Blood Song (13 page)

“What do I do?”

“We need samples with your DNA from before you changed. Hair, fingernail clippings, something like that.”

“I can get some hair from my brush in the bathroom.”

“Good. Once you’ve got it, hit the reset button, do the voice recognition and the palm print, then say, ‘Pregnancy override.’ Two small drawers will open up beneath the palm reader. Drop the hairs in the left one. The right one has a sharp point in it. Jab your finger on it until it draws blood.”

Ow.

“The drawers will close, and the machine will start cross-matching the DNA between the two samples. It’ll take about twenty-four hours. When it finishes, if you’re cleared, you’ll get the green light and it will have reset to the ‘new you.’”

“And if it doesn’t?”

A long pause. “Call me back.”

“Right.”

He hung up without saying good-bye—probably to go find and study the tech manuals. I went down the hall to the bathroom I share with the guys from the bail-bonding company and retrieved my hairbrush. I followed Justin’s directions carefully, with Gibson in fascinated attendance.

“Think it’ll work?” he asked.

I sighed and steeled myself before stabbing myself on the finger prick. “Ow. It’s never a good thing when the tech guys start saying things like ‘theoretically’ and ‘in principle.’”

Gibson winced, but whether it was in sympathy or frustration at the fact that all my records were just out of reach I couldn’t be sure.

“Even if it does, it’s going to be twenty-four hours before I can give you any more information.”

He put both hands on the back of the guest chair, leaning his weight on them. “You don’t have
anything
that’s not in the safe? Written notes? Message slips?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Everything’s on the computer …” I wound up leaving the sentence dangling as my mind wandered. “Except … I remember the name and address of the place where I reported for duty. I can take you there.”

He shook his head. “No way, Graves. This situation is a political nightmare, a freaking diplomatic ‘incident’ just waiting to happen. You’re going to give me the name and address of the building and anything else you can remember about how you were hired, and then you’re going to stay the hell away from that part of it. It’s going to be hard enough finding out whether the prince you were guarding was the real deal or a body double and what happened. The State Department is going to have a fit, and they’re going to want in. They’re also going to want you
out
of it except as a witness.”

“But—,” I started to protest.

“I’ll keep you advised. But stay away from it. Trust me, you’ll have enough on your plate, dealing with the vampire end of things.” He was probably right. That didn’t mean I had to like it. I scowled at him but gave him the information without further argument.

Gibson reached into his pocket, withdrew a notebook and a silver Cross pen, and scribbled down the address of the hotel.

“I’ll head right over. In the meantime, thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else before I get back”—he reached into the breast pocket of his suit for a business card—“give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll meet you back here, this time tomorrow.”

Crap.
He was going to leave me stuck here without my car. I mean, yeah, he was in the middle of an important investigation and it was only a couple of blocks, but I had that whole sunlight allergy thing to consider. “Right.”

He stopped so abruptly I wondered if he’d heard my thought. “Do you need me to take you back to your car?”

I could tell from the way he said it, he was hoping I’d say no. He was just that anxious to get on with the investigation.

“I can give her a lift.” Dawna appeared in the hall, carrying a tray with coffee and creamers.

“Thanks.” He took a Styrofoam cup from the tray and took a long pull. “I appreciate that.” He took one more drink, then set the cup on the tray and started down the stairs.

“No problema.” She gave him a smile that could’ve lit the entire West Coast.

She watched him for a full minute, until he disappeared from sight. When the door slammed, her face took on a calculating look I knew from long experience. She’d set her sights on the detective.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Dawna. Bad idea.”

She stuck her lip out in a pretty pout and huffed a bit, flinging her long black ponytail over her shoulder. “Damn. There you go, spoiling everything. Is he yours? Is that the problem?”

“No.” I admitted. “He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him. I can smell it.”

“You can
smell
it? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Ewwww. That is just … gross.” She shook her head. “What do I smell like?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Chanel Number Five, high-quality leather, and chicken salad on rye.”

She blinked. “Well, all right then.” Then, giving a gusty sigh, “Shame, though. He seemed nice. A little old. But nice.”

I didn’t answer. I’d grabbed a cup of coffee from the tray and was taking a long pull of liquid nirvana. Caffeine, nectar of the gods. I didn’t gulp it down, it was too hot for that, but I savored each sip, letting the scent fill my nostrils and chase away the stench of illness.

“Thanks for that. Give me a few minutes more to myself, okay? I’ve got to make a couple calls.” I’d start with my gran, which would be tough enough. But as soon as I’d finished with that I was going to have to call Bob’s wife and break the news.

Gran still wasn’t answering the phone. That was ominous all on its own. She’s healthy as a horse, but she’s not young. Of course it was much more likely that she was avoiding my calls. She does it every time my mother talks her into something they both know I’m not going to approve of—little things, like letting my mother, who has had her license revoked and is an uninsurable drunk, take the car.

Don’t think about it. You don’t know that’s what’s happening. She could be busy at the church.

I tried calling Kevin. I really did. But he didn’t pick up. I left him a voice mail saying I was hanging in there and not to worry and thanking him, Emma, and Amy for saving my life.

My own voice mail was still
presently unavailable,
which was getting annoying. If I didn’t have access in the next hour or so, I was going to be calling the main line and complaining to my carrier.

I hesitated before dialing the next number.

Gwendolyn Talbert had been one of the best therapists in the business until she retired two years ago due to health problems. She had specialized in trauma victims—particularly children. She saved my sanity and probably my life after the events that led to my sister’s death and my own torture. It was Gwen’s delicate use of magic that had blunted the memories of the trauma, making them bearable, enabling me to eventually have a normal, loving relationship with Bruno DeLuca. No, I hadn’t dated anyone since we broke up, but that was by
choice,
not because I wasn’t able to.

Now I needed help. I was hanging on to my sanity with my teeth and toenails, mostly by very deliberately not thinking about things. But that wouldn’t last. The shock would wear off, and when it did I was going to need a damned good therapist. I wanted it to be Gwen.

The phone rang three times before going to voice mail. Apparently this was not my day to reach
anybody.
I listened to the calm, feminine voice saying, “You have reached Gwendolyn Talbert. If you have called on a professional matter, I regret that I am no longer seeing patients. If this is a personal call, please leave your name and number after the tone.”

I waited for the beep. Taking a deep breath, I spoke as clearly and calmly as I could manage. “Gwen, it’s me … um, Celia Graves. Um, something’s happened. I need to talk to someone. I know you’re retired, but I don’t trust anyone else. If you can’t see me, can you at least give me a name? Somebody
you
trust? Please?”

God I sounded pathetic. Desperate. Then again, I was. I left the office number and hung up. I would have left the new cell number, if only I’d written it down somewhere to remember it.

While I was making useless calls, I left a message for El Jefe. I needed to find out everything I could about abominations and brush up on any successful techniques hunters had used to find the daytime lairs of master vampires. I wasn’t sure if he was back from Chicago, so I decided to start doing a little research on my own.

But first, I had one more call to make.

I had Dawna get me the number from the Internet. I hadn’t been sure she’d be home. Still, I recognized Vanessa’s voice when she picked up the phone on the third ring.

I tried to break it to her gently. I was rewarded by a stream of expletives screamed at top volume—loud enough that I had to move the receiver away from my ear the length of my arm. She followed this by blaming
me
for his death, then weeping hysterically and hanging up on me. Bob didn’t have any other living relatives, so I didn’t know who else to call. But it seemed
wrong.
He’d been a good man. Not perfect, but who is? He deserved to have somebody more than just me to mourn him. Maybe there was someone. I hadn’t realized they’d gotten divorced until the screaming voice in my ear informed me of it in no uncertain terms. Did he have a new girlfriend? I had no way of knowing. I sure as hell wasn’t going to call Vanessa again.

Maybe in a day or two, when things settled down, I’d put some effort into looking into it. But first, I wanted to take care of the crisis du jour.

I braced myself and sprinted from the curb to the front doors of the university library. Since most of the building’s front facade is glass, I wasn’t really safe until I’d gotten halfway down the stairs down to the basement.

I’d always considered it a nuisance that they’d put the paranormal section down there, all by itself, behind every known kind of protection. Now I wasn’t sorry. Being in the basement meant that I would be able to have a windowless study room to work in.

Halfway down the stairs I hit a magical barrier I couldn’t see and nearly lost my footing. I had to grab onto the handrail and steady myself for a minute before I could move forward. When I did it felt … odd … like I was forcing my way through a wall of Jell-O. Tiny sparks exploded against my skin. None of them were strong, but there were a lot of them. The sensation was similar to that of being in a room with too much static electricity. I couldn’t move backward at all and moving forward was slow. It didn’t get better until I stepped off of the staircase. When I did, the change in pressure made my ears pop and my nostrils twitch.

I recognized the staff member behind the reserved desk. Anna had been in charge of the Paranormal and Metaphysical Desk for over a decade. She’d helped me with research for many a project, and could recite where every book or artifact was from memory. A soft-spoken woman of “a certain age,” she had iron gray hair and warm brown eyes hidden behind thick-lensed glasses. I’d always admired her droll sense of humor, and knew she had enough mage talent to be able to handle any student-related accidents that might occur due to mishandling of the merchandise. I didn’t doubt that it was her spell I’d passed through a moment before.

“Stop right there.” Her voice rang with authority. She rose, leaning both hands on the counter. “You have no business coming here.”

Anger rose up in a wave. How
dare
she? “It’s full daylight, Anna.” I didn’t bother to keep the scorn from my voice. “I’m
not
a bat.”

“If you were a bat,” she answered coldly, “you wouldn’t have made it through the wards. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t dangerous. In fact, it makes you more so. Because you’re still human enough to pass through unhindered.”

I felt a surge of rage that sent the blood pounding through my veins. My vision narrowed, focusing on the pulse throbbing at the base of her stringy neck; the adrenaline-laced scent of her fear rose to my nostrils like the bouquet of a fine wine. I could almost taste—

I closed my eyes, shutting out the image of her pulse. Slowly, carefully, I fought to rein in my temper by controlling my breathing, panting through an open mouth so that the scents wouldn’t overwhelm me. It didn’t feel close to nightfall, but my brain was telling me,
Time to go hunting.

I am not a vampire. I am not a fucking
bat
. I will
not
do this.

It took time. It wasn’t easy and it probably wasn’t pretty, but I fought down the beast within me. When I opened my eyes, I was myself again.

Silence dragged on for long moments as Anna stared at me. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and careful. It was the same tone you use to talk to people standing on a ledge, or wild animals you don’t want to spook. “I shouldn’t have threatened you, Celia. That was stupid. But you don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere in public. It isn’t safe. There are too many people. Too much temptation.”

Her expression was so serious, so
pained,
that I knew there was personal history behind her reaction. I knew I should care. But God help me, I didn’t. Not really. All I cared about was getting away from her and finding out what I could do to fix this. There had to be something. When it comes to metaphysics, there are very few absolutes. There’s almost always
something
you can do. It may be difficult to the point of being damned near impossible—but almost nothing was actually undoable, with enough power, time, and money.

“I
need
to know about abominations, Anna.” I said it quietly, and while I couldn’t quite manage not to lisp, I did my absolute best to stifle the part of me that wanted to rage at the injustice of the situation. “I need to know how to fix this.”

“You can’t.” Her whispered words were just a bare breath of air. Normally I wouldn’t have heard them.

I closed my eyes against her pain. I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know. I had enough problems of my own. “Please. I have to try.”

I heard her chair scrape back as she moved away from the desk. “I suppose you do.” The words shook, just a little. But from the sound of it, her fear was being overcome by a combination of sorrow and determination. “But you don’t have to do it here. And I will not allow you to endanger the other students and staff.”