Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (23 page)

“We’ll get to that shortly.”

He nudged me toward a black Lincoln waiting on the street. I took the smallest steps possible. If I got inside the car, it was game over.

Rule number one that all girls must learn. If you’re told to lie down on the floor during a robbery or to step inside a waiting car during a kidnapping, you’re not doing yourself any favors by cooperating. You’re essentially handing the bastards a loaded gun and giving them express permission to shoot you in the head.

He opened the door, and I tried to bolt, twisting around and lunging to the side.

“I warned you.”

A pained gasp caught in my throat as an explosive burning shot through my spine and radiated through my entire body. Hands directed my tumbling form forward, into the waiting seat. My arms drew into my sides in involuntary jerks, and I passed out.

I came to with an aching head and weak body. My neck protested when I forced my chin off my chest. Fresh oxygen rushed to the muscles and they roared to life, stinging and tingling. I tried to bring my hand around to rub the ache, but my arms were trapped behind me. I opened my eyes, and waited for them grow accustomed to the darkened space.

My heart lodged in my throat. I knew this place. I had been inside Jacob’s and Baxter’s bodies on that hard concrete floor. A large white circle was painted on the pot marked concrete, a six-pointed star drawn in the middle. The hexagon center had little metal hooks buried deep into the ground, connected to thin silver chains. The surface was stained, the brownish black coloring expanding and flaring out from one area in particular.

A surge of despair welled into panic. I threw my weight forward, trying to propel myself, but the chair I was tied to was hard and immobile. My struggling only caused the rope around my wrists to cut into skin. I pushed up with my feet in an attempt to stand. When that failed, I tried to rock from side to side.

Pressing my head against my shoulder, I glanced down. The damned thing was bolted securely to the floor. I tensed my shoulders, twisting the ropes around my hands, ignoring the pain as the rope bit into skin.

The door opened and I froze, listening as the hinges creaked. I always said working for Disco was accepting the lesser of two evils and I would probably get killed. I was about to find out if my premonition was bound to meet fruition.

Timothy Gilstead didn’t have the same flair now that I knew he was a sociopathic asshole. His grey eyes flickered over to me and he smiled, shaking his head. The son of a bitch looked at me as if I was an honored guest. He closed the door and ambled over.

“Mrs. Hamlin, or should I use your real name?” He smiled as he stopped directly in front of me and crossed his arms. His baby blue dress shirt pouching where the starch was extra thick.

“That depends,” I answered in an agreeable tone, smiling deceptively. “Can I call you a despicable murdering asshole?”

I didn’t take him for the kind of man to hit a woman, but he gave me a nice ear-ringing slap across the face. The burn was intense, and I knew the blow would leave one hell of a mark. I opened my mouth, rotating my jaw in the socket.

“I thought attending NYU would have made you smarter somehow.” He was breathing heavy, still angry. “I suppose no amount of quality education can buy common sense. Perhaps you need a little incentive to keep that lovely mouth shut.”

His sudden movement regained my attention. He strode to the door and opened it, whispering to someone outside. I pressed the smarting side of face along my sweater, attempting to soothe the sting. If I made it out of here, I knew the first thing I was going to do. I was going to track Timothy down and kick his pearly white teeth down his God damned throat.

Footsteps approached, and I watched him return. Someone else followed and I nearly gave myself away, attempting to hide the automatic response that comes with recognition. Big boy vampire, Paul, stepped into the room. He seemed as docile as a puppy—frighteningly different from the vampire who was ready to take my head off at the Razor.

The soft squeak of rubber soles against concrete came from the door and a little boy appeared, dressed in a thin, white cotton shirt and black pants. His dark skin was flawless, black hair shortly trimmed. He glanced in my direction and smiled. Big milky-green eyes stared back at me.

Pure fear produced a debilitating adrenaline spike. I could feel what he was, even if my mind refused to accept the fact.

“Lie down,” the boy instructed and Paul obediently sat on the floor and stretched his body out in the center of the circle. He didn’t make a sound when the silver chains were drawn tightly through the hooks, wrapped so tightly about his wrists that they started sinking into his creamy flesh. His hands were secured first, ankles after. Timothy stepped away and the little boy surveyed the work, finding it satisfactory.

“Wake.”

Paul started to hiss and thrash, each movement causing him more pain than before. He whipped his head from side to side, eyes wild and confused. A pitiful sound of agony escaped his lips.

“Shh.” The boy lifted a finger to his lips, and Paul went silent. I watched in disbelief as he thrashed in suffering but didn’t make a peep, muted like a television station.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” Timothy peered over at me.

I couldn’t speak; too humbled, mortified, and just plain scared. The boy didn’t look to be any more than seven or eight-years old, but I could sense the evil in him. He might have died when he was a child, but his true age was something I’d never encountered. The power emanating from him was massive, and I was awestruck.

“Good,” Timothy said smugly. “It seems you realize the dire straits in which you find yourself. Now that we have your attitude under control, I can offer my most sincere apology. We hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to involve anyone other than those necessary this time around, but unfortunately, your Master is one of the most powerful in the area. Kibwe couldn’t pass that up.”

“Your Master has a most unbelievable talent.” Kibwe had the voice of a child, speaking in clear but accented English. He smiled enthusiastically at me, exuding happiness. “The ability to manipulate perception is rare and something I must have for myself.”

The ability to manipulate perception? I grappled with what Timothy said earlier about NYU and easily slid the puzzle pieces together. I didn’t know if it would be to my benefit or detriment to inform him I wasn’t Sonja, and that my master sure as shit wasn’t Joseph.

“What the fuck are you?” Disturbed, I looked him up and down. He appeared to be a little boy. He even sounded like one. But he wasn’t a child, and hadn’t been one in quite some time.

Timothy started forward, arm poised to strike, but Kibwe moved with vampire speed to stand before me. He held his small hand aloft, a sadistic grin spreading across his face that made me wish I could shrivel up and disappear.

“I was once as you are—a kindred conveyor of the dead. A plague assaulted my village, bodies torn apart and drained of blood. I was summoned by the elders to speak to with the spirits about the lingering death that continued to consume us. My maker witnessed this exchange, and was intrigued by my power. He made me into what you see before you.”

I shifted quietly in the chair, back pressed against the wood. His angelic face studied me with rapt attention and inquisitiveness.

“You could see spirits?” I eventually asked.

“Oh, yes.” He grinned, flashing tiny white teeth.

Eyes averted, I spoke softly, wanting answers and trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. “I don’t understand. Why would you kill your own kind? They haven’t done anything to you. Why would you want to hurt them?”

“I must eat of their body and take their power directly into myself. Therefore, death is required.” He shrugged his thin shoulders nonchalantly at my revulsion. “It is necessary. The heart is the organ that sustains life. It generates all of the power we hold within. To devour power is to take it into one’s self.”

“You killed them… so you could take their power?”

Goose and I were way off the scent. He wasn’t using the organs for magic. He was using them to empower himself. God knows how many hidden talents he possessed. He was older than any vampire I’d ever known. I was sure of it. And the way he handled Paul told me his necromancy had crossed the all-powerful threshold; he could control all of the dead, vampires included.

“No.” He shook his head and smiled. “Those that keep me protected also must be given their due. Eating of our flesh can slow the aging process indefinitely, did you know that?”

I shook my head and turned away, swallowing down nausea.

“Drinking from our life’s blood will hinder father time, but only so long as you partake. My people have been loyal to me for centuries. Those vampires taken without talents I deem worthy are a given to my coven as a courtesy.”

I stared at Timothy. He had willingly participated in the murder of innocent people and devoured them like a fucking happy meal.

“You disgust me, you rotten piece of shit.”

At first, he blanched. Then his face turned an angry shade of red.

“Get as mad as you want, Cannibal Lector. You can pretend you’re all high and mighty in front of the masses, but I know the truth, you nasty bastard. I hope you choke on the shit.”

“Let me silence her, Kibwe.” He stepped forward and I met his hate filled glare straight on. “They will come for her, dead or alive.”

“Don’t let her sharp tongue slice you so deeply.” Kibwe shook his head, giving me a chastising look. “The danger of a strong wit is the capacity it carries to unravel. You must control yourself. Her petty words cannot harm you unless you allow them to.”

“Are you the one responsible for the deaths in Los Angeles?” I asked, fear turning to wonderfully delicious anger.

“Such a tragedy that was.” Kibwe shrugged those fragile looking shoulders. “But the girl was too curious for her own good. She should have left well enough alone.”

“And what do I have to do with all of this?” I wriggled my hands, keeping my shoulders still.

“I have taken your master’s right and left hands.” He lifted his tiny fists into the air, pointing at Paul and then me. “He will come for you. They always come for those most important to them. He also wants revenge for the death of his brother. That was how I tasted his talent. The memories his sibling shared gave me everything I needed.”

“What if you’re wrong?” He might look like a child, but he was nothing more than a sick, sadistic, murdering bastard.

“I am never wrong.” His broad smile made me want to vomit. “I’ll show you. Ask me a question—any question.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He frowned, the annoyed expression truly making him resemble an unhappy child. He glared at me, gauging the possibilities of the answer.

Eventually, he answered, “No.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Timothy strode across the room. Kibwe continued to stare at me with uncertainty. That had to be a good sign. If he didn’t have a clue what my future held in store, there had to be hope. The whispered voices were too quiet to distinguish, but I attempted to hear, homing my ears. I continued to work my hands back and forth. The burning was worse. Tiny fiber splinters embedded deeply in the skin, splicing the flesh.

Timothy came back inside and walked over to Kibwe, stopping just short of physically touching him. “They are here. Our people can sense them all around.”

“That is good.” Kibwe turned away from me, and faced Timothy. “I must complete the sacrifice of this new one, and as he has no talents worthy of my notice, I will honor you with the strength of his life.”

“I am most grateful.”

Timothy knelt down and I stifled the gag in my throat.

The vampire child ran his dark hand through Timothy’s hair, whispering something inaudible, treating him as if he were the child. When he stepped back, Timothy stood and turned in my direction.

“Fucking cannibal,” I snarled, but he didn’t react this time. Too happy he’d be chowing down on vampire for dinner.

“What do we do with her?” Timothy asked.

“Let her witness. When I have finished, I will feast on her blood and break her master’s bond. Afterward, we will leave this place. I must hurry. There is little time to spare.” He waved at the door, his delicate fingers moving in a way no child’s would. “Leave us.”

Timothy gave a quick bow and hurried off, speaking to the people waiting outside. I listened to the sounds of footsteps as they faded along what I assumed was a hallway. I started to panic, trying to think of a way to get free. I increased the struggle against the ropes, pushing aside the pain. I didn’t want Disco and his family walking into an ambush. It was bad enough if Joseph was already here.

Kibwe removed his shirt and yanked the thin white cotton over his head. His dark skin was flawless and pristine, his chest concave and stomach distended as only a child’s can be. His tiny fingers grasped the pendant at his neck and he spoke an incantation. He rested his chin on his chest as words carried from his lips, the tenor changing from that of a boy to a man.

Kibwe didn’t shift so much as he changed. His body grew taller. His muscles shimmered underneath the ebony skin. The boy transformed, aging until the man responsible for killing Jacob stood before me.

What the fuck.

“This charm was spun by the most ancient of demon magic. A gift from a witch who served in the hell dimension under Lucifer’s very own familiar.” He allowed the charm to drift from his fingers and down the dark expanse of his chest. He raised his face and, closing his eyes, breathed deeply. “Your blood smells exquisite.” He reopened them and met my terrified stare, his irises glowing amber. “When I have finished my work, I will drink you dry. If you survive the thirst, I will consider bringing you into my fold. Would you like that?”

“You might look like a man, but we both know your dick is nothing more than a Vienna sausage.” I kept working at my hands as I spoke. “I don’t dig pedophilia.”

“You are an amazing creature.” He smiled admiringly, the silky tenor of his voice deep and smooth. “We’ll see if you retain that self-assured nature when I rip apart your throat and drain the life from you.”

I could see the blade shoved into the back of his pants as he passed my chair, its oddly slanted hilt unwelcomingly familiar. The muscles rippled in his shoulders with each step as he stepped over Paul’s squirming form and faced me.