She didn’t want to be leader of Crimson.
She ducked Ravyn’s punch, and ignored the ungrateful threat, then walked out of the Bruja hall for perhaps the last time.
CHAPTER 22
THE BUS RIDE HOME — to Nathaniel’s house, Turquoise hastily amended — was painfully long, and stifling. She wished she had driven, but had not wanted to risk needing to drive home injured. With a light jacket on over the black tank top she had worn to Challenge, Turquoise could feel sweat dripping down her spine. The wound on her shoulder ached as the salt found its way beneath the bandages.
She gave in, and took her jacket off, trying fiercely to ignore the looks people gave her. Maybe it was the wildly tousled hair, or the adrenaline-induced flush to her cheeks that made them stare. Or maybe it was the fact that the bandage on her wrist was highly visible.
She decided she didn’t care. None of these people knew her, or wanted to know her. They weren’t concerned enough to question a stranger.
Now what? she wondered. She was through with Bruja. She would need to kill Daryl eventually. His pride wouldn’t allow him to ignore her forever, and even if she had been willing to hide from him — which she wasn’t — he worked with mercenaries even more than she did, and would be able to track her down eventually.
What else? Eric’s words echoed in her mind.
She needed action, movement, adrenaline. A tame white-picket-fence life would never suit her; it would bore her to death. She also didn’t want to ditch Jaguar and Eric now. With Jeshickah out of the way, Midnight might even prove interesting for a while.
For a while. But forever? For as long as a vampire could live? She didn’t know.
The bus stop was about a mile from Nathaniel’s house, in the center of town. Turquoise would have to walk home, but the day was beautiful and she had plenty of energy.
Hearing her stomach rumble, she took a detour into a gas station convenience store. She slipped her hand into her pants pocket, double-checking to make sure she had enough cash on her for some donuts and a soda. The thought amused her. She had eaten the same fare on her way to Midnight.
“Are you okay?” The old man at the register asked, a worried frown on his face as Turquoise approached to buy her snack.
Turquoise could not conceal her surprise. She had forgotten to put her jacket back on and her battered body was visible. As long as she had been in Bruja, she had stuck to anonymous cities. No one asked questions. But this town was so small and she had chatted with this man on a couple of occasions in the last month. He would know that something was wrong, and feel comfortable enough to ask.
“Yeah … had a fall.” As a lie, it was awful.
An awkward moment ensued. The old man’s eyes were questioning.
“I’m a little accident prone,” she lied, trying to make the words sound realistic when they made almost no sense. She added, “I fell off a table when I was little, into a window.” She tried to add a smile and a bit of a “no big deal” laugh as she said it, but the memory was too raw. Vividly she remembered catching her father’s arm as Daryl shoved him back through the window. Daryl had grabbed her and tossed her onto a table, where broken glass had sliced open her arms and the backs of her shoulders.
The old man looked unconvinced. He patted her hand sympathetically as she handed him the money for her purchases. He handed her change, with a “Have a good day” goodbye.
She left quickly. Where was her jacket? She swore as she realized she must have left it on the bus.
She swore again when she recognized Greg a block down the street, walking toward her. She considered ducking back into the convenience store, but didn’t want to face the old man’s silent questions.
Too late anyway. Greg saw her, and waved hello, then sped up his pace to meet her.
“Cathy hi. I …” He broke off, his light jog turning to a sprint as he hurried to her side. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” Then he seemed to notice that most of the scars were years old, and his eyes widened more. “What the hell? I mean, I’m sorry, but … what the hell?”
Turquoise’s nerve ran out. She had known living here wasn’t going to work from the start. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him now.
“Greg, I’m a mercenary,” she said coolly. “Mostly I hunt vampires for a living. I’ve been debating quitting my job and teaching middle school, but I hear it’s a little rough there.” The words dripped with bitter sarcasm.
She knew what his reaction would be — disbelief, fear — and didn’t want to see it. She pushed past him, walking quickly in the direction of her house.
Greg hurried after her, and caught her shoulder. She winced, pulling away as his touch hit the new injury.
Unsurprisingly he was looking at her as if she had sprouted a second — no, third — head, but he was trying to keep up with her.
“You mean vampires like … um, some criminal person, right?” he said hesitantly, trying to figure out her speech. “You’re a cop or something?”
He was so damn innocent. How could she ever hope to convince him?
She didn’t need to. He deserved his innocence.
She backtracked, slowing her pace a bit so he could keep up. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day” she said, stalling as she tried to add to what he already tentatively believed. If she tried, she could convince him of the reality of vampires. She could tell him what had really happened to Cathy and the rest of her family. But Greg didn’t need to know. He was happy. “You know I was interested in psych, right? I got into criminal psychology in college, and I do some work with some people.” She made the lies intentionally vague, as if she wasn’t supposed to tell. Actually, she had no idea who she would possibly be working for; she knew nothing about the government or law enforcement. But Greg probably knew less than she did.
Greg said something noncommittal along the lines of “Uh-huh.” He kept walking with her, not talking for a bit, as if digesting what he had heard.
Humans had an instinctive desire to remain at the top of the food chain. Unless forced to see reality most of them would believe almost anything before believing that vampires and other such creatures existed.
“So. You’re with the government or something?”
Crimson was about the antithesis of the United States government, but Turquoise answered, “Yeah.” She added, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” That was vague enough. It would tickle his imagination, without straining against what he believed.
Greg walked her home. They didn’t talk much, though occasionally Greg made some attempt to start a new conversation. Turquoise wasn’t much in the mood to chat.
“Smells like someone’s having a bonfire,” he commented, blinking at the faint smell of smoke. “Speaking of, some friends of mine are having a picnic next weekend. Would you like to go maybe?”
He sounded so hopeful, she had to smile. She started to say no, but then changed her mind. “Sure. Why not?”
His expression lit up.
Before he could speak, the fire truck rumbled by. They both looked after it anxiously.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Greg said worriedly.
Turquoise picked up her pace. The smell of smoke was thicker now. A coil of fear was making its way from her stomach to her throat to choke her.
A few houses down, she began to see the flames. She sprinted, until a fireman caught her arm, pulling her back.
“Ma’am, this area isn’t safe for bystanders —”
“I live here,” she spat, shoving away from him. “What …” She broke off. Eric? Where was Eric? She frantically scanned the area for the boy. “My brother was here when I left. He’s fourteen. Have you seen him?”
The man hesitated. “Please wait here, ma’am.”
If he was hurt … if one hair on his head had been singed …
Greg caught up to her, panting and coughing around the smoke. “What caused it?” he asked instantly. “Do they know?”
“I don�
��t even own a toaster,” Turquoise growled back. Faulty wiring was impossible. Nathaniel wouldn’t have had a house that had been poorly made. The stove and oven were new, and Eric was too experienced a cook to ever mistakenly leave one on unattended. If this wasn’t arson, she’d eat the cinders.
A police officer returned from the jumble of people, leading an ash-streaked Eric. The boy broke from his escort and hurried toward Turquoise.
She couldn’t help herself. She pulled the boy against herself, so grateful for his safety that she didn’t care about the house. Nathaniel could deal with losing a house. Turquoise could pay for a house. There was nothing in there she could not replace.
“Are you the owner?” the officer asked.
Turquoise nodded, not really paying much attention. Instead, she spoke quietly to Eric. “What caused it?”
Eric grimaced. “Your favorite vampire,” he answered, under his breath so no one other than Turquoise could hear him. Greg must have picked up a word or so. The boy took a few steps back, looking awkward.
“Ms. Emerette?” Turquoise looked at the officer dumbly before remembering that the name on her license was something Emerette. Margot, maybe? She couldn’t remember. She was glad Greg was still dealing with his new belief that she worked for the government, or else he might have tried to correct it.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind coming down to the station to answer a few questions?” he asked.
“Right now?” Right now, she would rather go kill something than talk politely with these friendly officers. Specifically she wanted to deal Daryl a long, painful death for destroying Cathy’s life, for making it impossible for her to pick up where she had left off with Greg, and most of all for frightening her.
Greg came to her rescue. “She doesn’t need to talk now.” He spoke like he knew what he was doing. “We’ll come down after she and the kid are cleaned up, okay?”
The officer seemed to hesitate. Turquoise offered a watery smile. “Please,” she added to Greg’s words.
The man nodded finally. “I suppose there’s no hurry. I know this is going to be a difficult time. Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, she does,” Greg answered for her.
They walked back to Greg’s car, which he had left near where he had met up with Turquoise.
“My sister’s visiting, and she probably has some clothes that will fit you,” Greg offered to Turquoise. “You two can come over and clean up, then figure out whether you want to talk to the police or what.”
Turquoise shook her head. “I can’t.”
Greg didn’t seem to know how to handle that one, so Turquoise didn’t make him respond.
“There’s something I need to deal with first,” she explained. Taking Greg up on his offer would put him in danger, at least until Daryl was dead.
“How are you going to get there?” Eric asked practically knowing that she would go to Midnight.
That was the most difficult part of her plan.
Greg was a lifesaver. He chewed his lip for a moment, and then asked, “Do you need to borrow my car?”
There is a God. She gave him a hug. “I’ll be back in less than a day” She was still armed from Challenge, and she could pick up a few more weapons from her Bruja house before getting to Midnight. It was almost on the way.
“Sure,” Greg answered nonchalantly. “Just be careful with her, okay?”
It was hilariously easy for Turquoise to get inside Midnight. The raven guards at the gate did not challenge her; they were too shocked that a human was willing to fight to get into Midnight. Her fury was visible in every movement she made, and no one approached her until she was almost to Daryl’s door.
“You no longer annoy me.” The voice behind her caused Turquoise to turn, a knife instantly in her hand. She hesitated upon seeing Jeshickah, willing to wait for the vampiress to either push a fight or back off.
“Always nice to gain a new friend,” the hunter retorted.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Jeshickah’s voice was dry.
Belatedly, Turquoise informed the vampire, “Gabriel made me freeblood.”
Jeshickah nodded. “I’m aware of that. His foolishness is why I am speaking to you, instead of chaining you down so I can break every one of your bones before removing your skin and making it into a nice pair of pants.” Jeshickah’s expression of polite amusement never left her face as she spoke.
“Pleasant image,” Turquoise answered. Impatience was gnawing at her, but she was smart enough to avoid antagonizing Jeshickah by ignoring her.
“I have determined my reasons for detesting you,” Jeshickah stated. “You are too like my own pets. The traits are attractive in a man I own. They are less so in a human girl.”
Turquoise thought with unease back to Jaguar’s words. Jeshickah picks her trainers for physical beauty, mental acuity, moral void, and what she calls a trainer instinct — the instinct to watch a person, determine her weaknesses, and destroy her. Surely she didn’t fit that description.
“I’m not one of your pets,” she argued.
You’re willing to sell yourself, your principles, for power, strength. You’ll lie, manipulate, or kill for money. And may I say you are very good at it; you have my Jaguar eating out of your hand.” There was bitterness in the statement. Or jealousy? Was Jeshickah jealous?
“Do you have a point?” Turquoise spoke to keep from laughing. She didn’t think Jeshickah would appreciate amusement.
“Go ahead and kill Daryl if you wish,” Jeshickah purred. “He’s too stupid to live anyway. But then go home. Get a job, breed, do any of the tedious things humans do. Get old and gray, and stay that way If you take vampire blood from any of my brood — either Nathaniel or Jaguar would give it to you, at your request — know that I will control you.”
That sounded unpleasant.
The conversation skidded to a halt as Jaguar stepped into the hall. His step faltered as he noticed Turquoise and Jeshickah, and when he approached, he did so cautiously.
He addressed the vampiress first. “Your Triste is requesting a meeting with you.”
“That creature is no end of trouble,” Jeshickah grumbled.
Jaguar shrugged. “You hired him.”
“There seems to be a shortage of gray matter this century” To Turquoise, she offered, “Enjoy your sortie, girl. Don’t make too much of a mess.”
“How long until she dies?” Turquoise growled, as soon as the vampiress was out of the hall.
Jaguar smiled; the expression looked too wary to be hopeful. “Not long, if Jesse does his job. Jeshickah hired him for his kind’s talents at restraining vampires. It’s something he is very good at.” The smile was gone as he asked, “You’re after Daryl?”
She absently checked one of her knives. “I’ve waited too long already.”
“You know that if you get yourself killed, I’m going to hate myself for not stopping you,” he informed her.
“I’m not planning to die.”
“No one ever is.” He hesitated, but then turned away. Jaguar, like most of the vampires in the building, would turn his back and not hinder her, but he wouldn’t help her.
She didn’t want the help. This was her fight to win or lose alone.
Turquoise kept one knife in her hand as she turned the knob and entered Daryl’s room. If he wasn’t in, she could wait.
CHAPTER 23
NATHANIEL HAD SAID he was there to conduct business; he didn’t say what type. He had seemed surprised when she, a slave, had spoken to him, but he was willing to talk.
Despite knowing what Nathaniel was and despite knowing that Lord Daryl would be furious to find someone in his home when he returned, Cathy was grateful for the vampire’s companionship.
“Would you help me kill him?” she asked, in a moment of frustration.
Nathaniel looked at Cathy as if she had finally done something interesting. “Is that really a road you want to travel?” he asked.
“Is there
another choice, besides dying here?”
“You could have asked for help escaping,” the mercenary pointed out.
“He killed my parents and my brother,” Catherine argued. “I want to see him dead.”
Daryl’s room in Midnight brought back unpleasant memories, even once Turquoise had assured herself that he was not in it. From the delicate glass etching on the chair, to the whip lying ominously on the cluttered desk, every object reminded the hunter of the creature she had come to kill.
Turquoise paced restlessly, waiting. She killed some time working at the tight braid of his whip with her knife, and unraveled enough to make it harmless if Daryl got his hands on it. She started to go through the desk, and found more cash than she had ever seen, then amused herself imagining a Midnight Savings Bank.
One of her Crimson knives, a slender weapon with a blade of expensive firestone, was in her hand before Daryl finished opening the door; she saw Daryl hesitate when he caught sight of her. “Catherine,” he greeted her. “I thought you would find your way back here. A slave without her master is lost, after all.”
“You don’t seem to understand your situation,” the vampire said coldly. He reached past her to shut the door she had been trying to escape through, and she recoiled from his proximity. “I own you, Catherine, as surely as I own the shirt I’m wearing, and you don’t want to make me mad.”
That had been her introduction to the concept that a human being could be property. The concept had been beaten into her time and again; the more she fought, the more she had been forced to realize how powerless she was.
She actually smiled at the memory. She wasn’t powerless anymore. She certainly wasn’t this creature’s slave. “You’re not my master.”
“You’re human, Catherine,” Daryl argued. He closed the door and leaned against it, and Turquoise realized that, while she would never prove the point to him, she no longer felt the need to argue. He continued, “Ours is simply a higher race. You are a slave by blood, and that is all you can ever be.”
Without words, Turquoise attacked.
The Den of Shadows Quartet Page 40