Page 44 of Caretaker

I stumbled back as terror screamed through me—her anger pressed in on me, sudden and overpowering and smothering—and my mind stuttered to a frozen halt. I couldn’t think, breathe, or remember.

Her power was…insane.

Then, it was like she’d slammed on the brakes of a speeding truck, and the resulting screech of tires on pavement nearly deafened me. I put my hands over my ears, a habit I’d acquired when the sudden memories of dying, screaming people and infected vampires crashed into my brain.

The sudden silence was deafening.

I looked up when I felt fingers on my head and found the old man leaning over me, his ancient eyes nearly buried in centuries of wrinkles. He stared down at me, unsmiling, his gaze more mesmerizing than any vampire’s.

And I knew that unlike the vampires, this man could take my mind with a mere thought.

But I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

I stayed on my knees, staring up at him, my body covered with gooseflesh, hot tears springing to my eyes.

“Be still,” he murmured. “You are safe.”

I nodded. “I know. With you,” I whispered, “I feel it.”

Nadine recoiled, and I glanced at her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, her hand to her chest. But she said nothing, so I returned my attention to the man.

“You will scent the woman,” he told me. “You have only to go to her. You will retrieve the bull. You have only to go to him.”

“Thank you.” My voice cracked and I wanted to grab his hands and rub my face against them. I didn’t, because he might have struck me dead, but I wanted to. “Thank you.”

He gestured at Nadine and after a moment’s hesitation, she turned, quick as a cat, and grabbed the chicken. She’d ripped off his head and began slinging his blood all over me before my sluggish body could react.

And even when I started to leap away, horrified, his silent voice urged me to hold still for it. So I did, because there were no other choices.

Nadine intoned a few words in a language I didn’t understand, then leaned over to trace symbols on my forehead, her bloody finger swirling and dancing over my skin.

“Himself has called you Lady of the Way Station,” she crooned, and I heard regret in her voice. “Himself has called you Caretaker of the Ones, until such a time when you will die.”

And then they turned away from me, and just like that, they were back to being bland, old, and slow, a landlord and his assistant. They strolled back through the front door as slowly and silently as they’d come through it, leaving blood and awe in their wake.