Day Reaper

by Melody Johnson

  I’d never wanted any of this. I’d only ever wanted to survive, but now that I’d climbed onto the pedestal beside Dominic, there was no way down. And worse, if being on said pedestal helped us fight Jillian and the Damned, restore Dominic’s power, and right the wrongs on New York City, I was exactly where I needed to be, whether I liked it or not.

  I squared my shoulders, left the bed, and got dressed, still feeling terrified by my prospective future. “Well, one thing at a time, I suppose.”

  Dominic nodded. “Exactly. Baby steps. We’ll overthrow Jillian and her army first and then worry about freeing the other Day Reapers, facing Lord High Henry’s judgment, and leading the coven in the aftermath of vampire-kind being exposed to the world.”

  I’d just finished pulling a crisp, fresh shirt from my overnight duffel—that prize had been hard-won—and I stared at him as I stabbed my hands through my sleeves. “Seriously? That’s baby steps?” I shook my head, reaching back into the duffel for my silver rings, pen-stakes, and nitrate spray. “How about we just try to prevent Ronnie from making any more pancakes before someone strangles Keagan in our kitchen?” I frowned into my bag. “Where are my weapons?”

  “You’re wearing them.”

  “I am not. They’re not—”

  Dominic grabbed my wrist and held my hand up to my face. He pinched my pointer finger between his thumb and forefinger and waved my four-inch talon at me. “Yes, you are.”

  I pursed my lips and tugged my wrist from his grasp. “You didn’t bring the pens or spray or jewelry, or anything?”

  “I brought everything you needed,” he said, his eyes darting to my mother’s jewelry box sitting atop the bureau, the only surviving link I had to my parents.

  I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open the jewelry box in the five years since their deaths, and I honestly never thought I would. The debilitating wound of their loss wasn’t something I’d ever thought to heal in my lifetime, so I’d stuffed away my memories and mementoes in the locked box of horrors hidden deep in the shadows inside my heart, never to see the light of day. I’d never considered the possibly, however, that I might live several human lifetimes.

  I turned away from the jewelry box and nodded, not bothering to hide the raw, septic stink of my grief. Dominic had grabbed the jewelry box along with the duffel of my clothes. He already knew how much it meant to me, and he was the one person I didn’t mind knowing. My parents might never escape from the box I’d locked them in, but maybe that didn’t matter as much as making sure that my feelings for Dominic—the person still living and capable of sharing this life—never joined them.

  Five minutes later, after Dominic had finally dressed—finally and dressed being two words I’d never imagined thinking consecutively in reference to him—we were standing outside our bedroom door, staring at the scene in our kitchen. Everyone was occupying the same space as they had the night before—Bex stood on the far side of the living room glaring at Ronnie; Logan and Theresa twittered their disapproval in hushed undertones from the corner; Keagan and Jeremy sprawled on the couch, watching the drama unfold; and Rafe and Neil stood as we entered the room. The only things different were Walker, whose presence was conspicuously absent, and Ronnie. She wasn’t making banana-nut pancakes; she was eating them.

  And she looked absolutely radiant.

  Her hair was thick and wavy down to her shoulders. Her skin, which had been stretched thin from the sharp angles and bony protrusions of her eye sockets, cheekbones, and chin, was now plump and flushed. She was the picture-perfect definition of vitality and health, looking more alive now than she had while still human. She’d been too thin then, her knuckles chapped and split, her features fragile, like fine china. When she was a human, I’d seen her cook uncountable batches of banana-nut pancakes and chocolate-chip cookies, but only once had I ever seen her eat and only then because I’d forced her. Now, even as she looked up at me, staring agog at her, she didn’t stop eating. She smiled briefly before dipping a forkful of pancake into syrup and shoveling it into her mouth.

  “Where’s Ian?” Ronnie asked around her half-chewed food. “No one seems to know, and I was hoping you—”

  “He is no longer welcome here,” Dominic said, his voice kind but firm.

  She stopped chewing. “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothing he hasn’t done before.” Dominic waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Please, don’t let his absence quell your appetite.”

  Her appetite for food, I thought numbly. God help me, but like a gruesome car accident on the side of the road, no matter that I was holding up traffic, I couldn’t help but slow and stare.

  “What?” she asked self-consciously, wiping her mouth with a napkin even as she resumed chewing. “Do I have syrup on my face?”

  I opened my mouth and struggled to find the words.

  “No, nothing is on your face, my dear,” Dominic said, his voice kind and delicate. “Your face is perfect.”

  Ronnie blushed. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Your face is perfect,” I said, finally finding my voice. “From eating pancakes instead of drinking blood.”

  “After Ian left yesterday without even taking one bite, I couldn’t very well just let them all go to waste, could I?” Ronnie asked, sounding defensive.

  “I guess, but—”

  “They were all just sitting there in neat little stacks, all twelve of them golden and fluffy and perfect, absolutely perfect. I couldn’t help but think that in a world that had gone completely mad, I still made the best banana-nut pancakes known to man; that little part of my world hadn’t changed, and no matter how little, it was still something to hold on to. And then Ian just walked out.” She slammed her fork down on the table. “And the pancakes just sat in their neat little stacks, beautiful and perfect and abandoned. No one would know how delicious they were, and if a pancake is delicious and no one eats it, does it even have a flavor?”

  “Well, I… er—” I began. Thin ice was spider web-cracking beneath my feet, and no matter how I distributed my weight, I was going to fall through and drown.

  “When everyone left to hunt for breakfast, I stayed behind to clean up and do the dishes. And I was alone with the pancakes.”

  Rafe frowned. “And your first thought was to eat them?”

  “Well, my first thought was that Ian was being a jerk, and then yes. My stomach growled. They were just sitting there, and no one else wanted them. So I ate them.”

  Bex snorted, breaking her stony, silent stare.

  “But why?” Neil asked, wrinkling his nose as if she’d confessed to cannibalism. “We left you here because you said you weren’t hungry. I thought—”

  “You thought I really wasn’t hungry?” Ronnie asked, incredulous. “Are you insane? Do you not have eyes? I was starving!” She shrugged. “Just apparently not for blood.”

  Dominic turned to Rafe and raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t look at me! I took her out on hunts. I had her drink blood, and she just threw it up afterward. I tried different blood types, different genders, different ethnicities, as if that would make a difference. But I tried!” Rafe shook his head. “I just never tried solid food.”

  “If you were so starving, why didn’t you just eat?” Bex asked, her voice harsh.

  “I didn’t know I was hungry for solid food,” Ronnie admitted, and I could tell the words cost her by the low rattle of a dying breath—the sound of her anxiety. “I feel a scratchy burn in the back of my throat, just like Rafe said the blood craving should feel like—but every time I tried to drink, I couldn’t keep the blood down.” She shrugged. “Guess I was hungry, not thirsty, after all.”

  “What does that mean?” Neil asked, looking more confused than I’d ever seen him—which, for Neil, was a lot of confusion. “Is Ronnie a vampire or still human?”

  “Dr. Chunn said that—”
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  “It means that Ronnie Carmichael is the weakest, saddest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen in my very long existence,” Bex growled.

  I stared at her, stunned speechless by her words. Apparently, so was everyone else. No one moved. No one spoke. No one so much as blinked.

  I opened my mouth—defending Ronnie emotionally and physically was a freaking full-time job—but Ronnie, for once, actually recovered faster than me. “At least I’m figuring my shit out and getting stronger for it,” she muttered around a mouthful of onion-and-bacon–sautéed hash browns. “You’re a bitter, resentful bitch, and after living such a very long existence, I doubt any amount of pancakes or power will ever change that.”

  I wanted to warn Ronnie to take it slow, that maybe less food would be best for her starving stomach, but the silence in the room after her comeback was cutting. I didn’t dare waste my breath trying to save her from vomiting when I might have to save her from being impaled on Bex’s claws.

  As if completely unaware of Bex’s murderous intent, Ronnie swallowed and scooped up another heaping forkful of hash browns. “After hundreds upon hundreds of years of getting over grief and heartache and lost loves and rejection, you should be better at coping with it. Practice makes perfect after all, and during all those long years, you had lots of practice.”

  Another awkward, electrically charged silence stretched between us before Bex replied, “Losing a loved one, even for a seasoned mourner such as myself, is tantamount to losing a limb. That pain isn’t something one becomes used to or can easily live with, not even with practice or the passage of time,” she growled, the last two words a mocking bite of Ronnie’s voice.

  Ronnie shrugged. “I disagree. The first loss cuts the deepest. If I freaked out and slaughtered a houseful of night bloods every time Ian rejected me or someone I loved died, night bloods would be extinct.”

  “I did not ‘freak out.’ I took revenge,” Bex snarled.

  “Then you should be happy. You got your revenge. You had the last laugh. And yet, you’re still a bitter, resentful bitch.”

  Silence.

  “Ian will never get over Julia-Marie’s death. Ever. It’s been ten years, and in another ten years, he’ll still hate you and not spare a glance at me. Deal with it.” Ronnie inhaled her forkful of hash browns. “I have.”

  “And now that he hates you?” Bex asked, her voice cruel. “How are you dealing with that?”

  Ronnie swallowed and put down her fork. “I always thought that losing Ian was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, second only to losing my parents. But I was wrong. Becoming a vampire was much worse, because not only did I lose Ian, I lost myself too.”

  That terrible silence consumed the room again. Ronnie picked up her fork and resumed eating, the crunch of golden hash browns, the scrape of her fork against the plate, and the munch of her teeth as she chewed the only sounds in the room.

  Finally—and warily, it seemed—Bex’s expression broke into a reluctant smile, her fangs gleaming. “Rene was the first of my vampires to ever question me. He was fiercely loyal and his wit was nearly as cutting as his talons, but one of the things I miss most about him was his honesty. He had no tact, and he didn’t let fear or rank or power prevent him from seeing and speaking the truth. Very much like our dear Cassidy DiRocco here,” Bex said, nodding to me. “And for the first time, very much like you.”

  Ronnie raised her eyebrows, still chewing.

  “Luckily for you, I no longer kill vampires simply for being honest, assuming I agree with them.” She grinned suddenly, her smile wide and genuine. “I was a bitter bitch long before meeting Ian Walker, and I’ll be one long after he dies. Deal with it.”

  Ronnie considered that a moment, swallowed her hash browns, and finally nodded.

  Dominic sat next to Ronnie at the breakfast bar. “You spoke to Dr. Chunn about this?”

  Ronnie nodded. “I thought she’d want to know that I figured out my eating problem on my own, you know, after she’d taken my blood and all. I didn’t want her wasting time on me when she has other problems to solve.”

  “Helping you is not a waste of time,” Dominic said softly, and his gentle calmness—the way he spoke to Ronnie like he genuinely cared—made my chest ache.

  “Compared to saving New York City? Maybe not a waste of time, but certainly a distraction.” Ronnie shrugged. “But Dr. Chunn was very excited for me. She wants more blood tests.”

  Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “More tests?”

  She nodded and bit into a muffin. “Something about Nathan’s eating habits being similar to mine. She needs more samples to run more tests, get more data. I don’t know, but if it will help, I don’t mind.”

  I blinked. “Nathan eats human hearts. What does Ronnie eating human food have anything to do with that?”

  Dominic grimaced. “They are both creatures whose eating habits do not coincide with their physical form. Ronnie is a vampire who still needs solid food to survive. Nathan is a human, most of the time, who needs aortic blood to survive. They are anomalies.”

  “The paper came today, by the way,” Ronnie mumbled around a mouthful of muffin.

  I frowned at her and her bulging cheeks. Where the hell had that muffin even come from? I thought, and then her words finally penetrated. “The paper? What paper?”

  “Your paper,” Ronnie said. She picked up a folded newspaper from where it was buried underneath the griddle, spatula, electric mixer, and baking sheet.

  “The Sun Accord?” I asked, leaping forward and snatching it from her hands in one swift movement. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  Ronnie took another bite, completely decapitating her muffin. “While I was being accused of being the weakest, saddest excuse for a vampire ever, there wasn’t an opportunity to sneak in a ‘good morning,’ let alone share news from the morning paper.”

  I ignored Ronnie, her words fading into the background as the words on the page in front of me consumed my complete attention. We’d done it. Carter had come through on his word and published and distributed a post-apocalyptic newspaper, featuring Vampires Bite in the Big Apple front and center.

  “Damn,” I murmured, staring at my words in print on the page. Something warm and glowing swelled through my chest and constricted my throat. The feeling was so physical, I’d have thought I was experiencing a heart attack if my heart still functioned that way.

  “Cassidy?” Dominic asked, sounding worried. “Did it not print as you had intended?”

  I glanced across the bold headline, the hook, the personal experiences I’d sprinkled throughout the piece. It was so tidy and compelling—the complete opposite of how I’d experienced it at the time. I scanned down to the closing, to my call to all others who’d experienced everything I’d experienced, who felt as I’d felt and feared as I’d feared, to come forward, share their story, help us build a case, and fight by my side as I fought to reclaim our city. My eyes took in each paragraph, every word on each narrow line, and I felt my smile burst across my face even as tears bathed my cheeks.

  “It printed exactly as I’d intended,” I breathed.

  My eyes caught on the closing, on my call to everyone to rise up and share their story, too. “Exactly as I’d intended,” I repeated, a slow dawning realization breaking through my glow. Oh, shit.

  I snatched my phone from my pocket and speed-dialed Greta.

  “Cassidy,” Dominic asked, his voice sharp with concern.

  I waved my hand at him and waited, listening to Greta’s phone as it rang.

  “I’m sorry; I should have found a way to get the paper to you sooner,” Ronnie said.

  “Ya think?” Keagan muttered.

  “Not often, obviously,” Jeremy muttered back.

  Logan shot the boys a quelling look.

  “Is something amiss, Cassidy?” Bex asked, hissing a l
ong, taunting ‘s’ on amiss.

  Seven rings later, and Greta’s phone continued ringing.

  Logan crossed his arms. “Well, what the hell’s wrong?”

  I jabbed the end button with my thumb and turned to Dominic. “Meet me at the morgue.”

  Dominic nodded.

  “What’s going on at the morgue?” Keagan asked.

  “If no one is answering their phones, the Damned may have fought through its defenses,” Logan said ominously.

  “Ian fortified the morgue himself,” Ronnie reminded him.

  Theresa scoffed. “Because we all know how well his fortifications hold up when put to the test.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard her,” Bex drawled. “If I broke past his defenses, who’s to say the Damned couldn’t?”

  “Fuck you,” Jeremy spat.

  “She’s right. We need to—”

  “The hell she is. We should—”

  “We don’t even know who Cassidy called. If she… Cassidy?”

  I could still hear their conversation through the cold evening sky as it whistled past my ears, but I couldn’t answer. I’d already left the bunker, my absence unnoticed as they’d argued, and launched into the air, soaring like a targeted missile aimed at Kings County Hospital Center.

  Chapter 21

  Vampires Bite in the Big Apple was damn effective: as I’d suspected, Greta was slammed by witnesses.

  Her makeshift waiting area and interrogation rooms were packed full of dozens upon dozens of people, some still holding the newspaper in hand, folded open to my article. Others were holding children. Some held backpacks stuffed with supplies and weapons. A few just had their arms crossed, holding themselves as their wide eyes shifted uneasily over the crowd.