Author: Phil Tucker
Date: 2012-12-18 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Paranormal; Young Adult; Urban Fantasy; Dystopia; Fantasy; Science Fiction; Teen; New Adult
Description: Librarian's note: This is an alternate cover edition for ASIN: B00AQ98WRS. The year is 2027, and the Vampire War is over. As part of the truce Miami and L.A. were walled off and given over to the monsters to rule as they saw fit. The innocents trapped within had to make a decision: either serve the vampires openly in the hopes of earning their freedom, or hide like animals amongst the ruins. When seventeen-year-old Selah Brown's father disappears while investigating the new drug 'Blood Dust', she believes she has no choice but to follow his trail into the rotten heart of Miami. As terrified as
Publisher: TransientMe LLC

Vampire Miami

by Phil Tucker

Published by TransientMe LLC at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Philip Tucker

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did
not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to

Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

Cover art: Copyright © 2012 Philip Tucker and Sophie Wong

Visit the author website: http://www.transientme.com

Version 2013.02.17

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Vampire LA

About the Author

Acknowledgements

It's hard to be succinct when so many people have had a hand in your success. This novel would not be what it is today were it not for the unswerving support of the Kickstarter community that rallied behind my vision for this series, and both Jenn Sommersby (http://commanaut.com/) and Sophie Wong (http://sophiewong.wix.com/sophiewong) who consequently were able to help me by editing and designing the cover art.

I'd also like to thank Bryan Delius and William Pomerantz for their feedback on the manuscript. Good, wise, and insightful friends are invaluable when it comes to proof reading.

Finally and most importantly, I want to thank my wife Grace for her love and understanding these past five months. Her faith in what I do has helped bring my dreams one step closer to reality.

Chapter One

Selah sat hunched on her bus seat, staring out the window, music blaring from her headphones right into the center of her mind. As if volume could stop her thoughts, could ease the tightness in her chest and wash away the battery acid that flooded her stomach. Stared out the window at the bright Florida day, at the trees luxurious amidst the abandoned homes lining this side of the interstate, the occasional army truck or Humvee roaring past toward the border crossing. That was her destination, and coming ever closer with each passing minute. The border crossing in the wall that surrounded Miami, the edge where the US stopped and the vampire city began.

It still was unreal, being here, inside an actual deportation bus. In the videos she’d watched in both Mr. Condarcuri’s history class and on her own, the buses had always been filled with people, their gaunt and hollow faces caught by the cameras through the windows, collected from around the country and ferried to the border for whatever legal reason. That had been right after the war had ended and Miami and LA had been ceded to the vampires. It had been abstract for her, a source of surreal horror to watch but still strangely reassuring: the videos made her feel safe, untouchable, all the way up in New York City.

A touch on her shoulder and she startled. It was one of the four soldiers who’d been assigned as her escort at the Ft. Lauderdale Airport, the only other passengers on the bus. Pulling off her headphones, Selah stared up at her, into blue eyes ringed with fatigue.

“We’re about five minutes away,” said the soldier, her voice quiet.

“Okay.” Selah tried to sound disinterested, despite the sudden fisting of her stomach. The soldier didn’t head back to her seat but instead stood there, looking down at her.

“What’s your name?” she asked at last.

“Selah,” she said after a beat of hesitation. Not like it was a secret.

“That’s a beautiful name,” said the soldier. “Mine’s Christina.”

Selah didn’t respond, but instead simply stared up at her in the manner that usually made high school teachers uncomfortable and jerks on the streets step back. She had grown sick this past month of having strangers offer sympathy, ask questions, give advice. She stared into the soldier’s blue eyes and tried to project a calm and maturity that she didn’t even come close to feeling.

The soldier’s smile faded but she didn’t seem fazed by Selah’s scowl. Instead she sat back on the arm of the seat behind her, steadying herself with one hand on the headrest.

“How old are you, Selah?”

“Can you leave me alone?” Selah felt her face flush. “You’re not my mother, I don’t know you, and I don’t want to talk.” She turned and stared out the window, not seeing the brilliant green trees that blurred by just past the crash barrier, the endless red rooftops. But the soldier didn’t get up.

“I hear you,” she said, sounding tired. “But I’ve passed up opportunities to speak in the past and come to regret it. So ignore me if you like, but I’ll speak my part, anyway.” Selah moved to replace her headphones, but something held her back.

“In about five minutes, we’ll get to the border crossing. You’ll be processed and then sent on through. Usually we’d drive you all the way down to Jackson Hospital where we’ve got our embassy set up, but it looks like you’re being picked up at the gate. So.”

The muted roar of the bus engine. Selah saw an old billboard rush past, featuring an attractive white woman in a colorful bikini. The musty smell of the cracked bus seats.

“Anyways, I just wanted to tell you to remember yourself. That probably sounds strange, but the rules in there are different. You know that, but what you might not know is that people change when nobody’s enforcing the law. Don’t forget who you are, is all, the things that make you you. Try not to let that city break you, make you somebody you’re not.”

Selah’s heart was racing now, her mouth dry. She turned to look at the soldier again. Christina’s face was pinched, her mouth a thin line, and this time she couldn’t hold Selah’s gaze. She looked away, down and to the side, and stood. Adjusted her heavy belt, took a sharp breath, nodded to Selah, and walked up to the front of the bus, her heavy boots clomping on the aisle floor. Selah watched her go. The bus began to slow. She looked past Christina, and saw through the front window of the bus the wall that surrounded Miami. They’d arrived. Trembling, she reached out and pulled her suitcase close to her side.

Everybody knew what the border gate looked like. It was infamous. Selah had seen it featured in countless memorials to those who died trying to escape during the Week of Shame while the Wall was being built, in endless documentaries, and even those two movies about the war that had come out last year. The border gate, where on the last day US soldiers had stood and fired upon the surging crowds as they attempted to break free. The machine gun turrets, the iron walls, the huge bales of barbed wire beyond it coiled ten feet high, the ditch dug eight feet deep to prevent cars and trucks from being rammed into it. The border gate, open now five years later as it processed people going in and the lucky few coming out.

Selah raised her father’s Omni and took a photograph out the window of the long line of the wall curving around the city. She pushed it to her public Garden for all to see, and whispered a caption to go with it: “Edge of the world. I’m going over, and I might never stop falling.” The Omni blinked as it sent the image out, and then the music resumed and the bus came to a stop, brakes wheezing.

Selah realized that she was holding her suitcase so tight, her hands hurt. She purposefully relaxed her grip, to take a breath. Her heart pounded like a rubber mallet against her ribs, and the words she’d just spoken into the Net echoed in her mind. This was it. A panicky urge to run, to somehow escape, choked at her throat, but she just sat there, turned to stone. How had she thought this a good idea? Believed that she could ever possibly learn about what had happened to her father by continuing his investigations? Numb, she watched through the front of the bus as they inched ever closer to the tollbooths before the gate proper.

There were two cars ahead of them in their lane. Selah wondered who they were. Almost nobody tried to enter so late in the day. She watched, mind blank as the soldier on duty checked the red car’s passports and papers, stamped them, waved them through. The silver Mercedes before them rolled up, presented papers that were also stamped, and then it was the bus’s turn. The bus inched forward and came to a stop.

There was a hissing of hydraulics as the accordion door folded open. Her soldier—Christina—rose to her feet as a second soldier climbed on board. He was Hispanic, his hair cut close to his skull, mouth a grim line. They nodded to each other as Christina handed him their passports and paperwork. He scanned them with quick efficiency, and then looked up for the first time and stared back at where Selah sat. His eyes were dark, hard, and Selah wanted to shrink into herself. No pity there. No compassion. Just processing her through.

“You’re good to go,” he said, and with that, turned and hopped out of the bus. The doors whistled closed, and the light before them turned from red to green. The crash bar jerked skyward, and the bus rumbled to life, began to move forward. Selah felt her calm begin to crumble, her cool façade shatter. This was it. She had envisioned this moment over and over again since the court order had come through granting her request to be placed in the custody of her grandmother here in Miami rather than a state orphanage. Now she was here, though, now that it was actually happening, she couldn’t handle it. With a wordless cry, Selah leaped to her feet, suitcase knocked into the aisle, and began to run down the center aisle of the bus. As the bus rolled onward, she ran to the back, trying to keep the tollbooth in sight, the land on this side of the gate. Christina called to her. Selah climbed onto the last seat, pressed her hands against the window, craning her head to see. The wheels rattled over the iron grates and the heavy iron wings of the wall plunged them into shadow as they drove through the gate—and they were through.

Selah slumped into the seat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t think over the hammering of her heart. She was in, and there was no going back. Selah realized she was trembling, not just her hands but her whole body. Outside the window everything looked the same as before, splashed in late afternoon sunlight, the gray and dusty interstate, the green trees amongst the buildings. But everything had changed. She saw a long line of vehicles waiting to be processed through the border gate. Army and Red Cross trucks, One World NGO vans, different vehicles belonging to volunteer groups, churches, hospitals. Leaving at the end of the day, leaving before night fell on the city and the gates were closed.

Her father’s Omni vibrated in her hand. Numbly she looked down and saw responses coming in from her friends. Sympathetic faces tiled the screen, seven already, four silently mouthing recorded messages of sympathy, over and over as the Omni waited for her to trigger each one and hear the actual words, three live as they waited for her to pick up the channel. Selah felt sick to her stomach and wiped them all off the screen. She didn’t want to hear anything right now, from anybody. It was all she could do to not cry. The music came back, but she turned it off as well. She wanted silence.

She studied the Omni. It was an old model, the rubber grips faded, the screen scratched. It made no sense that her father had left it behind; he never went anywhere without it. He’d either had no time to grab it, or had left it behind on purpose for her to find. If so, then he had wanted her to read his notes, his speculations on the Blood Dust trade, the level of government and military involvement in its trafficking. He hadn’t published anything, but Selah was sure that he’d been taken because of his investigation. Disappeared like so many others for violating President Lynnfield’s Censorship Laws. Selah rubbed her thumb slowly across the screen, and felt again the now familiar pang of pain, loss, and anger.

The bus drove a quarter of a mile, rumbling along steadily. Christina stared stoically ahead, and Selah examined the back of her head, wondering if she could persuade her to help. Her life back home had never seemed so distant, so unreal. She tried to think, but could only watch, and then the bus pulled off the I-95 onto an exit ramp. Opa Locka Blvd, the large green sign said, Exit 17. Down the ramp and then off the road onto a large cleared parking lot, newly flattened and with the remains of the old buildings mounted high as rubble along one far side and bus shelters along the other. Selah studied them as the bus driver slowly turned his huge steering wheel, hand over hand, and guided the bus to a stop in one of the great parking spaces. A number of people were resting in the shade, some lying down, others seated on benches. They watched the bus with empty stares, their bodies emaciated, their clothing ragged.

“Time to go, Selah,” said Christina from the front. Her voice had hardened. Selah sat still, her mind blank. “Selah,” said Christina, and began to walk back toward her, face grim.

She wanted to sit still, to never leave the bus, to remain frozen and forgotten there in the back, but then she thought how she must look. A little mouse, terrified and small. Her old anger flared up, the thick-headed part of her that made her do stupid things and say things she shouldn’t or get into trouble when it was so easy not to. She stood, lifted her chin, and looked Christina right in the eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m coming.” Selah gathered her case from where it had tumbled to the floor, and pulled it up. It was heavy, but she pretended it wasn’t. “Let’s go.”

Christina held her gaze for a beat and then nodded. Turned, and walked back to the front. Selah followed, trying to not let her suitcase bang into every seat. The other soldiers had already stepped out onto the asphalt where they had formed a loose perimeter, rifles held by their sides. When she reached the front the old driver looked at her, his eyes deep and old and sad, and he nodded, a quick dip of his wrinkled face. “Good luck, little girl.”

Selah didn’t respond. She struggled down the bus steps instead, wrestling her suitcase down with both hands, and then stepped out onto the thick black loam of the tarmac and into the Florida air. Hot and humid and thick. Selah blinked as she looked around the bright, sunlit parking lot.

“All right,” said Christina, sorting through the papers in her folder. “Where’s your grandmother? Do you see her?”

“I’m right here,” said a voice, slow and powerful and familiar to Selah like a hand cupping her cheek, like a deep and wide river flowing ever by and allowing no denial. They both turned. Mama B walked up and placed her hands on her hips, ignored the soldier, and looked at Selah. They stared at each other, neither speaking nor moving. Her grandmother’s dreads had turned the color of iron, held back by a band at the nape of her neck, but her face was still as broad and confident as ever. She’d grown dark in the Florida sun, and wore a necklace of metal beads around her throat. Selah met her gaze haughtily, refusing to look away.

Finally, her grandmother pursed her lips and shook her head. “My, how you’ve grown, child.” There was in those words an infinite depth of sorrow and love that made Selah stiffen, planted a frown on her face so deep it might have been etched with acid. She opened her mouth to say a cutting retort but Mama B had already turned to Christina. “I’m her grandmother. Where do I sign?”

Chapter Two

After the bus had driven away, Selah turned and looked at her grandmother. Mama B regarded her with steady patience, her leonine face set. A man came up behind her, broad shouldered and half her grandmother’s age, hair nappy and eyes speculative. He was strong, with big forearms, and Selah could smell him from where she stood, watching the folks in the bus shelters, a hand resting on a holstered pistol at his hip.

“Cholly, help Selah with her suitcase,” said Mama B. “We’d best be going. No sense in waiting around for it to get dark.”

Cholly stepped forward and reached out hesitantly with one large hand. For a moment Selah gripped her suitcase tighter, felt that relinquishing it would be tantamount to accepting something, but then the practical side of her kicked in. Let Cholly carry the damn thing.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, voice deep and pleasant. He took the suitcase and held it easily in one hand. Selah ignored him and crossed her arms over her chest. Just because she was here didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Come on now,” said Mama B, turning and walking toward the few cars parked off to the side. “Don’t dilly-dally.”

A handful of people had stepped out of the shadows of the shelters and were watching them. Selah did her best to ignore their hungry gazes, but Cholly stared right back at them, eyebrows raised, as if daring them to approach. After a moment the strangers turned and returned to the shadows, muttering to themselves, and Cholly nodded. “Vultures. If you’d of arrived here by yourself, they’d’ve stripped you clean before you knew what was happening.” He shook his head, and strode after Mama B.

Selah remained still—frustrated and furious over her grandmother’s lack of interest in her. Where was the apology, the explanations? The questions about Dad—any of it? Where was her own cold disdain, the words she’d sworn she would speak? Instead, she watched her grandmother’s broad back, let out a growl of annoyance, and hurried to catch up.

The car was a red jeep, burned to rose by years spent in the sun. Cholly threw the suitcase in the back and climbed into the passenger seat as Mama B sat behind the wheel. Selah got in behind, and met her grandmother’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a brief flash before she gunned the engine, reversed, and drove out of the parking lot.

The windows were down, but Mama B didn’t drive fast enough to push the wind to a roar. They took the on-ramp back onto I-95 and began to cruise down its length at a sedate thirty miles an hour. There were abandoned cars pushed into the two far left lanes, some of them clearly deserted on the spot by the original owners, others looking like they had been rolled out of the way later on.

“I thought people didn’t have cars in here,” Selah said at last.

Mama B looked at her in the rearview mirror, and then returned her eyes to the road. “Plenty of cars to be had. Problem is getting your hands on some gas. Only a few stations are stocked regularly, and those are downtown or over on South Beach. You got to present an ID and be willing to pay in credits. Most folks—most decent folks—have neither.”

“There’s an old station up round Midtown with some gas left in one of the tanks,” said Cholly, turning around to look at her. “I go by and tap it on the sly every few weeks. Most people think it’s been drained dry already.” He turned back. “Soon will be, way things are going. Don’t know what we’ll do then.”

Selah absorbed this, and looked out the window. The sun was creeping toward the horizon. Everything was quiet but for the rush of the wind past the windows. Occasionally, a truck or car rushed past on the other side of I-95, heading for the border before it got too late. Otherwise the city seemed deserted.

The silence in the car grew thick and oppressive. Selah kept her arms locked tight across her chest. Her outrage grew with every passing moment. Fine. After four years she hadn’t known what to expect upon seeing her grandmother again, but none of her imagined scenarios had featured indifference. It was as if her grandmother were picking her up from the mall and driving her home, not from the edge of civilization and into the heart of hell.

I-95 curved slightly to the left, then back to the right, and as they came up over a slight rise, Selah saw distant skyscrapers come into view for the first time. They glittered along the coast, glass gleaming as they reflected the setting sun. That would be downtown, where banks and businesses had once flourished and formed the heart of the Miami commercial district. Now it was the heart of the vampires’ operation, where supposedly those who served them lived and played and died. She shuddered and hugged herself tighter. The glittering towers represented death.

Mama B took Exit 4 off the interstate, and then branched to the left on a raised highway toward the coast. They were close to the Midtown area, with boxy buildings rising some ten stories high from where they’d been built in the late ’60s. The cars hadn’t been cleared off the elevated two lanes here, so Mama B was forced to slow down and thread her way through. Shattered headlights, doors left open, expensive sports cars and family sedans, all abandoned where they stood. Selah spotted somebody lying on the road between two cars, and then realized it was the corpse of a man. She caught a flash of him as they drove past, enough to realize that he was missing his head. Selah sat back and swallowed hard, and then caught Mama B watching her in the rearview mirror. Reflexively she wiped all emotion from her face and tried to still her suddenly pounding pulse. The ramp off the highway onto North Miami Avenue was clear, though, and so they curved round and down and soon they were driving through a residential area.

Selah couldn’t take her eyes off the street. She’d seen so many documentaries that it all looked vaguely familiar: the cracked asphalt with weeds and small bushes growing through, the broken windows, the vandalism, the trash piled high on the pavement. Some buildings stood empty and dark, storefront windows still showing wares that hadn’t been stolen five years after they were deserted, while others were guttered ruins, burned down to the ground. People sat listlessly on stoops, stood in loose groups, watched them drive by from the occasional window. A pack of mongrel dogs reluctantly parted for the jeep, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Down a side street, Selah saw an old woman pushing a shopping cart filled with blankets. She raised her Omni to take a shot, and then lowered it without knowing why.

“Where … where are we going?”

“Home,” said Mama B, voice grim. “Or the closest thing to it. Place called the Palisades. Used to be a wealthy condo block. Now it’s where our community lives. Living together gives us the illusion of safety.”

“Oh,” said Selah, and looked back out the window. “That sounds cheerful.”

When the Peace Treaty had been signed with the vampires, the news that both Miami and LA had been handed over had immediately triggered a mass exodus, and hundreds of thousands had fled before the Army could raise the Wall. Only those too poor, too stubborn, or unable to leave due to any number of reasons had remained behind during that fateful week after General Adams had struck his deal with the devil. But still. Selah hadn’t expected the city to feel this desolate. She’d thought the documentaries had been exaggerated for effect.

She saw a Walgreens with a car parked savagely through its front double doors. A police cruiser sat flipped on its top, blackened by fire and gone to rust. A small crowd of kids chased a soccer ball but stopped to watch them drive by, eyes solemn, faces blank. The occasional stranger wandered down the street as if lost, stumbling and vacant eyed. Shadows were already lengthening across the street, dampening the day’s colors. Something in the distance was burning, making the air acrid.

Mama B pulled the jeep up to the curb before a ten-story building, a huge square of a condo with balconies girdling it on each floor, once painted a festive combination of yellows and oranges but now faded and drab. Sheets of steel covered the front doors leading into the lobby, and hurricane shutters had been bolted down over the windows. The building looked sad, harsh, a homemade fortress against the night. It rose incongruously amidst the blocks of rundown cottages and bungalows that crowded around its flanks, and faced a rusted railroad track that was badly overgrown.

Her grandmother gave the parking brake a hard yank and looked back at where Selah sat. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

“This is where we live?” asked Selah.

Mama B lifted one eyebrow. “Would you rather be on the street with those people we passed?”

Selah looked behind them, and then turned back. “They don’t have places to stay?”

“Sure they do,” said Mama B. “But there’s a world of difference between a community and squatting in an abandoned house.”

Selah shook her head. “But—you’re saying they choose to live like that? On the street?”

“In a way. Anybody who can’t see the point behind rules and the value of sharing and sacrifice is going to end up on the street eventually. Here at the Pallisades we’re working to build something different. It might not be pretty to look at, but it’s safe and full of good people. In a city like this, that’s worth more than gold.”

“But what about the vampires? Don’t they worry about getting attacked?”

“Honey, the vampires have people lining up around the block to feed them and earn credits in the process. These people out on the streets? They’re looking to just survive another day. They’re thinking moment to moment. No vision, no hope, nothing but basic appetites and instincts. They’re who you have to worry about, not vampires. Now come on. Let’s get inside where it’s safe.” And with that, she climbed out of the car. Cholly got out too, and with his suitcase in one hand and gun in the other, crossed the street and then turned to wait for her.

Selah looked up. She couldn’t see the sun behind the buildings. Clouds wreathed the sky between the trees with great swaths of crimson and soft gold. The sun was setting. Her heart began to pound again, and with a curse she opened the door and leaped to the curb, ran up to the doors, and slipped inside just as Cholly stepped inside and closed them.

She’d expected it to be dark within, to step into a primitive cave of sorts. Instead, the large lobby was illuminated by soft yellow light that came from a couple of table lamps plugged into the wall and set on the old reception desk. Mama B and Cholly turned to face her, and beyond them, two men with shotguns stood from where they’d been playing chess. Beyond them was a passage out into a central courtyard, and she could hear music—and laughter—from within. She smelled something cooking. Something hearty like vegetable soup with dumplings. Her stomach growled. The armed men stared at her, and while she wanted to examine their guns, it was Mama B’s eyes that drew her gaze.

“Good,” said Mama B. “Now listen up. Here are the rules you got to live by if you’re going to live here. Rule number one. Don’t go outside alone, and don’t go outside without a gun. I’m not saying everybody’s an animal, but you’re young, pretty, and sooner or later somebody’s going to get ideas if they see you walking around. Rule number two: that door closes at sundown and it does not open, not for you, not for me, not for anybody. Let me make that clear right here, right now. You get stuck outside after dark, you’re on your own. We lock down at sunset, and we only open at dawn, and there are absolutely no exceptions, not even if it breaks my heart to hear you out there. You understand, child?”

Selah’s gaze skittered from Mama B’s punishing intensity to Cholly and then to the two men. They were both older, thirties maybe, and had hard faces. No disagreement there.

“Sure,” said Selah. Taking a breath, she raised her chin. “But I thought you said we didn’t have to worry about vampires.”

“We’d be fools to pretend they don’t exist. They keep to their favorite haunts, and they haven’t bothered us yet, but if they ever choose to do so, they’ll find us ready. Mostly it’s drug addicts and criminals that try to get in. Folks outside know we’ve got food and valuable things, and every couple of weeks somebody will try to pry open a shutter and get inside. Be ready for that. Be smart. You hear the alarm bell, you run into the center courtyard. Understood?”

Selah felt dazed. It was too much. She found herself nodding, but the words hadn’t sunk in. Alarm bell? Monthly attacks? Getting raped if she went outside?

Mama B gave her an encouraging smile. “Good. Mind those rules. They’ll save your life. Now, this here is Tyler Whitmer and Burnel Smith.” The two guards nodded. “When you’re older, maybe you’ll get to stand watch too. For now, let’s get you to your room so we can talk proper.” She turned and walked on, squeezing one of the guard’s arms with more affection than she’d shown Selah, and passed into the courtyard beyond. Cholly gave her a helpless smile of contrition and followed, leaving Selah alone with the guards in the lobby.

She looked behind her at the steel doors. They were serious, thick steel bolted tightly together. A truck would have trouble ramming through them. She felt reassured, and hugged herself as she trailed after Cholly, ignoring the stares from the two men who lowered themselves back into their chairs to resume their game.

The building was shaped like a hollow box, apartments ringing the central yard, which had been turned into a small garden. Selah tried not to stare, but failed. Music filled the air, live music she realized, somebody on guitar and another on accordion, playing from an open hallway somewhere above them. The smell of soup mixed with the rich and fecund stench of a pile of manure, and a group of five goats stood together to one side, looking bored. Chickens pecked underfoot, and a tapestry of dinner smells wafted from doors all around her. People were hanging out, and all of them watched her, staring down from above or turning to look as she passed. Four open fires burned in carefully constructed pits in each corner of the yard, and everywhere faces were alive with curiosity as they examined her.

They were mostly black people, with a number of Hispanics here and there. A few white faces, but not many. A large group of old people sat in a circle of beach chairs watching a game of dominoes, faces wrinkled with sadness and pain, eyes soft in the firelight, sympathy writ large on their features. Kids, plenty of little kids, some half naked, stared curiously at her, momentarily frozen, their games forgotten. The music stopped for a moment as the players noticed the disturbance, and then mercifully picked up once more.

Mama B was important. That much was obvious. People called out greetings, came up to talk to her, but she simply nodded or excused herself, head down, great iron dreadlocks extending stiff behind her. She made her way along the edge of the yard, past an herb garden and up to the dark mouth of a stairwell, Cholly faithfully following behind. Selah trailed in her wake, attempting to take in everything at once, mouth a thin line, overwhelmed and trying not to show it. She heard voices pick up behind her, and the smell of food made her stomach cramp. Despair swamped her. This was where she was going to spend the rest of her life? With every passing moment she realized with greater clarity that she had had no idea what she was doing when she’d requested to be deported. None at all.

She looked down at her Omni, still clutched in her hand. She’d been on a Beta connection since Ft. Lauderdale, but now she saw that the speed had dropped to Charlie level. That was almost too much, and she fled into the darkness of the stairwell as the horror of it all overwhelmed her.

She staggered up some steps and leaned against the wall, trying to hold back her sobs. She thought of New York, of her father, of her friends. Thought of her room back home, her clothes, her old life. Already it was all going on without her. Already she’d been forgotten, cut off from the world. She stood in the dark, back to the courtyard and trembled, fists buried under her chin, eyes squeezed shut, fat tears running down her cheeks. What had she done? She was here, irrevocably here, and there was no going back.

Footsteps came down the steps in the dark. Selah looked up, expecting Mama B, but no. High heels. The person was cursing in a rich whisper of Spanish, the voice confident and exasperated. Selah shrank back against the wall but the girl still nearly ran into her as she turned the corner.

“Pero dios, que haces aqui en el oscuro? ” The voice sharp, annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” said Selah. She felt miserable. She couldn’t even hide in a stairwell.

“Who is that?” Selah heard the sound of a purse opening, then the rasp of a lighter and consequent flame. Yellow-orange light, and Selah saw the woman’s face. She was beautiful, features striking, hair a gorgeous mane of black, full and rich and smooth and straight. Not as old as she’d thought, either, just a couple of years more than Selah.

“Who are you?” asked the girl again, voice demanding.

“Selah,” she said. “I’m with … Mama B.”

“Ah,” said the girl, “her baby. What are you doing hiding in here?”

Selah pushed off the wall. Almost said I’m no baby but stopped herself in time. “I was catching my breath, is all. What’s it to you?”

The girl smiled, a flash of white teeth, and then the flame died away. “Nothing, chica. You just arrived? You must be terrified, but it’s not all bad. Trust me, all right? I’ll find you when I get back and we can talk.”

“Get back? Where are you going?”

Selah sensed the girl’s amusement. “There’s a big world out there, and it don’t stop just because Mama B wants that door locked. I’ll tell you about it soon. Now I gotta run if I’m going to get some food before I head out. Don’t want to miss my ride.” A hand found her shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and then the girl was moving down and past her.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Maria Elena,” said the girl, stopping at the bottom step to look back up. They held each other’s gaze and then Maria Elena smiled a brilliant smile and turned the corner and was gone. Selah stared after her and noticed three small kids who’d gathered just outside the stairwell were now watching her. She made a fierce face at them, and they scattered, laughing. Feeling better, she turned and climbed the steps after Mama B.

Selah stepped out onto the first floor and glanced over the railing at the central courtyard below where the children had moved on to teasing the goats. She didn’t look down for long. Cholly stood a few doors down. He looked, as ever, infuriatingly apologetic.

“This here’s your place,” he said, nodding to the door beside him.

“Thanks.” Selah said. She walked up and Cholly stepped aside.

“You’re gonna be all right,” he said.

“Yeah? I don’t know about that.” She tried to smile bravely up at him, but the compassion in his large eyes nearly undid her tenuous self-control.

“Sure you will. There are rules here, different from what you know, but there are rules everywhere. You just got to adapt. We live pretty good, things considering. We’re doing better than last year, and we did better last year than the year before. Soon you’ll find a way to contribute, and you’ll help us grow. You’ll make friends. You’re gonna be all right.”

Selah studied his wide, honest face, and then shook her head. “Thanks. I don’t know if I believe you, but it’s nice for you to say.”

He smiled ruefully, and then patted her shoulder. “Be easy on Mama. She’s all worked up ‘bout your being here.”

Selah put her hand on the door handle and then stopped. “She’s worked up? She doesn’t seem to even care.”

Cholly shrugged and stepped back. “She cares. She’s just used to showing it by telling people what to do. You’ll see.”

Selah opened the door and stepped inside. Mama B was waiting for her in a large armchair, facing the door with her hands laced over her stomach.

“All right,” said Mama B, “let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“How upset you are. How unfair life is. How much you blame me for getting deported to Miami. Go on now, get it off your chest.”

Selah blinked. Her grandmother’s face was hard. There she sat, larger than life, chin raised, waiting, and suddenly Selah didn’t know what to say.

“No?” asked Mama B. “I can see the fire in your eyes, girl. We both know that if I’d stayed with you and your daddy in Brooklyn, you wouldn’t be here right now. But here you are, and I bet you’re mad. I don’t blame you. So come on now. Speak your piece.”

Selah shook her head. “What? No. You got it all wrong.”

It was Mama B’s turn to look surprised. “What do you mean, got it all wrong? You saying you’re happy to be here?”

“No, not that, but just that I don’t blame you for it.” Selah did her best to ride the old anger as it surfaced. Mama B had never gotten along with her dad, but when Selah’s mother had died in a car accident during the War, it had been Mama B’s confidence and calm and all-enveloping love that had held them all together. For a time at least. After the War ended, the arguments had started up again, and Mama B had finally left them both to help the people trapped in Miami. Selah had been fourteen at the time, and it just hadn’t made sense: why would somebody quit their family for a bunch of strangers?

Selah took a deep breath and buried those memories. “I’m here because I chose to be here. I asked to be deported and be put in your custody. I wanted to come.”

“Did you, now,” said Mama B. She took a moment to process that, and Selah watched her move preconceptions and assumptions around in her mind. “I’m missing some pieces of this story. Why don’t we start from the beginning. You’re saying you wanted to come?”

Selah moved forward and sat in a wooden chair across from Mama B. Her grandma was watching her with sharp scrutiny, mouth pursed, leaning forward and intent. Selah tried to marshal her thoughts. “You know how you always said dad’s stories would never change the world? Well, I think you were wrong. He was working on an investigation before he disappeared. A big one. He told me that it went pretty deep, and would cause a lot of trouble when he published it. Then he disappeared—but he left his Omni behind in a place he knew only I’d find it. So I read his files. He was investigating this new drug called Blood Dust. You heard of it?”

Selah struggled for calm as she spoke. To not let the pain claw its way out of the box in which it was tightly hidden. Mama B shook her head, and then Selah realized she wasn’t answering her question but rather responding to the pain in Selah’s eyes.

“Oh baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mama B rose and walked over to envelop her in a hug. “Can you forgive me? I’m a foolish old woman. Here I thought you were going to show up a spoiled young girl, mad at the world and mad at me.” Mama B pulled back and studied Selah’s face. “Instead I find you all grown up. And you’re telling me you came down here on purpose?” She hugged Selah tightly once more. It was too much. Selah tried to hold back the tears, but Mama B’s embrace brought back memories, old memories of home and better days, which combined with fear and exhaustion wore down the last of her defenses. Selah felt her eyes burn, and she pressed her face hard against Mama B’s shoulder. She clenched her jaw and willed herself not to cry, but her father’s face came to her and with it all the misery of the past two months. She bit down on her sobs, but still her shoulders shook each time one fought to escape her chest.

Mama B held her for as long as she cried, and then wiped her face and kissed her forehead. “You’re with me now,” she said, voice stern and loving at the same time. “I’m going to take care of you. We’re family. We’re all we got. Now tell me what you were saying about your daddy. What have you learned?”

Selah wiped her face with her sleeve and then nodded. “I think he’s alive. I think somebody took him, arrested him maybe for what he was going to publish. But nobody will say anything. I can’t get anybody to admit anything. He’s just missing, but I think he saw it coming. Like I said, he left me his Omni, and I read his notes. You heard about Blood Dust?”

Mama returned to her armchair and nodded. “Yes, a little. The new drug. The vampires here in Miami don’t like it. Anybody caught using it gets killed.”

“Really?” That was news. “They don’t allow it?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Doesn’t stop fools from using it though. Why?”

Selah rubbed at her eyes one last time then dropped her hands in her lap. “It’s what he was investigating. Most of his notes were missing, but there was stuff there about the government or the military being involved. It’s why he got taken.”

“So wait. What’s his investigation got to do with your being here?”

“Well.” Selah straightened her back. “Blood Dust is supposed to be connected to the vampires somehow. If I can learn what they want to hide so bad, maybe I can blackmail them into freeing him.” This was it. The idea that had sustained her through her darkest days.

“Selah. Hold up. Are you telling me you’ve exiled yourself for life so as to follow some investigation that got your father arrested? That you came down to Miami in the hope of learning—what—government secrets that will free your father?” Mama B shook her head. “Honey, what have you done? There’s no leaving Miami. And just what were you planning to do? Walk around asking people on the street if they know military secrets? Where Blood Dust comes from? Ask the vampires to help?”

“Well, no—I’m not sure. I was going to figure it out when I got here.” Didn’t her grandmother understand? “I’ve got to find a way. What else could I do? Just give up on dad? Whatever it takes, I’m going to get him back.”

“Honey, you don’t know a thing about how this city works. You don’t know how it runs. You go around asking about Dust you’re going to get yourself killed.” Selah knew that tone. It had ended all arguments when she was fourteen.

Selah felt a spark of anger. “I don’t have a choice. I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m committed. One way or another, I’m going to find out what happened to my dad.”

Mama B sat forward. “Selah. You are not going to walk around this city asking about Dust. You’re a brave girl, but this isn’t Brooklyn. Do you think your father would have wanted you to die for him?”

Selah felt the spark blaze and rose to her feet. “You lost the right to tell me what to do when you walked out on us.”

Instead of matching her anger, Mama B sat back. “Girl, it is more dangerous than you can possibly understand outside these walls. There are people out on those streets that will kill you for what’s between your legs, or for what’s flowing in your veins, or for no good reason at all. I admire your motivation to help your father, but getting killed won’t change a thing. Listen to me. You need to first get wise. Get street smart. Learn your way around. Then, maybe, you can start asking questions. Not now.”

“I am not going to wait.” Selah felt blank refusal rise up within her like a tidal wave, and curled her hands into fists. “Right now, dad could be hurt, or dying. You think I’m going to take my time?”

“Yes, I do. You’re under my roof now, and while you’re here you’ll do what you’re told. If you don’t, you’ll wind up dead. It’s that simple.”

Selah didn’t know how to respond. Several times she opened her mouth to say something, to shatter that infuriating calm, but in her mind all her words sounded whiny and infantile. Nothing seemed sufficient. Worse, under the fury and fear, Selah suspected her grandmother was right. She was out of her depth. Had this all been a huge mistake? Her whole plan? The thought made her feel dizzy. Panicked. She couldn’t accept that. She simply couldn’t.

Selah turned and ran out the door. Then she froze. The music stopped, and people down the hall quickly looked away, pretending to be doing something else. She stepped to the balcony and looked down. Even the goats seemed to be staring up at her. A wave of claustrophobia washed over her, and all she could think to do was run, to get away.

Looking down, she saw Maria Elena striding along the side of the courtyard just before she ducked out of sight into the stairwell. Without thinking Selah ran down the corridor and back into the stairwell, tumbling down the steps, down to the ground floor. Maria Elena was gone. Where? Looking around desperately, she saw an emergency exit door. Her grandmother’s words hung in her mind, churning up her pain and anger, her fear and embarrassment, but she had to get out, and Maria Elena was her only chance. Running forward she yanked the heavy deadbolts back, kicked the crash bar, and threw open the door. People began to yell, to chase after her, but she escaped their hands and was gone, running down the dark street and into the Miami night.

Chapter Three

Selah ran. Where was Maria Elena? Had she already made it down the block? Not wanting to lose her, Selah sprinted over the broken asphalt, arms pumping. She resisted the urge to call out, to yell the other girl’s name. Had a car already picked her up? Down the block she ran, across the street. Right through the intersection, all the buildings around her dark. Panic coursed through her, terror, and she looked around desperately for Maria Elena. She ran with great long strides, sprinting as hard as she could. No matter that she would only be able to go a short distance like this. No matter that a stitch was already burning in her side. Running felt great. Running felt wonderful.

Three blocks, four. She was running now just to keep going, not wanting to admit that she had missed the other girl, that she was out here alone. A broader street, a bus moldering on sunken tires right in the middle of the intersection. She slowed, ran around it. A few lights on behind shutters in the building to her left, the sound of music. On down the avenue, slowing even more, sweat beading her brow, her breath coming in gasps now. Into the next intersection, slowing as she reached its middle, stopping.

The sky to the east was dark, a deep, leaden blue, the sky to the west still smudged the color of drying blood. The clouds were epic, but already fading to grays, the last of the color leaching out of them. She stood still, trying to control her breath. Straightened and looked back the way she’d come, picturing Mama B striding down the street right after her. But there was nothing there, just the distant silhouette of the anchored bus.

Selah felt her stomach cramp with fear, and for the first time really thought about what she’d done. She hugged herself and whipped her head from side to side, trying to look in all directions at once. Nothing, just empty streets. Where was everybody? Locked away safe, a voice said in her mind, a quiet and sensible voice she tried to ignore. Locked away safe like you should be. Not walking the streets at night.

Shivering despite the warm air, she ghosted out of the intersection and into the recessed doorway of a cigar shop. Pressed her back against the corrugated iron shutter and edged into the corner. Listened to the deep, soft darkness as it claimed Miami as its own.

The big blockbuster movie last summer had been Nowhere to Run starring Brad Dancer. He’d played a man who’d broken into Miami to rescue his girlfriend, only to find that she’d become a vampire. The last third of the movie had featured his trying to escape the city during one long, terrifying night. The movie producers had famously worked a deal with the vampires in charge of the city and been allowed to film on location. Selah had seen it once last year, and three times again in the last month. And now here she was, crouched in a dark corner just like Brad Dancer had done, but without his shotgun and suicidal bravery.

Somewhere close by a bottle shattered, and laughter spiraled into the air. Selah stiffened and pressed deeper into the corner. She should go back to the Palisades. Apologize to her grandmother, apologize to everybody, slink in and be a good granddaughter. For a moment she hung in the balance, and then she recognized a voice and her heart leaped: Maria Elena.

Selah peered out from around the doorway in the direction of the voices. Close, but not yet in sight. She stole forth and walked as quickly and quietly as she could to the street corner and peered once more around it. A car was parked to one side of the street, headlights streaming like twin white conical ghosts into the dusk. A small group of people had gathered there, talking as if they had no worries in the world. Maria Elena was amongst them, leaning against a muscled young man in a white tank and low-slung jeans. Six people, maybe, handing around a bottle and talking quietly, rifles and handguns casually displayed to deter unwanted attention.

Selah bit her lip. All her anger was long gone, and now all she felt was anxiety and a low-level fear. She stepped back and bit the inside corner of her lips. Suddenly she felt ridiculous for having chased after Maria Elena in this way. Would she be laughed off? Told to go home? She couldn’t hesitate for much longer. She had to make a move. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, only then realizing that it was the same gesture her grandmother always made. That sent a scowl across her face, and a rose of anger began to bloom in her heart once more. There, good. Anger was good. Before she could hesitate, she stepped around the corner, and said loudly, “Hey!”

The reaction from the group was immediate. Two of the guys dropped into a crouch, spinning around and pulling out guns. The other four simply turned sharply to stare at her. Maria Elena half stepped behind the guy with the white tank, and then squinted and stared. “Selah?”

“Yeah,” said Selah, moving forward, trying to not let her voice quaver. The guns were still pointed at her. “Just me. No need to be scared.”

“You know this girl?” asked one of the crouching guys, already relaxing.

“I don’t know her know her, but yeah, she just moved into my building.” Maria Elena pushed away from her guy and began to walk toward her. “Chica, what the hell do you think you’re doing out here?”

Selah shrugged. “Nothing. Checking out the city, you know.” She tried to sound cool, indifferent, but one of the guys laughed and she suddenly felt foolish.

“Check out the city?” asked Maria Elena, eyebrows raising. She grinned. “Girl, you are crazy. Checking out the city?” She burst out laughing, and then turned to look at the guys behind her. They also laughed, and suddenly Selah didn’t feel so good. Felt really young instead, and out of her depth.

“Honey, you want me to take you home? We’re not far,” said Maria Elena again. “I can get you back inside. I got Tyler wrapped around my finger.”

“No.” Selah shook her head. “What are you guys up to?”

“Us?” Maria Elena sounded surprised. “We’re getting ready to go to the Beach.”

“The Beach? Like South Beach?” Several of the guys had lost interest and were already talking amongst themselves once more.

“Yeah, South Beach. A girl’s got to work.”

Selah tried to process that. “Work? You mean for the vampires?” She’d known coming in that some people did. Whenever a reality TV show descended on Miami, whenever a celebrity flew in to party, whenever the vampires released promotional material, there were always regular people around. People working the bars, walking the streets at night, drinking, partying, driving the cars. Still, she’d never felt that they were real people. Felt as if they were props on a stage, actors who were only pretending.

“Yeah. For the evil horrible vampires. Whatever,” said Maria Elena. “What, you not going to talk to me now?”

“No,” said Selah, struggling. “I just thought, I mean, I didn’t think …”

Maria Elena relented. Moved forward and slipped an arm around Selah’s shoulders. “Look. There is a lot for you to learn about this place. It’s not all black or white. But yeah, I work on the Beach. So do these guys, and a couple more we’re waiting for.” She curled her hair back from her face and gave Selah a bitter smile. “I’m not saying it’s safe. But it’s not so bad when you know what you’re doing. If you’ve got an ID, and are part of the system. I might even take you one night, if you want. But now, let’s get you home.”

“No,” said Selah. She suddenly very much wanted to stay with Maria Elena. Learn from her. This could be the perfect opportunity to discover the kind of information she needed. “Take me with you. Tonight.” Maria Elena stared at her skeptically. She began to shake her head. “I’m serious,” said Selah. “Look, I’m from NYC. I’m seventeen. If you don’t take me, I’ll go by myself, anyway. Take me with you. Don’t leave me here.”

Maria Elena looked at her. Really looked at her. “Girl, you don’t know what you’re asking. But shit. Who am I to talk? I was hitting the Beach when I was younger than you are. If you want to come, then come. But I’m not promising anything.”

“Sure,” said Selah, elated. “I understand.” Maria Elena already seemed to be changing her mind, so Selah pressed on. “What do you do there?”

“I’m a hostess at Magnum, one of the clubs. Look, you sure you don’t want to go home and think this over?”

“Maria Elena, I might never go back there. To Mama B’s.” She felt the truth behind her words, and thrilled at it. Suddenly felt adult, dramatic, intense. “I came to Miami for a reason. If Mama B thinks she can stop me and keep me cooped up indoors, she’s got another thing coming. I know my mind. I want to go.”

Maria Elena searched her face, and then nodded. “OK.”

At that point a second car rolled up, tires crunching the loose gravel of the street, and the group of guys dispersed, three of them getting into the new ride, the other two guys into the front of the parked car.

“Come on,” said Maria Elena. “Let’s go, then. Angelo!” The guy she had been holding looked over from where he was about to get into the driver’s seat. Broad shouldered, muscled across the chest and wearing a tight fitting shirt, Angelo exuded a sullen charisma like a great cat but recently aroused from sleep.

“Que quieres?”

“Don’t you talk to me that way. I’m bringing my friend, Selah.”

Angelo eyed her up and down, and then shrugged and got into the car. Selah followed Maria Elena into the back of the Cadillac and closed her door firmly behind her. She couldn’t resist. She pulled out her Omni and recorded a quick shot of her face: “Going to South Beach. And so it begins!” She pushed it to her Garden, then slipped the Omni away and smiled self-consciously at Maria Elena. The car rumbled to life, and Maria Elena’s friend accelerated smoothly down the street, weaving slowly through the stationary vehicles.

“Isn’t it—isn’t it dangerous to be out at night?”

Maria Elena snorted. “Out here? In Allapattah? Sure. If you’re by yourself and don’t know what you’re doing. That’s why we move in a group. All of us armed. Plus we got ID’s. Even if a vampire came out here to the boonies, we’d probably be fine. And why would they come, when all the action is downtown and on the Beach?”

Selah tried to think of a reason. “The movies—I mean, the documentaries made it look like they were always out … hunting.”

Maria Elena laughed again. “The movies? C’mon. They don’t have to hunt. I mean, sure, some vampire might decide to go out hunting for the hell of it, you know, like going on safari, but nobody I know has gotten hurt. There are too many people volunteering.” A wry look. “I mean, I wouldn’t go out walking by myself, but in a group like ours? No problem.”

“Oh,” said Selah, confused. It seemed so obvious when Maria Elena put it that way. She looked out the window. A dark ghost town rolled by. Black alleys between gray buildings. There was no moon that she could see, and everything seemed silent and still.

She turned back to the other girl. “What are credits? You mean, like money?”

“Kind of.” Maria Elena leaned back in her seat. The two guys up front were talking in Spanish. “You know how anybody can buy their way out of Miami for a hundred grand?” Selah nodded. Not that there had been any rich people left in Miami when the Wall went up, but who hadn’t seen all the donation drives and charities that had sprung up to raise funds for those still trapped inside? “Well,” said Maria Elena, “there’s no money in Miami. We don’t work for dollars. We work for credits. The vampires are smart, see, they got it all figured out. You work a job, you get credit. You give blood, you get more credit. You rat on a friend who’s thinking of escaping, you get a ton of credits. You work long enough, you get enough credits, you can buy your freedom.” Maria Elena looked out the window. “Or somebody else’s freedom.”

“Oh,” said Selah. She studied her new friend’s face. Was she a new friend? Selah wasn’t sure. She hoped so.

The Cadillac pulled onto a larger avenue, following it for a short time before moving alongside an overpass for a couple of blocks. As they merged onto the overpass, ahead of them Selah could see the glittering Intercoastal waters, smooth under the night sky, and their bridge spearing out across it. Looking out the window, she saw the towers of downtown come into view, lit bright by electricity, spearing into the night like incandescent columns of living steel and glass.

“Beautiful, right?” asked Maria Elena softly, following Selah’s gaze. “But we’re not going there. That’s where all the business happens. No entertainment. Lawyers and accountants and media types.”

“What do the vampires want lawyers for? Why do they even want money? Why give you guys credits?” Selah felt dizzy. She couldn’t wrap her head around all this, this strange and complex world she was falling into.

Maria Elena groaned theatrically and clasped her head. “Dios mio, you going to ask questions all night? Basta, no more questions. Listen up, I’m going to tell you a couple of important things now that you need to know.”

Selah slipped her hand into her pocket and activated her Omni’s recording mode. Nodded seriously. The car descended the far side of the bridge’s hump, and once again ran nearly level with the water. The headlights revealed the empty lanes, cars pushed onto the grassy shoulders so as to leave a straight shot forward.

“OK. Let’s see. First, don’t make eye contact with nobody. You don’t want any attention. You’re not ready for attention. Second, stay close to me. You leave my sight, I can’t help you. What else. You don’t have an ID, but if anybody asks, we can just say you’re new and will get one soon.”

“I have my passport.”

“Not your passport. ID. You’ll need to get one from Downtown tomorrow. That shows that you’re in the vampire system, can receive and spend credits, and it acts like a safe pass. Most vampires won’t mess with anybody who’s carrying one.” Maria Elena considered. “Most times. Third, watch out for people with blue ID’s. They’re security. They answer only to the vampires, and the vampires don’t really give a crap what they do as long as things run smooth. If they stop you for not having an ID, you let me talk.”

“OK. Is that likely?”

Maria Elena shrugged. “Maybe? But I can get you out of it. Security’s mostly worried about keeping street trash out of the nice parts of town. Since you look clean and civilized, they probably will look right past you.”

“Oh. So the people living on the streets back where we came from…?”

Maria Elena nodded. “Yep. They’re out there because if they try to get close to where it’s nice? They don’t make it back.”

Selah felt uncomfortable. “So, what do those people do? I mean, they’re not part of this vampire society, they’re not building communities like Mama B—do they just, what? Do nothing?”

Maria Elena sighed and shook her head. “I know. It’s hard. Most of them were like kids or teenagers when the Wall went up. Never went to school, never did nothing but live on the street. As for what they do? Make it from one day to the next. Hit up the food trucks, get all the free aid they can get, make families, I don’t know. Half of them are starving, or addicted to something, or looking to not get killed. It’s crazy. The one’s who want to live differently try to get into a building community like the Palisades, but most of them don’t last. Inside a month, they’re back out on the streets. It ain’t fair, but then again, that’s Miami for you.”

They drove on. Looking back, Selah could see the dark line that was the land, the scintillating black waters mostly behind them now. She knew that the Beach was a long spit of land that hugged the shore, separated by the Intercoastal, most of it dark and silent now, but for the southern tip, the heart of South Beach.

The driver spoke in Spanish, and Maria Elena responded. Selah leaned back, tuning them out. She felt tired and yet antsy, alert but unable to focus her thoughts. She allowed her eyes to relax, and watched as the bridge merged with land once more. They swung to the right and drove through a dark and shadowed boulevard lined with palm trees.

She thought of Mama B. Would she be worried? Knowing that Selah was out alone in the dark? She hoped so, and then she felt bad. Thought of Mama B’s words, how unfair they’d been. Stopped at the word unfair. Chewed it over, and decided to never say it again.

The two guys in the front laughed loudly, and she shrank back into her seat. Where were they taking her? What was she doing? She should’ve stayed at the Palisades. She felt a moment of panic as she thought about their destination: South Beach. Vampire paradise, where they played and partied their nights away, trapped as they were in Miami. Like tigers in a cage, Brad Dancer had said in Nowhere to Run.

They started to pass islands of illumination. Large houses set back from the street with light pouring out of their windows. Suddenly, they left the darkness behind and were out under lit streetlights. Five minutes later they crossed a small bridge, took a left down a narrow street, drove five, six blocks, and pulled over. The second car that had been following them continued on, honking twice as it drove by.

Maria Elena said something in a sardonic tone in Spanish; the guy in the passenger seat replied in a droll voice and laughed. Maria Elena shoved the back of his headrest in mock anger and pushed open her door. “Come on, Selah,” she said. “Let’s leave these idiots already.” She got out, and Selah did the same.

The guys climbed out, still laughing, and the three of them said goodbye to each other, Selah standing awkwardly to one side. The guys were going in a different direction. They both worked in the kitchen of a steak joint, Maria Elena explained as they walked away. They would all meet back at the car in six hours and head home.

Maria Elena took the lead. Selah followed, not sure she wanted to go. Curiosity wrestled with thrilling fear. She could hear music in the distance. Raucous, upbeat, driving into the night air, pulsing insistently and with undeniable rhythm. The sound drew them in, closer with each step, thumping and bruising the night.

A massive parking building loomed up before them, and Maria Elena looked at her watch and cursed. Picked up the speed, and ran into an alley. Selah followed her down it and then out into a broad pedestrian boulevard that was all lights and crowded people.

“Lincoln Road,” said Maria Elena over her shoulder. “Hurry up, I’m going to be late.”

Selah wanted to grab onto the hem of Maria Elena’s dress so that she could be pulled behind and gawk at the people around her. Though half the restaurants were shuttered, the other half were open, tables spilling out across the broad pavement, sheltered under great parasols and bustling with clients. Music blasted from each doorway, through which Selah could see bars and tables and lurid lights and people talking and drinking, dining and wining.

“This is just like on TV,” Selah said, unable to control herself. And it was. She’d seen reporters interviewing people about their quality of life under the vampire yoke. One of “Business Mogul” episodes this season had been set in Miami, with the young hopefuls put in charge of two opposing restaurants and tasked with outdoing each other in sales.

Yet somehow she’d never believed it was real. Had believed only in the version of Nowhere to Run, the apocalyptic vision of a depraved and degenerate city, abandoned by the government and prowled by vicious monsters. Not this. Despite the interviews that had started early last year with a few key vampires, despite the TV shows, the reports of famous starlets being flown in for outrageous parties. Despite all the fanfare that had been starting up.

But here it was. They crossed a street. There was a Starbucks. Selah stared at it as if she’d never seen one before. People inside on their Omnis. Working, or checking their Gardens, or whatever one did at night here on Lincoln Road.

Though there were differences. Not everything was normal. Selah noted the white IDs that everybody had pinned to their clothing or wore around their necks on simple red cords. Picture IDs with printed information in simple, clear letters. Plus the energy felt off. People laughed too loudly, too often. Eyes were always sliding aside to see who was watching. More than one person was sunk in misery, sitting alone in some corner, hunched and staring out at the world like a hunted animal. Groups of men walked by dressed in black, guns holstered at their hips, their IDs blue. Too much she didn’t understand. Too much to absorb.

They left Lincoln Road, and Maria Elena picked up speed again. Selah was burning with questions now, but couldn’t find a way to ask. Realized then that she hadn’t seen a vampire yet. At least, she didn’t think she had. In the films—and documentaries and online videos and everything else—they looked just like humans. Pale, of course, with flat black eyes and unnatural movements, but still mostly human. Maybe she’d already walked by a vampire and not realized it. Selah looked around and saw Maria Elena talking to a massive man who stood outside a door through which pounded and pulsed the most powerful music.

Selah looked up. Magnum. This was it. They were still early, it appeared—there wasn’t much of a line. Maria Elena gestured to Selah, and then reached out and took her by the wrist and pulled her in through the door, right under the bouncer’s disapproving glare, and into the black hallway beyond.

“I’ve got to get right on,” yelled Maria Elena into her ear. “Stay inside the club. Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t drink anything. Don’t get any attention, and I’ll find you when I’m done, OK? Any questions or problems, come find me. I’ll be right here!”

Selah felt panic well up within her. Maria Elena laughed, leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You’ll be fine! Just watch and stay out of the way. Now go!” She gave Selah a push, took off her jacket, threw it behind a black curtain, and marched back outside to the front.

Chapter Four

Well, thought Selah, turning to face the interior of the club. Ain’t that the shit. She looked down at herself. She was still in her traveling clothes. Hands flew up to her hair. Of course it was a mess. First destination: bathroom. She hadn’t even brought her purse with her. Painfully self-conscious, she stepped into the next room. Large and dark, lit by fitful blue lighting, the room seemed to serve as a nexus for what looked like three vast rooms beyond, each connected to the other through this central spot. The room straight ahead was lit in glacial blues and featured a bar as long as a train car. The room to the left looked vast, with steps leading down to a dance floor. The one to the right was the smallest and lit in marsh greens. Unsure, she watched people move by, and then locked in on a couple of women as they opened a previously unnoticed door and stepped into what was clearly a restroom.

Selah followed. Lifted her chin, set a scowl on her face, and pushed in right behind them into a reassuringly average bathroom. The two women were older than Selah, college age perhaps, and both stopped talking as Selah walked in. She ignored them and their stares and hit the mirror. Shook her head. A complete mess. And no purse, no makeup, nothing to work with. Ah, well. All the more reason to hide in a corner like Maria Elena had instructed.

The two girls had gone back to talking. “Whatever. Some things never change. Anyways, are you going to go with me or not? Or am I going to have to take Max?”

“Girl, are you serious? You really did score two tickets?” asked the second, leaning back to stare at the first as she applied eyeliner.

“You doubt it? They’re not exactly front row, but who cares. It’ll be my first night at a Freedom Fight. And it’s going to be a special event. They say some big fighter from UFC is being flown in to compete. Max won’t shut up about it.”

“I bet you could shut him up if you really wanted to,” said the second, straightening and checking out her work. Her eyes slid over to where Selah stood watching, and she raised one painfully elegant eyebrow. “Can we help you?”

Selah didn’t say anything, embarrassed at having been caught. She wanted to ask questions, always with the questions, but instead turned and fled back into the nexus. Stood, irresolute, and then walked into the blue room with the bar. Up three steps that she nearly tripped over, and then out to the left, following the far wall. The music was almost punishingly loud, and she watched people yelling into each other’s ears so as to be heard, holding drinks and looking anxiously at the entrance every few moments. Were any of them vampires? Selah found a vaguely uncomfortable yet very modern black chair to sit on and scrutinized them.

No. After a long search, she decided they weren’t. Just regular people, nervous and getting drunk fast. Occasionally, one of the women would laugh almost hysterically and then begin to dance, arms raised, the guys turning to watch. It never lasted more than fifteen seconds, though, and then the woman would bend over laughing, as if what she’d done had been incredibly brave and hilarious.

Selah felt lonely. She missed her friends. She thought of Jairo, of Tomika, of Susan and Alessandra and her newest friend Natalie Ballard. She wished they were here, or better yet, that she were back with them. She dug out her Omni and checked the connection. Alpha. She blinked. No way! She grinned and wished she’d brought her Goggles and FingerTips, but what could you do? She dipped into her Garden, and was pleased to see dozens of her friends’ avatars standing there in states of suspended alarm. She idly circled the Fountain, and almost went up to Jairo where he stood in his Mecha avatar, his robotic face somehow still expressing concern. But it was too loud in the bar, and if she opened a connection, they wouldn’t be able to talk.

Instead she quickly began to sort through her messages, reluctantly asking her Omni for subtitles, discarding and saving them as they came. A glance at Connection Wall showed literally hundreds of messages from acquaintances and people she didn’t know, but even here in her Garden were dozens of recordings from friends. It hurt so good to see their faces. Several messages were group recordings, people together peering into their own Omnis and sending her love, good wishes. Jairo’s latest poem that he’d posted in her Garden was awful, as she had known it would be, and she added commentary with a grin.

From there she entered her private Shrine but suddenly impatient, she flew into Jairo’s Garden, and from there visited each of her friend’s Shrines in turn, catching up on their news, updates, what other friends had been telling them and more. It was all so familiar, so achingly normal. After awhile, she slowed down and stared at the screen. Alpha connection, but she didn’t want to read about how Natalie was upset with her boyfriend, or how Scott was thinking about saving up money for the latest Omni upgrade. She sighed and looked up at the crowd at the bar. It all seemed so unimportant.

She lowered her Omni and frowned. She felt even more alone now, alone and bored at the prospect of sitting here for six hours watching people drink and make fools of themselves. Should she start asking around if people knew anything about Blood Dust? Mama B’s recriminations came flooding back, her scorn for her lack of a plan. She hadn’t thought past her arrival. Hadn’t been able to envision actually being in Miami, and had instead vaguely assumed that she’d figure things out once she arrived. What had seemed simple back in Brooklyn suddenly seemed impossible; exactly how did one go about learning where a drug came from?

She kicked her heels for a minute, and then stood. Tucked her Omni away and wandered out of the room. Thought about hitting the door to check in with Maria Elena, and then disdainfully turned toward the dance floor. She hugged the wall as she walked down it, hand trailing along the smooth paint, and stopped at the room’s entrance. It was stunningly huge. Cavernous. Another bar to the left, smaller than the first, but then she saw a second bar set in an island on the dance floor, and a third against the far wall. A fashion catwalk ran up to the island bar, but nobody was on it.

The lights flowed and flashed, and the music was good, the kind that got under her skin and into her bones. Not enough of a crowd to really begin dancing, though. Just more people at the bar.

An hour passed during which Selah explored the green room, and found it to be an extended lounge where low and sensual music played, all shadows and recesses. She sat at a small table, and then panicked at the sight of white lines of powder arrayed across the glass top. She stood, looked around to see if anybody was watching, and then quickly left before she could get in trouble. Eventually, she decided she liked the loud music in the dance room and hung out there, watching the people as they slowly trickled in, began to fill out the space.

“Hey, what’s up?” somebody yelled in her ear. She started and turned sharply to see a lean-looking Latino guy grinning at her. He was about her age, dressed in stylish black clothing, and he stepped back and put his hands up. “Hey, don’t hit me, I was just saying hi!”

“What do you want?” asked Selah. Was he hitting on her? This guy couldn’t be a vampire.

“Can I buy you a drink? I’ll cover the credit!” He tried his grin on her again. He smiled too much, she decided, looked too pleased with himself. Still. Selah eyed the bar. The glittering wall of bottles, the cornucopia of alcohol. She shouldn’t. But she was on edge, half terrified, and what harm could one drink do? Her rebellious edge arose and mixed with her fear and impulsiveness and she nodded.

“Sure.”

He nodded, pleased, and leaned in once more. “Awesome, what can I get you?”

“Vodka cran,” she yelled. She didn’t really like drinking. Not most nights. But sometimes. Sometimes.

He flashed her a thumbs up and headed back to the bar. Leaned in and waited to catch the bartender’s eye. Selah scrutinized him. Was this a bad idea? But the music really was good. And the drink might take the edge off. After the day she’d had, she deserved it. And what else did Maria Elena think she was going to do for six hours in club?

Selah waited nervously. She was definitely not interested, she decided, but still wished she could’ve cleaned up a little better in the bathroom. He came back with two drinks in hand, his clear with ice, and handed her a glass.

“To wife!” he yelled.

“What?”

He leaned in, “I said, to life!”

“Yeah, life,” said Selah. She clinked glasses and took a sip. It was smooth and cold: perfect.

“My name’s Michael!”

“Selah.”

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?”

“Yeah. Just arrived.” Selah forced a smile. This was it. Her opportunity. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun? I love to dance!”

“I bet. But I was talking a different kind of fun.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyes took on a gleam, and she realized he had completely misunderstood her.

“No, I mean, do you know where I can get some Blood Dust?”

“What?” He jerked his head back. “No. Of course not.”

“Oh.” He was staring at her now, brows lowered. She smiled again and took a sip of her drink, and gave him her best smile. You idiot. Do you know where I can get some Blood Dust? Now he thinks you’re a drug addict. “You said you like to dance?”

He nodded, and she kept hitting him with her best smile until he nodded, raised his glass and finished his drink with an impressively long pull. Apparently he wasn’t too picky. “Come on! I’m an incredible dancer. Let me show you my moves!”

Selah stared at him. Had he actually just said that? His grin was ridiculous, infectious, so she laughed instead and finished her drink too. Why the hell not? The music was getting better and better, and she absolutely loved to dance. Why the hell not indeed.

“All right!” Selah laughed and pushed him toward the floor. “Show me your damn moves!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. They threaded their way into the crowd, into the center, and there he let go and turned to face her. She began to sway, letting the groove sink into her, into her soul, not yet letting loose, and watched. He began to move his shoulders from side to side, arms up like he was jogging, face serious, bopping his head.

“Let’s see those moves!”

He nodded, expression serious, and did a quick scan to make sure nobody was too close. As if he was going to do something truly wild and might kick somebody in the face. Selah laughed, amused again, and then stopped as he crouched down and threw himself into a backflip. For a moment he was all knees and spinning elbows, and then he was straightening up. “There!”

“That’s not a dance move!” Selah shook her head, grinning. She leaned in, cupping her hand. “That’s what you do into a swimming pool! You almost kicked me in the face!”

Michael frowned and shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. That’s a killer move!”

Selah didn’t care to argue. This was perfect. The drink was warming her up now. She was feeling good, feeling loose. The music was delicious, pouring into her like a river of electric chocolate, making her feel alight, feel alive. She took a step away from Michael and began to dance. To let go. Started slow, but everybody around her was moving, and she stopped thinking, stopped trying to figure out the world, and just danced.

Michael did his best to keep up. The music was so loud it erased thought. The great room was the perfect combination of darkness cut through with sizzling arcs of neon light. Enough to give a sense of the scope of the joint, but made most of the people around her but shadowed forms, a tapestry of movement and dance against which she could lose herself.

Michael came back with more drinks. She tossed hers back and got rid of it. The music began to sound more tribal, more drums, the pounding rhythm changing the way she moved. She danced to let go. Let go of Mama B, of her life in New York, of the pain and insecurity, of the terrible fear and loss she felt whenever she thought of her missing father, over the terror of being in Miami. She danced to burn out those memories, those emotions. To release, to rise above them, to fly. Nothing was as good. When you hit the right moment, when nerves and energy and emotion all combined into a pulsing, thriving, liberating mix, nothing seemed insurmountable.

Selah danced. Another drink. Michael was joined by friends, and they paired off, switched partners, danced as a group, danced alone. Moved to the bar and did shots, came back, diving through the crowd like dolphins, laughing and plunging through the bodies until they regained their spot and fell ever deeper into the delirium of physical release.

Hands on her hips, sure and strong. She didn’t care. Eyes closed she ground back into the guy, moving like an eel, arms raised. He moved in perfect synchronicity, matching her turns. She threw her head back, face to the ceiling, to the lights, and laughed. Finally, somebody who could dance. She began to test him, moving more daringly, picking up the pace, and he was there, matching each step, anticipating her, never tiring or stumbling. Perfect, perfect, absolute perfection. The song began to rise toward a crescendo, massive as a cresting tidal wave that rose into the very heavens before it broke upon them and swept them away.

Selah opened her eyes, and saw that a space had opened about them. Grinned, loving the attention. Saw their faces. Did not see enjoyment or admiration. Saw guarded expressions, somber faces, maybe even fear. Michael wasn’t even dancing, was just staring. A stab of fear in her gut. That hand on her hip, the other cool on the nape of her neck. She turned, nearly stumbling, and stared at the man. He was dressed all in black, but unlike Michael, his clothes seemed to be woven from the strands of night. He was older, tall, head shaven and skin so dark it seemed edged in blue. Strong features, striking features, twin scars along both cheekbones. He slowed, met her gaze. His eyes were black, utterly dark. The music pounded on, nightmarish now, and he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t dancing, just standing there, watching her.

His soulless eyes burned into her own, seared through her, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t act. She wanted to run, but instead he held out his hand, the gesture strangely plaintive, his face taking on a vulnerable cast that shocked her even more than his eyes. It was as if he were as shocked to see her as she was to see him. His fingers were long, his hand steady, and not knowing what else to do, she reached and took his hand with her own.

Chapter Five

He pulled her toward him and began to sway, his movement minimalistic in contrast to the heady cacophony of the music, and she fell easily in step. Couldn’t look away from those jet black eyes. No iris. No whites. Just smooth and liquid and utterly inhuman. But his face, his expression. It was still mesmerized, fascinated, as if he had never seen the likes of her before. No mockery, no hunger, nothing. Just that annihilating intensity. A thought came to her through the fog of blank paralysis, urgent and desperate: run.

Selah pulled her hand from his and stepped back. He stopped. She shook her head, unable to formulate a word, and then turned and dove into the crowd. No dolphin now, no delirious streak of light plunging and weaving its way through a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors. Now she was a panicked deer tearing through the woods, forcing her way out, away from the wolves.

She was drenched with sweat when she burst out into the nexus, adrenaline fighting the still pervasive influence of her buzz. She fought for calm, for control, clenching and unclenching her fists as she looked around. She did not look back over her shoulder. Instead, she slid through the crowd and returned to the club entrance, determined to find Maria Elena. Except her friend wasn’t there. The bouncer stood with his impossibly huge back to her, glowering at the crowd outside that was straining and yearning to get in. Selah thought of asking him where Maria Elena was, but thought better of it and instead faded back into the club.

Not knowing where to go, what else to do, she fled into the only place that felt remotely safe: the women’s restroom. It was crowded, and she walked quickly down along the line of women waiting impatiently for a stall, and slipped into one just as its occupant stepped out. She closed the door and locked it, ignoring the angry cry and curses from the woman who’d been next in line.

Selah sat and pressed the base of her palms against her temples as she fought for breath. Squeezed her eyes shut and saw him again, those strange wide scars smeared across both cheeks, his skin smooth and dry and a lustrous ebon. Those wide lips. Those eyes, devouring her. She shivered, and her eyes snapped open as she tried to dispel the image. She fought to not think of how his hands had felt on her hips, how they’d moved together. God.

She tried not think of Mama B, what she would say if she could see her now, hiding in a toilet stall in a club on South Beach. Instead she thought of her father. His pale, lean, worried face. The kind smile, the exasperated manner with which he always greeted her latest mistakes and adventures. She thought of how he smelled when she hugged him, how he would lean back and listen to jazz each night as he wrote his articles, sometimes simply staring off and tapping his finger on his upper lip. How his hand felt on her shoulder when they walked to their favorite diner each Sunday morning. How hard he worked, or how he insisted on visiting her mother’s grave once a month like clockwork, though it had been five years since she’d died.

Selah felt her eyes tear up. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t tough. She wasn’t this hard girl from the Brooklyn streets. She suddenly missed him terribly. His common sense, his quiet voice. He never yelled, no matter how far she pushed him. Missed how he would think things over before answering a question, how sometimes he would just watch her when she said something ridiculous to get a rise out of him. How tired he always seemed, worn out. By work, by her, by life. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he even alive?

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and she wished she hadn’t accepted Michael’s drinks. It was cold in the bathroom, and her clothes were sticking to her, sweaty and heavy. She wanted to be in her room back home. On her bed, in her pajamas, surrounded by her things, warm and safe and away from all this.

Somebody banged on the door. It rattled in its frame. “Come on already! I’m dying out here!”

Selah wiped her face with the back of her hand, and then grabbed a wad of toilet paper and blotted her eyes. Stood, smoothed down her shirt, ran her hands over her hair. Pictured his eyes. Like pools of oil, reflecting the lights of the club but revealing nothing. She shivered, opened the door, and marched out, ignoring everybody.

She paused at a sink. Washed her hands, washed her face. Thank god she wasn’t wearing makeup. Did her best to tackle her hair. Took a deep breath. All right. Maria Elena would be back soon. She just had to wait for her. Keep low, stay quiet. She turned to the door and hesitated. He was out there. Like a shark swimming through ocean waters. Walking out would be akin to diving right back into that ocean at night. Her stomach cramped, but she forced a deep breath down. This is what she’d asked for. This is what she’d dared when she told Maria Elena to bring her. No backing out now. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom all night.

Selah stepped back outside into the nexus. Blue hues painted everything in surreal tones. She scanned the faces around her. Nobody was searching for her; nobody had scarred cheeks. Moved to the right. She would find a corner in the lounge to hide in. One of the recessed seats. She hurried into the green-tinted space, and immediately slowed down. The vibe had changed since she’d last visited, grown more sensual and primal. The music wasn’t for dancing. Couples and groups were lounging on wide sofas, talking in each other’s ears over tiny low tables on which their drinks and fake candles stood. A DJ was visible in the back, nodding his head in time with the beat. Selah wandered in, navigating around the seats, trying not to trip on any legs, and found a huge armchair in the back. It was large enough for a giant, almost a chaise longue, so she scooted right into the back, pulled her knees in under her chin, and stared out at a vision of decadence.

Time passed, and the immediacy of her fear receded. She drowsed, chin lowering, eyes growing heavy. The music was hypnotizing. People were making out, finding recesses like her own to get to know each other better. It had been such a long day. But she couldn’t let herself sleep, fought to stay alert. It was too dangerous.

After a while, she pulled out her Omni once more. Found comfort in its brilliant screen. She searched for the term “freedom fight” and found a long series of videos, articles, information. She checked a video. Couldn’t hear the audio over the music, but saw enough to quickly close the feed down. Two men battering each other to death in a huge auditorium, a large crowd watching from the seats. She scanned the Wikipedia article. Read enough to realize that they were lethal fights held here in Miami at the old sports arena. If you won three fights, you could walk free of the city. Each fight was to the death. Though it was banned in the US, the fights were recorded and promoted online. Selah felt sick.

A message beeped. Jairo. Homesick and tired, she decided to accept the request. His face appeared on her screen, earnest and serious. He immediately threw up his hands and said something inaudible. She turned on the subtitles again.

“Finally!” he’d said. He mouthed something. “Are you OK?”

Selah shook her head. Jairo hadn’t been her very best friend back home, but he had been a friend. She thought he liked her, but whatever. That didn’t matter right now.

“We are all thinking of you,” the subtitles read. “Missing you like crazy.”

Her eyes teared up again. God, she thought angrily, all I do is cry. She blinked the tears away and tried for a brave smile. Typed out, “Course you do.”

“Where are you? Are you really on the Beach?” The admiration and fear on his face made her sit up a little.

“Yes,” she typed out. “At a club called Magnum.”

“You don’t waste any time,” he said. “What’s it like?”

“Crazy,” she replied. “Here, check it out.”

She had an Alpha connection after all. She put the Omni on 360-degree recording mode and set it on the table before her. Leaned forward at the last moment and sent the feed to not only Jairo but her Garden as well. Let the world see where she was.

The Omni didn’t change, but anybody tapping into her feed would be able to move their point of view around and look at anything they wanted. Zoom in, listen, whatever. She sat back, crossed her arms. Stared at the Omni. Let Jairo and Scott and Alessandra get a taste of just where she’d ended up. She felt absurdly abandoned by them, as if they’d chosen to leave her alone here. Incoming messages began to beep on the top right of the screen. She wasn’t surprised. Let them add on to the hundreds already queued on her Connection Wall. She’d check them later.

Selah looked past the Omni into the depths of the lounge. It was like a marine grotto, all shifting sea greens and shadows. She didn’t want to see what half the people were doing, but she knew Scott would be all over that action like the sick puppy he was. She searched for black eyes. Didn’t see any. Curious, morbidly so, she examined the couples who were hidden in the larger chairs, in the corners. Were they just making out, or …? She tried to see. Would a vampire feed in public? The word didn’t come as easily to her mind as it had before. Not after that dance. Just the thought set her heart racing.

A couple of large men appeared in the doorway to the room. They were alert, clearly not here to have fun. Selah scooted back, and then as they entered the lounge and began to make their way purposefully toward her corner, she snatched up her Omni and shoved it in her pocket. One of them was the bouncer from out front, while the second was a lean Hispanic dude wearing sunglasses looked at everybody with a harsh, sour-looking face. They knifed through the lounge, indifferently kicking legs out of their way, and Selah shrank even further back into her chair. They were coming right at her.

She looked around in a fresh bout of panic, searched for a new place to hide, to bolt to. What had happened? Before she could formulate a plan, they’d reached her and stood towering over her chair, blocking out the rest of the room.

The Hispanic guy held out his hand. “Give it over.”

“Give what?”

“Whatever you’re using to connect. Don’t make us take it.”

Her Omni? She hesitated and pulled it out. It was still recording. He snatched it out of her hands. Examined it, and then expertly turned it off. Not just off, but powered it all the way down. Slipped it into his pocket, and then nodded to the bouncer who leaned down and grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her roughly out of the seat.

“Hey!” she yelled, yanking back on her arm. “Get off me!”

People were staring. Frightened, eyes wide, their sultry moods shattered by the sudden violence, their latent and ever-present fear rising to gleam in their eyes. The Hispanic guy was already marching back to the door. The bouncer gave her a shove, nearly knocked her sprawling, and forced her to follow. Selah did so, rubbing her wrist, heart beating like a runaway train again. Oh god, she thought. Oh god.

They led her brusquely through the lounge, back into the nexus. Selah entertained the wild idea of making a break for the entrance, a sudden dash in the hopes of finding and then hiding behind Maria Elena who would explain it all, but the bouncer’s hand never strayed far from her shoulder—and in truth, she was too scared. What if she only got in more trouble? She let them lead her through a narrow door she hadn’t noticed before into a cramped corridor beyond.

The music was immediately reduced to a muffled bass beat and Selah wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of cigarettes and the tang of wet, rusting iron. The Hispanic guy led her past a couple of doors and into a cramped room that was little more than a drain in the floor and cinderblock walls. A mop rested inside a bucket in one corner, but that was it. The bouncer shoved Selah inside, and she stumbled in and caught herself on the far wall. Turning quickly, she pressed her back against the rough concrete and stared wildly at them both. She half expected them to simply lock the door and turn out the lights, but instead the Hispanic man crossed his arms and studied her, eyes as cold as those of a dead dog.

Selah met his gaze and stared right back. He was wearing a form-flattering black suit, which made him look compact and trim, and his goatee and moustache were manicured with what looked like obsessive care. Selah welcomed the pang of contempt she felt for how much effort he’d put in to keeping that thin little thing looking good. But his eyes were hard and his manner was hard. No sympathy there.

It hit her then. She couldn’t call the cops. There were no cops. She couldn’t get help. There was nobody who could come. Mama B was miles away behind a locked iron door, and Maria Elena had no idea that she was back here. Whatever was going to come, she would have to deal with it alone.

“What’s your name? Where’s your ID?”

“I don’t have an ID,” she said, his tone arousing her old anger.

“No ID? Then what? Who are you?”

“My name’s Selah Brown. I just arrived today. I was deported from …” It felt weird to say. “From the States. The US.”

“Deported, huh?” The man was scanning her. Clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. “You got anything on you then? Passport? Papers that show your entry date?”

No. She’d left those with Mama B. She shook her head.

“How convenient.” There was a knock on the door, and a skinny white guy stuck his head in. His face looked like a weasel that was forcing itself in through too small a hole. “Here,” said the Hispanic guy. “Take a look at this. See what you can pull.” He handed the other guy her Omni.

Selah stepped forward. “Hey! That’s mine!” Without any emotion, the Hispanic guy shoved her back hard enough to send her stumbling against the wall. Did so without looking at her. That shove was all business.

“Old model, but nice,” said the white guy, turning her Omni around in his hands. “OK. Will do.” He ducked back out.

“I’m going to ask again,” said her captor. A drop of sweat ran down his temple. It was hot in here. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” Selah tried to look scornful. “I don’t work for nobody. I just got here. I’m with Maria Elena—she works the front door. She brought me here. Just ask her.”

“Maria Elena, eh? OK. We’ll check with her in due time. But maybe she doesn’t know who you really are. What were you recording in the lounge?”

“Recording? Is that what this is about?” The man stared at her. “I was just recording to show my friends back home, that’s all. I haven’t had an Alpha connection since I got to Florida. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

“Sure,” said the man. “Recording to show your friends back home. We’ll see. You wait here.” He turned then and left. Selah tensed, terrified that he would turn off the lights and leave her in the dark, but he didn’t. She sank into a crouch, back against the wall, and lowered her chin onto her crossed forearms. Stared fiercely at the door, trying to understand what was going on, what he’d been implying. Clearly recording was a huge no-no.

A thought hit her. She blinked and straightened up. Did they think she was working for the Resistance? No, that couldn’t be it. But still. Was that what they thought?

The Resistance. The Liberation Project. The Free Miami Movement. They had a bunch of names, and sometimes it seemed their identity changed every week. But they were real. Real, and very popular, their videos and stunts garnering huge amounts of media attention and a loyal following. Staging acts of vandalism, piping out video feeds of atrocities, calling on the government and the people to act, to take Miami back.

Selah chewed on her lower lip. If that was the case, she could be in huge trouble. The Resistance was small because if you got caught, you just disappeared. A lot of their work involved tracking down the members who’d been taken. Trying to figure out their fates. If the Hispanic guy thought she was working for them, then—damn. Selah took a deep breath, panic fluttering in her chest.

She’d followed the Movement since it’d first gone live three years ago. Who hadn’t? Watched the first shakily recorded videos, marveled at how romantic and brave those people were, fighting back against the vampires. Like most girls, she’d developed a crush on Cloud, the leader of the group, a media-savvy guy who uploaded the most frequently, who regularly sent out essays and articles protesting the city’s subjugation. Cloud, always masked, voice fierce. Selah closed her eyes. Shit.

Time dragged by. She thought about pounding on the door. Wondered if they’d gone to fetch Maria Elena. What would they do to her? Kill her? Give her to a vampire? Her mind kept circling back to her Omni. They would for sure get access to all her regular, normal-girl stuff. Read all her private journals, see her photographs, and violate her privacy completely. The question was: would they also find her father’s hidden files? His research on Blood Dust, his profiling of top vampires in Miami like the vampire king Sawiskera, on Jocasta and the others. His speculation on the military’s involvement with the drug trade… Selah rubbed her face. Not only that, but they could easily check her browsing history. See that she regularly visited the Resistance’s site, and was an active member of a number of vampire-related groups. Would that be enough to incriminate her? She closed her eyes and repressed a groan.

Burgeoning panic made the small cell seem claustrophobically tiny. Why was there a drain in the floor? To wash away blood? How long could they keep her in here? Just when she thought she could take it no longer, the door opened, and the vampire stepped inside.

Chapter Six

Selah, expecting the Hispanic guy, had already begun to rise to her feet, protest on her lips. Her words died in her throat, so that the only sound she made was a queer croak. The strength went out from her knees and she sank back into a crouch.

He closed the door quietly, and then turned to look down at her. She gazed back up, terrified, mind slack with terror. His polished, smooth scalp shone under the fluorescent bulb. Those twin smeared scars, the raw, regal power in his face. Wide nose, broad lips, hard jaw. No sweat. No smell. Just eyes like oblivion, swallowing her whole, drinking her in. He stood as still as a statue, not breathing. Not moving. His hands didn’t sway, didn’t tremble even a little. A living statue. A dead statue. A vampire.

Selah shook her head. Her thoughts were a maelstrom. This was it. Her punishment. A tidy death in an anonymous closet. He was going to drink her blood, tear open her throat. No wonder there was a drain in the floor. This was probably where it happened, every night, over and over again. How many had died here? She was going to die—she was going to die.

Panic crawled and clawed its way up her throat, and she was about to start clawing at the cinderblocks behind her when he lowered himself smoothly into a crouch opposite her. Lowered himself with effortless grace, and rested his forearms lightly on his knees. He had put on a black jacket, she noticed, was still wearing the same black shirt and dress pants from before. His shoes shone in the harsh light. She looked everywhere, anywhere, but his eyes.

“Who are you?” His voice was soft, just louder than a whisper. Air forced out from his dead lungs. She saw him inhale, a purposeful movement, taking air back in and then simply holding it.

“Selah. Selah Brown.” Her voice was wooden. No more thoughts. Her mind had grown very still. She stared at his chest. If she didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t, either.

“Selah. Not Sethe?”

Selah frowned. “Sethe? No. My name’s Selah.”

He searched her face, and shook his head as if marveling. “Of course. A foolish question. Are you a member of the Resistance, Selah?” His face was somber, however, his eyes impenetrable. She tried to remember him on the dance floor, found that she absolutely couldn’t.

“No,” she said. Her word hung between them in the air. Everything hung in the balance. Her life, her fate. She stared at him and hoped, desperately hoped that he would believe her. He nodded. Arose just as smoothly to his feet.

“I didn’t think so. Hector tells me that you are new to Miami. You had best learn fast: people are not allowed to make recordings of any kind within the city. Even owning a device such as yours is a punishable offense.”

“I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Selah looked up at him. Part of her wanted to stand as well, but she couldn’t move. Somehow—could it be? Somehow it looked like she was going to survive.

“Hector wants to keep your machine. Make sure you register yourself tomorrow morning and get an ID. I might not be around to intercede the next time you make a mistake.” Selah couldn’t believe it—was there a touch of humor to his voice? Couldn’t look away from those eyes. She felt half mesmerized. Numb, dazed. She nodded.

“OK. I promise.”

“Good,” he said. He stared down at her for a moment longer. Seemed on the verge of saying something more, and then changed his mind. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He opened the door and walked away.

Selah closed her eyes. Rested her head back against the wall. Breathed in deep, slow breaths, trying to calm herself. Trying not to cry in the aftermath of such intensity. To stay in control. It took all her energy, all her will. Exhaustion came crashing down upon her, swamping her, so that she didn’t think she could move. Could ever move again. She could sleep right there. Just pass out, and sleep for eternity.

“Oh. My. God,” said Maria Elena. Selah opened her eyes as the other girl came into the room and knelt before her. Her face was torn, half terrified, half furious. “I told you to stay out of trouble! I told you to not do anything stupid! Oh my god, how could you get in so much trouble so fast?”

“I’m sorry,” said Selah, though she didn’t really feel sorry. She didn’t feel much of anything. It had all been too much. She just felt tired. “It was an accident.”

“I mean, you almost cost me my job! Maybe my life! The Resistance? Recording in the lounge? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” said Selah. She might as well be honest. “I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

That checked her. Maria Elena opened her mouth to let loose another volley of fury, but then stopped. Looked at her, and something new came into her eyes. She took a deep breath, and reached out to put her hands on Selah’s arms. “You’re right. This is my fault. I didn’t think. Again. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Your job?” asked Selah as Maria Elena hauled her to her feet. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not officially. Hector wants to kill me, but he can’t do anything. Not when the freaking Dragon tells him to leave it alone.”

“Dragon?” Selah looked at her friend. They stepped into the hall. “That’s his name?”

“That’s what they call him. He’s big time, chica. You never want to get his attention. He works for the Big Man himself. Sawiskera, you know? How the hell did you get his attention? You know what? Never mind. Let’s get out of here first.”

“My Omni?” asked Selah as they hustled down the hall. Hector stood in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at them both. Maria Elena gave him a nervous smile, ducked her head, and slipped past him and back out into the nexus. Selah felt a pang, muffled though it was by exhaustion. Her father’s Omni. What was she going to do without it?

Back into the blue light and music. Out into the entrance hall, then through the doorway, Maria Elena paused to snatch up her jacket, and then out into the night. A large crowd had gathered outside. Maria Elena and Selah stepped out around the side, and then began to stride away, away from the club, away from the sound and light and people. They crossed and went down a side street between two large hotels. Music and the sound of people desperately enjoying their night filtered over from behind designer hedges that separated the hotel entrances from the street. Down a half block, and then, miraculously, completely without warning, the beach.

Maria Elena pulled her over to a low retaining wall made of stone, capped with a smooth concrete top, and sat on it, but Selah remained standing, staring over the wall and at the white sands. The moon had risen. It was like a blessing, a sign that she was still alive. A promise. It painted the beach a marble white, patterned shadows under each scalloped sand dune, and then beyond it, the glory of the ocean. Vast and ponderous and sending its waves up the sandy slope in whispering surges. It was a calm night, no wind. Selah gazed at the great darkness of it, at the sparkling, scintillating waves under the moon, and inhaled deeply, cleaning her lungs of the smoke and replacing it with the tang of salt.

Remembered, then, how the vampire had breathed only so as to be able to speak. His black eyes, locked on hers, never blinking. The Dragon.

“All right,” said Maria Elena, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Now. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Selah settled down next to her. Studied her face. The sight of the moon had given her a new sense of calm. Perhaps it was just the fatigue. Could she trust her? She was only a couple of years older, but right now, having gone through that experience in the club, Selah felt the more mature of the two. Perhaps only by dint of having survived it. She reached out and took Maria Elena’s hand.

“Are you my friend?”

“What?” The other woman frowned at her, as if the question didn’t make sense. “Your friend?”

“Yeah,” said Selah. “Are we friends?”

“Damn girl, I nearly died tonight saving your skinny black ass. You bet I’m your friend.” Maria Elena blew out a plume of nearly invisible smoke and smiled. Still jittery, still nervous. She hadn’t, Selah thought, saved her. The vampire had. Nothing Maria Elena could’ve done would’ve changed things. But she had come. Had come for her, and not abandoned her. So she squeezed her hand, and felt Maria Elena squeeze back.

“Seriously, tell me, how the hell did you get the Dragon’s attention?”

Selah felt a fey, strange amusement well up within her. She controlled her face, tried to not smile. It was all so surreal. Looked out at the ocean and said calmly, “Oh, it was no big deal. We just danced for a while.”

Maria Elena let out an outraged squawk and stood. Stared at Selah, hands on hips. “You what? You danced with him? For a while?”

Selah looked up, smiled. Felt brave, foolish, happy. She was alive, she was free, and she suddenly loved the look on the older girl’s face. “Yeah. Only until I got bored, though.”

Maria Elena took her clutch purse and smacked Selah across the shoulder, and Selah nearly fell off the wall, laughing so hard that Maria Elena hit her again and then a third time, driving Selah off the wall and onto the sand.

“You,” said Maria Elena, pointing her cigarette at her, cherry tip bright in the night, “are grade-A crazy.”

“I didn’t know who he was,” said Selah, standing up and sitting back down.

“So like, what—is he a good dancer?”

Selah grinned, and then realized she was being teased. “Not bad.” Her smile smoothed away. That small room with a drain in the center. Those black eyes. The rancid fear. She swallowed, looked down at her hands, then back up. “Thanks, by the way. For coming in to get me.”

“Pssht, whatever. So OK. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything. Hector told me to take the night off. We’ve got time before we have to meet Angelo and get a ride back home.”

So Selah did. Maria Elena was a great listener. She began with her father’s disappearance, and then threw caution to the wind and told her about his investigation to Blood Dust, how she’d decided to come to Miami to continue his work, to refuse to give up on him and accept his disappearance. How she’d begun dancing with Michael, about his backflip, the drinks, the music. The hands on her hips. How good it’d felt. Maria Elena called her crazy again at that point, but it was true—that moment had been amazing. Then how she’d realized what was going on. The fear, the bathroom, the panic.

Maria Elena insisted that she’d been at the door the whole night, but finally admitted to taking a fifteen-minute break to score some food. Selah continued on about the lounge, her Omni, her decision to record.

When she finished, Maria Elena discarded her second cigarette and began to run her hands through her heavy mane of black hair. Lips pursed, she looked out at the ocean and shook her head. “I don’t know if you are the luckiest or unluckiest person I have ever met. Is it possible to be both?”

“I don’t know,” said Selah. “Apparently.” They subsided into silence. Both stared at the ocean, and then, knowing that Maria Elena would make fun of her, she asked, “So, what do you know about Blood Dust? Can you tell me anything?”

“Not too much. It’s new, yeah? And probably the one thing that’s illegal in Miami. I’ve heard that it’s big on the West Coast, and it makes people act crazy. If you get caught with it, you’re done. If you see people using or dealing, you got to report them.”

“Damn,” said Selah. “I asked Michael if he knew where I could get some.”

“You what?” Maria Elena just stared at her. “Girl, he must really have liked you. If he’d reported you? He’d earn a bunch of credits and you’d be done.”

“I know, I know.” Selah looked away. “Trust me. I was kicking myself right after. I just don’t know how else to get information. There’s so much I don’t know. What about this Dragon? You know anything about him?”

“Him? Like I said, he’s a big deal. He works directly for Sawiskera. You know who that is?”

Of course she did. The leader of the vampires, the elusive king. He was as mysterious as he was fascinating, in large part because people knew so little about him. There was only one photograph of him online, taken in the nineteenth century, and it showed a man of medium height in rough, homespun clothing, a Native American with a dour, bronze face and eyes of such utter and compelling night that even on a computer screen, it had given Selah shivers. Sawiskera, said to be the most ancient of vampires, said to have walked the US since before the first white men arrived, a being of incredible power and potence.

“Sure,” said Selah, “the main vampire guy.”

“Right. So the Dragon works for him. He’s like his right-hand man, or something. What he says is the law. He’s not bad as far as vampires go. I’ve only seen him once or twice, though, so who knows.”

“I see.” The feel of hands on her hips, how he had so easily matched her rhythm. Those dark eyes boring into her soul in that small room with the drain in its center.

“And … the Resistance? You know anything about them?”

Maria Elena shrugged, clearly not impressed. “No, not really. I know they’re a bunch of nerdy guys who hide in empty buildings and run around causing trouble. I don’t know what they think telling the world that there are vampires in here will accomplish. It’s not like people don’t know.”

“Yeah,” said Selah, “but don’t you think what they’re doing is important? Fighting for freedom and stuff?”

Her friend made a face. “I mean, sure. If you think things are going to change. If you think the government is willing to start a whole new vampire war. Me? I don’t think that’s going to happen. All the good guys got turned into vampires. Now it’s just a pack of cowards running things in DC, and I don’t think anything this ‘Resistance’ puts out will really make a difference. Other than annoy the vamps and get people killed.”

“I guess so,” said Selah.

“I mean,” said Maria Elena, waving her arm expansively, “think about it. Maybe if they were killing important vampires and blowing shit up. But making movies? Writing speeches? That’s never going to do nothing.”

Selah frowned and looked away from her new friend. It was hard to argue with her. The reality of what she’d seen here on the Beach seemed much more compelling. A society of sorts. People picking up their lives, somehow making do. Maybe she was right.

“Look. Tomorrow I’ll take you downtown to get an ID. If you want one.”

Selah considered it. “That would mean I’m part of this, right?” She gestured back at the beach. “This world?”

“Yeah,” said Maria Elena. “You register, you get signed up, sure.”

“I don’t know.” Selah looked down at her hands, then out over the ocean. It was so beautiful. She felt a sudden desire to swim out and float amongst the waves. Allow them to wash the dry sweat from her skin. “I don’t know if I want to be part of this. Part of this world you work in.”

“Your call, chica. But you can’t earn credits if you don’t have an ID. And no ID means no protection if you ever get in trouble.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.”

“Sure thing. We’re neighbors now. You just let me know if you ever change your mind, OK?”

“Sure,” said Selah, smiling. She touched her pocket reflexively for her Omni, felt a lurch when she realized it was gone. “Thanks.”

“OK,” said Maria Elena. “Let’s get going. We don’t want to miss that ride, and trust me, I know for a fact that Angelo won’t wait. You ready?”

“Yeah,” said Selah, getting up. She felt dizzy suddenly, and tripped on something. Maria Elena steadied her. “I’m good,” said Selah. “Just tired.”

“No te preocupes. Let’s get you home. Come on.” So they walked back, Maria Elena’s arm around Selah’s waist, along the sidewalks, through the sparse crowds, back down Lincoln and then out to where the car was parked, and where it turned out that Angelo was waiting for them after all.

Chapter Seven

Selah and Maria Elena arrived back at the Palisades at around five in the morning, just as the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. The guys dropped them off, and Maria Elena led her to an abandoned shack where she always hid while she waited, checking it out with her gun drawn. When she decided it was clear, they sat down, heads resting against the wall and Maria Elena told Selah about a small place that had once stood just two blocks away that had sold the best cortaditos, or little Cuban coffees. The trick, Selah was told, was adding plenty of sugar. As Maria Elena spoke tiredly but with nostalgic enthusiasm for the croquetas and empanadas and the crotchety old men who’d sit on Calle Ocho playing dominoes, Selah sensed how her friend used to love this city. Perhaps loved it still.

They had an hour to kill, and Maria Elena spoke fondly of the illegal bonfire parties she’d once gone to on the beaches of Key Biscayne, of friends long gone, people Selah should’ve met, would’ve loved. She even spoke of the old corruption with a certain wry fondness, recounting outrageous stories of graft and money laundering, vote robbery, and outright bribery. An old, bad, wonderful Miami that she’d known and understood. A city of human excess and vanity that’d made sense to her, that’d been hers and that she’d been a part of.

The sun rose slowly, and Maria Elena began to ask her about the outside world. What life was like in New York, what people thought of Miami, what high school was like. Explaining to Maria Elena about her old life, Selah found that her new friend already knew it all from watching old movies and going online—it was just that she didn’t seem to quite believe it was real. That everybody owned their own car, went to restaurants, or that electricity was readily available everywhere.

Not that life had ever returned to normal after the War; it had simply changed, adjusted. People tended to avoid going out alone at night, even though it was now safe. Everybody was fascinated with the vampires, and the media constantly focused on them. President Lynnfield had extended Martial Law and refused to allow Congress and the Senate to convene. There were a lot of civil protests, but they always resulted in mass arrests and the riot police moving in.

Maria Elena didn’t care about the politics, the big picture. She was greedy for descriptions of football games, of what it was like to hang out in the food court, go shopping for clothes. Selah indulged her, laughing as her friend tried to imagine what it was like to sit bored in class or take a hot shower every morning.

Eventually they dozed, and Selah came in and out of consciousness. There was a great palm tree on the street corner, and it was infested with birds that twittered and cried out to each other with great vigor and stridency. Parrots, Maria Elena informed her. Selah looked up at the mess of fronds through the window from where she sat, marveling, trying to see a colored feather, but failed to make out a single bird.

The darkness lifted by gradual degrees, dawn stealing across the streets as lightly as the finest Brooklyn cat burglar. Restless, Selah stood and moved to the empty window. She watched as ruined cars slowly changed from shadowy hulks into defined objects with shattered windows, faded paint and flat tires. Past a chain-link fence that ran along the far side of the train tracks, tucked behind a two-story warehouse. A huge mural had been painted on it with surprising talent, depicting a man from the waist up, his hands raised as if in supplication to the heavens, face tilted, pain and fervor in his eyes. An ocean of gray Hebrew letters swam behind him as if painted on the surface of the ocean, swelling and pinching in size so that the whole effect was mesmerizing.

They stood when they heard the steel door to the Palisades begin to grate and rattle. Maria Elena climbed tiredly to her feet, and hauled Selah up after her. They don’t like what I do, she had said on the drive home, but I’m one of them. I grew up in the area. They won’t kick me out, no matter what they say.

And she was right. Yawning, rubbing her eyes like a child, Selah filed in after her new friend under the disapproving glare of an unknown watchman and into the small marble lobby where only a solitary lantern illuminated a face-down novel. They passed through and into the courtyard, and Selah was surprised to see people already at work. A dozen men and women crouched amongst the rows of vegetables, which filled most of the courtyard, tending and weeding. Apparently, the irrigation system was malfunctioning, and two guys were standing at the base of a pipe that fed down from the courtyard’s ceiling into a water tank in the corner. A third man was up on the sixth floor, leaning out and shaking the pipe, trying to get it aligned correctly with the gutter feed.

Maria Elena ignored all this and said a sleepy goodbye, giving Selah a tight hug and then wandering off toward a far stairwell. Selah thought of following her, crashing with her for the day, but that would be cowardice. She stood for a while, watching the people work, repressing yawns and standing with her arms crossed against the wall. A couple of kids fed the goats while an old man milked one of them, squirting fresh blasts into a shiny metal pail.

Selah went upstairs. Up that staircase, past the spot where she’d cried and hid the night before. Down the hall toward Mama B’s room. Their room, perhaps. People nodded warily to her as she passed them. Up to the door, and saw that it was cracked open. She stared at that. The only door in the whole hall that wasn’t either wide open, residents already downstairs, or completely closed.

Selah studied the grain of the door’s wood. Frowned at nothing, chin lowered to her chest. She thought of the wild girl who had fled this room but eight hours ago, burning with wounded pride and anger, determined to prove her grandmother wrong. To show her that she could take care of herself, could pursue her wild investigation and uncover crucial clues that would lead to her father’s liberation. That girl felt like a different person. She hadn’t yet walked through that strange night world of IDs and forced gaiety. Hadn’t danced with a vampire, or faced probable death in a terrifying little room with a drain for blood in its center.

She entered just as a kettle began to shriek. Mama B was up. She could hear her in the kitchen, humming a tune, the clink of porcelain, and then the kettle’s shriek was suddenly cut off. Selah walked across the living room and stood in the kitchen door. Bundles of herbs hung from hooks over the stove, small copper pots beside them. Built-in shelving in the corner held a display of plates, cups, mugs, spices. A bundle of garlic in a bowl, a portrait of Jesus against one wall. The walls of the kitchen were painted a beautiful, soft Tuscan yellow, and in what little dawn light came through the chinks in the hurricane shutters, it seemed a gentle, comforting place. Mama B was bending down to turn a valve of a small gas tank that was tubed up to the stove, and with a grunt, she straightened and took up the cherry red kettle and poured water into a mug. The smell of instant coffee filled the room.

Selah said, “Hi.”

Mama B set down the kettle. She began to tremble, and then turned and crossed the room and buried Selah in her arms, held her close, pressed Selah’s head to her chest, her arms around Selah’s shoulders, holding her tight, so tight, and in her ear Selah could hear Mama B say over and over again, “Oh my baby girl, my baby, oh my Lord, thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Selah stood stiffly, and then by slow degrees melted into the hug. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of her grandmother, so familiar even after all these years. They stood still in the kitchen, a column of love, and then Mama B stepped back and held Selah by both shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“I ought to whup your ass,” she said. Selah saw how red her grandmother’s eyes were. Had she been up all night?

Selah smiled awkwardly. “You might have to get in line,” she said, and her grandmother snorted and pulled her in for one last tight hug and then let her go.

“Girl, you’ve been in town one night and already you’ve aged me ten years. I need my coffee. You want a cup?”

“Sure,” said Selah, and sat on a small stepladder set in the corner. She watched as Mama B poured hot water into a second cup, and the smell of coffee redoubled. Realized that she had already put the coffee powder in the mug before she’d arrived.

“How do you take it?” asked Mama B. “Sugar? Milk?”

“Lots of both. Thanks.” It felt like they were both walking on thin ice, that this feeling between them was as delicate and new as a dewy spider web. Selah laced her fingers between her legs and squeezed them with her knees. “How,” she began, but paused to fight back a yawn, “how do you like your coffee?”

“Black.” Mama B put a tablespoon of sugar into the festive red mug, and then pulled a small jar of milk out from a cooler by her foot and unscrewed the cap. Of course, thought Selah. No fridge. Mama B poured in what was probably goat’s milk, and then stirred the cup and handed it over. She then took a seat at a small round table that was shoved in the corner, and turned the chair to face her granddaughter.

“Now,” said Mama B, “let me take a look at you.” Selah blinked, and sipped her coffee. It was good. Strong, a little harsh, and the milk tasted funny. But it was hot and sweet and absolutely delicious. She thought of Maria Elena’s cortaditos, and wondered if they’d tasted like this. Mama B was staring at her—she hadn’t been kidding—and Selah did her best to hide behind the mug, sipping continuously in sudden embarrassment. Finally, Mama B nodded.

“I’m not going to ask what happened last night. Probably none of my damn business. But you’re here, and you seem to be in a better mood.” Selah felt a brief flicker of annoyance, but promptly squashed it. “So I’m just going to thank the Lord and say welcome home.”

Home. Selah felt a pang in her heart. This was home now. It was true. Simple and final. Selah sipped the coffee. “Thanks,” she said. “And, well, sorry.”

Mama B made a tsking sound. “Let’s both agree to not apologize, or we’ll be here all day. What’s happened is in the past. Today is a brand new start. I’m heading over to Jackson Hospital today to pick up some supplies, submit some reports, stuff like that. You want to come?”

That rang a bell. “The embassy? Sure.”

“Good. We’ll be heading out in an hour. Why don’t you take that time to unpack and make yourself at home, and I’ll let you know when we’re about ready to head out.”

“OK,” said Selah, in no hurry to get up.

“Good, then. We’ll have lots of time to talk, but I need to make the rounds and check in on people before we go. I’ll see you soon, love.” Mama B stood, took a final sip from her coffee, and set it down. She walked out past Selah, touching her shoulder as she went, and Selah sat still in the kitchen, listening to her grandmother gather her things in the living room and then leave quietly.

She reached for her pocket, only to remember her Omni was gone. Damn it. She’d have to find a way to get online, if only to change her passwords, tell people she wasn’t dead. Maybe at the embassy. It was quiet in the kitchen. The light was slowly changing from delicate dawn to the warmer hues of early morning. She fought back another yawn. Maybe she’d rest just a little.

¬¬

Selah awoke with a hand on her shoulder. Blinked, looked up, and saw Mama B looking down at her. “You want to stay this time? Sleep in?”

“No,” said Selah, meaning yes, sitting up. She rubbed her face and saw that she had simply curled up above her suitcase. Swung her feet to the ground.

“All right. We’re leaving now. C’mon.” Mama B walked out, closed the door. Selah quickly changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a light yellow shirt. She badly wanted a shower, but that seemed too complicated right now. Came out, followed Mama B downstairs, and then met with Cholly and a lady called Laura Burns in the lobby. Where Mama B was large and solid and powerful, Laura was slender, energetic. They exchanged hellos, and then both Mama B and Cholly drew their guns and stepped out into the street. They paused to look up and down the block, and then motioned for Laura and Selah to come out get into the rose-colored jeep.

Selah got into the back of the jeep with Cholly and leaned her head back, watched the dawn city come to life for about five minutes as the two women chatted up front, and then fell asleep once more.

She awoke to the sight of armed US soldiers. Mama B had reached a checkpoint, and for a wild moment, Selah thought she was going free. That thought died quickly—they were in line at a large gate, and sticking her head out the window, Selah gazed at what had once been Jackson Memorial Hospital.

Large buildings rose around her, great white square blocks with aquamarine windows. Trees had been chopped down in large numbers along the pavement, leaving ugly stumps, and the broad street on which they idled had been savagely crossed by an imposingly high barbed wire topped wall. A broad gate was open before them, cars slowly filing through.

Selah stared with avid curiosity and then ducked her head back inside. “Why an embassy? What’s there to talk about?”

Laura beat Mama B to the punch. “Why does any country need an embassy, Selah?” Her English was perfect, but spoken with a clipped Spanish accent. “It provides a safe forum in which the Americans and the vampires can speak.”

“Yeah, but they don’t need a whole compound for that. This place is huge.” Selah stared out the window again. There were at least a half-dozen huge buildings within sight, one of them at least fifteen stories high.

“It is not just the embassy,” said Laura. “Many NGOs have their headquarters here—charities, Red Cross, Amnesty International, and so on.”

“And it’s still a hospital,” said Mama B, voice low. “If you get hurt, and you’re lucky enough to make it here in time.”

They moved forward another space. Vehicles were leaving the compound too. Selah watched with interest as what looked like a campervan drove out with the Red Cross logo painted on its side.

Something fundamental about all this didn’t make sense. She struggled to articulate it, and then simply shook her head. “Why? Why do the vampires let all these groups into the city to help?”

“Think it through,” said her grandmother. “Why do you think the vampires would let other humans do all the work in keeping the Miami folks alive?”

“So they don’t have to do it themselves?”

“You got it. They know there’s enough bleeding hearts out there that will work their behinds off to try and help out. So why not let them?”

“People like you?”

“People like me.”

“So they’re using you. You’re being used.”

“Sure. You think that should stop me?”

“Well,” said Selah. She was still struggling with it all. “In a way, you’re helping them. Doing their work for them. You don’t have an ID or work on South Beach, but aren’t you helping them run the city, anyway?”

Mama B laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But there must be some forty thousand souls in Miami now. Down from, say, some three million five years ago. You tell me what’s more important: defying the vampires, or doing our best to make sure the remaining humans have food, medicine, religious services, and so on?”

The car before them was waved in, and Mama B eased the jeep forward, slipping her pistol into her handbag at the last moment. The guard apparently knew her, as they exchanged wry pleasantries while he checked her papers. Selah saw her grandmother pull out a white vampire ID, and the guard pulled out a military-grade Omni with which he scanned its barcode and then did a retina check. Selah stared. Mama B had an ID? He did the same for Laura and Cholly, and then looked in through the back window at her.

“She’s new,” said Mama B. “I’m bringing her in for registration. Here’s her passport.”

The guard read it carefully, and then stared at Selah. Scanned the passport, and then held the Omni up to her face. “Don’t blink,” he said. The Omni flashed green.

“All right, you’re good to go.” He stepped back and Mama drove in.

“You guys have IDs?” asked Selah. “I thought only the people who supported the vampires did.”

“We have to,” said Laura. “We wouldn’t be allowed into Jackson by the vampires if we didn’t.”

Selah processed that. Watched the street slowly roll by as Mama guided the car into the complex. It was huge. They passed a long brick building with National Parkinson Foundation emblazoned across its front. Took a right, and then drove into a six-story parking garage.

They parked and walked out into the sunshine. Down a few blocks and up to a building where Cholly elected to remain outside in the sunshine. Selah followed Mama B and Laura inside into a lobby filled with a large crowd of waiting people. Mama B explained that they were there for the same reasons: each was a designated leader of different pocket community, come to exchange census figures and evaluation forms for medical supplies and food. Mama B and Laura were in their element, spreading out and working the crowd, networking and connecting and greeting all sorts of people, many of them friends. Selah was a shadow at their elbow, watching, listening, studying, yawning.

It turned out to be a busy morning. Around midday, there was a community meeting orchestrated by several NGOs, a large affair with several hundred people seated in an auditorium. It lasted two hours, with a number of people getting up to make speeches, some angry, some impassioned, some truly heartbreaking. Mama B got up, and only then did Selah start to really get an idea how important her grandmother was. She spoke powerfully and to great applause about how inexcusable it was for services to not have developed further, how greater pressure needed to be placed on the vampires to allow more in-depth aid to be delivered right into the city, the need to liaison with community leaders in the rest of the US to pressure the government to work harder at creating more progress.

Selah tried to pay attention, but much of it referred to ideas and programs she wasn’t aware of. Acronyms were thrown around, legal precedents, and by the end of it she simply had a sense that a lot of the potential progress was being frustrated by bureaucracy and a lack of political will. At the end of the meeting, a number of organizations spoke, offering reassurance, promises, and hope, but Selah found most of it too inspirational and idealistic to believe.

The meeting adjourned, and attendees formed clusters to discuss things further, to seek each other out and exchange business cards, to praise each other and laugh, to speak angrily and grandstand further. Selah chose to remain seated. She watched Mama B at the center of a particularly large crowd. She was in her element. Listening, laughing, balancing a paper plate of food and a glass of orange juice, nodding, holding court.

“This seat taken?” asked a voice, and Selah looked up to see a young guy in a suit standing next to her. His skin was a rich caramel, his features racially ambiguous. Good-looking, though, clean-shaven and young. Selah looked at the long rows of empty seats around her, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not at the moment,” she allowed, and he slid into the seat next to her with a sigh of pleasure, as if he’d been standing all day. “Who are you?”

“Tim Hedges. I’m with Doctors Without Borders.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Tim smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh no, not yet. I’m just interning with the organization. I’m in med school, though, so maybe one day. You?”

“Selah Brown. I live in Miami.” It felt strange saying that. After all this talk of survival and hardship, bravery and resolution, it was almost a badge of honor.

“You’re with Mrs. Brown?”

“Mrs. Brown?” Mama B. “Yeah. I’m her granddaughter.”

“I’d better watch my step, then,” he said, smiling again.

“Why? You scared of her?”

“You’re not? Even my boss is scared of her. She’s a force of nature.”

“Tell me about it,” said Selah.

Tim’s Omni rang. He dug it out, checked something, and went to put it away.

“Hey,” said Selah. “Can I use that real quick?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “My Omni?”

“Mine was stolen last night. I need to change some passwords.”

He hesitated. “Sure. Let me close a couple of things.” He shut down some programs, and then handed it over in general browsing mode. It felt great to hold one again. She checked the connection. Alpha, of course. She resisted the urge to check her Garden or Shrine and instead quickly went through all her service providers, changing passwords everywhere and checking for changes.

Browsed back to her Garden. Stopped. Froze. It was wiped clean, just a concrete expanse. She jumped to her Shrine and stopped again. In its place was the base template, a simple house made of glowing yellow light. Everything had been wiped, deleted. She checked for backups. Gone. Checked to see if she could retrieve the data. Gone.

“Bastards,” she said in a strangled whisper. Her eyes stung, and she realized she was sitting stiffly upright.

“What’s wrong?” asked Tim. She ignored him. Her friends had left a number of concerned messages hovering over the concrete ground of her Garden, and she saw that Jairo had already laid down grass over a quarter of the space. A tentative offering. She couldn’t believe it. This was her Garden. This was her most cherished and sacred space. Where she communed with her best friends, where she posted the essence of her self. And her Shrine. Just gone. Gone.

Selah looked up, breathing quickly. She was going to kill them. That weasel-faced guy at the club. It must have been him. She quickly dove back in, ignoring Tim. Opened a hanging banner in midair, and wrote:

I am alive and well. The bastards who did this are going to pay.

Messages blinked into existence, people noticing that she was online and trying to ping her, open lines of communication. She couldn’t answer them, not now, not here. She realized she couldn’t take looking at her ruined home any longer, and was about to log out when a connection window opened up in midair by itself.

Selah blinked. That shouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. She had to accept an incoming message before it activated. She peered at the name at the top, and saw that there wasn’t one. That wasn’t supposed to be possible, either.

A guy’s face, about her age, light-skinned and cautious. “Hey,” he said, “you’re Selah, right?”

Selah shot a glance at Tim. He was starting to look really annoyed. She flashed him an apologetic grin that did little to hide her mounting fury, and turned away from him to look into the screen.

“Who the hell is this? What are you doing in my Garden? Did you do all this?”

“What? No! No way. We had nothing to do with this wipe. I just came in here to check if you’re OK.”

“Who are you? We? We who?”

The guy held up both hands as if to slow her down. “Look, we all saw that video stream you piped out of Magnum. We all saw you get grabbed, and we got worried. Then your Garden gets wiped. We thought you’d been killed.”

“Who the hell is ‘we’? Who are you? How did you force your way in here?”

The guy paused, a mixture of embarrassment and pride on his face. “I’m—well, we’re here in Miami with you.” He peered at something off-screen. “Though it looks like you’re in Jackson Memorial embassy now. Did you get asylum?”

“No, I did not get asylum. Tell me who you are or I’m logging off.”

“Ah, I don’t really want to say who I am. Erm. It’s not safe. What we thought happened to you might happen to me if I get traced.”

Selah blinked, sat back. Stared at the guy’s face. The Resistance? “Oh. Oh! I think I understand.” She felt a surge of excitement. “Wow. And you guys saw my feed? My recording?”

“Hell, yeah,” said the guy. “We all did. It received something like a couple of hundred thousand views before the original got deleted from your Garden. But copies have already been made and it’s still out there. Mostly because of what’s going on between two girls on a couch to the left, but hey. You’re kind of a star right now. People are all wondering what happened to you.”

A star? Tim stood. “Selah, I have to go. Can I have my Omni back?” She glanced up at him. His face had grown tight and annoyed.

Back to the screen. “I have to go. They took my Omni. This is somebody else’s.”

“OK. Well, we just wanted to check in and make sure you’re safe. Nice meeting you.” The window began to close.

“Wait!” It paused, opened again. The guy looked at her with raised eyebrows. Selah tried to phrase the wild desire that had burst into her chest as carefully as she could. “I want to meet you guys.” He stared at her. Unconvinced. “You said I’m a star right now, right? Maybe I could help you somehow. Use this attention for something.”

He thought it over and then shrugged. “I’ll have to double-check, but yeah. Sure. We can at least meet. How about tonight at ten? 2312 NW 2nd Ave. That work?”

Selah opened her mouth to say no, that didn’t work, she couldn’t be out past eight, but Tim reached down and tore the Omni from her hands. Before she could say anything, he closed down her browser and shoved it in his pocket. “Excuse me. I have to go back to work.”

“But—I was just—I wasn’t—”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your chat. But I don’t want to get fired. Excuse me.” He turned and began making his way out.

“Tim!” Selah stood up. He didn’t stop. She had really pissed him off. She wondered how she would react if somebody had done that with her Omni. Winced. “Hey, I’m sorry!” He kept walking, went down the steps and out of sight.

Selah sat back down. Below, Mama B was laughing over a loud joke, crunching down on a cracker covered in cheese or something. Selah stared down at her. Ten p.m. She had just made peace with her grandmother, with her new life. Resolved to start settling down and behave. Still. Could she pass up a meeting with the Resistance?

Chapter Eight

Selah was quiet the whole way home. She felt a stirring uneasiness that she didn’t know how to reconcile. Watched the city go by. It was so much more complex than she’d expected. The shattered shells of homes, the downed telephone cables, the few people sitting in the sunshine in their deck chairs watching cars roll by.

When they got back, the whole building turned out, excited to see what Mama B and Laura had brought home, calling out their requests as they gathered in a thick crowd around the jeep. Selah slipped away and wandered around the Palisades, peering into apartment doorways and pondering the different people that had been gathered here by fate to make this place their homes. She tried to imagine the building as it had been before the war, filled with strangers, nobody knowing their neighbor’s name. Eventually, she returned to her room, still unsure about what she would do that night, and passed out.

She awoke at dusk. She’d slept poorly, slicked in sweat and without even a fan to stir the thick, humid air. Sitting up, she felt stale, scruffy, in need of a shower. She rose, and entered the living room. Mama B was reading a report of some kind in her armchair, holding the papers up to the dim evening light that filtered in through the western window, squinting as the text disappeared into the gloom.

“What do we do about showers?”

Mama B looked at her over the rims of her narrow glasses. “Most people swim in the Miami River when they need to wash. That’s not too far from here, but it’s too late and we tend to go in groups. So you’d probably best use the communal shower. It’s right downstairs in the yard, by the drainpipe. Don’t know if there’s any water in it right now. People usually take turns during a storm.”

Selah grabbed some clothes, a towel, and a bar of soap and headed downstairs. People were out and about, sitting together in a relaxed fashion, playing cards or dominoes. She already recognized a few faces, and returned nods stiffly, but didn’t pause to say hi. Instead, she made her way down to the courtyard and to the water pipe corner, skirting the goats and staring at the dim lines of vegetables. A couple of old men were lighting the fires in each corner of the yard, and they greeted her sociably enough. Mama B hadn’t been kidding. The shower bag was a bright yellow affair, suspended by nylon cords from the first floor balcony and ringed by a shower curtain that was currently pulled open.

“Don’t use all the water.” A young boy stared up at her with large eyes. “I did and people got mad at me, so don’t do it too.”

“All right,” said Selah. “I won’t.”

“It helps if you get all wet first real quick and then stop the water. Then you can use the soap and when you are all soapy, you can use a little water to rinse off. That’s my method. It works.”

“OK,” said Selah. “Um, thanks.”

The little boy stared at her for awhile longer, then let out a yell that sounded like a war cry and ran off, waving a stick he’d held all along behind his back, rattling it along the wall. Selah couldn’t help it—she smiled, shook her head, and turned back to the shower.

Showering and putting on clean clothing distracted her from making a decision, but she could put it off no longer. What was it going to be? She felt torn; she had resolved to learn more about Miami before pursuing her investigation, to not make any more amateur mistakes that could get her killed. Still, when she thought of Mama B at the embassy, surrounded by like-minded community figures, trying to make a difference, work with the system, she felt something within her balk. She studied her nails and worked some dirt out from under them. The idea of all that paperwork and talking and politics didn’t seem like the way to go, either.

Then what? The Resistance. She thought of Cloud. Of his eyes, burning bright with a fevered passion, his mocking laugh. She wondered what he looked like under the scarf that always covered his face. All anybody ever saw was his Asian eyes. Was it possible that she might work with him? Join the Resistance? Might they not know more about Blood Dust, the connections between vampires and the government?

Selah stood and went to the little bookcase in the corner of her tiny room. Three shelves. She looked at the titles, and then snatched out a ratty book of maps. Miami-Dade, it read. The date was 2019. Only a couple of years before the war. He’d told her 2312 NW 2nd Avenue. She flicked through the pages, saw that several were missing. Checked the index, flipped back and found it. Stared at the little squiggles, then worked on finding the Palisades. She was about twenty-five blocks away. Say it took her two minutes to walk a block, being careful. That would be just under an hour. If she was careful, if she drew no attention to herself, if she was just a little bit lucky, she could still make it.

Without thinking it through further, she tore out the relevant map and folded it into her jeans pocket. Grabbed her passport and entry papers, and shoved them in her back pocket and went out into the living room. Mama B was in the kitchen. Silently, Selah walked over to her handbag and peered inside. The pistol gleamed dully. Before she could change her mind, Selah took it and slipped it under her belt at the small of her back and dropped her jacket over it.

“Where you going?” asked Mama B in a neutral voice.

Selah turned, heart hammering. “Going to get to know the folks in here,” she said, the lie coming smoothly. “Be all neighborly.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Mama B. Her face gave nothing away.

“Bye now,” said Selah, giving a little wave and stepping out before anything else could be said. She hurried down the hall, thought of trying to find Maria Elena, and quickly discarded the idea. She hurried downstairs and into the front lobby. Please, let it be before eight, she thought, over and over again. Please.

It was. The door was not yet locked. Before the two guards could say anything—Tyler and Burnel, the same guys from last night—she skipped lightly through the lobby and out the door, giving them the most charming smile she could, and stepped out into the dusk.

The air was cool, for Miami, at least. The skies above were once again filled with an orchestral arrangement of majestic clouds, vast and epic and catching fire as the sun set. She took a deep breath and began to walk, striding down the broad and buckled pavement, under the palm tree where the parrots had called so loudly that morning. They were silent now, and she crossed the street and continued south. Memories of her wild run the night before came back to her. She recalled her fear and panicked elation. What a difference a night made—this time she felt a determined calm with an undercurrent of deeper excitement. If she had her Omni, she’d post something to her Shrine, tell only her very best friends that she was on her way to meet the freaking Resistance.

She grinned. They would flip their shit. Energized, she broke into a light jog for a few blocks and then slowed down. No sense in drawing attention to herself. A group of young men detached themselves from the side of a building and began to follow her, so Selah drew her pistol and allowed it to hang by her side as she walked on. She didn’t look back, but sensed them slow and stop. Relief flooded her, and she bit her lip. Careful. For crying out loud, remember where you are.

Shadows were merging, pooling into each other, growing velvety and menacing as the city grew dark. The rooms behind shattered windows became ominously obscure, and a prickling sensation between her shoulder blades made her feel as if she were being watched.

Four men rode by on bicycles, rifles slung over their shoulders. They were clean cut, and examined the street around them with wary disdain. Heading home, thought Selah. She almost entered a block where a long line of hungry looking people were filing up to the back of a large truck, where two men were handing out cartons of food and water. One World NGO read the logo on the truck’s side. Selah slowed, stopped, and then turned around. No sense in walking past all those people and drawing the wrong kind of attention.

She passed a condo building similar to the Palisades eight blocks south, all storm-shuttered up and leaking lights around the seams. The faint sound of voices drifted out along with the smell of cooking food and wood smoke. Her stomach gurgled at the rich aroma, and she immediately regretted not grabbing something to eat before going. But, ah well. Live and learn.

Selah tried to move quickly but cautiously. She paused at street corners and examined the intersections, searching for movement. Kept glancing behind her. At one point she heard footsteps echoing her own, overlapping with hers briefly before becoming discordant once more. She whirled around but had seen nobody. Heart hammering, she stepped into a doorway and strained to hear something, any sign of pursuit. Silence. She tested the door behind her and found it to be unlocked. Tentatively, she cracked it open and from within the small little house stole a rich, rotten smell, something meaty and spoiled. She closed the door carefully, and then sprinted from the doorway, running for two blocks before spinning around again. Nothing. Paranoia fought terror in her heart, and she spent five minutes standing still, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, until, with great reluctant, she continued on. She didn’t hear the footsteps again.

It was fully dark when Selah reached the address. She had no idea as to the time—she could even be early. Her nerves were taut, and she crouched in a doorway for a good five minutes that felt like thirty, just studying the area as best she could in the dark. There were no streetlights here, and though the moon was visible just over the horizon to the east, it was still too low to help out.

Her destination was a beautifully painted building across the street set next to a tiny park. The building was a blocky single-story rectangle, and she could barely make out the dim mural that had been painted across its front, a psychedelic imagining of blues that might’ve been the ocean, might’ve been the weave of a doll’s hair. A small boat floated on it, filled with absurd-looking people.

This was it. Time to go in. Everything was silent. Taking a deep breath, Selah ghosted forward, across the street and then down the sidewalk to the front door. It was once glass, but the panes were shattered and only the black iron frame remained. Glass crunched underfoot. She peered inside. It was like looking down a well, pitch black with a sense of depth, of high ceilings and distant walls. Nervous, mouth dry, she pushed open the iron frame and stepped inside, into the dark. It was like stepping off the edge of a cliff and into the void.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed slightly. Her eyes, already used to the night, began to acclimate to this deeper darkness, and she saw glass glinting along the far left wall, bottles and perhaps mirrors arrayed behind a bar. The depths to her right extended far away. “Anybody here?”

A lighter flickered to life, and a long tongue of yellow flame sprang into existence to her left. She started and stared, eyes wide, and felt a wave of relief as she recognized the face illuminated from beneath in a Halloween-special kind of way. It was the guy from her Garden, her Resistance connection. He looked serious, solemn, and behind him a dozen bottles set on glass shelving glimmered as they reflected the light of his flame.

“Hey,” he said. “Selah. You sure you weren’t followed?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m pretty sure.”

He nodded and gestured for her to approach. She did so, reaching out blindly with her hands, knocking a chair over as she did so, bumping around a square table. At last she reached what turned out to be a bar, found a high seat, and sat.

“My name’s Fox,” he said.

“Fox?”

Fox looked annoyed. “It’s my codename. We’ve all got one. It helps keep us safe, you know. In case one of us gets grabbed and is forced to talk.”

“Oh,” she said. “Should I have one?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But let’s hold off on that.” He leaned against the bar, arms folded. He was skinny, she saw, and not as tall as she’d imagined. He studied her face. “So tell me what brought you here.”

“Here tonight?”

“No, to Miami.”

“Oh,” said Selah. “Um.” She held onto the bar and spun her seat a little from side to side until she caught him watching and stopped. This was it. She was almost too scared to ask. To hit another dead end. “I’m from Brooklyn. My father disappeared about two months ago. He’s a reporter with the New York Times, and I think he was arrested for investigating something he shouldn’t have. I did everything I could think of to find out what happened to him, but nobody would tell me anything. It’s like he just vanished. But I found these files of his that told me what he had been investigating, and so instead of going into foster care, I decided to follow the Treaty’s extradition laws and asked the court to assign me to my grandmother’s custody here in Miami. So they flew me down and bused me in. My grandmother’s in a building called the Palisades. You know it?”

He nodded, though she thought he might simply be trying to look knowledgeable. “Sure, I know it. But why did you come here? What was your dad investigating?”

Selah took the plunge. “Blood Dust. You heard of it?”

Fox pursed his lips, and then nodded. “Sure.”

“You do?” The relief was giddying. “What do you know? I’ve got some names I want to learn more about, like a Colonel Caldwell? I figure, if I can find the person who dad pissed off, then I can start working my way—“

“Whoa, hold up. Slow down. Let’s take this one step at a time.” Fox shifted uneasily. “What exactly happened last night?”

Selah reined in her enthusiasm. One step at a time. So she told him. Maria Elena, the ride to the Beach, dancing with the Dragon, recording with her Omni. How the Dragon had possibly bailed her out despite Hector’s wishes. What had sounded outrageous last night by the ocean with Maria Elena sounded terrifying tonight here in the dark, especially when Fox recoiled at her mention of the Dragon.

“No shit. He helped you out? That’s a freaking first. He’s a monster. He’s responsible for killing a whole bunch of us.”

“Really?” Maria Elena’s words came back to her. “Have you guys thought about killing him?”

“Well, no,” said Fox. “Not really. We’re not into violence. Cloud’s all about electronic rebellion. He says that violence begets violence, and that if we started killing off vampires, they’d just crack down on us and make everybody’s life hell. So we just try to avoid him.”

Selah nodded. She’d studied Gandhi and Martin Luther King in school. “I guess peaceful marches wouldn’t cut it here.”

“Not so much.”

“I want to help.” The words just slipped out. Fox didn’t react, clearly having expected something similar. “I mean, I’m willing to help out in exchange for learning everything you know about the Dust trade. You said that people are paying attention to my recording from Magnum, right? Maybe we could capitalize on that. Maybe I could promote a recording of yours with my next feed, use my popularity to get whatever you want promoted out there?”

“Well, sure, but it’s not that simple. You got away from Magnum last night because your recording was clearly an accident. Suppose we release a second feed and identify you with the Resistance. Guess who would come knocking at your front door the next night?”

“Oh,” said Selah, “right.” Disappointment hit her. It’d seemed like a great plan. “Maybe I could wear a mask, and just say it was me? No, wait. That wouldn’t change anything. People already saw my face in the Magnum recording.”

“Right. That’s what Cloud said.” Selah felt a jolt of adrenaline. Cloud had been talking about her? “He doesn’t think we can use you. Your identity’s been compromised. The vamps know who you are. We can’t risk endangering you or ourselves by working together.”

“Wait,” said Selah. She felt crushed. “You mean, I can’t help at all?”

“Well, maybe you could send us information, or do some background work. But we don’t think it would be smart for you to meet anybody, or be given any sensitive information. It would be too dangerous, to you and to us.” Fox paused awkwardly and grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re kidding me?” said Selah. “There’s got to be a way. You won’t tell me anything? But I need to know. You don’t understand. I came all this way—I’ve imprisoned myself in this city—just so I could learn something to help out my dad. You have to help me. There has to be something!” It wasn’t supposed to work out this way. She was supposed to meet up with Cloud, help him out with his most dangerous missions, and in exchange he’d tell her everything she needed to know to blow open the conspiracy that had taken her father. Not send them secret messages about what was happening inside the Palisades and learn nothing in return.

“You know,” said a new voice, lazy and amused from the doorway, “he’s right. It’s amazing how huge a security liability you would be.”

Selah whipped around and stared at the entrance, scrabbling for her pistol as she did so. A slender figure leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, a black silhouette against the faint moonlight.

“Who—” asked Selah, but Fox was already moving. As he extinguished his lighter and darted away, somebody fired a gun. The sound of the shot was explosive, shocking, and Selah fell off her stool as she ducked reflexively, crashing to the ground onto broken plates and glass and losing her gun in the process. Gasping, she looked up, and saw that the figure was gone from the door. She heard a second shot and then a yell of rage. The flash of gunfire had been a stunning blank in the dark, and the air smelled acrid, as if the shot had burned it. A second door opened to the night against the back way, and two figures sprinted through it and away. Had one been the stranger?

She lay still, trying to listen over her heartbeat. Blinked away the dust, and fighting not to sneeze. Silence. Just her breathing, as quiet as she could make it, fear making her want to breathe in short, shallow gasps. Who was that? The footsteps that she’d decided she’d imagined? The silence mixed with the darkness so that they both pressed down upon her. She decided to give it another moment, and then slip out. Go home. Maybe Fox was right. Maybe this wasn’t for her.

After what she gauged was another minute, she felt with trembling fingers across the floor for the pistol. Where was it? Had she dropped it on the bar when she fell? Her fingers crept over shards of glass, splinters of wood, and then across the legs of the high chair. Carefully, gritting her teeth, she used the chair to stand. While doing so, she stepped on a piece of broken glass and it crunched underfoot. She froze, eyes wide, and stared into the black. Colors floated in her vision, but all was still. The oppressive silence continued. No breathing but her own. No sound at all.

Relax. The stranger chased Fox out the door. That’s who he was after. He wanted the Resistance, not you. He’s gone. Just get out, get home, and swear to Jesus never to go out at night again.

She stretched out her arms and searched the top of the bar. Nothing. Frustration merged with her panic and the thought of getting on her knees to search the ground once more was too much. She had to get out. Get away. Carefully she began to walk toward the front door. Each step was horrifically loud, kicking or crunching something on the ground. She moved slowly like a blind woman, heart thudding painfully in her chest, nausea roiling the pit of her stomach. She breathed in shallow, light sips of air. Focused on the door. Halfway there.

A lighter flicked to life. A man was seated at a table to her right. He could’ve reached out and touched her. Selah screamed, leaped back. He watched her, cruel amusement on his handsome white face. His eyes—his eyes were jet black. Selah couldn’t think. Her mind seized and she stumbled back, hands clenched into fists, fists pressed to her mouth. His eyes were perfect pools of liquid night, each reflecting the flame in miniature.

“Hello,” he said in that same cultured, taunting tone. The stranger from the doorway. Black blood stained his chest, had soaked into his clothing, fresh and wet in the lambent light of the flame. It didn’t seem to bother him. Selah took another step away, unable to take her eyes off him, wanting to turn and run but only capable of stumbling back, step by step, away from that ghastly smile, that sick twist of his lips, and those ravenous eyes that held her trapped.

“I didn’t realize there was a second one hidden by the door. Sloppy of me. Foolish, even, to think that only one would come. I’ll be chastised later. Punished for my mistake.” He could’ve been recounting the weather report. There was no real concern on his face. Something else, though. Another expression, a predatory variation of the look men gave her when they gazed at her with lust. “Ah, well. Still, you’re here. All alone. And so beautiful. So young. I’ll have to assuage my sorrow with your company.”

That’s when she understood. When she recognized his expression, what lay snarling beneath his amused façade, what burned in his black eyes. Hunger.

Chapter Nine

Selah turned and ran for the door. It was only five yards away, but it might as well have been a mile. In the darkness she crashed into a table, knocked it onto its side, and plunged on, sobbing with rising terror. She tripped, nearly fell, but caught herself and regained her balance, and ran right into the vampire.

He was back in the doorway. Had somehow crossed the intervening space without effort, without sound, so that she ran straight into his arms. Before she could react he embraced her, pressed her against his lean body, her face held against his cold, clammy shirt. His bloody shirt, which was damp and cold despite the blood having just flowed forth from the large bullet hole over his heart.

She screamed and thrust back against him. Could hear him laughing as he held her, held her as effortlessly as if she were a child. She fought to push him away with both hands and felt smooth muscle beneath his shirt. Without warning he let her go and she sprawled backward, crashed to the ground on her ass and immediately skittered away, pushing with her heels until she fetched up against the underside of a fallen table.

He was still laughing, arms crossed once more as he leaned against the doorframe. Indolent, at ease, immensely aroused. She could feel his eyes upon her. Was supremely, horrifically aware of her own pulse, how her heart thumped and pushed hot blood through her veins and arteries. She glanced at the back door. Too far. Could she make it back to the bar and find the gun? To what end? The first bullet had done nothing to him.

He straightened. She knew he would begin to walk toward her at any moment. She shook her head. No. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She had to stall, to buy time.

“How,” she began, voice catching in her throat, high pitched and panicked to her ears, “how did you find us?”

He merely laughed.

“That was you, wasn’t it, following me before?” She had to keep talking. “I mean, I thought it was my imagination, but it was you. Why were you following me?”

“Oh, but that wasn’t me. It really was your poor, fevered imagination, leaping at shadows. I came straight here. 2312 NW 2nd Avenue, he said. Easy enough to find.”

Selah didn’t understand. “You knew the address? How?”

Mild impatience in his voice now. “We were listening in while you spoke with ‘Fox’ in your Garden, Selah. Rupert installed a very subtle bug after wiping your Garden clean. We simply left it there to record and report on any activity. Simple but effective, don’t you think?”

Selah felt a flicker of fury, that old welcome flame, but it guttered and died as the vampire stepped forward. “I appreciate your attempt to buy time, but your friends aren’t coming back. They never do. Like cockroaches, they scuttle for cover the moment an adult turns on the lights. As he told you, this gunshot wound not withstanding, they do indeed seem to abhor violence.” The vampire took a step forward. “I, however, do not.”

Selah jumped to her feet, and turned to run for the back door, knowing she wouldn’t make it. It was like every nightmare she’d ever had that featured her running at the speed of molasses, as if her legs were knee-deep in honey. She prayed for another gunshot. For somebody to help her.

Nobody came.

Without warning he was upon her, the length of his body pressed against her back, hand cupping her chin, lifting it, pressing her head back against his shoulder, his other arm pinning both of hers across over her chest. A scream fought its way up her throat, but she choked it down, refused to give this thing the satisfaction. Fury caused her to elbow him, to thrash and kick, but it was no use.

She felt his cold lips on her throat, then the delicate pinprick of teeth. Felt them slide through her skin, puncture deep, and her heart stammered, thrilled, was swept away on a sudden river of burning pleasure. Nobody said it would feel so good, her last thought spun away. Nobody.

She relaxed, lowered her arms. His lips were tight on her skin, sucking and licking as her blood came gushing forth, surging up from her dark depths into the glorious incandescence that was his mouth. She felt all sense of self begin to fall away like grains of sand through her fingers. An intense pleasure began to mount deep within her core, between her legs, and it rose urgent and compelling and utterly devastating.

Selah melted into him. Couldn’t think, couldn’t fight. She stopped being herself. There was only this throbbing torrent of pleasure, like a cascade of falling stars passing through her soul, searing her with their passage, burning beautifully through the fabric of her being and torching her as they fell, destroying her forever. And she loved it. Welcomed this destruction, this annihilation of self.

Slowly, she lost all sense of her body. Of his lips, his hands, of everything except her heartbeat. There was only darkness, a vast cathedral space that was the void, and it echoed, reverberated with the steady pulse of heart. Which was slowing. From its sound it had to be the size of a house, each beat tolling out her life, each beat a moment of the future that was dying as its echoes sank into the past. Slower and ever slower.

A part of her realized that she was dying. This was death in all its finality, but there was nothing she could do. A memory came to her of her father’s face as he held her mother on a beautiful day in the park when Selah was only nine, one of her most treasured and happiest memories. A perfect picture, a perfect moment, before the war, just before the world went mad and her mother died. Her heart was beating so slowly now, only once a minute, once every eternity. The end was here. Selah closed her eyes, and allowed the image to fade.

Then, without cause, it began to beat once more, began to beat with sudden and new vigor. Began to beat to a growing tempo that rose in speed and power until it seemed like a hundred war drums surrounded her in the darkness—which was not true darkness after all. Selah opened her eyes in the void and saw stars, constellations, no longer falling but hanging in space with beautiful brilliancy. She was high up and everywhere her heart boomed out its imperative. Looking down, Selah saw the surface of a vast black ocean, stretching from horizon to horizon and rippling with its myriad waves.

She began to fall. Began to plummet toward its surface, feet first but then she turned so she was a speeding bullet, eyes wide and tears streaming behind her as she shot down with terrifying speed. Her heartbeat was now a violent crescendo, a smear of sound, and Selah felt amazing, had never felt so ecstatically alive. She opened her arms, welcomed the impact, and at the very last, closed her eyes.

She hit the ocean.

And awoke into a darkness that was no longer absolute.

She was lying on the floor. The vampire lay but a yard from her on his side, hissing as he breathed in short gasps. Eyes wide with terror. Blood smeared across his lips and chin.

Her blood.

Selah felt luminous. As if she were radiating moonlight, here in this dark room. Her body vibrated with energy, with electric potential. She lay still, not understanding what had happened, not caring. She could make out details now in the bar with painful clarity. See the chairs and tables where they lay, the mess of broken glassware on the ground, the shadowy depths of the room beyond. She turned her gaze upon the vampire. His fine-boned features writhed with despair. Tears of blood gathered in his eyes, brimmed, and then spilled over.

“What have you done? ” he cried, voice cracking with terror.

Selah sat up, as lazy and languorous as a cat. She stretched, one fist behind her head, the other straining toward the ceiling. Felt the long muscles of her back uncoil. Good lord, she felt good, she felt marvelous.

“What have you done to me?” said the vampire. He drew his knees to his chest, shivering and jerking as he did so.

Selah ignored him. She couldn’t focus on any one thing. Moving slowly, like a ballet dancer taking her first steps onto a grand stage before an expectant audience a million strong, she walked across the floor, so light that she felt she could slip the bonds of gravity with one burst of energy, one glorious leap. She walked to the door and stood within it, gazing out at the street.

What beauty. The great moon had risen high and painted the world with its delicate silver hue. She feasted her eyes hungrily on the street before her, drinking in the sight as if she had never truly used her eyes before. A thousand details, a million facets to the world. Everything sharp and detailed and true. She reached out and touched the iron doorframe, ran her hand down it gently, feeling each and every metallic sliver and fleck of rust against her palm.

The vampire cried behind her, working himself out of his numbed fear and into deep, chest-wracking sobs of pain and perhaps even joy, a cascade of alien emotion beginning to pour forth from his depths, as if a frozen core had cracked deep within him and was finally pumping forth.

Selah stepped outside and lifted her face to the moon. She was invincible. She was the night; she was anointed by the beauty of the world. A part of her demanded to know what was happening, but she ignored it. Ignored everything but this dark majesty that cloaked her.

Selah saw the gleam of smooth steel but a few blocks down the street, and realized that she was staring at a motorcycle. It was a Japanese roadster, its electric blue and white paint muted under the light of the moon, half hidden down an alley. Selah turned and walked back inside. Moved with confidence to where the vampire lay, where he shivered and stared at her in confusion and consumed with harrowing wonder, and reached into his pocket. He didn’t fight her, didn’t resist. She drew forth his keys and without a backwards glance walked outside and down to the bike.

His ride. He must’ve come out here as soon as the sun had set. She brushed her fingers along its length, its organic curves. Beautiful, a gorgeous machine. She slung one leg over the seat and sat, slid in the key, turned it, thumbed the on switch, and gunned the throttle. The engine rumbled powerfully to life, the muted purr of a great lion. She imagined fire curling in its belly, a fire similar to her own. She straightened out the bike, heeled the kickstand back, and turned the accelerator. With a shattering roar like a thousand panes of glass hitting the road all at once, the bike leaped forward, almost bucking her off, but Selah laughed and leaned in low and kept the accelerator turned all the way.

Buildings blurred past. The hot, humid night air shrilled past her ears. Dead traffic lights. Abandoned cars that were little more than obstacles to veer around. The motorbike responded as if it were part of her body, its great ponderous weight turned somehow into air and darkness beneath her. Hunched over the bike she kept the throttle down. Didn’t even bother looking at the speedometer. She was going too fast, and it was still not fast enough.

For the first time in her life, she had some kind of power. For the first time ever, she had an edge over the world, and she didn’t want to let it go. Years of being ignored, being insulted, of being told that she was no good, would never amount to anything, would never be a success. Years of people pretending to see through her, of friends cutting her down, of boys insulting her when they weren’t trying to get in close at the parties. For the first time, she had something overwhelmingly powerful, and even though she didn’t understand it, was growing terrified of it, she exulted in the fact that it was hers and hers alone.

With a yank she pulled the bike off the street and onto the sidewalk. Telephone poles whirred past, a newspaper box was smashed aside, glass shattering. An obstacle rushed toward her, a car driven up onto the curb, and she wrenched the bike back onto the street. Almost lost control, almost felt the tires slide out from beneath her, but she pulled it back into line with the sheer strength that flowed through her limbs.

One avenue after another. The occasional car whipped past, headlight strobing the darkness, faces pale as they stared out of windows at her in shock. She released the handlebars, opened her arms, and closed her eyes. The wind was devouring her. With a mad laugh she opened her eyes and saw a broad avenue ahead. She veered out wide and then at the last moment tapped the brakes and sawed to the left and screamed into a wide turn, nearly sideswiping a car before the tires caught and she rocketed down a much larger street. Biscayne Blvd. read a sign. She knew where she was. This was the route they had taken last night to the Beach.

A name flashed through her mind: Rupert. He had her father’s Omni. She wanted it back. It made no sense to go after it, but then nothing made sense, and who could oppose a goddess? A vengeful goddess closing in on her prey from out of the howling depths of night. She ripped the bike over to the left, saw the onramp, took it, and then shot out over the water of the Intercoastal along that glorious bridge. She was going so fast now that she couldn’t think. The wind was a banshee in her ears, forcing her to slit her eyes, tearing at her hair with frenzied claws. She pushed the bike as fast as it would go. She loved this stretch of road, this line of speed she gouged out of the world.

It lasted but moments before she was on the far side. She slowed down, slid over to the right, and then turned down the Boulevard. Past the first lights, the bike alive between her thighs, obedient and challenging. Past homes and the occasional car that drove as if mired in mud. Slipping ever closer to her prey. Over that final little bridge, the same left, and down the street on which Angelo had parked.

Elated, she slowed and drove through the alley and out onto Lincoln Road. She knew this was not allowed. That this was not how one set about surviving in Miami. She didn’t care. Couldn’t care. She was riding high on the greatest wave of euphoria she’d ever felt, her head brushing the stars. She slowed and stopped the bike. Propped it up with one foot.

Everybody stared. Playboys and executive types, women in stiletto heels and security guards. Young and old, the crowd about her froze. People looked up from their dinner tables before the restaurants, everybody’s eyes wide, terrified by this challenge to the fragile stasis of the night. This isn’t done, a voice whispered in her mind. But, oh, she whispered back, it is now.

She twisted the accelerator savagely and bolted forward, front wheel lifting off the ground as she blazed a trail down Lincoln, the bike’s engine a shattering roar. Security guards yelled out, and out of the corner of her eye she saw two of them raise their guns and take aim. She ducked her head and used all her skill and focus even at this heightened level to weave forward between the gawking people, slipping back and forth and knifing through them all, leaving the guards behind. A blink, a moment later, and she was out on Collins, turning so sharply to the left that her knee brushed the road and tore away her jeans. She bounced up and over the far curb, nearly collided with the wall, pulled back onto the road and was through, roaring right toward Magnum.

She pulled up sharply before the entrance, scattering the line of people who were trying to get in. Killed the engine, and sat back. She took a deep breath, and looked at the door. That same huge white bouncer. Maria Elena by his side, staring at her in complete and utter shock.

She got off the bike. Took the key, pocketed it.

“Selah?” Maria Elena continued to gape. “What—?”

Selah strode toward the door, people opening before her. The bouncer stepped forward, blocking her path. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Had no idea. Felt like her whole body was a whip, coiled and ready to lash out. Kept walking right up to him, and when he extended his hand to block her path, she simply ducked under his arm. He moved so slowly it was pathetic. It was so easy to simply kick his foot out from under him, the sweep of her own leg languorous and slow, and then he was falling, crashing down onto his side. Without planning to, she kicked him across the jaw, not even that hard, and his head snapped back over and he lay still.

Maria Elena was staring at her as if she were a ghost come back from the dead. Selah winked and walked past her, into the club. Through the front door and into the pounding, pulsing darkness beyond.

Chapter Ten

The music was all consuming. Selah walked into the nexus and turned toward the hidden door. It was locked, so she stepped back and kicked it open, planting her heel right next to the handle, shattering the lock and sending the door cracking and caving inward. Laughed, laughed at how easy it all was. Nothing, it seemed, could stop her.

She entered the narrow hall, listening carefully, alert. Hector burst out of the door ahead of her, a heavy pistol in his hand. He started to train it on her, finger already tightening on the trigger, when a flood of adrenaline dumped itself into her system. Selah moved. Ducked low and to the left, leaped forward as he fired at where she had been. She surged forward and closed the distance, came up under his arm and behind him. He was only now starting to turn his head, trying to track her, but it was far too late. She reached out and took him by the back of the neck and one shoulder and thrust him into the wall, turning at the hip so he was lifted right off the ground and crashed into the cinderblocks, bouncing off and falling to lie at her feet.

She stared down at him. Part of her mind reeled, screaming at her, not recognizing what she was doing, terrified at how easy it was to hurt people. But she ignored it, turned to look at the door through which Hector had emerged.

Selah stepped inside and saw Rupert fumbling with a pistol. He looked up at her with sheer horror writ across his face. Behind him was a bank of security screens, showing chaos following in her wake. The crowd milled at the entrance, security guards running up, guns out. People panicked within the nexus. She had only moments.

“My Omni,” she said, extending her hand, as if inviting him to dance. “Give it to me.”

Rupert stared at her with blank incomprehension. “What?”

Rage scorched her from within like a column of flame. “My Omni!” she screamed, taking up a chair and throwing it just to his left, shattering a number of screens and sending sparks flying in great sizzling arcs. “Where is it?”

“OK, OK!” he yelled, falling away from the sparks, dropping the gun to wrap his arms over his head. “I’ll get it!” He ran over to a desk and yanked open a drawer, rummaged inside, and drew out her machine. “Here!” He held it out to her. She glided forward and took it. Rubbed her thumb lovingly across its screen and pocketed it.

She was out of time. This was ridiculous. All this danger for one communication unit! She wanted to laugh, felt delirious and alive. Selah stepped back out into the hallway. It was still clear. She ran lightly down it, stepping over Hector’s body, and out into the nexus, right into a knot of security guards. They had electrified batons out, were clearly not ready for her. She ran through them, ducking and turning and spinning as they began to react and swing out at her. Under a baton, around a second man, her back momentarily touching his as she swept past. She allowed momentum to carry her past the third, their batons leaving lazy trails of ozone in the air. She was simply too fast for them.

She ran out to the door, people scattering before her, and then paused. A woman stood before the bike, examining it. She was dressed in a white leather suit that hugged her angular frame beautifully, her hair so blond, it was almost white. She turned to stare at Selah. Black eyes. Eyes like pitch, like the depths of the earth. Terror and elation, panic and euphoria surged up within Selah, and she stepped forward, aware of the security guards rushing up behind her. The blond began to walk forward, frowning in annoyance. Clearly not understanding yet what was happening, only aware of a disturbance. Of a young black girl walking toward her without sufficient deference. They approached each other, closed the distance far too quickly. The woman opened her mouth to issue a command and Selah let slip the reins that held back her body and leaped.

Straight at the woman, arms crossed before her face in an X. The woman’s black eyes widened and then she was bending back, flexing like a bow, moving so quickly her long hair was left in a white arc above her. Selah dove through her hair, hit the ground on the other side and threw herself into a roll. Then she was up on her feet and on the bike, key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

The vampire woman had dropped back onto one outstretched hand, and just as quickly shoved herself back upright, spinning around, face contorted in fury and surprise, but Selah wasn’t going to wait around. She turned the accelerator all the way and nearly fell off the bike as it slammed forward. She slid down the street in one long smear of movement, and then tore the bike to the right, leaving the club behind.

It was a simple matter to navigate her way back to the great bridge. To shoot out back along its length, thrilling at the speed, deliberately not think about what had happened. What was still happening. She raced back onto the mainland and worked her way back along the streets that were already beginning to feel familiar. There was the bus in the intersection. She slowed, unsure as to where to go. What to do. Eased the bike down the street and crawled past the Palisades. She could possibly force her way inside with her new strength, but that felt wrong, a violation. So she drove past, and then turned the bike around and began to cruise downtown.

Eventually, she stopped before a small park. Parked the bike, kicked out the kickstand, and leaned back in the seat. She was starting to tremble violently, she realized. She raised her hands and stared at them. Her heart was beating far too quickly. She felt fevered, unable to focus her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Selah got off the bike and walked into the park.

It was silent, still. A cicada chirped somewhere close, and it seemed strange to move so slowly after that extended headlong rush on the bike. She moved to the center of the little park and sat carefully on a stone bench. Mosquitoes whirled in the air about her, but she ignored them.

For the first time, she tried to think. To question. Tried to slow her thoughts down, much as a wrangler might try to break a wild horse. She clenched her hands between her knees and bowed her head. Fought the strange and persistent euphoria that still swelled her lungs, that made it almost impossible to sit still. It demanded movement, action, speed—violence.

Selah lifted her face to the heavens. The moon was above her now, looking distant, half hidden behind the wisps of cloud. She stared at it, sought help from its white expanse. Closed her eyes.

“Come on,” she whispered. Rocked slightly back and forth, tucked her chin to her chest. “Get it together. Think. Think!”

Slowly, she fought for calm. Slowed her breath, stilled her thoughts. The feel of her toe connecting with the bouncer’s chin. The boneless jarring of Hector’s shoulder against the wall. She dug out her Omni, and stared at the dead screen. Almost turned it on, but then stopped. It was probably bugged. For all she knew, it was giving a GPS signal and betraying her location right now. She set it aside bitterly. What had she been thinking?

Start at the beginning. The vampire. He had bitten her. She should have died—could have died. Being fed on wasn’t lethal, but he’d acted as if he planned to drain her. She tried to recall the fear, the terror of that dark moment, but she couldn’t summon it through the thrill that persisted in her blood. She’d blacked out, drowned in pleasure. Then—what? Had awoken, and the vampire had been crying. Selah rubbed her face. This was ridiculous. Vampires didn’t cry. They couldn’t feel. Not really. Hence their capacity for inhuman cruelty. Yet he’d been on the ground, sobbing. And she? She had been flying high. Was only now coming down. What did it mean?

Selah stood, unable to sit still any longer. Began to pace. And it wasn’t just a high. She looked at her hands. She had been able to movefaster. Had a level of confidence she’d never experienced before. Sure, she sometimes acted confident, but never without a core of doubt, of insecurity under it all. Not like this, not acting without thought, without doubt.

She stopped. Had she attacked a vampire? Selah blinked and then groaned. She had. She had attacked that blond lady. Only the complete surprise her attack had caused had let her get away. That and the bike. Oh, god. She was so dead.

Selah looked about the park. Where was she? Where could she go? What was going to happen next? She had to get rid of the Omni, or leave it somewhere till she could make sure it was clean. Then what? They would be looking for her. The vampire—the first one—had said they’d bugged her Garden. So they knew she was involved with the Resistance now. When that vampire returned to his home, he would tell them what had happened. They now knew that she had attacked Magnum. They would be coming for her.

Panic. She wanted to run, but where to? She couldn’t leave Miami. That damn wall was complete, encircling the entire city from coastline to the south right up and around the north. Swim? The vampire and the US Coast Guard were on high alert for just such an eventuality. Part of the Treaty. She could hide, perhaps. Go to ground. But for how long? Would they forget? Selah laughed, hysteria clawing at the edge of her voice—vampires lived forever. They would never forget.

Selah looked at the moon once more. She had truly fucked up this time. There was no denying it. There was no way out. The Resistance had said they wanted nothing to do with her. The vampires would start hunting her as soon as they figured out what had just happened. Could she perhaps get into the embassy? Maybe, but then what? She didn’t have an ID, and she’d be handed over the moment the vampires demanded her return.

Selah sat and lowered her face into her hands. Bleak despair welled up under her ever-diminishing euphoria. She thought of her dad. What would he have told her? What advice would he have given her now? She bit her lower lip. Pictured his face. His kind smile. Selah, you’re in it now. If things have to end, make sure they end right.

She sniffed. End things right. There was no getting away from it. She wasn’t going to last long now. She felt brave just thinking that, admitting it. Facing the truth. She was done for. She wouldn’t be able to save her dad. Had she thought herself a hero? What a disaster. So what was there left for her to do? Feeling wretched, feeling her heart break, she realized that all she wanted was to say goodbye to Mama B. Apologize one last time. Tell her she was finally starting to understand why she’d left Selah and her dad, no matter how bad it had hurt. Give her one last hug, and then face the music.

It felt liberating to make a decision. Felt like taking control. She took another sniff. She would not cry. Not now, not when this was all her fault. One last night, and then she’d say goodbye to Mama B in the morning. Then wait for the cops or security or whatever they were called to roll by and pick her up. And then? Then she didn’t know. She’d take it from there, one step at a time. Time to grow up.

She walked over to the bike. It had an almost-full tank of gas. She had a night to kill. Might as well enjoy the ride while she still had it. If she kept moving, kept to the main streets, then nobody would be able to bother her. She climbed on the bike, no longer as confident. It was incredibly heavy. How had she sawed it across lanes, whipped it back and forth at such speeds? She felt nervous now just turning it on. So much power. It was too easy to imagine falling and scraping her skin and flesh right off her bones, bouncing and tumbling like a rag doll. But there was enough of that foreign confidence left for her to turn the key and rev the throttle. She took a deep breath, a steadying breath, and looked down the street.

Her last night. She eased the bike forward, into the street, enjoying its sweet, low growl. Rolled forward and picked up speed. No mad dashes now, no headlong dives into the night. Now she just wanted to cruise and admire this ruined city, this fallen metropolis in all its foreign, frightening beauty. The air had grown cooler and was rich with the smell of night flowers and the distant tang of the ocean. She rolled down the block, leaving the little park behind, and then took a right, away from the ocean, turning inland, deciding to see how far she could drive before she hit the Wall.

The night passed. Selah spent hours simply cruising, navigating around deserted cars, pausing on occasion to stare at abandoned mansions, to look up at blind skyscrapers that groped up dumbly at the heavens. There were few people out, and she was able to accelerate past anybody that might have given her trouble. She went over what had to have been the Miami River, pausing at the apex of the bridge to watch the flow of the waters. She drove through endless empty suburbs, beautiful neighborhoods that had been reclaimed by nature, vines and weeds breaking the asphalt, entombing the houses, gardens grown wild and fey in the night.

She cruised past the still-active Miami airport, a plane roaring overhead as it came in off the waters and touched down. She stood for a while, staring through the chain-link fence. The vast expanse seemed to be dark but for one terminal, but that was enough. People were working through the night, building something here for the vampires. Moving Miami in whatever direction they needed.

She drove through a large community in the far northwest of the city. A long series of streets that were clearly lived in, the streets clean, the homes locked down for security but all of them inhabited. Signs identified it as the city of Hialeah. People here weren’t bottled up in isolated condos, but were instead living close, packed tightly, men sitting on chairs on the roofs, rifles in their arms. They stared at her, stood as she rolled through. Called out challenges in Spanish to which she couldn’t respond. She turned the bike around and drove right back out.

At last, dawn began to warm the eastern horizon. Selah had spent the last hour cruising up to different parts of the Wall along the western edge of the city. It had been built along the length of a major highway that all the signs identified as the 826. Endless roads and avenues died at its base, endless onramps shattered and broken down by the army to prevent access. Where vast stretches of the city were still, the Wall was alive with soldiers, bright lights scanning the ground before it, shadowy figures patrolling its top. The US took its role seriously. It had to, for the Treaty to work. Selah studied it carefully. No way through.

She cruised home as the first high clouds were touched with the softest of butter yellows, as the rising sun turned the eastern sky from cobalt blue to dove gray, as tints of salmon pinks and russets burnished the horizon. She felt exhausted, at peace, her mind and heart still. Sorrow rode with her, a deep but accepting pain that she had brought this all upon her head. She wouldn’t use the word unfair again. There was no fairness in the world. There was only what happened to you and how you chose to respond.

Down the streets, then up, a final left. That same old bus. She almost felt a pang of fondness at the sight of it. A final two blocks, and then she slowed down. Two black cars were pulled up before the Palisades, large and expensive SUVs that gleamed even in the soft light of dawn. Six men stood before the entrance to the building, and she saw with a shock that the steel door had been torn right off and lay discarded on the ground. A small group of people stood in defiance within the entrance, shotguns pointed at the ground, faces furious. They stopped speaking at the sound of her bike. Were staring at her where she’d stopped, some fifteen yards shy of the cars.

Oh, shit, she thought. They’re already here.

Chapter Eleven

Mama B stood at the front of the group. She looked furious and helpless both. It seemed Selah wasn’t going to get a chance to say goodbye after all. Everybody stared at her, and Mama B was the first to move.

“Selah?” She began walking forward, but one of the strangers held out his hand, ordering her to stop. Hector. He looked the worse for wear, but he was standing. Mama B smacked his hand away, but then stopped as the guy behind Hector raised his handgun. The two Palisades guards raised their shotguns, and Mama B rounded on the strangers in all her wrath, iron dreads shaking as she raised her chin and opened her mouth to berate them.

“Stop,” called Selah. She kicked the kickstand back, and then climbed off the bike. She was sore, exhausted. Ran her hands over her hair, took a final breath. “Stop. I’m here. I’ll come with you.”

“The hell you will,” said Mama B. “You are going nowhere before we get this all sorted out, because I know these men have made a mistake, and I don’t care what they wave in my face. I am not going to let them march away with my baby girl.”

Hector rubbed at his jaw and stared speculatively at Selah. He turned back to Mama B. “Sure. We don’t have to press it right now. Why bother? We’ll just go. Then tonight, when the sun goes down, I’ll tell my boss when he wakes what happened. He’ll be upset. He’ll come down here himself, maybe bring a friend or two. You want that to happen?”

Selah saw the crowd wilt back. Vampires. In the Palisades. Nobody wanted that. Even Mama B seemed to have no response, opening her mouth and then closing it again.

Selah approached. “There’s no need. I’ll go.” Her grandmother looked at her then, and her expression broke the last of her calm peace, her moonlight detachment. How could she bring so much pain to somebody she loved? Even now, with this last threat, she could see Mama B’s resolve. Defy them. Don’t go. We’ll back you up. Selah smiled, trying to hold back the tears, and shook her head.

“I love you, Grandma,” she managed. Tears were in her grandmother’s eyes now too. Hector coughed impatiently. Selah realized that three of the men were pointing their guns at her. Worried, no doubt, that she would move again as she had at the club.

“Oh, honey,” said Mama B, “what have you gone and done?” Such sorrow.

“My fault, Grandma,” said Selah. “My fault. I’m sorry.” She wanted to say so much more, but as always, she couldn’t force her emotions into words. Couldn’t come close.

Hector, it seemed, wasn’t going to give her a chance. “All right, enough already. Selah, get in the car. If you try anything, I’ll shoot your grandmother.”

Speed or no speed, Selah nearly threw herself at him for that. Wanted to scratch his eyes out, those eyes that were so pleased with themselves, that smirk surrounded by his ridiculous goatee.

She didn’t have a chance to. Mama B smacked him hard across the ear with the flat of her hand. Hector let out a startled yell and nearly fell to the ground, staggering under the force of the blow, and then wheeled around, furious, to stare at Selah’s grandmother.

“Watch your mouth,” said Mama B, completely unfazed, anger plain on her proud features. “If you think you can say whatever you like around decent folks, you got another thing coming.”

Hector couldn’t believe it. His mouth worked several times as if he were strangling on his own anger. She put her hands on her hips and almost leaned forward, overpowering his stare with the force of her personality. Selah almost felt sorry for Hector. He clearly had no idea with whom he was dealing.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he managed at last. “I could have you shot for doing that.”

“Then quit whining and do it.” Mama B continued to glare at him, then looked at the other men. “You come down here to haul off a sweet little girl, waving your guns and scaring folks like you’ve forgotten you’re human, human just like the rest of us. If you want respect, it’ll take more than a couple of guns to earn it. You may think you’re hot stuff, but as far as we’re concerned, you’re nothing more than pathetic kidnappers with no spine or soul. So get the hell out of here before I wallop you again.”

Hector was going red in the face. He looked at his men, who were equal parts amused and taken aback. Selah could see him thinking furiously. If he ordered them to shoot Mama, he’d lose even more face. He put his hand on the gun at his hip, and pain constricted Selah’s heart. But Mama never flinched. She just glared at him, and finally, Hector spun around and began moving back to the car.

“Let’s go already,” he snarled. “Enough with wasting time here. Let’s go before I start actually shooting people for being too stupid for their own good.” He looked over at Selah. “You. In the car. Now.”

Selah moved forward. She wanted to hug her grandmother, just once, but that might push Hector over the edge. Instead, she moved toward the back door of the front car. Helpless fury was in her grandmother’s eyes. She was shaking her head in denial, but that was more than Selah could take. She got into the back. A man got in on each side, guns pointed at her as if she were a dangerous animal. Hector got into the passenger seat, and another man climbed behind the wheel.

The car engine rumbled to life and they began to drive down the street. Selah stared out the window, but too quickly her grandmother and the others slid out of view. Nobody waved, nobody did anything. There was nothing they could do. Any act would be met with overwhelming retaliation.

Selah sank back. It was a new car, the new-car smell still heavy in the air. Nobody spoke. The tension was thick, the guns still pointed at her side. She tried not to look at them, at the people around her. She simply looked up, at the smooth gray felt that covered the ceiling.

Thankfully, nobody spoke. They drove in silence, only the hiss of the AC and the tires rumbling over the ruinous roads. Out onto Biscayne Boulevard, but then they headed south, toward downtown. Eventually, Selah lowered her eyes and looked past the men at the city outside. Downtown. It was barely past the early gray of dawn. At first they wended their way carefully around the abandoned cars, but then they reached a sort of unofficial city limit beyond which no cars were left stranded. They weren’t even pushed onto the sidewalks. Just empty, open road. Towers arose before them, residential complexes thirty, forty floors high. They drove past the large Miami Arena. Where the Freedom Fights take place, thought Selah, shuddering at the sight of the vast curved edifice like a great white shell.

The boulevard widened, a central island splitting traffic. Intercoastal waters became visible to the left. No trash. No shattered windows. Everything looked clean and orderly. This is what Miami must’ve looked like before, thought Selah. There were few people out, just garbage men and a few cyclists. She peered at their faces. They were blank, composed. Nobody looked up as they drove past. The night was over. The vampires were down for the count. The active cycle had finished. Time to rest.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Shut your mouth,” said Hector. She wanted to wallop him from behind like Mama B had, but didn’t dare. Not with two guns jammed into her ribs. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared out the windows. The boulevard to their right was lined with high-rises now, each set back and distinct from the other from a time when architects vied with each other for recognition. The driver turned the wheel and they pulled off onto a side street. They drove down half a block, and then up a circular driveway before one of the residential towers. A fountain tinkled water prettily among green copper lily pads, and two men in valet uniforms stood to attention. The car stopped. The valets stepped forward and opened the doors. Nobody moved.

Hector turned around and stared at her. “You do anything, anything at all, I’ll personally make sure everybody in your grandmother’s building dies. You got that? Don’t try a thing.”

“How do you live with yourself?” she asked. It was the best she could do, but she poured all her acid and venom into her words. He stared at her. Half his face was purpled from the impact with the wall earlier last night, and already his ear was swelling where Mama B had hit him.

“Let’s go,” he said to his men, and they all got out. One valet closed the doors, the other drove the car away. They stepped into the cavernous lobby, Selah surrounded on all sides. Everything gleamed coldly, as if they walked through the center of an iceberg. The air was frigid. Artificial plants blossomed endlessly from huge terra cotta pots, and the massive walls were covered in expansive canvases splattered erratically with paint. It all looked incredibly expensive and tasteless.

Hector paused at the front desk to talk quietly with the security guard, and then nodded to the others. Four of their guards detached themselves and walked off down a narrow hallway. Hector and the other guard escorted her toward the elevators. Gold-plated doors, of course. Hector pressed the button, a bell chimed softly, and the doors parted. They entered.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked again. Hector ignored her. She half expected him to press the PH button, but instead he pressed number seven. That didn’t seem right. The elevator smoothly elevated, and she studied the other guard in the reflective surface of the doors. He was older, his face ragged with the strain of hard living, once handsome perhaps but cheeks well on their way to becoming jowls, lower jaw pockmarked, brows heavy and black, hair clearly dyed to match. No help there.

The doors opened. Beige carpeting, cream walls. Cappuccino-colored doors. Down the hall to #704. Hector opened the door and gestured for her to enter. The other guy sat on a small chair set beside the front door, clearly setting himself on guard.

Selah stepped inside. It was a large apartment. Kitchen, huge living room, large windows, two bedrooms leading off to each side. No furniture.

“You’re going to wait here till tonight. Ramon is going to be at the door. You try anything funny, he’ll hurt you. You do anything that inconveniences me, I know where your grandmother lives. You got it?”

Selah tried to feel brave. “Why do you do this? Why do you work for them?”

Hector seemed about to dismiss her again, but then he stopped. “You would never understand,” he said.

“Try me.”

He stared at her, and she saw emotions roil within his eyes. Anger, perhaps, resentment, maybe even shame. For the first time she saw him as a human being. Saw him struggle with the persona he wore. But then he clamped down on it. Shook his head. “Don’t make me come back here.” He surveyed the room once more, and stepped into the kitchen. She watched him check each and every drawer and cabinet, and only then, when he was finally satisfied, did he leave and close the door behind him. She heard the lock snick shut.

Selah stood still. Wait here till tonight. She knew what that meant. There was no Dragon to step into the room and clear her of all charges. She would have to answer for her crimes. She knew what happened to those associated with the Resistance. They just disappeared. This was perhaps the first step. How many others had been placed in this very apartment and told to wait?

She could try to escape. Just out of curiosity, idle speculation, she walked up to the glass sliding doors at the back of the living room that led out onto a balcony. Tugged at the handles. They were locked. She tried each window in each room. Also locked. There was nothing to throw through them. She stood, hands on her hips, thinking. In Nowhere to Run, Brad Dancer had wrapped his fist in his shirt and punched in a car window. A lot of people had said he should’ve broken every bone in his hand, but who knew?

Who was she kidding. Run where? For how long? And put Mama B and the rest of the Palisades in trouble? No. Selah went back to the living room. Sat down on the pure white carpet, then lay back with a sigh. The nap felt soft beneath her skin, and she slowly rubbed her forearms up and down, enjoying the sensation. It turned out you could only be terrified for so long, and then you grew numb, she decided. Or perhaps she was just that tired. It had been another long night. She closed her eyes and remembered the solitary airplane descending from the night sky toward the Miami Airport, filling the world with thunder. After another moment, Selah stopped thinking of even that, and slept.

Chapter Twelve

Selah awoke to the sound of someone at the door. Curled on her side, hands tucked under her chin, she blinked blearily, sore and aching as the lock opened and somebody shoved the door open. She pushed herself up and saw Hector had returned. She winced—his bruise had flowered, deepened its blossom into a startling array of purples and jaundiced yellows at the edges, claiming half his face. His left eye was bloodshot, and this development had clearly done nothing for his mood. If she’d hoped for a softening given their last exchange, she was clearly out of luck.

“Up,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Selah stood. No point in arguing. Outside the world had grown dark. The windows faced east, and though this apartment didn’t have much elevation, she could see that the distant edge of the world had already cooled and grown grim. Nighttime. The vampires had awoken.

Stretching, feeling the first drumbeat of fear in her gut, she forced a yawn so as to appear nonchalant and curled her spine to the side, working out a kink. Hector waited impatiently by the door. Before he could complain, she stepped into the kitchen and ran the tap so as to briskly wash her face. That helped some, and she felt her stomach grumble with hunger. When had she last eaten? Ah, well. It probably wouldn’t matter. Not in the long run.

“Who am I seeing?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t tell her.

“Let’s go.”

“What does he want with me?”

“Selah. Let’s go.”

“Should I wear something nice?” She stared at him, and saw him realize that she was messing with him. His face hardened and he simply glared. With a sweet smile she floated past him, out into the hallway. She hadn’t lost her touch. Hector closed the door, locked it, and then went to the elevator. No sign of the second guy. Ramon? Hector ignored her as he summoned the elevator. She studied his bruise.

“I’m sorry, by the way, for throwing you into the wall like that.”

Hector ignored her.

“I didn’t mean to throw you that hard.”

She saw a band of muscle appear over his jaw.

“Honestly, I had no idea it was so easy to smack you around.”

He whirled on her, hands in fists, and just then the elevator doors dinged open. He reached over and shoved her into the elevator, following after. This time he did press the PH button, and that sobered her up.

Deep breaths. Time to prepare herself. They would ask her about everything she knew on the Resistance, she would tell them she didn’t know anything, and then they would drink her blood and kill her. Or did they want to know about her father’s investigation? She paused, eyed Hector warily. Maybe she should try to get them to drink her blood as quickly as possible. Repeat last night’s experience. With that kind of energy and strength, she could probably bust her way out of here. Hope died in her chest. To what end? No matter how she tried to resist, all options resulted in bad guys visiting Mama B.

The elevator slowed and then stopped. The doors opened with a soft chime, and Hector escorted her out, hand on her elbow. There was a small landing with three ornate doors, each leading in a different cardinal direction. Each had a security guard posted outside it. Dressed in black, they wore MPD bulletproof jackets and looked like very capable men. They eyed her dispassionately, and Hector nodded to the man in the middle who spoke into his Omni. Selah studied him. Broad chin, skin like sandpaper, lipless mouth. He looked strong and mean enough to strangle a live deer. The kind who would just dig in until the job was done.

“Let them in,” said a voice in response over the Omni. The guard stepped aside and opened the door. Hector prodded her forward, through the door and into a large, marble-floored entrance. The ceiling was low here, but three shallow steps ahead descended into a sweeping living room with fantastic views of Miami and the sunset. Hallways led off immediately to her right and left. No time to get her bearings, though. Hector hustled her forward with unnecessary roughness, down the steps, and then jerked her back as if she’d been about to sprint forward.

A huge continuous window wrapped around the wall before her, nearly floor to ceiling, and the view was stupendous. She gazed out over the darkened city, looking inland she realized, away from the ocean. A western view. The buildings rapidly lost size but a few blocks in, and then sprawled out in a seeming endless plain, crisscrossed by roads and avenues and sunken in a great verdant choking mass of trees. A few lights gleamed here and there, twinkling orange in the dusk, and in the distance she could see the sinuous line of the Wall, swooping all around the city and shining a with a thousand diamond-white pinpricks of lights. The spotlights.

It was the sky that caught her eyes, though, that held them. Miami had stunning skies, a vast canvas that seemed wider and deeper than any she’d seen in Brooklyn or elsewhere. The clouds piled upon each other like great anvils, mighty towering cumulus clouds that seemed to have been dipped in blood, their upper reaches already grown dark, fading to slate blues and lead grays, while their lower extremities were angry and inflamed, tinged by russets, crimsons, and burgundy. They spread out over the city, a floating battalion, a searing coruscation, so beautiful and striking that at first Selah didn’t even notice the other two men in the room.

They’d been content to wait, to study her as she stared out the windows, Hector’s hand still on her arm, fingers cruelly pinching her elbow. But their fixed attention drew her own, and she turned to look at them, heart lurching into her throat. The beauty outside had been one final blessing from the world, a last benediction. She couldn’t keep her mind out there, however. It was time to face her fate.

They were both vampires, and she knew one of them. She’d hoped that the Dragon might be present, that he might speak on her behalf, but he wasn’t, and now he never would. Instead, she saw the vampire from last night, dressed in a beige linen suit with a powder-blue shirt beneath. He was sprawled bonelessly in one of the chairs set at a dining table that seemed as long as a bowling alley lane. Was staring at her with undisguised hatred undercut by fear and made complicated by curiosity. Great.

The second vampire was the first’s opposite in every way. Where the first was handsome, languorous, almost feline, the second was dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit that failed to look sharp on his short, rotund form. He was in his mid-fifties perhaps, with an egg-shaped head that wasn’t helped by the thinning blond hair that failed to cover his scalp. Small, rimless glasses caught the light and at times became opaque, hiding his eyes, which for Selah was a blessing—never had she seen a gaze so cold, so penetrating, and analytical as that which came from his black eyes.

With a shock, Selah realized that she knew who he was. Karl Plessy, the chief of staff who served the first three presidents during the War, one after the other as each was vampirized until he too was taken. She had actually studied him in class. Was supposed to know what his policies had been, and why they’d generated so much controversy. Something about the first curfew? Executions? Selah couldn’t remember. She remembered Mr. Condarcuri explaining how Plessy had been the real power behind the third president, who’d once been the Speaker of the House. Something like that.

Selah realized she was staring. Karl met her gaze with ease, a slight smile on his small, soft lips. She dropped her eyes. What was he doing here? What was this about? Did he interview all suspected Resistance leaders?

“Thank you, Hector. That will be all,” said Karl. Hector let go of her elbow and did a little half bow, which might, under different circumstances, have been comical. He turned and marched out. Selah swallowed. She couldn’t believe she was actually wishing that Hector had stayed. “Good evening, Miss Brown. Would you like something to drink?”

Selah felt an almost manic urge to ask for some blood, but kept her lips sealed. Simply shook her head.

Karl nodded. “People in your situation never accept that first offer. It’s interesting. Accepting something as innocuous as a glass of water is almost invariably seen as a form of capitulation. As if by accepting it from me, you are surrendering in some form, revealing weakness. It’s quite a fascinating little exchange, really. I should stop asking, but I enjoy it so. Never mind.”

Selah watched him, confused by his genial tone, the light manner in which he spoke. He must’ve been trying to lower her guard. She stayed quiet.

“You have caused quite a fuss these past two days. Popped up on our radar with surprising frequency. First you trigger an alarm at Magnum over the sheer amount of bandwidth your recording used. Then you are rather predictably contacted by the Resistance. An opening that would’ve resulted in a nice little coup for us, had certain objectives been carried out in a more professional manner.”

At this, the other vampire stirred with annoyance, much like a snake might shift its coils if lightly poked with a stick.

“Still,” said Karl, “all of that is of a pedestrian nature. What has brought me here tonight in person is what happened after that. Most fascinating. A rarity that I have only read about in dusty tomes. One moment Charles here is rather impulsively drinking your blood, the next you are attacking Ekaterina on the Beach with sufficient speed and agility to actually make it hard to track you on our security cameras.”

Selah felt her stomach knot. She pursed her lips, kept her silence. Karl didn’t seem to mind.

“Charles here reports that he spent most of last night paralyzed by such an onslaught of emotion that he could barely act. How did you put it?” Karl turned to the other. “‘Regret, guilt, joy, the works’? Most interesting. Whereas you suddenly started gallivanting about town with all the apparent blessings of the vampiric state.”

Karl paused and studied her, that little smile still hovering on his lips. Selah looked away, stared at the clouds. They were growing ashen now, the last of the reds fading completely. There really was nothing for her to say.

“I myself am still learning much about my new condition,” said Karl. “Even seven years later, this can all feel quite new. Yet I have not wasted my time. I have always enjoyed research, and in all my studies and conversations, even with those whose embrace goes back hundreds of years, I have only ever heard of a case such as yours three times. In all the accumulated lore my kind has gathered! Could this be a similar case as those first three? If so, what an opportunity! What are its potential implications? How does it work? As you can imagine, the questions are significant, and in need a thorough, perhaps even scientific investigation.”

Those last words sent goosebumps down Selah’s arms and she clenched her fingers. She still refused to look at him. He’d done nothing more than speak gently, but already she hated him. Felt repulsed by his softness, distrusted his gentility completely. He had also failed to mention her father’s files. Had they not uncovered them? Or were they simply of no consequence in comparison to his interest in her blood? The silence stretched out. She tried to quiet her breathing, realized that hers was the only breath to be heard. Horror spread through her.

“So you don’t want to know about the Resistance?” She couldn’t help but ask. Hope to redirect his attention.

Charles smirked, and Karl waved one hand as if knocking away a fly. “The Resistance? Hardly. I doubt you have much to tell me, and really, they aren’t much of a problem. This is infinitely more fascinating. However.” Selah looked at him at this last. His smile had disappeared, so that he looked like a solemn child. “If I am new to this new existence, Charles is but a babe. How long has it been, my good friend, since you joined our ranks?”

“You know very well,” said Charles, his voice sullen, almost sulky.

“Five months? Did you know that Charles sought us out?” Karl turned back to Selah. She looked to Charles and saw his brow contract with anger. He gazed out the window. “Indeed,” continued Karl. “He is one of the Nouveau Vampires. That’s a play on the term nouveau riche, you see. They were the merchant upstarts who made so much money, they managed to insinuate themselves amongst the nobility, back in the day. They often married their way into noble families, or simply purchased outright a title complete with coat of arms and obligatory honors.”

Selah watched with dawning realization as Charles fought for calm. He’s being punished, she realized. My presence is being used to humiliate him.

“And so in such manner has dear Charles come to us. He paid the blood fee of a hundred million dollars with Daddy’s money, and then flew in under the cover of secrecy to receive the embrace. Not the first, not the last, but perhaps a warning to us that we need to scrutinize our applications more carefully in the future.”

Charles slammed the flat of his palm down on the table and shot to his feet, turning to glare at Karl who returned the look with an air of innocent surprise. Charles opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to choke on his words.

Karl raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Charles? You have something to say?”

Charles shot Selah a look of pure venom. His hatred for her had just doubled, she realized. Great. Thanks, Karl. “I was promised equality. What is this ‘Nouveau Vampire’ bullshit?”

“My dear Charles,” said Karl, shaking his head, “we may have seceded from the United States, but this is still in effect a very crude meritocracy. Nobody here is ‘equal.’ You, for example, are not my equal. You, as my creation, are my inferior, by quite a large degree.” The gentle voice slowly grew merciless, bright and precise as a surgical tool. “If you want respect, you will have to earn it, and squandering an opportunity to catch two members of the Resistance by running in and getting shot is not the way to do it. Especially if you then spend the rest of the night on the floor crying like a little child with soiled underwear.”

Charles’s mouth snapped open again, and his fists tightened so that she heard his knuckles pop. Karl met his gaze with complete calm. Invisible chains of intensity and fury seemed to coil through the air around Charles, who was clearly fighting for self control. Selah willed herself to not step back and in so doing draw attention. Finally, Charles looked down. He nodded jerkily, and with extremely poor grace sat back down.

Karl watched him for a moment longer, and then turned back to Selah. “Where were we?” She didn’t for a moment believe that he had lost track of their conversation. “Ah, yes. Charles reporting strange feelings after drinking your blood. Your consequent behavior. Had it been any other vampire, well, I would take them at their word. It being Charles, however, I shall have to verify his experience myself.”

Selah’s mind began to race. Karl seemed to be more powerful than Charles. If he drank from her, and the same effect repeated itself, then it was possible that she’d gain his power. Would be able to overpower Charles and escape. She could make a beeline for the Wall, and hurl herself over it, move faster than the soldiers could react. Perhaps—but the—oh, Lord, what of her grandmother? She tried to remain calm, to think. The embassy. Could she strike a deal?

She looked at Karl. At his soft flesh, its doughy appearance. Tried to stifle the repulsion. Raised her chin. “Hurry up, then.”

“Oh, no,” he said, “you misunderstand me. I am not going to sample your wares. Charles will.”

“What?” demanded Charles, staring at Karl. “Again?”

“Must I repeat myself?” Karl’s smile was completely devoid of humor. “Again.”

Charles looked at Selah. He stood so abruptly that the chair fell over with a crash. He stared at her in such a manner that made Selah feel naked. There it was again, beneath his anger, beneath his personality even. Beneath everything that could be understood as “Charles,” there it was. That hunger, that need. As if his being “Charles” was but a masquerade, that beneath all the words and poses, the clothing and even the flesh, there was only this roiling darkness of need and voracious hunger. He stared at her, and then nodded.

Before she could react, he rounded the table and walked toward her. Selah began to back away. She could see them now, his fangs, could see their milky white and slender lengths, having descended somehow from where they’d been hidden. His eyes were livid now with hunger, as if having agreed to go through with this, there was no longer any need to pretend that he was ever other than famished, always and forever, for tonight and through the rest of his eternal existence.

Selah raised her arms, not wanting him close. Let him, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, a voice that craved that sweet pleasure again, that overwhelming wave of orgasmic sensation that had swept her away when he’d bitten her neck the night before. Let him, whispered a second voice, the voice of cold reason, knowing that through that kiss would come power and speed, would turn her once more into a weapon that could perhaps survive the night. No, whispered her truest voice, never.

She turned and ran. Made blindly for one of the hallways, knowing as she did so she wouldn’t get far, but unable to simply stand and let Charles take her. Which he did, anyway. She had managed but one step when he had her by the neck, his fingers like ingots of steel, clamped around the base of her skull so that fiery pain made her knees buckle and she cried out in agony. She was on her tiptoes, she realized, legs almost kicked out from under her, hands clawing at his forearm. The pain was all consuming, and then he let her go and she fell to the ground in a crouch. Tears filled her eyes and she heard him laugh. Standing behind her, looking down at her, laughing with pleasure and cruelty and delight.

Selah didn’t think. She turned and rose and buried her knee as hard as she could between his legs. It was like trying to knee a statue. Pain blossomed in her knee and she crashed to the ground holding her leg, the pain in her neck yet throbbing. Charles looked down at her in contempt.

“I am no longer a man, Selah. I am now so much more.” He leaned down and hauled her up by the arm. Selah heard herself sobbing, and felt a spike of consequent anger. Could see how that pleased him, lit a light deep in the depths of his black eyes, so that she bit down on sobs and summoning all that was left to her, cracked her forehead as hard as she could against his nose.

She saw a blinding white light, like soundless, formless oblivion, and then blinked and stared at Charles. She had trouble focusing on him, but she saw that he was cupping a hand over his nose, eyes mere slits of rage. Karl was laughing, somewhere behind them, and Selah wanted to do more to hurt this monster, but she felt like a marionette whose strings had all been tangled. She couldn’t make her arms or legs move as she wanted to. She blinked tears away, fought for self-control, but by then, it was too late.

Charles leaned in and bit into her neck savagely. No delicate puncturing, this; he tore into her neck in the same manner a dog might tear into a steak. She screamed, going weak with shock, and then her blood was pumping up, out. She could feel it escaping in great gouts through her neck, could feel his lips buried deep in the wound, his tongue probing into her flesh. It was the most terrible blend of pleasure and horror she’d ever felt, a shocking collapse into ecstasy and excruciating pain. It was too much, too much for her to handle, and with a final cry, she felt the darkness rise up like a flood and claim her mind, her soul, and bring her swirling down into its depths to drown.

The beat of her heart. Slow and steady. Calling her, summoning her back from oblivion. She didn’t want to return. Fought the sound, its insistent nature. Tried to dive deeper, but failed. It beat with undeniable power, pulling her back. Numbness began to fall from her limbs, recede from her mind. Vigor stole in, returned, and she felt the void about her once more in all its incredible vastness. She opened her eyes and saw stars, saw the glory that was the firmament in all its infinite constellations. She couldn’t help but feel wonder at its beauty, at its sheer complexity. Her heartbeat sped up, ever faster, ever more powerful, slurring its beat as its tempo increased beyond the possible, became a great vibration that seemed to shake the vaults of the heavens themselves.

Selah turned. Below her, as before, the ocean. From horizon to horizon, the black waters surged, waves tipped by whitecaps as if lashed by a thousand furious winds. She hovered high above, and with something like regret, resignation, turned and lowered her head and fell, plummeting down and away from the light toward those dark waters, gaining speed with each passing moment till she was but an arrow sent down from the stars.

Downward at impossible speed, gaining in power, energy, the desire to live, to revel in pleasure and pain. She closed her eyes, realized that she was laughing, laughing endlessly with delight tinged with madness, terror tainted by desire.

Selah awoke with a gasp. She was lying on her side, face resting in blood-soaked carpet. Eyes closed, she reached up with one hand to touch the side of her neck. The skin was smooth, unmarred by Charles’s teeth. She lay still, feeling like a great longbow that had been drawn to its breaking limit, all that energy and power held in abeyance for one long, unbreakable moment, which would end with a release that would shatter the world. Ah, the glory of it, the sheer unbelievable bliss! She lay still, mind racing, a cork bobbing on storm waters, and only gradually became aware of herself as Selah, and recalled her predicament.

Charles was speaking in tones of wonder, but she couldn’t make out the words. Babbling, almost. Selah smiled. She would explode up, would catch them both by surprise. Would cast Karl out through one of the great windows, would send him hurtling down to his death, and then make her way free. Would find Mama B, would help her escape, would flee Miami. They could escape down into Mexican Free States, would disappear. It could happen. It would happen.

Snapping her eyes open, Selah pushed off the ground so hard, she literally leaped to her feet, landing as lightly as a cat. The world seemed to slow, as if time itself was having trouble keeping up with her. Charles’s words grew slurred, the vowels dilated, and she spun toward where she knew Karl stood, already surging into her leap, beginning her extended attack that would result in his death.

But he was ready. He was standing right before her, smiling that stupid little smile of his. She didn’t have time to react. Even as she raised her arms to dash him to the ground, he somehow moved faster and punched her straight in the face. It felt as if she’d ridden a motorbike at full tilt and hit a low-hanging bar of steel with her face. Her head snapped back so hard, she crashed down onto her shoulders, collapsed into a broken pile.

She had to get up. Had to stand. She began to rise, moving automatically. How had he moved so fast? She would wipe that smile right off his face. Would—but she didn’t get a chance to think any further. A second blow caught her across the back of the head, and everything went suddenly and shockingly dark.

Chapter Thirteen

Selah awoke. Her head pounded and her mouth tasted foul and coppery. She blinked sluggishly and realized that she was handcuffed to a chair, each wrist trapped to a steel armrest. She was back in the empty apartment. Sunlight poured in through the windows, and from the angle it looked to be late afternoon. Late afternoon? She blinked again, wishing she could rub the sleep and dried blood out of her eyes. Her cheek was throbbing, and her left eye felt tight and swollen. She tried the handcuffs, but there was no supernatural strength left to her. Just her own frail body. She rattled the cuffs, and then sank back. Her whole body ached, especially her spine from having spent who knew how many hours trapped in this chair. She rocked it experimentally. It wasn’t bolted down. Not that she knew what good falling onto her side would do.

She willed herself to stop, to think. The last thing she remembered was Karl Plessy knocking her out. Some gentleman. She tongued her lip and winced. It was split pretty badly. He had been ready, ready for her attack. How predictable of her. He’d played her like an expert. Then again, he was Karl Plessy, infamous for his politics and policies, whatever those had been, and she was just a seventeen-year-old girl out of Brooklyn. No shame there.

Still, that wouldn’t be good enough. She had to think. She closed her eyes, tried to ignore the pain in her head. She wasn’t dead. Which meant Karl wanted something from her. He probably saw value of some kind in her ability to give emotions and take vampiric power. Which meant, if she had something he wanted, might she have some form of leverage? Selah groaned. What leverage did she have? All they had to do was threaten her grandmother.

She opened her eyes and scanned the room. Saw a hypodermic needle on the kitchen counter along with a torn pack of blue ampules. Frowned, and looked down at the inside of her elbow. Three vicious red dots along her vein. Bastards. She rattled the handcuffs, though mostly just to make herself feel better, and then sank back. Nothing to do but wait.

Nobody came for hours. The sun slowly set. Her bladder was near bursting and she felt lightheaded from thirst by the time the door finally opened. She’d expected Hector, but instead Karl himself walked in, dressed in a freshly pressed baby-blue shirt and dress pants. Shoes that shone like his eyes. He studied her, and then smiled.

“Well, Selah, first, let me apologize. What an awful way to spend the day. I know you don’t care for my apologies, but I’ll make them regardless. You must be needing to use the bathroom. Am I correct?”

Selah wanted to deny it, but the burning pain in her bladder prevented her from being stoic. She nodded grudgingly.

“Very well.” Karl stepped forward and quickly unlocked both cuffs. “I’ll give you five minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’ll have the door broken down and one of your arms broken. Clear?”

She stared at him. There was no malice to his threat. To him, it was simply a consequence that he knew would control her actions. She couldn’t put her loathing into words. Instead, she marched across the living room and locked the bathroom door behind her. Turned and stared into the mirror. Lord almighty. Her face was nearly as bad as Hector’s. Blood had dried all over her upper lip and the side of her face, and her left eye was half swollen shut, the skin shiny and mottled a variety of different colors, none of them good. She hurried as best she could. She didn’t doubt Karl’s words for a second.

“Very good,” he said. He stood gazing out the window at the city. Turned to stare at her. “Now, I have lots to do, and most of it more important than this, so I’ll be quick. I think you can be of great use to me. You see, we vampires don’t feel much, not really. Sure, we feel a desire for blood, our famous ‘Hunger,’ but we naturally feel few other emotions besides. Ambition, hatred, jealousy, fear—all those come naturally to us. Guilt? Affection? Love? Nothing. We are dead to such beautiful emotions. And yet, your blood, for some reason I cannot divine, allows us to experience those emotions once more. Charles described it like seeing in color after growing used to a monochromatic world.”

He smiled at her, pleased. “He can turn a nice phrase when properly motivated. And then there are the unexpected side effects. Did you know that Charles attempted to strike me, right after? A vampiric childe, attacking his own sire? That goes against the dictates of vampiric nature. The mind recoils at the impropriety, but still. He should never have been able to rise against me. I’ve never heard of this happening before. Fascinating.”

Karl seemed to lose himself in thought, and then turned to her, manner sharp once more. “What that means is that I expect you to present yourself in a timely manner and to be appropriately dressed at whatever social function I desire you to attend. If you don’t, I will have your grandmother degraded, abused, and then tortured. I won’t kill her, because that would be a release, but I will ensure that she wishes she were dead. And—oh, yes. I believe you have associated yourself with a certain Maria Elena too. She will also suffer.”

Selah couldn’t help it. The anger in her gut was a churning, filthy thing. How dare he. How dare he? Threaten her like this, her family, her friend? But what could she do? She tried to think of anything she could say, something that wouldn’t sound hollow and pathetic. Her anger arose, and then guttered. Despair came swamping in behind.

“Good,” said Karl. “I see you understand. If you are even five minutes late, I will have your friend taken. The second time, it will be your grandmother. The third time, I will place you in solitary confinement for life and simply draw your blood by force. Clear?”

Selah looked away, tears burning her eyes.

“Clear?” Iron was in his voice. All pretense of politeness was gone.

She looked up, stared at him through the prism of her tears. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” he said once more, smile returning. “Now, I’m not a complete monster. If you do as I require, I’ll let you go free during the day. You can live with your grandmother, or wherever you like. Also, here’s a replacement for your old Omni.”

He dug it out of his pocket, a slender, more advanced version of her prior one. “I’ve had Rupert add all your access codes to it so that it’s good to go. The new ones you changed as well.” His smile grew vicious. “You can change them again if you like. We didn’t bother downloading all your old files, but that’s of no matter. We’re sure you have them backed up online somewhere, though I don’t know what a pretty little thing like you was doing snooping around after Blood Dust. Still. This advanced model will suit you well. You can even record more 360-degree feeds if you like. How did you do it the first time?”

He looked at the Omni, tapped it a few times, and the red recording light turned on. He looked up at her. “Here, I’ll send this to your Garden for you. I’ll even say hello.” He looked into the camera. “Hello, world. My name is Karl Plessy. I’m here with Selah Brown, who has just agreed to work for me here in Miami. How delightful.” His eyes slid back up. “Say hello, Selah. Show the world how happy you are to be alive and gainfully employed.”

Selah stared at him. Her throat clenched tight. He raised an eyebrow, and she dashed the tears from her face and forced herself to speak. “Hello.”

“Very good. You are free to go.” He stopped the recording, tapped a few more buttons, and tossed the Omni over to her. “I’m a fair man, in my way. Each night you perform at a social function, I’ll award you five thousand credits. That means all you have to do is attend twenty gatherings, and you can go free. That’s hardly a bad deal, wouldn’t you say? You could possibly achieve that in just a couple of months.”

Selah blinked. Tried not to frown, to school her emotions and display nothing, but within she was suddenly confused. What was he up to? Why offer her such a deal? She chose to remain silent, but within her, doubt and hope warred with each other. Could she buy Mama B’s freedom?

“That’s all I have to say. Tomorrow night I want you to present yourself at the Wind Tower on the southern tip of Ocean Drive. There’s a small soiree I want you to attend. You’re free until then. Any questions?”

She had only one. “How do I get out of this building?”

Karl stepped aside and bowed, gesturing at the door. “Through there. Into the elevator, and then down to the lobby. You will have to find your own method of conveyance from that point on, however.”

She didn’t say another word. She simply strode out, Omni clutched in one hand, ignoring Karl as if he weren’t there. Out into the hall, past Ramon, and to the gold-plated elevator doors. She waited for them to open, then descended in silence and ran across the gleaming lobby, footfalls echoing off the high ceiling. Burst out the glass doors, and stopped, inhaling the thick, humid Miami night air as if she’d just emerged from too long a dive underwater. Hands on her knees she inhaled deeply, fighting down the choking sense of futility and anger, despair and fear, and then without a sideways glance at the two valets, she strode down the driveway and out onto Biscayne Boulevard.

She had every reason in the world to stop and simply sink to the ground, wait for her doom to roll around tomorrow night, but she couldn’t stand still. She began to march along the broad sidewalk, ignoring everybody around her, the stares at her bloodied lip and swollen eye. She marched as if she were alone, and inside a tempest raged. She didn’t know if she could keep going, knowing that each night she had to enter the company of vampires. That each night she had to entertain them with her own blood, feel their cold hands on her skin, their lips on her neck, the pinprick of sharp teeth as they suckled emotions from her heart, as they tasted if even but for a few hours what it was like to be human once more.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she started to run. The vampire energy was gone from her body, but still she ran as fast as she could, shoving people aside as she passed them, not caring if they yelled, if they fell. She sought release in each impact, half hoped that somebody would grab her by the arm and arrest her flight, provoke her to further violence.

Nobody did. She ran for perhaps six blocks and then slowed, gasping, sweat already slicking her skin, and stopped, hands on her knees. Looked up. A crowd was moving along the sidewalk in unison, excitement in the air. Each one of them had a white ID pinned to their shirt, and all of them looked clean and well fed. It was such a change from the scavenging homeless people who lived on the streets around the Palisades. Each and every one of these men and women had chosen to sell out to the vampires. Where were they all going? She saw the Arena up ahead. The bright marquee lights on the front. A Freedom Fight. Thousands pouring in to watch two people beat each other to death like animals. Repulsed, she turned and stared at three guys walking quickly by, laughing and drinking beers as they went.

She ran up to the one in front, a compact guy with fuzzy sideburns and thick eyebrows, and shoved him as hard as she could in the chest with both hands. Completely unprepared, he went down hard, falling into his friend and drenching himself in beer. He looked up at her, eyes wide with fear and shock. Everybody stopped, stared at her, and she took a step forward, fury burning in her eyes.

“You animals! You filthy animals! Look at you! Laughing and drinking as you go to watch an execution! Animals!” She kicked the fallen man in the thigh, and then stepped right into up to one of his friends, a tall, muscular young man. “What? You gonna hit me? Go on, you coward, you freak! Go on, hit me!”

He stared down at her, aghast at the vicious anger in her voice. He stepped back, then past her, hands up as if prepared to ward off a blow.

“What the hell’s your problem?” asked the third guy, helping his friend up. “What we do to you?”

Selah pulled off her shoe and threw it at his head. It hit hard, right behind the left ear and bounced off, causing him to stagger back and cry out in pain. “Animals! I hate you! All of you!” Somewhere deep down, she knew she was acting crazy. That this was no way to change anything. People were staring now, drawing back out of reach, horror and fascination in their eyes. She rounded on them all. “Animals! You make me sick! Vampire pets! Fucking lapdogs! Living your lives like pathetic slaves! No dignity! No soul!”

She was panting, sweat thick on her face. The fallen guy stood up, pulled his sticky shirt away from his chest. His face was dark, but she could see he wasn’t going to mess with her. They all backed away, watching her angrily over their shoulders. “Crazy bitch,” one said loudly to the other, as if that were bravery, insulting her from a distance.

Selah stood shivering, fists clenched, unable to give true vent to her anger. People began to drift away, shaking their heads. She picked up her shoe. Stared at it. Pulled it on, and felt great sobs rise up within her, hiccupping out. She was so tired of crying. So tired of feeling scared, of being in pain, of being miserable, terrified.

Selah stumbled off to one side and sank down next to a lamppost. Let people stare at her, sitting here in the middle of the street. Let them look down from their glittering high-rises. She couldn’t take much more. Despite swearing never to use the word again, she found herself saying over and over, it’s not fair. It’s not fair! She had made her peace, had turned herself in so that she might be killed, never thinking that she might be enslaved. Might be turned into a toy, a sick blood puppet for their amusement. How was anybody supposed to stay sane?

She remained right there. Sat, face in her hands, weeping quietly. Torturing herself with images of her father, her home in Brooklyn. Thinking of cold, undead hands tracing whirls around her shoulders and neck, fingers like feathers, nails tracing paths along her body. The fanged smiles, those black eyes peering down at her as if she were the freak. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through with it. No matter that it was only twenty times, it might as well be two thousand.

She stared into the dark recesses of her palms. She didn’t have to go through with it. There was a way out. A final escape. A darkness from which nobody could pull her back, from which she would never awaken handcuffed to a chair again. She grew still. Could she? She didn’t know. She felt suddenly still, her mind silent, wondering. Could she really go through with that? It suddenly hung before her like the only solution. In a way, it could even be seen as an act of bravery, she thought. Maybe a final way to rebel.

“Selah,” said a voice, calling to her from the road. She stiffened, lowered her hands. A guy was sitting on a motorbike, looking right at her. Dressed in a battered leather jacket and scuffed jeans, he had taken off his helmet, his hair spiked with sweat. His face was angular, long, mobile, his eyes imperative and alive with fire. Normal eyes, human eyes.

Familiar eyes.

She dropped her hands in her lap. Stared at him.

“Selah, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She reached out, used the lamppost to stand. Stared at those eyes. Tried to remember the videos online. It couldn’t be. She wiped her forearm across her eyes, clearing them of tears. Looked once more. He was right there, hand outstretched.

“Cloud?”

He nodded. Looked down the street and then back. “Selah, hurry. I shouldn’t be here. We have to go.”

She walked over to him. It felt like the distance was over a thousand yards, that her legs had three new sets of knees, that she might fall at any time. There was no strength left to her. There was no will. She felt like a feather, as if a strong wind could blow her away at any moment. “Cloud?”

He stopped scanning the street and looked at her, and she felt as if the hundreds of others heading toward the Arena had disappeared and left her alone before this man with his quiet, burning intensity. “The same.”

Then she was next to him, swinging her leg over the back of his bike to ride pillion. “Hold on tight,” he said. “This was a trap. I’m going to have to go fast.”

“A trap?” That was all she managed. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he gunned the throttle and the back wheel accelerated in place, causing the rear of the bike to spin about until he released the brake and they shot forward, engine spiraling into a tiger’s roar, sliding out obliquely into traffic, slotting through the crowd that was drifting across Biscayne toward the Arena. Selah simply held Cloud tight about the waist and pressed her cheek against his back, against the smooth, cool leather of his jacket. He had a slender waist, she thought. Like a dancer. Wide shoulders. Cloud. He had come for her. It was like a dream.

One thing was clear. Cloud knew his way around a high-powered motorbike. He coaxed every ounce of performance from it, hopping up onto the pavement one moment and then back onto the road, hunched low like a jockey on a prizewinning racehorse, daring a look behind them every few moments until Selah did the same and felt her throat close up. Three bikes were in pursuit. A trap, he’d said. Selah turned her head back and pressed her cheek against his jacket once more. She’d been the bait. He’d known it, and come for her regardless.

Two more blocks whipped by, buildings a blur, and then Cloud eased on the brakes, leaned over low, took the corner, and slid right off Biscayne at an insanely high speed. Selah closed her eyes, didn’t want to see. Held on, prayed that the tires would keep traction. If she had been riding high on vampire mojo, maybe this would’ve been a thrill. It had been a thrill, she realized, not too long ago. Now? It was terrifying.

A thump and crash behind her. She sneaked a look. Two bikes following, one now cratered into the wall of the first building beyond the turn. Fierce elation. She didn’t know if they were vampires following her, or humans in their employ. Didn’t care. Die, bastards, she thought viciously.

Cloud steered the bike down the center of the street, right along the median, gunning past one block after another, slicing through intersections at full speed, traffic not withstanding. Selah simply didn’t want to look. She pressed her face into him, held him tight. Another curdling crash behind her, the sound of horns. She didn’t look this time. Knew what had happened.

A whine past her ear, followed by a second. What on earth? Opened her eyes and looked behind them. The last rider had a gun, was lining up a third shot. Cloud didn’t wait. He hopped the bike up onto the sidewalk, slowed down so fast that the tires shrieked in protest, and then took a broad flight of stairs. Selah couldn’t see where they were going. Simply tried to not get bucked off as the bike jounced and jostled its way up, the bike seat slamming into her over and over again, jarring her teeth. Then they hit a landing, glass walled to her right and looking down over the street, and Cloud took off once more, threading through tables and chairs, shops and stores on this elevated walkway blurring past to their left.

Selah looked behind her, saw the third rider appear over the stairs, following right after. A third shot, so close it sounded right in her ear. Cloud ripped the bike over to the left around a sharp corner, nearly coming to a stop as he did so, but they were going too fast. The bike slid out from under them, and suddenly Selah was tumbling like a rag doll, arms pressed to her chest, eyes wide open, pain tearing up her leg, cracking her head.

She came to a stop against the wall. Blinked, tried to get up. Her vision was blurred. Saw Cloud struggle up onto one knee. The third bike came around the corner with better precision, but Cloud lifted his arm, a gun of his own in his hand, and shot the rider right in the chest. The rider fell to the side, twisting the bike down with him, its rear wheel causing it to spin out and smash through the glass wall. It fell out of sight under a cascade of broken glass, and took the rider along with it.

Silence. Cloud turned to her, staggered, pulled off his helmet and let it drop as knelt by her side. He slide a hand under her head and wiped her hair from her face. “Selah! You OK?”

She blinked. Her vision was clearing. Perhaps it was some vampire residue in her system. She didn’t think she should have taken that fall so well. Put her hand to her head, and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think.”

“Jesus,” said Cloud, and lowered his head so that his brow touched hers, eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. “That was fucking insane.” He straightened up, and then held out his hand, watched it shake, and then snapped it into a fist. “Goddamn. All right. We need to keep going.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking his hand and rising to her feet. She felt shaky, but not too bad. “Thank you. For coming. For doing this.” She tried a smile. He smiled for the first time, closing one eye as he did so, so despite her split lip, she guessed that she’d pulled one off.

“Come on,” he said. Grabbed the bike, and hauled it back up onto its wheels. “More of them are gonna come. Let’s go.”

“Where we going?” she asked, climbing back on behind him. She didn’t care, really. Just wanted to close her eyes and wrap her arms around him once more.

“Someplace safe,” he said. “Safe as it gets in Miami, at any rate.”

Selah took a deep breath as he began to drive along the rest of the walkway and back down onto the street. No words had ever sounded so good.

Chapter Fourteen

They drove for about twenty minutes, stopping only once to discard her new Omni and check her clothing for bugs. Cloud waved a slender wand over her, but nothing pinged. They climbed back on the bike and headed out. Part of Selah, a new and harder side to her, thought she should watch where they went, learn the directions, catch the street names. But she couldn’t be bothered, couldn’t muster the energy. It felt good to just ride behind Cloud, to hold him, to let him take over. Let him take her wherever he thought was best. She’d just go. Selah relaxed, inch by inch, and allowed herself to enjoy the thrum of the bike, the feel of the biking leathers against her cheek. Closed her eyes, and thought of nothing beyond the sensation of relief.

Eventually, they slowed to a stop. Selah lifted her head. It was turning out to be a beautiful night, the sky clear and the air smooth and warm. They’d stopped before a small house on a quiet suburban street. It was dark, but the waning moon as she rose over the horizon illuminated the thicket of weeds that claimed each front yard, that had crept out surreptitiously onto the road itself. Great trees spread their canopy over intermittent spots of the road, and the homes were beautiful, each a unique cottage made of rough white stone, with small, covered porches and dark windows.

“Where are we?” asked Selah, climbing off the bike.

“Coral Gables,” said Cloud, removing his helmet and scruffing his hand through his hair. “Used to be old money. I went to school close by. UM’s over in that direction.”

“Oh,” said Selah, and a subtle thrill ran through her once more, the ghost of what she might have felt a few days ago before the world imploded. She’d just learned something about Cloud that nobody online knew. “You were a student there?” She almost groaned. Hadn’t he just said as much?

“Yeah.” Cloud wheeled the bike into the driveway, and hung the helmet on one of the handlebars. Scrounged up a weathered tarp from where it lay to one side and draped it over the bike. “Seems like another life.” He wiped his hands on his hips and turned to her. “How you feeling? Headache? Dizzy?”

Selah rubbed at her elbows, the back of her head. There was something to him. Something subdued, even here, with just the two of them, something wary. Almost as if he were shy. “I feel fine, actually. It’s weird. You’d think I’d be in worse shape.”

Cloud dug a key from his pocket, and then knocked a complex tattoo on the front door before unlocking it. “Yeah, you’d think,” he said. “Guess we got lucky.” He shook his head and pushed the door open. “Hey! We’re back.”

Selah followed him inside. She didn’t know what to expect, was almost shy about meeting new people in her raw state. Still, she couldn’t remain outside. Inside it was dark, but Cloud navigated through the living room with ease, digging an LED flashlight out of his pocket to help guide Selah around the chairs and side tables. Right up to a narrow door under the stairs, which he knocked on again in the same code.

Selah heard the sound of a deadbolt slide back. Then the door opened and a white girl stared at them both, light coming up from behind her. She was curvaceous, verging on heavyset, and her hair was cropped short but for her bangs, which were long and curled off to the left. A tattoo insinuated itself up the side of her neck from out under her T-shirt, though Selah couldn’t make it out.

“You’re one lucky idiot,” she said to Cloud, voice disapproving. “It was a trap, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Course it was. Selah, this is Cassie Jones. Cassie, Selah. You going to let us in?”

Cassie turned to scrutinize Selah, her face still hard. “You sure she’s not bugged?”

“She’s clean.”

“Hi,” said Selah.

“Come on in, then,” said Cassie, turning to walk down the steps into a basement. Cloud gestured for Selah to go first, unfazed by his friend’s grumpy manner, and Selah did so, moving down the wooden steps into a large, cinderblock-lined basement. It had a low ceiling and concrete floor; half of it was filled with what looked like IKEA bunk beds, with the other half given over to computer monitors and electronic equipment. As the trio descended, a couple of other people looked up.

“Welcome to our HQ,” said Cloud. “At least, this month’s installment. We’re already looking for a new place. Can’t be too safe.”

Selah drifted a few steps from the base of the stairs and then stood, looking around. The others stood and gathered before them, Cassie moving away to check what looked like security monitors of the street outside and further down the block.

“That’s Barbara Hein,” said Cloud, gesturing to a second white girl who was willowy thin and had hair dyed so black, it held blue tints in its depths. “And you know Joey.” Joey was Fox, staring abashedly at her. He spread his arm wide and turned in a circle before dropping them and looking at her soberly. “The four of us make up the Resistance.”

“The four of you?” Selah turned back to him. “This is it?”

Cassie snorted from where she was working, and Cloud nodded. “Yeah. We’re a small operation. We used to be larger, but it’s just too dangerous. Some good friends were … taken, and so we decided to stop accepting new members. At least until we figure out a few things. So for now, this is it.”

Barbara examined Selah with a friendly smile, and Joey stepped forward. “Hey. I’m glad you made it out of there. Sorry Cloud and I had to run like that. It’s, like, our standard protocol for when we’re discovered. Don’t fight, just run.”

“You were there that night?” asked Selah, turning back to Cloud. He nodded, expression neutral, and walked over to sit in an ancient armchair, drawing one knee up so that he could rest his elbow on it. “Oh.” She looked around. This wasn’t what she’d expected. This basement room, the IKEA furniture, how small a group they were, how young. She’d thought—she didn’t know what she’d expected, exactly. More people, more activity, a more dramatic base. Maybe a penthouse apartment somewhere, or something like the Batcave.

Joey saw the disappointment on her face and laughed. “Come on, take a seat. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” He headed over to a couple of couches shoved into the corner and collapsed into one, kicking out his legs.

Selah sat on the other couch. Barbara perched on the couch’s arm, and Joey pulled up a ragged beach chair. Cassie had moved to another computer, and was checking some code.

Cloud leaned back, “So, for better or worse, here you are. Welcome. We’ve been running this thing for three years now.” His voice was quiet, but there was a charge to it, a current of power that drew and held Selah’s attention. “We’re fighting to do one thing: make sure the world out there sees exactly what’s going on here in Miami, and never loses sight of the reality of what the vampires are all about.”

Joey cut in. “You’ve seen our stuff online?” Selah nodded. “Cool. Well, what we’re doing here is pretty well thought out. Sure, we could recruit more people and kill a couple of vampires, or plant a bomb in one of their buildings, or do some real guerilla work. But to what end? That’s not where the real battle is being fought.”

Selah looked at the others. She felt a small thrill again. How often had she dreamed of sitting right here, having Cloud and his friends explain this very thing to her and her alone? She felt a surge of fondness at the memory of that girl, that world.

“So, what are you trying to achieve?” she asked, Maria Elena’s words coming back to her. “I mean, we all know they are vampires. Telling us they’re vampires isn’t anything new. Is it?”

Cloud stood up, restless, and began to pace. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve only figured it out myself about a year or so back when this new recruit of ours joined up. You might get to meet him later.” Cloud stopped at the far wall and turned, crossing his arms. “What do you think they want to achieve, the vampires? What do you think their long-term goal is?”

Selah frowned. Long-term goal? She hadn’t even asked that question. She thought it over. Thought of Mama B’s work. Thought of the Beach, of downtown. The planes flying into Miami Airport. The Freedom Games. “Create … a functional city?”

Cloud shook his head. “No. They’re not interested in that. Couldn’t give a damn. At least, not all of them.”

Joey cut in. “There are two groups, see. The old-school vampires who were around before the War, the Dracula types who have this almost medieval mentality. They’re happy to just run the city and drink blood and act all old-school. But there’s this new group, of which Karl Plessy is the leader. The new vampires, the ones who were made during the War. They’re ambitious, they’re modern. They want much more.”

Joey grinned, and then cut a glance at Cloud and dropped the grin. She could feel his excitement, but Cloud was like a brooding storm cloud at the end of the room. He shook his head, as if working through his own ideas once more, and then picked up the thread. “Think about it. What’s their reality? They’re trapped here.”

“‘Like tigers in a cage,’” said Cassie.

Cloud nodded. “They can’t go anywhere. And they know that right now there are scientist types trying to come up with some kind of vampire superflu or that the damned politicians that got us in this mess are trying to work up the nerve to drop a nuclear bomb on the city. Something, anything that could wipe them all out at once. Which means what? They have to get out.”

Selah nodded. “But they can’t. That would break the Treaty.”

“Right,” said Cloud. “So they need to get the Treaty out of the way. They need to get our government to tear it up. How they going do that? By changing the way we see them. At the moment everybody thinks of them as cold-hearted monsters that need to be destroyed. But think about it—what do they spend all their time doing? Turn on the damn TV and what do you see? What’s online? What image are they trying to push?”

Selah blinked. “What, like, the reality TV shows?”

“Yes,” said Barbara, “and the parties. The interviews they’ve been giving on the news channels. The movies they’ve allowed to be filmed. The Freedom Fights. All of it.”

“But—the Freedom Fights are disgusting,” said Selah. “How can that be part of it?”

“They’re not trying to be nice guys,” said Barbara. “They’re going for dangerous, sexy, popular. Whatever. They want to seduce the human public, and, like, the Freedom Fights are the most popular feeds online. I don’t know what it says about us humans, but they’re a freaking hit.”

Selah’s mind was spinning. “So, what you’re saying—South Beach, all of that—that’s a publicity stunt?”

Cloud nodded. “They’re figuring things out as they go. I think the movies from last year, like Nowhere to Run and Eternal Dark were their first big steps. Huge box office numbers. Sure, those films made them look bad, but go one level deeper. They were commercial movies filmed here in Miami. It took the vampires from being real enemies to cinematic enemies. Remember all the interviews with Lacrime, the head evil vampire from the movie? How sophisticated and suave he sounded, how he was on every channel? How the studios couldn’t stop going on about how they had actually ‘worked’ with the vampires to make the film ‘authentic’? It was amazing stuff, a real coup for them. And just the first step.”

“I … wow. I hadn’t thought about that.” Selah looked around. Everybody stared at her, expressions serious.

“Yeah. And South Beach is the film set for all this. It’s all moving in that direction.” Cloud stood, began to pace, head bent. “It’s brilliant in a really sick, disgusting way. Do you know when they started allowing the Red Cross and all those other guys inside? Last year. Remember the press conferences? Vampires like Karl telling the world that they couldn’t, in good conscience, keep those sources of aid out of the city when so many people were in need?” Cloud stopped pacing and stared at Selah in an almost accusatory manner. “You think they care? But did it make them look good or what? Now everybody knows we’ve got Amnesty International, Doctors Without Borders, Oxfam, church groups, the works, all of them here with the vampires’ blessings.”

Selah lowered her head into her hands, pressed on her temples. It was too much. Everything was changing. “I thought they just didn’t care to do all the work themselves. To keep us alive.”

“Sure,” said Joey eagerly, “they don’t want to do that, either. Let the humans keep the humans alive. But they don’t need forty thousand of us to feed off of. Just a couple thousand would do. They could let us all starve and not be affected. But what would that do to their image?”

“Exactly,” said Cloud. “Their fucking image. That’s where the real battle is taking place. Why do you think they need money? Why do you think they’re letting billionaires buy their way into immortality? Why do you think they let people buy their freedom at a hundred grand or with their credits? Why are they chasing every drug cartel in the Mexican Free States and allowing them to use Miami as a port of entry? They need cash. But why? What the hell does a vampire need money for when they own the whole city?”

“I …” Selah shook her head. Why the hell did vampires need cash?

“Lobbyists,” said Cassie darkly from where she’d turned to watch them. Selah laughed. Stopped abruptly when she saw how intently Cassie was staring at her. “Seriously. Lobbyists. They’re pouring money into Washington. Like you wouldn’t believe. Trying to change regulations, trying to change everything.”

Cloud sat down but remained on the edge of his seat. “Think about it. For thousands of years, they spent all their energy and effort hiding from us. But then along came technology, and eventually surveillance and stuff became so pervasive, they were flushed into view. And now they’re doing the opposite. They’re trying to become mainstream, trying to become cool. I’ve heard that they’re already filming a new movie with a vampire as the love interest. Some sort of romantic thing. Would you believe me if I told you they’re trying to position themselves so that when martial law gets lifted and Congress gets back together, they’re in line to get nonvoting membership like Puerto Rico’s got?”

“OK, OK, enough!” said Selah. She stood, walked to the stairs, turned back around. Felt suddenly claustrophobic. “Enough, just give me a moment.” She closed her eyes. Tried to allow her thoughts to settle. Did this make sense? She thought about the inside of Magnum, people standing around drinking nervously, watching each other. Thought about the embassy and all the aid delivered each day into the city. Thought about all the stuff she’d seen online.

Selah massaged her forehead and then opened her eyes again. “OK. So, fine. Say the vampires are on this huge marketing campaign to change their image. Still, it’ll never work. I mean, I can see them becoming a little more mainstream, whatever, but we still know they’re vampires. It’s one thing to see one in a movie, another to think about letting them go.”

Cloud shook his head. “You’re thinking short term. These guys live forever. All they need to do right now is get enough public support, give enough money to the government so that nobody wants to actually drop a bomb on them. Say in twenty years they get representation. Become cool. Continue pouring money into all the right pockets. Then in forty years they’re given diplomatic immunity while visiting the US. In sixty years, maybe. Finally, one day, all the people who were actually alive during the War will be dead. Nobody will remember it firsthand. They’ll only know the image the vampires have been putting forth, and before you know it, the Treaty gets torn up.”

Selah looked at Cloud. “You really believe that’s what’s going on? That’s what’s going to happen?”

Cloud held her gaze with all seriousness. “I do. I’ve bet my life on it. That’s why we’re set up the way we are. What would killing one or two vampires do? Nothing, other than make them hunt us down. What we have to do is kill this new image they’re putting out there. And the only way to do that is to keep showing the world what kind of monsters the vampires are, and how they all need to be destroyed.”

His words hung in the air, and they all watched Selah. She sat back down, sank into the couch, and leaned back. Tried to sort through it all. The permutations and implications of Cloud’s words. The information had been coming so fast that she hadn’t even had a chance to ask the most important question, the one that had carried her all the way from Brooklyn to this underground room. “What about the Blood Dust trade?”

“Blood Dust?” Cloud frowned. “I’ve heard it’s out there on the streets, but not much. The vampires here in Miami have come out against it.”

“I know, but why? What is it? My father was investigating all this when he disappeared. He’d dug up some connections with a government program called The Hybrid Project, and the name of a military officer called Colonel Caldwell. Does any of that sound familiar?”

Cloud looked around at the others, who shook their heads. He looked back to Selah. “That shit’s coming out of LA. There’s virtually no communication between the vampires here and in California. It’s like they want nothing to do with each other. It’s big in on the West Coast, even in some of the cities on the Eastern Seaboard, but here in Miami? It’s a one way ticket to getting your ass put on ice. Sorry. You came to the wrong city if that’s what you’re looking to learn about.”

Selah lowered her face into her hands and massaged her eyes. “I know. That’s what I’ve been hearing since I got here.” She fought back the exhaustion, the despair. Took a deep breath. “Still, I’m here now.” It took all her strength to raise her head. To look at Cloud. “So I might as well do what I can. All this stuff you’ve been telling me about. How come nobody knows about all this?”

Cassie snorted. “Who says they don’t? We think a whole bunch of people do, but guess who the vampires are giving all their cash to? All the best people got taken during the war. There’s nobody up top any longer with backbone. Just the same cowards who signed the treaty to begin with.”

Another pause. Selah shook her head. “Wait a second. Why—why are you all telling me this? Joey—you said you couldn’t bring me in last time. My identity was compromised. What’s changed?”

“Everything,” said Cloud. “I didn’t want to bring you in before because—damn.” He stood again. His brow creased with anger. “It’s a huge responsibility, bringing somebody in. It’s my call, and if something goes wrong, if something happens to you? I have to live with it. Like I live with what happened to Freddy, and Susannah, and—anyway.” He looked away, stared at the ground, and then nodded. “Anyway. Doesn’t matter now. You’re already openly connected with us at this point. So it’s not like taking you in is going to change anything.” He looked up at her again, stepped forward and lowered himself smoothly into a crouch, balancing easily on the balls of his feet. “And second, you can give us a real chance to take things to the next level. You’re in. Karl wants you. Which will give you access to all kinds of stuff we could never get to. So. That’s why we’ve brought you here. We want to hear what’s happened to you, what Karl wants you for, and what you’re planning to do. And if you can, we want you to join us. Help us get the truth out there.”

How could one person hold so much intensity in their body? His voice was low, quiet, but each word resonated with emotion. There were no layers to him. Nothing but what he felt, nothing but his raw, almost wounded directness. She had trouble meeting his eyes. “How did you know it was a trap?”

Joey fielded that one. “I mean, the guy records a huge feed of the two of you and places it in your Garden where he knows we’ll see it, and then leaves you with an Omni that’s broadcasting your GPS. It was a clear invitation to come get you.”

“Which Cloud should not have done,” said Cassie. “Sorry, Selah, but Cloud, that was a bullshit move. Too dangerous.”

“Whatever. I wasn’t going to leave her out there like that.” Cloud hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “So, what’s the deal? What’s got Karl on your case?”

Selah took a deep breath. She didn’t want to think about it. That pain. That misery that had pushed her right to the edge. But she had too. So she told him. Focused on Cloud, and spoke directly to him, allowing his eyes to lead her through the events. Draw her past the worst of it, the compassion and pain and anger giving her strength. She gave him the outline in a quiet voice, spoke of Charles, her blood, Karl’s blackmail, his desire, and when she was done, looked down at the ground. The silence that followed was painful.

“Jesus,” said Barbara.

“Selah, I’m so sorry,” said Joey.

Cloud didn’t say anything. Fury simmered just under his skin, and then he rose to his feet, seized a chair and smashed it against the wall. Cast down the fragments and pushed back his hair with both hands, to stand with his back to them, staring at the floor, body thrumming as if a live power cord was mainlining electricity right into him. Everybody sat staring, frozen. Finally he turned, rubbed his face and then laced his hands behind his neck to stare at Selah.

“Those miserable fucks.”

“It is what it is,” she said, trying for matter-of-fact, shaken by his vehemence and given heart both. “I was—I was thinking of ending it all before Cloud showed up. It seemed like—it seemed like the only way out.” Selah tried to smile, to not let those dark feelings swamp her once more. Cloud’s eyes were devouring her. She looked down. “But that’s not the only option now. I’d like to help. I’m not sure how I could, but, well … after a vampire feeds on me, I get all kinds of crazy fast and strong. Maybe I could do things then to help out that you can’t pull off by yourselves.”

Cloud shook his head and stared at the ground, thinking. Looked up at her. “I don’t know what to say. Selah, I’m sorry. For what you’re going through. For what’s happened to you. It shouldn’t happen to anybody. This fucking city. Those damn politicians.” He shook his head again, and then released a deep breath. “I’m up for taking risks myself, but I can’t expect you to. Not after what you’ve told us. I thought—hell, I don’t know what I thought. Maybe Karl was planning to use you in a series of sting operations to get us, or that one vampire in particular had it in for you. But this?” His voice was searching, almost a whisper. “This is beyond—anything. We can’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to escape, we’ll try to help.”

He began to pace, and Selah watched him; they all did. It was like watching a caged lion, a panther, his movements imbued with a feline grace and power that verged on the magnetic. Finally, he stopped and looked down at her. “You’re braver than I am. I don’t think I could go through with this. So it’s up to you. If you want to help, we can figure some things out. If you don’t, we can try to get you out of town.”

Selah felt that old exhaustion. “I can’t leave. They would hurt my grandmother, my friend.”

“Maybe we can work on getting them out first,” said Cloud stubbornly.

“You could do that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I sure as hell could try. I know a few people. We might be able to figure something out.”

Selah’s heart leaped. She moved to the edge of the couch. “Please. Get my grandmother and Maria Elena out. I’ll do everything I can to help if you can just do that.”

Cloud held Selah’s gaze, and nodded. She saw his intent, his sincerity. Sank back. The very possibility of their escape seemed to lift a vast weight from around her neck.

“All right. Let’s start planning. You’ve got to be at the Wind Tower tonight. Let’s figure out how to pay these bastards back and make their lives as miserable as possible.”

Chapter Fifteen

Selah felt all the conflicting emotions that had ached within her breast still and grow quiet as she pulled up before the Wind Tower, killing the motorbike’s engine. It was Cloud’s bike, the very same on which she’d been rescued early that day, and she’d ridden it with care and a thrill of excitement, ridden it slowly, having left the house in Coral Gables with time to spare so as to arrive at the Wind Tower at the appointed hour.

The Tower was a modern, almost futuristic affair, all fluted sea-green glass and white framework, rising into the night sky like a glittering underwater gem, burning with an extravagance of light that made it visible from miles away. The white sides swept up past its final floor into artistic spires, and it looked to have been the most exclusive property on the Beach back when money alone was all that mattered. A line of cars were arrayed before the valet, and she decided to skip them all by simply parking Cloud’s bike on the curb a half block away.

She smoothed down her dress. It’d been a busy day. After sleeping all night in one of the bunks, Selah had eaten a late lunch with Cassie and Barbara and then gone with them to the remnants of Miracle Mile, the commercial street in the Gables, and there they scavenged a series of dresses for her to wear, everything from black cocktail dresses to extravagant gowns. They had attempted a certain level of levity, and for perhaps half an hour, Selah had managed to simply enjoy the flow of the finely cut dresses, to play with the endless shoes, to tease and be teased by the other two girls.

But with each dress that had flattered her, with each mirror she gazed into, she felt the invisible gaze of vampires looking back. She was preparing herself, wrapping herself up in a bow so that cold, dead hands could peel back the ribbons and expose her. It had been Selah who decided to find a dress for tonight; if she was to attend a party, if she was to mingle with monsters, then she would do so with what pride and elegance she could muster. No showing up covered in blood and sweat and tears.

After, she had debated visiting the Palisades. Knew that her grandmother would be tormented with fear and grief. But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take looking Mama B in the eyes and telling her what lay in store for her that night. She just didn’t have the strength, not to shoulder that burden as well. Instead, Cassie had agreed to swing by and tell Mama B for her, give her the message that her granddaughter was alive and working for the Resistance and would contact her when she could. Not the whole truth, but perhaps there was no call for such pain to be spread around evenly.

Selah smoothed down the black material of her dress about her thighs. She had opted for flat shoes, eschewing the elegance of high heels for the ability to sprint in an emergency. Had a little clutch in hand, which held a can of pepper spray, compact, and an old-school cell phone with one speed-dial-saved number that would summon help.

Deep breath. Music spiraled out from different floors of the Wind Tower, and it was a gorgeous night, the sound of the ocean a distant whisper, the air redolent with the smell of the ocean. People laughed, climbed out of cars and handed keys to the valet, drinks already in hand. Another night on the Beach, another night in the vampire city.

She walked up and past the valet stand, ignoring the covert looks. Her legs felt long and exposed, the air intimate on her shaved skin, but she knew people were staring at her battered face and split lip. She hadn’t bothered trying to cover the bruises with makeup. Let them all see what had been done. She stepped into the lobby, where people stood in small groups, looking trapped between arrival and progressing to the next level. She approached the front desk and waited a few moments until she could step forward and speak to the incredibly well-dressed young man who turned expectantly to her.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling very young. “I’m here at Karl Plessy’s invitation? Selah Brown.”

The young man gave her a reflexive welcoming smile that did nothing to hide the cold evaluation of his eyes, and quickly scrolled through his tablet until he located her name. “Welcome, Miss Brown. Take the elevator to the top floor. You’re expected.”

“Thanks,” she said, as the knot of anxiety twisted itself in her stomach. Great. A small group of socialites close by had overheard, and eyed her curiously as she walked away, clearly wondering who she was. She ignored them, lifted her chin, and tried to look cool and calm and collected.

She shared the elevator ride up with six other people, and was thus able to sink into the back corner and avoid eye contact or attention. The others spoke animatedly about how each had scored an invitation to the event, giving Selah the impression that each felt it to be a social coup of some kind. She kept her eyes on her shoes and said nothing. After what felt like ages, the elevator slowed and the doors parted.

The entire top floor was composed of a single penthouse. The partygoers passed from the elevator through a small landing and on to the wide-open double doors that led into the apartment. Music spilled into the air like outflung gold coins, along with laughter, perfume, and the smell of cigarette smoke. Selah trailed in after the other six. A doorman who was clearly also a guard stared at her impassively, and she quickly glanced away, as if scalded by his flat eyes.

It was a fabulous-looking party. The kind of event normal people only saw in movies. A huge crowd filled the main room—living room? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Rich, caramel-colored marble covered the floor, and Greek columns and mirrors along the far walls. Everywhere waiters drifted past, eyes blank, carrying trays of food for the humans, small aperitifs whose nature Selah couldn’t guess. Fine pastry rolls, small piles of glistening compotes atop expensive crackers, smoked salmon, caviar. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and as she walked to the left to find another corner to hide in, she watched as beautiful people exclaimed in pleasure and surprise at the sight of each other, leaning in to kiss cheeks, throwing their heads back and laughing loudly, listening avidly and nodding to show just how well they were listening. They stood in dynamic clusters, dissolving and reforming as people pulled away from one group by the magnetic appeal of another. A swirling maelstrom of metallic dresses, fabulous haircuts, jewelry, and wide eyes.

Selah resisted the urge to stand behind the potted plant, and settled for simply standing by its side. She didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Should she take a glass of champagne? She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Should she try and mingle? The thought of trying to talk to one of these people both horrified and amused her. Should she look for Karl?

There was a stir on the far side of the room, and people craned their necks to see what was happening. Somebody had emerged from a side door, and was gradually making his way across the room. Selah couldn’t help but look—she rose to her tiptoes, and then immediately sank back down, heart pounding. She’d caught a glimpse of a shaven black head, a hint of black eyes. The Dragon.

She pressed her clutch into her stomach. She couldn’t run, but didn’t know what else to do. If she stayed still, if she looked only down, then he would surely pass by, heading toward the staircase at the back without noticing her. Did she want to remain unnoticed? She was confused, couldn’t tell. Thought of his hands on her hips, then tried desperately to banish the memory.

People drew back, moving away in complex swirls of social ranking, voices raised in conversation even as others fell into whisper. Selah stared fixedly at the ground, willing herself to turn invisible. Felt attention fall upon her, countless eyes, and looked up to meet the eyes of the Dragon.

He was dressed in a severe black suit, the shirt a burgundy so dark that only the raised contours betrayed its color. Hands linked behind his back he watched her, chin lowered, studying her face, the people around them grown quiet, curious, to see this girl was who’d arrested his attention so.

“Good evening,” he said at last.

“Hello,” she managed. Why couldn’t all these people mind their own business? She took a breath, and then stepped out from behind the frond, feeling slightly ridiculous for having been caught almost but not quite hiding.

He watched her, and she wondered if they would make small talk, if he would ask how she was, why she was here, whether she found the crepes to her liking. The thought of chitchatting while all these hangers-on watched made Selah want to scream, to laugh. It was all so ridiculous, she didn’t think she could go through with it. Instead, he simply offered her his arm.

Selah blinked as this gesture set off a firestorm of whispers, and without thinking she stepped forward and slid her arm through his. He turned and led her through the crowd, walking as if through a bank of fog, ignoring faces and politely framed greetings, Selah drifting alongside him as if in a dream, trying to avoid the jealous, spiteful glares and curious appraisals discretely leveled at her. As if she’d cheated in some manner, cut ahead in line, broken social mores she wasn’t even aware of.

They crossed the vast room, and she tried to think of something to say. Stole glances at the side of his face, but it betrayed nothing, was as stoic and harsh as if carved from obsidian. He moved with that same fluidity that she recalled, though it had no similarity to Cloud’s natural grace. It was unnatural, unnerving, but she felt as if at any point he could sweep her up into a ballroom dance, or break into a run, or stop and grow completely still.

They reached the base of the steps, and Selah saw that there was nobody standing too close to them. A second guard in an elegant suit stood to one side, his presence keeping the uninvited from ascending. The Dragon ignored him, and took her hand from his arm and extended it so that she could go first. Carefully, terrified that she might trip before this whole crowd, she ascended the spiraling stairs and left the crush of perfume and resentment behind as she climbed to the roof of the Wind Tower.

The music here was elegant, produced by a string quartet that seemed able to blend their sound with the night winds so that their music was ethereal, beautiful. The sky was vast, a great dome of eternal dark with no clouds to obscure it, vast and total in every direction, the light of the rising moon obscuring some of the stars. Selah resisted the urge to stare up, and instead stepped forward and aside as the Dragon came up behind her.

There was a second party happening here on the tower roof, a roof that was more garden, a garden out of a dream. A lawn as fine as a putting green covered the ground, and everywhere beautiful ferns and slender palms grew, their layout creating a cunning and subtle maze through which ran slender streams and the sound of falling water. White beds and recliners stretched under sumptuous tents, ensconced under vine-covered trellises.

Fewer people mingled about, and they seemed to be either much calmer and self-possessed than those below or vastly more nervous at being here. The Dragon stepped up next to her, and led her forth from the solarium and out into the night. Once more, she took the Dragon’s arm, and followed his lead as they drifted along a path of white stones.

They passed a group who turned to regard them. Polite nods of the head, and Selah snapped her gaze away as she saw that two of them were vampires, skin luminous in the light of the moon, eyes like black holes in their skulls. Three people sprawled out amongst cushions on a vast king-sized bed beneath the falling fabric of a tent to their left, and Selah once again looked away with a stab of fear and revulsion. The woman in the center drank from the neck of the man to her right, even as the other man stroked and kissed her shoulders.

On they walked, and Selah couldn’t decide where to gaze. Finally, she settled for keeping her eyes on the night sky just above people’s heads, not interested in investigating the sources of laughter or small cries of pleasure and pain.

They reached the edge of the garden, a railing set before a glass wall, and the Dragon released her arm and leaned forward, resting on his forearms as he gazed out over the city. Selah examined him, and then rested her hip against the railing, holding her clutch artlessly.

“That should afford you some measure of protection,” he said at last, turning his head to look at her.

Selah almost asked what, but stopped. Of course. She’d been seen on his arm by almost everybody.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t think it will ultimately make much of a difference.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. His voice was smooth and cool like a freshly fetched river stone. “But it might remove much of the evening’s unnecessary unpleasantness.”

Selah could hear somebody moaning through a thin screen of ferns, the voice pitched in a low, private register, raw and urgent. She turned more fully to the view of the beach below, to the magnificent spread of the ocean beyond. Someday, she thought, she’d have to come see these waters under the light of the sun. Azure, with white sand. Not jet with ash gray tidal reaches.

“Why are you here?” asked the Dragon. “I have heard that this is Plessy’s arrangement, but not much more.”

Selah restrained a surge of hope. Might he intervene? “Do you mind if I ask your name? People keep calling you ‘the Dragon,’ but that’s … awkward in conversation. Why do they call you that?”

For the first time, he smiled. At least, his lips quirked. He still didn’t look at her. “My name’s Theo.”

Selah waited for more, and then accepted that was all she was getting. “Theo. That’s … better. And, one last question. Why are you helping me? Why did you help me back in the club, even?” She tightened her fingers on the railing. Hadn’t understood until this very moment how important a question this was. Couldn’t bear to look at him.

He didn’t answer for an agonizingly long time. It only made her heart beat harder, and she thought he might simply straighten and turn and walk away. At last he said, “You remind me of someone. Someone who was very important to me.”

“Oh,” said Selah. Wanted to press on: during your human life? During your unlife? Who? Your mother? Wife? Daughter? “Well, Plessy, yeah. I—well. When vampires feed from me, we exchange something. Like, I walk away with the vampire’s strength and speed, while they gain my … I don’t know. Humanity? Ability to feel emotion?” She shrugged.

Theo pursed his lips and looked away. Selah waited for a response. Finally he nodded. “Interesting. I’ve heard of something like this before. It’s rare. The last time was … nearly a century ago.”

Selah leaned over the railing next to him. “He thinks that might be of interest to some important people, though I don’t see why. All it did was make Charles cry.”

Theo laughed. “It does more than that, I believe. To become one of us, you have to die. The embrace brings you back, or at least parts of you. The rest of what you once were remains dead, leaving you little more than a combination of predatory instincts, the desire to feed, and to survive. Empathy, compassion, even love—those are absent. Yet we feel that absence, as a tongue might a missing tooth. Years of causing pain to others can grind us down, leave us little more than animals, but always we feel that absence, that loss.”

He spoke slowly, quietly, as if figuring out the words as he went. When he paused, he looked at her, and she couldn’t help but stare into his dark eyes, those pools of liquid night. “If you are what Plessy believes, then for a night you can bring back that part of us that has died. Can make us feel what you humans take for granted. It must be a terrible thing to experience, yet also something sublime.”

“Oh,” said Selah, “I see.” She looked away, chilled. No capacity for love, for compassion. And yet. Here he was, speaking quietly with her, helping her understand. Sawiskera’s right-hand man, feared by most if not all as the Dragon. Because she reminded him of someone? There was too much here that she didn’t understand.

“You don’t like Plessy, do you?” asked Selah, the realization coming to her unbidden. “Is that part of the reason you’re being nice to me? Because you don’t like him?”

Theo stirred restlessly, turned around and leaned back against the railing, one arm crossed over his midriff, the other stretched out to the side. He didn’t respond at first, but if anything, his face became harder.

“Never mind,” said Selah. “It’s not important. But—could I ask you something else? Why is Blood Dust illegal in Miami?”

Theo gave her a sardonic look. “Because Sawiskera wills it so.”

Selah shifted impatiently, “But why?”

“Sawiskera does not explain himself.”

Selah opened her mouth to ask another question, but then felt Theo’s touch at her elbow, and turned to see Karl approaching. He’d made no attempt to dress up for the party, still wearing his little suit. He walked unaccompanied and glanced down at the ground every few steps as if afraid of tripping.

“Ah,” he said, smiling brightly to them both, “how nice! The two of you having a little chat. Informal, discrete, perhaps even a little romantic? No, that couldn’t be, how perverse. Still, you two cut quite the couple.”

“Karl,” said Theo, voice little more than a low drawl. Selah decided that the best way to not lose control was to ignore Karl, so she instead gazed over the garden at some indeterminate point.

“I do hate to interrupt, but I’m going to have to steal Miss Brown away. Who, may I add, is looking quite fashionably stunning. Well done, Selah! I’d hoped you wouldn’t show in tennis shoes and jeans. Much more presentable. I see you’re taking to your new role quite well.”

Selah couldn’t help it. She looked over at him and gave him the most vicious, level stare she could manage, pouring all her contempt, loathing, and disgust into the look. Karl met it with a blank look of his own, and then grinned, delighted. “Come, let’s be on our way. The hour grows propitious.”

Selah looked at his extended hand, small and plump, and stepped forward. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. For now she was going to be taken like a doe-eyed sacrificial victim to some altar. That one step was akin to crossing a chasm, a step in which she acceded to what was going to come. All she could do was raise her chin and retain as much self-control as she could manage.

Karl watched her with glittering, bottomless eyes, and then slid his hand so that it pressed against the small of her back. He was talking, chatting inanely with her about her dress, about fashion, but Selah tuned him out. They walked through the garden maze, leaving Theo behind. Selah fought the urge to look back, to beg with her eyes for his help. He had no doubt done all that he was willing to do. Would she be taken here, in plain sight? Would they gather to watch? She tried not to shudder. Reminded herself that it had happened twice before, each time a soaring epiphany of pain and ecstasy. One could grow used to it, in the proper frame of mind. Used to a soul-deep violation, exsanguination that took her humanity along with her blood. She was shivering, she realized, and fought to relax.

Karl guided her through the garden, and then back to the solarium. Found another set of stairs leading down into a different part of the penthouse, and down they went, Karl behind, into a different world. Small, interconnected rooms in sultry shadows, lit by red and burgundy and maroon lamps that made suggestive islands of faint light in the heavy, velvety shadows. It wasn’t a series of different rooms, Selah realized, but rather another vast one that had been divided by screens and partitions. A new maze, a separate labyrinth in which the smell of sweat and sex and blood hung thick like a wretched pall, a miasma of physical scents that spoke of the human body in all its humors and secretions.

Selah tried to breathe lightly through her mouth. Karl was still talking, and though she didn’t listen to the actual words, his voice was a litany of sound that helped block out the rhythmic, pulsing music that seemed more bass than anything else, the sounds of people enjoying themselves in all manners carnal. She felt as if she were drunk in a world gone mad. It took all the effort she could muster to not stagger, to not grow dizzy, faint. On they went, around partitions, stepping carefully over countless cushions.

At last they reached an open area, a clearing of sorts. A dozen or so men and women were lounging in a circle of great cushions or chaise longues, and as one they turned their black eyes to her. But Selah couldn’t see them. Didn’t see them. Instead she stared with horror at the man who hung naked by his ankle in the center of the room, a great hook thrust under his Achilles tendon, holding him aloft. He spun slowly, his throat torn open, his blood drained into a great, roughly carved stone bowl set beneath him. Strips of flesh had been torn from his ribs and thighs, and those strips were nowhere in evidence.

Had she thought she was ready for this? Had she thought herself brave when she’d told Cloud that she would do whatever it took for the Resistance? That she was prepared for this evening’s entertainment, that she was willing to sacrifice for the greater good? Selah stared at the man’s glazed, open eyes, one of which had filled with blood, saw that his mouth was open and missing its tongue, just a guttered well of black and crimson.

She didn’t scream. Though her gorge rose, though her stomach cramped and her mind spun until she couldn’t think, she didn’t scream. She didn’t move, didn’t cover her mouth. Who had he been? What had he done to deserve this? Nothing, nothing, no crime could be equal to this punishment. She stood shivering, trapped, and allowed herself one mercy: she closed her eyes. She couldn’t close her nose against the charnel smell, couldn’t close her ears against the music and the whispers, but her eyes, those she could close, and if for but a moment gain respite from the sickening spectacle before her.

Karl spoke. It was as if she could no longer understand English. His tone was servile, subservient. He was praising somebody, or something. She didn’t care. She didn’t need to understand. They would have their pleasure regardless. Right now she didn’t care. Couldn’t think, act. Instead, she fought for simple self-control. To not run screaming, wailing, to be dragged down by laughing fiends as they pulled her back to this space, to toy with her and derive even more enjoyment from her terror.

A woman spoke. Selah opened her eyes, and saw that it was a beauty such as she had never seen before. She seemed unreal, too fleshy and carnal to be human, her thighs and breasts too full, her figure voluptuous, her lips blood red, her eyes the same pitch black but surrounded by lashes so dark and thick, they became impossibly huge. Black hair to make Maria Elena weep was a vast wash of ink behind her recumbent form, and her fangs were exposed and an almost shocking white against her lips. Selah felt entranced, couldn’t tear her gaze away. There was such redolent power to her that it almost made Selah vertiginous, such allure that she was drawn despite herself, despite everything.

Karl responded. “Nothing, I assure you. But a gift, a gesture of respect. For you to enjoy, should you desire a bite of the forbidden fruit. For that is what her blood promises. A pleasure and taste of life such as you have not had since you became your august self, so many centuries ago.”

The woman studied Selah. There was no trace of humanity in her eyes. She was a beast in human form, her face governed by an alien expression that lay partly between feral hunger, amusement, and boredom.

“Very well,” said the woman. “Your gift is accepted. You may leave.”

Karl opened his mouth, clearly not having expected dismissal. He caught himself. Bowed, stepped back, and was gone. Selah never thought she would miss him. The devil you know. She resisted the urge to close her eyes. To tremble. Thought of Mama B, thought of her father. She was their daughter. She was Selah Brown, and nothing they could do could ever change that. So she raised her chin, forced a scowl onto her features, and placed her hands on her hips.

The woman watched, and then laughed, the sound akin to hearing a subterranean river of blood pouring over black stones.

“Karl tells me that you will be such a drink as I have not tasted in centuries, little lamb.” Her voice was thick, almost clotted, with an Eastern European accent; it made goosebumps shiver up and down Selah’s skin. “I find that hard to believe.” The others stirred in interest. Selah ignored them. Stared above the woman’s head. “So let us delay my disappointment. On your knees.”

Selah refused. She would not kneel before this monster. And yet. And yet. She found her legs buckling against her will. As if a great and ponderous weight had settled about her shoulders, forcing her down. Shuddering with the effort to resist, gritting her teeth, Selah fought to remain standing, but moments later she fell.

A hiss of pleasure. “Good, I enjoy spirit. It makes the breaking so much more enjoyable. Let us find your limits. Let us test your boundaries. Crawl to me.”

Tears filled Selah’s eyes. She placed her hands on the ground. Never had she felt such terror, such helpless rage, such humiliation. To the sound of titters and half-whispered suggestions, she began to crawl across the marble floor toward the woman.

“Stop,” she said as Selah drew next to the hanging man. “Strip off your clothing.” Selah closed her eyes. She was powerless to resist. Slowly, she shrugged out of her dress, her shoes, her underclothes. The titters rose, and then became silent, as if they sensed what was to come.

“Place your hands in the bowl, and wash yourself with Marco’s blood.” The voice was thick with arousal now, and the woman was leaning forward, one hand on the chaise longue, the other under her chin.

Selah shook her head. No. No. She would not. She would. Not. Struggling, shaking, she turned toward the stone bowl. It was large, about four feet across, carved from rough granite and splattered with gore. Its depths smooth with a pool of blood. Not a whole body’s worth. Much of it was gone.

Selah was sobbing now, she couldn’t help it. She slipped her hands into the blood. It was still warm. She cupped it, and brought it up to her chest, poured it over her skin. Felt it run over her breasts, down her stomach. Reached in for more. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Poured more over one shoulder, and then the other.

“Enough,” said the woman. “Now crawl around the circle. Slowly.”

Shuddering, Selah felt back to all fours, and began to crawl once more. The world was spinning, and she had difficulty discerning the difference between the shadows and the walls, the cushions and the eager-eyed vampires who watched her. She crawled over to the first cushion, and there the vampire, a lean child of about her age, leaned forward and ran his tongue down her shoulder, licking a long stream of blood from her skin.

Selah lowered her head, choking on her sobs, and continued on. As she passed each vampire they leaned forward to lick the blood from her, tilting her head to one side or the other, running their rough, dry tongues down her chest, across her neck, over her belly. By the time she reached the female vampire, she was crisscrossed by their trails, the blood smeared thinly all over her.

“Look at me, child,” said the woman. Selah raised her face, focused on her vulpine, heavenly features. The eyes were large with delirium and pleasure. A cold hand cupped her chin, a finger ran down her cheek and then probed past her lips, pushing a blood-smeared tip onto her tongue. The coppery taste was disgusting, and Selah gagged, but the woman held her tight by the chin, and then leaned down to kiss her.

Her lips were full, her tongue muscular, and she tasted of ashes and death. Her hands were tight about Selah’s head. Selah closed her eyes, fought to not think, not feel. Had she thought she could do this? Had she thought she could attend something like this and leave with her mind? Her thoughts were leaves that had been shredded from the branches of a tree. Her sense of self spiraled ever down into a deep abyss, and she knew that the night was just beginning.

The woman broke the kiss, and then ran her tongue down Selah’s cheek. “There,” she whispered. “Learn to enjoy this. What are you but flesh? What is the flesh but a means of experiencing the world? And what is this moment if not one of the most intense moments you shall ever live through?” She lifted Selah’s chin with two fingers, and licked a line from her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. “Relish it,” she said, breathing her stale, blood-rank words into Selah’s ear. “Learn from it, learn to love this, and you shall be free of the shackles that bind so many humans to ignorance and fear.”

Let it end, was all Selah could think. Please, please, let it end. She tried to think of Mama B, her father, but nothing came. She tried to summon her pride, her strength, but it was gone. There was nothing now but revulsion and fear, numbness and terror.

“Enough,” said a voice, cutting through the music and whispers and the beat of Selah’s heart. The hands about Selah’s arm and neck tightened painfully, and Selah felt more than saw her look up.

“Enough, Jocasta,” said the voice again. “Give her to me. This is over.”

“This is but begun,” said the woman, voice taut with sudden anger. “This is my haven, my home, and you are here by my invitation alone. Leave.”

“No,” said the voice. Selah felt something within her stir. Jocasta. The name was familiar. She tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t.

Jocasta stood with such violence that Selah was sent sprawling. “You stand alone, Theo, surrounded by my brood. You stand alone, and Sawiskera is far from here. Do you wish to court my wrath?”

“I court nothing. I demand. Give her over. I shall not ask again.”

Selah pushed herself upright. Trembling, she opened her gummed-up eyes and looked. Theo stared across the room at her. The other vampires had stood, arrayed in angular poses of tension about him, none too close, but clearly drawing comfort from each other. Theo ignored them. His gaze was locked on the woman’s.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, furious.

He did not respond. Instead, he began to walk forward, toward them, and Selah felt hope leap bright and pure within her heart.

Faster than her eye could follow, faster than Selah could understand, Jocasta had her by the throat and lifted her into the air, her grip so strong, it nearly crushed her windpipe. Lifted her, and then her teeth were buried in Selah’s neck, buried deep, and her blood burst forth into the woman’s mouth. Theo roared something, but Selah could take no more. Darkness clouded her eyes, agony and release and fell ecstasy and the world spun away and was gone.

Chapter Sixteen

Pain. Euphoria. A cruel desire to resurface. Selah felt it all coursing through her like filthy oil, soiling her and energizing her all at once. She felt the need to move, to release this energy, this pressure building up within her, driving her crazy. She couldn’t contain it, couldn’t hold it in, felt as if she would burst. The only surcease was to let it free.

She was high in the heavens, and then she was speeding down into that endless ocean. The stars were streaming down beside her, a rainfall of bloodied meteors. Down she went, pushing for oblivion, for that impact, that collision with the dark waters. Pushing, eyes wide, and the tears that streamed from her were of blood.

Selah collided with the ocean and snapped open her eyes. The sound of battle reached her, clear and distinct, each blow and cry as it took place. She turned her head, burning with fever, shivering still, her joints aching, sweat slicking her skin. Turned her face and stared into the eyes of the female vampire, who lay by her side. Who was smiling brokenly, tears running down her own perfect cheeks, her thick black hair lustrous and draped over her as if in a gesture of modesty. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and then Jocasta closed her own and curled onto her side, shaking her head as if seeking to deny something, an awful truth whose weight she could not bear.

Selah sat up. Beyond the female vampire she saw Theo fighting a dozen vampires all at once. It was a virtuoso performance, and even as amped as Selah was, she had difficulty following his movements, tracing each side step, each punch, each rake of his nails. He was the center of the storm, and yet powerful as he was, he was being overwhelmed. Twelve vampires converged upon him, leaping back and forth, each also effortlessly fast and agile.

Selah stood. She looked down at Jocasta who lay weeping with both joy and remorse, curled up like a nautilus shell. Selah felt no pity, no empathy, no care. All the anger and humiliation came roaring back to her, along with a desire to hurt, to find revenge. She remembered vividly this monster’s orders, each mocking laugh, how she’d made her crawl.

Selah took her by the throat, lifted her so that she dangled from her hand, raised effortlessly in the air. Jocasta stared down at Selah, and most terribly didn’t seem to care. Blood streamed from her eyes, and she smiled tremulously before closing them. Selah stared at her, and wondered how many years this creature had walked the earth, how many decades, centuries. How many had she killed? Abused, tortured? She looked at where the sacrificial victim hung—Marco—and snarled and then tore out Jocasta’s throat.

Blood, black and tarry, spattered forth, but not as much as she’d expected. Jocasta stiffened in pain but did not scream. Instead she gave a sigh of relief, and then her skin darkened, became pitted and coarse. In a matter of moments her hair fell from her scalp, her body disintegrated, and she fell to the ground, a collection of worn bones and ash as all her years caught up with her.

Selah laughed. Laughed, feeling lost, vile, sickened and lazy with pleasure and delight. Turned, plunged into the melee taking place behind her. Reached out with both hands to take hold of a vampire by the back of the neck and his belt, hurling him with all her stolen vigor and strength into the wall with bone-snapping force.

Another sensed her, spun into a crouch and leaped, but Selah leaned back all the way so that her hands touched the ground, causing the vampire to sail over her. She followed the motion through, kicking her legs up so that she went into a backflip and slammed both feet into the vampire’s chest as it turned to face her. It staggered back, off balance, and Selah rose to bury her fist in its face, crunching bone and dropping it mewling to the ground.

Selah laughed, and with that laugh the last vestiges of her sense of self slipped away. She was mayhem; she was chaos incarnate. She skipped forward, and then leaped at another, an older woman who fell back, blocking her blows desperately, trying to keep up as Selah pummeled with ever greater and inhuman speed, a flurry so fast that her blows started to slip through and then that was enough: two, three blows and the vampire went down, still trying to block, not realizing that one of her ocular ridges had been crushed, her lower jaw torn off. Selah stepped on her neck, crushed it, and rejoined the fray.

The whole of it lasted perhaps thirty seconds. Thirty seconds from beginning to finish, and then only Theo and Selah were standing, Selah panting but Theo composed, both staring at the strewn bodies, the yells and screams spreading through the room as panic set people fleeing for their lives.

Selah inhaled in great, sensual heaves. She was drowning in anger. She felt so much fury. She was a bottomless well that knew only the desire to destroy. This was what it meant to have power. This was what it meant to be able to impose your will over another. She turned to regard Theo. He was staring at her.

“Selah,” he said.

Selah laughed. She didn’t know the meaning of the name. Maybe once she had. But here, now, streaked in blood, filled with alien might, without care, without concern, it meant less than nothing.

“Selah,” said Theo again, and took a step back as she began to walk toward him, “stop.”

“Why?” Her voice was strange to her, thick and sensual and delighted and taut with energy. “What for? So that I can suffer this again and again and again? Each and every night?” She smiled sweetly at him, at her supposed savior, at the Dragon. “I don’t think so.”

His brows raised, and then lowered. “Don’t.”

Her grin grew more manic. “People are always telling me what to do. I think I’m tired of that. Tired of behaving. I think for once I’m going to do what I want. Whatever I want.” She took another step forward. She should calm down, she should think, but there was no room for that. Not after tonight. Not with this much fevered blood coursing through her body, making her want to scream, to let the energy loose in a torrent of sound.

All context was going. She knew he should mean something to her. But he was just another filthy vampire. Just another black-eyed parasite that lived off human misery and kept countless thousands shackled as slaves. He was worse than scum—he was the personification of all evil.

He deserved to die.

What was more, killing him would be fun.

With a scream Selah threw herself forward, moving as fast as she could, seeking to destroy him, wipe the floor with his carcass. But he wasn’t there. She was almost quick enough. Almost fast enough. Each blow came within half an inch, sometimes even scoring a groove across his skin. He was a blur, ducking and swaying before her, always giving ground, causing her to howl in fury, in frustration. Screaming, she poured all her might into her next punch, swung it from her hips with all her strength, and caught him finally across the jaw. Felt his head snap to the side, felt him falter, saw him stumble.

Sensing weakness, she was upon him, but the Dragon, it seemed, had had enough. He caught her next punch in the palm of his hand, and his grip was a vise that ground her bones against each other. Selah let forth another scream, and swung her other fist, but he caught that one too. She slammed her head forward, seeking to crush his nose, but he let go of her fists and stepped aside, letting her momentum carrying her past, falling forward. She saw him lace his hands into a hammer out of the corner of her eye, but never saw the actual blow fall.

Instead, one moment she was fighting for balance, to turn on him, and the next there was oblivion.

Selah awoke to find herself being washed by the tides. She was held in somebody’s arms, allowed to float in the calm waters of the ocean. No metaphorical ocean, this; she tasted salt in her mouth, felt the strength in the arms that cradled beneath her shoulders and knees. The ocean water was cool but not cold, and the night air as always was a balm on her fevered soul. She closed her eyes and allowed the gentle waves to rock her.

After awhile, she opened her eyes. The moon had cleared the sky’s meridian and was now sloping down and away to the western horizon, a half moon, the heavens clear once more of clouds. Water droplets beaded her eyelashes, but she didn’t wipe them away. Instead, she studied Theo’s face. He was gazing past her, at the far horizon where the ocean bled into the night sky, the distant curvature of the earth that defied boundaries. He felt her gaze and looked down at her. For the first time, his black eyes didn’t elicit a frisson of horror. Alien, yes. Strange and unreadable, always. But not horrific.

Selah allowed her mind to peer into memory. To slowly allow what had taken place to come creeping back into her thoughts. An image, a bowl of stone, blood congealing in its base. She shuddered, a visceral rejection. The feel of tongues rasping over her body, as dry and rough as those of lizards. She shuddered again, felt her gorge rise, and slipped free of Theo’s arms and dove into the water.

She closed her eyes and swam with powerful strokes, through the drag and pull of the ocean, not knowing in which direction she swam, nor caring. Allowed the water to purify her, wash her of both blood and sin. She’d always feared the ocean, feared its dark depths. Had always imagined a night dive to be the most terrifying thing possible. Now she knew better. So she swam until her lungs felt they might burst, until seized by fear that she did not know how deep she’d swum, and then turned and ascended, up until she broke the surface with a gasp.

She hadn’t gone nearly as far as she’d thought. The swells were more powerful here, raising her up and then lowering her down into the troughs. Selah looked past the pale sands of the shore at South Beach itself, a wall of buildings, the famous art deco hotels of Ocean Drive, the high-rises at the very tip. The neon lights, the faint sound of music. To her left rose the Wind Tower, and she gazed at its summit, where who knew what madness now reigned.

Selah searched for Theo and found him standing still, not rocked by the tide, a column of steadiness, his black skin gleaming in the fading light of the moon. She studied him, saw that he wasn’t searching for her, and that, if anything, was what made her return.

She swam back with long strokes, and eventually, her feet touched sand once more. Walked up to him, still swimming with her arms, and stopped. He regarded her. Neither spoke, and then she broke the silence.

“Why did you help me?” The Selah of yesterday might have begun with thanks. No longer.

He didn’t answer at first. She hadn’t expected him to. So she watched him, and waited. Finally, he stirred himself. “It was wrong what Jocasta was doing.”

Not good enough. “Are you telling me that you’ve never seen that kind of shit before? That that was the first time, ever?” He didn’t answer. Looked away from her. “Tell me the truth. Why did you help me?”

He frowned, and reached a decision. “I was a slave when Sawiskera found me,” he said. “It was in 1832. North Carolina. My mother had been a slave, and I never knew my father. She was brought over from Africa when she was but a girl. She never really understood what had happened to her. Or perhaps could never accept it.”

Selah’s mind raced. She did the math: he’d been a vampire for almost two full centuries.

“I was married at the time. Her name was Sethe, and she was the only good thing in my life.” His voice had grown low, almost hoarse. Selah swam a little closer.

“At the time, I didn’t know why Sawiskera chose me for the embrace. It was much rarer before the War for a vampire to make another. Too many of us would draw attention, so we kept our numbers small. I’ve come to understand him a little through these past two hundred years, and now believe it’s because I reminded him of his brother. And if one thing has guided Sawiskera’s life and unlife, it has always been a hatred and jealousy of his twin.”

Theo laughed humorlessly. “So he took me and turned me into a vampire and part of my torment was his forcing me to abandon Sethe. I fought him, and the compulsion he placed on me. Fought it like I’d never done before or since, and in the end, I failed.”

Selah regretted asking. Prying. These waters were too deep, too lined with ancient pain. Theo stood still, the waves rising and falling about his waist. He looked up, and fixed her with his eyes.

“You look exactly like Sethe. Enough that when we first danced I thought it a dream, a gift sent from above to give me a moment of peace in these endless nights. I know you are not her. I know that. But part of me will not—cannot—allow you to suffer. I can’t stand by as I did before. Sawiskera has not laid a compulsion on me to avoid you, and so. And so.”

They stood in silence, and Selah didn’t know what to do. Should she step forward and hold him? She couldn’t bring herself to do so. He’d died two hundred years ago, and his eyes were a fathomless black. He was strange and though he’d saved her, though she’d brought something back into his life, she didn’t dare move to him, to hold him, to try and assuage a pain she could not understand. So she watched instead, and studied his bleakly handsome face.

Minutes passed, neither speaking, neither moving. Theo looked at her, and then past her to the horizon once more.

“What happens now?” Selah was starting to feel cold, beginning to shiver.

“I don’t know. I will be blamed for Jocasta’s death, and that of her brood. I can’t help but wonder how much of this Karl planned. Giving you to Jocasta, knowing how she would take you, how you might react upon taking her power.” He paused, thinking. “Sawiskera will be petitioned, no doubt, by Jocasta’s allies. They will demand my death. Sawiskera lost interest in tormenting me long ago. He may grant them their demands.”

“Oh,” said Selah. She hadn’t guessed that there might be politics between the vampires themselves. Had imagined them a unified bloc of evil. “Was … Jocasta an enemy of Karl’s?”

“Yes,” said Theo, his voice stark. “She was one of the eldest. She ridiculed and opposed his efforts to gain human sympathy.”

“And you aren’t an ally of his, either. And now you’re in trouble too.”

“Never have I seen one so suited for our condition as Karl,” said Theo softly. “It was as if he was born to die and rise a vampire.” He shook his head.

“What about … me?” She almost felt selfish asking.

“You can go free, as far as I’m concerned. I cannot help you further. If I don’t present myself to Sawiskera, I will be forfeiting his protection, and then all vampires will be able to hunt me without fear of retaliation. Go to your family. Karl will send for you, soon enough.”

“Oh,” Selah said, hope dying in her heart. She wasn’t free. She hadn’t escaped. The violence had accomplished nothing. Just a reprieve, and then she would be summoned to another party. She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering.

“I’m sorry,” said Theo. “If I helped you leave Miami, then I would break the Treaty. Both sides would hunt us down, and we would not last a week. There is nothing I can do.”

“You tried,” said Selah brokenly. “You tried. Thank you. You did everything you could.”

“Yet it was not enough,” he said, and with a spasm of anger he drove one arm powerfully through the water, sending up a wave of foam and spray. More quietly, “It was not enough.”

Theo turned and strode back to the shore, and only then did Selah wonder as to how she would follow, naked as she was. Theo collected something dark from the sands, however, and extended it to her. His knee-length jacket. Selah emerged from the water. She’d fought beside him, naked and covered in blood. He’d washed her in the waters of the ocean. His hunger was of a different sort. So she put her embarrassment aside and walked up the sands, allowed him to drape his jacket over her slender shoulders. It was large and cool and bore his scent.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride to wherever you wish to go. Then I have to find my sire.”

Selah nodded. Followed him up the beach, and then across the sands to where his bike was parked on the grass beyond the retaining wall. She climbed pillion behind him, and after threading her arms through the jacket sleeves, hugged him. He was cold, hard, but she didn’t care. He turned on the bike, and then smoothly accelerated away after she gave him the address for the Palisades.

It was a long ride, and she closed her eyes for most of it. She was spent, like a fruit whose flesh had been scraped completely away, leaving only the thin and delicate skin behind. She held him, and allowed her mind to drift, to not think. When finally they arrived and she looked up and saw the storm shutters of the Palisades, she felt as if she were awakening from a dream.

She climbed off the bike. Theo looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish … I wish I could do more.”

Selah shook her head. “You got me out of there. You’ve brought me here. I’ll never—I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

He shook his head, and for a moment Selah thought it seemed he was staring through her, seeing somebody else. He reached out and touched her cheek with his fingers, the lightest of touches, and not knowing why, she brought her hand up and pressed his palm to her face. His skin was cool and smooth. His eyes, she thought, were achingly deep in that moment, and when he pulled away, she felt an urge to hold him, felt the very urge she’d lacked before at the beach, but it was too late.

“Take care, Selah Brown,” he said, voice rough.

“You too, Theo.”

He turned the bike around and drove off down the street, going two blocks and then turning to the left toward Biscayne Boulevard. She waited till all the echoes were gone, and then turned back to the Palisades. It felt like years since she’d been here last, and its battered façade and attempt at defiance pulled at her heart. She walked up to the front door, and saw that it had been jury-rigged back up into place, but that the job was incomplete. Crouching down, she looked through a gap into the lobby, and saw Tyler and Burnel at their chess, guns by their side.

“Hi,” she said, knowing they would startle. “It’s Selah, Mama B’s granddaughter. Can I come in?”

Chapter Seventeen

They did startle, and there was plenty of shouting after that, with people being called and loud arguments filling the lobby and people staring through the gaps at her, demanding she wait till dawn, demanding proof she wasn’t a vampire, until Mama B herself arrived and silenced them all. She pointed out that Selah’s eyes weren’t black, and that if anybody intended to stop her from opening the door, they’d best be prepared to deal with all her anger.

So the door was opened and she was bundled inside. People asked questions and peered at her, but Mama B was having none of it. She took Selah under her arm and guided her through the lobby, into the courtyard, and then up the steps to their apartment. Fellow residents followed and demanded answers, speaking their opinions loudly to each other so that others might hear, but nobody dared directly confront Mama B.

Finally, their front door was closed, and Selah turned to face her grandma, prepared for a tongue-lashing but instead was enveloped in a great and all-consuming hug that crushed the breath from her lungs. So held, Selah relaxed by slow degrees. Mama B was saying something over and over again, something Selah couldn’t quite make it out, but she didn’t need to, either. She was with her grandma, and it was easy to pretend that the dark and dangerous world of Miami couldn’t penetrate the circle of her arms.

At last, Mama B pulled back and stared down at Selah. “Girl, you smell like the ocean.”

Selah smiled. “Makes sense, seeing as I’ve been swimming and all.”

“Well, then we can skip the shower and get you into some clean clothes. I’m not going to ask you anything until you’re comfortable and with a mug of something hot in your hands.”

Selah stepped back into her little closet of a room, and from her suitcase she picked out a clean pair of jeans, old and worn and washed so many times they were soft as flannel, and an old shirt from her sole year on the high school volleyball team. Clean socks, clean soft underwear, a comfortable bra, and she felt like a new person.

Returning to the living room, she saw Mama B had finished boiling a pot of water over the gas cooker, and was pouring it into a mug that immediately gave off the soft scent of chamomile. She squeezed in a drop of honey, carried the mug over to her armchair, and sat down. “While that steeps, let’s see what we can do about your hair. You’re a mess.”

So it seemed they weren’t going to talk about anything just yet after all. Content, Selah sat between her grandmother’s legs and allowed Mama B to bring her hair back into order, restoring her to some semblance of civilization after far too many days and nights of madness.

Mama B began to croon an old melody, and Selah took sips from her tea. In the yellow light of the sole lamp, Selah could almost pretend that nothing horrific had happened. That nothing worse was going to repeat itself tomorrow, or the night after. She relaxed further, enjoyed the tea, and when Mama finally deemed her hair to be in satisfactory condition, Selah stood and sat in the only other armchair in the room.

“Now,” said Mama B. Her face had grown more lined since Selah saw her last, hollowed out some by worry and lack of sleep. “Selah, tell me what’s going on. Tell me everything, and we’ll figure something out.”

So she did. She worked her way through every night, and it was no small blessing that Mama didn’t seem interested in preaching or interrupting her or telling her I told you so at every opportunity she was given. And there were many of them. Instead, she simply listened, face grave, fingers steepled beneath her chin. Selah didn’t get into all the details, and she skimmed through what had happened at Jocasta’s party. She grew increasingly uneasy and nauseated as the story drew to its close, and found her mind shying away from those images. Instead she skipped forward to Theo, the beach, and then the drive home.

When Selah finished, Mama B stood and went to the kitchen cabinet from which she drew a small bottle of brown liquid. “Scotch,” said Mama, not looking at Selah. “I’m not one for drink, but tonight seems to merit a finger or two.” She paused, and then looked at her granddaughter. “Care for some?” That, if anything, drove home to Selah how shaken her grandmother was—and how things had changed between them. Selah shook her head, and Mama B poured two fingers in a glass and sat back down.

“Now, a girl by the name of Cassie came by earlier and told us most of what you just told me. She didn’t get into the details, but said that you were going to be helping them out some, and that you’d chosen to do so of your own free will.” Mama B took a very light sip. “I’m guessing that’s changed, hasn’t it? You’re not going to want to go back to one of those ‘parties.’”

Selah shook her head. The thought caused her mind to throw up a blank, absolute wall of negation. She couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face another night like this one.

“So we’re going to have to find a solution. The easiest one is to raise a hundred grand and buy your way free.” Mama B paused at the expression on Selah’s face. “Don’t you look at me like that. I don’t have the money myself, but I have friends. I’m here because I want to be, not because I can’t pay my way out. If I ask enough people, if I call in enough favors, we can get you out. The question is, can we get you out in time? This sort of thing takes paperwork. Might take a week or two, and we can’t wait.”

They subsided into silence. Mama B took another sip. “Now, this thing that happens to you when they drink … when they drink your blood. That might be of serious interest to certain groups, the government, even. I’m sure they would be interested in taking a look at you. Seeing why it happens. I’ve never heard of something like this, so maybe we can parlay that interest in their getting you out tomorrow.”

Selah sat forward. That seemed possible. She tried not to feel excited. “But what about you? Maria Elena? I can’t let Karl come after you when I’m gone. And I know he would.”

Mama B made a hushing gesture. “You let me worry about Maria Elena and myself. We can figure that out after you’re gone.”

“No,” said Selah. “I won’t leave without you.”

“Honey, you might not have a choice.”

“If there’s anything I have, it’s a choice,” said Selah, feeling calm and quietly confident. Mama B appraised her with a look.

“You have changed. Good for you. You’re going to need all the strength you can get. Well, fine. Let’s see if I can’t buy my own freedom if the government takes you tomorrow. How exactly we’re going to convince them to take you, I don’t yet know, but again, we can try to pull a few favors in the embassy.”

“And Maria Elena? Have you even seen her recently? I can’t leave her behind, either.”

Mama B took a deep breath. “That I don’t know. Three people in one day is a lot. Let me think.” Selah slowly sat back. Watched her grandmother’s leonine face, waited, trying to not feel hope. To not feel anything. Finally, Mama B shook her head. “I don’t know. My only thought is to find your friend Cassie and her Resistance and see if they can add anything to the table. Maybe together, we can all figure something out.”

Selah nodded. She felt a sinking certainty that it wasn’t going to work. There was no way anybody could sneak out three people before tomorrow night. Selah tried to still her mind. She would not go back to another vampire party. All her desire to help the Resistance had died with Jocasta. The Resistance’s plan had been for her to use her vampiric abilities to escape and then meet up with Cloud and go film one of the large drug ships as they docked and unloaded their cargo. Blow wide open one of the vampires’ main sources of revenue. But she couldn’t do it—could barely maintain self control, it seemed, when under the influence of vampiric power.

But she realized something else. The plan was still in effect, and she knew where Cloud was. Where they were waiting for her so that they could start their mission.

“I know how to get in touch with the Resistance,” she said. “Tonight. I know where they are.”

“Tonight?” It was already past three in the morning. Selah saw Mama B open her mouth to protest and then close it. Thinking. “All right. Let’s get Maria Elena and rouse Cholly and go find them then.”

Selah felt a surge of relief. “Maria Elena is here?”

Mama B nodded. “She quit her job on the Beach. Said it was getting too dangerous. Been sulking ever since.”

Selah felt both awful and relieved. Awful in that for the past few nights, she’d been worrying about Maria Elena in abstract but hadn’t actually checked in to make sure she was doing all right. Relieved to know that she’d managed to come out of this mess without being taken hostage or hurt in any way.

“OK.” Selah stood up. “Let’s get going then.”

Mama B nodded her agreement, iron dreads shaking behind her, and set about packing a small suitcase of clothing and other emergency gear. Selah did the same, and moments later, Mama B was locking the door behind her and leading Selah down the hall.

“Where y’all going?” asked a heavyset lady who’d been obviously waiting to complain some more.

“It’s none of your business, Sally.”

“None of my business? I don’t agree! You think you can just break the rules because it’s your granddaughter? What happened to community comes first? What happened to—”

“Sally,” said Mama B, suddenly rounding on her and staring her right in the face, “Sally, you sure you want to push this right now? You see what I’m holding? It’s a suitcase. It’s got my clothes and toothbrush in it. I’ve packed my Bible and I’ve locked my door. You know what time it is? You know where I’m going? You even know why? No. You don’t.”

Sally spluttered in indignation. Mama B forced her back, step by step. “So why don’t you close that mouth of yours and leave me alone, and then once I’m gone, you can say whatever that empty head of yours thinks needs saying. We clear?”

“I never!” Sally was trying to recover, to gain some outrage, but her effort kept wilting before Mama B’s gaze. Only once Mama had turned and begun to walk away did Sally follow her once more. “You gonna just leave us here, Mrs. Brown? That what you’re aiming to do? Leave us the minute your fool granddaughter gets in trouble?”

Mama B stopped. Selah turned and saw Sally cover her mouth with one hand, knowing she’d gone too far. Mama turned, not to Sally, but to the Palisades as a whole, stepping up to the railing and looking down upon the yard and the other open hallways as a queen might survey her land.

“Now listen here! Listen all of you, especially those with the same fool notions and questions as Sally Carmichael here. I’ve been here fighting for you and our common human dignity for over two years now. Two years I’ve sweated with you, bled with you, been proud to be a member of this here community that we built together. I left my family for you, for the Palisades, for all the decent folk here in Miami. Now my girl is in trouble. She needs help. I left her once, but I’m not going to do so again.”

Selah kept back, but even from her vantage point, she could see countless faces staring at them, from higher floors, from down the hall. The whole community was awake, and everybody was listening.

“Now am I happy that my little girl has gone and got mixed up with the vampires? Am I happy to be leaving you all right now, just as we’re about to make some real changes? Hell no. You all know just how much I care. But this goes deeper. The vampires are using my safety as a means to blackmail and abuse my granddaughter, and that I will not tolerate.

“So I am leaving. I may come back, but I doubt it. We are going to find a way out, and I swear that I will continue to fight for all of you, no matter where I end up. But now, tonight, I am going to take care of my girl, and that’s all there is to it.”

Mama B turned away and took Selah’s hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.” They strode down the hall, chins up, and from somewhere, somebody began to clap. It was a lonely, startling sound, and then somebody else yelled out, “Yeah, Mama B!” And then everybody was clapping, and Selah saw tears in Mama’s eyes, though her expression did not change, and people gathered at the base of the steps so that when they emerged, they stepped out into an incredible press of hugs and good wishes. People touched their shoulders, pulled Selah in for hugs. Seeing their faces, the smiles, the tears, hearing the sincerity in their voices, their pain and loss, Selah understood, truly understood what Mama B had been doing here. Had been trying to do. What she was leaving, abandoning for her.

She felt tears burn her eyes, but an old pain, an old knot so tight and deep that she often forgot it was there, loosened. Smoothed away, and by the time they made it out to the lobby, Mama B giving everybody instructions and last-minute orders, she felt a new sense of peace.

They swept out into the street, a handful of people braving the dark to walk them to the jeep, and Selah saw that Cholly had joined them, that somebody else had summoned Maria Elena. Hair tied back in a braid as thick as Selah’s wrist, her friend looked shocked and excited both. Selah stepped up to her and took Maria Elena’s hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Maria Elena shook her head. “I swear, I have never met somebody with such a talent for trouble as you. Never. I thought I was trouble, but girl, you are the limit.”

Selah half smiled, unsure if that was praise or not, but not really caring. Maria Elena grinned at her. “I don’t know half of what you’ve been up to, but if a quarter of that half is true, it’s already way too much. And why am I’m coming? What is this? Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain in the car,” said Selah. “But, long story short, the vampires were threatening to hurt you if I didn’t do what they wanted. So I have to bring you. And where? We’re leaving Miami.” She didn’t believe it, not really, but it felt so good to say, and Maria Elena’s cry of surprise and delight gave her a much-needed jolt of pleasure.

Cholly was behind the wheel. Selah climbed in as the final few friends gave Mama B a hug, and looked at the large man. His hair was still nappy, and he smelled of sour sweat, but it was the steady way he sat there, hands on the wheel, ready to drive Mama B wherever she needed to go that really hit her. He was watching Mama with such deep affection and tenderness that suddenly Selah understood. He looked at Selah when he realized she was staring.

“Thank you, Cholly.”

He didn’t respond, eyes troubled.

“And I’m sorry,” Selah continued, “for what I said before. I didn’t understand. I think I do now.”

“My pleasure,” he said, voice low. “Anything for you and Mama B.” They held each other’s eyes and then he smiled, shrugged his shoulders. “And don’t say nothing to Mama. She’d wallop me upside the head if she suspected I harbored feelings of any kind for her. I’m going to speak to her in my own sweet time when I think she’s ready.”

Selah smiled at him, and reached forward to squeeze his great shoulder. “No problem.”

Maria Elena threw her frilly pink suitcase into the back, and climbed in. “So, where we driving to?”

“This place where some friends are waiting. They’re going to help out.”

“Friends? Like who?”

“The … Resistance,” said Selah, remembering too late how low Maria Elena’s opinion of them was.

“Oh,” said her friend. “For real? Oh. What are they going to do? Shoot a video?”

“We don’t know just yet,” said Mama B, getting into the passenger seat. “But trust me when I say that I am going to urge them to be as creative as possible.”

The last of the crowd was already streaming back to the front door, fleeing the night, so Cholly turned on the rose-colored jeep and moved. He went fast, slaloming around obstacles on the road, and everybody held on tight. In motion, nobody felt like talking, partly because of how grim Mama B looked. Still, they were moving. They would meet up with Cloud. Selah didn’t know why, but she knew he’d have a plan. She just knew it.

Chapter Eighteen

Not ten minutes later they reached the rendezvous point with Cloud. It was a dingy motel called the Aqua Blue located up Biscayne, past the periphery of vampiric activity downtown. They pulled into a parking space and climbed out. Before they had a chance to approach further, Cloud leaned out of a window above them.

“Selah!” His voice rang out. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” said Selah, deciding to not elaborate. “We’re coming up.”

They took the stairs to the third floor and then down the hall to room 306. Cloud was inside, along with Cassie and Joey. The room was cramped and there wasn’t enough room for people to sit. No lights, either; just Cloud’s flashlight, which he pointed at the wall so as to give some faint reflective illumination.

“Cloud, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Brown. We all call her Mama B. This is her friend Cholly, and this is my friend Maria Elena.”

“Hey,” said Cloud, his manner more reserved now. “Pleasure to meet you folks. What’s going on, Selah? What happened?”

Everybody stared at her. She leaned against the wall, hands behind her back. “I can’t … I’m not going to another of those parties. I can’t do it. I won’t. It was—it was much worse than I expected.”

Her words hung heavily in the air among them all. Cloud rubbed the back of his head, and then nodded. “Shit. I hear you. I thought you were being too optimistic back in the Gables. I’m—I’m sorry you had to go through that. Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” said Mama B, “and you should’ve known better than to send her in there in the first place.”

“Mama,” said Selah. But Cloud was nodding.

“Maybe. But she wanted to help. Like nobody I’ve ever seen. We’re fighting a war here. She wanted in.” Cloud looked at Selah, his face somber. “I decided to respect her decision. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Mama B glowered but remained quiet, clearly still upset but not willing to pursue the matter further.

“So,” drawled Cassie, “I’m guessing y’all didn’t just come over to drop Selah off. What’s going on?”

“Hell,” said Cloud, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “If Selah won’t go back, then they’re going to come for Mrs. Brown and Maria Elena. So. You three need to disappear. Leave Miami.”

“Yes.” Mama B crossed her arms. “Tonight.”

“Shit,” said Joey. “We can’t just wave our hands and make you disappear in a flash of smoke, you know.”

Cloud ignored Joey. “We might be able to work something out. Selah, since you left, I’ve been thinking hard, and I got in touch with that latest recruit of ours. Told him about you. About the strange reaction your blood causes the vampires. He wants to talk, and if anybody can help, he can.”

“Which ‘recruit’ is this?” asked Mama B. She was not going to give Cloud an inch.

He, however, remained relaxed, unruffled. “General Adams.”

“General Adams?” said Selah. “The General Adams?”

Cloud watched Mama B’s face for a reaction, but when she didn’t explode, he looked over to Selah and nodded. “Yeah. The same guy who signed the Treaty with the vamps. He wants to talk to you. So you ready? He’s waiting.”

Rather than be upset as Selah had expected, Mama B was quietly thoughtful. With no other option immediately apparent, everybody filed out, and a few minutes later, they were in the jeep following Cloud and his friends on their bikes. Selah sat forward. “What do you think, Mama?”

Mama B shook her head. “I don’t know, but this could work out. If it’s really him, that is. General Adams disappeared right after the Treaty was signed. So let’s hold off and see if it’s really him before we get our hopes up.”

“And if it is? If it’s him?”

“Well, girl, if it’s him? Then he might still have some serious connections with the military. I don’t know. Let’s take this one a step at a time.”

The general lived in North Miami, close to where the Wall hit the coastline. A small neighborhood, overgrown and abandoned. No lights, no movement. Nothing to call attention to the fact that such a controversial figure might be living there.

They pulled up before a small house, and Cloud parked his bike in the street, raising his hand to prevent anybody from driving onto the driveway. Everybody got out, and Cloud pressed a buzzer hidden under some plants by the mailbox. “He’s got real-live claymore mines buried around his garden. It’s death to walk up to his front door without his turning off his security system first.”

Selah shifted her weight from one foot to the other. They were all here because of her. She studied the front of the modest little house. Saw a vague reflection off glass hidden in the palm tree above them, and stared up into a security camera. Well, at the least this guy was smart or resourceful enough to have electricity.

The front door opened, and warm light streamed out over the garden. “Cloud,” rasped the man in the doorway, “come on up. Don’t step off the path.”

Cloud took the lead, and they filed down the path and in through the front door into a small living room. The house was clean, neat, and sparsely furnished. The front windows were carefully blocked with heavy drapes so that casual passersby would not notice the electric illumination within, though the general had his lights on dimmers so that everything was lit in a soft, honeyed glow. The walls were bare of pictures or paintings, no knickknacks or curios on the shelving, no rugs or other homely touches to be seen. The general was clearly a man of minimalist, even austere taste.

Their host was a white man in his sixties, trim and lean with iron-gray hair cut close to his scalp, a long, hard face, and eyes that glittered like ice struck by the sun. He scanned the street carefully after they’d all entered, and then closed the door and shot home a series of deadbolts. Turning, he walked past them into the living room and turned to survey the group, hands on his hips.

Cloud was clearly the one most at ease with the situation, and sat on the arm of the couch. “General, this here is Selah and her grandmother, this is her friend Maria Elena, and I didn’t catch your name.”

“Cholly.”

“Cholly. Things got rough tonight and Selah’s in need of a plan B.”

The general studied her. Selah shot a glance over to Mama B, who gave her a quick nod. It really was him. General Adams.

“Good to meet you, Miss Brown. And the rest of you. Please, have a seat.” He sat in a rosewood rocking chair, and everybody settled themselves on couches or armchairs. Except Cholly. He remained standing by the front door. “Cloud tells me that your blood has a unique effect on the vampires who drink it,” said the general without preamble. “Can you explain further?”

“Actually,” said Mama B, “we have very little time. We need to know if you can help the three of us get out of Miami by tomorrow night. That’s what we need to be speaking of.”

The general turned and looked at Mama B, who raised her eyebrows at his scrutiny and stared right back. Selah had never seen anybody match up to the intensity of a full-on Mama B stare, but the general weathered it like a rock might the pounding of the ocean. He held her gaze with his own quiet intensity, and for a long moment the air between them nearly crackled with tension. Selah leaned back, half expecting something to explode, but at last the general smiled, or grimaced, which might have been the best he could do.

“We are talking about your chances of escaping, Mrs. Brown. It all depends on Selah’s blood, and perhaps, your own. Have you ever been bitten by a vampire?”

Mama B stiffened. “Of course not.”

“Interesting. And a pity. To your knowledge, has anybody else in your family?”

Selah looked to her grandmother, who shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. At least, not that I know of.”

“The reason I ask is because if Selah’s blood does indeed have a unique ability to … whatever you want to call it—exchange qualities with the vampire that drinks of it—then we may have an incredible weapon on our hands.”

“Weapon?” asked Selah.

“Yes. Do you know why I signed the Treaty?”

Selah suddenly felt like she was back in school again. Except the general’s stare put Mr. Condarcuri’s best glare to shame. “Um, because we were losing?”

“Close enough. We weren’t losing, but we weren’t winning, either. We thought in the beginning that it would be simply a case of hunting the vampires down wherever we found them and killing them. It wasn’t. They went on the offensive. You will recall how soon into the War President Andrews was embraced. Two months later, they got to Vice President Connor, and then right after that they took out Speaker of the House Jiminez. That’s not to mention members of the Cabinet, state governors, military leaders, celebrities, anybody and everybody who was a public leader, a source of strength. I was a two-star general at the start of the War. I was made a five-star general mostly because everybody above me had been turned into a vampire.”

Selah nodded. That sounded familiar. General Adams leaned back in his chair. “That’s why I signed the Treaty. Anarchy was spreading through the country. Recall the riots in LA, Detroit, and DC? Further, we were losing all the strong and spirited men and women who actually had the backbone to risk their lives in fighting the vampires. The last batch who stepped into office were terrified, were willing to sign a peace settlement at any cost so that they wouldn’t be the next victims. Which was the vampires’ plan all along.

“So how did the vampires win? By embracing our leadership. By removing any effective leader any time they manifested themselves. We couldn’t protect them, and after three years of attrition, there was nobody left willing to fight on. That’s when they asked me to draft and promote the Treaty. To stick my neck out and take all the blame, for the sake of the government, to save our country from complete chaos.”

Silence followed his words. Selah looked at Cloud. He watched the general, face grim. He looked purposeful, determined, handsome. She thought of Theo, his dark skin soaked by ocean water, his voice, his anguish. Stirred in her seat, uneasy.

“So. We lost because we could not protect our leaders. Could not prevent their being embraced. And yet. If we were able to create an antidote, or even a vaccine—if we were able to inoculate our leaders, hell, our citizenry from the vampires—well. We could then tear up the Treaty and destroy them, one by one, with impunity.”

Selah blinked. “You think we can do that? Use my blood to create a vaccine?”

The general grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, the expression devoid of humor. “It is worth a shot, wouldn’t you say?”

Everybody began to speak at once, but the general held her gaze. She had no trouble meeting it, not after the number of vampires whose gaze she had met recently. But there was real hope burning in his glacial blue eyes.

“Why,” she asked, and the others fell silent, “why are you here? In Miami?”

He leaned back. Interlaced his fingers and looked down at his hands. “I was willing to do as commanded, and give the vampires Miami and LA if that bought us peace. But I would be damned if I’d stay free after condemning millions to slavery.” He looked up, face grim. “Reckon I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Oh,” said Selah, and saw that Mama B was nodding. “So what now?”

“We need to get a sample of your blood to the lab in the embassy. They’ll take you no matter what once they see how unique your blood is. Take your grandmother and friend as well if you insist, I don’t doubt.”

“So we just have to get to the embassy?” asked Maria Elena.

“Yes. I’ve already made a couple of exploratory phone calls. I tried to have them medevac you out of here, but they refused to so flagrantly break the Treaty on my word alone. They’ll take you, however, if you get to the embassy in person. Will keep you long enough to test your blood for its unique properties, and then—well. They’ll figure it out from there.”

“All right,” said Cloud. “Then we’ve got to get going. Selah, you can ride with me on my bike. The others can follow behind in the jeep.”

Everybody began to protest again, Mama B arguing in favor of waiting for dawn, which was only a couple of hours away, while Cloud wanted to move immediately before the vampires could intercept them in any manner. Selah stayed quiet, not knowing what was best, still struggling with the idea that her blood could somehow change the course of the War, could end the Treaty, could be the key to defeating the vampires.

“Go in the morning,” said General Adams, his voice cutting through the argument. “Trying to get in at the very end of the night would be suspicious. My home is safe. Wait three hours, and then drive out with the dawn. You can blend in with the morning traffic, and have a much higher chance of getting through unnoticed.”

Cloud subsided, visibly unhappy but unable to argue his position further. The general stood and pointed at Maria Elena and Joey. “You two. My kitchen is over there. You should find plenty of bread and peanut butter with which to make sandwiches for anybody who is hungry, as well as two gallons of fresh milk.” He pointed at Cholly and Cassie. “You two can go to that hall closet and dig out blankets and extra pillows. That couch is a futon. See if you can’t make enough beds for everybody to get some shut-eye. Cloud, you know where my security monitors are. Monitor them. Selah, Mrs. Brown, please come with me.”

He turned and walked out of the room, and for a second, everybody simply stared at each other, Cassie positively bristling, but then Joey laughed and stood. “I mean, come on. He was a five-star general. How else do you think he’s going to approach a sleepover?” Cloud snorted and broke the tension. Everybody began to move, to talk, and Selah and Mama B followed the general into the back of the house.

The back room was clearly a study. Bookcases covered the wall, books stacked in tottering piles everywhere. Selah wanted to ask why he didn’t just read everything electronically, but let the question lie. The general sat behind a large walnut desk, and pulled out something shaped like a flute case. He opened it, revealing two hypodermic needles along with test tubes and other medical paraphernalia.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” asked Mama B.

The general looked up. “Taking a large blood sample from your granddaughter.”

“And why should she let you do that?”

“In case we don’t make it, Mama,” said Selah. She sat before the desk. “If my blood’s that important, it makes sense to get a backup copy. Just in case.”

“We are going to make it,” said Mama B flatly.

“Indeed you are.” The general assembled his equipment, sterilizing the needle. “Still, no sense in putting all our eggs in one basket. On the off chance, we can’t risk it.”

Mama B nodded uncertainly, and didn’t avert her eyes when the general calmly and with a steady hand drew two test tubes’ worth of Selah’s blood.

Chapter Nineteen

They awoke far too soon. Selah rolled onto her back with a groan and covered her eyes with her forearm as General Adams turned on the lights and walked amongst them, shaking each by the shoulder and commanding people to rise to their feet. Maria Elena rolled into Selah’s back and buried her face between her shoulder blades and began to curse in Spanish.

With a sigh, Selah dropped her arm and looked at the ceiling. Her eyes felt stale, her mouth was tacky, and she ached with a deep fatigue that yearned for another six hours’ sleep. Still. It was time. She took a deep breath, and focused on the fact that in a couple of hours she might be free. No longer tired, she sat up, and joined the general muddle of people trying to get into the only bathroom with running water—no questions about how the general had pulled that off—and then into the kitchen for coffee and sandwiches.

An hour later, they were ready. The general had given up on keeping people on schedule, especially after Maria Elena took half an hour to get ready in the locked bathroom. The coffee was bitter, the bread was stale, but nobody complained. There was an almost holiday atmosphere to the moment as they stood about the kitchen, laughing nervously at jokes and staring pensively out the windows.

“All right,” said the general. “This is how it’s going to go down. The best approach is the subtle one, so we’re not going to send everybody out in an armada of vehicles. Instead, Mrs. Brown and Selah will ride with Cholly and Maria Elena in the jeep. Cloud, you’ll ride up ahead, scouting for obstructions or roadblocks. Joey, Cassie, you two will bring up the rear. Don’t crowd them. Stay back at least two blocks, but don’t lose sight of them, either. Go the speed limit. Keep off the 95, and instead cut inland from here and work your way south toward the embassy.”

He pulled out a map and spread it on the kitchen counter, pushing aside the jar of peanut butter and several plates. He quickly outlined their route and made sure both Cloud and Cholly knew where to go.

“Now. We only get this one shot. I don’t believe we’ll have any difficulty getting in. It’s early, and people drive to the embassy all the time. Just keep calm, and you should have no trouble. If you are intercepted, well …” The general surveyed them all, his expression severe. “You need to get through. Get creative. Stick together, and when in doubt, accelerate. Awful advice, but without serious weaponry or real backup, you need to just go for your objective. Clear?”

Everybody nodded, holding mugs of coffee close, staring at the map. Cloud began to argue with the general about the route, and the others drifted back into the living room to collect their meager belongings, fold blankets, put away pillows. Maria Elena disappeared back into the bathroom, and Cholly began to carry the suitcases out to the jeep.

It came together quickly from that point. Soon everybody was on or in their rides, and the general was standing in his doorway, hands linked behind his back. Selah raised her hand to wave, and he gave her a curt nod in return. Cloud accelerated away down the road, picking up a little distance, and then Cholly followed. Looking behind, Selah saw Cassie and Joey sitting on their bikes, Cassie yawning hugely one last time, and then they too took off.

This is it, said Selah. Our one shot at freedom.

The light was crystal gray, reducing perspective, making things seem indistinct and without depth. They cruised through block after block of overgrown homes, some collapsed, a rare few done up and well kept. Eventually, they crossed a major avenue, and then passed over the interstate. It felt like crossing a major barrier, and Selah allowed herself to feel a little more hope. Come on, she said, watching Cloud’s back. Come on.

Nobody spoke. Everybody was tense. Mama B gripped the oh-shit handle tightly, but otherwise seemed relaxed. Cholly was actually sweating, mopping at his brow with his forearm. Cloud was inscrutable up ahead, navigating smoothly, looking calm and cool and collected as he led them through the neighborhoods. A few more blocks and he raised his left arm to indicate a turn, and then swooped lazily across and out of sight.

Cholly followed. This was the last stretch, a straight shot south that would run into the old hospital complex from the north. Selah scanned the road ahead. Nothing. Just the usual abandoned vehicles, the occasional pedestrian ducking out of sight as they heard the sound of engines.

“What’s that?” asked Maria Elena. “You guys hear that?”

“What?” asked Selah, turning around to stare behind them. Cassie and Joey were just now making the turn.

“What’re you hearing, Maria?” asked Cholly, and then he heard it to. “Shit.”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” said Mama B. “Stay calm.”

A helicopter. The scudding sound of its blades as it approached. It grew louder.

“They might just be heading down to the embassy too,” said Mama B. Her voice was tight. Everybody scanned the skies, craning their heads out the windows. The sound grew louder.

“Get your heads inside,” said Mama B. “Don’t look so damn suspicious.”

Cholly began to accelerate, and then caught himself and eased back to their normal speed. Selah saw the helicopter first. It was a large black machine, not military but larger than a news helicopter. It came into view to their left, crossing Miami from the coast side, not too high up.

“No,” said Selah. “No, no, no! Cholly, hit it!” The helicopter had corrected its flight path at the sight of them, flowing away from its direct approach to now come in at an angle, following their road. She could see people standing in the open door pointing at them. “Go!”

Cholly slammed on the gas, and the jeep’s engine rose to a muffled roar as they took off. It took Cloud a moment to realize what was up, so fixated was he on the road, but when he saw them coming, he looked around frantically before catching sight of the helicopter.

There was no way they could outrace it, Selah knew. But perhaps they could go fast enough to prevent it from landing. Cholly hunched over the wheel, driving as fast as he dared with so many obstacles in the road. The rear-seat passengers sloshed from side to side. Cloud stared frantically up at the helicopter, no doubt running through a hundred scenarios, desperately searching for one that made sense, that could help.

“How did they find us?” asked Maria Elena. “That’s not fair!”

Selah almost opened her mouth to correct Maria Elena, tell her there was no such thing as fairness, and then decided to save her breath. Her heart thrummed, her palms slick with sweat. “How close are we?”

“Another five minutes,” said Cholly. “Almost there.”

“They won’t be content to just follow us,” said Mama B. “They’re going to try something. We should expect a roadblock outside the embassy.”

“It had better be a damn good one,” said Cholly. “I’m building up speed and I don’t intend to stop.”

Selah gazed past Cholly’s at Cloud as he came to a sudden stop, turning his bike sideways so abruptly that he slid a few yards to stare down the road at where a black SUV and three motorbikes had rounded a corner and were driving up toward them.

“They’re not waiting for the roadblock,” said Mama B. “Cholly, drive—”

But he wasn’t waiting for orders. He turned the wheel hard to the right and they screeched around the corner, leaving the avenue and other vehicles behind, the jeep actually almost rising onto its two far left wheels, Maria Elena screaming as they all held on. Cholly slammed down the accelerator again. They were off route, but he had studied the map.

Madness behind them. The black SUV barreled right after, and moments behind it Cassie and Joey zipped by, arms extended before them as they fired their guns, out of sight as quickly as they’d entered it. Where was Cloud? Cholly turned left, and Selah lost them.

“Watch out!” yelled Mama B, and Selah turned to see a motorbike coming toward them, the driver extending his gun right at them. The helicopter hummed right overhead now, its rotor blades causing palm trees to whip back and forth as if lashed into agony.

“Stop and get out of the vehicle,” came a voice over a loudspeaker. “Stop or we shall open fire.”

The biker didn’t seem intent on colliding with Cholly, who stayed right in the center of the road and went as fast as he could. Instead, he whipped the bike onto the left curb, and then strafed their tires with his machine-gun pistol as he drove past. The sound of gunfire was shattering, and immediately the jeep began to list onto its left side.

Selah looked behind, following the bike, and saw Cloud come roaring out from around the corner, nearly colliding with the guy who’d just past them. He had his own pistol out and took two shots at the enemy motorbike, missing but causing the guy to flinch away. Doing so at high speed was fatal—the bike responded to the driver’s ducking down, and as he was already on the sidewalk, he had little room for error. He drove into the wall, spilling head over heels as his bike tumbled out before him.

Maria Elena cheered, and then the SUV pulled out behind them, a man emerging through the sunroof with a rifle at his shoulder. He sighted down its barrel and Selah saw he was tracking Cloud surging away before him.

“Cloud, watch out!” screamed Selah, helpless. She heard the crack of the rifle, and then Cloud was down, off his bike, rolling over and over as his bike flipped and leaped into the air and came crashing down onto the road.

“No!” screamed Selah, clawing at her safety belt, not knowing what she was going to do, trying to stand. Maria Elena wrestled her down, and Mama B yelled. Only Cholly stayed silent and focused on the open road before them. Selah tried to keep her eyes on Cloud, but he fell behind the SUV and was lost from sight. “Cloud!”

“Stop the vehicle,” came the voice again from the helicopter. “You have nowhere to run.” It was flying just ahead of them, perhaps twenty feet up, skimming along over the rooftops. Maria Elena managed to pin Selah’s arms to her sides by hugging her tightly, holding her down, speaking urgently but Selah wasn’t listening.

“Hold on,” said Cholly, and they all looked forward. A second SUV had parked across the street a block down, and four men had climbed out, each holding a rifle. They stepped behind the SUV and leveled their guns.

“Cholly,” said Mama B, “Cholly, what are you doing?”

He just lowered his chin and began to breathe loudly, mouth open, going as fast as the jeep could go. They jostled and bounced over the cracked asphalt, and Selah saw that he was aiming for the nose of the SUV, planning to blast right through it and over the pavement.

“Last warning,” came the voice. Then, “Open fire.”

The windshield exploded inward as bullets tore through Cholly, punched through his seat and then through the back of the jeep. But for Maria Elena’s restraining hug that had pulled her over, Selah would have been killed as well. There was an explosion of noise, of glass shattering. People screaming. The jeep swerved to the left, clipped the wall. They were falling, rolling. Glass, impact, silence.

Selah coughed. Tried to turn her head. She was lying across Maria Elena who hung from her seatbelt. The engine was still running, and the smell of blood and exhaust and gasoline was everywhere. Fumes from the exploded airbags laced the air, and Selah touched her hand to her temple. Blood. She tried to think. She had to do something. The world was spinning. Was she upside down? No. She was hanging over Maria Elena, shoulder against the broken window. The jeep was on it side.

Yells from outside. She had to move. “Mama?” Nobody answered. She forced herself to turn, half fell past Maria Elena and onto the ground beyond her. Sat up just as men tore open the door above and peered inside.

“Mama?” No response from the front. Terror knifed into her, fighting the confusion and pain. She reached out and touched her grandmother’s shoulder. She had been wearing her seatbelt. “Mama, are you OK? Mama B!” Her voice spiraled into panic. Men reached down into the jeep, trying to grab her. She kicked out, punched ineffectively at their masked faces. Hands seized her forearm, scooped her under the arm, began to haul her out. She fought them, but it was useless. Screamed when she saw Cholly, what they had done to him.

Out into the morning light, to be carried away from the jeep. She twisted, fought further, contorted and lashed out, managed to score a kick between somebody’s legs. They let go, fell back, only to be replaced by somebody else. Over the broken road, away from her family, her friends. She strained against them, wished as she never had wished before for vampire potency, for their power that allowed her to knock others down as if they were dolls. But no. She was just Selah. She couldn’t break free, and then they were in the copter, and it was lifting into the sky. Somebody placed a mask over her face, and a cold gas washed down over her. She writhed, struggled, but it was becoming harder. Impossible. Her limbs were leaden. Terror and fear weighed her down. Mama, she thought. Cloud. And then she was gone.

Chapter Twenty

Selah awoke from a dream of stillness, of a city empty of people and vampires. Of nature reclaiming the world, clothing the asphalt and concrete in her finery of green, of birds and animals making their homes in basements and offices and theaters that had once belonged to man. Of the great and vast sensation of rightness, of how this was for the best. Awoke by slow degrees, not realizing she was awake until after she’d opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling for some time.

A nightlight glowed by her bed. It was a small lamp, and it had to be on a dimmer because its luminescence was but a soft glow that did little to push the darkness of the room away. She was in a huge bed, a king-sized expanse that accepted her body, molded itself about her contours and made her feel almost as if she were floating. She looked about, turning her head from one side to the other. A window to her left, large and open, looking out onto trees. She could see trunks, hear the sound of the wind stirring leaves. She lay still. Didn’t want to think, not yet. Lay still, and stared out the window. The trees reminded her of something, her dream perhaps. What had she dreamt? She couldn’t remember. Something soothing. Something good. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Floated in the stillness, and then the first pinpricks of memory came to her.

The flash of an image. Mama hanging from her seatbelt, head lolling to one side, unresponsive. Selah grimaced, and turned her head sharply away. Another image: Cloud falling in slow motion off his bike, tumbling along the ground. Selah gripped the sheets in her fists, willed it away. No. Cholly, his chest a riot of raw flesh, his eyes wide open, startled even in death. No.

Selah sat up, breathing rapidly. Where was she? Where was everybody? She looked about the room with a new focus. Large, heavy wooden beams crossed the ceiling. No decorations but for a large, ornate dreamcatcher on the wall over the bed. She swung her legs over the edge and saw that she was wearing soft flannel pajamas, faded blue and just slightly too large for her. Stood, and then paused. She wasn’t hurt. She touched her hand to her forehead. Nothing, not a scratch. She felt well rested, she felt good. That couldn’t be.

Selah padded around the great bed. A large fur rug was thrown across the floor at its foot. Brown and thick, soft under her bare feet, a bear’s head attached to one end, claws at each corner. She moved to the bedroom door, paused, and listened. Silence. Selah hesitated, and looked at the window. She could slip out, into the garden. Escape. The idea was but momentarily attractive. Escape where? She didn’t even know where she was. And they wouldn’t have left the window open if they weren’t confident of trapping her should she try to flee. But it was more than that. She had to know how her friends and family were. She had to ask.

She opened the door. Beyond was a living room, a fire burning in a stone fireplace, crackling and spitting and sending shadows dancing and leaping across the walls. A huge flat-screen television occupied one wall, larger than any she’d ever seen, as tall as she was and twice as wide. A sun climbed forth in slow motion, setting morning clouds aflame, bright and brilliant, its light liquid gold and quicksilver white. By its light and that of the fire, she saw the man seated on a similar fur rug in the center of the room. He’d been watching the TV screen, but when she opened the door, he turned his gaze toward her.

Selah froze, transfixed. There was such dolorous weight and majesty to his gaze, such penetrating power. The room faded away into shadow; his eyes were two jet-black coals that stripped her down to her core, peeled back all her layers and left her naked and vulnerable to the cruel wisdom and insight he possessed. She felt herself shrinking, curling into herself, unable to bear their weight, their scrutiny. Then he looked away, and raised one hand to indicate the space on the rug before him.

Selah took a shuddering breath, then a second one. Felt as if she’d just stepped out from under a glacially cold waterfall, her body shocked, numbed, yet awakened by the electric intensity of the experience. She had no choice in the matter. She stepped over to the rug and gingerly sat cross-legged before him.

His face was beaten bronze, wide and with harsh cheeks. His mouth a disapproving slit, his nose flat, angular. His black hair parted down the center and wove into two short braids that hung down to each clavicle, intertwined with strips of cloth. But his appearance, his features, they were meaningless. They didn’t seem to be him. It was what burned beneath his skin, what smoldered within his eyes, that was the real man. Vampire. He wore human form, but was as far from human as one could imagine. It was as if winter were seated before her in the guise of a human, or a wolf, or the embodiment of silence. There were vast voids and depths to him, spaces she could not fathom, all of them contained within his body.

He was wearing, she realized with a shock, a Superman T-shirt. That caused her to jerk her head back perhaps an inch at the dissonance of it. His face remained inscrutable. She looked down at her hands, suddenly confused. A Superman shirt?

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It came to her, then. Who this had to be. Whom she had been brought to. Sawiskera. The lord of Miami, the vampire king, Theo’s sire, the most powerful vampire known to man. Her hands tightened into fists. She stared fixedly at the ground, trembling. This … this thing—had been walking the earth for millennia. If people were right. He was older than most countries. Selah’s mind raced. Sawiskera. Here. Before her.

Then she relaxed. All the tension flowed from her like blood from slit wrists. Her shoulders slumped, and she lifted her face to look at him. So this was it. She wouldn’t have to kill herself after all. He would do it for her. Karl’s last present, no doubt, to the most powerful vampire there was. Would he drink from her? Would she gain his powers? She blinked. Could that happen? Would that be her escape? No. He would know of the consequences of drinking her blood. Would understand, and wouldn’t risk it. Would he?

She swallowed. Why wasn’t he talking? He just stared at her. Those implacable eyes. She looked down again. Either way, events were now out of her control. She could not escape, not from him. She couldn’t resist him, either. The likes of Jocasta and Theo were children compared to this creature.

The fire crackled and gave off a pleasant smoky smell. Silence. Resigned, she waited. There didn’t seem to be any point in asking him about her family. She felt as if he wouldn’t understand, be able to answer. So she waited.

One moment he was seated before her, and the next he wasn’t. He was simply kneeling before her, one hand reaching out to gently brush her cheek with the back of his index finger. There had been no intervening movement. His face was grave, his eyes locked on her own, his touch cool and sure, moving down the curve of her cheek, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t think at all.

“Do you love another?” His voice was soft, strangely accented, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t formulate a response. But he looked into her eyes and seemed to read the answer in her very soul, and what he saw caused him to nod. When skin contact broke, it was as if she had been given the ability to breathe again, and she gasped, rocking back, blinking furiously as tears filled her eyes. She reached up and wiped them away, and realized that he was gone.

Selah stood. Turned wildly, nearly tripped. He was gone. Not in the corner, not by the TV, just disappeared. The sun on the screen had barely cleared the horizon, she saw, creating a glorious morning. Disoriented, confused, she stepped to the bedroom door, peered within. Nothing. Turned back. What should she do? Find a weapon? Escape? Wait? Was he coming back?

Unnerved, near panic, she heard a door open and then close in a further room. Decidedly normal sounds. She straightened, smoothed down her clothing. Lifted her chin. The door to the living room opened, and Karl Plessy stepped inside.

He was turning to close the door when Selah ran at him with a scream torn from her soul. No thought, no decision, just an upwelling of hatred so profound, so utter and total, she could do nothing else. She lashed at him with both fists, trying to batter his face, but he caught her wrists with each, a genial smile on his soft face.

“Now, now,” he said, and cast her down onto the rug. She fell hard, cracking her knee and elbow, but struggled back up only to receive a kick in the stomach. All the breath went out of her, and Karl placed both hands on his hips, watching to see if she would try another attack. He moved, fast, terribly fast, but she’d been able to see him move. Blur, even. Which once would have been terrifying, but now, after Sawiskera, was almost comforting.

“Calm down, Selah, calm down. Let’s not get excited. I mean, there is cause for excitement, genuinely good things are in the works, but let’s not get carried away, hmm?”

Selah lay heaving, fighting for breath. Motes of colored light danced in her vision, and finally she inhaled terribly, sucking air back into her lungs, wheezing and panting in pain. Karl laughed, and moved over to stare at the TV screen. He watched the sunrise for a moment, and then shook his head. Turned back to her, waiting.

Finally, Selah sat up, her breath under control. She wanted to claw out his eyes, tear that smile from his pudgy face, but didn’t try. Knew she couldn’t. So she poured her hatred into her gaze, despite knowing that would simply amuse him further.

“Well, the good news is that Sawiskera has accepted you as my gift. Good news for me, I suppose. You are to be his. I don’t know quite what he plans to do with you, but I’m sure he’s learned some tricks in his time that would put Jocasta to shame, eh? Ha. Poor Jocasta. What a disaster that night turned out to be for her! And to think, Theo got caught up in all that mess. How unfortunate for all involved. Ah, well, live and learn.”

Selah stood. “Where is my grandmother? Maria Elena? What has happened to my friends?”

“Oh, right. More good news. Everybody is fine.” Selah closed her eyes and felt a flood of relief wash over her. “Well, almost everybody. That driver fellow is quite dead, and both of the people on the motorbikes. They were unfortunately shot, several times, but, well, you really shouldn’t shoot at security, now, should you?”

“Both of them?” Selah felt her relief drain out of her. “No. Please, no.”

“Sorry. Your grandmother is fine, albeit a little sore, and my, does she have a mouth on her. A few slaps shut her up, though. She’s being returned to the Palisades, as is your friend. Maria Elena, is it? No problems there.”

Two bikers were killed. There had been three. Selah waited, eyes bright. Unable to ask. To see which of her friends had died. Thought miserably: Cloud.

“Oh, one last thing. Your friend, Cloud? The Resistance leader? Our dashing rebel? He’s alive and well. He’s being held prisoner, of course.”

“What—” Thank you, Lord, she thought, trying to stand steady, to not let her knees shake. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“You know how these things are. You can’t expect to lead a resistance movement and get away with it, can you? He’s going to be entered into the next Freedom Fight against our current champion. A small example, shall we say, to all other like-minded fools.”

That was too much. Despite her resolve to be strong, to show no fear before this monster, she couldn’t take so much all at once. She sank down to the rug and buried her face in her hands. Cholly was dead. Joey and Cassie were dead. She couldn’t even process that. Cloud was being held for a Freedom Fight. She stared, dry-eyed, at nothing. Her mind numb. She had no more tears, she realized. No more tears.

“Now, I know this comes as a shock, but this is what happens when you break a deal with me. I would apologize, but, well, you were the one who broke the deal. I actually think I’m being quite lenient by letting your grandmother and friend go home. I should have them killed, but what can I say? I feel sorry for your situation. It is rather tragic, really. So consider that a small gift from me, and proof that I do indeed have a sympathetic heart.”

She looked up at him. Something in her stare made him lose the smile. “Well then. I have other things to attend to. You’ll be transported to a holding cell until all this gets wrapped up, and then I’ll present you formally to Sawiskera next week at a public event. Something to look forward to, I suppose.” His tone had grown hard, cold. He stared at her as if she were but a hunk of meat. “Until then, Selah.” With that he turned and left. Closed the door behind him.

Selah sat still. It was too much. She couldn’t process it. She thought of Cassie helping her pick out her dress on Miracle Mile, her sarcasm and grouchy protectiveness, her lopsided smile. Thought of Joey meeting her in that dark bar, his face lit by a single flame. Cholly. Cholly and his hopes for Mama B. How he had done everything to impress her, to try and win her over. His nappy hair, his lumbering walk, his big eyes as he watched the world. Selah’s shoulders shook, and she lowered her head. Cloud, she thought. Oh, Cloud.

Chapter Twenty-One

Selah was moved from the small house and placed in a security van. She didn’t look around, didn’t take much notice of anything. She felt numb and without life. Defeated. This was the end. At least her grandmother had gotten out alive, but Selah knew Mama B. She’d be devastated. Maybe the fight would go out of her too. There was no point in thinking things through. In looking for new options. Friends were dead because of her. Friends were still going to die. Enough. She wouldn’t fight anymore.

They drove north. The van rumbled and shook over the cracked roads. They drove for some time. Where did Sawiskera live, she wondered? The moment of curiosity died. What did it matter? They arrived. The back doors were opened, Selah was dragged out, hands cuffed behind her back. She watched everything take place from miles away. They were downtown, it looked like. Across the pavement, and into the back of a high-rise through a loading dock. Selah didn’t struggle, didn’t fight. Barely walked. The two men half dragged her, half pulled her along. Into a service elevator, and then down a couple of floors. Out and into a concrete corridor. Basement levels, bowel of the building. It was cool down here, the dominant sound the distant hum of vast machinery. Along the corridor, past various doors. They stopped before one, and somebody opened it. Stepped inside, and she saw actual jail cells, old school, each cell with bars as thick as her wrist. It looked like something out of a Wild West movie. The bars emerged from the ground and went straight into the ceiling. Three cells, and she was thrown into the one at the farthest left.

The men departed, but she didn’t care. She stared at the occupant in the cell to the farthest right. Theo. He sat against the concrete wall, wrists on his knees, watching her with flat, black eyes. Simple black shirt, jeans, feet bare on the floor. Silence. She could feel the hum of machinery through the ground. Selah scooted back against the wall, facing him. Watched him through the bars. He didn’t seem hurt. Just trapped. A prisoner, an animal, like she was.

“So this is where you ended up,” she said at last. He didn’t answer. She took a breath, and then hung her head. The flicker of hope she’d felt upon seeing him extinguished. He was as helpless as she was.

The minutes stretched out. She wondered when Cloud would be thrown into the ring. Was it happening now? She tried to recall the roar of the crowd she’d seen in the feed. Pictured Cloud going up against some monster of a man. How long would he fight? He wouldn’t go down easy. His dancer’s grace might keep him out of reach for a minute, maybe two. But he would go down. And down again, until finally he’d lay still, broken. Dead.

“What happened?” asked Theo, his voice breaking the silence.

Selah looked up at him. His face betrayed nothing. A mask of stone. She shook her head. “We tried to escape. Make a run for the embassy. They stopped us, killed some of my friends. Another one—Cloud, the guy leading—who was leading the Rebellion—he’s being put into a Freedom Fight.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve been given to Sawiskera.” Silence. No sound from Theo, not even that of breathing. “And you? What’s going to happen to you?” She opened her eyes to watch him.

He stirred, shifted his weight. “I’m going to be given to what’s left of Jocasta’s brood. They will drink my blood, eat my flesh, and then kill me.”

Selah couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Well, aren’t we a pair. Both our lives have turned to shit.”

Theo seemed unmoved. “Everything comes to an end.”

“Great,” said Selah. “That’s what I need right now. Some Zen fucking philosophy.”

“Everything comes to an end,” said Theo, ignoring her. “I have walked this earth for a long time. In my memory, the nights bleed into each other. There have been few moments of joy, and almost none of happiness. Just pain and base pleasure. It has grown … exhausting. Endless nights on the hunt, with nothing to look forward to beyond the thrill of feeding. Even that has grown stale. Even that.” He looked over at her. “Have you ever wondered why there are so few elder vampires? Why few live past several hundred years?”

Selah hadn’t. “I didn’t know most didn’t.”

“They don’t. Most die before they reach a hundred. Foolishness, feuds, accidents. Those that pass a century have displayed a rare will to exist. Not to live, but to persist. A denial of death, of an end. Some persist out of fear, others out of a greed for life, and a few because of some long-standing goal. But it doesn’t last. By the time you reach your second century, the nights have grown thin. There is little that thrills. All is but a case of repetition. An endless series of moons that gaze down on the same sordid pleasure plays.”

Theo shook his head. “Few have the will to exist past their second century. The world grows too strange. Humans show the same passions and weaknesses, but they no longer speak to your culture, your understanding of the world. You grow alone. You grow tired. You grow weary. I grow weary. All things come to an end, and perhaps this shall be mine. I can’t say I don’t welcome it.”

Selah stared bleakly at him. He stared at the far wall. “And Sawiskera? How has he survived, then? For not centuries, but thousands of years?”

Theo laughed, and it was a mirthless, unnatural sound, a husking bark of amusement steeped in his own bitterness. “He claims to have never been a man. Claims to have been a Native American god, one of two twins born of the Sky Mother. He’s had many names. Hahgwehdaetgan is another.” Theo shook his head. “I’ve gone through moments where I believe him. When I’ve understood the scope of his ego, the sheer inhumanity of his mind, and wondered. Maybe he is a god. I’ve never heard of another vampire that’s lived for so long.”

“Oh,” said Selah. “Great. I’m being given to a god.”

“Perhaps. Sometimes I’ve thought that, but most times I think he was just a man. An ancient man of amazing willpower. He definitely had a brother, and I think it’s his hatred for him that’s kept him going for so long. That thought has arrested me time and again. That a hatred could fuel a life for millennia. In the legends I’ve studied, his brother was the good one. Blessed and full of creative energy. His brother made all life from the body of the Sky Mother, brought goodness into the world. Sawiskera was the dark brother, full of jealousy. He tried to copy his brother, and failed. His creations were mockeries, dark things. They fought. In the tales, the good brother banishes Sawiskera into the night, and bids him leave all men alone. There are some frightening … similarities.”

Selah digested this. “You said you reminded him of his brother. Was it because you were also … a good man?”

Theo laughed again, but this time quieter, more bitter than the first. “He may have thought so. I don’t even remember. It was so long ago. Sometimes I think my memories of my real life are now just memories of memories. Stories I’ve told myself that have replaced my actual memories. Shadows on the wall.”

“Your wife, Sethe?” Selah went forward carefully, tentatively. “How can you be sure I look like her?”

Theo turned and stared at her, and there was a sudden and naked vulnerability to his face. He shook his head, and looked away. “In that, I have no doubt.”

Selah swallowed, looked down. Silence again. She found that she didn’t want silence. Not yet. Soon perhaps, when her end came. But not now. “He was wearing a Superman shirt when I saw him. Sawiskera. And watching a sunrise on TV.”

“Yes,” said Theo. “He is strange. I don’t pretend to understand him. Or guess what he makes of modern culture. But I know he’s always looked for his brother, for his brother’s reflection in things. As if he believed that his brother’s spirit yet can be found in certain people, certain objects, traveling down through time, haunting him. It seemed absurd to me, but he decided back when Superman got big that he was a modern incarnation of his brother. The good man who fell from the sky. So he mocks him by wearing his shirt, and in other ways. You would think it foolish, but then you see that hatred in his eyes, see how solemn his desire to desecrate his brother’s memory is, and it’s just chilling.”

The door to the room opened. Selah turned and saw Hector step inside. He looked nervous, glanced back outside before pulling it closed behind him.

“If you’ve come to gloat, you can skip it,” said Selah, looking away. He was about the last person other than Karl she wanted to see.

“I, well …” He sounded strange. Selah looked back. He was sweating. He was holding something in his hand. “I’ve been thinking. A lot. Since I’ve met you. About—whatever, it doesn’t matter. And I was just talking to Mr. Plessy. And he told me in great detail about what was going to happen to you.” He was turning something over and over in his hand, shaking his head. “He told me that it was thanks to me. I mean, I was in the helicopter. When you were taken. I was leading the mission. I was the one who convinced Angelo—Maria Elena’s boyfriend—to keep an eye on her, and let me know where and when she went places. He said this was all my responsibility.”

Selah didn’t know whether to spit or hold her breath. Something was happening. She rose to her feet and moved to the front. Hector glanced up at her, looked away.

“I didn’t realize, I mean, I did, in abstract, but when Mr. Plessy told me, I mean, when he went over the details of what was going to happen, I finally understood what I’d done. I don’t know. It snapped me out of it, like I’d been in a daze. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t let it happen.”

“Hector, what are you saying?”

“I’m going to quit. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I can’t do this anymore. So I’m done, and I’m going to unlock this door, and leave the keys, and I’m gone.”

He glanced at her and looked away again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then he unlocked her cell door and stepped away and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Selah was out of the cell before she realized she was moving, and took the keys from the lock. Theo was also standing. “We can go,” she said. She hurried to his door, and it was as simple as unlocking it. His door swung open. They were free. “We can leave!”

His momentary elation dissipated. He shook his head. “I can’t. It wasn’t the bars that held me here. It was my resignation. Sawiskera’s judgment.”

“But if your unlife is ‘over,’ then do whatever you want! Come with me! Come help me, even if you think you’ll get caught. How can it get worse?”

“You don’t understand,” said Theo. “I can’t go against my sire’s wishes. It’s more than just my desire. His orders weigh upon me like shackles. They constrain me. I can’t leave.”

Selah shook her head, not understanding. “You mean, they compel you? Magically?”

He looked about to argue with her words, but instead nodded. “A vampire’s sire can command him. His blood gives him authority. I can’t go, as much as I wish I could.”

Selah felt her wave of hope come crashing down. Together they could’ve rescued Cloud, made for the embassy. Alone, what could she do? She couldn’t break into the Arena alone. Couldn’t save him. Unless.

“Drink from me.”

Theo stepped back.

“Drink from me. If you won’t come with me, then you can lend me your power. Drink from me.”

Theo shook his head. “I can’t.”

Selah slammed her hand on the cell door’s frame. “Why not? Why can’t you?”

Theo couldn’t meet her gaze. He turned and looked away. “I can’t. I can’t face the pain.”

“The pain? Of what, being human?”

“No. Of having left my wife to die. Of having abandoned her. I can’t do it.”

Selah stepped into his cell. Stared up at him, his handsome, brutal, alien face. Then she punched him in the chest. It was like hitting a massive punching bag filled with sand. He looked at her in surprise. She punched him again. “You coward!” She hit him in the stomach, knowing it did no good, but furious, furious at him. “You won’t help because you’re scared to feel pain for your wife? Doesn’t she deserve better? Don’t I? Is that really how you’re going to end your existence, like a coward, afraid to take responsibility for your actions?”

He caught her wrists, trapped her, but she carried on, staring him in the eyes. “I’ve taken responsibility for mine, and you think I like it? My friends are dead. One of my friends is about to die because of me. My grandmother is who-knows-where and probably in more pain than I can imagine. Because of me. And now I’m going to die, sold down the river to Sawiskera for his pleasure, and you think you can get away with being scared? Grow up! Quit being a coward, and act like a man!”

Theo stared down at her, and then his lips pulled back from his teeth. From his fangs. She felt herself falling into his eyes, drowning in them, so compelling and deep they were, and her words died in her throat and he was growling, growling from the core of his soul, a sound of fear and desperation, and then he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to her neck.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Selah ran. Her feet barely touched the ground. She was a zephyr, a spirit of the wind. She ran toward an image that hovered in her mind, summoned from memory: Cloud. His eyes, amused, intelligent, caring. His mobile mouth, his hair always spiked in strange and crazy ways. She ran, and the world seemed to move in slow motion around her, seemed to glide past without effort as she soared through it. She was out of the parking garage and heading up Biscayne. Running down the center of the street. No matter that cars slowly swerved to avoid her. The wind tore lovingly at her clothing, sought to restrain her. Nothing could. Please, she asked, please let me be in time.

Up ahead and to the right was the ivory curvature of the Arena, the vast LED screen that covered its front, glittering and glowing as it promoted that night’s event. She could read the words easily from here: CLOUD vs. ANTHRAX. It flashed away, was replaced by Cloud’s iconic masked face, and then by that of a half-barbarian thug who had to be his opponent. The crowd was sparse. Easy to run through, to knife past. She crossed into the right lane. No matter that cars were speeding toward her. A white Mercedes slammed on the brakes. It moved at a glacial pace. Selah leaped. She raised her knees, flew up and drifted over its roof, covering twenty feet before she touched down on the pavement, light as a feather. People turned to stare at her, mouths open, but she was already gone.

She was up the broad, sweeping steps leading to the Arena’s glass doors in a heartbeat. A line of stragglers still tried to get in, tickets in hand. She thought of Cloud’s smile. Of the rifleman in the SUV lining up his sights on Cloud’s back. She ghosted past the line, slipped past the ticket registrar before he could turn to look at her. The rifleman’s finger on the trigger. She had been screaming, endlessly screaming, and it had done no good.

Across the open space of the lobby that circumnavigated the ground floor of the Arena. Ignored the escalators, the vendors’ stalls, not daring to look at the TV screens that showed a fight going on in the center of the arena. Please. Please let it not be too late.

Two huge doors sat open before her. She floated through. Guards turned to look in the direction she’d just come as she passed, their reflexes lagging behind. The stands rose up on both sides, seats high above, so that she ran down a brief hallway between them and out onto the main floor.

A cage had been set up in the arena’s center. A cube thirty feet a side. Overhead the massive telecaster showed the assembled crowd what was taking place within with terrible detail. Selah pushed past all manner of people, knocking them aside as if they were made of paper. A vague sense of the how vast the arena was, how far back and high the stadium seats receded in every direction. Only the lower levels were filled. Not enough sick fanatics in Miami to fill it completely.

Selah’s eyes locked on the cage. Cloud was within, down on one knee, his black hair hanging thick with sweat across his face. Blood smeared across his pale skin. She could see him with perfect, crystalline clarity. One of his eyes had already swollen shut. Blood flowed from both nostrils. He cradled an arm awkwardly to his naked chest, and claw marks lacerated the long slope of his back.

He was alive. Nothing else mattered. He was alive, and she was here, and now they would all pay. Selah leaped into the air, bringing her knees to her chest. She sailed over the last ring of people, and landed beside the cage’s door. She reached out and opened it, twisting and breaking the lock as she did so. The door swung open, and she stepped inside.

Anthrax was approaching Cloud, and had only now registered the new entrant. He was tall, and had a lean, whipcord look to him. Broad shoulders and powerful hands, gold hair furring his chest, his jaw. He looked like a leopard in man form. His smile slowly disappeared as he turned, his reflexes that good. He actually saw her and looked surprised. Had the time to look surprised. But oh, his eyes were normal eyes, human eyes, and no matter how talented he was, no matter how good he was with his hands, at breaking other people, he was only a human, and he never had a chance.

Selah wasn’t thinking, not any more. Her moment of euphoria at seeing Cloud alive had been folded into resplendent anger. It was the selfsame fury she’d always felt when picked on by an older kid, a teacher, a cop. It was the same resentment she’d borne when the whole world had conspired against her, and she’d been unable to act. To set things straight.

She hit Anthrax square in the sternum. His eyes widened and his arms shot forward as he lifted off the ground. His legs extended before him as he flew back, still in slow motion, eyes rolling up, to collide with the cage wall. He hit the ground hard enough to bounce, and lay still, twitching.

Selah stood still, frozen in place, arm still held out in her punch. She became aware of a great vacuum of silence, of a great intake of breath as thousands paused, confused, unsure. Countless eyes stared at her, and the booming voice of the announcer silenced. She straightened in that great collective hush, and turned to look at Cloud. He forced himself to his feet, one of his knees clearly unable to take his weight. He rose, and looked at her gravely, and then, despite it all, he gave her a wry smile, and tentatively, almost shyly, she smiled back.

Sound crashed down upon them with the fury of a mob denied. People rose to their feet to shriek and howl, and everywhere men in security uniforms converged. Time moved faster now, suddenly far too fast, and everywhere Selah looked, she saw faces creased with anger and fear moving in on them. People on walkie-talkies. People drawing guns. People pointing. She moved over to Cloud, who slipped his arm over her shoulder.

“Hello, Selah,” he said, voice rough. “Good to see you.”

She looked up at him, saw how much pain clouded his eyes, and felt tears burn in her own. It seemed she still had the capacity to cry. He reached up with one hand and lifted her chin, and his lips touched hers, briefly, the softest of pressures, and then the first gunshot sounded.

Selah wrapped her arm around his waist and ran. It felt like carrying a small child, barely any weight to him at all. She was less graceful for carrying him, but still able to bunch her legs and leap high, arc out over the heads of the men who waved their electrified batons as they turned and tracked her passage. She landed and took off, moving fast and low, heading back to the door. The crowd screamed, the sound a slurry of bad emotions, but Selah felt as if she were shielded from the world. She had him. They would escape now. They would escape and she would find Mama, and nobody would stop them. If they tried, she would simply brush them aside.

Out the doors, bowling over surprised guards who opened their mouths comically as they registered her presence moments after they were already falling. Out into the lobby where people still didn’t know what was going on. Out the door, knocking over more people who were trying to get inside to watch someone die. Out into the glorious night air.

Hope died in Selah’s chest. Why did it bother to persist? Why did she still fool herself into thinking there was ever going to be a chance in this foul world for her to win? She slowed, stopped on the first step. Set Cloud down carefully, her eyes locked on the man who stood below. Who looked up at her with eyes as old as sin, with eyes that might have seen the Sky Mother die, with eyes that brooked no other way but his own, for he was the first and the most powerful, and he had come for her.

“What’s going on?” asked Cloud, but she ignored him, and began to walk down the steps toward Sawiskera.

“You have risked your life for love,” he said. His English was strange, as if each word were recollected before spoken.

Selah took a deep breath, released it. Fought for calm. How did you find such a force as this?

“I needed to know that you would. I am pleased.”

She didn’t even try to understand him. He looked almost small, a slight man, his skin bronze in a manner that no human skin could ever be. The kind of man you might lose sight of in a crowd were it not for his world-devouring eyes. She began to move faster, skipping down the steps, picking up speed. Ever faster, allowing her pain and despair to propel her forward, forward into oblivion.

He never moved, not that she saw. One moment he stood solid, the next his fingers gently closed around her outflung fist and he was at her side, his arm guiding her forward momentum down and then up so that she lost her balance, her footing, and flipped into the air. The world spun crazily, and she fought to right herself even as she fell, headlong, onto the pavement below. She hit hard. Didn’t bounce, but rather slid, flipped midslide, and came up into a crouch, one hand down on the pavement to arrest her momentum, heart sinking as she saw the vampire king begin to ascend the steps toward Cloud. Who forced himself to stand, who faced the monster as he came, and did not run.

One last time. One last chance. She threw herself forward, raced up the steps so quickly, she could’ve run across water. Right at Sawiskera’s back. Leaped at him, seeking him with both hands, but once again he wasn’t there. He was beside her, his elbow buried so deeply into her spine that she went from moving forward to slamming straight down onto the steps, chin cracking on stone, back wrenching into utter agony and fire, thoughts broken and unable to reform.

Selah lay still, groaning. Watched, unable to move, as Sawiskera stepped up to where Cloud stood, and looked up at the taller youth. She tried to stand. Her back felt broken. She couldn’t move her legs. The pain was coming for her like a red tide, sweeping up the reaches of her mind, seeking to drown her. She gritted her teeth. Reached out with shaking hands and pulled herself up a step. The effort caused her to cry out in sheer torture. It was too much. She fought, fought as hard as she could, but the pain was a growing coruscation and it took her mind and drowned it in an infinity of fire.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Selah fought for consciousness, to emerge from the dark fist by fist, as if a rope hung from the land of the living down into the black pit in which she had fallen. Fought for thought, for perception, for an awareness of self. Dimly became aware that she was hanging from her arms, her shoulders in agony from taking her weight, hands numb from where the circulation had been cut off. She managed to get her feet under her and stood, taking the pressure off. Straightened and forced her eyes open.

A large room. Caramel marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows along one side. She recognized this place. Where she had first spoken with Karl and Charles. The penthouse apartment. She was tied to a marble column, and tied firmly. She was about to test her bonds when she saw Cloud seated in an armchair, head hanging down before his chest, clearly unconscious.

“Cloud!” she cried. He didn’t respond. He was still alive, though. Why else would they put him in a chair? She struggled against the wires that bit into her wrists, but couldn’t snap them. Most of Theo’s vigor had left her. She cried out in frustration and put all her strength into snapping her bonds, but succeeded only in drawing blood.

Selah subsided. Looked out the window, and saw that the moon was low in the sky. It had to be around—three or four in the morning? Sunrise wasn’t far off. Her passive acceptance was gone, it seemed, and now she was a snarl of anger, the sight of Cloud inciting her to fight on. She looked about her feet. Nothing but smooth marble. She shook her bonds once more, and then sank back against the pillar.

The door opened, and Sawiskera stepped inside. He was bare-chested, his physique compact and without an ounce of fat. Skin burnished as if by ancient suns, his braids pushed behind his shoulders. He walked in a wide circle about the room, and then came to a stop before Selah to examine her with those damned eyes of his.

She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She didn’t speak, but did the only thing she could in this situation—she raised her chin, and looked at him with complete disdain.

“You are a rare gift, Selah Brown.” His voice was strange, the sentence disjointed as if the words fit poorly together. “One that I have waited centuries for.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

Sawiskera seemed unperturbed by the venom in her voice. “When last I came across one such as you, I did not want the gift he had to offer. Now, however, I am ready.”

“Gift?” She stopped. “What are you talking about? You mean, my blood?”

“No.” He stood still. No pacing, no moving of his arms, his head. There was a preternatural discipline in how immobile he was, how divorced he was from normal human body language. “Your ignorance is not surprising. Few who walk these nights know what your heritage is, and your consequent potential. What you can offer a vampire such as myself. I was surprised and pleased when Karl Plessy approached me. It is rare for one as young as he to have absorbed so much lore in so short a time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“My brother’s blood flows through your veins. You are a child of Teharonhiawako, and though his blood has been diluted by countless generations, it still protects you from the dark. We are family, you and I.” Selah heard the words, but they were meaningless. It couldn’t be. She wanted to rub her face, to laugh, but all she could do was shake her head mutely. Sawiskera’s lips pulled back from his teeth in what could have been an attempt at a smile. “If one such as myself drinks of your blood, then I can, for a few hours, partake of your humanity. Teharonhiawako’s goodness can redeem even those as fallen as my children. You, in turn, enjoy the powers of my kind, and then the exchange fades and we return to our normal state. There is, however, a means to permanently effect this exchange. For one who knows the correct ritual, it is possible to take your humanity, to become human. Forever.”

Selah’s heart stuttered. She stared at him. “What are you saying? You’re going to steal my … humanity?”

Sawiskera smiled then, and it was a horrible expression. There was foolishness in it, inhuman happiness. No, that wasn’t quite it: rather that it was a smile that a child might give, without self-consciousness, without guile. Sawiskera smiled at her, and nodded.

“I grow tired. I long to see the sun with my own eyes. My feud with my brother has grown so old that it no longer sustains me. For centuries I have contented myself with possessing the spirits of animals and riding their bodies by day. Seeing the blue sky and the yellow sun through their eyes. And for a while, that was sufficient. Then you humans invented the television, a means to capture the very rays of the sun itself so that one can watch it forever. I thought that might suffice, but it has only quickened my desire. I want to feel its warmth on my skin. To see the world lit in bright colors. I want to laugh in the light of my brother, to raise my hands to him and call him down in peace. I want the day. You will make that possible.”

“No,” said Selah, voice trembling, quiet. Then it spiked up into a shout, “No! You can’t do that! You can’t—you can’t—”

“But I can,” said Sawiskera, stepping forward, “and I will. Once Karl told me of what you were, our fates became intertwined. I only needed you to fulfill the one condition that the rite requires for us to proceed, and tonight, you have shown yourself willing.”

“What condition?” Selah tried to guess it, thinking desperately through what had happened. Wondering if she could foil it, even now.

“For the rite to work, you have to willingly undergo it. Teharonhiawako was a creature of good; you have to agree to the exchange out of love.”

Selah laughed. “Then you’re out of luck. Here’s an update you might’ve missed: I don’t love you, I don’t want to give you my humanity, so sorry. You got it all wrong.”

“You don’t have to love me.” He was infuriatingly patient, calm. “You have to agree to the exchange out of love. You risked your life for this man. What is that if not love? I will compel you by threatening him. If you do not agree to this, then I will hurt him until you do.” Sawiskera smiled at her again, that smile of a child. “I am good at making pain, at making it last. I can break his spirit slowly, so that by the end, he will not be the man you know. So that by the end, you will cry and be broken in turn for having allowed it to happen, and beg for me to end his torment. You will even agree to kill him yourself to grant him peace. Know that this is true: I have done this before, many, many times.”

His eyes devoured her. They were the bright, black eyes of an animal, a bird of prey. There was nothing in them that she recognized, nothing at all. Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow, barely managed. Oh, Cloud. She looked at him, at his tousled mop of black hair. She couldn’t see his face. Recalled his smile when she appeared in the cage to save him. His ironic smile, relieved and confident both, his smile that showed that despite it all, they hadn’t yet even come close to breaking him. She gazed into Sawiskera’s eyes. This one could. She knew it. He could break Cloud, and through him, he could break her.

Selah closed her eyes. Could she do it? Could she agree? Become a vampire. A monster. Even the best of men and women when embraced became callous, indifferent. They changed. She wouldn’t be Selah, not anymore. Nor would she be simply dead; it would be a form of walking purgatory, an ongoing eternity of nights filled with blood and pain and hunger. She would inflict countless horrors upon others, and she wouldn’t care. She would enjoy it.

Selah shook her head. It was too much. She couldn’t encompass the enormity of it. Couldn’t understand what was at stake, not really. She took a shuddering breath, then a second. Fought for calm. Looked up at Cloud. Where he sat. Could she live with herself if she allowed him to die instead? She couldn’t face that. Couldn’t think of it. Two impossibilities. Both led to damnation, but one allowed Cloud to walk free.

She thought of his lips on hers. That one moment of bliss in the madness of the arena. She thought of his kiss, his laughter, and closed her eyes. The fight went out of her. For a moment that seemed infinite while it lasted she fought the words that had to come, but then she nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sawiskera didn’t laugh, didn’t celebrate in any way. He simply nodded. This was what he’d known would happen. She hated him for his confidence, his surety in manipulating her. He walked away, and after three steps was simply gone. Selah stared at the door, looked around quickly. Just gone.

“Cloud?” She tried to keep her voice steady. His head hung still. “Cloud? Please wake up. Please …”

He didn’t respond. She blinked furiously against the tears. Think. Think. What could she do? Who could help her? Hector? No. He was long gone, if he hadn’t already been caught. Maria Elena, Mama B? Back at the Palisades, injured and heartbroken. Even if they tried to come for her, how would they even get in the building, much less up here? General Adams? He probably didn’t even know what had happened, where she was. And he’d said the US government had refused to directly intervene. Theo? Trapped in a cell of his own making, bound by laws of obedience woven into his very blood. Who? Cholly was dead. Cassie and Joey too. There was nobody else. Nobody.

She rested her head against the column. Thought of her father. Imagined him swinging in through the window on the end of a rope, gun in hand, glass shattering before his feet. Swinging in to save her, helicopter outside to whisk them away. Almost smiled at the ridiculous image, which in turn brought back her tears. How she missed him. What she would do to see him one last time.

Sawiskera returned. He was suddenly crouched before her, carefully pouring out a white powder in a circle around her. He poured carefully, drawing a line all about her pillar, and with that completed he placed a small woven red mat on the ground just outside it. He opened a simple leather pack and drew out feathers, beads, strangely colored stones. These he set before him with ceremonial deliberateness. He disappeared. Selah was almost getting used to this. A few minutes passed, and he was back, setting a beaten copper bowl on the ground before his mat. Into this he poured a mess of small branches and kindling, which he then efficiently arranged into a small chimney. He waved his hand over the small branches and they caught fire, crackling into flame as if by magic.

Selah watched, mesmerized. He tossed different powders into the fire, and the smoke took on a sweet smell. Sawiskera sat back on his heels, closed his eyes, and went still. That vampiric immobility. Selah tugged at her bonds again. Gazed out the windows. Only an hour or so left before dawn. The smoke that had at first been sweet began to take on a cloying smell. It hung in the air, not dissipating, and soon she saw it follow the circle of white powder, blindly tracing its course so within five minutes, the white powder circle was mirrored by a hovering one of gray smoke.

Sawiskera opened his eyes and began to chant. Selah couldn’t make out the words, or even the separation between them. The tones rose and fell, from guttural croaks to high-pitched calls, streaming ever on without pause for breath, a horrifying torrent of sound that no human could ever make. He stared right at her as he chanted, and the sound of his voice began to reverberate in her mind, echo within the confines of her skull. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dislodge it from her mind, but it only grew louder. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. The words mixed with the smoke and made her feel nauseated, panicked. She thrashed against her bonds, and then gave in, panting.

On and on went the words, the sound intrusive, invasive, and it felt as if they were slowly sliding around her mind like fingers tickling their way under the belly of a fish, softly and subtly encircling it. Getting between her thoughts and her self, creating a barrier so that she panicked once more, tried to thrash, and realized that she could do little more than groan and stir her arms.

Selah fought to open her eyes. She couldn’t do more than crack them open. The fire before Sawiskera seemed to have grown into a tall spear of flame, impossibly high, a tongue of crimson that danced and weaved like a cobra, the rest of the room hidden behind a wall of smoke that now stretched from ground to ceiling. She tried to stand, tried to do anything, but couldn’t. Her body was numb, no longer hers. His words and sounds poured into her mind, around it, and she tried to scream. Was unable to even lift her head.

He stood, then. Stepped through the smoke, over the white powder, and right up to her. Reached up and broke her bonds with ease, and cut deeply into each of her palms with one of his nails. She didn’t even feel the pain. Stood swaying as if held up by a great invisible hand. Watched with horror as he sliced each of his own palms deeply, as his black blood welled up, and then she closed her eyes as he took her left hand in his left and her right in his right, wrists crossed, their wounds pressed together.

It was too much. Too much. She felt his blood press into the cut in her palm like an eel might force itself through a bank of weeds. It wasn’t passive bleeding but a questing, thrusting of his blood. And her own blood in turn began to pour into his palm, so that within moments his blood was circulating into her body, hers into his. The smoke, his words, all of it crashing upon her.

Selah felt something dislodge itself from her core. From within the center of her body, close to her heart—but it was deeper than that, somehow, from some dimension that was not physical. It was the essence of self, and it slowly pulled away from her body, began to lift. Selah gasped, choked. It was a pain beyond mere physical agony. This was a desecration of her spirit. She shivered, shook, but could not break his grip. Could not fall, could not pull away. Watched, numb with shock, as her spirit began to flow through her right palm into his.

And then, somehow, the ritual became worse. Something was flowing out of his left hand. Coursing into her along with his blood. Something foul and putrid, black and rancid. It was alive, in its own distorted way, a power, a need. It was a hunger, a blind and demanding appetite that at last did make her scream, despite all the bonds that held her. She threw her head back as that violation entered her left arm, and screamed, screamed for the death of her self, her innocence, her spirit.

Cataclysm. It was as if a lightning bolt of searing mercury blasted her, and she felt Sawiskera being wrenched away. Flung from her, their bond broken. Selah fell to her knees, mind reeling, their connection broken. What remained of her spirit flooded back into her, and the infection severed, so that what she had received wiggled into her core, leaving the rest in Sawiskera. She fell forward, onto her hands, her face pressed against carpet. Coughed. Sobbed. Looked up.

Theo stood tall and terrible between her and Sawiskera, who was gazing up at him with the first human expression she’d seen on his face: fury. Theo’s fists were balled, his feet shoulder-width apart. Ready, chin lowered. Staring at his sire, whom he had just flung aside. Had just impossibly flung aside.

“You dare,” hissed Sawiskera. “You dare!”

“You’re worse than filth,” said Theo. “All these years. All these years I’ve done what you’ve asked. Never had a choice. Now I do. And I aim to redress those wrongs.”

Sawiskera rose to his feet. Selah slowly stood as well. The nausea was deep in her belly as if a bucket of slime had been poured down her throat. Her head throbbed and her spirit throbbed, violated in some visceral, unthinkable manner. But something else—a deep and alien strength roared within her now, akin to the pounding of the ocean on the shore. Instead of feeling weak and bewildered by what had happened, Selah reached for her anger and found it. Reached for this new strength, this power that Sawiskera had poured into her, as great as storm clouds and as harrowing as forest fires, and let it lift her to her feet.

Sawiskera flew at Theo and they met each other in midair, crashing to the ground as they grappled, hands grasping forearms, fangs bared as one strove to overpower the other. Selah knew Theo shouldn’t have a chance against him, should have been crushed immediately by his sire, but somehow, he wasn’t. He held his own.

She stepped forward to help and hit an invisible wall. Fell back, and then ran forward again. A curtain of invisible energy stopped her, and she stared down. The circle of sand. She tried to kick it apart, but her toe was stopped inches from the grains. Selah cried out and pounded her fists against the wall. She felt an alien strength raging within her, but it was futile. The wall held her trapped.

Sawiskera bucked his body and threw Theo off. The Dragon hit a desk, shattered the wood into kindling, and then rolled over the ground into Cloud’s chair, hitting it hard enough to knock him over. Theo rose to his feet, only to find Sawiskera waiting for him. The vampire king’s power was coming back. Faster than the eye could follow he struck at Theo, who blocked the first, second, third attack, only to miss the fourth and be lifted off the ground by the neck.

“You pathetic creature,” snarled Sawiskera, eyes slits, voice almost incomprehensible. “You dare raise your hand against me?”

Theo wasn’t interested in small talk. He wrapped his left leg around Sawiskera’s waist, holding him tight, and then lashed out with his right knee, burying it with all his force into Sawiskera’s chest, cracking his sternum. Sawiskera dropped him with a croak and stepped back.

Selah screamed. Pounded on the invisible wall. Saw that Cloud had opened his eyes, was staring in horror at the fight taking place before him.

“Cloud!” she yelled. He looked up, over at her. “Cloud, help me! Come here!”

Whatever had been done to him had hurt him badly. He blinked, tried to focus on her. Wriggled, and then she saw him go impossibly pale and nearly pass out as pain washed over him.

Selah looked over at the two vampires. They were exchanging blows faster than the eye could follow, but Sawiskera was winning. He was demolishing Theo blow by blow, driving him down to one knee, knocking him back. For every punch Theo landed, his sire landed three.

Cloud forced his eyes open. Took a deep breath and wriggled free of his chair once more. His hands were cuffed behind his back, but he hadn’t been actually tied to the chair. He worked himself across the floor, sweat drenching him in moments, and then sat up, tried to rise, and fell over once more.

Selah didn’t think about how she felt. The corruption she sensed within her own body. The sordid taste in the back of her throat, the feverish burning swamping her. She stared fixedly at Cloud. Tried to lend him strength, to help him through sheer will.

Theo was down. Sawiskera walked toward him. Cloud straightened, fell over closer to her. A foot from the circle. “Break it!” she cried. “Break the circle of sand!”

Sawiskera placed his foot on Theo’s throat. Drew his hand back to strike.

Cloud reached out and with a convulsive movement of his head, broke the circle.

Selah flowed free. Like a spirit of vengeance she fell upon Sawiskera before he had a chance to react. She caught him by the shoulders and cast him against the wall with enough force that he crashed through it, and fell into the far room. She went after him. Clawed her way through the hole, but he was already up. He grabbed her right fist, and she his left. They stood, suddenly immobile, each straining against the other. Staring into each other’s eyes.

“You gave me too much,” she hissed. Eyes narrowed, he fought not to show his shock, to show fear. Clearly nobody had resisted him in such manner for millennia. But Selah felt Sawiskera’s own strength in her limbs. In her fingers. He was her height, she realized. A compact, slender man. Who was now beginning to buckle before her.

But his was a will that went beyond strength. His was a mind that had obdurately fought for survival through countless challenges. She saw him reach deep within himself, reach past the part that was mere strength, and call upon his foul will.

Slowly he began to rise. To force her back. She leaned into him, trying to crush his wrist. Her body burned in black flames, her spirit tumbling away, lost and broken. All that mattered was this moment, this creature. Ending its life. Breaking it while she still had his strength, his vitality within her.

But he was too strong. Despite how much he’d poured into her, he was still too strong. He rose up, off his knee, and stood again. The shock was replaced by satisfaction, his face contorting with hunger. He raised himself higher and began to drive her down to the ground.

Then he contorted, spasmed, and a stake emerged through his chest, blunt end smeared in blood. Punched right through his ribcage, and Sawiskera lost all his strength, released his hold, and toppled to the ground, eyes staring at nothing.

Theo stood, face battered, the ridge of his left eye crushed, left arm hanging useless by his side. Selah stared at him, and he offered her a bleak smile before collapsing to the ground as well.

Chapter Twenty-Five

With Cloud hobbling beside her and Theo staggering after, Selah quit the penthouse, walking past the stunned guards who poured in through the door behind her and became the first to see Sawiskera’s impaled and beheaded body turning into the finest dust. Selah waited grimly for the elevator to arrive, ignoring the yells that sounded from the panicked guards, the requests for help, for assistance, for orders. The threesome entered the elevator and rode it down, knowing that when the doors opened below, they would face a maelstrom of panic and resistance.

Fortunately, Cloud thought to send them into the parking garage. They skipped the lobby for the wide-open concrete spaces beneath ground, and it was there that Theo took his leave.

“I can’t go with you,” he said, stepping away.

Selah examined his face. How the pain, fatigue, and misery had carved deep lines around his mouth, creased the corners of his eyes. As if he’d aged a thousand vampire years in but a few hours.

“Where will you go?” She didn’t try to dissuade him, knowing it would be of no use. She could see how her proximity hurt him now, understood how his emotions were still raw from her blood. How old memories had been stirred into life.

“I’ll leave Miami,” he said. He lifted his head as if hearing something, and then looked back at her. “Plessy will now step into power. I don’t want to be in a city that’s under his control.”

Cloud nodded. “Plessy. You think he’s worse than Sawiskera?” Selah and Theo exchanged a look. They both turned to Cloud and nodded. Theo said, “I’m starting to wonder how much of all this was his plan all along. If he knew that my drinking your blood would break my loyalty and snap my bonds to Sawiskera. Would free me to finally attack him. How much we have all played into his hands.”

“Shit,” said Cloud. “That ain’t good.”

“Take care of yourself,” said Selah. She wanted to say something more, but once again felt an abyss between them. Even reaching out to touch him was too much.

Theo nodded stiffly. “You too. Perhaps we’ll … meet again.”

“You never know.” Selah smiled bravely at him. “And thanks. Thanks for everything.”

Theo’s smile turned bitter, wry. “I never had a choice. Not really. Not looking the way you do.” He turned and walked away, heading toward the car ramp that led to the next level.

“That was Sawiskera’s Dragon,” said Cloud, “and he just helped us kill the vampire king.”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re both still alive.”

Selah smiled again. “Yes.”

Cloud shook his head, and then slipped his hand around the nape of Selah’s neck and pulled her against him. They stood like that, eyes closed as they held each other, and then Cloud pulled back. A glint burned in the depths of his eyes. Wonder, perhaps, or awe. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.” He limped over to a compact Audi the color of vampire eyes and tried the door. It opened. He lowered himself carefully into the driver’s seat. Selah rounded the hood to the passenger door as Cloud brought the engine rumbling to life.

“Where we going?” asked Cloud.

There was no doubt. “The Palisades. Mama B. Then—out.”

“All right.”

They drove out of the parking garage. Nobody tried to stop them. There was nobody at the front gate, so Cloud simply pulled out carefully and took off down Biscayne. Looking out the window, Selah watched crowds of people surging back and forth. People stared into their Omnis, talked and gesticulated wildly to each other.

“Things have gone to hell,” said Selah quietly. “With Sawiskera gone, it’s going to be a rough couple of nights.”

“You bet,” said Cloud. He rested his head back and winced once more as he hitched his weight to one side. “How are you … how are you feeling?”

Selah closed her eyes. Tried to figure out an answer to that question. Breathed slowly. She didn’t feel Sawiskera’s power burning through her any longer, that sensation that she could tear open cars or even hurl them across the street. But something was wrong, on a deep, once-inviolate level. It felt as if a hole had appeared in her core, a hole that punched way down into her being, and was now filled with slime. A deep morass of darkness that, for the moment, lay still, but was undeniably there. She tried to focus on it, to probe this pollution, but she didn’t have the strength, the resolve, to push too deep. Shuddering, she opened her eyes.

“Not good. I don’t know what happened to me up there. He was going to steal my humanity. Going to make me a vampire. I think—I think Theo stopped him in time. But I still don’t feel right.”

Cloud’s face was grim. “I didn’t want to say anything at first. But here. Take a look at yourself.” He reached out and lowered her sun visor, and then flipped open the mirror cover.

Selah reached up and angled it toward her face and then slammed it closed, let out a sharp scream of denial and fear. She turned her head away and pressed her face against the window. Scrunched her eyes as tightly as she could. It felt as if somebody had jolted her with a live wire, had run a thousand volts through her. She shook her head, over and over again. No. NO.

Her eyes were black, as smooth and empty as the void. No whites, no iris, no pupil. Just a gleaming and perfectly ebon surface. Vampire eyes.

“No,” she said brokenly. “No.”

They drove in silence. Cloud shot worried glances at her, but kept quiet. Selah had to look again. She opened the visor, then the mirror. Stared into her own black eyes. Leaned forward, got a good look up close. From cornea to corner, they were pitch black.

Selah fell back into her seat. “No.”

“What was he doing exactly? What was he trying to do?”

“He said he was going to steal my humanity. Exchange it for his vampiric curse. But Theo stopped him. I felt it. He stopped him before he finished. I didn’t receive it all. I didn’t give him all of me. It didn’t work.” A name echoed in her mind: Teharonhiawako. She didn’t want to think about that. What it might mean. What the implications might spell out.

Cloud pursed his lips, took the turn off Biscayne and started to head through Midtown. “Well, maybe it’ll wear off. Maybe it’s like an aftereffect from the ritual. Give it a few hours, and it’ll go. You don’t have his strength anymore, right?”

Selah shook his head. “No. That faded away when Theo cut off his head.”

“There you go. So maybe this will too. Look, it’s nearly dawn. A million dollars says your eyes will clear when the sun rises.”

Selah craned to look behind her at the eastern horizon. It was a light gray, streaks of butter yellow already painting the wispy edges of the dark clouds.

“Please,” she said, to nobody in particular. “Please. Don’t let this happen. Please don’t.”

Cloud reached out and took her hand in his own. It was large, long fingered, dry. She held it tightly. They drove in silence, and then Cloud gave a small nod.

“Thank you. For coming for me. For saving me.”

“No problem,” said Selah morosely. She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm with eyes so black.

“You want to know something?” Cloud’s voice had taken that quiet tone of his, half pensive, half subdued. “I was never worried. I never felt like it was over, even when things got bad in that cage. And when you showed up? It was just like this amazing, beautiful confirmation of what I’d known would happen. I’d known it. That I could put faith in you. Somehow. Impossibly.”

Selah looked at him. He met her gaze squarely. She took a breath. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would get better. Maybe sunlight would clear it up.

“I thought it was all over,” she said. “I was caged up with Theo, and then Hector of all people came in and freed me.”

“Who’s Hector?”

“Just this security guard who worked for Plessy. He was part of the group in the helicopter that grabbed us. He said that Karl had told him in horrible detail what was going to happen to us, and that he couldn’t take it. He had to free us.”

Cloud frowned. “That sounds suspect.”

“Yeah,” said Selah, squeezing Cloud’s hand and looking out the window. Strange how these streets already looked so familiar in all their ruinous abandon. “I wonder why Karl did that. Drive it home in such detail for him, I mean.” Selah felt things moving into place in her mind. “It’s like he was trying to provoke Hector into letting us go free.”

Cloud shook his head, turning the wheel so as to drive around the sunken bus. “To what end? You were meant to be a gift to Sawiskera.”

“Yeah. So he said.” Selah continued to tug at the problem, at the events. “I mean, he told me himself you were at the Freedom Fight. And then Hector arrived just in time to free me so I could show up. And …” A memory. Sawiskera at the base of the steps. You have risked your life for love. I needed to know that you would. Realization hit her. “They set us up. They freed me on purpose.”

The Palisades were up ahead, and Cloud began to slow the car. Looked at her in confusion. She continued, excited, “He needed to know that I loved you before …” She suddenly couldn’t look at Cloud, could look anywhere but Cloud. “Um.”

He parked the car. Took his hand from hers and touched her cheek. Her face burned. Stupid to be self-conscious after all they’d gone through, but she still couldn’t turn to look at him. Felt his fingers under her chin, turning her face, and when she looked at him he kissed her, lips firm on hers, hand curling around the back of her head. Pulling her to him, holding her close. She kissed him, closing her eyes, losing herself in the moment, in the feel of him, the taste.

He broke the kiss, pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “Selah. Oh, Selah.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, ran her thumb over his lips. She didn’t know what to say. How could you feel such joy over so much fear? “This can’t work,” she heard herself say.

“Why not?” He opened his eyes. She felt his long lashes tickle her brow.

“I—I might not be getting better, this could be permanent—”

He kissed her again, cut her off before she could go any further. Kissed her hungrily, his lips pressed against hers, mouth opening. She allowed her words to spiral away, and pulled him closer, tugged at his shirt, his shoulders, until he winced and broke away, gasping in a moment of pain that dissolved into a husky laugh as she began to apologize over and over again.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” He pulled her close again, pressed his forehead to hers once more. “Selah. I don’t care about your eyes. I don’t care about what might be happening to you. You saved my life. If you’re in trouble, I’ll help. I’m going to get you to safety, no matter what. Get you and your grandmother out of here. I’m not going to leave you.”

Selah tried to smile even as she felt tears brim in her eyes once more. Before they could spill, she kissed him, kissed him as if this time might be their very last.

When they pulled apart, the sun was a half inch over the horizon, and the first person had set out from the Palisades’ front door with a bucket in his hand. Selah pulled back, lips feeling inflamed, a feverish sensation simmering under her skin. Cloud reached for her again, and then drew back, laughing again at himself. They sat in their seats, and watched each other, the morning light golden and slanting through the car. They smiled at each other, fingers interlaced. They were alive. They were alive, and he needed her, had sworn to help her, protect her, get her and her grandmother to safety.

“We have to take advantage of the confusion,” he said at last. “Get you to the embassy as soon as your eyes clear up.”

“How are they looking?”

He leaned forward. “A little lighter. Looks like it might be going away like I said.”

She laughed and turned back to the mirror. Peered into them. Her iris and pupil were visible now, both still an absolute black, but the whites of her eyes had lightened to an ashen gray. “Thank you, Lord, thank you thank you thank you.”

She fell back into her seat, and then turned to him, grinning. “Let’s go find Mama B and Maria Elena. Maybe my eyes will be completely clear by then, and we can go.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and then paused. She stopped. There was something about the way he was looking at her, a special look. His eyes warm, his mouth quirked into a private smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, and a smile quirked his lips. “I was just thinking about how things have changed since you showed up. And to think we’re just getting started.”

She returned his grin, squeezed his hand, and got out of the car. They made their way to the door, but Selah couldn’t resist and broke into a run. Ran through the open doorway, waved to Tyler and Burnel as they stood up in alarm, and on through into the courtyard. Ignored everybody, the sudden questions, and ran up the stairs. She just wanted to see her grandmother. Raced down the hall to their door and opened it. Was suddenly seized by panic: what if she had died? What if she hadn’t made it? What if Karl had lied?

“Selah!” said Mama B from where she sat in her armchair, wrapped in a blanket. Delight fanned through her face, and she tried to climb out of her chair but Selah was in her arms before she got more than halfway out. “Oh, Selah!”

They held each other tightly. Selah buried her face in her grandmother’s chest, squeezed until Mama B protested, laughing and pushing her away. “Mind my ribs! They’re not even close to healed yet. You can’t go squeezing an old woman like that.”

Selah leaned back and was about to tease her when she stopped cold. Mama’s face had grown grave. “What’s happened to your eyes …”

Selah pulled back and looked away. Mama B reached out with two gentle hands and turned Selah’s face back, tilted it up to the light. “Your eyes, honey. What in the Lord’s name did they do to you?”

“It’s getting better,” she said quickly. “They were pure black before. They’re clearing up.”

Mama B was shaking her head. “What happened, girl?”

Selah took a deep breath, and then turned as Cloud limped into the doorway, pushing his way through the gathered throng. His face was pale once more, but he smiled bravely and stepped inside. “Mrs. Brown.”

“Cloud!” There was genuine pleasure in her voice, surprise and delight. “You’re alive! Praise be, come on over here so I can get a good look at you. And the rest of you, close that door! This ain’t no spectacle for you to be gawking at! Give us some privacy.”

Cloud limped inside and pulled a chair over to sit next to Mama B, who took his hand warmly in her own. “I never. To see the both of you as you are now. Oh, what a blessing. Do we have time to talk? Can you stay?”

“Sawiskera is dead,” said Selah. “Theo, the Dragon, he’s leaving Miami. We don’t know who’s in charge of the city. Everything is going crazy downtown.”

“And on the Beach too,” said Cloud. “And it all went down just before sunrise. People will be too scared to act today. Everybody will be frozen, waiting for the vampires to wake up tonight.”

“So this is a good time to act,” said Mama B, nodding firmly. “Now is the time to get to the embassy.”

“We just need to wait for my eyes to clear up,” said Selah. She turned to Cloud. “How do they look now? Are they better?”

He peered at her, and then reluctantly shook his head. “Not yet.”

Selah forced the words out. “What—what if they don’t change?”

“They will,” said Cloud.

“What happened?” Mama B’s voice was sharp. “What did they do to you?”

“A ritual,” said Selah. “The vampire king. He said he was tired of life as a vampire. Said he was going to steal my humanity, make me a vampire in his place. But it was interrupted. It didn’t get finished.”

Mama B frowned at her, Cloud equally silent. Selah looked from one to the other, panic rising in her chest. “No change? None at all?”

Cloud shook his head.

“Well, we have to act today. Whatever we do, we can’t wait,” said Mama B. “If we go to the embassy, they might just consider her a vampire and turn her over to Plessy.”

Selah shivered and hugged her arms. Closed her eyes. Her vision remained completely normal, but the thought of looking out at the world with gray and black eyes chilled her.

They sat in silence. “Well,” said Cloud at last. “We can’t just sit around. Maybe we can head over to the general’s and see if he has any better ideas.”

Mama B drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, and scowled. “We can’t risk them thinking you’re some kind of vampire. And the general struck me as a man of good sense. He might have something to say worth hearing.”

They collected Maria Elena, who had suffered a concussion and some cuts, and piled into Cloud’s new car. They cruised out into the General’s neighborhood until he parked before the general’s home. Selah gazed at the front door. Thought of Joey and Cassie, of Cholly. How they had been here not so long ago.

Cloud spoke into the security speaker, and the general waved them in. Inside the kitchen the morning light was resplendent across the cabinetry and broad kitchen counter. General Adams didn’t quite hug any of them, but he shook their hands, which was clearly the closest he could come to open affection. He then sat them all down with breakfast and coffee and heard them out.

When Selah finished her last part of the tale, he stared off into space, thinking. Selah cupped her coffee in both hands and inhaled the bitter aroma. They waited, staring at the general, waiting for him to provide the solution.

“Well. I’ll be damned. I’ve never heard the like. Ancient vampire lore is beyond me. You tell me the ritual was interrupted, but it’s gone past 10 a.m. and your eyes remain the same as they were at dawn. It may very well be that what was done is irreversible.”

Selah tried to stay calm. To not immediately break in and contradict him, explain in reasonable terms that he was absolutely wrong and that she was going to be just fine.

“That said, you are welcome to wait here for as long as you like. We can run some basic tests on your blood from my office. I don’t have anything approximating a proper lab, but we can see what we can detect, especially since we can contrast it with your previous sample.”

“All right,” said Selah when everybody turned to her. “Let’s wait till this afternoon. Maybe by then.”

Cloud passed out on the couch, and Maria Elena spent time with Selah, working on her hair and gently pressing for details about what had happened. Eventually Mama B pulled Selah away and brought her to the general as he examined her blood. He took a sample, pressed it between two slides of glass, and looked at it under a microscope. He did the same with her older sample, and after a tense twenty minutes, arose to consult his books. Tried some different tests that Selah couldn’t follow, and then sat down, face drawn, expression concerned.

“This isn’t good. I’ll speak to the point. Though my test was incredibly basic, I can tell that your blood has changed. Mutated somehow. I’m guessing that it’s because of the vampiric influence. It doesn’t correspond exactly to what my textbooks state vampire blood should look like, nor does it react in the same manner to certain stimulants, but it does seem to have been strikingly affected by this ritual you underwent.”

Mama B clasped Selah’s hand tightly. “What does this mean?”

“I have no clue.” He frowned at his hands. “I am but an amateur chemist. This is far beyond me. I know next to nothing of vampire biology. However, one thing I do know, and that is the military complex and government. If you go to them in this condition, they will want to tear you apart and see what makes you tick. It would not be a pleasant experience. In essence, you might simply be exchanging slavery in this city for a similar state in a national lab.”

Selah shook her head. “No.”

“Further, who is to say that your blood in its current condition could be of any use in resisting vampires? That which made it unique before has undoubtedly been corrupted. Thus our original purposes may no longer be valid.”

“Oh, honey,” said Mama B, but Selah didn’t want comfort. She stood up.

“I’m not going to let them hide me away in a lab. I need to find a way to reverse this. To get this taint out of me.” She began to pace, trying to restrain herself, not lash out, break things.

“Well,” said the general, “this effect took place while you were undergoing the ritual. Perhaps there is somebody who knows how this ritual works, and can run it in reverse.”

Mama B nodded. “Yes. Exactly! We just need to find somebody who knows this ritual and get them to cleanse you.”

“Right,” said Selah, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’m sure there are dozens of vampires who know this incredibly ancient ritual here in Miami, and who would be just glad to help me out.”

Mama B subsided. The general tapped his lip. “Perhaps the answer doesn’t lie in Miami, then.”

“Then where? A government lab? No thank you.”

“No,” said the general. “Miami isn’t the only vampire city. There is another where elder vampires exist. Where one may live who knows the answer to this problem.”

Selah stopped and stared at him. “LA. You’re talking about going to LA?”

The general shrugged. “You can’t ask for help here in Miami. You can’t risk going to the government, especially since they will probably have no answers and only a million questions. So. LA.”

Mama B shook her head. Selah stared at the general. “And Mama B? Maria Elena?”

“I can probably negotiate something. I do, after all, have the uncorrupted samples of your blood. Perhaps I can force the government’s hand. I’ll give them the vials if they take Mrs. Brown and your friend too.”

“What about yourself?” asked Mama B.

The general smiled mirthlessly. “I don’t intend to leave. Not while anybody else is trapped behind these walls.”

Selah thought quickly, fighting to smother her sudden hope. “If I were to go to LA, I’d be able to learn more about the Blood Dust. Be able to figure out where it came from, and maybe…” She looked at Mama B, who did her best to return her smile. Looked back to the general. “But then I still need to escape the city.”

“One step at a time,” said the general. “Let us agree that this is the only course of action available to us, and take it from there.”

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Selah stepped out onto the porch with Mama B and they sat in two rocking chairs to watch afternoon turn into dusk. Mama B held her hand as they rocked back and forth quietly, and finally Selah could hold it back no more. She turned to her grandmother as tears filled her eyes.

“Mama, I’m so sorry.” Mama B shook her head, but Selah spoke on. “Since I arrived. I thought I was so adult. Sacrificing everything for dad. Trying to save him. But all I did was ruin things. Hurt people. I thought I was being so brave, but I was just being foolish. Now you’re out of your home, and Cloud’s friends are dead, and Cholly—“ She couldn’t go on, and the pang of grief that creased Mama’s face was too much. She slid out of her chair and onto her knees and buried her head in Mama B’s lap as the sobs wracked her frame.

Mama B gently stroked her hair and held her tight, and Selah cried as her regret and grief rolled through her like vast beachcombers washing up upon the shore. She thought of Cholly, of his love for Mama B and the question he would now never get to ask her. She thought of Cassie and Joey, of how briefly they had been a presence in her life, but how much they had sacrificed for her. She shook her head and moaned, and her tears redoubled.

”There, there,” said Mama B. She held Selah until her sobs grew softer, and then lifted her chin. “Selah, listen to me. I love you.” Selah looked up at Mama B’s face, and saw in her eyes and smile such a sweet tenderness and compassion that her tears stopped altogether. Mama B cupped her cheek. “Do you hear me? I love you, child, and always will. This world—this world is what it is. A great and beautiful and terrible place. It breaks people down and lifts them up on high. It ends dreams and mocks us and blesses us and teaches us the value of love and humility. There is no question that you have brought change. That you have been an agent of change here in Miami. Sawiskera is dead because of you. We’ve lost good friends, but Joey, Cassie, Cholly—they died doing what they thought was right. For a reason. Your blood, it carries the potential to change this world. They saw that, and they decided to risk everything for that chance. You didn’t kill them. They died so that you can continue to change things, but not just here in Miami. Everywhere.”

Selah rubbed her sleeve across her eyes, and shook her head. Mama B pressed on. “I feel their loss as deeply as you, and I will never forget the good and wonderful man that Cholly was.” Mama B pressed her lips together as she struggled with her emotions, but then she nodded and continued. “A wonderful man. But child, that is the nature of this world. We cannot control it. We cannot hope for fairness, or justice. We can only do the very best that we can, and when we have the chance to make a difference, to help others, to make this world a better place, than that is the most sacred and grave responsibility that any one person can have.”

Mama B stroked Selah’s hair once more, and managed a tender smile. “That is your responsibility now. You have to live up to it. You have to continue growing and making a difference. That is how you honor Cassie, Joey, and Cholly. You do everything that you can, you fight to make a difference, and you will see that one day, if you manage, you’ll find a peace within yourself and the life you’ve lived that will make you look at this world with a wonder and joy made all the deeper and more powerful for all the pain you’ve had.”

Selah swallowed and nodded her head. She lay her head back down on Mama B’s lap and looked out over the wild lawn to the street beyond. Mama B continued to stroke her hair, and for a long time they just sat there, Mama B rocking gently, neither speaking. Dusk finally fell, and with a groan Mama B stood up. “Come on. Let’s see what the general’s got cooking for dinner.”

“Mama,” said Selah. She felt strange, suddenly. Almost a sense of vertigo, a swirling in her eyes. “Do we—do you know if our family has any Native American blood in it?”

“Native American?” Mama B paused. “Hard to say. I don’t think my parents did. Though my own grandmother, she might have done. Why do you ask?”

Selah studied her hands. “Sawiskera. He said my blood has this property because I’m descended from his brother. Teharonhiawako. You ever heard of that name?”

Mama B shook her head. “No.” They stood in silence, and then Mama B shook her head once more. “That sounds like foolishness. I wouldn’t pay it no mind. That monster was crazy. Who knows what he believed or why.”

“All right,” said Selah. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She stood up. Mama B pushed open the screen door, and together they went inside.

Cloud was speaking with the general in the kitchen, but Selah walked into the bathroom. She already knew. Could feel the darkness stirring within her. Could feel the strange and delirious energy coiling through her body.

Selah turned on the bathroom light and looked in the mirror. Two jet vampire eyes stared back at her. She forced herself to not look away. Looked deep into them, but no matter how hard she stared, she couldn’t see any depth. Any soul. Anything that resembled the Selah she knew.

She killed the light, but the darkness wasn’t as absolute as it should have been. It was as if moonlight were tracing the edges of things, even in this closed little room. Her eyes. It had to be because of her eyes. She held her hand up before her face, and saw each individual finger. It should have been impossible. It wasn’t.

Selah stepped out, walked into the kitchen, and into its bright illumination. Stopped in the doorway, and looked at the three people gathered around a map, making no effort to hide her eyes. Mama B dropped her coffee. It crashed to the tiled floor, and shattered. Cloud clenched his jaw, and even the general grimaced.

“I’m going to LA,” she said. A sense of rightness suffused her. “I’m going to find a cure, and then I’m going to help the government create a vaccine. And then I’m going to hunt down every last vampire, until there’s not one of them left.”

Cloud stepped forward and looked her full in the eyes, deep into their black depths. Selah felt a great and vulnerable hope arise within her, a desperate yearning, a terror of rejection. A storm of emotions roiled behind his eyes, and then he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He pulled back, and nodded. “Then I’m coming with you. I don’t know what the future may bring. But in your voice I hear a chance for hope. No matter where you go, I’ll be there.”

###

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The Human Revolt: Vampire LA is now available - turn the page to begin reading the first chapter.

Vampire LA

The vampire king of Miami is dead, and Selah Brown is on the run - for his ancient blood now courses through her veins.

Desperate and with only days left to live, Selah flees to the vampire city of LA in search of a cure. Her goal: to undo the curse that is turning her into the most powerful vampire to have ever walked the night.

Yet time is running out. As Selah becomes enmeshed in LA's corruption, violence, and vampiric politics, she comes to realize that salvation may come at the price of her very soul...

Chapter One of Vampire LA

They drove down through the Cajon Pass, through the last vestiges of night, leaving the hills and mountains behind them for the dawn and San Bernardino Valley. Their cross-country trek had been a frantic one, Cloud seeking to outrace the gathering darkness in Selah’s eyes—but it was a losing battle. Chin in the crook of her elbow, which in turn rested on the sill of the Cadillac’s open window, Selah watched the line of mountains recede behind them in the side mirror, their peaks lightening to dusky rose under a hazy peach sky. By this time yesterday the curse had already receded, the sclera of her eyes having turned murky gray, the browns of her irises struggling to the fore. She forced herself to look at her reflection in the vibrating mirror, and stared numbly into eyes that were still twin pools of jet, as inhuman as the eyes of a predatory bird. Vampire eyes. Eyes that betrayed her impending damnation.

Cloud quietly whistled the opening bars to “Stairway to Heaven,” one wrist limp over the apex of the steering wheel, while Selah closed her eyes and listened. Allowed the thrum of the car, the sound of the tires as they raced over the crumbling asphalt, and his thready whistle to lull the fear that clenched her heart and cramped her stomach. Cloud. She reached out with one hand and found his, felt his fingers interlace with hers and give them a squeeze. He kept whistling, and she smiled. He couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.

They drove on for another five minutes, until Cloud pulled onto the shoulder, tires crunching on loose gravel as they stopped. Selah looked up, blinking against the brightness of the dawn. He’d parked in the center of a flat bridge that passed mere yards over a broad, stony riverbed through which a half-dozen small streams carved their passage.

“How you feeling?” His voice was low, controlled. She didn’t want to look at him, wanted to stay fixed on the near hills and the great transmission towers that passed over the riverbed a half mile away. He squeezed her hand again, and with a sudden thrill of fear Selah made eye contact, stared at him with eyes that she knew reflected his face like an ebon mirror. A fierce desire to see him flinch arose within her like a storm of sharp flints, to see the first sign of rejection. Instead he frowned and shook his head. Lines of fatigue were carved into his face. “It’s almost six fifteen. That’s sunrise nearly thirty minutes gone.”

Selah nodded mutely and turned away. Turned out she was the one who couldn’t meet his eyes. She examined the road that rose before dipping out of view, creating its own horizon. Her anger ebbed, and they sat in silence, the Cadillac rocking as the occasional car rushed past. She held onto his hand as if it were all that kept her from drowning, unable to speak, wrestling with her terror, and studied the heavy clouds whose contours were traced by the growing light, ranging from buttery yellows at their closest tips to darker slate and purples in their farthest depths.

One morning, she knew—and perhaps it was this one—her eyes simply would not change back. One morning she would instead be overcome with an undeniable desire to sleep, and that would be it. She would be lost. Selah sat still, frozen, and waited. It was almost unbearable.

As always, she felt the change take place. Felt the grip of Sawiskera’s curse relax and release her, an uncoiling of tension, an evaporation of power. It was as if scales swam across her eyes, a flick of a fish’s tail disturbing a pond’s surface before sinking from view. The darkness fell away, and she felt the vampiric detachment go with it. She hadn’t thought her emotions muted before, but now they raged to the fore and roiled in her chest, terror fighting with relief as tears flooded her eyes. She had one more day. She wasn’t a monster yet. Her relief was too powerful; she covered her face with her hands and held back a rising sob.

She heard the seat groan as Cloud shifted over and then pulled her into his arms. She remained stiff at first, resisting comfort, and then allowed herself to relax. He rested his chin on her head and held her tight. “Not yet. Not yet. We’ve still got time. That’s the San Bernardino Valley right ahead of us. We get through that, cross the Pueblo Hills, and find Chico on the other side. He’ll get us into the Core, and there we’ll find your cure. We’re that close.”

It had become their mantra ever since they’d fled Miami, escaping over the militarized Wall that enclosed the city through the use of Selah’s new abilities. She’d felt nothing but gratitude for them at the time. Find Chico, get into the Core, discover the cure. No question about their being one. Cloud never allowed her to voice that doubt. There was a cure. They would find it. He seemed to know through and through that she was going to be fine.

Selah pushed away from him and dried her eyes on her sleeve. Studied his worn face. “We’re running out of time.”

Cloud nodded, tenderness and sorrow both in his expression. “I know. We’re cutting it close.”

Selah shook her head. “You don’t know. One morning soon I won’t come back. You’ll be in danger. From me. You don’t understand what you’re doing.” Fresh tears pricked her eyes. How was he so infuriatingly calm about this? Cloud took her hand. His palm was dry, callused, and he held her gaze with an unswerving confidence that stopped her voice.

“Maybe I don’t understand. But I don’t have to. All I know is that we’re going to make it. We have to make it. We’ve come too far, we’re too damn close to give up now.” Cloud looked out the windshield over the desiccated landscape, eyes moving from side to side. “And—this is bigger than us. Remember? The General said we might be able to make a vaccine out of your blood. Can you imagine? That would change—everything.” He looked back at her. “You have to stay strong, Selah, just for a little longer. Keep on fighting.” Selah’s anger and fear melted away before her love for him. She moved forward into his arms and kissed him, felt his stubble against her face, held him hard, and then pressed her face into his neck. He hugged her tight, and she lay still, eyes closed, breathing in his smell, his hair tickling the tip of her nose. Slowly she grew calm. One more day.

Eventually Selah pulled back and wiped her eyes one last time. “And how are you holding up? You good to keep going?”

Cloud rubbed his face and smiled. “You think I’m going to fall asleep this close to LA? You got another thing coming.” He yawned suddenly, explosively, eyes cinching tight as he brought his fist up, blinked away tears, and then laughed as her look became skeptical. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

Selah settled back as Cloud eased them onto the road. Traffic was sparse; everybody knew you didn’t drive into LA. Not anymore. LA had become the place where roads went to die.

They cruised down the I-15. It descended gradually and curved around the base of the mountain until the distant hills that cupped the valley before them slid into sight. A haze persisted over the land, making the horizon a vague and indefinite sight. Up ahead and to the right, Selah saw the first signs of human habitation. A cacophony of shacks and sheds engulfed the highway as it plunged into the slums that had once been the barren north slopes of Fontana. Selah smelled smoke in the air, a faint hint of burning rubber that faded even as she registered its presence.

“How far in are we going to try to drive?” she asked. The shoulder was crammed with abandoned cars, most pushed right off the cracked asphalt and onto the dry scrub. Cloud didn’t answer. She looked over at him and saw that his knuckles had whitened on the steering wheel. She shifted her weight in her seat. It still took her by surprise how quickly he could shift from his subdued and detached manner to full-on simmering anger. His eyes were locked on the shacks ahead of them. A muscle flickered over the joint of his jaw.

“Look at that,” he said. “Right here in the US of A.” He began to slow down. The clouds before them had incandesced to white, only their farthest reaches yet harboring hints of salmon pink and rose, yet the valley below remained shrouded in a thin fog. A few electric lights glimmered in the haze before them, so that it seemed that the whole city slept, unaware of their approach.

Selah tried to think of something to say. With the weight on her mind, it was hard to drag out her empathy. Her concern for random strangers. But being with Cloud made her look at it all afresh. The traffic thickened and reduced them to a slow crawl as they hit the rear end of a weaving curl of cars and buses impatiently inching forward. Selah watched, face blank, as they passed the first homes built right up to the side of the interstate. They were ramshackle affairs, cobbled together from a mess of raw brick, cinderblocks, and corrugated metal roofing. Hanging drapes blocked windows, and even at this raw early hour, people sat in their doorways, watching the passing cars with subdued curiosity.

Cloud inhaled deliberately through his nose. Selah hunkered down and stayed quiet. “Tell me how people all over the country are OK with this,” he said. “Up in Chicago, Seattle, New York City. How do people go about their lives with this—this insanity—right in their face?”

Selah shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Not good enough.” He drove on, brooding. “What. People cut a twenty-dollar check to the Red Cross, donate some canned food to their local church, and that makes this all right? How many millions are rotting right here? Begging on the streets? Dying without medicine, without anybody giving a shit? Does anybody know?”

Selah reached out and placed her hand on the back of his neck. She squeezed at the tense muscles. He resisted her, but she knew him, worked at the tension, the anger. He rolled his head from one side to the other, and then finally closed one eye and stared at her sidelong. Selah blew him a kiss, and he snorted, looked away. Keeping her hand on his neck, Selah watched the world outside her window. She felt a pinprick of guilt. Just a few months ago she’d been one of those people Cloud was railing against. Up in Brooklyn, living her high school life, concerned with her own priorities and ignoring what was going on here, going on in Miami.

As they eased farther down the I-15 into the valley, the density of the shacks turned the area beyond the shoulder into an outright slum. It looked like a giant child had dropped a collection of brick and concrete blocks onto the side of the road, allowing them to lie where they fell, chaotic and piled in places to two or even three stories in height. Winding lanes and alleys disappeared between them, as crooked as the architecture, and thin plumes of smoke choked out of tin pipes that speared the dawn sky.

People were already working the cars, hawkers moving slowly up the lanes with hanging trays heavy with wares. Others held aloft plastic bottles of water, which Selah could see had broken seals as often as not. Children with scrubby faces, eyes solemn or quick, moved between the cars with the energy of birds fishing amongst the waves, crying out that they had gum, they had tools, they had batteries and even secondhand Omnis. Selah watched them, lips pursed, and slid on her sunglasses as the first approached.

He was young, perhaps eleven or twelve, and in the washed-out morning light his skin was a dusty brown, rising to rich ruddy copper on his cheeks and brow. His hair fell in thin braids, each ending in a small metal shape that as he stepped closer she saw were miniature bells. It was his missing eye, however, that drew her attention, the dry socket that he made no attempt to hide. A jarring crater in an otherwise untouched face that weaponized his brilliant white smile.

“Water? I have water, fresh water, each bottle treated with iodine, safe to drink. Cold water? No? I have food, protein bars, meat paste stolen from the military only days ago, very good, very rich—no?”

He walked alongside the Cadillac, easily keeping pace, one hand holding a plastic bottle without label, its contents vaguely clear, while the other held up what indeed looked like military-issued rations. His grin was constant, his energy obvious as he kept pace with sidestepping hops.

“No thank you,” said Selah. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“It will get very hot soon, you will dehydrate. Very dangerous, you can get dizzy, headaches, dry mouth, tongue bubbles, see spots, get brain fever, fall over, all without knowing you are thirsty, yeah?” His smile grew only more enthusiastic as he listed the maladies, and Selah laughed, shaking her head again.

“Then maybe I can get you something else? Do you need anything? I know everybody. I can get you gasoline, I can get you new Omni—well, pre-owned Omni—I can get you maps, or Blood Dust, the darkest Dust in all LA?”

Cloud looked over at him for the first time. The kid blinked, but he was tough. Cloud’s leopard stare didn’t faze him long.

“Blood dust?” Selah sat up. She’d heard back in Miami that LA was where the drug came from. The drug that her father had been investigating—and it’s connections to the US government—when he disappeared. It had been why she’d allowed herself to be deported to the vampire city of Miami in the first place, placed in her grandmother’s custody, all to learn more about this drug and its world. Miami had turned out to be a huge dead end, but here, in LA, maybe she could finally get some answers. She stared at the kid. “You sell it?”

The boy’s expression changed subtly, as if he were mentally recategorizing her. “I don’t have any on me, but I know people who do. You want some? Only …” He paused, thought quickly, “fifty dollars for a packet. I can get it so dark it’s almost black.”

“No. Thanks,” said Cloud. Selah turned to him in annoyance and surprise, eyebrows raised, but he ignored her.

“OK,” said the kid, not missing a beat, “last offer. For a dollar, I can save your life. No joke. If you keep driving, they will come at you with guns. Take that Omni there, take everything.”

Cloud looked past Selah to stare at the kid. “Enough. Get out of here.”

“No problem,” said the boy. “You wait, I’ll show you.”

Her window rolled up and the sound of hawkers’ cries and the distant yells from within the slum grew muted. “That kid was starting to annoy me.”

“I was asking him questions,” said Selah.

“Yeah? And just how trustworthy do you think he is?” Cloud shook his head. “We’re better off waiting to ask Chico.”

Selah looked ahead. The number of people moving between the car lanes had grown. The sun had cleared the low line of hills behind them, and more people were stirring in the shacks and homes lining the interstate. A curtain was drawn back and an old lady with a brightly patterned headscarf and gummed lips appeared, blinking rapidly as she looked down upon the cars that passed right below her window. They met eyes for a moment, and Selah felt as if the woman were looking at her through a window from another world, her eyes ancient with dull pain and resignation.

Other kids approached their car and knocked on the windows with curled fingers, displaying more goods they didn’t want. Selah searched for a moment and then spotted the boy with one eye. He was keeping pace along the highway’s shoulder, and as their eyes met he gave her an exaggerated wink.

Cloud shifted impatiently in his seat. “We’re still thirty five miles out. I say we take the car in a little farther, see if we can’t get past the 210 intersection. Then we ditch it and head out on foot. What do you think?”

“Sure,” said Selah. The valley was opening up, the last of the hills peeling back and out of sight, barely visible over the shacks. There wasn’t much of a view before them, but up ahead on the left she saw an old tower displaying signs to a long-defunct shopping mall that had been engulfed by ramshackle buildings: Party City, Chase Bank, Del Taco. “Though we could probably already go faster on foot. This looks like it just grinds down into a permanent jam.”

They had been warned back in Barstow that this would happen. A couple of young guys getting high in the shade of a Seven Eleven had told them to catch the bus to the city limit and not bother with driving, that every car that forced its way into the heart of San Bernardino was inevitably abandoned as it crawled unwittingly into the maw of the greatest chop shop on earth. “It’s awesome,” the guy with the blond dreads had said, his stubble glowing like sparks on his pale, pocked jawline. “Human ingenuity at its best. A whole bunch of dudes with guns just turned the whole I-15 and I-10 intersection into one massive processing complex, you know? Every car gets confiscated and driven into the old Ontario Mills mall to be taken apart. You don’t want to make it that far, guys. Take it from me. I know.” And then he’d shared a look with his half-conscious buddy, and both of them laughed, blowing metallic smoke into the dry desert air as they shared an inside joke.

More kids pressed at the car’s windows, peering in, offering Selah and Cloud junk. They crawled forward, following the interminable descent down into the valley below. The one-eyed kid walked alongside, a constant shadow against the fronts of the shacks. Fifteen minutes passed, the smell of burning rubber and garbage returning now, the air heavy with dust and coal. The kid stepped forward again, and knocked on Selah’s window.

“Here we go,” said Cloud, but Selah went ahead and did so.

“Look,” said the kid, peeling something off the outside of her door. It was a sticker, simple and faded blue. “See?”

“See what?”

“You got tagged. This sticker, it means you were picked out. One of the kids, they saw you had good stuff inside.” The kid grinned cheerfully at her. “A few blocks farther down? A couple of guys with guns watch for cars with stickers. They will come up, gun in your window, and take everything you have.”

Selah looked over at Cloud, who shook his head. “Who’s to say he didn’t stick that thing on there himself?”

The kid snorted and rolled his eye dramatically. “Ai dios, what, it going to take guns in your face for you to believe? I bet, even then, you will say, ‘Oh, man, that kid is good, these guns look almost real.’”

Cloud couldn’t help himself—his dour stare slipped and he laughed. Selah grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Ramonito. I swear to you, I’m not lying. You are in big trouble if you keep going.”

“Ramonito,” said Selah, testing the name on her tongue. “I’m Selah. This is Cloud. How long you been in LA?”

“All my life.” He seemed happy to share. “I was born in Pomona during the War, but my father, he moved us up here to get away from the gangs, to make some money. He always said we would leave, go to Nevada, or Utah, but when my mother died, he gave up. Now I work, but one day? I will save enough to buy a bus ticket to San Diego, and move to the Mexican Free States.” He was still walking alongside them, giving the occasional dirty look to any other kid who tried to press in. His looks were vicious; the other kids kept back.

“There, see? That is the 210 overpass. They wait for you there. They come up, take all your stuff, maybe hit you to scare you, and then run to hide until you drive on and the next marked car comes by. It is a very good system. They work it all day.” Ramonito nodded approvingly.

Selah and Cloud peered ahead. An overpass soared over the slums, an improbable concrete bridge that arched out over their highway. Homes had been built on it, rendering it useless for traffic, three- or even four-story cinderblock and brick houses and huts from whose bases vines and plants grew down to trail over the tops of the cars that passed beneath. Cloud dug into his pack in the backseat, and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He scanned the bridge, and then lowered it. “I don’t see anything.”

Ramonito clutched at his head in despair. “You think they stand there waving their guns?” He shook his head. “You are not very quick, are you? You need my help. The way you’re going, you won’t make it in LA for long. Here, I will help you. Leave your car. I will take you on foot. Where are you going?”

Selah stared at the overpass as it inched ever closer. “We’re heading over the Pueblo Hills, into Buena Park.” She looked at Ramonito. “That’s got to be out of your area, no?”

Ramonito shook his head, grinning once more. “No way! I know all of LA. OK, maybe not all, but much more than you. How were you going to get there? You weren’t going to just walk?”

Cloud nodded. “Sure. How else?”

Ramonito clutched his head again. “You’re crazy! This area up here, Fontana, north Ontario, it’s not really under anybody’s control. Just little pinche gangs, yeah? But when you get down close to Chino Hills, or Diamond Bar, that is getting into the territory of Las Culebras, and man, they are serious. They control everything west of Pomona, right up to the Wall, yeah?” He looked at them, hand resting lightly on the door, checking for understanding. Both Selah and Cloud looked back at him blankly.

“If you say so,” said Selah. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“Our friend Chico said he works with a group called the Buena Park Locos. Said they control the area down there,” Cloud said, driving with one eye on the road.

“If he’s in Buena Park, he has no choice,” said Ramonito, nodding. “Mira, you won’t get far without my help.”

Selah looked down the road. There weren’t any blocks to measure distance by, but if there were, it would be about two more to the overpass. Ramonito had peeled off the sticker, but they were bound to get into trouble sooner or later. She studied the kid’s face, met his single intent eye, and saw a spark of intensity deep within that she decided to trust. “Why you helping us out? What’s in it for you?”

“Money,” grinned Ramonito. “You pay me much more for help like this than for water. I bet you get real generous if I help you get to Buena Park, like two hundred dollars, no?”

Selah laughed again. “Maybe.” She looked at Cloud. “What do you think? I say we give him a shot.”

Cloud frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you ever just read somebody? Get a good feeling? He obviously knows what’s going on around here. We obviously don’t. A guide is a good idea. And I do believe him about that sticker. Which means he already saved our asses.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Cloud looked like he could argue some more, but then he nodded. “All right. Let’s give him a shot.” He gave Ramonito a thumbs up. “You’re on, kid. What do we do with the car?”

“Sure,” said Ramonito. “People do it all the time. Somebody will jump in and drive it for you, no problem.”

Cloud snorted. “Figures.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel once more, a restless and complex tattoo of sound, and then smacked his hand down on the dash, the sound one of finality. “All right. Good luck in the chop shop, Baby Blue. Let’s go.”

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About the Author

My name is Phil Tucker and my dream is to one day be a full time author. Why do I write? Because it's my first and truest passion. My mind formulates endless stories, and when you catch me daydreaming, I'm probably brainstorming my next novel. Nothing gives me the same thrill, and my greatest hope is that one day I'll be sufficiently adept at my craft so as to provide readers with the same magic that inspired and delighted me as a child.

Keep in touch! You can reach me at pwtucker@gmail.com

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