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 did to 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. Why she 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.