Dead Surround - The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles (32 page)

Poe didn’t even grace him with an answer. She’d stopped speaking with her tormentor for the past few days. Inside she thought,
You’re loving this for what
I’ve done to your face, you asshole.

She shut out the smell of burning candles placed randomly around the room like an offering to her.

There was nothing she hated more than scented candles. They gave her headaches like strong cologne and evil vampires. And they were bad for the environment.

Three of them dressed for the opera came in.

Juno Liman, a long-haired, white-skinned vamp Goth freaks would have loved, shook hands with Trench and walked over to Poe who trained her eyes to the wooden floor. He ran his hand on her rounded ass and gave it a slap, leaving a temporary imprint of his hand. Samuel Clemens, not at all related to Mark Twain, sauntered in and glanced at Poe’s freshly washed back. “I can almost taste her sweetness. Her power,” he said. The last dead that the came into Poe’s room was a hulky master vampire named 291

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Franco Sebastiani. “When do we eat?” he said as he took the whip from Trench’s hand. Quillon bit back his annoyance and said, “You may proceed, Sebastiani.”

The three vampires took turns lashing Poe’s bleeding back while Trench, hidden behind his scarf, swallowed his rage. Four vampires had abused Poe two days before and another three last night. The girl was running a fever from the wounds that kept reopening with every slash of the whip. He watched Poe’s face contorting with pain, her beautiful lips trembling. Yet she never made a sound. After a while the girl fainted.

“Alright. That’s enough, Sebastiani!” Trench said with iron. “Have another go at that whip and I’ll—”

A great boom interrupted the beginning of Trench’s tirade as the foundations of the concert hall trembled. Another explosion followed by gunfire reverberated around the acoustically sensitive building.

“What the hell?” said Samuel Clemens. His blood-filled spoon shook with the foundation.

“It’s not another rustling, is it?” asked Juno Liman, his mouth dripping with Poe’s blood. He flicked back his long locks.

Their questions left unanswered, the door to her room flew open and a man in a long black coat with a hood entered like a typhoon, hacking off Sebastiani’s arm which clanged to the floor. Before Liman could react the tall man in black split him in two at the waist and kicked his lower half out of the way.

Another explosion shook Frank Gehry’s architectural 292

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masterpiece and woke Trench and Samuel Clemens into action.

His incisors dripping from rage, Clemens flew at the man. He tackled the cattle rustler until they both crashed into the wall next to Poe’s bed, smashing a hole from room to hallway. The intruder grunted and flew back through the hole. He slammed Clemens against the entertainment section, demolishing the sound system. Like gutting a fish the stranger sliced the master vampire from stomach to shoulder.

When the man in black turned back for Trench, the vampire was gone. The rat-a-tat of semi-automatics and the hallow boom of grenades exploding made the soothing music hall a den of chaos and disorder.

The hooded man cut the ropes from Poe’s bruised wrists. He carefully turned her over without allowing her raw back to touch the sheets. An angry groan escaped his lips as he inspected the many fine scars running down her legs that had turned white.

The girl was unconscious and feverish. “Poe,” he said gently. “If I had known, I would’ve come back for you.”

Poe’s eyes fluttered open. “Kaleb?” she asked weakly.

“Yes. I’m here, Poe.”

Poe shook her head to clear the cobwebs and touched the vampire’s scar above his lip. “I’m naked.

Give me your coat and get me out of here,” Poe said weakly then passed out.



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Morales, Michelle, and Passionada took turns looking after Poe. She’d been unconscious for three days.

Infection had set in the wounds, and Morales didn’t have antibiotics on hand. He made do with double doses of expired Tylenol and round-the-clock application of cold cloth on the areas of her body that hadn’t been marred by a whip.

“That bastard Trench,” Morales muttered angrily. The sight of Poe’s raw back like it had been copiously scratched up by a T-rex made him want to land a piledriver on the master vampire who had dared treat his friend so brutally. He’d dealt with many abused cattle, but he’d never seen such purposeful torture of a human being.

Maclemar wanted to be part of the roster, but after bouts of cursing and near-hysteria at seeing Poe’s state, Morales had no choice but to ban him from the sick room. Sainvire, who visited frequently, merely stood watching over the girl in his usual silence, his face contorted with rage. Dressed in black t-shirt and dark slacks, the vampire never moved from his position facing the girl’s bed. Morales sometimes forgot about his silent presence.

“You didn’t know, Kaleb,” he had told the vampire. “You thought the Revs got her. It wasn’t your fault.”

To this, Sainvire said nothing. His grim gray eyes never left the pus-filled wounds on Poe’s back.

He had circled the mine for five days straight but could not find a sign of Poe and Penny. He had no idea that he had put the woman he loved in the clutches of Trench by allowing her to retrieve Plasmacore for his sustenance.

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They’d been staying in Dogtown where they were hiding three choppers under tarps to cloak them from airborne eyes. Vampires mostly avoided Passionada’s home due to the superfluous dogs that could intimidate even the ballsiest of undead, not to mention the roadway sinkholes and piles of cars surrounding the area.

Passionada had cleaned the cotton candy machine just in case the girl woke up. She felt awful for battering Poe over the head and handing her to Maclemar. As penance she helped Morales as much as she could, washing bedding, changing bandages.

On the third day as she was arranging wild flowers in a vase to put on Poe’s bedside, the girl stirred. Being over six feet with heels on, Passionada quickly kneeled on the floor and touched the girl’s forehead for any sign of fever.

Hers was the first face Poe had seen after three days of freedom. The girl’s wingtip eyebrows drew together, and she tried to push herself up.

Passionada’s gentle touch and the horrible pain in her back stopped all thought of standing up.

“Mija, don’t move. Your back is still raw,” she said. Her red puckered lips glimmered with lip gloss.

She pushed Poe’s hair away from her face. “Once you scab over you’ll be able to move again. But for now lie still and be patient.”

“Passionada,” Poe said tiredly, her mouth dry.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in Venice. My pad. You’re safe now.”

“You hit me over the head—”

“I know, and I’m sorry. Kaleb’s orders, you know.” Passionada poured water in a glass and put a swirly straw in it. “Here. Drink up.” Poe sucked on 295

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the straw until the glass was empty and stared at the woman with perfectly applied make-up. She shivered at the memory of being trained to look like Passionada. “Our friends will be glad to know your fever’s broken. Maclemar and Kaleb will be especially pleased.”

“Sainvire’s alive?” she asked with confusion.

She thought the man in black rescuing her was only a figment of her imagination.

“Well he’s a vampire, so he’s considered dead,”

Passionada winked. “But he’s alive and well. It took him a few days to heal on the rock you left him.

Snaring a jackrabbit gave him enough energy to get to the mine. After healing up with Plasmacore he went looking for you. He searched for a week. The poor man thought you were dead. He rejoined Morales and his crew bound for Santa Cruz.”

“I wasn’t dead. Trench took me,” Poe said. She was barely audible.

“He didn’t know until Ed scoured each settlement to find you. He met with Kawana, and she told him of your imprisonment.” Passionada rose. “I better get your boys in here.”

“No,” said Poe, ashamed of her back and her state of undress. “I don’t want to see anyone, Passionada. Especially Sainvire and Maclemar.”

Her request was honored. No one, not even Maclemar, tried to see her. He’d been dying of grief in the belief that Poe had been lost, and now her insistence on being alone drew him evermore inward.

He preferred to spend most of his time on a boat fishing to keep his mind off of the woman he loved.

Sainvire likewise waited and drilled his crew on what to do in the event of an attack.

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The only male allowed to see her was T-Doc who took his job as temporary doctor seriously.

Morales opted not to put salves on her wounds to hasten the drying process. “You can sit up and walk around now, you know. It’s been seven days. Scabs are already forming. By next week you’ll have nothing on your skin but pink scars.”

“Morales, I want you to know how much I appreciate you coming down to help me,” said Poe, sincere and a little embarrassed for thanking her friend. She’d resolved to thank each and every friend who had helped bust her out of Trench’s lair. She started with Michelle who had nearly wept at Poe’s earnestness.

“Oh you know me. I blow with the wind,”

Morales said, shrugging her thanks. He was uncomfortable at the new, more somber Poe.

“Besides, I got to learn a new skill.”

“What’s that?”

“I learned to fly a helicopter,” he said with a smile. “Michelle learned, too. She was the one who flew the chopper that bore you here a week ago.”

“Geez,” said Poe, scratching her ponytailed head.

“You’re a realtor, a cattle rustler, a bomb maker, temporary doctor, a sperm donor, and now a chopper pilot. You’re a Renaissance Man.”

“I know, I know. It’s embarrassing,” he said, visibly happy with the compliments. “But seriously, Sainvire and Maclemar ask to see you all the time.

They’re getting on my nerves.”

“I’m not ready for them, Morales,” said Poe with a fearful glint in her eye. Morales sat down on the bed next to her. He wore his realtor attire and Italian shoes and adjusted her hospital gown that was open 297

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at the back. He took her pale hands in his tanned ones. “Poe. They both love you,” he said quietly.

“We all love you. There’s no need to hide.”

Poe looked up at Morales’ light brown eyes and teared up. “I can’t see them now, Sam. Just give me some more time, please.”

Morales touched her shoulder gently and pulled her to him. He kissed her forehead and said, “Honey, after what you’ve been through you deserve to get what you want.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed.

Morales massaged her neck in a pleasant, unimposing way, which was a departure for the ladies man. “I gotta ask you, though. Would you see Joseph and your godchild?”

Poe sat up straight. “They came down here? To get me?”

Morales nodded. “Habib, the chef and babysitter, came along, too.” He looked at Poe’s face and noticed for the first time the change in her appearance. Her baby face had been replaced by fine lines on her cheekbones that gave her a more classic look. A woman’s face. Because of Poe’s different ethnic make-up, her visage had always been obscure, something he couldn’t pinpoint. Whatever had happened in the last three months, no matter how horrible, Poe had never looked more beautiful and sensuous in his humble opinion.

“Joseph wants to see me?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “You should let him. He’s not over his grief from losing Megan. He still can’t square Megan’s final request and burning her body before Nesbitt’s men came. I think you should do this for him.”

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“I’ll see him, Morales,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “How about you? Megan was your friend, too. And you’re Piper’s biological father.”

Morales rose, his chipper smile in place. “I’m fine, Poe. I miss her, but I got Piper, Joseph, and Habib to help me through this. Of course it’s not a gay thing,” he said. He winked and left the room.

Her room looked like something out of
Little
House on the Prairie
. The wallpaper was floral and pink and her double-size bed draped in a colorful quilt even the Amish would have been envious of.

Teddy bears festooned every single nook. Poe shifted on the bed and arranged her hospital gown. She was thankful to be wearing underwear at last. Trench’s manipulation of her modesty angered Poe.
In the
future if I have to run away naked, I’ll do it! The hell
with modesty!

The knock on the door surprised her. She’d forgotten about Joseph while thinking about Trench’s mind games. “Come in.”

A grinning Joseph opened the door, and little Piper squirmed in his arms. In uncustomary black clothing the vampire entered.

“Well lookit, Piper. There’s your godmother, the one who’s going to teach you how to kick butt when you’re older.”

Poe stood up, wincing at her back that was beginning to scab over but still raw. She kissed Joseph on the cheek and peeked at the redhead baby in his arms. “Gosh, she looks way bigger than when I last saw her. Cuter, too.”

“Yup. She looks like her mommy, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, except she has Morales’ brown eyes.”

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“And my voice box,” he said, grinning. “You look good, Poe. Last week you looked like crap. I’ve always thought Trench to be a real shit, but what he did to you takes the cake.”

Poe unconsciously tugged at her ponytail. “Yeah.

He is. And I’m going to kill him for it,” she said.

“That’s the way,” he said and handed the baby to an alarmed Poe. “You gotta hate him to get rid of any phobias or humiliation he dealt you.”

Poe held the baby awkwardly, and Piper could feel it, too. She wiggled and started kicking away in distress. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She likes you alright. You’re just not holding her right,” he said and repositioned her arms. “Relax.

Don’t tense up. Imagine holding a teddy bear, and don’t forget to rock her a little.”