by P. N. Elrod
Culebra’s voice breaks through my dark thoughts.
“What are you hiding from me, Anna?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
His thoughts are like a laser, trying to bore into mine. I know you better than that. What aren’t you telling me?
I raise the beer bottle to my lips, drain it. Rise. “Have to go, my friend. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Culebra doesn’t answer. I feel the heat of his frustration as I start to leave.
“Wait.”
I half turn, pause.
“I had a visitor yesterday. He left you a message.”
“Who would leave a message for me here?”
Culebra crosses to the bar, reaches behind it for a folded piece of paper. “Somebody who is afraid you wouldn’t return his calls if he tried to reach you directly.”
He holds the note out to me. As soon as I see the signature, I understand why he’d go through Culebra. He’s right. I wouldn’t have returned his calls.
The note is from Max.
Culebra feels the anger build as I stare down at the note. Max is an ex-boyfriend. Human. Couldn’t take off fast enough when he found out what I am, even though it’s because of what I am that he’s alive today. To make matters worse, he decided that sex with a vampire while acting as a host was a pretty damned good way to get his rocks off. So he comes here to enjoy fucking vampires. Anonymous vampires. It’s me he doesn’t want to fuck anymore.
My hand curls into a fist, crushing the note. “Why would you take this? You know how I feel about Max and his new hobby.”
Culebra holds up a hand in defense. “Max hasn’t come here to be a host for some time. Whatever he needed to get out of his system, he seems to have succeeded.”
“You mean me, right? He needed to get me out of his system.”
Culebra shakes his head. “Read the damn note, will you?”
I drag my eyes back to the note, open my hand, smooth the paper against my thigh. I can’t imagine being interested in anything Max has to say to me. The bastard left without saying good-bye.
The handwriting is cramped, uneven. As if he wrote the note in a hurry.
Anna. I need your help. Call me. Max.
“Wow.” I wave the note toward Culebra. “This makes me want to drop everything and ring him right up. He doesn’t even say please. Christ. Why would I want to help him?”
Culebra lifts his shoulders. “It must be important.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Didn’t tell you what exactly?”
“For Christ’s sake, call him, will you?” Culebra’s irritation flares, radiates outward from his thoughts and burns into my head. Don’t be so goddamned stubborn.
I don’t even know if I still have his number. A last whining excuse.
Of course you still have his number. In your cell.
He’s right. Not that I’ll give him the satisfaction of telling him. Just like I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that deep down I want to call Max. Only to satisfy my curiosity. Only to find out how Max plans to grovel his way back into my good graces. Only to enjoy turning him down no matter what he says.
His leaving was no laughing matter, but telling him to go to hell would be good for a laugh, not to mention my ego.
I turn my back on Culebra and stomp out, letting one thought drift back.
Fucking men.
CHAPTER 3
On the drive back home I debate with myself.
Do I want to call Max? It’s been eight months since the last time we ran into each other in Beso de la Muerte under less-than-perfect conditions.
Why would I want to call Max? On the off chance that he wants to tell me what an ass he’s been and to thank me at long last for saving his ass in Mexico?
Shit.
It irritates me to realize I’m curious. It irritates me to realize I want to know why he wants to talk to me.
It irritates the hell out of me to realize I know how long it’s been since I’ve seen him without doing the math.
I’m sure Culebra knows more than he let on. Max is a drug enforcement agent. He spends quite a bit of time in Mexico, and has used Culebra as an informant. Not in an official capacity. Culebra has a lot of contacts on both sides of the law and the border. He and Max have a quid pro quo arrangement. Culebra helps Max when he can, and in turn, Max keeps quiet when he comes to Beso de la Muerte to ensure that those under Culebra’s protection are not hassled.
At least that’s the way it worked when Max and I were together.
A lifetime ago.
CHAPTER 4
I’ve been sitting on the bed staring at the telephone in my hand for fifteen minutes. Max’s number is up on the screen, just waiting for my finger to press SEND . I’m not sure now why I’m so hesitant. There’s only one reason I’d call him, and the only thing I have to decide is the number of expletives to insert before I tell him to fuck off.
So what’s the problem?
I suck it up and punch SEND .
He picks up so fast, it takes me a second to realize he’s on the line.
“Max?”
“Anna.” There’s relief in his voice. “Thanks for calling. I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“I can’t talk about it on the phone. Can I come in?”
My grip on the phone tightens. “What do you mean, come in? Where are you?”
“Outside. On the boardwalk.”
I cross the bedroom to the deck, look toward the ocean. The boardwalk is crowded. It takes me a second to locate him. Max is leaning against the seawall, staring up toward the cottage. He waves when he sees me. But it’s not a cheery wave and he’s not smiling.
I’m not smiling either. “What are you doing here? How did you know I’d call?”
“I didn’t, but Culebra told me you’d picked up the note.”
“Did he also tell you I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Yes. I’m glad to see he was wrong.”
“He wasn’t wrong. There’s only one reason I’d call you. To tell you to fuck off—”
“Anna, please.” I see Max cup his hand around the phone. “If there was anyone else I could go to about this I would. You are the only one who can help.”
“Jesus, Max.” Irritation and anger crash like cymbals in my head. “Why so dramatic? You sound like you’re jonesing for a fix. God. Is that what this is about? You tired of screwing anonymous vamps? You remembering what a good thing you threw away?”
“No. Anna.” He bites off the words. “Everything isn’t about you . I need you because I think I’m dealing with a vampire. A vicious vampire. And I don’t know how to fight him. I thought you’d want to help. Culebra thought you’d want to help. Guess we were both wrong.”
He snaps his cell phone shut, ending the conversation before I can respond. He doesn’t look my way again, but heads up the boardwalk toward the parking lot. He shoulders are drawn up, his strides long, fast, stiff with anger.
Shit. A vampire? It takes me about a heartbeat to decide. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’m down the stairs, have grabbed up my purse and keys and reached the end of the boardwalk before he does.
Max isn’t startled when I appear in front of him like a genie sprung from a bottle. He knows what I can do. But he doesn’t look relieved or pleased either. He stares down at me from his six-foot-three-inch vantage point and waits for me to speak first.
“What do you mean you’re dealing with a vampire?”
His shoulders hunch up even more. The lines of his face draw down, as if weighted. He looks tired. He looks stressed. The Max I knew—the one with lively blue eyes, a quick smile, and sun-burnished Latino good looks—has been swallowed up by this sallow-faced, sober, weary doppelgänger.
“Are you sure you want to hear this? Or are you waiting for another opportunity to tell me what a fuckup I’ve been?”
I close the distance between us and jab a finger i
nto his chest. “Oh, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to do that. Right now, I want to know what you meant on the telephone.”
He looks around. “Let’s walk. I don’t want to risk being overheard.”
The boardwalk teems with people. Skateboarders, cyclists, Rollerbladers, joggers. If we walk here, we’ll spend most of our time dodging incoming. I’m not going to invite him to the cottage, either. I don’t want him invading my personal space.
“Let’s cross to the bay side.”
He doesn’t object. Neither of us speaks until after we’ve crossed Mission and headed for the sidewalk that runs along the harbor. Here the view spans the San Diego skyline on one side, row on row of condos and apartments on the other. There’s a marina and a small park. We head for the benches in the middle of the park. We choose the one that faces a playground. The water is at our backs and we have a clear view of the sidewalk. It’s much quieter here.
“So talk.”
Max looks toward the sidewalk, eyes restlessly scanning the faces of the people moving at a Sunday-afternoon, warm-summer’s-day kind of pace. I look, too. But I know I’m not seeing the same things he is. He’s looking at them with cop eyes.
“I’ve been working a joint task force with the Mexican border patrol,” he says at last. “Drugs mostly. But in the last month, we’ve been finding something else on our patrols. Bodies drained of blood. Entire families killed and dumped in the desert. No clue as to who is doing it. At first we thought it was some local drug lord’s new and vicious way to intimidate.”
“But now?”
“The victims all had their throats slashed. But there’s never any blood at the scene. None. The tox screens we’ve run always come back negative for drugs. They’re not addicts or dealers. The victims have no connection to local law enforcement either, always a favorite target of the cartel. We’ve traced some of the victims to places in Latin America and as far south as Ecuador. A hell of a long way to transport bodies just to dump them. They’re from poor families. If they were carrying anything of value on them, it’s gone by the time we find them. All that’s left is the clothes they’re wearing.”
Max pauses, draws a breath. He hasn’t looked at me since we sat down on the bench. He does now. “I think we’re dealing with a coyote. I think he takes money from these people to get them across the border. Then he kills them and dumps them within sight of the border. Probably lets them know how close they are before he kills them.”
It doesn’t take much of a leap to know what Max is leading up to. “You think this coyote is a vampire.”
“I do. The slash marks are clumsy. Because the bodies are found in Mexico, we haven’t been able to do anything but drug sampling. But I’d be willing to bet if we could do the autopsies here, we’d find something under those slashes.”
He would. When I worked as a Watcher, I used the technique myself. A vampire can erase puncture wounds from a live donor, but not a dead one. Slashing the throat is a way to hide the fact that a body has been sucked dry.
Confirming that Max is right about this and how I know that he’s right is not something I want to share. I already know what he thinks of me. “What do you want from me?”
“There’s a pattern to the killings. We find the bodies on our patrols on Tuesday mornings. Always in roughly the same location.”
“If you know this, you don’t need me. Set a trap.”
“We did. Once. The guy slipped past us as if he were invisible. But not before leaving us another victim. A young girl. You have to realize, Anna, our emphasis is on stopping the drug trade. Not human trafficking. We don’t have the resources to conduct another undercover op. That’s why I’m here. To ask you to come with me tomorrow night. If I’m right, the only way we’re going to stop him is by fighting fire with fire.”
I snort. “You mean vampire with vampire.”
Max’s mouth tightens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
His expression shifts, softens. “Sorry. I know I’m asking a lot. I don’t know what else to do. If we don’t stop him, he’ll go on killing. He likes it. He’s found an easy food source. And he takes money from victims desperate to make a new life.”
He pauses, draws a breath. “Culebra told me you’re some sort of über -vamp. Well, I need an über -vamp. I can’t think of another way to stop him.”
Über -vamp. Yeah. That’s me, all right. Head of the thirteen vampire tribes. Only thing is, except for a few extra abilities, I don’t feel any different than I did before. The only thing that’s changed is that I have another über -vamp, Chael, gunning for me.
I push the thought out of my head. I can probably help Max. I’m stronger than other vamps. The question is, do I want to?
Stupid question. I choose my words carefully.
“I’ll do it. But not for you. I’ll do it because a vamp who acts like this is a rogue, a killer, a threat to all vampires. Sooner or later, what he’s doing will come to the attention of vampire hunters. Then none of us will be safe.”
Max lets his relief show in a tiny gesture of gratitude. He holds out a hand.
I let my feelings show by standing up and taking a step out of reach. The wound is still fresh. “Where shall I meet you?”
He stands, too, lets his hands fall to his sides. “The border crossing at San Ysidro. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”
I nod. Max stares at me a minute, waiting for the ice to melt, I suppose. It doesn’t, and finally, he walks away.
For the first time, I notice.
Max was hurt in Mexico. A broken ankle. He’s not limping anymore.
At least one wound has healed.
CHAPTER 5
It’s a clear, quiet, moonless night. Max and I have tramped across two miles of barren desert. We’re both dressed in dark camo, ski masks covering our faces. I have a .38 strapped to my waist. Just in case Max’s coyote turns out to be human after all.
Max dons night-vision goggles. I don’t need them. The creatures of the desert are as clear to me in the inky blackness as they would be in the brightest sunlight. I see more than Max ever can, down to the tiniest scurrying insects he crushes underfoot as we trudge onward.
I hear more, too. The faraway cry of a bird of prey. The squeal of a rabbit as the jaws of a coyote snap closed around its neck. The pebbles pushed aside in the wake of a slithering snake.
Then, something else.
I touch Max’s arm. Signal him to stop. Point off to the north.
Too far away for him to see, there’s a dim shadow against the darkness. Moving toward us.
Max doesn’t question me. We seek cover behind the sloping bank of an arroyo, dry as dust in the summer heat. And hunker down to wait.
The shadow draws closer, divides into three. I probe, careful to keep my own presence hidden. The unmistakable psychic pattern of a vampire comes back like the blip on radar. At least one of them is vampire.
Then a feeling I’ve come to recognize swamps my senses. Revulsion. Rage. Bloodlust so powerful the vampire within bursts from its human cocoon with the gnashing of teeth.
Evil approaches.
Max seems to detect the change. He leans away from me, an involuntary, instinctive reaction to danger. “What’s wrong?”
I strip the ski mask from my face, let it fall to the ground. It takes effort to speak, to form words and force them through a throat that wants to howl. “Stay away from me. No matter what happens.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I leap over the embankment and head out to meet the monster.
CHAPTER 6
She senses my approach.
She.
Max’s coyote.
We’re still a mile away from each other, but she picks up the rage. I close the distance in seconds.
Then we’re face-to-face.
I point to the man and woman at her side. They are stunned by my sudden appearance, by my vampire face. They are young, maybe twenty, dressed
in dark jeans and hoodies that are tattered and stained. Each carries a small satchel. They cringe away, look to their guide.
I look at her, too.
Let them go.
The vampire tilts her head to one side, studying me. Physically, we are evenly matched. She is weighing her options.
You have no options.
She is cloaking her thoughts. After a moment she says, Perhaps you are right . These two are of no consequence.
Do they speak English?
A nod.
I drag my eyes away from her, motion to the couple. “The border is three miles straight ahead. There is a tear in the fence. You can make it on your own.”
I am trying very hard to sound human. Even to my own ears, my voice is rough. It comes from my gut, not my vocal cords. A growl.
The humans are mesmerized. They can’t look away from my eyes.
The vampire raises a hand, strokes the hair of the woman. They want to stay with me
She has not shown her true nature. The woman steps behind her for protection. The vampire laughs.
The fury in me builds. I realize her intention. Her mouth opens, her teeth gnash. She reaches behind to pull the woman forward.
I have her neck before she can grab the woman. I pull her away and spin her around, showing the cowering couple the true face of their savior.
They jump back, mouths open in astonishment.
The vampire laughs again. I force her to her knees. Reach into the pocket of her jacket. Pull a wad of bills from inside.
“Take your money. Go. Now.”
This time, there is no hesitation. They circle around us in a wide arc, uncomprehending, fearful the creatures might change their minds. Then they’re off, running across the desert floor.
I hold the vampire on the ground until the rustle of their clothes, the sound of their footsteps, are a distant echo.
You could have let me keep the money.
