Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1)

by J S Hazzard

  Of course, that doubled my curiosity. “You know,” I considered, “I’ve seen Nicky and Luigi make hundreds of deliveries and have never seen wax seals. I mean, I get the concept,” I added, “but I didn’t know they used such a device. I wonder what requires that level of privacy.”

  Ian shrugged. “Might have nothing to do with privacy—or with the Carrieros. A long distance parcel passes through many people before reaching its destination. Maybe the seals are in place to prevent theft or tampering.”

  The edge of the sun became visible in the distance and Ian reached over to crank up the air conditioning. Since it was still cool outside, I helpfully angled my vents toward him. He also pulled on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, though how they were necessary with the tinted windows was a mystery. I could barely see to drive.

  Lack of vision aside, the first hour of driving passed easily for me. The mirrored lenses blocked my view and I couldn’t tell if Ian was merely silent or had genuinely fallen asleep.

  Not wanting to bother him, I focused on the directions. Unless I was mistaken, we were heading toward Niagara Falls, a notion confirmed when we reached an enormous bridge. I pulled the truck to a stop and Ian turned to look at me.

  I’d never seen a bridge before and the thought of crossing one scared the crap out of me. It was hundreds of feet long and looked centuries old—which of course it was. “Is this the Niagara River?”

  Ian’s chin dipped precisely once. “Yes. This bridge crosses to Grand Island.”

  “Any suggestions on how to cross?” I asked, hoping his suggestion would be for him to drive instead of me.

  “I would recommend driving over the bridge as opposed to driving off the bridge.”

  How helpful. “Are you sure it’s safe? It looks pretty old…”

  “This bridge was built to hold dozens of vehicles and the power plant maintains it. It won’t even notice this truck.”

  Easy for him to say. He could probably surf Niagara Falls whereas I’d plummet to my death—if I didn’t drown first. Thinking very bad words, I eased off the brake and coaxed the truck onto the bridge.

  Once we were halfway across it was easier. I stared straight ahead and kept my hands locked on the wheel, daring the occasional glance to either side to check the scenery. Then I caught Ian smirking and kept my eyes forward till we were over the bridge.

  A few miles later we reached a second bridge that looked identical to the first. I didn’t say a word as I drove onto it. Midway across, Ian spoke. “You can see the mists from the falls if you’d like to stop for a minute.” So I did.

  We were closer than I would have guessed, maybe a mile from the edge. We couldn’t see the waterfall, but the rainbows above it made me smile. It was good to know some things were permanent, regardless of who ruled the world at any given moment.

  I put the truck back in gear, bringing us off Grand Island. Then I snorted out a laugh.

  At the base of the bridge I had the option to turn off at an enormous red and white sign: “PERIMETER CROSSING FOR THE NIAGARA FALLS POWER FACILITY. PREPARE TO STOP FOR INSPECTION. TRESPASSERS MAY BE SHOT ON SIGHT.”

  “Well,” I said drily, “at least they’re straightforward about it.” Needless to say, I stayed on the main road.

  The entire sun was now visible, but Ian wasn’t showing ill effects yet. However, a few miles later, my eyes began to water.

  “What on earth?” I choked.

  “Pig farm,” Ian replied with more cheer than I’d seen all morning, apparently unaffected by the blinding stench. “Lots of pigs on a hot sunny day. These local squares supply considerable livestock for Toronto.”

  “Please tell me we’re not delivering to the piggy square,” I gasped between strangled breaths. I’d throw up on Mr. Kyrstack before we unloaded the truck.

  “There’s also a square that specializes in chickens.” Ian laughed as I gagged behind clenched lips. “But the wind is blowing the wrong direction today.”

  “Something to look forward to,” I wheezed, making him laugh. My square had chickens, pigs and cows, but only enough for local consumption. I silently vowed to never complain about our annual walnut harvest ever again.

  I breathed as little as possible, but it didn’t stop my nose from running or my eyes from watering. Fortunately, the stench lifted in another mile. My ability to breathe restored, I pulled over to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. I also stuffed my jacket beneath my seat. Not only was it getting warm, I feared I’d absorbed some eau de pig farm.

  Ian was looking slightly uncomfortable by the time we reached our destination, despite the tinting and air conditioning. It was subtle, almost like someone who needs the bathroom but is trying to hide it. I wouldn’t have noticed in a human and maybe not even in Keanu, but Ian did not squirm or fidget. Ever.

  “Oh sure, we have to park on the sunny side of the building,” Ian complained as I parked. I left the engine running to allow him the benefit of air conditioning.

  “You should do your illusion now,” I pointed out.

  “Glamour, we call it a glamour,” he grudgingly corrected as his form shimmered into that of Dominic Carriero. Keanu’s version of Nicky had been more accurate, which I attributed to his having been Nicky’s patron.

  “A bit longer on the nose,” I said, “and a little sharper while you’re at it.” I took his chin in my hand and turned his head for a frontal view. “Mouth is fine, eyebrows are good, chin is excellent, your height was almost a match from the start… Maybe Nicky has a bit more muscle in his shoulders and arms?”

  Ian/Nicky glared at me.

  “What? I was trying to help.” I hastened to change the subject. “I thought vampires used glamour as a verb, as in to glamour someone and put the whammy on them.”

  Ian/Nicky looked at me. “The whammy? Though languages evolve constantly, the proper terms for mind influence are entrancement and captivation.”

  “Are they the same thing?” I rolled the words around my mind and decided I approved. They sounded very old school. Very Ian.

  “Similar, but not the same,” Ian answered absently, using the mirror on his sun visor to make minute facial adjustments to ‘Nicky’. “They’re each exactly what they sound like. Entrancement leaves people susceptible to mental suggestion. It’s used to alter memories, to persuade people, and to make them do things via the power of suggestion. We can make humans do as we say.”

  “Like forcing an invitation,” I said.

  He nodded. “On the other hand, captivation is much stronger and takes more power and practice to wield. It is not a suggestion—the vampire controls the person both mentally and physically. You hold someone captive to your will. It offers absolute control but is exponentially more difficult.”

  I mulled this over. “So it’s like…” I fumbled for a suitable example. “If you entranced me, you could tell me to turn cartwheels and I would to the best of my ability. But if you captivated me, you’d do the cartwheels using my body and I’d move as you wanted through no effort of my own. Like a puppet and puppeteer.”

  He nodded again and I felt like a kid who’d aced a test.

  “So,” I theorized, taking it a step further, “if you were to—”

  “Aurora?” He interrupted me. “Not to discourage your love of learning, but maybe we could get this over with?”

  Shit. Right.

  I turned my attention back to the delivery instructions. Mr. Kyrstack didn’t want anything carried inside, so we had no need to wrangle an invitation. Ian could unload the truck while I located Mr. Kyrstack.

  Ian reached for his door and I stopped him. “Let me untie the cords first. There’s no need for you to waste time on my terrible knots.”

  I flung the door open, causing a hissed intake of breath from Ian. “Shit, sorry!” Wanting Ian to stay in the truck, I scrambled into the back to undo my handiwork. After I’d finally untangled everything, I eased down and walked to the courtyard entrance.

  We’d parked out of sight, and as I rounded
the corner an elderly woman sat on a swinging bench beneath the large tree outside the main entrance. She greeted me with a chirping voice that made me mentally christen her ‘the parakeet’ and I cheerfully returned her greeting before inquiring if she knew where I might find Mr. Kyrstack.

  “Oh that man, always buying or selling something.” She beamed fondly as though this was wonderful behavior on the part of Mr. Kyrstack. “It’s rare he misses a delivery. He’s almost always waiting when one arrives. Is he expecting you?”

  “He’s expecting us today, but we made an early start.” I spoke nonchalantly, as if this was normal. “Hopefully we won’t inconvenience him.”

  The woman’s hands fluttered in the lap of her green dress, strengthening my initial parakeet impression. “I’ll tell you what, sugar. You sit here in the shade with me and I’ll send someone to fetch Harold.” She patted the other side of her perch and I sat gingerly, hoping Harold and Mr. Kyrstack were the same person.

  “NATHANIEL!”

  I nearly fell over as the parakeet bawled like a trumpeting elephant and then watched, ears ringing, as a towheaded boy sped out from the courtyard. He skidded to a stop a few feet from us, shooting up sprays of grass in his wake.

  “Yes, Nan-Nan? Who’s your friend? What’s her name? Can she play with me? I have a pet snake named Barney!”

  I blinked as I attempted to process the barrage of information. Part of me was thrilled I hadn’t gone deaf. The rest was strategizing how best to avoid Barney.

  “Natty, where are your manners?” the parakeet scolded. “This nice lady has a delivery for Mr. Harold and I want you to run and tell him she’s here.”

  “Please tell him the delivery is from Nicky Carriero,” I added, since my name would mean nothing to Mr. Harold. The boy gave me an angelic smile before tearing back to the courtyard, spattering both me and Nan-Nan with dirt.

  I grinned. “Your grandson, I’m guessing?”

  She laughed. “My great-grandson,” she corrected. “His grandmother is Nana and I became Nan-Nan. And don’t worry,” she added. “Barney is an old piece of hemp rope dyed different colors. Looks as much like a snake as I do a rhinoceros, but Natty loves the darn thing.”

  I laughed in appreciation before she went on. “You’re here with the Carriero boy?”

  “With Dominic, yes.”

  “Dominic? Is that what Nicky is short for?” She frowned and her hands resumed fluttering. “All these years I’ve called him Nicholas and he never corrected me once.”

  A new voice entered the conversation as a white haired man rounded the corner with the now breathless Nathaniel lagging behind—clutching a multicolored rope I assumed was Barney. “Eh, little Nicky, he is too much a gentleman to contradict such a lovely woman as yourself, Henrietta.”

  Nathaniel came over and set Barney in my lap while Henrietta-the-parakeet scowled.

  “Oh really,” she retorted sarcastically. “And why did you never mention it?”

  “That has nothing to do with my own exquisite manners.” Mr. Harold gave me an obvious wink. “I simply enjoyed hearing you get it wrong, my darling wife.”

  Quick as a snake, Henrietta snatched Barney off my lap and flicked the rope outward, catching Mr. Harold in the rear end as Nathaniel howled with laughter. When Harold Kyrstack gave his wife an indignant look, she simply shrugged and tossed the rope back to her great-grandson. “Don’t blame me—it’s not my fault Barney bites. Natty, honey, why don’t you take Barney back to the courtyard now?”

  Mr. Harold snorted as the boy ran off. “That’s a lovely example to set, dear. I’ll wager a kiss that ‘Barney’ bites at least five female rear-ends before lunch and you can have the pleasure of explaining where he learned that trick.”

  Henrietta laughed but didn’t disagree. After a quick farewell and a kiss on her husband’s cheek she flitted off, no doubt hoping to spare an unsuspecting bottom or two.

  “So. If you are with young Dominic, then you must be Miss Rory. Luigi has told me all about you.” Having no idea what Luigi had said, I tilted my head and cautioned Mr. Kyrstack not to believe everything he’d heard. Then I looped my arm through his and escorted him to the truck. Surely Ian was ready.

  “Did you have a pleasant drive on this fine morning?” he queried.

  “A particularly pungent day at the pig farm,” I said with a grin, “but otherwise it couldn’t have been better.”

  The little man waved a hand in front of his nose in agreement. “On hot days you can smell that square for miles. Still,” he sniffed at the air like a hungry dog, “I can’t deny the quality of their merchandise.”

  I took a tentative sniff, appreciating the whiff of bacon in the air. The finished product smelled far better than the raw materials.

  The crates were neatly stacked beside the building and Ian/Nicky had gotten back in the truck to get out of the sun after he’d finished. Having gauged Harold’s friendly banter, he rolled down a window and called out, “Good morning, Mr. Kyrstack. I see you’ve met my friend.” His imitation of Nicky’s voice was slightly off, but nothing a summer cold or sore throat couldn’t explain.

  “I have indeed. Your Aurora is even lovelier than your father said!” Full of merriment, Harold towed me to the side of the truck. Then he lifted a strand of my hair. “My Henrietta had hair like this back in the day. Maybe slightly less bright, but every bit as beautiful. Does hers come with the temper too?”

  I swear, he sounded hopeful.

  Ian shook his head in mock disappointment.

  “‘Fraid not, Mr. Kyrstack. Aurora is sweet as a peach in the summer sunshine.”

  I shot Ian a dirty look while Mr. Kyrstack laughed. Sweet as a peach, my ass.

  Harold waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, a few more years and a few bambinos will do wonders to bring out her feisty side.”

  I had no doubt Ian’s responding laughter was genuine, but my forced giggle sounded half strangled.

  “I’ll see what I can do about that,” Ian said cordially. “Is there anything else we can do for you today? Aurora wanted to run a few errands, so we left early.”

  “Women.” Harold threw his hands in the air like no other explanation was needed. “Let me take inventory and you can be on your way.” He took a moment to count the boxes and check their seals before handing Ian an envelope and shaking his hand through the open window. Then he turned back to the courtyard, presumably to make whatever arrangements were necessary for his merchandise.

  Ian didn’t bother opening the envelope before powering the window up. Then he flopped back in the driver’s seat and heaved an audible sigh of relief.

  I hauled myself into the truck, careful to open the door as little as possible, relishing the cool air that greeted me. “That went well, don’t you think? Harold and his wife didn’t suspect a thing and the wife will definitely blab about our having been here.” Henrietta had ‘gossip’ written all over her. “How do you feel?”

  Ian grunted. “As expected. You’ll have to drive home.”

  “I figured, but that requires switching seats.” I put my hand on the door and waited, but he didn’t move. I’d wanted to rush Ian home but he wasn’t cooperating.

  “Would you feel better if you exited Nicky mode? Maintaining that has to take effort, right?” I decided not to mention that seeing him like this was still upsetting, no matter how well-intentioned his purpose.

  “A bit, but I don’t want you to see me right now. Give me another minute and we’ll switch places.”

  “Here, let me help.” I slid as close as I could without touching. “I’ll put the truck in gear,” I explained, “and we’ll let it idle to that shaded area around the next corner. I’ll steer and you hit the brake once we’re there.”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t argue—Ian’s version of an enthusiastic endorsement.

  Once we were in the shade, he perked up. Then out of nowhere, my stomach growled and I giggled nervously as Ian/Nicky looked over in amusement.

  “Sorry a
bout that. Someone was cooking bacon and now I’m obsessed. It’s like the scent is following me. I’ll have to make a sandwich at your place.”

  Ian grinned tightly. “Rory, it’s not bacon you smell, it’s me.”

  Only my fear of letting sunlight in kept me from opening the door and vomiting.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “ARE you serious?” I answered my own question. “Of course you’re serious. I can’t believe I said you smelled like bacon. I’m so sorry.” I pressed my palms into my face and prayed to drop through the floor of the truck.

  Ian laughed, and I felt his hand stroke the hair along the nape of my neck. “Aurora, you ought to appreciate the irony. You make me hungry all the time. Humanity is long overdue for such a role reversal.”

  I laughed and a section of hair slipped over my shoulder, leaving a sliver of my neck bare as Ian’s hand brushed over it. His fingertips scratched roughly against my skin and I sat back up and stared. “You’re hurt! Those are blisters I feel, aren’t they?” I demanded.

  He snatched his hand away. “Of course I’m blistered, Aurora. I’m a damn vampire who’s been prancing around in the sun. What did you expect?”

  “But Keanu described the symptoms of sun sickness to me,” I insisted. “He said nothing about you literally burning.”

  His annoyed expression cut my oncoming panic attack short. “Sun damage has the slowest healing rate of any injury short of a fatal one, but these blisters will heal within a matter of minutes. My skin has already improved, but I’ll still be sick for a day or two.”

  It gave me a thought. “You know, if more blood would help, you’re welcome to…” I let my sentence fade and extended my wrist tentatively.

  He took my offered hand and I braced for a bite, but he laughed and kissed the inside of my wrist before placing it gently back in my lap. (I struggled not to flinch at the scrape of his invisibly cracked lips on my skin.)

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, Aurora, but the increase in healing would be modest compared to the risk of you fainting on the drive home.”