Renegade (Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence) (18 page)

“
I am not,” said Anna, indignant.

“
We're just … different,” I went on, ignoring Anna's annoyed look. “Vamps can't sense us, can't control us, and can't suck our blood.”

“
Why not? What … who are we?”

“
I have no idea,” I replied with a shrug. “The Vatican seems to think we are the defenders of humanity with God-given gifts to fight the vampires. I personally feel we just evolved in response to the predation. Who knows?”

“
I always thought there was something weird about me,” she said. “I always just put it down to ordinary weirdness. Turns out I was destined to kill vampires, like I'm the Slayer or something.”

“
Don't let it go to your head,” I cautioned. “In all other respects you're just human.”

“
That sucks,” she said. “No super strength or fast healing or anything?”

“
'Fraid not,” I said

“
Bummer.”

C
HAPTER

41

I woke up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast, some sort of fried potatoes. My saliva glands went into overdrive and I had to swallow. After a quick shower I started looking around to see if I could find anything to wear. Kyle's sister hadn't left much in the way of clothes but I had managed to find a pair of jeans that just about fit. I'd also found an open packet of sports bras. I wondered why she'd left them behind but a few seconds rummaging in the drawer gave the answer: she was a big girl. The few bras she'd left behind were 36E. The sports bras would have been too small for her, and were even a little tight on me, but close enough. The need to stop things from bouncing was uppermost in my mind. A black t-shirt with a motorbike on the front that looked unworn and a pair of trainers that looked on the verge of falling apart and I was ready to face the world.

In the kitchen Kyle and his mother were sitting down to the meal that had been driving my nose crazy. They gave me cheery greetings and a plateful of food and I sat down with them to tuck in.

It was nice, sitting there with Kyle and his mother, chatting about nothing in particular. I could almost forget that I'd been kidnapped, taken away from my man, and transported to another country, for reasons I still couldn't fathom. I missed him, and I couldn't wait to see him again. He was probably going out of his mind, not even knowing if I was alive or not. But for all of that, it was relaxing to sit and enjoy breakfast in such homely surroundings.

“Where's dad?” said Kyle once we were finished.

“
He's out in the garage finishing up on that order,” said Pol. “He said you should go see him before you left.”

As we rose to leave Pol gave me a hug.

“Hope you get home safe, dear.”

“
Thank you, Pol. For everything.”

“
That's okay, hun,” she said.

We went out into the garage, where the lower half of Perry was visible, sticking out from under a very pretty-looking car. It was low and squat, a deep, glossy red color, with big, fat tires and patches of glittering chrome.

“Hey, dad?” said Kyle.

“
Yeah?” came Perry's muffled voice. “Be right out. Just finishing up.”

He muttered a few times and then rolled out from under the car. He was wearing dark blue oil-stained overalls and his skin was streaked with dark smudges.

“Like her?” he asked as he stood up.

“
She's beautiful,” I said. “Love the color.”

“
She's a nineteen seventy-one Chevy Camaro zee-twenty-eight. I'm restoring her for a client. She was nothing more than a chassis, a seized-up engine and a body that was mostly scratches, dents and rust when we found her. Half of the glass was even missing.”

He took a step back, wiping his hands on a piece of grimy cloth.

“Now look at her,” he said. “We managed to salvage the original panels and the engine block was in good shape.”

He walked around the car, pointing out all of the parts that were original and those he'd had to replace. This had clearly been a labor of love for him. He carried on talking, lost in his own world until Kyle cleared his throat.

“Oh, you're wanting to get going,” he said. “You shouldn't have let me babble on like that, Kyle. Our guest wants to get home.”

“
Well, dad, you raised me not to interrupt when my elders were speaking.”

“
I also taught you not to smart off to your elders, boy,” Perry replied with a barely suppressed grin. “You taking the Mustang?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Well, be careful.” He turned to me and gave a broad smile. “Nice meeting you, Marie. Have a safe trip home.”

“
Thanks, Perry. It was nice meeting you too.”

“
Look after yourself.”

Kyle led the way around to the side of the garage where another car was parked. This one was a vibrant blue.

“My baby,” said Kyle with evident pride. “Sixty-seven Ford Mustang gee-tee fastback. It's got a Cobra Jet engine. Vee-eight, four hundred ten horsepower. Me and dad restored her together.”

I smiled at the flow of information. He kept talking as we got in, pointing out the restoration that had been done on the interior and grinning at the throaty roar of the engine as we pulled away. Kyle's attitude to cars was like Jack with guns. The thought set off a pain in my stomach. I was missing Jack and I was worried about him. How was he coping with all of this? No doubt he was going crazy. He had probably gone on the rampage. Either that or he was having to be restrained at Ministry headquarters. Whatever he was up to, I hoped he was safe.

“You'll like Terry,” said Kyle, interrupting my reverie. “He's a sweetheart.”

“
Is he human?” I asked.

“
Werewolf. He was bitten nearly four years ago.”

“
Is he a member of a pack?” I asked.

“
Used to be,” he said. “He left. It was a pretty fucked-up situation.”

Kyle seemed to realize what he'd just said and blushed brick red. He started to stammer an apology.

“It's okay,” I said. “I live with a soldier. The word 'fuck' has entered my vocabulary.”

“
Mom and dad don't tolerate swearing,” he said with a rueful grin. “They say it's the sign of a limited vocabulary. Wait, aren't you a soldier, too?”

“
Well, technically I'm a hunter, which makes me a police constable, but yeah, I'm a soldier, too. What happened with Terry? Did the pack kick him out?”

“
No, not really. Tyler—he's the pack alpha—doesn't have a problem with gays. He says the fact that Terry's a werewolf is more important. But it was almost like some of the pack refused to believe Terry was gay. People kept asking when he was going to pick a mate. There was this pack wedding a couple years back, Terry and I went together. There was this middle-aged woman there who kept asking Terry when he would be taking a girl up the aisle.

“
I was biting my lip to avoid making some sort of inappropriate sex joke but Terry took it personal. He goes all—” His voice raised in pitch as he did an impression, “—'Don't you people get it? I'm gay! I was born gay and I'll die gay! What, you think if you keep on I'll just choose to be straight?'. He went
off
on that poor woman. I've heard people come out of the closet before but he came out guns blazing.

“
In the end Tyler came over and practically dragged him away and asked him to leave. Terry thought he meant the pack, but he just meant the wedding. Anyway, Terry's yelling and Tyler is trying to get him to calm down and in the end Terry stormed off. The next day when everyone calmed down, Terry was just too stubborn to apologize. And so it went on for three days and then Terry just left.”

We drove on in silence for a few seconds as Kyle pulled down a slip road onto a highway—I think it was an Interstate Highway from the blue and red signs—and dodged a huge white eighteen-wheeler.

“I keep trying to get him to go back,” said Kyle as he changed lanes and accelerated. “All he has to do is apologize to Tyler. Nothing big, it doesn't have to be in front of the pack or anything, he just has to meet with him and say sorry.

“
I love him to death but he has a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

“
Sounds familiar,” I said with a grin.

“
But it's not really a big deal,” he went on. “In a big city like New York or San Francisco a lone werewolf is in big trouble. The vampires hunt us down and they
own
the cops. A pack is the only protection. Out here in BFE we're pretty safe.”

“
BFE?”

“
Bum Fuck, Egypt. It's an American term for 'out in the middle of nowhere'.”

“
But out here in BFE you have human hunters coming after you.”

“
But not vampires. They may control the government but at least the cops are still locals. And most people don't like vampires. That's something.”

Kyle gunned the engine with an earsplitting roar and the Mustang shot forward, swinging past a slow-moving people-carrier in the middle lane and coming up on a modern saloon occupying the fast lane. I had no intention of glancing over at the speedo to find out if we were breaking the speed limit but I didn't really need to. We rode the saloon for a few seconds, staying uncomfortably close to its bumper, before whipping around it and passing on the inside.

“This is our exit,” Kyle said suddenly, swerving across two lanes and heading up the exit ramp, completely ignoring the reduced speed limit. Kyle almost stopped at a stop sign and then barely made it through a traffic light before it turned red.

“
Are you trying to kill us or are we just in a particular hurry?” I asked.

“
Neither. Why?”

“
Seems like it must be one of the other, the way you're driving.”

“
Meh, this is the way I normally drive,” he replied.

“
Well, your room at home must be wallpapered with tickets,” I said.

“
Not so much. I may be a little reckless but I'm careful enough not to do anything dumb near a cop. And I know all of the places the cops like to hang out. Like up here, this time of day the sheriff can usually be found parked up around this bend.”

Kyle slowed and took the bend at a sedate-feeling thirty-five miles per hour. Both sides of the road were empty.

“So he's not here,” said Kyle in a thoughtful tone. “That means he's parked either by the Episcopalian church or down by the high school, so we'll miss him today.”

Kyle took a turn, then another, ending up in a pleasant-looking suburban street lined with little one story houses. Neat lawns and nicely trimmed hedges dominated the landscape. Each of the houses looked the same with only a few distinguishing touches of individuality. Each seemed to have been issued with one of just a few cars. Here and there were identical SUVs, identical family cars, and the odd mid-life-crisismobile sports cars, none more than a few years old, all recently washed. It was like the whole neighborhood had been put together from a catalog of boring. Suddenly I laughed out loud.

“Something funny?” said Kyle.

“
Not really,” I said. “I just think Jack is rubbing off on me. I'm starting to think like him.”

“
Really? How does he think?” he asked eagerly.

“
He's a cynic, and pretty much incapable of taking anything seriously. I was just thinking that all of these houses makes it look like someone's publishing a Boring Homes and Gardens catalog.”

Kyle looked around.

“Yeah, this must seem pretty boring compared to what you're used to.”

“
No, that's not what I meant. It's not that exciting.”

“
I'm sure,” he said dryly.

“
It's true,” I replied. “Okay, so two weeks ago we were in Rome and Jack was being cheeky to the Pope. Well, Bolt was being cheeky to the Pope but Jack
was
helping. And then we were in Paris staying in a swanky hotel and visiting fashionable clubs.”

“
And all this is helping your case... how?”

“
Well, it's not always like that. Mostly we just patrol. It's pretty boring and predictable and the most excitement we get is answering a false alarm because some old woman heard a cat in her garden and called nine-nine-nine. Sometimes whole months can go by without us doing anything worth putting in a TV show. Long periods of abject boredom broken up by occasional moments of sheer terror.”