Gypsy Blood (Born to Romany Blood, Book 1)

by Lorrie Unites-Struiff

  He shook his head. “She just tell me death blow cold breath on her neck.”

  “Damn you,” Rita cried out. “You two should have warned me. She was my mother.”

  “No,” Uncle whispered harshly. “She know best. Sister know that you worry, try to stop her death and not win. She have power of gift.” Dragus gripped her fist in his broad fingers and squeezed. A flush spread over his broad face, his voice rose. “You think I want her die? I love her, too.” He shook his head and put a hand over his heart. “I hurt bad inside like you.” His big frame shuddered, and he thumped his chest. “You think it not make me cry, cut my heart? I want to die for her, but she say it not for me now.” Uncle rose and paced in front of the bed. “When we learn from crystal ball it Lucien, she look to me, her brother. I know then she choose how to meet her destiny, not wait for it. We know old ways, like she say.”

  Rita thought back to that odd look that passed between Uncle and her mother before they left for the mansion.

  “When we outside big house, she tell me plan. She want to be next to Lucien after she eat poison powder and say spell. I supposed to throw ball when she die in chair, then Lucien burn in ancient flame. I think poison powder too old, not work fast enough. When Lucien take her, all go wrong. I lay on floor not able to move.”

  “So, that’s why Ma had the ball with her? Asked me to throw it instead, realizing she was dying?”

  Dragus nodded. “She say spell. To give one of us power to kill Lucien with her death.”

  “But the red power was supposed to protect Ma.”

  “Ja. Sister not die in van with Lucien. She die from poison. Power protect her from burning with Lucien.”

  “Damn it!” Rita smacked down on the mattress. “You should have told me the sacrifice wasn’t superstition like Ma said.”

  “Not be mad at us.” He wedged his hip on her bed. “Please, I beg.” His shoulders shook as he sobbed. “Sister see her destiny.”

  Rita crumpled, and she pulled Uncle Dragus to her. When they hugged, she felt his grief raging through his very being as strong as hers. The steel band squeezing her heart eased a bit. Dragus let her go and wiped his eyes and nose with the bottom of his shirt. She rubbed her temples. The incessant beeps of monitoring equipment nearby, the telephones ringing outside the bay, wore on her frayed nerves. A swinging blob in front of her eyes captured her attention.

  “Here, I hold amulet when they take you to tests last night. I clean best I could.”

  She eyed the crystal. “Did you see the light coming out of it last night, in the foyer?”

  “No. Not see light come out.”

  “Lucien backed away from it.” She tilted her head, reached out to touch the star crystal. “I think it may have blinded him somehow.”

  “Ja. Amulet protect you, like always. It hold great power of ancestors.”

  Rita leaned forward. Uncle Dragus snapped the clasp. The familiar weight of the crystal against her skin gave her little comfort today.

  “Doctor let you go home soon. Della take you. I go make plans for funeral and call vurma in New York. Marta only one who know how to find and tell all our people. I stop in Tea Room, take good rest upstairs, then I come your house tonight. We eat dinner, Ja? Talk more.”

  She nodded and lay back on the pillow. “Are you in pain? You keep rubbing your stomach.”

  “Ja, all black and blue from fight. Doctor say no ribs break. Lucky I have much fat.” Uncle bent over, kissed her cheek, and left.

  Lucien was dead. That should have given her some satisfaction. It didn’t. Ma knew she’d die soon and didn’t tell her. That hurt. Uncle knew and never warned her. He had made a promise. All she wanted to do was to go home, curl up in a dark corner, and hide from the knives slicing into her heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The doctor signed the release forms, and a nurse went over the home care instructions.

  Della wheeled Rita into Matt’s room. “I think this guy is a bit anxious to see you. Take your time. I’ll wait in the hall.” She squeezed Rita’s shoulder and left.

  Matt’s color had returned to normal. An IV hung from a pole attached to his bed. The steady ping of Matt’s heart monitor was the only sound in the room. He motioned to her, his smile weak, his eyes shadowed with sadness. “Come closer, Cheri.”

  She wheeled the chair to the head of the bed. His hand felt warm, comforting, holding hers.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about your mother. Dragus told me what happened. She had guts. Her daughter has them, too.”

  Rita bowed her head, fighting the tears threatening to fall. “I’m going to miss her so much.” She lifted his palm, kissed it and held his hand to her cheek. “You saved my life, Matt.”

  “Hey.” He tipped her chin. “It’ll be okay. I got lucky, again. The glass missed my vital organs.” He took a deep breath, grimaced in pain. He pressed a hand over his wound and gazed at her. “When I get out of here, would you mind if I finish recuperating at your house for a while? If not, a motel will do. I’ll understand if you want to be alone. By the time they release me, I’ll be able to fend a bit for myself.”

  “Matt, shush.” She put her fingers over his lips. “Of course you can stay with me.”

  He kissed her hand. “I want…no, I need to be near you.”

  A strong urge to curl up on the bed beside him, feel his arms around her, and cry her heart out overwhelmed Rita. She gave herself a mental shake to ward off the impulse. “I have a spare room. I’d like very much if you would use it, for as long as you think it’s necessary.”

  “Thanks.” His expression turned serious. “Did you talk to Dragus about our report?”

  “I heard what he told Lipisnski. Is it really over?”

  “Yeah. Dragus told me what happened. Lucien burned in the explosion.” He stroked her cheek.

  She nodded. “I’m worried someone will find the weapons we left at the scene and start asking questions.”

  “As soon as the chief spoke to my director last night, he called and left a message with the nurse. He said my boys are with the sitter, meaning, he sent in a local clean-up crew. They’ve been taken care of. No doubt he sent the same crew out to the railroad tracks, too.”

  “Yeah. Supposedly Homeland Security. He’s fast. That’s a relief. We’ll stick with the story then.”

  He sighed. “Go home, get some rest. Della’s going with you?”

  “Uh-huh. Couldn’t talk her out of it. It’s only eleven in the morning, and she’s already being bossy, telling me what kind of light meals she’ll make according to the doctor’s orders. I’m to rest on the couch, and she’ll cater to my every whim.”

  “I have fond memories of that couch.” His eyes lit with humor.

  “Hmm, yes, it does have its uses.” She smiled. “I’ll be in to see you tomorrow. You get some rest, too.”

  “Hey, my Gypsy Woman, can I have a kiss before you leave?”

  Matt rolled on his side a bit and propped himself up. She leaned in to touch his lips with hers. His were soft and full of promise.

  An hour later, Rita got out of Della’s car, unlocked her front door, and headed straight for the couch. She stacked the pillows behind her and drew the afghan up to her chest, wanting nothing more than to sink into the safe, familiar surroundings. Minutes went by and Della stood next to her, waiting to place a tray on Rita’s lap. She sat up straight and eyed the food, torn between hunger and nausea.

  “You eat some of this chicken soup, and these crackers, or you’re gonna be wearing ‘em,” Della said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rita nibbled at a cracker, and it stuck to the roof of her mouth. She washed it down with sips of sweetened tea.

  Della tugged her turtleneck sweater in place and sat in the chair opposite the couch. She kicked off her sneakers and wiggled her toes. “Aah, feels good to be out of that hospital. I hate those places. Reminds me too much of when my mom died, and I sat there every day watching the cancer eat at her.”
r />   Crumbling the other crackers into the bowl, Rita stirred at them absently.

  “Girlfriend,” Della leaned forward, “I know you’re hurtin’ bad right now. You feel like you stepped into a black hole. But, one day, just like me, you’ll realize that your mom didn’t want you to wither and die with her. She loved you. That love is planted deep, and it wants you to grow. To make a life and nurture your own dreams of a future.”

  Rita forced a smile. “You are a very wise woman, Madam Della. Thanks.” She finished the bowl of soup and handed the tray back. “Can I have my pain pill now, pretty please?”

  Della shook the brown plastic bottle and gave her a pill. “You rest now, get some sleep. I’ll camp upstairs in your office with your computer or curl up with a book. Yell if you need something.”

  “Sounds good. I’m whipped.” Rita yawned, and let her bones melt into the couch.

  Della had promised to fix dinner, and Uncle was stopping by later. Rita had to let her bruised body heal. God, she ached all over.

  The Tea Room would run smoothly with Millie and the rest of the staff while Uncle tended to matters and caught some sleep. Making funeral arrangements was her job, too, but she had promised to listen to the doctor and rest.

  Soon, her eyes grew heavy. Sweet darkness swept her into oblivion.

  *

  Rita woke with a start and elbowed upright. She switched on the lamp on the end table. The clock on the mantle showed almost six. She had slept nearly five hours. Her heart lurched as it all came back. Ma. Matt. Lucien. She wished she could sleep for a week. At least when she was sleeping, her mind stayed blank.

  A sudden chill ran through her. She glanced around. “Della, where are you?” she shouted.

  “Up here.”

  Damn, she was still jumpy.

  Della peeked at her from the top of the stairs. “I’ll be down to start dinner in a few. I checked on you twice. You seemed fine. You feel okay?”

  She sighed with relief. “Yeah, just panicked for a moment. Don’t know why.”

  “Hey, cut yourself a break. You remember that little thing called Post Traumatic Stress? You just went through the most bitchin’ night of your life. Don’t think it’s not gonna leave some scream-shit aftershocks.” Della disappeared, and Rita heard the water running in the upstairs bathroom.

  Rita’s muscles complained as she walked to the half-bath off the kitchen. Her heart raced. She washed her hands and dared to look into the mirror. The white bandage above her ear stood out against the darkness of her hair. The face that stared back didn’t thrill her. Puffy eyes, swollen lips, and a purple bruise on her cheek. She rolled her shoulders to work out the tightness. The cold washcloth on her face soothed her skin, then she brushed the tangles from her hair, avoiding the bandaged spot. She leaned in closer to her battered image. “That’s enough of being an invalid. You can at least start dinner.”

  She went to the window above the kitchen sink and stared into the early night. The oak tree down the block extended its swaying arms, trying to catch the half-moon riding in the sky. She shivered. Her nerve endings crackled. “Damn vampire bullshit. I’m wound so tight, I still can’t breathe.”

  Rita flipped on the light, opened the fridge, and took out a bag of baby carrots. She rummaged through the drawer for the paring knife, laid the vegetables on the cutting board, then leaned against the kitchen counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

  The crystal frosted against her chest. Startled, she lifted it and noticed the purplish color. Uncle hadn’t done a very good job of washing off the blood. She’d take an old toothbrush to it after dinner to restore the clarity.

  Della’s footsteps padding at the top of the stairs coincided with the knock at the door.

  “Your uncle’s early,” Della said, starting down the steps.

  Rita leaned over the counter and yelled toward the door, “Come on in,” then continued to slice the carrots.

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  Rita dropped the knife. It skittered across the cutting board. Tremors hit her knees, and she sank onto the stool behind the counter. The crystal sent icy shivers down to her toenails.

  Lucien stood in the doorway, a grin stretching his bloodless lips. His clothes hung rumpled and muddy on his wide shoulders. “So nice to see you again, Pretty One.”

  “Who the hell?” Della stopped halfway down the steps.

  Della’s voice broke through Rita’s shock. “Get back upstairs. Now!”

  “Holy shit!” Della’s eyes went wide. “It’s him! What the fuck? You‘re supposed to be dead!”

  “I am dead, My Lovely.” Lucien kicked the door shut behind him, leaned against the frame and crossed his arms.

  Rita’s heart beat at a feverish pace. “Move your ass, Del. Run!”

  “No way. Not from this bastard.” Della reached to her back and pulled her revolver. She stood three steps up, gripping the gun in both hands and sighting on Lucien. “Another step and I’ll shoot. On your knees, shit-face. Hands on top of your head.” She tilted her head to Rita, never taking her eyes off Lucien. “Girl, get the cuffs.”

  “Del…don’t.” Rita stuttered.

  “I am unarmed, My Lovely.” He pushed away from the door, brushed the grime from his blazer.

  “Ask me if I care. You’re under arrest, you sick fuck.” She locked her elbows, widened her stance. “Now, on your knees.”

  “You will not shoot me.” Lucien hissed and stepped forward.

  “Oh, how I love a dare.” Della pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the house. She hit Lucien dead center in the chest. He jerked, rubbed his chest, then took another step. “Shit! You’re wearing a damn vest.” Another shot blasted. A hole appeared in the middle of Lucien’s forehead. His head snapped back. He staggered, then took another step, and smiled.

  A mixture of shock and horror spread over Della’s face. “What the….? Why the hell aren’t you down?”

  “My granddaughter wants to keep a family secret. You see, I am a vampire, My Sweet.”

  “Say what?” Della backed up two steps. The gun slipped from her hands and bounced down the stairs. She clutched the banister, her eyes round, trembling visibly, along with her voice. “Vampires aren’t real.”

  “Oh, I am very real.”

  Rita’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. “Run upstairs. Fast. Call for help.”

  Della’s face was a mask of puzzled horror. Her lower lip quivered. “I ain’t leaving you alone with th…this thing.”

  “Yes, please stay. I came for my granddaughter, but you will be a wonderful bonus.” He laughed. His eyes turned hard to Rita, his voice low, raspy. “Did you think you could do away with me so easily? I, too, jumped out of the van before your mother died.”

  “Ma gave her life to be rid of you, you bastard.”

  “Anna was a fool.” Lucien spat on the floor. “She sacrificed in vain. The spell did not work. She did not take her last breath before I escaped the red fire. She breathed her last on that hillside,” his thin lips split into a taunting sneer, “alone.”

  Waves of anger blurred Rita’s vision. “You fucking maniac. Ma told me how when you were human, you let your dick do your thinking when you led our tzigan familia. You dishonored us all. Now you’re nothing but a dead, blood-sucking ghoul.”

  Lucien tilted his head, his voice rose in volume. “I traded my soul to become immortal. A true god. The clan should have knelt before me. Worshipped me. Instead, the traitors tried to destroy me.”

  “A god?” Rita screamed back. “You know nothing but death and misery. If I could, I would pity you and your sad existence. You are nothing but a walking, rancid corpse who knows no life but to kill. You are a curse to all Roma tzigans.”

  Lucien took a step toward her, his hands raised. “So stupid. Like your ancestor, you wear the amulet. It will not protect you. There are other ways of killing you. But first,” he turned and looked at Della who stood with mouth gaping and gasping for air. “I
need sustenance. I will give you the pleasure of watching how a god truly enjoys his feast.”

  The gold chain pulled heavy on the back of Rita’s neck, the ice-cold star vibrated against her chest. She glanced down. The energy inside the amulet stabbed her heart with prickling, painful shocks. Hot coals built inside her, choking her with the vile taste of pure hatred. The crystal radiated a purple hue. Fury boiled in her veins. Her rage shot back to the crystal and the purple changed again. The red power of her ancestors began building, swirling, within the body of the star, tiny tendrils of smoke spiraling to the tips.

  The scene from the abandoned mansion flashed through her mind. Her lying on the foyer floor. The blood dripping down her face. Lucien covering his eyes. Now, the mystical red power of her heritage was channeling to her, and she knew without a doubt what the power transference was telling her to do.

  Rita slipped the paring knife from the cutting board to her lap. “Stay away from her, you filthy cadaver. Are you afraid to come and get me, Granddaddy?”

  “Stupid brave talk again, but it will not distract me.” Lucien walked toward Della, her fingers still gripping the banister like a lifeline.

  Behind the counter, Rita drew the paring knife deeply across one of her palms, her rage so hot she didn’t feel the pain. Blood pooled in her palm, dripped onto the jeans covering her thighs with sticky warmth. “I’m warning you, Granddaddy, stay away from her,” she said in a sing-song voice to mask her wrath.

  Lucien hesitated and sniffed the air.

  Rita’s stomach curdled. Did he smell the fresh blood in her hand? She needed another few seconds.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Della lift the marble Venus from the wall recess, her mouth now set in grim determination.

  Lucien laughed. “Your warnings are feeble words. Watch how I, an eternal being, truly takes his food.” His mouth opened wide, his canine teeth grew into long fangs. Strings of saliva hung glistening from the tips. He snarled like a rabid animal and leaped at Della. She grunted and swung the statuette, catching him on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her legs. He dragged her from the steps to the floor.