Kerry's voice became louder and shriller with each word: "And with all their questioning, the police didn't figure that out?"
Ethan finally turned to face her.
"And the ones in custody," Kerry continued, "don't these others realize that they're making it worse for the ones who've already been arrested? We've got to call the police—"
Ethan was suddenly at her side, holding on to her elbow. She hadn't seen him move She shrank back, startled, and he began pulling her to the door. "
Shh,
" he warned.
"Ethan—"
He gave her a strong shake His voice a whisper even after all her yelling, he said, "They might still be in the house."
That had been her first concern, but she'd forgotten in the horror of worrying about her father and Ian.
"We'll call from another phone," Ethan told her.
She nodded and let him lead her out of the house.
He closed the door behind them and picked up her backpack.
Kerry started to cut across the lawn to the Hagginses', but Ethan tugged on her arm in the direction of the car. "We've got to get to a phone," she insisted.
"If they're watching us," Ethan hissed at her, "that'll put us
and
your neighbors in danger." He hustled her to the car, tightening his grip when she tried to get one last look over her shoulder at the house windows.
"What if they're still in there?" she demanded. "My father and brother?"
"No." Ethan took off with a squeal of tires that in normal circumstances would have had her worried about Mrs. Armendariz "They would have gotten them out of there first thing."
Why?
Kerry was about to ask.
What makes you so sure?
But before she had a chance, Ethan made a right-hand turn, going the direction opposite from his uncle's house, which was where she had assumed he was heading—and she said, "It'll be faster to call nine-one-one than to go all the way to the police station."
"If they suspect you're a vampire, it's because you helped me last night. They may well be watching my house. We'll call from Regina's."
"But—"
"Kerry!" he snapped in a tone that was equivalent to
Be quiet!
She had been going to ask whether he was sure Regina would be home on a Friday night, but maybe he knew where she kept a spare key. He was obviously trying to work something out—who knew what?—and she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Her own mind, meanwhile, closed down and just went around and around a single thought:
I hope they're all right. Please, God, let them be all right.
R
EGINA'S WAS A
brick house surrounded by more-modern but still old wooden houses that stood on what had originally been all one property. There were lights on downstairs and in one of the upstairs windows, and Regina's red Ferrari was parked in the driveway.
Kerry opened her car door as soon as the car stopped, but she hesitated when Ethan made no move to turn off the engine or get out. He rested his elbows on the steering wheel, leaning forward, studying the house. "What?" she demanded.
"Something's wrong."
She wanted to call him paranoid, but the accusation died somewhere between intent and vocalization. She listened, because that seemed to be what he was doing. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. "What do you hear?"
"Nothing." He said it as though it should be significant.
But it
was
December. The house windows were closed; the car windows were rolled up; and quiet as this car was compared to her father's, there was the engine noise.
In another moment he turned off the car and stepped outside She stood next to him on the front walk. "She's home," she said as the upstairs light suddenly went off and the one in what had to be the next room went on.
"Automatic lights," Ethan told her.
After what felt like at least a half hour but was probably closer to ten or fifteen seconds, she demanded, "What are you listening for?"
He gave her a long look but didn't answer.
She wondered if he was going to tell her to wait outside, but when he finally went up to the front door, he didn't say anything, maybe waiting to see what she would choose on her own. She was about two steps behind him.
He had his own key; she told herself she wasn't surprised. It certainly made things easier.
"
Merde,
" Ethan said the instant the door opened.
She'd had French in junior high, and though she remembered little else, she remembered the words Madame Welch had carefully but somewhat naively tried to steer them away from: "Well, yes, dear, that's almost right, but don't put a
d
in, or it's a vulgar expression." Kerry had a pretty good idea what Ethan had just said, but in the instant it took her to wonder why he'd said it—much less why he'd said it in French—he'd taken off across the living room and was going up the stairs two at a time.
In the well-lit downstairs Kerry caught a glimpse of polished wood walls and expensive antiques. Everything was orderly, nothing obviously amiss—certainly nothing like what had happened at her house. But no matter how comfortable and secure it looked, she wasn't willing to get separated from Ethan, especially not with something having rattled him.
She ran up the stairs after him. He'd ignored the room with the light that they'd seen from the street, didn't glance left or right but made straight for the last room at the end of the hall. Kerry did it more slowly, half expecting someone to leap out at her.
The rooms-—guest bedrooms, a workroom with computer and fax machine, a bathroom big enough to fit two of the Nowickis' bathrooms—were empty. But something
was
wrong. Surely it was more than jumpiness on Ethan's part.
He had taken several steps into what had to be the master bedroom, but he was just standing there. Unasked for came the memory of how he'd stood in much the same way at her house, staring at the message written on her wall. She came up behind him, sure he was aware of her despite the fact that he didn't turn around. He was still in that attitude of listening, of studying intently, though the room was dark. The light was on behind them, in the brass-and-oak bathroom.
Ethan was making no attempt to find the room light. Kerry remembered passing a switch that was probably for the hall light, but she hesitated. Surely he had seemed familiar enough with the layout of the house. Surely he and Regina were sleeping together, she should have no more delusions about that He should know where the light in this room was.
So why was he standing in the dark?
In the seconds it took her to work that out, her eyes became accustomed enough to the dark that the last thing in the world she wanted was more light.
The easiest thing to make out was the big brass bed. Her first impression was that the covers were all lumpy and askew, that the bed wasn't made. But then she thought, no, there was someone in the bed Except that the shape was all wrong Not someone, but ... Two dogs? A larger one stretched out in the middle and one of those hairy little dust-mop-looking ones on the pillow? But Regina didn't seem the kind of person who'd own dogs, much less let them sleep on her bed. And they weren't moving. Kerry was finding it hard to breathe, to hold back the growing conviction that it was, in fact, Regina in the bed. And that—if it was—the head was much too far removed from the body.
"Ethan?" she whispered, less in a voice than on the simple exhaling of a breath. She wanted to look away before her eyes became any more accustomed to the dark, but she couldn't.
He swore in French again. Several times.
The light went off in the bathroom—
Not in here,
she prayed.
—and came on in the computer room across from the bathroom.
Which was still enough to show that the lumps were definitely Regina.
Kerry finally managed a backward step. "Who would do such a thing?" she asked.
"Vampire hunters," Ethan whispered.
He's in shock,
she thought.
He's saying it, but it hasn't sunk in yet.
Which had to be a mercy.
He was saying, still never looking at her, "That's one way humans kill vampires: expose them to sunlight, then chop off the head and stuff the mouth with garlic. I've never been clear what the garlic's supposed to do."
Kerry remembered the awful stillness in her own house. They had never checked those bedrooms.
Not Dad,
she thought.
Not Ian.
Nobody could think that of Ian. She couldn't stop shaking. "
They make 'em when they're still kids?
" Roth had asked. This was all her fault. She should have gone to the police herself.
She headed for the computer room, found the phone, dialed. 9–1—
Ethan set his hand down to disconnect her call.
"If there's someone here," she pointed out, "they'd certainly have heard us, they'd have had the chance to come out and get us."
"Just wait—," Ethan started, but she pulled the phone away from him.
"For what this time?"
His eyes, that lovely shade of blue, scanned her face. Looking for what?
"Kerry..."
She was willing to forgive bad choices. But too many things were beginning to sink in. Like the way he'd run up the stairs with no trace of a limp. Like how there was no evidence of that awful bruise he'd had on his temple last night.
He reached to take the phone from her, and she yanked back on the sleeve of his jacket, exposing a pale and perfectly unmarred wrist where yesterday she'd cut him so badly she had been sure he'd need stitches.
After all she'd seen, and despite all logic, she couldn't be surprised. "You're exactly what they said," she told him, less question than statement. "You're a vampire."
Lest she have any lingering doubts, he took the phone from her and yanked the cord out of the wall.
S
OMEHOW, BEFORE
K
ERRY
was aware of Ethan moving, he'd tossed the phone aside and had taken hold of her wrist. The coldness of his skin seeped into hers. How had she never noticed that before?
She tried to squirm away, but though he wasn't holding tight enough to hurt, she couldn't budge.
He caught up her other wrist and drew her in closer. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told her.
She tried to knee him in the groin, which always seemed to work in the movies, but he was too fast for her, and in a moment he had her backed up against the wall.
"Don't," she whispered.
Still holding her wrists up against the wall, he took half a step back so that he wasn't pressed against her. It wasn't much of a gamble on his part—not with that speed and strength. And she didn't have enough room to struggle anyway. But at the very least he was inconveniencing himself, and for no other reason that she could see than to make a declaration that he wasn't going to take advantage of the situation.
She was angry at the relief that weakened her knees, that made her want to look at him more favorably just because he wasn't thoroughly despicable.
"I'm sorry," he told her. She fought not to read sincerity into his voice. She knew he was a liar. Everything he'd said so far had been a lie. "You're involved in this purely by accident, and for whatever it's worth, I swear to you I
am
grateful for last night ... and I never thought to see you again."
Her eyes were hot and stinging. She fought to keep them open—to face what was coming—and not to cry. It would have been easier but for the strand of hair that had gotten loose and was poking at the edge of her eye.
"I'll do all in my power to save your father and your brother," he told her. No doubt to keep her calm until it was too late. He shifted position so that he held both her hands in his left, and he used his free hand to brush the hair out of her face.
She cringed from his touch.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated.
She forced herself to look directly into his eyes. "Does that mean you're not going to harm me, or does it mean that when you kill me, it's not going to hurt?"
He didn't answer, which was answer enough.
There was no malice in his blue eyes. Maybe he was sorry, as he said; he certainly was being as gentle as he could, but she saw his gaze flick briefly to her throat. He slipped his right hand behind her neck, supporting her head, and pulled her in closer so she was pressed against his chest.
"Wait," she said, "please." Her own struggles brought them into more intimate contact than he'd attempted on his own, and she shrank back in panic. "Don't," she begged, knowing that surely she was trying his patience, that his kindness would stretch just so far, that if he were truly kind he could never have survived as a vampire. "Listen, please." She stopped struggling, to show she wasn't just stalling for time. Not that she could stop shaking or gasping for breath. "Just a minute. Just listen for one minute."
He hadn't bitten her yet. For this moment at least he was only holding her steady, and she forced herself not to think about their relative positions She felt his breath, light on her throat, which was unexpected. She realized she'd been feeling his heartbeat, too, a steady five or six beats a minute, belying the coldness of his touch.
"I can help you," she told him, determined to make herself useful to him, determined to make her family valuable to him.
His eyes searched her face, as though he honestly wanted to find something there to make himself believe her. "Oh, Kerry," he said, soft as a sigh.
"You want to find the vampire hunters who killed Regina, don't you?" she cried as he bent over her throat again. He hesitated, looking up at her through a fringe of dark hair. "You want to find who killed her before any of the other vampires start getting killed, don't you?" It was a risk. Regina could have been a hapless mortal like Kerry herself, assumed guilty by the vampire hunters because of her association with Ethan. Her death could mean nothing to him. If so, Kerry didn't have anything else to offer. But she didn't think so. If nothing else, there was the matter of how dark it had been in Regina's room. Inner shutters as well as drapes, she was willing to bet.