by Ash Krafton
"I'm not hung up!" Okay, a little loud. Protesting too much.
She drummed her fingers. "You are. I'm not blind. Who was your last date?"
I didn't answer. How could I explain? I lost my soul mate, who was DV and wrapped me in an unexplainable sensation of power, so there's no way I can go back to plain old human dating?
"Right," she said. "You haven't moved on. Which means, you're doing this because you think you have a shot to get him back."
"No, I don't." Another thing I couldn't explain: My ex is more vampire than Demivamp these days.
"Then why? Why would you get involved with them again? They ditched you."
"Give me some credit. Can't I help someone out?"
"That's what you do. But most people don't move in with someone to do it. You're going to get your hopes up and you're going to fall down, hard."
I dug my fingers under my leg, trying to keep from shrieking with frustration. I couldn't use the end-all argument: I'm the freaking Sophia!
"What do you get out of it?"
"A cool place to live and a parking spot next door."
"And what's the catch?"
"No catch. Shiloh lives there. I drive her to school on my way to work."
"But why you? Why did his brother call you?"
"Shy asked him to." Okay. Maybe not truth but definitely conjecture.
"And so out of the blue you said yes?"
Funny she said blue. That was the color that usually got me into trouble these days. "Yeah."
"But that's not like you."
"I know. But like you said: I've only been existing. Buried myself in work. I needed a change. Plus, I hated my apartment. Hated it. This plan seemed like a good idea. If it doesn't work out, I leave. No strings."
"Famous last words. Just remember." She pointed her red pen at me as if she handed down a judgment. "It only takes one string to hang you."
I left the office for lunch, and regretted not packing a lunch the moment the wind hit me. Waiting for the crossing signal to change, I dug my cell out of my purse, and took a steadying breath before lifting it to my ear.
"Hello, Marek. I know it's been awhile but I had to call. I met someone. No, not like that. There's been no one since—" I abandoned the line and kept going. Don't lose it now, Sophie. "I met another Sophia. She came all the way from Europe and she can help you. She can—"
I stalled. "She can bring you back. Please. Just let her try."
I wanted to say so much more, to finally just say it. I miss you. My life has a big jagged hole in it because you are not here. I think of you and it hurts to breathe. I drive by your house in Chaucer's Square, hoping to see you, even if you're just a shadow in the window and I get so excited when I see a light on but then I remember you have a timer set in the dining room and I miss you, damn it. I miss you because I can never love anyone the way I love you.
I sighed and lowered the phone. Another failed trial run. If I didn't soon get it right, I'd never work up the courage to actually dial the phone.
If I could just get him to listen, maybe I could finally fix all the damage the Master had done. Could I rewind the evolution that had been forced upon him? Could I pull him back from the edge, the thrall of Brinking? Could I do any-thing to heal his soul?
I didn't know. All I knew was I had to try. I loved him with every single breath I took, every single moment that dragged by in my solitude. I had to try.
I had to dial the phone.
And I probably only had fifteen seconds to convince him to hear me out.
I had to keep my emotions out of it. I had to be all business. I had to approach this from a logical stand-point so that he could see this was the right thing to do. He'd searched for the Sophia for so very long—a lot longer than I'd been around. He couldn't have for-gotten that, not like he'd tried so effectively to forget me.
That was the key to my success in this call. I had to be the Sophia, the oracle for which he'd searched for so long. I couldn't remind him that I loved him, because he might remember he once loved me. He didn't want to remember.
I stowed the phone in my coat pocket with a frown. I wasn't ready to call him yet. But I knew—without a sliver of doubt—I was running out of time.
Crossing the street, I headed uptown to the Euro-style deli. I hadn't gone a block before I noticed that footsteps echoed a few paces behind me, and a casual turn of my head gave me a glimpse of my orange-eyed pursuer.
Wolf-boy was back and seemed more determined than ever before.
My frustration found a new outlet. This stalking crap was going to stop. Now.
I gripped my keys, threading them through my clenched fingers to form a spiky fist. They were the most weaponish thing I had in my purse.
I was tired of running out of work. Tired of looking over my shoulder. Tired of being hunted. Life had already thrown enough crap my way, what with the vampires and the Sophia and the bullshit of having to drive in rush hour traffic every day.
A narrow service alley veered off to the right between the closely packed buildings. I turned suddenly and struck off along the littered curb.
The alley was deserted except for myself and my soon-to-be ex-shadow. Our footsteps clacked in time, echoing off the walls, until he slapped through a puddle I'd purposefully missed. Slowing my pace, I took out my cell and pretended to dial it in my left hand. I steeled my nerve, put on a mean face and, when I heard him come up behind me, spun and jumped into him with a scream.
My sudden move caught him completely off guard and I knocked him over. I clambered onto his chest and pressed my pointy key-fist into the tender skin under his chin.
"Holy shit, Red!" His voice was tight with alarm, despite the softness of a light Southern drag. "Don't kill me!"
"You're lucky I didn't!" I bared my teeth and snarled into his face. "What do you want from me?"
"I'll tell you everything. Just..." He struggled a little before lying still. "Please, get off. Or at least move your knee. You're squashing my..."
"All right, all right." I got off him before he could finish. I knew exactly where my knee had been; I'd strategically placed it in case he had any rapey inclinations.
He pushed himself up on his hands but remained on the ground. I stood over him like some kind of conqueror, what with the keys and the pissed-off stance. The stance, however, relaxed a little when I saw how young he was.
It disappeared altogether when I looked at him closely enough to recognize him.
All this time I'd been followed by the funny kid from Dark Gardens. This was the guy who'd known Tanner, the Were assassin who'd attacked me last summer. The only reason I survived was because I'd bit the guy.
"Are there others?" I'd known my pursuer was Were but knowing he was related to Tanner made the threat worse. I scanned the area, but the alley was empty except for us. I'd never noticed anyone else following me but Weres tended to move in packs.
"No, just me. Can I get up without you jumping on me again? It's filthy down here." He wrinkled his nose against the odor of city street and alley refuse.
"Filthy? Good. That's what you get." I backed away out of reach while he got to his feet. "You've been following me for months. What's the deal?"
With a shrug he lost the swagger. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched up as if he guarded himself. I recognized it as the stance of someone who was used to getting knocked around. "I just wanted to talk."
Eight different valid protests flashed through my head but as usual, my heart cut through the logical nonsense and said the exact opposite. "Fine. Just—not here; it's nasty. We'll go around the corner to the deli."
He looked relieved. "Really?"
"Yeah. Just no funny business. I don't like Weres."
He grinned impishly. "You'll like me."
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"Ok. How about you just don't not like me and we'll go from there?" He flashed a devilish grin reminiscent of the one I'd seen him wearing before all the badness happened
that night.
I remembered his antics, and I remembered the desperate glance he had thrown my way when the DV had hauled his buddy off.
How could I say no?
Ten minutes later we sat at a window booth in my favorite sandwich shop. He couldn't try anything in plain view.
"What made you brave enough to finally talk to me?" His mouth was full of roast beef on rye, which he devoured in bites big enough to choke a normal person.
He'd eaten half of the sandwich in three chomps before even saying anything other than his name was Toby. Poor kid was hungry. I'd already taken in his worn clothes and knew he'd been living lean.
Great, another stray.
"Simple," I said. "This was the first time you followed me at lunchtime. Every other time it'd been sundown or later." I paused to take a small bite of my own sandwich. "Today I was convinced you weren't fronting a vamp. Any-thing else, I can handle."
"Werewolves are something you can 'handle'?" His voice had that borrowed bravado again.
"Skinny ones like you, apparently."
He grinned wide enough to show all his front teeth. They looked human enough but the grin was phony. A bluff. "You just caught me off guard."
"Sure, whatever you say. Enough bullshit. Who was Tanner?"
His face darkened but he didn't avoid the question. "My brother."
I groaned. "Your brother?"
"As much as I ever had one. He was the only one who ever looked out for me. That's why I've been following you."
Swell. Tanner was his brother and hero. I didn't have a particularly good feeling about what would come next. "Why, so you could finish his mission?"
"No! I'd never. I want to make it up to you. What he did. He wasn't all bad. I feel like I gotta do something to prove that."
I watched his face carefully, wondering if I'd be able to detect some sign of deception. With a carefully neutral shrug, I feigned disinterest and picked up my Diet Coke. "No need. It's done."
"It's his honor," Toby insisted. "He was good to me, and I have a debt to repay. I'll pay it by helping you."
"I don't need any help."
"Then I'll hang around until you need me."
Oh brother, I thought. Just what I needed, a werewolf tagging along like some furry Boy Scout waiting to do a good turn. I had enough problems already. "Can I have a napkin?"
He dug one out of the canister and held it out to me.
"Thanks," I said. "You helped me out. You're free to go."
"Oh no." He shook a finger at me. "You don't get off that easy. This is serious stuff, Red."
I sighed. Couldn't blame me for trying. "Why is it so important to you? I have to be honest, I wasn't fond of your brother when he cornered me in the club that night. He wanted to do seriously bad things to me, and I had night-mares for weeks about the whole thing. I don't need this kind of baggage."
"It's a—" He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Wolf thing. Tanner's wolf is stuck here. It didn't die with him."
Toby dropped his head and stared at his sandwich. "I know what happened to him after those Demivamps took him away. He was my blood brother so...when he died, I felt it. But his wolf is still here. I know you don't understand what I mean but—do you believe in a soul?"
I nodded. Didn't think he needed to know exactly how much I was involved in the whole soul thing.
"Well, suicide is a crime for...a person like me. If the Were doesn't die honorably then the wolf can't join the Great Pack until it has fulfilled its debt. Trouble is, Tanner's wolf is just like him. It doesn't know a darned thing about making up for anything. So that's why I have to do it for him."
"And how will you know when you've accomplished it?"
"I don't know," he said. "But I'll know it when it happens."
The waitress dropped our checks on the table, and his expression clouded over. I didn't want him to embarrass himself so I reached for both slips.
"Hey." He slapped his hand down on them.
"Lunch was my idea." I tried to tug them free. "I got it."
"You can't pay for me." Toby sounded offended. "You're a girl."
"A girl who clobbered your ass," I reminded him. "Don't make me fight you for the check."
I pulled out my keys and jingled them in a mock threat.
He held up his hands. "Ok, but next time—"
"If there's a next time." I pulled out my wallet and thumbed through the bills. I hated when people made promises they couldn't keep.
Dahlia got tickets through one of her DAVE contacts for a multi-band concert at the old Majestic Theatre in Philly and asked if Shiloh and I wanted to go. I'd heard of a few of the performers, although I hadn't gone to a show for quite some time. The ticket listed three local bands opening for a newer rock quintet who'd recently released their first album.
The headliner, Strokkur, only brought up disturbing links when I Googled it. Hard rock had been a lot different when I was a teen. Music seemed to be getting a little extreme. I wasn't sure I could claim rights to being a part of the culture anymore.
When I was younger and less averse to fighting my way through general admission crowds, I'd been a sucker for live music. I could never get Barbara to go to a show; she preferred to listen to studio recordings in all their produced perfection. Not me, though. My creative edge recognized the spark of a muse in others, and I felt beholden to pay it my respects.
Now that career and adulthood had derailed my pursuit of concert hall happiness, all I had was a pile of treasured ticket stubs and concert tees. Those, and memories of music's up-close-and-personal pounding sensation in my lungs from the excessive amplifier volumes. Good times.
Since Shiloh didn't have her license yet and Dahlia drove a tiny import with a back seat so small Shiloh refused to get into it for fear of wrinkling her pants, I drove. I even managed to find a parking spot close to the theatre.
I called it luck, but I knew the DV would say luck had nothing to do with it. Marek had never had problems fin-ding a parking spot; he probably just compelled people out of the way. Dahlia's gift was more creative than causative so I suspected tonight was a matter of simple human timing. Either way, we were fortunate. The night was freezing. East coast Novembers were wintery, especially in a harbor city.
The posters outside announced the event would be an all-ages show. We waded through the mobs of teenagers crowding the sidewalk toward the main entrance. Shiloh recognized several people and alternatively chatted and scowled as we pushed in through the doors.
The Majestic had once been a single screen movie theatre before the current DV owners remodeled it into an open area concert hall/bar. I'd been here only once before and spent the entire time upstairs in the mezzanine, which was off limits to the under-aged because of the bar and therefore much less crowded.
Plus, there were actual seats. I liked seats. Usually the boots I wore to concerts were more for admiring and less for actual walking around in.
I glanced at the staircase leading up to the mezzanine and saw the bouncer check an ID and shake his head at a slightly-built blond boy. Shiloh must have recognized him because she busted his chops when he sulked past us toward the all-ages auditorium. "Nice try, Jackson. You really look twenty-one tonight, too. Your lack of win shocks me."
Crap. I guessed Shiloh wouldn't get past, either. We passed the ticket booth and entered the auditorium. I cringed and almost swallowed my gum. The place was packed. I could feel loads of DV. A handful of intensely emoting humans. And—others.
I couldn't feel them but I knew they were there, the way astronomers looked at the night sky and surmised the presence of a black hole simply because they saw nothing at all. Those people were like spots of empty. It didn't concern me as much as the sudden rush of oppression that caught me and made me feel as if everyone had turned to stare at me.
"Dally..." I leaned toward her and grabbed her hand. "Can you mark me?"
She shrugged and reached up to fix my coat collar before running a finger along her
jaw. It looked like a baseball signal more than anything else—not at all sexy—but then again, I'd only been marked by guys in the past. The sensation stopped immediately, and I surveyed the room with more confidence.
Until I saw the crowd. Gah. I definitely had outgrown general admission crowds. Especially metal crowds. I hadn't realized people pierced so many body parts.
Shiloh swung back to face us, wearing a scowl. "Ugh. There're tons of Were here."
"Is that normal for a place like this?" Being a DV oracle, I couldn't sense Were. They were as blank as humans.
Shiloh frowned. "I wouldn't call it normal."
"It's normal," Dahlia said, wearing an expression that more or less said Accept Peace Willingly or I Shall Beat It Into Thee. "Most public places are. But I agree, there are a lot of Were here tonight. I heard one of the bands is Werekind. Maybe they brought them in."
Shiloh persisted. "Can we go upstairs, Dahlia?"
"You don't have ID," I reminded her.
"That's okay. This is a DV-run place." Dahlia moved to the side as a group of rowdy college boys pushed their way to the gated bar area. "Let me see if my friend is working."
Dahlia disappeared in the crowd. Shiloh and I stood like an island as concert goers streamed around us. The intro music cut off as someone came on stage, much to the pleasure of the roaring crowd. A wang of feedback accompanied a man's rowdy voice when he introduced the opening band. It wasn't the most eloquent speech I've ever heard but the multiple references to alcohol and fluent f-bombing seemed to provide substantial motivation to the super-charged crowd.
As the crowd surged forward to pack closer to the stage, the people rushing through the doors jostled us. Dahlia reappeared before we were sucked into the undertow of the audience, gesturing for us to follow her back out into the foyer.
We showed IDs to the bouncer who merely nodded. Instead of heading up the mezzanine staircase we passed through the door beyond him. The door shut behind us quickly and I made out the shape of another staircase in the dimly-lit side chamber.
"Up here." Dahlia spoke into the shadowy muffledness and began climbing. I grimaced, dreading the long hike in boots up several staircases. It had to be better than trying to keep my balance out in the sea of crazy that had flooded the auditorium.
