Real Vampires Don't Sparkle (65 page)

A burst of indecipherable static answered him. Dropping the radio, the guard started up to the second floor.

“Stop!” he yelled.

Matheus gripped the railing. He leaned back, driving both feet into the window. The glass shattered, the metal covering popping open.

Ignoring the remaining shards, Matheus dove through the window. The glass razored through his clothes, tiny slivers of blood welling up on exposed skin. Looking around, Matheus tried to get his bearings. He didn’t think he’d been in this hallway before, but on this floor, all the halls looked the same. He closed his eyes.
Left
.

“Shit.” Glass broke behind Matheus as the guard knocked out the remaining pieces.

“Don’t move, you—”

Matheus took off. He skidded around the corner, past the elevator, and up another hall. Matheus sprinted as fast as he dared, barreling up the hall to the cells where Fletcher had taken him. Through the wide-open door, Matheus saw two guards standing in front of Quin’s cell. Matheus sped up. He slammed into the guards, coming to a sudden, tangled stop on the floor. He grabbed body parts at random, beating them into the floor until he came across a head. Either the floor cracked or the guard’s skull did. Guard Number Two clutched at Matheus’ leg while Matheus split Guard Number One’s head open like a coconut. Matheus released Guard Number One. He twisted around, delivering a boot to Guard Number Two’s face.

Actually, a sneaker, not a boot. Not as effective, but still distracting enough for Matheus to whack the butt of Guard Number One’s crossbow over Guard Number Two’s head. The guard collapsed onto Matheus’ legs. Matheus dropped the crossbow, falling back with a whoosh of exhalation.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Quin.

Matheus sat up. The glass front stood open. Quin stood in the center of the cell, Fletcher flush against him, his hand wrapped around her throat.

“They’re unconscious. What more do you want?” Matheus stood, and dusted himself off.

“A bit of style,” said Quin. “Some grace, perhaps. You fight like a drunk having a seizure.”

“That was fighting?” asked Fletcher.

“Both of you can bite me,” said Matheus. “And let her go, Quin. We don’t have time for this.”

“Why?” Quin’s grip tightened.

Fletcher pulled at his fingers, trying to wedge her hand underneath.

“We have a hostage. And I might get hungry later.”

“Knock it off. She’s helping us. Plus, she’s pregnant.” Matheus heard boots pounding closer. “Come on. We have to go.”

“Another little bigot. Just what the world needs.”

Matheus rolled his eyes. Taking Fletcher’s wrist, he tugged her away.

Quin released her easily.

“All right?” Matheus asked her.

“My neck hurts.”

Quin crossed his arms.

“Boo hoo,” he said.

“Be nice or I’ll leave you here,” said Matheus.

Quin scowled at him. Matheus sighed happily. He liked a man who knew how to glare properly. None of this posturing with muscles and dull threats; just pure, unfiltered malice. If he still possessed the ability, Matheus would be pissing his pants right now. Godzilla should take lessons.

Matheus realized Quin had stopped scowling at him, and now looked slightly confused with drawn-together eyebrows and a tilt to his head.

“What?” asked Matheus. “Let’s go.” Still holding Fletcher’s wrist, he marched down the hall.

“Do you have a plan this time?” Quin asked, trailing after them.

“Absolutely,” said Matheus. Fletcher snorted.

“You have nothing. Unbelievable,” said Quin.

“Uh.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Fletcher. “I had a plan, but no, someone had to get his psychotic undead crush first.”

“Fletcher!”

Quin laughed. “We’ll go out the way you came in, Sunshine,” he said. He pushed past Matheus and Fletcher, with an unwarranted amount of swagger, in Matheus’ opinion.

“Sunshine?” Fletcher asked.

“Not now,” said Matheus.

“He calls you Sunshine? Does he do this often?”

“God,” said Matheus. “I said, not now.”

The sound of boots approached the same corner they did, from the opposite direction. Matheus tensed. He hoped Quin had a plan. One that didn’t involve slaughtering a dozen people in front of Fletcher. Matheus doubted wholesale murder would sell Fletcher on the don’t-kidnap-and-torture-us idea.

“It’s cute,” said Fletcher.

“I hate you.”

“Come along, children!” Quin called. He stopped as the horde of guards tromped around the corner.

Matheus recognized the smoking guard at the front. He had blood dripping out of half-a-dozen wounds. The reunion didn’t seem to cheer him up either. As one, the guards lifted their weapons, half aiming at Quin, half at Matheus.

“Take me hostage,” whispered Fletcher. “Hurry!”

Matheus grabbed Fletcher’s arm, shaking her a little.

“I’ll kill her,” he said. “I’m not kidding.”

“Jesus.” Quin snatched Fletcher away. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back. Snapping his fangs out, he pressed the tips to her throbbing pulse. The cords of muscle in her throat convulsed.

Fletcher’s face went ashen.

“Stop!” she shrieked with terror not entirely faked. “Stop or he’ll kill me!”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Young,” said one of the guards. “We have our orders.”

“My father—”

“It would be the same if it were him, ma’am.”

“Time for plan B,” said Matheus, just loud for Quin to hear him.

Quin nodded. Scooping up Fletcher, he tossed her over his shoulder and sprinted in the opposite direction. Matheus followed a nanosecond later, a volley of crossbow bolts after him. He stumbled as a bolt thudded into his back, digging a gorge through his right side.

“Mat!” Fletcher screamed.

“I’m fine!”

Quin veered around the corner. Another bolt protruded out of his shoulder, below his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. He slowed, giving Matheus a glancing once-over.

“Where’s the elevator?” Quin asked. He shifted Fletcher, then reached behind and yanked out the arrow in his shoulder.

“Ugh,” said Fletcher. She’d gone from gray to green. “Left, then right.” She clutched at the back of Quin’s shirt. “I’m going to be sick.”

“There’s not enough time,” said Matheus, keeping pace with Quin.

“I don’t care how much bloody time there is, I’m going to be sick!” Fletcher bellowed.

“I meant for the elevator.”

“I refuse to be thrown up on by two separate members of your family,” said Quin to Matheus.

“My father threw up on you?”

“You did, idiot.” Quin kicked open the door to the stair, then spun out of the rain of bolts.

“Okay, we’ll take the elevator,” Matheus said.

“Ooooh,” Fletcher moaned.

Matheus jammed the button, amazed as the doors opened right away.

“In, in, in,” he said. The doors closed as the first group of guards came into view. Bolts pinged off the metal. Matheus sagged against the wall.

Quin set Fletcher down, then sagged next to Matheus. Fletcher closed her eyes, a hand clapped over her mouth.

“Is she coming with us?” Quin asked. He slashed a hand through the air. “I mean, you’ve adopted everyone else we’ve met. Why not add in a human? It’ll be like having broccoli for a housemate.”

“I—” said Matheus.

“No,” Fletcher said. She lowered her hand. “You should knock me out.”

“Sure,” said Quin.

Matheus whacked him in the stomach. “No.”

The elevator shuddered to a halt, the tiny
G
above the doors lighting up. Fletcher pushed the close button, and held it.

“You have to,” she said. “I told you, I’m not going with you. Knock me out, and maybe I have a chance of convincing Father this wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“Fletcher…” Matheus trailed off. “I just found you again. I can’t—”

Fletcher inhaled with a loud rush of air. She stared at Matheus’ feet. Her hand holding the button shook.

“You have to understand,” she said. “As of this moment….” She faltered, taking in quick, shallow breaths. “As of this moment, my brother is dead. He’s dead. Not gone, or missing, but dead. Understand?”

“No,” said Matheus. His lips felt numb. “No, you can’t. No.”

“Goodbye, Mattias.” Fletcher turned to Quin. “Can you…?”

“Of course,” said Quin.

“No,” Matheus said. “Fletcher, no.”

“You should sit down first,” said Quin.

Fletcher nodded.

“It won’t hurt the baby?” she asked.

“It’ll be fine,” said Quin. “Ready?”

“No,” Matheus said. “Can’t you hear me? I said, no!”

Fletcher sank to the floor. She released the button. The doors slid open, revealing the underground parking lot.

Quin raised his fist.

Matheus squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a thump, then the rustle of clothes. He opened his eyes to see Quin gently lower Fletcher to the floor.

“Let’s go,” said Quin, taking Matheus’ arm.

Matheus pushed him away. He strode out of the elevator, grabbing the first guard who approached. He slammed the guard into the concrete wall, then swept out his legs. The guard went down. Matheus kicked his crossbow aside. He drove his heel into the guard’s forearm; he felt the crunch of bone underneath. The guard screamed.

Quin let out a low whistle.

“Get the others,” said Matheus. The guard writhed at his feet, half-sobbing. Matheus wanted to be sick. He walked away, followed by the grunts and curses, and wet, splattering thuds of Quin doing what Quin did best. Matheus stopped, resting his hand on the hood of Volkswagen Beetle. A large daisy emblem decorated the spring green paint. Not long before more guards arrived, Matheus realized. They needed to leave. He traced the edges of the flower with his index finger. Behind him, a man begged, offering up his children’s names, his mother’s illness. His voice cut off with an abrupt, sickening rip of flesh. Matheus shuddered. He stepped away from the Bug, winding his arms tightly around his chest. Blood dripped down his side, but Matheus barely noticed.

“Mattias.”

Matheus stopped.

His father emerged from the shadows, looking out of place among the grime and the stink of exhaust. He carried a loaded crossbow, the tip of the bolt aimed at the floor. He stopped six feet from Matheus. The crossbow seemed to bend in his hands, as though too dense for him to hold. The skin around his eyes drooped, darker than Matheus remembered.

“
Ich wollte dich retten
,” Carsten said. The mechanical nature of his voice slowed, like a clockwork toy running out.

“I don’t want to be saved,” said Matheus. He took a step forward. Would his father shoot him? Did he even need to wonder?

“
Es ist noch Zeit
.”

Matheus paused, mid-step. A pleading ribbon laced through his father’s words, soft and unfamiliar. His father did not plead. His father commanded. His father ordered. His father snapped his fingers and the world jumped to attention.

“Come with me,” said his father, his accent thicker than usual. “Mattias. My son.”

Revulsion crashed through Matheus, powered by rage, cresting like a wave, smashing down upon his sorrow, and dragging it away. He darted for his father, and snatched away the crossbow. He hurled the weapon from him, ignoring the plastic sound of dented fiberglass.

“You don’t get it.” Matheus pinned his father to the nearest car, wrapping a hand around his father’s throat, bending him back until his head hit metal.

Carsten’s eyes widened, pulse quickened. Matheus watched his father’s heartbeat in his throat. He leaned in, putting their faces an inch apart. His father squirmed, lips pulling up, nose wrinkling, fear and disgust mingling together.

“I would rather lose my soul, live the rest of the life as a monster, than spend one more second as your son. All you do is twist people around until they are as miserable and tormented as you are. You did it to me, and you did it to Fletcher. And if she had any Goddamned sense, she’d do the same thing I did and run the hell away from you.”

His father spat in his face.

“
Du bist nicht mehr mein Sohn
.”

Matheus wiped the spittle off his cheek. He dried his fingers on the lapel of his father’s suit, never breaking eye contact.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said. He straightened, backing away from his father. “I think I’ll mark this day in my calendar.
Dear Diary, Today I got disowned and it’s about fucking time, too.
”

“
Gottes Zorn wird dichfinden und du wirst in de Flammen de Hölle brennen.
”

“Super,” said Matheus. “We can have a family reunion.” He waved his hands. “Maybe we’ll get Satan to DJ.”

His skin tingled, electricity laced with ice. He wanted to laugh, to run, to slam his knuckles against a brick wall until his flesh turned to pulp.

“
Dämon
.” Carsten spoke with a venom Matheus had never heard before. A feverish light shone in his eyes, high spots of color on his cheekbones. He had moved beyond anger, beyond frustration at a malfunctioning son.

Matheus shuddered, unable to stop himself. He turned away, hunching his shoulders up as he walked toward Quin and his newly acquired pile of corpses.

“
Dämon!”
His father’s shout echoed around the garage, multiplying and dividing a dozen times before it faded.

Matheus didn’t look back.

Quin sat on the hood of a Honda Civic, his fangs plunged into the throat of a guard. From the marks on the bodies around him, he’d opted for the all-you-can-eat buffet. When he saw Matheus, he released the guard; the body hit the cement with a thick thud.

“Hungry?” Quin asked. “I think there’s one left.” He jerked his thumb toward the side of the Civic.

“We have to go,” said Matheus. As he spoke, the stairwell door opened, a second wave of guards flooding in.

“Yup.” Quin slid off the hood. He caught Matheus’ wrist, dragging him down as crossbows twanged. They crouched behind the Civic, watching the guards’ feet from underneath.

“I don’t suppose you know how to hotwire a car, Sunshine,” Quin said.

“Actually,” said Matheus.

“You’re kidding me.”