Even Della answered with the crowd this time.
Ready.
She couldn’t take her eyes off Melinda in her flannels, her moonbeam hair covering Annie as she hugged her sister. . . .
The most dominant vampires sprang out of their hiding place while Noreen and Della hung back.
Blanche swiped Kristine to the floor.
Polly bowled Annie over and down to the mattress.
Violet—
Violet had chosen Melinda.
Later, Della would recall a blast of possessive anger and that was all, but she found herself flying toward Violet and intercepting her in midair, then pounding her to the ground.
Not this time, Della thought while staring down at Violet. The other vampires froze, most of them poised over their numb prey.
Violet stared at Della for a moment with her blazing eyes, then . . .
Then she began to laugh-hiss.
Anger, shame, fright—all of it rushed Della.
She planted her clawed hand over Violet’s face, caging the other girl’s laugh to silence.
She could feel Violet’s mouth open in shock as Blanche’s mind-laugh ripped through their consciousness and mixed with the screams of the ravens.
Haaaaaaaaahhhhhhhssss!
Caaaaawwwww!
But before Della’s mind caught up with reality, Noreen yanked her off Violet and bound her in an armlock.
“Don’t cause trouble,” she frantically whispered into Della’s ear while pulling her back to the corner. “Not unless you want to challenge her.”
Della’s pulse was smacking against her skin, and she panted heavily, her mind a whir.
Confident that Della would offer no more resistance, Violet didn’t retaliate. Instead, she went about her business, fixing her gaze on the all-too-human Melinda, who was by now on her own hands and knees, ready to fight.
Yet she was no match for Violet, who easily grasped Melinda’s neck and yanked her off of the bed.
The human smacked to the carpet, her body jerking into a grunt that she couldn’t voice. Immediately, Violet clamped her claws into Melinda’s long hair, pulling her head to the side for a clear shot at her neck.
When she reared back her head, then sank her teeth into Melinda, Della groaned . . .
. . . and then Violet—cruel, taunting Violet—linked her sensations directly to Della, and Della could all but taste the blood, could feel the intoxication of having it flow into her own mouth, even though Violet was the one imbibing.
Enjoy, Violet mind-said.
Blood, thick, hot. The mere link was almost as rich as the liquid itself. From a young, pure girl, it tasted like honey, making the body flush, making the belly warm with a sharp ache.
It made a creature want to gnaw, to have more, to take bites instead of merely drinks—
Overtaken, Della slumped to the floor, listening to the suckling sounds. She hugged her knees to her chest, cradling herself, in a warm place that she never wanted to leave.
One by one, the ravens’ banging ceased as they fell away from the window. Outside, their bodies would litter the ground, providing the distraction Violet had promised when the sun rose.
The dominant vampire unlinked from Della, and the room quieted as Violet then detached from her prey’s neck. There would still be enough blood left for Della, plus enough for Melinda to recover without an undue amount of concern. She would be sick tomorrow, but Della realized illness wouldn’t cause the human to forgo her basketball match since it had already been played today.
Della had missed it. . . .
Violet reached over and grabbed Della to drag her near.
“You wanted her?” Violet whispered roughly. “Then have her.”
She shoved Della’s face into Melinda’s neck, strands of the other girl’s long silver hair soaked with blood from her wound.
Della’s mind screamed no, but her appetite was much stronger. She sniffed the blood, so fragrant that it made her mind explode with a shower of flower-petal colors.
Unable to fight herself, she molded her mouth to Melinda’s wound and sucked, cuddling up to the girl she’d always worshipped from across a classroom. Melinda, perfect, beautiful, everything Della wished she could be—
She devoured her blood, unable to rise above her gluttony.
After what seemed like only a moment, Violet jarred Della away from her meal, fisting Della’s shirt while her last gulp trickled down her throat.
“It’s as if you’ve never restricted yourself to a mere drink,” Violet said, shoving Della away. “You take too much and there’ll be trouble to pay. Haven’t you learned a thing from our lessons?”
Head down—Della didn’t want to see how off-color Melinda would be, didn’t want to see her shivering and stultified—she backed away, low on all fours, into her corner. Like the other girls, she licked the remnants of the blood from her lips, then extended her tongue to lap up every bit from round her mouth before allowing her skin to absorb any lingering drops.
Drinking blood through flesh—it was a gift of their line. A talent to be utilized if they willed it, although Wolfie had taught them to appreciate the primal, oral delight of using their mouths and teeth instead.
By now, Noreen had fed, as well, having divided her time between the two smaller girls so as not to take an excess of blood from either of them. As she finished, Violet went back to Melinda, where the lead vampire touched her prey’s neck, then cocked her head in ecstasy while healing her victim. Her energy fused with the human’s skin to mend it, creating a red glow where they connected.
Afterward, she touched Melinda’s temple, clearing the memory from her mind.
Blanche and Polly did the same to the younger girls, enjoying it just as thoroughly, and Noreen and Della cleaned up the remaining mess, absorbing every spot of blood with a touch.
They returned to humanlike form, then tucked the humans under their duvets, knowing that they would slumber heavily, waking in the morning drained of energy yet never recalling what had transpired.
As Della wobbled on her feet and backed away from Melinda’s bed, her stomach turned.
She’d been famished, but the blood wasn’t sitting well.
Melinda . . . How could she have?
Della stumbled to the door, opened it. In back of her, the other girls mind-chatted away, chuffed by their meal.
That window suffered quite some damage from the ravens, Noreen thought. And all those bodies outside? Oooo.
Violet laughed. A freak event of nature. The house will be aflutter with the news come morning.
The fear made those girls even more delicious, Polly added. Let’s go to another room.
Not for a while, Violet said. Not for a long while.
Della clutched her stomach while they padded through the hallways and into their own wing.
But even from twenty meters away, they could hear conversation.
Mrs. Jones and Mademoiselle in the housematron’s room.
Calm, Violet thought. Stay calm and we shan’t get caught.
After checking each other for evidence of their play, the girls rounded the corner to find Mrs. Jones’s door open. Their housematron was at the computer, and Mademoiselle was leaning over her shoulder and peering at the screen, which showcased images from a movie—probably the one they had just seen in town.
Mademoiselle glanced up at the girls as they crowded the door. She frowned.
Even the whey-faced housematron knit her brow.
“Looking healthier, Mrs. Jones,” Violet said politely. “Hello, Mademoiselle.”
“Up late, are we?” Mrs. Jones said in her cold-husky voice.
Violet pushed Della to the front. “This one is feeling under the weather, and we’ve all been tending to her. We just came from the loo, in fact.”
“Rather well-dressed for that sort of activity,” the housematron said.
Frowning, Mademoiselle came toward Della, who backed away.
Stomach . . . churning . . .
/>
Or perhaps the memory of what she’d done with Melinda was roiling in her belly.
“How are you feeling, dear?” their teacher asked.
Della broke away from the crowd, running for the nearest loo, barging through the main door and then a stall.
There, the blood came up. Bad, bad . . .
When she was finished, she remained on her knees, grasping for lav paper and wiping blood from her skin, refusing to reabsorb it.
After flushing it all away—at least physically—she stayed slumped over the toilet, wishing she wouldn’t have to emerge. Yet when she finally did, it was to discover the girls leaning against the tiled wall.
Waste of good blood, Polly mind-said while inspecting her nails.
Violet looked ready to spit. Della, I know this human habit has carried over, but from now on, tell us if you intend to make pavement pizza and we’ll consume more of the meal ourselves.
Leaning over the hand basin and turning on the tap, Della stared at the porcelain, the white, sterile purity. I’m sorry. I can’t seem to hold it down tonight. . . .
Binge and purge, binge and purge, Violet singsonged. We’ve heard it all before.
Yes, said everyone except for Blanche, who was gauging Della with something close to concern. We’ve heard it alllll before.
As their words ricocheted inside her head, Della turned off the water, then peered in the looking glass, seeing a pale, bloated face. Her lip curled, and she pushed away from the image, distancing herself from the thing that was wearing such human clothing.
“There we are,” Violet said, opening her arms to her. “There’s our Della.”
Our Della.
She rested herself in Violet’s embrace, and another pair of arms came round her, then two more, causing Della to disappear into the huddle of the only family she knew.
ELEVEN
THE TALL, THiN ONE
Two Days Later
DAWN dropped a fresh newspaper onto the kitchen counter next to her oatmeal, apple, and milk. The Monday headline taunted her.
“BONEYARD ON BILLITER BARES A CLUE! Local Girl Identified.”
Across from her, Kiko sat on a stool eating his breakfast. “Why’re you cranky? The Friend assigned to the detective inspector was lurking around him when he got this news last night, so it’s not like we were left in the dust.”
“I just wish we hadn’t wasted all that time this weekend interviewing contacts for the other girls who might’ve been our Kate.”
“Take it down a notch, Sparky.” Kiko sipped from his mug of tea. He’d tried some chamomile instead of coffee today. “I’m ticked, too, but you don’t see me getting all worked up.”
“It’s not so much the wasted time as . . . Well, okay, yeah, it is the wasted time. But it’s also that the paper said Kate Lansing wasn’t even reported missing because her stepmom evidently kicked her out of the house and didn’t keep in contact with her.” Dawn sat down, feeling spent already. “You’d think she also might have friends who noticed she was gone, but no.”
“Believe me, I know what you mean, but you can’t take it to heart.”
She was about to say that she didn’t, but it’d be a lie. For a long time, Dawn hadn’t had many friends or family, either, and every time she looked at that barely smiling girl named Kate Lansing in the newspaper photo, she saw herself.
Kiko folded the paper in two, covering the picture and headline. “I’ll call Kate Lansing’s stepmom when the clock hits seven. That’s still early, but I’ll take my chances.”
“There’s probably been hordes of other journalists trying to get through to her since the details went public.”
“Sure, but who calls people before a decent hour? I’m not rude like that.”
Before Dawn could laugh, Kiko jumped off the stool and moseyed toward the exit. But then he glanced back at her.
“I sure do wish I could’ve envisioned Kate Lansing’s name before the cops or the media got a clue,” he said. “You’re right—we need to speed up this hunt.”
He left, and Dawn marveled at how well-adjusted he seemed. After they’d gone to Highgate Cemetery on Saturday, he’d been sky high, but the excitement had thrown him off his game and he’d spent the rest of the weekend shaking and sweating, craving his pills. Dawn had dogged him the entire time because this sort of behavior usually led to him going back on the meds.
But a Friend or two had lulled him with their voices, and this time he hadn’t fought it. He wanted to stay clear in the head, he’d said. He needed to so he could keep the one thing he loved most in life—his job.
Dawn couldn’t even guess at how long this new hunt addiction would substitute for the pills, but maybe, just maybe, his sobriety would stick this time.
Holding to that hope, she ate the rest of her breakfast, trying not to think about all the hours they’d puttered away these past couple of days. It hadn’t been easy securing those Kate interviews, either, what with Remembrance Day on Sunday.
God, if they’d just known Kate Lansing was their girl they might be halfway to the Underground by now. . . .
But at least they’d tracked down Colleen Abberline’s son, Justin, discovering that he worked in a borough called Croydon, just south of central London. They were going to surprise the twenty-three-year-old today at his job and try to find out exactly why Kiko had been drawn to him via the Highgate vision.
She abruptly stood to clean the dishes because every time she thought about Highgate she got antsy, mostly because she’d been so paranoid after leaving Kiko’s envisioned grave.
While trekking through the empty cemetery lanes in search of Natalia, Dawn had kept a throwing blade primed, imagining red eyes trained on her back. And the gloomy feeling had only continued when she and Kiko had found Natalia sketching her own site in a palm-sized notebook.
The new girl had rendered a decent image of a sign with a circled number five on the grave’s right side, plus a brand-new headstone bearing a Celtic cross and the faded name of thirty-two-year-old “Eleanor” scratched into the stone.
Like Kiko, Natalia hadn’t seen the detail in her fleeting vision.
After she’d finished and Kiko had gotten his fill of touching objects around the gravestone for a reading that never materialized, Natalia confessed that she was too distracted by the continued “weird hollowness” to hear any clear voices.
That’s when they’d headed for the pinkish gatehouse in an attempt to see if they could access information about Colleen’s or Eleanor’s graves: who kept them, who’d purchased them, etc.
Kiko had taken the reins, pretending he wanted more information about his distant relative Colleen. Natalia had caught on quickly, doing the same with Eleanor.
Unfortunately, the elderly man who’d let them in was a tough nut to crack, and he’d given them only an official address where they could make enquiries. But still spazzed on his success, Kiko had gotten cocky and tried to use some of that hypnosis Costin had been teaching him. It failed, and the man had dismissed him with a buh-bye glance.
Afterward, the team had seen to a few of those useless Kate interviews then returned to headquarters and, when Costin had awakened and fed, he’d managed to use his enigmatic wiles where Kiko hadn’t been able to.
Although Costin had weighed using his hypnosis over the phone again, in the end he’d decided that there wouldn’t be any major repercussions involving the people who could give him information. Actually, the main thing he had to worry about was any vampires who might be tuned in to his revealed presence aboveground, so he’d shielded himself during the brief calls he made, since shielding was supposed to be tough for any decent vampire to detect.
He’d had to call from an open window, of course, but Dawn had taken up his back because it was just too risky to have their ultimate weapon in the open.
But the contacts had yielded the answers they’d been hoping for, starting with Justin Abberline’s name and a few personal details via a calling number that the Highgat
e enquiry address had led them to. Then, Costin had personally phoned their new lead at the Croydon business hotel where he worked, easing into the hypnosis, hoping to catch Justin before he shielded, if he were a true vampire.
By the end of the brief call, which would leave Justin with the impression that he’d been talking to a run-of-the-mill customer and that was it, Costin hadn’t gotten any vamp validation. Yet Kiko had insisted that he’d seen the guy in a vision for a reason, so the next day, Kiko had called the hotel, himself, hoping Justin was working.
He was, and Kiko had finagled an appointment by saying he was an old acquaintance from America who had known Colleen when she was younger. So he and Justin had arranged to have coffee during a break at work today, when Kiko could maybe get a touch reading from him.
As for the team’s other Highgate grave subject, Eleanor, Costin had only found that she’d recently been buried by an elderly cousin, the only surviving relative of the family. After Costin had tested the older woman and decided that she, too, was either shielding or not a vamp at all, the team had scheduled an interview with her for tomorrow.
After all that trouble, Dawn decided, one of these leads would have to pay off. If not, she was going to punch a hole in a wall.
She went upstairs to her quarters and tiptoed past Costin’s sleeping form to the bathroom for a good toothbrushing. Then she went back down to the computer room, where she saw that Natalia had joined Kiko at a terminal.
“Good morning,” the new girl said.
“Top of the day to you, too.”
Dawn noticed that Natalia had taken the Remembrance Day poppy out of her black hair and clipped her curls back with a big brown barrette that matched her wool pantsuit.
Dolly Do-Right, Dawn thought. Costin’s background search on her had produced no red flags, and he’d taken some pleasure in announcing that to Dawn yesterday.
But . . . big whoop. She still wouldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to be on guard.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked Natalia. “It might be a good idea to eat something before we go to Croydon.”
“Oh.” Natalia seemed surprised. “I’ve been doing Eleanor searches, so I forgot.”
A Drop of Red Page 13