On the Streets of Old New York (In Between 10 and 11, PG13)
Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 9:40 am
Disclaimer: Moonlight is not mine and no copyright infringement is intended.
This story is posted in two parts. The second part is in the same thread.
IN BETWEEN
ten and eleven
On the Streets of Old New York
Mick put his hand to the window of the cab, and Beth smiled up at him and pressed her hand against his, on the other side of the glass. So near. So far. He managed a crooked half smile in return, and then the taxi pulled away. Mick set off walking in the opposite direction, moving slowly down a deep cavernous New York street. The heart of the city lay ahead of him, the bright nightlife he’d promised Beth, but he hadn’t the heart to go there alone. He took a left instead, seeking out darker, smaller streets, turning almost instinctively away from the light. Beth was going home to Josh, to try to repair her old relationship, and all Mick’s eager excitement had crashed and burned against that stark fact.
He walked silently, hands in his pockets, head down, unaware of anything around him. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. Something to do with Sarah. Josef’s love for the human girl had filled Mick with hope, but Sarah’s half-turned state had obviously unsettled Beth – even frightened her. The vampire world is so much stranger than she knows. It’s no wonder she’s clinging so hard to her normal life. What right did he have to stand in her way?
But Beth had felt so close to him on this trip. He remembered walking by her side through the crowds at the airport, checking tickets and gates like any normal couple, helping each other stow their overnight cases and settling down side by side for the flight. Commercial travel was usually a nightmare for Mick; airplanes were always too hot, too cramped, and far too full of mortals. But this trip had gone by in a heartbeat, with Beth at his side. Josef’s near miss had somehow brought them closer - when Mick had thought Josef was dead, Beth had been there for him, holding him, her very touch helping him survive the loss. Later, she’d been relaxed, happy, teasing him the way she used to, before Coraline re-entered their lives. My Beth was back, she was with me. Seeing Josef in love had been an inspiration, and Mick had been ready, tonight, to forget the vampire and tell Beth just exactly how he felt about her. And now she’s gone.
He imagined what the night would have been like if she’d stayed with him. He thought of listening to music with her in the packed basement room of a jazz club, of watching her eat dinner at some gorgeous open-air restaurant, of dancing a slow waltz in a shimmering ballroom. Or did they even have ballrooms any more? It had been discos for a while, but those were probably all gone too. Mick let the dream slip away, and looked up. He’d left the brighter neighborhoods far behind, and he was now in a dark and shabby area he didn’t recognize at all. He could hear a single engine rumbling nearby, and when he looked back he saw a van pull out of an alley and stop by the curb, idling, its headlights off. If he’d still been mortal, he would have been worried now. But vampires don’t need to worry much about dark alleys, he thought bitterly, turning to step into one. It wasn’t much of an advantage, compared to being able to live a normal life. Still, it could have been worse - he could have ended up like Sarah, caught between worlds forever.
A woman’s cry echoed in his mind, trapped and despairing. Sarah, he thought. Had she been afraid, when it happened? Had she known that something was going wrong? Was she at all aware, now, of what was going on around her? Another cry resounded in Mick’s ears, and he realized abruptly that he wasn’t imagining it. Where had it come from? He ran down the alley and emerged on the next street, following the sound to a corner bar with a pink neon cocktail glass in the dirty window. The place was nearly deserted. The only occupants were the bartender and two men at the counter with glasses in front of them, all apparently oblivious to the woman’s screams. Mick hesitated, suddenly feeling tired beyond belief. He only wanted to be alone tonight – why should he always have to solve everyone’s problems for them? Did anyone else think that way, when Chloe and Elaine were attacked? Mick entered the bar, glancing around, and crossed quickly to the little hallway where the restrooms were located. He shoved open the door marked Ladies. A woman stood backed against the toilet stall, her arms up to shield her face, and a drunken man stood over her, breathing hard, blood all over his fists. Mick’s eye was drawn to the blood, and he caught the scents of estrogen and cortisol. The blood on the man’s hands was the woman’s. Mick grabbed him and flung him across the room, slamming him against the sink and then to the floor, hearing the satisfying sound of a bone snapping in the man’s arm.
“You okay?” he asked the woman, and she looked up at him in shock. She was drunk too, her face purple with bruises, her nose bleeding and her lip cut. Mick reached out to her, worried, but she slapped his hand away, letting out another shriek.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, backing up a step. “Neither is he – not any more.”
She was staring, now, at the crumpled form of the man. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve, for beating you up.”
The woman pushed past him, falling to her knees beside the man. “He’s my husband!” she cried. “Oh my God, you’ve hurt him! Tony, talk to me - come on, baby.” The man groaned, and the woman glared up at Mick, pulling a phone out of her bag and punching in three quick numbers.
Great. Mick sighed and strode away, back through the bar, where the bartender and two customers still huddled in the same places they’d been. He wanted a drink badly – he wanted a lot of drinks – but he’d better cover some distance from here. Even in this neighborhood, it might not take long for the police to arrive, and the woman would probably accuse him of everything short of murder. What was wrong with her, anyway? She had to be crazy to stay with a man like that. Hah. Just like me and Coraline. No wonder Beth was so bewildered about why he’d stayed with Coraline all those years.
Mick faded into another alley, and came out an instant later on a new street. He wished he hadn’t thought of Beth, and wished again for a drink. He couldn’t help looking at his watch, and noting that their flight to L.A. would be leaving in five minutes. He’d been hoping that Beth would call once she got to the airport, to ask about his plans - to ask if maybe he’d be taking the flight back with her after all. Or at least to ask when he’d be returning to Los Angeles. But if she was going to call . . . well, she’d have done it by now. He checked his phone, just in case he’d somehow missed a call, but there was nothing. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked on, and something sharp and cold struck him, hard, in the back.
It was ice, it was fire . . .it’s silver. The shock and pain of it dropped him to his knees, and in sudden terror he dove behind a parked car. Hunters? In New York? Who the hell knows what I am, in this city? And what had he been hit with? The pain was agonizing, but it didn’t feel like a bullet had torn through his flesh. He reached back awkwardly to feel, and his hand struck something cold and metallic, embedded just below his left shoulder blade. With a gasp he pulled the thing out - a dart, soaked in blood and reeking of silver. He dropped it from numb fingers, remembering the van that had pulled up behind him before. Where was it now? Did it have anything to do with this? On his feet again, staying low, he swung around, looking everywhere, trying to catch a scent. He saw nothing but the empty street, and couldn’t smell anything at all. There weren’t any vehicles in sight, except for a scatter of parked cars, and he’d lost track of the van long ago. He didn’t know which way to run. But they know where I am. Anywhere’s better than here.
He broke from cover and took off at top speed, racing down the street in a blur of motion, dodging between parked cars and taking the first turn to the right. Headlights suddenly appeared, following him, and he leaped up the side of a building, fighting his way to the roof. He ran across the roof, hesitating when he came to the edge. His vision was already fading, his hearing becoming distorted. The lights below him were faint, drowned in gray fog, and the next rooftop seemed to waver in his sight. Five floors down he heard gasps and groans, a couple making love; two floors below them he smelled the smoke of a new-lit cigarette. His scarf slid from his neck and dropped into the void, disappearing into the fog.
Mick turned back, got a running start, and threw himself across the gap between the buildings. God only knew if anyone had seen him, if they knew which way he’d gone . . . he raced across the rooftop and jumped to the next one without pausing, fighting off the strange sounds and smells, struggling to see what was in front of him. One more rooftop passed under his feet, and he leaped for the next one, almost blindly. But he wasn’t going to make it this time - he could feel it from the moment he jumped.
He struck the wall two stories below the roof, grabbing desperately for a hold. For an instant he hung on to a window frame, but his hands couldn’t grip it, and he fell. Mick had never fallen like this before, ever. This was no controlled vampire jump to the ground, not even the suicide attempt of a new turn – he was falling like a human, like a stone. He flailed out wildly, trying to reach the wall again – no hope – spun in the air, and slammed into the ground. Shock and pain washed over him, and didn’t pass. He couldn’t move . . . couldn’t breathe . . . but he had to move, or they’d find him. He struggled to push himself to his feet, but fell back, dazed, to the pavement. I have to keep moving. I have to. He finally managed to get up, to start running again. But the fall had hurt him, and ice was spreading from his shoulder to the rest of his body, the cold and paralysis that he remembered all too well. He fought for speed but knew he was moving more slowly with every step. Still faster than a human. But were these human hunters? He had no vamp enemies here that he knew of, but vampires moved around . . . he couldn’t tell, his senses were worse than useless and it had never in his life been so hard to run. When he glanced back he saw headlights again, in the distance but moving closer.
God, where could he go? No strength left to climb a building, not enough time to hotwire a car. He pushed himself through another turn, into a narrower street, and behind him the headlights swung to follow and suddenly flared, bright as day. The street seemed to drop out from under him and he fell hard on his face, not even able to bring up his hands to break his fall. The pavement was cold beneath him, ice cold. The headlights turned to flames, flames that leaped wildly toward him, leaving him transfixed. Dark shapes moved in the fire, moving the way Coraline had moved. She survived the fire. How? Why didn’t I ever find out? Then the fire was upon him, and darkness fell.
Dying by fire should burn like fire, not like ice. Could silver make him so cold that fire couldn’t touch him? Mick moved his head, ever so slightly, and felt the rough abrasion of pavement against his skin. He heard traffic from blocks away, horns honking – and then voices, nearby but very faint, almost hidden in the faraway snarl of engines and rumble of tires.
“Is it safe? Do you want the stake?”
“No need. Help me with him. Hurry up!”
Hands grasped him, hands from a dizzy swirl of dark forms clustered nearby, and he was thrown onto a dirty metal floor. A door slammed, an engine roared, and the floor lurched and began to move. Who were these people? Human or vampire? Even from this close he couldn’t tell. They were only dark shapes in his vision, with no scent to them at all.
The hands pulled at him again, dragging off his coat. “Good, there’s jewelry,” someone said. “I’ll take that – it’ll help.” The necklace, they were taking the cross . . . Mick didn’t expect to survive this, whatever was happening, but he still felt a mortal pain when the fleury cross was stripped away from him. He fought to move, to reach for it, and his hand shifted a fraction against the floor. But an instant later someone grabbed his hand, quickly sliding the ring off his finger, and there was no way to stop them. His last memory of Tyler, lost.
“He’s got a ring.” Another voice. “Take this too. Did you get pictures?”
“Not yet. I need the chains first.”
“Here’s the bag.”
“Just a minute.” There were hands at his throat again, a cold finger pressed to his carotid. Mick could feel his artery pulsing against the pressure, faint and slow.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s been hit with silver before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because one dart shouldn’t have done this much damage.”
“Oh.”
“And it doesn’t help that he fell off a goddamned building. Give me that.”
“You’re sure the chains will hold him when the dart wears off?”
“They’ll hold him. And it’s not gonna wear off any time soon. I won’t be gone all that long.”
Icy metal looped around Mick’s neck, around his wrists, burning cold that felt like death. The ice radiated back to his shoulder, where the dart had been, where the silver bullets had struck him so long ago. Bound with silver, no hope. Thank God Beth isn’t here. He was desperately thankful that she’d chosen to go back to Josh. She was well clear of this – she was safe on the flight to L.A.; they couldn’t reach her, couldn’t hurt her. I can deal with anything, as long as she’s safe. But what did they mean to do with him? If they’d wanted to kill him outright, he’d be dead already – they obviously knew how to deal with vampires. They seemed to want him alive, but what for? And how long would they keep him that way?
The dark shapes had receded, and he could barely hear the traffic any more, but he could feel the chains, burning like cold fire against his skin. He and Josef had kept Elaine in chains for weeks - silver chains like the ones that bound him now. How had she endured it? But it didn't hurt her like this, not anything like this. He was sensitized now, because of the silver bullets, and that dart couldn’t have helped. Silver had a cumulative effect on vampires; he’d been inspired to research it after he’d been shot. He might well die even if his captors didn’t kill him deliberately. Beth will never know what happened to me. He tried to tell himself that it would be better that way. With him gone, she could go back to her normal life with no second thoughts. After all, she’d already decided to put things right with Josh.
But he missed her . . . oh, he missed her so much. He was utterly relieved that she wasn’t here, but he still wished that he could see her. He remembered the way she’d smiled up at him, so wistfully, as she’d held her hand to his on the other side of the taxi’s window. He’d almost believed that she would change her mind, right then, and stay with him.
“Is he supposed to be this cold?” Mick couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from.
“No. Damn. Here, let me see.”
Then the voices faded out.
“Beth?” It was his own faint whisper, falling into dark, empty silence.
She’s not here.
Good. She’s safe.
Dream images slipped into his mind, ghostly sights and sounds overlapping and interweaving. Coraline, his old apartment, his mother’s kitchen, Elaine, Josef’s blast-torn office, Beth. Beth. He tried to focus only on her face, and her voice, letting the others go.
The cab door opened and a marvelous mix of aromas rushed in, surrounding Mick: hot roasted chestnuts, saffron, ginger, the billowing steam that rose from grates in the pavement. Someone was playing a saxophone nearby, jazz notes spilling out into the night, and down the street he could see the distinctive red awning of the Village Vanguard. Quintessential New York. Mick jumped out of the cab, took another delighted breath, and turned back to hold out a hand for Beth. She smiled and took it, climbing out of the cab and looking around with interest.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“We’ll catch a set at the Village Vanguard. And then martinis, and a steak for the lady. Unless you’d rather have something different?
Beth sniffed the air. “Like burgers, or Chinese?”
“Whatever you want.”
“The steak,” she said decisively. “And the drink.”
She sat close beside him in the little basement room of the jazz club, gazing around at the posters on the wall, shifting her chair closer to his as another couple was seated next to them at their table. Mick had forgotten how dark and shabby the place was, how crowded . . . he loved it for the music, and had never really paid attention to the setting. He glanced nervously at Beth, but she looked perfectly happy, exchanging greetings with their table-mates and then turning her attention to the stage. As the lights lowered and the music began, she slipped her hand into his and listened raptly, sharing the experience with him, and his heart lifted.
The rich jazz faded into the faint tinkling sound of a piano, the sound softened by a light breeze. Beth let go of his hand and picked up her martini glass, sipping from it with pleasure. Their rooftop table looked out over the city, giving them a spectacular view of the skyline, and the cool evening air felt perfect. Mick took a swallow from his glass and put it down, aware of Beth’s steady gaze on him.
“Can you taste that?” she asked, curious. “You never eat, but it looks like you’re enjoying the drink.”
“Oh, I can’t really taste it. But I can feel the alcohol. It’s not the same, but it still feels good to have a drink.”
“Can you still – oh, I don’t know – get drunk?”
“Not really.”
“You sound like you miss it.”
“I do. I used to be pretty good at it.”
Beth laughed, tightening her arms around him as they spun across the dance floor. Her hair swung loose on her shoulders; her long skirt swirled around her feet. The band was playing all Mick’s favorite tunes tonight – oldies, Beth had said with a smile – and the lights were low. “You’re pretty good at dancing, too,” she said. “Even though I keep trying to trip you up. High school prom was nothing like this.”
Mick remembered her high school prom, hip-hop music and rap beats echoing through the school gym. “Do you like dancing this way?”
“I love it,” she said, nestling closer under his arm as they walked. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning against him, sharing her warmth with him. “I’ve always loved weather like this,” she went on. “Cold enough to really need a coat, but not freezing.”
“I like it too,” Mick said.
She looked up at him, her eyebrows arched. “Oh really? I thought you liked the weather in L.A.”
“Well, I – I do. I like it both places.”
“Ah. I see.” She stopped, turning to face him, smiling. The breeze caught her loose hair, blowing a strand of it across her face, and he reached out gently to push it back. She shivered, closing her eyes and leaning toward him, and he bent down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body melting against his as she ardently returned the kiss. Her mouth was warm and sweet, so soft against his . . . he couldn’t resist her, not tonight, not ever again. She pulled his scarf aside, slipping her hands into his hair, and he moved away from her mouth to kiss her eyelids, her cheek, her throat. She was trembling, her face flushed, her heart beating hard and fast in response to his touch. He pushed her coat off her shoulders, running his hands down her body to clasp her waist, and she caught his hands in hers with a breathless gasp.
“Maybe – maybe we should get a room,” she whispered. “It might be a little too cold without a coat, or without – other things.”
“It would be – warmer – in a room,” Mick said, his heart pounding. “If you’re sure -- ”
“I think he’s warmer,” a voice said, from somewhere in the shadows.
“Yeah. He should be all right. Pull that chain tighter, Thomas.”
“Right.”
“Okay, everything’s secure. I’ve got to go, or I’ll miss my flight.”
The buildings wavered, flickering, as the voices intruded. “Mick?” Beth said, worried. “What’s wrong?”
The buildings faded out, and he couldn’t see Beth. He’d fallen, somehow, and he was lying on cold cement, his coat gone. He was freezing. He felt Beth’s warm hands on his, and clung to them. “Hold on, Mick,” she said, her voice low. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go.”
“I can’t see you.”
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Her voice drifted away, and he heard the saxophone instead, someone playing KoKo and Salt Peanuts and White Heat, and he listened to the music as the night passed, never letting go of Beth’s hands.
“Hey,” he said softly, feeling the sun rise. “Beth.”
She didn’t answer, and suddenly he couldn’t feel her hands any more. The saxophone had stopped playing, and he heard the first notes from an emo band instead. “Beth,” he said again. “Beth?”
The music blared, and he woke, flinching, to a room filled with white artificial light. The floor was cold cement, and his hands were chained in front of him. I was dreaming. And Beth isn’t here, thank God. Wherever I am. He was chained tightly, held down to bolts in the floor, the same way they’d restrained Elaine when they had to go in to tend her. Where had Josef learned the technique? Hadn’t he said, from a Cleaner? It had kept them safe from Elaine, even though she’d been stronger, at the time, than they were.
Mick tried to pull at the chains, to test their strength, and they shifted agonizingly against his wrists. He closed his eyes, trying not to lose consciousness again, shivering with the cold. Dashboard Confessional was still belting out Rooftops and Invitations, but the song was suddenly cut short as someone answered a phone.
“What’s going on?” It was a boy’s voice.
“I just got here. And she’s gone.” The voice at the other end was a woman’s, tinny from the connection, but deep and authoritative.
“What do you mean, gone?” The boy sounded bewildered.
“I mean gone! She’s disappeared out of the hospital. The place is like an ant hive – nobody knows what happened to her. The doctors say she was way too sick to leave on her own. Me, I don’t know what to think.”
A long silence. Then the boy said, “What do we do now?”
“You and Asha stay put, and keep St. John where he is. I’m going to look for DuVall. I have connections, so we may be able to salvage this yet.”
“That’s it?” This voice came from a woman in the room, high and shrill.
“That’s it. Listen to me, Thomas. You too, Asha. You are not to do anything to St. John. Your only job is to keep him secure. We still need him alive. Asha? Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Asha muttered, her voice sullen.
A dial tone buzzed for a moment, and then the room filled with silence. Mick tried to take in what he’d heard. Had they been talking about Coraline? DuVall, the woman had said - they must have been. But how could Coraline be gone from the hospital? When he’d left L.A., she had still been critical, and there was no way she could have gotten better and walked out.
Unless she changed back.
Could that have happened? If she’d died as a human, could she have turned back into a vampire? He simply didn’t have any idea; he didn’t know how she’d turned human in the first place.
Or - had she been abducted? The idea didn’t seem very far-fetched at the moment. What did these people want with her, and what did he have to do with it? Did they imagine they could use him to get something from her?
“He’s awake now,” Asha said, her voice very dark. “We should question him.”
“Marguerite said not to.”
“I don’t care what she said.” Mick heard the woman’s footsteps, pacing back and forth. “And I’ve got this. See?”
“Christ, Asha! That’s a Cleaner drug! How did you even get hold of it?”
“Marguerite’s safe isn’t as secure as she thinks it is.” The footsteps came closer, and Mick felt Asha hovering over him. “I’ve got to know,” she said fiercely. “I can’t wait. It isn’t fair! This wasn’t supposed to happen to me!” She dropped to her knees beside him, and Mick saw the glint of a syringe in her hand. Thomas was suddenly there – he was just a boy, small, maybe thirteen – and he shoved Asha away, sending her flying across the room. Damn, but that’s a strong kid. He’s got to be a vampire. Thomas looked down at Mick from under a fall of dark hair, and Mick was suddenly certain of it. No thirteen-year-old in the world had eyes like that. It was something, at least, to know that he hadn’t been taken down by two ordinary women and a boy. Three vampires was a different matter. And Mick knew just how powerful a vampire woman could be.
Asha was back, facing down the boy. She was a young woman, disconcertingly pretty, but her face was grim. “I need to know now,” she said flatly. “And this drug will make him answer my questions. Don’t try to stop me.”
“Asha. Why do you think Marguerite didn’t use it on him in the first place? They haven’t got the formula worked out yet – it isn’t safe. It could kill him, and then how would you get any answers? Wait for Marguerite, all right? Give her a chance to find DuVall.”
“Just how long am I supposed to wait?”
“I don’t know!” Thomas said, frustrated. “Longer, that’s all. Give her time, damn it! If I can do this at all, you can wait a little longer. How do you think I’m gonna explain this to Elaine?”
“Why explain anything? Don’t tell her.”
“She’ll find out. She’ll know I was involved.” Thomas glanced sideways at Mick. “When she sent me that email about DuVall, she was trying to help us. And now look what we’re doing. She really cares about this guy. She’s not ever gonna understand.”
“You knew that when you agreed to Marguerite’s plan. Why do you care what this Elaine thinks, anyway? You haven’t even seen her in years.”
“Years don’t matter. Neither do decades, or centuries. You’ll find out.”
“I’d better not,” Asha snapped, and made a sudden move. Thomas fell limp at Mick’s side, utterly still, a stake buried in his chest. That definitely settles it. They’re vampires. But what did they know about Elaine? What was going on? Thomas couldn’t tell him now, and Asha –
Asha shoved Thomas out of the way, then stepped deliberately over Mick, the syringe still ready in her hand.
“There,” she said. “Thomas doesn’t have any more to say about it.”
Mick watched Asha warily, his eye on the syringe. It could kill him, Thomas had said. Was she really going to inject him, without even asking her questions first?
“What do you want?” he whispered, his voice raw. He had to struggle to form the words. “Wait . . . you don’t have to do this . . .”
Asha ignored him. She knelt at his side, readying the syringe, and slowly ran her finger along his jugular vein, picking her spot. She would have to inject at an awkward angle, with the chain in the way, but he didn’t doubt that she could do it. He felt her finger move away, felt the sharp point of the needle rasp against his throat. The touch of it was terrifying . . . Mick tried to struggle against the chains, to jostle the syringe. But he didn’t have the strength; he couldn’t even move. He stared up at Asha – just like Elaine stared at me – and the needle pierced his throat.
Elaine, he thought. Forgive me.
“Mick, sit down,” Josef said.
“No,” Mick said, and kept pacing the room, back and forth, beneath the painting. Josef’s artwork had always made him feel safe before, for some reason, but now he found it unsettling, disturbing. The doll-child’s hair, bursting into flames . . . how had that never bothered him before? Or the planes, damaged and crashing . . . the black sun . . .
Josef was at his side the next instant, forcibly pushing him down into a chair, then sitting beside him. Mick looked at the floor, keeping his eyes off the painting. Tyler stayed where he was, leaning against one of the wall panels, his arms folded in front of him. Behind Tyler, the robed figure peered out at Mick, gazing at him steadily from beneath her hood.
“Look at me,” Josef said, and unwillingly, Mick did so. “Mick, it’s been weeks. She’s not any better. She’s not going to get better. And we can’t keep putting her through this.”
“So what are you saying?” Mick burst out. “You want to kill her, is that it?”
“I’m saying she ought to be put down. For her sake as well as ours.”
“Put down? How? Do you want to cut off her head, or would you rather set her on fire? Fuck you, Josef!”
Mick leaped to his feet, heading for the door, but Josef was there before him, blocking his way.
“Get out of my way,” Mick said.
Josef didn’t move, and Tyler suddenly stood at Josef’s side. “Mick,” Tyler said, “Josef knows what he’s talking about. Listen to him, okay?”
Tyler’s eyes were downcast, but he looked resolute. “Tyler?” Mick said, staring at him. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want her to die. You know I don’t. But this – what we’re doing to her – I think it’s worse than death.”
Mick closed his eyes. Tyler was right, and he knew it, but –
“Mick,” Josef said. “There’s a painless way to do it.”
“What?” Mick remembered one of their very first conversations – the one where he’d asked Josef how a vampire could die. “You never told me that.”
“I haven’t known about it for long. It’s a new drug the Cleaners have, for when they have a - situation - like this. Nobody else is supposed to even know it exists.”
“So how do you?”
“I happened to meet a Cleaner a while back, and, well . . . let’s just say that I got to know her. Intimately. She certainly wasn’t supposed to tell me about the drug, but she did. The Cleaners have a lot of drugs that no one is supposed to know about. Drugs that work on vampires. Just don’t ever tell anyone else, okay? Either of you. Because if word got out, her life would be forfeit.”
Mick watched Josef, seeing the deadly serious look on his friend’s face. Josef cared about this Cleaner, and was taking a risk letting out one of her secrets. And Elaine . . . Elaine was suffering. Terribly. She had been suffering for weeks, and Josef was right – she wasn’t getting better. He leaned back against the wall, his head in his hands, remembering Elaine the way she’d been before. Before I turned her. Her overwhelming shyness, the way she’d blushed, the way her hands had moved on the strings of her guitar. The songs she’d written, the words that had touched his heart so deeply. That was all gone now. Everything he’d loved about Elaine was gone, long gone, destroyed in the turning that had gone so badly wrong. My fault. And my fault again, if I let this go on. He felt Tyler’s hand, gentle and reassuring against his shoulder, and steadied himself.
“All right,” he whispered. “But I’m doing it myself.”
“Okay,” Josef said.
“What is it? An injection?”
“Yeah. Goes in the vein.”
“How does it work?”
“It’s a narcotic, mixed with silver. It knocks you out, just long enough for the silver to kill you. You never wake up, and there’s not any pain.” Josef hesitated. “You want me to get it now?”
“Yes. I’ll – I’ll be with Elaine.”
Tyler went with him to the observation room. Through the glass Mick saw Elaine pacing across the floor of her room, just as he had done in Josef’s office, the chains trailing from her wrists and throat. In that instant she saw him, and she lunged toward him, snarling, fangs out and eyes white. Mick looked away, unable to bear the sight, and touched the controls to shorten the chains. She fought, but was inexorably pulled back, away from the window, down to the floor. Tyler stood in front of him, watching her sadly, and an instant later Josef was there, pressing a syringe into Mick’s hand.
“Look,” Josef said, “I’m sorry. But you know it has to be done.”
“I know.”
“You want me to come with you?” Tyler asked.
“No. I was the one who did this to her, and I’ll end it.”
Mick entered the room. Elaine was held fast now, where she couldn’t bite or claw him, but she still tried, fighting madly against the chains. Mick dropped to the cold floor beside her and looked down at the syringe in his hand. He touched Elaine’s hair, very gently, and pushed the long dark strands away from her throat. Shaking, he took the cap off the syringe and touched the needle to her skin, just over the jugular vein. She stared up at him, silent, as if she knew what he meant to do, and he pulled the syringe away abruptly, capping it and putting it into his pocket. Not yet. He quickly caught her head in one hand, her bound arms in the other. One more time. I have to try one more time. “Tyler!” he called out. “Loosen the chains.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I’ve got her, Tyler. She can’t hurt me.”
“Mick, she’s strong. She nearly took your head off, last time. She could kill you.”
“I’ll take that chance. Loosen them. Now!”
“Don’t do it, Tyler,” Josef said. “Don’t! It’s too dangerous.” But the chains grew slack, and soon Mick had to hold Elaine with every bit of his strength to keep her still. He leaned back against the wall, pulling her into his lap, holding her wrists in an iron grip, pressing her head against his chest. He’d never dared to hold her in his arms before. Tyler was right – in her current state, she was stronger than he was, and she could kill him. But I’m not letting her go without trying this. She struggled, fighting him, her long hair falling into her face and fanning out against his shirt.
“Elaine,” Mick whispered. “Elaine, listen to me.”
She twisted in his grip, frenzied, trying desperately to reach him with her fangs.
“No. Elaine, listen. Your name is Elaine Harrison. You’re seventeen years old. You’re a musician. And not just any musician; you’re brilliant, did you know that? You play guitar, and you write songs that can make a vampire cry. Because that’s what I am, a vampire. And that’s what happened to you.” Hopelessly he wished for the mythical vampire ability of hypnosis – if he could influence other people’s minds, he’d be able to reach Elaine, even in the state she was in now. But still . . . she wasn’t fighting him as hard as she had been before, and she almost seemed to be hearing him. He swallowed, and went on. “We met at the Monterey Pop festival. You remember that, don’t you? Well, it turns out that you ran away from home, you and your friend Chloe, because your parents weren’t going to let you go. But you loved the music so much, you ran away, and you went to the festival. I don’t know if you were planning to go back home, after. I never found out.”
He loosened his grip on her enough to stroke her hair. She could break free of him now; she could easily overpower him. But in this moment, he didn’t believe she would. “I met you there,” he said. “I heard you play, and I heard Chloe sing. I’d never heard music like that before, ever. And after that -- ”
“Chloe,” Elaine whispered, and he froze for an instant. It was the first coherent word she’d spoken as a vampire.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Chloe. She was your friend.”
“What happened to her? What happened to me?”
“You were attacked, Elaine. When I found you that night, you were bleeding to death. I saved your life the only way I could. I turned you into a vampire, like me. But something – went wrong.”
“Oh God,” Elaine murmured. “I remember. You told me before. Vampire. Oh God.”
I told you hundreds of times. But I didn’t know you’d ever heard me.
“Where’s Chloe? Is she all right?”
Mick let go of Elaine’s wrists and drew her close to him, cradling her in his arms.
“Where’s Chloe?” Elaine said again, looking up at him. “I don’t remember . . . oh, no. No.”
“I’m sorry.” Mick held her closer, hardly able to find his voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“No! No, no, no! That can’t have happened!”
“No,” Mick murmured, in answer to a question he’d already forgotten. His eyes opened, and he found himself chained to the floor, just as Elaine had been. He’d never remembered that time so vividly before. I wish that had been a dream. But it wasn’t. It was all real. He thought of how he’d held the needle to Elaine’s throat – he’d come so close to ending her life. He’d believed it would be best for her, at that moment. But she’d survived, she’d gone on, she’d had joy in her life. She and Kevin had been together for a long time before their ill-fated marriage had ended that joy. Should I just let her go when Kevin dies? Would that be best for her? But no - it couldn’t be right, it couldn’t. He had to find a way to convince her to go on living.
But to do that, he’d have to survive.
“Then you can’t understand,” Asha said, apparently in response to something he’d said. “Turning doesn’t count.” She was pacing again, back and forth, and he could feel her gazing down at him. “So. Just tell me. How did she do it?”
Was she talking about Elaine? What did these people have to do with her? “Elaine?” he asked, confused.
“Not Elaine. Your wife. Coraline. How did she do it?”
“She’s not my wife.”
“What do mean, she’s not your wife?”
“Ex-wife,” Mick said, and looked up at Asha again. So many vampire women looked so . . . innocent. You’d never guess from looking at her how ruthless she is, how powerful. She’s like Josef, that way.
“She’s not your ex,” Asha said coldly. “You never got divorced.”
Why would I bother? I thought she was dead. Smoke filled his vision, smoke from the fire that had engulfed Coraline. He couldn’t smell it, though. He couldn’t smell anything at all.
“And you’ve been seen together. Recently. You know, you have to know. Tell me how she did it!”
The drug was coursing all through his body now, intensifying the pain, and the smoke was thicker than ever. It drifted around him, and he could barely see through it. “I thought she died in that fire,” he said. “All these years, I thought she was dead. I don’t know how she got out. I don’t know how she survived. I should have asked . . .” Would he ever get another chance to ask her? Had Coraline really disappeared from the hospital, or had he dreamed that?
Asha struck him, the pain sharp and intense, and he felt blood hot on his face. “Not that. Tell me how she turned human.”
“I don’t know! How would I know? I didn’t even know she was alive, all that time.”
“You were with her while she was human! You must know how she did it!”
“I don’t. I asked her, of course I asked her. She never told me. I didn’t want this; I don’t want this! If I knew how to turn back, I’d be human now.”
Asha seemed to wilt, her fury fading into despair, and she lowered herself to the floor. She sat for a moment in silence, then said, “You really don’t know anything about it?”
“I don’t. I wish I did.” The smoke swirled, and Mick thought he saw tears on her face. But surely this fierce, angry woman wouldn’t cry? “Is Coraline really gone?” he asked. “If she isn’t . . .”
Asha jumped to her feet, furiously rubbing at her face. “Marguerite will find her,” she said harshly. “Cleaners have their ways. And she’ll talk. We have you, and we’ll kill you if she doesn’t tell us.”
“Nobody can find Coraline, if she doesn’t want to be found,” Mick said. Not even me. He thought of the vial of blood he’d taken from Coraline – his only lead now to the cure, and a terribly faint one. He wondered why these people wanted it so badly. And why was a Cleaner looking for the cure? Cleaners were, by definition, devoted to the vampire world. Was it the boy who wanted it, so that he could escape an eternal childhood? If so, why was Asha asking the questions?
If she was still asking questions . . . he couldn’t hear her any more, couldn’t see her. The smoke hovered over him in a cloud, and he suddenly caught a scent. Not Asha, not Thomas – but he could smell humans, their blood warm and enticing, in the building next door. A wave of thirst passed over him, so strong that if he’d been free, he’d have broken down the wall to get to them. He threw himself against the chains, as hard as he could, and then collapsed against the floor, utterly spent. When you’re dying, you need blood. Was the drug killing him? It was so cold, so very cold. Strange sensations coursed through his veins, following the path of the drug.
“You shouldn’t have called her.” Asha muttered.
“You shouldn’t have used that damn drug,” Thomas snapped in reply. “You didn’t even learn anything.”
“He said he had a daughter. But he doesn’t! She’s just a turn. It’s not like I’m your daughter.”
“In a way, you are.”
“It’s not the same! It’s not the same at all! Katey is my daughter. If I ever turned anyone, it wouldn’t be anything like that.”
“Would you?” Thomas asked. “Would you ever turn anyone?”
“Not against their will,” Asha said, with venom.
“It was an accident,” Thomas said tightly. “You know that. And you were a freshie. You knew the risks.”
“I didn’t know I’d lose Katey!” Asha cried, anguished. “I didn’t know I’d never be able to see her again! I want my life back!”
“Well, maybe I do too.”
“You chose it. You told me - Marguerite gave you the choice.”
“Between that and dying, yeah. It wasn’t much of a choice.”
“It’s more than I had.” Asha paused, then said, “Hey – what are you doing?”
“He needs blood.”
“That’s not safe for us!”
“Shut up, Asha. Marguerite told me what to do.”
“Why do you always listen to her? She isn’t always right. She doesn’t always think of everything. I mean . . . what was she going to do if DuVall was there, anyway? What if DuVall had been hurt too bad to talk?”
“As long as she was alive, Marguerite could have revived her. Cleaners know some things about humans, too.”
“It would be a lot more useful if they knew something about truth drugs for humans,” Asha said bitterly.
“Truth drugs for humans don’t work worth a damn. And even if they did, something like that would have killed DuVall, in the state she was in. Hand me that line.”
Fresh blood rushed into Mick’s body, easing his frantic craving, and he started to make sense of their words. Asha had apparently released Thomas from the stake, and the boy was back in control. They all still seemed to want Mick alive, which was something, he supposed . . . and they were talking about Coraline. Could a Cleaner really revive a human who was so badly injured? And get answers from her? Somehow, Mick didn’t doubt it, and the thought was chilling. He didn’t like to think of Coraline in her hospital bed, being tormented that way, even though it hardly compared with what he had done to her himself. He opened his eyes, and he could see again, but his vision was still full of smoke. Was it smoke from the fire he’d set to kill Coraline? Or was it something else?
Thomas and Asha had talked about children - and about fledglings - as well.
Asha must have asked if I had children.
And I must have told her I had a daughter.
Elaine.
He’d never called her his daughter before, not out loud, though he’d often thought of her that way – his eternally teenage daughter, all self-doubt and uncertainty, angst and drama, emotionally unstable and sometimes suicidal . . . .
He thought of Elaine’s sad little house near the beach. He knew very well why she’d chosen a stand-alone house rather than a cheaper apartment. The smoke stung his eyes, seared his lungs. I think it’s a premonition.
“I have to get home,” Mick said hoarsely.
“Too bad,” Asha said.
“I have to. It’s Elaine. Something’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
“Something’s going to happen?” Asha said sarcastically. “Like what?”
“Asha,” Thomas said warily, “if you ask questions like that --”
But it was too late. Compelled by the drug, Mick’s mind fixed itself on all of his worst fears, and he fell into them, lost.
-
This story is posted in two parts. The second part is in the same thread.
IN BETWEEN
ten and eleven
On the Streets of Old New York
Mick put his hand to the window of the cab, and Beth smiled up at him and pressed her hand against his, on the other side of the glass. So near. So far. He managed a crooked half smile in return, and then the taxi pulled away. Mick set off walking in the opposite direction, moving slowly down a deep cavernous New York street. The heart of the city lay ahead of him, the bright nightlife he’d promised Beth, but he hadn’t the heart to go there alone. He took a left instead, seeking out darker, smaller streets, turning almost instinctively away from the light. Beth was going home to Josh, to try to repair her old relationship, and all Mick’s eager excitement had crashed and burned against that stark fact.
He walked silently, hands in his pockets, head down, unaware of anything around him. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. Something to do with Sarah. Josef’s love for the human girl had filled Mick with hope, but Sarah’s half-turned state had obviously unsettled Beth – even frightened her. The vampire world is so much stranger than she knows. It’s no wonder she’s clinging so hard to her normal life. What right did he have to stand in her way?
But Beth had felt so close to him on this trip. He remembered walking by her side through the crowds at the airport, checking tickets and gates like any normal couple, helping each other stow their overnight cases and settling down side by side for the flight. Commercial travel was usually a nightmare for Mick; airplanes were always too hot, too cramped, and far too full of mortals. But this trip had gone by in a heartbeat, with Beth at his side. Josef’s near miss had somehow brought them closer - when Mick had thought Josef was dead, Beth had been there for him, holding him, her very touch helping him survive the loss. Later, she’d been relaxed, happy, teasing him the way she used to, before Coraline re-entered their lives. My Beth was back, she was with me. Seeing Josef in love had been an inspiration, and Mick had been ready, tonight, to forget the vampire and tell Beth just exactly how he felt about her. And now she’s gone.
He imagined what the night would have been like if she’d stayed with him. He thought of listening to music with her in the packed basement room of a jazz club, of watching her eat dinner at some gorgeous open-air restaurant, of dancing a slow waltz in a shimmering ballroom. Or did they even have ballrooms any more? It had been discos for a while, but those were probably all gone too. Mick let the dream slip away, and looked up. He’d left the brighter neighborhoods far behind, and he was now in a dark and shabby area he didn’t recognize at all. He could hear a single engine rumbling nearby, and when he looked back he saw a van pull out of an alley and stop by the curb, idling, its headlights off. If he’d still been mortal, he would have been worried now. But vampires don’t need to worry much about dark alleys, he thought bitterly, turning to step into one. It wasn’t much of an advantage, compared to being able to live a normal life. Still, it could have been worse - he could have ended up like Sarah, caught between worlds forever.
A woman’s cry echoed in his mind, trapped and despairing. Sarah, he thought. Had she been afraid, when it happened? Had she known that something was going wrong? Was she at all aware, now, of what was going on around her? Another cry resounded in Mick’s ears, and he realized abruptly that he wasn’t imagining it. Where had it come from? He ran down the alley and emerged on the next street, following the sound to a corner bar with a pink neon cocktail glass in the dirty window. The place was nearly deserted. The only occupants were the bartender and two men at the counter with glasses in front of them, all apparently oblivious to the woman’s screams. Mick hesitated, suddenly feeling tired beyond belief. He only wanted to be alone tonight – why should he always have to solve everyone’s problems for them? Did anyone else think that way, when Chloe and Elaine were attacked? Mick entered the bar, glancing around, and crossed quickly to the little hallway where the restrooms were located. He shoved open the door marked Ladies. A woman stood backed against the toilet stall, her arms up to shield her face, and a drunken man stood over her, breathing hard, blood all over his fists. Mick’s eye was drawn to the blood, and he caught the scents of estrogen and cortisol. The blood on the man’s hands was the woman’s. Mick grabbed him and flung him across the room, slamming him against the sink and then to the floor, hearing the satisfying sound of a bone snapping in the man’s arm.
“You okay?” he asked the woman, and she looked up at him in shock. She was drunk too, her face purple with bruises, her nose bleeding and her lip cut. Mick reached out to her, worried, but she slapped his hand away, letting out another shriek.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, backing up a step. “Neither is he – not any more.”
She was staring, now, at the crumpled form of the man. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve, for beating you up.”
The woman pushed past him, falling to her knees beside the man. “He’s my husband!” she cried. “Oh my God, you’ve hurt him! Tony, talk to me - come on, baby.” The man groaned, and the woman glared up at Mick, pulling a phone out of her bag and punching in three quick numbers.
Great. Mick sighed and strode away, back through the bar, where the bartender and two customers still huddled in the same places they’d been. He wanted a drink badly – he wanted a lot of drinks – but he’d better cover some distance from here. Even in this neighborhood, it might not take long for the police to arrive, and the woman would probably accuse him of everything short of murder. What was wrong with her, anyway? She had to be crazy to stay with a man like that. Hah. Just like me and Coraline. No wonder Beth was so bewildered about why he’d stayed with Coraline all those years.
Mick faded into another alley, and came out an instant later on a new street. He wished he hadn’t thought of Beth, and wished again for a drink. He couldn’t help looking at his watch, and noting that their flight to L.A. would be leaving in five minutes. He’d been hoping that Beth would call once she got to the airport, to ask about his plans - to ask if maybe he’d be taking the flight back with her after all. Or at least to ask when he’d be returning to Los Angeles. But if she was going to call . . . well, she’d have done it by now. He checked his phone, just in case he’d somehow missed a call, but there was nothing. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked on, and something sharp and cold struck him, hard, in the back.
It was ice, it was fire . . .it’s silver. The shock and pain of it dropped him to his knees, and in sudden terror he dove behind a parked car. Hunters? In New York? Who the hell knows what I am, in this city? And what had he been hit with? The pain was agonizing, but it didn’t feel like a bullet had torn through his flesh. He reached back awkwardly to feel, and his hand struck something cold and metallic, embedded just below his left shoulder blade. With a gasp he pulled the thing out - a dart, soaked in blood and reeking of silver. He dropped it from numb fingers, remembering the van that had pulled up behind him before. Where was it now? Did it have anything to do with this? On his feet again, staying low, he swung around, looking everywhere, trying to catch a scent. He saw nothing but the empty street, and couldn’t smell anything at all. There weren’t any vehicles in sight, except for a scatter of parked cars, and he’d lost track of the van long ago. He didn’t know which way to run. But they know where I am. Anywhere’s better than here.
He broke from cover and took off at top speed, racing down the street in a blur of motion, dodging between parked cars and taking the first turn to the right. Headlights suddenly appeared, following him, and he leaped up the side of a building, fighting his way to the roof. He ran across the roof, hesitating when he came to the edge. His vision was already fading, his hearing becoming distorted. The lights below him were faint, drowned in gray fog, and the next rooftop seemed to waver in his sight. Five floors down he heard gasps and groans, a couple making love; two floors below them he smelled the smoke of a new-lit cigarette. His scarf slid from his neck and dropped into the void, disappearing into the fog.
Mick turned back, got a running start, and threw himself across the gap between the buildings. God only knew if anyone had seen him, if they knew which way he’d gone . . . he raced across the rooftop and jumped to the next one without pausing, fighting off the strange sounds and smells, struggling to see what was in front of him. One more rooftop passed under his feet, and he leaped for the next one, almost blindly. But he wasn’t going to make it this time - he could feel it from the moment he jumped.
He struck the wall two stories below the roof, grabbing desperately for a hold. For an instant he hung on to a window frame, but his hands couldn’t grip it, and he fell. Mick had never fallen like this before, ever. This was no controlled vampire jump to the ground, not even the suicide attempt of a new turn – he was falling like a human, like a stone. He flailed out wildly, trying to reach the wall again – no hope – spun in the air, and slammed into the ground. Shock and pain washed over him, and didn’t pass. He couldn’t move . . . couldn’t breathe . . . but he had to move, or they’d find him. He struggled to push himself to his feet, but fell back, dazed, to the pavement. I have to keep moving. I have to. He finally managed to get up, to start running again. But the fall had hurt him, and ice was spreading from his shoulder to the rest of his body, the cold and paralysis that he remembered all too well. He fought for speed but knew he was moving more slowly with every step. Still faster than a human. But were these human hunters? He had no vamp enemies here that he knew of, but vampires moved around . . . he couldn’t tell, his senses were worse than useless and it had never in his life been so hard to run. When he glanced back he saw headlights again, in the distance but moving closer.
God, where could he go? No strength left to climb a building, not enough time to hotwire a car. He pushed himself through another turn, into a narrower street, and behind him the headlights swung to follow and suddenly flared, bright as day. The street seemed to drop out from under him and he fell hard on his face, not even able to bring up his hands to break his fall. The pavement was cold beneath him, ice cold. The headlights turned to flames, flames that leaped wildly toward him, leaving him transfixed. Dark shapes moved in the fire, moving the way Coraline had moved. She survived the fire. How? Why didn’t I ever find out? Then the fire was upon him, and darkness fell.
Dying by fire should burn like fire, not like ice. Could silver make him so cold that fire couldn’t touch him? Mick moved his head, ever so slightly, and felt the rough abrasion of pavement against his skin. He heard traffic from blocks away, horns honking – and then voices, nearby but very faint, almost hidden in the faraway snarl of engines and rumble of tires.
“Is it safe? Do you want the stake?”
“No need. Help me with him. Hurry up!”
Hands grasped him, hands from a dizzy swirl of dark forms clustered nearby, and he was thrown onto a dirty metal floor. A door slammed, an engine roared, and the floor lurched and began to move. Who were these people? Human or vampire? Even from this close he couldn’t tell. They were only dark shapes in his vision, with no scent to them at all.
The hands pulled at him again, dragging off his coat. “Good, there’s jewelry,” someone said. “I’ll take that – it’ll help.” The necklace, they were taking the cross . . . Mick didn’t expect to survive this, whatever was happening, but he still felt a mortal pain when the fleury cross was stripped away from him. He fought to move, to reach for it, and his hand shifted a fraction against the floor. But an instant later someone grabbed his hand, quickly sliding the ring off his finger, and there was no way to stop them. His last memory of Tyler, lost.
“He’s got a ring.” Another voice. “Take this too. Did you get pictures?”
“Not yet. I need the chains first.”
“Here’s the bag.”
“Just a minute.” There were hands at his throat again, a cold finger pressed to his carotid. Mick could feel his artery pulsing against the pressure, faint and slow.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s been hit with silver before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because one dart shouldn’t have done this much damage.”
“Oh.”
“And it doesn’t help that he fell off a goddamned building. Give me that.”
“You’re sure the chains will hold him when the dart wears off?”
“They’ll hold him. And it’s not gonna wear off any time soon. I won’t be gone all that long.”
Icy metal looped around Mick’s neck, around his wrists, burning cold that felt like death. The ice radiated back to his shoulder, where the dart had been, where the silver bullets had struck him so long ago. Bound with silver, no hope. Thank God Beth isn’t here. He was desperately thankful that she’d chosen to go back to Josh. She was well clear of this – she was safe on the flight to L.A.; they couldn’t reach her, couldn’t hurt her. I can deal with anything, as long as she’s safe. But what did they mean to do with him? If they’d wanted to kill him outright, he’d be dead already – they obviously knew how to deal with vampires. They seemed to want him alive, but what for? And how long would they keep him that way?
The dark shapes had receded, and he could barely hear the traffic any more, but he could feel the chains, burning like cold fire against his skin. He and Josef had kept Elaine in chains for weeks - silver chains like the ones that bound him now. How had she endured it? But it didn't hurt her like this, not anything like this. He was sensitized now, because of the silver bullets, and that dart couldn’t have helped. Silver had a cumulative effect on vampires; he’d been inspired to research it after he’d been shot. He might well die even if his captors didn’t kill him deliberately. Beth will never know what happened to me. He tried to tell himself that it would be better that way. With him gone, she could go back to her normal life with no second thoughts. After all, she’d already decided to put things right with Josh.
But he missed her . . . oh, he missed her so much. He was utterly relieved that she wasn’t here, but he still wished that he could see her. He remembered the way she’d smiled up at him, so wistfully, as she’d held her hand to his on the other side of the taxi’s window. He’d almost believed that she would change her mind, right then, and stay with him.
“Is he supposed to be this cold?” Mick couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from.
“No. Damn. Here, let me see.”
Then the voices faded out.
“Beth?” It was his own faint whisper, falling into dark, empty silence.
She’s not here.
Good. She’s safe.
Dream images slipped into his mind, ghostly sights and sounds overlapping and interweaving. Coraline, his old apartment, his mother’s kitchen, Elaine, Josef’s blast-torn office, Beth. Beth. He tried to focus only on her face, and her voice, letting the others go.
The cab door opened and a marvelous mix of aromas rushed in, surrounding Mick: hot roasted chestnuts, saffron, ginger, the billowing steam that rose from grates in the pavement. Someone was playing a saxophone nearby, jazz notes spilling out into the night, and down the street he could see the distinctive red awning of the Village Vanguard. Quintessential New York. Mick jumped out of the cab, took another delighted breath, and turned back to hold out a hand for Beth. She smiled and took it, climbing out of the cab and looking around with interest.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“We’ll catch a set at the Village Vanguard. And then martinis, and a steak for the lady. Unless you’d rather have something different?
Beth sniffed the air. “Like burgers, or Chinese?”
“Whatever you want.”
“The steak,” she said decisively. “And the drink.”
She sat close beside him in the little basement room of the jazz club, gazing around at the posters on the wall, shifting her chair closer to his as another couple was seated next to them at their table. Mick had forgotten how dark and shabby the place was, how crowded . . . he loved it for the music, and had never really paid attention to the setting. He glanced nervously at Beth, but she looked perfectly happy, exchanging greetings with their table-mates and then turning her attention to the stage. As the lights lowered and the music began, she slipped her hand into his and listened raptly, sharing the experience with him, and his heart lifted.
The rich jazz faded into the faint tinkling sound of a piano, the sound softened by a light breeze. Beth let go of his hand and picked up her martini glass, sipping from it with pleasure. Their rooftop table looked out over the city, giving them a spectacular view of the skyline, and the cool evening air felt perfect. Mick took a swallow from his glass and put it down, aware of Beth’s steady gaze on him.
“Can you taste that?” she asked, curious. “You never eat, but it looks like you’re enjoying the drink.”
“Oh, I can’t really taste it. But I can feel the alcohol. It’s not the same, but it still feels good to have a drink.”
“Can you still – oh, I don’t know – get drunk?”
“Not really.”
“You sound like you miss it.”
“I do. I used to be pretty good at it.”
Beth laughed, tightening her arms around him as they spun across the dance floor. Her hair swung loose on her shoulders; her long skirt swirled around her feet. The band was playing all Mick’s favorite tunes tonight – oldies, Beth had said with a smile – and the lights were low. “You’re pretty good at dancing, too,” she said. “Even though I keep trying to trip you up. High school prom was nothing like this.”
Mick remembered her high school prom, hip-hop music and rap beats echoing through the school gym. “Do you like dancing this way?”
“I love it,” she said, nestling closer under his arm as they walked. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning against him, sharing her warmth with him. “I’ve always loved weather like this,” she went on. “Cold enough to really need a coat, but not freezing.”
“I like it too,” Mick said.
She looked up at him, her eyebrows arched. “Oh really? I thought you liked the weather in L.A.”
“Well, I – I do. I like it both places.”
“Ah. I see.” She stopped, turning to face him, smiling. The breeze caught her loose hair, blowing a strand of it across her face, and he reached out gently to push it back. She shivered, closing her eyes and leaning toward him, and he bent down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body melting against his as she ardently returned the kiss. Her mouth was warm and sweet, so soft against his . . . he couldn’t resist her, not tonight, not ever again. She pulled his scarf aside, slipping her hands into his hair, and he moved away from her mouth to kiss her eyelids, her cheek, her throat. She was trembling, her face flushed, her heart beating hard and fast in response to his touch. He pushed her coat off her shoulders, running his hands down her body to clasp her waist, and she caught his hands in hers with a breathless gasp.
“Maybe – maybe we should get a room,” she whispered. “It might be a little too cold without a coat, or without – other things.”
“It would be – warmer – in a room,” Mick said, his heart pounding. “If you’re sure -- ”
“I think he’s warmer,” a voice said, from somewhere in the shadows.
“Yeah. He should be all right. Pull that chain tighter, Thomas.”
“Right.”
“Okay, everything’s secure. I’ve got to go, or I’ll miss my flight.”
The buildings wavered, flickering, as the voices intruded. “Mick?” Beth said, worried. “What’s wrong?”
The buildings faded out, and he couldn’t see Beth. He’d fallen, somehow, and he was lying on cold cement, his coat gone. He was freezing. He felt Beth’s warm hands on his, and clung to them. “Hold on, Mick,” she said, her voice low. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go.”
“I can’t see you.”
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Her voice drifted away, and he heard the saxophone instead, someone playing KoKo and Salt Peanuts and White Heat, and he listened to the music as the night passed, never letting go of Beth’s hands.
“Hey,” he said softly, feeling the sun rise. “Beth.”
She didn’t answer, and suddenly he couldn’t feel her hands any more. The saxophone had stopped playing, and he heard the first notes from an emo band instead. “Beth,” he said again. “Beth?”
The music blared, and he woke, flinching, to a room filled with white artificial light. The floor was cold cement, and his hands were chained in front of him. I was dreaming. And Beth isn’t here, thank God. Wherever I am. He was chained tightly, held down to bolts in the floor, the same way they’d restrained Elaine when they had to go in to tend her. Where had Josef learned the technique? Hadn’t he said, from a Cleaner? It had kept them safe from Elaine, even though she’d been stronger, at the time, than they were.
Mick tried to pull at the chains, to test their strength, and they shifted agonizingly against his wrists. He closed his eyes, trying not to lose consciousness again, shivering with the cold. Dashboard Confessional was still belting out Rooftops and Invitations, but the song was suddenly cut short as someone answered a phone.
“What’s going on?” It was a boy’s voice.
“I just got here. And she’s gone.” The voice at the other end was a woman’s, tinny from the connection, but deep and authoritative.
“What do you mean, gone?” The boy sounded bewildered.
“I mean gone! She’s disappeared out of the hospital. The place is like an ant hive – nobody knows what happened to her. The doctors say she was way too sick to leave on her own. Me, I don’t know what to think.”
A long silence. Then the boy said, “What do we do now?”
“You and Asha stay put, and keep St. John where he is. I’m going to look for DuVall. I have connections, so we may be able to salvage this yet.”
“That’s it?” This voice came from a woman in the room, high and shrill.
“That’s it. Listen to me, Thomas. You too, Asha. You are not to do anything to St. John. Your only job is to keep him secure. We still need him alive. Asha? Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Asha muttered, her voice sullen.
A dial tone buzzed for a moment, and then the room filled with silence. Mick tried to take in what he’d heard. Had they been talking about Coraline? DuVall, the woman had said - they must have been. But how could Coraline be gone from the hospital? When he’d left L.A., she had still been critical, and there was no way she could have gotten better and walked out.
Unless she changed back.
Could that have happened? If she’d died as a human, could she have turned back into a vampire? He simply didn’t have any idea; he didn’t know how she’d turned human in the first place.
Or - had she been abducted? The idea didn’t seem very far-fetched at the moment. What did these people want with her, and what did he have to do with it? Did they imagine they could use him to get something from her?
“He’s awake now,” Asha said, her voice very dark. “We should question him.”
“Marguerite said not to.”
“I don’t care what she said.” Mick heard the woman’s footsteps, pacing back and forth. “And I’ve got this. See?”
“Christ, Asha! That’s a Cleaner drug! How did you even get hold of it?”
“Marguerite’s safe isn’t as secure as she thinks it is.” The footsteps came closer, and Mick felt Asha hovering over him. “I’ve got to know,” she said fiercely. “I can’t wait. It isn’t fair! This wasn’t supposed to happen to me!” She dropped to her knees beside him, and Mick saw the glint of a syringe in her hand. Thomas was suddenly there – he was just a boy, small, maybe thirteen – and he shoved Asha away, sending her flying across the room. Damn, but that’s a strong kid. He’s got to be a vampire. Thomas looked down at Mick from under a fall of dark hair, and Mick was suddenly certain of it. No thirteen-year-old in the world had eyes like that. It was something, at least, to know that he hadn’t been taken down by two ordinary women and a boy. Three vampires was a different matter. And Mick knew just how powerful a vampire woman could be.
Asha was back, facing down the boy. She was a young woman, disconcertingly pretty, but her face was grim. “I need to know now,” she said flatly. “And this drug will make him answer my questions. Don’t try to stop me.”
“Asha. Why do you think Marguerite didn’t use it on him in the first place? They haven’t got the formula worked out yet – it isn’t safe. It could kill him, and then how would you get any answers? Wait for Marguerite, all right? Give her a chance to find DuVall.”
“Just how long am I supposed to wait?”
“I don’t know!” Thomas said, frustrated. “Longer, that’s all. Give her time, damn it! If I can do this at all, you can wait a little longer. How do you think I’m gonna explain this to Elaine?”
“Why explain anything? Don’t tell her.”
“She’ll find out. She’ll know I was involved.” Thomas glanced sideways at Mick. “When she sent me that email about DuVall, she was trying to help us. And now look what we’re doing. She really cares about this guy. She’s not ever gonna understand.”
“You knew that when you agreed to Marguerite’s plan. Why do you care what this Elaine thinks, anyway? You haven’t even seen her in years.”
“Years don’t matter. Neither do decades, or centuries. You’ll find out.”
“I’d better not,” Asha snapped, and made a sudden move. Thomas fell limp at Mick’s side, utterly still, a stake buried in his chest. That definitely settles it. They’re vampires. But what did they know about Elaine? What was going on? Thomas couldn’t tell him now, and Asha –
Asha shoved Thomas out of the way, then stepped deliberately over Mick, the syringe still ready in her hand.
“There,” she said. “Thomas doesn’t have any more to say about it.”
Mick watched Asha warily, his eye on the syringe. It could kill him, Thomas had said. Was she really going to inject him, without even asking her questions first?
“What do you want?” he whispered, his voice raw. He had to struggle to form the words. “Wait . . . you don’t have to do this . . .”
Asha ignored him. She knelt at his side, readying the syringe, and slowly ran her finger along his jugular vein, picking her spot. She would have to inject at an awkward angle, with the chain in the way, but he didn’t doubt that she could do it. He felt her finger move away, felt the sharp point of the needle rasp against his throat. The touch of it was terrifying . . . Mick tried to struggle against the chains, to jostle the syringe. But he didn’t have the strength; he couldn’t even move. He stared up at Asha – just like Elaine stared at me – and the needle pierced his throat.
Elaine, he thought. Forgive me.
“Mick, sit down,” Josef said.
“No,” Mick said, and kept pacing the room, back and forth, beneath the painting. Josef’s artwork had always made him feel safe before, for some reason, but now he found it unsettling, disturbing. The doll-child’s hair, bursting into flames . . . how had that never bothered him before? Or the planes, damaged and crashing . . . the black sun . . .
Josef was at his side the next instant, forcibly pushing him down into a chair, then sitting beside him. Mick looked at the floor, keeping his eyes off the painting. Tyler stayed where he was, leaning against one of the wall panels, his arms folded in front of him. Behind Tyler, the robed figure peered out at Mick, gazing at him steadily from beneath her hood.
“Look at me,” Josef said, and unwillingly, Mick did so. “Mick, it’s been weeks. She’s not any better. She’s not going to get better. And we can’t keep putting her through this.”
“So what are you saying?” Mick burst out. “You want to kill her, is that it?”
“I’m saying she ought to be put down. For her sake as well as ours.”
“Put down? How? Do you want to cut off her head, or would you rather set her on fire? Fuck you, Josef!”
Mick leaped to his feet, heading for the door, but Josef was there before him, blocking his way.
“Get out of my way,” Mick said.
Josef didn’t move, and Tyler suddenly stood at Josef’s side. “Mick,” Tyler said, “Josef knows what he’s talking about. Listen to him, okay?”
Tyler’s eyes were downcast, but he looked resolute. “Tyler?” Mick said, staring at him. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want her to die. You know I don’t. But this – what we’re doing to her – I think it’s worse than death.”
Mick closed his eyes. Tyler was right, and he knew it, but –
“Mick,” Josef said. “There’s a painless way to do it.”
“What?” Mick remembered one of their very first conversations – the one where he’d asked Josef how a vampire could die. “You never told me that.”
“I haven’t known about it for long. It’s a new drug the Cleaners have, for when they have a - situation - like this. Nobody else is supposed to even know it exists.”
“So how do you?”
“I happened to meet a Cleaner a while back, and, well . . . let’s just say that I got to know her. Intimately. She certainly wasn’t supposed to tell me about the drug, but she did. The Cleaners have a lot of drugs that no one is supposed to know about. Drugs that work on vampires. Just don’t ever tell anyone else, okay? Either of you. Because if word got out, her life would be forfeit.”
Mick watched Josef, seeing the deadly serious look on his friend’s face. Josef cared about this Cleaner, and was taking a risk letting out one of her secrets. And Elaine . . . Elaine was suffering. Terribly. She had been suffering for weeks, and Josef was right – she wasn’t getting better. He leaned back against the wall, his head in his hands, remembering Elaine the way she’d been before. Before I turned her. Her overwhelming shyness, the way she’d blushed, the way her hands had moved on the strings of her guitar. The songs she’d written, the words that had touched his heart so deeply. That was all gone now. Everything he’d loved about Elaine was gone, long gone, destroyed in the turning that had gone so badly wrong. My fault. And my fault again, if I let this go on. He felt Tyler’s hand, gentle and reassuring against his shoulder, and steadied himself.
“All right,” he whispered. “But I’m doing it myself.”
“Okay,” Josef said.
“What is it? An injection?”
“Yeah. Goes in the vein.”
“How does it work?”
“It’s a narcotic, mixed with silver. It knocks you out, just long enough for the silver to kill you. You never wake up, and there’s not any pain.” Josef hesitated. “You want me to get it now?”
“Yes. I’ll – I’ll be with Elaine.”
Tyler went with him to the observation room. Through the glass Mick saw Elaine pacing across the floor of her room, just as he had done in Josef’s office, the chains trailing from her wrists and throat. In that instant she saw him, and she lunged toward him, snarling, fangs out and eyes white. Mick looked away, unable to bear the sight, and touched the controls to shorten the chains. She fought, but was inexorably pulled back, away from the window, down to the floor. Tyler stood in front of him, watching her sadly, and an instant later Josef was there, pressing a syringe into Mick’s hand.
“Look,” Josef said, “I’m sorry. But you know it has to be done.”
“I know.”
“You want me to come with you?” Tyler asked.
“No. I was the one who did this to her, and I’ll end it.”
Mick entered the room. Elaine was held fast now, where she couldn’t bite or claw him, but she still tried, fighting madly against the chains. Mick dropped to the cold floor beside her and looked down at the syringe in his hand. He touched Elaine’s hair, very gently, and pushed the long dark strands away from her throat. Shaking, he took the cap off the syringe and touched the needle to her skin, just over the jugular vein. She stared up at him, silent, as if she knew what he meant to do, and he pulled the syringe away abruptly, capping it and putting it into his pocket. Not yet. He quickly caught her head in one hand, her bound arms in the other. One more time. I have to try one more time. “Tyler!” he called out. “Loosen the chains.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I’ve got her, Tyler. She can’t hurt me.”
“Mick, she’s strong. She nearly took your head off, last time. She could kill you.”
“I’ll take that chance. Loosen them. Now!”
“Don’t do it, Tyler,” Josef said. “Don’t! It’s too dangerous.” But the chains grew slack, and soon Mick had to hold Elaine with every bit of his strength to keep her still. He leaned back against the wall, pulling her into his lap, holding her wrists in an iron grip, pressing her head against his chest. He’d never dared to hold her in his arms before. Tyler was right – in her current state, she was stronger than he was, and she could kill him. But I’m not letting her go without trying this. She struggled, fighting him, her long hair falling into her face and fanning out against his shirt.
“Elaine,” Mick whispered. “Elaine, listen to me.”
She twisted in his grip, frenzied, trying desperately to reach him with her fangs.
“No. Elaine, listen. Your name is Elaine Harrison. You’re seventeen years old. You’re a musician. And not just any musician; you’re brilliant, did you know that? You play guitar, and you write songs that can make a vampire cry. Because that’s what I am, a vampire. And that’s what happened to you.” Hopelessly he wished for the mythical vampire ability of hypnosis – if he could influence other people’s minds, he’d be able to reach Elaine, even in the state she was in now. But still . . . she wasn’t fighting him as hard as she had been before, and she almost seemed to be hearing him. He swallowed, and went on. “We met at the Monterey Pop festival. You remember that, don’t you? Well, it turns out that you ran away from home, you and your friend Chloe, because your parents weren’t going to let you go. But you loved the music so much, you ran away, and you went to the festival. I don’t know if you were planning to go back home, after. I never found out.”
He loosened his grip on her enough to stroke her hair. She could break free of him now; she could easily overpower him. But in this moment, he didn’t believe she would. “I met you there,” he said. “I heard you play, and I heard Chloe sing. I’d never heard music like that before, ever. And after that -- ”
“Chloe,” Elaine whispered, and he froze for an instant. It was the first coherent word she’d spoken as a vampire.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Chloe. She was your friend.”
“What happened to her? What happened to me?”
“You were attacked, Elaine. When I found you that night, you were bleeding to death. I saved your life the only way I could. I turned you into a vampire, like me. But something – went wrong.”
“Oh God,” Elaine murmured. “I remember. You told me before. Vampire. Oh God.”
I told you hundreds of times. But I didn’t know you’d ever heard me.
“Where’s Chloe? Is she all right?”
Mick let go of Elaine’s wrists and drew her close to him, cradling her in his arms.
“Where’s Chloe?” Elaine said again, looking up at him. “I don’t remember . . . oh, no. No.”
“I’m sorry.” Mick held her closer, hardly able to find his voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“No! No, no, no! That can’t have happened!”
“No,” Mick murmured, in answer to a question he’d already forgotten. His eyes opened, and he found himself chained to the floor, just as Elaine had been. He’d never remembered that time so vividly before. I wish that had been a dream. But it wasn’t. It was all real. He thought of how he’d held the needle to Elaine’s throat – he’d come so close to ending her life. He’d believed it would be best for her, at that moment. But she’d survived, she’d gone on, she’d had joy in her life. She and Kevin had been together for a long time before their ill-fated marriage had ended that joy. Should I just let her go when Kevin dies? Would that be best for her? But no - it couldn’t be right, it couldn’t. He had to find a way to convince her to go on living.
But to do that, he’d have to survive.
“Then you can’t understand,” Asha said, apparently in response to something he’d said. “Turning doesn’t count.” She was pacing again, back and forth, and he could feel her gazing down at him. “So. Just tell me. How did she do it?”
Was she talking about Elaine? What did these people have to do with her? “Elaine?” he asked, confused.
“Not Elaine. Your wife. Coraline. How did she do it?”
“She’s not my wife.”
“What do mean, she’s not your wife?”
“Ex-wife,” Mick said, and looked up at Asha again. So many vampire women looked so . . . innocent. You’d never guess from looking at her how ruthless she is, how powerful. She’s like Josef, that way.
“She’s not your ex,” Asha said coldly. “You never got divorced.”
Why would I bother? I thought she was dead. Smoke filled his vision, smoke from the fire that had engulfed Coraline. He couldn’t smell it, though. He couldn’t smell anything at all.
“And you’ve been seen together. Recently. You know, you have to know. Tell me how she did it!”
The drug was coursing all through his body now, intensifying the pain, and the smoke was thicker than ever. It drifted around him, and he could barely see through it. “I thought she died in that fire,” he said. “All these years, I thought she was dead. I don’t know how she got out. I don’t know how she survived. I should have asked . . .” Would he ever get another chance to ask her? Had Coraline really disappeared from the hospital, or had he dreamed that?
Asha struck him, the pain sharp and intense, and he felt blood hot on his face. “Not that. Tell me how she turned human.”
“I don’t know! How would I know? I didn’t even know she was alive, all that time.”
“You were with her while she was human! You must know how she did it!”
“I don’t. I asked her, of course I asked her. She never told me. I didn’t want this; I don’t want this! If I knew how to turn back, I’d be human now.”
Asha seemed to wilt, her fury fading into despair, and she lowered herself to the floor. She sat for a moment in silence, then said, “You really don’t know anything about it?”
“I don’t. I wish I did.” The smoke swirled, and Mick thought he saw tears on her face. But surely this fierce, angry woman wouldn’t cry? “Is Coraline really gone?” he asked. “If she isn’t . . .”
Asha jumped to her feet, furiously rubbing at her face. “Marguerite will find her,” she said harshly. “Cleaners have their ways. And she’ll talk. We have you, and we’ll kill you if she doesn’t tell us.”
“Nobody can find Coraline, if she doesn’t want to be found,” Mick said. Not even me. He thought of the vial of blood he’d taken from Coraline – his only lead now to the cure, and a terribly faint one. He wondered why these people wanted it so badly. And why was a Cleaner looking for the cure? Cleaners were, by definition, devoted to the vampire world. Was it the boy who wanted it, so that he could escape an eternal childhood? If so, why was Asha asking the questions?
If she was still asking questions . . . he couldn’t hear her any more, couldn’t see her. The smoke hovered over him in a cloud, and he suddenly caught a scent. Not Asha, not Thomas – but he could smell humans, their blood warm and enticing, in the building next door. A wave of thirst passed over him, so strong that if he’d been free, he’d have broken down the wall to get to them. He threw himself against the chains, as hard as he could, and then collapsed against the floor, utterly spent. When you’re dying, you need blood. Was the drug killing him? It was so cold, so very cold. Strange sensations coursed through his veins, following the path of the drug.
“You shouldn’t have called her.” Asha muttered.
“You shouldn’t have used that damn drug,” Thomas snapped in reply. “You didn’t even learn anything.”
“He said he had a daughter. But he doesn’t! She’s just a turn. It’s not like I’m your daughter.”
“In a way, you are.”
“It’s not the same! It’s not the same at all! Katey is my daughter. If I ever turned anyone, it wouldn’t be anything like that.”
“Would you?” Thomas asked. “Would you ever turn anyone?”
“Not against their will,” Asha said, with venom.
“It was an accident,” Thomas said tightly. “You know that. And you were a freshie. You knew the risks.”
“I didn’t know I’d lose Katey!” Asha cried, anguished. “I didn’t know I’d never be able to see her again! I want my life back!”
“Well, maybe I do too.”
“You chose it. You told me - Marguerite gave you the choice.”
“Between that and dying, yeah. It wasn’t much of a choice.”
“It’s more than I had.” Asha paused, then said, “Hey – what are you doing?”
“He needs blood.”
“That’s not safe for us!”
“Shut up, Asha. Marguerite told me what to do.”
“Why do you always listen to her? She isn’t always right. She doesn’t always think of everything. I mean . . . what was she going to do if DuVall was there, anyway? What if DuVall had been hurt too bad to talk?”
“As long as she was alive, Marguerite could have revived her. Cleaners know some things about humans, too.”
“It would be a lot more useful if they knew something about truth drugs for humans,” Asha said bitterly.
“Truth drugs for humans don’t work worth a damn. And even if they did, something like that would have killed DuVall, in the state she was in. Hand me that line.”
Fresh blood rushed into Mick’s body, easing his frantic craving, and he started to make sense of their words. Asha had apparently released Thomas from the stake, and the boy was back in control. They all still seemed to want Mick alive, which was something, he supposed . . . and they were talking about Coraline. Could a Cleaner really revive a human who was so badly injured? And get answers from her? Somehow, Mick didn’t doubt it, and the thought was chilling. He didn’t like to think of Coraline in her hospital bed, being tormented that way, even though it hardly compared with what he had done to her himself. He opened his eyes, and he could see again, but his vision was still full of smoke. Was it smoke from the fire he’d set to kill Coraline? Or was it something else?
Thomas and Asha had talked about children - and about fledglings - as well.
Asha must have asked if I had children.
And I must have told her I had a daughter.
Elaine.
He’d never called her his daughter before, not out loud, though he’d often thought of her that way – his eternally teenage daughter, all self-doubt and uncertainty, angst and drama, emotionally unstable and sometimes suicidal . . . .
He thought of Elaine’s sad little house near the beach. He knew very well why she’d chosen a stand-alone house rather than a cheaper apartment. The smoke stung his eyes, seared his lungs. I think it’s a premonition.
“I have to get home,” Mick said hoarsely.
“Too bad,” Asha said.
“I have to. It’s Elaine. Something’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
“Something’s going to happen?” Asha said sarcastically. “Like what?”
“Asha,” Thomas said warily, “if you ask questions like that --”
But it was too late. Compelled by the drug, Mick’s mind fixed itself on all of his worst fears, and he fell into them, lost.
-