Steele City Blues: The Third Book in the Hell’s Belle Series (Hell's Belle 3)

by Karen Greco

  "What are you doing?!" I yelled, sprinting across the bar to Frankie.

  By the time I reached him, Frankie was on the floor, writhing in agony. My grandfather slid into Frankie's seat and took a long pull from the now abandoned tequila bottle.

  "Stop the spell!" I yelled as Frankie went into full-on vamp mode. His eyes glowed bright blue and his fangs extended, but he foamed at the mouth and a horrid drowning noise came from the back of his throat. Then the psychic barrier between us collapsed. Searing pain ripped through my head and my ears filled with an unbearable high-pitched sound. Clutching my head, I collapsed on the floor next to Frankie.

  "Please!" I whispered, glancing up at Gramps’ weathered face.

  Another flick of his wrist and we were released from whatever spell the old man had over us. The pain was gone, but the effects lingered.

  "Don't underestimate me." He leveled a warning at Frankie. "And don't stand between a thirsty man and a drink."

  Frankie and I got to our knees, still panting from the spell. The few regulars still nursing their drinks made brisk work to the exit, deciding to chance it with Leila’s goons outside rather than Gramps in the bar.

  "Why are you here?" I asked through ragged breaths.

  "I'm here to help you pull your sorry excuse for witchcraft out of the shitter."

  “You’re here to help me,” I said with a cold laugh. “I recall a story Babe once told me about how you tried to kill me.”

  “Your aunt had a flair for the dramatic,” he said, snorting. “That was overblown.”

  “Then you don’t deny it?” Frankie asked, his voice low. I watched his eyes take on that eerie vampire glow for barely a moment before it faded. In one graceful movement, Frankie was on his feet.

  “Babe brought a baby vampire into the village,” Gramps said, lifting his arms in a what-could-I-do gesture. “People were upset. They needed to get out of town.”

  “I am sure you can understand why Nina wouldn’t trust you,” Frankie said, holding out his hand to me.

  "I don't need your help," I muttered, pulling myself to my feet. I clutched the bar to keep from falling over, my legs still shaky.

  “Take that, English,” Gramps said behind a roar of laughter. “She’s stubborn like her aunt, too.”

  “I was talking about you,” I said. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Trust me, don’t trust me,” he said with a shrug. “You still need my help.”

  “I’m doing just fine on my own,” I said, lifting my chin.

  "Are ya?” he asked. “Weren't you responsible for that little hail shower a few minutes ago? Damn things were the size of grapefruits."

  My chin dropped and I stared at the dirty floorboards. Dog came over and nuzzled my hand. We both slunk to a barstool farthest from my grandfather. "That was an accident."

  "You seem to have an awful lot of those." Gramps pulled out a handful of balled up newspaper clippings from his pocket. "Let's see," he said, smoothing out a piece of paper. "’Tornado Touches Down in Providence,’" he read, tossing it aside and moving on to the next one. "’Record High! Providence Reaches a Tropical 102° in February’"

  I opened my mouth to protest but he simply waved his hand at me. Not knowing what spell that hand wave was capable of throwing, I clammed up quick.

  "Nope, wait a minute, here comes my favorite," he said. "’Small Monsoon Spotted Over Narragansett Bay’" His voice trailed out, replaced with a booming laugh. "Now, what were you saying about accidents?

  My face burned. "I only meant—"

  He crumpled up the news clippings and shoved them back into his pocket. "You are an embarrassment of a witch. Babette made you soft, coddled you. I am here to right her wrong."

  I drummed my shabby nails on the bar and took several deep breaths to tamp down my rising anger. Frankie slid onto the stool next to me. We both glared at the old man at the end of the bar who was drinking my tequila straight from the bottle.

  "You okay?" I asked Frankie, my voice barely above a whisper.

  "Pride's scuffed up a bit, but otherwise fine," he replied. "The old timer has some serious power there. You may learn a thing or two."

  "Not interested," I hissed.

  "Don't be a fool," Frankie responded. "I'm not a fan of his methods, but he's not wrong, you know."

  I glanced at my grandfather, who was shooting the shit with Alfonso. It looked like Eva was flirting. "My vampire traits aren't full blown, but they've kept me alive this long," I said to Frankie.

  He sighed. "You've never gone up against anyone like Leila."

  "Come on, Frankie. She's sending humans to do her dirty work. I bet she's not as strong as we assume."

  "Bullets can still kill you," he said, as if I needed a reminder.

  "I'll come back though," I deadpanned.

  "Coming back is not something you should look forward to," Frankie said, growing more concerned.

  "I'm not."

  "No, she's not," the old man said, his voice booming across the bar.

  How did he hear us?

  "Dead,” the old man began, "She is a vampire. But alive, she is one of us. She is a witch."

  "Gramps, or whatever the hell I am supposed to call you, I am a fuck-up of a witch." I winced as I said it, not accustomed to admitting defeat. "You are absolutely right. Hail slammed down from the heavens when I attempted a spell. I turned the Northeast into a tropical rainforest. Yes, I caused a monsoon over the Atlantic Ocean. I am a one-woman natural disaster."

  Gramps actually chuckled.

  "Nina, you aren't hopeless," Al interjected. "Your grandfather can teach you. He taught Babe."

  "Well, until she got all politically correct," the old man said, rolling his eyes.

  "I won't do dark magic either," I said, remembering why Babe hightailed it out of Catemaco in the first place. Gramps practiced the dark stuff—magic that required a large price, often a life, for using it. "So you can save your spells. Stop wasting your time and go back to Mexico. Blood Ops can deal with Leila."

  "Blood Ops?" he asked. "That don't exist no more. Isn't your leader behind bars?"

  "We're working on that," I lied.

  "How?" he asked.

  "Prison break." I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.

  As soon as I said the words, my mouth twisted up in a small smile. Frankie glanced at me, then a look of recognition spread across his face. Of course. A prison break.

  "Are you out of your mind?" Al snapped. "What are you going to do? Just stroll right on into Steele City? That’s a maximum-security prison that Leila has on lockdown. You're going to get yourselves killed."

  "Nah," Frankie said, watching my grandfather swirl the dregs of the booze around the bottom of the bottle. "We've done prison breaks before. Remember that time we broke into Rikers Island by accident?"

  I chuckled. "Yeah, we were supposed to be at Sing Sing but confused the two."

  "Wasn't prisoner number 95-A-9876 surprised when we tried to stake him?" Frankie guffawed at the memory.

  "Hate to pull you away from your reminiscing and all,” said Gramps, his voice stern, "but maybe we should talk about the staking of your mother instead of prisoner number whatever."

  "Freeing Dr. O is our priority," Frankie said.

  "Mommy Dearest runs a very close second," Al chimed in. "Right, Nina?"

  "Who says we can't do both?" I asked.

  The old man tilted his head, curious. “What'd you have in mind?"

  "Leila's got to be holed up in Steele City," I said.

  "Why do you think that?" Darcy asked. She and Matty had watched the family reunion unfold quietly. Matty, nonplused by the whole thing, nuzzled at her neck. If he wasn't a Beta-Vamp, I'd worry that he'd bite her. By genetic mutation, Betas lacked the killer instinct, not to mention their fangs weren't sharp enough to break skin.

  "Where else can she be? She's rounding up witches and sending them there."

  "Blah blah blah... " Matty’s voice pitched up
in a whine. "All we do is talk and talk and talk about these witches. When are you going to do something about them?"

  “This is none of your concern,” I said, adjusting my tone as if he were a five-year-old.

  “None of my concern?” he asked, his eyes widening in mock surprise. “What about Kittie, what she did to me?”

  Gramps leaned forward. “So you met Kittie?”

  “She broke up the band,” Matty said.

  “Killing Haley is on hiatus,” Darcy said, correcting him.

  “Same thing,” he mumbled, lower lip jutting out to a pout.

  Kittie had infiltrated Matty’s band, posing as a manager. Her magical influence had turned the drummer into a psycho witch doctor who created rabid zombies from pounding on his drum set. I shivered as I remembered the snake tattoo that wound itself around Kittie’s body. The damn thing moved. On its own. Creepy.

  Kittie was part of Leila’s massive master plan and, from what I saw of their relationship, Leila was some sort of mother figure to the Goth-looking young witch. A twinge of jealousy shot through me as I remembered Kittie calling me “sis,” her voice dripping with sarcasm. I shook it off fast. Babe was more than enough mom for me.

  “She’s got the darkness, oh yes she does,” Gramps continued. “Runs through her blood and straight through that tat of hers.”

  “See what you’re up against,” Matty said. “It’s like you don’t even want to win. What’s the big deal about all this dark stuff anyway?”

  Gramps clapped his hands together and then extended them, palms out, towards Matty. “Exactly! What is the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that dark magic comes at a price,” I said. “Every dark spell you throw chips away at your soul.”

  “So what?” Matty said, ignoring Darcy’s shushing sound. “Vampires don’t have souls and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  I considered all the easy retorts to that comment, but bit my lip instead.

  “Vampires do have souls, Matty. I know we’re all told otherwise, but your soul is why you’re able to love.” My eyes darted to Darcy and then to Frankie before settling back on my idiot cousin. “I’m not willing to lose my soul.”

  “Without love, what’s the point of living?” Frankie added. “Particularly for an eternity.”

  I caught my breath as Frankie’s emotions leaked into me. Fire moved from my belly down into my pelvis. My body flooded with longing.

  “You’re all a bunch of bleeding hearts is what you are,” Gramps barked. His voice ripped me back to reality. “Oh, no, I won’t have a soul,” he mocked. “Oh, no, I won’t be able to fall in love. Bunch of pantywaists, all of you.”

  Matty leapt to his feet. “Are you out of your mind, you old goat? Love is the reason to get out of bed in the evening. Love is what drives us, all of us. Love makes us...“ Matty stalled as Gramps worked him over with icy eyes.

  “Love makes you a goddamn idiot,” Gramps said.

  Matty opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t get a word out. One graceful wrist flick on the old man's part and Matty's head twisted about 180 degrees. A sharp crack echoed through the now dead quiet bar. Darcy's shriek shattered the silence as Matty dropped to the floor.

  "See what love gets you?" Gramps yelled over her.

  Darcy followed Matty to the floor and cradled his head in her lap. That's when I caught a tremble in her lower lip. "Darcy, it's okay. He's not dead," I said. “He’ll wake up in a few hours.

  She choked back a sob. "I know."

  "Breathe deep, Darce," I continued. "Can you hear me?"

  She grimaced, so I motioned to Frankie. He had to be ready to pull her out of the bar and fast. A despondent banshee was a dangerous banshee. Once she started wailing, all humans within earshot would drop dead.

  I had a soundproof room installed in the basement of the old factory building that I converted to apartments just for this scenario. It was next to a vampire lair well insulated from sunlight. That space was initially meant for Frankie, but then he was spelled by Bertrand, our demon mayor, to walk in sunlight, so Matty lived there now. Darcy crashed in my apartment above him, since I was staying above the bar. If Bertrand ever pulled the demon spell off of Frankie, he and Matty would be roommates.

  Yup, these were my friends. Hell, Matty was family.

  Darcy made a sort of half-snuffle noise while Frankie crept closer. I rounded on the old man.

  "You did this," I hissed, holding up my hand as he opened his mouth to speak. "Fine, he's not dead, we all know that. You just walk in here and snap necks? You are not welcome here."

  Gramps smirked. "Nice backbone on you, kid. But that's not the response I wanted." He tossed out a few Latin words that mixed with his Spanish. I was on the floor faster than Matty dropped. My head felt like it was going to explode.

  "You can fight this one, kid. Don't give in to the vampire. Fight it."

  I gritted my teeth so hard I thought every one of them would shatter. All I could focus on was the searing pain in my head. My fangs pushed out and my body went cold. I glanced around and caught sight of Eva and Al, who inched away from me with measured steps. I was vamping out.

  But it kept Darcy from wailing. She left Matty limp on the floor, giving me a wide berth. Frankie was the only one brave enough—and dead enough—to move towards me. But I shook my head at him, worried he'd get hit with this spell too if he came any closer.

  I tried to steady my breathing. I tried to ignore the agonizing pain in my head. I tried to focus on throwing a spell. I heard glass shatter from behind the bar, the result of not only my weak casting but also the wrong spell. Pulling my focus back inward, I muttered another incantation. I heard more glass shattering, followed by a trickle of liquid. Al swore under his breath, which told me I broke one of the few remaining bottles of booze. Dammit. Pain sliced its way through my skull as vampire met witch and they warred within me.

  "Get in there, Nina. Don't let the vampire win," Gramps shouted like an overzealous boxing coach.

  Three's the charm, right? Another incantation worked its way through my labored breath.

  A new sear of pain pushed into my body, this time traveling down to my hands. My nails, usually clipped short, sprouted, their rapid growth turning them into talons. I felt my toe nails strain inside my boots. Whatever he was doing was turning me vampire. Nails sprouting to talons was the midway point during the transition.

  My body betrayed me, leaving me to squirm on the floor. That's when Casper the Chicken Shit Ghost jumped back into my body. The impact of his belly flop into my solar plexus barely registered to me, although the grunt he gave said he experienced pain.

  “Nina, you're vamping out," Casper squeaked, struggling along with me against the transformation.

  "You don't say," I grumbled, doubled over.

  "I mean, I've never seen you this far gone before," he clarified. "But I mean, damn girl. There's barely any space for me in here."

  Only certain witches could see and be possessed by spirits. It was the one witchy thing I did well. Too well, actually. Getting possessed by a spirit that wasn't Casper was kind of a problem. But right now, my body was rejecting Casper. I could feel it squeezing him out.

  "Can you fix it?" I asked.

  "Don't know," he wheezed. "But I'll try."

  He forced himself into my head and my eyes rolled back. I allowed Casper to take total control of my body.

  The ghost flinched. "This is some painful shit, Nina. Does this happen every time you vamp out? Because this is no fun."

  "Focus. Please," I begged. Since I couldn't get a handle on my vamping, my body slipped in and out of Casper's control.

  "Shit, Nina, I feel your heartrate dropping," he called out before starting his spell. His panic was palpable through his rushed incantation.

  His words made my pulse spike, my own panic shooting me full of adrenaline. But my heartrate plummeted just as fast as it rose, sending the room spinning. I called out to Frankie, and felt him at my side even
before he grabbed onto me. Then everything went black.

  4

  The entire bar was huddled around me when I came to. Someone—probably Frankie—had moved me from the floor to the top of a table. The smell of stale beer filled my nostrils and induced a wave of nausea. I rolled to my side and puked up bile. Frankie jumped back before it splashed onto his John Varvatos boots. My vampire partner was a bit of a dandy.

  "What happened?" I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Gramps sat at the table across from me. He leaned back in his chair, balanced precariously on its two back legs, and guffawed. "I almost turned you into a vampire."

  "And you’re proud of that?" I snapped. My stomach gurgled while I fought down another wave of sickness. "You proved your point. You're a powerful witch. So what do you want from me?"

  "I want to help you."

  "Excuse me if I find that hard to believe," I said, treading carefully with my tone. There was no way I'd survive another spell like that.

  He crossed his arms. "It's your right not to believe."

  Darcy nudged me back down on the table and placed a bar rag soaked in cold water on my forehead. I hoped it was clean.

  "Thanks," I grumbled. "You okay?"

  Her smile was small but genuine. "I'm okay. Matty woke up. He's upstairs nursing a stiff neck."

  "That was fast," I said.

  She glanced uneasily at my grandfather. "He helped. Finally."

  I propped myself up on my elbows. "How about you guys go check on Matty? I'd like a minute with my...him." My chin jerked towards the old man.

  "You sure, Nina?" Al asked. "I don't like the idea of leaving you here." Eva stood by Al's side, nodding her head in agreement.

  "Indeed," Frankie chimed in.

  "We'll be fine," I lied. Everyone stood their ground. "Jesus, you guys, go! Go check on Matty."

  My crew filed upstairs, feet shuffling along the worn wood. Frankie lurked behind the rest, his hesitation apparent in the looks he tossed my way.

  "Frankie, you know I'll let you know if I need you," I said. Even if my grandfather figured out we were bound, he wouldn’t be able to stop our ability to communicate. Not that Frankie would be much help. With those spells Gramps was throwing, Frankie was as useless as me.