Wicked Game

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  The lock’s not enough. I slide two chairs and the small table against the door, then huddle beneath the desk.

  For a minute or maybe longer, I hear nothing but my own unsteady breath. I clutch the pencils and take a few practice stabs at the air.

  Footsteps approach the door. I hold my breath.

  “Ciara?”

  Shane. My voice sticks in my throat. He’s one of them.

  “Ciara, I know you’re in there. I followed your scent. I’m alone, I swear.”

  “Where is he?”

  “They took him to our apartment to give him some bank blood, just to take the edge off. Then they’ll go visit a donor, one of the experienced ones.”

  “Brilliant idea.” I spit out my words through the tears clogging my throat. “Why didn’t they think of that before, instead of waiting for him to eat me like he was their pet python?”

  “I don’t know.” He hesitates. “But I think they feel bad about it now.”

  A scoff is all I have to say about that.

  “Can I come in?”

  I shrink farther under the desk. “I don’t think I like vampires anymore.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  He waits in silence, though he could easily pick the lock and shove aside the furniture to get to me.

  Finally I go to the door and listen hard against its wooden surface for other presences. Nothing. I pull back the table and chairs and open the door.

  Shane moves slowly, as if I’ll spook and run away again, then puts his arms around me. I tremble, teeth chattering so hard it brings on an instant headache. The feeling reminds me of our first night together, when he nearly took my life. I should push him away, go home, pack my bags, and drive far out of the range of his perky, super-sensitive nose. Instead I pull him closer and let what little warmth he has seep into my skin and soothe the shivers.

  We stay like that for a long time, saying nothing, until I state the obvious. “You saved my life.”

  “Monroe saved your life. And Noah, who went to get him.”

  “But you started it.”

  “Then I guess you owe me.”

  My knees go weak, literally. The adrenaline of the attack has worn off, and so has the triple mocha with organic two percent milk and a pump-and-a-half of coconut syrup. I need to lie down, but. ..

  “Come home with me,” I tell Shane.

  He eases me out of his embrace far enough to look into my eyes. “You don’t owe me that much.”

  “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  He lets out a deep sigh, then brushes the hair from my forehead to kiss it. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything. But then again, I’m suffering from shock and sleep deprivation.” I blink at him. “Which actually shrinks the list of things I’m sure of, so this seems like a safe bet.”

  “It is safe. I promise.”

  He takes my hand and leads me home.

  20

  Fragile

  By the time we arrive at my apartment door, my mind has cleverly locked away the terror of the recent past to focus on that of the immediate future, on what awaits us at the top of these stairs.

  I avoid Shane’s eyes as we ascend side by side. Sex was probably implied in my invitation, but after what just happened, I’m not sure I’m ready. I wish I had wine, but one drink would snag my last scrap of consciousness. Even now it’s just nervous energy keeping me awake.

  I stop outside my room and turn to Shane. “Why don’t you get something to drink while I—I mean, not drink. Yes, drink—from the fridge. I’ll have iced tea.” I step back into my bedroom, trying to muster a seductive gaze. “Give me a minute to put on something a little less Almost Got Killed In.” I start to close the door.

  “Ciara?”

  “Yes?”

  He rubs his face and hesitates a moment. “Nothing red, okay?”

  Ah. I see. Deirdre wore red the night he drank from her. He told her on the phone, Red is good. Good, as in, thirst-inducing.

  I shut the door.

  Damn his feral instincts, I look hot in red. I sift through my lingerie drawer. Tiger stripes? Leopard spots? Definitely not—should probably downplay the wild-animal aspects considering I was almost eaten alive less than a half hour ago. If only I’d had a bridal shower—without a wedding, of course—I’d have a collection of demure yet alluring white teddies.

  My mind and my eye arrive together at the solution. I slip into said solution, then light a few candles and turn off the lamp before lying on the bed. When Shane knocks, I invite him in.

  He opens the door and sees me. The force of his laughter sends him halfway out into the hall.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “That really sets the mood.”

  He approaches, all caution and tension gone, and sits next to me on the bed. “You’re like a warrior, wearing the mantle of her fallen enemy.”

  “Jolene’s far from fallen.”

  “You’ll take care of that soon.” He traces the edge of the letters on the white tank top. “I can’t imagine you as anyone’s ‘Bride 2B.’”

  “Because I’d look ridiculous in virginal white?”

  He takes his hand away and sets my tea on the night-stand. “Because you don’t like to be tied down.”

  I’m too tired for that discussion. “But hey, if I ever do get engaged, I’ll already have the shirt. They say that’s half the battle.” I rest my increasingly heavy head on the pillow. “Come here.”

  He stretches out on his side facing me. “I’ve dreamed of this, your hair spread across a pillow.” He strokes it, making my scalp tingle. “I wish I could see it in the sun-light.”

  “I’ll get you a picture. You can put it next to the one of my alphabetized CD shelves. Have your very own Ciara Griffin gallery.”

  This remark seems to spark a thought. “Is Griffin your real last name?”

  “You think I made it up? Playing on the word ‘grift’ to laugh at the world?”

  “Did you?”

  “Pretty much. Hold still.” I reach out and ski-jump my finger off the end of his nose. “I’ve been dying to do that ever since we met.”

  He snorts. “You’re a very kinky girl.”

  “I’m a very tired girl.”

  “So what’s your real last name?”

  My goofy smile fades. “It’s not important. I’m not that person anymore.”

  “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Trying to outrun the past?”

  I don’t answer, hoping this thought will lead to his story of how he became a vampire. Yet I’m not sure how long I could stay awake listening to his soothing voice.

  When he doesn’t continue, I say, “What were you like when you were alive?”

  “Probably not your ideal mate.” His fingers trickle down my neck to my shoulder. “I had depression. Pretty bad at times.”

  “Did it go away when you turned?”

  “It’s part of who I am, so not entirely. Becoming a vampire doesn’t give you a personality transplant. But it helped the chemical part. It ended the medical causes, the same way it would cure me if I’d had diabetes or a drug addiction.” His voice stays nonchalant. “Which I did.”

  “Wow. That’s rough.”

  “The way I treated myself, it was a miracle I made it to twenty-seven with all my extremities intact.” He gives a wry smile. “If I hadn’t died, I would’ve died by now.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t die. I mean, I’m glad you did. I mean, I’m glad you’re here.” I touch his chest. “Really glad.”

  “I think we’re done talking.” He draws his finger down the neckline of the tank top, between my breasts. I close my eyes to savor the sensation, and suddenly feel like I’m plummeting, then tipping over like at the bottom of a carnival ride.

  I jerk my eyelids apart. “Do you want some music?”

  He shakes his head. “All I want to hear is you.”

  Aww, he’s so roman—

  The next sound I hear is that of my own s
noring. I rub my eyes and see Shane lying on his back next to me.

  “God, I’m so sorry. How long was I asleep?”

  “About three minutes. Plenty of time to have my way with you. You liked it, judging by the way you flopped around.”

  I giggle like a drunk girl. “Can we try this again?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” He tugs at the sheets, sliding them out from under my body, then pulls them over me. “Tonight, just sleep.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “Nothing but the sun will make me leave.”

  “Set the clock so you don’t catch fire,” I mumble.

  “I did, plus the alarm on my cell phone as a backup.”

  I hear him blow out the candles, then take off his jeans and shirt. I want to open my eyes to see him, but exhaustion has glued my lids together.

  Shane slides under the sheets and pulls me close. The feel of his skin against mine should start my blood racing, should yank me into instant horniness. But instead it just makes me think how right and safe it feels to have him in my bed, and makes me think how much I love him.

  Wait...

  Oh, crap.

  My alarm cries out, echoed by a beeping across the room. Darkness shrouds the bedroom window. An arm reaches over me and silences the clock. I close my eyes again, hoping sleep won’t let go.

  It doesn’t. The last thing I feel is a kiss on my bare shoulder, then the emptiness of an unshared bed.

  My eyes open to a yellow glow around my window. The reawakened alarm clock says 7:30. I smack the snooze button and turn over, where my arm flops onto the other pillow and hits a piece of paper.

  Lying on the indentation from his head is a note from Shane:

  Ciara,

  I set your coffee to start brewing at 7:20, so it should be ready by now. I put three sugars in the bottom of the mug, so just pour and stir. I know you like it strong and sweet.

  Shane

  P.S.: The Dave Matthews Band should be filed under D, not M. Til fix it tonight.

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee drags me out of bed by the nostrils. Though the seven hours of slumber barely made the minimum payment on my sleep debt, I’m refreshed and alert enough to walk in a straight line toward the kitchen. I realize with no small shred of astonishment that I slept better last night next to a vampire than I have in years.

  My feet stop. I stare across the room at the coffee-maker, whose orange light glows with pride to signal the brewing of another satisfying pot. But I’m not looking at the coffee. I’m remembering my last thought before I fell asleep in Shane’s arms.

  That I love him.

  The coffeemaker plops one last drop into the carafe, to accentuate my epiphany.

  It’s a delusion, an emotional mirage, a by-product of exhaustion and gratitude. He did save my life, after all.

  My feet unfreeze and take me to the pot. Three sugars sit at the bottom of the beagle mug. I reach for the pot and realize I’m still holding his note. Instead of throwing it away, I transfer it to my left hand, which, against orders, clutches it like a sacred relic. I stare down in annoyance.

  The phrase “Bride 2B” mocks me from my chest.

  Hmm . . .

  Jolene.

  Travis.

  As I pour the coffee, I realize that the man who tried to kill me could end up saving us all.

  Franklin greets me at the office door with a stack of plates and forks. “It’s about time. I’ve had to sit here smelling that thing for fifteen minutes.” He sees the thermos in my hand. “Good, you brought some decent coffee.”

  “I need to talk to you and David right away.” I glance past him at my desk. On it sits an object with a large clear, plastic lid. “What the hell is that?”

  “An olive branch, apparently. Hopefully a chocolate-flavored, butter-cream-icing olive branch.”

  I go to my desk, expecting the strange item to explode any moment. It’s a large sheet cake with white icing and a label from a local all-night supermarket. Scrawled across the surface in green decorating-tube frosting is one word: SORRY. Four initials, T, S, J, and R, appear at the bottom, penned with a thinner decorating tube. Off to the side is a roughly drawn frowny face with tiny fangs.

  I can barely lift my jaw to speak. “They stood there last night while I almost got eaten, and to make up for it, they buy me a cake!”

  “Can we eat it now? I didn’t have breakfast.” Franklin pops the lid. “Do you want a corner piece?”

  “I don’t want any piece! I don’t want anything from them.”

  David opens his office door. “What’s going on? Ooh, cake.”

  “You won’t believe what’s going on.” I relate last night’s harrowing events.

  Franklin displays his typical lack of wonder. “I told you those pencils would come in handy.”

  David shakes himself out of shock. “Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”

  “Hey, I was too busy trying not to be ground into human hamburger meat, okay?”

  My phone rings, from the basement line. Shane’s checking in on me—how sweet. I pick up the receiver. “My hero!”

  “It’s just a twenty-dollar cake,” Regina says. “You did get it, right?”

  “You—” Every profanity in my arsenal strives to be the first out of my mouth, leaving me speechless.

  “Shane said I should apologize directly instead of through baked goods.”

  “How could you—”

  “So I’m sorry for almost watching you die. I got caught up in the moment. The way you were screaming—”

  “Stop—”

  “—you’re lucky we didn’t all fall down and take a slurp.”

  “After all I’ve done for you, you would’ve let that thing tear out my throat. I thought you were my friends!”

  “We are,” she says calmly. “We’re also vampires. We look out for each other.”

  “What did you do with—” I can’t say my almost-killer’s name. “—with him?”

  “He’s here, under our care. Poor kid’s tired and cranky, like a baby switching from breast milk to formula.”

  “Pardon my lack of giving a shit. Put him on the phone.” I don’t want to talk to him now or ever, but I need answers about Jolene and Skywave.

  “He’s not ready to interact with people. Monroe and Spencer and Jim are taking him to find his maker tonight.”

  “Let me guess: Gideon?” I give David a pointed look.

  “Yep, the scuzzbag,” Regina says. “This was the first shot from his camp. They want us to stop the campaign.”

  “If he’s so dangerous, why take Travis to see him?”

  “They belong together, at least while Travis is young. It’s a vampire thing. But more importantly, it’s time to negotiate. Gideon told Travis to tell us that next time, he’ll leave a dead body where the police can trace it back to us.”

  “Won’t that defeat Gideon’s goal of keeping vampires a secret?”

  “It would defeat everything, but us first. Reminds me of the Cold War. We’ve got to lower tensions without totally capitulating.” A moaning comes in the background. “I better go take care of Travis. Tell Elizabeth to meet the guys at Gideon’s place tonight.”

  “For what?”

  Regina sighs. “For detente.”

  21

  Bigmouth Strikes Again

  I’ve never ridden in a Mercedes before, not even an old one like this. Even the tan vinyl of the backseat feels elegant. I try not to stroke it too much.

  “Our file on Gideon is pretty slim,” Elizabeth says to David, who sits in the passenger’s seat. “We know he’s well over a hundred, probably American, and that he runs a compound out in the Catoctin Mountains, not far from Camp David. It’s sort of a sanctuary for old vampires who can’t hack reality anymore. Until now he’s been content to leave the rest of the world alone. In fact, he seems fanatical about keeping his vampires free of human influence.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Notions of purity, I suppose. Superi
ority.”

  “What about you? Do you think vampires are better than humans?”

  “Certainly not.” She looks at David. “Really, I don’t.” I lean forward. “Let me make sure I have these factions straight: The Control protects humans from vampires, right?”

  “When necessary,” Elizabeth says. “But we also protect vampires from themselves.”

  “Sometimes at the cost of their freedom.”

  “Only when—”

  “Let me finish my thought. Gideon’s gang also wants to protect vampires, but they want more than just to survive. They want isolation and absolute freedom, and they’re willing to kill humans like Travis to get it.”

  She frowns at me in the rearview mirror. “So it would appear.”

  A faint queasiness spreads through my gut. We’re about to enter the domain of a vampire survivalist, escorted by the embodiment of everything he hates.

  It starts to rain as we take the exit for Thurmont, Maryland. As we enter a valley between the mountains, WVMP’s signal and Noah’s reggae tunes crackle and fade to static. Elizabeth switches off the radio.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she says, “and I’ve come to a decision.” She pauses and looks at each of us, clearly relishing our curiosity.

  Finally David says, “A decision about what?”

  “I’m not going to sell the station.”

  I don’t dare believe my ears. David gasps and says, “Why not?”

  “It’s exactly what Gideon would want. I sell VMP, the campaign ends, and he wins.” Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I can’t have that. We’re going to make it the best damn radio station ever—with vampires.”

  “What if he comes after us again?” David asks her.

  “Now that he’s made a move, the Control will dispatch a security team to protect the station until he’s—until the threat has been neutralized.”

  I scoff. “So someone had to die before the Control would protect us? Travis could’ve killed me, you know.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “But no law enforcement agency sets up round-the-clock guard just because of a threatening phone call. Look at all the battered women killed after a lot more warning than Gideon gave us. There aren’t enough resources to make the world safe for everyone.”