Ashes to Ashes-Blood Ties 3 (15 page)

Shaking his head, Nathan reached for one of the many books on the coffee table. "Grab a book and start reading."

"I said I was too tired," I protested.

"I know. Consider it payment for your new office." He settled back in his chair and turned his attention to the open page.

I grumbled, but complied. I'd only managed to halfheartedly scan two pages when the phone in the kitchen rang.

Nathan stood and went to answer it, taking his mug with him. "Want me to top you off while I'm in there?"

I shook my head and covered the rim of my mug with my palm.

On the page, the letters swirled and blurred before my tired eyes, and I had to double my concentration. I wasn't paying attention to the phone call, until I noticed the change in Nathan's tone.

"Fine. I'll tell her." He hung up without saying goodbye and returned to the living room,

"That was Cyrus. Dahlia is going to be there tomorrow after sundown. You should go over at ten."

"You didn't let me talk to him." It was part accusation, part question. Nathan shrugged. "He didn't ask for you."

I tried to not look as rejected as I, for some reason, felt. "Are you going with me?"

"I'd rather not." He resumed his position in the armchair and picked up his book. "You can take my cell phone if you're worried he'll try something."

"No, nothing like that." I waved my hand to dismiss the idea that Cyrus would try to harm me. "But you don't mind me going, do you?"

"Of course not," Nathan said, a little too confidently. "It's the reason we came back here." Something in his tone said he wished we hadn't, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow, I was going to see Cyrus.

Chapter Eight: A Bad Case of Nerves

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Of all the horrible things Max could have envisioned happening on their trip, Bella being horrifically carsick every fifty miles was not one of them.

"You know, we could get a lot farther if I didn't have to stop and hose puke off the back seat four or five times a night," he grumbled, wiping his hands on coarse, gas station bathroom paper towels.

Bella lifted her head from the toilet seat—it was proof of her bravery, or stupidity, how close she let her face get to the damn thing—and tried to respond, only to let loose a spectacular arc of vomit.

"No more vending machine sandwiches for you." He crumpled the paper and tossed it on the pile spilling over the sides of the wastebasket. "Can you hold back the tide for a couple minutes so I can get us to a hotel?"

Her answer was the resounding echo of retching into the bowl. Max leaned against the wall, then changed his mind and straightened quickly. "This place reeks."

"I am sorry I could not wait until the Ritz-Carlton," she spat, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He grabbed a handful of paper toweling and offered it to her, "Don't get bent out of shape. Clean off your face and we'll hit the road."

Snatching it, she hissed, "A fine way to treat a sick person!"

"Carsick is not sick. It's an annoyance, but it's not sick." He met her glare head-on. Her eyes seemed duller, and dark circles ringed them. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Her face blanched. She looked around the bathroom as if planning an alternate escape route.

"You've got some weird dog disease, don't you?" He backed away. Her panicked expression turned to anger. "I do not have a
dog disease
. I am a little under the weather. Most likely from being violated by one of your kind." Max couldn't help his grin. "So, are you talking about the Oracle now, or—"

"Go to hell!" She turned back to the toilet and groaned with a painful-sounding dry heave. He wet a paper towel and knelt beside her to press it to her forehead. "Take it easy. Getting pissed at me will only make things worse."

"Perhaps I should not go on this trip with you," she whispered. "I will not be useful if I am vomiting and ill. I certainly cannot fight in this condition."

"Who said you'd be doing any fighting?" The thought hadn't crossed his mind. Not that he didn't believe Bella could hold her own. He'd seen her fight plenty, and been on the receiving end of her ire. But lately she seemed more fragile, far too mortal for his tastes. Before, he would have cared if she'd gotten maimed or killed. In fact, when she'd had him pinned to the floor in Nathan's bedroom, ready to drive a stake through his heart, he would have laughed his ass off at her demise.

Sex, no matter how meaningless, changed things. Who was he kidding? If she got so much as a stubbed toe on this trip, he'd call the whole damn thing off, Oracle or no.

"I am a Movement trained assassin. I will do my part in a physical skirmish." She didn't sound confident about it. Probably because of all the vomiting.

"Come on. We'll find a Motel 6 or something and call it a night."

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He helped her to the car with an arm around her shoulders. For someone who'd just been squatting on the floor of a gas station bathroom, she smelled fine.

"You throw up lilacs and perfume in there?" he joked, but her sense of humor, nearly nonexistent to begin with, had taken a nosedive since her unfortunate stomach bug.

"I do not feel like talking," she snapped as he opened the passenger door for her. He slammed it closed behind her, and waited to retort until he'd rounded the car and dropped into the driver seat. "Good. Because every time you open your mouth, puke comes out."

He pulled out of the parking lot a little less gently than he normally would have, not because he wanted her to barf all over the dashboard, but it wouldn't hurt to put the fear of it into her.

By the time they checked into a motor lodge a few exits down the highway, Bella was sweating and pale again. She pushed past him and rushed through the shabby room to the bathroom.

In the light of the floor lamp, Max examined the two beds and took the rough, brown flannel blanket with the most suspicious stains and draped it over the window, tucking it behind the blinds rod. Hopefully, that would keep the sun out, once it rose. In case it didn't do the trick, he stripped the bed the rest of the way and laid the sheets on the floor next to the bed farthest from the window. He'd be trapped between the wall and the platform box springs all day, a lot like lying in a coffin, but better that than being a human fire hazard.

More disgusting retching sounds came from the bathroom. It was amazing Bella had anything left to choke up, considering how her output had far surpassed her input. "I' in gonna go get our stuff out of the car. Will you be okay for a sec?" More heaving, then a muffled, "I will be fine."

"Yeah. Okay."

The air outside seemed colder and newer. It could have been from leaving, the musty stink of the motel room, but it smelled more like morning. The exact moment night clicked over to day had happened while he'd been inside.

He was sorry he'd missed it.

He pulled his duffel bag and the leather satchel containing Bella's things from the trunk. Out of paranoid instinct, he scanned the parking lot for vans, semis and hearses that could contain other vampires. There was no doubt in his mind the Oracle knew they were coming.

He also noted the length of the awnings over office and motel room doors. He did a quick mental calculation of the shadows they might cast, though the time of day would be an uncertain variable, and the space between each in case he and Bella needed to make a quick getaway.

He just hoped it wasn't at high noon. If so, Bella would have to finish the "mission" by herself.

Of course, there was a small chance they would escape detection altogether, tail the Oracle to wherever she was going, race in with metaphorical guns blazing and save the day. He was sure he had a better chance of winding up living in the suburbs with Bella and their furry kids, mowing the lawn on a sunny July day.

He didn't like the feeling of being adrift, not knowing exactly what to do or how things

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were going to go down. He never thought he would miss Movement briefings so much. Cursing, he reached for his cell phone. Carrie and Nathan were probably busy wearing out their bedsprings, but Max felt no remorse at the thought of interrupting them. "Hello?" Nathan answered, sounding tired, but awake. "It's Harrison. You're still up?" He checked his watch. "It's only midnight." Nathan paused. "Where are you?"

"Just crossed the Indiana border into Ohio. I thought you guys would hit the sack right after you got home." Max intentionally softened his suggestion of what he thought they'd be doing there. Ever since he and Carrie had done what they'd done in the foyer, things had seemed a little weird. More so now that Nathan knew about it.

"And I thought you guys were going to drive until dawn. What happened to that?"

"Well, I just like Ohio so much, I thought we would really be missing out if we didn't stop for the night in the purgatory of the Midwest." Max coughed to get rid of the tightness in his throat. "We had to stop. Bella's sick."

"Sick? Is it serious?" There was a rustling sound, indicating Nathan had put his hand over the receiver. It didn't mask his words when he said, to Carrie, Max presumed, "Max says Bella is sick."

"It's nothing serious." He raised his voice to recapture Nathan's attention. "She just doesn't do well in the car. I thought it would be better to air the vehicle out and try to make up the time tomorrow night."

There was muffled conferring on the other end before Nathan returned. "Carrie said try ginger ale to settle her stomach."

"An M.D. and that's the best she's got?" He supposed it beat cleaning up the car again. "I hope she didn't pay too much for med school."

"Yeah, well" Nathan's voice died out, then returned. "Was there anything else?"

"Ah, no. Just wanted to know if you've heard from any other Movement, if you had a heads-up for me, that kind of thing." What a lame excuse. It had been four hours since he'd seen them; what were the chances they knew anything else? He was as transparent as the windshield he'd had to clean at their last stop.

There was a noncommittal grunt from Nathan. "We haven't been at it long. Carrie will speak to Cyrus tomorrow, and I hope to know more then." Max whistled. "She's going to see Cyrus? How do you feel about that?"

"The only way I can." What he meant, Max knew, was he couldn't elaborate because Carrie is within earshot.

"Give her a curfew." Not that Max didn't trust Carrie, but she had major boundary issues where her old sire was concerned. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Goodbye, Max."

Inside, Bella was still in the bathroom. Max went to the door and knocked softly. "Are you okay in there?"

Her answer may have been muffled by the door, but he still heard the tears in her voice. "I need to be alone."

The hell she did. "Carrie thought some ginger ale would help. Do you want me to go out and get you some? I mean, I've got time to kill. It's not going to be light for at least six hours."