Bad Blood

by Kristen Painter

  “Jess fine.” He pushed up his Florida Gators ball cap to scratch his forehead. “That pretty little blonde thing come out with you?”

  “Chrysabelle? No, sir, she’s on other business.”

  Slim Jim nodded. “Quite a looker, that one. You should bring her around again sometime.”

  “Will do.” Doc pointed toward the line of airboats out at Slim Jim’s dock. Aliza’s was parked at the far end. “How long ago did Aliza come through here?”

  “Earlier today. Strange her being gone so long but”—he shrugged—“I keep outta other people’s business. You need a boat?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Got anything to do with the old witch?”

  Doc suppressed a smile. Interesting question for someone who kept out of other people’s business. “I have a delivery for her daughter.” That sounded plausible, especially since he used to deliver Dominic’s drugs to her on a regular basis.

  Slim Jim’s small eyes opened a little wider. “The stone girl?”

  “She’s not stone anymore.” The compulsion came on strong again. It wanted him to stop talking and move. He flicked a talon out on one finger and dug it into his thigh. The pain helped fight the urge.

  “You don’t say. Haven’t been out that way myself lately. Most my hunting trips been taking me down toward Deadman’s Key and thataway. Snakes down there is something awful.” He grinned, showing off a missing tooth. “Money in skins is better than ever.” He shifted to scratch the hound’s back end. “And Aliza said she’d take her own deliveries with her when she got back.” He stood, hoisting the gun over one shoulder. His other meaty hand went into the pocket of his overalls, coming back out with a set of keys. He tossed them to Doc. “Last one on the right. Y’all can pay me when you get back.” He sat down, but the dog got up, gave Doc a hard stare, then woofed twice before lying down again.

  Go. Now.

  Assuming he would be able to come back. “Thanks, Slim Jim. Appreciate it.” Keys in hand, Doc headed for the boats. He climbed aboard, then eased the backpack off and nestled it down between the metal ribs of the boat’s hull. He unzipped the pack and checked on the baby. Sleeping. He guessed. He thought about checking for a pulse but wasn’t sure a half-vampire child would have one. Satisfied, he got the electric engine going, the carbon fiber blades whirring softly to life, before hopping into the driver’s seat.

  He glanced back at the cabin. A small light glimmered through the window, and only the dog remained on the porch, staring out at Doc as if watching him.

  Doc turned back around and moved the boat forward. Maybe the dog was watching. Maybe the dog wasn’t just a dog. Who knew? He had a half-vampire, half-fake-comarré child on board and his mind was being controlled by a witch.

  Nothing was what it seemed anymore.

  Forward.

  “I hear you,” he said to whoever was in his head. And I’m going to kill you if given the chance. But that last thought he kept to himself. Or tried to. If Aliza was dead, whichever one of her coven had taken over must be controlling him. Witches had magic, but varcolai had strength and speed and a great need for revenge.

  It wasn’t going to be a fair fight. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

  The Glades whizzed by with all the usual hellish sounds and smells. How anyone could live here was beyond him. Soon, Aliza’s house and the houses of her coven appeared on the horizon. A new house sat to the left of hers. He squinted at it. From what he could see, it looked complete. How could anything have been built that fast?

  He slowed the boat and the compulsion took over again, stronger than it had before but still not as strong as when he was leopard. Following the commands inside his head, he docked the boat at Aliza’s, scooped up the baby in the backpack, and climbed the stairs to the house.

  He opened the screen door and went in, past the kitchen and into the living room. It was empty.

  Except for a demon, trapped in the base of an aquarium. The thing reared to life when Doc walked in. Recognition filled him with dread. Not just any demon. The Castus he’d seen at Tatiana’s. Maybe the one Creek had just tangled with. Bitter fear soured Doc’s gut. This was way more than he’d bargained for. The Castus pointed a talon-tipped finger at him. “What’s in the bag, shifter?”

  Doc backed up. “Nothing.”

  “I smell new blood.”

  Of course he did. “That’s probably because—”

  Evie came in from another room. “Shut up, Doc. You too, demon.” She held a small undulating ball of smoke in one palm. The compulsion. He pushed against it and while it was still there, it was definitely weaker. “You.” She jerked her chin at Doc, then the thumb of her free hand back toward the room she’d just left. “Inside. Quietly.” She glanced at the bag on his shoulder.

  So she didn’t want the demon to know about the kid. Too bad. Doc nodded and dropped the bag off his shoulder. The jostling caused the baby to stir. The demon’s gaze riveted to the backpack. Working quickly, Doc got his fingers inside the zippered opening and yanked it down, revealing the child, who immediately started to cry. “Don’t you want to make sure the kid’s okay? After all, who knows how much a half-vampire, half-comarré baby can take?”

  “A halfling? Give the child to me,” the demon howled, straining against the invisible barriers keeping it in the aquarium.

  “No!” Evie lunged for the backpack, dropping the ball of smoke. “It’s mine.”

  The compulsion disappeared. Doc gasped at the sensation of it leaving his body but recovered in time to snatch the baby away from her. “Like hell.”

  Evie called up fire, juggling it over one palm. “Give me the baby.”

  Doc lifted the backpack over his head. The kid was wailing like its lungs were police sirens. “Touch me and I drop the backpack.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” He wouldn’t. Vampire, comarré, or whatever the kid was, it was still the innocent here.

  The fire vanished from her hand. “I’ll just recall the compulsion then and make you turn the baby over.”

  “Try it and I’ll kill you.”

  Her shoulder twitched, jumping toward her ear. “Kill me and the spell that keeps the demon bound will disappear. And if you think he won’t kill you for the child, you’re a fool.”

  The demon was practically drooling at the child. “She lies!” it howled. “I will spare you. The varcolai are as much my children as the vampires.”

  Evie snorted. “When my mother gets back, you’re in big trouble, demon.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. Your mother’s dead.”

  Evie’s face went blank, then morphed into a mask of rage. “She’s not dead.”

  Sensing a nerve, Doc pushed, hoping to throw her off balance. “You don’t believe me, ask Preacher, the vampire who fathered this child. He killed Aliza when she tried to abduct the kid. Or didn’t she bother telling you she was headed out there?”

  With a scream, Evie whipped her hand up and shot a bolt of fire at him. Doc dodged it, almost dropping the child. He slid the bag across the floor and into the safety of the kitchen, then grabbed her around the waist and brought her down. He straddled her, holding her arms down. She twitched like crazy beneath him. “Get off me!”

  “Not until you’re tied up.” He looked around for something to secure her with.

  The demon hissed. “Fire!”

  Doc glanced back down in time to see both of Evie’s palms lit with blue flame, her fingers pointed in his direction. He lurched back and rolled away, grabbing a metal tray off the ottoman and holding it up as a shield.

  The fire struck instantly, exploding like fireworks and heating the tray until his skin sizzled. A snarl of pain echoed over the sound of the baby’s wailing, the demon’s howling, and the crackle of flames. Doc tossed the tray, shaking his burning fingers.

  Evie lay where he’d left her, a dark hole scorched in her chest. Small flames and wisps of smoke danced off her clothing. Her open eyes stared lifelessl
y at the ceiling.

  Doc felt for a pulse. Nothing. The aquarium shattered behind him. He jerked around in time to see a red blur streak past. The baby. He scrambled to his feet, making the kitchen a split second later. The Castus had the infant in its massive hands. The smell of sulfur was unbearable.

  It took one look at Doc and smiled. “No one else can know about this child. You must die.” He cradled the child in one arm, his other shooting out toward Doc.

  Doc tried to move, but the tip of the Castus’s razor-sharp nail caught his forearm. A white-hot streak of pain flared with the line of blood.

  The Castus reared back again. Suddenly his face contorted and his hard red eyes rolled into his head. “Not now!” he bellowed. A second later, he disappeared in a flash of smoke and fire.

  Chapter Seventeen

  What exactly are we looking for again?” Creek asked Lola. Havoc hung near the opening of the alley, but they stood in almost the exact spot where Creek had found Julia. Police Chief Vernadetto studied something on his e-tablet, notes from her homicide report, or maybe the new homicide report. A second dead comarré had been found, this one on the opposite side of Seven.

  Lola’s gaze never left the pavement and the circle of light thrown from her flashlight. “Anything that might have been missed by the police.”

  Vernadetto sighed. “Ma’am, we’ve been over this ground thoroughly. I assure you we’ve picked up every bit of evidence.”

  She turned on him. “Then why haven’t you found any leads?”

  “These things take time. This case is our number-one priority.” His gaze shifted to Creek for a long moment before he answered her. “Especially now that we have a second victim.”

  “You’ve had two days.” She leaned in, her face hardening in anger. “I will not have a serial killer terrorizing my city. I want new information on my desk by morning or you’re going to have the city auditor breathing down your neck.”

  Vernadetto scowled right back. “I know this is difficult for you, but threats aren’t going to make the forensics come through any faster. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He walked away from them.

  “By morning,” she called after him.

  “No wonder her husband left,” Vernadetto muttered as he got into his car, slammed the door, and drove off.

  Creek looked at Havoc. The varcolai had to have heard that, although the mayor wouldn’t have. Havoc shook his head as if warning Creek not to say anything. Behind the mayor’s back, Creek held up his hands to indicate that wasn’t something he was considering. Did that dumb shifter think he was some kind of idiot? He turned back to what the mayor was doing, but his mind drifted to Chrysabelle and New Orleans and what might be going on there. If Mal hadn’t made it in, she’d have only her skills and Mortalis to keep her safe. That worried him. Not that she wasn’t skilled, but—

  “Are you paying attention?”

  “What?” Creek tried to recall what the mayor had just said.

  “I just thought you’d find it interesting.” Lola’s flashlight swept the ground methodically. “That there was ‘forensic material’ beneath her nails.”

  “It is interesting. Why hasn’t that led to a suspect? DNA recording has been mandatory since what, 2029? Unless whoever that DNA belongs to is older than thirty-eight. Still, that’s a clue in itself, right?”

  She stopped scanning the alley to face him. “The forensic material didn’t hold any DNA. The detective on the case said it came back as mostly carbon.”

  “Carbon?”

  Her gaze stayed fixed on his face. “Ash.”

  “Did they find any ash under the nails of the second girl?” He inhaled, testing the air. At the edges of his sensory limits, he picked up two scents. Varcolai and vampire. The first was probably Havoc, although it didn’t smell canine.

  “They found something but won’t confirm until the tests come back. I’m sure it’s the same thing.”

  Creek held his expression in neutral. “Wonder what that means?” It meant when the comarré had scratched her attacker, the skin beneath her nails had died and turned to ash. Which meant the attacker had been a vampire. Probably the one who’d left some scent trace behind.

  “You know what it means.”

  He stared at her without speaking. This was the kind of information that could rouse a witch hunt. Not that he was against tracking down the vamp responsible, but there were a good number of fringe who were just trying to live their lives. The ones who weren’t, he took care of.

  “You have no response?”

  “I’m sure the police will come up with something.”

  “Don’t vampires turn to ash when they’re killed? Or is that just a myth, too?”

  He hesitated. Lying wasn’t going to make things better. “No. Not a myth.”

  She said something, but a noise at the end of the alley pulled his attention. John was focused in that direction, too. He held a hand up to the mayor, then pointed down the alley. Quietly, he said, “We’ve got company.”

  Was this the vampire who’d killed Julia returning to the scene? If so, Creek would end this game here and now before Lola had a chance to declare martial law. “Stay here,” Creek whispered. He pointed behind a stack of pallets. “There. Get down.”

  Lola moved toward the pallets, and he joined Havoc near the alley opening. The bitter scent he’d smelled earlier increased, confirming what he’d already thought. “Vampire.”

  Havoc nodded, his voice low. “Three, I think. Maybe more.”

  “Youngbloods?” Creek asked, referring to the gang name some of the fringe had lately taken to sporting on the back of leather jackets and tagging on abandoned buildings.

  “Probably.”

  Creek nodded, freeing his crossbow from its holster. “You stay with the mayor. I’ll see if I can draw them away.”

  A dark shape dropped into the alley in front of them.

  “Too late,” Havoc answered, whipping out his pistol and charging the vampire, his nails and teeth bared. He fired off a few shots, striking the creature but not bringing it down. One more reason guns were so inefficient when it came to killing bloodsuckers. Smoke rose from the bullet holes, where the hot silver had made its mark. At least Havoc’s ammo caused some pain.

  A soft thud behind Creek twisted him around. A second vamp. Lola let out a short yelp. Creek snapped his crossbow up and fired off a bolt as the creature turned toward the mayor. It tagged the vampire’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Creek was on top of him a second later. He yanked out the bolt and drove it straight through the vampire’s heart. It went to ash beneath his feet.

  “You okay?” he asked Lola.

  She sat against the alley wall, her face pale, her eyes round. “No,” she whispered.

  “Stay where you are. We’ll have this over in a minute and get you home.” He ran back toward Havoc, who now fought three vampires. A female clung to his back. Creek put a bolt in her first. She was ash before she hit the ground.

  Havoc took down another, pinning him to the asphalt. He planted the gun’s muzzle against the creature’s chest and pulled the trigger. A third pile of ash joined the other two. The last vampire, realizing he was outmanned, ran.

  Havoc got up, brushed himself off, and extended a hand to Creek. “Thanks.”

  Creek shook it, surprised. “You too.”

  Havoc tipped his head toward the mayor. “Guess she’ll believe you now, huh?”

  Creek shrugged and tried to lighten things up. “You never know with women. Let’s get her back home. She’s probably had all the reality she can handle for one night.”

  Tatiana woke before Laurent did, but only by force, not because she felt rested. Wearing Daciana’s image for so long made her weary to her bones. Too weary to be bothered killing Laurent off. Just staying awake during the car ride to the hangar had been a struggle. She’d dropped into bed almost the minute they’d entered the plane. She didn’t even remember takeoff. If only she could be herself, gain her f
ull strength back. But they had a few hours yet before they landed and she could be rid of Laurent and the charade.

  She glanced at him, naked and sleeping beside her. In a small way, it was too bad she had to kill him. He might be overbearing with his wife, but he was quick, crafty. And he’d captured the comarré with what seemed like very little effort. She should hate him for that, but he’d made her life so much easier by doing it. Maybe she could explain what she’d done, get him and Daciana to understand the necessity of it. Let them live. They would, after all, be in her service for as long as she was Dominus. If the Castus ever showed up and made that happen.

  She rolled her eyes and threw off the covers. If only she could stay herself; but she couldn’t let Laurent catch her as Tatiana. Not before she’d had a chance to explain, if that was the route she was going to take.

  Reaching for her locket, she remembered that it was back in Corvinestri with the rest of her things. She let out a half sob, so completely and utterly drained, but forced herself to assume Daciana’s identity, then dressed and went out to check on the comarré. Laurent should have locked the girl in the coat closet like they’d discussed on the way to the plane.

  Had he taken her out of the body bag? Probably. Tatiana hadn’t heard any screaming. Not that she would have, considering how deeply she’d slept. She tried the closet door. Locked. She listened. Breath and heart sounds and the scent of comarré blood. She smiled and reached for the key in the overhead compartment. She grabbed the small pistol she’d brought along as well. Comarré were human enough that bullets could still be persuasive.

  She unlocked the door and opened it, keeping the gun aimed forward. The full body bag was huddled against one wall. So he hadn’t let her out after all. “Well, well, comarré. You’re mine now.” Tatiana reached for the zipper and tugged it down a few inches. “And once I have the ring, I’m going to take great pleasure in—”

  Bright blue terror-stricken eyes stared back at Tatiana. She pulled the zipper down farther. The face was familiar, but not because it belonged to the comarré whore who had taken up with her former husband, Malkolm. It was the comarré she’d purchased for Nasir, the one who had run away from her with her own comar, Damian.