by Amy Corwin
“There are other teachers to watch over the kids,” Theresa’s lips thinned as she considered his offer.
Quicksilver thrust her helmet onto her head, flipping up the visor to see in the fluorescent light of the entryway. “I’m going.”
Kethan caught her wrist. “No. You’re not taking the motorcycle. You’re either coming with me in Theresa’s car or not going at all.”
His hard grip roused the sleeping demon of anger. It erupted, snapping and ferocious through a mist of fear. As they stood there arguing, Jason might be draining Kathy of blood.
She could be lying in an alley, bloodless and feeble, seconds away from death. Or weakened from blood loss, she might stumble into the street, too disoriented and dizzy to realize the danger from the cars speeding toward home. If she tried to flag someone down for help, they’d probably ignore her, not wanting to get involved and happy to leave her to her fate.
No one stopped for hitchhikers anymore, no matter how young or vulnerable they seemed, not if they valued their lives.
Jittery, Quicksilver wiped a damp hand over her hip. She had to get going while Kathy still had a chance….
However, the set expression on Kethan’s face indicated that no good would come of arguing. The sharp metallic taste of bitterness filled her mouth. How correct she’d been about the uselessness of negotiations. Someone always got what he wanted and the other person lost.
But at the moment, finding Kathy alive was more important than winning. She yanked off the helmet and threw it onto a bench. It clacked with the muted sound of plastic against wood before rolling over like a severed head. Just before it fell to the floor, it stopped, wavering on the edge of the seat. The neck opening faced her, the void inside looked as dark and empty as a grave.
She shivered, suddenly superstitious, almost glad to have Kethan’s heavy grip on her wrist. “Let’s go then, in the car. Stay here, Theresa. You’ve got my number. Call me if she gets back before we do.”
At least he didn’t gloat over his victory. Kethan’s face remained impassive, almost worried, with his brows compressed into a V above his tired eyes.
Theresa threw them a set of keys and mumbled a litany of safe driving rules. Use the seat belts. Drive slowly. Obey the stop signs. Still talking, she followed them outside and pointed at her car.
“I know what stop signs are for,” Quicksilver interrupted. “I’ve had my driver’s license for years. Really. I can do this.”
“I’ll drive.” He shouldered her away from the driver’s door and took the keys from her hand.
“Good.” Theresa nodded.
“Nice. I thought you were my friend,” Quicksilver complained.
“I am,” Theresa said. “That’s why I’m relieved Kethan is driving.”
Before she could think of a suitable response, Kethan opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat.
Negotiations over.
Chapter Eight
Theresa’s car was an unremarkable, ancient four-door sedan with peeling blue paint and room for at least six well-fed adults. Quicksilver climbed inside and groped around for a minute before finding the seat belt. She clipped it over her hips, feeling diminutive and almost lost at her end of the wide bench seat.
There was so much room that if she’d been sleepy, she could have swung her feet up on the seat. Her toes would have rested comfortably against Kethan’s hip. She could imagine his warmth easing into her soles and up her calves, soothing the coldness that seemed to fill her with ice. Unfortunately, his preoccupied air made him seem unapproachable and distant as he swung the vehicle out of the narrow parking lot behind the orphanage.
Colder and stiff, she rubbed her palms against her jeans. She missed the physical proximity of her bike. Kethan’s knees on either side of her and his hands on her waist had made her feel warm despite the cutting chill of the night air.
Maybe it was a good thing they were a continent apart in Theresa’s car.
“It’ll be morning soon.” She gazed out the window. The sky was dark, the breeze sharp with an icy edge, and the air inside the car smelled musty and stale in comparison. “Where’s their lair? Do you know? Jason’ll take her there if he’s not finished with her. If she’s not already dead.”
“She’s not dead. Martyn would never allow it.”
“If he’s got control. He didn’t seem like he had a very good grip on anything except maybe his dic—” She cut herself off, feeling a hot flush spill over her face. She couldn’t forget that he’d been a priest. He already held a low opinion of her. There was no need to lower it further.
“Which means he’ll be more likely to exert his will over Jason.” He commented casually as if he didn’t notice her foul language. He lowered his window and rested his elbow on the sill. “It’s critical for Sutton to make sure he’s obeyed, or he’ll lose control of the clan. They’ll kill him.”
“Then if we’re lucky, maybe he’ll kill Jason, first. That would be effective to consolidate his leadership, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but it would also reduce his clan. There are few enough as it is.”
Her heart fluttered with sudden happiness at the thought of wiping out the vampires. Life would be normal and all the children would be safe. Her anger would vanish, and she’d finally be free…wouldn’t she? A curl of unease circled her chest, squeezing the breath out of her lungs.
Will I ever really be free of the past?
“How many are there?” she asked, breathless and desperate to sound casual, normal. She clasped her hands in her lap, knuckles turning white as she tried to clear her mind.
Relax. You can do this. You can be normal.
“I don’t know. Perhaps fifty.”
“Fifty! That many?” She couldn’t handle fifty. Not all at once. Her fingers tightened.
“Yes, but this clan is small for a group that controls the east coast from Canada to Florida. And we don’t want it to get any larger.”
“Well, at last. Something we can agree on.” She couldn’t help smiling as she straightened. That meant they were spread thinly. There was hope that she could terminate them, once and for all. “If you don’t know where they hide, how do you contact them?”
“It’s complicated.” He turned the car down a street that ran parallel to the road leading to the orphanage. “Martyn doesn’t like modern technology—a lot of them don’t. It was a challenge to communicate until we persuaded one of the younger ones to carry word back to him. A few of the newly transformed carry cell phones, although Martyn won’t allow them into the lair. Too many episodes of ‘Police Files’, I guess. He’s paranoid the phones can be tracked.”
“Interesting thought.” A GPS tracking device. Could she plant one on a vampire and find all of them? Destroy them all during the day while they slept?
It would be so easy…. If she knew a little more about cell phones. Could anyone track them or only the police or government?
Motorcycles and whips were simple to understand, but electronics…. She didn’t even own a computer, although she occasionally used one in the library to keep up with the latest trends in self-defense.
She just didn’t trust something as uncontrolled as the Internet and was paranoid about leaving a trail behind her that the undead could use against her.
“Does she ever go to Renardos?” he asked, changing the subject.
The trendy bistro and bar was an enchanted forest of twinkling lights threaded through delicate, artfully twisted trees. The ambiance was meant to give patrons the feeling of partying between the ancient trunks of a magical forest, but the cartoon cuteness annoyed Quicksilver so much she avoided it.
“She was nearly killed. She ought to have been too afraid to go anywhere except home.” Her hands gripped the door handle. She willed the car to go faster.
Would an enchanted forest appeal to seventeen year old girl? She grudgingly and silently admitted that Kethan might be right on that score. Kathy would probably love it.
“But did she
realize she was in danger? Was she afraid?”
“Yes—no, I don’t know.” Kathy had been dazed and staring into Jason’s eyes when Quicksilver killed Tyler.
There had been no spurting blood, no gore to scare her. Tyler’s body had disintegrated into a pile of ash, powdering the trash littering the alley like a cloud of baby talc. She remembered the blank look on Kathy’s face when she told her to go home.
There had been no fear, just surprise and annoyance at the disappearance of her glamorous boyfriend. “No, she didn’t understand what was going on. Not really. But Renardos is closed by now.”
“There’s a retro diner next door that’s open all night.”
“Then go there.”
A few minutes later, they parked in front of the diner. The building was shaped like an old aluminum-skinned travel trailer and the sight of the aerodynamically-rounded contours hit her with the memories of the vacations her family used to take before they split up. They’d spent her childhood camping in the southwest at archaeological digs, scrabbling through gritty, sand-like dirt under a sun so bright even the sky looked bleached. They’d never found anything of note, only a few shards of pottery or a handful of beads, but they seemed happy with whatever they discovered. It sounded so boring and yet she’d loved it. She adored watching the expressions of incandescent awe flare to life on her parents’ faces when they found something—anything—even old bottle caps.
Sometimes when she heard a certain low, metallic clink, she remembered the wind chime her mother had strung up, made with twine and ancient bottle caps. The metal disks tinkled softly in the evening breezes as they cooked hotdogs over a small campfire. As the smoke swirled around them and sparks twinkled like fireflies, her parents told stories about the lives of the ancient people who left behind few traces except a few broken bowls.
The chimes hung for years in the doorway of their trailer and finally in her bedroom window at her grandmother’s house, after her parents left her there to pursue their archeological dreams in Mexico.
Kethan held the diner’s door open. His wide palm rested in the center of her back warming her skin through her jacket as he ushered her inside. She blinked under the over-bright fluorescent lights.
Shiny, red leatherette cushioned booths and stools provided seating for the chrome tables and counter, gleaming under the dazzling lights. Several groups of flashily dressed kids filled the booths lining the wall to their left. The teenagers chattered and laughed, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to Kethan and Quicksilver.
Then, one of the girls looked up. Her eyes lingered on Kethan. She nudged the girl next to her with her elbow. The two girls smothered their nervous giggles behind fluttering hands as they glanced away and then looked back again with lingering stares.
Their glances reminded Quicksilver again of his attractiveness. A flash of something hot flared inside her. Irritation, she decided, relieved that he didn’t seem to notice anything.
He swung his head from one side to the other, scanning the room. “She’s not here.” He touched her shoulder.
“How do you know? You don’t even know what she looks like.”
He stepped aside and swept his arm toward the room. “There are no girls here alone or with a man. Jason’s not here.”
She nodded slowly. That was not good news. If Kathy were here, at least she’d be safe.
“What does she look like?” Kethan asked.
“Typical seventeen-year-old. Brown hair, brown eyes. Kind of a round face. I don’t know—just a regular kid. No tattoos or piercings. No scars.” Her hand rose involuntarily, touching the scars on her throat before she realized it and forced her hand to drop.
His sharp eyes noticed the movement and focused on her neck. She turned away, not trying to hide the ugly white scars so much as removing them from his notice.
As if oblivious to her tension, he turned to walk to the counter. Leaning his elbows against the smooth surface, he waited as if he had all the time in the world.
The waitress turned to him like a flower toward the sun.
He asked, “Have you seen a young girl during the last hour or so? Brown haired, about seventeen? Probably alone or with a blond man.”
“Are you kidding? Renardos closes at three. We’re loaded with kids, then.”
He grinned. “What a nightmare.”
“You’ve got that right! Bunch of drunks. Or high. I had one girl in here tonight, threw up all over the counter. The whole place reeked, almost made me lose it myself. I can’t stand that smell. And then they expect me to clean it up and still get everyone’s orders out while they’re hot.”
“I’d have lost it.”
“Yeah, well, you get used to it.” She shrugged as she brought her right hand up to hover over the top button of her blouse, unconsciously—or consciously—drawing attention to her décolleté. “When you’re the only place open within a block of a place like Renardos, it happens. They’re supposed to card ‘em, but I swear these kids look younger and younger, even with all their makeup, tats and jewelry.”
“This girl—she didn’t have any makeup or jewelry. Just brown hair and eyes.” He leaned toward her.
“Your daughter?” Her eyes caught Quicksilver’s gaze for a few seconds before sliding back to Kethan’s face without any acknowledgement.
“No. She’s missing from the children’s home,” he said.
“Oh, one of them. No, I didn’t see any girl in here alone.”
“She might have been with a friend.” Quicksilver inserted herself into the conversation. Her voice rose sharply. “A blond boy. About nineteen.”
The waitress frowned. “Runaway, too?”
“No.” Kethan smiled and recaptured the waitress’ attention with a small gesture. Her face relaxed unconsciously, reflecting his casual attitude and posture as she leaned against the counter and listened. “Just out too late. We’re worried about her. He may have decided to dump her—we don’t know—but she wouldn’t have enough money for a taxi to get home.”
“Bastard.” She scratched behind her ear and resumed leaning on the counter a foot away from Kethan, casting him quick sidelong glances. Her crossed arms tightened, plumping her chest to the maximum. The lacy edge of her black bra edged past the low neckline of her blouse and although she didn’t look down, her smile widened in sly temptation. “Well, there might have been a blond guy in earlier—maybe a half hour ago.”
Quicksilver stepped forward and gripped the edge of the counter. “Was he with anyone? A girl?”
“He sat at the counter, I remember that. Didn’t even want anything to eat. Maybe he was too drunk to eat.”
“Did he appear drunk?” Kethan asked.
“No, that’s the funny thing, he didn’t. But he was real pale so I thought maybe he’d already gotten sick somewhere. Thank God it wasn’t in here. I didn’t feel like cleaning up that kind of mess, again.”
“Did he talk to anyone?” he asked.
“Sorry, but like I said, it was real busy. I just don’t remember. I mean, he was a good-looking guy, except for being so pale. And it kind-a annoyed me that he didn’t order anything to eat. He took up a place at the counter, though, even when we had a bunch of people waiting for seats.” Her aggrieved tone and the angry creases bracketing her mouth almost made Quicksilver smile.
“Did you see him leave?” she asked. “Was anyone with him?”
The waitress’ eyes flashed to her before she fixed them again on Kethan. “Sorry. Like I said, that was our busiest time. I only remember him because he didn’t want anything. Thank God he didn’t stay long, wasting that space at the counter.”
There seemed to be little else the waitress could tell them. Kethan gave her a generous tip for her time and guided Quicksilver out with his hand barely touching her lower back.
“That was a waste,” she commented as she climbed into the car.
“Not necessarily.”
“You don’t even know if that was Jason.”
“Fine, but that waitress didn’t see Kathy.”
“We know more than you think. The waitress would’ve remembered if he was with a girl, particularly a young girl. And when he left, he only freed one space at the counter. Not two. He was alone, so that tells us something. It means Jason might’ve been here for the same reason we were—he was looking for Kathy Sherman.”
“I don’t see it that way. Why look for her? All he has to do is call to her.”
“If she was near. A half hour ago, she wasn’t near enough for him to make a mental connection and force her to him. And he was looking for her which means unless he found her, she’s still alive and unharmed.”
“Unharmed? She’s mind-fucked. She’s at risk.”
Or is she just a risk to others? Maybe I’ve grown soft….
Two years ago, Quicksilver would not have sent Kathy back to the orphanage after such close contact with a vampire. Once a vampire gained control over a victim’s mind, that was it. She’d betray everyone to her master. If Kathy returned to the orphanage, she’d let Jason inside if he requested it and he could feast on the rest of the children. The only safe option was to kill the vampire, or failing that, the victim.
However, it took a great deal of rage to kill and at the moment, all she wanted to do was to find Kathy safe and sound.
In the back of her mind, she was aware of her anger, her rage, simmering close to the boiling point. Despite her efforts to control it, force it back into the depths, it arose without warning, controlling her as forcibly as a vampire. She rubbed her temple.
Pretend to be normal. Nice. She wanted desperately to be nice. She wanted to rescue Kathy and make sure Jason could never hurt her again.
Kethan’s dark brows rose. “Then why should he try so hard to find her?”
“She’s not a vampire—yet,” she said, hoping to reassure herself that she was not making a terrible mistake like she had in Mexico. “If we kill Jason, she’ll be all right.”
