“Murderer.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Whiskey sat in a daze as Cora chattered on about something, unable to let go of her last sight of Ghost. Whiskey wouldn’t put it past him to yank her chain this way, alluding to her responsibility for a murder. If it had just been him or one of his buddies, she’d consider it a trick. Gin’s expression of loathing burned away that illusion. A wave of queasiness swept through Whiskey. We killed him? I killed him?
She replayed the last minute of the fight. Fight? That was a slaughter. The smell of blood had been strong, mingling with the essences of the Sanguire around her, making it difficult to pick out individual sources. Dominick had stopped fighting back, only responding to the violence being inflicted on his body with grunts or soft woofs of expelled air. The look in his eyes when she’d hit him that final time gave her the shivers. She’d thought he’d already been unconscious, but had he been dead? Again she heard the crackle of bone and cartilage. Bile burned the back of her throat.
Fiona pulled the car into a parking lot next to a ratty building. “We’re here, children.”
Whiskey pulled out of her fog and got out of the vehicle. She regarded their surroundings. “This isn’t where we got the first part done.”
Cora stroked her arm. “You’ve healed far too fast for that, aga ninna.”
“I’m sure that adorable little artist might have some questions for you if we were to return so soon.” Fiona breezed past them, and into the tattoo parlor she’d selected.
Whiskey allowed herself to be drawn into the establishment. The place had a deserted feel. In the reception area, the overhead lights were off, the only illumination coming from the soda cooler in the corner. It gave the tattoo parlor an abandoned look. On the floor by the door lay the daily newspaper. Whiskey seized it, and went to the counter to search for information. A grizzled older man came from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. While he and Fiona dickered over the job, Whiskey dragged out the local section and scanned headlines.
“Are you all right, Whiskey?” Cora caressed her back and shoulder, radiating ashes and concern. “You’re pale, and you seem upset.”
“Do you know what happened to that kid last night? The one we beat up?” Whiskey looked up from her search. “Did anybody go back to see?”
Cora tilted her head in puzzlement. “There was nothing to see, aga ninna, and we’d already fed. There was no need to go back.”
“But what happened?” Certain she’d get no answers, Whiskey continued to flip through the pages, checking the smaller articles toward the back.
“I expect those Human children who saw us leave called the authorities.” Cora paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Perhaps not. They seem to be less reliant upon governmental agencies than most.”
“Did we kill him?” Whiskey demanded.
“No.”
Whiskey’s knees trembled, and she leaned against the counter for support.
“You did with that last strike.” Cora’s eyes lit up. “At first I was surprised you didn’t use the knife I gave you, but now I know it was because you wanted the visceral experience of killing him with your bare hands.”
The relief disappeared with a puff. Whiskey struggled to remain standing. Her stomach gave her little warning. She looked wildly around, seeing a nearby trash can. Dashing to it, she vomited up her breakfast, sagging to her knees on the floor. She continued until nothing remained in her stomach, dry heaving for several minutes afterward.
Cora knelt beside her, holding her hair back, whispering calming words. Whiskey finally sank back, pushing the can away. Daniel squatted close by, handing her a wet hand towel. She accepted it gratefully, covering her face with the warm cloth.
Behind Whiskey, Fiona explained the situation to the Human tattooist. “A little too much last night, you know. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long, really.”
“If she’s drunk, I can’t legally work on her, even if it is just color.”
Fiona chuckled. “Oh, she’s not drunk. The hangover finally got the better of her, that’s all.”
Whiskey scrubbed her face with the hand towel. Oh, Jesus. I killed him!
“Ninsumgal.”
She pulled the cloth away to see Daniel holding out a paper cup of water. She rinsed the nasty taste out of her mouth, spitting it into the mess in the trash can. He’s never called me that before. She didn’t know if she should laugh or be furious at this additional portent of her future. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head in deference, and stood. Cora still lightly held her, her hands gently stroking Whiskey’s shoulders.
Whiskey didn’t have time to deal with this. She couldn’t count on Fiona not having overheard her conversation with Cora. Her equilibrium shot to shit, Whiskey didn’t think she’d be strong enough to hold Fiona off if she tried to leave now. Fiona would gladly use it against her. Forcing the knowledge of Dominick’s demise away, Whiskey finished wiping her face. She dropped the cup into the trash, and stood. Cora attempted to assist, but Whiskey shook her head and gave her a gentle nudge away. Once she’d regained control, she turned to Fiona and the tattooist with a smile. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I don’t know my limits.”
Fiona flashed a feral smile. “Isn’t that the truth?”
The tattooist gave her a commiserating grin. “I’ve been there. I can give you a couple of minutes to get your shit together before we get started.”
That might take a damned long time, pal. “No, I’m good. Let’s get going.” The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can get away from these people.
“I’ll get you something to drink, aga ninna.” Cora opened the door on the soda cooler.
As the Human led Whiskey to the back of his shop, Fiona’s soft laughter followed them.
I killed him. Still shaky, Whiskey fumbled at the buttons on the silk shirt.
Before she could protest, Fiona slid into her personal space, brushing her hands away. “Allow me, sweet Whiskey.”
Unsettled, Whiskey didn’t put up a fight. As soon as the buttons were undone, she stepped back and stripped out of the shirt, ignoring Fiona’s amused smile.
When he got a look at the dragon the tattooist whistled in appreciation. “I recognize the artist. She sure does excellent work.” He half circled Whiskey, studying the tattoo. “Must have taken quite a few hours.”
“Yeah, it did.” Whiskey draped her shirt over a nearby chair.
A hiss of escaping carbonation heralded Cora’s arrival. She held out a soda to Whiskey. “For you, aga ninna.”
“Thank you.” Whiskey drank deeply. The sugars and effervescence did wonders for the nasty taste in her mouth. It served to settle her stomach to a degree. I killed a Human being, a kid. Nothing would help the sickness in her soul.
“Have a seat.” The Human gestured to a chair. “The dragon is red, right?” He peered at his equipment and inks, shuffling things around on the tray. Pulling a pair of latex gloves from a box, he put them on.
“Yes.” Fiona settled in an armchair, her expression indulgent. “Perhaps when these are healed, we’ll add another to the other arm. Black or gold?”
Whiskey sank onto the tattoo chair, grateful to get off her trembling knees.
Cora clapped in happiness. “That would be wonderful!” She pulled up another chair to sit beside Whiskey. Smiling, she caressed Whiskey’s thigh. “Don’t you think so, aga ninna?”
Distracted with removing one strap of her camisole for the tattooist and her churning thoughts and stomach, Whiskey took a moment to answer. The Sanguire words Cora now called her suddenly became clear in her mind. Aga ninna literally meant a crowned and fearsome lady. Fiery anger burned through the anguish. I’ve got to get it through to these people that I’m not Elisibet!
She didn’t snap at Cora again, uncertain what the protocol would be if she humiliated a Sanguire adult in front of a Human witness. A boy had already died due to her involvement with these people; she didn’t want to endanger another inn
ocent bystander. Forcing herself back to the conversation, she cleared her throat. “We’ll see. No promises.”
Cora accepted that with a grin.
The tattooist started work on Whiskey’s arm, beginning a running commentary on tattoos he’d done in the past. He concentrated on bringing the red dragon to life, adding a touch of fire from its mouth onto Whiskey’s shoulder. The eye gleamed a deep gold that sparkled with life.
Cora remained at her side, making small talk with him, alternating between holding Whiskey’s free hand, and caressing her thigh. Daniel had disappeared as soon as they’d moved to the back, but he hadn’t gone far. Whiskey felt him, an odd combination of flowering plums and smooth vanilla, just outside. Fiona remained in her armchair, her fond expression grating on Whiskey’s nerves almost as much as the cloying sweetness she exuded.
Whiskey watched the proceedings with grim thoughts, forcing herself away from the raw emotions regarding Dominick. Getting away from Fiona was paramount. She’d bail as soon as the tattooist finished, letting Fiona know she had to do the next meditation. She’d have to call Dorst. Even if no one spoke to the cops last night, word would get around that Dominick had been after her when he’d died. Sooner or later the authorities would start searching for her. Maybe Reynhard could get her out of town. Her emotions lightened. Maybe he could get her out of the country!
She sank back into despair at the thought. That move might keep her safe from the immediate repercussions of a homicide investigation. She’d still be hip deep in shit among the Euro Sanguire. Like it or not, she had to deal with this situation. She’d be damned if she knew what to do. Any Sanguire she met would either want to kill her on sight, or use her as a power base.
Since that bizarre repelling incident this morning at the restaurant, Fiona had kept her mental distance. Whiskey picked up her flowery essence because she sought it out. She still didn’t know how Fiona and Dorst were connected, let alone what she’d done to push Fiona away. Come to think of it, didn’t I do the same thing to the padre?
A wave of yearning washed over her at the thought of Castillo. Maybe she could confess to the padre, and turn herself in to the Agrun Nam, explain—what? That they’d made a mistake four hundred years ago? That she wasn’t who they thought she was? Whiskey almost laughed aloud at the idea. Somehow, I don’t think they’ll believe me once they hear about these visions I’ve been having.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cora and the tattooist carried on their conversation over Whiskey as the minutes turned to hours. Her churning thoughts analyzed every avenue of escape, unable to come up with a definitive answer. She rarely felt the pain of the needle, returning to the present only when it grazed near wrist, elbow or shoulder bone.
“There you go. Finished.”
Surprised, Whiskey came out of her rumination with a start. She stared at her arm, surprised to see the depth of life portrayed. Adding color and definition made the dragon much more realistic. It twined along her skin, shielding her arm with its scales and wings. “Wow. That’s fucking killer.” She blanched as soon as the word left her mouth. You’re the killer now.
“Thanks.” He scooted back to clean his work area. “There’s a mirror over there if you want a closer look.”
Cora helped Whiskey to her feet, and escorted her to the mirror. “Very nice. We can start the design on your other arm today.”
Whiskey lightly touched the tender skin with a grimace. “We can do it next time.”
Pleased, Cora kissed her with a full body contact that left Whiskey breathless.
“Enough of that, children.”
A sudden flash of annoyance crossed Whiskey’s emotions. She’d had enough of Fiona telling her what to do. It’s because of her I couldn’t get everybody out of the alley last night. Spot might be alive now if I had. “I’ll decide when it’s enough.” For good measure she pulled her willing partner into another deep kiss. When she finished she raised an eyebrow at Fiona.
Fiona’s eyes had narrowed, but she gave a slight lift of her chin in concession. “As you wish, dear Whiskey.”
Cora smiled angelically at Fiona, an expression that set off alarms in Whiskey’s head. What the hell am I doing? I don’t belong here. The last thing I need is to get involved in the pack’s internal politics. If Whiskey succeeded, she wouldn’t be around to defend Cora in a power play against Fiona. She released Cora. “Are we done?”
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “I’ve already paid the artist. We’re free to leave.”
“What about the piercing?” Cora asked, trailing after Whiskey as she made her way to the front of the shop. The lights had been turned on, and the establishment had opened for business during the hours Whiskey had been under the needle. Three Humans stood at the counter, and pored over a book of photos with another artist. Nearby, a heavily tattooed receptionist spoke on the phone.
“Some other time.” Whiskey felt a pressing need to get out of there, and pushed through the door. The sun had passed its zenith outside. It was well into the afternoon, past time for her to begin her next meditation. She heard a car door open, and looked to see Daniel stepping out of the Lexus where he’d lazed the hours away.
“Shall we head home, sweet Whiskey?”
She glanced at Fiona, seeing the tips of her fangs in the savage smile. “I have to go.”
Fiona’s smile quickly turned into a scowl. “Your obstinacy wearies me, little lamma. I’m beginning to think you’re incapable of making appropriate decisions for yourself.” She stepped forward, a glare in her eyes. “While I may be temporarily hobbled in my ability to compel you to a course of common sense, it is only because I do not wish to do you harm before you’ve completed the Ñíri Kurám.”
Whiskey backed away. Fiona had never directly threatened her before. It disconcerted her. “I’ve been making my own decisions for years. I’ve lasted this long.”
“And not much longer, at this rate. On the off chance your Baruñal hasn’t informed you, the stakes are considerably higher the longer we wait.”
Stumbling on an uneven section of sidewalk, Whiskey looked around. Fiona herded her into the parking area beside the tattoo parlor, a lot surrounded by three buildings. She didn’t think Fiona would try anything violent in broad daylight with busy traffic on the street. Cora and Daniel circled around to flank Whiskey. They slowly steered her toward the car.
“Come home with us, aga ninna.” Cora reached out to take Whiskey’s hand.
She pulled away. “No. I have to start the third meditation now. I have to go.”
“You’ll come with us, whether you wish it or not,” Fiona said. “Daniel?”
He stared at Whiskey for a long moment. “It is unsafe for you, Ninsumgal. I will guard you. Where do you wish to go?”
The sweet, sickly sensation of flowers swelled, matched by Daniel’s essence. Whiskey saw Fiona almost physically expand. “She’s a child. It is not her place to make that decision, Daniel. You will get her into the car, and we’ll discuss this at home.”
Sweat popped up on Daniel’s brow. He dropped his chin, and stepped between Whiskey and Fiona. “I’ll gladly discuss this with you later, but right now she’ll do as she wishes. She must complete the Ñíri Kurám in the proper frame of mind. You know the consequences if she does not.”
Whiskey’s heart double-timed at the ominous implications. “What consequences?”
“He’s right, Fiona.” Cora took her place beside Daniel, providing a united front. “We must support our Ninsumgal.”
Fiona scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Oh, please. You don’t believe that prophetic drivel any more than I do.” When neither answered, she mocked them with a feigned expression of surprise. “Why, wonder of wonders, I think you do! Had I realized how gullible the pair of you were, I’d have left you to your pauper families in Europe.”
Realizing that the prophecy of Elisibet Vasilla worked in her favor, Whiskey kept her mouth shut. Better to have her questions about consequences answered
by Dorst in any case. At least she’d get a more truthful response from him.
The four of them remained still for several minutes. Whiskey’s newfound abilities were unable to pick up the subtle nuances of their confrontation. She caught a few movements between the three of them, tasting the battle as Daniel’s and Cora’s essences converged to strengthen one another. Not wanting them to fight her battles, she made a clumsy attempt to offer help, questing forward into the fray with her mind. They blocked her intrusion. Stung by the mental perception of plum and ash, Whiskey frowned at her defenders.
“Fine.” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin. “Take her where she wishes to go. We’ll discuss this when you return home.”
The battlefield immediately cleared. No longer focused on the Sanguire sensations, Whiskey marveled at the volume of sound and richness of smell that hit her from the street. Concentrating on that kind of fight would leave you open for a physical threat pretty easily. She filed it away for future consideration.
Daniel bowed deeply to Fiona, and Cora curtseyed.
Fiona glared at Whiskey. “Give me the Ducati keys.”
Whiskey dug into her pocket and retrieved them, handing them to her.
“This isn’t over, little lamma. Your world has been small and inconsequential for a long time. That is going to change. You’d do well to allow me to protect you.”
Feeling somewhat secure, Whiskey shook her head. “I know why you want me. I won’t be used. By anyone.”
Fiona suddenly smiled. “You’d be surprised.”
Whiskey frowned, once again confused by Fiona’s change of demeanor.
“Take the car, Daniel. I’ll take the bike home.” Fiona turned to Cora, with a raised eyebrow.
Cora slid her arm through Whiskey’s. “I’ll be home with Daniel.”
“So be it.” Fiona turned, and strolled away.
Daniel watched her go until Fiona disappeared from sight. Turning to Whiskey, he raised his chin. “Where do you wish to go?”
The Strange Path Page 18
