Crossed (19 page)

It was the way he’d washed my face. Daddy usually does that. Impatient to get back aboveground and deal with Telly, it was hard to keep still. I shifted my weight from knee to knee, but David wouldn’t come apart fast enough. As the last of his face sloughed away, I felt a contact pressing against my presence—another vampire, one I couldn’t get a complete reading on without letting her detect me, too. She felt female, old, and more powerful than me.

“That’s not right.” David’s skull bubbled away like an Alka-Seltzer, the bubbles tickling my fingers as the mass shifted and shrank, hard to hold on to. The only vampire that’s ever felt more powerful than me is Dad. Did I dare reveal myself? The sensation faded before I made up my mind either way. Curious. I’d never hunt Dad. Never! But the idea of hunting a vampire as powerful as Dad . . . ?

Three words: Om. Nom. Nom.

David’s remains drifted away. I watched after them, depressed that he was gone, the hunt finished. I felt hungry again, but not for blood. For the thrill of the hunt. I breathed slowly in and out, because it’s something Dad would have done, then climbed out of the sewer to deal with Telly. He was such a nice boy and he worshipped me, but I picked my gun up off the ground and put a bullet in his brain.

I whistled for Fang, my dad’s car—an undead 1964 ½ Mustang convertible. Fang’s paint, candy apple red by night, black by day, didn’t show any reflections under the moonlit sky. He
rolled hungrily out of his parking space, my backup, just in case the mark has friends or is tougher than he seems. Fang rolled over Telly and I laid my head on the ground to watch. I don’t know how Fang does it, but the skin ripped itself off Telly’s body, followed by the muscle, then the organs. They flattened out against Fang’s undercarriage, sinking slowly into the metal. The bones faded too, but I knew Fang hadn’t eaten them and that they’d wind up in the trunk. I listened, cheek still pressed against the grit of the asphalt, waiting until I heard the muffled clatter of bones in Fang’s trunk. It’s nice to give Fang time to enjoy his meal. I lay on my back, the smell of oil and gasoline from the parking lot seeping into my hair, and frowned at the sky. Dark clouds rolled in fast, like a time-lapse video.

“Are you ready?” I reached underneath Fang and ran my fingers along his undercarriage, feeling the row of smiley stickers I’d applied. My hand lingered there against him, a shiver of excitement rolling up my spine complemented by a gentle tightness in each breast as my nipples hardened. It felt like putting my head in a lion’s mouth. Fang crept backward, exposing the undamaged flesh of my arm, as if my excitement made him uncomfortable, and I sat up.

His engine revved and he let his tires squeal, leaving rubber on the asphalt. I liked watching the three-pronged centers of the simulated knockoff hubs spin, and he knew it.

“You
are
ready.” I rounded Fang and the trunk opened. Telly’s bones lay amid the debris, naked and unashamed. A splatter of water hit my arm as the rain began. I slammed the trunk and climbed in Fang’s driver’s side door. Telly’d had pretty pink lungs. I really liked him. I might learn Spanish anyway, in his memory, but I couldn’t let a human come between me and my creator. It’s like that old song that my grandmother used to sing, before she died and I went into foster care. “My Heart Belongs to Daddy.”

    19    

GRETA:

THE NEW DEMON HEART

Rain came down in large heavy drops as I drove too fast through the city streets toward the Demon Heart. Midnight was a little early for me to turn in, but if I stayed out any longer I would kill again and I knew that I’d been doing too much stress eating lately. For the week I’d averaged two or three humans a night, plus one really stupid Vlad. And that doesn’t even count pets, strays, or that lion I ate at the zoo.

My cell said that I had fifteen missed calls and a single voice mail. I thought that I knew what it said, but I checked anyway. Talbot’s low grumble tickled the inside of my ears. “Phillip requests, and I quote, ‘The pleasure of young Greta’s company at her earliest possible convenience upon her return to the Highland Towers.’”

Uncle Phil was older than dirt, crazy powerful, and the only vampire wizard in the world. He owned the cops in Void City and most of the surrounding towns. The dirty cops were bought with greed and the good cops were kept in line with magic. He practically
was
Void City, so ignoring him wasn’t wise, but I couldn’t talk to him that night.

I hurt too much, my skin felt tight, and I was jumpy. Killing helped me focus, but it didn’t last, and snapping at Uncle Phil was not an option. He and Dad had come to an agreement last year when Dad had killed Uncle Roger and the demon Uncle Roger had been in league with. It’s a long story, but the short version is that Uncle Roger tried to kill Dad, steal all his money, and eat his soul. The demon tried to use Dad to get a magic rock, the Stone of Aeternum, from Uncle Phil. Bad career move all the way around. The demon wound up getting eaten by Talbot and Uncle Roger’s soul was trapped in a fisheye marble, which is now on display in Uncle Phil’s apartment. When Uncle Phil’s in a good mood, we play catch. It drives Uncle Roger into wild fits of silent screaming. Pretty funny stuff.

“Can I put the top down?” Even with the “power” convertible top, putting the top up and down on Fang was a pain in the butt before his transformation. Now, he handles it all himself. Fang’s top popped up and back, folding itself away and allowing sheets of cold rain to wash over my skin, each drop stinging as it hit. I laughed at the chill, at the newness of the sensation, and at the lengths to which I was willing to go to try and distract myself from the ache underlying everything now that Dad was so far away. I thought about my cell phone a little too late, the corners of my mouth making a downward turn as the screen died.
What message,
I thought to myself, smiling up into the rain.
I never got any message. My cell phone got rained on.

I turned across from the newly restored Pollux Theater and left Fang in the no-parking area in front of the completely rebuilt Demon Heart. A new version of the same old heart-with-horns Demon Heart sign flashed on the roof, but now the sign beneath it said, “All Nite Bowling” in bright blue neon.

Dad had wanted to build a memorial to Old Mom. He picked a bowling alley. Dad’s a little weird, but vampires are prone to eccentricity.

On the right, near the entrance, a picture of Old Mom as a young woman hung in a locked display case. Below it was a small metal vase containing what we’d been able to find of her body (mostly chunks of bone). A bronze plaque was mounted to the base of the case, dedicating the building to her memory. I resisted the urge to smash the case. Old Mom had slept around on Dad. If I’d known that when she was alive, she wouldn’t have had time to get blown up. New Mom had slept around on Dad too, with Uncle Phil no less, but they worked it out before I had to murder her. She’s so easy to kill, too, for a Vlad.

I pushed open the Demon Heart’s double doors like I owned the place. The scent of junk food assailed my nostrils, my rain-slick blond hair matted to my neck and shoulders, and my soaked white T-shirt, not just wet but blood-stained, did not go unnoticed by our patrons. The only contestant in an unannounced horror-themed wet T-shirt contest, I curled my upper lip and struggled to keep my fangs in. It was a busy night and I wanted to eat all of them, to drain them dry and suck the marrow. Sizzling funnel cakes went into the fryer behind the snack counter; it was too loud.

Gladys smiled at me from behind the counter, but Cheryl’s eyes widened and she shooed me away. Backing out of the Demon Heart, I turned and ran across the street to the Pollux. Fuck Cheryl! With trembling fingers, I typed the security code wrong twice before I got it right and the doors unlocked. I heard Cheryl jogging across the street after me, but I slammed the doors in her face.

The hole in my brain, where Dad’s presence usually was, yawned empty in my mind, my heart, my stomach. I sank to the floor of the foyer and screamed. The emptiness crept further into my belly; my hunger spiked. It was all Dad’s fault. He was too far away and I couldn’t feel him. His absence was physical pain, like some strand of whatever passed for my soul
was stretched from Void City, all the way to Paris. Magbidion and Erin, two of Dad’s thralls, admitted that his absence was uncomfortable, but neither of them felt it as strongly as me.

Talbot walked down the grand stair and looked at me with pity. He’s huge. Not that I’m short. I’m a good six feet tall, but Talbot picked me up and cradled me like a child. Dad had left him behind, too.

“Where’s Rachel?”

Talbot was then taken by my question. “I haven’t seen her. Why?”

“I was thinking I might eat her while Dad’s gone. She’s trouble. And he won’t stay mad long. It’s me.”

“Yeah.” He looked away as he answered. “I’m pretty sure he wants Shenanigans around a little longer.”

My hand started shaking and I clamped it against my side, claws digging into my skin. “But I’m hungry.” There was no blood flowing from the wounds.

“He’s either got to come back or you have to go to him, Greta,” Talbot rumbled. “Either that or . . .”

“I’m not making a thrall!” I roared. Bloody spittle landed on Talbot’s cheeks, but he barely registered it. Having blood replace all of your bodily fluids is one of the many indignities that accompany vampiric immortality. Cheryl walked back to the Demon Heart, but she stood in the doorway, eyes drilling a hole in the back of my head right through the glass of the foyer. She means well, but she’s not my mom.

I turned into a bat, my clothes falling through Talbot’s arms to the floor as I flapped angrily toward her. Lucky for her Talbot is so fast. He snatched me out of the air, held me down like a wounded sparrow. My furry reddish-brown bat skin pulled smooth and taut when I changed back into a human. Talbot straddled my naked body. His heat was too much. It makes Dad horny, closeness like that. I’m not Dad. I get hungry. My fangs sank into Talbot’s forearm.

“Greta, no!” His blood burned. He pushed me away, smoke trailing from my lips. “You’ve been through postmortem stress, Greta. You can’t drink from me anymore.”

“Hunt.” I choked the single word, turning to leave, but he grabbed me again and then Cheryl’s wrist was in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could, worrying her flesh as I felt the bones crack. She screamed and Talbot hit me in the back of the head. Once. Twice. Three times. And then I let her go. She didn’t run, she was too well trained for that, but her immediate departure took the form of a very rapid walk.

Talbot shifted his hold into a full nelson.

“Let. Go.” My mouth was burned and speech was agony. It wasn’t healing either. I could feel it not healing, the pain that should have faded and didn’t, just like a wound inflicted by a cross.

“If you don’t get control of yourself, Phillip is going to put you in storage until Eric gets back,” Talbot warned me. “We’ve got to do something, Greta. Even you know it’s getting out of hand. He hasn’t been gone very long and you’re already—”

Extending my claws, I raked his sides, but he didn’t let go. “He told me to stay here and watch things. Dad put me in charge. Not you, Talbot! Not Magbidion or Cheryl! Me! If I want to kill everybody, then I get to kill everybody! I’m the boss! Me!”

“At least go talk to Phillip.” Talbot’s breath was hot against my skin. “Maybe he has some kind of magic—”

“Fuck Uncle Phil!” I bellowed. Tears of blood flowed down my cheeks, and I raked his sides again in frustration. Then I felt Phillip. He moved into range with such incredible alacrity that I had barely processed what I was sensing before he was standing right next to me.

“
Buona sera,
my dear,” Uncle Phil said lightly in what I thought might be Italian. The diminutive chubby man was balding, but something in his bearing made spines snap to
attention in his presence. Talbot let me go and I reached for my underwear, surprised when Phillip had the manners to avert his gaze. “Talk of the Devil and he is presently at your elbow, yes?” he quoted. Still pleasant on the surface, his voice contained depths of meaning for vampiric ears. Uncle Phil was playing nice, but he was pissed.