was no blood.
We stepped through the front doors, and an explosion of light struck my tear-sore eyes. Light glinted off the lenses of television cameras, transforming them into cyclopean monsters. The fourth estate had arrived; in force and with a vengeance.
“Who died?”
“Was it a werewolf?”
“Was it a vampire ritual?”
“How did you survive?”
“I hear you killed the attacker.”
“How?”
Ryan put his arm around my shoulders and stiff-armed the ravening hoard.
“Ow!”
“Jesus Christ, guy!”
“Back off!” Ryan roared, and such is the power of the vampire that they obeyed.
A limo was idling curbside. A driver jumped out and yanked open the back door. I tumbled in, my entrance speeded along with a boost from Ryan. The door fell shut with a heavy clunk, cutting off the hysterically shouted questions. The car shot away, merging quickly into the flow of traffic on Park Avenue. I yanked my blouse back up onto my shoulder.
Ryan took my hand and stroked the back of it like a man gentling a terrified horse. “Sorry about that. If I’d known they’d already arrived, I would have taken you out the back way.”
“It’s okay.” Exhaustion dragged at my muscles, and it felt like my bones had disappeared. “I’m going to get blood in your nice car.”
“Don’t worry about that. Stephenson will clean it. Let’s just get you home. What’s your address?”
I gave it, and the driver turned past Columbus Circle so he could get on the right side of the park, then headed uptown.
“Your condo is closer, sir,” the driver called back.
Ryan cocked a questioning eyebrow at me. “What do you say? You want to go to my place?”
I shook my head. “I really just want to be alone.”
Ryan backed off immediately. “I understand. Let’s just make sure there’s nobody waiting at your place.”
The thought chilled me, and I almost reconsidered his offer. But I had no clothes, and I wanted to throw away the ones I was wearing.
“Would you check the place for me? In case it was about me and not Chip,” I quavered.
“Of course.”
At three thirty a.m. there wasn’t much traffic—for New York. We reached my building in fifteen minutes. The driver unlimbered a tire iron from the trunk, and we all rode up in the elevator.
Ryan and Stephenson checked all three rooms and the closet while I waited in the hall. There were no werewolves lurking.
After they left, I jammed every stitch of clothing I had been wearing into a garbage bag. Wrapped in a robe with slippers on my sore feet, I padded down the hall to the garbage chute. Returning to my apartment, I filled the old claw-footed tub to the rim with the hottest water I could stand and crawled in. But I still smelled Chip’s blood even after I’d washed my hair three times and frenziedly scrubbed my body with a loofah. When my toes and the tips of my fingers looked like pink, wrinkled raisins, I finally got out. Just before I climbed into bed, I called my dad, but he didn’t answer.
My dreams were filled with blood.
4
I slept into the afternoon and woke up feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. In addition to dreams about rivers and fountains of blood, I’d spent the night running—first from the werewolf and then from a Hunter. Unlike most dreams, these didn’t fade. I staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Thanks, Dad, for letting one of those faceless, slug-like creatures invade my psyche.
The hairbrush caught in the snarls in my hair, formed by my desperate thrashing. Padding into the kitchen, I opened the fridge and immediately choked on bile. I closed it and retreated into the living room. It was probably time to turn the cell phone back on. I snagged it out of my purse and turned it on. It chimed, indicating new voice mail. I tapped on the phone icon and saw the number 36 floating over the voice mail icon.
The phone rang even as I was staring at it. I almost answered, but I stopped myself when the caller ID
We stepped through the front doors, and an explosion of light struck my tear-sore eyes. Light glinted off the lenses of television cameras, transforming them into cyclopean monsters. The fourth estate had arrived; in force and with a vengeance.
“Who died?”
“Was it a werewolf?”
“Was it a vampire ritual?”
“How did you survive?”
“I hear you killed the attacker.”
“How?”
Ryan put his arm around my shoulders and stiff-armed the ravening hoard.
“Ow!”
“Jesus Christ, guy!”
“Back off!” Ryan roared, and such is the power of the vampire that they obeyed.
A limo was idling curbside. A driver jumped out and yanked open the back door. I tumbled in, my entrance speeded along with a boost from Ryan. The door fell shut with a heavy clunk, cutting off the hysterically shouted questions. The car shot away, merging quickly into the flow of traffic on Park Avenue. I yanked my blouse back up onto my shoulder.
Ryan took my hand and stroked the back of it like a man gentling a terrified horse. “Sorry about that. If I’d known they’d already arrived, I would have taken you out the back way.”
“It’s okay.” Exhaustion dragged at my muscles, and it felt like my bones had disappeared. “I’m going to get blood in your nice car.”
“Don’t worry about that. Stephenson will clean it. Let’s just get you home. What’s your address?”
I gave it, and the driver turned past Columbus Circle so he could get on the right side of the park, then headed uptown.
“Your condo is closer, sir,” the driver called back.
Ryan cocked a questioning eyebrow at me. “What do you say? You want to go to my place?”
I shook my head. “I really just want to be alone.”
Ryan backed off immediately. “I understand. Let’s just make sure there’s nobody waiting at your place.”
The thought chilled me, and I almost reconsidered his offer. But I had no clothes, and I wanted to throw away the ones I was wearing.
“Would you check the place for me? In case it was about me and not Chip,” I quavered.
“Of course.”
At three thirty a.m. there wasn’t much traffic—for New York. We reached my building in fifteen minutes. The driver unlimbered a tire iron from the trunk, and we all rode up in the elevator.
Ryan and Stephenson checked all three rooms and the closet while I waited in the hall. There were no werewolves lurking.
After they left, I jammed every stitch of clothing I had been wearing into a garbage bag. Wrapped in a robe with slippers on my sore feet, I padded down the hall to the garbage chute. Returning to my apartment, I filled the old claw-footed tub to the rim with the hottest water I could stand and crawled in. But I still smelled Chip’s blood even after I’d washed my hair three times and frenziedly scrubbed my body with a loofah. When my toes and the tips of my fingers looked like pink, wrinkled raisins, I finally got out. Just before I climbed into bed, I called my dad, but he didn’t answer.
My dreams were filled with blood.
4
I slept into the afternoon and woke up feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. In addition to dreams about rivers and fountains of blood, I’d spent the night running—first from the werewolf and then from a Hunter. Unlike most dreams, these didn’t fade. I staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Thanks, Dad, for letting one of those faceless, slug-like creatures invade my psyche.
The hairbrush caught in the snarls in my hair, formed by my desperate thrashing. Padding into the kitchen, I opened the fridge and immediately choked on bile. I closed it and retreated into the living room. It was probably time to turn the cell phone back on. I snagged it out of my purse and turned it on. It chimed, indicating new voice mail. I tapped on the phone icon and saw the number 36 floating over the voice mail icon.
The phone rang even as I was staring at it. I almost answered, but I stopped myself when the caller ID
Similar Books
