Vampire Miami (8 page)

Selah stepped forward. “Hey! That’s mine!”
Without any emotion, the Hispanic guy shoved her back hard enough
to send her stumbling against the wall. Did so without looking at
her. That shove was all business.

“Old model, but nice,” said the white guy,
turning her Omni around in his hands. “OK. Will do.” He ducked back
out.

“I’m going to ask again,” said her captor. A
drop of sweat ran down his temple. It was hot in here. “Who are
you? Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” Selah tried to look scornful. “I
don’t work for nobody. I just got here. I’m with Maria Elena—she
works the front door. She brought me here. Just ask her.”

“Maria Elena, eh? OK. We’ll check with her in
due time. But maybe she doesn’t know who you really are. What were
you recording in the lounge?”

“Recording? Is that what this is about?” The man
stared at her. “I was just recording to show my friends back home,
that’s all. I haven’t had an Alpha connection since I got to
Florida. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

“Sure,” said the man. “Recording to show your
friends back home. We’ll see. You wait here.” He turned then and
left. Selah tensed, terrified that he would turn off the lights and
leave her in the dark, but he didn’t. She sank into a crouch, back
against the wall, and lowered her chin onto her crossed forearms.
Stared fiercely at the door, trying to understand what was going
on, what he’d been implying. Clearly recording was a huge
no-no.

A thought hit her. She blinked and straightened
up. Did they think she was working for the Resistance? No, that
couldn’t be it. But still. Was that what they thought?

The Resistance. The Liberation Project. The Free
Miami Movement. They had a bunch of names, and sometimes it seemed
their identity changed every week. But they were real. Real, and
very popular, their videos and stunts garnering huge amounts of
media attention and a loyal following. Staging acts of vandalism,
piping out video feeds of atrocities, calling on the government and
the people to act, to take Miami back.

Selah chewed on her lower lip. If that was the
case, she could be in huge trouble. The Resistance was small
because if you got caught, you just disappeared. A lot of their
work involved tracking down the members who’d been taken. Trying to
figure out their fates. If the Hispanic guy thought she was working
for them, then—
damn.
Selah took a deep breath, panic
fluttering in her chest.

She’d followed the Movement since it’d first
gone live three years ago. Who hadn’t? Watched the first shakily
recorded videos, marveled at how romantic and brave those people
were, fighting back against the vampires. Like most girls, she’d
developed a crush on Cloud, the leader of the group, a media-savvy
guy who uploaded the most frequently, who regularly sent out essays
and articles protesting the city’s subjugation. Cloud, always
masked, voice fierce. Selah closed her eyes.
Shit
.

Time dragged by. She thought about pounding on
the door. Wondered if they’d gone to fetch Maria Elena. What would
they do to her? Kill her? Give her to a vampire? Her mind kept
circling back to her Omni. They would for sure get access to all
her regular, normal-girl stuff. Read all her private journals, see
her photographs, and violate her privacy completely. The question
was: would they also find her father’s hidden files? His research
on Blood Dust, his profiling of top vampires in Miami like the
vampire king Sawiskera, on Jocasta and the others. His speculation
on the military’s involvement with the drug trade… Selah rubbed her
face. Not only that, but they could easily check her browsing
history. See that she regularly visited the Resistance’s site, and
was an active member of a number of vampire-related groups. Would
that be enough to incriminate her? She closed her eyes and
repressed a groan.

Burgeoning panic made the small cell seem
claustrophobically tiny. Why was there a drain in the floor? To
wash away blood? How long could they keep her in here? Just when
she thought she could take it no longer, the door opened, and the
vampire stepped inside.

Selah, expecting the Hispanic guy, had already
begun to rise to her feet, protest on her lips. Her words died in
her throat, so that the only sound she made was a queer croak. The
strength went out from her knees and she sank back into a
crouch.

He closed the door quietly, and then turned to
look down at her. She gazed back up, terrified, mind slack with
terror. His polished, smooth scalp shone under the fluorescent
bulb. Those twin smeared scars, the raw, regal power in his face.
Wide nose, broad lips, hard jaw. No sweat. No smell. Just eyes like
oblivion, swallowing her whole, drinking her in. He stood as still
as a statue, not breathing. Not moving. His hands didn’t sway,
didn’t tremble even a little. A living statue. A dead statue. A
vampire.

Selah shook her head. Her thoughts were a
maelstrom. This was it. Her punishment. A tidy death in an
anonymous closet. He was going to drink her blood, tear open her
throat. No wonder there was a drain in the floor. This was probably
where it happened, every night, over and over again. How many had
died here? She was going to die—she was going to die.

Panic crawled and clawed its way up her throat,
and she was about to start clawing at the cinderblocks behind her
when he lowered himself smoothly into a crouch opposite her.
Lowered himself with effortless grace, and rested his forearms
lightly on his knees. He had put on a black jacket, she noticed,
was still wearing the same black shirt and dress pants from before.
His shoes shone in the harsh light. She looked everywhere,
anywhere, but his eyes.

“Who are you?” His voice was soft, just louder
than a whisper. Air forced out from his dead lungs. She saw him
inhale, a purposeful movement, taking air back in and then simply
holding it.

“Selah. Selah Brown.” Her voice was wooden. No
more thoughts. Her mind had grown very still. She stared at his
chest. If she didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t, either.

“Selah. Not Sethe?”

Selah frowned. “Sethe? No. My name’s Selah.”

He searched her face, and shook his head as if
marveling. “Of course. A foolish question. Are you a member of the
Resistance, Selah?” His face was somber, however, his eyes
impenetrable. She tried to remember him on the dance floor, found
that she absolutely couldn’t.

“No,” she said. Her word hung between them in
the air. Everything hung in the balance. Her life, her fate. She
stared at him and hoped, desperately hoped that he would believe
her. He nodded. Arose just as smoothly to his feet.

“I didn’t think so. Hector tells me that you are
new to Miami. You had best learn fast: people are not allowed to
make recordings of any kind within the city. Even owning a device
such as yours is a punishable offense.”

“I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Selah looked up at
him. Part of her wanted to stand as well, but she couldn’t move.
Somehow—could it be? Somehow it looked like she was going to
survive.

“Hector wants to keep your machine. Make sure
you register yourself tomorrow morning and get an ID. I might not
be around to intercede the next time you make a mistake.” Selah
couldn’t believe it—was there a touch of humor to his voice?
Couldn’t look away from those eyes. She felt half mesmerized. Numb,
dazed. She nodded.

“OK. I promise.”

“Good,” he said. He stared down at her for a
moment longer. Seemed on the verge of saying something more, and
then changed his mind. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He opened the
door and walked away.

Selah closed her eyes. Rested her head back
against the wall. Breathed in deep, slow breaths, trying to calm
herself. Trying not to cry in the aftermath of such intensity. To
stay in control. It took all her energy, all her will. Exhaustion
came crashing down upon her, swamping her, so that she didn’t think
she could move. Could ever move again. She could sleep right there.
Just pass out, and sleep for eternity.

“Oh. My. God,” said Maria Elena. Selah opened
her eyes as the other girl came into the room and knelt before her.
Her face was torn, half terrified, half furious. “I told you to
stay out of trouble! I told you to not do anything stupid! Oh my
god, how could you get in
so
much trouble so fast?”

“I’m sorry,” said Selah, though she didn’t
really feel sorry. She didn’t feel much of anything. It had all
been too much. She just felt tired. “It was an accident.”

“I mean, you almost cost me my job! Maybe my
life! The Resistance? Recording in the lounge? What were you
thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” said Selah. She might as well be
honest. “I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

That checked her. Maria Elena opened her mouth
to let loose another volley of fury, but then stopped. Looked at
her, and something new came into her eyes. She took a deep breath,
and reached out to put her hands on Selah’s arms. “You’re right.
This is my fault. I didn’t think. Again. Come on. Let’s get out of
here.”

“Your job?” asked Selah as Maria Elena hauled
her to her feet. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not officially. Hector wants to kill me, but he
can’t do anything. Not when the freaking
Dragon
tells him to
leave it alone.”

“Dragon?” Selah looked at her friend. They
stepped into the hall. “That’s his name?”

“That’s what they call him. He’s big time,
chica. You
never
want to get his attention. He works for the
Big Man himself. Sawiskera, you know? How the hell did you get his
attention? You know what? Never mind. Let’s get out of here
first.”

“My Omni?” asked Selah as they hustled down the
hall. Hector stood in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at them
both. Maria Elena gave him a nervous smile, ducked her head, and
slipped past him and back out into the nexus. Selah felt a pang,
muffled though it was by exhaustion. Her father’s Omni. What was
she going to do without it?

Back into the blue light and music. Out into the
entrance hall, then through the doorway, Maria Elena paused to
snatch up her jacket, and then out into the night. A large crowd
had gathered outside. Maria Elena and Selah stepped out around the
side, and then began to stride away, away from the club, away from
the sound and light and people. They crossed and went down a side
street between two large hotels. Music and the sound of people
desperately enjoying their night filtered over from behind designer
hedges that separated the hotel entrances from the street. Down a
half block, and then, miraculously, completely without warning, the
beach.

Maria Elena pulled her over to a low retaining
wall made of stone, capped with a smooth concrete top, and sat on
it, but Selah remained standing, staring over the wall and at the
white sands. The moon had risen. It was like a blessing, a sign
that she was still alive. A promise. It painted the beach a marble
white, patterned shadows under each scalloped sand dune, and then
beyond it, the glory of the ocean. Vast and ponderous and sending
its waves up the sandy slope in whispering surges. It was a calm
night, no wind. Selah gazed at the great darkness of it, at the
sparkling, scintillating waves under the moon, and inhaled deeply,
cleaning her lungs of the smoke and replacing it with the tang of
salt.

Remembered, then, how the vampire had breathed
only so as to be able to speak. His black eyes, locked on hers,
never blinking.
The Dragon
.

“All right,” said Maria Elena, lighting a
cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Now. Start from the beginning. Tell
me everything.”

Selah settled down next to her. Studied her
face. The sight of the moon had given her a new sense of calm.
Perhaps it was just the fatigue. Could she trust her? She was only
a couple of years older, but right now, having gone through that
experience in the club, Selah felt the more mature of the two.
Perhaps only by dint of having survived it. She reached out and
took Maria Elena’s hand.

“Are you my friend?”

“What?” The other woman frowned at her, as if
the question didn’t make sense. “Your friend?”

“Yeah,” said Selah. “Are we friends?”

“Damn girl, I nearly died tonight saving your
skinny black ass. You bet I’m your friend.” Maria Elena blew out a
plume of nearly invisible smoke and smiled. Still jittery, still
nervous. She hadn’t, Selah thought, saved her. The vampire had.
Nothing Maria Elena could’ve done would’ve changed things. But she
had come. Had come for her, and not abandoned her. So she squeezed
her hand, and felt Maria Elena squeeze back.

“Seriously, tell me, how the hell did you get
the Dragon’s attention?”

Selah felt a fey, strange amusement well up
within her. She controlled her face, tried to not smile. It was all
so surreal. Looked out at the ocean and said calmly, “Oh, it was no
big deal. We just danced for a while.”

Maria Elena let out an outraged squawk and
stood. Stared at Selah, hands on hips. “You what? You danced with
him? For a while?”

Selah looked up, smiled. Felt brave, foolish,
happy. She was alive, she was free, and she suddenly loved the look
on the older girl’s face. “Yeah. Only until I got bored,
though.”

Maria Elena took her clutch purse and smacked
Selah across the shoulder, and Selah nearly fell off the wall,
laughing so hard that Maria Elena hit her again and then a third
time, driving Selah off the wall and onto the sand.

“You,” said Maria Elena, pointing her cigarette
at her, cherry tip bright in the night, “are grade-A crazy.”

“I didn’t know who he was,” said Selah, standing
up and sitting back down.

“So like, what—is he a good dancer?”

Selah grinned, and then realized she was being
teased. “Not bad.” Her smile smoothed away. That small room with a
drain in the center. Those black eyes. The rancid fear. She
swallowed, looked down at her hands, then back up. “Thanks, by the
way. For coming in to get me.”