Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1)

by Amy J. Wenglar

  "You're alive," he breathes, setting his violin aside and coming out from behind the counter to hug me. "You look like you've been to hell and back, but you're alive." He pulls away from me, frowning. "You seem different though. Like you have a dark smudge on your soul. What happened?"

  "You sound like Sarah," I say, rolling my eyes.

  I want to tell him what's really happened, not the lie I so carefully formulated on my way over here. I want to tell him that I gave birth to a demon light-monster who tried to kill Dr. D's girlfriend in a jealous rage. But I can't. I promised Dr. D last night that I wouldn't speak of any of this, and he's the last person I want to cross right now. I need to keep my mouth shut and my emotions in check until I can make sense of everything.

  The smartly dressed rideshare-driving hipster looks up from his newspaper and arches an eyebrow, curiously watching us with bright greenish-gold eyes.

  "And you were there. You know what happened." I lower my voice and make light of the situation by playfully punching his shoulder. "Everything's fine. I sent you a text last night."

  I hope he gets where I'm going with this because I really don't feel comfortable with supernatural shoptalk in front of the nosy rideshare driver.

  "Ah yes. You told me you were with him," Colin says disdainfully. "You stayed with him then, I assume?" He puts his hands on my shoulders, his eyes locked on my face.

  "I did," I say, trying to ignore the glances from the curious eavesdropper. "But before you get all judgy, it wasn't like that. At all. He has a guest bedroom that he let me use."

  Colin looks offended as he moves behind the counter and turns on some music to drown out our conversation. "I put a charm on your house," he whispers. "It was perfectly safe for you to return home."

  "Apparently Dr. D did not think so. He thought there were more of them out there."

  He makes a noise of disapproval. "That's just what he told you. He had a scrumptious college freshman in his house, ripe for the taking. Of course he had to protect you," he says, air-quoting the "protect you" part.

  "I think he's got a little more on his mind right now than… well, that." Another disapproving snort. "Anyway, I did not drive over here at the crack of dawn to talk about what sort of dirty things Dr. D may or may not be thinking. Bottom line is that I'm safe and that everyone else in that club is safe. Right?"

  "Yes. It was a lot of work, but we got everyone out and sent home." He walks back behind the counter and lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. "What can I make for you? Your personalized Colin Special?"

  "No. Caffeine. Something with caffeine and lots of it. It doesn't even have to be fancy."

  "Please," he mutters. "You want cheap and flavorless? Go to the coffee shop down the street."

  Pulling jars of dried herbs and flower petals from the shelf, he sets himself to work with his mortar and pestle, eyebrows knit together in concentration, muddling up a storm. I fight the growing urge to tell him about the incident with Madeleine, but I need to stay true to my promise. Dr. D really might kill me if I don’t.

  "I need that journal," I mutter, plopping into a seat at the bar and propping my head up on my hands. "Colin, how can I get my hands on it? You're magical. Can't you find it?"

  "Druids have been looking for that journal for years now," he says. "Whoever has it must have some pretty powerful enchantments surrounding it to make it so impossible to find." His eyes narrow as he sets the mortar and pestle aside. "You really think your mother destroyed it? You don't think she has it stashed somewhere?"

  "My mother," I say with disgust. "She can't even be bothered to return a text message or a phone call. She's in Europe with her latest fling, supposedly. And if she has a stash of anything, it's drugs." I watch as Colin pours a slow, steady stream of boiling water into a delicate clear teapot and hope he doesn't notice when I remove the domed lid from a little stand of tea cakes and take one. "Did you know Dr. D knew my father?"

  "Did he? I was wondering why he seemed so interested in protecting you, yet still keeping you in the dark about what's happening." He frowns at my blatant pastry theft and I stop chewing. "Please. Don't let me stop you. Help yourself."

  "What? They’re usually on the house. Here." I reach into my back pocket and pull out a few dollar bills and some loose change, which I slap on the counter. "I guess my father didn't want me to get involved in this supernatural stuff either. My mother was no different. Anyway, between you and Dr. D, I'd say I'm pretty well protected for now."

  "Well, I will protect you. Dr. D, on the other hand. I think he wants a little more than to just protect you." Air quotes again.

  "Who says I can't protect myself?" Colin gives me a condescending look, and I once again stifle the urge to admit to my deathly light-ray. "What? I could. Maybe. And so what if he does have something else on his agenda?" I shrug. "It doesn't mean I'm interested in… that. Besides, he has a girlfriend." I pause. "I met her this morning. She's nice."

  God, I don't even believe myself.

  A sly grin stretches across Colin's face, and I find myself blushing fiercely at the look of accusation in his eyes. "Sophia Kelly, you are a liar if I ever knew one."

  Colin has really made an effort lately to play it cool where Dr. D is concerned. And while his tone may be light and carefree, his eyes are dark and unsettled. I avoid his gaze as I pretend to be interested in the last few seconds of my tea's brewing cycle.

  "I have no interest in dating or pursuing anyone right now, especially after all of this Unseelie insanity." I poke at the pastry crumbs on my plate. "I'd hate to have to break a date because I was held up by Unseelie."

  "That's why you stick with supernaturals," says Colin with an uneasy laugh. "We get it. But just stay away from vampires."

  "I'm pretty sure I can keep my emotions in check," I say, rolling my eyes. "And if I'm honest, I'd prefer to stay away from all of you."

  "Well, lots of women have fallen victim to vampires over the centuries. There's nothing unusual about that. But don't let him get to you, Sophe."

  "He has a girlfriend," I say again, emphasizing the "girlfriend" part.

  "Oh, come on. You think having a girlfriend factors at all into the immortal mind of a centuries-old vampire?" He chuckles a little at that. "Having a girlfriend is nothing more than a way to fit into society. It means nothing. He has you in his sights. That's all he sees right now. A new challenge. You saw it during that fencing match. You can't deny that he has a thing for you. But a relationship, if you could even call it that, with a vampire is not as romantic as the movies and teen love stories make it out to be. He could ruin you, and he should know better." He presses his lips together. "He should know better," he mutters again. "That idiot is going to get us all killed."

  "Jeez, Colin. You should know better. I really don't think we need to automatically jump to an everyone-will-die scenario because of something you've created in your head about Dr. D and his supposed intentions with me. My God." Now it's my turn to be offended. "Regardless of his intentions, do you really think I'm so weak as to throw myself at a professor, a world-renowned, Grammy-winning pianist? Who dates morose-looking French models? Do you really think I expect or even want a relationship? With him?"

  "If he tries anything with you, I swear, I will end his immortality myself," Colin promises.

  "What is your beef with him? Why do you guys hate each other so much?"

  "Druids and vampires typically don't get along. Lots of bad blood between us, so to speak. Goes back hundreds and hundreds of years," he says. "I don't trust him, and he doesn't trust me. You find that a lot in the supernatural community. The Council of the Elders is trying to bring everyone together. Trying to be more modern and PC, but we still have a way to go. A long way to go, in fact."

  "Council of the Elders?" I perk up. "That sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings. I want to be on the Council. Is Gandalf on the council? Dracula? Do you have to vote for who can be on it? Are there elections? Ooh, with magic ballots? And does the�
��"

  "Sophe." Colin swallows a laugh as he tries to remain serious. You have to admit, it does sound silly. "No. It's nothing like that. The Council of the Elders consists of leaders from every supernatural faction, and they can barely come to agreement half the time. It sounds a lot more important than it is. But it's a step in the right direction, anyway."

  "Kind of like our own government," I mutter. "What do the Fae have to say about the attacks? If there are bad Fae, then there have to be good Fae, too, right?"

  "The Fae are not part of the council. They have their own realm. We do not. They have their own system of governing, if you can call it that. And they are completely silent on everything that has happened. The only thing either Fae Court has shown any interest in right now is you."

  "Then I really need to get to that book. I need to find out why everyone's so interested in me."

  "You're flying home soon, right? For winter break?"

  "Yes. Next week," I say with a sigh. "And you know, it's funny. On one hand, I'm not ready to deal with my mother and the seedy little underworld she runs around in, but on the other hand, I can't wait to see her. And it will be different this time, too. No more brushing this off, Colin. I need answers. I will demand answers this time. I will take away all her drugs, strap her to the bed, and put her through detox myself if that's what it will take."

  "And what if she's not there? What if she… Do you have a backup plan?"

  The tone in Colin's voice worries me. Despite the fact that I know my scatterbrained mother very well, it hadn't even occurred to me that she might blow me off. Not when I'm so ready for answers. Not when I'm finally ready to take all of this seriously.

  "I won't need one," I say adamantly. "She'll be there, Colin."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back-up plans really are smart, and it's too bad I don't have one. The lack of communication between my mother and me feels a bit more real when I land in L.A. for winter break the following week.

  She has to remember that I'm flying home today. She couldn't possibly have forgotten. She's not going to blow me off. She's not. She wouldn't do that to me.

  I attempt to call her yet again, but only get her voicemail, just as I have all day. All week, in fact. Maybe it was a mistake to assume that I could fly home and actually get to see her. Even though the woman is a hot mess, she's still my mother, and I'd like to think she wants to see me, too.

  The cab lets me off outside the run-down apartment I used to share with my mother. A feeling of dread settles into my stomach as I approach the front door. A baby cries inside, and I hesitate a moment before knocking softly.

  Surely I haven't been gone long enough for my mother to have had another child.

  Honestly, the thought barely fazes me, but I'm saddened to think of another child burdened by her constant drug use and rampant alcoholism. But it's not my mother who answers the door. It's a short African-American man wearing a stained T-shirt and shorts, as well as a wary expression.

  "Yeah?" he asks.

  A woman, his wife perhaps, appears at the door behind him, a baby in her arms and a toddler clinging to one leg.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong apartment." I look up at the number on the door, but I’m certain it's my mother's apartment. With a desperate look at the man and his wife, I say, "I'm looking for my mother. I'm sorry. She used to live in this apartment. I was away, and…" I trail off, realizing these people couldn't care less why I'm here.

  "Well, she doesn't live here now." He gives me a polite smile that's tinged with annoyance. "We've lived here for the past three months."

  "I see. Okay, well, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

  Numbly, I turn to make my way back out to the sidewalk. I have no idea where to go or what to do now. It was silly of me to ever assume anything with my mother. Any other mother would've contacted her child to let her know such important things as a change in residence. But not my mother. Anger scorches through me, but it's directed at me. From me. I'd gotten caught up with winter break and the fact that maybe I could see my mother. Hang out. Find out if I'm really a Changeling. You know, the usual mother-daughter stuff. But now I realize I should've stayed home.

  Two months ago, my mother had seemed so pleased to hear that I was planning to come home for the holidays, even rattling off a list of all the things we would do once I got back. She had it all planned out, which had been unexpected, yet completely refreshing. She'd been even more pleased when I'd wired her a pretty significant chunk of money out of my own meager savings account so she could catch up on some back bills and get the car fixed. She'd been so appreciative and so interested in me back then.

  It had been dumb of me to give her any credit whatsoever, even for something as simple as remembering the day that her only daughter would be flying home to spend the holidays with her. It had been even dumber of me to buy a one-way ticket home and let nearly a month go by before confirming and then reconfirming my plans with her. But the dumbest thing of all had to be the money I gave her. Money that she likely spent on drugs and booze and a trip to Europe with Hector, whoever he was. It was money that I didn't think I needed at the time. And now I'm the one who is screwed.

  I walk around the block a couple of times and finally, feeling defeated and utterly alone, I sink down onto a bench and pull out my phone.

  I quickly respond to Greg and let him know I made it home safely. There's no need to worry him just yet. I'd already deleted a barrage of texts from Dr. D that I hadn't even bothered reading earlier, probably wanting to talk about what happened last week with Madeleine. Probably wanting to berate me and yell at me for being stupid. But I want nothing to do with it. Or with him. Ignoring the situation will not make the deathly light-ray go away, but ignoring Dr. D might make him go away. For a little while, anyway. My phone dings, signaling the arrival of another text. And it's one I'm not expecting. "DID YOU MAKE IT TO LA?" I think for a moment before I quickly type out a response letting Dr. D know I've arrived, but I say nothing about the fact that I can't get ahold of my mother. For now, I just need to figure out what my plan is. I am alone and without the protection everyone seems to think I need. I may as well throw myself into a den of Unseelie and pray that my light-ray decides to present itself and be extra deadly this time.

  I walk around the block a few more times, hoping to get a response from my mother, but as the sun starts to set on the City of Angels, I begin to lose hope. I've called every place I know she's worked in the past six months, but their answers are all the same. "She doesn't work here anymore. We have no idea where she went."

  Emotionally exhausted and physically drained, I decide to check in to the seedy motel two blocks down from the apartment. It's not necessarily the safest choice, but it beats spending the night out on the street. I think. I will figure out how to get home tomorrow. Tonight, though, I just want to get some sleep.

  The room smells like musty body odor, and the dinginess of the place seems to cling to me as soon as I close the door behind me. I grit my teeth and decide to make the best of it. I don't have much choice.

  "Well, if the Fae don't get me, the Bloods will," I mutter aloud, though I can't imagine that even the Fae would want to step foot into a dump like this.

  The sound of my own voice seems to strangely enliven the dreary little room. I turn the fan on high in hopes that the smell will dissipate. Remembering what Greg told me once about checking a room for bedbugs, I pull the sheets back to examine the mattress, worried about what I might find. But of all the creepy things lurking about this room, bedbugs do not appear to be a problem. The bed seems to be the cleanest thing in the place, which is a pleasant surprise.

  Flipping on the TV, I switch through the channels until I find a station playing the local news. I need the background noise and, quite frankly, could use the company.

  Braving the dank and creepy bathroom, I quickly wash my face at the tiny pedestal sink. I don't care if it's early, all I can think about is going to sleep. The mattre
ss is a bit lumpy, but after the day I've had, I wouldn't care if it was a slab of concrete. I reach for my backpack, fumbling around for the two Hershey bars and the bottle of water I'd purchased at the airport, when my hand brushes against a stack of mail I'd grabbed from the mailbox days ago and forgotten about.

  I'm not sure why Greg and I let our mail pile up, considering that all we have to do is step out onto the front porch, reach into the little black old-timey mailbox that's affixed to the front of the house, and retrieve it. As I lean over to grab the second Hershey bar from the night table, one of the envelopes slips off my lap and falls onto the floor. With a groan, I lean down to pick it up, but not without catching a glimpse of the name on the envelope: Christoph von Drauchenberg.

  "What the…" I turn the envelope over in my hands a couple of times. It's from the tax office and looks important. And there's no mistaking it. It's definitely addressed to Dr. D. I run my finger along the flap to open it. "I can easily explain this, can't I? After all, the letter was in my mailbox. It's a simple mistake. So what if I accidentally opened it? He wouldn't be mad at me for that, would he?"

  He gets mad at you for everything. Of course he'll be mad.

  The room seems to sigh all around me, as if it, too, is disgusted by my nosiness with other people’s mail.

  I slowly pull the contents of the envelope out and read through them. It's a property tax bill. For my house. With Dr. D's name on it. I feel my entire body go numb and the letter flutters from my fingertips to land beside me on the bed, and for a moment I just stare blankly at the figures on TV.

  So that's it, then. One mystery is solved. Dr. D is our mystery benefactor. The house belongs to him. And I'd be willing to bet the rest of my Hershey bar dinner that he is also responsible for the remodel, the new furniture, the fancy wood flooring, and the groceries that are delivered like German clockwork every week.

  It's been him this entire time. I can't believe I hadn't examined this possibility before. I'd never made the connection. Never even considered it. I've suspected that I had Dr. D pegged all wrong in a lot of ways. This one takes the cake.