So I forgot about the bunny, about what the results of tonight might be, and focused on the here and now. I forced back the panic that wanted to stop my breath and thought, Here and now.
The vampire had given up his business suit. Like most of the vampires I’d met, he was more comfortable in clothing of other eras. Werewolves learn to go with the times so they don’t fall into the temptation of living in the past.
I can place women’s fashions of the past hundred years within about ten years, and before that to the nearest century. Men’s clothing not so much, especially when they are not formal clothes. The button fly on his cotton pants told me it was before zippers were used much. His shirt was dark brown with a tunic neck that would allow it to be pulled over his head, so there were no buttons on it.
Know your prey, Bran had told us. Observe.
“James Blackwood,” I said. “You know, when Corban introduced us, I couldn’t believe my ears.”
He smiled, pleased. “I scared you.” But then he frowned. “You are not frightened now.”
Rabbit, I thought hard. And made the mistake of meeting his eyes the way I had that little bunny’s so long ago—as I had Aurielle’s last night. But neither Aurielle nor the bunny had been a vampire.
I WOKE UP TUCKED INTO A TWIN-SIZED BED, AND, NO MATTER how hard I tried, I couldn’t see beyond that moment when he’d met my eyes. The room was mostly dark, with no sign of a window to be seen. The only light came from a night-light plugged into a wall socket next to a door.
I threw back the covers and saw that he’d stripped me to my panties. Shuddering, I dropped to my knees ... remembering ... remembering other things.
“Tim is dead,” I said, and the sound came out in a growl worthy of Adam. And once I’d heard it and knew it for a fact, I realized I didn’t smell of sex the way that Amber had. I did, however, smell of blood. I reached up to my neck and found the first set of bite marks, the second, and a new third just a centimeter to the left of the second.
Stefan’s had healed.
I shook a little in relief that it wasn’t worse, then a little more in anger that didn’t quite hide how frightened I was. But relief and anger wouldn’t leave me helpless in the middle of a panic attack.
The door was locked, and he had left me with nothing to pick it with. The light switch worked, but it didn’t show me anything I hadn’t seen. A plastic bin that held only my jeans and T-shirt. There was a quarter and the letter for Stefan in my pants pockets, but he’d taken the pair of screws I’d collected while trying to fix the woman’s clutch at the rest stop on the way to Amber’s house.
The bed was a stack of foam mattress pads that would yield nothing I could make into weapon or tool.
“His prey never escapes,” whispered a voice in my ear.
I froze where I knelt beside the bed. There was no one else in the room with me.
“I should know,” it ... he said. “I’ve watched them try.”
I turned slowly around but saw nothing ... but the smell of blood was growing stronger.
“Was it you at the boy’s house?” I asked.
“Poor boy,” said the voice sadly, but it was more solid now. “Poor boy with the yellow car. I wish I had a yellow car ...”
Ghosts are odd things. The trick would be getting all the information I could without driving it away by asking something that conflicted with its understanding of the world. This one seemed pretty cognizant for a ghost.
“Do you follow Blackwood’s orders?” I asked.
I saw him. Just for an instant. A young man above sixteen but not yet twenty wearing a red flannel shirt and button-up canvas pants.
“I’m not the only one who must do as he tells,” the voice said, though the apparition just stared at me without moving its lips.
And he was gone before I could ask him where Chad and Corban were ... or if Amber was here. I should have asked Corban. All that my nose told me was that the air-filtration system he had on his HVAC system was excellent, and the filter had been dosed lightly with cinnamon oil. I wondered if that had been done on my account, or if he just liked cinnamon.
The things in the room—plastic bin and bed, pillow and bedding, were brand-new. So were the paint and the carpet.
I pulled on my shirt and pants, regretting the underwire bra he’d taken. I could maybe have managed something with the underwire. I’ve jimmied my share of car door locks and a few house locks along the way as well. The shoes I didn’t mind so much.
Someone knocked tentatively at the door. I hadn’t heard anyone walking. Maybe it was the ghost.
The scrape of a lock and the door opened. Amber opened the door, and said, “Silly, Mercy. Why did you lock yourself in?” Her voice was as light as her smile, but something wild lurked behind her eyes. Something very close to a wolf.
Vampire? I wondered. I’d met one of Stefan’s menagerie who was well on his way to vampirehood. Or maybe it was just the part of Amber who knew what was going on.
“I didn’t,” I told her. “Blackwood did.” She smelled funny, but the cinnamon kept me from pinpointing it.
“Silly,” she said again. “Why would he do that?” Her hair looked as if she hadn’t combed it since the last time I’d seen her, and her striped shirt was buttoned one button off.
“I don’t know,” I told her.
But she had changed subjects already. “I have dinner ready. You’re supposed to join us for dinner.”
“Us?”
She laughed, but there was no smile in her eyes, just a trapped beast growing wild with frustration. “Why Corban, Chad, and Jim, of course.”
She turned to lead the way, and I noticed she was limping badly.
“Are you hurt?” I asked her.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Never mind,” I said gently, because I’d noticed something else. “Don’t worry about it.”
She wasn’t breathing.
Here and now, I counseled myself. No fear, no rage. Just observation: know your enemy. Rot. That’s what I’d been smelling: that first hint that a steak’s been in the fridge too long.
She was dead and walking, but she wasn’t a ghost. The word that occurred to me was zombie.
Vampires, Stefan had once told me, have different talents. He and Marsilia could vanish and reappear somewhere else. There were vampires who could move things without touching them.
This one had power over the dead. Ghosts who obeyed him. No one escapes, he’d told me. Not even in death.
I followed Amber up a long flight of stairs to the main floor of the house. We arrived in a broad swath of space that was both dining room, kitchen, and living room. It was daylight ... morning from the position of the sun—maybe ten o’clock or so. But it was dinner that was set at the table. A roast—pork, my nose belatedly told me—sat splendidly adorned with roasted carrots and potatoes. A pitcher of ice water, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of sliced homemade bread.
The table was big enough to seat eight, but there were only five chairs. Corban and Chad were sitting next to each other, with their backs to us on the only side set with two places. The remaining three chairs were obviously of the same set, but one, the one opposite Corban and Chad, had a padded backrest and arms.
I sat down next to Chad.
“But, Mercy, that’s my place,” Amber said.
I looked at the boy’s tear-stained face and Corban’s blank one ... He, at least, was still breathing. “Hey, you know I like kids,” I told her. “You get him all the time.”
Blackwood still hadn’t arrived. “Does Jim speak ASL?” I asked Amber.
Her face went blank. “I can’t answer any questions about Jim. You’ll have to ask him.” She blinked a couple of times, then she smiled at someone just behind me.
“No, I don’t,” said Blackwood.
“You don’t speak ASL?” I looked over my shoulder—not incidentally letting Chad see my lips. “Me either. It was one of those things I always meant to learn.”
“
Indeed.” I’d amused him, it seems.
He sat down in the armchair and gestured to Amber to take the other.
“She’s dead,” I told him. “You broke her.”
He went very still. “She serves me still.”
“Does she? Looks more like a puppet. I bet she’s more work and trouble dead than she was alive.” Poor Amber. But I couldn’t let him see my grief. Focus on this room and survival. “So why do you keep her around when she’s broken?” Without allowing him time to answer, I bowed my head and said a quiet prayer over the food ... and asked for help and wisdom while I was at it. I didn’t get an answer, but I had the feeling someone might be listening—and I hoped it wasn’t just the ghost.
THE VAMPIRE WAS STARING AT ME WHEN I FINISHED.
“Bad manners, I know,” I said, taking a slice of bread and buttering it. It smelled good, so I put it down on the plate in front of Chad with a thumbs-up sign. “But Chad can’t pray out loud for the rest of us. Amber is dead, and Corban ...” I tilted my head to look at Chad’s father, who hadn’t moved since I’d come into the room except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “Corban’s not in any shape to pray, and you’re a vampire. God’s not going to listen to anything you have to say.”
I took a second slice of bread and buttered it.
Unexpectedly, the vampire threw back his head and laughed, his fangs sharp and ... pointy. I tried not to think of them in my neck.
It wasn’t nearly as creepy as Amber laughing right along with him. A cold hand touched the back of my neck and was gone—but not before someone whispered, “Careful,” in my ear. I hated it when ghosts snuck up on me.
Chad grabbed my knee, his eyes widening. Had he seen the ghost? I shook my head at him while Blackwood wiped his dry eyes with his napkin.
“You have always been something of a scamp, haven’t you?” Blackwood said. “Tell me, did Tag ever discover who it was that stole all of his shoelaces?”
His words slipped inside me like a knife, and I did my best not to react.
Tag was a wolf in Bran’s pack. He’d never left Montana, and only he and I knew about the shoelace incident. He’d found me hiding from Bran’s wrath—I don’t remember what I’d done—and when I wouldn’t come on my own he’d taken off his bootlaces and made a collar and leash out of them for coyote me. Then he’d dragged me through Bran’s house to the study.
He knew who’d stolen his shoelaces all right. And until I left for Portland, I’d given him shoelaces every holiday—and he’d laugh.
No way any of Bran’s wolves were spying for the vampires.
I hid my thoughts with a couple of mouthfuls of bread. When I could swallow, I said, “Great bread, Amber. Did you make it yourself?” Nothing I could say about the shoelaces struck me as useful. So I changed the subject to food. Amber could always be counted upon to talk about nutrition. Death wouldn’t change that.
“Yes,” she told me. “All whole grains. Jim has taken me for his cook and housekeeper. If only I hadn’t ruined it for him.” Yeah, poor Jim. Amber had forced him to kill her—so he wouldn’t get a new cook.
“Hush,” Blackwood said.
I turned my head so I sort of faced Blackwood. “Yeah,” I said. “That won’t work anymore. Even a human nose is going to smell rotting flesh in a few days. Not what you want in a cook. Not that you need a cook.” I took another bite of bread.
“So how long have you been watching me?” I asked.
“I’d despaired of ever finding another walker,” he told me. “Imagine my joy when I heard that the Marrok had taken one under his wing.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, “it wouldn’t have worked very well for you if I’d stayed.” Ghosts, I thought. He’d used ghosts to watch me.
“I’m not worried about werewolves,” said Blackwood. “Did Corban or Amber tell you what my business is?”
“Nope. Your name never crossed their lips once you were gone.” It was the truth, but I saw his mouth tighten. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like his pets not paying attention to him. It was the first sign of weakness I’d seen. I wasn’t sure if it would be useful or not. But I’d take what I could get.
Know your enemy.
“I deal with ... specialty ammunition,” he said, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “Most of it top secret government stuff. I have, for instance, been very successful with a variety of ammunition designed for killing werewolves. I have, among other things, a silver version of the old Black Talon. Silver is a lousy metal for bullets; it doesn’t expand well. Instead of mushrooming, this one opens up like a flower.” He spread his hand so it looked like a starfish.
“And then there are those very interesting tranquilizer darts of Gerry Wallace’s design. Now that was a surprise. I’d never have thought of DMSO as a delivery system for the silver—or a tranquilizer gun as a delivery system. But then, his father was a vet. This is why tools may be useful.”
“You knew Gerry Wallace?” I asked, because I couldn’t help it. I took another bite as if my stomach weren’t clenched, so he wouldn’t think that the answer mattered too much.
“He came to me first,” Blackwood said. “But it didn’t suit me to do as he asked ... the Marrok is a bit larger target than I wanted to take on.” He smiled apologetically. “I am essentially a lazy creature, so my maker used to say. I sent Gerry on his way with an idea about building a superweapon against werewolves in some convoluted scheme sure to fail and no memory of coming to me at all. Imagine my surprise when the boy actually came up with something interesting.” He smiled gently at me.
“You need to watch Bran closer,” I told him. I grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it. “He’s more subtle, and it makes that omniscient thing work better for him. If you tell everyone everything you know, they don’t wonder about things you don’t tell them. Bran...” I shrugged. “You just know he knows what you’re thinking.”
“Amber,” said the vampire. “Make sure your husband and the boy who is not his son eat their dinner, would you?”
“Of course.”
Chad’s cold hand on my knee squeezed very tight. “You say that like it’s a revelation,” I told Blackwood. “You need to work on your verbal ammunition, too. Corban has always known that Chad’s not his biological son. That doesn’t matter to him at all. Chad’s still his son.”
The stem of the water glass the vampire was holding broke. He set the pieces very carefully on his empty plate. “You aren’t afraid enough of me,” he said very carefully. “Perhaps it is time to instruct you further.”
“Fine,” I said. “Thank you for the meal, Amber. Take care of yourselves, Corban and Chad.”
I stood up and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
He thought it was stupidity that I wasn’t afraid of him. But if you shiver in fear in a pack of werewolves, that’s really stupid. If you’re scared enough, even a wolf with good control starts having problems. If his control isn’t strong—well, let’s just say that I learned to be very good at burying my fear.
Pushing Blackwood wasn’t stupid either. If he’d killed me the first time—well, at least it would have been a quick death. But the longer he let it go on, the more I knew he needed me. I couldn’t imagine for what—but he needed me for something.
My bad luck he was taking it on as a challenge. I wondered what he thought would scare me more than Amber before I caught a good tight hold on my thoughts. There was no future, just the vampire and me standing by the table.
“Come,” he said, and led the way back down the stairway.
“How is it that you can walk in the daylight?” I asked him. “I’ve never heard of a vampire who could run around during the day.”
“You are what you eat,” he said obscurely. “My maker used to say that. Mann ist was mann ißt. She wouldn’t let me feed off drunkards or people who consumed tobacco.” He laughed, and I wouldn’t let myself think of it as sinister. “Amber reminds me a bit of her ... so concerned with nutrition. Neither of them was wrong. But my make
r didn’t understand the full implications of what she said.” He laughed again. “Until I consumed her.”
The door to the room I’d awoken in was open. He stopped and turned off the light as we passed. “Mustn’t waste electricity.”
And then he opened another door to a much bigger room. A room of cages. It smelled like sewage, disease, and death. Most of the cages were empty. But there was a man curled naked in the floor of one of the cages.
“You see, Mercedes,” he said, “you aren’t the first rare creature to be my guest. This is an oakman. I’ve had him for ... How long have you belonged to me, Donnell Greenleaf?”
The fae stirred and raised his face off the cement floor. Once he must have been a formidable figure. Oakmen, I remembered from the old book I’d borrowed, were not tall, no more than four feet, but they were stout “as a good oaken table.” This one was little more than skin and bones.
In a voice as dry as high summer in the Tri-Cities, he said, “Four-score years and a dozen and one. Two seasons more and eighteen days.”
“Oakmen,” said Blackwood smugly, “like the oaks they are named after, eat only the sunlight.”
You are what you eat indeed.
“I’ve never tried to see if I could live on light,” he said. “But he keeps me from burning, don’t you, Donnell Greenleaf?”
“It is my honor to bear that burden,” said the fae in a hopeless voice, his face to the floor.
“So you kidnapped me so you could turn into a coyote?” I asked incredulously.
The vampire just smiled and escorted me to a largish cage, with a bed. There was also a bucket from which the odor of sewage was emanating. It smelled like Corban, Chad, and Amber.
“I can keep you alive for a long time,” the vampire said. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and shoved my face against the cage while he stood behind me. “Maybe even all of your natural life. What? No smart comment?”
He didn’t see the faint figure that stood before me with her finger over her pursed mouth. She looked as if she’d been somewhere between sixty and a hundred years old when she’d died—like Santa’s wife, she was all rounded and sweet. Quiet, that finger said. Or maybe, just—Don’t let on you can see me.
Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly Page 113