Vampire Most Wanted

Five

The rustle of clothing stirred Divine and then she blinked her eyes open with surprise when a cold cloth was laid across her forehead. She found herself peering up into her son’s thin face. It was half obscured by strands of his long hair, making his expression inscrutable.

“You’re awake. How do you feel?” Damian asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress she lay on.

Divine stared at him blankly, confusion rife in her thoughts. “Damian? What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember?”

Divine glanced past her son at that question, her eyes settling with dislike on the dark-haired man who had spoken. She couldn’t prevent the scowl that claimed her lips. “Abaddon.”

“Basha,” he greeted with a condescending smile, and anger whipped up through her like a snake.

“I don’t answer to that name, Abaddon, and well you know it. My name is Divine and has been for a good century. You should be used to it by now.”

“You can call yourself what you like, but in your heart you will always be Basha,” Abaddon said with a shrug.

That just made her furious, perhaps because in her heart she knew it was true. She could give herself any name she wished, but would always be Basha, daughter of Felix and Tisiphone, granddaughter of Alexandria and Ramses, and niece of the great and powerful Lucian Argeneau, a man she used to adore but had learned to fear. In her heart, she was still Basha, but she was trying hard not to be, and loathed that the young woman she’d been so long ago still clung to the woman she’d become.

Knowing he could and probably was reading her thoughts, Divine shifted her attention to the room she was in to clear her thoughts. She noted the torn, old-fashioned wallpaper and scarred hardwood floors. There were holes in the walls and a large one in the floor as well, telling her where she was—the derelict building on the edge of town that her son had settled in for his brief stay in California.

“I don’t know why you choose to live in such horrible places, Damian,” she said unhappily.

“Where should he live?” Abaddon asked dryly. “Should he run away? Join the carnival like you?”

“I didn’t run away,” she snapped.

“Basha, my sweet, you’ve been running from yourself since—”

“Get out of here, Abby,” Damian interrupted. “You’re just upsetting her.”

Abaddon hesitated, but then nodded obsequiously. “As you wish.”

“I don’t know why you allow him in your life,” Divine growled as she watched the man leave.

“He has his uses,” Damian said mildly.

“He’s an animal like his master was before him,” Divine snapped, and then turned to her son and said with frustration, “It took me ten years to get us away from that man and remove his influence from your life, and then when you turned eighteen and set out on your own, you just welcomed him back in like a long-lost uncle.”

“Do you really want to argue about this again? Now?” Damian asked.

Sighing, Divine shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. She’d given up arguing about Abaddon two and a half millennia ago . . . after more than two hundred years of useless attempts to get Damian away from the man, she’d acknowledged that it was his life, he could do what he wanted with it, and have who he wanted in it. That was also when she’d started spending less time around her son, leading her own life and leaving him to lead his.

“I don’t want to argue, Damian,” she said finally, “But he—”

“Saved your life,” he interrupted, and then added chidingly, “Again. Surely you can cut him some slack?”

“He saved my life?” Divine asked with a frown, now trying to sort through her memories to find how she’d got here. She remembered coming back from town, dropping off Marco by the bunkhouses, returning to her RV intending to put the motorcycle away and . . . she’d heard a noise from inside the RV, Divine recalled. She’d gone in to investigate and— She raised a hand to feel her head as she recalled the pain crashing through it.

“Abby was concerned about this business of Lucian sending out spies to look for you.”

Divine blinked her memories away and peered at her son when he said that. She’d found that out on her last visit here, the day before. Divine had been surprised to learn on arriving in town with the carnival that Damian was in the area. Even more surprising was that he’d wanted to see her. While they’d been close when he was a boy, he’d grown distant as he aged and she rarely saw him anymore . . . unless he needed something. This time he’d wanted to see her to warn her. Damian had got wind that her uncle Lucian wasn’t only looking for him, he had sent spies out to look for her as well. It seemed he’d somehow learned that she lived. Their guess was that Damian’s son Ernie had revealed it when he was caught and dragged up in front of the Council.

The little fool, Divine thought on a sigh. She’d raised Ernie for Damian, at least for the first five years. The immortal boy had been a sweet child, but somehow had grown into a weak and sometimes foolish adult. He’d always seemed to be trying to prove something to his father, and had apparently gone north to Canada with some harebrained scheme of performing some “derring-do” to earn his father’s respect.

The little idiot had gone about it all wrong though. He’d kidnapped someone connected to the Argeneau family, Lord knew for what purpose, and then he’d got himself caught and executed for his efforts. If anything, Ernie had only made matters worse. Lucian had begun searching for her son in earnest then . . . as well as for her. Knowing that, Divine had suspected Marco might be a spy, but hadn’t had a chance to find out for certain or do anything about it.

“Abby was worried about you all alone at the carnival, so he sent a couple of the boys to check on you and make sure you were okay,” Damian continued, capturing her attention again. “They found you unconscious in your RV, with a head wound, and brought you back here. You’re at the house.”

Divine just nodded. She’d already worked out where she was and the knowledge was depressing. She loathed that her child had to live like this, always moving, always hiding, trying to evade her family. They both did, but she at least had the carnival and her RV. Damian refused to settle into such an existence and preferred avoiding mortals and immortals alike altogether, making do with abandoned houses and derelict buildings. He didn’t have a real home and never had, really. They had always been running . . . because of her damned family.

“Abby has some suspicions about who knocked you out.”

Divine glanced to him. “He does?”

Damian nodded. “One of Lucian’s spies is working at your carnival.”

“What?” she asked with surprise, and then her eyes widened as his mentioning the carnival recalled her to her responsibilities. Sitting up, she swung her legs off the bed. “What time is it? How long have I been here?”

“Mother, lay down. You took a bad blow to the head. A little rest—”

“I’m healed,” Divine muttered, and glanced at her wristwatch. Dear God, it was almost noon. The carnival would be opening soon and she would be expected to be there. Saturdays they opened at 10 A.M., but weekdays and Sundays they didn’t open until noon. It was too slow to bother before that on those days. But even when they didn’t open until noon, they were up early, cleaning up from the night before and checking that everything was in working order and ready for the busy day ahead. She’d missed helping with that, but absolutely could not miss opening. “I have to get back.”

“Mother,” Damian said with exasperation as she stood up and peered down at her bloodstained blouse. She looked like she should be working the Haunted House ride rather than her own fortune-telling gig.

“How is your head?” he asked, catching her arm and drawing her attention away from her stained top.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I heal quickly, we all do, and I have to get back. We open at noon.”

“Yes, but I don’t think you should go back,” he protested. “You aren’t safe there. One of Lucian’s spies has joined your carnival. He must suspect you and we think he’s the one who hurt you. If the boys hadn’t found you . . .”

Divine paused to stare at him as his words sparked a memory in her head. When the boys said she was cavorting with that Argeneau spy I had to order them to bring her in. The words played through her head in what she thought was Abaddon’s voice.

“You see you can’t go back there, don’t you?” Damian asked.

Divine turned solemn eyes to her son. “The boys found me?”

“Yes. We think it was that Marco guy who hit you. He’s one of the men Lucian sent to look for you.”

“Marco?” Divine asked with surprise, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She already knew that he was an immortal.

“Fortunately, the boys’ arrival must have scared him off,” Damian continued. “They found you and brought you back here to heal. I’ve been giving you blood all night. The worst of the healing is probably over, but you’ll no doubt need extra blood for a while as it finishes.”

Divine stared at him, other words playing in her head.

So you told them to crush her skull and drag her back here?

I told them to knock her out and bring her back. They were a little . . . enthusiastic in their efforts.

They caved in her skull, Abby!

They are scared of her so hit her with a little more strength than necessary.

A little more strength? We’ve gone through three girls giving her enough blood to heal. Now we have to find others. Which boys did you have spying on her? I want them punished.

“Mother?”

Divine forced her attention from the conversation replaying in her head and glanced at her son. He was frowning with concern.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Damian said. “You’ve gone pale.”

Divine sucked in a deep breath and turned to move toward the door rather than look at him. Her son was lying to her. “I have to get back.”

“Mother—”

“Now that I know Marco is a spy I can be on guard around him,” she said calmly. “But I have to go back. My RV is there.” Pausing at the door she swung back. “It is still there?”

“Yes. The boys brought back your motorcycle but left the RV,” he assured her, and then added quickly, “But we can send one of them to pick it up for you. There’s no need for you to go back.”

“Of course there is. If I just disappear, they’ll know I’m the woman they’re looking for,” she argued. “Besides, it’s always better to learn what you can about your enemy. I might be able to find out just what Lucian knows if I go back.”

Divine didn’t wait for him to respond to that, but turned and opened the door and hurried out. The hallway was empty, as was the front room when she reached it, and Divine supposed everyone was in bed by now. They tended to be night owls. While she was glad Abaddon wasn’t around to read her chaotic thoughts just then, she would have liked to come across at least a couple of the boys. A quick butt kicking of one or two of them would have gotten her the truth of who had bashed her head in last night . . . which was probably why they weren’t around at the moment. Damian obviously didn’t want her to know that Abaddon had put her own grandchildren up to attacking her.

Divine spotted her motorcycle the moment she stepped out onto the dilapidated porch of the house. It would be a good thing to get away without running into Abaddon. She suspected if he read her and announced that she knew Damian was lying, she’d be stuck there for a while arguing with her son or kicking some ass, and she really didn’t have time for either.

“All right, fine, go back,” Damian said as she pulled on her helmet.

Divine managed not to grin at his tone. He said it as if he were giving her permission. She was the mother here, for pity’s sake. She would go when and where she liked, and always had . . . and she would deal with him and his lie in her own time too.

“But be careful. Marcus Notte might not be the only spy that Lucian has there.”

Divine had just pulled her helmet on, but paused in doing up the chinstrap to glance at him with a frown. “Marcus Notte?”

“That Marco guy at the carnival is Marcus Notte. The Nottes are in deep with the Argeneaus now. Marguerite is married to Julius Notte, and Christian is her son. He and his cousins are spending more and more time with the Argeneaus in Canada. They’re getting tighter all the time. In fact, if you encounter a Notte, you may as well think of him or her as an Argeneau.”

Divine digested this news, aware of the disappointment that pinched her at the news that Marco was really Marcus Notte, a spy for her uncle Lucian. Sighing, she shook her head, peered at her son, and asked slowly, “Where do you get all this information?”

“Abaddon has spies everywhere,” Damian said with a grin. “How do you think I’ve managed to avoid your family all these years?”

The usual guilt slid through Divine at the reminder that her own family was hunting her son, that he’d been forced to live the way he did because of them. Mouth tightening, Divine merely nodded, did up her chinstrap, and mounted her motorcycle. The keys were in the ignition and she started the engine, and then glanced to her son and opened her arms when he stepped forward for a hug.

“Be careful,” he admonished before stepping back, and Divine forced a smile and nodded, then set the bike in motion. Her mind was a whirl of confusion as she drove away though. Her brain was still healing from the attack that had apparently caved in her skull, and memory was returning quickly, including the conversation she’d heard on wakening the first time. The more she remembered of it, the more questions it raised in her mind. There were certain key phrases that bothered her.

They are scared of her so hit her with a little more strength than necessary.

The part about the boys being afraid of her didn’t surprise her much. She’d had to knock a few heads recently when the boys did stupid things like taking too many risks and drawing attention to themselves. From what she understood, it was a couple of the boys acting up and getting caught by the Argeneaus that had forced Damian to try to rescue them, nearly getting him caught too.

It was Abaddon who had called her saying Damian needed her. The man had been pretty vague about what the boys had been doing to draw attention to themselves, but Divine hadn’t worried too much about that at the time. She was a mother. She’d rushed north to save her baby and worried about the rest of it afterward. But afterward, no one would explain what had happened exactly. All of them had just kept saying they’d been stupid and acting up, and no amount of threatening or kicking butt had made them talk.

It was a great frustration to Divine that she couldn’t read her son or grandsons. She didn’t know why that was the case. Her own mother had been able to read her. The only thing she could think was that their being no-fangers rather than just immortals somehow hampered her ability to read them. Divine sighed inwardly. Her son being no-fanger hadn’t been the first strike life had thrown at him, but it was a bad one. She didn’t know why, but some immortals never developed the fangs others had. It meant he had to cut his victims to get the blood he needed to survive. Most of Damian’s sons were the same way and while Divine had been able to read every one of them as children, once they’d hit puberty she’d lost the ability. It made her think that the lack of fangs wasn’t the only difference in them.

Divine frowned over that, and then turned her attention to another thing that bothered her about the conversation she’d overheard. The bit about We’ve gone through three girls giving her enough blood to heal. Now we have to find others. Which boys did you have spying on her? I want them punished.

That part of the conversation bothered her for two reasons. For one thing, the bit about going through three girls made her think . . . Well, frankly, it sounded like he meant those girls had died. She had to be wrong about that though. She’d raised Damian right. He fed only when he had to, on the willing when he could, and never to the point of death. She’d pounded that into his head at an early age. It was how she was raised, and how she’d raised him.

As troubling as that had been, Divine was more concerned about Abaddon’s response when Damian had said that she was his mother and would never act against him.

I wouldn’t be so sure. If she ever found out . . .

Found out what? she wondered. What could Damian have possibly done that would make her withdraw her love and support of him? She didn’t know, but Abaddon’s words suggested he might have done something that would cause that withdrawal, and the fact that he’d flat-out lied to her about how she’d come to be injured was disturbing, as was the fact that he’d been so convincing in the lie. It made her wonder how many other lies he’d told her in the past.

Divine passed a billboard promoting the Kern County fair, and her mind turned to another worry. Marco. So his name was really Marcus Notte, and he was a spy for Lucian Argeneau. It explained why he was at the carnival. The man wasn’t rogue after all, and judging by the questions he’d asked last night, he might suspect she was Basha, but he wasn’t sure. That was a good thing at least. She also thought it was probably a good thing that she’d started dying her hair a couple of years ago. Not that anyone probably had a clear idea of what she looked like anymore, except perhaps for her uncle and some of the other older immortals who had met her when she was young.

They hadn’t had cameras back then, or portraits even, so wouldn’t have an image to go by unless Lucian had arranged for one of those sketch artist pictures or something. He might very well have done that, but if he had, he would have been depending on his memory, which was admittedly good. Still, he hadn’t seen her for more than two millennia. That was a long time. Besides, any sketch of her would show her as a blond which she presently wasn’t. She’d started dying her hair dark auburn just before joining the Hoskins Carnival and was now glad she had. It might not have completely put Marcus off her trail, but it couldn’t have hurt.

Divine spent a moment trying to sort out what to do about him. First she thought avoiding him would be best, but then that seemed useless. The man wasn’t going to leave unless she convinced him she wasn’t Basha and she couldn’t do that by avoiding him. The problem was, she was the woman they all thought of as Basha. That being the case, how was she supposed to convince him she wasn’t?

No ideas came to mind by the time she reached the carnival, and Divine decided the best thing she could do was act natural around him. If she didn’t act nervous or let on she knew anything, he might eventually decide she wasn’t the woman he was looking for. Aside from that, perhaps by talking to the man as if he were a friend rather than an enemy, she could learn just what the Argeneaus knew about her and her son. Maybe even what those risky actions were that her son and grandsons had got up to when she’d had to save him from her uncle.

Several people greeted her as she rode through the carnival grounds. She returned the greetings, but didn’t slow until she got to the RV. She made quick work of putting away the motorcycle and helmet and closing the panel, then turned and gasped, coming up short to avoid crashing into Marcus.

“How are you?” he asked.

Divine frowned briefly at the concern on his face. It was as if he knew— Dropping the thought there, she brushed past him, muttering, “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood on your clothes, and in your hair.”

Divine had forgotten about it with everything else on her mind. The part about there being blood in her hair was news to her though. She reached up instinctively to feel the side of her head, mouth tightening as she felt the crusty collection of dried blood there. She didn’t stop walking though, and as she mounted the steps to her RV, repeated, “I’m fine.”

As she entered the RV, Divine flipped on the lights. Memories of the last time she’d entered slipped through her mind. She also recalled getting hit over the head outside the door to the bedroom and moved into the next section of the RV, flipping on that light too. Not that she needed it to see the dried blood on the wall, door, and floor.

Divine took a deep breath as she peered at it, and then moved into her bedroom to fetch fresh clothes from the closet. She headed into the compact bathroom next to shower. There wasn’t much time to get ready. It was exactly three minutes before noon when she stepped under the shower; two minutes later she was out and pulling on her clothes. She towel-dried her hair, dropped the towel, and put the damp strands up in a ponytail as she walked back through the RV.

Snagging the A-frame sign from its resting spot beside the door as she went outside, Divine set it up on the dirt next to her steps and then glanced at her watch: 12:01. One minute late. Not bad, she decided, and peered along the midway to see that people were just starting to filter through the gate. Relaxing, she started to turn back to her door, her eyes sliding over and then pausing on Marcus. He was standing under an awning by the Tilt-A-Whirl controls, staring at her.

Divine finished her turn and went inside, leaving the door open so that she could see when the first customer arrived. She then settled in her chair facing the door to wait for another long day to begin. While they had been open from noon to midnight the day before, it was now Friday. They would be open until 2 A.M., and tomorrow they would be open from 10 A.M. to midnight. Sunday they would start at noon and close at six. Even so, it would be the longest day. Once the gates closed they would start tear-down. They’d pack up the carnival, which would take four to six hours, and then they’d drive to the next town on their schedule.

Divine couldn’t remember the name of the town, but what she did remember was that it was a six-hour drive from Bakersfield. Even so, they wouldn’t get to rest then, but would immediately have to set up all over again. If they were lucky they’d get done in time to catch a couple of hours sleep before opening, but sometimes they didn’t. Truly, a lot of people bad-talked carnies, but they were some of the hardest-working people she’d ever encountered.

Her gaze found Marcus through the open door. He was still at the panel, but Chapman was with him now, no doubt giving him last-minute instructions.

Divine bit her lip. She had three days to convince Marcus that she wasn’t Basha, or she suspected he’d follow them to the next town. Perhaps she needed to make up a fake backstory, a history and explanation for her being with the carnival. It would mean claiming a clan, and that could be checked though.

Alternately, she could claim she was turned by a rogue some centuries back and had fled before doing anything rogue herself. She’d have to name a rogue though, and give the name of a mortal with a birth date from the time she chose to back it up. They could always check on her stories.

Divine sighed and rubbed one hand along the side of her head. It was still throbbing a little, which meant the healing was still taking place. The major damage was taken care of, her skull repaired and reknitted into place and the majority of her brain obviously back in working order or she wouldn’t be walking and talking. Now, she supposed the little arteries and bits of tissue and synapses were being repaired. Her body would be using blood like crazy to manage the task. She would need blood again soon.

“Hello?”

Divine glanced to the door and offered a smile of greeting. Her first customer had arrived.