Blood Sacrifice (9 page)

Tucker chuckled. “Well, yes. We don’t own this place outright, but we invest in it.”

“You knew of this place, too?”

“Nah, not really. I looked it up after Adam told me the address. It rang a bell—albeit a vague one.”

As we stepped closer to the run-down porch, the air shimmered and shook, the wards recognizing us as kin. I felt the magick purr, energy surrounded my skin, sliding up and down as if wanting to be petted. Weird, but not unexpected. As the Kelly heir, any wards set to keep out non-Kellys would welcome me.

One more step and the image of the run-down inn wavered, changed and steadied, its boards now shining white in the morning sun, scrubbed clean of all its filth, no longer a derelict building. It welcomed me, encouraged
me to open the door, go inside. “Okay, wow, this is different.” I stood for a moment admiring the view. “It’s rather pretty,” I said.

Before I could continue, the screen door opened to reveal a tall woman standing just inside.

“A glamour,” she said in a low voice. She stood at least six feet, slender to the point of model anorexic. Her gray hair fell in a blunt cut to her shoulders and she wore a bright pink cotton Mexican dress and huaraches, along with a beautiful cloisonné rose necklace. A silky pashmina scarf was draped over her shoulders. No wedding ring, nor sign of one on her hands. A couple of silver bracelets dangled from her wrist, moonstone earrings in both ears. She looked black Irish with a wee hint of something else—not Kelly, not necessarily inhuman, but something I couldn’t define. Adam had said the owners were part fey and I had absolutely no doubt this was so.

“Greetings, Keira Kelly. We welcome you and yours to our dwelling. In peace and plenty, we welcome you.”

She opened the door wide and we stepped across the porch to meet her. Turning, the woman picked up a platter that sat on a small table just inside the door. The plate was loaded with slices of home-baked bread topped with thin slivers of meat and a dollop of a sweet jam.

Tucker bowed slightly. “We accept your hospitality.” He reached for a slice of bread and ate it, then took another one and presented it to me. I followed his example, recognizing the ritual. By eating her food, we accepted her welcome. By this offering, she was swearing she would abide by host truce.

A thought struck me. Gideon had violated
our
trust,
our
hospitality. The same host truce rules applied to the Reception as to here, at this modest inn. We’d all been in such a state, such an insane hurry to leave and not be forsworn that we’d missed this angle. He’d submitted the Challenge during our Reception—a traditionally neutral gathering. He was
Guest
, in all that implied—the rules of hospitality should have been in force. Just as Macbeth violated hospitality by murdering Duncan, could Gideon be held to a similar standard as formal Guest violating the rules of neutrality? I tabled the thought for later discussion, not knowing if this was something we could use against Gideon or just another example of my former lover’s ambition and greed. After all, no one was dead… yet.

“Please enter,” the woman said. “I am Grace Rose, proprietor of the Rose Inn.”

We stepped across the threshold and another ward parted for us.

Immediately inside was a sort of sitting room or lounge, with couches and chairs in conversation groupings. White plaster walls were lined with bookcases and the requisite fluffy cat sprawled across a divan. The furniture was old, heavy and wooden, yet fit perfectly in the quiet room. No fancy decorations marred the simplicity of the decor.

A second woman approached us from the back of the house. Like Grace, she was tall, thin as a stick, but unlike Grace, her skin was as pale as any vampire’s—though she was definitely alive. I could hear her heart beat, slow, steady. Her hair was more silver than gray, long and braided back from her face in a soft style. She wore a silvery dress that almost matched her hair color, her feet bare, no jewelry. “Verena Rose,” she said, her
voice the whispery softness of someone very old, though she seemed not much older than Grace. I squinted in the dark hallway, my night vision didn’t seem to be kicking in. Maybe the sudden contrast from the brightness outside? She seemed blurry somehow, as if seen through a smeared glass window. I couldn’t pinpoint her age at all. Sixties? Seventies? One hundred? Human ages were starting to mean nothing to me after spending so many months with my vampires and my family. I’d grown up around them, used to be able to tell, but over the past few months, I’d been so sequestered, I’d started thinking along the lines of decades and centuries—not next week or next year.

I held out a hand, but Verena ignored it, simply watching me from unblinking eyes.

“She’s a seer,” Grace said. “She won’t touch you unless she’s reading for you.”

“Ah.” I nodded, acknowledging Grace’s remark. Both of them fey, then. No pure-blooded human had powers, despite rumors to the contrary. Unlike the Kellys, whose biology wasn’t compatible with that of humans, lesser fey had interbred for centuries. Some bloodlines had only a tiny percentage left, some won (or lost) the genetic lotto game and recessives reinforced recessives until fey characteristics began to emerge more strongly. Now that Grace had told me, I could blink the blur out of my eyes, as if the knowing in and of itself cleared the glamour around Verena. Her sister, I supposed.

“Yes,” Grace answered. “Our great-great-grandfather was fey. Sylph, born from a baby’s laugh, he once said.”

Great. Was she serious or was she just quoting J. M. Barrie? Verena looked me up and down, finally moving
a bit closer. A long hand went out, not to shake, but as if she were touching my aura—which she very well may have been. I grimaced and held onto my protective mind-shields tighter. No way was I allowing this woman through. A soft caress and then it was gone.

“You have many miles ahead of you, Keira Kelly,” Verena said. “Miles and wiles.” Her eyes glazed a bit. “Be careful. Not all is as it seems.” With a tilt of her head, she smiled then, her eyes now clear. “I do believe it will all work out.” With that, she faded back into the shadowy hallway, her feet nearly silent against the Saltillo tile of the floor.

I stared after her. What had she meant? I made as if to follow her, but Tucker touched my hand and brought my attention back to our hostess.

“Do you know what she meant?” I asked.

“My sister’s words are often vague,” Grace murmured. “She Sees, but cannot often interpret.” She motioned forward. “Your rooms are up the main stairs,” she said. “Up a flight and to your left. Ms. Kelly, you are in room eight. Mr. Kelly, room six across the hall. Your partners arrived safely, just before dawn and are now sleeping. We have no other guests and will have none while you are here.”

“Our thanks, Madame Rose,” Tucker said. “Keira, shall we?”

I nodded to Grace and followed my brother in silence. I needed time to rest, to think.

A Sidhe Challenge we still had to decipher. A part-fey hostess who could See me. An inn shadowed and glamoured by Kelly, though known only to Adam. What next?

“The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts.”

—Italo Calvino

I
should have known. The sheer age of the place should have been a sign. Sure, it was welcoming on the outside, but inside was a whole other matter. The initial disgust I’d felt when viewing the glamoured building returned, only now, it was because of something not seen, but most definitely sensed.

I beefed up my already strong shields as I ventured farther into the building. Though the interior decor was as pretty and picturesque as the actual exterior—all done up in faux Victoriana with lace doilies every-where—the atmosphere inside was distinctly less than cozy. Death oozed out of every minuscule crack in the masonry, between every single seam of the wallpaper. Pinholes barely visible to even my eyes pulsed with sadness and grief. Crap. I’d not felt this in the entryway, but now I couldn’t ignore it. Even without the disguise, I could tell this house was at least two centuries old. Plenty of time for spirits to conglomerate, though not
perhaps in this thick concentration. Since we meant to stay here for the next several weeks, I was going to have to do some serious retooling of my default personal shields. Around the ranch, I mostly used lighter shielding. There hadn’t been much of a need. Among humans, I had a default setting that let me remain in their company and didn’t allow for their own energies to bother mine. This, though, was more than I’d consider normal.

I’d meant to go straight up to bed, to join Adam, do not pass “Go,” do not stop for anyone or anything. Only… not so much. Halfway up the main staircase, I’d begun to falter under the oppressive feel. I stumbled and grabbed at the wall, then recoiled. Ugh, slimy. Only—not physical. The whitewashed wall had no actual moisture on it when I peered at it closely. Only a psychic slime then. Gross.

“Hey, are you all right?” Tucker reached to grab hold of me, but I waved him away as I regained my balance. We were at the first landing and I couldn’t go on. Not yet.

“Jesus H. Freaking—this place reeks of death, Tucker. Don’t you feel it?” I shut my eyes and tried to focus. Being sensitive to death aided me once upon a time—when I was a child—at least in Clan reckoning. I’d learned to escort my family members to their final end when they’d chosen to go. Now, with the addition of the myriad of Kelly Talents, my sensitivity seemed to be turned up to eleven. I had to struggle to keep it together. I could feel Adam and Niko’s separate energies pulsating above us, slightly left of where we stood, a quiet sensation that let me know they were both deeply asleep. The darker, muddier energy surrounding me was old, settled into the pores of the plaster walls, embedded
in the wallpaper, into the very molecules of the air, like pet odor or something equally as nasty, a psychic stink that I couldn’t seem to shut out completely.

“’Fraid not, sis,” Tucker said. “It is kind of an odd place, but you know, been around for a long time.”

“More than
long
, I’ll wager. It’s like this place was party central for death and all its minions. Didn’t really start feeling it until we got farther up the stairs. Was this place always an inn?”

“I don’t know. I think so. Anything I can do?” Tucker looked concerned.

“Not really. Could be that I’m just way overtired,” I said. “I need to concentrate a bit, get a handle on my shields and close them tighter. Why don’t you go on and get settled? I’m not going to be able to sleep until I get this taken care of.”

“You sure?” He took my backpack from me. “At least let me carry this.”

“Yeah, thanks. If you’ll put it in my room, I’ll go find Grace—”

“I’m right here.” Grace’s soft voice startled me. She stood right behind me, one step below, her arms clutching the pashmina around her as if she were cold—though by my reckoning it was at least eighty degrees in here. Better than outside, but still stuffy.

Tucker frowned but after a nod and a wave from me, kept walking up the rest of the staircase and turned left, disappearing into what I assumed was a hallway. He may be one of my Protectors, but frankly, I was pretty sure I could deal with Grace by myself.

“What the…?” I waved my hands around and broke our stare. “I’m figuring you know what I’m talking about?”

Grace gave me an enigmatic smile. “There are many of them, aren’t there? So many should have passed over long ago, but yet, they linger… some less dead than others.”

“Less dead?”

“There are two men sleeping in my guest rooms that some would consider dead.”

My brow furrowed and I bit my tongue on the sarcastic words. This wasn’t my brother or one of my own family who knew me and my style of communicating. I needed to be more formal here. Grace was our Host. I was a Guest, though technically, since she and her sister were both fey, I was their liege.

“Does this place have some sort of history I don’t know about?” I finally asked. “From the presences I can feel, either every single guest died in their room over the last say—hundred years or so—or we’re dealing with something else.”

“Something else,” Grace said. “This house was first a funeral home for many decades.” She motioned upward. “Would you care to follow me? We could go to my sitting room to chat.”

I studied her calm serenity. Why did I need to go with her to chat? Call me crazy—or maybe just cautious—but I didn’t know her from… well, anyone who wasn’t Adam, Niko, or Tucker. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d rather just talk right here,” I said. “No offense meant.”

She nodded. “None taken.” She ran a hand along the flocked wallpaper, fingered the brass of a sconce now shining with electric light, no doubt retrofitted some decades ago. “My grandfather was an odd one,” Grace said, utterly without irony. I blinked. Odder than
Grace and her sister? Well, perhaps. My own relatives weren’t exactly card-carrying middle-of-the-roaders. Though, we had our nature to thank for that. None of us were human. Then again, she’d said her great-great grandpa had been a Sylph, an air spirit.

“This being the part-fey grandfather?”

“Yes.”

Her thin hands continued to move, the silky fabric of the shawl floating in the air as she followed the whorls of the wallpaper pattern, stroked the brass of the sconce again as if she couldn’t just be still.

My headache, such as it was, vanished with a pop as the final mental locks of my shields snapped into place. I heaved a sigh of relief. It was going to be work to keep them at this kind of level—practically worthy of Homeland Security. Could I stand to stay here until my birthday? I wasn’t so sure. Two months was a long time to withstand this kind of psychic intrusion.

“Better?” Grace asked, flashing me a broad and somewhat coquettish smile. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes, thank you.”

She leaned against the wall and studied me for a moment. “You have much to learn,” she said softly. “Things you know little about.” Her voice began fading out, growing fuzzy as she closed her eyes.