Blood Song

by Cat Adams

and didn’t have any psychic gifts. But magic and psychic stuff had worked on me. A true nul was

  different, and much, much rarer. A psychic has a mental radio that plays in their head non-stop. In most

  people, that mental radio is turned off unless specifical y turned on. Dr. Greene didn’t even have a

  radio. Magic didn’t work on nul s. Psychical y they were unreachable. Clairvoyants couldn’t “see” them;

  telepaths couldn’t read or influence them. They can walk through magic power circles without anyone

  even knowing they are there. It was considered by most to be a rare birth defect, but I’d always thought

  that in work like mine it’d be damned handy. Vampires could use their physical strength on a nul , but

  they couldn’t bespel one, would never be able to turn one. A nul bitten by a werewolf might die, but

  they’d never turn furry.

  “I wanted you to know, so that there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings between us.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Dr. Scott also wanted me to ask you to seriously reconsider becoming an inpatient for the next few

  weeks, until you’ve had a chance to determine the ful extent of your physiological changes and adapt

  to them. What has happened to you is extremely traumatic physical y as wel as mental y and

  emotional y. It is dangerous for you—”

  I interrupted her, “I know that. But right now I have things I have to do. In a few days—”

  It was her turn to interrupt. “You may not have a few days. We are talking about your physical and

  mental survival. Surely whatever it is can wait.”

  Her disapproving tone made it more of a statement, but I answered as if it had been a question. “No,

  it real y can’t.” I sighed. “Other than the incident with Dr. Scott, I’ve been able to keep things under

  control.”

  She opened her mouth, but I waved her to silence.

  “I’m fol owing his directions to the letter.” Wel , maybe not exactly to the letter, but close. And it wasn’t

  easy, either. “But in the past few days I’ve had multiple attempts on my life. I can’t be stuck in one place

  where they can find me and get to me easily.”

  “I assure you—”

  I interrupted again. “They got to Vicki. They had to kil Louis to do it. But they got in, and they kil ed

  her. And you know it. And they got in through protections that were just as good at Vicki’s estate. They

  kil ed a sweet kid who just liked to clean pools, because he had a useful body part. No, thank you. I’m

  not going to be a sitting duck, and I’m not putting your patients and staff at risk.”

  “I could force the issue.” She said it cool y.

  “That would be a mistake,” I replied, just as cool y. Except I wasn’t cool. I was pissed. As I looked into

  her deep blue eyes it occurred to me that she was provoking me deliberately, trying to get me to lose it,

  so she’d have the excuse. Bitch. I kept calm and didn’t take the bait.

  We sat in a silent battle of wil s for long moments, neither of us wil ing to give an inch. Each tick of the

  wal clock fel into the silence, and the sound of the air conditioner kicking in was almost startlingly loud.

  I leaned forward, opening the water bottle, pouring the fluid into the glass. I sipped it quietly,

  comfortably, crossing my legs with deliberate casualness. I was not giving in to her bul shit. If this was

  her way of doing things, I was not going to be her patient much past the first meeting. Dr. Scott would

  just have to refer me to someone else. Of course the doctor might have to do my counseling while

  sitting inside a sacred circle.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” she announced.

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t. Instead, I raised my brows and took another sip of water, being

  ever so careful not to show any hint of pleasure at her being the one to break the silence.

  “It’s going to be very difficult to make any progress if you refuse to cooperate.” She sounded a little

  waspish. Her professional demeanor was slipping just a tad.

  “I am not refusing to cooperate. I am merely choosing outpatient treatment, which was an option

  offered to me.”

  She let out an irritated little huff of air, her eyes narrowing. She glanced at the elegant gold watch on

  her wrist and shook her head. “We don’t have much time left.”

  “Where do you want to start?” I asked.

  “I suppose that would be up to you. Where do you think we should begin?”

  I leaned back, thinking about it. There were so many possibilities. But the one that was top of my list

  at the moment had to do with the scene in the lobby.

  “Let’s stick with tradition and start with my mother.” I’d intended it to sound more humorous than it

  came out.

  “Your mother?”

  “Have you talked to Dr. Talbert about my past?”

  “I like to start fresh.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What do you want to tel me about your

  mother?”

  Wow. Where to start? I mean, there was just so much and none of it particularly good. I didn’t even

  know if I loved her anymore. But I sure as hel didn’t like her.

  I was stil trying to come up with the right words when the bel rang, indicating the end of the session.

  Typical.

  Dr. Greene picked up her BlackBerry with a sigh. “Why don’t we set you up for Monday at eleven

  fifteen? That wil give you the weekend to decide how to begin.” She looked up, meeting my eyes

  directly, “Although I real y feel I must try one more time to convince you that it would be in your best

  interest at this point to pursue inpatient treatment… .” She let the end of the sentence drag on

  hopeful y. She needn’t have bothered. I shook my head no.

  She let out a little sniff of displeasure but didn’t raise any further objection. “Fine. Monday at eleven

  fifteen.” She entered the appointment into her BlackBerry.

  I was stil thinking about my mother as I drove the Miata down the main highway back to the city.

  Traffic wasn’t good, which meant I wasn’t going to have time to stop and buy decent clothes. Not if I

  wanted to get some nourishment into me and arrive at the church before sundown.

  Part of me wanted to throttle my mother for what she’d done. Oh, I didn’t have proof. But I knew. It

  was just so … her. Damn it anyway.

  I knew I shouldn’t let it bother me. I mean, God knew it wasn’t the first time she’d betrayed me. I

  should be used to it and not expect any better from her. And yet there was that little part of me that just

  wouldn’t give up hope: hope that she’d change, dry out, become the mother I remembered from before.

  Hurt and anger formed a hard knot in my throat that made it hard to swal ow. “Grow up, Graves,” I told

  myself sternly as I took the Thirty-eighth Avenue exit that was the quickest route to Old Town. “She is

  what she is. She isn’t going to change.” And maybe she’d always been that way and I was just

  remembering her through rose-colored glasses. Maybe it had only been my father who kept her in any

  sort of check.

  I went through a drive-through pharmacy and bought some more nutritient drinks and the liquid

  version of a popular multi-vitamin. I chugged two of the former and took a dose of the latter before I

  even left the parking lot. I was going to a church, my gran’s church, for sanctuary. I needed to make

  damned sure I wasn’t going to lose it when the sun went down.

  I forced myself to pay
close attention to where I was going. I didn’t want to get lost, not in this

  neighborhood. When my gramps had been alive, Old Town had been a working area. Very blue-col ar.

  Back then, there were no gangs to speak of and the bats and monsters weren’t nearly the problem they

  were now. Things change.

  Christ Our Savior Chapel is a little white clapboard and brick building in one of the more run-down

  sections of the Town. The parking lot is bare dirt, but there isn’t a spot of trash on it. The windows are

  clean and the wooden doors gleam with polish. The last time anyone tried to graffiti the place,

  Reverend Al caught him at it. With the approval of the kid’s mother, the good reverend set the kid to

  scrubbing the sanctuary floor—with a toothbrush—while Al read to him from the scriptures. My gran

  swears the kid stil comes to services every Sunday and alternate Wednesday nights.

  I pul ed my little sports car into the empty parking spot between Reverend Al’s ancient Chevy and my

  gran’s Oldsmobile, fresh back from impound, just as the sun’s last rays were sinking below the western

  horizon. I hoped the Miata would be al right. The last thing I needed was for something to happen to the

  car. But the sun was sinking fast, and I needed to be on holy ground.

  Just as soon as I was safe I was going to take it for a nice long drive along the coast. It’d have to be

  at night if I wanted the top down, but I like moonlight.

  It was a goal to shoot for.

  But for tonight, I was going to take Uncle Sal’s advice and lay low. And just in case the überbat got

  any ideas, about coming after my nearest and dearest, Gran was going to be right there with me.

  I hurried up the cracked concrete sidewalk that led to the glass front doors just as the orange glow of

  halogen lights came on up and down the streets. Pul ing on the handle, I stepped over the threshold into

  safe haven and wound up standing less than six inches away from my mother.

  I felt a rush of emotions the minute I set eyes on her. Anger, lots of anger, but frustration and pity

  were in there, too, and a deep, aching sadness that I didn’t like to think about.

  She was arguing with Gran, her voice raised, her words just a little bit slurred. If she wasn’t completely

  drunk yet, she was certainly wel on her way. Nothing unusual about that. She was dressed for a night

  on the town, in a nylon leopard-print top that was cut low enough to display ample cleavage and a pair

  of black jeans that clung like a second skin. Four-inch stiletto heels with a matching bag completed the

  outfit. She didn’t look quite like a hooker, but with her figure and peroxide hair she had definitely gone

  over the line into the realm of white trash.

  I mean, four-inch heels? Damn, I wouldn’t attempt those sober. But then, that was my mother, al over.

  “I can’t shtay, Mama. Celiash comin’ and you know how she’l be.”

  “Too late. She’s already here.”

  My mother turned on a dime, her eyes wide with honest-to-God panic. If I’d had any doubt as to

  whether she was the culprit behind the photos and the story, that look took care of it.

  My grandmother spoke up. “You can’t leave, Lana. There’s a vampire out there hunting Celia and the

  people she cares about. You need to stay here tonight.” Her voice was unyielding. She stood solid as a

  rock, al of four foot eleven in her sensible shoes and hand-knitted cardigan, refusing to budge.

  “Then I should be jusht fine. Because we al know my little girl doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about me. ”

  Crocodile tears fil ed her eyes.

  Oh, for the love of — “Cut the crap, Mom,” I snarled. Anger was driving the other emotions off. I love

  my mother, but sometimes I almost hate her. “Nobody here’s buying your little pity party. Besides which,

  even if you had a valid license, you’re too drunk to be driving.”

  She straightened to her ful height to glare down at me. “I am not drunk.”

  “Of course not.” My voice dripped enough sarcasm to earn me a filthy look from both the reverend

  and my grandmother.

  “I don’t have to stand here and take thish.” My mother turned to face Gran. “If you won’t loan me your

  car, I’l just cal myshelf a cab.” She stalked unsteadily past me, slamming the glass door open.

  I turned to fol ow, emerging just in time to see her freeze in mid-step about six feet from the property

  line, her eyes glazing over.

  Oh, shit.

  23

  I had my knives out. They glowed pure silver white in the moonlight. The streetlights had gone out. So

  had the church light. The only il umination came from the moon, my knives, and the gleam of greenish

  light shining from my skin. It wasn’t the best way to introduce my gran to my condition, but I had little

  choice.

  I saw movement, a deeper shadow moving in the velvet darkness. It was her. Had to be. The

  question was, was she alone? Knowing my luck, probably not.

  “Mom.” I tugged at her arm without letting go of my knife. She was stiff as a board. She’d stopped just

  inches from the boundary. If she didn’t take that last step, the vamp wouldn’t get her. But with the beast

  fighting for control of her mind, I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t take that last fateful step.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  I loved her.

  I might want to throttle her more than half the time, but I stil loved her. And I wanted her here, alive,

  and in ful possession of her faculties. Because if she died or became undead, we’d never be able to

  fix what was wrong between us. And I wanted that. Until this moment I hadn’t realized just how badly I

  wanted it.

  I decided to take the vamp by the fangs. “Hel o, Lilith.”

  The darkest shadow responded, “Celia.”

  She stepped out of the blackness—lithe, feral, and hungry. I didn’t look at her face. I didn’t dare. One

  look in those eyes and she’d have me for sure, just the way she’d caught my mother.

  “There’s a bit of a resemblance”—she looked Lana up and down—“but not much.”

  “Yeah, wel , she’s had a hard life.” I stepped between my mother and the vampire, hoping I wasn’t

  being an idiot. Because if Lilith had enough control of my mother’s mind, she’d be able to force her to

  attack me. But if I could break Lilith’s line of sight, my mother might be able to slip her mental bonds. I

  didn’t think she was strong enough, but I wanted her to be. I mean, this was the woman who had stuck

  around when our life had gone to hel . She’d started drinking to cope, but she’d stayed, which was a

  damned sight more than Dad had done.

  “So I can see.”

  I felt Lilith’s power slither around and past me, slick and sinuous as a snake. Hang on, Mom. Fight it.

  “What wil you do if I cal her to me? Wil you try to save her? Sacrifice yourself? Or wil you stand there

  behind your line of protection and watch as I drink her down, then use my magic to replace Luther with

  your dear mommy?”

  “You don’t have her yet.”

  “Don’t I?” I heard the crunch of heels on concrete, felt a body press against mine as my mother

  shifted her weight in response to the cal .

  “Hang on, Mom. Hang on. ”

  I didn’t dare look back, even though I could hear movement from the direction of the church.

  “Lana, no!” my gran shouted behind me, and suddenly the darkness was bisected by a spear of white

  as bli
nding as a magnesium flare. Reverend Al strode forward, holding the cross from the altar in front

  of him. It was glowing with the blinding white light of pure faith. He’s a big man, six two, probably a good

  250 to 275 pounds of former ful back. He was impressive at any time. Tonight, he was awe inspiring.

  The scent of incense, heavy with myrrh, floated to me on the chil night air.

  “Begone, demon!” His voice rang with authority as he shouted the prayer of banishment in its original

  Latin. I recognized it from my readings in col ege, but I’d never actual y heard it used. Lilith wasn’t a

  demon, just a very old bat, but it seemed to work. She screamed in frustrated rage, her power lashing

  out at him like a living darkness. It struck the wal of his belief with a sound like the clash of swords, but

  the light of the cross in his hands never wavered. Reverend Al was a wal of solid muscle standing

  beside me, between the bat and her prey, armed only with the cross and his belief.

  The vampire raised her head, howling in agony.

  It was the only opening I might ever have. Sending a silent prayer upward, I shifted the knife in my

  right hand to a throwing position and hurled it into the bulk of her body.

  It wasn’t a throwing knife. There was a good chance it might not strike point first. But it was a wel balanced weapon, and with the magic Bruno had imbued in it al I needed was a scratch. It struck home,

  the blessed blade sinking hilt deep into the soft flesh of Lilith’s abdomen.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, I saw flames eating at her from the inside.

  Cool. Don’t know what magic made it work, but it was very impressive.

  With a whoosh of air her body imploded, until it was nothing more than coarse gray ash, with my

  blackened knife smoldering on top.

  Vampires do not die like that. They just don’t. Kil ing a vampire is bloody and messy and involves

  beheading and taking the heart. They do not simply burst into blinding flame and burn down to a kneehigh pile of dust—wel , not without the help of copious amounts of sunlight. So what the hel had

  happened? I wanted to cal Bruno or Matteo, but I couldn’t seem to move.

  I don’t know how long we stood there. Long enough that the light from Reverend Al’s cross faded and

  my eyes adjusted to the velvet darkness of a night fil ed with clouds. One by one the streetlights came