Almost To Die For Part 11

One of the machines behind the coffee bar made a whooshing noise, loud enough to preclude conversation momentarily. "Yeah, I guess so. We were on opposite sides, but . . . it was just gym cla.s.s." Elias looked at me like he sensed there was more to it, so I admitted, "Okay, Thompson and I have been going back and forth, you know, since the whole stupid scene in the lunch-room when I gave him the spooky eye, but enemies? I don't know. I guess. But that seems harsh."

"Whatever happened, the circ.u.mstances satisfied the ritual of the hunt. Nothing less than first blood would have awoken us."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I played with the plastic top of my drink. "First blood? Does that mean I'm a vampire now?"

He looked vaguely offended momentarily, but then quickly recovered his expression. "You have always been what you are, my lady," he said curtly. Then he stood up. "I'm going to get something to drink. You want anything?"

I shook my head. Well, that answered another question I had: at least as a vamp I didn't have to give up my coffee. Apparently vampires could drink something other than blood. Not that anything else would ever taste as good.

c.r.a.p, listen to me. I sounded like a bloodsucker. I wondered what Nikolai would think of me now. Had I crossed some line with this whole first-blood thing? Would the Elder Witches open hunting season on me?

I guess I could kiss a bowling date good-bye if that happened, huh?

With a steaming mug of what looked like plain, black coffee, Elias resumed his seat across from me. Other than his on-the-pale-side skin, there wasn't much about him that screamed vampire. His hair was cut short and stylishly--very "now." The shirt he wore could have been picked up at any department store yesterday, and a funky gold cross gleamed at the hollow of his throat.

A cross?

Okay, it didn't look like the standard Christian cross that a lot of kids at school wore. It had a few extra bits, and I thought it might be Greek or Russian Orthodox, but I couldn't be sure.

I pointed to it. "So crosses don't burn your skin."

"Not here," he said casually, like that explained everything.

As I watched him take a sip from his cup, all sorts of questions bubbled through my head. "So before . . . you said my dad couldn't come himself because he's too old? Are you saying that it gets harder for vampires to go out in the daylight as they age?"

"Light has always been the enemy of the dark realm. Sensitivity to it grows with time."

"Huh. So . . . how old are you?"

"Older than you. Significantly."

I probably shouldn't have, but I had to laugh. "Well, you don't look it."

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Thanks."

"You say that I am what I've always been, but what the h.e.l.l is that?"

A strangely devilish smile turned up his lip slightly. "Funny you should mention h.e.l.l."

Fourteen.

There was something about the look in his eye that drew a chill up my spine. I swallowed, but my throat was dry as I repeated, "h.e.l.l?"

"It's a misconception, of course. Most of us are far older than the concepts of heaven and h.e.l.l. But even we have forgotten much about the place we were stolen from. All that remains has become so entangled with your images and a.s.sociations with Hades as to be indistinguishable."

I tried to remember to breathe as Elias spoke. What had my mother called my dad? "Demon." Did she mean that literally? Was I half . . . devil?

And what was I supposed to make of that? I didn't even believe in demons and h.e.l.l. Of course, yesterday I didn't believe in vampires either.

Elias watched my eyes for a second before continuing. "The history of our exile is murky, but the old ones tell us that the First Witch broke through the barrier between our worlds. In order to practice real magic, she drew her power from the other side, our home."

I couldn't take it. I had to interrupt. "Wait a minute--are you saying magic actually comes from Satan?"

"No, as I said, this happened in a time long before Christianity. Before Yahweh. Before writing. But magic, the magic your people practice, draws on the energy of that place beyond the veil, my homeland, your h.e.l.l."

"I can't believe it," I said. "You realize what you're saying is every Wiccan's nightmare, right?"

"I know." He looked away, watching the storm shake the leaves from the trees. The muscle of his jaw worked furiously as he tried to find the words. "But try to rise above the human tendency to paint everything with simple, broad strokes, my lady. Your father pa.s.sed through the veil long before Christ walked the earth. People have always been afraid of what lies beyond. When the First Witch stole the first prince from our homeland, there was no word for what we were. Almost every culture has one now: djinn, devil, demon, oni, nephilim, grigori, puca, wyrm. . . . Whatever evil has tormented mankind from the moment Pandora's box was opened . . . has been attributed to our race."

"Evil? " I breathed, remembering the glint in my own eye that I'd seen in the bathroom.

He shook his head. "Evil is, even for us, a choice. That is, unless we are being compelled by magic."

"Compelled? I don't get it. The First Witch brought vampires . . . or whatever, through from the other side, okay, sure. But I don't understand--why?"

"To be her slaves."

Slaves? He made it sound so matter-of-fact, like I might have learned of it in grade school along with the "golden triangle." But he was suggesting that those revered ancestors of mine in the great Book of Shadows had kept vampire-demons as slaves.

I felt blindsided by this knowledge on so many levels. I'd always scoffed at the account of the confessions by witches under torture in Malleus Maleficarum. But countless victims of the Inquisition had told of demon slaves, minions from h.e.l.l. Had those stories been true?

And Nikolai had mentioned something about a residual binding spell used to capture and kill vampires. Was this what he referred to?

I didn't know, but at the very least, this history might explain why vampires and witches didn't get along. "But you're not slaves anymore . . . uh, or are you?"

"We have not been compelled to do witch bidding since the Burning Times, when, during the great cull, the talisman the First Witch created to bind us was stolen and hidden, to be lost forever." And then he added something in a language I didn't understand and rapped his knuckles on the table, like some kind of superst.i.tious ritual.

I considered everything as I took another sip of the dreadful coffee. Elias had also said that real magic drew on the essence of the other side, the dark realm, the place he and his people had come from. "If real magic is made from the stuff of your homeland, why can't you use it?"

"It is our life force, much like your blood. We can no more make magic from our essence than you can with yours."

Now my head was really spinning with the realization: "Witches feed on your 'blood,' and you drink ours. Holy s.h.i.t."

He chuckled a bit. " 'Holy' ? Perhaps 'infernal.' "

"No," I said. " 'Infernal s.h.i.t' just doesn't have the right sound, trust me."

We shared a smile and it might have been some kind of moment between us, except the door opened, letting in a gust of moist air and a gaggle of giggling girls. I sort of recognized one of them as being from Sta.s.sen; she was part of what Bea and I dubbed the stoner clique. You know the sort, always skipping school and getting caught smoking on school grounds? Our eyes met, and she gave me a brief glare.

I turned back to Elias, who was sipping his coffee and noticing how I reacted as the girls noisily made their way up to the counter. He seemed more on alert, as though he might leap up to defend my honor at any moment.

"It's okay, sir knight, you can sheath your sword," I teased him. "They're just some kids from school."

He gave me an acknowledging, militarist lift of the chin, as though I'd given him an order to obey.

"What is the deal with all the court stuff? I mean, how is it that my dad is a prince when you guys were slaves?"

"Ah," he said, taking a moment to study his hands encircling the coffee mug before he answered. "What do you know of medieval Christian demonology?"

"Zero? "

"Well, it's based largely on what we remember of our stations in the dark realm. We've always strictly adhered to it. It's what remains of our culture."

The girls from school noisily descended on a table near us. Book bags banged and they hara.s.sed one another jokingly at a high decibel. It distracted me from the conversation with Elias. One of the girls--I thought her name might be Violet or Ruby--noticed me. "What are you looking at, witch?"

I shrugged and looked away guiltily.

Elias, however, had turned to stare steadily at the speaker until she was forced to drop her hostile gaze in return.

"Don't engage them," I whispered to Elias, but it was too late. I could feel my anger building, almost like magic, bubbling just under the surface ready to explode. I don't know why they bothered me so much; maybe I was looking for an excuse to vent some of the frustration I felt about all this crazy vampire stuff.

The girls were whispering among themselves and pointing at me. They were snickering in a way that was clearly unkind and cruel. One of them piped up with, "Aren't you that girl that kissed that jock during gym? He says you licked the blood off his nose. Are you some kind of fetishist or something?"

I opened my mouth to tell them to shut up and mind their own business, but all that came out was a catlike hiss. My mouth felt strange too, like it had gotten too small for all my teeth.

The stoner-clique girls' eyes went wide. Their expressions were a study in stunned horror. Then, as if someone had pulled the fire alarm, they scattered, barely taking the time to grab all their drinks and go.

When I tried to ask Elias what had just happened, I nicked my tongue on sharp points of my teeth.

Fangs?

Where had they come from?

Fifteen.

My jaw clicked and shifted. As unexpectedly as they had ap peared, my fangs retracted and were gone. I cautiously ran my tongue around my mouth, but there was no trace of sharpness. The copper taste of my own blood filled my mouth, but it wasn't anything like the addictive deliciousness I'd begun to a.s.sociate with bleeding.

Elias watched me curiously. "I see my lady can protect herself quite admirably," he said drily, but a smile played on his face. "However, perhaps in the future, Her Highness might consider diplomacy first?"

I was too upset to be amused by his teasing response. I mean, I'd just hissed at my cla.s.smates like a feral cat. How was that even remotely normal?

I stood up on shaky feet. "Yeah, uh, you know what? I want to go home."

And I suddenly did, very much. Hiding under the covers sounded like a pleasant solution to all of this crazy.

Elias rose the second I did. "As you wish." He tipped his head slightly. "Allow me to accompany you." When I hesitated, he added, "I have a car. It'll save you a long, wet walk in the rain."

"You have a car?" I don't know why, but it struck me as very odd that this guy whom I'd seen leaping around in the trees naked owned something as everyday as a car.

"Public transportation in this city leaves a lot to be desired."

In other words, it sucked. "Yeah, true enough," I agreed. "Okay, why not?"

LIKE A TRUE GENTLEMAN, ELIAS offered to bring the car around to the front entrance of the coffee shop so I'd only have to make a quick dash out into the rain. I stood outside under the awning, straining to see his headlights. As I waited, a woman with an umbrella headed toward the door. I stepped out of her way with a mumbled apology.

Instead of reaching for the handle, she grabbed my wrist.

"Hey!" I shouted.

In the murky light, I saw her cat-slit eyes glinting. A vampire! With a quick flick of her arm, the umbrella collapsed closed. She raised it as though she meant to skewer me with the pointy tip of the shaft.

I screamed in antic.i.p.ation of the blow, twisting awkwardly out of the way when she brought the umbrella down. The sharp tip skimmed past my waist.

Instinctively, my fangs dropped, but they didn't do much for me other than make my mouth feel too full. So I kicked her knee.

To my great surprise, my foot connected and she stumbled backward.

A car pulled up to the curb. I lunged for it. My sneakers slapped on the wet pavement. I ran without looking to see if my attacker was in pursuit.

The instant the door opened, I scooted in. Elias peeled out into traffic before I had my safety belt strapped. In the side mirror, I saw the umbrella-wielding woman pulling herself to her feet with a creepy deliberation; her eyes seemed to find mine despite the distance rapidly increasing between us.

"She attacked me!" I said, even though it was patently obvious. "Who was that?"

"One of the loyal opposition," Elias said. His vehicle appeared to be some kind of luxury car. It had all the latest features and silver, new-smelling upholstery. I resisted the urge to pull my dripping wet sneakers up off the rug.

"There's a civil war brewing," Elias continued. "Some of the exiles from the dark realm still prefer the simplicity of slavery to the complexities of freedom. They prefer to follow old masters, even if not compelled to do so."

The disdain in his voice made it easy for me to figure out which side he was on.

"You've been free for centuries," I said. "Shouldn't everyone, you know, have adjusted by now?"

"We were slaves for millennia."

Some kind of belly-dancing music played softly on the MP3 player, which was the only part of this scene that felt right to me. Elias was a relaxed and comfortable driver, but he looked alien amid all this gleaming technology. He'd look better, I thought, deep in the branches of some ancient oak and, ahem, naked.

"Are you all right?" he asked once we'd put several blocks behind us. And for a second, I thought he might have sensed my elevated heart rate at the thought of him without his clothes on, but he added, "She didn't injure you, did she?"

I didn't think so. I checked my shirt. There was a small tear in the side, but nothing more serious.

"You and your father are at the heart of this conflict, you know," Elias said, giving me a quick glance before returning his attention to the rain-slicked streets. "Not long ago, Prince Ramses led the Concessionists. He negotiated a peace treaty between the exiles and the oppressors." He coughed, and then clarified, "I mean, the witches."

"So there's peace?"

"No. The treaty was a sham. We were betrayed." His eyes narrowed darkly as he glared angrily at the road. My mouth opened to ask more, but he pulled the car in front of my house.

I blinked. He'd had no trouble at all finding my place. Even Nikolai and I had driven past it twice. "But the wards . . . ?"