Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (38 page)

I swallowed, considering my strategy.  Without a weapon, I was helpless.

The smoke from the fire, which had been burning my eyes, finally got the better of me.  I choked back a cough, but it was enough to draw Marcella’s attention.  Victor ordered me out of the room even as Isaiah’s sister raced to meet me.  In a second, her fangs were at my neck.  “Charles told me you’d come!  That all I needed to do was wait here for you!”

So Charles had figured out my secret.  The man was a bastard, but a clever one.  He knew that I would run to the Muse to collect artifacts from the Bleak Street before they were all sold off, and he must have wet his pants with excitement when Andrew showed up here as well.  Holding my best friend hostage was even more insurance that I’d show up.  I glanced around the gallery, wondering where Charles was lurking.

“Build up that fire!” she ordered Andrew.  “Let Cassandra watch our fun!”  She pressed her cold lips to my ear.  “After I finish burning these crates, I’ll feast on you.”  Her smile chilled me to the bone.  “No more secret weapons for you.”

I struggled, as helpless as a spider in the hand of a cruel third grader.

“Let her GO!!”  Victor grabbed Marcella from behind and pulled her off of me.  Immediately, she flipped him over her head and sent him spinning into the burning embers.  Orange sparks scattered like fireflies into the air.

I scrambled over to where Andrew leaned against a crate.  We hugged tightly, ducking together as a body sailed overhead.  Marcella crashed against the wall, knocking several paintings askew.  Broken bricks and crumbled mortar rained down.  She fell with a thump to the floor, and for a moment, didn’t move.  Before I could get my hopes up, she sprang to her feet.  “Don’t worry.  I’m fine.”  She paused to chuck me under the chin before launching herself at Victor once more.

Victor dodged, and Marcella skidded to a halt.  Furious, she picked up a massive, copper sculpture, holding it over her head as if it was no heavier than a bundle of sticks.  With an outraged shriek, she flung the thing at Victor.

Victor dodged, and the sculpture crashed into the windows.  A thousand wine glasses dropping at once couldn’t have created such a racket.  Andrew grabbed my hand and pulled me to the floor, sheltering me with his body.  Still, I was peppered with glass.  Tiny cuts left warm trails of blood on my skin.  In the dim firelight, I couldn’t see Andrew very well, but I felt stickiness on his arm.  “You okay?” I asked.

“Never been better.”  His laugh sounded unhinged.

Either the laugh or the blood alerted the Marcella.  She was at my side in an instant, eagerly licking and sucking at my wounds to get as much blood as she could.  “Ah, he was right!  You’re filled with power!  I hear my voice returning!”

She might have heard it, but I sure didn’t.  Her voice was as discordant as ever.

“Leave her ALONE!”  Victor’s eyes blazed red, and his fangs were fully extended.  He yanked Marcella away from me and swung her at the wall.  Marcella fell in a heap.  While she was still down, Victor clamped his hands on either side of her skull and, gritting his teeth, tightened his vice-like grip.  Until now, Victor had been adhering to the vampire’s code, but no longer.  He meant to kill her.  The snap of Marcella’s breaking skull echoed like a pistol shot. 

Finally, Marcella lay still.  Victor shakily got to his feet, backing away from the body.  Andrew wrapped me in a protective hug.

Marcella sprang up with a laugh.  “Are all the Stuyvesants such weaklings?” she taunted.

Victor roared and charged like a bull, diving low to catch her around the legs.  She leapt over him, gaining so much air that the top of her head nearly collided with the ceiling two stories above us.  Victor swore furiously.

Marcella went for me, but Victor intercepted with a vicious tackle.  She effortlessly shrugged him off.  She picked him up by an arm and a leg and held him over her head.  With a grunt, she launched him at the ceiling, laughing when he plunged to the ground.  She nearly tossed him out a window, but he caught his balance and leaped to safety.  Unfortunately, each time Victor fell, he got to his feet more slowly than the time before.

“He’s losing,” Andrew muttered.

If I could get ahold of something from the Bleak, I could lend a hand.  Leaving Andrew, I crawled to the first open crate.  It was empty.  The second one had been nailed shut, and no amount of tugging opened it.  A maddening glimmer of Bleak Street energy trickled through a crack in the slats.  There was power inside, but it was unreachable.  I made my way to a third crate.

Victor once again collided a wall.  This time, when he dropped to the floor, he didn’t move.  Andrew scrambled across the room to meet him.  Desperately, I tried to pry off the top of the third crate.  Splinters of wood drove deep into the flesh of my palms, and two of my fingernails ripped off.  Still, the lid remained in place.  My fingers throbbed, but I refused to give up.  When I attacked the box again, I left bloody handprints on the wood.

Something landed near me with a thunk and rolled across the floor.  With an impressive war cry, Perry charged into the gallery.

Marcella swore as the fog of holy water touched her, but the weapon didn’t slow her down.  She went for Perry, wrapping him in a lethal embrace.  Muttering an oath of my own, I left the crate and raced towards them, my silver necklace at the ready.

“Let him go!”  Isaiah’s voice filled the room.

Marcella dropped Perry like a rag doll.  “About time you showed up.  I was beginning to worry that you’d miss my party.”

Isaiah’s hands reached for the baseball bat behind his back.

Marcella laughed.  She stopped a short distance from her brother, her hands on her hips.  “You’re not going to use that on me, are you?”  She advanced as slowly as a human and pouted like a child.  “Your own little sister?”

Isaiah’s hands twitched, but he didn’t swing.

“I was the one who bought you your first baseball, remember?  I spent hours looking for returnable cans so I could earn enough money to buy it.  I was only seven.”  Marcella’s voice still rasped, but it had softened as if the memory was as important to her as it was to him.  She took several more steps forward, and Isaiah took half a step back.  “And remember how we sang together in church?  You in your little, gray suit, and me in my white dress?”

Isaiah swallowed.

She was nearly within arm’s reach.  Her eyes held Isaiah’s like a snake holding a mouse’s before it struck.  “How did you repay me?  By letting Hedda steal my shine.  And my
voice
.”

Isaiah lowered his hands.

“No!” A split second before Marcella pounced, I dove for her ankles, knocking her off balance.  It hardly mattered.  She was back on her feet in an instant, holding me tight.  I struggled, my legs flailing as she lifted me up.  Her arm locked around my neck, turning my windpipe into a narrow straw.  I clawed at her, desperate for a breath of air.

“Now, brother, I get to destroy something
you
love.”  Her grip grew stronger, pinching off the little bit of airway I had left.  The loss of air made me too weak to fight.  Blood roared in my ears.  As my vision grayed out, I caught a glimpse of Isaiah.

Good-bye, I thought.  Good-bye Elena and Mom and Dad.  Bye, Andrew.

All at once, I was in a heap on the floor, gasping to fill my lungs.

By some miracle, Victor had reclaimed his strength and had Marcella pinned to the wall.  Isaiah, slower to catch up, joined them.  Isaiah’s teeth clenched as he raised his bat and readied to swing.  The weapon whizzed through the air, straight at Marcella’s head.  Had this been a baseball game, Isaiah would have knocked the ball out of the park and into the next state.

Instead of hitting Marcella, however, the bat struck the brick wall and splintered.  Isaiah was quick, but the vampire had been quicker.  Striking like lightening, Victor tore out Marcella’s throat with one, grisly bite.  I shuddered at the crunch of gristle and bone.

At that moment, vampires flooded through the Muse’s front door.  The crowd was led by one human.  “I told you they would be here,” Charles told Bertrand.

At the sight of Marcella’s broken body, Hedda gave an anguished cry.  The other vampires roared in protest, the word ‘murderer’ repeating itself over and over.  Bertrand said nothing, but pointed a finger at Victor whose mouth was still painted with Marcella’s blood.  When two of Bertrand’s guards dragged the playwright away, he went without protest.

I fled to Andrew who lay slumped on the floor.  He gave me a watery smile.  “I did it for you, Cassie.”

That’s when I noticed the bloody holes in his neck.  Victor’s miraculous recovery had come at a terrible price.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It took the better part of three days to undo Caleb’s damage to my house.  Perry offered to help, but I turned him down.  Cleaning up the mess was a kind of grieving, and I wanted to do it alone.  When I threw away all of Maggie’s broken and torn artwork, I sobbed like I’d lost my best friend.

As I swept up the remains of the dishes, scrubbed the floors and walls, and washed my clothes, the events at the Muse played and replayed in my mind.  I was full of regrets.  If only Isaiah had come to my rescue sooner.  If only Andrew hadn’t given his shine to Victor in order to save me.  If only Victor hadn’t been caught with Marcella’s blood smearing his face.

If only, if only, if only…

But while my mind whirled like a hurricane, one thought remained firm: Charles Corning must pay for what he’d done.  Although Charles had set the entire tragedy in motion, Bertrand had rewarded him by turning him into a vampire and giving him control of Hedda’s grieve.  Now, Charles lived like a king while Victor was being tried for Marcella’s murder.

As I stuffed the last of my dad’s shredded novels into a garbage bag, I considered how I could expose Charles for the traitor he was.  Unfortunately, I had no concrete evidence to support my theories, and I doubted that any of the vampires would listen to the testimony of a mere human.  Even if I
did
make them believe me, I doubted that any of them would care enough to do something.

Frustrated, I tied off the garbage bag and kicked it all the way to the curb.  My extreme cleaning spree had relieved some of my stress, but I was still plenty worked up.  What I really needed was a trip to Isaiah’s dojo so I could beat the hell out of his punching bag.

Isaiah.

I blinked back tears, determined not to cry again.  Isaiah and I hadn’t talked, or even texted, since the night Marcella died.  The silence between us was a wall that grew bigger and thicker as each day passed.  His eyes and deep voice haunted my dreams.  I wanted him desperately, but was too afraid of rejection to make the first move.

After hauling the last of the trash to the curb, I decided to give my aching back a break.  While I made a pot of coffee, Andrew shambled into the kitchen.  Since the night at the Muse, he’d haunted the house like a troubled ghost.  This morning, he wore the same pajama pants and old t-shirt that he’d worn the day before.  And the day before that.  His tousled bangs fell into his eyes.  Although the unkempt hair actually suited him, everything else looked like hell.  It wasn’t just the scruffy beard on his chin, or the fact he’d grown so pale that his complexion was the color of skim milk.  It was his empty eyes.  Now, I knew exactly what he’d meant when he’d described my vacant stare as the Blue Screen of Death.

Andrew opened the fridge and stared into it for a long time without moving.  When the kitchen started to cool, I shut the fridge’s door.  “How about if I make you breakfast?”

While I fixed cold cereal, Andrew sat at the kitchen table and silently stared at the falling snow outside.  When I set the food in front of him, he used his fingers to pick wet Cornflakes from the bowl and put them into his mouth.

I gently smoothed down the wild peaks of his hair.  “You should use a spoon, honey,” I said.

He blinked.  “Oh.  Right.”  He picked up the spoon and resumed eating.

I knew from experience that this walking dead state could last for months.  A terrifying thought.  I hardly dared leave Andrew alone in the house since I worried he’d turn on the stove and forget to turn it off again or fall asleep in a bathtub full of water.

“Cassie?”

“Yeah?”

“I just remembered that I hate cold cereal.”  He pushed the bowl away and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes.  “I’m really tired.  I think I’ll go back to bed.”

He’d been sleeping anywhere from twelve to fourteen hours a day, sometimes so deeply that I held a mirror under his nose to make sure he was still breathing.  “How about if we go to a movie?” I suggested.  I hoped that getting him out in public would jar him awake.

For a moment, I thought he might agree, but to my dismay, his eyes clouded and he shook his head.  “No thanks.  I’m too tired.”  He yawned, went into his room, and shut the door.

The phone rang.  Picking up, I winced at the bossy voice of the new realtor, a steel-haired woman with a handshake so firm it could leave bruises.  She informed me there would be two showings that afternoon then abruptly hung up.

To get ready for the potential buyers, I swept the floor, removed the damp towels hanging in the bathroom, and ran a dust rag over the furniture that Caleb had left intact.  I was done with passively resisting my parents’ attempts to sell the house.  This was their property, after all.  My sister had been right; I needed to start acting like an adult and make my own way in the world.

I didn’t noticed the limousine sitting in front of my house until the driver tapped the horn.  Peering through the curtains, my heart sank.  Although this vehicle was dove-gray and not the black of Bertrand Peabody’s limo, I knew that vampires sat inside.

The driver tapped the horn again.  I went onto the porch, crossed my arms over my chest, and shook my head.  Until they dragged me screaming from my house, I refused to get in.

One of the heavily-tinted windows rolled down, revealing a very young Charles Corning.  My body stiffened at the sight of his smug face.  “What do you want?” I demanded.