Bloody Bones ab-5

by Laurell Hamilton

  "Sword," I said. I'd seen it. Watched it happen. But all I could remember was a black shape larger than a human being. Or larger than most. A shadow with a sword was all I'd seen, and I'd been looking right at it.

  Something flowed across my skin, and it wasn't the wind. Power filled the spring night like water. "There's something old out here," I said.

  "What are you talking about?" St. John said.

  "An ancient vampire. It's here. I can feel it." I searched the darkness, but nothing moved but the trees, the wind. There was nothing to see. Nothing to fight. But it was here and it was close. Sword in hand, maybe.

  Granger sat up so suddenly that Larry fell back into the leaves with a squeak. The big man's eyes turned to me. I saw his hand go for his gun, and I knew what the vampire was doing.

  I pointed the Browning at his head and waited. I had to be sure.

  Granger didn't hunt for his dropped rifle. He drew his sidearm and pointed it very slowly, as if he didn't want to do it. He pointed it at Larry from less than a foot away.

  Wallace yelled, "Granger, what the fuck are you doing?"

  I fired.

  Granger jerked; the gun wavered, then his hand came back up. I fired again, and again. His hand fell slowly to the ground, gun still in it. He fell straight back into the leaves.

  "Granger!" Wallace was screaming, crawling toward his partner. Shit.

  I got there first and kicked the gun out of his hand. If he'd twitched, I'd have shot him again. He didn't twitch. He just lay there, dead.

  Wallace tried to cradle him one-handed. "Why'd you shoot him? Why?"

  "He was going to kill Larry. You saw it."

  "Why?"

  "The vamp that bit him. His master is out here. And he's a powerful son of a bitch. He used him."

  Wallace had Granger's bloody head in his lap, his own ravaged arm pressed to Granger's chest. He was crying.

  Shit.

  A sound rode the rising wind. A sharp, furious barking. A woman's scream, high and clear, cut across the sound.

  "Oh, God," I whispered.

  "Beth." St. John was on his feet running before I could say anything.

  I grabbed Wallace's shoulder, pulling on his jacket. He looked up.

  "What's happening?"

  "They're in the house," I said. "Can you walk?"

  He nodded. I helped him to his feet.

  Another scream came. It wasn't the same scream. A man this time, or a boy.

  "Stay with him, Larry. Get to the house as soon as you can."

  "What if they're trying to split us up?" Larry asked.

  "Then it's going to work," I said. "Shoot anything that moves." I touched his arm, as if that would make him more real, keep him safe. It wouldn't, but it was all I had. I had to go for the house. Larry had signed up to be a monster slayer. The Quinlans and Beth St. John hadn't.

  I holstered the Browning, kept a two-handed grip on the shotgun, and threw myself into the trees. I ran, not trying to see where I was going. Rushing through openings in the trees that I wasn't sure were there, but they were. I jumped over a log and nearly fell but caught myself and kept running. A branch slashed my face, bringing tears to my eye. The forest that had seemed passable before was now a maze of roots and branches that grabbed and tripped. I was running blind. It was not a good way to stay alive with vampires in the dark. I spilled out onto the Quinlans' lawn on my knees, shotgun tightly gripped.

  The front door was open. Light spilled in a warm rectangle. Shots sounded from inside the house. I got to my feet and ran for the light.

  The poodle lay broken by the door, crumpled like someone had tried to force it into a ball.

  The doors to the living room were open. A second shot sounded. I went in to the left of the door, wall at my back, shotgun ready.

  Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan were huddled in the far corner with their crosses held out before them. The metal glowed with a white-hot light like burning magnesium.

  The thing in front of them didn't look much like a vampire. It looked like a skeleton with muscle and flesh stretched over a bone frame. It was stretched impossibly thin and tall. A sword rode its back, gleaming and wide as a scimitar. Coltrain's killer?

  St. John was firing into the brown-haired vamp from the woods. She had long brown hair parted in the middle, straight and lovely, framing a face that was blood-smeared and stretched wide over fangs.

  I had a glimpse of Beth St. John on the floor behind her. She wasn't moving.

  St. John kept firing into the vampire's body. She just kept coming. Blood blossomed on the front of her jean jacket. His gun clicked, empty. The vampire staggered, then fell to her knees. She fell forward on all fours, and you could see that her back was so much raw meat. She lay gasping on the floor while St. John reloaded.

  I got to my feet, trying to keep an eye on the door just in case this wasn't all. I walked towards the Quinlans and the thing that stood in front of them. I needed a better angle before I used the shotgun. Didn't want to catch them in the shot pattern.

  The thing turned on me. I had a glimpse of a face that was neither human nor animal, but stretched thin and alien with fangs and blind, glowing eyes. It shrank, and skin flowed over the bare flesh, covered the nearly naked bone. I'd never seen anything like it. When I aimed the shotgun, I was looking into what could have passed for a human face. Long white hair framed a fine-boned face, and it ran—if running was the word for that blur of motion. It ran like some of them flew, almost like it was doing something else altogether, but I had no better word for it. Some of them flew; this one ran. It was gone before I could pull the trigger.

  I was left staring at the open door where the barrel had followed its movement. Could I have fired? Had I hesitated? I didn't think so, but I wasn't sure. It was like in the woods when Coltrain died, like I'd missed a few seconds. The vampire had to be our killer, but the only thing I'd seen clearly in the woods had been the sword.

  St. John shot into the fallen vampire. He fired until his gun clicked empty again. The gun went click, click, click.

  I walked over to him. The vampire's head was bloody meat and heavier, wetter things. There was no face left. "It's dead, St. John. You killed it."

  He just stared at it, down the barrel of his empty gun. He was shaking. He collapsed to his knees suddenly, as if he just couldn't stand any longer. He crawled over to his wife, gun left behind him on the carpet. He cradled her in his arms, half-lifting, rocking her. She was soaked with blood. Her throat was so much raw meat on one side.

  St. John was making a high, keening sound deep in his throat.

  The Quinlans's crosses had stopped glowing. They stood still clinging to each other, blinking as if blinded by the light.

  "Jeff—he took Jeff," Mrs. Quinlan said.

  I looked at her. Her eyes were too wide. "He took Jeff."

  "Who took Jeff?" I asked.

  "The big one," Mr. Quinlan said. "That thing, that thing told Jeff to take his cross off, and Jeff did it." He looked at me with startled eyes. "Why did he do that? Why did he take it off?"

  "The vampire caught him with his eyes," I said. "He couldn't help himself."

  "If his faith had been stronger, he wouldn't have given in," Quinlan said.

  "It wasn't your son's fault."

  Quinlan shook his head. "He wasn't strong enough."

  I turned away from him. Which put me staring at St. John. He had folded as much of his wife's body into his lap and arms as he could. He rocked her, eyes distant. He wasn't seeing this room. He'd gone somewhere deep inside. Someplace better. I hoped.

  I went for the door. I didn't have to see this. Watching St. John rock his wife's body was not part of my job description. Honest.

  I sat down on the stairs where I could see the door, the hallway, and the stairs as far as the landing. St. John started singing in a strange, broken voice. It took me a few minutes to figure out what he was singing. It was "You Are So Beautiful." I got up and went for the outer door. Larry and Wallace were
just limping up onto the porch.

  I just shook my head and kept walking. I was almost to the driveway before I couldn't hear the singing. I stood there taking deep breaths, letting them out slowly. I concentrated on my breathing, concentrated on the sound of frogs and wind. I concentrated on anything but the sound that was building in my throat. I stood there in the dark, in the open, knowing it was dangerous, and not sure I cared. I stood there until I was sure I wasn't going to start screaming. Then I turned and went back to the house.

  It was the bravest thing I'd done all night.

  16

  Detective Freemont sat on one end of the Quinlans' couch and I perched on the other. We were as far away from each other as we could get and share it. Only pride kept me from taking a chair. I wouldn't flinch under her cool cop eyes. So I stayed nailed to my end of the couch, but it was an effort.

  Her voice was low and careful, every word enunciated, as if she thought she might yell if she rushed the words. "Why didn't you call and tell me you had a second vampire kill?"

  "Sheriff St. John called the state cops. I assumed you'd be told."

  "Well, I wasn't."

  I stared up into her cool eyes. "You're twenty minutes away with a crime scene unit looking into a possible vampire kill. Why wouldn't they send you over to a second vampire scene?"

  Freemont's eyes shifted to one side, then back to me. Her cool cop eyes had melted just a little. It was hard to read for sure, but she looked uneasy. Maybe even scared.

  "You haven't told them it was a vampire kill, have you?"

  Her eyes flinched.

  "Shit, Freemont. I know you don't want the Feds to steal your case, but withholding information from your own people... Bet your superiors aren't happy with you."

  "That's my business."

  "Fine. Whatever plan you've got, more power to you, but why are you pissed at me?"

  She took a deep, shaking breath and blew it out like a runner trying to get that extra kick. "How sure are you the vampire used a sword?"

  "You saw the body," I said.

  She nodded. "A vampire could have ripped the neck apart."

  "I saw a blade, Freemont."

  "The ME will either back you up, or not."

  "Why don't you want this to be vampires?"

  She smiled. "I thought I had this case all solved. Thought I'd make an arrest this morning. I didn't think it was vampires."

  I stared at her. I wasn't smiling. "If it wasn't vamps, then what was it?"

  "Fairies."

  I stared at her for a heartbeat. "What do you mean?"

  "Your boss, Sergeant Storr, called me. Told me what you'd found out about Magnus Bouvier. He's got no alibi for the time of the killings, and even you think he could have done it."

  "Because he could have done it, doesn't mean he did," I said.

  Freemont shrugged. "He ran when we tried to question him. Innocent people don't run."

  "What do you mean, he ran? If you were there questioning him, how could he run?"

  Freemont settled back into the couch, hands clasped together so tightly her fingers were mottled. "He used magic to cloud our minds, and made his escape."

  "What sort of magic?"

  Freemont shook her head. "What do you want me to say, Ms. Preternatural Expert? Four of us sat there in his restaurant like idiots while he just walked out. We didn't even see him get up from the table."

  She looked at me, no smiles. Her eyes were back to that neutral coolness. You could stare all day at someone with eyes like that and keep all your secrets safe.

  "He looked human to me, Blake. He looked like a nice, normal guy. I wouldn't have picked him out of a crowd. How did you know what he was?"

  I opened my mouth, and closed it. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer the question. "He tried to use glamor on me, but I knew what was happening."

  "What's glamor, and how did you know he was using a spell on you?"

  "Glamor isn't exactly a spell," I said. I always hated explaining preternatural things to people who had no skill in the area. It was like having quantum physics explained to me. I could follow the concepts, but I had to take their word for it on the math. The math was beyond me, hated to admit it, but it was. But not understanding quantum physics wouldn't get me killed. Not understanding preternatural creatures might get Freemont killed.

  "I'm not stupid, Blake. Explain it to me."

  "I don't think you're stupid, Detective Freemont. It's just hard to explain. I was riding with two uniforms in St. Louis. They were transporting me from a crime scene, playing taxi. The driver spotted this guy just walking along. He pulled over, put him up against a car. The guy was carrying a weapon, and was wanted in another state for armed robbery. If I'd been in a room with him, I'd have noticed the gun, but just passing by in a car, no way. I wouldn't have seen it. Even his partner asked him how he spotted him. He couldn't explain so that we could do it, but he knew how to do it."

  "So it's practice?" Freemont said.

  I sighed. "In part, but hell, Detective, I raise the dead for a living. I have some preternatural abilities. It gives me a leg up."

  "How the hell are we supposed to police creatures, Ms. Blake? If Bouvier had pulled a gun, we'd have sat there and let him shoot us. We just sort of woke up and he wasn't there anymore. I've never seen anything like it."

  "There are things you can do to protect yourself from fairie glamor," I said.

  "What?"

  "A four-leaf clover will break glamor, but it won't keep the fey from killing you by hand. There are other plants you can wear, or carry that break glamor: Saint-John's-wort, red verbena, daisies, rowan, and ash. My choice would be an ointment made of either four-leaf clovers or Saint-John's-wort. Spread it on your eyelids, mouth, ears, and hands. It'll make you proof against glamor."

  "Where do I get this stuff?"

  I thought about that for a second. "Well, in St. Louis I'd know where to go. Here, try health-food stores and occult shops. Any fairie ointment will be hard to find because we don't have any fairies native to this country. Ointment from four-leaf clovers is very expensive, and rare. Try for the Saint-John's-wort."

  She sighed. "Will this ointment work on any mind control, like for vamps?"

  "Nope," I said. "You could drop a vamp in a whole tub of Saint-John's-wort and it wouldn't give a damn."

  "What do you do against vampires, then?"

  "Keep your cross, avoid eye contact, pray. They can do things that'll make Magnus look like an amateur."

  She rubbed her eyes, smearing eye shadow on the ball of her thumb. She suddenly looked tired. "How do we protect the public against something like that?"

  "You don't," I said.

  "Yes, we do," she said. "We have to; it's our job."

  I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't try. "So you thought it was Magnus because he ran, and he doesn't have an alibi?"

  "Why else would he run?"

  "I don't know," I said. "But he didn't do it. I saw the thing in the woods. It wasn't Magnus. Hell, I've only heard about vampires forming from shadows. I'd never seen it before."

  She looked at me. "You've never seen it before. That's not comforting."

  "It wasn't meant to be. But since it wasn't Magnus, you can call off the warrant."

  She shook her head. "He used magic on police officers while committing a crime. That's a class C felony."

  "What was his crime?"

  "Escaping."

  "But he wasn't under arrest."

  "I had a warrant for his arrest," she said.

  "You didn't have enough for a warrant," I said.

  "Helps to know the right judge."

  "He didn't kill those kids, or Coltrain."

  "You pointed the finger at him," she said.

  "Just an alternate possibility. With five people dead, I couldn't afford to be wrong."

  She stood. "Well, you got your wish. It was vampires, and I don't know why the hell Magnus Bouvier ran from us. But just using magic on a poli
ce officer is a felony."

  "Even if he was innocent of the original crime you were trying to bring him in on?" I asked.

  "Felonious use of magic is a serious crime, Ms. Blake. There's a warrant for his arrest. You see him, you remember that."

  "I know Magnus isn't nice people, Detective Freemont. I don't know why he ran, but if you put out the word that he used magic on cops, someone'll shoot him."

  "He's dangerous, Ms. Blake."

  "Yeah, but so are a lot of people, Detective. You don't hunt them down and arrest them for it."

  She nodded. "We've all got prejudices, Ms. Blake; makes us all wrong once in a while. At least here we know what did it."

  "Yeah," I said. "We know what did it."

  "Do you know when the girl's body was taken?" she asked. She got a notebook out of her coat pocket. Down to business.

  I shook my head. "No. It was just gone when I went up."

  "What made you think to check on the body?"

  I looked at her. Her eyes were pleasant and unreadable. "They'd gone to a lot of trouble to make her one of them. I thought they might try to get her. They did."

  "The father's making noises that he asked you to stake her body before you went out after the vampires. Is that true?" Her voice was soft, matter-of-fact. But she was paying attention to the answers. She didn't take as many notes as Dolph did. The notebook seemed to be more something to do with her hands than anything else. I was finally seeing Freemont doing her job. She seemed good at it. That was reassuring.

  "Yeah, that's true."

  "Why didn't you stake the girl when the parents requested it?"

  "I had a father. A widower. His daughter and only child got bit. He wanted her staked. I did it that night, right away. Next morning he's in my office crying, wanting me to undo it. Wanting me to bring her back as a vampire." I leaned back into the couch, hugging myself. "You put a stake through a new vamp's heart, and it's dead for good."

  "I thought you had to take a vampire's head to be sure."

  "You do," I said. "If I had staked the Quinlan girl, I would have taken out her heart, cut off her head." I shook my head. "There isn't much left."

  She drew something on her note pad. I couldn't see what. I was betting it was a doodle and not a word. "I see why you wanted to wait, but Mr. Quinlan is talking about suing you."