Bad to the Bone

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  He furrows his brow. “Do you think he meant your friend?”

  “He didn’t even meet her until this past August. Besides, we don’t do Fourth of July together, because she’s always up at Gettysburg for the battle commemoration.”

  We blink at each other as the realization hits us. Shane says, “Gettysburg? Did your dad know Lori was a Civil War buff?”

  “If he could get David to tell him he staked Gideon’s son, he could get Lori to talk about her favorite thing in the world. You think it was a secret signal to me? You think he’s in Gettysburg?”

  “Why else would he say that?” Shane shakes his head in amazement. “Clever. His captors would never make the connection, but he knew it would sound odd to you.” He gives me a worried look. “I hate to say it, but we should tell the Control. They’re the only ones with enough manpower for an operation like this.”

  I groan at the idea of getting further entangled with that bunch of thugs. But I might have no choice.

  A soft knock comes at the door. “You awake enough to kill me?” says an all - too - familiar voice.

  Shane stiffens at the sight of Travis. I put my hand on his arm to keep him from tearing off the younger vampire’s newly restored face.

  “Look who’s here.” My voice takes on an edge. “The erst-while Elephant Man.”

  Travis creeps forward, carrying a bouquet of purple flowers. “I know this doesn’t make up for it, but it was all I could think of.”

  “Come here.” I beckon him with my left hand. “Let me look at you.”

  He skirts around Shane, sets the flowers on my nightstand, and moves close to my bed.

  I reach up and touch his face, tracing the solid planes of his jawline and cheekbone, then glide my fingertips over his eyelids, remembering how his skin melted and oozed off his skull like candle wax. Now it’s all real, all together.

  He gazes at me with gratitude. I whack him hard across the face.

  Travis jerks back. “Ow!” He puts a hand to his cheek. “I deserved that.”

  “You deserve worse.” I gesture to my right arm, whispering. “Nerves, tendons, muscles. You fucking chewed me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I told them it was a pit bull. I have to get rabies shots.”

  “I had no lips.”

  “Get out,” Shane growls.

  “I couldn’t feel what my fangs were doing.” Travis pulls at his own cheeks. “My whole face was gone. You got no idea how much it hurt.”

  “I was burned with that stuff, too,” Shane tells him.

  “Nothing like I was.”

  “He’s right, Shane.” I look at Travis, amazed it’s the same person I saw in the alley last night. “You couldn’t help it.”

  “Then why’d you hit me?”

  “Because it felt good.” My right arm is throbbing from the impact of my left hand against his face. But it was worth it. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Didn’t Lori already give you the story?”

  “She came this morning right after my surgery, but I was pretty out of it. Plus I want to hear your version.”

  He rubs his forehead, as if it’ll erase the memory. “I met Lori for a drink after she got out of her support group. That guy Kevin came into the bar after us, started giving her shit for being with me.” He crosses his arms. “I wanted to kick his ass, but Lori wouldn’t let me. She said if I hit him, I might get arrested and not get out of the police station before sunrise. Finally, he was so obnoxious, the bouncer threw him out.”

  “Did Kevin say anything about vampires?” Shane asks him.

  “At the end, yeah, when they were dragging him out. He said, ‘He’ll bleed you dry, Lori.’ “

  “That could be taken metaphorically,” I point out.

  “But then he said, ‘Exterminate all vampires.’ “

  “Oh.” I look at Shane, then decide to let Travis in on a little more of the situation. “That probably tipped off the Control agent.”

  His jaw drops. “What Control agent?”

  “They had a guy tailing Kevin, who is apparently a high -ranking lackey in the Fortress.”

  The evening news comes on. I give the TV a distracted glance as the anchorman relates a story about an apparent gang killing.

  “The victim, identified as Frederick resident Kevin Tarquinio, twenty - nine, was arrested last night for assault on Market Street, where he allegedly threw a bucket of acid in another man’s face.”

  We gape at each other, then the television.

  “After an extensive search throughout Frederick, that victim was never found,” the anchor continues, “and Tarquinio was released, as the residue of the liquid was found to be nothing but water. Police say they have no suspects at this time.”

  They switch to another story. Shane pulls out his cell phone. “I’m calling David.” Then he curses. “They won’t let us use these things in here. Gotta go outside.” He squeezes my foot as he heads out of the room.

  A young woman in a ponytail passes him, entering with our dinners. My stomach churns with anxiety, but I haven’t eaten a full meal in over twenty - four hours. I lift the metal plate coverings. Potato soup and a side salad.

  Travis looks at the slip on my tray. “It’s marked ‘light.’ You on a diet?”

  “It’s probably to keep me from barfing after the anesthesia.” With some difficulty—not to mention shooting pain in my right arm—I sit up and pull the tray closer.

  My left hand feels like it has too many fingers and not enough connections to my brain. The first spoonful of soup ends up in my lap.

  “Here.” Travis pulls up a chair and takes the spoon. He offers me a bite of soup, holding my chin steady with a napkin.

  “Payback, huh? You feeding me?” I let him insert the food in my mouth. “Ow, it’s too hot.”

  He sets the soup aside and cuts up some salad. “You got no idea what it felt like when that guy soaked me. Not just the pain. I put my fingers up to my face, and there was nothing there, just a lot of muck. You know when little animals get hit by cars, and there’s more of ‘em on the outside than inside?”

  I look at him, then at the food.

  “Sorry, that’s gross,” he says. “Anyway, I kept thinking, if I was still human, I’d just be wet. I wanted to die. But today I’m glad to be alive, or undead, or whatever. So if you ever need me to lay down my life for you, I’ll do it in a second.” He stabs a crouton. “For now, I’ll just feed you salad.”

  I find myself strangely touched by his meandering confession. “Did you kill Kevin Tarquinio?” I ask him after the next bite.

  “Thought about it, but figured Lori’d be upset if I did.”

  “She means a lot to you, huh?”

  He stirs my soup. “Everyone I know acts like I’m a monster or a little kid. She treats me like I’m a man.”

  When Shane reenters the room, Travis gets up and lets him take his place.

  “I couldn’t reach David, so I called Lori.” Shane shifts the chair closer. “She checked the news station’s Web site.” He looks at both of us. “It was an execution - style killing. Professional.” He pauses. “They found Kevin Tarquinio’s body near the police station. Wouldn’t release the estimated time of death because of the investigation.”

  My stomach sinks. “The Control agent who followed Kevin might have killed him as soon as the cops let him go.”

  “Could be the Fortress,” Travis points out. “That guy was babbling in public about vampires. Maybe that’s against their rules.”

  I shake my head. “They might have punished him, but they’re so pro - human they probably already had his certificate of achievement printed up for what he did to you.”

  “What about Ned?” Shane leans in closer as a quiet part of the news comes on. “Maybe you could call him, see his reaction to Kevin’s death.”

  I suppress a shiver at the thought of consoling Ned. At least my arm gives me an excuse not to give him a long, touchy hug.

&n
bsp; “Speaking of Ned, that was his car Lori photographed at the cross, so there’s a dead end.” Travis checks his watch. “I gotta go. I have a, uh, thing.”

  I hold up the teddy bear. “Tell Lori thanks for the stuffie. And sorry I fell asleep on her today.”

  He nods. “If she’ll talk to me.”

  When he leaves, Shane picks up my soup spoon. “Still hungry?”

  “Starving.” With his help, I sit up a little straighter in bed. “I’ll call Ned and see what I can find out. But I think Kevin’s murder was the Control sending a message to the Fortress.” I blink hard to clear my mind, even as the terrible thoughts flood in. “And to me. That’s what they’ll do to my dad when they find him.” I mime a gun to the back of my head. “Colonel Lanham said as much when he left here.”

  “But the Fortress has him.”

  “For now. But if the Control is hot on their trail, they might find him. Or if the Fortress people have to go on the run, they might kill him instead of bringing him with them.” I take a mouthful of proffered soup. “When my head clears from the morphine, maybe I’ll remember another clue besides Gettysburg. Maybe we can find him ourselves.”

  Shane unwraps a dinner roll and breaks off a bite for me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really think you should get the Control’s help. This thing is too big for us. You might be able to strike a deal to protect your dad. After all, you have something they want.”

  As I realize he’s right, I can feel my blood rebel. It wants to cruise through my veins, lurch through my arteries. It doesn’t want to sit in a test tube, building the military machine.

  “Blood for blood,” I whisper, then lean my swimming head back against the pillow. “Get me Colonel Lanham.”

  Late Friday morning the hospital discharges me with a sling and a fistful of Percocet. When Lori drops me off at home around noon, Colonel Lanham is sitting at my dining room table with a scattering of papers surrounding his laptop. Shane looms behind him, arms crossed in a bouncerlike posture.

  “I wouldn’t let him look through your stuff until you got home.” Shane takes my bag of pharmaceuticals. “Can I get you anything else before I go to bed?”

  “No, but when you wake up I’ll need a sponge bath.”

  He gives a low laugh and helps me take off my coat. “So much for me sleeping.”

  When he heads to the bedroom, I go to the kitchen. “Did Shane make this coffee?” I ask Colonel Lanham.

  “I made it.”

  “Good.” Left - handed, I carefully pour a cup and stir in three sugars. “He brews it superstrong so he can taste it, and then I have to add milk to keep from burning a hole in my stomach.” I sip the black coffee and enter the dining room. “I hate milk in my coffee. It puts me to sleep.” Yes, small talk will keep me safe. That and the vampire in the other room, who is no doubt listening behind the door.

  “I brought more blood for your dog.” Lanham gestures to a cooler on the table.

  “Where do you get that stuff?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “Dogs have blood banks, just like humans. And just like with human vampires, there are always samples that expire or can’t be used because they test positive for a blood - borne disease.” He pulls out a chair for me and points to an array of papers spread over the table. I recognize them as the names and addresses Travis fetched from Ned’s cell phone contact list.

  “I’ve eliminated his family members in Chicago,” he says.

  I stare up at him, turning cold despite the hot coffee. “You killed Ned’s family?”

  Lanham shakes his head. “I eliminated their names from our list of suspects, people who might be . . . keeping your father.”

  “What about Ned’s brother, this ‘B’ person?”

  The colonel’s gaze shifts past my shoulder. “He might be a half brother. We’re looking into it.” For once, his words sound more rushed than deliberate. “As I was about to say, none of the contacts fit the profile of where your father might be.”

  “Didn’t Shane tell you our Gettysburg theory?”

  Lanham hesitates, then seems to come to a decision. He pulls a chair to the corner of the table and sits next to me. “Ms. Griffin, I’ll be straight with you.”

  “That’d be a first.”

  He ignores me and continues. “Your father’s not the Fortress’s prisoner. He’s their accomplice.”

  “Accomplice?” My head spins, but maybe it’s just the drugs. “How do you know?”

  “Internal Affairs has concluded that Ronan O’Riley escaped our custody with the aid of his bodyguard, whom we’ve determined to be a double agent for us and the Fortress.”

  “Did this bodyguard confess?”

  “We have evidence.” He folds his hands on the table. “It makes sense your father would turn to the Fortress. No one hates us more than they do. They’d be happy to protect him from us in exchange for information.”

  Information on the Control, on WVMP. On me. On everything and everyone that protects our most valuable assets.

  “Your DJs are the most famous alleged vampires outside of Transylvania. It must irk the Fortress that they profit from their monstrosity.”

  “I get that part.” I rub my forehead, as if that will make my brain more absorbent. “But why would they claim to hold my father prisoner?”

  “Perhaps they think you’ll make an exchange—a DJ’s life for his.”

  My chest grows tight with rage. “And to think I felt sorry for my dad. He’s using me. Again.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lanham sounds like he means it, but no doubt it’s just an act. “We won’t know their ransom and therefore their angle unless you’re willing to go back to the Fortress and speak to Ned’s brother.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “And we can’t wait to hear it.” Lanham slides his briefcase over and opens it. He takes out a small clear plastic bag with half a dozen fuzzy black dots the size of his thumbnail. “When you return to the Fortress, we’d like you to plant as many of these listening devices as you feel safe.”

  I examine the contraptions through the plastic. They resemble earbuds with inch - long antennas. “The Fortress is full of security cameras.”

  “I’ll teach you a few tricks. It should come natural to a sleight - of - hand master such as yourself.” He glances at my sling. “Even with half the hands.”

  I don’t let him flatter me. “Distraction only works on live humans. Cameras aren’t fooled.”

  “Just do your best, and don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Lanham shuffles the lists of Ned’s contacts. “Good thinking in getting these. You excel at thinking on your feet.” I grunt in reply, and he adds, “Have you thought about where you want to work after you graduate?”

  “You don’t want someone like me.” I give him a sullen glare that I hope is sufficiently repellant. “I don’t take orders, and I’m not a team player.”

  “Perhaps you’d consider contract work?”

  “I wouldn’t. I’m helping you too much as it is.”

  “Speaking of which, we must schedule your first donation.”

  I catch his use of the word “first.” Somehow his gall surprises me. “I’m giving you a small, one - time sample. Not a donation. That’s what we agreed.”

  His posture goes still and his eyes cold. “We could just take it from you.”

  “I thought of that. I’ve made arrangements with certain friends in the media that in the event of my death or disappearance, there are materials they would become privy to.” I take a sip of coffee. “But all things being equal, I prefer that we work together instead of in opposition.”

  “So do I.” Lanham regards me with a mix of respect and animosity as he stands and takes his coat from the back of the door. “Our other offer stands. I’m sure we could come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  When he leaves, I turn the deadbolt, as if that will keep my soul safely locked here with me, and out of Darth Vader’s pocket.

  23


  Welcome to the Jungle

  Ned meets me at the door to the Fortress, his face drawn and tense. I almost don’t recognize him without his customary cult - glow.

  He notices my sling. “Ciara, what happened?”

  I shrug. “Just routine surgery for my tendonitis.” Hey, that why - I - can’t - go - bowling lie came in handy. “I saw on the news what happened to Kevin. I’m really sorry.”

  His lips tighten. “We had no idea he ran with that type of crowd. Shame.”

  He tries to slip across the threshold to join me on the porch, but I put my hand on the door.

  “Can I use your restroom before we go?” When he hesitates, I bend my knees in a half hop. “Please? I drank a whole cup of coffee getting here. Traffic on 270 was a nightmare.”

  “Okay, okay.” He leads me inside, then points down the far corridor. “Through the kitchen to the right.”

  I enter the kitchen, which strikes me as utilitarian compared to the house’s grandiose decor. Then I remember that in Victorian times, only servants spent much time in this room.

  I make note of the chocolate strudel in the glass cake dish sitting on the counter, then find the water closet, which is literally no more than a closet. The kitchen lantern’s glow illuminates a candle and a lighter on the bathroom sink. No cameras in the corners—nice that they don’t film each other peeing—so I light the candle and shut the door.

  I pull the baggie of listening devices from my pocket. With a one - handed motion I’ve been practicing with my eyes closed, I activate the listening device’s antenna and peel off its adhesive backing. Then I flush the toilet, run the water, and give myself a moment to “dry my hands,” in case anyone’s listening on the other side of the door.

  I hurry through the kitchen, then come to a sudden stop a few steps beyond the cake dish, as if seized by an idea. I examine the strudel with undisguised avarice, caressing the glass cover. After a moment’s “hesitation,” I lift the lid and take a full whiff.

  Cabinets sit against the wall to my right. Carefully balancing the bug on the tip of my curled finger, I open one, then another, until I find the plates. I reach up into the dark cupboard and pretend to lose my balance so that I have to grab the protruding edge. The listening device adheres, where it can’t be seen from outside the cabinet. I grab a saucer.