19
Aphrodite
The Escalade pulled up in front of Aphrodite, the newly applied chains on its tires making a god-awful sound against the blowing snow as it slid to a stop. The passenger’s door opened and Darius peered out at her in the gray light of a predawn blizzard.
“You are not going to walk. I do not care what you say, and I do not care that you have that electric gun. I am taking you. I am picking you up. Get in.”
Aphrodite sighed, but climbed into the SUV. “You sound pissed.”
“I sound annoyed.”
“Nope, pissed. I know pissed. I do it well.” She leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek, nuzzling him intimately. “But thank you.”
Darius caressed her hair back from her face and kissed her properly. “You are welcome.” Then he started slowly forward, picking his way carefully through the parking lot, heading to the school’s gate that opened to Utica Street.
“How did you know I was going to walk to the hospital?”
“Zoey told me. And I could feel you. I knew you were up to something.”
“You know me well,” she said.
“Are you certain it is a good idea for you to visit your mother?”
“Actually, I’m pretty certain it isn’t a good idea. But she’s going to die in three days. I think that means I have to visit her. Those are the mother-daughter rules.”
“I believe that rule holds only when a mother truly acts like one,” Darius said.
“Well, she’s the only mother I have, so she’s going to have to do. Plus, I’m not going to see her for her sake. I’m going for me. I don’t ever want to be sorry that I didn’t when I could.” Aphrodite studied Darius’ profile as he concentrated on the snow-covered road. “I’ve never asked you about your parents. What are they like?”
“They are dead,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He glanced at her, his lips lifting slightly. “It was a long time ago. My father was born in 1902. My mother was born in 1910. They were good people. They didn’t understand what was happening when I was Marked, and I only saw them twice afterward. The world was different then—smaller. Simpler.”
“Holy crap. When were you born?” Aphrodite stared at her lover and mate. He looked like he was, maybe, twenty-five at the oldest.
“1929. It was a very good year.”
“Oh, good Goddess! You’re eighty-eight!”
Hi smile widened to a grin. “I am.”
“Good thing I’ve always like older men,” she said.
“Good thing,” he agreed.
“Hey. I should have asked you about your parents before now. Darius, I am sorry I can be so selfish. I’ll work on it.”
“I believe in your goodness, and your goodness is greater than your selfishness, my beauty.”
“I’m real glad you think so.”
“I know so.”
Darius glanced at the clock on the dash, which read 6:22 a.m. “Sunrise is in about an hour. Do you want me to stay here with you, or come back and pick you up?”
“Neither. I need to see Mother alone. I’ll wait until sunrise, then I’ll walk back to the school.” Before he could argue with her, Aphrodite barreled on. “No! I’ll be fine. Other Jack said his people are even more sensitive to the sun than our red vamps. They won’t get me. Plus, you know I have this.” She lifted the Taser from her silver-studded Saint Laurent bucket purse.
Darius snorted.
“All you need to focus on is getting rid of the bad guys.” She pointed to her scarf, which was still wrapped around his bicep. “And remember, only other people’s blood gets on that.”
Darius pulled into the St. John’s ER entrance and turned to her. “Are you sure you do not want me to be with you?”
“I’m sure. Are you sure you’re going to stay safe out there?”
“I am sure.”
She’d already unclicked her seatbelt, so he reached over and easily pulled her from her seat into his arms so that he could kiss her thoroughly. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, kissing him passionately.
“Do not let her hurt your feelings too much,” he said as they parted.
“I’ll do my best. Don’t you let anyone hurt you at all.”
“And I shall do my best, as well. Be well, my beauty, and know you carry my heart with you. Always.”
“I will. And I love you, too.”
Aphrodite closed the door to the SUV firmly, and then ducked her head against the onslaught of wind and snow, and trudged into the ER. She paused before she made her way to the nurses’ station, stomping the snow off her Sorel snow boots. She looked around to be sure no one was watching her before she slid her hand into the pouch of her purse and quickly took two Xanax from the ever-present bottle, swallowing them dry.
“There. That’s better. And now that I’m girded for battle …” She approached the nurses’ station. “Hi, I’m Aphrodite LaFont. My mother is Frances LaFont. I’d like to see her, please.”
“ID?” Aphrodite showed it to her and the nurse nodded and tapped her mom’s name into the computer. “She’s been moved from the ER to the ICU. That’s odd. Her wound wasn’t that serious.” The nurse’s brow furrowed as she read the comments on the screen. “Miss LaFont, I can page Dr. Ruffing for you.”
“No, that’s okay. I know her prognosis. Does Mother?”
The nurse read the notes silently for a few more breaths before saying, “No. It looks as if Dr. Ruffing was waiting for family to get here to tell her the worst of it. She is in isolation, though, due to the contagious nature of her wound.”
“So she doesn’t have a clue why she’s isolated or in the ICU?”
“I’m not certain. As I said, I can page the doctor.”
“No, don’t bother. I won’t stay long. But if I need him I’ll have them page from upstairs. What floor is the ICU on?”
“Third floor. You must stop at the nurses’ station, but your mother is in room 820.”
“Will do.” Resolutely, Aphrodite headed into the elevator. The hospital was eerily quiet for such a blizzardy day. “Guess the action won’t pick up until after the Okies wake up and try to take their trucks to Albertsons to get them some disaster supplies—yuck, yuck.” She quipped in a really bad Okie accent. Then the doors opened to the antiseptic scent of the ICU. Aphrodite lifted her chin and marched to the nurses’ station. “Hi. I’m Aphrodite LaFont, Frances LaFont’s daughter. The ER nurse told me she’d been transferred up here.” Aphrodite held out her ID for the nurse to check.
“Yes, Miss LaFont. Your mother is in room 820, but she is under isolation protocol. No human is allowed to see her alone. I can page the doctor, or a security guard to accompany you.”
“Nope, that won’t be necessary. I’m not human.” When the nurse gave her a disbelieving look, Aphrodite stifled an eye roll. “Seriously. I used to be a fledgling. Then I became Nyx’s prophetess. It was in all the papers when my Dad was killed about a year ago. Remember?” She started to pull her phone from her purse. “I can Google the Tulsa World article if you want.”
The nurse’s eyes widened as she stared at Aphrodite. “Oh, that’s right. I remember now. No, the article won’t be necessary. Are you certain you can’t be infected? You don’t have any Mark on you, fledgling or vampyre.”
“Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure. I don’t look it, but I’m not human. May I go into my mother’s room now?”
“Yes, but perhaps you should prepare yourself. She isn’t being very …” the nurse paused, chewed her cheek, and then finished, “pleasant.”
“My mother has never been very pleasant. I’m used to it. Thanks.”
Aphrodite found room 820 easily. It had a big orange biohazard—infectious sign on it that was impossible to miss. She knocked on the door twice.
“Yes, yes—come in,” her mother said irritably. “I hope you have my nightgown and my overnight bag. And do not tell me again that it is snowing too hard to drive. Get one of your CNA mo-mos to walk there. My housekeeper lives in the carriage house. She knows where my emergency overnight bag is kept and she can—” Her mother’s tirade halted when she looked up from the hand mirror she was using to study the bite on her shoulder. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Yep. And I didn’t bring a spare mo-mo to go schlep your stuff.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“How are you feeling, Mother?”
“My shoulder hurts and I will have a scar, but I’m fine. No thanks to you. I am pleased they finally moved me to a private room, even though I am annoyed the only bed available is in the ICU.”
Oh, so that’s what they told her, Aphrodite thought. There was one metal chair in the room and she sat in it, glad that it wasn’t any closer to her mother’s bed. She studied her mom—noting that she was unusually pale and that the bite, which was in the curve between her mother’s neck and shoulder, looked red and weepy.
Her mother narrowed her eyes at Aphrodite and hastily reapplied the bandage over the unsightly wound.
“Why are you here?”
“You’re my mother and you’re in the hospital. It’s my job to be here,” Aphrodite said.
“Ah, familial duty. You’ve never been much for that. Why the sudden change?”
Aphrodite shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m partially responsible for those creatures getting into this world.”
“Partially? I’d say you and your group of freaks are wholly responsible.”
“Well, you would say that.”
“Why aren’t you out there catching them? My God!” Frances shuddered delicately. “Those things are monstrous! And their smell—horrid!”
“Our Warriors are working with TPD to catch them. They have a plan. It’ll be fine.” Aphrodite drew a deep breath. “Mother, about your wound. There’s more—”
“Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”
“Me? You want to talk about me?” Aphrodite was honestly shocked. Since when had her mother wanted anything to do with her?
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about you. About us. Since I announced my plans to run for mayor.”
“Us? You’ve been thinking about us?” Aphrodite felt slightly dizzy, like she’d taken three instead of two Xanax.
“Oh, don’t sound so surprised. And stop gaping with your mouth open like that. It’s unattractive. Yes, I’ve been thinking about us, and about how you can help me with my campaign.”
“You want me to help you campaign for mayor?” Aphrodite couldn’t help it. Her heart beat faster and she felt her face flush. Was her mother really asking for her help? Finally? Just days before she was going to die?
“Yes, definitely. I’ve been paying attention, you know. To you. I admit I might have been hasty in severing our ties after your father was murdered by vampyre scum.”
“Mother, he was murdered by Neferet. She wasn’t a vampyre when she killed him. She was an immortal and our enemy.”
LaFont waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, stop nitpicking. And stop pretending like you’re one of them—though I do admire that you have used your brains and not your twat and figured out an angle that has made you invaluable to the vampyre scum. Pretending to get visions and be a prophetess. I may not have done better myself. Well done, you.”
“Mother, I’m not pretending.”
“Nitpicking. Again.” With a grimace LaFont sat up a little straighter, rearranging the pillows behind her. “Ask me about my plan for us.”
“I don’t think you understand that—”
As usual, Frances LaFont talked over her daughter. “My plan is to win this election by rallying the righteous People of Faith,” she said sarcastically, “into a frenzy over getting rid of the vampyre scum amongst us. Like I’m the first politician to get elected by stirring up a little xenophobia?” She laughed softly—a deceptively sweet sound that sent chills over Aphrodite’s skin. “Actually, your little escapade at Woodward Park has worked right into my plan. Didn’t I hear something about those same creatures attacking that abomination restaurant at the depot?”
Aphrodite swallowed down the nausea threatening to choke her. She hasn’t changed. She’ll never change. “Yes, Mother. The creatures killed everyone who was at the Depot Restaurant last night.”
“Perfect. Where was I? Oh, I know. As soon as I’m elected I’m going to initiate a hefty tax on anything vampyre. Want to eat at a vampyre restaurant? Expect to pay more. A lot more. Want to buy a vampyre piece of art? Get out your platinum credit card. Want to attend one of the ridiculous farmers’ markets on the House of Night campus, or take one of their inflammatory classes? Better be prepared to pay at least double the price you would if you were supporting your own kind. Yes, I am going to make Tulsa strong again.”
Aphrodite shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why do you care so much? Vampyres and humans are finally coming together. We’re all getting along. It’s good for vampyres and humans.”
“Not all humans,” LaFont said with a sly glint in her eyes.
“Oh. I do get it. There’s something in it for you.”
“That took you long enough. I think the scum you’ve been hanging around with has addled your brains—though you were never exceptionally bright to begin with—pretty enough, but not too bright. It’s simple, really. Even you will understand it. There is a faction—a minority, but a very rich, very powerful minority—who wants to begin putting people in political power who will hear their voices and act on their ideals. They don’t like much that isn’t human, white, and upper middle class.”
“What?” Aphrodite felt nauseous. Her mother was literally on her deathbed, scheming like a super villain. It would be hilarious if it were a scene in a movie. But it was real. Too, too real.
“I said, human, white, and upper middle class. You know—people who make just enough money to think they have money, so they start donating to political campaigns. Anyway, it’s a very good thing that we are human, white, and rich. Truly rich and not nouveau riche. They’re useful, but so, so tacky.” She patted at a strand of her hair before continuing. “Anyway, as I was saying before you interrupted—you by my side during the campaign would be perfect. It can be as if you’ve risen from the dead—the prodigal returned to your mother’s bosom after realizing the error of your ways and denouncing the monsters among us. The voters will love it.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors.”
“You get the point.”
“I do. Mother, whether it is convenient for you or not, I am not human.”
Her mother waved away Aphrodite’s words. “What does that matter? You look it. Play your cards right and you can pass.”
“Pass?”
“For human, you idiot.”
Aphrodite felt herself go very still inside. She stared at her mother, perhaps really seeing her for the first time. She is a monster.
“You’re a monster.” The words slipped from Aphrodite’s mouth before she knew she’d spoken.
LaFont’s laughter was edged with spite. “That’s ironic coming from you.”
“No, what’s ironic is that you are literally a monster. Or you will be one very soon. Mother, you were bitten by a red vampyre from an alternative world. In that world the bite of a red vampyre is infectious. You will die in three days. Then you will rise in three more, but you will be one of them. A monster. And there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Liar!” Her mother spat the word at her. “You’ve always been such a liar!”
“No, Mother. That’s one of the many things you’ve always been wrong about. I don’t lie. It’s one of my strengths and one of my faults. So let me tell you something else, honestly. Not only will you rise a monster, but you will also die a monster. Your puny human body can’t tolerate the Change. It’ll burn out. You will die. The end. And you know what? If I had the power to heal you—I would not. You don’t deserve it. The world is better off without you. Goodbye, Mother. I won’t be seeing you again.”
Aphrodite stumbled blindly for the door as her mother screamed obscenities at her.
“Miss LaFont?” The nurse rushed from the nurses’ station, sending concerned glances at the closed door through which her mother’s tide of obscenities could still be heard. “Is everything all right?”
“No. She knows she’s going to die. As is typical for my mother, she doesn’t take bad news well. She probably needs to be sedated.”
The nurse touched Aphrodite’s arm gently. “I meant with you. Is everything all right with you?”
Aphrodite blinked fast. I will not cry. “Again, no. But I’m used to it. My mother poisons everything she touches. Though she might be right about one thing—me thinking that she had changed even a little probably means I am an idiot.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said kindly. “It means you’re the daughter of an unpleasant woman.”
“Maybe it means both. Excuse me.”
Aphrodite fled for the elevator and punched the button for the ground floor. Before the elevator doors opened, she’d fished through her purse and found the flask she kept there. She pulled it out. It was a beautiful thing—silver, monogrammed with an ornate A. Aphrodite unscrewed the cap, lifted the flask to her lips, and drank deeply, grimacing only slightly at the peaty taste of the twenty-one-year-old single malt scotch.