Eternal

by Cynthia Leitich Smith

  what happened last week between me and Miranda, I feel like I'm the one buried in Hell Creek.

  I've spent nights at a South Side homeless shelter (and picked up a shirt and jacket there). I've spent days haunting the city streets.

  Someone walks up from behind, whistling. Joshua.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  "I'm bored. What is this, intermission? Are you just gonna give up?"

  He's wearing a White Sox baseball cap, a Shedd Aquarium T-shirt, and blue jeans. He's cuddling a stuffed woolly mammoth toy.

  "She fired me," I say "It's over."

  "She fired you?" he exclaims. "Did you forget who you're working for? Or have you changed sides?"

  "You know what happened. You know what I mean."

  I'm not fooling myself. There were a million things I could've done when Miranda tossed me out. But I'm the one who initiated that first kiss. I don't think I could ever touch her again without risking who I am or at least who I need to be.

  Josh motions toward the less-crowded Mammals of Asia exhibit and leads me that way. "Okay, but why are you here at the museum? Most self-respecting angels would've chosen a religious refuge. Like a church, a synagogue, a temple, Wrigley Field."

  I'm surprised it took him this long to start nagging. "

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  "What about your mission?" Josh wants to know.

  I shush him as we enter the exhibit and pass two young women. One looks too much like Miranda for it to be a coincidence. "You suck at subtlety."

  He grins. "Part of my charm."

  It's a little darker in here. Spookier. Dead animals are mounted behind glass. They've been posed in pairs, families, small herds. The crouching leopard is alone.

  I keep walking when Joshua slides onto a long wooden bench. I keep walking when he plops down on fake suede in the octagonal seating area.

  Sounds of wind, crunching ice, and animal calls bleed in from Messages from the Wilderness next door. It might as well be called Messages from the Big Boss.

  "Well, let's see," I say as Josh jogs to catch up. "I'm powerless. No wings, no radiance. But big deal! So what if I'm persona non grata at the castle. All I have to do is smite Drac and save Miranda's soul, even though she literally threw me out of her afterlife."

  "Is that all?" Josh prompts, smug.

  "I know, I know. I've also got to free the prisoners despite the locked cells, the wolfed-out vamp sentries, the twelve-foot wrought-iron fence, and a neighborhood chock-full of bloodsuckers."

  "Excellent!" Josh hugs me. "Dude, that's so ambitious!"

  "But is it possible?" At his double take, I clarify.

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  "About Miranda. Her soul. With faith, repentance, and sacrifice, anybody can be redeemed, right? Anybody. She's still somebody. Maybe it's harder for a vamp to be good. But you could say the same of the poor or the oppressed or politicians. She didn't fall, Josh. What she is had nothing to do with her free will. She was taken."

  He trails me into a larger, more open room. Past the mounted cheetah family and the small kudu herd. We stop in front of the Lions of Tsavo. Two male lions. Maneless. One stands, paw poised to take another step. The other is positioned low, like he's slinking forward. They don't look like man-eaters. Just curious. Ready to play. The way Miranda looks sometimes. But they mauled and ate almost 140 railway workers along East Africa's Tsavo River in 1898 (I read the sign). That's not typical lion behavior. But disease killed off the zebras, gazelles, most of their prey. And the local humans used poor burial practices. It's a good reminder. You have to be careful with the dead.

  "Uh," Josh begins, "there's something you should know." He tucks the toy mammoth under his arm like he's trying to protect it.

  "Just tell me."

  "You're not totally without hope," he says. "You've still got your looks, your sex appeal (or what passes for it), your immortality, and--this is key--your influence."

  That makes sense. Like immortality, it's less a power

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  per se, more inherent. Plus I've had practice. "Angel on my shoulder" and all that crap. "Your point?"

  "For the last week, Miranda's been handling the vampire thing on her own."

  I glance at the lions, afraid to ask what she's done. "So, you're saying her soul..."

  "Sorry, man. You know as well as I do that the Big Boss is a romantic. Heaven itself is rooting for you. But it's not like she vamped out yesterday. She's done some serious wrongs. And you can't save someone else. It has to be her decision. She has to face her own inner monster and do what's right."

  Sure, I know that. But Miranda's always been bigger on hiding from her problems than tackling them head-on. Not that this week I've been doing much better.

  "From where I stand," Josh adds, "it looks too close to call. Tonight's party--"

  I grab his arm. "Tonight's? What do you mean 'tonight's'? Drac's supposed to be on a jet to...I don't know...Sydney right now!"

  Josh's voice lowers. "We rely on travel itineraries provided by the dark master since when?"

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  Zachary

  I STROLL BY WEARING a new backpack. Laurie looks at me from her small windowed office in the castle's detached garage. She's drinking coffee and reading a paperback mystery. "You're back?" she asks over the microphone from behind bulletproof glass.

  I hold up the flamethrowers like they're tribute. "Romantic, huh? Most guys go for girls who like flowers."

  She sets the book beside a brochure from the Mayo Clinic. "Yes, most do."

  At the museum, I borrowed Josh's cell to call Father Ramos at Holy Cross in Winnetka. The priest picked me up outside and drove me to his church. Then he gave

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  me the weapons, the backpack, and the station wagon. No questions asked.

  Father Ramos offered to come along, too. But my mission is on the stealth side. He's not the type that could pass for a bloodsucker or even a wannabe. And I wouldn't want to risk losing him.

  I exit the garage and head to the castle wall. The tunnel entrance looks like a cross between a storm cellar and Fort Knox. I use the master key, open the door, and walk down the stairs and through the tunnel. It's a narrow, water-stained concrete hallway lit with motion-sensor lights.

  Once inside the dungeon, I set the flamethrowers and backpack on what used to be Gus's desk. It's not a sophisticated system. I throw the master switch. The cells unlock.

  Some of the prisoners exchange glances, but no one moves.

  "Hey! I'm trying to help you escape!" I run to Brenek's cell. "Come on."

  "We're not stupid." He shoves aside the door with the broken lock to face me in the center aisle. "Why do you think we didn't make a break for it after Gus croaked? I saved you from Harrison because you don't smell like one of them. But there are bloodsuckers patrolling the grounds. I can't protect everyone by myself."

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  Brenek is fast. I'm sure he's some kind of shifter. But a toe-to-toe battle between only one vamp and (assuming we're talking predators), oh, a Wolf is even money. Here, we're looking at multiple fiends. What makes him think he can protect anybody?

  Brenek is clearly the alpha of the group, though--the guy I have to win over. "Drac's back in town." I check my watch. "Or at least he should be any minute. You've got two choices. You run and take your chances against the sentries, or you're hauled to the central courtyard to die for sure."

  "Party?" Brenek asks.

  "Blowout," I reply.

  "We will never make it over the fence," says the girl with the Jamaican accent.

  "The front gate is open," I reply. "I just drove through it. It'll be open all night for the guests to come and go." I'm hoping the neighborhood undead will be too preoccupied with party prep to give chase. But..."There's something else: this whole town is vamp-controlled." Harrison mentioned once in passing that the no-local-hunting rule doesn't apply to escapees. It's bad news. Enough to quiet everyone for a moment.

  "I'd rather die fighting than r
un," puts in a preppy kid--maybe eighteen. His nose has been shattered. His whole face is a green-and-yellow bruise.

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  "I'll show you how to use a flamethrower," I reply.

  "Easy, Kyle," interrupts a girl to my right, and I notice she looks kind of like Lucy. Only thinner, more hollowed, and sad.

  "You've got weapons?" Brenek asks.

  I should've mentioned that first. "Two flamethrowers, stakes for everybody." It doesn't sound like much. But guns wouldn't slow down the sentries for long. Bombs would make too much noise. "I brought what I could carry."

  A small crowd gathers, debating. The more athletic-looking and more pissed off want to know how many vamps are in the castle. Where they sleep. They want payback.

  A girl speaking a language I don't recognize is becoming hysterical.

  "She won't leave her brother," Brenek says. "The traders that brought him here broke his leg when he tried to run off. He can't walk."

  "So they die," declares another prisoner, following her preppy wingman to check out the weapons. "Some of us will, no matter what."

  Brenek moans, and the mixed smell of wet fur and pine and mud fills the air. He falls with a resounding thud, catching his weight on his hands. A rapidly forming beard expands. So does the unibrow. They cover his face. Thick brown hair shoots across his body. He moans again

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  and shakes his head. The muscles bulk out, splitting the long underwear into scraps. His face unfolds forward. His hands burst into clawed paws.

  With a silent roar, the werebear opens his jaws.

  "Ladies and gentleman," I breathe, "your odds just got a lot better."

  The girl who was in the cell next to Brenek reaches to stroke the damp fur. He nuzzles her hand. It's clear why he didn't try to escape. A Bear might have a fighting chance against the sentries, but not with someone to protect. Or, I realize as the rest crowd in--hugging one another--a lot of someones.

  Humans and shifters don't always, make that usually, get along. This group is beyond that. They've bonded. Brenek chose not to leave anyone behind.

  Badass fur ball with a conscience. I like it.

  We make an adjustment in the flamethrower team-- Kyle volunteered, but he has a messed-up shoulder. And I relay what Father Ramos told me about working the things.

  I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the boy who can't run. If I could somehow sneak him and his sister to the cottage, maybe I could hide them there until Drac's out of the way. Maybe.

  I walk with Brenek toward the entrance of the tunnel. He'll be leading the charge.

  As I turn to wish him luck, I hear Nora's voice.

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  "Welcome home, Zachary. Her Highness hasn't been the same without you."

  Busted. Laurie is standing with her. I don't blame the chauffeur for turning me in. Her life's on the line after all. Both of their lives are.

  They're not vampires. Brenek and I could take them, not that I can imagine it going that way. But the problem is bigger than them. They've no doubt alerted the sentries of the escapees. We're screwed.

  "You'll never make it to the front gate on foot," Nora says. "Not all of you."

  Laurie raises her chin. It's the most empowered I've seen her, and it sucks that the sudden burst of self-esteem has to come from this.

  Then she and Nora open fists overflowing with keys, each marked with the number of a corresponding parking spot.

  Laurie adds, "But it's only three minutes to the garage."

  The keys go fast. The prisoners with flamethrowers look eager to do damage. The boy who can't walk climbs to ride piggy-back on one of the sturdier guys.

  Brenek retracts his shift enough to speak. "Some of us want to stay and fight."

  "Get the weaker ones to safety," I say. "They're more important."

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  It's clear that Brenek doesn't like having to choose. But he knows I'm right.

  "About that whole 'God-damn-you' thing," he says, taking point.

  "Don't sweat it," I reply with a grin.

  "We best get a move on, too," Nora says. "Let's go, boy!"

  "What?" I ask as the group files out.

  "The master will know we had a hand in this," she explains. "Freddy just called to tell me he's back in town. We've done all we can here, and we don't have much time."

  "We'll take my Bug," Laurie adds.

  I hear a sentry howl, alerting the others of the breakout. Snarls and barking follow. I glance over my shoulder. "You two go! There's something else I have to do."

  In the distance, Brenek roars. A yelp tells us he's landed a blow.

  "If you're staying, I'm staying," Nora declares. "You may need my help. Laurie, go ahead and take off without us."

  "But--"

  "But nothing," Nora says. "I'm not sure that enough of those kids know how to drive."

  I didn't think of that, and apparently, neither did Laurie. She scoots out at the end of the line.

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  It's going to be a long night. But at least this part of the mission looks like a success. All the prisoners are on their way. And now I have an ally in Nora.

  I don't get a chance to savor the moment.

  "Feeling good about yourself, aren't you?" Harrison asks. His hand rests on Nora's shoulder, friendly-like.

  With his new speed, I never even saw him corning. The human Harrison would never hurt Nora. With this Harrison, I can't be sure. My gut says he's bluffing. But vamps are unpredictable. Miranda is proof of that. So's Drac.

  I eye the extra stake on the desk. It's no use. I'd never strike in time.

  "Let's skip the tedious threats," Harrison says, "and get right to the master's forgiving my little--cough-- indiscretion because I've brought to light this --"

  Nora slams her foot into his instep and elbows him in the gut.

  Harrison grunts. He's more startled than hurt. He hops a couple of times. "These loafers are hand-tooled Italian leather!"

  Meanwhile, Nora runs to my side. The tunnel is our only chance, and I'm reaching for Nora's hand to pull her along when a swirl of dark smoke rises from the floor. It takes the form of a man and shoves us midway between itself and Harrison.

  "You!" It's him. Drac. He looks like his portrait over

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  the fireplace. "You stole my cars!" His gaze sweeps the empty cells. "And my bleeding stock!"

  My instinct is to argue with anything he says. But I'm proud of that.

  "Nora," he goes on in a calmer but somehow scarier tone, "we're expecting guests. Go upstairs, get to the kitchen, do your job, and maybe I won't have your son's entrails fed to the sewer rats tomorrow."

  She hesitates, glancing my way.

  "It's okay," I say, even though it's anything but.

  "You," Drac addresses Harrison, "chain my daughter's mistake. Give me ten, fifteen minutes, and then escort him to the parlor. It's time the young lovers are reunited, don't you think? He'll make a perfect amusebouche."

  I'm not big on languages. But I think that means "tiny appetizer."

  I'm not only food, I'm insulted.

  "Your Majesty," Harrison begins, "perhaps you haven't noticed that I'm a blessed being. I'm like you now. It was I who rooted out this deception--"

  "Who are you to speak of betrayal?" With that, Drac turns to smoke again.

  Harrison's eyes flash red. "The master will kill Nora for this," he tells me. "Kill her truly dead. What were you thinking?"

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  "Nora made her own decision," I say. "Nora chose well."

  Harrison shoots me a look. Angry. Regretful?

  Unarmed, I can't outfight him. I can't outrun him either. For now, I'm stuck. That's okay. He's not my target. Given the tension between him and the master vamp, he might even be a potential ally, and right now I can use whatever help I can find. I decide to take it down a notch.

  "If you don't mind my asking," I begin, "why did you bail on Drac, anyway?"

  Harrison opens the storag
e closet. "It was risky, but he kept putting off my elevation. And you know, you turn forty, you think about living forever, and you start wondering if you'll be as pretty if your looks are frozen at forty-three."

  As he pulls out the chains, I press, "So, who was it?" Despite everything, I'm curious. "Who turned you?"

  "Delta," he replies, securing my hands behind my back.

  I'm pretty sure he doesn't mean Delta Air Lines.

  At my puzzled expression, Harrison adds, "Delta the sentry. You know, the eternals that guard the grounds in wolf form. Alpha, Beta, Gamma --"

  "Delta," I say. So Drac doesn't even call them by real names. "Talk about dehumanizing! I mean, even if they are --"

  "Inhuman," Harrison agrees, taking my arm. "Yes, Delta made that very point."

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  Harrison's unbeating heart doesn't seem to be in it as he walks me down the long row of abandoned cells. Rounding a corner, I ask, "And where have you been all this time?"

  "Madison," Harrison replies with a wistful smile. "At an underground spa resort owned by rogue eternals. It's top-notch. I signed up for the 'all-me, all-night' package. That's a facial, a Swedish massage, and an herbal blood wrap."

  I just had to ask. Boarding the service elevator, I resist the urge to shudder.

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  Miranda

  AT THE IVORY-INLAID VANITY TABLE in my bathroom off the wine cellar, I sink onto a padded Louis XIV chair and apply my lip liner.

  I've got the basic eternal beauty kit: makeup, SPF 50, and (still unopened) sunless tanning lotion. The latter is popular among the gentry, but when I arrived preternaturally pale at my debut party, faux tanning was deemed too garish for the aristocracy.

  What with the oddity of eternal reflections, I don't realize Father has materialized behind me until the blade of Jonathan Harker's knife pierces my throat.

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  "I've missed you," I manage. "Welcome home, Father."

  Father. The word tastes false and foul.

  Troy McAllister is my father. He's into barbecue and sci-fi and the Dallas Cowboys. He and Mom had a lousy marriage and a worse divorce. He shouldn't have let that keep him away so much. Still, he never forgot a birthday and he offered to pay for summer acting classes and college tuition, and he always remembered to ask Lucy whether she'd seen the latest horror movie. Dad has his faults, but he loves me.