IT'S AMAZING WHAT SIX HOURS OF UNINTERRUPTED sleep can do. After a shower and clean clothes, I feel almost human.
Still pissed at Williams for dumping me out in the middle of nowhere, and still without any real idea of what I'm going to do, but almost human.
On my way out, I stop for a newspaper in the coffee shop. I'm curious how the press, especially the local press, is spinning what happened yesterday.
The guy behind the counter does a double take when he looks at me. Then he narrows his eyes and flips the paper over so I can see what he does.
The headline reads, "El Centro Woman Rescued in Palm Canyon Shoot-out." And there is a picture of Dan, Sylvie and me looking like deer caught in headlights.
A picture of me.
It's a grainy picture, but good enough so that even the counter man recognizes me.
I don't know which of us is more startled. This is the first image I've seen of myself since becoming a vampire. In truth, I didn't know I could be captured on film. I assumed not, that it would somehow be tied to the casting no reflection thing.
Evidently, I was wrong because here I am, looking- what?
Thin. If the camera adds ten pounds, I'm downright skinny. But the muscles in my arms are lean, defined, and my shoulders look strong.
The counterman clears his throat, disturbing my analytical appraisal. He taps the newspaper with a forefinger. "It is you, isn't it?"
I see no reason to deny it. I nod.
He grins and hands me a pen. "Will you sign the paper for me?"
I start to laugh, but realize he's serious. This guy knows who I am now, autograph or not, so I scrawl my name under the caption. He grins wider. He reaches behind the counter and pulls out another copy of the newspaper. "Here." He thrusts it into my hand. "On the house."
He's looking around like he wants to announce my presence to the world. I slip away before he can.
Safe behind the wheel of the rental, I can't help but stare at the picture. My hair looks a little too long but nothing like it would if it grew naturally.
When I was human, it grew fast-really fast. I had a standing appointment for a haircut every four weeks. It's been months now, and from the picture, I'd gauge it to be maybe a half inch longer.
I touch my hair, run my fingers through it. The texture feels the same. Williams probably knows someone who specializes in cutting vamp hair. He does have his colored, after all. Or should I let it grow?
Weird how I never thought about it before. Or how I was going to handle getting a haircut. Can't go back to my salon with its wall-to-wall mirrors, that's for sure.
Wow. I'm amazed at the emotions stirred up by seeing this picture, this image of the vampire Anna. I can't help staring at the face that's mine, but not quite. Something's changed. More than the hair.
The eyes.
My eyes.
Captured by the flash of the camera, they glitter like obsidian in a dark cave. Am I the only one who thinks they don't look quite human? The guy at the motel didn't seem put off. I wish I could see what he did when he looked at me.
Not that I miss mirrors. Vanity was never a concern of mine. In truth, I was never a girly-girl. I liked running with the boys. I liked short hair and jeans. I liked having a strong rather than voluptuous body.
I guess it's a good thing now, isn't it? I hold the picture up. Don't think vampire females come in voluptuous sizes.
I slap the paper down on the seat. I guess one way to keep track of my appearance is to have a picture taken once in a while. Another nugget to add to the list of Helpful Suggestions to Aid in the Care and Feeding of Vampires. A book I intend to write someday.
I have one more stop to make before heading for Mexico. Last night I noticed a hunting outfitters store at the edge of town. I pick up a sleeping bag, coffee pot, premeasured coffee packets, and a down-filled jacket. The best down-filled jacket. Not that I need it. Vampires don't feel air temperature the way human's do. I get it as a present for Trish. Why not? It's Williams' idea to get rid of me and Williams' money I'm spending.
This time, no one asks for my autograph. In fact, no one pays much attention to me at all except to take my cash and bag my purchases.
Fame truly is fleeting.
The border crossing at Mexicali is a much-abridged version of the one in San Diego. While not as many tourist-laden family sedans wait in lines to cross, there are almost as many commercial trucks. It's a slow process. And I have to remind myself that I'm going west on Highway 2 once I get into Mexico, not east the way I would if I were coming from home.
The drive is as uninteresting in this direction as it is from the other. The rental car is a sedan that practically drives itself. I figure it's going to take me about an hour or so to get to the dirt turnoff that leads to Beso de la Muerte. I wonder what I'm going to find when I get there.
I wish I could call Max. If he joined me, we could go after Foley together and make him take us to Martinez. We have leverage now. Alan's death. Even if he has a story about how he did it to protect Dan and Sylvie, he wouldn't be able to explain not coming forward.
And Foley is the one looking to collect a million dollar bounty. Max seems to have cut himself off from all his contacts-including me evidently. Something Foley obviously doesn't know. He must still think I can lead him to Max. Maybe all the angst I've suffered over breaking up with Max is moot. He's taken care of it for me. A quick call to my voice mail confirms my thinking. The only messages I have waiting are from David. Nothing from Max. But David has left ten of them, escalating from apologetic to frantic.
I delete them. Williams said he would call David and explain my absence. I'm happy to let him do it. I have no desire to speak to David, especially today. Gloria's restaurant opens tonight and I'm sure he'll be gushingly excited. I wonder if he even realizes how appropriate the date is. Today is Halloween. High holiday for witches.
Once on the dirt road, the rental demands more attention. It bucks and skitters, clearly not as comfortable with ruts and potholes as it was with asphalt. It takes both hands on the wheel to keep it centered.
It takes almost as much effort to ignore the fear building in my chest. Approaching Beso de la Muerte, I have an overwhelming urge to turn the car around and flee. The same creepy dread that immobilized me the day Culebra disappeared is back. Suddenly, staying at Avery's doesn't sound so bad. If I turned around now, I could be back there in-
I hit with a sickening crunch of metal on metal. The airbag deploys with an explosive rush of air and powder and noise, knocking my head back against the headrest with tremendous force. Then I'm ricocheting forward toward the steering wheel, bouncing off the rough textured airbag, the skin on my cheek flaying off with the impact. I have a fleeting thought that if my face hit the bag dead on, my nose would have been smashed flat.
Then, just as quickly, the bag deflates. The car's engine stalls and cuts out. I rock in the seat, holding my head in my hands, trying to collect my thoughts. When I open my eyes to see what the hell I hit, all I see through the shattered windshield is smoke curling from the ruined engine.
And?
A shadow, curling toward me like another wisp of smoke. Formless, faceless until a slit opens and a sound like distant thunder fills my head.
Ihave him. You can't help. Go back.
I climb out, legs shaking with the effort. Have who? Culebra?
But the apparition is gone. The only smoke is the black plume from the engine. I smell hot oil and gasoline. I have to hang on to the side of the car to propel myself forward. Where did it go? What did I hit? Eyes search, first the air, then the ground. I expect to see something-an animal, a deer maybe, fallen beneath the tires.
But there's nothing.
Nothing.
I hold out my hands, groping like a blind man to understand what could have caused the collision.
At first, I'm flailing at air. Then, I feel it.
I suck in a breath, laying both hands flat against-I don't know what-but it stopped my car as surely as any brick wall would have.
With one big difference.
This wall is invisible.