Chapter 17
Simone’s ‘find-a-sketchy-motel’ luck was working overtime; the Big Ponderosa Inn had a bone-dry abandoned pool behind a wind-rattled, decrepit chainlink fence, hourly to weekly rates clearly posted, and precisely the right proportion of skeevy disrepair versus focus on profit.
Every ‘guest’ had their own problems, locked their door when they weren’t sitting on the threshold to have a smoke, and—most importantly—minded their own damn business.
Circling the place once was enough to satisfy her on the suitability and escape route scores; dumping the running-on-fumes car a few blocks away was strictly routine.
Apparently her sense of just how far she could push a sputtering stolen sedan was tiptop too, a far cry from her law-abiding human days.
The old vampire didn’t say a word, simply followed her from the Celica without a backward glance.
The Big Ponderosa’s front desk clerk barely glanced at her, taking a few crumpled bills from her ATM hit and thrusting a key with a chunky red plastic tab through the small aperture at the bottom of a sticky, fly-spotted plastic pane supposed to protect him from armed robbery, bad breath, and acts of God.
His green-and-brown polyester bowling shirt said Curt in fancy embroidery across the breast pocket, which may or may not have been his actual moniker but was incredibly funny in either case.
She hadn’t checked her ex-husband’s social media feeds in a while.
That was a positive development—one of the few in this recent mess, Simone concluded. She wondered if the chippie from her ex’s office had finished draining him of cash yet, decided it was none of her business, yet couldn’t repress a tiny, grim curiosity.
The room was on the second floor, at the very end of the breezeway, and neither the cleanest nor the filthiest she’d ever had to deal with.
From the scratchy plaid counterpane to the dust-stiff taupe curtains, the arthritic air conditioner to the dark, tiny bathroom smelling of mildew and bleach, it was entirely mid.
Which was perfect. John, however, looked entirely nonplussed.
He halted at the foot of the twin bed, holding his black hat in both hands and turning a complete circle to absorb the heavily repainted walls, the cheap television bolted to the wall over a dresser made of plywood and probably nailed fast as well, the chain she slipped on the door, the curtains she pulled and made sure there wasn’t a single crack for sunlight to slip through.
Maybe she ought to sleep under the bed. Dusty, sure, but probably cleaner than the sheets.
“Hey.” She ducked out of her bag’s strap, and was glad she didn’t have to deal with getting some kind of food at this hour or using whatever commode lingered in the bathroom. “Can you do that invisible-seal thing? Show me how?”
If she could figure out how he accomplished that particular trick, not only could she be safer during daylight… but also have a chance at undoing his variety. Which would be ever so useful, and a victory to cap the night with.
She could use a win at this point. Any would do; Simone wasn’t picky.
“You mean to sleep here?” Dim light from the weak bulb in the bedside lamp gleamed over his dark hair, glowed in those blue eyes, burnished his skin. In twilight, vamps appeared even more perfect and poreless; it was downright creepifying once you noticed.
Though most regular folks honestly didn’t seem to. The truly weird stuff in the world could knock a person loopwise if not aggressively ignored. Maybe inattention kept humans sane.
“This is safe,” she pointed out. Dawn was barreling toward the city on greased rails, instinctive warning prickling all along her arms, legs, back.
Everywhere. “These kinds of places, nobody asks any questions, especially housekeeping. But if you’re offended, I’m sure you can find a Four Seasons or something downtown. ”
“It…” He made a vague motion, one hand freighted with the hat, which was by now well and truly broken in. “You deserve better.”
Oh, don’t we all. “By this time tomorrow I’ll be able to afford something nice, near a hospital where I can get blood by the bag. At least, that’s the plan and I’m really tired, it was a stressful drive. Either do the invisible-walls thingie or get out and find yourself another hide.”
He went still, an unblinking statue, and Simone realized that treating a vamp this old and powerful like a not-too-bright vampire-hunting trainee was probably a bad move.
Her throat threatened to dry out, completely divorced from that terrible thirsty spot—which wasn’t active right now, thank goodness—and her back crawled afresh.
The walls shimmered briefly, that funny colorless ripple springing into existence. She stepped away from the door, nervously, and found the air had gone dead.
Just like under a bell jar. Wow. The thought of being trapped under glass, like a spider needing to be taken outside, was both hilarious and horrifying.
And he was looking at her, chin slightly dropped, head tilted a fraction. Simone had never, ever been studied so intently. Maybe he wanted another round of volcanic fucking, and the thought managed to be at once appealing and deeply unnerving.
Her own body was a traitor, but that was nothing new when you were born with ovaries.
Between the pain and mess once a month—vampirism had put a halt to her erratic perimenopausal cycles, praise God and hallelujah—and an entire world determined to make you nothing more than a fetus-container, there was almost no room for anything approaching satisfaction, or self-determination.
Getting infected had liberated her in numerous ways, a gift with literal teeth. Which was bleakly hilarious, like so much else about this stupid, endlessly eerie situation.
Come on, Simone. Distract the male, before he starts getting ideas. “How do you do that? Will you teach me?”
“The seals?” Slowly, enunciating with care. “Ah. When you are old enough in the Blood, I shall indeed teach you. But are you certain you wish to stay here? This is…”
“It’s cheap, it’s safe, and it’s right in a zone where I can get to the meet easily tomorrow, okay?
” She weighed the advisability of telling him anything more, decided she could probably risk a bit of explanation.
“I don’t want to keep doing bounties, you know.
I want to retire, which takes money. This meet is about getting enough. ”
“I told you, money is easy.” It was the first time he sounded thoroughly modern, and wouldn’t you know, it was because a lightly poked male ego was the same all throughout history. “Do you doubt that I will provide?”
God, give me patience, and give it to me right-fucking-now. Simone decided getting him to set up the invisible seals was either a blessing to keep neighbors from listening through paper-thin walls or a major miscalculation since she couldn’t just slam the door and find somewhere else to bed down.
She had proof positive the latter tactic wouldn’t work, anyway. “I just met you, and you didn’t even have a name. So back off on the providing stuff, mister. And anyway, a woman needs her own money. This is enough to set me up, and I’m taking it.”
There were different names for a woman’s best defense, but Simone liked the simplest: walking-away money, fuck-you money.
Even a man who loved you and swore never to leave could get in a car accident, and then where was a girl who had kept house, smiled prettily, gotten old, done what she was told all her life?
Entirely fucked, that was where. And not in any even remotely pleasurable way.
The only real friend a woman had was cash.
She’d figure out the problem of investing for a long-ass lifespan later, but she needed the lump sum now—assuming this meet was legit.
Barry said he was on the hook for the payment, and sure she could ghost as soon as she had confirmation the moolah had hit her account.
But that was a dick move, and she also had to think about the problem of withdrawing a substantial sum and vanishing, since Jane Smith wasn’t doing any more bounties.
Which was also a relief, even if she was abandoning any pretense of high-flown principles.
“Grant me a few nights.” John’s strong, callused fingers had tensed on the hat’s brim, though the rest of him was calm as a stone. “I have already begun preparations, and shortly will be able to give you anything you wish. Simply say the word, Simone, and it will be yours.”
I cannot believe we are even having this conversation.
And what kind of ‘preparations’ could he possibly have made?
“What, you fuck me a few times and think it makes you something special? You could vanish tomorrow, John.” She drew the name out, sarcasm not just dripping but outright gushing.
“You might even decide to leave me stuck in these seal-things when you do it, and I’ll starve to death like a rabbit in a hutch. No dice, Mr. Old Vampire.”
“You are my leman.” The worst thing was his air of bafflement instead of anger; his reactions weren’t anything close to predictable. “I will never leave you, nor will I harm you.”
I’ve had it with this leman nonsense. “Clearly we have differing definitions of ‘harm’.” She sounded nasty even to herself.
“You show up out of nowhere, you do… what you did, to me, and to be fair you’re the only other vampire I’ve met who can even talk and I’m not thirsty anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t know where the blood comes from and I just… I just…”
Her fingers were starting to numb up, announcing sunrise and her own helplessness.
So were her toes; she hated the feeling.
Simone shut up, set her jaw, and stalked away from the door.
Getting past him promised to be tricky, but she stared past his shoulder and extended her very best urban don’t mess with me body language.