some pretty bad names in my life, but poison? That’s a bit harsh.”
A light scent wafted to him, one he couldn’t place immediately but created a soft tingling in his gut. It came to him suddenly, carrying with it a bruising punch to his chest. She smelled of sweet pears, the pears only one person had known he’d liked in life. Memories of the thinly sliced fruit spread with white creamy cheese held in a delicate hand clenched his throat.
“To me,” he breathed and stepped away quickly as his dagger became a mere picture on his arm. Those memories were ones he’d thought he’d forgotten, shoved so far down in his soul that they couldn’t haunt him anymore.
Annie stared at his biceps, her eyes wide. A whispered escaped. “What do you mean, I’m poison?”
“I need to get back.” He walked away.
The newspaper in his hand softened the fist he made as he headed for the door. He flung it open and had one foot on the porch when her voice reached him.
“Please.” He barely heard her words. “I know you don’t care. But she’s my sister and I love her.”
Wide and searching, her eyes begged him.
“She was engaged once, did you know that? She broke it off when he got sent overseas. She stayed for me. She worked extra shifts to pay for my Paramedic training. All my life, if I’ve needed something, Lacy was there to give it. Now she’s in danger and I can’t help her. She’s all I have left in the world. Haven’t you ever loved someone so much you’d die for them?”
Huge eyes sparkling with mischief above a dark veil… twisted strands of hair wet from her mouth… laughter hidden behind a cupped hand so no one could hear… trust so ardent it gave him purpose when he’d had none… tears burning his arm as her life slipped away minutes before his own faded.
The night sky was vast, empty except for far-off cold points of light and a dead hunk of rock reflecting the hidden sun. He knew, better than most, that Heaven was not a place in the clouds but still his eyes lifted there. Was this yet another challenge he had to face? Were all the reminders of his past in this one human female for a higher purpose? Was this some symbolic chance to do things over? He closed the door with a soft click but didn’t face her.
“Your condition acts like poison to the Third, literally drains them of strength until they become sickened.”
“Who are the Third? And why are they after her?”
He laid his forehead on the door and blew out a tired breath. Indecision battled in his mind. Giving any mortal the truth was a risk. If she spread the tale, he’d have no choice but to dust her despite her Holy bloodline. But maybe the threat to her sister was enough to buy her silence.
“It’s a long tale. Sit down.”
Too-bright sunshine pierced through her eyelids and Lacy squinted. It was late morning, at least. Her neck was stiff and her left arm tingling from lying on it. The physical aches vanished as the night before rushed her mind. Had she dreamed all that? A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she hadn’t. As incredible as it sounded, she’d somehow walked into the pages of a PCP user’s diary and the trip was wild.
Scrubbing the sleep from her face, she shoved off the coat and sat. Okay, this was her life and she had to take control of it, somehow. That required tea.
The hall was silent, not a creak or peep from any direction. She dodged the common room tornado aftermath and steeled herself for what the kitchen may look like. Relief relaxed her shoulders. The room was fine, exactly as she left it. The coffeepot had run and shut off automatically, but no one had poured a single cup. She dumped the contents, washed the carafe and filled the teakettle.
She was halfway through her first cup of tea when he walked in the room. Dray stopped cold, his shock barely registering as his chin went up.
“Uh, I just wanted… ‘Scuse me.” He angled around her, headed toward the cabinet. The muscles of his back were stiff as he set out cold cereal and a bowl. He kept his face averted as he got the milk from the fridge.
Lacy closed her eyes for one second, summoning every ounce of courage she had. No more running. “So…Vlad Dracula, huh?”
His spine went even stiffer. “Yep.”
“But you’re not a real vampire, right? Like with fangs and bat wings and all that stuff?”
Night-black hair rippled as he shook his head, the sound of Fruity Pebbles pouring into a bowl overly loud. “Of course not. Stoker was an asshole. I piss on his grave at least once a year. There’s no such thing as vampires.”
“What about werewolves?”
He turned to her, confusion etched on his face. “They don’t exist.”
“Mermaids?”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I wish, but no.”
“Little green men saying ‘take me to your leader’ while pointing ray guns?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head, smile full blown now.
“Unicorns?”
“Nope.”
“Fairies?”
“Only in San Francisco.” The smile vanished. “That was a joke. A bad one.”
“I know.” Digging in the drawer, she held a spoon out to him.
He took the spoon, his gaze never falling from her face. “We don’t have to eat, you know. I just like to. I went hungry too many times in my life.”
“I thought you were a prince.”
“Voivode.” He shrugged. “Same thing, basically. Doesn’t mean my life was all parties and polo matches. Rulers in my day fought for what they held.”
She motioned with her mug toward the table and he joined her, both moving like boxers in a ring, sizing each other up. For a few tense moments, the only sound was the crackle of cereal as he ate and the thud of her heart.
“Did you really impale all those people?”
The spoon lowered to the table slowly. “Yes, I did. I was defending my home, my land, my people and I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
Her tea had grown cool but she sipped anyway, unwilling to rise and refill it, to break the fragile communication they’d began. “I did a paper on you in High School once.”
He shrugged. “Lots of people write about me and not a one knows what the hell they’re talking about. The most famous picture they have of me was painted after I died and looks more like my uncle than me. But let me guess, you depicted me as a blood-thirsty butcher who nailed infants to their mothers’ breasts and feasted in a field of rotting corpses on pikes.”
“Didn’t you?”
“I never nailed any child to its mother. Did I kill children? Yes. Emaciated, starving children who had no chance at living. Children with wounds that had festered until they stank of gangrene. Children who faced a long painful death from hunger or worse, enslavement from the Turks. Do you know what the Turks in my day d
id to young boys, Lacy? Girls aren’t the only ones who can be raped. Girls they just sold to the highest bidder but boys, boys were passed around to the soldiers to be fucked, gutted and fed to the animals. Death was a kindness.”
He pinned her with a glare so harsh it stole her breath. “People died by the thousands, some at my hand, some at my enemies’, some from disease caused by the rotting carcasses all over. There was no one to take those kids in and coddle them, no orphanages, no churches with kind nuns to give them milk and bread. No one.”
A sharp clank rang out as he dropped the spoon in his empty bowl. His chair rocked when he stood and tossed the bowl in the sink. The sun slanting through the window turned his eyes a brilliant green but his focus wasn’t on the Quad. It was distant and steeped in memory.
“Far more than half of the ‘victims’ I impaled were already dead. Coming over a mountaintop and seeing a field of the impaled was, and still is, a very effective psychological warfare tactic. It saved more lives than it ever cost. My men and I’d be out for days skewering those decaying bodies so, yes, we ate while we worked if there was food to be found. If that makes you sick, whatever. To me, it’s like telling a coroner he can’t eat lunch at his desk.”
The water splashed on the counter as he turned the faucet on full blast. “Was I good? Not according to history. But I wasn’t as evil and godless as my enemies made me out to be. And if that wasn’t bad enough, some fucking prick digs my name out of history and turns me into a Halloween character. My father…” His voice broke, but he cleared it. “My father was an honorable man, a member of an elite group created to preserve Christianity in Europe. He changed his name to Dracul and I gladly took it as his son, became the son of the Dragon. Now that proud name is nothing more than a set of plastic teeth and a cheap cape.”
“At least history doesn’t think you screwed your sisters.”
Lacy startled, cold tea spilling over her fingers as Rex walked into the room. As always, he was dressed straight from a GQ spread. Without looking at her, he took her cup from her hand, retrieved one for himself from the cabinet and poured steaming water over two fresh teabags. “I’ve screwed a lot of women, some men too. Not ashamed of any of that, but I never touched my sisters. All but one was a bitch, anyway.”
