Blood Rules (22 page)

Pucci said, “So we'll be doing this over and over again until we find a cure?”

“
I
will be.”

The oldster preached up a responding “Amen,” which got Gabriel right in the gut. It wasn't only because of the religious connection, either. It was because he wanted to stop Stamp from chasing down the Badlanders, too, and a cure would remedy that. After all, the Shredder had hesitated to attack Gabriel when it hadn't been clear to him whether Gabriel was a vampire or not. Shredders had their own rules of conduct.

And then there was Mariah, who needed anything they might find tomorrow night most of all....

Something streaked across the drab sky. A shooting star?

If so, it was a good omen.

The link between him and Mariah banged, as if it'd come more awake than ever. It even felt like the trail of a shooting star in itself. Obviously, she'd come out of the cave and, as she stood near Gabriel, he scented her earthiness. He heard the music of her vital signs, which weren't as wild as they'd been in the New Badlands, when she'd been nearly suicidal. Now that she'd focused on a mission and calmed down, she sounded more like Abby had—a song played over the nerves of his body. Notes that were a hungry part of him.

“I'm with Gabriel, too,” she said. “No matter how long it takes, I'm not going to give up.”

He could smell that Taraline had stayed behind in the shadows.

A sense of togetherness stole over the group, as if they
all
agreed for once. They wouldn't quit if this particular visit to the asylum wasn't successful. But what else could a crowd like this do when their last two homes had been raided? There was no choice but to find somewhere better . . . even if it did kill them, like the oldster had said.

Pucci stood away from the boulders, as if getting ready to turn in for the approaching day. “I'll be dreaming blueprints, that's a guarantee.”

Hana spoke with her eyes still shut. “All of us will be. I almost wish we could go to the asylum now, to get this over with.”

“We only have about a couple of hours until daylight hits,” Gabriel said. They'd need more time than that because, once that power blaster went off, the asylum wouldn't have any far-reaching main lights, and the longer the humans were in the dark, the better. Besides, he kind of wanted to be awake for everything.

Mariah's voice pulled at him. “I can't believe monsters haven't thought of this before—and I'm not just talking about barging into an asylum to see what they're storing in there. I'm talking about facing up to the bad guys in general. Taking away their weapons and means of existence. I mean, just what are they without their technology?”

“Could be,” Gabriel said, “that if everyone hears about what we've done, they'll want to do it, too. It's just that no one wants to be the first to try it.”

The oldster laughed. “Only idjits like us would dare.”

They all joined him in nervous laughter, an outlet. There was a chance that they might not be able to laugh at all come the end of tomorrow night.

But the oldster's mirth died before anyone else's. “How many power blasters do you think it would take to get people like the girls we saw the other night out of their indenturehood?”

The water slaves. The oldster had been mentioning them off and on. It didn't take a vampire to sense that the sight of them had profoundly unsettled the old man, maybe because he felt shut into such a corner himself lately, with being driven out of the New Badlands. He felt caught and leashed, though he still had the ability to run.

And then there was the fact that Zel would've been just as furious about those slaves. Perhaps the oldster felt doubly offended for her sake.

Pucci's voice was mild when he said, “Maybe someday, oldster. Maybe someday.”

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow in surprise, but Hana just smiled, her eyes still closed. It was as if she'd known Pucci had a non-asshole side and she'd just been waiting for him to show it. But, of course, Pucci was just ornery enough to reveal it right before they embarked on what could be a suicide run.

The big guy wasn't done talking. “I know I've harped on this before, but there's just one thing I can't reconcile myself with when it comes to our plan. Jo couldn't tell us for sure that there're Shredders providing outside security, since she created weapons only for the inside employees. But if Shredders
are
out there and they're using weapons that differ from what Jo provided for the others, they might
not
have high-tech gadgets that'll be affected by a power blaster. They might still be able to shoot us up with whatever yippee-yo-ki-yay warfare items they have. Gabriel, you told us about that chest puncher Stamp almost used on you. We saw it ourselves, and it's clearly hand-cranked. It used to be said that Shredders were proficient with blades, too.”

“Then we'll fight them as nature intended.”

They were all hanging on his every word, and Gabriel realized that he'd missed feeling looked up to. Respect did something to a man, and it didn't always come to a guy because he had a set of fangs.

Could he remember that the next time he was too close to Mariah? The next time blood called to him?

He was already unsure enough when he caught scent of her on a hint of breeze. Among the dirt and musk of her, he recognized the sweet, clean scent of the dry shampoo the group had traded some of Mariah's water for.

Head down, Gabriel contained himself, then talked so he wouldn't have to think about her. “If I hadn't been so set on proving to Stamp that I wasn't a vampire, he would've been an easier fight for me. But I was protecting you all, and I didn't want him to know that you'd been harboring a monster, so I hid my powers. And I almost got him in the end, too.” He nodded. “Shredders are trained well and they're vicious, but never forget that they're flawed.”

The oldster ruffled Chaplin's fur and the dog rolled over, begging to be petted on his belly. “Stamp hasn't harassed us for a while, so that goes to show that he has his weak spots—in fact, he might've lost us altogether.”

“From your mouth to fate's ears,” Pucci said. “The last thing we need to be worrying about right now is handling that little boy during our bigger task.”

“The little boy packs a punch,” the oldster said. “Sammy would testify to that.”

Everyone but Gabriel sighed. For them, it was automatic, a human attribute, and the fact that he didn't do it naturally only reminded him that he wasn't nearly as human as the were-creatures. Still, he felt the heaviness of Sammy's memory.

But maybe that was only because Gabriel was borrowing the emotion from Mariah and their connection.

Pucci said, “Sammy could've made that power blaster for us. He could've been just as much a part of our activities if Stamp hadn't wasted him.”

Anger roughened his voice, as if, like Pucci's decent side, the emotion had finally decided to show itself tonight.

Hana opened her eyes. “He and Zel will be with us, in some way.” She touched the travel necklace that Mariah had given back to her. Its pointed pendant gleamed just under her robes.

Taraline's voice came from behind them. Gabriel had almost forgotten she was there. Maybe he was getting used to the smell.

“The dead are never really gone,” she said in that husky tone. “What they've done for us stays behind. All we can do is remember them and thank them the best we can.”

Gabriel thought of what he'd seen in the necropolis. Things like the arms, legs, and faces sticking out of the walls. The water that'd been sacrificed to them.

“Those people back in your necropolis,” he said. “You were honoring them?”

“Their remains are relics for the necropolitans,” she said. “They're reminders of people who gave themselves up for others when a predator animal would breach our gates or when a healthy would come inside to rob valuables from the graves. The relics gave us hope just by being there.”

The oldster raised his hand, as if he were holding a glass in a toast. “Then here's to Sammy and Zel, our mental relics.”

“Sammy and Zel,” the rest of the community said together.

On that note—one that didn't leave much else to say—Pucci paused, then went inside the cave. Hana and the oldster followed, intending to sleep until waking before the next sunset. Even Taraline left Gabriel and Mariah standing alone under the hub above.

Near the cave entrance, Chaplin paced. Mariah went to him, then bent to run her hand over his brown coat. As always, something vised Gabriel's chest as he watched them.

“Don't be nervous, boy,” she whispered.

I want to take watch, Mariah,
the dog said, also opening his thoughts to Gabriel.
Just for my peace of mind.

“I wish you'd get some more sleep instead,” Mariah said. “You're gonna need it. We all will.”

She kissed her dog on the crown of his head, and he sat where Pucci had been standing, looking up at the hub.

When Mariah rose to her full height again, she found Gabriel watching her, and she smiled at him. He got snagged in it, just as he'd been doing more and more lately, as if it were a web that he couldn't find his way out of.

This mission was redemption for her, and it was addictive to him, too. Maybe their quest was even really a cure for her in itself, and having a higher purpose would somehow save them all if they kept going, hub after hub, asylum after asylum.

Trouble was, as Mariah got better, Gabriel seemed to be getting worse, and that shouldn't have been the case if their link truly worked. Shouldn't he be getting some peace from her these days if having hope and purpose tamed her?

“I guess this is where I say good night?” she asked, but she didn't go anywhere.

“We should probably talk while we have the chance.”

From the slight flush on her face, he could tell she knew that he was thinking about the night in the herb house and all the apologies that still had to go with it. Her blushing skin whipped him up inside, chewing at him, making him feel those healed claw marks she'd left on his back as if they were as fresh and raw as ever.

“We don't need to do that, Gabriel. Really.” She glanced at Chaplin, who was still standing near the entrance, his ears flicking, as if tuning in to every little sound.

“If you're worried about the dog,” he said, “I wouldn't. He's listening for Stamp.”

The canine made a sound as if he were clearing his throat.

Mariah laughed slightly. “Don't underestimate his ability to multitask. Besides, he already knows about us. He could sense it on me from the second he saw me.”

Durn Intel Dogs.

As if the canine were satisfied with the direction of the conversation, Chaplin lifted his chin, then trotted away, bounding up a few boulders to higher ground, where he disappeared behind a rock.

Gabriel rested his hands on his hips, not sure how to go about wading through these sexual-emotional weeds that kept cropping up between him and Mariah. “I regret my loss of propriety.”

“It's best to regret it.” She swallowed. “I want you to be better, not worse, and round me, you can't help being the latter. I used to be like that, Gabriel, until I decided there was something besides dead ends for me.”

The link between them vibrated, as if it were remembering how she'd kissed him, the tingles and thrills she'd planted in him just by doing the simplest things.

As the breeze carried her scent to him once again, something turned over inside Gabriel.

He was a vampire. A hunted creature. A monster. And if he was to be tracked down for it, wasn't it good that his worst side was coming out? Wasn't that the only way he'd survive in a world that seemed to get worse by the year?

The visceral hum of Mariah's vital signs sang through him—he'd been wrong before about how she sounded, because now he could hear that she was still wilder than Abby, that her song was something that made his blood pump and surge. And he wanted to give in to it. To slake every thirst and craving with her.

Unaware of his turmoil—this attraction to confusion and chaos that made no sense—Mariah braved another smile. “If everything goes well tomorrow night, we won't have to deal with talks like these anymore. I'll improve, and you with me.”

Her optimism spun into him, too, but, as she walked into the cave, her hope went with her, fading and fading with every step she took away from him.

S
tamp and Mags stood on top of a building that housed GBVille police headquarters. They were looking down to the plaza below, where the cops watched a lowlord's crew using massive hammers to pound the pavement. Since the thugs were only having fun, the authorities weren't interfering.

“No wonder I left this scene,” Stamp said while holding the scent tracker in his hand. He was trying to get a reading from up here. The device had been just about useless for nights now, as if the old were-scorpion man had erased his smell from existence. The only thing that made Stamp think the scrubs were somewhere close was an occasional blip on the screen.

Maybe they'd found a way to block Stamp out most of the way, but that wouldn't stop him from finding them.

Mags had one long leg propped on the building's ledge as she surveyed the lowlord's crew hopping up and down, drugged out of their minds. Like Stamp, she'd dressed in the insipid pants and shirt that hubites favored. When the two of them got back down below, they'd blend as well as they could by affecting the hyperkinetic faces of the distractoids. The only ways they might stand out was in how their eyes were reddened, their breath more labored, from the atmosphere since they hadn't fully acclimated yet.