"I'm trained in first aid," I answered.
"Stay.” His voice rooted me to the floor. Dimitri blurred through the curtains, leaving them lifted in his wake. Before they fell back into place I saw a young boy, maybe seven or eight, curled behind a couch, his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, tears running down his face.
I fought to take a step but my feet would not budge from the balcony's wood floor. Dimitri’s influence grounded me to the spot. Another scream—short and desperate.
I closed my eyes and found the tendrils of power Dimitri used to hold me in place. Taking a deep breath, I plucked at them with my mind. My feet came loose and I stumbled forward, reaching out for the curtains to catch myself.
I grabbed at the cloth but instead of stopping my fall, the whole fixture ripped out of the wall, bringing the bar and both curtains down on top of me as I fell into the apartment. Here I come to save the day!
I hit the floor wrapped up in the curtains. Strong hands lifted me, all the spots where I'd fallen no longer hurting. The cloth disappeared, and Dimitri stood over me. "You are okay," he told me. I nodded, agreeing. "Sorry that you fell. That shouldn’t have been possible.”
“I’m fine.” I tried to disentangle myself from him, not wanting to admit what I’d done. He let go of me reluctantly and I stepped around him to where the boy rocked back and forth, his eyes still squeezed shut, hands over his ears. I crouched down in front of him and placed a hand gently on his forearm. He flinched and turned away without opening his eyes.
Dimitri came up behind me, and I could see his cloud of influence envelop the child. He dropped his hands looking up at Dimitri with red-rimmed eyes. "Boy, are you bitten?" Dimitri asked him. He shook his head. "Good," Dimitri said. "You will live for now then."
"What about my mom and dad?" he asked, his voice high but calm.
"Your father is dead."
"My mother?"
Dimitri turned back into the room and asked. "Are you bit?"
I looked over the top of the couch. A woman leaned against the wall, her jeans and T-shirt spattered in blood, her hair half in a ponytail and half out. Next to her lay the headless body of a man. She looked up at Dimitri. "Yes," she answered, her voice vibrating with shock.
Dimitri turned back to the boy. "If I do not kill her now, she will become a zombie, just like your father did."
"No!" The boy said, standing up, reaching his hands out, pleading with the vampire. "I want her to live."
"Not possible."
"Dimitri," I said. "Can't something be done? Shouldn't we take her to the hospital?"
"They would shoot her. The army is there. Crescent City is under martial law. They are trying to save the world, Darling. This woman's life means nothing to them." He looked down at me. It means nothing to him, too.
“Can you turn her into a vampire?” I asked.
He stepped back as if I’d slapped him. “No.” His voice came out flat—past anger to something else.
“Why not?” I pushed.
“You do not know what you ask.”
"There is nothing we can do?"
“We can offer her mercy, Darling. Killing her before she becomes a zombie is mercy." Dimitri cocked his head and listened. "We must go."
In a flash he was across the room, his hands on the woman's head, and then a crack. He dropped her, and she slumped on the ground. Then he was back at my side. "Come," he said.
"What about him?" I asked, my voice high with panic.
Dimitri leaned down to the boy. "Men in uniforms are coming," he said. “Tell them that you have not been bitten. They will care for you." He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your parents loved you. They want you to live. Be brave, boy.”
Dimitri's arm wrapped around my waist, and he pressed me against his body. “Wait,” I said, everything moving too fast. “We can’t just leave him!” Dimitri stepped out onto the balcony and looked down.
I followed his gaze. Dark green trucks with white stenciled writing drove down the block, heading toward the blockade of cars that had stopped us. Behind them smoke continued to grow thicker, the smell a horrible mix of building materials, chemicals, plastic, and something…almost like barbecue. Dear God, that smell is people. I am smelling people burning.
Dimitri tightened his grip, snatched up my violin then jumped, landing us on the roof. He hooked his arm under my knees so that he held me like a child.
Dimitri took off in the direction of my house. He ran so fast that I had to turn my face into his chest to keep the wind from blinding me.
Chapter Eighteen
He leaped down onto my balcony, landing in a crouch. "Do you have food and fresh water?" he asked as he let me down.
I took my violin from him, nodding. "Thanks for bringing me home," I said, opening my door.
"Will you invite me in?" he asked.
"Do you need an invitation?" I leaned against the door jamb, watching him. Is it true vampires can't enter your house unless they are invited?
"It is considered polite to wait for one." His voice was soft, the white mist of his influence swirling around us both, brushing up against me, feathering over my hair and skin, soothing away any anxieties.
"I need to think without you controlling me,” I sighed.
"I understand.” He stepped closer to me. “But, Darling, I don’t need an invitation to influence you. I could do it from across the world." He closed the distance between us, the fog of his aura pushing into my apartment as his fangs began to descend.
Desire spiraled up from the hot red center of me.
His eyes lit, and he growled, "Invite me in."
"Please come in.”
Dimitri stepped through the open door, pushing me into the apartment and closed it behind him. He took my violin from me, placing it on the floor then wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips against mine. Lifting me, he carried me to the couch.
“I will drink from you.” He kissed down my chin. I leaned back, and he nipped gently where Megan had bitten me. A shiver ran through my body.
"I don't think so," I said, my voice sounding unsure and confused. My breath was shallow, body vibrating. "You shouldn’t use your influence to convince me to give you my blood,” I said.
“I’m not,” he said against my skin, his hands roaming over my body. "I think you are influencing me." He grew still.
"What?" I asked.
He raised his head, looking at me. "That is impossible," he said. "It...you. Are you a witch?"
I laughed. The look on his face was priceless—Dimitri, strong, ancient, cocky, predator Dimitri, all confused and adorable. “A witch? No.” I shook my head. “I’m just a fiddle player."
His eyes narrowed, sparking hot blue. “No, you are much more than that." He stood and walked away from me. "I don't understand." He glanced back, as if he didn’t have a choice, as if the red rock of heat at my center drew him. “How is this possible?"
"What?" I sat up, wanting the weight of him back on me. He bit his lip. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"You cannot stay here." He shook his head. "It is far too dangerous. Brad was wrong to let you return.”
"Unless he wants me to die," I said.
Dimitri shook his head. "No, you are of his blood. He wants you to turn."
"Why?"
"The more of your blood that is turned, the more powerful you are."
"So why don't they just use their influence and turn me without my consent?"
"You would not be a very good vampire then. Those who do not want to turn often die in the process. You must want eternal life, be willing to give things up for it." Dimitri looked up then. He sniffed the air. "Emmanuel," he said, his voice strange. The
re was an emotion in his tone I could not discern.
"What? How do you know Emmanuel?”
"He is coming,” Dimitri said, ignoring my question. Right, Dimitri stalked me—that’s how he knows my bassist.
Dimitri blurred out onto the balcony, and I followed him. Emmanuel's rusted red truck pulled over in front of my building. I ran back toward the front door. Dimitri followed, and as I reached for the knob, my body froze in place. "He is bitten," Dimitri said. "You cannot let him in."
"Let go of me!" I struggled against the force that held me—thick, white cords of power wrapped around my arms and legs, tethering me to Dimitri.
"Stop fighting me," he said.
"I want—" I began but Dimitri sucked my will from me. I saw it leave like a cloud of dust punched from a long abandoned pillow. I slumped against the binds that held me, the white tentacles wrapping around me like vines. If he releases me now, I'll crumple to the floor.
That lack of will, the complete loss of all I'd wanted the moment ago, brought tears to my eyes. A deep hopelessness seeped into my bones.
"Darling!" Emmanuel knocked at my door, his voice strained. Dimitri moved my body forward, placing my eye so that I could see out the peephole. See, I heard Dimitri's voice inside my head. He is gone. Emmanuel, his curls damp with sweat, brown eyes strained with pain, his neck…his beautiful neck, badly mauled.
He coughed violently, and blood hit the eye of my peephole, leaving it dark. If you let him in, he'll kill you.
"Darling, please. We need to talk.”
"I can't," I heard myself say. "You've been bitten."
Emmanuel banged on the door. "Please trust me," he said. He coughed again, and I heard him lean his weight against the door. "I'll come back," he wheezed. "Don't leave. Stay here. I'll come back for you."
His footsteps stumbled away. Dimitri released me, the slick white vines of his mind uncurling. My will vacuumed back into me. I ran to my balcony, watching the empty street below.
Dimitri came to stand next to me. He laid his hand on my back, a warm, calming balm. Emmanuel fell out the door, stumbled off the sidewalk and landed in the street, his whole body violently shaking. "He's seizing," I said.
"The final stage before he turns," Dimitri answered.
I can’t help in any way. My heart thudded in my chest.
It was agonizing minutes before Emmanuel stopped shaking. He slowly climbed to his feet. His head swiveled, first looking one way then the other. He started off to the south, toward the fire, his steps no longer human, his gait the shuffling and disjointed march of the dead.
"Have you been with him?" Dimitri asked. I didn't answer, just watched Emmanuel's stilted walk. "Answer me," Dimitri commanded.
"We just kissed.” Melancholy weighed down my words so that I whispered.
"You are his?" Dimitri asked, his voice soft.
I shook my head. I am no one’s.
Dimitri straightened, his hand leaving my back. “Brad commanded that I leave you here, and so I will. But in twenty-four hours I will be back." He turned me to him and caressed my cheek. I leaned into his touch, the warm mist of his influence petting me. Dimitri’s eyes flashed gray for a second before he turned away.
Jumping off my balcony, he blurred from sight. With him went his influence, and for the first time since seeing Megan again, my emotions were my own.
I felt too much. A crippling tsunami of feelings wracked through me—grief, fear, rage. Clutching at the railing of my balcony, I fell to my knees. My fingers gave out and I collapsed, rolling into the fetal position.
Sobs tore through me. I may never breathe again. Colors flashed behind my closed lids. I bit down on my lip, trying to pull myself back—searching for that girl who fought a wolf. Searching for my father’s daughter.
He was real and so was she.
I could almost hear my father's voice. "What do we do when we fall down, Darling?"
"We get back up," I ground out through the sobs, fighting the spasms, concentrating on evening my breathing. It was real, I knew that now. All my memories of him. Of the life we'd shared. All the things that for years, for years, I'd tried to forget, ignore, and deny, had been let loose.
I remembered my father’s voice. And it urged me on.
Using the railing, I pulled myself up and swiped at my face, wiping away the tears.
It was all quiet below, the street usually packed with musicians, tourists and locals lay deathly still in night. Not even the stray cats prowled.
I stood there, gaining control of myself, finding that red glowing center and listening to my heartbeat. I am alive. And I plan to stay that way.
Walking back into the apartment, I closed and locked the balcony doors behind me.
A note waited on the refrigerator. Written in neat black handwriting, it read:
Dear Darling,
* * *
I hope that you receive this letter. Please try to call me. Phones will probably be out soon, but it's worth a try. If you cannot reach me by phone, please try me at the hospital. If the hospital has fallen, go to 67 Adam's Way.
They can help you. Explain that I sent you.
* * *
It is vitally important that you reach me, Darling. Try to find me. Use your strength.
* * *
I have information about your father, but more importantly, I think that you can save the world.
* * *
Dr. Issa Tor
Save the world my ass.
Dr. Issa Tor was as crazy as me.
But it turns out I'm not so crazy.
Leaving the note on the fridge, I went to my closet and pulled out my suitcase and a rack of shoes to get to the back panel. I banged on the upper left-hand corner, and it popped open. Inside were two bows, one child-sized and the other meant for an adult.
They'd been in that kitchen cabinet with me along with a leather quiver for my arrows that I’d worn on my back.
I had clutched onto the smooth wood while the social worker told me my father was just a figment of my imagination, that my life up until the moment I met her was all just a "coping mechanism.” Then she informed me the bows belonged to the dead man in the apartment where they found me and that I had to give them up.
Megan helped me get them back. We filed paperwork and made phone calls. Eventually, they were located, and my identity confirmed as the little girl found at that horrific scene. We paid for the shipping, and when they arrived in Crescent City, I put them in my closet—hid them away just like my memories, just like that red spark at the center of me. Megan bought arrows and tried to get me to teach her but I refused.
Dr. Issa Tor had promised me information about my father, but I didn't need it. No one knew him like I did.
I brought out my father's bow first. Used for hunting deer, it was armed with knife-tipped arrows, the kind that could strike straight to a deer's heart, or a zombie's brain, I figured.
I blew dust off its gleaming wooden handle and checked to make sure it was still in order before placing it on my bed. Pulling out the smaller bow, I turned it. Really, it was more my size than the one my father had used, but its wooden-tipped arrows might not be that useful.
I placed it next to the larger one and looked down at them for a moment. The sun rose, casting a warm glow through the window as I stood there. I wanted to go back to the cemetery, find that Suki creature and ask her some questions. But figured I’d have a better chance of finding her at sunset than sunrise—that’s when I’d seen her before.
I put on yoga pants and a snug T-shirt, both black. I tied my hair into a tight bun.
I wanted to arrive at the cemetery as the day turned to night. I should rest. But my mind raced, and my emotions burned.
Reading Issa’s note again, I picked up my phone, but the lines were dead. I’d deal with him later…after I’d talked to Suki again. All of this is real.
I turned to my violin case, almost afraid to open it and find my instrument crushed. But there it was, its same
gleaming self. Picking it up, I knew what would come out. I could feel the need to play; my hands shook, but they would steady against the strings. Pulling out the bow, its familiar shape helped to ground me.
Closing my eyes, I laid it to the strings and pulled, letting out a low chord, dark and sad. Back again, and I went up a chord, hearing the sound vibrating through the violin, into my chin, down my neck, and hitting me in the heart, echoing what I felt there. Then I was off, playing so hard that hair escaped from my well-placed bun, flopping over my face, dancing with the sounds that I made.
It was a song that Megan and I wrote soon after moving to Crescent City. It stayed a favorite not only of ours but also of our fans in the following ten years. I hadn't played it since she disappeared, but now it came out of me like water rushing over a fall, landing into a fathomless pond and bubbling against the shore.
The song ended with Megan a cappella, singing the chorus again. As I stilled my bow, I could almost hear her. “Father, forgive my sins, and let me in. Let me in.”
Chapter Nineteen
I left an hour before sunset, my father's bow and a quiver full of arrows slung across my back, my child size one bungeed to the rear of my bike. Using a leather belt, I'd fashioned a holder for two of our kitchen knives, one on each hip. Around my waist I'd secured a thick chain and lock.
I walked out to the balcony and looked up and down the street before heading downstairs. A grocery bag floated on the breeze, making the wind's whims obvious to me. The smoke from the fires was headed north, along with the white plastic bag. I took a deep breath, smelling that toxic mix of burning buildings and meat.
I pushed my bike out of the doorway, searching up and down again before climbing on. I stayed in the center of the road so that I could see into each doorway and behind every car. The bars that usually would be full of early drinkers sat empty, doors locked and windows boarded.