Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

"I-don't-care," I said deliberately. "I want to learn to defend myself."

"Alright, Dakota, I'll help you," he said, though I wasn't sure what he meant by 'help' was what I wanted. "Now let's go see your friends."

Philip did a little 'social engineering' to get the chair-it was amazing. If you listened to what he said, he never exactly told the nurse that the doctor had ordered a wheelchair so I could leave my room, but he certainly left that impression and within minutes he was wheeling me out into the hall. Outside my room, I saw Vickman, the hard-faced man from the Vampire Consulate, speaking quietly with a policeman; when he saw me he raised an eyebrow.

"Is the waiting area clean?" Philip asked.

"Yes," Vickman said. "We're checking out everyone who goes in there."

"Great. Thanks for your help, Mister…"

"Just 'Vickman,'" he replied, his eyes curiously flat as he looked at me. "The Consulate is just following up on its responsibilities."

As we drew closer to the waiting area, I started to hear voices. Then I started to smile.

"I can just hear her now," someone was saying. "What the fuckingfuck de fuckedy fuck do you fucking think you are fucking doing? "

I put my head in my hand, embarrassed. That sounded like me, all right. When did an ex-Bible Bowl girl end up with the mouth of a sailor? Then I raised my head as Philip wheeled me into a corner waiting room, seeing the raft of friends waiting for me.

Savannah was still crashed on a sofa, blissfully asleep, head and hands leaning on the lap of an older, priestly gentleman in a beige coat, black shirt and white collar. In a pair of chairs next to them, Andre Rand talked with a wiry, bright-eyed young man with wavy hair and a lumberjack shirt that barely contained his barrel chest. Catty-corner to them sat Doug and Jinx, clasping hands, him rapt, her staring straight ahead as she explained something animatedly.

"… fungal corneal opacity," Jinx was saying. "It's like… take a piece of construction paper and punch two eyeholes in it with a pencil. Off-center is better to get the full effect. Then tape a piece of wax paper to the back and hold that over your face, so all you see are two blurry dots with some diffuse light leaking in from the sidesDakota! Is that you?"

"Yeah, she's here," Doug said, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry for you-"

"I survive," Jinx said, patting his hand with her free one. "But does she?"

"I survive," I croaked, voice unexpectedly weak. "Ahem. I'm all right. I'm all right."

"Oh, Dakota," Jinx said. "I'm so pleased. We were all so worried. So worried."

"Well, speak of the devil," Rand said, looking up at me. He had been the one I'd heard miming me in the hall, and the athletic young man he was talking to was starting to look oddly familiar. "Welcome back from the dead."

"I didn't actually die," I said. "But it sure did feel like it."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," the young man said, eyes bright on me, and then he made the same sliding motion with his hand I'd seen back… back at Manuel's Tavern! The Guinness dude. "That bastard sure could run."

"You were the cavalry," I said, remembering the shouting voices. "Thanks."

"I wish I could take all the credit," he said. "As soon as I saw him standing over you, I yelled for help and started running-but then this huge dog leapt out of the bushes and chased him off before I could even get to you guys. Crazy. The thing looked big as a wolf."

My eyes widened and I wasn't sure I liked the direction my mind was talking. Could that have been… Wulf? "Well, however it went down, thank you," I said. "Who knows what he could have done if he'd had more time?"

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. He had a strong jaw and cleancut features, and now that I'd been wheeled a bit closer I could see that while he wasn't weightlifter bulky, his whole body seemed to bulge underneath his clothes wherever they touched him.

"I gotta level with you," he said, embarrassed. "I ran after you to ask for your number."

"Dakota Frost," I said, extending my hand. "And it's 404-"

"You don't have to do that," he said, shaking it. His grip was gentle, but beneath the surface I could feel muscles like marble. "Darren Briggs."

"I think I do have to. It's a rescue rule or something," I said. "At least come by the Rogue Unicorn when I'm back tattooing-I'll give you a free Frost bite."

"Oh, you're that Dakota," he said, impressed.

"Best magical tattooist in the Southeast," I responded.

The older, priestly man, in whose lap Savannah still lay, looked up sharply when I said that, and I realized he probably had the same feelings about magical tattooing Savannah did. "Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to offend you with that 'Satanist crap.'"

He looked surprised. "Offended? No," He looked over my shoulder. "Agent Davidson, could you work your magic and get us a blanket? The sun's creeping up on her."

"No problem, Canon Grace," Phil said. "Back in a minute, Dakota."

As Philip left, the priest looked back at me, smiling. "What Satanist crap?"

"The tattoos," I looked at the ground guiltily. "Savannah calls them Satanist-"

His eyes widened, and he seemed to take me in anew, looking over my tattoos. "I don't think Satan ever made a flower, or a jewel, or anything for that matter. Savannah really said that?" He sighed, patting her head. "I need to have a talk with her. I have two tattoos."

"You have tattoos?" I said, surprised.

"On my shoulder," he admitted, taking a blanket from Phil. "One says Leviticus 19:28, back from when I was a biker fresh out of Special Forces, and the second one says John 3:16, which I got when I went into seminary."

"Cute," I laughed. The quote from Leviticus prohibited tattoos; the John one promised salvation through faith, not works. The second sort of canceled the first, but-"I wouldn't have done either of them. I don't do religious marks."

Canon Grace's eyes narrowed at my hands, and I stared down at the symbology of the world's major religions tattooed across my knuckles. "Well, not on anyone else, at any rate."

"And why is that?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"They're forbidden by traditional Christianity, and sacred in other traditions," I said. "I can take responsibility for inking myself, but I'm not a priest and I don't do sacred. I don't believe all that mumbo-jumbo, even if crosses do make vampires break out in hives."

"That's just a psychic/psychological effect," Canon Grace said, patting Savannah's head. "Our little Christian bloodsucker here proves that."

I stared down at her, then up at him. "I can't believe you can condone that-"

"It would not be my choice of diet, but I think Savannah's proved you can make the lifestyle into something morally neutral, if not even admirable," the priest said. "And contrary to what some people say, God doesn't take sides. Even when he directed the Hebrews to take the Holy Land, he told Joshua son of Nun-"

"He came neither for them nor their enemies," I said, waving my hand. "Yeah, yeah-Stratton Christian Academy, Bible Bowl, eighth grade champ."

"Good," the priest said, laughing. "My point is, God cares about what you do, why you do it and most importantly what-who-you believe in, not whether you've traded sunlight and liquid food for longer life. How is condemning vampires really any different from saying someone's going to hell for eating food and punishing their bodies on a treadmill?"

"I can see why Savannah likes you," I said, and I wasn't sure it was a compliment.

"I didn't start out like this," he said, patting her head. "Back when she first turned I told her you're going to haaail, but since then, 'by their fruits shall ye know them'-"

There were voices in the hall, and I craned my neck slowly. Alex Nicholson entered, followed by Christopher Valentine.