Текст книги "Chosen"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER 31

Despite Zuria’s objections, I convince him to drop me off at the airport. It is not lost on me that I have no money, no passport, not even a change of clothes. I need the time to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

As I get out of his battered Citroën, Zuria reaches into the backseat and hands me a jacket.

My leather jacket.

“The young one left this for you,” he says.

I take it. Wonder when Lance had time to think of a jacket? Was it before he drugged me or when he was stripping me naked for Underwood and his band of loonies?

Zuria’s reluctance to go manifests itself in a drumming of fingertips on the steering wheel and an expression of sadness that borders on tearful. I finally have to turn away before he puts the car in gear.

“Come back to us soon, Goddess,” he says.

Yeah. Don’t hold your breath. I walk toward the terminal and, finally, hear the clutch engage as the car roars off. The trailing noxious plume of burning motor oil tickles my nose and burns my eyes.

I shrug into the jacket, almost regretting it as soon as it settles over my shoulders. Lance’s smell wafts up. He must have worn it. The urge to take it off and throw it away is powerful, but damn it, I likethis jacket. I’ll have it fumigated as soon as I get back home.

The building I’m facing is low-slung and utilitarian. Quiet. I can’t see anyone moving around inside. It’s not big as far as international airports go. There is a small grassy park in front of the terminal and I lower myself to sit cross-legged on the grass while I review my options.

The obvious first option would be to call my folks.

The drawbacks to that are just as obvious. How do I explain being in France with no money, no passport and no notice?

Shit.

If there’s an American consulate somewhere in the vicinity, they may be able to help with money and an emergency visa so I can get out of here.

But I’ll need a story. What story can I use? That I was mugged?

That could explain no wallet and no passport. But what about when they ask me where I’ve been staying? And if I notified the police?

Lance. This is all your fault.

What the hell were you thinking?

How did you get away? If the airport was closed, did you have a car stashed nearby?

For a moment, I’m awash in depression. Drowning in a pool of sorrow, a sense of loss.

The moment passes quickly. Anger swallows it up.

No time for angst.

In frustration, I shove my hands in the pockets of the jacket.

Freeze as my fingers close around—

From the right pocket, I pull my watch.

From the left, an envelope.

I slip the Rolex on my wrist, fasten it before looking at the envelope.

Lance’s handwriting.

To Anna.

I don’t want to feel what washes over me. Regret. Sadness. I want to feel only anger. The man who claimed he loved me delivered me to Underwood, then watched while he violated me. What excuse could he offer that would allow me to forgive such treachery?

Something shifts in the envelope. Curiosity makes me tear it open. I withdraw two folded sheets. When I open them, a small key falls to the grass. For the moment, I ignore the key, eyes drawn reluctantly to the familiar script.

Dear Anna,

If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong. Julian will be dead. If I’m not, I know it’s just a matter of time before I will be. Betrayal is the one thing you can never forgive. The only thing I offer in my defense is that Julian said you wouldn’t be hurt. The ceremony was to open the door. Your role was to be the conduit through which Julian gained his power. It would need to be done only once. You were drugged so you wouldn’t remember. After, you and I would be free to live our lives. Together. Empty words. Lance Turner is no more. My affairs have been put in order. By the time you read this, my lawyers will have informed Adele of my death abroad. She will assume the property in Palm Springs. I ask only that you leave her in peace. She doesn’t know anything about what happened. The Malibu property is yours to do with as you wish. As for me, if you must come after me, I understand. You feel betrayed. You are so strong. It’s hard for you to understand that not all of us are. I have always been weak. I thought after what Julian did to me, you would see the weakness and our relationship would change. That you would no longer look at me as a lover. That you would ask what kind of man lets himself get whipped like a slave. Julian did it as punishment because I told him I wouldn’t go through with his plan. He did it because he could and because I let him. He did it because he thought you would leave me. I should have ended our relationship myself. I didn’t have the guts to do even that. When you didn’t leave, I started to believe what Julian had been telling me since the day we met. That you and I were destined to be together once the prophecy was fulfilled. One night in exchange for a lifetime. It’s when I stopped fighting. It’s when I agreed to help. More empty words, but I wanted you to know. I did love you, Anna. I always will.

Lance

My hand crushes the letter into a ball.

Love. My only consolation is that I never told the bastard that Iloved him. A small, meaningless triumph but a satisfying one nonetheless.

I look around for the key that fell from the envelope when I withdrew the letter and pluck it from the grass. It’s a slender, brass key with a numbers printed on the head.

A locker key.

For the first time since I awakened in the cave, I feel a glimmer of hope. If this is what I think it is, Lance may have earned himself a quick death instead of a long, painful one.

* * *

At four thirty people start filtering into the airport. Uniformed pilots and flight attendants and security people, and then the less obvious cadre of reservationists and gate attendants and janitors in one-piece jumpsuits. At five thirty, promptly, the doors are opened to a small group of customers who, like me, are waiting to be on their way.

In my halting French, I ask one of the security guards where I can find the casiers. He points down a hall at the end of the ticket counter.

The number on the key is 118. When I find the locker, insert the key and see what’s inside, a thrill of relief washes over me.

Wallet. Credit cards. Passport.

Another note.

We left your plane at the borne privée. Proceed through the VIP lounge and inquire at the concierge desk. They will put you in touch with a pilot.

Another grievance to add to the list. The bastard used my own plane to transport me here. What did they tell security when they manhandled me off? That I was incapacitated by what? Illness? Did they say I was infectious to avoid close scrutiny?

No matter now. I find the VIP lounge and enlist the help of a trim, sophisticated young woman who speaks perfect English. She assures me that she will have no trouble making the necessary arrangements to secure a crew and have my plane readied for the trip home. She hands me a manifest to look over and sign.

The cost is staggering. I could have flown round trip commercially a dozen times in first class for far less. When I prepare to offer a credit card, however, she waves it aside.

“No, no, mademoiselle. Monsieur Turner took care of it. He paid in advance. I’m afraid it will take several hours, however, before all is ready. You are welcome to stay here. Food and drink are available in the bar. Spa facilities are through the door in back. You may shower and change if you wish.”

I nod my thanks and turn away. A shower sounds good. You have no idea how dirty you can feel until a demon in a man suit rubs himself all over you.

I noticed a few shops on my way to the VIP lounge so I head there now. Like the airport in San Diego there aren’t any clothing stores. No designer boutiques. Not even the equivalent of a Gap. I end up buying a little tangerine-colored beach cover-up that will have to do as a dress and a pair of sandals at a surf shop called Quiksilver.

Not exactly my style. When I hold it up, the dress hits mid-thigh .

At least it’s clean.

* * *

It takes a little over three hours before I’m finally allowed to board. The pilot and copilot are American.

“Good to see you looking so well,” the pilot says to me, extending a hand. “Mr. Turner said he was bringing you here to recuperate from an illness. Obviously, you have.”

He’s young, early thirties, oily—his hair, his obsequious smile, his voice.

I smile back, though it feels more like a grimace. The lie is hard to swallow. What I want to do is beat my chest and ask how he could have been so stupid. Did I look like I was ill? Or did I look like I was drugged and being kidnapped?

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe he couldn’t have known. Somehow, though, I think it more likely the money he was paid for the charter smoothed away any misgivings he may have harbored about the way I was brought on board.

He leaves for the cockpit. The copilot takes care of the door. He’s a little older, forty maybe, and when he’s through latching and securing, he joins me in the main cabin.

“Flying time is thirteen hours, Ms. Strong. We will put down once in Bangor, Maine, to refuel. We should be on the ground in San Diego about one o’clock, Pacific daylight time.”

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t display any of the sycophantic toadying of his coworker. He doesn’t even look particularly happy to be here.

I like him.

* * *

I’m asleep before the plane gains cruising altitude. One moment I’m gazing out at the Basque countryside as we rocket down the runway.

The next, I’m not.

I WAKE UP TO THE WHIR AND PNEUMATIC CLICK OF the landing gear engaging. I stretch and yawn and check my watch. This must be the refueling stop.

The telephone on the console beside my seat buzzes. When I pick it up, the copilot’s voice tells me I have a call. He disconnects and a familiar voice booms in my ear.

“My god, Anna. Where have you been?”

“Nice to hear your voice, too, Frey. What’s the matter?”

“Everything. Williams’ wife went crazy at Culebra’s and killed a host. David is missing. Your new partner Tracey has been calling all over the place trying to locate you. She got halfway through the Fs before she found my number in your office Rolodex. I wouldn’t have known to try the plane if Lance hadn’t called. Where are you?”

His words are disjointed and rambling, launched at me through the phone with the speed of light in a burst of pent-up emotion that renders them almost incomprehensible.

Almost.

It takes me only a second to sort through the tirade and zero in on the one salient point in his rant.

“What do you mean David is missing?”

CHAPTER 32

Before continuing, Frey sucks in a noisy breath, as if the outburst forced all the air from his lungs. “Tracey said David was supposed to meet her at the office on Friday. In fact, she said youwere supposed to meet her at the office on Friday, too. When neither of you showed up, she waited. While she was there, the phone rang. It was David’s girlfriend. She wanted to know if you were all right. David got a call Thursday evening saying you had been in an accident. He left her in San Francisco and came right back. No one’s seen him or heard from him since.”

He runs out of air again, stopping abruptly to inhale. “Was there an accident? Are you all right?”

A click over the line and the pilot’s voice interrupts. “Ms. Strong, we’ll be on the ground about forty-five minutes. Bangor has cleared us for takeoff after fueling at oh six hundred hours. ETA for San Diego is thirteen hundred Pacific daylight time. Do you want to deplane at the fueling station?”

I press the intercom button. “No. I’ll stay on board. Get us off the ground as soon as possible.”

Frey cuts in as the pilot clicks off. “Bangor? As in Maine? What are you doing in Maine?”

I rub a hand across my eyes. “You don’t want to know. I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I’m more concerned about David. Christ, I don’t even know what questions to ask. This could be a skip we turned in. Or a supernatural. Someone out to get me because of Williams.” I sit up straight in the seat. “What did you say about Mrs. Williams? She killed a host?”

I can almost see him nodding as he says, “Drained her. Culebra was there, but she lost control. Swatted him away as if he were a fly on the wall. Knocked him cold. She’s incredibly strong for a new vamp. Culebra should have been able to stop her.”

Culebra shouldhave been able to stop her. Did she get her strength from being sired by a two-hundred-year-old vamp? Or is it something else?

Concentrate on the problem at hand.

“What happened then?”

“She took off. When Culebra came to, she was gone. Along with another human, according to the barkeep. Carried him off. Culebra is beside himself with worry. She’s behaving like a rogue, which puts the entire supernatural community in danger.”

God.

Frey hesitates, as if waiting for me to say something. I don’t know what to say. I’m trembling. For David. For the thoughts swirling around in my head.

If Mrs. Williams blames me for her husband’s death, what better way to exact revenge than by taking David?

“Anna? Are you there?”

I rouse myself out of the miasma. “Frey, do you know where Avery lived?”

“Avery?” He repeats the name in a voice reflecting bewilderment and surprise. “What does Avery have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing. But Warren Williams and Avery were friends for two hundred years. He blamed me for Avery’s death. Now Mrs. Williams blames me for her husband’s death. I think there’s a good chance she took David. And the logical place to take him would be where my connection to the three of them began.”

Frey is silent for a moment. When he speaks, his words are reflective and deliberate. “You may be right. Do you want me to go out there, take a look around?”

“Not in your human form. She’ll be looking for someone to come snooping. And she knows you’re my friend.”

“What about as panther?”

“During the day? How would you pull that off?”

I do the arithmetic. If we’re in San Diego about one p.m., I’ll have time to see Culebra and get back to meet Frey before dark. “Wait for me to call you. We can’t do anything before dark. She’s not going to hurt David until she makes sure I’m around to watch.”

He’s silent, and I know the idea of waiting for eight or nine hours is chafing. I know because I’m feeling the same thing.

“Don’t try to go on your own, Frey,” I warn. “Wait for me. You will wait for me, right?”

“Of course.”

Too quick. But Frey is not stupid. He won’t take unnecessary risks if David’s life is in jeopardy.

I’m ready to thank him and hang up when something else he said bubbles to the surface of my consciousness. “You said Lance called? When?”

“Two hours ago. Said you were on your way home. Could be reached on the plane if I needed to get in touch with you. He sounded strange, Anna. Gave no reason for calling except for that. Rang off before I could ask how he knew I was trying to get in touch with you. Is there something going on? Did you two have a fight?”

Fight? I feel the bloodlust stir in anticipation.

No. Not yet. But it’s certainly coming.

I thrust the vampire back into her box. “It’s not important.”

“Is that the reason you left town? Because you were fighting with Lance?”

“No. Let it go.”

“Then was it to be away for the anniversary of your becoming? Because if it was, there’s something else you should know.”

I don’t like the way that sounds. “What?”

A moment of silence, as if Frey is choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been doing some checking. We were wrong in thinking the anniversary date was the date you and Donaldson exchanged blood. It isn’t. It’s actually the first time you fed as a vampire. The ingesting of blood marked the conclusion of the physiological change. From that point on, you were no longer human but vampire. That is the true anniversary date of your becoming. And it is on that date that you will become what is destined to be.”

For a moment, he sounds so much like Julian Underwood spouting his goddess of the Sorginak garbage that I’m tempted to laugh.

But what they wanted to do to me in that cave wasn’t funny. What they didto me in that cave wasn’t funny.

Why should I assume this would be any better?

I thought it was over—the craziness about being the Chosen One. Now I’m not so sure.

If Mrs. Williams intends to carry the banner for her husband, I’m right back where I started. She seemed clueless about vampire ways, but she must have spent hours listening to her husband talk about how he might win me to the cause. He might have mentioned David and how I fought Avery to save him. She may see David as the key to fulfilling her husband’s mission.

I think back to the dark days of my becoming. I was attacked on a Friday night. I was in the hospital for what? One or two days. Then Avery came to my house and told me that I was no longer human. That I was vampire. Two days later, I fed from him. If what Frey says is true, four days after I was bitten would be Tuesday. When whatever is supposed to happen, will.

Unless I can stop it.

I ask Frey to do one more thing before we ring off. Well, two things actually. The first is to call David’s girlfriend and tell her something—anything—to keep her from reporting David missing. Police involvement we don’t need. The second is to call Tracey and do the same. Make up a story that David and I went out of town on a job. Assure them both the accident thing was a false alarm. That we’ll be in touch with them by the end of the week.

In touch, I think ironically, or dead.

Either way, it won’t matter.

After hanging up, I cross the cabin, head directly for the bar. Pour two drinks. Scotch, neat. One I down in a single gulp standing up at the teak counter, enjoying the burn as it scalds a trail down my throat and bursts with the impact of a fireball in my gut.

The other I take back with me to nurse in my seat.

The thing I have to figure out now is what Mrs. Williams is up to. She has David. There’s not even a glimmer of doubt in my head about that. Whyshe has David is the question. Is it simply a way to get back at me for her husband’s death? Or is there something more?

Warren Williams was adamant and vocal about my destiny. I’m sure he shared those feelings with his wife. As a mortal, she probably listened with bored indifference to his rants about me. How ignorant I was, how ineffectual as a vampire, how uninterested I was in learning the ways. She knows more about what being the “Chosen One” means than I do. Hell, I don’t know anything about what it means and I seriously wish now I had taken the time to learn. My gut, however, says that power goes along with that title. It has to. Williams and Avery were all about power—having it, controlling it, hoarding it.

And that may be the problem.

As I see it, there are two possibilities. Either Mrs. Williams means to see that I fulfill that mysterious destiny and assume the crown as a tribute to her husband.

Or she means to wear that crown herself.

CHAPTER 33

It’s a little before two when we land in San Diego. Disconcerting since we left France at nine this morning and have been en route for thirteen hours. If what’s happening isn’t bad enough, the time difference will make this day hellishly long.

The pilot taxis from the runway to Jimsair, the private terminal. I wonder first how he would know to do that and then I realize how stupid that question is.

Of course he would know. It’s where he picked me up, unconscious and with Lance as my companion.

When I deplane, a Jimsair employee is waiting. He and the pilot have a brief conversation before he turns to me.

“The same arrangements as always, Ms. Strong?”

Since I have no idea what that means, I just nod. Williams took care of the details before. When I went to France to visit my folks, I simply called the pilot I’d used before and told him when I wanted to leave. He took care of the rest. I suppose now I’d better take more interest.

That will be first thing on my to-do list after getting David back safely and killing Lance.

But right now . . . “I need to call a taxi. Can I do that inside?”

The guy nods and gestures toward the lounge. “Georgia at the desk will help you.”

I thank him. I’ll go straight home. Change out of this ridiculous outfit and go to Beso de la Muerte. There are questions I have for Culebra and, I imagine, questions he has for me.

* * *

I push through the old-fashioned double swinging doors.

Culebra looks up, frowns and his greeting is a curt, “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.”

He’s standing behind the bar, polishing glasses with a towel. He could be a Hispanic Clint Eastwood stand-in. Weather-beaten, tanned-leather face, slightly stoop-shouldered skinny frame, jeans and long-sleeved shirt faded from too much exposure to sun and soap.

Usually, you’d peg him as one of the good guys.

Today, however, his mood is black and dangerous. Today his shape-shifter name fits him. Rattlesnake.

I look around.

The bar is deserted.

Unusual for a Saturday afternoon.

He’s in my head. What did you expect? I lost two hosts. That crazy bitch killed one outright and took off with the other. His body was found yesterday in the desert. I thought Williams was a menace. His wife is worse.

I’m sorry. I had no idea. I thought having her brought here was better than the alternative—sending her out to hunt on her own. The Revengers have left us alone for a while. She was frantic to feed and I didn’t want to take the chance she’d do something to attract them.

The Revengers are a powerful human group sworn to exterminate the vampire race. They have been around since the time of the Crusades when vampires and heretics were hunted with the same fervor. There has been no activity lately to attract their unwanted and dangerous attention. My intention was to keep it that way.

Culebra throws the towel down, snarls, Vampire hunters are the least of your worries. Once word gets around, how many hosts do you think will come back here? Or vampires looking to safely feed? Sanctuary has been violated. I’m not sure I can fix this. I’m not sure I want to.

His words trigger a spasm of alarm. Why not? This is your home. Your livelihood. What would you do?

Retire. Sit on a beach. Think of myself for a change. Drink tequila all day and fuck all night. Sounds like a pretty good plan right now.

This is so unlike Culebra, I don’t know how to react. Is he simply venting? He can’t be serious. He’s run this place for decades. It’s where I come to feed. It’s where I’ve come when I’ve needed help. It’s where he saved David’s life and where I saved Culebra’s.

He must be kidding.

Do I look like I’m kidding?

He blames me for what happened. There is so much malice in his tone, the realization hits me like a physical blow. I wish it were physical. I wish he would hit me. Yell. Scream. Get it out of his system. No physical injury could be more painful than Culebra’s hostility.

Don’t be too sure, vampire.He leans toward me. His tone is dry, vibrates in the back of his throat like the warning sound of a rattler before it strikes.

The animal in me responds to the threat. I tense, take a wary step forward, two predators sniffing each other out.

No. This isn’t the way it should be between us. I step back, shaking my head. Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.

His laugh is merciless. We are friends when you need something from me. I owe you for saving me from the witch Belinda Burke, but even that was not done without ulterior motives. You had your own score to settle. The drug lord Martinez wanted you dead. She sold you out to him. You lost Max because of what happened in Mexico. Admit it, Anna. You went after Burke as much for yourself as for me.

And what if I did?He’s beginning to seriously piss me off. All the shit I’ve been through in the last few days comes to a boil in my own caldron of rage. What if everything you’re saying is true? We had a pact, you and I, that we’d go after the witch together. Instead, you lie to me, take off on your own, serve me up to Williams and end up near death. Frey and I saved your miserable life, and I don’t personally give a crap why you think we did it.

His eyes narrow as he watches and listens. I don’t care. I had a reason for coming here today and I fucking well plan to get what I came for.

“Williams is dead.” My voice is shrill, my hands windmill around. The story erupts like a geyser. “I just get back from France where that maniac Lance and his crazy sire Julian Underwood attempted to use me in some stupid plan because they think I’m the reincarnation of a Basque goddess, and now I find out that Mrs. Williams has more than likely kidnapped David so she can use me to carry out a stupid plan of her own. I’m tired, scared, in need of counsel. It’s why I came here. To see the wisest man I’ve ever known. I know he’s here somewhere, Culebra. Under all that self-pitying, tortured, indulgent load of crap you’ve been spewing, I know he’s still here. You can beat me up later, when we’re all safe. Right now, I need my friend.”

I run out of words and invective at the same time. Part of me feels relieved to have gotten the story out, part of me wonders if I’ve driven Culebra out of my life forever. Either way, I’m too weary to care.

Culebra is still staring, his body rigid as he peers at me with cold eyes. I don’t try to get into his head. I can’t take any more abuse.

The seconds tick by. I break the stalemate first. This is useless. I may as well go straight to Frey for a strategy session. I can’t even remember now why I came here. I turn to go.

Culebra’s words reach me at the door.

“Someone really thought youwere a reincarnated Basque goddess? Now that’s crazy.”