In Blood We Trust (4 page)

We hadn't realized that he was an ex-Shredder at first, but our community hadn't exactly been up on getting to know outsiders, anyway. After the epidemic, people got real skittish round each other. They began to shut themselves inside their houses for the sake of their health as well as to avoid terrorist attacks, even if the government had started to actively execute offenders. Still, with the breakdown of society, bad guys had gotten ballsy, and their numbers grew and grew.

That was also when the stories had started going round—tales about how some of the people who'd survived the mosquito epidemic only did so because they carried a “monster gene,” which allowed for immunity. It also allowed these types to obtain precious water through drinking blood.

They called monsters “water robbers,” even if society wasn't exactly sure if we really existed or not. And you know what uncertainty leads to—paranoia. Monster hunts.

Monsters mostly responded by going into hiding, using hidden identities, secret sanctuaries, or staying locked up inside their homes, just like any other scared person. But some of us went to places like the New Badlands, where we dug the ID chips out of our arms, divorced ourselves from major technology, and lived in what we hoped would be peace.

Nobody much bothered us until Stamp and his ilk showed up.

Then Gabriel had come along out of nowhere, too, and me and my dog, Chaplin, had found out he was a vampire and...

Well, let's just say my Intel Dog, who'd been genetically bred and tooled with in my dad's lab, had overexerted himself in using Gabriel to bring Stamp down. He'd pitted the two against each other and it had ended up exposing our community, anyway.

I'd done my share to screw things up, though, mostly by being so overprotective of my neighbors. Hell, I'll be clearer than that—I'd gone and killed a few of Stamp's men, but I'd been trying real hard lately to make up for that. I'd even taken 562's blood in the hopes that it would make me so powerful that I'd be able to protect my friends from every menace in the future....

As I traveled down the main hill out of GBVille, past an abandoned sin alley where the prostitute altars and lowfrequency vibration boxes had been abandoned, my heart started to beat in earnest.

I was getting closer to the place where we'd hidden 562, and I could feel my mother/father, even from this far away. Or maybe I was just anticipating seeing my origin.

I came to the little cave where we had secreted 562 a couple of weeks ago, and even though my pulse was shooting every which way now, I couldn't have felt any better.

Did that have something to do with the increased sense of power I had?

The meanness?

Blood still high, I tried to control what was going through my head, but my thoughts wouldn't mellow. In fact, they went in the direction I'd cut them off at before.

Under the thrall of those unforgiving memories, I entered the cave, making my way through the small rooms, back toward the space where we'd erected a panel of glass that served as 562's shelter for the time being, until we got round to piling rocks in front of it. I hadn't wanted to fully put 562 away yet, though. Our origin wasn't dead.

She/he was only sort of . . . sleeping. That's the only way I can say it. Mind broken, body stilled. By having 562 conscious and alive, we believed that our origin kept us blood monsters in a preternatural state. But that might have only been faith on our part, because we weren't even sure if 562's death would have erased all our powers and returned us to other, more humanlike forms.

We weren't even sure if 562 could die.

When I walked into the coffin room, I stopped in my tracks, totally unprepared for what I found.

Yes, there was 562 in back of the glass partition, all right—and her/his space was surrounded by what looked to be more offerings than me or any other Badlander had left, just as parting gifts, really. Behind that glass, she/he was in the regular, nonshift form: long silver hair hiding shattered red eyes and a face brushed with glinting down and a small black nose. Because there hadn't been another full moon since the last time 562 had gone lunar, we weren't certain whether our origin would be turning back into the fourarmed beast shape that my own body imitated on a smaller scale. We weren't even sure a full moon
had
enough power to control 562's vegetative body.

But the community would sure be ready twelve nights from now, just in case.

We'd posted three older vampire guards in front of 562 as another “just in case” during the nights, using my fellow were-creatures Hana and Pucci by day while the vamps slept. But the vampires weren't what had brought me to a standstill.

It was their positioning.

All three were facing 562, as if they were statue copies of our origin; their legs were crossed in the same lotus position as sheathed silver swords rested on their laps, and their gazes were fixed on our relic with rapt, eerie attention.

They might have heard me enter, but they didn't do anything about it. They just kept their hands on their knees as they stared.

I heard a sound to my left, and I hunched, ready to be set upon. Then I realized that it was only Chaplin.

With the way he slunk toward me, my heart did a dip. He had that cautious, sad look in his big dark eyes, his head down. Even his brown fur, which had once seemed so shiny, looked duller.

I'd never seen him like this—not even when I'd been doing all that killing out in the Badlands. But he'd had faith in my improvement back then—and he'd also thought I could be controlled.

Out of habit, I got down on one knee, holding out my hand to him. He stopped short of it, and I battled a clenching in my chest.

An awkward moment passed before I asked, “Why're you here?”

With one glance at 562, Chaplin provided me with an answer.

He and my origin had never gotten along. 562 had attacked Chaplin once, and I knew that my dog often kept his distance from 562. Did he think he was protecting the community by watching over the origin?

Chaplin sniffed in my direction, as if he could smell Gabriel all over me. Whether Gabriel even
had
a scent didn't seem to matter, since an Intel Dog had powers of detection that went beyond even those of a were-creature in animal form. In this human shape, I didn't have the benefit of any preter powers, so I was at a loss.

My dog sat on his butt, still gauging me, still keeping a distance. But when he spoke in his typical yip-growl-yowl way, I understood him. I'd had him since he was a pup, and my dad had prepared me to take care of Chaplin just as well as he took care of us.

You've been bleeding,
he said, barking out the sounds in low tones.

The vampires didn't seem to be listening, so I didn't do Chaplin the disservice of barring the truth.

I'd done enough lying in my life.

“I was with Gabriel,” I said, touching my neck where the small wound had healed already.

Chaplin looked away.

“You disapprove?” I asked.

“Funny. That wasn't your point of view in the Badlands, when you wanted him round, and when he promised to come with me here to the hubs for a were-cure we never discovered.”

It wasn't because I wanted him
with
you, Mariah. Both times were a part of—

“Bigger plans. I know.”

And those bigger plans had unintentionally ended up bringing out the wildness in me. For a while, me and Gabriel had gotten that under control, though, with the way he'd been able to give me the peace with his mind powers. Yet after Gabriel found out that I hadn't merely killed Stamp's men out in the Badlands, but I'd also brought about the death of the beloved woman he'd come out west to track down, he'd resented me too much for the peace to work anymore.

Our link had been contaminated by my actions, even if I'd killed Abby, a fellow werewolf, only because she'd challenged me to the death.

“Chaplin,” I said, wishing I could put my hand on him, feel that comforting fur once again. “Don't worry about me and Gabriel. We're going to find a way, just like we did before. Just like we all have.”

My dog shook his head.
Gabriel's a Red who still believes that he's got a human inside him somewhere. But all vampires are that way at first, Mariah. At least, that's what the old ones keep telling me.

I couldn't say anything to that. But I could hope that Gabriel wouldn't be like the rest, couldn't I?

If anyone could save Gabriel from that fate, maybe I could, because I was special now—I had something no other monster had, thanks to 562. I just had to figure out how to use these new powers to our benefit.

Chaplin must've read my expression.
As much as I love Gabriel, you feed each other's bloodlust, and you know it.

I shook my head, ready to argue, but he interrupted.

No—I saw that look on your face when you came in here. I've spent years seeing that look, Mariah, talking you through it, hoping it would go away for good one day. And I've seen it only get worse.
Chaplin stood and started to circle me.
You've been thinking about the bad men who made you into a monster again. I used to understand why you couldn't forget about them, but now . . .

“Now that 562 directly exchanged with me, even a little, you're afraid I'm going to take advantage of what I might be able to do to men like them.”

I shut my mouth, and that was as good as a
yes
. I wouldn't lie.

Mariah,
he said with a whine that crumbled me into what felt like little pieces.

I tentatively reached out, put my hand on his neck. He stiffened, but I didn't want to let go.

“Haven't you ever thought about it, Chap? Don't you remember the sight of Mom and Serg after the bad guys got through with them?”

“A few of them escaped when my dad opened fire. If I could do anything to those guys, I'd—”

His words sank deep, enough to make me shiver.

But I didn't think it was just Chaplin's comments that did it.

Out of instinct, I turned round, feeling extra watched.

The vampires had come to fix their stares on me—blank, cryptic gazes that almost made me feel . . .

As if
I
were 562 and worthy of some dedicated attention, too?

One vampire, a guy with stubble on his pretty-boy face and long, straight blond hair that came to his neck, smiled at me just before they all went back to watching our origin.

I didn't like that smile.

“Why're they being weirder than vampires usually are?” I whispered to Chaplin.

If a dog could shrug, that was what he did.
They're guarding. But if I didn't know any better, I would even say they are . . . paying adoration.

From the way Chaplin uttered it, I knew he'd noticed how that vampire had smiled at me, too.

What was going on?

There have been others who have come here,
Chaplin added.
Only those who know that we kept 562 alive. In and out, never saying a word, only watching the origin.

“Do they think 562's going to break out of this funk or something?”

As the blond vampire spoke, I startled, right along with Chaplin.

“It's doubtful that
562
will break out of anything, Mariah.”

And he gave me another strange look that sent more chills down my spine, mostly because I could've sworn that he meant something that I just couldn't understand.

Not at that second, anyway.

A
s Gabriel moved through the asylum halls, flickering torches lined the way, much like the fellow monsters who stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

He didn't really look at them, not when it took all his energy to steady the chaos that was still winding through his body from his time with Mariah.

His blood was literally bubbling, his fangs scraping his bottom lip even now, so far away from her, his sight a dull red as he went toward the cells where he was to meet the other vampires for their nightly round of questioning prisoners.

Red. He could barely see around it. In his mind's eye, he could picture Mariah lying in bed, her hair knifed in a short line to her jaw, the color of it as red as his appetite. Her back smooth and pale as he went to touch it. Her eyes a brighter green than usual after she'd started to turn into the monster he always seemed to bring out in her.

He'd wanted Mariah's blood so badly, and he'd taken it like a thief. But he'd paid when his tongue had gone numb from the taste of her.

Was it some sort of cosmic punishment? Or was it nature's way of keeping all the vampires here from feasting on Mariah and her 562 blood?

He was so consumed by his remaining hunger for her—for her old blood as he remembered it during better times—that he came around a corner, nearly banging into the oldster.

Gabriel steadied the man, who'd found a long-sleeved white top and black pants somewhere in GBVille. His whiskers were longer than usual, making his stubble more into a beard these days. His posture was bent, echoing the slight hunch of his body when it was in were-scorpion state.