All That Bleeds

by Kimberly Frost

  “When the first casualties of the Vampire Rising were discovered, everyone thought it was a plague with bats as the vector. The combined power of the muses helped scientists to realize they were mistaken. Seven million deaths could’ve been twenty or forty.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Why the wall? Ventala weren’t always here.”

  She frowned. “Don’t you know?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s not a nice story,” she said, wanting to give him a chance to avoid hearing it, the way he’d given her one before talking about his childhood.

  “They never are,” he said, shrugging, then nodded for her to go on.

  “Some of the un-mutated vampires moved to Colorado. They were searching for ways to save themselves and hoped to graft inspiration from the muses. Unfortunately they found themselves desperately drawn to muse blood. More and more of them arrived, and their behavior became erratic, swarming around a muse whenever they encountered one, trying to cajole or intimidate her and her security detail. Finally, they killed a pair of ES officers who were guarding a muse. They dragged her into the shadows and raped her while they drained her dry. It was kept relatively quiet because there had been talk of having the Secret Service take over the duties of ES, and the council and the muses thought the incident would force changes the muses didn’t want. We never want to be beholden to a specific government—for protection or anything else. And so, a wall.”

  “Did the muses lend their influence to the Human Preservation Act?”

  “I’m not sure. It was before my time, of course. Americans had just suffered through World War Two and were plunged into the Cold War. Paranoia and McCarthyism were prevalent, and then the Bat Plague killed off several million more people. Even when the mutated vampires were defeated, people couldn’t relax. They carried around that primal fear that’s etched into the souls of all human beings—the fear that the human race will be wiped out. The muses might have supported the HPA, but I don’t think they inspired that legislation. It was the inevitable result of all that post-traumatic stress and lingering fear.”

  “No one tested the DNA.”

  “What DNA? The mutated vampire DNA?”

  He nodded. “Scientists didn’t have the technology at the time. The idea that the Rising came from a deadly evolution of the vampire species was a theory.”

  “What are you suggesting? That something other than a mutation caused those vampires to turn—for the lack of a better term—rabid?”

  He shrugged.

  She slowed and looked at him. “What are you saying? You can’t just make a statement like that and stop talking. The Rising was a devastating moment in human history. No one thought vampires existed anymore, and then they mutated and came out and swept across the land like locusts. And the un-mutated ones seized the opportunity and came out to hunt, too. Men, already weary from war, had to organize themselves for a different kind of battle, one against nature, on a scale which they’d never before fought. It changed the face of the world. If you know something—if you have some secret knowledge of those events—you’re obligated to disclose it.”

  He raised an eyebrow and she fumed.

  “There’s no law saying that you must, but it’s a moral obligation!”

  “An obligation to the people who stripped away my basic rights?”

  “Your basic right to hunt and kill, you mean?”

  He shook his head. “To feed from a person who’s consented.”

  Her heart thumped a horrified rhythm. “Why would you want to do that? Blood is processed perfectly now. I know early on it caused salt and mineral imbalances that made the ventala sick, but it’s been perfected.”

  “So they say.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning they don’t have to drink it.”

  “So tell me. Does it make you sick? Does it make your muscles cramp?”

  “No, but it doesn’t fully satisfy the thirst.”

  “It’s whole blood. They’re able to preserve ninety-four percent of what’s in human blood. The proteins and cells and fluid. It’s an almost perfect match.”

  “Our bodies know the difference and crave the real thing.”

  “You know where that leads. Vampires and ventala lose control during direct consumption, and human lives are lost. Packaged blood outside the donors is the only safe alternative.”

  “So they say.”

  “Do you know differently? Do you have some personal experience to share?”

  He shook his head, but she couldn’t be sure whether he was denying the experiences or just denying the inclination to talk about them.

  “Let’s defer the discussion on the blood-drinking issue and return to what you said about genetic mutation not being the cause of the Rising. Explain that.”

  “I’m not a geneticist.”

  “But you do know something. What?”

  “Lysander said it wasn’t a mutation.”

  “What…what did he say it was?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Maybe that was just conjecture on his part.”

  “Maybe, but when Lysander mentioned it, I remembered that once my father had said the same thing.”

  She rounded a curve in the path and stopped walking. “This is huge. Do you realize what you’re saying? It’s like saying that the world isn’t round. We—everyone—believes the mutation theory to be true.”

  “What does it matter? All the shapeshifting vampires who caused the plague were wiped out. Their bodies were burned to ash. Next, you had the Human Preservation Act, where all the other vampires were killed and their bodies burned to ash.”

  She tipped her head back, staring at the sky. “You’re saying people made a mistake? That killing them all means the truth will never be known?”

  He shrugged.

  “I understand why you’re angry at people for killing the vampires. That’s your heritage.”

  “I’m not angry about that. They were right to do it.”

  “But you resent the current restrictions on you?”

  He flashed a smile. “Of course. What’s good for the world isn’t necessarily what’s good for me personally. Take the wall. It couldn’t prevent me from hunting muses and feeding off them. It just keeps me away from the woman I’m interested in. On the other hand, it does prevent others of my kind from coming across a muse and being overcome by an impulse to bite her. Not all ventala have enough control. So the wall makes sense for your community, even if it’s inconvenient for me personally.”

  “What makes you different from the others?”

  “My will.”

  She studied his profile. “And why do you think that’s so different than theirs?”

  “Because my father said I would be like him. The hunger and the rage would eventually consume me. In the end, I would let them because it would be too exhausting to fight my own nature.”

  “And yet?”

  “The kid I was, the one with the broken bones and almost broken spirit, swore he’d defy that bastard till the bloody end. I told myself I could control that much. Turns out I was right.”

  “But you became an assassin.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I kill ventala and demons and occasionally evil human beings. I don’t attack people in fits of rage or thirst. I don’t strike without provocation. I never prey on the innocent.”

  She reached for his arm and squeezed it. “So you won. You’re not like him. Does that give you some peace?”

  “No, but it gives me satisfaction.”

  She nodded. “You know, I think you haven’t become all you can be yet.” She studied his face. “Maybe fate brought us together. Maybe I was meant to become your friend, so I could inspire you to create a different future for yourself.”

  “I’m not in a hurry to get to the future.”

  “No?”

  “Why would I be? You’re finally close enough to touch.”
>
  She smiled. “Yes, but this can’t last.”

  He shrugged.

  She glanced around to be sure no one was coming. There was a copse of trees that could block them from view, and she drew him off the path into it.

  She kissed him softly, an inexplicable need curling through her. She wanted more and more and more of him. “I’m afraid it’s going to hurt…when I have to let you go.”

  He licked his lips.

  “Sometimes it hurts just wishing things could be different,” she said, but she didn’t wait for him to respond. She forced herself to return to the path and to walk on to where there were no trees.

  “Hold on,” he said, stopping in an area of smooth lawn.

  She slowed, wondering if he wanted her to risk another kiss. The truth was she might have, but he’d paused where the path had snaked away from the lake so there was grass on either side of it, no cover at all.

  He rubbed his chest. “The medallion’s spell acts as insulation, but I can smell black magic from here. Are we close to where you were abducted?”

  “Very close, I think,” she said, pointing to a spot on the embankment where there was another large cluster of trees. “About there.”

  He walked off the path and went down on one knee on the grass, bending his head and inhaling. He trailed his fingers over the lawn and plucked a few blades. He slid his sunglasses down and examined the grass.

  “Animal blood. Goat, maybe. Not freshly slaughtered. It was in a mixture. There’s dandelion root and pine to cover the stench. There’s also something greasy—” He drew his forefinger and thumb back and forth. “Animal lard—lamb, I think. And sulfur-scented ash that reeks. The ash came from the site where a demon was slaughtered.”

  He dropped the grass and rose. “That’ll help me narrow it down. Only a powerful witch could track down the site where a demon had been slaughtered. Most supernatural creatures can’t smell the ash. The only reason I can is because Lysander trained me to hunt demons.”

  “A witch who could find demon ash,” she murmured, shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine who that could be.

  “There are no demon-hunters in the Etherlin. So whoever betrayed you didn’t do a rite himself. He or she had to buy the potion from a witch who deals in black magic. And before he or she used it, they had to store it somewhere. Something so strong will have left traces. Let’s go to the Xenakis house and see whether that’s where it was kept.”

  “Even if there are traces there, it won’t help us. Their house was full of people that night. Anyone could’ve been carrying it.”

  “Right, but the party was downstairs. If that’s the only place there are traces, it won’t tell us anything, but if the original source was in the house, the traces won’t only be downstairs. The container that held the potion would’ve been hidden where no one would come across it by accident. In a safe. Or someplace private the staff wouldn’t be rummaging through while cleaning or getting ready for the party.”

  She hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The Xenakises are like family.”

  “Two of the three muses that are your competition for the Wreath live there, along with their parents, who probably want their daughters to win.”

  “Calla’s away, and Dimitri’s my biggest advocate. Cerise and I aren’t close, but she wouldn’t—” She paused. “I know Cerise and don’t think she would arrange for something so terrible to happen to me. Dorie’s so young. She’s barely been out of the Etherlin.”

  Merrick waited.

  “If it has to be a muse, I’d like it to be Ileana,” she said wistfully. “Better still, her brother.” Alissa shook her head at herself. This was a time when it was nice that Merrick was circumspect, because the fact that he didn’t argue or give her a skeptical look allowed her a moment to come to terms with the truth: investigating the Xenakis house first was sensible and practical.

  I don’t want them to be involved, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t.

  “If wishes were horses, beggars could ride.” She moistened her lips and nodded. “Tell me your plan for getting upstairs, and I’ll do what I can to help you with it.”

  Chapter 21

  Merrick scanned the path and the Xenakis property as they approached it, but he had to force himself to concentrate on the details—entry and exit strategies, security cameras. His thoughts tried to remain on something else entirely.

  He still felt the kiss she’d given him, still heard her alluring words, still breathed the scent of her skin and hair and blood. He didn’t look at her now, but despite her location in his vision’s periphery, she loomed larger than the mansion in front of him. She was like the sun: he didn’t need to look directly at it to witness its power, to feel its skin-scorching warmth. Without looking up, he always knew when the sun was overhead, and that’s what it was like with Alissa. He felt her presence next to him, felt it so hard that awareness of her jackhammered through his body and brain.

  If the Xenakises had betrayed her, he’d deliver the consequences. But did Alissa have to know the truth about them, a truth that would hurt her? He wanted to protect her from more than physical threats now.

  The front door opened and a housekeeper stood in the doorway. She was dark and stout with a slightly crooked smile and a faint mustache on her upper lip.

  “I know that Mr. Xenakis is at the Dome working, but I wondered if the girls are here?” Alissa asked.

  “The girls are at Ileana Rella’s house. They went for lunch and to help Miz Ileana choose a dress for the reception tonight. They won’t be home for about an hour.”

  “They’re spending time with Ileana. That’s nice.”

  He heard the slight catch in her voice. The other muses were together, and she hadn’t been invited to join them. Merrick’s jaw tightened, but he swallowed the vampire instincts. He calculated the hours until he would have her alone in her room. When they were alone, he’d make her forget the rest of the world entirely.

  “I seem to have lost my bracelet when I was here the other night,” Alissa said. “I was hoping they could help me look for it. Could you help me?” Alissa’s smile was so sweet, her voice so persuasive, that the small woman nodded immediately. “Are there other servants who could help, too? I think it might have fallen off in the courtyard.”

  The little housekeeper obligingly gave them an accounting of where the servants were and, as he’d suspected, the timing was good. The house had already been cleaned, the laundry done and put away. Since it wasn’t mealtime and the family was out, the security detail was gone, and nonessential personnel—everyone except the housekeeper—had left for the day. The girls’ stylists, who were coming to get the muses party-ready, wouldn’t arrive for another hour. It was like the Xenakises wanted him to search their house.

  He noted the camera position on the main floor and calculated the blind spots. He followed Alissa and the housekeeper as far as the doors to the courtyard, then melted into the background. He waited until he was satisfied that the housekeeper hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t joining the search, then grabbed the spindles of the staircase railing and pulled himself up. He was sure that Dimitri Xenakis wouldn’t have security cameras on the upper floor when he had pretty young daughters wandering between bedrooms and dressing rooms while young male security guards manned the monitors, but Merrick’s gaze panned left and right, checking to be sure.

  He inhaled deeply. No black magic. He smelled citrus and jasmine, and under those, he detected the unmistakable vanillalike scent that he associated with Alissa.

  He found one of the girls’ rooms—the one that smelled like jasmine. He opened and closed the drawers and checked the closet. There was nothing demonic inside.

  After a quick walk-through of a pair of guest rooms, he went into the room that smelled of oranges and cream and vanilla. He made a systematic search and found the Alissa source. It was a locked box of mementos containing ticket stubs, hair ribbons, and old cards and letters in the l
oopy child’s handwriting that apparently had once belonged to Alissa. There was also a gold charm of ballet shoes with the words Best Friend engraved on the soles.

  He closed and relocked the box, finding it interesting that Alissa hadn’t been the only one to treasure the friendship she’d shared with Cerise. He couldn’t help but wonder why there had never been a reconciliation. How bad could a fight between a couple of little girls really have been? When Merrick was a teenager, Lysander had forced him into a fight-to-the-death battle with a demon, and Merrick and Lysander were still friends. By their nature of being beautiful, charismatic muses, shouldn’t Alissa and Cerise have been drawn back to each other? Alissa wanted to rekindle the friendship. Why not Cerise?

  He shook his head. Since when did he care about the fights of little girls? Or even of adult women, for that matter? His policy was that when any kind of drama started where no one needed killing, it was time for him to ride the elevator back to his penthouse for a scotch and lime while the club bouncers dealt with the problem.

  Merrick passed the stairwell on his way to the opposite hall. In the master bedroom there was very little scent at all that he could detect. It wasn’t unexpected. Calla Xenakis, Dimitri’s wife who normally shared the suite with him, had been away for a couple of months.

  Merrick opened and closed the drawers and closets, detecting no demon odors. He found a wall safe behind a painting. He glanced at the door. It would be nice to have a look inside, but without tools it might take a while.

  Merrick laid his palm against the safe’s face, hoping to detect the vibration or click of the tumbler as he used his fingertips to turn the dial.

  Minutes ticked by as he worked. He heard Alissa’s voice downstairs. At the housekeeper’s insistence, they were searching the front hall and foyer for the bracelet. Then the front door opened, and he heard other female voices. The muses were home.

  It was time to get out, but Merrick was pretty sure he had two of the numbers. He walked to the door of the master suite and closed it, then returned to the safe.

  He turned the dial slowly. Snick. Snick. Snick. He heard the sound of light footsteps on the stairs. He waited. He could drop and roll under the bed if the feet moved toward the master bedroom’s door. The feet didn’t approach.