The Night Eternal (21 page)

Eph had no desire to be a bouncing red chew toy for this pack of bloodsuckers, but he saw the logic in Fet’s plan. “Just do me a favor,” he said. “Make it fast.”

Fet called back, “Gus! Stay with Eph.”

“No way,” said Gus. “I’m going in. Bruno, get with him.”

Eph smiled at Gus’s obvious distaste for him. He caught Mr. Quinlan’s arm and pulled him back, trading the sword he carried for his own.

I will take care of the human guards,
Mr. Quinlan said, and disappeared in a flash
.

Eph regripped the familiar leather handle, then waited for Bruno to come up at his side. “You okay with this?”

“Better than okay,” said Bruno, out of breath but smiling wide, like a kid. His super-white teeth looked great against his light-brown skin.

Eph lowered his sword, jogging off to the left and away from the structure. The vamps hesitated a moment before following. Eph and Bruno rounded the corner of a long, shedlike outbuilding, all dark. Beyond it, light shone from inside a window.

Lights meant humans.

“This way!” said Eph, breaking into a run. Bruno kept pace, panting. Eph looked back and, sure enough, the vampires were charging around the corner after them. Eph ran toward the light, seeing a vampire standing near the door to the building.

He was a big male, backlit by the faint window light. On his large chest and the sides of his trunklike neck, Eph saw fading tattoo ink, turned green by the white blood and multiple stretch marks.

At once, like a traumatic memory forcing its way back into his consciousness, the Master’s voice was inside Eph’s head.

What are you here for, Goodweather?

Eph stopped and pointed his sword at the big vamp. Bruno spun around next to him, keeping an eye on the drones behind them.

What is it you came here to get?

Bruno roared next to Eph, hacking down two charging vampires. Eph turned, momentarily distracted, seeing the others bunched up just a few yards away—respecting the silver—and then, realizing he had allowed himself to become distracted, turned back fast with his sword up.

The tip of his sword caught the charging vampire in the right breast, entering skin and muscle but not running him through. Eph withdrew quickly and stabbed at the vampire’s throat, just as the thing’s jaw was beginning to drop, baring its stinger. The tattooed vampire shivered and dropped to the ground.

“Fuckers!” yelled Bruno.

They were all coming now. Eph wheeled and readied his sword. But there were just too many, and all moving at once. He started backpedaling—

You are here searching for someone, Goodweather.

—and felt stones beneath his feet as he neared the building. Bruno kept hacking and slaying as Eph backed up three steps, feeling for the door handle, opening the latch, the door giving way.

You are mine now, Goodweather.

The voice boomed, disorienting him. Eph pulled on Bruno’s shoulder, motioning to the gangbanger to follow him inside. They ran past makeshift cages on either side of the narrow walkway, containing humans in various stages of distress. A madhouse of sorts. The people howled at Eph and Bruno as they hurried through.

Dead end, Goodweather.

Eph shook his head hard, trying to chase the Master’s voice from his mind. Its presence was addling, like the voice of madness itself. Add to that the people clawing at the cages as he passed, and Eph was caught in a cyclone of confusion and terror.

The first of the pursuing vampires entered the other end. Eph tried one door, leading to an office of sorts, with a dentist-style chair whose headrest, and the floor beneath it, was crusted with dry, red human blood. Another door led outside, Eph jumping down three steps. More vampires awaited him, having gone around the building rather than through it, and Eph swung and chopped, turning just in time to catch one female leaping at him from the roof.

Why did you come here, Goodweather?

Eph leaped back from the slain female. He and Bruno backed away, side by side, heading toward an unlit, windowless structure set against the high perimeter fence. Perhaps the vampires’ quarters? The camp
strigoi
’s nest?

Eph and Bruno angled themselves, only to find that the fence turned sharply and ended at another unlit structure.

Dead end. I told you.

Eph stood up to the vampires coming toward them in the dark.

“Undead end,” Eph muttered. “You bastard.”

Bruno glanced over at him. “Bastard? You the one who ran us into this trap!”

Once I catch you and turn you, I will know all your secrets.

That turned Eph cold. “Here they come,” he said to Bruno—and got ready for them.

N
ora had arrived at Barnes’s office inside the administrative building ready to agree to anything, including giving herself to Barnes, in order to save her mother and get close to him. She despised her former boss even more than the vampire oppressors. His immorality sickened her—but the fact that he believed she was weak enough to simply bend to his will made her nauseous.

Killing him would show him that. If his fantasy was her submission, her plan was to drive the shank into his heart. Death by butter knife: how fitting!

She would do it as he lay in bed or in the middle of his dinner patter, so hideously civilized. He was more evil than the
strigoi:
his corruption was not a disease, was not something inflicted
upon
him. His corruption was opportunistic. A choice.

Worst of all was his perception of her as a potential victim. He had fatally misread Nora, and all that was left was for her to show him the error of his ways. In steel.

He made her wait out in the hallway, where there was no chair or bathroom, for three hours. Twice he left his office, resplendent in his crisp, white admiral’s uniform, strolling past Nora carrying some papers but never acknowledging her, passing without a word, disappearing behind another door. And so she waited, stewing, even when the single camp whistle signaled the rations call, one hand across her grumbling stomach—her mind squarely focused on her mother and murder.

Finally, Barnes’s assistant—a young female with clean,
shoulder
-length auburn hair, wearing a laundered gray jumpsuit—opened the door, admitting Nora without a word. The assistant remained in the doorway as Nora passed through. Perfumed skin and minty breath. Nora returned the assistant’s look of disapproval, imagining just how the woman had secured such a plum position in Barnes’s world.

The assistant sat behind her desk, leaving Nora to try the next door, which was locked. Nora turned and retreated to one of the two hard folding chairs against the wall facing the assistant. The assistant made busy noises in an effort to ignore Nora while simultaneously asserting her superiority. Her telephone buzzed and she lifted the receiver, answering it quietly. The room, save for the unfinished wooden walls and the laptop computer, resembled a low-tech 1940s-era office: corded telephone, a pen and paper set, blotter. On the near corner of the desk, just off the blotter, sat a thick chocolate brownie on a small paper plate. The assistant hung up after a few whispered words and noticed Nora staring at the treat. She reached for the plate, taking just a nibble of the dessert cake, a few stray crumbs sprinkling down into her lap.

Nora heard a click in the doorknob, followed by Barnes’s voice.

“Come in!”

The assistant moved her treat to the other side of her desk, out of Nora’s reach, before waving her through. Nora again walked to the door and turned the knob, which, this time, gave way.

Barnes was standing behind his desk, stuffing files into an open attaché case, preparing to leave for the day. “Good morning, Carly. Is the car ready?”

“Yes, sir, Dr. Barnes,” sang the assistant. “They just called up from the gate.”

“Call down and make sure the heat is on in the back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nora?” said Barnes, still stuffing, not looking up. His demeanor was much changed from their previous encounter at his palatial home. “You have something you wish to discuss with me?”

“You win.”

“I win? Wonderful. Now tell me, what is it I have won?”

“Your way. With me.”

He hesitated just a moment before closing the case, snapping the clasps. He looked at her and nodded slightly to himself, as though having trouble remembering his original offer. “Very good,” he said, then went rooting in a drawer for some other nearly forgotten thing.

Nora waited. “So?” she said.

“So,” he said.

“Now what?”

“Now I am in a very great rush. But I will let you know.”

“I thought … I’m not going back to your house now?”

“Soon. Another time. Busy day and all.”

“But—I’m ready now.”

“Yes. I thought you would grow a bit more eager. Camp life doesn’t agree with you? No, I didn’t think so.” He took up the handle of his case. “I’ll soon call for you.”

Nora understood: he was making her wait on purpose. Prolonging her agony as payback for not immediately falling into bed with him that day at his house. A dirty old man on a power trip.

“And please note for future reference that I am not a man to be kept waiting. I trust that is clear to you now. Carly?”

The assistant appeared in the open doorway. “Yes, Dr. Barnes?”

“Carly, I can’t find the ledger. Maybe you can search around and bring it by the house later.”

“Yes, Dr. Barnes.”

“Say, around nine thirty?”

Nora saw in assistant Carly’s face not the satisfied swagger she was anticipating but instead a hint of distaste.

They stepped out into the anteroom, whispering. Ridiculous, as if Nora were Barnes’s wife.

Nora took the opportunity to rush to Barnes’s desk, searching it for anything that might help her cause, any bit of information she was not supposed to see. But he had taken most everything with him. Sliding out the center drawer, she saw a computer-generated map of the camp with each zone color-coded. Beyond the birthing area she had already visited, and in the same general direction as where she understood the “retirement” section of camp was established, was a zone named “Letting.” This zone contained a shaded area labeled “Sunshine.” Nora tried to rip up the map in order to take it with her, but it was glued to the bottom of the drawer. She scanned it again, quickly memorizing it, then shut the drawer just as Barnes returned.

Nora worked hard to mask the fury in her face, to regard him with a smile. “What about my mother? You promised me—”

“And if indeed you hold up your end of the bargain, I shall of course hold up mine. Scout’s honor.”

It was clear he wanted her to beg, which was something she simply could not bring herself to do.

“I want to know that she is safe.”

Barnes nodded, grinning a little. “You want to make demands, is what you want. I alone dictate the timing of this and everything else that occurs inside the walls of this camp.”

Nora nodded, but her mind was elsewhere now, her wrist already wriggling behind her back, pushing the shank forward.

“If your mother is to be processed, she will be. You have no say in the matter. They probably picked her up already and she is on her way to be cleaned up. Your life, however, is still a bargaining chip. Hope you cash it in.”

Now she had the shank in her hand. She gripped it.

“Is that understood?” he said.

“Understood,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You will need to come with a much more agreeable attitude when I do call for you, so please be ready. And smile.”

She wanted to fucking kill him where he stood.

From the outer office, his assistant’s panicked voice broke the mood. “Sir?”

Barnes stepped away before Nora could act, returning to the anteroom alone.

Nora heard the footsteps charging up the stairs. Slapping at the floor: bare feet.

Vampire feet.

A team of four large-framed, once-male vampires burst into the office. These undead goons wore tribal prison-style tattoos on their sagging flesh. The assistant gasped and backed away into her corner as the four went right after Barnes.

“What is it?” he said.

They told him, telepathically—and fast. Barnes barely had time to react before they grabbed his arms and practically picked him up, running him out the door and away down the hall. Then the camp whistle started shrieking.

Shouting outside. Something was happening. Nora heard and felt the vibration of doors slamming downstairs.

The assistant remained in the corner, behind her desk, the phone to her ear. Nora heard hard footsteps charging up the stairs. Boots equaled humans. The assistant cowered while Nora moved to the door—just in time to see Fet rushing inside.

Nora was struck speechless. He carried his sword but no other weapons. His face was wild with the look of the hunt. A grateful, openmouthed smile appeared on her face.

Fet glanced at Nora and then at the assistant in the corner, then turned to leave. He was back out the door and almost out of sight around the corner before he stopped, straightened, and looked back.

“Nora?” he said.

Her baldness. Her jumpsuit. He hadn’t recognized her at first.

“V,” she said.

He gripped her, and she clawed at his back, burying her face in his smelly, unwashed shoulder. He pulled her off him for a second look, at once exulting in his great luck in finding her and trying to make sense of her shaved head.

“It’s you,” he said, touching her scalp. Then he looked over the rest of her. “You …”

“And you,” she said, tears springing from the corners of her eyes.
Not Eph, again. Not Eph. You.

He embraced her again. More bodies followed behind him. Gus and another Mexican. Gus slowed when he saw Fet hugging a bald camp member. It was a long moment before he said, “Dr. Martinez?”