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may feed on humans one day, maybe not. Until she does,
she’s an innocent, and we don’t kill innocent people. Not today. Not ever. She
deserves a chance; I don’t care who the fuck her parents are. If she crosses
over, I’ll kill her myself, but not today.”
    The enforcer keeps his gun steady.  “Gabe,” he says.
    “I’m not moving.” Gabe spreads his arms. “If you’ve got to
kill her, then do it, but I’m sick of this shit. You kill me first, ‘cause
killing innocent people is what bad guys do. I’m not a bad guy, and I’d rather
be dead then see you turn into one.”
    I hold my hands out in front of me and stare at the new dark
slits running through my palms.
    “Am I a monster?” I whisper. “Is that what this is?”
    “No,” Gabe looks at me over his shoulder. “Well, kinda, but
we’re going to help you. We’re family.”
    Tarren lowers his gun. A slow descent.
     

Chapter 7
    Some time passes — at least a few thousand years of us
trapped in that blood-smelling car.
    I try not to think, and the pain makes this easy. It crowds
out Ryan’s face, and the man with his needle poised, and the enforcer with his
scar and his gun and his Rorschach-splattered shirt.
    “…might be cracked,” Tarren’s voice is soft.
    “Dr. Lee can bind it.”
    “Wouldn’t do much good anyway.”
    “Come on Tarren, he’s seen…” Gabe’s voice cuts out quick.
“Well,” he stutters, “just be careful with it.”
    “It’s the least of our worries.”
    My spines seizes up, and I bite my lip hard, but not hard
enough to stifle a low moan. Gabe twists in the passenger seat. He clutches the
headrest with both hands and peers at me.
    “I’m sorry Maya,” he says, and then he slumps back against
his seat. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters to Tarren.
    * * *
    The boys huddle outside the car, their heads ducked together
in whispered argument. I lean my cheek against the window while the blinking
neon light of the motel sign washes over my eyes.
    If I concentrate, I can catch their words.
    “..won’t make it through the night unless she feeds.”
    “We have to keep moving. Grand will want her back. He’ll
track us.”
    “Uh, last time I checked he was minus a hand. I think he
might have other things on his mind. She’s in trouble. We’ve got to hole up for
the night.”
    “Go get her something then. You’re better at picking locks.”
    “Like hell! You’ll blow her brains out as soon as I turn my
back.”
    “I won’t kill her unless I have to.”
    “Promise?”
    “Yes.”
    “On Mom’s grave?”
    “Why do you always say that?”
    “Cause I know you’ll keep it.”
    “On Mom’s grave.”
    * * *
    “I know how this looks,” Gabe, he of the backwards hat, says
as he comes round the bed. “You know, with you and the bra, this
less-than-stellar motel room and well, these cuffs, but they’re just a safety
precaution.”
    I lie on the bed, propped sideways against the headboard and
squeeze my eyes shut as Gabe binds my wrists together behind my back with a
plastic tie. He steps back quickly and lets out a breath. I am still holding
mine. The melody of hunger is filling up my head. A thin trickle of blood runs
out of my nose, and there’s nothing I can do even if I cared.
    There are other people near. I can sense them, the different
ebbs and flows of their energies. I hear a TV chattering in the next room.
Upstairs, a woman cries beneath the spray of a shower. It all blurs together, a
loud mess of noise and smells and frantic tugs in my brain that I can’t even
begin to parse. Gabe is talking, offering a cup of liquid. It smells rancid.
    “It’ll help,” he says.
    Tarren leans against the far wall, arms folded across his
chest. A gun sticks out of his waistband.
    “Am I going to die?” I ask in a thin little girl voice.
    “Not today. Come on now, drink this.” Gabe puts the cup to
my lips.
    The liquid is rusty on my tongue, but I swallow. It sits
uneasily in my