The Endangered (9 page)

Chapter 10

The flight is departing in a couple of hours from a private airstrip not far from Newark airport. Catch allows me to return to my house alone to gather a few ‘essentials’ and maybe leave a note explaining my sudden disappearance.

I need closure with my old life. There is nothing I want more.

After my begging and pleading, followed by a stern lecture on his part, Catch is finally convinced I won’t do anything “stupid.”

He sends for a car, doling out strict orders to the driver about where he can take me and for how long. I’m okay with that.

I don’t want to go against Adrian’s wishes, and if my friends learn the truth, even suspect something was up, their blood would be on my hands. I shudder at the thought, not wanting to imagine what he is capable of.

Adrian does not lie or make hollow threats. Of this I am certain.

***

I’d written a rough draft in my head over and over of what I’d leave them. Saying I’d be in touch. That I recently reconnected with a relative, an aunt living on the West Coast who needed medical care. That I was going to finish my degree from there. That I’d come by to say good-bye, but I’d found everyone out for the night and had a plane to catch. Some ridiculous, inflated lie justified only by the knowledge that the truth is much worse.

It is a Friday night. My roommates would be out for certain. I’d slip in and grab some clothes, a sentimental object or two, tack a note to my door with money for the rest of the year’s rent supplied by what was left of my bank account. And be gone.

As I’d anticipated, the house is quiet and I sneak in without incident. Since it is still technically my place of residence, I do not need permission to enter.

My departure does not go as smoothly as I’d planned.

In our upstairs hallway a large horizontal mirror decorates the corner wall, facing the stairs. It is behind me as I round the corner, bloated gym bag slung over my shoulder, note in my pocket—I’d opted for fridge placement—and there stand Jeff and Erica.

Like a deer caught in headlights, I freeze, startled. They look equally stunned by my sudden appearance. My room sits above the front door and I hadn’t heard anyone enter the house, but they could’ve been in his room at the opposite end of the hall. The whole upstairs reeks of weed, as per the norm, obstructing my ability to detect their presence.

“Lori?”

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

Blank stares.

Is my delivery not casual enough? Give me a break.

Erica turns to Jeff. “Told you.”

“What?” Now I am agitated.

“She’s sick, possessed, something unnatural,” Erica presses further.

“What kind of illness causes that?” Jeff points behind me.

I know what is there, so I don’t bother turning to see the lack of my presence within its frame.

I’d stolen the damned mirror from a bar one night on a dare. Corona bottles with cocktail umbrellas and palm trees decorate its reflective surface. Couldn’t fit it in my room, with all the posters and such, so it found a home in our hallway. Go figure.

They stand between me and the stairs. I could turn and bolt through the window in my room, make a jump for it. I should trust my powers to get me out of this. But desperation to be “normal,” to rationalize the situation, to believe they would listen and understand; this hope tells me I can explain my way past them.

Plus, I don’t want to be chased or followed.

It’ll be easy. They are stoned, anyway. Everything will be fine.

“What happened to you?” Fear in Jeff’s words.

I approach them cautiously.

“Nothing. Life’s been a little crazy lately. Everything’s cool.”

“You look different. And you haven’t been yourself lately. We’re concerned. What is going on?”

I force a laugh. “You’re being dramatic. It’s nothing. I’m fine. No worries.”

Their expressions say “bullshit.”

“Look, I wish I could stay and explain, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

I continue down the hall, making like I’m going to push past, but Erica refuses to budge. Instead she plants herself in my path.

“Jeff, would you please ask your girl to move. I’ve got places to be and sooner I’m outta your hair the better.”

Jeff obliges, stepping back and motioning for Erica to do the same. Instead, she points at the mirror, looking from me to Jeff.

“Not until you explain that,” she demands. I can’t help myself; I turn and look at the reflection of the two of them and a floating duffle bag.

“Relax, the angle’s off.”

“We want to help you. Just talk to us.” Jeff’s tone is desperate.

“I’m beyond help. Trust me.”

I begin to retreat to my room, giving up on the stairs.

“I always knew there was something off about you, but you really must be a freak.”

The comments I am successfully ignoring—the grip on my arm, not as well. Erica grabs me and pulls me back, spinning me around.

“I warned you. Back off!”

I shove her off me. Hard.

Forgetting my strength, I see her leave the ground and smack into the wall. Her head hits first. The dull crunch of bone breaking. She falls to the floor, limp. Pieces of plaster land on her shoulders. 

Jeff, recoiling, lets out a gasp. In my anger I’d transformed. I wasn’t in control and my temper prevailed. I am in full panic mode, realizing I struck Erica back with such force that the cracking sound had come from her neck or her skull. As if I’d willed it.

My impetuous act seals our fates. I cannot leave any witnesses.

***

I meet Catch at the landing strip. Lights line the narrow runway and a flight control tower loom in the distance. I suppose this is a legitimate flight; who knows how they work the system. I can’t say it is my chief concern as I board the plane. Catch, having stuck his head out from the open doorway when the car pulled up, now greets me with a hug as I step on board.

“You’re shaking. Did something happen?”

Can he smell the fresh blood?

“Everything’s fine,” I assure him as he takes the bag from my shoulder and I crash on a plush suede couch.

“Let’s leave this god-forsaken country and never return.”

At that he smiles and takes a couple bottles from the shiny black mini fridge that sits perfectly positioned between a rich walnut end table and one of the three Barcaloungers that add to the opulent decor of the jet.

I sit up, taking in the ambience for the first time. Catch notices, handing me a dark drink.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Nice? Do they make planes nicer than this?”

Catch laughs. “I’m sure they do. But needless to say, you’ll soon learn money isn’t an object—or issue, rather—with our kind.”

A man in a pilot’s uniform steps into the cabin. I stiffen instinctively.

He addresses Catch, "We’re preparing for departure. It shouldn’t be much longer, sir. Can I get you and your companion anything in the meantime?”

“No, that should be all. Thanks for the update.” Catch waves him away politely and he disappears through a door in the cockpit.

Catch turns to me and, speaking in a hushed voice, explains, “He’s the co-pilot. The front is that we work for a very successful Fortune 500 and that we are, of course, human, so just act natural.”

“Got it.”

Catch raises his glass.

“A toast. To your new life. Our new life.”

I sip a cocktail of vodka and blood. What transpired at the house has left me feeling ill and exhausted, like hitting a post-adrenalin wall. I stretch out on the couch.

“You sure everything’s all right?” He pries a little.

I can’t blame him; my distress is palpable.

“What about these windows? Will sunlight be an issue?” Changing the subject.

“There will be a point for a short while when the sun will be a factor, but you just push that button and shades will seal off all the windows. Easy fix.”

“Wild. I’m gonna nap for a little, if you don’t mind. I’m not much of a flyer.”

“Sure, rest up,” Catch encourages. “I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

Sleep is a bad idea. As soon as I shut my eyes, the events at the house replay across my lids. I check Erica for signs of life, but her heartbeat has vanished. Jeff goes from petrified shock to hysterical screaming. Instinctively, I grab him and bite down hard on his neck.

He goes mute and my head clears.

I release my hold and push him away like I’d just tasted soured milk. His heart has slowed and she has slipped out of consciousness. I dial 9-1-1 from the house phone and bolt out the door, wiping blood from my mouth.

The room is cool and musty. I am alone with an upright mirror that stretches to the sharply angled ceiling. An attic consumed in darkness. I cross gingerly to the mirror, the wood floorboards smooth and cold under my bare feet.

My reflection stares back dressed in the outfit I’d worn to the club the night I met Catch. The night I died.

Then I see a long white corridor lined with glass enclosures. Huge hairy beasts snarl back from behind the glass. One howls, then they all start howling. Painful, piercing cries.

Lightening flashes as if emitted from the mirror itself. I blink and suddenly the creature staring back has two puncture wounds on her neck.

Blood begins to seep from the wounds.

The eyes staring back are hollow, skin ashen, face sunken, body frail and emaciated…I am a corpse. A corpse bathed in blood, withering and grotesque. Everything in the mirror becomes soaked in scarlet, pouring from the surface onto the floorboards.

***

Jolting awake, I flip with a start and fall right off the couch.

I mumble incoherently. Catch is at my side as I open my eyes.

He helps me back onto the couch.

“You okay?”

“Don’t suppose I could blame turbulence.”

“You’re sweating.” He wipes damp hair from my face.

“I had a nightmare.”

“A vivid one apparently.”

“I was dead.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing was as it should be.”

“I can’t say nightmares were part of my experience when I was turned, but I know how traumatic it is, and that’s an understatement.”

“Don’t you hate when you wake up to find it wasn’t just a dream?”

He squeezes my shoulders and forces a smile. I let him hold me. My shaking subsides and soon I am sobbing into his shoulder. I haven’t cried this hard since my mother died.

Chapter 11

The flight isn’t as long as I’d expected. A limo greets us once we set foot on London ground. The moonlit city glistens, offering a surprising air of liveliness in contrast to my expectations of dense smog.

After a fleeting glimpse of cityscape, we are soon swallowed by forest. My face remains glued to the window. Catch occasionally rubs my arm, supplying facts about England and our destination. I involuntarily tune him out, captivated by my surroundings.

In the past month I’d learned to drive, taken my first flight, and left the country. All of this is new. I’d been to Jersey to visit my dying grandmother when I was little, then taken the train to North Carolina to stay with my uncle.  My mother was laid to rest somewhere outside Charlotte.  The stay with my uncle was brief; it did not end well. He chose booze over parenthood and I chose New York’s foster system over a trailer park. I use the word “choice” loosely.

So now I venture outside the city for the first time in nearly a decade. You could say I traded one island for another, but this was no Big Apple. Of course in the same time I’d managed to lose everything I’d spent twenty-two years working to achieve: my surrogate family of friends, my scholarship, my home, my pulse.

We arrive at a gate, a lofty construct of wrought iron and concrete, daring me to enter. After a word from the driver, the gates creak apart. The next half mile prove the longest part of the trip.

“Watch ahead,” urges Catch. “The mansion will appear as we round this bend.”

He wasn’t kidding.

As we turn the bend, the trees seem to bow toward the enormous stone structure. The stone gleams ghastly silver in the moonlight. The mansion is immense in its towering columns, tiered stories, and flying buttresses. Vines climb the walls, covering two-thirds of the façade.

“This isn’t a mansion; it’s a castle. How far back does it date?” I ask in a hushed voice. This draws a chuckle from Catch.

“1600s, I believe. Wait till you see inside.”

The limo pulls to a stop outside two gated doors. I exit cautiously, still admiring the building’s architecture…a real life sandcastle. Outside the entrance, I peer straight up and expectantly spot gargoyles perched high above.

“Yep. Complete with gargoyles and everything. Impressive, isn’t it?”

Catch takes our bags from the driver who pulls away hastily.

We are left in silence staring at massive wooden doors fit for a giant.

“What, no doorman?” I ask Catch as he presses his finger into the buzzer.

“Come on, you blimey wanker,” he mocks into the receiver.

He smiles, explaining, “Xan let us through the gate a ways back. He knows we’re here. He’s just messing with us.”

The buzzer responds with a click and Catch pushes open the doors to reveal a grand entrance fit for royalty. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the granite pillars and curved archways leave me speechless. Not to mention the rich, dark upholstery and oriental rugs, all of which perfectly reinforce the gothic ambiance.

“Catch!”

A tall, lanky man in jeans and a tee shirt runs up and embraces Catch with enthusiasm.

“Great to see you, too, mate,” Catch responds. “Xan, meet my companion.” Catch gestures to me. We shake hands.

“Xan, Lori. Lori, Xan. He’s the brains behind our little operation here.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Jiro carries most of that burden.” Xan looks embarrassed.

“Nice to meet you.” I smile.

Xan’s ordinary appearance clashes with our environment. I’d half expected Dracula himself in a double-breast suit complete with flared cuffs to waif through the entranceway. Instead we are greeted by a rather geeky-looking teenager in tattered clothing, eighteen, maybe twenty max. Then again, he’s probably five hundred.

Catch picks up his bag.

“I’m going to get settled in and see how the others are faring. Xan, I trust you’ll give Lori the grand tour.”

“Love ta, good to have you back.” He pats Catch’s shoulder.

“I have to report in. I’ll find you later.” Catch winks at me and leaves Xan and me standing in the intimidating marble corridor.

“So you’re the American. From New York City, I hear?”

“Yes.” I nod politely.

Two thoughts run through my head. One is that his jeans are way too tight and second is if his Ninja Turtles t-shirt dated back to the eighties because it certainly looked it. 

“I was there once, years ago. Strange, beautiful city,” he remarks. “Can I take your bag?”

I am temporarily hypnotized by his powder blue eyes.

“I’ve got it, thanks. Your eyes—they’re not dark like Catch’s and Adrian’s.”

He smiles warmly. “No, they were blue before I turned. Now they’re brighter than ever.”

“Strange…mine were brown…”

“Yours are gray now but they’ll darken over time. You drank recently,” he observes.

It takes me a minute to realize he doesn’t mean alcohol. And then that wrenching returns.

“Are you from here?” I can’t discern much of an accent.

“From around. Oslo originally. Lived all over.”

“I’m blown away by this castle. It’s enormous—and gorgeous.”

“Yes, it certainly is. Come on, I’ll show you around some, introduce you.”

“How many people—er, vampires—call this place home?”

“It varies. There are only a handful of us that reside here permanently. Most are out hunting, fighting. We have enough suites to house nearly a hundred. But as I’m sure Catch explained, you’ll find most empty. We have whole wings to ourselves.”

A visual of a room filled with one hundred vampires makes me shudder. We are standing in a hallway large enough to drive a truck through.

“This is the East wing. The training facility can be reached down those stairs.”

I nod, admiring the artwork, sculpture, and security cameras that line the walls.

“The facility is where you’ll be spending most of your time, at least initially. Though I have to admit, I still spend most of my time down there. I’m an inventor of sorts. Always trying new weapons.”

“Sounds cool.”

“Did Catch tell you much about the war?"

“A little.”

“You know what we do here? I mean, have a general idea.”

“The word training came up a lot.”

He smiles. “Yes, well, weapons and martial arts skills have become necessities. It’s not enough to simply possess our abilities anymore. The wolves outmatch our strength, so we need to play to our speed and elevate our capacity to outmaneuver their brute force with martial arts and advanced weapons. Ever fire a gun?”

I shake my head.

He points at his eyes. “With these bad boys you’ll be an excellent shot.”

My eyesight had been vastly improved. I’d tossed my contact lenses.

I have to admit there are some perks to vampirism.

“This base is state of the art. We’ve turned this castle into a modern day fortress.”

“Well, it sure beats your average army camp.”

“Yeah, pretty good disguise, huh?”

We tour the various wings. Gymnasium, gun range, and, ironically, the infirmary, which takes up the basement level. Weapon and tech facilities, a blood lab complete with refrigerated storerooms on the main level. The second and third floors house the living quarters. There are recreation rooms with bars, elaborate entertainment centers, and pool tables; other luxuries are scattered around the castle. More for aesthetics than anything else, I gather.

Vast libraries complete the north and south wings of the main level, stocked to the ceilings with leather-bound volumes.

Gardens with overgrown topiaries, ponds, and wooded trails decorate the grounds.

Xan points out the various cameras as we walk. Part of an elaborate security system. It is a lot to take in at once, he admits, suggesting I explore the castle on my own when I feel up to it. He stops outside a door at the far end of the hall, fishes in his pockets for a moment, then reveals a plastic key card. One swipe and the light blinks green.

Smiling, he turns the handle.

“Modern upgrades include a security system I designed.”

“So like, umm, where is everybody? All out on assignments?”

“They are in the War Room, for lack of a better term. It’s where all of our mainframes are housed. We run the technical side of our operations from there. If you’re out in the field and you need an address, the blueprints of a building, any sort of intel—our resident hackers, myself and Jiro, will be on it. We provide an extra set of eyes when needed. You’ll be equipped with an ear piece for communication, the kind that can’t be traced, and a GPS tracker, so you can be traced.”

I raise my eyebrows, as if to say “you can’t be serious.” He continues.

“It’s for your own good, so don’t remove it. You encounter a pack of wolves, you’ll want us to be able to send backup.”

He leads me into a hotel-style suite. The living room boasts a big screen television, surround sound, an overstuffed couch, and a wet bar in the corner to represent the kitchen.

“This is your room. Everyone’s got pretty much the same setup here; bedroom’s down the hall, bathroom’s attached. Those windows open to a balcony. Keep the drapes pulled during the day, though. We haven’t installed UV-protected windows. Marcus insists the current ones are antiques.” He sighs.

“This is an apartment!” I exclaim.

Everything is shiny and modern.

“Meets your approval?”

“Haha, yeah, I wasn’t sure what to expect from a place like this.” I eye the flat-screen TV. “Certainly wasn’t expecting all these amenities.”

“You were expecting a coffin?” Xan is pleased at my excitement. “We have access to everything and anything you could want. When I say we’re ahead of the humans, I mean it more in terms of accessibility; we’re able to access military-grade hardware and such. State-of-the-art is old school to us.”

“Well, if the way you’ve tricked out this place is any indication, I have no doubt I’ll have no shortage of resources in the field.”

“Already starting to talk like us.” He has a warm, genuine smile. “And yeah, I like to think that we’re innovators, but truth is I just tinker with existing technology, modify it to meet our needs. My forte is weapons technology. Jiro puts me to shame when it comes to computers.”

“Impressive.”

Just then a figure appears in the open doorway. She is slightly taller than me, slender build, red streaks glowing through her dark hair. Black boots, cargo pants with loud metal zippers, and a jet black tee. If army-issue Goth is a style, she certainly owns it.

“You must be Lori. I’m Crina.” She speaks with a thin, eastern European accent. 

We shake hands.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply cautiously as she assesses me with suspicious eyes.             

Her gaze softens and she turns to Xan. “Xan here show you around?”

“Yeah, gave me the grand tour.”

“Good.”

“We’ll start training tomorrow,” adds Xan.

She nods approvingly.

“So this means Catch is back?”

“He’s probably reporting to Marcus.”

Crina turns to me.

“Must’ve been an exhausting trip. Get some rest, settle in. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you, newbie.”

And with that, she’s gone.

“Crina’s the Queen Bee around here, so to speak. She and Catch share the second-in-command title since one or both is almost always out on assignment. Marcus—“

“Is first in command?” I guess.

He nods. “He’s of a very strong, powerful lineage, and—and I’m guessing Catch already told you all of this…”

“I look forward to meeting him.” I try to sound as respectful as possible. I am supposed to feel honored by the role bestowed on me and I’m not looking to make waves on day one. Xan is seemingly converted.

“Settle in. We’ll pick up in the training room after dusk.”

He hands me the key card.

“Try not to lose it. I misplace mine all the time. Anything I can get for you?”

“Thanks, but I’m set. Just gonna unpack my things.”

“Cool. We’re all glad to have you here. Rest up.”

He shuts the door behind him. I am standing in a castle outside London. Perhaps I could get used to this after all.

The large, heavy windows ease open after some protest and allow me to step out onto a curved balcony. I have a brilliant view of the half-moon above, haloed by sparse clouds and illuminating a tree-lined horizon.

Leaning over the rod iron rail, I look down at the dirt trails leading into the rather ominous wooded landscape. There is a knock at my door. I reluctantly re-enter and cross to the door. It’s Catch.

“Hey!”

I fling my arms around him. If he minds my overzealous greeting, he doesn’t show it.

“How do you like your new digs?”

“Not too shabby.”