Otherworld Nights (6 page)

I raised a leg onto the rim and ran the loofah brush down it. Aaron’s eyes followed, but after a second he forced his gaze back to mine and repeated the question.

I sighed. “Very well. Let’s see. On that particular day, it was a midnight end-of-season designer clothing sale. As I was driving out of the city to make my kill, I saw the sign and stopped. By the time I left, it was too late to hunt.”

He glowered at me. “That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

The glower deepened to a scowl. “You postponed your annual kill to
shop
? Bullshit. Yeah, you like your fancy clothes, and you’re cheap as hell. But getting distracted by a clothing sale?” He snorted. “That’s like a cop stopping a high-speed chase to grab doughnuts.”

I went quiet, then said, as evenly as I could, “Perhaps. But I did.”

He searched my gaze, finding the truth in my eyes. “Then something’s wrong. Very wrong. And you know it.”

I shuttered my gaze. “All I know is that you’re making too big a deal of this, as always. You take the smallest—”

“Cassandra DuCharme skips her annual kill to go
shopping
? That’s not small. That’s apocalyptic.”

“Oh, please, spare me the—”

He shoved the open book in my face. “Forget the sale. Explain the rest of it. You had nothing scheduled all week. There was no excuse. You didn’t forget. You didn’t get distracted.” His voice dropped as he lowered himself to the edge of the tub. “You have no intention of taking a life.”

“You … you think I’m trying to kill myself?” I laughed, the sound almost bitter. “Do you forget how I became what I am, Aaron? I
chose
it. I risked everything to get this life, and if you think I’d throw that away one minute before my time is up—”

“How you came into this life is exactly why you’re hell-bent on leaving it like this. You cheated death. No, you
beat
it—by sheer goddamned force of will. You said, ‘I won’t die.’ And now, when it’s coming around again, you’re damned well not going to sit back and let it happen. You chose once. You’ll choose again.”

I paused, looked away, then back at him. “Why are you here, Aaron?”

“I came to fix your wall—”

“At no prompting from me. No hints from me. You came of your own accord, correct?”

“Yeah, but—”

“If I’d planned to let myself die, that means you wouldn’t have seen me again.” I met his gaze. “Do you think I would do that? Of everyone I know in this world, would I leave you without saying goodbye?”

His jaw worked, but he said nothing. After a moment, he pushed to his feet and walked out.

I lay in bed, propped on my pillows, staring at the wall. Aaron was right. When the time came, I would leave this vampiric life as I’d come into it: by choice. But this was not that time. There was no doubt of that, no possibility that I was subconsciously trying to end my life.

When the time came, yes. But I would never be so irresponsible as to end my life before my affairs were in order. My estate would need to be disposed of in advance, given to those I wished to see benefit. Of equal concern was the discovery and disposal of my body. To leave that to chance would be unforgivably irresponsible.

I would make my peace with Aaron and make amends for my betrayal, or at the very least ensure he understood that the reason for it, the
failing
behind it, had been mine.

Then there was the council. Aaron was already my co-delegate, but I had to ready him to take my senior position and ready the vampire community to accept that change. Moreover, as the senior overall council member, it was my duty to pass on all I knew to Paige, as the keeper of records, something I’d been postponing, unwilling to accept that my time was ending.

Ending.

My stomach clenched at the thought.

I had never lacked for backbone and never stood for the lack of it in others. Now I needed to face and accept this reality. I was dying. Not beginning a lengthy descent, but at the end of the slope.

I now knew how a vampire died. A rebirth date came and we discovered, without warning, that we could not fulfill our end of the bargain. Not
would
not, but
could
not.

If I could not overcome this, I would die. Not in decades, but days.

Panic surged in me, coupled with an overwhelming wave of raw rage. Of all the ways to die, could any be more humiliating in its sublime ridiculousness? Not to die suddenly, existence snuffed out
as my time ended. Not to die, beheaded, at the hands of an enemy. Not to grow ill and fade away. Not even to pass in my sleep. Such deaths couldn’t be helped, and while I would have raged against that, the injustice of it, such a fate was nothing compared with this—to die because I inexplicably lacked the will to do something I’d done hundreds of times before.

That wasn’t possible. I wouldn’t
let
it be possible.

I would get out of this bed, find a victim, and force myself to drain his blood even if I vomited up every mouthful.

I envisioned myself standing, yanking on clothing, striding from the room …

Yet I didn’t move.

My limbs felt leaden. Inside, I was spitting mad, snarling and cursing, but my body lay as still and calm as if I’d already passed.

I pushed down the burbling panic.

Consider the matter with care and logic. I should have taken Aaron’s victim while I still had the strength, but now that I’d missed my opportunity, I couldn’t chance waiting another day. I would rest for an hour or so, until Aaron had retired.

Better for him not to know. I wouldn’t let him pity me, and coddle me simply because it was in his nature to help the sick, the weak, the needy. I would not be needy.

I’d stay awake and wait until the house grew quiet. Then I’d do this—alone.

I fixed my gaze on the light, staring at it to keep myself awake. Minutes ticked past. My eyes burned. My body begged for sleep. I refused. It threatened to pull me under even with my eyes open. I compromised. I’d close them for a moment’s rest and then I’d leave.

I shut my eyes and all went dark.

I awoke to the smell of flowers. I usually had some in the house, so the smell came as no surprise, and I drowsily stretched, rested and refreshed.

Then I remembered I hadn’t replaced my last flowers and I was seized by the sudden vision of my corpse lying on my bed, surrounded by funeral wreaths. I bolted upright and found myself staring in horror at a room of flowers … before realizing that the fact I was sitting upright would suggest I was not dead.

With a deep sigh, I looked around. Flowers did indeed fill my room. There were at least a dozen bouquets, each a riot of blooms, with no unifying theme of color, shape, or type.

My feet lit on the cool hardwood as I crossed to a piece of paper propped against the nearest bouquet. An advertisement for flights to France. Beside another was a list of hotels. A picture of the Eiffel Tower adorned a third. Random images of Parisian travel littered the room, again with no obvious theme, simply pages hurriedly printed from websites. Typically Aaron. Making his point with all the finesse of a sledgehammer wielded with equal parts enthusiasm and determination.

Should I still fail to be swayed, he’d scrawled a note with letters two inches high, the paper thrust into a bouquet of roses. Paige had called. She needed my help. In smaller letters below, he informed me that today’s paper carried another article on the palliative care patient who wanted to die.

I dressed, then tucked two of the pages into my pocket and slipped out the side door.

I didn’t go to the hospital Aaron had suggested. It was too late for that. If I was having difficulty making this kill, I could not compound that by choosing one that would itself be difficult.

So I returned to the alley where I’d found—and dismissed—my first choice two nights ago. The drunkard wasn’t there, of course.
No one was. So I traversed the maze of alleys and back roads in search of another victim. I couldn’t wait for nightfall. I couldn’t risk falling asleep again or I might not wake up.

When an exit door swung open, I darted into another doorway to avoid detection and spotted my victim. A woman, sitting in an alcove, surrounded by grocery bags stuffed with what looked like trash but which, I presumed, encompassed the sum of her worldly belongings. Behind me, whoever had opened that door tossed trash into the alley and slammed it shut again. The woman didn’t move. She stared straight ahead, gaze vacant. Resting before someone told her to move on.

Even as I watched her, evaluated her, something deep in me threw up excuses. Not old enough. Not sick enough. Too dangerous a location. Too dangerous a time of day. Keep looking. Find someone better, someplace safer. But if I left here, left
her
, I would grow more tired, more distracted, and more uninterested with every passing hour.

She would do. She had to. For once, not a choice I could live with, but the choice that would let me live.

Unlike Aaron, I didn’t like to let my victims see the specter of death approach, but today I had no choice. So I straightened and started toward her, as if it was perfectly natural for a well-dressed middle-aged woman to cut through alleyways.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her look up as I passed. She tensed, then relaxed, seeing no threat. I turned, as if just noticing her. Then, with a brisk nod, I took a twenty from my wallet.

A cruel ruse? Or making her last memory a pleasant one? Perhaps both. As expected, she smiled, her guard lowering even more. I reached down, but let go of the bill too soon. As it fluttered to the ground, I murmured an apology and bent as if to retrieve it, but she was already snatching it up. I kept bending, still apologizing … and sank my fangs into the back of her neck.

She gasped before the sedative took effect and then she fell
forward. I tugged her into the alcove, propped her against the wall, and crouched beside her still form.

As my fangs pierced her jugular, I braced myself. The blood filled my mouth, as thick, hot, and horrible as the drug dealer’s. My throat tried to seize up, rejecting it, but I swallowed hard. Another mouthful. Another swallow. Drink. Swallow. Drink. Swallow.

My stomach heaved. I pulled back from the woman, closed my eyes, lifted my chin, and swallowed the blood. Another heave, and my mouth filled, the taste too horrible to describe. I gritted my teeth and swallowed.

With every mouthful now, some came back up. I swallowed it again. Soon my whole body was shaking, my brain screaming that this wasn’t right, that I was killing myself, drowning.

My stomach gave one violent heave, my throat refilling. I clamped my hand to my mouth, eyes squeezed shut as I forced myself to swallow the regurgitated blood.

Body shaking, I crouched over her again. I opened my eyes and saw the woman lying there. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t—

One hand still pressed to my mouth, I tugged the pages from my pocket. I unfolded them and forced myself to look. Paige. The council. Paris. Aaron. I wasn’t done yet. Soon … but not yet.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then slammed my fangs into the woman’s throat and drank.

Her pulse started to fade. My stomach was convulsing now, body trembling so hard I could barely keep my mouth locked on her neck. Even as I pushed on, seeing the end in sight, I knew this wasn’t success. I’d won only the first round of a match I was doomed to lose.

The last drops of blood filled my mouth. Her heart beat slower, and slower, then … stopped.

Another life taken. Another year to live.

I
had to get rid of the mutt.

Killing him would be easiest, but if Elena found out, she’d be pissed. Ten years from now, I’d still be hearing about it: “Clay couldn’t even get through our honeymoon without killing someone.”

She’d laugh when she said it … in ten years. Right now, she’d be furious.

She’d argue there were better ways to handle the situation. I disagreed. The mutt knew we were in St. Louis and that by sticking around, he was taking his life into his hands. If he’d skittered into the shadows and stayed out of our way, I’d have said, “Fuck it,” and pretended not to notice. After all, it was my honeymoon.