by Amy Corwin
“Are you all right?” She looked around quickly before striding forward to grip his hand.
His skin felt chilled and waxy within her grasp, but he nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“They didn’t bite you, did they?”
He shook his head. “No. But there’s something—”
“Darling!” The high flute of a woman’s voice cut him off.
Quicksilver whirled, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Two figures stood in the hallway, the slender figure of a woman and the taller, broad-shouldered silhouette of a man. A golden beam from the streetlight poured through the open front door, highlighting them in sharp-edged chiaroscuro.
Her heart beat faster, battering itself within the tight confines of her chest until she could hardly breathe. How could this be? How could they….
“Mom?”
“Oh, my—Allison! You’ve grown!” The silver-blond haired woman glided toward them, incandescent amidst the shadows.
It can’t be! This is crazy! Quicksilver backed away. Her grip on Father Donatello’s arm tightened and she pulled him back another step until she stumbled over the fireplace’s stone apron.
“Who—what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Hey, kiddo!” The man stepped forward, a broad smile wreathing his handsome face, a face she’d longed to see for so many years. “Come on, it’s been a long time, kiddo. How about a hug for your old dad?”
The mantelpiece hit her shoulder blades. She hadn’t even realized she’d backed up another foot. Now she was trapped with the hard edge of the mantelpiece biting into her shoulders.
“It’s all right,” Father Donatello whispered. “I think.”
“You think?” her voice rose. I should be glad to see them! Mom and Dad. After all these years, they were alive and here! Had they come to find her at last?
But there’d been no word from them after the first year of letters, nothing but silence. So they didn’t know what had happened to her, what she’d done in Mexico. They didn’t know what she’d become.
Think
She desperately wanted to understand what was happening, what they were doing here, and how they had found her. Her thoughts rattled and whirled, shifting like leaves caught in a hurricane. Weight shifting from one foot to the other, she finally took a step forward, only to retreat again until her back hit the mantelpiece again.
She wanted to run forward and hug them, but she couldn’t. All she felt was mindless horror at the sight of their young faces.
Young. They looked so young and surreally beautiful. They didn’t seem to have aged at all, not one more year lined their smooth, tanned faces. They looked as they had when they waved goodbye to her.
“Come on, dear,” her mother coaxed, reaching out to her with pale hands. The perfect, manicured nails glinted with the sheen of pearls in the dim light as she wriggled them in invitation. “Just one hug! It’s been so long and we’ve missed you terribly!”
Kill them! The thought thundered through her head. You know what they are. And now you know why they stopped writing to you. They died.
They turned into vampires, and then they kidnapped Father Donatello.
But why? Why Father Donatello? Why now?
“It’s been…a long time,” she managed to say through trembling lips. “I’m sorry, but I…I can’t. The shock…it’s crazy.”
Her father nodded and placed a heavy hand on his wife’s shoulder. His other hand twisted into the pocket of his jeans. For one moment, she had the insane idea that they’d been watching television when she arrived and he had absentmindedly put the remote control into his pocket.
“Of course. The shock,” he repeated.
“The shock….” her mother echoed. A brief, calculating gleam flickered through her eyes.
“Understandable, kiddo.”
“I just need to—that is—Kethan…. He’s waiting. Outside, in the car. For Father Donatello and me. We’ve got to go.” She shifted slightly, hiding her hands behind her so she could grip the reassuring heft of the whip handles.
However, although she clutched at the familiar security of her weapons, she knew she couldn’t use them. She just couldn’t do it. Her parents were vampires, but she couldn’t kill them like this, no matter what they had done or what they were. Her body shook until her teeth chattered.
“Father Donatello.” She took his hand, seeking to calm her calamitous emotions. “Come on, we’re leaving.” She nodded at her parents, her head bobbing on a rubber neck. Please let us go. Just let us get to the door. Please let me be wrong about them, let them look old and human in the unflattering light of day. “We’ll talk, later. It’s just that Kethan’s waiting and Father Donatello is tired.”
“No, dear.” Her mother frowned and pressed one finger against the center of her plump lower lip. “The priest must stay here with us. He’s our guest. We just thought you wanted to see him, talk to him.”
“There’s no reason for him to stay.”
“He’s…helpful to us.” Her father released his grip on her mother’s shoulder and moved slightly to the left, blocking the way to the door. “You understand, kiddo.”
Still holding Father Donatello’s hand, Quicksilver gripped the handle of a whip with her right hand.
Nausea burned her throat.
Oh, God, I can’t do this. What would Kethan do? Think! There had to be some argument, some words she could say, a way out.
“Helpful?” she asked. “How? Maybe I could help you?”
“Oh no, dear, we can’t impose on you. And he helps us in so many ways. Really, we rely on him very much. We’re strangers to this area, dear, and he’s helping us get acclimated,” her mother said. “Surely you can understand that?” Surely you’ve got enough brains to comprehend such a simple matter, her mother’s tone implied.
Quicksilver flushed in response, feeling again like an ungainly child no one wanted around. “What are you doing here? In this house?”
“Renting.” Her mother laughed. “Naturally. What did you think? And of course, we were hoping to find you.”
“Well, you did.” She shifted from foot to foot again. Her toes felt stiff with cold and she wriggled them as she eyed the distance to the door. “But it’s getting late. I’ve got to get going.”
“Of course,” her mother agreed with a polite smile that didn’t hide the feral gleam in her eyes. “Although, I hope you’ll come back once we’ve fixed the place up. We want you to feel comfortable, that you belong here with us.”
“Sure. But right now, Father Donatello and I need to get back home. People are waiting for him. The church. You know.” She pushed him in front of her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered into his ear.
“Yes,” he mumbled, clearly dazed. Controlled by my parents? “I’m….”
“Don’t worry, Kethan’s outside.” She caught her father’s glance. The hellish flames in his eyes forced her to focus on his forehead to keep her mind clear. Despite her effort to block them, she heard whispers slide past her defenses.
Give in, we’re your parents. We love you. Look at us—we love you.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of a whip. Her joints ached with the pressure of her grip, and she fought back the strong urge to be sick.
“Kethan? Good.” Father Donatello walked toward the hallway with slow, dragging steps, his gaze fixated on the patch of light streaming in from the door from the streetlight.
“Allison!” When her father used her name instead of “kiddo,” it was serious and seriously bad. “We prefer he stay.”
“He can come back. Tomorrow. I’ll bring him.” The child inside her trembled, fearing punishment. If she disobeyed….
Promise anything, just keep moving.
She stared at the filthy floor and edged forward, one yard and then another. When they reached the hallway, her parents gave way, backing toward the stairs. Icy and shaking with tension, she pushed Father Donatello another yard. Even the floor s
eemed to move uneasily beneath her trembling legs, her entire world off kilter as her parents’ crimson eyes burned into her back.
“Tomorrow?” her father echoed.
“Yes, we’ll see you around,” she agreed, hardly able to speak through stiffened lips.
Then they were outside, bathed in the artificial sunshine of the streetlight.
Rushing toward her, Kethan called, “What happened? Why did you take so long?” His gaze snapped beyond her to the open front door at her back.
She shepherded Father Donatello forward more quickly, terrified of what might follow them.
“My parents. My parents were inside.” The sensation of unreality increased. How had her parents found her? Why? “They had him. I think they’re going to try to stop us.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m afraid.”
He grasped her arm and pulled her faster, flicking quick glances at her and then past her shoulder. “Come on.”
“Are they following?”
“No, not yet.” They made it to Kethan’s battered vehicle.
Father Donatello struggled with the passenger’s seat until he could push the backrest forward and wriggle through the narrow gap into the backseat. Then he sat and leaned his head back with closed eyes. He looked unbearably fragile and ill, with paper-thin skin crumpled by deep lines and dark blue veins bruising his temples. There were no marks on his neck but he appeared drained of all vitality.
She stared at the passenger seat and felt her heart flutter as she bent to climb inside. “It won’t start! Your car--it doesn’t start!”
“It’ll start.” Kethan shoved her door shut. It squealed in metallic protest and she flinched at the sound. He dashed around the front of the car and jammed himself into the driver’s seat.
Barely able to sit still, she gripped the dashboard, willing the car to start as Kethan fiddled with the ignition key. Her eyes flicked to the black rectangle of the open front door.
The front door moved. Slowly, soundlessly, it eased shut.
Then, to her relief, the car’s motor groaned and then roared as it caught. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Home. I want to talk to Joe.”
“He can’t tell you anything. He’s messed up,” she whispered, uncomfortably aware of the priest sitting behind her. “They totally messed him up.”
“Then I’m surprised you didn’t kill him.”
I couldn’t kill Father Donatello, no matter what. I couldn’t.
Her head ached, throbbing with sharp, painful pulses that ran up the back of her neck and tightened around her skull. She pressed the side of her forehead against the cool window glass and rubbed the nape of her neck.
Why? Why was this happening?
“I couldn’t kill them, or him.” The beat of agony in her head increased. “Even though they were vampires. My parents are vampires! And he’s corrupted. We can’t trust him. I’m sorry! I should’ve done something, but I couldn’t. I was stupid, weak and stupid.”
“You did the right thing,” Father Donatello said, his voice rising eerily over the seatback. He rubbed his face as if waking up from a deep sleep. “There was something….”
“Yes, there was. They kidnapped you, corrupted you. I should have killed them to free you.” She took a ragged breath. “But I was trying to be good. Like Kethan. I made a mistake.” The lie lay cold on her chest. She hadn’t been trying to be good, she had been afraid, too afraid to do what had to be done.
She struggled to breathe and fight back the sensation of horror. Violent, bloody images of what might have happen flashed through her mind. Her beautiful mother, dead because of her.
But it hadn’t happened.
“You don’t believe that. Killing is never the answer,” Father Donatello replied. “But there’s something….” He rubbed his neck although there was not a mark to be seen on the papery skin.
The terrified child in her wailed at what she had failed to do. She could have freed Father Donatello if she’d had the nerve, but if she had done that, Kethan would hate her even more. He wanted to save their souls, offer them a second chance.
And they were her parents! Didn’t they deserve a chance? Could he really save them? Did they even want to be saved?
If he did save them, would they forgive all the terrible things she’d done in Mexico and since then? All the killing… No. Once they knew, they’d be horrified. They’d reject her, again.
“What is it, Joe?” Kethan asked in a curt voice. He turned onto a quiet, suburban street. Despite his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he maintained a sedate thirty-five miles per hour.
The priest shook his head. “There was something…. No, I can’t…I can’t remember. At least the worst didn’t happen, you didn’t kill your parents.”
“Because I was stupid,” Quicksilver said.
“No,” Kethan said. “Killing vampires isn’t always the answer. It was a wise decision.”
“It was your kind of decision.”
A smile quirked his lips. “Yes. Wise.”
“Right.” She rubbed her neck, bending her head forward and feeling her stiff muscles pull. Why wouldn’t her headaches go away? The pain clouded her thinking. Thoughts spun uselessly, splintering apart with each stab of agony. “I should’ve taken care of it.”
“There are things you don’t—we don’t know,” Father Donatello said. “You can’t control everything.”
“I can control what I do,” she interrupted. “I’m always in control of my actions—that’s why I kill them. It’s final and it ensures they can’t control me or anyone else ever again.”
Father Donatello shook his head. “When I was there, in that house, I saw things, heard things….”
“What?” She twisted around in her seat to stare at his tense face. “What did you hear?”
Kethan glanced into the rear view mirror. “Did they plan this, Joe? What was their objective?”
“Do you think they knew I was here? You think they used me?” Rage shook her. Her grip on the headrest tightened as she stared at Father Donatello. “No one controls me. Not anymore. I’ve no connection to them. They couldn’t possibly have used me.”
“I’m not sure,” Father Donatello said in a weary voice. He ran his hand over his face. “You…. Perhaps that was it. I’m sorry, but I understand you went to Mexico. I’m not sure it was any of this was an accident, or a coincidence.”
“What do you mean? I went there on my own. No one knew, no one could have predicted my grandmother’s death or that I would try to find my parents. I didn’t have any idea where I would go from day-to-day.” But was that true? While someone who knew her might expect her to try to find her parents, how would they know where and when she would go? She’d never settled on a specific route.
“I overheard something,” Father Donatello said.
“What?” she asked. “They were talking about me?”
“Just a few bits and pieces.”
“They were worried about me?”
“Perhaps. In their way. They were hoping you’d go to Mexico.”
“I’m sure they were,” she replied drily. They were her parents and that was natural, wasn’t it? They wanted to see her but couldn’t break away from their work, even if they were dead.
“If you hadn’t gone, I suspect they might have tried to find you.”
“Find me?” Her heart flooded with warmth. They were finally coming to see her, to be a family again? “They were coming home?”
Father Donatello reached forward and patted her hand as she clutched the seatback. “Perhaps. I only heard bits and pieces. But I do know they were pleased to find you in Mexico City instead of further south, where they lived and, uh, died.”
“B-but they never found me! I was caught—” Her voice broke. She swallowed twice to force the thickness down her throat. “I met two other vampires. I never saw my parents.”
“No.”
“But you said, ‘they were
coming to find me.’”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not precisely what I said,” Father Donatello replied. “They had plans—”
“To mold her into a vampire slayer? They succeeded, didn’t they?” Kethan asked, his voice harsh. “They tortured her, building hatred and fear until she couldn’t restrain herself. She had to destroy them to survive.”
“Speculation, I’m afraid.” Father Donatello shook his head. “Don’t make too many assumptions. I only heard snatches of conversation.”
“But you heard enough,” she said, turning around to slump back in her seat. She wanted him to stop talking, stop guessing. His speculations didn’t help.
She was what she was. She killed vampires because she had to and someone had to do it.
“They’re nervous, though,” Father Donatello continued, his voice rising eerily from the shadows in the back seat. “They were talking about Mexico. At one time, her mother feared Allison might resume her trip and head further south to find them. They didn’t want to be found, at least not there. But she retreated north to a place she’d never been before, a place where no one knew her and where she could escape her memories.”
“So she came here and set to work killing vampires,” Kethan said. “Eliminating the competition for her parents.”
Father Donatello patted her shoulder. “Perhaps. I’m sorry, Allison, if I’ve disappointed you, but I’m sure your parents love you in their way.”
“For God’s sake, stop apologizing!” Her blood thundered in her ears. She rocked back and forth in her seat, unable to bear her thoughts. Her parents had betrayed her. They had known about Carol and Carlos. They had let it happen.
Wanted it to happen and planned it down to the whips on the wall and the deliberate sacrifice of two members of their own clan.
Her head pounded. Each heartbeat sent another piercing flare of pain into her brain. Burning vomit hit the back of her throat.
“Your parents seem determined to return to North America, though, as master vampires,” Kethan commented.
