The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires (34 page)

“I think you’re a bit more than that, dear. Your Gigi gave John a lovely picture of the domestic life you’ve built together. It was charming, really, to hear it from her perspective. Imagine, an ancient like Calix falling in love with a little human girl from the Hollow.”

Cal wouldn’t look at me—couldn’t, I supposed, if he didn’t want to see my face as Mr. Marchand gave his secrets away.

I cleared my throat, pushing past the hot, tight sensation of it closing. “Fine. If you think I mean so much to him, it’s not necessary for Gigi to be here. Let her go.”

“I don’t think you understand how negotiations work,” he told me.

“You’re not the first to say so. Look, I will be a very cooperative hostage if you let my sister go.”

“You’ll be a more cooperative hostage if the imminent threat of your sister’s death is hanging over your head.”

“Damn, that’s a good point,” I admitted.

He chuckled, patting me on the head. “Now, Mr.
Calix, have you reconsidered your stance? Surely the well-being of two innocents outweighs the considerations of such a minor administrative matter.”

“It’s hardly a problem with ordering office supplies,” I said. “People are dead. Vampires driven mad. You did all that, for what?”

He shrugged amiably. “I wish I could claim some great philosophical motivation. But honestly, I’m in it for the money. I devised the Blue Moon compound knowing how it would affect vampires and knowing that I was the only person who could provide a preventive treatment. I arranged for the ‘accidental’ release of the altered synthetic blood to the market, took care of the loose ends at Nocturne, and waited for reports of attacks. I was just as shocked and appalled as any vampire when I heard about the violent killings. Imagine the chaos if the poison was distributed on a larger scale, I told the other Council members. And when the time was right, the manufacturers of Vee Balm made contact with the Council offices.”

“You made Vee Balm?”

A shrewd look seeped into his icy gray eyes. “Technically, a company in South Bend, Indiana, makes Vee Balm. I just happen to own that company. Well, the subsidiary that owns that company. And another company that supplies the botanical ingredient necessary to make Vee Balm. The same company that just struck a rather lucrative deal to provide Vee Balm to Council chapters in each state. Overall, those contracts will add up to a tidy little nest egg to keep me flush through the next millennium.

“Now, Mr. Calix, have we come to a decision? This is a time-sensitive offer. Your password in exchange for guaranteed safe passage for the Scanlon sisters. The clock is ticking.”

“Cal, don’t let them get away with this,” I told him. “He’s bluffing. John’s got some disturbing agreement to keep us as his pet blood donors after this is over. I think I can safely say that a quick death would be preferable.”

Cal’s lip curled back into a snarl. Perhaps my being used as a human bargaining chip was not the best point to bring up. I really did suck at negotiating.

“Tick-tock, Mr. Calix.” Mr. Marchand purred, leaning close to Gigi, fangs bared.

My lungs seemed frozen. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. He was going to hurt Gigi. I’d failed. I’d failed to keep her safe. Failed to see her grow up. I’d brought this on us with this stupid, pointless business.

“She’s so lovely,” Mr. Marchand murmured, pulling Gigi’s dark hair away from her neck. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he wound it around his hand. He pulled her head back to bare her throat. “I do so enjoy the young ones. They’re so … unspoiled. John here assures me that our Gigi is a very good girl. Pure as the driven snow. So even if you don’t cooperate, I am anticipating a very nice meal and a show. I win either way.”

“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to play out,” John protested.

“Gigi,” I whispered, whimpering when Mr. Marchand’s fingers tightened around the back of Gigi’s neck with crushing pressure. “I’m so sorry.”

“Screw them sideways.” Gigi had gone from sniffling softly at my side to glaring at Mr. Marchand and John with more heat than I thought possible. “They’re going to kill us anyway. If John’s going to do something creepy and awful to us, I’d rather go sooner than later.”

I gritted my teeth, barely able to move my head enough to look Cal in the eye. “Do the smart thing, Cal.”

Mr. Marchand moved to strike. I clenched my eyes shut, tucking my head into my shoulder.

“Petal!” Cal shouted. “The password is Petal.”

Cal’s password was Paul’s booty-call nickname for me.

Mr. Marchand’s grip relaxed. I sighed. “Not funny, Cal.”

“It’s a little funny,” Gigi muttered, wincing when I elbowed her.

Gigi slumped against me, shrinking away from John’s coos and assurances that she would be just fine now.

Mr. Marchand swaggered over to the laptop and tapped the keys. A little bell tone indicated success. He grinned widely. “Excellent.”

A few more taps and clicks, and Mr. Marchand was even more pleased with himself.

“Thank you very much.” He chuckled. “You have been very helpful. But I am afraid that you’re about to meet with an unfortunate accident.”

“Well, I, for one, am shocked,” John said smarmily.

Mr. Marchand pulled a packet of donor blood from a little red Coleman cooler by the table. He chose one of several carefully labeled syringes arranged on a white cotton pad, then jabbed it into the packet and shook
it thoroughly. “I made a special purchase of AB negative for you. I wouldn’t want your last meal to consist of synthetic blood.” Mr. Marchand shot a sympathetic look at Gigi and me. “Well, I suppose it won’t be your
last
meal.”

“No.” Cal growled, shrinking away as Mr. Marchand held the packet to his lips. Mr. Marchand gripped his hair and shoved the bag into Cal’s mouth. He struggled, trying to spit the blood out, to wrench his mouth away, but Mr. Marchand was pouring it down his throat, forcing it down.

“Oh, this is bad,” I murmured as Cal spat and coughed.

“What? What’s bad?” Gigi asked.

“What are you doing?” John demanded shrilly. “You promised I could keep the Scanlon girls.”

“The Scanlon girls are about to fall victim to the unfortunate poisoning-related attacks,” Mr. Marchand said blithely, as if describing our lunch plans for the next day. “I stumbled upon him attacking these poor young ladies on the side of the road after Ms. Scanlon’s van broke down. I had no choice but to stake him. No loose ends, John.”

“No! I will not allow it!”

Mr. Marchand sniffed. “Don’t you talk back to me, boy. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

John shot back, “Don’t forget that I’m four hundred years older than you.”

“And yet you act like a petulant child denied a treat.”

“Don’t call me a child!” John yelled, stamping his foot.

While they argued, I felt a gentle tug at the tape behind
my back. There were warm, steady hands quietly cutting through the tape and peeling it away.

I looked over my shoulder. Ben Overby held a finger to his lips and shushed me.

“What?” I shrieked as Gigi clapped a hand over my mouth. We all glanced over at the arguing vampires, who hadn’t noticed my surprised squawk.

Gigi’s tape was already removed. She was subtly rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. When my hands were free, I slowly sat up, watching Mr. Marchand and John arguing.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered as Ben freed my hands. “How did you find us?”

“Not important right now,” he whispered, eyeing the vampires warily.

Pushing Gigi behind him, Ben helped me to my feet. Moving faster than I should have on wobbly, cramped legs, I grabbed handfuls of geranium leaves and crushed them, rubbing the oil over my hands and face.

“Here,” I said, pulling more leaves loose and rubbing them over Ben’s and Gigi’s perplexed faces. “Ben, I want you to take Gigi and get to an area with a lot of people. Take my phone out of my bag and dial the number marked ‘Ophelia.’ Tell her to get to Waco Marchand’s place as soon as possible. If that John prick tries to talk to you, I want you to think of anything but what he’s saying. Think of geometry formulas, lines from
Avatar
, anything but the bullshit that’s coming out of his mouth.”

Gigi protested. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. Now, get out of here.”

“But—but,” she spluttered. As she stalled, I saw John’s eyes narrow at us over Mr. Marchand’s shoulder. He tried to push past Mr. Marchand, to stop the kids, but the older vampire grabbed him and shoved him back into place with a thundering “Listen when I’m talking to you!”

“No buts.” I shoved her toward Ben. “Get her out of here now. Gigi, I love you, move it.”

Gigi hesitated, but Ben dragged her away. Her stiff, achy legs caught and stumbled, and he helped her to her feet. Mr. Marchand and John were full-on grappling now, with John yelling, “The younger one’s getting away, you fool!” I crept carefully over to Cal’s slumped form. One of the syringes stuck out from the cooler bag at an odd angle, the label catching my eye. VEE BALM. I snatched, snagged another capped needle, and jammed them into my pocket.

I bent to examine Cal’s cuffs, moving slowly so I wouldn’t attract the other vampires’ attention. The restraints were held together without locks, a rather ingenious but cruel invention. I just had to slide solid pins of silver out of the cuffs to release his wrists. Cal could have freed himself easily, if he could bear to touch the metal.

“What are you doing?” he asked, slurring softly.

“Getting us out of here. Can you walk?”

He nodded, then bent to unwind the wire around his ankles. I pulled out the syringe of Vee Balm.

“I’m sorry about this,” I whispered, jabbing the needle into his neck and pushing the plunger. Cal hissed, glaring up at me as the chemicals spread through his blood-stream.
I grimaced and showed him the syringe label. “It’s going to help.”

I knelt and patted his calves, feeling for his sword. “Where’s the holster?”

“They took it off of me the moment they captured me,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired.

“Now?” I squeaked. “We’re in an actual combat situation, and you don’t have your sword
now
?”

“You’re not in a combat situation,” he told me. “You are in a running-and-hiding situation.”

“I won’t leave you,” I insisted, echoing Gigi’s stubborn belligerence.

Standing on unsteady legs, he forced me to my feet and cupped my chin in his hand. “Yes, you will.”

“Don’t make me—”

“If you love me at all, you will leave right now.”

“That’s not fair, Cal.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed. “But you’ll forgive me eventually. Now, go.”

I nodded, digging my fingers into the bloodied material of his shirt and yanking him to me so I could lay a hot, desperate kiss on his lips. The metallic tang of polluted donor blood clung to his mouth, but I pressed close, drank him in, unsure of whether I would see him again, feel him next to me. His freed hands locked around my face, caressing my cheeks, tracing the tear tracks he found there.

“Go,” he whispered, pushing me away.

And in a flicker of movement, he was gone, running
across the lawn toward the arguing vampires. Swiping at my eyes, I ran around the house, ducking behind an arbor when I sensed movement in the trees. I crept through the long, purple shadows, keeping my back against the house. I wondered if Gigi had made it to Ben’s car. I wondered if I could sneak into Marchand’s house to use his phone or steal some car keys or if it would be better just to stay there, hiding in the dark … which seemed to be the direction that the weak, numbed muscles in my legs were leaning toward.

Outside was better, I told myself. In the house, I could be trapped, dragged into closets and small spaces. Outside, it was harder to sneak up behind me. I rounded a corner of the foundation to find John hovering over me, smiling sweetly.

Sneaking up in front of me, on the other hand, seemed to be pretty easy.

Sidestepping me in a blur of motion, John wrapped the length of my hair around his fist and yanked me close, nuzzling the place where my neck and shoulder joined and leaving a cold, wet spot on my skin. Inhaling deeply, he leered down at me, then dragged me off to a remote corner of the garden, under an arch of wisteria. Settling near a worn stone bench, he spun me, pinning my hips with his hands as he pressed against my back. It would have been quite a romantic spot if I didn’t have a clear view of Mr. Marchand destroying Cal’s laptop with a shovel.

My heart sank. Having already received the same
treatment as his laptop, Cal was sprawled across the grass. John’s nimble fingers plucked at my shirt as he ground against my ass.

“Marchand has what he needs. Your friend Mr. Calix is as good as dead. I thought you might want to enjoy the show before we start our fun and games.”

“You are such an
asshole
!” I hissed.

“I like you
so much
.” He sighed. “Where did your sister skip off to, the little minx?” John chuckled. “Never mind, we’ll track her down later. You two are going to be so much fun. But first, I want you to run. Anywhere you like, into the woods, into the house, to the road. Just scamper off. I’ll be along any minute.”

“No,” I spat, eyeing the shovel lying abandoned on the ground, at least twenty feet away.

“Now, Iris, our games will be so much more fun if you just give yourself over to them. I don’t want to waste our precious time together disciplining you for your petulance. Run,” he ordered. “I loved it when you struggled with me at Cal’s house. Come on, pretty thing. Give me a challenge.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Iris,” he cooed, and that strange, detached cotton-headed feeling crept in at the edge of my brain. “Be a sport. I only want to play a little.”

I planted my feet, staring him in the eye—a big no-no when dealing with a predator. “You know what I think? I think you never learned to fight. I think your vocal talent meant you never had to learn. You just hum your little tunes, and people do whatever you want. I think I
could probably kick your skinny, over-hair-gelled ass if I wanted to. And I think I mentioned earlier that I definitely want to.”