Blood Thorn

by A. S. Green

  “Allow us our natural existence,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “And never fear. We will assure that you enjoy yours.”

  Ainsley pressed her lips together and forced herself to smile. None of them looked fooled.

  31

  It was ten o’clock at night when Alex pulled his BMW into one of the visitors’ parking spots in front of the science building. Ainsley hadn’t spoken the whole trip, and she wasn’t in the mood to explain.

  “I know something’s bothering you,” he’d said as soon as they’d got in the car. “I can taste it. I’ve been tasting it all afternoon.”

  “I’m fine,” she’d said. And it was sort of true. The shock she’d felt at learning Alex had lied to her had dissipated quickly, turning to hurt, then to humiliation, and now to cool apathy. Her mother had warned her to be on the lookout for this very thing. She had no cause to be surprised. Alex was just like her father, her grandfather, probably like all men who’d ever walked the planet.

  Say what you must to get what you want—that’s what they should have tattooed on their forearms.

  After another mile of silence Alex said, “I read somewhere that ‘I’m fine’ are the two most dangerous words when uttered by a woman.”

  “Well, I’m not a mere woman, now am I?” she said, her tone chilly. “I’m your ba’vonn-shee queen. Or so you keep telling me.”

  Alex gave her a sharp look of disapproval, then misread the whole thing. “I can see you’re nervous. But don’t worry. MacConall is the best there is. No one will get past him.”

  Ainsley had no doubt, especially when she spotted the menacing looking man in front of the building, just under the overhead light. He looked like a man, but Finn had told her the hell hounds—or fae hounds—could shift into terrifying beasts. “I’m not worried.”

  “Is something else bothering you?” Alex asked.

  “No. Should there be?”

  He glanced over, giving her a look of disapproval. Ainsley rolled her eyes and got out of the car. Alex met her at her door before she even had time to stand.

  Cormac MacConall walked toward them. He was muscular, unshaven, and dressed all in black, with wavy dark brown hair that hung to his shoulders. He looked supremely pissed off.

  Up close, Ainsley could detect a small scar at the corner of his mouth, and his unblinking gray eyes scrutinized her intently.

  “Ainsley,” MacConall said in greeting as she and Alex reached the door. “I’m pleased to meet ye.”

  She was surprised by his pleasant Irish accent. “Likewise,” she said, “and thank you.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “MacConall’s going to escort you upstairs,” Alex said, though he grabbed her hands as if not wanting her to go. “Just to make sure no one slipped inside before we arrived. Once you’re safe and locked into the lab, we’ll stake out the parking lot and monitor whoever enters.”

  Ainsley nodded. He’d explained all this to her before.

  “Okay,” he said, and he kissed her temple. “Be safe.”

  She nodded and walked away with the hell hound, not even bothering with a goodbye.

  Two minutes later, Ainsley was in the lab with the door locked behind her. The room was dimly lit to encourage the blooms, and the air smelled of chemicals, an intense floral perfume, and the ever-present carafe of bitter coffee on Professor Patel’s desk.

  Everything was normal. Comfortable. She was exactly where she belonged, and here she had time to think. She let out a breath. Things really did make sense here.

  “Miss Morris!” Professor Patel exclaimed, looking delighted to see her. “You’re just in time.”

  He stepped away from the lab table and gestured as if he were a game-show host, presenting the grand prize. Silene nutans. The white flowers were in full bloom, the hairy leaves glistened.

  Ainsley drew closer and inhaled. “They’re beautiful. It’s like a perfumery in here, isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. “Quite the little seducers, aren’t they? I feel for those poor ensnared moths. They never stood a chance.”

  Ainsley straightened. “I know the feeling.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

  “Nothing.” She slung her backpack off her shoulder and onto an empty lab table.

  “Their stems are strong, see?” He plucked one with his finger. “They hold the flowers’ heads up so tall and beautifully.”

  Ainsley unzipped her bag and retrieved her supply pouch, taking out her tweezers and loupe. She leaned in close to examine a stem under magnification. Sap oozed from one of the small splits.

  “That sap seduces the insects, luring them in to ultimately nourish the plant,” he said, telling her something she already knew.

  “And what does the moth get out of it?” she asked facetiously. Disappointment, that’s what. Disappointment and a broken heart.

  Professor Patel took a step back, and she felt his scrutiny. When more than a few beats of silence passed between them, she looked up.

  He tipped his head and his eyebrows pulled together. “Are we not talking about botany anymore, Miss Morris?”

  She shrugged and scraped some of the stem with her straight-edge razor. Next, she cut the sample into fine bits, depositing them in an extraction tube. “How much?”

  “Just to the first line. Don’t pack it in.”

  She did as he instructed and when she looked up, his curious expression had turned to one of amusement.

  “What?” she asked, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

  “Did you know that mystics believed if you were trapped in a bad situation, the catchfly flower’s energy would push you forward and prepare you for a brand new future?”

  “Why would they think that?” She used the smallest pipet to add the extracting solution.

  “Probably because, without the flower’s wounds, it would be harder for it to gain nourishment. Its suffering is its salvation. The same is true for us. Through trials, we gain the strength we need to step into our futures, stronger than we were before.”

  “I didn’t know you were a philosopher.”

  He laughed. “I’m not.”

  Ainsley didn’t want to be sad and lonely like her mother, but Alex had repeatedly kept the truth from her. She didn’t think she was stronger for having been lied to. She filled the tube with distilled water. “It’s just a plant, Professor.”

  “Is it? I would think you of all people would know there was more to it than that.”

  Ainsley gave him a questioning look, then refocused on her work. She sealed the tube and shook it vigorously.

  When she didn’t respond to his earlier statement, he made a grunt of impatience then said, “The catchfly only blooms under the perfect conditions. We can’t force it to be anything other than what it is. Whatever has upset you, perhaps you can forgive it for not blooming exactly the way you wanted it to, hmmm?”

  Ainsley looked up, still shaking the tube, but Professor Patel had already turned and was running a rapid test on the plant pathogens.

  Was he right about her needing to forgive Alex? He might have been misguided in keeping the truth from her, but did she really think he meant her any harm? It probably wasn’t fair of her to project her disappointment in her father on him. Alex didn’t deserve it.

  She transferred the filtered tissue extract to the spot plate and tested the nitrate levels.

  She and Alex both had wounds. Maybe they could both be stronger for them. They could step into their futures together. She checked the clock. It would be at least five hours before she could talk to him again.

  When she looked down at her sample, the liquid was dark pink. Nitrates abundant. Energy levels high.

  It was just after four in the morning when the last of the blooms were closing. Ainsley was jittery from all the coffee, but exhilarated to be back doing something normal.

  “That’s a wrap,” Professor Patel said. “I’m heading home. You should get some sleep, too. You probabl
y need to recharge your energies. I can give you a lift.”

  Ainsley glanced up and looked at Professor Patel as if seeing him for the first time. “Recharge…my energies?”

  Cormac MacConall had seemed very confident that the person who sent the threatening message wasn’t inside the science building, but had he been wrong? She felt like she was looking at her professor for the very first time.

  “Everything okay, Miss Morris?” He smiled at her benignly, waiting for her response.

  “Yes?” Was there something sinister behind his question?

  “Good. And good work tonight. Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “Maybe?” What had he meant earlier when he said you of all people? “I’m not sure what my plans are.”

  “Well, I’m always happy for the help. But I understand if you want to have a life outside the lab, too.”

  Ainsley forced out a breath, scolding herself for being so paranoid. Professor Patel had never had anything but her best interests at heart. He was her biggest cheerleader in the department. There was no way he could harbor any evil intent. He had a wife and kids, for Pete's sake. He had a St. Bernard named Snuggles. No sadistic killer had a dog named Snuggles.

  He shucked off his lab coat and hung it on a hook. Then, with one last “goodbye,” he left.

  Ainsley stared at the door for a few seconds, struck by the sudden silence of the lab, then she called Alex rather than texting, just so she could hear his voice.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  “Everything looking good out there?”

  “Not even any traffic. The parking lot will get busier, I assume, now that the sun’s coming up.”

  “Yes, but you won't have to worry about that. I'm done and heading out.”

  “Looking forward to having you back.”

  Ainsley grabbed her bag and left the bright lights of the lab. The hallway outside was long and dark, all the doors were closed. It would be a couple hours before anyone was around.

  She fished her keys from her purse, locked the laboratory door, and turned, smacking blindly into something solid. “Uff!”

  She looked up to see Frankie’s familiar coveralls, and a feeling of relief swept over her. “Sorry, Frankie. Didn’t see you there.”

  “You’re makin’ a habit of runnin’ into me.”

  “That’s because you’re always there when I’m bleary-eyed and half asleep.”

  “Call it a gift,” he joked, “but—hey—you can’t get out this way. I just waxed the floors. Got to do it on Saturday nights because there’s less traffic in the halls. Take the back stairs, will ya?”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the blinking Exit sign. “Sure.”

  “I’ll walk you out if you’re nervous.”

  “Uh…Yeah. Thanks. Are you heading home, too?”

  “Night shift’s over.”

  They descended the stairs toward the back of the building. Ainsley’s phone buzzed and she pulled her phone from her pocket. It was a text from her mom: Want to go out for breakfast once your lab is over, or will you be too tired?

  Ainsley was just about to answer when Frankie’s hand swung out, knocking the phone from her grasp.

  “Hey!” Crap. The screen was probably cracked. She jogged down the three steps to retrieve it, but Frankie’s hand shot out again, this time wrapping around her upper arm, yanking her up.

  “Frankie!”

  “Quiet!”

  “What are you doing?” She jerked at her arm. “Let go of me.”

  He muscled her past her phone, past the door that exited to the sidewalk, then down another flight that opened into the underground parking garage.

  “Let go!” She twisted and kicked, yanking at her arm, but his grip was like a vise.

  “This way,” he said, pushing her toward a blue pickup truck. The bed of the truck was packed with heavy equipment and a metal barrel drilled through with holes. Something about it struck her as familiar.

  “Peadar might be dead, but I was paid to do a job. I don’t take somethin’ for nothin’. I’m good for my word.”

  A creeping sensation crawled over Ainsley’s scalp. This couldn’t be happening. What did a college custodian have to do with any of this? She knew Frankie. They were…friends. Kind of. She yanked harder, but his grasp was too tight—painfully tight. “Frankie, please don’t do this.”

  He opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.” Her throat was too tight to scream, but it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no one around.

  “You know what’s goin’ on.” He lifted her and tossed her inside.

  Ainsley twisted and kicked toward the door, but with one strong shove, he slammed the door shut, jamming her ankle and sending a sharp pain up her leg.

  Ainsley jerked at the handle but it wouldn’t open. Cold settled into her bones. Now what? There had to be another way out of here.

  Frankie got behind the wheel and started the truck. A plastic crucifix swung as he peeled out of his spot and toward the exit. Ainsley’s frantic eyes landed on a utility bill wedged in the cup holder. The address label read Jerome Franklin Mosley.

  Her mother’s yearbook. The odd initials: BCB. Oh, God.

  Ainsley twisted in her seat to look at him, panic trickling down her spine. “Why are you doing this?”

  He didn’t even look at her as the security doors slowly rose. His voice, usually so upbeat and amiable, was now coolly professional. “Does the name Ian Fitzpatrick mean anythin’ to ya?”

  Ainsley’s heart sank. “Where’s my dad?”

  Frankie made a snide hmph sound. “It’s good to hear you confirm it. No room for doubt now. Makes this easier.”

  He jerked the wheel to the right, squealing the tires as they exited the garage. The first traffic light was red, but he ignored it, making a quick left on Franklin and heading for the highway.

  Ainsley yanked on the door handle again, not really expecting a different result. Was there something in the car she could use to break the window? Maybe if she kept him talking she could find a way out of this.

  “You went to school with my mom. You followed her and my dad when they were dating.”

  Frankie tipped his head to the side and raised his eyebrows in confirmation, as if it should have been obvious a long time ago.

  “Are you still following him? Do you know where he is now?”

  “Sure,” Frankie said, his voice cold. “I know where he is.”

  Bile rose up in Ainsley’s throat. She’d asked that question so often and of so many people, and no one had been able to answer her with such confidence. There was only one way Frankie could be so sure. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Frankie only raised his eyebrows in an expression that said, What do you think?

  “You killed him.” Ainsley’s sinuses burned as tears stung her eyes. The finality of it hurt more than she’d ever thought it could. Her father hadn’t left them. He hadn’t wanted to leave them. This bastard had killed him, and how many others?

  “Did you kill Alex’s queen, too?”

  Frankie reached up to his visor, flipped it down and retrieved a photograph from under the cover of the vanity mirror. He flicked the photo at her, and it settled on her lap. The same beautiful brunette from Alex’s bedside table stared up at her. She wasn’t a mere mistress. She was the one Alex had bonded. The queen whom he was trying to replace.

  “This is Orla?” she asked, feeling sick.

  “We knew she was a queen because of the engagement necklace. Our leader—Peadar—he told us all about them. First they get the necklace, then they have their bonding ceremony. But we got her early—before they had a chance to do their blood exchange. We thought the rest of the vermin would die off quickly after that. We thought it would be instantaneous, so the others in my group moved on to other targets in other places.”

  Ainsley’s stomach turned. Alex hadn’t lied to her after all and as the tears rose up, Orla’s kind face blurred in
front of her.

  “I stayed behind because I was still in school. I never expected to run into your father when the new semester began. If I did, I wouldn’t have been wearin’ that foul woman’s necklace.”

  Ainsley could picture the scene so clearly, her father in his tweed jacket, his auburn hair lifting in the breeze. “My dad recognized the sign of a ba’vonn-shee queen; he recognized the necklace.”

  “And he attacked me. What was I supposed to do?”

  This scene was less imaginable. The ba’vonn-shees are fast. Strong. How could her father have lost a fight to a mere human?

  “I should have just shot them all,” Frankie said, answering her unspoken questions. “But it was hard enough cleanin’ up after one dead body on my own. It was easier to let nature take its course, and I can be patient when I need to be.”

  Frankie glanced over at her, and Ainsley thought she saw a flicker of remorse. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I’d hoped they would’ve all died by now, but the strongest ones can really hang in there, ya know?”

  “You’ve been watching me and my mother all these years.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time. I had to find out if you’d turn out normal like your mother, or if that foul creature had really sired you.”

  “My father wasn’t a foul creature.”

  “He drank blood. That’s as foul as it gets.”

  Ainsley squeezed her eyes tight. She’d once harbored the same opinion. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I’ve pledged my life to this mission, and I need to see it through. You and I have somethin’ in common, see? We’re both the last of our kind.”

  “You’re going to kill me, then?”

  “There’s nothin’ else to do about it.”

  Ainsley couldn’t take her eyes off the photograph. Alex said Orla had been tortured and killed, but he’d never told her the specifics. Maybe he hadn’t known. Maybe he was protecting her again. She needed to find a way to escape. She needed to get back to Alex.

  “I should do you like my superiors did the other one,” Frankie said. “But I don’t like mess, and I’m tired of cleanin’ things up.”