Balthazar (37 page)

The thought failed to reassure him. Every other time Redgrave had tried to take something from him during the past four centuries, Redgrave had succeeded. Anger pent up from those old treacheries, his countless defeats, burned within Balthazar until it pushed the fear out.

Before, Balthazar hadn't thought beyond retrieving Skye and making sure she remained safe and well. Now he knew he couldn't rest until Redgrave was finished once and for all.

As they took the next curve, Craig said, “This is around where Skye used to live.” He obviously said it just to fill the silence, but the idea caught fire in Balthazar's mind. Instantly he knew what Skye would have done.

“Show me where,” Balthazar said, turning in the direction that Craig pointed. Even as he did, he saw the black van, the vampires around it—and Redgrave.

They looked dazed, as though they stood on consecrated ground. No doubt they'd encountered the wraith within Skye's house … and she wasn't with them. Maybe she was barricaded inside.

Balthazar stepped hard on the brakes, tires squealing, and shifted Craig's car into park so fast he could feel the gears grinding. “If I go down, get the hell out of here. If they come after you, go however far you have to go to lose them. Out of town, out of state, whatever you have to do. Got it?” Quickly he popped the trunk.

Craig began, “Wait a second—” But Balthazar was already out of the car, slamming the door.

He went to the trunk of the car even as Redgrave said, “You again?”

Balthazar took out the crowbar he'd found there, marched toward Redgrave, and said, “Me again,” just before swinging the iron rod into Redgrave's face.

They were all on him within seconds, but none of them was at their full strength, and he'd never been angrier or more vicious. More deadly. Balthazar pounded at their guts, their groins, their heads, swinging so savagely that none of them could even reach him. Nothing held him back now: not worrying about being seen by humans who would misunderstand, not fear of capture, not any sense of sentimentality, nothing. He might even have been able to hurt Charity, if she'd been with them. The monster within him had never been so free. Causing pain had never felt so good.

Redgrave staggered backward, falling to his knees. Through bloodied lips, he spat, “You know—this won't—stop us. So why—do you bother?”

“It'll slow you down enough,” Balthazar said, beating back one of the others. “And then I'm going to find out if it's possible to behead you just by ripping your head off with my bare hands. Never tried that before. But you know what? I bet it works.”

Redgrave leaped up, but he was slower than a human now, and Balthazar threw him back like so many rags. As his sire fell in the snow, a pathetic wreck of his old self, Balthazar heard him say, “You're killing Skye even now.”

Balthazar hit him again, so hard he heard the collarbone snap. As Redgrave doubled over in pain, Balthazar shouted, “Where is she?”

“She flung herself in the river,” Redgrave panted. “Better to freeze than to bleed, I suppose. Skye's drowning or freezing to death right now … and you can't be bothered to save her. This time, we both lose. Skye's just like Charity—another pretty toy we broke between us.”

Once more, Balthazar smashed his crowbar into Redgrave, this time into the side of his head. His old foe went down, unconscious, and the other vampires weren't trying to stop him; they were inching back, hoping that Balthazar would forget them.

He almost had. Without Redgrave, they were merely vermin. Let Black Cross handle them when they arrived in town. But it was Redgrave he had to kill, Redgrave he had to punish for everything he'd done—

—but every second he spent here was one he wasn't using to help Skye.

As long as you wish to be human, you will never be able to defeat me
, Redgrave had said. But keeping his soul human—human enough to love Skye and to save her—was more important than anything else. Even killing Redgrave.

Balthazar bolted for the car, leaving Redgrave behind. Craig and Britnee were still there, though both of them stared at him as if he'd grown another head. He slid into the driver's seat, letting the crowbar fall to the floorboard, as he said, “Tell me the fastest way to get to the other side of this river. When we go over the bridge, you'll have to hang on to the steering wheel.”

As he put the car in reverse and backed out, burning rubber, Britnee said, very quietly, “Mr. More? What's going on?”

“We're getting the hell out of here.” Balthazar put the car in drive as Craig mutely pointed forward. “And we're going to save Skye.”

His anger had left him. He didn't even glance backward at Redgrave. All Balthazar could think was,
Please let me get there in time
.

SKYE UNDERSTOOD NOW.

The visions weren't merely visions. They weren't some kind of cosmic punishment inflicted on her; they were signs showing her the path. Every death was a doorway.

“And you can walk through,” Dakota said. He sat next to her in the snow, his forearms resting on his bent knees. She still lay on the riverbank, shaking, but the cold and the pain were very distant. Her body might have been no more than an old nightgown she'd tossed aside.

Although she would have loved to embrace her brother, that was impossible the way they were now—spirits untethered to the physical world. It would have been beside the point, too. They were more fully together now—more fully aware of their love for each other—than they'd ever been before. “What—what is this?”

Dakota ran one hand through his scruffy hair; he still looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him, with his skater gear T-shirt and cargo shorts, braided necklace around his throat, and Teva sandals. “It's only the gate. You go through, and you're on the other side. Afterward it seems simple.”

Skye remembered the phone ringing late at night, and how she'd known, even before anybody answered, that it meant something horrible had happened. The sound of her mother sucking in a sharp breath as she heard, and the long silence that had followed before she could speak to tell them. The first time she'd seen Dad cry, and how old he looked, as if the tears had etched his wrinkles deeper. The funeral, with Dakota's girlfriend Felicia trying to talk about how great a time he'd been having on the adventure that claimed his life. How Mom and Dad had buried themselves further in their work, hardly even acknowledging the other child they had, maybe because she reminded them too painfully of the one they'd lost.

Skye realized more fully than she ever had before that Dakota wasn't the only one who had died that night; their family, as they had known it, had died, too.

Quietly she said, “The afterward isn't easy for the rest of us.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Although Skye didn't know if he was apologizing for behaving so recklessly, or simply telling her how badly he felt, it didn't matter. Dakota was here—as much with her as he had ever been—and that was enough.

Dakota said, “You know you can't stay here.”

“With you?” The thought of leaving her brother again, when she'd only now found him, felt horribly wrong. “I don't want to leave you.”

“You can find me again anytime, now that you know how,” Dakota said. “You're the path, Skye. The gateway between our worlds. You can always talk to me; you can always talk to
any
of us. And trust me, there's a lot of guys over here who are dying to talk to you … okay, maybe that wasn't the best choice of phrase. Ready and waiting, let's say.”

“I can talk to the dead now?”

“The dead who have something to say. And I don't mean like some crappy TV psychic, you know? This is going to be the real deal.”

“Am I supposed to—make people feel better? Solve murders or something?” Well, now she had something original to speak up about on career day. “Where is this gift supposed to take me?”

“Wherever you want to go, sis. But none of that matters if you cross over for good now.”

If she froze to death, he meant. Skye became aware of her physical body again—still at a distance, but enough to feel the dangerous numbness claiming her limbs. “Do you promise I'll be able to find you again?”

Dakota gave her that lopsided grin that always made her want to smack him, and yet smile back, too. “Oh, you're never gonna get rid of me now.”

Skye laughed. It seemed to her that she'd gone from a place of ultimate fear to a place where fear didn't even exist. If the only danger was death, that was no danger at all, not in the end. “I love you, Dakota. I always felt like I never said it enough.”

“Love you, too. And yeah—nobody ever says it enough. Nobody in the world. But I always knew you loved me. Except maybe that time you stole my skateboard.” His expression was half tenderness, half exasperation. “Will you save yourself already?”

“I'll go. I'll get out of here. But I'll come to you again soon.”

“Count on it,” Dakota said, as if he knew much more about it that he wasn't saying yet.

Her body closed around her again, and Skye transformed from the liberated spirit she'd been back into a creature of blood and bone. The cold hit her, and she gasped, almost unable to catch her breath.

Clumsily she pushed herself to sit up and take in her surroundings. Dakota had vanished; nothing of his presence remained. It was stranger than it should have been to realize that he had left no footprints, no impression in the snow. She was alone in the underbrush, her wet underclothes freezing around her shaking body; the tips of her hair were already becoming icicles. An incredible sleepiness hit her, as if all she needed to make herself feel better was to lie down and take a long nap.

That was hypothermia talking: Skye knew the signs. So she fought the urge to rest, braced her hands against the trunk of the nearest tree, and shoved herself upright until she could stand.

Where am I?
Okay, not too far from the area with all the shops—but she understood now that it was farther than she'd be able to walk, suffering as she was from shock and exposure. She'd just have to make it to the nearest road. It was well after dark now, and in this weather few people would be out, but she only needed one car to stop and help her, or even just to call the police. Though her legs shook and she felt weak, Skye began moving toward the road. One step. One more. That was all she had to do, keep going.

As she got closer to her goal, Skye saw a pair of headlights drawing near. Could she make it in time to wave at them, get their attention? Her red, numb feet wouldn't move much faster. But she didn't have to get to the road; the car pulled over anyway, and she heard the slamming of doors.

Skye opened her mouth to shout for help, then thought,
What if it's the vampires? What if it's Redgrave?
They'd had a van before, but they might have a car at their disposal, too; she didn't know. Fear returned to her—not of dying, but of living as a captive. That was the only thing worth fearing.

Then she heard a voice call out, “Skye?”

“Balthazar!”

He emerged from the inky blackness, long coat billowing behind him as he ran toward her, his handsome face bruised and cut. Never had he looked so beautiful to her. Skye managed a few steps on her shaky feet before he closed the distance and pulled her fiercely into his arms.

“God, I thought we'd lost you,” Balthazar murmured, between rough kisses against her cheek. “Are you all right?”

“Just—just cold.” Her teeth chattered so much that it was hard to get the words out. “I'm so glad you found me.”

Two more figures came toward them, indistinct amid the swirling sleet until one of them called, “Did you find her?”

Incredulous, Skye said, “Craig? Britnee?”

Sure enough, her ex-boyfriend and his current girlfriend were coming toward them; Britnee even held Skye's coat in her hands. As Skye yanked it on gratefully, Craig said, “We dropped by to check on you, and Mr. More was there and he told us some people were after you, or something like that—I didn't know what to think until that weird crew showed up at your old house. Anyway, now I realize he was telling the truth. I'm glad you're okay.”

“I'll be okay when I'm warm,” Skye said. “But … thanks, guys.”

Britnee raised her hand. “Mr. More? The way you were fighting those guys back there? You were, like, super fast and stuff? So I was thinking in the car—well—are you a ninja?”

It took Balthazar a moment to answer. “No. I can't explain all of this, guys. I wish I could, but—it's better if you don't know. Let's just get Skye home so we can get her warm.”

Skye leaned heavily on his shoulder as they made their way toward the car. She murmured, “You didn't tell me there were ways for vampires to repel ghosts.”

“Redgrave found out about that? How did he—Charity. Of
course
.” Balthazar grimaced. “I should have realized as soon as she rejoined them that they'd catch on.”

“Don't beat yourself up about it. Once he was ready to get me, he was going to get me one way or another.” Skye realized that Redgrave was still too close. “What are we going to do now?”