A deep, querulous voice burst from the intercom. “Grace, what are you doing here? Where’s Drew and Madison?”
“We got separated. We were run out of our safe house by paparazzi, mothmen, and some Hysane.”
“No kidding? Paparazzi? That must have been scary.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“I’ve ordered one of my kids to drive down and pick you up. Come to my office when you get here.”
“Sure.”
I cooled my heels, watching the sloping drive beyond the gates, and felt a cold dribble down my face. I brushed the skin and found clear, gooey muck. I felt higher and discovered that the bumps had burst. Loose bits of skin felt like wet tissue, pulling off easily in my hand. There was no tenderness, no pain—just antennae: thin, feathery fronds that arched up and out, tasting the wind. The wood smoke I smelled was now joined by a flash of butter amber inside my head with a hundred shades of variation. I think my brain was trying to integrate an entirely new form of perception.
I blotted my face dry and looked up. A white van had appeared, growing larger as it approached at high speed. Someone had a heavy foot on the gas pedal. Remote-controlled, the gates opened in unison, clearing the drive. The van shot through, passed me, and made a skidding turn. Somewhat slower, it came back, braking to a stop. I opened the door and hopped in.
I didn’t know the leather-clad student behind the wheel. He wore a silver crucifix and crossing bandoliers that held vials—probably holy water—and wooden throwing knives. He was thin, lanky, hands impatiently patting the wheel as if the need for speed was burning him out. He watched me buckle up, ice blue eyes veiled by cinnamon-brown bangs. His head jerked in time to the metal rock spewing out of the van’s CD player.
Surprisingly, he made no comment about my antennae.
“Set,” I said.
“Cool.” He floored the gas pedal. We surged ahead, acceleration pushing me firmly back against my seat. I didn’t have to look to know that the gates were sweeping shut behind us as we raced uphill. At the crest of the drive, we veered from the three-story, white-brick mansion—with butt-ugly gargoyles on the roof—to enter a large garage. The sliding doors were up, exposing four other parked vans matching the one we were in. The walls were lined with power tools and work benches, and there was a cork-board holding an assortment of keys—everything in its place.
My driver killed the engine, hopped out, and slammed the door. I did the same, and rounded the front of the van, falling in behind him.
He said, “This way,” as if I weren’t already staying a step behind him. He led me through a door, turning down a passageway that had the same dark red carpeting I remembered from past visits.
Good color for hiding blood splatter.
We passed through another door, entering the mansion, and threaded a hallway lined with classrooms. We had the hall to ourselves since classes were in session. Another turn and half a hall later we stopped outside a frosted glass door with a gold handle.
“You’re on your own from here,” the slayer said. “I’ve got to get back to Melee 101.”
“Sure, knock ‘em dead, Tiger.”
He hurried off.
I went in and found a receptionist area: chairs along the wall, a door to an inner office, and a desk with a perky student on duty. She looked up, eyes unfocused, a smile on her face. Unlike the other students, she wore jeans and a teal green sweater, rather than the usual weapon-covered leathers most slayers loved. Her laptop, off to the side, was turned a little my way. The keys were in Braille.
A blind slayer? Well, she would have an advantage, working in the dark.
The petite brunette pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. “You’re to go right in.”
“Is he in a good mood?” I needed Van Helsing to approve my stay here until I moved on.
Her smile dimmed. She leaned toward me, suddenly serious. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”
That’s reassuring. Hopefully his treatment of guests is different than what he gives his students.
I drew a deep breath and moved ahead.
She turned her chair to track me as I came alongside her desk. “Um, you’re really not human?”
I paused. “Only in my heart, if that counts.”
Her smile returned, more intense than before. “Only thing that does count. I’d like to talk to you sometime when I’m off-duty.”
“Sure. I’m Grace.”
She laughed.
“Something funny about my name?”
“Sorry, no, not really. You see, my name’s Faith. All we need now is Hope and Charity.”
I laughed at that. “It’s kinda cool we’re both named after virtues.” And appropriate. Faith is supposed to be blind; otherwise, it’s not faith.
I went to the door, tapped a few times, and pushed on in. Van Helsing was worn and weathered—old, but far from frail. His pure-white hair was thick and fell to his shoulders. He dressed in black like an old-time preacher, a cross glinting on his chest. I felt his aura all the way across the room, like the scrambling of dancing crows hopping all over me. After his first long inspection, the intensity backed off and I could relax a little.
He sat on the forward edge of his desk, his long legs stretched out into the space between two visitor’s chairs. They were brown leather with brass studs, matching the rest of the masculine décor. The carpet—unlike the blood red in the rest of the building—was black. There were black filing cabinets and a wall of shelves with heavy, dusty books that looked a century old. The light fixture in the middle of the ceiling had been fashioned from an antique wagon wheel. Another wall held a display of swords: a Roman short sword, a Scottish basket hilt, an Italian rapier, a Civil War cavalry saber, and something that looked like a meat cleaver on steroids.
Family heirlooms?
“Sit!” Van Helsing said.
My attention leaped back to him. He was pointing at one of the guest chairs. Yeah, like I want to sit real close to you while you loom over me like an angel of doom. Still, I was throwing myself on his charity, so I couldn’t antagonize him. Note to self: dial down the snark until you get out of here.
I pushed myself forward. At my approach, his feet pulled back so I could round the chair and sit. I looked up at him, but not in a good way.
“What have you done to yourself now?” He stared at my antennae.
I felt the need to hide them, but resisted the impulse to raise a hand and do so.
“Never mind.” He crossed his arms and smiled. The way a wolf might before pouncing. “Why are you here, Grace?”
“Because Madison is my friend, and her mother is in town with her vampire lover. Maddy needs to face them, and I don’t want her to do it with just Fran for backup.”
“Ms. Madison should have come to me. I could put an operation together and—”
“No, I think she needs to do this herself, with her friends at her back.”
Van Helsing rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but I noticed he didn’t promise to stay out of things.
I decided to dive in with what I wanted from him. “So, I’d really appreciate it if I could stay here until things get settled.”
Please, please, please say yes.
“Sure.”
I stared at him. That had been too easy. “You don’t mind?”
“Not very well, no. My mother was always beside herself.” There was that scary smile again. “You know, Grace, I really like you. For a creature of the night, you’re all right. Trouble follows you like an Egyptian plague. But that brings it out in the open where it can be killed. I like killing things.”
“Oh?” I shot a glance to the display of swords. “I would never have guessed.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“The colors of life blaze out of reach.
Being dead is such a pain.
No one to care, to touch, or love.
Starved moments are all the same.”
—It Sucks To Be Dead
Elektra
Blue
As I told my story, Van Helsing broke in now and then for clarification, extracting every juicy detail of my recent adventures. He guffawed loudly over the vagabond mouse whisperer turned angel. “Only you would have a guardian angel like that,” he said.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but I think I resent that.”
He pushed off his desk and stood. “C’mon, I’ll get you settled.”
I got to my feet. “I thought I’d stay with Madison and Fran.”
“For an extended stay, you should have one of the guestrooms we keep for visiting parents—those that aren’t vampire thralls.” He walked me to the door and followed me through to the outer office. “Faith?”
Her hands came off her laptop’s keyboard. Her chair swiveled our way. She gave us her whole attention. “Yes, Sir!”
“That’s enough for today. I want you to show Grace to one of the guestrooms. She can have her pick since none of them are in current use.” Having delegated the matter, he stepped back into his office and closed the door.
Faith made quick work of packing her laptop in a black backpack and coming over to escort me. She didn’t use a white cane, or any cane at all. “This way.”
Humming softly to herself, she crossed to the hallway door, and opened it, waiting for me to pass before she shut it. She took a left and led me to the area of the school where Shaun taught a martial arts class twice a week, when not off on a mission for Virgil. Faith went to a door on the opposite side of the hall and opened it. I could see a short passageway with rooms branching right and left. Four of them in all.
Still humming bursts of melody, she went on—expecting me to follow—but a deep, unnatural chill rooted me to the spot. The door closed between us, and I still wasn’t alone. Along with the cold came waves of hate strong enough to choke on, only I didn’t. Another of those weird color washes flashed across my mind, a chartreuse film that distorted the hallway for a moment before it faded. Am I tasting the ghost?
I shook off the thought for later consideration. I had a ghost to deal with. If I let her push me around, she’d never stop, never leave me in peace. And I knew this particular ghost better than I wanted to. She’d died on this spot, taking a crossbow bolt through the heart that she’d intended for me.
Should have picked a better sidekick, bitch.
I kept a look of boredom on my face. “You’re dead, Elita, and the world’s a better place. Just get over it.”
The strangling hatred thickened. I knew I only had to cross over to see one very pissed-off ghost.
The door opened and Faith reappeared, puzzlement on her face. “Something wrong, Grace?” She took a couple steps into the wide hall and rebounded off of mid air. “Cold! Something dark is here. I can sense a terrible rage.”
“Yeah, I have that effect on a lot of people.”
“This is a person?”
“Was a person. You probably know about the girl that died here last month.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I suppose we’ll have to bring in an exorcist or something.”
“Or I could call on a friend of mine who has a magic sword. Michiko is the Master ghost over this territory. She eats naughty ghosts for breakfast.”
Warmth rushed back. The air of hatred transmuted to one of fear, quickly fading.
“Yeah, you better run,” I said.
“She’s gone,” Faith said.
“For now, but she died here, so she can’t roam too far. But she’s had a good attitude adjustment. I hope it takes. I really don’t need a ghost breathing down my neck while I’m here. I’ve got enough to deal with. So, you were showing me to my room?”
“Oh, yes. This way.” She opened the door again and passed through. I went with her down a beige corridor with a carpet the color of dusty rose. Recessed light ports in the ceiling provided sufficient, if subdued, light. Faith stopped in the middle of the corridor, pointing to several doors. “The rooms are pretty much the same. Take whichever.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll let you settle in. Perhaps later, I can come by and…”
“That would be great.”
The hum came back as she headed down the exact center of the hall, pausing just before she would have hit the door. Her hand went straight to the knob.
“How do you do that?” I asked.
Her head turned, as if she were looking over her shoulder. “Do what?”
“You’re so accurate in your movements, never unsure. It’s like you’re not blind at all.”
“Echolocation.”
I blinked at her. “Echolocation? That thing that bats do?”
“And dolphins,” she said. “You just have to have a good ear, and a mind that can translate echoes into images. My abstract reasoning skills are very high.”
“I guess so.”
“Later.” She opened the door, restarted her hum, and vanished into the hallway, the door closing behind her.
Echolocation … wonder if I can do that. It could come in handy, fighting in the dark. I think I’ll need every trick I can dig up until Destiny gets off my back and I stop being everyone’s favorite Holy Grail.
The guest-suite doors were color coded. The left wall had sage, then peach. The opposite wall had a blue so pale it was off-white. The last door was frosty tangerine. That was the one I picked, only the knob wouldn’t move.
And they said these rooms were all available.
I went to the ice blue door. Its knob turned at my touch. I stepped in and hit the light switch, closing the door behind me. A wash of bright light from ceiling fixtures showed me a room that could have been found in any upscale hotel. The walls matched the frosty blue of the door. To my left, a zigzagging wall created a cubbyhole office area complete with desk chair, outside phone line, trash can, and a miniature refrigerator.
Mexican pottery occupied various steps of the wall, and beyond that was a fan of long, sheer white curtain that half surrounded a bed with a black-iron frame and a navy, yellow, and white quilted bedspread over mattress and sheets. The blanket had moons and suns with stylized faces. On a night stand, I saw a lamp with a nautical theme, the body of the lamp being made from a small life preserver; the lampshade, a navy pyramid with the tip snipped off.
The other side of the room had a corner with comfy chairs, a blue and white striped loveseat, square coffee table, and LED TV on the wall. I saw a kitchenette, and a door that was probably a bathroom. All of it quite spacious.
Thump! Thump!
But it had one problem.
Thump!
Rats in the walls.
Thump! Thump!
On second thought, the next door room being locked suddenly made sense. I finally identified the thumping as a bed hitting the wall from the other side. Two members of Van Helsing’s student body were getting it on where they thought they’d be assured of privacy. Well, I hated to interrupt anybody having more fun than me, but I didn’t want to encourage it either. If this was a regular spot used by a lot of students, they’d be waking me up at all hours, giving me lurid dreams.
And there are just so many cold showers a girl can take to keep herself focused. I sighed. No choice really.
Thump-pa! Thump!
I went to the wall and banged on it, yelling in my deepest voice, “Hey! Is somebody in there? There better not be!”
I went to my door and waited with my eye to the peep-hole. In under a minute, I saw one guy and two girls hurry into the hall, straightening clothes on the run. They had panicked expressions as they fled past me, throwing watchful looks at my closed door. They went out the hall door into the main school, letting the door swing shut behind them.
Ménage a trois, you don’t see that everyday.
On impulse, I went next door and looked around in the tangerine room. It was more New England décor but basically the same layout as my room, but no Mexican pottery. The bed was covered with an old fashioned quilt, heavily rumpled. The night table had a box of pizza on it and a couple of six packs were in an
ice chest. A roll of multi-colored, latex condoms were coiled like a snake by the beer, as if to protect it.
I plucked up the condoms—they make great water balloons—grabbed the pizza box, snagged the beer, and hauled my pirate booty home. My plunder went into the kitchenette. I don’t like the taste of beer, but there was always Fran and Madison to think about. They’d be coming over and they’d need something to wash down the pizza with. As for the condoms, I’d discovered years ago that they make great water balloons. It is too dangerous a world to go around unarmed.
I’d just settled on the loveseat and powered up the TV when my door burst open. See? And me without a water balloon handy. Fortunately, it was only Maddy and Fran. They’d no doubt heard school gossip that I was here and had tracked me down with a few inquiries.
“Grace! Where the hell have you been?” Maddy shouted.
I waved my hands to indicate the room. “Duh!”
“We flew over the woods with infrared scanners. Nothing but those stupid mothmen around.” Fran closed the door and turned to face me wide-eyed. “Grace, you’ve gotten buggier!”
“Freaky, girl friend. Does it hurt?” Madison asked.
“No, not really. But—”
“Man, is Cassie’s going crazy!” Fran said. “She says she can’t believe you ran out on her—again.”
“You can’t go crazy if you’re not sane,” I said. “You can only go crazier.”
“You think that’s better?” Maddy said.
I gave it a half-second of thought. “Uh, probably not. I’ll give her a call. Tell her I’m sorry, and call her ‘mom’ once or twice. She’ll forgive me.”
Maddy was standing at the edge of the loveseat, still glowering down at me. Fran joined her. Both of them had their arms crossed under their boobs, fluffing them up. I hate it when girls do that. Though, if I had a bigger pair, I know I’d fluff all the time too.
Maddy and Fran were still glaring.
I put down the remote. “What?”
Maddy’s hands went to her hips. “Just what did you tell Van Helsing?”
Destiny's Child (Kitsune series Book 3) Page 17
