Matters of the Blood

by Maria Lima

  I had to concentrate on shielding better. If I was going to make it through dinner and a meeting with the staff before anything else happened, I couldn't let myself get distracted by just his voice.

  I started to turn down the main farm-to-market road that led to the ranch when I noticed the gas gauge. Wonderful. I was almost out of gas. There was no way I'd make it out there and back on fumes. I'd have to double back to the deli and fill up at their pumps. The only other gas station was nearly ten miles in the wrong direction and I wasn't sure I could make it that far.

  I stood by the car, shivering as I pumped. The wind was picking up and we were finally getting a true cold front. My silk jacket wasn't going to be warm enough. After I'd filled the tank, I switched it out for the black leather coat I kept in the car. Greta was alone in the store when I entered.

  "Hello, Keira,” she said.

  "Hello, Greta."

  "Is there something I can help you find?"

  "Just paying for gas,” I replied.

  "Going somewhere?"

  "To dinner."

  "Going to town? A little late, isn't it?” She smiled at me and gave me my change.

  "Nope,” I answered. “I'm heading out to the Wild Moon."

  Greta gasped a little, pursed her mouth, then closed the cash register drawer with a bang. “Is that all?"

  "All what?” I was genuinely puzzled.

  "The gas. Will that be all?"

  "Yes.” I looked at her. “Anything the matter, Greta?"

  She shook her head, her lips still pursed together as if holding back words she didn't want to say.

  I shrugged and left, not wanting to stop to psychoanalyze Greta. As I tossed my backpack in the back of the Rover and started to climb in, a movement out of the corner of my eye made me stop. A hand motioned from the side of the building, just around the corner. I couldn't see him clearly but I was sure it was Boris.

  I glanced through the store window and saw Greta with her back to us, on the phone. Sliding out of the driver's seat, I walked around to where Boris was standing. Damn it, now what? I wasn't up for another round of whispered allusions and suggestive remarks. I could ignore him, but it might be easier to see what he wanted.

  "I heard what you said to my sister in there,” he said in a near whisper. His hands were twisting his red bandanna. I said nothing.

  He looked up at me. I'd never seen his face like this. Anguished, tortured, as if someone were beating him.

  "You are a good person,” he continued. “Please do not go back out to the Wild Moon. It is a place of the dead."

  I started, surprised at his words.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The deer, the blood, there is evil. There is someone there."

  "Boris, this is getting damned tiresome.” My words snapped like bullets. “Who the hell are you talking about? Adam?"

  "No!” He nearly shouted, but then dropped his voice again. “It is the other. Your cousin was talking to him, working with—Keira, you mustn't go out there. He is dead now and I am afraid."

  "Look, Boris, I don't understand. Who was Marty talking to? Did someone at the Wild Moon kill my cousin?"

  His hand whipped out in a blur and grabbed my arm. “Here, take this.” His other hand pulled something from his jeans pocket and put it into my coat pocket, then patted my hand. “Here. Take it. Use it to keep safe."

  A thrill of fear and anger skidded through me, starting at where my hand touched his. I pulled out of Boris’ grasp and stepped back, afraid to be near him. I didn't want to risk another vision. The man was a seething mass of raw emotion.

  "Go. Go now.” Greta dashed around the corner and grabbed her brother's arm. “Go away and leave my brother before he—You and yours have caused enough trouble already."

  "What? Are you talking about Marty?"

  Boris dropped to his knees and started to shake.

  Greta whispered to her brother, stroking his head, speaking in a language I didn't understand.

  "Greta, what is going on? I'm sorry, I—"

  "Go.” Her hoarse whisper cut my words off.

  I just wanted to help, to find out who Boris was so afraid of. But not only could I take a hint, I could act on it, too. Whoever was Boris’ own personal boogie monster was at the Wild Moon. Since that's where I was headed, I could discover his identity without further terrorizing a sick old man.

  Greta watched me walk away, eyes narrowed in anger. At me, maybe? She probably blamed me for this. She was probably right. Every time I was around Boris lately, he started to freak out. It wasn't really my fault, but it's hard to be actively angry at something that had happened more than fifty years ago. I was convenient.

  As I climbed into the Rover, Greta spat in my direction, then threw up a hand, middle fingers tucked under, her index and pinky finger pointed outward. The sign against the evil eye.

  I slammed the car door and started the engine, needing to get away. What the bloody hell was going on now? Boris, I could understand; everything he knew, everything he saw, was filtered by his version of reality and his hold on that seemed to be slipping. Greta's reaction simply spooked me. She was the sane one in that dysfunctional family, the one who kept the business going, who hauled her brother to the doctor once a month, made sure he took his sedatives, tried to keep him calm.

  Was she starting to believe her brother's rantings, or had it been just a loving sister's automatic response to something she couldn't control? I didn't know. I'd like to think I didn't care, that I could divorce myself from their obvious pain, but I couldn't—because I had a horrible suspicion that some of what Boris said was fact and that something my cousin had done helped trigger the old man's descent.

  As I drove down the main road, I reached into my pocket and pulled out what Boris had given me. It was a silver cross, plain with no decoration. A black cord, probably silk, was threaded through a jump ring at the top. It was obviously meant to be worn as a necklace. Damn it. That clinched it. He definitely knew about the vampires. Greta's reaction now made sense and Adam was not going to like this one bit.

  Crap, crap, crap. What the hell was I going to do?

  Of course, there was the possibility that Adam already knew and had hired Boris as some kind of Renfield or something. Some of us did. Have Renfields, that is, or personal assistants who were human. Not many, because in most cases, our natures weren't as obvious and we could pass. We didn't have to stay out of the sun or whatever. But, for example, a group of distant cousins, all clairvoyants, always had someone human to handle the outside world and help minimize their contact with humanity. In most cases, our human assistants were completely trustworthy and posed no threat. In a few rare cases, they did. Then the threats ceased to exist. That's what I was afraid of. Even if Adam was aware of Boris and Greta's knowledge, he might consider them to be a threat. In this case, the “threat” was two people I knew and were friends.

  Either way, this evening at the Wild Moon would provide more than I'd originally bargained for.

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  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I pulled into the drive in front of Adam's house, wheels crunching on the gravel. A soft light illuminated the windows, spilling out past the sheers, leaving most of the porch in shadow. I got out of the car and leaned back in to pull out my backpack.

  "Good evening."

  I yelped as I banged my head on the door frame. “You have an uncanny way of sneaking up behind me, Adam Walker."

  A soft chuckle made me smile. “I'm good."

  I shot a glance in his direction, but it was too dark to see his expression.

  He stepped even closer and took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. “You look fabulous."

  I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry, my breathing quickening with the surge of heat that rose, enveloping my senses. My brain told me to rip my hands out of his and regain control, but I couldn't, didn't want to. His thumbs stroked the back of my hands. He continued to look into my eyes, his
own sea-green ones darkened to a dusky olive. I felt as if I were drowning, melting into his gaze. Was I imagining things or could I see my reflection in those depths? I felt no magicks, no power other than the pull of my own craving and the answering hunger of his, appetites that no mundane dinner could satisfy. Second verse, same as the first. Damn. I was well and truly hooked, and I didn't care.

  His head bent to mine, a movement so slow, I could almost see each individual molecule of air moving aside. His breath brushed my skin, a touch delicate as the lightest silk, smooth against my cheek. My ears began to buzz and grow hot.

  Soft lips reached my forehead as his hands squeezed mine. My skin tingled in an electric hum. As he gathered me even closer, a growling noise interceded and broke the mood. It was coming from somewhere in the vicinity of my belly.

  "I think we should go have dinner."

  A sigh left me unintentionally. I nodded wordlessly, my hunger for food waging war with another appetite. If we didn't eat soon, I'd most certainly be skipping the meal entirely and heading straight for dessert. I wasn't sure that I was quite ready for that yet.

  The main restaurant at the inn continued the Victorian theme, albeit with a uniquely Texas stamp. Where in most ranch resorts, you'd see bandannas, denim, and the obligatory antler furniture, here were plush lamps and purple velvet draperies, adding a lush softness to the carved cedar furniture and wrought-iron accessories. It shouldn't have worked, but somehow it did. Of course, who was I kidding? My idea of decorating was to buy furniture from a catalog.

  Adam led me to an arched doorway that led into a dimly-lit smallish restaurant. The place was packed. Groups of patrons sat in tables of two or four, at first glance typical diners, then not, as you began to realize that things were a little different. Everyone was wearing black, a sea of no-color, broken only by ghostly faces and hands, the soft flickering of multiple candles on every table emphasizing the contrast. An undercurrent of power filled the room, like water in an aquarium, staying just below the threshold of normal awareness, a roomful of vampires.

  I snickered as the words I see dead people danced through my brain.

  "What's so funny?” Adam asked.

  "Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Good thing I called ahead for the dress code. Guess I'll fit right in."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Never mind,” I answered. “Just being silly."

  "Good evening, sir.” A tuxedoed maitre d’ approached, looking just like any other attendant at a fancy hotel, despite the fact he was as much vampire as Adam—well, maybe not so much. His power was more of the 40-watt level. Adam's was more along the lines of a klieg light.

  Menus in hand, perfectly polite, yet obsequious, smile on his face, the maitre d’ bowed slightly. “May I show you to your table?"

  Adam gave a small nod. “Good evening, Gerard. Keira, shall we?"

  So what was for breakfast at Vampire Central? It really wasn't all that late, despite everything that had happened. I imagined that everyone here had just gotten up. Although I didn't think the vampires would be noshing on bagels and lox, I was curious as to what, or if, they did eat. Blood sausage? Bloody Marys? Weetabix with a blood chaser?

  My curiosity didn't get satisfied, though. The maitre d’ swiftly led us around the outside of the dining area via a secluded hallway to a separate room at the far back of the restaurant. When we entered, I realized we could have gone through the dining room to get here. An arched doorway opened between the two rooms directly to the left of the entrance I stood in. I don't know if the maitre d’ had taken us this way because Adam wanted privacy, or because the other diners wanted theirs. I suppose it could be a bit of both. Either way, I could deal. I understood the concept of privacy and, despite the connections to the other areas, this room still seemed intimate.

  To the right and centered against an oak framed floor-to-ceiling window, a small table set for two stood in solitary splendor. The window gave a view of the heavily-wooded terrain outside. At least it would if it were daylight. Right now, all I could see was the dark mass of a tangle of live oaks. No floodlights illuminated the outdoors. I suppose vamps didn't need the false comfort of lighting the night. Well then, neither did I.

  Our reflections mirrored our movements as we walked to the table, both Adam and me, and that of the maitre d'. Another myth bites the dust. I had always wondered. Never could figure out that whole mirror thing. Vampires may be dead, but they were definitely corporeal. (Now ghosts and shades, that was entirely different story. No bodies, no reflection.) A few stereotypes seemed to hold though, the love of elaborate surroundings for one.

  A low centerpiece placed in the precise center of the beautifully set table spilled red and black rose petals across the immaculate white linen. Aside from the spillover from the other rooms, the only light in the room came from a pair of intricately wrought black candelabra bearing crimson candles. The entire room continued the theme—walls lined in dark red velvet, the matching carpet thick and luscious at our feet—making me feel as if we stood inside a luxurious jewelry box. It was nearly overwhelming.

  Adam pulled out my chair and I sat, murmuring my thanks, then he rounded the table and took his own seat. The maitre d’ performed the standard napkin, menu and water ritual in silence, bowed and left.

  I studied the exquisite menu, wondering if there were a mundane version and a vampire version. Mine showed more than five pages of gourmet treats, from appetizers onward, but nothing you couldn't find in any expensive eatery in any large city. As I skimmed the selections, my thoughts turned to other things: the other reasons I was here.

  "Adam?” I began, hesitant to say anything to ruin the mood, but I knew that we needed to have this conversation.

  "Yes, Keira?"

  "We need to talk."

  "About dinner?"

  "No, about—"

  "Later, love,” he said, interrupting me. “We have all night. For now, let's just enjoy."

  Our gazes met over the tops of the menus, and held. All night. We did, didn't we? I looked away, not wanting to get lost again. Lost in emotions too intense to deal with in public. I glanced through the menu again, now restless, wanting this dinner to be over.

  As I turned the page, I couldn't help notice that a large group seated in the dimly lit bar reminded me of the people from my vision. Tall and slender, each seemingly blonder than the next, laughing, talking and drinking, obviously enjoying themselves.

  The only one I recognized was Evan, the man from the loading dock. He was behind the bar serving drinks. His Nordic good looks weren't out of place among those others. He glanced over at us, and caught me watching him. A shadow of something crossed his face, then quickly turned into a smirk. He saluted me lightly with the glass he was polishing, then turned to one of the other men at the bar. A gust of laughter exploded from the second man.

  "Have you selected a wine, yet, sir?"

  The maitre d's voice interrupted my thoughts. He was back. I hadn't noticed that he'd given Adam the wine list.

  "Red or white, Keira?"

  "I prefer red."

  Movement at one of the tables just inside the main restaurant caught my eye. A man was pouring a glass of a dark deep red. The bottle was the same brand of wine that Boris delivered last night. I'd never heard of it, but I couldn't go wrong with a good robust red.

  "How about a bottle of the same wine that table's having?” I said.

  "What they're having?” Adam's voice sounded peculiar.

  "It must be good, right?"

  "Why do you say that?"

  I looked at him. “Because I've seen Boris Nagy delivering a van load of the same wine here. You must sell that a lot of it, ergo, it must be good."

  Adam smiled. “You could say it's one of our most popular labels, but, if it's all the same to you, tonight, I'd rather have something else.” A slow smile crossed his face as he spoke, a look in his eye telling me he wasn't only talking about the wine.

  I blushed a little, remembering
the heat of our earlier kiss and the implied promise of more to come. I concentrated on the wine. Safer that way.

  "Do you have a Llano Estacado Cellar Select Merlot?"

  "We do. A ‘96, one of the best.” Adam nodded to the hovering maitre d', who scuttled away, hopefully in direction of either the wine cellar or the wine steward.

  "Any idea what else you'd like?"

  "Else?"

  He motioned to the menu, grinning a little, enjoying our nonverbal interchange. “For dinner, love. You need to eat."

  He flustered me so easily. Damn him. Oh yeah, too late, if you subscribed to popular theory. Vampires were damned already.

  I glanced over the menu again. “I'm not sure yet,” I answered, “But it's definitely going to be beef. I am in serious need of some meat."

  A deep chuckle came from the other side of the table. “That could be arranged."

  More innuendos. This time, I tried to ignore him.

  "Might I make a suggestion?"

  I took a deep breath and risked looking at him. He was smiling a Mona Lisa smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

  "Okay, I asked for that,” I agreed. “Suggest away."

  "Our chef makes an exquisite mesquite-grilled rib eye. Would that work for you?"

  I looked him square in the face, keeping a neutral expression. “I love my meat grilled."

  Our waiter, a golden-haired, chubby-cheeked youngster whose name tag identified him as Travis, hovered nearby. He was obviously new and unsure of whether he should go ahead and approach us. I grinned. Evidently Adam Walker could unsettle more than just me.

  "I think the waiter is trying to get our attention."

  Adam looked at Travis and motioned for him to come closer. As he approached, I realized the boy didn't exude any power or feeling of otherness. Could he be human? Odd. He didn't even look like the typical Goth-wanna-be, more like the nerd next door. Maybe Adam did employ humans.

  The young man cleared his throat and had barely started reciting the litany of specials when Adam raised his hand.