Lust for Life

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  He grunts in acknowledgment, then goes totally still. “Wait.”

  I keep my mouth shut while he thinks.

  After several seconds he speaks. “If she wants us dead, even just to save herself and her son, then why tell us anything at all? Why give us names? Why not let us get ambushed without even knowing they’re out there?”

  He has a point. What does Deirdre gain by betraying a man who makes Jim look like a Sunday school teacher? “Maybe she wants us to kill Kashmir and the rest of Jim’s progeny.” Besides her, of course.

  Shane nods slowly. “Kashmir scares her. I could hear it in her voice. She wasn’t faking it.”

  “Regina says he’s a whole other level of bad.” My mind seizes on a terrible possibility. “Kashmir could be feeding us disinformation through Deirdre. If he’s threatening her son, she’ll do anything.”

  “So maybe they’ll attack sooner. Either way, we need to prepare.” He rests his hand near his cell phone on the table but doesn’t pick it up. “We should call in the Control.”

  My, how times have changed. In the old days I would’ve been the one to suggest it.

  “Can we trust them? The Control might have let Jim go, knowing either he’d kill us, or that we’d kill him and start a cycle of vengeance.”

  “How could they know about Kashmir?”

  “If they were working with him in the first place to set Jim free.”

  “I wonder if there’s a record of who visited Jim in the nursing home. They do let outsiders visit, at least in the part that I was in. That’s how David rescued me.”

  “Rescued” in a metaphorical sense. Shane was in a special ward reserved for young vampires who have trouble adjusting to their new life. Suicide watch, basically. When David started the radio station and hired Regina, she led him to her progeny Shane.

  The rest is WVMP history. The station gave Shane something to live for. No way we’ll let it be attacked.

  “According to Deirdre,” Shane says, “the progeny will move in right after sunset, once we all leave for T-Day, except for whoever has the first shift that night.”

  The DJs’ three-hour shows go in chronological order on alternating nights. On nights that begin with odd-numbered dates, Monroe, Spencer, and Adrian play their forties, fifties, and sixties music, respectively. Noah, Regina, Shane, and Jeremy (seventies, eighties, etc.) play on even nights.

  “What’s the date for Thanksgiving?” I ask Shane.

  “The twenty-fifth.”

  A cold fire burns in my chest. An odd night: Monroe will be there. They’ll take him hostage, knowing I’d do almost anything to save my maker. Killing him would be the perfect revenge against me. “Tell me you have a plan.”

  “I do. We hold T-Day dinner at the station. We’ll have Control Enforcement agents pose as donors.”

  I give an admiring nod. “So if Kashmir ambushes us, we’ll be ready.”

  “We’ll have the tactical advantage of being inside the building. We could modify the boarded-up windows, put little doors in them so we can shoot the vampires as they approach.”

  “Shoot them with holy water?”

  “With crossbows.”

  “You want to kill them?”

  “They want to kill us. Just like Jim. They’re his progeny, so they won’t stop. He wouldn’t have stopped.”

  “What about his progeny’s progeny? If we kill Kashmir and his blood siblings, we might have an even bigger fight on our hands in another month. I think we should go nonlethal, debilitate them with holy water and let the Control arrest them for attempted murder.”

  “Ciara, have you forgotten Halloween? They tried to blow us up just for putting Jim away. He wasn’t even dead yet. It made no difference to Kashmir.”

  “It might make a difference to the next generation.” I lean closer to him. “I can’t believe you, of all people, want to just wipe them all out.”

  “It’s self-defense, Ciara.” He touches my shoulder. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Ever.”

  “Is that what this is about? You feel guilty for what Jim did to me?”

  “I shouldn’t have let you meet him alone.”

  “If you hadn’t, my cousin Cass would be dead. Jim gave us no choice.”

  “I should’ve found a third choice.”

  “We did the best we could with the time we had.” I move onto his lap and press my cheek against his neck. “You can’t stop all the bad things in the world. I wish you could. I’m not so proud that I’d rather be dead than have my man protect me.”

  “I would do anything, Ciara.” He strokes my hair. “I’ve vowed on my soul to keep you safe. You have to let me keep that vow to myself, even if it means losing my own life.”

  “Stop it.” I push against him, my throat wanting to rip open with tears. “I don’t like you this way. I want the old Shane back, the one who was too cool to fight.”

  “Tough shit.” He holds on to me, gently now, so that if I wanted to pull away, I could, but I don’t. “That Shane is gone until this is all over. One way or the other.”

  15

  Lawyers, Guns, and Money

  The tile floor of the Control headquarters building was made to torture vampires like Noah.

  His compulsion is symmetry, sort of. His feet follow the patterns in carpet, hardwood, sidewalks, whatever. He does what he can to avoid stepping on cracks, seams, tiles of a different color from the ones around them, even drops of paint or tufts of grass sticking up through concrete.

  The floor outside Shane’s hearing room is made of tiles with patterns that point forward and backward, alternating with tiles that point from side to side. One can align one’s feet with the grain only by taking carefully spaced, awkwardly short steps. You’d think it’d make it hard to pace, but Noah manages, head down, watching his sandals mark the pattern. It’s like a hopscotch game without the hop.

  On my other side, Spencer is adjusting the rug outside the hearing room so that its edge is perfectly parallel with the threshold.

  I’ve got no room to judge their compulsions—I had to rotate the sign that said 2:15 AM, MCALLISTER TRIBUNAL so that I couldn’t see it. It’s the marquee-style sign that has white block letters on a black background, with no glass front. The temptation to physically rearrange them as well as mentally is almost overpowering.

  Monroe sits on the bench beside me, reading an antique copy of Life magazine he picked out of the rack. It’s from 1960, twenty years after he died. But for him it’s the future.

  It’s not that they don’t know what year it is or who’s president or who won the World Series last week. They read the news out loud to their listeners every day. They’re just happier and more stable when they can connect to their own “Life Times.” The music does that for them. It’s why the WVMP DJs are probably the sanest vampires in the country.

  All of them but one. Even a seminightly psychedelic show couldn’t keep Jim from riding the crazy train. That’s what we’ve all been called here to testify. Regina, Jeremy, and Deirdre spoke last night, as well as Jim’s necro-psychologist at the Control nursing home. Tonight it was me, Monroe, Spencer, Noah, and lastly Shane himself.

  Before the tribunal, Lanham told us that he checked Jim’s visitor list for the last month. No one outside the agency came to see Jim. Which is frustrating for our investigative purposes, not to mention sad for him.

  The tribunal room is soundproof even for vampire hearing, like most rooms in this building. We’ve taken turns pressing our ears to the center of the door and every crack, straining for a scrap of conversation among the five tribunal members. There’s one from each major division: Enforcement, Command, Recruitment, Logistics, and VHR (Vampire-Human Relations). The Immanence Corps is the semisecret sixth division, a jagged line and shaded triangle on the Control organizational chart.

  When I testified, I watched each member’s eyes for signs of sympathy. I watched the way they looked at Shane while I spoke. I tried to find some clue on which to hang my hope or des
pair.

  Nothing. I am never playing them in poker.

  The hour drags on, until finally I can’t take it anymore. I cross to the sign, turn it around, and start rearranging.

  BAR MCALLISTER, UNTIL 2:15 AM. No, they might take that suggestion literally.

  I raise the comma and create RUB’N MCALLISTER TAIL, 2:15 AM. “Yeah, baby.”

  Still no sounds from the hearing room. I pace a few more times, then add Shane’s last name to the remix. This’ll keep me occupied for a while.

  Fifteen minutes later I have I’LL SCAM A BURNER TIL 2:15 AM, but I can’t find a place for the second T.

  The door suddenly opens. To a very quiet room.

  I slip the white plastic T in my pocket and turn to see Shane walking out, chin high and jaw set. His entire black-uniformed body is rigid.

  “It’s done.” He sweeps past us, obviously eager to leave the building.

  “What’s done?” Spencer and I say simultaneously. Noah and Monroe flank us as if in protection, though no one else seems to be in a hurry to follow Shane.

  “Suspended for sixty days without pay. Plus I have to repeat my nonlethal methods training with the January Indoc class.” Shane sighs. “That’ll be humiliating.”

  “You’ll teach those newbies a thing or two.” I glance back down the hall into the hearing room, where everyone looks as creepily neutral as they were when I was testifying. “I guess it could’ve been worse, huh?”

  “Yes.” He makes a crisp turn toward the stairs. “They could’ve suspended me longer, even thrown me in prison.”

  “They shoulda given you a medal,” Monroe murmurs.

  “One of the tribunal members argued for that.” Shane takes the stairs two at a time, and we have to hurry to keep up. “But in this political climate, they had to make an example of me.”

  “‘Political climate’?” Noah asks.

  “With the Project Blood Leash investigation going on, the Control is extrasensitive about any anti-vampire violence.”

  Spencer scoffs. “Don’t it matter that you’re a vampire yourself?”

  “Colonel Petrea was a vampire,” I point out, “and he was the head of Project Blood Leash.” I want to take Shane’s hand, but it’s forbidden when either of us is in uniform. “So why didn’t they punish you worse?”

  “Because of the circumstances. Jim had a history of violence against both of us, especially you. The tribunal said they believe I acted correctly to preserve our lives.”

  “Then why punish you at all?”

  Shane sighs as he shoves open the outer door and stalks down the marble stairs that gleam in the moonlight. “Remember when I told Deirdre how I’d run that scenario over and over in my mind, so that if I ever saw Jim, I could act without thinking? So that killing him would be a reflex?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Saying that was a moment of supreme stupidity. It made it sound like it was premeditated, like I had a grudge.”

  “You did.” Monroe stops at the bottom of the stairs to light his cigarette. “We all did.”

  Shane turns on his heel, impatient at the brief delay. “The tribunal board said that it hampered my ability to adhere to the Control’s first precept: ‘Cooperation before coercion.’ ”

  “If you’d cooperated before you coerced,” I point out, “we’d be corpses.”

  He looks at the others, then drops his gaze to the ground. “We’ll never know that for sure.”

  “I know it. Jim broke my wrist. He tore out half my throat. He was faster, stronger, and more ruthless than you.” I wrap my arms around Shane’s waist and press my face to his chest. “I don’t care what they say. I’ll always know you saved me.”

  “That’s all that matters.” He kisses the top of my head, in total violation of the no-PDA-in-uniform rule. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

  • • •

  We prepare the station for battle, without looking like we’re preparing the station for battle.

  When Shane and I arrive Friday night, David and Franklin have just finished installing hinged doors in the two boarded-up windows of the main office.

  “Check this out.” David swings open the square door in the window behind Lori’s desk. Then he rests the nozzle of a holy-water pistol in a little notch at the bottom. “For greater shooting stability.”

  Shane strides forward. “Close that thing, it’s after dark! Someone might see it.” He slams it shut. “I mean, it’s great. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” David points to the window. “You couldn’t see them from outside when they’re closed, could you?”

  “No, they’re completely seamless.” It’s a little weird, I admit, being in the office with Shane and David after having been sandwiched between them. But I’ll get used to it. I run my fingers over the wrought-iron handle of the other “turret door.” “Nice style, too.”

  “Got the handles on sale at Lowe’s.” Franklin unplugs the electric drill and starts to wrap the cord around the grip.

  I notice they’ve moved our coatrack, which is currently a heavy cardboard cutout of Eric Clapton. I put it back in place. “So, Franklin, big date tonight. Will it be Hair today, gone tomorrow?”

  The others cover their ears, too late to escape my bad pun. Franklin turns to me, drill poised as if to shoot me with it. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re going to see a musical. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m great. No, wait.” He sets down the drill and makes exaggerated jazz hands. “I’m faaaaabulous! Is that better?”

  “If by ‘better’ you mean scarier than Saw and its four hundred sequels put together, then yes.”

  David and Shane go into David’s office for another tactical meeting. Just because David is retired and Shane is suspended doesn’t mean they can stop being Enforcement agents when our lives are on the line.

  “So this thing with Adrian . . .” I begin.

  “This thing with Adrian,” Franklin says, “will either kill me or complete me. Or completely kill me.”

  I take a moment to absorb Franklin’s combination of sanguinity and cynicism. Sanguinicism.

  How long before I think of nothing but words? How long before I can’t relate to humans at all, and then finally not even other vampires? How long before I retreat into my own head?

  How many more years do I have?

  I follow Franklin into his office and watch him sift through his drawers. He’s still got Aaron’s picture on his desk, off to the left of his desktop computer.

  They probably thought they had years left to them, but Aaron was stolen away. At least I came back, so I could spend whatever time I have left with Shane. It’s better than nothing.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he says.

  I lean against his doorjamb. “Did you ever know anyone with Alzheimer’s?”

  “Why?” He looks up, concerned. “Not your mom.”

  “Nah, she’s sharper than your stash of pencil stakes. You’ll see when you meet her next month at our wedding. Plus she’s too young for Alzheimer’s.”

  “People can get it younger. I had an aunt who wasn’t even sixty when she died of it.” He shakes his head. “It was horrible. She disappeared little by little. You know when your DVR is on the fritz and the picture gets all pixilated and sometimes it even freezes? And then it’s normal again?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was like that. At the beginning, anyway. Then the pixilation would last longer and longer, until one day there was no normal picture anymore. It was all frozen.”

  I feel that way right now, staring at him, thinking of those moments when everything stops and my mind seizes on some little thing. I was never an absentminded human. In fact, I was present-minded. My mind was always—oh, crap, I’m doing it right now.

  “That’s terrible,” I say, because I have a vague recollection that what Franklin said was, in fact, terrible.

  He gives me a strange look. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s my
turn to pick the charity for next year’s Rockathon.” It’s like a telethon, but with rock. “I thought of Alzheimer’s, and it’d be great if one of us had a personal connection to it.” That sounds bad. “Not ‘great’ like ‘fortunate,’ but ‘great’ like . . . ‘useful.’ ”

  Franklin gives a gruff chuckle. “Every one of those DJs seems like highly functioning Alzheimer’s patients some days, the way their minds are all going.” He looks up suddenly. “I don’t mean you or Shane. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m young. I’ve got years and years and years of fun before the decay starts.” I imitate his bad jazz hands, then turn away so he doesn’t see how fast my smile disappears.

  “This place is a glorified shack,” Shane is telling David in his office. “Only two windows, and they face the same direction.”

  “Right, north. It cuts down on the sunlight.”

  “It also makes it really hard to defend. We can’t see anyone coming from other directions.”

  I walk over to David’s office as he says, “We could station someone outside.”

  “They could be killed or taken hostage.” Shane points to the ceiling. “I’m telling you, we need the attic. Cut holes to make windows.”

  The door at the bottom of the stairs opens, and Jeremy saunters up.

  “It’s not a real attic,” David tells Shane. “That floor wouldn’t hold a chipmunk, much less a pair of Enforcement agents.”

  I imagine a chipmunk dressed from head to toe in black and wielding a crossbow. It doesn’t cheer me up as much as one would think.

  “Besides,” David says, “it’ll cause flooding.”

  “What are they talking about?” Jeremy asks me.

  “How to see and shoot our approaching enemy from on high without them seeing and shooting us.”

  “I don’t know about the shooting, but a security camera’ll take care of the seeing.”

  “That’s an idea,” David says. “We should’ve had some installed years ago.”

  “When people started trying to kill us,” I add, then ask Jeremy, “How much do one of those things cost?”

  “For the whole system? It depends. Anywhere from several hundred to several thousand.”