Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  PharMart. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Celia Graves. Dr. Scott’s office was supposed to have cal ed ahead—”

  “Oh wow.” He stared at me, looking startled and afraid. “That’s you? I’m sorry, but—”

  “Look, I’ve been bit, but I’m only partial y changed. You’re in no danger from me.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He wasn’t being sarcastic, but he was stil afraid. “The order’s too big to fit through the

  window. You’l have to come inside.”

  Wel , crap. If it was too big for the window I was probably going to have a hard time fitting it in the car.

  Damn it anyway. “Are you sure it’s going to be okay? People tend to freak when they get a good look at

  me.”

  “I can see why.” He swal owed hard. “Look, park the car and give me a couple minutes to warn

  everybody before you come in.”

  Did I look that bad? A glance in the mirror said I did. The puffy, reddened eyes made them look larger

  and darker than normal and the red tinge had nearly overtaken the amber. “Right.” I pul ed around the

  building and took the closest parking spot that hadn’t been marked for handicapped use only. It put me

  at the last bright edge before the shadows but wel within the protections of the ward. So I shut down

  the engine and waited the requisite minutes before climbing out, making sure my credit card was in my

  wal et. I was betting this little trip would bring me right up to the credit limit, and it’s a high-limit card.

  The automatic doors whooshed smoothly open as I passed beneath the security cameras and into

  the bright fluorescent lights. One of them was flickering a little, and I could hear it buzzing, like a large,

  annoying insect.

  The store was empty. Seriously. Completely empty except for the teenage boy who had talked to me

  through the drive-up window.

  I blinked, looking around. There was a price gun on the counter in Cosmetics, a half-fil ed cart. But

  other than him, no people. Weird. “Where is everybody?”

  “Everybody else went back into the pharmacy area where the wards are better. Just in case.”

  “What, you drew the short straw?” I didn’t mean it to sound bitter, but it did. This whole instil ing fear in

  everyone was getting real y old, real y fast.

  He shrugged. “Dr. Scott’s office said you had been bitten and gone through a partial change but that

  we should be safe. I know him. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Besides, if anyone is going to

  get hurt, I’d rather it was me.”

  A hero in the making. I almost smiled … then remembered the fangs. “Al right then, let’s do this.”

  There was a huge stack of stuff waiting for me at the checkout counter, along with a shopping cart

  ready to take the load. There was a blender, cases of baby food (no formula, thank God), individual

  containers of flavored “shakes” from a popular liquid fast program, a jar containing a liquid form of a

  multivitamin and mineral supplement, jars of dehydrated beef and chicken broth, and more. None of it

  looked particularly appetizing. Of course, part of the problem was that somewhere I could smel fresh,

  hot pizza. The aroma reminded me forcibly of what I wouldn’t be eating … possibly ever again.

  I tried not to be surly about it as he rang up the order. Unfortunately, the total kept going higher, and

  the smel kept getting stronger. By the time he ran my credit card through I was more than a little bit

  grumpy.

  “Do you want some help taking this out to the car?” Now that I hadn’t shown any signs of aggression

  he was starting to relax. He smiled. Despite the crooked teeth, it was a nice smile, friendly, not phony,

  without that leering undertone I got a lot of the time. Since there was more stuff than the cart would

  hold, I accepted, with thanks. I wanted to get out of here and home.

  It took some work to wedge al of my purchases into the trunk and the passenger side of the Miata,

  but we managed. The clerk had straightened up from the trunk and grabbed the cart, starting to turn

  away from me, when he just … froze. The cross at his neck flared white-hot as his face went limp and

  expressionless, green eyes dul and empty. One foot hovered in midair from the step he hadn’t

  completed. Without the cart to balance him, he’d have keeled over and never even realized it.

  I felt cold power like a snake brushing against me, sliding over my skin and moving on. I turned toward

  that power, turned toward the deepest shadows just past the magical barrier, to see three indistinct

  figures leaning casual y against a midsized sedan.

  I couldn’t see their features, but I recognized the man in the center from Dottie’s vision.

  Edgar.

  He struck a match and the light flared orange, casting his features in sharp relief as he puffed a

  cigarette to life. He kil ed the flame with a practiced flick of his wrist, letting the spent matchstick fal to

  the ground at his feet.

  He was dressed much like Dr. Scott had been. Khakis and a polo shirt, standard casual wear for the

  upper middle class. No hint of blood on anything. Either Edgar was seriously good at il usion or he’d

  cleaned up from his earlier “meal.” He looked more like an ordinary businessman than an undead

  monster.

  My eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the second male figure. A black man, he had been kil ed

  in his late teens or early twenties and was dressed in the kind of clothes you’d expect to see on

  campus. He looked just like everybody else … except for his eyes. Those dark brown orbs held the

  knowledge of someone much older. They were without warmth, pity, or any trace of humanity.

  The third figure was a woman, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t see her clearly. It was her

  powerful mind magic that held the boy enthral ed and kept me at bay. But, powerful as she was, she

  apparently couldn’t get past the barriers surrounding the property. Because if she could have, she

  would have. I felt her hunger, her malice at being denied what she considered her rightful prey.

  “Good evening.” Edgar blew out a puff of tobacco-laden smoke as he greeted me, his tone pleasantly

  conversational.

  “Hel o.”

  He glanced at the contents of the overflowing passenger seat, his expression grimly amused. “You

  do realize it would be easier and cheaper to just take that last step?”

  “No, thank you, I’d rather not.” No, thank you? My words sounded odd even to my own ears. But

  Gran had hammered good manners into me and, for the most part, I revert back to them when I’m

  nervous. No matter what I’m thinking, I say the polite thing. She’d be so proud.

  The black man snickered, his expression condescending. It pissed me off. Not enough to do anything

  stupid, but it took the tiniest edge off of my fear, made me able to think more clearly.

  Edgar didn’t say a word. He simply looked at the other man. Just looked. And the other bat instantly

  subsided.

  “You’re not my sire, Edgar. Stop it.”

  “You remember? I’m impressed.” He sounded amused. “Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be

  surprised. You appear to be a remarkable woman. And, as much as it annoys my associates”—his

  casual hand gesture made the embers on the end of his cigarette glow briefly brighter—“I have

  decided that, for the moment, you’re more useful to me alive than dead.”

  Good news for me. Because I believed, wel and truly, that if they wanted me
dead, I would be. There

  are people who are cocky because they think they’re good. Others don’t have to be cocky. They are

  that good. Professionalism is easy to spot but hard to define. I’m a professional. I’m not just decoration

  or mindless muscle. These three were professional monsters. I could tel . I know it sounds stupid. But

  that doesn’t make it any less true.

  “May I ask why?”

  He took a long drag on his smoke while he considered it. He dropped it half-smoked, grinding it out

  with the toe of his shoe. When he spoke, his voice was measured, bland. “I need to get a message to

  Kevin Landingham—if you’re wil ing.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “Tel him it was a setup. Plans within plans. The primary goal had nothing to do with you. You were

  supposed to be kil ed, and I was to be blamed for it. They want him back on the payrol , hunting the hard

  targets.” He tried to meet my gaze, but I avoided looking at him. Maybe in my current condition I’d be

  safe, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. So I kept my eyes on his chin, which gave me a great view of the

  hint of a smile that tugged at his lips when he realized what I was doing.

  “Who are they?”

  “He’l know. Just tel him.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. “Why should I?”

  His face lit up with honest amusement, his dead eyes sparkling. “Clever and cautious. I’m beginning

  to understand what Kevin sees in you.”

  “She’s just eye candy.” The black man sneered.

  “She kil ed Luther.” The woman’s musical alto, soft and compel ing, drew my gaze to the blurred form.

  The other’s rage drew it back. He glared at me. Hatred made his power rise in a burning rush that

  heated the air between us.

  “That was just luck—and those damned knives. I won’t be as easy.”

  “Enough.” Edgar’s word cracked like a whip, and the younger-looking vampire hissed. “Give Kevin my

  message.”

  Before I said a word in answer, they were gone. As they disappeared, the spel mesmerizing the clerk

  fel away. He blinked, shook his head, and looked around, but not like he suspected anything. Good

  thing. I real y wasn’t sure I wanted to explain what had just happened.

  12

  I didn’t dawdle on my way home. A lot of the churches offer sanctuary. But they expect you to get

  there before dark. They certainly wouldn’t invite in someone with fangs, no matter how easily I could

  walk through the door. Thanks to Bob and later Justin, Vicki’s estate had ful y maintained, state-of-theart protections, even if she didn’t currently live there. I’d be as safe as or safer there than anywhere

  else I could come up with on short notice. Besides, it was home. It was normal. I needed something

  normal to cling to—a psychic teddy bear if you wil .

  The estate covers ten acres. I stopped at the gate to lay my palm on the scanner, letting it read my

  print. The light flashed green, unlocking the computerized security system and rol ing the gate open. I

  passed through quickly. It’s set up similarly to the outer gate at Birchwoods, only staying open thirty

  seconds. Just long enough for you to get through and a little ways down the drive. I paused after I went

  through and watched the gates close, making sure nobody came in behind me. I didn’t trust Edgar, and

  I trusted his “friends” even less. But the magical wards on the high fence were put in place by Bruno,

  and he’s one of the best in the business. They wouldn’t get through once those gates locked.

  I fol owed the wide, paved road that leads to a main house styled like an Italian palazzo. It’s huge, with

  amenities like an actual bal room, a movie screening room—you know, the everyday stuff. There’s a

  servants’ wing, where David and Inez live. It’s twenty-five hundred square feet, renovated and

  decorated to their taste, with a separate outdoor entrance to ensure their privacy. There’s a pool

  house to go with the Olympic-size pool. Vicki had had a weight room and exercise equipment put in

  there. My rent includes use of the pool and exercise facilities if I want to. I swim every day—in the pool

  or the ocean—and use the pool house to do my bal et stretches and martial arts kata. But I don’t do

  weight training, so those machines would be gathering dust if David hadn’t decided to drop that extra

  ten pounds he’d been carrying.

  My place is the guest cottage. It sits a couple of hundred yards back from the main house, at the end

  of a winding brick path that passes through beautiful y landscaped blooming plants and shade trees and

  over a tiny man-made brook that burbles in a rocky bed. The cottage isn’t large, as those things go,

  probably eight hundred square feet, with one bedroom, one very ordinary bathroom … wel , ordinary

  except for the big claw-footed tub … and a back deck that is only a few hundred yards from the little

  strip of sand and rocks that edge onto the ocean. It’s too rough and rocky for good swimming, boating,

  or surfing. But it’s beautiful. When I’m troubled I go there and sit on one particular rock, listening to the

  ocean as I watch the gul s dive-bomb each other as they compete for tasty tidbits. When I want to swim

  in salt water, al I have to do is go a little farther down the beach. Al the residents here have unlimited

  access to the private beach.

  This secluded spot has been my home for several years now, since before Vicki went into

  Birchwoods. When my lease ran out, we never got around to signing more paperwork. I pay month to

  month, direct to the attorney. What my status here would be once the Wil got read I had no clue. I

  might inherit it. It might go to David and Inez, or charity. Most likely it would go to Vicki’s folks.

  I didn’t want to think about things like “inheriting.” It was too soon, and I would rather be as poor as I’d

  been growing up than have lost Vicki. I’d give just about anything to have her back. But al the money, al

  the power, in the world can’t manage that. Magic or no, dead is stil dead.

  I dragged my mind away from the sucking hole of grief by thinking of practical things—primarily my

  ongoing survival. I got the feeling that so long as Edgar considered me useful he wouldn’t kil me

  himself. I believed that. The same couldn’t be said for his associates. And I wouldn’t want to bet my life

  that he’d be able or wil ing to keep them in line. Then, of course, there was my sire—whoever he was

  — and the folks who’d set me up in the al ey. I’d been supposed to die. Instead, I was alive and a

  witness to whatever the hel was going on. They wouldn’t like that. Not one little bit.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the demon spawn. Nothing else could do that perfect of an imitation.

  I pul ed into the smal parking area by the cottage and climbed out of the car, shaking my head. There

  was a line: a freaking line of people who wanted me dead. Worse, they weren’t normal folks. No, I had

  monsters and professional kil ers hunting me.

  Such were my cheery thoughts as I made my way up the sidewalk, burdened with bags of groceries.

  There was a note in Inez’s handwriting pinned to the door with a strip of duct tape.

  Dawna brought by a pot of her grandmother’s pho for you. I put it in your fridge. I was afraid

  if I didn’t bring it down here David would eat it all. Hope you are okay. We’ll talk in the

  morning.

  Dawna’s grandmother is Vietnamese. She married Al, a Marine, during
the Vietnam War, coming

  back with him to the states. Tiny, exquisite, she is smart, tough, and one hel of a cook. Her pho is

  legendary. I might have to run it through the new blender, but by God I would eat it. In fact, I could smel

  it already, if ever so faintly.

  I promised myself that it would be my reward as soon as I got my purchases put away. It took a

  couple of trips to get it al inside. The weapons bag came inside, too. I’d be putting on my knives

  momentarily—just in case. I mean, I thought the wards would hold. But better safe than sorry.

  In the course of hauling everything out of the car I found the new cel phone. The light was flashing. I

  hadn’t set up my voice mail yet, but I had a lot of missed cal s and text messages. The texts were

  probably from Dawna. Unless she’d given the number out to everybody. Which she would.

  I didn’t real y want to talk to anyone. But I could text. I sent a couple of quick messages out, letting

  everybody know I was safely home, thanking Dawna for the pho, sending condolences back and forth

  about losing Vicki. It didn’t take long, and my friends real y did need to hear from me if I wanted them

  not to worry.

  The “cottage” isn’t as large as David and Inez’s place, but it’s bigger than the house I grew up in,

  bigger than my gran’s. It’s also considerably nicer. The living room is airy and open, with French doors

  leading out onto a deck and skylights that let in sunlight or moonlight dappled with the shadows from the

  palm trees that surrounded the building. I plugged in the slow cooker with the pho, cranked the dial,

  then headed outside. I’d put everything away later. Right now I wanted the kind of solace I can only

  seem to find next to the ocean.

  I made my way down the familiar path that led to that rocky little stretch of beach, my heart heavy and

  my mind too ful to focus on any one thing. Just as wel , I supposed. Any one of my thoughts was likely

  to send me over the edge.

  Emerging from the path onto soft sand that glistened in the same moonlight that shone bright silver off

  the water’s surface, I sighed in relief. Pale stars winked like diamonds from the velvet black sky. I

  clambered up onto a large rock, scraping my hand. Fast as a thought, the smal wound began to heal. I