Reckoning

you know the rest.”

“Some of it.” He kept looking at my handwriting. The pages riffled a little, because a tremor had gone through him. “We’d gone to rescue the loup-garou, but it was one of the decoys. You were headed straight for another decoy. It was a neatly laid trap.”

Which brought up another question. “Did you find . . . Is Leon . . .” Yeah, Leon had handed me over to the king of the vampires, and I’d been pretty sure he was dead in that dark little room. So had Graves.

But still. He was djamphir, not sucker. I kind of hoped he’d made it out somehow.

“Dead. Or I would have finished him myself. My father fled, gravely wounded. I was convinced you were still alive. Perhaps the Order has finished searching the wreckage for your remains.”

He said it so calmly. The club sandwich was revolving in my stomach. I swallowed hard, trying to convince it to stay down. “Does Bruce think I’m dead too?”

Christophe shrugged. He set the pad down. “It’s almost sundown. I’m going to go make a few preparations. I trust I can ask you to remain here, and you’ll listen?”

I nodded. “Unless more vampires show up.” It tried to be a joke, fell flat. I hugged my knees even tighter. The T-shirt rode up. All my weight was distributed differently. I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

But Christophe looked at me, blue eyes soft and direct. I’d never seen him look at another person that way. Even in the true-seeins where he looked at my mother like he wanted to . . .

Kind of like he wanted to eat her. No, that’s the wrong word. Like he wanted to consume her, pull her in and just assimilate her somehow. But he looked at me like he was seeing me. Really, truly seeing Dru Anderson, not just the shell I put up for the world.

He pushed his chair back and rose in one fluid motion. “I’ll be back before dark.” He scooped his new bag up and brushed past me. But his hand came down, and he touched my shoulder as he passed.

It was like he’d poured something hot and strong into me. A flush that worked down to my bones instead of staying on my skin like the aspect.

He paused at the door. Looked back over his shoulder, and it was as if we were the only two people in the room. “Keep this locked.”

A blast of humid air, the sunlight flooding in as he stepped out onto the walkway, and he was gone. The air conditioning kicked up a notch. Down here in the valley with the concrete, it was approaching the hottest part of the afternoon-into-evening. Up on the ridges there would be some wind, at least, and the creek and the trees.

And a burned-out shell of a house. I now owned nothing but the land, and not even that until I was eighteen. I’d always had this thought of moving up there after I was finished with school or something, just retreating from everything. Maybe trading hexbreaking and stuff for food, like Gran had. You could just scrape by in that part of the country. Everyone up in the hills pretty much “just scraped by.”

As life dreams go, I know it sucks. But it was my little dream, and now it was a charred mess. Just like everything else.

A wave of shaking slid through my bones, jostling around like my body hadn’t decided whether or not it was going to pitch a fit.

Ash kept chewing, staring bright-eyed at me. He was still filthy, and I had to coax him into a shower somehow. Christophe had even brought clothes for him. He’d thought of everything.

“Dru?” Graves moved, like he was going to unfold himself from the side of the bed. “You okay?”

Don’t ask. “I . . .” My eyes prickled. “I don’t know.”

He stripped his hair back from his face with stiff fingers. But he wasn’t looking at me. “He was there. Right before the . . . the vampires hit.”

“You lost your coat.” I let my hair fall down, because the prickling turned to hot water and welled up. I couldn’t blink it back.

Jesus. The crying needed to stop, and now.

Graves coughed slightly. “It’s okay. It’s a thousand degrees out there; I don’t need it. Dru, we have to talk.”

Oh, Jesus. Every time we have to talk, I end up more confused than before. I can’t take this. “Not now.” I bounced up, swiping at my eyes. “Come on, Ash. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was another Subaru, but blue, and newer than the one we’d stolen. Power windows, power locks, plenty of cargo space, and it smelled faintly of vanilla from the air freshener hanging from the rearview. Dawn was gray in the east, the whole world was greenjuice fresh, and it was going to be another scorcher. You could just tell by the way your clothes stuck to you as soon as you stepped outside.

I didn’t know if Christophe had slept. I’d curled up in the bed furthest from the door and fell into a darkness so deep I couldn’t even remember any dreams. When I’d closed my eyes Christophe had been standing looking out the window; when I opened them he was in a chair at the table, writing on the legal pad. A chunky silver watch gleamed on his wrist, and the window was just graying up with the sunrise. He glanced up, and saw that I was awake.

We were out the door fifteen minutes later.

I folded my hands around the paper latte cup. Christophe turned the air conditioning up a bit. The tires made a low sweet sound on the road, and if I shut my eyes, I could almost pretend I was driving with Dad.

But the silence with Dad had never been this angry, or this dangerous.

Ash curled up on his half of the backseat, impossibly small. Graves hunched in his seat, holding an americano and staring out the window like the answer to world peace was in the passing scenery. I lasted about twenty minutes before flipping the radio on to fill up the silence, twisting the dial until I found an oldies station. Graves lasted about a half hour after that before he cracked the window and lit a cigarette. Christophe restrained himself, but I saw his jaw set.

It was a ways to California. Something told me this was gonna be a long trip.

* * *

“God,” I moaned, with feeling. “Not pizza. Please. I can’t take more fast food.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?” Graves wanted to know. “Lots of cheese, bubbling grease, pepperoni—”

“Ugh.” I laced my fingers over my stomach. “No pizza, Christophe. No burgers either. I want to eat somewhere nice.” My conscience pinched. “If we can afford it. Or hell, let’s get a place with a kitchenette and I’ll cook.”

Yeah, I was desperate.

Christophe squinted through the fall of afternoon sunlight. It was hotter than hell, and the air conditioning wasn’t helping as much as it could. Trapped in the car for ten hours with a few bathroom breaks, lunch had been McDonald’s, and I was about ready to go nuts. It would have been hilarious if I was watching it on TV.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll go somewhere nice,” Christophe said wearily. “As soon as we find shelter for the night. We’ve made good time.”

“Thank God.” I realized I was sounding whiny, but right at that point I didn’t care. I wanted out of the car, and I wanted a real meal. I’d settle for something unfried, or something that bore a resemblance to actual food rather than hockey-puck patties on anemic buns paired with soggy-ass extruded potato starch.

“In fact . . .” Christophe checked the exit numbers and eased us off the highway. “We can arrange pizza for the wulfen and I can find you some decent Mexican food. At least, if my memory serves me.”

It sounded like heaven. “We can all do Mexican.” I wasn’t about to leave Ash somewhere he could get into mischief.

“Whatever you want.” He didn’t sound too thrilled with the notion, and he brought us to a stop at the light at the end of the ramp.