Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  Leave the property. Go back to where you last felt the compulsion.

  The need to warn the people in the house weakened until he couldn’t hang on to it. He took a few steps forward, yowling softly in his throat because it was the only opposition he could manage. There was something he needed to do, to tell Fi. Go. He trotted toward the gate, which he nudged open with his big head, then slipped out and started down the road, his direction clear.

  The gate clanged shut behind him and the last unaltered thought faded from his brain.

  Shifting had made the spell stronger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tatiana came back together wasp by wasp as Laurent did the same beside her. They’d left the car parked near a boat ramp in a public park not far from Mephisto Island. If things went as planned, they’d be driving straight to the hangar and be in Corvinestri for breakfast. For now they were on the back edge of the comarré’s property, near the waterline. A few charred pilings were all that remained of the dock. She smiled. That destruction was her handiwork. As was this whole brilliant plan.

  The front gate wasn’t visible from here, but her ears easily picked up the sound of the pedestrian entrance opening and closing. As they’d flown overhead, they’d seen the leopard on the front drive headed toward the gate. A shifter no doubt, here to protect the comarré maybe, but he was leaving. Why, she didn’t know, didn’t care. The animal was gone, one less thing to worry about.

  Laurent brushed himself off, but his head was lifted, his nostrils widening to take in the air. His fangs were out and his mouth open. “No mistaking there’s a comarré nearby with that scent in the air, is there? Hells bells, I miss mine.” He gave his jacket a tug. “I cannot wait to be home.”

  “Nor can I.” She fished in the bag at her hip and extracted two pairs of earplugs. “Here.” She tossed a pair to Laurent, then wiggled hers into place. The specially designed iron-mesh inserts negated the effects of a wysper’s scream. He put his in while studying the landscape.

  They couldn’t get into the house without an invitation, so the plan was to make enough noise to bring someone outside, then use that someone as a negotiating point to get the comarré. Unless they got lucky and the comarré was the one who came out to investigate. The girl was so stupid there was a good chance she would.

  Laurent pointed toward the house, then indicated that Daciana should go to one side to make the distraction while he went to the front to capture whoever came out. Tatiana had planned it that way to feed his ego and protect herself. Her metal hand was proof of the comarré’s dangerousness. If he ended up ashed, she’d still have time to scatter and save herself. It was perfect, really.

  They headed toward the house together, she with a fat roll of fireworks and he with chloroform, steel cable zip ties, and a body bag for the captured comarré. When the path separated around the pool, they did, too. He had sixty seconds to get into place near the front door before she lit the combustibles near the guesthouse.

  Counting off the time, she slipped through the shadows, working her way toward the edge of the property. She started across a small patch of grass. A tiny click sounded when she lifted her foot, a sound so soft she knew human ears would never have picked it up. It hadn’t sounded like an insect, but in this hellish jungle of a state, who knew. She ignored it and kept going. She heard it a second time when she reached the guesthouse. It seemed like it had come from the grass. She stomped her foot down and ground it into the grass. Whatever was living in there wasn’t anymore.

  Tatiana flattened herself against the building, pulling the firecrackers and lighter from her waist bag as she ticked off the last remaining seconds. On three, she flicked the lighter under the fuse. On two, it burst into flame. On one, she tossed it into the yard and ducked behind a windowless part of the guesthouse.

  The fireworks went off like gunshots, cracking through the night’s silence and reverberating over the water. Another few seconds into the noise and new sounds emerged from the house. The sounds of movement and scuffling, then the noise they’d anticipated. The wysper’s scream.

  Despite the earplugs, it raked through her like sharpened tines until even her fangs ached. The sound was her cue to run, which was exactly what Laurent would be doing. If he wasn’t dead.

  She leaped the security wall into the neighboring estate, making her exit from there and speeding back toward the car. Laurent joined her there a few minutes later, a full body bag slung over his bleeding shoulder, the scent of ash thick around him.

  “Darling,” she purred. “Did you get hurt?”

  “Damn hot blade, sliced right through my shoulder. Going to be a nasty scar.” He patted the limp, female figure shrouded in plastic. “Other than that, the evening went rather well. I managed to get a few licks in myself before bagging our prize.”

  Sheer delight sucked a gasp from her. Bloody hell. The prat had done it. She clapped her hands as she imagined Daciana might. “Let me see her!”

  Laurent frowned. “Don’t be foolish, Daciana. You know what comarré look like. Get in the car. I want to go home.”

  Lola’s skin no longer itched with the desire to flee. No, that feeling had been replaced by vision-blurring anger. She worked to unclench her jaw. “You think this vampire killed my daughter because she thought Julia was you?”

  “No, she knows what I look like.” Chrysabelle leaned back in her seat, her mouth a hard, determined line. This was not a woman Lola wanted to be on the wrong side of. “I believe Tatiana killed your daughter to show me she was here, to show me what she would do to me when she had the chance.”

  The anger turned red-hot. A vampire. What good would a gun do against such a monstrous creature? “My daughter’s life was worth more than being someone’s calling card. Why is this vampire after you?”

  “I agree about your daughter’s life.” Chrysabelle bent her head for a moment, sighing, then she lifted her gaze to Lola. “Tatiana wants something I have. I won’t tell you what. To do so would only put you in danger.” Chrysabelle’s eyes stayed focused on Lola like a challenge.

  Yes, Lola thought. She hides the information from me for my benefit. It made her want to spit. Instead, she kept her composure, such as it was, and focused on the problem of such a creature loose in her city. “I will help you find this Tatiana, then, and kill her. What do you need?”

  The comarré shook her head. “We’re not even sure she’s in town.”

  Lola slapped her hand down on the chair’s arm, causing John’s eyes to widen. Of course, he’d seen her upset, but never angry like this. Time he learned the extent of her temper. “Then who killed my daughter? The police have told me nothing so far.”

  John cleared his throat. “It’s only been two days. I’m sure they’ll come up with something.”

  “They’d better.” She exhaled through her nose, trying to find a molecule of calm. “It was this vampire, I feel it.” She jutted her chin toward Malkolm. “You, you’re one of her kind. You know this vampire that killed Julia? How do we stop her?”

  His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “We? You’re human. What do you think you can do?”

  “Answer the question, vampire.”

  His jaw popped to one side before realigning itself. “I know her well enough. Stopping her is not going to be easy. She’s very powerful. Too powerful.”

  Lola stood and walked to the wet bar. She splashed rum into a tumbler and swallowed half of it. It burned down her throat, matching her mood. She turned and leaned against the counter. “Everyone has a weakness. What is hers?”

  The comarré looked at the vampire. Creek watched them with interest. Lola could tell they were all thinking the same thing, but from the looks on their faces, they would not be sharing that thing with her. Chrysabelle tucked some hair behind her ear, her gold marks flashing light.

  Had Julia looked like that? She’d not seen her daughter in so long and then to see her lying bloody in the street, torn apart and broken… Lola drowned the image in the remainin
g rum. The liquid heat seared away the threatening tears. “Well? What is it?”

  “Power. She wants power.”

  More exchanged glances before Chrysabelle answered, “Which is why she wants the thing she thinks I have. It isn’t in my possession at the moment but it will be. Soon. Which is why I can’t stay here much longer.”

  Lola went back to her seat, but only took the edge, putting herself closer to the comarré. “I may be human, but I have my own kind of power as mayor. I have people and resources. I will do whatever I can to bring this monster down. You go and get this thing, then, but when you return, you come back here immediately. Your friends can educate me some more while you’re gone.”

  Malkolm’s brows lifted. “First of all, Creek and I are going with her. Secondly, there seems to be an implied ‘or else’ in that statement.”

  She narrowed her eyes and met his gaze without flinching. “Or else I will turn this city against you. Declare open season on Paradise City’s newest plague. Vampires, shape-shifters, whatever else is out there. There will not be a moment’s peace. And I will make sure they know you’re the reason. Comprendes?”

  His eyes flashed sliver like they had earlier but his face stayed human. He would have been beautiful if not for what lurked beneath. His upper lip twitched in a partial sneer. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” she challenged him. “Tell me, then.”

  “I understand you think you have some power.” The silver faded a little. “I also understand you are mistaken, but then, like many humans, you have no real idea of what you’re up against until there are fangs in your flesh.”

  The words should have frightened her. Instead her pulse surged with an entirely different emotion. One her husband had not aroused in her for many years during their marriage. Was this another of the monster’s powers? She swallowed, tasting the sweetness of the rum on her tongue, and lifted her head with an arrogance meant to match his. “You and Chrysabelle may go, but Creek will stay here. With me. No discussion or I will have him arrested immediately.

  “You two will return within twenty-four hours with this thing the vampire wants and a plan to take her down or your friend”—she pointed at Creek—“will be charged with Julia’s murder and remanded to the state penitentiary immediately upon arrest. This time, there will be no early parole. I will make sure of that.”

  She stood, made quick eye contact with John, then turned and walked away. “You are dismissed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fi ran back into Chrysabelle’s house, her stomach a queasy mass of knots, her mind a million whirling thoughts coming as fast as her breath. “Doc? Doc! Where are you?”

  Damian, the new comar, ran in behind her. Blood dripped from his sacre, a slice across his ribs and a second on his shoulder. Velimai followed, a nasty bruise on her cheek.

  Panic rose in Fi’s chest like bile. If not for Chrysabelle’s new security system alerting them to someone on the grounds, they might all be dead. Which made it all the more important she find Doc. “Have you seen Doc? Is he still outside? He went out there to patrol the grounds.”

  “I didn’t see him. That vampire…” Damian blinked hard and took a step back toward the door. He grimaced in pain. “Got Saraphina.” He staggered. His sacre dropped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. “I think there was poison on that bastard’s blade.” He went to his knees and his eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed.

  Fi rushed to him, cradling his head. Velimai kneeled beside Fi. Her fingers started to move, but Fi’s brain was in no place to process.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying. Can you take care of him while I go look for Doc?”

  Velimai nodded and made motions toward the door like Fi should go.

  “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She took off for the door, then skidded to a stop. “If I don’t come back or if anything happens to me, I’ve gone after Doc and I’ve got a pretty good idea that if he’s dea—” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the word. “If he’s not here, he went to Preacher’s. That’ll be my next stop.”

  Velimai signed, Okay. Then her hands twisted in the sign for luck.

  Fi dashed outside. Saraphina’s sacre lay on the ground, glowing softly in the security lights. Fi scooped it up. She wasn’t entirely sure how to handle a blade like that, but it was better than being totally unarmed. “Doc?” she said softly, suddenly unsure if she was completely alone. They’d only seen one vampire, but the underground motion sensors had picked up movement in the side yard and in the front yard where Damian had taken a hit and Saraphina had been snatched. They shouldn’t have gone outside, but with Velimai’s scream to protect them… Except that hadn’t worked for some reason.

  Fi hadn’t recognized the male vampire, but that didn’t mean Tatiana wasn’t involved. She stayed close to the house as she made her way around. Doc wasn’t anywhere. She set the sword down and shifted to her ghost self, then floated above the roofline until she could see the entire property. No Doc, but Mal’s old sedan was still there. That meant if Doc had left, he’d done it on four feet.

  Back to the ground and corporeal form. She grabbed the sacre and jumped into the car, laying the blade on the seat next to her. Keys were in the ignition. It had been a long time since she’d driven, but in her current state of mind, she could probably fly a plane if she had to. Doc needed her. She could feel it. The engine jumped to life. She programmed the GPS for Umberto’s in Little Havana, the only landmark she could think of there. A minute later, Mephisto Island was disappearing in her rearview mirror.

  The drive felt like it took a year and a half, enough time for her to formulate a plan if Doc wasn’t at Preacher’s. She knew that Mal was with Creek and Chrysabelle and that the three of them planned on going to New Orleans with Mortalis as soon as Dominic gave them permission to use his plane, so her best bet was to hit Seven and see if she could catch them there if Preacher’s didn’t pan out.

  If she missed them, then… she didn’t know what. Wait for them to get back? While who knew what was going on with Doc? Didn’t seem like a very good option. There was always a chance he’d gone back to the freighter. But why would he leave Chrysabelle’s without telling Fi where he was going?

  Deep down in the recesses of her mind, she knew why. She just didn’t want to give credence to the thought because that seemed too much like making it real.

  The witch’s spell. The smoke they’d both walked through in the belly of the freighter. The one that had made them both whole again. She would have closed her eyes if she hadn’t been driving. If the witch had done something to Doc with that spell… Fi exhaled a sigh that was almost a sob. It was her fault. She’d convinced Doc to go through the smoke. Whatever was going on, she had to find him.

  On the street ahead the neon lights from Umberto’s restaurant shone like a carnival ride. Little Havana was mostly dark otherwise, a few dull glimmers from windows where folks were up and still had juice in their solars. If Umberto’s could afford to run their electric, business must be good. She drove by slowly to look through the bars on the windows. Place was full.

  A block up, she found a parking spot under one of the dim streetlights. She parked and got out, tucking the sacre through the belt in her jeans. In other parts of Paradise City, walking around with a sword hanging off your hip might attract attention, but in Little Havana, people did what they had to do to stay safe.

  Putting on her best touch-me-and-die attitude, she strolled to Umberto’s and went inside. The customers gave her and her sword a wide berth, and while her Spanish was passable, she didn’t understand a lot of the things being said. Still, it was pretty plain they weren’t exactly thrilled an Americana with a three-foot sword had just interrupted their ropa vieja.

  She beelined for the bar, finding an open space with no problem. “Hola.”

  The bartender, a fat man with a thin mustache and a wandering eye, waddled over wiping a glass with a rag of questionable cleanliness. Lovely
. He nodded at her. “Buenas noches. Que te puedo hacer?”

  “Hables ingles?”

  “Si. What do you want to drink?”

  “Nothing. I need some information.”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “I have paying customers, señorita.”

  “I just want to know where the old Catholic church is.”

  He shrugged. “And people at the other end of the bar want more cervezas. It is a cruel, cruel world.”

  Time mattered more than playing games with this butt munch. She dug into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out a twenty, and slid it toward him. “Where’s the church?”

  He took the plastic bill and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “You don’t want to go there. Muy peligroso.”

  She already knew it was dangerous. What she needed to know was its location. Her hand went to the sword’s hilt without too much thought. “Tell me. Now.”

  “Or what? You going to cut me, comebola?” He laughed and a stream of Spanish slipped past his puffy lips too fast for her to understand.

  If only Mal were here. One look at his vampire face and this guy would need fresh pants. His face. The image gave her an idea. Mal wasn’t the only one with a second nature. She’d never done it before, but she had nothing to lose. The next step was whipping out the sword, and that was a big step. She climbed onto a bar stool, leaned over, and grabbed Fatty by his shirt. When he was inches from her, she called up the darkest part of her ghostly presence. The part she’d used to haunt Mal in the years after he’d killed her. The part she’d hidden away when Doc had come into her life.

  The dark emptiness of death spread through her, trying to transform her whole being, but she used her anger to control it and hold it on her face alone.

  Fatty dropped the rag he’d been holding. “Santa Maria.” He scrabbled at her fingers, trying to pluck them off his shirt. His black eyes reflected her sunken ones, the deep hollows of her cheeks, the torn and ruined flesh of her neck. “La iglesia—”