S. Harper - Cursed

“Isabella, listen to me. We’re here to help you, but you have to trust us. We’re friends of Michael’s.”

“Michael?”

“He’s never given up on you.” I hand her the third blood bag. “Cooperate with us.”

Zack is coming back toward us, a handful of blood bags and a clean white sheet in his hands. I pull up the shields, wait for him to join us. Isabella is still looking at me, a puzzled frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. But she says nothing, accepting the sheet Zack holds out to her.

She wraps the sheet around her nude body.

“Trust us,” Zack says, offering her another blood bag. “We’ll get you home. Safe and sound.”

He goes to Pierce, lying still under Isabella’s coffin, blood pooling beneath her head. He feels for a pulse, looks up at me, shakes his head.

I sigh and look around the room. The five remaining coffins are closed. While Zack stays with Isabella, I open them, one by one, throwing off the silver blankets that cover the vampires trapped inside and pulling needles from arms, stopping the flow of anesthesia rendering them immobile.

Only one opens his eyes immediately upon being freed.

Evan.

Evan sits up in the coffin, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He looks at me, narrows his eyes, and growls. “Emma? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?” He looks around. “Where am I?” He glances down. “Shit. Why the fuck am I naked?”

Questions fired machine-gun-style, not pausing for reply or comment. Eyes now burrowing into my skull.

“It’s a long story.”

“Emma.” Zack has pulled another sheet off the shelf and he tosses it to me.

I hold it up and Evan climbs out of the coffin, still glaring at me. Once on his own two feet, he folds the sheet in two, then wraps it around his waist like a towel. He turns back to examine the tomb that held him prisoner, fingering the plastic coil and then yanking it from the canister. Where a drop of liquid touches his skin, a blister erupts. He peers at it. “Silver.”

He glares at me. “What happened?”

“You were kidnapped.”

Alarm darkens Evan’s face as if he’s searching for the meaning of my words, searching for some memory of how he got here, searching for the clue that will snap the pieces of the puzzle together. He moves to peer into the coffins on either side of the one that held him. The vampires inside haven’t opened their eyes. Two men, their skin wrinkled and black, lie in a dark, viscous fluid that weeps from scars like Isabella’s. It pools at the bottom of the coffin. The smell is acrid and tinged with decay.

When I join him, Evan’s head is bowed. “They’ve been exposed too long.” He says it softly and matter-of-factly. “Look at their skin. The silver poisoning is bone deep. Even if we could revive them, they would remain mad. We can’t bring them back.”

“You’ve seen this kind of thing before?” I ask. My memory slips back to a terrible period when the Inquisition ran rampant and torture became an art.

He nods. “Wrapping a vampire in silver was a favorite torment during the Middle Ages.”

“Middle Ages?” Zack has joined us, catching Evan’s last remark. “How old are you?”

Evan ignores the question, his eyes searching the room.

I can guess what he’s looking for. What he intends to do. What he must do.

There is a small desk in the back of the room with a wooden folding chair beside it. He crosses the room with quick strides, sweeps up the chair, and smashes it against the floor. He lifts a leg of the chair, broken off at the base and splintered into a sharp point.

Then he’s back at the coffins. With no hesitation, he drives the stake through the hearts of the two vampires. First one, then the other. There is a long sigh from each, like a release of both breath and life. A cloud rises as their bodies disintegrate and then they are gone. Only a fine red ash remains, coating the bottom of the caskets, coagulating in the fluid like a grisly scab.

Evan remains motionless for a moment, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped.

Pierce may have thought vampires were inhuman, but this is a most human reaction. The reaction of having taken life . . . of coming face-to-face with the finality of real death.

Evan straightens and turns to look at me again. “How long have I been gone?”

“About two days.”

He grimaces. “Liz must be frantic. I need to call her.”

I hand him my cell and step away to allow him a moment of privacy. Zack has moved to the next coffin and freed Amy. I can’t help smiling. Although she’s weak, she’s able to stand on her own. She’s safe. Our case solved.

Evan rejoins me, hands me back my cell with a smile of thanks. “I’ve got to get home. Preferably with my clothes.” He glances around again. “Then I’m going to have a lot of questions.”

Zack has offered Amy a blood bag. Now he turns to Evan. “Do you need blood?”

He shakes his head. “I can wait.”

Isabella had been quietly listening to the exchange between Evan and me. Now she’s turned her attention to the bag in Zack’s hand. Minutes ago she would have killed for blood. I glance over at Pierce’s body, battered and broken. She did kill for it. Now that she’s fed, the transformation is astounding. Color and texture have returned to her skin and hair. She looks once again like the picture Dexter gave the police when she went missing. She joins Evan as he beats Zack to the last closed coffin, opens it, and peers inside.

There’s a flick of recognition and something else—a shadow of guilt? Evan says gruffly, “This one’s got to have blood.”

“I’ll get it.” Isabella plucks one from the pile Zack left on a nearby table and opens it.

“You know him.” It’s not a question. Evan’s expression tells me it’s true.

“His name is Owen Cooper.” Evan jerks the sheet wrapped around his waist tighter. His expression is filled with both frustration and anger. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” His voice rises, giving vent to anger the only way he can.

I lay a hand on his arm. “I’ll see if I can find them.” I head for the single closed door I haven’t yet opened. “Let’s see what’s behind door number four.” When I open it, there’s only an empty bed inside and a closet, also empty.

On my way back to the lab, I notice a trash can marked HAZARDOUS WASTE pushed underneath the sink against the back wall. Incineration would be a neat and tidy way to dispose of evidence. I lift the lid. There’s a suit lying right on top. I pull it out and shake it. Shirt, tie, and shoes are bunched inside and fall to the floor. The suit is well tailored, looks to be the right size. Probably Evan’s. Under the suit in the trash can are other men’s clothing, black jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket. Owen’s maybe? I quickly gather them up. The women’s clothes are nowhere to be found. Pierce must have already disposed of them. I make a side trip into the lab and grab two sets of scrubs from the shelf. Not exactly designer duds, but somehow I don’t think the vampires will complain.

“What were they going to do with us?” Evan asks when I reenter the room.

I realize the others have all quieted, awaiting my response. “Dr. Pierce discovered that vampire organs could universally be transplanted into humans. And because a vampire’s organs regenerate—”

“She could do it over and over again.” Isabella, still wrapped in a sheet, places a hand over her abdomen where I saw the web of scars.

I wonder if even now the scars are becoming fainter, skin knitting itself whole.

Zack is speaking. “Until the silver poisoning made it impossible.”

Evan’s eyes are hard as he accepts his clothes from me. They are focused on Pierce’s body. “Is she the one who did this to us?”