Drink Deep (Chicagoland Vampires 5)

The heavy weight in my stomach didn't disagree, but that's not what he needed to hear right now.

"Work the problem," I told him. "Work the problem in front of you, because that's the only thing you can do. Don't worry about the next one until this one's solved." I squeezed his arm. "Things wil get worse. Consider it an inevitability and know that I'l be there to help work the problem when it comes."

For a second, he closed his eyes, relief obvious on his face. Maybe he'd needed a partner for a long time. Maybe Jonah had needed someone to trust, as wel .

"I'l be at the House, and I'l make my way back here once I'm confident things are in hand."

I'm confident things are in hand."

I gave him a nod, and he ran back into Benson's to grab troops. I stared back at the destruction in front of me, unsure what to do.

"Oh, my God!" someone screais>

I snapped my head in the direction of the screams. The third eruption down the street had popped up squarely beneath a sedan, and the occupant - a woman I guessed was in her late twenties - had climbed out of the car and was perched atop the mountain of asphalt and soil. That mountain was probably forty feet tal  - the height of a four-story building.

Within a split second, her foot slipped, and she was dangling over an edge of cantilevered asphalt with nothing below her but vehicles and street.

I started running.

"I'm coming!" I told her, as a crowd of humans gathered below, hands over mouths, pointing at the sky. "Just hang on!"

While thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, I climbed up the old-fashioned way - hand over hand. And the going wasn't easy. The hil was covered by chunks of broken asphalt over loose dirt and rock, so the entire mountain was slippery. It was impossible to move forward without sliding back a little, and I lost my foothold every few seconds.

The woman screamed again, clearly terrified, so with dirty nails and slipping boots, I kept my eyes on the dirt in front of me and moved, ever so slowly upward, final y mounting the plateau of asphalt.

I kicked my legs over the side, and when I was sure it was stable enough, crawled on hands and knees toward the girl. I could see her fingers - dirty with bleeding nails -

on the edge of the asphalt.

"I'm here," I told her. "I'm here." I bel y-crawled to the edge and glanced over it. We were forty feet from the ground.

Assuming I remembered how to jump safely, the fal wouldn't bother me. But at this height, she'd wouldn't be so lucky.

I found her wrist and grabbed on.

She sobbed and loosened her grip on the asphalt with that hand, which would make it easier for me to pul her up, but gave me the burden of al of her weight. It's not that she was heavy - she was a very petite girl - but we were both dangling over a square of asphalt connected only by our fingers wrapped around sweaty, dirty skin.

"Don't let go," I told her.

Her face reddened with the effort, but she managed a nod. I had the strength to lift her up, but her skin was damp with sweat, and my fingers were slipping. This wasn't working.

"What's your name?"

"Miss - Missy," she stuttered out. "Missy."

"Missy, I need you to do something for me, okay?" I wrapped another hand around her wrist. Her hand slipped another centimeter, and a bolt of lightning lit the sky.

She screamed, and I saw the pulse of fear in her eyes.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God."

"Missy, listen to me. Missy. Missy!" I repeated her name until she met my gaze again. "I can help you up here, but I need you to help me, too, okay? I need you to give me your other hand."

Her gaze skittered to her ragged fingernails, which were barely gripping the edge of the asphalt. "I can't."

"You can," I assured her. "You absolutely can. And I'm strong enough to grab you and pul you up, but I need your help okay?"

She slipped another centimeter, and as the crowd below us screamed, I fought back my own rising panic.

"On three," I told her. "I want you to give me your left hand.

You can do this. I know you can. Okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not strong enough."

I'm not sure if she slipped or let go, but I reached out and grabbed her hand just as her fingertips lost contact with the blacktop. With both wrists in hand, I braced myself and pul ed her up and over the ledge.

She immediately wrapped her arms around me. "Oh, God, thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, helping her take a seat on the ledge. She embraced me in a hug, tears flowing now, and I let her cry until she'd calmed down enough to let me pul away.

"You did real y good," I told her.

"I stil have to get down," she sniffed out. "I was only going to get milk. From the store. Just milk. It's the vampires, isn't it? This is their fault?"

My chest went cold, but I pushed down the burst of anger and my urge to argue with her. This was neither the time, nor the place.

I glanced around. Firemen with ladders were moving toward our mountain. They made eye contact with me, and motioned that they'd be up.

I looked around the rest of Wrigleyvil e, which looked like a disaster area - dunes of dirt and asphalt and cars riddling the street, people bleeding, dust and smoke everywhere.

I looked back at Missy. "There are two firemen on the way to get you down," I said, pointing at them. "Wil you be okay here until they get here? I need to get back to work.

There might be other people who need help."

"Of course. God, thank you, thank you."

"You're welcome." I careful y stood up again, but looked back at her. "I'm a vampire," I told her. "We didn't cause this, but we're trying to stop it." I smiled kindly. "Okay?"

Her face went a little more pale, but she nodded. "Okay, okay. Sure. Thank you."

"You're welcome." With a final smile, I took the first truly, truly awful step that turned into the oh-my-God-fucking-fantastic jump back to the ground.

I hit the ground in a crouch again, one hand on the ground, and lifted my gaze to stare back into Morgan's. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his clubbing attire stil perfectly clean. Apparently, he hadn't bothered to help.

I shook my head rueful y, and hoped he was embarrassed by his inaction. And if he wasn't, if there was some deeper, better reason for his inaction than his refusal to dirty his fancy clothes, I was going to have to investigate that, too. I was going to have to figure out what the hel was going on in Navarre House. But, again, that was a problem for another day.