“To kill vampires,” Jameson corrected, his eyes hard.
“What?”
“I did all this to kill vampires. Not people.”
“That might be how she sees it,” I said, gesturing to Lucy. The gun was getting sooo heavy. “That’s how she thinks. But you and me . . . God, Jameson, when we get close to them they’re humans again. You of all people know that beneath the magic, they’re just like anyone else.”
His face went to stone. It had been the wrong thing to say. “Malcolm is not like anyone else,” he hissed. “And neither is Claire, or even your precious Dashiell. They think they get to decide, Scarlett. The think they control us. At best, we’re chess pieces to them, and at worst, we’re goddamn Happy Meals. A snack and a toy, all in one package.”
“Good analogy,” I muttered.
“It’s wrong,” he said, his voice starting to shake. “What they do is wrong.”
“What about my Ellen?” said a gravelly voice from the floor. Wyatt’s eyes were open, and his neck was no longer at that disturbing angle. He still lay on the floor on his stomach, but his head was turned sideways so he could see and speak to us. “She never hurt no one. Hell, most of our blood comes from a family of willing volunteers. Witches, who have called her Auntie Ellen for five generations now. Why did my Ellen deserve to die?”
“I . . .” Jameson looked like he’d been slapped. He glanced from Wyatt to me, as if to ask is this guy with you?
I nodded. “It has to stop, Jameson,” I said quietly. My hand holding the gun was officially shaking, but I managed to keep it pointed at Lucy Holmwood. “Listen to me. If you want to go to New York and kill the shit out of Malcolm, I’ll come along and back you up, every step. But Old World or not, you can’t exterminate a massive group of people just because some of them mistreated you.” I took a breath. “I won’t let you.”
Jameson’s eyes welled up. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, I felt a quick flash of new vampire in my radius, and then Arthur Holmwood appeared in the doorway and shot me.
Chapter 34
At the range, Jesse was always telling me to wait before I pulled the trigger, that if I rushed to take the first shot I could, I was going to miss my target. Apparently no one had given Arthur Holmwood this advice, because he’d fired the gun before he had a good angle. The bullet hit me from the side, going into my upper right arm, coming through, and digging a furrow of skin out of my shoulder. It wasn’t fatal, but it hurt like hell, and fresh blood immediately soaked the side of my tee shirt. I dropped the knife belt and the gun, instinctively clutching at the wound with my left hand, trying to staunch the bleeding and duck away from the doorway at the same time.
But Arthur simply walked through it, stepping forward as he took aim again.
“No, wait,” Jameson cried, stepping between me and Arthur. He held up his hands. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Lucy sputtered. “Just kill her and be done with it. The guests will start to arrive soon.”
“You don’t have to kill her,” Jameson pleaded, looking at Arthur, who was glancing at his wife for his cue. “There are handcuffs right here. We can—”
“Oh, this bitch has to die,” Lucy said, glaring at me. “Even if she weren’t irksome and unpredictable, I simply see no reason to keep her alive.”
“You say the sweetest things,” I muttered.
“How about because I asked?” Jameson said to Lucy, a little heat in his voice now. “I’ve come along with you on this twisted little kamikaze mission, and I haven’t asked for a single thing. But I’m asking now.”
The three of them began to argue, but I stopped listening. I was getting light-headed. I’d donated blood to Cliff—oh, God, had that been just this morning?—and now I was on my second wound of the night, after the gash in my forehead. Not to mention all the bruising from my cheekbone and my back, where my vest had stopped a bullet. The pain seemed to suddenly crystalize, and I could feel myself starting to sway.
But my eyes caught motion: Wyatt was beginning to move his arm. Right toward the bulletproof vest. I didn’t understand why he was bothering—until I realized the walkie-talkie was still resting on top of it.
Wyatt’s hand crawled over to it, and he fumbled at the emergency button. Which was nice and all, but I wasn’t sure how much good it was going to do when we were stuck inside the house.
Still, I didn’t want Jameson or the Holmwoods to see what he was doing. “I could cure you,” I blurted.
All three of them turned to stare at me. I looked at Lucy. “I can turn you into a human again. Isn’t that what you want? To undo what Claire did to you?”
She hesitated, her eyes jumping around the room. “That’s impossible,” she said uncertainly.
“I can do it. I have before.” I tried to concentrate on the outline of my radius so I could start the process, but I had nowhere near enough focus. I was in too much pain. “Well, not right now, but, you know, later. I can.”
Arthur looked at Jameson. “Is this true?” he asked hopefully. “Can you really cure us of this filthy curse?”
Jameson looked at me, his eyes weighing me. “I’ve never heard of a null being able to do that,” he said at last. “I couldn’t.”
Lucy snorted. “You see? She’s just a lying piece of trash.”
I almost laughed at the irony. I was the only one who could give Lucy Holmwood the one thing she wanted . . . except she was going to kill me before I could.
She looked at Jameson. “She dies.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “At least give me a minute to say goodbye to her. You owe me that much.”
Looking victorious, Lucy held out her hands in a be my guest gesture. “I need to go get cleaned up, anyway,” she said imperiously, glancing down at her dusty outfit. She seemed more offended that I’d made her lie on the floor than by the actual assault. “Arthur, you’ll see to this?” she asked her husband. She was intentionally not looking at me now, wanting me to know that I wasn’t even worth her sticking around to watch me die.
“Of course, my love.” He actually blew a kiss at her back as she walked out. What a douche.
Jameson stepped toward me, crowding me into the corner, his back to Arthur. With some effort, I focused on his face. “Scarlett,” he said softly. “I begged you to go home.”
I raised my chin to meet his eyes. I might be going out, but I wasn’t going quietly. “And I begged you to come with me,” I replied in as strong a voice as I could manage.
“You were free. You could have just gone home and tattled on us to your boss,” Jameson said, almost accusingly. “Why did you come back here?”
“You know why.” I felt my lower lip tremble, but I didn’t look away from him. “It’s Vegas, right?” I said, trying for a lighter tone. “I thought I’d bet everything that you didn’t want me to die.”
For a moment I thought Jameson might cry, but then he pulled his face together with a huff. “I’m not sorry,” he snapped. “I don’t take it back. If I had to do it all again, I’d still kill them.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” My good hand was sticky with blood, but I wiped it on my jeans, reached up, and rested my palm on his cheek.
He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into it, and I felt a tear slide between my fingers, and then another. His anger had drained out of him, and he just looked . . . tired.
A throat cleared behind him. “Jameson, my good man,” came Arthur Holmwood’s voice. “I’m afraid we need to wrap this up. Our guests will be arriving.”
I leaned sideways so I could see Arthur’s face. He looked politely regretful, like he’d just told a bunch of nice kids their slumber party had to end.
If I had to die, at least I could get in one last dig. “By the way, Arthur,” I said conversationally, “I killed Claire, years ago. She’s been dead for all of your little revenge tour.”
His mouth dropped open. “No, she isn’t.”
“She is.” I g
estured around. “You know, Lucy said you guys were going to kill yourselves after Claire was dead. So why not let me go?” I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m going to send my boss to stop you guys, but isn’t that what you want?”
It was stupid, but for a second I actually thought I had him. Then Arthur’s gaze hardened. “My wife was right. You are a lying piece of trash.” He raised the gun again. “Say goodbye, Jameson.”
That’s when I knew it was over. I was out of ideas, and I was going to die. You’d think that would scare me, but everything hurt so much, and my mind was numb. I was just hoping that I’d bought Wyatt enough time to recover so he could get out of here, or at least kill the Holmwoods like he wanted. Thoughts of Jack and Jesse and Molly jumped into my brain, but I pushed them away, because I would not cry.
“Dammit, Letts,” Jameson sighed. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Then he pulled his gun out of its holster, turned quickly, and shot Arthur in the head.
Chapter 35
Now it was my turn to be stunned. Jameson turned back to me. “I was planning to work on him,” he complained, re-holstering the gun. “Arthur’s more pliable than Lucy. Maybe I could have talked him out of . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind now. Come on.”
He picked up my knife belt, looped it over my head, and took my left hand, pulling me toward the door he’d come through. I stumbled after him for a moment, then dug my heels in. “Wait! Wyatt—”
“I’m okay, Miss Scarlett,” came a wry voice from the floor. Wyatt was struggling to his hands and knees. “Go. The sooner you two get away, the faster I’ll heal. I’ll find another way out.” He glanced at the window behind him, then turned to eye Arthur’s prone form. The other vampire looked dead, but I could still feel a faint buzz in my radius. As soon as we were gone, he would start to heal. “After I finish what I came for.”
“Good luck,” I said, and then I let Jameson pull me out of the room and down an unfamiliar hallway.
“You have a car nearby?” he whispered over his shoulder, hurrying me along.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “If we can get away from the boardinghouse and the lights, I can get us out of here.”
“I’m not going with you.”
I stopped dead in the hallway. Jameson turned back to me, looking jumpy. A couple of vampire lackeys were crossing the hallway up ahead; they looked at us and whispered to each other, then scurried away. We were running out of time here. “What?” I blurted. “Why not? We can get away—”
He shook his head. “Assuming your friend finished off Arthur, Lucy’s going to punch my ticket. If she doesn’t, it’ll be Malcolm’s people. He’s not going to stop until I’m dead, Letts, not ever. And I won’t let you or your boss get caught in the crossfire.”
“But—”
He stepped close. “This was always a one-way trip for me, Scarlett,” he said hoarsely. “I knew that coming in. I just never expected . . . well, you.” He smoothed hair away from my face, reminding me of that kiss on the gondola at the Venetian.
“Jameson—” I was absolutely going to keep arguing with him, but from behind us we heard a gunshot, then the crash of breaking glass, followed by a terrible, bloodcurdling shriek. There were two more gunshots, and then the sound of running.
“Come on.” Jameson yanked at my arm, and I was too weak and off-balance from blood loss to do anything but follow. He was pulling me toward what looked like a foyer, complete with a grandiose front door. Yes. Outside. For the first time since Arthur had shot me, actual hope bloomed in my chest.
But the big door was opening, and I could hear chattering voices and two hits in my radius: vampires about to walk in. Quickly, Jameson dodged to the right, pulling me into a darkened side room. We froze. The voices on the other side were talking with renewed excitement, about the gunshots. There were four vampires altogether, and they’d never been near a null before. They thought it was fascinating. Hopefully that meant they wouldn’t realize how close we were right now.
Jameson leaned down to put his mouth near my ear. “Watch your step in here.”
Keeping my feet where they were, I carefully turned my body to look at the room behind me. We hadn’t turned on the lights—they would have given us away—but there was a little light coming in from the curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall. It was just enough for me to see outlines of sheet-covered furniture pushed against the walls, as well as some of the rotting or missing floorboards Jameson had been warning me about. Great. If I put my weight on any one of those, I’d go straight through. And could there be snakes under there?
Shit. I really wished I hadn’t had that thought.
I held still and tried to breathe as quietly as possible, my thoughts flying to the sounds we’d heard. I was hoping the crash had been Wyatt escaping through the window. The scream had definitely been Lucy’s, but I could only hope that Wyatt had gotten out before she found Arthur. Or, preferably, Arthur’s dead body.
Still chatting, the four vampires finally moved away from the foyer and headed deeper into the building. I counted to ten, and then Jameson opened the door a crack to peer out. The stripe of light revealed a telltale red smear on the floor just outside. Blood. My blood. Leading right into this room. Any vampire could follow that.
“Jameson—” I whispered, but I was too late.
The door exploded inward, or at least that was what it felt like. Someone had fired a shotgun right through the door, hitting Jameson in the chest and knocking us both backward.
I fell hard on my butt, bruising my tailbone, with Jameson tangled in my legs. His breathing immediately went shallow. Struggling to sit up, I felt his chest. He’d been wearing his vest, thank God, but some of the shot must have gotten through or around it, because my hand still came away bloody.
Then the room flooded with light, and I saw Lucy Holmwood standing beside the old-fashioned light switch, breathing hard as she clutched Wyatt’s shotgun. Her hair was wild, her eyes practically feral.
“You killed him!” she screamed at us. “My love!” She raised the shotgun to her shoulder again. “You have destroyed everything I care about. I hope you rot in hell.”
“Actually, I don’t think anyone rots in hell,” I said brightly. “I mean, your body rots in its grave, but my understanding is that hell is more of a burning, fire-type situation.”
Lucy froze, her brow furrowing. This was what I was wasting my last words on? “Also, you might want to look down at your chest,” I added.
Her chin dropped, and she saw what I’d already seen: a small red dot, hovering on her breastbone. She screamed with rage. She didn’t look quite so pretty and delicate anymore. “You think I care?” she cried. “If you both die, I can heal from any gunshot.” She sighted down the shotgun.
“That’s probably true,” I admitted. In my lap, Jameson was getting pale. I needed to take him to a hospital, now. “But hopefully it’ll be hard to move fast enough once the other thing happens.”
“What other thing?” Lucy demanded.
For once, my timing was pretty excellent. At that exact moment, the floor began to shake. No, not the floor, the ground below it. There was a bit of cracking and crashing as some of the rotting floorboards fell in. “What’s—” Lucy began, but at that moment a torrent of water exploded through the floor between us like a geyser from hell.
Chapter 36
I’d known for a while that different witch clans used magic in different ways, even the ones without a particular specialty. But most of the magic I’d encountered was some form of sympathetic magic—a small thing standing in for a big thing, like when you torture a voodoo doll and the magic actually injures your ex-husband.
As Wyatt had explained earlier that evening, however, Laurel and her clan were experts in elemental magic, specifically the manipulation of water. A hundred years earlier they had been employed as dowsers, finding small veins of water in the desert, then merging and cultivating them to create springs. Their witchblood had diluted
as more and more of them married non-witches, until the current generation, which was pretty weak on Scarlett’s Internal Magical Power Scale.
Laurel had spent years designing fountains on the Strip, using water magic in many tiny ways, but so much manipulation of water had started burning her out—hence the career change.
When I first heard about Laurel’s talent I thought it was interesting, but I couldn’t really see how it could be useful in our situation. How would nudging an underground stream to move over a few inches—which was about the most Laurel or anyone in her clan could manage anymore—help us stop the Holmwoods?
Then Lex told us about enhancing witch power with crystals, and I realized Laurel’s value as a diversion. The original idea had been to either draw the Holmwoods to one specific spot so we—or Cliff, with his rifle—could take them out, or to create a distraction somewhere away from Wyatt and me, so we could escape, depending on what the situation required.
But we were still in the desert. I’d expected Laurel to produce a garden hose–sized spray of water, you know, outdoors. I hadn’t banked on an actual geyser that caused the windows to explode outward. Cliff could have shot Lucy, but if he hadn’t been expecting the geyser either, I wasn’t sure he’d recover quickly enough to take her out.
As the column of water continued to surge upward through the floor, Jameson and I were immediately drenched, although the water was raining down on us after it hit the ceiling, so it had lost most of its force. I wondered how long the wood ceiling could take that kind of abuse before the second story came crashing down. I couldn’t even see Lucy Holmwood anymore. Had Cliff managed to shoot her after all? I felt around, but there were no vampires in our immediate vicinity, and I couldn’t afford to concentrate on expanding it at the moment. Shit. Was she dead, or had she escaped back through the door?
Or was she working her way around the geyser to us?
The sound of water roared in my ears, and I shouted down to Jameson, “We gotta get out of here! How bad are you?”
Blood Gamble (Disrupted Magic Book 2) Page 23