Break of Dawn (13 page)

“And what else would your mom say?”

He grinned. “She’d tell you that if the son she raised to be so justice minded and right seeking ever let you down, he’d never be able to live with himself.”

“Now you’re sounding like a superhero out of Kansas—not Gotham City.”

His pupils expanded and, in them, she could see that he was taken aback by her observation.

“Just giving you a hard time,” she said. “Go on. I won’t impale you with any more sardonic—”

Something outside caught her jaundiced vision. A flutter of skirts, just like the ones Eva liked to wear. The material had disappeared in the direction of Matt’s backyard.

He turned toward the window, too. At the same time, she slid down from the table, her biker boots thumping on the floor.

“It’s her,” Dawn said.

Matt grabbed her wrist. “She’ll just go back to this underground place you were talking about. Are you prepared to follow her?”

“I’d prefer to keep the fight up here.” She ripped her wrist away from his grip, striding toward her machetes. Sure, she was still kind of shaky from when her car kissed the streetlight post, but that wasn’t nearly enough to stop her.

But Matt was enough. “You’re going to end up down there one day.”

When she looked at him, he seemed . . . off somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I mean,” he added, “vamps haven’t gone public for a reason. They like their privacy. Any heavy business will be conducted underground. Mark my words.”

“Okay, then. Marked.”

She fetched her weapons, heading for the cottage’s rear screen door. Matt dogged her.

As she laid a machete-filled hand on the latch, she asked, “You going to back me up or not?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“No.” She lifted her other machete. “Eva’s mine. If you see me get into trouble, that’s when you intervene.”

“And what if it’s too late by then?”

“She’s not out to hurt me. She just wants to destroy Frank’s life—and mine, too.” Dawn unlatched the door. “I might be a while, so before you call for a car tow, could you get my knickknacks out of it? Thanks.”

“Just a second . . .”

But she was already outside. The yard was almost empty, except for an old slab of wood hanging by two ropes from a small oak tree. Maybe it was a toy from a previous tenant, or maybe there was something Matt wasn’t telling her about his personal life. At any rate, as it swung in the wind, the rope creaked. The near death of day had left the air warm, but it was cool enough to scrape over Dawn’s skin with a chill.

Behind the tree, she caught the wave of a flowy dress peeking out.

“Eva,” she said, machetes at the ready.

And just that simply, her mother sidled away from the back of the oak, her dress tickling her thighs.

“Good,” her mother said, utterly ignoring Dawn’s weapons. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.”

FOURTEEN

THE FAMILY WAY

DAWN
almost laughed at Eva’s ridiculous comment. “You think I’m here to entertain more of your crap?”

Her mother ran a look over the machetes in Dawn’s hands. Then, clearly on purpose, she leaned against the tree trunk, as if declaring defeat. The swing’s ropes continued to moan.

Dawn’s chest seemed to bend inward, deforming whatever had been holding her up. It felt good to wound Eva, to make her lose hope, to one-up the mother who’d always been better even in death. But it also went against every dream Dawn had nourished of
having
a mom.

Perversely, Dawn scraped the machetes together: the lyrics sang about what was right, what was just.

“Eva, what could you possibly tell me that I haven’t heard before?”

Her mother didn’t react to the machete scrapes. “There’s a lot to clear up. Last time you were with me, it wasn’t exactly under ideal conditions, and I’m afraid I didn’t get my true message across.”

“Oh, I think you did. You took me captive and threw me in a hidden room with Frank. And let’s not forget the part where you chained me up. That was the biggest true message of all.”

“I knew you’d fight before you became rational. You would’ve chained you up, too, in my place.”

“I always fight.” The machetes seemed heavier now, almost like Dawn should just drop them and walk away. She could, too. But in which direction would she head?

She thought of what was waiting for her in the Limpet house. It was the same as what was here with Eva. The same as what was waiting for them all everywhere, except few normal people knew it.

“You don’t have to fight.” Eva had taken hold of the swing with one graceful hand, silencing its groans.

Wrong. That was all Dawn knew. She’d just taken fighting to a new extreme lately.

“What if,” her mother added, “the two of us called a truce for now. Even the most ferocious foes would meet on battlefields to attempt an understanding.” Eva smiled and ran a hand down the swing’s rope. “At least, I think I remember hearing that in some history class I daydreamed my way through.”

A school-despising tweak of empathy manipulated Dawn. Like mother, like daughter. But she murdered the emotion.

“I was under the impression that we were talking just fine right now.” Dawn could just about feel Matt behind her, watching through a window. Maybe that was why it was so easy to be a smart-ass.

Eva shook her head. “There are ears tuned in to what we’re saying. Someplace more private would be better.”

“The isolation of a backyard isn’t good enough?”

“No.”

Dawn barely caught Eva’s glance skimming the cottage, and she understood. Matt was a hunter, and Eva might’ve known it.

Dawn’s heart was fisting, squeezed by that little girl within who’d cried in the corners of playgrounds after the other kids had taunted her about having no mother. In a way, Dawn wanted to give in to the fantasy of Eva—the runaway returned, the caretaker resurrected and dedicated to her family. It was all Dawn had ever wanted, especially now, after being turned out by the group she’d considered to be her family.

“
If
I had a sit-down with you,” Dawn said, making sure Eva knew how unlikely it was, “where would we go? A coffee shop . . . ?”

“I can’t be in public.” Eva tucked a blond lock behind an ear, like she was flustered. “You have to understand, with everything that’s going on, the community has retreated Underground. In fact, my big comeback movie with Paul Aspen and Will Smith? Is on hold. Some non-Servant producers are up in arms, thinking that Paul and I have run off together because we haven’t shown up for work. Our publicists made up a cover story about how Paul got sick and I’ve checked him in to a private clinic and stayed by his side because I’m so smitten.”

Dawn frowned at the name “Paul Aspen.” She’d met Eva’s costar at a party he’d thrown. There, her mind had been entered and partially wiped. Costin had yelled out in a rage when he’d discovered it.

Sloughing off the memory of his protective response, Dawn said, “It must be killing you since you bought that movie with your soul.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t in my plans to saddle Jacqueline Ashley with a bad work reputation.” Her mother wandered away from the swing, close enough to lower her voice. “I know this is asking a lot, but there’s a place where we don’t have to worry about any interference. Somewhere that’s been deserted since I moved Underground for security.” She flicked a gaze to Matt’s house, her meaning clear. “Come with me?”

More out of curiosity than compliance, Dawn asked, “How do you propose to get anywhere . . . ?”

Her car was wasted, and walking was out of the question. But she had an idea about how Eva, who didn’t want to be seen Above, would get her to this private place. It’d probably be the same way the vamp had taken Frank and Dawn to Breisi that night. . . .

Her mother held out a hand. “Just this once, don’t resist for the sake of being difficult.”

“You need to tell me where we’d hypothetically be going.” Dawn hadn’t made a move toward Eva’s hand.

“My house.”

Oh, this was rich. “Really. The place where you stuck me in a dungeon and had a Servant guard me.”

“Julia is Below now, and the house is vacant.” When she looked into her daughter’s eyes, her face went sad. “All this pain I’ve brought you, Dawn. I’m so sorry.”

Thing was, Dawn thought her mother meant it. But maybe it was
acting!
Or maybe it was just what she wanted to see in Eva.

Dawn clutched the machetes. “If you think I’m going to have a slumber party with you, you’re on crack. All I see when I look at your face is the traitor who let Breisi die and then made off with my dad for a second time.”

Her mother bent her head. Nodded. Guilty?

Eva’s obvious regret worked, worming its way through the cracks that the little girl inside was fighting to pull open. Remorse seemed to do that in every good silver-screen story. It could redeem even the worst of villains.

And Eva sensed Dawn’s openness.

Quick as a subliminal flicker, the vamp whipped into Danger Form, using her misty tentacle-arms to embrace Dawn and bring her daughter inside her body. Cloudy, warm. Here, Dawn forgot about everything but how Eva felt like pillows under her head, about how there was no sound except for an all-encompassing heartbeat threading through her like a connecting cord.

Time wound into itself, and in an instant—or maybe it was an hour?—she emerged from Eva, the warmth of her mother’s body lost as Dawn found herself in the cold reality of a familiar living room. She gathered her wits while sitting on the floor and looking around, discombobulated.

In the corner, she found the small-scale Eiffel Tower that had decorated Jac’s house, a place Dawn had visited back when she thought they could be friends. The drawn curtains provided shade, the walls were a muted cream, the furniture a warm wood hue, like notes from a Chet Baker song. Jazz. Something Eva obviously liked, a fact her own daughter had never known.

Her mother was standing behind a couch, respecting Dawn with distance. “Something to drink?” Eva smiled, clearly knowing the answer.

When Dawn didn’t say anything, the vamp left anyway, heading for the kitchen.

In the meantime, Dawn realized a few things. First, Matt hadn’t even had time to interfere with Eva’s taking of Dawn. Second, the back of her neck kind of smarted, maybe from the mini car smashup. She also saw that she was still holding her machetes and, damn it, she hadn’t even thought to use them when she’d been inside Eva. Dropping one blade, she rubbed her neck, thinking the ache might hurt a lot more if Eva hadn’t lessened the impact of the crashing car, as Dawn suspected.

Then she started to get off the floor, her hand going to the base of her spine at a slight twinge there, too. Once, during a stunt, Dawn had almost broken her back, so she was always hyperaware of any activity there.

But as she gave herself a diagnostic prod, her fingers brushed against something hard on her jeans. Was it a button that she’d never realized was there? She felt a little more. Smooth, metallic . . .

Uninvited, the memory of Costin skimming his fingers against the small of her back intruded.

She tore at the button-object, ripping off part of the weak belt loop it was attached to in the process. Discarding her other machete, she used both hands to wrench at the rest of the denim, hearing the loop pop off of her old jeans. And, there, sucked against the material, was a tiny locator.

Her mind seemed to slant inside her head, like a boat’s deck in freak weather. Costin had marked her, then kicked her out of the house. The Limpets had to be tracking her.

Rational thought imploded under the pressure of her temper. Son of a bitch.

Dawn flung the device to the ground, then dug her boot heel into it, crushing the locator into the delicate rug, making it part of the intricately flowered design.

Fuck Costin. Fuck them all.

When Eva came back, water bottle in hand, Dawn quickly picked up the locator’s remnants, then shoved the tiny wires and casing into a back pocket.

Dead. They were
all
dead to her. Just as dead as she felt.

Eva gave her daughter the unopened bottle, probably knowing Dawn wouldn’t drink from it unless she could be sure there’d been no tampering. The vamp was catching on.

“I left in such a hurry that the fridge is still full.” Eva sat on one end of a modern-chic couch, spreading her skirts around her. She wasn’t drinking any water. Duh.

“Sit, please,” her mother said.

“Nope. I’m comfortable like this.” Standing. Waiting.

“Suit yourself.”

Dawn opened the water bottle and took a swig. Relief. “How long will this joke of a peace negotiation take?”

“Do you have better things to do?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I thought I should probably kill you before all your vamp buddies crawl out of bed and come to your rescue.”

Eva froze. “And here I thought you might take advantage of having me at your disposal.”

A sidelong glance seemed the proper response. “Come again?”

“I want you to fire away with questions. Go ahead.”

Blink, blink. Honesty. Dawn hardly recognized it.

“But . . .” Eva sighed. “Since you’re going to kill me . . .”

Dawn bristled, because they both knew damned well that Eva could kick her daughter to the curb if it came down to it. Sure, Dawn would put up a grand fight, but Eva was superior.

“Bummer,” her mother said, looking so strangely young, “because we never did have any mom-to-daughter chats. Except when you were
this
big, of course.”

She’d cradled her hands and indicated a bundle-sized baby shape. The smile she wore couldn’t have been faked. Dawn latched one hand on her opposite arm, half shielding herself.

“During that one month,” Eva added, “I talked to you about a lot of things. I told you about when I was a girl. I gave you tips about how to wrap your dad around your teeny finger.”

Her mother bit her lip, and even Dawn fell under her maudlin spell a little. Only a little.

“What were you like . . . as a girl?” She really wanted to know. “And no bullshit stories, Eva. It’d be nice to hear nonfiction for once.”

“It’d be nice to
live
it, too.” She gazed at a curtain-covered window, brown eyes going soft. “I was an only daughter, just like you, but instead of being born in California, I made my grand debut in Milwaukee, crying like a little princess. That’s what your grandma said.”

Dawn didn’t know anyone on Eva’s side of the family. Frank had kept her from them, except for one Christmas. Two people who’d wanted her to call them Grandma and Grandpa had joined Frank, Dawn, and her paternal grandparents. The strangers had given a really young Dawn—was she about five?—a tricycle. After they’d left, their eyes teary, Frank had taken the toy away from Dawn and she’d never seen it again. She knew they’d passed away years ago because, once, she’d come across some papers in Frank’s house that said as much.

“When did you move out here?” Dawn asked, gripping her arm harder, like part of her wanted to shut herself up.

“When I was eighteen. Remember when I . . . Jacqueline Ashley . . . told you that she won a modeling contest and that it was her golden ticket into Hollywood? Well, that’s actually what happened to me.” She sent a longing glance to Dawn. “I’m really a lot like Jac.”

Dawn pinched her arm. “I thought Jac was human, not a marrow-sucking backstabber. Big difference.”

Eva smoothed her dress. It seemed to be a habit when she was gathering herself. “Whatever you think, I really was pretty innocent when everything started out. I never got used to going to parties and being visually prodded like meat at auditions. But when I snuck into a theater that was playing my first movie . . .” Eva held a hand over her heart. “Magic.”

The rest was history. Eva’s rise had been meteoric. She’d possessed the type of face that defined the fantasies of a generation: an innocence lost, yet still available in the persona of one Eva Claremont, sunny dream girl.

“Still,” Eva added, “that moment was nothing compared to when I had you.”

As a tear slipped down her mother’s face, Dawn shook her head.

“I call bullshit. If you gave so much of a damn, you wouldn’t have given me up for your extended career. You wouldn’t have given me up for anything.”

“I know it’ll never make sense.”

“You’ve got
that
right.” Dawn’s temper goaded her to stalk toward the front of the old-time-movie gingerbread house.

But just as she was about to exit the room, she turned back around, finding Eva on her knees on the couch and holding the back frame, her face a riot of devastation.

Slayed by her mother’s quiet show, Dawn stopped in her tracks. Then she gestured toward the living room. “Forgot my machetes.”

“Dawn, I never had the opportunity to explain why I gave you up when you were only a month old. I’ve already told you that I was young and stupid . . . and so impressionable. My handlers were persuasive. It all made such sense when they pitched the idea of going Underground.”

Dawn couldn’t believe it. Sense? How could being a vampire make sense?