Crimson City Part 9

As he stared up in fascination, the bulb gave in to the pressure. It exploded above his head with a detonation that seemed exponentially greater than was possible. Dain went flying to the ground, a shower of sparks and gla.s.s raining down on him.

As the light died down, he saw the vampire's outline. All he could think was that this creature had better be one of those rogues Fleur was talking about, or she was going to have some explaining to do. It was his last thought before the bulb went completely dark and he realized the trouble he was in.

He sprinted for the next lamppost, shooting blindly over his shoulder and missing. He made it to the next post a step before the rogue blasted its bulb out.

He sprinted to the next one, losing a little more ground this time.

The rogue blasted its bulb as well, the sparks and shards burning and cutting Dain's exposed skin. Dain lost his grip on his gun, and it skittered away across the pavement.

His lungs starting to burn, Dain turned it up a notch, running as fast as he could down the boulevard along the row of lampposts. Each time he reached a light, the rogue vampire blew it up.

There was only one light left and not enough gas in his tank. There would be no outrunning the thing. The best he could do was turn and fight. Of course, there was no telling what effect the rogue's weapon would have on human flesh. But he could run no longer.

Dain put the brakes on, his body half slumped over as he tried to gather enough strength for the confrontation. He turned slowly around. The vamp was hovering in the air above him. Dain couldn't see his face. He couldn't even guess how the attack would come. And, in fact, he saw nothing after the rogue flexed his arms.

Suddenly he was on his hands and knees, wheezing and gasping as he tried to take in oxygen. But the final blow never came. From where he lay collapsed on the ground, he heard the air above him go wild.

Fleur? That was all he could think. Fleur was here!

Hearing her voice, he flipped over to watch Fleur take on the rogue vampire. The rogue flew at her, his momentum driving her up against the side of the building. Dain heard her gasp as she hit, but in the next moment, she'd lifted her boot and jammed it into the rogue's gut. He somersaulted through the air and, as he came back up, she delivered a solid roundhouse kick to the side of his head.

The rogue took a dive to the ground, stopping in thin air at the last second. He was as disoriented as Dain had been, and bleeding from the side of his face.

Fleur showed no mercy. She landed on the ground next to him and plowed him over. She locked him in a hold, his face pressed into a manhole cover. She looked as if she would have done more, but three other vampires were suddenly there next to her. Two of them pulled her away, and the other calmly walked up to the rogue, now struggling to his feet.

The primary vampire slammed his boot down on the rogue's back. The two fangs struggled, but the rogue quickly submitted. With his knee on the rogue's back while he twisted the rogue's arm behind him, the primary vampire leaned down and said something into his victim's ear.

"Go easy," shouted one of the vampires at Fleur's side.

The rogue turned to answer through a grimace of pain; Dain couldn't hear the words, but whatever he said last infuriated his captor. With a skilled twist, the primary vampire pulled the rogue off the ground, turned his body in midair and smashed his face down into a still glowing shard of the last destroyed lightbulb. Then he cut off the rogue's head.

No screams, no nothing, but suddenly the rogue was dead. It was brutal, quick, silent.

"Dammit, Marius! We should have brought him in for questioning," one of the other vampires called, his hand firmly on Fleur's arm. "What the h.e.l.l did he say to you?"

The vampire named Marius wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "I asked him if rogues were responsible for sending the mech."

"Did he say yes?" the other vampire asked.

Marius shook his head. "He said he didn't know anything about who sent it, but that it was too bad it missed Fleur. And then he said... Never mind." Shaking his head, he walked over to where Dain lay on the ground, still dazed and not quite sold on who was friend and who was enemy. Dain flinched as a hand reached out, but the vamp was surprisingly gentle in picking him up off the ground by his collar and setting him on his feet.

"You're bleeding," the vamp said.

His chest still heaving, Dain looked down and saw that his arms were streaked with blood from the bulb shards. Then he looked at Fleur. She was held back by the two vamps on either side of her, but her eyes seemed to drill into his very soul.

He would have pushed to get to her if he'd had the strength, but between the vamp holding him back, the pain he was in, and the two vamps flanking her, it was clear there was no way. These men would see to that.

As well they should. The way Fleur was looking at him-her lips parted, her eyes dilated, the dark of her pupils dominating the blue-he'd never seen such raw desire in his life. And he felt the same.

He reached out his arm, but the vamp yanked him backward; the best he could do was keep eye contact with Fleur. He wanted to say something, to thank her-h.e.l.l, he would have loved to do more than that. The desire just to touch her was nearly overwhelming, and between the adrenaline racing through his body and the look in her eyes, Dain nearly fell back to his knees.

"You're bleeding," the vamp holding him repeated harshly, obviously to drive the point home. Dain let himself be half-pushed, half-pulled back toward his car as Fleur's handlers pulled her in the opposite direction. They didn't want him near her. Not now, and probably not ever.

Aware of the vamp still waiting, watching, Dain pulled a towel from his trunk, wiped the blood off himself, and got into the car. He punched the ignition and stared down at his arms reaching for the steering wheel. The new scratches crisscrossed over the top of the old burn scars on his forearms, just as it seemed Fleur's face was beginning to obscure the last blurry images he had left of Serena.

Chapter Twelve.

From her uncomfortable position trapped at the back of a garbage-strewn alley, Jillian Cooper had watched in near disbelief as Dain Reston nearly lost his life to a bad vampire-until some good vampires came and kicked the bad vampire's a.s.s. The whole time she'd just stood there, completely frozen with fear. Nice job, Jill. You're a real hero.

Now she was seeing that exactly twenty-nine out of the thirty brand-new lampposts had their light-bulbs smashed on Santa Monica Boulevard, and one vampire corpse was lying in the middle of the street. So the question was: Was this a story, or a sign that Jill needed to get out of town?

She waited until it was completely silent, until she was completely sure she was alone, before she even dared move. Her sneakers were soaked with fetid water and she didn't want to think about what she'd been sitting in. Slowly, very slowly, she walked out of the alley and approached the body.

The night beat was creepier than it used to be, that was for sure, and Jill had never really grown accustomed to it. Or even to being up all night. She basically survived in what felt like a permanent state of jet lag, waking up for the big story at whatever hour it happened to be. She'd decided long ago she didn't want to be the best night reporter or the best day reporter. She just wanted to be the best.

Of course, standing on a blood-spattered street with a vamp corpse at two in the morning wasn't her ideal way to collect the facts of a story. And it wasn't as if she couldn't be shocked. She turned the face toward her, leaping back with her heart in her throat as the body twitched. It would start dessicat-ing soon.

She swallowed hard and moved forward, going on to study the rest of the corpse and noting its tattoo. So, this was a rogue vampire-one of the ones who didn't want to toe the party line. Being a rebel wasn't in and of itself a crime, of course. And the fading expression of surprise on the dead vamp's pale face was heartbreaking as death always was, whether Jill was staring down at a dead vamp, dog, or human.

She looked over her shoulder out of habit, then slowly brought her camera up to her eye. She took a shot, a close-up, the flash like a bolt of lightning in the dark. Then she turned the camera for a full-length shot, and as the flash went off, the figure of a man cloaked in darkness became visible in the temporary light.

Jill dropped her camera, ignoring the pain in her neck from the strap. She staggered backward, falling to the damp pavement, one hand outstretched with its palm toward the stranger. "I was just taking pic-ture. Just taking a picture, that's all," she said, her voice shaking.

She flinched as his hand stretched out to her and her heart beat double-time.

"Take my hand," he said. She stared up, trying to make out his face. The voice was the same as one of the "good" vampires who'd just helped Dain.

Jill licked her dry lips and tried not to think about the vampire abduction piece her tabloid had run a week ago. All lies, of course, but one had a tendency to believe anything in this sort of situation.

She didn't take the proffered hand, but tried to stand up. When the vamp reached out again, her knees buckled. As she slid back toward the ground, he caught her around the waist and pulled her up.

"I'm scaring you," he said rather sulkily.

"Yeah," she croaked.

"It's not my intention."

"What is your intention?"

He actually laughed a little. Oddly, it helped her relax enough to take a full, deep breath. She forced herself to look long and hard at his face, in case she was alive enough to identify him in a lineup later. He looked like a Dumont, but she couldn't place which one. His laughter vanished as his gaze swept over her, dark and brooding. His lips parted, the sharp, un-filed fangs proving him vampire if there'd been any doubt. And as she stared up into eyes so dark they were nearly indistinguishable from the night, she found herself caught in a vortex of sensation, as if his subconscious were reaching out to hers. He looked down at her neck, but all Jill could fo-cus on was the black fringe of his eyelashes and that sensuous mouth. He was so, so beautiful. And she knew without a doubt that he wanted to bury his fangs in her. Somehow, the sheer desire in his thoughts made her almost wish he would. For once in her life, Jill was absolutely speechless. And it was at that moment that he let her go, leaning her up against the lamppost, one hand lightly at her waist to prevent her from sliding back down. "Go home, Jillian," he said.

She nodded. He let go and took a step back. Jill found her footing and without looking back ran as fast as she could. "I've been waiting for you," Fleur said, fighting back anger. She watched Marius step through the open windows lining the sitting room behind the a.s.sembly hall. He looked at her, wearier and sadder than she'd seen him in a while. "I had some other business," he answered. But Fleur had seen that look before, and she knew where he'd been.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He waved the question away. "Ian and Warrick?"

"Already here."

"Shall we go in, then?"

"I want to talk to you first."

Her cousin sighed and sat down on the sofa.

"Why the double standard for everything?" Fleur asked, working hard not to raise her voice. "Why the

higher standard for me? Why did you hold me back from Dain only to kill that rogue in front of my eyes, then go off to woo some human female you'll be tempted to bite? Where is the control in that?" Marius leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I wasn't wooing. I was protecting."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "I know you. You only look like this when you're busy breaking your heart." He sat up, and his gaze bored through her. After a moment he said, "Broken hearts aren't illegal or immoral."

"You acted as if I was completely incapable of controlling myself!" "You looked incapable of controlling yourself. I know what that's like. I understand the pull of..." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I didn't want you to do anything you'd regret. Not when-"

"I wasn't going to do anything, for G.o.d's sake. I was in control. I was just going to rough that rogue up a bit... and then I was going to bring him in for questioning. But you go and kill him! Christ, Marius-you act like just being near Dain Reston might send me over the edge, and then you go nuts yourself. Killing that rogue? Jeezus. And then not even letting me near Dain..."

"The difference between you and I, Fleur, is that I don't have a history," Marius said a little coldly. "You haven't proven anything. Not to me, not to anyone in the a.s.sembly. And the others don't have to listen to me, don't have to believe I can lead them competently..." He raised his arms in a helpless gesture. "And that rogue... well, he crossed the line. As far as Jillian was concerned, Fleur, I was 'protecting.' We can't allow human-vampire relations to get any worse." Fleur saw the haunted look in her cousin's eyes, but he spoke no more about it. He stood. "We've kept the others waiting long enough. Are you ready?"

Fleur shrugged. Marius's vote of no-confidence had made her sick to her stomach. "I'd like to go and change first."

"You look fine."

"This isn't the right image. If you don't take me seriously, I don't know why anyone else would. I shouldn't have worn this. I don't know why I did." She hadn't had much time after the street fight to get ready. With her mind on Dain and the way he looked with that blood everywhere... she'd just dressed in her old clothes, done what still came naturally. The expensive clothes felt silly after all she'd just been through.

Her cousin surprised her: "It doesn't matter what you wear. You'll be fine."

She'd be fine. She needed to believe that.

She managed a smile for his sake, nodded, took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

The Primary a.s.sembly meetings were serious discussions about political strategy, masquerading as some of the biggest dinner parties of the year. All of the action happened after the meal, but sitting with Paulina and her other friends as she had in the past, the meal and the after-parties were all she'd really seen. It had been an opportunity to dress up and have fun, and Fleur had hardly paid attention to what anyone was saying about other vampires or werewolves or humans. High up here during truce time, the politics of the city hadn't seemed to matter. But they mattered now, and now Fleur was at the center of things. She only hoped she didn't look like a fraud. She wasn't feeling quite so much the fraud anymore, anyway.

She was definitely getting used to things. She was getting used to being involved. And she was starting to understand how all the pieces fit together in this very fragile world all the species had built up here in Crimson City. She just hoped that everyone could see that.

There was a long, awkward silence as she maneuvered her enormous skirt around the tables leading up to the podium. She tipped over a chair and winced as someone giggled. Thank you, Paulina.

When she finally made it to the lectern and looked out at the a.s.sembled crowd, she suddenly felt a sense of calm. She smiled at her audience and poured herself a tall gla.s.s of water from the crystal pitcher. Then Fleur took a long drink, leaned forward and addressed her people.

Kippenham stood on the stoop with his hand gripping the neck of a bottle of whiskey. Dain opened the door wider to let him in. Kipp hoisted the bottle in the air. "It's been a while. I thought you could use a refresher."

His words had a double meaning. He and Kipp hadn't had a "refresher" in a long, long time. When Dain had emerged from his comalike haze in the aftermath of Serena's death, his boss had been there. He wasn't ashamed to admit that they'd cried over her together, though they'd not spoken of that time much since. When Serena was still alive, she and Dain had apparently been quite social; they'd spent a fair amount of time with Kippenham and his dates. That Dain hadn't been able to remember any of his dates hadn't fazed Kipp much; that Dain hadn't remembered Serena as his wife had bothered him to no end. For weeks after her death, Kippenham had come over to Dain's apartment to talk about Serena, trying to help Dain remember. He'd tried to bring those happy times back.

Eventually, Dain had decided he would have to come to terms with the fact that his memory might be permanently damaged. Kippenham's presence had begun to feel like a burden; his stories just induced guilt. He'd begun to have dreams-that he was a murderer, a killer, someone beyond all saving. How could he not remember someone he had loved so well? How could he watch Kippenham tear up over a story about him and Serena, while he himself sat there, dry-eyed and sh.e.l.l-shocked as if Kipp were reading a page out of a book?

Kippenham had eventually sensed this disconnect and after a few last awkward evenings, he'd stopped coming over and became once more just a boss. But Dain appreciated what Kippenham had tried to do for him when he'd needed it most. And there had been a few times since when he'd been tempted to call him up and ask for another story, if only to be reminded that once in his life he'd had it all.

For that reason, Dain was glad Kipp had come today. His boss headed to the kitchen and took a couple of gla.s.ses out of the cupboard, then returned and placed them on the coffee table next to the whiskey. He poured out two generous servings and then, as if they'd done this only yesterday, raised his gla.s.s. "To Serena," he said.

Dain raised his own and they clinked them together. "To Serena."

Kippenham sipped his drink in silence for a moment. "I wasn't sure if you were ready, but it's been a long time." He paused for a moment. When Dain didn't say anything, he reached into his breast pocket and took out an envelope which he placed on the table and slid in Dain's direction. "I got this out of storage for you."

Dain swallowed hard and looked at the envelope, then looked up at Kippenham. "I'm ready. I'm actually ready to see all of it." While he was still in the hospital nursing his burns and dealing with the news of his wife's death, he'd asked his boss to box everything up. It seemed a strange request for someone who was having trouble remembering things, but it had been too hard to look at the effects of a woman he couldn't remember and know that when he touched her nightgown or smelled her perfume he was supposed to feel something. Kippenham had done as he'd asked, and when Dain had returned from the hospital, there was nothing of her left. But now... now... he just wanted to know. Had he loved her the way he should have? Would seeing her things give him the answers he was looking for?

Dain looked up at Kipp, who still hadn't answered. "I'm ready to see all of it," he repeated. "I want Serena's things."

Kippenham nodded and took a sip of whiskey, a faraway look in his eyes. "It's been a long time. I'll have them find out where they're all stored and have them delivered."

"Thanks." Dain picked up the envelope. It wasn't sealed, and inside was a gold heart-shaped locket. Dain felt his heart pound as he took the delicate necklace in his rough hands. He remembered this piece. He definitely remembered seeing this on her. With trembling fingers he examined the locket, inscribed "Forever Together." He opened the clasp and the two sides fell open to reveal a picture of him with a devilish grin on his face on the one side and a picture of a young, beautiful Serena on the other.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He fought them back and looked up in muddled embarra.s.sment, but Kip-penham had tears in his eyes, too. If Kippenham only knew that they weren't choked up for the same reason.

Kippenham rolled the whiskey gla.s.s between his hands. "There was this one night. Four of us went out after work. We were exhausted. We thought we'd just pick up burgers or pizza or something. We went into this pizza joint and the place was just dead. Absolutely dead. Within five minutes, Serena had everyone singing songs and ordering up beer for a long night. That was Serena. She'd turn just about anything into an occasion." He stared at the wall, but it was obvious his mind was focused on a different time, a different place. "She was wearing that old light blue sweater you gave to her as a joke because you couldn't afford Tiffany's at the time." He turned back and looked at Dain. "Do you remember that?" His voice became a little more insistent. "Don't you remember any of that?"

Dain downed the rest of his whiskey, grimaced at the burn, and poured himself another. Enough time had pa.s.sed. He had to know. He hadn't had the courage to ask before. He hadn't cared. But there had to be some explanation. "Kipp, man to man... did you love Serena? Did you go out with her before she and I became a couple?"

Kippenham paled. "We've talked about this before. Don't you remember?"

Dain couldn't. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "I don't remember, Kipp. I don't remember anything. I hate it, but that's-"

"Hey, stop. Dain, just stop, it's fine. I apologize. I shouldn't have said that. Or about remembering. I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. I forget what you do and don't remember and what we've talked about. It's been a long time since we talked about..."

Dain tried to relax, but he suddenly wanted Kip-penham out of his apartment. He remembered now why they had stopped reliving the past together. He remembered those dreams, and his failures. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle watching his past mean more to someone else than it did to him. "Did you love Serena before me?" he asked again.

"I loved her... as a friend," Kippenham said stiffly. "She was my very dear friend."

Dain dropped his head in his hand. "My G.o.d." He took a moment to collect himself, then raised his head. "I'm so sorry. This is just unbelievable." He looked Kipp head-on. "I don't remember her. When I don't look at her picture I don't remember her at all. And when I do look, I don't know how much is just me thinking of all the great stories you've told me-if it's just me forcing myself to believe something I desperately want to believe."

The look on Kippenham's face was one of intense pain. He leaned across the coffee table. "She was so alive. So vibrant. And you loved her so much. It's not possible for her to have died and not have some part of her still living within you somewhere." He sounded angry, almost irrational. A tear slipped from his eye and trickled down his cheek.

Dain wanted to scream. That's my anger. My sor- row. He stood up. "There is a part of her inside me. A small part," he lied. "You're right. I just wish there was more."

Kippenham visibly relaxed. "I'll have her things sent to you," he said, and then he too stood up.

"Thanks," Dain said. He put down his gla.s.s and moved to the door. Kippenham followed suit.

As Dain opened the door, Kippenham turned around. "If you ever want to hear more-"

"Thanks," Dain said.