Romancing The Dead (15 page)

I quickly schooled my expression before the sneer surfaced. I chose to ride my bicycle year-round because I generally tried to live an ecologically low-impact life. I’d mellowed considerably from my hemp/natural-fibers-only days, and I consciously tried not to judge people on their choice of transport. After all, Sebastian drove a car built before emissions testing. But SUVs made my eye twitch.

“Sounds great.” I managed to smile. “Lead on, Mac-duff.”

The drizzle had stopped, and the sky was now robin’s-egg blue. Stepping out into sunlight, the brightness made me squint after spending so much time indoors. The heat of the afternoon felt good against my artificially chilled skin. The air smelled of city and dust, but the clear sky begged me to inhale deeply. Alison pulled a pair of oversized sunglasses from her clamshell purse. She led me around the corner to a Cadillac Escalade. This vehicle was a behemoth of newly washed and waxed midnight -black steel. She beeped the engine on before we were even within five steps of the thing. Exhaust bellowed out in an oily cloud that slithered up into the clear blue sky.

Goddess, you could just
watch
it killing rain forests.

The interior smelled faintly of McDonald’s take-out and leather, which the air-conditioning instantly recycled at a subzero setting. As I buckled in, I shivered slightly from the sudden temperature shift.

Alison went through the motions of getting herself situated. Then she asked, “Okay, where are we headed?”

I read off Traci’s street address.

She pulled out like an expert into the traffic that circled around the capital square. I gripped the door handle with white knuckles.

“So,” she said conspiratorially, eyeing the book that rested in my lap. “How did you get it? Did you lift it from him?”

Well, I kind of did. It wasn’t exactly laying out in plain view and I certainly had it without his permission. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” she said, nodding to herself as if deciding something about me. Then, in yet another conversation jump: “It’s nice to finally meet someone else. I only know the others from online.”

Oh my great Goddess, they
did
have a Yahoo! group. What was it? Some kind of vampires’ MySpace? “So, how did you find Sebastian anyway?” I asked.

Her narrow shoulders rose in a shrug. “The usual way.” For a second, I didn’t think she was going to elaborate, and then she added, “You know, a friend recommended me to him.”

I wondered what
that
application process was like; what did you have to have on your résumé to have someone say they thought you’d make the ideal candidate to have your blood sucked on a regular basis?

“How about you?” she asked.

I thought about lying, but I wouldn’t even know how to construct something plausible. “He came into my store.”

She nearly snorted the latte she was sipping, and I thought she might swerve into the median. She recovered and gave me a quick look over, before returning her attention to the road. “He picked you up? No way. Oh my god, you are
so
lucky. I’ve heard about that happening, but I thought it was some kind of fairy tale. You’re a Sleeping Beauty.”

What did that make Sebastian, my Prince Charming with fangs?

“You need to join our group,” Alison insisted. “The other girls would love to hear your story. It’d inspire them, especially now that he’s talking about marriage . . .” The dots connected, and her face hardened. “You bitch. You’ve been letting me think you’re one of us. But you’re not. You’re the norm. You’re the one he’s going to marry. Jesus,” she spat. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice the rock.”

Too late, I covered my left hand. With abrupt apprehension, I realized that I was barreling down the streets of Madison with a hostile stranger, and the gigantic SUV suddenly seemed too confining, too small, and too . . . locked. Alison was still carrying on a conversation with herself, though she seemed to be winding herself down a little, at least. “Of course, that’s how you got the book. You’re sleeping with him.”

The bitterness with which she said that made me wonder if that meant that she was
not
. I wanted to ask for clarification, you know, just to be sure, but Alison was accelerating so fast I thought we’d miss the turn onto Traci’s street. “I think this is it,” I said. The SUV cornered better than I’d have expected for something of its size. I guessed that was down to the “sporty” part of sportutility vehicle. “I’m only still helping you because of him,” Alison informed me as we sped down the residential street. “If I didn’t think that Sebastian might be in real danger, I would have pulled this car over and kicked you out by now.”

I nodded, mentally calculating the route of the bus ride home. It would take three transfers, but I had enough cash. “It’s cool,” I said.

“Cool? Are you fucking kidding me? This whole thing is so not cool. I can’t believe you’re his . . . his . . .
lover
.” She said it like it was the ugliest word in the English language, which was strange since I got the impression with the whole Sleeping Beauty comment that what all these ghouls wanted was Sebastian’s adoration.

I knew this was volatile territory, but I had to know. “So, you’re not? Lovers, I mean.”

“I love Sebastian,” Alison said with frightening resolve. Then her lip twisted. “But there are rules. I agreed to the terms before I became his supplier.”

Terms? Like a contract? “And what are those terms exactly? No sex?”

“Bloodletting only,” Alison sniffed, keeping her eyes averted from mine, ostensibly checking the house numbers we cruised past.

“Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“Is that the same for all the ghouls?” I asked, more to myself than to Alison.

“I’m not privy to the arrangements Sebastian has with the others. And, ‘ghouls,’ by the way—not nice.”

Alison pulled up alongside a vintage black Trans Am, complete with phoenix decal. Then, with a series of rapid motions that made my muscles tense, she parallel parked the boat like a pro.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said once we’d stopped.

Alison’s lips were so tightly pressed together that there was a white line between them. “I’m not supposed to talk about this with outsiders. I only corrected you because Sebastian has been remiss in your education. Clearly, you didn’t know any better.”

I hadn’t. As long as I’d know about vampires, I’d heard them refer to their blood donors as ghouls and/or ghoulfriends; I hadn’t known they preferred another designation. I could see why Sebastian didn ’t call them suppliers, however. Despite Alison ’s insistence that she liked it better, I found the term somewhat forced, like they were desperately trying to find something more dignified to be called.

We stepped out onto a neatly mowed boulevard. Traci’s address matched a ranch-style house with an attached three-car garage. Given the vintage vehicle parked out front, I suspected Traci and Sebastian had more than one passion in common. Despite everything I’d just learned from Alison about Sebastian’s platonic relationship with his ghouls, or, excuse me, suppliers, I still felt a twinge of jealousy.

When I started for the house, Alison put out a hand. “You should stay in the car,” she said. “This is a supplier matter. Private. Personal. Besides, you’re out of your league here.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Against a vampire who may be starved?” She gave me a very dismissive look. “Please. You don’t have a clue.”

I’d been with Sebastian when he’d been nearly bled out by the Vatican witch hunters, and he’d almost killed Feather with his need. Feather would have died without my magical intervention. “I’ve had some experience with that. You might need me, actually.”

Alison snorted. “What, are you a nurse?”

“No,” I said. “A Witch.”

Alison’s face pinched even tighter. If she got any angrier, I though her face might implode. “Oh,” she said in a voice clipped and cold as ice. “I see.”

“If we’re going to do this, we should probably go in,” I said. Besides, the heat was starting to be stifling. I could feel the sun sinking into my black shirt and burning my bare arms.

Her lips stayed jammed shut, but her eyes strayed to the house. I could tell she was weighing the discomfort of having to work with me and the necessity of rescuing Sebastain.

Wiping my palms on my black, sequined jeans, I was reminded of something Alison had said about Traci. “What’s a White Rose?”

Her eyes strayed to the vampire bat on my T-shirt. My eyes followed. Before Alison even opened her mouth, I got it. “A Goth,” I said.

“A vampire wannabe,” she said, with a nod. “Someone who’s secretly craving to be turned.”

“You’d think there’d be a lot of those,” I said. We’d paused in the shade of a cottonwood. It was the only tall, well-established tree in the cul-de-sac. The rest were no more than a few feet high and still mounded at their bases with mulch.

“There would be, if we weren’t all carefully screened.” At my blank look she sighed. “It’s a closed community,” she explained.

“We’re all recommended by someone who takes responsibility for our indoctrination. We have to be discreet, after all, and keep a fairly tremendous secret. There are, of course, exceptions. The Midwest area group just happens to be very well organized.”

“Plus, Sebastian can’t ‘turn’ anyone, anyway.”

The muscles of Alison’s tightened jaw jumped a little bit more. “What do you mean he can’t?”

Oh, was that a secret? “Uh, because of how he was made, you know.”

Where they rested on her hips, hands clenched into fists. I thought she might actually take a pop at me, so I stepped back a pace.

“I suppose you know his whole life story.” There was a challenge in her tone and her stance. One thing was certain, I was definitely taking the bus home.

I shook my head slowly, trying to keep a calm demeanor to defuse the situation. “I don’t,” I said. Her face turned bright red and I sensed she was going to explode with any number of rude epithets regarding my moral character. “I didn’t know about you, did I?”

I reminded her.

Alison squared her shoulders, causing her glossy red curls to flounce. “None of this matters. We should focus on rescuing Sebastian.”

Her sundress was a brilliant white flash as she marched resolutely toward the door. A dragonfly skimmed above the lawn, its iridescent wings shimmering in the heat. We stood together on the narrow concrete pad only large enough for two. A little roof extending from the line of the house provided a bit of shade. I punched the glowing orange doorbell button. I could hear a faint chime though the vinyl door.

Minutes later, a woman in her late fifties answered. She had short-cropped hair and deep smile lines on a tanned face. Dressed in jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, I could see the hint of faded ink of tattoos on both arms. “Can I help you?”

“Is Traci home?” Alison asked.

“I’m Traci,” the woman replied.

Not exactly the “White Rose” Alison was expecting, but then I reminded myself that they’d never met in person. Given the hot rod out front, maybe Alison had misconstrued this whole “leather” business. It was possible Traci had been referring to things like motorcycle chaps—in the dark it wasn’t always easy to differentiate the hard-core bikers from the leather queens.

“I’m Garnet, Sebastian’s fiancée,” I said. “This is Alison.”

“Garnet.” She smiled, offering a hand for me to shake. I could feel calluses on fingertips that made me suspect she played guitar or some other stringed instrument. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Unless this woman was a supremely good actress, I didn’t think that we’d find Sebastian in chains in her basement. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, Traci, but Sebastian’s missing.”

I watched her face for any flicker of guilt. Instead, I saw growing concern. “Missing? For how long?”

“Since Wednesday,” I supplied.

“You’d better come in.” Traci stepped out of the way so that we could enter. The interior of the house was cool and extremely . . . white. Spotless carpeting in a brilliant ecru blanketed the floors and stairway. Beige -painted walls framed tall, broad, echoing spaces that felt profoundly empty despite the immaculate furniture and crystal light fixtures. Alison followed on my heels, not saying a word.

“Your home is lovely,” I murmured trying desperately to mean it. The place smelled new, like carpet glue or drywall mud. Traci laughed. “You want it? It’s for sale. I’m putting it up on the market tomorrow. It was my mother’s. I was living in the garage apartment until she died.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

“She was ninety, and she lived on her own the whole time. Pretty good life, I’d say.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, though I couldn’t help but think about how hard it would be to deal with Sebastian’s immortality when you’d just lost someone.

“Muh,” said Alison, who seemed to have been stunned speechless by Traci. Admittedly, I hadn’t expected someone who seemed old enough to be my mother either, but Sebastian had been alive a long time.

Traci led us into a kitchen, which, unlike the rest of the house, looked lived in. There were dishes in the sink and car parts on the table. The smell of strong, black coffee permeated the room. I tried to imagine Sebastian sitting in one of the straight-back wooden chairs; unfortunately, it was all too easy, especially given all the copies of
Custom Rodder
scattered about.

“Where is he?” Alison demanded. “What have you done with Sebastian?”

Traci and I both looked at her askance.

Alison had no problem elaborating. “Look at you, Traci. You look nothing like your online persona. You’re clearly living some kind of lie, and you’re probably desperate for Sebastian to turn you since you’re so old and your mom just died. So, where’s the basement in this place? Or do you have him chained up in the bedroom?”

Traci’s eyebrow arched. “Old?”

The two of them stared at each other as though in a minute a ghoul slapfest might break out.

“Look, obviously, Alison is mistaken about all this. Do you have any idea if there’s someone in the . . . uh, supplier community who might want to kidnap Sebastian?” I said, hoping that I could bring them back to the important issue at hand.