by L. J. Smith
“Even if he is strong, it won’t matter unless there are other vampires around,” Vicky said.
“Which there may be, if you and Elliot saw another one last night.”
“Well…” Vicky hesitated, then said, “We can check outside, make sure he doesn’t have any friends hiding around that warehouse.”
Steve was nodding, and Nyala was listening intently. Rashel started to say that from what she’d seen, they couldn’t find a vampire in hiding to save their lives—but then she changed her mind.
“Good idea,” she said. “You take Nyala and do that. It’s better to have three people than two. I’ll tie him up before he comes around. I’ve got bast cord.”
Vicky glanced over quickly, but her hostility seemed to have faded since Rashel had knocked the vampire over the head. “Okay, but let’s use the handcuffs. Nyala, run up and get them.”
Nyala did, and she and Vicky fixed the wooden stocks on the vampire’s wrists. Then they left with Steve.
Rashel sat on the floor.
She didn’t know what she was doing, or why she’d sent Nyala away. All she knew was that she wanted to be alone, and that she felt… rotten.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have anger. There were times when she got so angry at the universe that it was actually like a little voice inside her whispering, Kill, kill, kill. Times when she wanted to strike out blindly, without caring who she hurt.
But just now the little voice was silent, and Rashel felt sick.
To keep herself busy, she tied his feet with bast, a cord made from the inner bark of trees. It was as good for holding a vampire as Vicky’s ridiculous handcuffs.
When it was done, she turned the flashlight on him again.
He was good-looking. Clean features that were strongly chiseled but almost delicate. A mouth that at the moment looked rather innocent, but which might be sensuous if he were awake. A body that was lithe and flat-muscled, if not very tall.
All of which had no effect on Rashel. She’d seen attractive vampires before—in fact, an inordinate number of them seemed to be really beautiful. It didn’t mean anything. It only stood as a contrast to what they were like inside.
The tall man who’d killed her mother had been handsome. She could still see his face, his golden eyes.
Filthy parasites. Night World scum. They weren’t really people. They were monsters.
But they could still feel pain, just like any human. She’d hurt this one when she hit him.
Rashel jumped up and started to pace the cellar.
All right. This vampire deserved to die. They all did. But that didn’t mean she had to wait for Vicky to come back and poke him with pointy sticks.
Rashel knew now why she’d sent Nyala away. So she could give the vampire a clean death. Maybe he didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t stand around and watch Vicky kill him slowly. She couldn’t.
She stopped pacing and went to the unconscious boy.
The flashlight on the floor was still pointing at him, so she could see him clearly. He was wearing a lightweight black shirt—no sweater or coat. Vampires didn’t need protection from the cold. Rashel unbuttoned the shirt, exposing his chest. Although the angled tip of her bokken could pierce clothing, it was easier to drive it straight into vampire flesh without any barrier in between.
Standing with one foot on either side of the vampire’s waist, she drew the heavy wooden sword. She held it with both hands, one near the guard, the other near the knob on the end of the hilt.
She positioned the end exactly over the vampire’s heart.
“This kitten has claws,” she whispered, hardly aware she was saying it.
Then she took a deep breath, eyes shut. She needed to work to focus, because she’d never done anything like this before. The vampires she’d killed had usually been caught in the middle of some despicable act—and they’d all been fighting at the end. She’d never staked one that was lying still.
Concentrate, she thought. You need zanshin, continuing mind, awareness of everything without fixing on anything.
She felt her feet becoming part of the cold concrete beneath them, her muscles and bones becoming extensions of the ground. The strike would carry the energy of the earth itself.
Her hands brought the sword up. She was ready for the kill. She opened her eyes to perfect her aim.
And then she saw that the vampire was awake. His eyes were open and he was looking at her.
CHAPTER 5
Rashel froze. Her sword remained in the air, poised over the vampire’s heart.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the vampire said. “Go on and do it.”
Rashel didn’t know what she was waiting for. The vampire was in a position to block her sword with his wooden handcuffs, but he didn’t do any such thing. She could tell by his body language that he wasn’t going to, either. Instead he just lay there, looking up at her with eyes that were as dark and empty as the depths of space.
His hair was tousled on his forehead and his mouth was a bleak line. He didn’t seem afraid. He just went on staring with those fathomless eyes.
All right, Rashel thought. Do it. Even the leech is telling you to. Do it fast—now.
But instead she found herself pivoting and stepping slowly away from him.
“Sorry,” she said out loud. “I don’t take orders from parasites.”
She kept her sword at the ready in case he made any sudden moves. But all he did was glance down at the wooden handcuffs, wiggle his wrists in them, and then lie back.
“I see,” he said with a strange smile. “So it’s torture this time, right? Well, that should be amusing for you.”
Stake him, dummy, came the little voice in Rashel’s head. Don’t talk to him. It’s dangerous to get in a conversation with his kind.
But she couldn’t refocus herself. In a minute, she told the voice. First I have to get my own control back.
She knelt in her ready-for-action crouch and picked up the flashlight, turning it full on his face. He blinked and looked away, squinting.
There. Now she could see him, but he couldn’t see her. Vampire eyes were hypersensitive to light. And even if he did manage to get a glimpse of her, she was wearing her scarf. She had all the advantages, and it made her feel more in command of the situation.
“Why would you think we want to torture you?” she said.
He smiled at the ceiling, not trying to look at her. “Because I’m still alive.” He raised the handcuffs. “And aren’t these traditional? A few vampires from the south shore have turned up mutilated with stocks like these on. It seemed to have been done for fun.” Smile.
Vicky’s work, Rashel thought. She wished he would stop smiling. It was such a disturbing smile, beautiful and a little mad.
“Unless,” the vampire was going on, “it’s information you want.”
Rashel snorted. “Would I be likely to get information from you if I did want it?”
“Well.” Smile. “Not likely.”
“I didn’t think so,” Rashel said dryly.
He laughed out loud.
Oh, God, Rashel thought. Stake him.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Okay, he was charming—in a weird way. But she’d known other charming vampires—smooth, practiced flatterers who tried to sweet-talk or cajole their way out of being staked. Some had tried to seduce her. Almost all had tried mind control. It was only because Rashel had the will to resist telepathy that she was alive today.
But this vampire wasn’t doing any of the ordinary things—and when he laughed, it made Rashel’s heart thump oddly. His whole face changed when he laughed. A sort of light shone in it.
Girl, you are in trouble. Kill him quick.
“Look,” she said, and she was surprised to find her voice a little shaky. “This isn’t personal. And you probably don’t care, but I’m not the one who was going to torture you. This is business, and it’s what I have to do.” She took a deep breath and reached for the sword by her k
nee.
He turned his face to the light. He wasn’t smiling now and there was no amusement in his voice when he said, “I understand. You’ve got… honor.” Looking back at the ceiling, he added, “And you’re right, this is the way it always has to end when our two races meet. It’s kill or be killed. The law of nature.”
He was speaking to her as one warrior to another. Suddenly Rashel felt something she’d never felt for a vampire before. Respect. A strange wish that they weren’t on opposite sides in this war. A regret that they could never be anything but deadly enemies.
He’s somebody I could talk to, she thought. An odd loneliness had taken hold of her. She hadn’t realized she cared about having anyone to talk to.
She found herself saying awkwardly, “Is there anybody you want notified—afterward? I mean, do you have any family? I could make sure the news gets around, so they’d know what had happened to you.”
She didn’t expect him to actually give her any names. That would be crazy. In this game knowledge was power, with each side trying to find out who the players on the other side were. If you could identify someone as a vampire—or a vampire hunter—you knew who to kill.
It was Batman and Catwoman all over. The important thing was to preserve your secret identity.
But this vampire, who was obviously a lunatic, said thoughtfully, “Well, you could send a note to my adopted father. He’s Hunter Redfern. Sorry I can’t give you an address, but he should be somewhere down east.” Another smile. “I forgot to tell you my name. It’s Quinn.”
Rashel felt as if she’d been hit with an oak club.
Quinn.
One of the most dangerous vampires in all the Night World. Maybe the most dangerous of the made vampires, the ones who’d started out human. She knew him by reputation—every vampire hunter did. He was supposed to be a deadly fighter and a brilliant strategist; clever, resourceful… and cold as ice. He despised humans, held them in utter contempt. He wanted the Night World to wipe them out, except for a few to be used for food.
I was wrong, Rashel thought dazedly. I should have let Vicky torture him. I’m sure he deserves it, if any of them do. God only knows what he’s done in his time.
Quinn had turned his head toward her again, looking straight into the flashlight even though it must be hurting his eyes.
“So you see, you’d better kill me fast,” he said in a voice soft as snow falling. “Because that’s certainly what I’m going to do to you if I get loose.”
Rashel gave a strained laugh. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“Only if you have the brains to know who I am.” Now he sounded tired and scornful. “Which obviously you don’t.”
“Well, let me see. I seem to remember something about the Redferns…. Aren’t they the family who controls the vampire part of the Night World Council? The most important family of all the lamia, the born vampires. Descended directly from Maya, the legendary first vampire. And Hunter Redfern is their leader, the upholder of Night World law, the one who colonized America with vampires back in the sixteen hundreds. Tell me if I’m getting any of this wrong.”
He gave her a cold glance.
“You see, we have our sources. And I seem to remember them mentioning your name, too. You were made a vampire by Hunter… and since his own children were all daughters, you’re also his heir.”
Quinn laughed sourly. “Yes, well, that’s an on-again, off-again thing. You might say I have a love-hate relationship with the Redferns. We spend most of the time wishing each other at the bottom of the Atlantic.”
“Tch, vampire family infighting,” Rashel said. “Why is it always so hard to get along with your folks?” Despite her light words, she had to focus to keep control of her breathing.
It wasn’t fear. She truly wasn’t scared of him. It was something like confusion. Clearly, she should be killing him at this moment instead of chatting with him. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t doing it.
The only excuse she had was that it seemed to make him even more confused and angry than it did her.
“I don’t think you’ve heard enough about me,” he said, showing his teeth. “I’m your worst nightmare, human. I even shock other vampires. Like old Hunter… he has certain ideas about propriety. How you kill, and who. If he knew some of the things I do, he’d fall down dead himself.”
Good old Hunter, Rashel thought. The stiff moral patriarch of the Redfern clan, still caught up in the seventeenth century. He might be a vampire, but he was definitely a New Englander.
“Maybe I should find a way to tell him,” she said whimsically.
Quinn gave her another cold look, this time tempered with respect. “If I thought you could find him, I’d worry.”
Rashel was suddenly struck by something. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say your first name. I mean, I presume you have one.”
He blinked. Then, as if he were surprised himself, he said, “John.”
“John Quinn. John.”
“I didn’t invite you to call me it.”
“All right, whatever.” She said it absently, deep in thought. John Quinn. Such a normal name, a Boston name. The name of a real person. It made her think of him as a person, instead of as Quinn the Dreadful.
“Look,” Rashel said, and then she asked him something she’d never asked a Night Person before. She said, “Did you want Hunter Redfern to make you a vampire?”
There was a long pause. Then Quinn said expressionlessly, “As a matter of fact, I wanted to kill him for it.”
“I see.” I’d want to do the same, Rashel thought. She didn’t mean to ask any more questions, but she found herself saying, “Then why did he do it? I mean, why pick you?”
Another pause. Just when she was sure he wouldn’t answer, he said, “I was—I wanted to marry one of his daughters. Her name was Dove.”
“You wanted to marry a vampire?”
“I didn’t know she was a vampire!” This time Quinn’s voice was quick and impatient. “Hunter Redfern was accepted in Charlestown. Granted, a few people said his wife had been a witch, but in those days people said that if you smiled in church.”
“So he just lived there and nobody knew,” Rashel said.
“Most people accepted him.” A faint mocking smile curved Quinn’s lips. “My own father accepted him, and he was the minister.”
Despite herself, Rashel was fascinated. “And you had to be a vampire to marry her? Dove, I mean.”
“I didn’t get to marry her,” Quinn said tonelessly. He seemed as surprised as she was that he was telling her these things. But he went on, seeming to speak almost to himself. “Hunter wanted me to marry one of his other daughters. I said I’d rather marry a pig. Garnet—that’s the oldest—was about as interesting as a stick of wood. And Lily, the middle one, was evil. I could see that in her eyes. I only wanted Dove.”
“And you told him that?”
“Of course. He agreed to it finally—and then he told me his family’s secret. Well.” Quinn laughed bitterly. “He didn’t tell me, actually. It was more of a demonstration. When I woke up, I was dead and a vampire. It was quite an experience.”
Rashel opened her mouth and then shut it again, trying to imagine the horror of it. Finally she just said, “I bet.”
They sat for a moment in silence. Rashel had never felt so… close to a vampire. Instead of disgust and hatred, she felt pity.
“But what happened to Dove?”
Quinn seemed to tense all over. “She died,” he said nastily. It was clear that his confidences were over.
“How?”
“None of your business!”
Rashel tilted her head and looked at him soberly. “How, John Quinn? You know, there are some things you really ought to tell other people. It might help.”
“I don’t need a damn psychoanalyst,” he spat. He was furious now, and there was a dark light in his eyes that ought to have frightened Rashel. He looked as wild as she felt sometimes, when
she didn’t care who she hurt.
She wasn’t frightened. She was strangely calm, the kind of calm she felt when her breathing exercises made her feel one with the earth and absolutely sure of her path.
“Look, Quinn—”
“I really think you’d better kill me now,” he said tightly. “Unless you’re too stupid or too scared. This wood won’t hold forever, you know. And when I get out, I’m going to use that sword on you.”
Startled, Rashel looked down at Vicky’s handcuffs. They were bent. Not the oak, of course—it was the metal hinges that were coming apart. Soon he’d have enough room to slip them off.
He was very strong, even for a vampire.
And then, with the same odd calm, she realized what she was going to do.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said. “Keep bending them. I can say that’s how you got out.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rashel got up and searched for a steel knife to cut the cords on his feet. “I’m letting you go, John Quinn,” she said.
He paused in his wrenching of the handcuffs. “You’re insane,” he said, as if he’d just discovered this.
“You may be right.” Rashel found the knife and slit through the bast cords.
He gave the handcuffs a twist. “If,” he said deliberately, “you think that because I was a human once, I have any pity on them, you are very, very wrong. I hate humans more than I hate the Redferns.”
“Why?”
He bared his teeth. “No, thank you. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just take my word for it.”
She believed him. He looked as angry and as dangerous as an animal in a trap. “All right,” she said, stepping back and putting her hand on the hilt of her bokken. “Take your best shot. But remember, I beat you once. I was the one who knocked you out.”
He blinked. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “You little idiot,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention. I thought you were another of those jerks falling over their own feet. And I wasn’t even fighting them seriously.” He sat up in one fluid motion that showed the strength he had, and the control of his own body.