by Sloan Archer
I put my hands over my face and started bawling. My tears felt hotter than normal, like my indignation over Leopold’s betrayal had infused them with burning rage.
“It’s okay,” Robert soothed.
“It isn’t, though! W-what am I g-going to do?” I hiccupped.
“Mercy, it’s all fine,” Leopold declared. “My phrasing was poor. I should have said that I will sort this out. I will, but it will take some time. The VGO are very bureaucratic, so this isn’t going to happen overnight.”
“What is she supposed to do in the meantime? Hope that they don’t find her and kill her?” Robert growled. “I can’t protect her the way I used to be able to. Not while I’m human. And considering the state of your lab, I don’t think I’ll be cured any time soon— not that my cure ever seemed to be a priority.”
Good, Robert was finally starting to stand up to Leopold. Go Robert!
“Nothing is going to happen to Mercy. I promise,” Leopold said. He rubbed at my shoulders. I was too defeated to slap him away, but it crossed my mind. “I will keep you safe. They have no idea that you’re here. They think you’re in San Francisco, remember? They’ll be thrown through a loop when they realize you’re not there.” He shrugged. “They’ll have no idea where to search next. Maybe they’ll be frustrated enough to give up.”
Robert tensed. “What do you mean, when they realize Mercy isn’t there? How would they come to find out such a thing?”
Leopold flapped his hand in dismissal. He did that a lot. I used to think it was kind of cute, but now I found it infuriating. It made me want to punch him in the face.
He said, “Edgar told me that the VGO have a group of lackeys on standby in San Francisco. The VGO work fast. They put the team together as a contingency plan as soon as they learned your identities—probably well before the attack today, with Edgar’s eavesdropping around the lab. I’m assuming that they went there after they realized you weren’t here . . . What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
I wanted to scream. Robert leapt to his feet. He sprinted to the nightstand and snatched up his cell phone. He thrust it at me.
“They’re in San Francisco? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” I screeched, punching in Liz’s number.
Leopold frowned. “I don’t understand why it matters so much. You’re here and safe, so I thought if they went to your home it would throw them off—”
“My friend Liz is housesitting! She’s there right now. At Robert’s! Oh my God! Liz!”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” Robert rasped. He didn’t sound entirely committed to his claim.
14
The phone rang once and then came sobbing on the other line—scary sobs, not the kind of snuffles reserved for I got into a horrible argument with my boss and I think I might be fired or I backed into a pole in the parking lot and now my car looks like a dented tuna can.
These cries were deep-rooted and laden with despair. I’d heard Liz lose it before, but never like this.
“Are they there now?” I blurted. It was pretty stupid of me to ask. If the VGO were with Liz, it was doubtful they’d let her answer the phone.
She wouldn’t stop crying, which was both frightening and frustrating to no end. I stood there in the bedroom with the phone pressed against my ear, feeling utterly inadequate. Robert and Leopold were staring at me hard, flapping their arms: What is she saying? I flapped my arm at them: I’m trying!
“Are you hurt? What’s happened?” I figured if I kept firing away questions she might eventually get around to replying. “Where are you? Are you alone?”
“It’s D-David!” she wailed. “He’s been hurt. I’m at the hospital.”
“Tell me what happened!”
The details Liz outlined were fuzzy, as she was utterly in the dark about Leopold’s lab and had never heard of the VGO. She’d also been gone when the violence had transpired. After some back-and-forth, I was able to get a clearer picture of what had occurred.
The VGO had sent their goons to Robert’s at the same time as the lab massacre in London. The lab was infiltrated during the day, around 10AM. With the time difference, this meant that the break-in at Robert’s had taken place at approximately 2AM. Though it was pure conjecture on my part, I gathered that the assailants in San Francisco had broken in expecting to find me asleep in bed alone, assuming Robert would be at the office (that is, if they were still in the dark about his recent transformation to humanism). Instead, they stumbled upon David watching television.
Liz had already gone to work at Dignitary, so she hadn’t been there to protect him. Why the thugs had then decided to beat David to within an inch of his life was a mystery. Perhaps they were angry because their murderous plans had been foiled. Maybe he’d tried to fight back. Whatever the case, they wailed on him with such severity that he’d been rushed to the ICU, where he currently remained in a coma. Liz was the one who’d found David hours after the attack: facedown next to the sofa, limbs splayed at inhuman angles, purple strangle marks around his neck, his bloody hand clutching his cell phone. He’d punched in 9-1-1 but had passed out before he managed to hit SEND. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive.
“Yah, real lucky,” sniffed Liz. “It makes me sick. I was at work having a grand old time while David was lying on the floor helpless, dying. What if he dies, Mercy? I can’t lose him. I can’t! He doesn’t deserve any of this—I’m the one mixed up with all this . . . this . . . immortal business!”
I usually had a comment for everything during conversations with my best friend, but in this instance I really had no idea what to say. I felt bad for Liz. I was scared for David. And at the risk of sounding selfish, I was suddenly, absolutely, blindingly terrified for my life.
Before I’d had delusion on my side: Maybe the VGO would find me and offer me a warning, too. Maybe if they could see that I mean vampires no harm they’d call off their hit. But the attack on David had cleared up any misconceptions I’d had. The VGO meant business. It was straight to the jugular with them. How naive of me to dream otherwise.
I finally recovered my voice. “Have you thought about . . . If you did the thing with your blood, David would be as good as new. Err, if you, you know, gave him some.” I didn’t want to be too specific in case she had me on speaker. What Leopold had said earlier was on the money. You do have to be careful when dealing with vampires.
“He’d never forgive me,” Liz whispered. I assumed she was within earshot of other hospital visitors. I doubted she was in David’s room since they usually didn’t allow cell phones in patient rooms. (More House expertise.) “You know how he feels about vampires. He hates them.” Her voice was unsure, like she was hoping I’d contradict her. But I couldn’t. David did loath vampires. He was polite around Robert because he was obliged to be, but no way would you have ever found him willingly socializing with vamps outside his association with Liz.
“But you’re a—”
“Yes, but not by choice,” she stated. “But I like being a vampire. David would kill himself if I turned him. He’s pretty much said so.”
Wow. Death over vampirism. There was a guy who stuck to his guns. I wondered how that made Liz feel.
Somebody spoke to Liz in the background. I tried to listen as she replied but her voice was muffled. She’d probably covered the phone as to not yell in my ear. That broke my heart—Liz covering the phone. There she was in the hospital thinking that her husband might die, yet she was still selfless enough to be conscientious about not yelling in my ear.
“Listen, Mercy, I’ve got to go. David is going into surgery. He has internal bleeding—okay, I’ll be right there! They’re calling me now.”
“Get going, Liz. Please keep me updated, okay? And I’m so sorry about all this.”
“I know. Me too.”
I filled Robert and Leopold in on the situation after hanging up with Liz. They were as shocked as I was, but Robert’s shock was overshadowed by anger. Leopold didn’t seem irritated at all, but he had n
o right to be irritated. He was the one who’d caused the drama—and drama was putting it lightly.
“I’m going to try Seraphim again,” Leopold said. It was random, but what else could he say? I’m sorry for this boo-boo of epic proportions. I’m sorry that my greedy desire for money has caused so much grief and pain. I’m sorry for being such a selfish bastard. Sure, he actually could have said all those things—should have said all those things. He could have taken responsibility for his bad decisions. But of course he never did. Centuries of bad behavior couldn’t be changed overnight.
“I think I’d like to rest,” I said, if only to expedite Leopold’s departure from the bedroom. “I’m feeling overcome.” It was a very Victorian thing to declare, and normally I wouldn’t stoop to such measures—this little lady needs to retire from all this commotion—but it was effective.
“Of course.” Leopold seemed relieved to be getting the hell out of there, since our hostility towards him was palpable. “I will leave you two. I shall check back in with you first thing after I rise.”
It was a weird feeling, being in the mansion of somebody whose ass you desperately wanted to kick. I wanted to be at home, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. But then it occurred to me how dangerous that would be. Have a think about that for a moment: home was literally the most dangerous place on earth that I could have gone. Talk about having the security blanket ripped right out from under you.
“Maybe we should go back to bed,” Robert suggested. “You’re looking . . . disenchanted.” Leave it to a vampire to fancy up a comment like You look like hell.
“Not a bad idea, though I probably won’t be able to fall back asleep until next week,” I said. “I can’t wrap my mind around how many awful things have happened in the course of twenty-four hours.” Robert opened his mouth to speak and I held up a hand to silence him. “And don’t say that things can only go up from here. You and I both know from experience that things can always get worse.”
Robert gave me a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t. I was going to suggest that we get into bed.” Sure he was.
It should have felt wrong given our dire situation, but Robert and I were moving all over each other the instant we hit the sheets. I started to tear up a little as Robert disrobed me. More bad new was to come, I was certain. I’d been down this road before, and not too long ago. There would be more assaults, more revenge, and more bloodshed.
“You’re crying,” Robert said. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to ever stop. I want to stay like this for forever, in bed with you. Just the two of us.” Wishful thinking.
Unfortunately, forever lasted only a few hours.
I awoke around noon to find Robert sitting on my side of the bed. He was holding a glass of orange juice in one hand and the newspaper in the other. I took the juice and downed it on one go.
I tapped a finger on the newspaper. “Why do I have the feeling that there’s a story in there that you want me to see?”
“Because there is.”
I sat up. “Is it about what happened at the lab?”
“No, I doubt that story will make the papers. But you’ll want to read this.”
Robert unfolded the newspaper and smoothed it out on the bed. The headline pierced my heart like a bullet:
SERAPHIM BLYTHE FOUND DEAD IN DEVASTATING STUDIO FIRE
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
“Yes,” Robert grimaced, “holy shit.”
Beneath the headline was a photo of Seraphim walking the runway during London Fashion Week, her arms around two gorgeous Eastern European-looking models. She was smiling widely, her head thrown back in a declaration of sheer joy.
I cleared the sleep from my eyes and the morning cobwebs from my throat and read the story out loud:
“Some are calling it a mysterious family curse: Celebrated womenswear designer Seraphim Blythe, age thirty-six, was found dead in her West London studio late last night. She was the third-generation titleholder of high-fashion label Blythe and, puzzlingly, the third woman in her lineage to die of bizarre circumstances at a young age. Blythe’s mother, Daniela Blythe, famed fashion designer of the disco generation, died during an automobile collision at age thirty-seven. Her grandmother, Blythe label founder Mariam Blythe (née Thomas), drowned at age thirty-four. Authorities are stating arson as the cause of the fire. They are treating Blythe’s death as murder. When reached for comment . . .”
I didn’t need to read anymore.
“I guess this explains why Seraphim wasn’t answering her phone for Leopold,” Robert said. “Leopold will be up in a few hours. I’m curious to see what his take is on all this.”
So was I.
Leopold read the paper with alarming speed—like the whole article in less than thirty seconds flat. When he finished, he set his jaw.
“Well?” Robert asked.
“Well, nothing,” Leopold spat. “This is typical Seraphim behavior and exactly what I was expecting to happen—her disappearing.” Leopold bared his fangs for the next bit. “Bitch! Traitor!”
“Are you sure she’s actually disappeared?” I asked. “They did find a body. Maybe she isn’t a traitor after all. The VGO could have done this.”
Leopold shook his head. “Seraphim is vampire. Her body wouldn’t resemble a human corpse.”
“Of course.” Duh, Mercy.
“This doesn’t mean she isn’t dead,” Robert said.
“Yes, perhaps,” Leopold agreed. “She could have betrayed me to get in the good graces of the VGO, and then they murdered her once she ceased being useful. It’s not unlike them.” Leopold made his signature hand-flapping gesture. “But I truly don’t know. Either way, what’s done is done.”
“So what now?” I asked.
“I will not waste any more of our time speculating about Seraphim. She has deceived me, and that’s all I need to know.” Leopold calmly folded the newspaper and rested it on his lap. “Now, let’s talk about you, Mercy. The most logical thing for you to do now is to go into hiding. Sooner or later they’re going to come back here looking for you.” He said it just like that. Hey, you should go away, hide out. Like I was a secret agent or something.
“Go into hiding? Where?” I asked.
“My recommendation is someplace sunny.”
Thanks, that was real helpful. Leopold might as well have told me to go someplace that has dogs or flowers.
“I’ll be going with her,” Robert declared.
This was not news Leopold wanted to hear. “But if you do that the VGO—”
“I wasn’t asking your permission, Leopold.” Robert took my hand. It made me feel so loved when he did that—closed his hand around mine while being protective. It was old-fashioned to the max—the big, strong man standing up for his woman—but I couldn’t help that I liked it. “Where Mercy goes, I go.”
“Very well.” Leopold thought for a moment. “You’ll have to leave Europe completely. And you can forget about going back to America. Canada, too—it’s too close.”
“What about Australia?” Robert suggested, which thrilled me. Australia was on my bucket list.
Leopold shot down the idea immediately. “Might be dangerous. There are quite a few VGO affiliates in Sydney. But staying in that region . . .”
“New Zealand?” Robert guessed.
“No, think higher.”
“Singapore?”
“Too high. I’m thinking Indonesia—Bali specifically. The island is small but large, if you get me.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Leopold,” I said.
“Indonesia is the small cluster of islands right above Australia, to the left of Papua New—”
“I know that,” I said, but not defensively. Leopold wasn’t being condescending, only helpful (for once). A lot of people may not know precisely where Indonesia is located on the globe. But I did.
Though I’d never left the United States�
��or been anywhere other than Florida and California for that matter—I was a geography whiz. Back in teeny-tiny Pelville, studying the globe was one of the many ways I’d coped with cramped trailer life as an adolescent. I’d pour over maps and travel guides for hours, dreaming of all the great places I’d like to visit. I imagined how the air would smell and the food would taste, ponder if the locals would receive me well. The Eiffel Tower in France, the pyramids of Egypt, Ayers Rock in Australia, the peaks of the Himalayas: I wanted to see it all and more. At least I’d managed to get one of my stops down, London. I’d try to remind myself of that if the VGO did happen to murder me.
“I’m confused by your ‘small but large’ comment,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“Ah. Right. What I meant by that is this: Bali, while small, is spread out into many different pockets, which will make it easier for you to hide. There are many areas of the island that have not yet fallen prey to development, so you can hopefully stay under the radar. In Bali, you won’t have to worry about things like traffic cameras or CTV. I think Bali would be ideal for you in many ways, and the VGO would never guess that you’d go there. It’s a very random location—from London to Bali, there’s no rhyme or reason to it. And if the VGO are one thing, it’s logical to a fault. They’ll begin their search for you around Europe, since that would be the most rational place for you to hide. They’d assume that you’d be that obtuse—to hide so close to London—being that you are human. The VGO are cunning but they’re arrogant, too. They’d never dream of a mortal outwitting them.”
Now I did feel obtuse. Hiding out in Europe was exactly what I’d been thinking. Hey, I was new to the whole being on the lam thing. Also, I was still thinking in terms of my finances. Hiding locales could a lot more ambitious with the aid of Robert’s money. If we had to disappear on my budget alone, we’d be holed-up in a tent down by the river, cooking a can of beans over a burn barrel.
