Midnight Predator

She sat up quickly, and was rewarded by a series of shooting pains.

Sunlight was streaming in through the nearby windows. She closed the curtains, which caused the throbbing in her head to subside a bit, and pushed her bitter history from her thoughts.

Slowly, more recent memories returned to her. Nathaniel had picked her and Eric up, and brought them here. Driving through it, the town had seemed as familiar and as alien as all small towns were to her, though she hadn’t seen much before she had slept.

Turquoise stood and forced herself to stretch. She walked to Eric’s room, wincing at each step she took; a glance through his partly open door revealed that he was still sleeping soundly. Then, having reassured herself that he was safe, she took a hot shower and put on clean clothes.

“Is this yours?” she had asked, when Nathaniel had handed her the key to the house.

He had nodded slightly. “I haven’t stayed here in a while, though. At the moment, it belongs to this girl here,” he had added, tossing her a leather wallet. Examining the contents, she had found a license with her picture on it, a platinum Visa, a bankcard, a library card, and three twenty-dollar bills. “Since you can’t tap into your accounts from here without being traced, I thought you could use a new identity with access to a little cash,” Nathaniel had explained. “I also took the liberty of swiping some of your clothing from your Bruja house; it’s in an overnight bag in the master bedroom’s closet.”

She hadn’t ached so much then. During her sleep, all the muscles she had abused the evening before had stiffened.

The house was a small one-story, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a wraparound porch. Though clean, it had a feeling of emptiness that their presence had not yet eased.

The kitchen had a pale blue-marble linoleum floor, dark blue counters, and pine cupboards. The refrigerator was completely empty, and warm; Turquoise had to find the plug and turn the thing on. The burners on the stove looked unused, and the cupboards were equally bare. There were no pots or pans, no silverware, no paper towels or plastic bags, no toaster, and no can opener—a vampire’s house. Nathaniel didn’t need to eat here.

There was, however, a phone and a phonebook. Pizza sounded like a grand breakfast. But first she had to call Nathaniel and find out what the hell was going on. She dialed his number from memory, and waited three rings before remembering that it was midmorning and Nathaniel was probably asleep.

An answering machine clicked on, and a mechanical voice informed her, “There is no answer. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Nathaniel, I need to talk to you. Give me a call whenever you can.” She hesitated, and then awkwardly added, “Thanks,” before hanging up.

Nathaniel didn’t approve of thanks. He always assured his clients that he did everything for his own gain, not theirs, and that gratitude was therefore out of place. Turquoise had believed him, until today. Twice, once when he had taken her from Daryl and now with all this, Nathaniel had helped her without asking for payment.

Turquoise shook her head. He would call or he wouldn’t; until then, she might as well get settled and fed.

She didn’t have long to wait before Eric emerged from his room. His stomach was rumbling as loudly as hers, and he had no objection to takeout.

“I’ll go shopping sometime today,” she assured him, as they munched on their cheese pizzas. “If I can find a grocery store.” She frowned. “And someplace to buy silverware.” Shopping was probably her least favorite thing to do. A waste of time, by her book, it was an excellent practice in tedium.

Eric nodded. “I saw a little houseware shop in town. We drove right past it. I can walk there.”

Startled, Turquoise had to remind herself that Eric had been the human liaison to Jaguar’s town from Midnight. He was young, and depended on others for security, but he had taken on adult responsibilities in Midnight and hadn’t lost that experience now that he had left—temporarily anyway. Once Jeshickah was no longer a threat, Eric would probably want to return to Jaguar’s Midnight. His life was there.

“I’ll drive you,” Turquoise offered. “I don’t want to split up.” Eric’s gaze fell, and she recognized that he was hurt. He didn’t want her to treat him like a kid. “Anyway, we need too much for you to carry it all back,” she assured him. He didn’t look like he bought the explanation, but she couldn’t soothe his ego. He didn’t think like a kid, or act like a kid, but that didn’t mean she felt any less protective.

Eric’s houseware store proved a success; they found all they needed to stock the kitchen easily and hit the grocery store next. Turquoise wasn’t a picky cook—she usually ate cereal in the mornings and something canned in the evenings—so Eric insisted he would cook. She trailed along behind, unable to stop herself from scanning the aisles as if looking for threats.

Her eye paused at a boy about her age, who looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place him. He was browsing the Asian specialty food section, but happened to glance at her as she passed.

The boy did a double take, and then turned. Turquoise started to fall instinctively into a fighting stance before she reminded herself that this boy was human and she was in a public area.

“Cathy?” His voice held surprise, and wonder. “I haven’t seen you since . . . I guess since I went away to college. How are you?”

She looked at Eric as if for help, but he was without answer. “I’m okay,” she answered vaguely.Who was this guy?Clearly, someone who had known her before Daryl. So many memories from that time had faded, unnaturally so. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he answered, apparently unaware of her discomfort. “Graduated last spring. I’m a history major.” He laughed. “For all the good it will do me.”

History . . . yes, she vaguely recalled a friend interested in history. Oh, she did remember this guy now. She had dated him, when she had been a junior and he had been a senior. But she could not for her life remember his name.

He had been away at college on her eighteenth birthday, when all hell had entered her life.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“What?”Great, intelligent conversation, Turquoise.

“You were looking at Smith when I fell off the edge of the earth,” he reminded her cheerfully. “Did you end up going there?” She was spared the need to respond when the boy noticed Eric. “Is that Tommy?”

Turquoise shook her head, and her voice was just a little too sharp as she answered, “No.” Seeing the boy’s confusion, she lied, “He’s the neighbor’s kid. I’m baby-sitting for him.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” he answered.

She had to get out of here. The last thing she ever wanted to do was chat with Greg.

Greg. That was his name. Randomly, she remembered helping him with a senior prank. They had stolen one of the dissection rats from the bio lab, put bread around it, covered it with plastic wrap, and planted it in the middle of the sandwich bar in the cafeteria. What kind of bad luck had put him into her path now?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

The words came out a little sharp. Greg looked startled, but responded with the same light humor. “I’ve got an apartment in town. I know, I said I’d never live in a small town, but I guess I was wrong.” He checked his watch, and winced. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll give you a call sometime. We should get back in touch. Do you live nearby?”

Didn’t he know Catherine Minate wasdead? Her body had never been found, of course, but she was as dead as any corpse in the ground. Turquoise still had some of her memories, though all of them had faded to a frightening extent, but she was not the innocent, mischievous girl who had planned pranks and gone to parties with Greg.

“I’m in town, but I just moved in. . . . I don’t know the number.” That at least was honest.Please, leave me alone, she added mentally. If she hadn’t been worried about running into him again, as she was likely to do if they were living in the same small town, she would have lied.

She did not know why she felt the incredibly strong desire to run, but at the moment, she wanted to flee from this specter of her past.

“Oh, well, my apartment should be in the phone book,” Greg said, undaunted. More quietly, he added, “I’ve missed you, Cathy.”

So have I, Turquoise thought. She missed Cathy Minate more than anyone else