Soul Bound (5 page)

Instead, she’s out there, somewhere, unprotected and vulnerable, with a crazy, deadly vampire slayer with something to prove determined to hunt her down. Ready to actually kill her—if she gets half the chance.

I cannot let that happen.

“We have to warn her,” I say as Jareth escorts Marcia out and closes the door behind her. “Her and Magnus. We have to let them know there’s a vengeful slayer on the loose.”

Jareth turns back to me, biting at his lower lip, looking worried. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says at last.

“Why not?” I demand. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“Well, for one thing, we don’t know yet if Bertha’s truly a danger,” he reminds me. “Just because she wants to go after Sunny and Magnus doesn’t mean she knows where to look. And if we make an overt move to find them—and get caught—well, we’ve already talked about the consequences of something like that.”

Right. He loses the Blood Coven forever and I get nano’ed. Not good. But still…

“Can’t we… I don’t know, call them or something?” I ask. “I mean, you’ve got to know where they are, right?”

Jareth sighs. “I do have some idea,” he confesses. “But they’ve gone deep underground. Under the streets of New York, where there is no Internet, no cell service, no connection to the outside world. It would be impossible to reach them unless we traveled there ourselves and gained admittance to the secret world below.”

“Well, we need to be ready to do that,” I reply. “If push comes to shove.”

“I don’t know Rayne. Like I said… if we get caught…”

“Fine. You don’t have to come,” I reply quickly. “But don’t expect me to stay home and sit around, wondering if my sister has been butchered by the winning contestant of
Bridalplasty
.”

“Of course not,” he mutters. “That just wouldn’t be you.”

I can’t help a small grin at that. “You know me very well.”

He shakes his head. “Fine,” he says at last. “I’ll have a chartered jet standing by. We can’t use the Blood Coven ones—it’ll arouse too much suspicion.” He reaches into his drawer and hands me a small metal device. “In the meantime, take this,” he says. “It’s a bug,” he adds, at my confused look. “I want you to leave it somewhere in Bertha’s room where she won’t find it. This way we can listen in on her conversations. Try to determine whether or not she knows anything about their whereabouts.”

I take the bug and put it in my pocket, throwing my arms around Jareth and hugging him to me, relief washing over in me in waves. “Thank you!” I murmur over and over again. “Thank you so much. I promise you we’ll make this work. We’ll keep them safe and no one will be any the wiser.”

“I hope you’re right,” he says, pulling away from the hug and staring down at the photo of Bertha and Pyrus again. “Because if we fail, there will be hell to pay.”

I
t takes a lot of calling around—let’s just say Vegas has a LOT of hotel rooms—but eventually I figure out where Bertha is currently residing. Turns out Pyrus hooked her up big time—putting her up in the Bellagio itself. I guess we can’t add cheap bastard to his list of evil qualities, though we could add “not too bright,” considering he didn’t put her under an assumed name. And it only takes a teensy bit of vampire scenting to seduce the drooling front desk clerk to hand over her room number.

Sometimes I love being a vampire.

I head up to the tenth floor and down the hall to her room. I knock on the door, nervously fingering the bug Jareth gave me, in my pocket. He suggested I put it under the toilet, saying it’s sensitive enough to pick up conversations in the next room,
and this way it’ll be out of sight, out of mind. So all I have to do is get Bertha to let me pee in peace and I’ll be golden.

I am so the female James Bond.

There’s no answer, so I knock again. A few minutes later, I’m about ready to go back down to my desk clerk friend and convince him to give me a key when the door finally slips open. Bertha has stripped from her former
Resident Evil
costume and is now wearing a Bellagio Egyptian cotton robe and slippers, her hair piled high above her head. I worry for a second she might be entertaining company—namely a certain politically connected vampire we both know and love. But a quick peek into the room behind her tells me she’s alone.

“What do you want?” she demands, squinting her eyes at me.

“Can I come in?”

“Why would you want to come in?”

I suck in a breath. Here goes nothing. “I want to talk. I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. After all, we’re both working for the same people, right? We both have the same mission? I was thinking maybe we should start working together or something.” It’s all I can do not to gag at the words. But I need her to let me in.

For a moment I’m positive she’s going to slam the door in my face. But instead, she widens it, allowing me entrance. Which makes sense, I guess. After all, she’s still relying on me to tell her where Sunny is hiding out. She’s probably relieved I’ve come to my senses at last.

I step inside the hotel room, past the closed bathroom door, and take a quick look around. Though the place is beyond gorgeous—
draped in gold and crimson—with an amazing 180-degree view of the famous fountain outside below—there’s something that seems… off. Wrong. Though I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it could be.

I mean, it’s certainly not messy by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s oddly… clean. And really orderly, too. The stakes on her nightstand are lined up in perfect rows. Each queen-sized bed is made within an inch of its life. Even her makeup sits on a nearby table in perfect order—lipsticks lined up, blushes and eye shadows in careful stacks. Heck, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the pile of fashion magazines she’s carefully placed on the bed are in alphabetical order.

“Wow, your maid’s working overtime, huh?” I remark, plopping down on one of the beds. “Hope you left her a good tip.”

I catch Bertha’s cringe as I wrinkle the bedspread. “Be care—” she starts, then stops, and I can see her hard swallow. I reach over and switch on another lamp, allowing light to flood the darkened room. Only then do I get a good look at her face. Her hollow eyes, her smudged makeup. And is that a bruise on her cheek?

“Are you okay?” I ask against my better judgment. After all, she is the enemy, out to destroy my sister. But she doesn’t look very evil at the moment. If anything, I’d say she looks a bit scared.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, recovering quickly. She sits down in nearby chair, straightening her robe. “Now, how about you tell me about Sunny and Magnus.”

“Look, before we get into all of that, do you mind if I use the bathroom?” I ask, bouncing up from my spot on the bed. Might as well get that part over with right away in case she goes and kicks me out. Not to mention it’ll give my stupid hands a reason to stop shaking. I start stumbling to the room in question, not waiting for her obligatory yes.

To my surprise, Bertha leaps from her seat and throws herself into my path, blocking the way to the bathroom, an utterly panicked look on her face.

“What?” I ask, worry knotting my stomach at her extreme reaction to my seemingly innocent move. There’s no way she can expect me to have a bug, is there?

“Um, nothing. It’s just… the bathroom’s dirty. I don’t think you want to use it,” she stammers.

Oh-kay. My spidey senses start to work overtime. Is she hiding something in there? Or worse… someONE? Could Pyrus himself be lurking behind door number one, waiting for me to implicate myself somehow?

No, that’s impossible. It’s morning. Her blinds are wide open. Any vampire worth his salt would be deep asleep at home right now, not lying unprotected in a Vegas bathroom. Too easy for some random slayer to come by and stake him through the heart.

“I really have to go!” I cry, trying to dodge her and reach the door. But she remains an unmovable force. I’d be impressed by her reflexes if I weren’t so annoyed at them foiling my supposedly no-big-deal spy plan.

“I bet they have one down in the lobby,” she suggests, her face white with panic now. What happened to the cocky, confident slayer who waltzed into my bedroom the day before? “I’ll wait for you here, okay?”

I don’t think so. “Sorry, I won’t make it that far,” I moan, clutching at my crotch. A little crude, I know. But it works for two-year-old boys… “If I don’t go now I’m going to piss my pants!” I do a little pee-pee dance to hopefully better prove my point. She stares at me, then at her perfectly pristine room, in horror.

“Okay, okay!” she cries. “Go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She steps out of my path, biting her fingernails. What the heck is behind this door? Do I even want to know? So help me if she’s hiding a bunch of severed heads or something…

I wrap my hand around the doorknob, praying for something not gross. Even Pyrus himself would be a better alternative than blood, carnage and…

… pepperoni pizza?

The large bathroom is filled practically waist-high with room service trays. Plates, bowls, and silverware fill the bathtub, covered in half-eaten food. I stagger backward, the myriad of smells assaulting my senses.

What the hell? I turn back to Bertha. She slumps down on her chair, staring at her hands, her face flaming red.

Wow. I guess you could say she isn’t quite as recovered from her eating disorder as I first assumed. Abandoning my mission for the moment, I walk over and sit across from her, peering at
her with worried eyes. I try to remind myself once again she’s the bad guy. But the pity I feel won’t go away. I must be getting soft in my old age.

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” I ask. “I mean, I know it’s scary. But—”

She looks up, glaring at me with eyes full of hate. “How do you know anything?” she demands. “Little Miss Perfect!”

I raise my eyebrows. “Perfect?” I look around the room, making sure she’s not talking about someone else. “Um, are you talking about me?”

“Duh,” she spits out. “Everyone loves you. You’re beautiful. You ace every mission you’re given. Your Teifert’s little golden girl—able to do no wrong.”

Wow, if I’m Teifert’s golden girl, I’d hate to see who gets the bronze. Most of the time he’s too busy yelling at me or calling me a complete screw up to even consider singing my praises. In fact, up until now, I would have bet my life he wouldn’t know a praiseful tune with my name on it if it smacked him upside the head.

“You don’t know what it’s been like,” Bertha continues, all her haughty poise forgotten at my discovery of her dirty secret. “All my life I’ve been told I’m too ugly, too fat, too stupid.” She scrunches up her face. “And then, when I finally
do
find something I’m good at? Being a vampire slayer? It all gets ripped away—because Slayer Inc. wants someone more
attractive
on the payroll. So they can get more positive media attention, like they did when Buffy was on the air. They didn’t care
one bit that I was the best there was when it came to slaying actual vampires. They just knew you looked good in a leather pantsuit.”

While I have to admit I do look damn fine in a leather pantsuit, her words make me cringe all the same. Was she telling the truth? Was that really why they retired her and brought me on in the first place? It would make sense, I suppose, judging from the extreme measures she’s taken to achieve external perfection—at the expense of sanity and health.

“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch her hand, in what I hope appears to be a comforting gesture. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she growls. “You were too busy living the perfect life.”

I snort at that. “Oh yeah, my life is so perfect,” I reply. “My father was murdered by evil fairies. My mother currently lives in an alternate dimension. And my twin sister is running for her life—and I’m the one who’s supposed to track her down—or else I get dusted, too.”

Bertha scowls, staring down at her hands, picking at a hangnail. I draw in a breath. I really don’t want to get into any of this—especially not with her. But at the same time, I realize she needs serious help. And I’m the only one, it appears, willing to give it to her.

Here goes nothing.

“Look, Bertha, I understand what you’re going through more than you know,” I start cautiously. “I had an eating disorder, too. Well, a drinking disorder, if you want to be technical.
I had denied myself real blood for so long—feeling as if that gave me some kind of control over what was happening to my body as a vampire.” I cringe, remembering the hunger I felt at Riverdale Academy. How the bloodlust raged inside of me as I slowly starved to death.

“But it was all an illusion,” I continue. “And I ended up losing control big time—causing someone I cared about to lose his life because of my weakness.” My mind flashes to Corbin’s anguished face. The pain, the betrayal in his eyes, all because of me.

“So… what happened?” Bertha asks softly, as if against her better judgment.

“I got help,” I tell her. “I sucked it up—pardon the pun—and went to vampire rehab. I learned healthy drinking habits and how to control my bloodlust. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was damned hard. It still is. But I feel so much better now, I can’t even tell you.” I pause, trying to meet her eyes with my own. “You could feel better, too, you know,” I tell her. “You can kick this addiction for good.”

She looks up at me with tear-stained eyes. “I was doing so good,” she says. “But then he dumped me!” She bursts into tears.

“Who? Who dumped you? Pryus?” My body hums with excitement. Is she serious? This could be very good news indeed.

She nods. “He told me he loved me,” she says. “He told me he was going to turn me into a vampire—so I could finally achieve perfection and never have to worry about being fat again. But then I caught him making out with this blond bimbo
vampire. I freaked out, screaming at him. Of course he just laughed at me and called me a fool.”

I give her a sympathetic look. Poor girl. Even if she is an idiot to have ever trusted someone like Pyrus. We’ve all been there, done stupid things for love.

She bites her lower lip. “I got on my knees, Rayne. I begged him not to leave me. To turn me into a vampire as he promised.” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m so embarrassed to even think of it now.” She pauses, then adds, “Finally he got fed up with me and he… well, he hit me.” She reached up and involuntarily touches her bruised face. “I guess I should be lucky he didn’t shatter my cheekbone.”