“Can we talk about something else?”
Even though the conversation wasn’t being conducted on cellular phones, circumspection was always—mostly—the order of the day. Siri and Cassie still got together for the occasional private chats, but vampires weren’t supposed to socialize with other vampires’ companions. They were being real sticklers for their stupid rules right now. Companions weren’t even supposed to talk to other companions. Everyone was supposed to stick to their own nest and wait for the night of the Hunt. It was the Law.
The rules were complicated and stupid, and they were never fully explained. She doubted if they’d even been codified or written down. Were there vampire lawyers? Loopholes? You were just supposed to obey without question. Until she’d come on board as Selim’s girlfriend, no one in Southern California had ever talked to anybody else. There wasn’t any Law against it, she’d discovered, it was tradition. Even Selim rarely had contact with the others, though he kept tabs on them in a quiet, secretive way.
Siri simply couldn’t stand the lack of communication. Besides, she was endlessly curious, a professional busybody, and had this tendency to see things about people she knew before the events happened. The fact that there was anything resembling a vampire community these days was her doing, but she was a mere mortal, to be ignored when it suited them. They were up to important vampire stuff right now. Life-and-death decisions. Mostly death. She had no place in their—Selim’s—councils while he picked and chose which humans died.
“Bullshit,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. What do you want to talk about?”
“About . . . last night. You’re sure he’s—”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. I promise.” Her friend’s obvious concern helped get Siri’s mind off her own complaints. Never mind that she felt used and unloved. There was a child’s life at stake, and that was more important. Selim considered Jager a threat to Sebastian. She’d found out the hard way that the strig was totally out of control. “It’s taken care of,” she promised Cassie. “You and Tom can relax.”
Cassie sighed. “I wish. Sebastian’s so vulnerable,” Cassie went on. “There are some old stories about children like him.”
“What stories?”
“I don’t know.”
Of course not. “Don’t you people ever talk to each other?”
“You don’t have to sound so annoyed. We’re a secretive people.”
“You mean Gypsies?”
Cassie laughed with no great enthusiasm. “I mean that Tom says I don’t want to know.”
“So you don’t want to know. Honestly, Cassie, what’s wrong with a little knowledge?”
“It can get you killed.”
Siri had the distinct impression that the “you” in this case wasn’t just the object of a sentence or an offhand comment. She refused to take it personally, as either threat or warning. Not from Cassie. She did take time to count to one hundred rather than go into a lecture about the unreasonableness of it all. Cassie had her own problems with all those Laws, much worse problems than Siri’s.
Siri curled her feet under her on the couch and switched the receiver to her other ear. The television was on, but the sound was off. Who needed sound to watch a Timberwolves-Bucks game on ESPN?
Maybe it was Selim’s constant secretiveness that was getting to her, even more than that other thing. No, it wasn’t.
“I’m thinking about getting a cat,” she told Cassie. “It’s getting lonely around here.”
Cassie laughed. “A cat. To go with the crystal ball?” They’d met at a New Age bookstore, back before either of them met the—persons—they were currently involved with. “You sound like an old-maid witch.”
“I don’t need the crystal ball. I’m not old. Or a maid . . . though I’m beginning to forget what sex feels like. And didn’t you used to read Tarot cards?” Siri reminded Cassandra. And it wasn’t like one of them had set up a date for the other one with their new boyfriend’s best friend. Neither had known that the other was involved with a vampire; they’d actually gone their separate ways, lost track of each other. Neither was surprised, though, to meet again the way they had. They’d warned each other for a long time that the cards and the visions held strange, dark fates for them both.
“Still read the cards,” Cassie said. “Maybe it’s a Romany thing.”
Until five years ago, Cassandra Widdoes didn’t have the faintest idea she had any Rom ancestry. It wasn’t until after Cassie became pregnant that Siri’s research proved that Cassie’s grandmother, who’d been born and orphaned in a refugee camp just after World War II, wasn’t Jewish, as the family had always assumed, but a Russian Gypsy. Further research showed that Tom Avella had some Spanish Gitano ancestry, as well. Aristocratic old Don Tomas hadn’t like hearing that. At least the proof of Romany blood had convinced Tom that Cassie wasn’t cheating on him and that the baby was his. Things had been a little tense in the Avella household for a while, if you wanted to be so low key as to call a vampire in a murderous, jealous rage tense.
The amniocentesis and other medical tests had helped, too. Not just to convince Tom of his companion’s faithfulness but to convince Selim that the impossible was indeed happening. She and Selim had been involved in that bizarre, long night at the hospital. Strange how all the medical personnel involved in giving those tests had no, or a very confused, memory of doing them, and how all the results had disappeared. Science was all right, but psychic talent was often much more efficient.
Siri said, “I miss having adventures.” Before Cassie could answer or she could remind herself about last night, the phone signaled a call on the other line. “Hold on.” The basketball game wasn’t holding her attention. She clicked the remote to a random channel. A local news program came on the screen as she switched to the incoming call. “Hello.”
“Hi, Siri, it’s Joseph.” Miriam’s companion sounded cheerful and relaxed now that his household’s little problem was taken care of. “Saw an item in the trades this morning that you might be interested in.”
Joe taught at the UCLA film school. He’d once joked that he’d personally turned down Steven Spielberg’s student application, but she knew he wasn’t that old. He kept his finger on the pulse of pop culture and the business, though. Joe’s tidbits were always interesting. Siri perked up. It would be more fun to hear Hollywood gossip than vampire gossip. “Oh?”
“I know how you love vampire movies.”
“Oh, lord,” she groaned. “Not another one!” One news story ended, another one began with a shot of a reporter standing before an angry crowd in front of a Hispanic supermarket. There was something disturbing about the scene. She knew without having to check that Cassie had hung up on the other line, that Tom wanted her for something. Siri didn’t try to discern what the Hollywood Hills vampires were up to. She clicked the sound up to whisper level on the television set. A shiver went through her, but she kept most of her attention on the other companion.
“Yep,” Joe confirmed. “There was a press release from Arc Light Productions this morning.” He laughed. “Says that production is starting on a film about ‘real’ vampires.”
The shiver hit her again. Siri sat up straight. A line of ice crawled up her back. “Real?”
“I’m looking forward to this one,” Joe went on. “We’re going to have to do another companions film festival at your house before going to see this one. Think we’ll like it better than Near Dark? Though, as I recall, you voted for From Dusk ’til Dawn as best vamp movie the last time.”
“Real,” she said again. She gripped the phone tightly in her sweating palm. The world was burning up. The walls of the room were made of glass. Beyond the glass were . . . stars. Burning, falling stars. No, flames tearing up through the night sky, reaching to burn the stars. The city was on fire.
The voice on the television shouted at her, “Can’t you see the city’s on fire?”
Of course she s
aw it. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“It’s just a movie, Siri,” Joe said, a million miles away. “You don’t have to sound so scared.”
Why was this fool talking about movies when real people were dying in the burning streets? She stood up and threw the cordless phone toward the melting glass wall. It bounced off and hit the television screen. Siri sat back down. She blinked, and her living room returned to normal.
“Damned visions.”
What had Joe been talking about? Why had she turned away from the basketball game? What had the vision of flames and destruction been about?
“No, wait,” she said, rubbing her temples and thinking hard. “I know that one.”
Selim was up to something. Something actually quite clever. No, no. It was diabolical. Evil.
Siri looked up and spoke to the large photograph of Selim that smiled down from a silver frame hung on the blue wall. “Did you have anything to do with the Rodney King riots, you bastard?” She thought the words louder and angrier than she said them. She hoped they gave him a headache. “If you think I’m going to let you get away with it,” she added, “you are sadly mistaken.”
Siri tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch and imagined that she heard the click of claws instead of the tap of human nails. She glanced at her hand. Still human. But for how long? Some secrets they kept very well, despite her information network, despite the visions. Selim had never told her exactly how vampires were made, though she knew it involved more than just sharing blood with companions. Cassie refused to talk about her own change. Siri admitted that she had never let herself think about it. Or maybe Selim hadn’t let her think about it. She knew he made her forget things sometimes, only because they eventually came back to her, and they had fights about his messing with her mind. She guessed the birth process involved something to do with the Hunt. There was so much she couldn’t see, so much she didn’t know despite phones and faxes and E-mail and face-to-face conversations. Oh, and the visions, of course.
The Hunt was inevitable as night. She accepted that humans were going to die. But did the strigs have to be allowed to hunt down Moira Chasen? Did a part of the city have to go up in flames to cover the other vampires’ crimes? There had to be a better way. If only because she couldn’t let the man she loved have all those innocent deaths on his conscience.
“Not your species,” she murmured, with her gaze unwaveringly on the eyes of the man in the photo. She tried to make her thoughts punch a hole in his strong shielding and his blithe amorality. “Not your problem, my ass, oh Lord of the Nile.” She tapped her fingers impatiently once more. Her thoughts raced. So did the hours. When was he going to let them Hunt? How the hell was she going to get through to him in time?
Maybe she should break out her old crystal ball and see if it could offer any advice. Or maybe she should just hit Selim over the head with it the next time she saw him and get him out of town until the urge to commit mass murder passed. “Whatever,” she muttered, and she switched the channel back to the basketball game, just in case watching a lot of tall men running around in baggy shorts might help her think.
Chapter 13
SELIM SAT ON the roof of the two-story building and breathed in the night air. The heat absorbed in asphalt and concrete during the day had pretty much dissipated by now. The concentrated stench from car exhausts was no worse than usual in this part of town. There was still something refreshing in the atmosphere. There was the tension, of course. Concentrated anger and frustration boiled up from minds all around him. The emotional perfume was delicious, spiced by the fresh, tangy aroma of cilantro and sharpness of onion and garlic coming from the open kitchen window below him. All of it made his mouth water. Life would be perfect if he had a cup of coffee to go with everything else.
There was a meeting as well as cooking going on in the house below. Selim didn’t try to concentrate hard enough to pick up the actual discussion. It was enough for him to recognize the hot emotions. Hot, but not hot enough. The people gathered inside the building were the cooler heads in the neighborhood, the ones looking for reasonable, long-term solutions. They knew that the death of the store owner was a tragic symptom of a deep, ongoing, complex problem. Selim admired and appreciated the responsible attitude of these community leaders, but responsible behavior wasn’t going to do him any good.
The street was crowded with cars, many of them slowly patrolling police vehicles. People were clotted on the sidewalks. Mostly young men, their muscles bunched with tension, their words coming out in low-pitched growls. Many glared openly at the passing cop cars and made obscene gestures. The truly dangerous ones studied the enemy with long, coolly assessing looks. They understood hunters and prey. Selim marked them out and nodded with satisfaction at their reaction to the death of one of their own. There was danger brewing out on the street.
The young people gathered out in the street had a much better attitude about the whole situation than their elders in the house. Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore was the tenor of the conversation in the milling crowd down there. They wanted revenge. They wanted blood.
“We have a lot in common,” Selim murmured.
Downstairs, someone added cumin to whatever they were cooking. That was what he was going to have to do, add spice to the mix on the street. He just didn’t want it to boil over tonight. Soon, a few nights from now. Let it build, but keep it leashed, was his objective. Let the fever burn. Then either let the cops screw up on their arrogant own or engineer an incident. Either way, when the riot began, the vampires would have the hunting ground they needed to take at least a few of the six lives he’d promised them.
It was an elegant, simple, practical solution. Somehow, though, he had the sneaking suspicion that something was bound to fuck it up. It was just a feeling. One with Siri’s name written on it, perhaps. Though what his companion—the one who was probably out somewhere with a blond right now—could do to change her master’s plans, he had no idea.
Actually, he told himself, trying to make the best of the situation, her involvement with someone else would distract her from interfering in the Hunt. It would distract her from him. Cool the intensity of their relationship. That was what he wanted.
“I want to kill somebody,” he muttered. He looked down at all the dark heads below him. Not a chance of finding a natural blond in this neighborhood. “Maybe I should wander over to Malibu.” He chuckled. “Like, there’re natural blonds there?” Maybe he should try the Valley.
The real temptation was to head home, to go by Siri’s place. Look in on her. See how she was. Find out what she was up to. Having grown used to fighting that particular temptation, Selim moved instead to a particularly shadowy corner at the side of the building and jumped down to the alley below. He moved onto the crowded street and took a slow walk up one side and then the other, reading minds and planting thoughts. The most important thing he did was keep the peace for tonight. He succeeded in stirring the anger without letting it boil over. It was tricky work, satisfying, but it left him with a headache as well a sense of amused irony after a few minutes.
What he needed, he decided once he was satisfied with his patrol of the area, was a triple-shot espresso. Then maybe he’d check some of the scavengers who made their homes by the concrete riverbanks. The city’s beggars made for easy prey, but Kamaraju’s nest would take only what Selim gave if they wanted to Hunt. Not that he wasn’t a little ticked off by Jager going after Siri.
He stopped at a street corner and watched traffic pass by, dark metal shapes defined by the eyes of headlights and reflections of other light across their surface. He stopped paying attention to the people on the street. One part of his mind was aware of movement behind him, but he allowed most of his focus to wander as he watched the cars. It was a good way of getting back into himself after a trip inside strangers’ heads. He thought cars were wondrous, beautiful things, for all the stench and heat and noise they threw off. Of course, they’d grown up
with him, he’d watched so much technology evolve in the dizzying speed of the last two centuries.
When he first emerged from his daylight prison, the world was already a changing place. He was told that things were different once, that once upon a time eons went by without much changing. Just the usual wars, famines, and other apocalypses had marked the passing of the centuries back in the good old nights. He’d heard stories of vampires who’d fallen into the stagnation that sometimes afflicted their kind, who’d hidden themselves away, only to get run over by a train or some other modern monster when the need to Hunt finally drove them out of hiding. Vampire urban legends. No one really knew any vampires who’d died from lack of coping skills. Made good stories to tell the kids, though.
Selim smacked his lips together in imitation of a toothless old man. “Yep, things was different in my day, sonny,” he mumbled. “Humans was easy pickins’ then. Why, they roamed in vast herds, just naked monkeys as far at the eye could see.” Despite the headache, he could hear Geoff Sterling coming up behind him. Selim had felt the young vampire’s approach for blocks but hadn’t been concerned about it. “Mighty good eatin’,” he added as he turned to face the strig.
He was glad to see that Sterling had ditched the Goth look for the evening, just as Selim had ditched the Armani. It did not suit the surroundings. The jeans and T-shirts they both wore helped them blend much better into the crowd. Of course, the fact that they were both wearing black did give their choice of clothing a sort of uniform look.
Sterling glanced back at the humans, males for the most part, on the stoops and sidewalks and lingering in doorways. “I can’t imagine all those monkeys naked,” he said with a mock shudder. He held up his hands. “No. The thought’s just too frightening.”
Selim smiled. Could it be that the kid had a sense of humor? “What if they were naked girls? That’s what interests you at the moment, isn’t it? Girls?”
Sterling’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “You trying to insult me, dhamphir?”
Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt Page 11
