“Are you reading my mind, young man?”
Sebastian nodded, his expression turning sullen, furtive, and sheepish in quick succession. “I’m not supposed to. Don’t tell my mom, okay?”
Siri rubbed the back of her neck and fought hard to get her memory back, to get her reflexes working, to think of a way out of this situation. She knew there were things she should be feeling, things she should be doing, but . . . what? Yevgeny set Sebastian down on one of the small tables. He brought out a knife, a moon-sickle curve of sharpened silver, the hilt studded with milky gems.
Sebastian reached for the blade. “Can I touch it?”
“No. It’s very sharp.”
“Sharp as my dad’s fangs?”
“Sharper.”
“Cool.”
“Aren’t you afraid, little one?” Yevgeny asked Sebastian.
“Yes,” Sebastian answered with a proud lift of his chin. “But I can’t show it.”
“Why not?” Yevgeny ruffled the boy’s hair again.
“My father says not to. Ever.”
“Because you’re dhamphir?”
Sebastian was puzzled at the word no one had ever spoken in front of him. “My name’s Avella. Avellas don’t show fear. We’re brave and strong and leaders of men.”
“Your father told you that?”
Sebastian nodded. “My father won’t let you hurt me.”
“He would help you if he could, I’m sure,” Yevgeny answered. “If he were here.” Yevgeny’s hold tightened on Sebastian as the boy tried to leap off the table.
She had an urge to rush to the boy’s side, to throw herself between danger and her best friend’s child. Siri took a step forward and stumbled, nearly falling over one of the chairs crowded around the small tables. Yevgeny gave her a look that brought her to a halt. She found herself thinking, Why does Selim have to be asleep now? And concentrated on Selim, on calling up his face and touch and voice in her mind, recalled the scent of him to block out the awareness of the big blond in front of her. I never went for blonds, anyway, she thought.
Then Yevgeny said, “I’ll need your help, Siri.”
Sebastian started to cry. She fought the urge to take the boy in her arms and comfort him.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Yevgeny said. He put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. He glanced briefly at Siri. The madness in his eyes was dampened somewhat by pain. “I burn. I can’t live with it anymore. I need the change.”
“Leave him alone! He’s just a baby.”
He nodded. “I know.” His voice was a strangled whisper.
Siri’s hands gripped hard around the smooth wood back of the nearest chair. Fighting through Yevgeny’s dark control made her dizzy. Through the swirling dizziness in her head, she could hear music playing. It was the song that had been playing in the toy store before Yevgeny showed up, but fainter now. Faint and fading. It had something to do with controlling her, didn’t it? Had he used the music in some sort of spell to capture her? A spell? She was psychic and understood how to use her gift very well, but the notion of using incantations and whatnot was foreign to her. There was something unfair about using that stuff.
“You need a vampire to become a vampire, not a helpless child.” She pointed at the silver curve of the blade and at Sebastian. Yevgeny didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. She remembered now what he’d told her about needing a dhamphir when he’d worked an honest-to-god spell around her. When he’d forced her to help him with the use of ancient, arcane words.
Yevgeny’s gaze settled on her again, a blazing blue fire. “This is a do-it-yourself way. Very secret. There’s an incantation all vampires use at the birth of their companions. You don’t know about that, do you? That the change isn’t just a blood transfer?”
Siri shook her head. “I had no idea. They never tell us anything, do they? How did you find out this secret?” She wanted to keep him talking while she fought to clear the darkness out of her head. She’d figured out how. If she could just turn off the record—That was it, visualize it!
Sebastian was crying loudly, but Yevgeny was holding him close, comfortingly. He was still holding the ritual knife, though. “I’ve always been good at finding information. I was with the KGB, you know. Long ago.” He stroked Sebastian’s hair. “When I had sons. When I’m a vampire, I will make sons of my own. Have a household. Not be alone all the time. Nothing worse than being a companion no one wants. She said she did it for me.” He laughed.
There was so much pain in the sound that Siri wanted to cover her ears. She gripped the chair tighter. It helped keep her balance, sliding it in front of her as she moved closer to Yevgeny. The real feel of the wood in her hands and the concrete floor beneath her feet helped keep a part of her consciousness grounded in the present—here in a coffeehouse in Claremont where a child was about to die. The rest of her awareness went spinning inward, searching through black clouds and shadows for the off switch to the music that wouldn’t go away on its own. Magic, humph! She told herself sternly. I just have to think my way out of this. If I can remember what the song is, I can turn it off.
“This can’t work,” she assured Yevgeny. She hated to bring it up, but added, “Even if you drink Sebastian’s blood, you’ll need—”
“A mortal to kill,” he interrupted her. His head came up, catching her gaze with his once more. “That’s where you come in. I’m sorry, Siri. I would have used the slave, but he ran away.” He sighed heavily, ruffled Sebastian’s hair. “Time to die, little one.”
In his dreams there was music, plus a hand on his dick. The music was what brought him as close to awake as it was possible for him to become. Or, maybe it was the hand circling and cradling his penis. He couldn’t rule out the possibility, or, rather, impossibility of the hot aching pulse of an erection being what brought his focus out of the far-from-peaceful darkness.
Damn it, Val!
I know, hon, but we need to talk. I thought that if I went dreamwalking inside you, you might get a bit testy.
You think? He took a sharp breath as a surge of heat raced up from his groin, and he felt both the breath and the desire. Didn’t dream it, felt it. His eyes were closed, he had no awareness of where he was, just of sensation, and that he wasn’t alone. This isn’t real, is it? What I’m feeling? It’s not possible.
A month ago I would have agreed with you. I think it’s me. I’m changing somehow. I can feel the bed beneath me. Can you?
Selim tried. No. I’ve got a hard-on. How are you doing that?
Got my hand in your shorts before I went to sleep. I don’t know if you’re actually feeling what you think you are, or if you’re feeling what I want you to. Mostly, I was just trying to get your attention.
Don’t. It’s—
Forbidden. I know. Screw that. It’s not doing any harm, now, is it? He found that he couldn’t answer. A powerful surge of desire flared from the tip of his penis, down through the length of it, up his spine; ecstasy exploded in his head and flowed back down through blood and bone and flesh. He shuddered with the release, though not a muscle moved. Through it all, music played faintly, far away.
Now, don’t you feel better?
Is it possible for you to share a bed with anyone without sex being involved?
It’s good for stress. You need to relax, not take everything so seriously. My script, for example. You are far too concerned with ramifications and whatnot over it.
Whatnots? Indignation burned through him. He imagined his claws unsheathing to their full length, imagined striking the woman he was trapped in bed with. All he could manage to do was think. Someone has to be concerned. How many will I have to kill?
None.
You would say that.
Her laughter bubbled through him, gold, sparkling, warming as champagne. Bubbles of sound burst in his brain, refreshing and faintly mocking.
Darling, you’re acting like anyone in this town actually has an attention span. You’re worried about copies of the s
cript being all over town. Forget about that. It’s just another horror movie script. Nobody but us knows it tells the truth. She sighed. Deep, deep disappointment, heartache, and aching capitulation flowed from her into him, a sad, syrupy river. Her heart was bleeding; he could feel it. He thought nothing. Offered nothing. Eventually, she thought, So much for Valentine. I’ll never feast on the flesh in this town again over this, but I’ll do it. For you, sweetheart.
What is—it?
I’ll walk on the production deal, withdraw the script from circulation.
Why don’t I believe that?
Because you think I’m crazier than I am. Writing it freed my creativity. That will have to be enough. I will have to accept being able to write again as victory. With victory comes the end of my bloodless Hunt. I’ll let telling the truth on film go for your sake, my dear.
She’d been planning on putting his life before thousands, perhaps millions of people. He shuddered at the very notion, and not only because of the broken Laws or her violation of his mind to get her story. She was who she was. She had some right to delve inside him. She was who she was: ancient, powerful, kind, loving. Unstoppable. At least, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. He wouldn’t know how to start.
Your heart is in the right place, Selim told her.
She chuckled. At least for now. You’re wondering what I’m really planning, aren’t you?
Of course.
Her laughter returned, crystal clear, with dark, depressed undertones. Rewrite it and do the thing as an indie after all. No way do I give up making movies just because of a bunch of nervous vampires. I’ll do the script revisions everybody’s been begging me for anyway. No real strigoi will recognize it when I’m done, I promise you that. Should have gone that route in the first place, I suppose.
Her distaste for this solution covered him like a heavy blanket. He didn’t understand and didn’t think it was wise to ask. He’d learned far more about the film business than he wanted in one night’s time. He didn’t trust her. He was going to have to watch her very carefully, monitor every move she made. That was better than having to kill her.
No Hunts in this movie, he told her. Not a hint of how or why we have to Hunt.
No, dear. Of course not. But we do need to talk about Hunting.
Let me rest, Valentia. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t entirely believe her. It had to be more complicated than she thought, didn’t it? He was too tired to think about it any more right now. And there was something else fighting for his attention. Damn it, I just want to get some sleep!
Not until we discuss that poor boy.
What poor boy?
The one sleeping on the couch. Am I right in assuming that you fed him last night? You did, didn’t you? You do know what that means? That you’re now responsible for him.
How would you know—
I agree he deserves the right to take out Kama, and he has the gift, but you can’t possibly provide him with all he needs. Not you.
Selim would have answered, but the faraway music swelled up from the depths of his mind, and he stopped listening to her. It happened swiftly, like diving down into deep, black water. He didn’t fall into total darkness. He was enveloped in seething black smoke underlit with lightning flares of blue white and fire red. All through the smoke drifted the music, a monotone voice sang to him, words he couldn’t understand. It was puzzling, troubling. There was emotion in the lightning flashes. The light and emotion formed into human shapes laced through with flame. A third cried for its mommy and daddy. One of the flame beings—the scarlet fire—needed his help. He tried to make out faces in the light, to push past the smoke to reach the crackling red flares. He had to break through the blackness, find the concentration to dreamwalk, get to her. Siri needed—
Valentine shook him, a spectral hand on a nonexistent shoulder. Do you hear music? Wake up, boy. Talk to me. No. Don’t talk. Listen.
He opened his eyes and stepped into a long, narrow room full of small tables and cluttered with chairs. Fans whirred slowly and silently in a hammered tin ceiling high overhead, but no air moved. All the lights were on, but the place was dark. Shades were drawn over the windows. A Closed sign hung on the door, and it was locked. The people in this room were isolated, caught in a high, horrible drama. He wasn’t really there, neither was Val, though she held his hand in hers. He didn’t feel her touch, just knew it was there. He took a step forward, focusing as hard as he could on the burning, shadowy trio in the center of the room.
Selim forced the fiery mental image to coalesce into its mortal form. No, not quite mortal. The man with the silver knife was tall, broad, with sun-yellow hair and a gold fuzz of beard stubble on his hollow cheeks. Mad-as-a-hatter blue eyes stared out at the child stretched out on the table in front of him. He was holding the boy down easily with one big hand. He reminded Selim of a grizzly bear. Here was a Hunter in the making, but unformed, unfinished. Power pulsed around him, shot off in uncontrolled electric arcs and waves. The not-mortal spoke, and every word rang with power, shone with it, directed his will into the others.
What is he?
Yevgeny, was Valentine’s soft, fearful, pained response. Lady of Snakes, what have I done?
That was Yevgeny? And Siri was with him. Selim couldn’t stop the jealous snarl, even though it was obvious Siri was not voluntarily in this empty place with this—Yevgeny. Your Yevgeny?
Mine. For the last fifty years.
A companion? Impossible.
Look what I’ve done to him. My poor baby.
The baby in trouble was the one on the table, still and pale as death, surrounded by an opalescent cloud of energy. Sebastian. Siri was trapped by energy nets as well, but she was fighting them, working her way out of the spell. Pride and fear for her mixed within Selim. He had to help her. Had to get to her. But he was fast asleep, somewhere in the center of Los Angeles. Yevgeny raised the knife up, the tip of the blade poised over Sebastian’s heart.
“Please don’t do this!” Siri shouted. The madman kept weaving his spell.
Selim listened and watched. I know this! He glared at Valentine.
She nodded through silent, wracking sobs.
You did this!
Another nod.
It’s in the script. Just like when I—the Enforcer character stops Istvan from sacrificing Sebastian in a ceremony to gain power.
It’s a real ceremony. He read the script. She gulped on tears and wiped the back of her hand over her face.
This is my fault.
Damn right it’s your fault. Stop him!
How?
He’s your companion!
He can’t hear me. Won’t hear me.
Try.
I am!
Music swirled around Selim, the sound an irritating, plaintive, distracting noise. What is that song!?
Something by Dire Straits, I think. Valentine’s surface thoughts were terrifyingly calm. The emotions beneath the words she sent him were anything but calm. Mark Knopfler once did the soundtrack for a movie I worked on. She gazed helplessly on the people they couldn’t reach. Dire straits is certainly what they’re in right now.
Dire Straits?
Siri’s gaze flashed to him, even though he wasn’t there. “Dire Straits! That’s it!” She laughed, an evil, nasty, triumphant sound, and whirled back around.
The music stopped.
She moved nearer to Yevgeny. “You don’t want to do this,” she told him. “You’re crying. You don’t want to harm a child.”
“No,” he answered. He turned his head but not to look at her. He looked straight at Valentine. “I don’t want to do it this way.” He waved the knife around wildly. His shout was a deafening roar. “Damn you, Valentine! I don’t want to do this! I can’t do this! I can’t go on like this!”
Yevgeny turned the knife in his hand, bringing the point of the blade toward his heart. At the same instant, Siri hit him in the back with a chair. She kept on hitting him long after he stopped mo
ving, long after the blood from the wound in his chest had flowed into a wide pool on the cold, concrete floor. She swore and snarled and laughed, and prayed, and occasionally kicked the still body of the man who had invaded her mind and threatened the child.
Selim watched until, after a long while, Siri finally grabbed the unconscious little boy and ran with him to somewhere safe and full of sunlight.
Chapter 24
“DON’T LOOK AT me like that.”
Selim continued to glare at Valentine, who was standing at the end of the bed. He’d only woken up a few moments before, with the last of the sunset, but she seemed to have been up for a while. She was dressed, her hair combed. Her eyes were red-rimmed. He wondered if she’d been grieving in her sleep, but the idea of any physical activity while sleeping was still too foreign for him to get his mind around. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
After a few confused moments, Selim asked, “Where are my clothes?” He distinctly remembered dropping them on the floor when he stripped down to his shorts before getting into bed. They were not where he’d left them. He glanced back at Valentine. “Well?”
“In the laundry. Darling, those chinos and shirt were covered in blood, remember? I’m not letting you out of the house like that.”
He stood up. Yawned helplessly, and rubbed a sweaty palm over his grimy chest. He was disgusting. “This is a ploy to buy you time, isn’t it?” he asked as she tossed him towels. “You know I have to find and dispose of your darling Yevgeny’s body.” He sneered at the name.
Valentine pointed toward the bathroom as she wiped away tears with her other hand. “We have more important things to discuss.” She left the bedroom before he could ask what.
He came into the living room a few minutes later, feeling much better for the shower. He had a companion to find and comfort. He needed to talk to Don Tomas. He wasn’t through with Kamaraju yet. There was still the Hunt. Valentine needed to be watched like a nighthawk as she canceled plans to make this movie of hers. The last person he wanted to see was Geoff Sterling, and the boy’s problem was the last thing Selim wanted to deal with. But there Sterling was, seated on the couch, his head in his hands, with Valentine hovering over him like a worried nanny.
Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt Page 23
