“I have no doubt you’ll overcome this,” he said. “But for the time being, do try to stay out of trouble.”
“What fun would that be?” I said wryly.
He shook his head in mock irritation and then put his hand on the door. “I’ll keep my phone charged.”
“You’d fucking better.”
When he left, I stared at my empty apartment and thought of Caz and Eva and Fiona and all the mortals who’d been killed vying for immortality in Tertius’s sick little game.
I’d kill him again. I knew that I would. And yet part of me couldn’t stop aching for the opportunity I’d lost. Like I’d told Eva, maybe it was all a ploy and in the end he’d have killed me anyway. But a small part of me—the part of me that understood why Caz had bought black market vampire blood when his fledgling had refused him—wondered if I hadn’t made a huge mistake.
That tiny chasm inside me wasn’t going to close until I found immortality again. I tried my best to ignore it and crawled into bed to sleep off everything else.
At least I was still alive. It could be worse.
Epilogue
The next morning, I awoke galvanized, a single thought on my mind. I couldn’t shake the knowledge that Lemondrop was in the shitty “vampire blood” Cazimir had drunk. I’d lived too long to believe in coincidences. That poison was as vile as the Cure. It was a drug that made people lose their minds and do god-awful things. Neha and Ray had created it as a party drug, but it had fallen out of vogue after several consumers were involved in Lemondrop-fueled bloodbaths.
I didn’t know if Lemondrop was at fault for Cazimir’s comatose state. But I knew that nothing good had ever come out of Neha’s lab.
Within twenty minutes, I was dressed in jeans and tank top, and in my car.
I banged on Neha’s door so hard it shook the windows. I didn’t care. If I had the strength to kick the damn thing in, I would have.
She answered looking frazzled, although I didn’t think she’d been sleeping. She wore jeans and a blouse, not pajamas.
“Do you need to draw the attention of all my neighbors?” she asked, irritation clipping her words. “What do you want?”
I pushed my way inside, ignoring her sounds of protest. Her laptop was open on the coffee table and the television was on some nature program.
“You need to make an antidote,” I said. It wasn’t a question and I made damn sure it didn’t sound like a request, either.
“Henri…” she started.
I threw my hand up to stop her. “I’m not asking. I’m not suggesting. I’m telling you that if you don’t want me to sic the vampires on you for orchestrating the Cure, you’re going to find a way to turn me back.”
Neha stared at me, her eyes hard. “I do not make monsters.”
“What the fuck do you think human beings are? Angels?” I stepped close to her, got in her face. To her credit, she didn’t back down. “Humans are capable of evil, Neha. Like, say, injecting people with shit against their will!” She had the decency to wince at that. “Ray was murdered by a human being. And I promise you that no matter what you think, I’m still the same monster I used to be.”
She swallowed, hard, and a small shudder shook her shoulders. But otherwise, she showed no sign that I was scaring her. “It’s not that easy,” she finally said in a low voice. “Without a sample of the Cure and your blood…”
I held out my fist and opened my fingers to reveal the vial of the Cure. She gasped. “Here’s your fucking sample. And I’ll give you blood. Then you’ll give me an antidote.”
She only hesitated for a moment before she ran to get her blood-drawing equipment. When she returned and starting unraveling tubes, she said, “I cannot make guarantees.”
“I don’t need empty promises,” I told her. “I need results.”
* * *
I called out sick from work for the next two nights, claiming I’d been hit with the summer flu that was going around.
When I finally did return to the restaurant, my face looked less like I’d gotten into a fight with a lion and I no longer felt like I’d been thrown around inside a cement mixer. I still had to pop painkillers but I was pretty sure I could get through my shift.
Max was in the employee locker room, putting on his tie. He glanced up and then quickly turned away when he realized it was me.
“Hey,” I said, opening my locker and pulling out my black work heels.
He slammed his locker shut and shoved his phone into his pants pocket. He started to leave but hesitated, then spoke in a loud whisper. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”
“I—”
“No bullshit, Henri. That woman died and I lied to the cops. That’s almost definitely a felony. I could go to jail.”
I didn’t look at him as I shoved my flats into my locker and put my purse on top of them. “I appreciate your help,” I said.
When I turned around, Max’s face was red. “That’s it?” he hissed. “Who killed that woman?”
“A very, very bad man,” I said. “Look, I can’t get into it—”
“Oh, no. You owe me an explanation.”
He glared at me in a way I’d never seen Max glare, not even behind the back of his most obnoxious customer.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Then I dropped my hand and finished buttoning up my work shirt. “That poor woman was murdered by a very bad guy who was after me, too. It’s a long story and you really don’t want the details, okay?”
Max considered this while my heart tried to pound its way through my rib cage. “Why not go to the cops?” he asked.
“I don’t trust them to keep me safe.” I bent my head down, eyes to the floor, and silently thanked the hours of police procedurals I’d watched. On those shows, sometimes characters didn’t trust the police to keep them safe and then, for dramatic reasons, they would end up dead just as they’d predicted. This wasn’t TV, but I was hoping he’d fall for the act.
Max was silent for a very long time. Then Megan came into the room. She stopped short, looking back and forth between us. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked.
“No,” Max said. “Nothing at all.”
He left and Megan gave me a small, conciliatory smile. “He’s been through a lot this week,” she said, lowering her voice to add, “He found a dead woman in the parking lot we all use. I’m sure you’ve heard. I’m terrified. I told Eric I’m parking in the Le Poisson lot from now on and he can kiss my ass.”
“I did hear, yes,” I said. “That must have been awful.”
“Right? I can’t even imagine.” Megan opened her locker. “Poor Max.”
“Yeah. Poor Max.”
That night, it was business as usual at the restaurant. I took care of my tables and ignored the absence of banter between Max and me. Our friendship was definitely over. Max might have covered for me, but he wasn’t going to forgive me. How could he, when I couldn’t even give him real answers?
I was used to losing people. To leaving them behind. This was in my wheelhouse of things I could cope with.
It still sucked, and a small tremor shook my midsection every time he gave me a chilly look and an icy glance, but I shoved it down.
I had no right to be friends with Max. I was a monster, just one without fangs.
But only for now.
Henri Dunn’s Adventures Continue
Get Book 3, Sanguinity, now!
The Henri Dunn Series
The Immortality Cure (Book 1)
Bloodless (Book 2)
Sanguinity (Book 3)
For more information, visit toricentanni.com
Acknowledgments
Once again, I want to thank my friends and family for putting up with my endless hours at the keyboard and my constant ramblings about fictional people.
Thank you to Claire Browne, Faith McKay, Ben Woodall, Jaimie Daniels, Samantha Chenoweth, Joshua Dilegame, and all of the friends who are always supportive and awesome.
Thank you to my family, including my mom, Deborah, and brother, Richie. My awesome Aunt Gretchen, and my wonderful cousins, Cody and Gavin.
Much thanks and appreciation for the editors who did the hard work of fixing my messy prose, the missing and transposed words, and the ridiculous amount of typos: Eliza Dee and Kendra Moll. Any errors that remain are solely my own.
Thanks to Rebecca Frank for her gorgeous cover art.
And a huge, heartfelt to everyone who’s read and loved The Immortality Cure, and think Henri’s journey is one worth following. She’s a little abrasive and cranky, but damn if I don’t love her to pieces. I’m glad other people do, too.
About the Author
Tori Centanni is a nerd girl and recovering goth who lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest. When she’s not writing or reading through her never-ending book pile, she spends her time watching competition reality shows and wrangling cats.
Find me online:
@toricentanni
toricentanniauthor
toricentanni.com
Bloodless (Henri Dunn Book 2) Page 18