"And just what do you propose we do?" The President asked.
"Kill him," Curtis snapped. "The only way we can."
"Are you crazy?" Matt shouted at Curtis.
"Wow," Sali breathed, running a hand along the fins of the red, vintage Cadillac. "Ashe, this is awesome. Just like we always wanted." The top had been folded back, revealing the cream interior of the vehicle. The leather was in pristine condition.
"Yeah." Ashe's arms were crossed over his chest as he examined the car. "This is exactly what I wanted."
"I'd say take it for a drive, but you don't want to go out in that storm," Winkler said. "Save it for a sunny day."
"At least sit in the driver's seat, just to see what it feels like," Sali coaxed.
"Yeah." Ashe opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Sighing, he placed both hands on the wheel and everything shifted.
"What am I doing here?" Ashe studied himself in the dim, metallic reflection of a hotel's elevator doors.
What you are supposed to do, while I Change What Was, filtered into his mind. It was a woman's voice.
Where are you? Ashe returned, looking around. He was alone in the plush, carpeted space outside the elevators.
You cannot see me now. You cannot recognize me in the future, when we meet for the first time.
Why?
Some things must happen as they will.
But, why am I here?
A better question would be when are you.
When am I?
You'll see.
The elevator doors opened, and Ashe blinked in surprise. Lissa—Winkler's Lissa—stood inside. Ashe boarded the elevator, determined to follow her.
"Going to the soda machine, too?" Lissa asked, as Ashe got off on the second floor of the hotel and walked with her.
"Yeah," Ashe nodded. He wanted to ask her about Winkler. Ask if she loved him. Tell her that Winkler still grieved for her. He didn't.
"This dollar isn't working," Lissa sighed after trying it for the fourth time. Each time, the soft drink machine spit out the crumpled bill in an electronic snit.
"Try this." Ashe dug in his pocket and pulled out another dollar—one that wasn't quite as crumpled or ragged around the edges.
"Thanks." Lissa smiled and traded her dollar for his. "Technology makes it impossible to buy orange soda," she quipped. "Film at eleven."
Ashe grinned. He and Lissa watched as the soda machine accepted Ashe's dollar and dropped a bottle of orange soda in the bin.
"Success," Lissa pulled the bottle out and unscrewed the cap. "Thanks again," she smiled and turned to walk away.
"Ashe, buddy, where did you go?" Trajan knelt beside the open car door as Ashe drew in a painful breath. He was back in the present, his hands gripping the wheel of Donald Workman's Cadillac.
"Winkler," Ashe turned to the Dallas Packmaster, whose face bore a worried frown, "This car belonged to Lissa's husband. Before he died."
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"Nope. She was funny, wasn't she?"
"And really smart."
"Mr. Winkler, take this." Ashe handed the crumpled bill he held to Winkler.
"What's this?" Winkler smoothed out the bill.
Something Lissa touched, Ashe replied mentally.
"Kid," Winkler almost unraveled.
"Mr. Winkler, I need to talk to you. In private," Ashe said, climbing out of the car.
"Matt, I'm sorry. Even you admit this child is powerful, and that he created the earthquake in Canada. There's no reason to believe that he isn't causing this mess, too. We don't have enough resources globally to handle the difficulties we're facing. We've got to stop this, and if one death will do it, then so be it." The President wasn't mincing words.
"It won't be just his death, it'll be ours," Matt hissed.
"I've already got cooperation from the Secretaries and Joint Chiefs," the President ignored Matt's warning. "We're going in—today."
"Mr. Winkler, things are about to get worse," Ashe rubbed his forehead.
"What do you mean, worse?" Ashe had pulled Winkler, Trajan and Trace into his father's study.
"The nutcase in Washington—that Curtis Roberts guy?"
"Yeah, but how did you know—never mind," Winkler waved away the question.
"He's convinced the President to kill us all."
"What?" Winkler exploded from his seat. "I'm calling Matt. Right now," Winkler hauled out his cell phone.
"He won't answer. He can't. Roberts has convinced the President that Matt's helping to put all of us in jeopardy, so he's under house arrest."
"This is crazy," Winkler raked fingers through his hair.
"Crazy doesn't begin to describe all this," Ashe replied. "We'll be attacked later today, when they can get everything in position."
"What are they sending against us?" Trajan asked.
"Everything. They have no idea that if they manage to kill us, what's causing all this will only get worse, until the Earth disintegrates."
"Kid, you're scaring me."
"You think I don't feel scared? Mr. Winkler, I have decisions to make, and some people aren't going to understand them. You have decisions to make, and some of them I won't understand."
"Ashe, you're talking in riddles," Trace said softly.
"It's what my kind do. A lot."
"Your kind?"
"Yeah."
Six bodies surrounded Wildrif as he slept. He'd enjoyed killing after he'd wakened the night before, although the first human he'd taken had slaked his thirst. The last five; he'd merely enjoyed their screams as he ripped their bodies apart with long, sharp claws.
He'd been forced to sleep in his basement the moment sunrise came, although there was little light—New York was flooding under black clouds and heavy rains. The earthquake that came later in the day couldn't wake him—he was deep in the rejuvenating slumber any vampire experienced while the sun was overhead.
"What the hell?" Winkler stepped around body parts that were already turning rancid.
"Boss, this is insane." Trajan couldn't walk anywhere inside the darkened basement without stepping in blood.
"You'll have to remove his head," Trace muttered.
"No, I have another solution," Ashe said.
"Ashe, what are you gonna do, man?" Sali stared at Ashe. Somehow, in the past hour, Ashe had changed. Sali could almost feel the power pulsing from his best friend.
"There's one place where the sun is shining," Ashe muttered, his voice stern. "I have to go there, anyway."
"What do you need?" Trajan asked.
"Will you carry Wildrif's body for me?"
"Sure."
Trajan stepped through blood and gore to reach the newly turned vampire, who slept the sleep of his new race, curled up in a corner.
"What the hell is that?" Winkler stared at the dome of light in the meadow where Ashe had taken him and the others.
"Armageddon," Ashe replied, his eyes going dark. "The crowns have gone to war. Place Wildrif's body here," he gestured with his hands at the grassy clearing surrounding him. "I have Wildrif shielded for the moment."
"I've never seen a vampire die in sunlight," Trajan said, dropping Wildrif's body on the grass.
"You'll see it now. Back away, I'm about to remove the shield."
"Ashe?" Sali reached out to touch Ashe's arm.
"Back away, Sal."
Trace pulled Sali backward, until he stood twenty feet away from Wildrif's body. Ashe raised his arm. Wildrif's body jerked in the bright sunlight and he screamed.
"Ace, I'm afraid." Wynn buried herself in Ace's arms.
"I know, baby. I don't know what to do about any of this."
"Do you think it's the end of the world?" Dori asked. She cringed as the hailstones falling on the roof became louder, hammering the shingles and denting any vehicles left outside. The wind had picked up as well, blowing lawn furniture, trash carts and debris down the flooded street.
"I don't know," Lavonna said. "I wish your father were awake. Right now, I want to crawl into his shelter with him."
"Mom, we can't take any chances with Daddy. We can't expose him to any sunlight," Cori said.
"Mrs. Anderson, we'll ride this out," Marco said, pulling Cori against him and wrapping his arms around her waist.
"I know."
"That's it? That's all there is? Man." Sali shook his head. Wildrif's screaming had been brief, thankfully, and only a dusting of ash remained.
"Responsible for many deaths," Ashe said, his voice a rumble. His eyes were still dark as stars shot through their depths. "I must deal with the rest of it now." He began walking purposely toward the dome of light.
"Ashe?" Winkler called softly, knowing he would hear.
Stay where you are, Ashe's mental voice carried a command.
"Stay here," Winkler directed as Trace and Trajan attempted to follow Ashe.
"What's he doing?" Sali asked softly. Ashe's image became smaller as he walked farther away from them.
"Winkler?" Trajan turned to his Packmaster. "I could have sworn we were only half a mile away from that," Trajan pointed to the dome of light. It now appeared to be more than a mile from where he stood.
"What's happening?" Trace rasped, as the distance seemed even further than it had seconds earlier.
"I don't know," Winkler said. "Wait—where's Ashe?"