Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  line of protection to lie, crumpled and bloody, beside the vampire. She howled in triumphant rage,

  grabbing him and pul ing him into her lap to use his body as a shield. Despite what had to be hideous

  injuries, he struggled until she forced his gaze to meet hers. I watched furious resolve melt into a

  passive smile that was horribly, disturbingly, vacant.

  I aimed for the eye that peeked over the top of Matty’s head but was distracted by a blur of movement

  in my peripheral vision. It was moving too fast to be anything human, so I pul ed the trigger as I turned.

  Blood and worse blossomed from the vampire’s back as the bul ets tore into his chest. He grunted with

  pain, but momentum carried him into me, slamming me against the concrete with a vicious impact that

  sent the gun spinning from my hand.

  That he was stunned was the only thing that saved me. Fighting with abnormal strength and utter

  desperation, I managed to get out from under him. As I crab-crawled awkwardly away, Bruno fired one

  shot after another. The shots tore through the creature’s neck, severing the head. It was messy but

  effective. Blood splattered and pooled around him, but his chest stopped moving and his eyes stared

  vacantly upward.

  My ears were stil ringing, my right arm was numb. But I grabbed the gun with my left hand and

  scooted over until my back was braced by the base of the streetlight. I felt blood soaking into my

  trousers, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was kil ing her. I raised my knees, propping my arms on

  them so that my aim was nice and steady.

  She spoke.

  I didn’t so much hear it as feel it vibrating through me, as if my body were a tuning fork struck by her

  words.

  “I could take him now, make him one of us.” She stroked a manicured finger along Matteo’s neck. He

  settled against her with a sigh of contentment. Apparently he was beyond pain, beyond thought. I

  shuddered. She saw it and laughed, a cold, bitter sound that scraped across my raw nerves. “His

  memory of his family, his God, everything he was, gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  She was toying with us. Trapped and injured, she stil acted like she had the upper hand. I glanced at

  Bruno and realized she did. Matteo would have told us to kil her, would’ve sacrificed himself. But he

  was Bruno’s brother. Bruno would rather die himself than let Matty die, and if she made him a vamp,

  we’d have to kil him. The bitch knew it.

  “I offer you a deal.” She looked at me when she said it, as if Bruno were beneath her notice. “You let

  me go—I let him go. For now. ” She glanced over at the corpse of her companion and glared back at

  me. I could almost feel the heat of her hatred burning my skin. “But it isn’t over between us.”

  “No. It isn’t,” Bruno answered her. She turned her gaze to him, watching avidly as with a word and

  gesture he lowered the outer wal of power that kept her trapped. She flung Matteo away from her, his

  body hitting the pavement with a wet thud. In a blur of speed, she was gone.

  I crawled to the fal en priest as fast as I could manage. I didn’t holster my gun. I hadn’t missed the “for

  now” part of the deal, and I wouldn’t put it past her to come straight back. Yes, she was injured, but to

  my mind that only made her more deadly. Because she was pissed. Too, there was always Edgar. He’d

  been with the two of them before. Was he hanging around in the shadows, waiting for his chance? I

  didn’t feel him out there, but that didn’t seem to mean a thing. Bruno held Matteo’s body draped over his

  lap. Tears were streaming down his face. I knew Matty wasn’t dead. I could hear the breath rasping in

  and out of his chest. There were red bubbles at the corner of his lips. He had a punctured lung and

  God alone knew what else. I fumbled in my jacket pocket and pul ed out my replacement cel phone. I

  dialed 9-1-1 with trembling fingers, explaining to the dispatcher what we needed as I propped the little

  phone between my ear and shoulder and set the gun on the ground within reach so that my hands

  would be free.

  I reached inside my jacket again, fumbling the phone a little, but not so much that I couldn’t stil give

  directions. My fingers grasped the hard plastic handle of the one-shot I’d packed earlier. I said a silent

  prayer upward, hoping that my grandmother was right, that there is a God up there who listens to those

  in need. I pul ed the little squirt gun from its concealment and yanked out the tiny plug.

  I leaned toward the two of them, but Bruno pul ed his brother back, out of my reach.

  “Let me see his neck, Bruno. I need to make sure she didn’t bite him while we were dealing with her

  partner.”

  Bruno stared back at me, his eyes nearly as blank as Matteo’s had been earlier. Shock. He was in

  shock. Shit, shit, shit! “Bruno! I need you, buddy. Stay with me. We’ve got to check Matteo’s neck.”

  Bruno nodded, but the motion was jerky, and the hands he used to pul off the clerical col ar and

  unbutton his brother’s shirt were shaking so badly it took longer than it should. But he got it done, and

  with the shirt col ar open we could see the delicate half-healed punctures.

  “Oh fuck. Matty!” Bruno’s words weren’t quite a sob.

  “Hold him stil ,” I ordered. “This is going to hurt and he’s liable to fight.”

  Bruno shifted his weight, getting a better grip. When he was ready, I upended the little gun, pouring

  holy water over the tiny bite mark.

  And Father Matteo began to scream.

  19

  The police were gone. The ambulance had taken Matty and Bruno to St. Joseph’s Hospital—holy

  ground. Matty was badly hurt, but we’d done the best we could for him. Tough as he was, he might

  make it. Maybe.

  I was resting, sitting on the slight curb next to the newspaper dispenser in my blood-soaked clothing

  and gaudy holy items, sipping a strawberry diet shake and reading a magazine, when the traditional

  long black limo pul ed into the parking lot, cruising smoothly to a stop a mere six feet from me.

  A pair of large suited men who looked like older, larger versions of Dee and Dum climbed out,

  standing in perfect bodyguard formation on either side of the rear door of the vehicle. The one on my

  left bent and opened the door for the man inside.

  I rose as King Dahlmar exited the vehicle.

  I might not have recognized him if I hadn’t been reading about him just a few seconds before. He was

  average height and build. He was handsome, with sharp features, olive skin, and penetrating gray

  eyes. His silver hair and beard were perfectly trimmed, his dark gray suit impeccably tailored to fit a

  man who wasn’t carrying even one extra pound.

  “Good morning, Ms. Graves.”

  “Is it already?” I glanced at my watch. Yep, sure enough. Just after one. “Then good morning, Your

  Majesty.” I bent ever so slightly at the waist, using the opportunity to check his reflection in the tinted

  windows. It was him. Or maybe a spawn. But I was betting it was him. It was too weird for the ruler of a

  smal nation to hunt me down in the predawn hours in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

  Nobody setting up a fake would do something that hokey. Too unbelievable.

  “I would speak with you for a moment.”

  “Of course you would. The question is whether I would speak with you.”

  He gave me a long look, the corner of his
mouth twitching slightly with amusement, before using his

  hand to brush off the curb next to where I’d been sitting and lowering himself comfortably onto the

  concrete. His retainers were too wel trained to show their shock by more than a slight widening of the

  eyes.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the spot I’d vacated on his arrival. “I’d offer to have you join me in the

  limo, but I doubt you’d be wil ing to.”

  I sat. “You’d be right. I’d get blood al over the upholstery. You wouldn’t get back the deposit.”

  “They don’t make royalty give deposits. But I’d hate to ruin the fabric.” This time the smile was

  broader and more genuine. He had a nice smile. It lit up his face, making his gray eyes sparkle. The

  change in expression changed his entire look, making him handsome. I was betting he’d been quite the

  heartbreaker in his youth. Maybe he stil was.

  The smile faded, like the sun disappearing behind clouds. He gestured to the magazine beside me,

  with his son’s picture on the cover. “You’ve read the article?”

  I nodded.

  “My elder son, Rezza, has quite recently rediscovered his religion. He has turned away from drinking,

  drugs, and womanizing. Whether it is sincere or a ploy to gain the support of the fundamentalists who

  have growing influence in my country remains to be seen.” He continued, “There are those who would

  see me dead, and Rezza on the throne, thinking they could control him.”

  “One of the perils of being king.” I was surprised Dahlmar was being this open, but considering the

  circumstances, who else did he real y have to talk to except a commoner from another country whom

  nobody would believe even if she told someone?

  He smiled, but it was wry acknowledgment, not the happy expression I’d seen earlier. “It is. They’d be

  wrong about control ing him, though. He is his own man. Not the man I’d choose, but his own

  nonetheless.” He shifted his weight, trying to make himself more comfortable on the unforgiving

  concrete before he continued. “My younger son, Kristoff, is …” He paused, seeming to look for the

  right word. He final y settled on one I wouldn’t have expected. “Weak. He is weak. And there are those

  who would discredit my elder son so as to see him on my throne in my stead.”

  That explained the pictures. “They think they could control him. ”

  “Oh, they could. Easily,” Dahlmar said drily.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut. Eventual y, he continued.

  “It wasn’t such an issue before we found the natural gas deposits. Now, however, we have wealth

  and, with it, power. The European Union courts us, our enemies fear us. It’s a dangerous combination.”

  And power draws plots like a corpse draws flies.

  “Both groups want me dead.” His smile was a baring of teeth. “I’m not inclined to oblige them.”

  “I can relate to that.”

  He laughed. “I am sure you can. Your file is quite impressive.” He paused, then, “You are caught in

  the middle of our power struggle. One of these groups has already tried to use you. The questions I

  want answered are”—he ticked off items on his fingers—“Who in my retinue has betrayed me? And

  which, if either of my sons, is complicit?”

  I nodded, not sure what that had to do with me.

  “The situation is made more difficult by the fact that there are demons and spawn involved.”

  I acknowledged that with a dip of my head. “Stil , I’d think that the religious extremists wouldn’t want to

  be involved with the demonic. Pretty much every religion frowns on that sort of thing.”

  His expression soured. “Yes, but sadly, there are always those who believe the end justifies the

  means; and the offer of enough money can frequently make a man forget his loyalties and his beliefs.”

  He reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pul ed out a heavy white envelope. “My men have

  questioned the retainer who they saw in your memories.”

  My memories ? That comment made me frown, since we’d never actual y made it to that stage in the

  office. Had someone been prying into my brain while we’d been negotiating terms? That would not

  make me happy.

  He paused, his eyes darkening, his expression steely, but his voice was utterly emotionless. “They

  were quite … thorough.”

  I couldn’t decide whether to shudder or growl. I hadn’t particularly liked the man who’d hired me, but I

  was starting to wonder about Dee and Dum’s ethics.

  “He had become involved with an organization that hired professionals to execute a plot against me.

  We learned enough of the details to make reasonable preparations.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “But I am left with questions.” He sighed and shook his head. “As a king, that is neither uncommon

  nor unexpected.” At his gesture, the driver of the limo popped open the trunk and walked to the rear of

  the car, where he retrieved a black and white bag that might have passed for a bowling bag but wasn’t.

  Matty had carried a similar bag. It had two completely separate inner compartments, each of which

  was impervious to blood, and the whole thing had been blessed. The king continued, “We wil ,

  eventual y, get to the bottom of this.”

  He sounded absolutely certain. Then again, he might wel be. With enough time, money, and effort,

  most conspiracies can be unraveled, particularly if you’re not too particular about whether or how much

  blood wil be spil ed in the process. “As a father, I find it unacceptable that I carry suspicions about my

  children for even one moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”

  He extended the envelope to me. It was of heavy, high-quality paper in a rich cream color, without

  writing of any kind on it. I took it but didn’t open it. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Neither of my sons has ever been good at maintaining a deception when confronted by the truth. I

  am hoping that you wil assist me in confronting them.”

  “Assist you how?” I tried to keep my voice neutral but didn’t quite manage to keep a note of suspicion

  from creeping in.

  “In that envelope are two tickets to the World Series game on Friday night. I have purchased a

  section of tickets and wil be attending with my sons and our retinue.”

  A section of tickets? For Game One of the World Series? I didn’t even want to think how much that

  had to have cost. And oh, wouldn’t his security people be having fits.

  “Ivan”—he gestured to the driver—“wil meet you next to the giant cap to the left of the main entrance.

  He wil escort you and your guest to my section between the singing of your national anthem and the

  throwing of the first pitch. And I wil see which of my sons or my retainers reacts to seeing you join me.”

  It didn’t sound like much of a plan to me. But he was a king, and even I knew better than to point that

  out. So I held on to the envelope and kept my mouth shut.

  “And in case I am a fool, and my sons are better liars than I believe them to be, I wil also have with

  me skil ed telepaths to read their thoughts as you arrive.”

  Now that was more like it.

  “In exchange for this, I wil pay you the money that was promised when you thought you were guarding

  my son, and the amount your insurance would have paid for your injuries.” He gestured to the driver,

  who came to stand in front of us. The king stood
in a single fluid movement, and I stood with him. “To

  ensure that you wil be alive on Friday, I have taken some … additional precautions.”

  On cue, the servant unzipped the front of the bag, revealing the bloody severed head of my sire.

  Um, wow. Okay then.

  And while he didn’t show it to me, I was betting the heart was in the second compartment. How they’d

  found him I had no idea. But it was him. No doubt about it. Wow. That went way beyond the pale as far

  as payment in advance.

  I was more than mildly surprised that I hadn’t noticed when it happened. Shouldn’t I have had some

  sort of attack or felt pain or something?

  I looked at the pleasant, debonair man standing calmly beside me. Everything he’d said had been

  excruciatingly polite, but I wasn’t being given a choice about this and I knew it. I could assist him

  wil ingly, or not. But I would assist him. Or it would be my head in the bowling bag.

  I took a deep breath, and it came out in a sigh. I was incredibly tired of being corral ed, but I would like

  this to be over. “I’l be there.”

  20

  Dawn took its own sweet time coming but eventual y arrived. When it did, I got into the rental sedan

  and drove my sire’s head to the nearest crematorium. It was one of the big chains, so the minute they

  saw the head they knew what had to be done. I was told it would be given priority treatment and that I

  could pick the ashes up anytime after two. The look the clerk gave me said that he’d probably like to

  shove me into the furnace after the bag. Fortunately, I was standing in a broad ray of sunlight, so he

  couldn’t quite decide what to make of me and just took the head and walked away.

  That done, I drove back to the expensive hotel where Bruno had been staying.

  There was no way I wanted to brave the lobby, what with the bloodstains and my vampy appearance,

  so I parked around back. Using his guest key card, I let myself in through one of the secondary

  entrances. I could have gone home. The gas company had made their repairs. But David had cal ed

  and left a voice mail tel ing me how the intruder had gotten through our security. He’d kil ed our pool boy

  and taken his right hand. Exactly what had happened to Louis at Birchwoods. Home might not be safe,

  which made a nice, anonymous hotel room seem pretty damned attractive.