Blood and Silver - 04

by James R. Tuck

  “Will she recover from her injuries without shifting form?”

  He looked past me to the other room where Sophia and Kat were. “If we can speed up her metabolism . . . maybe. I doubt it, though.”

  “So she has to change form to kick-start the healing process?”

  “That is the main trigger for lycanthropes. The change might make her abort, though.”

  Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. My mind wondered if the Were-lion who had beaten her knew she was with child. Or pup. Whichever. I looked at Larson. “So it’s wait and see, then.”

  He stopped looking me in the eye, turning away and looking down at his hands in his lap. “There is one thing we can try.”

  Not looking at me is bad. I had a feeling I was not going to like his suggestion. He did, too, that’s why he was suddenly obsessed with looking at his own thumbnail. I waited for him to speak.

  “Remember last year when you had the Spear of Destiny and you used your power to heal Longinus and Charlotte?”

  My mind tripped back almost six months. After killing Appollonia and taking the Spear of Destiny from her, my ability to sense magick was boosted. Holding the Spear allowed me to reach in and heal Longinus, the immortal owner of the Spear. I had been able to do the same for Charlotte, a Were-spider who had been Appollonia’s familiar. She had been forced to serve that hell-bitch until I set her free. They had both been wounded, Longinus mortally so, and I had been able to call out their supernatural abilities to heal them.

  I looked down at Larson’s legs strapped into the chair he sat in. He had been there, bleeding from the wound that took his legs, while I healed them. Because he was only human there was nothing to call out of him. Nothing paranormal inside him to bring healing. So he got the hospital and the wheelchair. It would have made me feel guilty if I had a conscience about that sort of thing. I don’t. War is war and he signed up. His situation might suck, but it did no good to wring my hands over it. Push it aside, keep moving.

  I seem to do that a lot.

  “I don’t have the Spear, it went back to Longinus.”

  His hand clamped on to my arm. It was full of wiry strength he did not have last year. “I don’t think you need it. From what I’ve heard, your power has changed and grown.” I nodded that it had. “I think you still have the ability to manipulate the supernatural like you did that night.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  His eyes went back to the lab. I turned to look. Kat had finished feeding Sophia and now sat on the table with the Were-dog’s head in her lap. Larson pointed past me. “It’s worth a try, I think. For her and her baby.”

  Dammit.

  I am used to my ability. I use it, but I don’t like it. It smacks too close to magick, and magick always, always ends badly. A lot of people claim white magick is different from black magick. Bullshit. Magick is magick, and it always goes dark. The only solace I held was that mine came from a transfusion of Angel’s blood. How black could it be if it came from an Angel?

  Don’t answer that.

  Since I used it holding the Spear, I had felt a difference. Since then it had been stronger, easier, and the impressions were more detailed and intimate. I could feel the supernatural with a depth and texture I had not before. Now I had to make conscious efforts to not use my ability. It was always there, ready to spark at the first hint of anything paranormal. It felt like more a part of me, almost as natural as the ability to hear or smell.

  I had also felt it pull me like that night long ago with the Spear. Tugging me to change the supernatural I had run up against since.

  I had been ignoring it.

  Now Larson was asking me to push it even further. To do even more with it. It didn’t sit well with me. I almost said no. The word sat behind my teeth, bitter as chalk.

  Then I looked at Sophia.

  She lay limp on the table. I watched her breathe, dragging air into her lungs. The effort of each breath made her tremble with pain, the shiver running across from her tail to her muzzle. The whine she’d had earlier was back, low and sad, cut by the effort of simply drawing in air.

  Dammit.

  I stood up.

  “Okay, let’s do it.” I started walking back into the lab, Larson rolling behind me.

  Going back into the lab, we found the plate licked clean and Kat pouring water from a bottle in her hand for Sophia to lap at. More water was getting on Kat’s jeans than in the Were-dog’s mouth and a big wet spot had formed, making the denim dark.

  Larson motioned me to the table and reached to help Kat down. He leaned in close to Sophia, his voice back to low, soothing tones. “We are going to try something to help you. It may not work, but it should not hurt. We have to try to get you healed for the baby’s sake.”

  Sophia watched him warily for a moment, then lolled her head back toward me. I stroked her head again. Her tail thumped the table twice more.

  “Okay. Just keep your hand on her, close your eyes, and reach out with your power until you can sense her.”

  My eyes shut to darkness and I reached down inside myself where my ability sits. I had a sense of Sophia’s lycanthropy. It felt like night air in the city. The clean taste of moonlight that came with all lycanthropes. Just the surface impression I get automatically, but Larson wanted more. He wanted me to reach inside and make her lycanthropy sit up and do tricks.

  Dammit.

  Pulling breath into my lungs, I settled down into the center of myself. My ability sat like a hard cluster inside me. I let it go and let it unfurl. It soared up through me in thin streamers and went down my arm. I felt the tendrils flow out of my fingers and into Sophia. The tendrils probed for a second, feeling around, taking stock.

  With a click, they locked into place and I could feel her like I can feel myself. My nose filled with the warm smell of dog, pleasant like roasted peanuts. The world tilted for a second as I adjusted to the metaphysical mind theater. Sensations swirled and whirled inside me. Should I be on two legs or four? The feeling passed quickly and I came back to myself. I shook my head and looked around with my mind’s eye.

  Her human side was pushed deep, curled up and hurting. I felt the uncivilized pulse that was her lycanthropy rushing and swirling around. I found tiny knots of life, three of them, wild and fierce inside her. In my head they shone like brilliant candle flames in the dark.

  Sophia was carrying triplets. Strange.

  Outside, a voice spoke, muttering in a guttural, broken tone. A crackle of force zapped into the connection between me and the lycanthrope. Everything around that crackle pulled taut, stretching tight. Sophia whined, feeling the sting like I did. My taste buds burned with acid. I swallowed it back down. My nostrils clotted with the scent of soured milk. The force invaded, pushing whip cracks of pain along its path.

  My gun was out and pressed against Larson’s head.

  I cracked my eye open to look down at him. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  Larson’s eyes were big. His mouth hung open, caught mid-syllable. The spell he had been chanting was cut off and hung dying in the air between us. Slowly, his jaw closed and he swallowed, bobbing his Adam’s apple. Sweat ran in a trickle from under his hair, rolling around the slide of the Colt where it pressed against his temple.

  He swallowed with a gulping sound. “Trying to help.”

  “Don’t.” I pushed the barrel harder against his skull. “Not with magick. Not ever.”

  His mouth closed and he nodded slowly. His head moved only a scant half inch up and down. Kat stepped forward, her hand soft on my arm, voice soft in my ear.

  “Deacon, please . . .”

  I whipped the Colt back into the holster under my arm. The leather dug into my shoulder as I shoved the gun home. I looked him in his red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t start fucking with magick. It never ends well. Next time you pull that shit, I will pull the trigger. No ‘ifs,’ no ‘ands,’ and no ‘buts’ about it.”

  “I believe you.” He was smart enough
not to say anything else.

  I didn’t know Larson had been messing around with magick.

  Sorcery.

  Hoodoo.

  Witchcraft.

  Whatever name you used, it was still bad news. There is no getting in and getting out unscathed with magick. It leaves a residue on your soul that begins to taint your every action. And it’s as addictive as crack cocaine on steroids. Too far down that road and you lose your way. Once you lose your way with magick, you can’t find it back. I would have to keep a better eye on him.

  The taint of broken magick coated my tongue like a sickness, triggering my memory.

  My head filled with symbols. Symbols written on the walls of my home in blood. My family’s blood. They burned through my memory, seared into my soul. My ears filled with the cries of my children over the phone as I tried to get to them. The dreadful knowledge I never would make it bringing a cold, clammy sweat to my skin. My eyes burned, tears threatening. Hands clenched. Teeth grinding.

  STOP!

  I took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled. Calm down. Calm down. Easy, easy. It’s okay. Be cool.

  My family had been slaughtered in a magick ritual. I listened to their cries and screams on the phone as I tried to get to them. They had been killed to make magick.

  I can’t talk about it anymore, it is still too painful.

  Pushing it out of my mind, I closed my eyes and turned my attention back to Sophia. I concentrated, pushing my power back out, looking for the tie between us.

  The connection between us locked back into place. It had the same feeling as a spinal adjustment, my power and her beast sliding together with a hollow, wet pop. Her lycanthropy came rushing back to fill the theater of my mind. Her beast was wounded but strong. I coaxed it gently to myself, pulling it out. It sniffed me and the temptation was there to pull it into myself and ease my aches and pains.

  I couldn’t do that. The only thing I can do is sense the supernatural and manipulate it. Sometimes better than others. But I couldn’t steal it or use it myself. I couldn’t, but she didn’t know that, and her animal side wanted to help me. I guess Were-dogs are like real dogs. They just want to help. It could feel that I was hurt and it wanted to metaphysically comfort me. It made new anger flare inside me at the douchebag Were-lion who had hurt her.

  I pointed the dog in my head to her own wounds, encouraging her to heal herself. Inside my skin I felt her beast lick the wounds. The tongue was thick and wet, not very gentle at all, almost like getting slapped with a raw steak. What I felt was an echo of what was happening inside her. Behind the licks followed a warmth that spread healing. Golden fibers of light painted over every injury, flashing brightly as they healed.

  My real eyes cracked open and I watched as skin began to move under russet fur. Two ribs that were jutting from her side slid wetly into place with a jerk and pop. Her breathing evened out and lost the thread of wheeze it had.

  I stepped back, moving my hand from her. My fingers were outstretched, pulling through the connection between us as it stretched. The connection stayed, but it lessened. It thinned and the sensations through it became muffled. Like watching a movie through a swimming pool.

  A small curl of nausea rolled through me. I could feel the drain of using my power like this. I can sense supernatural stuff with no problem, but when I try to manipulate it, things start to go haywire. This wasn’t too bad, just an annoyance. I would guess that her lycanthropy being so compliant and helpful was taking some of the burden out of what I was doing. I closed my hand into a fist and pulled in my power. The connection severed with a snap of metaphysical energy that made my hand tingle all the way to my wrist.

  Sophia gathered herself and stood on the table, her muzzle even with my face. She was still filthy, but she no longer looked frail or pathetic. Even though she was still small and still thin, she wasn’t weak. She was like the blade of a knife. She would take your life to protect the babies inside her.

  A small spring carried her off the table to the floor in front of me. She landed with only the slightest click-click of nails on tile. I looked down at her one blue eye and one brown, having a hard time focusing on her gaze because of the discrepancy. Her head butted my hand; then she turned and sat by my left leg, body leaning just enough to touch me.

  Apparently I had just inherited a watch Were-dog.

  6

  The Comet ripped into the parking lot of Polecats, chain-link steering wheel slipping through my hands. Cars filled the lot, sitting like empty shells of dead insects all put in a row by a child with OCD. Neon flashed across the entire front of the club, throwing pastel light around the lot like it was free. On top of the building blue neon whipped out the name of the club, and a pink cartoon girl with a cat tail climbed a pole and slid down it over and over again. Yes, I went for the classy. I drove on through the lines of cars, heading to the underground parking for employees.

  My fingers pushed the button to lower the volume on the MP3 player mounted in the stereo. The Texas boogie blues of ZZ Top looking good and looking for “Tush” faded down to a nice buzz we could talk over. Kat sat in the passenger seat twirling a blond lock of hair through her fingers. Sophia was freshly washed, her head over the back of the seat between us. Her fur smelled like some girly shampoo Larson had in his shower. I turned to Kat and asked the question that had been on my mind since we got back in the car.

  “So . . . you and Larson?”

  She turned and she had a look on her face. I had never seen that look on her before. Her eyes were distant and her features had gone soft. Kat is serious business. Always. To glance over and see her look like a smitten schoolgirl was strange. She looked damn near wistful.

  “Yep, me and Larson.”

  “Interesting.” I pulled into the corralled entrance to the parking lot for employees. Hitting a button mounted in the dash made the metal gate slide up so we could slip inside. I spoke out of the side of my mouth, smirking, “How is that working out?”

  Kat’s face went from wistful to all business in a flash. “The only thing that doesn’t work is his legs.”

  From the backseat Sophia made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a doggie snicker.

  Wheeling around, I backed into the space set aside for the Comet. The employee parking was the loading dock when the club used to be a warehouse. I had sunk a lot of money into building up the concrete walls and adding roll-down steel gates to make the employee parking safe and secure. We got out of the car, Sophia moving like quicksilver to trot by my side. Kat moved even quicker, getting to the door before me, using her key and slipping inside. The door shut before I reached it.

  I guess I had made her mad.

  Swinging open the door, I let Sophia in and shut it behind. I stuck my key in and turned, which fired the hydraulic cylinder in the center of the steel door. Three-inch bolts shot into the steel and concrete frame. Nothing was getting through that door. Kat was already halfway up the stairs to the club, feet hitting each stair like a prizefighter.

  Dammit. I hate running up stairs.

  I took the stairs two at a time, pulling myself up using the steel handrail. Music from inside the club got louder with each step. I caught Kat ten steps from the utility door to a short hallway just off the main floor of Polecats. My hand fell on her arm. She stopped and I leaned back on the steel railing, catching my breath. It’s hard to run upstairs two at a time. Besides, I am built for power, not speed, so when I run, it takes a lot out of me.

  “You gonna make it, old man?”

  I took a deep gulp of air. “Kiss my ass. I’m only a few years older than you.” I said it with a grin.

  “Yeah, but your years are like dog years.” She looked down at Sophia, who stood a step or two below us. “No offense.”

  Sophia shook her head side to side.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.” I stood up, breathing back under control. “I was just poking fun back there, not trying to piss you off.”

  “I’m not pissed off. I like Larson.”
She crossed her arms. “Actually, I like Larson a lot, but it’s new. So I’m still uncomfortable with the way it feels around people.”

  “That’s why you didn’t say anything?”

  “Didn’t say anything to you. Father Mulcahy knows. The girls know. Tiff knows.”

  Everybody but me? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to hear your smartass comments, and you have been a little preoccupied lately. With Tiff.”

  Ah, here we go. I was wondering when Tiff would come up. Kat hit my arm. Hard.

  “Get that look off your face. I’m not going to give you shit about it. Tiff’s a good girl, and everybody can see how you two are.”

  “We’re not dating.” I knew I said it too quickly, protesting too much. I could feel it.

  Kat stepped in; her hand moved up and touched my face. “You act like I don’t know you have more baggage than an airport. We all do around here. But I watch you with her and I can see you letting go of some of the pain you’ve carried since before I met you.” Her hand dropped to my shoulder. The other one joined it on my other shoulder. Her eyes were glittering even in the low light. “Since she’s been around I’ve even seen you smile and laugh once in a while.”

  She pulled me into a hug, squeezing tight so I wouldn’t see tears spill down her cheeks even though I could feel them puddle hot through my T-shirt. Her face was over my shoulder as I hugged her back. “Not to mention the fact that she’s the only one I can trust to watch this place and you boys while I am finding my own reasons to smile and laugh with Larson.”

  I held my friend Kat. I’d never seen her well up like this. I had seen her cry. She had been crying when I rescued her. She had cried when we killed Darius, the vampire who put her through hell as his personal bloodwhore. I had found her crying sometimes early in the morning, holding a small framed picture of her dead sister.