With practiced ease, she plucked away at the keys of the motel’s office laptop. When you had to avoid speaking to just about everyone in the world in order to stay alive, you picked up computer skills in a big hurry.
“Let’s see, Marissa... who is your sugar-daddy gonna be for this little vacation itinerary?” She breathed as she rifled through the wallets in search of one with a credit card and ID. “Michael Robertson it is.”
She purchased her plane ticket and saved a copy of the file to the laptop’s desktop, that way she could have Franco print it for her after she woke up.
“And that’s a wrap,” she announced as she closed the computer and set it on the bedside table. After draining the last of her whisky and kicking the wallets and purses off the bed, she rolled over onto her left side. She was asleep in a matter of seconds.
2: Hard to be Soft
It was shortly after noon when a light rapping on the door startled her to consciousness.
Before her eyes were even fully opened, she had leapt to her feet and spun toward the sound. In response to the swift movement, her body issued a painful reminder of the beating it had endured. She hissed and covered her throbbing bicep with a hand. Despite the pain that was radiating from each of her most severe wounds, she mercifully had not pulled any of the stitches.
The knocking persisted, drawing her attention and reminding her of why she was awake to begin with. Cursing under her breath, she withdrew the blade that she had concealed beneath her makeshift towel pillow and rushed into the bathroom to retrieve her pants.
Pulling them up over her hips and buttoning them as she walked, she cautiously approached the door. Daylight meant that if the knocker was looking for trouble, they were a licker. Skye hated lickers.
“Who is it?” She called and held her blade at the ready. Her body tensed expectantly as she waited for an answer. This would not be the first time a door had been kicked in on her.
“It’s Franco,” the familiar, muffled voice responded from outside. Upon realizing that they had not exchanged names, he smacked a palm against his forehead and elaborated. “Shit, sorry – the guy you met downstairs in the office last night.”
Skye left the chain-lock in place as she opened the door a few inches. Freezing wind instantly filtered into the room through the opening. She winced at the blinding rays of afternoon sunlight.
“What’s up?” She asked, peering out at him suspiciously.
Franco tilted his head to the side and smiled at what he could see of her face through the narrow gap.
“Good morning,” he greeted with a wave. “I was thinking you probably wouldn’t be in the greatest shape to go get yourself some breakfast, so...” he explained and held up a tray from Dunkin Donuts.
She stared at the styrofoam cups and paper bags warily for a moment.
“So... you mind if I come in?” He coaxed with a laugh. “Or did you totally thrash the room last night and don’t want to spoil the surprise?”
She scowled, wondering why he was bothering her – and why he was acting so annoyingly friendly toward her while doing it. Maybe he just figured that for $5,000, the least he could do was chip in for breakfast. Or, the more likely scenario, he figured that he could catch her alone this morning and try to get some more money out of her. She wondered which method this guy would go with. Would he try to charm and manipulate her into giving a handout? Or would he take the straightforward approach, like so many before him, and just point a gun at her head and demand it?
“Um... yeah. Sure, knock yourself out,” she finally said as she removed the chain-lock and opened the door wide enough to allow him entry.
“Thanks,” Franco said as he stepped inside.
She closed the door behind him and glared at the back of his head as she locked it. If he was up to no good, he would have to try his luck against her one-on-one. She had no intention of being cornered by a bunch of his buddies if they were waiting outside to ambush her. She tucked her blade into the back of her pants. If he gave her even the slightest indication that he meant her harm, she would have to cut him. If he was only trying to rob her, she would give him a minor wound – just enough to subdue him while she tied him up and took off. If he was a licker, however, she would kill him without hesitation. It was necessary, as she had learned in the past. She had shown mercy in the beginning, had shied away from taking a mortal life. Unfortunately, every single time she let one go, their coven descended on her just minutes after sunset.
At least I’ll be able to hide his body in the room, she reasoned. If I break the key off in the lock when I leave, it’ll buy me some additional time before he’s discovered.
Franco was blissfully ignorant to her defensive plotting, though. He laughed when he saw the shower curtain wrapped mattress.
“Nice trick, Philly. I gotta remember that one,” he commended as he pointed over at it.
“Philly?” She repeated incredulously.
“Well, yeah. With the accent you’re rocking, it’s where you were born and bred,” he explained as he set the tray on top of the bedside table. “And since you ain’t exactly been forthcoming with a name so far, I figured it’d work.”
She let out an annoyed ‘humph’ in response while watching him add sugar and creamer to one of the coffees.
“The name’s Skye,” she informed him. It did not make a difference whether she told him her first name. If he was a licker, he was already well aware of who she was.
“Cool,” he said with a smile. He had not expected her to actually tell him. You rarely got names from people in this line of work. “So, Skye, how are you feeling this morn—?” He began cheerfully, but when picked up his coffee and turned to face her, he trailed off abruptly. “Whoa,” he breathed in surprise.
“‘Whoa’ what?” She asked as she retrieved the other cup of coffee.
She sat on the edge of the bed as she took a swig of it. An investigation of the bags he had brought revealed that one was filled with donuts, but the other held a bacon-egg-and-cheese breakfast croissant. Her stomach adamantly rumbled its approval. She had already begun chowing down by the time he figured out how to respond to her question.
“Nothing. It’s just that... Yeah, you clean up really well,” he offered with a thoroughly impressed laugh.
Without the oversized raincoat that she had worn the night prior, he was actually able to see the shape of her body. She was built like a tight little hourglass – he never would have guessed. Now that the blood had been washed away, her facial features were visible. She was a very pretty girl, if a bit scarred up. Her long blonde hair was loose and clean. Having dried while she slept, it was wild and flowing freely over her shoulders. The feral look suited her. He marveled that, yet again, she had given him a completely inaccurate impression of her.
At his unwelcomed complimentary words and continued gawking, Skye paused in her chewing and glared up at him in annoyance. Franco was a good-looking guy with a great smile. His light brown hair and caramel eyes went fantastically well with his tan complexion. Skye placed his age right around early 30s. He was roughly 5’10 with the musculature of an athlete. Yes, on all counts, Franco was a hot little NYC Italian. Unfortunately, the only man that Skye was interested in was the undead one at the top of her ‘to ash’ list.
Seeing the way her brow arched and posture went rigid, Franco held up his hands pleadingly.
“Oh, hold up, it’s not like that,” he insisted. “I’m not hitting on you or nothing, I swear. I mean, not to say that you’re not hot, cuz don’t get me wrong – you most definitely are. It’s just that I’m happy where I’m at, you know?”
Skye rolled her eyes and gave him a bored look as she waited for him to finish backpedalling.
“I’m married. Got four kids,” he explained as he pulled a photo from his wallet. “Well, three kids – the fourth won’t be here for another few weeks yet. See? Here’s the family.”
She backed away as he held the picture directly in front of her face.
“That’s my sweetheart, Angie, and those three little troublemakers there are our sons – Carmine, Tony, and Vincenzo. Three boys back to back, can ya imagine?” He laughed.
Skye took a slow, steadying breath, but said nothing in response.
“Angie’s praying like hell that this next one’s a daughter. She refuses to let them tell her beforehand, though. Says it’s more fun to wait. Not that I’d mind if it’s a little girl. I mean, if it is, she’ll have three big brothers around to look after her. Oughta make my job easier, ya know?”
By the time he finished rambling, Skye had dropped the breakfast sandwich into its wrapper and abandoned her efforts to eat it. Suddenly, she was not very hungry.
Noting the change in her posture and distant look in her eyes, Franco frowned. Apparently, he had said something wrong.
“So... how about you?” He tried.
“What about me?” She asked as she shook a cigarette into her mouth from her pack and lit it.
“Kids – you got any?” He asked. He wondered whether there would be any point in telling her that smoking was not permitted in the rooms. He doubted it.
She exhaled a lungful of smoke and shook her head. “No kids.”
“Come from a big family?” He pressed, now desperate for her to make some effort to ease the discomfort of this one-sided conversation.
“Don’t have one,” she answered shortly before taking a gulp of coffee.
“Everybody’s got a family,” he laughed nervously.
Skye ground her teeth and glared up at him.
“Not everybody,” she assured. “All right, enough. Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?” He asked nervously.
“In my experience, guys don’t just show up at a chick’s motel room offering up breakfast without expecting something in return. You said you’re not hitting on me – so if you’re not trying to get fucked, what do you want?” She asked impatiently.
Franco’s eyes widened in surprise at her straightforwardness. “Not big on small talk, are you?”
She only shot him an irritated look in response.
“Okay...” he breathed awkwardly and stuffed his hands in pockets. “Well, it’s just that... What you were saying last night... I ain’t ever heard nobody talk about that shit out in the open before. Everybody around here is too scared to acknowledge it. So, I figured if you got experience with those things, I could ask you some questions about them.”
“Sorry, that was the wrong answer – but thank you for playing!” She announced wryly with her cigarette pressed between her lips. “Do be careful not to let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” she said as she motioned for him to leave.
“You can’t even answer a few questions?” He asked disappointedly.
“Listen, slim,” she began as she stood from the bed and snagged his elbow to escort him from the room. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this ain’t a seminar. I’m not an instructor. You’re not paying me. I paid you. So, no – I can’t ‘answer a few questions’.”
“Fair enough. How’s about you take your money back then?” He asked as he pulled his arm from her grasp.
Skye stopped abruptly and looked over at him in confusion.
“Take my money... back?” She repeated incredulously.
“Yeah. That way, instead of giving me cash for helping you out, you can pay me by answering some questions,” he suggested as he reached into his inside coat pocket.
She instinctively reached for her blade – but faltered when he only produced the wad of cash. She stared at it dumbly for a long moment, unsure of how to react when he pressed the bills into her palm. Finally, she frowned and looked him over appraisingly.
“Two and two ain’t making four here,” she declared. “You were down there reading an early edition of The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli in Italian last night...”
Franco blinked in surprise at those words. Not only had she noted the presence of the book on the counter, but she was also actually familiar with the text.
“... yet you’re pulling graveyard shifts here at Motel Syphilis,” she continued skeptically. “Now why would that be? You’ve obviously been to college. You aren’t lacking intelligence or social skills. Ordinarily in this situation, I would just assume that your choice in employment was due to some nasty convictions on your record, but you’re way too relaxed for that to be a possibility.”
To demonstrate her point, she reached out and grabbed his throat. Just as she had suspected, his reaction was several seconds too slow to make a difference. She shook her head and sighed as she released him.
“See? No way in hell you spent any time behind bars. With reflexes like that, you’d have gotten yourself killed inside the first week, or still be walking with a permanent gap. So, it’s not because of a criminal history – you’re working this job for another reason.” She grabbed his wrist and held his hand up for him to look at. “Your nails are so well-manicured that they’re pretty.” She pointed out before releasing his hand. “Your face is freshly shaved. Your hair is cut short and clean. Underneath that wannabe wise-guy coat, you’re wearing a designer shirt to go with the slacks and shoes. Your glasses have fucking Prada frames. I’m sorry, but I’m not buying that all of this is an effort to look spiffy for the dealers and tricks. There’s a mark on your wrist right there from the watch you usually wear. I’m guessing it’s a Rolex, but you make sure to take it off before you get into this neighborhood. Do you know what all of this tells me?”
Franco swallowed hard and shook his head. The more she talked, the more he realized how dangerous Skye truly was. A person had to be incredibly vigilant to notice so much. Despite the detailed scrutiny that she was evidently giving her surroundings at all times, she gave no outward indication of the effort.
“It tells me that you’re here on your lunch break. Because you, slim, have a white collar, upper-crust, 9 to 5 job,” she continued. “The very same pencil-pushing, number-crunching gig you went to college in order to land. You only work nights in this hellhole to help make ends meet. In short, you’re extremely over-qualified, but with the recession, you had no choice but to take work wherever it was available. You say you’ve got three kids and a very pregnant wife at home. You’re obviously in bad shape financially, doing everything you can to support your family. But – and this is the part that makes absolutely no fucking sense – you’re willing to pass up $5,000 in exchange for a few answers?” She asked as she arched a brow. “You understand my confusion, I’m sure. So explain it to me. Explain why a man risking his life to make a few extra bucks would turn down easy cash.”
Franco sighed in defeat, staring down at his shoes before finally responding, “Because I’ve got three kids and a very pregnant wife at home.”
Skye frowned thoughtfully and watched him cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed.
After a minute, he shook his head and gave her a weak smile.
“You’re a hell of a lot more perceptive than one would assume, you know that?”
“Have to be,” she answered with a shrug. “It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive for this long.”
“Right,” he breathed, knowing that must be the God’s honest truth. “So, those... things you were fighting last night... the...”
“Vampires,” she finished upon his reluctance to say it.
It never ceased to amaze her, how far the denial ran in people. It was just a word, after all. They had seen what these creatures were capable of. With an infestation as severe as there was in this city, that was a given. Yet even after bodies turned up sucked dry, people refused to so much as whisper the word ‘vampire’.
“Yeah, the vampires...” he forced himself to repeat. “Well, they’ve sorta been making it tough to ignore them. All my life, people knew there was certain parts you just didn’t wander into after dark., know what I’m saying? This area here is one of them. We said it was because the ‘gangs’ killed anyone who wandered onto their turf. We
knew it was a lie. We knew damned well that whatever was going on was way worse than a gang problem, but everyone followed the warning, just the same.
“It worked, I guess. I mean, at least for the good ones. The decent people and their kids stayed out. The bad ones – the ones that come to places like this to feed addictions – they took the risk. They wound up dead for their stupidity. Then, about two months ago, shit started changing. The borders of the ‘bad areas’ started expanding. Those bastards started coming into my neighborhood. We started losing kids, Skye. Little fucking kids,” he choked out in disbelief.
Skye’s jaw flexed as she studied the emotions twisting his features – outrage, disgust, fear, sorrow. She kept silent as he continued.
“Not junkies and hookers – just kids out goofing around on their own block where they’re supposed to be safe. And just last week, one of my neighbors lost his daughter.”
“You live in Ridgewood,” Skye finally said solemnly. “The girl that died, she was about 15 or 16, right?
Franco gave her a troubled look. “Yeah – how’d you know?”
“Because I know about the coven that moved into your area,” she answered reluctantly. “They’re the reason I came here. The one that fed on that girl was... Marcus. He went for girls her age because they trusted him. He looked like he was 16, even though he was nearly 30.”
Her eyes were out of focus now. Her voice was coming in a strained whisper. She swallowed with a great deal of effort and fought to keep her emotions in check.
Marcus’ death was still too fresh in her mind to talk about so dismissively. She should have known better. She should not have even said his name aloud yet. This was a prime example of why she avoided speaking to anyone other than herself.
After a moment, she cleared her throat and continued in an impatient tone.
“You can tell the girl’s father that the entire coven, including the one responsible for his daughter’s death, died last night.” She locked eyes with Franco as she finished, “Painfully.”
Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel Page 3