Twilight Fulfilled. Maggie Shayne

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СКАЧАТЬ was going to get into his way. No matter how good she looked in a skirt.

       St. Dymphna Psychiatric Hospital Mount Bliss, Virginia

      Roxanne was the nurse on check-in duty on the day the odd little girl and her mother arrived at St. Dymphna.

      And as it turned out, that was a damned good thing. Then again, she’d never believed in coincidence.

      Roxy had been a friend to the vampires all her life. And her life was a long one. Longer than most of the folks who carried the Belladonna Antigen in their blood. They were known as the Chosen, and word was, they didn’t live to see forty.

      She’d seen a hell of a lot more than forty, but she wouldn’t admit how much more. Not under torture. Besides, age was just a number.

      Roxy had no desire to become a vampire. But she damn well wasn’t going to stand by and watch them get wiped out of existence, either. Her vamp friends had been good to her. Saved her wrinkle-free hide more than once.

      So when she got notification from Uncle Sam that she was to report to some out-of-commission loony bin with all the other Chosen, to be protected from vampire attack, she knew it was time to take action.

      Vampires didn’t prey on the Chosen. They were like spooky-ass guardian angels to them. Couldn’t help themselves. One of her kind got into trouble, one of their kind showed up to bail them out. Usually did a little oogly-boogly mind shit on the way out, just to erase the memory and keep their cover intact.

      Vamps weren’t the only ones who could play oogly-boogly mind games.

      Roxy had made herself disappear. As far as the government knew, she was on the run, avoiding compliance with their summons, while in truth she was right under their noses, with a false ID and a freshly minted nursing license, working as an R.N. at St. Dymphna’s. Forged paperwork, a little witchcraft—yeah, she was a card-carrying spell-caster—and bam, she was hired.

      And she was damned glad to be in the place, too, that day when she greeted the newest guests, Jane and Melinda Hubbard, at the front door.

      The mom and daughter looked like two photos of the same person taken twenty years apart. And they looked scared, too.

      “Hey, now. There’s no call to look like that,” Roxy said. “Know why?”

      Melinda stared at her, huge blue eyes seeing right through her, she thought. “Why?” the little girl asked.

      Hell, the kid’s gaze was so intense it sent a little shiver up Roxy’s spine. But she shook it off and smiled. “Because I’m here. And I’m going to give you my personal promise that nothing bad will happen to you while you’re here. You’re gonna be my special friends. And no one messes with Roxy’s friends. Okay?”

      Jane smiled a little, hugging her daughter closer.

      “She’s like me, Mommy,” Melinda said softly.

      Roxy felt her smile die as Jane shot her a look. Quickly Roxy glanced around to make sure no one else had heard, and then she knelt down to put herself at eye level with the little girl. “I am like you,” she whispered. “But that has to be our little secret, okay? No one else can know.”

      “Why?”

      Roxy swallowed hard. She had not intended to tell these people—nor any of the other captives—who or what she was. It was too dangerous. Now she had a seven-year-old apparent psychic to contend with.

      Roxy bent closer. “I might get into trouble if you tell. Okay, honey? You know how to keep a secret, don’t you?”

      “Uh-huh.” Melinda eyed Roxy up and down. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Then looking up at her mother, she said, “She’s good.”

      Roxy’s brows went up. There was definitely more to this little girl than the antigen they shared. Speaking at a more normal volume, she said, “I’m gonna find you guys the nicest room in this place. Come on with me now. We’re all up on the fourth floor.”

      As they headed for the elevators, Jane leaned in close. “What’s going on around here, Roxy?”

      Roxy glanced up and to the right, where the wall met the ceiling, meaning in her eyes. And she knew when Jane followed her gaze and spotted the camera mounted there. “Eyes and ears, hon,” she whispered, a big, fake smile on her face. “Everywhere.”

      Jane nodded and lowered her head, face averted from the camera. “I’m just trying to find out if it’s safe here for my daughter.”

      “Should have done that before you brought her here,” Roxy said.

      “Then we’re leaving.” Jane started to turn away toward the big entry door.

      Roxy clasped her arm, and squeezed hard enough to get her attention and stop her in her tracks. “They won’t let you leave. You didn’t notice the armed guards walking the perimeter? The electric fence around this entire place? You’re here now. And you’ll have to stay here.”

      “But—”

      “No buts. No choice.” The elevator doors slid open as Roxy released the woman’s arm but continued to hold her eyes. Her false smile had vanished, and she realized it and pasted it back on again. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you both. And when the time is right, I’ll get you out of here.”

      “That’s why you’re keeping your … condition … secret?”

      Roxy nodded as she hustled them into the elevator. “You want the zoo cages left unlocked, best have a monkey posing as a zookeeper, don’t you think? Now come on. You blow my cover, we’re all done for. And for heaven’s sake, smile. You’ve gotta look like you’re glad to be here. All right?”

      “All right.”

      They stepped inside, all three of them, and the elevator doors slid closed. As they rode upward, Roxy added, in a very soft whisper, “Don’t let them know she’s different. That would be … bad.”

      The mother shifted her blue eyes to the little girl, who stood between the two adults, her knapsack on her back, a teddy bear peeking from the top. Tears shimmered in Jane’s eyes, but she blinked them away and tightened her grip on her daughter’s tiny hand.

       3

       Bangor, Maine

      Brigit smelled death in the air. Death, grief, violence. And something more. She was standing above a demolished street in downtown Bangor, Maine. There was a taste to the night, a scent and a feeling. It smelled this way after lightning struck. After an electrical transformer had blown up, or after a breaker box had short-circuited.

      And after she had used her power to blow something to bits.

      She would have known what had happened here simply by that smell, even if she hadn’t seen the news reports with her own eyes.

      The streets were blocked off. Cops wearing СКАЧАТЬ