Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “It’s Mortalis.”

  “Then I’m going back to sleep.” Mal disappeared down the hall to the windowless interior room he’d racked out in. Built as a hurricane shelter, it did great double duty protecting the UV-intolerant, although Maris was probably rolling in her grave that there was a vampire in her house. Chrysabelle couldn’t help but hope her mother would have thought differently if she’d had a chance to know Mal.

  Creek stood, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ll help Velimai. Give you some privacy.”

  It wasn’t necessary, but she appreciated it. “Thanks. I’ll just be a sec.”

  She opened the door and stared out at the empty front porch. “Mortalis?”

  “Here,” he answered, the sound of his voice closer than she’d expected.

  She stared harder, finally picking out the faint outline of the fae. Shadeux fae couldn’t be seen in the sun. “Will you be visible if you get out of daylight?”

  “A little more.”

  “Then come in, please.” She moved out of the way.

  “Don’t you have company?”

  “Yes, but they know what’s going on.”

  “Fine.” He crossed the threshold into the foyer and took on a slightly more tangible form. “Look, I don’t have good news.” The barbs on his forearms flexed in and out, like they were breathing. He was clearly agitated.

  “About the ring?”

  He looked off to one side for a moment. “Yes. I don’t have it.”

  “What? Why? I need that ring. I gave it to you for safekeeping.” Warning bells clanged in her head.

  “I know. And it’s still safe, but…” He sighed and grabbed hold of one horn, rubbing the hard surface as if he were trying to remove a spot of dirt. He dropped his hand and made eye contact. “I gave the ring to one of the elektos, a fae council member. They have the ability to cross into the fae plane much more easily than the rest of us. Keeping the ring there means no one can detect it—Castus, vampire, or otherwise.”

  “And?” Her patience was thinning.

  “And now he won’t give it back until he speaks to you in person.”

  “What?” Her teeth clenched, her body tensed, and a new spike of pain drove into her back. “I need that ring.”

  “I know, I know.” He exhaled and rubbed at his horn again. “If I had known this would happen, I would have tried to cross into the plane myself, but—”

  “Mortalis, I want that ring and I want it now.” She could see why Mal punched walls. “You tell this elektos that ring is my property. If I don’t get it back, I will hunt him down and kill him.”

  Mortalis swallowed. “You have every right to be angry.”

  “Angry? You’re lucky I don’t have a blade on me now.”

  “Hey,” he snapped. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was doing you a favor, remember?”

  She cradled her forehead in her fingers. “Why does he want to speak to me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Good. Great.” The pain echoed in other parts of her body now. “Let me get armed and we’ll go. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

  “That’s the other part of it. The elektos reside in the haven city of New Orleans.”

  She paused for a second. “And he’s not coming here, is he?”

  Mortalis’s jaw tensed. “No, he’s not.”

  She was definitely going to punch something. Maybe the fae in front of her. “Can’t fae transport through glass or something like that?”

  “Silver-backed mirrors, yes.”

  “So take me that way.”

  “I can’t. Only fae can travel that way.”

  “I have a driver. How long of a trip are we talking?”

  “By car?” He winced. “Thirteen, maybe fourteen hours.”

  “Unacceptable. Get Dominic’s plane.”

  “I can’t just take his plane.”

  She poked her finger into the chest of one of the world’s deadliest creatures. “You can and you will.”

  “I can’t and I won’t. You want his plane, you ask him.” His expression hardened.

  “You two planning on going somewhere?” Creek materialized out of the kitchen to lean against the wall. She knew he expected her to talk to the mayor.

  “I was just about to ask that same question.” Mal’s voice sounded from the gloomy recesses of the hall behind them. He’d lobbied for them to talk to Dominic first about the dead comarré.

  Looked like one of them would get their wish early. Chrysabelle forced herself to unclench her fists and maintain a civil tone. “Yes. We’re going to see Dominic—”

  Mortalis glanced toward the wall of windows at the far end of the living room. “Now? You’re going to wake him from daysleep to ask him for a favor?”

  She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, taking a deep, cleansing breath before she brought it back down again and looked at Creek. “We’re going to see the mayor.” She turned to Mal. “Then we’re going back to see Dominic.” And finally Mortalis again. “Then we’re getting on a plane and going to New Orleans.”

  Mal growled softly. “Vampires aren’t allowed in New Orleans.”

  Mortalis nodded. “Not since the late 1920s.”

  “I know,” Mal said. “I found that out the hard way when I first came to the States.” His mouth settled into a hard line. “They won’t let me in.”

  “We’ll get you in,” Chrysabelle said. She turned to Mortalis. “He’s coming. And so is Creek. Your fae friend wants to see me, he sees me on my terms. Otherwise, I’ll have Creek tell his boss where the missing ring of sorrows is and let the KM deal with it themselves.”

  Would it have hurt Mother Nature to make the day cloudy? Aliza squashed her ball cap down over her dreads a little harder. Damn sunlight was hell on albino eyes, and her cheapie sunglasses weren’t cutting it. She ducked into a doorway, content to rest a minute in the shadows while she got her bearings according to what she’d seen through the varcolai’s eyes. Things looked different in the daylight.

  How hard could it be to find the old church? She stared down the street, looking for something familiar, but the slummy buildings and dirty stucco blended into each other block after block.

  She started down the street again, skirting a pair of old men squatting on a stoop. Two steps past them and she stopped. “You know of an old abandoned Catholic church around here?”

  “Si, si,” one said, smoking a fat cigar. He pointed down the street. “Is not far, maybe four, five blocks more.”

  The other one smiled, revealing yellow teeth. “You going to pray, mami?” He grabbed his crotch. “You can kneel right here if you’d like.” Both men started laughing.

  She pulled down her sunglasses, showing them her nearly colorless gray eyes. “You’re the one who should pray, amigo.”

  “Ai! Fantasma,” the man cried, crossing himself.

  The other one spat at her, then threw his hand up, making the sign of horns. “Fuera! Go away!”

  Laughing, she shoved her sunglasses back into place and took off. Sometimes being albino had its uses. Two blocks down and the church’s steeple came into view. She kept walking until the building was just across the street. From there, she took her time, studying the dilapidated structure for a way in that wouldn’t make too much noise or arouse too much suspicion.

  Not that she cared about the vampire inside. He’d be knocked out with daysleep. It was like a coma, almost impossible to wake them from, and it left them massively sluggish. She would grab the kid and be out of there before the vamp knew what had happened. And if he did wake… she slid her hand into the messenger bag strung across her body and wrapped her fingers around the wooden stake in the bottom. The bag was empty otherwise. Just enough room for a baby.

  She chose a side door shielded by a small porch and tried the knob. Locked. She placed her fingers against the keyhole and shot a small burst of freeing magic into it. Tumblers clicked. She tried it again. This time it turned. />
  Smiling to herself, she quickly checked the street in both directions. Assured she wasn’t being watched, she opened the door and slipped inside.

  She took off her sunglasses as she entered the sanctuary. Incense hung in the air and light streamed through the broken and boarded stained glass, picking up heavy swarms of dust motes and speckling the remaining pews with colored splotches. Everything held a thick layer of grime except for a spot on the kneeling bench in front of the altar and on the altar itself. The bench was shiny with use, and across the way, votive candles flickered in a tiered holder, casting small shadows on the dingy plaster walls. She didn’t get how a vampire could live here, but the idea that he might actually worship in this space was weirder still. Her brows lifted and she shook her head. All that mattered was that he’d fathered a child. A half-vampire child.

  Her smile returned at the prospect of controlling such a being. Of having it at her beck and call. Of testing the power of its blood.

  She listened for the sound of a baby but heard nothing. Maybe the vampire halfling was lost in daysleep like its father. Wouldn’t that be grand? Easy to get away with and simple to care for.

  Down a hall and through a set of double swinging doors, she started checking rooms. In the last one, she found what she was looking for.

  In what reminded her of a nativity scene manger, a pale, pinkish infant slept on an old quilt. Its eyes were closed, dark lashes fringed against its fat cheeks. Tiny fingers curled into fists, one of which rested near its rosebud mouth.

  For a brief second, Aliza recalled Evie in her crib, the smell of her peach-fuzz head, the softness of her skin, her dovelike cooing… but Evie was human. This child was not. Not fully.

  Stretched out on a military cot across from the makeshift crib was the halfling’s father. The vampire she’d come to kill. He, too, lay with eyes closed, but that was where the similarities ended. His shaved head, camo pants, and khaki-green T-shirt pegged him as the one she’d seen through the shifter’s eyes. Ugly cuss.

  She reached into her bag, got a good grip on the stake, and inched closer. The baby shifted, making a soft mewling sound. She froze, glancing back at the tiny creature.

  A cold hand clamped around her throat while a second snaked around her body and tightened on her wrist, squeezing until her bones ground together. Gasping from the pain, she dropped the stake. It clattered to the floor. The infant’s eyes fluttered open.

  “You think you can waltz in here and steal my child? You’re wrong. Dead wrong.” He shook her, rattling the beads and bones tied into her dreads.

  “Take your hands off me, bloodsucker.” She wriggled to get free, but it was no use. He was wickedly strong. Magic was her only hope.

  He reeked of blood and formula, two scents Aliza had never smelled together before. “Did you kill my Julia? Is that why you’re here? To kill me and take our child?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She remembered he’d mentioned Julia to Doc, too. Must be the halfling’s mother. How was this monster not deep in daysleep?

  He growled in rage. “The stench of blood magic and demons covers you, witch. You must be cleansed.”

  “Cleanse this, you freak.” She jerked her head back into his nose. The sound of breaking bone rewarded her, but his grip didn’t loosen. She worked her fingers around in his direction, bent her head out of the way, and shot a blast of fire at him.

  He ducked, taking them both down to the floor. The fire hit the ceiling, spreading along the dropped tin panels and dying out. The baby yowled. The vampire spun Aliza around, pinning her hands with his palms to prevent her from trying the fire trick again and laying his shins over hers. Blood leaked from his broken nose, splattering her face and mouth. She tried to buck him off, but he weighed a freaking ton.

  His fangs dropped. “Who are you working for?”

  “Get the hell off me.” She called fire again, this time letting it build in her palms. He’d feel the heat soon enough. “I ain’t telling you anything.”

  He snarled, baring his teeth some more. “Then your time has come to an end.”

  Dread wormed into her belly. The fire dancing on her palms died out as she tried a different tact. “I got a daughter, too, you know. You want to leave another child motherless?”

  He leaned down a little more, dripping more blood onto her skin and into her mouth. “In your case, I would be doing her a favor.”

  She spit his blood back at him. “You son of a—”

  The vampire struck, nailing his fangs into her throat. She cried out as much from shock as from the white-hot pain. Her bones went brittle with fear. Death danced in her dwindling field of vision like stars, and as he sucked the life from her body, all she could see in the growing darkness was Evie’s face, the only sound she heard the wailing of the child she’d come to steal.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time Doc stopped Mal’s old sedan by the gate at Chrysabelle’s estate, it was after noon. He and Fi had stopped for burgers on the way and eaten in the car. She sat beside him finishing the last of the fries. He spoke toward the intercom. “Hey, it’s Doc. Is Mal with you?”

  “Yes, he’s here,” Chrysabelle’s voice responded through the speaker. “I’ll buzz you through.” A second later the gates swung open.

  Fi pointed a fry toward the massive fountain that stood in the center of the circular drive. Parked near it was Creek’s V-Rod. “Chrysabelle got a motorcycle.”

  “No, that belongs to Creek, the Kubai Mata I told you about.”

  She stuffed the fry into her mouth. “Is he cute?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “He’s an ex-con with a lotta prison ink and a Mohawk. That sound cute to you? And why do you care?”

  She swallowed. “Just wondering. You think he spent the night or just got here? I mean, if Mal spent the night, then… just wondering.”

  Doc looked over at her. “You’re nosy, you know that?”

  “I’m curious.” She raised her brows, smirking. “Like a cat. There’s no crime in that.”

  He threw the car into park. “C’mon, crazy girl. Let’s go see Mal and get this over with.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Look. There’s people in there.” She nodded toward the guesthouse.

  He peered through the palms that screened the smaller house from the main one. The blinds were up, offering a good view into the living room. Two comarré, real comarré, not Dominic’s fakes, sat in plain sight. The female paced back and forth while the male watched her from the couch, frowning. “I’m sure Chrysabelle knows they’re there. If she doesn’t, she’s got bigger problems than we can help her with.”

  He grabbed Fi’s hand and gave it a playful tug. “Let’s go, busybody.”

  As they approached the front door, Chrysabelle opened it. Doc hadn’t seen her since she’d been injured. Which was right around the same time he’d regained his ability to shift into his leopard form. “Hey, you look good.” It wasn’t a total lie. She looked tired, but considering that she’d almost died, like, nine days ago, she looked great.

  Her smile was thin. “Thanks. You too.” Her smile grew a little bigger. “And Fi. Nice to see you both under better circumstances.”

  Fi gave a little wave. He nodded. “That’s for damn straight.” He frowned as the scent of blood reached his nose. “Everything okay? I smell blood.”

  “Velimai just poured Mal a glass. Come in.” She led them through the foyer and into the living room. Mal and Creek were already there. Mal sat sipping a glass of dark red liquid, wearing the same clothes he’d had on when they’d dropped him off the day before and looking like he could use a few hours of daysleep. Fi elbowed Doc in an I-told-you-so kind of way. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

  “What’s up?” He nodded at Mal and gave the Kubai Mata a look. He still didn’t trust the man. Not the way he sniffed around Chrysabelle like she was a T-bone and he was a hungry stray.

  Mal nodded back. “All kinds of things. What brings you here?”
>
  “He’s got big news.” Fi strolled through the room and climbed into the chair near the back wall of sliding glass doors.

  “Fi.” Doc raised his brows. He could do without the help.

  She shrugged and picked up a fashion magazine from the nearby table, tapping the cover to animate the model on the front. Fi and clothes. They were her drug.

  Mal swallowed and rested his glass on his leg. “What is it? I don’t know how much more news we can deal with right now.”

  Chrysabelle took a seat on the couch near Mal. “He’s right. If this isn’t important, it’s going to have to wait.”

  Exhaling hard, Doc shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s pretty big. Unless you don’t consider a vampire child news.”

  Silence deafened the room. Mal broke it first. “There’s no such thing.”

  “Yeah, there is. Saw it with my own eyes.” He glanced at Fi. She lowered the magazine to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s Preacher’s kid. His and one of Dominic’s comarré. I think her name’s Julia. She might be—”

  “Dead,” Creek finished. “She is.”

  Doc squinted at the man. “How you know that?”

  “I found her. She died in my arms. Badly attacked.”

  The man had a way of getting involved in all kinds of things he didn’t belong involved in. “When?”

  “Last night. Are you sure she’s the mother of this child?”

  Doc shrugged. “Pretty sure. Preacher asked me if I was the one who killed his Julia. I saw him with a comarré earlier, so I have to assume that’s her.”

  “You were at Preacher’s?” Mal’s index finger tapped the glass of blood.

  Doc sat on the far arm of Creek’s sofa and nodded.

  “When?” Mal’s tone was less question, more demand.

  “Last night.”

  “That’s when you first saw this vampire child?”

  “No. Before then.” Might as well come clean. “The night Fi and I used the spell Aliza gave me.”

  “Wait.” Chrysabelle tipped her head. “What do you mean you and Fi used it? That was for Fi alone, to get her out of that death loop.”

  Doc sighed a curse and closed his eyes. Any second now the lectures would start.