Blood Recall

by Connie Suttle

  No shit, Sherlock, I replied, my sending dry.

  "At least Weldon isn't here to see this," Winkler shook his head as four vampires moved so swiftly around my shield it looked like an attack of whirling, black-leather trench coats. The clicking noises of their claws against the hardness of my shield was becoming annoying, however, just before they all became winking sparks and floated away on the warm, night air.

  Zaria and Ilya had arrived before Dalroy and Rhett.

  Charles

  Trajan and I parked three blocks away and went in quietly, while I shielded us against sight and sound.

  We found our three vampires waiting in the shadows near the back door of the bar, behind a dumpster, which covered their scent.

  It was a good move and worthy of a shrewd opponent, but I'd seen this tactic before. I'd read too many Enforcer and Assassin reports to be surprised by any of it.

  Let me take the two on the right, I sent to Trajan's werewolf, who blinked under the moonlight at my ability to send mindspeech to anyone, let alone a wolf. I'd lay compulsion when this was over, and nobody would recall a thing about it.

  With a brief dip of his chin to show his agreement, we crept forward. I let Trajan leap on his target first before flashing in and decapitating the other two, who'd been taken completely by surprise.

  It took a little longer for Trajan to dispatch his vampire, but I left him to it, and he had two, inch-deep claw marks across his ribs to show for his trouble when he was done.

  "It's not bad," Trajan assessed his wounds once we were back inside the van. He jerked his clothing off the back seat to get dressed while I drove the van out of the parking lot.

  "Zaria can fix it," I said. "We'll go back now. I think Zaria and Lissa will take care of the other bars after sending everyone else to the house, first."

  Lissa

  We saved the second bar in Fort Worth for last. Someone was coordinating the attacks, too, because every bar Zaria and I went to after the first ones, we found that the number of vampires increased.

  Baikov is doing this—they're all communicating, by cell or some other way—he had a mister; it stands to reason he'd have mindspeakers, too, Zaria sent to me as we floated inside my mist over the roof of the last bar.

  Like most of the others, the roof was flat and covered in a waterproof substance. Smoke from the grill, which smelled of steaks and burgers, flooded out a vent.

  I can't get a lock on them by Looking, I admitted. They may be inside mist somewhere, hiding, or inside the building, waiting for us to come in. I can usually see another mister's mist unless he's blending in really, really, well with something else.

  This may be by design, then, Zaria agreed. If they're protected by Sirenali bones or bone dust, then they're hoping to make a big score, you can bet on it.

  Big score, as in taking us or Winkler?

  Or the number of civilian deaths—maybe both.

  You're not doing anything for my level of confidence, I huffed.

  Whatever we do here, I get the feeling we need to remain invisible.

  That makes two of us. I have a creepy feeling about all this.

  Then let's go inside and get this over with, Zaria heaved a mental sigh.

  Yeah.

  Winkler

  "You're not worried about them?" Weldon demanded of Charles.

  "They're strong and extremely talented. If anyone can deal with what Baikov and his cronies dish out, it will be those two."

  Weldon had arrived not long after we'd gone on our mission earlier, and waited inside Lissa's kitchen for us to get back. Now he had words to aim at all of us for returning and licking our wounds, both to our physical bodies and our pride, while leaving the heavy work to the women.

  "Grand Master, I believe Mr. Winkler is in far more danger than any of us realize," Charles went on. "Please, this would have been Wlodek's choice as well as mine in the same circumstances."

  "I don't know Zaria at all, so I have no idea what she can do. Lissa I have full confidence in, but we know there are weak spots. If human lives are placed in danger, she'll do everything she can to protect them, including risking her life for theirs."

  "Please wait until you meet Zaria before making such judgments," Ilya held up a hand.

  "What's this Russkie doing here anyway?" Weldon tossed out an insult and a hand.

  "I am from Ukraine," Ilya hissed through clenched teeth. "My goal is the same as yours in this—take down Baikov—both versions if possible."

  "He's useful, in that he's given us information we wouldn't have on the enemy, otherwise," I said, rubbing my forehead to relieve the tension. "I'd never heard of the Klyki. Have you?" I pointed my question directly at Weldon.

  "No. Hell, no," Weldon stalked toward a barstool and sat, anger in every movement. "What about Wlodek?" he snapped at Charles.

  "We didn't know either, until recently, when the Austin Pack was attacked and we sent Dalroy and Rhett to investigate. This is moving rather fast, and we'd be having a difficult time dealing with all of it without Ilya's information."

  "All right," Weldon slapped his hand on the bar. "Do we have anything to drink in this place?"

  "Whatever you want," Trajan dipped into the under-counter fridge and pulled out a case of beer while I headed for the liquor cabinet.

  "Sorry about the Russkie thing," Weldon apologized to Ilya while popping a lid off a beer bottle.

  "I'll have Scotch, if you don't mind," Ilya said. I handed him a bottle and a glass for both of us. "Make mine a triple," I told him. "I have a headache."

  "Best home remedy ever—to make more headache," he spoke in his native accent and poured my glass first.

  "To headaches," I clinked my triple-shot against his double before we both drank.

  Lissa

  I still don't see anything, but the hair is standing on my arms and the back of my neck, figuratively speaking, I sent. And I'm itching like crazy, and that's never a good sign.

  See through everything, Zaria said.

  Like X-ray vision?

  Yeah.

  As if they knew they were spotted the moment we did just that, misting vampires blew the entire wooden bar apart, flinging patrons standing around it outward with splinters, nails and glassware acting as shrapnel against anyone else in the place.

  Someone here had learned my trick.

  How?

  I knew how.

  Tony and Lawrence Frazier, the fucker who'd taken my blood.

  Some of it had fallen into Russian hands, and now it was turned against us. As if that weren't enough, Russian-controlled werewolves burst through the door, firing semi-automatic weapons into the crowd.

  I screamed the entire time Zaria flung us back to my mansion, and was still screaming when I materialized between Winkler and Weldon.

  Chapter 6

  Zaria

  "It's all over the news," Ilya growled angrily as I healed what was left of the ugly claw wounds across Trajan's left side.

  "I know."

  Winkler and Weldon were holed up in the downstairs media room, watching everything on the enormous screen there. Lissa was upstairs in her bedroom, seething. I'd gotten enough of a look at the werewolf attackers to realize they didn't know much—they were under Ivan Baikov's vampire thumb and were good soldiers, willing to die to carry out his compulsion-laced orders.

  I'd said that last part aloud while Ilya and Trajan listened. "The misting vampires had some of Lissa's blood, or something close enough," I said. "Humans turned vampire for a short amount of time, to achieve a desired result. If Lissa had appeared to fight them, she'd have been fighting herself, in essence—or herself times four. That's how many were there."

  "Bloody, fucking, ball-bending hell," Trajan cursed. Ilya didn't understand what I was saying—not completely. I'd explain it to him later and told him that in mindspeech. He nodded while Trajan pulled his shirt back on with jerky movements and stalked toward the media room to let Winkler know.

  "This is bad, isn'
t it?" Lissa misted into the kitchen and materialized on a barstool.

  "Yeah. It's bad, and it could get worse," I said. "Don't ask," I held up a hand. "Saying it may release the idea into the atmosphere, and we don't know who may be listening."

  "What do we have to drink?"

  "There's some good Scotch left," Ilya offered.

  "I'll have some." Lissa buried her head in her arms on the granite bar.

  "Want some, too?" Ilya lifted an eyebrow in my direction.

  "Not now. I need to think," I said.

  "You okay?" Winkler strode into the kitchen and laid a hand on Lissa's shoulder.

  "Winkler, things aren't looking so good." Her voice was muffled since she didn't raise her head to answer the question. "How many died?" she asked as Winkler massaged her neck gently.

  "Thirty-four. Seventeen are in critical condition at area hospitals; only twelve got out with superficial wounds. They're being questioned by the police after they were treated and released. All the attackers got away, of course."

  "Of course."

  "What exactly are we dealing with? If I may ask, now?" Ilya said.

  "Lissa's blood is special," I told him. "Her talents of misting, mindspeaking and such can be transferred temporarily to anyone who receives some of her blood. Not long ago, her blood was stolen by an asshole, who has evidently sold it to the highest bidder. In this case, it's the Kremlin, or someone with ties to the Kremlin."

  "General Baikov."

  "In all likelihood, yes."

  "How much do you think they have?" Winkler asked, taking his hand from Lissa's neck.

  "Who knows?" Lissa lifted her head and blinked at him. "We can't really gauge it, since I don't know how much he took to begin with. He took it during the day, while I was unconscious."

  "A violation of the worst kind," Ilya rumbled. "Taking advantage when the victim is helpless."

  "So we're dealing with a finite source, we just don't know how finite?" Winkler began.

  "Unless they've found a way to reproduce it," I said, speaking my worst fear aloud.

  "How can that be possible?" Winkler frowned at me.

  "For now, don't assume anything is impossible. We could get into deep trouble if we do that."

  "Just like the deep trouble people at a bar got into tonight," Lissa accepted the glass of Scotch Ilya offered her and drank.

  She knew, just as I did, that it could happen again—and again after that, until the ones behind the attacks were either dead or got what they wanted.

  What are you thinking, daughter? Charles walked in to ask.

  I think all this is connected to Lissa's blood and the ribs of Winkler's father, I replied. And it could be connected to bits and pieces of countless others, too.

  Lissa

  "At least you're comfortable talking to me," Charles sighed as he handed me a cup of coffee later. "Zaria may never feel that way."

  I'd settled onto a lounge chair around the indoor pool at the back of the house. There was no water in the pool—why keep it full and maintain it if nobody lived in the house most of the time?

  "Charles," I turned my gaze on him as he settled on a chair next to mine, "All her life, she had no idea who her parents were. She knew she was adopted, and although her adoptive parents loved her and she cared for them, I think she felt there was something missing."

  "Just as you did." He leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  "I worried that the monster married to my mother was really my father, although deep down, I suspect I knew otherwise. It caused some damage, as you well know."

  "Major, irreparable damage," he admitted, closing his eyes. "I suppose I never considered that—outside the fact that she was taken care of and loved."

  "I'm surprised you call her Zaria instead of Corinne," I observed.

  "Larentii name themselves."

  "I see. So, even though Nefrigar and the others call her Corinnelar, she's really Zaria."

  "Yes. And Harriett before that. Harriett Majors, the best-selling author, raised by adoptive parents."

  "Yeah—I read her books back in the day—when she was still human, or we thought she was. Now, what do you think she knows—or suspects about all this? Charles, you and I know where all my blood went during the original timeline."

  "Yes. This has the hint of rogue interference. You suspect that yourself, as does Zaria."

  "But there's something else that she's referred to."

  "You understand that Zaria is probably more knowledgeable of the Lyristolyi drug than any other being, as she's had it administered twice. In addition to that, the Larentii probably have a better grasp of its workings than the Lyristolyi ever did. I believe this is why Breanne asked her to come help you. What appeared routine at first has twisted into something far more sinister."

  "How long can they continue to make vampires like me?" I demanded, causing Charles to open his eyes and focus his attention on me. "The effects of my blood only last for a short time. It isn't as if they can just recreate those talents whenever they feel like it. They'll run out of what they have soon enough."

  "Zaria did say it had to do with your blood and the ribs of Winkler's father," Charles grimaced. "But I suspect we'll have to find her to get a full explanation."

  "Fucking hell. Where is she?"

  "She bent time to think and rest, I believe. Lissa," Charles said, his voice turning deadly serious, "This isn't the time for you to hold back on the things you couldn't do before. No, don't come out with guns blazing," he held up a hand. "Use what's needed when it's needed."

  "Zaria is already doing that," I turned away, letting my head drop against the back of my chaise. "And I've used my shields several times." I stifled a yawn.

  "I hope we don't lose anyone who's important in all this," Charles rumbled as my eyes closed. I needed sleep—in the worst way.

  Weldon sipped a traditional cup of black coffee as I walked past him into the kitchen, looking rumpled after sleeping several hours on a chaise rather than a bed. I felt every ache and pain from not sleeping on an actual bed, too. Charles had been gone when I woke.

  "That witch must be something, to allow you up before sunset," Weldon said after swallowing a mouthful of coffee.

  "Hmmph. Zaria's kind of special," I said, pulling out a coffee mug and pouring myself a cup. I added cream and sugar to my coffee before taking the chair next to Weldon's.

  "I thought you guys didn't do that sort of thing unless forced to do so," he said while I sipped delicious, warm brew.

  "Zaria," I said and kept drinking.

  "I'd say you're special, too, but you should know that already," Weldon remarked, his eyes focused on the huge refrigerator opposite his seat at the island.

  "That's me—special Lissa," I agreed. "Want something to eat?"

  "I'm a werewolf. I always want something to eat."

  "In that case," I slid off my chair and went to the refrigerator he'd stared at to see what was inside.

  "You're having ham and eggs and didn't invite me?" Winkler strode into the house an hour later.

  "And biscuits and gravy. Want some?" Weldon asked, helping himself to his fourth biscuit.

  "You don't even have to ask." Winkler settled on a barstool while I fixed a plate of food for him.

  "Any word from the Austin Pack?" Winkler asked before stuffing half a biscuit covered in gravy into his mouth.

  "Since two of the prime candidates got killed in the massacre, I have plans to meet with a delegation here tomorrow, to talk about it," Weldon said.

  "Is Gabe one of those coming?"

  "He is," Weldon confirmed. "Do you have a stake in this, somehow?"

  "Only about half of a stake, if that," I said. "I like Gabe and don't want to see him go down, that's all."

  "A true Alpha knows when to time things properly," Weldon shook his head and spread blackberry jelly on his biscuit.

  "Well, that doesn't always work out so well when they shove Seconds forward, now does it?"

 
Weldon's hands stilled for a moment as dark eyes focused on me. "No, I suppose they don't," he agreed and went back to his food. "Not without a lot of help, anyway."

  "We've certainly had help—or I wouldn't be sitting here right now." Winkler paused in his food consumption to reflect for a moment.

  "Same here," Weldon nodded.

  "Did you ever get rid of that deer head in your spare bedroom?" I teased. "It's creepy, sleeping under a dead deer."

  "Kathy Jo got rid of it," Weldon grinned. "She said the same thing. It's in storage, though, so it didn't go far."

  "Right. Because somebody, somewhere, will want to hang a carcass on the wall again."

  "It's not the whole thing," Winkler pointed out.

  "Of course not. It's just a head, with creepy, glassy eyes. Dusty, too, if I recall."

  "Dead creatures, hanging on walls to impress your guests, usually do anything but," Zaria offered her opinion as she scuffled into the kitchen wearing bedroom slippers, pajamas and a robe.

  "Says the vegetarian," Winkler teased her.

  "We have opinions, plus, we only hang pictures of vegetables on the wall, instead of actual peppers we've stuffed," she teased back. "Is there more coffee?"

  "Yep," I said. "Want some eggs and biscuits to go with it?"

  "Oh, yeah," she nodded, slipping onto a barstool.

  "What are you talking about?" Ilya walked in, completely dressed and ready to bash heads. "Good early evening," he leaned in to kiss Zaria's cheek. She smiled and only pretended to push him away.

  "We're discussing stuffed deer versus stuffed peppers," Weldon shrugged, as if that would explain everything.

  Ilya poured coffee, then helped me cook eggs for Zaria and himself before sitting beside her to eat.

  Kremlin, St Petersburg, Russia

  Kornel Baikov

  "Is there enough blood and marrow to complete the process?" I asked my chief scientist.

  "Barely, but yes. Next time, I suggest taking larger bones."