Blood Song

by Cat Adams

  spel I’d passed through a moment before.

  “Stop right there.” Her voice rang with authority. She rose, leaning both hands on the counter. “You

  have no business coming here.”

  Anger rose up in a wave. How dare she? “It’s ful daylight, Anna.” I didn’t bother to keep the scorn

  from my voice. “I’m not a bat.”

  “If you were a bat,” she answered coldly, “you wouldn’t have made it through the wards. But that

  doesn’t mean you aren’t dangerous. In fact, it makes you more so. Because you’re stil human enough

  to pass through unhindered.”

  I felt a surge of rage that sent the blood pounding through my veins. My vision narrowed, focusing on

  the pulse throbbing at the base of her stringy neck; the adrenaline-laced scent of her fear rose to my

  nostrils like the bouquet of a fine wine. I could almost taste—

  I closed my eyes, shutting out the image of her pulse. Slowly, careful y, I fought to rein in my temper by

  control ing my breathing, panting through an open mouth so that the scents wouldn’t overwhelm me. It

  didn’t feel close to nightfal , but my brain was tel ing me, Time to go hunting.

  I am not a vampire. I am not a fucking bat . I will not do this.

  It took time. It wasn’t easy and it probably wasn’t pretty, but I fought down the beast within me. When I

  opened my eyes, I was myself again.

  Silence dragged on for long moments as Anna stared at me. When she final y spoke, her voice was

  soft and careful. It was the same tone you use to talk to people standing on a ledge, or wild animals you

  don’t want to spook. “I shouldn’t have threatened you, Celia. That was stupid. But you don’t belong

  here. You don’t belong anywhere in public. It isn’t safe. There are too many people. Too much

  temptation.”

  Her expression was so serious, so pained, that I knew there was personal history behind her

  reaction. I knew I should care. But God help me, I didn’t. Not real y. Al I cared about was getting away

  from her and finding out what I could do to fix this. There had to be something. When it comes to

  metaphysics, there are very few absolutes. There’s almost always something you can do. It may be

  difficult to the point of being damned near impossible—but almost nothing was actual y undoable, with

  enough power, time, and money.

  “I need to know about abominations, Anna.” I said it quietly, and while I couldn’t quite manage not to

  lisp, I did my absolute best to stifle the part of me that wanted to rage at the injustice of the situation. “I

  need to know how to fix this.”

  “You can’t.” Her whispered words were just a bare breath of air. Normal y I wouldn’t have heard them.

  I closed my eyes against her pain. I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know. I had enough problems

  of my own. “Please. I have to try.”

  I heard her chair scrape back as she moved away from the desk. “I suppose you do.” The words

  shook, just a little. But from the sound of it, her fear was being overcome by a combination of sorrow

  and determination. “But you don’t have to do it here. And I wil not al ow you to endanger the other

  students and staff.”

  “So, what? What do I do?”

  “Go to your office. I’ve already scanned and e-mailed copies of everything we’ve got to Dr. Reynolds,

  Professor Landingham, and a police detective.” Duh. Why was I surprised that everyone had the same

  idea? “I’l send the documents to your student account. You can print out whatever you need. Now go!”

  I felt the air between us harden into a solid wal of force. Slowly, inexorably, it began pushing me

  backward. It was actual y kind of cool that she could do that. I was stil annoyed. I could appreciate the

  technique without admiring the cause.

  The drive back to the office didn’t take long, but by the time I got there the place was locked up tight. It

  was lunchtime, and Dawna had hung up one of those little clock face signs saying she’d be back at

  1:00.

  I let myself in, grabbed my messages and faxes, and climbed the stairs to the copy room on the

  second floor. My laptop was locked in the safe, but we’ve got an old desktop hooked up in the copy

  room for people to use in an emergency. It’s hooked directly to the big printer, so even if the network

  goes down, it’s stil possible to print. I had no idea if Dawna had managed to get the computers fixed,

  but even if she hadn’t, I should be able to bring up Anna’s e-mail and print it. While I was at it, I plugged

  the new cel phone in to charge.

  It didn’t take long to log on and find the right e-mail, but it took a while to print. There were a lot of

  pages. Good news for me. Maybe somewhere in there I’d find information to help me get through this.

  God I hoped so.

  While I waited for the printer to finish, I started flipping through my messages. Kevin had cal ed some

  more. Dawna had final y resorted to a sort of code—“K 29.” Twenty-nine? Wow. I’d try him again as

  soon as I got up to the office.

  None of the other messages were earth-shattering: some work stuff, a cal from Gibson asking if I

  was sure about the address I’d given him, and Dr. Reynolds saying I’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t

  had a chance to give me my fol ow-up orders, so he’d be faxing them to my office.

  I flipped pages until I got to his fax. His orders were handwritten and barely legible. I was exhausted. It

  wasn’t long before the words on the pages began blurring in front of my eyes. I didn’t intend to close

  them, had no intention of fal ing asleep. But there you go.

  Come to me, Celia.

  He was in a very ordinary motel room. I recognized the decor—or lack thereof. The drapes had been

  pul ed tight. The only light came from one of those little wal -mounted lamps. He was sitting at a table on

  the opposite side of the room.

  My sire looked like a kid of about seventeen or so. Dark hair, but with skin that had probably been as

  fair as mine even before someone had changed him. He was probably old as dirt, but he’d been young

  enough at his death that he couldn’t grow a decent beard. Al he had was a wispy little soul patch. It

  looked kind of sil y, which made him just a fraction less frightening.

  You must come to me.

  The hell you say.

  He frowned, as if he heard the thought. Maybe he had. I mean, if this was real and not just some

  funky dream, then he was a daywalker. He might not be able to endure sunlight, but he wasn’t dead for

  the day, either. Even most master vamps can’t manage that. Which meant that while he might look like

  a teenager and dress like a teenager, he’d been around long enough to get very, very good.

  Of course, it could be a dream.

  The frown deepened. He turned his head so that I was seeing him ful -on. His expression changed,

  and while his body was stil young, the look on his face was old, old and corrupt with power. His pupils

  expanded until his eyes were almost total y black. I could feel the power of them sucking at me as he

  wil ed me to meet his gaze. It was like fighting an undertow in the ocean, a pul that was irresistible,

  relentless.

  As if in response to that thought I began to smel the tang of salt water and fish, hear the familiar

  sounds of the beach, the crash of waves, the cal of gul s.

  What the hell?

  I woke with a start to the sound of a light tap on the
door. “Celia?” The room was dark except for the

  flickering lights of electronic equipment. Apparently I’d dozed off. When I hadn’t moved for more than

  ten minutes, the lights had shut off automatical y, al owing me to sleep … like a dead thing. When I sat

  up they came back on. I blinked, trying to adjust to the glare and gather my muddled thoughts.

  I wiped a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth and nicked the back of my knuckle on a fang. It

  stung for a second, then went numb. But the blood flowed freely—more freely than it should’ve.

  Swearing under my breath, I used the hem of my shirt to apply pressure on it, and cal ed out, “Come in.

  ”

  Dawna didn’t come in, but she did crack open the door. Al I could see through the opening was the tip

  of her golden brown nose and the reflection from her reading glasses.

  “Celia, what are you doing in there?”

  “Nothing. Printing, reading stuff the library sent me. Why?”

  “Because about two minutes ago every speaker on every computer, cel phone, Bubba’s TV

  —everything—began playing ocean sounds. Crashing surf, whales, and seagul s. It stopped when I

  knocked on the door. But the source was this room. So I’m asking again. What are you doing in there?

  ”

  “Is that even possible?”

  She gave the door a gentle shove, so that it swung ful y open, al owing her to give me a look , but she

  stayed outside. She’d closed in on herself, hugging her arms to her body as though she were cold. But

  she wasn’t cold. Her body radiated heat … life that nearly vibrated around her. I felt drawn to that

  warmth, wanted to wrap it around me and ease the cold that was seeping into my fingers.

  I watched her, standing in the doorway, her posture guarded as she took in every detail of the room

  … and me. I suppose she was looking for evidence of something weird or worrying. The only thing to

  find was the wet spot on the page where I’d drooled as I slept. Embarrassing, but hardly earthshattering.

  Of course she noticed. And for just a second her wary expression softened slightly. I almost believed

  I saw a flicker of amusement pass through her eyes. But if I did, it was gone in an instant, to be

  replaced by another worried look.

  “Dawna, what’s wrong?”

  “We need to talk. I read those notes from Dr. Reynolds, and El Jefe faxed a bunch of research to

  you on the downstairs machine. This thing that’s happened to you—it’s real y serious shit.” Her voice

  sounded shaky, and I could see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. I wasn’t hungry, in fact I felt

  a little nauseous, but I couldn’t not notice. I swal owed hard, dragging my eyes upward, making myself

  meet her worried almond-shaped eyes.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  A part of me wanted to lie, wanted to give her the reassurance she so obviously needed. But

  Dawna’s my friend, one of my best friends. You don’t lie to friends. You just don’t. “Longterm—I don’t

  know. But if I want there to be a long term, I have to find the vamp that tried to bring me over and take

  him down. Preferably before dark.” I looked around, trying to find a clock. There wasn’t one. No

  windows, either. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s almost four thirty. Did you find anything useful in what the library sent?”

  “Not yet.” Which was true as far as it went. “Lots of interesting stuff, but no answers.”

  “Maybe there isn’t one.”

  I puffed up my chest and imitated El Jefe at his most pompous. “In magic, as in nature, there is

  balance. Where there is a spel , there is a counter.”

  She smiled, but not like she meant it. “Pretty to think so.”

  “Dr. Landingham knows his stuff.”

  “Absolutely. But this isn’t just magic. It’s anatomy. And that is a whole lot less … flexible.”

  Just like the pul of my sire’s eyes was inflexible. He was stil out there, stil cal ing me. I just couldn’t

  hear it over the sound of the ocean. My muscles started to flex, to pul me to my feet. I wanted to

  leave, even though I didn’t know where I wanted to go. I could feel my wil lessening with each moment,

  until— “Are you sure the ocean sounds originated from this room?”

  “Like there was a boom box on ful crank.”

  I shook my head. “That is so weird. I wasn’t making any noise, but I could hear it in my dream.”

  Her careful y plucked brows lowered even as she reared back a little and looked around the room.

  “Weird. Very weird.”

  She was so right. Sadly, however, this was the least of my worries. I’d lost a lot of time snoozing. If I

  wanted to find and kil my sire I needed to find out where and how now.

  It was time to visit Vicki.

  9

  One good thing about my nap—it had given my new phone time to charge. It didn’t take long at al to

  load the minutes on it. I gave Dawna the new number so that she could contact me if there were any

  new emergencies and dashed out the door. I dialed Kevin. Again it went straight to voice mail. “Hi, Kev.

  It’s me. I’m on the way to Birchwoods to see Vicki, to see if she can give me a lead on my sire’s lair.

  Look, I know you’ve got to go out to the desert tonight, so I’l cal you in the morning. Try not to worry.”

  Useless request. He was already worrying. But hey, it was the best I could do. And at least he wouldn’t

  be able to bitch at me about not returning his cal s.

  I also considered phoning ahead to Birchwoods to let Vicki know I was coming, but she has group

  from 3:00 to 5:00. By the time she got the message I’d be there. Besides, I was stil a little shaken by

  my dream/vision. I needed a little time away from everything.

  I did make a cal to the phone number on the file I had on the prince. I got a recording tel ing me it

  wasn’t in service—al three times I cal ed. Not good. I needed to deal with the vampire sire thing first,

  but tomorrow I was going to be checking in with the royal family. If Gibson didn’t like it, that was just too

  damned bad.

  I set the cel phone on the passenger seat in easy reach and started the car. I took Ocean View

  rather than the expressway, tel ing myself that I didn’t want to get caught in bumper-to-bumper rushhour traffic, but I probably would’ve done it anyway, to be near the sea. I drove the Miata faster than I

  should’ve over the winding roads in the lengthening shadows cast in the fading daylight. The ancient

  trees and tal wal s had been landscaped in such a way as to provide security and privacy without

  looking grim. I could taste the tang of salt on the air from the breeze blowing in from over the water. The

  racuous cal of the gul s was louder than normal, but I’m one of those strange people who actual y like

  the noise that gul s make. Most people around here consider them rats with wings, like pigeons are

  back east. But I like them … the way they swoop and dance on the currents around the shores. I

  couldn’t ride with the top down, but nothing stopped me from opening the widows wide and watching and

  listening.

  I was stil feeling a little bit nauseous. Part of it was nerves. But I hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. I

  can skip one meal without too much trouble, but if I let it go too long, I end up feeling sick, grumpy, and

  not at al hungry. I’d probably have to force myself to eat, but that would be later. First, I wanted to pick

  my best friend’s br
ain for any memories she had of her two years of vampire studies. Then I’d have

  her take a peek in that mirror I’d bought her, see if we could find any useful information.

  If al else failed, I’d see if she could wrangle me permission to camp out overnight in the facility’s

  chapel. Assuming I could. Thus far I’d been doing pretty wel against anti-vampire tools, but I hadn’t

  tested myself against holy ground. But hel , if I let myself think too hard about it, the list of things that

  were liable to be a problem would just overwhelm me. I needed to focus. Take one step at a time. Visit

  Vicki. Find a safe place for the night. Then, when daylight came and Kevin was back from his hunt,

  we’d talk and plan.

  Thinking about my friends made me feel a little better about the whole mess. Not a lot better. But hey,

  I’d take what I could get. They’d stick by me, no matter what. They already had. And if there was an

  answer, we’d find it. Al I had to do was stay alive long enough for it to do me some good. I could do

  that.

  Maybe.

  I took a deep breath, trying to convince myself that I was capable of getting a handle on the situation.

  I almost started to believe myself. Right up until the temperature in the car began to drop.

  Have I mentioned I’m haunted by ghosts? It was my one weirdness when I was stil vanil a human. My

  baby sister had been a powerful medium. Whether the last name Graves came from an ancestor with

  the same talent or was just a dose of irony I don’t know. I do know I’m grateful I wasn’t born with the

  “gift.” The dead may try to contact me, but it ain’t easy. They can’t use what isn’t there. So only the

  most powerful spirits can get through—those and the one spirit who attached herself to me on her

  death … Ivy herself.

  She doesn’t manifest often, but it’s general y memorable when she does. If I had the talent, she could

  use my body to talk to me with my own mouth. I don’t. So she has to do things the hard way. Sometimes

  it makes her frustrated and I wind up with poltergeist-style behavior. Kids think they have the best

  temper tantrums, but ghost kids have them beat by a mile. Not what you need when you’re at the