The Gathering Dark Page 10

  Then it burst into flame.

  In midair it began to transform back to human form. She released it from her talons and saw it burn, orange-red flame stoked up by the oxygen rushing past the vampire’s falling body. It exploded in a shower of burning cinder and ash that drifted toward the field below.

  Allison flapped her wings and rose higher, keen eyes peering about for the second one. The death of its companion had bought it time and it was nearly to the trees. She sped after it, beating her wings even harder than before, talons flesh once more so the weight of the silver would not slow her down.

  As she gave chase, lightning lit up the sky once more and at last the rain began to fall. Slowly, at first, but then the clouds seemed to open up and a heavy downpour showered the field below and the sky became even grayer than before.

  The rain pelted her, but she kept flying.

  The surviving vampire reached the trees. She saw the bat descending and then it disappeared among the branches, behind the veil of the rainstorm that now obscured the Allison-hawk’s view. Furious, she flew faster, tucked her wings in and sped toward the ground at an angle that brought her to earth only feet from the trees. Inches above the ground she changed again, from hawk to jaguar. She felt the muscles of the big cat rippling beneath her silken coat but she had no time to enjoy the pleasures of this form. On foot the vampire had only three choices—wolf, rat, or man.

  Allison lowered her jaguar-muzzle to the ground and sniffed. She caught the scent of the rat instantly.

  Fool, she thought. But she understood the vampire’s rationale. As a man or a wolf he could not escape her, but as a rat it was just possible it might hide from her, there in the shadows of the trees, under the roots and the brush.

  It had no idea what she might become. And there was no way for it to escape a jaguar. She prowled the roots of trees, pinpointing the scent of the rat, and she trotted deeper into the wood, fifteen, perhaps eighteen feet. Then she let her flesh ripple and bone pop once more and she stood up straight, human again, blue jeans and green, ribbed turtleneck and black shoes.

  Her hair was perfect.

  “You lose,” she said to the rat she knew was cowering behind a low bush. “You can keep running, but I’ve got your scent now. You can’t get away.”

  The vampire transformed, blossoming up from behind the brush like some enormous, hideous flower, growing from rat to man in the space between heartbeats. Male. She hadn’t been able to tell the sex before. Both of the escapees had been male. He was handsome in a way that she thought exotic; swarthy and dashing, with a smile that would have been charming if he had not been so damned nervous.

  “So you have me, Bloodhound,” he said in an accent that was not Russian, but Greek. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Allison smiled in return. “What do you think?”

  His face went even grayer than the sky. Rain fell in fat drops all around them, pattering the leaves of trees and bushes and beginning to mat the hair of the two predators that now faced one another.

  “Why? Why do you do this?”

  “Why do you?”

  The vampire tilted his head, studying her. “I am what my bloodfather made me.”

  “You are a creature of uncertain fate and equally uncertain purpose,” she replied. “We’ve got the souls of angels and the hearts of demons, but all that means is that we can choose. When it came time for you to choose, you chose badly. You fucked up.”

  The vampire shook his head and gazed at her with soulful eyes that did not reveal the malignance in its heart.

  “Two schools of thought. You say we may choose, yet I believe we are what we are made. But even if you are correct, why do you waste time with us? We are a handful of mosquitoes left to leech at the flesh of the world. There are things far, far worse than vampires in this world. More of them every day. Hell is coming to Earth, one horror at a time, and you’re worried about a few pitiful bloodsuckers whose only wish is to survive.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You expect me to excuse what you’ve done because there are demons on the loose? Are you a moron?”

  The vampire winced as though she had slapped him. His upper lip curled in barely controlled anger. “Derby, England. Tracy, California. Groznik, Uzbekistan. Hidalgo, Texas. Whispers travel fast. And they’re only beginning.”

  Allison stared at him, a cold finger of dread tracing along her spine. “What are you talking about?”

  The vampire smiled. “You’ll see. Better kill me now. I’m such a plague upon humanity, such a danger to the world,” he sneered. “Go on. Make yourself feel better. It will all be over soon enough.”

  “What do you know?” she demanded, stepping in close to him, snarling, hands clenched into claws.

  He lashed out at her then, clutched her throat in a savage grip that began to crush her windpipe.

  “Kill me, you bitch. I know you. Allison Silverhands. Bloodhound. Traitor. Do your job, you fucking—”

  Pain shot up her fingers as her claws turned to silver and she lashed out, tearing at his face with one hand and punching the other through his chest. She ripped out the vampire’s cold, black heart. Then she tore out his throat and his grip relaxed on her own.

  At last, he gave in to the presence of the sun beyond the clouds, and he burned, raindrops hissing, evaporating as they hit the flaming cinders that were left behind.

  Whispers travel fast. What the hell was that about?

  Club Jinx was one of the hottest venues in Los Angeles, but almost nobody played there just as another stop on a tour. It was too small for that, too intimate. There were no tables and no chairs, just benches along the walls and a balcony up in back, and the bartenders never filled the glasses to the top to cut down on the amount of alcohol that would slick the floor during any given performance.

  The performers who played at Club Jinx were almost always there because the publicity people at their label had set it up as a showcase for L.A. media. According to what Nikki had been told, they would all show up tonight: L.A. Times, Spin, Rolling Stone, Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, so many others.

  No pressure or anything.

  “Nikki?”

  She looked up from her guitar, which she had been idly strumming and tuning—something she almost always preferred to do herself instead of leaving it to a roadie—to see Aaron Belson standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. Aaron had a hundred-watt smile and an awshucks good ol’ boy manner that might not be a put-on, but in a town like L.A., where nobody would believe it anyway, it might as well be.

  Across the green room, Nikki saw Kyle perk up. He’d been drinking Gatorade and shooting the breeze with Boyd, the bass player, but now both of them turned their attention to Aaron. The other guys in the band were out working with the roadies, preparing for the show. That was good. It made Nikki less nervous.

  “What’s wrong, Aaron?” she asked.

  That good ol’ boy smile made her want to hit him. “Not a thing, darlin’. We’re all thrilled about this showcase. You’re gonna blow them away. Kickstart this tour with a killer buzz.”

  Nikki stared at him. “But?”

  Aaron chuckled. “But . . . I just heard you’re planning to throw in some old songs. Cover songs, Nikki. I thought we’d agreed you’d stick to the music on your disc. If you play somebody else’s music, the audience will think you’re not confident enough in your own material.”

  For a moment she just gnawed on her lower lip. Then Nikki scowled and shook her head slowly. “Aaron, my heart’s going a mile a minute. I’m used to entertaining people, getting down in a groove and bringing them down there with me. Most people, they come to see me for that. To come along for the ride. But the club out there’s filled with people who are here to put me under a fucking microscope. That makes me nervous.”

  “Understandable,” Aaron said.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you understand!” she snapped. “Since you’re not going to be the one up on the stage. I need to
throw in a couple of songs that are going to make me happy and comfortable, because if I’m not, they’re gonna know it, and they’re gonna be on me like fucking vultures. So if I want to play ‘Love Me Like a Man’ and ‘Son of a Preacher Man,’ I’m gonna play them. And you know what?”

  The good ol’ boy grin was gone, replaced by a look of grave disapproval. “What?”

  Nikki smiled. “They’re gonna love it. Now, unless you want to cancel the show, why don’t you go have a seat. We’re going to be starting soon and I don’t want you to miss a minute.”

  For a long moment, Aaron hesitated, obviously dissatisfied with the turn the conversation had taken. Much as she wished she didn’t, Nikki understood. This was the label’s money they were playing with here, not just her career. They had invested in her, and she respected that they had to safeguard that investment. But at the end of the day, if she didn’t feel good about what they were doing, that was going to come through on stage, and nobody would benefit from that.

  “Trust me,” she said emphatically.

  Aaron nodded. “I do. We do, Nikki. Just promise me you won’t open or close with a cover, please?”

  She put out her hand. “Deal.”

  He shook it, then glanced over at Boyd and Kyle. “You guys have a great show. It’s an amazing disc and we all believe in you. This is just the start of an incredible ride, so hold on tight. We’re just getting started.”

  Nikki smiled at Aaron and then he left, shutting the door behind him. The second he was out of the room, Boyd laughed softly and Kyle shook his head.

  “Was it just me,” Kyle asked, “or did he sound almost genuine at the end there?”

  “He’s not that bad, you guys,” Nikki chided them.

  Kyle walked over to her and smiled as he reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Babe, that’s one of the things I love about you. You always want to give people the benefit of the doubt. But trust me on this: Belson’s your number one fan right now because of the buzz. Maybe he’s right, and we’re in for a long ride, but if he’s not . . . the first time they put out something with your name on it that tanks, he’s gonna be telling everyone in hearing distance that he predicted it, knew it all along, and never understood why the label backed you for so long. It’s just the way these guys are built.”

  She punched him lightly in the stomach and he let out a melodramatic little “oof” followed by a bark of protest.

  “And maybe you’re just a cynic,” Nikki said sternly.

  “In this business, only the cynics survive.”

  The words stung her more deeply than she ever would have expected. Nikki frowned and turned away from him smoothing the legs of her pants and then checking the fit of the shirt she wore, a burgundy silk thing that buttoned down from the top and then flared open below her breasts to reveal her abdomen. Sexy but not whorish. Of all the things the label people had tried to get her manager to convince her to wear, this was the only one she even considered. Most of the time it really did seem all about the packaging, but Nikki spent a lot of time convincing herself that the label had signed her because of her music, because of her talent. She couldn’t become a cynic, would not allow that to happen but the truth was that she did wonder if Kyle was right . . . and what if he was? What if it was true that only the cynics survived?

  “Then I guess I’m as good as dead,” she told him, and she shivered.

  “Hey, Nik, don’t be—” Kyle began.

  He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Nikki was glad. She was really fond of the drummer. Kyle had been very good to her. But she was not going to get into this argument with him, not going to be revealed as naïve or infected with his cynicism. That would be too much like surrendering, when she knew she should feel triumphant that she had even gotten this far.

  The door to the green room swung open and Bones, one of the roadies, poked his head in. “Ready when you are, Nikki.”

  The rumble of the crowd could be heard from the front of the club, but this was more the buzz of conversation than anticipation. The lights had obviously gone down, for Nikki could hear some cheering—probably from the hardcore fans that had heard about the showcase event on her website and bought up the couple of hundred tickets that hadn’t been given away by the label—but it wasn’t like other shows. It was more subdued. She had never felt more pressure over a gig.

  “I’m ready,” she lied. Her gaze ticked toward Kyle. “Let’s go.”

  Boyd and Kyle both came up behind her and followed her out of the green room into the dimly lit corridor backstage. They stepped over wires and slid past roadies and lighting guys scrambling into position. At the entrance to the stage, Trey and Sara waited for them. She played keyboards, he played guitar. And that was her band. Nikki had spent years on the road pretty much by herself, but it was nice for her in that moment to realize that she really wasn’t in this alone. She glanced around the group gathered there, nodding to each of them.

  Without a word she led them onto the stage. Nikki and Trey picked up their guitars, Boyd grabbed his bass, Kyle and Sara sat down behind their instruments. The lights were warm, but not as hot as they were at some clubs. Still, when she glanced out at the audience, she smiled at no one in particular, not wanting to meet the eyes of the critics. At the front of the stage a small mob had formed, the diehards, the people who had come out to see her. It was them she would play for. Always them.

  Nikki raised her right hand, and when she brought it down, the band slammed into the opening chords of “Shock My World.” She loved the song, but would never have started with it if the label hadn’t insisted.

  By the first chorus she realized it had been the right choice. The fans in attendance erupted with joy and sang along, obviously surprised that she would play the song at the beginning of the set. Surprised, and thrilled. And the critics would see that, would have to feel at least a little of that enthusiasm.

  Nikki smiled, and for the first time, she let her gaze drift deeper into the club, feeling relief wash over her. This was going to be fine. It really was. The second tune was her favorite cut off her disc, “Been Down This Road Before,” and she followed it with the first of her covers, “Love Me Like a Man.” It wasn’t her song and they all knew it. Bonnie Raitt had recorded (the best-known version) years ago, but nobody in the audience seemed to mind as Nikki ground against the guitar and put her heart into the suggestive lyrics.

  It made her feel good, let her relax into the groove. With a laugh she glanced around at Kyle, who grinned as he hammered the drums. When she turned back to the audience, she looked down at the guys and girls who were right up in front, swaying back and forth with their arms in the air.

  All but one.

  In the midst of the crowd gathered right in front of the stage there was a woman who looked frozen. She stood completely still, watching Nikki on stage with an expression that seemed somehow both sad and patient, as though someone had dragged her along and she would rather be anywhere else. Nikki sang a few more lines, but she was distracted and her eyes wandered back to the motionless woman, a pretty Asian with black, silken hair, dressed in a baggy, unflattering sweatshirt. There were cuts on her face, healing, but there. She looked as though she had been attacked by a cat.

  A shiver went through Nikki. The woman’s expression was unnerving.

  She started to turn again, looking around to Trey and Sara off to her right to get some moral support, so that she could shake the weird vibe she’d gotten off the woman.

  Then a spark of recognition hit her. Nikki had been playing guitar so long, performing since she was a child, that she didn’t miss a note with her hands or her voice. But her thoughts were spinning as she looked at the audience again, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, never forgetting how vital this performance was to her career.

  Her gaze locked with the haunted eyes of the unmoving woman in the audience. Nikki knew her now.

  Keomany Shaw. Nikki hadn’t seen her in years, and if som
eone had asked her the day before, she’d have said a reunion with her old friend would have thrilled her. But Keomany was just standing there, gazing up at the stage with a face etched with sadness, as though they were the only two in the room and the music did not even exist.

  Nikki forced herself to look away, to find a way to settle back into the groove again. Whatever had brought Keomany here, whatever had made her look so forlorn, it would have to wait until she had done the job she had come to do. The music had to come first. The music, and the critics who were scrutinizing her every move.

  All through the rest of the set she avoided looking at Keomany as best she could. Nikki had no idea what had drawn the other woman here, but there was one thing of which she was quite certain.

  It wasn’t going to be a happy reunion.

  6

  As much as the city of New York had changed in the early years of the twenty-first century, there were things about it that remained remarkably the same. Technology ran rampant, particularly in Times Square and the surrounding blocks, as well as in the subway stations, and yet some of the neighborhoods seemed almost to move backward in time.

  Perhaps it was a response to the tech evolution going on elsewhere, but though the Village had remained as eccentric and eclectic as ever, it had also regressed to a more genteel age. Trees were cultivated along the sidewalks more than ever before and a kind of neighborliness had begun to blossom that was almost alien. The businesses in the area also reflected these subtle changes.

  Once upon a time The Hovel had been a counterculture restaurant, but more and more over the years counterculture had become simply culture. Vegetarian dishes and world cuisine were the order of the day and no one gave waiters with green hair and multiple piercings a second glance. Ritual scarring and drastic body modification were still common enough, but growing less so, given that the shock value of it had worn off.