Stakes & Stilettos ib-4

by Мишель Роуэн

  "You didn't even wait for my answer," he said, rubbing his arm. "Damn, you're getting a bit pushy, aren't you?"

  Everything that had happened began to rush over me in a flood of emotion and my bottom lip wobbled. "I'm sorry. Really, George, I'm sorry for everything."

  "Hey, don't cry. It's going to be okay."

  "That's what everyone keeps telling me. But… but it's not. Not if I don't meet with Stacy and apologize to her. And even then…" I swallowed hard. "I don't know. Just as things are going really great with Thierry this had to happen and now if he touches me we want to bite each other and stupid Veronique won't agree to the annulment. Nothing ever seems to go right for me."

  He put his arm around me and gave me a side hug. "Nothing ever goes right for you?

  Well, you met me, didn't you? Obviously after that windfall, fate had to give you a few hard knocks."

  That made me smile a little. "Of course. What was I thinking? That must be it."

  "And how bad can life be? You're gorgeous. You know amazing people, me at the top of the list, of course. Your fangs are definitely the cutest I've ever seen, and since I now know them practically in the biblical sense I feel that I can say that in all honesty. And even though he's extremely moody, you have a boyfriend who is beyond crazy for you."

  I blinked. "You really think so?"

  "Crazy. Beyond. You obviously have a talent for making people crazy, Sarah. It's a gift.

  Don't deny it."

  I laughed. "Great."

  He nodded. "Now let's go. Another moment of being all snark-free and complimentary like this and I might toss my cookies. It's so unnatural."

  And so we went.

  A park at night. A witch with a grudge. A desperate, bloodthirsty, cursed vampire and her trusty sarcastic, nicotine-addicted sidekick.

  No problemo.

  Interlude

  London, England, 1811

  Thierry knew it was a trap, but he went anyhow. He had no choice.

  He watched from the shadows.

  A nightwalker had managed to lure Veronique to an abandoned house in London's East

  End with romantic promises. Even Thierry was surprised, despite his wife's weakness for handsome men who showed her the slightest attention, that she had been so naive as to be led there near the docks—an exceedingly poor and disgusting neighborhood.

  It was true that the nightwalker in question didn't show any outward signs of what he was.

  Despite his never going out during the day, he seemed quite normal indeed. A handsome, well dressed man of means at first glance.

  A nightwalker who had murdered scores of women—all of whom were vampires. He was a tool of the hunters who were trying out nightwalkers as secret weapons.

  Only Thierry knew this. He also knew that the hunters had recently decided that it was a very bad idea.

  Nightwalkers couldn't be controlled. To trust one would be a deadly mistake.

  Thierry also knew that the rookery where Veronique was being held was being watched by three hunters. They were to wait until the nightwalker had killed Veronique—a vampiress they considered highly dangerous—and then they would slay the nightwalker himself.

  He and Veronique hadn't spoken in months. She'd left him to go to London and play among the rich and fanged citizens, having a string of affairs with men a fraction of her age.

  Thierry kept waiting to feel jealousy or anger at his wife's decisions, but he felt nothing at all. This disturbed him. He should mind that his wife was unfaithful, shouldn't he? But he didn't seem to care.

  Sometimes, late at night, he would stare up at the ceiling and worry that he had no heart.

  That there was nothing in him that was human anymore. Perhaps the human part of him had died in the plague, now nearing five hundred years ago. It was a long time. It had felt like a long time.

  He shook his head. It was no time for dark thoughts. They smacked of weakness.

  He slid the mask of the Red Devil in place over his face and slipped into the building.

  The nightwalker had already bitten Veronique. The marks on her neck had healed remarkably well, but were still visible. He'd watched from the shadows outside as the monster had swept her hair off her throat and bent to taste her. To begin with, she had welcomed his bite, but it had been obvious that her lust had quickly turned to fear. When she pushed at him he had struck her so hard it had knocked her unconscious. He had tied her up and left her in the room alone. When the nightwalker returned, he would finish her.

  She moved when Thierry began to loosen her bindings, and she turned her beautiful face to him, her eyes widening.

  "You are… you are the Red Devil," she whispered.

  "Yes."

  "And you've come to rescue me?"

  The mask felt warm. He hated wearing it for too long. "Yes."

  When the ropes were loose he helped her to her feet. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

  "How can I ever thank you?"

  He pulled away, and looked down at her. "There's no need for that."

  She stared at him. The mask covered most of his face, but his mouth and eyes were visible. He waited to see if she would recognize him. He almost wanted her to find out his secret, but there was no flicker of recognition. The woman he had known for almost five centuries gave no hint that she knew who he truly was.

  Then again, she thought her husband a coward who would hide from danger. It would never occur to her that he was capable of knowing, let alone being, the Red Devil himself.

  No one knew. Not one soul.

  "Come with me." He took her hand and led her to the open window.

  There was a crash. The nightwalker had returned, his eyes black as pitch, his lips curled back from his fangs. Without a word of warning, he attacked, and Thierry fought back, keeping Veronique behind him for protection.

  And then, suddenly, the hunters burst into the room and there was chaos. The nightwalker turned on them and attacked. Thierry was able to jump out of the window with

  Veronique, and they ran for three blocks through the dirty and crowded London streets.

  "Go," Thierry said. "You're safe."

  Veronique threw her arms around him and pressed her half-dressed body tightly against his. "You are as remarkable a man as I have heard."

  He didn't quite know how to answer that. He didn't feel so remarkable.

  She drew his mouth to hers and kissed him, before leaning back and touching her fingers to her lips.

  She must recognize me now, he thought.

  She smiled wickedly. "A kiss from the devil himself. It is something I could get very used to."

  "You must leave."

  "I want to know who you are beneath the mask." She slid her elegant hand down his chest. "And I will show you how grateful I am for your rescue."

  He leaned closer. "You don't know who I am?"

  She looked confused. "No. Please tell me. I want you. I want to be with you. We should be lovers."

  He ignored that and pulled her along with him until they were clear of the worst of the seedy neighborhood.

  "Good night, Veronique," he said, and turned away from her.

  "No, wait! Please! How do you know my name?"

  But he was gone and he didn't look back. After he slipped behind the next building he removed his red mask.

  "Sir?" an old gnarled woman croaked at him. "A fortune for you? A glimpse at the future?"

  "I am not interested in fortunes."

  He attempted to brush past her but she grasped his hand in her dry one.

  "Ah." A smile fanned dozens of wrinkles out from her faded eyes. "A vampire."

  "How… ?" He frowned. "How did you know that?"

  "Shh. I will tell you your fortune for free." She stared down into his palm. He watched her cautiously. "I see a very long life, but since you are a vampire I suppose that is to be expected." Her finger traced a line on his skin. "Much danger."

  He eyed her warily.

  "
Ah, and I see romance. A deep and abiding love that shall change your life forever."

  He laughed out loud at that. He'd given the old woman the benefit of the doubt after she'd guessed him a vampire, but now she was simply wasting his time. "I have never been in love. And I never will be."

  "No," she agreed. "Not now. Not for a very long time. But there will be someone, someday, who shall enter your life and wipe away the cobwebs that have grown over your soul. She shall be the light to your darkness. Despite your many differences, she shall be the one for you and you will fight for her."

  "I don't fight for love. It isn't worth it."

  She smiled at him and patted his hand. "You will fight. She shall find you when you least expect it, she will see who you truly are behind all the masks you hide behind, and she will change everything for you."

  He raised an eyebrow, slightly bemused with the old witch. He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a few coins that he pressed into her hand. "I don't believe in fairy tales, old woman, but thank you for your amusing fortune."

  He started to walk away, to disappear into the crowd, into the night.

  "You don't have to believe," she called after him. "Perhaps the fairy tales shall believe in you."

  Rubbish, he thought. Then he promptly put her words out of his mind, despite the ache in his chest that made him wish he could believe.

  Chapter 12

  The small snow-covered park across the street from the alleyway Haven was located in seemed at first glance to be deserted. But then I saw her. Standing in dead center, with her arms crossed and a less-than-friendly expression on her face. Her bleached-blond hair contrasted with her blood-red winter coat.

  She was all alone. I scanned the immediate area. As far as I could see it was only the three of us.

  "Sarah," she said sternly. "I thought I said no bodyguards."

  "He's not a bodyguard." I shrugged. "George is just here for moral support."

  Her smile widened. "I didn't think he looked all that tough."

  "Hey," George protested. "You said she was mean and nasty. You didn't say anything about her being rude."

  Stacy walked toward us. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

  "Divine. Let's cut the small talk, though."

  She studied me for a moment. "You're ready to apologize?"

  "Yes."

  She smiled. "Then make it a good one."

  I took a deep breath and swallowed my ill feelings. Okay. She deserved this. She did.

  "Upon reflection of certain days at high school," I began, "I do remember why you might not like me so much."

  "Not like you?" she said. "That's a bit of an understatement, isn't it?"

  I forced a smile and glanced over at George. He'd lit up another cigarette. "Right. Well, I know that I treated you with disrespect. Everyone can't be flowers and sunshine every day of their lives. There are things like PMS and/or fights with boyfriends, etcetera, that might contribute to someone acting uncharacteristically unpleasant."

  "Oh, that was uncharacteristic?"

  "It was ten years ago."

  "So?"

  A wind picked up and blew some of the snow that had gathered on the tree branches at me. It felt cold and wet against my face and I wiped it away. "You unfortunately saw a bad side of me for a couple of minutes one day. I had lots of friends. They would all vouch that I was a really nice person. But I know I was mean to you, and then I went out with what's-his-name to the prom—"

  "Jonathan," she snapped. "His name was Jonathan."

  "Right, Jonathan. High school is bad enough without any extra trauma. I know that. I am so, so sorry if I hurt your feelings."

  She snorted.

  I raised my eyebrows. "What?"

  "That was your apology?"

  "It was."

  She slapped me, leaving behind a painful sting on the left side of my face. I looked at her, too stunned to be angry.

  George took a step closer. "Slap Sarah again, you bitch, and I'm going to blow smoke in your face."

  She waved a hand in George's direction and he froze in place and his eyes shut. His cigarette fell to the ground.

  I blinked. "What did you do?"

  Stacy glared at me. "Your moral support was getting in the way. Don't worry, he'll be fine, but this is a conversation between the two of us, Sarah, and I want it to stay that way."

  I curled my hands into fists at my sides, willing myself to stay calm. My left cheek burned from the slap. "I apologized to you. What do you want from me now? I haven't done anything wrong."

  She shook her head and took a moment to brush the blowing snow off of her red coat.

  "Isn't it funny how everyone has a completely different view of themselves? How everyone is the hero of their own story and other people are the villains?"

  "I'm not a villain."

  "You're a vampire."

  "Vampires are not villains." God, how many times did I have to explain this to people?

  "We're just like humans only we have a few more issues to deal with. It's the choices we make that make us good or bad. I'd think that somebody who calls herself a witch would understand that. I'm not seeing any green skin, warts, and broomsticks around."

  "No, no broomsticks," she said evenly. "But I did bring one of these along."

  She pulled a long, sharp wooden stake from the inside of her coat.

  My mouth went dry and my heart began to pound hard against my rib cage. Just the sight of the stake was enough to give me an immediate anxiety attack. The last time I'd seen one had been when it was yanked out of my chest.

  "It's funny how just the memory of a major trauma can bring it back as if it only just happened," Stacy said, and her smile was back. It made me think that somehow she knew about what had happened to me. My attention didn't leave the piece of sharpened wood for a moment. "Memories are triggered by many things. A smell, a taste. Our senses are amazing for total recall. It's as if we're right back when the bad thing happened. We can live it again and again and again." She moved the stake back and forth between her hands.

  "Just put that away," I said shakily.

  "Why? Do I seem threatening? I'm just holding it. I'm not trying to do anything with it, am

  I?"

  I had dealt with my stake issues. I had. It was an unpleasant memory, as she'd just said, but I'd gotten over it. Only… only I hadn't. Maybe I wasn't dealing with what had happened to me as well as I thought I had. The stake itself wasn't doing me any harm. But

  I knew what it felt like to be staked. To come as close to being dead as I'd ever come before.

  Being staked had been the most terrifying experience of my life.

  "I said I was sorry," I said. "What more do you want from me?"

  "That's a very good question. Well, I suppose we can start by you telling me what it's like to be one of the bad guys."

  "I'm not one of the bad guys!"

  Her cold smile widened. "There is so much you don't know, Sarah, and your boyfriend hasn't even begun to fill you in on the subject. But I guess he's too busy trying to drink your tasty blood, isn't he? I suppose it's only a matter of time before he finally goes completely off the wagon and tears out your throat before you can do the same to him.

  I've heard he has a bit of a problem keeping his fangs to himself when he's around certain women."

  My eyes narrowed and I got my breath back when she invoked Thierry's name.

  "Don't you dare mention him. I don't know how you know what you do, but my life and his is none of your damn business."

  "I mentioned nightwalkers to you before. Have you learned anything about them?"

  My attention was still focused on that stake. "Mostly that they no longer exist."

  "Nightwalkers couldn't stand sunlight, they thirsted for blood from humans with warm flesh and beating hearts. They were repelled by crosses and holy water. And yes, they were wiped out." The light on the lamp post above us flickered. "As a matter of fact, Thierry is the one who worked side by s
ide with the hunters to get rid of them all, or most of them. From what I've learned, he was the head of some vampire faction."

  It felt colder in the park all of a sudden. Thierry was the vampire who created the Ring—

  the vampire council—originally, but he'd walked away from his leadership role a hundred years ago. "I don't believe anything you say."

  "He felt that these nightwalkers were dangerous to vampire and human alike, so being the brave and noble man he was, he secretly met with the leaders of the hunters to give them information that would help to off all of those nasty vamps. Maybe he was right to do that.

  Maybe it was for the best. But if you ask me, it kind of smacks of genocide, don't you think? Part of his bargain was for them to leave the other vamps alone, but hunters aren't exactly good at keeping bargains, are they?"

  I crossed my arms. Even though the temperature didn't majorly affect me anymore, I suddenly felt chilled right through to the bone. "If what you're telling me about these nightwalkers is true, then it would be like getting rid of a bunch of cockroaches. No big loss to the world. I don't think Thierry did the wrong thing at all."

  She shook her head. "I figured that you would try to defend his actions. God, you trust so easily, don't you? Considering the well-known fact that he can't control his own monster when he's around you, it's a bit like him throwing stones from his glass coffin with what he did to the nightwalkers, don't you think?"

  I glared at her. "You cursed me to be a nightwalker."

  She nodded. "And I'm so thrilled with how well it turned out. I'm surprised Thierry can even come near you, let alone want to bite you. He devoted years to wiping things like you off the planet."

  "I held up my end of the bargain. You've had your fun. Break the curse." I heard the desperation in my voice and I didn't like it at all. I wiped away more cold, stinging snow from my face.

  She frowned. "Who said anything about a bargain?"

  I breathed out a long steady breath. The thrall. Of course. I'd use the thrall on her to get her to do what I wanted.