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The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

Page 12

by Adams, Cat


  The cost to prepare this attack, in both

  time and money, had to have been

  outrageous. So we were looking at a

  well-funded

  group

  with

  inside

  information and access to some of the

  top-tier mages in the world. Artifacts

  take a long time to produce, which meant

  that these had been created long before

  Adriana and Dahlmar’s engagement was

  announced. The wedding was just an

  excuse.

  That was very interesting.

  I couldn’t help Lopaka at the hospital.

  My job was to protect her daughter. I

  wouldn’t be able to do that properly

  without rest. I wanted to do that

  someplace safe. I also wanted to go over

  the intel Baker had given me, and see if

  there was a clue that would tell me who

  the traitor was.

  Because there was a traitor. Someone

  allowed that limo to get close enough to

  kill.

  12

  “I really appreciate this, Emma.”

  “So you’ve said … repeatedly.” She

  smiled to take the sting out of the words.

  “Seriously, it’s all right.” She handed

  me a nutrition shake. “Drink this. You’re

  glowing.”

  She was right. I didn’t feel vampy,

  exactly, but I wasn’t myself, either. I’d

  been hungry back at the police station

  and while I was waiting for Emma to

  come pick me up. Now, back at her new

  home, not so much. Still, I twisted open

  the bottle and drank as Kevin shoved

  past me into the main living area.

  I flinched. He was really pissed and

  not even trying to hide it. I hadn’t

  expected him to show up, but he and

  Emma had arrived in his big truck and

  Emma had given me a this-wasn’t-my-

  idea look as they pulled up to where I

  was sitting and watching cops and

  civilians flow in and out of the precinct

  house. The ride back to the old church

  had passed by in a silence cold enough

  to frost the windows of his truck. Emma

  might not mind my being here. Her

  brother obviously did.

  The second I stepped into the living

  room Kevin turned to me, his expression

  granite. In a flat yet furious voice he

  said, “Computer, big screen, channel

  six.”

  At the far end of the room, the

  television came on. The perky brunette

  and her silver-haired coanchor wore

  grim expressions as film of the front of

  the destroyed bridal shop ran in the

  background, immediately followed by

  photos of King Dahlmar and Princess

  Adriana.

  “A terrorist group calling itself the

  Guardians of the Faith has used various

  social networks to claim responsibility

  for the attack.” A close-up of a

  screenshot appeared; the group’s avatar

  was a blue-green S bisected diagonally

  by a bloody harpoon. I’d seen that

  symbol before, but couldn’t remember

  where or when.

  I pummeled my brain, searching for

  the answer as the anchorwoman droned

  on. “The group has vowed to continue

  the violence against all sirens unless

  King

  Dahlmar

  breaks

  off

  his

  engagement. Our sources say that the

  governments of all three nations are

  treating this as a credible threat.” An

  image flashed onto the screen of a note

  written

  in

  a

  foreign

  language,

  accompanied by photocopied pictures of

  Lopaka’s face, Adriana’s, and mine, all

  marred by black “X” marks.

  My stomach heaved and I locked my

  knees to keep from swaying on my feet.

  It’s one thing to hear you’ve been

  targeted. It’s quite another to see it in

  color on the big screen.

  “Damn it, Kevin!” Emma was

  seriously pissed. Her eyes were blazing

  and there were two spots of color on her

  cheeks. “Was that necessary?”

  Her brother was perfectly calm.

  Smug, even. The bastard. “She wasn’t

  taking it seriously enough. She never

  does. She brought you into it without a

  second thought.”

  Emma rounded on him in fury, hands

  balled into fists at her sides. “You didn’t

  have to do it that way. You were

  deliberately brutal and callous and you

  know it.”

  “Celia’s tougher than you give her

  credit for. Quit treating her like a fragile

  snowflake.” Kevin made a disgusted

  noise and stomped over to fling himself

  into a recliner. Emma led me to a nearby

  chair, where I sat down hard and

  lowered my head into my hands. Above

  and around me, I heard Emma and her

  brother arguing and the television

  playing sound bites of statements

  released by the Ruslandic and Siren

  ambassadors, but nothing really sank in.

  Terrorists. I was being hunted by armed,

  organized, freaking terrorists.

  “She needs to know what you’re

  risking, having her here,” Kevin said.

  Emma glared at him. “It’s my choice

  to make,”

  He slammed a fist down on the

  armrest, causing his assistance dog,

  Paulie, to raise her head just a bit. “It’s

  unnecessary. There are other places she

  can go. Places that won’t endanger you.”

  Keeping Emma safe had always been

  Kevin’s main priority. It was why he and

  his father had served me up as bait for

  the insane siren, Eirene, a serious

  misstep that had cost me my friendship

  with Warren and nearly cost me my life.

  But Emma had grown tired of being

  babied. She was a grown woman now,

  capable of striking back and of making

  her own decisions.

  “Not tonight, she can’t. The cops took

  her guns as evidence, remember?”

  Emma argued. “Bruno can’t get into her

  office until morning.”

  He can’t? Why not? I opened my

  mouth to ask, but she’d moved a step

  forward and was pointing a finger at her

  brother’s nose. “Celia’s staying here

  until the sun comes up, and that’s final.

  This is my home and it’s my choice,

  Kevin. Mine. Not Daddy’s, not yours.

  Mine.”

  “I don’t like it.” He probably meant

  having me here. Then again, maybe not.

  Having Emma stand up to him probably

  wasn’t a happy development in his life.

  “You don’t have to.” Emma met his

  gaze without flinching. Points to Emma.

  Kevin was maybe a step and a half from

  going wolfy. His eyes were glowing

  amber and I swear his teeth looked

  sharper than normal. He was clenching


  and unclenching his fingers around the

  arms of the chair. It might have gone

  further if Paulie hadn’t placed herself

  between the two of them and started

  barking.

  Kevin glared at the dog and she sank

  into a sit. But she didn’t move out of the

  way, just stared at him with those huge

  brown eyes: calm, trusting.

  He sighed and closed his eyes.

  “I’m going to go outside and calm

  down.”

  “Good idea.” Emma’s words were

  crisp. “Meanwhile, I’ll fix us all

  something to eat.”

  “Come on, Paulie.” Kevin strode

  through the living area to a side door, the

  dog at his heels. I couldn’t help but

  heave a sigh of relief as the door closed

  behind them. Kevin was not himself. Not

  at all. Maybe being out in quiet and

  moonlight would help. I was betting he’d

  go to the little walled cemetery on the

  west side of the building. I’d wandered

  through it when I’d visited before and

  seen that it really was old, two hundred

  years at least. Where the stones could be

  read, they told of the missionaries who

  founded the church and of their very first

  converts. They’d probably been such

  true believers that there wasn’t even a

  single ghost left to haunt the place.

  Hopefully the graveyard would be

  peaceful enough to soothe Kevin’s

  troubled soul.

  I stared at the door for a long moment.

  “Do you think you should call his

  Vaso?”

  It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Wish I

  could. She had to go out of town for a

  few weeks. Her mom’s dying of cancer.”

  Well, hell. “Can we send him to her?”

  I asked hopefully.

  Emma shook her head. “He can’t

  travel when he’s like this. Certainly not

  this close to the full moon. Once that’s

  passed, in a couple of days, he’ll be

  better. He always is. Now, you settle in

  and watch the news. You really do need

  to know what’s going on. I’ll be in the

  kitchen if you need me.”

  I checked my watch, then said,

  “Computer, big screen, channel ten,

  please.” Since Channel 10’s nightly

  newscast starts at ten o’clock, I’d be

  able to catch the beginning of the report.

  It didn’t hit me as hard the second

  time. I sat in the recliner, watching the

  images on the screen and mentally going

  over everything I knew and suspected.

  Which wasn’t much. I needed more

  information.

  I called out to my hostess, who was

  cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen.

  “Emma, do you think Kevin could set up

  a secure conference call for me?”

  “Probably. The question is whether he

  will.” She came in, carrying a plate that

  smelled like heaven. The eggs were

  runny, but there was cheese, and she’d

  brought along a couple of jars of baby

  food. “But it’ll have to wait until

  morning in any event. We don’t have all

  the equipment he’d need. How many

  people would be involved?” She handed

  me the plate. “Eat.”

  I ate. When I’d finished, I called

  Special Agent Albright and got not only

  the numbers I requested, but an update.

  They’d put an aquarium in the queen’s

  room at Adriana’s suggestion. Her royal

  majesty was conscious and improving.

  She was still in intensive care, but the

  doctors were hopeful. The princess was

  already on her way back to Serenity.

  Apparently Chiyoko, the siren queen of

  the Japanese islands, had managed to

  scrape up a quorum and had called an

  emergency meeting of all of the siren

  queens. Adriana was going to attend on

  behalf of her mother.

  I asked Albright about traveling to

  Serenity with the princess, but she

  rejected the idea.

  “You have other things to do.” Her

  voice was calm, but was rough around

  the edges. People who didn’t know her

  might think none of this was bothering

  her. I guessed it was.

  “Like what?”

  “I need you to convince the other

  bridesmaids to remain in the wedding.

  Her majesty’s assistant has scheduled a

  dinner for the three of you tomorrow

  evening after their afternoon television

  interviews have finished.”

  Oh goodie. I was going to get to spend

  time alone with Olga and Natasha. “My

  job is to protect the princess.” I said it,

  but I knew I was fighting an uphill battle.

  “It was an order, not a request.”

  Of course it was. The question was

  whether or not I was going to obey it. I

  might technically be a siren—and

  technically, under Lopaka’s rule—but I

  was born and raised an American. I am

  not good at taking royal orders.

  Please,

  Celia.

  I

  heard

  Queen

  Lopaka’s voice very faintly in my mind.

  She sounded weak and very tired. I

  thought about her lying in the hospital

  bed, maybe still in the ICU, worrying

  about her daughter, her throne, and the

  public humiliation she’d face if the

  wedding didn’t happen, or even if the

  bridesmaids bailed from fear of the

  terrorists.

  She was my aunt, and she’d said

  please. “All right, I’ll do it.” And I

  would. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.

  13

  I woke to the light patter of rain against

  glass, the smells of breakfast, and the

  sounds of familiar voices. I lay in a pool

  of muted light in a rainbow of colors

  filtered through stained glass. It took me

  a few seconds to get my bearings.

  Emma’s guest room, formerly the choir

  loft. To my right was the door to the

  stairs that led down to the bathroom and

  the old foyer. To my right were the

  floor-to-ceiling drapes that covered the

  half wall that looked down into the

  living room. A glance at the clock told

  me it was ten in the morning. I’d slept

  longer, and more deeply, than I had in

  weeks. Just like the night I’d slept at

  Bruno’s, I hadn’t had any nightmares, so

  I actually felt rested. It was a nice

  change. Some of those dreams…

  I shuddered.

  It felt good to actually get real rest.

  On the downside, sleeping in meant that

  it had been a lot of hours since my last

  meal. I was hungry, and the smell of

  coffee, bacon, and hash browns wasn’t

  helping one bit. My stomach growled

  and my vision started to shift to vampire

  focus, even though it was morning, not

  night. Crap.

  I wanted to go downstai
rs and find out

  what was going on. But I didn’t dare, not

  like this. I’d gone too long between

  meals before and wound up having

  bloodlust. Most of my nightmares lately

  have been dreams of waking up after too

  little nutrition and too much exertion and

  stress, and slaughtering the people I’d

  been hired to protect. The worst part

  was, carving those paths of destruction

  had felt good.

  Thing is, there’s no Ensure in the

  jungle. No baby food in the cramped

  cellar of an old church or a drug-

  smuggler’s tunnel. Sometimes I had to

  eat what I could find that could be

  squished into a paste and mixed with

  polluted water from improperly dug

  wells. I felt hungry almost all the time I

  was on the job. My nightmares too often

  felt like they were one tiny step away

  from my reality.

  I recognized the ache in my stomach

  and the twitching of my muscles. Then I

  realized that the bands of light

  decorating my vision weren’t just from

  the stained glass. I was seeing things as

  a predator. Crap.

  I rose without really meaning to.

  Gliding with unnatural grace to the half

  wall, I pulled the curtain back a fraction

  and peeked out.

  I know I was careful. The curtain

  barely twitched. But Kevin’s voice rang

  out from downstairs only seconds later.

  He sounded more cheerful than he had

  the night before, almost actually

  welcoming. “Morning, Celia. ’Bout time

  you got up. Breakfast is at the foot of the

  stairs, along with a change of clothes.

  You need to hustle. We’ve almost got

  everything set up.”

  “Thankth.” God, that lisp! And my

  voice was about an octave lower than

  normal. Kevin’s head shot up at the

  sound, his eyes narrowing and seeming

  to glow. A fellow predator who knew

  what I was feeling.

  “Eat. Now,” he ordered, then called

  to someone I couldn’t see. “Guys, we’re

  delaying the video conference. Celia has

  to feed.”

  Feed. He’d used the word I refused to

  use. I fought through the rising fog of

  bloodlust. Food. I needed food. There

  were humans downstairs, filled to the

  brim with blood. I could hear their

  heartbeats, smell their sweat—patterns

  that hinted how each of them would

  taste. Glimpse the bands of color that

  spoke of their emotions: warmth, fear,

  worry. But I knew I’d have to get past

  the wolf to get to any of them. The wolf

  was a threat. I began trying to figure out

 

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