Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) Page 5

  Eight

  And why not leave a dying vampire back at your apartment while you try to pretend your life is normal? Normal for the Heights, at least.

  Holy shit. He couldn’t be the Prime. Addison had found him in the garbage. No one would throw the Prime in the garbage. He was probably some random vamp who looked a little like the Prime, who got staked by someone he owed money to.

  Focus on the first thing that could get you killed and then move on to the next. And the next. And the next. If she didn’t do her job, someone might be curious as to why. And if that curiosity led to the discovery of the dying vamp in her apartment, she’d be toast.

  She’d make it quick: Go to Headquarters, find out if anyone had noticed that someone—say the most important being on the continent—was missing, and then drop off her paperwork.

  HQ looked totally normal, nothing that the human bike messengers or delivery folks would think was different from the billion other office buildings in the city. The art on the walls was spelled to look like something it wasn’t, something other than paintings of influential supers from the last few centuries. The statue of a vamp surrounded by dead bodies—just in case seers forgot what they kept from happening again—disguised for non-seer eyes to look like a handsome prince surrounded by admiring women.

  It all made Addison nauseous. But this was the only life she had and so she’d live it as long as she could. After flashing her ID to the security guard, she tucked it into her pocket and headed towards the row of elevators. It was the only place outside of her apartment where she could put her ID away. Inside HQ, everyone was off-limits.

  Smith Street was the center for all North American seers. Home to the historians, estate lawyers, travel agents, and all the rest. A one-stop shop for the paranormal. Disposal was on the fourth floor, on the side of the building with the crappiest view. Addison went to the call center first.

  “What’s up?” Addison sat halfway on Dawn’s desk.

  “I was about to call and ask you the same thing, since your life seems to be a lot more exciting than mine.”

  “You mean when I called you? It was a false alarm.” Not surprisingly, her lie got her a look of disbelief. “You didn’t log it in, did you?”

  Dawn shook her head. “You didn’t call the main line so I didn’t have to.” She came close enough to whisper. “What happened?”

  Addison considered telling her the truth, but all it would do was bring Dawn into an already-dangerous situation. “Turns out he was just some Goth kid role playing with his friends. You should’ve seen me freak out when he opened his eyes.”

  “Shit, really?”

  “Yeah. Stupid human. It seems exciting from the other side of the wall, I guess.”

  “Are you working tomorrow night? I wanna go out.”

  “Maybe. I haven’t been sleeping well, though.” And if my luck keeps going the way it has been, I’ll be spending my night off babysitting a vampire and praying he’ll die.

  “Is your friend working? The really, really attractive one?” Dawn shrugged. “What? Just asking.” And it was totally understandable. Not only was Logan really, really attractive, he was also a really, really great guy. Not that Dawn actually knew anything other than the really, really attractive part.

  “I don’t know—he works a lot.”

  Dawn’s eyes widened at something behind Addison. “My boss. Go.” She shooed Addison away just as a portly guy showed up. They all had jobs to do—might as well do them.

  At the disposal desk, she plopped last night’s paperwork and samples on Rhonda’s desk.

  “This is the first time you’ve been late in six years, Addison. What’s going on?”

  “I’m training someone and I got a little distracted by…distracting things.” Thankfully, that last bit of nonsense came out as an unintelligible mumble. “My trainee asked what the tally was for an average night, and I didn’t know what to tell him. What was last night’s tally?” If the vamp who claimed he was the Prime had phased from a big fight somewhere, there would be witnesses to him being there, and Addison might get out of this without dying.

  “City, country, or zone-wide?”

  “Just the city.”

  Rhonda swept her computer mouse around and clicked a few times. “With your four…seven.” With that seven went Addison’s theory.

  “Only seven, and we did four?” She knew her route was busy—wealthy areas meant a higher percentage of supers lived and died there—but she didn’t know she was the only disposal tech who actually did anything. “Is that normal?”

  “No. It’s usually less. But a were and a human were found in an alley. Huge mess. The human police got there before we did, so Damage Control had to wipe a lot of minds.”

  There were a lot of parts to this life that Addison hated, but wiping was at the top. “The human kill wasn’t legal, was it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shit.” Legal kills didn’t happen in alleys. Too risky. And Addison knew this because she’d seen too many of them. “Where?”

  Rhonda gave her the name of a club halfway between her route and her apartment. “You should be careful, Addison. If someone killed a were and a human, I doubt they’d feel bad about a seer.”

  “Well, golly, Rhonda. That makes me feel a lot better,” she grumbled. “Thanks. Was anyone going to tell me about it?”

  “You know how it is. You hear the rumor today and get the official notice in seven to ten days.”

  “After seven to ten days on the streets.”

  She shrugged. “You got your kit, right?”

  “Yep.” The infamous and inadequate kit every disposal tech received on their first night out. As if an ounce of holy water was going to stop a vamp in bloodlust or any other kind of lust. And that was if your aim was good.

  On her way out, she stopped in front of the line of portraits on the wall of the lobby—the primes of each zone. A European vamp who was gorgeous and had big, shiny fangs followed by another gorgeous, shiny-fanged vamp, this one from Australia. And then another. And then—

  Fuck. The biggest portrait was of her vamp, just like she remembered him. But healthier looking and without the big hole in his chest. And in real life, her vamp was a bit more gorgeous and shiny-fanged than the others, because not everything could be captured in a painting. Of course, calling it ‘life’ wasn’t right because he wasn’t alive in person, either, but he was real and nothing could truly capture beauty like that. Except a stake a centimeter away from his heart and a disposal tech with silver jewelry. Oh yeah, she’d totally captured him. Idiot.

  Right next to his beautiful face and horrible fangs was a placard with his name and title. Rhyse, Vampire King, Prime of North America. Just fucking great.

  Addison hurried out of the building and went straight to her mommy—not that her mom could give her any comfort or advice. But being with her gave Addison a chance to think, to pretend her life was normal, and to vent, as long as she kept everything vague.

  Seers left their families behind when they officially entered the Heights. It was too difficult to explain what they did, where they went, and why they freaked out about the gorgeous guy who’d just walked into the restaurant. Who would believe he was actually a demon and was there to have a snack and poke around in someone’s head until he found something naughty to tempt them into doing?

  Most seers couldn’t live with the fear, wondering if today would be the day someone they loved would be chosen as a creature’s free-range kill. Since they couldn’t stop it from happening, it was better not to know. It was easier to separate their lives into BH and AH—before the Heights and after the Heights.

  Two different lives for two different worlds. But Addison hadn’t done that. She’d thought she could have both lives, that she didn’t have to give up someone she loved just because her job was across the wall from the human world.

  That had been a huge mistake.

  “Hey, Grace.” She leaned on the assisted living facility�
�s reception desk, next to her mom’s favorite nurse. “How is she today?”

  Grace seemed to know the only thing sugarcoating her comments did was cause cavities. “Today’s not a good day. She had to be sedated last night. She wouldn’t stop screaming at them to leave her alone.” Them. ‘Them’ could’ve been a mage or a vamp or a werewolf, some being she should never have seen and should definitely not remember.

  “Thanks.” Addison went down the hall to her mom’s room and knocked on the door as she went in. “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Addison.”

  Her mom didn’t speak or turn or acknowledge Addison was there at all. Nothing uncommon, but something that left Addison with a mountain of guilt she would never be able to crawl out from under.

  She poured her mom some water and sat down on the bed near her feet, wondering what she could say in their usual one-way conversation. “I met a…man. He’s frustrating, but I can’t get rid of him until I help him with something.” She held her mom’s hand. “Work’s going well. Logan—you remember Logan, don’t you? Handsome, low voice, has come to visit a couple times? Anyway, Logan might start working with me. He’s in training now, which is good because the job he has now sucks.” She continued, talking about her life as if there was nothing special or strange about it at all. Telling the truth would only cause more pain and fear.

  She still hoped, however futilely, that the wipe would correct itself, reverse the damage it had caused in her mom’s mind, make her forget everything she’d seen and everything Addison had done.

  So Addison lied, told her the things she dreamt about weren’t real. Pretended that when she’d followed Addison to work, worried about her daughter who worked all night and kept so many secrets, she hadn’t seen the naked dead men Addison dissolved into ash. That the memory of standing in front of a council of supernatural creatures wasn’t real.

  That they hadn’t forced Addison to choose her mom’s fate—execution or having her mind wiped of what she’d seen. An obvious choice that ruined everything.

  Addison told her it all wasn’t true because she wished it wasn’t true. She would do anything to make it untrue. All she’d wanted was for her mom to live. When she’d made her choice, she hadn’t even considered the possibilities that the wipe might go wrong or that her mom had been wiped before. But she had been wiped, and it had gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

  The human mind was fragile and wiping wasn’t gentle. It took a lot more than a couple marbles. It took a piece of the person’s self, a piece that never grew back or healed.

  After a few hours of reading aloud, Addison put the book down and scooted to her mom’s side. She smiled when they made eye contact, something that only happened when her mom was attached to the real world.

  “Did you like the story?” she asked.

  “It was the wrong choice,” her mom mumbled. “Wrong choice.”

  Addison crumbled, even though she’d heard the words hundreds of times since that night. Two words renewed the guilt, the knowledge that her mom would have preferred to die at the hands of the Council than to live like this, in nightmares, afraid of shadows.

  “I’m sorry,” Addison whispered, tucking her mom’s hand under the blanket and adjusting it before she left. “I’m really, really sorry.” And she was, all the fucking time.

  Nine

  Addison took herself out for way too much coffee and then walked about five miles just to kill time and stop the jitters. No one had heard anything about the Prime missing. But that could’ve been because seers weren’t privy to that kind of information, or the rumor mill hadn’t had a chance to start churning, or her subtle questioning was too subtle. But she couldn’t outright ask anyone.

  If he got free while she was gone, he’d head for the closest food source and she’d never have to see him again. Sounded perfect. If he wasn’t free, then he’d be asleep. She could go in, get some stuff, and then find a place to hide before calling in an anonymous tip. As soon as they picked him up, her name would be added to the Seer Most Wanted list. They’d send a bunch of demons out to track her down and she’d be dead within forty-eight hours.

  If he was gone but hadn’t had a chance to hire a demon to look for her, at least she could enjoy those forty-eight hours.

  “That’s the bright side?” Now she actually hoped her bed would be occupied. And thank the powers, it was. Maybe she’d get seventy-two hours now. It wasn’t often that finding a vampire in your bed was a good thing, so Addison took a second to reflect on how incredibly screwed up she was.

  “You’re not supposed to be awake,” she said.

  “Where do you receive all of your misinformation?”

  “Common knowledge and commonsense—no one gets bit during the day.”

  “Like humans, as we age we need less sleep. I am old enough to control my sleep needs completely.”

  “You’re really old, huh?”

  “Yes. I am really old.”

  “Like, Civil-War-old or Roman-Empire-old?”

  “The Great-Fire-of-London-old.”

  “Did you set it?” She clamped her lips together to stop her smile because, really, she had nothing to smile about.

  He rolled his eyes. “The fire began on the same night my human life ended. I came to North America a few years later.”

  She wouldn’t want to live that long. What did he do to fill all that time without going totally bonkers? Read a lot? Watch TV once it was invented? Three hundred and fifty years of boredom.

  “Wait,” she said. “That means you were around before the Treaty was signed.” Before seers started getting drafted, when they were all killed on sight. “Were you the Prime then?”

  “I became the Prime approximately fifty years later.”

  “Right. I heard about that. Big vamp war on the East Coast, right?” Vamps spent decades slaughtering each other to vie for leadership, which had the unintended effect of decreasing their population. So that meant Rhyse was strong enough back then to win the grand prize. Now, he’d be even stronger.

  He watched her rummage through her backpack to find her phone. “I did hope you would bring me something that would not fit in a bag.”

  “And I hoped you would already be gone.” She started pulling stuff out, stacking her disposal equipment on the dresser—garlic, holy water, crosses, an iron stick, some kind of stinky spice satchel, and salt.

  “Where did you get those items?”

  “HQ gives them to us. Does any of it work?” Her guess: they were novelties to make seers feel secure when they would never be.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Why would I tell you that?”

  “I could try them one by one to figure it out.”

  His laugh was wicked, but it never changed his expression, as if he’d forgotten how to smile. Or had never learned how. It made sense actually, considering that circa-the-Great-Fire probably wasn’t a particularly festive time.

  “Yes, let us play,” he said. “One of those items will make me stronger. Strong enough to break these chains. Now you try to guess which one it is. One by one.”

  Russian roulette, vampire-style. “Never mind.” As soon as she found her phone, she shoved everything else back in.

  “What is your name?” Well, wasn’t he chatty today?

  “You don’t need to know that.” If he knew, it would make it easier to track her down. She could change apartments—in fact, mental note to start looking for one ASAP—but names were harder. A new driver’s license and credit cards, bank accounts, and just when she got it all sorted out, she’d be found and murdered.

  “Tell me your name.” He was chatty and irritable. And probably persistent.

  She remembered hearing something about giving your name to a kidnapper. The idea being if they saw you as a person, they’d hurt you less. Of course, vamps didn’t really care about people, but it was worth a shot. “Addison. What’s yours?” She already knew, but he should be aware not everyone gave a shit about him.


  “How can you not know these things, Addison?” Her name sounded seductive coming from his mouth. And condescending. Like everything else he said.

  “I try not to pay attention to politics…or much of anything else, actually.”

  “My own kind commonly calls me ‘my king,’ but by others I am called ‘my lord,’ or ‘my grace.’”

  She’d vomit if she called him any of those. “What does your mom call you?”

  “My—was that supposed to be humorous?”

  “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  There was a rumble like thunder, except it came from him. “King Rhyse, Prime of North America.”

  “Is that short for something?”

  “Yes, it is short for, ‘Those who call me anything other than my title or my name will die before they speak the last syllable.’”

  “I’ll just call you Rhyse, then.” They both needed a chance to calm down—him more than her—so she went to the kitchen. “Do you guys drink water and if so, do you want some?”

  “Unless you have something a bit warmer and with more red blood cells.”

  “Sorry. Fresh out.”

  “What I need is coursing through your veins right now.” He lowered his voice when she came back to the doorway. “Do you enjoy my company so much that you will keep me chained to your bed forever? You will not kill me—that I know.”

  “You sound confident.”

  “Always. You do not have the stomach for killing.”

  “I’ve swept away hundreds of vamps, watched weres dissolve into the concrete.” Seen tons of things she never wanted to see. “You don’t intimidate me.” Big lie, but it sounded good.

  “It is one thing to see death and another to create it. Have you ever killed anyone before?”

  “Maybe,” she said flippantly.

  “That means no.”

  “No means no, and I said maybe.” But she’d meant no.

  “You either have or you have not. It is something you would remember.”

  “Do you remember? The first person you ever killed?”

  “Of course. One always remembers their first.” He studied her. “You wish to know.”