Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (31 page)

Watching her.

With a sudden void in her stomach that threatened her
zanshin
, Rashel realized that it was too dark. Too
familiar
. They were sitting here together in silence, so close, visible to each other only in silhouette, just as they had in the cellar. She could almost
feel
Quinn's confusion as he tried to figure out what was bothering him.

And Rashel was afraid to say anything, afraid that her chirpiest voice wouldn't be a good-enough disguise. The horrible feeling of connection was mounting, like some giant green wave looming over them both. In a moment it would break, and Quinn would say, “I know you,” and switch on the light to see the face without the veil.

Rashel's fingers edged toward her knife.

Then, through the electric buzzing in her ears, she heard Daphne say, “You know, I just love this car. I bet it goes really fast, too. This is all so exciting—I'm just so glad I
got
here this time. Not like last week.”

She went on, blathering easily, while Rashel sank back light-headed with relief. The connection was broken; Quinn was now looking at his instrument panel as if trying to escape the chatter. And now Daphne was talking about how exciting it was to ride in the dark.

Smart, smart girl.

Quinn had to interrupt her to say, “So, you two girls want to surrender to the darkness?” He said it as if he were asking if they wanted to order pizza.

“Yes,” Rashel said.

“Oh, yes,” Daphne said. “It's just like we always say. I think that would be just the most seriously cool—”

Quinn made a gesture at her as if to say, “For God's sake, shut up.” Not a rough gesture. It was more like an exasperated choir director trying to get through to some soprano who wouldn't stop at the end of the measure. Stop
here
.

And Daphne shut up.

Like that.

As if he'd turned off a switch in her. Rashel twisted slightly to look at the backseat and saw that Daphne had slumped to one side, body limp, her breathing peaceful.

Oh, God, Rashel thought. She was used to the kind of mind control other vampires had tried on her. The persuasive, whispery-voice-in-the-head type. And when Quinn hadn't tried to use that, or to call for help in the cellar, she'd assumed he was low on telepathy.

Now she knew the truth. He packed a telepathic punch like a pile driver. No, like a karate blow: swift, precise, and deadly.

He turned to look at her, a dark shape against a lighter darkness. Rashel tried to brace herself.

“And the rest is silence,” Quinn said, and gestured at her.

Rashel fell into a void.

She woke up as she was being carried into the warehouse. She had enough presence of mind not to open her eyes or make any other sign that she was conscious. It was Quinn carrying her; she could tell even with her eyes shut.

When he dumped her on a mattress, she deliberately fell so that her head was turned away from him and her hair was over her face.

She had a moment's fear that he was going to discover the knife in her boot when he shackled her ankles. But he didn't even roll up her pant leg. He seemed to be doing everything as quickly as possible, without really paying attention.

Rashel heard the shackle snap shut. She kept perfectly still.

She lay and listened as he brought Daphne in and chained her. Then she heard voices close by and the sound of other footsteps.

“Put that one down here—what happened to her purse?” That was Lily.

“It's still in the car.” Ivan.

“Okay, bring it in with the other one. I'll do her feet.”

Thump of a body hitting a mattress. Footsteps going away. The metallic clink of chains. Then a sigh from Lily. Rashel could imagine her straightening up and looking around in satisfaction.

“Well, that's it. Ivan's got number twenty-four in the car. I guess we're going to have one very happy client.”

“Joy,” Quinn said flatly.

Twenty-four? One client?

“I'll leave a message that everything's going to be ready for the big day.”

“Do that.”

“You're awfully moody, you know. It's not just me who's noticed it.”

A pause, and Rashel imagined Quinn giving one of his black looks. “I was just thinking it was ironic. I turned down a job as a slave trader once. That was before. Do you remember before, Lily? When we lived in Charlestown and your sister Dove was still alive. A captain from Marblehead asked if I wanted to ship out to Guinea for some human cargo. Black gold, I think he called it. As I remember, I hit him on the nose. And Fight-the-Good-Fight-for-Faith Johnson reported me for brawling.”

“Quinn, what's wrong with you?”

“Just reminiscing about the old days in the sunlight. Of course, you wouldn't know about that, would you? You're
lamia; you were born this way. Technically, I suppose, you were born dead.”

“And technically,
I
suppose, you're going peculiar: My father always said it would happen.”

“Yes, and I wonder what your father would think about all this? His daughter selling humans for money. And to such a client, and for such a reason—”

At that moment, while Rashel was listening desperately, hanging on every word, heavy footsteps interrupted. Ivan had returned. Quinn broke off, and he and Lily remained silent as another body thumped on a bed.

Rashel cursed mentally.
What
client?
What
reason? She'd supposed the girls were being sold as regular house slaves or food supplies. But clearly that wasn't the case.

And then something happened that drove thoughts of the future right out of her mind. She heard footsteps next to her bed, and she was aware of someone leaning close. Not Quinn, the smell was wrong.

Ivan.

A rough hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Another arm slid under her waist, lifting her up.

Panic shot through Rashel, and she tried to push it away. She forced herself to stay limp, eyes shut, arms dangling passively.

I ought to have been prepared for this.

She'd realized from the beginning that playing her part
might include allowing herself to get bitten. To feel vampire teeth on her throat, to allow them to spill her blood.

But it had never happened to her before, and it took every ounce of her will to keep from fighting. She was scared. Her arched throat felt exposed and vulnerable, and she could feel a pulse beating in it wildly.

“What are you doing?”

Quinn's voice was sharp as the crack of glacier ice. Rashel felt Ivan go still.

“I've got something to settle with this girl. She's a smartass.”

“Take your hands off her. Before I knock you through the wall.”

“Quinn—” Lily said.

Quinn's voice was painfully distinct. “Drop her. Now.”

Ivan dropped Rashel.

“He's right,” Lily said coolly. “They're not for you, Ivan, and they have to be in perfect shape.”

Ivan muttered something sullen and Rashel heard footsteps moving away. She lay and listened to her heart slowly calming.

“I'm going to get some sleep,” Quinn said, sounding flat and dull.

“See you Tuesday,” Lily said.

Tuesday, Rashel thought. Great. It's going to be a very long two days.

• • •

They were the most boring two days of her life. She got to know every corner of the small glass-windowed office. The windows were a problem, since she was never absolutely sure if Lily or Ivan were outside one of them, standing in the warehouse proper and looking through. She listened carefully for the warehouse doors, froze instantly at any suspicious sound, and trusted to luck.

Daphne woke up Monday morning. Rashel had her neck twisted sideways and was staring through the office glass up at the one tiny window set high in the warehouse wall. Just as it turned gray with dawn, Daphne sat up and screamed.

“Sh! It's all right! You're here in the warehouse with me.”

“Rashel?”

“Yeah. We made it. And I'm glad you're awake.”

“Are we alone?”

“More or less,” Rashel said. “There are two other girls, but they're both hypnotized. You'll see when it gets lighter.”

Daphne let out her breath. “Wow… we did it. That's great. So how come I'm so completely and utterly terrified?”

“Because you're a smart girl,” Rashel said grimly. “Just wait until Tuesday when they take us out.”

“Take us out where?”

“That's the question.”

The U-Haul whirred across smooth resonant pavement and Rashel tried to guess where they were. She had been drawing a map in her mind, trying to imagine each turn they made, each change of the road underneath them.

Ivan sat slouched, blocking the back doors of the truck. His eyes were small and mean, and they flickered over the girls constantly. In his right hand he held a taser, a handheld electrical stun gun, and Rashel knew he was dying to use it.

But the cargo was being very docile. Daphne was beside Rashel, leaning against her very slightly for comfort, her dark blue eyes fixed vacantly on the far wall. They were shackled together: although both Lily and Ivan had been checking Daphne constantly for signs of waking up, they were clearly taking no chances.

On the opposite side of the truck were the two other girls. One was Juanita, her wavy bronze hair tangled from two days
of lying on it, her bee-stung lips parted, her gaze empty. The second girl was a towhead, with flyaway hair and Bambi eyes staring blankly. Ivan called her Missy.

She was about twelve.

Rashel allowed herself to daydream about things to do to Ivan.

Then she focused. The van was stopping. Ivan jumped up, and a minute later he was opening the back doors. Then he and Lily were unshackling the girls and herding them out, telling them to hurry.

Rashel breathed deeply, grateful for the fresh open air. Salty air. Keeping her gaze aimless and glassy, she looked around. It was twilight and they were on a Charlestown dock.

“Keep moving,” Ivan said, a hand on her shoulder.

Ahead, Rashel saw a sleek thirty-foot power cruiser bobbing gently in a slip. A figure with dark hair was on the deck, doing something with lines. Quinn.

He barely glanced up as Ivan and Lily hustled the girls onto the boat, and he didn't help steady Missy when she almost lost her balance jumping from the dock. His mood had changed again, Rashel realized. He seemed withdrawn, turned inward, brooding.

“Move!” Ivan shoved her, and for an instant, Quinn's attention shifted. He stared at Ivan with eyes like black death, endless and fathomless. He didn't say a word. Ivan's hand dropped from Rashel's back.

Lily led them down a short flight of steps to a cramped but neat little cabin and gestured them to an L-shaped couch behind a dinette table. “Here. Sit down. You two here. You two there.”

Rashel slipped into her seat and stared vacantly across at the sink in the tiny galley.

“You all stay here,” Lily said. “Don't move. Stay.”

She would have made a great slave overseer, Rashel thought. Or dog trainer.

When Lily had disappeared up the stairs and the door above had banged shut, Rashel and Daphne simultaneously let out their breath.

“You doing okay?” Rashel whispered.

“Yeah. A little shaky. Where d'you think we're going?”

Rashel just shook her head. Nobody knew where the vampire enclaves were. An idea was beginning to form in her mind, though. There must be a reason they were traveling by boat—it would have been safer and easier to keep the prisoners in the U-Haul. Unless they were going to a place you couldn't get to by U-Haul.

An island. Why shouldn't some of the enclaves be on islands? There were hundreds of them off the eastern coast.

It was a very unsettling thought.

On an island they would be completely isolated. Nowhere to escape to if things got bad. No possible hope of help from outside.

Rashel was beginning to regret that she'd brought Daphne into this. And she had the ominous feeling that when they got to their destination, she was going to regret it even more.

The boat sliced cleanly through the water, heading into darkness. Behind Quinn was the skyline of Boston, the city lights showing where the ocean ended and the land began. But ahead there was no horizon, no difference between sky and sea. There was only formless, endless void.

The inky blackness was dotted with an occasional solitary winking light—herring boats. They only seemed to make the vastness of empty water more lonely.

Quinn ignored Lily and Ivan. He was not in a good mood.

He let the cold air soak into him, permeating his body, mixing with the cold he felt inside. He imagined himself freezing solid—a rather pleasant thought.

Just get to the enclave, he thought emptily. Get it over with.

This last batch of girls had upset him. He didn't know why, and he didn't want to think about it. They were vermin. All of them. Even the dark-haired one who was so lovely that it was almost too bad she was certifiably insane. The little blond one was crazy, too. The one who, having had the luck to fall out of the frying pan once, had come right back, coated herself with butter and breadcrumbs, and jumped in again.

Idiot. Someone like that deserved…

Quinn's thought broke off. Somewhere deep inside him was a little voice saying that no one, however idiotic, deserved what was going to happen to those girls.

You're the idiot. Just get them to the enclave and then you can forget all this.

The enclave… it was Hunter Redfern who had first thought of enclaves on islands. Because of Dove, he'd said.

“We need a place where the Redferns can live safely, without looking over their shoulders for humans with stakes. An island would do.”

Quinn hadn't objected to the classification of himself as a Redfern—although he had no intention of marrying Garnet or Lily. Instead he said, practically, “Fishermen visit those islands all the time. Humans are settling them. We'd have company soon.”