“What are we looking for?” Nova asked, fiddling with the satellite navigational system in the dash.
Like that thing could tell us where to go. Not likely. I was following the hum of magic from the quartz stone in the cup holder. It had been clear when Brittany had handed it to me but the moment I dropped blood from one of the necromancer’s sacrifices onto its surface, the stone had soaked the blood up and turned a deep emerald green with a glowing white center.
Brittany had been right. Once I’d invoked the spell with the victim’s blood, it had sent out feelers into the ether that I could almost see in the setting sun. Right now, the thing was a constant hum in the back of my mind and getting stronger the farther east we went. I would’ve killed for a Google Map’s list of where to find this fucker but that wasn’t going to happen, not in my lifetime anyway.
“A needle in a hay stack,” Miguel barked from behind me.
I caught his exasperated expression in the rearview mirror and shrugged. He was right. We were searching for a fucking needle in a haystack. But at least that needle hummed like a tuning fork. That was something, wasn’t it?
“Miguel! You have to have more faith in our little flower here,” Nova chastised, turning in his seat and straining against the seat belt.
I’d made him put it on even if a crash wouldn’t kill him. Call it a holdover from humanity but I didn’t want him flying through the window. I also didn’t want to get stopped by the cops. I try to avoid that if possible.
“I have faith. What I don’t have is a direction,” Miguel mumbled.
“Miguel?” I asked, turning onto 22nd Avenue. I caught a glimpse of his fingers twisting in his lap in the rearview mirror.
Sighing, he met my gaze again in the mirror and said, “I’m always behind the bar. What if I can’t help when you need me?”
Flipping my hair from my shoulders, I tried to hide the satisfied grin turning up the corners of my mouth. Miguel was dedicated to two things, his painting and me. I was the only other woman he’d ever painted besides his family in the two hundred and some odd years since he’d been turned. No matter what he thought of himself, I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to me or Nova. We were his familia.
“Don’t worry, Miguel,” Nova interjected. “She won’t need you to do anything. We’re here so everyone else feels better.”
“So, no pressure,” I teased.
“No pressure,” Miguel sighed, seeming more relieved. “What are we looking for?”
“Dunno,” I said, scanning the streets for anything that seemed out of place as the little stone hummed in the cup holder. We’d been driving up and down these streets for the past hour and the stone had been pretty stagnant. So either we were close or it had lost its mojo. I didn’t believe the latter though. I could still feel its magic vibrating through the car. So, I kept my eyes open for someone who didn’t belong or a tingling in my spine that set off my other senses.
“What do you mean? You don’t know,” Nova asked, a little surprised. “I thought we had the magic thingy to tell us?” Leaning back in his seat, he clutched the seat-belt drawn across his chest in a tight fist.
“It’s been still. I’ll know it when I feel it,” I said, cruising down the quiet side street.
I turned the corner onto an abandoned street, dark with broken streetlights and zero porch lights. Cars lined the curb, parked bumper to bumper. Flat tires on several kept them immobile and the broken-out windows kept them parked instead of in a chop shop. Tiny houses, one after the other and so close together that neighbors could reach out and smack someone if not for the bars on the windows, populated the neighborhood. Some of the houses were empty, windows boarded up with bright orange tags reading VACANT plastered across them. Up ahead, a group of kids dressed in saggy pants, long dark-hooded sweatshirts, and pristine white high-tops congregated at the end of the block. They clustered at the corner, posturing and laughing as they harassed a crack addict and probably a prostitute passing by.
I snorted at the group, each probably no more than 15 or 16, out at 12:30 in the morning. Nothing good ever happened after midnight, I knew that for a fact. I slowed, watching as the woman the kids were taunting made it down the block in one piece.
A dark chill of magic crawled across my skin and the stone glowed bright until I had to shove it in my pocket just to see the road. Slamming on the brakes, Nova’s seatbelt jerked with the sudden stop and pinned him in place. Throwing the Escalade into reverse, I parallel parked the SUV.
Noticing the only car on the block that was worth more than a grand, the kids turned all their attention on us.
“Dahlia?” Miguel questioned as I turned the engine off.
“Time to get out, guys,” I said.
“What?” Nova asked.
“Here?” Miguel parroted.
I opened the door and hopped out, leaving the two big bad vampires behind, safe in the SUV.
“Ah, look at this delicious thing,” one of the hoodlums said as I strode across the street.
“Baby, you lookin’ for something to fill you up? I got something right here.” He laughed, grabbing his dick through his jeans.
Nova and Miguel stepped from the SUV behind me, two cold presences in the heat of summer.
“Hey, Boo, you need a real man! Let me show you what you been missin’,” one of them called from the back of the Pack.
“That’s okay, you couldn’t handle me anyway,” I said, tossing my hair back.
Hoots and howls erupted from the group, teasing the guy in the back.
“Oh, Shorty, I can handle you,” the largest of them called from the front.
Nova snorted behind me and we continued walking.
“What, motherfucker, you think you can?” the guy next to the larger kid bit out at Nova’s response, reaching for something behind his back. That’s all I needed was for this dickweed to pull a gun and this shit to get hairy.
“No! Absolutely not,” Nova snapped.
“You should see the men who do.” Miguel laughed, nudging by me and placing his body between me and the thugs.
“Men! Whoo,” one whistled. “Damn, Shorty, you play like dat.”
I stepped up onto the curb and stood firm, my feet a foot and a half apart. I slammed a hand down on my hip and brushed aside the edge of my blazer, revealing the butt of my Smith and Wesson 1911 snug against my ribs.
“Listen, Boo, I didn’t mean anything by it,” the large man up front said, raising his hands up, palms out.
“I won’t take offense if you answer a few questions.” I smiled, letting them see the hard edge that had gained me the reputation as The Blushing Death.
“A cop,” the smaller thug in the back snorted. “Figures.”
“Not a cop, just looking for someone.” Straightening my blazer, I smoothed the lines of the jacket over the gun’s bulk.
“Yeah! Who?” a third guy questioned from the protection of the behemoth in front of him, feeling more secure in the group than alone.
I scanned each one of them, meeting their skeptical gazes. Who was I looking for? I had no idea how to describe what I wanted to ask but these guys knew their neighborhood. I didn’t.
“Someone new. Someone who doesn’t belong. Only comes out at night. Maybe gives you the creeps.” I watched, waiting for someone to give themselves away.
In the back, partially hidden behind the smartass who’d pegged me as a cop, a kid flinched. He couldn’t have been more than 14, thin and lanky. He had a Kid n’ Play haircut, tall afro at maybe four or five inches and carved at a slant. His hoodie was dark, the team emblem on the front was hidden by the smartass shielding him. The kid met my gaze and his dark-chocolate eyes darted away.
“You know who I’m asking about?” I asked, soft and easy. Not too forceful. Didn’t want to frighten
the skittish kitten cowering in the corner.
“Yeah, might know someone like that.” His voice cracked from puberty, sounding more unsure than he probably wanted to in front of his friends.
“Do you know where they’re staying?”
“Tyrell, you mean dat creepy-ass white guy? He’s got some sick friends. Don’t talk much and they reek like hell,” the big guy out front finished for Tyrell.
“Where?” I asked the kid in the back. He knew more than he was telling.
“Two blocks down.” Tyrell pointed down the street.
Deeper into the harsh poverty-stricken neighborhood, Tyrell had directed us into the gang riddled, darkness. The cops didn’t rush out here when 9-1-1 was called. They didn’t patrol unless necessary. They stuck to the more high traffic areas, letting the gangs have their territory.
“You got an address?” I asked.
“Nah, you’ll know it when you see it,” the big guy chaffed.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I offered with a quick nod. Turning to head back to the SUV, Nova and Miguel followed.
“Hey, Lady,” Tyrell called.
I turned, waiting for the kid to jog up the sidewalk to me and away from his friends.
“Listen. My Grams is spooky sometimes. She knows stuff and told me to stay clear of that devil,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the other guys watching us too closely. “She says he’s working some demon voodoo and my Grams came up after Katrina from NOLA. Nothing scares her, but this dude . . . she’s scared.”
“He’s no demon,” I said, approving of his Grams’ good advice. “But you should steer clear just the same and tell your Grams thanks.”
“Who are you, lady?”
“She’s The Blushing Death,” Nova said with pride.
“NOVA!” I chastised. This kid was human and that’s all I needed was some urban legend starting in the poorer neighborhoods of Columbus. I was already a boogie man in the supernatural community. I didn’t want to be a boogie man to the gangs too.
“I’ll tell my grams,” the kid called after us.
Great! Just fucking great! I turned to go back to the SUV but thought better of it. “Tyrell!” I called. He turned, staring back at me with a question furrowing his brow. “Can I talk to your grams?”
He glanced over his shoulder again but his friends were joking and laughing, almost forgetting that their friend was distracted.
“I swear to you, you’re safe with us.”
“Yeah, but is Grams safe?”
“You have my word,” I said.
He evaluated me for a long moment, staring at me with a skepticism that was too practiced for a kid of 14. He shouldn’t have been so guarded. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”
We hopped into the SUV, Tyrell in the back with Miguel. I told him to fasten his seatbelt and he scoffed at me. I caught Miguel’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He didn’t hesitate. Miguel reached over and drew the seatbelt across Tyrell’s chest.
“Hey, man!”
“When Mi Sueno commands, I obey.”
“Pussy,” Tyrell hissed under his breath.
“Perhaps, but she can kill me and you can’t.”
“Phmph,” Tyrell snorted.
When no one contradicted Miguel, Tyrell started looking around. First at Miguel, then Nova, and as I pulled out he caught my gaze. I knew my eyes were cold by the way he sank into the seat as the click of the seatbelt echoed in the silent SUV.
At the corner, Tyrell told me to turn right onto Mount Vernon Avenue. A few blocks east, he directed me to take a left and three houses down he directed me to park.
All four of us got out of the car and I hit the button on the key fob to lock the SUV. I didn’t want the damned Cadillac Escalade to get stolen while I was in the house. Yeah, that’d look great for my reputation.
Tyrell strode up the steps of the house. The boards, weathered and rotting, creaked beneath his feet. He slipped a key in the lock and turned the knob but the door caught at the security chain and didn’t open.
“Grams, open up! It’s Tyrell,” he called into the house. The television was blaring, and I caught a glimpse of fuzzy pink slippers propped up in a La-z-boy across the room. “Grams!”
“Lord, child, I’m comin’.”
The door slid closed and I heard the chain being drawn from behind the door. Opening to a short, round woman with skin the color of peat moss, Tyrell smiled at the older woman. Her silver hair peeked out from under the scarf tied at her forehead in a tight knot. She was dressed in a soft pink housecoat that was worn in spots and frayed around the hem.
Tyrell leaned in and kissed his grandmother on the cheek and circled around behind her. “Hey, Grams, I brought someone to see you.”
The old woman ran her eyes over me from head to toe and back up again. “What’ve you brought me, baby?”
“My name’s Dahlia Sabin,” I said, holding out my hand to the woman.
“Ooooh, child,” she said as she evaluated the air around me. She grasped my hand and jerked me inside so hard, I almost tripped over the threshold.
Miguel and Nova stepped up onto the porch behind me. The old woman’s sharp gaze focused on the two of them and I could feel her heart thundering through her grip on me. The scent of fear spiked in my nose and the woman’s body went rigid.
“They’re with me,” I said, making my voice soft and soothing.
“They can’t come in here,” she bit out, her fingers tightening around mine until I thought my knuckles might crack from the pressure.
“Nova,” I called.
“We’ll stay out here and guard the house.”
“Thank you,” I said, and she slammed the door closed behind me.
“I’m sorry but I can’t let the likes of those creatures in my house,” she said, hobbling back over to the La-Z-Boy in front of the television.
“Who, Grams?” Tyrell said, stepping from the kitchen with a slice of cornbread in his hand like a piece of pie.
“Vampires, baby.”
“Come on, Grams,” Tyrell said, shoving the cornbread in his mouth.
“Nova and Miguel are vampires, don’t doubt that,” I confirmed. Couldn’t have the kid thinking his grandmother was crazy.
“Lady, you’re just as batty as Grams here,” he scoffed.
“No, baby. What she is, is very powerful. Witch?” she asked, eying me closely.
“No. But I’ve come to understand I’m many things,” I said, unable to hide the twitch of my lips, “so who knows.”
“I should say so, honey, you’re aura is glitterin’ like pink and purple lightning bugs in the middle of the Louisiana heat.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. I’d never been told my aura glittered before and I wondered if this was because of the Fertiri bond or because this woman just saw so much more.
The old woman sat down in the chair, easing down with creaking joints and grinding cartilage in her knees. “I’m Caroline.” She said her name as if it was three syllables, Care—o—line, with a southern drawl that was thick and rich.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said, sitting on the sofa along the adjacent wall.
“Why has baby boy brought you by?” she asked, plucking a cup from the end table beside her. From the scent of it, and the steam, I’d say it was tea. She blew across the top of the cup and took a sip, meeting my gaze and then darting her eyes over to Tyrell.
“She was askin’ ‘bout that creeper you told me to stay away from,” Tyrell offered.
“Whatchyou gonna do with him when you find him?” she asked.
“Kill him.”
“Damn Boo,” Tyrell said, almost choking on the last bite of cornbread.
“I told you, Tyrell, no swearin’ in my house,”
Caroline scolded the boy and then turned back to me. “Won’t be as easy as that.”
“No?”
“Nah-uh.” She leaned back in the La-Z-Boy and got comfortable. “This one shouldn’t be.”
“A necromancer?” I asked.
“Ahhh.” She smiled as if I’d asked just the right question. “The dead should not control the dead.”
“But vampires aren’t dead,” I argued. Whatever they were, they weren’t dead.
“Aren’t they?”
“No, whatever magic makes them walk and talk, I can’t say but they are somewhere between life and death.”
“They die during the day, girl.”
“No. They go somewhere, I’ll give you that one, but they don’t die. Patrick dreams. I’ve been in that place they go, found him and brought him back. It’s more like limbo than anything else. Lonely. But they don’t die.”
“So, not dead but not living. The body is dead, yes?”
I nodded. Patrick’s heart had started beating but I didn’t want to tell her that. The soft, painfully slow beat of Patrick’s heart was our little secret.
“But this vampire’s magic controls the dead.”
“Yes but I killed the zombies, they stop moving after decapitation. Hell, everything stops moving after decapitation,” I snorted.
“Maybe not,” she sneered.
“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly very cautious.
“Those who have magic over the dead usually take precautions with their own deaths. They don’t want to come back as someone’s play-thing. They make sure someone is there to burn their body so they can’t be called back. But when I was a girl, there was a story my mother told me about a Bokor who wanted more magic than he had. He was turned into a vampire and terrorized the bayou drinking his victims dry and then raising them from their peace to be his slaves. But the people rose up and cut out his heart. They did not kill him, though. He left, looking for more blood and death.”
Emerald Fire (A Blushing Death Novel Book 6) Page 19
