Blood Hunt

by Lucienne Diver

  “Please,” she begged. “Richie, stop! Why are you doing this?”

  Her husband begged him to stop as well. For Ian to let him go.

  Mrs. Roland started a prayer, and Richie slapped her so hard across the face her neck cracked. She was slow to bring her head back around to face him, and when she did, there was blood on her lip and a huge red mark across her cheek. Richie enjoyed it so much, he did it again.

  Ian had his father sitting up on the bed, arms pinned behind him, forcing him to watch.

  “Cut her already!” Ian called to his brother.

  Richie shot him a venomous look and pulled a knife from where he’d tucked it through his belt. It had to have been the biggest knife in the butcher block. His mother’s eyes shone with fear, and she cried out at the sight.

  His father lurched forward on the bed, straining toward his wife, desperation giving him the sudden preternatural strength to break free from Ian’s grip. But not for long. Ian whipped a knife out of his own waistband and with a horrible sound slashed it down between his father’s shoulder blades. Blood shot out, catching Ian in the face, and he laughed, licked at it. Feebly, his father was still trying to get to his wife, one arm reaching out as if to at least hold her hand as they died, only he couldn’t reach that far.

  And then the real bloodbath began…

  I came to with Nick holding me up by one arm and Apollo the other. My stomach… I was going to lose that donut I’d eaten, all the caffeine and probably half my stomach lining as well.

  “Bathroom?” I said, voice strangled as I fought to hold things down that long.

  Nick pointed me down the hall, and I ran, my legs shaky and my whole body feeling a little unreal. When I hit the bathroom, I fell to my knees, bruising them on the cold, hard tile, and threw up hard. So hard it hurt. And a second time with barely a breath in between. I was gasping for air, tears in my eyes, my throat aching, when Neith appeared in the doorway.

  “Chew this,” she said, holding out something that looked like a stone out of a rock garden.

  I held out a hand to take it. Not a stone. Softer than that. Dried fruit?

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Candied ginger. It’ll calm your stomach and do something about your breath.”

  I glared up at her. “You just carry it around in your pocket?”

  “A whole bag of it,” she agreed. “I have issues.”

  I was sure she meant stomach issues, but my sense of snark dared me to comment. For once I took the high road.

  “Thank you.”

  I put the candy into my mouth and chewed. It was…potent. Not awful, but certainly an acquired taste. She was right, though, my stomach seemed to settle almost immediately. Or maybe it had just given all it could.

  “Give me a minute?” I asked her.

  She nodded and retreated, leaving me alone in the bathroom. My face felt so flushed I almost wanted to press it against the nice, cool porcelain, but I was germaphobe enough to let that impulse pass as well. Instead, I rose to my feet, washed my hands and splashed cold water over my face. It felt so good I did it again. When I wiped it away with the towel, I felt like I was wiping away Mr. Roland’s blood as well.

  The vision I’d seen…I felt dirtied by it. I felt like I’d been there, watched it all happen and done nothing to stop it. I knew that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. My precog had always before been just that—precognition. Never before had I seen into the past. I’d never even really had a vision, just vague warnings of danger. I’d seen Apollo have a full-on vision once, and I’d met one of his oracles, a little girl from New York, but… Well, it seemed my powers had developed another facet. As useful as it might be, I could only hope it was temporary—possibly a side effect of having touched Set’s disk and tasted Richie’s blood. Maybe it gave me some kind of connection. But I was really kind of okay with not witnessing any more murders.

  Everyone was waiting expectantly when I stepped back into the hall.

  “What happened?” Apollo asked gently. “What did you see?”

  “I saw the whole thing,” I said, voice scratchy from having been burned by stomach acid. “It was terrible.”

  “Tell me,” Nick said. “Our crime scene techs and all do a great job on reconstruction, but there’s still only so much they can know with certainty.”

  I told them everything, which meant I had to relive every horrifying moment. When I ran down, Nick asked, “So Richie didn’t leave any kind of message?”

  I shook my head, but it started to throb and I stopped it right away. “No. I guess the universe picked up his slack.”

  “Just to be sure, can we look at the brothers’ rooms?”

  Nick nodded, but didn’t move for a second, still studying me as though unconvinced I was okay to go on.

  “I’ve been through worse,” I assured him.

  We moved on, but the boys’ rooms didn’t turn up anything but a penchant for action movies in Ian’s, based on the movie posters—Indiana Jones, The Mummy, Tomb Raider. Richie’s tastes ran more toward animation cells, and he had a few framed and autographed lithographs on his walls. Roger and Jessica Rabbit, the Animaniacs, Marvin the Martian and Duck Dodgers. They almost made me smile…until the sight of him ripping open his mother’s chest to get at her heart had my stomach lurching again.

  I put a hand to my stomach as if to hold it steady, and Neith silently offered me another piece of ginger. I took it.

  “We’d better get back to Jessica,” I said. “We’ve left her long enough. Too long, probably.”

  All the same, I was glad she hadn’t been around to hear the manner of her parents’ deaths.

  Jessica was vigilantly watching for our return, and when she spotted us coming out of the house, she sagged against her seat in relief. Minutes later, she was back in my car along with Apollo, and we were headed back down the hills toward central Hollywood.

  Apollo and I were absolutely silent about what we’d discovered inside. We shook our heads when she asked whether we’d found any clues. She didn’t ask any more questions.

  “We’ve got to find you someplace safe,” I said after a while.

  Jessica hugged herself. “I thought maybe I could stay with you again. I…I don’t want to be a burden. I know it’s not part of your job or anything. I just really don’t want to be alone.”

  I wondered if Apollo would find Jessica’s safety or my hunt for her brothers an adequate reason to miss the red carpet event, but as I shot him a look, I could tell by the thinning of his lips this was not an option. It wasn’t like I could play the my job is more important than yours card. Not without finding myself newly single. Damn relationships and their rules.

  I sighed. “You’re not a burden. But, Apollo and I have somewhere we have to be tonight, so I won’t be available for protection detail. Besides, your brother made it clear I’m on his hit list. I’m not so sure it’s safe for you at my place anymore.”

  “How about a nice bed and breakfast…with cats,” Apollo put in.

  “Cats?” she asked.

  He told her about Neith’s speculation. Jessica got a very thoughtful look on her face. She didn’t even call him crazy. “Mrs. Barbarosa,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Our old housekeeper. Crazy cat lady, now retired to spend more time with her furbabies. I’m sure she’d let me stay.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Sure, I drove her home a time or two when her car was in the shop. I don’t know the exact address, but I can direct you.”

  And so we headed off to meet the crazy cat lady.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After we dropped Jess off with Mrs. Barbarosa and her cat cabal, Apollo informed me that we had to get to his place to start getting ready for tonight.

  “Tonight?” I asked. I cou
ldn’t imagine what on earth could possibly trump driving around L.A. and its environs in ever-widening circles until I picked up Richie’s blood trail. “That’s hours away. It only takes me, like, half an hour to get ready. Forty-five minutes, since I want to shower. Right now, we still have killers on the loose.”

  “Do you have a lead on them?” Before I could answer that, he said, “A real lead?”

  I didn’t. And I knew he wouldn’t consider driving around aimlessly an actual plan. I couldn’t even argue that he was wrong. The greater L.A. area was huge, and I had no idea how close I’d have to be to pick up Richie’s trail or what my limitations were. Superman couldn’t see through lead. Supposedly vampires couldn’t cross running water or deal with garlic or stakes or sunlight—now that I thought about it, what the hell good were they really? I was spinning my mental wheels to keep from admitting he had a point.

  “No,” I said, sounding like a sullen six-year-old.

  “Then we’re going tonight and we have to get prepped. I have a surprise waiting.”

  “Oh goody, I like surprises,” I said, with no discernable sincerity.

  Apollo sighed. “Come on. It’s important for my career. It’ll be good for yours. Just think of the contacts you could make.”

  “I’m thinking about the cameras. All that coverage will make undercover work a bitch.”

  “Not in a city filled with special effects artists. You can be anyone you’d like practically at the drop of a hat.”

  But I liked being me. And that was the real point. Last anyone had seen of me, large-scale, my wings had been out in full force. Apollo wanted to take me out and show me off. Look, fully human. Nothing to see here. My fear was that the premiere was really the tip of the iceberg. If I lived through it once, he’d convince me I could and should do more, that I had nothing to fear.

  Dating Apollo meant being in the public eye. Period. Which meant our relationship, fights, rumors, innuendos, and potential breakups would all be tabloid fodder. I told myself that I was a nobody. Hollywood would lose interest in me as soon as I showed up sans wings. Soon enough Lindsay Lohan or Justin Bieber or one of the other A-listers would pull their next public embarrassment and no one would even remember my name. Tonight might even be the night. I could have a front row seat. Yippee.

  “But the premiere is, like, three hours away,” I protested feebly. “I haven’t even had the chance to shop.”

  “Done that,” he said.

  I gave him a sidelong glance, and he laughed. “What, you don’t think I know your size?”

  He looked me over lasciviously to make his point.

  “What if I don’t have shoes to match?”

  “I’ve taken care of that too.”

  “But—”

  “Give it up; I’ve thought of everything. Just drive.”

  I drove. I didn’t want to spend the evening coming up with meaningless banter, answering questions about our relationship or my wings or the near-destruction of New York or anything else. I wanted to spend it working the case. In bed with a hot naked sun god ran a close second.

  There was a car idling in his driveway when we arrived with two people seated inside, both texting. They got out as we parked, and I could tell just from the wild hair on the one and the airbrushed perfection of the other that they were here to do my hair and makeup. This was my surprise.

  “Gee, and I didn’t get you anything,” I said to Apollo dryly.

  “Spike and Roslyn are the best,” he said back.

  “Great.”

  He stopped my hand on the latch before I could let myself out of the car. “I promise, I’ll make all this worth your while later. Twice.”

  A shiver went through me and heat shot down to…well, it shot down to the important parts. My eyes closed for a second as I had to breathe back the wave of desire.

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” I threatened.

  He grinned, teeth showing like he was the big bad wolf and wanted to eat me up.

  I sighed heavily just to show he hadn’t cornered the market on drama, and then I let myself out.

  I headed straight for the door so that I could ignore the greetings and all the comments that were sure to come about how much work I would take and how they’d need all the time they could get. I’d heard it all before. My hair alone required a lion-tamer’s chair and bullwhip to control. Not to mention copious amounts of product and a protective bubble to prevent exposure to humidity. Otherwise, all the hard work would be for naught in thirty minutes or less. Maybe I was part witch; water seemed to be the bane of my existence. Humidity had never been my bestie, and ever since I fell afoul of Poseidon, the water-divinities had it in for me. Going to the beach was now akin to playing chicken on the Santa Monica freeway.

  “Before we get started,” I said to Apollo, whirling around at the door and cutting through the chit-chat, “I want to see what you got me to wear in case I have to put my foot down.”

  I didn’t.

  In fact, I stopped short just inside Apollo’s bedroom at the sight of the dress hanging on the door to his closet, protected in a sheath of clear plastic. It was a deep garnet silk with a V-neck and spaghetti straps cut on a bias so that the top of the gown connected to the bottom in an off center point. It was simple and absolutely gorgeous. I could tell by the sheen of the silk that it would feel amazing and that it must have cost a fortune. Sitting beneath it were gold wedge-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped the ankles. My own sandals that my best friend Christie had made me buy and that Apollo knew I could walk in without falling on my face.

  I turned to him, and while I couldn’t see the look on my face, I had an idea it might be tinged with awe. I wasn’t usually a vain person, but with the dress doing so much of the work…I was going to look damned good.

  “I have to try it on,” I said.

  Apollo laughed.

  “And so you shall.” He kicked the primping team out of the room and helped me on with the dress.

  And then helped me back out of it again. And then…

  Well, I was very glad that the walls in Apollo’s beachfront condo were thick enough to muffle most of the noise we made up against them.

  It was half an hour or so later that I was robed and ready to let the two-man team have at me. Apollo could have gone all night, as I well knew, and I’d have been more than happy to miss the event, especially given the trade-off. But there was certainly something to be said for hard and fast, as though he couldn’t wait to be inside me…

  I was pretty sure the team knew it too—from the smile on my face if not from our prolonged absence. I didn’t even blush as they exchanged a glance. I had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, and Apollo could be downright proud.

  We discussed my hair, which Spike would do up with carefully crafted curls escaping, and my makeup, which would involve smoky eyes, bronzer and nude lips, and I let them have at me. I ended up with a mani-pedi before all was said and done as well, a wine color so deep it was almost black.

  When they were finished and held mirrors up to me for approval, my own eyes nearly fell out of my head. I…didn’t look like me. I felt something like the Bionic Woman. Better. Stronger. More fashionable. I looked…like a starlet. Like someone who belonged on Apollo’s arm.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Spike and Roslyn gave each other a fist bump behind my back.

  “Wow,” I said again. “It’s like you worked some kind of magic.”

  Their smiles got even bigger. They could easily give the Cheshire Cat or even Julia Roberts a run for their money.

  “I can show you how to do the makeup,” Roslyn offered. “Some other time, since you’re running short on it tonight.”

  “And I can teach you what to do with your hair, although without my years of experience…” Spike began.

  “Thank you,” I told them both.
“Really.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I was almost looking forward to a red carpet event. Then a flashback to my earlier vision made my knees go temporarily gelid. Roslyn reached out to grab me before I could go down, but the weakness passed after only a second.

  “Don’t eat anything. Have a shake if you need calories, careful brushing afterward. Do not ruin your makeup.” That was an order.

  “But—”

  “No.”

  And suddenly I was famished. Or simply ornery. Hard to tell.

  But I only smiled, practicing for the red carpet. “Before you go,” I said, “would you help me into the shoes and dress? I want Apollo to get the full effect all at once.”

  “But of course!” they chorused.

  I wasn’t sure about Spike, but I didn’t get the impression he had any more than a professional interest in the outcome of my look, and I wasn’t the most incredibly body-shy person in the world, so in the end, I just went with it. Once the dress and shoes were on, Roslyn went off to fetch Apollo, while Spike tugged the lines of the dress into place.

  She announced their presence with a dramatic “Bamp-bamp-BA,” I supposed in place of a drum roll, and thrust the door open.

  I swung to face it, hand on hip, one leg out in front of the other in the way Christie had taught me was slimming, but it was my breath that caught. If Apollo was stunning normally—and he was—in a tux he was the living embodiment of sex appeal. It should not be legal to look so good. It was dangerous. He could stop traffic, cause more cat fights than a Black Friday sale at Neiman Marcus, make a nun reconsider her vows. He was… “Wow,” I said again. And since it didn’t seem enough to recycle a word I’d already used on my own image, I added, “Wow.” I couldn’t seem to deal with anything multisyllabic at that moment. My blood was rushing, but not to my brain.

  Apollo, for his part, was staring, and I could feel his reaction through our link. It was…oh my, I wasn’t sure we were making it out of the condo.