“I think,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “I think that you know as well as I what a sire’s influence can make a fledgling do. We know that Dahlia was somewhere on the grounds being turned. She would have been too weak to make another vampire. Cyrus didn’t make him. I would have seen it when I sired him. So that leaves the Soul Eater. You said yourself he forced you to do things you didn’t want to do.”
The war between dying anger and acceptance raged for a few seconds in Nathan’s eyes. I prayed common sense would win, but some primal, protective instinct in Nathan forced a curse from his lips and he stalked out of the room.
Something desperate welled up inside me. I didn’t want him to go to Ziggy. He could get killed. And I didn’t want another person in Nathan’s life.
Do you hear yourself, the way you’re thinking? I scolded myself. It’s his son. His son!
But I didn’t care. All I cared about was the sadness, the crushing sadness I felt at the thought of him choosing someone else, anyone else, over me. I didn’t know where it came from, and I knew better than to try and justify it. I was acting like a big baby. I knew it—anyone who was privy to my deranged thought process would know it—but I couldn’t stop myself. And above everything else, I hated being out of control.
I caught up with Nathan in the foyer. He didn’t look at me, focusing instead on opening the coat closet and rifling through it. “I have to get on the road.”
“On the road?” I glanced up at the shuttered window.
“Once I get a few things together. I don’t want to leave unarmed.” He pulled out a crossbow, one of the weapons we’d spirited across state lines hidden in a spare tire. “I’m going to get Ziggy.”
I fought back the urge to tell him one last time not to go. I had to curb this ridiculous jealousy. I’d lost Nathan once—okay, probably countless times by now—and I didn’t feel like doing it again.
“He asked me to meet him. Back in Grand Rapids. I’d ask you to go, but as you said, it might be—”
“A trap?” I forced the hands I’d placed on my hips firmly down to avoid appearing too confrontational. “You think?”
“My son is alive. And I’m going to go get him.” His eyes were hard, daring me to argue with him further.
I don’t respond well to dares. “Don’t be stupid! Nathan, how much time has gone by? Why didn’t he contact you before now? You know that if you go after him, you’re going to end up dead. You’re not thinking!”
“No, I’m not thinking about you!” He threw the crossbow down and it bounced with an earsplitting clatter on the marble floor. “You’re pissed off because for a moment, my focus isn’t on you. I’ve been Carrie-centric nonstop since the first night we met! How much longer do you expect me to hang on to you while you punish me?”
“Punish you?” The shrillness of my voice startled me. “Why am I punishing you?”
“I don’t know! But ever since you came to Chicago with Max you’ve done nothing but punish me. I’m sorry, okay? Does that end this asinine vendetta you’ve had against me? I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you at first sight and give up my memories of my wife and give up my love for my son. I’m sorry I couldn’t get myself together for you on your time!”
“That’s not what this is about!” I followed him as he stalked into the kitchen, barely caught the door before it swung back to slam into my face. “What have I done to you?”
He spun, face contorted in rage. “You slept with Cyrus! I’m not an idiot, and I can read your mind. You slept with Cyrus while I was possessed, then you left for Chicago because you thought we needed time apart. And when I came back, ready to tell you that, yes, I love you and I want to be with you, you ran off and you fucking sired him!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” The fight had become like some sick exploratory surgery, cutting through scar tissue to see how deep it ran. I’d thought we were finished fighting over Cyrus, but Ziggy’s sudden return from the grave seemed to have opened all kinds of old wounds.
I knew what he would come back at me with even as he spoke the words. “You did it because you wanted to. You get so lost and so desperate when the focus of someone else’s life shifts from you, and you’ll do anything to get it back. If you’re constantly pulling me in two directions, begging me to be with you, pushing me away, then you’ve got your captive audience.” His voice dropped, deadly soft in the deafening quiet of the room. “Now, I’ve helped you when no one else could. I helped you through your change. I helped you when you turned your back on me to go to Cyrus, and it cost me my son. I even helped you mourn his murderer. I’ve never asked for anything in return from you, but I’m damned sure you wouldn’t give it, even if I did. So, I’m taking. I’m taking my focus off of you, to go and get my son and bring him here where he will be safe, with me. You can be as jealous as you want. You can hate me. But I’m not giving you anything else.”
He went to the door without his weapons, just blind fury and determination, and left.
I wanted to run after him, to scream at him, but not to warn him of danger or assert that I had been right in the argument. Because just his mention of Cyrus had opened the blood tie I’d had to him in my mind. There was no connection at the other end. Cyrus was dead, lost in the watery blue world where vampires went when they died. It was raw, almost physically painful, like a severed nerve straining to reconnect with its missing end. Coupled with the stress already building in me, it bowled me over. I had to brace myself against the rail as I nearly fell down the stairs to the third-floor guest rooms. Everything was wrong. Surreal.
I stormed into the bedroom and stared in outrage at the curtains, the bed, the television. How dare those objects exist while I was in pain? How dare the drapes hang so perfectly, almost cheerfully stirring in the breeze from the central air?
The last time I’d been in Chicago, I’d been staying with Max, nursing my broken heart over Nathan. I’d been mourning then, too. Mourning my broken connection with Nathan, still mourning the loss of my normal life. And it was here, in this very room, that I’d called Cyrus, heard his voice.
I would never hear him again. Never hear the way his soft, cultured accent turned my name into a sinful prayer against my ear. Never feel his body pressed to mine. But it was more than just a sexual connection. I’d never been able to do the things I’d longed to when he was alive. I wanted to sit and dream of a future with him without thinking I was twisted. I wanted to lie in his arms and feel safe, not as though I should be on guard.
And I wanted Nathan. I would never stop wanting a life with him. I was torn in so many different directions at once, I wanted so many things that I couldn’t have, could never have had even if circumstances had been perfect. And it made me angrier than I’d ever been before.
The pain and the rage built up inside me, forcing my mouth open in a silent scream. My chest constricted, allowing only a tiny breath to escape in a thin, high wail. It grew and deepened as the pain deepened, until I was screaming, and I rushed at the curtains, yanking them down. They tore easily, too easily, and I turned to the bed, my empty hands spasming open and closed until they fell on the duvet cover. I threw it from the bed, shredded it with my fingers, pulled handfuls of blanket and sheets away from the mattress. All the while I screamed, my chest caving in, my heart breaking all over. It would never end. I would feel this horrible feeling forever, I was sure.
My hands actually trembled from the force of the emotions that had been loosed, and I pressed my forehead to the carpet, feeling my cold breath bouncing back at me to chill the tears on my cheeks. There was more to think of now than my pain. Nathan’s words had hurt. Not because he’d said them in anger, but because every one of them was true. I was selfish, I was jealous. I’d just never realized how deeply.
Had I slept with Cyrus that night in the van because I was genuinely disturbed by Nathan’s suffering as he lay, possessed by his sire, upstairs? Or had I done it because I knew, in some dark part of my heart, that he would get better
and the whole nasty business would come to light? And when it hadn’t, at least, not right away, I’d run away with Max and almost slept with him, as well. And when none of that had worked, when Nathan had still seemed so close to giving me what I’d thought I’d wanted from him, I’d turned one of his worst enemies into my fledgling, brought him into Nathan’s home.
All the while, I’d accused him of not being understanding, blamed him for making my life complicated. My God, had I ever been responsible for my own actions? Ever, in my entire life?
I dropped my head in my hands and let the tears come, beat myself down with memories of Nathan’s kindness in the face of my selfishness. When I’d run from him, he’d pursued. When I’d destroyed things between us, again and again, he’d always been willing to rebuild. And I’d abused that, pushing further every time, trying to push him past the breaking point.
He’d broken, finally. I’d pushed him far enough, and he’d pushed back. I’d sent him running headfirst into a trap because I couldn’t stop being so caught up in my own drama to support him in his.
The buzzer sounded, and my head snapped up. I ran to the foyer, mashed the intercom button and spoke, not caring how desperate my voice sounded. “Nathan?”
“No, it’s Bill.” He sounded embarrassed for me. “I left my cooler here. Can I come up and get it?”
“Yes, of course.” I let go of the button, my mind racing. Nathan had walked into a trap, I was sure of it. And it was time for me to stop being selfish.
It was time for me to save Nathan, for a change.
“Well?” Dahlia tapped her foot. She wore those stupid slippers with the feather stuff around the toes, like she was some old-time movie star.
Ziggy folded up his phone. “He wants to meet at a safe place.”
Dahlia snorted, lifting up a couch cushion that had been slashed by something. Probably a knife. Maybe a claw. The thought of those monsters coming here, tearing up the place…
It had been hard enough, coming back. Seeing the place he’d called home for the tail end of his childhood abandoned and destroyed made it worse. And with Dahlia here. It was like betraying Nate before he actually betrayed him.
It’s not betrayal, he thought angrily, feeling the sudden need to wipe tears from his eyes. He blinked them back. It wasn’t betrayal. He had Jacob’s word. All he had to do was deliver Nate, just to talk. No harm would come to him. And then Ziggy got his freedom, and everything could go back the way it was.
Only now, he’d be a vampire. It would make Nate’s schedule easier to deal with.
“This place looked a lot better the last time I was here,” Dahlia sniffed, arranging the cushions on the couch and sitting. “You know, when I tried to kill your dad?”
“Right. I remember.” He squeezed his hands into fists. He wanted to kill her, had been wanting to for a while now. He pushed the rage down. It made him a monster, and he’d been Jacob’s pet monster for way too long. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What? Don’t you want to sit and reminisce? Go through your old things?” She paused to glance dramatically around the room. “Oh, gee…I don’t see much left.”
She wasn’t as good at hurting him as she thought she was, but there was no arguing with her. “Shut up, let’s get out of here.”
“No, I’m curious. I wonder how long it took for him to move her in here, once you were gone.” She giggled. “So, tell me, are you real jealous of her? You don’t honestly expect me to believe you never had a little crush on dear old daddy.”
He had his hand around her throat before she could move. She might have magic, but magic didn’t work so well when your head was snapped off your neck, and he was definitely stronger. “If you ever fucking say that again, I’ll kill you.” He tossed her across the room, easy as throwing a doll. There were advantages to having a powerful sire. Advantages he wished to God he didn’t have to know about.
Dahlia gagged and wiped blood from her lips as she stood. “Jacob would never let you. You might be the favorite, but I’ve got the power. He needs me.”
“That’s great, Dahlia. He won’t let me kill you because you’re a tool he can use. You must be real proud. Why won’t he let you kill me?” That would get her. Jacob had barely spoken to her beyond giving orders since he’d given up on that stupid potion of hers. And she hated him for it. “Get your fat ass up. We’re leaving.”
She picked her way through the rubble of ruined books and furniture. “Fine. There’s nothing here I’d want to keep anyway. Slut-tastic only wore ‘sensible’ clothes.”
“Nice, Dahlia.” He opened the door for her and resisted the urge to kick her down the stairs.
The car was waiting for them, the driver leaning against the door. It struck Ziggy for the first time how many human servants he interacted with every day, and how he never knew their names. Heck, he didn’t even really look at them or wonder how the hell they started working for vampires.
“Are you going to open my door, or are you going to just stand there and stare at the man meat?” Dahlia pushed Ziggy aside and grabbed the handle of the door. “You gross me right out sometimes, you know.”
I won’t kill her. I won’t kill her. He repeated the mantra all the way to the highway, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. Grand Rapids seemed empty and alien. It was just knowing that Nate wasn’t there. He’d left. Even after the message he’d had Max relay to him. “I’m coming home. Wait for me. I’ll be there in five days.” How much clearer did he have to be? He knew Max wasn’t the kind of guy to forget something that important. He would have at least mentioned, “Hey, by the way, your dead son isn’t that dead.” So, knowing Ziggy was alive, knowing what Jacob was like, why hadn’t Nate waited for him?
Dahlia babbled on and on about something stupid. The girl’s mouth never stopped running. When she was in his presence, it was usually “you’re a fag this,” and “you’re a homo that.” He could tune that out pretty easily. He’d even been able to shut her up for days at a time when he’d first started pointing out that he’d slept with Cyrus, making Dahlia’s first vampire lover a “homo,” too. Whenever she was around Jacob, though, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. It was a perk to being crazy, Ziggy figured. It was easy to be different things to different people when there really were different people living in your head.
It was a trick he needed to learn. Especially around Jacob.
The car pulled off the South Beltline, onto 37, and took a right at the spot where it became a plain old two-lane road. They passed by some small houses, ranch style with aboveground swimming pools and swing sets in the yards. People lived there. Kids lived there. So close to evil, oblivious to its presence. He suppressed a shudder to think of those people and what would happen to them if Jacob got some sadistic whim to toy with them.
He would, eventually. He always had some fun new “game.” “Come, play a game with me, favorite son,” he would purr, and the game would always be something to make Ziggy feel dirty and used.
Jacob liked to watch.
“What the hell, you’re not even listening to me.” Dahlia puffed air between her pursed lips. “I swear, you’re about the most boring person on the planet.”
He snorted, leaning his head against the window. “What side of the conversation were you on?”
Dahlia mumbled something unintelligible. If it had sounded like a spell, he would have been more worried. Jacob had laid down some strict rules about her spell casting, but, as Dahlia often liked to point out in these situations, Jacob wasn’t there.
They pulled onto a dirt road, lined with cattails and other weeds that warned drivers not to stray from the path if they didn’t want their car to be forever known as the swamp buggy.
The new digs Jacob had moved them into weren’t as nice as the mansion. But since they’d been infiltrated once, it could happen again, and Jacob was nothing if not paranoid. They pulled off the road onto a little covered bridge that creaked as though it was seriously considering dumping the
car into the swamp. It was dark as hell, and that was probably a good thing. He really didn’t want to see what condition the wood was in, because he’d have to cross it again sometime. The rumbling of the wheels on the boards stopped and they emerged onto a rutted dirt two-track that wound through the swamp. The house, a sagging farmhouse done up in plantation style, gleamed bone white in the moonlight. Two willow trees drooped in front of it, like the tattered edges of a corpse’s Sunday suit.
“I hate this place,” Dahlia said, and for a moment he felt some solidarity with her, until she followed up with, “It’s so far from the mall.”
“Yeah, that’s the feature it’s really lacking.”
The car pulled up in front of the broken porch, and Ziggy didn’t wait for the chauffeur to open his door. He slipped out and thumped up the steps, his boots ringing hollow on the rotted wood.
“Where are you going?” Dahlia stood by the car, a chubby hand on her round hip.
“Uh, inside. The opposite of outside, where the mosquitoes are.” He slapped at one that had taken an interest in his neck—he wasn’t sure if drinking his blood would make a mosquito a vampire, since they already kind of were—to illustrate his point. “I’ve got to tell Jacob what’s going on and get permission to take some of them out with me.”
“I want to come, too,” she said petulantly. “It’s not like you can control them the way I can.”
Oh, hell no. “No, no way. You’re not going along on this one.”
Dahlia’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly in her chubby face. “Well, we’ll just see what Jacob has to say about that.”
Ziggy had a pretty good idea what Jacob would say about it. That there was no way in hell Dahlia was going anywhere near his fledgling. Ziggy had already warned their sire of what Dahlia had done to Nathan in the past. “Yeah, let’s go and talk to him.”
“No. I’ll go and talk to him.” She smirked and jerked her chin toward the darkness behind the house. “It’s your turn to feed them.”
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