Costin recovered. “Jonah—now!”
Even with his slumping lack of energy, Jonah brought up the flamethrower while the Master screamed, blowing the door clean away from his room. It burst to dust across the hall.
“Another lie . . . !”
Then, with another cry, Benedikte exploded back to that smoky nightmare cloud and rounded on Costin.
“Jonah!” Costin yelled, thinking this should have been over by now.
But it was just beginning again. The Master had seen the flamethrower and bolted forward to knock it out of a terrified Jonah’s hands as the boy closed his eyes. But he’d also made forceful contact with the human, too, and the boy hurtled through the air, smacking into the wall.
Costin heard bones crunch.
Blood leaked from Jonah’s head as he struggled to crawl away from the wall, reaching into his coat in spite of his clearly debilitating injuries.
Before Benedikte could hurt Jonah any more, Costin swooped over, barging against the Master’s form—solid invisibility against solid invisibility—and slammed him away.
At the same time, he fought to stay out of his host’s body, but he could feel a click of neediness signaling that his time was counting down.
The brothers went at each other like dogs, tearing and maiming, devouring with a passion for survival. With every swipe, every maneuver, Costin became less and less.
Body . . . my home . . .
Unable to cope anymore, he flew toward Jonah, entering, booming inside the body and expanding to fit once again. Both Jonah and Costin heaved in a high-pitched breath, and the boy’s agony rooted to Costin. Their vision was near dark as they fought off the pain together, as Jonah had been trained to do, their shared body going numb.
Nonetheless, Jonah had already grabbed another weapon with his good arm, a silver stake, the nearest thing at hand in his coat. Now, with Costin’s reentrance and added power—what was left of it—Jonah clutched the weapon.
The pain . . . Costin clung to Jonah’s injured humanity and battered psyche, feeling just how serious his host’s wounds were.
He’d waited too long to stay out. He’d allowed Jonah to get hurt. . . .
A voice was yelling from where the door used to be—it had consumed the Master’s attention and changed him into humanlike form.
“Stop, Benedikte!”
It was Dawn, wet and bedraggled, aiming a saw-bow. Pink, washed-out bloodstains streaked her shirt.
The Master darted over and swiped in one lightning-quick flash, knocking her into his desk, where she merely crashed into the wood and sat stunned, her saw-bow dropped.
He could have done worse, so much worse. Had he been holding back?
Then a ruckus in the hall drew the Master’s attention. Kiko and Frank. The Friends would be with them, as well—
Benedikte yelled, and chairs went flying into Kiko and Frank, bashing them outside. Then the Master cried out again, and the opening squeezed together, sealing the entrance so tightly not even a Friend would be able to slip through.
He had blocked out everyone but Dawn.
Costin began to pray, his mental whispers ever weakening.
The Master turned on her. “Why do you return!” But then his scream fell to a whisper. “Why?”
Even as he questioned, Costin and Jonah’s vision went gray, lifeblood gagging Jonah.
Did Costin have enough strength to leave this dying body? He had to get out, flee before this personal cave crashed down on him and trapped him—
He pushed upward, but he couldn’t leave. Instinctively, he needed to cling, to root, a parasite without choice.
He couldn’t . . .
Helplessly, he watched as Dawn flicked a glance at her mother, then checked Jonah, as well.
Costin forced Jonah to blink as a message—I’m alive; I’m still in here—and her face became a masterwork of relief and released affection.
Then the room got darker, and it didn’t hide her terror-ridden realization at what was really happening to him.
As his host’s body closed in around Costin, he mused, She came.
Jonah was thinking the same, and their thoughts merged in an avalanche of oncoming death.
Even when commanded to stay away, she was too powerful to obey.
Thank the Lord she came. . . .
TWENTY-SIX
THE INHUMANITY
WHEN Dawn saw the lights go out of a severely bloodied Jonah’s—Costin’s—eyes, she began to scream. Too late, she thought. I’m too . . .
Unable to look anymore, she dragged her gaze to Eva. Her vampire mother was bloody, too, but the red was dry on her skin and she didn’t seem as bad off as Jonah and Costin. She was either alive or peacefully dead, though it didn’t look like she’d been killed like a vamp should be.
Was she in the process of healing, bolstered by her stronger preternatural powers?
Then Benedikte’s voice speared into her thoughts. But it wasn’t the Master’s voice anymore. It was Matt Lonigan’s.
“Why did you come back?” he asked again.
Dawn looked at the man who’d earned some of her affection once. At least she’d thought so.
Matt’s—the Master’s—pugilistic features seemed more wounded than ever.
Oh, Matt. She wanted to ask “why,” too. Wanted to know why she’d been taken in by him so easily. Why she’d betrayed Costin by gravitating toward his rival.
“Why what?” Dawn asked, containing a quavering sense of loss as she kept thinking of Costin in Jonah’s battered body. She was doing another acting job now, pretending to be calm; it was becoming natural. “Why am I down here?”
“Yes, Dawn. You left me with Eva’s help, and I thought you wanted it that way. Are you . . . ?” “Matt” looked so hopeful, but then his face crumbled into a frown.
Dawn hurried before he lost it. “Matt,” she said, using this name in the hopes that he would think they were still on nice, delusional terms. Please believe me, please. “Did you know that your Guards freaked out and ate the Groupies? The Underground is defenseless right now.”
Benedikte just stared at her, his frown melting. Then he began to laugh. It was scalloped with a tinge of crazy.
“Sorin,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “Without him, the Guards wouldn’t obey.” Then “Matt” locked onto her again. “Why would you care about my Underground?”
She just smiled at him, hoping that it would pass as an answer. She couldn’t think anyway because her mind was still on Costin. Was he dead? She still couldn’t grasp that, wouldn’t let herself believe it—an unfeeling blankness didn’t allow her to even consider it. And everyone else was blocked out of the room, including the Friends, thanks to Benedikte’s spaz attack. But she thought she heard some movement on the other side of the wall, as if everyone were banging away at the stone.
It was up to her, wasn’t it? She was key. She was going to be the one to bring down this master after all.
The sense of importance, control, fulfilled her when it shouldn’t have. She should be doing this for a higher purpose, not ego. Still, no matter what her motivation, it was going to get done. She just needed to keep the Master calm, then ratchet up her anger and use her mind on him . . . or better yet, use a silver stake to the heart or even a bullet.
“You had me fooled for a while,” she said to “Matt,” standing slowly from the wreckage of the desk. Damn it, her right arm hurt where she’d been wounded by Robby Pennybaker once. It was a little numb, and her lobe was beating where Paul Aspen had ripped out her earring. But the realization of what he’d done hurt more than the actual wound, which was healing under Breisi’s unguent.
“I had you fooled?” The Master didn’t seem to know what she was talking about until he glanced down at “Matt”’s body. “Oh, this.”
Oh, this?
“You wanted me,” he said, “just as I wanted you. That’s straightforward enough.”
“I guess it is.” They wanted each other. �
��That night you met me at the Cat’s Paw, I was”—she swallowed—“attracted to you. It’s true.”
She sounded collected, even if she was grossed out.
“Seeing you in real life and not merely in pictures was a different experience.” The Master got a dreamy gleam in his eyes, telling Dawn that this walk down memory lane was keeping him at bay for the time being. “I recognized another lost soul in you. And you reminded me of Eva, but she just wanted Frank. Yet we—you and I, not me and her—were compatible. I wasn’t meant for Eva at all.”
Dawn got attacked by the heebie-jeebies . . . and the same garbage that’d been dogging her ever since she was old enough to know who Eva was. A pulse throbbed in her temple.
The Master closed his eyes and leaned back his head. “I only came Above to find answers about some vamp hunters who were causing trouble. But I found you at the same time. I lied to myself, thinking that I was only going to win you over so I could extract information from you, but then you . . . came onto me.” He looked uncomfortable with that term. “You were interested in this body, Matt’s body, and . . .”
He didn’t have to continue.
She watched a comatose Eva out of the corner of her eye. Not moving—not moving at all. Watched Costin and wished him back to life, if he’d really gone and died.
Died. A sob choked her as she listened to the clanking noises outside where help was coming.
Cry later. You’re key. You’re the only one who can take care of this now.
Slowly, her shattered will reconstructed, even though a lone echo inside kept asking, “Costin?”
“So you were moonlighting as one of the Underground’s spies,” she said.
“I took a big chance.” “Matt” was looking more hopeful the longer she kept him talking. “I opened myself to another master’s Awareness by going Above, but I was always careful to shield, except for one night at Matt’s home. I had to try to get information from you, had to see if it would work.”
She knew exactly what he was talking about. That night, she’d felt a twinge of invasion, and this was the reason. But unlike other vamps, he hadn’t needed to look at her to mind screw. He was more powerful, pure-blooded.
“Sorin never agreed with what I was doing.” The Master seemed agitated again. “He thought it was too risky having me Above. But I was effective, wasn’t I? I brought up the subject of vampires with you because I knew Limpet was already on to us, so why not misdirect you with Matt’s stories about other vampires who dwell Above? Non-Underground vampires.”
“It worked for a while, Matt.”
“I tried so hard to earn your trust so you would tell me everything without my having to enter your mind. I wanted you to permit me one day. I wanted you to be willing, Eva.”
At that, both of them stared at each other. Then the Master glanced at the movie star still propped against the wall. Dawn didn’t bother. She didn’t yearn for Benedikte, but everyone yearned for Eva. Always had, always would.
“Dawn.” The Master was shaking his head in apology. “You made me feel alive again when your mother couldn’t.”
What he’s saying doesn’t matter; don’t let it matter. . . .
“You’re good,” she said, awkwardly moving her uninjured hand closer to her revolver bit by bit, so as not to provoke him. “You’re a hell of an actor. Was that blade you wore at your back a prop?”
He seemed pleased that she’d noted this. “Method acting.”
What was this guy about? Then she thought of his society: movie stars, screenings. Benedikte was the ultimate groupie.
“I even thought,” she added, “you tried to kill Robby Pennybaker with that machete.”
“No, I’d never kill my son.”
Benedikte crumbled, sinking to his knees and uttering something like, “Sorin,” under his breath.
Dawn had to work quick, had to carry on with Costin’s quest.
She contained herself at that. Later . . . cry later. . . .
What had Costin said? That he always asked where the maker was buried before dispatching a master. She needed to do that, too. But how was she going to get around to the subject without Benedikte wigging out?
Keep working at it, she thought. Use what you’ve learned.
“You seemed very human,” she began, following her own advice.
The Master halted his dramatics. She’d never seen anyone turn on and off this fast. . . . Wait. Yes, she had. On a movie set during a break, an actor had gone from slaphappy to suicidal within two seconds and they’d escorted him to his trailer, then taken him to his doctor.
This wasn’t out of the ordinary for someone who lived close to the skin. And actors did. They banked on emotion, or the semblance of it.
“Yes, I passed for a human very well,” Benedikte said, smiling, even with his eyes bleary. “I took the shape of a Servant, studied his ways, emulated him. If you’d met the real Matt, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”
“Well-done.” Get to the dragon.
“I had to cover my bases. I wasn’t sure if Limpet was actually investigating the Underground or not, and I couldn’t assume his interest in Robby’s case meant he was on to us.”
“And you definitely got my sympathy.” As thoughts of Costin crept into her again, her legs started to shake. She hurt. And, damn it, her saw-bow was across the room.
She kept inching her left hand toward her firearm, hoping to use it after wheedling the dragon’s location out of Benedikte. “Adapting the Batman story was smart. Murdered parents, who drove you to hunting vampires . . .”
“A flight of fancy that almost cost me since I deviated from the real Matt’s story.” The Master sat on the ground. “And you almost caught on until I had a Servant plant Internet database stories and paperwork about the other name I gave to throw you off my trail: Matt Destry. The name I told you I’d shed after my parents’ deaths.” It sounded like he was giving her some credit for keeping him on his acting toes. “To think, after all these years of gaining immunity to things like garlic, sunlight, religious items . . . I can’t overcome a woman as easily.”
Stay on course. “Your powers are impressive.” She gestured to his body, indicating his ability to shift. “But your acting . . . I mean, how did you talk on the phone with Costin and avoid detection? You had actual voice contact with him. He no doubt altered his own, but how did you fool him?”
“Shielding.” Now he was trying to impress her. “But it voided my ability to reach out and sense what he was in return. I had to rely on good old-fashioned detective work. I hoped that Limpet . . . Costin . . .” He paused, then started up again with a confused slant to his face. “I hoped he would reach out and try to sense me, giving himself away, but he was shielding, too.”
Yet Costin had me to draw you out, Dawn thought.
“You, though,” he added, “you were reason enough to risk everything. When I didn’t see you for that entire month between Robby’s death and the Vampire Killer murders, it tested me. All I wanted was to be Above with you, but Robby’s demise forced me to take stock down here. My children needed me. We all locked down together until security was partially reestablished.”
Dragon—how could she get to the dragon from this without giving herself away? If she pulled a weapon, then asked, he would kick her ass mano a mano.
“Dawn,” he whispered, and she knew that she’d come to the end of this Sherlock-paved road.
He cocked his head at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me. I thought there was no chance after Eva took you.” He went livid. “I get it. You came back because it was her fault, wasn’t it? She did take you away from me. Jealous. She was only jealous.” He stopped, laughing.
Out of Dawn’s peripheral vision, she thought she saw Eva stir.
Mirth subsiding, Benedikte held out a hand to her. “I wanted you to come, master to loved one. ‘Matt’ would get you down here, and I knew you’d ultimately stay because I could give you anything you ever wanted.”
She tried to block against his reasoning, but he was right. She could’ve been one of them, but on her own terms. She really could’ve been her mother’s daughter.
Her gaze came to rest on Costin in Jonah’s still body. If he had stayed intact, maybe her longing to be like Eva wouldn’t have mattered eventually. Costin had always wanted Dawn for what she offered—
As if sensing her grief, Jonah’s eyes came open to a slit. Dawn didn’t move a muscle, not believing what she saw. But when he closed his eyes, her body resurrected, heart pounding.
Alive? She could still help him. What had Costin said? Oh, God . . .
If I am somehow caught in my host’s body during his death—if I should need to anchor to the strength and sustenance he gives me because I am too weak to escape, for instance—my quest is over. I will have failed and will perish in damnation since I would not be able to escape the useless host and redeem myself. . . .
If Jonah died, Costin would lose his soul. It wasn’t fair. This couldn’t happen. . . .
Then, with a crash of conscience, she knew what she had to do. So simple. So obvious. So right. Costin might kill her, but it was the only way.
After all, the good of the many outweighed the good of the few. Costin would agree with that.
Blind and deaf to everything but the bigger picture—and to Costin—she went forward, no matter the sacrifice. She really was key. She was Costin’s only chance.
Clink, clink, clink went the team outside as they tried to find a way in. But they weren’t here yet.
She swallowed back the nausea of what justice was demanding she carry out.
“You’d give me anything?” Dawn whispered to Benedikte, sinking to her knees, slipping off her weapons bag in a show of trust. “Even after all the hard feelings between us?”
“Matt” shifted into his Benedikte body, his eyes lighting up with hope. Hell, why couldn’t he have stayed in “Matt”’s body? It would’ve been so much easier.
“I would give you the world,” he said, excitement lacing his tone.
Make him believe; make him believe. . . .
Break of Dawn Page 29
