Nightfallen

Dealmaking

"So you're basically 007 meets Famous Monsters of Hollywood," I said to Jackson the next night.

We were sitting in our usual spot at Café Trios, our coffees untouched in front of us.

He gave me a cocky smirk. "You must have been a writer before you went Nightfallen, little girl. That sounds like a cool idea for some trashy teen chick lit. Although, I guess if you wrote it like a thriller, it could make for a surreal Brad Thor."

The smirk disappeared when I told him I followed him the night before. "I know you're not really one of us," I whispered, despite our voices being lost in the mindless coed chatter surrounding us. "I know you're from the government. I know that there's some process you underwent to mimic us, and I know that, while it was pretty good, it definitely wasn't perfect."

"You're crazy."

The way he said it, I could tell he tasted the lie in his mouth. His eyes casually scanned the coffee shop, taking in the surroundings. I could practically feel his mind making casualty estimates in the span of a second. Then his eyes returned to mine, not looking at me but through me. I noticed the bulge beneath his black coat—the holster saddling his 1911.

"Of course, if what you say is true, you'd know I'm allowed to do anything and everything to keep my cover."

"Don't," I said before he pulled his gun, "please. Just hear me out."

His body was still tense, but the gun remained hidden. "Go ahead, then."

"You said to your contact that you're a soldier, not really a spy. You're right. Whatever was done to you, it's good enough to fool us at first glance. But there are too many imperfections. Over time, they're going to get noticed. Then they'll get you killed."

"Probably," he said, with the casual resignation of a man condemned.

"I can help," I said. "I can show you how to act the part better, and run interference for you when those imperfections can't be hidden."

His eyes narrowed. "Why would you?"

"Self-interest. I want you to kill my sire."

"Why not do it yourself?"

"The one that creates you has power over you. That control becomes stronger over time. If I'm in his presence, I'm his slave. He gains more power over me as time goes on. I'm getting the feeling it's now or never, unless I want to be spend an eternity of nights as a concubine. And it's not like I can run. I know he'll find me."

"Cool story. Could be just a cover, though."

"If I was setting a trap for you, why would I tell you that I know what you are? Does that make any sense? If I wanted you dead, I'd just lead you into an ambush during one of our campus walks."

"Why trust me? I could just kill you once I take out your sire."

"I don't think you will."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You already had the chance but didn't. The guy in the steam tunnels—McBride, right? You didn't give him my real name. If you had, I'd be on a kill list already, wouldn't I?"

Jackson shrugged.

I put my hand on his. "Why didn't you give me to them, Jackson?"

He pulled his hand away. "It's in my interest to hold some things back. I've been in the military long enough not to trust civilian command."

I wondered if it was the truth, or if he was just trying to justify it to himself.

I told him where Nathan and my sisters were located, where they tended to stay within the foreclosed Victorian, and warned him about the frozen-over road. I told him that Nathan was Civil War vintage and, therefore, very powerful, and also that even though my sisters were relatively young, they were still incredibly dangerous.