Black Dawn

CHAPTER TWELVE

EVE
My brother, Jason, was out of prison, again, which I found out because I walked into a room off of the Armory and saw him holding a shotgun.
It was like falling into a nightmare. I was younger, he was younger, it was four years ago, and he was facing me with my dad's pistol and telling me that he was going to kill me. I still remember the way he said it. An eerily calm voice, and empty eyes.
See, my brother's not someone you should trust with a gun. Or a sharp knife. Or empty hands, and it terrified me, a bolt of utter and paralyzing fear, to see him armed like that. And loose.
Jason's my brother, and some of his screwed-up-ness is my fault, but he's not the first guy I'd pick to hand any kind of weapon to, even in a crisis. Sure, he could fight. Sure, he could do damage. But he was the proverbial loose cannon, rolling around crushing everything in his path, friend or foe.
And some nitwit vampire had him on reloading duty. He was taking empty cartridges, filling them up, and sealing them using a reloader press. Oh, and he was cooking silver into shot, too, or rather coating regular shot with the stuff. Probably not as effective as solid pellets, but I wasn't surprised we were running short of precious metals to toss randomly at the enemy. The vampires stored surprising amounts of things that would hurt each other, but even their paranoia had limits, and we were bumping up against them.
He cranked out another shell on the press, then slotted it home into the shotgun, snapped the breech shut, and put the weapon aside on a rack. Then he saw me, and stopped for a second.
Neither of us said a word.
My brother was a little shorter than me, not really muscular, kinda weedy and angular. He wore his hair longer than Shane's, and most of it flopped down and hid his dark eyes. That was for the best. He had cold eyes, my brother. Really cold.
There was a scar on his forehead, angling from left to right. It looked pretty fresh. There was also a bruise on his jaw.
"Sis," he said. It was a nothing kind of voice, waiting for me to make a move. I didn't, because I didn't dare; I'd walked in here alone, and as far as I knew nobody knew where I was. Not Michael, who was hanging out with Shane today; not Claire, who was locked in the lab with Myrnin. I was dreadfully and irrationally afraid that he would somehow know that, know I was alone and vulnerable.
Deep down inside, he was a sociopath, and I'd helped make him into that by walking away from him when he needed me. By locking my doors and covering my ears and not doing what a big sister was supposed to do: protect him.
So I couldn't hate him. I could only fear what he'd become.
"I didn't know-" Didn't know they let you out of jail. "They put you to work here."
"You know vamps. Practical," he said, and shrugged. "No point in having prisoners if you can't get some kind of value out of them. They don't believe in rehab. It's all racks and iron maidens with them."
He was only joking a little, and darkly. The vampires weren't into torture these days, but they also weren't forgiving. And Jason had tested their mercy, a lot. He was lucky to be alive, and he knew it. My brother had a lot of sins on his conscience. He'd helped me sometimes, but he'd quit trying to be a better person some time ago, and I'd quit trying to help him.
So there was that between us, too.
"How are you doing?" It was an inane question, really, and I almost winced when I heard how it sounded. He tossed his hair back and smiled. Not a sane sort of smile, but it might have been for effect. I hoped it was.
"Peachy," he said. "Solitary confinement with vampire supervision is really healthy. You know, exercise, good diet, self-improvement. It's like a spa, but with teeth."
I glanced involuntarily at the guns, and when I moved my gaze back he was still smiling, but differently. It looked like someone had moved his lips and stuck them in that position, not that he found any real humor in things. "Ironic," he said. "Yeah? Me and the gun duty? But somebody's got to be making the shells, and vamps can't handle the silver very well. I can do it twice as fast, without burns. Like I said, they're practical." He poured some more silver shot into a shell casing, and jammed it in the press. "So. I heard you two are getting married. I think my invitation got lost in the jailhouse mail."
He was different, yet again, from the last time I'd seen him. He'd been trying, for a while-trying to be a better guy, a real person. And he'd been winning at it, until ... well, I didn't really know what had happened. Drugs, probably. Jason was always looking for a new high, mostly to avoid facing his own crappy past. He'd blown past alcohol by eleven; by thirteen, he'd been dealing to classmates and staying high most of the time. It hadn't made him nicer. By the time I'd turned eighteen he'd already gotten too comfortable with weapons. Shane had a scar to prove it. I was lucky I didn't, since I'd been the one he was really after.
"I didn't think you'd want to come," I said. "Or, you know, be out of jail."
"Surprise. And why wouldn't I want to come? You need somebody to give you away, sis. I always wanted to do that." There was that creepy, empty smile again. Something had broken inside my brother. It had always been cracked, deeply, but now it was just ... shattered. And I didn't know why, or what had happened to him, but whatever it was, it had left him feral and angry. "Guess that makes me a Glass by marriage. I always wanted a brother."
"Let's not get all Cain and Abel about it," I said. "You really don't want to go there, Jase."
"Cain was the killer," Jason said. "Which one of us gets to play the victim?"
Oh, Jason. I felt a tiny shiver ladder up my spine. My sweet, kind, rocker boyfriend had swallowed more darkness than my brother, and even though he kept it pushed way, way down, it was there when he needed it. He didn't let it rule him, but he could put it on a leash and make it work for him. It was pretty obvious to me, in that moment, who'd win that fight, whatever Jason might think. "Let it go," I said. "Trust me."
He laughed. "Yeah," he said. "That'll happen soon. You pimped me out, and then you sold me out. Not exactly a rock-solid basis for trust."
"I thought-I thought we were getting over all that."
"Easy for you. You ended up getting exactly what you wanted. Freedom. A hottie boyfriend who has full vamp status. Oh, and even though you said you were never a fang-banger, you've got a bandage on your neck the size of Nebraska. Guess you're coming to terms with a lot of things these days." He lifted a pan full of silver-coated shot and dumped it into a tub half full of water; the shot sizzled and cooled, and he scooped it out with a strainer as he readied another empty cartridge casing.
As he did, his shirt collar moved a little, and I saw red bite marks on his neck, over his jugular.
Just like before, when he was little. When he hadn't had a choice.
I took an involuntary step forward, eyes fixed on the bite. "Jason," I said. "Jase. Who did that to you?"
He twitched the collar of his shirt back into place and kept working without a reply.
"Jason!"
"Why the hell do you care?" he asked sullenly, and pressed a cartridge closed. "Thought you were all into the recreational biting now. You want to hear all about my sex life? Kinky, sis."
"You're letting someone bite you," I said. "God, Jase, why would you do that?" Because I knew what he'd been through in his childhood. My parents had known and hadn't stopped it-hadn't even tried.
I had, once. Just once. But I was scared out of my mind, and I failed him. And I still, always, owed him for that.
"I'm not stupid." He glanced up then, and the shine of his eyes was bitter-bright. "I'm not going to be on the wrong side of the fang for long," he said. "And when I'm one of them, you better believe that I'm going to be taking my fair share. Money, sex, blood. Whatever I want."
Jason and Shane were two sides of the same coin. Both had come from abuse, both had felt vulnerable and frightened and alone, abandoned by everybody who was supposed to protect and care for them. But Shane had come out of it forged into something strong, something that wanted to fight to protect others.
My brother was just a carbon copy of his own abuser, ready to pay his pain forward. And I couldn't stop him, couldn't help him. Couldn't do anything except what I'd done for him my whole life.
Walk away.
"Who is it?" I asked him. "Who's biting you?"
"Why?"
"Because I want to know."
"She's really pretty," he said. "Blond. I think you already know her. I've seen her with you."
Not Amelie, obviously; the whole idea she'd stoop to this was ... just no. "What's her name?"
He bared his teeth. "Why should I tell you? What are you going to do, report it? That'd be a first for you."
"Jason, you never wanted to be a vampire. Neither of us did."
"Why not? You think I'm not worthy or something?"
Worthy didn't enter into it. The idea of my brother on a permanent vampire power trip was a really bad one. I felt sick, and anxious, and afraid; whoever was biting him had to be feeding him a line of bullshit. The vamps didn't like to turn new recruits. It was some kind of a risk to them, and a burden. Michael had been the first one turned in a very long time, though there had been some complications to that. Nobody had been made a vampire since.
Why Jason, of all people?
"I know you don't believe this," I said, "but I do care about you. I always have. You scare the shit out of me, but I think deep down you know this is wrong. You still want to be ... better. I know you can do it, I've seen it. You helped people. You even saved our lives. Why do you want to-to become this?" Not a vampire, but something worse.
Something truly without a soul.
He stared at me for a long second, then picked up the shotgun he'd laid aside and began slotting cartridges in with solid, even thunks. "Because it doesn't hurt as much," he said, and racked the shotgun with one hand. "Time to go, sis. Reunion's over."
He meant it, and I was acutely aware of what that shotgun he held could do to me, to fragile human flesh and bone. I didn't think he'd do it, but I didn't know. I didn't really know him at all anymore.
"Who is she?" I whispered. "God, just tell me."
I didn't think he would. Maybe he didn't think he would, either. But finally, as I was leaving, he said, "Naomi."
I forced myself to keep going.
But walking out of that room, leaving my vampire-to-be brother making weapons of vampire mass destruction, made me feel sick and helpless and-worst of all-guilty.
Again.
I found that blond vamp-bitch talking to Oliver, in his office. And it was on.
They both heard me coming, of course, and whatever serious conversation was under way was cut off before I heard a word; I didn't care, at all, because bloodsucking politics was the least of my concerns or interests at the moment. Oliver had guards, and one of them stepped into my path. He was big.
I didn't care.
"You!" I yelled, and pointed around him at Naomi. "Blondie. Get your room-temperature ass out here!"
"Well," Oliver said, "this is an interesting development. By all means, Naomi. Go. I assure you, we're quite done with our conversation."
She glared at him. I was used to seeing the nice, mannered Naomi, the one who seemed so sweet and buttery-soft; this one looked almost dangerous. "You're a fool," she told him. "We're far from done. You can pretend to the throne all you like, but you're nothing but a usurper, and always were even in your breathing days. You're no king."
"And I assure you, I know your origins as well. Amelie was generous with you, and kind, but rest assured that I will not be so well mannered." He smiled the thinnest smile I've ever seen, and maybe the most dangerous. "Come near her again and I will end you. See to your noisy little ... guest."
The guard stared down at me impassively as he held me off; he must have been almost seven feet tall, and his shirt was big enough to make three dresses, and not cocktail-length, either: formal wear. I tried to give him my war face. "Better step off, Tiny," I told him. "Me and the princess have business."
"Do we?" Naomi laid a gentle hand on his arm, and Tiny moved for her. She gave him an absent smile and took his place in front of me as Oliver slammed his office door behind her. She winced a little at the noise. "Oliver might have been nobly born, but he has the manners of a pig farmer."
I didn't waste any time. She was turning on the charm, and I couldn't afford to let her defuse the ticking bomb of anger inside me. "It's about Jason-"
The kind glow in her eyes died instantly and turned into something about as warm as an iceberg. Her hand flashed out and fastened around my arm in an unbreakable grip, and she turned to Tiny with a sudden, brilliant smile. "There's no need to disturb others with this nonsense. I'll take her to my quarters."
"Ma'am," he said.
"Hey! Not agreeing!" I tried to pull free, but of course that didn't do any good at all. "Let go, bitch!"
"I stand corrected," she said smoothly, with another apologetic look at Tiny. "Oliver's hardly the only one with the manners of peasants. You should respect your betters." I tried to drag my feet, but she pulled me effortlessly down the hallway, opened another unmarked door, and pushed me inside.
Then she locked the door behind herself and leaned against it as she let me go. I backed off, holding my sore arm, watching her with wary intensity. It was really hard to see her as a threat. She had a certain ... delicacy that made her seem vulnerable and breakable.
That probably worked really well for her.
"You're biting my brother," I said. "And he says you're going to turn him vamp. Are you?"
She said nothing. It was as if I hadn't spoken at all. She swept a gaze over me, head to toe, then back up again. "Of all the clothing you could have chosen." She sighed. "Why is everything you wear either cast off by some ridiculous mummers' show, or filled with sharp edges? You could be attractive, in your way. It pains me to see Michael wasting his potential on you."
"Hey!" I'd expected a lot of comebacks, but not ... fashion critique. "Excuse me, Project Runway, but I asked you a question! Are you biting my brother?"
"Jason," Naomi said thoughtfully, as if she was running the name over in her mind. That could take a while. She was about a gajillion years old. She walked away from the door and over to a beautiful old sofa, something in bone white wood and pale silk that matched the rest of the antiques in the room. The whole place looked like it had been ripped out of some French palace before the guillotine had gotten started-and so did she. I could actually imagine her with those high powdered wigs and giant sideways skirts from the movies. "Jason-ah, the felon." She shrugged and settled herself on the sofa, gracefully, of course. "He's of no concern to you."
"Did you hear the part where he's my brother?"
"According to Jason, you've rarely acted the part of family," she said, and shook her head a little, sadly. "Abandoning him in his hour of need. Turning your back. Hardly the actions of a devoted older sister."
I'd been a child, too. Terrified. And Jason had always been the strong, aggressive one, even then, but there was no sense in telling her anything like that. Trying to justify myself made me feel sick. "I'm not talking about the past, I'm talking about what's going on right now. You're biting him. Feeding off him. And you're telling him you're going to turn him. Are you?"
"Perhaps." She fussed with the corner of a small crystal vase on the table next to her, and seemed completely fascinated with the sparkle. "One needs allies, and of course servants. Jason has unique qualities that would make him an excellent vampire."
I laughed a little crazily. "You admit it. Oh my God, you actually think it's a good idea to give my brother fangs? He is a sociopath, lady. Look it up."
"I hardly need to," she said. "One doesn't survive the centuries by preying on the blood of others if one is vegetarian. Or overly empathetic." A dimple formed near her mouth; on anybody else, at any other time, it would have been charming and cute. "I assure you, I take no sexual advantage of him. He is, as you would say, not of interest to me."
"Yeah, yeah, vampire lesbian chic, I get it."
"Actually," she said, and now I got her full attention, "I have no interest in either sex, beyond what use they may be. Romantic love is an illusion, invented by poets and purchased by fools. I told you, and Michael, what was necessary at the time to make you understand that my goal was not to seduce him, only to ... help."
"Help." My voice had gone flat and hard now, and I was starting to calculate my chances of getting out of this room alive. She was explaining too much. That meant she wanted me to know how clever she was. Never a good sign for the long-term survival of the listener. "Why the hell did you want to help us at all? Considering how Michael was wasting his potential and everything."
"Because it opposed my sister's wishes, of course. It showed me in a reasonable light. And I gained some supporters that I would not have otherwise had. None of this is about your great love affair, foolish girl. Marriages never are. They are alliances, politics, power. They are the politest form of war. If Michael chooses to squander his own power, then I will at least take advantage of the situation." Naomi smiled. It still looked lovely and tentative and charming, but I was starting to realize that she just had much better camouflage than the others. Underneath, she was still all teeth and hunger and cold, cold ambition. "Now. Your brother. He does have some wild tendencies, but those can be controlled with a firm hand. I've had a niais with spirit before."
"A what?"
"Niais? The vulgar call it an eyas. A young hawk. A fledgling." She rolled her eyes at my incomprehension this time. "A newborn vampire. Do they teach you nothing of your betters here?"
The insult to Morganville's educational system didn't faze me, but the implication that she was my superior did. "You keep your fangs off him from now on," I told her. "Nobody's allowed to turn a human without authorization. There are laws against it."
"Oh, yes, laws." Naomi dismissed that with a graceful wave of her hand. "Old and outdated, these laws of Amelie's. My sister always tried to put leashes on us, but we are not dogs, dear one, we are wolves. And Amelie is hardly in a position to enforce her laws now. Oliver won't care; he'll be busy turning his own small army. It will come to battle eventually. He's no king, as I just told him. He has no God-given right to rule."
"And you do?" I crossed my arms. "The Magic 8 Ball says doubtful."
She gave me a blank look, which proved she was not as cool as Oliver; that was tragic. He at least knew what a Magic 8 Ball was. But her confusion didn't last long. Not long enough, for sure. "You want your brother? Very well. I can trade him back to you, Eve. He would be a formidable ally, but I am prepared to sacrifice, provided you help me in something most critical."
I didn't trust her. Not at all. But Jason deserved the attempt from me, didn't he? "What exactly would I be helping with?"
"Research," she said. "Only research. And I promise you, it is research that Oliver needs as well. Your friend Claire means something to Magnus; the draug target her, and I wish to know why, and how it can be of use to us. You must help me discover it."
"But-" That felt uncomfortably like betraying Claire, somehow, and yet it was also something I knew Claire was wondering about herself. She could see the head draug, Magnus; nobody else seemed to be able to unless he wanted it. It was a good question, and even Claire wanted the answers. Win/win.
Unless there were traps I couldn't see. And there probably were. "Okay," I finally said, reluctantly. "I help you find out why Claire can see Magnus, and you back off my brother and promise not to turn him. Agreed?"
"Agreed," she said, and smiled. There was that dimple again. "May I send for tea?"