White Witch, Black Curse

The dust on his hands turned to damp grit as he wiped my tears away, and the scent of wet cement rose higher. It trickled through my thoughts, mixing with my pain in a slurry of confusion. I breathed, not knowing if I was in my past or my present. I was going unconscious. I could feel everything shutting down. The light was gone, and I couldn't see. But someone held me, and he smelled like cold cement.

"Kisten?" I forced my lungs to work. Someone in Kisten's boat had smelled like this. Like old, abandoned cement. I struggled and he pulled me closer, holding my wrists when I tried to fight him. "We have to go!" I sobbed, but he only pressed me into his chest as he cried with me, telling me to remember, that he had me, and that he wouldn't let me remember alone. That he would bring me back.

The stink of cement filled me, pulling a memory into existence. It trickled painfully through me, drawn by the scent of wet stone and dust. And I panicked.

We had to get away! The vampire was coming, and we had to go now. I struggled to break from Kisten but he held me close, his voice mixing with my frustration as he wiped my tears. I jerked when a memory surfaced. Kisten had wiped my tears away. He wouldn't leave with me, and then it was too late.

I couldn't think, that dammed dust caking my thoughts, mixing my past and now. I couldn't…think. Was I here or on Kisten's boat? I'd been crying. I had tried to save him, and he had loved me. But it hadn't made a difference. He had still died. And I was alone.

Not alone, echoed in my mind. Go. I'll bring you back.

Tears leaked out even as I fought oblivion, and my mind rebelled, dropping me into a memory lost for an instant in time, triggered by the scent of dust, the sensation of pain, and the feeling of love turned into the pain of sacrifice.

My heart beat, and I closed my eyes, falling.

Thirty-one

"You son of a bastard!" I exclaimed in frustrated anger, wiping the helpless tears away and shaking from adrenaline as I faced Kisten, his blue eyes pinched in distress because I'd found him in this tiny backwater of the Ohio River. "I don't care what vampire law says, you're not a box of candy. I've got everything we need. My car is in the lot. Just put on the disguise charm and we'll get the hell out of here!"

But Kisten smiled at me with his bright blue eyes and ran a shaking hand under my eye to leave the cool breath of drying skin. "No, love," he said, voice utterly devoid of his fake accent. "I can't live outside my society's rules. I don't want to. I'd rather die among them. I'm sorry you think I'm a fool."

"You're being stupid!" I yelled, stomping my foot. God, if I was stronger, I'd knock him out and drag him away. "There's no reason for it!"

Kisten stiffened, and when his eyes went over my shoulder, I remembered the boat's oh-so-subtle shift of motion and the sound of water lapping. The smell of vampire rose thick, and I turned, pressing my back into Kisten's chest. My chin trembled, and I clenched my jaw.

Kisten's killer wasn't a big man. Kisten could probably take him in a fair fight. I knew there would be no such thing. His eyes were black from blood lust, and there was a faint trembling in his hands, as if he was holding himself back, relishing the last drawings out. Faint wrinkles marked the corners of his eyes. His suit looked like it was from the eighties, and his tie was wide, stuffed into his shirt. For an undead, he looked sloppy and out of date. But he was hungry. Blood lust apparently never went out of style.

"Piscary said I might get a taste of witch," he said, and I swallowed at the angry bitterness just beneath his softly aggressive voice. He might look the fool, but he was a predator, and as he moved slowly into Kisten's low-ceilinged bedroom at the back of his cruiser, I realized how deep in the crapper I'd fallen. Eyes unmoving, I felt in my bag for my splat gun. It would down him as fast as anyone else, but only if he didn't see it coming. Undead vampires were fast, and I was sure he'd been dead long enough to pass the tricky forty-year ceiling that killed most of the undead. Which meant he was smart, too. Oh God. Why hadn't I just left when Kisten told me to? But I knew that answer, and I fumbled for Kisten's hand.

"Rachel, leave. He has no claim on you," Kisten said as if he was still in control, and the vampire facing us smiled at his innocence. His fangs were a stark white, gleaming in the low-voltage lights, wet with saliva. And my neck…Oh God. It was starting to tingle.

My hand pressed to my old scar and I retreated, my only thought to put enough distance between us so I could get out my splat gun. The vampire lunged.