Driving Mr. Dead

“And that crashed the plane?”



“He pitched forward against the controls, sent the plane into a tailspin it couldn’t recover from,” he said, closing his eyes as if to ward off the memory. “There are so many potential outcomes. I can’t keep up with them all. I had to retreat to somewhere where I could control more of the variables. The relief from the short-term chaos is wonderful.”



“But every day is the same, isn’t it? And you have so many of them,” I said, my heart breaking just a little at the very idea. “So I guess when you seem disaffected and bored, you really are disaffected and bored. You’ve been there, done that, and even when a few surprises come your way, they’re spoiled for you. That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. And I was once the Dancing Hen at Clucky’s Lucky Chicken Shack.”



“The light-fixture scenario was the first full-fledged vision I’ve had in your presence, which was why I was so smug about it.” He moved onto the bed and took my hand in his. “With you, I never know how things are going to turn out. You are a constantly shifting variable. It seems there are too many possibilities to see. In essence, you’ve shorted out my gift.”



“I’m sorry.”



The corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t be. It’s made the last two days rather frustrating but incredibly entertaining.”



“Well, I’m happy to be of service.”



He leaned in close to kiss my neck. I stayed perfectly still, battling my urge to respond as his lips trailed along my skin. “Good night.”



“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep now?” I laughed as he settled in beside me, careful not to touch bare skin to the bedspread. “I just found out that my road-trip buddy can see the future. It’s a bit of an eye opener. I have a question or two.”



“Such as?”



“Where do you come from? How did you become a vampire? How did you discover you could see ‘glimpses’?”



“That’s more than two questions.”



“Humor me.”



“Shall I start at the beginning?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m from Derbyshire. My father was a baronet who took himself very seriously. I was the second son, the spare to the heir, as they say. Almost nothing was expected of me. My job was to remain respectable and wait in the wings in case some ridiculous riding accident claimed my brother, with whom I was not very close.”



“So joining the army was a rebellion against a lack of expectation?”



“Well, Father eventually got over the shock of any son of his engaging in manual labor.”



“Pause for the implied horrified gasp.”



“Obviously,” he said, winking at me in a way that had my insides going all squishy. “After Father got over the shock, he told anyone who would listen that it was only right that I fulfill my familial obligation to the crown. If the aristocracy didn’t step forward to stamp out the upstart colonial agitators, who would?”



“I hate to be the one to point this out, but the upstart colonial agitators whipped your collective British ass.”



“I think you very much enjoy pointing that out,” he muttered. “Anyway, I was sent off with his blessing and with all the pomp and circumstance he considered appropriate. I was a happy soldier. I enjoyed following orders. As the war lagged on, we heard rumors of battalions being picked off from the far reaches of the battlefields, of bodies disappearing from the aftermath while the surgeons searched for survivors. By the time Cornwallis finally grasped that he’d lost, we’d attracted avid vampire epicures, who enjoyed feeding on the wounded in the confusion of battle. When they realized that the war was winding down and their favorite cuisine was leaving the country, they snatched us from the camps in increasing numbers. Myself included.



“I would spare you the details, but let’s just say that my turning was bloody, horrific, the sort of story we tell spoiled, modern vampires who complain about their own rebirth. And I had trouble adjusting to my new life. After so many years of war, you would think that a few more lives wouldn’t matter. But I found that I couldn’t kill again, particularly when I could see the results of their deaths while I fed. Children left without parents. Wives left unprotected and broken. I had to train myself to feed sparingly, carefully. But my gift was very valuable in other ways. It helped me avoid detection by humans, to find the best prey. That became more challenging as the population and its mobility increased. Still, I was able to see more of the world, make a living at a trade, neither of which I had ever thought was possible. It’s been a good life. Difficult sometimes, but a good life.” He looked up at me with a crooked, sheepish grin. “I haven’t told anyone about myself in a long time. Vampires don’t trust their history to humans, as a rule.”



“So why tell me?” I asked.



“Because you shared so much of yourself with me. And because I’m sorry that it seems to hurt you.”



“My life story is not tragic-painful, it’s tragic-embarrassing. There’s a difference,” I told him, much to his amusement. “Sometimes I worry that the reason so many bad things seem to happen around me is that I went against what my parents wanted, like some sort of King Lear–style ungrateful-child karma. I mean, I would have been unhappy going to law school—in some alternative reality where I could actually finish law school. But at least I wouldn’t be so distant from my family. I mean, they’re all huge pains in my ass. With the exception of my relationship with Jason, they dismiss everything I do as just another ‘silly Miranda thing.’”



“What did your parents want for you?”



“Anything but this.” I laughed, gesturing around the room. “They wanted me to marry Jason, stay in the Hollow where they could keep an eye on me. Have babies. Join the PTA.”



“And what did you want?”



“Anything but that,” I said, the words escaping my mouth before I could think too much about how quickly I’d answered.



“And who is this Jason person?”



And I couldn’t but be a little pleased with the hint of jealousy in his voice.



“Way too long of a story to get into now,” I said, yawning widely. “Broken engagement. Big drama.”



“You will tell me about it tomorrow.”



“Yes. Tell me more about you,” I murmured. He complied, and I drifted off to the sound of his voice, smooth and honeyed.



SLEEPING AT THE WHEEL TENDS TO MAKE YOUR PASSENGERS NERVOUS



7



I had sweet dreams of citrus scents and smooth, cool skin. I was rolling on soft white sheets while strong hands kneaded my back, slipping between my thighs to play my body like a violin. I was lost in the sensation of hands sliding over my skin as I floated on waves and waves of pleasure. Every cell of my body was poised for release. Just one more swish of his finger against my little bundle of nerves, and I would scream—“Collin!”



My eyes snapped open, mid-orgasm, as I writhed on the bed. I breathed heavily through my nose, riding out the last flutters and twisting my fingers in the sheets. My skin was coated in a light sheen of sweat, the back of my neck drenched.



I sat up carefully. The room was empty when I woke, a chair wedged under the doorknob. I would think about how he had managed to get out of the room with a chair propped against the door at another time. My bag was packed and all of my belongings gathered on the desk. It was still dark out, but I was determined to get an early start this morning. I had just enough cash to budget for gas-station coffee and a doughnut, which wasn’t exactly the breakfast of champions, but it would have to do.



On top of my suitcase was a little folded piece of paper.



Miranda,



Good morning. I tried to fuel up the car while you were asleep. I watched you driving and followed the procedures you use, with the exception of waving my middle finger at other drivers who follow too closely. Overall, I consider my first modern driving experience to be a success. Putting gas in the car was another story. Please tell Miss Scanlon that I’ll pay for the repairs.



“No, no, no!” I gasped, running to the motel window. The car was parked right outside our room, half in and half out of the parking space. It seemed that Collin didn’t know how to open the hatch for the gas tank. So he’d simply stuck his fingers into the groove and forced the door open with his vampire strength. Three finger-depth dents now marked the side panel, and the hatch door hung by the tiniest shred of a hinge.



I made a strange noise somewhere between a squawk and a sob. “Shiiiit!” I shouted, clapping my hand over my mouth. A hysterical giggle burst up from my chest, bubbling up through my mouth. And suddenly, I just didn’t care whether I woke up the rap-loving bachelors upstairs.



“He was trying to do something nice,” I told myself, squinching my eyes shut and clenching my teeth. “He was trying to help. Don’t freak out. It’s not like a broken gas door is that much worse than the new hood ornaments.” Groaning, I returned to reading the note.



Also, you will need to put gas in the car, as I’d forgotten that I did not have a wallet when I arrived at the station.



I snorted. “Of course.”



I will see you in Omaha tonight.



“Well, that was a very pleasant note, completely lacking in biting sarcasm,” I murmured. “Oh, wait, here we go.”



P.S. If I thought you made interesting statements while awake, imagine my astonishment at your candor while you are asleep. I didn’t know some of those acts were anatomically possible. I pledge to spend more time on the Internet, so I can catch up.



What did I say? What did I—Oh, Lord, did I moan? I seemed to recall that there was a lot of moaning … And giggling.



“Fuck a duck,” I groaned.



I drove like a bat out of hell for most of the morning, keeping the speedometer in that “ten mile over the limit” cushion that cops tended to overlook.



I found myself worrying about whether Collin was comfortable in his little cubby. It made me sad to think of him in his crisp suit, lying in a sort of coffin with his hands folded over his chest. Then again, as far as I knew, vampires slept in the fetal position, sucking their thumbs. Did the bumps of the road disturb him? Was he too hot, too cold? Did vampires feel these things in their “sleep”? Did he have a pillow? Did vampires need pillows? Ultimately, I decided there wasn’t much I could do, since opening the cubby to check on him would expose him to sunlight and kill him.



I used my time, navigating the rolling fields of Nebraska, to hash and rehash the events of the previous evening. What exactly was going on between Collin and me? Twenty-four hours before, I’d seriously considered lighting him on fire and blaming a faulty cigarette lighter. And somehow I thought it would be a good idea to roll around with him on a filthy motel carpet like a recently deflowered teenager on prom night?



I had a healthy sexual appetite, but nothing prepared me for the visceral responses that Collin drew from me. What did it say about me that I could get angry with Jason for telling Lisa that he loved her, but I could kiss Collin?



Collin was funny, without meaning to be. He was smart enough to be annoyed by my chaos and mess, but he also recognized that there was entertainment value in it. He listened to me, really listened, not just as a next step toward getting into my pants. He honestly wanted to understand what was going on in my head … if only I understood what was going on in my head. He knew what it was like, coming from a family that didn’t quite know what to do with you. And he made me laugh.



Last but not least, there was the fact that he was gorgeous in a tortured Byronic, Edward Rochester-meets-Lucius-Malfoy sort of way. He made me want to climb him like a proper British tree, for no other reason than that wrinkling his clothes would annoy him severely and, I hoped, provoke him into spanking me. He made me dizzy. He made my ears ring.