Absolution

by Susannah Sandlin

  The grounds appeared deserted, the house silent. She slipped inside the gate and crept toward the mansion from the side, gasping when she saw a dark, still form on the ground. Was it Mirren? Or Will?

  She dropped to her knees beside the man, who lay facedown. Now that she was beside him, the guy definitely wasn’t big enough to be Mirren, and with relief, she realized the hair was too dark to be Will’s. One of Lorenzo’s men, then, and dead.

  She left him, creeping toward the front steps and pausing to study the front door. It stood open, and the faint sound of a man’s voice sounded through it. Straining to hear, she slipped onto the porch and pressed her back to the wall just outside the door.

  “I don’t know, Aidan. He’s lost it.”

  It was Will, and he was talking to Aidan! Glory ran in the front door but stopped short in the foyer. Blood coated the black-and-white tiles and spattered the wall nearest the entry to the parlor. Some of it was human, some vampire, judging by the shades of crimson and magenta. The air reeked of it, and Glory choked back the remains of the beignets that threatened to come back up. The back room of a butcher shop wouldn’t be this bloody. But where were the bodies?

  She shrieked when Will appeared in the parlor doorway, a cell phone plastered to his ear. His eyes widened, looking almost as shocked to see her. “Aidan, Glory just got here, and she seems to be OK—maybe she can help. I’ll call you back.”

  Will pocketed the phone and pulled her into a hug. “God, it’s good to see you. Renz’s guard told us you were gone, and Mirren thought you were dead. He totally freaked. Are you OK? What happened to your leg?”

  Huh? Glory glanced down and noticed the tear in the jeans and blood-soaked fabric below it where she’d fallen. “It’s nothing. I tripped. Where is Mirren?”

  Will turned toward the parlor, and Glory caught a glimpse of bodies, upended furniture, and lots of blood before he nudged her back into the foyer. “You don’t want to go in there, believe me. I’m waiting for Aidan to find a local scathe who can help with cleanup.”

  Glory’s heart raced, her stomach burned, and her muscles had taken up a shaky dance. “Where. Is. Mirren? Will, tell me.”

  Will’s eyes darted toward the stairway to the second floor, and Glory turned so fast she skidded on the bloody tile and pin-wheeled to keep from falling. “Glory, don’t go up there. He’s…not himself. I don’t think anybody can reach him, unless it’s Aidan. He tried to kill me when I went up there, so I’m just making sure he doesn’t leave. He didn’t even seem to recognize me. He could hurt you without realizing it’s even you. You need to wait.”

  The tears returned as Glory eyed the stairway. Lorenzo’s human assistant and her former guard, Thomas, lay about halfway up, stretched over three steps, head down and at an odd angle to match his broken arm. Mirren had lost it because of her, after fighting so hard to find a version of himself he could live with. She wasn’t going to let him slip back to whatever he’d been before. “Stay here, Will. I’m going up.”

  Will moved toward her, hand out. “Glory, no. You—”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m going up. Don’t come up there, no matter what.”

  Not waiting for an answer, she took the stairs slowly, staying as far from Thomas’s body as she could.

  At the top of the staircase, she paused on the landing and studied the doors leading off it. But there was no question where he’d be, not really. The room where she’d been held.

  The door was ajar, and she pushed it open, staring at the wreckage she’d caused. Most of the chaos was hers, she could tell. But not the spatter of magenta blood or the body splayed out on a bed of broken glass. Renz’s. His head, too, lay at an odd angle, and Glory bit back a cry by clapping a hand over her mouth. The head was at an angle because it was no longer attached to the body. The amount of blood had camouflaged it at first.

  The world tilted as rough hands grabbed her from behind, and Glory felt her sweater rip before a strong grip around her waist lifted her off the floor. The point of a knife dug into her neck.

  “Mirren, it’s me. It’s Glory.” She wished she could stop her voice from quavering, willed her limbs to relax in his grip so he’d understand she wasn’t fighting him. “Everything’s OK.”

  His arm tightened, and he flicked the point of the knife against her skin. “She’s gone. They killed her.” Mirren’s voice was an almost unrecognizable rasp. “She’s gone.”

  “They didn’t kill me. I escaped. I’m here, Mirren. It’s me. You can still feel our connection, because I can. Look for it, remember it.” The arm gripped even tighter, and if he squeezed any harder, he’d break a rib. Still, she didn’t struggle. Finally, he pulled the knife away from her skin, just a little.

  “Remember the bread pudding I made you?” Glory wished her voice was steadier, less shaky, but she couldn’t control it. “Remember the stew I made the first night in your house? How much you liked the taste of it in my blood? It’s me, Mirren. Nobody else would know that.”

  He shifted, and she felt his face in her hair, taking in her scent. Gradually, the arm around her middle loosened, and her feet hit the floor. When she turned to him, he slid down the wall to a sitting position and put those big blood-covered hands over his face. His shoulders shook.

  Glory wasn’t sure if he was crying or in shock. She wanted to go to him and hold him and tell him everything would be OK. But she had to be practical. They needed to get out of here, get someplace neutral where he wasn’t surrounded by blood and bodies. She stepped into the hallway and, after trying a couple of doors, found a bathroom. Turning the faucet, she let the water temperature heat to a comfortable warmth and soaked every washcloth she could find.

  He hadn’t moved when she got back, so she dropped to her knees beside him, wincing at her own injury for the first time. The adrenaline was draining out of her system again, leaving aches and pains in its place.

  Glory took one of his hands and pulled it to her. Mirren leaned his head against the wall with his eyes closed. His whole body still shook with occasional spasms, but not as violently as before. Gently, she washed the blood off one hand, then the other.

  He flinched when she touched a wet cloth to his neck. “This will heal?” she asked.

  A slight nod. She pressed, rather than rubbed, the cloth on the wound to clean it. It was a gunshot wound, but she was pretty sure the bullet had grazed his skin rather than penetrating it.

  Finally, she took the last clean cloth and stood on her knees beside him, pressing it to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, the back of his neck. When she leaned back, he’d opened his eyes and was watching her from silver irises.

  “You need to feed from me.” She started to move toward him, but he stopped her.

  “No.” He’d closed his eyes again, dismissing her.

  Oh, he was going to start that again, was he? Glory glanced around and reached out for a shard of glass lying near Mirren’s leg. She raked it across her inner forearm until a thick red line of blood welled up, then swiped a finger through it and stuck it through his closed lips.

  He groaned, the most Mirrenlike sound he’d made since she’d gotten there. She lifted her arm to his mouth, and he fed, pulling hard at first, hurting. Then he settled back and, after a few minutes, opened eyes that were almost back to gray.

  She smiled at him. “Hey there.”

  He swiped his tongue across the cut on her arm and watched until it healed. “You shouldn’t be here, Glory. Get Will to take you back to Penton. You can have a good life there.”

  “Not without you.” If he thought they’d gone through all of this so he could do one of those for your own good disappearing acts, he had another thing coming. “We both go back, or neither of us. It’s up to you.”

  “The Tribunal will be after me now. I can’t take that back to Penton.”

  “Yes, you can.” Will spoke from the doorway. “Matthias is after me. He’s after Glory. He’ll have the whole Tribunal after Aidan for turning Krys
if he finds out. We’re stronger fighting together than apart. And, man”—he looked around at the chaos of the room—“Glory can hold her own.”

  Mirren picked up a jagged-edged table leg and raised an eyebrow at her. “You did all this?”

  Damn straight, and she could do it again if she had to. “I did. But first, you guys better figure out what you’re doing for the day and what kind of damage control you need, because by my watch, we have three hours until dawn.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Matthias Ludlam entered the private club off Broadway for the first time since the disastrous meeting when he’d had the Justice Council seat stolen from him. Today’s gathering would be very, very different.

  For one thing, he’d called it himself. Frank Greisser had been reluctant until he’d heard only the smallest portion of Matthias’s news, then the Tribunal chairman couldn’t get a fight out of Vienna fast enough.

  The weather had warmed sufficiently to make a heavy coat unnecessary, so Matthias nodded at the coat-check hostess and went straight to the elevator. On the ride to the sixth floor, he straightened his dark suit coat and tie, smoothed down his hair, and smiled at himself in the mirrored elevator wall. Yes, this meeting was going to be downright fun; the contents of his briefcase would ensure it.

  He left the seat at the head of the long conference table for Frank and took a respectful seat to the chairman’s right. They remained silent until the full Tribunal had fled in. Well, the full Tribunal minus one.

  “Where is Renz?” Margaret Lindstrom, who only represented the US vampire community because she’d been Lorenzo Caias’s little she-bitch for the last two centuries, directed her question to Frank, but she trained her sharp, wrinkle-encased eyes on Matthias. He gave her a broad smile.

  Frank cleared his throat, assuming an appropriately sorrowful expression, although Matthias knew he held no affection for Renz. “It is my sad duty to report to you that Lorenzo Caias is dead. He was murdered last night in New Orleans.”

  Matthias wanted to laugh at the combination of outraged, bug-eyed looks and thoughtful, calculating expressions around the table. Once the shock had passed, even Renz’s allies would be thinking how they could use a Tribunal vacancy to improve their own positions. Including the old cow Margaret.

  She was the first to speak, running stubby fingers through her close-cropped cap of dark curls. “What happened? Who did it? They must be brought to justice.”

  “Yes, well, that is why we’re here.” Frank gestured to his right. “I’ll let Matthias fill you in on the details. He has several bits of unsettling news we must deal with, I’m afraid.”

  Margaret speared him with a venomous glare. “Why should we believe anything Matthias has to say? We all know he’s been on a vendetta against Renz since he was caught abusing his position on the Justice Council.”

  After Matthias finished with Aidan Murphy and Mirren Kincaid and their lot, this nosy old witch was next on his radar.

  For now, he’d ignore her. Opening his briefcase, he pulled out a small sheaf of papers. They were all for insurance; he knew everything he needed to say without the need for notes. “A colleague of mine in New Orleans called last night with the news that Lorenzo had been killed after abducting a young human woman who’d been living with the Penton, Alabama, scathe formed by Aidan Murphy.” He took command of the room, making eye contact until each person looked away first. “As you’ll recall, I tried to warn everyone about this dangerous group at our last meeting, and Lorenzo jumped to their rescue. Sadly, I fear his trust was misplaced.”

  A young vampire representing Canada, the newest Tribunal member whose name escaped Matthias, leaned forward. “Why would a man of Lorenzo Caias’s stature need to kidnap a human, from Penton or anywhere else?”

  Matthias beamed at him. “Excellent question. My contact in New Orleans, whose scathe was called in by one of Murphy’s contacts to help clean up a messy murder scene, saw it all firsthand.” He passed around the first small stack of papers, the testimony of the New Orleans vampire who’d earned himself a king’s ransom by talking, plus printouts of gory photos taken with the guy’s cell phone. Technology was a wonderful thing. “This witness believes the young woman is a witch and thinks perhaps Renz wished to make use of her powers somehow. But she was human, and he took her by force. Also, there’s more.”

  Matthias made a show of shuffling his papers. “According to our witness, the person who killed Lorenzo, and at least seven of his New Orleans staff members, was none other than Mirren Kincaid. As you’ll recall from our last meeting, after faking his death for the Tribunal and leaving our employ, the Slayer surfaced as Aidan Murphy’s second-in-command. He was mated to this young human woman witch. Most likely, Renz hoped to use her to force Kincaid into working for him.”

  Matthias sensed the power shifting into his control. If the murder of Renz was the first nail in Penton’s proverbial coffin, here was the second. “Since Kincaid is blood-bonded to Aidan Murphy, there’s no reason to think he committed these murders without Murphy’s knowledge. Perhaps even at his instruction.”

  Matthias’s contact had also identified William as being part of the slaughterhouse and the one who’d called in local scathe members to help clean up. But Matthias wanted to deal with his errant son himself.

  Margaret cleared her throat. “Come now, Matthias. It’s one thing for Mirren Kincaid to kill Renz in order to save his mate—I’m not sure any of us would fault him for that. But to suggest that Aidan Murphy was behind it is a huge assumption.”

  The mention of Kincaid’s name, combined with the explicit photos of Renz Caias’s severed head, had stricken the rest of the Tribunal silent. Time for the third and final nail.

  “That might be true but for one final issue, Margaret.” Matthias assumed his most sorrowful expression—no easy feat when he was already celebrating inside. “It was also discovered during the course of last night’s events that Aidan Murphy has taken a mate as well, a human female who he proceeded to turn vampire against Tribunal law less than two months ago. We found papers indicating Renz had learned of this and planned to turn Murphy over to the Tribunal, which prompted the attack last night as much as the issue of Mirren Kincaid’s kidnapped witch. I have the documents put away for safekeeping but will be happy to forward copies to anyone who needs further proof.”

  Matthias closed his file folder with a flourish. They’d found out about Aidan’s mate by rifling through the contents of Lorenzo’s locked desk drawers, but he didn’t intend to share that, or the fact that the rest of the so-called evidence was being forged as they spoke.

  He adopted a conciliatory, apologetic tone. “I know I no longer have the authority to bring these criminals to justice myself, but I appeal to the Tribunal—as I appealed to you earlier—to break up this army Aidan Murphy has built for himself before they start knocking off the rest of us, one by one.” Not to mention he’d be first on the list.

  Frank cleared his throat, laying the papers on the conference table. “I believe the Tribunal owes Matthias an apology, and on behalf of the other members, I issue it.”

  Matthias nodded at him with a smile. A public apology had been his first demand in order to share the information. How the second demand was received would determine not only how his future played out but maybe all of their futures. He hoped they were smart enough to know it.

  When no one objected to the apology, Frank continued. “I also propose we reinstate Matthias to his position as head of the Justice Council and task him with apprehending Mirren Kincaid and Aidan Murphy, with the full support and resources of the Tribunal at his disposal. We want them dead or alive, and of course, that includes the dissolution of the Penton scathe. It’s clear that we were remiss in thinking Murphy’s growing power was benign. Do we need a written vote?”

  Matthias held his breath as several Tribunal members exchanged glances but kept their mouths shut. With Renz gone, no one was willing to stick his or her neck out. Margaret Lindstrom stared a
t the table with her mouth crimped like a serrated knife blade.

  “Matthias, will you accept this responsibility?” Frank gave him a restrained smile.

  Matthias stood, stuck the papers back in his briefcase, and clicked it shut. “I’d be honored.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Glory sat on the cheap plaid bedspread of a no-name hotel just east of New Orleans, watching Mirren sleep, or whatever vampires did during the day. Did they die? He didn’t breathe, but he wasn’t cold, either. His skin grew cool, but it was still soft where it should be and rough where it shouldn’t.

  Will was in the room next door. They’d arrived at the hotel with an hour to spare before dawn, after a stop at a local Walmart for four black plastic shower curtains and rolls of duct tape to cover the windows, something for Glory to wear, plus a twenty-four-hour drive-through so she could eat. She’d slept for a while but woke when she heard the hotel’s housekeeping cart rattling around outside and shouted through the door that they didn’t need service.

  She finished the second burger she’d bought almost eight hours earlier, hoping it didn’t give her food poisoning, and stretched out beside Mirren on the room’s lumpy bed. They’d covered the windows in this room with the shower curtains and tape, then Will had gone next door and left her and Mirren in awkward silence. He’d hung a do not disturb sign on the door, locked it, and wedged a towel underneath it after examining all the seals for lighttightness. Then he’d locked himself in the bathroom.

  She didn’t try to disturb him this time. Instead, she’d gone next door and talked to Will until dawn. He didn’t know everything about Mirren’s history, but he told her everything he could.

  A few minutes after Glory returned to the room, Mirren had emerged from the bathroom and slipped into bed without a word just before dawn had cracked over the horizon, and he was out. She’d spent most of the day watching him and thinking.

  Glory ran her fingers down his cheek, letting the stubble along his heavy jawline tickle her fingertips. In daysleep, his face was relaxed, his lips slightly parted, his strong, straight nose perfectly formed. She brushed his thick, dark hair away from his forehead—it had started growing out a little again, finally—and curled up next to him.