Breathless Ch. 03

"I need to go," he said, but didn't turn away.

"Me too," she murmured. Then she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him like she hadn't kissed anyone in a long time. His lips met hers with equal passion, and he lifted her off the ground. With her, he could hear the howl of his four-footed brethren far off in the woods. She could feel his heart pumping blood through every corner of his body.

He dropped her and she stumbled backward. "No," he whispered. "I can't --" He turned and walked away.

Sadie couldn't watch him leave, so she turned and got into her truck. She bashed her head against the steering-wheel so hard that she split the skin on her forehead and blood trickled down into her eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to get this close, and she hadn't realized how close she'd gotten until that moment. She desired Vladimir in a way she couldn't fathom, and now she'd have to find some way to fix things.

She started up the truck and headed home. When she got there, Mel's little Mini was sitting next to the house. The girl had been given a key, so she was probably inside. Sure enough, she met Sadie at the door in a sexy little bit of lingerie, but all thoughts of a decadent morning tryst faded away when she saw the walking wounded ascend the stairs.

"What the hell happened?!"

"I don't want to talk about it," Sadie muttered, pushing her way inside. "Listen, I don't think I'm really in the mood to play tonight, so if you'd rather --" Sadie felt Mel's hands on her arms shortly before being unceremoniously spun around fast enough to make her dizzy.

"If you don't want sex, then I'm fine with that. We're friends with benefits . . . I know that. But that starts with being friends, and FRIENDS like explanations when someone they care about looks like their puppy just died and walk in with blood on their faces." Mel had looked annoyed, but her face softened a bit. She couldn't imagine what could rattle Sadie Hewitt.

"I'm okay," Sadie said. "I just fucked up tonight is all. I'm tired, I'm cranky and --" She stopped. Mel was a friend, and probably the best friend she'd had in a while. 'When did that happen?' she thought.

"And what? Sadie, you can talk to me. I promise, nothing gets repeated outside these walls unless you want it. I know what it's like to try and make it without anyone to talk to. That was my life until you came along, and it sucks ass."

Sadie nodded. "You know, I really think I could use someone to talk to," she whispered. She sat down on the bed while Melissa fetched a washcloth and some hydrogen peroxide. Sadie unloaded everything that happened, uncomfortable at how emotionally exposed she was feeling. She did remember to give the stripper's card to Mel, and insisted she call the woman. They could help her through some of her issues better than Sadie could. Mel just listened to the Arbiter and wondered how often this happened . . . someone with this much power but no one to turn to that could help with HER problems.

"Vlad's a good guy," Melissa said at last. "He's just trying to do what he thinks is right. You're not going to guilt him into changing his mind. Just be his friend, and maybe you'll convince him."

"If he ever talks to me again. I can't believe I kissed him," Sadie said, flopping back on her bed.

"Get some sleep," Melissa said. "You'll figure it out in the evening." She went to grab her purse.

"Wait," Sadie said abruptly. "I . . . okay, this is going to sound stupid, but even if we don't have sex, I'd really like you to stay. Even as just a friend."

Melissa smiled and put her purse down, crawling onto the bed and cuddling up with her friend. "Poor, poor Arbiter. Whatever are we going to do with you?"

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The next night . . .

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Sadie had bounced back a bit by the time she pulled into the parking lot at the precinct. She was sure she could smooth things over with Vlad. He'd been drinking, she'd been drinking, she'd just gotten laid . . . overall, not an unusual set of events to lead to her kissing someone. Mel's Mini pulled in next to her and the goth chick got out.

"I guess your socializing helped," she remarked, looking at the lot.

Sadie hadn't even noticed, but someone had finally filled in the potholes in the lot. And the metal plating over the windows was gone, with shiny new glass behind it. She was willing to bet it was heavily spelled and bullet proof. 'I guess there's something to be said for playing the game.'

She walked in, giving her friend a hug before heading to her desk. Vlad wasn't in his chair, so she stared for a moment in silence as she tried to figure out exactly what she was going to say. A few minutes later, Devlin walked over.

"Officer Koloff called in sick, so we'll be riding together." He looked confused, but turned to walk towards the door.

"What's up?" she asked, standing up. She didn't believe for a second that Vlad was sick, and Devlin was about to confirm it.

"I dunno. He's never been sick once since I've worked here. He showed up the day after getting shot for Christ's sake."

Sadie clenched her fists and rolled her eyes. He wasn't going to make this easy on her.

Twenty minutes later, they were cruising along Thirteenth Street, which was the official dividing line between Gravestones and West End, and the differences were as clear as night and day. There was even a row of abandoned buildings just on the east side of the street, as if West End was afraid of being infected by proximity. Sadie could see the longing in Devlin's eyes when he looked across the way into the world of wrought iron gates, Greek fountains, and perfectly manicured lawns.

"I put myself in the registry," he said at last, not even looking at her.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat, trying to avoid the Cadillac Escalade that had just cut her off. The registry was a list of those wanting to be Turned who didn't have a sponsor, sort of like the undead lottery. If there was a vamp out there looking to expand his or her brood and couldn't find anyone to their taste locally, they could check the registry. The competition was high, and Devlin's chances were slim. He was a beat cop in the part of Midian that most vampires wouldn't be caught (metaphorically) dead in.

'Stop trying to live his life for him,' she thought. 'You don't have to like his decision.' She pulled into a gas station to grab a beverage. "Mind filling 'er up?" she asked, followed with, "Want a drink?"

"No. No thank you," he said. He'd half expected her to go off on him again. And she saw that in his eyes.

"I know what you want," she said, trying to smile, "but I'm just as determined to stand by what I think is right as you are to get Turned. But just because I won't sponsor you doesn't mean I don't like you. Yeah, you're infuriating, but I guess I can be too."

He gave her the first real grin she'd seen since she met him. "Yeah, I suppose you can be."

"Hey, takin' the high road here! A little humility on your part wouldn't hurt." She jumped out of the SUV, feeling a little bit better about herself. She ran in and grabbed a huge tankard of her delicious Mountain Dew and a bag of Fritos. She got out and Devlin was leaning back against the car.

"Hey," she said, "if you're going to try and go through with the whole Turning thing, do me a favor? I've got a friend by the name of Terrence McDermott, and he works for Lord Frost." The last part she almost had to spit out, but she reminded herself that she was trying to play nice. "Terrence just got his undead walking papers like five years ago. Let me give you his number --"

"You think he'll be able to talk me out of it?" Devlin replied, growing suspicious.

"Oh put a sock in it. He knows what you're likely to go through. Most of the older vamps forgot what making the transition from living to undead was like. It's not as easy as waking up one morning and trying on a new suit. Something I learned a long time ago was always walk into a new situation with your eyes open. Fewer nasty surprises that way."

"Was it hard for you?" Devlin asked. He wasn't sure she'd answer, since she never seemed to talk about her past before becoming an Arbiter. He'd heard through the grapevine that she was created by a rogue, but that was it.

Luckily, Sadie was already walking around the vehicle when she heard that question. Her eyes glassed over and she felt . . . ill. She stopped so that she could answer without him seeing her face. "I wasn't given a choice," she said, barely loud enough to be heard. "So yeah, it was hard."

Devlin knew it was time to stop pushing. If he was going to get back on her good side, then he should probably avoid pouring salt on still-open wounds. "I'm sorry."

She got into the driver's seat and wiped a tear from her eye. Time didn't heal all wounds but sometimes just let you become accustomed to the ache. But by the time Devlin topped off the tank and got inside, you'd never know that anything had been wrong. She was smiling again.

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Back at the station . . .

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Captain Grom poked his head out of his office. "Melissa, could you come in here for a second?"

She rolled here eyes, sighed, and strode back into the office. "Forget where your stapler is again?" she asked casually.

He smiled at her. Grom knew she had a heart of gold and that a lot of what people saw was just a front, so he let her attitude slide. Besides, she was good at her job.

"No, not this time. Listen, I just got a call from Mayor Jefferson's office. Did you know that Arbiter Hewitt never registered as a vamp?"

Mel shrugged. Of course she knew, but she wasn't going to sell out her best friend.

"Of course not," the Captain replied. He should have known better than to even ask. "Jefferson, and by 'Jefferson' I mean 'Lord Frost,' seems to think that our whole police force should be on the 'up and up' . . . yes, I believe those were his words. Anyway, he says that the bare minimum they've requested --"

"And by 'they' you mean 'Lord Frost'," Mel piped in.

"Precisely. Anyway, even if she was Turned by a rogue, she needs to register with at least a birth certificate. From the way he made it sound, they've already requested it directly from her but just don't seem to have received it."

"Perish the thought."

Grom looked over his spectacles at her. "Mel, having an Arbiter here is a blessing, and Sadie's managed to do more in a month as far a improving the precinct's stock in the Gravestones than the rest of the force in the last couple of years. I know she doesn't seem threatened, but trust me," Grom's voice said, dropping to a whisper as he glanced around, "Frost isn't just some aristocratic wannabe. He's got strings on more puppets than you can imagine, and I don't want him to do anything that might cost us the luckiest break we've gotten in a while." He rolled his shoulders, knowing what he was going to suggest wouldn't set well with Melissa. "Her superiors in Washington have authorized us to provide whatever information the mayor requests in order to keep Arbiter Hewitt within the minimum requirements of the law. In other words --"

"Give him the birth certificate. I don't know what the big deal is," she said.

Grom sat back in his chair. "For vampires, age is key. Age determines hierarchy and pecking order. And here comes a veritable unknown, throwing their nice little order out of whack. They want to find some way of bringing her under control, and that starts with knowing how old she is. Listen, Sadie doesn't play by the rules, so just knowing her age isn't going to get them what they want. But it WILL let us keep her here. And you're better at cutting through the red tape than anyone else around here, so I'd like you to get what the mayor has asked for and pass it on."

"Captain --"

"I know, I know. She's your friend, and you don't want to sneak around behind her back. But do you think you or anyone is going to convince her to stop antagonizing Frost? Do you think she's actually going to mail a copy of the certificate to be entered into the Book of Names? She brought this on herself. When she finds out, I'll tell her it was all my doing."

Melissa sighed, snarled and then walked away. She hated this, but she wasn't going to refuse the Captain's order or risk losing Sadie. She put a sign on her desk saying she'd be in the research lab, and went about poking into Sadie's past.

Several hours and many cups of tar-black coffee later, she finally found something. Sadie apparently didn't leave much of a paper trail for the early part of her youth. Sadie found her service records, piloting records, certification records . . . but none of them had a birth date attached. That section seemed to be smudged on every form Melissa looked at.

After a while, she'd remembered the name of the rogue vamp that Sadie said had bit her when she'd been complaining about a visit from Frost. 'Something Hogan . . . Clark Hogan?' she thought. That sounded right. She started looking for his obituary and, when she found it, checked the surrounding counties for some sign of Sadie Hewitt.

"He really did get decapitated," she mutted. "Doesn't actually give a cause of death for him." Then she saw an artist's rendering. "Must've been one pissed off werewolf."

"Werewolves are inevitably pissed off," hissed a voice behind her. "It's why they're at the bottom of the food chain . . . well, still above humans."

Melissa knew she must be as white as a sheet. She wasn't afraid of much, but she was afraid of demons. She was especially afraid of Bartholomew since he took an interest in her. "Must really piss you off to be a servant of us lower beings, don't it?" she asked. She cursed herself for playing into his game. She knew he was smarter than her, stronger than her, and while he wouldn't actually physically harm her, he'd already shown he could get to her in other ways.

"Spying on the bloodsucker I see," the yellow-scaled creature continued. "I'm sure she's going to be thrilled to hear about this."

'Fuck!' Melissa thought. 'So much from Grom taking the fall. He'll tell her, just to make her not trust me, and there's no point in asking him to keep his mouth shut.' She knew he was standing close behind her, and she minimized the windows on her screen.

"Awh, let me watch," Bart crooned. "I'm sure you like being watched. Your slutty friend does. You know, I might be willing to keep my mouth shut if you'd be willing to open yours open," he said. His lips were now just inches from her ear.

"I'm looking at sensitive databases," she said calmly. "I've been given permission to look at them . . . you haven't."

"I suppose," he said. "I notice though that you didn't say anything about my offer of letting my trouser snake kiss the back of your throat. Intersted in trying some demonic hot sauce?"

Melissa's skin was crawling. She wished Sadie were here, because she always had a comeback. But Mel's normal defense was just to make herself as unapproachable as possible. That didn't work with Bart anymore.

"Bart, I'm working. Get out of here and let me get back to business. I might even overlook the sexual harassment and not send you to see the shrink again."

"Okay, I'll go," Bart said with a humorless chuckle. "But the minute you want to experience the kind of heaven that only a denizen of hell can bring you --" He had stopped and she could feel his brimstone breath on the back of her neck. "-- give me a call."

Melissa waited until she heard his footstep disappear before she even turned around. She was alone in the room. She jumped to her feet, closing and locking the door. She fighting back tears as she went back to work.

It was another hour before she finally found what she was looking for. Someone in Harris county had scanned all the old records into image files, making it easier to scan. After a well crafted search --

"Sadie Hewitt, born to John and Pam Hewitt in Webster, Texas . . . January 2nd, 1897." Melissa's eyebrows went up. "Hunh. That would maker her a hundred and fourteen years old. She looks damn good for her age." I wonder what else I can find about her," she muttered. She kept up her search, wanting to find out more about her friend. Then something caught her eye . . . a scan of an old, old newspaper article. Mel did a 'find on page' command and looked for 'Sadie.' It only took a second for that little green highlighted area to pop up.

"That can't be right," she said, settling back as a chill overtook her. "That just can't be right."

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To be continued . . .