Part 36 (1/2)

”It got away,” she said as Dawn lowered her revolver.

Now that the adrenaline had cooled, Dawn sank to her knees, holding herself up with her left hand. She wanted to throw up. And when the shakes took over, cold and throttling, she lay down, her right side pierced with agony.

What had she done? They couldn't take Robby back to The Voice now. And Marla couldn't be questioned about any lies she'd been telling.

”I didn't want him in me again,” Dawn whispered between trembles.

Jonah's voice, soft and somehow understanding, came through her earpiece. ”I'm sure you didn't, Dawn.”

Skin spotted with blood, Breisi stood over her. But...why wasn't she as upset as she should've been? And why was The Voice, of all people, being so nice?

”There's one locator tuned to a Guard's body heat and one programmed to detect Frank,” Breisi said. ”I managed to attach them to the Guard's clothes.”

Optimism somehow rose above the shakes. ”We can track it?” Dawn asked.

”If it doesn't discover the bugs first.”

”It's all right, Dawn,” Jonah said. ”This was only the beginning; a small battle in a big war. And Robby gave us some very useful ammunition.” Pause. ”We've just started.”

Inexplicably, Dawn started to laugh-big, automatic gulps of relief, weariness, and disbelief. Crazy sounds of grief that she couldn't acknowledge because it would break her apart until she didn't exist anymore.

A war, she thought. This wasn't even close to over. G.o.d help her, not even close.

And, as the sun saturated the sky with streaks of red, Jonah drew up more battle plans, concocting a story that they'd give to the cops about Nathan Pennybaker's suicide at the news of his wife's disappearance. They would tell the authorities that the distraught man had called the PIs over and then impaled himself in their presence. The rest-burns from vampire spit, blood- they'd leave to the crime technicians to fret over.

Because skepticism about monsters and Jonah Limpet's money were powerful allies-ones they had to depend on.

Ultimately, after being questioned and released by the authorities, the women finally slouched to the 4Runner in the emerging light of day. On the way to the vehicle, Dawn took off her earring, not because she was following Kiko's advice about it getting ripped out, but because it didn't seem to fit anymore. Actually, nothing fit her now.

Except for the painful echoes of another vampire hunter's screams-her father's.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

NEWMOON.

HOURSearlier, at nightfall, a star had been reborn.

Unlike previous ”deaths”-such as Jesse Shane's-this one had been made easier with the advances of technology. Certainly Dr.

Eternity and his trusted group of Servants could have used Hollywood special effects to simulate Tamsin Greene's gory demise, but there hadn't been any need for it-not with the doctor's vampiric talents. The resurrection had been deceptively simple.

As night swallowed Los Angeles, Dr. Eternity's plans had been set into motion. Using the cover of darkness and disguise to emerge Above, the doctor-or Master, as he was known to Sorin and the Elites-visited the victim's home. There, Tamsin Greene invited him over the threshold.

Greedy for forever-fame, she was eager to begin the agreed upon ritual, her makeup carefully applied, her body clothed in satin, her eyes speaking of a fear she would soon forget.

Fear of aging. Fear of losing the adoring glances bestowed upon her by millions.

Then she led him to her room, where he lay her down on the white bed, caressed her neck, encouraged the jugular vein to emerge while a.s.suring her that he would be gentle. That her new life was going to be beautiful beyond imagination.

That she would always remain beautiful.

As her eyes glazed under his seductive words, her breath came in shallow gasps. He stroked her to calmness, his gaze a hypnotic sedative. Then, when she was primed, he carefully took her in the time-honored ritual of exchange, fangs extending as he revealed his true, terrible face.

She gasped at the shock of it, gasped at the rapid, animal pierce of broken skin at her neck. Then, after a tender and languorous feast of her blood, Dr. Eternity reared back, slit his wrist with a clawed nail, and bequeathed her his own life's water. He allowed her to drink only so much-enough to rise.

To complete the cycle, he placed his red-stained lips over hers, giving her the kiss of a Soul Taker. He drank completely again, immersing himself in her essence, feeling as revered as a one-hundred-foot G.o.d on a movie screen. Every vivid human experience: laughter, sadness, love-all the emotions he had to work so hard to possess-filled him to overflowing.

To drunken agony.

Meanwhile, Tamsin's veins constricted with the new elements in her system, her body animated by the Master's blood. Later, before the Underground welcoming ceremony, her body would fully shape itself to her new vampiric form.

But that was yet to come.

Now, she screamed at the heat of her change, straining along with her master, both of them in pain and near weeping.

Her memories consumed him: the thrill of being desired. The lovely terror of facing a thousand fans who needed you...

All too soon, like skin being torn from bone, Tamsin's soul screeched and separated from him, and the doctor fell to the carpet.

Her essence wailed into a vial that sat on the bed, a container he had charmed with the facade of safe harbor. Her soul cowered there, not knowing any better.

To the Master, losing the soul was akin to being stranded in the darkness of forever. Alienation, isolation, the terror of not knowing what was coming next, the horror of being rejected. He reached out, scratched at the bedspread, but like eternity, there was nothing to hold on to.

Even so, he wanted more...more.

As tremors wracked his body, he capped the vial, yet one more soul to add to his collection.

An hour seemed to pa.s.s while Tamsin moaned and fumbled for him, but the Master knew that time was only stretching itself out during their agony. It tortured him with the knowledge that he was fallen and bereft, that the very people he was saving with his blood would never love him as much as he loved-or wanted to be-them. As he held Tamsin's hand, her gaze grew wide, locked to the ceiling during a trauma she would soon rise above. Trembling, he kissed her neck, healing her bites instantly, then left her side to put her newest CD into the player. After tonight, this would always be known as Tamsin's final work, her greatest masterpiece. It would sell millions, and much of that would be in his coffers due to the payments she would always owe him.

With the first notes of a lazy love song, he slunk into the night, thus allowing Sorin to take over.

The second-in-command-first-in-command, as far as most of the Underground believed-strolled in by himself and waited until Tamsin's reanimated body gained enough strength to rise.

When she did, it was with the tentative wonder of an infant. She felt her body, ran her hands over her skin, staggered to her mirror.

”I look the same. Why? You promised me I'd be-”

”We have merely begun the ritual,” Sorin said, never minding her tiresome Elite dramatics.

He called in the human Servants who would aid in this production. Eyes averted from Tamsin in respectful modesty, the underlings went about setting up the scene, making sure it was safe, yet convincing.

So easy compared to the ones who came before, Sorin thought.

Previous Elites had required Dr. Eternity to maim them and slow their vitals to the point where they appeared dying or dead, forcing the vampire to flee the Elite's side in a timely manner before the police arrived. But this particular presentation would be done on camera, allowing them more leeway. They had even discussed using a prosthetic throat that would gush blood, but an Internet broadcast would entail so-called ”geeks” reviewing the footage ad nauseam, and they would uncover such fakery.

No matter though. Even at this stage of vampirism, Tamsin would heal, especially with Sorin's ability to mend wounds with a touch, and then the Master's astounding, final actions.