Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,75
no matter how hard I tried it wouldn’t budge. Ethan’s figure loomed in the darkness, his breathing heavy and heartbeat rapid, prodding me with the toe of his shoe. “Suffer among the vermin, in graveyards and sewers, cut off from your blood, and the protection of our house, a bleeding wound for all to feed on! Perish in pain and despair.”
“Leisha Brookings…” Joe mused, wondering why the name seemed so familiar. Then a blinding light flashed before his eyes. Lee Brooks, No one had ever seen her but Lydia! Who was Lee Brooks? He nearly shouted it, “Lee Brooks is a vampire?”
“She knew what needed to be done. I did my part, and so did Kurt. Together we pulled off this magnificent illusion.”
“Where did you get that kind of money?”
“Kurt kind of borrowed it from Brovik.”
“He stole it? No wonder you’re hiding! But why are you withholding data from your own partner? But she’s the one who duped you, isn’t she? Why Mia? Why is she so dead set on keeping you away from Kurt?”
“Divide and conquer. She and Kurt never really saw eye to eye. She thinks Kurt controls me.”
“Shit. How long have the three of you been partners?”
“Not long. For a long time I hated her guts. I might have hated Ethan but I was out on my ass without any support— and you know how that goes.”
FIFTEEN
* * * *
I needed cash quick, so I sold my butterfly necklace to an antique dealer downtown, and found a sublet searching the ads in the Village Voice. It was very small, a studio, in the basement of a building in Chelsea, but large enough for a creature who’d spend her nights roaming the city streets in search of potential prey. It was mine for as long as I could pay a thousand a month and take care of the plants. The furnishings were sparse and functional. Except for a few photos and posters on the walls and one black Japanese vase on the counter there was no decoration.
At first I wouldn’t leave the tiny apartment until hunger got the better of me. As soon as I was sated I’d hurry back to my basement lair and huddle on the futon watching television, reading or listening to music, shocked by the sudden change in my fortunes. Finally boredom won and I took to the streets. Ah, life in Manhattan without my master, a chance to revel in complete anonymity. No one noticed me or saw any reason to run away screaming in horror. Guys would give me a second look or sometimes make an animal sound but no one really cared if I lived or died. After thirty-six years of Ethan breathing down my neck it was a relief.
I’d go to a coffee shop around the corner for a light meal and to read the newspapers. I’d order a decaf cappuccino, wrapping my hands around the warmth and enjoying the aroma. No one gave a damn if I drank it or not. Afterward, I’d explore a different part of town. On nights they were open late, I went to museums. After a lucrative kill, I’d splurge on tickets to the theater or opera. I went to a lot of movies.
So far, I hadn’t seen any of my own kind, which suited me fine. I spent the rest of that first winter like this.
I saw no Immortyls for almost a year. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about this or depressed, because I was horribly lonely. I couldn’t just strike up a friendship with a mortal or take a mortal lover, after a few weeks he or she would notice my irregularities and there would be problems.
Then one night, I polished off a drug dealer and had a little money to burn. A play I wanted to see was set to close, so I went to TKTS to obtain a ticket. I had time to kill before the show, so I went to an upscale bar and ordered a Virgin Mary, sipping at it while I scanned the crowd, scouting for potential danger. The place was packed with the pre-theatre crowd, noisy and convivial, older couples and well-dressed young people engaged in conversation but this was the kind of expensive place a passing Immortyl might frequent. A youngish man in wire-rimmed glasses sauntered up to the bar, striking up a conversation about how dreary the season was and how he hoped next year would bring something other than revivals and