She was shaking but she couldn't cry.
The fire roared on. Tiny sparks showered upward.
I don't care if it was justified. It wasn't like killingin my dream. It wasn't easy and it wasn't naturaland I'll never forget the way he looked at me.... Then she thought,Ash.
She'd been so paralyzed she'd almost forgotten him. Now she turned around, almost too frightened to look. She made herself crawl over to where he was still lying.
So much blood... how can he be all right? But if he's dead ... if it's all been for nothing ...
But Ash was breathing. And when she touched hisface, trying to find a clean place in the blood, he moved. He stirred, then he tried to sit up.
"Stay there." Jeremy's shirt and jeans were on the ground. Mary-Lynnette picked up the shirt and dabbed at Ash's neck. "Ash, keep still...."
He tried to sit up again. "Don't worry. I'll protectyou."
"Lie down," Mary-Lynnette said. When he didn't, she pushed at him. "There's nothing to do. He's dead."
He sank back, eyes shutting. "Did I kill him?"
Mary-Lynnette made a choked sound that wasn't exactly a laugh. She was trembling with relief-Ash could breathe and talk, and he even sounded like hisnormal fatuous self. She'd had no idea how good thatcould sound. And underneath the swabbing shirt she could see that his neck was already healing.
Whathad been gashes were becoming flat pink scars.
Vampire flesh was incredible.
Ash swallowed. "You didn't answer my question."
"No. You didn't kill him. I did."
His eyes opened. They just looked at each other for a moment. And in that moment Mary-Lynnette knew they were both realizing a lot of things.
Then Ash said, "I'm sorry," and his voice had never been less fatuous. He pushed the shirt awayand sat up. "I'm so sorry."
She didn't know who reached first, but they were holding each other. And Mary-Lynnette was thinking about hunters and danger and laughing at death. About all the things it meant to really belong to the night.
And about how she would never look in the mirror and see the same person she used to see.
"At least it's over now," Ash said. She could feel his arms around her, his warmth and solidity, his support. "There won't be any more killings. It's over."
It was, and so were a lot of other things.
The first sob was hard to get out. So hard thatshe'd have thought there would be a pause beforethe next-but, no. There was no pause between that one and the next, or the next or the next. She cried for a long time. And the fire burned itself out and the sparks flew upward and Ash held her all the while.
Chapter 17
Well, she wasn't telling humans anything-but she did defy the authority of the Night World," Ash said in his most lazy, careless voice.
Quinn said succinctly, "How?"
It was late Monday afternoon and the sun was streaming through the western windows of the Burdock farmhouse. Ash was wearing a brand-new shirt bought at the Briar Creek general store, a turtleneckwith long sleeves that covered the almost-healedscars on his throat and arms. His jeans werebleached white, his hair was combed over the scabon the back of his head, and he was playing the scene of his life.
"She knew about a rogue werewolf and didn't tell.anybody about him."
"So she was a traitor. And what did you do?"
Ash shrugged. "Staked her."
Quinn laughed out loud.
"No, really," Ash said earnestly, looking intoQuinn's face with what he knew were wide, guileless eyes-probably blue. "See?"
Without taking his eyes from Quinn's he whipped a pink-and-green country quilt off the bundle on the couch.
Quinn's eyebrows flew upward.
He stared for a moment at Aunt Opal, who had been cleaned so that you'd never know she'd ever been buried, and who had the picket stake carefully replaced in her chest.
Quinn actually swallowed. It was the first time Ash had ever seen him falter.
"You really did it," he said. There was reluctant respect in his voice-and definite shock.
You know, Quinn, I don't think you're quite as tough as you pretend. After all, no matter how you try to act like an Elder, you're only eighteen. And you'll always be eighteen, and next year maybe I'll be older.
"Well," Quinn said, blinking rapidly. "Well. Well___ I have to hand it to you."
"Yeah, I just decided the best thing to do was cleanup the whole situation. She was getting on, you know."
Quinn's dark eyes widened fractionally. "I have toadmit -I didn't think you were that ruthless."
"You've gotta do what you've gotta do. For the family honor, of course."
Quinn cleared his throat. "So-what about thewerewolf?"
"Oh, I took care of that, too." Ash meandered over and whipped a brown-and-white quilt off Exhibit B. The wolf was a charred and contorted corpse. It had given Mary-Lynnette hysterics when Ash insisted on pulling it out of the car, and Quinn's nostrils quivered when he looked at it.
"Sorry, it does smell like burnt hair, doesn't it? Igot a little sooty myself, keeping him in the fire...."
"You burned himalive?"
"Well, it is one of the traditional methods....""Just put the blanket back, all right?" Ash put the blanket back.
"So, you see, everything's taken care of. No humans involved, no extermination necessary."
"Yes, all right ..." Quinn's eyes were still on the quilt. Ash decided the moment was right.
"And by the way, it turns out the girls had aperfectly legitimate reason for coming. They just wanted to learn to hunt. Nothing illegal about that,is there?"
"What? Oh. No." Quinn glanced at Aunt Opal, then finally looked back at Ash. "So they're coming back now that they've learned it."