The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

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The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Page 24

by Adams, Cat


  surprised that I didn’t feel any,

  considering the stress I was under. It

  would be really sad to think that this

  level of stress was my new normal. No.

  But I should probably eat something,

  sooner rather than later. Is there a

  cafeteria at the hospital?

  Can you eat solids? Her mental voice

  managed to sound surprised.

  Not really. Baby food, mostly, and

  stuff run through a blender. Broth or

  soup will do. I drink nutrition shakes in

  a pinch.

  Then you should be able to get

  something. But take care of it quick. We

  don’t want there to be any problems at

  the hospital.

  No. We don’t.

  I silently relayed our conversation to

  Baker, who had pulled out her cell

  phone and begun sending text messages.

  She tilted the phone to show me that she

  was sending more security agents to the

  hospital. One of them met us as we

  arrived and handed me a nutrition shake

  and some broth. Not exactly high-class

  dining, but it was good enough to keep

  the monster at bay while we got Gran

  through the check-in process and into a

  private room.

  The whole time, Gran alternated

  between insisting that she was fine and

  worrying aloud about the cost of

  hospitalization. Eventually they gave her

  something to help her calm down and

  rest—or maybe just to get her to shut up.

  When she was sleeping, deeply and

  peacefully, I sat beside her for a while,

  studying her. She looked fragile, old,

  and tired. Lines of care that hadn’t been

  there six months ago had etched deep

  creases between her brows and at the

  corners of her mouth.

  Oh, Gran, why didn’t you tell me?

  I’d have helped. You know I would

  have.

  Queen

  Lopaka’s

  mental

  voice

  intruded on my thoughts, cold and

  imperious. That is good to know. I was

  appalled when Helen advised me of

  your

  grandmother’s

  situation.

  I

  wondered how you could let my

  brother’s widow sink to such depths. It

  seemed like atypical behavior for you.

  I sighed both physically and mentally

  as tears filled my eyes. We had a

  falling-out when I refused to keep

  dealing with my mother. The last I

  knew, Gran had banked the money from

  the house sale and was living in a nice

  assisted-living place on the mainland. I

  knew she was visiting Mom once a

  month. I’d hoped …

  What had I hoped? That Gran would

  stop being codependent, stop rescuing

  my mom? The habits of a lifetime are a

  bitch to break, even if you want to.

  Which Gran didn’t. She was determined

  to save my mother from herself, would

  fight for her salvation to the last breath.

  But I just didn’t have that in me. I felt my

  mother should pay for her crimes. She’d

  broken the law. Only prison could fix

  what was wrong.

  I should’ve checked up on her. I

  should’ve stopped her somehow. I

  guess I expected … I don’t know. She’s

  always been the one to take care of me.

  Lopaka’s voice softened in my mind.

  She probably hid it from you precisely

  for that reason. And she very well

  might have hidden it from your

  attendant spirit.

  The sirens mostly consider me a true

  siren because I happen to have friends

  who are clairvoyants and my sister

  hangs around me, even after death.

  Prophets and attendant spirits are royal

  attributes. I consider them mostly

  coincidence.

  Probably. Hiding stuff from me is

  classic Gran. Yes, she’d hide her

  problems from Ivy and lie to my

  mother. And to me. Not to be a martyr,

  nor a hero. But just because she’s

  Gran.

  Indeed. I see now why my brother

  loved her. She might not have been

  siren royalty but she was worthy to be

  the mate of one. There was both

  frustration and admiration in her voice.

  Typical.

  Lopaka’s mental voice sounded

  exhausted. She’d contacted me mind-to-

  mind before, even over long distances,

  without strain. But this time was

  different.

  The

  queen

  might

  be

  recovering, but she wasn’t herself yet by

  a long shot. I let out a little growl. You

  need to rest.

  Yes. And I will. But now I need you to

  go with Agent Baker. The questioning

  of the prisoner is not going well. Our

  psychic believes something important

  will occur tomorrow, but cannot obtain

  details. While I am willing to use

  torture if necessary to save lives,

  Gunnar believes the man’s hatred of

  you may enrage him enough that he

  will be unable to guard his thoughts

  from us if you are in the room.

  I didn’t know who Gunnar was and

  didn’t much care. I didn’t want to leave

  the hospital; I wanted to stay and make

  sure that nothing else happened to Gran.

  There will be guards on the door at

  all times. She will be protected.

  “Ivy, are you still here?” I spoke both

  in my head and out loud. My sister’s

  ghost hadn’t done anything since letting

  me know she was with us in Gran’s

  apartment building, so I wasn’t sure I’d

  get an answer. She used to be with me

  almost always. Now, she spent her time

  guarding our mom in prison. It was hard

  work for the ghost of a grade-school kid,

  but I was betting she was doing a

  damned fine job of it. That didn’t stop

  me from missing her.

  The overhead light flashed once. That

  was our code. One flash meant yes, two

  no.

  “They want me to go question the bad

  guy. Can you keep an eye on Gran for

  me?”

  The light flashed once again.

  “Thanks. Love you, Ivy.” Tears stung

  my eyes as I looked first up at the light,

  then down at my grandmother on the bed.

  The lights flickered wildly for a few

  seconds. I took that to mean, Me, too.

  I wanted to be there when Gran woke

  up. We needed to talk, about so many

  things. Today’s little adventure had

  taught me not to take her for granted. I

  was going to work things out with her

  even if that meant dealing with my

  mother again.

  The queen’s voice tickled my mind

  again, the tinkling of crystal chimes. The

  doctors have assured Adriana that your

  grandmother will sleep deeply for

  several hours. If you go now, yo
u may

  be back before she wakes.

  You’re sure?

  Please, niece. I will ensure my

  sister-in-law is safe. But there are

  others who are not. Lives are at stake.

  You must go, and quickly.

  Put like that, I really didn’t have much

  choice. The queen was considering this

  a family matter.

  Family. That meant a lot on this

  island. I’ve never had much of it. Most

  everyone I considered family was lying

  on that hospital bed. I bent down to kiss

  my grandmother’s cheek. “I’ll be back as

  soon as I can,” I whispered.

  * * *

  The interrogation room was grim. The

  cinder-block walls were painted a funky

  pinkish-tan. Brick red trim surrounded

  the one-way mirror familiar to anyone

  who has ever seen a crime drama on

  television. A battered table was bolted

  to the floor. On it, untouched, rested two

  glasses and a sweating plastic pitcher of

  water.

  Again, anyone who watches television

  knows why the water is there. But you’d

  be surprised how many people actually

  drink it. It’s impossible to sit in a room

  like this and not be nervous. Nerves

  make a person thirsty. But a full bladder,

  when there’s no possibility of emptying

  it, is damned uncomfortable, and pissing

  yourself is degrading, humiliating, and

  puts you at a disadvantage with the

  interviewers. The clock on the wall,

  with its big, easy-to-read numbers, is

  there so that the prisoner can’t help but

  be aware of the seconds, minutes, and

  hours passing.

  If any of this was having an effect on

  the prisoner, I couldn’t see it. He sat

  calmly, his arms resting on the table,

  breathing slow and easy.

  He’d obviously played this game

  before.

  So it was time to change the rules.

  A large man in a very high-end suit

  handed me an earpiece. Baker had

  introduced him as the secretary of Siren

  Security, Gunnar Thorsen. It was

  evidently a cabinet post, but with active

  duties. Very active lately.

  He looked about as you’d expect from

  the name: big and Nordic. His long

  blond hair was pulled back into a braid,

  revealing chiseled features and eyes the

  ice blue of a winter sky. His expression

  was just that cold. “We have a psychic

  on duty,” he explained.

  As if on cue, the psychic began

  speaking in my ear. “Testing, one, two,

  three, testing.” I heard her loud and

  clear.

  “It works.”

  “Good. You’ve fed?”

  I blinked a little at the directness of

  the question. “Yes.”

  “Right. We need him alive and

  talking.”

  Um, wow. Okay. I’ve come close to

  losing control a time or two, but I have

  never actually fed off of a human. Nor

  do I intend to. It would send me over the

  edge, make me fully a vampire. I am not,

  and will never be, a bat. Ever.

  I looked through the glass at the

  prisoner and felt a fine burning rage fill

  me. He was a terrorist. He’d tried to

  kidnap my gran. I had no idea what he’d

  intended to do with her, but I assumed it

  would have been bad. As it was, she’d

  wound up in the hospital.

  I wouldn’t feed on the bastard, but that

  didn’t mean I didn’t want to hurt him.

  I beat down my rage by force of will,

  calming myself with slow, deep, breaths.

  After a moment, I was back in full

  control. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”

  The psychic nodded in approval, so

  Thorsen led me out into the interrogation

  room.

  “You!” The prisoner leapt to his feet,

  sending the chair crashing to the floor

  behind him.

  “Yup. Me.” I gave him my sunniest,

  most saccharine smile.

  He stood, snarling, breathing as

  heavily as if he’d been running. It was

  obviously all he could do not to leap

  across the room and attack me.

  “He wants to kill you.” The psychic’s

  voice came clearly through the ear bud.

  “He’s not striking because he knows he

  can’t make it past Thorsen. But if he

  sees an opening, he’ll take it. You will

  need to be very careful. He’s hoping

  that if he kills you, we will kill him. It

  will keep him from revealing anything

  and having the curse take him. He

  wants to die a martyr to his cause.”

  Oh great, a cause. As if any religion

  justified murder, or the kidnapping of

  little old ladies. I stared at him and tried

  to put my finger on what it was about

  him that seemed so familiar. Who the

  hell was this guy?

  “Why do you look so familiar?”

  “You don’t recognize me?” He spat

  the words.

  “Should I?”

  “He’s thinking about a brother.

  Something about a desert and a demon.

  Damn it, he’s shutting it down. Keep

  him engaged. ”

  A desert. And a demon.

  Just like that, I knew. I had never seen

  him before, but I knew him all the same.

  The psychic was right. I’d met his

  brother. His name was Barnes. He’d

  delivered me to Eirene shortly before

  she called up a greater demon to devour

  me and my friends. To save us, I’d used

  my siren powers, engaging Eirene in a

  battle to control the men working for her.

  It had been too much for them. Their

  minds were destroyed, snuffed out like

  candles in a hurricane.

  I shuddered, my stomach roiling at the

  memory. It had been an accident. I hadn’t

  meant to hurt anyone, much less kill

  them. But I’d done it.

  He must have seen my expression.

  The memory was still raw in my mind.

  He nodded and sneered. “So, you do

  remember. You remember what you did

  to him. Good. I want you to know that

  you and that other siren bitch are the

  cause of this. You reminded us why

  sirens have no place in this world. We

  will wipe you out like the vermin you

  are.”

  He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he

  w a s smiling. That was even more

  terrifying. Because while I’d done

  something hideous and evil by accident,

  his actions were absolutely deliberate.

  The tattoo on his forearm was

  beginning to glow, the colors shining

  like light through stained glass, like

  sparkling jewels. He was talking, and

  that was starting to activate the death

  curse that was part of the binding oath

  he’d taken to keep their secrets. I could

  feel the magic coming off of him in

  waves of heat. “The f
irst real blow is

  tomorrow. But it won’t end until you’re

  dead. Every last one of you.”

  Now he was foaming at the mouth, his

  eyes rolling back in his head. He made

  thick, wet choking sounds, his body

  spasming so strongly that he tripped over

  the chair. It was like a grand mal

  seizure, but magical, not physical, in

  cause. A strong smell of sulfur filled the

  room.

  “Medic!” Thorsen’s bass bellow was

  loud enough to hurt my ears. He rushed

  to the still form on the floor and began

  giving CPR. No artificial respiration.

  The smell of sulfur and bitter almonds

  hung too heavy on the body. But he kept

  working to keep the prisoner’s heart

  pumping until the EMTs arrived and

  pronounced him dead.

  23

  I s a t in Thorsen’s large, airy office,

  shivering in reaction, huddled over a cup

  of steaming coffee.

  Thorsen had

  personally

  taken

  charge

  of

  my

  debriefing. Undoubtedly the psychic was

  being debriefed and writing a report

  somewhere else.

  Emotions swept over me in waves.

  Guilt: I was the one who caused this. I

  personally had caused an entire terrorist

  organization to be formed. People were

  dying, and it was all my fault. No, not all

  mine. Eirene owned a share of the

  blame. Of course, she was already dead,

  and even half the blame was more than

  enough for me.

  Anger and frustration: that man had

  been a terrorist and an asshole, but he

  shouldn’t have had to die like that. The

  guys we were up against acted as if

  people were as disposable as used

  tissues. That was just so wrong. That

  they were heating it up and serving it as

  religion only made it worse.

  “When he was dying, the psychic got

  the impression of a cross, and the tattoo

  on his arm was of a cross as well. It’s

  obviously

  a

  symbol

  with

  some

  importance to them. Do you have any

  idea, other than the obvious, of what it

  signifies?”

  “Nope.”

  There was a tap on the door. A petite

  brunette with a crisp uniform and a no-

  nonsense attitude peeked in. “Sir. We

  ran his prints through the system. They

  came up for a minor infraction in

  Detroit, USA, under the name Jason

  Barnes. I’m running the name Barnes

  through our database. We’re getting a ton

  of results, but none of them seems

  relevant.”

  “Stay on it.”

  “Yes, sir.” She ducked back out.

 

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