by Faith Hunter
As the conversation turned even more theoretical, Jo and Tandy worked on traffic cameras from the day the Blalock girl was kidnapped, trying to find and track the van. I hid in my cubicle and called the Nicholson house. I needed to talk to my mother, which almost never happened. Needed to think for just a minute that normal, whatever normal was, might be part of my life someday. Instead, Mama was busy putting the little’uns to bed and handed off the cell to Mud.
“Hey, Nellie,” Mud said. “Sam done offered to give me a puppy. And before you’un say no, she’s a twelve-week-old, house-trained springer that some townie done gave to Sam, but he don’t want her. Can I have her? Please, please, please?”
Mud had lapsed back into church-speak in the time she had been with the family, and that would make it hard for her to fit in at school, but dialects and teen angst would have to wait. I tilted the cell to the side so she couldn’t hear my sigh. My vampire tree had killed Mud’s last puppy. I waited for Mud to use that to get her way, but all she said was, “I think you’un should let me keep her. You’un always know when company’s coming up the road, but I don’t. If I’m gonna be a latchkey kid, I’ll need protection when I’m there alone. If’n I have a dog, I’ll be safer.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, knowing I was already lost. And knowing that Mud would need child care, that she wasn’t safe on the farm alone. Knowing that Larry Aden and his kind would always come hunting us.
“Her name is Charade. Cherry for short. She’s a tricolor and she’ll be getting spots on her nose. And she loves me already.”
“Springers have to be exercised. A lot. They’re high-energy dogs.”
“I can set me up an agility course out back a the house. And she can run with the werecats!”
“The werecats might eat her,” I teased.
“You tell Occam I’ll hit him with a rolled-up magazine if’n he hurts my dog.”
I chuckled at that image. I’d felt the same way before. “When I get some time off, we’ll bring her home for a few days and see how she does. But if she’s not really house-trained or can’t get along with the cats, including our friends, we’ll have to take her back or find her a new home.”
“Friends?” The silence was so intense that I thought the call had been dropped, and then she said, as if figuring it all out, “Wereleopards. Deal!”
“I’ll see you as soon as this case is over,” I promised.
“I forgot to say! SaraBell’s in labor. Love you!” She ended the call.
“Love you too,” I said to the empty air. SaraBell’s in labor. Sam was getting ready to be a daddy. I was getting ready to be an aunt. A small smile formed as it hit me. SaraBell didn’t want a dog around her new baby. I had just been backed into a corner by a preteen manipulator. “You little scamp.”
“Nell!” Tandy shouted. “Get in here! We got the van!”
I sped into the conference room to see photos on the screens overhead. On one was grainy security camera video. It was the van that been stolen to pick up the Blalock girl.
“They trolled the streets in neighborhoods all around, looking for prey. We have multiple sightings from those doorbell security cameras,” Jo said. “Those devices are ridiculously easy to hack. A tech-savvy burglar’s wet—Ummm. Sorry.”
I didn’t know what she had been about to say and I didn’t ask.
Tandy said, “According to the crime techs, the AC in the van wasn’t working and at some point, it got hot inside and the window went down. And we got this.”
The security footage began to move. Leaning from the passenger seat was a young man. “Who?” I asked.
“This is from Loriann’s laptop,” JoJo said, putting up another photo. “Jason Ethier. He was in the van with the group of nonlocal vampires. Maybe was with them from the beginning. I’m sending this to Occam and Rick. They need to know it. And to T. Laine,” JoJo said.
“Tell her to hold it,” I suggested. “Don’t share it with Loriann. We might need all this later. Or … she might not know her brother is vamp-ridden.”
“Vamp-ridden?” Jo asked.
“A church term. It’s one they use for blood-slaves, and it’s based on spiritual possession, like demon-ridden.”
“The church of God’s Glory does exorcisms?” Jo asked softly.
“A few. And no. Never on me. I left the church before I’d have been old enough to see or participate in one. But I’ve heard tales.”
Overhead, JoJo, tech whiz extraordinaire, followed the van through the neighborhoods near where Raynay was taken. The unit had received more files via e-mail from Alex Younger and I put them on the screen. They were titled Godfrey of Bouillon_1, Godfrey of Bouillon_2, Godfrey of Bouillon_3, and Godfrey of Bouillon_4.
I opened the files to the overhead screen and began scrolling through the information, which was presented in bullet points with footnotes and links to more information on the Internet.
Godfrey of Bouillon, aka Godefroi de Bouillon in French, Gottfried von Bouillon in German, Godefridus Bullionensis from Wiki, and Godefridi Bullonensis in some other language I didn’t speak.
Born on September 18, 1060
As a young human he was a Frankish knight—Lord of Bouillon
A leader of the First Crusade
Later became known as the Duke of Lower Lorraine
I figured that Lower Lorraine was someplace in France. The church taught a lot about the valiant knights of Western Christianity who went to free the Holy Lands from satanic rule, but my own research had led me to understand that the Crusades were more along the lines of torture, rape, theft, murder, and genocide. The next part of Alex’s information suggested that was more true than I had ever known.
In 1099, Godfrey laid siege to Jerusalem
His goal: to wipe out all Jewish people in vengeance for the death of the Christ
Charged into Jerusalem and killed anyone that didn’t leave
Destroyed holy sites of three religions
Soldiers, citizens, Jews, Muslims, and Christians who opposed him were killed
Victims were burned or sliced open and left to bleed out
Surviving Jews fled to a synagogue; Godfrey burned it down
Ordered his men to hunt down and kill all survivors
According to records, no one survived
Piles of hands, feet, and heads were scattered throughout the city
Godfrey is said to have stripped to his undergarments and walked barefoot through the blood, which reached to his ankles
70,000 Muslims were killed there
Became the first ruler of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, though he called himself Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher or Baron of the Holy Sepulcher, not king; others of his time called him the Crusader King
He never married
Pedophile and sexual predator
He died from “plague”—was turned on July 19, 1100
Godfrey sounded like the perfect Naturaleza: a warped vampire psychopath with no morals of any kind. As a human he’d used religion to hurt who he wanted and to steal what he wanted. He was like the churchmen of God’s Cloud of Glory Church, who put their wants and beliefs and political values before the scriptures themselves.
Godfrey and his vampires were in town, attacking Ming, kidnapping a teenaged girl. We had Jason, who had been drank from as a child and sexually abused by Isleen, an insane vampire. A sexually abused teen in cahoots with—not in bed with, that was hitting too close to the truth—Godfrey. And Rick and Ming were targets. Had Jason gone to Godfrey willingly? Or had Jason used black-magic circles to call Godfrey to use him?
Jason was awfully young to be so devious.
As I considered the list, the historical files that followed, and Alex’s documentation, JoJo turned up the null room speakers again. T. Laine said, “You have to realize that the others can’t trust you. You might be influencing Rick through his tats.”
I spun my chair to face the null room screen. T. Laine sat forward, intent on Loriann leaning across th
e table that stretched between them. Our witch had one hand lightly clenched on the tabletop. She looked kind, understanding, even gentle, unlike the plainspoken, straight-talking witch I knew.
“Loriann, I can’t see you being able to work with Rick or this team. We can’t trust you.”
Loriann’s face hardened. “But without me, you can’t find Jason.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He was chased off one of his last circles. Unit Eighteen has physical evidence. Stuff that hasn’t been entered into NCIC yet.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Slowly, T. Laine opened her clenched fist to reveal the wooden golf tee we had taken from the circle. Or one just like it, which was most likely. T. Laine wouldn’t touch real evidence, not with her bare hand.
Loriann’s eyes locked on to the wooden tee. Her jaw came forward and her nostrils flared in surprise.
“You should,” Lainie said. “You need a friend. I’m a witch. I might understand when no one else in the entire city might.”
“Oh God.” Loriann’s eyes filled with tears.
“Yeah. Microscopic traces of DNA stuck on a golf tee, after a hot and sweaty round in NOLA heat, can be used in workings and curses by witches and covens. Rick never played golf except with his dad, and not for years now. He didn’t know that Jason was following him around New Orleans, stealing personal things, did he?”
Loriann rocked forward and back in her hard chair. Rocking, she raked her hair from her face in a gesture that looked as if she was tearing it out. We three watched her, no longer scrolling through Alex’s information on Godfrey, no longer talking. The NOLA witch looked defeated. Paler than when she arrived. She tried to speak, and the sound stopped in her throat, choked off by emotion. She went still and tried again, her words strangled. “It was three weeks after Rick and after the vampires, Leo Pellissier, and Katie Fonteneau rescued Jason.” Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed the back of her wrist against one and then the other to catch the tears. Her mascara stained the wrist feathery black. “He was playing golf with his father. I was … I was playing in the group behind them.”
“Ahhh,” T. Laine said. “You were stalking Rick. To help Jason, right? If I’d been blessed with a sorcerer brother, it’s what I would have done. Protect him. Family comes first.”
“Yes,” Loriann said, sounding relieved that Lainie understood.
Shifting subtly, Lainie mimicked her body posture until they were almost mirrored. It was standard Reid interrogation technique, but Lainie didn’t touch the witch, not even in the safety of the null room.
“Everything I did was for Jason,” Loriann said. “Always.”
T. Laine’s eyes shifted to the small mic on the table. Carefully, she covered it with her empty hand. “I get that. I do,” she whispered. “But you have to understand that the others, they won’t. Witches, witches stand together. But the mundane, they just don’t get it.”
Loriann’s gaze swung from the covered mic to the tee in T. Laine’s fingers, her tears flowing freely now.
“You’ve been alone, fighting to keep Jason safe all these years. Now you have help,” T. Laine whispered. “You’re not alone.”
Loriann broke down in sobs, her head on the table, her shoulders shuddering. As Rick had said, Loriann was wracked with guilt and anger, but also with loneliness. On some level, I understood that kind of loneliness. I’d been alone for a long time too.
“And that,” Tandy said, satisfaction in his tone, “is how you turn a suspect. At least until she realizes she’s been messed with.”
Gently, T. Laine added, “And then Jason disappeared, taking away all the items you had collected with Rick’s DNA on them.”
“I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”
“Lie,” Tandy whispered softly. “Lie.”
“Added that information to the file,” JoJo said.
In the null room, the interrogation of Loriann Ethier was ongoing, both witches sitting up now, and the mic uncovered. T. Laine’s cell was on the table beside her and by her next sentence I knew she had checked her messages and was up to date on everything we knew. “Your brother, Jason, tracked Rick to the Appalachians. Did you know he also joined with a vampire named Godfrey of Bouillon?”
Loriann looked confused. “Vampire?”
“Godfrey is a known pedophile. He or his people kidnapped a teenaged girl and killed her. And Jason was in the van when she was taken.”
Loriann slapped the table hard, coming up out of her chair. “No. No, that isn’t true.”
On her cell phone, T. Laine showed her the doorbell security system photo of the van with Jason’s face visible. Loriann wilted in her chair. T. Laine swiped the cell screen to show the photos of the girl on the side of the road. Loriann, who had to have seen worse photos as a crime scene tech at NOLA CLE, looked away.
“Jason is a blood junkie,” T. Laine said, her tone changing from understanding to inexorable. “He’s a witch.” Her tone went harder and firmer. “He’s a teenager. He may be sick from one of the cancers that male witches are prone to.” Her tone grew in volume. “You knew all this. And Jason is here in Knoxville. And he’s with vampires who have killed a human. Now. How are we going to find him, stop him from using the Circle of the Moon curse on Rick, and get Jason help?”
Loriann began rocking again. “The bond I put into Rick’s skin works both ways.”
JoJo said, “Both ways. That’s not what she said before. Not bad, Lainie girl.”
“Rick has to come to Jason if Jason calls,” Loriann said. “Jason can feel Rick’s location if he tries. I meant it when I said I can track my brother through Rick’s tattoos. If he’ll let me.”
“I see,” T. Laine said. She turned her head, breaking eye contact, staring at the wall. “I’ll talk to Rick about this. Maybe he’ll agree. Maybe he won’t. I wouldn’t let my torturer at me a second time if I had a choice.”
Loriann flinched at the word torturer.
“One thing bothers me,” T. Laine said. “Why does Jason hate Rick? Rick let you torture him to keep Jason alive. Why hate him?”
Loriann looked to the side and when she spoke, her voice was faintly different. “Jason blames Rick for not rescuing him in time. For letting him be tortured by Isleen.”
“Even though Rick had no way to save him?” Lainie clarified. “That doesn’t make sense. Come on. I know you’re leaving out things, Lori. If you want me to help you find Jason before Godfrey drinks him down, you have to tell me everything. I won’t put the team at risk over lies or inadequate information.”
Loriann’s eyes filled with tears again. There were black smudges beneath them from rubbing her tear-wet mascara. “I … I’m not proud of it. I’m not,” she said fiercely.
“Okay. We all do things we’re ashamed of from time to time. Let me help you make it right.”
Loriann tilted her head in acquiescence and breathed out slowly. “I couldn’t tell my brother everything about his rescue. Or what happened while he was held captive by the crazy-assed vamp. I didn’t mean it to happen, but somehow I told him enough that he believes that the cop with the tattoos didn’t want to save him. That I had to use my magic to … to force Rick to save him.”
“Witch bitch,” JoJo muttered. “You selfish witch bitch. And now you want us to fix your stupid mistake.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
In the null room, T. Laine said, sorrowfully, “Oh, Lori. You took the glory of the rescue yourself.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Maybe not,” T. Laine said. “But you gave Rick’s name to Jason. And when you figured out Jason was blaming Rick, you didn’t fix it. Even after Rick was out from undercover and living as a cop in the real world. You let your brother keep thinking you had rescued him, not Rick, because it made you look important. And Rick became what? The bad guy?”
Loriann didn’t deny it. “I didn’t think it was a problem. It was me and him against the world. It gave me some control when he wanted
to drink vampire blood again. He was an addict, and the fact that I saved him, me, not Rick, was a … a bond of sorts.”
“But … ,” T. Laine encouraged.
“When Jason got old enough, he started following Rick as best he could. Rick’s social media presence was minuscule early on. Music stuff from where Rick played in bands. He eventually discovered Rick was related to Tom, Katie Fonteneau’s primo. Katie was the vampire who made Isleen and let her loose into the world before she was sane,” Loriann explained. T. Laine didn’t tell Loriann she already knew that information. She let Loriann talk. “Things only got worse when Jason did Rick’s family timeline back. He discovered Katie Fonteneau was Rick’s way-back ancestor through a child before she was turned.”
I barely managed to hold in my gasp at that one. How had Jason found that out? All we had were rumors. T. Laine didn’t react, but I had a feeling it was a near thing. Lainie said, “Because of Katie’s decision to let Isleen live, Jason developed post-traumatic stress syndrome. Yes?”
Loriann nodded. “With emotional and mental problems. That crazy fanghead kidnapped him, drank from him, and forced him to drink her blood. He was a blood addict. He developed paranoia, and he started to believe Rick LaFleur was part of a conspiracy to hurt him.”
Loriann leaned in, suppliant, trying to create a relationship that was slipping away. “Once I figured out he was going after Rick, I tried to set the record straight. I did. But Jason wouldn’t believe me. He thought I was just protecting Rick and that got me tossed into the paranoid mix too. Jason blames Rick for his captivity. He blames Rick and me for everything else.”
