A Taste of Crimson

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Hargittai’s eyes narrowed. “It is none of your business.”

  “She’s been a lawyer for fifty years. She must be very good by now. Did you go to her with a legal question, not knowing she was a vampire?”

  A low growl emerged from the Alpha’s throat. Michael continued looking at his roses. “Or maybe she was just curious and decided to slum it. Found more than she bargained for.”

  Keeli cried out. Michael ducked as Hargittai’s fist slammed into the wall. The plaster cracked. The werewolf froze there, his hand embedded in the wall. Fur spiked through his skin.

  “You still love her,” Michael said, keeping his distance. “And you are here because you cannot stand to be so near, and not see her. Touch her. You want this alliance just as bad as anyone, and you want Keeli to be the next Grand Dame. But you’re as selfish as Jas, even if your goals are completely different. You want all this because you think it will bring back Celestine. You want it because you think it will make a world where your relationship will be accepted, easy.”

  “That is not true,” whispered Hargittai. “I believe Keeli is our best hope for Grand Dame.”

  “And if she is a Grand Dame who has taken a vampire as her lover, who proves such a thing is possible?”

  Hargittai’s jaw tightened. “Celestine and I were together for three months, and it was wonderful. Beautiful. I thought … I thought it would stay that way.” His voice broke, dropping to a whisper. “There was no warning. One day she told me it was over, that our differences in age made it too difficult to love me—that she did not love me. But it was a lie. I could smell it all over her. She was afraid, terrified.”

  Keeli stepped close. “She didn’t tell you why?”

  Hargittai shook his head. He pulled his hand out of the wall and rubbed his knuckles. “I searched for her after that, but it was as though she never lived in the city.” Michael felt the wolf’s agony—tried to imagine what it would be like to lose Keeli in such a way. He found himself reaching out to her and almost closed his eyes in relief when she took his hand, held it tight.

  “Someone found out,” Hargittai said, glancing away from their joined hands. “She was forced to leave me. I know it.”

  Michael thought of Celestine, everything he knew of her, and said, “Celestine is too stubborn to be easily forced into anything. If she were threatened, then it had to be by someone she took very seriously, who had enough power to carry out the threat.”

  Like an elder in the Primary Assembly. In the Council. Michael remembered the menace in Frederick’s voice, and wondered just how far such a thing could go—how much the elders would be willing to sacrifice to prevent a vampire and werewolf from living their lives together. What could be so terrible?

  He also considered the possibility that Celestine really had grown tired of Hargittai, but no—her words of the night before, the shaken confidence, the quavering of her voice—that could not be faked. Celestine had once been in love with a werewolf. Perhaps she still was.

  “I am sorry,” Hargittai said to Keeli. “Perhaps … perhaps Michael is right. Maybe I do want Celestine too much, but not at the cost of the clans. Keeli, at least consider it. Please. If you are brought back to the underground by force I will do my best to convince the other Alphas to hear your bid before the Grand Dame abdicates to Jas. It would be better, though, if you came of your own free will.”

  “To challenge her? She is my grandmother. I can’t hurt her. I love her.”

  “Challenges between blood are not to the death, Keeli.”

  “She’ll never submit, not in a million years. She’s too afraid for me.”

  “Then you must hope she changes her mind about the vampires. Her anger toward you and Michael is affecting the negotiations.”

  Keeli looked miserable. Michael tugged her close, and gave Hargittai a hard look. The Alpha backed away, toward the door.

  “Go home,” said Michael. “Try to salvage the negotiations, if you can. Talk to Jas. Celestine, too. Try to find out why she left you.”

  “She won’t tell me.”

  Michael smiled. “That might be for the best. She won’t tell you anything if she still loves you. Whatever secret she’s keeping, she still cares too much to let you hear it.”

  Hargittai frowned. “Just how well do you know her?”

  “Not as well as I thought I did,” Michael said. Keeli tried not to laugh, but her shoulders began shaking.

  “This is not very funny,” Hargittai said.

  “Yeah,” sighed Keeli. “But you weren’t there the first time I met Celestine.”

  * * *

  When Hargittai left, Michael drew Keeli to the bed. He took off her boots and made her lie down. He curled around her body. Keeli listened to his slow, even breaths, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. He felt safe and lean and strong. With his arms wrapped around her, she could imagine safety—imagine, too, that this feeling would last forever.

  Poor Hargittai. Poor Celestine, too.

  Exhausted, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  She awoke to the sounds of voices. Michael, and someone else. Keeli rolled over and sat up. Jenkins stood just within the front doorway. The men stopped talking when they saw her move.

  “What is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. Jenkins was in street clothes; he held a baseball cap in one hand and slapped it lightly against his thigh.

  “I have some information,” he said. He looked unhappy.

  Keeli rested her elbows on her knees. She felt very glad she was still wearing all her clothes. “Spit it out, Jenkins. I have to pee.”

  The cop could not hide his smile. He shook his head. “Only you,” he muttered. “Shit, Michael. You sure you want to keep her?”

  “She makes me laugh.”

  “I bet.” Jenkins looked at Keeli, and the smile died. “It goes like this, Keeli. Your murderer is not working for the government. Or at least, he’s not working for the government in any official capacity. Actually, the government doesn’t have anything to do with him. He’s an outside contractor.”

  “I have no idea what you just said to me, but it sounds highly top secret.”

  “I get around,” Jenkins said. “I used to be in the military and I’ve still got contacts, people who owe me favors. I just never would have thought what or who to ask if you hadn’t pointed me in the right direction. So here, listen. It seems that some really ugly stuff has been going on in B-Ops, all if it run by a guy named Kippenham.”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “We know about this.”

  Jenkins nodded, serious. “Yes. It was in the papers. Or part of it was. So, you won’t be surprised to learn that he had some other projects on the side. Nonmilitary contracts. I can’t tell you much about this vampire-killer, except that he’s part of an ongoing private experiment.”

  She felt cold. “Experiment?”

  “He’s a true-blue lab tool. Been kept for the past sixteen years in a privately funded lab near the military base at LAX. Kippenham had an agreement with the person in charge.”

  Keeli was incredulous. “How did you get people to tell you all this?”

  “I’m a likable guy. Also, Kippenham got himself killed. A little death makes everyone want to talk, especially if you know how to ask the right questions.”

  “All right,” said Michael. “So we know where he is. Can you tell us what he is?”

  “Sorry. All I know is that they’re paying big money for this kid. They just recently began turning him loose.” He swore, looking sick.

  “Yeah,” Keeli said softly. “Life’s a bitch when everyone’s trying to kill you.”

  “I suspected,” Jenkins said. “But that’s different from knowing. The word is that it’s just a handful of people who organized this, but no one I talked to knows who they are—or if they do, they’re too scared to talk.”

  “Which suggests power,” Michael said. “And an agenda.”

  Keeli studied Jenkins’s troubled face. “You realize, don�
��t you? This is what we didn’t want to talk about.”

  “I don’t want to know,” he said, holding up his hands. His entire body sagged. “Christ. This entire city is screwed. My kids—”

  “You should get them out. You have family in the Midwest, right?” Michael asked. “Send them there. You and your wife, too. Just leave, Jenkins.”

  “You think it’s that bad?”

  “It could be,” Michael said. “There’s no way to know for certain. But vampires are dying, have already died, and certain measures—legal and otherwise—are being implemented that curb our freedoms. Werewolf freedoms, too. We are being edged out, Jenkins. Pushed. And one day soon, we will have to push back.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me.” His voice got hard.

  Keeli did not blame him for being angry. “You’re a good man,” she said, trying to make him understand. “But good men do stupid things.”

  “Like help people?” Jenkins said in a scathing voice. “Or try to stop racist attacks between three different species?”

  “Yes,” Michael said sadly. “Exactly that. This is bigger than you, Jenkins. It’s bigger than all of us.”

  “If there’s a fight, my guys might be called up against you.”

  “I know,” he said, and Keeli could tell he hurt for it.

  The same tragedy was written on Jenkins’s face. He looked at Keeli, and it was a measuring gaze, sharp. But then his eyes softened, and he said, “Take care of him, will you? Watch his back.”

  “I will,” she promised softly.

  Jenkins nodded, running a hand through his spiky hair. “All right, then. Okay. I guess this may be it for a while.” He handed Michael a piece of paper. “I’ve written down the exact location of your man. Getting him will be up to you. Completely off-the-record, too. I can’t touch him. Not anymore. Word finally came down, Michael. We’re supposed to cut off all relations. No more liaisons, no more investigation into paranormal crimes, period. None. We lay off, or else. Guess I know why, now.”

  “Jenkins,” Michael began, but the man shook his head with a grim smile.

  “Don’t. Just … let’s hope this thing blows over. That we can get back to our old lives.” He hesitated, looking at Michael and Keeli. “Yeah, I know. Impossible.”

  Michael held out his hand. Instead of taking it, Jenkins grabbed Michael and wrapped him in a tight hug. He thumped the vampire’s back, and reached for Keeli. She joined the two men, and for a moment they all clung to each other: vampire, werewolf, and human. Keeli felt something small break inside of her.

  Nothing changes. It’s always pain. Loss is the undeniable force, and afterward, death. Sometimes, death comes first. Either way, you’re screwed.

  “Be safe,” Jenkins said, finally releasing them.

  “You too,” Keeli said, astonished to feel tears burning her eyes. “Get out of here, Jenkins. Go with your family and stay far away. Don’t be here when the fighting starts.”

  “Maybe.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t know how fair that would be to the ones left behind. And maybe there’s still a way to make things right. The only way to know is to try.”

  He left. Michael watched Jenkins walk down the hall, and shut the door.

  “It’s hard,” Keeli said gently, reaching for his hand, “when you lose friends.”

  “It’s harder when you don’t actually lose them,” Michael said, drawing her close.

  “Yeah.” She kissed his cheek, trying not to cry as she thought of her grandmother. “I guess I’m learning how hard that can be.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  They spread the piece of paper on the table and studied the information Jenkins had given them. There was not much, but it was enough.

  Enough to know they were in deep trouble.

  “That place is built like Fort Knox. No way in hell we’re just walking in there. We’re going to have to wait until he comes to us.”

  “If we wait for that, someone else could die,” Michael said.

  “It’ll be the full moon tonight,” Keeli reminded him.

  “You are going to change.”

  “I won’t be able to help it. You’ll have to … to keep me tied up. Chains are better. Collars. I don’t have any here with me, though.”

  He looked so uncomfortable. Keeli leaned close and kissed him. “It’s all right, Michael. Better restraints than having me run wild through the streets. I might hurt someone.”

  “You have no control at all?”

  Keeli stared at the desk, her small pale hands. She recalled what it was like to look at her hands and see paws instead. The distorted view of the world—everything was larger, sharper, more intense. “There’s some control, but the animal takes us. And we are animals during that time, Michael. You won’t be able to trust me.”

  “I have trouble believing that.”

  Keeli touched his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Don’t think for an instant I won’t hurt you. Love means nothing when the wolf has you. Wolves don’t love. It’s only instinct. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You are still inside the wolf, Keeli. You are still the woman.”

  “Not when the moon is full. Tonight, Michael, the woman is going to be the one sleeping. It’s the price we pay.”

  He caressed her face, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. His touch was cool, gentle. “You will be safe with me, I promise. I will watch over you tonight.”

  “No,” she whispered, though it warmed her to hear him say so. “And I’m not the one who needs to be kept safe. Just … tie me up. Muzzle me. And then go out and solve this case.”

  “Not without you,” he said.

  “Michael, if we can’t find this guy today—which seems very likely—that’s just what you’ll have to do. We can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

  “Of course not. Which means we will find him before the moon rises. It’s still afternoon. We have time.”

  Keeli closed her eyes. It was inevitable. He was finally showing his stubborn side.

  Yeah, and it’s only been two days. Of course, if that’s the worst you ever say of him, you’ll be counting your blessings.

  Keeli sighed and flopped down on the bed, her heels dragging on the floor. She spread out her arms and stared, limp, at the cracked ceiling. Michael walked over and looked at her. He knelt between her legs. His fingers touched her ribs, tickling.

  “I’m too young to die,” she said, laughing weakly, trying to roll away from him. “Oh, God. Michael, I hope you have a good plan.”

  “I do,” he said, unbuttoning her skirt. He kissed her belly, and Keeli stopped struggling. “I have a very good plan.”

  “Yeah? Tell me.”

  Michael smiled, and told her.

  It was always alleys with them. Keeli thought it might be nice to one day sit down with Michael in the lobby of a posh hotel, or even on a grassy hill in a park. Go down to the beach for the sunset and some bloody margaritas.

  Anything but this smelly, skanky piece of concrete that was shiny with greasy puddles and urine and other, more awful biological hazards to her health.

  “This is part of your plan?” Keeli stared at the back of his head. She wondered if it was time to start kicking his ass.

  Michael said nothing and she hurried to keep up with his long quick strides. They were still in his neighborhood, just a couple of streets down from his apartment, and this alley looked like a combination of war zone and garbage dump. Barbed wire laced the ground, which was thickly covered with loose trash: beer cans, used sanitary napkins, decaying food. Flies buzzed through the air; Keeli swatted at them, swearing.

  “Michael!” she snapped. He glanced at her, but kept walking.

  “We’re close,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she muttered. “I just want to kill you.”

  She thought he laughed, but that would make him too stupid to live. She gave him more credit than that.

  Less than a minute later,
Michael did finally stop. Right in front of a large rusty trash can. Keeli stood beside him.

  “If Oscar the Grouch is in there, I’m leaving.”

  Michael smiled. He knocked on the battered lid.

  God, yes. This is going to be the Sesame Street version of hell.

  The trash can rattled. Keeli took a step back. The lid popped open, revealing a set of brilliant green eyes. Inhumanly pale and green.

  Oh. Shit.

  “What’sa?” rasped a low voice.

  Michael’s smile widened. Keeli blinked, completely taken aback by the charm that swept over his face, softening his hard angular features, easing the darkness in his eyes.

  “Grindla,” Michael said. “I’ve got a problem you can help me with.”

  Keeli looked back at the trash can and found those green eyes studying her. Intense, hungry. She took another step away before she could stop herself.

  “Gotsa howl with you, M’cal. Strange now. Strange.”

  “She’s a biddy, Grindla. Real bid like. Come now, let us in.”

  “Ai,” whispered the rough voice. “Ai now, M’cal.”

  The lid sank back down. Michael waited a moment, and then pulled it off. Keeli edged forward. All she saw was darkness.

  “That can has no fucking bottom,” she said.

  “It is Grindla’s home,” Michael said mildly. Keeli glared at him. She wanted to pull out her hair—that, or run away screaming.

  “It’s all right,” Michael said, holding out his hand. “I’ve known Grindla for a long, long time. She’s very friendly.”

  Keeli did not take his hand. Michael said, “Okay, she’s a demon.”

  “Yes.” Keeli remained very still. “I kind of figured that out, when I saw the bottomless pit inside the trash can she calls home.”

  “Oh.” Michael peered over the edge of the can. “I suppose that is rather distinctive. It’s nothing to worry about, though. Grindla’s nothing like other demons. You know, the banished ones. I’m not sure where she’s from—or where she goes. But we’re friends.”