Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

I compose myself. I'm immortal now, according to Avery. Kin to Lestat, and Count Dracula. Hell, maybe even a cousin of Spike—

my favorite vampire character. And he's cute, too, to boot. Buffy never treated him right. Maybe it's not an act with James Marsters. Look at those cheekbones. Maybe he really is—

You're not taking this very seriously.

The voice is so unexpected, I literally jump in the seat. “What?” I squeak before I realize that I've spoken out loud.

My eyes spring to the cop, but if he heard me, he isn't acting like it. His eyes are still on the road.

Avery?

No, not Avery. And I said, you're not taking this very seriously. What's the matter with you?

The tone is offensive. I have a short attention span , I shoot back. It's been a problem my whole life.

Well, if you don't pull yourself together, it won't be a problem much longer.

My head is reeling with this new intrusion into my thoughts. My eyes find the mirror. It's not the cop. He's staring straight ahead.

Besides, what sense would that make?

I try to probe, but nothing comes through. Who are you?

Not important. What is important is that you get your wits about you. This guy will not be alone. They never are.

Where are you? Are you here to help?

I'm not close enough to be of physical aid. You're going to have to do this on your own. Do you have a plan?

I tell him what I've come up with.

It might work. But you'll have to act quickly, and once you're free, run like hell. Don't look back. I'll be waiting for you on the road outside the park entrance.

How will I know who you are?

I'll be driving your car.

What? That's a ninety thousand dollar automobile. You'd better not—

But the car is slowing and I'm jerked out of my dimwitted retort. I must be crazy, worried about my car when there's a bunch of lunatics waiting to make sure I never drive the damned thing again.

He's right, I scold myself. Pull yourself together.

It's a good thing I do. The unfamiliar voice in my brain warned me that the cop would not be acting alone. He is right about that, too. There are three figures outlined in the car headlights as we approach. One is holding a burning torch.

Is that how they plan to kill me?

Adrenaline and rage turn my blood to fire. I watch the cop's face as he stops the car and turns in the seat to look at me. Surprise flashes, replaced by a smug contempt.

"Well, you've been busy, haven't you? But no matter. We're about to have a little bonfire. It's chilly out there, but I'm sure you'll be warm enough."

He's stalling while his pals advance on the car. Two on the left, one on the right. A little hint of fear replaces some of the anger churning my stomach. Can I take two of these guys at once? I hadn't planned on a welcoming party.

Your strength , the voice reassures me. Use your strength.

All at once, I know. Instead of waiting for them to get to the car, I turn. I brace myself against the front seat and kick at the back window as hard as I can.

Nothing.

I hear the cop yelling in my ear. He can't reach me through the wire partition. I kick out again, this time willing every ounce of strength into my legs. With a sharp crack, the window pops out. I see from the corner of my eye the two men on my left. One of them is shouting and fumbling at the door.

But I'm already vaulting out the back window, scooting over the trunk, scrambling toward the trees. I feel a rush of air and hear angry voices behind me.

Then I'm running, flying over and through the forest.

The voice said not to look back. That's no problem. I'm too afraid to look back.

Blood pounds in my ears. Adrenaline-laced fear propels me forward.

It's the most exhilarating thing I've ever experienced.

I've never been much of a runner, but I feel like a gazelle, sure-footed and nimble and headed in the direction of the highway with nothing but instinct to guide me. Suddenly, I'm not winded or afraid. After a moment, the yelling behind me fades. I've beaten all four of them. I've never felt so alive.

Ironic.

Somewhere along the way, I've broken the cuffs apart. I think it happens when I reach up to brush a low-hanging branch away from my face. One moment my wrists are bound together and the next, my hands are free. It happens with no conscious effort on my part.

All this time, I thought I needed the key when all I really needed was to pull hard enough.

I'm approaching the road now, so I allow myself to slow down. I'm not sure where Casper, my friendly voice, is going to be. I send out the question, but get no response.

The sound of traffic is louder now, and I veer away from the park entrance. I don't know how long it will take the four stooges to drive back this way, but I take no chances. I stay in the tree line and out of sight. It's a climb up to the highway from here, but like running, I bound up the steep incline with no effort.

I work my way through the thinning trees until I have a line of sight to the road. Cautiously scanning both directions, I spy my car about a quarter mile away, on this side of the highway, facing south. I wait only a heartbeat to see if there are headlights coming behind me, along the park road. When I'm sure there are none, I race across the open shoulder to the car.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I sing as I pull open the car door.

There's no one inside.

The keys are in the ignition, the engine is running. But there is no one inside. I'm disappointed, but I don't waste any time indulging it. I slip into the driver's seat, put the Jag in gear and pull out. There'll be time later to track down my new guardian angel.

Now the question becomes where to go? These guys obviously know about me, making me wonder if it's safe to go home. On the other hand, maybe it's Avery they're watching, and anyone coming out of his compound is suspect. Could be why the cop dragged me out of the car. He saw no reflection in the car window and knew.

There's only one way to find out.

On the way back to Avery's, I keep checking the rear-view mirror to see if I'm being followed. I debate whether I should have gone home to change cars, but when I pull up to his driveway, I'm pretty sure I'm alone.

The drive has taken far less time this early in the morning. I'm at the gated entrance in minutes. I don't expect the gate to be standing open, but it is, so I go on up to the house. The driveway is empty, all of Avery's guests departed. I grab my purse and head for the door.

Like before, Avery answers the bell himself. He's dressed in the same slacks, but this time, they're topped with a red silk robe and he has doeskin slippers on his feet. He's got a book in one hand and a martini glass in the other.

I don't wait to be invited in but breeze by with an airy wave of my hand.

"Nice look, Avery. Very Hugh Heffner."

He stops me by hooking a finger in one of the cuffs dangling like a clunky charm bracelet from my wrist and holding it up. “Nice look, Anna. Very Courtney Love."

He's not surprised to see me—it doesn't come through in his expression or his thoughts. In fact, he smiles and points the martini glass in my direction.

I didn't expect you back so soon. Would you like a drink?

So soon? I nod and follow him into the library, working at the cuffs with the key from my purse until they open and fall free. I toss the broken cuffs onto the desk. There's a fire going in here now, and after pouring me a glass from a chilled decanter on the desk and adding a tiny skewer, we take seats in front of it.

But you did expect me back.