"Kill him," Curtis snapped. "The only way we can."
"Are you crazy?" Matt shouted at Curtis.
* * *
"Wow," Sali breathed, running a hand along the fins of the red, vintage Cadillac. "Ashe, this is awesome. Just like we always wanted." The top had been folded back, revealing the cream interior of the vehicle. The leather was in pristine condition.
"Yeah." Ashe's arms were crossed over his chest as he examined the car. "This is exactly what I wanted."
"I'd say take it for a drive, but you don't want to go out in that storm," Winkler said. "Save it for a sunny day."
"At least sit in the driver's seat, just to see what it feels like," Sali coaxed.
"Yeah." Ashe opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Sighing, he placed both hands on the wheel and everything shifted.
* * *
"What am I doing here?" Ashe studied himself in the dim, metallic reflection of a hotel's elevator doors.
What you are supposed to do, while I Change What Was, filtered into his mind. It was a woman's voice.
Where are you? Ashe returned, looking around. He was alone in the plush, carpeted space outside the elevators.
You cannot see me now. You cannot recognize me in the future, when we meet for the first time.
Why?
Some things must happen as they will.
But, why am I here?
A better question would be when are you.
When am I?
You'll see.
The elevator doors opened, and Ashe blinked in surprise. Lissa—Winkler's Lissa—stood inside. Ashe boarded the elevator, determined to follow her.
"Going to the soda machine, too?" Lissa asked, as Ashe got off on the second floor of the hotel and walked with her.
"Yeah," Ashe nodded. He wanted to ask her about Winkler. Ask if she loved him. Tell her that Winkler still grieved for her. He didn't.
"This dollar isn't working," Lissa sighed after trying it for the fourth time. Each time, the soft drink machine spit out the crumpled bill in an electronic snit.
"Try this." Ashe dug in his pocket and pulled out another dollar—one that wasn't quite as crumpled or ragged around the edges.
"Thanks." Lissa smiled and traded her dollar for his. "Technology makes it impossible to buy orange soda," she quipped. "Film at eleven."
Ashe grinned. He and Lissa watched as the soda machine accepted Ashe's dollar and dropped a bottle of orange soda in the bin.
"Success," Lissa pulled the bottle out and unscrewed the cap. "Thanks again," she smiled and turned to walk away.
* * *
"Ashe, buddy, where did you go?" Trajan knelt beside the open car door as Ashe drew in a painful breath. He was back in the present, his hands gripping the wheel of Donald Workman's Cadillac.
"Winkler," Ashe turned to the Dallas Packmaster, whose face bore a worried frown, "This car belonged to Lissa's husband. Before he died."
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"Nope. She was funny, wasn't she?"
"And really smart."
"Mr. Winkler, take this." Ashe handed the crumpled bill he held to Winkler.
"What's this?" Winkler smoothed out the bill.
Something Lissa touched, Ashe replied mentally.
"Kid," Winkler almost unraveled.
"Mr. Winkler, I need to talk to you. In private," Ashe said, climbing out of the car.
* * *
"Matt, I'm sorry. Even you admit this child is powerful, and that he created the earthquake in Canada. There's no reason to believe that he isn't causing this mess, too. We don't have enough resources globally to handle the difficulties we're facing. We've got to stop this, and if one death will do it, then so be it." The President wasn't mincing words.
"It won't be just his death, it'll be ours," Matt hissed.
"I've already got cooperation from the Secretaries and Joint Chiefs," the President ignored Matt's warning. "We're going in—today."
* * *
"Mr. Winkler, things are about to get worse," Ashe rubbed his forehead.
"What do you mean, worse?" Ashe had pulled Winkler, Trajan and Trace into his father's study.
"The nutcase in Washington—that Curtis Roberts guy?"
"Yeah, but how did you know—never mind," Winkler waved away the question.
"He's convinced the President to kill us all."
"What?" Winkler exploded from his seat. "I'm calling Matt. Right now," Winkler hauled out his cell phone.
"He won't answer. He can't. Roberts has convinced the President that Matt's helping to put all of us in jeopardy, so he's under house arrest."
"This is crazy," Winkler raked fingers through his hair.
"Crazy doesn't begin to describe all this," Ashe replied. "We'll be attacked later today, when they can get everything in position."
"What are they sending against us?" Trajan asked.
"Everything. They have no idea that if they manage to kill us, what's causing all this will only get worse, until the Earth disintegrates."
"Kid, you're scaring me."
"You think I don't feel scared? Mr. Winkler, I have decisions to make, and some people aren't going to understand them. You have decisions to make, and some of them I won't understand."
"Ashe, you're talking in riddles," Trace said softly.
"It's what my kind do. A lot."
"Your kind?"
"Yeah."
* * *
Six bodies surrounded Wildrif as he slept. He'd enjoyed killing after he'd wakened the night before, although the first human he'd taken had slaked his thirst. The last five; he'd merely enjoyed their screams as he ripped their bodies apart with long, sharp claws.
He'd been forced to sleep in his basement the moment sunrise came, although there was little light—New York was flooding under black clouds and heavy rains. The earthquake that came later in the day couldn't wake him—he was deep in the rejuvenating slumber any vampire experienced while the sun was overhead.
* * *
"What the hell?" Winkler stepped around body parts that were already turning rancid.
"Boss, this is insane." Trajan couldn't walk anywhere inside the darkened basement without stepping in blood.
"You'll have to remove his head," Trace muttered.
"No, I have another solution," Ashe said.
"Ashe, what are you gonna do, man?" Sali stared at Ashe. Somehow, in the past hour, Ashe had changed. Sali could almost feel the power pulsing from his best friend.