Midnight Girl Part 9

He touched her cheek lightly. "No, Miracle. You'll thank me. The first steps are hardest. But soon you'll run to every chance to feast."

No! she screamed in her mind, but her feet did not hear. Taking another step toward Ilya, she said, "Mama. Let Ilya go. Please."

Zoraida shook her head. "It's not my choice. When he orders--" Cat's third step brought her so close to Ilya that they could embrace. Cat said, "It's not necessary! You're just doing this because you can!"

Baldomero shook his head. "Because I love you, Catalina. Because I'll do all I can to help you be all you might be. Observe, then obey."

He put his arms around Ms. Arkan. She flinched at his touch and turned her face toward Ilya, and they looked helplessly at each other. Baldomero took Ms. Arkan's jaw in his hand and turned her head toward him, though her eyes stayed on her son.

Baldomero said, "Draw your prey close."

As he pulled Ms. Arkan into his embrace, Cat thought, This is wrong! but her arms reached for Ilya.

He gasped, and Cat wondered if he was trying not to sob, or if her traitorous arms were squeezing him too tightly. She thought, If all I can do is end this quickly, I should. For Ilya's sake.

Baldomero smiled, baring long teeth. "And feed." He sank his fangs into Ms. Arkan's throat. And Cat plunged her mouth toward Ilya's neck.

Chapter Ten.

Things Done Under the Sun.

As her lips came near his skin, she smelled him, sweaty with fear and exercise, a hint of ginger on his breath and peppermint in his hair. Her canines extended as quickly as springblade knives. Her gums burned as if her teeth would prefer to grow slowly with her hunger, but they could be unsheathed in an instant when she needed them.

Or maybe they burned because the demand they obeyed was Baldomero's, not hers.

This is wrong! filled her mind. She wasn't hungry. She wasn't protecting herself or anyone else. Each killing a nighter committed only made humans work harder to kill them. Killing was not their survival. Killing was their doom.

But she could not fight Baldomero. She could not speak to him. His command was simple: Feed.

Her teeth were an inch from Ilya's throat when something whispered, Be free!

She jerked her head up. In the doorway to the bas.e.m.e.nt, her mother watched her. In the hall, Baldomero drank from Ms. Arkan's neck. He glanced up, then lifted his mouth. Blood trickled from the punctures in Ms. Arkan's skin. Her pupils rolled as she hung limp in his arms. Frowning at Cat, Baldomero said, "I ordered--"

"No!"

"Drink!" His amber eyes were unblinking, as cold as ice on the highway, as intent as a wolf's hungry gaze.

But his words were only a foolish wish. Cat shook her head, amazed that she could refuse him.

His eyes widened. "Now." "No." He glanced at Zoraida. "How can she disobey?" Zoraida smiled. "She is herself." He nodded, then told Cat, "Perhaps the sight of feasting will bring your thirst." He pulled Ms. Arkan closer to him. Ilya managed to grunt, "Muh!" Cat said with all the force she could gather, "Baldomero! Don't!" His eyebrows rose. "Don't command me, Catalina. Some willfulness amuses me, but don't make me show you who rules the night folk." He glanced at Zoraida. "Drink from the boy." She said, "Baldomero, listen to--" "Drink!" Zoraida flinched, then seized the frame of the bas.e.m.e.nt door. Her eyes held Cat's gaze. She said, "I can't--" Then she gasped, and her fangs extended a quarter-inch as she stepped forward.

Cat grabbed Ilya in one arm, picking him up as easily as she had picked up Tarika, leaped to the back door, and yanked it so hard it tore from its hinges. Sunlight streamed in, bathing her in its uncomfortable heat.

Bathing Baldomero, too. He screamed and stumbled back into Zoraida's arms.

Cat shoved Ilya outside, jumped to Ms. Arkan's side, tore her from Baldomero's grip, and leaped again with Ms. Arkan in her arms, through the door, over a porch, and onto a cement walk.

Ilya was staring at her. She wanted to stare at herself, too.

But sunlight did not make them safe. "Come on!" she told Ilya, throwing Ms. Arkan over her shoulder. They ran into the alley, where Ms. Arkan squirmed and demanded, "Put me down! Now!"

Cat was tempted to drop her on the sun-baked dirt, but she lowered her onto her feet.

Ilya put his hand on Ms. Arkan's arm. "Mother? Are you all right?" "Of course." Ms. Arkan stroked the side of his head. "Are you?" "Cat didn't bite me. But you--" "A little blood. It's nothing."

The bites on Ms. Arkan's throat had stopped bleeding. How long had Baldomero fed? Maybe a few seconds.

Ms. Arkan turned to Cat. "What's your game?" "She saved us!" Ilya said. Ms. Arkan nodded at Cat. "No, not a puppy. A most cunning wolf." Cat said, "I just want everyone to stop fighting." Ms. Arkan smiled. "So do I. Help us exterminate your family, and I'll believe you." Cat jerked her head as the B&B's garage door opened. A large white SUV with dark windows drove out. Mrs. Chang was at the wheel. Cat couldn't see anyone else inside. The SUV went slowly down the alley, turned, and disappeared into the traffic.

What now? she wondered. The de la Sombras were gone. The Medianoches wanted her dead.

Ilya was watching her. She snapped, "What?"

"Thank you," he answered, so simply that even though her life was ruined forever, she was sorry for being angry at him.

Before she could decide what to say, Ms. Arkan ran back toward the B&B. "Ilya! Come!"

He told Cat, "I must go."

Ms. Arkan hopped onto Baldomero's bike and began checking the controls. Cat shouted, "That's not yours!"

Ms. Arkan laughed. "It's not even a down payment on what I'm owed! Ilya! Now!"

He hesitated. "Cat? I can't be on your side. But I'm not against you." Something thick in her throat wouldn't let her speak. She nodded. Ms. Arkan gunned the engine and rode up to them. Ilya gave Cat a last look. She wanted to say it was okay, but she couldn't. As he hopped on behind his mother, Ms. Arkan told Cat, "You didn't kill me. I didn't kill you. You would say we're square now, yes?" "What I would say are words I'm not supposed to call adults." Ms. Arkan grinned and jerked the throttle. Ilya watched Cat over his shoulder as he and his mother sped away. When they were gone, Cat put her hands in her hoodie. She had her cell. She could call her father, but what could she say? She was half a creature of the night, half of the day. She should belong to both, but she belonged to neither.

She stuffed the cell back in her pocket, walked up the back steps of the B&B, and knocked. Mr. Chang looked out, frowned at her in her stained dress and torn hoodie, and said with mild confusion and distaste, "Yes? What do you want?"

He didn't remember her. Either Baldomero's glamouring had worn off, or this was part of it. Cat said, "If you ever think there's something weird going on, call Valentin Medianoche. He's listed. Medianoche, okay?"

Mr. Chang said, "If this is some religious thing, we're not interested. Sorry." The door closed.

Cat shrugged and walked away. The sun was too hot on her skin. She pulled up her hood and stuffed her hands in her pockets. If she wanted to walk in daylight often, she would have to get a burka or learn how to be a raven or a wolf. But if she did that, she couldn't think.

Not being able to think would be perfect right now. She thought, Be a wolf! Be a wolf, and don't think about anything!

But she stayed a girl in torn, filthy clothes who had nowhere to go.

Anyone from Casa Medianoche or Arkan Exterminators would come from the southeast, so she walked west. That was smart. Keep the sun at her back. In the afternoon, she could wrap something over her face or rest in the shade until sunset.

But where should she go? Turn south for Mexico? Or Central America and into South America? All the way to Tierra del Fuego? Sneak onto a s.h.i.+p and go to Antarctica? How sensitive to temperature was she? Could she swim to the South Pole, then decide what to do? Wouldn't it be good to get as far from people as she could?

She kept walking west. If she went to Los Angeles, she could do stunts in Hollywood or get a job in a circus. If she needed blood, she could bribe someone at a blood bank or pay street people for their blood.

But she didn't have an ID. How could a fourteen-year-old get a job? She could glamour someone to act as her parent. But if she did, every time she looked at them, she would feel like a slaveowner. People around her were walking and bicycling and driving, heading to work or school. Though she looked like she had been swimming in a dumpster, no one noticed her. The don't-notice glamour worked even if she didn't think about it.

Were nighters responsible for stories about ghosts as well as vampires and werewolves? Would she spend the rest of her life taking what she wanted and being forgotten as soon as she was gone? Could she find nighters and live with them? Or when she left her mother and Baldomero, had she cut herself off from her own kind?

But they weren't her kind. She was the only nighter who walked in sunlight.

Her cell vibrated. She checked the screen, clicked, and said, "Tee." "Cat! You're okay?" "As homeless vampires go, yeah. I could use a pity party." "Postpone it. I saw your dad."

Cat glanced around for hidden snipers, then felt foolish. "And?" "You don't have to be homeless." "Oh." "Cat? Did you hear me?"

"You trust him?" "You don't?" "Remember the trying to kill me part? I'm supposed to go home like it's all okay?" "Remember the turning into a vampire part?" "I'll never trust him." "He'll have some issues too, y'know." "What did he say?" "You know how he is." Cat nodded. She should say something into the phone. All she could think was what an unfeeling monster her father was. Tarika added, "He got real quiet, so I started to go. Then he said, 'Tell her I thought I'd lost her forever. I couldn't bear that twice.'" It was hard to see the sidewalk. Cat stopped still. Tarika said, "Still there?" Cat nodded and touched the corners of her eyes.

"Kind of need words if you're still there, Cat." "Kind of crying, Tee." "Kind of okay, Cat." "Not a trick?"

"He gets an Oscar if it is." "And I get dead. Not the special effects kind." "I told him about what you ate and being in the sun and not killing me. He looked, like, relieved and sad and worried, all at the same time --"

"s.h.i.+t." "What!" "Still crying, Tee." "Still cool, Cat." She breathed deeply, then said, "Tell him I'll come home." "The glad." "The ditto." "Call me when things settle down?" "In a couple of centuries?" "Or this afternoon." "Sure. Tee?" "Yeah?" "Thanks." "For what? I'm just the messenger." "For, you know, the being you." Tarika laughed. "Like that's tough. Get home, chica." Cat pocketed her cell and wiped her eyes. Then she turned and started walking home. The sun was hot on her face, but she didn't care. *

Walking was tiring. Knowing she was going home made tired feel good. Walking was so wonderfully boringly normal. It would be nice to get home and have something to drink. What could be more normal than-- Oh. She grabbed her cell and hit callback. Tarika said, "That was fast." "Not home yet." "Girl--" "I need some soy milk or something." "Now?" "I'm good till I get home." "For sure?"

"For sure," Cat said, hoping she was right.

"No worries. I left a carton from my stash. Can you get by on soy milk?"

"I don't know. It only reduces the thirst. I think I can live with that now."

"If you need to drink--" "Not making that a habit, Tee." "Looking for alternatives could be fun, y'know. Testing new foods and recipes to see what works best--" "Not meaning to undo all the I'm-so-glad-you're-my-best-friend, Tee, but you can be really weird." "Waiting for the that's-what-you-like-about-me." "Keep waiting." "Because?" "It's one of the things I like about you." "Ex! E-mail the list, I'll put it on my blog, and all the jealous loser boys will say we're so gay." "Good plan. Thanks for getting Dad some disgusting bean juice." "You'll start to like it." "And monkeys will fly out--" "You'll see. Are you avoiding going home?" "A little." "Walk on, girl." Tarika clicked off. Cat shrugged and obeyed.

Chapter Eleven.

A History Lesson.

As she walked up to Casa Medianoche, she scanned the bushes and trees and windows for signs of hidden a.s.sa.s.sins, then thought, Why am I afraid? They wouldn't shoot me outside. It would be hard to explain to the neighbors.

Her father, in jeans and a black turtleneck s.h.i.+rt, was waiting on the porch. She thought something was strange, then knew what. In the past, whenever he waited outside, it was night, and Granny Lupe kept him company. How was Mama doing? Would Cat ever know?

Her father nodded to her. "Hey, kid." He wasn't wearing a blanket over his legs. That was normal. He only wore a blanket when it was cold. Or when he was hiding a pistol.

She couldn't tell what hurt worse, knowing she did not trust him or knowing he knew she did not trust him. She said as casually as she could, "Hey, Dad."

He held up a gla.s.s of white liquid. "Disgusting bean juice?" She smiled in spite of herself. "Tee called you back?" He nodded. "She's all right." "Yeah," Cat said, thinking, Too bad you didn't have a daughter like her.

She took the gla.s.s. As she looked at it, he said, "Want me to taste it?"

She glanced at him. He held up both hands. "Sorry. That didn't work with the birthday wine. No reason it would work now. If it helps, Tee brought an unopened carton."

Cat thought, So if there's anything in it, you added it? And you can't say you didn't add anything because saying that would mean we both know the trust thing is dead forever.

Then she thought, He knows I could glamour him now. He knows I'm faster and stronger than him. Maybe the trust thing is only dead for a while.

Or maybe he thinks I'm so dangerous it's worth risking his life to kill me. Guess there's one way to know.

She drank. Soy milk tasted a little better than before, maybe because it was a different brand, maybe because she was getting used to the taste. With the first swallow, she felt stronger. She wanted to chug it, but she wasn't starving. Part of controlling thirst had to be learning to live with being thirsty. As she set the empty gla.s.s down, her father said, "You bit Tarika."

"I didn't kill--" "Not my point, Cat." "I might need blood now and then." "If so, you'll get it. Also not my point." "Oh. Which is?" "You bit her. So you could've made her tell me anything." Cat stepped back, looking again for hidden people with bolt guns. "Cat, it's okay," he said. "She told me you bit her. If she'd wanted to trick me, she would've said it was Baldomero or Zoraida." "Oh." Cat studied him, then said, "We have some trust issues, huh?" "In your place, I'd have plenty. Don't sweat it." "So Tee telling the truth makes you trust me?" He glanced away. "If you were as cunning as your mother, you might think that one true detail would make me trust you." She blinked at him. "So you don't trust me?" "No, Cat. I trust you. That's just not why. It'll convince Olujimi and Auntie Fong, but it didn't convince me." "So what did?" He shook his head. "Nothing." "So you don't--"

"Trust is trust, kid. For fourteen years, I couldn't trust you. Not completely. The result was I nearly killed the person I love most. Now I've got a second chance. From here on, I'll just trust you because I trust you. And maybe, someday, even though I'm a complete idiot, if I'm lucky, you'll be able to--"

She threw her arms around him. His shoulders stiffened, but she held on tight, like he was a shapes.h.i.+fter that she had to hold until he became himself. After a moment, he patted her back awkwardly. Then his arms settled around her, so very strong, so very gentle. She realized she was sobbing. When he squeezed her, she realized she wasn't the only one.

After a minute or five, he let go of her. "Okay for now?"

"Okay for now," she agreed. "Can I quote the 'complete idiot' part for blackmail?"

"Did you tape it?" "No." "Hearsay." "Still kind of hard on your rep." "It might be worth a get-out-of-jail-free card." "Or two?"

"Fatherly guilt gets trumped by fatherly responsibility. It's in the handbook." "Oh."

"But today, you get just about anything you want." "Like the whole truth?" "Whole?" She nodded.

He looked at his hands, then at her. "There's a lot of it." "Expecting that." "Now?" She looked at her filthy clothes. "After I change?"

"I'll be in the study." He opened the door for her, then added, "I'm glad you're back, kid."

"Likewise, Dad."

As soon as she stepped inside, Casa Medianoche felt too big, sounded too empty, smelled too dusty and lifeless and stale. She had never heard Granny Lupe during the day, but she had always known Lupe was in the bas.e.m.e.nt, ready to wake and hear any story she had to tell. She wished what she had believed was true, that she was a normal girl with an odd father and an eccentric grandmother in a decrepit old house that was too big, but was home.

It was strange to see Casa Medianoche as it must look to strangers. Tarika's home was small and cozy. Casa Medianoche was too big for two people. Even with many rooms closed because they were empty and more closed because they were full of books and boxes, Cat and her father and Granny Lupe had barely been able to keep the place clean.

As Professor M took the elevator up, Cat went to the back of the house. The parlor door was closed. She thought of Aunt Ysabel and wondered if the floor was stained, then walked faster. She didn't want to ask who cleaned it.

She ran up the stairs and grabbed a change of clothes. She only wanted to shower and feel clean, but she paused in the doorway and studied her room. The paint was dingy. The windows were drafty. It was the room of a girl who had looked at her mother's painting over her bed and seen a beautiful woman. Now she only saw a monster.

By the door were photos of her day-after-her-birthday dinners, when the Medianoches and the de la Sombras had gone and her father took Cat and Tarika out for a meal that was "just them." For eight years, he had taken pictures of Cat and Tarika sitting at restaurant tables, at Magpies Pizza, at Old Tucson Studios, at the OK Cafe in Tombstone, at Elvira's in Nogales listening to mariachis, at the Casbah near the University sitting on cus.h.i.+ons in a room like a tent. In every picture, she and Tarika had their arms around each other. Where would he have taken their picture today? She had thought "just them" meant just her and Tarika. But seeing how every picture was composed so she and Tarika had the same big grins, she realized the photographer is always part of the picture.

She showered until the hot water ran out, then dressed in purple high-tops, black jeans, and a purple long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt. When she went to the study, her father was typing. Without looking up, he said, "One more paragraph?"

"The cool."