S. Harper - Cursed

I nod.

“Who killed her?”

I gesture toward Isabella. She and Amy are standing together, talking softly. “When Isabella awoke, she was mad from starvation. It was pure reflex.”

Evan looks me in the eye. “If she hadn’t killed the bitch, I would have.” He drops the sheet and quickly steps into his clothes.

I approach the women and hand them the scrubs. Neither looks uncomfortable as they both drop their sheets, too, and slip them on. Vampires have low inhibitions. I’m the one who turns away. Accepting sheets to cover themselves was obviously for my benefit. Certainly not Zack’s. He’s quietly speaking with a naked Owen as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The only creature less modest than a vampire is a shifter.

Zack’s handed Owen four bags of blood.

“Thanks, man.”

The vampire still hasn’t made an attempt to sit up. He gulps the offered blood eagerly, draining the first bag in seconds. He seems to be fumbling with the second, and without hesitation, Zack breaks it open and hands it to him. This time, he drinks more slowly. Within minutes of finishing the second bag, he’s able to climb out of the coffin. Some of the wounds on his body where the silver blanket came in contact with his flesh have already started to heal. Owen stretches. He looks to have been in his midtwenties when he was turned. He has light brown hair and a sinewy build, which at the moment is prominently on display.

I toss the remaining clothes I have to Zack so he can give them to the vampire, then turn to Evan, who has been staring at Owen. “Does he need more blood?”

Evan doesn’t answer. He’s fully dressed now, down to the knotted tie and polished shoes, clothes wrinkled but presentable.

He heads toward Owen. “You still look like shit, my friend,” Evan tells him. Then to me, “He’s going to need one, maybe two more bags.”

“How do you two know each other?” Zack asks.

But Evan’s eyes don’t flicker from the younger vampire. “You were taken with me?”

Owen nods.

I leave to fetch more blood. When I return, Owen’s on his fourth. He finishes it off and tosses it to the side, wiping the blood from his chin with his forearm.

Then he sees the clothes in Zack’s hand. He grins and reaches over to grab the leather jacket. “I thought for sure this was toast,” he says. He pulls on the jeans, ignores the T-shirt, zips on the jacket. “I feel better already.”

Evan breaks into bag number five and offers it to him. His hand goes to Owen’s shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “You’re going to be fine.”

Zack looks from one to the other. “If you two were taken at the same time, why does he look so much worse?”

Evan doesn’t answer, his expression calm, expectant. I get the impression he knows, but considers this Owen’s tale to tell.

“I’d been detoxing . . . again . . . trying to kick drinking straight from the tap . . . again.” Owen tosses the empty blood bag onto the floor. “I hadn’t fed in seventy-two hours.”

Evan holds up the last full bag, a questioning look on his face.

Owen shakes his head. “I’m good.” Then to Zack, “Evan is my sponsor. He was going to take me to an Emporium. I was due to start back on the bagged stuff.” He turns back to Evan. “Dude, who the fuck did you piss off?”

“You saw what happened? You tell me,” Evan says. “I don’t remember anything except leaving the office two nights ago. I was on my way out when you pulled up.” He passes a hand over his face. “I never sensed anyone near me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a coffin.”

“You were walking. There was a pop and you dropped, like a fly. I got out of my car and headed toward you. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“You didn’t see anyone?” I ask.

“Not a fucking soul,” Owen replies.

“When did you last see Barbara Pierce?” I ask Evan.

His eyes flick to her body. “At my office, when she visited the afternoon before the benefit. It was the only time I’d ever met her. I usually dealt with Alan directly. We had a lunch meeting scheduled and he was going to hand-deliver my tickets for the benefit. But he got stuck dealing with some last-minute details. So his mother stopped by to drop them off instead.”

“That’s the day you disappeared.” From Zack.

“Did you serve anything to eat or drink while she was there?” I ask.

“We all had tea.”

“Maybe she slipped some slow-working drug into your tea. Then waited for you to leave the building,” I suggest, saying it to calm Evan. To try to contain this. It’s Mager who brought the vampires down. I’m sure of it. But it’s not up to Evan or anyone else in the vampire community to exact justice upon him. Mager may be a despicable criminal, but he’s also human.

Unfortunately, Evan isn’t buying it. “Too much left to chance. Based on what Owen saw, I’d say she had help.” Evan’s jaw tightens as he looks around. “An operation of this size? She had to have help. Is Barakov in on this? Or Alan?”

He tone is sharp. He wants someone else to be involved. Someone alive on whom he can exact revenge.

I can’t blame him. But I can’t let him.

“No,” I reply. “Alan told us Barakov didn’t know anything about what his wife was doing. His only involvement was to give her the idea about silver’s effect on vampires.” I sweep my hand around. “This was all her own idea.”

“And you believe him?” Isabella asks.

“He couldn’t have lied,” I reply simply. “I know.”

“And yet Alan knew something, because here you are,” Evan says.

“He only recently found out what his mother was doing.”

“And he sent you here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

My thoughts turn to Dexter. Is this the time to tell them, to tell Isabella, why she is here?

“Wait a minute,” Amy interrupts before I can speak. “Barakov? I know that name.”

“So do I,” adds Isabella. “And I know Alan Pierce. Are you sure they aren’t all in on this together?”

Zack steps forward. “We’re positive. She had help, obviously.” He’s choosing his words carefully. “But her husband wasn’t involved in your kidnappings. Neither was Alan.”

“You will find out who was, though, right?” Amy asks Zack, her green eyes flashing.

“We’ll do what we can. Now that you’re safe, that’s the priority,” he replies. He hears the threat in Amy’s tone, too. And he’s already seen Isabella in action.

Amy and Isabella seem to have recovered completely. Recovered enough in fact for Amy to fix Zack and me with a steely gaze and ask, “Who are you?”

Zack extends a hand. “I’m Special Agent Zack Armstrong. This is Special Agent Emma Monroe. FBI.”

She shakes both of our hands in turn, then looks at us from beneath lowered eyebrows. “What are you? Agents of the FBI’s X-Files Bureau?”

“I didn’t know they let the furry into the Bureau these days,” snorts Owen.

Zack glares at the vampire he’s just saved. “Even a young pup knows not to bite the hand that feeds it,” he growls.

Owen looks appropriately contrite. “Sorry, Agent Armstrong. That was out of line. I owe you both. Big-time.”

Evan looks around the lab. “Is anyone else here?”

Zack and I exchange a quick look. His neutral expression and small shrug throw the question to me. He’s going to let me decide if we should tell them about Dexter. Tell Isabella that she was to be his donor. I don’t know if she was aware that he was sick. Or if Dexter is aware of anything that happened since Alan drugged him the night before. I don’t know how to begin.

Zack picks up on my hesitation and comes to my rescue, smoothly waving away Evan’s question by a skillful change of subject.