To Dance with the Devil

by Cat Adams

  There, in the distance. Faint, beneath the roar of the waves and the sounds of the gulls … human voices.

  “She should be here somewhere. Wait, over there. Oh, no! The birds! Oh, God, are they eating…” I heard the woman gag, retching, obviously unable to finish her sentence. In the dim recesses of my mind I recognized her voice, but it took me a minute to place it: Dottie. Her name was Dottie. The image of an old woman, slow, weak, came into my mind.

  “It’s all right, honey. I don’t think they’re hurting her,” the man—Fred—answered. “It almost looks like they’re protecting her.” He took a breath, then added, softly, “That smell…”

  I heard the pair of them struggling to hurry across the wet sand. They stopped, too far away for me to attack without dislodging the birds. It was so frustrating! I could hear the rapid beat of her heart, could smell her fear even over the scent of my own burnt flesh. I knew that she would taste wonderful and that fresh blood would help my body heal faster, ending the maddening torment that roiled the entire upper surface of my body.

  “Stop, Fred. Don’t go any closer. She’s in too much pain. She won’t be able to control herself.” Dottie’s voice was commanding. “Celia, we’ve brought you food. I’m going to toss it over to you. You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”

  Yes, I would. If they would only come a teeny bit closer—either of them. Despite the pain, I flexed my toes—the binding spell was gone. They were old and slow. Even hurt as I was, I could take them. Then I would feel so much better. I waited, keeping still. Perhaps if they believed I was still frozen in place, they would come closer.

  I heard the soft thud of something hitting the sand beside me. Whatever it was sloshed; it smelled of plastic and human food, and beneath that, blood. Before I could think, my hand shot out, grabbing the container in a blur of speed and bringing it to my mouth. I tore through the plastic with my teeth as dislodged gulls circled overhead, cawing.

  The blood tasted glorious—hot, sweet, salty … but there was a faint aftertaste that I recognized from another time, years ago. I started to pull back, but it was too late. Powerful drugs laced with magic were already hitting my system. My pain vanished, and the world with it.

  * * *

  I woke with the sunset. I could feel it sinking below the horizon, feel my body tensing to rise. I felt the pull of the moon, the need to stalk prey, to hunt.

  I opened my eyes. I was alone in a hospital room, my body pinned to the bed by metal restraints. I hissed in anger, pulling against the brackets. The metal groaned but did not give way.

  There was a crackling noise above and behind me as a speaker was activated. A female voice, tinny sounding from the distortion, spoke to me. “Ms. Graves, I can see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  Ms. Graves. The name was familiar … it was my name. I was Celia Graves. Memories flooded over me. I remembered who I was. I remembered what had happened to me. I strained to look at myself, naked on the bed, without so much as a hospital gown to cover me.

  My skin was whole again. Not scar tissue, whole, new, and as clear as if it had never been burned. Only one thing was different. Years ago, I’d gotten a tattoo to honor my baby sister; ivy twined up one leg from ankle to hip. Now, the back of my leg, where the skin had remained unburned, looked as it had ever since, covered with green leaves and vines. But the front of my leg, where the skin had burned completely off before the gulls covered me, was unmarked. It looked … strange.

  “Ms. Graves?”

  “I’m here. Give me a minute.” My voice was a hoarse croak, harsh from disuse. “How long have I been out?”

  “It’s Thursday. We kept you unconscious with magic and drugs for two days while your body healed the worst of your injuries. We’d hoped to keep you under for another forty-eight hours, but now that you’re mostly healed, your body is processing the drugs too quickly, and using magic alone wasn’t deemed advisable.”

  I looked at the tubes and machines I was connected to: IVs, a catheter, a feeding tube. A heart monitor that beeped frantically in response to my racing pulse as I fought to suppress my fear, anger, and the vampire instincts that were as near the surface as they’d been the first night after the bite.

  “Ms. Graves, I need to ask you a few questions. Answer as honestly as you can.”

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth. I could get a handle on this. I could control it. I’d done it before. I could do it now.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  I recognized the question. It’s the first question asked of vampire bite victims, to make sure they’re still human, that they haven’t been brought over. New bats are practically feral. They have no sense of identity, no self, until their master imprints one on them. So if you’ve been bit, EMTs and doctors routinely ask about your human life, questions they have the answers to, to make sure you’re still you. The fact that they recognized how close I was to falling over that edge was terrifying. If I didn’t answer well and quickly, they’d cut off my head while I was pinned to this bed, then stake my heart to finish me.

  “My name is Celia Graves. My mother, Lana Graves, is in prison after multiple DUIs. My gran is living on the Isle of Serenity so that she can visit her. My sister, Ivy, died as a child, and my dad bugged out when we were both little.” I paused, steeling myself to say the part that was still fresh enough to hurt. “My sister’s ghost passed over just the other day.”

  “Ah. Good. You remember.” There was a pause before the speaker crackled again and the tinny voice continued, “We need to send someone in to change your IV bags. Are you in control of yourself enough for us to do that?”

  I was in restraints. Did she really think it was that much of a problem? Why? What had I done while unconscious? I wanted to know—and at the same time I didn’t. A tight knot was forming in my stomach—pure nerves. I couldn’t have done anything too bad. If I had, I’d be dead. At least that’s what I told myself as I answered, “I’m fine.”

  “Very good. Stay very still, please.”

  I could do that. At least I told myself I could. But it wasn’t easy. Not at all. As soon as I smelled the faint scents of human flesh with a fresh hint of soap, heard steady footsteps on the linoleum floor of my room, my body tensed, muscles coiling. The predator in me prepared to spring.

  I am not a fucking bat. I am not going to be a bat. I clenched my jaw tight enough to hear my teeth grinding and feel my fangs biting into the flesh of my own lip. But I made myself lie still, kept myself under control. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t pretty. But I did it.

  The nurse who moved around me was older, thick-bodied, her short dark hair cut in a no-nonsense bob that was in stark contrast to her playful pale blue scrubs patterned with Sylvester stalking Tweety as the little bird quoted his usual line. The woman looked vaguely familiar, and I flogged my memory trying to come up with either her name or a reason why I would recognize her.

  “I’m glad you’re awake. We’ve been worried about you.” She smiled down at me as she began switching the plastic fluid bags with practiced ease. “You probably don’t remember me, but I was on duty when you and your friend helped us during the M. Necrose outbreak. The zombie you took down in the hall was coming right at me. If you hadn’t stepped in that day, a lot of people would have died. I probably would’ve been one of them.” Her blue eyes locked on mine, her expression serious. “A lot of the nurses were afraid to come in here with you. But I don’t believe you’re going to attack me. You’re stronger than that. I’ve seen it.”

  My eyes filled with tears. “God, I hope so.”

  She gave me a reassuring smile before adjusting a knob. Fluid flowed freely through one of the tubes into my arm. As the fluid flowed in, consciousness flowed out.

  I slept.

  10

  “Hello.” I opened my eyes at the sound of Alex’s voice. She was sitting in a chair next to my bed. “Up and at ’em, sleeping beauty. I do
n’t have all day.”

  “Hey, Al.”

  “Celia.”

  “Not exactly beautiful,” I grumbled as I tried to sit up. Of course I couldn’t, because of the restraints, which I’d forgotten about until they brought me up short.

  I was dressed now, if you call a hospital gown dressed. It was better than being buck naked, I suppose. Still, the skimpy gown didn’t do much to ward off the chill, and the room was definitely on the cool side. Funny, I hadn’t noticed that before.

  I turned my head toward Alex, who looked tired. She was wearing her usual neatly tailored suit and her makeup was understated and perfect, but I could see the dark circles under her eyes and the slight slump to her shoulders.

  “Honey, compared to what you looked like a couple of days ago, you’re freaking gorgeous. Although I have to admit it’s a little odd seeing you without eyebrows or lashes.” She forced herself to smile, and while I didn’t have Adriana’s ring, I caught a flash of thought from her. She’d been worried about me, scared I’d be permanently blinded or hideously scarred. Of course she’d never say that out loud. It would violate the unwritten “tough broad” rules.

  “I don’t have any eyebrows?”

  “Nope. The skin’s grown back, but the hair’s taking longer. You’ve also got a receding hairline.”

  “Oh, hell.” I felt tears sting my eyes. Stupid, I suppose. I was alive and not blind or maimed. I was also myself, in full possession of my memories, and not feeling the least bit like munching on my friend. All of these were good things. But my hair.

  “Don’t feel too bad. You can already see little spikes where the hair’s growing back in. You’ll probably look perfectly fine before long.”

  “When do you think I’ll be out of here?” I hate hospitals. I know they have a benign purpose, but they make me feel trapped and they smell funny. Mostly I worry that if I’m confined for too long, somebody’s going to come up with a way to keep me confined permanently. It’s not paranoia if there really are people out to get you. Since the vampire bite, I’ve had ample proof that there are lots of people after me.

  “I don’t know,” Alex admitted. “They’ve moved you out of the burn unit because you no longer have any open sores, but they want to be sure you’re not a danger to anybody.” She sighed. “You should know there are folks trying to get you declared a monster and put down.”

  I started swearing under my breath.

  “Not to worry; it isn’t going to happen. You’ve done good in the past and there are lots of people on your side because of that. Bruno’s never farther away than the cafeteria. Your gran’s here, and Queen Lopaka, King Dahlmar, and Queen Adriana have all called regularly. Still, what’s made the most difference is that a bunch of doctors and nurses are on your side. They swear you’re yourself and that you’re going to be fine.” She leaned closer and smiled. “I think so, too.”

  Knowing I had support was a huge relief, as was hearing that the medical staff thought I was going to be fine.

  I was beyond grateful to the doctors and nurses for speaking up for me. I wasn’t sure I would have if I were in their shoes. I felt better today, much more normal. The bat was there, but in the background. I could control it. But they couldn’t have known that. They’d taken a terrible risk to save me.

  “I’ll update you on everything in a minute, but first, I’m here on business. Who did this to you and why? Are you strong enough to work with our sketch artist?”

  “There were three males physically present, and another guy via some kind of hologram spell. Two of the ones with me were white, one black.”

  She sat up straighter in her chair. I wasn’t surprised. She’s smart enough to put two and two together. Or in this case three and three. Three men had snatched Abigail Andrews off of the street and three had attacked me. Coincidence? Not likely.

  “What did they want?”

  “To scare me off.”

  “Off what?”

  “I haven’t got a clue. The only potential client I’ve met with lately is Abigail Andrews. But she didn’t hire me, and like I told you before, she was lying through her teeth the whole time she talked to me.” So whatever that scary man thought I knew, I didn’t.

  “All right, we’re going to investigate it thoroughly. There’s a good chance the two incidents are connected, but we’ll keep an open mind just in case they’re not. In the meantime, if you’re willing, I’d like you to work with an artist we’ve got on staff. She’s a telepath—you can just think the images at her and she can draw them.”

  “Oh!” I suddenly remembered something else. “I took pictures of them with my cell phone. It’s under the driver’s seat of my car.”

  Alex grinned, her eyes actually twinkling a little. “That’ll be great—when we find your car.”

  I sighed. “If you find it. It’s probably just so many parts by now.”

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “But we’re still looking. Now, you get some rest. I’ll send the artist over sometime later this afternoon.”

  She left and I dozed. My system might have burned through the drugs quickly, but the nurses kept them coming. The next time I opened my eyes, late afternoon sunlight was shining through the open window and my gran was sitting in the chair beside my bed, working at a book of crossword puzzles.

  “Gran,” I said hoarsely.

  “Celie, you’re awake.” She gave me a huge smile, setting aside the puzzle book. “How’re you feeling, honey?”

  “Better than I was.”

  “I should think so.” Her expression darkened. “We were all so worried. Your Bruno’s been practically living here at the hospital. I told him to go home and get some rest, but he doesn’t listen.” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “That man really loves you.”

  That was quite an admission coming from Gran. She’d never been much of a Bruno fan, even before we broke up all those years ago and he went back to Jersey. Once John Creede had come along, she made it clear that she liked him better.

  “John’s stopped by a couple of times, too.”

  I nodded.

  “Tomorrow they’re transferring you to a regular room and then you can have all the flowers and plants people have been sending. It looks like a regular jungle out at the nurses’ desk.”

  She was trying to sound cheerful, but her clothes were rumpled, as if she’d slept in them, and there was a shadow in her eyes that spoke of worries she didn’t want to burden me with.

  “What’s wrong, Gran?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a thing now that you’re going to be all right.”

  She was lying. I could tell. My gran doesn’t lie often, and not at all well. But before I could pursue it, the police sketch artist came through the door and Gran used that as her excuse to take off like a scalded cat.

  Officer Alyssa Rivera was small, stocky, and dark-haired, with large dark eyes that took in everything and a soft voice that had just a hint of a Southern drawl. Off duty, I suspected she was a ball of fire. Working, she was all business, and careful, as if she was afraid to hurt me. She set her briefcase on the floor next to the chair by my bed and sat down, taking time to get her equipment set up just so.

  “I know it’s going to be difficult, working with such raw memories, but I need you to think of each of the men in turn, in as much detail as you can.”

  I concentrated, thinking first of the man in the hologram, the brains behind it all. I felt Alyssa’s mind brush mine carefully, saw her drawing a chalk outline. I was surprised. I’d expected her to use pencils or even charcoal. But she worked with pastels, in color. She had a quick hand and a surprisingly gentle mental touch. It didn’t take her long at all to come up with all four, pictures so accurate they could be framed and used as portraits.

  I gave an involuntary shudder, then gave myself a stern mental shake. They were just pictures. Useful pictures, which we would use to find the bastards who had done this to me. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  Alyssa paused in
returning her art supplies to their case. “What can I help you with?”

  That she didn’t know meant that she’d withdrawn from my mind. It was very ethical of her, and I appreciated it quite a bit. “Could you please send copies of those to me electronically? I’d like to have my business partner do an Internet search, see what she can come up with.”

  I expected her to say no, to give me a lecture about staying out of it, letting the police do their job. I could see it in her expression. Then she looked at me, her gaze lingering on my missing eyebrows, on the stubble that was all that was left of most of my hair. I could almost see the memories she’d touched in my mind affect her—her lips set in a hard line, eyes darkened to near black.

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  As she left, Bruno came in. He kissed me gently and told me how glad he was that I was awake and that I was going to be okay. I really wanted to talk with him, but I was worn out. Just the small effort of dealing with the sketch artist had completely exhausted me, and while Bruno was still saying loving things, I fell asleep.

  When I woke again, I was in a regular hospital room with pale yellow walls and an actual window. Every flat surface was covered with lots and lots of flowers and plants. I was no longer restrained, thank God, but a security camera was mounted on the wall so they could keep track of me. Still, no restraints, woot. I could tell it was morning from the angle of the light and the smell of breakfast, which mingled with the floral scents that filled the room. Glancing around, I spotted what had to be the breakfast tray on the rolling cart near my bed. I was wondering how it had gotten there without anyone waking me when I heard the sound of familiar footsteps outside my door.

  I could tell it was John Creede from the scent of his favorite cologne, not to mention the warmth of his magic as he tested the wards on the door before opening it.