Tantalize

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  As the microwave hummed, its interior tray turning, I paced, pausing to run my fingertips along the wall phone, to tangle them in the curly black plastic cord, repressing the urge to rip it out. Where was Kieren, anyway?

  I had less than an hour.

  The microwave beeped three times, and I removed my sustenance. Courtesy of modern technology, the pale, fleshy poultry legs lay in a pool of watery blood.

  Arguing to myself that salmonella wasn’t a burning vampire health concern, I dipped my finger in the liquid and raised it to my lips. The meat repulsed me, but I picked up a leg and licked it like a Popsicle.

  The leg was mostly sucked dry when the doorbell rang.

  Let it be Kieren, I prayed.

  It was Detective Bartok and Detective Matthews.

  Self-conscious, I hid my snack behind my back.

  “We’re looking for Kieren Morales,” Detective Bartok said from the front step.

  “I don’t know where he is,” I replied from the doorway, glad I’d parked the truck a few blocks southwest so Uncle D wouldn’t see it. “Did my uncle call you?”

  Matthews, the senior officer, shook his head. “We haven’t talked to him since he came down to the station. Why? Does he have something to tell us?”

  I stuck with the truth, so as to trigger their cop instincts as little as possible. “As far as I know, the last either of us talked to APD was when Detective Sanchez called me at Sanguini’s on the third. I remember because it was ten days until the reopening.”

  They traded a look.

  “And what did Detective Sanchez call regarding?” Bartok asked.

  “Well, he said —”

  “He?” Matthews interrupted.

  I nodded, still hiding the chicken leg.

  “We have only one Detective Sanchez on the force,” Detective Bartok explained. “And she’s the mother of three. What did this person say to you?”

  I summarized, realizing the caller had likely been following Bradley’s orders. Planting suspicion. God, I was an idiot.

  “You still have my card?” Detective Bartok asked. At my second nod, she went on. “Please give us a call if you hear from Mr. Morales, and if someone else claiming to be from the Austin Police Department contacts you, let us know immediately.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Does, uh, Kieren know you’re looking for him?” Was it only the vampires I needed to warn him about? I wondered. Or the police, too?

  “We’ve left a lot of messages since yesterday,” Detective Matthews said. “We just want to talk to him, that’s all.”

  I didn’t believe them. I thought they were ready to make an arrest. But they were nice people. They were trying to serve and protect, to do what they thought needed to be done. For a split second I considered telling them everything I knew. But what if they didn’t believe me? What if my talking somehow made things worse?

  “Nice vampire makeup, by the way,” Detective Bartok added. “Very professional. Like in the movies or something.”

  I’d almost forgotten how I looked.

  “The restaurant’s apparently a real success,” Detective Matthews pitched in. “I used to go there back when it was Fat Lorenzo’s. Best lasagna in the world.”

  My dead heart sank. I said good-bye, shut the front door, and tossed the rest of the meat into the trash.

  Uncle Davidson and Ruby walked in the back door, if you could call it walking in. They sort of stumbled, kissing, groping, across the kitchen. High on life, on blood, on love or whatever passed for it.

  Arm in arm, they swayed on the tile.

  “Shouldn’t you be out hunting, honey?” my uncle asked.

  Ruby trailed a finger down his throat, tracing the plump flowers on his Hawaiian shirt. “She’s just a little girl. You wait here, Quincie. We won’t take long —”

  “Now, now,” my uncle protested, laughing. “We’ll see about that.”

  Vibrant, fed. Both of them. On something heartier than chicken. I wondered if they’d shown up at all for the Sanguini’s dinner shift.

  Ruby was wearing one of her damsel-of-the-damned getups, though she’d covered up with a short leather jacket that bordered on tasteful. “You bad, bad man. We have a family obligation.” She chuckled. “We’ll go hunting with you later, love. We’re full now anyway.”

  I had to ask. “You killed somebody, didn’t you?”

  “Some bodies,” Uncle D replied, beaming at Ruby.

  “Your friends with the shiny badges,” she clarified. “We ran into them on their way back to their car.” Ruby glanced at my uncle, mock ashamed. “He’d wanted to bend their ears about your dog-face boy, but —”

  “You ate the police?!” I exclaimed.

  “Blood lust plus opportunity,” Uncle D said. “Her teeth came in so fast. In the dark, I hardly spotted a flash of fang.”

  Ruby had already adapted. Killed, drunk, and put her human face back on. Quite the overachiever, I thought. It was what she’d always wanted, though.

  “Relax,” she said. “We got rid of the bodies. No one’s going to find drained cops in the front yard.”

  My uncle shot her a reprimanding look. “But the boss won’t approve.”

  “It’s not like there aren’t more police where those came from.” Ruby licked her black lips. “APD is already looking for the Wolf. Now, they’ll just assume he’s a cop killer, too. I don’t see where Bradley has much room to whine.”

  With that, Ruby pulled Uncle D out of the room, down the hall, and up the stairs. They were moaning before they reached the top, shuffling into his bedroom.

  I hoped when he dug into the nightstand drawer for the strawberry-flavored condoms . . . if he’d . . . Did vampires need to worry about disease or birth control? Anyway, if Uncle D opened the drawer, I hoped that he’d be too preoccupied to miss the silver bullets I’d swiped earlier.

  Given that I still hadn’t heard from Kieren, I had to go it alone. Destroy the monsters that were a threat to him, hope he made it to the Wolf pack before the police found his trail. It was awful, but in a way, Ruby had done Kieren a favor. It would take awhile for APD to realize their detectives were missing, to send another team out after Kieren. If nothing else, she’d bought him some time.

  I slunk into the family room, touched the jar of seashells Daddy had collected a lifetime earlier, whispered an apology. Then I reached behind the nearest throw pillow on the sofa and curled my palm around the butt of Grampa Crimi’s gun.

  At the kitchen table, I logged on to the Web. Turned out there was one correct way to load a Colt Peacemaker. You were supposed to slide in five bullets and then put the hammer down on the empty chamber. It was sort of an old-fashioned safety, so the gun wouldn’t go off accidentally. If you wanted to shoot it, though, you had to cock the hammer each time. That’s what it meant to call a gun “single action.”

  Being that they were vampires, the gun wouldn’t destroy Ruby and Uncle Davidson. I got that. But if I were lucky, a silver bullet would put them out of commission until I had a chance to confront Bradley, who’d be left with only Ian and Jerome. And since they’d sacrificed me, I thought I could pull the trigger. I was ready to call on my inner vampire if that’s what it took to get the job done.

  I waited through the gasps, mews, and an unexpected cracking noise until the grandfather clock in the hall chimed a quarter till two. Then I hurried up the stairs and found Uncle D’s door slightly open. I slipped into the room, shameless, the gun drawn in front of me, expecting to see the lovers naked and undulating.

  Instead, Uncle Davidson was lying on his stomach, facedown on the bed, a wooden stake protruding from his bleeding back. His neck was raw, too, turned as if the spinal cord had been severed. But that wasn’t the most remarkable thing.

  It was Ruby’s body, her face, covered in shiny black fur, long whiskers sprouting from her cheeks. I’d, I’d known there was something weird about her!

  Mesmerized, I tightened my grip and watched her finish — changing? shifting? — shifting in
to a werecat. The bones broke, rearranging and reknitting. The fur, the transformation, it was like watching slow-motion photography.

  She was dazzling, with long, slinky muscles beneath the bristling fur. Soaking wet. All black except the Morticia streak, which had receded to an unnatural white splotch above her right ear. About five feet long from nose to haunches. Sniffing my uncle, lowering her muzzle to lick the blood streaming down his spine, running down either side of his back and into his armpits.

  “What the —?” I whispered.

  Ruby glared at me, and she tensed as if to spring.

  “Nice kitty,” I breathed. “Pretty kitty.”

  Double-O kitty, I realized. A spy.

  Kieren hadn’t told me much about the various species of werepeople — Cats included — except that they couldn’t be trusted and liked to play with their food. That they were to be avoided in French kissing, as those with the best control could trigger the kind of wet tongue combs that in domestic kitties created a sandpaper effect and in wild cats could rip raw flesh from bone. That like the Wolves, they were distantly related to a long-forgotten Ice Age cousin. And like the Wolves, they were sworn enemies of vampires.

  “Silver bullets,” I said, hoping the specificity of the threat would make her take me more seriously. “I don’t want to shoot you. But I will to defend myself. There’s someplace I’ve got to be soon, really soon. Kieren’s life is on the line.”

  Ruby yawned in reply. Huge, dramatic, as only a Cat could yawn.

  If she had known about the baby squirrels for only a day or two, I wondered, had she told the Cats about Bradley? Probably not. She and Uncle D had been inseparable, and she’d just ditched him. I wouldn’t stare at the body, the blood. I. Would. Stop. Staring.

  Knowing what Uncle Davidson had become, his betrayal . . . It all went a long way toward squelching a lifetime of loving him. But I had still loved him for a lifetime.

  No matter. If I failed tonight, maybe Ruby and the Cats could still stop Bradley. Not that she’d ever believe we were on the same side. “Go,” I told her, stepping aside. “Leave now, and I’ll let you pass unharmed.”

  Ruby’s back arched, her tail thrashing.

  “Go!” I shouted, cocking the hammer.

  Her ears rotated.

  I hoped that was a good sign.

  It wasn’t.

  Ruby sprang at me, claws eager, her teeth gleaming like bloody knives. Furious. Fearless. Like she knew I’d never pull the trigger.

  She was wrong. The shot was loud. Ruby dropped to the floor. The impact — heart, shoulder? — I couldn’t tell, too much blood. For a moment, I was at a loss.

  Then Ruby rose, bleeding. Far more pissed off than before I’d shot her. I aimed the gun once more.

  “You know where Kieren lives,” I said, trying reason. “You know his mama is a Wolf. She’s also a healer. If you go to her, tonight, now, she’ll help you.” At least I thought she would. “The Cats are counting on you, aren’t they? What good will it do if you get yourself killed?”

  Ruby hesitated. Then she sprang again, only this time across the room and into the hallway. I heard her escape down the stairs and then a crash as though she’d broken through the back door.

  “Good luck,” I whispered, lowering the gun.

  I had to move fast. Bradley was waiting.

  It was messy, intoxicating, as I yanked the stained stake out of my uncle’s back. I closed my hand on the wood, recognizing it as the thin handle of one of Bradley’s black cherry cooking utensils. A ladle maybe, with the end broken off. I swept Ruby’s discarded leather jacket up from the pile of her clothes on the floor, and my heightened hearing picked up sirens in the distance, closing in.

  When I opened the sliding glass door to the balcony, the gun slipped through my fingers, fell, thunked. I left it behind, still gripping the stake in my other hand, tucking the jacket over my arm, and leaped from the second floor.

  Would I break a leg, my neck? I wondered in midair, wishing I were an old enough vampire to turn into a bat.

  I landed, rolling, absorbing the impact.

  Go, I thought. Go, go, go.

  Miz Morales’s white minivan was parked on the street outside my house. Clyde was staring into the darkness from the passenger side. I crept up from behind, staying low against the logo that read Endless Love Bridal Planning, and opened the driver’s door. Slid in fast, grabbed him. Thrilled that the key was in the ignition. It was 2:04 A.M., according to the dashboard clock, and Bradley wasn’t known for his patience.

  “Where’s Kieren?” I demanded.

  “You’re a vampire!” Clyde exclaimed, hissing.

  As if a vampire who’d already faced down a werecat would be intimidated by a ’possum. “Where’s Kieren?” I repeated.

  “He, he took off after Ruby.”

  I turned on the ignition, released the emergency brake, and pulled from the curb.

  Clyde was quiet until we passed the Capitol Motel. Then he asked, “What’re you going to do with me?”

  My on-the-fly plan was simple. Bradley expected me with “beverage” in tow. I’d bring Clyde. I’d play along, hand Clyde over to Bradley, and when Bradley lost himself in the blood lust, I’d stake him through the back like Ruby had staked Uncle D.

  All this would happen before Clyde was sucked dry. Before Ian and Jerome, who hung out in the back lot until two thirty, came to Bradley’s rescue. Hopefully.

  Then all Kieren would have to worry about was the cops.

  First, though, I needed to get Clyde’s cooperation. I pulled the van into a spot on South Congress and parked. “I’m going to destroy Bradley. I am. But he’s older than me and much more powerful. We need to catch him off-guard.”

  “We?!” Clyde’s right hand fell to the door handle, and I gripped his left arm to hold him in place. White fur rolled across his face, his neck. The air in the van soured like rotten eggs. “Wait, I get it! You’re going to sacrifice me to the master vampire!”

  “I am not.”

  “You are so!” Chin folding into nose, nostrils in spasm. “You’re going to —”

  “No! My God, stop that.”

  “Stop what?” His voice was garbled, snout protruding.

  Pressing a button to lower the driver’s side window, I answered, “That that. With the sniffing and the . . . Yuck, what used to be your hands. Stop. I’ve got a plan.” Sort of. “And this . . .” I gestured. “Is not part of it. So, shift back all the way. Now!”

  The long whiskers shook. “I’m trying, okay?”

  It was 2:09 A.M. now.

  “Try harder.”

  “Calm down. It’s not like you’re helping. I’m a guy, you know, hormones. And you’re scary and sexy. In a gonna-kill-somebody kind of way.”

  “Sexy?” Somehow I doubted that.

  Clyde’s nose widened. Hair receded. Stench thinned. “You weren’t nearly this hot as a human.”

  Despite everything, I still had an ego. “Rodent.”

  “Marsupial.” He reached into the glove compartment to retrieve some moist towelettes. Biting the corner of a package, he fished one out and wiped his face.

  “Hear me out,” I said to Clyde, glancing out the open window. The street crowd was thinning from the entertainment district, the noise dying down. “We —”

  “We should wait for Kieren.”

  It dawned on me then that Clyde didn’t know Kieren was a hybrid, didn’t know he couldn’t shift all the way or on cue. “It’s midmonth. Low power.”

  Clyde looked like he’d give anything to crawl back into his mama’s pouch. “Yeah, between midmonth, Kieren’s allergies, and Ruby’s cinnamon stink water, he didn’t know she was a Cat until I told him.”

  If that’s what he wanted to think, fine by me. But we couldn’t sit here all night. I quickly summed up what I had in mind and added, “I won’t let you die like Travis.”

  Clyde wrung pink hands. “Vampires didn’t kill Travis. Ruby did.”

  “But, but Ruby�
��s a wereperson,” I whispered. Sure, she’d killed humans, but I’d think even she would draw the line somewhere.

  “Uh-huh. Hungry kitty. Not all of us wag our tails for werepeople power.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “The Cats don’t get along with the Wolves, for example, and they eat whom they please.”

  That sounded like Ruby. She’d killed Matthews and Bartok in case it was her they were after, I realized, for having eaten Travis.

  “Thing is,” Clyde said, “we all hate vampires — no offense.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “But if you want to take out the dolce demon,” he added, “count me in.”

  My accomplice was out of his furry gourd. Or, especially for a wereopossum, really brave. I admired him.

  All good except just as I was about to reach for the driver’s side handle, Kieren ripped the door off its hinges.

  Backlit by the streetlight, I couldn’t make out the expression on his face. I turned my head away, not wanting him to see me like this — eyes red, fangs extended, dead.

  I tried to tell him to leave, but before the words could come, he reached into the vehicle and yanked me out, shoving my back against the side of the van.

  My gaze fell to the turquoise-and-silver crucifix hanging from his neck, and I flinched. Maybe I was unholy now, but I hadn’t chosen this. It wasn’t my fault.

  I didn’t have to go on this way.

  “Kieren . . .” Reaching into the jacket pocket, I withdrew the wooden handle. Forget risking Clyde, I thought. If I were history, wouldn’t Bradley leave Kieren alone? That was all that was left, wasn’t it? For Kieren to plunge this stake into my heart.

  “Quince.” Kieren pulled me against him, away from the van, and growling low, tore the weapon from my scarred hand.

  I braced, but the pain never came. Instead, Kieren crushed the stake into splinters and kissed me, his lengthening canines knocking against my extended fangs. I gave in, selfish, sweeping my tongue inside his jaws, forcing my hipbones to rattle against his, giving in to the urge to grind. Curling my fingers into his lush hair, I flattened against him, inhaling sweat and denim and danger and home. Finally mine.