S. Harper - Cursed

“Amy, Ms. Haskell is going to be very relieved to see you. She’s been worried sick.”

Amy’s eyes widen in surprise. “How long have I been gone?”

“A little over two weeks.”

She passes a hand over her face. “My show in New York . . .”

Zack and I look at each other. That’s the least of it. We have to come up with explanations—cover stories—for Amy, Isabella, and Owen.

And for our superiors. We certainly can’t report any of this to the Bureau.

I look from Amy to Isabella. “You two need to come up with a story to explain why you’ve been gone. Particularly you, Amy. Your disappearance hit the papers and there’s been a lot of speculation, especially since you missed the opening of your own show. Haskell has done a good job deflecting the press, but you’re going to have to come up with an explanation the public will buy.”

Amy nods. She shoots the others a look of resignation. “I’ll have to give it some thought. You’d think as a vampire, I’d be used to lying, wouldn’t you?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement.

I turn to Isabella. “Any ideas? You’ve been gone the longest, a little over two months.”

“Two months!” Her expression darkens. “That bitch stole two months of my life? How on earth am I going to catch up with school? Never mind my internship.”

She’s on the verge of tears, so I give her a minute. “You should know, Michael never gave up hope.”

Isabella’s face clears and her eyes brighten. “He wouldn’t. No matter what, Michael always seems to be there for me.”

“He knows you best,” I say. “He’ll be wanting an explanation and could be the hardest to convince.”

Isabella nods. “I’ll tell him I had to get away to clear my head. He knows how conflicted I’ve been about this whole vampire thing. He’ll yell and carry on, but he’ll accept it. That’s what best friends do.” She frowns. “What am I going to say to the people at school? They’ve probably dropped me by now.”

“I can pay the dean an unofficial visit and explain you were under our protection,” Zack says. “A witness to something we can’t discuss, but that it’s over now. I’ll flash my badge, be vague but officious. I can be very convincing.”

Isabella’s eyes sweep Zack, head to feet. “I’m sure you can be. Especially since the dean’s a she.” Isabella is smiling again. “I’m confident you’ll wrap her around your finger in no time flat.”

“I’m not sure I can do anything about your internship, though,” he continues. “Michael mentioned they couldn’t hold the position.”

She sighs, then steps closer to me, lowers her voice. “How is Michael?”

Her question jolts me back into facing the predicament I dodged before.

Her friend is in the next room, awaiting a transplant that isn’t going to happen. Should I tell her? How will she feel knowing her freedom may be his death warrant?

She’s wringing her hands. “His health had been failing.”

Once again, I’m torn between telling her the truth—all of it—and leaving it to Dexter to explain the gravity of his condition when they’re together.

I shrug noncommittally. “You’ll see him soon enough. He’ll be thrilled to have you home.”

Owen’s laugh makes Isabella turn away from me. Another reprieve. Zack has been questioning Owen, asking if he has a story ready. Owen’s response is a burst of laughter.

“I don’t need a story,” he says, grinning. “I’ve never been part of the mainstream. I’m forever disappearing, going off on binges. My sire seems to have infinite patience for my bullshit and accepts my comings and goings. I’ve only been gone a couple of days, right? I doubt anyone’s missed me. Evan, if you give me a lift to the nearest Emporium, I can take it from there. If I’m going to stay on the wagon, I’m going to need a good supply.”

Amy glances down at the scrubs. “There’s one problem. I can’t go home like this.”

“Me, either,” chimes in Isabella. “We’ll need clothes to make our stories stick.”

Evan holds out a hand to me. “Can I borrow your car? I’ll bring Amy and Isabella to Liz. She’ll be able to take care of the clothes.”

I drop my keys in his hand. “Leave the car in your guest spot and the keys in the glove box. I have a spare. When we’re finished here, Zack will drive me over to get it.” I lower my voice. “Don’t rush to get Isabella and Amy home. We’ll need some time to sort this mess out.”

“No kidding.” Evan smiles in sympathy, looking around. “I’ll drop Owen off first. You know Liz. She’ll want to know every detail of what happened. That should buy you a couple of hours at least.” His voice softens. “I can’t thank you enough, Emma. You’ve gone above and beyond. I hope you don’t get in trouble with your boss. I’m not sure how you’re going to explain—”

I interrupt with a wave of a hand. “Don’t worry about that, just get home. Liz has some news I think you’ll like.” I cast my own skeptical eye around the room. “But you’re right, Zack and I have a lot of cleaning up to do.”

Evan shepherds everyone out, the vampires leaving with repeated offerings of thanks.

Then Zack and I are alone. I take stock of the mess we’re in. We have a secret lab in downtown San Diego filled with custom-made silver-lined coffins. We have one very dead transplant surgeon. And last, but not least, we have a sedated and critically ill famous artist. I walk over to where Dr. Barbara Pierce’s body is lying on the floor. She’s looking up at me, her face drained of color, her eyes empty, her neck grotesquely twisted, mangled by a dozen frenzied bite marks.

It’s one thing for Isabella and Amy to come up with plausible cover stories. How are Zack and I ever going to come up with ours? I look over at Zack. “Got any bright ideas, Mr. Handyman?”

He’s at the sink. He’s just finished rinsing off his burned hands and is wrapping gauze around them. “Now that we have a body to get rid of, she appreciates me.”

“We don’t have much time. We can’t leave Alan sitting in his office forever. Somebody from the foundation might come in and find him.”

Zack joins me. We’re now standing across from each other, Pierce’s body on the floor between us. “Fast, foolproof, or free,” he says. “Pick two. You can’t have all three.”

“You’re going to charge me?” I ask.

Zack frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do free and foolproof, but it’s going to take some time. Or free and fast, but—”

I cut him off. I get it. “We need a cleaner.”

He nods. “I know someone in the area,” he says. “I can call in a favor.”

The tone of his voice tells me he will, but he doesn’t really want to. I understand. He’s trying to leave his old life, his old contacts, behind.

Still, what choice do we have? I can’t see any way out of the situation we find ourselves in.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can make a sound, Zack holds up his hand to silence me.

I freeze.

He cocks his head slightly to the side and listens, his expression intent.

I listen, too, but I don’t hear a thing.

In short order Zack points to his ear, holds up three fingers. I nod. There are three people outside. He points to me, to himself, then with both hands to the walls on either side of the entrance. I already have my gun out. Together, we move, swiftly, silently. My back is flush against the left side of the door, Zack is on the right. I’m acutely aware I’m not wearing Kevlar and try to remember the last time I discharged my weapon at the firing range. It’s been a while.

I slowly release a breath and try to relax. My eyes connect with Zack’s. He appears calm, confident. His stance is relaxed. He holds his weapon as if it were a natural extension of his body. He senses what’s coming. Reflexively, his nose lifts, his nostrils flare, his eyes widen. I see the change in him, but not in enough time to react.