Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  head.

  “How badly do you want to remember?”

  I met the intensity of his gaze without flinching. “I don’t want to remember,” I snarled. “I need to.”

  He reached down to the tape recorder and abruptly hit the stop button. I watched the little wheels that

  moved the tape come to a halt, wondering what in the hel was going on. “How much money have you

  got on you?”

  I blinked a little in shock. Alex is incredibly straightforward, honest, and honorable. I couldn’t believe

  that a man she trusted as much as Gibson could be crooked, but he was certainly acting suspiciously. I

  picked my words careful y, trying to keep my voice utterly neutral. “Not much, but my office is only a

  couple blocks from here. I can get some. Why?”

  He smiled a slow, wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As a cop, I am not al owed to employ

  the services of a clairvoyant to look into the past, or hire a mage or hypnotist to make you remember.

  Particularly since recal ing the attack might be traumatizing and could cause brain damage.” He

  sounded both bitter and resigned. “But if”—he forced his face into neutral lines—“you, as a civilian,

  choose to employ one of those esteemed individuals, and if you should choose to have me present—”

  “That’s cutting the rules awful y fine, Detective Gibson.” I made sure I didn’t sound judgmental. But I

  knew as wel as he did that the courts frowned on this sort of thing. Magic is a fact of life, but it is too

  easily manipulated. For that matter, so is some of the newer and flashier technology—which was why

  Gibson was using a tape rather than a digital recorder. Somewhere along the way he’d turned off the

  camera as wel . I could tel because there were no lights flashing on it at al .

  “Ms. Graves.” Gibson took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index

  finger. “There are things we don’t tel the press. Mainly because if the public knew, they’d panic and

  make things worse for everyone.”

  I nodded. It made sense. I didn’t like it, but I’d seen a mob mentality in action once before. It had

  scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t have to try to stop them. The cops were the ones who got to face

  that sort of thing head-on and get crucified afterward, no matter how they handled the situation. I could

  accept the need for … discretion.

  “I need your help, so I’m going to tel you something—but you didn’t hear it, and you sure as hell didn’t

  get it from me.”

  “I can keep my mouth shut,” I assured him.

  “Good. Because we don’t need this getting out, especial y not right now. But you need to know why

  we’re taking this so very seriously, and why I’m wil ing to bend a little to get the job done.”

  “Tel me.”

  Gibson leaned in and spoke even more softly. “There was a spel used on that al ey to eliminate every

  trace of living or formerly living matter down to the pre-cel ular level. Not even bacteria survived. The

  spel that was used is anathema. Do you know what that means?”

  I forced my mind back to my history of magic classes in col ege and recited from memory, “‘The early

  Catholic church declared anathema al magic that was based on demonic power, magic that can be

  worked only by a demon or a half-human/half-demon spawn. Any human party to that type of magic is

  immediately excommunicated.’”

  “Yep,” he agreed. “And al spel s that are anathema have been incorporated into the Nuremberg

  Accords. Their use is considered a crime against humanity and cause to be brought before the

  international tribunal. Demonic spel s are war crimes … even when there’s no war.”

  Demonic. Something must have shown in my expression, because he said, “What? You’ve thought of

  something.”

  It was so frustrating, I almost remembered something … a whistling sound, flashing lights … but out

  of context it didn’t make sense.

  Gibson gave me some space. We sat and sipped coffee and stared at nothing for a few minutes.

  When I had a little better grip on my emotions I broke the silence. “So we’re dealing with at least the

  semi-demonic.”

  He let out a little growl and lowered his voice. “Don’t say that too loud, and never in public. We’ve got

  the World Series coming up just a few short miles away in Anaheim.”

  Wel , that certainly explained both why the police had decided to act dumb to Emma and why Alex had

  been careful about what she said to me. Assuming, of course, she actual y knew anything. She might

  not.

  Gibson slid his glasses back on and scooted back in his seat. He pul ed a smal notebook from his

  pocket and began reading from it. “‘The first officers on the scene were Conner and Watson. They

  arrived within fifteen minutes of Ms. Landingham’s cal . The place was deserted, but they could see

  what looked like the remains of two adult males on the ground near the foot of a back staircase next to

  a Dumpster and a rather large pile of smoldering ash that they believed might be the burned remains of

  multiple vampires. They radioed for backup and proceeded toward the al ey. Watson was in the lead.

  As he reached his left arm into the al ey to shine his flashlight on the remains he felt …’” Gibson

  hesitated for a second before continuing with the same clinical detachment coroners use to stay sane.

  “‘… a burning, tingling sensation in his arm. He told his partner to stay back and cal for magical

  backup.’”

  Gibson’s jaw clenched, and I watched a slow flush creep up his neck. He kept it under control, but I

  could feel the rage beating off of him like heat from a furnace. “In less than two minutes, the bodies in

  the al ey began to disintegrate, along with every other thing that had ever, at one time, been a living

  thing, up to and including the cotton of Watson’s shirt and the arm beneath it.”

  Gibson’s eyes locked with mine and I couldn’t look away. His gaze compel ed me to face him, face

  what he said next head-on. No hiding. No flinching. “It started at his fingertips and worked its way up,

  his arm disintegrating into powder-fine dust while he watched. It would have kept going if Conner

  hadn’t thought to run back to the car for the vampire kit and the axe—” His jaw clenched, and the words

  cut off, choked off by his rage. He worked to steady his harsh breathing. It took a couple of minutes,

  but I waited silently. There was nothing to say. Just the thought of it was horrifying. I felt my stomach rol

  with revulsion that had nothing to do with the smel of his il ness. “The Internal Affairs officer threw up

  watching the dashboard cam video. They brought in a priest to bless him and doused the tape with holy

  water—in case watching it activated another spel .” Gibson paused again. “Watson and Conner are

  stil alive. The doctors think they can magical y alter their memories enough to let them out of the psych

  ward in a few weeks and send them home.”

  Gibson’s eyes bored into me like lasers. “I want the bastards who did this. The priests can deal with

  the demons, but somebody human had to summon them—has to be working with them. I won’t do

  anything that wil risk a slick lawyer getting them off. But I want them.”

  I agreed wholeheartedly. The best part was, I must have been gone by then. Even if I recovered the

  rest of my memories, I wouldn’t have to remember seeing one cop cut off
another’s arm with an axe. I

  even had an idea of how to get started on the right track. “Detective Gibson, my best friend is a levelnine clairvoyant. What say we pay her a visit?”

  He shook his head. Alex must have suggested the same thing. “No dice. Vicki Cooper is an inpatient

  at a mental facility. Anything she got would be dismissed out of hand as being tainted.”

  Shit. He was right. Which sucked, because she was the best and I trusted her implicitly.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “Not what, Ms. Graves. Who. ”

  7

  Dorothy simmons was a sweet-looking little old lady with fluffy white hair and a round face. She met

  us at the door of one of a col ection of tiny red-brick duplexes that formed the government-subsidized

  housing for the elderly in our fair city. She was wearing a lavender velour track suit with a white tank top

  and the kind of heavy sensible white shoes you see advertised in magazines for nurses and other

  folks who spend most of their time on their feet. At her invitation we fol owed her inside, moving slowly

  as she shuffled along using one of those aluminum walkers with bright green tennis bal s attached to

  the front feet for traction.

  We’d come here because Mrs. Simmons didn’t have a history of mental instability. I was going to be

  paying her fifty dol ars, because she was on a fixed income and needed the money. Seemed like a

  smal enough price to pay if she could help me out.

  At Gibson’s suggestion I’d hung back a bit, in the shadows cast by a trel is of pink climbing roses. He

  wanted to make sure my appearance didn’t startle her. After my experiences earlier, I didn’t blame him.

  “Dottie, I have someone with me who was attacked last night. She’s a victim, and I swear to you she

  is not a danger to you.”

  “Don’t be sil y, Karl, I know you’d never put me at risk. Miss … come on in. There’s no need to be

  skulking around in the shadows.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you say so.” I tried to show my appreciation with a smile. I shouldn’t have. It flashed

  the fangs. She stepped back so abruptly she nearly fel , her face as white as a sheet, her blue eyes as

  wide as saucers.

  “Dottie … Dot, it’s al right,” Gibson assured her. “Celia was ambushed last night. She was rescued

  before the process went too far, but we need your help to know exactly what went on in that al ey. We

  need to catch the bat that did this to her.”

  “Oh, my.” Dottie put her hand to her chest, her breath coming in short gasps. It took a couple of

  moments before she calmed enough to speak. “I’m so sorry, dear, but you did give me a turn.” She

  shook her head. “So sil y. I know better. A vampire couldn’t be out this time of day. Stil …” She shook

  her head again. “It is a shock. You poor thing. You’l be facing a hard time, I bet, with people reacting

  before they think, just like I did. How are you feeling?”

  I shrugged. “Physical y, I’m recovering. Mental y, I don’t remember much and am stil pretty much in

  denial.” I made my voice as soothing as I could. “I know it’s going to catch up with me eventual y. But

  right now, I’ve got to find out what happened, before the bat that attacked me comes back to finish the

  job.”

  Again her eyes went wide, as she realized what I meant. “Oh dear. We can’t have that. Absolutely

  not.” Dottie appeared flustered. “No, of course not. Come in, come in. Have a seat on the couch while

  I go get my supplies. I won’t be a minute.”

  Wel , didn’t I just feel like a heel, scaring the crap out of a nice little old lady. Not that I could help it. But

  stil … I could only hope my gran didn’t react the same way next time she saw me. She’d already had

  one heart attack. A bad enough shock might actual y kil her.

  I fidgeted on the overstuffed sofa and looked around to waste some time. It was a nice apartment. A

  little excessive, what with al the knickknacks, floral patterns, and doilies, but nice. The entire place

  smel ed of air freshener and there wasn’t a trace of dust on any of the ceramic and pewter statues,

  cups, and col ector plates that fil ed the shelves attached to the wal : kittens and cats mostly, in al sorts

  of poses. Painted kittens romped around the base of the lamp sitting on the end table. But there wasn’t

  a real cat in sight or any evidence of one. Then again, this was government housing. They probably

  had a “no pets” clause. Pity. She seemed like she would be good with pets.

  Dottie reappeared in short order. A tray was hooked to the front of her walker. Balanced on the tray

  was an elaborately etched crystal bowl with a silver rim and a plastic half-gal on jug of One Shot brand

  holy water. With every step she took, the bowl clanked against the metal walker leg and the jug rocked

  back and forth.

  I started to rise to help her, but Gibson beat me to it. He grabbed the bowl with both hands, moving it

  gently to the top of the coffee table. Next he took the bottle of holy water, uncorked it, and began

  pouring it into the bowl as Dottie careful y lowered herself into a worn but fluffy recliner.

  “Do you have anything that was with you when you were attacked?” she asked. “It can be anything

  smal enough to fit in the bowl. Rings, car keys—” She left the sentence unfinished because I’d already

  started nodding. My clothes might be trashed. My keys hadn’t been with me. But there were little garnet

  studs in my ears. Since I woke up with them, I must have been wearing them last night. Best of al , they

  were set in silver, which should make them even better for the purpose.

  I reached up to take them from my ears as she placed one frail hand on each side of the bowl and

  began muttering a soft chant that I recognized as a basic focusing exercise. I dropped the earrings

  into the center of the bowl without being told.

  Concentric circles of water raced toward the edge of the bowl. When they hit the glass, flames

  erupted, racing around the silver rim. Smoke gathered above the water’s surface to form a black-andwhite image of a sleazy bar. I watched myself from above, looking simultaneously bored and disgusted

  by the lewd scene just over my shoulder. There were too many nude, sweaty limbs and groping hands

  for my taste. I was keeping an eye on the prince—whom I recognized from the file in my car—and

  apparently I wasn’t liking it. There are some things it’s better not to remember. Then a pair of men

  rushed into the room and the situation took on an urgent feel. We raced out into a darkened al ey. The

  image was so detailed that I could make out individual bricks and the long scaly tails of the rats feasting

  on a pile of garbage. I could actual y hear their chittering and squeaks, along with the distant sounds of

  the city.

  Vicki uses a mirror as her focus. It’s impressive. But this was just … cool. I watched, mesmerized, as

  shadows shifted, then solidified to reveal vampires lying in wait. I held my breath as a rectangle of white

  light appeared as the back door of the building opened. The miniature image of Bob Johnson stepped

  into the al ey with me fol owing a few steps behind him.

  Bob was there? But he’s based out of New York now. What the hell? I shook my head, forcing

  myself to concentrate on what I was seeing. I watched myself look both ways down the al ey.

  One of the rats bolted, and I saw myself turn, my gun tracking its movement. The vampires struck.

  As the fight
played out in front of me in miniature, visceral flashes of memory hit me like punches to

  the gut—the smel of cordite mixed with the heavy scent of blood overwhelming the stench of the al ey,

  the pounding of my heart as I dragged Bob toward the light and safety, only to have the escape route

  cut off behind us by the … thing pretending to be the crown prince.

  Sweat beaded my forehead. Panting, I felt myself struggling as they ripped off my jacket to get at

  wrists and throat, felt arms like iron bands pinning me to the ground as sharp canines tore into my

  upper thigh. Though I knew I was sitting, safe and sound, on Dottie’s comfortable sofa, I couldn’t

  escape the sensations.

  I heard myself screaming, a sound of hopelessness and rage, and though a part of me knew that

  Dottie had cut off the spel , I remained trapped in the memory. In my mind I saw a dark-haired vampire

  raise his head from my upper thigh, my blood smeared across his face, dripping from the sil y little soul

  patch on his chin as he began chanting in a language I didn’t know. Magic rose in a wave. I couldn’t

  breathe, and I felt myself weakening as blood pumped from my wounds.

  A female form rose in a liquid movement from where she’d been feasting on Johnson. “Are you

  insane? You’l get us al kil ed. She’s supposed to die so they can blame it on Edgar.”

  She started to move forward, to interfere, but a melodic voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Real y? How very interesting.”

  Every vamp in the al ey turned at the sound of that voice. The chant above me stopped in midsyl able. Soft as a sigh, three forms dropped to opposite ends of the al ey from the rooftops. Only

  three, but even in miniature you could see the fear in the eyes of the bats who’d been feasting on me. I

  assumed the new bat was Edgar. He and two companions glided slowly forward. In the distance I heard

  the screech of tires and the slam of car doors fol owed by running feet. Edgar swore softly and

  gestured to his companions.

  Edgar and the two vampires with him vanished, without so much as a puff of smoke, leaving the other

  bats to deal with the pair of snarling werewolves who tore through the mouth of the al ey.

  A harsh slap rocked my head back, and I blinked, trying to focus, as I found myself abruptly back in