Reborn

Chapter Eighteen

“Drive safe!” Kylie’s mom waved from the doorway the next morning as the three of them got into Kylie’s car.

Safe was the key word, Della thought, and got into the backseat. She still thought Kylie’s plan was great, but it hadn’t stopped her from imagining the worst-case scenarios.

Miranda climbed into the front seat. She had called shotgun last night before they’d gone to bed. The three of them had piled into Kylie’s queen-size bed, and talked about life and boys. Kylie had tried to get Della to talk about Steve, but the pain from their argument just felt too raw, so she avoided tiptoeing down that path of thorns.

Della hadn’t slept well last night, worrying about those thorns and the word “safety.” And occasionally worrying about feathers showing up again.

But no feathers appeared. Instead, she’d gone over things in her mind time and time again, rationalizing that this wasn’t too risky. All they were doing was going to a funeral home to ask some old geezer who put makeup on dead people a few questions.

“And have fun,” Ms. Galen added as Kylie inched the car out of the driveway.

A geezer and dead people. We’re gonna have a blast. Della waved back, her thoughts going back to the safety issue. The old geezer was probably vampire, and if he didn’t like her questions, it could mean trouble. But, the rational side of her brain countered, he was helping vampires, so he couldn’t be all bad. Just how risky could this be?

“Call me and check in,” Kylie’s mom yelled louder.

They’d told Kylie’s mom they were going shopping. And because Kylie didn’t want it to be a lie, she insisted they actually go to one store. Leave it to Kylie to worry about lying when there was so much more at stake.

While Kylie drove, she had Miranda poke the funeral home’s address into her GPS. The witch kept misspelling the name of the street or getting the street numbers backwards. Being dyslexic, she had problems with stuff like that. As tempting as it was to tell her to just pass the dang thing back, Della didn’t. For Miranda, being dyslexic was as touchy a subject as being cold was to Della.

Della waited until the GPS spit out directions to start going over the plan. “Park down the street a couple of blocks and we’ll walk up. You can’t open doors when you’re invisible, right?”

“No,” Kylie said.

“Then when you two go invisible, stay close behind me. I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m trying to get information.”

“You don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.”

The GPS announced they were arriving at their destination. Kylie pulled past the funeral home and then parked a half a block up the street.

They got out of the car. The morning sun was bright, the October air crisp. The feel of the cold on her skin reminded Della that she still might have a slight temperature. Just how long was this flu thing gonna last?

Kylie moved and stood behind the car, looking around as if checking whether it was clear to go invisible.

Della did the same. One car whizzed past, a block down, a few people strolled down the street, but no one was around who could actually spot what was going on.

“All set?” Kylie looked at Della.

Della nodded, and her heart raced at the thought of finding answers. In a few minutes, she actually might know for sure if she had an uncle and aunt out there.

Kylie took Miranda’s hand and asked, “You ready?”

“Yup,” Miranda said. “Let’s do it. I’ve been practicing my jock-itch curse.” She wiggled her pinkie. And right before Della’s eyes they went invisible.

Della started down the sidewalk toward the funeral home. Because of Burnett’s insistence that Kylie use her invisibility talent with extreme caution and never to invade anyone’s privacy, Kylie hadn’t practiced this gift very often. It felt odd knowing that Kylie and Miranda were behind her when she couldn’t hear, see, or smell them. She sniffed again, but got nothing. Then again, with the craziness of her senses lately, she might not have known they were there. The temptation to talk to them rose, but she decided she’d better not.

With each step she told herself it was silly to worry. All she was doing was asking a few questions.

Tension still pulled at her stomach as she glanced around. Less than half a block up, a couple of rough-looking men ran across the four-lane road. Even from a distance, she felt them eyeing her. She inhaled to catch any scent. Her nose worked now.

“Only humans,” she whispered, letting Kylie and Miranda know.

The two men darted across the road and started her way. One of the men swayed on his feet as if drunk. She moved to the side, giving them plenty of room. She ignored them, but did check their foreheads to make sure her nose hadn’t fooled her. For sure humans. Lowlife humans, she amended when she saw the way the two men seemed to undress her with their eyes.

Not wanting trouble, she moved over and walked in the grass, hoping they’d just pass her by.

Her hopes were futile. They stepped off the sidewalk, blocking her path.

“Hey, babe, you want to earn a few bucks?” asked the first drunk-looking guy, sporting a dirty ponytail. He rotated his pelvis.

She fought the urge to grab the slimeball by his dirty ponytail and give him a couple of root-pulling whirls, then toss his ass back across the street. Instead, she moved to the other side of the sidewalk.

See, Burnett, she thought, I can control myself.

It wasn’t just about kicking butt.

“I’m ignoring this,” Della muttered, assuring herself and Kylie, in case the protector felt the need to kick ass.

The two thugs made a few more rude comments, but they didn’t follow her. Or touch her. For which she was grateful, because their sour smell still polluted the air.

She passed a liquor store and pawnshop before getting to the funeral home. The white brick building looked tired, and the sign reading ROSEMOUNT FUNERAL HOME needed a fresh coat of paint. Gazing around, she realized the whole neighborhood needed a makeover.

As she neared the front door, she recalled her daddy complaining that his sister had chosen this place to have Chan’s funeral service. But had her aunt chosen it? Della didn’t have a clue how it worked when someone faked their own death.

Hopefully in a matter of minutes she’d have answers. She pushed open the door, holding it wide a second so Kylie and Miranda could walk in, too.

The smell in the funeral home stung her nose. Formaldehyde? Wasn’t that what they used on bodies? She took another deep sniff to see who might be here, but the first odor prohibited her from catching any other traces.

Could that be intentional? She pushed that thought aside and glanced around.

The light was low, making everything appear gray and heavy. She cut her eyes left and right, noting the not-so-polished wood floors and unmanned desk, adorned with a vase of wilted flowers.

Tension pulled at her shoulders. She tried not to focus on the drab interior. What she sought was a geezer vampire. She didn’t spot one. She didn’t spot anyone.

She did a complete turn, noting two doors leading out of the entry. Was anyone here? Realizing there were probably dead people tucked away in coffins in the back made her skin prickle. She recalled the funeral of the murdered girl she’d attended just a few days ago. Her vow to find Loraine’s killer wasn’t null, just …

“Can I help you?” The deep, annoyed-sounding voice came out of nowhere, and she almost jumped.

Damn it. Why hadn’t she heard him approach? Her hearing must be on the fritz again. She turned and tried to mask the panic on her face. The figure loomed in one of the doorways. And there was a lot of figure to loom.

The giant of a man, or giant of a vampire, wasn’t anywhere near geezer status. Dark-haired and olive-skinned, he reminded her of Burnett, a little older but just as menacing.

She saw him checking her pattern. His left brow arched slightly and he almost smiled as if happy to see her. The tension in her stomach kicked up a notch.

“Actually, I was looking for the owner.”

“And you’ve found him.”

“I thought … The website showed—”

“My stepfather recently died.” He didn’t sound upset.

“Then in that case … Yes. You can help me.” Her heart raced. It was decision time. Ask him outright for information, or ask questions as if interested in faking her own death.

“I was … my cousin’s funeral service was held here.”

“Was it?” he asked.

He didn’t look like the type to hand over information.

“My cousin wasn’t really dead,” she said.

The six-foot-plus vamp nodded. “I’m assuming you’re looking to follow in his footsteps? How long have you been turned?”

“I’ve considered faking my own death,” she answered, thankful it was the truth. But she neglected answering his second question.

“I also had an uncle whose service you held … years ago.”

“The strand of virus you carry must be strong,” he stated.

“I was hoping to find my family. Do you … do you keep records?”

“Me? Not so much. But my stepfather—God rest his weak do-gooder soul—was a stickler for such.” His cold smile told her just how much he cared about his stepfather. “Of course, this is no longer his business. The rules and such have changed.”

“Do you still have his records?” she asked.

“Lucky for you I haven’t gotten around to tossing them out yet. But, as I said, this isn’t my stepfather’s business anymore. I … don’t offer my services for free. I offer fresh turns at a new life. And in return I ask for a few years of their service to either myself or one of my clients who are in need of various domestics.”

“Domestics?” she asked, thinking “slavery” sounded like a better term. Or hadn’t this kind of thing happened in the past and they called them indentured servants?

His gaze moved over her with the same kind of disgusting look as the drunk creeps on the street. She had a feeling she knew what kind of services he’d expect.

“If you’d like, we can go back to my office and discuss the legalities of the contract.” He waved for her to follow him.

“There’s a contract?” She didn’t move, unsure going back with him was wise. Then again, she did need to see those files. Decisions, decisions.

“Oh, yes. We are careful not to break any laws that might bring us trouble. Being a fresh turn, you may not know it, but there are officials who monitor supernaturals. Idiots who think we should be registered and regulated.”

Yeah, I kinda help those idiots out. “Really?” she asked, not lying again. But too bad about him not wanting trouble. As soon as she left here, she was contacting Burnett and the FRU about this little operation. He’d read her the riot act for coming here, but she had a feeling the riot act would be worth it. Her gut told her this guy needed to be stopped.

She felt someone walk behind her. And not Kylie or Miranda. The heavy footsteps told her it was someone big. She really needed her hearing to stop going out on her so she’d be better prepared to deal with heavy-footed surprises.

“Why don’t we do as Mr. Anthony suggested and follow him?” The guy behind gave Della a nudge—a strong one. One that left a strong suspicion that signing that contract wasn’t really a choice.

She took the next few steps, then hesitated, praying Kylie and Miranda would move with her. When the big dude poked her again, she continued following Mr. Anthony.

He led her to a huge office, with a whole wall lined with file cabinets. She nodded to them. “Are those your father’s records?”

He glanced back. “As a matter of fact, they are.” He smiled. “Let me explain to you how this works.” He motioned for her to take a seat in the straight-backed chair in front of the big oak desk.

“Why don’t you sweeten the deal first and let me peek at my cousin’s and uncle’s files?”

He propped his butt on the side of his desk and chuckled. “You are a bit obstinate. But I have several clients who actually prefer a little spunk in their servants.”

He had no idea how much spunk she had.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She debated whether doing as he said would win her anything, then decided to try. She lowered herself into the chair. Her elbow touched something sticky. Glancing down, she noted the duct tape hanging from the arm of the chair as if someone had been confined there.

Trying not to show any emotion, especially any trace of the fear that curled up inside her chest, she faced him again.

“Now what?” she asked. Her gaze shifted behind the man to where about six rolls of duct tape sat on top of the file cabinet. Taping people up must be his thing.

He stood up, reached into his desk, and handed her a piece of paper. “The contract is simple. You agree to work for two years, exclusively for the person I assign as your guardian. Your title and the type of work required of you will depend upon your guardian’s … needs.”

The way he said “needs” made her skin crawl. “And if I don’t like the work?”

“If you choose not to complete the tasks that are assigned to you, your guardian will try to persuade you otherwise.”

“Persuade? As in beat me?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Your guardian is much like your parent. If you follow the rules, there should be no reason for punishment.”

Yeah, she believed that.

“I’m sure having been recently turned, you know the hardships of securing food. Have you killed yet?”

He said it coldly, as if to get a reaction from her. She decided not to answer and let him assume the worst.

“So you have. You need help, Miss…?”

“Tsang,” she answered.

“Asian?” he asked, studying her as if she didn’t fit that bill.

“Half.” The word tasted bad on her tongue.

“Many of my clients like Asian.”

She was sure he didn’t mean for the sleaze to leak out of his voice, but it did. She tightened her hands until her fingernails cut into her palms.

“For their loyalty of course,” he added.

Oh, she was loyal all right. And right now her loyalties were on taking this guy’s ass down.

“Statistics prove that without help, you will kill ten people within six months. It’s not your fault, you simply can’t help yourself. Of course, that is if you make it six months. You see, other supernaturals exist, like werewolves. They make finding and killing fresh turns a sport.”

Della knew most of what he said was bullshit, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t had Chan, if she hadn’t found Shadow Falls, if she might have bought into all his lies. And how many new vampires were right now servants to this creep and his clients? The thought turned her stomach.

He pulled a pen out from his pocket and handed it to her. “All I need is for you to sign on the dotted line and then we’ll see about finding those files you’d like and preparing your burial service.”

When she didn’t immediately start scribbling her name, he continued, “Believe me, if your parents knew what you are, they would be grateful that you have chosen to fake your own death so they don’t have to see you like this.”

She glanced down at the paper, trying to figure out when to put a stop to this nonsense. “Two years seems like an awful long time.”

“It’s nothing. As a matter of fact, I’ve been doing this at my other funeral home for years. There are many servants who choose not to leave their guardians. Once you learn to meet their expectations, it’s easy to live the life your keeper has set out for you. You get food and care. It’s not a bad life.”

And I bet slave owners said the same thing in the eighteen hundreds. She shook her head. “I hate to bother you, but I think I might like to see those files before making up my mind.”

The hand of the brute standing behind her fell to her shoulder. “Let’s not upset Mr. Anthony. He’s not a pleasant man when he’s annoyed.” He started to squeeze, hard, then harder. The pain became almost unbearable.

“Is that really necessary?” Della asked through gritted teeth, trying not to look relieved when his grip lessened. She glanced back at Mr. Anthony, who reached for the duct tape.

She’d heard that duct tape was good for everything, but would it really hold a vampire? She didn’t want to test it.

She dropped her pen. “Oops.” She leaned down, and whispered to Kylie, “I think I can handle this on my own.”

“What did you say?” Mr. Anthony asked.

When Della rose to her feet, the brute behind her grabbed her arm. She didn’t hesitate, turning, and with everything she had, she buried the pen into his forearm. He roared.

Mr. Anthony, roll of tape in hand, lunged across the desk. As he started to unroll the tape, Della buried her shoe in his face. He fell back against the desk. She grinned with pride. Or she did until the door swung open and three more hulky-looking vampires stormed in.

“Now it gets interesting,” Della seethed.

Kylie appeared, standing in front of them in all her glory. Everything about her glowed with power. Her hair, her eyes, even her skin. She grabbed one big guy, and using him like bowling ball, she knocked down the other two goons.

But one of them popped right back up, his eyes green with fury and his fangs lengthened.

Della was about to move in to help her take down this brute when Mr. Anthony recovered from his foot-to-the-face incident and leapt at her.

She ducked as his fist came at her jaw, and at the same time honored him with another well-placed kick to his ribs.

Kylie bounced around the room, kicking, hitting, and outshining the two other vampires. Della continued to take on Mr. Anthony.

“What the hell are you?” one of the thugs fighting Kylie screamed out.

“Your worst nightmare,” Kylie bit out.

“Look what I found,” the goon who still had a pen buried in his arm yelled out.

Della, still taking on Mr. Anthony, didn’t want to look, but when she heard Miranda’s squeal she couldn’t help it.

The pen-stabbed vamp had Miranda by the throat. Della’s chest nearly exploded with fury. She felt her fangs grow, and she heard and felt Kylie’s roar fill the room.

“One more move from either of you and I’ll snap the little witch’s neck! And I’ll enjoy doing it.”