Blood Games

by Lee Killough

  “I don’t like--”

  “Just try it, okay?”

  After a moment she accepted the mug and took a sip. Then another, and another.

  All the acknowledgment she would give that he was right, he saw. No matter. He had her drinking it. He set the shopping bags on the floor. “See if this stuff fits you.”

  She stared at the bags uncertainly for several moments, then dug in. Her eyes widened at pulling out a leather sling style shoulder bag and a carry-on bag, toiletries, underwear, jeans. “Well, they look my–shit, I’m not going to wear these.” She held up three shirts, all long-sleeved pullovers. “They’re dorky!”

  “Sun on your skin is uncomfortable.”

  She snorted. “Since when am I going out in the sun again.”

  “Contrary to what you may believe, it doesn’t kill us so...you never know.”

  After another snort, this time of disbelief, she peered into the next bag. And staring, pulled out black leather pants, knit black turtleneck, and a black leather duster. “These are for me, too?”

  “A new look, as the fashion people might say...especially with the makeup there in the bottom of the bag. I’m hoping going goth will make it harder for the police to recognize you. Sorry there’s just sandals until we get you to a shoe store.”

  She caressed the leather. “I want to try these on.”

  It might work, he decided after she changed. The leather, eyes like black holes, and black lipstick made her look very different...and older.

  He shrugged into his new blazer. Time to face the world. Crossing his fingers, he led the way upstairs.

  “Are we going shopping for boots? If I’m gonna be goth I need--” She stopped short in the garage, staring at the Porsche. Her eyes lighted. “Cool! I didn’t know cops could afford– Duh!” She smacked her forehead. “Of course you’re richer than a regular cop.” She drifted around the car. “So why don’t you have a new one. They have the adjustable spoiler. Can I drive?”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “I’m a good driver. Ice taught me and he’s an expert. He’s raced at Le Mans.”

  Being a professional race car driver explained that flawless one-eighty. “You don’t have a driver’s license. Get in.”

  Rolling her eyes, she did so. “Can I at least help work on the engine?”

  He blinked. “You like playing with cars?”

  She grinned. “Oh yeah. I have a natural mechanical ability Daddy--” Her animation died like a switch snapping off. She huddled in the seat. “Are we going shopping?”

  “Not yet.” He backed out of the garage and triggered the door closed behind them. “First I’m going to prove you’re not damned.”

  She shivered.

  When he pulled into the parking lot of their destination, the shiver turned violent and it took his hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.

  “Raven!” Unable to catch her eyes, he poured all his power into his voice. “Listen to me. Be...calm. It’s...all...right.”

  She thrashed, freeing her mouth. “No! That’s a church!”

  “Right. And even though you’re not really dressed for it and we’re late, we’re attending evening Mass.”

  Her voice climbed into hysteria. “I can’t!”

  “Yes you can.” Her own church, probably not, but she should be all right in a Catholic church. Being snared by a rosary had reduced Lane, raised Catholic, to tormented screaming but he, an indifferent Episcopalian, had handled both rosary and the crucifix on it without harm. It all hinged on the belief in the symbols and rituals. The mind rules. “Trust me.”

  He dragged her out of the car and stood her against it to catch her chin and force her eyes to meet his.

  “Raven, you will walk into the church with me. You will not resist. You will not scream.”

  He backed across the street, holding her hands as well as her gaze. They must look strange to any witnesses but he dared not relax his focus. He felt her terror fighting him every inch of the way, struggling to break his control. She moved stiff as a robot...up the steps, into the foyer, across it into the sanctuary. No one in his peripheral vision seemed to be watching them, all attention forward. Without looking away from her, he dipped his fingers into the Holy Water and crossed himself. Then dipped his finger again and touched her forehead.

  Her mouth opened for a scream. His control prevented that...and seconds later her eyes widened. Her mouth snapped shut. As she realized the Holy Water had not burned him or her. When he pulled her into the rear pew, she came without resisting...sat, relaxed, and stared around in wonder.

  Point made.

  Just before the end of the Mass he shook her arm and pointed toward the door. They slipped out.

  She walked slowly down the steps, chewing on her lower lip. Then at the bottom she stopped, grinned, and suddenly leaped into the air, fists shooting skyward. “Yes!” She danced into the street, giving the finger to a car that honked as it swerved to miss her. “Who needs the light! Give me Midnight! This is gonna be so much fun!” she shouted back at Garreth.

  Shock jolted him. What? Shit! He raced across the street after her. “Raven this life isn’t fun.”

  She spun back toward him, eyes smoldering. “Sure it is. Like the vampire kids say in Lost Boys: sleep all day, stay out all night, never go to school, stay young, and live forever. I’m gonna party like my father never dreamed of!”

  Garreth felt as if a bomb exploded in his face. Had he screwed up by curing her terror? He never thought that would change her attitude so fast and so radically. What had he let loose?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Daylight had one virtue, Garreth discovered. Much as it weighed on him, it hammered Raven. He had barely managed to keep her on her feet and alert enough to board the plane. Now she sagged inert in her window seat, head cushioned by a neck pillow with a sealed bag of soil added to its padding. Giving him peace for the first time in twelve hours.

  He took advantage of it to settle against his own augmented pillow and close his eyes.

  So much for his plan to calm her fears then worm information about Ice out of her while teaching her how to deal with her new life. Raven had grabbed the initiative. As soon as they climbed in the car she fired questions at him...asking everything she wanted to know about being a vampire, questions Ice kept saying he would answer “when she needed it.” She shrugged off the disappointment of not being able to change into a bat--“Ice did say everything you read about vampires isn’t true.”–but sneered at the idea of bottled blood. “That’s for wimps! Vampires are hunters! Humans are out there to prey on.”

  A disturbing echo of Lane’s sentiments.

  When he tried using Irena as an example of a non-hunting vampire, she changed the subject. “Since we’re creatures of the night, let’s check out some clubs and bars. See what kind of night life Omaha has.”

  “You can’t go into bars; you’re underage,” he reminded her.

  Her lip curled. “So much for your powers. Ice took Amber and me into clubs all the time. So, okay, can we find me some boots to wear instead of these dorky sandals?”

  They went to the mall. On the way through it to the shoe store, however, she had stopped at the window of a beauty salon and frowned at her reflection. “My hair doesn’t work with these clothes.”

  “You’re not surprised you reflect?” he asked.

  She had rolled her eyes. “Well hey, Sherlock, I could see Ice in mirrors, so duh.” She returned to studying her reflection. “You gonna let me complete my look or not?”

  “Go ahead.” He had seen examples of different hair changing appearances.

  “But I suppose you have to okay it, huh, warden?”

  Despite imagining scarlet spikes, he contemplated the merits of carrots versus sticks and said, “Do what you want.”

  She grinned. “Then go get in touch with a mall marshal or something for an hour.”

  Much to her obvious disgust he had stayed. She called him warden; warden he was
.

  The re-do did change her appearance still more, and to his relief did not involve spikes. He could live with metallic blue...and the stiletto-heeled boots, and pierced nostril and row of rings up each ear she insisted she needed. “Cops’ll never see my face past all this metal.”

  Maybe. Ice taught her well about disguises.

  She admired her reflection in other shop windows. “This is so rad. My parents would have a cow if they saw me now. But I can’t believe you actually pay for stuff. I’d have given those clerks a couple of ones and hypnotized them into thinking they were hundreds, so I’d not only have everything free, the change would give me a profit.”

  Anger flared in him. He better step on the head of this snake right now. “That’s theft.”

  She arched her brows. “And your point is...? What do vampires care about human laws?”

  He wanted to shake her. A lecture about right and wrong and the responsibility of power boiled up in his throat. He shoved it aside as something she was unlikely to listen to, let alone hear. Was there anything she would hear. “You ought to be caring about survival. Remember I said there are vampire hunters out there? We need to blend in and not call attention to ourselves.”

  “Give me a break.” She brushed past him. “That’s a cop out for wimps! You wouldn’t be whining about blending in if you had the guts to use your power the way Ice does, and the way I’m going to.”

  He caught her shoulder and spun her into a corridor to the restrooms, lowering his voice below human hearing. “You’re also a wanted fugitive, cupcake. Remember that. Labeled a cop killer. If you’re recognized, do you think the officer is just going to order you to put your hands behind your back? No, he’s going to pull a gun and if he feels threatened, he’ll shoot. We’re hard to kill, but you can’t survive a bullet in the brain.”

  For a moment he caught fear in her eyes, before it vanished in anger. She jerked loose and backed away, rubbing her shoulder. “You can’t scare me. If you want to meet Ice, you’re the one who ain’t gonna survive. So get out of my face! Just get out of my face!”

  Recalling the scene, Garreth sighed. That had won him no ground in the war for her cooperation.

  Nor did he later when he refused her demand to go back to New Prospect for her belongings. “It’s too dangerous and there’s nothing we can’t buy replacements for. Most of it we already have.” Except the tapes, of course. He waited for her to mention them.

  “Replacements!” Hysteria built in her voice. “I don’t give a flying fuck--ow!” She rubbed her head where his knuckle cracked down on it. “You son of a bitch!” But she calmed, settling into sullenness. “I want my stuff!” No mention of the tapes.

  Lord, what could he do with her? How did he handle her? You raised sons and daughters, Grandma. Any suggestions?

  Apparently not. No inspiration came.

  He turned the questions over in his head the rest of the night while he stashed the Porsche in the Philos garage for safekeeping and Doug Curtain, the Life Member friend on night duty, used the photo of Raven from her billfold to create a photo ID for use at the airport. A school was easier than faking a driver’s license and by using a fictional one, the Bradford Academy, he could create any form he wanted. For good measure, he had Curtain scan in the photo booth strip and isolate Amber’s face to make photos of her, too.

  “Pick a first name for yourself that you haven’t used before,” he told Raven.

  So she became Tiffany Ballinger, matching the Franklin Ballinger ID he was using.

  In the course of making the ID she had tried to catch his eyes. “Give...me...the...pictures.”

  She had a long way to go to exert any control over him, but he had Curtain print her a copy of the photo booth snapshots. For which she grudgingly thanked him.

  Relaxing against his neck pillow, he considered how he might use Raven’s fondness for Amber. And perhaps the tapes, too? Even in her temper tantrum she never mentioned them but what else in her effects could she want enough to go back to New Prospect for? Why had she said nothing, though? Because she did not want him to know they were important to her...or perhaps could not admit it to herself?

  “Here’s your tea, Mr. Ballinger.”

  He opened his eyes and thanked the flight attendant as he set the cup on the table between his seat and Raven’s. He bought First Class tickets because they were the last two seats together, but he decided he could easily learn to like it.

  The flight attendant eyed Raven...who winced and squirmed as she slept, sometimes whimpering, not entirely comfortable despite the neck pillow. “Is your niece all right?” Behind the concerned tone Garreth imagined the attendant wondering what drugs this girl used.

  “Yes.” The tea warmed his throat and stomach, comfort in the pressure of daylight. “If we’re lucky, she’ll stay that way until we land. Not that she’s dangerous,” he added as the flight attendant’s expression went wary. “She just tends to be loudly profane when she’s unhappy, and right now I’m not her favorite person.”

  Reassured, the attendant smiled. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

  Garreth checked his watch. Harry ought to be awake by this time. He inserted the Ballinger credit card into the phone in the seat ahead and punched the Takananda’s number.

  Lien answered. Her voice warmed with pleasure. “Garreth! How are you feeling?”

  He knew immediately she meant Maggie, and with a sharp pang, wished he had let Maggie meet Lien. Not even scars remained of the lacerations on his forehead and arm, but the list of Regret For Things Not Done kept growing. “Maybe I’ll feel better when I’ve dealt with the individual responsible. Is Harry there?”

  “Sorry, no. They called him out at five-thirty on a case. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can refresh my memory on his phone number. I’m going to be landing there in a few more hours to--”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. The guest room is always ready for you.”

  If only he could stay with them and wrap up in the healing warmth of Lien’s hospitality. But Harry would figure out in five seconds who “Tiffany” was, and then be put in the agonizing position of having to choose between upholding the law and protecting a friend. Garreth refused to do that to him. “I’m sorry. This time I have to stay at Holle House. I’m not alone. I--”

  She cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll welcome her, too. You know Harry will be hurt if you stay here. So will I.”

  “Believe me, Lien, you don’t know--”

  “Yes I do.” A soft laugh came over the phone. “Garreth, dear, it’s a no-brainer. Harry’s been having Vanessa Girimonte pass on all bulletins relating to your case. When it’s connected to you, a miraculous recovery from death means only one thing. When she escapes and you turn up with a guest, who else can it be?” Lien paused. “I guess my only concern is her origin...the pale gentleman or you?”

  He sighed. “Me...but accidentally.”

  “I’m looking forward to hearing all the details.” When he did not respond, she said, “Garreth!”

  He gave in. “All right.” Like that line from Star Trek: Resistance is futile. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  After hanging up he settled back into the neck pillow and closed his eyes. Lien had always thought a step ahead of Harry and him. Maybe she had a Chinese equivalent of Grandma Doyle’s Feelings to assist her. Whatever the source of her wisdom, it gave him a sense of relief and assurance and comfort...like going home.

  A feeling Raven did not share when they landed in San Francisco and he broke the news. “He’s a cop! You said we’d be staying in a cool mansion these Philos people own, not with some fuck--ow!”

  Fastest knuckle in the west. He blew on it like a gun barrel. “Harry and Lien are old friends.” He herded Raven from the car rental depot toward its parking lot.

  “Yeah...” She rubbed the top of her head. “You’ll think they’re old friends when they turn you in for aiding a fugitive. Look, I’m n
ot going to help you find Ice. You might as well let me go. In fact, let me go or I’ll start screaming rape.”

  He found himself more amused than irritated. “When I wave my badge, who’s going to look more credible? Besides you can’t survive on your own.”

  “I survived on my own just fine when I left home...even before I met Ice.” She tossed her head. “This won’t be any harder.”

  “Even though you’ve been refusing to drink blood?”

  She hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ll work out something.”

  Yeah...tearing out victims’ throats when thirst drove her into a frenzy. “There’s our car.”

  Above her dark glasses, her brows rose. “Cool.” She ran a hand across the gleaming hood of the red Mustang. “Not cool as the Porsche but okay. Let me drive. I’ll be polite to your old people if you do.”

  “We didn’t make a driver’s license for you.” He unlocked the passenger door.

  She tried to flounce in but ended up collapsing in the seat. And immediately reached to flip down the visor. “Daytime sucks. Why didn’t you find us a night flight?”

  He sighed. If he put her under one of those full spectrum lights for treating winter depression, would it keep her zonked all the time? “The people I need to see work days.”

  She huddled in the seat. “This sucks. Big city, bright lights, lively night life and I suppose I won’t get to see a fu--” She ducked sideways as his hand started to lift from the wheel. “...any of it.”

  Garreth put his hand back on the wheel. “We’re not here for fun.”

  She scowled. “You suck, too. I hope you do catch up with Ice and I’m there to watch him tear you apart.”

  “It’s good to have a goal.”

  With a glare, she lapsed into torpid silence.

  When they pulled into Harry’s driveway she roused enough to grunt, but otherwise did not move while he pulled himself out of the driver’s seat and up to the door.

  Lien answered only seconds after he pushed the bell, hurling herself into his arms. “Garreth!” She grinned. “You look pretty good considering the time of day. Do come--”