Ravenous

Chapter 17

Holly woke from a bizarre dream about her big sister, Ashe, driving around in a tiny blue toy car. The car was about six inches long, but in the logic of dreams, her adult sibling fit in it just fine. If the image had significance, it was expertly disguised.

Odd, because Holly seldom dreamed about her family. She and Ashe rarely even spoke.

Rising from her bed, Holly stopped in surprise, her foot halfway into her mule slipper. She never went to bed without getting undressed, and yet she still wore the little black dress from last night. With morning-after-the-night-before paranoia, she began checking herself over, stomach knotting at what she might discover.

The charm bag had wound its way around so it was hanging down her back. When did I put that on? It looked a little deflated, but she had been lying on it.

Holly gazed into the mirror, contemplating the Dalfesque ruin of her makeup. She had raccoon eyes from not-quite-waterproof mascara. Her hair was doing the bed-head thing. Otherwise she was fine. Weird.

Was I drunk? No, if she'd had that much to drink she'd feel sick. Had Mac slipped something into her drink? That didn't seem likely, but everything after dinner was a blank.

This had happened once before, after that big-M spell went bad when she was a kid. The spell that she and Ashe had done. Maybe that's why I was dreaming about her. Something similar happened. Except then a whole year had disappeared. This time she was missing only a few hours. And it tasted different in her mind, a mustiness she couldn't quite place. Not the same, then.

She looked out the window. Her car was in the driveway, paint intact, everything normal. Double weird.

Wheeling away, she went to take a shower. I have to shake this mood. It was the first day of school. Remember? The cute boyfriend, the college degree, the successful business? Time to go for your goals.

Yeah, right. Goals seemed laughably out of reach. She'd settle for twenty-four hours of something approaching a normal life.

When she was dressed, she phoned Grandma.

"I had a blackout," Holly began.

"So either your detective is a real keeper or a complete bore. Wake up with anybody you didn't recognize?"

Great. The bad-old-lady routine. "No. I woke up in my own bed, fully dressed, alone."

"Where's the fun in that?" She heard Grandma exhale smoke. "Get a life, girl."

"I'm serious. I don't remember leaving Mac's place, or driving home, or anything after we finished eating."

Grandma's voice dropped, becoming serious. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Tired, but injury-free and unmolested." And blue, she added silently.

Kibs jumped up on the table, pushing his head under her hand. She petted him absently, scratching under the white bib of his chin.

"Were you wearing one of the charms I gave you?" Grandma asked.

"Yup. I was wearing it when I woke up."

She heard Grandma's breath release. "Then I wouldn't worry. You warded the whole house yesterday, more work than you're used to doing. Stretching your magic has resulted in memory loss before. You probably just pulled a muscle in your interior spell factory."

"You think so? That's a pretty poor performance."

"Well, you're not used to doing that sort of thing, are you? It takes practice."

The hearty note in Grandma's voice didn't fool her. A blackout of any kind was serious, but they'd been down this road before. The holes in Holly's memory had always been a mystery. No medicine or magic had ever helped. Now that she felt fine, it seemed almost pointless to bring it up.

"What should I do?" Holly asked, more because she wanted comfort than anything else.

She wasn't going to get any. "Stop worrying and go do something useful. I'm busy hunting down demon prophylactics."

Demon prophylactics? "Antidemon spell" sounds so much better. "Is there any way of getting back my memory of last night?"

"Probably not, and playing with memory is dangerous. Is it that important?"

Frustration nipped at her. "I keep feeling like there's something I should be taking care of. Something urgent."

"Like what?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Does it have to do with your first day at the university?"

"Could be. I'm not sure."

"Wouldn't surprise me. You've got a lot to think about, especially right now," Grandma said grimly. "Adult students have more on their plates, you know. There's stress even without the demons."

Holly sighed. "I just wish I could do something about the demon."

"Like what?"

"Anything. I'm still not a hundred percent about going to school with this thing on the loose. If you want, I could pick up the reading lists and then come over and give you a hand."

Grandma made an exasperated noise. "Go. Be educated. There's nothing you can really do to help me today. I can re-search faster without you hovering, and I'll feel better knowing you're in a public place. Most demons prefer the old classic dark alleys."

At first, Macmillan wasn't sure where he was. Nothing made sense until he felt the sheet drag across his skin, and then the soft brush of a female knee over his thigh. She was with him in his bed, in his home.

Daylight filtering through the curtains gave the place a soft-focus glow. Jenny's hair scattered like corn silk across his chest, the long strands stirring as her fingers traced the arch of his ribs. He only vaguely remembered the night. At some point they had returned from the hospital. At some point friends from the police station had come, checking in. Jenny had sent them away, bespelled and trading jokes about Mac finally getting some. Jenny had come and gone after that, sliding into his bed as dawn warmed into day.

And then he had slid into her, over and over. It had been a revelation of hungers.

So many irrelevancies had fallen away, including concepts like "him" and "his." The borders of his self were breaking down, and he was becoming one of Jenny's limbs. Everything was Jenny, and she was all. Mac was merely a half-forgotten state of mind.

At the moment the universe was all female and pushing a breast into his eager hand, the nipple hard and ready for communion. Mac obliged, rubbing its tip with his palm, tweaking its crest. Whatever pleasure he gave, he was rewarded a thousandfold with the taste of her.

Jenny had gone out hunting, drinking souls, feeding on wandering humans with her kiss. She brought the silver energy home, giving him that sustenance one sip at a time. She did so now, leaving him shivering with pleasure, hard and ravenous for more.

"I want you to do something for me," she said.

"Anything." He suckled at her breast, making her close her eyes with a little gasp.

"The vampire who is always with the witch, Omara's man—what is his name?"

"Caravelli."

"I want you to phone him." She took Mac's face in her hands, forcing him to look up.

"And say what?"

"I'll tell you what I need you to say. I have a plan. I have a dream." Her finger traced the curve of his lips. "And you're part of it. You, my love, gave me the power of your formidable strength and will. It called to me like a strong and savory scent. What a gift." She kissed him lightly. "And I have been growing stronger since."

Mac felt a welling happiness. He had pleased her. Then he felt sad. "I am not enough. You need others."

"You have been the best"—she kissed her fingers and pressed them to his mouth—"but I want the Carver witch. She has real power."

Mac smoothed the tumble of her hair. "Yes, she would be good." He had kissed Holly. Now that he had changed, he understood the strength of what he had tasted.

"She's been too strong for me up until now, but she trusts her friend the detective. You, my love, can take her by surprise."

Mac imagined Holly's power, imagined how it would caress his tongue. Holly has more power than she knows how to use. But in many ways she is weak, while I am growing stronger. "Can I be there at the end?"

Jenny reached up a hand, stroking his forehead, his cheek. "You want a taste of her. We can arrange that, yes. You are precocious, my love."

He grabbed her hand, kissing the palm, tasting the echo of her magic in the salt of her skin. She gave a low laugh, other hand searching under the covers until she found the prize she sought. "You will need to learn to hunt for yourself soon."

"Please," he whispered, begging. "Teach me." He had already tired of mere scraps. He could feel the need building inside like a slow, rolling thunder. A taste here and there was not nearly enough.

He'd never been one to pick at his food.

Once Holly was on the campus, back-to-school excitement finally kicked in. She endured the gauntlet of the bookstore, emerging one of an overburdened and penniless herd. Tonight was a late class, and the soft blue-gray of the early evening wrapped the walkways and buildings in a water-color shroud. A needling rain dampened the air, making the smells of coffee and cedar sharply extravagant. Her backpack was heavy with clean new textbooks and pristine highlighters. A rare fresh start was ahead. She treasured the mood, imprinting it into her memory.

Holly's route took her between some of the oldest brick-and-ivy buildings on the campus. Except for the denim and fleece wardrobes of the students, there were parts of this old area that looked as they had during the Edwardian age.

The path looped within view of the Flanders house. Holly reluctantly looked in that direction. The ornamented black gables still rose above the other roofs like the top tier of a macabre cake. Mac had mentioned that the police were still conducting their on-site investigation, delaying the execution of the burn order.

Even though the house was a block away, its presence chilled Holly. It was all memory—there was no whisper of power there—but she did a good job of spooking herself. Holly stopped, oblivious to the other students passing by her, bumping her with clumsy packs and bags. I beat that house. I should feel victorious when I look at it, but I'm uneasy. Why can't I just pat myself on the back and move on? Where's the unfinished business?

The clock tower chimed the hour. She'd have to navel-gaze later, or be late.

The Business Studies Building was one of a cluster of modern structures that sprawled on the far side of a vast parking lot. The entrance was hidden among a welter of flower beds and stairways that seemed to go no where, and Holly walked all the way around the building before she saw the welcoming glow from the glass double doors. By then she was hot and out of breath.

"Holly!"

She stopped. It was Alessandro. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you." He leaned against the concrete wall, nearly hidden by the shadows of the entryway, a cigarette in one hand. He smoked, she knew, to mask the scent of a crowd of humans. Apparently it was a bit like walking into a restaurant—the smell of so much food whetted the appetite. Given that excuse, she'd never asked him to butt out.

The end of his cigarette flared red as he stepped into the light. Wow, she thought, forgetting everything else for a moment. Not subtle, but wow.

Tonight his legs were encased in black leather with rows of fringed decoration that spiraled around his thighs. His hip-length coat was festooned with matching fringe. The long streamers of leather swished and slinked with feline grace, making her want to stroke them, braid them, run them through her fingers.

"What can I do for you?" Holly asked, imagination supplying some graphic suggestions. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"It's the first day of classes. I knew you'd be here. With slight encouragement, the administration office was most willing to assist with your schedule and room assignments." Alessandro took another drag on his cigarette, exhaling dragonlike through his nose. She watched the white smoke, transfixed. "I wouldn't bother you, but I need your help."

"With what?"

"Let's go someplace to talk."

Holly nodded, her mind still tangled in the fringe. "I have a class starting, and I'm nearly late. Is this something that can wait an hour?"

"An hour," he said, clearly tamping down impatience. "Yes, I suppose."

"I don't want to miss my very first class. It's important."

Alessandro seemed to come to a decision and shrugged. "Then I'll come with you. We can talk afterward. The instructor is a friend."

"A friend?" Alessandro never mentioned friends.

"Yes, he set up my laptop."

Holly smiled. "You, Alessandro, have a computer?"

He tilted his head to one side, half-coquettish, half-reproachful. "You think that is so ridiculous? That I am perhaps too old or too blond to keep up?" He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, studying its glowing tip.

Holly shrugged, her mind slowly refocusing from his outfit to the class ahead. "I just didn't think you'd be interested in techie stuff."

He mimicked her shrug. "Who does not want to surf the Web?" He raised one eyebrow, daring her to respond. When she was silent he grinned, showing just the tips of his pointed teeth.

"What on earth would you surf for?" she asked, her imagination supplying several yucky suggestions.

"One has to keep up with the times." He crushed the cigarette and held the door open for her, fringe swinging as he moved. "There are so many interesting chat rooms, and so many daylight hours to kill."

"What, you can get high-speed Internet direct to your coffin?" Holly looked around her for room numbers. She turned right.

Alessandro made a rude noise. They had gone about three steps when he asked, "How was your dinner last night?"

"The food was good," she said lightly, thinking about the phone call that had taken him away. When he would get around to telling her what had happened?

"If all you remember is the food, next time I should plan the evening." Alessandro thrust his fingertips into his pants pockets. The pants were so tight, that was all that would fit.

"I doubt you could cook like Mac."

"Mac, is it?"

"We had a very nice conversation. Very relaxed. You're just being a pain."

"I have six centuries of experience wooing women." He gave another slow, fang-tipped smile. "I have a surprising depth of knowledge when it comes to interpersonal relations. When I have a woman in my arms, I do not aim for 'nice conversation.'"

Holly rolled her eyes and walked into the classroom, heading to the back of the room, where the last two empty desks sat with their humming computers.

Yes, it was a night class, and she should have known it would be a mixed population. All those folks who couldn't come in the daytime were there. A few students dressed in ultra-Goth looked like they had goblin or perhaps Unseelie heritage. A young-looking vamp read a Howlywood fan mag, filled with gossip on supernatural screen idols. One nerdish ghoul hungrily gnawed his pen and eyed the other students as though they might be his next chew toy.

Holly dropped her backpack with a thud. A spiral-bound course manual marked, Computer Concepts: From E-mail to E-business Platforms, lay neatly on the desk. She wiggled the mouse to kill the screen saver and brought up the start screen.

At the front of the room a man was standing next to the digital projector. He looked about the same age as the students, but was apparently the instructor. For a moment Holly felt ancient. He smiled diffidently at the class and nodded to Alessandro. With wavy brown hair and a narrow, sensitive face, he was cute in a youngish way. When he filled out in a few years he would have hunk potential. She felt ancient for another moment.

"Hello, and thank you so much for coming," he said, all charm. "My name is Perry Baker."

A loud crunching came from the right side of the room. All heads turned curiously, and the crunching stopped as suddenly as it began. Holly stretched, trying to see over the heads between her and the source of the noise.

Perry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Umn, please don't eat the mouse."

Baldly curious, she stood up to get a better look at the show. The ghoul sat perfectly still, a belligerent expression on his face. The cable that normally ran to the mouse ran into his mouth, dangling like a tail. His cheek bulged, evidence of guilt.

This should be interesting.

The ghoul chewed once and a plasticky crunch resounded, like a very loud potato chip. Holly never thought a peripheral could sound so tasty.

A nervous giggle rippled through the room.

Tugging authoritatively on his oversized black T-shirt, Perry Baker marched up to the ghoul's desk. He held out one long-fingered hand. "Spit it out."

The ghoul glowered as only ghouls could, with mean little eyes and a wrinkly nose.

Beside Holly, Alessandro stood up as well, his eyebrows drawn together. She guessed he was deciding whether or not to intervene. Ghouls could be nasty customers when riled, and vampires were one of the few species able to beat them in a brawl.

But Perry was as yet unfazed. "Spit," he repeated slowly and firmly. "It. Out!"

The ghoul growled, a disgusting sound like something rotten just come to the boil. That made Perry take a step back, but it was more a regrouping than a retreat. He drew himself up as much as his youthful dignity would allow and pulled off his glasses.

Without warning his lip curled up, his lower jaw dropping almost to his chest. Fangs sprouted from his gums in a painful-looking wash of blood and saliva. His mouth grew huge, pushing forward to accommodate more and yet more of those sharp white teeth. A long, lolling red tongue surged wetly past his jaws, questing toward the ghoul.

The growl that emerged from Perry rumbled like low thunder, rattling the pen on her desk and rising to a crescendo that vibrated Holly's breastbone. Hair stood up along her neck, her instinct to flee at war with the instinct to be small and invisible. After a long moment the growl finally stopped, but it echoed in the air, cowing the room into silence.

Holly blinked. Perry looked completely normal. He pushed his glasses back on and extended his hand once more. Without moving the ghoul spit out the mouse. It fell to the desk in a clatter of gummy, crushed plastic, the workings spewing like entrails to the floor. Perry looked at the mouse, his brow wrinkled in consternation.

"Consider yourself expelled," he said, and walked back to the head of the class.

Holly sat. Alessandro sat. There was nothing like a werewolf for maintaining classroom discipline.