The Beast

FORTY-ONE

As night fell, Rhage was, yet again, back down in the clinic, sitting shirt-less on an exam table, his leather-clad legs and shitkickered feet dangling free off one end. His weapons were over on a chair, and as soon as he got this cast sawed off, he was going to catch a quick meal in the cafeteria that had been set up for the future trainees and go to work.

Mary had left early for Safe Place so she could get ready for a staff meeting—although she’d offered to stay for the buzz cut. Man, thank God he’d fed a week ago from one of the Chosen, and his body could heal a simple fracture like that in a matter of twelve hours. He’d heard humans had to live with these plaster deadweights for weeks and weeks.

Insanity.

When a knock sounded on the door, he called out, “Come on in, Manny. I’m ready to get this—oh, hey, V. Wassup.”

His brother was dressed to fight, black daggers strapped to his chest, a newspaper folded up under his arm by one of his twin forties. “How’s that arm?”

“You’re coming to free me from my cage of plaster?” Rhage knocked on the thing with his fist. “Or whatever it’s made out of.”

“Nope.” V settled back against the door. “I got no news and bad news, what do you want first?”

“You didn’t find shit on Bitty’s uncle, did you.”

When his brother shook his head, Rhage released a tense breath, his whole body easing up with a relief that was all wrong. And then he had to tell himself not to get ahead of things. He and Mary were not adopting Bitty.

Really.

Yeah, ’cuz that would be crazy. Especially as he was basing the compatibility and interest on the kid’s part on the fact that a pair of chocolate-chip waffle cones had been ordered and consumed the night before at Bessie’s Best.

Vishous shrugged. “I checked every database, every contact down South that the Brotherhood has. I’m not saying there aren’t families under the radar, but there was nothing I could come up with that matched Bitty’s name, her mother’s, her father’s or the name of the uncle.”

Gripping the edge of the table, Rhage stared past the tips of his shitkickers to the linoleum floor.

“You and Mary thinking of taking her in?” As he glanced up in surprise, V gave him a well-duh. “It’s cool if you are. I mean, you were talking about kids the other night, and then asking about an orphan’s family situation. That math ain’t complex, true.”

Rhage cleared his throat. “You say nothing about this. To anyone.”

“Yeah, ’cuz I’m such a fucking gossip.”

“I’m serious, V.”

“Come on, you know me better than that. And I know what your next question is going to be.”

“What’s that.”

“You need to go talk to Saxton. He’ll be able to tell you what the requirements are to adopt her. I think in the old days, the King had to sign off whenever nobility was involved—and even though Bitty is a commoner, you, as a member of the Brotherhood, are aristocracy. I think a lot of that had to do with inheritance issues, but again, Saxton would know the ins and outs.”

Okay, that was good advice, Rhage thought. He hadn’t even considered that there might be paperwork involved, and how naive was that?

Oh, and yeah, it wasn’t like he’d spoken about all this to Mary. Or Bitty.

Shit. He was already so far ahead, wasn’t he.

“Thanks, V.” Feeling awkward, Rhage nodded at the rolled-up copy of what had to be the Caldwell Courier Journal. “What’s your other news? And I’m surprised you’re not online, my brother. Was it you or Egon Spengler who said that print is dead?”

“Both of us. Around the same time, actually.” V unfolded things and flashed the front page of the CCJ. “Fritz was the one who picked this hard copy up.”

Rhage whistled under his breath and held out his good hand to take the thing. “Annnnd we’re back in business.”

The headline read in bold letters, “Ritual Murder Scene at Abandoned Factory,” and lengthy columns of text were accompanied by pixilated photos of blood and buckets next to a broken-down manufacturing line of some kind. Rhage scanned the print and flipped to the interior to finish the article, the scent of the ink and the sound of sloppy pages flapping against one another making him think of days gone by.

He shook his head as he put the paper back together. “Not a very big scale, though.”

“Only twelve to fifteen new recruits. Clearly, there were some in the pipeline, and maybe the Omega hurried up the induction. But that’s not a huge scale.”

“Nope. We’re making progress.”

“I want to be there when the last one is poofed out of existence.”

Rhage narrowed his eyes. “The only way that’s going to happen is taking out the Omega.”

“I’ve been thinking about how to do that.” V took the newspaper back. “Trust me—”

A round of rapping on the door cut the brother off.

“Come in, Manny,” Rhage said. “Let’s get this—”

“Oh, hell, no,” V muttered as the panel was thrown wide.

Lassiter stood between the jambs in a yellow slicker that was big as a circus tent, an umbrella popped open over his head, and a pair of wellies on his feet. His legs were bare. Which was not a good sign.

“No, I do not want to buy a watch,” Rhage said, “so you can keep all that closed, buttercup.”

“Watches?” Lassiter came in, or tried to—the umbrella got caught on the jamb. “Screw that. I heard you had a little trouble with your Jacuzzi early this morning.”

He tossed his Mary Poppins back out into the corridor and did a ta-da! with something yellow in his palm. And then the bastard started to sing. Badly.

“Rubbbbber duuuuucky, you’re the one. . . . You make bath time looooots of funnnnnn. . . .”

V glanced over. “Are you shoving that up his ass or am I?”

“We can take turns,” Rhage shouted over the singing. “Hey, can I get a doctor in here!”

If he could just have his cast removed, it would make the beat-down of the angel so much easier. Plus the medical staff could help clean up the Lassiter pieces.

#perfect

When Mary got to Safe Place, she peeled off her layers in her office, put her purse on the floor by her chair, and signed into her computer.

Every night when she arrived, she checked that Facebook page—because she’d had to discipline herself not to do it on her phone or else run the risk of Internet vapor lock. And every night, right before the update hit the screen, her heart stopped and she held her breath.

She told herself it was because she desperately wanted to send the girl to some white-picket-fence situation in South Carolina with a dog, a cat, and a parakeet, and a set of mystical, Hallmark grandparents who turned out not to be dead.

The only trouble with that altruistic fantasy?

When yet again there was no word on the uncle, Mary found herself sagging in her chair and letting out the breath in her lungs with relief.

Which was about as professional as her unconsciously trying to drive the kid to the mansion that first night after her mother’s death.

The truth was, however . . . that sometime in the past few days, a shift had happened in her heart. She had begun to think that—

“Ms. Luce?”

Mary sat up with a shout. “Oh, Bitty. Hi, how are you?”

The girl stepped back from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay. I was just about to head up and check on you.”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“Please.”

Bitty was careful to close the door without making a sound, and Mary had to wonder if that was the result of having tiptoed around her father for so long. Tonight, the girl had her hair in a ponytail and a blue sweater on over the dress she’d worn two evenings before. Her shoes were her other pair, the ones that were brown and came up to her ankles.

“I need to tell you something.”

Mary indicated the chair opposite her. “Have a seat.”

When Bitty did, Mary rolled around so that she was free of the desk and they were facing each other without any obstacles. Crossing her legs, she steepled her fingers.

The girl stayed silent, her eyes traveling around the walls of the office. There wasn’t a lot to look at, other than a couple of drawings done by some of the kids and a map of Lake George that Mary had hung up because it reminded her of summers when she’d been young.

It was not a surprise when that stare drifted over to the box with Annalye’s urn in it.

“Whatever it is, Bitty, we can deal with it.”

“My mother lied,” the girl blurted. “I’m not nine. I’m thirteen.”

Mary was careful to show no surprise. “Okay. Well, that’s all right. That’s perfectly fine.”

Bitty looked over. “She was afraid I wasn’t young enough, that there was some kind of age limit to staying here or receiving help through the healer’s clinic. She told me she was worried about us getting separated.”

“You can live here until you transition, Bitty. It’s not a problem.”

“She tried to pick the youngest age I could pass for.”

“It’s all right. I promise.”

Bitty looked down at her hands. “I’m really sorry. That’s why she told me not to talk very much and to play with that doll. She didn’t want me to give it away.”

Mary sat back and took a deep breath. Now that she thought about it, the timing of everything made better sense if the girl was older. Vampire females went through their needings every ten years or so and Bitty’s mother was pregnant when they got here—and those young were usually carried for about eighteen months. So Annalye would have conceived when Bitty had been eleven, give or take. As opposed to seven.

What was worrisome, though, was how tiny the girl was. For an eight- or nine-year-old, she was a good body weight. That was not true for someone who was thirteen—even if you took into account the fact that the biggest growth spurt happened to young vampires during their transition.

“I’m really sorry,” Bitty said as she hung her head.

“Please don’t feel bad. We understand. I just wish we’d known so we could have put her mind at rest.”

“There’s something else.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I lied about my uncle.”

Mary’s heart started pounding. “How so?”

“I don’t think he’s coming for me.”

“And why’s that?”

“She talked about him from time to time, but it was always in the past. You know, what they used to do when they were kids. She did it to distract me when things got bad with my father. I guess I just . . . I just wish he were coming for me, you know?”

“Yes. I do.”

“He’s never actually met me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Really alone. Especially because my mahmen is gone now.”

Mary nodded. “That makes a lot of sense to me.”

“My mahmen and I . . . we took care of each other. We had to.” Bitty frowned and stared at the box on the desk. “She tried to get us away from him three times. The first one was when I was an infant. I don’t remember that, but it didn’t go well. The second time . . .” Bitty trailed off. “The third time was when my leg was broken, and she took me to Havers because it wasn’t healing. That was when I got the pin put in—and then we went home and . . .”

Rhage, V and Butch went and got them out.

“I like your hellren,” Bitty said abruptly. “He’s funny.”

“A total stitch.”

“Is that a human phrase?”

“Yup. It means he’s a crack-up.”

Bitty frowned again and looked over. “So you were really human? I thought that you couldn’t be turned into a vampire.”

“I’m not. I mean, I haven’t been.” Mary flashed a smile. “See? Nothing pointy.”

“You have pretty teeth.”

“Thank you.”

Bitty’s eyes returned to the cardboard box. “So she’s really in there.”

“Her remains are.”

“What happens if I don’t bury her right now? Does she . . . is that wrong? Is it bad?”

Mary shook her head. “There’s no rush. Not that I’m aware of, at least. I can double-check with Marissa, though. She knows all your traditions inside and out.”

“I just don’t want to do anything wrong. I guess . . . I’m responsible for her now, you know. I want to do the right thing.”

“I totally understand that.”

“What do humans do with their dead?”

“We put them in the earth—or at least, that’s one option. That’s what I did with my mom. I had her cremated and then buried.”

“Like mine.”

Mary nodded. “Like yours.”

There was a pause and she stayed quiet so that Bitty had the space to feel whatever she was feeling. In the silence, Mary took a good look at the girl, noting the reed-thin arms and legs, the tiny body beneath the layers.

“Where did you put her in the ground?” Bitty asked.

“In a cemetery. Across town.”

“What’s a cemetery?”

“It’s a place where humans bury their dead and mark the graves with headstones so that you know where yours are. From time to time, I go back and put flowers by her site.”

Bitty tilted her head and frowned a little. After a moment, she asked, “Will you show me?”