Blood Drawn: A novel of The Demon Accords

by John Conroe

  “How’re we doing?” I asked, ignoring the light show in the living room.

  “I got tired of the side-eyes,” Declan said around a mouthful of ham and sourdough.

  “Also, a little hangry,” Stacia said. “That almost always leads to impatience, sarcasm, and violent displays of magical superpowers.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he protested. “Yeah, I was being a wiseass, but come on? How many times do you have to save the damned country or the whole world before they cut you any slack?”

  “They’re terrified,” Stacia said. “And their job is to protect. How do they protect people from you?”

  He looked like he was going to protest, to proclaim that he’s never done anything to warrant such suspicion. But he stopped himself and looked down at the floor. “They can’t,” he finally said.

  “That’s right. Not a prayer, and they know it. How does that make them feel?” she asked.

  “Helpless.”

  “Exactly,” Lydia said, sweeping into the room and heading for the coffee pot. “But right now? They’re feeling proud that our team—Team Earth—scored a hit on the enemy. A couple of hits. And Omega is fielding questions. Hard to argue with a know-it-all computer.” She poured a mug full of scalding hot coffee and immediately sipped it, the heat having no effect on her vampire lips. “Umm, coffee,” she said with her eyes closed. Then she opened them and looked at me, Stacia, and finally the witch, who met her gaze.

  “Thank you,” he said softly, not looking away.

  She nodded. “That’s what aunties are for. Now, where’s Alex?”

  Chapter 37

  Declan and Stacia slipped out into the night. Declan wanted to put wards around the farm, and I think Stacia wanted him to burn off his tension. I took Lydia to see Gramps.

  He was awake and talking with both the major and the sheriff, engaging them with the same effortless ease he had always had. I think it was his inexhaustible confidence, something that anyone who met him could feel almost instantly.

  Sheriff Whalen turned to me. “I should apologize to your associate,” he said in a quiet voice, eyes looking behind me, possibly for Declan.

  “He’s outside, setting up some protections for my grandfather,” I said.

  “It’s weird. Vampires, werewolves, even Alex now, and then you, and what you do with demons and all,” he said, struggling with his words. “But to have this skinny kid just do… stuff.”

  “There aren’t any others like him. I have it on pretty good authority that he’s here for a reason, a vital reason,” I said.

  “He really did what the little lady said?”

  “He did. Our two biggest weapons against the Vorsook are Omega and that young man who tore apart reality so that I could get to my grandfather’s side. Even Omega’s drones couldn’t get me here as fast.”

  He brushed a hand through his short, crew cut hair. “It’s too much for this old cop,” he said.

  “What if he went bad?”

  “That’s what we’re for. Tanya, myself, Lydia, Tanya’s other sister, and especially Stacia. And his aunts, one of whom is a deputy. Also, a bookseller in Vermont who is to him what Gramps is to me. We ground him, stabilize him, focus him. And don’t forget a supercomputer that calls him Father.”

  “What if he gets a wild hair?”

  “Haven’t you wondered the same about me?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess, but Alex wouldn’t let you go off the deep end,” he said, glancing at my grandfather, who was deep in conversation with Lydia.

  I just raised both eyebrows at him and he blinked, then nodded. “Okay, I get it. But he’s not you.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s very much his own person, but that person is pretty great, thank God.”

  I must have put special emphasis on the last part as his eyes flicked up Heavenward. Then he nodded and headed out. The major left a few minutes later, then most of the other officers packed up and disappeared as well. A half hour after the last cop left, Stacia and Declan came back in, the young witch clearly satisfied with his wards. They took the pullout sofa in Gramps’ den and when I glanced in a bit later, both were sound asleep, fully clothed, curled against each other.

  Gramps had an appetite, and Stacia had told me his intestines were fully healed already. My ears confirmed the sounds they made, so I cooked him scrambled eggs with bits of ham and cheddar. Lydia insisted on spoon-feeding him and assured me she was on night duty. I fell asleep on the living room sofa, emotionally exhausted.

  I don’t usually sleep much more than four hours anymore. Because of that, my room had the best blackout curtains in the house and that’s where I sent Lydia as the sky started to lighten.

  I went to make coffee and discovered that we were out. Declan volunteered to go to the store, as Stacia wanted to be handy when Gramps woke up. He took the keys to Gramps’ pickup and headed out. A half hour later, Stacia came rushing out of Gramp’s room, her eyes wild and turning yellow. Then she froze in place, head tilted as if listening. She blinked and looked at me. “Something just happened to Declan. He’s okay, though, I think.”

  “He is fine, and on his way back,” Omega said from the Bose. “You should prepare for his arrival.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He was attacked at the moment of maximum vulnerability,” Omega said, then paused for several seconds. “But that’s a relative term these days. He is always shielded and always accompanied by at least two drones.”

  “And?” Stacia asked with extreme frustration.

  “An attempt was made to run him off the road with road clearing equipment. I warned him, the pickup had sufficient acceleration, and then my drones destroyed the tires and engine of the attacking vehicle. He took it from there. He is pulling in now.”

  We raced outside in time to see one of the oddest sights of my odd life. Declan came bumping down the dirt driveway in Gramp’ Ford F-150, a St. Lawrence County dump truck with an attached snowplow floating through the air behind him. A softball-sized drone floated in front of the plow and a smaller, apple-sized one floated behind.

  The cab of the plow truck was crushed down like a beer can and all four tires were melted or blown apart. Steam rose from the front grill.

  Declan pulled to a stop and popped his seat belt just in time to get bodily assaulted by Stacia, who almost tore the truck door open. Once she was sure he was okay, she hugged him and let him get out.

  “Hey,” he said, holding up a bag. “They only had Maxwell House.”

  “It’ll do,” I said, wishing Lydia was up to see this display of nonchalance.

  “Coming back from the convenience store, got about a mile away, and Omega suddenly tells me to hit the gas,” Declan said. “Your grandfather’s truck has some zip to it, as I went from forty to seventy in seconds. Anyway, this plow truck comes barreling off a side road, clearly trying to smash me. The drones shot the shit out of it and then I picked it up and brought it with me. Wait till you see what’s inside.”

  He looked at the plow truck and it settled to the ground. A weird banging noise was coming from inside the crushed cab. The witch flicked a hand and the crushed metal just tore free—the whole roof, windshield frame, and side pillars. A man instantly sat up, his silver eyes finding Declan instantly. He tried to climb out but instead found himself floating out in front of us.

  He was wearing a torn dark brown t-shirt, dirty jeans, and had bare feet. Bare but root-covered feet.

  Declan floated what was clearly a Vorsook henchman over in front of us, keeping him at least four feet off the ground. The creature twisted and writhed, totally silent, silver eyes locked on the witch.

  “See how the roots keep growing and then the alien tech fights them back for a moment,” Declan said, pointing at the man’s legs. “But then they grow right back.”

  I couldn’t, for the life of me, come up with a single thing to say. Stacia was standing with fists clenched but not saying a word as she glared at the thing that had made an
attempt on her mate’s life.

  “So the truck had some balls, did it?” a voice asked from the porch behind me. Gramps was leaning against the railing, still wearing the white t-shirt and loose gym shorts I had helped him get dressed in last night.

  “Yes sir,” Declan said. “Some sort of turbocharger, right?”

  “They call it EcoBoost or something,” Gramps said with a nod. “Whatcha gonna do with the goomer?” The last question was directed at all three of us.

  “I’d like to keep it,” Declan said. “We sort of burned up the last ones. We can use it for some experiments.”

  “It?” Gramps asked.

  “The skull and spine have been completely replaced by alien tech,” Stacia said, studying my grandfather rather than the minion. “Personality is gone; it’s just a kind of robot now.”

  “The human soul is gone,” I told him. He looked good.

  “How do you feel?” Stacia asked him.

  “Good. Better than good. Kind of great actually,” he said. “But I’m starving.”

  He had lost weight in just the last twelve hours, but he looked healthy. Toned, almost.

  “I thawed some steaks last night,” I said. “Eggs and steak for breakfast?”

  “That would really hit the spot,” he said. “We should put that somewhere.”

  “The alien thing,” Declan asked, “or the plow?”

  “Both. The county won’t have an easy time getting the insurance for that truck if they don’t ever find it,” Gramps said. “And I don’t like the idea of an alien wandering around.”

  “Alien henchman or minion,” Declan corrected. He gestured at the ground and a hole opened in the hardpacked gravel and mud of the driveway. Another flick of his hand and the minion was in the hole, which then sealed over top of it. Then a big half-ton boulder that stood at the corner of the driveway floated over and landed on top of the disturbed dirt.

  “I can put the truck out on the road. Someone will find it and call it in,” the young witch said, sort of asking a question.

  “That would work,” Gramps said, nodding, an easy smile on his face.

  Declan waved a hand and the multi-ton dump truck shot up into the air, arcing over the tree line and landing on the main roadside with just the sound of settling springs and crunching gravel.

  “I’ll get the coffee started,” the kid said, giving his girl a kiss on the cheek before heading inside.

  Gramps watched him with a bemused smile till the door shut. Then he turned to Stacia and me and raised both eyebrows.

  “You should see him disassemble a house,” I said with a grin.

  “Let’s look at your wounds,” Stacia said, herding both of us into the house.

  Chapter 38

  “How did it get way up here?” Lydia asked, rubbing her eyes.

  The sun was just setting but she woke up a little early on account of all the activity. Stacia had pronounced Gramps healed and he had eaten more at breakfast than even I had. He was lean, his skin smooth, wrinkles gone from his face and neck. He didn’t show any signs of having been parked on death’s door just half a day ago. Then another state police cruiser had shown up, the trooper asking if we knew what happened to the county truck wrecked a tenth of a mile down the road. We didn’t. He left, clearly not believing us but clearly not interested in pushing it.

  “It followed the rogue werewolf that attacked Gramps and Len,” I said. “Omega tracked its origin to the same town in Massachusetts. In fact, it might have given the rogue the address.”

  “Baiting a trap for you,” the little vampire said.

  “No, for him,” Stacia said, nodding at Declan, who was working on another circle, this one outside, behind the house. “Those things can’t do much to Chris, but Slim Spooky over there is more fragile.”

  My grandfather snorted, catching our attention. “Mr. Fragile threw a fifty-thousand-pound truck five hundred feet.”

  “He can quite literally shatter a mountain range,” Stacia said. “But if he hits his head on a low kitchen cabinet, he could die from bleeding on the brain.”

  “I thought he had shields or something?” Gramps asked.

  “He does, but if he doesn’t have them up, he’s as vulnerable as anyone else,” Lydia said. “Theoretically.”

  “What’s that mean?” Gramps asked.

  “The bigger drone, like a grapefruit, that you always see around him has a vial of pure vampire serum in it with an onboard syringe system,” Stacia said. “He has a vial around his neck but he’s too quick to use it on other people. Doesn’t help if his head gets crushed or his heart ripped out.”

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t that kill almost anyone, even you… even me?” Gramps asked.

  “None of us are Earth’s best defense system,” Lydia said. “With that alien thing he’s about to harvest, he can maybe help us recon the enemy, perhaps even make a preemptive strike.”

  At that moment, Declan finished his rune work and came walking back to us. He was frowning.

  “There’s nothing human or even really alive left of it, D,” Stacia said, guessing his issue.

  “I know. Just goes against my nature is all,” he said.

  “Thank God for that,” Lydia said. “If you start liking this shit then we can’t be friends anymore, Mr. Wizard.”

  “Yeah. No worries there,” he said with a little shudder. “This is gonna be gory though,” he warned.

  “You’re talking to two werewolves, a vampire, and the guy who sliced up Loki’s Spawn with karate chops,” Lydia pointed out.

  “Hmm,” he said, studying her, clearly unimpressed with her logic. “Okay, but I warned you.”

  He turned back to his circle. Behind us, I heard a loud thump. Turning, I saw the massive boulder had just landed back in its original position by the end of the driveway, where it had been most of my life. It rocked a little as it settled.

  The dirt and gravel of the driveway where it had temporarily rested suddenly spouted up into the air and the figure of the minion came rocketing out, shooting overhead and coming back down in the center of Declan’s new circle.

  “How’s it work?” Lydia asked, a gleam of interest in her eyes.

  “It’s mostly just a containment circle,” he said.

  “But what about the organic matter?” Lydia asked, puzzled.

  Declan turned away from the minion in the circle and looked her way. He flexed the fingers of his right hand. The minion exploded.

  Floating a foot off the ground, glaring at us one moment, then just a spray of blood and gore that hit the invisible walls of the circle like a rodent exploding in a microwave. At least I guess, ’cause I’ve never seen that rodent thing and that would be pretty cruel. After a second, the blood and guts fell to the ground in a perfect circle around a gleaming silver skull and spine that was still floating.

  “Since when can you just explode people?” Lydia asked, hands on her hips.

  “Since seventh grade or so. Aunt Ash made me train in case another pedophile came around.”

  “And that training included people exploding?” Lydia pressed.

  “Weeds. I practiced on weeds. Had to come up with multiple ways. Eventually I learned several ways to do… that,” he said, waving a hand at the mess.

  “And why is this the first we’re hearing about it?” my sister-in-law asked.

  “He hates it, and Darci, Ashling, and Levi were completely appalled by it, so he came up with other ways to do things,” Stacia said. “Like the metal orbs of death and laser beams from his hands.”

  “And the portal poppers,” he added, “although those are pretty bad too.”

  “Effective though,” I said. “But it appears that you don’t need to teleport balls of metal into a body to do that.”

  “Fire, water, air, and earth all work,” Declan said. “Morrigan used ice, which is just water. The popper balls are metal, which is a form of earth. Hyperinflate someone’s lungs and you get the same kind of effect. Turn
their insides to steam and gas and…” He trailed off, waving a hand at the mess on the ground.

  “And you can do all four?” Lydia asked. He nodded. “Savage,” she said in an approving tone.

  “You hide it because it’s scary?” Gramps asked. “Makes you scarier.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Like I need that. Also, it takes concentration—focus. More so than, say, burning out a brain or stopping a heart. Teleporting those metal balls is fast and easy, partially because I built the spells into them when I made them. And I might have put a little bit of focusing spell work inside that circle to make both the, ah, exploding thing and this easier.”

  He flicked a finger and the inside of the circle burned like the fires of Hell. It only lasted about fifteen seconds but when it ended, there was just charred ground and ash surrounding the metal remains.

  My grandfather flicked a holy shit look my way, then asked, “So, what do we do with that?” He nodded at the shiny metal skull and spine.

  “I was wondering if I could buy one of your stainless-steel milk cans?” Declan asked.

  “You can’t,” Gramps said in firm tone. “You can have one, but you can’t buy one.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gordon,” Declan said.

  “I’m pretty sure we’re at the stage of things where you call me Alex,” Gramps said with a twisted little grin.

  “Thank you, Alex,” Declan said, turning toward the barn. Behind him, the skull and spine floated along, bracketed by the two small orb drones.

  My grandfather was scratching his head, watching the witch walk across the farmyard. “You know, I think I’m supposed to be self-involved with this whole werewolf condition and the loss of Len, soul searching and grieving. But damned if that young man of yours doesn’t just derail all of my thoughts completely.”

  “He’s a piece of work,” Lydia agreed.

  Gramps turned my way. “The police investigation will tie up Len’s remains until it’s done. His memorial will wait till he’s released, as there is just me and you for his family. Brett and Kelly’s people next door can look after the farm; hell, they half run the place now. So, I want to go back to New York City with you all.”