The Cure for the Curse Page 14

  The long shadows told her that the sun was close to setting behind looming Mount Maldecido. But still she paced along the tall stucco wall that circled the perimeter of the house, allowing the rays to sting her face. Figures. The only place I can be alone is where we burn.

  "Renna."

  Warrenna glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother standing by the heavy wooden gate. Another step and Alexandria would be awash in sunlight.

  "You should come inside, Renna. You know this is bad for you."

  Warrenna turned back to watch the distant highway. “I know how much I can take."

  "It's not as bad as you think."

  "He hates me, Mom!” Warrenna cried to the desert. “He thinks I got inside his head. That I'm controlling him. He was my only way out of this life, and thanks to your scene back there, now he's afraid of me!” By the time she finished speaking, Warrenna was choking back sobs.

  Alexandria put her hands on her hips. “Don't kid yourself, Warrenna Rachel. There can be no doubt that you somehow put him in your thrall. The evidence is too strong.” Her voice softened. “But you shouldn't feel badly about it. We all know enthralling him wasn't your intention. If anything, it's my fault for not giving you enough of an appreciation for how dangerous we are when in our other form. And you know I had to tell him. We're no better than the fiends if we don't tell our human friends what we know."

  Warrenna smiled ruefully. I hate it when she's right. “You know, it figures,” she said quietly. “My intentions, as usual, are meaningless. They always have been. I didn't mean to, but I pulled him into our world. I didn't mean to, but I enthralled the only boy I reached out to. He's right to be scared."

  Warrenna bowed her head, and her heart sank into her stomach. “Because inside, I'm really a monster. It's all I've ever been, and it's all I'll ever be now that he's gone."

  Tears rushed to her eyes, but she was sick of them. They didn't suit a fiend like her.

  Suddenly her face was buried in her mother's chest. She felt Alexandria's heart slowly thud through her cheekbone.

  "You are no monster,” her mother's voice softly came. “You are my daughter. You are strong, and you are beautiful."

  Warrenna looked up to see Alexandria's small, steady smile, and tears flooded her vision. She sobbed into her mother's shoulder, and Alexandria stroked the back of her head like she had so many years ago. Back when there was no curse, just something called different. They held each other tightly, but only for a moment. Warrenna could still feel the sting of sunlight on the back of her neck.

  She backed away in alarm, knowing how dangerous this was for Alexandria. “Mom, the sun."

  But she saw only a sliver of orange glowing above the black mountain. Mount Maldecido's shadow didn't yet encompass her, but completely shaded her mother. Warrenna sighed and returned to the comfort of the embrace.

  Alexandria wiped Warrenna's tears with her thumb. “You know, Renna, if there's one thing I've learned in my time in our world, it's that fate is a powerful force. It's what drove Warren, your grandfather and namesake, to search for a cure for the terrible curse that had befallen me. And fate will make Thomas curious as to what and why he really is."

  Alexandria turned, bringing her daughter into the safety of the shadow. “When we return to Bascomville, give Thomas space. Don't initiate contact. You'll see. He'll realize that you didn't mean to enthrall him. He'll also see that most of what you two share has nothing to do with what happened today."

  They stopped to pass through the heavy wooden gate and Alexandria carefully replaced the thick padlock over the latch.

  "He'll come back to you,” she said. “And it won't be because you want him to. He'll find you again because he wants to know what his fate truly is."

  Warrenna sniffled and nodded. It might take a while. He'll probably spread a story around Chiricahua about how weird I am.

  They re-entered the cool darkness of the kitchen. “Do you think he'll keep our secret?” Warrenna asked.

  "I think he knows no one would believe him."

  A shout came from behind the swinging great-room door. “Don't go in there! You should go back to your bed!"

  Alexandria stopped. “Necole?"

  Then Necole appeared in the doorway, fighting off Aunt Tammy and Richard as she went. Her skin was dark as chocolate, and her big eyes carried an alarming intensity.

  "Where is he?” she demanded. Her voice was rich and clear as she strode toward them. “Where is the boy?"

  "Thomas is gone,” Alexandria said as Necole neared. Even though Necole towered over a foot above her, she met the woman's flashing gaze unwaveringly. “He is not to be touched. He is far too important in the big picture."

  "I don't want to hurt him."

  A grin split Necole's mouth from ear to ear, revealing her gleaming white teeth. “I want to thank him. He freed me from my nightmare."

  Alexandria's mouth hung open in surprise. She glanced to Aunt Tammy in the doorway, who shrugged her shoulders.

  Warrenna took the opportunity to speak. “Necole. Are you cured?"

  Necole shook her head. “The beast still prowls inside me. But I feel better than I've felt in years.” She clasped her hands on the shoulders of both mother and daughter. “When do you think I could see him again? I simply must thank him."

  Warrenna gave a weak smile. “It might be a little while. And I'm afraid that's my fault."

  Chapter 15

  Finished with his transcription, Thomas closed the journal, jumped from the desk and threw open his bedroom window. The morning sun shone warmly on his face, and a nest of wrens sang from a mesquite tree in the gravel yard. He took a deep breath of crisp air.

  A new week, a new beginning.

  He took a quick cold shower to get his blood moving, then pulled on his white Arizona Cardinals t-shirt and climbed into his favorite blue jeans. Breakfast was a wheat bagel, a banana, and a tall glass of orange juice. He wanted to have plenty of energy as he took on the new week.

  After making sure that crucifixes were ensconced near every possible entrance to the house, he slept well the previous night. His mind was clear of questions as to how human he truly was, and he looked forward to getting back to his quiet, easy life. Sure, there might be vampires out there, but now that he knew about them, he could be prepared. So what if nobody would believe him?

  As he stepped into the bathroom for the daily struggle with his hair, Thomas thought about the story he would give his friends: that new girl really messed with his head, made him doubt who he really was and who his friends really were. But he figured out her game and told her off. He was feeling much better now.

  After that, he would ask to get filled in on what happened at the party after he left, and otherwise act as normal as he could.

  He cringed when he thought of the damage he might have done to his relationship with Mariah. She didn't call back, so he figured she must be mad. Maybe I should buy her some flowers. They'd be a good start, anyway.

  The doorbell rang, and for a moment, Thomas was afraid that Warrenna might be waiting on the other side of the door, ready to enthrall him again. But that was silly. It was probably just Brendan. He practiced his story one more time, raced to the door and opened it.

  Standing on the welcome mat was Derek O'Neal, dressed in his customary white suit. “Hello, Thomas,” he said pleasantly. “Are your parents home?"

  Thomas blinked. “Uh, no. My dad's at work, and my mom took my brother to get his allergy shots."

  "I see.” O'Neal removed his white fedora. “Well, that will make this easier."

  "Make what easier?"

  "Capturing their son, the vampire-lackey."

  The old man lunged forward, thrusting the open hole of his hat toward Thomas's head. Thomas stumbled back, and the darkness of the fedora covered his face.

  The hat was home to a powerfully sour stench. Thomas gagged, and plunged into a deep sleep.

  * * * *

  Whump!

 
Thomas's cheek pressed into sticky vinyl. An automobile engine growled in his ears, alongside the whistle of air conditioning. The awful smell was still in his nose, like slivers embedded in his nostrils.

  As he recovered his senses, he found that his hands were bound behind him, and he felt gravity gently pressing him into the seat, the familiar feeling of a car in motion. His forehead throbbed, and his shoulder ached from his awkward position.

  He dug his foot into the floorboard and hauled himself upright. The effort made him dizzy and nauseous. O'Neal's short white hair stood above the headrest of the driver's seat, and a look out the window revealed desert brush passing by. He also saw that he was sitting in a blue car with a gray hood, the colors of the car that followed Terri in Maldecido.

  "Where are you taking me?” Thomas gasped.

  "You're in luck, boy,” O'Neal said without turning around. “You will have your blood purified before you meet the Creator. Perhaps then He will forgive your sinful vampire collaborations."

  The sour smell faded as Thomas coughed, but the dizziness remained. His brain seemed to spin on a turntable mounted inside his neck while the rest of his body remained still. “What do you mean vampires? There's no such thing."

  "You can lose the act, boy. I know you were in their Maldecido compound all day yesterday. And you hung around the half-breed project all last week. What did they say they would give you? Power? Eternal youth? Well, all their empty promises end today."

  Thomas thought quickly. O'Neal seemed to know about the Orphans, and hadn't just followed him in Maldecido. But what was a half-breed project? Whatever it was, he had to talk fast.

  "I'm not with them anymore, sir,” he said. “I mean, I think I was under some kind of spell, but I'm out of it now."

  O'Neal snorted, flashing a toothy grin in the rearview mirror. “You're lying. But even if you aren't, it doesn't matter. I need you to draw them out."

  Thomas bit his cheek, which tasted like vomit and car exhaust. He thought maybe his ribcage had collapsed around his heart, for every beat seemed to verge on exploding though his chest. Being enthralled might have been confusing and creepy, but it didn't come close to being kidnapped.

  "I know you can't betray your masters,” O'Neal continued, his voice eerily cheerful. “But don't worry. You won't have to do anything but bleed."

  Thomas's throat tightened. Now, he recognized the scorched pavement of Carter Avenue. They were headed west, where the mesquite and barbed wire faded to dust and thistle. They were headed away from help.

  Thomas swallowed hard, and was unable to keep his voice from quavering. “Look, sir, I'll be honest with you. I'm not entirely sure what's going on here, but I really don't think I'm evil. And I don't think God would be too happy with you just killing me."

  "As though you could know the thoughts of the Creator.” O'Neal sneered into the rearview mirror. “Boy, I don't know what your story is. Your skin doesn't burn from my holy garments.” He held up an arm to show the sleeve of his white suit-jacket. “But the vampires treat you like one of their own. That means the fiends want you for something, and that makes you good bait for my trap."

  Thomas coughed again. So much for the truth setting me free. “But these vampires are different,” he continued, though he wasn't sure if it was true. “They fight the curse. They don't hunt people, they hunt vampires. They're on our side."

  O'Neal shook his head and laughed. “Sure they are. What else did they tell you? That they're searching for a cure? Or maybe that they worship some fire god that controls their blood-cravings? I'll bet they ended up getting some blood from you anyway."

  "Actually no, they never did."

  But then he remembered Friday evening at Warrenna's house. “Uncle Vince,” the older man with the wandering blue gaze. “We need to see what you really are,” he said, and then took a vial of Thomas's blood.

  His stomach flip-flopped. Was that what all this has been about?

  "The vampires have many alluring stories they tell to ensnare children like you,” O'Neal continued, his voice rising. “They know how to make you feel special. To make your ordinary lives feel exciting and important. That's what they did to Jimmy. My poor little brother needed so badly to identify with something."

  Thomas saw the man's face scrunch up in the rearview mirror. He pounded the steering wheel. “He was an easy target!” he cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Jimmy. I should have talked you out of coming to this godforsaken desert. But don't you worry. I've got another one of them here in the car with me. And he's gonna lead me to more. I'll kill every last one of them for what they did to you."

  Thomas swallowed hard. O'Neal was definitely a few bricks shy of a load, and talking to him wasn't going to help anything. But he went back to what O'Neal said about blood. If this was all about getting my blood, then why did Warrenna's family only take that one vial? And why tell me I was in the thrall? They had to know I'd react.

  His head pounded as he searched for answers. O'Neal's description felt frighteningly accurate, but his credibility wasn't the greatest. And Thomas knew he hadn't done anything to deserve getting killed.

  The car turned onto a bumpy dirt road, and Thomas slumped against a door. He watched the mountains in the distance and tried to remember the angle of the sun.

  We have to stop sometime. I'll make a run for it then. I'll get back to Carter Avenue and flag somebody down. Border Patrol drives around here all the time. They'll help me.

  The road curved behind a hill, from south to west again. At the foot of a low mountain range sat a dusty building with arched windows and a flat roof. The arched doorway reminded Thomas of St. Stephen's.

  Then he remembered the stories about an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere that the football team used as a drinking destination. Brendan once called it the Mission.

  As the car pulled closer, Thomas saw heaps of old beer cans, bottles, ammunition shells and other trash scattered in the desert. The road ended a few feet in front of the building, and O'Neal brought the car to a stop there, exited the car and slammed the door.

  Thomas took a deep breath and steeled himself to fight through the pain and dizziness as soon as his captor opened one of the back doors to let him out.

  But O'Neal walked away toward the Mission, leaving Thomas to bake inside the car.

  A few minutes later, O'Neal emerged again. Now, he wore a black gas mask. He stopped a few feet from the car and looked at his wristwatch.

  Pop-psshhhhh.

  A tiny white valve popped up from the center console and began spewing a greenish mist. The familiar sour smell filled Thomas's nostrils again, so he held his breath. Desperate, he pulled at the door handle with his bound hands, but the latch went flush, as though locked from the outside. He kicked at the windows, but they were solid.

  He took a deep, strangled breath and blacked out.

  * * * *

  Rocks dug into his back. He was being dragged across some dirt. Or gravel, maybe.

  He struggled, but his heavy limbs were useless. He fought his eyes open, but all he could see was shadowy haze.

  Thomas felt himself being pulled up, then pushed down into a hard chair, draping his bound arms around the back. He felt a pinch in one shin, and then the other. As he sluggishly reacted to the pain, he discovered that his legs were tied to the chair. He took a breath and pressure dug into his sides and across his navel. That meant a rope bound him there as well.

  Thomas blinked a few times. Four small, cracked, dusty pews stood before him. Beams of bright yellow light shone through spaces where windows once stood, and through gaping holes in the roof. The interior of the Mission was barely larger than his bedroom, and reeked of beer and ash. Even so, those scents were welcome after that awful gas.

  Pain suddenly stabbed his left arm. He looked to find O'Neal withdrawing a hypodermic needle.

  "What now,” Thomas mumbled.

  "Anti-coagulants,” O'Neal said. He dropped the syringe into a bla
ck briefcase and retrieved a different needle. “Can't have you clotting up on me."

  The old man jabbed the new needle into Thomas's left arm, just at the pit of his elbow.

  "The more you struggle, the more it will hurt.” O'Neal placed the plunger into the needle's housing and drew the handle back. Dark blood quickly filled the plastic tube. With a satisfied grunt, O'Neal attached a clear plastic hose to the end of the tube. The other end of the hose dropped down beside the chair into a shiny silver bucket.

  Crimson shot down the hose, and Thomas heard a quick tapping as his blood dripped into the bucket. He tried to wriggle the needle out of his arm, but he could barely move in the chair, and his thrashing only made the wound hurt more.

  Pain chased the gas away, allowing fear and panic to grip Thomas's thoughts. “Why don't you just kill me?"

  "Oh, no,” O'Neal said with a twisted grin. He pulled a cellular phone from his white blazer. “No, I need you alive for a little while longer."

  The old man pressed a button on his phone and held it to his ear. “Hello, Richard,” he said cheerfully, then listened a moment. “How I got your number is hardly relevant. I believe I have a friend of yours here."

  O'Neal held the phone up to Thomas's face as he jabbed the needle with his other hand. Thomas yelped, and O'Neal put the phone back to his ear.

  "Yes, Mister Thomas Gelbaugh sits here filling my holy pail with his scrumptious blood. If you want him to live, I suggest you come to the abandoned mission off Connolly Ranch Road with your half-breed daughter. Straight-up trade, no tricks. Oh, and you'd better hurry. I don't think he can bleed like this for more than another hour."

  He listened for a moment. “Then you can collect his corpse at your leisure. But I warn you, I'm going to keep all his blood for my traps.” He clicked the phone shut and slipped it back into his blazer.

  The tapping from the bucket ceased, but Thomas knew that blood dripping onto blood was quieter than blood dripping onto metal.

  "You really thought Richard would trade his own daughter for me?” he said.

  "Heavens, no. Richard will make sure the half-breed doesn't come within a hundred miles of here. But if your blood is as delicious as I suspect, he will come after you himself."