The Becoming asc-1

by Jeanne C. Stein

  There's a long, wooden staircase that looks to descend straight down, almost like a ladder. The staircase is narrow, not more than two feet wide. One wall is stone, the outside wall of the house probably, the other, wood. There is a handrail, which I grip tightly as I start down. I can't see to the bottom. I can't hear anything, either. There's an eerie stillness that sends an involuntary shiver up my spine.

  There must be a hundred steps. When I touch ground I'm standing on a dirt floor. The musk smell of decaying vegetation tells me that I'm deep underground. Avery has built himself an earthen fortress.

  I spot a door ahead of me about fifty feet from the bottom of the stairs. I know it won't be locked. Avery would not expect anyone to find this place without him. And I'm right. The door yields under my touch.

  It's a large room, maybe twenty by thirty, stacked with wooden crates on one wall, shelving against another. There is a switch to the right of the door. I throw it and the room jumps into stark relief. The shelves are strewn with pieces of pottery, vases, items of gold and silver that glitter despite the gloom of a dim subterranean light—all that's needed with vampire vision.

  I don't know much about art, but I recognize the magnificence of what I see in front me. The graceful beauty of ancient Chinese porcelains, the intricate scrollwork of Egyptian antiquities, the simple magnificence of Mayan pottery and jewelry, I've discovered the source of Avery's wealth. Accumulated across the centuries, I imagine, doled out piece by piece when the need arises. I can't tell what's in the crates, but I'd be willing to bet it's more of the same. The contents of this room could fill a small museum—or keep one immortal living in splendor forever.

  There's nothing incriminating here, not really. Of course I have no way of knowing how he came by such treasure. Being vampire, I'm sure it might not be all on the up and up. But what great fortune, human or vampire, was ever accumulated without the hint of impropriety? I've found nothing to justify another invasion of Avery's privacy. I've once again thought the worst of him and been mistaken.

  Casper was right. My instincts are certainly off. Well, at least I can make this right. I can keep Avery from finding out about my foray into his underground vault. It won't be easy keeping it out of my thoughts, but I will do it. I don't want to risk losing him because of another vague, unsubstantiated suspicion.

  What I need to do now is focus, concentrate on finding David. I'm going to have to start all over. I'll leave for Beso de la Muerte tonight. Avery won't like it, but he'll have to accept it.

  As I make my way across the floor towards the door, I notice for the first time that there is something else in the room. A bundle, deep in the shadows, that looks like a roll of carpet propped lengthwise against the third wall.

  Probably an ancient Persian rug plucked from the castle of a king.

  I hardly give it another glance—at first.

  But then—

  A tiny movement.

  Did I imagine it?

  Eyes riveted on the carpet, I find myself propelled toward it. Chilling, black silence envelops me in doomed foreboding.

  I prepare myself for the worse.

  I kneel down and peel back a corner, shaking so badly I have to grasp the rug with both hands.

  I think I know. I think I'm ready.

  But the horror of what I see is more terrible than anything I imagine.

  I've found David.

  Bound and gagged and lying still as death on that dirt floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I hear a moan, deep and full of despair. It takes me a moment to realize it's my own voice, my own despair. I'm still shaking. I can't even hold myself upright, but slump against David's side, my arms around him, my face pressed against his. How could this have happened? How could I have let this happen?

  How could Avery do this to me?

  It is at that moment that I feel it.

  A slight movement in my arms, a turn of the head, a shallow intake of breath.

  I fear it's my imagination. I pull back, put my ear to his chest. Listen.

  A faint heartbeat.

  He's not dead.

  Ripping at the carpet, I pull it away, ease the constriction around his chest. He moans a little, but his eyes remain shut, his breathing labored. I hold his head in my hands and shake it gently from side to side.

  "Come on David. Open those beautiful eyes. Talk to me."

  There's no response. He's deep in some sort of coma. Drug induced maybe. Or—

  I move his head slightly. I find what I expect. Avery has fed from David.

  There are two marks at his jugular. Not small pinpricks like Dena's, but ugly, gaping wounds made by someone in a feeding frenzy.

  Someone not caring that he's leaving marks because he knows his victim will never be found.

  Avery has fed from David.

  Anger, like a scalding iron, burns so deep in my gut I have to force it back and out of my thoughts. Revenge will come later. First and foremost, I must get David to safety. With a jolt, I realize I know nothing about how feeding affects the human physiology. Will David recover on his own? Does he need a transfusion? Can I risk taking him to a hospital?

  I don't have the answer to any of those questions. The only person I could ask is the last person I can. Gathering David in my arms, I lift him like a doll and carry him up the stairs. I lay him out on Avery's bed and return to the room. Rolling the carpet back up, I prop it against the wall the way I found it. If Avery should return while I'm gone, at first glance the room will look just as he left it.

  Then I set about putting the bookcase in order. I have no idea how the books were arranged, stupid of me not to have noticed, but Avery is an organized man and I have to imagine he would sort his books by topic. I re-shelve the medical books together, then fiction, then general nonfiction. If he asks about it, I'll tell him Dena was dusting in here and I interrupted her before she could finish so I put the books back myself.

  Lame. But it's all I can come up with.

  Besides, Avery will have more pressing problems to deal with than his disrupted bookcase.

  Grimly, I take a last look around the room. The fireplace door is shut, the sconce back in its upright position. I lift David off the bed and take him downstairs and out the kitchen door to the garage. I lay him in the back seat of the Explorer, out of sight under a blanket, and then I realize I've left my purse and cell phone inside.

  I'm almost to the back door when I hear a car coming up the driveway. Did Dena forget something when she was here earlier? I shade my eyes from the bright noonday sun and look toward the gate.

  But it is not Dena's car approaching. It is Avery's.

  My first impulse if to fly at him, to give him no chance to flee or fight back. To tear him apart for what he's done.

  But I know I can't do that. At least, not yet. I need to get David help. And there are questions Avery needs to answer.

  I gather myself together, calm the wild beating of my heart, obliterate all thoughts of what I've found this morning. He cannot know what I've done.

  And so when I go to meet him, I'm smiling. And when he takes me in his arms to kiss me, I kiss him back.

  He pulls away after a moment and waves a hand towards the garage. “Were you going out?"

  "I was going shopping,” I reply without hesitation. Lying seems to have become second nature. “I wanted to get something special for tonight."

  He smiles and reaches into the back seat of his car. “I've saved you the trouble.” He pulls a long, plastic dress bag from inside and holds it out to me. “I thought this would look lovely on you."

  I move the zipper down a little, just enough to see the jeweled top of a designer gown, bright red with tiny straps and a label that reads Badgley Mischka. I look up at Avery. “One of New York's hottest designers. How did you manage that?"

  "Not a problem, when you have the right friends,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

  I drape the bag over my arm. Thank you. Are you c
oming in?

  Avery shakes his head. I wish I could. But I have surgery all afternoon. I just wanted to give you the dress and remind you that I'll send a car for you at eight. We are going to have an evening you'll never forget.

  And at that moment, I almost lose it. I almost let him know just how right he is.

  But he doesn't pick up on my disquiet, doesn't sense the rage. He's too full of his own pleasure, too self-satisfied. He kisses me again, gets back into his car and pulls away, waving at me and grinning, completely oblivious to the oncoming storm.

  When Avery's car disappears from sight, I retrace my steps from the kitchen where I retrieve my purse and phone, to the garage.

  David hasn't moved. I make sure he's as comfortable as I can make him before I take the garment bag Avery left with me and lay it out in the area behind the back seat. I want to rip the damned thing to shreds, but I console myself with the thought that I'll do the next best thing. I'll be wearing it when I rip Avery to shreds.

  But first—where do I take David? I consider and reject my parent's home, a motel, a hospital. I can't risk the possibility that Avery had me followed the day I went to La Mesa to retrieve my things, or that he's having me followed now. I don't think that's the case.

  He seems too sure of me. But he has so many contacts in so many places, any public venue might be a danger. And there are a lot of vampires out there, any one of which might turn me in for a return favor.

  Which leaves one other possibility. I can take David back to his own place. Anyone following would think I'm back on the trail.

  And if Avery returns and discovers David is gone, I doubt the first place he would think to look for him would be David's own place. Besides, Avery won't have the chance to get to him again. I plan to make sure of that.

  And so I bring David home. It's quiet in the garage when I pull in. The guest spaces are close to the elevator, and since it's midday and most of the building's occupants are at work, I manage to get David out of the car and into the elevator without incident. I don't know how I would have explained a one hundred twenty-five-pound woman carrying a two hundred-fifty-pound man like an oversized doll, but luckily, I don't have to. No one else stops the elevator and we shoot right to the top floor.

  I use David's keys to get inside. I lay him on the couch, retrieve a blanket and pillow from his bedroom, and try to make him as comfortable as I can. His breathing is still labored, but his heartbeat is strong. I think back to what Avery said in his kitchen yesterday morning. I drain just enough from them to sustain my own life and prolong theirs.

  If that's true, how long would it take for a mortal to recover from prolonged feeding? When you give blood, they tell you you must wait 56 days after donating a pint before you can donate again. How many pints has Avery drained from David? He's been at Avery's two days. Somehow, I don't think Avery used caution in his feeding. He planned to kill him, after all.

  I rub a hand over my face. I don't know what to do. The best thing would be to get David to a hospital where a transfusion could replace some of his lost blood. But I can't risk it. For all I know there are other doctors like Avery in every hospital who would pick up on David's condition the minute he got there. Once word got out, I might not be able to protect him.

  And Avery has connections everywhere, isn't that what he said?

  I glance at my watch. It's noon. I have only eight hours to decide what to do.

  What else do they tell you when you donate blood? I use to do it quite often, though I imagine that's something else that stops now.

  Just what type is a vampire's blood?

  I drop down beside David on the end of the couch. Think. They tell you to take it easy. A glance at David's motionless form—not a problem. They tell you to drink plenty of liquids, especially juice and water. A trip to David's refrigerator reveals plenty of both. I take a bottle of water and return, propping him up with an arm while I try to get him to drink. There's no reflex swallowing action, and the water dribbles down his shirtfront.

  He's pale and so limp and still. I press my hand against his chest. The heartbeat seems steady, but for how long? I have to get him help.

  I'm at the window, staring out at the bay, when a germ of an idea starts to bloom. It's crazy. Risky. Probably stupid.

  But it's the only way I can think of to save my friend.

  I've going to take him to Beso de la Muerte.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I don't waste any time debating with myself, even though Avery is the one who told me about the place. I remember the set up they had, the triage unit with gurneys and IV lines. If I can get David there, he might have a chance.

  So, I gather David in my arms again, and it's back down to the garage. This time we're not so lucky. When the elevator door opens to the parking lot, there's a couple standing there whose expression at seeing us can only be described as startled. I breeze by them with a smile.

  "Pretty lifelike for a blow up doll, huh?"

  I don't wait for a reply, but dump David rather unceremoniously into the back seat. The couple watches as I take my place behind the wheel and pull away. They remain watching until I'm out of the garage. But I don't see them reach for a cell phone, so I have to assume they aren't calling the police. Probably can't figure out how to explain what they saw without sounding completely crazy.

  Once I'm down the road a bit, I pull over and tuck David away more comfortably. Pulling a blanket up over his head, and covering him with the garment bag. Not too successful a camouflage job, but the best I can do. I make one more stop at my bank and drive through to cash a thousand-dollar check. I have no idea how much Culebra will charge me for services, but maybe this will do as a down payment.

  Then I'm heading South on Highway 5 and back toward the border.

  The border crossing is busy at midday. It takes an hour, but once I get to the checkpoint, I get only a cursory nod and a wave from the guard in my lane. Another thirty minutes and I'm clear of TJ. I hit Highway 2 and speed toward Beso de la Muerte . There's more traffic during the day, but it thins as I approach the turnoff and dies completely once I've hit the dirt road that runs to town.

  I've made the decision to drive straight in, not carry David in my arms, to save time.

  It's very quiet. The saloon looks deserted. There's no loud music, no sound of laughter or voices from within. I guess the residents keep a low profile during the day. I don't even slow down, but continue to the cave in back. I know my approach is being monitored; my vampire alarm is tingling. I can only hope I get a chance to explain why I'm here before someone tries to kill me.

  There's a man waiting for me as I pull up at the cave entrance. It's the same man I saw speaking with Max's boss the first time I was here. He's also dressed the same as before—same worn jeans, same ragged poncho. Today, however, he has a straw sombrero on his head, and a pair of expensive Ray Bans covers his eyes. Up close, he looks like a character out of a Sergio Leone western. His teeth are yellow, his nose crooked, the lines on his face etched deep as tire tracks. He's holding a crossbow in his hands and he raises it to my chest the minute I get out of the car.

  Does he know I'm vampire?

  A smile tweaks the corner of his mouth. “Not until you just told me,” he says. He motions with the bow. “But this is an effective weapon against all intruders, mortal or not, wouldn't you say?” His accent is heavy, but his use of the English language is perfect.

  And he's read my mind. Yet he's not vampire, I can feel it. What are you?

  Again the smile. But no answer. And I can't penetrate his thoughts. Still, there's a reason I'm here and I let him read it for himself.

  All except the identity of the vampire who fed from David. He probably knows Avery.

  He looks surprised as he picks through my thoughts. “You are concerned over the fate of a mortal?"

  "He is my friend. I don't want him to die."

  "And how do you think I can help?"

  I let him know about my previous
visit here.

  He sweeps the glasses off his face and fixes me with a hard stare. Little pinpricks of light flash from ebony eyes. “Ah, yes. I remember the night you were here. The night Donaldson disappeared. I saw you in the trees."

  An icy finger at the back of my neck. “I didn't kill him."

  "But you wanted to. It was the reason you came, wasn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "At least you are honest. What do you have to offer in exchange for my helping your friend?"

  I pull the wad of bills from my pocket. “I can get more."

  He takes the bills, fans them in his hand, thrusts them back at me. “I will help you. But not for money. You will owe me a favor. Do you agree?"

  I nod, wondering if I've just sold my soul to the devil.

  "Not the devil,” he replies. “But close, maybe."

  He creeps me out with that, sends a shiver down my spine, but I shake it off. David is the important consideration here. Not me.

  I'm the reason he's dying.

  "Bring your friend inside."

  He waits as I lift David from the car and leads the way into the caves. This time, all the residents of Beso de la Muerte are in attendance, forming a kind of human barricade on both sides of the walkway, watching as I pass by. I pick up the whispers of the vampires among them, greeting one of their own and curious about the mortal she brings into their midst. Is she willing to share? It occurs to me that I might be delivering David like a lamb to slaughter. Something I should have thought of before.

  But Culebra senses those fears. “He is under my protection,” he announces in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “No harm will befall him."

  It seems to work. Morbid interest dissolves once again to simple curiosity. I pass by unmolested, and we arrive at the room I remember from my last trip here.

  Culebra motions to one of the gurneys and I lay David upon it. Another man joins us, his eyes on Culebra's, and without a word, he starts to work on David. He strips off my friend's shirt, covers his torso with a blanket, checks both arms. He finally looks at me, raising piercing blue eyes to meet my own.