Blood and Chocolate (13 page)

19

Vivian woke with the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She frowned and groaned, then opened her eyes. She closed them quickly when bright daylight sent a lightning stab of pain through her skull. Her head throbbed in the aftermath.

She was in her room, that was certain. She could tell she was naked and uncovered on her bed, the sheet twisted around her ankles, but she couldn't remember how she'd gotten there.

The air was thick with a stench too jumbled to separate and identify. It hurt to try. Why did her whole body ache? What did she do last night?

Aiden!
She remembered the way he'd cringed from her. “Sweet Moon,” she moaned.

But what next?

She had leaped from his window, she knew—it was a stupid, crazy thing to do—but the Moon looks after her own and she'd hit the ground running. And that was all she remembered—running, running, running.

Or was it? She thought she saw Rafe's face in there somewhere. Or was that a dream she'd had?

The room was filthy hot. She would love to turn on the air conditioner, but every nerve end cried out to her, “Don't move!” Ignoring the caution, she shifted slightly, and her stomach heaved.
Okay, okay, I'll just lie here,
she told herself.
The heat's not that bad.
Maybe if she was lucky she'd fall asleep again and wouldn't have to think or feel.

She wasn't lucky. She lay bitterly awake on the cusp of nausea as the events in Aiden's room replayed over and over within her head.

I'm so stupid,
she thought.
So stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She tried to move past that moment and on to events beyond, but the night opened up like a black pit of nothing with no landmarks and looped her back to the scene in Aiden's room. Time had passed, that was all she knew, and a chunk of her life had been torn away while she'd been mobile and mindless and in despair. It was as if she hadn't existed for that time. Was that nothingness like the nothingness of death? She tried to imagine a forever of nonbeing with no conscious moments ever again. She shuddered despite the heat.

She had heard of this happening—a change coming on so violently that it wiped away the human side and the animal reigned supreme. That was in stories, though, and triggered by great passions like jealousy or rage. She'd never known it to happen to a real person. And—the nausea rose again unbidden by movement—usually something terrible happened during the blackout.

Stop being an asshole,
she told herself. Obviously the stories were based on reality, but the terrible parts were there because they
were
stories.

She was sticky and gritty and dehydrated.
I need a shower,
she thought. She imagined floating in a bathtub full of water and ice. The image was so comforting she held on to it and almost lulled herself back to sleep, but it also woke a tortured thirst.

She opened her eyes again, slowly this time and only halfway, and peered through the slits. Her head still hurt, but if she moved carefully maybe she could stand the pain. Right now water from the bathroom tap promised to be sweeter than ambrosia. She smiled slightly at the thought, and something cracked and crumbled around her mouth. She raised her hand to her lips and found a rough crust there. She inspected her fingers and saw rust-colored flakes. A hollow thud increased its tempo within her.

I must have bitten my lip in the jump,
she thought.
That's it. Or maybe I caught a rabbit. Yes.
And underneath, in the back of her mind, another voice cried,
Let it not be human.

She sat up, ignoring the screaming pain that went with the action, and the cold sweat that ran down her back. She looked down and found she was streaked with the remnants of blood. The sheets were blotched with it, dry and brown amid the evidence of vomit. She could smell the blood clearly now amid the sweat, puke, and tears. It was unmistakable. It
was
human.

She heaved over the side of the bed and weakly grabbed a handful of sheet to wipe her mouth. “Oh, sweet Moon. What have I done?” she moaned. Then a colder fear grabbed her.
Not Aiden?

She scrambled off the bed, becoming entangled with the sheet, and barely missed treading in the pool of her vomit. At the door she realized—
I can't go to the phone like this. What if Esmé sees me?

She grabbed her robe from the back of the door and fled to the bathroom, reaching the toilet bowl in time to throw up again.

Her shower wasn't the peaceful bath of her fantasy. She scrubbed her skin raw as she tried to erase even the ghost of a stain, and washed her hair till the roots hurt with the wringing. All the while tears streamed down her cheeks.
I couldn't have,
she told herself.
I wouldn't have hurt him, no matter how much he hurt me.
But she wasn't sure.

She approached the phone in the upstairs hallway swathed in towels.

“Is that you, hon?” Esmé called from her room.

“Yeah, Mom,” Vivian answered reluctantly. The words came out as a croak.

“Are you sick?” Esmé asked.

In a big way,
Vivian thought. “Yeah, Mom.”

“Then go back to bed,” Esmé answered, and ended the order with an inappropriate giggle.

Great Moon, she's got someone in there with her.
For once this didn't annoy Vivian. At least that would keep Esmé out of the way.

Vivian picked up the phone, then panicked.
What do I say if his father answers? “Hi, this is Vivian, is Aiden dead?”
She swallowed a hysterical laugh and punched out his number. The receiver trembled in her hand, and the ringing shrieked through the soft tissues of her brain. It went on and on and on.
They're at the police station,
she thought.
Or the hospital. His father's identifying the body right now.

Then someone answered. “Hello?” It was Aiden.

Vivian slammed down the phone. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered to the Moon.

But if it wasn't Aiden's blood, whose was it?

She found a fresh pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt and got dressed, listening to a news station on the radio, but all she heard were endless baseball scores. After she'd mopped the floor with her towel, she bundled it up with her sheets and dragged the lot downstairs and threw everything in the washer. She switched on the local cable TV news and sat through reports of another shooting downtown, sexual harassment in the federal government, and some stupid boat show at the conference center.

Then, as she was trying to force some cereal down, a siren wailed through the streets close by, then another, and another. She pushed her bowl away and reached the door in time to see an ambulance tear by, followed by a motorcycle cop. She took off after them.

The midday heat seared her lungs as she ran, and the world was a white blast of sun. She could hear a dying siren up ahead and crackling radios. She turned right at Dobb's grocery to find Tooley's bar, on the corner of the next block, surrounded by a thousand flashing lights. It looked as if every cop from the surrounding three townships was there. Two fire engines rumbled like dragons waiting for lunch, and there was a rescue squad truck idling alongside the ambulance. A crowd was gathering.

She stumbled along the cracked, mossy sidewalk, gasping for air. Her hand trailed along the brick of the barbershop as if its roughness could summon reality as well as balance. When she reached the cross street, one of the fire engines let out a squeal and she flinched. It belched once, then pulled away. She saw that the remaining activity seemed to be centered around the back door of the bar, which opened onto a small yard containing a Dumpster.

As she reached the upholsterer's directly opposite the yard, a policewoman strung a plastic yellow streamer across the entrance.
Sweet Moon,
Vivian thought.
Is this my doing?
She turned away and pressed her forehead to the filthy shop window.

Behind her came a clatter of boot heels and a jingling of chains. She whirled to face the noise and saw the Five. The twins and Gregory almost danced, they were so full of electric excitement.

“Hell, Vivian. You look like shit,” said Finn.

She flipped him off.

“Ooooh, she's sooo tough,” Gregory responded.

Willem shoved him. “Leave her alone.”

“Better not let Gabe know you're still sweet on her,” Gregory told him.

“Yeah. He'll kick your ass,” Finn said.

Willem spat at his twin. Finn dodged the wad.

Rafe hadn't spoken a word. He just stared at her with a look of smug amusement on his face. Ulf stood beside him fidgeting.

“What's happened here?” Vivian asked gruffly.

Ulf finally spoke. “They found a body behind the Dumpster.” His voice was squeaky. “Some guy.”

Vivian felt a cold lump in her gut.

“We didn't get to see it,” Willem told her. “But there's a lot of blood.”

“A goddamn river of it down to the drain,” Gregory added with relish. “I heard some cop muttering about wild animals.” He cackled with delight.

Across the street an ambulance took off quietly. One of the police cars followed. Lucien Dafoe came around the corner. That didn't surprise Vivian; Lucien was Tooley's best customer. He leaned against the doorjamb of the bar entrance and grinned at all the activity. He should have the sense to look shocked even if he didn't care.

Vivian realized then that Rafe had asked her a question. “What?”

Rafe folded his arms and cocked his head. “I said, did
you
see anything, Viv?”

“Huh?”

“Down here. Last night. I saw you in your wolf-skin under the bridge. You were heading this way.”

The sun scorched her head, setting her skull on fire. Her tongue felt thick, and it was difficult to talk. “Was I?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

Rafe chuckled, but his eyes looked cold and eager. “Got something to tell us, babe? Something we should know about? Huh?”

“You're full of shit, Rafe.” She had to get away before the trembling inside broke loose. She couldn't let them see her panic. “There's nothing more to see here. I'm sure Esmé will fill me in on the details after her next shift.” She turned to go.

“Don't think you're any better than us, Viv,” Rafe called after her. “We saw what you did to Astrid.”

She walked back the way she had come, in the knife-sharp, white summer heat, through a neighborhood as alien as the landscape of her dreams.

It wasn't me. It couldn't be me,
she thought. But the blood she had scrubbed from under her nails proclaimed her a liar.

20

When Vivian woke on Sunday, the air in her room was cool and sweet, and the sunlight that stole between the curtains was pale and innocent. She could hear the radio playing softly downstairs.
It was all a dream,
she thought, and took a long, deep breath. Aiden still loved her. There had been no blood on her face.

The moment she entered the kitchen Vivian knew she'd been lying to herself again. There were dark circles under Esmé's eyes and her hair was haphazardly gathered back in a single comb. She was still in her nightgown. “Feeling better, baby?” Esmé asked vaguely, and stared into the distance as she sipped her coffee.

“What's wrong?” Vivian asked, dreading the answer.

“They found a body in back of Tooley's Saturday morning.”

No one had told Esmé that she'd been at the scene, Vivian realized. “So?” she said, her heart thumping.

Esmé set her mug down. “The cook who found the body described it to me,” she answered. “Unless something's escaped from the zoo, the killer was one of us.”

Vivian tried to look shocked. “Who would do that?”

“That's what we need to find out, because if this keeps on happening it'll be West Virginia all over again.”

“But this is the city,” Vivian said. “They'll think it's a psycho.”

“Maybe the police and the newspapers will put it down to a psycho,” Esmé answered. “But there's always someone who can put two and two together and come up with werewolf. And what if he fancies himself a hero?”

“Maybe it won't happen again.”
I won't let it happen,
Vivian thought.

Esmé shook her head. “I'd like to think that, but it doesn't work that way.”

Vivian fought down panic. “What do you mean?”

“Once someone goes over the edge and gets a taste, he can't seem to stop. It happened in New Orleans. That's why the pack moved to West Virginia years ago. And then it happened there, too. Your father said we could live in peace as long as we kept to ourselves. He was wrong. Now I wonder if we ever can have peace. The stories the humans tell say we're cursed. Maybe they're right.”

Vivian's mouth was dry. She could hardly speak. “Even if the killer is seen, even if the killer is tracked and caught, they won't know there are others, will they?”

“I don't know, Vivian. I don't know where this will lead. We're not invulnerable. You should know that after what you've seen.”

Vivian hung on desperately to the way Esmé said “he” over and over; the word put a thankful distance between her and the body. She couldn't stand the shame if her mother knew. What if she'd brought death to her people, all because she'd thought a human could love her?

The doorbell rang.

“Bloody Moon,” Esmé said, swiping at her hair. “That's Gabriel.”

Vivian's voice caught in her throat. “What's he doing here?”

“Don't worry,” Esmé snapped. “Not to court you, Miss Priss. He wants to know what I found out last night.”

Then why didn't he ask you on the phone?
Vivian thought. How could she face Gabriel, who always seemed to see right through her?

“Go let him in while I tidy up,” Esmé ordered.

When Vivian opened the door she was relieved to see Rudy pulling into the driveway. Gabriel turned to greet him before she was obliged to speak. Rudy slapped Gabriel on the back and ushered him in.

She was going to disappear upstairs but Gabriel called her back. “You should be in on this, too.”

What did he mean by that? Did he know something?

Esmé came downstairs wearing a short sundress. Even disaster didn't deter her where Gabriel was concerned.
Weren't you turning him over to me, Mom?
Vivian thought.

They settled in the living room, where Esmé described in detail the condition of the corpse. Vivian didn't want to hear, but she couldn't do anything to shut the words out.
I wouldn't do that,
she thought.
I couldn't.
But again she remembered the blood on her sheets.

“The people at the bar think the killer was a rabid dog or a big cat someone was keeping as a pet that got loose,” Esmé said.

Vivian spoke up although she'd not meant to. “Maybe that's what the cops think.” She remembered that Gregory had mentioned a policeman mumbling about wild animals.

“Their forensic specialists are going to be pretty confused when they try to identify any hair, saliva, or blood they might find,” said Rudy. “And the size of any bite wound won't make sense.”

“Is that good or bad?” Vivian wondered out loud.

“That might depend on whether it's an isolated incident,” Gabriel answered. “The night Astrid led a run by the river,” he said, pinning Vivian with his piercing, icy eyes. “Did they bring someone down?”

“No.” The intensity of his gaze frightened her, and the word came out quick and defensive.

“No one I've talked to so far has heard of any other mysterious bodies appearing, either,” Gabriel said. “So if it doesn't happen again, maybe we'll be all right. Maybe after a while, when they can't identify the killer, the police will write the incident off as a weird one-timer they can spook the rookies on night shift with. Meanwhile, I'm going to order that no one go out in their fur if possible. The police are going to be searching for a large animal.”

Esmé looked as if she wanted to protest but didn't dare.

“What if it does happen again?” Rudy asked.

Gabriel scowled. “Our job is to not let it.”

“We need to know who to stop, first,” Rudy said. “Got any ideas?”

“A few,” Gabriel answered.

“Astrid?” Esmé suggested.

Gabriel shrugged. “Right now she's got an all-night alibi, not that I place much faith in Rafe's word.”

Esmé rolled her eyes. “Still cradle robbing, huh?”

“What about Rafe's father?” Rudy asked. “Lucien hangs out at Tooley's drinking his meals. He's always getting into fights with that biker Skull and his buddies.”

Vivian remembered Lucien watching the police, grinning.

“No,” Gabriel said. “A fight would be loud. Someone would have heard it. This had to be quick. He wasn't expecting death and never got the chance to scream.”

Vivian tried to picture the kill, afraid that she would suddenly see herself there, but desperate for the truth. Could she bring down a total stranger in that way, without anger, without cause?

“I could understand if this were some harsh winter hundreds of years ago, and we were starving,” Gabriel said, his eyes glittering with anger. “But this wasn't a kill for food, it was for pleasure—a pleasure that could condemn us all. I'll be watching; others will watch for me; and when I'm sure who's done this I'll make him pay.”

His words struck Vivian with the strength of a blow, and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath.

Gabriel rose to his feet and paced the room. Vivian watched him with cold dread. His arms were powerful; they could snap a neck with one smack. His legs were long, and even through his jeans she could sense the muscle and sinew that would allow him to run down the swiftest prey. When he put on his pelt he was a massive, dark, merciless animal.

“I understand the urge to kill as much as any of us,” he said fiercely, and Vivian believed him. “But it must be controlled. There's no wilderness to hide in anymore. We can't run in packs in the mountains where travelers go unmissed for months, there are no black forests that stretch on for days, and it's been many centuries since we ruled small kingdoms in the dark center of Europe as if we were gods.
Homo sapiens
is everywhere, they outnumber us, and
Homo lupus
must live beside them. As much as we might crave to, we cannot kill them. To do so endangers us.” He paused. “Sometimes I think we have outlived our time.”

He yearns for the old days,
Vivian realized with chill fascination. She wondered if part of his anger at the killer was because he could not allow himself the same luxury. She recognized deep within herself the same red spark of desire for a time when instinct wasn't bound and the young Moon found it easy to forgive. She shuddered and looked away.

“I'm sorry this has frightened you,” Gabriel said, and she realized he was standing at her chair, studying her. His eyes were gentler than they had been moments ago.

“What makes you think I'm frightened?” she said.

“Vivian, I can smell it on you.” He reached down and lightly stroked her cheek with fingers that could easily crush her throat. She didn't dare pull back. “I'm sorry you lost your home in West Virginia. I'll find you another, and soon, I promise. I'll make you safe.”

She almost laughed.