The Accords Triptych (Book 2): Bloodstream

by Ian Thomas

  “Not gonna lie, this feels like you’re chasing a ghost. Matteo is Pack Lord. Highly revered. A man of the people. There’d be records somewhere even in passing if he had other offspring out there.”

  “Unless they were dead,” Mills threw in.

  Milton grunted rapidly. He dropped to his knees, body racked with spasms. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Lunging to grab him, Mills got in front of her first, Chase second. Cradling him has he convulsed, they both guarded him from smashing his head on the furniture. Then Mills forced a marker into his hand.

  Possessed, Milton shoved them aside and hurled himself at the parchment. His body still shook violently. Eyelids twitching, eyes unseeing, he started to scrawl.

  The violence of the seizure threw him back and forth on the paper. Rebecca was shocked at the suddenness and fury of the fit. Chase stood close, a hand on her shoulder as Mills stood protectively close to Milton watching him write.

  As suddenly as it started, it passed and he collapsed onto the floor. Wiping drool from the side of his mouth he looked between the startled faces.

  “So that happened.”

  “Here,” Mills said, producing a chocolate bar from Milton’s bag. He looked at Rebecca. “Gets his blood sugar back up. That kind of channeling chews through a lot of energy.”

  “I don’t doubt.”

  Mills looked at the paper. Milton content to sit on the floor silently, devouring the chocolate bar.

  “This is one of your craziest yet,” Mills said as Chase and Rebecca came closer to the table.

  On the paper was a messy scrawl of words and lines that seemed as violent as the seizure that had produced them.

  “You’re the English major,” Chase said to Rebecca. “What do you make of it?”

  “Um,” she replied unsure. “Pretty crude free verse. In form, not language,” she clarified, seeing Mills look at her questioningly. “No real rhyme or meter. Just ideas and tone. See you have a sentence in the first line of the second stanza then the next two sentences are broken over two lines each. Lot of abstract fragments. Would a comma have killed you?”

  “Hey, just write what I’m shown,” Milton replied, getting to his feet, Chase giving him an assist. “Oh wow, that’s terrible.”

  “Bleak too.”

  “I was going more with bat-shit obscure.”

  “Maybe,” Rebecca said. “Bloodline’s werewolf right?”

  “Or vampire,” Milton replied.

  “Yeah but the accords didn’t limit vampires reproducing,” Chase said.

  “Your point?” Mills asked.

  “Newborn sin,” Chase replied. “Ever since the Pack War it’s been forbidden to sire new wolves.”

  “Pretty sure there’s been a similar moratorium among vampires as well,” Milton said.

  “Nice word,” Rebecca said. “And I hear you but from what I’ve read wolves are far more precious about their bloodlines than vampires.”

  “A day in the library and suddenly you’re an expert,” Mills said.

  “You’re a dick.”

  “She’s right,” Chase said, taking a lead on the discussion.

  “About which part?” Milton asked.

  “Vampire bloodlines are more familial, horizontal if you will. Whereas wolves are more vertical.”

  “You can say it,” Rebecca said. “They’re patrilineal. All comes down from one figure, only branching when the sire dies or condones siring. An old boys network in the worst way possible.”

  “Besides given the context of the wolf family on the table,” Milton said. “I’m gonna say this is wolf specific.”

  “Oh yeah there is that,” Rebecca said

  “Kiss in the rain? Newborn sin?” Mills questioned, mulling the words over. “Could this be a new siren?”

  “Don’t think any of the current wolves would be that stupid,” Chase said, then looked at Rebecca. “No offense.”

  She nodded, accepting his comment. From what she’d read about sirens siring one, even accidentally, would be a blunder of epic proportions. But the knowledge that Matteo had taken a siren as a lover – well one of them at least – spoke to the fifth line of connecting pain.

  “Maybe,” Chase said, careful of how to proceed. “We’re looking at the start of a new Pack War.”

  “How’s that?” Mills asked.

  “One of the core issues that started the war was Thomas’ ban on siring new wolves. Colton and Grey were prolific sires before the war. Maybe there’s a rogue wolf intent on recreating what they started.”

  “But both of them are dead and neither of their bloodlines survived the war.”

  “Wasn’t talking about them,” he said. “I meant Ben.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I may not have known him long but Ben’s hardly a warmonger.”

  “He never seemed like a traitor either,” Chase said. “People change.”

  “Kinda feel this whole thing is above our pay grade,” Mills said. “This needs to go to Somerset.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chase was about to tear off the parchment when Milton stopped him. “Leave it. Better he sees it in situ.”

  “Good thinking,” Chase replied and headed out of the library.

  “Take a picture,” Milton said quickly to Rebecca.

  “What? Why?”

  “I feel this was as much for you as for the Clan. Take a picture. Quick.”

  She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of the poem before pocketing the device. Mills watched quietly.

  “Trust me,” Milton said to the other man.

  “Coffee?” Mills replied, letting the matter die.

  “Please,” Rebecca said, still staring at the poem. There was something she wasn’t seeing. Or she was just staring at it too hard, wanting to be more effective.

  No one else saw anything throughout the afternoon either. Somerset listened to their conjecture about the poem respectfully. The matter was frustrating with the imbalance between speculation and fact. He did agree that bloodlines was more specific to wolves than vampires, but promptly shut down any talk of a second Pack War.

  Every so often Somerset would look to Milton as ideas or interpretations were thrown out. Was he looking for some response at key words? Triggers to confirm the possible intention of the work? Rebecca felt his frustration at being unable to provide any clarity.

  The poem changed the mood of the chapter house for the rest of their stay. All and sundry took turns offering their best guess, and the evening meal was rife with speculation. Reading for her own knowledge became a chore and Rebecca had to resort to headphones. Yet she still kept looking at the photo on her phone eager to find meaning. The temptation to send it to McLachlan was strong but she worried that could cause bigger problems than had already been thrashed out over the weekend.

  Thankfully Somerset and Rowan were back on good terms. Well she at least supposed they were as the pair had holed up in his office with Chase to discuss the poem hours prior. She was sure the accords would be up for discussion again, but having heard neither raised voices nor the rumbling of thunder, it appeared the matter was being handled with more tact than before.

  By the time they loaded up the car the next afternoon Rebecca was ready to leave.

  “Get what you needed?” Rowan asked as they pulled out. The oddness of having Milton, Chase, Somerset, and Mills wave them off was not lost on her.

  “My head’s a little full. How about you?”

  Rowan let out a long sigh. “Probably more questions than answers. And not about what I came for.”

  “McLachlan’s memories?”

  “Little bit. Avenues to try but nothing concrete. Best case scenario, they fade. Worst case, they increase and we freak out.”

  “Oh great. And everything else?”

  “Think it might be time to pull Matteo’s head out of his ass.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rowan laughed. “So…thoughts on the Clan?�
�

  “Good people, however broken, but yeah not scary beige-wearing zealots.” Rebecca paused before speaking again. She wasn’t sure if it was her place to anything. “Um, so Arizona has a wee crush on you.”

  “Me?!?!”

  “Yup. Think it goes back to you removing his curse.”

  “Oh that. Shit, that was ages ago.”

  “Well, hasn’t gone away.”

  “You’re working later, right?” Rowan asked, deftly changing the topic. When Rebecca groaned, Rowan laughed again. “Okay, settle back and sleep.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely,” Rowan replied. “Need about five hours to process a few things.” She had been the least interested in the poem, plagued by the other matters of the weekend. “Check my bag, I had Siobhan make you up a sleeping draught. Should help you make it through the night easily enough.”

  Within minutes Rebecca felt herself fading from the car, eyelids heavy, and the engine’s soothing purr. And then, nothing.

  XVI

  Damn him, Carys raged. Damn the pair of them.

  Atop the same rooftop she’d encountered Holly a few nights earlier, she waited impatiently. Casting an eye over her machinations she wondered where she had gone wrong.

  Whispering discord into Damon’s ear, Carys had positioned him and Violet perfectly to challenge Gracchus in court. And it would have worked too had she not underestimated McLachlan. Carys had thought she’d had his measure, but he was full of surprises.

  “If they’re so overrated why did you come up here?” Holly asked, pushing the door open and leading a handsome young man onto the roof.

  “All the better to fuck you,” he sneered lasciviously.

  “Oh he’s a keeper,” Carys said. “You know you can coerce them into not talking.”

  “I’m not a roofie kinda girl,” Holly replied angrily.

  “No, just rooftops,” the man laughed. “Ya know I roofied a girl once. Kinda hot actually. Like a dol–”

  Carys was on his neck in a second, her fangs dug into his flesh, blood splashing into her mouth.

  “Hey!” Holly whined. “He’s mine.”

  “Plenty of neck to go around,” Carys said, the euphoria making her head spin. McLachlan didn’t understand. Gracchus had forgotten. This was perfection. Drinking animal blood from butchers was the vampire equivalent of salad but without the healthy properties. Sure it was food and it kept them from desiccating. But it was dead blood, pumped full of hormones and there was little pleasure in it.

  This however, she thought feeling his pulse fade against her lips, was Russian caviar, shaved truffle, or that coffee monkeys pooped.

  “He’s dead,” Carys said, drawing back and looking at him as Holly kept drinking. “You can stop now.” Grudgingly, Holly pulled herself from the man’s neck, her mouth red. Discarded, he fell between them. “You have quite a taste for delicious men.”

  “Meh, he was a nine.”

  “I do love the paleo types,” Carys admitted. “Their blood’s got a…freshness.”

  “With an undercurrent of grease from their previous bad habits.”

  “Exactly.” Carys said, then laughed. “Though I always feel hungry afterwards.”

  “Hadn’t planned to serve him family style.”

  “Yes, sorry about that. Do wish you’d coerce them. Makes them easier to deal with.”

  “Can draw attention to leaving a bar though.”

  “Only if you haven’t been taught well.”

  “I’ve been taught well enough.”

  “But your patron isn’t a vampire, correct.”

  “Not that I know of,” Holly replied.

  “Interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “Nothing. Listen, I don’t know how much you’re aware of how things work in our world. But we have these rules which stop vampires from doing…well, that.” She pointed at the nine on the ground. “And your grace period is over.”

  “Whose idea were these stupid rules anyway?”

  “Some do-gooder. But that’s not the point. You and your little tasting menu threatens a lot more than the cross-fit paleo narcissists of the Tri-State Area. And they’re coming after you.”

  “Me?!” the girl exclaimed. “But–”

  “There’re no ‘buts’ to excuse this. You’ve been killing brazenly and it’s come to people’s attention.”

  “But I’ve been better. I’ve done everything you told me too. I’m dumping bodies where you said.” The tirade came out as an accusation, every ‘you’ directed at Carys to remove culpability from herself. Killing her would be relief. But she hadn’t filled her purpose yet.

  “And you’ve done well, gold star for that. It’s the bodies before that which’ve become problematic. Before you were taught properly.”

  “Henry told me what to do. He said who to kill and where to leave them.”

  “Henry?”

  “My…what did you call him?”

  “Patron.”

  “Yeah, he’s been really good at patronizing me.”

  “I’m sure he has,” Carys said, stifling a smile. The girl really was quite stupid. Ballsy and malleable but stupid. “But he’s put you in danger. The entire vampire court of New York City is out tonight looking for you. If they catch you, you won’t see another sunset. Or another nine.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “In part. I want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because – as you said – these rules are stupid. And with some careful moves we could do away with them and not cause greater strife.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Introduce me to Henry. If he had intent behind those deaths, then perhaps we can work together to save you.”

  “Yes. Please. That’d be amaze-balls.” Carys cringed at the expression. She had half a mind to turn Holly over to Seth. No doubt the eager puppy was scouring the city for this idiot.

  “Excellent. First, though, we need to get rid of this one.”

  Holly looked at the dead man disdainfully. If the accords did anything, Carys thought reluctantly, the lack of killing and dead bodies meant little mess and no hassle. Who knew that in bringing about peace between the three major supernatural communities, McLachlan had almost developed a plan for vampire sustainability.

  XVII

  The silence stretched between them.

  “What did you say to me?” Matteo growled.

  “You heard me.”

  “No, I don’t think I did.”

  “Then I’ll repeat for the senior citizens in the room,” McLachlan said caustically, his latent temper boiling. “Ben turns out to be a traitor, I get possessed again, people die, and somehow you turned into a total asshole. How?”

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

  “Why? I’m not one of your wolves. I can say anything I want. Friends do that. Or did you forget we were friends as well? Or – oh god – did you forget what friendship is all together? And here’s me without my flashcards.”

  “Get out.”

  Leaving the vampire court, McLachlan caught a taxi to Matteo’s. Whether he was entertaining, sulking or drinking, the Pack Lord needed to know about Blackthorne’s arrival. He wasn’t sure if it would be enough to pull Matteo out of brooding but at last there was a purpose. A possible forward motion that might be enough to drag Matteo into the light again.

  As yet the matter had not been broached. Rather, finding Matteo in sweats, surrounded by empty peanut butter jars, liquor bottles, and watching Not Another Teen Movie, of all things, had enraged McLachlan.

  “Can’t order me around,” McLachlan said, leaning against the door frame. “I’m not a wolf. But then if I was, you’d just slash my chest open. Michael’s fine by the way. Healed up real good. Bet you never checked to find out.”

  “I did–”

  “Nothing,” McLachlan interrupted. “No, I get it. It wasn’t about you. Well it was. Your claws after all. But not actuall
y about you.”

  “You don’t understand. I–”

  “I understand plenty. Ben turned on you. Your son. Your most trusted ally turns on you and that’s a kick to the gut none of us saw coming. Well, guess what. He turned on us to. Things is, we got our shit together. You, however, wallowed. Really threw yourself into self-pity like a vocation.”

  “Because you’ve never done that?” Matteo rebuked. “Never once let something eat you up so bad that everything else ceased to exist? Never worn your trauma like a badge of honor? Polished it daily and let it define you?”

  “Oh no, I’ve done that. I’ll own that. Not proud of it. Quite the opposite. But ya know I had this guy, a friend, real decent sort, called me on my shit each and every time. Really helped get my head outta my ass. And he was such a good friend that when he was in a bad place, I wanted to be that person for him. Apparently I’m not that good at it. I’m also didn’t have five hundred years to get all sage-like, but then maybe that’s a long time to get all kinds of stubborn.”

  “I’m not you. I don’t crumble when things turn bad, then wait for a pat on the head or a smack on the nose to change my behavior.”

  “No, you hole up here, whore your way through all manner of women, drink yourself into a stupor most nights and chase death like the sweet release you think it is.”

  “Y-y-you know nothing!”

  “Because this is the longest conversation we’ve had in weeks. You shut down and then you shut everyone out.”

  Matteo didn’t respond.

  “Why is that?” McLachlan asked. “Why do you have two sets of rules? Yeah I shut people out whenever the Cult came along. And I get the importance of holing up to heal. But you only ever let me crawl into one bottle of tequila. Not a whole distillery.”

  When Matteo remained silent, he continued tentatively.

  “This because of that nightmare? The one with the stable and the bodies?”

  The growl was the first sign of the change. A second later, Matteo stood before him in his full wolfman form, a snarl escaping between his fangs.