Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “I understand and I apologize. It’s not Mr. Havoc’s fault. After we spoke, I realized I couldn’t wait until morning to have things explained. It’s not in my nature to be so impatient, but this is my daughter. My city. So I sent him after you.” She sat on the couch across from him, a marble and bronze coffee table separating them. “I know you’re upset, but I also know his arrival saved your life.”

  Creek tilted his head toward the wolf shifter. “Can we talk in private?”

  “Of course. John, thank you for your work tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Havoc grunted. “You want to be alone with this guy?” He shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait in the front room and escort him out when you’re through.”

  “If you wish.” One hand strayed behind her back to tug at her sweater. “But I’ll be fine.”

  Was she carrying? It wouldn’t surprise Creek if the mayor of this screwed-up city kept a gun or five. He sat back down. His clothes, borrowed from Havoc—jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops—fit okay, but since getting out of the pen, wearing anything he hadn’t personally bought grated on him. “He didn’t save my life. I was hurt, but I would have been fine.”

  Her sculpted brows arched as her gaze scanned his upper body. “Havoc said your shoulder was torn open. Some kind of animal attack.” Her hands clenched, then relaxed. “I’ve been receiving reports of some sightings in the city lately. Large cats. A wolf or two. Even… well, it’s ridiculous, but someone saw an enormous flying lizard-bird thing a few weeks ago.”

  Argent needed to be more careful. “Most likely it was a dragon. Just like the strange bats you’ve been seeing around city hall aren’t bats. They’re the gargoyles on the building come to life, but I suspect you already know that.”

  She laughed until she noticed he hadn’t joined her. The smile vanished. “It’s not possible.”

  That was enough for now. No point rattling the hive past the point of recovery. “What would you like to know about your daughter?”

  “Why did she have those gold tattoos all over her? Do you know?”

  “Yes.” But where to begin? “They are an ancient way of purifying the blood.”

  The mayor’s face screwed up. “Purifying the blood? Like some kind of ritual? Do you think whoever killed her did that to her?”

  “No, she chose to have those marks placed on her body. They’re called signum.”

  “Why would she do that?” She tucked her legs beneath her. “As a teen, Julia thought tattoos were ugly.” Her gaze snagged on his well-inked forearms before shifting back to his face.

  He leaned into the couch, spreading his arms over the back so she could get a better look at his ugly tats. The move sent a ripple of pain through his still-healing shoulder. “Comarré do what they do because they have chosen to serve a particular master.” Telling this woman her daughter had decided to become a blood whore pimped out by the local vampire kingpin wasn’t going to be easy. Well, the telling might be easy, but her reaction wasn’t going to be.

  “This involves a cult, doesn’t it? Dios mio, what did she get herself into?” The mayor crossed herself and whispered a few prayerful words in Spanish.

  Creek tipped his head back and sighed. This was not the right place to start. There was too much she needed to know first for any of this to make sense. He edged forward on the seat and leaned his arms on his knees. “It’s not a cult, but there are some other things I need to explain first.”

  “Like what?”

  “You said you’ve been getting reports about animal sightings. Anything else?”

  She hesitated, her mouth hardening. “Yes. Many other things. Things that should not—do not—exist.”

  “They do exist. And you need to accept that.”

  She stared at him, her jaw working like she was going to scream or cry. “I don’t think you have a clear idea of the kind of reports I’m getting.”

  “Vampires. People who shift into animal forms. Creatures with horns. Unnaturally colored skin.” Gold tattoos. Branded skin.

  She shook her head. “Those things aren’t real. No intelligent person would ever believe that.”

  “They will. Halloween is three days away. The potential exists for greater chaos to erupt. It’s part of the reason I’m here. To protect mankind.”

  The doubt and fear on her face gave way to anger. She slit her eyes at him. “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of.”

  He straightened. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  She untucked her legs. “John,” she called. “Please escort Mr. Creek out.”

  Creek stood and yanked his T-shirt off over his head. “Look at my wounds. Do you think most humans heal this fast?”

  Havoc ran into the room, but the mayor’s gaze was on Creek’s shoulder. “I don’t know how hurt you were to begin with.” She looked away. “You need to go.”

  “And you need to face what’s happening in this city.” He held a hand out to keep Havoc at bay.

  She stood. “You told me you could explain what my daughter had done to herself. You haven’t done that. What you have done is waste my time.”

  “Your daughter became a kind of counterfeit comarré. Comarré, the real ones, are an elite source of blood for vampires.”

  “I don’t want this to be real.” The mayor shook her head. “It’s a nightmare.”

  “That’s enough,” Havoc warned.

  Creek glared at him. “Don’t tell me what to say, shifter.”

  “Shut your mouth, tribe, or I’m going to make you hurt.” Havoc approached, arms reaching.

  Creek backed up, buying time. “Mayor, I can introduce you to a real comarré and a real vampire. They can help explain. Prove what I’m saying and what you’re seeing is true.”

  “No, I’m done with this. These lies.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “Not lies. Truth. Watch.” Creek charged Havoc, ducked the man’s punch, and came up behind him, snaring him in a headlock. He yanked off the shifter’s sunglasses. Havoc growled and the mayor’s mouth dropped open.

  She held out a shaking finger. “His eyes…”

  “He’s varcolai. An animal shifter. Wolf, in case you hadn’t guessed.” He released the snarling Havoc, pushing him away at the same time.

  “Dios mio.” She sank back onto the couch, going slightly green. “John, is that true?”

  Havoc snatched his shades and shoved them back onto his face. “Yes, Madam Mayor. I’ll get my things and go.” He pointed at Creek. “You, I’ll be waiting for outside.”

  “No, John, wait.” She stopped him. “I’ve known something was different about you lately.” She inhaled. “I don’t know what to think.” Her gaze drifted from Havoc to Creek and back again. “You’ve been an exemplary employee. Your… situation doesn’t change that, does it?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She nodded, looking dazed. “You wouldn’t hurt me?”

  “I would take a bullet for you.”

  “You’ve proven that, haven’t you?” She glanced at her hands. “You stay. Nothing changes. Nothing between us anyway.”

  “Appreciate that.” Havoc didn’t sound like he fully believed what she said, and Creek didn’t blame him. How could the mayor not look at him differently now?

  “You.” She tipped her head at Creek. “You get this comarré woman and this vampire here by tomorrow night at the latest. If you’re trying to pull something, you can consider yourself the main suspect in my daughter’s murder.” She stood up, brushing herself off. “With your record, I can put you in a holding cell so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal.” No way in hell was he going back in and losing his position with the KM. That would mean losing Una’s tuition money. Not happening. “Getting the comarré here is not a problem.” Except Chrysabelle had refused to see him every time he’d been to her house. “Not a problem at all.”

  After calming Mal down, Chrysabelle was about
to return to Atticus’s side when Mortalis spoke. “If things are settled here, I have duties I should attend to. Atticus, if you need me, you know how to reach me. I assume you two can find your way out when you’re ready to go?”

  They both nodded. As soon as Mortalis was gone, Chrysabelle returned to Atticus’s side. “Are you being kept here against your will? We can get you out if—”

  Atticus laughed, patting her hand. “I am here freely and quite happy.”

  She shook her head. “How is that possible? I didn’t think signumists were allowed to leave the houses they worked for.”

  His smile disappeared. “They aren’t. But now is not the time for my story. Tell me what brings you here.”

  She launched into the explanation of what had happened at the Primoris Domus the last time she’d been there and everything that had led up to her signum being stripped. “What I need is for those signum to be restored so I can make one last trip to the Aurelian, get the information that will help me find my brother, and I’ll never bother anyone at that house again.” She hoped her voice conveyed the sincerity of her heart.

  “No signumist working for any comarré house would put those marks back on your skin. It would be an unforgiveable action.”

  Her heart dropped. Of course he would say that. He was a real signumist. She hadn’t counted on that, assuming Dominic’s man would be some self-trained hack doing his best.

  “Fortunately for you,” Atticus continued, “I am past caring about unforgiveable actions. If you desire these signum to be replaced, it would be my honor to do the skin work. It has been many, many years since I have stitched gold into one such as you.” He shook his head slowly. “These mortals Dominic brings me. They are so weak. So unprepared for what must be endured.”

  She exhaled. “Thank you, Atticus. You can’t know what this means to me. When can we do this?”

  His hand reached out, seeking something. It landed on the cane at her side. “When this is no longer necessary and you have properly prepared your body and mind.”

  “The cane is just a ruse. I don’t need it.”

  “What?” A muscle in Mal’s forehead twitched. “Why would you pretend to be more injured than you are?”

  She met his eyes only briefly. “I have my reasons.” She returned her attention to Atticus. “I can prepare myself in a day. Maybe less.”

  “Is there scarring?”

  She nodded then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes,” she said softly.

  He raised his hands, splaying his fingers. “I need to examine it.”

  Without looking at Mal, she stood, pulled her hair over her shoulder, then slipped her tunic off. Mal had seen her in her bra before, but she hadn’t planned on it happening again. Not like this anyway. Clutching her tunic to her chest, she turned her back to Atticus. Mal’s gaze might as well have been a ton of red-hot coals the way it burned her skin. She held her head a little higher, refusing to be ashamed of the damage Rennata had left on her body. To Mal’s credit, he said nothing save an almost inaudible curse, but she knew if she met his eyes, they’d be dead silver. He couldn’t be pleased about what he was seeing, knowing he’d been the cause.

  Atticus stood behind her. She gasped as his cool fingertips found her back, tracing their way to her spine. His hands were thickly calloused like every signumist she’d known. The heat of their trade turned their skin leathery. She knew when he’d begun to outline the scars because the sensation blurred into something more like pressure than true feeling. Perhaps the loss of feeling would make the new signum easier to bear.

  “Hmm.” Atticus followed the wrinkled marks down the sides of her spine. “I’ll have to sand these scars first. They won’t take signum.”

  “Sand them?”

  “Smooth them out. Not a pleasant process, I’m afraid, but necessary.”

  Her resolve wavered. She lifted her chin a little higher. “It will be fine.”

  His hands left her and he sat. “Tomorrow, then, this same time. It will take me a little time to prepare the gold once you arrive, then we will begin. You will recover at home or here?”

  “At home.” She tugged her tunic down. Getting home afterward was going to be unpleasant, but she couldn’t ask Dominic to use one of his suites. Things were tenuous enough. “Can’t you prepare the gold before I arrive?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. I didn’t realize you had it with you.”

  “I don’t.” This was not good. “I thought you’d have gold, actually. I can get some—that’s not an issue. I just wasn’t prepared.”

  “I have gold,” Atticus assured her. “But what I use is common gold. The mortals I engrave are not true comarré. You know that. They never will be.” He shrugged. “Sacred gold would be wasted on them. But for your purposes, I assumed you’d want sacred gold as has been used for all your other signum.”

  “I do. I guess. Is there a way to purify the gold you have?”

  “Unfortunately, I do not have that capability. And without the proper gold, the signum won’t have the power to open the portals or access the Aurelian.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Where am I going to find sacred gold?”

  Mal cleared his throat. “What about the ring?”

  “What—” She looked up and the lack of expression on his face caught her attention. Only the pain in his eyes let her know he was still thinking about what he’d seen. She dropped her gaze to her hands. “Yes, I suppose that would do.” The ring of sorrows would certainly qualify as sacred gold. But that gold had its own power, and she had Mal’s blood in her veins now. Both made everything she was about to do much more risky.

  Would the ring’s power manifest when laid into her skin? Would it react to the vampire blood she carried? That much power could kill her.

  Or worse.

  Chapter Seven

  You failed, demon.” Aliza stared down the slightly crispy monster once again contained within Evie’s old aquarium. “A simple task and you failed.”

  “Yeah,” Evie added, her left eyelid flitting up and down. “The house you made me is great, but I really wanted the guy.”

  “The half-breed is Kubai Mata,” the demon snarled. “You tricked me.”

  Aliza laughed. “We tricked you? That’s rich.”

  “What’s a kubay mada?” Evie asked.

  The demon bared his teeth at the words, then crouched down and began to flick his forked tongue over his oozing wounds.

  “Tell us, demon,” Aliza said. “What is it?”

  But the creature just hissed a string of curses and went back to tending its wounds.

  She raised her hand to smack the side of the aquarium, then thought better of it. The pentagram that held him might be glued down, but the aquarium wasn’t in the best shape. No point tempting fate and getting themselves killed, because there was no chance the demon would leave them alive if he got loose.

  “Damn thing smells like road kill,” Aliza muttered. “Makes my whole house stink. Evie, light some of those candles.”

  “Will do, Ma. Then I’m going to my place. I’m worn out.” She popped the lids off a few jar candles and lit them with a simple fire spell, one of the first Aliza had taught her. “There you go. I’ll see you tomorrow. We can send him out again then.”

  “Sure thing. Night, Evie girl.” Aliza waited until the scrape of Evie’s kayak leaving the dock reached her ears. She picked up a spray bottle of holy water she kept handy since bringing the demon into the house and gave the creature a squirt.

  It yowled and shot upright, foaming at the mouth and cursing in a language she didn’t understand. “Do that again and I will flay your skin from your bones.”

  Aliza leaned as close as she dared to the foul thing. “You can’t find the ring, you can’t get the man my daughter wants… maybe I should just turn you into ash and call it a day.”

  “Perhaps the Kubai Mata will find you and kill you first.”

  “You’re just making crap up now. Guess that means you do
n’t know what the kubay thing is either. Dumbest demon I ever summoned.”

  “The Kubai Mata is a great evil,” he spat. “Greater than anything you can imagine. Meant to destroy my kind. My children.” Fire danced in his eyes. He growled loudly, pounding his fists against the magic barrier that held him.

  “Then you better hurry up and do what you’re told so you can get free.” She squirted him again for good measure. With the sound of howling filling her living room, she went into the bedroom and closed the door. Through another door in her closet, she entered a small secret space not even Evie knew about.

  Clearing the altar, she lit an oil lamp burner and laid out some new supplies—hawthorn, sulfur powder, the finely ground bones of a money cat. She added each to her mortar and pestle, then a few drops of her own blood and a pinch of earth. After muddling, she tipped the mortar’s contents into a silver bowl and placed it on the burner.

  The flame blackened the metal and smoke rose in a thin trickle out of the dish. A shiver of anticipation brought goose bumps out on her skin. She smiled at her own cleverness. “Let me see through his eyes,” she whispered.

  The smoke fanned out until it became an undulating screen. Images flickered in the smoke, the edges blurred and ragged. She reached out, smoothing the smoke with her hands. The images began to clear.

  Dropping her hands, she sat back and watched what her power had wrought. A girl came into view, one Aliza had never seen before. Must be the ghosty one. Aliza frowned. Ghosts were pretty useless when it came to getting them under your control. Damn things did whatever they wanted.

  Now, the one watching the ghost girl, Doc, the varcolai who’d brought Evie the drugs that had turned her to stone, he was going to come in handy. Aliza laughed, a dark sound that pleased her to the core of her witchy, black-magic soul.

  Tucked against Doc’s side, Fi lay still and dreaming, the sheen of perspiration gleaming on her chest. She shimmered in and out of her ghost form, something she couldn’t control during sleep. The next time she went corporeal, he brushed a strand of soft brown hair off her cheek. She didn’t wake or shift, so he risked a kiss to her pale forehead.