Blood and Chocolate

Blood and Chocolate Page 20

She peered into three windows before she found the room she wanted - a small bedroom papered with rock band posters. The bed was empty. Vivian growled at the back of her throat, imagining Kelly in another bed - Aiden's. Gonna wait for you, girl.

She tried prying open the casement window with her fingers, but it was locked from inside. What now? She wiped the sweat from her brow with a downy forearm.

A quick tour of the yard turned up a shed. The chain holding the door closed snapped like a candy cane. Inside were a lawn mower, gas cans, a bench laden with pots, and garden tools dangling neatly on pegs.

On one of the pegs hung a roll of duct tape. She took that and a trowel and went back to Kelly's window. The air was a soup of moisture and insects. In the distance thunder snarled.

She ripped off lengths of tape with her teeth and plastered them over a windowpane, then hit the mess with the trowel. The tape deadened the noise, and the broken glass peeled away easily. Through the hole, she flicked the lock, turned the handle, and let herself into the cool, dark room.

Vivian carefully closed the bedroom door, drew the curtains, then turned on a lamp beside the bed. She winced at the light. A few seconds passed before she could look around through squinting eyes.

The room was that of a little girl gone bad. Beneath the haphazard pictures full of naked chests, flannel, and tattoos, she could see pink, flowered wallpaper. There was an ink-stained pink ruffle around the dressing table, and a loving mother still made the bed up in pink sheets, although it was probably the daughter who had thrown a black down comforter on top. An old stuffed tiger lolled its head on the pillow.

Great Moon, what am I doing here? Vivian thought. This is crazy. Kelly didn't do anything I wouldn't do. Suddenly she yearned for her own room, her own bed. Waiting seemed stupid and useless. Gotta get out of here, she decided.

"Here, have a present, Kelly." Vivian smacked the bottle down on the dresser amid jars of makeup, bangles, pens, and tapes. The bottle tipped when she let go, and she grabbed for it, then noticed the chain underneath that had set it off balance. On the end of the chain was a pentagram.

As she picked up the pentagram her nails lengthened to claws and hair grew in a prickling trail down her back. "He gave it to you?" Her words were a whisper of strangled outrage. Was this the same necklace she had thrown back at Aiden? Was he so callous he could turn around and give it to someone else? Or did he give everyone a pentagram? Tears coursed down her cheeks as she bent the charm in half. I thought I was special.

She clicked off the light.

"I hate pink," she spat, and pierced a curtain with her claws, shredding it down to the hem. She turned both curtains to ribbons, savoring the sound of tearing and the tingling vibrations in her fingertips.

She went to the closet. The clothes hung in ranks  -  in front of the door were the black outfits Kelly favored, to either side were cheerful items most likely bought by a worried mother and only worn at family occasions after much pleading. Vivian shredded the black clothes.

She turned to the bed.

Her first swipe at the comforter sent feathers flying. They made her think of killing chickens, and she drooled as her claws swiped faster, faster, until the bed was a pile of down and pink-and-black rags. She lowered herself into this nest and her muzzle grew.

Hello, Little Red Riding Hood, she thought.

She   remained   in   a   half-state - part   girl,   part creature - and her toes curled and uncurled with the pleasure of imagining Kelly's face when she saw what was in her bed. She could be finished and gone before Kelly's screams brought her parents running -  or so the alcohol told her. But as the minutes ticked away the pleasure began to dim, and she turned back to girl. Was Kelly coming home at all?

Vivian retrieved the bottle and gulped from it, her throat now dead to the burn. Her vision was blurred, and shadows dissolved into disconcerting gray tweed. Her head throbbed. She listened for the front door, but heard only snores and the creaks and groans of a nighttime house. She paced unsteadily, but whenever she stopped, the room began to turn, so she kept on moving. Every so often she picked up one of the cassettes from the dresser and unraveled it, strewing tape across the room.

The clock did away with luminous minutes until it was three A.M.

"She's not coming home," Vivian growled. "The bitch is not coming home."

She climbed through the window, scraping her shins, and tumbled onto the grass outside. She struggled to her feet, and somehow made it back over the fence without turning upside down, then set off down the road.

She knew where Kelly was. "I will rip you from his arms," Vivian promised. "I will rip you."

The night contracted to a pinpoint of hate.

Chapter 24

24

Vivian woke with a start. She didn't remember coming to bed. She groped for some memory of brushing her teeth or undressing, but nothing came. Carefully she opened her eyes. A pain beat at her head like a mallet in a sock; the other sock covered her tongue. Her whole body ached.

This was too much like another recent morning. Her heart pounded.

Vivian sat up amid her twisted sheets. She was naked. She looked around the room for the clothes she had worn the night before. The back of her desk chair was bare. There were no rumpled piles on the floor. Where were her clothes? She forced down the rising panic.

The early-morning breeze that wafted through the open window was damp but cool. The window screen was ripped across its entire width - enough for a person to climb through, a person without the wits to raise an obstinate frame. There was dirt on the floor.

Vivian looked down at herself. She was streaked with green mud as if she'd been in the river. She snatched up her hands and inspected her nails. They were pink, tipped with white. She exhaled audibly. There was no blood, thank the Moon.

She began to relax. She'd been drunk last night, that was all. So what if she'd stripped off her clothes and run around on all fours for a while? She deserved it. Instinct had probably kicked in and kept her to the woods. Yes, she'd been stupid to go to Kelly's house, but thankfully she'd gotten the hell out of there before anyone discovered her. I don't think I went to Aiden's, she thought. Of course she didn't remember how she'd become muddy either.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and moaned. The sheets were dragged with her. And that's when a hand fell on the floor with a small soft thud.

Vivian froze. The room spun out of focus. The only clear thing, sharp-edged, real beyond real, was a severed hand lying palm up on her bedroom rug. The flesh was pale and slightly puckered, as if it had been in the river with her. There were tooth marks in the palm. At the wrist was a ragged fringe of skin that surrounded a dark crusty core and a bone that protruded white. The bone had been crushed so someone could suck the marrow.

She saw a ring on the middle finger. Choking back the bile, she stuck out a foot and flipped the clammy hand over, then recoiled. The ring was a silver skull. It belonged to the biker who'd come on to her outside Tooley's, the one she'd told Gabriel she'd smack around.

She breathed fast and shallow like an animal in a trap. I've got to get rid of it, she thought.

Had anyone seen her? Had she left a trail to her house? She rushed to the window and looked out. A mist rose from the grass, but there was nothing unusual outside.

What if Esmé came in? She ran to the door and locked it. Despite the cool breeze she was bathed in sweat. She had to hide the hand until she could get it out of the house.

She looked around desperately. The wolves painted on the wall seemed to laugh at her. She yanked open the closet door. In a boot? No, she'd never wear them again. She noticed a Timberland shoe box up on the shelf. Perfect. She nudged the top off, retrieved the hand, and, carrying it gingerly by its waxy thumb, reached up and dropped it in. There was a rustle of tissue paper, and for one heart-stopping moment she imagined it writhing in there. She stifled a hysterical giggle and dropped the lid on the box.

Esmé was still in bed; her door was closed. Rudy was out. Vivian showered and dressed as fast as she could; then she shook the hand from the box into a cheap nylon fanny pack, which she strapped on. Her skin crawled as she walked out the kitchen door.

In the thickest part of the undergrowth out back, she sat on her haunches and rubbed garlic and pepper into the hand as if it were a leg of lamb. She hoped the smell would drive away any dog that might try to dig it up. I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought. She'd had dreams that seemed more real.

She couldn't seem to make a hole deep enough. Just a few more inches, she kept on telling herself. I can't let anyone discover it. If Gabriel found out he'd kill her for the safety of the pack, whether or not he wanted her for a mate. She saw in the granite of Gabriel's face swift justice and questions later, no matter what he said about being a good listener and his boasts of muscle to spare for her protection.

Finally she tossed the hand in and scrabbled to fill the hole, her knees bent ready to dive through the scrub if anyone approached, her mouth metallic with fear. She prayed to the Moon that it would stay there undisturbed.

Inside, Esmé was up. She sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee while a news show on the radio droned on quietly. Tomas was with her. They looked like a wet funeral.

"Look who came tapping at my window at dawn," Esmé said, with only a glimmer of her usual sly grin.

Vivian's breath caught in her throat, but nothing in Tomas's expression suggested that their paths had crossed. "What's up?" she asked, knowing already.

Esmé got up for another cup from the cabinet. "Someone found another body. The news said it was mutilated, but they wouldn't say how."

"The police hold that sort of information back," explained Tomas. "That way only the real killer will know the details, and they can weed out cranks who confess for attention."

"Where was it found?" Vivian asked.

"Over by the university," Esmé answered, bringing Vivian some coffee. "Behind one of the temporary buildings where they're gonna build the new art department."

The street Kelly lived on was only blocks from that side of the campus.

"I know, baby," Esmé comforted, misinterpreting Vivian's pale face. "We all feel the same way."

Tomas reached out and stroked Esmé's hand. She grabbed his fingers and held on. "What must you think of us?" she said. "Honestly, you just happened to come along right when things started to go crazy. We'll get this mess sorted out..." She realized she was babbling and shut up.

The sound of the radio seemed to swell to fill the void left by her silence, so no one missed the news bulletin: "In a bizarre new twist in the latest, so-called 'beast murder,' an inside source reports police have been the recipient of an anonymous phone call claiming the two murders are the work of werewolves. Chief Detective Sirilla refused to comment. " The news reporter had some difficulty concealing his amusement, but regained his awareness of bad taste before he made a joke. "These are, of course, serious crimes, and police would appreciate any real information that would lead to an arrest."

Esmé leaned back in her chair and turned off the radio. "Shit, shit, shit."

"But who would know?" Tomas asked. "Who could possibly know?" He was flushed and angry.

Vivian was well aware of who it was. How could he do that? she thought in dismay. After all those sweet kisses, how could he think she could kill? She might doubt herself, but she had given him no reason to doubt her. Just because she could change into an animal didn't mean she would behave like a mindless brute. Then she remembered shredding Kelly's clothes. Sweet Moon, she thought. Why wouldn't he think me capable of violence?

Something else chilled her: The newscaster had said werewolves. But newspeople got details wrong all the time, she'd heard. Maybe Aiden had told the police werewolf, singular. He couldn't have said werewolves. What did I tell Aiden when I changed? she thought. Had she at any time implied that there were more than one of her kind? Had he guessed that her whole family was like her?

"They won't believe the caller," Tomas said. "They'll think he's a nut." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Esmé.

"But what if there's one of those vigilante creeps out there?" Esmé asked.

Vivian rose to leave the kitchen, afraid of what was showing on her face. "Bathroom," she mumbled as she went through the door to the dining room.

Aiden wouldn't have expected his phone call to make the news. He must be wetting his pants right now, she thought. He'll know I know who told. The idea should have cheered her up; instead it depressed her. I would never hurt you, she promised silently. I couldn't hurt you. I love you. She gazed out the dining room window in time to see two police officers coming up the front path.

Chapter 25

25

"Go get Gabriel," Esmé told Vivian.

"No, I'll go," Tomas said, scrambling to his feet and flying through the back door.

"Thanks a lot for your support," Esmé called after him. "Well, answer the door then," she snapped at Vivian in a voice brittle with nerves. "You saw them coming."

Vivian walked briskly to the door before she could change her mind and run off like Tomas.

"We'd like to speak to Vivian Gandillon," said the woman cop, and Vivian's heart flip-flopped.

"That's me," she said. Her words came out in a squeak.

"We'd like to ask you some questions," the woman said.

The blood roared in Vivian's ears like a train. She wanted to slam the door shut, but that wouldn't make them disappear. "You'd better come in," she said.