Many Bloody Returns Part 26

like the cell slamming shut.

"I was in an accident," I said. Mom looked at me. We didn't seem much alike, even when I wasn't Gothed up.... She had fading brown hair and green eyes, and I took after Dad's darker looks.

"Oh, yes, Officer Morrell called," she said. "But he said you weren't hurt. And you know, we had a guest, we couldn't just

leave." She smiled at Brandon. My skin tried to crawl off my bones at the sight of that sick, eager-to-please look on her face.

"Three of my friends were killed," I said. I don't know why I bothered to say it; not like anyone here really cared. But just for once, I wanted to see my mother feel something for me.

And once again, I was disappointed. "Oh, dear," Mom said. "That must have been terrible."

Yeah, once more with feeling, Mom. I sometimes thought maybe this was some kind of play, and Mom was an actress, not a very good one. If that was true, she really phoned in her performance.

"Any of mine?" Brandon asked casually. I gritted my teeth, because I wanted to scream and hit him, and that wouldn't have done

me any good at all.

"N-no," I managed to stammer over the fury. "Jane Blunt, Trent Garvey, and Guy-" What the h.e.l.l was Guy's last name? I wanted to cry now. Or keep on crying, because I wasn't sure I'd ever stopped. "Guy Finelli."

Brandon smiled. "Sounds as if Charles had a bad night." Charles being a rival vamp. I knew he was the Protector for Jane's family. I hadn't known he'd been responsible for one or both of the others. Charles was just the opposite of Brandon-a bookish little man, soft-spoken and mild until you pushed him. Not a bad choice, if I had to go shopping for Protectors, I supposed.

G.o.d, I hated this. I wanted this over.

"Let's just do it," I said, and walked down the hallway to the living room. Predictably, Dad was parked in his recliner with an open beer, probably working on his usual six-pack. He was a bloated vision of my future-two hundred and fifty pounds, sallow and grim and full of rage and resentment he couldn't fling anywhere but around here, in the house. He managed the biggest local

bar, which of course was owned by Brandon. All nice and tidy. Brandon owned the mortgage on the house. Brandon owned the notes on our cars.

Brandon owned us.

And now Brandon was smiling at me, all sleek and horrible with those hungry, hungry eyes, and he was taking a folded, thin sheaf

of papers out of the pocket of his long black coat.

"You only wear that thing because you saw it on Angel," I said, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the paperwork from him. I read the first few

sentences. I, Eve Evangeline Walker Rosser, swear my life, my blood, and my service to my Protector, Brandon, now and for my lifetime, that my Protector may command me in all things.

This was it. I was holding my future in my hands, right here.

Brandon held out a pen. My father tore his attention away from the glowing escape of the television and took a sip of beer,

watching me with angry intensity. My mother looked nervous, fluttering her hands as I stared without blinking at the black Montblanc the vampire was holding out.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Brandon said. "There's a signing bonus. Ten thousand dollars."

"Guess I could bury my friends in style with that," I said.

"You don't have to worry about that." Brandon shrugged. "Their family contracts cover that sort of thing."

Mom sensed what I was thinking, I guess, because she blurted, "Eve, honey, let's hurry. Brandon does have places to go." She encouraged me with little vague motions of her hands, and her eyes were desperate.

I took a deep breath, held the crisp paper in both hands, and ripped it in half. The sound was almost drowned out by my mother's horrified gasp and the sound of the beer can crushing in my father's hand.

"You ungrateful little-" Dad said. "You disrespect your Protector like that? To his face?"

"Yeah," I said. "Pretty much just like that." I ripped the contract in quarters and threw it at him. The paper fluttered like huge confetti, one piece landing on his shoulder until Brandon calmly brushed it off. "f.u.c.k off, Brandon. I'm not signing with you."

"No one else will take you," he said. "And you're mine, Eve. You've always been mine. Don't forget it."

My dad got out of his recliner and grabbed my arm. "You're signing that paper," he said, and shook me like a terrier shaking a rat. "Don't be stupid! Don't you know what you're doing? What you could cost your family if you do this?"

"I'm not signing anything!" I screamed, right in his face, and took Brandon's expensive pen and stomped on it with my Mary Janes until it was a leaking black stain on the floor. "You can be slaves if you want, but not me! Not ever again!"

Brandon didn't look angry. He looked amused. That was bad.

Dad shoved me and sent me reeling. "Then you're gone," he said. "I won't have you in my house, eating my food, stealing my money. If you want to go out there bare, then do it. See how long you last." He turned to Brandon. "Our Protection stays intact if she leaves, right?"

Brandon inclined his head and smiled.

I was stunned, at least a little; Dad had never even threatened a thing like that before. I backed away from him, into Mom. She got out of the way, but then, she always did, didn't she? She had all the backbone of a balloon.

She avoided my eyes completely. "You'd better go, honey," she said. "You made your choice."

I turned and ran down the hall to my room, slammed the door, and dragged my biggest suitcase out from under the bed. I couldn't take much, I knew that; even taking a suitcase was risky, because it slowed me down. But I couldn't wait for dawn; I had to get out of here now, before Brandon stopped me. He wasn't supposed to use compulsion on me, but that didn't mean he wouldn't.

I filled up the bag with underwear, shoes, clothes, and a few mementos that I couldn't leave, just in case Dad decided to fill up the barbecue with my belongings the minute I was out the door. I left the family photos, even the good ones, the ones from when I was a little kid and our family wasn't a total freak show. I didn't want those memories, and I didn't want pictures of my brother Jason, who was better off in jail, where he was currently rotting. Seeing his face made me feel sick.

I went out the back door, since Brandon was still talking to Mom and Dad in the front, and dragged the suitcase as quietly as possible across the backyard to the alley. Alleys in Morganville are freaky at night and wildly dangerous, but I didn't have much choice. I hurried, bouncing my suitcase over rough, rutted ground and past foul-smelling trash bins, until I was on the street.

And I realized I had no idea where to go. No idea at all. All the friends I'd had were dead-dead tonight-and I couldn't even really grieve about that; I didn't have time. Life-saving had to come first, right? That's what I kept telling myself.

Didn't help me carry that giant boulder of guilt.

Cabs didn't run at night, because cabbies knew better, and besides, there were only two in the whole town. No bus service. At night, you either drove or you stayed home, and even driving was dangerous if you were unProtected.

I could go to the local motel for the night, the Sagebrush, but it was a good twenty-minute walk, and I didn't think I had twenty minutes. Not tonight. I'd officially forfeited Brandon's Protection when I'd ripped up that paper, and that meant I was an all-youcan-suck buffet until I got somebody to take me in. Houses had automatic Protection. Any house.

Michael. Michael Gla.s.s.

Michael lived only a few blocks away. I'd gone to school with Michael, crushed hard on Michael from a distance, and semistalked him after he graduated, attending every single guitar-playing gig he'd landed in Morganville. He was really good, you see. And a sweetheart. And little baby Jesus, he was wicked hot. And he had his own house.

I knew the Gla.s.s House. It was one of the historical homes of Morganville, all gently decaying Gothic elegance, and Michael's parents had moved out of Morganville on waivers two years ago. Michael lived there all alone, as far as I knew.

And it was only three blocks away.

I had no idea if he was home, or if he'd be stupid enough to let me in when I was running for my life, but it was worth a try, right? I broke into a jog, the wheels of my suitcase making a whirring, grating hiss on the sidewalk. The night felt deep and dark, no moon, only starlight, and it smelled like cold dust. Like a graveyard. Like my graveyard.

I thought of Trent, Guy, and Jane, in their silent black bags. Maybe they were in cold metal drawers by now, filed away. Lives over.

I didn't want to be dead. I didn't.

So I ran, b.u.mping my suitcase behind me.

I didn't see a soul on the streets. No cars, no lights in windows, no shadows trailing me. It was eerily quiet outside, and my heart was racing. I wished I had weapons, but those were hard to come by in Morganville, and besides, I had nosy parents who trashed my room regularly looking for contraband of all kinds. Being under eighteen sucked.

Being over eighteen wasn't looking so great, either.

I heard the hiss of tires behind me, over the puffing of my breath, and the low growl of a car engine. I looked back, hoping to see Richard Morrell following me in the police car, but no such luck; it was a nondescript black sports car with dark-tinted windows.

Vampire car. No question.

Two more blocks.

The car seemed content to creep along behind me, tires crunching over pavement, and I had plenty of panic-time to wonder who was inside. Brandon, in the back, almost certainly; he'd be cruising with his friends, and when he took me, he'd do it in front of an audience.

The suitcase hit a crack in the sidewalk and tipped over, dragging me to an off-balance halt. I saw a light go on in one of the houses I was pa.s.sing, and a curtain twitch aside, and then the blinds snapped shut and the lights flicked off. No help there. But then, in Morganville, that wasn't unusual.

I wasn't crying, but it was close; I could feel tears burning in my throat, right above the terror twisting my guts. This was your choice, I told myself. You couldn't do anything else.

Right now, that wasn't much comfort.

Up ahead, I saw the looming bulk of the Gla.s.s House-one more block to go. I could make it, I could. I had to. Jane and Trent and Guy were gone. I owed it to them to live through this.

The car sped up behind me as I crossed the street to the next corner. Four houses to go, all still and lightless.

There was a porch light on in front of 716, and it cast a glow on the pillars framing the porch, picked out the boards in the white fence in front. There were lights on inside, and I saw someone pa.s.s in front of a window.

"Michael!" I screamed it and put everything into one last sprint. The car eased ahead of me and pulled in at the curb with a squeal of brakes, tires b.u.mping concrete. A door flew open to block the sidewalk, and I gasped, picked up my suitcase, and tossed it over the fence. It weighed about fifty pounds, but I managed to pick it up and throw it. I grabbed the rough whitewashed boards with their sharp tops and vaulted over, got my shirt caught on the way and ripped it open. No time to worry about that. I grabbed my suitcase and started dragging it over the night-damp gra.s.s toward the pool of light. I yelled again, with even more of an edge of panic. "Michael! It's Eve! Open the door!"

They were behind me. They were right behind me. I knew it, even though I didn't dare look back and they made no sound. I

could feel it. I felt something grab the suitcase, nearly twisting my arm out of the socket, and I let go, stumbling against the porch stairs. The house stretched above me, gray and ghostly in the dark, but that porch light, that was life.

Something caught my foot. I screamed and kicked, fighting to get free, but I went down to my hands and knees, then flat as

whoever had me pulled. My searching fingers scratched at the closed wood of the door, and I tasted dust again. I'd been close,

so close....

The door opened, and warm yellow light spilled out over me. Too late. I tried to grab for a handhold but I was being yanked backward...and I could feel breath on the back of my neck. Cold, rancid breath.

Something flew over my head and slammed into the vampire pulling on me, knocking him backward. I crawled back toward the

door and got a hand over the threshold.

Michael Gla.s.s grabbed my fingers and dragged me inside with one long pull. My feet made it over the line just a fraction of a second before another vampire slammed into the invisible barrier there.

That vampire was Brandon. Oh, d.a.m.n, he was angry. Really angry. Our vampires were all about fitting in, but right now he clearly didn't care what we saw. His eyes had turned bloodred, and his face was whiter than I'd ever made mine. And I could see fangs, fangs a viper would have envied, flicking down from their hiding place to flash in menace.

And Michael Gla.s.s didn't flinch. In fact...he smiled. "You're not coming in, Brandon, so save it," he said. "Leave."

He looked like I remembered him from high school, from the concerts, only...better, somehow. Stronger. Tall, built, golden hair that waved and curled surfer-style. He had blue eyes, and they were fixed on Brandon. Wary, but definitely not afraid.

"You okay?" he asked me. I nodded, unable to say anything that would really cover how I felt. "Then get out of the way."

"Huh?"

"Your legs. Please."