It made me laugh. Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. I laughed until tears ran down my face. The werewolves ran their hands up and down me, faces rubbing my bare skin. They were taking my scent, rolling in the lingering scent of Raina. Marking me with their scent.
Stephen kissed my cheek, the way you’d kiss your sister. “Are you all right?” It was hard to remember, but I think he’d asked that before.
I nodded. “Yes.” My voice sounded tinny and distant. I realized I was on the edge of shock. Not good.
Stephen shooed the wolves away from me. They moved languorously, as if the energy we’d raised had been some sort of drug, or maybe sex was a better analogy. I didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know.
“Richard said that Raina wasn’t truly gone as long as the pack lived. Is this what he meant?” I asked.
“Yes,” Stephen said, “though I’ve never heard of a non-pack member being able to do what you just did. The spirits of the dead should only be able to enter lukoi.”
“Spirits of the dead,” I said. “You mean you don’t have a fancy name for them?”
“They are munin,” Stephen said.
That almost started me laughing again. “Memory, Odin’s raven.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“What exactly was it, is it? It wasn’t a ghost. I know what a ghost feels like.”
“You’ve felt one of them,” Stephen said. “It’s the best explanation I can give you.”
“It’s energy,” Teddy said. “Energy is neither created nor destroyed. It exists. We have the energy of everyone that has ever been pack.”
“You don’t mean all lukoi, do you?”
“No,” he said, “but from the first member of our pack to now, we have them all.”
“Not all,” Lorraine said.
He nodded. “Sometimes one of us will be lost to accident and the body cannot be recovered and shared. Then all they were, all their knowledge, their power, is lost to us.”
Kevin had gone back to the chair, still sitting on the floor, leaning his shoulders against the chair seat. “Sometimes,” he said, “we decide not to feed. It’s sort of like excommunication. The pack rejects you in death as in life.”
“Why didn’t you reject Raina? She was a twisted sadistic bitch.”
“It was Richard’s choice,” Teddy said. “By rejecting her body that last time, he thought it would have angered some of the other pack members who aren’t wholeheartedly on his side yet. He was right, but…now we have her inside us.”
“She’s powerful,” Lorraine said, and she shivered. “Powerful enough to possess a lesser wolf.”
“Old wives’ tales,” Kevin said. “She’s dead. Her power survives but only when called.”
“I didn’t call her,” I said.
“We might have,” Stephen said softly. He lay back on the floor, hands covering his eyes as if it was too horrible to look at.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’ve never seen anyone but Raina do what you just did. I was thinking about her, remembering.”
“So was I,” Kevin said.
“Yes,” Teddy said. He had moved back to the far wall, as if he didn’t trust himself near me.
Lorraine had moved back with him, sitting so that their bodies touched lightly. A comforting closeness. “I, too, was thinking about her. Glad she was not here. Happy it was Anita.” She hugged her arms as if cold, and Teddy put a muscular arm around her, hugging her close, resting his chin in her hair.
“I wasn’t thinking about Raina,” Nathaniel said. He crawled towards me.
“Don’t touch me,” I said.
He rolled onto his back, for all the world like a big pussy cat wanting its belly rubbed. He stretched, straining from toes to finger tips. He laughed and rolled onto his stomach, propped on his elbows. He looked up at me, long, rich brown hair like a curtain across his face. His lilac eyes stared out at me, feral and almost frightening. He lay down in a pool of hair and energy. His gaze stayed on my face, and I realized he was being playful. Not exactly seductive, but playful. It was different and almost more disturbing. Nathaniel managed to be childlike, catlike, and still be an adult. You didn’t know whether to pat him on the head, rub his belly, or kiss him. All three seemed to be up for grabs. It was too confusing for me.
I used the far bed to get to my feet. When I was sure I could walk without falling down, I let go of the bed. I swayed just a touch, but not too bad. I could walk. Great, because I wanted out of here.
“What do you want us to do?” Stephen asked.
“Go to my house. Jean-Claude’s there, and Richard was there.”
“What about him?” Kevin asked.
Nathaniel raised his head enough to look at us all. He said nothing, asked for nothing, but I could taste his pulse in my mouth. I knew he was scared. Scared to be left alone again. I hoped this empathy with me wasn’t permanent. I had quite enough men running around in my head without adding another one.
“Take him with you,” I said. “The leopards are mine as you are mine.”
“He is to be protected and treated as pack?” Kevin asked.
I rubbed my temples. I was getting a headache. “Yes, yes. I’ve given him my protection. Any of the leopards that want my protection can have it.”
“As our lupa that binds us to protect them,” Lorraine said, “even to give our life for them. Will they do the same?”
I wasn’t getting a headache, I had one.
Nathaniel rolled to his feet in a movement that was too graceful to be real and almost too quick to see. He sat on the foot of Stephen’s bed, watching me with bright, eager eyes. He said, “My body is yours. My life, if you want it, is yours to take.” He said it almost matter-of-factly—no, joyously, like it was a good thing.
I stared at him. “I don’t want anyone’s life, Nathaniel, but if the pack is willing to risk their lives to protect you, I expect you to do the same.”
“I will do anything you want,” he said. “All you have to do is tell me.”
He didn’t say, “ask me.” He said, “tell me.” I’d never heard it phrased quite like that. It implied he didn’t have the right to say no. I asked, “Does everyone here know they have the right to argue a point with me? I mean, when I say jump, you don’t just say how high, right?”
“We don’t,” Stephen said. His face was guarded, careful.
“How about you?” I asked, turning to Nathaniel.
He rose to his knees, leaning his upper body out towards me, but with both hands still on the bed railing. He didn’t try to touch me, just get closer. “How about me, what?” he asked.
“You do understand that you have the right to refuse me? That my word is not like from on high?”
“Just tell me what you want me to do, Anita, and I’ll do it.”
“Just like that, no questions, you’ll just do it?”
He nodded. “Anything.”
“Is this a custom among the leopards, the pard?” I asked.
“No,” Stephen said, “it’s just Nathaniel’s way.”
I shook my head, literally waving my hands in the air as if I’d just erase it all. “I don’t have time for this. He’s healed. Take him with you.”
“Do you want me to wait in your room?” Nathaniel asked.
“If you need to rest, help yourself to a bed. I won’t be there.”
He smiled happily and I had the oddest feeling that what I was saying wasn’t what he was hearing. I wanted out of the room, away from them all. I’d tell Padgett I was sending them all to a safe house, and he’d buy it because he wanted off this detail. He wanted away from them more than I did.
The doctor was amazed at Nathaniel’s recovery. They released him, though they started talking about wanting to run more tests. I vetoed that. We had places to go, people to meet. They all piled into Kevin’s and Teddy’s cars, and I went for my Jeep. Happy to be rid of them for a while. Happy even if it meant another crime scene. Happy ev
en if I still didn’t know how to tell if Malcolm was alive down there in the dark. Nathaniel watched me through the back window of the car, his lilac gaze on me until the car turned a corner. He’d been lost, and now he thought he’d been found. But if he expected me to be more than friends, he was still lost.
39
I FELT LIKE shit and didn’t have a bruise to show for it. I concentrated on the next problem, pushing what I’d done, and almost done, to the back burner. Nothing I could do about it until I talked to Richard and Jean-Claude. I’d worried about tying myself to the vampire, but I’d never really worried about being tied to the werewolf. I should have known I’d get shit from both sides.
I got beeped three times in about three minutes. McKinnon first, Dolph second, and an unknown number. The unknown number called back twice in ten minutes. Damn. I pulled off into a service station. I called Dolph first.
“Anita.”
“How do you always know it’s me?”
“I don’t,” he said.
“What’s up?”
“We need you at a new location.”
“I’m on my way to the church site for McKinnon.”
“Pete’s here with me.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“We’ve got a vamp on his way to the hospital,” he said.
“In his coffin?”
“No.”
“Then how…?”
“He was on the stairs covered in blankets. They don’t think he’s going to make it. But this is one of the halfway houses for the Church. We’ve got a two-biter here that says the vamp we took was the guardian for the younger vamps still inside. She seems worried about what the vamps will do when they wake and the guardian isn’t there to calm them down or feed them.”
“Feed them?” I asked.
“Says that they each take a small drink from the guardian to start the night. Without it, she says the hunger grows too strong, and they may be dangerous.”
“Isn’t she a font of information.”
“She’s scared, Anita. She’s got two freaking vampire bites on her neck, and she’s scared.”
“Shit,” I said. “I’m on my way, but frankly, Dolph, I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“You’re the vampire expert, you tell me.” A little hostility there.
“I’ll think about it on the way. Maybe I’ll have come up with a plan by the time I get there.”
“Before they became legal, we’d have just burned them out ourselves.”
“Yeah,” I said, “the good old days.”
“Yeah,” he said. I don’t think he got the sarcasm. But with Dolph it was always hard to tell.
I dialed the third number. Larry answered, “Anita.” His voice sounded strained, pain-filled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my throat suddenly tight.
“I’m all right.”
“You don’t sound all right,” I said.
“I’ve just been moving around too much with the stitches and stuff. I need to take a pain pill, but I won’t be able to drive.”
“You need a lift?”
He was quiet for a second or two, then, “Yes.”
I knew how much it had cost him to call me. This was one of his first times in the field on a police job without me. The fact that he needed my help for anything must have griped his ass. It would have bugged the hell out of me. In fact, I wouldn’t have called. I’d have toughed it out, until I passed out. This wasn’t a criticism of Larry, it was a criticism of me. He was just smarter than I was sometimes. This was one of those times.
“Where are you?”
He gave me the address, and it was close. Lucky us. “I’m less than five minutes away, but I can’t take you home. I’m on my way to another crime scene.”
“As long as I don’t have to drive, I’ll be okay. It’s starting to take all my attention just to stay on the road. Time to stop driving when it’s this hard.”
“You really do have a higher wisdom score than I do.”
“Which means you wouldn’t have asked for help yet,” he said.
“Well…yeah.”
“When would you have asked for help?”
“When I drove off the road and had to call a tow truck.”
He laughed and took a sharp breath as if it hurt. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I know,” he said. “Thanks for not saying you told me so.”
“I wasn’t even thinking it, Larry.”
“Honest?”
“Cross my heart and…”
“Don’t say it.”
“You getting superstitious on me, Larry?”
He was quiet for a space of heartbeats. “Maybe, or maybe it’s just been a long day.”
“It’ll be a longer night,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. “Just what I wanted to hear.” He hung up then without saying goodbye.
Maybe I’d trained Dolph never to say goodbye. Maybe I was always the bearer of bad tidings, and everyone wanted to get off the phone with me as soon as possible. Naw.
40
I EXPECTED LARRY to be sitting in his car. He wasn’t. He was leaning against it. Even from a distance I could tell he was in pain, back stiff, trying not to move any more than necessary. I pulled in beside him. Up close he looked worse. His white dress shirt was smeared with black soot. His summer-weight dress pants were brown, so they’d survived a little better. A black smudge ran across his forehead to his chin. The blackness outlined one of his blue eyes so that it seemed darker, like a sapphire surrounded by onyx. The look in his eyes was dull, as if the pain had drained him.
“Jesus, you look like shit,” I said.
He almost smiled. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“Take a pill, get in the Jeep.”
He started to shake his head, stopped in mid-motion and said, “No, if you can drive, I can go to the next disaster.”
“You smell like someone set your clothes on fire.”
“You look pristine,” he said, and he sounded resentful.
“What’s wrong, Larry?”
“Other than my back feels like a red-hot poker is being shoved up it?”
“Besides that,” I said.
“I’ll tell you in the car.” Underneath the sulkiness, he sounded tired.
I didn’t argue with him, just started walking for the Jeep. A few steps and I realized he wasn’t keeping up. I turned and found him standing very still, eyes closed, hands in fists at his sides.
I walked back to him. “Need a hand?”
He opened his eyes, smiled, “A back, actually. Hands work fine.”
I smiled and took his arm gently, half expecting him to tell me not to, but he didn’t. He was hurting. He took a stiff step, and I steadied him. We made slow but sure progress to the Jeep. His breath was coming in small, shallow pants by the time I got him around to the passenger side door. I opened the door, wasn’t sure how to get him inside. It was going to hurt any way I could do it.
“Just let me hold your arm. I can do it myself,” he said.
I offered my arm. He got a death grip on it and sat down. He made a small hissing noise between his teeth. “You said it would hurt worse the second day. Why are you always right?”
“Hard to be perfect,” I said, “but it’s a burden I’ve learned to cope with.” I gave him my best bland face.
He smiled, then started to laugh, then almost doubled over with pain, which hurt more. He ended up writhing on the seat for a few seconds. When he could sit still again, he grabbed the dashboard until his fingers turned colors. “God, don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry,” I said. I got the aloe-and-lanolin Baby Wipes from the trunk of my car. They were great for getting blood off. They’d probably work on soot. I handed him the wipes and helped him buckle his seat belt. Yes, his wounds would have hurt less if he hadn’t had the belt, but no one rides with me without a seat belt. My mom would be alive today if she’d been wearing a bel
t.
“Take a pill, Larry. Sleep in the car. I’ll take you home after this next scene.”
“No,” he said, and he sounded so stubborn, so determined, that I knew I couldn’t talk him out of it. So why try?
“Have it your way,” I said. “But what have you been doing that you look like you’ve been trying to hide your spots?”
He moved just his eyes to look at me, frowning.
“Rolling in soot,” I said. “Don’t you ever watch Disney movies or read children’s books?”
He gave a small smile. “Not lately. I’ve had three fire scenes where I just had to confirm the vamps were dead. Two of the scenes I couldn’t find anything, just ashes. The third one looked like black sticks. I didn’t know what to do, Anita. I tried to check for a pulse. I know that was stupid. The skull just exploded into ashes all over me.” He was sitting very stiff, very controlled, yet his body gave the impression of hunching from pain, avoiding the blow of what he’d seen today.
What I was about to say wouldn’t help things. “Vamps burn to ashes, Larry. If there were skeletal remains left, it wasn’t vampire.”
He looked at me then, the sudden movement bringing tears to his eyes. “You mean that was human?”
“Probably—I’m not sure, but probably.”
“Thanks to me we’ll never know for sure. Without the fangs in the skull you can’t tell the difference.”
“That’s not entirely true. They can do DNA. Though truthfully I’m not sure what the fire does to DNA sampling. If they can gather it, they can at least know if it’s human or vamp.”
“If it’s human, I’ve destroyed any chance they have of using dental records,” he said.
“Larry, if the skull was that fragile, I don’t think anything could have saved it. It certainly wouldn’t have stood up to dental imprinting.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I licked my lips and wanted to lie. “Not a hundred percent.”
“You’d have known it was human. You wouldn’t have touched it, thinking it was alive, would you?”
I let silence fill the car.
“Answer me,” he said.
“No, I wouldn’t have checked for a pulse. I would have assumed it was human remains.”
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