Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  Kevin answered that one. “No.”

  “Then why is she here?” Lackley’s gaze locked with Kevin’s and neither of them seemed inclined to

  back down.

  “It was my fault.” Emma spoke quietly. “I’m a level-four clairvoyant. I knew Celia was in serious

  danger. I cal ed my father and brother and told them what I saw. My brother went to get her. Dad’s in

  Chicago on business, so he cal ed Dr. Reynolds. Nobody wanted to risk what happened in that

  emergency room in Denver, so he brought her here and brought the equipment in. The restraints on

  this table are graded to hold an uncontrol ed ghoul if need be. We figured they’d be strong enough to

  handle whatever she became.”

  I was surprised. Emma’s gift is sporadic at best, and usual y only works in connection with people she

  cares about. I wouldn’t have put myself on that list. She’d saved my life. Of course, she’d turned around

  and risked it a couple hours later, but stil . I turned to look her in the eye. “Thank you.”

  She blinked, obviously startled. “You’re welcome.”

  “So, you admit to bringing a potential y dangerous monster onto campus and not reporting it.”

  Emma flushed at the implied criticism. “I did report it. To the local police, over the phone, while Dr.

  Reynolds was giving Celia the blood transfusion.” She met Lackley’s gaze head-on, her chin thrust up

  in defiance. “And if you check the voice mail for your office, you’l find an urgent message from me.”

  Lackley didn’t rise to the bait. “What did the police say?”

  “They said they’d look into it.” She turned to me then. “When I cal ed back they said there were no

  dead bodies at that address, or even in the area, monster, human, or otherwise.”

  I blinked. That made no sense. None. I blinked a few more times, trying to process what she’d just

  said, without much success.

  “The officer I spoke to seemed to imply that I was being hysterical. He was polite. Extremely polite.

  But I got the impression he considered me a nutcase.”

  Whatever he’d implied, they were most likely working on it. She probably hadn’t made a particularly

  good impression—she could be a raging bitch in heels, and they wouldn’t take to it. But somebody was

  probably doing the legwork. They take talk of monsters and dead bodies very seriously.

  “For the record.” I turned and spoke directly to Lackley. I didn’t want Warren and the others getting in

  trouble for saving my life. From the sound of it, they would. If not from the university, from the

  authorities. Endangering the public is a serious crime. I couldn’t do much about that, but I could deal

  with the university brass. At least I thought I could. “I’m one of the students who signed up for the full

  alumni package.”

  “I know.” Could Lackley have made those words any drier? Of course, I didn’t real y blame him.

  Bayview, like every institution of higher education, was always in need of donations. Someone had

  come up with a bright idea that would get alumni donors to fork over more cash. It was based on the

  same principle as gym memberships—and the same assumption of attrition. Offer a limited time deal.

  Donate a certain hefty amount and they reactivate you as if you were a student. You get ful benefits

  —use of the athletic facilities, student discounts, use of the student health facilities, and

  insurance—as long as you enrol ed in two classes per semester and remained in good standing.

  Most people who could afford that level of donation real y didn’t need the benefits. The first time it

  became inconvenient, they’d stop signing up for classes, and that would be that—the university would

  have their money and no further obligation to them. I’m not most people. Considering how hard it is for

  a woman with my job description to get health insurance, the deal seemed like a steal at twice the

  price. I jumped at the chance, and have been working my way through every elective in the schedule.

  Hel , at some point I might even get serious about it and get my master’s.

  “What courses are you taking this semester?” I could hear the resignation in Lackley’s voice.

  “Music Appreciation and Ornamental Gardening.”

  Kevin snorted and I glared at him. “Don’t laugh. David’s been talking about making changes to the

  grounds and Vicki thought that at least one of us should know what he was talking about.” David and

  Inez lived at the estate and ran the place for Vicki. I rented the guesthouse. It was an arrangement

  we’d worked out shortly before graduation and one that had worked wel for us for several years.

  “The ghoul-proof table means they took precautions not to endanger the campus.” Rocky’s voice was

  a low, soothing rumble.

  Lackley’s eyes narrowed, but he gave Rocky a curt nod. It was obvious Lackley was very unhappy

  about the situation, but even he would hesitate to go up against El Jefe. The nickname might have

  started out as a joke, but it stuck because Warren is “the Chief” when it comes to the paranormal. He’s

  international y renowned and brings a lot of prestige and money to the university. Lackley might win this

  particular battle, but pissing off Warren would cost him dearly long term, and he was too astute a

  politician not to know it.

  “Dr. Reynolds—since Ms. Graves appears to be alive and in ful possession of her faculties and

  memory, is there any reason why she should remain here instead of recovering in the comfort of her

  own residence?”

  “Wel , sir …,” Reynolds stammered a little. I knew he was going to argue. As a doctor, he’d feel

  compel ed to take a conservative course with regard to little things like, oh, sunlight, holy water… . But I

  knew it would go badly for him if he did. He didn’t have the clout Warren did, so he’d be practical y

  defenseless, and Lackley was in the mood to rip someone a new orifice.

  I didn’t want Dr. Reynolds to be punished for saving me, so I spoke up before he could argue. “It’s al

  right, Doc. I was planning on leaving anyway.”

  “I hate this.” Kevin glared at me when he said it, and I could feel the heat of his anger. “You shouldn’t

  risk going out into the sunlight.” I knew his beast was close. I could feel it. He usual y has better control

  than that, and it made me nervous. I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid for him. Because most people

  see werewolves as monsters and think they al should be either kil ed or locked up, which was why

  nobody at the university knew about his condition. If Kevin gave them an excuse, we’d have more and

  worse problems than we already did.

  I tried to show him al that in a look, and he subsided a little.

  “I need to know how bad this is going to be, Kev. If I have to stay in, I wil . But if I can handle the

  sunlight, I’m going.” I took a deep breath, gathering my nerve. If I was going to do this, I needed to get it

  over with.

  President Lackley and the others stepped out of the way, Rocky even went so far as to open the door

  for me.

  The hal way had an entire wal made of windows overlooking the campus quadrangle. Bright sunlight

  was streaming through the east-facing glass.

  Everyone stared in hushed silence as I paused at the very last edge of shadows.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the light.

  I didn’t incinerate. Yay!

  “I’m fine.” Al right, “fine” was an exaggeration. I coul
d actual y feel my skin heating: like a sunburn on

  fast forward.

  I stepped back into the shadows wondering if my trusty SPF 30 would be helpful, and for how long.

  I’ve always had natural y pale skin, so I kept bottles of it pretty much everywhere. Of course I could go

  up to SPF 45, or even (ugh) sunblock. But if that didn’t work, life was going to be damned inconvenient.

  We were, after al , living in sunny Southern California, next to the Pacific. It’s my home and damn it, I

  like it here.

  Kevin was at my elbow. His words were a bare breath of air meant only for my ears. “I can smel your

  skin burning, Celia.”

  He took a step back, but his eyes were glowing. I felt his power rol across my skin, raising the hairs

  on my body. No surprise there. What was … disturbing … was that my power rose in response,

  making my skin glow white enough to banish the shadows from the hal way. My eyes felt … odd, my

  vision shifting into a kind of hyperfocus that showed me every nick in the painted wal , every flaw in the

  glass. I could see the pulse beating in the throat of a student hurrying down the sidewalk outside a

  hundred yards away, and it made my stomach growl.

  Oh, shit.

  “Should she be able to do that?” Emma was obviously fascinated. I’d heard her use the same tone of

  voice when discussing research results with her father.

  Kevin gave me a long, assessing look. “That, and more. She’s not human anymore.”

  There was both fear and … excitement in his voice when he said it. If I’d been able to get my throat

  to respond enough to speak, mine would only have held fear.

  5

  Vampires look quite a lot like humans … wel , except for the teeth, and the unnatural pal or. And of

  course there’s that whole red/gold-eye thing. But vampires are purely nocturnal. They’re dead when the

  sun is up. It was ful daylight. So even though my reflection in the windows showed someone unnatural y

  pale, with a real y impressive set of canines, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get mistaken for a vampire.

  Maybe. I hoped.

  My “sunburn” subsided in a minute or two. I could actual y see my skin heal. Très creepy. Useful,

  though. I wondered how it would work. What was the healing rate compared to that of a normal human?

  Were there any references I could use to find out? From what they were tel ing me, it didn’t sound as if

  this was exactly a common problem. Which was probably why they hadn’t covered it in any of my

  courses.

  As we walked down the hal way, him being the gentleman and carrying my duffel and the umbrel a I’d

  borrowed from Emma, Kevin lowered his voice until it was the barest whisper. Yet I could hear him as

  clearly as though he were screaming the words. “We’re letting you go, and I’ve made Jones promise

  not to fol ow you. But I want you to check in every few hours. And if you feel anything odd, cal

  immediately and I’l come get you. Okay?”

  It occurred to me then that I was being given a rare gift—I was being let go. Warren’s vamp lectures

  came back to tighten my chest and make my heart pound. Vampires are never let go once they’re in

  any sort of custody. They’re staked, imprisoned, or tested. But they’re not let go. Crap. That could

  disappear in an instant if I wasn’t careful.

  “Thanks. I’l stay low-key. Mostly I want to do some research and catch up with people.” That wasn’t

  precisely true, but mostly. I would do the research, when I had time. Right now there were more

  important things I needed to be doing. So I grabbed my bag and the umbrel a and walked with false

  confidence toward the sunlit entrance. Kevin started to come with me, but President Lackley stopped

  him with a gesture and a firm, “I have a few more questions for you, Mr. Landingham. If you don’t mind.

  ”

  He obviously did. But he didn’t argue. He couldn’t if he wanted to keep his job. Lackley was just in that

  foul of a mood. I could hear him trying to cal Reynolds on the carpet, with minimal success. The doctor

  had more backbone than I’d given him credit for. Too, he knew his stuff. This was a campus, with hardpartying students. Mine was not the first vampire bite he’d treated. Most individual bites aren’t fatal. A

  single vampire can’t hold that much blood. Oh, they can deliberately open several wounds and let the

  victim bleed out, but they general y don’t. Like al good parasites, they know the value of keeping the

  host alive and in the larder. Only when there’s a group al draining a single victim, or a master vamp

  siring a baby, do they drain a victim dry. Since a bat seldom attacks the same person twice—which

  would imply more planning than most have—standard procedure is to replace the lost blood and put the

  victim under a four-hour sleeping charm in case of complications. Which was exactly what Reynolds

  had done, only with the added precaution of the restraints.

  I could hear their voices, stil arguing, al the way to the parking lot as I walked out to my car in the

  shade provided by the umbrel a.

  I knew I looked ridiculous, and it pissed me off. Not enough that I’d risk second-and third-degree

  burns, mind you—but enough to make me irritable. As promised, I got no hint—either scent or sight

  —that Jones was around, which was a concern of a different sort. There’d been some real tension

  between him and Kevin before Jones did his disappearing act, which made me wonder about their

  relationship. They obviously weren’t friends. Former business associates most likely. And how the hel

  had Jones vanished like that? Experts have been working on invisibility spel s for decades with no

  success. Il usion maybe? That sort of thing is difficult, but at least marginal y possible for folks with

  enough talent.

  I pondered it al the way through the parking lot as I searched for my vehicle. Kevin had used the

  spare key to fetch my car from wherever I’d left it parked. I juggled umbrel a, duffel, and keys as I

  walked across the scorching asphalt to a spot in the very last row. There, tucked between two monster

  trucks, sat my gleaming midnight blue convertible.

  Wel , hel .

  Yes, the top was up, but the thought that I might not be able to ride around during the day with the top

  down just pissed me off even more. But I was alive. And I had more important things to think about. I

  had a lot to do. First thing, I wanted to cal Gran. I was supposed to have had dinner with her last night,

  so by now she’d probably contacted the authorities to make sure I hadn’t been in an accident. Then

  again, maybe not. I do tend to work weird hours.

  Second, I definitely needed to chat with the police. Something very weird was going on and I was right

  in the middle of it. I mean, no bodies? I wouldn’t have gone out at night alone. I’d been scheduled for a

  job. If I/we’d been hit, there would’ve been more casualties than just me. I’m good enough not to go

  down without a fight. So, why no bodies? Who would move them? And why? Getting rid of that kind of

  evidence takes real work.

  I put my duffel in the minuscule trunk. It fit, but there wasn’t a lot of room to spare. I love my little

  sports car. It is a joy to drive and everything I’ve always wanted. But practical it isn’t. I col apsed the

  umbrel a and let myself into the car, dropping the umbrel a onto the floorboard on the passenger side.

  The car was an oven. In seconds, sweat started to tri
ckle down my back, between my shoulder

  blades, and under my breasts. I started the ignition, put the air conditioner on ful blast, and set about

  looking for clues.

  The first and most obvious was the file folder sitting on the passenger seat. I knew what that was

  —my research on Prince Rezza. That it was here in the car instead of in my files at the office said that

  I’d actual y made it as far as going out to the job. More interesting to me by far was the little multicolored photo envelope peeking out from behind the seat.

  I didn’t remember celebrating Vicki’s birthday, but apparently we’d done it. I flipped through the

  snapshots over and over, trying to remember. We’d obviously had a great time. From the expression

  on her face, she’d loved the mirror and the card. There were pictures of us laughing and hugging. But I

  didn’t remember. I tried, but there was nothing. Not a damned thing. I felt a lump in my throat and a pain

  in my stomach. Memories lost were just that—lost. Sure, there would be more smiles, but I’d missed

  these and not even the pictures could give them back. They might as wel be photos of two strangers.

  I slid the photos back into the envelope and reached over to open the glove compartment. Normal y I

  tuck my cel phone in there when I go out on a job. After al , no cal s when you’re on duty.

  It wasn’t there. I swore under my breath. If it wasn’t in the glove box, it had probably been in my

  pocket. Which meant it was gone—along with who knew what al else.

  Since I put the file in the car, I must have gone to the job, and I would have been wearing my jacket

  and carrying my new gadget—both of which were valuable and neither of which I had any longer.

  Dammit!

  I thought about what to do as the car engine did its best to blast cooler air through the vents. I

  reached back into the glove compartment and grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion. SPF 30 would have to

  do. I could already feel my skin reacting where it was exposed to patches of sunlight. The smel of

  coconut, aloe, and chemicals fil ed the car as I slathered thick white liquid on my exposed flesh, hoping

  what I was about to do wasn’t as stupid as I thought it was.

  Pay phones aren’t easy to find in the cel ular age. The days when Superman could pop into the

  nearest phone booth have been gone longer stil . About the only place you can find a usable public