Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “Are you really going to hire a vampire tonight?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, why not? I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

  When I saw Parrish next, I’d have to tell him to be gentle with William.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” William said. “I can take care of myself.”

  I didn’t want to argue, so I changed the subject. My knuckles had been aching, so I asked, “Do you think I’m a violent person?”

  The question had been on my mind since my conversation with Rosa this morning. I enjoyed the feeling of Lilith’s power moving through me, and I’d been thinking that maybe there’d been a reason She picked me that night I called Her down.

  “In what way?”

  “Generally speaking. Do I seem prone to anger?”

  William rubbed his chin with the tip of the DustBuster. “You’ve never been an unreasonable or irritable boss, but I’ve always gotten the sense that it was better not to piss you off. You seem like the sort who could do serious damage, you know?”

  I nodded. The real issue was: was that Lilith or me he sensed?

  William wasn’t finished, however. Without prompting, he added, “Cold, though. Not hot. You seem like the sort to be calculating and methodical when seeking revenge.”

  Now that struck me as interesting. By Her nature, Lilith was an instrument for crimes of passion, not long-drawn-out grudges.

  “Thanks, I guess. That answers my question. Buy us a couple of mochas from next door?” I asked, pulling some cash from my pocket.

  “Sure,” he said, taking the money. “But I really want to finish this last shelf first.”

  I went back to my own busywork and thought about William’s assessment of my character. Possibly some part of William could see behind the perky Goth disguise to the woman who’d wrapped six bodies in landscaping tarp and dumped them into a cemetery’s lake. Lilith hadn’t done any of that. I’d done it. Well, with Parrish’s help. He’d done some heavy lifting and donated some supplies. But other than a few tears of frustration, I’d handled it all pretty calmly. I made the key decisions. At the basic level, the whole thing had been down to me.

  I rubbed my knuckles absently. The swelling had receded, and an ugly, blue-black bruise had started to form along the ridge of bone. My hand ached every time I moved a finger. No more punching boxes for me. Not that hitting people was any softer. I knew that from experience, too.

  Maybe I should repent.

  My battered body would probably appreciate a life without the blackouts and the bruises afterwards. It would be all right not to have to bury any more bodies, honestly.

  Fine for me, maybe, but I couldn’t give up Sebastian, despite Mátyás’s warning that my loyalty was misplaced. The Order wouldn’t have any mercy for Sebastian. They couldn’t leave without a parting shot, quite literally, last night, so I had a hard time imagining they’d allow Sebastian to renounce his evil ways and return him to the fold without any more serious consequences.

  I hoped he was okay, stuffed into the trunk like he was. Checking the clock on the wall, I sighed. It was only three in the afternoon. Mother of All, the day crawled when you were anxious for nightfall.

  William stuck a mocha next to my elbow. The chocolatey steam tickled my nose, and wrapping my hands around the cup, I brought it to my face to breathe it in deeply. I could almost feel the caffeine scent activating some dead brain cells.

  “You look tired,” William said. “It’s pretty quiet around here. I could mind the store, if you want to go home and catch a few z’s.”

  Just the suggestion of a nap made my eyelids feel heavy. “I’d like that, but it’s hardly fair. You were up just as late as I was.”

  “True,” he said, adjusting his glasses with the tip of his finger. “I’m just being gentlemanly.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, but I yawned despite myself.

  “Aw, go home,” he said. “I won’t tell the boss. Promise.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t go home, however, because I half expected the Vatican agents to be lying in ambush for me there. Instead, I made my way up State Street to the hotel parking ramp.

  It was one of those amazing, perfect spring days. The sun sparkled on every surface—reflected on shop windows, warming the concrete sidewalks, catching on the edges of buildings. The sky was robin’s-egg blue, without a cloud in sight. Other than the occasional diesel fume from a passing bus, the air smelled crisp and clean. I thought long and hard about taking a detour to the nearby bookstore, Room of One’s Own, buying a paperback or two, and finding a warm spot to sit with my mocha, spending the afternoon soaking in the sun and reading.

  Instead, I wandered through the hotel, playing at losing a trail, à la James Bond, and finally made my way into the low-ceilinged, musty, dark, underground lot, and crawling into the backseat of Sebastian’s car. The smell of exhaust clung to the back of my throat, and the fluorescent lights snapped and hissed just outside the window. I set my cup down carefully on the floorboards and closed my eyes. I meant to just rest for a moment. Take a short nap.

  I was not made for a twenty-four-hour economy, I thought as I drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  Sebastian woke me up with a gentle shake. Drool stained the upholstery under my cheek, and I had that hot, achy, I-slept-too-long-in-a-cramped-position feeling tingling just under my skin.

  “Mumph,” I said. Sitting up slowly, I reached for the cold cup of mocha. I took a cautious sip and found it tolerable. One thing I enjoyed about sweet coffee drinks was that they didn’t taste all that bad hours later.

  Sebastian sat in the space my head had previously occupied. He ducked behind the seat and gestured for me to do the same. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

  “You woke me up for this? Wouldn’t we have been safer sleeping?”

  “Shhhh.”

  I heard footsteps then. Clomping jackboots of Vatican agents, I thought, though I didn’t at first know why I made that connection. Then it hit me. There were no other noises. No happy how-was-your-day-dear cell phone conversations, no fumbling for keys, or the beeping of a nearby car coming to life. In fact, there were no nearby cars at all. Whoever was coming this way was coming for us.

  The scuffling of boot heels stopped. I glanced over at Sebastian, who stared past me at the window over my head.

  “I want you to stay in the car,” he said in a low voice.

  A sweet, chivalrous gesture that was completely misplaced. I put my hand over his. “Don’t risk hurting yourself again,” I said, giving his fingers a squeeze. “When I step out there, I want you to play dead. Go down and stay down, got it?”

  “No, Garnet,” he said, and I expected some sexist comment about a manful desire to protect me, but instead he finished with, “I need the blood.”

  “Oh,” I said, letting go of his hand. “Okay. You first.”

  Sebastian threw open the car door and crouched low. He leapt, pantherlike, onto the roof. Or, at least, I assumed that was where he went, since I couldn’t see him through the window when I lifted my head to peer out. Instead, I saw Mátyás standing in the center of the aisle he’d been walking down, arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring at the car roof disapprovingly. He was alone. I peered into the shadows, but I saw no hint of backup in the form of uzi-toting monks.

  “Very dramatic, Papa,” I heard Mátyás’s voice drawl sarcastically. “Ooh, will you be turning into a bat next?”

  I was stepping out of the car when Sebastian pounced.

  It was a flying leap, skimming over my head. I ducked, but I must have messed up Sebastian’s trajectory, because he collided less than gracefully into Mátyás, sending both of them sprawling. Belatedly, I felt the sting of his toes on the top of my head.

  Sebastian didn’t lose the advantage, however. Mátyás hit the concrete pad with a thunk so loud that I winced in sympathy. Sebastian knelt on top of hi
m. He wrenched Mátyás s head to the side, exposing his throat. I’d been coming up beside them but stopped, immobilized by shock, as Sebastian lowered himself toward Mátyás s pulsing jugular.

  He stopped before taking a bite, however. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.” Sebastian’s voice seemed surprisingly loud in the empty parking lot.

  “I came to offer peace,” Mátyás rasped.

  Sebastian chuckled low in his throat, his lips brushing skin. “Eternal peace? I can offer that as well, child.”

  I didn’t realize I’d been inching backward until my shoulders pressed against the slightly slimy wall.

  “I’m sincere, Father. Ask her,” Mátyás said, looking at me, his eyes wild with fear. “I negotiated with her earlier.”

  Sebastian turned to glare at me. “Negotiated?”

  Yeah, that was my thought, but the look in Sebastian’s eyes made me consider my words carefully. “Mátyás came into the shop around noon. He wanted me to tell him where you were.”

  “And here you are,” Mátyás said. “Garnet led me right to you.”

  Sebastian must have tightened his grip, because Mátyás groaned. “You’re making a piss-poor case for your life, boy.”

  “My life?” Mátyás s voice chose that moment to break.

  Sebastian stared at him. I couldn’t see what passed between them, but Mátyás’s eyes frantically scanned his father’s impassive face. Mátyás wiggled as though he wanted to reach out to Sebastian.

  “You’re hurt,” Mátyás said. “What’s happened, Papa?”

  Sebastian broke his dark stare and let go of Mátyás’s exposed throat. “It’s the formula,” he said. “It’s weakening.”

  Mátyás’s hands grasped at his father’s. “All the more reason to go to them. The Church can help you.”

  Sebastian seemed to be considering it. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat back a little.

  “They can help us all,” Mátyás continued. “You. Me. And I’m bringing them Mother. Once the exorcism is performed—”

  The glare Sebastian shot Mátyás stopped further discussion. “You’re an extremely foolish boy.”

  “Why?” Even from across the parking lot, I could hear the desperation in Mátyás s voice. “Because I want us to be a family?”

  “Your mother is dead.”

  “Yes, and together we could finally bury her,” Mátyás said.

  In a strange way, I understood. Mátyás hadn’t lied when he said he’d come in peace. He wanted to make things right between himself and Sebastian. He hoped that if the Order could free his mother’s trapped soul, then they could put the hurt her undeath caused behind them. It was kind of noble in its own way.

  But the Order had nearly killed Sebastian last night. They weren’t interested in making happy families. They wanted the grimoire.

  “I’d like that,” Sebastian said quietly, the dark fire gone from his eyes. “But we don’t know that it would work.”

  “It will. It must.”

  Sebastian shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t matter, Mátyás. We can’t give them what they want.”

  “Why not? Your formula isn’t working.”

  Sebastian laughed. “Only after a thousand years.”

  “But it didn’t work on Mother.”

  “I never gave the formula to your mother. I tried to turn her with a bite,” Sebastian said, pulling himself off Mátyás to sit beside him. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed to see them lounging there so casually in the middle of the traffic lane of the parking garage.

  Something must have clicked for Mátyás, because he sat up straight. “It could work? They could turn themselves into vampires?”

  So we’d been right. That was what the Order intended to do with Sebastian’s formula.

  Mátyás had sold the Vatican a bill of goods—or, at least, he’d meant to. He’d been banking on the fact that the formula wouldn’t work. He was less of a jerk than I thought.

  “I don’t know, but the possibility is there—a strong possibility,” Sebastian said. “I don’t know. My experience with Teréza made me gun-shy. I thought a blood transfusion would be enough to save her, and it wasn’t. It was a horrible mistake. Once she was dead, it was too late. The formula must be drunk by a living person.”

  So, Parrish and his vampire friends were out of luck. There was no Holy Grail—no cure for their particular brand of vampirism.

  “At least, I assume,” Sebastian admitted with a defeated sigh. “I… your mother’s death shook me profoundly, Mátyás. I had never loved anyone enough to want to live with them forever besides your mother—and then to have things go so horribly awry. It was devastating. And then there was you… I knew that my blood had tainted you, as well. I thought the formula must surely be a curse, a poison. Thus, I found myself unwilling to experiment with any other lives. Not with my blood, nor with formula. I have never attempted to duplicate it.”

  Mátyás’s gaze seemed to linger on the dark splotches on Sebastian’s face. “And now you have to.”

  Sebastian didn’t say anything. The answer was obvious, as was his need for blood.

  Mátyás turned his head to expose his neck again. “Drink,” he said.

  Sebastian hesitated, clearly moved by his son’s sacrifice. He took Mátyás into his arms in an embrace, and then plunged his fangs deep into his throat. I heard Mátyás gasp in pain and surprise.

  I turned away. I didn’t like being bitten, and I had no desire to watch someone else being drained, either. I made my way back to Sebastian’s car. The car did not come with a radio, I discovered in my search for distraction. I kind of wanted to see what was happening, but just when I thought I’d take a look, Sebastian opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

  He smelled like blood. In the enclosed space, the earthy, metallic odor was unmistakable.

  Of course, it smeared his chin and chest.

  Sebastian started the car.

  “The parking attendant is going to call the cops unless you have some napkins hidden in this car somewhere,” I remarked as dryly as I could, given how much my hands shook as I cranked the window down a crack.

  When Sebastian steered around Mátyás’s prone form, I couldn’t help but ask, “Sebastian, uh, everything work out with you and Mátyás?”

  “Under your seat,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Handi Wipes.” After groping around for a moment, my hands seized on a canister of alcohol wipes. I offered them to Sebastian, who pulled out a fistful. “He’s not dead,” he said.

  Well, I’d hoped the hell not. After all, Mátyás had offered freely. Of course, so had Feather, and she’d nearly died. Sebastian scrubbed at his face, smearing it pink.

  “Ugh. You’re making it worse. Pull over a second and let me do it,” I told him.

  Sebastian wedged the car into a space one floor up between a minivan and a pickup truck covered in political stickers. As soon as he shifted into park, I began daubing at his face like a mother hen.

  “I’m having some trouble with control lately.” He shut his eyes and leaned his head heavily back onto the seat.

  “I noticed,” I said, finishing my ministrations by buttoning up his coat to hide the stained shirt.

  “I can’t seem to get enough. The Hunger… it’s never been so strong before.” Sebastian shifted into reverse and pulled the car back out. As we started circling our way upward, Sebastian fished a wallet out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said lamely. I didn’t have a better answer.

  “Part of me wanted to kill him, Garnet. My only son.”

  I couldn’t precisely say that I knew how he was feeling, but I’d been wrestling with a similar question all day. I’d decided that what separated the good guys from the bad guys came down to intent. How could I continue to feel morally superior to the Order if I started acting like them? I’d killed, but so far, the deaths on my hands could mostly be consid
ered self-defense. I recognized that in truth, there was an element of something much nastier, like Lilith’s— and my—desire for vengeance, but when I’d walked through that door, they were the ones holding the weapons. For now, that’s what was important.

  If I could stay on that side of the line, I could live with myself.

  “I know,” I said finally. We were approaching the ticket booth, so I handed Sebastian a twenty. “But you didn’t, and that’s what counts.”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian said, as he handed the ticket and the money to the bored-looking attendant wearing a Somali-style head scarf. She handed Sebastian his change and mumbled a thank-you without really ever looking at him. I wondered if we could have driven out with his face completely smeared in blood, after all.

  “The worst part? I’m still hungry,” he said, as we pulled out past the early evening crowds headed to the bars on State Street. “I need that formula, Garnet. You do have it somewhere, right?”

  “Yeah… about that.” I chewed my lip. Finding Parrish might be a problem. Then I had an idea. “Do you remember William from last night?”

  Sebastian gave me a concerned glance through narrowed eyes. “I nearly killed his girlfriend, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” I smiled. “We’re going to help him pick up a hustler.”

  * * * *

  I sent Sebastian two doors down to the clothing boutique for a new shirt while I collected William. The Closed sign hung in the window, and all the lights were out. Though I couldn’t see William, I assumed he was in the back counting out the till. I reached for my key to unlock the door, then remembered I’d broken it. I tried the door anyway. I was surprised when it opened, but more so to find William’s key ring hanging on the other side. Sloppy and very unlike him. I left it as I found it, intending to drag his butt out here to show him the evidence of his absentmindedness.

  As I approached the storeroom, I heard voices. At first, I thought maybe William had tuned the store stereo system to NPR to keep himself company while he worked, but then I recognized a few words, chiefly, my name.

  Someone’s muscular arm propped the door open slightly. Black T-shirt and the dull glint of the muzzle of a large automatic weapon slung over said shoulder was all I needed to tell me the Vatican agents had cornered William. I pressed myself against the bookcase when the agent turned to glance toward the interior of the shop. I willed myself to melt into the shadows as he scanned the room.