"He's probably dangerous," I said. "And he's not going away, is he?"
Ed sighed and shook his head. "I thought he would. Guess he's going to stick around."
"Ed. You can't just let him …"
"I know," he said, and ran his hands over his balding head. It was the same elegant shape as his brother's, minus the rose tattoo, plus a minor fringe of hair. "But I can't just kill him, either. I'm family."
I had a sister. I hadn't thought of her for a while, but suddenly I thought about what I'd do, if Sarah came shambling up to me a day after her own funeral, white and ghost-ridden. God. I'd be utterly unable to live with it, or myself. Unable to act.
That was the hell Ed was in, and would continue to be in, and it was my fault. I needed to do something, but I had no idea what. I was hungry, I was tired, I was scared, and I was badly wishing — as Rahel no doubt had intended — that I'd cheerfully complied with her request and not landed myself in this situation to begin with.
Hungry. As if the idea had triggered it, my stomach loudly rumbled.
I looked up, embarrassed, but Ed was already reaching out to scoop a rolling hot dog from the rack and fold it into a soft white bun. "Knock yourself out."
I chewed nitrates and sulfates, mixed in with some meat and carbs. Added some relish and mustard. It was the best hot dog I'd ever eaten, and it smelled heavenly; I devoured it in about three bites. Ed forked over another one. I mumbled a thanks around another bite.
"I'll deduct it," he said. "Now. Let's talk about you fixing my brother."
###
What killed vampires? I contemplated it in silence, laying on my cot in the dim wash of light from the cracked storage room door. Ed had gone home, at my insistence; I think he understood it wasn't good for him to be there, in case I had to do something radical. Wooden stakes … garlic … holy water … well, I could break off a chair leg to make a stake if I had to, and there was some garlic salt in the condiment section.
Holy water was in short supply. I wondered about crosses, but somehow, I didn't think folklore would be quite on the money with this one.
I put my hand on my purse, thinking about David, curled in his bottle. Sleeping, probably. Dreaming of better things. Maybe …
No. I didn't dare open it and summon him. Not when he was so weak. I needed to handle this on my own, without anybody else to back me up.
That felt … oddly refreshing. Whatever I did here, there was nobody else involved. It was just me, and the problem.
I got up in a restless creak of cot springs, put on my shoes, and walked to the storage room door. It was quiet in the store except for the dull hum of fluorescent lights in the corners. The night was so dark outside the glass walls that it might as well have been black paint. I wanted to go outside, breathe the fresh cold air, see the thick haze of stars, but I had work to do.
I walked to the cooler. The key was hanging from a hook next to the door, but I didn't take it down.
I knocked. "Israel?" No answer. I put my hand flat against the metal. "Israel, talk to me. It's Joanne. I want to help you. I want to figure out what happened to you."
From a great, hollow distance, Israel rasped, "Don't think anybody can help me."
"You said you saw fairies. Blue sparks. That's what changed you."
He seemed surprised. "Yeah."
"Israel, do you — " I couldn't think of a way to phrase it. "Hunger for anything in particular?"
"Yeah," he said. "But I don't know what it is. Nobody around here has it. Nobody except you."
He wanted power. Warden power. I swallowed hard and removed my hand from the door. He sounded as if he'd come closer. How strong was he, exactly? Strong enough to batter the door down, if properly motivated?
"I think I understand," I said. "The — fairies — are inside of you. They're keeping you alive and moving. But Israel, they're trapped here. They got stuck inside of you when the rest of their kind got destroyed, or banished, or whatever. And they need a place to hide. They want me because they can live and grow inside of me." Because I'd once been Djinn.
He listened, and then he just sat in silence. After a long while, he said, rustily, "Can you kill me?"
"I don't know."
"Because I'm not supposed to be here. I'm …" He cleared his throat, with a sound like nails in a tin can.
"I'm supposed to be dead."
"That's why you didn't leave town," I said. "You want Ed to kill you. But he won't, Israel. He can't."
Israel sighed, I heard it all the way through the thick insulation and metal. "Pussy."
"Well, he might if you talk like that."
Israel laughed. It sounded rusty and agonizing, but it held some genuine amusement. "So what the hell do I do? Piss off my brother until he sticks some damn stake through my heart?"
I didn't think that was going to do it. This wasn't traditional folklore vampirism, this was something else entirely. And I wasn't sure what to do about it, but I was sure that it had to end. For Ed and Israel's sake, if nothing else.
I reached for the key and slipped it into the cold brass lock. My hands were shaking again. I didn't let myself think too long about it, just did the mechanical motions and set the lock aside. I flipped the latch back, took hold of the handle, and pulled.
It came open with a whine of metal and a cold, arid puff of air that smelled of the ghosts of spoiled milk and meat. Dead things. I swallowed hard and saw his eyes glowing in the darkness. Djinn eyes.
"Take off your gloves," I said.
He stepped forward into the thin wash of light. It was freezing in the cooler, but his breath didn't fog the air, and he'd even taken off his leather jacket. The Grateful Dead shirt was a muscle tee, and his arms looked ropy and white and strong.
"Why?"
"Just do it, Israel. Please."
He slowly stripped off the leather gloves and plopped them down on the floor next to his jacket. He'd been making himself comfortable against a sealed box of Popsicles. Cherry flavored.
His hands flexed slowly, making fists, then uncurled. Long, thin fingers. Blue short nails.
He reached out to me.
"You scared?" he asked me.
"Yeah."
A crooked, charming smile. It looked strange on that lifeless face. "Me too. But I'll be glad when it's over."
I took hold of his icy hand, and lightning struck. Not true lightning, the kind that sparked from the sky; this was nerve impulses firing, power coursing hot through my veins. Defense. I had a kind of magical immune system, and it was fighting hard …
… but it was losing.
I held on, and so did Israel, though I could see from the twisted expression on his perfectly white face that it hurt him, too. Cold seeped out of him and into my hand, my wrist, my arm … crept up to my shoulder …
radiating in …
I launched myself up to the aetheric and saw the blue sparklies crawling all over me. Flooding out of Israel in waves.
"Tell Ed … he was good to me and — " Whatever else he was going to say, it locked in his throat. His Djinn eyes turned plain human blue, and rolled back in his head.
Israel crumpled and hit the floor with a terrifying thud. I couldn't spare any concern, though; I was fighting for breath as the sparks swarmed all over me, trying to sink into me. Fairies. Not like any fairies Peter Pan had ever encountered … cannibal fairies, with furious sharp teeth and cold, cold hearts.
Let them in. I didn't know where the thought came from, but it sounded like Patrick's voice, my one-time Djinn mentor and betrayer and savior. Let them in. You have to.
That was a terrifying prospect. I was holding my breath, and I'd squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to keep myself intact … but he was right, I couldn't defeat them by just blindly trying to ignore them. They'd get inside.