The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

“Now, if the person in question does arrive at our facility and agrees to disclosing her personal information, we can call you and let you know.”

  As if Teresa would want to disclose to the Castle County Sheriff’s office she was at a mental health facility. Ann gave him her phone number anyway, along with an ungrateful thank you.

  She hung up and sat on the couch. There wasn’t time for this.

  Her father’s fake signature stared at her.

  Think, Ann. What are you missing?

  Her keen attention to detail in the Salida Stabber case had identified one seemingly insignificant clue overlooked by the other detectives. A detail that had led her to the Stabber.

  Ann sorted through the clues and evidence. Then reread her notes about the seven bloods.

  Ancient, pure, tainted, loving servant, bastard, blind fool, devoted.

  Nothing stuck out. She sorted through the contents of her dad’s lock box again.

  Ticket stubs to Egypt. Same flight number on different days or years. The list of names with Louise’s right on top. A list Louise claimed to know nothing about.

  Ann wanted to believe her father left these items together for her to find, especially since the tabula recta was included. He knew she’d tie them together. He had to know.

  Ann picked up the phone again and called Joey.

  “Joey. I need another favor.”

  “Sure, sure. And what’s in it for me this time?”

  “My everlasting love if what you find is what I think you’ll find.”

  He laughed. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “I need you to find the passenger manifests for the following Lufthansa flights.” She gave him the flight numbers and dates. “How soon can you get those?”

  “I’ve already hacked into the system. Do you want to stay on the line?”

  “Sure.”

  A couple minutes passed. She paced to the sound of his clacking keyboard. A final hard tap.

  “Done.”

  “Can you search for these names?” She read him the list.

  “None of them were on any of these flights.”

  Ann slumped onto the couch. “What about any other Lufthansa flights?”

  Clickity clackity.

  “All of these people were on a recent flight to Egypt—like three months ago.”

  Ann’s heart picked up. It was a wild guess, but she had to ask. “What about my dad? Bram Logan.”

  “He booked it but didn’t check in.”

  Ann thought her head was going to explode.

  “Oh . . . it looks like one of the other people you asked about also didn’t check in. Louise Marga.”

  “Loony Lou?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Thanks, Joey. Thank you so much. You’ve been incredibly helpful.” She hung up. Her dad was supposed to be on a flight just three months ago. Did that mean he’d been alive all those times she tried to call him? A brick of despair dropped into her gut. Raghib had said the Protectors had been forced into hiding. They left their families to protect them. And her dad, himself, said in the video it was all for the plan in the video.

  She turned on the TV and hit play on the DVD remote. She watched it twice before she noticed something about his eyes, and how, at the beginning of the video he scratched his eye. But, no. He didn’t scratch it. She thought he scratched it. Really, all he did was subtly point at his eye. She stared at his eyes and listened to what he said. Sometimes he blinked slow, sometimes fast. She paid close attention to what he said and his corresponding blinks.

  At the end, she sat back, butt on her heels, and stared at the DVD menu screen. She hit play one more time.

  If you’re watching this, I’m probably dead. Long blink, fast blink. Morse code for N.

  I took care of both records. Long blink, fast blink, long, long. Morse code for Y.

  Maybe it was a stretch, but her father knew her attention to detail. He knew she would catch his subtle hints.

  If you’re watching this, Raghib followed my instructions and contacted you. You can trust him. Long. Fast. Ann’s heart rate picked up. She rewound the DVD and stared at his eyes.

  You can trust him. Long. Fast.

  N. No.

  She couldn’t trust Raghib. And he had Maggie.

  Chapter 56

  At the sheriff’s office, Teresa took a long breath, let it out, and stepped inside. George Riley sat at the reception desk. He glanced up, and his eyes widened. He stood.

  “Mrs.—Dr. Hart. What’s wrong?”

  “My husband . . .” She allowed her face to contort with grief. “He’s dead. The car . . . he lost control and it crashed.”

  George rushed around and pulled a jacket off the coat rack next to the door and hung it on Teresa’s shoulders.

  “Please, sit down . . . uh . . .” He led her to a niche between two workstations and helped her ease onto the office chair.

  “Can I have something to drink, please?” she asked.

  George dashed off through a set of saloon-style doors and clattered around in the kitchen. The clock on the wall above the door said it was just after one o’clock. He came back out with a mug in his meaty hand.

  “Excuse me just a minute,” he said. He pulled the radio from his belt and went into an office behind the desks and closed the door behind him, but it didn’t latch. It fell back open a few inches. Teresa heard every word despite the tinny speaker and static.

  “George to Ann,” he said. He repeated it. Finally, Ann responded. George went on. “Teresa Hart just walked into the station. She was in an accident.”

  “She’s there?” Ann asked.

  “Yeah. Dr. Hart, her husband, died in a car crash.” A long pause. Derrick’s sweetheart was probably processing that news.

  “Arrest her. Don’t believe a word she says.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I have reason to suspect she killed him and everyone else who’s missing.”

  “What? Ann, you have to come down here. I can’t do this on my own.”

  “Yes, you can. I know you can. I have something else I need to—” Ann cried out. “Maggie.”

  Teresa frowned. Of course Ann was with Maggie. Teresa knew it wasn’t just because her husband’s sweetheart was a cop. She bristled and crossed her arms. It was Derrick’s plan all along. Dump her at Mountain View and live the life he dreamed of with her. His one that got away, as Louise said. Teresa scowled.

  “Ann?” George yelled into the radio. “Ann?”

  George took a deep breath and let it out. “I can’t do this.” The sound of a fist on a palm. “Yes, you can.”

  Teresa looked at the exit. She could run. But then what? Where would she go? She had no one. Truly, now with Derrick gone. She was a fool to believe she could raise Maggie on her own. The girl didn’t even like her. Teresa held out her hands and looked at them. Hands that had taken so many lives in the last few days, all in the name of saving a hopeless marriage and a dead daughter.

  George’s footsteps thumped across the floor in the other room. He paused at the door, likely alarmed that it hadn’t latched and probably wondering how much she’d heard.

  Eyes on the front door, the exit, Teresa listened. He was going to arrest her. She would go to prison. She would never be reunited with her baby. She ran her hands over her face, through her tangled hair. A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up. Tiffany with her beaming smile. She handed Teresa a hypo and grinned wider.

  The door creaked open behind her. George thumped toward her, slow, steady. Did he have his gun drawn? She didn’t want to look, but she had to. She turned.

  George’s zoe wriggled at his chest like a fat alien worm thrashing to eat its way inside of his body.

  He stopped when he saw her looking at him.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but . . .” He rounded the desks and stood in front of her. The zoe pulsed with life. With power. She yearned to feel it again and nearly touched the protruding snake.

 
; “What? What’s going on?” She played dumb.

  “You’re under arrest?” George rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and pulled his cuffs off his belt with the other.

  Teresa lunged to her feet and plunged the needle into his chest. George Riley, dunderheaded buffoon, simply stood there as Teresa drained his zoe. The barrel filled, and she slid the needle from his chest. His head and shoulders drooped. He stood there, weaving.

  Teresa didn’t know what to do. He sort of had her caged in, standing in front of her the way he was, penned between two workstations. She looked at the zoe in her hand, craving the power Derrick’s had given her—but no. Yaldabaoth would hurt Tiffany if she took what was his again.

  Instead, she reached out and pushed George with one finger. He wobbled and fell over. Teresa bolted from the station. As soon as she stepped outside, Ruthie’s strangled cries split the air.

  Shit.

  She had thought Ruthie was dead . . . er . . . re-dead after their previous encounter. Teresa ran in the direction of the abandoned funeral home. Ruthie appeared out of nowhere. The top of her head lay to the side, flopping with each lurching step.

  The usual suspects were not far behind. Sheriff with his lumbering gait. Derrick’s slow crawl.

  Teresa darted down the dirt road, tossing glances over her shoulder. Ruthie was gaining on her. With the power of the zoe she’d easily outrun the mummified woman. She considered taking just a little hit off the hypo. The memory of her unharnessed desire and how she wantonly opened herself to Yaldabaoth stopped her.

  Ruthie shrieked again. It sounded like she’d screamed right in Teresa’s ear. Teresa looked behind her and tripped. She sprawled onto her front. The hypo bounced out of her hand and jangled along the rocks jutting from the road.

  Don’t break.

  She was about to get up when something landed hard on top of her. It stole the wind from her lungs. Claw-like nails dug into her back, tangled in her hair. Teresa screamed and struggled. Ragged, rasping breath rattled in her ear. Ruthie had her pinned. She was done for.

  The zoe lay glowing in a puddle of slushy mud. Teresa relaxed. This was it. The end.

  Then Tiffany’s beautiful form, glowing white in the moonlight, appeared at the edge of the woods.

  “Mommy,” she called, despair in her voice. She reached a hand toward Teresa.

  All of this, all of the killing and the fear and the . . . everything—it was for her. For her Tiffany. Teresa ignored the pains shooting down her back. She bucked her butt upward, throwing Ruthie off-kilter, got her knees under her body, and staggered to her feet. Ruthie clung to her, digging her fingers into Teresa’s shoulders. Teresa screamed again and ran toward the woods, dragging Ruthie with her. Cross the barrier.

  She can’t come with me.

  Teresa lurched, her legs growing weak. A few more feet. She sloshed through the icy cold stream and crossed over, but something held her back.

  Ruthie’s screams doubled in volume. Her body convulsed.

  The sound of electricity crackling made Teresa’s head throb. Heat radiated across her back. Teresa tried to move forward, but Ruthie’s arms, wrapped around her shoulders now, pulled at her. Even as the woman thrashed, her arms still held.

  Finally, the barrier released them. Teresa cried out and fell forward.

  The scent of burned flesh hung in the air. Ruthie’s crispy corpse still twitched on the other side of the barrier. Teresa lifted her hand to her throat and recoiled in horror.

  Ruthie’s arms were still on her. She flung them away and crawled backwards in case they came to life and continued Ruthie’s quest to destroy her.

  Teresa let out a breathy sob. Derrick and Sheriff McMichael paced along the barrier, stomping on Ruthie’s smoking body each time they passed it. Teresa stuck her lip out in a pout.

  Could this day get any worse?

  Then she realized she’d left the hypo outside the barrier, on the road, in a puddle.

  Chapter 57

  Wednesday, 0030

  Ann crumbled to her side, gasping for air. She reached for the radio, but the pain searing her insides kept her curled in a ball. How was this agony supposed to be helpful for Sophia if it debilitated her Protector? Ann gritted her teeth and forced herself to her hands and knees. She took deep breaths and rose to a squat, using a dining room chair to steady herself. Her vision was haloed in blue from the light in her veins. They’d never glowed so bright before.

  The pain started to lessen, but still burned. Her vision darkened. What a faulty alarm system!

  “You’ve been . . . in worse . . . pain.” Kind of true. There was a time in her training in which she was subjected to full-on pepper spray. Her eyes burned for hours despite washing with ice-cold water and resting her head in front of a fan to ease the sting.

  Ann clipped the radio to her belt, pulled herself to her feet, and stumbled to the door. She gripped the frame, and a low bass sound came from behind her. The book. She needed to protect the book, too. She grabbed it, then hurried outside. The cold air cleared her mind, and she was able to get a handle on the pain.

  Deep breaths. Push through. It doesn’t hurt. No pain, no gain.

  She hauled herself onto the bench seat in her truck, threw the book on the floor board, turned the key, and backed into the mailbox. Old mail fluttered out and flipped and twirled on the blast of exhaust. She took off toward Harmony B&B.

  By the time Ann pulled up to room six, the pain had lessened to a dull throb every few seconds, like a second, sluggish heartbeat.

  Her headlights hit the wide-open door.

  Ann jumped out of the truck. “Maggie,” she yelled. The interior of the cabin was dark. “Raghib?”

  Back against the door frame, she reached inside and flipped on the light. “Pinky,” Ann gasped.

  The dog lay on her side with a heavy lamp next to her. A small puddle of blood had pooled beneath her ear. Pinky shifted her head and fixed Ann with sad eyes. She let out a whimper. Ann rushed to her side. “Oh, Pinky. I’m so sorry. You tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen.”

  Just like you didn’t listen to George.

  I hope everything went okay. . .

  George could handle himself. He was big and burly despite being so innocent, so saint-like, so . . . pure.

  Blood of the Pure.

  “Shit.”

  Ann stood but didn’t go anywhere. Couldn’t think of where to go, what to do. Maggie was in trouble. George could be next. Bram might still be alive. She needed backup and backup never came. On top of it all, the mark stabbed her with pain.

  An overwhelming sense of responsibility and worry about making the wrong choice paralyzed her.

  Condition Black.

  Just like it had that night. She’d had to choose which one to save—the Stabber’s victim, Elizabeth, or her partner, Bruce—and she couldn’t decide. Both of them had died.

  “What should I do?” She asked the air around her in a panicky voice.

  Angel...

  A voice whispered so soft Ann held her breath to hear it again. The light throbbed with the beating of her heart.

  Angel.

  Her father’s words came to her.

  Summon the angel.

  Pinky sat up and flapped her ears, then slowly got to her feet. The wound on her head had crusted over. She stared at Ann, tail wagging in a low swish. She gave a half-growl-half-bark and moved toward the door.

  One thing at a time. That’s all she could do.

  Ann followed Pinky out to the truck. First stop, the station. She needed a gun. The thought made her stomach flip, but it was a necessity given the circumstances. Raghib had Maggie, and Ann didn’t have the slightest idea where he might have taken her, or to whom, or how many whoms there might be.

  She arrived at the station a few minutes later.

  “Come on, girl.” Pinky groaned, shifted, licked her lips, and sighed again. “Let’s go.” Ann tugged on her collar, and the dog reluctantly crawled across the seat.

/>   Ann peeked inside the station.

  George lay on his back on the floor near the desks.

  Poor George.

  A mug of water sat on the desk. Probably a drink for Teresa. Ann, too, would have felt sorry for Teresa if she didn’t suspect she’d killed Derrick and everyone else who’d gone missing. She’d have to dust the mug for prints later.

  “Hello?” she called. “It’s Detective Ann Logan. If you’re in there, come out with your hands where I can see them.”

  When no one appeared, Ann crouched next to the dog.

  “Pinky, seek and destroy.” She pointed into the room.

  The dog looked at her with the quizzical look dogs were wont to give, then grinned the classic pit bull grin.

  “We’ll work on that one.” Ann crept inside. Pinky followed, looking up at her to see where she would go next.

  “If you’re in here, I have a dog who’s trained to attack. Come out slowly with your hands up.”

  Ann scanned the area as she sidled over to George. She knelt by his side and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one. The crispy substance littered the floor near him.

  “Dammit, George.” She stuffed her emotions into the shadows turned her mind to the work at hand. Number six. Assuming Teresa killed Derrick for his zoe and not just because he was a blind idiot.

  Oh shit. Blind Fool.

  One more and all hell would literally break loose.

  Pinky sniffed George, sneezed, and went into the office. Ann heard her jump up onto the couch, circle around, and flop with a loud sigh.

  Ann picked up the phone and dialed the county coroner’s office to report the body.

  The body. George. Her partner.

  I’ve killed another one.

  She should have listened to George when he said he couldn’t handle Teresa.

  The coroner’s office didn’t answer, so she left a message letting them know she’d found a body. The lack of resources in Castle County made everything so difficult.

  She called the state and CBI. Where the hell were they?

  Once again, the dispatchers who answered the phone told her they had no record of anyone from Castle County having called.

  “I have a body here, and four missing persons who are probably dead. Get me some fucking back up.” Ann slammed the phone down, rubbed her temples, then stared toward the locker room.