1305 & 1306 The Oracle & the Vampire (The 13th Floor) (2 page)

“You don’t have what I need.” Kiral inhaled and tilted his head back a bit to blow a plume of smoke into the autumn breeze. He tossed the lighter back to the fellow who caught it without looking.

The stranger’s smile broadened. “I might surprise you. Go on and ask. I have access to the rare and expensive treats.”

Kiral had played this game hundreds of times. A good dealer wouldn’t show his best right off. He’d flash some ordinary dope, testing his customer, and if the buyer proved to be more than a casual user, he’d take out something potent. Yet still, it wouldn’t be the primo stuff. Not everyone was privileged enough to cut a deal for that, and only the pusher could decide if the customer was worth it. Meaning, if he had a steady income and an addiction.

“You don’t have it.” Kiral took one more drag on the cigarette and flicked it onto the street. He dipped his head once and moved to leave.

“You’re a connoisseur, I can tell. No plain A positive for you. Something more rare. O negative? Or even AB negative?” The man chuckled when Kiral turned to face him again. “Oh yes, I know what you are. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He crossed his heart with a wink.

Kiral narrowed his eyes. Who was this guy? He didn’t for a second believe he’d randomly come across a pusher for vampires.

“Don’t you worry about the details, friend. We provide what you need and we clean up the mess.” He took a drag and let the smoke trickle from between his lips. “For a price, of course.”

Of course. Kiral didn’t know whether he should kill the bastard or run. He remained rooted in place. Could the dealer really provide what he needed?

Kiral shook his head. He was an idiot for even considering this.

“Let me show you what we have tonight.” The guy snapped his fingers, never taking his eyes off Kiral. A second man exited the alley supporting a sagging teenage boy. His cohort was shaggier and not dressed for pleasant business. And the teen …

Kiral’s nostrils quivered. More than human. His stomach tightened. Canine. And from the boy’s groan, limp limbs, and gaunt features, he knew what else flowed in his veins.

Rare, indeed. Kiral’s lips parted as if he could taste the blood on the air. It had been so long. Just one bite. He was right there. Surely he could stop himself in time before he drained the teen. And it’s not like the kid would remember.

His body leaned forward, pulled by an invisible rope. “How much you asking?”

“Well, money isn’t exactly my thing.” The dealer finished his cigarette and extinguished it into his palm without a twitch.

The longer Kiral stood there, the more the scent of the kid filled him. His head swirled, and when he closed his hands into fists, they were still shaking. This was too perfect. It was just what he needed.

And what he should never have.

Kiral inched closer. Fresh track marks decorated the kid’s arms. He must’ve just shot up. It was the best time to drink. He could feel the ache down to the tips of his fangs.

“Shall we talk about the price?” The pusher smirked, but the grin flattened as he whipped his head to the right.

“Kiral!” Marc’s voice boomed as he strode down the street. His broad chest heaved threatening to pop the buttons of his flannel shirt.

Kiral flinched, looking down as if he were a child caught in the act of sneaking a cookie. Marc was the one person in the world Kiral wouldn’t want catching him doing drugs. And here he was.

Marc had gotten him through bad nights like this. Never had he fallen so far when he was around. Ferocious shame pushed back at his craving.

“Take care of him.” The dealer gestured to Marc. The shaggy guy shoved the kid to one side as his eyes turned red. He growled, flexing his muscles, and turned to meet Marc.

Demons. Bloody demons.

Kiral started to shout out to Marc, but his friend didn’t slow. Marc held up one hand and ejected a ball of fire from it. It sizzled as it zipped through the air and smacked into the shaggy demon. The demon’s sharp cry was cut off as the fire so swiftly consumed him that he was a blackened skeleton within seconds. The bones stood there as if they might run away for half a second before disintegrating. Only a smoking pile of dust remained.

Marc never discussed his past with Kiral, but he knew what his friend was. Yet Marc never acted like a demon. Never felt like these ones. So Kiral had never treated him as such just as Marc never treated him as a pariah because he was a vampire and an addict.

Yet to see Marc incinerate someone without blinking, he found he was looking at a stranger. Why did he feel like he was betrayed?

“Kiral, get out of here.” Marc’s fearsome gaze was locked upon the dealer. When Kiral didn’t move, he barked out one more word. “Now!”

That last word shook Kiral to his core. He couldn’t stay here any longer. Not that he was frightened of Marc, but he was more than afraid of his only friend looking at him with disappointment. Perhaps he’d never seen this side of Marc, but Marc had fought with him so the blood lust wouldn’t win.

He was not worthy of even a demon’s friendship.

His body shook as he turned to run. Stumbling, he regained his footing and ran farther into the city. Not as fast as he could go at first, but he gained speed.

It wouldn’t be long until sunrise. Yet maybe if he kept running west, he could outrun the sun and leave himself behind.

CHAPTER 3

Harriet woke facedown on her couch. Her mouth was dry, and as she tried to swallow to wet it, her raw throat protested. How long had she been out?

Lifting her head from the cushion, she found herself face to face with Elli. The tabby raised her paw and smacked Harriet’s nose. “Ow!”

Elli gazed down at her paw as if inspecting her nails and licked it.

Right, Harriet had forgotten to feed the cats. No, not forgotten. Another vision.

She pressed her face against the cushion again. Kiral. No, no, no. She choked on a sob and pulled her head back to gasp in a lungful of air. Her stiff body protested as she curled up and cried quietly. She replayed the vision in her mind.

In her foretelling, Kiral had been chained, a prisoner of black little monsters. That in itself made little sense. The view from the rooftop was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Wherever it was, the place had been decimated. Where was he and why did those things want him dead? None of it was clear. She had to be missing some vital detail.

Her curse held no power over her during the day, but she could remember every vision from first to last as if she had just experienced it. All vivid, some gruesome, and every single one heartbreaking.

Kiral’s death would be forever imprinted on the back of her eyelids. She saw it every time she blinked. Horrific as it was with the sunlight cooking the flesh and tissue from his bones, it was the fact he died alone that tore at her heart.

Harriet had wanted to be the one there for him for the past few years. She tried to draw him out, to get him to open up to her. Yet Kiral wanted little to do with an old woman who sometimes ran off in the night screaming. Marc had more luck than she did, but he wasn’t naturally a comforting individual.

She wiped at her cheeks, which were no longer sagging and wrinkled. Morning had come, and she was herself again. No, never fully herself. The shadow of the banshee always loomed over her.

Glancing at the time, Harriet saw it was almost seven. Earlier than she expected. Harriet had no doubt that her familiars made sure she didn’t sleep any longer. Her fault for not feeding them.

Sniffling, she stood and stretched. Kerr padded into the kitchen without waiting for her. Feed the cats, tidy herself up, and get to work. Just get through another day. There was nothing she could do. Her visions were messages from the near future. Always true, even the most unlikely ones. She witnessed the fate of people and mourned them before their time.

And after.

Kiral had struggled with his addiction, and as far as she knew, he was winning. Now he was to die and not because he fell off the wagon. Some walking nightmares were going to leave him to burn. It was unfair. More than just unfair. If she could scream at the gods, beg them to change his fate, she would in a heartbeat.

Harriet dragged herself into the kitchen and fetched the box of cat food. She filled the monogrammed dishes on the floor and returned the box to the child-locked cupboard. The cats bowled past her to get to their breakfast.

She stumbled into her bathroom to wash her hands and face. Kiral didn’t deserve to die. Her lower lip quivered. Cold water didn’t help ease her sorrow.

Brushing her teeth, she then attempted to brush out her hair. Straight and fine, it frizzed when even slightly damp or if she slept without braiding it. She ended up just tying it back. Harriet searched out her deodorant stick and sighed when she realized she needed to change her clothes too. Taking off her sweater, she smelled a hint of sandalwood and hugged it to her.

Kiral. She hated her curse. All because some stupid little fairy was jealous of her. Harriet had replayed that night over and over, thinking of ways she could’ve changed her fate. She’d found an injured fairy boy and healed him. So thankful he was, and funny and kind. He visited her often. Only later did she discover he was enamored with her even though he was betrothed to another.

Not that Harriet had any romantic feelings about him, but it didn’t matter to his future bride. In a rage, she cursed Harriet.

Perhaps if Harriet hadn’t chosen to be a healer or hadn’t befriended the fairy to begin with none of it would’ve happened. So many factors, but she couldn’t alter the past.

Her breath hitched.

She couldn’t change the past, but what about the future? Her heart thumped hard. Harriet had never considered it.

When she was first cursed, she tried desperately to save the people she saw in her visions. Sometimes her timing was off and she arrived too late. Other times, her trying to warn them drove them to the actions that led to their deaths. A hundred times she’d tried, and every time she’d failed. This only proved to her that fate couldn’t be changed.

But what if?

She could try one more time. Maybe she could save Kiral.

Harriet laughed out loud as she threw on some fresh clothes. Kiral would be in his apartment already for the day. So he’d be safe for the time being. She would go see Ms. Bates, get a few groceries, and come home to wait at Kiral’s door. If she told him to stay inside, he’d be safe.

Tugging on a pair of runners, she tied them and then bounced on her toes. Maybe she could put her curse to good use and save people. It made such sense to her.

Skipping out of her bedroom, she tripped over Kerr and fell to the floor. She swore he was smirking.

No, she wasn’t going to let the cats ruin her mood. Harriet picked herself up and grabbed her hand-knitted bag by the door. She waved to her familiars. “Have a good morning. Love you both!”

Her ponytail swung as she walked down the hall. The low drone of a television came from Marc’s apartment. Maybe she could enlist his help with Kiral if she needed it. Marc could probably hold down the vampire and make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

So many possibilities. The future was looking better every second.

The door to the stairwell swung open for her. Harriet shivered with the cold air and said her thanks. Her breath misted into a dancing little puff, and she watched it float up as she walked down to the first landing.

A scuff and squeak brought her attention back from the clouds. Harriet stood three feet away from a haggard Kiral. She froze, breath catching in her throat.

Of the nearly three years they’d been neighbors, she’d never seen him in the day before. She didn’t think he could be out in the day.

Her mouth went dry as her mind raced to find something to say. Say hello, something, anything! Tell him he was going to die, but she could save him. Shout out that she loved him.

Okay, maybe not that. That would be creepy.

In a blink of an eye, Kiral had her pinned with his body. His hands flat against the wall on either side of her head. She yelped and dropped her bag.

Kiral had never been this close to her before. Well, not like this. Maybe because she was in her natural form and not a hideous crone, but it made all the difference.

Heat surged through her body. He was lean and hard and trembling. Kiral’s face was paler than usual, almost an ashy color. His eyes glinted with something feral before they settled into their usual dreamy heavy-lidded state.

“You smell so good.” He breathed in deeply before locking his eyes with hers.

Vampires had a mesmerizing gaze, but it didn’t work on Harriet because of the magic in her blood. Not that it mattered. Captivated by Kiral, his wickedly gorgeous body pressed against hers. He was cold, but there was enough heat radiating off her to warm them both.

“So good,” he murmured again. Kiral squeezed his eyes shut, lifting himself from her an inch. He forced out a growl. “Please. Run. Get away from me. I don’t think I can control myself much longer.”

He was starving. Harriet didn’t need to be a vampire expert to deduce that. She could only guess what sort of personal torture he had put himself through, and yet he was still managing to hold himself back. He was amazing. So strong, so brave.

Well his day was about to get better.

“It’s okay, Kiral. Bite me.” Harriet tilted her head to one side and raised her shaking hands to place them on his sides. His shocked expression made her smile. “I trust you.”

The air was frigid, but once she had said she trusted him, she stopped shivering. If he would be Desperation, she would be Serenity.

With a whimper, Kiral opened his jaws and plunged his fangs into her neck. Harriet cried out with the initial burst of pain, but it quickly dissolved into bliss. She melted against him with a moan, gripping his jacket. He held her up and then cradled her when her legs finally gave way.

His mouth was on her, hot and suckling. Something she had dreamt about so many times. Her flesh tingled as if he layered kisses on every inch. She was soft and yielding, giving her whole self. Every fantasy and every sizzling emotion she surrendered.