Blood Song (34 page)

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Authors: Cat Adams

BOOK: Blood Song
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“What are you talking about?” The words came out more harshly than I’d intended, and she flinched. I apologized immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired.”

“No, no. It’s all right.” She reached over and patted my hand. Her hand was gnarled and age spotted, the veins and sinews standing out harshly beneath the tissue-paper skin. “You’ve always referred to yourself as an ‘ordinary vanilla human.’”

“Yeah.”

“Well … you’re not.”

“Well, no, not since the vampire—”

She squeezed my hand hard, and I looked up, meeting eyes that had gone solemn. “You weren’t completely human before the vampire bite, Celia. My husband, your grandfather, was only
half
human.”

I blinked. I hadn’t known that. He’d
looked
human. And really, there aren’t many magical creatures that can interbreed with us. Werewolves, of course, but that’s because they generally start out human in the first place. And Gramps hadn’t been a wolf. No way.

“What … what was he?”

“His father was a human sailor. His mother was a siren. Which means
you
are part siren.”

A
siren
? No way. Not me. I mean, she was talking to the woman who got kicked
out
of eighth-grade choir, whose dorm mates threatened to call the cops when she sang in the shower. And sirens were
beautiful
—I mean drop-dead gorgeous creatures who have men panting after them.

“Um, Gran …” I struggled for words, but all I could come up with was, “I can’t sing. I mean, I
really
can’t sing.”

She laughed, hard, her head flung back, eyes dancing. Part of it was the stress, but part was pure humor. When she finally calmed down enough to catch her breath she said, “No, baby, you really can’t sing.” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “But while some sirens focus their call through music, the call itself is psychic. A female siren calls males to her to fulfill her needs, even to their doom.”

“But—”

She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. It was as if the words and emotions had been building up inside her and, now that they’d been loosed, there was no stopping them. “The vampire that bit you tried to change you instead of killing you because he was
male.
The werewolf who found you in that alley, out of all the alleys in the city, did it because you called him to you.” She gave a sad smile. “And you don’t get along with other women because you’ve come into your power.”

“That’s not true. I get along with women,” I protested. Actually, it was a lie. I’ve never gotten along with most women. I have a few good friends, Dawna, Vicki… .

Gran didn’t say a word, just raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“Vicki was my best friend.”

“Vicki was a lesbian, Celia.”

“Well, yeah, but she was a woman.”

Gran nodded once, then raised those formidable silver brows again. “Fine. Anyone else?”

“Dawna. I get along really well with Dawna. Really, really well, and she
doesn’t
like women in … that way.”

Gran smiled, but there was a tinge of pity along with the humor. “Is she, by any chance, postmenopausal?”

“Well, she had some plumbing problems and had a hysterectomy a while back, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

Gran gave me a level look. “Name one close female friend you have who is both heterosexual and fertile. Just one.”

I thought about it. Hard.

Silence stretched between us for probably two minutes. Two of the
longest
minutes of my life.

“You can’t, can you?” She smiled gently. “In fact, most women you interact with get almost completely neurotic, almost to the point of insanity, around you,
particularly
if men or other women they love are around.”

I thought about it. There had been incidents in college, at parties. Men always rush forward to open doors for me, or hold out my chair, and tick off their girls. Hell, not two weeks ago there’d been a scene at El Jefe’s between me and Kevin’s live-in girlfriend, Amy, when he brought me a drink before he delivered hers. There were other things, too. I didn’t like to think about them. It’s always just confused me. Yet if I was a siren, it all made sense. But
was
I? Was I
really
? “How could I know for sure? Is there a test kit in the pharmacy or something?”

“Whenever you’re in real need, you call men to you, and they do whatever it takes, at whatever cost, to help you.”

Now
that
I had an answer for.

“Then why didn’t I call someone to help me when Ivy and I were kidnapped? God knows we needed help.”

Tears filled her eyes, her grip on my hand tightening until it was actually painful. “Oh, honey. If only you had come into your power. But you hadn’t hit puberty. If you had—”

If I had, my sister might still be alive. I might not have been tortured. Everything … my entire life … would have been completely and totally different. If only I’d been a few years older?

I sat there, stunned. My mind was racing, but it refused to pull anything into any semblance of coherent thought. It was as if my whole world had turned upside down. Nothing made sense and at the same time everything suddenly did.

“It’s one of the reasons your mother had such a hard time adjusting to your father’s abandonment. Men simply do
not
leave sirens. She knew about her father’s side of the family. Had met them, integrated somewhat. Losing your father didn’t just hurt her, it
damaged
her. I think she would’ve killed herself if it hadn’t been for you girls. And then, when Ivy …” She let her voice trail off, her gaze shifting to the door as if she could see through it to where my mother slept on the other side. She sighed.

“I know it’ll take some time to get used to the idea.” Gran’s reassuring voice came to me as if from a distance. “And eventually you’ll need to get in touch with your great-grandmother or one of her sisters. But not now. Right now you need to rest.”

As if I could.

25

I hadn’t
expected to be able to sleep. After all, Gran’s news had been quite a shock, and a sleeping bag on a concrete floor isn’t exactly my idea of comfort. But I must have been more tired than I expected, because I was out the minute I zipped myself into the bag.

I knew I was dreaming, recognized the dream, but couldn’t drag myself out of it.

I was twelve years old again. It was noon on a bright midsummer day, and hot. I wore cutoff jeans that were a little too short and tight to be comfortable, not to show off my legs, but because I’d outgrown them and there wasn’t any money to buy more.

There was never enough money. Mom was working as a bartender, but most of what she made went up in smoke—cigarette smoke, pot smoke, and liquor. She always came home late, seldom sober or alone. Ivy slept through most of it. She never heard the sound of the headboard hitting the wall, or the moans that accompanied it. I did.

There were no more ballet lessons. The only reason Ivy was getting lessons training her “gift” was because Gran insisted, paid for them, and drove her. That’s why I was alone now. Gran had taken Ivy to lessons and Mom was off “working.”

Finding him had been easy. I’d gotten on the computer at the library. It was right there in the telephone listings. The address was less than four blocks from our house.

Four blocks. It might as well have been a thousand miles. But I didn’t know that. Not then.

I rounded the corner on foot, my thongs slapping against the cracked concrete. Sweat slid between my shoulder blades beneath the cheap pink tank top I’d taken from my mother’s closet.

The part of me that knew I was dreaming tried to stop right here, to pull out or change the dream before it went any further. I knew what came next. I’d lived it once, dreamed of it often, and had no desire to see it again. But I was sleeping too deeply, so the images moved inexorably forward, my younger self pausing beneath the corner street lamp, looking for the right house number.

It was the fourth on the right. A tidy little one-story white wood frame building with red trim and a picket fence in front. I saw him. He was playing catch in the front yard with a boy a year or so younger than me. A girl of five or so with blond curls and a pink jumper was playing dolls on the front stoop. She looked enough like Ivy that it was startling. He was laughing until he looked up and saw me.

Daddy.

The joy slid from his face. He turned to the boy and said something. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see the urgency in his eyes. The boy seemed startled but obediently bent to gather up his things. Not fast enough, apparently. My father hurried forward, chivvying him and his baby sister into the house.

I froze, right hand extended, my mouth open to call out.

My father’s eyes met mine for one endless moment.

He closed the door.

“How very tragic.” I recognized the voice that slid into my dream as smooth as silk. Jones was back and he was being sarcastic. “Poor little thing.”

“Get the hell out of my head.”

“No. I don’t think so. We need to talk and I don’t have a lot of time.”

The dream shifted and I could see him. He was in a gymnasium, standing in the center of a pentagram drawn within the circle at center court. Both the circle and pentagram shone red and wet by the light of the black candles placed at each point of the star. He’d had to use his own blood to draw those symbols, and I felt their power, and the pain in his forearms, even through the filtering dream.

“I need you to get a message to Kevin Landingham.”

“What, you can’t use a phone?”

“Not safely. And while I’m not sure how he did it, he’s managed to cut me off from hearing his thoughts.” Jones sounded pissed. “Somebody’s gone off the reservation. It’s got to be one of the telepaths, otherwise I’d have been able to pick up on it—or somebody at the main office would’ve tipped me off to it. Whoever it is, they’ve eliminated the few clairvoyants we had on the payroll.”

“So, what’s the message?”

“We’re in the middle of a high-profile assignment. It’s too important to let it fail over a rogue. So they’re offering Kevin a deal. A one-year limited contract, hunting hard targets, starting with the rogue. He can write his own ticket. And they’ll guarantee your safety. No one associated with the firm will ever use you or harm you in any way. They’ll take whatever binding oaths he wants on it.”

“Why would he care about my safety?” I wouldn’t have said it out loud, but we were operating in a dream, in my thoughts, so he heard it just the same.

“You don’t know?” He chuckled and it was creepy as hell. “Oh, my. Well, if he hasn’t told you, I certainly won’t. But be sure to give him my message. Word for word.”

He stepped forward, very deliberately rubbing out the edge of the circle with his foot. The image in my mind went to black. Apparently our conversation was over.

I opened my eyes, no longer able to sleep. As I did, I became simultaneously aware of several things: I wasn’t in a sleeping bag on the floor of the study of Reverend Al’s church; my head was pounding; and I had a terrible, metallic taste in my mouth. I was in a straitjacket, on the floor of a padded room, and Dr. Greene was watching me from behind the safety window.

26

You are
a damned nuisance.” Greene’s voice was only slightly distorted coming through the speakers into the room. “The drugs in the pizza were supposed to keep you out for twenty-four hours.”

I’d been drugged. That explained the taste and the bindings. I’d never have let myself get in this situation otherwise. The pizza was delayed, cold, and tasted like crap. You’d think I would have been suspicious.
Sheesh.
And while I was still a little thickheaded, I was starting to be able to think through the sedative-induced fog. Let’s hear it for the vampire metabolism. Or maybe siren. Or both. Whatever, I was awake. But I couldn’t
do
anything. Yet.

“They haven’t even had time to get to the church yet, let alone link it to you and declare you a danger. I haven’t had time to meet with Dr. Scott.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. She stood behind the window in her sensible gray suit, arms crossed over her chest, fingers drumming absently against her arm. “Personally, I’d rather just kill you outright. But that would bring your werewolf into things and my employer has been
very
clear about not wanting him involved until after sunrise tomorrow.”
My
werewolf? Kevin wasn’t anywhere close to
mine.
Her fingers drummed faster. “We’ll try another shot. Perhaps a higher dose—” She turned and walked from the observation room.

I didn’t have long, perhaps only a minute or two. “Ivy, Vicki, are you here?” I tried to keep my voice a bare whisper so that it wouldn’t get picked up by the room’s monitoring equipment. Of course Greene had talked freely, so she had probably turned it off. But I decided to be quiet, just in case.

The temperature of the room dropped until I could see my breath fogging in the air. I wasn’t surprised. Ghosts are more likely to manifest when the person they’re attached to is in a strong emotional state. Can’t get much stronger than life-threatening terror. I could almost feel the adrenaline bubbling through my veins. “Find Dr. Scott. Tell him what’s happening. Then warn Reverend Al. Get Gran and Mom out of there.”

I rolled onto my back and began pulling against the confining straitjacket with all of my might. I’d had enough strength to strain the metal of the table back in the lab. It should be easy to Hulk my way out of a contraption of mere canvas and leather. Assuming, of course, it wasn’t bespelled. Which it probably was. But it wasn’t like I had a glut of options. So I struggled, and I pulled, and succeeded in just about pulling my own arms from their sockets. But spelled or not, the fabric was starting to give. I strained harder. To hell with it. My shoulders would heal. I wanted,
needed,
this damned thing
off.

As if from a distance I heard the crash of waves, the call of gulls. And suddenly I knew. I had called power when I fell asleep at the office, had influenced Dr. Scott. And
I could do it again
. I concentrated as I pulled, thinking of Dr. Scott, of Gerry and every other male I knew who worked at Birchwoods. I didn’t know what time it was, didn’t really know what I was doing, but I had to try. Because here came Dr. Greene, carrying a needle, her sensible heels clicking briskly against the linoleum.

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