Soul Bound (6 page)

I squeeze my fists in anger. “That bastard,” I swear. I know I’m supposed to pretend to be on his side, but at the moment I can’t help it. How dare he hit a human? Especially one as emotionally fragile as Bertha.

“I was so upset. I got back here and… well…” She gestures to the bathroom. “And now I don’t know what to do. I can’t even sleep—thinking about that food being there. Rotting away, waiting for someone to discover it.”

My heart aches at her obvious pain. “Why don’t we take it outside?” I suggest. “Let housekeeping come and take it away.”

She looks up at me in panic. “No! Then they’ll all know. They’ll all know I ate all of…” she trails off, a horrified look on her face.

Right. I think for a moment. Then I smile. “I’ve got an idea,” I tell her. “We’ll take it out, tray by tray and place each one in
front of someone else’s door. Then they’ll assume everyone had one room service meal. No big deal.”

Bertha looks up at me with extreme gratitude on her face. “You’d do that for me?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

And so we start piling up the trays, sneaking quietly into the hallway, surreptitiously placing each tray in front of another door. There are so many, we eventually have to hit the next floor. But in the end, the bathroom is clear and it’s already beginning to smell a whole heck of a lot better.

“Oh, Rayne, thank you!” Bertha says, collapsing onto her bed once we’re finished. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. How can I repay you?”

“By getting yourself help,” I tell her. “Find a meeting or something. Or a doctor.”

“You’re so nice,” she says. “I had no idea. I thought you’d be totally stuck-up. After the way Teifert talked about you…”

I give her a regretful smile. “I have my moments,” I tell her. “But what you’re going through? That’s something I understand. And I would have given anything when I was going through it myself to have someone help me.”

“I want to help you, too,” Bertha says, looking bashful. “But I don’t know how.”

I hold my breath, wondering if should dare. Do I trust her?

I decide to go for it. “You can tell me what Pyrus knows about my sister and Magnus’s whereabouts,” I tell her. “That would really help.”

She cringes. “I almost forgot about your sister,” she admits.
“You must be really worried about her.” She hangs her head. “I’m sorry I told you I’d slay her. I was just so mad. I wanted to prove myself to Pyrus. That I was worthy to be turned into a vampire. Not that it did any good.”

“Right.” I give her a pitying look.

“That blond bimbo I was telling you about? She’s one of his spies. Before I walked in on them, I heard her telling him something about Sunny and Magnus hiding out in New York City, in some underground place or something. I assume he was going to send me there to find them—before I freaked out on him. But now I don’t know what he’s planning…” She looks up at me and shrugs. “I just know it can’t be good.”

I swallow hard. “Thanks,” I tell her, rising from my seat. “I appreciate you telling me, more than you know.” I start toward the door, anxious to get to Jareth and tell him what I’ve learned.

“Where are you going?” Bertha asks, scrambling to her feet, looking anxious.

“To find my sister and Magnus before Pyrus can.”

“Right.” She squares her shoulders. “Good luck, Rayne. I hope you find them.”

I head out the door, closing it behind me. It’s only then that I realize I never placed the bug in her bathroom. Though I guess there’s no need now. We know Pyrus or his men will soon be on the move, and we know they know exactly where to go.

I just hope we can get there before they do.

S
lipping the black hood over my head, I scan the airfield, making sure the coast is clear. Then I make a run for it, my combat boots pounding against the pavement. Once I reach the plane, I make a dash up the stairs, bursting into the main cabin. My eyes fall on Jareth, already sitting there, in one of the reclining leather seats. I take one look and burst out laughing.

“What?” he demands. Then a light of recognition sparkles in his eyes. “Oh.” He yanks the fake handlebar mustache from his upper lip and removes the floppy wig on top of his head. He throws me a sheepish grin. “I forgot about my little disguise.”

“What were you going for? One of the Village People?” I tease, settling down on his lap and kissing him thoroughly on his now hair-free mouth. “One of Ke$ha’s bearded boyfriends?”

“You know, there was a time when mustaches were quite
the gentlemanly accoutrement,” he reminds me when I come up for air. “For at least a century I had to wear a fake one, to fit in with the locals.”

“Poor baby,” I coo, running a finger over his smooth upper lip. “I don’t know what I’d find worse: life without penicillin and the Internet or the ridiculous fashions. I mean, however did you survive the seventies?”

His smile fades and I immediately regret my bad joke. To Jareth, who lived through the Black Plague that consumed Europe, there was nothing funny about the medicine that could have saved all his family and friends. The magical cure made from simple mold that could have allowed them all to live normal, human lives, instead of being forced to turn into monsters.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” he assures me, attempting a smile, though I can tell he’s still a bit shaken. “It’s just… all this talk about Slayer Inc. and your sister has brought back some painful memories.” He shrugs uneasily. “It’s hard to believe how much I still miss them,” he says, staring down at his lap. “I mean, it’s been centuries!”

“Yeah, I always figured that whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing was a bit suspect,” I commiserate.

“I wish you could have met my sister. The two of you would have gotten on like a house on fire,” he says. “She was so spirited. So full of life—even after she was technically dead.” His voice cracks on the last sentence and my heart melts for him. I curl my body into his own, stroking the back of his head.

“I would have been honored to meet her,” I whisper in his
ear. After all, I know how hard it must be for him to speak of his sister—he who likes to keep everything emotional buried deep inside, like I do. And I want desperately for him to know how much it means to me that he’s willing to open up and share. “I bet she was amazing.”

For a moment he surrenders, allowing me to cuddle him, to soothe his trembling body. Then he stiffens under my touch. “Excuse me,” he says abruptly, removing me from his lap and rising from his seat. “I’m going to check with the pilot. See if he’s ready to go.”

I sigh, curling up in the soft leather seat, watching him practically run in his emotional retreat. I know half the reason the past is so hard for him to face is the fact that he still hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened to his family. And, to be honest, I’m not sure he ever will.

Not that I blame him. If something were to happen to Sunny—if I fell down in my duty and allowed a monster like Pyrus to take her life—I don’t think I could forgive myself either. Which is why we’re on this plane to begin with.

“We’ll be taking off in a minute,” Jareth says, all businesslike as he returns to the cabin. “Buckle your seatbelt.” He sits down in the seat beside me and straps in, even though it’s ridiculous to do so. Not like a vampire can die from turbulence.

“We’ll land in approximately five hours,” he informs me. “Just before dawn. And then we’ll head straight to the tunnels. Hopefully we’ll be able to get to them before Pyrus does.”

“Do you think he’ll go himself?” I ask. “I mean, now that Bertha’s no longer doing his bidding?”

Jareth shakes his head. “That’s not his style,” he tells me. “He wants to appear above it all, that he’s only asking that the two of them are brought back to face trial with a jury of their peers. If he went himself, it would raise too many questions.”

“I suppose that makes sense. He gets them back and coerces the other coven leaders to convict them—and then he can do whatever he wants.”

“Pyrus is a very patient vampire,” Jareth adds, as the plane starts rising into the air. “He didn’t get where he is today by being impulsive.” He pauses, staring out the window at the Vegas strip. “I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.”

“Well, at least Bertha’s now on our side,” I remind him. “That definitely helps.”

Jareth turns and gives me a sharp look. “Don’t be too sure,” he says. “You don’t know she was telling the truth. Which reminds me, I need to check the recordings from the bug you placed in her bathroom.”

Er… Ugh. “Um, about that…”

Jareth looks at me questioningly.

“I may have… forgotten to actually put the bug in. I mean with everything else going on.” I feel my face flaming with embarrassment. “But I swear, she was done with Pyrus. I mean, the guy hit her. He told her to get lost. I’m sure there’s no way…” I trail off. I am so fired from James Bond duty.

Jareth lets out a long sigh. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see for ourselves,” he says at last. “And hope we’re not too late.”

“
S
o do you think there are rats down here?” I ask worriedly as I watch Jareth pry open a large metal grate embedded in the pavement with his crowbar. It groans as it slides from its decades-old resting point, revealing a slime-covered rusty ladder leading down into the darkness. I stifle a shiver as I stare down into the black pit we’re about to descend.
Really, Sunny?
Would it have been so hard for you and Magnus to hole up in the Four Seasons with a room service menu and downloadable movies while on the lam?

We flew all night long and arrived in New York City a few hours before the sunup. I really did try to get some rest, but let’s face it—it’s not easy to sleep when your sister’s life is on the line. By the time they opened the cabin doors and allowed us to
exit the plane, I was so tired I could barely see straight. And Jareth didn’t seem much better. Not surprising—from what I could tell, he spent the night torn apart by nightmares—tossing and turning and moaning his sister’s name. I feel bad for him and wish there was some way to help relieve his guilt. But at the same time, I really hope it doesn’t distract him from our mission.

“At this point, rats are the least of our problems,” Jareth replies, hooking the crowbar to his belt and scanning the small park for any wandering early morning police patrols. From the airport, we took a cab downtown to the Financial District, where Jareth hit a hardware store for supplies and I hit a butcher shop for a pound of raw hamburger, which I had already devoured on the way here. Due to the undercover nature of our mission, we couldn’t bring blood donors with us. And the little bit of synthetic Jareth did manage to stash away in the jet isn’t doing the job of quenching my thirst. I don’t know how I ever lived on it for so long.

“Least or not, they’re still creepy,” I remind him. “Those beady eyes, those bald tails… I mean, why the heck are their tails bald, anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.” My stomach releases a loud growl, evidently not caring about the grossness of the vermin in question. Hopefully the vampire coven Sunny and Magnus are staying at will be able to hook us up with some real cocktails. The last thing I need is to get too hungry—and fall off the wagon—after spending so much time learning good blood-drinking habits in vampire rehab.

“Well, I’m sure they think you’re creepy, too,” Jareth says. “Considering you don’t even have a tail at all. Now go! Before someone sees us!”

“Right.” After one more scan of the park, I scramble down the ladder and into the awaiting sewer. Jareth follows me, using his vampire strength to drag the grate back over the hole—and cover our tracks—so our little trespassing adventure won’t be spotted by the NYPD or other concerned citizens. Last thing we need is to be mistaken for terrorists in some kind of “See Something, Say Something” public service campaign gone wrong.

As I jump from the ladder onto the slick concrete floor, the grate crashes shut with an echoing boom, stealing away the predawn light and leaving us in complete darkness. I squint, trying to get my eyes to adjust, wishing I’d eaten more carrots while I was still alive. Normal vampires, as I mentioned before, have perfect twenty-twenty vision, but mine is still a bit suspect—due to the blood virus—especially when I haven’t had a decent drink in a while, which weakens my vampire powers. I’m more than a little thankful when Jareth hands me a small flashlight, though at first I’m scared to click it on, wondering what I might see. Especially if he’s right about rats being the least of our worries down here.

Eventually curiosity and practicality win out over my fears and I flick on the flashlight, turning the device toward the sound of rushing water—praying it is, indeed, water and not some kind of human sewage or radioactive slime. (Hey, it happened in
Friday the 13th Part 8: Jason Takes Manhattan.
) The beam of light illuminates a small concrete waterfall, where
(thankfully) relatively clean-looking water rushes from one drainage pipe to another. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Back in the day there used to be an aboveground waterway flowing through what we now know as Canal Street,” Jareth, my tour guide, explains, joining me on the ground. “They paved it over around 1812 and it became New York’s first underground sewer.” He motions upstream—to the dank, low-ceilinged concrete passageway the water is gushing out from. “Let’s go.”

“In there?” I ask, biting my lower lip, nervous all over again. “Through the water?” I mean yes, at least it’s not radioactive slime, but still!

Jareth looks down, consulting his map. “It’s not the most direct route,” he confesses. “Or the most pleasant. But at least we’ll avoid being seen by construction workers or MTA employees walking the subway tracks.” He throws me a grimace. “Getting arrested isn’t going to help us save your sister.”

Unfortunately his words make a lot of sense, so I suck in a breath and prepare to dive in. Sunny better be damned grateful for this rescue attempt, that’s all I can say. Like, “letting me borrow her Tiffany heart necklace for at least three special occasions” grateful. Especially since my brand-new, not-so-waterproof Doc Martens boots are never going to be the same after this little spelunking mission. (Yes, I know, I know, one should never buy and wear new boots when embarking on an undercover mission through the sewers of New York City. But you didn’t see Bertha’s hot slayer outfit and experience the pains of wardrobe inferiority.)