Sanguinity
Henri Dunn Book 3
Tori Centanni
Bad Blood Books
Contents
Sanguinity (Henri Dunn Book 3)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Thank You For Reading
The Henri Dunn Series
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Tori Centanni
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art by Rebecca Frank
For everyone on Team Vampire.
Sanguinity (Henri Dunn Book 3)
If there’s anything Henri Dunn wants to avoid more than vampire drama, it’s drama involving witches.
So when a witch from the local guild asks Henri to look into a double murder committed with ritual magic, Henri would love to say no, until she finds out the victims were both vampires. Henri can’t just walk away from that. After all, some of her worst friends are vampires.
Not to mention that if the vampires find out their brethren are being used in some nefarious magic ritual, it’s bound to spark a war between the vampires and witches that will decimate the arcane community.
Of course, it’d be easier to face a malicious, evil witch if Henri had her fangs back, but none of the vampires are biting, literally or figuratively, and her best vampire ally is still lost in some kind of vampiric coma.
If Henri wants any hope of becoming immortal again, she must stop these death rituals and bring the witch responsible to justice before the vampires she cares about become targets.
Chapter 1
I drove my car around the block for the third time, hoping the guy who’d gotten into his parked car had finally pulled out and I could snag his spot. Given my luck tonight, someone would probably slide in the moment he left and I’d be SOL, but the street was narrow, and I couldn’t block it while I waited for this guy to remember how to put his car in reverse. I’d already tried, but I’d gotten honked at by an impatient SUV that had pulled up behind me.
I was in a pissy enough mood to just let them honk and scream, but I didn’t want neighbors to call the cops and have to deal with that. I was in a miserable mood and having a shitty night. No need to make it worse.
For one thing, I was still human, stuck living as a mortal after nearly a century of being immortal, thanks to a vampire cure which had been injected into my veins against my will. It had been almost a year since I’d been “Cured,” and it still made me cranky as hell.
And for another thing, I’d just gotten fired from the restaurant where I’d been working, and I wanted to punch things. I’d been a damn good waitress, but I’d had a falling-out with one of my coworkers, Max, who’d caught me standing over the body of a woman, covered in her blood. I hadn’t killed her. A deranged vampire hell-bent on making my life miserable had done that. But Max had seen me for what I was in that moment, whether he’d really understood it or not, and ever since, there’d been a thick tension between us that everyone in the restaurant noticed.
The manager had mentioned seasonal budget cuts as the reason I was being let go, and that was probably part of it. But if they just needed to reduce head count, there were better sacrificial lambs—-like Tara, who called out sick for five shifts out of ten. I had no doubt that the situation with Max was a huge part of why I’d been the one cut from the staff, and that made me furious.
It was fucked up that despite not being a vampire anymore, vampire drama could still cost me my job.
So I drove around the block as quickly as I could manage on the narrow streets of Capitol Hill, relieved to find the spot waiting when I got back around to it.
I swung my blue sedan into the narrow space, almost slamming into the giant SUV that was taking up at least two spaces and encroaching on this third one, out of sheer frustration. Luckily, better sense prevailed, and I eased my car in without damaging their giant yacht of a vehicle or my own small car.
As I walked past, I slammed my purse down against the behemoth’s hood. Its alarm blared to life and I smiled, satisfied I’d at least made the owner’s life slightly inconvenient. Who drove a giant wannabe monster truck like that on Capitol Hill, anyhow?
When I found a witch standing on my doorstep, the last shreds of my patience snapped.
Erin waved, like we were friends. We weren’t. I had no idea how she’d gotten my address, and whatever she wanted, I probably didn’t want to give it to her.
Erin was tall, with tan skin and dark hair. She wore a sporty green dress with a black jacket and matching shoes. Her black hair was held back with a matching headband. She looked more like a fashionable art student than a witch, but then witches didn’t have a set sense of style. None of them ran around in robes and pointy hats, as far I’d ever seen.
She smiled brightly, happy to see me.
I did not smile back. I marched over to tell her to get lost.
Erin and I might have been friends in another life, but in this one she only saw me as a curiosity. As a witch, she was fascinated that someone or something had finally managed to turn a vampire human again. Witches have been working with Weepers—vampires who deeply regretted their life choices once they realize immortality came with an eternity of blood drinking and zero direct sunlight—for ages, trying to perform the miracle of giving them their humanity back.
Neha, a scientist whose girlfriend had been made into a vampire and wanted out, had developed the Cure in a lab, and then injected it into me without my consent. Erin, and many other witches, were fascinated by the how of it. Science, they argued, was not that far off from magic.
“What do you want?” I asked Erin, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Hello, Henri, nice to see you, too,” she said in a feigned friendly tone, ignoring my reaction to finding her on my doorstep. Like I was supposed to be happy to see her.
“You have one minute,” I said, not playing her game.
“Fine.” She straightened and pulled keys out of her purse. “I need your help.”
“No,” I said, and headed up the steps to the door.
“You aren’t even going to ask why?” she demanded.
“Nope.”
Erin sighed loudly. I ignored her.
There was a crackle of energy in the air. When I tried to put the key in the door, it shocked me. I yanked my hand back. It had been like a static shock but ten times worse. It hurt. An angry red mark spread across my palm and the back of my hand.
I turned around, glaring angrily. Erin smiled, unbothered by the fact that she’d just provoked my rage.
“I’m not asking,” Erin said. “You’re the only person who can help the witches avoid a war with the vampires, and you know that’s not a war we’re going to win.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again, too stunned to form a snarky remark about how I
was not exactly a pacifist, nor in great standing with the vampires myself, having just beheaded an ancient vampire who’d tried to kill me a few weeks ago.
Besides, “war” was incredibly unlikely. Witches and vampires usually got along, or, worst-case scenario, simply ignored each other’s existence. Vampires were magical creatures with limited powers: super speed and strength, fangs, the ability to leap tall buildings with a single bound, and all that jazz. Witches had more varied and powerful magic. This led to tension and finally dismissal of the other side’s powers. But war? That didn’t happen. Not in the modern era, anyway.
“What are you talking about?” I finally asked.
“I can’t even put it into words. It’s super fucked up. Just come with me, okay? Unless you have something better to do.” She folded her arms over her chest and shot me a challenging look. I glanced up at my empty apartment, where I had wine and a brand new sofa I’d splurged on before I knew I’d be losing my reliable source of income. That sounded a hell of a lot better than getting dragged into some witches’ crisis.
“I do, actually,” I said, folding my arms over my chest to copy her stance.
Erin dropped her arms and looked around. The block was deserted, although cars occasionally drove past, most looking for—and not finding—parking. “Vampires are dead. I need you to come see, and then you’ll understand.”
My heart started hammering in my chest. I wasn’t on great terms with vampires in general, but there were several vampires I cared deeply about. “Who’s dead?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You need to come see, and then I promise you’ll want to help.”
I groaned. I wanted to drink a bottle of wine and soak in the tub and troll through Craigslist for job listings. But if vampires were dead and Erin had come to me of all people, something was definitely going on.
“Why should I get involved? I’m not a vampire anymore. It’s not my problem.” Except it might be. Depending on which vampires were dead. I didn’t say that.
“That’s exactly why we need you.” She lifted a perfectly manicured hand, complete with green nail polish that matched her forest-green dress, and ticked off points. “One, you’ve stopped two murderers this summer. Clearly, you’ve missed your calling as a detective.” I started to protest, but she kept going. “Two, whatever’s going on, the vampires aren’t going to be receptive to our explanations. If or when they find out, I need someone who can be a liaison between my Guild and the vampires without getting eaten on sight.”
“Those are reasons you need me,” I said. “I’m not hearing why I need to help you.”
“Look, I know you just lost your job. The Guild is willing to pay for your services.”
I narrowed my eyes. My firing had happened less than an hour ago. I was still wearing my work uniform and had just come from what should have been my regular Sunday-night shift. “How did you know that?”
Erin glanced down at the gritty cement steps. “I went to the restaurant to find you. You weren’t there yet, but I overheard some people talking. Someone said they couldn’t work with you anymore, and the manager guy—I think it was the manager?—said that wouldn’t be an issue after tonight.”
My pulse quickened. I pictured Max telling Eric, the manager, that he was done working in my proximity, that it was him or me. Max had been a server at Le Poisson for over six years. And if it had gone down that way, I couldn’t even be that pissed. After all, Max had done me a huge favor by not ratting me out to the cops. That was more than I had any right to ask of him. That he felt weird about me after seeing me hovering over a corpse covered in blood was a normal, human reaction.
“I left when the host told me you didn’t get in until later.” Erin pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. It was full of cash. At least several hundred dollars. “Well?”
The envelope felt heavy with obligation. But it wasn’t really about the money. Sure, I needed to find a way to pay rent next month, but I was resourceful. I could find other methods. I didn’t want to let Erin know it—I didn’t even want to admit it—but she’d probably sold me the minute she mentioned dead vampires. I had to at least get the details and make sure the few vampires I gave a damn about weren’t in any danger. Besides, if the vampires were being paranoid about witches, they were even less likely to turn me back. If I wanted my fangs back, I had to protect the vampires who might help me get them.
I shoved the envelope into my purse.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m changing first.”
Erin swept her hand toward my door in a go-ahead gesture.
Ten minutes later, I was wearing blue jeans and a tank top, with a couple of bead necklaces and my Doc Martens. I’d pulled my hair out of its work-appropriate ponytail and brushed it out. I felt much better.
I hesitated, unsure if I should grab the sword I’d acquired last month. Finally, I decided against it. I had my stake and my Taser. They would do for now. I pulled on a leather jacket and headed back down.
Erin was impatiently tapping her fingers against the railing when I came out, but she gave me an approving once-over. Part of me—the part that wasn’t totally frozen inside—felt a little warmth at that. Erin was beautiful. It was the first thing I’d noticed about her, back when I hadn’t known she was a witch. Back when I thought for a strange second that I might manage to make some real friends as a human being.
I followed her to her car.
She drove a sporty bright teal convertible with a couple vinyl stickers of cats on the back window. “You have cats?” I asked.
“Two. Pinky and Panther.”
“Are they your familiars or something?” I asked. I knew the basics of magic, but nothing beyond the 101 level.
Erin shot me a surprised look and then shook her head. “They’re my babies.”
“I see,” I said, though I didn’t really get the appeal of having pets. But then, I was about as maternal as a sack of flour. I had a hard enough time caring for myself and the fledglings Sean had turned and then thrust into my lap before vanishing—which, frankly, had rarely ended well. I didn’t have any desire to take on the responsibility of the survival of another living thing if I could avoid it.
I thought of Cazimir and pushed it back out of my mind. That definitely hadn’t been the same thing. And it sure as hell wasn’t my fault.
At any rate, I was not a pet person. Maybe someday I’d get brave enough for a house plant.
Chapter 2
Thirty minutes later, we pulled up to a house in Everett, a city north of Seattle. The house was pretty plain from the outside. It was brown with tan trim, a two-story craftsman that had probably been built in the sixties. The houses surrounding it looked similar, although most were brighter colors and had more neatly manicured lawns.
Erin parked in the driveway and headed up the walk, using a key to unlock the front door. That surprised me.
“Is this your place?” I asked.
“It’s a shared space,” Erin said. “The Seattle Witches’ Guild owns it. It was bequeathed to us by one of our members, who passed away from brain cancer earlier this year.”
“Oh,” I said, a sick feeling slithering through my gut. Like all immortals, I’d been pretty blasé about things like terminal illnesses because they were never going to affect me. Being mortal again meant the realities of human vulnerability made me uncomfortable. I didn’t like to think about how easy it was for my meat suit to fall apart. “Sorry.”
Erin shrugged. “It was pretty tragic. He was sixty-six, and should have had another few decades left, at the least. Cancer is a bitch.”
“There’s no magical cure for that?” I asked. I didn’t know the limitations of magic. But Erin’s look told me it was a very stupid question.
“If there were, witches would rule the world,” she said. “Healing spells can only go so far.”
Erin opened the front door and turned on the lights, moving aside to let me in first. My breath caught in my throat. The smell of burned mat
ches accosted my nostrils. The air was so thick with ash and smoke that it made my eyes water.
The living-room furniture had been pushed against the walls to make space in the center of the room. A circle had been drawn in reddish brown that was probably blood and white powder–probably salt. It was a couple of yards wide.
Two people lay in the circle, heads at the center and bodies stretching behind them in opposite directions. Their feet were bound in steel chains.
Bodies was the wrong word. They were mostly skeletons. The circle ended at their knees, and that was precisely where their flesh and clothing stopped, becoming nothing but blackened bone. The edges of their legs were cauterized as if a flash of heat had burned through the circle but stopped right at the edge, leaving their lower legs and feet intact.
“What the fuck?” I asked.
Witches did not, as far as I knew, perform sacrifices.
Erin shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, clearly not wanting to come inside. “They were found this evening. We sealed the house until we could decide what to do.”
“Who were they?” I asked.
Erin shook her head sadly. She didn’t know. “Check the teeth.”
My stomach roiled. I had no problem with corpses, but the smell of burned bodies was foul, and the state of these bodies, mostly bone until their knees hit flesh and sinew, was profoundly disturbing. Why hadn’t the practitioner put their entire bodies inside the circle? Sloppiness, or a deliberate part of the spell?
I stepped closer, bending down to look at the skulls. Sharp fangs protruded from both jaws. They were undeniably vampires.
“Holy shit.” I reeled back, my heart pounding. I tried to examine their skeletal faces and their shoes to tell if I knew them, which was not an easy task, but the shoes—a pair of stilettos on one, and alligator-patterned loafers on the other—did not resemble Sean’s style, nor the styles of anyone I knew. Besides, I would know if Sean were dead. I’d feel it. I was sure of that. He was my sire—or had been—and we were connected by blood and magic, even now.
Sanguinity Page 1