Blood of Eden

by Tami Dane

  “Your favorite book when you were two was The Meaning of Relativity, by Albert Einstein. You said you were going to make a time travel machine when you grew up.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. I glanced at Mom. “You didn’t tell him?”

  She was teary-eyed. “I swear I didn’t. We haven’t done a lot of talking... .” She blushed.

  The man, who might be my father, sat on the arm of Mom’s chair. “I had to disappear for a while. To protect you and your mother.”

  “From what?”

  “From some very dangerous ... people.” The man—my dad?—put his arm on Mom’s shoulder. “The problem is, they’ve found you, and my staying away wasn’t going to protect you any longer.” Immediately my thoughts turned to my nocturnal visitor. “I can’t explain everything right now.” His gaze slid to JT. “We’ll talk later.”

  JT took the hint. He moseyed toward the door. “I guess I’ll head back to the office. If you’re okay, Sloan?”

  I glanced at my mom and dad. They both nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” I wobbled on somewhat shaky legs to him. “Thanks for everything, JT.” I gave him a little kiss on the cheek and locked the door after he left. Then I turned toward the man who’d walked out of my life over twenty years ago, and said, “We’re alone now. I’m ready to hear the whole truth.”

  Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.

  —Lewis Carroll

  25

  Before he would say another word, my father insisted I sit. He didn’t have to work too hard at convincing me. I took the nearest seat, curled my fingers around the cushion’s edge, and braced myself for another shock.

  What could possibly keep a man away from the wife and child he supposedly loved?

  My mother was gazing at him with love in her eyes and a girlish flush to her cheeks. I had to admit, she looked younger and more alive than I’d ever seen her. It was as if she’d taken a dip in the Fountain of Youth. Seeing her like this—so happy, so radiant—stirred up my emotions even more.

  But I wasn’t feeling all gushy and mushy and happy.

  I was feeling furious. Bitter and distrusting.

  Just look at her! Look at that twinkle in her eye. How could he have stolen all those years of happiness from that woman? All those minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months of this kind of joy? She’d suffered and struggled for so long.

  It was wrong. So, so wrong.

  “... after I’d published that article, everything changed,” he said.

  I realized I’d been completely lost in thought and hadn’t heard what he’d been saying. I decided it was better if I cut to the chase. Why sit through a long, drawn-out explanation about published articles and supposed danger? The bottom line was he’d abandoned us, left us to fend for ourselves, and let us believe all of this time that he was dead. Nobody did that to people they loved.

  “You couldn’t have loved us,” I said, my voice a low growl, sounding foreign to my own ears. “You stayed away for over twenty years. Nothing could keep me away from the people I love for that long. Especially if they were in danger.”

  He pulled up a chair, positioning it across from me, and sat. “I understand how you feel—”

  I leapt to my feet and yelled, “How could you?” My nose was burning, damn it. I didn’t want to cry. I wouldn’t let myself bawl. I sniffled. “Have you ever been abandoned?”

  “Yes, I have, Sloan.”

  My gaze snapped to his eyes and I saw the emotions churning in their depth, but that didn’t stop me from lashing out at him. The emotions were too powerful to hold back, like a storm surge pouring over a break wall. “If you were abandoned, how could you do that to someone else? To someone who needed you? Loved you? With all her heart!” I stabbed my index finger at my mother, who was standing at his side, like the obedient, loving wife she would have loved to be for him. “Look at her. Look at her face, her eyes. Do you have any idea how much she’s suffered?”

  My father looked at my mother. “Yes, I do. You can’t imagine how many times I wanted to come back to her. It nearly killed me.”

  “Don’t even try to gain my sympathy,” I spat through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not.” Looking at me now, he said, “I don’t want your sympathy.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and circled around the chair, putting it between him and me. I set my hands on the chair’s back, using it to steady myself. “Then what do you want?”

  “I want ... I need ... your trust.”

  I laughed. It was a hollow, bitter sound, which echoed through the room.

  “Sloan,” my mother said.

  My gaze snapped to Mom, and for a moment, the rage eased a little. But then it welled even higher. “This is bullshit, Mom. I can see you love him. But he’s going to hurt you again.” To him, that man, I said, “It would’ve been better if you’d never come back.”

  “You’re right. I would’ve stayed away if I could have, after all this time.” He visibly sighed. “But they’ve found you. Nobody else can protect you like I can.”

  I didn’t want to know—I really didn’t. But I asked anyway: “Who’s they?”

  “The Sluagh.” He reached for Mom’s hand and pulled her closer to him.

  “‘Sluagh’?” I echoed. Sounded like the bad guys in a low-budget sci-fi movie. “Seriously?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he dared to say.

  “Stop saying that. You couldn’t know what I’m thinking, because you don’t know me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sloan. You’re right. I don’t know you well enough.”

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  “But I do. I know your favorite book. I know you like custard-filled donuts, and hate jelly-filled ones. I know you’ve always dreamed of being an FBI agent. And now that you have the job you’ve been wishing for, you’re afraid you aren’t capable of handling it. And I know about the creature who has been visiting you at night.”

  He did?

  How?

  Feeling a little off balance, I decided to sit again. “What do you know about that? Do you know what it is? And what does it want?”

  “He’s the reason why I left twenty years ago. And why I came back.” James Irvine pointed at me. “He wants you, Sloan.”

  “I kinda got that. But for what?”

  “For his bride.”

  Now, this was really sounding like a low-budget film. That wasn’t what I was expecting. Not at all. “This is a joke.”

  Then again, why hadn’t I been expecting such an off-the-wall explanation? All of my life, I’d been telling people my father was delusional. Enough said.

  The man who called himself my father sighed. He stood, circled the room, then stopped next to my mother. “The reason why I published that article so long ago, the one that got me fired, was because I was trying to put an end to all of humanity’s fears.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you started researching vampires because ...” I didn’t finish the sentence. For some reason, I felt stupid saying what I’d thought.

  “... because you were being attacked?” he finished for me.

  “Well, maybe,” I admitted, feeling foolish.

  “Not exactly. You were young then. I could see why you’d think that. The truth is, I have known all my life that vampires exist.” He sat again, then leaned forward. “Your mother begged me not to tell anyone, not even you. But I thought I should do the opposite, drag the proverbial skeletons out of the closet. If only mankind could accept that certain beings were real—could see them for what they are, and aren’t—then maybe things could change.”

  “Change? How?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He glanced at my mother. They exchanged a look. “We could stop hiding in the shadows.”

  “We?” I echoed.

  My father nodded. “We. As in, the Mythics. There are many of us. Some dark. Some light.”

  Mythics. I assumed it was a broad term, used by all kinds of mythical beings.
<
br />   If this conversation had taken place a few weeks ago, I would have been convinced by now that my father was genuinely delusional. “Which are you?”

  “Light. I’m the high commander of Her Majesty’s armies.”

  “What queen is that?”

  “Queen of the elves. I’m not human, and neither are you.”

  “Elves, you say?” An image of little happy men in red-and-green suits, singing Christmas carols while building toy trucks, played through my mind.

  “I’ve also held a position with the FBI, consulting on cases involving Mythics when needed—though not many people know about that. Though now that the PBAU has been formed, I doubt I’ll be doing much more work for the FBI.”

  “I see.” I didn’t know what to say. Then a question popped into my head. “Did you have anything to do with the formation of the PBAU?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  That explained the chief’s questions during my first day on the job.

  Which led to my next question: “Did I get the job because of you?”

  “No. You were selected for the job because you were the best candidate. I’m very proud of you, Sloan.”

  “I see.” My brain was churning. I needed time to sort this all out. Elves. Mythics. My father, alive, working for the FBI. “That explains a lot.” I stood. “Okay, I think I’m ready to go home now.”

  “No, Sloan.” My father shook his head. “It isn’t safe for you to go anywhere until I’ve explained some things.”

  “Your father was the one who was paying me to follow you,” Mom interjected, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, I didn’t know it at first. He used a false name, to hide his identity. He was worried about you. About us. All of our correspondence was done through e-mail. The payments were sent electronically.”

  Before I could summon up a response to Mom’s news, my phone rang. I checked it. Gabe. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take this call.”

  “Not at all.” My mother turned to my dad and smiled. “We’ll just head to the bedroom to ... talk.”

  At the bedroom door, my dad, the elf, said, “Sloan, I must warn you, you can’t tell anyone about me. You don’t know who you can trust and who you can’t yet.”

  “Warning heeded.” A couple of questions popped into my head. “You didn’t happen to break into my car, did you? Or clobber my partner over the head at a coffee shop?”

  “No. I’ve kept my distance to protect you.” So much for solving those mysteries. “One more thing,” my father said, his expression serious. “If you absolutely must leave this suite, which I strongly suggest you avoid, be sure to return by twilight. Not a minute later.”

  “Will do.” I waved him off, then answered the call. “Gabe, what’s up?”

  “Sloan, it’s about Chief Peyton. The chief is missing. The team needs your help.”

  I glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Where are you?”

  “At the Bishop house.”

  I checked the time. Twilight was hours away. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  When I turned the corner onto Summer Sky Path, something struck me like a brick.

  Twilight.

  That was a major problem if I was going to help in the apprehension of Rosemarie Bishop, the adze. To be safe, we needed to wait until she shifted into her insect form, at twilight.

  Driving my father’s rental, I called Gabe, to talk about maybe waiting one night. Gabe told me that wasn’t an option. Bishop was holding the chief hostage somewhere, and she had bitten her. If we didn’t locate the chief within the next few hours, and get her to a hospital for treatment, she would most likely die.

  It came down to a choice. Between my personal safety and the chief’s life. That was no easy decision to make.

  If only I could think of a way to apprehend the adze before sunset safely. If only ...

  “Here’s what we’ve got,” Gabe said, rushing toward me as I scrambled out of the rental car a short time later. “The chief’s been missing for a couple of hours now. Bishop says she has her hidden and has bitten her, infecting her with a strain of West Nile that replicates every ten minutes. If the chief doesn’t get treatment by sunset, she’ll die.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. “What does Bishop want in return for the chief?”

  “Her daughter, Veronica.” He hurried me toward the high-tech mobile station, which was set up by the Clarksville and Baltimore Police Departments. “She’s still at camp.”

  “Knowing what I do about the adze, I can’t figure out why Bishop let Veronica go in the first place. Has anyone gone to get her?”

  “JT’s taking care of that. He’s in a bureau helicopter, en route.”

  “Okay.”

  Gabe leaned against one of the many police cars parked in front of the Bishop house. “Of course, we aren’t going to turn the kid over.”

  “Of course.”

  “JT seems to think you’ll figure out a way to capture the creature without making the exchange.”

  My heart stopped for a moment. Luckily, it started up again. “He has a lot of faith in me.” More than I had, that was for sure.

  “We all do.”

  I dug in my pocket and pulled out my phone, dialing the hotel I’d just left. My parents’ room phone rang and rang, and rang, while I chanted, “Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up.” No luck there. I ended the call and stuffed my phone in my pocket again.

  What now?

  “Do we have communication with Bishop?” I asked as we watched officers in riot gear stream out of a black Hummer.

  “We have a phone number.” Gabe opened the mobile command center’s door for me, and I stomped up the steps. He introduced me to the officer in charge, then directed me toward a phone that was wired to recording equipment.

  “I can try to talk to Bishop, I guess,” I offered, pretty much convinced it wasn’t going to do a damn thing. In my mind’s eye, I could see pages and pages of my father’s research. I’d read everything he’d written on the adze. I knew how it metamorphosed. I knew what it ate. I knew where it lived. I didn’t know how to capture it in human form. It wouldn’t be as simple as one might think. Despite the fact that this adze had possessed the body of a middle-aged woman, the creature would possess sharper senses, faster reflexes, and greater strength than its host.

  Did it have a vulnerability?

  The lieutenant dialed the number and handed me the phone. Bishop answered on the second ring.

  “Do you have what I want?” she asked.

  “We’re working on it.” I mouthed a thank-you to Gabe as he slid a pad of paper and pen across the table for me.

  “Who is this?” she snapped.

  “My name is Sloan Skye. I’m with the FBI.”

  “I know you. This is your fault.”

  “My fault? Why’s that?” I asked, doodling on the paper.

  “Because you wouldn’t leave me alone. You just had to keep digging and digging. Why can’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  “That needing that child’s blood doesn’t make me evil.”

  “I understand,” I said, not 100 percent agreeing with her, but sort of understanding where she was coming from. Maybe, I thought, as she rattled on—justifying her actions, and explaining how painful her condition was—all of those years of dealing with Mom and her delusions would help me handle this situation? Was it possible I could talk Bishop out of a standoff? “That kind of pain would make anyone desperate.”

  “Exactly.” Bishop sighed. “I tried the palm oil. It barely took the edge off. The longer Veronica was gone, the more it burned. Until the palm oil did nothing anymore. That’s when I took Eden. I took very good care of her, though. I was going to give her back as soon as Veronica came home.”

  “Yes, of course you were. You couldn’t help yourself,” I said, trying to present a sympathetic ear. “You needed a child’s blood.”

  “I couldn’t. I tried.” There was silence. I wondered if she’d hung up. />
  “Are you still there?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s hurting. Very bad.”

  I scribbled some notes, then slid the paper toward Gabe. “Veronica is on the way. She’ll be here. But not before sunset.”

  More silence.

  Bishop said, “The other agent said she’d be here before that.”

  “They sent a helicopter to pick her up.” I glanced at a clock. “It’s almost seven. Sunset is at eight forty-nine tonight. There’s no chance they’ll make it.”

  “They lied. Or you’re lying.” Anger. I heard anger. But also desperation.

  “No, I’m telling the truth. Now you need to tell me where you’ve hidden Peyton.”

  “If I tell you, I won’t get Veronica. You’ll wait until I change and throw me in a concrete cell. Do you know what hell that would be for me? To be denied blood for so long? It hurts, Sloan Skye. Every cell in this body burns.”

  I skimmed my notes. “Isn’t there another way? What about blood from cadavers?” I said, thinking aloud.

  “Dead blood is useless.”

  “And adults?” I asked.

  “Toxic.”

  “Animals?” I suggested.

  “Hell no.”

  I scribbled some more notes. “You’re not making this easy.”

  “Believe me, I wish I could. Do you think I chose to be this way? Do you think I like being this dependent upon anything? Anyone? Let alone an innocent child? Would you want to depend upon something for sustenance that everyone, including yourself, felt compelled to protect and cherish?”

  That would be rough. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Bring me the child,” she demanded.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The call ended. I turned to Gabe.

  “Now what?” he asked. “Did you get anything else from her?”

  “No, outside of the fact that she does feel a little guilty about having to feed from a child.”

  “Hmm.” Gabe chewed his lower lip. “It has to be a kid’s blood?”

  “Yes.”