Текст книги "The Becoming"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Chapter Thirty-Six

I hear a moan, deep and full of despair. It takes me a moment to realize it's my own voice, my own despair. I'm still shaking. I can't even hold myself upright, but slump against David's side, my arms around him, my face pressed against his. How could this have happened? How could I have let this happen?

How could Avery do this to me?

It is at that moment that I feel it.

A slight movement in my arms, a turn of the head, a shallow intake of breath.

I fear it's my imagination. I pull back, put my ear to his chest. Listen.

A faint heartbeat.

He's not dead.

Ripping at the carpet, I pull it away, ease the constriction around his chest. He moans a little, but his eyes remain shut, his breathing labored. I hold his head in my hands and shake it gently from side to side.

"Come on David. Open those beautiful eyes. Talk to me."

There's no response. He's deep in some sort of coma. Drug induced maybe. Or—

I move his head slightly. I find what I expect. Avery has fed from David.

There are two marks at his jugular. Not small pinpricks like Dena's, but ugly, gaping wounds made by someone in a feeding frenzy.

Someone not caring that he's leaving marks because he knows his victim will never be found.

Avery has fed from David.

Anger, like a scalding iron, burns so deep in my gut I have to force it back and out of my thoughts. Revenge will come later. First and foremost, I must get David to safety. With a jolt, I realize I know nothing about how feeding affects the human physiology. Will David recover on his own? Does he need a transfusion? Can I risk taking him to a hospital?

I don't have the answer to any of those questions. The only person I could ask is the last person I can. Gathering David in my arms, I lift him like a doll and carry him up the stairs. I lay him out on Avery's bed and return to the room. Rolling the carpet back up, I prop it against the wall the way I found it. If Avery should return while I'm gone, at first glance the room will look just as he left it.

Then I set about putting the bookcase in order. I have no idea how the books were arranged, stupid of me not to have noticed, but Avery is an organized man and I have to imagine he would sort his books by topic. I re-shelve the medical books together, then fiction, then general nonfiction. If he asks about it, I'll tell him Dena was dusting in here and I interrupted her before she could finish so I put the books back myself.

Lame. But it's all I can come up with.

Besides, Avery will have more pressing problems to deal with than his disrupted bookcase.

Grimly, I take a last look around the room. The fireplace door is shut, the sconce back in its upright position. I lift David off the bed and take him downstairs and out the kitchen door to the garage. I lay him in the back seat of the Explorer, out of sight under a blanket, and then I realize I've left my purse and cell phone inside.

I'm almost to the back door when I hear a car coming up the driveway. Did Dena forget something when she was here earlier? I shade my eyes from the bright noonday sun and look toward the gate.

But it is not Dena's car approaching. It is Avery's.

My first impulse if to fly at him, to give him no chance to flee or fight back. To tear him apart for what he's done.

But I know I can't do that. At least, not yet. I need to get David help. And there are questions Avery needs to answer.

I gather myself together, calm the wild beating of my heart, obliterate all thoughts of what I've found this morning. He cannot know what I've done.

And so when I go to meet him, I'm smiling. And when he takes me in his arms to kiss me, I kiss him back.

He pulls away after a moment and waves a hand towards the garage. “Were you going out?"

"I was going shopping,” I reply without hesitation. Lying seems to have become second nature. “I wanted to get something special for tonight."

He smiles and reaches into the back seat of his car. “I've saved you the trouble.” He pulls a long, plastic dress bag from inside and holds it out to me. “I thought this would look lovely on you."

I move the zipper down a little, just enough to see the jeweled top of a designer gown, bright red with tiny straps and a label that reads Badgley Mischka. I look up at Avery. “One of New York's hottest designers. How did you manage that?"

"Not a problem, when you have the right friends,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

I drape the bag over my arm. Thank you. Are you coming in?

Avery shakes his head. I wish I could. But I have surgery all afternoon. I just wanted to give you the dress and remind you that I'll send a car for you at eight. We are going to have an evening you'll never forget.

And at that moment, I almost lose it. I almost let him know just how right he is.

But he doesn't pick up on my disquiet, doesn't sense the rage. He's too full of his own pleasure, too self-satisfied. He kisses me again, gets back into his car and pulls away, waving at me and grinning, completely oblivious to the oncoming storm.

When Avery's car disappears from sight, I retrace my steps from the kitchen where I retrieve my purse and phone, to the garage.

David hasn't moved. I make sure he's as comfortable as I can make him before I take the garment bag Avery left with me and lay it out in the area behind the back seat. I want to rip the damned thing to shreds, but I console myself with the thought that I'll do the next best thing. I'll be wearing it when I rip Avery to shreds.

But first—where do I take David? I consider and reject my parent's home, a motel, a hospital. I can't risk the possibility that Avery had me followed the day I went to La Mesa to retrieve my things, or that he's having me followed now. I don't think that's the case.

He seems too sure of me. But he has so many contacts in so many places, any public venue might be a danger. And there are a lot of vampires out there, any one of which might turn me in for a return favor.

Which leaves one other possibility. I can take David back to his own place. Anyone following would think I'm back on the trail.

And if Avery returns and discovers David is gone, I doubt the first place he would think to look for him would be David's own place. Besides, Avery won't have the chance to get to him again. I plan to make sure of that.

And so I bring David home. It's quiet in the garage when I pull in. The guest spaces are close to the elevator, and since it's midday and most of the building's occupants are at work, I manage to get David out of the car and into the elevator without incident. I don't know how I would have explained a one hundred twenty-five-pound woman carrying a two hundred-fifty-pound man like an oversized doll, but luckily, I don't have to. No one else stops the elevator and we shoot right to the top floor.

I use David's keys to get inside. I lay him on the couch, retrieve a blanket and pillow from his bedroom, and try to make him as comfortable as I can. His breathing is still labored, but his heartbeat is strong. I think back to what Avery said in his kitchen yesterday morning. I drain just enough from them to sustain my own life and prolong theirs.

If that's true, how long would it take for a mortal to recover from prolonged feeding? When you give blood, they tell you you must wait 56 days after donating a pint before you can donate again. How many pints has Avery drained from David? He's been at Avery's two days. Somehow, I don't think Avery used caution in his feeding. He planned to kill him, after all.

I rub a hand over my face. I don't know what to do. The best thing would be to get David to a hospital where a transfusion could replace some of his lost blood. But I can't risk it. For all I know there are other doctors like Avery in every hospital who would pick up on David's condition the minute he got there. Once word got out, I might not be able to protect him.

And Avery has connections everywhere, isn't that what he said?

I glance at my watch. It's noon. I have only eight hours to decide what to do.

What else do they tell you when you donate blood? I use to do it quite often, though I imagine that's something else that stops now.

Just what type is a vampire's blood?

I drop down beside David on the end of the couch. Think. They tell you to take it easy. A glance at David's motionless form—not a problem. They tell you to drink plenty of liquids, especially juice and water. A trip to David's refrigerator reveals plenty of both. I take a bottle of water and return, propping him up with an arm while I try to get him to drink. There's no reflex swallowing action, and the water dribbles down his shirtfront.

He's pale and so limp and still. I press my hand against his chest. The heartbeat seems steady, but for how long? I have to get him help.

I'm at the window, staring out at the bay, when a germ of an idea starts to bloom. It's crazy. Risky. Probably stupid.

But it's the only way I can think of to save my friend.

I've going to take him to Beso de la Muerte.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I don't waste any time debating with myself, even though Avery is the one who told me about the place. I remember the set up they had, the triage unit with gurneys and IV lines. If I can get David there, he might have a chance.

So, I gather David in my arms again, and it's back down to the garage. This time we're not so lucky. When the elevator door opens to the parking lot, there's a couple standing there whose expression at seeing us can only be described as startled. I breeze by them with a smile.

"Pretty lifelike for a blow up doll, huh?"

I don't wait for a reply, but dump David rather unceremoniously into the back seat. The couple watches as I take my place behind the wheel and pull away. They remain watching until I'm out of the garage. But I don't see them reach for a cell phone, so I have to assume they aren't calling the police. Probably can't figure out how to explain what they saw without sounding completely crazy.

Once I'm down the road a bit, I pull over and tuck David away more comfortably. Pulling a blanket up over his head, and covering him with the garment bag. Not too successful a camouflage job, but the best I can do. I make one more stop at my bank and drive through to cash a thousand-dollar check. I have no idea how much Culebra will charge me for services, but maybe this will do as a down payment.

Then I'm heading South on Highway 5 and back toward the border.

The border crossing is busy at midday. It takes an hour, but once I get to the checkpoint, I get only a cursory nod and a wave from the guard in my lane. Another thirty minutes and I'm clear of TJ. I hit Highway 2 and speed toward Beso de la Muerte. There's more traffic during the day, but it thins as I approach the turnoff and dies completely once I've hit the dirt road that runs to town.

I've made the decision to drive straight in, not carry David in my arms, to save time.

It's very quiet. The saloon looks deserted. There's no loud music, no sound of laughter or voices from within. I guess the residents keep a low profile during the day. I don't even slow down, but continue to the cave in back. I know my approach is being monitored; my vampire alarm is tingling. I can only hope I get a chance to explain why I'm here before someone tries to kill me.

There's a man waiting for me as I pull up at the cave entrance. It's the same man I saw speaking with Max's boss the first time I was here. He's also dressed the same as before—same worn jeans, same ragged poncho. Today, however, he has a straw sombrero on his head, and a pair of expensive Ray Bans covers his eyes. Up close, he looks like a character out of a Sergio Leone western. His teeth are yellow, his nose crooked, the lines on his face etched deep as tire tracks. He's holding a crossbow in his hands and he raises it to my chest the minute I get out of the car.

Does he know I'm vampire?

A smile tweaks the corner of his mouth. “Not until you just told me,” he says. He motions with the bow. “But this is an effective weapon against all intruders, mortal or not, wouldn't you say?” His accent is heavy, but his use of the English language is perfect.

And he's read my mind. Yet he's not vampire, I can feel it. What are you?

Again the smile. But no answer. And I can't penetrate his thoughts. Still, there's a reason I'm here and I let him read it for himself.

All except the identity of the vampire who fed from David. He probably knows Avery.

He looks surprised as he picks through my thoughts. “You are concerned over the fate of a mortal?"

"He is my friend. I don't want him to die."

"And how do you think I can help?"

I let him know about my previous visit here.

He sweeps the glasses off his face and fixes me with a hard stare. Little pinpricks of light flash from ebony eyes. “Ah, yes. I remember the night you were here. The night Donaldson disappeared. I saw you in the trees."

An icy finger at the back of my neck. “I didn't kill him."

"But you wanted to. It was the reason you came, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"At least you are honest. What do you have to offer in exchange for my helping your friend?"

I pull the wad of bills from my pocket. “I can get more."

He takes the bills, fans them in his hand, thrusts them back at me. “I will help you. But not for money. You will owe me a favor. Do you agree?"

I nod, wondering if I've just sold my soul to the devil.

"Not the devil,” he replies. “But close, maybe."

He creeps me out with that, sends a shiver down my spine, but I shake it off. David is the important consideration here. Not me.

I'm the reason he's dying.

"Bring your friend inside."

He waits as I lift David from the car and leads the way into the caves. This time, all the residents of Beso de la Muerteare in attendance, forming a kind of human barricade on both sides of the walkway, watching as I pass by. I pick up the whispers of the vampires among them, greeting one of their own and curious about the mortal she brings into their midst. Is she willing to share? It occurs to me that I might be delivering David like a lamb to slaughter. Something I should have thought of before.

But Culebra senses those fears. “He is under my protection,” he announces in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “No harm will befall him."

It seems to work. Morbid interest dissolves once again to simple curiosity. I pass by unmolested, and we arrive at the room I remember from my last trip here.

Culebra motions to one of the gurneys and I lay David upon it. Another man joins us, his eyes on Culebra's, and without a word, he starts to work on David. He strips off my friend's shirt, covers his torso with a blanket, checks both arms. He finally looks at me, raising piercing blue eyes to meet my own.

"Do you know his blood type?” he asks in perfect, unaccented English.

I nod. I've seen it on company medical records. “O positive."

"Good.” He turns to the refrigerator. “Universal. I have a good supply. Do you know how much blood he's lost?"

"No. I know he's been fed from for at least two days."

He draws a bag of blood from the refrigerator, sets it on the counter. He crosses to the cabinet and retrieves another bag, this time with a colorless liquid. “It's as important for us to restore his body's fluid levels as it is to restore the blood,” he explains. He moves to David as he talks, arranging needles and tubes as he goes. I wince a little as he sticks one of those needles into a vein on the back of David's hand. It brings back my stay in the hospital and the beginning of all this.

But I push that out of my head. I don't want Culebra to pick up on it. Instead I watch the “doctor.” He's obviously American, tall, six-something, thin. He has blond hair and blue eyes and when he reaches over David to secure one of those tubes to the side of the gurney, I see track marks on the inside of one of his arms.

Gets high on his own supply.

Explains his presence here. He may not even be a real doctor, but he seems to know what he's doing. He doesn't say anything else to me until he's finished, and the two tubes running liquids into David's body are secure. The he turns to me.

"Now it's just a matter of time. He'll either pull through or he won't."

Not very encouraging. “How long before we know?"

"A day or two. I'll keep a close eye on him."

Culebra steps beside us at David's bedside. “You have done all that you can."

Have I? David lies so still and pale on that gurney. He hasn't moved, hasn't made a sound. If he dies—

The doctor is examining his neck wounds now, and he turns to look at me. “Did you do this?"

A rush of cold fury. “No. I didn't. Can you fix it?"

He shakes his head. “Only one way to heal vampire bites. I don't have the proper equipment, so to speak."

Culebra touches my elbow.

I know immediately what he is trying to convey. A vampire bite can only be healed by another vampire. But to do that, I'd have to reopen the wound. I'd be tasting David's blood. I've only fed from other vampires before this, never a mortal.

The doctor has stepped away, giving me a clear shot of the ravages inflicted on David's neck. The wound is open, weeping, the skin torn away in jagged slices. If I don't do it, he'll bear the scars for the rest of his life—an open declaration to any other vampire that he has been fed from. Like Avery's maid.

Culebra senses my decision and motions to the doctor to follow him. He pulls the drape over the door and leaves David and I alone in the cubicle.

Can I do this?

I move to David's bedside. Physically, I know how it's done. I've done it to Avery. But with Avery it was all bound up in sex and excitement and the safety of knowing I couldn't go too far. This is David, and I don't know if the taste of mortal blood will send me into some kind of uncontrollable frenzy.

But what choice do I have? And time is running out. I have only two hours until Avery sends that car to pick me up.

And so I bend over David, gather him up and lay my lips gently against his neck. I don't have to tear at his skin, the vein is right there, close to the surface. When I break in, his blood is warm and sweet and full of the vitality of life. But I don't allow myself to drink, the puncture is only to start the healing process. My saliva mixes with his blood and tissue and I feel it begin. Sinew and vein reattach, torn skin becomes elastic. The wound closes.

When I sit back, all that's visible now is a flush of color at his neck. And even that fades as I watch. I lean down once again and kiss David's cheek.

"Are you staying the night?"

The doctor has moved back into the room. I have no idea how he knew that I had finished with David, but he is examining the wound and nodding as if finding it acceptable.

"No. I can't stay. Not tonight. But I will be back tomorrow morning."

I hope.

I feel Culebra's eyes on me. He, too, has reentered the room. I turn to face him. We have a deal?

He nods and holds out a hand. His grip is dry and firm.

As I return the handshake, I realize if I don't come back tomorrow, I must make arrangements for David. Culebra is the only one I can trust now.

He tilts his head as if listening to some internal dialogue. He probably is. Mine.

After a moment he says, I will look after him if you don't return. You have a friend here in Mexico who knows him, do you not?

A jolt. Max. But how does Culebra know?

He shrugs the question off. If something happens, I will notify him.

I stare at him in confusion and alarm. Who are you?

But he simply takes my hand again. “Vaya con Dios,” he says.

Go with God. I turn away. A strange benediction from a devil.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The dress is made of silk, woven so delicately its touch is like a whisper against the skin. It has a band of jewels that crisscross the bodice, hugging and accenting each breast, and a sweeping skirt that falls to the ankles. It's bright red, the color of blood, the color of life. It's a dress that is worn naked underneath—a dress meant to invite sex and fashioned to facilitate it.

Avery has chosen carefully. Whatever he has in mind for tonight, there's no doubt how he envisions the evening will end. And why shouldn't he? It's the way almost every evening has ended since I first met him.

Won't he be surprised that tonight is so different?

But this is not going to be easy. I have to scrub my mind clear of worry for David, of this morning's explorations, of the hate hardening like concrete in the pit of my stomach. Avery must think I'm the same woman he bedded at the beginning of the day. If he suspects anything else, I have no doubt he will kill me.

I run my hands along the contours of my body. I don't know how I look in Avery's masterpiece of seduction. There are no mirrors in the house, and even if there were, I couldn't use them. I can't apply make-up either, or do anything with my hair except comb it.

So I use my fingers to fluff shower-wet hair and smooth gloss onto lips dry with impatience.

I want to get this over with. It's ironic that it's Avery's own strength I will use against him. He has given me his power. That's what Williams felt when I attacked him, which is why I was able to defeat him. I understand that now.

I glance at my watch. It's seven fifty. The car should be here any minute. Will Avery be inside? Somehow, I doubt it. I think he wants me to make an entrance, to glide down some gilded staircase maybe, or appear like a vision in a garden backlit by candles.

He is a romantic, after all.

And I certainly fell for it.

I blow out a breath and slip into four-inch ankle-tie come-fuck-me-pumps by Manolo Blahnik. Avery thought of everything. I found these at the bottom of the garment bag.

Promptly at eight, a black Mercedes limousine turns up the driveway. I open the door to greet the driver, and no surprise, I sense immediately that he is a vampire. He's young, mid-twenties, his lean body draped with a black tuxedo. He gives me a two-finger salute and smiles. I read in his thoughts that he likes the dress, thinks the woman in it is “hot.” He doesn't seem to care that I'm reading his reactions as they occur, even the more physical ones.

The impudence of youth.

But I don't care either. I just want him to take me to Avery.

"We're on our way,” he says with a grin.

When I'm seated in the back seat, he takes his place behind the wheel. As soon as he does, his thoughts are closed to me. I look around the car, see speakers, hear the gentle shushing sound. Avery has outfitted this car with his own personal security shield, too.

It's a relief, really. It means I don't have to be careful of my thoughts.

The driver turns to look back at me. “My name is Robert,” he says. “And Dr. Avery told me to tell you to sit back and relax, enjoy the ride. There's chilled champagne in the refrigerator."

"Where are we going?"

Again the smile. “It's a surprise."

Then he turns his attention to the front, pushes a button that activates a privacy screen between us, and I'm left alone in the back seat with only my thoughts and a bottle of 1962 Dom Perignon for company.

The night is moonless, the air still. I watch through the windows as we head up the coast. In Del Mar, Robert turns onto a side street that winds up and away from the coastal highway and into the foothills. I lean back and sip champagne from a crystal flute, savoring the sweet excitement of the havoc I will wreak on Avery's world. The same havoc he has wrought on mine. The vision of his house in flames warms me and sustains my resolve.

But I have to temper all that out of my subconscious now. I have to turn on a different kind of flame. He has to think I'm coming to him in love, ready now to accept the life he offers. And in reality, it's not that difficult to flip that switch. After all, the passion that ignites whenever we're together burns as fiercely as the hatred inside me.

The car slows and stops in front of the gated entrance to a private club—or at least that's what the sign posted beside the guard shack says. A man in a uniform pokes his head out of the booth and nods at Robert. The gate slides open. I put the glass down and watch to see what Avery has prepared.

It's very much as I imagined.

There are luminarios lining a driveway that leads to a rambling, pillared Colonial mansion. The house floats in the night like a pale ghost ship. There is no artificial light. Only candles flickering from every window. It's a fairy-tale setting.

Robert pulls to a stop and a liveried servant comes down the stairs to open my car door. Without a word, he steps aside as I climb out, then passes me to get to the landing and swing open the front door. I expect Avery to be waiting inside, but the only thing that greets me is soft string music floating in from open French doors just ahead. I look around but the servant is gone. I guess I'm supposed to find my own way from here.

The doors open to a rose garden, the perfume fills the air. Still, there's no one waiting here, either, so I follow a path of flaming torches to a wide deck. It's a pool deck, the shimmering water stretching to meet the horizon in an unbroken sweep. There's a table set for two

But still no Avery.

I approach the table, pour myself a glass of champagne—the second this evening. But this will be my last. I need to have my wits about me.

But why?

The question floats across the still night air from the far end of the pool. I turn to watch Avery as he appears at the door of a cabana and starts toward me. He has a silver vase filled with red roses in his hands.

Tonight is the perfect night to lose yourself in the moment. No thinking, no inhibitions, no “wit” required. This evening is for you.

He comes closer, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight like the flames of the candles floating in the pool. He sets the vase on the table.

I meant to have these on the table when you arrived.He holds out a finger, a drop of blood glistening in the candlelight. But I pricked my finger on a thorn and I can't seem to get the bleeding to stop.

I put the champagne flute down on the table and take his hand in both of my own. I raise the finger to my lips and gently suck at the wound, letting my tongue work at the cut until I feel the skin close, much the way he did with my injured leg. Much the way I did earlier with David. I keep my mind carefully closed.

When I look up at Avery, he has his eyes shut and he's swaying a little—whether to the seductive sounds of the music swelling around us or to the feel of my tongue on his skin, I can't tell. He pulls himself back when he feels my eyes on him. His smile is slow and sweet.

"You are an apt pupil,” he says. “If I'm not careful, you will learn all my secrets and you will no longer need me."

I meet his eyes with my own. “I think there are still a few secrets you are keeping from me, aren't there?"

He takes a step back, but instead of answering, he focuses on the dress and me. “Beautiful. I knew it was perfect for you the moment I saw it. You are a vision, Anna."

He's all dressed up himself, in a well-cut black tuxedo. He's not wearing a tie, though, and the neck of his white silk shirt is open.

The better to get right down to business.

He laughs at what I'm thinking. Why not? We are long past the vagaries of precoital game playing, wouldn't you agree?

I guess the honeymoon is over.

"Far from it.” Avery speaks the words aloud as he dips a hand into a pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small, velvet box. “The honeymoon will never be over for us."

He holds out the box to me, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes are serious, though, as he watches me accept the box and open it.

There's a ring inside, platinum, set with a diamond solitaire that would take any living woman's breath away. I know because it elicits a gasp from me, not an easy thing when you're undead.

He's caught me completely by surprise. I expected seduction. I expected a display of the good life vampire style. What I didn't expect was a proposal.

If that's what this is.

I look up at him, letting the confusion filter through.

He laughs. “I've rendered you speechless. A first, I think."

I hand the box back to him. “It's a beautiful ring. I can't accept it."

But he refuses to take it, pushing it back towards me. “You misunderstand. I'm not proposing. Not yet, anyway. I know it's too soon for you. But I want you to have the ring as a thank you."

A thank you? For what?

He turns away to pour himself a glass of champagne and to retrieve my glass from the edge of the table. As he hands mine back to me, he lifts his glass in a toast, his eyes bright. “To Anna. Who has brought me back from the dead. Literally. For that, no mere thank you would be sufficient."

He takes a sip and waits for me to do the same. I study him over the rim of the glass. He really believes he's in love with me. More importantly, he believes I love him, too. He believes he's won.

Suddenly it snaps into sharp focus.

Everything that has happened to me. The fire, Williams, the Revengers. Avery is behind it all.

But why?