Bring On the Night (21 page)

“Is there something I should—”

“Sleep.” He threaded his fingers through my hair, over and over, like he used to do when I had insomnia before a big exam.

I drifted off, too exhausted to indulge my fears. I slept without dreams, but when I woke again, it was like swimming up through cold quicksand.

Shane was shaking my shoulder. “You need to drink.”

“No. Sleep.” I put my arm over my eyes to blot out the light. “More blankets.”

“Blood, not blankets.”

“Monroe come back yet?”

“Not yet. Here, drink.” A warm, smooth surface rested against the back of my hand. I latched onto the travel mug with nearly numb fingers.

Shane tilted up my head so I could sip. Cold burned in my core like a fire fueled by ice cubes. My neck was so stiff, it felt like it would snap.

But by the time my straw gurgled at the bottom of the mug, warmth flowed through every cell. My mind cleared, enough to wish with all my heart that my maker was the one feeding me. The stab of pain made me long for the cold numbness again.

Maybe if I pretended nothing was wrong, nothing would be wrong. “Thank you,” I murmured to Shane. “Check, please.”

I lay down again, weighed by fatigue and a new, crushing dread: I was now an addict. Blood wasn’t like air or water or the endlessly interchangeable food I once ate. It had a very specific source, one that now had complete power over me.

Before drifting off, I swept my tongue across my teeth, in a fruitless search for fangs.

The next time I woke, I heard Shane’s voice, but from a few feet away rather than the pillow beside my head. He spoke in an urgent, breathy whisper. No one answered.

“… grant to the souls of thy servants and handmaidens departed, the remission of all their sins…”

I parted my eyelids to see him kneeling on the floor next to his dresser. His eyes were squeezed shut. The Mardi Gras rosary beads lay in a pile on the thin carpet beside him.

Finally he said, “Amen,” then tilted his chin up to gaze at the ceiling with more agony than I’d ever seen in his eyes.

“What was that?” I whispered.

He started. “Did I wake you?”

“It sounded like you were reciting, not making it up.”

Shane collected the rosary from the floor. “It’s a novena for the souls of the departed.”

“Departed? Are you praying for me or for the ones who died for good?”

“All of you,” he said without looking at me.

My heart wanted to rip in half. “So you are worried about my soul.”

He folded the rosary into his palm, where the beads spilled like water over the edges. “I’m worried about your soul, for giving up when there was a tiny chance you could survive. I’m worried about Jeremy’s soul and the souls of the other DJs, for conspiring to end your life.” He lowered his gaze to the floor in front of him. “And I’m worried about my own soul, for being glad they did.”

I let myself breathe a little. “Then you’re not sorry I’m
a vampire?”

“I’m not sorry, but I should be.” He shifted over to kneel by the bedside. “You were so young, and so alive.” He ran a strand of my hair through his fingertips. “You were like walking sunshine.”

“Except for the burning-you-into-a-puff-of-nothing part.”

“You have no idea how much you’re going to miss. The little things will creep up and slam you when you least expect it. We can be there to help you cope, but in the end, each of us has to make this dark journey alone.”

I squirmed a little at his uncharacteristic melodrama. “I managed okay.”

He shook his head sadly. “Death is just the beginning.”

I picked at the lint on the blue blanket, searching for my optimism. “But it’ll be an adventure, right? There’ll be good parts? Assuming I ever have the strength to get out of bed.”

His eyes glinted as they gazed into mine. “There’ll be very good parts.”

“Like sex?”

“Yes, like sex. But you’re a long way from that now.”

“I know, I’ve never been so out of the mood.” I rubbed my face, which felt like it was made of clay, then let my hand drop onto his. “Why didn’t you bring your rosary with you when you moved in with me?”

Shane sighed as he crossed his legs to sit on the floor beside the bed. “I didn’t think it’d fit.”

“You know I respect your beliefs.”

“You say you do.” He stroked my knuckles with his fingertips, soft enough to soothe yet firm enough not to tweak my nerves. “But it came between us last night. You made an end run around me because you didn’t trust me to save you.
You shut me out of the most important decision you could ever make.”

The pain in his eyes twisted my innards. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. We’ll have to deal with this one day.” He tugged the covers up over my shoulders and tucked them under my chin. “Not tonight, of course.”

No, tonight was for survival. But one day I’d make it up to him.

I had no idea how.

Big Empty

“Ciara…” Shane gently shook my shoulder, which felt like solid rust.

“Eggs over easy and white toast,” I slurred. “Coffee, three sugars.”

“You have a visitor.”

“Monroe?” I sat up so fast, the room tilted, sending a flash of nausea up my throat.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just me.”

My vision cleared to see Spencer sitting in Shane’s desk chair,
ankle crossed over his knee.

“Oh.” I looked at the clock. 7:30—long past sunrise. “Is Monroe here?”

Spencer shook his head. “But don’t worry about him—we’ve all got backup hidey holes. He’s probably at a donor’s house.”

“I wasn’t worried about him. I was worried about me.”

“How do you feel?” Shane asked.

I did a quick inventory. “No better. But no worse, either.”

“I’ll get you another meal.” He headed for the door. “And some coffee.”

I wanted to lie down, but not with Spencer watching me.
So I pulled the pillow up and sat back against the wall. It took every bit of concentration to stay upright.

“I should’ve picked you,” I said.

He shrugged. “Grass is always greener, ain’t it? I wouldn’t be a perfect maker either.”

“You’d be here. Wouldn’t you?”

“We’re all here. We’ll all take care of you.” Staring at the wall, Spencer smoothed his hair back on both sides. “And if you’re in danger, Monroe’ll come back.”

“How will he know I’m in danger?”

Spencer dropped his hands to his lap. “You already know vampires can feel when their maker is killed or in pain. But what you might not know is that with some, the connection goes both ways.”

“Why would it be that way with me and Monroe?”

“Because he saved your life by turning you—far as we know, anyhow.”

I nodded, not wanting to think about the possibility that I could’ve survived in the hospital. It was too late.

Spencer continued. “He stole you away from death and pain, so your pain is a part of him now. Monroe will always know when you’re in trouble.”

But would he care?

“I was like you,” Spencer said without prompting. “I didn’t want to be a vampire. Hell, I didn’t even know they were real until that night. I just wanted to live.”

“Were you sick?”

He gave a gruff chuckle. “Not unless there’s a shiv-in-the-stomach disease.”

“Someone stabbed you? Was it a mugging?”

“No, I just made the wrong enemies. What I’m telling you is, my maker always knew when I was in danger.” A
grim smile crossed his face. “Which was a lot of the time. I wasn’t real… careful.”

I blinked in astonishment. The Spencer I knew was the epitome of cool calculation. I’d never seen him have so much as a flyaway hair, much less a complete loss of control. Despite his eternally youthful appearance, it was easy to forget he was once young for real.

I was also amazed that he was telling me a portion, however small, of his turning story. According to Shane, vampires never shared this tale with anyone they didn’t trust with their lives.

I was one of them now.

Shane continued to feed me throughout the day. In late afternoon, when I was coherent enough to string two sentences together, he left me alone so I could call Lori.

“Ciara…” She sounded like she was holding back tears. “Are you okay?”

“Tired.”

“Is that normal?”

“There is no normal. Shane says I’m weak because I was so sick. How’s Dexter?”

“He ran up and down the hall for a few hours, and then collapsed. He wouldn’t touch his breakfast. Speaking of which, are you, uh—”

“Drinking blood? Yeah. It’s nothing to write home about. And no fangs yet.”

“Wild.” She took a deep breath and when she released it, her words spilled out, almost faster than I could comprehend. “It was so scary. David and I sat in the lounge—well, we didn’t really sit. Mostly we paced, like when someone’s
having a baby? Noah kept coming out and giving us updates, but there was one part where we didn’t hear anything for like half an hour. Shane had his cell phone off, obviously.” She finally inhaled, long enough for me to get a word in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my plans. I didn’t want Shane to be the last to know. He was hurt enough as it was.”

“I know. You should’ve seen him on the way from the hospital to the station. I think he went through every stage of mourning five times over. How was he when, you know, it happened?”

“He was perfect.” I told her how the music had called me back from the other side.

She let out a wistful sigh. “That’s so unbelievably romantic. He was like Orpheus, only successful.”

“Is that the dream guy from those comics you and David love so much?”

“No, that’s Morpheus. Orpheus was from Greek mythology. When his wife Eurydice died, he went to Hades and sang this mournful song that made everyone in the underworld cry. So they made an exception and said Orpheus could lead Eurydice back to earth—back to life—with his lyre and his voice.”

“So why wasn’t he successful?”

“They told him not to look back until they were both on earth, or he would lose Eurydice again. He had to trust that she was following. Of course, as soon as he reached earth, he got all excited and looked back too soon. So she died again, this time for good.”

“Harsh.” I hoped Shane’s resemblance to Orpheus ended with the pretty music. “Speaking of tragedy, I’m almost
afraid to ask, but—any more news on those students?”

“Oh, Ciara, it’s horrible. Six out of the seven have died, plus the professor. The last one’s in a coma.”

“God.” I put a shaky hand to my forehead.

“Another student plus a professor are in the hospital. If anyone carried the infection out of town, it could be a national disaster. Of course all the big news stations are lurking around campus.”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling lucky all over again. “I better call my mom and let her know I’m okay.”

Lori let out a long breath. “I’m sorry you’re a vampire, because I know it wasn’t what you wanted, but I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too.” Suddenly fatigued, I curled up on my side. “Call you later.”

I hung up, then dialed my mom, hoping the prison would let me speak to her two days in a row.

“
Ciara!?
” My mother screamed into the phone, blasting my newly sensitive ears.

“Ow.” I turned down the speaker volume.

“What do you mean, ‘ow’? Are you in pain?”

“No, I’m fine. That’s why I called, to let you know I’m not going to die.” Technically that was true, since I had already died. Such is the magic of verb tenses.

She gasped. “That’s wonderful, honey! Did they find a cure?”

“No, but—”

“Did you get sick and then recover? No, that’s silly—I just talked to you yesterday and you were fine.”

“That’s not it.” No doubt all calls to and from the prison were monitored. If anyone knew that I had survived the disease, I’d be in a CDC laboratory—with windows, no
doubt—in a matter of hours.

I spoke slowly so she would have time to pick up on my signal. “I talked to Dad, and he said I had chicken pox that one time you went home to visit Grandmom. Remember? I was four years old.”

My mother said nothing. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head a thousand miles away. My grandmother died when I was two, and Mom knew I knew that.

“Ohhhh.” She gave a high titter. “That’s right! I remember, I was so worried and wanted to be there to take care of you. But it was a pretty mild case, right? That must have been why we both forgot.”

“Yeah, Dad said the same thing.” My shoulders relaxed. Living in a family of liars had its advantages.

“So how is everything otherwise? Besides finding out you can’t catch a deadly plague?” Her laughter was breathless, and I could only imagine how her heart must be pounding. When she got out of jail, I owed her an in-person truth—or at least a plausible story.

I tried to think of a topic that wasn’t off-limits.
I’m a vampire? I was attacked by a zombie? I’m training to work for a paranormal paramilitary organization?

The engagement. Assuming there still was one.

I told her all the nonvamp details of Shane’s proposal, and she gushed at the appropriate moments.

“So when’s the date? Will you wait for me to get out?”

I hesitated, then realized that even if she weren’t paroled this year, Shane and I no longer needed to hurry. We were both immortal now. “Sure, Mom.”

“Hooray! And if you wait until next year, your father might be out of prison, too.”

“Maybe.” I knew he wouldn’t. He’d violated the trust his
liberators (the Control) had placed in him, and in turn they’d sent him back to federal prison to finish his original term. It would be at least another six or seven years before he saw the outside. But Mom didn’t know that, and I couldn’t tell her, because it was classified.

“My time’s almost up, honey.” Her voice fluttered again, making my throat tighten.

“I’ll see you next month.”

“I’m afraid to hope.” The phone went silent, as if she’d pressed her lips together to keep all sound inside. “I love you, Ciara.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” I whispered.

I hung up, then stared at the screen for a long moment. The phone’s wallpaper was currently a shot of me and Shane at our favorite bar, the Smoking Pig. It was New Year’s, and in the photo I’m pointing an orange blowout party favor straight at the camera, while he gazes at my puffed-out face like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.