Perdition (8 page)

The doors at the end of the hall were also sliding metal slabs. The bolt on the right-hand door faced us. As before, Rune placed his hand on the door to the left and it opened.

“Why is that bolt on the inside?” I asked.

Rune swept his hand inward, inviting me into the room he’d just opened.

“That door leads to the fire escape outside,” he said with a smile. “Even vampires must adhere to fire codes, it seems.”

When I entered the room, automatic lights illuminated an expansive office. To the right sat a conversation pit area with a chocolate brown leather sofa and four matching club chairs around an oblong coffee table made of an ebony wood. A narrow, marble-topped buffet table sat behind the pit area and in front of another steel sliding panel. This panel, like the other ones, spanned from ceiling to floor and was at least twelve feet wide.

To the left sat a massive desk made of the same dark wood as the coffee table, the grain gleaming deep within the shining surface. Two guest chairs sat in front of the desk, and a high-back, leather chair commanded the area between the desk and the matching credenza behind it. The office exuded masculinity in deep brown, black, leather, and exotic wood tones.

Only one aspect of the office stood out among the rich decor. The entire expanse of wall behind the desk was dedicated to a mural of a beach. I tried to make sense of the beautifully painted picture in the scheme of the room. The scene’s perimeter was dark, which did seem to blend into the colors surrounding it, but the center of it glowed with the blues, oranges, golds, and yellows of a magnificent sunrise. Streaks of light shot from the cresting sun crowding out the twilight. The image was beautiful in its own right, but didn’t quite fit with the somber tones of the room.

Besides, wasn’t the sun lethal to vampires? Wouldn’t a sunrise like this mean certain death to—

One glance at Rune confirmed my gruesome train of thought. The light that shone in his eyes only a moment ago was gone, replaced by a dull matte of pain deeper than anything I had ever experienced in my short but dysfunctional life. He broke eye contact and walked to the desk.

“Damn creepy, huh?” I jumped at Griss’s voice and spun to find him lounged across the sofa. He motioned his head toward the mural.

“It’s like a human having a mural of a plane crash in their living room,” Griss said.

I sucked in a breath. “Plane crash,” I said alarmed. “I just realized, I can’t fly. I’ve never flown. I can’t do it.”

Rune sat at the desk typing on his computer.

“Do not let Griss concern you with his ill-timed and thoughtless comment. Flying is one of the safest ways to travel.”

“No. You don’t get it,” I said. “I can’t drive a regular car because I fry the circuitry. I’ll crash the plane or at a minimum have everyone floating two feet off their seats. And even if I make it there in one piece, I can’t rent a car and have any hope of driving it without it going up in smoke.”

I plopped down in one of the chairs that faced the desk. Rune’s fingers hesitated in their quick movement over the keys.

“What about a sedative? Have you ever taken one?”

“My parents tried medication when I was a child. It would work for a few days, then wear off. No matter how much they increased the dosage.”

“Interesting.” His eyes squinted as he looked me over. “Were you ill much as a child?”

“What? No. I was never ill. What does that have to do with it?”

“It is a possibility,” he said, “that your gift acts as a second immune system or enhances your immune system in some way. It might also work to negate the effects of medication.”

“How can that happen? It’s just energy that’s involved,” I said.

“Remember what I said earlier?” Rune asked. “If you can manipulate energy, there is little you can’t do. Humans can heal themselves of disease by the sheer force of their will. That will manipulates the energy of the host, boosting metabolism and destroying diseases that human medicine cannot.”

“So how does that create my anti-medicine constitution?”

“I believe after enough time, your gift somehow neutralizes whatever invades the body.”

“Okay, so how does that help me get to Montana?”

“You said the medication would work for a few days, correct?” He picked up the telephone receiver on his desk and dialed a number.

“Yes.”

“So we send you with one medication and bring you back with a different one.”

“I can’t fly unconscious.”

“A sedating medication only. Something that will interrupt the nerve impulses, but won’t put you out.”

Someone picked up on the other end of the phone, and Rune had a short conversation in Spanish, then disconnected. He dialed another number, and after a short conversation in what sounded like Russian, he hung up the phone. He pulled out his cell.

“Smile,” he said.

“What?”

He snapped my picture with the phone and pushed more commands like he was sending it to someone.

“What was that?” I asked.

He turned back to the computer and continued to type.

“It’s arranged,” he said. “You will have medication, new identification, credit cards, and a stocked overnight bag within two hours.”

“And let’s just hope your plane isn’t delayed, or you miss a connection,” Griss said.

What an ass
, I thought.

“To say the least,” Rune said.

Tony drove me to John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana for my seven a.m. flight. LAX in Los Angeles was closer, but Rune figured LAX was huge and hectic, and my stress level would be minimized at a smaller airport. The airport may have been smaller, but the security line to be scanned to get to the gates seemed a mile long.

Tony stayed with me, insisting that Rune would know if he didn’t see me to the gate as instructed. He stood next to me like a bodyguard, and he looked the part. He was about six-five with arms the size of hams, picnic roast size not the little puny ones. He looked about forty-ish but there wasn’t a line on his face. If I had to guess, I’d say he had Italian genes with his slightly olive complexion and short-cropped shiny black hair. As bad-ass as he looked, he was quiet and polite, like he had a stern Italian mama somewhere that brought him up to be respectful.

“Honestly, Tony,” I said, “there are only ten more people ahead of me. You can go. I don’t need to be babysat. I won’t have a babysitter when I get to Montana.”

Tony shook his head.

“No ma’am. My instructions were clear. I stay with you till you get checked through the Homeland Security checkpoint.”

“I don’t even know why he’s going to all this trouble,” I said.

Tony looked thoughtfully at me a moment. “I’ve not seen Mr. Rune so animated,” he said. “Ever. In all my years of serving him, this is the most interest I’ve seen him show. In anything or anyone.” Tony pursed his lips together like something was distasteful. “And he chuckles now. Almost laughs. He’s never chuckled.”

I rolled my eyes. “He seems to have a pretty cushy life, and plenty of money. He’s good looking and doesn’t seem to want for anything,” I said.

“And yet, he enjoys none of it,” Tony said. “And spends more and more time staring at that mural behind his desk.”

We shuffled a few more inches forward—me inside the ribbon rope, Tony on the outside. I looked back to him to plead my “really you can leave” case again and was knocked to the floor by a woman in a business suit. She’d been dragging a small Pullman suitcase, reading something on her mobile phone and walking at a clip that my grandmother would have called “so fast her butt must have been on fire.”

She ran into both Tony and I at the same time. Tony and the woman wound up on top of me with my overnight bag tangled up in the woman’s Pullman handles.

“Oh dear,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry.”

She pushed up with one hand on my chest and one hand on my suitcase. If there was anything breakable in my suitcase, it was a mess now. I cringed at the thought of opening the case in Montana and finding a gooey clump of shampoo-clotted underwear.

My energy level ratcheted up a notch despite the sedative I’d taken before I left Rune’s club. The woman helped Tony to his feet then held a hand out to me as I lay sprawled on the floor. I grabbed at her hand but caught hold of her arm instead. She clutched my forearm and pulled me up with such force my feet left the ground.

“Whoa,” I said. “What do you bench press, two fifty?” Her bicep had been like steel.

The woman laughed nervously.

“I’m so sorry.” She lifted my suitcase, dusted it off, and handed it to me. “I got some sort of a shock from you when we touched. It made me misjudge my own strength, I guess.”

Great, I’d supercharged her with just a touch. Good thing she didn’t have a heart condition, or I’d have probably killed her.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I could escort you to the first-aid office if you’re not.”

She touched my arm and an audible snap and spark made her pull back and put her fingers in her mouth. My hair lifted, and I hurried to smooth it. Three of the electronic scanning gates in front of us went off at the same time. Two of them didn’t have anyone in them.

“I’m fine, really,” I told her. “Just fine. You can leave.”
Please leave before I accidentally kill you.

I spoke more harshly than I’d meant to, and the woman stepped back. I hoped I hadn’t said the thing about killing her out loud.

“Well,” she said, brushing her suit off and picking up her things. “Okay then. Sorry again.”

She left without a second look back.

“Great,” I said to Tony. “I’m just a laugh a minute. I think I need another sedative.” I lowered my voice. “Or I’m never going to get through those gates.”

The frazzled security guards had stopped the lines of waiting people and were in the process of resetting the gates.

“If I do that to the security gates, what am I going to do to the plane?” I whispered and pulled Tony to me, careful to touch only his jacket collar. “I’m going to kill whoever is on the plane with me. I don’t think I can do this.”

With two fingers, Tony pulled his jacket from my grip, careful not to touch my hand.

“It’s okay, Ms. Marlee,” he said. “The boss said you could take up to three of those pills at a time, possibly more as time goes by. He said you had a strong constitution.”

I chuffed and pulled the pill bottle from my backpack. It was a legitimate-looking medicine bottle from a national chain pharmacy with my fake name on it. I didn’t even want to think of how he pulled that one off. The directions said to take one pill two times a day. I’d already taken three in the last four hours.

I popped two more of the pills in my mouth and swallowed them dry, gagging only slightly. In the ten minutes it took the security personnel to restart the gates and get the line moving again, I felt calmer, a little giddy, in fact, and hungry for something crunchy.

“I think I’m okay now.” I smiled at Tony. “Too bad these things don’t work on me long term.” I pulled him to me again to whisper, “My little problem wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

He smiled at me uncertainly again pulling his jacket from my grip.

Eventually, the line turned, and since he was on the outside of the ribbon, he couldn’t go any farther.

“Will you be okay?”

“Just peachy,” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

CHAPTER SIX

T
IBBY
F
ROM
N
OWHERE

Fortunately for me and all the passengers and crew aboard the aircraft, I did not cause it to plummet to the ground. That considerable feat had taken no less than four more sedatives out of my first bottle, each pill lasting significantly less time than its predecessor. My plane landed in Montana, and I rented a car and bought a map with the ID, credit card, and cash Rune had given me. According to my new driver’s license, my name was Marilyn Marie Montgomery.

I checked the bottle’s dwindling supply as I found the little Ford Escort in the rental parking lot. I pressed the unlock button on the key fob and flinched, waiting for it to spark and go up in flames. The fob stayed intact and the door locks thunked open. Relieved, I threw my overnight bag and backpack in the front seat, got in, and started the car. It fired right up, but the radio cracked in and out and the speedometer pegged, went to zero, then pegged again. That’s what I got for letting my healthy, well-earned paranoia slip.

I shut the car off before I fried it completely, took two more pills, and waited until I felt the medicine calm my tingling skin. After ten minutes, I started the car, but the dashboard instruments again showed signs of distress, so I shut it off again.

I dug the other sedatives out of my backpack. Rune had said to use these on my way home. He’d assumed that I wouldn’t become immune to the first medication until about halfway through the visit. At this rate, I’d have to figure something else out for the trip back. I seriously hoped I didn’t wind up having to walk back to Southern California. I hadn’t brought my cross-trainers or enough socks.

After taking the sedatives, luckily, the car worked normally, and I was on my way.

When Griss had said that Aunt Tibby lived out in the sticks, I hadn’t really appreciated the term. I appreciated it now. The directions my mother had given Griss were filled with instructions like, “turn at the dirt road beyond mile marker twenty-three” and, “go two-point-four miles and turn onto the dirt path.” My mother must have last been here when she was a teenager, because a lot seemed to have changed. I had to backtrack several times, and I was just beginning to feel like I was caught in one of the old reruns of The Twilight Zone I used to watch as a kid, when I finally found my great-aunt’s home, although “home” wasn’t really the right word for it. It was more of a rustic cabin with a small, lopsided outhouse about forty feet behind it.

I drove up the dirt road, hoping the rented Escort wouldn’t be swallowed up and never seen again in one of the deep jagged ruts. Nothing but trees and the road existed one minute and then suddenly a pocket of cleared land appeared. The cabin was nestled in a small clearing of dense forest, the dimming, late afternoon light throwing the little structure into soft relief.

The building looked sturdy, built out of thick logs worn smooth and shiny in places by time. The front porch sagged a little, but the cover showed signs of a recent patch job. Only two windows showed on the front, both heavily draped.

Flowering plants grew in abundance in beds and containers made of everything from old tires to broken toilets. A solitary rocking chair made of woven tree branches sat vacant but still rocking on the front porch.

I parked behind a rusted, once-green Ford Fairlaine and got out of the rental. I stretched and tried to work out some of the stiffness accumulated in the last five hours of driving. When I felt like I could walk up the front steps without one of my legs falling off, I ascended the steps, shivering and rubbing my arms.

I leaned on one of the posts supporting the porch roof. Someone was here, I could feel it. I quieted my thoughts, closed my eyes, and opened my senses to the immediate area.

The first thing that struck me was the chaotic calm of the place. After years of living in a heavily populated, electrified, high-stress city, this place seemed to scream quietness and peace. It was like leaving a noisy construction area and getting in a well-insulated car. The lack of noise and motion made my ears hum.

I let the feeling flow through me for a few minutes before I realized I’d been wrong. There was life and noise here. It was just more of a natural variety than I was used to—muted and less obvious, but still there.

I sensed the energy of small animals around the clearing. Wind shushed softly through the leaves, and the trees . . . the trees here had a life signal unlike trees back home. The only term I could think of for the difference was “more connected.” In fact, everything here was connected, the trees to the earth and sky, the animals to the earth and each other. Maybe this connection was back home, too, but there was too much interference from the people and technology-infested environment to feel it.

I caught sense of a flickering energy close by. It resembled human energy, but it was purer, and it flashed on and off like a signal beacon. Waves of emotion—curiosity edged with fear and anger—washed toward me from its source. The energy drew closer. I turned toward it but kept my eyes closed so I wouldn’t lose it. It edged closer, maybe ten feet away.

I heard a sharp gasp, and I opened my eyes.

An impossibly thin woman stood staring at me, her shaking hand covering her mouth. White curls hung to her knees and enveloped her tall, thin frame in a shining halo of hair. She wore a loose, faded cotton dress that looked like a thrift store discard. When my gaze traveled to her eyes, I froze. It was like looking into a mirror. Her bright green eyes seemed constantly in motion. If I were closer, I knew I’d see golden flecks near the irises. The same flecks I had in my eyes.

She took her hand away from her mouth.

“It’s like seeing my own ghost from thirty years ago,” she whispered.

“Aunt Tibby?”

She took a few tentative steps on the porch, her whole body poised for flight like a stray cat approaching an offered bowl of food.

“Who are you, child?”

I stood still, afraid of frightening her off.

“I’m Marlee, Eunice’s daughter.”

Her wrinkles rearranged themselves into a smile.

“Oh, Eunice. How is she? She was always such a happy, bright girl.”

“My mother?”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face and then a scowl covered it.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “She married that witch’s boy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.” She took another couple of steps, raised her right hand in the air toward me, and waved it slowly back and forth. It was the same movement Rune and Griss had used.

“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” I said.

She snatched her hand back and took a shuffling step away.

“What’s that?” she said.

“The energy or power or whatever you want to call it,” I said. “I want it to go away, and I was hoping you could tell me how to do it.”

Her mouth sagged open, showing rotted teeth. She straightened and scowled.

“Why the hell would you want to get rid of it? I’d give my right arm to get it back!”

“But . . .”

“How old do you think I am?”

“What?”

“How old do you think I am?”

I looked her up and down. I hated answering age questions. Nothing you could say was right. Guess too low, they think you’re lying or an idiot, guess too high, and they’re insulted, guess just right, and they’re disappointed because they wanted to look younger or older. Crap. She looked about ninety.

“Seventy?” I said.

She laughed. “Try fifty-five.”

“But, but, you’re my great aunt—”

“I’m your grandmother Beula’s youngest sister. She’s sixty-seven, I’m fifty-five, just eight years older than your mom.”

At the mention of my grandmother my heart constricted.

Tibby’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” I asked, trying to figure out how to tell her.

“Your aura just shut down.”

“My what?”

“Your aura. Your energy output. What were you thinking?”

A sigh escaped me, and my body sagged.

“Grandma died a year ago.”

Tears flooded my vision and great racking sobs blossomed from my chest.

“Grandma’s dead and she was the only one who . . . I mean, I think she knew about . . . you know . . . the energy, but she didn’t say anything. She was just there for me. She loved me no matter what. She was my best friend. Now she’s gone, and I can’t control this thing inside me. And now this crazy doctor is trying to kidnap me and . . .”

She was next to me in an instant and grabbed my arm.

“Doctor?” She shook me. “Did you say doctor?”

She darted looks around the clearing.

I tried to stop crying, but the last few days had finally caught up with me. With a vengeance it seemed. I spoke through hiccupping sobs.

“Yes . . . Dr. Sarkis . . . his men attacked me . . . and a man saved me, but he isn’t really a man . . . and I had to come here cause you are the only one who might be able to help.”

She pulled me toward the front door.

“Get in the house.” She opened the door. Anger and fear radiated from her. She glanced once more around the perimeter of the yard before pulling me in the house and slamming the door. She hurried to the window and peeked out the curtain.

“Do you think he followed you?”

I looked around the dark, dingy room for tissue but didn’t see any, so I fished around in my jeans pocket, found a receipt, and wiped my nose on it. My sobs were down to intermittent sniffles. I hated to cry.

“Answer me,” she shouted, still peering out the window.

“No. I used a false ID and cash to get here, and I left from a friend’s house miles away from mine.”

She let the curtains drop.

“You’re sure they didn’t follow you to your friend’s house?”

“I’m sure. The doctor’s men were sort of unconscious last time I left them.” Of course, so was I, but I didn’t want to tell her that.

“Did you make ’em that way?”

I shrugged. “Two of them. My friend got the other two.”

She thought for a minute and smiled. “Good. Rat-bastards deserved it. Want some iced tea?”

Her mood changed so rapidly, I didn’t know what to expect next.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

My vision adjusted to the lack of light. The cabin consisted of one large room, about twenty feet by thirty feet. Meager furnishings included a small floral-print couch, brown chair, and a coffee table arranged by the front door. A kitchen area in the back right corner held a rustic, rough-hewn dining table and three mismatched chairs along the rear wall by the back door. The largest thing in the room was an odd plywood enclosure built snugly around a small bed. A section of the plywood hinged open, forming a door, and a rope ran through a hole where the doorknob should be. Knots on either end of the three-foot rope served as handles and kept the rope from falling out. I’d never been in a cabin before, so I had no idea if the bed/cage was normal or if this was her way of fashioning a bedroom for herself. Stacks of books lined the enclosure. In fact, stacks of books, hundreds of them, lined all the walls of the cabin.

“Have a seat at the table.” Aunt Tibby unwound twine that connected two kitchen cabinet door handles together and pulled a glass pitcher of tea and glasses out of the cupboard. She poured tea into the glasses, replaced the pitcher in the cupboard, and rewound the rope.

“Hope you don’t mind it warm. Shouldn’t really have called it iced tea I guess. No ice box. No electricity. So not much sense to have an ice box.”

I looked around the cabin again. There wasn’t an electrical device in sight. The feeble light in the room came from up-tilted crude wooden louver blinds on the south wall which was in the back of the cabin. No electricity, an enclosure around the bed, cupboard doors tied together, and she could feel my energy . . . a thrill ran through me.

Aunt Tibby stood in front of the table with a glass of tea in each hand, a wary look in her eyes.

“You still have it,” I said.

Anger, then resignation flashed across her face. She sighed and set the glasses on the table with a thunk.

“Pieces of it,” she said. “The pieces that Sarkis didn’t fry. Tell me about my sister, and I’ll tell you about being a virago.”

“A virago?”

“This thing God has chosen to bless and burden us with. The chosen women in our family were dubbed viragos centuries ago. It means female warrior or some such nonsense.”

She eased her bony frame onto one of the kitchen chairs and pointed to the chair at the opposite end of the table. “Sit.”

I grabbed my glass of tea and sat.

“Tell me about Beula,” she said in a low voice.

“She had a heart attack last winter. It was out of the blue. She was healthy as a horse one day, and she was gone the next. Her neighbor found her on the kitchen floor.”

Tears flowed from my eyes. This wasn’t crying, just a torrent of tears showing up of their own accord, like my soul wept and forgot to tell my brain.

“You were close?”

I nodded. “She’s the only person I’ve ever really been able to say that about.”

“She didn’t know about your power?”

I sighed. Thinking about my grandmother made me hurt. Talking about her was agony.

“I don’t know. She never mentioned it, but I think she did. I think she and my mom used to talk about it. You know, things would happen like I’d walk in the room and they’d quit talking, and they’d look uncomfortable.”

Aunt Tibby turned her glass around on the table with her index finger and thumb and stared at it.

“Did she suffer?”

“No. The doctor said it was probably instantaneous.”

“There was no sign of struggle or anything suspicious?”

“No.” I sat up straighter. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’.” She sipped her tea but wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The image of a tall, thin man with glasses and frizzy hair and the name Sarkis flashed through my mind. My eyes went wide.

“You think Sarkis could have been involved? Is he the tall man with glasses?”

Her eyes snapped to mine and held there.