“Typical male. Always blaming the woman. Let’s go.” She walked out of the bedroom.
He could do nothing but follow. “Where we going?” he asked when they were in the car.
“To Della’s.” She backed out too fast and put the car in gear with an angry, jerking motion. She looked straight ahead through the windshield as she added angrily, “I can’t let Helene go through with murder. I just can’t do it.”
Haven relaxed in the passenger seat. “Wimp.”
Charlotte’s faint laughter told him she accepted it as the compliment he intended.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing to do with us,” Char said as they waited for the police to clear the angry crowd from the middle of the street. “For once. But I do wish they’d get out of the way.” Char refused to move her hand to the middle of the steering wheel and add her horn to the raucous chorus coming from all the disgruntled motorists caught in the traffic jam. She looked at the dashboard clock and shook her head. “What are these idiots doing out here at this time of night? Getting plenty of media attention.” She answered her own question. The noise and lights of a news helicopter circling overhead confirmed her cynical remark. There was a lot of shouting nearby, and the sound of shattering glass. Windshield? Windows? Beer bottles? Hard to say. It wasn’t her concern. “Honestly. I’m all in favor of free assembly and protest rallies, but why now?”
They were stuck in traffic on the edge of the downtown area, somewhere near the hotels where delegates were staying, she surmised. They’d been stopped still for some time, and Jebel Haven was not a patient man.
The delay was making her nervous. She’d tried calling Helene’s cell phone but had gotten no answer. An attempt at mental contact with the nest leader hadn’t been any more successful since they might share a bloodline but certainly didn’t know each other. The night wasn’t getting any younger, either. That could work for or against them, depending on what Helene planned for Daniel’s birth mother.
“So, I repeat, What the f—”
“Language, Jebel.”
“—hell is going on?”
“You don’t listen to public radio, do you?”
“I don’t even listen to country radio. And CNN isn’t my thing, either,” he added.
“ESPN?”
He flashed her a grin. “Guilty as charged.” He gestured at the chaos outside the car. “Explain, please?”
Char had read about it all in a newspaper she’d picked up on the ferry. “Some sort of huge trade organization meeting in town. Lots of protesters protesting.” Char thought there might be more police officers on the street than actual protesters.
“What?”
“Globalization of markets, I guess.”
“Sorry I asked.” He shook his head.
She smiled. “Wouldn’t you rather find out how to kill a demon?”
“Definitely.”
A cop directing traffic motioned them forward, and Char followed other cars as they inched through the congested intersection. She was grateful that the traffic cleared within a couple blocks. Driving in Seattle was bad enough. Clots of angry humanity adding to the traffic snarls didn’t help. The last time Char recalled anyone taking to the streets had been . . . 1992, wasn’t it? Some small-scale rioting after the Rodney King thing in Los Angeles?
Rodney King. Riots. Los Angeles. That reminded Char of some strigoi history she’d researched, and her smile had a slight amount of fang in it. She recalled that in Los Angeles, rioting had been used several times to cover the activities of hunts, and she had a hunt to cover. “This could be useful.”
“What could?”
“Ever heard of the zoot suit riots?”
“No.”
“In Los Angeles, in the forties. Never mind, they had nothing to do with killing demons. Do you own a sword, Jebel?” He gave her a sardonic look. “I guess not. You might want to get one, because the only way to be sure to kill a demon is to behead it. I should have mentioned that sooner, shouldn’t I?” she asked after a few moments of annoyed silence from Haven.
“Lots of things you should have mentioned sooner, Char.”
“Possibly.” Her cell phone rang before he could react to her equivocal answer. “Hello? Helene! I’m glad you called. Listen—What?”
“What?” Haven repeated her question.
Char banged a fist on the steering wheel, then tightened one hand around the wheel while she clutched the phone to her ear with the other. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator while Helene Bourbon talked. “My fault,” she answered. “I should have expected something like this. How many? Della? What about Novak? Right, you’ve never met her. I’d completely forgotten about Blessing Day. The eighth this year? That could be.”
“What could be?” Haven said.
“What about Santini?” she asked Helene.
Haven grabbed her arm, she shook him off. “What about Santini?”
Char drove like she was immortal, ignoring all the honking and crunching of metal she left in her wake. “Little guy with a beard,” she told Helene. “Tell me he isn’t dead.” She listened for a few tense seconds. “Thanks. I know where it is. No time. Meet me there.” She turned at the next corner and headed uphill.
“The shelter’s the other way! Where are you going?” She noted that Haven was holding his gun, but he hadn’t threatened her with it.
“Hospital,” she said to Haven. “Santini was alive when he was put in the ambulance.”
“Ambulance. What happened?”
Char tossed the small phone on the dashboard and concentrated on driving very fast. She deliberately didn’t look at the car clock. “Della’s shelter was invaded. Helene arrived about the same time as the police. She waited to find out details before calling. The police are blaming everything in this town on demonstrators tonight. That gives us a break. A lot of people are injured. Della’s missing. I’m betting Novak was taken as well. The police have no idea who took them. Or even if anyone’s missing.”
“We can guess.”
“Magic is confusing the police. The cult took them, of course. Alive,” she added significantly. “Della’s very psychic. So’s Novak. I noticed how she felt when she studied where the vampire was staked. The sorcerer will want her, too.”
She and Haven exchanged a grim glance. “Human sacrifice,” they said together.
Haven leaned back against the headrest. “Holy shit. You’re right,” he added. “You should have thought of this before.”
“They may not be sacrificed right away. Helene reminded me of something just now.” She held out a faint hope to him. “If this sorcerer’s done his homework, he’ll think that the new moon before the winter solstice is the perfect day for casting his transformation spell.” Assuming this idiot knew more about the strigoi than he should. Assuming he wanted to fill his human Vessel up with all the magic he could just before he sacrificed the man. That’s why she hadn’t been able to detect more of the stolen psychic energy, wasn’t it? It was stored in human form. Why hadn’t she remembered that part of the ritual slayings sooner?
“How long do we have?” Haven’s practical question interrupted her analyzing.
“The eighth. We have a few days until the eighth.”
She braked sharply for an emergency vehicle, then swung into the long drive that led to the huge hilltop hospital complex. She dropped Haven off at the emergency entrance and told him to find Santini while she found a parking place.
Then she drove back to the corner where she’d seen Helene jump off the flat roof of the emergency vehicle and paused long enough for Helene to get into the car.
The woman’s hair and clothes were disheveled, her eyes were bright with excitement. “I haven’t done this for a while. What next, Hunter?”
“We can spare a couple hours looking for Della,” Char said as she pulled back out into traffic. “Then we better find somewhere to stay for the day. Della knows where I live.”
Helene nodded at Char’s explana
tion. The truth was, that while Della might be compelled to reveal strigoi secrets, the real reason Char didn’t plan to go home was that she didn’t trust Jebel Haven not to go vampire hunting come morning. And he might pick a real vampire to hunt this time.
Chapter 22
“YOU CAME BACK.” The Angel looked at him. Recognized him. Spoke to him.
The Disciple knelt before where the Angel sat on the bed and dared to rest his cheek against the Angel’s knee. “I brought you women,” he said, fighting the jealousy that raged in him. “For your bed.”
The Angel stroked his hair. “I missed you.” The Angel drew him up onto the bed and they stretched out side by side. The Disciple rested his head over the Angel’s heart and could barely breathe for the happiness. “Don’t leave me,” the Angel pleaded. “Take me with you when you go again. I don’t want to be here,” the Angel whispered in his ear.
I love you,” the Disciple told him. “I came back as soon as I could. I want you to be safe.”
“Safe with you. We can go down into the dark together. I remember the dark . . . under the ground.”
The Disciple longed desperately to give the Angel everything he wanted. He lived to serve. Once he’d wanted to live forever and had wanted the Angel only for that gift. But the more the Angel gave him, the more the Disciple needed to give back. The Demon and the Prophet were fools. He’d thought them so wise and powerful. They were nothing. Except—
“The Prophet’s sacrifices protect you.”
“Sacrifices?”
The Disciple hated the confusion and worry in the Angel’s voice. Everything should be perfect for the Angel. Evil creatures were hunting the Angel. The Woman in Black wanted to take the Angel away. She knew his name. He’d felt her power. “She won’t have you.”
“She?”
“The Witch’s death will protect you.”
“My head hurts,” the Angel said. “I’m sleepy.”
“Then sleep,” the Disciple urged, glad no one was in the Angel’s bed but him. He forgot the pain in his arm and leg, in his jaw, and the burn along his ribs where the man who had been sleeping with the Witch had shot him. They’d overpowered the bastard, taken the gun away. Stupid slaves hadn’t had the sense to turn the gun on the man, but they’d beaten him senseless. The Disciple hoped they’d beaten him to death. The other woman had had a gun, too, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to fire it. She was beautiful, the woman with the gun, her soul full of the magic fire. He was delighted to find her with the Witch. They’d brought her back to the houseboat with them. They would both be sacrifices, but they were not in the Angel’s bed. He was.
He sighed with contentment. His blood hummed with joy. But the Demon roared from the doorway, destroying his peace within moments.
“Get away, you!” the Prophet shouted over the Demon’s bellow.
The Angel held him tight, but the Demon’s claws bit into the Disciple’s back, grabbed, hauled him away. The next thing he knew, he slammed into the wall on the other side of the room. He passed out for a moment and woke up on the floor. By the time he’d regained his senses, the Vessel and two slaves were pushing the naked prisoners toward the bed. The women’s hands were tied behind their backs, sacred signs were painted on their skin with blood. The Angel was on his feet.
The Disciple began to crawl toward the Angel, but the Angel didn’t look his way. He had eyes only for one of the beautiful women. He paid no attention to the Witch.
The Vessel laughed.
The Prophet said, “They’re all yours for the next two days.”
The Demon said, “It’s dawn.”
The Angel took a step away from the bed. He shook all over. He stumbled back, his body going slack. He fell on the mattress. As he did, he pointed at the prisoner. “Mother?”
“Where have you been, sweetheart?”
“How’s Santini?”
“In a coma. Where you been?”
Char tried not to take in the ruin of the condo. Thinking about the wreckage might get her pissed off. Haven was seated on the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining area. His shotgun rested beside him. All the chairs were broken. So was the table. The dishes had been pulled from the cabinets and smashed. It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t her stuff. She took a deep, calming breath. Jimmy Bluecorn wouldn’t know or care that a mortal had had a tantrum in his old home.
She looked at the large black nylon bag on the floor at Haven’s feet. It was longer than it was wide and had a shoulder strap. “What’s that?”
“Been shopping.”
She nudged the bag with her foot. Definitely something metal in there. “Doesn’t feel like a sword.”
“Where have you been?”
Char gestured, taking in the shattered contents of the condo. “Avoiding a confrontation.” She put her hands on her hips. “I assume you did this and that it wasn’t the demon’s minions that broke in.”
He shrugged. “I got a little frustrated when I didn’t find you at home.”
She could picture exactly how it had happened, though she’d spent a day dream-riding in a different part of town. Haven would have sat by Santini’s hospital bed, thinking over everything that had been said and done between him and her. He’d weigh the experience against his mission to rid the world of monsters. And he’d choose to make a vigilante raid on her place.
“Stopped by to bring me a present, did you? Something for our wooden anniversary.”
“Thought you might like a stake,” he admitted. “Didn’t want to wake you up, since you work nights. Was just going to plant it and go.”
“Sorry I wasn’t here.”
She almost was sorry; he would have found the results surprising. Most likely a wooden stake would bounce right off her tough Enforcer’s hide. Then again, knowing Jebel, she figured he’d have sawed off her head and filled it with garlic for good measure and probably burned her body. A simple stake through the heart wouldn’t be good enough for Jebel Haven. They’d slept together, they’d worked together and laughed and eaten and talked. But she was a monster. Accepting her as a person was wrong if he wanted to keep his narrow, focused point of view. He had a score to settle and a conscience to assuage for almost letting her get to him. More than almost—or he wouldn’t have made a mess of the place where they’d spent so much time together. She’d been right to think that trusting him through the day would have been mistake.
Char picked up a piece of broken chair leg and held it out to him. “I’m home now.”
He batted the impromptu stake out of her hand. “Bitch.”
“Ambivalence sucks, doesn’t it?”
“You’d know about sucking, sweetheart.”
“Bitch,” she snarled back. “Listen, Jebel. If one of those desert monsters you hunt bit you, it would be over. Death is sweet release from what those creatures do to people. But if I were to bite you, it would be a whole different ball game.”
He looked at her with narrow-eyed fury. “What would it be, sweetheart?”
“Heaven.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for awhile. He looked away first. He jumped off the counter and shouldered the black bag. It looked heavy, even heavier after he put the shotgun in it. “Sleep well, sweetheart?”
“Not particularly. We didn’t find Della last night. Couldn’t feel her today.” Char took a step back. “Are we allies again for the evening?”
Haven spat. She bit her lip rather than complain. “Yeah. Why not?” She was surprised when he put his hand on her shoulder. “The first time we had sex,” he said.
“Was in the middle of the afternoon.”
“Did we really have sex, or did you—?”
“Make you dream it?”
“Yes.”
“Define reality.” Char fought the smile but lost. “We both came, didn’t we?”
He backed away from her. “Stop confusing me.”
“Too late. Let’s get to work. While you’ve been trashing my ex’s place, I have been rousing
the rabble.” She decided it was best that Haven not know about the Carnation nest’s role in the rescue. Both she and Helene Bourbon had spent their sleeping hours at Helene’s safe house monitoring and attempting to increase the tension growing in Seattle. Not that it had taken much work. There was a dark anger already present in the city.
It affected the outsiders who’d come to protest the trade organization meeting even more than the citizens who’d lived with the magical radiation from the ritual murders for weeks. Tempers were ready to blow at any excuse. With the arrival of both the trade delegates and the protesters with many agendas, the mob exploded.
The nest members were out among the rioters tonight, working. Constance and Helene were supposed to call her with periodic updates. She was willing to bet they wouldn’t remember; a hunt without the gnawing drive of blood fever would be too much fun.
“What rabble?” Haven asked.
“I keep a radio on when I’m asleep,” she equivocated. “I’ve been monitoring the local riots. The city isn’t exactly going up in flames, but the protesters are keeping the authorities busy. No one will notice our activities.”
“Good thought,” he had to agree. “Baker’s not here to cover my usual trail of violence and destruction. And there’s a lot more cops per square inch in Seattle than my usual territory.”
“So nice to work with someone with your lack of scruples. Because I have a simple, if somewhat brutal, plan,” she said. When he gave her a questioning look, Char explained, “So far, we’ve had more luck finding where the demon and sorcerer aren’t hidden than where they are. We need to catch and question one of their minions. Then we’ll know where to look.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “In theory.”
“You have a better idea?”
“I’m working on it. Why’d you come back here?” he asked as he followed her toward the door. “Looking for me? Or did you just want to take a shower?”
“I enjoy your company, Jebel.”
“I’m bad-tempered, violent, and wanted to drive a stake through your heart.”
“Fine qualities in a monster hunter. My heart is definitely not safe with you.” She sighed. “That doesn’t mean we don’t make a good team.”
Laws of the Blood 2: Partners Page 18