Balthazar (38 page)

“Get you to safety and worry about the rest later.” There was so much unsaid there: What was safety for her now? Did “the rest” mean that Balthazar still held on to his illogical belief that she could go on to a normal life after this—a “normal life” meaning one without him? All that ran through Skye's mind as Balthazar continued, “But first we have to make sure you're not freezing to death.”

Shivering, she said, “Sounds good to me.”

But as they got within ten feet of the car, more headlights appeared, and Skye's stomach dropped as she realized it was the black van. Redgrave and his tribe had found them.

“It's those guys,” Craig said, putting a protective arm in front of Britnee. “How are they up after you beat them down like that?”

“Because I didn't finish the job,” Balthazar said grimly. “Stand back, all of you.”

Redgrave appeared at the head of them—six vampires, all men. The finely drawn, debonair features of Redgrave's face had been battered almost past recognition; his lips were split, his eyes swollen, his golden skin already purpling with bruises. Nor did he wear his usual smug smile—only a snarl. He finally appeared as monstrous as he truly was within. “Fool,” he said to Balthazar. “You gave up your chance to kill me in order to save her—all so I can take her away from you again.”

Balthazar let go of her, and she had to struggle to stand on her own. “I've got more than one chance to kill you.”

“But you're not armed now, are you? And we are, this time.”

Skye realized it was true. Balthazar glanced toward the car, where vampires were waiting. As good a fighter as Balthazar was, he didn't stand a chance against this many vampires when he was unarmed and they all carried stakes. Redgrave was battered, probably still not at his full strength, but the ones Balthazar had spent less time beating down already appeared completely undamaged again. Skye was in no condition to fight, and even if she were, she couldn't have been much help against these odds. Craig and Britnee had no idea what they were dealing with.

There was only way to avoid becoming Redgrave's servant forever.

“Change me,” she whispered.

Her eyes and Balthazar's met for one tortured moment. Skye hated to ask him to kill her—hated the thought of becoming a vampire—but if this was her only way to escape, then she would take it.

Balthazar's expression told her that, even loathing the idea as he did, he would have changed her if he could—but he shook his head.
No time
, she realized.
No chance
.

Just when she thought the situation could get no worse, another figure stepped closer: Charity. She was almost as white as the snow that surrounded them, her dress, skin, and hair all the color of frost. Only her lips were dark, still stained with Skye's blood. In her hand was the largest, most lethally curved knife Skye had ever seen.

“Charity,” Balthazar said, and his voice sounded broken. “Don't watch this.”

“You think she wouldn't want to watch your final destruction?” Redgrave's exhilaration creased his battered face into a smile. “I think Charity's been waiting for this a long time.”

“I remember now,” Charity said. “Yes. A very long time.”

Then she swung the blade savagely upward. In one lightning-swift move, she sliced straight through Redgrave's neck.

Britnee screamed, and Craig jumped. Skye clutched Balthazar's arm, but all he could do was stare as Redgrave's head and body both tumbled toward the snow—then dissipated into so much ash.

As the clouds of what had been Redgrave settled around her feet, Charity brought up her blade and screamed at the other vampires, “
Nobody
kills my brother but
me
!”

They scattered. Whether it was from the fall of their leader or the sheer homicidal insanity in Charity's eyes, the vampires had lost their nerve. Within a few moments, their small party stood alone except for Charity. Her eyes were locked with her brother's; her blade was still at the ready.

She repeated, in a whisper, “I remember now.”

Balthazar said, “Are you going to kill me next?”

Charity let the blade drop to her side. Like a petulant, bored child, she said, “I don't feel like it tonight.”

The glance that brother and sister shared was confused and even angry, but loving, too. “Um, I was wondering, what in the hell is going on?” Britnee asked.

“We'll talk at the house,” Skye said. The cold she'd nearly forgotten during their confrontation with Redgrave had returned. “Let's go home.”

BALTHAZAR WAS REALLY TOO LARGE TO RIDE IN the middle of the backseat, but he did anyway. This meant that he could fold Skye into his right side, his arm around her shoulders, as the car's heaters and his own shelter warmed her from the terrible chill. Though she still shivered, he could see her strength returning to her. Despite everything, Skye was going to be all right.

This seating arrangement also meant that he could keep Charity on his left. She sat quietly, hands in her lap as neatly folded as if they were over a linen napkin instead of the blade she'd used to kill Redgrave.

His sister had done it. She'd really killed him. As badly as Balthazar had wanted his own vengeance, he would never have denied that Charity deserved that kill as much as he did. The main thing was that Redgrave was gone, forever.

“I drank her blood,” Charity said. Although Balthazar realized what she meant, Skye held out her arm, revealing the two small pink marks that lingered there, for proof. “I went back to before.”

“What did you go back to?” he said gently. He had not spoken to her this way since they were both alive.

“The day I put my bonnet on the cow to make you laugh.”

Balthazar had almost forgotten that. How ludicrous the cow had looked, and how silly they'd been about it. “That was funny, wasn't it?”

“It was.” Charity leaned her head against his shoulder, the way she used to when she was little and they sat in front of the fire. “We used to have lots of fun, didn't we?”

“Yeah. We did.”

That was why she'd murdered Redgrave. The sip of Skye's blood—the tool Redgrave had thought would make any vampire his minion forever—had instead reminded Charity of who she was when she was alive. At the moment, she was more his sister … more truly herself … than she'd been since becoming a vampire. He let his head rest against hers, just for a second.

From the front seat, Britnee said, “So, I couldn't help hearing the comment about drinking blood? Are we talking about vampires here?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Craig said.

“Yes,” Balthazar said. “I'm a vampire. So is my sister, Charity.”

“I'm not,” Skye added sleepily. “I'm just a psychic. I can see deaths suspended in time, and use them to reach through and speak to the dead.” When Balthazar glanced over at her, she said, “I'll explain later. That last trip over the river told me a lot.”

Britnee said, “Our next substitute is going to seem so boring?”

Craig shook his head from side to side. “This night had better not get any weirder.”

Once they reached Skye's house, she was able to take the warm shower she needed to heat herself up; Britnee found a tin of cocoa in the kitchen and set about making some for everyone, with Craig's help. Balthazar remained downstairs with Charity.

She clearly hadn't spent much time in a normal human home anytime recently; Charity's curiosity led her to pick up the remotes and punch multiple buttons at once, then to trace her fingers around the sides of the unfamiliar thin plasma-screen TV. Balthazar let her do what she wanted as long as she didn't cause any harm; for tonight, at least, he thought she was safe to be around.

In the meantime, he checked himself out in the front hall mirror; it had been too long since he'd properly fed, because the image was hazy. Still, he could see that the cuts on his face had already healed, and the bruises were almost entirely gone.

“Looking good,” Skye said.

Balthazar glanced up to see Skye standing at the top of the stairs. She wore a simple white cotton T-shirt and jeans; her hair had the slightly windblown look that told him she'd just finished with the blow dryer, and her face was clean-scrubbed, still somewhat pale. To him, she had never appeared more beautiful.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms for her as she came down the steps to leap into them. She smelled like fresh soap and lavender. When they kissed this time, he buried his hands in her warm hair, opened his mouth, and pretended they were all alone.

When they finally pulled back from each other, Skye said, slightly breathless, “Well, I'm heated up
now
.”

“You're sure you're all right? If you need to go to the hospital—”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. “I'm warm again, and you're with me, and we're safe. I've never been better.” Her eyes flicked over to Charity. “I can't believe I just said we're safe, considering … but we are, aren't we?”

“For now.”

Eventually, Charity would become monstrous again. But Balthazar now knew—no matter how terrible she became, no matter what she did, he would never be the one to destroy her. There had been times, over the past few years in particular, when he'd attempted to find the will to kill her. Charity was a murderer countless times over. She was unstable, manipulative, and cruel. Right now she remembered their love for each other as brother and sister, but she'd probably forget it again.

Someday, someone would have to stop her. Balthazar accepted that. But he also knew that he would never have the right. He'd killed her once; that had been more than enough to damn them both. No matter what she became, Charity was his sister—in life, in death, always.

When he turned back to Skye, her sad smile told him that, somehow, she knew exactly what he was feeling; she understood him more than he'd ever thought a human could. Perhaps more than he'd thought anyone could. “I saw Dakota,” she said. “While I was on the riverbank. Brothers and sisters … the bond doesn't go away when you die.”

“Or long after death,” Balthazar said. “What did you see?”

Before Skye could answer, Craig and Britnee entered the room, Craig with a tray of steaming mugs in his hands. “Okay, who wants hot chocolate?” Britnee chirped.

Skye went straight for it; she needed the heat. Though human food had little taste for Balthazar, he wouldn't mind some himself—vampire bodies were slower to chill but also slower to warm again. When Britnee cheerfully handed a mug to Charity, his sister stared down into it suspiciously, as if they might have spiked it with holy water. But she held on to it, and he could see a small smile of pleasure as a few curls of steam wafted past her face.

While everyone settled in, Craig said, “Let me see if I've got this straight. Skye's got psychic powers, and that does something amazing to her blood, so a vampire was trying to capture her and make other vampires follow him just to get some of the blood for themselves. But now that vampire's dead, so everything's okay?”

Balthazar had been feeling better before Craig said that. “The first part is right. But Redgrave's death doesn't make everything okay. Not by a long shot.”

“They're still coming,” Charity confided. Good God, she was actually trying to be helpful. He could see her struggling to be clear, to behave well. “So many vampires. They won't know what to do without Redgrave, but they'll look and they'll look.”

“And Black Cross is on the way,” Balthazar added. Charity startled; Craig and Britnee looked confused. To explain to them both, he said, “Vampire hunters. Armed and extremely dangerous. Our old friend Lucas used some old contacts to send them this way. They'll take out any vampire they find, present company included.”

Britnee said, “Are we about to be in a vampire war or something like that?”

“Are all the vampires going to come after Skye?” Craig said. Charity nodded, almost gleeful, before apparently realizing that wasn't the right reaction and sobering herself.

Skye and Balthazar looked at each other; in her eyes he could see the mirror of his own dismay. They'd long known this crisis was coming, but he'd always believed Redgrave would be in charge … which, ironically, had given him a false sense of security. With Redgrave claiming power, the other vampires would have been held in some kind of check. There would have been some chance to control them, to guess what the dangers might be and when they might fall.

With Redgrave gone, everything changed.

Every vampire or tribe that came to Darby Glen would be independent, seeking Skye for its own use. They would make wars on one another. Form alliances and betray them. There was no saying when or how they would attack. This town would be more than endangered; it would become a battleground once again, just as it had been during the French and Indian War. Except now the battles would be between the dead—with untold human beings at risk as well. The only way to prevent that catastrophe was for Skye to leave.