by Amy Corwin
“They nearly killed me!” The words tore out of her raw throat.
“They knew you were strong, what you might be capable of.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. Father Donatello’s soft, brown eyes studied her, infinite pity in their depths. She hated the compassion and the knowledge that he pitied her. She’d been a tool her whole life, a useless, broken tool who thought she was helping others escape the terror of facing a vampire only to be doing the bidding of a whole clan of them.
Worthless. Turning away, she hunched over, sickened beyond bearing. Was there no end to this nightmare? Nothing but more pain?
“They guessed you’d find the courage to kill the pair of vampires who tormented you. Then when you escaped, they must have hoped you’d head back to more familiar territory, killing any vampires you met.” Kethan’s words, though softly spoken, fell like hammers on her exposed nerves. “You were bound to end up here if you were chasing vampires, this area has always been the seat of power for the northern clan.
So Kethan knew she was a tool. He knew everything.
“Then let me kill them and be done with it.”
“Their worst fear was…” Father Donatello paused, shook his head sharply, and then changed the subject. “When you meet them, did you see if either one of them held anything? A small box, perhaps?”
She rubbed the nape of her neck again, not wanting to remember, but clearly seeing her father’s fist stuffed into his pocket. The sharp, square edge of something had pressed against the fabric of his pants as his muscles clenched.
She thought it had been the television remote.
“I don’t know,” she lied, not wanting to continue their discussion. Maybe she was a coward, but she’d been force-fed enough truth. What difference would it make, now, if she refused to hear every minute detail?
“When they were in the next room, I heard them talking about a device, some sort of remote control,” Father Donatello said.
“Remote control? For a television? Big deal. Everyone fights over the remote. Maybe dad wanted to catch up on the latest news and mom wanted to watch something else. I don’t see anything menacing about that, unless you were afraid they’d discover reality TV and force you to watch it with them.”
“No.” Father Donatello smiled. “It wasn’t that—at least it didn’t sound like that.”
“What else could it be? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m sorry. I pray that I’m wrong and misunderstood, but they did mention a device in connection with you, and it did not sound good.”
“So what? I can’t imagine them saying anything in connection with me that would sound good.”
“Something was implanted at the base of your brain.” His words grew whispery with sorrow. “Your father said he’d activate it if you attacked them, if you wouldn’t accept their guidance. I’m so sorry, my child.”
Her stomach twisted, tightening. With shaking hands, she touched the nape of her neck. The hard scar from which all her pain, all her anguish, emanated.
“So they can kill me any time they want if I don’t obey like a good little daughter?” How could they have planned this? Done this to her? She cut off a harsh laugh. “Guess I’m their nice, disposable daughter.”
The revelation seemed to confirm all the fears she’d tried to suppress for so many years. She was unlovable, horrible. Her parents had abandoned her and then when she went to find them, they found a way to prime her so they could use her and then rid themselves of her at any time they wished.
They’d molded her into the perfect tool to further their ambitions.
Kethan touched her arm. “It may not have been their decision, at least not entirely, or they might have been desperate. None of us know their reasons, or if Joe heard what he thought he did.”
“Yes, that’s true., I may have heard incorrectly. And they did seem desperate,” Father Donatello agreed a little too hastily to seem entirely sincere. He just wanted to make her feel better, but his efforts to comfort her failed. Unaware of her hopeless disbelief, he continued, “They fear an older and more powerful clan, hard on their heels and pushing them out of Central America. You see, your parents found what they were looking for when they went to Mexico. They found the Toltec, or the Toltec found them.”
Quicksilver laughed bitterly. “So they got what they wanted. I’m glad for them. And they finally found a use for their useless kid. After all, I was always the problem for them, holding them back, an inconvenience left with Gran when they couldn’t stand to drag me around anymore. Then they were free to pursue their interests, their lives.” She wiped her face in the crook of her arm, not caring what they—or anyone—thought. “Well, now I can get rid of their enemies for them and when that’s done, why, they can just push a little button and phfft! Problem solved permanently for everyone.”
“Don’t!” Kethan said sharply. “None of this was your fault.”
“Sure.” She stared down at her clenched hands. The joints ached when she straightened her fingers.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you—”
“Right. And how are you going to stop it? All they have to do is press a button, and I’m sure I won’t feel a thing.”
“We’ll get it removed.” A note of urgency clipped his words. “That’s critical. Then we’ll talk to Martyn Sutton before this situation gets further out of hand. If he finds out you’re primed—trained—to kill his clan, there’ll be no protecting you.”
“You want to warn a vampire? About me?” The words tasted of ash, a final bitter betrayal. Kethan might be human, but he still chose vampires over his own kind.
Or at least over her.
“Not about you, about the southern clan—”
“They already know about the southern clan, and they already know about me.” She hated the way her voice rose higher, sounding childish and whiney, but she couldn’t stop. Her head throbbed and her self-control had slipped through her fingers miles back. “Sutton might not know the details, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. I’m the same, stupid person, driven by the same devils.”
“I want them to understand it’s not your choice, that you’re trying to change.”
“No. It is my choice. It’s been my choice all along. What happened to me in Mexico and this damn device in my head—if it even exists—doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make my decisions for me, and it doesn’t make me kill vampires. It hasn’t changed me. It’s just made it easier to get rid of me when I become an inconvenience. Again.”
“They manipulated you to make you hate vampires.”
“So what? We’re all manipulated, every single day of our lives. What do you think commercials are? Or the Ten Commandments? Face it, I’m a psycho and my parents always knew it. They just hired experts to develop my natural tendencies.”
“Stop it!” He ordered through white, thinned lips. “You’re just hurt and angry. Anyone would be. But you can’t let it get to you—”
“Why not? You know what I’m like. Am I the kind of girl you’d bring home for Thanksgiving dinner? Introduce to your parents?” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Oh, I forgot. Your parents died, what? Four hundred years ago?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“Don’t lie. We all know what I am.”
Father Donatello leaned forward and wedged himself between the front seats, wrapping an arm around her headrest. “You’re a young woman who faced a terrible ordeal and managed to survive.”
“I’m a psycho-nutjob-killer.”
“Yes, but when you came through the door of that house a few minutes ago, I was never so relieved to see a psycho-nutjob-killer in all my life.” Father Donatello tugged her ponytail.
She snorted, trying not to laugh. How could she laugh when all she wanted to do was cry until she melted away?
Then Kethan had the nerve to pat her knee. Her knee. She pushed his hand away, only to have him grab her hand. His warm finger
s clasped hers in a strong, unbreakable grip.
“We’re going to see that nothing happens to you,” Kethan said.
She tried not to feel hope, because it would only hurt more in the end. But she couldn’t stop the small, warm flush spreading through her. “Right. Well, good luck with that.”
“We won’t need luck,” Kethan assured her.
“Right. Just brains, which apparently none of us have,” she replied dryly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next day, Kethan left shortly after ten in the morning to talk to Father Donatello, leaving Quicksilver restless and confused. After dropping the priest off last night, he had treated her with perfect civility. Just as if she’d suddenly developed a bad case of leprosy, and he was charitably determined not to let that stand in the way of their chaste friendship.
Chaste was not what she needed.
She wanted him with a desperate longing that frightened her. Her body ached for the comfort of his arms and scent of his skin. The fear that he was distancing himself in preparation to walk away terrified her far more than the thought of her likely and probably imminent death.
Noon clicked by. Then the afternoon. For the twelfth time since he left, she went to the living room window and held the drapes aside to stare into the street. The sky was overcast and uniformly gray; even the sun seemed to have given up hope. As she watched, the streetlights flickered on and a flock of pigeons settled onto the roof of the church across the street. The heavy beat of their wings and their complacent cooing as they snuggled against one another for the evening made her even more jumpy.
Where was Kethan?
A few cars grumbled by as rush hour started. She let the curtain fall back into place and picked up the television remote.
Maybe “Cooking with Bob and Ray” was on. Maybe she’d learn something while she waited. Maybe, if she were really lucky, she’d accidentally hit the button that would blow her head off and this unbearable tension would be over.
She’d hardly started clicking through the channels when the doorbell rang. Heart fluttering, she jumped up and nervously tossed the remote onto the loveseat, hoping it was Father Donatello looking for Kethan. She could use Father Donatello’s calm, good humor right now.
When she threw open the door, she stepped back in surprise. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”
“You said ‘tomorrow,’ kiddo,” her father reminded her with his familiar, easy smile that pulled her heart into her throat. Then without warning, his expression seemed more slick and predatory than comforting.
As Quicksilver’s grip on the doorknob tightened, her mother stepped forward, hovering just outside the doorway, the sky soft and dark as plum silk behind her. The light from the hallway gilded the pair as if they stood in a shaft of brilliant sunlight.
Suddenly, Quicksilver felt like a child again, waving goodbye to her parents from the door of her grandmother’s house. The light had dazzled her then, too, shining into her eyes. She’d squinted and blinked away burning tears, terrified she’d miss her last view of them, praying they’d turn around and see her and return, claiming they couldn’t leave her behind.
They never looked back, and in her last glimpse of them, her mother had appeared just as fragile-looking then, glowing with happiness in that golden sunlight.
It was as if the last ten years had never happened. Both her parents had remained young, unbelievably youthful with fair hair untarnished by gray, faces smooth and tanned by the intense sun of Mexico.
But as Quicksilver looked closer, she could see a fine network of wrinkles around her mother’s lovely eyes. Slight creases bracketed her father’s firm mouth, however, she’d seen twenty-year-olds worse for wear.
She shifted from one foot to the other, feeling old and scarred, an ugly duckling frantically swimming to keep up with a pair of swans. Her hand smoothed the thin, frayed edge of her T-shirt.
Her feelings held a familiar taste of bitterness, although she’d been too young the last time she’d tasted it to understand what the term “bitterness” meant.
She knew now.
Her mother smiled, the corners of her mouth creased with condescension. “We wanted to see you, to explain.”
“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Her father took a step forward, open palms held up. “We had no idea Grandma had died and left you alone. I’m sorry. We’re both sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her lips felt dry, stiff as wood blistering under the desert sun.
“Let us explain, make it up to you.” Her mother moved closer to her husband. He put an arm around her slim waist.
They were still inseparable, still needed only each other. Then Quicksilver noticed the feral gleam in her mother’s blue eyes as she watched her. She studied Quicksilver as if she were a wild animal to be controlled, tamed, and taught a few useful tricks.
When she looked into her father’s pale gray eyes, the same red gleam flickered in the depths. Her heart thumped sickeningly against a rising wave of nausea. Acid tasted bitter on her tongue.
“Why are you here? Really?” she asked thickly. Her tongue felt swollen, too huge to fit in her dry mouth.
“We wanted to see you,” her father answered. “Come on, kiddo. Let us in. We can talk.”
“No,” she whispered. “You’re the southern clan, aren’t you?”
“The what? What did you say, dear?” Her mother’s mouth pursed in an overdone moué of confusion.
“You’re vampires from Mexico.”
“Vampires? Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother’s light, amused laugh tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. “You were always such an imaginative child. There are no such things as vampires, dear.”
“Yes, there are. Stay away from me!” Eyeing them, she backed away.
Where was Kethan? Her head throbbed. To her dismay, she could feel the pressure of unstoppable fury rising within her.
“What’s wrong, dear?” her mother continued as if Quicksilver hadn’t said a word. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I….” It was impossible to think; her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
“Let us in. You look ill. You need someone to take care of you, Alli.” Her mother reached forward as if to touch her. “This man, Kethan, he’s not right for you. Let us take care of you.”
“What do you know about it?”
Her parents glanced at each other. Finally, sorrow poured over her mother’s face, the corners of her mouth drooped, and she shook her head. “The other night, at your apartment….” She sighed and glanced at her husband as if trying to choose just the right words. “We didn’t want to interfere, but we had to protect you, you see, or Lavinia would have killed you.”
“What do you mean?” She asked the question even though she feared she already knew the answer. They were talking about the head tossed through the window, Lavinia.
“I’m sorry, we hoped you would understand. We protected you, but we were attacked before we could talk to you. All we could do was throw that thing through your bathroom window and trust you’d understand.” Her father’s eyes glowed, mesmerizing, pulling her deeper. “It was a trap. You can’t trust him—he was part of it.”
Kill that man, Kethan. Do it before he hurts you. The voice echoed in her mind, throbbing with each heartbeat. She shook her head. Kill him when he returns. You can’t trust him. He plotted with his lover, Lavinia. He’ll kill you if you don’t kill him first.
“Who?” She struggled to concentrate. Beneath all the pain, all the conflicting voices in her head, a hard core of granite steadied her. Even at the worst of times when Carlos and Carol had done their best to break her, that core—the essence of Allison—remained. The thought steadied her.
“Kethan Hilliard. How did he explain it?”
He didn’t, but she’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d recognized the vampire before her head imploded. “It turned to ash too quickly,” she said, inventing excuses. “Neither of us knew what to think.”
“Oh, k
iddo.” Her father shook his head. “You don’t believe that, do you? He knew. They were lovers. He just didn’t want to tell you. Let us in; let us help you.”
Was it true? Quicksilver felt ill, the heavy beat of her heart like a fist pounding the walls of her chest as she struggled with fresh doubts. While she didn’t trust her parents, there was something about their words that rang true. She’d seen Kethan’s expression. He’d known that vampire.
Exactly what had he been planning before her parents killed his lover and threw her head through the bathroom window?
The pressure in her skull increased, threatening to rupture her mind. She rubbed the knot at the nape of her neck. “All right! All right! Come in, just be quiet.”
“This is all such a shock; you must be terrified. How does a nice, warm cup of tea sound?”
Her parents brushed past her as she stood clutching the cold brass doorknob with shaky fingers. Her vision blurred under an influx of tears as she desperately tried to regain her strength and sense of who she was.
“Fine. Whatever.” The tempo of pain abated slightly.
“We haven’t seen you in so long. We miss our little girl, kiddo,” her father said. “Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and sit down. Talk.”
“Just—just go in there. Sit.” Quicksilver massaged her temple. “Who was…that woman? That vampire?”
“Vampire? Don’t be silly. Come on.” Her mother sat and patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Sit here by me. You look terrible.”
Quicksilver stared at their smiling faces and felt icy with panic. What had she done? How could she let them in? She didn’t even remember saying the words.
“Just stay away from me!” Quicksilver slammed the front door, shutting out the cold night air and shutting her in with her parents.
Her pulse hummed wildly. Her rage flared.
Kill them!
I can’t, a little-girl’s voice cried inside her. I can’t do it.
“Come on, kiddo. Sit next to Mom. Let us explain.”
“No!” She stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom.
She made it to the commode before she was violently ill. The thought of killing her parents, seeing them vanish in a shower of ash and smoke, made her retch. She clung to the cold porcelain as she rocked back and forth. Her skin flushed in hot, prickly waves, each one more intense and leaving behind a cold rush of sweaty nausea.
