Jeanne Stein - The Watcher

ORTIZ LEAVES WITH WILLIAMS. THEY CLIMB INTO another car parked a hundred feet or so down the road. I was wrong. Williams didn't tell Ortiz to stop. This was all prearranged.

I climb out of the backseat and slam the door. I have an overwhelming urge to shout something obscene at the departing car but what good would that do?

I slide into the driver's seat and reach over to open the glove box. There's an envelope inside. Ten hundred-dollar bills.

A thousand bucks to spend where? Certainly not in Beso de la Muerte.

I look into the glove box again. There's a cell phone. One of those disposable ones with the prepaid minutes. Sixty in this case. Williams wants to make sure I don't get chatty with anyone. Sneaky. Calls can't be traced, either. Just for kicks, I pull out the car registration. It's in the name of Anita Long. There's a California driver's license attached to it with a paper clip. My picture. Not my name. Anita Long.

He's thought of everything, hasn't he?

I don't even look in the backseat to confirm my next suspicion. My purse will be gone. Along with life as I know it and my real identity.

The engine is still idling. I turn it off and lean my head back against the seat.

Part of me understands why Williams wants me out of the way. But a bigger part knows there's more behind his concern than the fact that I exposed myself to mortals yet again. This vampire existence is still new to me. If I had chosen to become, if I were an orphan with no friends, if I were simply evil, I might be more inclined to go along with the rules about disengaging from mortal concern. Of course, if I were evil, I wouldn't be interested in becoming a real Watcher. I know it involves more than policing our community, which is all Williams is allowing me to do at this point. It involves doing what Williams has done, placing oneself in a position to offer the most protection to our human charges.

Because, when all is said and done, that's what mortals are. We're in a partnership, a symbiotic relationship. We need blood to survive and they need to be protected from the more aggressive of the supernatural species. Unfortunately, there are many of us whose sole purpose is to kill without remorse or discretion. There are bad seeds in every species.

What should I do now? I could go against Williams wishes and simply go home. What's he going to do? Kill me? Been there, done that. But Williams is my lifeline. Just as Culebra offers sustenance, Williams offers community. I need both. As David so eloquently pointed out, I've disconnected from humans in every way that's important. I purposely lied to my parents, told them that Trish was my brother's child, so that they would have her to care for when the time comes for me to dissappear from their lives. And Max? If we'd made love again, would I have resisted feeding from him, knowing it was that sensation he really craved?

Maybe Williams keeping me out of the witch thing is for my own good. He knows I have an affinity for Culebra. Perhaps he sees that as a disadvantage. Maybe he's afraid I'll do something rash and get us all in trouble.

Why would he ever think that?

Shit.

Maybe I'm thinking too much.

I can't do anything about David. I have no idea how to find Max. I'm tired and I still have the vestiges of a hangover from last night. Now that I'm alone and the adrenaline has stopped pumping, there's an annoying, dull ache behind my eyes. I want nothing more than to find a bed and get some sleep.

I crank over the engine.

If I try to make Beso de la Muerte tonight, I'll be on the road at least two hours. Too long for the way I feel to say nothing of the fact that once I get there, where will I sleep? The idea of curling up on the bar floor or trying to get comfortable in the backseat of this car is not appealing. I plan to cross the border at Mexicali, so it would make sense to spend the night in Calexico. It's only a short drive south from El Centro and there are a couple of truck stops offering big food and soft beds. Won't need the food, but a bed would be nice.

I release the emergency brake and coast onto the road. If Williams takes care of Belinda Burke tonight, Culebra may be there to greet me when I pull into Beso de la Muerte tomorrow. If not, I'll still have one day to come up with a plan. In any case, a search for Culebra would have to start in that town.

Within thirty minutes, I've found a place that looks like it might offer more beds than bugs. I visit a gasoline station washroom first, though, to scrub Alan's blood from my face. Can't walk into a motel office looking like a character from a horror flick. Evidently blood-spattered jeans aren't cause for alarm, though. The manager doesn't give my clothes a second look.

Once in my room, I open the suitcase Williams left for me. I don't know what surprises me more, the very short, very see-through nylon nightie or the thong underwear. I dangle a red number by two fingers. This is how Williams sees me? Or did Ortiz do the shopping? Must be Ortiz. The bra is two cup sizes too large. Maybe his girlfriend did the shopping.

Lucky Ortiz.

I paw through the rest—jeans, a couple of T-shirts, a sweater. Not much. At least I can take comfort in the fact that he doesn't expect me to be gone too long.

But short time or no, I have no intention of wearing that nightie. I peel off my clothes and, after a long, hot shower, climb naked between cool, crisp sheets.

IT'S AMAZING WHAT SIX HOURS OF UNINTERRUPTED sleep can do. After a shower and clean clothes, I feel almost human.

Still pissed at Williams for dumping me out in the middle of nowhere, and still without any real idea of what I'm going to do, but almost human.

On my way out, I stop for a newspaper in the coffee shop. I'm curious how the press, especially the local press, is spinning what happened yesterday.

The guy behind the counter does a double take when he looks at me. Then he narrows his eyes and flips the paper over so I can see what he does.

The headline reads, "El Centro Woman Rescued in Palm Canyon Shoot-out." And there is a picture of Dan, Sylvie and me looking like deer caught in headlights.

A picture of me.

It's a grainy picture, but good enough so that even the counter man recognizes me.

I don't know which of us is more startled. This is the first image I've seen of myself since becoming a vampire. In truth, I didn't know I could be captured on film. I assumed not, that it would somehow be tied to the casting no reflection thing.

Evidently, I was wrong because here I am, looking— what?

Thin. If the camera adds ten pounds, I'm downright skinny. But the muscles in my arms are lean, defined, and my shoulders look strong.

The counterman clears his throat, disturbing my analytical appraisal. He taps the newspaper with a forefinger. "It is you, isn't it?"

I see no reason to deny it. I nod.

He grins and hands me a pen. "Will you sign the paper for me?"

I start to laugh, but realize he's serious. This guy knows who I am now, autograph or not, so I scrawl my name under the caption. He grins wider. He reaches behind the counter and pulls out another copy of the newspaper. "Here." He thrusts it into my hand. "On the house."

He's looking around like he wants to announce my presence to the world. I slip away before he can.

Safe behind the wheel of the rental, I can't help but stare at the picture. My hair looks a little too long but nothing like it would if it grew naturally.

When I was human, it grew fast—really fast. I had a standing appointment for a haircut every four weeks. It's been months now, and from the picture, I'd gauge it to be maybe a half inch longer.