Dawn's Darkest Hour

She already had her escape planned. In January, she'd have enough credits to graduate early and she was sooooo out of here. Let the beautiful people pick out tacky prom dresses and shovel mountains of Pink up their perfect, praise the lord for plastic surgery and platinum cards, noses. LET THEM. Graduating a semester early would disappoint her parents. They'd get over it, in a decade or two. She had bigger and better things to think about. High school was like a prison and in five and a half months she'd be released.

The bell rang, a piteous, harsh, electronic, buzzing wail drawing Rachael back to the present. She'd missed her chance to go over and talk to David. Dejectedly, she wrapped an arm around the heavy stack of books required for her next class and waded into the stream of bodies filing out of the cafeteria.

Rachael kept her head down and focused on the dingy off white tiled floor as she walked past the group of boys gathered at the exit. They looked for victims to pick on, especially defenseless looking targets like her. Attention from them was not something anybody wanted. After lunch, they'd shuffle back to wherever the faculty hid them during the hours of eight-to-three Monday through Friday and the world would be safe for another day. The heat of their eyes focused on the back of her neck. Huddled down into the stack of books against her chest, she tried to ignore their stares and hurry out of their line of sight.

It was too late. They'd spotted her. The boys pressed in around her while one of them, making sure the teachers were out of sight, stuck his foot out, tripping her. Books went flying as Rachael's arms splayed in a vain attempt to break her fall. Students scuffled out of the way, dodging books, and trampling the litter of papers strewn on the floor with their feet. Grunting, she sat up, suppressing the tears welling behind her lashes. The cold snickering of her classmates as they walked around her like she wasn't even there forced a surge of blood to her already burning cheeks.

"Maybe you should just kill yourself, like you killed her," one of the boys, the meanest in the pack, teased as he aimed his booted toe at a book splayed out in the middle of the doorway. It's pages fluttered as he kicked the spine and sent her Calculus book flying to land against a bank of lockers across the hallway with a very solid thud.

He stretched his arms over his head and pressed his palms together. Making a motion like a swan dive, he dipped his arms toward the floor. He grinned at her like the dirt bag he was while his friends guffawed and patted him on the back in congratulations for torturing a defenseless human. "It should have been you!" he shouted before disappearing into the throng of students in retreat.

"I didn't kill Laney!" Rachael shouted after the boys. What did it matter? Nobody believed her anyway. When she'd told her parents what she saw, they'd had her committed to a psych hospital. She'd spent weeks slobbering on herself and having pills stuffed down her throat. Until the insurance company and some doctor she barely remembered meeting declared her sane enough for society. Someday, she'd have proof and they'd have to believe her. Before she went on with her adult life she was going to do just that and Laney would be absolved of the blame for taking her own life.

David scrambled to gather up the random papers floating down the hallway. Haphazardly, he shoved them into the book he'd salvaged from being trampled to scrap beneath the feet of the students. "You ok?" he asked offering a hand to Rachael.

"Fine," Rachael answered, ignoring his hand. She scrambled to her feet and snatched her rumpled papers and severely abused books out of his grip. She did her best to regain what little composure she had and shoved the books in the crook of her arm.

David wasn't about to let her walk through the herd of students alone. Teenagers had few boundaries to their cruelties. Some were staring as he walked beside her. Others pointed and whispered, loud enough for her to hear. There were a few pitying glances shot in Rachael's direction. But nobody, except for him, made a move to help her.

"So, you like vampire books?" he asked, spotting the weathered cover from the stack in her arms. Her tears were like a storm cloud ready to burst. He'd talk about anything, ANYTHING, to keep them from falling. He didn't offer to wound her pride further by offering to carry her books to her next class.

"It's research," Rachael mumbled. Blonde hair fell across her shoulders, shielding her face from the eyes of the students. She glanced over at him through the thick strands of her hair expecting to see the humiliation of pity in his eyes. Instead, she saw only curiosity.

"Research?" David asked, rounding the corner at her side. The wheels of the teenage mind were in constant motion. Already whispers of Rachael's incident were beginning to be replaced by myriad, more interesting discussions.

Rachael stopped outside the door to her next class. Defensively, she tucked the battered novel deeper into the stack in her arms. She glanced up at David and blushed before looking away. He could have walked right past her like everybody else had. He could have snickered at her shame. Instead, he walked boldly next to her, silently daring anyone to say one word. Like he didn't give a damn about what anybody thought. Maybe, he didn't. "Never mind."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared down at the floor. He didn't know about Laney. Or about the two months Rachael had spent locked up in a psych ward. He hadn't heard the school's convoluted version about what happened that night last December. Everyone in the whole school blamed her for Laney's death. David was a blank page, one that she could fill with writing before anybody else did. With him, she stood a chance at having a friend. "I gotta go."

Chapter 7

Rachael ducked into her classroom and hurried to her desk. She didn't blame the other students for making up ridiculous lies about her. Laney had been wildly popular, a golden girl, practically oozing with vivaciousness and promise. She could have owned the school, if it hadn't been for her stubborn refusal to dump Rachael as a best friend. Her classmates couldn't accept the sympathetic, watered down version of the story told by the adults. Everyone believed Laney had committed suicide, but nobody knew why. Making Rachael a scapegoat was a far easier outlet for their collective grief.

Rachael blamed herself far more than any of the other kids could have ever imagined. She was the one who insisted that they sneak away from the other girls to have a look at the city lights from the observation deck of the Futura Tower. She'd been selfish and wanted to steal a few minutes alone with her best friend. She'd been so wrapped up in the glitz of downtown that the she got on the elevator to go back down to the lobby without realizing that Laney wasn't behind her. By the time the elevator descended all they way to the first floor and climbed the fifty-six stories back to the top, it was too late. Laney was already over the glass and metal barrier bordering the roof.

She didn't see him at first. All her attention was focused on Laney, trying to coax her best friend back over the glass partition away from the narrow ledge barely wide enough to balance on. Laney didn't seem to hear her pleas. It was like she was asleep, but awake at the same time. Laney's eyes were open, fixated on the glittering streets far below. Her white knuckles clinging precariously to the glass and metal barrier and the soles of her shoes barely managing a foothold on the narrow ledge, her coat was a wash of winter white against the black backdrop of the night sky. Her red hair flapped wildly around her cherubic face and unseeing eyes. At the same time as Laney lost her grip and toppled off the narrow leg her arms and legs pinwheeling in the free fall. The thing practically flew out of the shadows at her.

The cops claimed the surveillance video from the observation decks showed nothing other than what had obviously happened. They claim that the cameras recorded Laney climbing over the railing of her own volition and jumping fifty-six stories to her death in an apparent suicide. Rachael's claims of being attacked by a man, dressed from head to toe in black, were immediately dismissed and attributed to the shock of witnessing her best friend's suicide. Psychologists claimed that Rachael concocted the story of her attack as a way to explain Laney's suicide. According to the authorities, there was no one else on the decks that night except for the two them. Rachael knew better than that though.

Something drove Laney over the railing that night. Something attacked her and grappled for her jugular. If Laney hadn't fallen and the sounds of sirens hadn't shattered the cheery pre-Christmas mood of the city, she'd be dead now too. In dying Laney had saved Rachael's life. There were no do-overs. No second chances. If she could take it all back, she would have been a better best friend and played nice with the other girls for Laney's sake. She never would have asked Laney to go up to the roof with her.

No amount of drugs was going to erase the memory of that night. No good intentioned psychiatrist was going to psychobabble her into rationalizing away the thing that had snatched her best friend's life and her own in the process. She knew what it looked like. She knew where it hunted. Something had stolen her best friend away, not someone, but something. Whatever it was that caused her best friend to fall to her death. Whatever it was that attacked her and was trying to snack on her jugular wasn't human. Rachael knew what it was and as soon as she graduated and got out on her own. She was going to hunt it down and kill it.

"Miss Taylor, would you kindly come to the board and solve the equation?"

Rachael snapped to attention at the calling of her name. "I'd rather not," she mumbled. Class was almost half over and the teacher's droning voice had been nothing but white noise in the back of her brain. She shrank farther into her seat as the teacher silenced the snickers of her classmates into submission with a scowl.

"Very well. Perhaps someone who has been paying attention and not squandering away taxpayer dollars by merely occupying a seat in my class would like to come to the board," the teacher sighed in resignation. She had too many students who were eager to learn and was too underpaid to worry about one or two who slipped through the cracks.

Chapter 8

David slung the backpack over his shoulder and hightailed it into the flow of students rushing en masse for the doors. His first day had been an absolute bust. He knew nothing more about who was supplying Pink to the students than he did when he walked through the very same doors that morning. The students were tight lipped around him. He had to gain their trust and make friends. Hard to do when all he could think about was snacking on them.

He had nothing, absolutely nothing in common with any of the students. Except for one... Rachael. She was into vampires, and as luck would have it, so was he. She wasn't exactly a budding social type. Everyone in the school seemed to shun her. They had that in common too. He doubted that she knew any information useful to his mission. But, maybe, just maybe, he could use her insight into the school's social hierarchy to get to those who did.

"Have a nice day at school, son?" Bianca taunted from the driver's seat. The heavily tinted windows blocked out the worst of the sun's rays and protected the interior of the car from the blinding prisms of light so painful to her sensitive vision.

David took his time climbing into the passenger seat, leaving the wide door open far longer than he needed to. Inwardly, he chuckled at Bianca's discomfort as she shifted her head out of the rays of blinding afternoon sun. At least this part of the charade was at an end. She would be mother-in-absentia unless he had a need for her to make an appearance. He would be glad to have her gone. "Peachy, Mother, just peachy."

Bianca navigated her sleek sports car into the crawling line of buses and family laden SUV's spewing enough exhaust to suffocate an entire city block from their tailpipes. "Care to grab a bite before you head back to suburbia?" Impatiently, she drummed her perfectly coifed nails, painted red to match her car's exterior as the line inched forward. "My God, the light is green, why aren't these people moving?" Sometimes she could almost understand O'Sullivan's distain for humans. Sometimes. They were nothing but an unfortunate complication to her existence.

"I prefer to dine alone."

"Such a sullen child did I produce," Bianca said as she finally pulled out into the endless flow of traffic. "Carter will expect a progress report in his e-mail tonight."

David slouched in the expensive leather seat. "There isn't anything to report yet."

"Trouble with the natives? I expected more out of you than an endless stream of excuses."

"Bianca," David snapped, turning in the seat to face her. "Have you ever been to high school?"

"Of course not," Bianca chuckled.

"All right then. When I have something to report, I will. Until then, shut the hell up. High school is harder than it looks. A lot harder." David slouched in his seat and watched the concrete and buildings yield to trees, lush well-kept lawns of green grass, and neat, tidy rows of overpriced, tract housing. The tires squealed on pavement as she pulled into the drive. He leapt out, grabbing his backpack, and darted for his temporary snippet of the American Dream. Suburbia and public transit were far better options than dealing with his pseudo-mom.

David peeked from between the white mini blinds, which seemed to be standard issue in suburban hell. Bianca peeled out of the drive, leaving black lines of tread on the otherwise immaculate concrete. Good. Satisfied that he was done with her for the time being, he slid the blinds back into place. Guilt panged at his gut as he tossed the backpack on the empty kitchen table. He should make an attempt to do his homework. But, who cared.

He skulked to his room and flopped onto the bed, wrinkling the newly purchased comforter to oblivion beneath his weight. He was tense and hungry. Starved. Unless he wanted the neighborhood's missing pet population to skyrocket, he was going to have to wait for the cover of darkness to scrounge up some dinner. Strays didn't belong in this part of town and neither did he.

Chapter 9

Carter sat across from his nemesis, glowering. "What's the meaning of this?" He unwrapped the locket from a handkerchief in his coat's inner pocket and dropped it onto the scratched dark wood table. The bar was one far off the beaten path. Seldom enough frequented by humans and never by his kind. The hunting was too poor to make it worth the effort, but from what he'd heard the whiskey was good. The secluded booth in the back of the bar provided exactly the type of privacy he needed for this little Q and A session with Eric.

"Carter, is that any way to treat an old friend? You invited me to share a drink with you and the moment we meet, you shower me in questions and unspoken accusations." O'Sullivan leaned back in his chair, amused by Carter's agitated state. His jaw was clenched tight enough to shatter a diamond to dust. Laser beams shot from beneath the slits in his sandy colored lashes and all that destructive power was focused on him. Provoking Carter was every bit as dangerous as poking a rattlesnake with a stick. He never knew when Carter might strike and it was fun, dangerous, but oh so fun.

Carter wanted to reach out and choke that knowing smirk right off of O'Sullivan's face. Thin lips curled a cool grin, daring him to do just that. The man was a burr up Carter's ass and he knew it. Anyone else would have been terrified to sit across from him and provoke his rage. O'Sullivan sat, relaxed in his side of the booth, idly toying with the coaster under his drink. Bastard didn't even have the decency to have a hair of his sleek, dark ponytail stray out of place or any hint of fear reflecting in his unblinking, studious, eye. "We're not friends." Carter reached across the table and snatched the locket out of O'Sullivan's reach. "How'd you get this?"

"From Yessette, of course," O'Sullivan answered. Carter was a man tipped too close to the edge. One little push might send him toppling over. As entertaining as Carter's obvious ire proved to be, here was not the place. Best the private war that had been brewing between them for centuries stay private. "Keep it."

Carter folded his fingers around the locket in his palm. The smooth gold disc was cool against his skin. "You stole it off her dead body." The thought of what he'd done to Yessette sickened him. The thought of O'Sullivan's hands on her lifeless corpse, plucking the locket from her torn throat sent a hot rush of bile surging up his esophagus.

O'Sullivan couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Carter, I am many things, but a grave robber, I am not." Carter's shoulders vibrated with unspent rage. O'Sullivan leaned over the table, bending close to Carter's ear. The table's surface was tacky from the filth of too many spilled drinks and too few cleanings. "Yessette lives."

Carter stiffened as O'Sullivan's hot breath skated across his cheek. The man was close enough for him to reach out and rip out his throat with his bare hands. Taunting him. "I felt her life leave her. Yessette is long dead," Carter gasped. He held her limp body in his arms. Her blood coated his fingers. The crimson stained his hands. "Don't toy with me, Eric, not about this," Carter warned. His fingers itched to go for the blade strapped to his hip and end the bastard that had been a thorn in his side for far too long. If the bar weren't full of witnesses, he'd do just that and deliver Hell its finest prize.

O'Sullivan eased back and lowered his lithe body into the booth. "The blood that flows through your veins is wasted on you. Faith was something you always lacked. Pity." He withdrew a small silver case from the breast pocket of his navy pinstripe suit. The case opened with a click. O'Sullivan pulled out a stiff card and slid it across the table to Carter. "Stop by sometime. Let your eyes see the proof of what your mind refuses to believe."

Carter snatched up the card and studied the address printed in thick, black, heavy scroll across its expensive, vellum surface. "I want you out of my city."

O'Sullivan smiled with a leer and returned the case to his breast pocket. He had Carter there. "Rules are a bitch aren't they." Carter couldn't expel him from the city without cause. O'Sullivan was an expert at covering up any trace of sin he might commit.

Eric slid out of the booth and rose to his full height. It was always good to stare down an opponent. He casually straightened the lapel of his suit. "By the way how is your little family these days? I'm surprised you left them for the Sons to protect. Doubting your abilities to keep them safe or did you just grow bored with family life? I'd be happy to offer her my services in your absence."

"Leave them out of this," Carter hissed as he stood to face O'Sullivan. When it came to Shayla, rules or not, he'd take his nemesis down right here and now at the hint of a threat to her or her son.

O'Sullivan had the old boy so rattled that he was on the verge of losing control. Good. White points peeked from beneath Carter's upper lip in unspoken threat. Obviously this woman and the infant meant more to Carter than O'Sullivan had ever dreamed. Excellent. It was always nice to know that he had another card to play, if he needed it. "The minute you crossed their paths they were dragged into this and you know it." He patted Carter on the back in consolation. "Don't worry, your little family is safe, for the time being."