by Мишель Роуэн
It's pathetic. Humans are an utterly pathetic species."
Quinn frowned deeply. "So you hate vampires, even though you are one. You hate hunters even though you were one. And now you hate the entire human race? Is there anyone or anything that you do like?"
Malcolm was quiet for a moment, but then the old man's lips parted into a smile.
"I like us," he said.
"Which means what?"
"We are better than all who have come before us. We have the origin as humans. We have the knowledge of hunters, and now we have the strength and immortality of vampires. We are better than all three put together." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "You see this list of names?"
Quinn looked at the precise, neat handwriting. "Who are these people?"
"A few are hunters. Smart men with vision for the future. That one is a writer—a Nobel Prize winner.
That one is a child genius who was written up inTime magazine last year. The rest I have chosen based on nearly a decade of study and research of who are already superior beings."
"And?"
The expression on Malcolm's face was pure determination. "We will turn them into what we are. It will be an army of greater immortal beings who will change the course of history and mold the future to our will."
Quinn felt ill. "I think I need another beer."
Malcolm flagged down the waitress to order two more bottles of Heineken. He eyed her as she walked away. "Perhaps we can turn some others, too. Like Clarisse, there. She would be a fine companion."
Quinn's head was spinning. The man had made a list? A list of people he wanted to make into vampires—including Quinn himself had he not already been changed. He came to this club frequently to pick out his next murder victim. He had a preference for imported beer.
Only on the last point could he agree with the old man.
"And you want to use the Eye to help us do this?" Quinn managed.
"Of course. I believe by harnessing the power of the Eye we can become truly powerful. It was owned by a demon and is part of that demon's power. It has sat untouched for a thousand years. It is our fate that we shall possess it and make our wish for power. After all, when we create our army, we need to have strength over them, or there could be an uprising."
"Wouldn't want that."
"So what I've told you hasn't shocked you?"
Quinn drained the last of his first bottle of beer before he felt that he could answer that. "Only shocked by how much sense it all makes."
Malcolm arched a white eyebrow. "I am pleased that you feel that way. While you were an excellent hunter, you perhaps felt too much empathy toward the creatures you ended."
Right. Empathy. Quinn thought he was so much more moral than Malcolm's errant food choices. But what had he done for ten years? Killed indiscriminately. As long as they had fangs and a thirst for blood,
they deserved his stake. At least that's what he tried to convince himself of. How could he ever make up for all he'd done?
Malcolm didn't wait for Quinn to reply. "Perhaps I am the one who understands you better than anyone,
Quinn. The guilt you feel for what you did all those years. I felt it, too, when I was first turned. After all,
how could I have murdered all of those vampires? What made me better than them? But with time and research and patience, I now know that I was turned for a very specific reason. I was chosen, Quinn,
just as you have been."
"Chosen? By who?"
"By God." His face lit up as he said it. "He wants us to act as the plague that will kill off all that is unclean and start again."
With every word Malcolm spoke since he'd first entered the bar, Quinn felt deep disappointment and repulsion growing within him.
Quinn couldn't do anything to stop what had happened before, but at least he could try to prevent a little of Malcolm's planned massacre.
He leaned across the table and tried to keep his voice steady. "I'm sure that God would want us to have the Eye. It's fate."
"I agree."
"Do you have the map on you right now?"
"I do, indeed. I wouldn't leave it anywhere else. Much too risky." Malcolm hesitated. "I also have the red stone we used to reveal the map's true face."
"Will you need it again for something?"
Malcolm eyed him for a moment. "I don't believe so. But one can never be too careful."
A dull ache began in Quinn's stomach. He knew that pain all too well and what it meant. He needed to eat. And if he didn't do it soon, there would be severe consequences.
"Tell me"—Quinn leaned over the table and tried to keep his voice steady—"are there any vampire bars close by?"
"Why?"
"Just in case I get thirsty and I don't feel like going to any additional work."
"You should be completely satiated after that lovely meal I left you this afternoon."
Janie. Right. He was supposed to have drained and killed her. "Oh, I am. She was… delicious. Just call it morbid curiosity."
"There's a bar around the corner behind a red door. There's a neon sign in the window that claims it is a palm reader named Madame Rosa, but beyond that is a bar that could contain up to a hundred vampires."
Quinn nodded and tried to ignore the ache in his gut. Just a little while longer. Get the map, get away,
and then visit Madame Rosa's to fill a necessary evil.
"So tell me, what are we going to do?" he asked.
"Tomorrow we follow the map and find the Eye. As long as I know that you understand my plans and agree with them wholeheartedly."
"I'm with you, Malcolm. Whatever you say."
"I'm very pleased to hear that."
For a moment when Malcolm first revealed that he was alive because he was now a vampire, hope sparked inside Quinn. Hope that there was somebody exactly like him—a hunter who'd been turned into a vampire who had survived and thrived and come out the other side in one piece. Evidence that his current situation wasn't as dire as he had believed. He'd hoped that Malcolm might be a mentor to him again. Someone to confide in and who could advise him, and make this transition better than the lonely,
scary journey it had been so far.
But he'd gotten something much different.
A glimpse into his future if he didn't get the Eye and wish to be human again.
He knew that he'd eventually turn into somebody like Malcolm. Confused and irrational and more than a little crazy.
Well, more than he already was, anyhow.
Now all he could do was focus on getting the map away from the old man before it was too late.
Malcolm smiled at Quinn and glanced off toward the mechanical bull again as he sipped from his glass of
Heineken.
"The woman today," he said. "The mercenary. Did you know her well?"
Quinn kept his face neutral, striving for bored despite all the upsetting information he was dealing with.
"No. The bitch was willing to kill me to get her hands on that map. You did me a favor."
"Did she wake while you fed from her?"
He shook his head. "No."
"And she's dead now."
"Very. Didn't want to risk siring her."
"Siring a vampire is a serious business. You must be there with them at all times. You will develop a bond that sometimes allows you to sense where they are, how they're feeling. It is best that you didn't sire this one. She was pretty, but obviously a very stubborn, driven woman who would do nothing but cause problems."
Quinn shrugged. "I've never been a huge fan of blondes, so it was a no-brainer to just kill her. Why are you asking me questions about her? She's dead.So's this topic. Let's talk about the map."
Malcolm turned his gaze away from the mechanical bull, and his expression was now cold. "I'm asking you about her because she's here right now. Over by the bar."
Quinn's aching stomach dropped. "That's impossible."
Malcolm's eyes wrinkled as
he smiled—a very cold expression. "I'm disappointed in you, boy. I had such high hopes for our future. But I see now that you're a liar."
"You must be seeing things. I drained her. She's dead."
Or at least she will be when I get through with her, he thought, restraining the impulse to turn his head and look.
She followed him to the bar? After he asked her to wait at the motel?
Unbelievable.
Malcolm stared icily at him. "I never understood why your father was so disappointed in you. He was never satisfied, wished that you had a deeper resolve to the kill, to strive for better, to follow in his footsteps. To me you seemed the perfect son. Obedient, strong, willing to learn and grow. But I think I see now that you're all that Roger said you were. You're a complete disappointment."
He stood up from the table.
Quinn's cheeks twitched and he forced a nervous laugh. "Come on, Malcolm. Sit down and let's talk about this. The map—"
The cold expression disappeared, replaced by one of fury. "You'll never lay one finger on that map." He brought his cane up to his chest with both hands, clutching it like a weapon.
Quinn eyed it and allowed the false friendliness to slide from his own expression. "What are you going to do? Try to knock me out, too?"
"No, that only works best with humans." He removed the silver tip from the end of the cane. "For vampires I have other methods."
Just as Quinn noticed that the silver covered a sharp wooden point, he shot up from the table and turned away. He was fast enough that the weapon missed his heart, but not fast enough to prevent it from thrusting into his body under the right side of his rib cage with a searing, white-hot pain.
He grabbed the long stake on either side, stunned speechless as he watched Malcolm quickly walk
Chapter 9
Quinn tore his pained gaze away from the departing Malcolm and stared down at the stake. He braced himself against the side of the table and slowly eased the sharp wood out of his flesh.
The stake hurt more coming out than it had going in and he stumbled, dropping back down into the booth. It left a dark mark on his T-shirt. He hadn't eaten in so long that his own blood had changed consistency. Instead of red and flowing, it was dark and thick.
He gagged.
On the bright side, it meant he didn't bleed very much.
The country music blared in his ears and, since he hadn't made a single sound, the crowd that surrounded him seemed to have no idea of what just happened.
He staggered to his feet with only one thought. He couldn't let Malcolm get away. If he did, he'd never see the map again. He couldn't let Malcolm keep it. His plans were too extreme, too specific. He couldn't have the Eye if it was the last thing Quinn did.
And based on how the night was going, it just might be.
He scanned the bar for Janie but didn't see her anywhere. If she really had been there, she was gone now.
Holding his hand against his wounded stomach and trying to ignore the pain, he began to make his way through the crowded club, being jostled on every side. As he passed the long bar, the blondes eyed him again like hot-bodied vultures.
"We knew you'd be back," one said.
"Got to leave," he managed.
"Come on, one drink. We promise we won't bite."
If he'd been feeling half himself he might have laughed at that. Instead, he roughly pushed past them as they attempted to block his escape route.
One made an annoyed sound. "Probably gay, aren't you?"
Quinn gritted his teeth. "Never been happier, thanks for asking."
He got to the front doors, pushed them open, and was greeted by the surprisingly cool breeze from the dark night. The bouncers eyed him as they would any obviously inebriated, staggering patron, and gave him a wide berth.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white hair as Malcolm disappeared behind a corner.
He followed.
Dammit. Where had Janie gone? He could actually use her at the moment.
A couple more inches and Malcolm would have got my heart, he thought.Why did I have to move?
This could all be over .
Thoughts like those weren't exactly helping matters.
He staggered down the street toward the alleyway, feeling weaker by the minute. It felt as though the only thing keeping everything from spilling out of his gut was his hand on top of the wound. Past the pain of the stab wound, he felt the vampire hunger gnaw angrily inside of him. It had been denied for too many days. It wasn't just going to go away now like a dull toothache. This time it was here to stay. And the more blood he lost—such as it was—the worse it was going to get.
Your own fault, he told himself.
He made it to the corner, worried that he was too slow to stop Malcolm and too weak to get the map.
Instead he was surprised that Malcolm stood there, facing him, as if he'd been waiting.
"Malcolm—" Quinn managed, immediately concerned by how weak and shaky his voice sounded.
Malcolm just stared, his forehead creased with a deep frown.
As Quinn was trying to form his mouth around the words, Malcolm's expression grew blanker and blanker, and then he fell forward at Quinn's feet.
"And you said I shouldn't come."
He looked up to see that Janie was in the shadows of the alley, holding a gun. Looked like the same gun she'd pointed at him a couple weeks ago.
She shook her head and holstered the weapon under her jacket. "If I hadn't followed you here, he would have gotten away. That was quite the lead he had on you, too. Did he take off when you were in the little boys' room or something?"
He blinked at her.
She blinked back. "Anyhow…" She crouched down next to Malcolm, efficiently patting him down before she pulled out a folded piece of paper. "One map, recovered." She peered closer at it. "What the hell isthat ? A beer stain? No respect. I should have shot him with more than just a garlic dart."
"Janie…" The world was starting to get blurry and even darker than the night was to start with.
"So now we have the map. Tomorrow we get the Eye, and then we take it from there. Hey, what's wrong?"
His knees hit the pavement, and he pulled his hand away from his chest. Janie gasped and closed the distance between them. She put the map down on the ground so she could grab Quinn's T-shirt and push it up and away from the wound.
She looked up to meet his unsteady gaze. "Old friend of the family, huh? Some friend. Did he figure out you were lying to him?"
He licked his dry lips and managed to push her hands away from him. "He… he saw you. In there.
You're supposed to be dead."
"Shit."
"Exactly what… what I thought."
"How could he see me?"
"He has eyes."
She shook her head. "Dammit, I must be really off my game. I'm usually much better at being inconspicuous. So this is my fault."
"One hundred per… percent."
She bit her lip. "Well, on the plus side, he didn't get your heart."
"Unfortunately."
"Don't say that. We need to get you back to the motel and bandage you up."
He shook his head and forced himself to stand, when all he felt like doing was curling up in a ball and possibly crying. In the most manly way possible, of course.
She grabbed his arm, and the scent of her flooded his nostrils.
No. That's not all he felt like doing.
He could actually feel the warmth of her neck in the cool night, the blood just underneath the surface calling to him. He restrained himself from pulling her to him.
"Get away from me," he warned.
"I'm trying to help you."
"You can help me by staying as far away from me as possible right now." As he said it, he could feel his fangs elongating and his hunger increasing. "I'm dangerous."
"Yeah, as dangerous as a wounded puppy."
He looked at her, and whatever she saw reflected in his eye
s made her visibly flinch. "Quinn—"
"I need to get to a vampire bar. Malcolm told me that there's one nearby. I need to go right now. Don't follow me."
He staggered away from her without waiting for an answer.
Guilt and concern flooded through Janie. This was her fault. She shouldn't have followed him.
No, sheshould have. She just shouldn't have been seen.
Dammit.
She watched Quinn make his way down the street. The man was in bad shape. If he'd been at full strength before getting staked, or stabbed, or whatever had happened to him inside that bar, then he might just be feeling some pain. Not this… obvious agony he was dealing with.
She'd seen her share of starving vampires. Some hunters found it fun to keep a vampire locked away in a room for days or weeks or even months on end, depending on the age and strength of the vampire, and then let them out. Made for a more interesting kill. Perhaps took away that residue of guilt that gnawed away at the corners of a hunter's conscience about what was right and what was wrong when it came to killing another sentient being.
Quinn was definitely sentient. But that look he'd leveled at her had given her the chills. His eyes had turned black, just like those starving vampires. His wound seeped only a small amount of blood. How long had he gone without eating?
He was seriously the most stubborn man she'd ever met.
Not like the seventeen-year-old boy she'd fallen head over heels with. He'd been handsome, charming,
funny and, well,perfect back then.
The thirty-year-old version was a total mess.
She followed him out of the alley anyhow. She'd stay back and let him do what he had to do, but she wasn't letting him out of her sight. Not this time.
Suddenly she froze in her tracks as a breath caught in her chest. She spun around and ran back to snatch the map off the ground from beside the still-unconscious Malcolm.
She'd been so concerned with Quinn that she'd almost left it behind. God, what was wrong with her?
She shoved the map into her pocket and silently chastised herself for allowing herself to lose focus.
