Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

There's nothing incriminating here, not really. Of course I have no way of knowing how he came by such treasure. Being vampire, I'm sure it might not be all on the up and up. But what great fortune, human or vampire, was ever accumulated without the hint of impropriety? I've found nothing to justify another invasion of Avery's privacy. I've once again thought the worst of him and been mistaken.

Casper was right. My instincts are certainly off. Well, at least I can make this right. I can keep Avery from finding out about my foray into his underground vault. It won't be easy keeping it out of my thoughts, but I will do it. I don't want to risk losing him because of another vague, unsubstantiated suspicion.

What I need to do now is focus, concentrate on finding David. I'm going to have to start all over. I'll leave for Beso de la Muerte tonight. Avery won't like it, but he'll have to accept it.

As I make my way across the floor towards the door, I notice for the first time that there is something else in the room. A bundle, deep in the shadows, that looks like a roll of carpet propped lengthwise against the third wall.

Probably an ancient Persian rug plucked from the castle of a king.

I hardly give it another glance—at first.

But then—

A tiny movement.

Did I imagine it?

Eyes riveted on the carpet, I find myself propelled toward it. Chilling, black silence envelops me in doomed foreboding.

I prepare myself for the worse.

I kneel down and peel back a corner, shaking so badly I have to grasp the rug with both hands.

I think I know. I think I'm ready.

But the horror of what I see is more terrible than anything I imagine.

I've found David.

Bound and gagged and lying still as death on that dirt floor.

I hear a moan, deep and full of despair. It takes me a moment to realize it's my own voice, my own despair. I'm still shaking. I can't even hold myself upright, but slump against David's side, my arms around him, my face pressed against his. How could this have happened? How could I have let this happen?

How could Avery do this to me?

It is at that moment that I feel it.

A slight movement in my arms, a turn of the head, a shallow intake of breath.

I fear it's my imagination. I pull back, put my ear to his chest. Listen.

A faint heartbeat.

He's not dead.

Ripping at the carpet, I pull it away, ease the constriction around his chest. He moans a little, but his eyes remain shut, his breathing labored. I hold his head in my hands and shake it gently from side to side.

"Come on David. Open those beautiful eyes. Talk to me."

There's no response. He's deep in some sort of coma. Drug induced maybe. Or—

I move his head slightly. I find what I expect. Avery has fed from David.

There are two marks at his jugular. Not small pinpricks like Dena's, but ugly, gaping wounds made by someone in a feeding frenzy.

Someone not caring that he's leaving marks because he knows his victim will never be found.

Avery has fed from David.

Anger, like a scalding iron, burns so deep in my gut I have to force it back and out of my thoughts. Revenge will come later. First and foremost, I must get David to safety. With a jolt, I realize I know nothing about how feeding affects the human physiology. Will David recover on his own? Does he need a transfusion? Can I risk taking him to a hospital?

I don't have the answer to any of those questions. The only person I could ask is the last person I can. Gathering David in my arms, I lift him like a doll and carry him up the stairs. I lay him out on Avery's bed and return to the room. Rolling the carpet back up, I prop it against the wall the way I found it. If Avery should return while I'm gone, at first glance the room will look just as he left it.

Then I set about putting the bookcase in order. I have no idea how the books were arranged, stupid of me not to have noticed, but Avery is an organized man and I have to imagine he would sort his books by topic. I re-shelve the medical books together, then fiction, then general nonfiction. If he asks about it, I'll tell him Dena was dusting in here and I interrupted her before she could finish so I put the books back myself.

Lame. But it's all I can come up with.

Besides, Avery will have more pressing problems to deal with than his disrupted bookcase.

Grimly, I take a last look around the room. The fireplace door is shut, the sconce back in its upright position. I lift David off the bed and take him downstairs and out the kitchen door to the garage. I lay him in the back seat of the Explorer, out of sight under a blanket, and then I realize I've left my purse and cell phone inside.

I'm almost to the back door when I hear a car coming up the driveway. Did Dena forget something when she was here earlier? I shade my eyes from the bright noonday sun and look toward the gate.

But it is not Dena's car approaching. It is Avery's.

My first impulse if to fly at him, to give him no chance to flee or fight back. To tear him apart for what he's done.

But I know I can't do that. At least, not yet. I need to get David help. And there are questions Avery needs to answer.

I gather myself together, calm the wild beating of my heart, obliterate all thoughts of what I've found this morning. He cannot know what I've done.

And so when I go to meet him, I'm smiling. And when he takes me in his arms to kiss me, I kiss him back.

He pulls away after a moment and waves a hand towards the garage. “Were you going out?"

"I was going shopping,” I reply without hesitation. Lying seems to have become second nature. “I wanted to get something special for tonight."

He smiles and reaches into the back seat of his car. “I've saved you the trouble.” He pulls a long, plastic dress bag from inside and holds it out to me. “I thought this would look lovely on you."

I move the zipper down a little, just enough to see the jeweled top of a designer gown, bright red with tiny straps and a label that reads Badgley Mischka. I look up at Avery. “One of New York's hottest designers. How did you manage that?"

"Not a problem, when you have the right friends,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

I drape the bag over my arm. Thank you. Are you coming in?

Avery shakes his head. I wish I could. But I have surgery all afternoon. I just wanted to give you the dress and remind you that I'll send a car for you at eight. We are going to have an evening you'll never forget.

And at that moment, I almost lose it. I almost let him know just how right he is.

But he doesn't pick up on my disquiet, doesn't sense the rage. He's too full of his own pleasure, too self-satisfied. He kisses me again, gets back into his car and pulls away, waving at me and grinning, completely oblivious to the oncoming storm.

When Avery's car disappears from sight, I retrace my steps from the kitchen where I retrieve my purse and phone, to the garage.

David hasn't moved. I make sure he's as comfortable as I can make him before I take the garment bag Avery left with me and lay it out in the area behind the back seat. I want to rip the damned thing to shreds, but I console myself with the thought that I'll do the next best thing. I'll be wearing it when I rip Avery to shreds.

But first—where do I take David? I consider and reject my parent's home, a motel, a hospital. I can't risk the possibility that Avery had me followed the day I went to La Mesa to retrieve my things, or that he's having me followed now. I don't think that's the case.

He seems too sure of me. But he has so many contacts in so many places, any public venue might be a danger. And there are a lot of vampires out there, any one of which might turn me in for a return favor.