Endless Night (19 page)

“Son of a cock sucking whore. Where the fuck is it?” I yelled into the stale air that filled my lonely room.

I jumped at the sensation of a soft touch between my shoulder blades. “Let me get that,” a much calmer Cyrus spoke from behind me. He’d snuck in the door during my groaning.

I let him help me out of sheer frustration, but honestly did not want him touching me. Really.

A slight popping sound and instant relief. I’d never felt something so divine. Better than sex in fact. A corset coming undone from being bound so tightly around ones thick midsection
was one for the ages. The fact that my boobs were in their natural habitat again was so freeing I craved more. I wanted my sweats and oversized socks to go with the hanging titties. I let out a heavy sigh of relief and realized I was not alone. Instinctively, I grabbed my chest, folding both arms across. My corset slid down my waist and over my hips leaving my top half-naked.

I felt Cyrus’s stare on my bare back and wanted nothing more than to put a shirt on. “Uh, thanks. I thought I’d never get that fucking thing off,” a nervous chuckle spewed out and I kept my back to him.

“You’re welcome,” his voice sounded funny, like he’d been running and was out of breath. “I…I’m sorry.” His hand laid flat in the center of my back and stayed there. The heat emanating from his palm was oddly calming.

I bet he gives killer m
assages. Shut up, inner–Dylan. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Well, yeah, I’d like to get dressed
.” I dropped my head a bit and listened for his footsteps.

After a few moments, he turned from me and headed out the way he came in.

“Hey,” I called to him. Turning only partially, to meet his eyes, I asked, “Do I have a way home tonight?”

Cyrus dropped his eyes to the floor when he turned from the doorway and saw I was half-turned in his direction. “Yes, I’ve made a call. There is no time to check your luggage. I’m sorry. Can you bring only your carry on and I will make sure your other bags are brought to you tomorrow?”

I hated to leave anything behind, but I’d rather my left belongings were clothes and shoes and not my goddamned head. I nodded softly in his direction to let him know this was alright by me and turned away from him again. “Can you explain everything to Tatum for me?” If she gave two shits that was.

“Of course. I’ll wait for you in the foyer.” He shut the door gingerly as he left me alone in my room.

I stood quietly, half-naked and alone in my room. My eyes caught a glimpse of the mirror that should be a window. I couldn’t pack my shit fast enough. Grabbing only the essentials, I shoved a straightener, makeup bag, shampoo, and as many clothes as I could fit in the shoulder bag I’d brought as a carry on. I hadn’t even put my shirt on yet. Boobies flying everywhere, I tossed my important shit in my bag and packed my suitcase with the rest. I didn’t want to rely on anyone else to take care of that. Strapping into a bra, I stripped the rest of my getup off and threw on my yoga pants and Optimus Prime t-shirt, pulled on my Converse, and called it a fucking day. Voodoo bitches, fucked up vampire basement shit, crazy Cyrus, I had enough. I was done.

I was halfway out the door when something made me turn around. I
didn’t know what you’d call it, intuition maybe, I didn’t know. I knew there was something in my head that I should listen to far more often, and this time I did. I pulled my phone from my bag and went back into the trashed room for one last thing. The camera on my phone wasn’t the best, but I used the video camera to capture the frame of the mirror that should be a window. I’d never be able to describe it properly and I never wanted to forget that image. Someone, at some point, when all this crap blew over, would be able to tell me what the hell it was.

My soft
-soled shoes made no noise as I tromped along the carpeted third floor. It felt wrong to leave my things behind and the room a disaster. Oh hell, fuck the room; I didn’t want to lose out on a quarter of my wardrobe running away from my problems. Granted, those problems caused seriously gory hallucinations and threatened my life; there’s was no shame in running away from imminent danger.

I trotted down the first staircase and along the second floor landing. I could see Cyrus over the edge of the railing waiting patiently at the foot of the last staircase. He’d lost the hat and coat, but still boasted a snazzy pair of black suspenders and starched white shirt. He’d turned lights on in the foyer and both front doors sat open wide. I wondered if he’d ever shut them to begin with or if he was just that anxious to get rid of me.

I was at the top of the stairs when I caught her image in the open doorway. Dried blood caked her creamy skin, but she seemed undeterred by the injuries she’d sustained at my hand. At first, I thought she was a vision, a nightmare like those of the headless girls. I blinked my eyes tight and opened them to find Madam Azelie still standing in the doorway. I shook my head and tried to shake off the vision, praying she would just poof into smoke like the others. Nothing changed. The tiny woman stood in the doorway and stared at Cyrus. No one was speaking and I wondered if Cyrus saw her too. I thought for a second about throwing something at her to see if she dissipated like the others, but decided against it. My luck I’d miss and break something or hit my target and piss her off even more.

As I watched the scene unfold below, I noticed Cyrus wasn’t moving. Not at all. Most humans move eventually, even just a little. It was nearly impossible to hold completely still for any length of time. Try it sometime. She hadn’t seen me yet, she was too focused on the vampire boy a few feet from her. I wished I knew where things were located in this massive house. Like a back entrance for example. I wished I had a plan, even a halfcocked plan, at this point. I wished I had my gun.

I looked around, frantically trying to find anything to inspire some amazing feat of heroism. The second floor held nothing but a tiny wooden table with a lovely vase and flowers on it. Not exactly what I had in mind. Another check on Cyrus let me know he was stuck in the world’s longest staring contest but apparently unscathed. For now.

As quietly as I absolutely could, I crept along the landing,
past the head of the stairs, and into the hallway I’d yet to step foot in. I was hidden from view but had to figure something out fast because something in my gut told me the freak show downstairs was just about to come to a head and explode all over the slick wooden floor. Not a literal Scanners-explode, but you got the idea. Something had to give.

The hall was short, only three doors in all and nothing but a few miscellaneous paintings along the walls. Hoping to God everyone was away at the ball, I tried the knobs. Knob number one, locked up tight. Knob number two clicked over and swung freely to the wall. I flipped the switch and vanity lighting illuminated a maroon bathroom complete with a claw foot tub. I shut the door behind me and searched each drawer and cabinet for some kind of weapon should it come to that. I knew it would. It always
came to
that
. I tried so hard to be quiet, but the longer it took to drudge up a plan, the more frantic I became. The longer it took me to figure out how I’d get out of the house, the more I yearned to go home. To leave this mess and that crazy bitch behind me. At least, until she infiltrated my dreams again.

“Fuck,” I groaned with my hands on my hips, frustrated at the lack of deadly weapons the bathroom held.

Moving onto the third knob, I listened for any tell that the situation had changed downstairs. Nothing. Not one sound. Something was amiss on the first floor of the House of Porte and I for one did not give one furry turd what it was. Unless, of course, it changed my current situation of being alive.

The knob was stuck tight. Apparently
, vampire folk weren’t all that trusting of others.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered through a hurried breath.

My hands flew up to my head and held there; fingers laced cradling it in frustration. My heart thumped faster at the thought of having to confront evil incarnate. I closed my eyes and let my hands fall to my knees as I bent at the waist. Breathing through the fear, my thoughts ran rapid through my head. There was no other choice but to go down those stairs. No windows to escape through. No service entrance. No heavy armory.

I pulled air into my lungs and shoved it out over and over again psyching myself up. I stood and bounced on my toes like a boxer before a fight. My overly packed bag slung over my shoulder bounced with me. The feel of the weight on one shoulder reminded me of the night I’d worn it to Midnights Dream. The night that
would go down in infamy as the night I killed two boys and started a war between a New Orleans voodoo priestess and Dylan Hart. The night it cradled my gun nicely within its canvas shell. Unfortunately for me, it was not serving that particular purpose this time around. Maybe it was lucky. My lucky bag. I’d never thought of it as a lucky bag before, but this could be the night it proved itself worthy of that title.

Limbered up and as ready as I’d ever be, I tiptoed toward the head of the stairs. Sticking to the wall nearest the stairs, I slid my body along the expensive wallpaper toward my target. At the corner, I stopped and calmed myself.

In a moment
, I told myself in my head,
you’re going to come face to face with a tiny girl who wants to take your head clean off your shoulders. It’d be best not to let that happened.
I gave myself an encouraging nod and poked my head around the corner to check the situation.

Blood caked buttery skin met me in the middle. Instinctively, my body flung backward away from the threat. Thick dreads surrounded the tiny body and hung nearly
past her ass in thickly matted strips. I was still on my feet but got the distinct impression that wouldn’t last long. At some point, the woman had ditched Cyrus and moved on to find her true prize. Me.

Cyrus was somewhere in the house, maybe dead, I
didn’t know, but he wasn’t sneaking up behind her with a heavy object to bonk her on the head with, so it really didn’t matter at that point. I was, for obvious reasons, more concerned with keeping my frizzy little head planted firmly on its shoulders.

The tiny woman moved
closer me, backing me more and more into the wall at my back. Soon I’d be left with nowhere to go and nothing to do but succumb to the inevitable.

“What do you want from me?” my voice came out shaky and obviously scared. Not a good sign.

“You? Penance.”

Oh, that’s all?

“I’m sorry I ruined your blood collection, but I was trying to stay alive, you have to respect that, right?” I chuckled trying to keep the moment light. Yeah, right.

“Nothing for you but to suffer.”

“So, you’re not planning on lopping my head off?” I asked, hoping the surprise I felt was warranted.

“You, my
darlin’, will pay penance for your actions. Not die, live…cursed.” Her bloody face gave no hint as to her true intentions.

That didn’t sound too bad. Better than dying I
thought. “Don’t you have to believe in that shit for it to have an effect? I don’t believe so have at it with the cursing.” Childishly, I folded my arms across my chest and planted my foot to one side. Bitch stance, executed.

“Aye, you believe, you believe ‘cause you must. ‘Cause you seek truth.”

“Fuck me. For God’s sake can you people please stop speaking in riddles! It’s not fun, it’s not fancy, it’s annoying and I’d like you to stop, please.” I changed my mind; I didn’t care if she took my head off.

“Listen, child, ‘dis what you need know…” her tiny body slithered toward me but I had nowhere left to go. The little bitch had backed me into a corner. Literally. “By heart, put ‘dis to work,” her hand lifted, rosary still wrapped firmly around it, and she blew a puff of dust into my face with force. “By soul, take ‘dis mind,” she swiped her hand across my face and smeared it with oily goo leaving it slick and filthy.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” I might be smashed, chin tucked to my chest, and my back against a wall, but that didn’t mean I wanted shit smeared all over my face. Using both hands, all my force and the biggest set of balls I could muster, I shoved the little woman away from me. Her tiny body stumbled backward and slammed into the floor. Using the back of my hand, I wiped at the crap she’d smeared down my face. “Go fuck yourself,” I hissed down at her frail looking body sitting upright on the carpeted floor.

Laughter built in her throat and spilled from her lips, tickling the hairs on my neck causing them to stand on end. “I believe you are the one who’s
fucked
,” she cackled and giggled as she rose from the floor. Her little finger came up and pointed to the center of my chest. Her voice came again, this time much deeper and in a language I didn’t understand. Her lips moved quickly, quicker than the words that spewed from her mouth. It looked like a horribly dubbed foreign film. But scary. Really, pretty fucking scary.

A tingling started between my boobs and spread slowly outward. After a few moments, it didn’t tingle so much as burn. No, blister. Scorch. Fucking hurt like hell. A guttural scream came from somewhere in me and I bent over in pain. The tiny finger pointing at me, the odd voice coming from the little scary girl, nothing compared to the fear I felt as my heartbeat stopped. I coughed and sputtered
, and tried to will it to start again, but nothing helped. Seconds felt like hours when you felt your source of life cease to function. My knees collapsed and my heavy body hit the floor with a thud. My mouth gaped and tried to suck in air and I felt a little like a fish out of water. A guppy to be exact. Suffering was not a strong enough word to describe what the little bitch was doing to me. She wanted penance, retribution for my actions, and she was taking her pound of flesh straight through my chest cavity.