Bloodshift

by Garfield Reeves-Stevens

  All hope rested on Granger Helman.

  And that hope gnawed within her as she sensed the sun had vanished and she opened the lid of her sanctuary.

  Granger Helman should be her enemy. He had killed the one human she had found who was capable of helping her. There was another she had been in contact with in Chicago, but she felt uneasy about him. He seemed too eager, too accepting of her condition, almost as if someone had prepared him for her contact. And there was the woman in Washington. The woman who was so transparently trying to recruit Adrienne into a research project so she could be turned over to the American government.

  Adrienne could not go to Washington, but there would come a time when other yber would. There was a debt to be paid for tens of thousands of murders over thousands of years. Someday the yber would work with humans, she was certain. As soon as the humans were no longer a source of food, there could be a joining of the two people. Yber could work in the oceans, even in space. Wherever conditions might be too dangerous for humans, yber could survive. The debt was there, and Adrienne would see to it that it could be repaid. But first she must arrange for her survival, and that meant trusting herself to a peculiar human. One who had tried to kill her, yet was now, somehow, committed to her. She couldn’t quite understand it. Maybe she had been too long in the company of humans who were chosen to be familiars. Helman was different.

  He had reached out for her, the night before, she was sure, to offer comfort when she had told him without planning to, of Jeffery. He had accepted her, as Jeffery had, despite the fact that to him she must appear a soulless creature. “From beyond the grave” was the phrase from the books. Somehow, he had stepped past the strangeness of her condition and her circumstances, and accepted her, as one like himself: another human, despite her disease; or as a woman.

  She stopped thinking about him. It didn’t matter at this point what she thought of him, or what he thought of her. She was his only chance at keeping his sister and nephews free of the Conclave. As long as they believed the story she had told him to tell and considered her dead, she and Helman had a chance at life. And he was her only chance to survive the last journey she had to take; the unthinkable journey to an ultimate sanctuary that so few yber had attempted before because the price of discovery and failure was too great. But if she did survive, not even the Conclave would dare touch her. There were some things of the yber that were even greater than the Conclave. Or so she hoped.

  Her sanctuary this day had been in the musty basement of a church not far from Chris Leung’s townhouse. She had taken time to scout out the locations of additional resting places the first evening she had gone to the lab with Chris. While he had prepared a series of cultures, she had wandered the streets of Toronto, looking for what she knew every large city had, the church whose doors were always open to receive those who wished to pray.

  Adrienne had not been strongly religious in her first life. She had been brought up in the Church of England, but it was not a demanding faith, and the lessons had not burned into her the way she knew they had in others raised in other faiths. As a result, unlike most of the specially chosen familiars who later become yber the supernatural teachings of the Conclave had not affected her. She could handle crosses and enter churches without effect. She had seen the effects that Holy articles had had on other yber: the burns and blisters and horrible disfigurements that would never heal. She surmised it was a psychosomatic reaction to the teaching of the Ways. She was convinced that some sort of psychic or telekinetic ability was awakened in the mind upon contracting the disease of the yber. This talent, which for the most part, worked with the incredibly rapid metabolism to repair wounds within minutes, sometimes seconds, was also responsible for the self-infliction of wounds caused by artefacts with religious significance. Regardless of the actual mechanism, she did not believe and she was not affected. The church she had not believed in in her first life therefore became her literal salvation in her second life. No member of the Conclave whom she knew of would risk entering consecrated ground.

  The old steamer trunk she had lain in throughout the day was almost buried with other storage chests in a dark corner of the basement. She refilled it with the items she had removed to make room for herself: mostly old records and hymn books, and two rotting choir gowns looking as if wine had spilled on them ages ago.

  She could sense that there were no humans in the basement. Jeffery and she had never been able to establish a basis for that talent, except to consider it a low grade form of telepathy similar to what some otherwise ordinary humans exhibited.

  She made her way up the staircase leading to the vestry off the main entrance. It was being used as a coat room for those attending community functions as well as for storing the church’s collection of robes.

  Adrienne found a woman’s coat which did not look too ungainly on her, too obviously not hers. She walked out the door, using the coat to hide her tattered clothing.

  She was halfway down the stairs out front when she felt someone approaching her rapidly from inside. She began to rush down the stairs. Then she heard footsteps. A man’s voice called, “Ruth, wait a minute.”

  She turned to face him. He blinked at the paleness and harsh expression of her face.

  “Oh, sorry,” he stammered. “I thought you were someone else. Same sort of coat, I guess.” He smiled nervously and went inside. Adrienne walked quickly around a comer and sped away. She was gone by the time Ruth and her friend had discovered that her coat had been stolen.

  Adrienne’s first priority was to get money. She needed some new clothes and some make-up. She would attract too much attention if she left her face in its natural, colourless state. She and Helman would have to pass through the American border tonight. She would have to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

  Getting money was simple. A hotel was coming up on her right as she walked the icy sidewalk. It looked modern and new. Several Cadillacs and Mercedes were parked illegally in the front driveway under the watchful eye of a well-tipped doorman. She needed an expensive hotel, and she had found one.

  She avoided the main entrance and the doorman by going through a side entrance which led down into a row of shops. She followed the corridor to a flight of escalators leading up to the main lobby.

  Adrienne paused in front of the backlit directory showing a man and a woman seated at a table surrounded by smiling waiters bearing overloaded plates. Most of the restaurants seemed to be located on the floor above the lobby level. She rode the escalators up. She noticed a few humans staring at her when they thought she would not be aware of them. Some of them thought she had just had a terrible shock. Adrienne didn’t care. She just hoped that none of the watchers were employees of the hotel who might think she needed help. Or who thought she was not the type of person they wanted here. It could be dangerous.

  The floor above the lobby was milling with men and women in dress suits and gowns. Some type of gathering was taking place, perhaps a convention dinner. Adrienne made her way to the woman’s washroom. A washroom in an expensive restaurant would have been better, but it was difficult to get by the staff. Hotels were far easier to get into.

  The washroom was without an attendant. Adrienne busied herself by a sink. She had washed her hands five times before the conditions were right.

  The washroom was empty. Then one woman walked in. Her coat had been checked earlier and she wore only a sleeveless dress. She looked at Adrienne, a bit apprehensive at her strange, pale appearance, but then moved straight for the nearest toilet stall.

  Then, before anyone else came in, Adrienne was on her instantly. Her hand flew to the base of the woman’s skull, thumb and forefinger digging savagely into the pressure points of either side of the spine. The woman stiffened, throwing her head back and gasping in surprise. Adrienne’s knuckles descended crushingly on the side of her head. The woman went limp.

  Adrienne lifted her effortlessly and put her into the stall. She lifted the woman’s purse from wher
e it had fallen on the floor. It was a silver lamé evening bag, Adrienne couldn’t be seen walking out with it. It didn’t suit her stolen coat and it was too big to slip into her pocket.

  She heard the outer door swing open. She dropped the purse on the unconscious woman’s lap and backed out of the stall, shutting the door. The inner door opened and another woman walked in. Adrienne ducked her head and went back to the sink. The unconscious woman’s stall door swung open, unlocked. The other woman walked over to another stall, deliberately not looking through the open door. When Adrienne heard the other woman’s door lock she rushed back to the open stall, opened the bag and jammed the change purse and a wad of papers into her coat pocket. She ripped some toilet paper out of the dispenser, folded it into a small square and held it against the doorframe as she jammed the door shut. This time it held.

  She was out of the hotel within a minute. There had been no cries of alarm.

  She flagged a cab and asked to be taken to the Eaton Centre: a downtown shopping complex where the stores remained open evenings. Sitting in the back seat of the cab, she pulled out the change purse and checked its contents. If there had been no money inside, the cab driver would not wake up until tomorrow. But there was a twenty dollar bill and some smaller ones inside. Plus a card case with four charge cards and a driver’s license. More than enough to get the items she required.

  Her first purchase was a pen. Then she sat in another washroom for half an hour, practising the signatures on the back of the charge cards.

  An hour later, she had new clothes, a new coat, and her face looked like any human’s. It was time to contact Helman.

  ***

  Helman sat against the far wall in a dark corner of the bar off the lobby of his hotel. He tried not to think about what was going on in his hotel room. He had told his story to Mr. Rice, just as Adrienne had told him. Rice’s voice was so peculiar that Helman was not able to determine by its tone if Rice believed him or not. Finally Rice had told Helman to leave his room so it could be ‘cleaned’. Helman was free to go for now: But he must be prepared for immediate contact at any time in the future. Helman had the feeling that Rice was going to try to kill him that evening, but he had no choice but to wait for Adrienne to contact him. At least the bar was an open, public area. He should he safe from a direct attack as long as he stayed in it. And for afterward, he had already equipped himself. The gift shop in the corner of the lobby had had a selection of religious items. Helman had a cross in each pocket of his coat, one with a figure of Jesus on it, the other unadorned. He wore a small crucifix around his neck. He felt like a fool for doing it, and he still felt afraid. Despite what the woman had told him, he had no real conception of the power of the Conclave. The image that he did have was rooted in the knowledge of such things that had come from the depths of his childhood. Part of him felt he was living out a nightmare. But the reality of his fear was that each time he had gone to the pay phone by the bar counter this night, his sister’s number in New Hampshire had rung and had not been answered. He hoped it was Weston who had reached her first. He didn’t want to consider the other possibility. He hoped his story had restrained them.

  Rice had wanted the head of Adrienne St. Clair.

  Helman had shut his eyes, and said he didn’t have it.

  “I saw the lab, assassin. Was she not in it?”

  “I think so. I saw her go in. But after I went in, after the explosion, I think she got away.”

  “Did you see her? Did she see you?”

  “I didn’t see anything. Except for her clothes, I think they were hers.”

  “Her clothes, assassin?” Rice’s breathing had picked up at that. For the first time in the conversation, Helman had felt he had a chance of getting away with it

  “Yes, her clothes. I don’t understand it. They were lying in a spread-out heap by a desk that was smashed in the explosion.”

  “What condition were they in?”

  “Odd. There was a big rod of steel, from one of the equipment stands, stuck through them all, and they were all oily or greasy or something. Covered in something odd.”

  “Was it blood, assassin?”

  “No, it wasn’t blood. It was white. Sort of like a jelly. I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was some type of flammable substance they kept around in the lab and the explosion sprayed it on her. There were a bunch of small fires. Maybe she got out of her clothes because she was afraid it would ignite. But I don’t know where she could have gone without clothes. It was cold last night.”

  “I’m sure it was, assassin. On such a cold night, why did you not immediately return to your hotel room?”

  “I was being cautious. The police, or whoever they were, responded to the explosion a lot faster than the fire department was able to. Almost as if they had her under surveillance to begin with. Maybe connected with that fellow who came after me with a gun the other day.” Helman now knew that the man had been Cook, an agent of Weston’s.

  “Quite possibly, assassin. Quite possibly. The woman is very resourceful. She may have had contingency arrangements. I suggest you return to your home, to New Hampshire. We shall contact you when we have located the woman again. Be prepared to act immediately or there will be the most serious repercussions. Do you understand, assassin?”

  Helman understood. And he was quite sure he understood what was going through Rice’s mind. Adrienne St. Clair had been impaled by the flying steel rod Helman had described sticking through her clothing. Her body had dissolved, just as the body of that long-ago yber had dissolved, when the tank shell had exploded against a wall of stone, sending wicked shards in all directions, including the direction of his heart.

  Helman trembled slightly as he reviewed the conversation again. Perhaps he had gotten away with it. But if Rice and the Conclave believed he had completed the contract, what were they planning for him now? Death in Toronto? Were they waiting for him to return to the States so they could get his sister and Steven and Camp-bell all at the same time? Adrienne would know. He agonised in the wait for her.

  At eight o’clock, the time Rice had told him, he left the bar and returned to the room. The familiars, he supposed, had done their job. He was right. The room was spotless. Nothing lurked in the bathroom, nothing hid under any of the furniture. It struck Helman just as he had gotten out of the elevator on his floor that he might be stepping into a trap; Rice might have phoned the police and had them lie in wait for the brutal murderer who kept a headless body in his hotel room. But he reconsidered. That was too messy a way to deal with him. Whichever way the Conclave chose, it would just involve him and them. And there would be no chance to tell his story.

  Helman was not sure what to do next. There were no messages for him at the desk or the switchboard. Had they captured her? Killed her already? Why hadn’t she contacted him?

  He jerked around when he heard the tapping on the glass. He pulled back on the closed curtains and the face of Adrienne St. Clair looked back through the window. His new room was on the eighteen floor. And there were no balconies, no ledges. Yet she was outside his window.

  She motioned to him to open the window. It was an older hotel and the windows were the land that still slid. She poured through the window like a snake. The image disturbed him.

  “I thought I’d let you save the window this time,” she said. She brushed at white streaks of dust which lined the dark quilted jacket she wore.

  “How did you get up here? Where have you been?” Helman had too many questions to ask all at once.

  She looked up from her brushing. “Yber muscles are very efficient. Anywhere there’s a small crack or a space between bricks, we can support ourselves with just our fingers and toes. Now you tell me what’s been going on in here. I watched them clean out a body. They looked to be familiars.”

  Helman told her about what he had found in the bathroom. He repeated the conversation he had had with Rice.

  “And you feel sure he believed you?” she asked.


  “Fairly sure. It’s hard to tell. In any case he’s given me permission to leave Toronto. It will be at least twenty-four hours before he misses me back where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Your sister’s farm, you mean?”

  “Yes. Now where do we have to go? You said be prepared to travel.”

  St. Clair looked worried. “You mean you don’t want to go check on your sister?”

  Helman saw the trap he had set for himself. He couldn’t say so, but he was leaving his sister in the hands of Weston and his men. If he returned, it might compromise their position. And besides, he couldn’t undertake any action that might deter Adrienne from her plans. Knowledge of her plans was what Weston was demanding as payment for protecting Miriam and the boys. He lied his way out of it as best he could.

  “I talked with her this morning. She hasn’t seen anything unusual. The boys are fine. What advantage would the Conclave have by killing them now that Rice has released me from my contract?”

  Adrienne thought of Lord Diego. He led the hunt for her. It was undoubtedly he who headed the manipulation of Helman. He must succeed to restore his standing in the Conclave.

  “I know the yber who is directing King and Rice and the group in New York. His name is Diego. Lord Eduardo Diego y Rey. It is a personal thing between us, and Diego is quite fanatical when it comes to dealing with his enemies. You are his enemy now, Granger. He won’t just stop at destroying you. He’ll destroy whatever you hold dearest, too. He’ll destroy your family. And Granger,” this time she reached out her hand to touch him, “almost all of his familiars began with him as children. He loves children. He says their blood is far sweeter than adults’.”