To Curse the Darkness (20 page)

It was a statement, not a question. Marc felt himself coloring. The note of censure in her voice stung. “
Vincent
liked them young. He's the one who turned her. I didn't come into it until later.”

A wary look filtered into Elise's gaze. “I see. So you did kill him after all.”

Marc sighed. Why had he thought bringing Vincent into the conversation was a good idea? Elise had been the first person to suggest that Marc must have killed someone in order to become so strong in so short a period. At the time, he'd denied it. He'd thought she was crazy. He
hadn't killed anybody! He'd known that for a fact. Funny how facts could lie.

“Yes, apparently I did. But I didn't lie to you about it. I hadn't realized at the time what had happened. I thought he was already dead.”

“You thought he was already dead when you…did what, exactly?”

Marc winced at the hint of dread in Elise's voice. Yeah, this was gonna go over so well. He really doubted she'd be pleased with the answer to her question, but he could hardly blame her for that. The truth of it didn't sit well with him either. In fact the memory of what he'd done continued to haunt him. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not in front of Heather. Pretty much never, if it could be avoided. But it had happened, and he refused to deny it. It was part of who he was now. “I didn't know he was still alive when I set him on fire. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Marc…I…”

“I didn't know, all right? He wasn't conscious, he wasn't moving, I'd seen his neck get snapped… If someone had told me that wasn't enough to kill him… But they didn't, and I…I just wanted to get rid of the evidence, you know? So that Audrey wouldn't find him.”

“You really did that?” Heather looked up at him, her eyes wide.

Marc nodded. “Yes.” He'd also been acting under orders. That was another point he could have made, another excuse. But it hardly seemed worth the effort. Especially since he wasn't actually sorry for what he'd done. True, if he had known at the time what he was doing, he might have refused those orders—maybe, perhaps—but Vincent would have died just the same. He was too badly injured to live for very long, too drained of blood. And, either way,
someone
would have had to dispose of the body, and whoever that someone was,
he
would have become Heather's new sire. And that was unthinkable.

“Did you do it for me?” Heather asked eagerly.

Marc shook his head. “No, sweetheart. Weren't you listening? I didn't even know you existed at that point.”

“Oh.” Heather's face fell. She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then added, “Well, whatever, I'm still glad you did it. He was horrible. I hated him.”

“I know.” Marc hugged her close once more, not at all put off by her bloodthirsty nature. He couldn't really blame her for feeling the way she did. She hadn't wanted to be turned. The change had been forced upon her—much like it had been forced upon Conrad, he supposed—and that was wrong. She was adjusting to her new life fairly well, all things considered, but the choice should never have been taken from her. No one should ever be forced to become something they weren't.

“You were lucky,” Elise told him. “If Audrey had ever found out about her, she'd have tried to kidnap her, for sure. Either that or kill her.”

Marc's jaw clenched as Heather shivered, bringing back memories of the night he'd lost his eye. Of the night Heather had been kidnapped—and almost killed. “She did.”

Just then, his ears picked up the sound of heavy footsteps along the metal walkway outside his apartment and alerted him to Nighthawk's approach. He swung around to face the door, taking note as he did of the way Elise had shrunk back and was watching the door as well, a fearful expression on her face.

“It's all right,” he told her, in what he hoped was a soothing manner, just as the door swung open and gave lie to his words. Marc's eyebrows rose. Usually Hawk knocked before entering. So whatever was going on, he doubted it would qualify in anyone's mind as “all right”.

“Boss. I tried. I swear I… I… Shit.” Nighthawk's voice trailed off in confusion. “I didn't know we had company.”

Marc stared back at him, not sure what to make of the guilty, contrite, pained expression on his face. “You tried what?”

Instead of answering, however, Nighthawk turned his gaze on Heather. “You didn't tell him?”

A guilty flush spread over Heather's face. She pursed her lips and shot Nighthawk a dirty look. “I was gonna!”

“Yeah? When was that gonna happen? Next Christmas?”

Heather scrunched up her nose. “Noooo. Not ‘next Christmas'.”

“Stop it,” Marc snapped. “Both of you. Quit fooling around. Somebody tell me what's going on. Now, damn it.”

Hawk met his gaze with a look of grim determination. “We need to talk.” He glanced at Elise, then added, “In private.”

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of Elise,” Marc told him.

Hawk's mouth thinned. The look in his eyes chilled Marc to his core. “It's about your sister.”

Marc closed his eyes as the last shreds of hope he'd been clinging to were swept violently away. Something
had
gone wrong. He'd known it, felt it, feared it. “Fucking hell.” He should never have left her alone. Never.

Hawk nodded unhappily. “Pretty much.”

Elise shivered at the sudden chill in the atmosphere. If she hadn't known it to be impossible, she'd have sworn the temperature in the room had just dropped by about twenty degrees.

Marc, his face blank, turned to Heather. Speaking calmly, with what seemed like a great effort, he said, “Sweetheart, why don't you show Elise where my room is so she can start getting unpacked. Maybe stay with her until she's settled in. You can help her put her things away, okay?”

Heather opened her mouth, and Elise was certain she was going to argue, certain she was going to point out that she wasn't some child to be sent out of the room so the grownups could talk. Even if that wasn't entirely accurate. She was pretty young, after all. Maybe she'd suggest that perhaps Elise didn't want any help—because she didn't. But Heather didn't say any of that. Elise was shocked when, instead, the girl nodded meekly and answered, “Yes, Marc. Whatever you say.”

“Really?” Elise uttered in disbelief, the word tumbling out of her mouth before she had a chance to consider how very ill-advised it was to argue, especially when she was this much at sea.

It occurred to Elise that she didn't know this new version of Marc very well. What little she did know—that he'd burned people alive, seemingly answered to no one, was not above using handcuffs to get what he wanted, and apparently exhibited a frightening level of control over what should have been out-of-control feral vampires—did not suggest he'd take kindly to being second-guessed. There were any number of reasons why she should not be taking orders from him. She was older than he was, she was
not
his spawn, and she was
definitely
not some child to be sent from the room. But when he fixed her with that stern, implacable gaze, she was no longer sure that any of that mattered.

“Could you please just do it?” he asked, looking tired and sad, and maybe just a little bit scared, but very, very determined.

And Elise found herself nodding in agreement. “Very well,” she replied, sounding much more docile than she felt. Even her tone was more accommodating and far less grudging than she'd have liked. She couldn't help herself. All at once, she wanted to do whatever he wanted her to do, whatever would please him. And the fact that she had no idea why she was suddenly feeling that way seemed to make absolutely no difference.

She glanced away, focusing on Heather in an effort to mask her confusion, and said, “Lead the way.”

Heather hesitated. “I
tried
calling you,” she told Marc. “Your phone was off.”

Marc nodded stiffly, and Elise felt bad for him, recalling once more the anxiety that had held him in its grip the entire drive home. She supposed he'd been right to worry after all.

“I knew you'd want to know.” Heather jerked her head at Hawk and added, “And don't believe him if he says it was his idea. He wouldn't even have read the letter if it weren't for me. I'm the one who told
him
we needed to do something.” Then she picked up the bag that held Elise's things, and stalked across the room, moving so fast Elise had to hurry to keep up.

“What the hell happened?” Marc demanded just as Heather waved Elise into the next room. “I thought everything was under control?”

The doors and walls must have been soundproofed at some point, she supposed, because she heard Hawk's response, “Shit, man, what
hasn't
happened!” and then nothing more as Heather closed the door rather more firmly than was probably necessary.

“So what did happen?” Elise asked, attempting to sound as innocent as possible. “I mean, it sounds like you have a good handle on things around here. What's going on?”

Heather shook her head. “I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to talk about it.”

“You said something about a letter?”

“
Really
sure I'm not supposed to talk about it, in fact.”

Elise sighed. It had been worth a shot, but yeah, she didn't doubt Heather was right. If Marc had wanted Elise to know what had been going on in his absence, she'd be out there right now getting caught up on whatever it was. The fact that she'd been sent out of the room while the subject was being discussed didn't really lend itself to a variety of interpretations.

She glanced around the surprisingly opulent bedroom. She wouldn't have thought it reflective of Marc's style, but again what did she really know about the man to whom she'd entrusted her safety? Far too little. He could be a total madman.

“So how do you like living here with Marc?” she asked Heather, who had apparently taken Marc at his word and was currently occupied emptying out several drawers in what was likely Marc's dresser. Elise didn't have the heart to tell her that, in all likelihood, Heather had not been sent in here to lend Elise a hand, but rather to keep an eye on her.

“I
love
him,” Heather replied enthusiastically, her face aglow. “He's the best.”

Warning bells began to ring in Elise's mind. “I do hope you're not going to mind me moving in with him.”

Heather looked puzzled. “Why would I mind?”

“Well, you said you loved him, and I…” Elise trailed to a stop as the expression on Heather's face turned to a look of horror.

“Oh, eww. No. Not like that! I love him because he's so smart and funny and…and nice. He's always been so good to me, and he's made things so much better—for all of us. I mean, it was
awful
when Nighthawk was in charge!”

Elise shook her head, feeling more and more as though she'd just tumbled down a rabbit hole. She'd rarely heard anyone speak of their sire in such glowing terms—outside of their hearing, that is. “So this Nighthawk…how does he figure in?”

“Nighthawk's just… I don't know, really. He's just a guy. Just a feral like the rest of us. He's the one who rounded us up and tried to take charge. He didn't even do a good job of it. Everyone was all the time fighting with each other and there was never enough to eat. Oh! And he's such a poser too. He used to talk big all the time about how feral vampires were the only vampires who were truly free, and how it was so cool that we were all our own bosses—but only until one of us tried to do something he didn't want us to do. I mean, if we were so free back then, how come he was always ordering us around? And he sure changed his tune in a hurry once Marc showed up. Then it was all ‘let's be Housies' again.”

“I can see how that would be annoying,” Elise said, hoping a show of sympathy would get Heather to lower her guard.

Heather shrugged. “Marc says I'm supposed to try and cut him some slack. He says even though Hawk fucked up, he was trying to do the best he could. And he does have some good ideas. Like, it was his idea for Marc to let everybody live here and to start his own House. He saved my life a couple of times too. So I guess I have to try, but it's not easy.”

Elise shook her head. The more she heard, the more it felt like she'd been dropped into an alternate reality. There were times when she really missed the tools of her craft: the linseed oil, the turpentine, the smell of her paints. She loved the way they'd coated her senses just enough to block the outside noise, enabling her emotions to flow out of her and onto the canvas unimpeded, without the crackling static of other people's thoughts. But there were other times, like right now, when she really wished there were a way to get
more
insight into other people's hearts and minds, rather than less. She'd give a lot right now for a little more clarity. What on earth was Heather talking about?

“So…but Marc's just
your
sire really, isn't that so? Who are these other vampires—like the ones downstairs? Why are they here?” They were the same questions she'd asked Marc. Surely, if she asked enough people, someone would tell her the truth. “I thought they were all supposed to be feral, but that's not the case, is it?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Of course they're feral. That's the whole reason why Marc had to start his own House—so that we'd all have a home and a sire and no one would be going crazy anymore like we were before. Nobody else wanted us.”

Elise opened her mouth to respond, to argue that none of this was possible, that what House one belonged to was decided by blood, that it had nothing to do with what one might want, but just then the door to the room was thrust open.