After the funeral, her days had been rote: wake the kids, feed them, greet the endless stream of sympathizers, avoid the media seeking to know more about “the first family of the vampire community” as they dubbed the Sabians once vampires revealed themselves, bathe the kids, send the kids to bed, and then collapse into a sobbing heap of misery. She would then rise the next morning to start the cycle again.
Throughout it all had been Varik Baudelaire. He hadn’t made any grand displays of watching over the mourning family, but Emily had been aware of him on the periphery. She would find envelopes stuffed with cash slipped under the front door. Vials of fresh blood would mysteriously appear in the refrigerator overnight. Stephen and Alex were provided with armed bodyguards when the vampire rights movement reached its peak. There were other small events as well, but perhaps the most comforting were the occasional gifts sent to Alex.
Emily had never understood why Varik left gifts for Alex and not Stephen, but perhaps he’d felt Alex needed more attention, more support to overcome the trauma of her father’s death. Whatever his reasons, Emily still felt indebted to him four decades later, and as she made her way back to the table where Stephen waited, she decided it was time she let Varik know just how much she appreciated everything he’d done for her family.
Smiling, she slid into the booth, opposite Stephen. Her smile soon disappeared as she noticed his once-clear blue eyes had shifted to vivid amber. “What is it? Did something happen to Alex?”
He slid her cell phone across the table in silence.
“Stephen, what’s—” Her question faltered and died as she noticed the displayed number of the last call received. The time stamp was only minutes ago, while she’d been in the restroom.
“Gregor Wahl called.” His tone was dark and full of anger.
“I see that. Did he leave a message?”
“He said to tell you he had a possible lead on Siobhan’s whereabouts, and he was going to check it out.”
Emily felt her heart sink into her stomach.
“Why is Gregor calling you, Mom? Who is this Siobhan?”
Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to calm her own rapidly shifting emotions. She’d hoped to keep her inquiries into the Tribunal a secret from Stephen and Alex.
“Mom?”
“I called him,” she said quietly. She squared her shoulders and met Stephen’s angry gaze. “I asked him to find out any information he could on the Tribunal’s proceedings, anything that could help save Alex.”
“He’s the one who suggested using us as the public face for the vampire rights movement after Dad died. He made our lives hell for seven years. Why would you call him?”
“I know you like Gregor about as much as you like Varik, but we—Alex needs all the allies she can find right now. I trust Gregor, just as I trust Varik.”
“Mom, you—”
“There is more going on with the Tribunal than we’ve been told, Stephen.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Woody Phelps has taken a personal interest in Alex’s inquiry, and the Magistrates are calling in Enforcers from all over the country in some sort of massive internal investigation.”
“Why would—”
“I don’t know. Gregor was going to find out what he could and call me.” Emily punched the button to redial Gregor’s number. The line rang several times without anyone picking up. “That’s odd. Now he’s not answering.”
“So who is Siobhan?” Stephen repeated his earlier question.
She listened to a few more rings before ending the call. “A woman who worked with your father.”
“At the university?”
“Yes.”
“Is she the one Dad got pregnant?”
Emily wordlessly stared at him for several moments before finding her barely audible voice. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard you and Dad talking—arguing, at night. I may’ve been a kid but I wasn’t stupid. I knew Dad had an affair with a woman at work, but I didn’t know her name.”
“Oh, honey. This isn’t something I ever wanted to burden you and Alex with. You were both so young when he was killed.” She paused and drew a deep breath to keep her voice from shaking. “I didn’t want this to be a part of either of your memories.”
“Alex doesn’t know about the affair. I never told her.” Stephen shook his head. “She has such an idealized view of Dad. I couldn’t hurt her like that.”
Before Emily could respond, Stephen’s cell phone rang, giving her time to truly assimilate what she’d learned. Stephen knew about Bernard’s affair and that there was a pregnancy. But how much of the rest of the story did he know? Did he know about the accusations against Siobhan?
She fingered the small shamrock charm hidden beneath her blouse. What about the child? Did he know—
“That was Janet,” Stephen announced, breaking into her thoughts. “She’s getting out of class early.”
“Well, I guess you’ll want to go home and meet her, then.” Emily scooted out of the booth.
Stephen rose and handed over her purse. They wove their way through the tables, out of the restaurant, and into the cool November afternoon. As they walked through the parking lot, Emily’s thoughts returned again to her husband, his mistress, and their child.
A child born during a night of fear and blood.
A child whose true identity must remain hidden.
If certain individuals within the vampire community learned the child survived, Bernard’s murder—his sacrifice—would’ve been an exercise in futility, and Emily refused to allow his death, and her family’s pain, to ever be meaningless.
fourteen
“NOW, THAT’S JUST FUCKING CREEPY,” FREDDY HAVER said. “How can you trap a soul in a doll?”
“I don’t know.” Alex ground her fingertips into her closed eyes until sparks invaded the darkness in which she was confined. “But that’s what I saw. Once the dolls were broken, the souls within were released, and the Dollmaker was seriously pissed off.”
Varik had finally made his way into the mobile lab, and they were discussing Freddy’s and Reyes’s findings on the doll left with Mindy Johnson’s car, as well as other evidence. Morgan had thankfully gone back inside the Municipal Center.
Alex sighed and rapidly blinked her eyes. The star-bursts cleared from her vision, leaving an unending darkness in their wake. She squinted and slowly looked from side to side. The inky blackness remained unchanged.
Sandalwood and cinnamon washed over her along with the rustle of clothing as Varik shifted beside her. Are you all right? Is the pain getting worse?
His thoughts slipped easily into her mind. She frowned and once again covered her eyes with her sunglasses. Ever since she’d pursued the shadow entity into the Shadowlands, the blood-bond had been harder to seal. She was now developing a headache from attempting to keep her mental shields clamped tight enough to prevent Varik’s thoughts from trickling over into her own, and it wasn’t working.
Plus, she was still pissed at him for not telling her about his past relationship with Morgan. Not telling her about Edward she understood, but failing to mention the woman whose investigation could be the deciding factor in whether Alex lived or died—that was inexcusable. I’m fine, she replied. Just a headache.
“If he is trapping souls, why do it?” Freddy asked, drawing their attention. “What would be the point?”
“Blood substitute,” Reyes answered from across the lab. “Think about it. As vampires we don’t physically need to feed on blood to survive. It’s the residual psychic energy in the blood that we really need. If you could trap a soul, or even a portion of one, and then find a way to feed off that energy, you could theoretically sustain yourself on it and forgo the need for blood.”
“But we crave the taste of blood,” Alex countered. “It’s why Vlad’s Tears were invented, to curb our blood-hunger between feedings.”
“True,” Reyes said. “However,
you’re forgetting that blood-hunger for us is similar to a human craving nicotine. It’s a form of addiction and most addictions can be broken with time, training, and practice.”
“So if the Dollmaker is trapping souls, and if he’s found a way to feed off those souls, why do it at all?” Varik asked. “Like Reyes said, blood-hunger is an addiction. Why break the addiction in favor of something as elaborate as soul trapping?”
“Maybe something happened and he can’t feed normally,” Freddy offered. “Alex, during your encounter with him, did you notice if he still had fangs or had them filed down?”
The image of the Dollmaker screaming in rage as he charged toward her and her father drifted before Alex in the black sea of her vision. “He still had fangs.” She shuddered. “I think whatever made him start trapping souls wasn’t a physical problem. I think it may be psychological.”
“What do you mean?” Varik asked.
Alex sighed and drummed her fingers on top of the workstation at which she sat. “He’s a collector. Yes, he makes these dolls, but the dolls themselves aren’t that important to him. If they were, he wouldn’t have given up even one of them. The dolls are vessels. It’s the souls that matter. He’s collecting them so there has to be a reason for it, something beyond just feeding off the residual energy.” She stopped drumming her fingers. “Reyes, the doll left with Mindy’s car, was it damaged in some way?”
“Yeah, a hairline fracture in the back of the porcelain head,” he answered. “It was partially obscured by the wig but I noticed one tail end of it along the neck where the head joins the body.”
“So the doll was damaged and no longer capable of containing a soul,” Freddy said.
“That would be my guess.” Alex stifled a yawn. The lack of sleep from the previous night was starting to catch up to her. She propped her chin on the palm of her hand and rested her elbow on the workstation. “Porcelain heads and bodies made of human skin aren’t easy to make. He’s not doing it in a weekend. He’s taking his time with them.”
“Maybe he takes his time with the victims as well,” Varik said. “If preserving a soul is that important to him, he’d probably want to spend time with the victim.”
“It’s possible.” Alex’s eyes drooped and closed behind her sunglasses. Sleep tugged at her consciousness and made her body feel heavy. “We should call Doc Hancock and ask if he’s finished the autopsy on our Jane Doe from the salvage yard. If we can establish an identity and time of death, I think—”
“I think it’s probably best if we take a break and grab some food,” Varik interrupted. “We’re all hungry. I’ve heard Freddy’s stomach grumbling for the past ten minutes. We can pick this up in an hour or two.”
For once, Alex didn’t argue. She was tired but as soon as he mentioned food, her stomach rumbled to remind her she hadn’t eaten since that morning. She reluctantly allowed Varik to help her to her feet and guide her down the steps of the mobile lab. The November air was much colder now than when they arrived and she leaned into him for added warmth as they traversed the parking lot in silence.
They slowed and she assumed they were close to Varik’s Corvette.
Varik sighed. “Alex, I’m sorry about earlier, with Morgan. I should’ve told you about our past relationship when you told me she was coming here.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t. We were on-scene and with everything that happened afterward—I don’t know what you want me to say, Alex. You expect me to be either some squeaky-clean schoolboy without a past or to bare my soul to you and fill you in on all the dirty, gory details. Well, I’m not and I can’t.”
“I know you have a past, Varik, and it’s trying to kill me.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“Fair?” she scoffed. “You want to talk about what’s fair? You keep saying I should tell you everything because we’re bond-mates, but you’re not willing to do the same. And you wonder why I have a hard time trusting you?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” she shouted. “I hear that a lot, too, but ever since you showed up I’ve been shot, beaten up, possessed, and blinded, and yet you haven’t offered one single scrap of evidence that suggests I need protection from anything other than you!”
Her voice echoed across the parking lot, and Alex realized what she’d said. She reached for him, clutching at his shirt. “Varik, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She expected him to shy away but he took both her hands in his and pulled her into an embrace. “Yes, you did.”
She shook her head. “No, I—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
Alex returned the kiss, pressing herself to him as if she could take back her words and soothe the pain she’d inflicted in a single act.
Varik broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
When she tried to protest, he touched a finger to her lips.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you about my past, about Morgan, about Edward—a lot of things—but baby, you have to understand. There are people in my past who wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get to me. I have to keep some secrets because I have to keep you safe.” He wrapped her in his arms once more. “I nearly went insane when Edward died. The thought of losing you …”
“I understand,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry I said all those things.”
“They needed to be said.”
Alex tightened her hold. “That’s no excuse though.”
He peeled away from her. “Perhaps not but let’s put it behind us for now and go have lunch. I’m starving.”
She couldn’t keep the smile from her face.
They reached his Corvette, and he assisted her with settling into the passenger seat before closing the door.
“Excuse me, sir,” a man’s muffled voice materialized outside. “My battery seems to be dead. You wouldn’t happen to have any jumper cables, would you?”
Alex frowned. Alarm bells sounded in her head. Something about the voice sounded familiar.
“Uh, yeah,” Varik responded warily. “I have a set in the trunk.”
She heard the two move away from her door, their voices growing fainter. A weak odor filtered into the car, wrinkling her nose. She inhaled, trying to place the scent.
Leather and old blood.
“Varik!” she called. She managed to open the door as the sounds of a struggle arose from the rear of the car. “It’s him! It’s the Dollmaker!”
Something heavy slammed into the car beside her, knocking Alex from her feet. The back of her head banged painfully against the window as she fell. She heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, a series of loud grunts, and then silence except for one person’s heavy breathing and her own heartbeat.
“Varik?” she said softly, inwardly cursing the blindness that still afflicted her. “What’s happening?”
She heard someone kneel in front of her. The smell of leather and old blood covered her.
“Hello, chickie,” the Dollmaker whispered. A rough hand grabbed her arm, and she felt a sharp pinprick in her wrist.
She fought to free herself as the drug he’d injected rushed through her body. Whatever he’d given her worked rapidly, as her movements slowed and her words slurred. “What have you done to Varik?”
“Put him out of his misery.” He hauled her to her feet. “And now you’re going to be mine. Forever.”
Tasha groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. She yawned and blinked against the sunlight filtering through the west-facing windows of her bedroom. Squinting against the light, she tried to reason why the sun was rising in the west.
“Shit,” she hissed and then moaned as her head thumped with pain and her stomach lurched. She rolled from the bed, grabbing for any nearby clothing. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Something wrong, Mama?”
Tasha screamed, dropping the clothes sh
e gathered, and patted her hip, reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t present. She backed up against the closet door, staring at the obviously amused—and naked—man in her bed. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
He chuckled and stretched, thick corded muscles rippling under dark skin. “If you don’t remember that, then I did not do my job right last night.”
“Last night?” Tasha scratched her head.
She remembered going to the Duck ’n’ Cover last night to meet someone who never showed. Dinky had supplied her with Bayou Bombs—the thought of which made Tasha’s stomach somersault—and there was a band. “Rueben.”
He grinned. “Ah, so you do remember. I don’t think my ego could take it if you didn’t.”
A draft blew across her bare legs. She looked down and cursed, grabbing a short satin robe from the closet doorknob and slipping it on to cover her nakedness. Another glance at the windows made her groan. “I am so fucking fired.”
“No, you’re not.”
Tasha frowned at Rueben as she tied her robe. “What do you mean by that and can you please cover yourself?”
Rueben pushed himself up, leaned against the headboard, and draped a corner of her comforter over his lap. “Someone called here looking for you this morning. I told them you were sick and couldn’t make it in today.”
“And they believed you?”
He laughed. “Yes. Would you have preferred I told them you were passed out in an alcohol-induced sexual stupor?”
“Absolutely not!” Tasha hugged herself and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did they want to know who you were?”
“I told them I was a friend and you’d asked me to come over to take care of you.”
Tasha hid her face in her hands, silently cursing her stupidity. How could she let herself get so drunk she brought home a strange man, had sex with him, and then failed to report to work the next day? Tears pressed against her closed eyes and she could no longer hold them back.
“Whoa, hold on,” Rueben said behind her. “What did I say?”
Deep sobs racked her body and she was unable to speak.
“Hey, if it was what I said about the sex, I was joking. I didn’t touch you. I swear.”
Alexandra Sabian 2 - Blood Secrets Page 17
