"I wanted you to hear it from me. I'll work with you in the new place—how it's set up, what programs to implement, and so forth."
Lorcan the librarian. He knew more about books—more about the world—than I ever could. Bet he knew the Dewey Decimal Classification system backward and forward. Hah. He probably knew Melvil Dewey, who had created the DDC in the 1870s.
"Yes, I knew him," said Lorcan.
I frowned. "Wait a minute. I didn't say anything about Melvil Dewey."
"Didn't you?" One eyebrow quirked. "Dewey was a brilliant scholar who loved the English language, despite always trying to simplify it. Bit of a lecher, though."
"He gave women employment opportunities," I said, defending the man.
Lorcan nodded. "True. But he was a man of his times in many ways." He waved as if to dispense with the subject. "How long will you need to move out?"
Disbelief was like a splash of cold water. "You're serious." I stared at the squirrel near my shoe. He twitched his tail, his empty paws extended toward me. I dug through a nearby treat bag and gave him another acorn. "How long is the Consortium willing to give me?"
"As long as you need."
"Generous." The word dripped with sarcasm.
Lorcan said nothing. What else could he say? Shoot. I was used to loss. It should've been no big surprise to lose my job and my residence. After all, this old house and its crowded library made me happy. Happiness was fleeting. Hadn't I learned that time and time again? Comedian Denis Leary said happiness was a five-second orgasm or a chocolate chip cookie. How miserably true. I didn't care what Lorcan said about my involvement with the new library—it wouldn't be the same.
"I'm protesting," I said. "I'm going to appeal!"
"Eva." He sighed, and rose to his feet. "There is no appeal."
The finality in those words made me realize that fighting the Consortium's decision would be like pounding my fists against a brick wall. All I would get for my effort would be bloody fists.
"I am sorry," he said.
He opened his mouth as if to say something else—then apparently changed his mind. He stood there, silent, his eyes full of misery, and the tension stretched taut between us.
Finally, he sighed. "I suppose there is nothing more to say."
"There's always more to say," I pointed out. "The hard part is choosing which words you want to use."
His eyes glimmered with amusement, but the emotion was soon drowned by the ever-present sadness. "Until I find more appropriate words," he said softly, "I shall say good-bye."
"My mom used to say, 'It's never good-bye. It's until I see you again.' " I didn't know why I was trying to be so nice to a guy who had just delivered a bad-news bomb. All the same, I lifted my hand in a wave and said, "Until I see you again."
He inclined his head, his lips curving into an almost smile.
I watched in amazement as he rose into the air. He waved good-bye and zipped across the sky.
The squirrel finished the second acorn and scurried onto my lap. No house. No library. No nothing. I scratched the squirrel's furry little head and sighed. He chittered, his brown eyes intent on mine. "Thanks, sweetie," I said. "But I don't think I can fit in your tree."
I looked around and not for the first time considered how far away my home was from town. The forest that curved behind the house marked the border of Broken Heart. Every so often I could hear patrols pass by as they made perimeter checks.
I suppose that from a security standpoint, the LeRoy homestead was very vulnerable. And that made us vulnerable. The idea that the Wraiths or something worse lurked just outside town made me shiver. I wanted the town protected, but more than that, I wanted Tamara protected.
Sometimes you get what you get. You can piss and moan, Eva, or you can look for the new opportunity.
My mother's philosophy had kept me on course for all my life. Even so… I looked at the decrepit building and wanted to cry, just a little. It was home.
But not for much longer.
Tamara, as usual, was dressed in unrelenting black. She eschewed the term "Goth," though she kohled her eyes, wore bloodred lipstick, and brought the word "sullen" to a whole new level of meaning. Her hair, which used to be the same color as mine, was cut chin length and colored raven black except for the two cherry red stripes on either side of her face. She also had both eyebrows and her belly button pierced with silver rings—and that was the compromise.
"Did you feed?" Tamara asked.
"Yes, Mother." I finished tying my bootlaces, then stood up and stomped my feet on the old wooden porch. Thud. Thud. Thud. Sturdy. That was good, considering the terrain I was headed for. "Where's the flashlight?"
"In here," she said, handing me a black backpack. "So's your cell phone. I would've packed a snack, but y'know… ew."
When I was pregnant with Tamara, every kind of life cycle fascinated me (for obvious reasons). I studied the moon phases most fervently because I was way into symbolism and the whole "light in the darkness" thing appealed to me. That's why I knew that tonight's lunar phase was the "waning crescent." Lord-a-mercy, I knew all kinds of useless information. Ask me how much water a new toilet flushed and I could tell you it was one-point-six gallons. See? My brain was a compendium of weird facts.
"Sunrise is in one hour," said Tamara sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"I know how to tell time."
"I wasn't sure," she said drolly, "since you don't have a watch."
"I have acute vampire senses, thank you very much." I slung the backpack over my shoulder and saluted my worried progeny.
"If your senses fail, then it's ustulation via dawn's early light." She grinned evilly. "You don't want to end up a grilled steak."
"Ustulation?" I stopped my useless warm-up and gaped at her. That little fiend! "Reminding your mother that she can be burned or seared isn't very nice."
She grinned. "Nyah nyah. I used the word of the day before you did."
Tamara and I had a daily contest. The "word of the day" was chosen from a list we kept pinned to the wall. Whoever used the word first got ten points, and any use of the word during the rest of the day received five points. At the end of the month, we tallied 'em up. If I had more, she did any heinous daylong chore I wanted. If she had more, I forked over fifty bucks and drove her to the nearest mall.
"Okay, okay. You get a ten-pointer."
"Sore loser." She had that look—the one that said she was trying to decide if she should show indifference or concern. Sighing deeply, she said, "It's a dog, Mom."
"I know. But I'm worried about him. He might be injured."
"Or he might be at someone else's house mooching their food."
I didn't think so. Lucky wasn't a moocher. I knew there was something wrong—otherwise he'd be around.
Tamara gave me a quick hug, which was thoroughly unlike her. Showing affection to the parental unit was strictly verboten. Since she was in a mood to accept a hug, I risked kissing her cheek. She said nothing, but grimaced in a manner that suggested acid had been applied to her skin.
Chuckling, I jogged down the steps to the cracked sidewalk meandering through the huge, weed-filled front yard. I waved to her, she waved back, then vroom—I was outta there. Tee-hee. Using my new powers to put on the speed always gave me a thrill.
Within seconds I reached the area me 'n Tamara had named Ooky Spooky Woods. Broken Heart was surrounded by pockets of thick, tangled brush and densely packed trees.
You'd think a vampire with the ability to run fast, jump high, and hit hard wouldn't be afraid of walking into a little ol' forest at four a.m. Still, my non-beating heart gave a little squeeze as I entered the woods. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped under my boots. I was tempted to get out the flashlight, but truthfully, I could see perfectly well.
"Lucky," I called. "Here, boy! C'mon, sweetie. Where are you?"
A gold-furred cat wearing an ankh around her neck leapt onto a fallen trunk and sauntered. toward me. She stopped abou
t half a foot away and stared at me.
"Hi, Lucifer."
The cat dipped her head as if acknowledging my greeting.
I sat on the log. Lucifer watched me for a moment, then started giving herself a bath.
Lucifer was the only known vampire cat in existence. Johnny Angelo, 1950s movie star and reluctant vampire, accidentally Turned her. Jessica told me that Johnny's first donor had been a very drunk man. The alcoholic blood affected Johnny and before he knew it, he'd awoken in a Dumpster with the vampire cat sleeping on his chest. He claimed he couldn't remember Turning the cat, but there she was, fanged and feline.
I had met Johnny a few times, but he wasn't exactly talkative. If you looked up "brooding" in the dictionary, his picture was probably next to the definition.
"Meow," said the cat.
Funny, I couldn't really get vibes off her. She didn't seem to think I was made of catnip, either, like most kitties I ran across. She meowed again and turned around as if to say, "You are no longer worthy of my attention." She trotted out into the darkness, her golden tail waving like a flag as she disappeared under some shrubs.
Grabbing the backpack, I held it in one hand as I leisurely strolled in the opposite direction. My thoughts turned to doomed love.
I had been a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old the summer Michael Hudsen noticed me. Typical story of a crush gone awry—so key up the violins and hand out the Kleenex. Title it Shy Geek Meets Handsome Jock. Michael had just graduated from our high school and broken up with his cheerleader girlfriend. I couldn't believe he remembered my name, much less that I liked the color blue. (I don't like it anymore. Green is my favorite color. Blue sucks.)
Michael spent two months seducing me with words, flowers, romantic gestures. The week before he was leaving for an out-of-state college, I gave him my virginity.
He gave me Tamara.
I didn't bother going back to high school. Instead I got a job, opened a savings account, and checked out every available library book about pregnancy and parenthood.
Branches crackled and leaves fluttered around me. What the heck? I looked up, fear tingling my spine. Even with vamp vision, I couldn't see anything—or anyone—above me. "Big squirrels," I muttered. "Or raccoons. Mutant ones."
The brush was too dense and the ground too pockmarked with holes to venture off the path. I leapt over a log, suddenly nervous. Chill out, Eva. You're a big bad vamp, remember?
Then I heard it. Something loped behind me, growling softly. Being in the creepy forest with growling creatures reminded me vividly of my dreams. Don't panic. Could be anything: wild dog, coyote, mutant raccoon. I dared a peek over my shoulder.
The creature was huge and fast, coming at me like a lion after an antelope. Good God! It smelled like it had taken a bath in the sewer. Lorcan? No. Impossible. He was cured.
Terror skittered through me, ravaging my ability to think. The creature howled—an unearthly cry that vibrated my bones. I swear to heaven, I felt its fetid breath on my neck, its claws scraping at my back. I looked over my shoulder again. The thing had gotten closer, but not near enough to grab me. I could see its eyes, glittering with malice and hunger.
My death was in that gaze.
I veered off the path and dared the gnarled and tangled foliage. Immediately, my foot connected with a fallen branch. I couldn't stop the tumble. I went down hard, skidding facefirst into a knotty bush. By the time I'd extracted myself and gotten to my feet, it was too late.
The monster had caught up to me.
And he'd brought friends.
Chapter 6
An unearthly howl reverberated through the woods, but the terrifying sound didn't come from the three lycans drooling and growling in front of me. No, the noise came from behind.
I nearly wet my pants.
In the blink of an eye, a four-legged beast leapt in front of me. He had fur as black as a starless night.
"Lucky!"
He barked acknowledgment. Growling fiercely, he forced the three scary beasts backward until I had enough room to run.
So I did.
Big bad vamp, my patootie. I was scared witless. I didn't hear any fighting or scrabbling or yowling. I didn't want to look back, but I finally dared it. I didn't see anything but the dark, tree-filled path, which is probably why I smacked into a large oak.
Stunned, I landed ass-first in a pile of rotted leaves and dirt.
I jumped to my feet, but couldn't quite get my balance. The three beasts burst from the brush on my left and I whirled, hands out, as fear pumped through my undead heart.
Terror chilled me as I backed against the large oak. The press of the bark on my back scratched me, but comforted me as well. The tree was big and strong—and somehow that reminded me that I could be, too.
Lycanthropes. The security guards hired by the Consortium were lycanthropes, or lycans—known to humans as werewolves. True lycans looked more like very big wolves and usually loped around on four paws. Yet these monsters looked like stray canines and were very much two-legged. They looked starved and abused. They watched me with dark, hollow eyes. One stood ahead of the other two—and I guessed he was the leader. A long scar curved around his right eye. His snout twitched as he scented me, those awful eyes watching me hungrily. I'd seen enough Discovery Channel specials to recognize the alpha. He would kill me and feed first. The other two would dine on my leftovers.
My stomach quivered with nausea.
Images battered at me. Pain. Needles. Electric shock. Fire. Chains. Screaming. Blood. I shut the door, my mind reeling from the horror of those flashes. These poor souls had been vampires, but they barely remembered their pasts. Now they were beasts. They had been tortured,. brainwashed—transformed into… lycans?
"Eva! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" asked a furious male voice.
I followed the pure sound of pissed-off Irish up… up… up into the branches of the oak.
Lorcan peered down at me. "What are you waiting for? Jump into the tree."
Oh, yeah. I could jump. I bent my knees and surged upward, my arms extended. Lorcan grabbed my wrists and swung me onto the same sturdy branch he crouched on.
We watched as the beasts surrounded the tree, growling as they contemplated their next move.
Lorcan's gaze captured mine and I felt my nonexistent pulse stutter.
The alpha was smarter than the other two. He jumped as if his legs were springs, grabbing the limb above Lorcan and kicking the surprised vampire in the face.
Lorcan flew out of the tree. He stopped just short of the ground, hovering. I had to take my gaze off him because the growling beast dropped beside me, his snarling, stinky body less than six inches from mine.
"Go away!" He looked as if I'd slapped him. I swear that he actually made a move to leave—before he was helped by the fist of Lorcan.
I watched as the mutant fell out of the tree. He twisted in midair and landed on his feet.
"We need to go," said Lorcan.
I looked up through the thick limbs. "What happens when we run out of branches?"
He looked at me, brows raised. "Who said anything about climbing up?"
In the next instant, he wrapped a steely arm around my waist and whoosh—up we went, all right—into the black sky. The lycans scrabbling at the tree below us howled in despair.
"Woo-hoo!" I held on to his neck and looked around, excited.
He kicked up the speed and we zipped across the forest in nothing flat. Before I knew it, we were hovering above my house. I felt giddy. I enjoyed being wrapped around Lorcan. He felt very muscular and heaven knew he was handsome. It had been a long, long, long time since I'd felt a man's arms around me. As we floated to the balcony outside my bedroom, he was smiling that smile, the one that made his silver eyes sparkle.
"Can you go even faster?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "But you wouldn't appreciate, bugs in your teeth."
I pressed my tongue against my teeth—just to check. "Good call."
> Even though we had landed, I hadn't freed myself from Lorcan's embrace. He seemed to notice this about the same time I did. The light went right out of his eyes and his expression flattened. "Please, forgive me," he murmured.
He let go of me like I was aflame, then backed away until a good two feet separated us. I was offended by his need to create distance. For heaven's sake, I should be the one running away and screaming.
"What were you doing out in the forest?" he asked.
I figured the best defense was offense. "What were you doing there?"
He ignored my question and studied my boots. "Hiking? It's not like you need the exercise."
"Because I'm svelte and cute?"
"Because you're a vampire."
I stared at him, brows raised. "I have a book in the library called Compliments and Flattery: A Guide for Social Morons. You might want to check it out."
His lips quirked, but he stepped farther back, as if physical distance would also give him emotional distance. Sheesh. Would it kill him to relax a little? "Don't fall over the rail trying to get away from me," I said. "I showered, y'know. I spritzed with perfume, too."
"I'm aware of your scent." His words held a dangerous edge that sent my pulse skittering. Then he bared his fangs, his eyes going red for a split second. Startled, I felt my stomach dive to my toes. His gaze lingered on my neck, though I wasn't sure if he was thinking about my fragrance or my jugular. Then his eyes flicked to mine. "Sandalwood… lemongrass… vanilla." His nostrils flared. "There's something else."
"Ylang-ylang. I mix my own perfume. I'm still looking for the perfect Eva aroma." I laughed weakly, feeling uneasy.
"You smell… um, nice."
"It's no problem, Lorcan. I'll get the book for you right now."
He shook his head ruefully. "I know how to give a compliment, a stóirín."
The Irish accent that barely tinged his voice thickened with every word. Those lyrical sounds went right through me: pling, pling, fling. "Prove it," I challenged.
He crossed the space he'd put between us and tugged the band out of my ponytail. "The sun weeps because it can no longer caress your skin or warm your lips." He sifted his fingers through my hair. "I do not envy the sun, Eva. But I truly hate the moon, because its light touches you in all the ways I cannot."
Broken Heart Town 2 - Don't Talk Back to Your Vampire Page 4
