couldn’t pay him enough. “Dad’s been hunting other things.” My heart gave a single hurting leap, like a spike driven through my chest. “I don’t think he ever went after a sucker.” But . . . I could be wrong. There was that town north of Miami. Dad got the heebies really bad on that one.
And then there was that month I spent with August. I had a thought about that, something I should really do, but what Christophe said next knocked it right out of my head.
“Your father was a gifted amateur. It was your mother who was the real hunter.” He was still looking at me steadily, as if weighing my reaction. A slant of winter light through the window brought out all the sharp detail on his face, the nap of his sweater, the glow in his eyes. “What do you remember about her?”
We’re going to play the game, Dru.
I swallowed drily. My mouth was watering. The cinnamon and spice smell was downright distracting, especially since it covered up the faint omnipresent tang of zombie.” Not much. She died when I was five.”
“She was murdered when you were five.” He folded his arms and watched my face like something was growing there. “You didn’t know?”
My palms were sweating, my heart going a mile a minute. What the hell do you think you know about me? “How the hell do you know? You’re as old as I am.”
He seemed to find that funny. At any rate, a pained little smile crossed his sharp face. “I’ve got my own ways and methods, Miss Dru. And I’m going to be hanging around for a little bit. I’m your guardian angel. You really don’t know what you are, do you?”
Irrational, nameless anger welled up behind my breastbone. Who did this guy think he was, anyway? I said I’d be asking the questions here. Why do I feel more like he’s questioning me? “Yeah, guardian angel. Riiiight.” I didn’t think I could get any more sarcastic, but I gave it a try. “I told you, I’m hungry, tired, and pissed off. That about covers it. I don’t get what you’re hinting at.”
“Do you know what svetocha is? No, of course not.” His hand turned into a fist around the bloody washcloth. It was weird to see the difference between the white-knuckle clutch and his interested, bland expression. “I’d give a lot to know how your father thought he was going to handle you once you reached maturity. Or how he hid you. But if I know what you are, chances are someone else does too. They’ll want to capture you—or kill you. Either way, you won’t be running around loose for long. And if Sergej catches you, you might wish you were dead.”
Oooh, was that supposed to be a threat? I summoned up my best I don’t give a shit attitude, the one I used when in a Real World bar with Dad. “Why, because I know about the Real World? Whatever.” I was getting tired of standing behind the breakfast bar. I wanted something to eat and I wanted to take a very hot shower, and I wanted my skin to stop running with chill prickles of foreboding. “I think it’s time you left.”
Not to mention I wanted a chance to sit down and think about this. He could just be shining me on, true. But . . .
Yeah, but. The most horrible little word in the English language. I hate that word. It just means something else is going to go wrong, or the shit is going to get deeper.
And it was deep enough already.
“You don’t listen very well. You’re in danger, Dru. Whatever you’ve seen up to now is a cakewalk compared to what’s just around the bend. Word is out that Anderson’s dead, and Sergej’s looking for anyone he left behind— which means they’re starting to suspect there was someone left behind. A secret your mother kept.” His knuckles were still white around the bloody washcloth, and he was staring somewhere over my left shoulder so intently I almost looked to see what was looming behind me. “And here you are, running around with a loup-garou and ignoring all kinds of good advice.”
Loup-garou, another word for werwulf. I stored the term away. I could find something out about that; it was time to hit the books like it was going out of style. “So this Sergej guy. He’s a sucker, and he killed my father?” It was kind of hard to talk through all the rushing noise in my head.
The same noise I heard when I woke up a few mornings ago and found the world had twisted off its course and deposited me in a nightmare. The noise that was behind the word gone. Another little word I hate.
“I don’t know if killed is the precise term. He likes to break them before he sends them into the afterlife. Your father might even be alive, for all we know.” A millimeter’s worth of change went through his face, those perfectly carved lips compressing slightly, and I was suddenly, instinctively aware he didn’t even believe it himself.
So you don’t know. You’re guessing just as much as I am. It was a relief to start thinking logically again. I blinked hard, twice, trying to put everything together inside my head. “So what the hell are you doing here?”
“I suppose you could say I represent those who think you’re precious. I told you, I’m your new guardian angel. Aren’t you glad?” A wide, sunny smile broke out over his face. It would have been attractive if it hadn’t been so downright freakish. Like a Halloween mask.
Some angel. Yeah, I’m just warm all the way through. “Precious? For what?”
“Djamphir are always male. If they breed with human women, they rarely have female offspring. When they do, those females are svetocha. The svetocha are fertile sometimes; their sons are strong, but their daughters—doubly rare as they are—are stronger. They always breed true when they throw a female.” He paused, cocked his head, and took a good deep sniff. I wondered if he could smell pies too. “I’m good, yes. I’m strong by virtue of my blood. But with the proper training, Dru, you can become toxic to nosferat. You can become capable of killing them just by breathing in their vicinity. Once you bloom.”
Yeah, and I’ll put on a cape and spandex, and fly to the moon, too. “Wait. Hold on just one cotton-pickin’ minute. You’re telling me I’m part sucker?” I shook my head hard, my hair actually flying. “Sure. Tell me another fairy tale.” My mom was my mom. She wasn’t a sucker, goddamn you. I know she wasn’t.
“You know better than most how true some fairy tales are.” He scanned the kitchen slowly. His eyes were so blue, and they roved over every surface like he owned the place. “Can I have a glass of water? Rolling in the snow with a new loup-garou is thirsty work.”
Yeah, it’s water you want? I saw your fangs, buddy boy. I pointed with my free hand, kept the gun trained on him. “Glasses are up there. How do I know you’re what you say you are?” Or that anything you’re telling me is anything close to the truth?
See, that was the thing. None of this could be true.
So why was I still listening to him?
He half-shrugged, a single graceful lift of one shoulder. “I’m out during the day. You shot me the other night —that hurt, by the way—and I bleed red, as you verified not ten minutes ago. I can smell the difference on you and on your pet upstairs—and I saved your life. Aren’t those enough reasons, or do you need more?” He got a glass down, moving silently except for the squeak of the cupboard. “I could have killed you both, you know. You’re laughably untrained.”
I’ve been doing this all my life. Still, it might be worth it to find out how he did a few things. Like standing on snow without leaving footprints. That would be a good skill to have.
What if his spiel about djamphir was true? I strained my memory, but couldn’t drag up anything. Nothing but the movies, and while they might be better training than you’d think, they’re also not as specific or thorough as a good book.
But what really happened to Mom?—I shut that thought down in a hurry. I didn’t want to think it.
I didn’t want to think about it at all. There was too much else to get out of the way before I could even begin.
It sounded like this Christophe knew more about the Real World than I did. His number had been in Dad’s book—but without the mark that meant he was safe. He was still a contact, and—here was the magic thing—he might actually be useful.
I hated thinking about it that way. Just like I hated thinking about how useless Graves was, though to give him credit, he’d tried.
