Lust for Life (12 page)

I turn back to the box of memorabilia. “It’d be cool if some vampires could be neutered
like dogs so they can’t make new ones.” The others stare at me. “That would be wrong,
of course,” I add.

“That would be fascist,” Regina says. “But I agree about Jim. His own makers wouldn’t
let him create a new vampire. They knew there was something wrong with him. Jim didn’t
make Kashmir until after he left his makers’ coven in England and came back to America.”

“When was that?”

“Seventy-five—same year as the Zeppelin song.” She riffles through the box of memorabilia.
“This whole half of the box is Kashmir stuff.”

Noah takes another step back and crosses his arms. “We should burn it.”

“No!” I grab the box flap, as if that will protect it. “We should learn everything
we can about these vampires in case they ever turn up.”

Regina paces, thumbing the silver hoop in her lip. “Blondie’s right, Noah. We need
to go through it all, bad mojo or not.”

He turns away, arms still crossed. “Then send me a memo with pertinent details. Leave
out the murder sprees.” He crosses the dark cellar floor, ducking to avoid a spiderweb.

I turn back to Regina. “Murder sprees?”

“Jim and Kashmir made a lot of vampires together. First here, then eventually he went
back to England to make more vampires, rub it in his makers’ faces that he had his
own coven. As you can imagine, some of his progeny weren’t very stable.”

“Did the Control ever go after them?”

“They investigated but couldn’t prove anything. As crazy as Jim was, he was always
careful. He’d take his progeny out into the forest around Yosemite. They’d attack
hikers and make it look like a mountain lion attack. Or just make the bodies disappear.
If someone’s buried long enough, it’s hard to tell exactly how they died.”

“What about forensics labs?”

“This was the seventies. The era of
Barney Miller,
not
CSI
.”

“You know about
CSI
?”

“We have to read commercials for it during our shows.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Despite what the Control claims, we
are
capable of learning new things. We just choose not to change the way we live. You’ll
understand when you’re older.” She shrugs and turns back
to the rows of containers. “Okay, people! Four down, thirty-three boxes to go.”

Spencer looks at his watch. “I’m on the air in a half hour, and we’re gonna need reinforcements
for this little project here. I’ll go call Shane and Jeremy.”

I kneel next to Kashmir’s box and sift through the memorabilia until I find a photo
of him and Jim, taken at a dark place punctuated by neon lights.

They have the same sable hair, but Kashmir’s is straight where Jim’s is curly. Almost
a foot taller than his maker, Kashmir’s body is long and lean as a cheetah’s. His
clothes accentuate his height, a blue silk shirt open to the navel, tucked into white
bell-bottoms that flare over boots that match the shirt.

In the picture, he’s wearing wide, magenta-colored sunglasses, slid down his nose
to show his amber eyes. The light reflects in them slightly off center, making his
pupils look shifty, like he’s peering past the camera and into the brain of the observer.
Or maybe that’s just me.

His stance is half a step ahead of Jim’s, but his arm reaches back to his maker’s
shoulder, maintaining the connection even as he poses.

Jim’s not posed at all. He just looks happy.

Over my shoulder I watch Regina and Noah work together, coordinating the dispersal
of the boxes’ contents. Despite their differences, they’re in sync with each other,
from years of working together—and months of sleeping together. He’s got fewer years
on her than Shane has on me, so they could grow old together, too, assuming Regina
doesn’t screw things up.

The radio station keeps our vampires in touch with both their “Life Times”—as the
Control calls our original
eras—and with current events (by reading news reports on the air), so it could be
decades before Noah and Regina fade. I wonder if they know how lucky they are.

I sigh and turn back to the box of Kashmir. It’s full of crime and destruction and
decadence, but also music and friendship and love. It’s full of life.

You’ll understand when you’re older,
Regina told me, not realizing I already am.

11

Secondhand News

On Saturday night, Shane and I join the other DJs for a poker game, and I try to figure
out how to tell them all I’m dying.

How will they react? With pity? Scorn? Fear? I was the one who campaigned hardest
for Jim to be put away when he started fading. Will they want me to put
myself
away to protect the station? Would they be right? How long before I jeopardize the
secrecy that keeps us safe?

Spencer insists on total silence during play, so we can speak only between hands.
I use that as an excuse not to drop my bombshell.

At midnight Shane leaves the table to start his show, planting a soft kiss on my cheek
and murmuring, “Call me if you need me.”

In a few minutes Regina enters from the studio just as the door to the outside passageway
opens. Adrian staggers through, sets two suitcases on the floor, then leans on the
doorjamb.

“Hey,” he says with a weak smile.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Regina asks, taking Shane’s vacated seat at the table.

Spencer slides back his chair. “What she means is you look like forty miles of bad
road. What happened to you? Need blood?”

“There’s plenty in the fridge.” I set down my cards. “I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I’ll get it. Right now, I just need to rest.” Adrian slouches over to the sofa
and lets himself sink into the cushions with a whump.

The lamp next to Adrian shows his face alarmingly pale, his eye sockets hollow. Even
his hair looks dull and limp. Nothing like the bright flower child I saw two nights
ago.

“I’m getting you blood,” I tell him, “so just stay there.”

When I return, warm cup in hand, the other DJs have resumed the poker hand without
me.

I sit beside Adrian and nudge him with the cup. “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey. Okay,
just blood, actually.”

“Huh? Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” He takes my offering and uncaps the straw.

“You might not’ve survived the trip down the hall.”

Adrian gives me a mere shadow of his heartwarming smile. “I’ve survived worse.” But
as he sips, his eyes go distant, like he just heard his own lie.

“So what happened? Franklin turn you down for a date?”

He blinks a few times, hard and fast, golden eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird
wings, and just like that, life has returned to his face. “No! He said yes. We’re
seeing
Hair
Friday night. And it won’t even be our first date.”

“Considering how Franklin feels about
Hair
—both the musical and the subject—that’s probably best. So what’s your first date?
Don’t tell me
Jesus Christ Superstar
.”

“No,” he says, chuckling. “It was tonight, sort of. He helped me get through a tough
time, the thing that caused my current state of being.”

The only time that was tough enough to make me look like that, I’d taken a tree branch
through my stomach. “Did you get hurt?”

Adrian shakes his head. “It’s personal—too personal even to tell you or Franklin.
That’s what’s cool about him. He didn’t even ask what had happened.”

“That’s because he doesn’t care.”

“Exactly. No matter what I’ve done or what I’ve become, he accepts me.”

“No, I mean he really doesn’t care. About anyone.” My lips twitch at one corner so
Adrian knows I’m kidding. Mostly.

“Franklin cares about you, Ciara.”

I stretch and sigh. “Well, I am very important.”

“The cards are being dealt,” Regina says in a sledgehammer voice.

Without a word, I go over and pick up Adrian’s suitcases. They’re surprisingly light.
He follows me into the hallway and past the studio, where Shane gives us a quick wave
through the window.

In the DJs’ apartment, Monroe is sitting on the couch, tuning his guitar.

“Hello there,” he says, standing to greet Adrian with a bright smile. “Welcome to
our homestead. Be sure and let me know if you need anything. Anything a’tall.”

Wow, that was one of the longest speeches I’ve ever heard from my maker.

“Thank you.” Adrian shakes Monroe’s hand, then looks embarrassed at the sight of me
carrying his stuff.

“Adrian’s not feeling well, so I’m his butler. For one night only, and no, that offer
doesn’t apply to other vampires.”

Monroe bestows a rare smile on me as well. Wow again. Adrian has a funny, sunny effect
on people who aren’t Regina.

I stop outside Adrian’s new room. “This is your place. Jim had his own special decor,
which you’re welcome to change if you want. We moved his stuff out yesterday.”

He jerks his head to look at me. “What stuff?”

“Old records of donors and progeny, receipts from concerts. Don’t worry, we’re keeping
all the historical pieces in off-site storage.” Until we can sell them on eBay to
finance next year’s holiday party. Or maybe that’s just
my
plan.

“What about his personal records? You said donors and progeny.”

“We have that, too, but we won’t give it away to anyone.” Except the Control, if necessary.

“As long as you didn’t throw it out. Jim is a legend among vampires
and
DJs.”

“So you’ve told me.” I give him a set of keys on a peace symbol chain. “The small
one is for this door, and the other one is for the outside back entrance. As you already
know, the upstairs front door unlocks from the inside, for vampire safety. Only the
humans have keys.”

“Why?”

“Because vampires can be absentminded. David worries
we’ll accidentally open the front door and burst into flames or set a fellow vamp
on fire.”

“But you have a key and you’re not human.”

“I was when I started working here. David doesn’t have the heart to ask for my key.”

“Good. It’s not like you have to worry about fading anytime soon.” Adrian opens his
door with the small key. “Holy moly.”

As he steps in, I hit the light switch inside. The lava lamp and the wave machine
turn on, casting lurid glows over the layered Oriental rugs and the velvet curtains
draped over the sprawling bed. The drapes seem to wave in the flowing light.

“It’s . . . it’s . . .” Adrian searches for the word.

“It’s something.” I set down his suitcases and stand at the threshold, with no desire
to enter again.

He sits on the edge of the bed and caresses the lush coverlet. “This place is . . .
not me in the least.”

I sigh with relief. Maybe if Adrian changes the decor, I’ll feel more at home here.
Or less at home, whichever is better.

“You can get different sheets from our laundry room. For everything else, Sherwood
has a million antique stores. There’s even an antique mall. Which is a mall with antiques,
not a really old mall. Although there is also a really old mall.” Huh, I never thought
about that before.

“Thanks, Ciara. Wherever Jim is, I hope he doesn’t find out I changed his room.”

Behind me, Monroe’s guitar goes silent. I guess I’m the one to break the news to Adrian
about his idol.

“He won’t find out. He’s dead now.”

Adrian’s shoulders slump. “I figured it was a matter of time, stuck in that Control
hellhole. When did it happen?”

“Two nights ago.”

“Did he attack one of his guards?”

“No, he—” I wipe both hands down my face, realizing I can’t avoid what happened, not
even with one person. “He escaped from the nursing home and showed up at Deirdre’s
house. She’s one of his progeny who lives here in town. Anyway, the last time we saw
Jim, before he went into Control custody, was when he was attacking me.” I step forward.
“Right in this room, as a matter of fact.”

Adrian’s mouth has slowly opened during my speech, but on the word “attacking” it
dropped all the way slack.

“Attacked you how?”

“He almost ripped my throat out.” I look away from Adrian’s shell-shocked face. Among
vampires, biting without permission is tantamount to rape. “When he showed up at Deirdre’s,
Shane killed him. To protect all of us, but especially me.”

Adrian slowly shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it.” Monroe enters, his footsteps silent on the layers of rugs. “I was the
one staked him right here. And I’d do it all again, ’cept this time I’d pull ’em right
back out again. Let him die with some dignity, ’steada wasting away in one of them
Control places.”

“I stopped you. Long story,” I tell Adrian, deciding to spare him the account of Jim
almost draining my teenage cousin dry. “Can we get you anything else? The kitchen’s
pretty basic. Instructions for the microwave are taped on the front, in occasionally
insulting language, depending on who made the latest sign.”

“No,” Adrian whispers, looking as pale and drained as when he entered the station
lounge tonight. “I just need some time alone with my thoughts.”

On our way out, as I shut the door softly behind me, I share a glance with Monroe,
wondering if he’s thinking the same thing I am:

Alone with our thoughts is the most dangerous place a vampire can be.

12

Question

Sunday night. Bite night.

Waiting for David, I pace through my living room, but productively, to hide my nervousness,
as if Shane wouldn’t guess.

Now seems as good a time as any to work on Dexter’s “Heel!” command. With his strength
and predatory drive, it takes more than muscle to keep this monster in line. It takes
discipline, praise, and blood-soaked liver treats.

Unlike human vampires, Dexter still enjoys eating solid food, if it has a trace of
dog blood on it. Dogs have blood banks just like humans, and just like humans’ blood,
their blood expires, or turns out not to be usable for transfusions. Which is fortunate,
because the neighborhood schnauzers and poodles aren’t exactly lining up to be chomped
by our undead Great Dane–black Labrador retriever mix.