Vampire Legacy 04 - Blood of My Blood

by Taylor, Karen E

  "This is for Moon, you understand," I whispered to the statue as I blew out the match. "I don't know you. I don't love you and I don't honor you. But she did. Hold her safe."

  Someone came and knelt beside me. "Well done, child," Angelo said. "Now take them beads off and give them to the saint."

  I gave him a questioning look, but at his intense gaze, I pulled them off over my head and laid them at the feet of the statue. In the flicker of the candles, they looked like a pool of blood. I shivered slightly, then got up from the kneeler. Angelo remained behind for a minute. I watched him as he lit a candle, held his hands out over the beads and sprinkled them with liquid from a vial he pulled out of his pocket. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear the words. After awhile he nodded, as if concluding a pleasant conversation, and lit another candle. Picking the beads back up, he turned and handed them to me.

  "I bought you a little extra protection, Lily child. Just you make sure you wear these all the time. Don't let nothin' happen to them."

  I looked at them, balled up in my hand like little crystallized drops of blood.

  "Go on, put them on, or at least put them in your pocket. He keep you safe."

  "If you say so, 'Lo." I draped them around my neck again and tucked them under the neck of my shirt, and Angelo smiled.

  "That's right, Lily. No need to tell the world your secrets."

  The bus station was about a mile and a half away, so we walked. The morning haze had burned off while I was in church. Angelo and I moved in silence, passing the corner where Moon and Hyde had been killed. Now, in the bright sunshine, with the street vendors and their colorful wares, with the boys dancing for tourists' money, with the music and the smell of flowers, it seemed like that terrible event had never happened. But underneath all the gaiety, I smelled the scent of death and it hardened my heart.

  "Dirty trash town," I muttered under my breath. "I'll be glad to leave."

  Angelo grunted. "But you be back, Miss Lily. We all come back."

  We arrived at the bus station with about an hour to spare. I went into the ladies' room and changed from my skirt into a pair of jeans. When I came out, Angelo waved me over and we sat for a while on the hard bench, sipping too-strong tea from white Styrofoam cups. Eventually the loudspeaker announced boarding for my bus and he reached into his pocket.

  "I just got this this mornin'." He handed me a small piece of laminated paper, a Louisiana driver's license for one Lily Williams, aged twenty-two. "Figure you be needin' some sort of identification, couldn't send you out there without. No, no thanks for old Angelo. Moon fix this one up; give me the information and the picture months ago and asked me to hold on to it till the time was right."

  I thanked him anyway, gave him a small hug and walked out of the station to board the bus.

  The trip took over thirty hours, too long a time to be cooped up in an enclosed space, even when those hours meant less than seconds to someone like me. I spent a lot of those hours studying my fellow passengers, wondering about their lives. There wasn't much else to do.

  As the miles accumulated and the scenery changed, the window on which I lay my head grew cooler. I tried to sleep, but the woman in the seat next to me was restless and anxious and the all-too-familiar emotions were contagious. By the time we arrived at our first scheduled stop, I was jumpy and nervous, but I filed into the restaurant with the rest of them, sat down and ordered coffee and food.

  "Can I join you?"

  I looked up to see my seatmate smiling at me. She was, I guessed, in her late thirties or earlier forties, sort of pudgy, dressed flamboyantly and with no regard for color matching. But she had a nice smile. And I was stuck with her for the next twenty-some hours, so I smiled and said, "Sure, why not?"

  She sat down and settled in on the stool next to me. "This ride seems like it will never end and we've just started. Are you going all the way?"

  "Just to New York."

  "I'm going all the way up to Rhode Island. My sister lives there. Taking the bus seemed like a good idea, to save on airfare, you know. But now I think I should have saved up a bit more money and taken the plane. You have relatives in New York?"

  "Yeah, I hope so."

  She gave me a questioning look, but didn't comment, absorbed as she was in her own problems. "My sister's married, three kids, a perfect house, a perfect husband, a perfect life. Me"—and she laughed—"I'm a bit of a gypsy. Never put down roots, never had a relationship with a man that lasted more than a year. They think I'm abnormal and they'll parade all of the available bachelors past me for approval. It makes me want to scream just thinking about it."

  "Yeah."

  "They don't seem to understand that I'm fine just the way I am. And can't comprehend that I'm perfectly content to live alone for the rest of my life. The me my sister thinks I am is a different person. That me is young and in love and happy. But it's not me." She laughed. "You know what I mean?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh, I was in love once." Her face softened and relaxed as she thought; I could feel the tenseness drain out of her as if she were reliving the best day of her life. "But that was a long time ago and he's gone. And I'm happy just the way I am."

  "Yeah."

  She got up from the stool. "Excuse me a second, I need to go to the ladies' room. I absolutely hate the lavatories on the bus, don't you?"

  "Yeah."

  While she was gone, I pulled out one of Angelo's little vials. Control, it was, and I dropped a bit in her coffee. I'd had enough of a glimpse of her mind to know what to do.

  Back on the bus, I sat next to her again and pushed my arm up against hers. Then I closed my eyes and tried to get into her thoughts.

  It was easy. She'd opened up in the restaurant and I knew where to look. Buried deep within was the memory of that one day and the man she loved. I sorted through and found it. Oddly enough, it was a gray day, rainy and cold. But there he was and there she was, sitting on a bench, his sweater wrapped around her against the cold. The wind whipped through her hair; she pushed it out of her eyes and looked up at him and smiled.

  "Stay there," I whispered to her. "Stay there with him."

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked over at her. She was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open, but smiling. The tight lines on her face had loosened and she looked young and pretty again.

  I was tempted to go back into her mind to see what had gone wrong, but I resisted, leaned my head against the window again and slept.

  My dreams were not as good as the one I sent her.

  Instead, I was back in my grave, digging to the surface to find, not Philomena waiting, but the dead bodies of Moon and Hyde. The dream played in my mind all night, over and over, endless variations on the theme of loss and sadness. I woke with a start and realized it was morning.

  The rest of the ride was boring and uneventful. My seatmate had calmed down and seemed content to just sit and stare dreamily out of the window. We spoke about trivial things, but I said nothing to upset the equilibrium she'd achieved. I was nervous and edgy enough all on my own to make up for it.

  The weather had changed drastically the next time we stopped. Gone was the bright sunshine of early fall in the South. Now it was cloudy and chilly and unpleasant. I pulled my bag down from the overhead rack, unpacked my black leather jacket and put it on, huddling into it for the rest of the trip.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  « ^ »

  It was close to midnight when the bus finally arrived in Manhattan. The terminal was a snarl of people and escalators. I followed the arrows on the signs, swallowed up and carried along by jostling crowds. Eventually I reached the exit, stepped out of the bus terminal and onto the streets for my first glimpse of the city in which my mother lived. My initial impression was of the vastness of this place; my second was of its sterility and coldness. It had an odd sort of smell, metal and stone and glass, artificial smells that hung in the air as thickly as the exhaust of the cars. I slung my bags ov
er my shoulder and hugged my arms to myself, glad that I'd unpacked my jacket and put it on at that last truck stop.

  I had no idea at all where to go. I walked for a long time, aimlessly, letting the streets carry me. Not the best thing, I supposed, for a young girl to be doing in a strange city. Still, I remembered the strength I felt dealing with Moon's and Hyde's killer. I felt practically invincible. "Bring on your worst," I whispered to the streets. "I can handle anything this town can throw at me."

  Finally growing hungry and tired, I stopped some fifteen blocks away from the bus station at a neon sign for what appeared to be an Irish pub. Opening the door and peering inside, I saw that it was cozy, not particularly large, but with a few tables, a long bar and a jukebox. There were enough patrons to indicate it was a fairly reasonable place to be, but not so many as to make it a tourist bar. I walked up to the bar and took a seat toward the far end, stowing my bags at the foot rail.

  The bartender came over to me and gave me a sharp look. "ID?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Have you an ID about you?" He had a thick Irish accent.

  "Oh. Yeah." I leaned over and stretched my arm down to pick up my purse, placed it on my lap and fished out my wallet. My shiny new license was there and I showed it to him. "Will this do?"

  "And you know it will." He smiled at me then. "So what'll you be having, Miss Lily Williams?"

  I thought for a minute. "A Guinness, I guess. And a club sandwich?"

  He reached under the bar to get a glass, and pulled me a draft. "The kitchen won't be open right now," he said, shaking his head as he set the glass on a paper coaster, "but I'll see what I can find for you." He left the bar, returning a few minutes later with a small bowl filled with pretzels and chips. "No real food back there and no one to cook it if there were. But we have these. Can I get you anything else?"

  I took a sip of my beer, then shrugged. "Probably not. Unless you can recommend a good hotel nearby?"

  "That I can do, and easily, too. Right across the street is the side entrance to one of the better hotels in the neighborhood. A grand place, almost a landmark, it is. And being as it's only a Tuesday, they should have a room or two available. When you get there, tell them Michael sent you."

  "Thank you, Michael."

  "A pleasure, Miss." He set my tab in front of me. "And welcome to New York." He moved away and tended to some of the other customers.

  I glanced at the bill and raised my eyebrows. Welcome to New York, my ass, I thought. It's more like put your hands up in the air and give us everything you've got. I couldn't believe they could charge this much for a beer. I finished my drink, thankful I hadn't ordered more, then gathered up my bags and left some bills on the bar.

  The side door to the hotel was locked, but I walked around to the front entrance. It is a grand place, I thought, taking in the lush exterior and the uniformed doormen, much too grand for my tastes and budget. But it was my first night here and all I cared about now was a warm bed.

  Paying for the room in cash was a complication I hadn't expected. "Yes, I'm quite sure I don't have a credit card," I told the woman at the reservation desk for what seemed like the hundredth time. "And I don't see what the problem is. I have more than enough cash to cover the cost of the room. I don't mind paying in advance."

  "But," she said, shuffling papers around, "what about extra costs? And what if there's damage to the room? I need someplace to charge it. I'll have to get somebody to okay this. And at this hour where will I find someone?" She glared over at me. "Are you sure…"

  "Look." I took my wallet out of my purse, slammed it down on the counter and pushed it over to her. "Pick it up and look inside. No charge cards. Not a one. But there's money. Take what you need to cover your ass and let me get some sleep."

  "Is there a problem?" A large man walked up and stood next to me at the counter. A very large man. He towered over me and the woman behind the desk.

  The woman flinched. "Oh, no, no problem, Mr. Adams, except this young lady wants to pay cash and I…"

  "Last time I checked, Mary, cash was still the legal currency." He glanced down at me. "She seems a perfectly nice young lady. Take her money and give her a room. I'll authorize it."

  She shrugged, took my money and handed me a room key and a receipt. "If you would stop by the desk tomorrow morning, Miss, we'll give you an itemized list of charges. And we can settle up then on anything extra."

  "Excellent. Thank you, Mary." The man smiled at the clerk, picked up my bags and took the key out of my hand. "And now I will show you to your room."

  The elevators were ornately decorated and extremely slow, giving me enough time to study this man. He was easily over six feet tall, I judged, and probably tipped the scales at three hundred pounds or more. His skin was pale, his hair jet black; his clothes fit him perfectly. In his impeccable and undoubtedly expensive suit, he exuded a heady combination of power and charm. He certainly wasn't the bellboy. "Thank you," I said to him with a smile, "I really am tired and all I want is a hot bath and a soft bed."

  "A sentiment," he said, "with which the owners of the Westwood all agree. We are, after all, in the business of providing just that."

  "We?"

  "Yes, I am one of the owners."

  I laughed. "Well, I was pretty sure you weren't the bellboy. But I appreciate you vouching for me." I gestured at my clothing. "Especially since I don't really look like a perfectly nice young lady."

  He snorted. "Clothes aren't important. You have a nice face. And a familiar one, somehow." The elevator stopped and he allowed me to go first. "The room's to your right," he said, catching up with me. "But no, you can't be familiar. This must be your first visit to town."

  "Yeah, it is. Does it show?"

  "You seem a little lost, yes." He stopped outside a door, unlocked it and flipped on the light. "This is a nice one," he said, setting up a luggage rack and putting my bag on it. "These used to be apartments at one time, you know. So each room is just a bit different."

  I looked around. It was a lovely room and I said so. He seemed pleased. I reached into my purse, then hesitated. Does one tip the owner of a hotel? He noticed my confusion and laughed. "Save it, sweetheart, and buy yourself a cup of coffee tomorrow morning. Enjoy your stay, be sure to lock the door after I leave, and if you need anything at all just call down to the desk."

  I followed him to the door and clicked the dead bolt after it closed. "I'm here," I said out loud. "I'm really here." I tossed my purse onto the bed, and walked across the room. Pulling the curtains open, I looked out onto the city. It was so big. How would I ever get around?

  At least I had a place to start, thanks to Angelo. Griffin Designs, just a cab ride away tomorrow morning. She wouldn't be there, of course, since it would be daylight. But maybe I could trade my likeness of her for an address where she would be.

  And then?

  All of a sudden I started to shake. "What would I do when I finally met her? Kill her? Find her sleeping in a coffin and drive a stake through her heart? I sat down on the bed and unlaced my boots, pulling them off and tossing them across the room. I'd probably just done the stupidest thing I'd ever done in my whole wretched life. I had no plan; all I had was anger and my thoughts of revenge. Those might have carried me this far, but I doubted I could ride them all the way. And what would I do when I ran out of money?

  I got up, unzipped my suitcase and pulled out the silk bag that contained Moon's shells. I shook them out into my hand and looked at them. I hadn't washed them after Moon's murder—it hadn't seemed like something I should do—so some of them still carried the stain of her blood. A wave of anger swept over me. One more victim to add to my list of scores to settle.

  I cupped the caracoles tightly as I breathed my request for guidance into them. But I didn't drop them. Instead I stood still for a while, listening to the sounds of the city outside. Somewhere out there was the person I was looking for, and the answers to my questions rested only with her. It had nothing to do
with Moon or her shells. I was on my own, at last Small comfort now that this was what I had wanted for many years.

  I put the shells back into their bag, noticing as I did that one of them had cut my palm. It wasn't a deep cut, but it stung and I was bleeding. Absently, I put the hand up to my mouth and licked off the blood.

  "Ick," I said, making a face and going into the bathroom to wash my hand and to get a drink of water. "I can't imagine having to make a steady diet of the stuff," I told my reflection as I rinsed my mouth. "But maybe you get used to it after a while."

  I smiled into the mirror and examined my mouth. Philomena had always been quite strict about not ingesting blood, as if the slightest taste would cause me to grow fangs. "Nope," I said, running my tongue over very decidedly not-sharp canines, "not tonight."

  I stripped off my clothes, turned out the lights and crawled into bed. I lay awake and looked out on the night sky, listening to the sirens racing up and down the streets. I forced myself to not think past this particular moment, to not even consider what would happen to me tomorrow. As my eyes closed and my mind started to wander, I seemed to hear Moon's soft voice. "Sleep, child. Tomorrow will take care of itself."

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  « ^ »

  I woke at dawn, having forgotten to pull the curtains closed the previous night. Once I was awake and remembered where I was, going back to sleep was impossible. So I showered and brushed my teeth, then opened my bag and took out a clean set of clothes. I laughed to myself as I zipped up my jeans; at least I didn't have to worry about what to wear, since all I'd brought was black jeans and T-shirts. Opening my cosmetic bag, I applied a small touch of color to my cheeks and eyelids, added a little mascara to my eyelashes. I pulled out the vials that Angelo had given me one by one and lined them up on the glass shelf above the sink, reading the labels and descriptions again. Courage, attraction, disguise, confusion, command and a few others, plus the control that had worked quite well on the bus. He'd been so happy to provide them and so sure of their powers. The very least I could do was use them. But which would be most appropriate for this auspicious occasion?