Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  H e was tired. There were worry lines and wrinkles I hadn’t noticed before. And while I could feel a

  steady stream of energy emanating from him—deep, strong, and more powerful even than what I’d

  sensed from the M&C boys, he looked strained. His body practical y sang with tension, even sitting stil .

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s been a rough few months,” he admitted. “I’l be fine.”

  A little white lie. And just like that I knew. It wasn’t mind reading, wel , not of the psychic sort. More the

  sort of connection you have with someone when you’ve been close to them for a very long time. I

  started swearing. “Damn it, DeLuca. You know better.”

  He glared at me, dark eyes flashing dangerously. He answered the accusation I hadn’t bothered to

  voice. “It’s not like I’ve had a lot of choice. You don’t know what’s been going on.”

  “Maybe not,” I snarled. “But I know that draining your power without rest is going to cause it to get out

  of control, maybe even fail. I know that it’l cut more years off your life than a two-pack-a-day cigarette

  habit.” My knee spasms had final y gotten to me, so I had risen to my feet and was leaning on my arms

  on the desk. I’d invaded his personal space, but unlike Ron, Bruno wasn’t backing away.

  “Yeah, wel , right now I know that there’s a lesser demon wandering around loose in the metro area

  and my brother’s hunting it even though he’s injured, one of my best friends just died by magic, and

  another one barely survived a vampire attack. Things are a little tense. So, bitch at me al you want, I

  think maybe my resting wil just have to wait.”

  I rocked back on my heels as if he’d slapped me. It would’ve been better if he had. I wasn’t the only

  person who counted a certain clairvoyant as my best friend. “You’re sure about Vicki?”

  “I’m sure.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. It was a familiar gesture from nights

  when he’d stayed up too late studying and was tired. “They cal ed our company to perform the

  independent investigation. I had enough pul to insist on coming along.”

  “Tel me.”

  “I can’t. It’s confidential, and I’ve taken oaths.” He rol ed up his right sleeve, showing me a mark like a

  brand on the inside of his forearm. It was bright red and probably hadn’t been there a minute earlier. He

  shook his head. “If I wasn’t so damned tired, I wouldn’t have let even that much slip.”

  I backed off, because I knew he was right. Binding oaths were … wel , binding. Breaking them isn’t

  supposed to be fatal, but there are worse things than dying. I didn’t like that he’d al owed himself to be

  bound, but he was a grown-up. And since the deed was definitely done, wel , the best thing I could do

  for him was back off. “It’s al right. The mark is just a warning that you’re on thin ice, not that you’ve

  fal en through.” I lowered myself back into the chair. I wasn’t about to do anything that would harm

  Bruno. But I could ask other people questions: people like Dr. Scott at Birchwoods, who would get a ful

  copy of the report.

  “Can you tel me about the demon?”

  “That’s not a secret, as far as I know. I’l tel you about it on the way to the hotel. Get your weapons.”

  He nodded in the direction of the safe. “I need to check them before we go anywhere.”

  “They’re fine.” I didn’t want him checking them. Because I knew Bruno. If the knives were at even a

  hair less than ful power, he’d refil them. And he needed rest, not more work.

  He gave me a sad smile, as if he’d read my mind. Maybe he had. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a

  smidgen of a psychic gift along with the mage talent, and it really wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t told

  anyone.

  “Fine. But don’t push yourself.” I went to the safe.

  “Yes, Mother. ” Even though they were the same words, he said them entirely differently than Kevin

  had.

  “Oh, shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling. I’d missed Bruno. I love Kevin Landingham dearly. He’s

  big, he’s brooding, he’s oh so sexy. But he’s serious. And secretive. Bruno has always been a breath

  of fresh air. He’s got … pizzazz. If you get him in a tux, he’l quote James Bond movies al night. He not

  only sings in the shower, it’s a medley of Barry Manilow songs and show tunes. No situation has ever

  been so serious that Bruno DeLuca wouldn’t crack wise about it.

  A lot of people find him annoying. They assume there’s no substance under the flash. They’re wrong.

  Bruno has his fun, but underneath that camouflage is a fine mind and the kind of ruthless determination

  that got him to the top and keeps him there.

  Having him sitting in my office, serious and worried, got to me. A lot. I could feel him behind me, a

  close, warm presence at my back. My pulse sped, my body intensely aware of his. It distracted me

  enough that I fumbled the controls and had to start over. That earned me a low, wicked chuckle. Which

  I ignored … mostly.

  Eventual y I managed to lower the wards and enter the combination to the safe. Pul ing it open, I drew

  out the duffel containing the box with the knives. I set the box on the desk in front of him. Bruno waved

  his hand over it in a casual gesture. Wherever his hand passed, traces of sparkling rainbow colors

  moved over the lid.

  “That is so cool.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It just popped out.

  He laughed, and for a minute a little of the “old” Bruno shone in his face. “Yeah, it is.” He grinned over

  at me. “I wil have you know, young lady, that not every mage can do that.”

  “Of course not.” I agreed. “You ‘da man. ’”

  He laughed again, a sound of real delight. “Damned right. And don’t you forget it.”

  “Why can I see that? And why can I feel magic? I couldn’t before.” I knew he’d know the answer. Of

  al of our crowd, he’d been the best student. He wasn’t the smartest. But he’d had talent to burn and he

  always worked the hardest. He read every assignment, took detailed notes, listened and participated in

  class. His research papers had always been top-notch. Even in col ege he’d subscribed to al the trade

  magazines. If anybody could tel me what was going on, it’d be him.

  “Magic is harmful to vampires—to most of the monsters real y, but especial y the bats. At a guess, I’d

  say that the ability to sense it is a trait that passed to you from your sire when you got drained. Sensing

  magic would be one of the abilities that would keep a bat alive long enough to become a sire.”

  He opened the box. The knives gleamed. The wooden handles were polished to a warm glow, but the

  blades gleamed with a cold fire. When he passed his hand over them there were no rainbows. Instead

  white light, blinding as a magnesium flare, burst to life. I flinched back, shielding my watering eyes with

  my arm. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could hear the pride and satisfaction in Bruno’s voice.

  “Oh yeah. Best thing I’ve ever done. Maybe the best thing I’l ever do. I hope not, but you never know.”

  The light died. I had to blink a few times. Tears were running from my eyes and my retinas were stil

  overloaded. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “Those knives saved my life the other night, bought me enough time for Kevin and Amy to come

  charging to the rescue.”

  “That’s why I made ’em.” Bruno rol ed bac
k his left sleeve to expose a forearm laced with fine white

  scars.

  Before I could ask what he was going to do, he had picked up the first knife. With a practiced

  movement he sliced into his flesh. Blood wel ed up from the wound and traced the silver and steel of

  the knife blade. He muttered words in a language I didn’t recognize. There was a hiss of power and the

  air seemed to thicken and heat. I watched the blade absorb the blood and the wound on his arm scab

  over, then heal, until al that was left was another delicate scar line.

  He set the knife back into its case and reached for the second blade. “I have to tel you, Celia, if it

  had been anybody else … but Vicki swore to me back in col ege that if you didn’t have the right

  weapons in that al ey, you’d die of that vampire attack and your body would never be found. If she’d

  known the exact day, she’d have stopped you from taking the job. I know it.”

  She knew? Even back in col ege? “She never told me.”

  “She didn’t tel Kevin, either. She only told me that she knew I could make the knives, and that it would

  make al the difference if I would.” He gave me a drol look. “She did not tel me that I would have to

  bleed myself every damned day for five flipping years to get them finished.” He grimaced. “There were

  some days I real y wanted to give up and say ‘screw it.’ Especial y after we broke up. But if anything

  had happened to you, I’d never have forgiven myself. Not even when I was angry enough at you to

  strangle you myself.”

  I winced. Slicing yourself open every single day for five years? Ow. I didn’t even know what to say in

  the face of that kind of dedication and effort. “Thank you” didn’t seem to be enough, but it was al I had.

  So I said it. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, and it softened his expression, bringing the usual warmth back into his dark brown eyes.

  He leaned in close, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “You’re welcome.”

  The level of emotional intensity had risen to the point where I was getting uncomfortable, so I

  changed the subject. “You said the hotel. Does this mean you’re actual y going to rest?”

  “Only a catnap. I’m going to try to meet up with my brother Matteo before sunset—see if he’s gotten

  any leads on that demon I was tel ing you about. But I need a ride. Kevin drove me here.”

  “I’l grab my keys.” I shook my head in halfhearted disapproval and made a decision. I was not going

  to tel him that the demonic was involved in my mess. Not yet. He might not be my lover anymore, but

  he was and always would be my friend. I was worried about him. The days when we were close enough

  for me to have any say or influence as to what he did were long gone—if they’d ever existed in the first

  place. But if I could delay tel ing him a few hours until he was in better shape, I would. “Hope you don’t

  mind my stopping by the drugstore on the way? I need to wrap my knee.”

  There was a tap on the door. We turned in unison to find Dawna standing in the doorway, looking

  distinctly uncomfortable.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Celia, but you’re not going anywhere for a while. Detective Gibson is downstairs with a pair

  of men who keep scowling and muttering to each other in some foreign language. And the three of

  them are staring daggers across the coffee table at the FBI guys from yesterday. They al want to ask

  you questions. Now. In fact, they’re being pretty insistent about it.”

  Crap. “Wel , doesn’t this just suck?”

  “You shouldn’t talk to them without an attorney present,” Bruno advised.

  “I’ve already met with Gibson. But you’re right about the Feds.” I doubted an attorney would help much

  with the other two. Unless I missed my guess, they’d probably been sent here by Rusland’s king. I was

  actual y kind of glad they were here with the police. Otherwise I might just have been taken off

  somewhere for a very private interrogation. Maybe even one that involved a certain level of …

  unpleasantness and ultimately my untimely permanent disappearance. Lucky for me, I had absolutely

  nothing to hide. It was unlikely any of my visitors would believe that. But if I disappeared there’d be lots

  and lots of uncomfortable questions and bad publicity. Bruno would see to it, even if Gibson didn’t. The

  king didn’t need bad press, even if his retainers did have diplomatic immunity.

  And of course I said I’d cooperate fully. Hell. Don’t think about it, Graves. At this point if they want

  to kill you, they’re going to have to take a number. Just get through the meeting.

  I pasted a smile on my face that I hoped would fool Dawna. I couldn’t fool Bruno. He knew me too

  wel . “Dawna, do me a favor, put them in the conference room and order us up some coffee and rol s.

  I’m going to cal my lawyer.”

  “Ron’s got the conference room.”

  “Of course he does.” I felt my smile wilt around the edges but tried to sound unfazed. God, why did

  this feel like every other weekday? “Fine. Give them coffee and tel them it’l be a few minutes, we’re

  waiting for my attorney. Then order rol s. We’l meet here in my office once the attorney arrives.” I

  turned to Bruno and tried to keep the frustration in my voice to a minimum. After al , none of this was

  his fault. Mine either, if it came to that. “Looks like you’l be taking a cab.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  I started to protest, but he silenced me with a look. “Consider me your supernatural advisor. Federal

  law dictates you can have one when you’re not ful y human.” There was no arguing with him when he

  was wearing that expression, so I didn’t bother to try. Mol ified, he closed his laptop, put it in the case,

  then got up and moved to the other side of the desk, settling into a chair in the far corner.

  Dawna was shaking her head in amusement as she ducked out the door. Let her laugh. She’d never

  tried to budge Bruno when he was in one of his moods. Besides, considering what he’d gone through to

  make those knives, I owed him.

  “You realize they’re not going to let you stay. Supernatural advisor or not.”

  He gave me a smile that was more a baring of teeth. “Unless they are very, very good, they’l never

  even suspect I’m here.”

  I blinked stupidly. “You can do that? I mean—I thought it wasn’t possible for people to disappear.”

  Then again, wasn’t that exactly what Jones had done?

  “You’d be amazed at what I can do.” Bruno gave me a genuine smile this time. “But no, I’m not

  disappearing. It’s a kind of il usion spel . It makes me very, very, unnoticeable—a part of the furniture.

  Don’t get me wrong. There are telepaths who can use mental manipulation to make you and everyone

  in the area think they’re seeing someone else. But I’m not a telepath. So I make do with a little magic.”

  More than a little magic, unless I missed my guess. But I wasn’t going to start an argument I couldn’t

  win. Besides, I was curious. I’d studied the paranormal for four years and none of this stuff had come

  up. “So you get a good enough telepath and they real y could go up in front of the crowd and pretend to

  be the president and everybody would think it was him?”

  “If he had enough oompf, yes. But he’d have to be damned careful. Because while folks with the gift

  can influence what people think, they can’t manipulate reality. So a mirror, wind
ow, whatever, is going to

  reflect what is actual y there.”

  I sat there for a few seconds, trying to absorb that. I mean, telepaths had always kind of scared me

  —they’re mind benders after al . And it’s one of the skil s the government and the schools keep the

  tightest rein on. But Jones had done it. Had to have. I was just starting to ponder the implications of

  that when Bruno’s voice brought me back to the present.

  “You’d better cal that attorney. Your guests won’t wait forever.”

  I looked up, intending to make a snappy comeback, and he wasn’t there. Oh, he was. And if I looked

  really hard, I could see him. But at first glance, hel , even second glance, I would’ve sworn he was a

  rubber tree. Except I don’t own a rubber tree.

  “Show-off.”

  “Yeah, wel , it’s a spel , not psychic manipulation, so I can’t move and keep up the il usion. And don’t

  stare or they’l know something’s up.”

  Not staring was harder than it sounded. I tried to practice, looking everywhere but at the rubber tree

  in the corner as I dialed the number for my attorney.

  It took a couple of minutes to get through but considerably less time than it should have. I found my

  attorneys through Vicki’s referral. To the esteemed professionals at Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and

  Cortez I was just a teeny little fish in a great big pond. It’s a big firm, with specialists in various areas of

  law. They’re the best, but you pay for it. There was no doubt in my mind that the only reason they dealt

  with me at al was as a favor to Vicki. That I wasn’t left on hold for ten minutes with the answering

  service meant something. I just wasn’t sure what.

  Roberto Santos is the senior attorney in criminal defense matters. If you haven’t heard of him, I

  assume you’ve been living in a Carmelite convent or hiding somewhere under a rock. He represents

  the famous and infamous—provided they pay their bil s. He’s a bottom-line kind of guy. I can respect

  that. I’m the same way. I’ve never been a big enough client to merit an introduction. My stuff has always

  been handled by very, very junior associates. So the last thing I expected was for the man himself to

  pick up the line.

  “Roberto Santos, Ms. Graves. I understand you have a problem?” His voice was smooth, cultured,