Crossroads

by Jeanne C. Stein

  A flashback. Another vampire corpse. Another grave dug in the desert. Another pair of hands working beside mine.

  Lance.

  A shudder racks my body.

  Max’s shoulder is so close to mine, he feels my body jerk. He pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  The vampire answers from the darkest place in my soul. “It’s nothing. I just walked on someone’s grave.”

  MAX RECOGNIZES ONE OF THE GUARDS AT THE BORDER crossing. They exchange a few words in Spanish and he waves us through. It’s good because I’m not sure I want to try to explain the rust-colored stains covering my clothes.

  Max takes me back to my car. He watches me climb gingerly out of the passenger side. “Can you drive?”

  I massage my side. The scrape caused by the stake is healed. The path the bullet tore through my side is healed. Now it’s just the skin pulling tight as it regenerates over the holes that makes me wince when I move.

  “Yeah. I’m a little stiff but by the time I get home, I’ll be fine.”

  I pull his gun and holster free from my belt. “Here. Maybe next time you can bring a cannon.”

  Max grins and watches as I get into my car and crank the engine before he motions for me to roll down the window.

  “Thanks, Anna. You did good tonight. I owe you one.”

  Okay, here’s my chance to tell him what I planned to tell him. To go fuck himself. To never call me again. To go to one of his vampire whores the next time he needs help.

  What am I waiting for?

  Max is leaning toward the window, smiling. He looks more like the Max I remembered. Superman, defending truth, justice and the American way …

  Shit.

  I smile back.

  And drive away.

  CHAPTER 9

  SLEEP IS A WONDERFUL RESTORATIVE.

  Except for one occasion when a dream proved to be prophetic, my dreams are of human things. My parents, my brother, my niece, my life before the becoming. I’m always happy in my dreams. I’m always human.

  When I awake this morning, the glow of having spent time with those I love lingers.

  Then confusion as I try to zero in on my surroundings. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. The impersonal, artificial coziness of a hotel room with its heavy blackout curtains, disinfectant smell and sterile, generic furniture comes sharply into focus as I look around.

  The reason I’m here floods back, replacing peace with aggravation. It was two a.m. when I arrived back at the cottage. They were waiting for me. TV reporters from every local station. All wanting to interview the hero of the Ralphs supermarket shooting.

  The hero. Me.

  Luckily, I spied the reporters perched like vultures on the seawall in front of my place before they spotted me. I’ve been down this path before and Williams’ recriminations came back to haunt me. I did it again. I exposed my true nature to mortals. That time, my predicament was self-made. This time, I had no choice.

  I drove to a nearby motel and checked in under a false name. It’s useful to have a couple of bogus licenses at times like these—illegal as hell but useful. Also useful to keep an extra jacket in the car. The camos I’m wearing are dust covered and bloodstained. I pulled on an old jacket to cover the worst of it and paid cash for a single night. The guy at the desk looked at me with raised eyebrows but took my money.

  Once settled in the room, I reviewed my options. I need to have a story ready in case I get ambushed by the press tomorrow.

  I think I can use the adrenaline story I told Harris. If a mother can lift a car off a baby, why couldn’t a woman cross fifty feet of floor and get the drop on a gunman in the blink of an eye?

  And by tomorrow, the story may have been relegated from the front page to the police blotter. Who knows what might happen during the night?

  Satisfied with the story, I hadn’t bothered to get undressed, just threw myself across the bed. No reason to get undressed when you have no clean clothes to change into. It was amazing how quickly I fell asleep.

  So now it’s a quick face wash, a call down to the front desk to let them know I’m checking out and I’m headed for home.

  I can’t wait to get home, take a shower. Forget about the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  I park on Mission Boulevard and hoof it into the cottage, using the alley in back. I could have pulled right into my garage. If there are any reporters still around, they are keeping a very low profile. Once inside, I don’t check voice mail, don’t turn on my cell. I want only to get into a hot shower and clean clothes. Enjoy a cup of my own coffee on my own deck.

  It’s what I want.

  What I find when I step into the living room scuttles those plans.

  He’s sitting on my couch, feet up on the coffee table, looking for all the world like he belongs.

  He’s even helped himself to coffee and is reading my paper.

  Son of a bitch.

  It’s Chael.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE LAST TIME I SAW CHAEL, HEAD OF THE MIDDLE Eastern Vampire Tribe, it was exactly two months ago today. He was dressed in Savile Row then. Today it’s Rodeo Drive. He’s in dark slacks and a cream-colored polo shirt, leather loafers on stocking-less feet.

  He looks up when I enter, radiates no concern that I’ve jumped into full vampire mode. He lays the paper down, rises slowly, hands outstretched placatingly. He is slight of stature, dark-skinned, with sharp features and hard eyes. When he stands, we are eye to eye.

  He waits for me to speak first, hands still outstretched as if to show he has come unarmed.

  We are vampire. We are never unarmed.

  Teeth gritted, I open my thoughts. He speaks no English, but we can communicate the way of all vampires, telepathically. You have violated my privacy. How did you get in?

  A shrug. It was not difficult. The glass door off your bedroom was unlocked.

  Stupid of me. I often leave that slider open. Too high for a human to access but not a vampire.

  Is an unlocked door considered an invitation to trespass in your country?

  Chael lifts his palms in a gesture that admits he overstepped, but he offers no apology.

  Why are you here?

  Uninvited, he sits back down, picks up the newspaper and scans the front page. You have been busy. Interfering in mortal affairs again. One eyewitness says that you “flew” over a counter and across the floor to shoot a man armed with a rifle. They are calling it a miracle. I call it an inexcusable display from one who is bent on keeping our existence a secret.

  So, you read English now?

  A deprecating shrug. I had someone translate the story for me.

  I’ll bet. Irritation pokes at me. I growl, The last time I checked, I didn’t answer to you. And what concern is this of yours? You are a long way from your home territory.

  It is the concern of all vampire when their true nature has been exposed. What do you plan to do to rectify this violation?

  I close down the conduit between us. What I plan to do is none of his business. I know faddish human nature. This will pass as soon as something more interesting comes along to capture the imagination of the public. A baseball team will reach the playoffs, a movie star will be arrested for consorting with a fifteen-year-old. Mortal attention span is short.

  You have no plan, do you? Chael shakes his head. As the Chosen One, you are proving once again how immature and ill prepared you are to lead a superior race.

  This again. My temper rises as the real reason for this visit suddenly strikes me. He is not here because of what happened yesterday at the supermarket. He couldn’t have known about it until this morning.

  He is here because of what happened last night in the desert. The rogue was his vampire.

  Enough posturing, Chael. You care nothing for human concerns. You are here because I killed your whore.

  A cold light flashes in his eyes, a hint of a smile touches his mouth. She was a whore. But a useful one. She had influence over the vampi
re community in our part of the world.

  So why did you send her here? Why did you let her indulge her sick game?

  He looks surprised at the question. To get your attention, of course. I knew of your history with your own whoremonger, the mortal, Max. I knew he would come to you when it became obvious a vampire was committing the killings. I knew you’d kill her in turn.

  An elaborate charade. What if Max hadn’t called me or I had refused to help?

  Then the killings would have gone on until you had no choice but to get involved. You and that highly developed sense of responsibility toward mortals. It isn’t in you to let bodies pile up in your own backyard.

  So I met her and killed her. What was the point?

  A miscalculation. I thought you’d at least hear her out before you killed her. I know you did not.

  Shit. He was there. Why didn’t I pick up on that?

  For some reason, Chael doesn’t unleash the beast in me. I sense he’s evil, but I don’t get the gut reaction to his presence that I have with others—both human and supernaturals. I don’t understand it. I wish it wasn’t so. I should have known that he was waiting inside for me before I opened the door. I should have known that he was out in the desert last night.

  I didn’t.

  Chael is silent, calm, waiting for me to process what he suspects but cannot read because he has no access to my thoughts. I study him the way he is studying me. He is not inclined to comment or offer an explanation. Perhaps he doesn’t understand, either, but he must know he has the advantage. Which is very likely why he took the chance of coming into my home.

  My jaw clenches in frustration. What do you want?

  Chael has placed the newspaper back on the coffee table, folding it neatly, squaring the corners so that it lies against the table’s edge. He looks up at me, a real smile lighting his face and softening the hard glint in black eyes. For the first time, I glimpse the human twenty-year-old he must have been when he was turned.

  I am here to solve your problems, Anna Strong. I am here to grant your heart’s desire.

  A snort of bitter amusement greets his proposal. Oh? And you presume to know my heart’s desire?

  I knew it the moment I first learned of you. And everything you have done since the beginning confirms my belief. I know how you can achieve your dream. I know how you can unburden yourself of all the problems in your life.

  He gets to his feet, begins pacing as he talks. That incident with your business partner? I can make it so his memory is truly wiped clean. You and he can once again become the friends you were, sharing more than the shallow relationship you have now. Detective Harris will find you much less interesting when he realizes there is nothing special about you. He will move on to more important cases; Williams will finally be put to rest. You may even wish to pursue a relationship with Max. He still cares for you in spite of his bravado. All will be as it was before the gift was thrust upon you. The gift you yourself have said you neither sought nor wanted.

  How do you propose to work this miracle?

  There is a way. I can show you.

  And if I refuse your offer?

  Chael lifts his shoulders in a gesture of resignation. Then your life becomes a nightmare. All who know you will turn their backs on you. You will be hounded by Harris, who already suspects you are not what you seem. The Revengers will target you. Even your family in France will—

  Before he completes the sentence, I attack. He has no time to react; in an eyeblink I have him on the ground, my teeth at his neck. Never threaten my family.

  He shudders under the ferocity of my attack. He is wise enough to grow very still, to resist the urge to fight. His hands are limp at his side, his eyes closed, his mind closes in on itself like petals of a flower fold with the departing sun. He becomes as motionless and devoid of all discernable life as a rock.

  I want to make the illusion a reality. What would happen if I were to kill the head of one of the Thirteen Tribes? I run my tongue along the base of his jaw. How would his blood taste? What power does his blood possess? Would I be held accountable even though he broke into my home and threatened my family?

  His pulse throbs, his blood sings under a millimeter of skin so delicate, so easily broken. I need only close my jaws, right here, grind my teeth to loose the flow. So easy …

  Chael opens his mind. If you kill me, you’ll never be able to go back. I am the only one who knows the secret.

  I draw back, a hairbreadth, my mouth still in reach of the prize. If you have something to say, say it.

  Chael releases a breath. I know the way. You think it not possible. You are wrong. I can show you.

  You speak in riddles.

  Then I’ll speak plainly. There is a way for you to become mortal again.

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAEL FEELS THE INVOLUNTARY SPIKE OF INTEREST that seeps through my thoughts at his words. He smiles. Ah, I have your attention. Will you let me up now? Please.

  I don’t trust Chael. It goes against every instinct to allow him to get back on his feet.

  Still, it’s what I do. Roughly, jerking him up by the collar of his shirt, teeth and fists ready, body poised to pounce again if I detect any aggression.

  Why am I doing this? The little voice in the back of my head says it’s stupid. It has to be a trick. There is no way to go back. No way to become human again.

  Is there?

  It’s that tiny crumb of doubt that allows Chael a reprieve.

  I step away from him. He straightens his shirt, brushes invisible dirt from his slacks. My clothes are grubby but the jacket conceals the worst of the dirt and blood. This affectation is merely for show. As is his comment, I hope your sartorial taste was better as a mortal than it is now. You are filthy.

  Sarcasm? You try my patience, Chael.

  A snort. Is that irony? I imagine you try the patience of most who know you.

  My fists clench, my jaw and shoulders tighten. Every nerve in my body cries out to bring this arrogant bastard to his knees.

  My inner voice comes again. Patience, Anna. There will be time. After he spins his fairy tale. Consequences be damned.

  Speak.

  He finishes his symbolic tidying by running both hands through jet-black hair, smoothing it behind his ears.

  You’re ready to listen?

  I’m ready to rip your head off your scrawny neck if you don’t get on with it.

  He clucks his tongue. No wonder you are bereft of friends. He resumes his place on the couch. He starts to put his feet back on the coffee table, but the snarl that erupts from my throat stops him. He shakes his head and settles back against the cushions instead.

  There is a shaman. He lives here in your American Southwest. He has the power to restore life. He can bring the dead back from the grave. He can restore mortality to the undead.

  Impossible.

  He stares at me, bemused. That is your reply? Impossible ? You have no questions for me? You are not curious why I would come here risking my well-being with a fabricated tale? What would I accomplish with such a foolish act?

  Chael, I have no idea why you do what you do. I do know that you hate me. I can only guess you have prepared a trap. One you think I’ll be foolish enough to fall into. One you think will rid you of me once and for all. You are wrong on both counts.

  He doesn’t react the way I expect—with vehement denial and heated recrimination. Rather he lifts his elegant shoulders. You are right. It would benefit me greatly if you no longer held the position of Chosen One. A position you neither deserve nor understand. But if I wished only to remove you, it could be done in a much more direct way. I could have you killed.

  This is the Chael I recognize. The smile that I force to my lips is cold and menacing. You could try.

  And I would succeed. You are strong. But you have not faced an army of determined vampires. We would lose some, maybe many, but eventually we would prevail. You are not invincible. If the Chosen One were invincible, there would
have been only one down through the ages, would there not?

  His bluntness strikes a chord. No one has yet been able to answer the questions I’ve asked myself since learning of my dubious distinction as the head of the Thirteen Vampire Tribes.

  How and why was I chosen? What became of those before me?

  My hesitation gives Chael the opportunity to push on. You have wondered about that yourself, haven’t you? Many of us have. His tone is bitter. If we could figure out the mystery, discover the source who predetermines our path, the master who makes us slaves to such as you, the fate of the world would be far different.

  You mean you would move against this master and take over yourself?

  I would not be averse to such a situation.

  But you can’t do it alone, can you? That is what stops you. You don’t have the backing of the others.

  Chael snaps his fingers, dismissing my question with a derisive laugh. Too many are bound up in the superstition. Like mortals cling to their archaic religions, they cling to a ritual that is illogical and irrational and has no relevance today. But in the right circumstance—

  The circumstance of my unseating, for instance?

  His eyes flash. He actually allows the thought or your death to come through, but it is tempered by a smile.

  A smile I don’t return.

  So that is why you come to me with this story? You dare not kill me, but if I become mortal, the thorn from your paw is removed in a way that cannot reflect ill on you. You will have done me no harm. You cannot be held responsible for the deposing of a Chosen One who returns to human life.

  His self-satisfied smile widens. This time I return the smile with a cold one of my own. Crossing the distance between us, I bend so close, he has to cringe back to look up at me.

  Your hypothesis has one severe flaw, Chael. You can’t be sure you will be chosen to take my place. I’m assuming that is your goal if you wish to see the world remade in your twisted image.