The Becoming

It's about four in the afternoon when I pull into the underground parking garage at David's. I realize I don't have his card key—

another casualty of the fire—so I press the intercom button and wait for him to answer.

He doesn't.

I press again. I know he's there, because I can see his Hummer parked in all its yellow splendor just across the lot.

Still no response.

Aggravation spikes. He wants me to stay with him, so where is he when I need him?

I back carefully up the ramp and park on the street. Grabbing my overnight bag, I look up at the security door, wondering how I'll get inside. I don't have that key, either. But as luck will have it, a woman appears just then, a cute little Lab pup in her arms. I hustle up the steps just as she opens the door. We exchange smiles, and I give the pup the mandatory head scratch before bolting inside.

David lives on the top floor of a twelve-story building. The elevator bumps to a stop, and I'm knocking at the door, calling out as I do. The door gives under my touch and I push it open. Obviously, he left it that way for me. He's probably taking the trash out or something, which explains why he didn't answer before.

David's loft was purchased with football money—a ton of it. The living room is comprised of walls of glass so that the view sweeps in an unobstructed arc north from downtown to the bay. That panorama is the first thing you notice when you step inside and it's simply an automatic reaction to wander to the balcony to take it all in.

So, I just stand there, watching sailboats bob and weave on the bay like frisky colts, waiting for my errant partner to put in an appearance. But my thoughts are not on the view. My emotions have once again shifted into overdrive. One moment I'm overcome by sadness at the enormity of my loss, and the next, bathed in cold fury at the thought that it was done deliberately.

Finally, I find myself glancing at my watch. I realize I've been here fifteen minutes, and still there's no David.

Something is wrong.

I step back inside and listen. The loft is eerily quiet. In fact, the stereo David always leaves on, has been turned off. I take a turn around the place, peeking into bedrooms, baths, the kitchen, and dining room, finally back to the living room.

He's not here.

Which doesn't make sense. If he decided to go to the store or to run a last-minute errand, he would have left me a note. And he certainly wouldn't have left the front door open.

I head back through the dining room, thinking I'll use the kitchen phone to try his cell, when I see them.

David's wallet, car keys and money clip are sitting on the bar in the dining room.

How could I have missed that before?

Something's definitely wrong.

I take a step closer and see something else.

My new vampire senses spring into alertness.

There's a smear, dark and viscous, on the corner of the glass table, and another on the rug just below it.

It's blood. I feel it.

And just as certainly, I know it can only be David's blood.

Chapter Twenty

A dreadful conviction builds in my chest. Somehow, whatever happened to David happened because of me.

I can't explain why I feel this way. I just know it's true, the same way I know I'm staring at a smear of David's blood.

I try to reason it through. There could be another explanation. David may have met with some kind of nasty accident. I snatch up my cell and call Avery, telling him what I've found and asking him if he'll check the hospitals close to downtown just in case.

He says he'll do it right away and to meet him at his house, so I take David's keys from the sideboard and race back to my car. All the way to La Jolla, my mind reels with the possibility that I've brought about another disaster, this time to my very best friend, as a direct result of my new “gift."

Gift. First the fire, then David. Christ, where do I go to return such a gift?

"I don't even want my money back,” I shout to the heavens. “Just make my life the way it was before."

But then you wouldn't have the chance to know me, would you?

First there's the shock of recognition. Then impatience. Why, it's Casper. Back out of the blue.

The voice chortles a little laugh. Casper?

Forget it. I doubt you'd understand. Where are you?

Look in the rearview mirror.

There's a beat-up old pickup behind me. I can't see who's driving through the glare of the sun on the windshield.

What do you want?

A thank you would be nice. I did bring your car to you the other night.

Thank you. Now forgive me if I don't stop to chat. I'm a little preoccupied.

I know. Your friend has been taken.

That almost provokes me into slamming on the brakes. I know I can move fast enough to grab him before he—

Don't try it. I'm older than you. By about one hundred and forty years. Trust me, I'm faster.

I grip the wheel in frustration. If you know something that can help David and you don't tell me, I don't care how much older you are. I'll hunt you down and kill you.

I know you will. I don't know who has him. That's the truth.

Then what good are you? Why are you here?

To tell you to be careful. You're going through many changes right now. You haven't had the time to adjust the way you should.

Things are skewed. Your instincts may be off.

Is that supposed to help?

It's the best I can do.

Then thanks for nothing.

There's no answer, and when I check the rearview mirror, the truck is gone.

Avery is waiting for me at his front door when I pull up. He shakes his head and ushers me inside with a hand on the small of my back.

"He's not in any of the local hospitals. And Chief Williams checked for accident reports, too. None involving David. I'm sorry, A

My anger is quickly becoming scalding fury.

"It's Donaldson, isn't it? He took David to have some kind of leverage on me. But why? What does he want?"

Again, the shake of the head. “I can't answer that. Donaldson is an unknown quantity. If you're right about his starting the fire, though, I think it's a safe bet he wants you out of the way. I suppose it makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. You are his only victim who survived. He may perceive you as a threat."

I start to pace, stomach and mind churning. He must have known I would go back to the cottage. Why didn't he wait for me there? Why start the fire? Why take David?

Avery doesn't answer. He doesn't know. I read it in his thoughts. He feels as helpless as I do. Worse. There's hopelessness there, too.

Don't do that, I scold. David has to be all right. I'll find him. If Donaldson thinks taking him is a way to get to me, he's right.

What are you going to do?

That elicits a frown. I don't know. You know the vampire community. Is there a place where a rogue would go to seek refuge?

Avery probes his mind, considering and rejecting several possibilities, until one surfaces that makes him pause. Yes, I think I do, though this may be a long shot. But didn't you and David think he was on his way to Mexico when you caught up with him?

I nod. His wife found a note he'd written to his girlfriend. He'd made arrangements with somebody across the border to put him up for a while. She gave the note to the police, but there wasn't enough information to track him down.

Avery smiles, as if I've confirmed his suspicion. He crosses to the library with me following closely in his wake, reaches for an Atlas and thumbs it open.

He jabs a finger at the page. He may be here. Right across the border. The badlands. There's a village that's become a hideout for desperados, both human and vampire. Even the Federales fear patrolling there. It's called Beso de la Muerte by the locals.