The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

by Cat Adams

  Why did he look so familiar? Damn it. I would swear I’d never met the guy, and yet— Nope. I couldn’t remember, and the harder I chased the thought, the more elusive it became.

  I was still trying to remember when the EMTs arrived a few minutes later.

  “I’m going with the ambulance.” It wasn’t a question. He’d have to bind me tighter than he had the prisoner if he wanted to stop me.

  Baker turned to Griffiths. “Go with the prisoner. I’ll see to Ms. Peahi. When she’s stable, I’ll bring the princess to headquarters. She can help with the questioning.”

  I watched as the EMTs gently placed my unconscious grandmother on the gurney. The man on the ground had attacked a helpless little old woman, would have done God alone knew what to her before he was done. Hell, yes, I’d help with the questioning.

  I was looking forward to it.

  * * *

  Even in an ambulance, the drive to the hospital took awhile. The streets were just that crowded. Less than twenty-four hours remained before the ceremonies on Serenity were to take place, and excitement was building to a fever pitch.

  My grandmother began stirring after a few minutes and soon she was asking what had happened and complaining that she was fine.

  She didn’t remember a thing after waking up that morning.

  On the one hand, that was a relief. She’d been so terrified, it was a mercy for her not to have to remember.

  On the other hand, she’d make a lousy witness when it came to trial. And I was more than a little worried by the amnesia. The chemical on the rag was simple chloroform; it shouldn’t have caused memory problems.

  I wanted to ask the EMTs, but I didn’t want to alarm Gran. I concentrated hard and sent my question directly into the thoughts of the woman taking my grandmother’s vital signs.

  She glanced at me before returning her attention to the gauge on the blood pressure cuff. We’re wondering about her memory as well. It might be the bump on her head, but security took a sample of the cloth he held to her mouth to see if there’s a curse involved, and we’ve swabbed her mouth and nasal passages. I’m sure the doctors will run more tests, but I’m betting there’s magic involved. Try not to worry. She’s old but she’s stronger than she looks. Barring complications, I think she’s going to be fine.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Thank God.

  How are you? Any bloodlust?

  When I thought about it, I was a little surprised that I didn’t feel any, considering the stress I was under. It would be really sad to think that this level of stress was my new normal. No. But I should probably eat something, sooner rather than later. Is there a cafeteria at the hospital?

  Can you eat solids? Her mental voice managed to sound surprised.

  Not really. Baby food, mostly, and stuff run through a blender. Broth or soup will do. I drink nutrition shakes in a pinch.

  Then you should be able to get something. But take care of it quick. We don’t want there to be any problems at the hospital.

  No. We don’t.

  I silently relayed our conversation to Baker, who had pulled out her cell phone and begun sending text messages. She tilted the phone to show me that she was sending more security agents to the hospital. One of them met us as we arrived and handed me a nutrition shake and some broth. Not exactly high-class dining, but it was good enough to keep the monster at bay while we got Gran through the check-in process and into a private room.

  The whole time, Gran alternated between insisting that she was fine and worrying aloud about the cost of hospitalization. Eventually they gave her something to help her calm down and rest—or maybe just to get her to shut up. When she was sleeping, deeply and peacefully, I sat beside her for a while, studying her. She looked fragile, old, and tired. Lines of care that hadn’t been there six months ago had etched deep creases between her brows and at the corners of her mouth.

  Oh, Gran, why didn’t you tell me? I’d have helped. You know I would have.

  Queen Lopaka’s mental voice intruded on my thoughts, cold and imperious. That is good to know. I was appalled when Helen advised me of your grandmother’s situation. I wondered how you could let my brother’s widow sink to such depths. It seemed like atypical behavior for you.

  I sighed both physically and mentally as tears filled my eyes. We had a falling-out when I refused to keep dealing with my mother. The last I knew, Gran had banked the money from the house sale and was living in a nice assisted-living place on the mainland. I knew she was visiting Mom once a month. I’d hoped …

  What had I hoped? That Gran would stop being codependent, stop rescuing my mom? The habits of a lifetime are a bitch to break, even if you want to. Which Gran didn’t. She was determined to save my mother from herself, would fight for her salvation to the last breath. But I just didn’t have that in me. I felt my mother should pay for her crimes. She’d broken the law. Only prison could fix what was wrong.

  I should’ve checked up on her. I should’ve stopped her somehow. I guess I expected … I don’t know. She’s always been the one to take care of me.

  Lopaka’s voice softened in my mind. She probably hid it from you precisely for that reason. And she very well might have hidden it from your attendant spirit.

  The sirens mostly consider me a true siren because I happen to have friends who are clairvoyants and my sister hangs around me, even after death. Prophets and attendant spirits are royal attributes. I consider them mostly coincidence.

  Probably. Hiding stuff from me is classic Gran. Yes, she’d hide her problems from Ivy and lie to my mother. And to me. Not to be a martyr, nor a hero. But just because she’s Gran.

  Indeed. I see now why my brother loved her. She might not have been siren royalty but she was worthy to be the mate of one. There was both frustration and admiration in her voice. Typical.

  Lopaka’s mental voice sounded exhausted. She’d contacted me mind-to-mind before, even over long distances, without strain. But this time was different. The queen might be recovering, but she wasn’t herself yet by a long shot. I let out a little growl. You need to rest.

  Yes. And I will. But now I need you to go with Agent Baker. The questioning of the prisoner is not going well. Our psychic believes something important will occur tomorrow, but cannot obtain details. While I am willing to use torture if necessary to save lives, Gunnar believes the man’s hatred of you may enrage him enough that he will be unable to guard his thoughts from us if you are in the room.

  I didn’t know who Gunnar was and didn’t much care. I didn’t want to leave the hospital; I wanted to stay and make sure that nothing else happened to Gran.

  There will be guards on the door at all times. She will be protected.

  “Ivy, are you still here?” I spoke both in my head and out loud. My sister’s ghost hadn’t done anything since letting me know she was with us in Gran’s apartment building, so I wasn’t sure I’d get an answer. She used to be with me almost always. Now, she spent her time guarding our mom in prison. It was hard work for the ghost of a grade-school kid, but I was betting she was doing a damned fine job of it. That didn’t stop me from missing her.

  The overhead light flashed once. That was our code. One flash meant yes, two no.

  “They want me to go question the bad guy. Can you keep an eye on Gran for me?”

  The light flashed once again.

  “Thanks. Love you, Ivy.” Tears stung my eyes as I looked first up at the light, then down at my grandmother on the bed. The lights flickered wildly for a few seconds. I took that to mean, Me, too.

  I wanted to be there when Gran woke up. We needed to talk, about so many things. Today’s little adventure had taught me not to take her for granted. I was going to work things out with her even if that meant dealing with my mother again.

  The queen’s voice tickled my mind again, the tinkling of crystal chimes. The doctors have assured Adriana that your grandmother will sleep deeply for several hours. If you go now, you may be back before s
he wakes.

  You’re sure?

  Please, niece. I will ensure my sister-in-law is safe. But there are others who are not. Lives are at stake. You must go, and quickly.

  Put like that, I really didn’t have much choice. The queen was considering this a family matter.

  Family. That meant a lot on this island. I’ve never had much of it. Most everyone I considered family was lying on that hospital bed. I bent down to kiss my grandmother’s cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I whispered.

  * * *

  The interrogation room was grim. The cinder-block walls were painted a funky pinkish-tan. Brick red trim surrounded the one-way mirror familiar to anyone who has ever seen a crime drama on television. A battered table was bolted to the floor. On it, untouched, rested two glasses and a sweating plastic pitcher of water.

  Again, anyone who watches television knows why the water is there. But you’d be surprised how many people actually drink it. It’s impossible to sit in a room like this and not be nervous. Nerves make a person thirsty. But a full bladder, when there’s no possibility of emptying it, is damned uncomfortable, and pissing yourself is degrading, humiliating, and puts you at a disadvantage with the interviewers. The clock on the wall, with its big, easy-to-read numbers, is there so that the prisoner can’t help but be aware of the seconds, minutes, and hours passing.

  If any of this was having an effect on the prisoner, I couldn’t see it. He sat calmly, his arms resting on the table, breathing slow and easy.

  He’d obviously played this game before.

  So it was time to change the rules.

  A large man in a very high-end suit handed me an earpiece. Baker had introduced him as the secretary of Siren Security, Gunnar Thorsen. It was evidently a cabinet post, but with active duties. Very active lately.

  He looked about as you’d expect from the name: big and Nordic. His long blond hair was pulled back into a braid, revealing chiseled features and eyes the ice blue of a winter sky. His expression was just that cold. “We have a psychic on duty,” he explained.

  As if on cue, the psychic began speaking in my ear. “Testing, one, two, three, testing.” I heard her loud and clear.

  “It works.”

  “Good. You’ve fed?”

  I blinked a little at the directness of the question. “Yes.”

  “Right. We need him alive and talking.”

  Um, wow. Okay. I’ve come close to losing control a time or two, but I have never actually fed off of a human. Nor do I intend to. It would send me over the edge, make me fully a vampire. I am not, and will never be, a bat. Ever.

  I looked through the glass at the prisoner and felt a fine burning rage fill me. He was a terrorist. He’d tried to kidnap my gran. I had no idea what he’d intended to do with her, but I assumed it would have been bad. As it was, she’d wound up in the hospital.

  I wouldn’t feed on the bastard, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to hurt him.

  I beat down my rage by force of will, calming myself with slow, deep, breaths. After a moment, I was back in full control. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”

  The psychic nodded in approval, so Thorsen led me out into the interrogation room.

  “You!” The prisoner leapt to his feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor behind him.

  “Yup. Me.” I gave him my sunniest, most saccharine smile.

  He stood, snarling, breathing as heavily as if he’d been running. It was obviously all he could do not to leap across the room and attack me.

  “He wants to kill you.” The psychic’s voice came clearly through the ear bud. “He’s not striking because he knows he can’t make it past Thorsen. But if he sees an opening, he’ll take it. You will need to be very careful. He’s hoping that if he kills you, we will kill him. It will keep him from revealing anything and having the curse take him. He wants to die a martyr to his cause.”

  Oh great, a cause. As if any religion justified murder, or the kidnapping of little old ladies. I stared at him and tried to put my finger on what it was about him that seemed so familiar. Who the hell was this guy?

  “Why do you look so familiar?”

  “You don’t recognize me?” He spat the words.

  “Should I?”

  “He’s thinking about a brother. Something about a desert and a demon. Damn it, he’s shutting it down. Keep him engaged.”

  A desert. And a demon.

  Just like that, I knew. I had never seen him before, but I knew him all the same. The psychic was right. I’d met his brother. His name was Barnes. He’d delivered me to Eirene shortly before she called up a greater demon to devour me and my friends. To save us, I’d used my siren powers, engaging Eirene in a battle to control the men working for her. It had been too much for them. Their minds were destroyed, snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.

  I shuddered, my stomach roiling at the memory. It had been an accident. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, much less kill them. But I’d done it.

  He must have seen my expression. The memory was still raw in my mind. He nodded and sneered. “So, you do remember. You remember what you did to him. Good. I want you to know that you and that other siren bitch are the cause of this. You reminded us why sirens have no place in this world. We will wipe you out like the vermin you are.”

  He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he was smiling. That was even more terrifying. Because while I’d done something hideous and evil by accident, his actions were absolutely deliberate.

  The tattoo on his forearm was beginning to glow, the colors shining like light through stained glass, like sparkling jewels. He was talking, and that was starting to activate the death curse that was part of the binding oath he’d taken to keep their secrets. I could feel the magic coming off of him in waves of heat. “The first real blow is tomorrow. But it won’t end until you’re dead. Every last one of you.”

  Now he was foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head. He made thick, wet choking sounds, his body spasming so strongly that he tripped over the chair. It was like a grand mal seizure, but magical, not physical, in cause. A strong smell of sulfur filled the room.

  “Medic!” Thorsen’s bass bellow was loud enough to hurt my ears. He rushed to the still form on the floor and began giving CPR. No artificial respiration. The smell of sulfur and bitter almonds hung too heavy on the body. But he kept working to keep the prisoner’s heart pumping until the EMTs arrived and pronounced him dead.

  23

  I sat in Thorsen’s large, airy office, shivering in reaction, huddled over a cup of steaming coffee. Thorsen had personally taken charge of my debriefing. Undoubtedly the psychic was being debriefed and writing a report somewhere else.

  Emotions swept over me in waves. Guilt: I was the one who caused this. I personally had caused an entire terrorist organization to be formed. People were dying, and it was all my fault. No, not all mine. Eirene owned a share of the blame. Of course, she was already dead, and even half the blame was more than enough for me.

  Anger and frustration: that man had been a terrorist and an asshole, but he shouldn’t have had to die like that. The guys we were up against acted as if people were as disposable as used tissues. That was just so wrong. That they were heating it up and serving it as religion only made it worse.

  “When he was dying, the psychic got the impression of a cross, and the tattoo on his arm was of a cross as well. It’s obviously a symbol with some importance to them. Do you have any idea, other than the obvious, of what it signifies?”

  “Nope.”

  There was a tap on the door. A petite brunette with a crisp uniform and a no-nonsense attitude peeked in. “Sir. We ran his prints through the system. They came up for a minor infraction in Detroit, USA, under the name Jason Barnes. I’m running the name Barnes through our database. We’re getting a ton of results, but none of them seems relevant.”

  “Stay on it.”

  “Yes, sir.” She ducked back out.

  “The clairvo
yants kept saying that you were the key to what is going on, but they couldn’t tell me why. The queen insisted that you were loyal and had saved her and Adriana at the bridal shop. I wanted to judge for myself.”

  “And?”

  He answered my question with a question. “What happened in the desert? How did you know Jason Barnes’s brother? What do you know about the Guardians of the Faith?”

  I was being interrogated. Oh, we weren’t in a cinder-block room with a one-way mirror, but this was an interrogation nonetheless.

  Fair enough.

  I straightened in my chair. “Are you taping this?”

  He arched a single blond eyebrow.

  “I’ll tell you what little I know. Lives are at stake. But I don’t want to risk some of what I’m saying to leave this room.”

  “I can’t promise you that.” He shook his head. “I have to pursue my investigations, to protect Queen Lopaka and the others.”

  I hadn’t expected any less, but he was missing my point. “I know that. But I have enough problems with the press, and with law enforcement officials thinking I’m a monster. Use the information any way you need to, but be discreet. I don’t want to see it on the news.”

  He nodded his approval. “You have my word.” He gave the words weight and I felt magic building behind them. He made a quick gesture with his right hand and I heard a sound like the ringing of a bell, saw a flash of color as red runes flickered to life in the ceiling and walls.

  “Now, talk.”

  I wasn’t sure what was relevant, so I told him everything that had anything to do with the sirens. I started with the curse Stefania had laid on my sister and me—when I showed him the mark in my palm, he said “Hmm” in a quiet voice. I went through the incident in the desert, my encounters with Okalani, and everything else, including what Hiwahiwa had told me regarding the clairvoyant’s vision.

  He asked many questions.

  Most, I answered. Some, I couldn’t—because I flat out didn’t know. He didn’t seem upset or disappointed, just accepted my lack of knowledge and moved on.