Authors: Megan Morgan
“Maybe we should tell someone.” Sam sat forward. “Leak the information, let someone go in there and find out.” He paused. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea. That’s just throwing victims in Robbie’s pit.”
June spoke softly. “No authority is going to bring him down. He’s already proven that.”
“So it has to be me.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “I have to get in there—somehow—and stop him, some way. Even if I tell Anthony to go in there and pretend he’s with Robbie, what good will it do? Unless Anthony can stop him, assassinate him maybe. But Robbie’s not alone.”
“No, he’s not.” She looked up. “And if Anthony kills Robbie, Robbie’s goons will kill Anthony.”
“I won’t throw him to the wolves like that. I can’t ask that of him.”
“He wants to end his brother too. But Robbie is much more likely to end him. Much more likely to end all of us.”
Sam growled. “He can’t win like this! We can’t let this happen, not after everything we’ve gone through, everything we accomplished. He has to be stopped.”
June nodded.
“Even if I have to give my own life,” Sam said, “I will stop him. I won’t let him have this city.”
Sacrifice. Loving something more than you love yourself.
“I never had dreams of martyr-hood.” Sam’s voice fell. “Despite what everyone believes. I think heroes are much more effective alive.”
June got up. The night seemed to watch her every move, tracking her, waiting with breath held in the balmy silence.
Sam’s face was obscured in shadow, but his eyes gleamed. “I have to make some phone calls,” he said. “We’ll try to keep this to ourselves as much as possible, but I need help.”
His friends had left earlier. Sam hadn’t said anything to them, not even Cindy. Anthony left, too, even more distraught than Sam.
Wordlessly, she walked into the house, the eyes of the night still on her back.
The house was deathly quiet. She stood at the bottom of the staircase. Her thoughts ran to a million things, a million ideas, outcomes, worries. A million emotions.
Dipity sat on the first landing, gazing down at her.
June climbed the stairs. Dipity streaked past her into the darkened hallway above.
June didn’t turn on the lights. She stopped outside Sam’s bedroom door. She considered the door across from it, though. Dipity wound around her ankles.
She reached out and opened the door—the door to the giant master bedroom with the French doors and balcony.
Light filtered in from the security lights outside. June felt around for a switch, found one, and flipped it. The lamps around the bed and a chandelier in the center of the ceiling switched on. The darkness vanished, making her wince.
Dipity sat in the middle of the hallway, staring at her. She didn’t move to follow June in.
“Wise choice,” June said. “You don’t want to watch this.”
She stepped in the room and pushed the door shut behind her.
A vanity sat opposite the balcony doors, a massive mirror hanging above it. Toiletries sat on top the vanity. The room was nicer than some of the hotels she’d been camped out in recently.
She walked across the room to the French doors. Sheer white curtains hung over them. She pushed the curtains back and lifted the latch, and pushed the doors outward.
The balcony had stone railings. Flowerboxes sat on them, badly in need of tending.
The grounds spread below her, cloaked mostly in darkness, except where the security lights shone. She stood at the railing. The sky was clear and splashed with stars. The orange glow of the city burned in the distance.
“Come on then,” she said to the night. “Let’s do this.”
She turned and walked back through the doors, leaving them open.
The mirror over the vanity caught her reflection, her form skeletal and pale. She walked over and pulled out the stool beneath it, and sat down.
The mirror was covered with dust. She wiped it away with her hand, clearing a space big enough to see herself and the room behind her clearly, to see the balcony doors.
The things on the vanity were meant for guests: lotion, shampoo, soap, cologne. A hairbrush, wrapped in plastic. She picked it up and peeled the plastic off.
Her face was so gaunt, her lips dark, her eyes burning green as always, though oddly, once again, not with as much intensity as before.
She started idly brushing her hair. The brush was a good salon-quality one; it deserved some use. Sam was unlikely to have guests again anytime soon.
Except for one guest, and he arrived shortly.
A shadow moved outside the doors. Momentarily, the shadow materialized into something more solid, stepping into the light.
Occam was no vision of the classic romantic vampire. He wore jeans, battered sneakers, and a ratty stained T-shirt. He leaned casually against one of the doors, hip jutted out.
She paused brushing, and then resumed.
He gazed at her, silent; finally, he stepped away from the doors and walked across the room toward her.
She placed the brush on the vanity and watched him in the mirror.
He stopped behind her and bent down so his face was next to hers. His gray, pale eyes reminded her of Robbie’s, though somehow more sinister. He gently smoothed her hair over her opposite shoulder, baring her neck. He didn’t smell as repulsive as he usually did. Maybe he’d taken a shower for the occasion.
“You don’t have to invite me in,” he said. “That’s just a fairy tale.”
“Yet you waited.”
He continued stroking her hair. His touch made the back of her neck prickle.
“You’ve been a busy man lately,” she said. “I’m surprised you have the time to watch me.”
“I didn’t kill them all. I am but one drone in the hive.”
“You were the one burning out their eyes. You still have the light.”
He chuckled softly, a flash of fangs peeking out between his cracked lips. “At least Sam knows it’s being put to good use.”
She tilted her head as his fingers dragged through her hair, pulling it.
“I want to ask you something,” she said.
He made a soft sound of assent. His closeness was terrifyingly intimate.
“Can you get me and Sam inside the Institute?”
“Where Robbie is.”
“Yes.” She blinked at their reflection. “Can you get us in there? Get us to him?”
“He’ll kill Sam.”
“Maybe. But can you at least get us in there?”
His eyes glittered. “I can.” He ceased stroking her hair and rested his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve been monitoring his ridiculous antics. He thinks he’s so clever.”
“If he goes through with what he’s planning, his followers will destroy this city.”
“What a pity.” Occam stroked his fingertip up the side of her neck along her jugular.
She pulled away and turned on the stool. “I need to ask two things of you.”
He stood upright and stepped back. He opened his hands. “Ask.”
“I want you to get us inside the Institute.”
He gripped her chin, tilting her face up. “And the other?”
“I want Jason and Diego returned to me. Safely.” She stared up at him.
He rubbed her chin with his thumb. “And what do I get in return?”
She gripped his wrist. He stilled his rubbing. She took his hand, opened his fingers, and pressed her lips to his palm. His skin was rough, and he smelled like something raw and visceral, like—blood?
“Everything you want,” she whispered.
He cupped her jaw. She held his arm tight, above his wrist. He was solid, warm, not undead.
“But not,” she spoke tightly, “until you fulfill both parts of the bargain.”
His eyes blazed, his gaze cutting through her. She felt fragile under his touch, like he could twist her head off any moment. He could too.
“How do I know you won’t run away?” he asked. “How am I supposed to trust you?”
“Where am I going to run from you inside the Institute? Who’s going to protect me? Do you think I’ll run to Robbie?”
“Your beloved Sam will die at Robbie’s hands. If I take you inside, Robbie will kill him.” He bent down. “I won’t let him kill you, though.”
She swallowed, staring into his eyes. “We’ll think of something.”
“No, you won’t, Little Red.” He moved his thumb to her lips and dragged it across them. “But I will do what you ask, both parts, if you promise not to run away from me when the time comes.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
“If you do deny me, I’ll rip out Sam’s throat. Do you believe me?”
She nodded.
“Then it’s a deal.”
She drew a deep breath. “This has to happen in the next two days. Robbie is going to kill his brother if he doesn’t join him.”
“Ah, the seer. Sniveling little thing that he is.” He removed his hand from her face. “Very well. Two days. You must be ready when I come for you. No hesitation. When I say we go, we go.”
She nodded.
“I take it you haven’t discussed this with Sam? I can’t imagine he would be happy.”
“I’m my own woman. I make my own decisions.”
“Yes, you are. Your strength is what I admire most about you. You’ll make a fine addition.”
She shuddered. “But I won’t allow you to put your teeth in me until you do what I ask, all of it.”
Occam brought his lips close to her ear. She closed her eyes tight, turning her head.
“Darling,” he whispered. “I could have put my teeth in you so many times already. It’s just that I’m much more aroused by the idea of you giving it willingly.”
She kept her eyes closed, trembling, though she wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, revulsion, or all three.
He drew back slightly. She opened her eyes, but then closed them again as he pressed his lips to hers.
Surprisingly, his mouth didn’t taste terrible. In fact, it didn’t taste like anything at all. His lips were dry but plump and firm. She almost responded to the kiss when he pulled away and stepped back.
“Two days,” he said. “We’ll make each other’s dreams come true.”
With that, he vanished. Into thin air—one moment he was there, the next he was gone. She looked toward the open doors. Nothing moved on the balcony.
She touched her lips where the pressure of Occam’s stolen kiss remained.
She rose and left the room. Dipity was no longer in the hallway. June walked downstairs.
Sam sat at the counter in the kitchen, laptop open in front of him and phone in hand. He looked up.
“You all right?” he asked. “I thought you went to bed.”
She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, looking at his laptop screen. He was on Anthony’s blog.
He kissed her hair. “I’ll figure something out. I’m still the smartest man in this city. Don’t worry.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. So unlike Occam’s or Robbie’s or hers. She gripped his jaw and kissed him.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. His grip was reassuring, comforting, strong. She hoped she would feel it again, someday, somehow.
She broke the kiss and pressed her forehead to his. She dragged her tongue across her lower lip, tasting only him, feeling only the pressure of his kiss now.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said softly. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
Dull morning light streaked the bedroom ceiling. Sam’s arm lay across June’s stomach, heavy and protective, his breathing slow against her shoulder.
She’d slept fitfully, jerking awake at every sound. Dipity was curled against her side. She envied her cat and boyfriend that they could rest, though she suspected Sam’s sleep was just as sketchy as her own.
The only sound now was the first chirpings of birds outside. Nothing stirred in the house, living or dead. She glanced toward the bedroom doorway, for once hoping a ghost would show up with some advice, however vague and incomprehensible.
But there was no advice now. She’d made her choice—the only choice she could make, the only one that would help them.
She closed her eyes.
A few minutes later she snapped them open, tensing, as the intercom on the wall beeped. The system was connected to the front gate.
Sam lifted his head. He looked around blearily. He rolled over, glanced at the clock, and sat up.
“It’s barely six AM.” He got out of bed and stumbled over to the panel. “What the hell?”
June sat up, her heart in her throat.
Sam punched a button on the panel. “What?”
“Mr. Haain.” One of the guards. “There’s someone at the gate.”
June threw the blankets off. Dipity leaped up and jumped off the bed.
“Right now?” Sam said. “Who’s here at this hour of the morning?”
The man’s voice came back. “They say they’re here to see June. Two men.”
June scrambled off the bed.
“Tell them to open the gate!” She looked around for her pants, but she was too discombobulated to function. She wore one of Sam’s T-shirts, way too big on her, hanging past her panties.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked her. “You’re expecting someone?”
“Tell them to open the gate.” She ran out of the room.
“June!”
She raced downstairs and to the front door, and flung it open. The morning was cool, the lawn still steeped in shadow. Sam caught up to her on the porch and gripped her arm.
“Who’s out there?” he demanded.
She didn’t answer. She pulled out of his grip and hurried down the porch stairs, her bare feet slapping on the wood. She felt like she was moving underwater, unable to push forward fast enough, like being trapped in a nightmare.
The nightmare was about to end, though, at least part of it.
When she reached the driveway, she stopped. She stared down it, breath held.
“June.” Sam followed her. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”
She pulled in deep breaths. Her hands were clenched in shaking fists at her sides as she waited, for what seemed like an eternity.
Then, two figures appeared, materializing out of the thick shadows around the bend in the driveway.
With a strangled shout, she ran toward them.
Her feet stung as they pounded on the pavement, but she didn’t slow down. She bolted toward the two figures until their faces became clear and then blurred as tears spilled from her eyes.