Текст книги "Bite Club"
Автор книги: Rachel Caine
Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Городское фэнтези
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“What about Claire?” I asked.
“Of course, Claire would be able to go with you,” Vassily said. “And anyone else you’d like to see safely gone from Morganville. You can save them, Shane. All you have to do is what you do best.”
“Fight,” Gloriana said. Her eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were a light, sparkling color, almost white, and it should have been terrifying, but it just looked beautiful. I felt warm and weightless and totally at peace. “All you have to do is fight on camera, for an audience. Do you think you can do that?”
I smiled and said, “Where do I sign?”
They had the papers right there, and I scribbled signatures in all the right places. Vassily gave me an envelope of cash, real money, more than I’d seen since my dad had been doing illegal arms deals out on the road.
Glory’s eyes went back to blue, sweet, human blue, and she kissed me on my sweaty forehead and handed me another sports bottle. “Rest,” she said. Her fingers combed through my matted hair. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
I sank down on the bunk and closed my eyes, but I didn’t go to sleep. Not quite. Not for a while.
Or maybe it was a dream. It felt like a dream, what they were saying when they thought I couldn’t hear them.
“It’s dangerous,” Glory was saying. Her voice had gone flat now, not lyrical and lilting like it was when she talked to me. She didn’t sound like the same person at all. “We have a limited time before Amelie discovers what we’re doing. She’s got spies everywhere, and I’m almost certain that there is surveillance, as well. Are you sure that the uplink is secure?”
“I’m sure,” Vassily said. “The girl who gave us the encryption was one of the best. For months she had video streaming from Morganville without anyone suspecting it. She modified the code to ensure no one could detect this upgrade, in exchange for some favors. The money’s already pouring in, my dear. The plan’s going very well.”
“And the old man? Is he pleased?”
Old man. That sounded ominous, and reminded me of things I’d hoped I’d never have to remember. Surely it wasn’t the same old man. No, they had to be talking about some other vamp. They were all old, older than dirt, and black and rotting inside. I knew that.
“I wouldn’t saypleased. He’s…content to wait, for now. I’ve had to go to considerable trouble to lay false trails, since his disastrous intervention drew Amelie’s attention. I believe I’ve convinced him to wait until we have adequate resources for the next steps.”
“He’s unpredictable. You need to watch him. He got away from me and tried to kill Myrnin, you know. If he’d succeeded…”
“I know. I’ve locked him up again. For his own protection.”
Glory laughed. “Oh, he won’t like that. Protect yourself, Vassily.”
“I’ve been feeding him enemies,” Vassily said. “I believe he’s satisfied enough at the moment. How long until the boy’s ready, do you think?”
“Oh, he’ll fight, no question about it, but I don’t like letting him leave us. Those friends of his, that girl, they could ruin everything.”
“Or cement everything he’s learned,” Vassily said. “I believe in taking risks.”
“Well, it’s yours to take,” Glory said. “I’ll do what I can, of course.”
“For a price.”
“Nobody works for free, my darling.”
W hen I opened my eyes, Glory was right there, bending over me. Her smile was like a drug, and the brush of her fingers on my forehead felt like the touch of an angel.
“Sleep,” she whispered. “Dream of fire and strength, and remember how much this town has taken from you. Don’t let it take the rest, Shane. Everything else is unimportant, except this: Michael doesn’t mean you well. He’s not your friend. And you can never fully trust him. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. It was something I knew already, something I should never have forgotten. You can’t trust vampires.
Except Glory.
I was still smiling, drowning in the warmth of her touch, when I fell asleep.
NINE
Shane came home seeming just as normal as ever. He even brought brisket, and they ate, four friends together, like nothing had ever gone wrong. Even Michael’s opaque “juice” bottle didn’t set him off.
All Claire could think was that she needed to sit down and tell him about the call. But she didn’t know what she was going to say, and she didn’t want to say it in front of Eve and Michael. Not like that; it needed to be private.
But afterward, upstairs in his room, when Claire snuggled in next to him, talking didn’t seem to be important. She kept thinking she’d bring it up, but after hours of slow, delicious kissing in his arms, she still hadn’t managed to even start the conversation. Finally, she fell asleep. When she woke up, he was carrying her to her bed and tucking her in.
“Shane?” she murmured. He was leaning over her, close enough that his long, shaggy hair brushed her face.
“Still me,” he murmured back. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She smiled. “Just you.”
“Good girl.” He gave her a slow, damp kiss, one that made her warm down to her toes.
“Shane, I was thinking…”
“About?”
“About…” She didn’t want to do this—she really didn’t. Not when it had been so nice. So perfect. But she tried. “About leaving Morganville.”
To her surprise, he didn’t pull back or act surprised or anything.He kissed her again, lightly, and said, “We will. I promise.”
“I just—You know I want to go to MIT, right?”
“Of course. And you will.”
Wow. Just like that…although she hadn’t managed to work in the Januarypart of the conversation. But it sounded good. Positive. They were on the same page, after all. One last, sleepy, damp kiss, and she slipped away into the best sleep she’d had in almost a week.
He was gone when she woke up, but he’d left a note…. He’d signed up for an extra, early-morning shift at the barbecue restaurant. He even signed it with LY, which she knew was Shane shorthand for love you.
That felt better. Lots better.
Claire was just coming down the stairs, humming and thinking about how nice it was to have things getting back to normal, and how she’d tell Shane about the January thing tonight, when Myrnin sent a message through the portal—well, more of a rock with a note tied to it, which rolled across the floor and scared Eve into a scream before the portal snapped shut. Eve kicked the rock resentfully with her thick black boots and glared at it, then at the wall. Claire, who was coming down the steps, gave her a “What the hell?” kind of look.
“Your boss,” Eve said, and reached down to grab the rock, “needs to figure out texting. Seriously. Who does this? Is he actuallyfrom the Stone Age? And youneed to figure out how to put something here that we can lock. What if this thing opens when I’m naked?”
“Why would you be naked down here?”
“Well—” Eve didn’t have an answer for that one. She handed over the rock. “Okay, bad example. But I don’t like it that he can just drop in any damn time he wants. Or throw rocks at us.”
“I don’t like it much, either,” Claire admitted, as she untied the string and peeled the paper off the stone. She took a second to examine the rock. You never knew with Myrnin, but this looked just like what it appeared to be: plain granite. So the message was the paper, like if a normal person had thought of it…not that a normal person would have thrown a rock into their house in the first place.
The note said, Stay away from the lab until further notice. I am fumigating. It might kill you. Also, it appears that Our Old Friend may have left town. Oliver is sending operatives after him, but the crisis may be over. For now.
“Fumigating?” Eve said, reading over her shoulder. “What does that mean? And who’s Our Old Friend?”
That was Bishop, of course, but Claire couldn’t tell Eve any of that. “No idea. He probably thinks he’s talking to someone else, anyway. Oh, and fumigatingmeans that he’s gassing the place. I guess he thinks there’s some kind of bug problem.”
“He usually just lets Bob loose on them.”
“Maybe Bob’s full. I hope he remembers to move him before—Maybe I’d better remind him.” Claire pulled out her phone and texted Myrnin, who promptly texted back, Of course i moved the spider. I am not an idiot.
No, he was a very smart guy who responded to texts, but threw rocks with messages tied onto them.
Claire gave up.
“I got a message from Miranda,” Eve said. “She didn’t have your e-mail. You guys have a thing today?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m taking her shopping.”
“Shopping. Miranda. Really?” Eve looked confused, then a little bit fascinated. “Wow. Talk about the color-blind leading the blind.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, honey, but your amazing fashion sense is not the talk of anywhere. And Miranda doesn’t go shopping. She’s more of a Dumpster diver fashion victim.”
“Well, she does with me,” Claire said. She was stinging a little bit, because getting fashion dissed by a girl wearing red-and-black Halloween hose and a fake shrunken-head necklace was just too much. “Did she say where to meet her?”
“She said she’d be outside at ten.”
Claire checked her watch. It was already ten after ten. “Guess I’m going, then. You heading out?”
“Some of us have work.”
“Some of us have mad-scientist bosses who give them the day off for fumigation.”
“Okay, you win.” Eve winked and grabbed her stuff as Claire picked up hers. “Too bad I can’t come with you two and give you decent makeovers. And whydon’t you ever wear that pink wig? That was the kick.”
She wasn’t wrong. The pink wig that Eve had practically made her buy in Dallas was, indeed, the kick, but away from Eve she always felt miserably self-conscious about wearing it. People looked at her. Claire was much more used to being invisible.
And right now, with all that was going on, seeming invisible sounded good.
Miranda was standing outside the fence, rocking a very unfashionable look—a plaid schoolgirl skirt that went past her knees and a wrinkled shirt in a color that might have been moss green in better light, but didn’t match that skirt or her coloring at all. Her worried face actually lit up when she saw Eve and Claire. Eve waved and got into the big, black hearse, and Miranda waved back, as enthusiastic as a kid at her first parade. She sighed, watching the tail fins turn the corner. “She is so cool.”
“She is,” Claire agreed. “But so are you. Come on. Let’s go shop.”
Those looking for clothes in Morganville had two options: the resale stores, of which there were three, or the one off-brand department store that mostly had clearance items from the better places. After considering Miranda’s budget, Claire steered her to the resale shops. College students often discarded their outfits here at the store next to the campus. Nobody was more fashion conscious than a TPU girl. It wasn’t like most of them were on campus for the education.
To be fair, that applied to the guys just as well.
Miranda followed along happily enough to the first resale shop. She didn’t say much, but there was a glow about her, something that made her seem much healthier and happier than Claire could remember. Just a little bit of attention, and the girl bloomed. That made Claire feel guilty and sad; she hadn’t gone out of her way to make friends with Miranda, and she knew nobody else did, either. No doubt the girl could be weird and upsetting, but she was just like anybody else.
She needed to be seen.
“Here,” Claire said, and held open the door of the shop for her. A tinny, cheerful bell rang overhead, and Miranda looked around as excitedly as if she’d never heard one before. That was impossible, wasn’t it? That she wouldn’t know what a shop bell sounded like?
Maybe not.
The woman at the back, dozing behind the counter, looked up and smiled sleepily. “You girls look around,” she said. “Let me know when you’re ready to try on.”
“Okay,” Miranda said, and stopped at the first rack of clothes. “Oh. Wow. There are a lot.”
“Yeah, honey. Those aren’t your size. Here. Look through these.” Claire felt like she was unexpectedly channeling Eve as she pulled things out and held them up against Miranda’s skinny frame, discarding some, keeping others. Strong colors didn’t work on her, but earth tones did. Before too long, Miranda was pulling things on her own and holding them up, staring into the mirror as if she was seeing a future that, finally, didn’t scare her at all.
“Can I try them on?” she asked. Claire waved at the shop owner, who unlocked the dressing rooms. Claire passed things over the top to Miranda, and leaned against the door.
“Nothing for you?” the woman asked, raising her eyebrows. Claire felt the look that swept over her outfit as if it had been an actual red-hot laser. She’d just been scanned, and found wanting.
“Well, maybe a top,” she said. “Maybe.”
“I have just what you need.”
And she did, too. Claire ended up modeling it in front of the triple mirror, frowning at her reflection. With the khaki pants she’d picked today, the pink-and-white lace top looked weirdly appropriate—and kind of sexy. She’d come a long way in the last few months, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for sexy in public. That just wasn’t her.
The dressing room was too quiet. Claire knocked on the door. “Miranda? Hey, come out and take a look at this. Tell me if it’s too much.”
Miranda peeked around the edge, face gone ghost pale. Her eyes were dark, with that blank stare that people found so weird.
She was having one of her things. A vision.
“It has blood on it,” she said. “You shouldn’t buy it if it has blood on it.”
Claire looked down. The top was perfectly clean. “Mir—”
Miranda suddenly opened the door. She had on one of the tops she’d been trying on, and Claire had a hurried impression that it looked totally good on her, but the girl was focused on something else entirely. She grabbed up all of the clothes, headed straight for the counter, and said, “I need this one, this one, and the one I have on.” She put the buypile down and then handed over the other one. “I just can’t see myself in this, though.”
Claire realized she meant that literally. As in, Miranda had looked into her future and couldn’t see herself actually wearing that top. Bizarre. The shopkeeper didn’t seem to get it, though—why would she?—and named her price. Miranda paid, and Claire barely had time to dig out five bucks for the pink-and-white top she had on before Miranda grabbed her arm and said, “We have to go. Hurry.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Miranda hurried her outside, down the sidewalk, and then quickly turned her left, into an alley between two buildings. “Hide there,” she said, and pointed. “Right there. Don’t come out, Claire. Don’t come out for anything. You understand? It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, but not if you come out.”
“Miranda, what in the hell—?”
Miranda’s face was chalk white now, but very determined. She looked down at herself and said, in a sad sort of voice, “It’s completely cute, isn’t it? This shirt?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. But what are you—?”
“Hush.” Miranda turned toward the mouth of the alley and pointed again into the shadows behind some trash cans. “Don’t come out!”
“Wait. What happens if I do?”
“I die,” Miranda said very simply. “Hide.”
Claire didn’t like it, but there was something utterly sure about what Miranda had just said, and for all that Claire didn’t believe in psychic predictions and that sort of stuff, she couldn’t deny that there was something about Miranda. Something weird and powerful, at times.
So she pressed herself into the shadows.
For a long few seconds, nothing happened, and then she heard footsteps. Confident high-heel taps that echoed off the bricks, then slowed and came to a stop.
“I saw you come in here,” said Gina’s voice. “Freak. Hiding in dark alleys now? What’s that about? You live in a Dumpster? Not that I’d be surprised.”
Miranda didn’t answer. Claire almost stepped out, because Gina was alone, and anyway, there was no way she was going to let Miranda face her down alone, no matter what Mir had said about it.
As if the girl knew what she was thinking, her hand moved behind her back and made a pushing motion. Stay there.
And Claire did. She didn’t like it, but she did.
“You’re going to hit me,” Miranda said. “You’re going to break my nose.”
“Damn straight,” Gina said. She sounded lazy and happy, as if she was enjoying all this. “You’re lucky that’s all I want to do. If you move, if you fight back, you’re going to get it worse. Understand?”
“Yes,” Miranda said. “I understand. If I don’t let you hit me, you’re going to kill me.”
Claire actually felt a tremor of chill run through her, like a wave, because there was just no doubtin Miranda’s voice at all. It wasn’t scared. It was just…factual, as if she’d already seen it happen.
“You’re smarter than you look, you spaced-out nutcase. So, yeah. Let me break your nose, and I’ll let you walk away. You fight, and it gets worse and the knife comes out. We’re clear?”
“Yes.”
Claire tried to move again, because she knew with a nightmarish certainty what was going to happen and that she had to do something, had to, but again, Miranda made that stay putmotion.
“It’s okay,” Miranda said in an eerily empty, remote voice. “It’s not going to hurt that bad.”
“Bullshit,” Gina said, and she must have hit her, because Claire heard the wet crunch of the punch and Miranda’s thin little cry, and then the sound of a body falling.
Gina laughed. Claire pushed off from the wall, but it was too late. Gina was walking off, humming to herself while she went. If she hadn’t been wearing high heels, she’d have been skipping.
Miranda was getting up already, holding her broken, bleeding nose in one hand. Claire, angry and shocked, trembling with the sudden rush of frustrated adrenaline, started to go after Gina, but Mir grabbed her and shook her head furiously—and as she did, some of the blood gushing from her nose spattered Claire’s new pink-and-white shirt. Claire didn’t care at all. She crouched down next to the girl, helping her stand and holding her steady.
“That bitch!” Claire said. “You stay here. I’ll—”
“No!” Miranda said. Her voice was muffled and small, but her eyes were wide and fierce. “It’s the best thing. It’s only my nose. She’d kill us.”
“Then we’re calling the cops. I am notletting her get away with this….”
“Oh, don’t worry. She won’t,” Miranda said. And beneath the blood, Claire was almost sure she smiled. “She’s going to get in her car and drive real fast, and in two minutes she’s going to run a red light. And then she’s going to get hit by a big truck. My nose will set straight. She’sgoing to the hospital, and she’ll be there for a while.”
Claire stared at her, this little, fragile girl with her bloody face and scary smile. Finally she said, slowly, “Mir, did you plan for that to happen?”
“No,” Miranda said. “But sometimes it just happens the right way after all. It wouldn’t have been right if you’d come to help me, though. She’d have stabbed me, right here, and then you, and she’d have died, too, but later and a lot worse. Amelie wouldn’t have liked it.”
It was fascinating and freaky, but Claire believed her. Every weird and scary word of it. She shook it off, with difficulty, and took Miranda back into the resale shop, where the clerk got her cleaned off, packed her nose with tissue, and even helped Claire sponge off the blood from her shirt.
As she did, Claire heard the distant sound of a car horn, then a crash, and then silence. She looked over at Miranda, who’d tilted her head back to slow the bleeding, and Miranda glanced back and shrugged.
“Karma,” she said. “It’s a bitch.”
Miranda was dead right about Gina, not that Claire had any doubts; the accident was the talk of Morganville for days, and opinions were mostly on the “yay, finally” side of the scale. Gina had earned her suffering, not that Claire took much pleasure in it. She’d be weeks in the hospital and months in rehabilitation for the broken legs.
Miranda showed up the next morning for coffee, and the morning after, as if it had been planned that way. She probably saw it as inevitable, which it was, once she started showing up. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Eve thought it was weird, but she accepted it the way she accepted most things. It wasn’t that she disliked Miranda; she just didn’t know what to make of her, Claire thought. And she was fascinated by Miranda’s psychic abilities.
Though she was just as shocked and fascinated by the spectacular bruises on Miranda’s face and around her eyes. Double black eyes, and a swollen nose that had been reset at the hospital. “You look awful,” Eve said on the second morning. “What color isthat? Eggplant? You look like a special effect, Mir.” She poured Miranda a cup of coffee and set out the milk and sugar.
“It’s okay,” Miranda said. Her voice sounded a little muffled and congested, but she was smiling. “It’s just a bruise. Nothing much.”
“It looks painful.” Eve frowned at her over her own cup of coffee. “Seriously, if Gina wasn’t already all busted up, I would be on her. I mean it.”
“I know,” Miranda said. “Thank you. But I’m okay. Really.”
Michael came in through the swinging doors and smiled at Eve, and his smile turned brittle and strange when he saw Miranda sitting there. She didn’t look at him. “Hey, Mir,” he said, and it sounded casual, but Claire had seen that first, unguarded look. Michael got his sports bottle out of the refrigerator and warmed it up in the microwave, then left.
Claire got up and followed him into the living room. “Hey,” she said. “Wait. What was that look?”
“What look?” Michael asked, trying to sound innocent. He took a drink from the sports bottle, and a little red flashed like sparks through his blue eyes. “I’m just wondering what she’s doing here.”
“Having coffee.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Why?”
“Oh, come on, Michael—”
“I don’t want to sound like a hard-ass, but Miranda’s trouble,” he interrupted. “Look, I feel for the kid—I do—but you have to understand, she’s not…she’s not safe to be around. Things happen. They always have.”
“She’s a kid. And it seems like nobody cares about her!”
“It’s not that. It’s just—” Michael gave up, sighed, and shook his head. “Not all strays are safe to bring inside, Claire. Trust me on that one.”
Miranda was still sitting in exactly the same spot when Claire came back, still stirring her coffee with the same slow, dreamlike motions. Without looking up, she said, “He’s right, you know.”
“What?”
“Michael told you it wasn’t safe to be around me. Well, he’s right, mostly. Things do happen. Bad things, mostly.”
Across the table, Eve looked up from her reading material, which looked like a celebrity gossip mag. She didn’t say anything, but there was something weird about the way she looked at Miranda. Bad memories.
Miranda sipped her coffee. “I only came today because I needed to tell you something,” she said. “They all think that the one they’re looking for left town, but he hasn’t. He’s still here. He’s got a plan; he’s had one for months. And the pretty one, she’s working for him. She’s in charge of recruitment.”
Eve’s eyebrows were going up slowly but surely. “Hey, Claire? What’s she talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said, although she thought she did. She slid into the chair next to Miranda. “The pretty one. Do you mean Gloriana?”
Eve stiffened when she heard the name and rolled her eyes. “Oh, God, don’t tell me that bitch is up to something after all. I knew it.”
Miranda didn’t seem to be listening to Eve; in fact, Claire wasn’t sure she was hearing anything at all outside of her own head. “It’s not totally his fault, you know, but you have to be careful now. He isn’t in control anymore. All that anger…” She shook her head. “They’re making him like this. They want to make you all like this.”
It was impossible to follow what she was talking about…. Was she still referring to Bishop? Or…God, was she talking about Shane? “Mir,” Claire said. “Mir, are you talking about Shane?” Because Shane had a lot of anger; she’d always known that. He kept it locked down, mostly. But it was there.
Miranda, her bruised face distant and vague, sipped coffee and said, “Oh, I see. They want money first—money and soldiers. Then the rest of it. He won’t make the same mistakes again. Tell Amelie. Tell her—”
She stopped talking, and her swollen, bruised eyes suddenly widened.
“Mir?” Eve must have felt the same thing Claire did, a powerful surge of dread, because they both got to their feet. “Mir, are you okay?”
“Oh,” Miranda said. There were tears in her eyes now, and they flooded down her bruised cheeks. “Oh, that’s bad. You have to stop it. You have to stop him.”
“Stop who?”
“He’s hiding in the dark. He’s killing. He’s killing all the time,” Miranda said. And then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out in a dead faint, right at the breakfast table.
Bishop,Claire thought, frozen, as Eve cried out, ran to Miranda, and felt for a pulse. Claire couldn’t seem to move. She felt icy and sick.
“Help me!” Eve yelled at her, and Claire blinked and jumped to it. Helping involved moving Miranda into the living room, where they propped up her feet higher than her head and covered her with a warm afghan until Miranda’s frail eyelids fluttered and she woke up again.
“Oh,” she said. “Did I fall down?”
“More like passed out,” Eve said. “How do you feel?”
“Nauseous,” Miranda said. Her voice sounded thin and a little feeble. “Too much coffee.” She took a few deep breaths and smiled. “I don’t eat enough.”
Yeah, that much was obvious; Miranda was so thin, Claire could see the knobs of her bones at the joints. The girl needed sandwiches. “I’ll make you something,” she said.
“No, I have to go now.”
“But, Mir—”
“I have to go,” she said, and threw off the afghan and sat up, looking chalky and sick but very, very determined. “I can’t answer your questions. It’s too dangerous.”
“For you?” Eve asked.
Miranda shook her head. “For you,” she said. “You’re in enough trouble already.”
In the end, they couldn’t stop her leaving; it was all Claire could do to delay her long enough to put together some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and raid Eve’s chocolate chip cookie stash. Miranda clutched the sack lunch and managed a smile as she walked, moving slowly and carefully, toward the door with them. Eve hovered near her elbow, but she seemed steady enough.
“I can’t stay,” Miranda said, and turned to meet Claire’s eyes, then Eve’s. “Michael’s right. I’m trouble for you. I’m trouble for everyone, and it’s better if I’m on my own. I’ll be okay now.”
“You’re sure?”
Miranda nodded. She paused on the porch, looking like a sad little girl off to school, and said, “He’s not going to stop this time. Claire, you need to understand, this isn’t like it was before. This is war. Amelie’s going to go to war.”
Amelie went to war last time,Claire thought, but there was something sincere in Miranda’s concern, something that made her feel anxious and breathless.
Shane.Shane was caught in the middle of all this. “Mir, is there anything else you can tell me…?”
“No. Nothing that won’t get you killed.” Miranda lifted the sack of food. “Thank you for the sandwiches. And the cookies. I’m going to like the cookies a lot.”
Then she walked away into the gray, chilly day, and they both watched until she was out of sight.
“Did we just do something bad?” Eve asked. “I mean, she’s just a kid.We should have made her stay.”
“I don’t think we could,” Claire said. “And she’s probably right. It’s safer for everybody if she goes.”
Still, she couldn’t forget about it…about Miranda, alone with all that going on in her head. As alone as Claire sometimes felt, she wasn’t anything close to as isolated.
I wish I knew how to help her.
But the truth was, sometimes there wasn’t anything that could be done.
SHANE
Once I started fighting, it was all I could think about over the next few days. There was nothing like it, especially when Gloriana was there with Vassily, watching…. I felt invincible. Even the punishment was just another kind of approval; every time Jester hit me, it felt like a pat on the back, and an invitation to hit harder.
So I did.
Yeah, I wondered about the sports drinks, the ones Gloriana kept in the refrigerator. We all drank them, and it made it easier to keep up with the vamps. Some part of me wondered what was in it, but that part was small, and got crushed down by the part that was excited by all the freedom. Itwas freedom—freedom to be all those things I’d been holding back. Freedom to hate. Freedom to crush. No rules; no conscience. I was fighting like them now.
Because that was what it was going to take to beat them. Fighting like an animal, without any fear.
“You’re fast,” Jester said on the last day of the scheduled sparring. “Getting faster all the time.” He sneered at me, and the sight of his fangs made my pulse jump—not with fear, but with aggression. Because I wanted to snap those fangs right off and wipe that sneer off his face. “You should take the bite,” he said. “You’d be a good vampire.”
“Shut up and fight.”
“What’s the matter? You afraid you’d bite your skinny little girlfriend?” Jester laughed. “She’s already someone else’s, you know. I can smell the bite on her. He’s marked her.”
Myrnin.
“Shut up,” I said, and kicked him in the face. He wasn’t expecting it, and he went down, but vampires were never that easy to put on the canvas for long. He bounced up, snarling now, and I danced back, watching his shifts of weight. He would come after me. Jester always came after me.
When he did, I hit fast, ducking under his rush, ramming my shoulder into his center mass and lifting him up off the canvas. Without leverage he wasn’t much better than a regular human, but I had to be careful of his hands; they could crush bone, and his fingernails were as sharp as knives. I slammed him down on his head behind me and pinned his arms fast behind his back. It must have hurt, because for the first time, I heard something like a cry of pain.
From avampire.
It made me feelgreat.
Someone clapped. It was Gloriana, watching me, leaning against the ropes with beautiful grace. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Poor Jester. I think he may just be outclassed, Shane. You should let him up now. I think he’s learned his lesson. Don’t you?”