The Taste of Night (28 page)

The last time the leader of troop 175—paranormal division, Las Vegas—picked up a weapon, he’d used it to slay his father. Warren Clarke hadn’t touched any weapon since, and to understand why, all you had to do was read the manual depicting the confrontation between him and his rogue father. I’d paid a near fortune to Zane to do just that, and the bloodbath that’d popped up at me from within those pages had given me nightmares for weeks. I saw firsthand how Warren had gotten his limp. And I saw how far he’d go to protect his troop, even from another agent of Light. Even from someone who was already
in
.

It was that, more than anything else, which had me waiting until near dusk to enter the briefing room where Warren had gathered the other star signs. I was the last to arrive, my face impassive under the weight of ten other gazes, my hair pulled back into a severe bun, gelled and fastened at the nape of my neck. I wore no jewelry save the ring my mother had left me, though the blank slate of my frame was marred by the bright summer dress I knew the others would immediately recognize as Olivia’s costuming, the face I presented to the outside world. Not one I normally wore about the sanctuary.

Warren’s eyes were narrowed, he already didn’t like what I was going to say, and I let my eyes move over him impassively because I’d been ready for that, just as I was ready for Gregor’s curiosity, and Micah’s scrutiny. Riddick and Jewell were merely attentive, and I felt a pang of regret move through me at the thought of never knowing them better. Vanessa knew I was up to something, clear by the reservation in her posture, and the genial boyishness dropped from Felix’s face as soon as I’d entered the room.

I hesitated when I spotted Rena. We hadn’t spoken since our confrontation at the launchpad, and now it was probable that we never would. I glanced at Warren. “Where’s Tekla?”

“She’s not coming.”

“I wouldn’t have asked everyone to be here if it wasn’t important,” I said, and felt my annoyance rise enough to momentarily overtake my nerves.

“I doubt it’s as important as charting our next move,” Chandra said from her chair in the corner. She was leaning on the back two legs. One push, I couldn’t help but think. “Not that we’d have a next move if it’d been left up to you.”

“Chandra,” Rena chided, and relief spun in my veins. She’d forgiven me, then. Too bad I was about to disappoint her again.

“I’m just saying, Tekla has enough to do without having to worry about this one’s latest hysterics—”

“We all know what you’re ‘just saying,’ Chandra,” Felix interrupted sharply. “Now shut up and let Olivia talk.”

I’d have shot him a grateful look if I’d thought he’d still be on my side five minutes from now. As it was, I just got on with my task, turning to look at Hunter for the first time.

He was a shade of his former self, and if Carl were drawing him now, it would be in charcoal, all the life and vitality leached from his image. Red pockets were smudged beneath his eyes from lack of sleep, too much drink, or both, and his face was drawn, cheeks sunken, like he’d lost weight overnight. He saw me studying him and raised a brow in mock regard, but it was clear he’d lost interest in everything around
him. The spark that had once lit him from within was gone. It was my job to put it back.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, and watched his Adam’s apple bob. Whatever he’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that. “I’m so desperately sorry and sick for it all.”

He nodded after a moment, a slight, almost imperceptible move, but it was enough.

“Sorry for what, Olivia?” Rena prodded softly, and I shook myself, clearing my throat.

“For what I’m about to say,” I said, and turned to address the whole room. “The virus. I know how it’s being spread.”

“It’s not just by those who watched the fireworks, is it?” Micah sat up so straight he was almost out of his chair. I didn’t add insult to injury by making him ask me any more, instead plowing forward and running myself under with my own explanation.

“Initially it was. But it’s sexual in nature. It’s transferred from an infected carrier by touch, through sex…through kissing.” I glanced again at Hunter, whose face had fallen, a look of betrayal haunting the glassy indifference in his eyes. “That’s why most people are dying in pairs. That’s why there’s no differentiation in sex or sexual orientation or race. Everyone wants to be loved. But for those who touch someone who already has the virus, it’s a need that will kill them.”

“Of course. The three distinct areas,” Micah said, aloud but to himself. “How could I not see it?”

“That’s why the deaths have been spread all across the valley,” Gregor said, “and why it’s usually not spouses who find the victims.”

“Except for one small thing,” Chandra said, and I fell silent. I’d been expecting it, but still had to control a shudder when she pointed to Hunter. “Him.”

“You mean because he’s not dead,” I clarified.

“Exactly.”

Felix said, “Well, maybe it’s because he’s a full-fledged star sign, and so he’s protected from infection whereas a mortal or an initiate like Marlo wasn’t.”

I saw Hunter flinch, and decided to end his guilt before it could sink in any deeper. Even if it meant that guilt was transferred firmly onto my shoulders. “No,” I said, and all eyes returned to me. “Hunter would’ve died along with Marlo, except he was immune as well.” And here I swallowed hard. “He gained immunity before the virus was released.”

There was silence as I let them work this out for themselves, and of course Hunter’s expression cleared first. After all, he was the only one around when I’d kissed him in the labyrinth. The others, feeling the shift of emotion, followed my gaze to him. I didn’t think his face could drain of any more color, but it had, leaving his skin looking waxen.

“You,” he whispered.

“Me,” I nodded, and a gasp rose up in the room.

“I’m confused,” Vanessa said, looking from Hunter to me and back again. Riddick and Jewell nodded mutely, and Felix’s head was tilted. He was still working it out. I glanced at Micah and Gregor, though, and could see that the older troop members had gotten it. Warren’s expression was fully closed. His reaction would be a few minutes in coming. Unable to take anything back, I filled in the time, explaining.

“
I
passed the immunity on to Hunter before the night of the fireworks. It’s the only reason he’s still alive. But Regan called me on my cell phone that night. She wanted to make sure I was watching the fireworks. The virus was what they were really celebrating at Valhalla.”

I looked at Warren and swallowed hard. “You were right. I underestimated her. I let her live because she was an initiate, but I played right into her hands. We’ve all been wondering why the Shadows aren’t active in the mortal realm right now, why they haven’t been for the past six months, but it was because they didn’t need to be. After all, why risk their hides individually when they had a weapon that could wipe us all out?”

Not one of them spoke or moved, and only one was still looking my way. Hunter hadn’t moved, and his eyes were
cutting me with laserlike precision. “I’m the one responsible for Marlo’s death. Not you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,
now
you’re sorry?” Warren’s voice was low, but he’d risen from his chair and looked taller than his middling height. “
Now
that disease has entered our home, our haven…you’re sorry?”

I nodded mutely. I was sorry. And I knew it wasn’t good enough. Besides, I was about to make it worse. “One more thing…”

“What was that?” Warren demanded, his sharp voice a stark contrast to my half-swallowed words. I knew he’d heard—they all had—but he wasn’t going to let me slide through this admission, and I was almost glad of it. I could bring back the scent of charred anise by just visualizing Marlo’s smiling face.

“I said there’s one more thing you all need to know,” and my voice was stronger, almost challenging. “The fireworks weren’t just a celebration. I was in the boneyard, and I saw them. I smelled what was in them. I was there when the virus became—”

“Airborne.” Micah looked at me, horror widening his eyes.

And I’d been standing on the highest platform in the boneyard, watching while dust and disease rose up around me. I’d answered a phone call from Regan.

You see the fireworks, don’t you?
she’d asked.

I see them.

Good…we’re already in.

I looked again into every face in the room, and this time horror stared back at me. I swallowed hard. “I carried the virus back with me. Every breath I’ve taken since that day has been infecting everyone around me. I’m—”

“Don’t you dare,” Warren interrupted again, but this time his tone was dangerously low. He advanced on me, and I took a step back. “Don’t say you didn’t know or that you’re sorry. There are no excuses for…for
this
!” He held up his
hand, and I saw where his fingertips had been burned when he’d tried to clear Marlo’s mouth of an obstruction that was both burning and choking her. That obstruction was her tongue.

“Wait, wait!” Micah stood, holding up his hands. “We don’t know for sure that we’re all infected. Maybe Felix is right. Maybe full-fledged star signs can’t be affected.”

“But the children,” Rena said, hand fluttering helplessly to her chest, then her mouth, then back to her chest. If she’d had eyes, they’d be fixed on me just as accusingly as Warren’s were.

I sighed, weariness overtaking me suddenly. I needed this to be over now. “Riddick, will you come here?”

He frowned, but didn’t move. I smiled wryly and motioned him forward. “I promise. I won’t even touch you.”

Warren gave his consent with a stiff jerk of his head, and only then did Riddick rise to stand at my left side, though I noted he didn’t come too close. That was fine because I then crossed the room, bending to whisper in Jewell’s ear. She didn’t jerk away, for which I was grateful, but a look of surprise bloomed on her face, followed by a fast and furious blush. She glanced up at me as I straightened, then nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Acutely aware that every eye was on her, she went to stand at Riddick’s side. She didn’t touch him, not even when she cupped a hand to his ear, but when she told him to close his eyes, he did. And when she said the rest of what I’d instructed her—things I knew she’d wanted to say to him for a while now; how much she was attracted to him, how his body and mind moved her, how she dreamed of him when alone at night—a slim wisp of smoke escaped his parted lips, evidence of the disease rising to curl about him like an entranced cobra…and all in the room gasped as one.

Jewell backed up against the wall, her hand covering her mouth in horror. Riddick’s eyes flew open, catching on one shocked face after another. “What?”

No one answered. I turned slowly and faced Warren. “The disease is dormant until sexual contact, any one of you, save Hunter, will die from just one kiss.”

For a moment he didn’t move. Then he advanced on me, his limp pronounced, and his mouth drawn in a thin, sharp line. An image of a blood-splattered machete slashing through the air, over and over again, rocketed through my mind, and I began to shake where I stood.

“I am sorry,” I whispered again, and got a brief flash of understanding from his storm-dark eyes before they shuttered again. Then his face took on the aspect of a squall brewing in the middle of the sea. His whole face sank into the storm erupting inside him, and his fists bunched and released, lips worked, not getting anything out…until he did. “Get out.”

And even though I’d been prepared for that—even though I knew I was lucky that was all the leader of the Zodiac troop did, and demanded of me—I was still numb as I made my way to the launchpad. I’d already successfully retrieved the disks from my locker, and stashed my bags where I’d left my satchel a week earlier. What I wasn’t prepared for was for Warren to follow me up the chute and wordlessly strip me of the mask that would allow me to re-enter the sanctuary.

Then he returned inside, leaving me to make the crossing on my own.

I shook as I waited, like some refugee victim who knew she was alive, but wasn’t sure how…or even if she wanted to be. And when I felt dusk silently settle over the boneyard, I went ahead and created another breach in the wall, stepped through it one final time, and returned to the mortal reality. Warren, I knew, would be along shortly to shore up the fissure I’d made, but that would be out of habit. There’d be no breach of the boneyard’s wall from the Shadows now. Why should there be? They were already in.

While I was on the outside. Alone.

The memory of Marlo’s lifeless body kept me going those next few days. That and the disgust and horror on Hunter’s face as he realized what I’d made him into. That last look had been a telling one. He’d never forgive me—I hadn’t really expected him to—and he’d never look at me with longing or lust again either. And that was okay. If I could just regain enough trust to be allowed back in the sanctuary, the closeness we’d once held after sharing the aureole would be replaced with professional reserve, which was all I really wanted.

Wasn’t it?

I was wondering about that as I parked in front of Cher’s house, where I’d been staying since my ejection from the sanctuary. Olivia’s home was unsafe now that the gloves were off between Regan and me, and even though she was supposed to be tucked away in some safehouse in preparation for her metamorphosis, I wouldn’t put it past her to have revealed my hidden identity to Joaquin—or even the Tulpa.

“Heya, honey. What’s up?” Cher said when I entered her guest room, her eyes never leaving the comic she was leafing
through while lying on my bed. Not a comic—a Shadow manual. Shit. Had she gone through my stuff? Or had I left that one out on the nightstand after combing through it the night before? It had to be the latter, though I knew Olivia wouldn’t have made a stink either way. Those two, I had to remember, kept no secrets from each other.

“Not a lot,” I said, keeping my tone light as I toed off my tennies. “Just back from the gym.”

She was propped up on her elbows, and as I tossed a few local magazines down onto the bed—weeklies that offered underground commentary on the city, politicians, and entertainers—she gave me a horrified once-over. “Darlin’, did you…sweat?”

I hadn’t actually. If I were to work out to the point of breaking a sweat I’d break whatever machine I was training on. There wasn’t a free weight made that I couldn’t lift a thousand times, and sparring with mortals was a total waste of time. I had been at the gym, though. The repetition of running or biking in place helped me think. My conscious mind zoned out while my subconscious pondered whatever problem I was trying to figure out. Besides, it was the last place the Shadows would think to look for me, and these days I was taking refuge where I could find it.

“Um…” I’d applied water to my chest after the workout to make it look a little more realistic. I should have known Olivia didn’t sweat. “See, there was this girl next to me on the treadmill, and a cute guy on the other side of her, so I thought if I just went faster than her I could get his attention, but every time I upped my speed, so did she.”

“That whore!” Cher threw the manual aside as she sat up.

“Yeah, so I ended up sprinting for like, five whole minutes, and when I looked up, the guy was gone.”

Cher shook her head. “Next time why don’t you just ask him how to work the machine? That always works for me.”

Oh yeah. The this-inanimate-object-is-smarter-than-me approach. That was so me. “I’ll do that,” I said, and shot her a weak smile.

“What are these?” she asked, holding up one of the weeklies.

“Just local newspapers. They’re free at the gym, and they have lots of good articles.”

She looked at me suspiciously as she smoothed her hair back from her face. “You sure are readin’ a lot these days.”

Comics and angry criticism was considered reading a lot? “I’m not really reading them,” I said, and her expression immediately shifted to relief. “I just look at the social events in these, and I like the pictures in the others.”

“Oh, but I’m not talking about
this
,” she said, picking the Shadow manual back up. “This is really good.”

The lights and movement that animated the manual when I touched it were dormant in her mortal hands. Apparently it had some sort of sensory on and off switch, and it looked like any other comic as she thumbed it open. “What issue is that?” I asked, leaning forward.

“It’s called
Daughter of Blood,
about Dawn, the Shadow Gemini.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, I can’t stand her. She’s a real bitch.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, flipping through the pages. “But she dresses cool.”

I drew back, studying the panel she flashed at me, unreasonably annoyed that my/Olivia’s best friend would find one of the foremost supervillains in the city attractive. “No, she doesn’t. She’s totally hooker-fied.”

“You think?” she asked, turning the page back to study it. “I don’t know. I’d wear that.”

“Sure, to a costume party,” I said, flopping down in an oversized side chair.

Cher angled her eyes up at me, plucked brows winging high. “See, honey, that’s why I don’t exercise. It puts me in a shitty mood too.”

“I’m not—” I stopped, sighed, realizing this could go on forever. And would, I thought, if I were still me. The good thing about being Olivia was being able to change mental
direction without signaling first. Especially with Cher. “So where would someone go if they were looking to have sex with a lot of people?”

“It’s
Las Vegas
,” she pointed out, flipping another page.

Point taken.

Then again, that kind of thinking would mean I had nowhere to begin looking for Joaquin, which wasn’t exactly true. Since I knew the virus was now being spread sexually, I had a fulcrum around which to expand my search. Las Vegas was hardly lacking in establishments meant to whet the sexual appetite.

The question was, which of the nightclubs, sex shops, lounges, or strip joints would be most alluring to Joaquin? Because he’d want to be out there, watching devastation unfold among the populace of healthy, sexual humans who had nothing more on their minds than a sweaty workout themselves. It fit in perfectly with his M.O.—causing pain through sexuality.

I mentally scratched the strip clubs from my list. As much as mainstream society liked to demonize the clubs and the women who worked there, they were fairly white-bread. How else could they flourish in every city in the country? Our culture’s dirty little open secret. Besides, that was too blatant for Joaquin; the sensuality and allure of sexual desire would be lost in the transaction, money for titillation. No, he got his jollies from more unpredictable circumstances. Joaquin, I knew, liked the chase.

I reached over and grabbed one of the folded weeklies from the bed, tossed another to Cher, and flipped directly to the back where all the political rants and pseudo-articles that filled the earlier pages were replaced with ads offering phone sex or house calls or “special massag-ies.”

“Help me look for a dominatrix,” I told Cher, trying not to wonder where all these girls came from. I angled the paper to the side. Did their mothers know they were posed like this?

“Dang, girl,” she said, picking up the magazine. “You aren’t turning into a muffin bumper, are you?”

“Don’t worry, Cher,” I said, skipping past the ads that promised one-on-one action. Joaquin would want to cast a wider net. “You’d be the first to know.”

She smiled brightly. “Why thank you, honey!”

“Thanks for what?” Suzanne asked, entering the room without knocking. In other families that could be a cause for death by stoning, but Cher made room next to her, passing Suzanne a third magazine as she continued her search.

“Olivia’s trying to decide if she wants to munch rug, but first she’s looking for cheap sex with a stranger and no strings attached, just to make sure.”

I blushed under Suzanne’s startled gaze and held up a hand. “That’s not true. I’m just…adding a service to my web business that makes it easy for potential visitors to find what they’re looking for when they come to Vegas.”

“How entrepreneurial of you, darlin’,” Suzanne settled next to her daughter and picked up her weekly. “Sex does sell, and it’ll certainly spice up that racketeering thing you have going,” she said, flipping open her magazine. I stared.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to shake off the image of my sister, the mobster. “Anyway, I’m looking for some place kind of illicit. Something that reeks of secrecy and intrigue. One where you have to know a secret password or handshake or something to get in.”

“Well, you’re not going to find it in one of these rags,” Suzanne said, and tossed her magazine aside. I looked at her. “You’re not.” She crossed her legs, flashing lean thighs. “What you want is something exclusive. Invitation only. Like a sex club that meets every so often to masturbate together, or a same-sex meeting.”

I wrinkled my nose. “There’s such a thing?”

She looked at me like I was hopelessly naive. “Honey, there are fringe groups for anything that tickles a human’s fancy, and a few things that shouldn’t. Bondage, bestiality, sometimes both.” I shuddered at that, and Cher let out a horrified squeal. “They don’t advertise because they know society wouldn’t approve. But there’s a whole subculture
of people who indulge in fetishes others try not to even imagine.”

“I don’t really want something that…uh, extreme. A little more vanilla. Regular people looking for a good time, but lots of them.”

“Oh, you mean like partner swapping?” That sounded about as vanilla to me as a double-caramel-mocha frappuccino, but before I could say so, Suzanne went on. “What you want is a swingers’ club, though they often have an interview process that takes weeks, and you’ll have to send in a picture as well.”

Interviewing? I thought. To be a sex partner? I began to look through my magazine again. There had to be something else.

“Of course, anyone can register for the yearly swingers’ ball. People from all over the country come to those, and if you belong at a national level you’re automatically allowed in to any local gatherings.”

Bingo.

“How many people?” I asked, angling my head.

“What, at the big balls?” she said, causing Cher to snort. Suzanne arched a brow in her direction, but continued speaking to me. “Thousands. People plan it into their summer vacations the same way they would Disneyland, though here they don’t bring the kids.”

Here, I thought, where they could die wrapped in a stranger’s embrace. It was perfect. Perfectly horrible, I thought, correcting myself, but perfect for the Shadows’ intentions. Joaquin might even see such an event as a mass suicide. Thousands of people putting the metaphorical cup to their mouths, and him on hand, goading them to drink. “That’s it,” I said quietly. “That would be perfect.”

“Really?” Suzanne tilted her head. It made her look younger than her years. “You’d be interested in that?”

I nodded, then quickly added, “For my website, of course. Strictly professional research.”

“Of course,” she said, standing. “Well, you’re in luck. The
ball’s this weekend, and this one’s a huge to-do in the swingers’ community, an anniversary of some sort. Troy’s been trying to get me to go for a month now. He says it’ll ‘strengthen our relationship’ and ‘add another dimension to our knowledge of sexuality.’”

Troy was full of shit, but I wasn’t going to say that to Suzanne. I made it a rule to never say anything bad about my friends’ boyfriends until I was sure they were well and truly out of the picture—preferably dead. Or gay. Or both. And while her voice was neutral as she talked about him, Suzanne might still be interested in the little jerk. Though at least she didn’t sound bowled over by the idea.

“Oh, I have an idea,” Cher said, sitting up on the bed so fast
my
head spun. “We could all go! We could dress up like Dawn in
Daughter of Blood
, and pretend we’re into the ‘lifestyle.’” She made little quotation marks in the air.

Alarmed, I sat up straight as well. I didn’t want these two anywhere near a place where both Joaquin and the virus promised to be running rampant. “I don’t know if they let you pretend to be someone you’re not,” I said, thinking quick. “They probably ask for social security and health cards and everything down to your latest medical exam.”

“No, they don’t. Troy’s already checked it out,” Suzanne put in, and I thought,
I just bet he has
. Then she added, “Who’s Dawn?”

“Some make-believe slut who reminds Olivia of this girl at the gym,” Cher said, and picked up the manual she’d thrown aside. “See?”

“Oh my.” Suzanne clasped her hands in front of her, managing to look startled and dumbfounded all at the same time.

“Isn’t her outfit cool?” Cher said, leaning over so they could both look at the same time.

“Oh. My.”

“Uh…it’s a comic book, Suzanne,” I said, because her expression had suddenly shifted from puzzled to alarmed.

“Y-Yes, but…why?”

She meant why was it here, sullying the posh, urbane feel of her house. I couldn’t fault her. Most people thought they were geeky, but I’d done a lot of reading since becoming a superhero, and I’d found the plots and action to be more engaging than most thrillers. Not to mention they were based on fact. Though I left that part out when explaining this to Suzanne.

It didn’t seem to help. She bit her lip, backing up even further. “But only certain people read those things…and you guys aren’t them.”

“What kind of people?”

Her pretty mouth screwed up with distaste. “Virgins.”

“It’s not an affliction,” I said, leaning back on my palms, amused now.

“And Dawn doesn’t look like a virgin,” Cher pointed out. “I bet if I show up to the swingers’ ball in that get-up I could pop a few cherries.”

“Can you please stop talking about that woman? Here…try this one.” I dug around in my bag until I found a manual of Light, careful to toss it to Cher so I was no longer touching it when she spotted it. I didn’t need laser beams spilling out from the pages and blowing my supercover.

“
Vanessa Valen: Agent of Light
,” she read, then flipped open to the first page. She shrugged. “She’s pretty hot.”

“She’s more than hot,” I said, unreasonably miffed that Cher should prefer Dawn over Vanessa. I still felt loyalty toward the agents of Light, and still saw myself as part of that troop…even if I was the only one. “She’s tough and she’s kind, and she has the coolest condu—er, weapon out of almost anyone. You should dress up like her.”

“You really read these things?” Suzanne asked me, bending over Cher’s shoulder.