The street in that otherworld appeared deserted tonight. She heard no sounds but those of the real world, which continued to carry to her ears-a car driving down the street, the tick of the clock, the banter of college kids walking along the sidewalk below her window, discussing their fantasy-football picks.
Out of nowhere, a young man in shorts and a T-shirt stumbled into the dark Vamp City street, falling to his hands and knees in the dirt. Quinn gasped. One of the fantasy-football kids must have slipped between the worlds as he'd passed through the break. Every day, thousands passed through unaware and unaffected, but every now and again, one slipped through. As Lily probably had. As she and Zack definitely had.
While the kid struggled to his feet, Quinn heard his friends' voices below, shouting for him from the real world. Shouts the kid would never hear. Only she could hear both worlds at once when they bled into one another like this.
She watched as the young man leaped to his feet, staring around him in stunned silence, his body language projecting disbelief, shock, and slowly dawning terror. Her heart ached for him because she'd been in his shoes just a few weeks ago. And she knew what he'd soon learn-that he had every right to be afraid.
His friends would tell the cops that he'd been right there, then just wasn't-the same story reported over and over again on the news from others who'd been with one of the missing. But the cops wouldn't find him. They didn't have a clue what was going on. And they couldn't do anything about it even if they knew.
Her breath caught. She might be able to save him if she hurried, if she raced into that world and snatched him back out before the break closed.
Before she could question the wisdom, she was racing for her front door. Thanks to her sorcerer's blood, she alone could travel both ways through a sunbeam. She'd escaped that way once before. And she'd helped others do the same.
As she dashed down the hall and into the stairwell, her logical mind began to question the wisdom of this action. The breaks were unpredictable, some lasting close to an hour, others only a minute or two. If she ran into that world to save the kid, and the break closed before she got out again, she'd be stuck, unable to return to Zack until and unless she could make her way out through another break. And Zack needed her.
But she couldn't just leave the kid there. Not if she could help him.
She ran through the lobby. By the time she reached the doors to the street, her heart was pounding, sweat beading on her brow. She pushed open the glass door, just feet from where the break began and the magic would suck her in. In that dark column, she saw the Vamp City world and watched with dismay as two horses and their riders circled the kid. She gasped as one of the riders threw a lasso, roping the young man like a steer.
Fury ignited inside her. But caution and experience held her back because she recognized the overlarge heads and ears of the riders and knew them to be inhuman Traders with inhuman strength.
Yes, she was armed and dangerous, but with only a week's worth of target practice under her belt, she was probably more dangerous to the kid and the horses than to the Traders. Her chances of taking on two Traders and winning were slim to none. Even as the thought settled, two more Traders rode up to join the first pair. If it were Zack, she'd go anyway, no question, even if it meant getting caught herself and delivered to Cristoff. But Zack was upstairs. And he needed her.
As she watched helplessly, the Trader with the rope hauled the kid onto the back of his horse. The kid's cry for help ceased abruptly as the break between the worlds closed as suddenly as it had opened, leaving Quinn staring once more at the modern D.C. street and the small crowd that had begun to gather around the friends of the missing boy.
Quinn backed away from the door, pressing a shaking hand against her now-pounding forehead. She felt sick that she hadn't been able to help him, that she'd had no chance of getting him out of there for all her supposed sorcerer's power. Turning toward the elevator, she made her way back to her apartment, her skin ice-cold, because she knew what awaited him. She'd been in that world twice and wouldn't have survived either trip if not for Arturo's intervention.
Once more in her apartment, she sank onto her sofa, dropping her head back, feeling the frustration and defeat press down on her. Vamp City needed to die. Unfortunately, the Traders weren't tied to Vamp City and would probably survive the destruction. And there was no telling how many vampires lived in the real world. V.C.'s demise wouldn't eradicate all the vampires in the world, not by a long shot.
And she wasn't sure she wanted it to. Arturo . . . She shook her head, her feelings for the male so conflicted. From the moment she'd stumbled into that world, he'd been, in turns, her captor and protector, her lover and betrayer. And in the end, her savior. He'd gotten past her defenses as no one else ever had, partly because she'd had no way to avoid him. And partly because he'd understood her as no one else did. He was the only one in her life who'd known exactly who and what she was, right from the beginning, and accepted her anyway. She missed that. Despite everything, she missed him.
A low rap sounded on her apartment door, a quick-tap knock she recognized as Mike's. With relief, she headed for the door, glad for the promise of company and the illusion, however fleeting, of normalcy.
As she peered out the peephole into Mike's smiling face, a sense of calm settled over her, a calm she hadn't felt all day. The tense misery of the past minutes eased out of her shoulders as she unhooked the chain and twisted the dead bolt to let him in. Mike had moved into the apartment across the hall a few weeks ago, while she was caught in Vamp City. She'd met him the first evening she got back and he'd pushed right past her usual reserve to become a welcome, undemanding friend. A writer, he lived alone, working from home. He'd taken to bringing over a bottle of wine about this time every night. She, in turn, always had dessert ready and waiting.
She opened the door and smiled, stepping back to let him in. He was a good-looking guy despite his untrimmed hair, his unshaven jaw, and the three-inch scar that ran down one cheek, a remnant from a fight with his brother as teenagers, when they'd shattered a sliding glass door. Dressed in a plain black T-shirt tucked into well-worn jeans, his gray eyes sparkling with life and laughter, he was a welcome ray of light in the dark mire that had become her life.
Mike's smile faded, his brows lowering as he studied her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
The man was far too perceptive. "I'm fine. It's been a long day." The understatement of the year. She'd felt every single one of the day's 86,400 seconds tick by. "What did you bring tonight?" she asked, eyeing the bottle of wine in his hand.
He held it up with a flourish. "Chateau la Peyre Saint-Estephe Bordeaux." The French rolled off his tongue as if he'd been born to it.
"Will it go with banana cream pie?"
Gray eyes crinkled with laughter. "Everything goes with banana cream pie."
They fell into their nightly routine, Mike uncorking the bottle and pouring it into the two wineglasses that Quinn had waiting while she served up whatever dessert she'd made that day. Dessert was the one thing she could still get Zack to eat.
But her own appetite had fled beneath the sick feeling of helplessness as she'd watched that boy being captured. While Mike seated himself on her sofa, wineglass in one hand and a dessert plate in the other, she followed with her own glass and took a seat on the reading chair across from him.
"No pie?" he asked.
"I'm not hungry."
Fortunately, there was no attraction between them. If there had been, she'd have stopped these nightly visits as soon as they began. After all, she was leaving town the moment Zack was well. Hopefully, in four days. There was no sense getting involved with a guy she'd never see again.
She'd done that all too recently with one far-too-handsome Italian vampire.
"How's the book coming?" she asked, needing to steer her thoughts away from Vamp City and vampires, and the tragedy she'd just witnessed.
He gave her a pained smile. "Three steps forward, five steps back."
"Ouch."
"No one ever said writing was easy. I spent half the day wandering in front of the window trying to understand why my protagonist left the scene of the crime three chapters back, only to realize he wouldn't have."
As Mike launched into the details of his latest thriller novel, Quinn took a sip of wine, sinking back into her chair, enjoying the calm, mellow tones of Mike's voice. And wishing, despite herself, that she were with another-one arrogant, controlling, and manipulative vampire within whom she'd found shades of both the hero and the villain. A male she'd trusted with her life. And a vampire whose word she'd never been able to trust at all.
Mike paused to take another bite of pie as he eyed her with what she'd come to think of as his writerly scrutiny, as if she were one of his characters, and he was trying to figure her out. He'd never succeed, of course. Humans didn't believe in sorceresses, or vampires, or immortal otherworlds. And she wasn't about to clue this one in.
"How are you really, Quinn?" His tone was compassionate, as if he could see her falling apart at the seams. Every night he asked the same question, in the same way, then never pressed when she gave him her stock, trite answer, for which she was grateful. It wasn't like she could ever tell him the truth.
"I'm fine. Tired and worried about Zack, but things will be better once we get home."