by Amy Corwin
“We aren’t going to kill him or anyone else.” He studied her. “You’ve been hoping that when we found Kathy, she’d be with Jason. You wanted another opportunity to kill him, didn’t you?” He seemed so sure of himself, so in control.
In that instant, she’d happily have kicked him in the groin. She wanted him to lose his colossal calm and feel the same urgency she felt and to understand her rage.
“One can only hope.” She turned away to stare down the nearly empty street.
“Get it out of your mind.”
“What’s your solution?”
“Take her back to Theresa. Make sure the teachers are warned.”
“That’s a great idea. Leave the school vulnerable? She’d let him in if he asked.”
“Focus on finding Kathy. We may disagree on why we want to find her, or what we intend to do when we find her, but at least we can agree on that short-term goal,” he replied with the same infuriatingly calm tone as he closed the car door for her.
She waited until he slid into the driver’s seat to reply, “Spoken like a true negotiator.”
“Thank you.” Despite his words, his hands clenched the steering wheel, his grip tightening until his knuckles went white. She’d finally gotten under his skin. Unfortunately, it lacked that special zing of satisfaction she expected.
In fact, she realized that what she felt was more like shame than pleasure. However, that didn’t change her fear that he would place them all in danger while he prayed to achieve the impossible. She knew, knew from bitter experience, that you could not trust the word of a vampire.
When he shook his head, her heart contracted. He disapproved of her, she could feel it. Maybe he guessed that she was broken and barely functional as a human. He’d seen her scars and come to his own conclusions without even asking her about them. She was damaged goods.
She stiffened and tried to convince herself she didn’t much care for him, either. He was too nice and self-controlled, the perfect, modern man: reasonable, calm, caring.
“Where else would she be?” He maneuvered the car out of the parking lot, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re a young woman, where would you go if you didn’t want to go home?”
She laughed. “I’m not that young. I’m almost thirty, over the hill.”
“Thirty?”
“Okay, twenty-eight.”
He gave her a surprised look. “You look so young.”
“Gee, thanks. How flattering. How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Never trust anyone over thirty.”
“You know, that went out with disco and the ‘80s.”
“Never trust anyone who uses words for his living, then. You know, like lawyers.”
“And negotiators?”
“Sure. Same difference.” She stared at the darkness outside her window, regretting her sharp replies and all her failures that evening. She’d failed to control herself, to act normal, and she’d failed to save Kathy Sherman.
A light flicked on in the narrow, kitchen window of a solitary house as they drove by. People were starting to wake up, and dawn was near.
She moved restlessly in her seat, feeling tired and yet too keyed up to relax. A headache surged through her head, zinging from one temple to the other. She slumped against the seat and closed her eyes until the sharpness of the pain dimmed into a low throb.
They drove around slowly, searching unproductively for another half hour. Finally, they stopped at a fast food restaurant for coffee. Serendipitously, as they turned away from the counter, cradling the hot cups, they noticed Kathy sitting at one of the tables.
“Kathy!” Quicksilver called in relief as she ran over to the girl. “What are you doing here?”
Kathy blushed and straightened, picking up wrappers and shoving them into a bag. Smiling with relief, Quicksilver looped an arm over Kathy’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze before straightening. “Breakfast?”
“It’s better than what they serve at the home.”
She kept a smile on her face despite Kathy’s sulky expression. “Everyone was worried.”
“I—” She broke off when she noticed Kethan and her eyes widened.
“This is Mr. Hilliard,” Quicksilver said. “You want a ride? I know tomorrow is Sunday, but you do need a little sleep, you know.”
“I don’t have to go to Mass.” Kathy’s face hardened in defiance.
“I know, but aren’t you tired?”
“I guess so.”
“Come on, ladies, the taxi meter’s running.” With a firm hand on their elbows, Kethan guided Quicksilver and Kathy to the car.
When they dropped Kathy off at the orphanage, Quicksilver drew Theresa aside. “Jason can control Kathy. He can get her to invite him inside. I think he’s still looking for her.”
“We can handle it. Don’t worry.”
“Handle it? How?” Kethan asked.
Theresa gave him a flickering smile. “While nothing is certain in this world, I believe we can manage this situation. I’ve been working with a doctor….” She shrugged. “We have so many cases of trauma here that we keep a psychiatrist on staff. He believes he’s found a drug to break the connection.”
“What?” Quicksilver asked, stunned. “You can break a vampire’s hold?”
Why hadn’t anyone told her? A chill settled in her stomach. She involuntarily rubbed the scars on her neck. So much death and violence over the years…. Had it all been unnecessary?
No wonder Theresa shook off her touch. They didn’t need a damaged, psychotic woman around a houseful of children. They had drugs to protect them now. Quicksilver was just a liability, an out-of-control psycho with anger management problems.
Theresa nodded. “Some of our young people experienced terrifying things. They needed to forget.” Her voice grew intense. “They had to forget, and they don’t want to be at the mercy of those who attacked their family or friends. We had to develop a way to help them. To break the connection with those who caused them so much pain. It isn’t perfect, but it helps.”
“What do you do if they want to be controlled?” She tried not to sound happy at the concept, but that slim possibility made her feel less useless.
“Would the drug work if Kathy wants to contact a vampire?” Kethan turned aside to face Theresa.
His slight movement cut Quicksilver out as his shoulder blocked her view of Theresa. It felt like a subtle, but firm, rejection.
She slid around him so she could see Theresa’s face.
“If I can persuade her to take it, she won’t be able to make contact,” Theresa said.
“Tell her it’s a vitamin.” Kethan smiled easily as if convinced they had found the right solution.
Theresa frowned. “I don’t lie.”
“Tell her it’s for her own good. Tell her it’s for our own good,” Quicksilver suggested, pushing away her raw emotions and trying to think clearly, positively. She wanted to be a member of the team instead of an outsider they couldn’t trust.
Theresa sighed and exchanged a long, troubled glance with Kethan, reinforcing Quicksilver’s sense of exclusion despite her attempt to belong.
On impulse, she stepped forward, forcing them to include her. “Tell her Jason is a madman who’s into mind-control and gave her something that you can counteract. No one likes to be controlled.”
Kethan remarked in a dry voice, “Leave it to Theresa. She knows what she’s doing.”
The strong urge to tell them both that she understood better than either of them, filled her, but for once she refrained from voicing her thoughts. “Well, that’s it, then. Call me if you need anything.”
“Be safe.” Kethan shook Theresa’s hand.
Feeling bitter pride in her self-control, Quicksilver let Kethan guide her back to her motorcycle. Her spirits sank lower and lower with each step, but the light touch of his fingertips warmed the inside of her elbow, and the sky was already beginning to brighten. The thought of sunshine flowing over her sh
oulders filled her with a profound sense of relief.
They’d survived another night.
Chapter Nine
Kethan studied Quicksilver as she stood next to her motorcycle, staring at the pavement and shifting from foot to foot. Her sudden uncertainty caught at him. He looked away, feeling as if he’d caught her in a private, unguarded moment.
“You want a ride?” she asked at last.
When he glanced at her, she looked away with studied nonchalance.
“Sure.” He waited, expecting her to ask him for his destination. Instead, her lips compressed into a thin line, her brows drawn down over her eyes.
So, she had hoped he would refuse her offer. A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he kept his face expressionless and made no comment.
After a long look, she thrust her helmet onto her head and tucked long strands of hair under the collar of her leather jacket. Her jacket and jeans made her appear elegantly slim and boyish until he caught sight of the sleek curves emphasized by her stretchy, slightly shiny, gray shirt.
Body thrumming, he grabbed the half-helmet resting on the seat behind her before climbing onto the back of the motorcycle. He held his arms rigidly at his sides in an effort to keep his hands from wandering. Finally, he rested his palms on the sharp curve of her hip bones, praying neither of them would misunderstand the situation. Despite the cold rush of dawn air, his leg muscles burned with the heat of her thighs.
The motorcycle vibrated to life. The low grumble of the engine rebounded from the brick buildings like thunder. She twisted her wrist and gunned the motor. They leapt forward into the misty morning.
To his surprise, she headed back toward the business section of town and roared into a quaint area littered with small art and antique shops. For several blocks, they bumped over the cobblestone road, passing discretely wealthy, stylish buildings with woodsy green awnings and cedar shingles.
Without warning, she turned the motorcycle sharply, and their knees nearly scraped the pavement of a narrow alley as they rounded the corner. Then they slowed to navigate the dank alleyway that was little more than a walk-way, partially blocked with a wide, dark green metal garbage container next to the backdoor of a beauty parlor. The sharp, chemical scents of peroxide and ammonia clung to the damp brick walls looming over them. The smell burned his throat until they emerged onto another quiet street lined with brick shops that had the worn, blocky look of the nineteen-fifties.
She slowed, and he could feel her body relaxing.
He glanced around, amused to find her apparently at home in such a smug, old-fashioned neighborhood. She seemed more like the ultra-modern apartment type to him. At the edge of the commercial area, they slipped behind a two-story building. She maneuvered the bike toward a small shed that occupied most of the tiny backyard.
A movement caught his eye. He glanced up at the roofline. A flick of blackness, like the hem of a coat barely visible against the brightening sky, snapped over the edge of the roof. Then it was gone.
A vampire? How could it be when it was almost morning? Then he realized that despite the ribbons of pink sky, the sun had not risen above the horizon. The thought justified his presence behind her on her motorcycle. He hadn’t been overly paranoid about her safety and if she had been alone….
When they rolled to a stop, he got off, his muscles vibrating from the bike. He removed the helmet and swept a hand through his hair as he watched Quicksilver unlock the shed and push the bike inside.
After swinging the wooden door shut, she twisted the lock shut and joined him.
“This is it.”
“You live here?” He looked around.
She pointed to a narrow wooden stairway going to the floor above one of the shops. “Up there.”
A rippling, slapping sound echoed against the bricks. When he touched her elbow, he felt her body stiffen. A short, stocky man emerged from the shadows.
“Sutton,” Kethan said, stepping in front of Quicksilver.
She straightened, her hands going behind her back.
“Mr. Hilliard,” Sutton acknowledged, staying at the edge of the deep shadow cast by the brick building at his back.
“Isn’t it late?” Kethan asked.
“Aye. Late enough,” Sutton agreed, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. His eyes gleamed red as he studied the woman at Kethan’s side. “You’d best be on your way, then.”
“No.” Kethan placed a restraining hand on Quicksilver’s arm when she moved. “I’m staying here.” He felt her thrumming at his side, her muscles tense. Don’t argue, please. “To ensure peace.”
“Peace?” Sutton laughed, his needle-sharp fangs flashing. “I have business with this lady. You know how it is, tit for tat. Best be on your way, Mr. Hilliard.” He cocked his head to one side. “It might get messy.”
“You’ve no business here. I’m staying as a guarantee of peace. There will be no fighting on either side.”
“Don’t trust him.” Quicksilver tried to edge past him. “We need to finish this. Now. You know we do.”
“She speaks the truth,” Sutton agreed complacently, giving himself the illusion of height by rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. He seemed to loom over them, filling the space around them with a deathly chill, before rocking back to stand flat-footed in front of them.
“No, killing each other won’t solve anything.”
“It will, my fine lad. It most certainly will. If you wish to negotiate, we must have even ground.” Sutton moved in a blink to stand a few yards away. “She killed Tyler. The deed is done. The debt must be paid.”
“No. There’ll be no more death. It ends now.”
Ignoring him, Sutton shifted in and out of the shadows, circling them. “So you’ll leave her to hunt us? Day is coming.”
“I will ensure your safety. I’ll stay with her—”
Sutton’s eyes flashed with crimson anger before he stepped back, disappearing into the dense shadows shrouding a fire escape. “Watch her, then, and luck be with you. You’ll need it.” The whisper bounced off the bricks, echoing into silence.
The sound of rushing wind slapped their backs.
Quicksilver pirouetted and crouched. One whip snapped out, the silver fall merging into the swirling darkness before Kethan caught her wrist.
“Stop!” he ordered, searching for the vampire.
Soft laughter greeted him. It drifted away on the morning breeze.
Quicksilver straightened. The popper at the end of the whip jerked across the pavement in an uncoordinated movement as she coiled the weapon. He studied her, noting her pallor and the slight tremor in her hands. Fear tightened her features into a porcelain mask.
Sutton hadn’t agreed. Despite Kethan’s efforts, she wasn’t safe despite the coming of dawn.
Kethan glanced around, studying the alleyway. They were vulnerable here, trapped in the narrow gap between the buildings.
“Come on. We can’t stay here.” When she didn’t move, he climbed the rickety stairs ahead of her. He was half-way up before he heard the thuds of her steps following him. He grabbed the railing, feeling the wooden structure sway under their combined weight.
But the wooden stairs held despite their groans. When they got to the tiny deck at the top, she pushed him aside with her shoulder in silence. She unlocked the deadbolt on her gray metal door and shoved it open.
Meow.
He turned quickly, scanning the area, his heart thumping at the noise. A marmalade cat leapt onto the railings, swishing its long tail. Quicksilver didn’t seem to notice the animal and flicked on the lights just inside the door. When he slowly held out a hand to the animal, it bristled and leapt down.
“Leave it alone!” She swung around to face him, her eyes hard, her hands fisted at her sides.
“Sorry. Is that your cat?”
She looked over the railing and then shoved past him, her body rigid with anger. “No. But there was no reason to scare it away.”
“I didn’t realize it w
as that skittish.” He studied the alleyway. The cat stared back from a precarious seat on the edge of a metal dumpster.
Sutton must have left, at least temporarily, for the animal to be willing to sit there in the open, flicking its tail.
Feeling unwelcomed and on edge, he followed Quicksilver inside. Ironically, the more irritated she got, the more he wanted to remain with her, as if he could shield her from the consequences of her anger.
To ensure her safety or something else? What was he really doing here?
She flicked on another light in the living room, her breath huffing over her lips with impatience. Ignoring her, he looked around. A deeply disturbing sadness settled over him at the starkness of her quarters. The room revealed more about her than she realized.
The living space was just one large room. A narrow, squared-off section protruded from the wall in the far corner announcing the location of a tiny bathroom. It represented the only private area in the barren, open space.
On his right ran a long counter, interrupted by a stove and sink, comprising the kitchen. An old, white refrigerator, missing the chrome strips at its base, stood in the corner at the end of the white Formica counter. Next to that, a small round table with one wooden chair leaned drunkenly toward the wall.
He took a few steps past the counter and noticed a narrow, single bed with an iron frame midway down the far wall. Next to the bed was a plain, wooden nightstand.
He’d never seen a more Spartan or depressing apartment. Loneliness and a determination to stay that way saturated the place. She had made no attempt to add any welcoming decoration, any family pictures, or even sufficient furniture to accommodate a guest.
A single, cushy chair with a large, square footrest stood near the center of the room, turned so she could watch an old television on a metal stand shoved against the opposite wall. From that chair, she could see the door, raising the permeating sense of paranoia to a new level.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors paneled the entire back wall, cut in half by a ballet dancer’s bar at waist height. The mirrors reflected back the entire room, making Kethan and Quicksilver seem small, insignificant, in a vast space. He turned away, disliking the illusion. The apartment was small and they were large, the opposite of what its cold echo of reality displayed.
