Time passed, and the immediacy of her fear receded. She drowsed, chin lowering, eyes growing heavy. The music was hypnotizing. People were making out, finding recesses like her own to get to know each other better. It had been such a long day. But she couldn’t let herself sleep, fought to stay alert. It was too dangerous.
After a while, she pulled out her Omni once more. Found comfort in its brilliant screen. She searched for the term “freedom fight” and found a long series of videos, articles, information. She checked a video. Couldn’t hear the audio over the music, but saw enough to quickly close the feed down. Two men battering each other to death in a huge auditorium, a large crowd watching from the seats. She scanned the Wikipedia article. Read enough to realize that they were lethal fights held here in Miami at the old sports arena. If you won three fights, you could walk free of the city. Each fight was to the death. Though it was banned in the US, the fights were recorded and promoted online. Selah felt sick.
A message beeped. Jairo. Homesick and tired, she decided to accept the request. His face appeared on her screen, earnest and serious. He immediately threw up his hands and said something inaudible. She turned on the subtitles again.
“Finally!” he’d said. He mouthed something. “Are you OK?”
Selah shook her head. Jairo hadn’t been her very best friend back home, but he had been a friend. She thought he liked her, but whatever. That didn’t matter right now.
“We are all thinking of you,” the subtitles read. “Missing you like crazy.”
Her eyes teared up again. God, she thought angrily, all I do is cry. She blinked the tears away and tried for a brave smile. Typed out, “Course you do.”
“Where are you? Are you really on the Beach?” The admiration and fear on his face made her sit up a little.
“Yes,” she typed out. “At a club called Magnum.”
“You don’t waste any time,” he said. “What’s it like?”
“Crazy,” she replied. “Here, check it out.”
She had an Alpha connection after all. She put the Omni on 360-degree recording mode and set it on the table before her. Leaned forward at the last moment and sent the feed to not only Jairo but her Garden as well. Let the world see where she was.
The Omni didn’t change, but anybody tapping into her feed would be able to move their point of view around and look at anything they wanted. Zoom in, listen, whatever. She sat back, crossed her arms. Stared at the Omni. Let Jairo and Scott and Alessandra get a taste of just where she’d ended up. She felt absurdly abandoned by them, as if they’d chosen to leave her alone here. Incoming messages began to beep on the top right of the screen. She wasn’t surprised. Let them add on to the hundreds already queued on her Connection Wall. She’d check them later.
Selah looked past the Omni into the depths of the lounge. It was like a marine grotto, all shifting sea greens and shadows. She didn’t want to see what half the people were doing, but she knew Scott would be all over that action like the sick puppy he was. She searched for black eyes. Didn’t see any. Curious, morbidly so, she examined the couples who were hidden in the larger chairs, in the corners. Were they just making out, or …? She tried to see. Would a vampire feed in public? The word didn’t come as easily to her mind as it had before. Not after that dance. Just the thought set her heart racing.
A couple of large men appeared in the doorway to the room. They were alert, clearly not here to have fun. Selah scooted back, and then as they entered the lounge and began to make their way purposefully toward her corner, she snatched up her Omni and shoved it in her pocket. One of them was the bouncer from out front, while the second was a lean Hispanic dude wearing sunglasses looked at everybody with a harsh, sour-looking face. They knifed through the lounge, indifferently kicking legs out of their way, and Selah shrank even further back into her chair. They were coming right at her.
She looked around in a fresh bout of panic, searched for a new place to hide, to bolt to. What had happened? Before she could formulate a plan, they’d reached her and stood towering over her chair, blocking out the rest of the room.
The Hispanic guy held out his hand. “Give it over.”
“Give what?”
“Whatever you’re using to connect. Don’t make us take it.”
Her Omni? She hesitated and pulled it out. It was still recording. He snatched it out of her hands. Examined it, and then expertly turned it off. Not just off, but powered it all the way down. Slipped it into his pocket, and then nodded to the bouncer who leaned down and grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her roughly out of the seat.
“Hey!” she yelled, yanking back on her arm. “Get off me!”
People were staring. Frightened, eyes wide, their sultry moods shattered by the sudden violence, their latent and ever-present fear rising to gleam in their eyes. The Hispanic guy was already marching back to the door. The bouncer gave her a shove, nearly knocked her sprawling, and forced her to follow. Selah did so, rubbing her wrist, heart beating like a runaway train again. Oh god, she thought. Oh god.
They led her brusquely through the lounge, back into the nexus. Selah entertained the wild idea of making a break for the entrance, a sudden dash in the hopes of finding and then hiding behind Maria Elena who would explain it all, but the bouncer’s hand never strayed far from her shoulder—and in truth, she was too scared. What if she only got in more trouble? She let them lead her through a narrow door she hadn’t noticed before into a cramped corridor beyond.
The music was immediately reduced to a muffled bass beat and Selah wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of cigarettes and the tang of wet, rusting iron. The Hispanic guy led her past a couple of doors and into a cramped room that was little more than a drain in the floor and cinderblock walls. A mop rested inside a bucket in one corner, but that was it. The bouncer shoved Selah inside, and she stumbled in and caught herself on the far wall. Turning quickly, she pressed her back against the rough concrete and stared wildly at them both. She half expected them to simply lock the door and turn out the lights, but instead the Hispanic man crossed his arms and studied her, eyes as cold as those of a dead dog.
Selah met his gaze and stared right back. He was wearing a form-flattering black suit, which made him look compact and trim, and his goatee and moustache were manicured with what looked like obsessive care. Selah welcomed the pang of contempt she felt for how much effort he’d put in to keeping that thin little thing looking good. But his eyes were hard and his manner was hard. No sympathy there.
It hit her then. She couldn’t call the cops. There were no cops. She couldn’t get help. There was nobody who could come. Mama B was miles away behind a locked iron door, and Maria Elena had no idea that she was back here. Whatever was going to come, she would have to deal with it alone.
“What’s your name? Where’s your ID?”
“I don’t have an ID,” she said, his tone arousing her old anger.
“No ID? Then what? Who are you?”
“My name’s Selah Brown. I just arrived today. I was deported from …” It felt weird to say. “From the States. The US.”
“Deported, huh?” The man was scanning her. Clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. “You got anything on you then? Passport? Papers that show your entry date?”
No. She’d left those with Mama B. She shook her head.
“How convenient.” There was a knock on the door, and a skinny white guy stuck his head in. His face looked like a weasel that was forcing itself in through too small a hole. “Here,” said the Hispanic guy. “Take a look at this. See what you can pull.” He handed the other guy her Omni.
Selah stepped forward. “Hey! That’s mine!” Without any emotion, the Hispanic guy shoved her back hard enough to send her stumbling against the wall. Did so without looking at her. That shove was all business.
“Old model, but nice,” said the white guy, turning her Omni around in his hands. “OK. Will do.” He ducked back out.
“I’m going to ask again,�
� said her captor. A drop of sweat ran down his temple. It was hot in here. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
“Work for?” Selah tried to look scornful. “I don’t work for nobody. I just got here. I’m with Maria Elena—she works the front door. She brought me here. Just ask her.”
“Maria Elena, eh? OK. We’ll check with her in due time. But maybe she doesn’t know who you really are. What were you recording in the lounge?”
“Recording? Is that what this is about?” The man stared at her. “I was just recording to show my friends back home, that’s all. I haven’t had an Alpha connection since I got to Florida. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”
“Sure,” said the man. “Recording to show your friends back home. We’ll see. You wait here.” He turned then and left. Selah tensed, terrified that he would turn off the lights and leave her in the dark, but he didn’t. She sank into a crouch, back against the wall, and lowered her chin onto her crossed forearms. Stared fiercely at the door, trying to understand what was going on, what he’d been implying. Clearly recording was a huge no-no.
A thought hit her. She blinked and straightened up. Did they think she was working for the Resistance? No, that couldn’t be it. But still. Was that what they thought?
The Resistance. The Liberation Project. The Free Miami Movement. They had a bunch of names, and sometimes it seemed their identity changed every week. But they were real. Real, and very popular, their videos and stunts garnering huge amounts of media attention and a loyal following. Staging acts of vandalism, piping out video feeds of atrocities, calling on the government and the people to act, to take Miami back.
Selah chewed on her lower lip. If that was the case, she could be in huge trouble. The Resistance was small because if you got caught, you just disappeared. A lot of their work involved tracking down the members who’d been taken. Trying to figure out their fates. If the Hispanic guy thought she was working for them, then—damn. Selah took a deep breath, panic fluttering in her chest.
She’d followed the Movement since it’d first gone live three years ago. Who hadn’t? Watched the first shakily recorded videos, marveled at how romantic and brave those people were, fighting back against the vampires. Like most girls, she’d developed a crush on Cloud, the leader of the group, a media-savvy guy who uploaded the most frequently, who regularly sent out essays and articles protesting the city’s subjugation. Cloud, always masked, voice fierce. Selah closed her eyes. Shit.
Time dragged by. She thought about pounding on the door. Wondered if they’d gone to fetch Maria Elena. What would they do to her? Kill her? Give her to a vampire? Her mind kept circling back to her Omni. They would for sure get access to all her regular, normal-girl stuff. Read all her private journals, see her photographs, and violate her privacy completely. The question was: would they also find her father’s hidden files? His research on Blood Dust, his profiling of top vampires in Miami like the vampire king Sawiskera, on Jocasta and the others. His speculation on the military’s involvement with the drug trade… Selah rubbed her face. Not only that, but they could easily check her browsing history. See that she regularly visited the Resistance’s site, and was an active member of a number of vampire-related groups. Would that be enough to incriminate her? She closed her eyes and repressed a groan.
Burgeoning panic made the small cell seem claustrophobically tiny. Why was there a drain in the floor? To wash away blood? How long could they keep her in here? Just when she thought she could take it no longer, the door opened, and the vampire stepped inside.
Chapter Six
Selah, expecting the Hispanic guy, had already begun to rise to her feet, protest on her lips. Her words died in her throat, so that the only sound she made was a queer croak. The strength went out from her knees and she sank back into a crouch.
He closed the door quietly, and then turned to look down at her. She gazed back up, terrified, mind slack with terror. His polished, smooth scalp shone under the fluorescent bulb. Those twin smeared scars, the raw, regal power in his face. Wide nose, broad lips, hard jaw. No sweat. No smell. Just eyes like oblivion, swallowing her whole, drinking her in. He stood as still as a statue, not breathing. Not moving. His hands didn’t sway, didn’t tremble even a little. A living statue. A dead statue. A vampire.
Selah shook her head. Her thoughts were a maelstrom. This was it. Her punishment. A tidy death in an anonymous closet. He was going to drink her blood, tear open her throat. No wonder there was a drain in the floor. This was probably where it happened, every night, over and over again. How many had died here? She was going to die—she was going to die.
Panic crawled and clawed its way up her throat, and she was about to start clawing at the cinderblocks behind her when he lowered himself smoothly into a crouch opposite her. Lowered himself with effortless grace, and rested his forearms lightly on his knees. He had put on a black jacket, she noticed, was still wearing the same black shirt and dress pants from before. His shoes shone in the harsh light. She looked everywhere, anywhere, but his eyes.
“Who are you?” His voice was soft, just louder than a whisper. Air forced out from his dead lungs. She saw him inhale, a purposeful movement, taking air back in and then simply holding it.
“Selah. Selah Brown.” Her voice was wooden. No more thoughts. Her mind had grown very still. She stared at his chest. If she didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t, either.
“Selah. Not Sethe?”
Selah frowned. “Sethe? No. My name’s Selah.”
He searched her face, and shook his head as if marveling. “Of course. A foolish question. Are you a member of the Resistance, Selah?” His face was somber, however, his eyes impenetrable. She tried to remember him on the dance floor, found that she absolutely couldn’t.
“No,” she said. Her word hung between them in the air. Everything hung in the balance. Her life, her fate. She stared at him and hoped, desperately hoped that he would believe her. He nodded. Arose just as smoothly to his feet.
“I didn’t think so. Hector tells me that you are new to Miami. You had best learn fast: people are not allowed to make recordings of any kind within the city. Even owning a device such as yours is a punishable offense.”
“I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Selah looked up at him. Part of her wanted to stand as well, but she couldn’t move. Somehow—could it be? Somehow it looked like she was going to survive.
“Hector wants to keep your machine. Make sure you register yourself tomorrow morning and get an ID. I might not be around to intercede the next time you make a mistake.” Selah couldn’t believe it—was there a touch of humor to his voice? Couldn’t look away from those eyes. She felt half mesmerized. Numb, dazed. She nodded.
“OK. I promise.”
“Good,” he said. He stared down at her for a moment longer. Seemed on the verge of saying something more, and then changed his mind. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He opened the door and walked away.
Selah closed her eyes. Rested her head back against the wall. Breathed in deep, slow breaths, trying to calm herself. Trying not to cry in the aftermath of such intensity. To stay in control. It took all her energy, all her will. Exhaustion came crashing down upon her, swamping her, so that she didn’t think she could move. Could ever move again. She could sleep right there. Just pass out, and sleep for eternity.
“Oh. My. God,” said Maria Elena. Selah opened her eyes as the other girl came into the room and knelt before her. Her face was torn, half terrified, half furious. “I told you to stay out of trouble! I told you to not do anything stupid! Oh my god, how could you get in so much trouble so fast?”
“I’m sorry,” said Selah, though she didn’t really feel sorry. She didn’t feel much of anything. It had all been too much. She just felt tired. “It was an accident.”
“I mean, you almost cost me my job! Maybe my life! The Resistance? Recording in the lounge? What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” said Selah. She might as well be honest. “I didn’t kn
ow. You didn’t tell me.”
That checked her. Maria Elena opened her mouth to let loose another volley of fury, but then stopped. Looked at her, and something new came into her eyes. She took a deep breath, and reached out to put her hands on Selah’s arms. “You’re right. This is my fault. I didn’t think. Again. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“Your job?” asked Selah as Maria Elena hauled her to her feet. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not officially. Hector wants to kill me, but he can’t do anything. Not when the freaking Dragon tells him to leave it alone.”
“Dragon?” Selah looked at her friend. They stepped into the hall. “That’s his name?”
“That’s what they call him. He’s big time, chica. You never want to get his attention. He works for the Big Man himself. Sawiskera, you know? How the hell did you get his attention? You know what? Never mind. Let’s get out of here first.”
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