by Мишель Роуэн
Then it had to be true. It just made sense. She was the informant. She was giving the hunters information on the secret clubs’ locations and then turning her pretty, dark-haired head in the other direction when they went in and slaughtered everyone in sight. I slipped out of the booth and left the bar without letting Veronique see me. I thought briefly about going back across the street to tell Thierry my suspicions, but didn’t. I didn’t want to be near him, either, after what I’d witnessed earlier. Veronique’s story hadn’t changed my opinion of him or softened my judgment that what he was planning to do to poor Eugene was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Instead, I went back to my apartment. I was so tired that I just wanted to sleep and push the conscious world far away. Maybe everything wouldn’t seem so hopeless tomorrow, although I had a feeling that was just wishful thinking. I fiddled with the key for my lock and slid it in, turned the handle, and pushed open my door. I tossed my purse and keys on the kitchen counter and sighed long and hopelessly in the darkness. It did feel good to be home. Something normal after such a crazy day. Here I could still pretend that nothing in my life had changed. That I was still the same girl who watched Sex and the City while eating Haagen-Dazs ice cream right out of the carton.
Who talked with Amy over the phone for two hours straight about a cute guy one of us was seeing, even though we’d already just spent the whole day working together. Whose closet was color-coordinated for ease of wardrobe choices. Yes, my apartment was my own space. My rented safety zone. My Ikea-decorated oasis. I flicked on the overhead light. And screamed.
Quinn was sitting on my sofa. He blinked at the sudden harsh light.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I managed, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
“How the hell did you get in here?”
He got to his feet and held out his hands to calm me down. “Easy. Take it easy. I’m sorry,
I just… It wasn’t that hard figuring out which unit was yours. Dearly isn’t that common of a last name, you know.”
I felt in my purse for the knife I’d stolen from the restaurant. It was only a butter knife, not very sharp at all, but I bet it would hurt a lot. At the very least, it would cause a bad bruise. I held it up in front of me.
He glanced at it and almost grinned. “Are you going to start singing something from West Side Story?”
“I don’t sing. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I thought we left things off pretty well earlier. I thought you trusted me now.” He took a step closer to me.
I took a step backward.
“Trust is not in my vocabulary when it comes to you, Quinn. Besides, you just broke into my apartment when I wasn’t here. Not exactly a way to build my confidence in you.”
“But I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Ever hear of the Holiday Inn? There’s one just around the corner. You get a free continental breakfast and everything.”
He sighed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I needed to see you. And you did say if I needed anything, I shouldn’t hesitate to ask.”
“I meant you should ask somebody else. Someone who gives a shit. Now I suggest you get the hell out of here before—”
He closed the space between us before I could do anything about it and snatched the knife right out of my hand. I heard it clatter to the floor at the same time I felt his strong, warm hands on either side of my face as he pulled me to him, taking my breath away with a passionate kiss.
Chapter 20
We made it to the bed before I came to my senses. Even then, I was still kissing him back, clutching at him like a life preserver for the drowning woman I’d become.
“No.” I broke off the kiss and pushed at him weakly. “We can’t do this.”
He wasn’t listening very well and ran his mouth down my neck. I let out a quavering little moan before I gathered all the willpower I could manage.
“Quinn, no.” I pushed him harder this time, and he stumbled backward to the floor. He lay there looking up at me. His eyes were dark.
“Why not?”
“Just because, that’s why. Isn’t that good enough?”
He shook his head. “You want me, I can tell. Don’t try to deny it.”
I stood up and straightened out the dress I’d bought for our double date tonight. I noticed that there was a fresh tear in my panty hose. Just perfect. “I think you should leave.”
He got to his feet and came closer than I would have liked. “Sarah.” His voice was low and sexy, and it made my stomach tighten. But I backed away from him and refused to meet his eyes. He stopped moving toward me.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Him who?”
He sighed. “Thierry. You’re in love with him.”
I frowned. “Just because I don’t want to put out on the first breaking and entering doesn’t mean that I’m in love with Thierry.”
He sat down heavily in the purple beanbag chair in the corner of my bedroom. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
The very mention of Thierry’s name had made my heart pump loudly and painfully against my ribs. “Go away, Quinn.”
I heard him swallow, and his eyes grew shiny and moist in the darkness. “I thought… I thought that you and I had a connection. I feel something when I’m with you. You feel it, too. Forget him. We’re a much better match, anyhow.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Do you know the kind of day I’ve had? All I wanted to do was come home and blank it all out, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
I don’t need any more complications.”
“That’s all I am to you? A complication?”
“Do you really want the truth?” I saw his face start to crumble. He’d had a pretty hard day himself, and I was just being a bitch to him. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’m so sorry.” I moved toward him and took him in my arms. He began to sob against me. We sat like that for a while, nothing sexy about it anymore, just comforting.
After a few minutes he looked at me. “I’m a vampire.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I hate this. I want things to be the way they used to be. I knew what to do then. I knew how to behave, how to think. I don’t want to be a vampire.”
“Neither do I.” Now I was crying, too. Yeah, we made a good pair, all right. The overly emotional monsters of the greater Toronto area. How fierce, how scary, how much in need of a box of tissues.
Wait a minute . I pulled back from him as a thought tweaked at me. We both hated what had happened to us. Neither of us wanted to be vampires.
I stood up and left the bedroom. I grabbed my purse on the kitchen counter and picked through it to find the napkin. Clutching it in my hand, I went back to Quinn.
“Here’s the answer.”
“The answer?” He looked up at me. “To what?”
“All of our problems.”
“The answer to all of our problems is a cocktail napkin? Maybe your problems are a little different than mine are.”
“Nope, same problem.” I handed it to him and knelt back down next to the beanbag chair.
“That’s the phone number for a guy who knows about a cure for vampirism. We don’t have to be vampires. We just need to talk to him and convince him to help us.”
He stared at the napkin. “There’s a cure? I didn’t know there was a cure.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you know me.”
“Have you already called him?”
“Not yet.”
“Who did you get this from?”
I took the napkin back from him and folded it gingerly. “Zelda, at the club.”
He just sat there, stunned, as the information slowly sank in. “There’s a cure.”
“Yes.” I smiled. “We can be normal again.”
“It’s too good to be true. There has to be some sort of catch.”
“Can’t you just be happy about this?”
He smiled at me and stroked the hair
off my forehead. “Okay. I’m happy. But what does this mean for you and me?”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at the bed.
I raised my eyebrows. “It means we’ll both be human again. It also means that I have a very comfortable sofa in the living room.” I stood up so I could grab one of my pillows and throw it at him. “Sleep well.”
I thought I was tired. I really did. But I lay awake for most of the night with thoughts racing through my brain. This was it. I was going to be cured. Being a vampire was a disease, and I was going to get the medicine that would make me all better. I could be normal again; I wouldn’t have to worry about being hunted within an inch of my life; I could lose the fangs and get my reflection back. I should have been happy. It was everything I wanted. Why, then, couldn’t I sleep? I tossed and turned, the events of the past week going through my mind like a midnight monster-movie marathon. After a while I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, it was light outside. I pushed back the covers and pulled on some powder blue sweats. I hadn’t forgotten for one moment that Quinn was sleeping on my sofa, not ten feet away.
I pushed open my bedroom door and peeked out. He was on the phone in the kitchen. When he saw me, he quickly said good-bye to whomever he was speaking with and hung up. I saw the cocktail napkin on the countertop.
He looked at me. “I called him.”
“Already? Couldn’t you have waited for me?”
“How long did you want me to wait? It’s noon.”
“It is?” I glanced at the clock on the stove. He was right. “Okay, so tell me all about it.”
“He’s agreed to meet with us. We can leave now. It sounds like it’s on the up-and-up.
There is a cure, and we’re going to get it. So get dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
“Those look like pajamas.”
“And yet, they’re not.” I rolled my eyes. “Sorry that I don’t dress up in short skirts and heels all the time. Welcome to my real life. I just need to wash my face and brush my fangs first and we can get out of here.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away from me.
Okay. Fine. Was he in a shitty mood because of my rejection last night? I could almost see the tiny construction workers hovering around him, helping to build up the walls that kept his male ego safe from harm. I wondered how he would be acting if I hadn’t made him sleep on the couch. Not that I was having any regrets. I was extremely attracted to him— sure, I’d admit that. But that was no reason to complicate further my already-too- complicated life.
If things had been different… Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t even going to think that way. Besides, starting out a relationship after a failed murder attempt was not a good foundation to grow on. And it had nothing to do with Thierry. Absolutely, positively, almost nothing. The mystery scientist guy lived forty-five minutes away on the outskirts of Grimsby. The cab was going to cost a fortune. I insisted on stopping for coffee at the first Tim Hortons we saw. Just because the caffeine didn’t have any effect on me anymore was no reason to give up one of my very favorite bad habits, provided it didn’t make me want to throw up. Quinn got one, too. Black, no sugar. No big surprise there. After a while the cab made a left, off the main road, and drove for a few miles into the rough. I became nervous.
“Where does this guy live, anyhow?”
He shrugged. “Along here, I guess.”
Great. The cure doctor and Bigfoot. I should have brought my camera. The cab came to a stop outside a run-down trailer home in the middle of nowhere. Quinn got out of his side of the car, paid the driver, and asked him to stick around for a bit.
I opened my car door and stepped out directly into a big, slushy puddle of mud. I grimaced as the dampness soaked through my shoes. Great. At least today I’d decided on the Nikes. Quinn didn’t wait for me. He strode right up to the door of the mobile home and knocked sharply. And waited. There was no answer.
I put a hand on my hip. “You’re sure this is the right address?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“Quinn, save the attitude. We’re in this together, remember?”
He turned to glare at me, then his eyes got wide. “Don’t move.”
I froze in place. “What?”
“Just don’t move. I’m serious, Sarah.”
I heard something. Close. Twigs breaking on the ground. Loud breathing in and out.
Sniffing.
Sniffing?
I glanced down. There was a large—and I mean large—dog staring at me from only inches away. It growled, low and menacing, and bared its teeth.
“I don’t like dogs,” I whispered. “Go away. Shoo.”
“Be nice,” Quinn warned.
“Uh…” I could feel sweat dripping down my back. “Nice doggy? Yeah. Good doggy.”
The growl increased and it took a step closer to me. I couldn’t tell what breed it was. Big, black, and probably rabid. The kind of dog that rips your throat out now and asks questions later.
“Nice dog—”
It jumped at me, muddy feet on my chest, knocking me to the ground and into a big pile of wet snow. I screamed and saw Quinn leap toward me. Then I heard the gunshot. And I felt the hot, wet tongue of the dog licking up my left cheek.
“Ew.” I tried to push its muzzle away.
There was another gunshot, but the dog didn’t budge. Who was shooting?
“Barkley,” a coarse voice commanded. “Get off the lady. Now!”
Barkley whimpered and, with a last affectionate swipe of its tongue, moved away from me. I was too stunned to stand up yet, so I just lay there on my back. Quinn came into view above me, a look of concern on his face. Then another man appeared. He was tall, skinny, and had sparse, longish white hair plastered to his head. He wore a ratty burgundy housecoat. If crazy had a look, this was it.
He pointed the gun at me. “Get up, vampire.”
He backed away as Quinn helped me to my feet and motioned with the shotgun for us to go toward the trailer.
“You’re Dr. Kalisan?” Quinn asked.
“Shut it. Get.”
We turned toward the door, and he pushed the gun into each of our backs to nudge us forward.
“Listen,” I said. “We can just go. Don’t want to bother you or anything. Our cab…” I glanced behind me. Where the cab used to be were two dark tire tracks in the light covering of snow. I shook my head. “Oh, never mind.”
Kalisan pushed us into the trailer and shut the door behind us. Immediately we were plunged into darkness.
“Down,” he said, and I felt the gun jab me in my spine again.
I clung to Quinn’s arm and found that we were making our way down a long flight of stairs. Down and down. It was so strange. I stumbled a couple of times, but finally ended up on flat ground. Fluorescent lights flickered on. We were standing in a large living room: couches, television, stereo system, weird embryos in glass jars on the bookshelf. The trailer must have been just the tip of the iceberg. This was a whole underground lair. Well, suburban- style lair, anyhow. Kalisan still had the gun on us, his eyes narrowed. Barkley sat next to him, large and foreboding, but panting, with his tail wagging happily.
“Why don’t you point that gun somewhere else,” Quinn said, holding on to my sweaty hand.
“What do you want, vampires?”
I frowned. “The cure, of course. We called for an appointment.”
“You think it’s that easy? Just call for an appointment and come on over?”
“Well, yeah.”
His eyes narrowed even farther until they were such tiny slits I couldn’t believe he could see out of them at all. “Who are you? What are your names?”
Quinn glanced at me and squeezed my hand. “I’m Michael Quinn. And this is Sarah Dearly.”
Kalisan frowned and lowered the gun a fraction. “Quinn, eh?”
“Yeah, so?”
The doctor moved backward, without taking his eyes off us. He grabbed a framed photo
that sat on a table next to his television and brought it back to us, thrusting it in Quinn’s face.
“Who’s that, then?”
The photo was of a much younger Kalisan. He wore a bright yellow leisure suit and a tie so wide I would have thought it was a Halloween costume if my father hadn’t owned the exact same outfit. On either side of him was a much younger Roger Quinn and a pretty blond woman.
Quinn snatched the photo away from Kalisan. “Those are my parents.”
Kalisan eyed him for a moment. “Your father is the great vampire hunter, Roger Quinn?”
Quinn stared back at him. “Like I said, I’m looking for a cure.”
“I see.” He lowered the gun to the floor. “Your father is an admirable man. Someone who would be disappointed to find out what has happened to you. He doesn’t know, I presume?”
“You presume correctly.”
Kalisan glanced at me. “And what’s your story?”
Barkley had come to sit next to me, and I patted his head absently. “I’m just a girl in need of a cure.”
He glanced down at the dog. “I suppose you can’t be all that bad if my werewolf likes you.”
I removed my hand. “Were-what?”
Kalisan smiled. “Ah, so you are a vampire who doesn’t believe in werewolves?”
Barkley licked my hand, and I immediately wiped it on my pants. “Gross.”
“His rude behavior isn’t his fault. He’s been stuck that way for a very long time. He forgets normal human manners. I’ve been working on a cure for him as well, but alas, the university’s grants for this sort of research are few and far between.”
I glanced down at Barkley. “Bad dog.”
He licked my hand again.
Kalisan turned to Quinn and took the photo back. “You truly want the cure?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll give it to you.” He handed the gun to Quinn. “But first you must shoot the woman.”
I heard a whimper, and I wasn’t sure if it was Barkley or myself.
Quinn frowned down at the gun in his hands. “You want me to—”