Fangtastic (4 page)

4

S
adly, this wasn't exactly my first time locked away in a dungeon. Because, oh yes, I was living
la vida loca
. Seeing the world, one dungeon at a time. Probably I could put together my own coffee table book on the subject. Or better yet, start some kind of style trend. I could see the
Project Runway
segment now—“Captive Couture, It's Killer.” 'Cause nothing said style like bedpans and bindings.

It was a measure of how worried I was about Marcy that the flashbulbs in my mind quickly turned to flashfires and my quip about Bobby burning the place down around us came back to haunt me. He wouldn't really … at least not while there were innocents around to take collateral damage. But he wasn't the only player here. What if Dion really did come back to take revenge, as the police seemed to think he might? Suddenly, it wasn't just Marcy I was worried about. It was all those other people out there in the club. And myself! Concrete might not be terribly burnable, but if the Tower went up in smoke, where would that leave me? Trapped. A tragic figure locked away like one of King Henry's wives.

Totally unacceptable.

I saw down on the end of the cot—my cell was so small, my knees practically knocked up against the bars—and closed my eyes to reach out to Bobby again. If he was listening, I knew how to get his attention.

Help, I've been deflowered!
I shouted mentally, going for the psychic equivalent of an all-points bulletin.

What!!!
The extra exclamation points were implied. I could almost hear his mental voice go up an octave.

My rosebud. It's gone.

Jeez, Gina, don't scare me like that.

A smile curled my lips. I couldn't help it. He was so much fun to play with. And he'd been pleasingly mesmerized by that rosebud before I left, so I was pretty sure he'd mourn the loss.

Sorry,
I said, faking sincerity.
I wanted to make sure I had your attention.

Always.

Not earlier.

Okay, always when I'm not at the bedside of a girl who's just lost her family and barely lived to tell the tale.

The little Swinter girl?

He nodded. I can't really explain it better than that. It was more a feeling of yes than the words to go with it.

She's not saying much. I don't think she considers it a victory that she's still alive, and she's going to carry those scars forever.

I couldn't even imagine. Not really. I'd lost my family when I'd been vamped, but—well, I could still see them. They just couldn't be allowed to see me. They'd been so busy jet-setting even before my “death” that the difference barely registered. Really.

Scars?
I asked.

Emotional and physical. Someone chowed down on her. The marks resemble vampire bites, but … these aren't going to heal like the real thing. They're going to be a constant reminder of the attack.

Poor kid
, I answered. The need to fake sincerity had fallen straight away. I tried to imagine what the girl was going through and couldn't.
Did she tell you anything helpful?

She
didn't
say her sister was involved.

But you think she might be?
I interpreted.

It's all in her silences.
Bobby fell silent himself for a second, as if some kind of emergency broadcast was interrupting his signal.

Bobby?
I called.

Where are you?
he asked, sounding suddenly urgent.

Well, that's what I was calling to tell you …

Marcy says she and Brent lost sight of you a while ago and now there's a raid—

Police raid?

He agreed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not fire, then … or psycho killer. Anything else, Marcy and Brent should be able to handle. The Feds had cleared the agency's involvement with the locals, but blowing cover wasn't exactly in our mission statement. Marcy and Brent's IDs ought to hold. If you couldn't count on the Feds to forge decent documents, who could you trust?

So, you're where?
he prompted

Sticking to the plan,
I promised.
I've laid out our proposition. They've, ah, locked me up. Just 'til they can check me out,
I assured him.
But in case there's any problem I wanted to let you know they've got me stuck in some dungeony room inside the Tower.
I did my best to send him a mental map.

Got it. Stay safe,
he ordered.

I debated how many fingers to use in my salute. I wasn't so good at taking orders, even the semi-sweet, overprotective, macho-boyfriend type. My parents had been pretty hands-off. The Feds only cared about me as an investment they wanted to mature. To have someone
actually
care … I still hadn't figured out quite how to react.

I heard a sound then and froze, trying to determine if it was in or outside of my head. There was a follow-up click-click. Out. Definitely out.

I sent Bobby a quick
Gotta go
and started as I met the unblinking gaze of an eye-level Selene. She'd squatted to facilitate the face-to-face, somehow managing not to pull a Lindsay Lohan in her teeny tiny skirt. She smiled at my reaction. Not that it reached those cold, moonless-midnight eyes; the faux vampiress at the Tower door had it all wrong with her kitty-cat contacts. I wondered if my own eyes would go as dark and dim as Selene's after long enough of been there, bitten that, have the bloody T-shirt to prove it. Unh uh. No flippin' way. I had a lot of life in me yet. Just, you know, not literally.

After what I'd heard from Bobby, I didn't have a lot of patience for games. “You gonna kiss me or kill me?” I asked.

She was highly unimpressed by my bravado. “Tell me about the proposal you made to Lucas,” she ordered. She didn't bother to put any
oomph
behind it. Not that it would have worked on me, but usually vamps tried. They couldn't help themselves. Ms. Mini-skirt seemed to count on her intimidating display of legs and her winning personality to get me to talk.

“If you tell
me
what the trouble was upstairs,” I answered, since I wasn't supposed to know and was curious, anyway, about
why
the police had raided.

“I'll ask the questions,” she stated, her voice as flat as her eyes. I determined right then to get a rise out of her. Maybe not the healthiest decision I'd ever made, but what good was eternal life if you didn't live a little?

“Sure,” I answered agreeably. “Ask away.”

“Tell me all about it. The Truth.” She spoke in capitals. You could just hear it.

I blinked, and took a few unnecessary breaths just to mark the passing of time before breaking eye contact to study my nails. In case you're wondering whether nails grow after death—

Selene growled. Low, like a junkyard dog with the teeth to back up the threat, not the loud rumble of a big, bad bluff.

I looked up and met her gaze again. “Oh, you want me to
answer
,”
I said, feigning surprise. “Well, then, how about a little tit for tat? As I told Very Scary up there, I plan to become a valuable resource. A little respect would be nice.”

“Respect is earned.”

“Yeah, I read that in a fortune cookie once. So go ahead, start earning.”

Oh, her eyes sparked now. “You do know the order out on you is
Kill
or Capture, right? I don't think the council's terribly picky about how many pieces you come in.”

“No, but I'm worth more as a set.”

She seemed to take that in as a breath and rose again to her full height as she rolled it around on her tongue like I'd seen my father do with a wine he'd chosen with dinner. An actual expression threatened to mar the Ice Queen of the Damned thing she had going on, and it was … confusion? Surprise? She covered it quickly, but—

“Tell me more about that.”

“About Bobby? Geez, I'd think you guys would have a dossier by now. He's my sire and we're pretty much like this.” I put my middle finger over my index to show how tight we were—at least when we could find a deserted hallway or a free second at spook central. That boy could
kiss.
“The deal is: you make us a sweet offer, we'll take you up on it.”

Selene was carefully trying for blank, but not quite achieving it. If I had to guess at the look, I'd peg it as frustration. “Say that again.”

I looked at her funny. Something was wrong. Yet I had a strange feeling it wasn't my problem.

“Make us a sweet offer,” I repeated, “and we're all yours.”

Her look didn't clear. If anything, it was deeper, darker, brows lowered like she was trying to puzzle something out.

It came to me in a flash. “You're a truth-teller!” I blurted.

I'd read about them in the Federal files. You'd think homework would end with death, but you'd be wrong. College or spy school, it was all the same, though the exams tended to be a little more intense when your life depended on passing. Speaking of the spooks, Sid and Maya would give the sticks up their butts to learn about Selene. Truth-tellers were legendary. As in literally the stuff of legends. None seen for, like, decades.

She didn't answer, but on a gut level I knew I was right. Points to me. For figuring it out
and
for being totally—what was the word?—
inscrutable.
I wasn't sure I had that right. Could someone be
in
scrutable when they couldn't be
scrutable
to begin with? I'd have to ask Bobby.

I somehow didn't think Selene would tell me. Right now, her lips were smooshed like two slices of bread in a panini press.

A victory dance probably wasn't a sound survival strategy.

“Look, I have all night, apparently,” I said, glancing pointedly at the dungeon walls. “But I can think of better ways to spend it. So why don't we cut to the chase? You want what I have but you don't trust me yet to get it for you. Tell me how to change that.”

She eyed me coldly. “For one, if we let you out, you will not speculate to your federal friends about my supposed abilities. I don't think true death would become you.”

Oh no, she did not just threaten my life
and
tell me I'd make an ugly corpse.

“Of course,” I answered with false sweetness. “Your secret's safe with me.”

“Next, you are here to find Nelson Ricci, yes? The bloody boy who goes by
Dion
?”

I was so surprised at how well-informed she was that I just stared. I was supposed to win her trust. It certainly made things easier on me if I could do that by telling her something she already knew. “How did you—?”

“When you find him, you will bring him to
u
s.”

My brain fell all over itself trying to figure that one out. He was a
boy
.
A sociopathic boy to be sure, but still. What could the vamps want with him? Maybe to pin a medal on his chest for cutting his fellow humans down to size, evening out the vamp-to-human ratio one kill at a time? But in the grand scheme of things …

“Why?” I asked. “I mean, I don't care who has him, but why would you want him?” For that matter, what had the Feds so interested? His crimes were horrible, of course, but federal? I wasn't so sure.

“I don't see that it's any business of yours.”

“I've never been good with ‘just do as you're told,' ” I said honestly. “I'm looking for
more
freedom, not less.” I gave her my most unblinking stare.

“Right now, you're a mere foot soldier. You follow orders, no questions asked. When—if—you work your way up to General, you'll have all the freedom you could want.”

Military analogies—really?

“Fine, I'll bring you the head of Nelson Ricci.”

“Alive
,”
she said.

I huffed. “I never said the rest of his body wouldn't be attached. So, Nelson Ricci. Anything else I can get for you? Chill pill? Breath mint?”

Selene growled again, but deep down I suspected I was growing on her.

“Screw orders,” she mumbled. “I bet you'd snap like a twig.” But then she got herself under control. “I'll send someone to let you out.”

She whirled gracefully for the door and marched herself out. A second later, I was alone with nothing but time
to think.

That was when I realized that Selene had never answered my questions. I'd been so caught up in my victory over her mental mojo that I hadn't noticed. Apparently, truth-telling wasn't her only interrogational skill. Her evasion topped the charts. Something else occurred to me as well—Selene could have let me out herself as easily as arranging to have it done. I'd figured it was a power thing, like “I'm too high and mighty for manual labor,” but what if there was more to it? Thinking back, I realized I'd never seen Selene touch a thing. Not the panels that slid out of her way, the bars of my prison or, heaven forbid,
me
.
Yet the
snap me like a twig
comment led me to believe she
could
grab me if she wanted to. So why? My mind boggled. A vampire germaphobe? Silly but not impossible. If personalities survived death, why not phobias? Or maybe, having a legendary power herself, she was truly paranoid of other potential powers, like telemetry. I'd learned about that in the same file where I'd read about truth-telling. It was the power to read the history of a person, place, or thing by touching it. Maybe she didn't want to leave any kind of trace. Or maybe I was making magic out of molehills.