"If I wanted to maim you for life, you'd be lying there wearing a bloody pair of meat flippers. And I can have you again. You're my bitch, anytime I want-bitch. And next time I will get creative. So never cross me again. Ever. Ev -er."
I lay there in the hospital bed, drifting in and out.
At first all I could think of was how close to death I'd come. Not just with Transomnia-with all the monsters I had just insulted, taunted or spurned. The Bear King. The Marquis. The 'Lady' Saffron. Even little Cinnamon could have torn my throat out.
What was scarier is that any one of them could have done far worse-made me a werewolf, or vampire, or God forbid, a vampire's slave. Transomnia had proved that my tattoos and all the power I drew from them would not stop a determined opponent. I shuddered. He'd let me off relatively easily, when he could have raped and drained me and made me his mindless thrall. Compared to what he could have done, he'd been a cream puff.
And nothing he had done required any vampire powers. Sure, tossing the paint bucket had been quite a feat, but any big bruiser could have done it. But a big bruiser with a tire iron would have just left me dead or close to it. What was really scary about Transomnia was not his powers, or his strength, but his mind. His… creativity.
And then my fingers started tingling and I started thinking about his threat to creatively amputate them. At first it made me even more scared. I didn't dare cross him. Then it made me mad. How dare he cross me? And then I got scared again. The loop continued until I drifted off into a haze of anger and fear, hearing Transomnia's warning, "Never cross me again, ev-er," play over and over in my mind like a broken record-until my mind itself put a stop to it.
"Never again," I said firmly, sitting up in the bed. "Ev-er."
Davidson was sitting in his usual seat, and lifted up. "That sounded promising."
"What day is it?" I asked.
"Monday," Davidson replied. "Around noon. Savannah's crashed in the waiting area."
"Of course," I said. "Even she can't burn the candle at both ends forever."
"I thought vampires 'died' during the day," Davidson said, holding his fingers up in scare quotes. "I never met a real daywalker before."
"Fishing for information from the vampire's girlfriend?" I asked. "Wrong pond. We split after she started drinking blood."
"I was just asking," Davidson said. "We don't get a lot of vampires in the black helicopter division."
"What does your division handle then? Aliens?"
"Maybe," Davidson said. "Fishing for information from the man in black?"
"Touche," I said.
"No, it's not a problem, I've got my flashy thing right here," he said, fishing in his coat pocket. "I can tell you anything you want and then just erase-oh, drat. Left my flashy thing in my other coat."
"You can flash me anytime," I said halfheartedly.
He laughed. "Sounds like our Dakota. You up for a few visitors?"
"Visitors?" I said, suddenly horrified, hands going to my head. Under my fingers my face felt worse than yesterday, and I was pained to feel the tender bald spot which had been the start of my deathhawk, much less the ragged tufts on my crown where they'd run out of paint-encrusted hair to whack off. Oh, no. Oh, hell, no. "You can't let anyone in here with me looking like this!"
"Dakota," Davidson said gently. "We haven't been letting them in here at all. Until you woke up we didn't know anything about your assailant other than 'a guy in a black coat.' Now we know his name and that he's a vampire, but you were too distraught to give a statement. Not even Miss Winters knows what this Transomnia looks like, though she is checking. So for all I know he's waiting to take another crack at you, sitting in that crowd-"
"Crowd?" I asked. "What crowd?"
"There are a lot of people here to see you, Dakota. A lot of people. You need to see them sometime," Davidson said, in that ohso-calm voice that let you know he'd back your play, but you'd be disappointed in yourself for not stepping up.
Finally I gave in. "Oh, all right. But not in here. Clean me up and take me to them."
"I don't think-" Davidson said, looking back at the hall. "You've just had knee surgery. You shouldn't be walking-"
"Get me a fucking wheelchair, then," I said. "Just don't let anybody in here, not with me laying in bed looking like a… like a damn victim."
Davidson abruptly turned and stepped out the door. After a minute he returned, stepped into the bathroom for a hot wet towel, and sat down next to me. His expression was tender as he patted down my forehead; his hands were delicate and dextrous. I closed my eyes as the cloth wiped my cheeks, smiling once when his thumb brushed a bit of grit from beneath my eye. When I opened my eyes Philip was holding up a comb.
"Mind if I use mine?" he asked. "I'm clean."
"I don't have enough hair left to give a shit," I said softly.
"You still look beautiful," Philip said, running the comb over the crown of my head.
"Liar," I replied, as he straightened out the remainder of my hawk.
"But I do it so well," he responded. My hair no longer fell in my eyes, so I'd ignored it; but when he was done, the hair that was left climbed straight back, and I felt much better.
"Philip," I said. "I… I want to learn to defend myself."
"Defend yourself?" Philip asked. "But you-"
"It's just bravado," I admitted, near tears. "I play it big and bad… but it's all talk. Just talk. I need to learn to back it up-"
"Whoa, whoa," Philip said. "What exactly are we talking about? You mean, as in, to fight? To fire a gun?"
"I mean, whatever it takes," I said. "Just this… never again. I mean, ev-er."
"Dakota," Philip said. He sounded worried. "Even trained agents get mugged. Me-heap-bad-man-in-black tried to fight off a mugger and got pistol-whipped, lost the briefcase I was supposed to be protecting and ended up in the hospital, just like you."
I stared at him. I knew what he was getting at-with all his training, with all his equipment, he'd still got caught off guard and ended up in the hospital, just like me. Even if I'd had training, there always was a chance that Transomnia could still have caught me off guard-and so no amount of training would guarantee that this wouldn't happen again.
Philip had a point. It was a good point, but I didn't want to get it, refused to follow it through. In the end, it didn't matter. I couldn't go through this again, not without knowing I'd done everything I could to keep myself safe.
"I-don't-care," I said deliberately. "I want to learn to defend myself."
"Alright, Dakota, I'll help you," he said, though I wasn't sure what he meant by 'help' was what I wanted. "Now let's go see your friends."
Philip did a little 'social engineering' to get the chair-it was amazing. If you listened to what he said, he never exactly told the nurse that the doctor had ordered a wheelchair so I could leave my room, but he certainly left that impression and within minutes he was wheeling me out into the hall. Outside my room, I saw Vickman, the hard-faced man from the Vampire Consulate, speaking quietly with a policeman; when he saw me he raised an eyebrow.
"Is the waiting area clean?" Philip asked.
"Yes," Vickman said. "We're checking out everyone who goes in there."
"Great. Thanks for your help, Mister…"
"Just 'Vickman,'" he replied, his eyes curiously flat as he looked at me. "The Consulate is just following up on its responsibilities."
As we drew closer to the waiting area, I started to hear voices. Then I started to smile.
"I can just hear her now," someone was saying. "What the fuckingfuck de fuckedy fuck do you fucking think you are fucking doing? "
I put my head in my hand, embarrassed. That sounded like me, all right. When did an ex-Bible Bowl girl end up with the mouth of a sailor? Then I raised my head as Philip wheeled me into a corner waiting room, seeing the raft of friends waiting for me.
Savannah was still crashed on a sofa, blissfully asleep, head and hands leaning on the lap of an older, priestly gentleman in a beige coat, black shirt and white collar. In a pair of chairs next to them, Andre Rand talked with a wiry, bright-eyed young man with wavy hair and a lumberjack shirt that barely contained his barrel chest. Catty-corner to them sat Doug and Jinx, clasping hands, him rapt, her staring straight ahead as she explained something animatedly.
"… fungal corneal opacity," Jinx was saying. "It's like… take a piece of construction paper and punch two eyeholes in it with a pencil. Off-center is better to get the full effect. Then tape a piece of wax paper to the back and hold that over your face, so all you see are two blurry dots with some diffuse light leaking in from the sidesDakota! Is that you?"
"Yeah, she's here," Doug said, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry for you-"
"I survive," Jinx said, patting his hand with her free one. "But does she?"
"I survive," I croaked, voice unexpectedly weak. "Ahem. I'm all right. I'm all right."
"Oh, Dakota," Jinx said. "I'm so pleased. We were all so worried. So worried."
"Well, speak of the devil," Rand said, looking up at me. He had been the one I'd heard miming me in the hall, and the athletic young man he was talking to was starting to look oddly familiar. "Welcome back from the dead."
"I didn't actually die," I said. "But it sure did feel like it."
"I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," the young man said, eyes bright on me, and then he made the same sliding motion with his hand I'd seen back… back at Manuel's Tavern! The Guinness dude. "That bastard sure could run."
"You were the cavalry," I said, remembering the shouting voices. "Thanks."
"I wish I could take all the credit," he said. "As soon as I saw him standing over you, I yelled for help and started running-but then this huge dog leapt out of the bushes and chased him off before I could even get to you guys. Crazy. The thing looked big as a wolf."
My eyes widened and I wasn't sure I liked the direction my mind was talking. Could that have been… Wulf? "Well, however it went down, thank you," I said. "Who knows what he could have done if he'd had more time?"
His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. He had a strong jaw and cleancut features, and now that I'd been wheeled a bit closer I could see that while he wasn't weightlifter bulky, his whole body seemed to bulge underneath his clothes wherever they touched him.
"I gotta level with you," he said, embarrassed. "I ran after you to ask for your number."
"Dakota Frost," I said, extending my hand. "And it's 404-"
"You don't have to do that," he said, shaking it. His grip was gentle, but beneath the surface I could feel muscles like marble. "Darren Briggs."
"I think I do have to. It's a rescue rule or something," I said. "At least come by the Rogue Unicorn when I'm back tattooing-I'll give you a free Frost bite."
"Oh, you're that Dakota," he said, impressed.
"Best magical tattooist in the Southeast," I responded.
The older, priestly man, in whose lap Savannah still lay, looked up sharply when I said that, and I realized he probably had the same feelings about magical tattooing Savannah did. "Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to offend you with that 'Satanist crap.'"
He looked surprised. "Offended? No," He looked over my shoulder. "Agent Davidson, could you work your magic and get us a blanket? The sun's creeping up on her."
"No problem, Canon Grace," Phil said. "Back in a minute, Dakota."
As Philip left, the priest looked back at me, smiling. "What Satanist crap?"
"The tattoos," I looked at the ground guiltily. "Savannah calls them Satanist-"
His eyes widened, and he seemed to take me in anew, looking over my tattoos. "I don't think Satan ever made a flower, or a jewel, or anything for that matter. Savannah really said that?" He sighed, patting her head. "I need to have a talk with her. I have two tattoos."
"You have tattoos?" I said, surprised.
"On my shoulder," he admitted, taking a blanket from Phil. "One says Leviticus 19:28, back from when I was a biker fresh out of Special Forces, and the second one says John 3:16, which I got when I went into seminary."
"Cute," I laughed. The quote from Leviticus prohibited tattoos; the John one promised salvation through faith, not works. The second sort of canceled the first, but-"I wouldn't have done either of them. I don't do religious marks."
Canon Grace's eyes narrowed at my hands, and I stared down at the symbology of the world's major religions tattooed across my knuckles. "Well, not on anyone else, at any rate."
"And why is that?" he asked, mildly surprised.
"They're forbidden by traditional Christianity, and sacred in other traditions," I said. "I can take responsibility for inking myself, but I'm not a priest and I don't do sacred. I don't believe all that mumbo-jumbo, even if crosses do make vampires break out in hives."
"That's just a psychic/psychological effect," Canon Grace said, patting Savannah's head. "Our little Christian bloodsucker here proves that."
I stared down at her, then up at him. "I can't believe you can condone that-"
"It would not be my choice of diet, but I think Savannah's proved you can make the lifestyle into something morally neutral, if not even admirable," the priest said. "And contrary to what some people say, God doesn't take sides. Even when he directed the Hebrews to take the Holy Land, he told Joshua son of Nun-"
"He came neither for them nor their enemies," I said, waving my hand. "Yeah, yeah-Stratton Christian Academy, Bible Bowl, eighth grade champ."
"Good," the priest said, laughing. "My point is, God cares about what you do, why you do it and most importantly what-who-you believe in, not whether you've traded sunlight and liquid food for longer life. How is condemning vampires really any different from saying someone's going to hell for eating food and punishing their bodies on a treadmill?"
"I can see why Savannah likes you," I said, and I wasn't sure it was a compliment.
"I didn't start out like this," he said, patting her head. "Back when she first turned I told her you're going to haaail, but since then, 'by their fruits shall ye know them'-"
There were voices in the hall, and I craned my neck slowly. Alex Nicholson entered, followed by Christopher Valentine.
"No, I'm not being rude," he snapped back at Alex. "I'm tired of all the tricks these goddam charlatans play. I want to see for myself-"
Then his eyes took me in and widened in shock. "Jesus Christ."
"Language, Mister Valentine," Jinx said reprovingly.
"Thought I was faking it to get out of the challenge, didn't you?" I said, and embarrassment spread over his sharp features. More than one target of the Valentine Challenge had become conveniently unable to continue. I held up my bandaged hand and wriggled the fingers. "You don't get off that easy. We're still on."
The shock and embarrassment in his face spread into a wide, delighted grin. "Hear that?" he said, elbowing Alex. "I look forward to it, Miss Frost."
And then Savannah awoke, stretching like a cat. "Oh, Dakota," she said, smiling sleepily, "it's so good to see you awake."
And then she yawned, showing her shocking canines.
Vampire fangs are huge, sharp and pointed like a cat's, larger than you'd expect; even the lateral incisors have a bit of an edge to them. Brand new vampires often have dental problems, but that's OK; Savannah tells me the self-healing nature of their bodies helps the mouth adapt over time. Honestly, the sight of her vamp teeth never bothered me before, but now I twitched, flashing on Transomnia's canines, on his face, on his cold, red eyes. On all the things he did to me-and threatened to do. It was too much. I twitched and looked away. There was a tremendous pressure on my bladder, and I squeezed my legs together.
Her yawn ended, and she caught me looking away. "What's the matter-" and then she got it, all of a sudden, closing her mouth and throwing her hand over it. She stared at me in horror for one brief moment, realizing that I couldn't separate her from them, that I hated and feared what she was-and that her becoming a vampire had left real, deep wounds between us she had never fully acknowledged. Then she got up and ran away.
I felt an aching in my chest. I had loved Savannah. I had thought of her as my wife. But now she was a vampire, and a part of me was glad she was running away-and the rest of me was just a big old bundle of guilt and pain.
Then Jinx grabbed my hand and squeezed it for support, and in the sudden silence I realized everyone was staring at me. Realized everyone could see I'd been knocked off my personal pedestal of invincibility. Realized everyone-wait for it-pitied me.
I tore my hand out of Jinx's and twisted up to look at Phil. "I can't go on like this. I can't let myself become a victim. I have to-I have to-learn to defend myself."
Phil scowled. Rand nodded. And Darren rode to the rescue. "That's easy enough. You've got some recovery time ahead of you, but you're a big, confident woman. There are things we can do right now to make you safer."
Philip caught his breath, and did I hear a touch of jealousy in his voice? "Now, look, Darren, we appreciate what you did-"
"No, I want to hear this," I said, focusing on Darren. All I wanted to do was hit something, and hard, and maybe this guy could help me. "In the restaurant I overheard you talking about a fight in Colorado. How you took a guy out with one kick. If you weren't shooting off your mouth to impress me, I want to learn to do that-"
"You'd be better off learning how to deal with your anger," the priest said.
"I suppose you're going to tell me to turn the other cheek," I said hotly.
Canon Grace stared at me sadly. "I suppose I am."
"You should listen to him," Darren said, so cheerily that at first I thought he was joking. "It's totally good advice." At the cold glare of the priest he raised his hands and said, "No, I'm completely serious-controlling your anger is a good place to start. The best fights are ones that never happen. Once I was on the beach sunbathing, and some jerk threw water in my face to try to pick a fight."
He slid out of his chair smoothly, a well oiled machine, dropping into a low, coiled stance with one arm shot forward like a blade and the other fist raised behind him in the air.
"So I dropped into jodan, it's your basic low stance, and just sat there. The guy stood there in front of his buddies, cussing, calling me a coward-and then walked off, thinking he'd showed me. If I'd tussled with him, I would have ended up hurting three people-or getting hurt by three people. Instead, we had a perfect outcome-we both walked away winners."
He seemed to notice he was in a 'low stance' and uncoiled, windmilling his hands so he went back to a normal standing position with seemingly no effort.
"I tell my students to turn the other cheek because that shit works," he said. "It keeps you out of trouble. Everything else I or these guys can teach you is all about how to deal with trouble if you've failed to keep out of it. First rule of martial arts-if there's trouble, don't be there."
"Don't be there," I said. "Easier said than done."
He nodded. "But you can learn to look out for trouble, with a little practice. In the meantime, listen to your friends," he said, indicating Philip, Rand, the priest, all with a simple gesture. "They're looking out for you. You're not going to go give up tattooing and go become a cop just to get back at this guy, are you?"
"No," I laughed. "Don't think so-"
"Lord knows we need the help," Philip said, a little forced, but holding the green monster of jealousy at bay. "Darren, I think I misjudged you earlier. Where do you teach?"
"I teach the Emory University Taido karate club," he said, "and also I teach some of the children's classes at the main Taido school in Norcross."
"You're a… kid's karate teacher?" Rand said, arching an eyebrow.
"I also do some mixed martial arts," he said, shrugging.
"Well, soon as I get out of here," I said. "I want you to show me how to mix it up."
"No promises, other than hard work won't bring miracles," he said.
I looked at Jinx. "Speaking of miracles… tell Savannah to come back," I said. There was a horrible pang in my heart when I said it; I hadn't meant for it to come out that way, or maybe I did, because the words kept on spilling out and I couldn't stop them. "I want to say I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Doug said. "She bolted to protect you."
"She didn't have to," I said. But I flashed again on her yawn. Her fangs. Those terrible fangs. Her eyes. Transomnia's cold eyes. My fingers in his pruners. His foot in my gut. Sudden pressure grew in my abdomen, and I hunched over, trembling. I wanted to say something else, but I couldn't. I just couldn't.
"Maybe… maybe she did," Jinx said at last.
"I think," Phil said softly, "Miss Frost has had enough excitement for the day."