Now Comes the Night (38 page)

“How could I have told you? You know I’d vowed never to speak of it with anyone. You know the consequences. I’ve endangered your life by sharing even this much with you.”

Damian grimaced. “Ah, well, it’s not the first time you’ve done that though, is it? Given the circumstances, I think I’d rather take the chance. This task we’ve taken on is difficult enough without all these secrets complicating things between us.”

Conrad nodded. “You’re right. We are partners, after all, in this madness. Despite the additional danger, I should have told you…something.” Not everything, of course. Surely there was no need for that. He just hoped what he had said had been enough and not left too late. But as to that, only time would tell.

Chapter Twenty

Contradictory thoughts and conflicting emotions warred within Marc’s mind as he left Conrad’s house. Unwilling to wait for the guard to open the gate at the main entrance, he pushed through the smaller side gate instead and nearly barreled into Julie who was on her way in. “Marc? What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He glanced up and down the block, looking to see if anyone else was around. He should pull her aside right now and tell her what he’d learned. He should make sure she understood the danger they were in. But the look in her eyes stopped him cold. Hypocrite that he was, he couldn’t do it. Despite everything he’d just argued to the contrary, he couldn’t stand the thought of taking her innocence. “Everything’s fine. Same as always, right?”

“I guess. Are you going out again? I hardly ever see you anymore. Can’t you stay for awhile?”

“Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on right now.” That was an understatement! “Listen, Jules, you’re being careful when you go out, aren’t you? I don’t like the idea of your being out there on your own. I know you don’t like the clubs, but maybe you should take someone with you when you hit the streets. Damian, perhaps. Or, you know, you could maybe think about eating in more.”

Julie blinked in surprise. “Since when do you worry about stuff like that?”

“I’m not worried. I just think you should be careful, you know?”

“Are you sure everything’s okay? Because you’re starting to scare me a little.”

Great. Exactly what he didn’t want. Marc took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Sure, everything’s fine. Just be careful, okay? I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Marc turned away from the questions in his sister’s eyes, but he could not escape from his thoughts. As he headed up the block, his mind immediately resumed its battle. He was furious with Conrad for having put him in this situation. Furious with Damian for colluding with him. Furious with himself for…too many reasons to count.

He hated that he’d been lied to, hated that he hadn’t had the guts to tell Julie the truth either. That made him just as big a liar as those who’d lied to him. He hated how disappointed he felt. Conrad had let him down. It was the last thing Marc had anticipated and it hurt worse than anything else, and yet…

And yet at the same time, he also felt as though somehow
he
was the one at fault, the one who’d somehow let his grandfather down, instead of the other way around.

How many times had he felt that way growing up? How many times had he felt as though the bar had been set too high, as though he could never live up to all the expectations Conrad had for him? Now, at least, he knew the reason for that feeling, he really
couldn’t
have lived up to them. Ever. Conrad and Damian thought him something special. He knew himself to be anything but.

Disgusted with the trend his thoughts were taking, he pushed them away, but more flooded in to take their place. How dare they keep this information secret from him all these years? How dare they sit there now and profess concern for him, all the while attempting to manipulate him into giving up his friends? How dare Conrad refuse to help him, after all the promises he’d made, weeks ago, that he’d do everything in his power to aid him with the ferals? Not that Marc even wanted his help. Which only made things worse—because he
should
have wanted his help.

The last thing Marc had
actually
wanted to have to do was to cede over control of the ferals—not to Conrad and not to anyone else. That was partially why he’d waited so long to approach Conrad in the first place. He liked having them all to himself, liked being the one they looked up to, the one they respected, the one who helped them. They were his, damn it. He’d saved them, he’d claimed them, and he wanted everyone to know it. But it couldn’t just be about him. He knew that too. He had to give them what they needed, not just what he wanted them to have. Much as it pained him to admit it, what they needed was Conrad, or someone just like him, a leader strong enough, smart enough and experienced enough to keep them safe.

Sure, he could keep trying to fool himself, pretending he could be that for them. He could stay and try his best and maybe postpone the inevitable a little while longer. Sooner or later the truth would come out and when it did, he wouldn’t be a bit surprised when they lost whatever faith they had in him and left.

The warehouse was quiet and dark when he got there. It felt deserted. For a moment, he wondered if it was. Perhaps, somehow, the ferals had already gotten the news of his failure and had cleared out, left him to fend for himself. Then his senses reasserted themselves and he realized that all of his little family was still at home, safe and sound, just where he’d left them. It was only the humans, who should also have been there, who were missing.

“You’re back!” Heather ran to greet him as soon as he pushed the door open. “Where were you? I was starting to get worried.”

“I had an errand to run,” Marc answered, eyeing the cut-glass cup in her hand with more than a little curiosity. “What’s that you’re drinking?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized how stupid they must sound. It was blood, obviously. What else would it be? But why from a glass? “Where is everybody?” Certainly it was late enough in the evening for at least a few humans to have shown up. “What have you done with them?”

“Relax, dude,” Nighthawk said, as he joined them. He carried two more cups, one of which he handed to Marc. “It’s Christmas Eve. All the good little humans are likely safe at home, tucked in their beds and waiting for Santa, same as every year. But this one—” he nodded at Heather, “—still wanted to party. So me and some of the guys went out and robbed a blood bank and knocked over a coupla thrift stores. I hope you don’t mind.”

Marc glared. “You did what?”

“Come and see,” Heather urged. She grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him deeper into the warehouse. “They even got trees!”

“I’m just kidding about the robbery thing,” Nighthawk confided as he fell into step beside Marc. “We did hit the hospital up for a few small withdrawals, but we covered our tracks
and
our asses and no one got hurt, ‘kay?”

Marc barely heard him, his attention caught by the small forest of pine trees that had sprung up in the center of the warehouse, all of them decorated with an odd mix of ornaments that shimmered and glowed in the low light filtering in from the windows set high on the warehouse’s outer walls. The couches had been drawn up close together, to form a circle within the ring of trees and, in the middle of that circle, stood a folding table topped with stacks of cups and a large, matching punch bowl filled with blood. “Where did all this come from?”

“Thrift stores, like I said,” Nighthawk answered. “But it’s all legit. They were selling most of the stuff off cheap ‘cause of the holiday. And we didn’t steal nuthin’ but the blood. Not even the trees. Those were all leftovers that had been thrown out.”

“Oh,” Marc said faintly. “Okay. Well, it looks great. Good job everyone.” He gazed at all the expectant faces turned his way and mentally kicked himself for his lousy timing. Christmas Eve. Damn it, he’d completely forgotten what day it was. He felt like the Grinch now, dropping in just in time to steal the Whos’ Christmas. Perfect.

“What’s wrong, Marc?” Heather asked frowning up at him. “You’re frowning. Don’t you like it?”

“She wanted a party,” Nighthawk repeated. “You said I should give her what she wanted, so that’s what I did.”

“It’s not that.” Marc sighed, wishing he’d waited until after the long, holiday weekend was over to confront Conrad. He emptied his glass in one long gulp. How could he tell them now? Wouldn’t it be better to just pretend nothing was wrong, let them enjoy their party, wait for a better time to tell them? But wasn’t that exactly what Conrad and Damian had done to him, what they were all still doing to Julie? Didn’t they all deserve to know the truth? “I’m not upset about what you’ve done here. I went to see Conrad tonight.” He blurted the words out before he could change his mind.

“Ah, crap.” Nighthawk looked away. “What happened? What’d he say? Nothing good, I’m guessing.”

“He said Audrey lied to you. He said there’s no way that he, or anyone else, could ever claim you as their own. No one would believe him if he did, he said, and it wouldn’t change anything anyway. It wouldn’t make you part of his House. I’m sorry.”

Heather scowled. “Why’re we talking about that bitch for anyway? Only an idiot would have taken her word for anything in the first place.”

“I guess we all know who you’re calling an idiot, right?” Nighthawk glared at her.

Heather ignored him. “And why would you think we need to be part of someone else’s House? We have our own House, don’t we? Right here?”

Marc had no answer. Technically, he supposed Heather was part of Conrad’s family now, just as he was. In theory, that meant he should be able to take her home with him. It was all the others who were screwed, left out in the cold, doomed. And there was not a damn thing he could do to change that.

Nighthawk met Marc’s gaze for a brief moment, then glanced away. His expression was grim. “All right, so, how bad is it? How long did he give us? When do we have to be out of here?”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Marc told him. “You can stay here as long as you want. He gave me his word.”

“Right. ‘Cause everyone
always
keeps their word where we’re concerned. ‘Scuse me for bein’ a li’l skeptical ‘bout that. I guess the question I should be asking then is how soon are
you
leaving?”

Marc ducked his head. He hadn’t been expecting it to come to this—not yet, anyway. “I don’t know. I haven’t really…whenever, I guess.” He thought he’d have more time. He didn’t think they’d be this quick to turn their backs on him. He glanced at the ring of pinched and anxious faces, wanting to ask if Nighthawk spoke for all of them, if there was no one at all here who wanted him to stay, but what good would that do? Before Marc had come along, Nighthawk had been the closest thing they’d had to a leader. He’d brought them together, kept them together, tried his best to keep them safe. What good would it do to undermine his authority now?

Disgust twisted Nighthawk’s features. “Yeah, that figures.” Turning away, he hopped over the back of one of the couches and sat with his back to Marc. A couple of the youngest of the ferals pressed close to Nighthawk. He threw his arms around their shoulders and hugged them tight. The rest of the troupe continued to shoot worried glances at each other or in Marc’s direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes.

“You’re not leaving us are you?” Heather pressed close to Marc and gazed up at him piteously.

“What choice do I have? I can’t very well stay where I’m not wanted, can I?” Not that he had any idea where he could go. Conrad hadn’t exactly thrown him out, but he’d been angry. A lot more angry than Marc had expected him to be. And, despite what he’d said about the mansion being Marc’s home he’d made it pretty damn clear he didn’t really want Marc there right now.

Perhaps Damian could change his mind, but Marc had burned that bridge pretty good as well. Maybe he could try Drew and see if he could be persuaded to let Marc crash on the couch in his office at the bar. Or would his friend be too fearful, too reluctant to incur Conrad’s wrath?

“Now you’re just being stoopid.” Heather frowned at him. “You know you’re wanted. What are you talking about?”

Marc shook his head. “That’s not how it looks from where I’m standing.”

Heather bared her teeth in an angry little snarl. “Nighthawk! Get your ugly butt back over here!”

“No!” Nighthawk answered from the couch, still refusing to turn around. “Leave me alone, woman.”

Heather took hold of Marc’s hand and pulled him toward the couch. Marc followed along reluctantly, ditching his cup on an empty table along the way. Nothing about this scene was sparking his appetite in the slightest.

Heather continued to drag him around the couch until they stood right in front of where Nighthawk was seated. “Tell Marc you don’t want him to go,” she ordered the feral.

“No.” Nighthawk glared at her—and continued to ignore Marc. The two youngsters who had snuggled up next to Nighthawk also kept their eyes averted.

Marc sighed. “See? What’d I tell you?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t mean he wants you to go, Marc. He’s just being dumb. And you don’t want to go either, right? You want to stay here, don’t you? With us?”

“I
want
to stay. But…how can I? I failed, sweetheart, and you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to realize that yet. I was trying to get a second chance for everyone. I wanted to make sure all the ferals were safe. But you—they—need a leader for that, someone who can protect you all. That’s why I went to Conrad. I thought, if he would agree to adopt everyone…”