He’d been not just asleep, but practically in a coma, when his brother had woken him up with this bright idea around ten this morning. The plan was nuts, of course. Who the hell rented out an entire park for three hours?
Especially when the damn thing had closed for the season the week before?
Trez did. That was who.
And iAm helped the guy get it done.
Making this all happen for Selena had taken an unbelievable amount of money, and some candid phone calls that had been hard to get through. But thanks to Big Rob back there, and his brother, Jim, a.k.a. Jimbo, and the wife of the owner who had just lost her father to cancer the summer before, they’d gotten it all set up: Staff had been called back from post-season retirement, and machines that were in the process of being winterized had been called into service again. They even had the concession stands working—thanks to the waiters at Sal’s.
The joy on Selena’s face, and the pride on his brother’s puss—obvious even from up here in the tower—had made it all worth it.
And you know, it was impossible to have disdain for humans tonight.
For chrissakes, the owners weren’t even keeping the money left over after the staff were paid. They were giving it to the American Cancer Society.
Sometimes people rallied, he thought. They really did.
“So who is she?” Big Rob asked. “I mean, I heard he had a girlfriend, but I didn’t know she was … you know, sick. They been together long?”
“Long enough.”
There was a thick silence. “He’s not coming back to work, is he.”
“Not for a while.”
“Are you guys going to sell us?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far.”
And wasn’t that true on a variety of levels.
iAm checked his watch again. Eight thirty. Perfectly on time with a departure set for eleven thirty. Manny’s fancy-ass mobile surgery center was stuck downtown, the area still too hot from the party the night before to move the thing, but they had a good contingency plan for Selena. Manny had his old refurbed regular ambulance still and the thing was on standby, the amusement park’s management more than happy to accommodate the medical wait-and-see and the good doctor on their property.
“I can understand why he didn’t say anything,” Big Rob murmured as he dropped the binocs. “And not for nothing, but wow, she’s out of this world looking.”
“She’s also really good people.”
“Does she know what he does … you know. Classy woman like that, I mean…”
“To be honest, I think that shit’s the last thing on their minds.”
“Yeah. Sure. I mean, yeah.”
iAm glanced over at the guy. “Don’t worry, I got ’em. You can head over to the club.”
The human nodded. “I should go.”
As the man hesitated, iAm put out his palm. “And as for future plans with the businesses, we’ll take care of everybody, I promise. No matter what happens.”
Big Rob shook. “Thanks, man. But I gotta say, we really like working for you. Besides, I don’t know if Silent Tom has another interview process in him. Nearly killed him five years ago when we applied with Trez.”
“Yeah, I think he’s said all of twelve words the entire time I’ve known him. Drive safe out there.”
“Thanks. Call me if you need anything.”
Big Rob put the binocs down on the desk and paused for one last moment, looking out to where Trez and Selena were strolling between the bumper cars and a children’s teacup ride. Shaking his head, he went to the exit, and closed the door behind him as he left.
iAm checked his watch again.
Three hours.
And then what. What the hell was he going to do about maichen?
What if Trez and Selena needed him … and he was out meeting with that female?
Jesus, after a lifetime of celibacy, it was a shocker to find that he’d made an arrangement to be alone with a member of the opposite sex. And it was not to talk.
No, he was not in a talking kind of mood.
Rubbing his eyes, he pictured the female draped in all those pale blue robes and the urge to get under all that masking took on an obsessional edge. Hell, if it hadn’t been for a molecular exhaustion, he probably would have spent the entire day staring at the ceiling over his bed thinking about what he was going to do to her. As it was, he’d crashed with a hard-on and woken up with one, too.
He’d done nothing about either erection.
If he jerked off, it somehow felt too real.
And for the same reason, he’d told his brother nothing about the trip into the s’Hisbe or the female he’d met or the “date” he’d made.
Compared to what Trez was facing, all that was such small potatoes. And there was also a dreamscape to it all, which he was surprised to discover he wanted to keep in place.
Maybe because it made things less intimidating?
But come on, he didn’t think he was going to go. How could he leave…?
No, he wasn’t going. For the first time in his life, he didn’t think he could trust himself not to go straight-up animal on some poor female. And hell, she was probably having second thoughts, too. Meeting an unknown male in the middle of nowhere? She’d be insane to do something like that.
Especially because she had to know what was on his mind.
No, he told himself. Neither of them was going to show up at that cabin at midnight. And that was better for everybody.
Really.
It was.
FORTY-FIVE
“It’s dead! Fates, it is gone—will you stop!”
No, Xcor thought. He would not.
As he continued stabbing the lesser, black blood speckled his face, his chest, his forearm. Black blood pooled on the cold asphalt of the alley. Black blood got into his eyes.
And still he kept with the assault, his shoulder driving the blade into the torso everywhere but the hollow chest as Zypher yelled at him, pulled at him, cursed at him.
That was all for naught. Unhinged, he was a beast without a leash, his mind floating above the exertion, driving him ever onward to kill, kill, kill—
The yank that finally pulled him free of his prey was that of a tow truck, the force enough to separate him from the mangled, oozing carcass.
He did not take the unconsented-to relocation well. Swinging around, he slashed his dagger through the air, narrowly missing Zypher’s throat. And as the soldier leaped out of range, Zypher unholstered his own weapon, prepared to fight.
Caught in between a lunge and a relenting, Xcor panted, great clouds coming out of his mouth. He had left the deserted farmhouse without any of them, bursting out and heading to the theater of conflict half-naked and fully crazed.
And it had been for his soldiers’ own good.
“What is wrong with you!” Zypher demanded. “What ails you!”
Xcor bared his teeth. “Leave me alone.”
“So you can get yourself killed?”
“Leave me!”
The echo of his shout rebounded up and out of the alley, the words bouncing back and forth between the brick walls of the buildings before careening into darkness like bats released from a cave.
Zypher’s face was pure fury. “They have guns, remember? Or is last night too dim a memory for you!”
“They have always had guns!”
“Not like those!”
Xcor looked down at the slayer. Even mostly dismembered, it was still moving, arms grasping at thin air in slow motion, legs sawing in a stew of innards and black oil.
Snarling at the thing, he let out a shout and then stabbed it into oblivion. The light was so bright he was blinded by the flash, his retinas revolting at the glare. But the readjustment came quickly, each blink clearing his vision further.
He just needed more. He needed to find more—and he needed something else, too.
“Get me a whore,” he barked.
Zypher recoiled. “What?”
“You heard me. Find me one. Bring her to the cottage.”
“Human or vampire?”
“It matters not. Just make sure she’s paid enough to be willing.”
He expected questions. There were none.
Zypher merely inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Xcor wheeled away, prepared to hunt and fight and kill. And before jogging off, he glared over his shoulder. “Blonde. I want a blonde. And she must have long hair.”
“I know who to call.”
With a nod, Xcor ran down the alley, his combats thundering over the rough pavement. Sniffing the breeze, his brain filtered through the smells of diesel fumes and cheap restaurants, and humans that were homeless and unbathed, and rotting fish in the river.
His rage at himself sharpened every sense he had—
“Hey, man, you looking for a taste?”
Pulling his body up short, he turned around, but knew from the scent coming at him on the gusts that it was no human who stood in the shadows.
The enemy he was looking for had found him, the lesser as yet unaware of who it was speaking to.
“Aye,” he said. “I would like a taste.”
“Foreign motherfucker,” the slayer said. “What do you want?”
“Whate’er do you have?”
“I got the good stuff. Pure Columbian white powder H, not that Mexican black tar—”
Xcor did not allow the sales pitch to continue to a completion. With a vicious lunge, he leapt forward and swung his dagger in an arc, clipping the slayer right across the front of the face at eye level. Instantly, the undead brought up his hands, bending in half, howling in pain—and Xcor took advantage of that, hauling back his right boot and spinning it around, kicking the skull like it was a soccer ball, sending the undead flying off its feet to the side.