A Rush of Wings (38 page)

“
Sound it out
,”
she says, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger
.

“
Kum…for…kumfor…tay…bull…kumfortaybull. Comfortable
.”

“
You got it
!”

“
Yeah
?”
A pleased smile lights Dante’s face
.

“
Yup
,”
Chloe confirms
. “
Now finish the sentence
.”

“
Pooh’s bed was comfortable and…warm
.”

“
You learn fast
,”
Chloe says
. “
I bet if you didn’t sleep during the day and could go to school, you’d get straight As
.”

Dante snorts, then glances back at her from over his shoulder
. “
I’d have all Fs
.”

“
For
…?”
Chloe coaxes, gathering his hair into a ponytail and smoothing its black length between her hands
. “
What starts with F
?”

“
Fuck school
.”

She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand
. “
Dante-angel
!”

A blur of motion, then Dante is suddenly up from the floor and tickling Chloe. She shrieks with laughter, rolling on the bed, her sneakers thumping the mattress. Laughing, he tucks an arm against his side and tries to protect his ribs from her retaliatory fingers
.

He tugs free the plushie orca from under Chloe’s arm and swims the toy through the air past her grabbing hands. He stops it at her nose. Leans it forward
. “
Mmm-
wah!”
A big sloppy orca kiss
.

“
Can I brush your hair while you practice printing the alphabet
?”
Chloe asks
.

“
Sure
,”
Dante says, handing the orca back to her
.

“
Boy, you need to get your ass down to the basement and now
,”
a man’s voice—bayou-bred and deep—says from off-camera
. “
Gotta visitor comin’ and gotta cuff you up. You don’t need none of dat school shit for the work you do
, petit
. Waste o’ time
.”
The speaker laughs, a cigarette-raspy sound ending in a cough
.

“
Fuck you
,”
Dante says
. “
I’ll be there in a minute
.”

Chloe’s smile vanishes and she sits up, the plushie held tight against her pink sweater
. “
Leave him alone
,”
she says, her voice sharp, her brows slanting down—defiant and pale
.

“
Hush, you. Or I’ll put my hand upside your head
.”

Dante’s hand squeezes Chloe’s knee. She closes her mouth. He looks at the speaker, all expression gone from his face, but fire burns in his dark eyes, a fire the speaker
must
feel, see
.

“
You’re gonna need more than handcuffs to hold me if you touch her
,”
Dante says, his voice low and flat
.

Another cigarette-raspy laugh
. “
Full of attitude, aintcha, boy. Move your ass or I’ll just send little
m’selle
feisty in your place—
”

Dante turns and kisses Chloe’s forehead, smoothes her long hair back from her face
. “
Night-night, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow
.”

Worry shadows Chloe’s face
. “
Dante-angel…
”

He shakes his head
. “
Shhh
. Je suis ici.
Don’t come down. Not tonight
.”

She nods, unhappy. Dante blows her a kiss and walks from the room
.

The footage ended. Heather paused a moment—how old was he? Twelve?—then she forced her fingertips from her palms, and clicked on the next section.

Later, eyes burning, she understood why De Noir had said that Dante’s past was something better left unremembered. She understood it would break his heart. And she understood why Stearns had called him a monster.

***

CHOKING ON BLOOD, DANTE awakened. Darkness. Engine noise. Pain raked his chest. Blood filled his mouth. Turning onto his side, the handcuffs clunk-
tunk
ing as he moved, he spat blood on the floor until he could suck in a breath of air.

Dizzied, he listened to the engine’s soothing, steady sound. He glanced down. A knife’s hilt protruded from his chest.

“We’ve entered Alabama,” Elroy said. “Don’t it feel good?”

Dante caught Elroy’s shaded gaze in the rearview mirror. The Perv grinned.

“Never mind the shiv,” he said. “Couldn’t resist. How does it feel?”

Dante coughed, spat, then said, “Fuck you. Take these cuffs off and I’ll show you.” He jerked his arms, rattling the cuffs.

Elroy laughed. “That’s my Bad Seed bro.”

Dante drifted off again as the miles rolled past, not really asleep, but caught in a twilight-zone haze created by drugs and pain. He opened his eyes as the van slowed down, then stopped.

The Perv keyed off the engine and stretched. He slipped between the seats, pausing to close a curtain between the front of the van and the back. He crab-walked over to Dante’s side of the van. Grabbing a battered black satchel, he opened it and pulled out a file folder thick with paper.

“Time for you to learn a few things.” Elroy dropped onto his knees and bent over Dante. “Like who and what you are.” Grabbing the shiv hilt, he yanked the blade out of Dante’s chest.

Refusing to touch his bond with Lucien, Dante tried his links to Von and Simone instead. Pain buzzed through his head as each attempt rebounded, unheard. Whatever the Perv was pumping into his veins had muffled his mind like a thick layer of gauze.

Elroy played with the shiv, twirling the blade up, over and around. Wet with blood, the knife glistened beneath the covered light. On his last over-and-under pass, he drove the blade into Dante’s stomach.

Dante squeezed his eyes shut. Pain stole his voice. Another punch and the pain seared his chest, sucked away his air. He coughed up blood.

“Time to teach you all things S,” Elroy murmured. “Open your eyes.”

Fingers fluttered across Dante’s eyelids. Whispered across his lips. He smelled blood on Elroy’s fingers—his own. He opened his eyes and looked into Elroy’s sweating face. The grin had vanished. His fingers still held the second shiv in Dante’s chest. He pressed down on it.
Leaned
into it and twisted.

Pain corkscrewed through Dante’s chest and black spots speckled his vision. He bit his lip, determined not to scream, determined not to give the sick little fuck the satisfaction.

Dante-angel
?

Shhh. Not now, princess. Gotta wake up. Gotta quit dreaming
.

“Listen to me,” Elroy said.

Dante blinked until his vision cleared. Spat blood. Coughed. The handles of two shivs stuck up from his body, one in the belly and one in the chest.

The Perv held up photos. Dante stared. They were of him, but when he was younger, from the years he couldn’t remember. Pain pricked behind his eyes, jabbed his temples.

“You’re part of a project called Bad Seed,” Elroy said. “Me too. In fact, we’re the last surviving members. They got me when I was two or three after my parents did the ol’ you-kill-me-I’ll-kill-you routine.” He held up a photo of a grinning toddler. “Wasn’t I a cutie?”

Elroy picked up a folder, flipped through the contents. “Now you, you they had shortly after conception. They nursed your mama through a difficult pregnancy, then whacked her after you were born. Being a bloodsucker and all, they cut off her head and torched her body.”

Heart pounding, struggling for air, Dante tried to make sense of Elroy’s words. Pain scoured away his thoughts. He coughed. His mother…

Genevieve
.

You look so much like her
.

Wasps droned and his vision blurred. From a great distance, he heard the Perv say: “She named you before she died. And it amused Mommy-Bitch Moore to let you keep the name. Dante.”

Something smacked hard across Dante’s face, rocking his head to the side. His teeth sliced into his lower lip again. White light sparked and flared at the edges of his vision. Narrowing his gaze against the light, he focused on Elroy’s sallow face.

“I was losin’ ya,” Elroy said. “Your nose is bleeding again, by the way.”

Dante coughed, a lung-tearing spasm that brought up gouts of bright blood. Elroy scooted back out of gouting/spitting range.

“Take out the fucking knives,” Dante whispered after the spasm had passed. “Then go on. Read it to me. Hit me if I pass out. But read it to me.”

The Perv lifted his shades and stared at Dante, hazel eyes full of wonder. “Read to you?” Crawling back over, he grabbed the hilt of the shiv planted in Dante’s chest and pulled it out. Traced it across Dante’s belly, blood trailing in its wake. “My pleasure.”

Dropping his shades back over his eyes, Elroy read to Dante, pushing down on the shiv in his belly or backhanding him or both whenever the migraine threatened to drag him under.

Foster parents informed that subject has an illness that requires special attention and special nutrition, therefore earning them an increased payment…
.

***

DANTE REMEMBERED LAROUSSE AT the tavern, saying:
Sixty foster homes, two stints in the loony bin
. Light pinwheeled and fractured his vision. His head throbbed. His heart raced. He listened.

S’s favorite
“
blankie
”
taken from him and burned. S forced to watch and informed the
“
blankie
”
was burned because he’d been
“
bad
.”

Foster parents #10 punished S for defiance. They removed the curtains in a room full of windows and locked him in. He stayed in shadowed corners avoiding the sunlight until there were no more shadows…
.

***

SUNLIGHT SLANTING ACROSS THE carpet and hurting his eyes, dust motes whirling in the air, fear creeping up his spine—memory yawned wide and Dante fell. Sunlight blistered and crisped his skin. The burned-meat smell curdled in his belly.

Dante sucked in air and coughed up blood. Pain scattered the memory, swept it away. One little piece of knowledge clung for a few moments: Loony bin stay
numéro un
had happened right after that bit of punishment.

Foster mother #12 has developed a fondness for S and is forming a bond with him. S appears to enjoy her company. He will be removed from her care…
.

S increasingly defiant. His favorite toy, a plastic alligator on wheels, is taken from him and thrown away. He retaliates by throwing away the foster parents’ cigarettes and beer. S beaten…

S found or stole a guitar and is teaching himself to play it. He has an amazing ear and learns rapidly. Shows true musical talent…

S drugged and brought into the clinic for examination and study. Dr. Wells curious, as am I, to learn just how much a born-vampire can endure physically. The experiments will commence tomorrow…
.

FRAGMENTS OF MEMORY BUZZED up from below, carried on the wings of Gigeresque wasps: A cold, steel table. Restraints. Needles. Saws. A bloodied baseball bat held by a tech in a face shield and blood-spattered lab coat. White-hot pain wiped the images away. He wasn’t
remembering
. He was
experiencing
. Elroy’s fist slammed Dante back into the here and now.

“Read to me,” Dante whispered.

The Perv stared at him for a long moment, licked his lips, then continued reading.

Experiments shall be repeated once S reaches puberty…if vampires have a process like puberty. Shall be fascinating…

S has developed affection for another foster child in his household, a girl named Chloe Basescu. He looks after her. She calls him
“
Dante-angel
”
for some reason, perhaps because he protects her from their foster father. S and Chloe often sleep together, but in a nonsexual manner
.

S showing signs of what I believe to be vampire puberty: night prowling, sexual promiscuity within his own age group, biting, fascination with blood, no longer satisfied with his daily dose of
“
medicinal
”
blood. He yearns to hunt. He seems to be both excited and confused by his feelings. Overwhelmed by his desires. He confides in Chloe. This troubles me…
.

Time to take Chloe away from S
.

Dante backs Chloe into the corner
. “
Get down
,”
he whispers
. “
I won’t let them have you
.”

As Chloe crouches, Orem the orca clutched to her chest, Dante stands in front of her. He hisses. Three men in black suits—bad fucking men like Wells, like Papa Prejean, like all the groping assholes who walk down the basement steps—spread out in the white padded room
.

Hunger/want/need burns through Dante and their pounding hearts draw him. Their sweaty, hopped-up smell dizzy him. All three rush him and Dante drops low, spinning, slashing with his nails. Blood spurts hot across his face. Someone gurgles. Someone else gets behind him. Dante
moves
. Punching, kicking, biting. Whirls. The blood smell coils through him; he’s lost to it. Drops to his knees and sinks his teeth into warm flesh. Blood pumps into his mouth, sweeter than licorice, headier than sneaked whiskey, and he can’t get enough. He drinks until nothing’s left
.

On his knees, Dante looks around. All three bad-ass men sprawl on the bloodied floor. He swivels, wiping his mouth and reaching for Chloe. His hand freezes at his mouth. His heart thumps hard and fast; breaking
.