Immortal (15 page)

I walked over to the SUB and headed for the pizza kiosk. When I came within sight of it I hesitated, remembering my first encounter with the alben. Just thinking about it set my heart racing with fear.

He's in the library
, I reminded myself.
He won't come outside because he's allergic to the sun.

Shaking off the dread, I walked up and ordered my usual pepperoni slice and soda. I went back outside with them, not willing to push my luck so far as to sit at the same table. Instead I sat on the edge of one of the big planters full of tired-looking petunias. They were valiantly blooming, though the snow and frost would get them soon.

The sun was warm, but a cool breeze countered it. My arms sprouted goosebumps. I pulled my sweater out of my pack and shrugged into it, then finished my pizza, thinking about Caeran.

Nice to have him watching over me. Not good that he was aiming to fight the alben. He hadn't said it outright, but he'd implied that he intended to kill this enemy. I didn't like the idea of Caeran killing to protect me, though I understood why he thought that was the only choice.

I'd made a promise, though, to inform the campus police if I saw the suspect again. I was failing in that promise by going along with Caeran.

I bit my lip. Maybe I should call them even if he didn't like it. There was just one problem with that, though—what if they mistook Caeran for the suspect?

No, I couldn't take a chance on that happening. I had to leave the cops out of it.

I sipped on my soda, surprised at the hollow gurgle I got through the straw. I'd drunk the whole thing without realizing it.

I took out my phone to check the time, and got distracted by Caeran's picture. His expression reminded me of when I'd first seen him: uncertain, worried. Gorgeous despite all that.

I had to figure out a way to keep him in my life. He wanted me, too, I was pretty sure. He was being all noble and self-sacrificing, which I guess was nice except that he was sacrificing my feelings, too.

I looked at the time. Twenty after. I needed something to do for ten minutes. Settled for checking my email, for which I had to go back inside to pick up the SUB's wireless. There was a hello-where-should-we-get-dinner from Amanda, and nothing else of interest. I suggested Greek, then logged out and headed back to the library.

As I walked in the doors I looked toward the couch where Caeran had been sitting. He wasn't there. I was about to panic when I saw him coming out of the elevator. I had a few minutes, still, so I waited by the couch. Caeran smiled slightly as he joined me, enough to make my heart start tap-dancing.

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“To verify that he is still … reading.”

“Oh.” I lowered my voice. “Maybe he hasn't found it yet after all.”

Caeran tilted his head, as if considering this possibility. His gaze flicked in the direction of the Wesley Collection.

Still time to call the police.

He shook his head. “It would only make things more difficult. Better to wait until he leaves here.”

And let him find out where Madera is?

“I know it seems odd, but if I succeed, he will get nowhere near Madera.”

I stared at him, out of arguments, down to just drinking in his presence. I was greedy; I wanted as much as I could get every time I saw him, because it could always be the last time.

He gazed back at me, then gently took my hands and squeezed them. At his touch I wanted only to please him, only to belong to him. I saw a swallow move his throat. He leaned close to whisper in my ear.

“You will be late.”

“Caeran—”

He stepped back, shaking his head slightly as he let go of my hands. He held my gaze for a moment, then resumed his place on the couch and picked up his book.

Damn it.

I trudged past the front desk, waving halfheartedly at Tony, and continued to the staff lounge where I signed in exactly thirty-six minutes after I'd signed out. I went to my station, glanced toward Caeran who was busy blending in, and dove into my stack of data entry.

The afternoon dragged. I had three more hours—or two and a half—to get through. Between keeping an eye on Caeran and worrying about the alben upstairs, I was in an anxious mood. I finished my stack of data entry forms, went back and got another, and watched the afternoon light through the glass wall gradually go golden.

Just before four o'clock business picked up, and I had a line for a few minutes. It made me cranky, because I'd wanted to leave early. I tried to get through the customers as fast as possible, not really paying attention to who they were. When I saw a guy's gray sweatshirt in front of me I didn't look up at first, greeting him automatically as I finished entering the previous transaction.

“How can I …”

I froze as my gaze met his. Black eyes, all the way black from the pupil through the iris. He had the hood of the sweatshirt pulled up over his hair, but a few white wisps clung to his forehead. The killer.

The alben leaned toward me. “Do you have a car?”

My thoughts flicked toward Caeran, then as quickly away. I wanted to scream for help but the killer would hear.

Car. I pictured the Saturn, then pulled my keys out of my pocket and held them out to him. He smiled, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “You are coming along.”

“I can't leave work.”

“Make an excuse.”

I hesitated, trying to think of a way out. Suddenly my brain felt like it was on fire. I gasped, and it stopped just as fast before I could scream.

Come along, unless you want to feel that again.

I cringed. His voice told me a lot about him, things I didn't want to know. He was hungry. He was impatient. At the core, he was totally self-driven and cared nothing about anyone else. Instinct screamed at me to get away.

The burning started again, just a tickle. I grabbed my pack and dashed for the staff lounge, and it stopped.

My breath came in short, sharp gasps as I hastily signed out. Half an hour early—maybe someone would clue into that. I hoped so. Where was asshole Dave when I needed him?

Lip balm
, I thought as loudly as I could while I dug in my pack with shaking hands.
Where's my lip balm?
My hand closed around a large cylinder and I pulled it out without looking, trying not to think. I shoved it in my pocket, found my lip balm and used it, then shrugged into my pack.

He was waiting by the lounge door, and fell into step with me. I walked toward the front entrance, which faced south. He pulled his hood forward and took out a pair of sunglasses. While he was putting them on, I glanced at the couch. It was empty.

I looked away, thinking about my car. I hadn't gassed up, so it wouldn't get far. It had less than half a tank.

We passed through the doors into the late afternoon sun. I glanced at the killer. He had his hands dug into the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt, the hood as far forward as it would go. He looked like the Unabomber.

I should have let him incapacitate me; Tony and the others would have taken care of me. Didn't think of it soon enough.

Or maybe he would have just knocked them out, too, and grabbed me. I shivered.

Just survive
, I thought over and over, not letting other thoughts into my head. I walked slowly, hoping that would keep me alive. Maybe someone would spot the killer, make a call. Maybe we'd pass a campus cop.

Why was I alone? Where was—
just survive.

My car was parked in the lot behind my dorm. I walked up and unlocked the passenger door.

“Get in,” he said, standing by the open door. He watched as I walked around and got in the driver's seat. I looked around, hoping to spot a cop or—someone. The parking lot was deserted.

Only after I'd closed the door did the killer get in. I cracked my window open, needing air, and sat still. My heart was racing and I felt a little woozy.

“Take me to the home of Miguel de Madera.”

I swallowed, feeling the blood drain from my face. “What?”

“I know you have been there.”

“It's a long way.”

“Drive.”

I buckled my seat belt and started the car. This was not good. I did not like being in a car with this guy, even though I was in control of the vehicle. Didn't the self-defense courses say never let them get you in a car?

He hadn't fastened his seat belt. Maybe I could roll the car and kill him. Trouble was, I'd probably kill me, too.

That might possibly be my best option, I thought grimly. I backed out of the parking space.

As I pulled onto the boulevard he fastened his belt. I bit my lip and avoided looking at the gas stations we passed, keeping my thoughts on the freeway instead.

What did he want with Madera? Whatever it was—not good. Not good at all. I suspected that his wish to get to Madera's was the only reason I was still alive. It followed that I'd be dispensable once we got there.

Just survive.

I loved the idea, but it was getting harder to visualize. The help I'd hoped for had not materialized, and the farther we got from campus the faster my hopes faded. I was on my own.

So. Review of options: no. Don't think, just drive. A chance will arise.

I frowned. That sounded like wishful thinking.

A shiver of dread went through me. To keep from panicking, I started running through songs in my head, starting with every Gilbert and Sullivan patter song I could think of. Let him sort through that.

Traffic was light despite the nearness of rush hour. The miles flew past. Maybe I'd get stopped for speeding.

That hope faded as I passed the Bernalillo exit. Sometimes there were speed traps on I-25, but not usually on a week day. We had three or four hours of driving ahead. Less than an hour until sunset.

It would be good to get out of the car before then. Somehow.

I glanced at the gas gauge despite trying not to think about it. I shifted my attention to the speedometer instead. In a fit of spite I accelerated to eighty-five miles an hour, fifteen over the limit. My passenger didn't seem to notice. It didn't make me the fastest jerk on the road, and I chickened out on being truly reckless. Somehow I still hoped for escape.

That hope twisted in my stomach and I flinched away from the reasons why. Grabbed for
The Mikado
instead.
The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la…

I cruised past the three Santa Fe exits, keeping my eyes on the road and my brain engaged with music. We were now past my normal stomping grounds. The farther we got, the more tense I was starting to feel.

Partway through Glorieta Pass the car coughed. I glanced at the instrument panel. The little gas tank light had come on. The car coughed again.

“What is it?” demanded the killer beside me.

“We're out of gas.”

I didn't look at him, but I could feel his rage. I gripped the wheel, bracing for an attack, but it didn't come.

“Take this exit.” He pointed toward the ramp we were approaching.

“There's no—”

“Take it!”

A slam of pain accompanied his shout. I winced, and almost flinched out of my lane.

I took the exit, cruising to a halt at the stop sign on top of the ramp. He peered at the sign that called out Glorieta to the right, Pecos to the left. Glorieta was a tiny village—really just a bedroom community. No services.

“There is gas in Pecos?”

“Uh—yeah.”

“Go left.”

I turned the wheel and nearly stalled the car, but managed to coax it across the bridge and onto the back road to Pecos. Downhill, mostly. I coasted, instinctively saving the gas for the uphill stretches. We passed a historic marker and an old adobe building with crumbling walls. We were on level ground now, at the bottom of the canyon. I drove until the gas was gone and the car finally died. As we lost momentum I pulled onto the shoulder. The car drifted to a stop.

It was cold in the canyon, and darker. The hills and mesas hid the setting sun. I dropped my hands into my lap and sat still, waiting for the storm.

“How far to the gas?”

“I don't know. A few miles, maybe.”

“Do you have a gas can?”

“No.”

He turned toward me in his seat. I stared out the windshield.

“So this is why you are so fond of music.”

His voice was acid. It drove my pulse faster, though I tried not to show it. My hand inched closer to my pocket.

Lip balm. Too dry.

I swallowed. Maybe I was about to die. Didn't want to think about that.

“Yes, maybe you are.”

I could feel the anger in his voice, like a wave of heat washing over me. I cringed, then reached for the door—except my hand didn't move. I was paralyzed.