Broken Heart 06 Come Hell or High Water (7 page)

It feels like midnight. Out there, and in my own heart.

I have realized something important.

And it will affect the life growing inside me. I use a tea towel to dry my hands and then put them, cold and trembling, on my rounded belly. Nearly five months along.

"Another Oklahoma storm," says Jackson as he walks into the kitchen. He has grease smeared on his cheek and his hands are black with dirt.

My heart is thudding.
Say the words,
I think.
Be strong.
"Any luck?" I ask.

God, I'm such a coward.

"I need another part. I'll get logs for the fire-place," he says. "It'll keep us warm enough until I can get the heater fixed."

I look at him, and I see a good man. He is handsome and strong and kind, but he's not mine. I am not his.

I suck in a breath, and on the exhale I say, "I don't love you."

His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out.

"Go on. Say you love me," I say softly.

His lips compress in a thin line. "I care about you. I care about our baby."

"It's not enough. You know it's not."

"Phoebe." His voice is an ache, the same ache that echoes all the way down to my soul. "Our son."

"Will be happy if his parents are happy," I say. "I don't want to hate you."

There is acquiescence in his gaze, and grief. "Okay," he says, "okay."

I am alone.

I'm standing in the middle of Main Street. If I look right, I see the old dance studio. It's boarded up. It seems vampires and werewolves aren't interested the art of dance, because no one has bothered to start it up again. I think about the lessons I took there as a little girl and I remember the gleaming mirrors, the polished ballet bars, the sleek pink leotards. It always smelled like lemon polish in there.

If I look left, I see the darkened windows of the Old Sass Cafe. I think about my work there, how much I enjoy talking to people and bringing them old-fashioned meals. The place is pretty in its own way, with the glass case showing off our freshly made pies, the red vinyl seats and the gold-flecked Formica tables, and the jukebox in the corner with its old songs. It still plays "Love Me Tender," and "That'll Be the Day," and "Oh, Pretty Woman."

I feel sad, and I don't know why.

It's dark, long past sunset, and there is only me, standing in the middle of the street.

Then I feel the ground tremble and I hear a terrible roar, and the glass blows out and the buildings explode with fire, crashing inward. I fall to my knees and cover my head. I'm screaming, but it blends with other screams.

When everything stops, I'm shaking so much I can barely lift my head. There is no more fire. Just crumbled buildings, and the smell of brimstone.

And there are bodies.

Where did they come from?

Scattered all around me, they are bloodied and still, with eyes staring up into the night. So many. So many.

"You did this." A thousand voices from nowhere, from everywhere.

"No," I cry. "Not me."

But the recrimination is too sharp and cuts through me. I bleed guilt, and I look up, up into the storm-laden sky.

It's thundering now, and lightning streaks through roiling clouds.

Not me,
I think as I look around. My friends, my town, my life.
I would never do this.
How could I?

Broken Heart is gone.

Everyone is dead.

The voices scream their pain and vow their revenge, and I'm lost, so lost in the maelstrom of their accusations. And then...

It's raining.

"M
'aingeal."

My eyes opened. I was shaking, my fingers twisted in Connor 's T-shirt. My heart did not move, nor my breath, nor my tears.

But I felt them all. Phantoms of physical suffering I could no longer feel.

Oh, but I ached. I was swept away by the power of the emotions still echoing from that... dream or whatever, and I couldn't calm down.

"You were havin' a nightmare," he said softly.

"I don't dream," I said. My voice sounded hoarse; it felt like I'd been screaming. Maybe I had. "Vampires aren't supposed to dream."

He stroked my cheek with one calloused forefinger. "What troubles you, Phoebe?"

I couldn't tell him. I was embarrassed to be clinging to this man. He held me securely, and he felt so good. I didn't want him to feel good. Shouldn't I be repelled? He'd lied to me in the worst way. Mated. Bonded.
Married.
It wasn't a drunken Las Vegas mistake. It was a hundred years together. What would happen to us? What would happen to my son? My thoughts circled back to the odd dream... vision... memory.

"Connor, why did you mate with me? And what does it have to with this talisman?" Each word sounded cracked and rusted, like an old gate that's lost its swing.

"How are you feelin'?"

Ah. The ol' change of subject. "I feel like shit. But I'm alive. Undead. Whatever."

"Ye'll be fine now." His breath ruffled my hair. " ' Tis almost dawn," he said. "When you awaken, we'll talk."

"Promise?"

He chuckled. "You know demons never make promises."

"Well, I'm not gonna bargain with you."

"Good call," he said.

I'd slept the entire night, and I was still exhausted. And I still hurt.

"I didn't check in," I whispered. "I was supposed to call Danny at seven p.m. Jackson will worry. He knows I would never miss a call."

"You dinnae think the Consortium will cover for you? They wouldna want a worried human nosin' around."

He was right. If Jackson couldn't reach me, he'd call the backup numbers and get someone at the Consortium. I bet they'd already talked to him. Yeah. They'd come up with a good reason why I didn't call, or they'd glamour him into thinking I had. Vampires from the Family Koschei had uber-glamour - they could mind-whip just about anybody, even over the phone.

Honestly, I hadn't paid much attention to the Consortium or Broken Heart's paranormal government. The Consortium didn't officially run the town. They were more like a think tank that spent money on research in technology and medicine. They had moved their headquarters to town, and their experiment gone wrong, poor Lorcan, had been directly responsible for eleven deaths. They took a particular interest in the Broken Heart Turn-bloods, and we had their protection forever.

I worked; I raised my son; I did all the things single moms do. I'd thought it was a simple life. A good life. But it bothered me that things were going on in Broken Heart, and out in the paranormal world, that I didn't know about. Who knew what was unfolding that would affect all of us? I thought of that horrible vision of Broken Heart being destroyed and everyone being killed. I hoped it wasn't a portent, because... God, I couldn't even fathom it.

I was so tired. Every so often, a lightning bolt of pain would shoot up my spine and radiate into my limbs. "I don't feel good," I muttered. If dawn was close, I would be asleep again in no time. Vampires were biologically designed to shut down during the day. I wouldn't have a choice.

"Just rest," said Connor. His lips brushed across my brow. "You'll be fine."

"Shouldn't be so nice," I said sleepily, my words slurring. "You're supposed to be mean, 'member?"

"I'm a demon," he said softly. "How could I have an ounce of kindness or conscience?"

"Damn straight."

"Close your eyes, Phoebe." He stroked my hair. "You can hate me tomorrow."

I woke up starving.

I pushed off the covers and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. The bed was so huge and high up that my feet hovered about half a foot off the floral carpet. Wow. I never figured Connor for a flowers kind of guy.

Dizziness assailed me, so I clutched the bedspread until everything stopped spinning.

I looked down at myself and grimaced.

Total ickfest. My shorts and shirt were wrinkled and smelled like old sweat. My hair felt stiff, and my mouth tasted like ashes.

Nice.

Connor was gone.

I didn't have my cell phone or my knives or my Glock. I didn't even have shoes. I wanted to shower and brush my teeth and kick someone's ass.

Thoughts tumbled through my mind. It galled me that Connor had: a) disappeared. Just left me in his bedroom without a damn note or anything, and b) taken me someplace I couldn't begin to escape from, and c) saved my undead butt (unless you counted the fact that he was the reason I'd been beaten and given the Taint). He'd bartered with another demon for the antidote. Then again, it just required some of his blood. So not much of a sacrifice there.

God, I was hungry.

I stood up, delighted my legs didn't fold. I felt weak, but not sick. Nera's spit-blood soup (ew) worked miracles.

"Connor?" I called out.

"Are you okay?" asked a little girl's voice. The child, maybe seven or eight, skipped across the room and stopped about a foot away. Her blond hair was up in pigtails, her blue eyes fringed with long lashes. She wore a frilly dress the shade of pink cotton candy, little lace-rimmed socks, and black patent-leather shoes.

"Yeah," I said. Okay. I was so not expecting a kid. "Where am I?"

"It's my home." She looked around, her bow-shaped lips puckered into a frown.

"It's not Connor 's?"

She giggled. "No. Why would he live here?"

"Yeah. That's just... silly." I studied her more closely. My demon senses started to tingle, and I realized taking things at face value was unwise. "What are you?"

"You're smart." She twirled and lights sparked all around her. When the spinning sparkles faded, a teenage boy dressed like punk-band reject stood in her place. "And pretty. I can... you know... see why Connor digs you."

His voice was low and sullen, his dark eyes filled with doubt about my intelligence.

"What just happened here?" I asked. Look at me. Not freaking out. Go, Phoebe. I was probably still in shock. Yay, shock. "Seriously. That's freaky."

"If... you know... you saw my true form, you'd go insane." He slowly twirled a finger near his temple.

I absorbed this information. The sparkles appeared again, briefly enveloping the boy with wiggling, shiny beams. A woman dressed in a red cocktail dress and stilettos appeared. She looked like she'd fallen out of the pages of
Glamour
.

"Insane?" I asked. "Really?"

"Happens every time," she said in a whiskey voice. "It's difficult to have a conversation with someone babbling and weeping and tearing out their hair."

"I imagine so."

She nodded. "It's
really
annoying."

"And you know Connor how?"

She tilted her head, considering me. "I'm his sister. Well, his half sister. My name's Jennifer."

I blinked. "Jennifer?"

"The name my father gave me was long and terrible. Demonic names are so... melodramatic," she said in a bored tone. "Connor said I could call myself whatever I wanted. He was the first one to pay me any attention. I mean, other than those who were screaming and losing their minds. Do you know that during one conversation a man's eyes just melted right out of his head?"

I stared at her, horrified.