Chrysabelle opened her mouth, but there was no answer for this problem. Not one that involved Tatiana. “We’re going to take you home soon, baby. Don’t cry, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She hurried out into the hall. “Mal? Where are you?” There were voices in the kitchen. His and Damian’s. And laughter. Good to know they were getting along. She headed down the steps.
“I’m here,” he answered, meeting her in the living room. “You didn’t sleep very long.”
“Lilith was crying. It woke me up.” She sighed. “She wants her mother and to go home.”
Mal nodded. “Poor kid. She’s been through a lot. You get dressed, I’ll tell Jerem we need the car.”
“Thanks.” She ran back upstairs and dug through the bags Fi had brought her, utterly grateful for them. At this point, she doubted her belly would fit into any of her old comarré trousers. She came back downstairs in new maternity jeans and an ivory tunic sweater, Lilith’s little hand firmly in hers. “Is the car here?”
Velimai and Damian were sitting in the living room.
Just pulling up, Velimai signed.
“You want us to go with you?” her brother asked.
“No, thanks. We won’t be long. Sun will be up soon anyway.”
Mal opened the front door. “Ready?”
She nodded, then looked down at the child beside her. “Let’s go, honey. Let’s get you home.”
Thumb secured in her mouth, Lilith followed gamely along and finally let go of Chrysabelle’s hand to hop into the car. Chrysabelle went in after her, then Mal. Lilith patted the seat beside her and commanded, “Sit.”
“Me?” Chrysabelle asked.
“Uh-uh. Hims.” Lilith pointed to Mal.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mal did as he was told. He grinned at Chrysabelle. “Bossy, isn’t she? Kind of reminds me of someone…”
“Hush,” Chrysabelle whispered, laughing a little. Mal was a different man with Lilith. A man who was going to be the exact kind of father she’d dreamed he’d be. Sweet, gentle, protective, loving. Her smile grew. Actually, he was the same with Lilith as he was with her. “You’re so good with her.”
A flicker of sadness shot silver through his eyes. “Sophia was…” He swallowed. “She was everything good in my life. The thought of being a father again…” He glanced out the window. “I feel like I’m getting a second chance.”
“I know.” Sentiment made her voice husky. Her hand drifted to her stomach. There were more emotions in her soul than words in her brain. “I know.”
She sat watching Mal and Lilith until Jerem finally pulled the car to a stop. He powered down the glass divider. “We’re here. Mal, if you want, I’ll go in with Chrysabelle.”
He nodded. “I want.” He looked at Chrysabelle. “You have your blades?”
She patted her sides. “One on each hip, but it’s not going to come to that.” She reached out to Lilith. “Time to go home.”
Lilith tugged on Mal’s hand. “Him come.”
“I can’t, Lilith. Only very special people can go into that building and I’m not one of them, but you are. You and Miss Chrysabelle, okay?”
She stuck her lip out. “No kay.”
He took her small face in his hands. “You’ll see us again. I promise. Now be a good girl and go with Miss Chrysabelle.”
Lilith threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, then handed her over. “I hate that I can’t go in there with you. Anything happens and you need me, I’m coming in. To hell with the consequences.”
Jerem opened the door and held out his hand to Chrysabelle. She passed Lilith to him, then scooted closer to the door. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Promise.” She kissed his cheek and got out. Jerem shut the door.
She glanced at him. “Stay behind me, okay?”
“Will do,” Jerem said. “I know you want to handle this alone.”
“That and I don’t want any unnecessary casualties.” When he nodded, she turned her attention to the building in front of her.
The hallowed structure loomed over them, a symbol of power and sanctuary at the same time. Chrysabelle hoped the sanctuary part was still true. She inhaled and took Lilith’s hand. “All right, kiddo. Let’s go find your father.”
Chapter Forty-seven
Madam Mayor?”
Lola looked up from the news program she was watching. The holovision rarely had anything good on it these days. One of her security guards, Andrew, stood stiffly in the doorway of her den. He was one of the first fringe she’d hired, a good worker and second in command of the night shift. “Yes?”
“One of the patrols trailed the comarré from Mephisto Island to Little Havana.” He put a hand to his ear, pressing the receiver closer. “They’re there now. At Preacher’s. The vampire Malkolm is with her.” He listened again, then nodded. “They have a child with them.”
She sat up, pushing Hector’s head off her lap. “How can that be? A child? How old?”
He spoke into the mouthpiece on his lapel. “Approximate age of the child?” After a beat, he nodded again. “Young. Maybe two, ma’am. What would you like the patrol to do?”
“Nothing. Just watch.”
“Very good, ma’am. Have a nice evening.”
She waved him off and as Andrew left, she dropped her head back to stare blindly at the ceiling. Why on earth would Chrysabelle take a toddler to Preacher’s? Was she trying to pass the kid off as Mariela? And for what purpose? The Mariela she’d seen at Tatiana’s was grown. And a monstrous, killing machine. She shuddered at the memory. Her grandchild. It was… horrific.
Still, that didn’t explain what Chrysabelle was doing with a child of that age. Were she and Malkolm up to some kind of revenge? Against her? If so, why now? Why not do something to her at Tatiana’s when they’d had the chance?
She sat up again. Unless that hadn’t been Mariela at Tatiana’s. Maybe he and Chrysabelle had had possession of her granddaughter all along and never intended to tell her. Anger drove her to her feet, almost knocking Hector off the couch.
“What’s wrong? Are you leaving?” he asked.
“I have business to take care of. I won’t be long. Follow me.” She strode down the hall, Hector trotting behind like a puppy. “Andrew,” she yelled. “Here. Now.”
The guard came running back. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Tell the patrol no one leaves that church. Detain them by any means necessary, but the child is to remain unharmed at all costs.” When he nodded, she continued. He fell into step beside her. “Bring the car up front immediately. As soon as I’m suited up, we’re going out there.”
“Anything else?” He broke off toward the front of the house, but waited for her word.
“No. I’ll be five minutes.”
“Very good.” He bolted for the door, already sending orders out through his radio.
She diverged into her room and opened the newest section of her closet. A Kevlar vest, tested to withstand direct blows to the heart, hung waiting. She shed her blouse, then lifted it, hefting it over one arm. Hector jumped in to help, getting her strapped in quickly.
“I hate when you wear this. It frightens me,” he moaned.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me; it’s just a precaution.”
“I still worry,” he said. “You should feed before you go, for the protection. My blood is stronger than ever with the new vitamins I’ve been taking.”
Vitamins? That might explain the change in taste. She didn’t know anything about these vitamins, but if they could make her stronger she was all for them. “I fed this morning. That will have to do. I don’t have the time now.” She tugged on a sweater over the vest, then grabbed her gun and slid in a clip of silver bullets. Just having the gun tucked into her shoulder holster made her skin itch from the silver being so close, but that was a small price to pay to have some protection. She added a light jacket to cover the holster, then turned to Hector. “Don’t let anyone into the house until I get back, got it?”
“No. Don’t make me say it again.” There was no time for his drama now. She left the room, knowing he’d follow.
The car was waiting when she walked through the front door. Hector hung back, moping. She forced herself to smile at him. “Just think, I may be coming home with my granddaughter.”
He clapped his hands. “Why didn’t you say so? Go get her!”
She got into the car and one of the guards shut the door. Nerves skipped along her skin. “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she said to herself. “And this time, I won’t leave any loose ends.”
Mortalis stood guarding the door when Creek returned from fetching the Cuban coffee Mawmaw had insisted on. A neighborhood like this must house a few of Dominic’s enemies; no wonder he’d wanted Mortalis to keep a lookout. Creek gave the fae a nod as he walked back into the machine shop. Mawmaw had declared Creek’s brand of coffee too weak to wake a fly. He imagined what she really wanted was a chance to speak to Dominic alone before everything came out.
“Here you go, Mawmaw. Cream and extra sugar, just like you asked.” He handed her the coffee, then sat on the cable spool.
“Thank you, Thomas.” She popped the top and blew on the steaming liquid. She tapped the arm of the chair where Dominic sat as if she were calling a meeting to order. “Go ahead, tell him what he wants to know.”
Jacket unbuttoned but still looking uncomfortable, Dominic began. “When I came to New Florida with Marissa, Chrysabelle’s mother, things were not good for us. We were forced to leave Corvinestri with little more than the clothing on our backs. Marissa was severely injured during the fight required to gain her freedom.”
“Libertas,” Creek said.
“Si.” He crossed one leg over the other, picking at the crease of his pants. “She was paralyzed from the waist down.” Not a spark of silver in his eyes. Instead, he seemed to stare blindly at a spot on the arm of the chair. “None of that mattered to the way I felt about her. I loved her regardless. I knew her feelings for me were not as strong as mine for her, but I understand now why that was. Everything she did, she did in the hopes of saving her daughter.”
He smiled a little. “Marissa was such a fighter, so strong-willed and so beautiful.” One hand drifted to his chest. He shook his head and his hand came back down. “Like I was saying, she was paralyzed. We went to every doctor we could, spent money we didn’t have on therapies and untested cures, and all of it? Per niente. In vain.”
He scowled. “Half of those doctors were worthless to begin with, but I was willing to try. For her, anything. But eventually the debt was too much. Marissa insisted we stop trying. That she’d come to terms with what had happened to her and she just wanted to move on.”
“I could not accept that there was nothing I could do.” Tipping his head back a little, he stared into the heights of the ceiling. “Then one night, about a year after she’d given up, I heard about a woman who might be able to help us. A healer.”
“My grandmother?”
“Rosa Mae Jumper.” Dominic looked at Mawmaw. “She was not happy to see me when I showed up on her doorstep.”
Creek snorted. “You’re lucky she didn’t stake you.”
Dominic canted his head as if remembering. “She almost did.”
Mawmaw brushed her hand through the air. “It helped that he came bearing gifts.”
Creek raised a brow.
“I brought her a vial of my blood,” Dominic answered.
Mawmaw nodded. “I knew if he was willing to give me that, he wasn’t there to hurt me.”
“I told her everything. Including that I had no money to pay her with. In return she gave me a remedy and the promise that I only had to give her a favor if the medicine worked.” He shrugged. “How could I pass that up? I went home and started slipping the potion into Marissa’s evening tea as your grandmother instructed me.”
He sighed. “It had no effect. Or so I thought. When I went with Mal and Chrysabelle to Corvinestri to rescue Marissa from Tatiana’s clutches, I found out she could walk. She’d been hiding the ability for who knows how long. I knew right then your grandmother’s remedy had worked.”
“How did you know it was her remedy that did the trick?”
Dominic narrowed his eyes. “I am an alchemist. I have a feel for these things. I knew.” A pained look crossed his face. “Also, it wasn’t long after I started giving her the remedy that she began to pull away from me. I believe now that it was because she wanted the freedom to retrain without having to continue the pretense of her injury with me.”
Creek just nodded, a little awed by Dominic’s story. The man wasn’t exactly the monster he’d believed him to be.
“After we returned to Paradise City, after Maris was buried and I’d made my peace with her death, I went to see your grandmother again. To tell her what had happened and to acknowledge that I owed her a favor. She told me when she needed it, she would let me know.”
Creek leaned back, studying his grandmother. The short, gray-haired woman in the chair across from him suddenly looked very different. He shook his head as he spoke to her. “My bond price was the favor.”
She held the thick paper coffee cup with both hands. “It would have been a not-guilty verdict, but Dominic couldn’t make that happen. And not because he didn’t try.”
Dominic balled one fist. “Human courts…” He snorted in disgust.
Mawmaw poked her finger into her knee. “This, however—this was something he could do.”
Dominic stood and buttoned his jacket. “And now that it’s done, I should go.”
Creek got up. “Does Chrysabelle know anything about this?”
“No. Not even Marissa knew the real reason she regained her legs. Some things don’t need telling.” Dominic raised a brow. “This is one of them.”
Creek nodded. “Fine. But what about us? Our agreement.”
“I assume you still want a job?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll expect you at the club by sundown.”
Creek looked up at the sleeping loft. “Considering I have to be out of here in twenty-four hours, I can be there a lot sooner than that.”
Dominic bowed to Mawmaw. “A pleasure to see you.” She nodded back at him, and then he walked toward the door. As he passed Creek, he tossed him something.
Creek caught it. A key. “What’s this for?”
“Your apartment at Seven. Yours for as long as you work for me.” He pushed the door back. “Mortalis, we have an appointment to keep.”
Chapter Forty-eight
Chrysabelle lifted her hand to knock on the door of the old church, but it creaked open before she touched it. Preacher glared at her from the dim interior, his gaze skipping briefly over Lilith to shoot straight to where Mal waited in the car. After a long, hard look, his gaze returned to her. “Comarré. What brings you here?”
About the greeting she’d expected. “I have great news. Can we come in?”
“You can.” His gaze stayed on Mal. “That’s it.”
“The child comes with me.”
He glanced down at Lilith and crinkled his forehead but stepped aside to let them pass. He swung the door shut as soon as they were in. “What’s this great news?”
“First, how about you lose the attitude?” How was she ever going to leave this child with Preacher if he didn’t cool it? “I’m not the enemy.”
Preacher sneered. “The vampire out in that car is.”
“No, he’s not. In fact, he saved this little girl’s life. And she happens to like him very much.”
Preacher crossed his arms, but the tone of his voice softened a little. “What’s it to me?”
“You’re starting to make me regret this decision.” Chrysabelle leaned in until only a few inches separated them, then lowered her voice. “She’s your daughter, you self-loathing hypocrite.”
The scowl on his face melted into disbelief and hi
s eyes focused on Lilith. He shook his head, the scowl coming back. “That’s a dirty trick and it’s not going to work on me. That child is human. My daughter is not.”
“She is now.” She put her hand on Lilith’s shoulder where the little girl hung onto her leg. “This is your daughter, rescued from the clutches of the ancient ones.”
Doubt clouded his eyes. “Mariela has a birthmark on her hip shaped like a crescent moon.”
Chrysabelle nodded and crouched by the little girl. Lilith looked on the verge of tears. This all had to be so confusing for her. At least Velimai had been able to get her some decent clothes. Chrysabelle patted her hair. “It’s okay, baby. Can I just look at your tummy and see if you have a spot there?”
“M’kay.” She pulled up her dress, showing off a pair of pantaloons, then pointed at her side. “Here.”
Chrysabelle tugged the pantaloons down half an inch, revealing the crescent-shaped mark. She looked up at Preacher. “Satisfied?” But his eyes were already filling.
He dropped to his knees in front of them, his dog tags clinking softly. “Mariela,” he whispered. “My Mariela. At last. I don’t know how she’s grown so fast, but I don’t care.” He looked heavenward. “Thank you.” Then he held out his hands to her. “My sweet girl. I’m your papa.”
Mariela looked at Chrysabelle. She nodded. “He is.”
Mariela shook her head, her bottom lip thrust out.
“Wait,” Preacher said. “Give me a sec.” He disappeared into a back room, returning with a speed only made possible by his vampire abilities. He held out a stuffed pink giraffe. “Remember Gigi?”
Mariela’s frown disappeared. She put her hand on the giraffe’s head. “Gigi.”
“That’s right. And I’m papa. Remember?”
Mariela smacked one of his hands with her own like she was playing a game, then loudly pronounced, “Vampire.”
He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I am.” Then he glanced at Chrysabelle. “And so was she. So how isn’t she a vampire anymore?” He shook his head. “She’s changed so much. She’s so… big.”
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