Blood Drive asc-2 Page 14

  A little of the bravado comes back. “You know. I like getting laid, and she likes getting a break on the rent.”

  My fingers curl into fists. He sees the reaction and holds his hands up. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, her being dead and all.”

  “How long were you there, Darryl?”

  A little smile twists the corner of his mouth. “Long enough to see that old lady whack you. I can’t believe you let her get away with that. Who was she anyway?”

  “Another question and I’ll tear your arm out. Are we clear, Darryl?”

  He gulps and nods.

  “Good. Now, have you followed me everywhere since then?”

  Another nod.“From Carolyn’s to that house in La Mesa-nice place, by the way. Is that where you live?”

  I yank on his arm, hard, and he yelps. “Okay, okay. Anyway, then you went to the hospital and to an office on

  Pacific Highway

  and then to the police station. Back to that school, and now, you know, here we are.”

  Christ. He’s been on my tail every minute and I never noticed. I don’t know whether I’m angrier with him or myself.

  The silence stretches on while I decide what to do with him. I thought I scared him enough the first time I ran into him at Carolyn’s to make him want to stay away from me. Now, it seems I’ve just piqued his curiosity.

  I tap my fingernail against the cut on his arm, draw more blood and bring his arm to my mouth. Glaring at him, I suck ever so gently, savoring the taste, the texture. Not as sweet as from a vein, but warm, refreshing. I feel him relax a little. Then I bite down. Hard.

  He utters a sharp, high-pitched cry of pain and tries to pull away.

  My teeth ravage the arm. I gulp down the blood, losing myself for a moment in the hunger.

  His cries of panic bring me back. When I look up, I see Frey start walking toward us.

  I take one more mouthful and reluctantly release his arm. I wave Frey off, licking the blood from my fingers. “Darryl, Darryl, what am I going to do with you?”

  The change in my tone and the ragged bite mark on his arm drain the remaining color from Darryl’s cheeks. He cradles his arm and looks like he might finally be scared enough to cooperate.

  “So let’s try again. Why are you following me? Did you think if you found out where I lived you could drop by for a quickie once in awhile? That we might become friends? What were you thinking, Darryl?”

  His mouth twists and his tone wavers just this side of panic. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan to see you this morning. When I did, I acted on instinct. I just wanted to find out who you are.”

  His answer rings true, but it’s neither comforting nor reassuring. There’s only one way I can think of to keep this kid away from me and from those I love.

  “You like going to Beso de la Muerte, don’t you?”

  The change of subject catches him off guard. He gives a jerky nod.

  I lean in toward him and take his arm once again. I raise it to my mouth. At first he tries to jerk away, but when I suck at the wound this time and lick it closed, I feel him relax. I reach a hand up and pull his head close, breathe into his ear and let my hand play with the waistband of his shorts.

  He actually moans.

  “Let’s make a deal,” I whisper. “You stay away from me here in San Diego, forget everything you saw today, and I’ll meet you down there on Friday. That’s two days from now. Two days and I’ll give you what you say you want.”

  He takes my hand and pushes it down his stomach, shifting on the seat until I feel a stirring between his legs. His skin is slimy and slick with sweat. I close my eyes and think of Trish to keep from gagging.

  His tone is rough with desire. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  I want to answer by grabbing his miserable cock and yanking until he screams. Instead, I stroke it and coo, “Hey, you know everywhere I went today. I think you could find me pretty easily if I didn’t show. What do you have to lose?”

  “How about a little preview?” he says, squirming on the seat.

  “Uh-uh.” I pull my hand away and sit back. “You’ll just have to wait until Friday. Do we have a deal?”

  He’s got his own hand between his legs now, and his eyes are glassy and unfocused. “Fuckin-A,” he says. “We have a deal.”

  “Okay, then, Darryl. You can play with yourself when you get home. I want you to leave now.”

  He sits up straight on the seat, one hand occupied while the other reaches across and starts the engine.

  I can’t watch this anymore. I climb out and stand there while Darryl pulls out of the parking lot. He actually waves a jaunty hand at me, making me wonder how he’s steering. I’m scrubbing my own hand against my jeans with such friction I feel the palm burn.

  Frey steps out of the driver’s side of the car and looks at me with a mixture of revulsion and disbelief.

  You agreed to fuck that cretin?

  I don’t know what surprises me more, that Frey heard the conversation in the car or that he uses the word “fuck.”

  He snorts.I’m a jungle cat, remember? I have good hearing.

  I push past him and get into the car.I have no intention of fucking Darryl. Ever. I just wanted to buy us some time.

  Frey drops into the passenger seat and I hand him Darryl’s registration.Hold onto that. Darryl may think he knows where to find me, but I know where to find him now, too.

  He shoves it into the glove box and snaps it closed.How do you know that guy?

  Beso de le Muerte. I glance over at him.Do you know the place?

  He shakes his head.You go there to feed? What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know that place has a bad reputation?

  His condescending tone and disapproving expression are too much.And what would you have me do? I can’t pick up cans of Alpo at the pet store like some of us. I need blood, remember?

  I don’t eat dog food,he replies archly.And I thought you had a human boyfriend. At least, I know you have a human you have sex with because I can smell it on you. Why don’t you feed from him like a normal vamp.

  Like a normal vamp?This conversation would be ludicrous under any circumstances. But to have it now with a man I suspect may be a worse monster than any I’ve yet encountered sets my blood on fire. I’ve already wasted too much time. I want to find Trish and I want to find her now.

  I reach over and grab Frey by the scruff of the neck. Snarling, I pull him from his seat and hold his head close to my mouth.

  I wonder how feeding from a shapeshifter will be?

  I feel his body stiffen, and his hands rise to ward me off. But before they can, I’m tearing at the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck, ripping through skin and cartilage with a ferocity that stuns him into immobility. Darryl awakened the thirst. It blazes within me. I find the artery, sink my teeth into it and drink. I will learn the truth about Daniel Frey.

  Blood has interesting tastes and qualities that vary from species to species. Human blood tastes like a mineral supplement and warm saltwater, rudimentary. You get no feeling for the individual from human blood, not a good thing as I’m learning from my pal Darryl. Vampire blood, on the other hand, is more complex, like a fine wine. It’s full of the essence of the vampire’s life, all his history reduced to stark simplicity and there for the taking. When you drink from a vampire, you ingest what he is, or at least what he lets you think he is. I know now from Avery that it is possible to hide your true nature under the guise of love.

  Daniel Frey is a different creature all together. His blood is acidic, sour, burning my throat as I drink. At first, I feel nothing except the rush of energy that flows from his life force into mine. I need more. I worry at his throat, sucking harder, ignoring his groans and hands that make a feeble attempt to push me away.

  I open my mind to him.Tell me. What have you done to Trish?

  His thoughts are muddled, lethargic.Idon’t understand. I showed you that she is safe.

  A trick. I know about y
our past. I know about Boston.

  I let him hear the conversation at the police station. There is a shift in his consciousness, an understanding of what I know to be true. And in the rush of his blood he allows me to see into his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I let my head fall back onto the headrest and lick the blood from the corners of my mouth. My body tingles with the infusion of Frey’s blood. When I glance over at him, he is leaning back on his seat, too, and his hand is on his neck. From his expression, though, I don’t think he’s feeling quite the same things I am.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, feeling a little sheepish. “I haven’t left a mark.”

  For the first time, I notice the claws retracting as I watch. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  A brittle smile twists the corners of his own mouth but his eyes are cold. “Believe me, if you had kept at it a moment longer, I would have.” He tugs again at the torn collar of his shirt. “And it’s not my neck I’m thinking about. You’ve ruined my favorite Perry Ellis shirt.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  There is a protracted silence which is finally broken when he swivels on the seat to face me. “Why didn’t you just ask me about Boston?”

  I feel color flood my face. “I should have. I’m sorry.” I blow out a breath. “It just seemed too coincidental-the killings in Boston and now here.”

  But before I voice any other concerns, I’m hit with a realization that sends shock waves rippling along my spine.

  I’m not hearing Frey in my head anymore.What’shappening?

  But he just sits there, an expression of anger, irritation and disappointment stamped on his face. Then the expression changes. “Oh, you get it now, huh? We can’t communicate that way anymore. You’ve ingested my blood. You’ve broken the link. Now we have to communicate this way. You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “Broken the link? What does that mean?” I look down at my hands. “Jesus. Am I part shapeshifter now?”

  “Don’t you think you should have asked that question before you attacked me?”

  His tone is scalding. My face must betray the anxiety I’m feeling because he relents with an abrupt wave of his hand. “No. You are not part shapeshifter. Vampires only consume the essence of their supernatural victims, not the physical manifestations. But in some cases, like this one, it creates a barrier that prohibits thought transference. I don’t know why. It just happens.”

  “Does that mean I won’t be able to communicate with all shapeshifters?” I’m thinking of Culebra now.

  “No.” His look is pointed. “Only those you feed from.”

  Is that a relief? I’m not sure. I crank the engine over and look around. I can’t believe I lost control so completely that I attacked Frey in the middle of a parking lot in broad daylight. Granted, it is a lower lot and we don’t seem to have attracted anyone’s attention, but it was a stupid thing to do.

  I pull out and head back for the freeway. This time I make sure no one is following. In fact, I don’t take a direct route to Balboa Park, but a circuitous one. From the stadium, I take 15 to 8, get off at Rosecrans, switch to

  Sports Arena Boulevard

  , and take Nimitz south to

  Harbor Drive

  , Market to 6th. No one car is behind us the entire drive.

  When I turn into the Park, Frey speaks for the first time since we left the stadium.

  “I think you should let Trish stay here,” he says.

  “You trust these people?”

  He nods. “Yes. With my life.”

  I’m approaching the parking lot in front of the museums that line the El Prado. As usual, there are no spaces right in front, and I have to wind my way down towards the organ pavilion to find a place to park. Once we do, I turn in the seat to face Frey.

  “Who are these people you work with? What are they?”

  “Humans, mostly.”

  “Humans?”

  He rolls his shoulders. “You’ll see. There are also shapeshifters, seers, vampires.” He raises an eyebrow. “You’ll no doubt recognize one in particular.”

  “Because he’s a vampire?”

  But Frey has opened the door and is standing with an impatient scowl beside the car. “Let’s go. I thought you were anxious to see Trish.”

  I am.

  And I’m not. How am I going to tell her about her mother?

  Frey has already started down the sidewalk, so I rush to catch up with him. The park is full of people, families, students, artists with their easels set to catch the play of sun and shadow on buildings that shouldn’t exist. Balboa Park was a temporary shell built to accommodate the Panama-California Exposition held in 1915. But the beauty of the place was far from temporary and restoration followed restoration until now, the park houses an impressive array of galleries, museums, restaurants and a world-class zoo.

  Frey doesn’t explain where we are going. He simply leads me down the El Prado toward the fountain in front of the Space Theater. On the right are the railroad museum and the various gallery exhibits and visitor centers. On this side, doors open to administrative offices, some open, some closed to the public. When we reach the end, across from the huge Natural History Museum, he veers off the sidewalk, following a path that snakes back through shrubbery.

  “Won’t someone see us?” I ask, suddenly conscious of how easily I had been tailed today, not just by the Feds, but also by that idiot Darryl.

  Frey motions for me to stop. “Watch,” he says.

  He takes another step toward the building and-

  Vanishes.

  I actually jump. “Frey?”

  No answer and no Frey.

  I take a timid step forward myself, then another. There’s a rippling, like silk being moved by the wind, and a feeling of stepping through a heavy mist, and suddenly, I’m standing beside Frey.

  His expression is the impatient scowl of one annoyed at being kept waiting. “It took you long enough.”

  I ignore him and look back at the sidewalk, at the people passing back and forth, and feel a tingle of excitement. The one or two who actually appear to be looking right at us, act like they see nothing. I touch my hand to my face.

  “Are we invisible?”

  He shakes his head. “No. This place is protected.”

  “Protected? How?”

  He’s moving toward a door I hadn’t seen from the sidewalk. “A spell, of course. Only those invited can enter.”

  A spell? Like Beso de la Muerte? I don’t remember any kind of portal there, though. And here, there are hundreds of people who pass by everyday. “But what if someone decided to take a walk back here? Wouldn’t they pass through the portal or spell or whatever the hell it is?”

  “What part of needing to be invited didn’t you understand?”

  “Well, what would happen?”

  He blows out an irritated breath. “Nothing would happen. They’d find grass and shrubs and a maintenance man asking them to get back on the sidewalk.”

  Frey’s attitude has certainly cooled since I bit him. I guess I should have expected it, but I felt I had no choice at the time and I’m not going to apologize.

  He’s turned his back on me to face the door. He’s withdrawn a long, slender key, the old-fashioned brass kind, from his jacket pocket and is inserting it into the lock.

  I swallow back the rest of my questions. And carefully neutralize my thoughts. I don’t know what I’m going to see inside or who.

  The door is heavy metal and actually groans when Frey thrusts it open. His body blocks my view and I push past him, anxious to see what’s inside and get to Trish.

  At first, it looks just like the reception area in a hundred other business offices. The walls are white stucco, striped with the patterns of sun and shadow cast by trees outside and funneled into the room through a row of small, high windows. There’s a single metal desk with a computer and telephone, but no person, human or otherwise, in sight. It’s very quiet-spooky quiet.
And I realize that unlike other reception areas, there are no couches or chairs or racks of out of date magazines to occupy your time while you wait.

  Wait for what?

  Frey has gone around the desk. He punches something onto the computer keyboard. There is a whir, a flash of light, and then the screen goes dark again.

  He returns to stand beside me.

  I’m suddenly aware of something else-except the one we came in through, there are no other doors in this room.

  I glance up at Frey, uneasiness causing a chilly edge to creep into my voice. “Where are we?”

  He keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Don’t worry. You’ll see Trish soon enough.”

  “But what is this place? How do we get-”

  A rumbling beneath my feet chokes off the words. At first, I don’t trust, don’t believe, the sensation. The floor is vibrating, falling away. The feeling is like being on a high-speed express elevator. I touch a hand to the desk to steady myself, though the descent doesn’t seem to faze Frey. He eyes my hand on the desk and looks down at it with a tight little smile. I snatch my hand back and straighten up.

  It seems as if we fall for a long time. I get a flash back to when I was a kid and Steve and my parents and I went to Disneyland for the first time. The entrance to the Haunted House. That delicious, scary plunge that had me gripping Steve’s hand so hard he finally yelped in complaint.

  In the time it takes for the memory to ebb and fade, we’ve come to a stop. Frey turns around and faces the door we came in through. With a hand on the knob, he glances back at me. “Are you ready?” he says, not unkindly this time.

  I nod, though I’m not sure whether it’s true.

  But Trish is here. And that means I must be here, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’m not sure what I expect the underground headquarters of all things that go bump in the night to look like, but as I pass inside I do know it’s not what I see in front of me now.

  It’s a big square room, lit from above by high intensity lights so bright it’s hard to believe we’re underground. Whitewashed stucco, windowless walls stretch ten feet to the ceiling. There are people. Lots of people who look and “feel” normal. They’re milling about, sitting at desks, talking into telephones with headsets as their fingers bang away at computer keyboards.