Читать книгу Vampire, Hunter - Maria Arnt - Страница 7

"Detective Bradley," he answered his cell phone. It was 8:03 AM on a Monday morning, and he had just sat down at his desk. He tried to sip his fresh coffee and nearly burned his lips.

"Um, hi," said the male voice on the other end. "This might sound a bit odd, but do you know my daughter, Tanya Cooper?"

Bradley frowned. He hadn't heard from Tanya for a couple weeks, but that wasn't unusual. She had hinted that her family didn't know what she was up to, so he played it cool. "Name doesn't ring a bell, can you describe her?"

"Spunky redhead, about 5' 3", bit of a foul mouth, and... unusual hobbies."

Hmmm... Maybe Daddy knew more than Tanya had let on. "Oh yes, she's a freelance reporter, right? Shows up at some of our more unusual crime scenes. Why?"

"Well... It's just... She went up to Chicago about a month ago to chase a new... lead... And we haven't heard from her in about ten days. We were wondering if she had contacted you more recently?" his voice was full of hope and concern.

Bradley’s stomach dropped, and he glanced up at the photo of Lexie. He knew that feeling, from the first few days she had gone missing, the incredulous hope that she had just dropped off the grid for a weekend hike or something. The stress of not knowing if it was something worse. If Mr. Cooper really did know what his daughter was doing, it would be nerve-wracking.

"I haven’t heard from her, but if you like I can see if I can contact her," Bradley offered. He scrambled to find a pencil and paper in the disaster on his desk to jot down some details.

"She won't answer her phone or her texts, or email or Facebook," her father said, sounding a bit panicked.

Bradley smoothed a hand over his mustache, thinking. "I have a colleague up in Chicago I told her to contact. He may have heard from her more recently, or know how to get a hold of her. I’ll give him a call.”

"Al... Alright," he sighed.

"Hang in there, Mr. Cooper. I'll give you a call back later today, even if I haven't heard anything."

"Thank you," he hung up.

The detective immediately dialed the number of his friend Detective Shiro, and tapped the pencil against his desk while he waited for an answer.

"This is Shiro," he answered, chipper as usual.

"Hey Shiro, it's Bradley."

"Tom! How goes it down in ol' Saint Louie?"

"Pretty quiet. Shiro, I need to know if the girl I sent you, Tanya, ever showed up.”

"Well sure," he said, mystified. "Met me for coffee. We discussed her current project and what I should expect to see. Come to think of it, she said she'd probably be done with it by now..."

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose. Shiro was something of a kid genius, but he was definitely the absentminded type. But when looking for fellow vampire-aware cops, beggars could not be choosers. "Has she contacted you within the last ten days?"

"Hang on, let me check," his voice became distant, and Bradley could hear him thumbing through his phone. "Nope. Last text was twelve days ago, on the third."

"Her father just contacted me because they hadn't heard from her either," He said darkly.

"So she hasn't made contact with anyone in over a week?" all the enthusiasm drained out of Shiro's voice.

"No. Do you have her current number?" Tanya's habit of frequently switching phones often made it difficult to track her down.

"Sure," he read off the number, and Bradley copied it down quickly on the corner of a newspaper.

"I might be able to get her to respond to a text, but let me know if she contacts you first," he instructed.

"Yes sir," Shiro ended the conversation formally.

As soon as the call was over, Bradley tapped in the new number and sent out a text:

It was vague enough that if someone else read it, they wouldn't know what was up, but strongly worded so if Tanya got it, she would have to respond. He put the phone away, expecting that if there was going to be a response, it wouldn't be for some time.

To his surprise, it vibrated in his pocket not three minutes later.

Bradley frowned. What happened that would she need to go undercover, and how would she manage such a thing?

It struck him how serious the situation must be if she was driven to actually using proper punctuation.

Aha. Bradley smiled, glad he had guessed right.

There was no response, which he expected. He gave Mr. Cooper a call back.

"That was quick," Mr. Cooper said hopefully when he answered.

"Yes. It seems that Tanya is deep undercover. She said you know what she's really involved in, so I'm sure you can understand why it's important that she stay under the radar for a while," he explained.

Tanya's father let out a long breath. "Yeah. She mentioned that her last... job... didn't turn out like she expected.”

"How so?"

"Well... she said that her lead turned out to be... nothing special," he said.

Bradley realized that Mr. Cooper must not be somewhere he could speak freely, but he could read between the lines. The vampire she had been hunting hadn't been a vampire after all. He wondered if she had killed the poor schmuck. It would be her first collateral damage, and he knew from experience how hard it was to take that.

"She's safe for now, though. I'll let you know if I get any updates, but if she's able she'll probably contact you first," he said, using his reassure-the-family voice.

"Okay. Is there anything else we should do? Like go turn on the lights in her apartment or something?" he asked.

"No," Bradley said quickly. "It's possible her place is being watched. It's best if you just... Carry on, business as usual, you know?"

Mr. Cooper gave a pathetic chuckle. "Easier said than done."

"For what it's worth, I know how you feel. Hang in there. She's a tough one, she'll find her way out. I'm sure of it," he lied.

"Alright. Thank you so much for all your help, Detective Bradley."

"No problem." He hung up, and stared again at the photo of his daughter. Losing Lexie had all but ruined his life. His marriage had fallen apart, and he'd nearly lost his job when he tried to push an investigation into the existence of vampires. Worst of all was the gaping hole in his heart that his daughter had taken into her early grave, leaving nothing but the nagging suspicion that there was surely something he could have done to protect her.

He would do whatever he could to make sure that Tanya's story would have a far different ending.

Tanya floated in a black void with nothing around her, not even her body. She wasn't even sure if she existed. She could have easily floated away into nothing, but every so often something drifted down into that abyss to call her back.

A touch on her shoulder.

The sound of a rich tenor voice, almost singing. Sometimes she recognized the words, but couldn't string them together to make any sense of them.

The texture of a cool, wet washcloth on her forehead.

A comb being pulled gently, carefully through her hair.

And always that voice, rumbling on like distant thunder, soft and oddly familiar and comforting.

If this is being dead, Tanya thought distantly, it's really, really weird.

Other times, the sensations were not so pleasant. She ached all over, and she was so tired, but wasn't she asleep already? Tanya wasn't sure. She thought for a while she was burning, and then, later, freezing.

And she was always thirsty, desperately so. She could feel her cracked lips, her sticky throat. All she wanted was water. Instead, some other liquid, hot and thick and coppery, filled her mouth. It was nasty. She spat it out.

She had no sense of time passing, but the thirst grew stronger. Eventually, she drank the awful liquid. After a while, she learned to tolerate the cloying taste, and then like it, crave it. It became her whole world, waiting for that taste, gulping it down as fast as she could, feeling it drizzle down her chin.

The voice sounded pleased.

Tanya could feel herself pulling together, each tiny piece dragging her back into something that made sense. She was still very tired, could not even think of opening her eyes. But she could feel her body once more.

She awoke slowly, like on a lazy Saturday morning. Distantly she wondered what she had eaten to give her such weird dreams. She made to turn over and burrow under the covers, but something pulling on her arm kept her from moving.

Then she realized that she was upright, not laying down in her bed. She opened her eyes, then screwed them shut again at the bright light that stabbed into her head. Groaning, she tried again to open them just a crack.

"Tatiana?" the familiar voice said, and with understanding came recognition: Seth. "Are you awake?" he sounded strangely ecstatic. She heard his quick footsteps heading away, and then the light in the room dimmed considerably, so she pried her eyes open.

She felt oddly light, and hyper-aware of everything around her. Seth came into crystal-clear focus as he walked back towards her. "You are awake. At last." He pushed a few strands of hair out of her face and smiled like she was the most beautiful, incredible thing he had ever seen.

That was enough to distract her for a moment, until she realized why she was vertical: her arms had been tied to a horizontal pole, effectively keeping her upright even while she was unconscious. She tugged at the bindings, panicking, and then froze at the wash of sensation, at the feel of the fabric of her shirt as it moved across her skin. She could feel every single fiber and thread. Looking down, it occurred to her that while the clothes she was wearing did belong to her, they were not the clothes she had last been wearing.

Panic and dread filled her. "What did you do to me?" she croaked. Had he drugged her tea? What was he going to...

"I have freed you," he said gently as he began to untie her from the pole.

It took her a moment to realize he wasn't describing his current actions. "From what?" she asked.

Once Seth had finished untying her, and she stood wavering on her own two feet, he looked her in the eyes and said, "From time."

Tanya stood there, frowning, and then slowly remembered what had happened. How he had changed, one minute a harmless geeky professor, and then the next, her worst nightmare. What he had said before she passed out. We will speak again when you rise.

"No," she whispered before she had even fully figured it out. "Oh, god, no...." She looked down at her hands, which no longer showed all the little scars she had collected over the last few years of fighting. "Oh please, no...." She looked back to Seth, hoping he would tell her she was wrong.

He just smiled. "Oh, yes. Have a look for yourself," he gestured to the wall, where a huge decorative mirror hung.

She turned and looked. Even from across the room she could see every last detail, how her hair, once a subdued auburn, was now flame red with copper highlights and deep russet undertones. Her eyes, which had always been a sort of muddy hazel, were now apple green with brown and gold flecks. Her skin was perfect, free of the lingering acne that had bothered her since high school. The freckles remained, standing out against her delicate, cream-colored cheeks. Even her body had changed, she thought she looked thinner, more muscular, and yet her curves were more generous.

In the reflection, she could see Seth come up behind her, smiling, and saw the difference in him as well. He looked a little younger, early thirties at the oldest. He had changed his unkempt sable black hair. Now it curled perfectly in a look which, if not quite fashionable, suited him exactly. He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered, "See how beautiful I have made you?"

Tanya whirled to punch him, or at least she tried. Instead she overbalanced, tripping on her own feet and nearly falling over.

"Careful," Seth warned, catching her in his too-swift hands. "You will need some time to get used to your new body."

She tried to punch him again, and he easily dodged it. Shoving at him, she managed to escape his grasp, but her legs tangled up and she tripped. The cold concrete bit into her palms and she gasped, scrambling to get up. Instead she just flailed helplessly. The sounds of her struggle seemed impossibly loud, and her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. Every time she moved the clothes she wore dragged against her skin. It was too much, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and it seemed like the world was crashing down on her.

Suddenly, Tanya was engulfed in darkness, something wrapping around her tightly. She panicked more, fighting against it.

"Shh, Tatiana, it's all right, calm down," she could hear Seth's muffled voice, and it had the opposite effect he intended, making her gasp desperately for air.

Then a strange sensation washed over her, as if she were detached from her body again. She could still feel everything, could feel too much, but she stopped moving, and that helped. Her breathing evened out, stayed steady, and she became aware that the darkness around her was a soft, black blanket that Seth had wrapped her in.

"Listen to my voice," he said slowly, and her heartbeat shifted to align with the rhythm of his words. "You are safe, Tatiana. No one will hurt you. Focus on the feel of the blanket, on its texture," he ordered.

Without thinking, she did as he said. It was soft, some kind of fleece or maybe microfiber, warm and yet thin enough that she could breathe through it easily.

"Now focus on the way it smells," he suggested.

She did. It smelled very faintly like flowers. Lavender, maybe? It was a good smell, and it calmed her further.

"It's all right, you are safe," he repeated. "No one will hurt you."

"You hurt me," she managed to say, tears spilling down her face. They burned against her skin. "You... you turned me into a vampire."

"Yes, I did."

"How could you?! Why?!" she demanded through the blanket.

Seth sighed, and she could feel it as his arms tightened slightly around her, could feel his breath ruffling the blanket. "If you have calmed down, I will let you out and tell you," he said. "But you must try to stay calm, or you will have another panic attack.”

"Okay," she lied—anything to get him away. Beyond her detachment she could still feel the strong impulse to escape, like she was a rabbit caught in a trap.

Slowly, she seemed to come back into her body, and he unwrapped the blanket. As soon as she could move her arms, Tanya reached up and scrubbed the tears away. When he pulled the blanket off her head, she realized that she was sitting, balled up, in his lap. She tried to move away, but he held on tightly.

"Stay," he ordered, and she glared at him, but didn't try to get away again. He would only stop her, she could tell.

They sat there a moment, her sniffing and him giving her an assessing look. "Well?" she demanded at last.

He paused. "Do you remember when I asked you if there was a way to make you stronger, whether you would take that risk?" She was starting to realize his accent wasn't quite the same as before. It was still vaguely British, but maybe something else as well.

She scoffed. "So what, this is what you meant? Turn me into a vampire? That makes no sense!" she shouted, and then cringed. The noise had hurt her ears.

"It is precisely what I meant. And it has made you much, much stronger," he pointed out.

"That's not the point," she growled. "I wanted to be stronger so I could hunt vampires."

He smiled slyly. "And so you shall."

"Wait. What? You turned me into a vampire so I could hunt vampires?"

"Yes, Tatiana. You had reached a point where you were close to your limits as a human. I don't think you realize the danger you were in, how close Etienne du Lac came to killing you," he brushed a hand over the ribs she had bruised, just below her breast. “If I hadn’t told him you would spare him if he gave you my name…”

"Don't touch me," she hissed, trying to squirm out of his grasp. To her surprise, he let her go. She sat on the floor opposite him, trying to think. He had set her up. Had set Etienne du Lac up, knowing she would kill him, just to make sure she got his name. He had planned all of this, just to get her here. "If that was what you wanted, why didn't you just ask me?"

"I did ask you," he argued.

"No you didn't. You know what I mean."

He licked his lips thoughtfully. "If I had asked you if you wanted to become a vampire, would you have said yes?"

"Of course not!" she spat.

Seth shrugged, an elegant gesture on him. "And that is why I did not ask in that manner."

Tanya buried her face in her hands, at a loss as to how to deal with this lunatic.

"Come," Seth stood and held out a hand to her. "It's almost sunrise, you must be tired."

To her surprise, she was. She hadn't been a moment ago, but now, with all the adrenaline draining from her system, she was exhausted. She glared at his hand and carefully picked herself up off the floor, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

He pressed his lips together. "Suit yourself. Follow me." He turned to lead her towards a black metal staircase. As they went up it, she looked around the place they were in.

It looks like one of those posh apartments they build in gutted old warehouses, except without the big plate-glass windows, she thought. Without any windows, actually. Makes sense.

"You will be staying here," he gestured to a door as they approached it. "I hope you will be comfortable." Seth unlocked the door with a key, let it swing open, and stepped back.

She took a step forward. Inside was a perfect replica of her apartment bedroom. She walked in, and looked around, amazed and slightly freaked at the tiniest details he had recreated, right down to the rings of water damage on her bedside table. The colors were a bit off, everything was a little too saturated, but otherwise she might have been back in Missouri. Taking a breath to speak, she paused a moment.

"What is that smell?" she asked, putting a hand over her nose and mouth.

He poked his head in the door cautiously, almost like he didn't want to invade her privacy. As if, she thought sarcastically.

After a moment, he smiled a little. "That, my dear, would be you. Or at least you when you were human. Naturally, your things still smell like that, although the scent will fade with time and use." His voice was a little melancholy, and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. "I think I shall miss it."

Tanya stared around, now truly freaked out. These were not replicas of her things, they were hers, somehow transported from her locked and deadbolted apartment. "How the hell did you get my stuff?" she demanded.

He shrugged and smirked. "I can be very persuasive."

Glaring at him, she moved around, touching things. The soft fabric of a T-shirt, the slightly sticky surface of the bedside table. She opened a dresser drawer and found the box with her keepsakes in it, Ettienne's necklace on top.

The smell seemed more familiar to her now, reminding her of homecomings after a long hunting trip, only multiplied. It brought back long forgotten memories.

Nana had died when Tanya was twelve. Since she'd never married or had children of her own, her will had specified that Tanya should get "first pick" of the things in her home. She could remember walking through the rooms, unable to believe that her Nana wouldn't come back tomorrow. She picked things only from her bedroom: a beautiful old vanity set, the crazy quilt from her bed, and a bookshelf full of wonderful old books. She couldn't read half of them because they were in Russian, but they smelled like Nana and sometimes she would take one out and just flip through the pages to remember.

Sinking onto her bed, Tanya ran her hand over the old threadbare quilt, and suddenly she was fascinated by the swirling patterns of color and texture. She sat down and began smoothing her hands all over it, her breath speeding up as she started overloading again.

"Careful," Seth warned, snatching up her hands. "Close your eyes, and just touch," he instructed.

Slightly panicked, she did as he suggested, and he let her hands fall back to the quilt. "Slowly," he advised. She drew her hands down the quilt, marveling at the variety of textures.

"Now," his voice took on a mesmerizing tone. "Open your eyes and look at them, one at a time."

Tanya did so, recognizing old jeans, a sundress, pieces of her mother's wedding gown, an old pillow.

"Now try to smell, and sort out each scent."

Lowering her head, she breathed in deeply, searching for the smell she knew should be there, the softness of lilacs that Nana had always had about her. She caught a faint whiff, old and stale, but there was something else overpowering it. She tilted her head to the side, frowning.

"What is it, Tatiana?" he asked softly. She hadn't noticed that he had sat on the opposite edge of her bed, his hand trailing over the quilt. It kicked her right out of the trance she was in.

"Out," she said firmly. When he didn't budge, she tried to reach out and shove him, overshooting and landing on the floor in an unorganized heap. "Get out of my room!" she shouted.

He stood, looking like he wasn't sure what she meant.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, and then clapped her hands over her ears.

"Of course," he said stiffly, and left, closing the door behind him quietly as if nothing had happened.

Picking herself up carefully, Tanya stood and began to ransack her things for the source of the out-of-place smell. It was as if her entire room had been mysteriously transported to this prison; every last thing was exactly where she had left it. As she drew closer, the scent growing stronger, she began to realize what it might be. Opening the bottom drawer of her vanity, she found a bottle of perfume. She removed the cap, and suddenly the noxious fumes filled the air, making her nose burn and her eyes water.

Well I might as well cry, then, Tanya thought helplessly. She never wore the lilac perfume, and had only bought it because it made her think of Nana. But now it smelled nothing like her or lilacs, just a chemical mixture that was as much like the flowers as chalk was cheese. She had to get rid of it, couldn't stand to be near it another moment. Capping it, she looked to the window.

Except the window wasn't there. It was the only thing missing from the picture, the blue curtains framing a blank space on the wall where it should have been. Right, she remembered, no sunlight. Looking down at the bottle, her heart ached. She didn't want to get rid of her favorite reminder, but it looked like that... monster had left her no choice.

Storming over to the door, she stared at the handle. There was no lock on this side, not even a hole in the doorknob. Which meant it could only be unlocked from the outside. Does he mean to lock me up in here? she wondered, horrified and outraged at the same time. Her hand shook as she reached down to test if he had already locked it.

The knob turned effortlessly, and the door swung open to reveal Seth, leaning patiently against the walkway railing. "Yes?" he asked in his damnably polite British accent. He had the audacity to smile invitingly at her.

"Go to hell," she spat, and threw the perfume at him before slamming the door.