I look into Avery's eyes. “I felt him, just like you said I would. He was there for an instant, and then he was gone."
Avery's brow creases and his mouth grows tight and grim. He is shielding his thoughts, but I sense his disquiet. Finally, he says,
“You must stay with me until we can sort this out."
I blow out an exasperated breath and let my thoughts answer.
I can't. David is extremely upset with you—and with me. I told him I wouldn't see you again. Of course, it was a lie. But I need to stay with him at least tonight. After that, I'll tell him I'm going to stay at my parent's home. He knows they're in Europe for two weeks. He'll accept that.
David is a mortal. Avery's tone is dismissive. You don't need to explain yourself to him or to anyone ever again. You are vampire, Anna, and you must learn to act like it.
His air of superiority makes me cringe. If that's true, I remind him gently, why do we hide our true identities?
He cocks an eyebrow at me. You are impudent, aren't you? Perhaps it's why I like you so much. You have a way of bringing me back to earth. All right, Anna, maybe it's best if you run along to your friend's. But I want to see you first thing tomorrow morning. I'll check around tonight and see if I can learn where Donaldson is hiding. Perhaps we can find out just what he's up to.
I start to get out of the car, letting his remark about “running along to my friend” pass without comment. I don't need his permission.
But I do need his help.
He reaches out, placing one hand on my arm, cupping my chin in his other hand.
"It will be all right, you know."
His eyes offer solace. For this moment, at least, I let myself accept it.
Chapter Nineteen
My parents live in La Mesa, a bedroom community east of San Diego. A drive that should take twenty minutes max, takes about forty with traffic, but for once, I'm in no hurry. It's the first time I've been alone—really alone—in days. The crying jag in Avery's car released some pent-up emotion, but while the sadness is gone, anger is just bubbling to the surface.
For the first time in my life, I know how it feels to want someone dead. If Donaldson is behind the fire, I might just reconsider Avery's notion that he needs to be killed. I'm not shocked that I feel this way, nor do I blame it on how I've changed. It has nothing to do with being vampire and everything to do with what Donaldson has taken from me.
It's a most human reaction.
Which is comforting, in a crazy sort of way.
At my folks', the reality of the fire hits me again. Their home is filled with silver-framed pictures, several of them of my grandparents taken in and around the cottage. I pick up one of them and hug it to my chest as I head for the bedroom.
My mom is a high school principal, my dad an investment banker. I'm an only child. I had a brother, Steve, two years older than me. He died at eighteen in one of the most senseless, devastating ways imaginable. He was struck by a drunk driver in the middle of the day in the middle of a crosswalk on his way to classes at Cornell University.
I don't know what makes me think of Steve now. Maybe it's because here in the house where we grew up, his presence is still felt.
Not in a maudlin “there's a shrine on top of the television” kind of way, but rather in an affirmation that life does go on after such a tragedy. My parents worked hard to make sure I didn't get lost in the depths of their inconsolable grief.
Which is what makes my parents so crazy about the lifestyle I've chosen. I know this. I just can't tell them why I feel the way I do. I can't explain that it's because of Steve's death I live my life as I do. He was killed minding his own business, without warning or reason. If life is so tenuous, I'll be damned if I spend it in safe drudgery.
But that's rather a moot point now, isn't it?
I find myself shaking my head. Maybe now, with eternity stretching out in front of me, I could stand to take a normal job if only to appease them in the short time we have left.
Because I know, it is a short time. Not that they are in ill health, but because I realize it is only a matter of years before they notice that their daughter is not aging. There will be no wrinkles on my face, no sagging body, no arthritic joints. How will I handle it? Will I have to disappear? How can I bear to watch as they lose another child? There must be another way. I must ask Avery.
Avery. My mentor, my guide. What would I do without him?
The smell of smoke in my hair and on my skin brings me out of my reverie. I slip out of my clothes and head for the bathroom off my folk's bedroom. I let the water run hot before I step into the shower. The steam is a balm to my spirit, as well as my body. I lather up and rinse off, and then I stand there for ten minutes, not thinking, not feeling. When I can stand the heat no longer, I step out.
The bathroom has turned into a steam room. I wrap a towel around my head and grab another to swipe over the mirror. It takes a minute for the glass to clear and another to digest the fact that there is no reflection beaming back at me.
The jolt is followed by an awareness that to no longer have to deal with mortal vanity is rather liberating. I towel dry my hair, finger comb it, and I'm done.
It only takes a few minutes more to change into jeans and a tee shirt and throw some clothes into a bag. My mother and I are the same size, and while her taste leans toward the sophisticated, she does have a stash of casual wear that I take advantage of now. I leave her a note telling her what I've taken. She'll have lots of questions, but there's no sense adding anything else. My parents will learn about the fire when they get back from Europe—soon enough.
Then I'm back in the car and headed for David's loft. He lives in the Gas Lamp area just south of downtown where gentrification is in full swing. The area, once a hangout for the homeless, now teems with restaurants, bars, loft apartments, and trendy boutiques.
The homeless are still here, of course, but relegated to the side streets now. Cops on horseback make sure they don't venture out where their presence might distress the new residents.
It's about four in the afternoon when I pull into the underground parking garage at David's. I realize I don't have his card key—
another casualty of the fire—so I press the intercom button and wait for him to answer.
He doesn't.
I press again. I know he's there, because I can see his Hummer parked in all its yellow splendor just across the lot.
Still no response.
Aggravation spikes. He wants me to stay with him, so where is he when I need him?
I back carefully up the ramp and park on the street. Grabbing my overnight bag, I look up at the security door, wondering how I'll get inside. I don't have that key, either. But as luck will have it, a woman appears just then, a cute little Lab pup in her arms. I hustle up the steps just as she opens the door. We exchange smiles, and I give the pup the mandatory head scratch before bolting inside.
David lives on the top floor of a twelve-story building. The elevator bumps to a stop, and I'm knocking at the door, calling out as I do. The door gives under my touch and I push it open. Obviously, he left it that way for me. He's probably taking the trash out or something, which explains why he didn't answer before.
David's loft was purchased with football money—a ton of it. The living room is comprised of walls of glass so that the view sweeps in an unobstructed arc north from downtown to the bay. That panorama is the first thing you notice when you step inside and it's simply an automatic reaction to wander to the balcony to take it all in.
So, I just stand there, watching sailboats bob and weave on the bay like frisky colts, waiting for my errant partner to put in an appearance. But my thoughts are not on the view. My emotions have once again shifted into overdrive. One moment I'm overcome by sadness at the enormity of my loss, and the next, bathed in cold fury at the thought that it was done deliberately.
Finally, I find myself glancing at my watch. I realize I've been here fifteen minutes, and still there's n
o David.
Something is wrong.
I step back inside and listen. The loft is eerily quiet. In fact, the stereo David always leaves on, has been turned off. I take a turn around the place, peeking into bedrooms, baths, the kitchen, and dining room, finally back to the living room.
He's not here.
Which doesn't make sense. If he decided to go to the store or to run a last-minute errand, he would have left me a note. And he certainly wouldn't have left the front door open.
I head back through the dining room, thinking I'll use the kitchen phone to try his cell, when I see them.
David's wallet, car keys and money clip are sitting on the bar in the dining room.
How could I have missed that before?
Something's definitely wrong.
I take a step closer and see something else.
My new vampire senses spring into alertness.
There's a smear, dark and viscous, on the corner of the glass table, and another on the rug just below it.
It's blood. I feel it.
And just as certainly, I know it can only be David's blood.
Chapter Twenty
A dreadful conviction builds in my chest. Somehow, whatever happened to David happened because of me.
I can't explain why I feel this way. I just know it's true, the same way I know I'm staring at a smear of David's blood.
I try to reason it through. There could be another explanation. David may have met with some kind of nasty accident. I snatch up my cell and call Avery, telling him what I've found and asking him if he'll check the hospitals close to downtown just in case.
He says he'll do it right away and to meet him at his house, so I take David's keys from the sideboard and race back to my car. All the way to La Jolla, my mind reels with the possibility that I've brought about another disaster, this time to my very best friend, as a direct result of my new “gift."
Gift. First the fire, then David. Christ, where do I go to return such a gift?
"I don't even want my money back,” I shout to the heavens. “Just make my life the way it was before."
But then you wouldn't have the chance to know me, would you?
First there's the shock of recognition. Then impatience. Why, it's Casper. Back out of the blue.
The voice chortles a little laugh. Casper?
Forget it. I doubt you'd understand. Where are you?
Look in the rearview mirror.
There's a beat-up old pickup behind me. I can't see who's driving through the glare of the sun on the windshield.
What do you want?
A thank you would be nice. I did bring your car to you the other night.
Thank you. Now forgive me if I don't stop to chat. I'm a little preoccupied.
I know. Your friend has been taken.
That almost provokes me into slamming on the brakes. I know I can move fast enough to grab him before he—
Don't try it. I'm older than you. By about one hundred and forty years. Trust me, I'm faster.
I grip the wheel in frustration. If you know something that can help David and you don't tell me, I don't care how much older you are. I'll hunt you down and kill you.
I know you will. I don't know who has him. That's the truth.
Then what good are you? Why are you here?
To tell you to be careful. You're going through many changes right now. You haven't had the time to adjust the way you should.
Things are skewed. Your instincts may be off.
Is that supposed to help?
It's the best I can do.
Then thanks for nothing.
There's no answer, and when I check the rearview mirror, the truck is gone.
* * *
Avery is waiting for me at his front door when I pull up. He shakes his head and ushers me inside with a hand on the small of my back.
"He's not in any of the local hospitals. And Chief Williams checked for accident reports, too. None involving David. I'm sorry, Anna."
My anger is quickly becoming scalding fury.
"It's Donaldson, isn't it? He took David to have some kind of leverage on me. But why? What does he want?"
Again, the shake of the head. “I can't answer that. Donaldson is an unknown quantity. If you're right about his starting the fire, though, I think it's a safe bet he wants you out of the way. I suppose it makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. You are his only victim who survived. He may perceive you as a threat."
I start to pace, stomach and mind churning. He must have known I would go back to the cottage. Why didn't he wait for me there? Why start the fire? Why take David?
Avery doesn't answer. He doesn't know. I read it in his thoughts. He feels as helpless as I do. Worse. There's hopelessness there, too.
Don't do that, I scold. David has to be all right. I'll find him. If Donaldson thinks taking him is a way to get to me, he's right.
What are you going to do?
That elicits a frown. I don't know. You know the vampire community. Is there a place where a rogue would go to seek refuge?
Avery probes his mind, considering and rejecting several possibilities, until one surfaces that makes him pause. Yes, I think I do, though this may be a long shot. But didn't you and David think he was on his way to Mexico when you caught up with him?
I nod. His wife found a note he'd written to his girlfriend. He'd made arrangements with somebody across the border to put him up for a while. She gave the note to the police, but there wasn't enough information to track him down.
Avery smiles, as if I've confirmed his suspicion. He crosses to the library with me following closely in his wake, reaches for an Atlas and thumbs it open.
He jabs a finger at the page. He may be here. Right across the border. The badlands. There's a village that's become a hideout for desperados, both human and vampire. Even the Federales fear patrolling there. It's called Beso de la Muerte by the locals.
I sift that through my limited knowledge of Spanish. Kiss of Death?
He nods, pointing to a place half way between Tijuana and Mexicali.
There's nothing out there, I protest. Just desert.
Not exactly. There's a ghost town—or at least that's what it looks like to outsiders. Ramshackle buildings and an abandoned mineshaft. But in the mine, there exists an underground community of misfits who live like moles in the tunnels. Their leader is an outlaw called Culebra.
Rattlesnake. Charming. And they live in the tunnels?
Avery nods again. They have supplies brought in on an abandoned railroad spur. It's all funded by one of Mexico's biggest drug dealers. He provides the goods in return for the occasional use of the place.
You mean, like a hideout?
More like a dumpsite. When he sends someone there, they generally don't come back.
So, how does Donaldson fit into this delightful scenario?
Avery keeps his thoughts deceptively composed. I'm not sure he does, of course, but it fits.
Of course it does. A setup like that would be the perfect place for Donaldson, especially if he's after me. I'd follow him, and he could dispose of me—and David—and no one would be the wiser.
I look up at Avery. “It's what you're afraid of, isn't it?"
It's what you should be afraid of, he says. Donaldson is cunning and cruel. If he's solicited the help of that community, you might not be able to protect yourself.
What choice do I have? David is more than a business partner; he's a friend.
He's mortal, Anna.
He lets a moment pass, sifting my emotions through his head, feeling my outrage. He holds up a hand as if to ward off the anger I've directed at him.
I'm just saying that you don't have to do this, not really. You could wait for Donaldson to come back here, where you're in your element, and not meet him in his.
And in the meantime, what happens to David? I pick up his ambivalence, and it notches my fury higher. I will bring David back.
And if this attitude of y
ours toward mortals is indicative of the vampire community, I don't want to be a part of it.
You have no choice. His eyes darken like angry thunderclouds. You are vampire. You don't seem to grasp that. Your realities are no longer founded in the fate of the mortal world. You have a higher calling.
I feel the rage erupt. Higher calling? One of my vampire cousins with this higher calling just burned my house down and kidnapped my best friend. Avery, we're bloodsucking freaks. Forgive me if I feel more allegiance to David than to Donaldson—or to you.
He shakes his head, but there's no acrimony, only a kind of sad resignation. You don't understand. I appreciate that. This is all so new to you. Though, trust me when I say that as time goes by, what I'm telling you now will make sense. Donaldson is indeed a freak. And he must be dealt with. But it's because of the damage he is doing to our community, not because of your personal vendetta.
Is that supposed to make a difference to me?
Maybe not now. But you must learn to separate your feelings for mortals from what is most important. And that is the preservation of your true family.
Enough. I wave a hand. “I'm wasting time. Can you draw me a map to this place?"
Avery locks me in a gaze for a long moment, gauging any chance of reason or logic—his, of course—making a dent in my determination to go after David. He correctly reads that there is none. The silence grows tight with tension until he breaks it with a noisy sigh.
All right. I'll draw you a map. But getting to this place won't be easy. You'll have to take a four-wheel drive vehicle. Do you have one?
I immediately think of David's Hummer. I am listed as co-owner on his registration for business purposes. But that would be too high profile a vehicle to take into Mexico.
I agree, Avery chimes in. I have an Explorer. You can use that.
What if the Border patrol asks to see the registration? It's against their laws to take a borrowed vehicle into Mexico.
I'll take care of that. I have friends on the Border Patrol. I'll alert them and they'll see you're not bothered.
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