Blood Drive (Anna Strong Chronicles #2)

Blood Drive (Anna Strong Chronicles #2) Page 28

I'm not sure what I expect the underground headquarters of all things that go bump in the night to look like, but as I pass inside I do know it's not what I see in front of me now.

It's a big square room, lit from above by high intensity lights so bright it's hard to believe we're underground. Whitewashed stucco, windowless walls stretch ten feet to the ceiling. There are people. Lots of people who look and "feel" normal. They're milling about, sitting at desks, talking into telephones with headsets as their fingers bang away at computer keyboards.

It looks for all the world like a telemarketing center.

I shake my head. "What are they doing? Selling penny stocks or junk bonds?"

Frey shakes his head, too, but in a way that indicates he thinks I'm an idiot. He ignores the question, and with a hand at my elbow, steers me to the back of the room.

In this room, there are other doors. Substantial looking wooden doors with no windows or peepholes. He leads me to one, knocks quietly. Then waits.

"Come in, Daniel," says a cheery voice.

I glance up at him and start to ask how anyone could possibly know who was out here, then stop myself. After all I've seen today, why would I question this?

Once inside, two impressions hit me immediately. One is that there is a feeling of tranquility in this room unlike anything I've ever experienced. The second is that it emanates from a woman who is one of the most exotic creatures I've ever seen.

She reminds me of a fairy-tale princess, tall, graceful, slender of form and fair of face. She's dressed in a long rose-colored smock of some silky fabric that molds to her body and moves like mist around her. Her hair is golden in color, framing her face with tendrils that reach to her shoulders. I couldn't begin to guess at her age. Her face is the perfect oval, seamless, set off by Wedgwood blue eyes, elegant cheekbones and lush lips. I'm staring at those eyes, unable to pull my own away, when she begins to laugh softly.

"You're staring at me, Anna," she says.

That pulls me back. "You know my name? Has Frey told you about me?"

"No," she crosses to stand in front of me. One hand reaches toward my face, but she stops herself. "Do you mind?" she asks.

"Mind?"

"If I touch your face?"

"I don't understand."

"I'd like to get an idea of what you look like."

It takes an instant for me to comprehend. "You're blind?"

"Quite."

"But how did you know I was staring at you?"

Frey moves to her side. "She's an empath, Anna. She feels what you feel, but she only sees through touch."

She's standing in front of me, those wide eyes calm, expectant.

"Can you project what you see?" I ask her. "Would I see it too?"

"Ah," she says. "It's been awhile since you've seen your reflection." She tilts her head. "But not that long, I suspect. It's your first visit here."

It would be interesting to get an idea how I've changed since I've become vampire. I know what my parents and David say. But to actually see an image is tempting.

I take a step back. "Later, maybe," I say.

I expect a flicker of disappointment or irritation to ruffle the perfect serenity of her face, but the only irritation comes from Frey.

"What's the matter, Anna? Afraid of what you'll see?"

I'm getting tired of his attitude. I've already apologized for biting him. What more can I do? Bitterness and a tinge of warning creep into my tone. "I'm here to see Trish. Not play mind games."

Frey ignores me. He touches the empath's arm very gently, drawing her attention to him. "I'm sorry, Sorrel. Anna hasn't been otherworldly very long. She doesn't easily accept what is."

Sorrel? An empath named Sorrel? I'm trapped in a Star Trek episode. A small bubble of laughter escapes before I can stop it.

Frey rounds on me. This time he says it. "You are an idiot, Anna."

But Sorrel places a hand on his arm. "No, Daniel. Anna is right. She is here to see her niece and assure herself that the girl is unharmed."

My attention snaps to Sorrel. "My niece?"

Sorrel smiles and her hand brushes mine. The smile and the touch wash over me in a golden wave that warms my blood and calms my agitation. "Yes."

And with that single word, the irritation I've felt for Frey, the anxiety over Trish, the rage directed at what's been done to her melts away like ice in the desert. It's just gone. And with it all desire to seek retribution fades into nothingness. All I feel is peace.

A trick? I shake my head to clear it. Nothing happens. I remain trapped in a vapor lock of serenity.

"Stop." It takes tremendous energy to form the word.

Sorrel quirks an eyebrow. "Stop?"

"Yes." My voice doesn't sound right. The edge is gone. I want it back. "Don't do this. I expect you mean well. But I want you to remove whatever spell you've cast on me."

Frey takes a step toward me. "It's not a spell, Anna. It's Sorrel. Her presence. Her gift is to draw pain and replace it with serenity."

"Then make her go away."

I expect Frey to argue, tell me that I've lost my mind.

But he doesn't.

He looks instead at Sorrel.

And she looks at me. "I understand, Anna. There are things you must feel in order to do what you must do. I will leave you to your visit. But later, if you change your mind - "

She lets the words hang in the air between us like a promise between lovers, freely given and open-ended. I believe her. I also know the kind of tranquility she offers has no place in my world. I think she knows it too.

She starts to leave, but I stop her. "Wait. Before you go, how do you know about Trish? How can you be sure she is my niece?"

The empath raises a hand as if to touch my cheek, but draws it away before making contact. "It's in the blood," she says softly.

Frey follows Sorrel out the door, and with her departure, my head clears. Just like that. I'm myself again and all the pent up emotion of the last few days comes surging back. It feels - good.

For the first time, I notice the room. It's not very large, maybe ten by ten, furnished only with two big buff-colored leather chairs placed facing each other. That's it as far as furniture. No tables or lamps. I glance up at the ceiling. The same powerful overhead lights as the room outside, filling what I imagine would be a pretty dark space with artificial sunlight. But where I expect to hear the hum of fluorescent or incandescent bulbs, there's only silence. Strange from so powerful a light source. But maybe it's some kind of solar thing, funneling energy from the outside. There's also an odor - not unpleasant - like a subtle perfume. A hint of lavender, a hint of citrus.

I have only an instant to consider this before the door opens again and I prepare myself for what is sure to be another rant from Frey.

But it's not Frey.

It's Trish. She grins when she sees me and waves a hand.

"Isn't this place cool?" she says. "I can't wait for my mom to see it."