17. Christopher
Chapter seventeen
Christopher
Iwake to the sensation of four paws sitting on my chest. Before I even open my eyes, I hear giggles and know Zinnia has brought Carrot into my bedroom again.
Petting the bunny, I confirm my suspicion and then open my eyes. The other rabbit huddles on Maria’s chest.
I don’t shoo Zinnia out—I left self-warming clone blood pouches next to Maria, so I’m not worried about her waking up starving and attacking her daughter.
When she finally opens her eyes, she looks at the bunny on her chest, then glances at me and starts laughing.
Zinnia giggles again, a bit louder.
“Yes, she brought the rabbits in again.”
“That’s not what I’m laughing at.” Maria bites her lips together and points at my face.
I roll out of bed, carrying a rabbit in my arms, and look in the bathroom mirror. Yes, vampires in my world have reflections. Maria knows nothing about fairytale vampires, so she’s not surprised either.
I lean forward, making a closer inspection. Zinnia used felt-tipped pens to turn me into a circus clown. Purple eyebrows. Blue lips. Green cheek apples. A black star on the tip of my nose. I run water over my fingertips and rub at the star. Stubbornly, the ink doesn’t fade.
Fuck. I must have given her permanent markers.
I try rubbing the star again. It says a lot about my comfort with the child that I didn’t jerk awake and attack her. That’s always the risk with a sleeping vampire. Even more surprising, it’s only been four nights that I’ve known her.
I pivot around. Zinnia rolls on the bed next to Maria, and they’re both hugging their stomachs and laughing.
“I swear, I’m putting a lock on that door.” I walk back to the bed, still holding the rabbit. “Get it out of your systems, then it’s time for breakfast. For both of you.”
When their laughter doesn’t let up, I set Carrot aside, join them, and tickle Zinnia. Memories of my mother doing the same rise. She did her best when Dad disappeared.
Then I notice tears forming in Maria’s eyes. Sadness falls over her face.
I want to talk to her alone and find out what’s wrong. “Zinnia, take Carrot and Cabbage back to their playpen and read a book. We’ll be out in a minute.”
The munchkin tries to carry both rabbits at once, but without a basket to hold them, she’s too small and they aren’t cooperating.
“Let me.” I scoop up both rabbits, whoosh them to their playpen, and settle Zinnia on the couch with a book. I return to the bedroom and close the door to give Maria and I some privacy. “Sunshine, you’re crying for real. What’s wrong?”
“Zinnia had so little time with Lehm and Gabriel.” She swipes at her leaking eyes. “They had so little time to laugh and play with our baby girl. I worry she’ll forget them entirely over time, even if she remembers now.”
I take Maria into my arms and stroke her back. “I’m so sorry.”
Resilient. The word echoes in my mind. Since our first encounter, she’s done what she must to survive. She rolls with the punches to protect her daughter. But she’s never had the time or safety to grieve her losses.
She needs a safe space. Do I want to be that for her?
I don’t know.
I hold her tighter, letting her cry it out, and my gaze lands on the two guitars in the corner.
My favorite collectibles, Elvis and Hendrix.
In just a short time, I’ve grown to admire and like Maria.
I enjoy her company. Yet having anyone depend on me feels like a trap that’ll keep me from performing my music when I finish my contract here.
I’ve waited so long since the Collapse to get the band together and start touring again.
We’re so close to having enough credits to pay for transportation and housing.
But life on the road is no life for children.
Fear grips my stomach, warring with the growing affection I feel for her. Fear that I’ll be trapped, unable to pursue my music, crushed under the responsibility that comes with having a family.
Maria pulls away and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”
“It’s okay.” Despite my words, the desire to run away grips me.
I want to grab a guitar, disappear into one of the wilderness domes, and play for two hours without anyone demanding anything from me.
Instead of doing what I want, guilt bubbles up and screams that I’m being selfish. “Uh, maybe we should get breakfast?”
“Oh. Oh my God. Zinnia hasn’t been fed. What was I thinking?”
I grip her arms, stopping her from rising. “Zinnia can’t always be your focus. Sometimes you have to take care of yourself.”
Something my mother never did.
Maria side-eyes me. “Can we make her breakfast now?”
I relax my fingers, releasing her. “Sure.”
Maria climbs out of bed. She’s still wearing her nightshirt, which shows off her tits and hips.
I might need to install a lock for more reasons than one.
She grabs the two pouches from the nightstand and drinks them down. We then take turns showering, get dressed, and head out to the kitchen, where I grab a donor bag for myself.
After everyone’s nutritional needs are met—including Wolfie’s and the bunnies’—I’m eager to get on our way, and I brush my hand across Maria’s back. “Do I take you or Zinnia with me to scavenge?”
In part, I’m afraid the kiddo will look at my clown face and start giggling at an inopportune moment—like when making noise might alert a renegade and threaten our safety.
I tried again to wash off the clown face when I was in the shower earlier.
But after three scrubs with a nylon sponge, all I succeeded in doing was removing a layer of skin.
The stain remains, even if it’s not as vivid as before.
Maria crosses her arms. “You’re not taking my daughter out there again.”
“Okay, then you’re going with me, because it’s not safe to leave you here with her.”
“I—” But she stops, her teeth poised on her lower lip.
I appeal to the hesitation. “Didn’t you ever leave her alone in the silo and go out collecting stuff from nearby abandoned homes?”
“Uh—”
“Which means you did.”
“But this is different.”
I shrug. “Not really. She’s safer here than in your silo, especially now that she has her own room to stay in. Plus, you need to learn what the Lux expect from us. It’s part of keeping us fed, and well-fed vampires are safer vampires.”
She scowls. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“Good. I don’t know what time we’ll return. Make her a couple of plates, and she can help herself from the refrigerator.”
I send Wolfie to his dome’s tunnel, then lock the automatic doors and his cat door. He’ll find his way back to the clowder.
Zinnia has been watching us from her seat at the table. Maria closes the refrigerator door then walks over and hugs her—a bit too long for a new vampire.
“Okay, baby girl, you be good for Mommy. You know where to find your lunch and dinner. Eat when you’re hungry. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
While she says her goodbyes, I dig out a handheld radio that connects to the same frequency as the embedded crystal behind my jaw.
I’m jittery with the need to get on the road. But first, I check to make sure the radio is charged, adjust the squelch, then test it. “One, two, three.”
My voice is echoed loud and clear by the crystal embedded near my ear.
I set the handheld radio on the table. “Okay, Zinnia, if you need to talk to us—”
She picks it up and starts playing with all the knobs.
“Stop that,” I snap. “It’s not a toy.”
Her eyes get big. Maria steps between us and glares.
Dammit. I raised my voice and spoke too harshly. One more reason I’m not fit to be around children.
I pause, wrangling my impatience. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” Maria slides to the side. “Apologize to her, not me.”
I fold my hands in front of me and squat to be at eye level with Zinnia. Anger, not fear, is evident in the tightness around her lips.
Now I have both ladies angry with me.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
Zinnia nods.
I let out a breath. “Okay, this is a radio, a way to talk to Mommy and me if you have any problems while we’re gone. You have to be careful with it. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy Christopher.” Her tone isn’t forgiving.
Oh, geez. I take her through how to operate the radio, and the chill in the room lessens. “Remember—if there’s a problem, radio us. But only then. Otherwise, don’t touch it. We’re going to be busy working. Okay?”
“Uh huh.”
Maria kneels next to her chair. “We’ve done this before, baby girl. Remember our rules from the silo?”
“No touching the kitchen stuff, stay in my room, play with my toys and read.” Zinnia ticks off each on a finger as she speaks.
“You can also play in here and watch cartoons”—Maria glances around the living area—“but leave Chris’s books alone, okay? Only read yours.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
They hug and kiss, and Maria rises.
“Maybe later tonight we can do some more childproofing,” I say.
Maria nods, still a little stiff-lipped.
I plop a new picture book in Zinnia’s lap—I’m never averse to resorting to bribery—and in no time Maria and I are heading out.
The garage sits underground. We exit into a tunnel, and the door rolls down behind us.
We drive underneath the surface until we reach a freeway overpass, where the tunnel slopes up.
I press the switch to open the tunnel door at ground level, then turn on the truck’s crystals and accelerate.
No one will see us leave, as the tunnel’s door gives the illusion we drove out of a pile of desert boulders.
Our tracks in the sand won’t last for long, thanks to the automatic blowers that trigger when I drive past.
I swerve onto the freeway on-ramp, headed to the nearest community I haven’t yet stripped clean, keeping an eye out for hostiles. Renegades aren’t plentiful, but they are desperate and seek any opportunity to hijack my truck.
Once we’re rolling along on the mangled highway, with dilapidated, abandoned business districts on both sides, Maria turns to me and snarls in a whisper, “You brought my daughter out into this?”