I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  "So what?"

  "They're going to die."

  "Everyone dies," said Ruadan.

  "You haven't!"

  "I imagine I will eventually." He shifted, making himself more comfortable. "This is a nice bed."

  Was he really thickheaded? Or did he have an undiagnosed case of attention deficit disorder?

  "If I do the binding with Patrick, we'll be hitched forever. I'll watch my kids grow up and… pass away."

  "Or not."

  "Huh?"

  "Jessica." He turned onto his side and looked at me. The wisdom of ancients sparkled in a gaze that had looked at the world for more than four thousand years. "You don't know what life will bring you. And you only live one moment at a time. What if Jenny and Bryan wish to attempt a Turning? What if they get married and have families and grow old and die? What if you and Patrick decide to greet the dawn when their time has passed? Or live on to guard the children of your children's children?"

  "I… don't know."

  "Exactly." He smiled. And in that smile, I saw the joy of a man who'd learned a thing or three about living. "Life is change. So what if you don't know what's going to happen next week or next century? You only have to live now, right now. And you can find happiness today, with Patrick.

  "I like you, Jessica." He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You're cute and tough and sexy." He rolled off the bed and jumped to his feet. "Gotta go. Got a hot date in Malaysia."

  "Wait a minute. You're leaving?"

  "Well, yeah. But I'll be back for the ceremony and to meet my grandkids."

  "Ruadan," I said, "maybe you could stick around and help us out. The Wraiths are causing all sorts of problems. We're trying to build a whole new kind of town."

  "Don't worry so much, Jessica. Everything will be fine."

  "Is that a prophecy?"

  He shrugged. "Is fear rith maith ná drochseasamh."

  As Ruadan sparkled out of sight, I remembered that Patrick had said the same thing to me. A good run is better than a bad stand.

  "Fine!" I yelled to the disappearing ancient. "I'll fix things myself. But you are so buying us a Porsche… in Paris!"

  I rolled up the scroll, tucked it into its box, and put it away, along with the coin, in the nightstand drawer. I checked on my kids… asleep, finally. Good. I was feeling the pull of the sunrise. Patrick, are you coming home?

  I climbed into bed and fluffed the pillow under my head. Exhaustion sat on me like a row of anvils. Patrick?

  Céadsearc. Lock your bedroom door. Keep it locked. Don't open it for anyone.

  Yeah. Okay.

  Sheesh. I'd locked everything and checked it twice. Jessica… I love you. Love you, too.

  I succumbed to the darkness, falling into dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 28

  "Jessica!"

  I nearly leapt out of my skin. As it was, I went on full alert and scrambled out of my bedcovers. I truly missed coffee. I could use a pot about now. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 7:11 p.m. in big, annoying red numerals.

  "Jessica!" A fist pounded on the door. Wait. I'd fallen asleep. Patrick never arrived. But the last thing I remembered was that he told me to keep my bedroom door locked.

  "Jessica? Are you awake?"

  The voice had a French accent and an urgent tone. I crossed the room and put my hand on the knob. "François? How the hell did you get into my house?"

  "I am a vampire," he said. "It is nothing to circumvent locks and alarms. We must go, chérie. The Wraiths followed the RVs. They have taken Patrick's bus and hold the children hostage!"

  I immediately tried to connect with my kids. They were still asleep. So… were they asleep because they were safe and sound with Damian? Or were they knocked out by gas or glamour by the Wraiths? My entire body tingled with apprehension. I wanted to trust François, but right now, the pope could be on the other side of that door and I wouldn't open it.

  "If you got through the other security," I asked, "why can't you get in here?"

  "Patrick has spelled it. Only he can go in."

  "Why would he put spells on my bedroom?"

  "To protect you, of course. Come, chérie. We need your help. Are you not worried about Bryan and Jenny?"

  Yes. But I was also worried about why François needed me out of this room so urgently. I quickly changed clothes and retrieved the swords from the dresser. I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

  Patrick?

  He didn't respond. Foreboding wrapped cold fingers around me. Something was wrong. Patrick? Hey, sleepyhead, are you there?

  There was complete silence in my mind. This was bad. Patrick had been living inside my head with me and he wasn't there. Which meant he had blocked me (and he'd sworn never to do that again) or he was incapable of thought. As in still unconscious or… my stomach squeezed. Okay. I wasn't going to think that. Patrick was fine. He was just… well, I didn't know. I reached out to the only other person with whom I had a mind connection. Lorćan?

  Jessica? What do you want?

  He sounded pissy and I figured I deserved whatever anger he harbored. But he was going to have to rake me over the coals later. Are you still with Marybeth and Linda?

  They are still at rest. Patrick and I both gave Linda a strong suggestion for sleep, which will keep her out for a little longer. Marybeth hasn't stirred, but she survived the Turn . . . she is a vampire, just as you wanted.

  Give me the guilt trip later, okay? I asked you to do something difficult and it sucked for you and I'm sorry. François is here and he really wants me to leave the room. He really wants me outta here. He says the kids are in trouble, but they're asleep, and as far as I can tell, safe. Worst of all, I can't reach Patrick. It's like he's… well, he's not there. And he told me to keep the bedroom door locked.

  Something must be wrong if you're actually doing as my brother asks.

  Hel-lo. Hysterical woman here. Make fun of me later. I'm scared.

  All right, bean-shithe. Give me a moment.

  "Jessica?"

  "Oh, uh… sorry, François. I had to go to the bathroom."

  "What? Why?"

  Crud. Vampires didn't have to potty. "To get my… lotion. I have dry hands."

  "You wait to rescue the children because you wish to put lotion on your hands?" He pounded on the door. "Come out, Jessica! I cannot help you as long as you remain in there."

  Was François really trying to help me? I didn't believe my kids were in trouble. But I knew Patrick was. Maybe François had been told that the RVs had been attacked and was relaying that information to me. Or maybe François had hoped I would panic and open the door to him so he could harm me.

  Jessica?

  Lor! Thank God. Can you reach Patrick?

  No. Patrick left here just before sunrise to go to you.

  Oh my God. You don't think he got caught in the sunlight, do you?

  No. I think he was captured.

  The Wraiths? Shit, shit, shit! Okay. Look. You have to protect Linda and Marybeth and Stan. I'll figure out what François really wants and if he acts like a dickhead, I'll use my swords on his sorry ass. I'll meet you at the RV and we'll figure out how to rescue Patrick and save the day and all that.

  Jessica… that's the dumbest idea I've ever heard.

  You got a better one?

  Jessica—

  I'll see you in a few minutes.

  Oh for… fine! But don't die.

  "Jessica? This is getting tiresome, mon chérie. Please open the door."

  François was a nice guy. A really nice guy. He had a groovy accent and buff bod and mischievous sense of humor. I liked him. All the same, I got on my knees, head low, and opened the door.

  As it creaked open, François slashed out with a long, silver sword, probably hoping to gut me by surprise.

  He missed me.

  But I didn't miss him.

  "Hi Frankie." I shoved the first sword into his stomach. The second plunged into his chest. I whipped them out and da
nced backward. He followed, looking more annoyed than injured.

  The garbage stench that I had whiffed in the gym so often nearly knocked me over. Whatever he'd done to suppress whatever was causing that rank scent wasn't working anymore. It was like diving headfirst into a septic tank.

  He swiped at me, but I salsa'd out of the way. He swung again and again, in a clumsy way, and I had to wonder if he was inept with the weapon or trying to fool me enough that I would lower my guard. The swords clanged against each other, and slowly, I maneuvered so that his back was to the bed and mine was to the door.

  Then I knocked aside his sword and plunged my blades into his stomach. I shouted, "Fulaing!"

  For once I knew what a Gaelic word meant: Suffer. The sidhe magic in the swords blazed, and for a moment, François glowed gold. He jolted as if shocked and, howling in agony, fell to his knees and swayed.

  Body quaking, he dropped the sword. "Ma chérie, you are always surprising."

  I felt sick. François might deserve the pain he was enduring, but it still made me nauseous to be the one inflicting it. "Why are you trying to kill me?"

  His lips curved into a self-deprecating smile. "Ah. Time for the confession of the villain?"

  "Something like that."

  He shrugged then grimaced. I held my swords at the ready even though he wasn't going to attack me. At least, not yet. That fulaing move must've really fried him.

  "You are Patrick's sonuachar. If we kill Ruadan's son, we start a war of the ancients. If we kill Patrick's true love… he walks into the dawn and saves us the trouble. And we frame his brother, eh? Two birds, one stone."

  "And you decided to up the ante by killing Emily and Sharon and Marybeth?" Heck, no reason to tell him that Marybeth was one of the newly undead. What if he was somehow transmitting to someone?

  "No," said François. "To Ron, the deaths of the humans were merely entertainment. Georgie was his cousin—the one who Turned Ron. The poor soul was going mad from the Taint. So, Ron attempted the same cure that Stan had concocted."

  "You told Ron about the transfusion."

  "Oui.. But he killed a lycan to do it whereas Lor's transplant was given from blood collected by live lycans. You saw the results Ron got."

  François looked down at the blood spurting from his wounds. "These cuts will not kill me."

  "I know." I lifted the swords and held them up crossed, just the way I'd learned from my "download." All I had to do was swing down and… God. I stared at François, who looked amazed that I would even consider removing his head. Stabbing a guy was one thing, particularly one who had wanted to stab me back. But this…

  Was I really going to cut off François' head? I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. Then again… he didn't have a soul. "Droch fhola."

  François looked at me, his blue eyes mad, and grinned. Then I knew. "Oh my God. You have the Taint."

  "Oui, chérie. To die will be a great relief."

  "But the cure…"

  "Too late for me." The manic look in his eyes blazed as he shook his head and tried to step back from the edge of his own insanity.

  "What did you do to Patrick?"

  "Ah. He has not been so lucky."

  "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

  "I'm afraid that I'm through with my little confession." He weaved to his feet, his body trembling, and tried to lunge at me. "Kill me," he taunted, lumbering at me like a drunken fool. "Kill me!"

  It was neither fear nor anger that made my decision.

  It was pity.

  I swung both swords at his neck. They sliced through his skin smoothly, one from the left, the other from the right. They met in the middle with a wet metallic snick.

  His eyes went wide, then blank.

  I watched as the handsome head of François tipped forward and as it fell, both body and head exploded into ash.

  As worried as I was about Patrick, he had survived almost four thousand years without my help. If I even allowed myself a second to think about what had just happened, I might lose it. I took a shower to get the blood and ash off my body. Then I dressed in new clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. I avoided the gray pile and red splatter as much as was possible. I was starving, but at the same time, my stomach roiled with nausea.

  With my swords in hand, I left the house. I wasn't ready for… well, whatever. So, I gravitated to the swing and sat on it, rocking slowly. One thing I knew for sure, I would never step foot in my bedroom again. In fact, we'd have to move to another house. One that didn't have the stench of death or the taint of old lives or the echoes of pain.

  I didn't realize I was dry-crying until Lorćan sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulders.

  "François was a bad guy. He had the Taint and I… well, I killed him." I showed Lor the swords, clutching the handles and raising them up to glitter in the moonlight. "They're pretty. I wonder how many they've murdered."

  "I wonder how many they've saved."

  I looked at Lor and offered a tentative smile. "That's a better way to think of it. Thanks."

  "I still haven't been able to connect with Patrick," said Lor. "The RVs are still at the contingency location—and everyone there is safe."

  "Jessica," said a deep Russian-accented voice. Ivan Taganov climbed onto the porch and stood there, looked at me doubtfully.

  "What?" I asked irritably.

  Ivan crossed his massive arms and stared down at me. But there was no rancor in his eyes, only confusion. "I go to find my Linda," he said. "She's nursing Stan back to health. I see them together, and I think, 'Ivan, she is not for you.' And so, I call off the binding."

  "How did Linda take it?"

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. "It does not matter. Right is right. Damian tells me that Patrick is missing."

  I nodded. "Did Charlene ever turn up?"

  Lor grimaced. "We found her… ashes on Rich's grave."

  Horror scrabbled in my belly. "What?" I swallowed the gorge knotting my throat. "She committed suicide?"

  "We think she laid down in front of his tombstone and waited for the dawn."

  "Oh Charlene." I closed my eyes, absorbing this news. Despite everything that had gone on between us, I didn't want such a bad end for her.

  "It is sad, Jessica. I am sorry," said Ivan. "But it is time to find Patrick."

  "Yes," said another male voice, this one tinted with German. I saw Damian lounging against a tree in my front yard. "I see that you don't follow orders."

  "What did you expect me to do? Cower in my bedroom and wait for you to rescue Patrick?"

  "Yes." He straightened and sauntered toward us. "Patrick would rip my head off my shoulders if anything happened to you."

  "Goddamn it. You're my new babysitter?"

  He grinned. "If you would bind with the man, he wouldn't have to send people chasing after you all the time. Me? I think you'll be too troublesome a mate."

  "Huh. Well, good thing I'm not marrying you."

  "Indeed."

  "Children," said Lor drolly. Everyone turned to look at him. "We need to track down Patrick and the Wraiths. It's been sundown for almost an hour. If Patrick still lives… it won't be for much longer."

  "How can you say that so calmly?" I asked as panic washed over me. "He's not dead. He's not!" I tried to calm myself. I wouldn't believe that Patrick had been killed. We had unfinished business.

  "Our security teams are waiting for me to report," said Damian. "We believe we're dealing with a small contingent of Wraiths, and we're not sure if Ron is among them."

  "Georgie is certainly alive," I said, thinking of Marybeth.

  "Not anymore," said Damian. "Drake and Darrius took care of him."

  I flinched. It wouldn't be too big of a leap to think that a showdown between lycans would be fierce and bloody. I tried to get a grip on my yo-yoing emotions. "Where can they hide? It's freaking Broken Heart. We're a small town in the middle of nowhere." I stood up and leapt over the railing to the front yard. I started p
acing and swinging the swords in the patterns I'd learned. "Where? Where are they?"

  The men stayed on the porch. In fact, they crowded into a little circle and conversed in low voices. Making plans without me. But I didn't care. I wanted to get to Patrick. My heart keened for him. Patrick, baby! Tell me where you are!

  You are safe, love?

  Yes! What about you?

  I've been better. I just wanted to say… I love you.

  Oh no you are not! You are not talking to me like it's the last time. Where are you?

  I don't know. I'm facing a wall and I'm… restrained. If I look left, I see crates of 2-liter soda bottles. On my right, there's a stack of empty boxes. And this sounds weird, but I smell nacho cheese.

  Nacho cheese? Soda bottles? Empty boxes? Broken Heart had one convenience store/gas station. He was at the Thrifty Sip. In the storage room. Yes! I lifted into the air, swords at my sides, and aimed myself toward the edge of town.

  The kids, céadsearc. I heard them talking about taking the children hostage. You must go to Bryan and Jenny. Protect them.

  They are protected. They have the guardians and a fleet of men with machine guns.

  I'd been periodically poking at their minds. At last check-in, Jenny and Bryan, along with the other kids, had awakened. They were eating cereal and watching cartoons. Whatever the Consortium had done to hide the RVs and protect the location of the kids had worked.

  They're safe, Patrick. And they are safe because you made sure they would be. You're a wonderful father.

  Jessica… that is the second best thing you've ever said to me.

  What's the first?

  That you love me.

  Silence descended. Thick, heavy, sudden. Either he had blocked me or someone had blocked him.

  "Jessica! Where the hell are you going?" I blinked at the voice so near me and turned my head. Lorćan soared next to me and he looked pissed off.

  "Sorry," I said. "Patrick's at the Thrifty Sip."

  "You go tell the others," he demanded. "And I'll meet you there."

  "No."

  "Jessica, this isn't a game. Or a television show. Or a romance novel. You could get hurt. And Patrick—"