Dead Over Heels (6 page)

“Actually, we couldn’t catch her. Quick little minx. Jessica thinks she lives here and knows all the alleys and warrens, like a little rabbit. And pretty!”

“Pretty?” he asked doubtfully. (Sinclair wasn’t a fan of kids, and barely tolerated BabyJon, my ward and half-brother.)

“Oh my God, you’ve never seen a prettier kid. She’s practically got ‘bite me’ written on her forehead. So after we couldn’t find her, Nick and Jess stayed outside, just in case.” I hung my shirt on the shoe in the wall, kicked off my pumps, and stepped out of my shorts. I started to wriggle out of my bra when Sinclair held up a hand; I knew what that meant.

So I walked to the bed and let him gently remove my bra and panties, let him pull me down to him. Then I bit him, hard, on the throat and he bucked beneath me in surprise and pleasure. His cool blood trickled into my mouth like dark wine (irony: I hate wine) and my head started to swim almost immediately.

I could feel his dick pressing against my stomach, almost jerking like a live thing, and he was still spasming beneath me, so I broke off and licked his blood from my teeth.

“How about
that
?”

In response he rolled me over, pounced on me, and bit me right on the jugular. Now I was the one writhing in pleasure—there was something about being taken, something that was just as fine as doing the taking—I don’t know, I can’t really describe it.

Then he plunged into me and I shrieked at the ceiling, shrieked and clawed at his back while he drank and thrust, while he filled me up and I filled him up, and I had time for a scant thought

and then my orgasm was roaring through me like a freight train, and it was times like that that I wondered why I ever bitched about being a vampire.

Sinclair shuddered above me and broke off, and I licked the bite on his neck.

“Cell phone?” he panted.

“Told . . . Jess and Nick . . . to call if . . . they ran into trouble.”

He grinned down at me and I stroked his broad back, where my scratch marks were already healing. “Then it’s a very good thing they didn’t—”

My cell phone rang.

T
wo blks S, hurry!!!!!!!” Jess had texted, and hurry we did. Instead of dressing, we grabbed hotel robes. Instead of messing with the stairs, we broke the window and jumped out.

I managed to keep my feet, but felt the shock of the landing all the way up to my hips. Never mind. The blond kid was in trouble—or dead. I just knew it.

We got there in just a few seconds and I nearly skidded in the blood, which was as awful as it sounds, especially in bare feet.

“Oh
no
!”

“Fuck,” Sinclair muttered, which was very unlike him. I was the potty mouth in the Sinclair family. But the situation certainly warranted it.

Except . . . it wasn’t her. It was a different girl, slightly older, wearing filthy clothes and with dirty hands. Her skin wasn’t quite as dark as Jessica’s, and already going dusky with death.

A homeless child? A runaway? Whoever she had been, she’d crossed paths with the wrong man—or woman—and wouldn’t ever have to worry about finding a place to stay again.

“Where is everybody?” I asked, kneeling beside the child.

“We’re the first ones on scene. I’ve called 911.”

“You guys didn’t see anything?”

“We didn’t even hear anything,” Jessica said, sounding very strained. “We just rounded the corner and there she was.”

“Oh, the poor poor thing. Look! I count at least three bite marks, the fucking greedy bastard.”

“Five,” Sinclair said distantly.

“
We don’t have to kill
! We only have to take half a pint or so, God
damn
it!”

“Yes, that’s been my experience,” Nick said quietly.

I turned on him and snarled, “Yes, fucking A right, Nick, you’re alive, aren’t you? You’re walking around allowed to be a perfect asshole,
aren’t you
? But this poor kid—this . . .” I stretched out a trembling hand, wanting to touch her, stroke her face, maybe pull her into my arms. Too late, all too late.

Nick seized my wrist. “Betsy, don’t! This is a crime scene. Anything you do—change—won’t help the cops and it won’t help her. Just—don’t, okay?”

“Let go of my wrist,” I said tonelessly, and he did.

In the background, sirens.

“There’s nothing we can do except incriminate ourselves,” Sinclair said quietly. “It’s time to go. Nick can handle the cops.”

He took my hand to help me up and I yanked it out of his grip.

“And we were busy fucking while this kid was getting bled like a pig,” I hissed at him. “Don’t touch me.”

I walked out of the alley, alone.

J
essica caught up with me. “You’re not mad at them, you know. You’re mad at the creature doing this under your nose.”

“Go away.”

“Oh, you can just shitcan the attitude, Miss Thang!
I
didn’t kill her. In fact, you and your boy-toy wouldn’t even know about her if I hadn’t told you. So spare me the ’tude.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? She was right.

“We’ll get him, Betsy. We won’t leave New York until he’s in flames or bristling with so many stakes he looks like a hedgehog.”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. Quite the mental image!

“There now, that’s better.” She tucked a hand under my elbow. “And can you slow down? We’re not all six feet tall, y’know?”

“I know, how do you stand it? Is it like being a bug? Or is it more like, you know, being an inanimate object? With no real clue what it’s like to not be a midget?”

“Shut up, Miss Thang,” she ordered, but naturally I disobeyed.

“You don’t even—hey!” I stopped, which jerked Jessica to a stop. Sitting on the hotel lobby steps was the girl we’d seen earlier. Thank God! “Hey, you! We’ve been looking for you!”

“Try to sound a little more menacing, why don’t you?” Jess muttered.

The gorgeous child pointed at me. “I know you! We were playing tag earlier!”

“Uh, not exactly. Listen, where are your folks? This is so not a place for a little kid to be by herself, okay?”

“I’m
not
a little kid.”

“Right, whatever, where are they?”

“They’re dead.”

Jessica and I traded glances. That explained why the kid was up at practically midnight.

“But what are you doing here?”

“I live here.” She had a high, sweet voice. “The staff takes care of me.”

“Uh . . . about the staff . . . I’ve got some news you’re not going to like, but you can’t stay here another night. Another minute. Y’see—”

“The hotel is run by vampires?”

Jessica and I looked at each other again.

“Well, yes,” Jessica answered. “You, um, knew that?”

“Sure.” The child idly examined her nails, which were brutally short—probably because she bit them. “Vampires killed my folks, and the staff felt bad, so they took me in.”

“But what about school?”

“Tutors.”

“What about a proper bedtime?”

“I sleep during the day, like my guardians.”

“But-but . . .” There were things wrong with this scenario, right? Then why couldn’t I think of any?

“But don’t you want a normal life?” Jessica asked. “I bet a looker like you would get adopted in about five seconds.”

“And go live in the suburbs and attend public school and do chores for an allowance and fight with siblings?” The child rolled her eyes. “When I’m living in the greatest city in the world, with no bedtime, brilliant tutors, and thirty parents who watch out for me? Not to mention twenty-four-hour room service?”

“You’ve got us there,” I admitted. “What’s your name?”

“Bernadette, but everybody calls me Bernie.”

“Well, Bernie, I guess I’m one of your guardians now, too. See, I’m the vampire queen.”

Bernie blinked, then started to laugh. She actually rolled around on the steps, she was laughing so hard.

“It’s not that ludicrous,” I mumbled.

“It really kind of is,” Jessica whispered back.

“You! Oh! Oh, not you! It’s not you!
You’re
not the queen!”

I stomped my bare foot and realized anew I was wearing nothing but a hotel robe. “I am, too!”

“What is going on here?” Sinclair said, startling me badly. I’d never heard him come up behind me.

“Hey, it’s her!” Nick said happily, coming up on Jessica’s left. “And she’s okay!”

“Who is ‘her’?” Sinclair asked icily. I guess he was still pissed about the tantrum I’d thrown in the alley. Well, I’d make it up to him later.

“This is Bernie, the kid I was telling you about. But she’s safe!”

“That,” Sinclair said, “is no child.”

Bernie abruptly quit laughing. “Now him,” she said to me, smiling prettily, “he’s the king, yes. I can believe that. They told me you were young, but there is no way in hell
you
killed Nostro and Marjorie. You spent the evening shoe shopping!” She looked at Jessica. “And it’s not you, either. You’re just a human. So where is she? Where’s the
real
queen?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You’re making a fatal mistake, Bernie, and you won’t be the first to underestimate The One.”

The kid scowled. “Oh, hush up, Vampire King. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your greed—and your bite marks—gave you away,” Sinclair informed the kid. “Too narrow for an adult vampire.”

I whirled on him. “You
knew
a kid was doing this?”

“I suspected. The second victim confirmed it. Really, Bernie.
Five
bites? It’s a wonder you haven’t been caught before.”

“The staff,” Jessica rasped, then cleared her throat. “The staff protects her.”

Bernie stood, so quickly it was like she teleported to her feet. “The staff fears me,” she said, “as should you. Now get out of my hotel.”

And with that, she turned and bounded up the steps into the Grange Hotel.

We all stared at each other, and then I broke the silence with an unoriginal, but heartfelt, “Get that little bitch!”

And up the steps we went.

W
e chased her through the lobby and across the lounge, around tables like a crazy game of tag. Which I’m betting Bernie thought this was. The staff and guests stared at us, or ignored us—I guess the true (human) New Yorkers were the ones who were ignoring us.

“Help me!” Bernie shrieked as we closed the distance (we had adult legs, after all). “They’re going to kill me!”

I didn’t dare look back to see if anyone was coming to the rescue; Bernie had proved before that she could disappear like a rabbit in a hat. I had no intention of taking my gaze off her.

Then, in a case of truly awful timing, the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and a family of four stepped out. W
ho the hell goes sightseeing at midnight?
Quick as thought, Bernie snatched the toddler right out of his stroller, holding him up by his neck. The parents didn’t even have time to scream before the doors slid closed and she was gone.

“Text me!” I yelled as Sinclair shoved the stairwell door open and started pounding up the stairs. I followed him, fishing out my phone.

“8888888888888888888888!” Jess texted.

“That’s our floor,” I muttered. What with the window fixers and the crazy vampires, it was gonna get mighty crowded up there. “What the—eighth floor!” I called up to my husband, who was already a flight ahead of me. I heard the door slam open again and knew Nick was doing his best to back us up, though he was four floors away.

In a few more seconds, we were in our hallway and Bernie was holding the squalling toddler and kicking at our door. “Let me
in
, you idiot!” she was screaming, while the kid wailed and wriggled.

Sinclair wrenched a lamp fixture off the wall and flung it straight at Bernie’s head. It landed dead on; she shrieked, clutched her head, and forgot all about the kid, who she dropped.

I ran as fast as I could, slid on my knees the last couple of feet (argh, rug burn!), and
just
caught him before he hit the carpet. I knew the room next to us was unoccupied—at least, I’d never heard anyone in there the entire time we’d been at the Grange—so I bounded to my feet, kicked that door open, tossed the kid into the middle of the king-sized bed, and shut the door with one hand while texting Jess, “Kid in 810 SAFE!”

I emerged just in time to get knocked sprawling as Bernie and Sinclair fought. She was on him like a cat, clawing and biting and shrieking, and he was slamming his back against the wall, trying to shake her loose.

“Oh no you
don’t
!” I yelled, and seized two handfuls of her gorgeous hair. Then I yanked. Hard.

She yowled (I just couldn’t get the cat metaphors out of my head) and twisted with frightening speed and agility, and then her little hands were around my throat and I jerked my head back just in time to avoid her slashing fangs. God, she was fast! Those kids never had a chance. Frankly, the outcome of this fight was in doubt, and I was three feet taller.

I wrenched her hands off and threw her—hard—into the wall. Plaster cracked and dust fell everywhere. Nobody was breathing, so nobody cared.

She sprang at me again, and again I batted her away like a fly—barely. And still she came at me, so this time I hit her with a closed fist. I could feel the bones in her face break, and still she wouldn’t quit.

Meanwhile, I could hear Sinclair frantically searching rooms—I was betting for a wooden chair leg.

“Bernie, just
stop
!” Wincing—I couldn’t believe I was beating up a child—I hit her again. This time her nose broke, and black blood trickled down to her lips.