Chapter Fourteen

Katelina woke from darkness. She found herself in a
cheap motel room, a light shining in her eyes. She raised her hands
and saw gore caked in the lines of her palms and the subtle
patterns of her fingerprints. She looked down the length of herself
to see that was still dressed in the tattered white dress. It was
flecked and smeared with blood, and in the center of her skirt was
one small, perfect handprint: the reminder of a bloody child.
Screams echoed through her mind and the smell of
burning flesh lingered in her nose. She shuddered.
“It’s all right,” a soothing voice whispered. She
looked up quickly to see Jorick. He stood next to the bed
shirtless, his longhair wet and a towel thrown over his naked
shoulder. He gave her an encouraging nod and brushed loose strands
of hair back from her face. “It’s all right.”
“No,” she murmured. “No, it’s not all right.”
“Your bath is ready.” He gently tugged her to her
feet. Her legs shook beneath her and she swayed and fell against
him.
“No,” she murmured into his bare chest. “No...”
“Shhhhhhhhh.” His fingers tangled in her long hair
as he stroked her head. “Come on.”
She allowed him to step back from her and peel the
ruined white dress away. He dropped it to the floor where it lay
like a symbol of ruined innocence – white and red, purity stained
by darkening blood, reality stained by nightmares.
He stripped her naked, but she didn’t fight him. She
was too distraught to focus, and only threw one thin arm over her
breasts by instinct. Jorick gently led her to the bathroom and
maneuvered her into a blue chipped bathtub where he lowered her
slowly into the warm water.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the
porcelain. Her mind was still swirling and raging with what she’d
seen, but it was swirling and raging without her. She was there,
floating above it all, uncomprehending and numb. She tried to drown
the memories out with thoughts of the dark car trip that had
followed, but she’d fallen asleep, soothed into dreamless slumber
by Jorick in an effort to end her hysterics.
Warm water splashed across her stomach and she
looked up to see Jorick hovering over her like a concerned mother.
He quickly washed the blood from her hands and her face. His touch
was soft and smooth; comforting.
“Dip your head forward, keep your eyes closed.” His
words interrupted her thoughts, but she did as he said. She felt
the water run over her hair and then his long fingers worked in the
shampoo and rinsed it out again. The water trickled over her face
and she squeezed her eyes shut until she could see little stars
exploding behind them. She let him wash her arms, her shoulders,
her neck. The wet washrag was warm against her bare skin as it
swiped away all the gore and memories.
When she was clean, she opened her eyes and stared
at the water around her. It was red with the mess that had been
washed from her and looked like a pool of pale blood.
“Stand up,” Jorick said quietly, and she stood. He
held her steady and pulled the drain plug to let the hateful red
water swirl away, then he rinsed her clean under the
showerhead.
He wrapped a fluffy white towel around her, then
gently scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. She stared
dully at the bedspread as he laid her on it. It was red like blood
– red like her nightmares.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured softly as he leaned
over her and stroked her wet hair. “Rest now.”
He started to go but she grabbed his bare arm. Fear
had taken over and destroyed any hope she had of pride. “No, don’t
leave me alone.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “The sun will come
soon.” He looked pale and in desperate need of rest.
“Please,” she half whimpered, pleading.
He sighed in defeat and looked around the room.
Gently, he tugged his arm free. With very little effort he moved
the pressboard desk in front of the window, and then heaved the
dresser on top of it. He reached around them and pulled the
flowered drapes over the mound, effectively blocking most of the
window.
He slipped off his shoes and, as he climbed onto the
bed, he reached for her. She rolled towards him and buried her face
in his naked chest. With a sigh, he curled around her and tightened
his arms until he nearly crushed her against him. “It’s all right,
Katelina,” he whispered. His hands tangled in her wet hair. “It’s
going to be all right.”
She closed her eyes and whimpered softly as tears
fell from her eyes. She listened to his heart beat and thought that
nothing would ever be all right again.
 
When Katelina woke the room was shrouded in
darkness. The clock on the nightstand read 7:45 pm in electric red
numbers. She closed her eyes and opened them again, half hoping
she’d be somewhere different, but she wasn’t.
She rolled over, and found herself staring into the
dark, unblinking eyes of Jorick. A memory flashed through her mind:
Jorick’s black hair laying against the smooth, white porcelain of
the bathtub, his eyes closed, his features so still that she’d
thought he was dead. The memory pressed an odd expression onto her
face.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
His question played through her mind, but no answer
presented itself. Her head ached as the events of the previous
night came back in a screaming rush. Though most of it was a hazy
red blur set to a soundtrack of screams, she still wished she
hadn’t remembered. “I guess,” she answered at last.
“I thought you might be feeling better tonight.” He
held her eyes. His body lay mere inches from hers, the back of his
hand against her hip.
She looked away first, to discover and remember at
the same moment that she was wearing nothing but a towel. “Oh! My
clothes...” she began, but stopped. Memories of the bath began to
surface. They stained her cheeks scarlet and left her
speechless.
“I’ll have to get you some,” he said quietly, though
he made no effort to move. “The ones you were wearing...” he
trailed off but she knew what he was going to say: they were
ruined.
She felt his fingers flex through the towel and
swallowed hard. A strange buzzing of blood pounded in her ears. She
tried to collect her thoughts but failed, so she just said, “Okay.”
His nearness was too distracting for any other words, and it made
her body tingle. Her cheeks grew an even deeper shade of red as she
thought about how thin the towel was, and that it was the only
thing that kept his knuckles from grazing her naked hip. Once more
the certainty whispered through her brain that he’d seen her naked
last night. In fact, he’d touched her. Just thinking about it, even
filtered through dim, sleepy memories, made her heart pound.
“I’ll find you something to eat, too,” he added.
“You’re probably hungry.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and drew
a reluctant breath.
She waited, uncertain if she should say something or
not. Before she could decide, he pulled away to stand, seeking his
cast off shirt.
She lay still and clutched at her towel. Her breath
caught in her throat as she stared at his naked back. Thoughts and
images rose unbidden, most notably a vision of his hand on her
stomach while his warm voiced soothed her. The memory left her
insides fluttering.
Jorick disappeared into the bathroom and returned,
tugging his black shirt over his head. He glanced at her as he
deftly slid his shoes on. “I’ll be back.” He started toward the
door, but stopped suddenly and turned back to her. “When I leave,
fasten all the locks, and don’t answer the door unless I say it’s
me.”
Worry overrode her raging, hormonal thoughts. The
fear of death seemed more important than lustful, half-formed
ideas. “Do you think someone will come here?” she asked, though she
didn’t know where “here” was.
“I don’t know, but it’s always better to be safe
than dead.” With those words he left and closed the door behind
him.
Katelina hurried to do as Jorick had instructed. The
brass locks were all neatly in place before she flipped on the
light. Her eyes roamed the room and she suddenly wondered how
Jorick paid for all of the motel rooms? Did he have a wad of cash
stuffed in his pockets? Or maybe he had a book of traveler’s
checks? She snickered at her own ridiculous thoughts; a vampire
with traveler’s checks!
She shook her head in amusement, then made her way
across the 70’s style carpeting. Her feet stopped next to the heap
of white material. For a moment she imagined picking the dress up,
to see if what she remembered was true, but she resisted. She
didn’t really want to know.
The bathroom was a normal motel bathroom, small and
functional. The mirror above the chipped blue sink showed a
reflection she hardly recognized: large blue eyes with black rings
stared back at her from a pale, haggard face that was framed in
tousled blonde hair.
She examined the new mark on her neck, just above
her collar bone. It was still pink, but already tightly closed.
Closer inspection revealed that it was a perfect set of bite marks
with a very small cross cut directly beneath them – evidently
Jorick’s symbol.
The only thing she could think as she stared at it
was fantastic. This was just what she needed. It was going
to be hard to explain to people later. Then again, she reminded
herself, who would she have to explain it to? Sarah was dead and
her mother would assume it was something to do with Patrick.
That was really kind of ironic, when she thought
about it. Technically, it was something to do with Patrick,
depending on how she looked at it. But thinking about Patrick -
particularly after what she’d been through last night - made her
feel weird. She banished the thoughts and forced herself to check
her shoulder over, even though the wound was almost healed.
When she was done, she cinched the towel tight and
headed back into the room. She sat carefully on the edge of the
bed, with her knees pressed tightly together, and flipped the TV on
to drown out the silence. She was half way through a bad cartoon
when Jorick knocked on the door and called to her.
She checked that the towel covered all her important
bits, then she hurried to the door and unbolted the locks.
Jorick strode in carrying a soda cup and two sacks;
one from a fast food place and the other bearing the familiar
yellow smiley face of a national chain store – guaranteed happiness
in a bag.
“I didn’t know what you wanted,” he commented as he
set the drink on the nightstand and deposited the bags on the bed.
The crinkle of plastic and paper was a delicious sound to
Katelina’s ears.
She meant to dress first, but the smell of food was
overwhelming. She decided her towel was good enough and sat primly
on the edge of the bed, her knees together and the paper bag in her
lap. As she ate, Jorick perched on the other corner of the bed and
stared at the TV. He chanced a glance towards her but his nose
wrinkled involuntarily, and he looked away again.
She licked the salt from her fingers with delight.
The empty bag was soon wadded up and thrown in the garbage can,
forsaken for the plastic sack. Jorick had gotten her a pair of
jeans and a t–shirt with Tweety bird across the chest. Even odder
was a package of flowered panties. She imagined him in the
underwear section trying to decide on a style, and had to
physically bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Aside from those items there was a pink flannel
nightgown that was going to be more comfortable than form
flattering, a hairbrush, a stick of deodorant and a bottle of blue
nail polish.
She held the tiny glass bottle in her hand and
looked at his back questioningly. Without turning around he
murmured, “I noticed you liked it.” He made an attempt at a casual
shrug that came off slightly stiff.
She bit the inside of her lip and narrowed her eyes.
How did he know – but the thought ended mid–sentence when she
recalled his admission of “keeping an eye on her”. She’d tried to
pretend that it meant a very causal observation, though she knew
better. This completely ruined her illusions.
The familiar anger returned, and she sarcastically
wondered if he’d seen her naked back then. Maybe that was why he
was acting like it was no big deal today. Automatically, she
gripped the bottle with a white knuckled hand and opened her mouth
to reprimand him – then stopped. Undoubtedly, he’d tried to be nice
in his own twisted way. If she thought about it, he’d been nothing
but kind since last night’s horrors. She couldn’t imagine him
sporadically doing something to ruin that. Still, the idea that
he’d spied on her left her uncomfortable. She dreaded it, but one
day they were going to have to discuss it.
Avoiding the subject now, she walked silently to the
bathroom. Once she was in the new clothes her anger was replaced by
a warm rush of gratitude.
When she’d composed herself, she emerged from the
bathroom to find Jorick lying on the bed, his hands beneath his
head and his eyes glued to re-runs of Yogi Bear. She settled on the
bed next to him with her legs crossed and cracked open the bottle
of nail polish.
By the time one hand was finished she felt nearly
restored. Nothing bad could happen so long as the sharp, chemical
smell of nail polish was biting her nose. She couldn’t help but
think, for a moment, how strange the things were that people clung
to; the odd little bits that meant safety and comfort to them.
Pushing off the strange thoughts she turned to
Jorick and kept her voice casual. “So, what are we doing now?”
“Going to New Hampshire.” A smile flickered across
his face at the animated Yogi and his attempts to trick the Ranger.
“This is actually quite amusing.”
“New Hampshire? Isn’t that a little far? How long
will it take to get there?” Her world might be shattered and her
life irrevocably changed, but she wanted to stay near her home – or
what had been her home.
“A night, maybe.” His words were interrupted by
laughter, his dark eyes still riveted to the television screen.
“We’re closer than you think,” he added.
She tried to keep her growing unhappiness out of her
voice, but couldn’t stop the sarcastic comment from slipping out.
“Evidently.” She went back to her nail polish, the brush painting
each nail blue; painting over everything bad that had happened;
painting over all of her anger. “Why New Hampshire?”
“Because that’s where we need to go,” he broke off
as Boo Boo the bear protested against stealing picnic baskets.
“Have you seen this before? It’s really funny for television.”
“Yes,” she snapped impatiently. “It was made before
I was born.” She glared at him, but he seemed undeterred. “Is New
Hampshire where Arowenia is?”
“It’s where we’re going.”
She growled in frustration. Why couldn’t he ever
give her a straight answer? His excuses about Claudius getting a
hold of her sounded feeble at best, and she wanted the truth for
once. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you want to know?” he asked, though he
didn’t give her his full attention.
“What do I want to know? How about ‘Is New Hampshire
where Arowenia is’?”
He tore his gaze away from the TV. “I won’t tell
you, and I’ve already explained why. It’s safer for everyone that
way.”
“Fine,” she snapped and savagely screwed the lid
back on the bottle of nail polish. “Maybe you can tell me what
happened last night? Or is that privileged information?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”
“That’s a change,” she bit back sarcastically. “Then
who is The Guild and why were they there? Were they looking for
Arowenia?”
His answer was a dark monosyllable, a contrast to
the bright too-happy commercials on the screen. “Yes.”
“So, they work for Claudius?”
“No.”
She ground her teeth together and resisted the
temptation to make a fist and bash him. After all, it would ruin
the coat of polish. “Then why are they looking for her? Who do they
work for?”
He sighed and turned his head to look at her.
Finally she had his complete attention. “They work for themselves.
The Guild is a group of vampires – mostly old, ancient vampires –
who’ve made The Laws. When someone breaks The Laws, they’re
punished by The Guild’s death squad.”
“Laws? You have laws?” she raised her brows
incredulously. “And a government? Why not?” She waved her hand,
dismissing the question before he could answer it. “So these
‘Guild’ people – ”
“Executioners,” he interrupted. “And guards.”
“Executioners?” she repeated disbelievingly. “That’s
what they’re called?”
“Yes, the ones with the medallions. The others were
just guards. They sometimes augment the Executioners when they
think they need a large force. Though the numbers they sent were
extreme and unnecessary.” He scowled darkly. “Probably Senya or
Bren’s doing.”
“But what were they doing there? Why were they
looking for Arowenia?”
“Because The Laws were broken when she was
kidnapped. You may not harm nor take the possessions of others.
Though Arowenia is a vampire herself, and thus should have certain
rights, she was made in the old days, when the Master could claim
ownership over his Fledglings.” He was very cavalier about the
whole thing. “The old Laws are still upheld in those cases.”
“So Vamp–” she stumbled on the word, amending
herself. “So they own you if they,” she hesitated, “make you
one?”
“No.” He shook his head. “New Fledglings can’t be
owned anymore.”
She ignored the intricacies of vampire ownership.
“So the Executioners and the guards, they just, what? Go around
policing people? I mean who’s in charge?”
“The Guild,” Jorick murmured with minimal
impatience. “It’s more than just the guards and Executioners. Think
of it as a government. There’s a High and Low council, among other
committees. It’s The Guild that tells the Executioners and the
guards where to go and what to do. Claudius obviously complained to
them, so they dispatched a squad.”
“You can just complain to them?”
“Of course. You can complain to your police, can’t
you?”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s different. The Police
are there to ‘protect the people’, not butcher them!”
“I won’t argue the point,” he said quietly. “I have
no love for them, though I realize that there has to be someone in
charge, to keep everyone in line. In that respect The Guild is
necessary.”
“Necessary? You have to be joking! They murdered
Alexander! And what about Jesslynn and all the servants? Sure, she
was a bitch and she scared me to death, but why did she need kept
in line?”
Jorick sighed and then his voice grew remote and
detached, as though he were reciting something he’d learned by
rote. “Jesslynn broke The Laws when she created those children. You
must never make a vampire that cannot care for itself; that isn’t
fully grown. It’s against The Laws to trap a spirit into eternal
childhood. If you do, you are punished, and the children are
killed, freeing the spirit.
“The humans were killed because no vampire may have
a human servant unless they are marked property; it’s against The
Laws for fear that the vampire will become careless with the number
of humans they have and let some slip through their fingers. If the
humans left without the Master’s knowledge, whether in anger or no,
they could spread word to the general population. Because his
servants weren’t marked and had seen what Jesslynn, Oren, and the
others were, this meant they knew about us and they had to
die.”
Her hand went unconsciously to the still tender spot
above her collar bone, fingering it gingerly. “Why does marking
them make any difference?”
Jorick snorted. “Truthfully? I doubt it does any
more. But when cities were smaller and population less dense it
made it easier to track them.” He mused silently for a moment and
then amended, “Though I suppose The Guild could track missing
humans through the medical system or the legal system. Whichever
documents your scars and such.”
Katelina wasn’t sure who did that, if anyone did.
But she’d heard a lot of “big brother” conspiracies, so it was hard
to tell. With nothing to add, silence fell on the small room and it
was several moments before she could bring herself to break it.
“Why did they spare us?”
“Because Malick ordered them to.” He turned back
towards the television as Yogi reappeared, though he no longer
smiled at the cartoon bear.
“Who is Malick?”
“He’s the leader of The Guild.”
The words hung in the air between them and left
Katelina confused. She cocked her head at him curiously and tried
to keep her voice light and not let her half-formed suspicions
sneak into the tones. “Why would he give them orders to spare
you?”
“Because Malick is my Master.” His voice was flat
and held no feeling as he stared through the television at some
unseen memory. “My Maker.”
She bit her lip and found herself using the non-word
she always did when others failed her. “Oh.”
He continued to stare straight ahead. The muscle in
his jaw twitched and his voice was grim. “I served The Guild for
many, many years. I was Malick’s right hand, his avenging angel of
death. Then one day I sickened of it.”
The tone in his voice made something tighten in her
chest. Her hand reached towards him, but she stopped and dropped it
back to her lap, unsure. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, though she
didn’t know what she was sorry for.
“Do not be sorry, little one,” his voice lightened
as he turned to her. He studied her for a moment, then he rolled
over on his side and pulled her towards him. She slid down in the
bed until she was stretched out and pressed tightly against him.
“It’s the way it is,” he continued reasonably. “What’s happened has
happened, and there’s nothing that can undo it.”
She lay in the warm circle of his arms. Her heart
pounded in her chest, even as she wanted to comfort him. She fought
to keep the conversation going; to keep it safe. “They said that
next time there’d be no such order?”
His voice caught, “Yes. Malick won’t spare me
twice.” He buried his face in her hair, his breath warm against her
neck. He inhaled deeply, as though hiding from ghosts that had come
creeping upon him unbidden. “We should leave soon,” he murmured.
“We might make it before dawn.”
She nodded, unable to make her mouth work. Her arms
were folded between them, palms pressed against his strong chest.
His breath tickled her neck, and she could feel the warmth of his
hand through her shirt. She took a deep breath and forced words
through her suddenly dry throat, “All right. Let’s go.”
“In a minute or two.” He pulled her closer to him,
the length of his muscular body solid against her.
“All right,” she repeated. She swallowed hard and
tried to calm her racing heart. A vision of his pale hands moving
across her naked skin flickered behind her eyelids and repeated
itself until her breath sounded strange in her own ears.
He loosened his hold on her and pulled back. His
dark eyes studied her face; pools of deep silk that caressed her
with their gaze. She felt herself drowning in their depths, like
she had so many times before, and she caught her breath. Nervous
tremors ran just beneath her skin and she unconsciously bit her
lower lip.
He leaned towards her and his lips captured hers.
Soft and warm, they silenced the small voice in her mind that tried
to remind her he wasn’t human.
She responded to him. Her body rose to meet his,
unwilling to break the contact. She wanted to lose herself in him
and forget everything else. Their kiss deepened. His mouth tasted
tangy and coppery, like sucking on a penny. She slipped one arm
around him and wadded his shirt tightly in her hand. This moment
had happened in her secret dreams already, but finding it in
reality was something she hadn’t expected. Something she’d told
herself she shouldn’t look for, let alone want. But here she was on
the motel bed, betraying her conscience and enjoying it.
He pulled away reluctantly, and she let him go, her
breathing ragged. A smile danced across his lips. His eyes, dark
and suggestive roamed her face and moved lower before they snapped
back up to look at the clock. He cleared his throat and said
quietly, “We’d better go.” And though he didn’t say it, somehow she
knew he meant they’d better go before anything else happened –
before they did something she might regret later, something that
the other half of her mind was already whispering about.
She managed to nod her agreement, but secretly, she
wondered what she was really agreeing with.