by J. R. Ward
"I cannot wait to get out of this dump."
Walking into the bedroom/living room/kitchen area, which sounded so much better than the dingy reality of it all, she grabbed her coat, her cell phone, and her purse, and on impulse, a scarf. At the door, she took a moment to lower her head and say a prayer to the Scribe Virgin for protection.
Which wasn't about the job or traveling to the job. It was about getting down the stairwell to the front door and out onto the street in one piece.
Pretty sad to know you were safer in the dark in a bad part of town than in your own building.
But at least she had a best practices plan: In the week and a half since she'd moved in with her suitcase, her backpack, and her seven hundred dollars in cash, she'd created a procedure for departure. First? Ear to the door.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on what was doing out in the hall. Nothing unusual it seemed. Just your normal everyday shouting, loud music, and muffled slamming.
"Great! Now let's go on to step two."
She shifted the safety chain free, unlatched the bar lock that ran vertically across from jamb to jamb, and threw back the deadbolt. Then she flashed out and shut things up quick. It was a toss-up whether she was in greater danger walking in the corridor or getting forced back into her room. Sure, as a female vampire, she was far stronger than most human males. But the thing she always worried about was what would happen if one of them came at her with a gun. A knife she could probably handle by overpowering them, but a bullet was--
Perfect. Frickin'. Timing.
As if he had been waiting for her, the creep across the way came out just as she did. Compared to her, he was a lot more blase about his exit, taking his time because, for one, he was probably high as a kite, and for two, she had the sense, in her limited interaction with him, that he kind of was in charge of the place.
He'd certainly always looked at her like she was a meal to be consumed.
Creep.
Bracing herself for the kind of smarm he'd been throwing at her, she--
"Oh, fuck!" he muttered as he saw her.
Then he whipped back around and started fumbling with his doorknob. Like he was trying to get back into his apartment.
Therese looked up and down the corridor. Nobody else was around. Maybe he was having a paranoid delusion or something? Whatever, she sure as hell wasn't going to ask him if he was okay--or argue with the fact that he suddenly seemed to want to avoid her.
Hurrying off, she took to the stairs, flying down them. She knew she should probably just dematerialize, but all of the windows in the whole building were covered with chicken wire made of steel and none of them opened. And although it was a fair guess that the concrete or the brick or whatever the heck the walls were made of probably wasn't fortified with anything, she couldn't run that risk. She'd heard the horror stories of what happened when vampires guessed wrong on what they tried to ghost through.
As she was out in the world all alone, it was yet another risk she couldn't afford to take.
Therese was halfway down the stairs and making a turn, when two men who were coming up hit the landing at the same time she did.
Recognizing them from the lobby, she dropped her eyes and shoved her hands into her coat to bring her purse closer to her body--
Both of them jumped back and knocked into each other, before flattening against the stairwell wall so she could go by them.
When something similar happened as she was leaving the main exit, another human she had seen around the building pointedly getting out of her path, she decided that maybe she had a communicable disease that only that other species could sense?
Then again...shoot, maybe they had all found out she was a vampire? She had no idea what she might have done to give it away, but why else would these guys be treating her like she was a lit stick of dynamite?
'Cuz, come on, sure, they were all on drugs, but a common psychosis against women with dark hair was unlikely.
Still, why argue with it if it kept her safe? Unless, of course, it was about her species identity, in which case she could be in real trouble. Then again, what kind of credibility could people like that have? Drug addicts frequently had delusions, right?
Outside, she had to pause for a moment.
Okay, wow. Snow. Everywhere...snow. There had to have been at least three feet of it dropped all over the place, and the wind that had kept her up late during the day had pushed the stuff around into drifts.
As she headed off, she was not surprised that the front walkway, such as it was, had not been cleared. What she was bummed about was the fact that her Merrells, which were waterproof and comfortable, only came up to her ankles. Wet socks were going to be in fashion tonight, she feared.
When she got out to the sidewalk, she found that, of course, the concrete had likewise not been shoveled. Looking left and right, she debated on whether to just f'-it and dematerialize in plain view, but no. The sun was down, but it was only dark-ish, the ambient glow of the city reflecting and being magnified thanks to all the white powder.
She was bound to be noticed, so she needed to find a more hidden spot.
Going down two blocks, she hunkered into her coat and really didn't enjoy the feeling of her ears burning from cold. At least her neck was warm and her hands toasty in the deep, padded pockets. Hanging a left, she entered an alley that was far dimmer than the street beyond, and closing her eyes, she...
...dematerialized to the back of Sal's Restaurant.
As she re-formed, she saw a couple of cars coming in and parking by the service entrance. A human man and then two human women got out of their vehicles, not really saying much as they rushed to the staff door as if they were either late or cold. Maybe both.
Therese followed their example, catching the heavy panel before it closed fully and then stamping her snowy shoes on the textured rubber mat inside.
"Hey."
When she looked up, it was into the stare of a surprisingly attractive human male. He had dark blond hair, eyes that were blue as a Magic Marker, and a jaw that was pretty darned square.
"Are you the new hire?" he asked.
"Yes, I am."
A rather large hand extended toward her. "I'm Emile."
"Therese. Tres."
"And you have an accent. Like myself. Well, not French, as I have."
She smiled. "No, I'm not from France."
Wasn't there an old SNL skit that went something like this? she thought. Maybe she was a vampire and he was an alien.
"Come, we'll go to the staff room?" He indicated the way forward. "Yes?"
She nodded and fell in with him, unwrapping her scarf and undoing the buttons on her coat. "I've waitressed before. I'm still nervous, though."
"Enzo, the front house manager? You interviewed with him? He is very nice. Very good. He will give you a fair chance."
"I got a copy of the menu. I spent all day memorizing it."
As they entered the kitchen, there was an anteroom with lockers where people could put their things, and she glanced around at the humans who were milling about in it. The men and women seemed to be in their early to mid twenties, clearly scraping by to get their start in life and become independent from their families--which was exactly what she was trying to do. And a couple of them looked over at her, but everyone was mostly just focused on getting prepared for the dinner service.
The head of the front house, Enzo Angelini, came in and addressed her and then the others. "Good, you're here. Everybody, this is Therese. Therese, you'll learn names on the go. Come with me to sign your paperwork, and I have your tux ready."
There was something comforting about falling into a routine and a set of procedures. After having left home, everything had been free of restrictions, but also way too light and kind of wilderness-without-a-map feeling.
This was going to be a good thing.
The only not-so-hot that was happening? She couldn't seem to get the thoughts about that male from the night befor
e last out of her mind. Images of him were like a hangover without her having done any drinking, her head thumping, her stomach flipping when she remembered that kiss.
He'd been determined to leave her be.
And that still seemed like a good plan.
It was weird, though, to miss someone you didn't know, someone who was a complete stranger. But her heart ached a little at the idea that she'd never see him again.
Whatever, though. It was probably just her hormones. Or maybe the sadness over everything that had gone down as she'd left Michigan was bleeding into other areas of her life.
Yup, that was it.
Because how was it possible to mourn someone you hadn't known for more than twenty minutes?
FORTY-SIX
As soon as Qhuinn walked into the twins' bedroom, he was all set to be alone with his young and get them ready to go to Blay's parents' house...but Cormia was over by their bassinets, settling them in. The good news? At least Layla wasn't around, although he caught her scent in the air--and that insult got worse as he went over to the bassinets and smelled her on the kids themselves.
Ignoring Phury's shellan, he immediately marched into the bathroom, put the two blue tubs into the pair of deep sinks, and got the hot water running.
When he came back out, Cormia looked at him with a directness he didn't appreciate. "Would you like help with their baths?" she asked.
As if he couldn't do it himself. "Thanks, but no."
The Chosen hesitated, still standing right between the bassinets. "Listen, I know this is really hard right now."
Actually, you really don't, he thought.
"But," the female continued, "Layla loved being with them, and you can see that they fared well."
His children were still breathing, at any rate. This much was true.
"I really think that you--"
Qhuinn put his hand up. "Thank you so much for all your help and concern. I mean, really, you're just great. I can't tell you how grateful I am."
He gently, but firmly, took her elbow and led her over to the door. "I mean, really, just terrific."
As soon as she stepped out into the hall of statues, he shut the door and locked it--and then he was all about those baths, making sure that the water was the right temperature, doing Rhamp first, because his son was easier to handle on so many levels, and then quickly soap-and-rinsing Lyric.
When he got the pair of them back in the bassinets, all rosy and toasty, he thought, fuck, he was going to have to dress them for their exciting trip out of the mansion.
He went into the walk-in closet, where a pair of bureaus had been set up side by side. And as he pulled open drawers, he marveled at all the little clothes, the onesies and the tiny shirts, the "pants" and "skirts." For a second, he wondered how long it took to wash all of this stuff, fold it, and make sure it was in the right place, everything pink on one side, and camo and navy blue on the other.
Layla liked to dress up Lyric in pretty things.
So he put his daughter in a pair of itty-bitty blue jeans and a red polo shirt of her brother's. Then he jacked Rhamp into the smallest suit and bow-tie combo anyone had seen this side of a Ken doll.
He checked the clock, thinking he could shower himself--but holy shit from the time elapse. He'd had an idea of being at Blay's parents' well before First Meal was put on the table. At the rate this was going? He'd be lucky to get those two kids over there before they were driving. And this was before he had to tackle the little booties and then the tiny coats--and fuck him back and forth a couple of hundred times from getting the pair of them into the goddamn carriers.
When he finally had both kids freshly diapered, fully clothed, parka'd, mitten'd, and hat'd--and had strapped the suckers in like they were in danger of break-dancing out of those padded buckets? He actually looked at the bed and thought maybe he needed a nap.
And come on, his night job was fighting lessers. Who were trying to kill him.
It wasn't like his basis for comparison was a frickin' desk job.
"Okay," he said to those two faces staring up at him. "You ready? Let's do this--"
At that very instant, a stench that was a cross between a stink bomb, a dead lizard, and some kind of rotting fruit rind wafted up and slapped the shit out of his sinuses.
Jesus H. Christ. It was the kind of thing that made your eyes water and your nose threaten to pack its bags and leave you with nothing but a pair of black holes in the middle of your face.
"Are you even kidding me?"
For a split second, he debated just going with it. After all, he could pop the windows in his Hummer, crank up the heat, and with supplemental oxygen, he might just make it across town.
But he couldn't present Blay's mom with this kind of thing. She already had a broken ankle. One whiff of that green cloud of death and she was liable to get blown off her good foot through a wall.
Leaning down, it became amply clear that Rhamp had deployed the hot bomb. And Qhuinn had to admit, as he undid the buckle and got the kid back out, that he kind of respected the effort, man to man.
Yeah, no pussy loads for his son. The boy dropped that shit like he owned it.
Um...literally. Yeah.
Back at the dressing table. Once again with the button and the zipper on the miniature pants that made Qhuinn's hands cramp. And then...
"Oh...wow," Qhuinn muttered as he had to turn his head away for some fresh air.
Who knew you could see God without leaving the planet?
And clean-up was going to require a backhoe and a hazmat suit.
Meanwhile, Rhamp just lay there, looking up at him with little fists pumping like he was expecting a high five or something.
Given that unaffected focus and coordination, one could only deduce that, while vampire young matured much quicker in their beginning stages than human babies did, clearly their sense of smell didn't kick in until later. Otherwise, the kid wouldn't be smiling.
As Qhuinn got to work on the tabs of the diaper, he had to shake his head. "You're a real pisser, you know that--"
A knock on the door provided an excuse to turn his head away again and breathe deep. "Yeah?"
Saxton, the King's solicitor and Qhuinn's own cousin, put his perfect blond head in. "I have those documents that you--"
The recoil would have been comical if Qhuinn hadn't been up to his elbows in baby poop.
The attorney let out a cough. Or maybe that was a gagging noise. "Dearest Virgin Scribe, whatever are you feeding them?"
"Enfamil formula."
"And this is legal?"
"For the most part, yes. Although depending on the digestive tract it goes into, clearly there are military applications."
"Indeed." The male shook his head as if he were trying to reprioritize his brain away from his respiratory requirements. "Ah, I have what you requested."
"Great. Thanks. Will you put it in Rhamp's carrier? No, wait--actually, the diaper bag. As you can see, I've got my hands full over here."
"Yes, I believe no one in this house would wish your attention be diverted. Make that the eastern seaboard."
As Qhuinn tucked the dirty diaper under his son's butt and started pulling out wipes from the warmer like he was going to make a parachute out of them, he wondered what he was going to do with that Pampers. Maybe burn it in the backyard?
Probably would flame green. Hell on that theory, he should shut off the lights and see if it glowed in the dark.
"Qhuinn."
"Yeah, man?"
When the guy didn't say any further, Qhuinn glanced over his shoulder at the precisely dressed, bow-tied solicitor. "What?"
"Are you certain? About this?"
"Yes, I am absolutely positive that this diaper needs to be changed. And thanks, you've been so helpful. I mean, great. Just really great."
Guess that was his new good-bye. Praise that he honestly felt and meant, but that was designed to end conversation and move people along and away from him.
And
yet again, it worked.
Saxton didn't linger much longer, and then Qhuinn was restrapping his son in the carrier, throwing the duffel over his shoulder, and picking up the matched set of baby-delivery devices.
Immediately, he set them back down. Opened the door Saxton had shut behind himself. And then tried again with the whole cash-and-carry out of the room.
'Cuz it was kind of hard to work a frickin' doorknob when you didn't have a free palm.
As he walked past all the marble statues, he felt an abiding exhaustion and figured it could be one of a number of things. He hadn't slept all day long, his mind consumed with thoughts about Blay, anger at Layla, and anxiety over what the hell Rhamp and Lyric were doing. Plus the Xcor thing. And then there had been the infant Olympics of getting the kids ready to go out just now.
Hell, maybe he also had anticipatory depression over the prospect of having to get the damn carriers into the bases he'd strapped in the back of the Hummer. He'd done a dry run right at nightfall and had nearly lost his IQ trying to get the plastic pieces of shit aligned with where they had to click into--and that had been without actually having Rhamp and Lyric in their bucket seats.
Why the idiot humans who had made the things couldn't construct them so the two parts fit was a Sherlock Holmes problem. You'd figure if those rats without tails could put a motherfucker in a space suit on the moon, they could make it so parents didn't have to fight with car seats.
It was really just that simple.
As he hit the grand staircase, he let his mind continue on its various rants, giving his gray matter all kinds of leeway to bitch about kid accoutrements.
It was better than worrying about whether Blay was going to be at his parents' or not. Or whether they were going to make it through this. Or not.
Much better.
--
As Layla re-formed on the back porch of the ranch, she triggered the motion detectors, lights coming on and illuminating her. That was fine, though. None of the humans would have seen her arriving from out of nowhere because she'd materialized into a deep pocket of shadows by the fence.
Heading for the sliding glass door, she crunched through the thick snow, the sadness of leaving her young behind and her worry that Qhuinn might do something crazy like kidnap them being replaced with anxiety about whether or not Xcor would be waiting for her. Her mind was so scattered, she had barely been able to dematerialize, and she couldn't seem to sense him on the premises.