Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

by Tracy St. John

  Okay, I’m a lot freaked out. Vampires are scary.

  He’s gorgeous whether man or vamp. Tristan has hair as black as night, cut short in an elegant 1920’s ‘do. Already handsome, the predatory aspect of his fanged self lends dangerous charm to his well-formed features. If GQ ever wanted to put a vampire on their cover, Tristan should be at the top of the list. He dresses well in custom-made suits that flatter his lean muscled frame. Tristan has never had to drink pouched or bottled blood. The groupies line up for him.

  A small, well-padded Hispanic woman stood behind him. She looks like the best mom in the neighborhood, the one whose house all the kids gather at for milk and cookies. I thought she might be somewhere in her forties, but she’s got one of those ageless faces where it’s hard to tell. She might have been anywhere from 35 to 60. She radiates kindness.

  She sat down in a leather chair in front of his desk. “I will prepare myself.”

  This was Isabella, my channel. I sighed. I like Isabella, but I don’t like using her body. It’s weird and uncomfortable. When I’m inside her, I see both the real world and the spirit world, which can play heck on my equilibrium. Fortunately, Para Central is the same in both realms. As long as we didn’t go for a walk anywhere, I wouldn’t be too off-kilter.

  I watched her close her eyes. It didn’t take long for her body to relax completely and the light lines in her face to smooth out. She’s a pro at this. I went to her and sat down on top, as if to give her my Christmas list. Instead of landing on Isabella’s lap, I ended up inside her. The heaviness of a corporeal body settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I felt a twinge of her in the back of our shared mind, but she was very quiet. When Isabella is channeling, she’s unaware of what’s going on. Lucky her.

  I opened her eyes and looked up at the black-eyed vampire looming over me. “I’m here.”

  He smiled, a little human warmth creeping into his pale face. “How is your haunting of Sanderson Cottage going?”

  It was at his request that I’d been giving Halloween thrills to tourists at his former employer’s home. My payment for being all spooky was staving off boredom. Being dead gives you a lot of time on your hands.

  I told him, “It’s fun. Patricia liked my dress. What’s up?”

  “I need you to replace Dan for a little while spying on the Beasts.”

  Oh, this definitely sounded interesting. One of Tristan’s campaign promises at the last election was to clean up Fulton Falls’ crime problems, and the Beasts Motorcycle Club was at the top of his list. Composed of violent were-critters, the Beasts were suspected of everything from blackmail to murder. As organized as any crime syndicate, the Beasts had chapters all over North America, Asia, and Europe. Even little ol’ Fulton Falls has a group of about three dozen getting up to heaven knows what.

  My other boyfriend, Dan Saling, had been spying on the Beasts for weeks now on Tristan’s behalf. Dan is like me, a full time ghost. As to why I have two boyfriends … well, that’s a Brandilynn-inspired mess. Neither man is thrilled about sharing me, but they’re putting up with it. For now.

  First things first. Playing spy sounded fun, especially since weres can’t see ghosts. No real danger there. “Sure. What am I doing?”

  “Just keep your ears and eyes out for anything unsavory.”

  “By unsavory, you mean illegal?”

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed. His fists clenched and opened, clenched and opened. Good heavens, what had his dander up tonight? “The leader of the Beasts is very careful, even among his own people. Only his closest lieutenants know anything about what his exact undertakings involve. The majority of the group is mainly concerned with collecting protection money, beating up others, murder, the smaller time stuff.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “Murder is small time?”

  He scowled. “For this group, I’m afraid so. Gerald, will you fill Brandilynn in?”

  I stared at Tristan. He was on edge tonight, his usually cultured voice snapping words like whips.

  Before I could call him on it, tall, dark and purrfect (hey, I never claimed to be funny) stepped forward. As if the werepanther wasn’t sexy enough, Gerald’s deep rolling voice sealed the deal. Cool and smooth, it was the kind of voice you’d want to rub all over your naked body.

  He smiled, his catman face wearing it well. I realized I rarely saw this hired muscle smile. “Hi Brandilynn.”

  “Hi Gerald. You doing okay?”

  “Just fine, thanks.” His ears twitched this way and that, forever patrolling for trouble. His nose, hinting at the triangular shape of the big cat he turned into on occasion, flared as he tested the air, as if he tried to scent me on Isabella’s body. “Here’s the lowdown on the Beasts. They’re organized crime, pure and simple. Human trafficking, drug and arms smuggling, contracted killings … you name it, they do it. They swear loyalty to their organization above all else. Once a part of the Beasts, no one leaves, not alive anyway.”

  I couldn’t help myself, not even in Isabella’s body. I batted my eyes a little and made her voice high, light, and happy. Flirt should have been my middle name. “What a lovely sounding bunch.”

  He went down on one knee in front of me, like he was going to propose. Of course he was only being polite; he knows full well it’s hard for a spirit to move around in a channel’s body. That’s why I stayed sitting, and he was doing me the kindness of sinking his six feet plus frame down to where I wasn’t breaking Isabella’s neck to look him in the face. But boy, it made my heart go pitty-pat to have such a handsome man at my feet.

  Steady girl, I reminded myself. You’ve already got one boyfriend too many, and Gerald is head over tail about Patricia.

  He eyed me seriously. “What you’re going to see, it’s going to be plenty ugly. I want you to be prepared. The Beasts’ women are all human and regarded as property if not outright slaves. It’s nothing to the shifters to slap ‘em around or make them do –” here he paused and took a deep breath, “—acts of a personal nature in front of others.”

  Okay. Message received. Eww and gross. I don’t mind watching people put on a show, but it has to be consensual. I had the feeling what Gerald described wasn’t always that way.

  Tristan stepped closer, his hand briefly touching on Gerald’s shoulder. Dismissed, the werepanther gave me another rare smile, rose, and went back to leaning gorgeously on the desk.

  Tristan said, “The Beasts themselves are all werecreatures, mostly alligators and feral hogs. Besides the women, there’s only one non-shifter in the group. He’s a witch. Every chapter of the Beasts has one to keep their club warded.”

  Oops. The danger factor just went up a millionfold. “He’ll be able to see me.” All witches have second sight that allows them to see the dead. I’d run afoul of a particularly nasty one a few months back.

  From his oak perch, Gerald rumbled, “You’ll have to hide when he’s around. This guy is a really good witch and really bad news.”

  Tristan nodded and patted my shoulder. “Dan can catch you up when you get to the club. Do you know where it is?”

  Everyone knew where the Beasts club was. The black-painted concrete building stuck out amongst the small cottage-style homes that lined the same road. “Yeah, it’s right off Blount Highway.”

  A smile warmed Tristan’s sharp expression. “Try not to go off course.”

  Sheesh. No one would let me live down my many miscalculations in transporting from one place to another when I’d first become a ghost. I scowled at Tristan. “Ha ha. I haven’t landed in the wrong place in two months, thank you very much.”

  He went all businesslike again. When Tristan is a vampire, we have more of an employer-employee type of relationship. It bears little resemblance to the hot and heavy stuff we do during daylight hours. Not that I’d want him that way while he was a vampire. Shudder.

  “Have Dan get here as soon as possible. Be careful.”

  Sometimes he gets paternal on me, which I don’t appreciate at all. Never mind
he’s got a good sixty-five years of existence over me. I am a grown woman. “Hey, this is me you’re talking too.”

  Tristan snorted. “In that case, be very careful.” He motioned to someone behind me, and a lovely brunette female vampire, perpetually in her mid-twenties until a wayward flame or the sun found her, stepped up to us. “Wendy, would you call Jason and tell him I need him to channel Dan within the hour?”

  She gave him a quick nod and had a cell phone to her ear before a second could click by. Isabella doesn’t channel male ghosts. Way too intimate.

  I’d seen Wendy around before, but she usually sat at a desk. “Did you give Penny the night off?” I asked Tristan.

  Tristan stared at me long and hard, and I realized his extra vampireness this evening had not as much to do with me as I’d initially suspected. “Penny suffered her final death early this evening.”

  My mouth dropped. I hadn’t been close to Penny, but she’d been Tristan’s aide the entire time … seven months … I’d known him. A newer vamp, she’d had the bad taste to wear black, not at all flattering against her bluish-white skin. She’d been a secretary in life, and her skills as an aide were second to none.

  No one knows what happens to vampires when they are dead for real and for good. They never return as ghosts. They just disappear.

  “What happened?” I asked, my voice hushed with respectful shock.

  Tristan’s lips narrowed and his fangs glimmered into view for an instant. He kept most of his calm, but that little slip told me how furious he was. “She drank tainted blood. It’s Fulton Falls’ third such death in the last year. That’s why I need Dan off the Beasts and on this matter.”

  Most vampires didn’t get live donors like someone with Tristan’s clout did. They were forced to drink the pouched stuff you could pick up at any grocery or convenience store. Lately the more expensive Blood Potion No. 9, sold in slim black bottles dressed with fancy gold labels, had been flying off the shelves because dragons’ blood was somehow getting into the cheaper stuff. Dragon’s blood is lethal to vampires. A single drop, hard to detect in an eight-ounce pouch full of human blood, will eat up a vampire from the inside like acid. The tampering was claiming vampire lives all over the southeastern United States. Officials couldn’t track it down, and despite close inspections of all the packaging plants, bad blood was still getting out.

  I usually don’t like to touch Tristan when he’s a vampire, but I knew this was messing with his head bad. I took one of his cold hands in mine. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

  He nodded. “She was a good assistant. I’ve ordered a shipment of Blood Potion for all my clutch until the matter of the tampered pouches gets resolved.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But for Penny, it’s too little, too late.” Again his fangs appeared, along with a red rim around his black eyes. I sat very still, like a hiding rabbit waiting for an eagle to pass overhead. Tristan would never hurt Isabella’s body. He had too much control.

  But accidents happen around enraged vampires. There are graveyards full of drained humans to attest to that.

  In the space of a breath, Tristan was cool and collected as ever. His voice smooth as butter, he said, “If nothing important happens at the Beasts’ club, I’ll see you at daybreak?”

  I smiled, proud I’d kept Isabella’s body from trembling. “Sure.”

  He turned away, and I gave Gerald a little wave before exiting Isabella. Free and light as air again, I ran to Augustus to give him a hug and a peck on top of his feathered head. As far as I know, I’m the only person the grand ancient allows to have such liberties, and I take full advantage.

  “My adored child will break hearts; her own and others,” he intoned, one paw curling about my waist. “But keep yourself from harm, for your existence ensures mine.”

  That’s Augustus for you. Enigmatic as can be. I’ve gotten to where I hardly listen to his words; it’s the warmth in his voice that matters to me.

  I took off for the Beasts Motorcycle Club in high spirits. I felt a little bad that anticipation so easily replaced my shock at Penny’s second death even though I hadn’t known her that well. But she was gone, bless her poor heart. I couldn’t help her, so I looked forward to having something exciting to do.

  * * * *

  I materialized in a sea of black-and-chrome, surrounded by motorcycles parked in front of the Beasts club. The scent of exhaust mixed uneasily with the rotting vegetation aroma of the nearby marsh and the rotten-egg funk of Fulton Falls’ pulp mill. The thick bass heartbeat of heavy metal music, punctuated by yells and laughter, issued from the building. A couple of security lights and the orange-yellow gleam of the streetlight behind me clearly showed the white designs painted over the black background of the painted windows. On the left one was the head of a snarling tusked feral hog. No Halloween mask ever looked more ferocious. The right window’s design was a hand giving the old single-finger salute. Charming, especially when you considered the building sat right off Blount Highway, where heavy traffic ensured plenty of small children would be driven by. The continuous wash of passing headlights proved my point.

  It sure looked like a good place for poltergeist play, the kind of mischievous spirit activity that might include lobbing rocks through the glass. Maybe if it happened often enough, these fools would cease and desist in painting such rude pictures.

  Then again, they might sic their witch on me. Not a pleasant idea.

  A rough voice, grumbly and warm, spoke up behind me. “You’re a bit overdressed for this party, baby girl.”

  I turned, only now realizing I still wore my sweet confection of an early 1900’s dress. As Dan slid into view, I got all warm and tingly. My second boyfriend was as handsome as Tristan, though they looked nothing alike. For those of you old enough to remember the Marlboro Man cigarette ads, you’ll have a pretty good idea of the rugged deliciousness that is Dan Saling.

  Unruly brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, a strong jaw, and face weathered to robust perfection made me feel all gooey inside. Despite looking fit as a fiddle, Dan had died young in his late thirties of a heart attack. He looks good. He feels even better. And he puts up with a lot of doo-doo from me.

  I grinned, thrilled to see him. His assignment spying on the Beasts had kept us apart for days at a time, probably no accident since Tristan wants me all to himself. Then again, when Dan gets the chance, he keeps me from Tristan too. It might have been fun being fought over by two hunkalicious men had I not loved them both so much and hated to see them hurt. But I have issues with being tied to just one man. Boy, do I have issues.

  “You don’t like my dress?” I pretended to pout.

  “I love it. It’s just a bit much to hang out with this bunch.”

  “Well, let me tone it down then.” With a thought, the dress and boots disappeared, leaving me in my birthday suit.

  Behind the concealment of his khaki trousers, I saw Dan salute me in a much better fashion than the painted hand on the building behind me. “Oh baby, you just found yourself a whole heapa trouble.”

  His clothes disappeared too, and he marched right up to me, his divine divining rod leading the way. Dan yanked me close for a bone-melting kiss, rough with furious passion. I was swept up in the almost animal savagery he displayed as he plundered my mouth with a ruthlessness that made my knees buckle.

  Dan broke the kiss, and without so much as a how-do-you-do, seized my upper arm and whirled me around. Then his hand was on the back of my neck, bending me over a black leather motorcycle seat. A flood of oil, gasoline and leather scents washed over me.

  Dan’s feet nudged mine apart, opening me up. I gasped as he shoved two thick-knuckled fingers in my pussy, thanking my stars that I’d gotten wet the instant I’d laid eyes on him. My big man was eager and demanding, and it made me eager too. I moaned as his fingers dove in and out of me. Ladies, start your engines. He had my motor revving in an instant.

  I responded to his uncompromising dominance. I’m submiss
ive when it comes to sex, gladly handing over the reins to Tristan and Dan when hanky-panky gets going. Tristan’s an old pro at being a Master, but Dan’s polite upbringing left him not exploring his take-charge tendencies until he met me. He’s still a little too careful for my tastes sometimes.

  This was not one of those times.

  His fingers worked me hard, making me shudder all over as he brought my ever-simmering libido to a full boil. Little flashes of ecstasy, so sharp they were almost painful, had me jerking helplessly against the bike he had me pinned to. I wanted more. I wanted that big, thick cock of his that filled me so well.

  “Please, Sir,” I gasped.