out of the room. “Don’t listen to a word Rick says before I get back!” I commanded.
Behind me I heard Rick laugh and vowed to kill him dead. Really dead. Like Rasputin’s third-time’s-the-charm level dead. Yeah, we’d heard all about Rasputin in spy school. He was the crazy Russian padre who’d advised the last czar and played faith-healer to his son. Assassins tried to take him down during the Russian Revolution. If only they’d staked him or cut off his head instead of poisoning, shooting, and drowning him, the Russians still might not know about vampires, and we wouldn’t have had to waste so many spies and resources in that Cold War. The U.S. might even now be a true superpower, instead of just must-see TV for the rest of the world. Anyway, Rick was dead, dead, dead … as soon as I dealt with my really bad chemical peel.
“What happened?” Maya asked, running the water and unable to meet my eyes for long. I was that hideous.
“Too long in the sun. What the hell’s going on with that? I used to only need blood every couple of days or so. Now … look, if I need more to keep from becoming a crispy critter, you need to say so .”
“Interesting,” she answered.
“ Interesting ? Is that all you have to say?”
Now she met my eyes. “Look, the potion is experimental. Virtually hot off the presses. Possibly we have to refine—”
“So we’re guinea pigs?” I … well, I didn’t screech. I was brought up better than that.
“We’ve done some trials, of course,” she said coolly, “but it was impossible to be sure of optimum dosages without a field test. So much depends on metabolism, exertion, exposure—”
“Great. Lovely. And, hey, if your test subjects burn up, it’s instant cremation. No messy funeral costs, no covering up the body. Clean. Efficient. Probably even eco-friendly.”
She didn’t even blink. Just showed me to the towels and first aid supplies and let herself out.
Ten minutes later, I’d painfully scrubbed the charred skin from my face, and what was left was a newly grown, baby-fine layer so sensitive the very air hurt it. I couldn’t imagine applying cream. Just like a peek-a-boo blouse, the new skin exposed veins and muscle, ligaments, whatever. I was totally hideous. I could only hope I’d dropped the others off before I’d reached the point of extra crispy.
I wrapped a towel around my body, bathhouse style, wrapped another around my head like a turban, and tried to keep my knees from buckling as I let myself back out into the hallway, pressing Maya’s dishtowel to my face again to hide it from prying eyes.
“Got blood?” I asked as I hit the kitchen.
Bobby handed me a mug, pre-warmed, as I sat down beside him, totally without meeting his eyes.
“You’re kind of, ah, under-dressed,” he said. “But I like it.”
“My clothes smell like barbecued me,” I grumped. “Another set for the incinerator. At this rate, by Friday all I’ll have left is my birthday suit.”
“Excuse me?” Agent Stuffed asked.
“Never mind.” I took a sip of the blood, which tasted like Ghirardelli hot chocolate to me right about then. A tingle shot all the way through me, part pain from the healing and part pleasure. I closed my eyes for a second to let the ripple of sensation pass. When I opened them again, everyone was staring.
“So, what shall we talk about first?” I asked. “The fact that the Feds are using us as lab rats for their daylight draught, Rick attacking me today at the hospital, or the weirdness at Red Rock?”
Bobby looked at Rick the way I looked at anyone standing between me and the last size six Manolo Blahniks in fire-engine red. “You attacked her?” he growled. “It better have been part of your cover.”
Coming from Bobby, the Neanderthal thing was so … so totally sweet. It wasn’t that I liked macho crap, it was just that I couldn’t imagine Bobby pulling it for anyone but me.
“Whatever,” Rick answered. “She started
Behind me I heard Rick laugh and vowed to kill him dead. Really dead. Like Rasputin’s third-time’s-the-charm level dead. Yeah, we’d heard all about Rasputin in spy school. He was the crazy Russian padre who’d advised the last czar and played faith-healer to his son. Assassins tried to take him down during the Russian Revolution. If only they’d staked him or cut off his head instead of poisoning, shooting, and drowning him, the Russians still might not know about vampires, and we wouldn’t have had to waste so many spies and resources in that Cold War. The U.S. might even now be a true superpower, instead of just must-see TV for the rest of the world. Anyway, Rick was dead, dead, dead … as soon as I dealt with my really bad chemical peel.
“What happened?” Maya asked, running the water and unable to meet my eyes for long. I was that hideous.
“Too long in the sun. What the hell’s going on with that? I used to only need blood every couple of days or so. Now … look, if I need more to keep from becoming a crispy critter, you need to say so .”
“Interesting,” she answered.
“ Interesting ? Is that all you have to say?”
Now she met my eyes. “Look, the potion is experimental. Virtually hot off the presses. Possibly we have to refine—”
“So we’re guinea pigs?” I … well, I didn’t screech. I was brought up better than that.
“We’ve done some trials, of course,” she said coolly, “but it was impossible to be sure of optimum dosages without a field test. So much depends on metabolism, exertion, exposure—”
“Great. Lovely. And, hey, if your test subjects burn up, it’s instant cremation. No messy funeral costs, no covering up the body. Clean. Efficient. Probably even eco-friendly.”
She didn’t even blink. Just showed me to the towels and first aid supplies and let herself out.
Ten minutes later, I’d painfully scrubbed the charred skin from my face, and what was left was a newly grown, baby-fine layer so sensitive the very air hurt it. I couldn’t imagine applying cream. Just like a peek-a-boo blouse, the new skin exposed veins and muscle, ligaments, whatever. I was totally hideous. I could only hope I’d dropped the others off before I’d reached the point of extra crispy.
I wrapped a towel around my body, bathhouse style, wrapped another around my head like a turban, and tried to keep my knees from buckling as I let myself back out into the hallway, pressing Maya’s dishtowel to my face again to hide it from prying eyes.
“Got blood?” I asked as I hit the kitchen.
Bobby handed me a mug, pre-warmed, as I sat down beside him, totally without meeting his eyes.
“You’re kind of, ah, under-dressed,” he said. “But I like it.”
“My clothes smell like barbecued me,” I grumped. “Another set for the incinerator. At this rate, by Friday all I’ll have left is my birthday suit.”
“Excuse me?” Agent Stuffed asked.
“Never mind.” I took a sip of the blood, which tasted like Ghirardelli hot chocolate to me right about then. A tingle shot all the way through me, part pain from the healing and part pleasure. I closed my eyes for a second to let the ripple of sensation pass. When I opened them again, everyone was staring.
“So, what shall we talk about first?” I asked. “The fact that the Feds are using us as lab rats for their daylight draught, Rick attacking me today at the hospital, or the weirdness at Red Rock?”
Bobby looked at Rick the way I looked at anyone standing between me and the last size six Manolo Blahniks in fire-engine red. “You attacked her?” he growled. “It better have been part of your cover.”
Coming from Bobby, the Neanderthal thing was so … so totally sweet. It wasn’t that I liked macho crap, it was just that I couldn’t imagine Bobby pulling it for anyone but me.
“Whatever,” Rick answered. “She started
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