Текст книги "Retribution"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

CHAPTER 57

I’M IN A ROOM. DAZZLING WHITE. NO WINDOWS or doors. Now what?

I touch the amulet.

It warms and begins to glow. As it does, shapes form out of nothingness. A table. A round globe in the center.

I approach it. I know what I’m supposed to do. Something deep in my subconscious guides me. I place both hands on the globe.

Beneath my fingertips, it stirs as if alive. Beneath my fingertips . . .My physical senses are sharper. I watch, fascinated, excited, as clouds form in the sphere, then clear.

I see a room. A bed. An old woman lying still beneath a quilt of grass. She opens her eyes and looks up at me. Awareness blooms behind cataractous eyes. No fear. A smile. She beckons with a crooked finger.

A whirl of movement.

I’m at the bedside.

Belinda Burke is sitting up. She is bent with age and stoop-shouldered. Her face is lined. She is squinting at me through lenses shrouded in the opaque film of age. But she recognizes me. Her bitter malevolence permeates the air like moisture after a summer storm.

“You came, Anna. Not Williams. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Did you kill him?”

She shakes her head without waiting for me to answer. “No. Of course not. It’s not in you to kill. You still fight the animal within. It will be your downfall, you know.”

She stirs, one gnarly hand grasping the blanket as if to throw it off.

I move faster, grab that hand, still it.

She smiles up at me. “You have no power here.”

“From what I see, neither do you.”

A breath stirs the hair on the back of my neck. It’s like the breeze from an open door. I whirl around.

The guy from the restaurant, the one I assumed was Burke ’s bodyguard, is behind me. He looks bigger than I remembered. He ’s dressed exactly like before, oddly tailored black suit. The only difference this time is his eyes. They are opaque like Burke’s.

Her laugh is high-pitched, malicious. “You didn’t think I’d be without protection, did you?” She waves a hand.

The man advances on me. He’s snarling, snapping at the air like a dog.

I know I should be scared. In this place, I have no vampire strength or speed. And yet, I was a bounty hunter long before I got those powers. I’d learned to protect myself as a human. He’s human, too. He’s used to his size intimidating people. It doesn’t intimidate me.

I step away from him. A side kick to the solar plexus catches him off guard. A follow -up elbow to the face and he staggers back. He shakes his head. Roars in outrage.

His hand moves to open his jacket.

Shit. Weapons dowork here. I rush him. He’s too big to get my arms around. He’s male. The kick catches him square in the groin. It staggers him. But it’s not enough. I put every bit of strength I have into a follow-up.

That works.

He gasps, doubles over, grabs at himself. Color floods his face.

My chance. I use the heel of my palm to strike the deathblow. An upward blow fueled by the pain and desperation of eighteen young girls. A blow that smashes the cartilage in his nose and forces bone into his brain with a satisfying crunch.

He goes down like a rock.

Now for Belinda.

I draw the blade from the sheath at my waist and show it to her.

Still, no fear. Her arrogance provokes a strange reaction in me. Not anger. Not resentment.

Confidence. I let the corners of my mouth tip up.

She frowns at the smile, waves an impatient hand in the direction of her fallen lackey. “It won’t be as easy for you to kill me as it was him.”

“No? Why?”

“You were defending your life with him. You won’t kill me, Anna. I’m an old woman. Bedridden. Helpless. You pride yourself on being human. You think you know what you are meant to do with that humanity. Protect the weak. I have nothing to fear from you.”

Even as I step close to the bed, her expression and tone don’t change. She is unafraid, contemptuous.

“You are a stupid girl. Like my sister. You made a mistake coming after me. A mistake you will regret. I will rest here awhile. Then I will return. You will not see it coming. Either of you.”

I move without thought, without hesitation. The knife slides in easily. Under the left breast. The blade meets no resistance.

I lean close, whisper in Burke’s ear. “You made the mistake, old woman. You mistake being human for being weak. I will always protect those I love. Always.”

I watch the surprise bloom and fade in dead eyes, watch life drain away. I keep pressure on the knife until I feel the last flutter of her heart, watch as her chest slows and caves with the expiration of her last breath.

When I withdraw the knife, the copper smell of her blood mingles with the waste released from a body already beginning to decay.

It is the smell of victory. The knife is suddenly weightless in my hand.

The amulet begins to glow again, but this time, for a different reason. I understand the message. My time is almost up.

Once again, instinct tells me what to do. I cup the charm in my hands. The room fades as my vision blurs. Night descends. Then, smoke.

An odor. Incense. A sound. The song of the witches.

I blink and I’m back.

The witches’ song stops. They gather round me, eager to know what happened, what the journey was like.

Words don’t come. It’s as if the last ten minutes belonged to someone else. When I replay it in my head, there is no feeling except one—

relief. That I’m back. That Burke is dead. That Sophie and I are safe.

Susan frowns. “Are you all right?”

I shake my head, not in response, but in an attempt to clear it. “I think so.”

Min takes the knife gently from my hand. Until that moment, I didn ’t realize I was still holding it. Burke’s blood stains the blade. “She’s dead?”

“Yes.”

By my hand. I glance down. No blood there.

I look up and see how much the three want details. Their faces shine with excitement. It was as much their journey as it was mine. They deserve to be told how their magic worked.

I can’t do it. Not now. My thoughts and feelings center on only one thing—I have to tell Sophie that her sister is dead.

When I leave them, it is with thanks for their help and a promise to be back. The concern for me in their eyes is like a mantle that sits heavy on my shoulders all the way home.

CHAPTER 58

WHEN I WALK IN THE FRONT DOOR, SOPHIE IS waiting for me. She’s downstairs, sitting in the dark. Shivering. She’s twisted a blanket around her body, tightly, protection against a cold she alone feels. Her eyes shine in the light that filters through the windows.

Unshed tears make them shimmer and spark, glittering jewels that reflect like mirrors the moonlight so bright it turns night into day.

Her breath catches when she sees me.

I stop at the doorway.

She knows.

When I move to turn on a light, her voice, a ghostly echo, says, “Don’t.”

I drop my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” Sophie says.

“Not for killing Belinda. It had to be done. I am sorry for you.”

Sophie’s voice catches. “At least you’re honest. But Belinda couldn’t have hurt you. Not for a long time. You must have seen that.”

What I saw was a malicious old woman already plotting to come after me—and Sophie.

What I see before me now is a grieving woman, mourning the loss of a sister. I wonder how she knew. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes. I’ve heard of twins having a psychic link. Perhaps sibling witches do, too? Did Burke come to her at the moment of her death? Did she make Sophie feel guilty because it was Sophie’s spell that left her vulnerable?

It’s easier to let Sophie direct her anger to me, to allow her to remember whatever good she can, than to shatter the illusion by telling her the truth. Burke was evil. If she had lived, Sophie and I both would have been targets of her revenge.

Fatigue washes over me.

“I need to sleep. Will you be all right?”

She doesn’t reply.

I’ll take care of her.Deveraux’s voice is hushed, grateful. I know what happened, Anna. I read it in your thoughts just now. You did the right thing. Eventually, she will see it, too.

Maybe. Sophie is staring straight ahead, tears now spilling freely from her eyes. For once, I ’m glad for Deveraux. Theirs is a bizarre relationship, but she’s not alone.

Not like me.

I trudge up the stairs, my heart as heavy as my legs. For the last few nights I ’ve slept in an unmade bed, with just a blanket wrapped around me. Now I pull a set of linens from the closet and tug, pull and smooth the sheets until the bed is made up. Tuck in blankets, fluff pillows.

I hope this simple housekeeping chore will relax me, remind me that my life is filled with more than monsters and killing. That it will prepare me for a good night’s sleep.

But when I finally crawl between those sheets, it’s not what happened today that banishes sleep from my mind.

It’s what’s going to happen tomorrow.

I’d almost forgotten.

Ortiz’ funeral is scheduled for two o’clock.

CHAPTER 59

I’M UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. I SHOWER AND dress, eschewing my usual jeans and T-shirt and choosing instead black slacks and a cotton blouse under a black blazer.

For the funeral.

Sophie is asleep in the guest room. She must have come back upstairs sometime during the night.

I make a quick run down to Mission Café. I order eggs Benedict and a fruit cup and a couple of cinnamon rolls and have it all packaged to go. I never keep food in the house—no need—but I know Sophie had nothing to eat yesterday. If she’s hungry this morning, I want to have something ready for her.

Back at home, I place the eggs in a covered dish in a warm oven along with the cinnamon rolls and start the coffeepot.

Lance calls as I’m pouring my first cup. The sound of his voice warms me. He’ll be on the first flight in the morning and asks if I want to pick him up.

He’s coming home early. It’s an unexpected gift. I’m so grateful I can barely contain my excitement. I jot down the time and flight number.

Sophie appears in the kitchen just as I’m hanging up.

Deveraux makes the first comment. Boyfriend coming home?

His tone is smug. Obviously he listened in to my conversation with Lance on his way downstairs. It ’s aggravating enough to make me want to snap back at him. But Sophie hasn’t said anything, and I’m more concerned about her than irritated at Deveraux and his party tricks.

I point her to a place at the kitchen table. She drops into the chair, still without a word. I don’t want to push. I busy myself setting out the food and utensils.

She watches me with dull eyes. She does pick up the fork, finally, but instead of eating, moves the food around her plate in small, unenthusiastic circles. After a minute, she pushes the plate away. “I guess I’m not very hungry.”

I offer her a cup of coffee. She shakes her head. “You don’t have tea, do you?”

Regretfully, I shake myhead. “No. Sorry. I could run to the store, though.”

She releases a sigh. “No. Don’t bother. Water?”

I get a bottle from the refrigerator and hand it to her. She takes a tiny sip. “Thanks.”

We lapse into silence. I don’t want to bring up the subject, but there are still questions that have to be answered. Culebra and Frey are no longer in danger, but the women who were victimized by Burke and her miracle cream are.

“Sophie, what is going to happen to the women who used your cream? Will they get well on their own? Do the police need to track them down?”

She lifts her chin. “If they were given a strong enough formula, they’ll go through a terrible withdrawal. They may even have the impulse to drink blood, so the police should be aware. With or without help, the women will revert back to their former selves within a month or so of their last application. If all of the cream was destroyed in the fire, there should be nothing more to worry about.”

There’s a hint of antagonism is her voice. Dark anger that I acted precipitously in going after her sister. She thinks the fire ended the threat.

But I know there are truckloads of the stuff out there somewhere. I saw them. Did Williams give the information to the police? So much has happened in the last few days, I don’t know.

May as well broach the second subject. “Have you changed your mind about helping the—” I fumble for the right words. My first choice, the vampires your sister created, tortured and bled, seems too strong right now. She’s grieving the sister, not the monster.

“The girls you told me about last night?”

Saved. “Yes.”

“Of course I want to help them. Why would you think I’d changed my mind about that?” She pushes her chair back. “If you can give me a change of clothes, I’d like to get going.”

I stand up with her and follow her up the stairs. She wants to get away from me as quickly as she can.

I suppose I can’t blame her.

I give Sophie a pair of jeans and a sweater, a hairbrush and a toothbrush. She showers and is ready to go to Rose’s in half an hour.

The ride to Rose’s is quiet. Even Deveraux has lapsed into silence. Rose is thrilled when she meets Sophie and hears her plan. The girls, who think Sophie is their own age, go along happily, especially when Sophie tells them about the mansion that will be their home and how beautiful Denver is. One call to Jeff, and he says he’ll have the jet waiting for them at the airport.

THE GIRLS HURRY ON BOARD THE JET, PROTECTED BY billowing gowns that cover them from neck to ankle and wide-brimmed hats. They chatter their good-byes to me as they go, excited to begin a new life, hopeful in a way most of them have never been before.

Sophie stands beside me on the tarmac after they are safely inside.

“I’ll keep you informed about the girls,” she says. “They’ll be fine with us. They’ll be protected.”

I wish I could think of something to say to close the chasm between us. I don ’t regret killing Burke. I’d do it again. I regret not being able to ease Sophie’s pain.

She’ll come around.For the first time, Deveraux reaches out.

No. She won’t.

I lost a brother. I know. Nothingeases that pain.

CHAPTER 60

I’VE SEEN IT BEFORE IN MEDIA ACCOUNTS BUT NEVER experienced the real thing. The funeral of a decorated police officer.

Ortiz’ funeral.

I arrive at the cemetery after the mile-long procession of police vehicles and limousines have already disgorged the mourners. Ortiz ’

empty coffin is on the grave site, draped in an American flag. A color guard is off to one side.

I stand in the back of the crowd, scanning for the presence of other vampires, on alert for Williams. I expect he’ll be sitting with Brooke.

He has great resources within the supernatural community. Resources that would have come to his aid yesterday and helped him heal.

Knowing how he felt about Ortiz, I can’t imagine he would not have moved heaven and earth to see his friend laid to rest. And yet I detect no other vampires—not even Williams. Is he cloaking himself from me?

I work my way through the crowd, but don’t push myself to the very front. After what happened yesterday, keeping him in sight while not exposing myself seems prudent. I don’t expect he’d try to retaliate here, but he may have someone else do it for him. It may be the reason he’s cloaking his thoughts.

When I reach a place where I can see the seated mourners, I get a shock. Brooke and her sister are together under a covered awning.

Alone. Williams is not with them.

The two sisters lean in toward each other, hands entwined. They are dressed in black, slacks, sweaters. Brooke is listening to the police chaplain as he reads from an open Bible. She has the weary, glazed look of one in shock.

I recognize the expression. It’s one of the reasons I hate funerals. No matter how long it’s been, I’m transported right back to the one funeral I’ll never be able to forget. The sharp anguish of losing a brother has not diminished with time. The pain still gnaws at my gut.

There’s an older woman seated to the right of Brooke. She has an arm over the back of Brooke’s chair, sits erect, stares straight ahead.

If she’s listening to the police chaplain, she gives no indication of it. She appears more angry than sad. Restless. Every few minutes, her eyes scan the crowd, pausing on a face here and there, moving on. Who is she looking for?

She finds me. There’s no ambiguity in her reaction when she sees me. It ’s nothing overt. She doesn’t jump up or point or yell in my direction.

She simply grows very still and stares.

As soon as our eyes meet, I know why. I recognize her. From a night nine months ago when I was invited to a party at Avery ’s. We were never formally introduced, but I saw her in Avery’s living room. She was there with her husband.

She is Warren Williams’ mortal wife.

For the remaining hour of the service, she doesn’t take her eyes off me. As it concludes, the color guard gives its twenty-one-gun salute and the mourners file past the coffin to pay last respects.

Brooke and her sister are among the last to leave the grave site.

Mrs. Williams stands off to the side. I do, too. The sisters glance over at us but don ’t approach. When they’ve made their way to a waiting car, she turns to me.

“I know what you did.”

Mrs. Williams is an attractive fortysomething, sophisticated, perfectly coiffed, attired in the proper ensemble for the funeral of a friend.

Her tailored suit is charcoal gray, probably Versace, her shoes chic but sensibly low -heeled to handle the grass, her shoulder bag dark-grained leather. She wears a simple band of diamonds on her left ring finger, diamond studs in her ears.

What doesn’t fit the polished exterior is her expression.

Anger burns through her eyes. It’s a dark shadow on her face, a clenched jaw. She’s human, but she’s projecting enough animal hatred to make me take a defensive step back.

She closes the distance. “Warren is at home. He almost didn’t make it. I had to pull that bar out of his chest. He might have died in that warehouse, and you left him there. You chose the life of a witch over one of your own.”

There’s no point in reminding her that her husband is a vampire and wouldn ’t have died. Or in asking her if she knew why he’d gone to the warehouse in the first place.

She’s beyond the point of reason. She looks toward the car, turning her face away from me. “No parent should ever suffer the loss of a child,” she says. Her voice is sad, haunted.

I don’t understand. Is she talking about Brooke? Did Brooke lose a child? Certainly, it couldn ’t have been Ortiz’. Vampires can’t reproduce.

When she faces me, I read the truth in her eyes. She’s talking about Williams and Ortiz. Williams sired Ortiz. I should have realized it sooner, recognized the bond between them. Ortiz was a son to Williams, the only kind he could ever have.

The moment of melancholy is gone in the instant it takes Mrs. Williams to wipe a tear from her cheek. Rage once again hardens her features.

“I told Brooke that he was so broken up he had to get away, be by himself. But Warren is strong. He’ll get better. And when he does, he’ll come after you. It isn’t over, Anna.”

She starts to walk away, stops, turns. “It didn’t have to be this way. Warren had such high hopes for you. You were supposed to be the one to make the peace. Instead, you wage war.”

She shakes her head, looking older somehow, sadder, as if the weight of her words is a burden she can’t put down. “Warren said you have only a few months left to accept what must be. Instead, you continue this useless fight. And you know who will suffer?”

She lets her gaze travel to the car, to the girls staring out at us. “They will be the ones who pay the price. The innocents. Well, Anna, you want a war? You’ve got one. And it’s a war no one will win. I hope you’re satisfied.”

EPILOGUE

AWEEK HAS PASSED SINCE ORTIZ’ FUNERAL. A week filled with wonderfully ordinary things that didn’t involve witches or spells or veiled threats.

Lance came home and we had a few days to enjoy each other before he was off to his next modeling assignment. We took advantage of every moment. He listened to what happened, consoled and calmed me. I can’t wait for him to come home again. I’m coming to realize how much I miss Lancewhen he’s gone, not just the sex.

Two days later, David returned from his vacation and we went right back to work. Thankfully, a declining economy doesn’t translate into a decline in the number of fugitives who need apprehending.

Sophie called once to let me know the girls were adjusting well to their new home. Her voice was strained and formal. It was nice to hear her voice, good to know the girls were doing well, but I doubt she’ll call again. I killed her sister.

I talked to Trish on her birthday and, as luck would have it, caught her during the fireworks display my folks had arranged as a special treat. For a few minutes, I could pretend to be there with them oohing and aahing over exploding sky rockets and Roman candles.

Now that I have use of a jet, who knows? I may fly over to celebrate my mom’s birthday in July.

But as hard as I try to pretend everything is back to normal, I know it’s not.

Mrs. Williams’ words haunt me.

She accuses me of waging war.

Her husband drew the battle lines. Not me. All I’ve ever asked is to live on my own terms.

In a few months, I will have been vampire for one year. Is that what she meant about having only a short time to accept what must be?

That may be the biggest irony. Just when I decide to open up to the possibility that there might be something to this destiny thing, I have no one to help me discover what it might be.

Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I have my family, David, Daniel Frey and Lance. It’s enough for now. If somewhere down the line a door opens and some mysterious destiny presents itself, I may hesitate. But in my head, in my bones, I know I ’ll walk through that door.

I’ll have to see what’s on the other side.