“Did you want to stay?” I asked her. Sometimes relatives liked to wait nearby.
She shook her head.
“We can put her in the family conference room, overnight. I’ve got the keys right here. It’s three doors down, to the left, in the outside hall.” Lynn handed the keys over to me, and I took them. Helen and I exited the room together, and she stopped to look back.
“When we’re done, I promise we’ll shut the door.”
Helen nodded, in her wolf’s form, and I took her out into the hall. It took me a moment to find the right key, and then I let Helen into an empty room holding a conference table, chairs, and a bench. “We’ll come get you in the morning. We’ll bring scrubs.”
Helen went into the room and lay down on all fours. I closed the door on her, and took the keys back to Lynn.
Protocol was to leave all lines in where they were, and not to touch the body. “The coroner might be running late. It’s a holiday,” Lynn said.
“Not for everyone.” I handed the keys back to her. “I need to get home.”
I was halfway up in the elevator when I realized I’d forgotten it. I hit the DOWN button a few times to see if it’d change course, and it didn’t. I had to ride all the way up and back down again. That’s usually the sort of thing the Shadows would have found entertaining, the myriad small frustrations that ate into people’s time. Where had they gone, and when were they coming back? I didn’t envy Gina and Rachel working tonight. I hoped Meaty would keep them safe.
I let myself into the locker room and popped open my locker. Anna’s ceremonial knife was where I’d put it almost a week ago, dish towel and all. I slid it into my purse and headed out the door.
The black car followed me home. I didn’t think to question who was driving it—maybe the weres had human helpers too, like vampires. I didn’t care. It was pushing seven by the time I got home. I had hit holiday traffic on the roads, people heading to New Year’s Eve parties that would be vastly different from mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I didn’t know what to wear to a vampire party, so I decided to be comfortable. More jeans, and a bulky sweater. I put my silver bracelet on, and my silver-buckled belt underneath the sweater. I tried not to think about the last time I’d seen either of them.
At eleven, I presented myself outside. There was already a limousine waiting. Vampires had style, I’d give them that.
I walked around the limo, wondering if I was supposed to. In movies they always had people opening the doors for you, and I’d skipped prom.
There was a body dressed in a driver’s uniform lying by the open front door, and blood like a streak of tar against the fresh snow. Something not entirely human, and not entirely wolf either, crouched, waiting for me.
“Human whore,” said a gravelly voice.
“Jorgen?” He was still wearing a bowling shirt, and still bald, but his face protruded, his nose and jaw muzzle-like.
“I don’t think I need protection anymore.” I backed up.
“Oh, yes, you do,” he said, and leapt.
My feet went out from under me in the snow as I ran backward, and that was what saved me. He sailed over me as I fell, and I whirled on my ass, trying to kick out at him. He grabbed my ankles and yanked me nearer to him.
“Now that the moon is out, we no longer have to pretend,” he said, looming over me. He leaned down, and I tried to punch him in the face.
He pulled back and to the side. His teeth scraped the knuckles of my hand, and my bracelet slid up his cheek as I followed through. He howled, reaching for his face with one hand, and swatting claws down my left thigh with his other.
I saw my purse and scrabbled backward. The knife was in it, if only I was able—I reached for it, cold slush sliding up my side. I grabbed the strap and yanked it to me.
Jorgen grabbed and pulled again on my leg as I clutched my purse to my chest.
“Why? Why this? Why me?” I tried to sound panicked—not hard—and hoped he’d bother to answer. My other things spilled out as my hand found the knife’s hilt in my bag.
“Because.” His face, undecided between man and beast, was gruesome. “Because life isn’t fair,” he said, sounding like Helen. “I shouldn’t have been bitten. I should have been born. And because your Lucas is unfit to rule.”
“I don’t understand—” I protested, trying to scoot back.
Jorgen laughed at this. “Do you think I care?” Then he leapt.
We were so close it was like a body slam. All I had time to do was hold the knife up inside my purse, like a cartoon funeral rose. There was the sensation of impact. All over my body, a crushing physical blow. The hilt of the knife pounded into my stomach and knocked all the wind out of me. But it was wedged up. Caught on something.
Jorgen’s sternum.
“Get off me—” I shoved at him and he groaned. His hands found purchase and he rolled himself away. I let the knife go and it sliced my purse free as it rolled with him. I sat up, holding the leather shreds of my purse, stunned, watching blood pour out of Jorgen like he was a fountain.
He tried to pull at it. There was an electric snap from the blade as he touched it, repelling his hand.
“Get it out—” he begged.
If I took it out of him, there was a chance he’d heal. If I didn’t take it with me, I’d let Anna down tonight. I didn’t think vampires believed in extenuating circumstances.
I squatted beside him, still catching my breath. “Tell me why.”
“You saw me hit him with my truck.” Jorgen’s hands played through the blood he was losing, trying to keep some from spilling out.
I hadn’t seen the driver of the car that hit Winter … but Jorgen assumed I had. Because it had been him.
Why would Jorgen hit Winter? Wasn’t Jorgen bitten—a faithful were-follower? I swallowed. What could possibly change his mind?
“Tell Helen I love her. I’ve always loved her,” he said, reaching a bloody hand out to me, then lowering it to the ground.
“Why’d you hit him, Jorgen?” The wolfman didn’t respond. “Jorgen?” I resisted the temptation to shake him, to try to wake him up. There was so much blood, and Jorgen’s breathing was shallow.
I could kill him for sure with the knife. Carve it down and slice his intestines through. But I knew what a stab wound through the gut felt like. I didn’t have it in me. I stood, shaking.
“Don’t follow me if you get up.” I reached down, yanked out the knife, and headed for the limousine.
I stepped on my ID badge on the way to the limo. I freed it from the muck and shoved it into my pocket, lanyard and all, and then got into my ride.
Most of the blood on me wasn’t mine, but my knuckles and thighs throbbed. The heat was on in the limo, keys still in the ignition, so I revved it up and pulled away.
The limo had GPS, and the driver, now dead and gnawed on in my parking lot, had been kind enough to enter in his final destination before he left.
Driving it was like driving a boat. Luckily it was automatic, not stick.
I didn’t look at myself in the rearview mirror. I knew that would be a bad idea. I knew bruises were welting up all over my body, that my jeans were torn, that my sweater was covered in were-blood, and what else, who
