The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

by Adams, Cat

  this witch, whoever she was, was

  jealous of Adriana for any reason, and

  she’d touched that peanut oil, even one

  drop might be deadly to Adriana. I

  didn’t say this out loud. The fewer

  people who knew, the better. After all,

  I’m siren enough to have to worry about

  it.

  “King Dahlmar, is there a woman in

  your past, a witch, who would have

  reason to be jealous of Adriana?” I

  asked in an undertone.

  Dahlmar was shaking his head, but

  Igor—how

  had

  he

  heard

  me?—

  answered.

  “Irina.

  Duchess

  Irina

  Turescheva.”

  “That was over long before I met

  Adriana,” the king protested. Adriana

  remained silent, staring intently at

  Natasha.

  “For you, perhaps. For her, not so

  much, I think.” Igor turned to Natasha.

  “Irina Turescheva,” he called, then

  spoke firmly in

  Ruslandic.

  King

  Dahlmar

  had

  stopped

  translating.

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a

  cell phone, dialed a number from

  memory, and began barking orders into

  the phone. He’d had to raise his voice,

  Natasha was screaming herself hoarse

  and thrashing back and forth in the chair.

  She gave one last shriek, her eyes rolling

  back into her head, and collapsed.

  Igor muttered something that was

  probably an obscenity as his hand shot

  out, checking for a pulse in Natasha’s

  neck. Apparently he didn’t find one,

  because he swiftly moved her to the

  floor and began CPR compressions. I

  went down on my knees next to her head

  to help.

  The world narrowed to the three of

  us. CPR doesn’t look like hard work, but

  it is: the physical labor of the

  compressions, the effort of breathing for

  two people. I was feeling light-headed

  by the time the EMTs arrived, and Igor

  looked beat. But when they hooked the

  machine up and gave her a shock, her

  heart started beating on its own and she

  took a deep, gasping breath.

  “Oh thank God,” I whispered. I sat on

  the floor, knees bent, not wanting to

  move. Igor used the table edge to haul

  himself upright, then extended a hand to

  me. I took it, grateful for the help.

  “I will go to the hospital with her,”

  King Dahlmar announced. “And we must

  call her father.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Igor

  bowed. Pulling himself together, he led

  his king out the door after the

  paramedics. With Dahlmar gone, I didn’t

  have to wait to be seated. I fell into the

  nearest chair.

  Adriana gave me a long, penetrating

  look. So much for your being useless.

  22

  By the time I went to bed that night, I

  knew that Natasha was going to be fine.

  She’d need to rest for a couple of days

  but the doctors swore there’d be no

  permanent damage even though she’d

  been used in a tug-of-war between a pair

  of powerful magic wielders. After

  Dahlmar, Igor, and Natasha left, the

  dinner party quickly broke up. I saw

  Adriana to her room and left her with

  trusted bodyguards, then returned to my

  rooms. A few minutes later, Helen Baker

  brought me a tray of delicious, nutritious

  liquids.

  The next morning, after a blissfully

  uneventful breakfast, the bride and

  groom adjourned to a morning-long

  interview with the royal biographers,

  which was to be followed by an

  afternoon photo shoot. I was left to my

  own devices.

  First, I called Alex. I doubted the

  police had had any luck tracking

  Okalani, but I wanted to be sure. If they

  needed a bio sample for a magical trace,

  I’d get one for them. Unfortunately, my

  call went straight to voice mail. I left a

  message, promising myself to try again

  later.

  I was tense, so I decided to go for a

  run. With enough clothes and sunscreen I

  should be okay if I stuck to the shady

  trail that wound through the compound

  and adjacent nature preserve.

  So I gave my security team a couple

  of minutes’ warning, started out with a

  few stretches, then Griffiths, Baker, and

  I headed out.

  It was so good to feel the wind in my

  face. I was wearing a silver-gray

  jogging suit with long sleeves and full-

  length pants, and a baseball cap with my

  ponytail pulled through the back.

  Coconut-scented sunscreen protected my

  face and hands. I felt the tightness in my

  body ease at the steady, rhythmic

  movement.

  Griffiths and Baker kept pace with me

  easily. They were fully armed and alert.

  So was I. If we compared weaponry, I

  was betting it would be a close tie. I

  don’t think any of us really expected any

  trouble but we didn’t let down our

  guard. Natasha might not be the only

  person being controlled by someone on

  the outside.

  The trails were absolutely stunning.

  Serenity is naturally lovely, with lush

  foliage in every shade of green and a

  rainbow-hued array of flowers and

  exotic birds. By the time we finished the

  run, I was relaxed yet fully alert, ready

  for whatever the day would bring.

  After the run, I took a quick shower—

  so did Baker and Griffiths, who were

  briefly replaced by two other members

  of the Siren Secret Service—and the

  three of us headed to the far side of the

  island so I could find a dressy lavalava

  for the wedding.

  It was early afternoon and I was on

  my third or fourth shop when Baker

  started acting uneasy. She kept tapping

  her fingers restlessly against her leg and

  checking her watch.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s just this feeling I’ve

  got … not a vision, not even a

  premonition exactly.”

  “You’re a prophet, right? Like your

  mother?” Baker’s mother had been Pili,

  the queen’s own prophet. Pili had

  sacrificed herself to close the demonic

  rift months back.

  “Yes. And I know that we have to get

  to Ms. Peahi’s apartment and get her out

  of there. Right now.”

  Gran? Why would Baker have a

  vision about my grandmother?

  I hurriedly put the clothes I’d been

  gathering back on the rack. I’d already

  found a dress for the wedding and a

  spare for other events. I could get by

  witho
ut anything else. “Let’s go. But

  you’ll have to lead. I’ve never been

  there.”

  Baker hit a number on speed dial on

  her cell phone and advised her people

  where we were headed. Our driver took

  us through the commercial district,

  where the streets were crowded with

  tourists, then into more residential

  neighborhoods, which were quieter.

  We

  soon

  left

  the

  prettier

  neighborhoods behind and drove into an

  area that looked like it was badly in

  need of renovation. When we pulled up

  in front of one building, I was shocked.

  This was where my gran was living?

  The place was worse than a dump.

  Baker opened the lobby door and the

  scents of old urine and rotting fruit,

  masked

  nauseatingly

  by

  room

  deodorizer, hit me like a punch to the

  gut.

  We walked across matted brown

  carpet so filthy it was sticky. The sound

  of a squalling baby carried clearly

  through the paper-thin walls, as did the

  blaring of a television news program

  rehashing the investigation into the

  terrorist attacks.

  There were no elevators. We climbed

  a steep, narrow staircase up to the

  second floor, where I saw my

  grandmother’s name on the door of

  apartment 210, a bare three steps from

  the top of the stairwell. I stared at the

  dirty door with its shiny new deadbolt,

  my vision blurring with tears of anger

  and frustration—anger that my gran had

  been reduced to this, frustration that

  she’d kept it from me.

  Strong emotions bring out the vampire

  in me, particularly when I haven’t eaten.

  So while the smells squelched any

  hunger pangs I might have had, my inner

  beast was very close to the surface. My

  eyes shifted into vampire focus, so that I

  could see each tiny hair on the back and

  legs of the little gray spider lying in wait

  in a web attached to the far corner of the

  hall ceiling. I could clearly hear every

  sound and movement in the building.

  So I was able to hear the front door

  opening on the floor below, the rapid

  breathing and pounding heart of someone

  in a hurry. I smelled my grandmother’s

  distinctive perfume mixed with the

  heady scent of fear—fear that made my

  mouth water.

  She started up the steps, her breath

  almost sobbing in her chest, as the door

  opened again, bringing with it the scent

  of an unwashed male.

  “She’s coming, and there’s someone

  stalking her.” My words were a sibilant

  hiss as my fangs extended, making

  speech more difficult. The derringer I’d

  tucked into my boot top was in my hand,

  though I didn’t remember drawing it. I

  was edging toward the staircase when a

  strong arm grabbed hold of mine. I

  turned, hissing, but Griffiths didn’t

  flinch. He jabbed his finger in a silent

  order for me to stand behind Baker, then

  moved smoothly down the stairs before I

  could argue. Baker stepped forward to

  block me.

  There was a muffled scream and the

  sharp scent of chemicals and the

  temperature dropped like a rock. Ivy

  was here. Gran was in danger and my

  baby sister’s ghost was here to help if

  she could. I pushed past Baker, but

  before I’d gone down more than two

  steps I heard the sounds of a brief

  struggle, then silence, except for the

  ambient noise of the building and harsh

  breathing.

  “It’s over.” Griffiths’s voice was

  calm and his breathing was steady.

  Apparently he’d been able to subdue the

  attacker without so much as breaking a

  sweat. Then again, he’s a big guy. A big,

  tough, well-trained guy. When I reached

  the ground floor, I saw that he had bound

  the bad guy with spelled cuffs and was

  using his ever-trusty cell phone to dial

  for an ambulance and backup. My

  grandmother was lying at his feet.

  I was kneeling next to my gran’s

  unconscious body before the second

  word had left Griffiths’s mouth. I pulled

  her against me, getting her off of that

  nasty, disgusting floor. The chill of Ivy’s

  presence settled around me as I held

  Gran close and checked her for injuries.

  Her breathing was steady. Her heartbeat

  was slowing back to normal. She was

  going to be all right. I sent up a silent

  prayer of thanks and twisted to look at

  her attacker.

  “You!” he snarled, then spat at me.

  The wad of saliva missed my face,

  thanks to my excellent reflexes. The

  phlegm left a trail of slime as it slid

  down the wall behind me.

  Only the fact that I had my

  grandmother in my arms kept me from

  lunging at the bastard and choking the

  snot out of him for what he’d done to

  her. Staring across at him, I realized that

  he looked familiar, but only vaguely,

  like someone I’d met once, briefly. Then

  again, maybe he just had one of those

  faces. Average height, dark blond hair,

  and ordinary features; built like he

  worked out, but not excessively. He

  wore ordinary jeans and a plain red T-

  shirt. The only thing out of the ordinary

  about him was the mark on his forearm

  —a tattoo in the shape of an elaborate,

  colorful cross in vivid green, red, and

  gold. I felt the magic from that mark and

  realized the tattoo was camouflage. He’d

  taken a binding oath.

  I found myself snarling, rage coloring

  every syllable I uttered. “What did you

  swear, and who did you swear it to?

  Why were you trying to kidnap my

  grandmother?”

  His eyes blazed with pure hatred. If

  looks could kill, I’d be dead in my

  boots. But they couldn’t, and glaring was

  all he could do, bound as he was by both

  handcuffs and magic.

  “I will tell you nothing, siren witch.”

  “Oh, you’ll talk.” Griffiths’s smile

  was absolutely chilling. “You’ll tell us

  everything we want to know.”

  If the man on the ground had any

  sense, he’d be terrified. Because he was

  dealing with sirens. When push comes to

  shove, they can use their magic to make

  a man do almost anything without

  hesitation. I, myself, had used my talent

  to save my life and that of my friends.

  The result still haunted my nightmares.

  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

&nb
sp; 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