“You can’t drink. You know that.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do! I’m dying here, pretty damn soon, and we both know it. I’d rather meet my maker full of good whiskey, so you get your sassy little ass into that kitchen and pour it.”
I was too shocked to move. The anger, fear, and cuss in her voice told me just how close she was, and before I knew what I was doing, I was on tiptoes feeling around the high cabinet over the fridge until I found a heavy glass bottle. I didn’t even know she drank, and there was no way she could have reached it without a ladder, but the damn thing was half empty. I slopped some into a jelly jar, sniffed it, took a sip, and added another pour. Then, on second thought, I poured myself a glass, too. I needed it.
She reached for the jelly jar but couldn’t hold it, so I helped her with shaking hands. My sweet old Nana took down the ninety-proof bourbon in deep gulps until the glass was empty, then doubled over in a coughing fit.
“You’ve got a fifty-percent chance of vomiting that up and a forty-percent chance of getting alcohol poisoning, so you’d better make it fast,” I said, mainly because if we both focused on being angry, we wouldn’t break down crying.
“Guess that gives me a ten-percent chance of saying what needs to be said, then.”
She took a swipe at my glass, so I followed her lead and chugged it. It went straight to my head, and I went and poured us each another glass. After we’d both glugged it, I hopped up on the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard and letting my hand hold hers where it had fallen on the flowered coverlet.
“When I’m gone—” she started.
“Don’t say that.”
“Somebody has to, sugar, and for a hospice nurse, you’re pretty bad at saying it. When I’m gone, you know all this is yours.” Her hand flapped up like a waving queen’s at her two-bedroom mill house, and she gave a short laugh. “Ain’t much, but there’s some money set aside, too, and it’s bigger than your apartment, anyway. Now, don’t let that cat of yours mess up my afghans. Your great-grandmother made those herself, you know.”
“I know.”
“Closed casket. It’s in the will. Nobody needs to see me looking like a damn shrunken head on a pencil. You invite folks here after. Food’s already in the freezer.”
“The food . . . is in the freezer?”
She nodded fiercely. “I know you can’t cook for shit, and I wasn’t sure if Ella Bird would die first and be able to make the right spread, so it’s all in labeled Tupperware. Table’s already pulled out, you see.”
I stood, wobbly after the bourbon on my empty stomach, and headed for her kitchen. I’d been so busy focusing on Nana that I hadn’t paid attention to keeping house; it must have been weeks ago, when she still had enough strength to heft a casserole. Hell, maybe she’d done it before I’d come back to take care of her. The table’s leaf was in, making it big enough for twelve people, and the freezer was packed solid with foil-wrapped blocks labeled in Nana’s scratchy writing.
“When the hell did you do all this?” I asked, sliding back onto the bed.
“While back. Food’ll keep six months, and I knew I wouldn’t have that much.”
I hadn’t even noticed, and it broke me. “Oh, Nana. I’m so sorry there’s nothing I can do for you.” I clutched her hand hard enough to make her wince and pull away. “I only know how to help people die. I can’t fix anything.”
“Some things, nobody can fix ’em. Except that Eric Northman. Mm-hmm. Wish he’d come to Georgia instead of Louisiana.”
“Wait. What did you just say?” My head rolled over to stare at her, and I was surprised by the dreamy smile on her lips. She winked at me.
“You stay in bed for a few years unable to sleep, and see if some tall, handsome vampire on TV doesn’t start to look pretty good. I never got why Sookie wouldn’t become a vampire. Fool girl.”
“You watch True Blood?”
“I did up till I couldn’t lift the damn remote.”
Guilt shot through me as I noticed it half-buried in her blankets, just out of reach. I instinctively turned it over and slid it under her hand, but she shoved it off the bed and grinned, all sly, when it broke on the parquet floor.
“Nana.” I paused, drunkenly considering how to phrase it. “Are you saying that if a vampire would show up and offer you his blood, you’d take it?”
The old lady snorted. “Hell, yes, I would. You look death in the face for a while, and see if being young and healthy forever wouldn’t look mighty fine. Teeth’re better than needles, ain’t they? It’s not like I get to see the sun much these days, anyway.”
I jerked to my feet and pointed a finger at her chest. “Can you stay alive for five more minutes?”
She shrugged. “I reckon. Maybe. If you bring me more bourbon.”
I couldn’t bring Criminy’s sleeping powder with me to Earth, but Nana had a buttload of sleep aids in her cabinet. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I dry-swallowed an Ambien and lay down on the couch, willing my frantic mind and body to still. It took entirely too long for me to fall asleep, and the moment my eyes were open, I sat up and bonked my head on the thick glass. It took even longer to unlock the box, considering the alcohol and excitement in my system, and I dropped the locket onto the velvet and jumped out, quick and clumsy.
As I frantically hunted through Criminy’s cavernous pigeonhole desk, he appeared as if summoned. Which, after all these years, further confirmed that he’d put an intruder-alert charm on the cabinet that held much of his magic in its multitude of drawers—or at least had his clockwork monkey guarding it most of the time.
“Looting for something in particular, love?” he said, a possessive hand on the scarred wood. “Mind that drawer—things tend to disappear in there. And come back dead.”
I softly burped bourbon. “Shh. Looting.” I switched drawers, found what I wanted, and held it up for him to see. “Hepzibah’s potion.”
His smirk turned into a stern frown. “Whatever you’re doing with that, darling, it looks terribly rash. And although I’m generally in favor of you doing terribly rash, sexy things, this exercise does carry the peculiar stink of liquor and permanence.”
He tried to snatch the potion bottle from me, but I held on to it for dear life and hurried back to the box, talking in a slur I could hear but not stop. “I traded my cute butt to that witch for this dumb bottle, and now I’m going to use it. Nana said she wanted to be a vampire, and you’ll make her a vampire, right? I mean, blood’s blood, right? Because there’s not much time. I need to get back. You will, won’t you?”
“Love, if I’m correctly interpreting your drunken ravings, you wish to bring your grandmother to Sang and have me blud her, yes?”
I nodded viciously and almost fell over as I stepped into the box.
“And you actually believe there’s a possibility that Hepzibah told you the truth regarding how this charm works?”
I slipped on the locket and arranged the nightgown around my legs. “I do.”
“And you don’t anticipate any sort of trouble arising from this brash action?”
I grabbed his ponytail and yanked his face to mine, kissing him ferociously, with the fire of bourbon still hot on my tongue. “Trouble doesn’t matter,” I said, releasing him and closing the top of the box. “I have to save my Nana.”
“But, Letitia—”
I popped the top off the bottle and poured its contents into my mouth. The liquid was red and viscous, like blood mixed with metal filings and harsh herbs. I knew well enough, after my first time smuggling liquids between worlds, that the bottle wouldn’t translate. I had to keep it in my mouth and not swallow, no matter what. A sprinkle of powder later, and I was asleep before I even had time to take Criminy’s warning to heart.
And then I woke on Nana’s couch, groggy and disoriented and panicked. I almost swallowed the bottle’s contents, but I still had enough self-control to lurch into Nana’s room. She was splayed against the pillows
beside a little yellow dribble of vomit, all acid and liquor.
“Sugar, you okay? Look like you’re about to puke up my good bourbon, and I already had enough of that today.”
I shook my head and made calm-down motions with my hands. I couldn’t speak, thanks to the potion in my mouth, but it’s not like any explanation I could offer would make her understand that I was here to answer her prayers. Maybe I wasn’t a seven-foot-tall ex-Viking vampire, but I could get her to Criminy, which was the next-best thing.
She didn’t shrink back or struggle when I laced my fingers with hers, both hands, making a complete circle. She didn’t flinch when I brought my face to hers. Even when my lips touched her withered ones, she didn’t react at all. But she didn’t open her mouth, either. Already formulating my apology for later, I pinched her nose closed, and when she opened her mouth to holler at me, I set my lips against hers and let the magic liquid rush out between us, just as the witch had ordered, snatching her hand back up to make the circle complete.
3
Everything went dark and thick, like it does in dreams, and the only thing I could feel was Nana where my hands and mouth touched her. It was like falling for just a moment, and then I slammed onto my back, crushed under what felt like a ten-speed bicycle. Opening my eyes, I found Nana flopped on top of me in her long pink housecoat, Criminy’s face staring down at us over her shoulder through the glass of the box.
Nana moved against me and muttered, “What was in that bourbon? I’m a married lady. Not you again. None of that funny business, now.”
When Criminy got the box unlocked, he gently lifted Nana off me, and wherever she was in her head and her drugs, she didn’t question being cradled against the waistcoat of a vampire version of Mr. Darcy in the Victorianesque parlor of a carnival wagon.
“Hello, Nana,” he said cheerfully.
She blinked at him like an irritated baby bird and said, “Hello, Vampire Bill.”
Criminy raised his eyebrows at me over her shoulder, and I said, “Nana, this isn’t True Blood. Meet Criminy Stain.”
“Your boyfriend?” She reached for glasses that weren’t there and pushed herself away to inspect him. He delivered her to his bed, our bed, and placed her gently on the silk quilt. “The one who thinks he can beat me at chess?”
“I’m her husband, actually. Nice and legal. We’re so sorry you couldn’t attend the ceremony, but you were regrettably in another world at the time.”
“You’re better-looking than Vampire Bill, at least.”
He stepped back, and she squinted around the room. I climbed from the box, still in my night shift and stockings, and came over to check Nana’s pulse. It was racing, but she was alive enough to smack my hand.
“It’s my dream. Don’t you medicine at me, young lady.”
“It’s not a dream, Nana. This is . . . well . . .” I looked to Criminy, who merely grinned and shrugged. Smug bastard was always amused when I was at a loss for words. “This is the world of Sang. When you said you’d rather get turned into a vampire than die on Earth, I brought you over here. Criminy’s a Bludman.” I tilted my head at him, and he obliged by opening his mouth to show shiny fangs. “He’s not undead, though. Here Bludmen are simply predators. If you don’t mind drinking blood for the rest of your life, you can probably live another two hundred years without pain. Right?”
“Right.” Crim obligingly leaned close, and Nana pressed a withered finger against one of his pointed canine teeth. “Whatever’s eating you from the inside will disappear, and you’ll experience a rejuvenated body and spirit. And you don’t even have to kill anyone to survive. If you don’t wish to.” Nana snorted as if she didn’t believe him, and he admitted, “Although murder can be quite refreshing, from time to time, if they deserve it, you can live quite happily on vials of donated blood.”
Nana pulled her finger away and stared at a tiny bead of blood at her fingertip, where she must have punctured herself on Crim’s tooth. On purpose. Little did she know that most Bludmen would have been driven to snack on her by that sort of misstep, but Criminy was known for his self-control . . . at least when it came to anyone in his caravan.
“I was hoping for Eric Northman,” she mumbled.
Criminy looked to me, one sharp eyebrow raised.
“Sorry, Crim. I guess she likes ’em big and blond.”
“We’re a bit short on Bludmen at the moment. I’m afraid it’s me, Charlie Dregs, a two-headed nutter, or the kitchen girl, unless you wish to go into town and find yourself a beau. But I can guarantee that I have more control and kindness than any stranger.” Criminy bowed, and Nana nodded regally.
“You’ll do, I reckon. Just make it quick. Whatever brought me here got my heart sputtering, and the damn thing’s likely to stop soon.”
I reached for her hand, clasping it warmly between my own. “Are you sure, Nana?”
She squeezed once. “Why the hell not, sugar?” she said, a wicked glint in her eye.
Judging by the fact that she was weaker than ever, was still high as a kite, and might change her mind if she lived long enough to get sober, Criminy and I elected to blud her on the spot. Well, after borrowing some tarps from Mr. Murdoch’s workshop. I hovered around with various throw pillows and blankets, trying to make her as cozy as possible in a cleared-out corner of our parlor. She smacked my hand as I tried to prop her up more comfortably, and Crim muttered, “It’s not a cushy activity, love. Best just get out of the way and let us get on with it.”
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt much.”
He silenced me with a firm shake of his head and leaned close. “With you, there are certain things I can do to take your mind off the process. Fluid is fluid, after all. With your grandmother, however, I’m going to keep it as straightforward as possible.” He gave me a meaningful look and handed me his top hat, then, on second thought, stripped to the waist.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Nana murmured as she nursed the glass of red wine Criminy had given her to further lower her inhibitions.
With more awkwardness and less predation than I’d ever seen him exhibit, Criminy pulled off his boots and crawled to my drunk grandmother’s side in his black breeches and argyle socks. “Now, Nana,” he said, “you must understand that there’s a fair amount of give-and-take here. It may hurt a little bit.”
“Everything’s hurt me for ten years past, boy,” she said, eyeing him.
“And although my general practice is to follow a lady’s wishes, I will not stop once I start, no matter what you say or how you push me away. To do so would ensure your almost immediate demise. Do you understand?”
Nana tossed back the last of the wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Talky feller, ain’t he? I would’ve figured you for a man of action, Mr. Bill. Now, let’s get this over with.”
Criminy looked at me and smothered a grin. “Reminds me a little of you on your first day here, love. All business.”
“As a famous man once said, get busy living or get busy dying,” I muttered.
“Mm-hmm. Morgan Freeman,” Nana said, all dreamy, settling back and crossing her arms. “Do you think he’s God in this world, too?”
I pulled up a chair before my legs gave out. This process had terrified me ever since the future had revealed that I would one day be a Bludman, too. Discovering I was a glancer had turned out to be a boon in many ways, considering that whenever I touched someone’s skin for the first time, I was afforded a vision of their destiny. It certainly helped me earn my keep in the caravan. Glancers weren’t supposed to see themselves in the future, and yet, touching Criminy all that time ago, my hand flat on his chest, I had.
It wasn’t even the pain of bludding so much that worried me. As he’d heard but supposedly never experienced, adding a little sex to the mix made the whole thing more enjoyable for both parties. No, what really bothered me was giving up my humanity, the core of who I was.
Back on Earth, I was a hospice nurse, providin
g comfort and strength when people needed it most. Here in Sang, a world with no germs, I was a ringmaster’s kept wife with a gift for fortune-telling. As much as I loved Criminy and wouldn’t go back to Earth permanently even if I could, becoming a Bludman meant I stood to lose my home world and the very root of my being. Instead of helping people, I would have no choice but to take from them—even if they gave the blood willingly.
I had always been fiercely proud and self-reliant, especially after I’d left Jeff and his suffocating ways. Nursing was my calling. And Sang had no use for nurses. With Nana in this world and on her way to being nearly indestructible, there was no logical reason to remain human. Nothing to stand in my way of dropping the twenty years of unnecessary aging the witch had gifted me in exchange for the potion I’d just used. Nothing to stop me from learning to laugh as recklessly as my husband. I couldn’t even have children, thanks to a dangerous miscarriage years before on Earth. All I had to take care of was Crim, and he could take care of himself perfectly well and laugh his way through any challenge. I’d have to find a new and satisfying way to be truly useful.
But he wasn’t laughing now—he looked like a bull in a china shop. Carefully, kindly, he leaned over Nana, trying not to touch her fragile bones, probably because I’d told him often enough how easily she bruised these days, how paper-thin her skin had grown. A small flare of jealousy reared up in me, for just a moment, when I saw his lips press to her neck, but when I saw the grim set of her mouth and the fearful cast of her eyes, the way her hands were primly folded in her lap and shaking, I remembered that this was as vital an operation as any she’d undergone on Earth, her one chance to keep going. And I wasn’t ready to let her go, so I held my breath as Criminy’s lips spread and covered the fluttering pulse in her throat.
When Nana’s body jerked, I did, too. Her fingers wrapped around Crim’s shoulders, and she tried to push him away. As promised, he didn’t let her, holding her firmly but as gently as he could, his throat working as he swallowed her blood. There couldn’t be much in her, tired and frail as she was. Her eyes went from terrified to slack, a little misty, her hands loosening from his skin. And then, with the sweetness of a father tucking in a child, he let her swoon to the pile of pillows, where she lay too much like a corpse.
Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) Page 2
