Fairytale (41 page)

Sighing in resolution, and with no small
regret, he had opened the doors of his haven and meted out justice.
He’d focused the beam from his eyes on the men who leveled their
weapons at him. The light shot forth, a blue-white stream that
widened, opening like the wings of a great, deadly bird, so that
all of them were caught in it. The soldiers went still as the beam
hit them. Their eyes widened as their bodies began to vibrate,
frozen within the grasp of his power and unable to break free. And
then, one by one, they exploded.

When it was over, an eerie calm fell over
everything around him. The silent stillness of death. It was like
no other emanation. When the souls fled the bodies of the living,
especially in such massive numbers all at once, they left a vacuum
behind. A space devoid of sense, of sound, almost of air.

Utana stepped down from the box-on-wheels,
and he walked amid the remains. True carnage, this. Pieces of the
humans littered the stone like ground, and hung from the motorized
vehicles and the tall, light-emitting poles, and from the lines
that seemed to be strung everywhere in this world. It was a
terrible waste of life, and all for nothing.

As he looked at the death and mutilation
around him, he thought of the healing power he had taken from James
of the Vahmpeers. He had not yet attempted to use it, but he had no
illusions that it would be effective on bits and pieces of men. He
would first have to sort them, leaving none out, nor mixing any
together. Such a task would be impossible, and would take
days—weeks, perhaps—even to attempt. No, it was of no use. Were
they not meant to die this day, they would not have placed
themselves in his path. The higher being knew far more than did the
earthly one. Their fate had been sealed; there was no undoing
it.

He picked his way among the limbs and gore,
amid the tiny fires dancing from their motor-driven conveyances,
and the smoke spiraling all around him. He saw more humans,
watching from a safe distance, and he felt only fear and terror
coming from them—no attack. Pausing, Utana bent low to scoop up a
dead man’s weapon. And as he held it, he closed his eyes briefly
and absorbed its vibration through his palms. It took only seconds
for him to understand how the weapon worked, how to use it, what it
did. And so he gathered up a few more before moving on.

More soldiers would come after him. No army
would let so many deaths go unavenged. He had not wanted war with
the humans, but it seemed inevitable now.

His bare feet were cold as they slapped down
on the wet stonelike substance with which modern man had apparently
paved the world. The rain was lighter now. He would find clothing
and shelter, a base of operations from which to work. The vahmpeers
had moved to somewhere not far from this place. But they would know
of his nearness now. Word of his deeds this night would surely
spread. And then they would flee. If he hoped to catch up to them,
to wipe them from existence, he had to find them before they
did.

Washington, D.C.

“You can go in now, Senator,” the curly
haired receptionist said. Marlene MacBride rose from the vinyl
chair she’d been warming for the past twenty minutes, smoothed her
pencil-slim skirt over her thighs and strode to the door. She was
staring at the plaque that adorned it. Special Agent Nash
Gravenham-Bail. As she lifted a hand to tap before entering, the
door swung open, and she glimpsed a broad torso and a large file
box coming toward her.

The box bumped her chest before she had a
chance to move out of the way. She automatically gripped it, and
the man behind it spoke.

“Senator MacBride. Sorry about the wait, but
I think you’ll find everything you need in here. Enough to get you
started, at least.”

Marlene lifted her stunned eyes from the box
to the face of the man shoving it at her. It was the scar that
caught her attention, as she would guess it did most people’s upon
meeting this man for the first time. It was a thin pink line,
raised a bit, that began at the outside corner of his left eye and
angled across his cheek to the center of his chin.

“Line of duty,” he said. “Besides, it’s
intimidating. That’s a bonus in my line of work.”

She shifted her focus from his scar to his
eyes. Wet cement, they were. “Mr. Gravenham-Bail?”

“It’s a mouthful, I know,” he said. “I still
cuss my parents out on a daily basis for the hyphenated name thing.
I mean, really, just pick one already. Make a decision.”

She nodded.

“Easier if you just call me Nash.”

“Mmm.” He still hadn’t let her into his
office. She was standing in the doorway, holding a box that was
getting heavier by the minute, and getting absolutely nowhere with
him. “Look, Nash, I was expecting a meeting with you. So you could
brief me on all this.”

“Oh, really? I thought you’d want documents.
Files.”

“Well, those, too, but—”

“Look if you want a meeting, we’ll set one
up. Week after next?”

“I’m afraid that—”

“Barbara,” he called, and started moving
forward. Marlene had to either back up or let him walk right into
her. He backed her into the reception area, pulling his office door
closed behind him. “Barbara, schedule me a sit-down with the
senator, here, for the next free afternoon I have. A full hour.
And, uh, get someone to help her down with this file box, will
you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Nice meeting you, Senator MacBride. I’ll see
you in two weeks.”

He extended a hand to shake, looked
sheepishly at the box that was occupying both of hers, then turned
and was back in his office, door closed, before she could say boo.
Hell, this wasn’t going well at all.

Nash closed his office door, counted to sixty
and picked up the phone. “Babs, she gone yet?” “The elevator doors
just closed on her, sir.” “Great. Get me a flight to Maine. Bangor,
or as close to there as possible.” “Right away, sir.”

Nash needed to get his hands on this
resurrected monster, get him under control. He would not rest until
every last vampire was obliterated. If even one remained, they
would make others. Like damn lice. They were parasites. You had to
pick ’em clean to end the infestation. And you had better get their
eggs, too, unless you wanted to start the process all over again.
In this case, that meant the so-called Chosen. Humans with the rare
antigen in their blood that made them susceptible to the disease
the Undead had dubbed the Dark Gift. It wasn’t a gift. It was a
freaking mutation. The only humans who could become vampires were
the carriers of the Belladonna Antigen, so they would have to be
eliminated, too. As soon as they’d served their purpose.

The Dymphna Project would take care of that.
And by the time pesky Senator MacBride waded through the paperwork
mountain he’d handed her, it would all be over.

But in order for his plan to work, he needed
to find this Utanapishtim, this madman from another age, another
world. He had to win the man’s trust, so he could wield him like
the weapon Nash intended him to be.

And then, when the war was over and humans
were victorious, he would destroy the so-called immortal last of
all, and end the age of the vampires for all time.

He was going to save mankind from the scourge
of the Undead. And no junior senator from Nebraska was going to get
into his way. No matter how good she looked in a skirt.

St. Dymphna Psychiatric Hospital

Mount Bliss, Virginia

Roxanne was the nurse on check-in duty on the
day the odd little girl and her mother arrived at St. Dymphna.

And as it turned out, that was a damned good
thing. Then again, she’d never believed in coincidence.

Roxy had been a friend to the vampires all
her life. And her life was a long one. Longer than most of the
folks who carried the Belladonna Antigen in their blood. They were
known as the Chosen, and word was, they didn’t live to see
forty.

She’d seen a hell of a lot more than forty,
but she wouldn’t admit how much more. Not under torture. Besides,
age was just a number.

Roxy had no desire to become a vampire. But
she damn well wasn’t going to stand by and watch them get wiped out
of existence, either. Her vamp friends had been good to her. Saved
her wrinkle-free hide more than once.

So when she got notification from Uncle Sam
that she was to report to some out-of-commission loony bin with all
the other Chosen, to be protected from vampire attack, she knew it
was time to take action.

Vampires didn’t prey on the Chosen. They were
like spooky-ass guardian angels to them. Couldn’t help themselves.
One of her kind got into trouble, one of their kind showed up to
bail them out. Usually did a little oogly-boogly mind shit on the
way out, just to erase the memory and keep their cover intact.

Vamps weren’t the only ones who could play
oogly-boogly mind games.

Roxy had made herself disappear. As far as
the government knew, she was on the run, avoiding compliance with
their summons, while in truth she was right under their noses, with
a false ID and a freshly minted nursing license, working as an R.N.
at St. Dymphna’s. Forged paperwork, a little witch-craft—yeah, she
was a card-carrying spell-caster— and bam, she was hired.

And she was damned glad to be in the place,
too, that day when she greeted the newest guests, Jane and Melinda
Hubbard, at the front door.

The mom and daughter looked like two photos
of the same person taken twenty years apart. And they looked
scared, too.

“Hey, now. There’s no call to look like
that,” Roxy said. “Know why?”

Melinda stared at her, huge blue eyes seeing
right through her, she thought. “Why?” the little girl asked.

Hell, the kid’s gaze was so intense it sent a
little shiver up Roxy’s spine. But she shook it off and smiled.
“Because
I’m here
. And I’m going to give you my personal
promise that nothing bad will happen to you while you’re here.
You’re gonna be my special friends. And no one messes with Roxy’s
friends. Okay?”

Jane smiled a little, hugging her daughter
closer.

“She’s like me, Mommy,” Melinda said softly.
R

oxy felt her smile die as Jane shot her a
look. Quickly Roxy glanced around to make sure no one else had
heard, and then she knelt down to put herself at eye level with the
little girl. “
I am
like you,” she whispered. “But that has
to be our little secret, okay? No one else can know.”

“Why?”

Roxy swallowed hard. She had not intended to
tell these people—nor any of the other captives— who or what she
was. It was too dangerous. Now she had a seven-year-old apparent
psychic to contend with.

Roxy bent closer. “I might get into trouble
if you tell. Okay, honey? You know how to keep a secret, don’t
you?”

“Uh-huh.” Melinda eyed Roxy up and down.
“Okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Then looking up at her mother,
she said, “She’s good.”

Roxy’s brows went up. There was definitely
more to this little girl than the antigen they shared. Speaking at
a more normal volume, she said, “I’m gonna find you guys the nicest
room in this place. Come on with me now. We’re all up on the fourth
floor.”

As they headed for the elevators, Jane leaned
in close. “What’s going on around here, Roxy?”

Roxy glanced up and to the right, where the
wall met the ceiling, meaning in her eyes. And she knew when Jane
followed her gaze and spotted the camera mounted there. “Eyes and
ears, hon,” she whispered, a big, fake smile on her face.
“Everywhere.”

Jane nodded and lowered her head, face
averted from the camera. “I’m just trying to find out if it’s safe
here for my daughter.”

“Should have done that before you brought her
here,” Roxy said.

“Then we’re leaving.” Jane started to turn
away toward the big entry door.

Roxy clasped her arm, and squeezed hard
enough to get her attention and stop her in her tracks. “They won’t
let you leave. You didn’t notice the armed guards walking the
perimeter? The electric fence around this entire place? You’re here
now. And you’ll have to stay here.”

“But—”

“No buts. No choice.” The elevator doors slid
open as Roxy released the woman’s arm but continued to hold her
eyes. Her false smile had vanished, and she realized it and pasted
it back on again. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you both.
And when the time is right, I’ll get you out of here.”

“That’s why you’re keeping your…condition…
secret?”

Roxy nodded as she hustled them into the
elevator. “You want the zoo cages left unlocked, best have a monkey
posing as a zookeeper, don’t you think? Now come on. You blow my
cover, we’re all done for. And for heaven’s sake, smile. You’ve
gotta look like you’re glad to be here. All right?”

“All right.”

They stepped inside, all three of them, and
the elevator doors slid closed. As they rode upward, Roxy added, in
a very soft whisper, “Don’t let them know she’s different. That
would be…bad.”

The mother shifted her blue eyes to the
little girl, who stood between the two adults, her knapsack on her
back, a teddy bear peeking from the top. Tears shimmered in Jane’s
eyes, but she blinked them away and tightened her grip on her
daughter’s tiny hand.

New York Times bestselling author Maggie
Shayne has published more than 50 novels and 23 novellas. She has
written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita
Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in
2005.

Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old,
happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of
Cortland County, NY, with her soul-mate, Lance.  They share a
pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English
Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the
feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places. 
Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid
follower of the Law of Attraction