Blood Call

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Because of the teeth.

  Long, sharp canines, glowing and nacreous, protruding from the top lip and dimpling the thin lower lip, only they didn’t look like a dentist’s job or a fake Halloween decoration.

  No. Their wicked little points looked real. The wheezing breaths were all too real.

  Copper filled Anna’s mouth. Her stomach gave a violent lurch and her fingers spasmed tight around the gun. She was barely aware of backing up until she ran into the second twin bed in the room, her abused ankle sending a red jolt all the way up to her hip.

  It paused, cocking its head, and took a deep, whistling breath. Sniffing the air, its head making a small lizardlike movement. Her art school roommate had once had an iguana as a pet, and the little flick of this human-shaped thing’s head reminded her so much of Mr. Handbag that her stomach gave another huge, cramping twist.

  “Oh my God,” Anna whispered.

  There was a small click. “Take another step toward her, and I will kill you.” Josiah sounded terribly hoarse, and exhausted. “I don’t care what you are.”

  Silence filled the room, dark water in a cup. Anna’s knees gave out; she dropped down onto the bed, barely remembering the gun in her hands. The springs squeaked.

  Oh, my word. She sounded prim even to herself. This just keeps getting better.

  The creature straightened, slowly. Then it spoke. “I could kill you both, with little trouble. Your bullets are quite the wrong sort.”

  Anna’s left hand freed itself from the gun and flew to her mouth, clamping over her lips with hysterical strength. With those teeth, the man sounded like he had a minor speech impediment. Your bulle-th are quite the wrong thort. Rancid giggles rose in her throat, but she swallowed them with an effort that left her shaking. Her stomach lurched again, settled, and promised more trouble in the future.

  “Wrong or not, a hollow-point in the brain might not be a bad idea. Back away from her, goddammit. Now.” There was another little metallic click. Josiah had never spoken to her like this, and she was suddenly grateful.

  There was no warning. One moment the man was there, the next he was halfway across the room, at the foot of the bed Anna still stupidly sat on. She blinked, letting out a blurt of surprise that might have been funny if she’d been watching someone else enduring this, and things got very confused for a few seconds.

  Her wrist gave an agonized shriek of pain as it was twisted. There was something hard and thin across her chest; she was hauled up and across the bed in one movement.

  The thin man with the funny teeth and the bone-white cheeks held her a good foot off the floor, with no apparent effort. Anna’s feet dangled, making small, fruitless motions, and her shoulders both hurt because he squeezed, hard enough to keep her hanging but not choking her. Josiah took a few steps forward, to the end of the second bed, and his eyes glittered dangerously.

  The man had grabbed her, and had his back to the wall, Anna held in front of him like a ludicrous shield. She kicked, thrashing, until his arm slipped a little and the pressure mounted. “I can snap your neck in a trice, fair Anne,” he whispered, his voice as flat and wrong as a badlytuned piano. “Be still. And you, with your gun.” Terrible contempt shaded the creature’s tone. “Close the window, so we are not heard at our parley. I give my word I will not harm her unnecessarily.”

  “Very comforting.” If Josiah could have sneered, he probably would have. “I’m not about to turn my back on you.”

  The arm tightened. Anna bit back a gasp, creaking pain mounting in her chest, and saw Josiah’s shoulders tense in the dim light.

  The creature made a small amused sound. “Turning your back is not necessary. Closing the window is.”

  Josiah did back up, carefully, and managed to shut the window without lowering the gun. He even locked it.

  Then he reached over and flicked the light switch.

  The creature hissed and Anna blinked, her eyes stinging. The rattling sibilance in her ear made her think of dark riverbanks, of fanged things lying in wait in thick silt. Things with long claws, bad tempers, and reptilian plating.

  Hungry things.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. She blinked away the stinging, Josiah a blurred shape across the room, comforting and solid.

  “God has not forsaken you. You are, after all, still alive.” The arm, hard as a bony iron bar, loosened slightly. He set her on her feet again, but didn’t let up on the pressure across her shoulders and chest. “Your brother, fair Anne. I can smell him in your veins. Where is he?”

  The mention of Eric was like a pinch in a sore spot. “He’s dead.” Her voice wouldn’t work above a cracked whisper. “I found him d-dead, in his apartment.” Eric’s puffed, discolored face rose in her memory like a silent scream; she closed her eyes and tried to push the sight away. Her stomach was exceedingly unhappy with this turn of events.

  “Ah. That explains…” But apparently the creature still wasn’t satisfied. “How did he die?”

  Josiah sounded coldly furious. “For God’s sake, leave her alone. Whoever killed Eric slit his throat and left him in his apartment with the heat on high to speed decomposition. The police are sitting on the news of his death. There’s no investigation. Nor is there any goddamn investigation of his editor’s death. If you want anything out of either of us, stranger, I’d counsel you to let go of her and start giving some goddamn answers.”

  Tension crackled in the air. It felt like a lifetime before the slender bony arm slithered away from her collarbones. He even pushed her away, gently. “Eric is truly dead.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  “He is.” Josiah moved forward, smoothly.

  Anna spotted the gun on the floor. She’d dropped it, like an idiot. She was about to bend to pick it up, her feet unsteady, when it was scooped up by a luminous white hand missing three fingers. Only the thumb and the index finger remained, and the stubs of the other three moved in concert, as if trying to grasp the heavy metal.

  Bile scorched her throat. She looked up into the face of the creature who had just let go of her.

  The teeth were gone. Now he looked like a thin, weary, but still-attractive man, deep lines scored into his face by pain and experience, his dark eyes no longer tainted with red, their depths fully human. His hair fell over his eyes, greasy dark tendrils moving like dreadlocks. A scar ran across his forehead, and another livid one up his cheek, plus a band of thick scarring across his throat. His long-sleeved T-shirt was torn, and the jeans he wore were crusted with dark stuff she didn’t want to think about. His feet were as mauled as his hands, and she saw more ropes of shiny pink scar tissue on his ankles and wrists.

  Her mouth was dry and smooth as glass. He looks like he’s been through a blender. It’s cold out there, why is he running around barefoot?

  The man cradled the gun in his wounded hand, examining her. She got the idea he was waiting for something.

  “I think we have a spare shirt,” she said finally, straightening to brush her own hair back. She heard a slight sound behind her, as if Josiah had sucked in a harsh breath. “But I don’t think any of Josiah’s pants will fit you. Or his sh-shoes.”

  The man regarded her steadily. Then, of all things, a twinkle of actual amusement came into his eyes. He presented her with the gun, neatly. “You are much like your brother, child. I thank you for your bravery.”

  It’s not bravery. I’m too tired to be scared. “You knew Eric?” I sound like I’m eleven years old. And frightened. It’s not my fault. I can’t breathe. How can he move so quickly?

  “Not very well. Your brother came into that hellish place and loosed my bonds. He promised to meet me in the church of St. Simeon and bring me my ring, since I could not approach its hiding place without betraying it. I waited among the candles, but no sign of him appeared unto me. Given my status, I cannot say I was surprised.” The eerie sibilance had gone out of the man’s voice. He now looked normal, as normal as any beggar with mutilated hands and ragged clothes.

 
; “Your…status.” Her hand was numb, but she closed her cold fingers over the gun. Josiah made another slight sound, and she felt his hand wrap around her shoulder, warm and comforting.

  The other man’s flesh was cold as marble, or at least, the finger she could feel pressing against her own was. He grinned, a wide terrible grin, and she saw his canines again. Abnormally long, and looking very sharp; his front teeth were a little too small, so the canines were set forward, curving viciously.

  “My jaw distends,” he said, calmly. “So the teeth can drive in. Do you require a demonstration?”

  “No. No thank you.” She backed up a hurried two steps, bumping into Josiah, who pushed her aside. He had another gun, and kept it trained on the man. I am going crazy. I’ve finally snapped. I am believing something I shouldn’t. “Who are you?”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to ask. She wanted to ask what are you? and stopped herself at the last second.

  “My name is Christopher. You may call me Kit, fair Anne. I come with explanations, and if your protector will lay aside his weapon and speak with me, I think we may find more profit in league than in adversity.”

  “Anna?” Josiah, pushing her aside even further. She would fall on the bed if he kept this up.

  “Stop shoving me,” she found herself saying. “All right, you—Christopher. If you knew Eric, then tell me something about him.”

  The man’s smile didn’t falter. He dropped his mangled hand back down to his side. When he stood still, the reptilian quality of movement wasn’t so pronounced. He looked almost human. “He smoked Lucky Strikes, and often took a shot of Jack Daniel’s before going on a ‘mission.’ To find the truth. Not because people deserved to know, but because he wanted to know. To lift the veil.”

  Her shoulders dropped. She reached, meaning to push Josiah’s hand with the gun down. Josiah took a half step away, subtly moving forward. He was, she realized, trying to get between her and the other man.

  Her heart hurt, a swift flash of pain. “Josiah—”

  “I’m a little harder to convince.” Josiah’s eyes were locked with the other man’s. “You bit me, you son of a bitch.”

  “It was necessary. Put the gun down. It will wake someone, if you fire.”

  The tension in the air ratcheted up another notch. Then it snapped, and Josiah lowered the gun. He cast a swift look at Anna, as if gauging her reliability. Now she saw a thin trickle of blood threading down his collarbone, vanishing into his dark sweater. Her head started to feel very light, and a rushing sound filled her ears.

  “Her pulse has increased.” Dry, academic, the pale man made no movement. “She may swoon.”

  I have never fainted in my life. I’m not about to start now, dammit. She struggled for self-control, won by a bare thread. “I will not. Come on, Josiah. Please.”

  Josiah didn’t look convinced. He was wearing his stubborn expression, the one he used to use often during fights, his voice growing calmer and softer as Anna’s rose higher and sharper. “He bit me.”

  “He’s on Eric’s side. I wonder if the ring’s in the post office box?” As soon as she said it, Josiah cast her a withering look, and she realized she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that little tidbit. The second man said nothing, but Josiah slid his gun back into his shoulder holster and reached over to take the one from Anna’s nerveless fingers. “Give me that.” His eyes never left the other man. “All right. Anna, dig in that bag over there, the black one, and bring me the first-aid kit. You, Christopher, whoever you are, sit down there, at the table. And you better start talking. None of this is making any goddamn sense.”

  “Here is something that does make sense, then. There is a brownstone building, at 1487 East Morris Street. The rich and powerful of this city go there for injections that make them younger.” Christopher padded soundlessly across the carpet with his mutilated feet, brushing past Josiah, who stepped gracefully aside and turned on his heel—at least he had his shoes on—to keep him in sight. The thin man folded himself down in one of the two cheap chairs. “The fools are after immortality.”

  Anna paused. Their luggage was between the two beds, and she saw the little black bag. “Immortality?” She sounded like she’d been kicked in the stomach; she was having a little trouble breathing. Her head suddenly hurt, a sharp pain to match the one in her chest. “But that’s…it’s impossible.”

  “It isn’t as difficult as you might think. But they have gone about it the wrong way.” Christopher pushed up his tattered sleeve, his mangled hand having a little trouble with the fabric.

  Scored into his arm were track marks, hideous ropes and tunnels of scarring. “These will fade,” he said quietly. “They had trouble finding a vein, near the end; I was running dry. Like a well. Despite bleeding me from arteries in my fingers, and hobbling my feet with less care than a horse’s. Your brother, fair Anne, may never have believed I could escape, even with the service he did me of loosening my bonds.”

  “Jesus God.” Anna’s left hand clamped over her mouth again. Her stomach rose in revolt; she pushed it down with an effort of will.

  “Immortality?” Josiah sank down on the bed Anna had slept in. She couldn’t see the bleeding side of his throat, and she knew she should bring him the first-aid kit. But she stayed where she was, staring at the ruin of Christopher’s arm. How many needles had poked and probed there? To take blood?

  A shiver ran from her heels to her scalp, an electric zing. Jesus. This is insane. Completely, totally insane.

  “Yes.” Christopher’s face was suddenly entirely human, under the ropes of greasy hair. “They are convinced they’ve found a way to have it without the Thirst. Now they have only what they have managed to hoard, and are desperately seeking to repossess the fount of their newfound good health.” He smiled, a grin that carefully didn’t show the tips of his canines but was nonetheless wide and feral.

  Josiah gained his feet in a single galvanic movement. “The file is right there on the table next to you,” he said, just as quietly. “All the information Eric managed to gather, unless there’s more hidden in the post office box. I assume moving around after dawn is going to be a problem for you.”

  “In my current state, yes.” The dark eyes flicked past Josiah, rested on her. “She looks ill, and her pulse is still high. Dangerously high.”

  “I’m all right.” To prove it, Anna opened the black bag and started rooting around in it for a first-aid kit. There were clips of ammunition, heavy and clicking against each other as she pushed them aside, and that made her feel even woozier. Don’t you dare throw up, or faint, or do anything stupid. “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t lie.” Josiah was suddenly looming over her. He held out a hand, she took it, and he pulled her to her feet only to push her down to sit on the tangled bed. Now she could see the wounded side of his throat. The trickle of blood came from two punctures, neat and aesthetic, over the jugular.

  She stared at them and swallowed dryly.

  Josiah untangled his fingers from hers, but not without a reassuring squeeze. He gave her a tight smile, too, one that didn’t light his eyes. “What about the other assholes, the ones who turned to dust?”

  “Dust?” Christopher cocked his head. “Ah. So they were trying the gene therapy. I wondered why they wanted bone marrow.”

  “Gene therapy.” Josiah dug in the little black bag, coming up with the first-aid kit in a matter of seconds. “Holy Christ. This hurts.”

  “My apologies. You are a canny adversary, for a mortal.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t say things like that.” Josiah set the small blue plastic box on the bed next to her, then did a strange thing. He half-bent over, cupping Anna’s face in his hands. His palms were hard and warm. “Anna? Baby, you okay?”

  His eyes were green again, deep enough to drown in, and very close to hers. He searched her face, almost nose-to-nose; she saw the faint scar at the end of his right eyebrow and the flecks of gold in his irises. Seen this close, she could see ot
her long-healed scars and the beginnings of crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t a young man, really.

  Not anymore.

  “I think I’m all right.” To her immense relief, her voice didn’t tremble. “Just a little…shaken. That’s all.”

  “That’s my girl.” His smile was genuine, even if tight. He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. It was odd, he had gone so long without touching her, and it still felt as natural and welcome as it ever had. “You just keep breathing, and we’ll get through this. Okay?”

  She stopped herself from nodding just in time. If she moved, she would dislodge his hands, and she didn’t want that. The warm touch made the spinning nausea lessen a bit. “You’re taking this really well,” she muttered, and watched his eyes light up for a moment with genuine amusement.

  “When you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable…” His thumb stroked her cheekbone, a light feathering touch. “Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”

  Her chest still hurt, but it was a sweet pain. She bit her lip and wished she hadn’t, because his gaze dropped to her mouth and his smile widened just a little, before vanishing entirely. Josiah gave her another soft, almost platonic kiss on her forehead and straightened, the wound on his neck still trickling a thin thread of blood. He’s bleeding, and he’s still taking time to make sure I’m all right. She had to swallow twice, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. The next thought was completely unexpected, and it hurt even more.

  I should never have left him. No matter what he is.

  Was she a complete and utter hypocrite now, or had she been one then? Or both?

  Josiah flipped open the first-aid kit and found a package of sticking plasters. “All right, Christopher. Start talking.”

  “You may call me Kit. And you are?”

  Josiah’s eyebrows drew together. It was his I-am-dealing-with-an-idiot look, the one he used to use with dimwit waiters or shop clerks who tried to overcharge her. It usually appeared right before he intervened with a quiet word and a significant glare, and oddly enough, it made everything about this madness seem…well, manageable.