In Blood We Trust (17 page)

She nodded to McKellan. “I noticed you slipping off from the hub, and I asked one of your men to speed me here undercover.”

The elder addressed Gabriel. “She's been waiting for you to return, just as we have. Taraline believes she can be of some help to us, and she has been just that, running interference for us with the oldster and his questions.”

“Why?” Gabriel asked.

It seemed as if she were averting her gaze from Gabriel's, too, though the veils made that hard to confirm.

“We don't need monster hunts in a new society,” she said. “I
can
help in this situation, if you'll let me. You've gone into my mind to see how loyal I am to Gabriel. I owe him for bringing me here to GBVille from the necropolis.”

McKellan shook his head. “I told Gabriel that we have already gone ahead with our own plans.”

Gabriel asked, “And what would those be?”

McKellan didn't miss a beat. “Mind-screwing the Civils so they will forget the killing and 562 ever happened.”

It took a second for the meaning to permeate.

Taraline leaned back against a wall that split the cave, as if her breath had been punched out. She obviously hadn't known about this.

“So it begins.” She'd probably realized that she was a candidate for a mind-screw now that she was privy to the vampires' plans.

Gabriel's guts felt gnarled, tied up by the conscience that still hounded him. “Mind-screwing's a harsh measure.”

A lock of dark hair dipped over McKellan's brow. “It will allow us vampires a clean slate, another chance with the Civils. Among us, we have already vowed that we will never go after a fellow monster again,
ever
, but we must do what we must this time.”

His rationalization for using mind-screws sounded so very vampire. But to Gabriel, going inside someone's mind and rearranging it was rapacious. Yet that was probably only the clinging humanity in him thinking so.

“That is true,” McKellan said, reading Gabriel. “Mind-screwing is draconian. Yet effective. And that is not where we have to stop. Even before you left, Gabriel, we started to give in to the pleas from some humans who have been willing to join us. Most came to the asylum asking for mercy.”

“They ask for more than mercy,” Taraline said. “They ask for blood exchanges so they can have disease immunity and live longer lives, just like vampires, who seem to be the luxury-model monsters.”

There was longing in her tone. Taraline had been toying with the idea of taking 562's blood in an exchange when the creature had offered it. The origin had sensed her mental battle between living with dymorrdia and the possibility of healing, and it had only been 562's downfall that had put an end to Taraline's decision to undergo the origin's exchange.

Gabriel turned to McKellan. He'd never been under any assumptions that he was the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he didn't want to assume anything now, but . . .

“Why would we want to exchange with humans?” he asked.

McKellan stared a moment too long, as if he were disappointed that Gabriel hadn't figured it out yet. Then he said, “If we give them what they have been asking for, we create more vampire allies.”

“You want to produce troops,” Gabriel said.

“No—I would call them sympathizers.”

“And what about the jailed humans who
won't
be willing to exchange?”

“Gabriel, I have lived long enough to know how this will work. Eventually, most will come to see this as their only hope for survival for a variety of reasons, whether it is about longer lives, health, or even the chance to remain with loved ones. But not even a mind-screw would work to make someone a willing vampire—not if, deep in their soul, they are loath to give up what they treasure most about themselves.” He paused, then said, “Those are the ones who need extra motivation.”

Gabriel must've looked torn, because McKellan went on.

“This is how society at large works: There is
always
one faction in power. They may be kind leaders or they may be greedy ones, but there is always a driving force that others follow because that is what they need—leadership. Capability. This pattern will follow even with monsters, whether it is in GBVille, Dallas, Gates City, the Northlink . . . Others need to look to us because each hub that falls does so due to vampires. We are the strongest and smartest. Surely you can see this trend already occurring.”

Taraline was watching Gabriel through her veils. Like every other shadow, she was the eyes and ears of the community. Had she already seen who was the strongest and smartest? Had she been preparing for a showdown between the Civils and Reds ever since 562's rampage?

Was that why she was here, offering to help?

Gabriel dug his nails into his palms. Stupid. He was so stupid. It never failed that he was the last to see what was what—it'd happened back in the Badlands with Mariah and the were-community. It was happening here.

But then he loosened his fingers, emotion skittering away from him.

Soon, after his gloaming, he was going to be full vampire, smart and keenly perceptive. He wouldn't be the last to figure things out anymore.

McKellan leaned toward him, his eyes a blazing blue in Gabriel's vision.

“We
are
the most fit to lead,” the eldest said. “And we knew that there would be a trigger incident that would show us the right time to take over. The killing and your flight made it clear that all us monsters will never be of a single mind and that one of our kind would need to assume control.”

“Beyond what you've already told me, are there any other plans?”

“We should not need any.”

Taraline broke in. “If you would just listen to me, I have a way to have us all coexist in relative peace, without tearing up everyone's minds.”

McKellan frowned as she wandered closer to Gabriel—so close that he could see the shape of her face under her veils.

Was it his imagination or were there rises of cheekbone and chin where there used to be none?

Once again, he wondered just what Mariah's 562 blood had done to her, if anything. Or if it had changed her in more than one way.

“In case you haven't noticed,” she said, “shadows have been a neutral party in GBVille. We're not Reds and we're not Civils.”

Human,
he thought,
but just of a different sort.

“And?” Gabriel asked.

“And wouldn't it make sense if the one shadow who was attacked and bitten by 562 momentarily lost her sanity and found herself hungry for blood?”

As her meaning came to Gabriel, decency kicked in him once again, taking the place of everything else.

“You're volunteering to take the fall as the one who attacked the Civil first,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I won't let you do that, Taraline.”

She didn't look as if she were going to back down, though.

McKellan said, “Her plan is not as airtight as ours. After a mind-screw, the Civils would not even recall 562 or its rampage.”

“But,” she said, raising her voice, “it's not as final, either. Once you start mind-screwing other monsters, it's not going to stop. Don't you want a different sort of society in GBVille, now, while we have a chance to start over?” She spread her gloved hands. “Ever since dymorrdia's been such an intimate part of my life, I've been banished, and this is the first time I've been a part of a free society. I'm not going to stand by and see it crash because one faction takes advantage of another.”

Gabriel couldn't believe this. “Taraline, if you confessed to killing the Civil, you'd be banished, anyway.”

“No Civil would be vicious enough to demand punishment for me. I'm a victim, remember? 562 took my blood while I was trying to calm the origin down. I sacrificed myself for GBVille.”

“Doesn't matter,” he said.

“Even if I were to be banished, I would just go to another conquered hub, one where they wouldn't know me. There, I'd take great consolation in the fact that the monsters still stood united in GBVille, where the revolution started. The other falling hubs are looking to this place as an example of how to operate, Gabriel, and if they see that monsters can't live together here,
everything
will fail. Humans will rise up again in that void. Is that what you want?”

This was too much, her wanting to be the martyr. “You're forgetting one thing.”

“What?”

“If you were to confess, the Civils could still blame the Reds. They would just point out that 562
made
you a victim. The killing would still be our fault.”

Taraline was looking at him hard—even through her veils he could feel the press of her gaze.

Was it because he didn't seem so dumb now after all?

Then something random occurred to him . . .

“Do you
know
who committed the crime, Taraline?” Was that why she'd been running interference for the vampires with the oldster? Was that why she was being so quick to volunteer? “Did you or one of the shadows see who did it, and you think the identity of the killer is going to cause a Civil-Red war? Then you came up with this scheme to avoid having anyone reveal the actual killer, ever?”

She paused a moment too long.

“No matter the identity of the killer,” McKellan said, “we vampires will protect them. We have already decided it.”

A bad feeling was enveloping Gabriel, just like a black fog where he couldn't see a step in front of him.

“Taraline . . .” He was about to tear off her sheer top veil so he could see her eyeholes, see her blue gaze completely so he could read her.

But memories darkened his gaze instead, images from that night: dancing with Mariah . . . hungry—so hungry . . . forced away from the blood, her blood . . . having to go back into the asylum for his blood-filled flask . . . stalking inside with the other young vampires, then—

Nothing.

Why had he blacked out?

What had happened from that point on?

“Gabriel.” It was McKellan's water-flow voice, and the gush of it entered Gabriel, lending immediate peace.

Thank-all, peace.

The elder took Gabriel by the arm, his touch light as he directed a comment to Taraline.

“Although your plan was a brave one, it will not be required.”

“But—” she said.

“Not,” McKellan said, “unless
our
plans fail, which is not likely.” Then he put his full attention on Gabriel as Taraline lapsed to silence.

“I will take you to the vampire house we have established in the hub,” he said, “where others can mind you while I see to our progress with the Civils. I am keeping you out of sight because if the Civils see you before all is calm, we will already have lost the hub—and the fight against the humans.”

“Have you already sent the vampires to the humans' cells to convert them?” Gabriel asked. “Have you started to mind-screw the Civils . . . ?”

“Upon news of your return, we commenced our plans.”

Gabriel ran his hand down his face, as if he could wipe all this away.

The elder said, “Vampires have started to sway the Civil guards from cell block duty. They will get them into isolated areas of the asylum and put them away until every Civil has been wiped. We are doing this quietly, thoroughly.”

“And what about any were-creatures who sympathize with the Civils?”

“Anyone whose mind reveals sympathies with the Civils will have to be taken care of, only to ensure that no one ever remembers this killing.”

Gabriel didn't move. At least with the mind-screws, Taraline wouldn't have to sacrifice herself, because the rest of the community would have forgotten the killing had even happened. But he felt as if he had started a new, ugly direction for GBVille. For their new world.

And he couldn't stop thinking about why Taraline would've volunteered to stage such a dangerous plan in the first place.

Just as he felt that thick black fog surrounding him again, McKellan tightened his hold on Gabriel.

After that, calm dominated him.

Calm and numbing logic.

B
hen the vampires came to Stamp's cell block that night, he had his back turned to the bars, his hands busy with the wire he'd extracted from the water sink unit near the screened-off loo section of his little room.

Idle hands make for the monsters' work,
he thought, shaping that wire into a hook with his chapped, scraped fingers. He'd spent a lot of hours scratching at the stucco with his nails, extracting this wire from the wall, where the basin hid it. He just hoped that no monsters would be able to smell the blood on him as he formed a tool that might help him pick the lock on his door.

Good thing the power was out, because without these more primitive backup doors, Stamp wouldn't have otherwise had a chance.

Still, he wasn't only banking on lock picking to get out of here. No, sir. He'd also wound some other wires together until they looked like blades. He'd been sharpening those to points while no guards were near and had stowed them under his mattress.

When his trained Shredder hearing detected footfalls—plus the stealthy movement of vampires—he had to quickly stuff the lock wire under that mattress, next to the shivs he'd made. Then, using the bedpost, he hefted himself to his one leg and went to the sink unit to wash his hands under the trickle of liquid.

Whispers down the corridor. Vampire whispers—like silk over sand.