Authors: Jeanne C. Stein
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Horror
Crossroads (8 page)
We both scream in pain.
The bullet moves inside me, scorching a path through muscle and sinew before it explodes out. It does not penetrate organ or impact bone.
It does not stop me from tearing again at her neck.
She is getting weaker. I tighten my hold, lock my jaws. Her blood is no longer thick, but thinning out as the last drops are consumed. She no longer fights. She is no longer capable of shielding her thoughts. The atrocities she’s committed, the victims she’s tortured, the senseless agony she’s inflicted. All threaten from the dark. There is no thought of loved ones or family. Like her victims, she has lived most of her second life alone. Only fear is left. And dread for what comes next.
I drain the last of her blood, feel the shudder as her soul leaves the body, feel my hatred ebb with the final flickering spark of her life.
She has died like her victims, alone and afraid.
It is just.
The metamorphosis begins the instant the soul leaves the body. The young woman I held in my grasp is an old, withered shell by the time she hits the ground. It is the way. Drained of blood, the vampire body reverts physically to its mortal counterpart. I stand looking down at an old lady well past her one hundredth birthday.
My metamorphosis begins, too. The human Anna comes back, slowly, reluctantly.
Slowly. Infusion of blood temporarily warms a body that is even now returning to its natural state. The warmth fades too quickly.
Reluctantly. With the return to human form comes rational thought. I will not forget what I have done.
Twice.
I have killed. Two monsters. One mortal, one not.
I have no regrets. They both deserved to die. I only wish killing didn’t come so easily.
With rational thought comes something else—awareness of the pain that racks my side. I was right. A gunshot can slow a vampire down. Especially one from the big .45 Max brought for me. Slowly, carefully, I draw myself up, stretch gingerly, willing the healing process to move more quickly, to numb this ache.
“Anna!” Max’s voice. “Where are you?”
I rouse myself and step over the vampire’s body. I realize I never learned her name. Does it matter? Not now.
Max is fifty yards out, moving toward me at a run.
“Here.”
I let him find me. He has his gun in his hand and he is breathing hard. When he sees the crumpled remains on the ground, he turns to me, startled, bewildered.
“Who is that?”
“Your coyote.”
He kneels for a closer look. “She’s an old woman. How could she possibly—”
“What you’re looking at are her mortal remains. You were right in suspecting a vampire was behind the attacks. She was with a couple when I found her. I let them go.”
“I know.” Max holsters his gun. “I saw them run by.”
“Did they make it?”
“From what I could see.”
“Good.”
Max switches his gaze from the corpse to me. For the first time, he sees the blood soaking my shirt, on my thighs.
“You’re hurt?”
“No.” Not much anyway. He couldn’t have brought a .22? I don’t think I’ll tell him I let myself get shot with his gun. “It looks worse than it is.”
He nods. Luckily, he knows how it is with vampires.
“What should we do with that?” He points to the thing on the ground.
“Bury it.”
Max swings his flashlight in an arc. “I didn’t bring a shovel. What can we use?”
I spy a flat piece of rock and a long, sturdy branch kiln dried by the sun. I retrieve them. “It will take work, but we can use these.”
I hand him the branch to begin scraping away sand and follow after, scooping out a hole with the rock. My side screams in protest but within fifteen minutes, we have a hole big enough and deep enough to cover the corpse. I grab her by the arm to throw her in.
“She’s really dead, right?” Max asks.
“You mean is she going to rise up in three days and come after us?” I prod at the body with my foot. “No. She’s gone.”
The remains land in the hole with the brittle thud of desiccated flesh and bone.
We set to work, shoveling the sand back in, tamping it down with our feet, setting a layer of rock and debris over the grave. To protect it from scavengers.
A flashback. Another vampire corpse. Another grave dug in the desert. Another pair of hands working beside mine.
Lance.
A shudder racks my body.
Max’s shoulder is so close to mine, he feels my body jerk. He pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The vampire answers from the darkest place in my soul. “It’s nothing. I just walked on someone’s grave.”
MAX RECOGNIZES ONE OF THE GUARDS AT THE BORDER crossing. They exchange a few words in Spanish and he waves us through. It’s good because I’m not sure I want to try to explain the rust-colored stains covering my clothes.
Max takes me back to my car. He watches me climb gingerly out of the passenger side. “Can you drive?”
I massage my side. The scrape caused by the stake is healed. The path the bullet tore through my side is healed. Now it’s just the skin pulling tight as it regenerates over the holes that makes me wince when I move.
“Yeah. I’m a little stiff but by the time I get home, I’ll be fine.”
I pull his gun and holster free from my belt. “Here. Maybe next time you can bring a cannon.”
Max grins and watches as I get into my car and crank the engine before he motions for me to roll down the window.
“Thanks, Anna. You did good tonight. I owe you one.”
Okay, here’s my chance to tell him what I planned to tell him. To go fuck himself. To never call me again. To go to one of his vampire whores the next time he needs help.
What am I waiting for?
Max is leaning toward the window, smiling. He looks more like the Max I remembered. Superman, defending truth, justice and the American way …
Shit.
I smile back.
And drive away.
CHAPTER 9
S
LEEP IS A WONDERFUL RESTORATIVE.
LEEP IS A WONDERFUL RESTORATIVE.
Except for one occasion when a dream proved to be prophetic, my dreams are of human things. My parents, my brother, my niece, my life before the becoming. I’m always happy in my dreams. I’m always human.
When I awake this morning, the glow of having spent time with those I love lingers.
Then confusion as I try to zero in on my surroundings. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. The impersonal, artificial coziness of a hotel room with its heavy blackout curtains, disinfectant smell and sterile, generic furniture comes sharply into focus as I look around.
The reason I’m here floods back, replacing peace with aggravation. It was two a.m. when I arrived back at the cottage. They were waiting for me. TV reporters from every local station. All wanting to interview the
hero
of the Ralphs supermarket shooting.
hero
of the Ralphs supermarket shooting.
The hero. Me.
Luckily, I spied the reporters perched like vultures on the seawall in front of my place before they spotted me. I’ve been down this path before and Williams’ recriminations came back to haunt me. I did it again. I exposed my true nature to mortals. That time, my predicament was self-made. This time, I had no choice.
I drove to a nearby motel and checked in under a false name. It’s useful to have a couple of bogus licenses at times like these—illegal as hell but useful. Also useful to keep an extra jacket in the car. The camos I’m wearing are dust covered and bloodstained. I pulled on an old jacket to cover the worst of it and paid cash for a single night. The guy at the desk looked at me with raised eyebrows but took my money.
Once settled in the room, I reviewed my options. I need to have a story ready in case I get ambushed by the press tomorrow.
I think I can use the adrenaline story I told Harris. If a mother can lift a car off a baby, why couldn’t a woman cross fifty feet of floor and get the drop on a gunman in the blink of an eye?
And by tomorrow, the story may have been relegated from the front page to the police blotter. Who knows what might happen during the night?
Satisfied with the story, I hadn’t bothered to get undressed, just threw myself across the bed. No reason to get undressed when you have no clean clothes to change into. It was amazing how quickly I fell asleep.
So now it’s a quick face wash, a call down to the front desk to let them know I’m checking out and I’m headed for home.
I can’t wait to get home, take a shower. Forget about the events of the last twenty-four hours.
I park on Mission Boulevard and hoof it into the cottage, using the alley in back. I could have pulled right into my garage. If there are any reporters still around, they are keeping a very low profile. Once inside, I don’t check voice mail, don’t turn on my cell. I want only to get into a hot shower and clean clothes. Enjoy a cup of my own coffee on my own deck.
It’s what I want.
What I find when I step into the living room scuttles those plans.
He’s sitting on my couch, feet up on the coffee table, looking for all the world like he belongs.
He’s even helped himself to coffee and is reading my paper.
Son of a bitch.
It’s Chael.
CHAPTER 10
T
HE LAST TIME I SAW CHAEL, HEAD OF THE MIDDLE Eastern Vampire Tribe, it was exactly two months ago today. He was dressed in Savile Row then. Today it’s Rodeo Drive. He’s in dark slacks and a cream-colored polo shirt, leather loafers on stocking-less feet.
HE LAST TIME I SAW CHAEL, HEAD OF THE MIDDLE Eastern Vampire Tribe, it was exactly two months ago today. He was dressed in Savile Row then. Today it’s Rodeo Drive. He’s in dark slacks and a cream-colored polo shirt, leather loafers on stocking-less feet.
He looks up when I enter, radiates no concern that I’ve jumped into full vampire mode. He lays the paper down, rises slowly, hands outstretched placatingly. He is slight of stature, dark-skinned, with sharp features and hard eyes. When he stands, we are eye to eye.
He waits for me to speak first, hands still outstretched as if to show he has come unarmed.
We are vampire. We are never unarmed.
Teeth gritted, I open my thoughts. He speaks no English, but we can communicate the way of all vampires, telepathically.
You have violated my privacy. How did you get in?
You have violated my privacy. How did you get in?
A shrug.
It was not difficult. The glass door off your bedroom was unlocked.
It was not difficult. The glass door off your bedroom was unlocked.
Stupid of me. I often leave that slider open. Too high for a human to access but not a vampire.
Is an unlocked door considered an invitation to trespass in your country?
Chael lifts his palms in a gesture that admits he overstepped, but he offers no apology.
Why are you here?
Uninvited, he sits back down, picks up the newspaper and scans the front page.
You have been busy. Interfering in mortal affairs again. One eyewitness says that you “flew” over a counter and across the floor to shoot a man armed with a rifle. They are calling it a miracle. I call it an inexcusable display from one who is bent on keeping our existence a secret.
You have been busy. Interfering in mortal affairs again. One eyewitness says that you “flew” over a counter and across the floor to shoot a man armed with a rifle. They are calling it a miracle. I call it an inexcusable display from one who is bent on keeping our existence a secret.
So, you read English now?
A deprecating shrug.
I had someone translate the story for me.
I had someone translate the story for me.
I’ll bet. Irritation pokes at me. I growl,
The last time I checked, I didn’t answer to you. And what concern is this of yours? You are a long way from your home territory.
The last time I checked, I didn’t answer to you. And what concern is this of yours? You are a long way from your home territory.
It is the concern of all vampire when their true nature has been exposed. What do you plan to do to rectify this violation?
I close down the conduit between us. What I plan to do is none of his business. I know faddish human nature. This will pass as soon as something more interesting comes along to capture the imagination of the public. A baseball team will reach the playoffs, a movie star will be arrested for consorting with a fifteen-year-old. Mortal attention span is short.
You have no plan, do you?
Chael shakes his head.
As the Chosen One, you are proving once again how immature and ill prepared you are to lead a superior race.
Chael shakes his head.
As the Chosen One, you are proving once again how immature and ill prepared you are to lead a superior race.
This again. My temper rises as the real reason for this visit suddenly strikes me. He is not here because of what happened yesterday at the supermarket. He couldn’t have known about it until this morning.
He is here because of what happened last night in the desert. The rogue was his vampire.
Enough posturing, Chael. You care nothing for human concerns. You are here because I killed your whore.
A cold light flashes in his eyes, a hint of a smile touches his mouth.
She was a whore. But a useful one. She had influence over the vampire community in our part of the world.
She was a whore. But a useful one. She had influence over the vampire community in our part of the world.
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