“Do you know how to use one of those?” I asked.
“I am an M.D.”
“Some M.D.s want nothing to do with the r-kits.”
“You’re not giving me a choice about it,” he said. “Raise your arms.”
I put my arms to my head and chanted the incantation. Crest untied the cord securing the paper and unrolled it. It contained a bandage and a long wide strip, smeared with brown ointment and covered with waxed paper. Crest peeled the paper off and held the strip by its edges. I chanted. The ointment on the strip obeyed, liquefying. A strong smell of nutmeg spread through the room.
Crest pressed the strip against my stomach. It adhered and a soothing coolness spread through my injured muscles, slowly transforming into warmth that suffused my stomach, drowning out pain.
“Better,” I murmured. Crest bandaged my waist. After putting in a long day at work this seemingly normal guy would come all this way just to see me. Why? What would it be like to crawl home after a hard day and instead of licking my wounds in solitude in a dark and empty house, find him? On the couch, maybe. Reading a book. Maybe he would put it down and say, “I’m glad you’ve made it. Would you like some coffee?”
His hand grazed the tattoo on my shoulder. “Why a raven?”
“To honor my father.”
The fingers continued to gently slide across my skin. “The writing under it, is that Cyrillic?
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“Dar Vorona. Gift of the Raven. I’m my father’s gift.”
“To whom?”
“That, my dear doctor, is a story for another time.”
“The raven is holding a bloody sword,” Crest said thoughtfully.
“I never said it was a nice gift.”
He finished the bandage and was examining it critically. “You know those things are unreliable.” His voice held just a touch of reproach.
“Eleven out of twelve work fine. I’d say that’s better chances than getting an orgasm with a blind date and women still try.”
He blinked and laughed softly. “I never know what you’ll say next.”
“I don’t either.”
He rose and put his arms around me. So warm. I resisted the impulse to lean back against him. “Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous,” I murmured.
“The food’s probably cold by now.”
“I don’t care.”
He kissed my neck. The kiss sent tingling warmth down into my fingertips. I turned and he kissed me again, on the mouth. I was so tired . . . I wanted to melt against him and let him hold me. “You’re trying to take advantage of an injured naked woman.”
“I know,” he whispered in my ear, drawing me closer. “How awful.”
Please don’t let go. What am I thinking? Am I this desperate? I took a deep breath and pushed away from him gently. “I have to finish my work. I don’t think you want to watch me.”
“Do it after,” he whispered and kissed me again. Somehow instead of breaking free, I pressed against him. I wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up in him like this, smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine . . . And then the vampire’s head would lose the last of its magic and Derek and I would’ve bled for nothing. Poor Derek. “No,” I said, my face a grimace. “By then it’ll be too late.”
“Work first. I see.”
“Tonight. Not always.”
“I’ll watch,” he said.
“You don’t want to, trust me.”
“It’s part of what you do. I want to know.”
Why? I shrugged and went to the bedroom to find some clothes. He didn’t follow me.
IN THE KITCHEN I SET A LARGE SILVER TRAY IN THE middle of the table. Supported by four legs, it rose above the surface of the table about three inches. Greg had kept an excellent supply of herbs in his apartment. Having combined them in the right proportions, I spread the aromatic mixture on the platter so it covered the metal completely. Crest sat on the chair in a corner and watched me.
I pulled the strings of the bag, took the head out, and placed the monstrosity onto the powder, balancing it on the stump of the neck.
“What the hell is that?”
“A vampire,” I said.
“I’ve seen pictures. They don’t look like that.”
“It’s very old. My guess is, at least a couple of centuries. Undeath brings certain anatomical changes. Some are immediate and some are slow. The older the undead, the more apparent those changes become. A vamp’s never finished. It’s an abomination in progress.” The fact that vampires weren’t suppose to have existed two hundred years ago when the tech was in full swing bothered me a great deal. My experience and education offered no explanation for this monster’s existence, and so I put it aside, filing it for future reference.
I brought out a shallow glass pan, the kind used for baking lasagna, put it in front of the platter and slightly under, and dumped two quarts of glycerin into it. The clear viscous liquid filled the pan and settled.
I took one of my throwing daggers from my sheath. Crest grinned at the black blade.
“Fancy.”
“Yeah.”
This wasn’t going to be pleasant and it wasn’t the kind of magic I did often. Something in me rebelled at it, something born of my father’s instruction and my own view of the world and where I stood in it.
The head rested on the herbs. In half an hour it would be useless.
I pricked my finger with the point of the dagger. A drop of bright blood swelled on the skin. Power pulsed in it and I touched the blood to the herbs. The bloodmagic inundated them, acting like a catalyst, fusing, shaping, molding the natural force of the dried plants. It surged upward, through the stump of the neck, spreading through the capillaries in the face, engulfing the brain, saturating the dead flesh. I guided it, helped it along, until the entire head sat suffused with magic. My finger touched the thick skin of the vamp’s forehead, leaving a bloody smudge and sending a shock of power through the undead flesh.
“Wake!”
The dead eyes snapped open. The horrid mouth opened and closed soundlessly, contorting with impossible elasticity.
Crest fell off his chair.
The vamp’s eyes stared wide at me, unblinking.
“Where is your master? Show me your master.”
Dark magic boiled from the head, drowning the room. It swelled, vicious and furious, like an enraged animal ready to strike. In the corner Crest drew a sharp, loud breath.
A tremor rippled through the head. The eyeballs bulged from their sockets. The black tongue, long and flat, hung from between the reptilian lips and the sickle teeth bit into it, drawing no blood. Impaled on the teeth, the tongue jerked obscenely. I pushed harder, bringing the weight of my power upon the resilient necromagic.
“Show me your master!”
Red drowned the whites of the vampire’s eyes. Two thick streaks of dark blood poured from what had once been tear ducts. The streams carved their path down the face and into the herbs, mixing with a torrent of blood from the stump of the neck. The foul flood swept the dried herbs, falling into the glycerin and spreading in uneven angry stain upon its surface. The blood darkened until it was almost black, and in it I saw a distorted but unmistakable image of a gutted skyscraper with a round Coca-Cola logo half-buried in rubble.
Unicorn Lane. Always Unicorn Lane.
The head jerked. The bones of the skull cracked like a broken nutshell. The flesh peeled off the vamp’s face, curving in long slabs to the herbs. The exposed jellied mass of the brain glared through the fractured skull. The stench of putrescence filled the kitchen. I threw a plastic trash bag over the head and inverted the tray, sending the head and the herbs into the bag. I tied the bag and set it into the corner. The blood in the glycerin had clotted into an ugly rotting mass. I dumped it down the drain.
Crest rubbed his face.
“I did warn you.”
He nodded.
I washed my hands and my
arms up to the elbow with fresh-smelling soap and went into the living room, pausing on the way to check on Derek. He was sleeping like a baby. I sat on the couch, leaned back, and closed my eyes. This was the point when most men ran for cover.
I sat and rested. The desire for intimacy had passed and my longing now appeared unreal, ethereal like a half-forgotten dream.
I heard Crest walk into the room. He sat next to me.
“So that’s what you do?” he said.
“Yeah.”
We sat silent for a few breaths.
“I can live with it,” he said.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He shrugged. “I’m not going to watch again, but I can live with it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Have you ever met someone and felt . . . I don’t know how to describe it, felt a chance at having something that eluded you? I don’t know . . . Forget I said anything.”
I knew what he meant. He was describing that moment when you realize that you are lonely. For a time you can be alone and doing fine and never give a thought to living any other way and then you meet someone and suddenly you become lonely. It stabs at you, almost like a physical pain, and you feel both deprived and angry, deprived because you wish to be with that person and angry, because their absence brings you misery. It’s a strange feeling, akin to desperation, a feeling that makes you wait by the phone even though you know that the call is an hour away. I was not going to lose my balance. Not yet.
I moved closer to him and leaned against his shoulder. We both knew that sex was out of the question.
“Do you mind if I stay anyway?” he asked.
“No.”
I fell asleep leaning on him.
CHAPTER 6
I AWOKE BECAUSE SOMEONE WAS WATCHING ME.
“Don’t you know it’s not polite to stare, boy wonder?”
Derek gave Crest a derisive glance. The boy wonder was wearing sweats I didn’t recognize. They didn’t come from Greg’s wardrobe. He must’ve gone out. Where exactly did he go?
During the night we had moved into a somewhat reclining position and I was lying on Crest’s chest. I sat straight. “You disapprove?”
He shook his head. “It isn’t my place.”
“You don’t like him all the same, though.”
“He and you . . .” he made a put-together motion with his hands, fingers spread coming together but not quite touching. “You don’t look right together.”
“Why not?”
“You’re harder than he is.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“The man’s supposed to be harder. So he can protect.”
“Do you think I’m in need of protection?” The threatening overtone crept into my voice without intention.
“He will never tell you no,” Derek said.
I stared at him until he lowered his gaze.
“Very few people tell me no,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Fine.”
“Did you go out while I slept?”
“Yeah. Just a short jog.”
“Maybe you should go for another one.”
He left without saying a word. I woke Crest. “Time to go.”
He rubbed his face with his palms. “Did I oversleep?”
“It’s six thirty.”
“Time enough to get home and change clothes. When will I see you again?”
I thought of the Coca-Cola logo half-buried in rubble and a two-hundred-year-old vampire. Maybe never.
“How about on Friday? Gives us a couple of days to cool off.”
“It’s Friday then.”
He left. He didn’t kiss me again.
I PRIED OPEN THE PAPER CONTAINER OF GENERAL Tso’s chicken and touched a piece with my finger. It was room temperature. The thought of dumping it into a pan and warming it to an edible temperature crossed my mind, but heating it on the stove would make the vegetables mushy and I hated overcooked vegetables. My father, a great believer in the nutritional properties of boiled vegetables and meat broth, had cooked hearty, hot soups. The memory of him watching in distress as I gagged on soft cabbage and half-dissolved onion flashed before my eyes. I smiled at the carton and extracted a fork from the kitchen drawer. Hot food was overrated anyway.
I speared a piece of chicken with my fork, carefully avoiding the lump of green pepper. Suddenly I was ravenous.
Someone knocked.
I paused, the chicken halfway to my mouth, and glared at the door. The knocking persisted. It wasn’t Derek. His knock would be careful, almost apologetic. This bastard knocked like he was doing me a favor.
I looked at the chicken, glanced to the door, stuffed a whole piece into my mouth, and went to see who dared to make demands on my time.
The door swung open, revealing Curran. He wore old jeans and a green sweatshirt and carried a brown paper sack. He raised his face and sucked air in through his nostrils in the manner of shapechangers. “Tso’s, seafood delight, and fried rice,” he said. “You’re going to share?”
I leaned against the wall. The door was open but the ward still blocked his entrance, affording me a bit of leisure. “Oh, it’s you.” I dug in the container with my fork. “I thought it was somebody important.”
Curran stepped forward, brushing against the ward. A flash of carmine rippled through the magic barrier and the lord of shapechangers withdrew.
“A ward,” he said.
“A good one.”
He put his palm against the ward and pushed. Red pulsed from his fingers, spreading through the ward like waves from a pebble tossed into a quiet pond.
“I can break it,” Curran said.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Be my guest.”
Shapechangers had a natural resistance to wards, so his promise had some substance. Still, I had reinforced all of Greg’s wards. If Curran did break it, the resonance from the collapse would give me one hell of a migraine, but I doubted he could. It was a good ward.
He considered it. I could see it in his eyes, and for a moment I thought he would try it. Then he shrugged. “I could break it, or we can be civil and you can let me in.”
Getting tired of power demonstrations, are we, Your Majesty? I unlocked the ward. A wave of silver rolled from the top of the doorframe to dissipate on the floor. “Come on in.”
He strode toward the kitchen and stopped halfway, his face a snarl. “What the hell do you have in your pantry, a dead vampire?”
“No. Only the head of one.” I had double-bagged the head, sealing it in plastic, and still he smelled it.
I perched on the edge of the table and nodded toward the gathering of white cartons. “Help yourself. There’s fried rice in there somewhere.”
He put his paper bag on the floor, picked a carton indistinguishable from any other, took the spoon I offered him, and popped the carton open. “Peas,” he said with disgust. “Why the hell do they always put peas in it?”
“So what brought you here so bright and early?”
He used his spoon to pick out the peas with great care, depositing them into the trash. “Heard that you got something.”
“Boy wonder snitched on me?”
“Yeah.”
“When? This morning?”
Curran nodded. “It’s the blood oath. For example, if he were to get his leg ripped to shreds, it’s his duty to warn us that he can no longer guard you to the best of his ability. Someone had to come and assess the situation.”
“Since when is ‘someone’ you? Don’t you have plenty of flunkies to run your errands?”
He shrugged. “Just checking on the kid.”
“Last night his leg looked like it went through a shredder. He won’t let me look at it, but I think the bone is intact.” A shapechanger’s body healed the flesh wounds within a couple of days. Mending bones took much longer.
Curran swallowed a mouthful of rice. “Figures. He’s young. It’s important to be stoic when you’re a y
oung guy. You didn’t fuss over him, did you?”
“No. He should be limping in pretty soon.”
“You’re going to show me what screwed up his leg?”
“After I’m done eating.”
“Weak stomach?”
“No. It’s a pain in the ass to wrap it back up.”
A careful, measured knock interrupted us. I went to open the door and let Derek inside. He saw Curran and stopped. He wasn’t exactly at attention, but he came close.
Curran waved him in, and Derek took a chair out of the way. I looked at Curran. “Any more rice in there?”
He chose another container and gave it to me. I opened it and pushed it toward Derek. “Eat.”
He waited.
He had to be ravenous. The amount of calories his body burned to repair itself ensured that the mere hint of food filled his mouth with drool.
“Derek, eat,” I said.
He smiled and sat still.
Something was wrong here. I glanced at Curran and put two and two together.
“This is my house.”
They both looked at me with the patient expression Japanese traditionalists adopt when silly gajin ask them why they go through all that trouble just to drink a cup of tea.
“He doesn’t eat until I tell him or until I’m done,” Curran said. “Doesn’t matter whose house it is.”
I set my chicken on the table and crossed my arms. I could argue the point with them until I turned purple in the face and neither would relent. The low-ranking wolves didn’t feed before their Pack King. It was the way of the Code. They lived by its rules or they lost their humanity.
Curran put another spoonful into his mouth. Time stretched as he chewed the food. Derek sat still. The urge to slap Curran was almost too much for me.
The Beast Lord scraped the bottom of his container, licked the spoon, reached over the table and took away Derek’s rice, replacing it with the brown paper sack he had brought. Derek glanced into the sack and retrieved a bundle of waxed paper tied with a cord. He snapped the cord and unwrapped the bundle. A five-pound shoulder roast looked back at him.
Magic Bites Page 15
