by Amy Corwin
“We should pick up some of your things,” he said at last, starting the dishwasher.
“Why?”
“It’s more comfortable for us to stay here.”
“Comfortable for whom?”
“For both of us.” He grabbed her hand in a casual grip and walked with her into the living room. “What would convince you to stay here for the next week until my business is concluded?”
She eyed him, noting he had not said “negotiation” again. Obviously, he’d identified that as a hot button. He was good at reading people; she had to give him that. A grudging curl of respect grew within her. It was a skill she often wished she could develop, but most people remained a mystery to her, unfathomable, complex and most irrational.
“I don’t see the point, so I don’t think you can convince me,” she said.
“It’s for your safety and mine.”
“I can take care of myself.” She looked him up and down. “And frankly, so can you.”
“You’ll be safer here.”
“And what about Father Donatello?”
“What about him?” He countered with his own question.
“He’s involved. Why don’t you ask him to stay here, too? Heck, ask the entire neighborhood! If you continue to antagonize Martyn Sutton, he’ll take it out on humans, anyway. Father Donatello, Kathy Sherman, your next door neighbor, you. Have you considered that?”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“How? How can you protect everyone? There’s only one way to guarantee everyone’s safety and you know it, except you’re too stubborn to admit it. You have to kill them or whatever. I mean, they’re already dead, so I guess you can’t kill them. But you can make sure they never hurt anyone else, otherwise, you can’t protect anyone. Kathy and Father Donatello aren’t going to stay here so you can protect them, you know, so I don’t see why I should.”
His eyes hardened, but his voice was still easy, calm. “Sutton won’t hurt anyone if he feels safe.”
“Right. Like whoever that head belonged to? The one he threw through the window?”
“There’s no proof he did that.” The harsh undertone in his voice revealed that his monumental calm could be shattered, however.
She shrugged. “Okay, you want to make a deal? I promise not to antagonize Martyn anymore. And I’ll keep an eye on Kathy, just so Martyn’s friends aren’t tempted to test the boundaries of your truce. Would that satisfy you?”
“I appreciate your offer; however, Martyn doesn’t know you. I’m sure he’d feel safer if he knew you were here.”
“Because he doesn’t trust me. You know Sutton is probably still watching my apartment, waiting for me and I’ll kill him if I see him there.”
“So you don’t trust him. It’s difficult to trust someone who doesn’t trust you. You have to give trust to gain it.”
“Really?” Unless you stupidly trusted a vampire. That was one area in which she was an expert.
“Yes, and I’m a neutral third party. I’m here to ensure both sides honor the agreement.”
“But why do I have to give up my freedom?”
“Only for a few days and not entirely. You can do pretty much as you please during the day, and I’ll try not to get in your way.” A warm smile twinkled in his eyes. “I’ll even cook.”
“I can cook.” True, her cupboards were full of gourmet items like cans of tuna fish, microwaveable soup, and packs of oriental noodles, but it was fast and sort of nutritious. It didn’t mean she couldn’t cook if she tried. She’d watched him this evening. It didn’t look that hard.
Turn on the heat. Chop up a few things. Throw them into the pan and shove them around with a spoon until they were done.
A child could do it.
“Sure.” The amused expression on his face implied he suspected she wasn’t as confident about her culinary expertise as she claimed. “But it’s difficult to cook in a strange kitchen.”
“I wouldn’t know and don’t intend to find out.”
“Right. You can leave that to me.”
“I don’t—”
“So we’re agreed.”
“I—”
The phone rang.
When Kethan didn’t react and kept his eyes fixed on her face, she gestured impatiently toward the phone. Her nerves jangled with each insistent brrring.
He still didn’t move.
Antsy, she nodded her agreement just to get him to answer the darn phone and end the loud ringing that jangled her already taut nerves. With a satisfied grin, he rose and picked up the extension in the hallway just outside the kitchen. She watched him, not even pretending not to listen. His deep voice carried, and when he caught her eye, he winked. However, other than the fact that he was speaking to Father Donatello, she obtained precious little information. Kethan said nothing other than a few monosyllabic replies.
“Martyn wants another meeting.” He replaced the old-fashioned, beige receiver on its cradle and motioned for her to join him in the living room.
What was with him? Even his phone was practically Victorian.
“So he confessed? He did kill that woman, didn’t he?” she asked.
“No.” He gestured again for her to precede him.
Curious, she obeyed and settled into his easy chair. As he followed suit, she glanced at the window. The sun had set while they ate, and the windows behind the sofa were dark, revealing nothing except dim reflections of the room and their pallid faces. The wooden Sessions mantle clock above the fireplace solemnly ticked toward nine.
“Where does he want to meet?” Unable to stay seated, she got up again and paced toward the clock as if to take a closer look at the lovely antique. It was night, and they had wasted the entire day. A trickle of panic chilled her back.
“Not far. There’s a park near the Potomac River, close to here.”
She studied his face and hooded eyes, sensing he’d switched into neutral negotiator mode. The sudden feeling of being left outside made her heart clench, and her anxiety increased.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’ll see when we get there.”
“I—I don’t think this is a good idea.” He had to know more. Was he going to hand her over to the vampires because she’d killed one of their clan? Would he do that if they demanded it to even things out?
Her full stomach gurgled and cramped. Memories of pain and her innocent foolishness in trusting anyone made her nearly sick, her full belly cramping. In the blink of an eye, she relived the moment when her innocence died, when she realized that vampires really did exist and were just as evil as portrayed in any horror movie.
Pressing a hand against her stomach, she turned away. “I’ve got to visit the lady’s room. Sorry.” She ran into the small bathroom off the kitchen.
Dizzy, she dropped to her knees and clutched the cool porcelain bowl of the toilet. She took deep breaths, trying to control her reaction.
She was in control and free to come and go as she pleased. It was her decision to stay here for now. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Her body trembled. If he betrayed her now, then at least she’d discover the truth. She’d force him to reveal his Judas hand.
After a few minutes, the room stopped tilting sideways, and the nausea dissipated. The ache at the back of her head dulled until she could open her eyes without the light sparking an intense, throbbing sensation. When she could stand without her stomach protesting, she rinsed her face with icy water and tried not to notice the dark circles around her eyes or the pallor of her skin. Finally, she jerked the door open.
“Are you all right?” Kethan asked when she joined him in the hallway.
“Yes. I’m just not used to eating so much.”
He examined her face, but if he noticed her gray skin, he withheld any comment. “You’re not going to like this, but I want you to leave your whips here.”
It’s a trap. She was right and Kethan was a Judas.
“Why?” Her han
d snuck around to her back and touched the three handles. Her fingers tapped: one, two, three; one, two three. The familiar rhythm comforted her.
“Just do as I say. Please.”
“You want me to be defenseless?”
“As an act of good faith.”
“Screw faith! That’s just plain stupid.” Panic tightened her chest again, and she pressed a hand against her stomach. A hot, pricking sensation like getting caught in a cat briar thicket on the hottest day of summer caught her, and she clenched her jaw, praying for the feeling to pass without embarrassing herself by throwing up on the floor.
She had wanted to believe in him, wanted to believe he was a good person, but this…. What was she to think? He was leading her into a trap and wanted her unarmed while he did it.
Surely he saw that and knew how she’d feel.
However instead of showing sympathy, his face grew cold. His eyes grew hard with an impersonal edge that frightened her. He had turned into a stranger before her eyes. “Leave them here.”
Hesitating only a few seconds, she slowly unsnapped the leather tabs that held the weapons to her belt. Then she placed them on the coffee table. Her back felt cold, vulnerable, and unbearably light without the weight of the whips dragging down her belt.
So be it. At least I’ll know the truth, even if it finally kills me. The darkness within her writhed before fatalistic calm encased her emotions in a globe of glass.
However, one small voice reminded her that there were alternatives. If they met near the river, there would be trees and plenty of wood from wind-snapped limbs among the forest debris. Something could be fashioned into a stake. Hope remained possible.
The first thing she taught her students in Krav Maga was to use whatever worked, whatever was at hand. There were no rules; it was street fighting, dirty and effective, and the only kind she believed in.
Her pulse accelerated. There would be other weapons.
She could defend herself, all she had to do was practice what she taught. Even if Kethan had agreed to betray her and lead her into a trap, she had the skills to survive.
Betrayal was a fact of life. She knew that, but what she couldn’t understand was why it still hurt so much. Her head throbbed as if a small tear in her heart had formed, leaking blood like tears.
Quiet and withdrawn, she rubbed the scars on her neck and didn’t protest when Kethan decided to drive. His car was a weathered, beat-up old sedan that smelled of gas and burnt oil. The blue paint was so faded it looked gray under the streetlights. Or maybe it was gray, she couldn’t tell for sure. The vehicle was so battered that even the manufacturer’s logos had fallen off, as if too humiliated to claim such a rattling heap as their own, leaving the car unidentifiable.
Settling gingerly into the worn passenger’s seat, she ignored Kethan and studied her rather tattered fingernails and then the church across the street while he worked to get the car started. When the engine finally turned over, his sigh of relief was audible. They jerked away from the curb. The car rattled and gasped, and each time they had to stop at a light, Kethan frowned and gazed tensely at the gauges.
“Maybe we should’ve walked,” she said as the car shuddered violently at a stop sign.
“No. She’ll get us there. I just got her overhauled.”
“Great job. It’s running smooth as silk.”
His firm jaw firmed even more and it was all she could do to keep from laughing.
The car sputtered as they jerked forward and coasted for about a mile at a rousing ten miles an hour. The engine moaned when he depressed the gas further, speeding up to almost thirty.
“See?” He patted the dash.
“Well, we can always walk back. I don’t have to teach another class until ten.” After a sidelong glance, she added, “Tomorrow morning. Plenty of time.”
“She just needs to warm up.”
“Isn’t that just like a woman?”
A rumbling chuckle answered her. “Yes, like a great many women I know. Certainly.” Every once in a while, an odd turn of phrase laced with a light Irish lilt echoed in his voice.
“Where were you from originally?”
“I was born in Ireland, but we came to Virginia when I was a child.”
She nodded. No wonder he had that touch of blarney about him, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make his voice smooth and different.
“What about you?” he asked.
“New Mexico. Las Vegas, New Mexico.”
“How did you end up in Virginia?”
“Long story.”
“Did your family move here?”
Her heart thudded. She twisted in her seat and stared out the window. She didn’t want to talk about the past, Allison was long dead.
Rest in peace.
“No. Suffice to say, I was one of Theresa Blackstone’s orphans.” She’d told him enough about her Grandmother and didn’t want to talk about the past. That short answer was safe and mostly true. She’d been lost for several months until she arrived, exhausted and hungry, at the doors to the convent.
She didn’t know the convent had been turned into an orphanage, but despite her mistake, it had proved to be a safe refuge, anyway.
“That’s the connection, then.” Kethan smiled.
“Yeah. I’m an alumnus.” She bared her teeth, daring him to make some comment about sentimentality. She didn’t miss sharing a room with other, younger girls or the lack of privacy at the orphanage, and she surely didn’t miss Theresa’s firm, controlling interference or her attempts to shove her into a time machine through psychiatrists and good, old fashioned drugs intended to remake her into the innocent girl she once was.
However, despite it all, Quicksilver had formed a tenuous attachment to the people at the orphanage and remained in the area. She knew the small town nestled against the Potomac, just a few miles from Great Falls, and felt comfortable. In many ways, it gave her a focal point and sense of community, no matter how slight.
Her uncontrollable, ferocious need to kill vampires didn’t seem so bad if her motivation was to protect the kids at the orphanage. The justification let her sleep at night and allowed her to believe she wasn’t an inhuman monster, no different than those she destroyed.
Everything was fine until Kethan’s negotiations and the implicit message that she’d been wrong to hunt vampires.
As they neared the river, the streetlights grew farther and farther apart. The autumn wind tore at the trees, rattling the twigs like bony fingers making voodoo over the car. Despite the bareness of the branches arching over the road, the thick, black limbs blocked the faint light of the quarter moon and stars, intensifying the darkness.
Drifts of dead leaves rustled along the ditches at the edge of the pavement. The night breezes picked up handfuls and scattered them across the road to flutter through the beams from the car’s headlights like swarms of brittle moths.
With her window partially down, she could smell the musty, old-wood scent of autumn leaves intertwined with the moist, muddy odor of the river. A series of irregular, gray, granite boulders marked a bend in the road ahead. As they rounded the curve, she caught sight of several cars parked in a narrow lot on the right. A small, brown Park Service sign indicated the entrance to the park.
“This is it,” Kethan announced.
“Yes.” She straightened. Despite the parked cars, the area appeared deserted. What would happen if innocent people showed up here? Teenagers intent on partying? It would be a disaster. “The police are going to think we’re buying drugs. These parks are notorious for drug deals.”
“We won’t be here long enough for anyone to notice.” He pulled in and parked next to another ancient, boxy car that might have been white when it rolled off the assembly line at the end of the last century. “That’s Father Donatello’s car.”
“Father Donatello? What’s he doing here?” Even someone who preferred talk over action and who thought every poor little vampire deserved a second chance wasn’t insane enou
gh to risk the life of such a priest.
Father Donatello had seemed so frail, too, and helpless as a newborn mouse.
“He’s here to keep us on track.” The car door resisted and squealed as Kethan forced it open, a small cloud of rust flakes swirling into the car’s interior. One foot on the ground and an arm resting on the steering wheel, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You ready?”
“Yes.” She struggled with the stiff door handle before finally forcing the door open with her shoulder. She flinched at the metallic shriek. “No problem.”
Hesitating by the car, Quicksilver gave her eyes time to adjust to the shifting gloom. Feeling uncomfortable without the weight of the whips at her waist, she glanced around. The immediate vicinity was bare of sticks and stakes, however, and she grew colder as she looked at the clean expanse of the parking lot and surrounding grassy verge. A low, flowing, gray mist ran along the surface of the river. It absorbed whatever starlight might have been reflected by the water and obscured the far bank. As she watched, the fog began eating away at the fragments of lawn, hiding trees, bushes, and anything lurking in the shadows.
“Father Donatello? Joe?” Kethan walked toward the river.
“Over here.” Father Donatello came to the edge of the lot and waved. The gesture looked tired, dispirited. “I’m sorry.”
Kethan halted a few feet away from him, and although she couldn’t distinguish the words, Kethan’s voice lilted upward with the sound of a question. Father Donatello responded, shaking his head.
Suddenly, she remembered what Father Donatello had said when he saw them. Sorry. Her heart pounding, she ran toward them. Her damp hands stiffened as if glazed with ice.
When she reached them, she grasped Kethan’s sleeve and shook it. “Come on. Let’s go back. We should stay near the car.” She couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. The path to the car remained unobstructed.
Kethan patted her fingers before removing them from his arm. Neither of the men paid attention to her suggestion. They walked in front of her with stiff backs, heading toward the far end of the lot. It struck her that they were nervous, perhaps just as nervous as she was. So why didn’t they listen to reason and stay near the cars where they had a chance of escape? She jogged a few steps to catch up, her gaze bouncing from one dim, forest shape to the next before glancing with increasing desperation over her shoulder at the staid safety of the cars.
