“I’d had holy water to drink before I went inside,” Grady added ruefully. “But it must not have permeated my blood soon enough to create an aversion.”
Max nodded. “That’s going to help with your healing, too. It’s an old trick of Max Pesaro—you wouldn’t know of him, but he’s legendary. I’m named after him, in fact—he’s my great-grandfather. Savina had that happen to her once as well—she didn’t have enough time to let it get into her blood before she was…bitten. That was…a difficult time.”
He looked back down at the emerald. “I don’t know how you managed it, but thank you. Surely the loss of this pendant weakened Iscariot, and that only helped us to kill him.”
“Us?”
“My daughter. Macey. Perhaps you’ll meet her some day. She was… She’s here in hospital too. I…uh…” His expression changed to one of pained chagrin, then closed off. “She’ll be all right. Right, then. Thank you again, Grady.”
“I also emptied his pockets, and that of three of the other goons who got close enough. I’m not sure anything is important.” Grady shrugged when Max looked at him with a strange side-eye glance. “Old habits die hard.”
Max made a show of patting his own pockets and checking for his timepiece, but his eyes glinted with appreciation. “Glad to have you on my side, then, mate.”
Grady pulled out the other items he’d taken from the vampires. He didn’t believe there was anything else significant, but Max would be the one to know.
“Keys…some coins…a few scraps of paper,” he said, poking through the small pile. “Wouldn’t have thought the likes of them would bother to pay for anything, but that looks like a receipt. I’ll take them; it might help us find out where the rest of the bastards are holed up. Thank you again.”
Grady shrugged. “Not sure why you’re thanking me. Anyone would do the same. If they knew.”
Max shook his head, his expression sober. “No, they wouldn’t. Believe me, I know.”
“So, what does this mean now that Iscariot is dead?”
“It means for the first time in thirty years, I might sleep well tonight.” Max smiled slightly, then stood. “And now, you should rest. I have to meet up with your copper friends to ensure none of them leave remembering what they saw today.”
“Linwood…can you spare him? He’s known for a while. He’s discreet, and with him being on the police force, it helps that he knows when there are incidents like this.”
Max nodded and stood. “Very well. I hope they let you out of here soon.”
“Tomorrow. At the latest. I’ve got a story to write.” Grady smiled wanly.
Max replaced his hat and touched his brim, then swept out of the ward just as quickly and silently as he’d come.
Grady took the jar of salve and began to use it. Max hadn’t lied—it was sticky as molasses, but it smelled fresh and clean.
The sooner he felt better, the sooner he could get out of this damned place.
+ + +
Max had delayed as long as he could. Now he was out of time.
Grady had been visited, the cops and young girls had been relieved of any memories related to fangs and bloodsucking, and the surgery to remove the stake and stitch up his daughter had been completed. Max had run out of excuses.
His hands were shamefully clammy as he approached the door to Macey’s room. He’d arranged for her to have a private room in the hospital—and willingly paid through the nose for the privilege. St. Joseph’s was a Catholic hospital, which meant there were crosses, crucifixes, and other vampire deterrents throughout the building and at every entrance, so she’d be protected from any unwanted visitors until he could get her out.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Macey’s eyes were closed, and she seemed to be breathing normally. He exhaled noiselessly, relief sweeping through him.
She’s sleeping.
He could go, and he’d be able to tell Savina truthfully that he’d gone into the room and seen Macey.
Max turned, reaching for the doorknob…then stopped.
What the hell was wrong with him? He had no fear when it came to facing an entire battalion of undead, but his knees were knocking at the thought of being alone with his only child?
Of course, he had nearly killed her…
As if he’d sent his thoughts to her, Macey opened her eyes. They were clear and lucid.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked.
Damn. She’d been awake all along.
“No.” He stepped closer to the bed and looked down at her. She looked frail and fragile, small and pale, under the blankets and what he could see of the bandages around her injured shoulder. But he knew better. “How do you feel?”
“Iscariot’s dead. How do you think I feel?” She managed a wan smile, and Max felt a burst of pride and delight.
She was right: Iscariot was gone.
“Nice work,” he said, then glanced at the chair next to the bed.
She saw him look at it. “You can sit down. I’m too sore to be in a vengeful mood.”
It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “Christ, Macey, I’m so sorry about that.” His half-smile disintegrated and he felt a lump in his throat. “I could have killed you.”
Christ. He could have killed his own daughter. The thought was simply horrifying, and he couldn’t get rid of it.
“I’ve missed being killed several times now, Max. I guess I’m just lucky.” She looked at him, and he was relieved to see compassion in her eyes. “You couldn’t have planned for that, and I’d have done the same thing if I were you. But you do have one hell of an arm. Even from that distance, it went right through me.”
“I wanted the bastard dusted,” he said from between tight jaws.
“You and I both.”
“Rather fitting that we did it together,” he said with another crooked smile. “Both at the same time. We couldn’t have planned it that way.”
“What were the chances?” she replied. After a moment she asked, “And what about the others? The girls? Anyone else? Did— How are they all?”
“All but one of the girls is safe. The man who was in there—he was a reporter, name of Grady—he’s here at St. Joe’s too, and doing all right. He’ll live. But the one girl…” His mouth flattened with regret and grief. “We aren’t sure yet whether she’ll make it.”
Macey sighed sadly, and they lapsed into silence.
Max had so many things he knew he should say…things long overdue, things that had been locked away so deeply they hadn’t seen the top of his mind for over a decade.
But the words weren’t ready to come, and so he dug in his pockets to pull out more salted holy water, and another pot of the sticky salve.
“You’ll heal well on your own thanks to the vis bulla,” he said, offering them to her. “But these will help speed up the process. And take away the pain.”
“Thank you.” She opened the jar and sniffed. “Hmm. Not bad.” Her hands dropped to her lap, the jar and its top still gripped in her fingers. She stared down at them. “I’m glad you were there. I don’t…I don’t know if I could have done it alone.”
A spark of warmth popped inside him. “You were brilliant, Macey. Every bit of it. I…I confess, there was a moment there when I was just waiting, enjoying, watching to see what you were going to do next. You’re going to make an excellent Summa Gardella.”
“Let’s not rush things. The current summas is still alive and well.” Her lips curved, and she looked down shyly. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”
“Macey,” he began in a rush—because it felt like now or never, “I want to tell you how sorry I am about—”
She held up her hand. “Please, Max. Let’s not talk about that right now. I’m— I…don’t want to… Look, I’m glad you’re here, because I don’t know if I’d have been able to take care of Iscariot myself—especially with Chas being gone, and Sebastian, too. But beyond that…I’m not ready to think about…about y
ou being here, you know, in any other capacity. All right?”
His spark of warmth fizzled out. “Right. All right.”
Take it slow. That was what Savina had said. Take it slow, but accept responsibility.
Damn. This was just not the sort of thing he was good at. Not the sort of thing he understood how to handle. Women: daughters, lovers, mysterious chatelaines…
All of them—unless they had fangs or were in his bed, and even that wasn’t a given—were a source of pain and confusion to him.
“But you should know,” he went on stubbornly, “that I regret the last thirteen years.”
She looked up at him with liquid brown eyes. “So do I.”
+ + +
Returning to 1926 Chicago only a few hours after he’d left it caused Chas no small headache—literally.
Wayren had warned him, asking if he’d rather spend at least one full day in the Paris of a century earlier, but he’d declined. The sooner he returned with the skull and its tonguelike dagger, the sooner they could destroy the pyramid.
But as he walked along the street, making his way back to The Silver Chalice, his legs felt wobbly and his brain mushy. Nothing a glass of good Armagnac wouldn’t cure, he thought with a smile, patting the satchel he wore over one shoulder that contained four bottles of the ambrosia. Temple was going to be very pleased, especially when she learned he’d brought her three instead of two.
He’d considered asking Wayren to borrow her book satchel—the one that seemed to be able to hold an infinite number of volumes, but never bulked out or appeared heavy—so he could bring back an entire case of contraband, but he’d thought better of it.
“Extra! Extra! Special evening edition!” shouted a newspaper boy as Chas walked past. “Read an update on the schoolgirl hostage situation!”
That piqued his interest, and his concern, and Chas easily parted with the nickel being charged for what turned out to be nothing more than a one-page flyer.
The headline, which took up the entire paper above the fold, declared: Schoolgirls Safe!
Chas stopped on the street to read it, and the sub-headline said: Beedle hostage crisis resolved with zero fatalities! Perpetrators dead or in custody!
Next to it was a photograph of a cluster of police officers—and in the midst of it was Max Denton.
Chas swore and took off at a run the rest of the way to The Silver Chalice, the bottles of brandy clinking noisily against him. Hopefully Temple was at the pub, and would have more information.
He hurried past the Chalice finial and down the steps that took him below the sidewalk, slowing only when he noticed the pub door was ajar.
The back of his neck prickled…but in a wary sort of way, rather than a portent of the undead.
He pushed open the door. The satchel slipped from his fingers and four bottles of exquisite Armagnac brandy shattered.
NINETEEN
~ Wherein our Heroine’s Life Spirals Out of Her Control ~
“I’m ready to get out of this place,” Macey said, breaking the awkward silence that had descended over her hospital room.
It had been interrupted by a brief visit from a nurse, who checked her vital signs and changed her bandages. She’d clucked in surprise over the speed at which the wounds were healing (“Are you certain it was only a few hours ago you had surgery? It’s quite miraculous!”).
But the moment the nurse closed the door behind her, the tension settled back over the small, windowless room.
Max had taken a seat in the chair next to her bed, and though he didn’t seem inclined to leave, he also appeared as uncomfortable as a cat in a bathtub. He also didn’t seem to have much to say. “If the doctor says it’s all right, then I don’t see why you couldn’t—”
“You heard what the nurse said. She can’t believe how fast I’m healing.” Macey pushed herself up. “See? I can even move my arm now. My shoulder hardly hurts at all.”
Not that Max had any say over what she did or didn’t do, Macey reminded herself. He might be her father, but she made her own decisions.
“I’ll need new clothes,” she suddenly realized. She couldn’t walk out of the hospital in the flimsy, gapping gown, and her other clothes had been destroyed. “Damn.”
Before Max could respond, the door to the hospital room swung open.
“Chas,” Macey said—more warmly than the moment warranted, but it was nice to see a new face. “Did you get the— What’s wrong?”
It wasn’t until he came fully into the room that she saw his shocked, sober expression.
“I just came from the pub. It’s Temple. She’s dead.”
“What?” Max was on his feet, and Macey bolted upright from her pillows, with a cry of shock and grief. “What happened?”
Chas appeared stunned. Macey took him by the arm and pulled him down to sit on the edge of her bed as she waited for him to tell them what he knew.
“I returned from my trip. Yes, I retrieved the item in question and brought it with me,” he said, glancing around as if to ensure no one could hear.
“When I got back to The Silver Chalice, I noticed the door was ajar. I went inside and—” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was carnage. The likes of which…” He shook his head, looking decidedly green around the gills. “It was Temple—and there was also a man. I didn’t recognize him. They were both dead. Shot…and…she was torn to ribbons. It was a lot of blood. They looked as if they’d been there for some time. Hours, perhaps.” He drew in a deep breath. “And to top it off, Rekk’s Pyramid is gone.”
“Gone?” Macey whispered.
“The secret door to the safe was wide open. Broken glasses and bottles everywhere.”
“Temple was taking the pyramid to the sacristy of the church,” Max interrupted. “Perhaps she’d done so, and whoever came in looking for it got angry when they realized it was gone—”
Chas shook his head. “No. That was my first thought—hope. I went to the church and checked. It’s not there.”
Max swore violently under his breath. His fingers curled into fists. “Who even knew it was at the pub? Iscariot and his minions, of course, but they were a little busy with us—”
“Flora,” Macey said in a horrified, gritty voice.
They looked at her, comprehension dawning in their faces.
“She wasn’t there, at the school today. I didn’t see her anywhere. Let’s go,” she said, and flung back the bed coverings, heedless of the amount of leg and thigh she revealed. “Give me your coat,” she told Max. “I can’t walk out of here wearing this.”
She froze. “Chas. What about Aunt Cookie?”
He still looked grim. “She’s safe. I took her with me to the church, and then I put her in a taxi to the train station. I gave her money to go back to New Orleans, even though she argued about not having time to pack. I told her to buy new clothes when she got down there.”
Macey drew in a deep breath. There was no reason for anyone to be after Cookie—Flora had never even met the woman.
Moments later, they were on their way out, rushing down the corridor, when Max said, “I’ll meet you at the pub. I have to do something first.” And he veered off into a different ward of the hospital.
“Is Temple really dead?” Macey asked, gripping Chas’s arm. Tears stung her eyes. How?
He just shook his head, his mouth grim.
+ + +
By the time they arrived at The Silver Chalice, it was nearly nine o’clock in the evening.
“Watch out when you go inside—there are four broken bottles of brandy in the doorway. And…I didn’t call the police,” Chas said, unlocking the door. “Not yet. I wanted you and Max to see…”
Macey stepped inside and was assaulted by the strong, pungent smell of blood and death mingling with the scent of brandy. Chas had covered the two bodies with sheets, probably dragged from the apartments in back.
Tears stung Macey’s eyes, and cold horror filled her as she knelt next to the s
maller body, its sheet completely stained with blood. She pulled it back to view Temple’s brutalized body. It hadn’t been a simple death: she’d been shot in the chest, but then her flesh was scored in numerous places, her abdomen torn open as if sliced by four matching knives. Even her face bore many sets of deep scratches from long, lethal vampire nails.
There didn’t appear to be signs of bites, or of feeding. It was as if the assailant simply wanted to maim and kill—and in the most violent way possible.
“Macey.” Chas’s low, rough voice called her to the other side of the room.
She rose, but before leaving Temple’s side, she covered her up once more and said a brief prayer for her friend and mentor. Her insides twisting like a rope, she made her way over to Chas.
“Oh, God, no.” Macey gave a choked cry when she recognized the man lying there in a thick, congealed pool of blood. “Oh, no…Dr. Sevin. Joseph Sevin. He was… He and Temple… No…” Her last word came out in little more than a whisper.
She swiped viciously at the tears welling from her eyes. They’d been so happy together, Temple and her dapper, handsome “family friend.” Macey had never seen her trainer seem so gay and bright-eyed over the last few days.
“They showed a little more mercy to him,” Chas said grimly. “Looks like they just cut his throat after they shot him. Instead of…”
“Temple must have fought back; maybe she tried to protect him. Maybe they used him to get her to tell them where the pyramid was…or maybe it wasn’t that simple.” Macey felt a sudden, ugly chill down her spine.
If she was right, and Flora had been here… Well, Flora had never liked Temple. She’d been jealous of her friendship with Macey.
The mutilation, especially of her lovely face, seemed to be a personal attack. Macey stepped back, staring blankly around the room.
Could Flora really be capable of such violence? The mischievous carrot-top who’d been so tall and gangly, so fun and goofy…?
Of course she could. She was a vampire now. An undead. A soulless, damned demon.
Macey shook her head, feeling even more ill. What have I wrought?
Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) Page 20
