Seeing a stranger’s face in a mirror is like vanishing. For a moment you’re not sure who or what or where you really are. Maybe Graves just didn’t notice.
How could you not notice, though? And if he did, he could’ve said something. Even hey, gee, nice hair.
But me expecting him to pay attention to a little thing like that right after he’d escaped a hole where he was being tortured by vampires wasn’t exactly fair, was it.
Yeah. Fair. Nothing about this is fair.
No. There really wasn’t anything to talk about right now. Nothing I felt like saying, or things I felt like saying that wouldn’t be kosher.
So I settled for prevarication. “I dunno.” I checked my blind spot, hit the blinker, and gave it some gas. We slid by the limping candyred semi like we were on rails. The sun came out for a moment just as we crested a hill, and the scenery was breathtaking. Pleated green hills rolled away, Pennsylvania opening up with late-spring color. It was probably gorgeous around here in the fall, too. I eased the accelerator down another tick.
Unfortunately, there was also a highway patrolman in front of the semi. We breezed by him; I swung back into the right lane and kept an eye on the rearview. Don’t act nervous. Not any more nervous than anyone else around a cop. You’ve got ID; you memorized the address on the paperwork. The touch throbbed inside my head, bruised and overworked, echoing like it was in a cathedral instead of a bedroom. The little tickle that warned me of danger was working overtime, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was exhausted and hungry no matter how much fast food I took down, because I’d bloomed, or because we’d fought off Sergej and were still alive.
The world just seemed so much bigger today. And to top it all off, my jeans weren’t fitting right. Because the shape of my hips had changed. If I crouched down, I’d have a plumber’s crack, dammit. I hoped my T-shirt was long enough to cover it until I could figure out what size I was now.
My right hand played with my mother’s silver locket, picking it up and dropping it against my breastbone. The metal was only skinwarm. Not throbbing with heat or icy cold, thank God. Not warning me.
Graves shifted restlessly. “Cop.” Oddly breathless. “If he—”
“He’s not gonna.” I tried to sound sure. “We’re a touch under the speed limit; he’s got no reason to run our plate; we probably haven’t even been reported yet. Chillax.”
“I can’t believe this.” He moved again, and I wanted to tell him to sit still. He was broadcasting “guilty” and “nervous.”
But we pulled away from the fuzz; they weren’t interested in us. The patrolman seemed to be pacing the semi for some reason, and I forgot him as soon as he dropped out of sight behind us on the highway’s curves.
I checked our gas. We had a full tank and no reason to stop until it was time to stuff more calories into the boys. Graves looked fine, if dark-eyed and a bit gaunt—the welts and cuts and bruises had vanished once he’d gotten some sleep. Ash, of course, was dead white, greasy-haired, barefoot, and completely feral. It was like having Tarzan on a leash. Between the two of them and my own dishevelment, we were going to cause comment unless I stuck to the bigger towns for stopping today. “We’ll stop in a few hours for clothes and more food. If you can hold out that long.”
Another shrug. “Little hungry. But still. We need distance, right? And you know where we’re going.”
“I do.” Of all the places I knew, this was the one I’d held like a secret, just in case. “Somewhere safe.” Nobody will think to look for us there. And if they do, it’s home ground. Gran’s folk could fight a guerrilla war up there. Done it before.
That wasn’t comforting. We had no supplies to fight with yet. And digging in your heels against the damnyankees wasn’t like fighting off suckers. Nosferatu were an entirely different ball of wax.
Just maybe I could figure out a better plan once I got there and could think. Right now I was running on nerves, a latte from McDonald’s, and a steady lump of odd warmth right behind my breastbone that made me sick to even think about because of what it contained.
Blood. Anna’s blood.
My lips, smashed against Anna’s cold neck, opened, and the fangs slipped free.
I tried to rip myself away. Her fingers closed on my nape, iron hard. “God damn you,” she whispered. “Drink. Drink so you can save them.”
I wasn’t listening. It was like someone holding a kitten’s nose in a dish of milk. A hungry kitten.
No. Not hungry.
A thirsty kitten.
My fangs slid into her skin so easily, and a gush of hot perfume filled my mouth. Anna was saying something, whispering in some foreign language, and the touch turned it into words inside my head.
“Hate you,” she was saying. “Hate you, Reynard, and you deserve it . . .”
Her whispering in my head had gone down, but I could feel it—something in me had been pulled around. Twisted, or just turned, torn open and strained. Either Anna’s blood or the blooming had done it, and if I moved the wrong way I might sprain myself.
“You care to share, or you want to keep me in suspense?” A sarcastic bite to the words. So Goth Boy was feeling better.
Hurrah.
I grabbed my temper with both hands. Gran would’ve been proud of me. “We’re heading to the hills. Once we’re there, I’ll figure out what to do next. When I’ve got a plan, you’ll be the first one to know.”