Dreams for the Dead (14 page)

“O-okay.”

When they reached Tristan’s door, Augusta turned to Dawn, her free hand on her hip. “Something’s wrong with you.”

Dawn stared. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you even care about him? I mean, he’s not like Branek, but he’s not exactly a good guy. And you barely know him, so I’m just wondering why you care. Will you tell me? Please? I’m curious.”

She shifted uncomfortably in the direct citrine gaze. “I don’t know.”

Augusta’s full lips shaped into a disdainful smile. “Right. I’m sure. Anyway, here you are.”

For the rest of the day Dawn waited, but Tristan never returned. Hours passed slowly. She paged without interest through the music encyclopedia. She slept. She stared. She hated herself.

He came when it got dark, creeping in with the shadows. She had just lain down on the bed again after washing the lingering smell of oranges from her fingertips. One second she knew she was alone, and the next she heard the flick of a lighter and saw the flare of a flame. She sat up quickly, squinting through the darkness at the caustic glow of a cigarette. Ghostly blue smoke billowed toward the ceiling, an acrid veil that tickled her nostrils. Tristan stood just inside the door, barely visible.

“I brought you a blanket.”

He tossed it on the foot of the bed and she gathered it to her. “Oh. Thanks.”

The tip of the cigarette flared and he exhaled smoke again in a long sigh. “I wish you weren’t still here,” he said darkly.

“I … I need a favor.” Dawn’s voice was barely more than a mumble.

“A favor? From me?” He flashed a bitter smile, quick and cruel. “Tell me why I’d want to help you. Or why you’d want me to.”

Hardening her jaw, Dawn stared at him and waited for her eyes to adjust. His dark brows were arched in mild curiosity, his expression impassive but cold as he waited for her answer. She wanted him to look at her like she mattered to him, not like he didn’t know her.

She froze. She couldn’t ask him for anything.

“Never mind,” she said thinly.

He made a soft sound, something not quite a laugh. He plucked the cigarette from between his lips, ground it out on the wall, and blew the last of the smoke out of his nose. “I’m feeling bot
hered. I smoke when something’s bothering me.”

She saw him move through the darkness toward her. She didn’t flinch, but she was afraid. Not of him—of herself, rather, and how much she wanted him.

“You know what’s bothering me today?”

“No.”

“You.”

“Shut up!” she shouted, curling her fingers in the sheets. “I’m not doing this with you. I don’t know why the hell I’m here or what you want with me, and I don’t know why I can’t just go home! Something is deeply wrong with you, Tristan. Maybe it’s not your fault, but you’ll have to fix you
rself sometime. Or die a miserable death, all alone.”

A darkly sharp smile crossed his lips. “This is me, Dawn. I am a vampire and I drink blood. I’m a killer. It’s what I know. Take that to your grave. I was only using you. You like that? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He held her gaze until she had to lower her eyes. “I feel sorry for you,” she said quietly. Her voice was surprisingly even. “That Loftus guy really fucked with your mind.”

“Yeah, he really did. You don’t know how much I’d like to forget some of the shit I’ve seen and done, but I can’t. And there’ll be more, so much more, and I’ll never forget any of it. Alcohol and drugs don’t work for shit on a vampire, or I’d be in oblivion right now. God knows I’ve tried to get there. All I can do to make my life bearable is fuck and feed, over and over again, so I do.”

He spun away and paced at the end of the bed, rubbing his face in his hands. “That last time, in Mineral Springs, I left you untied on purpose. God damn it, I
wanted
you to leave! I wanted you to get the fuck away from me so I’d never have to see you again.” He turned to stare at her, his eyes lost in the shadow of his brows. “Why didn’t you save yourself from me?”

Dawn’s eyes stung. She drew in a deep breath. “I wanted to go. But … I wanted to stay, too. We both know you wouldn’t have let me go anyway. You’d have come after me.”

“I would have,” he admitted, sounding as it hurt to do so.

“You can let me go now, though. And Leila, too.”

“I can’t,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes distressed. “God, I can’t.”

Her face crumpled under the force of betrayal, or maybe it was some other emotion that felt di
sturbingly similar but was too complicated to identify. “I hate you,” she said venomously. “And you know what? I was only using you too. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. I needed someone to comfort me. Anyone would have sufficed.”

“So I was only ever a convenience?”

“Yeah. That’s all.”

He smiled again, softer this time, but arrogant too. An indecipherable expression shimmered in his eyes. “I don’t believe you. You don’t think you can stay away from me, do you?” His voice took on a faintly desperate tone. “
Do
you?”

When she didn’t answer, he vaulted onto the bed and grabbed her up in a tight embrace. His lips smashed onto hers. She locked her arms around him and kissed him back urgently, not knowing until that moment how much she’d missed the feel and taste of him. It was easy in the dark, just hands and mouths and no words. Her body moved against his and little groans escaped her lips. They were hu
ngry for each other. The way he made her tremble was frightening.

He whispered to her, a breath of space between them. “Resist me, Dawn. Fight me off. Don’t let me touch you.” His hands pushed down on her hipbones and worked up to her breasts.

She gave a strand of his hair a sharp tug and gasped when his ardor abruptly increased. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t be sorry. You could hurt me a thousand different ways and I’d love it every time.” His tongue trailed down her neck and over her collarbone. His thumbs gently caressed her nipples through her shirt. “Did you know a demon can steal your soul?”

Tristan, presumably, was the demon, and she the one whose soul had been stolen.

“No,” she said. “I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”

“You should, Dawn. Because I know it’s true.”

They melted into each other.

With a gasp she came awake. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She sat up and groped for her glasses. The dark room sharpened into hazy focus.

Tristan’s shadowed form rose from the teal chair. His weight sank the mattress beside her and one hand curved over her thigh. The clean scent of soap wafted off him. He’d had a shower while she slept.

“What time is it?” she asked quietly.

“Middle of the night.”

She couldn’t see him very well in the gloom, but his voice was weary. She imagined his shoulders felt heavy and his eyes looked hollow. She drew him to her and wrapped herself around him. He held her tight. She sensed he didn’t want to let go, and neither did she. Letting go and leaving this room would be the end of everything between them.

Dawn knew this was the moment to find out how she’d affected him. To test how successful she’d been with her touches and kisses in her efforts at seduction. She would ask and his answer would reveal the truth. He looked at her, eyes masked in the dark. He could see ev
erything, but she might as well have been blind.

“Please, Tristan,” she said. “I need your help.”

There was a long pause, and she held her breath as he considered her. His face was fathomless, as always.

“I’ve lived in dark places for years. Seems like I’ve wa
ndered in a desolate, dreamless void for so long,” he finally said, closing his eyes and sighing. And then he said, “Fuck it. All right.”

T
en

L
ight
, paled by a pall of clouds, streamed into Dawn’s eyes. She let go of the door and stepped forward into the comforting heat, realizing just how frosty the air in the house was. She breathed in the wet, fresh scent of plants. There didn’t seem to be much order to the beautiful but overgrown yard, just stuff scattered at random. The property was vast for a place so deep within the city.

“Here,” Tristan said. He bent to the thick grass and picked up a splitting pomegranate. Shade and sunlight dappled their skin in shifting patterns.

“Thanks,” she muttered, looking sideways at him. He stared ahead, pale and drawn in the bright light.

Dawn glanced back at the house. All the windows were sealed with black paint. That meant no one could see in or out. She pushed her thumbs into the rind to break the pomegranate open and picked at the seeds as they walked.

They came upon a pool, gleaming even in the cloud-dimmed light. Dawn stepped to the edge, breathing in the chlorine scent and letting faint, blue-green ripples dance on her skin. She wished she could jump in. She wished she could order an expensive frozen drink with an umbrella and lounge beside it on a hot day. She had to settle for rinsing the maroon stains from the tips of her fingers.

Suddenly Dawn heard a strange cry, like a little girl calling for help. She glanced up, concerned.

“Peacock again,” Tristan said.

As if on cue, the named bird walked regally from behind a row of oleanders with magenta flo
wers, its slightly metallic tail feathers trailing heavily. Ignoring them, it settled down next to a lush honeysuckle vine. The fragrance was strong and sweet, though the flowers were beginning to turn brown.

“There are a few more. Loftus lets them roam.”

“Don’t you need a permit for that?”

“No idea.”

Jared’s voice drifted to them on a chlorine-tinged breeze. “Are you looking for me?”

They turned and saw him standing in the shade of the velvet ash trees. The muted sunlight ill
uminated the leaves from behind, turning them into a brilliant, impossibly green halo above his head. The color matched his eyes. Leila stood a few feet behind him in the dappled shadows, solemn and still.

“Yeah, actually,” Tristan replied.

“What do you want?”

Tristan closed his hand around Dawn’s wrist and pulled her close to him. It was a gesture both protective and meant to convey his authority over her—at least to Jared. “Has Loftus spoken to you about your toy? He’s displeased with the way I’ve been treating mine.”

Jared looked annoyed. “He wasn’t exactly happy about it. But I have plans for her. Loftus will change his mind.”

“Maybe,” Tristan said mildly.

“Why do you care?”

“I think it might be time for our fun to come to an end. We have to move on sometime.”

“I’m not moving on this time. Leila’s different.”

“Yeah, you say that about all the girls.”

Glowering, Jared shifted suspicious eyes to Dawn. “So what are you gonna do with her? Drain her and dump her in the lake?”

Tristan looked down at her, eyes shuttered. His voice was dark and intimidating in a way that made her shiver. “That’s a possibility.”

“Ah, Tristan, you’re such a fucking liar,” Jared laughed. “But it’s not necessary with me. I appreciate your situation, I really do. I’m a romantic at heart. Look.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice to a serious note. “I’m gonna make this girl one of us, all right? Don’t tell anyone about it and I won’t tell anyone if you lock your toy up in a secret place, where you can use her whenever you want. I’ll even help you.”

“That’s a dumb idea, Jared.”

“Right. Well, if you’re really gonna dump your little piece in the lake, at least let me get a taste first.”

Tristan jerked Dawn back as Jared advanced. “She isn’t for sharing.”

“But Branek got a taste. Come on, don’t be a dick.”

Jared lunged for Dawn. Tristan came between them, but not before Jared had shoved the heel of his hand into Dawn’s face. She felt the warm gush of blood on her lips. For a moment she could only stare as they grappled. Jared drove his shoulder into Tristan’s gut. Tristan swung him to the ground. Already there was blood and the crack of bones. Somehow they managed to avoid falling into the pool.

“I knew it,” Jared cackled hysterically as they fought. “I knew you were lying, I fucking knew it!”

Dawn tore her eyes away and hurried over to where Leila stood, frightened and rapt. “We’re g
oing,” Dawn said with quick authority, grabbing Leila’s hand and leaving no room for argument this time. Neither of them could afford to hesitate.

The front gate came into view, and they ran for it, feet slipping on the cool dewy grass of a low hill. A roar of ou
trage sounded behind them and spurred them forward. Dawn didn’t dare glance over her shoulder to see which vampire was winning the fight. It seemed stupid to miss Tristan with such sudden ferocity when they were running for their lives. But she hadn’t even told him goodbye.

Augusta stood by the gate, one hip cocked to the side. “It’s locked, you morons. You need som
eone who knows the code.” She turned to punch it in, grinning in gleeful mischief. “This’ll be a major mental breakdown for Jared. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Thank you,” Dawn said as the gate started to open.

“Whatever,” Augusta said dismissively. She looked at Leila. “You better leave now, unless you want Jared to control you for the rest of your life. If you make him angry, that might not be a very long time.”

“
Noooo!
”

At the howl of rage, Dawn couldn’t help looking behind her. She immediately regretted it. Jared flew down the hill toward them, a thin savage figure. His face was bloody, his eyes crazed with fury. “You fucking bitch,” he snarled at her.

Dawn spun away, her skin tight on her skull, but she wasn’t fast enough. A hand grabbed her hair and pulled her down to the ground. A foot connected with her ribs. She curled up automatically, her vision blacking in and out. She retched. All she could hear was screaming.

“Get up, Dawn,” Augusta commanded mercilessly.

She and Leila pulled Dawn to her feet. Dawn held her side with one hand and reached for Leila with the other. It hurt to breathe. Her eyes found Tristan, his fangs bared, eyes full of seething hatred. Bloody and enraged, he gripped Jared’s shirtfront and slammed his head repeatedly into the ground, yelling at the same time.

“Get out,” Augusta said. “I’ll calm them down.”

Trying to ignore her pain, Dawn flew down the driveway with Leila in tow. She heard the gate closing behind them.

~

They’d passed out in the living room, each of them afraid to be alone, at least for a little while. Dawn dreamed of the pages of books, fragile pages covered in the words of dead languages. She dreamed she walked down a corridor, heading toward a pale blue emergency light. There was a door at the end and she pushed it open. Tristan sat alone in a bare room on the floor beside a window. Moonlight washed through the glass in a neat square, edging him in a silvery hue. He seemed sad, but perhaps that was only because he was sitting alone in the dark, staring out a window.

“I don’t hate you,” she told him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I hate myself enough for both of us.”

She hovered at the edge of wakefulness. She’d bundled up blankets on the floor and left Leila with the couch. Her body was straight as a board. She clutched a tumbled tiger’s eye in one hand.

Jared hadn’t broken her nose. She’d cleaned up the blood on her face in front of the bathroom mirror, wincing, tears slipping from the outer corners of her eyes. She’d lifted her shirt to see the damage he’d done to her ribs and was aghast at the huge, blackish bruise forming on her side. It hurt like hell to move, to breathe. Maybe he’d broken a couple of ribs. She didn’t know how to tell. And she didn’t care. She only wanted to sleep, and forget.

Leila stirred on the couch. “Are you awake?”

“I can’t tell,” Dawn said.

“I know,” Leila whispered. “I can’t either.”

But evening light was streaming through the blinds and she could speak, and she could move, if barely, and so she dragged herself into the shower, keeping her bruised ribs angled away from the harsh spray of water. She allowed herself to worry for Tristan, although she doubted he would have cared if he knew.

Dawn had never been someone who went to parties or involved herself in school activities or campaigned for worthy causes. She was a loner, content with few friends and more quiet nights at home than not. She was an observer, not a participant. But for better or worse she’d been involved in this dangerous thing so far removed from her normal life, and the past week had made its mark upon her soul. She thought she might never leave the house again if this were how bereft she’d feel when something ended.

Bored and fidgety, she wandered over to her dresser. In summer, the light from her window bathed the entire top of the dresser in a generous yellow rectangle. Now, toward the end of September, it had weakened slightly and moved up the wall.

One by one she removed the crystals from the little bowls of sea salt and lined them up neatly. Chrysoprase to encourage positive feelings, orange calcite for the color, pyrite for vitality, and the tiny herkies that tingled in the palm of her hand for creativity.

How long had it been since the first night she’d seen Tristan at the bar? A week, maybe? And yet her life was barely recognizable.

Her thoughts turned again and again to the days spent with him, days on the road, days in m
otels. That time seemed less real than something she might have imagined or seen on TV. Suddenly she understood how much she had left to experience in the world. It frightened her to realize how little self-awareness she possessed, but she knew those days on the road had changed her, and now she had no idea who was staring back from the mirror.

What had Tristan done to her? What had Branek done? What had she done to herself?

A hot, panicked feeling overtook her as she stood there in her room, among the things she called her own.
What have I done?

Her room—with its juvenile magazine collages of haircut ideas on the walls, the little boxes of unworn plastic jewelry, the painted frames with no pictures in them, the books rescued from Endp
apers when Roy culled the shelves. It was the room of a girl, not a young woman. Dawn realized she had been someone who clung to childish ideals and dreamed of impossible things. Now she had no use for idealization, and she’d found out firsthand impossible things could happen easily, though with less than lovely consequences.

She discovered that getting rid of one’s belongings required a special kind of ruthlessness. There wasn’t any room for sentimentality or regret. She could live without most of this. Clothes, shoes, knickknacks, books. There was so much she used to cherish but for which she could no longer bring herself to care. Everything she tossed into cardboard boxes salvaged from the nearest dumpster re
presented the life she’d unwillingly forsaken when Tristan had taken her on the road. She knew she would never feel right slipping back into it as if nothing had happened.

Here I start anew.

She kept her sewing machine. She kept a painting Leila had done for her. And all her crystals. There were still some clothes, of course, her most basic and beloved pieces. Her laptop rested in one of the dresser drawers. But her room had been hollowed, and she felt it reflected her more accurately now.

Leila leaned in the open door. “Want to go to the Egg House?”

“God, yes,” Dawn said. “Let’s get out of here.”

The night city was bright and in motion, yet silent beyond the barrier of the car windows. Amber streetlights hopped over them and Blonde Redhead was on the stereo. The 24-hour restaurant was right up the street from their apartment. It was reasonably bright, which was comforting. Dawn played with the drink menu and jelly co
ntainers while waiting for their food. Leila drew on the plain white placemat with the crayons meant for children.

“I’ve fallen so far behind with my art,” she said. “I thought about dropping my classes and star
ting again next semester, but I decided not to. I’m just going to pull a lot of all-nighters in the lab until I get caught up. That way I won’t have to think about what happened and … he won’t have
won
. He won’t have stolen a chunk of my life from me.” She stared determinedly at the placemat and pressed the crayons so hard the wax flaked off.

“That sounds brave.”

“What are you doing about work?”

Dawn didn’t know. She felt the same way about going back to work at Endpapers as she did about the rest of her old life. It would be boring, it would never satisfy her, and she would come to resent it, if she could muster the energy to care that much. Besides, Roy might have already given her job away to someone else.

“Maybe …” she began hesitantly. She licked her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll find a new job.”