The Becoming asc-1

by Jeanne C. Stein

  He ignores my remark and bends his head to my leg. He places his mouth over the torn skin and sucks gently.

  "Wow. This is kinky."

  He ignores that, too, his tongue tracing the edges of the injury until I feel a tingle that starts deep in my calf muscle and radiates outward. He continues to probe the wound, and the sensation is so pleasurable that I stop fighting it and let my head drop back onto the cushion. He starts singing me a little lullaby in his head—a lullaby of all things—and before I can comment on it, I'm fast asleep.

  * * *

  The next thing I know, I'm being awakened by a gentle touch on my arm. I drag myself from sleep reluctantly, thinking for a minute that I'm in my own home, in my own bed, and that it's Max nudging me awake.

  "No, Anna. It's not Max.” Avery is speaking in a soft voice, smoothing my hair back off my forehead. “Sorry."

  I open my eyes and give Avery a rueful smile and struggle into a sitting position. I'm still on the couch, an afghan so soft it must be made of cashmere thrown over me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Thanks for taking me in last night."

  He holds out a cup of coffee. When I take it, he asks, How does your leg feel?

  I take a sip of the coffee and hand him back the cup so that I can push the afghan out of the way. When I look down at my calf, I can hardly believe my eyes. There's not even a bruise to mark where the arrow had penetrated.

  "Too bad you can't do this with mortal patients. It's quite a trick."

  He laughs. Well, you had something to do with it, too. You are remarkably strong.

  He pauses a moment, letting me readjust myself on the couch before he asks. What happened? I can only assume you didn't find David.

  No. I let him pick the memory out of my head, sadness descending again, coloring my thoughts with a despair I don't try to disguise.

  Avery reads my feelings, tries to offer what comfort he can. What will you do now?

  Go back to David's. Look around some more. See if I've missed anything. If not— I shrug. “I guess I'll have to call the police."

  He nods. I'll give you Chief Williams’ s private number. I've told him what we know, but so far, he's learned nothing from his contacts. David seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth.

  It's not exactly what I want to hear. I push off the couch. I think I left my bag here yesterday, didn't I?

  Avery motions towards the stairs. I took the liberty of putting your things in a bedroom upstairs. I hope you don't mind.

  I stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss on the cheek. You've been a good friend.

  A good friend? He puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses me back, hard, on the lips. Is that all?

  But this isn't the time and my thoughts are too conflicted to give him a proper answer. He reads the signals, lets his hands drop and takes a step back. He does smile, though, and points again to the stairs.

  First door to the left—across from my bedroom. By the time you've showered, I'll have breakfast waiting.

  I trudge up the stairs wondering how I'll ever repay him for all the help he's given me.

  His voice follows me. We'll think of something .

  The guestroom is large, the walls painted a pale yellow. Delicate lace curtains move in the breeze of an open window. Bright morning sun is reflected in the gleam of polished mahogany and off the glass in frames of wonderful old oil paintings that look vaguely familiar. Old masters, I'm betting, and originals, not copies. Avery even unpacked my bag. I find my clothes folded neatly in an armoire. I had no toiletries with me, but the adjoining bathroom is well stocked.

  He has thought of everything.

  A shower and clean clothes revive my body if not my spirit. Avery has eggs and bacon and toast waiting for me when I come back down. The smell triggers a visceral response—my stomach actually growls I'm so hungry.

  Avery has set places at a small table in the corner of a big kitchen. It's like a restaurant kitchen with stainless steel appliances and acres of spotless white tile. He holds my chair for me and I sink into it.

  I pick up my fork and look over at his place. There's nothing except a cup full of dark liquid. You're not eating?

  He holds up the cup. This is all I need.

  I start in on the eggs, but after only two bites, I push the plate away. I guess I'm not hungry after all.

  Avery looks at me for a long moment, then stands up and goes to the refrigerator. He takes a pitcher out, pours a cup from it and places the cup in the microwave. After thirty seconds, the timer chimes and he brings the cup over to me.

  The liquid in the cup is a dark, thick, unmistakable red. I raise an eyebrow. I assume this isn't V-8?

  He laughs. No. It's blood.

  The eyebrow ratchets higher. Blood? Human Blood?

  No, pig's blood. Of course, it's human blood.

  I find myself looking around the kitchen suspiciously. Avery, where did you get human blood?

  From the servants I keep chained in the basement. Everyday, I drain just enough from them to sustain my own life and prolong theirs.

  At first, fear, a cold, creepy thrust of it, knocks me off balance. Then, I see the twinkle in his eye and feel the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface of his mind.

  It's a good thing I don't have my gun. I'd be tempted to shoot you for that.

  He lets the laughter erupt. For a tough cookie, you are so easy.

  I finger the cup, sniff the contents. This smells like blood.

  I told you it is. But don't worry. I get it from the hospital blood bank. When we have blood that is going to expire before we can use it, a tech friend of mine gives it to me. It would be thrown out anyway, so why not put it to good use?

  But I thought it's not the kind of blood we need.

  Technically, no. You couldn't subsist on it for any length of time. But you fed from me just a day or so ago, so you don't need real nourishment. It looks to me as if your taste for regular food is just about gone, too, but you obviously needed something. Think of this as a pick-me-up.

  He pauses, a delicate question forming in his head.

  No, I answer. I didn't feed from Donaldson. Not that I wouldn't have torn out his throat if he hadn't cooperated. Somebody killed him before I had the chance.

  We drink then in desultory silence. The blood has a strange taste. When I drank from Avery, his blood was suffused with life, rich and robust. This is—

  "Musty tasting,” Avery explains, reading my reaction. “Like the difference between a fine old wine and a cheap upstart. When you drink from a living creature, you take more than sustenance. You take their life essence. Refrigerated blood loses that spark very quickly. It's why we can't exist on it indefinitely. But it is blood and in an emergency, it has it uses."

  "This is an emergency?"

  Avery puts his cup down and reaches across the table to take my hand. “You have had a rough night. And I'm afraid what you face today will not be much easier."

  I fear that, too. My thoughts are weighed down by the knowledge that I'm no closer to finding David than I was before I went to Beso de la Muerte .

  Avery squeezes my hand. “What would you do if David was a fugitive?"

  I'm caught off guard by his question. “What?"

  "What would you do if you were looking for him because he was wanted by the law?"

  I put down my cup and purse my lips. Well, I'd run a credit card check, see if he's bought a plane ticket or made hotel reservations somewhere. I'd call his friends—

  My eyes seek Avery's. Gloria. She's in New York .

  Avery nods, but just as quickly, I shake my head.

  He's not with Gloria. He wouldn't have left knowing I was on my way. I'm the reason he stayed in San Diego in the first place.

  What else would you do?

  Impatiently, I push away from the table and stand. It's not the same. There was blood in his condo. His wallet and keys were there. The front door was open. David didn't leave willingly. He was taken. The question
is why?

  I've gathered up my breakfast things and taken them to the sink. Avery waves me off.

  Leave the dishes. My housekeeper will be here in a little while.

  But I need something to do, even if it's only a mundane thing like rinsing dishes. When I've stowed everything in the dishwasher, I turn back to Avery.

  Do you think Chief Williams will help me if I call him?

  Of course. Avery pulls a small notebook out of his pocket along with a silver ballpoint pen. He flips to a blank page and starts writing. Then he tears the page off and hands it to me.

  "I've already called him and explained the situation. I've included my office number here, too. If you need me today, call. I'll leave word that you should be put straight through."

  I fold the paper into my jeans pocket. “I've another favor to ask. Do you suppose I could borrow the Explorer again? If someone is waiting for me at David's, they might be looking for my car."

  He points to a spot on the counter. “Help yourself. The keys are right there."

  I gather them up and turn to go.

  Thank you, Avery. Again.

  Anytime, Anna.

  He comes around the table and wraps me in a hug. You know I want to help. I just wish there was more I could do.

  I let my head rest a moment against his chest, drawing strength. Then I straighten up. Wish me luck.

  He smiles. You've got it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When I get to the condo, I ring the bell, hoping irrationally that David will be there to answer the door. I won't even mind the tongue-lashing he's sure to give me for not showing up last night.

  But I know deep down he won't be there and, of course, he isn't.

  After a moment, I use his own keys to let myself in, amazed that I thought to grab them before leaving yesterday considering the shape I was in.

  Everything is exactly as I remember it.

  I make a sweep of the entire condo, a thorough sweep this time, before coming back to the dining room. The blood on the corner of the table has dried to black flakes. Thankfully, there isn't a lot of it. Of course, if David was captured by a vampire, there wouldn't be. I push that thought out of my head.

  After I've stared at the blood for ten minutes and no useful idea how I might proceed presents itself, I dial Chief Williams. He answers himself, surprising me into speechlessness for a moment until I remember that Avery said this was a private line.

  "Chief Williams, this is Anna Strong."

  A deep-timbred voice comes back across the line. “Dr. Avery said you might call. Nothing from your friend?"

  "No. And I'm really worried. Do you suppose you could send someone to meet me at his condo? I need a professional cop's opinion. I'm out of my depth here."

  "I can be there in ten minutes. What's the address?"

  I give him the address, unit number and tell him I'll buzz him in. He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a moment. He's coming himself? Not a good sign, I'm sure.

  When Williams arrives, he's alone and in civilian clothes. Another surprise. He shakes my hand and explains, this is my day off.

  He follows me inside, and his gray-green eyes scan the interior. It's lightning fast but I get the impression he's not missing much. His mind is closed, allowing me the freedom to size him up at close range, something I didn't do at the party. He's tall, over 6', but not as tall as David. He's much leaner, too, a vampire trait, I've discovered. Must be the liquid protein diet. He's wearing jeans and a polo shirt topped by a leather bomber jacket, worn Nike sports shoes on his feet. His hair is dark, but flecked with gray. I wonder if that's an affectation. I don't know how old he is, but I would imagine a police chief would be at least in his fifties. Williams's face is unlined for the most part. Can't do anything about that if you're a vampire, but the hair can “age."

  He turns those sharp eyes on me. He lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. Does it look natural? It's a bitch trying to convince a hair stylist that you want gray in your hair when the majority of their clientele is devoted to taking it out.

  Very natural. I wave a hand. What do you think?

  Williams walks out on the balcony before responding. Nice view.

  Nice view? I follow him onto the deck. Chief Williams, my friend is missing. I'm very concerned about him. I need your opinion about what to do. Should I file a missing person's report? Should I start contacting his friends and family? I'm at my wit's end here. I really need your help.

  Williams takes a cigar case from the inside pocket of his jacket, takes his time extracting a fat cigar, and rolls it between his fingers before finally bringing it to his lips. He bites off the tip and spits it over the balcony. Then he breaks out a lighter and puffs away until the glowing tip catches.

  During all this, I'm shifting from one foot to the other, swallowing back my impatience and fighting down a wave of anger. When he's finally completed the cigar ritual, he raises indifferent eyes to mine.

  David is a mortal.

  He sounds suspiciously like Avery. And what's your point?

  We don't get involved in mortal affairs. Not when it involves the possibility that our identities could be revealed in the course of an investigation.

  Our identities? Just whose identity are you worried about?

  He makes himself comfortable on a deck chair and leans back, the hand with the cigar resting on the arm. He acts like this is a social visit.

  Not at all, he replies. I know how serious this is to you. I just don't know what I can do to help.

  Well, let me tell you. You can act like a cop. You can help me file a report, put out an APB on David, act like you give a damn that my best friend and partner is missing. Those things would be a good start.

  Williams's eyes turn hard. My getting involved would be a mistake.

  Why?

  Because it's very possible your friend was taken in retaliation for your escaping the Revengers the other night. If that's the case, opening an investigation won't help. It will only call attention to the fact that you have influence in the police department. Not a good thing.

  I stare at him a moment. But it was a cop who stopped me. One of yours.

  Not one of mine, I assure you.

  Williams climbs to his feet, flicks ash over the balcony railing, and turns to me. Not a city cop. The Revengers are state patrolmen.

  He's right—a distinction I hadn't made until now.

  Believe me, William's continues, I do my best to discover their identities and weed them out.

  Weed them out? There's no mistaking what he's saying . How do you manage that?

  He shrugs. Accident, hot call goes bad. Fortunately, we haven't had to deal with it much lately. Donaldson's activity is what triggered this new rash of vampire hunting. It would have helped if you'd gotten a badge or car number.

  Well, forgive me for not thinking too clearly. I'd only been a vampire for a day or two, I wasn't expecting to be kidnapped. And if what you say is true, and the Revenger's took David, why haven't they contacted me? What would they want?

  Their intention may simply be to persuade you to move on. It's not often they stumble on a vampire with close friends or family members to use as leverage. Most vampires are too old to have living relatives. In your case, though, there's David, your parents. I think Avery mentioned a boyfriend, too.

  At that, what little patience I have left melts like ice cream under the heat of mounting hostility towards Chief Williams. “Are you saying they'll go after my parents next? Or my boyfriend? And there's nothing you can do about it?"

  Williams holds up a hand. “What I'm saying is that there may not be anything I can do about it. You got the better of them, not something that happens very often. But look what's happened since. You've lost your home, your partner is missing. It's very possible if you leave San Diego, relocate somewhere else, David might be released."

  " Might be released. You don't know that for sure."

  He puffs calmly on the cigar, ignorin
g the rising tide of my anger. No. I don't know anything for sure, including if they even have David. But what alternative do you have? I know this isn't easy, but sometimes the best thing a vampire can do is move on. We've all had to do it. Word will get around that Donaldson is gone and things will quiet down. It's even possible that you might be able to return to San Diego in a year or two.

  And what do I tell my parents in the meantime?

  Tell them the truth. Your home has been destroyed. What do you really have to tie you here? I understand from Dr. Avery that relations between you and your family are strained.

  How does he know that? Then I remember. Avery was probably reading my thoughts at the hospital from the moment I came in.

  But that doesn't explain why he would share them with Williams.

  Williams shrugs. He thought I should know. It might help me to persuade you to do the right thing.

  And that's to leave San Diego.

  For the time being. Let things cool down.

  And this is really what Avery wants?

  At that, Williams turns away from me, shielding his eyes and his thoughts from my scrutiny. Finally, he says softly, “Avery has developed a soft spot for you. He isn't thinking too clearly right now. He needs a cooler head to prevail, which is why he had you contact me. He knew I could be impersonal about this situation where he cannot."

  "So, he doesn't want me to leave?"

  Williams doesn't answer.

  It rankles, but I don't see that I have any option except to go along with him, at least for now. “Do you have any way to get a message to the Revengers?"

  Williams looks at me, eyebrow raised. “Why?"

  "Because I'm willing to do as you request, but only after David is released unharmed."

  His eyes narrow. “Do you mean that?"

  "Does that mean you can get a message to them?"

  "If I answer that, in a court of law, it would be an admission that I know who they are. I'm not saying that I do."

  Spoken like a damned lawyer. I snap, “How badly do you want me gone?"

  Williams shifts away from the balcony, crossing into the living room. At the door, he pauses. He doesn't look around, but his voice floats back across the quiet room. “I'll see what I can do. I'll call you at Avery's tonight."