Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - Midnight Predator

For a while. But forever? For as long as a vampire could live? She didn’t know.

The bus stop was about a mile from Nathaniel’s house, in the center of town. Turquoise would have to walk home, but the day was beautiful and she had plenty of energy.

Hearing her stomach rumble, she took a detour into a gas station convenience store. She slipped her hand into her pants pocket, double-checking to make sure she had enough cash on her for some donuts and a soda. The thought amused her. She had eaten the same fare on her way to Midnight.

“Are you okay?” The old man at the register asked, a worried frown on his face as Turquoise approached to buy her snack.

Turquoise could not conceal her surprise. She had forgotten to put her jacket back on and her battered body was visible. As long as she had been in Bruja, she had stuck to anonymous cities. No one asked questions. But this town was so small and she had chatted with this man on a couple of occasions in the last month. He would know that something was wrong, and feel comfortable enough to ask.

“Yeah . . . had a fall.” As a lie, it was awful.

An awkward moment ensued. The old man’s eyes were questioning.

“I’m a little accident prone,” she lied, trying to make the words sound realistic when they made almost no sense. She added, “I fell off a table when I was little, into a window.” She tried to add a smile and a bit of a “no big deal” laugh as she said it, but the memory was too raw. Vividly she remembered catching her father’s arm as Daryl shoved him back through the window. Daryl had grabbed her and tossed her onto a table, where broken glass had sliced open her arms and the backs of her shoulders.

The old man looked unconvinced. He patted her hand sympathetically as she handed him the money for her purchases. He handed her change, with a “Have a good day” goodbye.

She left quickly. Where was her jacket? She swore as she realized she must have left it on the bus.

She swore again when she recognized Greg a block down the street, walking toward her. She considered ducking back into the convenience store, but didn’t want to face the old man’s silent questions.

Too late anyway. Greg saw her, and waved hello, then sped up his pace to meet her.

“Cathy, hi. I . . .” He broke off, his light jog turning to a sprint as he hurried to her side. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” Then he seemed to notice that most of the scars were years old, and his eyes widened more. “What the hell? I mean, I’m sorry, but . . . what the hell?”

Turquoise’s nerve ran out. She had known living here wasn’t going to work from the start. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him now.

“Greg, I’m a mercenary,” she said coolly. “Mostly, I hunt vampires for a living. I’ve been debating quitting my job and teaching middle school, but I hear it’s a little rough there.” The words dripped with bitter sarcasm.

She knew what his reaction would be—disbelief, fear—and didn’t want to see it. She pushed past him, walking quickly in the direction of her house.

Greg hurried after her, and caught her shoulder. She winced, pulling away as his touch hit the new injury.

Unsurprisingly, he was looking at her as if she had sprouted a second—no, third—head, but he was trying to keep up with her.

“You mean vampires like . . . um, some criminal person, right?” he said hesitantly, trying to figure out her speech. “You’re a cop or something?”

He was so damn innocent. How could she ever hope to convince him?

She didn’t need to. He deserved his innocence.

She backtracked, slowing her pace a bit so he could keep up. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day,” she said, stalling as she tried to add to what he already tentatively believed. If she tried, she could convince him of the reality of vampires. She could tell him what had really happened to Cathy and the rest of her family. But Greg didn’t need to know. He was happy. “You know I was interested in psych, right? I got into criminal psychology in college, and I do some work with some people.” She made the lies intentionally vague, as if she wasn’t supposed to tell. Actually, she had no idea who she would possibly be working for; she knew nothing about the government or law enforcement. But Greg probably knew less than she did.

Greg said something noncommittal along the lines of “Uh-huh.” He kept walking with her, not talking for a bit, as if digesting what he had heard.

Humans had an instinctive desire to remain at the top of the food chain. Unless forced to see reality, most of them would believe almost anything before believing that vampires and other such creatures existed.

“So. You’re with the government or something?”

Crimson was about the antithesis of the United States government, but Turquoise answered, “Yeah.” She added, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” That was vague enough. It would tickle his imagination, without straining against what he believed.

Greg walked her home. They didn’t talk much, though occasionally Greg made some attempt to start a new conversation. Turquoise wasn’t much in the mood to chat.

“Smells like someone’s having a bonfire,” he commented, blinking at the faint smell of smoke. “Speaking of, some friends of mine are having a picnic next weekend. Would you like to go maybe?”

He sounded so hopeful, she had to smile. She started to say no, but then changed her mind. “Sure. Why not?”

His expression lit up.

Before he could speak, the fire truck rumbled by. They both looked after it anxiously.

“I hope everything’s okay,” Greg said worriedly.

Turquoise picked up her pace. The smell of smoke was thicker now. A coil of fear was making its way from her stomach to her throat to choke her.

A few houses down, she began to see the flames. She sprinted, until a fireman caught her arm, pulling her back.

“Ma’am, this area isn’t safe for bystanders—”

“I live here,” she spat, shoving away from him. “What . . .” She broke off. Eric? Where was Eric? She frantically scanned the area for the boy. “My brother was here when I left. He’s fourteen. Have you seen him?”

The man hesitated. “Please wait here, ma’am.”

If he was hurt . . . if one hair on his head had been singed . . .

Greg caught up to her, panting and coughing around the smoke. “What caused it?” he asked instantly. “Do they know?”

“I don’t even own a toaster,” Turquoise growled back. Faulty wiring was impossible. Nathaniel wouldn’t have had a house that had been poorly made. The stove and oven were new, and Eric was too experienced a cook to ever mistakenly leave one on unattended. If this wasn’t arson, she’d eat the cinders.

A police officer returned from the jumble of people, leading an ash-streaked Eric. The boy broke from his escort and hurried toward Turquoise.

She couldn’t help herself. She pulled the boy against herself, so grateful for his safety that she didn’t care about the house. Nathaniel could deal with losing a house. Turquoise could pay for a house. There was nothing in there she could not replace.

“Are you the owner?” the officer asked.

Turquoise nodded, not really paying much attention. Instead, she spoke quietly to Eric. “What caused it?”

Eric grimaced. “Your favorite vampire,” he answered, under his breath so no one other than Turquoise could hear him. Greg must have picked up a word or so. The boy took a few steps back, looking awkward.

“Ms. Emerette?” Turquoise looked at the officer dumbly before remembering that the name on her license was something Emerette. Margot, maybe? She couldn’t remember. She was glad Greg was still dealing with his new belief that she worked for the government, or else he might have tried to correct it.