Two down.
Brooke’s boyfriend to go.
Jenn crept down the stairs, avoiding the one with the creak, and tried to angle her head to see into the living room without being seen. Brooke and her vampire boyfriend were both standing, staring her way. Brooke’s eyes were huge, and she clung to the vampire, who had his arms around her.
“Simon, what is going on?” Brooke was saying.
“No clue. She’s totally bought all the BS about us,” Simon replied.
Jenn had one stake left. She advanced slowly. Then Brooke spotted her and gave a little cry.
“Brooke, step away from him!” Jenn yelled. “Right now.”
“No! Are you crazy?”
“Move away,” Jenn said.
Brooke took a step in front of him, as if to protect him. Over Brooke’s head Simon grinned at Jenn, and chills ran down her spine.
“He loves me,” Brooke insisted. “We’re going to get married.”
“Married?”
The vampire shrugged. “You know what they say. ‘Till death do us part.’”
Before Jenn could react, he reached forward and grabbed Brooke. He twisted her head sideways—Jenn heard the crack—and sunk his fangs into her throat.
“No!” Jenn screamed.
Simon threw Brooke’s body to the floor. Her eyes were open, lifeless.
“Well, what do you know, I guess they’re right,” he said, making a show of licking Brooke’s blood from his lips.
He took a defensive stance, expecting her to attack him. Instead Jenn ran. He had just fed. That would give him a boost, while she was tiring. She bolted from the room and fled to the kitchen. The kitchen had an island in the middle of it, and the side facing the dining room had shelves running the length of it. On these shelves Brooke’s mother stored her cooking oils.
Jenn swept olive oil, vegetable oil, truffle oil, macadamia nut oil, and several other bottles onto the floor, where they shattered, spilling their contents all across the kitchen.
The vampire appeared in the doorway and made a tsking sound. “The mother-in-law is not going to be happy. What a mess you’ve made. Remind me never to eat your cooking.”
He approached, coming around the island, and Jenn backed up until she slammed into the counter. She opened one of the drawers and grabbed a butcher knife, flinging it at him.
He dodged it with ease. Her hand closed around another, and he dodged it as well. Her seeking hands yanked out two steak knives. She threw first one, then the other, while her free hand felt frantically in the drawer. It had to be there; it just had to be.
As he batted away the knives, her hand finally closed on a Bic lighter and a pack of Brooke’s mom’s cigarettes. She clicked the lighter on, swept the flame along the ground, and then leaped up onto the counter.
The oil caught fire instantly; in the space of time it took Simon to figure out why she had jumped onto the counter, he was ablaze. With a shout Simon leaped free of the room, stumbled into the foyer, and rolled to extinguish himself. Jenn jumped down and ran after him. Then she flung herself onto him. The flames burned; she ignored the pain and fought.
He bucked hard, throwing her sideways. She hit her head hard on the banister, and the room swam in her vision for a moment as he finished slapping at himself, putting out the fire. He tried to stand, but his legs were badly burned.
He crawled toward the living room. Away from her. Afraid of her. She had to press her advantage. Dazed, Jenn forced herself upright, but promptly fell over, too dizzy to keep her footing.
She still had the stake clutched under her arm. Digging in her elbows, she crawled after him. Blood was rolling down the side of her face like sweat, and she shook her head to keep it from getting in her eyes.
Grunting, panting, she pulled herself to her hands and knees, hands and feet sliding on the marble tile. Bright red splatters of her own blood stained the white of the tile alongside the streaks of ash that the vampire was leaving.
She pushed forward, knowing that if she couldn’t kill him within the next few seconds, she was dead.
In the living room she grabbed on to the piano and hoisted herself to her feet. Jenn launched herself at Simon and fell on top of him just as he flopped over onto his back.
She straddled him and slammed her boots down, one on each of his arms. He stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes. She pulled the stake from under her arm and pressed it against his chest.
“Who is she?” Jenn roared.
“Who?” he asked, confusion mingling with the fear in his crimson eyes. His fangs extended, and he hissed.
Jenn shook her head, and drops of her blood splattered across his chest and the carpet. His eyes darkened to a deep bloodred of their own. “She, the vampire.”
“Dora?”
“No, her. Your leader. She ambushed me. She kidnapped my sister.”
He shook his head, tongue darting to catch the drops of Jenn’s blood—to get sustenance, fuel, energy. So he could kill her.
“Answer me!” Jenn shrieked.
“I don’t know who you mean!” he shouted in turn.
“Yes, you do!” she yelled at him. “You live here. You have to know who she is.” But she wasn’t certain of that. He hadn’t come here with the others. He’d been with Brooke. Still, he’d identified the vampire named Dora.
“You do know,” she said more firmly.
“Sorry.” He grinned at her. “Guess your sister’s toast. Too bad. Too, too bad.”
He was stalling for time, trying to get her to look at him, attempting to mesmerize her.
“No,” she grunted, panting. She tore her gaze away. “Tell me.”
Jenn dug the stake in harder until he began to bleed.
“The one who took my sister. Tell me now.”
She pushed deeper. An inch or two more and she would pierce his heart, and he would turn to dust. If he knew, he would break and say the name. Had to. He wouldn’t sacrifice himself out of loyalty. Vampires weren’t like that.
Just ask Brooke.
“Aurora, her name is Aurora,” the vampire gasped. “I’ll help you track her; you need me. We can leave and—”
“I need you dead,” she said coldly.
Jenn shoved the stake into his heart, and he turned to ash. She collapsed onto the floor and found herself staring into dead green eyes. Brooke lay on the ground where Simon had thrown her. The bat necklace lay in a pool of Brooke’s blood. And lying there, her own blood dripping into Brooke’s, she remembered all the good times they had shared. She remembered how happy Brooke had looked just minutes ago, when she had introduced her boyfriend. Everything she was, everything she could have been, had been taken away in a moment. Because Jenn had sought sanctuary in her home. Because Jenn had been attacked. Because her own father had betrayed her.
Jenn felt her heart break. Aurora was right. Learning her name had cost Jenn dearly.
CHAPTER NINE
Salamanca Hunter’s Manual: The Mission
Remember this: Your charge, against all others, is to destroy your foe. You are a protector of God’s creatures. Thus you are given dispensation to commit lesser evils, to thwart the greater. Fight with valor and honor when you are able, but sacrifice them both rather than risk defeat.
(translated from the Spanish)
OAKLAND
JENN
Too late to do any good, the fire alarm suddenly went off, startling Jenn to her feet. She reeled and put out a hand to steady herself on the back of the couch. She stared for a moment more at Brooke. Then she took a deep breath. There was nothing she could do for the dead; she could only focus on helping the living.
Hopefully that was Heather.
She staggered into the kitchen, where she stamped out the fire, already nearly out. She grabbed a chair and pushed the button on the smoke detector, but it didn’t stop blaring. The sound filled her ears and had to be audible to the neighbors. If it went much longer, someone was bound to call the fire department. She ripped it loo
se from the ceiling and yanked out the batteries.
As silence reigned, her thoughts turned to escaping. She thought of her bag packed and ready to go back at her parents’ house. She didn’t want to have to go back there, but she needed the bag, which contained both her passport and driver’s license. She had left with her dad in a hurry, leaving behind everything that wasn’t immediately usable as a weapon.
She reached for the phone. She’d call a cab. She paused. A taxi driver could get her to her parents’ house but couldn’t help her get the things she needed from inside. She picked up the phone and dialed her grandparents’ number.
“Hello?” her grandmother answered.
“It’s Jenn. I need help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Gramma, I can’t talk now. I need help.”
“Okay. I’m here.” There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her grandmother’s years in the countercultural revolution had reasserted themselves. Jenn sagged with relief, nearly bursting into tears.
“I have to get to the airport, but I need a ride, and I need my things from my house.”
“Where are you? I’ll come pick you up and then we can get your things.”
“No, we can’t do that,” Jenn said, willing herself not to cry. “Gramma, you have to get to the house fast. You have to see if Mom’s okay. Gramma . . .” Now she did cry. Just as quickly, she forced herself to stop.
“Tell me something,” her grandmother pleaded.
“Oh, Gramma, oh God,” she whispered. “Dad . . . gave me up to some vampires.”
“What?”
Jenn forced herself to keep talking. “So—so they’d leave the rest of you alone. But Heather got caught in the crossfire, and th-they kidnapped her.”
There was a beat. Then her grandmother said steadily, “Go on.”
“They’re taking her to New Orleans. I’m going after them. But I need my duffel bag from my room at home, and I can’t risk going there.”
“Got it.” She could tell her grandmother was keeping rigid control.
“It’s packed. I’m in Oakland, on Trestle Glen. Do you remember . . . do you . . . Brooke’s house . . .” She started crying again. “Gramma, hurry. God, please.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” her grandmother said, and then, “If you’re hurt or injured, wash up. Change your clothes. If anyone comes, leave. Is this a landline?”
“Yes. My cell’s at the house.”
“We have to hang up. It can be traced. If you have to leave, go to the nearest gas station. I’ll find you there.”
“Okay.”
“Jenn, I’m coming.”
“Thank you,” Jenn murmured, ending the call.
Jenn walked around the charred spot on the floor. She took off her clothes and washed herself in the bathroom off the kitchen, then raided the folded clothes in the laundry room for something to wear of Brooke’s—a jog bra that was a little too big, a black turtleneck sweater, jeans that were too long, underwear. There was a beach towel there too. Eyes averted, she draped it over Brooke.
Then she tried to clean up the evidence, but it was hopeless. Jenn’s blood and her fingerprints were everywhere. Weirdly, the vampire’s would be too. It was possible that the authorities could find her prints in a database—they’d fingerprinted everyone at her high school before she’d dropped out and gone to Spain—but somehow she doubted that Simon’s would show up. There was no way of even knowing how old he was or where he was from. They might try to pin Brooke’s murder on her. Another reason never to come here again.
Night had fallen; she checked the garage for concealed vampires, realizing she should have done it right away. Both cars were missing. She hoped Brooke’s parents wouldn’t come home before Gramma arrived. She felt so sorry for them, so terribly sorry. And for herself.
She thought about risking another call on the landline and contacting Father Juan, but he was on automatic dial on her cell phone, and she was too rattled to remember his number. Same with Antonio. With all of them.
I’m alone here. I’m alone.
Wearily, she sank onto the bottom stair of the landing. In forty minutes she heard a car pull up outside. She peeked out the living room window and recognized her grandmother’s old green Jeep.
Ducking her head, she ran to the car and slid into the passenger seat.
“Thank you, Gr . . .” She turned to look at her grandmother, and the word died on her tongue.
She had never seen such naked rage on a face before. Her grandmother’s eyes burned a brilliant blue, almost as though they were on fire. Jenn shivered.
“Your bag is on the backseat,” her grandmother said.
“Thank you. Did you—was there any trouble?”
“No trouble at all.” Her knuckles on the wheel were white.
“Was . . . was Dad there?”
“No. Your mother is leaving with me. I’ll call you once we’re settled. She and I,” she added, as if for emphasis.
“Oh, Gramma.” Jenn swallowed hard.
“Do it later, sweetie,” her grandmother said. She lifted her chin. “That’s what I’m going to do.”
Jenn nodded, and they rode in silence. It began to drizzle. They were halfway to Oakland Airport before her grandmother spoke again.
“You won’t be able to get anywhere near New Orleans. The Cursed Ones have the city locked down tight. I checked with some old friends. Nearest airport I could get you into is Biloxi. From there it’s about seventy-five miles. You’ll have to hitchhike. Don’t bother trying to rent a car. You have to have permits these days to get in and out of Louisiana, and you won’t be able to get one, so you’ll have to sneak over the border. I’ve half a mind to come with you.”
Jenn shook her head. “I need to know that you’re safe. You and Mom.” She wondered if she would ever see them again. Or her father.
They were going to kill me. And he knew it. My father. My own father.
Her grandmother gave her a hard stare. “Child, nobody is safe, not anymore. You of all people should know that.”
Jenn bit her lip, trying not to recall the image of Brooke lying dead. “I know that, but—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve found something more useful I can do. There’s a resistance movement, and they need people with experience. You don’t need to drag my ancient carcass around like some damn albatross.”
Jenn was too shocked to protest.
“I don’t have people in New Orleans. I did, but they’re gone.”
Jenn almost asked whether they had left or were dead, and then realized that she really didn’t want to hear the answer. Instead she nodded.
“Don’t trust anyone. Be polite, friendly. It doesn’t hurt to play dumb from time to time. There are people in this country who’ll still underestimate you if you’re quiet . . . or a woman. Use that to your advantage. Try never to be more than half an hour away from food, water, or medical help. Have you called your people yet?”
“No, not yet.” She’d meant to first thing but had blanked out.
“Well, do it now. You never know who’s going to be listening in on your private conversation when you’re out in public.”
Jenn reached around and grabbed her duffel bag. She pulled her cell phone out of it and pressed one for Father Juan. He picked up on the second ring.
“Jenn, are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with tension.
“No. I mean, physically I’m okay, but I’ve got big trouble,” she admitted.
“What’s happened?”
She told him the whole story. “My father betrayed me, sold me out to the vampires,” Jenn finished, unable to keep the raw grief out of her voice.
“Ay, mi’ja, I am sorry,” Father Juan said.
“We’re all real sorry, Padre. You coming to help or not?” her grandmother interrupted, loud enough for him to hear.
Father Juan grunted. “Your grandmother?”
Jenn smiled through her tears. “How did you guess?”
&
nbsp; “Tell her that she has the ears of a fox. Of course we will come help. The team is out on a mission. We’ll head for New Orleans as soon as they return, and rendezvous with you there.”
“Gracias,” Jenn whispered.
“Vaya con Dios,” he replied. “Call me. Stay in touch.”
“I will,” she promised.
“Jenn, be careful. Very careful.”
“Sí, mi maestro.” It was beginning to dawn on her what lay ahead. Her hand around the phone began to shake again. “Please say hello to everyone.”
“Vale, you know that I will.”
Her throat tightened, and she nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Disconnecting, she turned to her grandmother. “They’ll meet me in New Orleans.”
She nodded. “You give that young man of yours a kiss from me and tell him I’ll break his legs if he hurts you.”
From the look on her face Jenn knew that she wasn’t kidding.
They pulled off the freeway into a gas station, and the signs for the airport flashed overhead. Her grandmother yanked a money belt from underneath her seat and handed it to Jenn, ceaselessly scanning their surroundings. This was what her father’s life had been like. On the run. Watching. Hiding.
No, I won’t excuse his treachery. I will never, ever forgive him.
“What is this?” Jenn asked.
“Money, enough to get you where you need to go and then some,” her grandmother replied grimly. “When you’re in trouble, you can never have too much cash on hand.”
“Thank you,” Jenn said.
“Don’t thank me. Just go get your sister back.”
“I will,” Jenn vowed, wrapping the money belt around her waist underneath her shirt as her grandmother rolled back onto the road that led to the airport.
Two minutes later they pulled up outside the terminal. “Here’s your e-ticket. And here’s a fake ID.” All business, her grandmother handed her a printed confirmation and a California driver’s license issued to Jacqueline Simmons. The picture looked like one of Jenn’s old school pictures. The e-ticket was for Jacqueline Simmons.
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