In Blood We Trust (15 page)

During the course of these past nights, we hadn't talked about what'd happened back at my old house—hadn't mentioned the blood play, the killings. It was as if we both should just accept it and go to the next night, then the next. And, away from my old friends, especially Chaplin, it seemed real simple.

“Do you think it's time?” I asked. We were six days off from the full moon, and I was getting itchy about having to turn into my lunar body, setting loose my most unstable form without a bunch of familiar monsters to contain me.

Then again, I wasn't certain it'd even be safe to turn lunar in GBVille. Probably I should just stay by myself in some isolated location where I could feast on wildlife, away from all others, with just Gabriel monitoring me until the full moon had passed.

He took hold of my hand and wound his fingers through mine. My warmth eased into his cool.

“
Should
we go back?” he asked.

I thought of Chaplin, our friends . . . 562.

He obviously felt the yearning in me, and I made sure he knew that I wanted to be round him most of all.

“You didn't murder that Civil, Gabriel,” I said, “so I'm sure they've come to that conclusion by now.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

Then he said, “And if they still haven't figured out who did do it?”

I paused. “If I go in alone at first, you could stay outside the borders of the hub, away from the guards, until I tell you it's okay.”

“A man should face his own troubles,” he said. But as he let go of my hand, I got the feeling he was just saying this—that it might even be a leftover sentiment from a few months ago, when he'd taken such pride in being so close to human, at least for a vampire.

“Sometimes,” I said, “safe is better than sorry.”

I rested my head against Gabriel's. Right now, it was as if the crisis at my old house had merely made something temporary explode in us—something that had calmed, although I could feel it building up again in the pit of my belly. It wouldn't be long until we were at another breaking point, but I wouldn't think about that during this lone moment of peace.

We left for GBVille a few hours later.

 

 

We sped along in faster time than usual, taking only a couple of nights to travel to the higher climes, then finding a location for Gabriel to hide far outside GBVille—a little cave that was dark enough so that he'd rest easy if I didn't return before dawn.

Knowing he wouldn't be easily found, I left him behind and was on the approach to our hub within a couple of hours. I'd stayed in my humanlike form, and as I came into view of the perimeter, I held up my hands as I drew near. My breath came harder, because of the altitude.

Even from hundreds of yards off, the group of vampires that had claimed this scouting spot located me, coming out from behind metal sculptures—a peace-sign garden of sorts—that had been built by General Benefactors.

By the time I got closer, the vampires had fallen to their knees at the sight of me.

That's right—just as if I were 562.

I slowed my steps. Their heads were bent, and they stayed that way until I got to within speaking distance.

One vampire, a woman I recognized because she seemed to always have an interested eye trained on Gabriel, peered up at me. She had ruby-colored lips and curly mahogany hair that fell to the waist of her fitted hemp dress. Her name was Rachel.

“Mariah,” she said, not even asking why I'd just appeared out of nowhere.

Again, I got that same feeling I'd had when those vampires guarding 562 had looked at me . . . and when I'd been amongst the Reds when they'd been dancing and chanting,
Your blood . . .

I cleared my throat, then rose a bit taller, taking advantage of my standing with them. It seemed the smart way to go. “Is it okay for me to come inside?”

Rachel exchanged a glance with another vampire, a woman who'd also been hanging round Gabriel when he'd first started getting close to the other vamps. Ilsa was this one's name, and she had black spiral curls that fascinated me ever so slightly.

I was sure that the females were silently communicating with each other.

Then Rachel focused on me again. “You're not the one who's considered a fugitive, Mariah, so you'll be okay after a rough start, I imagine.”

“Why?”

“We all know how Gabriel made off with you. You didn't run voluntarily.”

From the jaded glint in her eyes, I could tell that she, and probably the other vampires, knew that I'd gone with Gabriel of my own free will.

Did all the other Reds believe the same?

Was it too much to hope that the oldster had spread this sort of story to the rest of the community about Gabriel spiriting me off without my agreement?

This wasn't necessarily a fine thing. There was a chance that the oldster, who'd likely reached his limits with Gabriel and the vampires because of this killing, had made Gabriel out to be the bad guy and I was the supposed victim. The oldster might've even gone too far in trying to protect me, his fellow Badlander.

“As you can see,” I said, “Gabriel's not with me.”

“Shrewd to have left him wherever he is right now,” Rachel said.

Before I could respond to that, she turned to Ilsa, communicating again, while all the other vamps stayed lined up, still on their knees, watching me with those smiles. I tried not to notice, even though they made me feel as if I were the apple of their unsettling eyes.

Then Rachel and Ilsa stood, taking up both sides of me. Beneath a long, blasé coat that was probably filched from a sleeping distractoid, a sheath rested against Ilsa's thigh. Looked like she had a katana with her.

“Come along,” Rachel said in a flat voice.

“Where're we going?”

“To the asylum, where your friend, the old man, has been conducting an investigation. He'll want to see you first off.”

“The oldster's in charge?” Actually, it didn't surprise me that he was the one who'd ended up trying to sort this all out. He'd always wanted community more than anyone, even back in the New Badlands.

Ilsa glanced at me. “That's how the cards fell—right in front of your oldster. He's a go-getter, that guy.”

As they led me up a dirt-caked hill, toward the rising, rounded spires of GBVille, I could feel the weight of the other vampires watching me as they remained behind.

Ilsa spoke with the lazy drawl of a coy girl, but since she looked the part with those spiral curls, it didn't clash with her demeanor. Still, it was a bit creepy to know that she was probably hundreds of years old and acting like a dollbaby.

“Your oldster's been busy, Mariah. He's been interviewing everyone—vampires, weres, tik-tiks, Civils, shadows. He even had some vampires venture into the mind of your doggie.”

“Chaplin?”

“They didn't have you here to translate his Canine.”

“Did my dog see anything about the killing?”

Rachel shook her head. “Nope.”

I'd have to talk to Chaplin. He was good about blocking vamps out when he needed to. He'd done it to Gabriel back in the Badlands. He'd do it here if he saw anything that incriminated anyone he considered valuable enough to protect.

Ilsa added, “Your oldster didn't stop there, either. He actually interviewed demons.”

I did a double take.

Rachel said, “The humans who were trying to get into GBVille have left because of the mosquito rumors, and demons have started to approach us. There're maybe three of them inside an alternate cell block right now.”

No one considered demons to be monsters like us. They were possessed humans, a different breed altogether.

“Does the oldster think that a demon could've evaded guards outside the hub and come inside the asylum to kill that Civil undetected?”

“Doubtful,” Rachel said. “We've guarded everything tightly out here on the fringes. They wouldn't have gotten past a vampire. Probably not a were-creature, either, if they were in beast form.”

“Then who's the prime suspect?”

Ilsa rested her hand near the katana. She slid a satisfied grin to me.

“Neelan's on the short list,” she said. “You know, the chimera Civil?”

I think my eyes nearly popped out of my head with the news. “Why would he do it?”

Rachel said, “To make the Reds look bad.”

“A shadow saw him near the scene of the crime,” Ilsa said, “and Neelan's been locked up ever since while evidence is being sought. And he knows better than to breathe fire to melt the bars. He's under rigid guard.”

Now this
was
a fine thing, although I'd liked Neelan. But I'd prefer the killer be anyone but Gabriel.

“So Gabriel's off the hook?” I asked.

“No,” both vamps said at once.

We were passing stucco-ridden general housing now, cluster upon cluster piled like sterile blocks.

Rachel said, “From what we know, there's not a strong case against Neelan. The oldster's keeping him away from everyone else for another reason.”

“True enough,” Ilsa added in that little flirt voice. “Before the oldster interviewed him and ‘detained' him, that half-snake man was slithering around, stirring up shit, preaching about how vampires should be banished from GBVille. He was getting close to bad-mouthing the other Reds, too.”

“Racist,” Rachel said. “If it were up to Neelan, I think he'd advocate a Civil-only hub.”

I almost defended the monster who'd come to us after the power-blaster attack, inviting us to live in GBVille with the rest of the liberated ones. But 562's rampage had clearly turned the Civil to a different opinion. I couldn't blame him, either, because we all were what we were, and
he
was a peaceful monster.

As the memory of me and Gabriel, covered in the blood of those werewolves, hit me, I stayed stone-silent.

It seemed that we all were what we were.

I could see the asylum in the near distance, lifted beyond the brick wall. Chaplin would be in there. And, not so far on the other side of the hub, 562 would be behind her/his glass shield of a coffin.

I wanted to run to both of them.

Ilsa spoke. “The thing is that the Civils aren't aware that Neelan was detained, and they're wondering where he is.”

“They don't know he's under suspicion,” I said.

“That's right.” Ilsa steered me toward the lower gate of the asylum, where two mummies were on guard. They hadn't seen us yet. “Civils are starting to get restless, wary of everything Reds do.”

Rachel said, “Some are even following us wherever we go.”

Were they insinuating that Civils were tracking Reds to 562's cave? I wondered if these two lower-level vamps had even been privy to the information about 562 still being alive, but before I could think about how to ask, Ilsa took hold of my arm, silencing me.

“Quiet now,” she said.

At our approach, the Civil mummy guards straightened their spines. Rachel clasped my other arm, as if they were hauling me into the asylum after having found me.

One mummy followed me with its gaze as I passed by—I could see its bloodshot eyes through the slit in its bandages—and Rachel clucked her tongue.

“Don't fret, gorgeous, we've got her. You just keep guarding.”

The women ushered me up the stairs, over the walkway, toward the innards of the asylum. All the while, I got varied reactions from the monsters: shock, then sneers, from the Civils; adoring smiles from the vampires; neutral gazes from the rest of the Reds, as if they didn't quite know what to make of my return.

Soon enough, the women brought me to a jail area I'd never visited before. The community had been centralizing our human “guests” in the cell block that had mostly housed Civil monsters back when the GBVille professionals had been in charge. But this space was obviously geared for Red monsters now, with backup silver-coated bars that had crashed down after the power had gone out to take the place of the laser shields. Most of the little rooms here were empty, except for a couple of what looked to be human residents.

Was this where they were keeping the demons who'd braved entry into the hub?

The oldster was talking with a group of monsters outside the cells, and at the sight of me, he blanched. Next to him, Hiram, a fellow were-creature—a puma in his moon form—went a bit pale, too. Keesie, a Civil who was some type of stone creature no one could really figure out, shaped her mouth into a little O. An old vampire—supposedly the oldest in this community—stood there, too, his hair the color of ink, his skin marble-white, a Vandyke beard his most distinguishing feature. McKellan was his name.

Rachel talked before any questions were lobbed. “Mariah gave herself up to us just outside the hub.”

“Where's Gabriel?” the oldster asked me without preamble.

I shrugged.

“Mariah . . .” The oldster had his warning tone on.

Wordless, Keesie wrapped a stony hand round the bars of a cell and yanked the entry open. Good to know they'd reserved a place for me.

The oldster didn't make a move to shut it. Instead, he said, “Keesie, come on now. Mariah didn't have any part in the crime.”

“I think,” Hiram said in a drawl that always reminded me of a gambler's, “Keesie is indicating that she thinks Mariah became Gabriel's accomplice.”

The stone creature nodded forcefully. She had scars—nicks and chinks—where 562 had wounded her during the rampage.

Hiram tipped back his wide-brimmed hat. “Michael, I guess you should take the opportunity to question Mariah, since she's here again.”