Bloodstone (20 page)

We paused in a doorway half a block from our goal, and I told Mab and Kane my plan: “On the left side of the lobby there’s a seating area. Clyde’s desk is on the right. Mab and I will go in first. Kane, you come in right behind us and hide in the seating area. Keep low. I’ll introduce Mab to Clyde. While we’re talking, try to slip to the elevators.” A partial wall blocked the lobby’s view of the elevators, so he could stay out of sight while he waited for us there.

Nobody had any improvements to suggest, so we walked to my building. We were in luck; Clyde was on the phone. He glanced up as I opened the door, but when he saw it was me, he turned back to his phone call.

Kane brushed against the backs of my legs as he scooted toward the seating area. I didn’t turn around to watch him, but I imagined him getting behind one of the potted palms that surrounded the leather chairs.

Mab and I proceeded across the lobby to Clyde’s desk. By the time we got there he was hanging up. He straightened, brushing some potato chip crumbs from his uniform, and gave Mab a welcoming smile. That is, his greenish lips stretched back way too far in a skull-like grimace. Norms have fainted at the sight of a zombie’s smile, but Mab is no norm. She offered her hand.

“Clyde, this is my aunt, Mab Vaughn.”

He hesitated, staring at her hand as though he expected her to snatch it back, then shook.

“Delighted,” he and Mab both said. This time, they shared a smile.

“Mab will be staying with me for a few days.”

“Very good.” He wrote her name down on a pad.

I heard the skitter of claws on the marble floor behind me, and I spoke up to cover the sound.

“Mab is from Wales,” I said, a little too loudly. “I visited her every summer when I was a child.”

He looked up. “South or north?”

“I live in north Wales,” she replied.

“Beautiful country!” he exclaimed. “I climbed Snowdon as a young man.”

“Did you? And what did you think of the experience?”

Clyde waxed damn near poetic on his experiences in the mountains of north Wales. Mab egged him on. After they’d talked for a few minutes, when I was sure Kane was in position, I said we’d better go up to my apartment.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Clyde said to my aunt. He turned to me, still wearing the same smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Vaughn, but you cannot take an animal upstairs.”

Busted. How the hell had he seen Kane? We’d timed it so well. But nothing gets past my doorman.

“Clyde—”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the terms of your lease. No pets. Tenants are not allowed so much as a goldfish, let alone a large dog.”

He must have only glimpsed Kane to assume the animal running past was a dog.

Kane’s head appeared around the partial wall that had shielded him from view. His ears went back and he bared his teeth. A growl rumbled from his throat.

“Come here,” I said to him. “Please.”

He slunk out from behind the wall. Lips pulled back to show his teeth, he moved across the lobby. The growl didn’t falter.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Come on over. Let Clyde see you.”

He did. As he approached, Clyde’s red eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Kane sat on the floor beside me. He stopped growling, but his hackles stayed up. I leaned across the doorman’s desk. “Take a good look, Clyde. That’s not an animal. Or no more of one than I am.”

His eyes stayed wide as they went back and forth between us. Tentative understanding dawned.

“That’s . . . ?”

I nodded.

“But—” He picked up a calendar and squinted at it. “But it’s not a full moon.”

“Right. There’s been a . . .”

“A magical mishap,” Mab supplied. “We’re working to set things right as soon as we possibly can.”

“‘Magical mishap’?” Clyde scratched his head as though the phrase made no sense. Or like it was a euphemism for something really nasty. “Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no. A transformed werewolf? That’s even worse. I’m certain your lease—”

“Come on, Clyde,” I said. “This isn’t his fault. You know how it feels to be changed into something you don’t want to be. You’re not going to deny him shelter because of that, are you?”

Clyde exhaled noisily, puffing out his cheeks. He looked again at Kane.

Kane didn’t whine or thump his tail. This was not an animal who’d beg. He merely watched Clyde, every muscle tense.

“All right,” Clyde said at last. “But keep him in your apartment, and stay quiet. For heaven’s sake, don’t let any of the other tenants find out.”

“Thanks, Clyde,” I said. Mab nodded her agreement.

We hurried across the lobby, before he changed his mind. Clyde didn’t have to worry we’d let the other tenants know. Whatever it took, I’d get Kane back to normal as soon as I could.

“WHAT ON EARTH IS THAT?” MAB POINTED AT THE SIXTYTHREE-INCH screen that took up most of my living room.

“That’s my roommate’s TV.”

“Surely not. I’ve seen television sets. Jenkins and Rose have one in their cottage. It’s this size.” Her hands shaped a box that estimated a little thirteen-inch screen. “Surely you’re joking.”

“No joke.” I picked up the remote from the coffee table, and the picture snapped on. Mab winced. I turned the TV off again. “Good thing Juliet’s not here right now. She leaves it on, with the volume way up, and wanders off.”

“I wouldn’t like that. Your roommate’s away?”

“For the moment.” I hadn’t yet told Mab about Juliet’s involvement with the Old Ones—there’d been so much to discuss—but I would. First, though, I’d show her my apartment and get her settled. I intended for her to stay in my bedroom, so she’d have some privacy.

Kane woofed at the blank screen. He went to the coffee table and, holding the remote with his paws, pressed the ON button with his nose. Then he carried the remote to me and dropped it at my feet.

“Let me guess,” I said, “you want to watch the news.”

He nodded.

“CNN or PNN?”

“I’ve heard of CNN,” Mab said. “What’s the other?”

“The Paranormal News Network. All monsters, all the time.”

Kane growled when I said
monsters
, but I ignored him. I wasn’t going to let a wolf take me to task for being politically incorrect. He wanted to watch CNN, anyway, as he let me know by jumping up and knocking the remote out of my hands when the TV showed that channel.

I picked up the remote and turned down the volume several clicks. “Okay?”

He nodded again and jumped onto the couch. He sat with his ears swiveled forward, already engrossed in a story about Congressional hearings on some banking scandal.

I took my aunt’s arm. “Let me give you the grand tour,” I said. “Not ‘grand’ in the same sense as Maenllyd, of course.” My aunt’s manor house would swallow up my apartment ten times over. But this place was home, and I was proud to show off the spacious, comfortable living room, with its separate dining area, and the eat-in kitchen with granite counters and cherry cabinets.

And then we came to my bedroom. I tried not to see the unmade bed and strewn-around clothing through my aunt’s eyes—which was more or less impossible with her standing beside me.

“Um, this is my room.”

“As I would have guessed by the unkempt bed. Honestly, child, personal habits are a reflection of character.”

“I didn’t know you were coming. If I had, the whole place would be pristine.”

“That’s no excuse. Character shines brightest when no one’s watching.”

You can’t argue with that. I know, because I opened my mouth to do so and nothing occurred to me. Okay, time to move on. We went back out into the hallway.

“That door’s the bathroom.”

“And across from it, I presume, is your roommate’s bedroom.”

“Yes, that’s Juliet’s room, but—”

Mab reached for the doorknob. “Since she’s away, she won’t mind if I stay there.” She opened the door before I had time to warn her that Juliet slept in a coffin. Halfway into the room, she froze.

“Your roommate is . . . a vampire?”

“Yes. Juliet Capulet.” Surely I’d told Mab that at some point. I mean, sharing an apartment with Shakespeare’s most famous heroine was too good a story to keep quiet. But Mab and I rarely engaged in personal chitchat; it just wasn’t a part of our relationship. Maybe I
hadn’t
told her.

Mab pulled the door shut, her face white. “I think I’d like a cup of tea, if you have any.”

“Sure. Are you all right?”

She waved away my concern. “Yes, yes. Of course I’m all right. But I’m rather thirsty, if you don’t mind.”

We went back through the living room. CNN was doing an interview with Police Commissioner Hampson about the Reaper murders.

“Anything new?” I asked Kane.

He shook his head. Hampson was blustering about locking down Deadtown to protect Boston’s human citizens. I tuned him out and continued into the kitchen.

Mab sat silently at the table as I put the kettle on, found the teapot, and spooned in some tea. As I worked, I snuck glances at her. My aunt’s mouth was drawn into a thin, pale line, and the knuckles of her hands, folded before her on the table, showed white. What could have flustered her so much about Juliet’s room?

I placed the teapot and a mug on the table. She pulled them toward her but didn’t pour.

“Are you sure you’re all right? What upset you in that room?”

“It wasn’t the room, child. I . . . It was a bit of a shock to learn you live with a vampire. Some of the Cerddorion feel they’re the enemy of our race every bit as much as demons. That they should be slaughtered without mercy.”

I frowned. “Is that what you think?” I’d never heard Mab say a word against vampires before, but suddenly she was sounding way more like Commissioner Hampson than my aunt.

She poured some tea, and steam rose from her mug. She sighed. “No, that’s not my personal view. But I can’t say I trust them, either. You see, every vampire is a potential Old One.”

That comment hit home. “Juliet came under their thrall,” I admitted, feeling uncomfortable. “But she ran away from them. That’s why she’s not here now; she’s in hiding.”

“Are you certain she’s broken with them?”

From the doorway, Kane barked, as if to say that’s what he wanted to know, too. He came into the kitchen and sat beside me.

I related to both of them Juliet’s account of her experiences with the Old Ones. And I told Mab what had happened when I’d visited Juliet in the Goon Squad cell, how the Old Ones had tried to saw off her leg to drag her out of there.

I wondered how Juliet was doing, if the salve had helped. I’d have to call Axel and check. Also Daniel, to see whether forensics had found anything on the swab of the Old One’s blade.

“If her story is true,” Mab said, “I’ll be very interested to meet this roommate of yours. In all my lifetimes, I’ve never heard of a vampire who could resist the Old Ones.”

“Why do the Old Ones have so much power over vampires?” It was easy to see why humans were attracted to the vampires who preyed on them—vampires were sexy, and their narcotic-laced saliva made feeding time an erotic pleasure. But the Old Ones . . . from their hideous faces to their icy auras, there was nothing attractive about those creatures.

“Vampires crave power and life. It’s their nature. They cannot help that any more than you or I can help craving air, water, and food. But it’s a craving that can get out of hand, and too many are prone to give in.”

“The Old Ones offer them more of what they crave.”

She nodded. “The Old Ones don’t just prey upon vampires. Centuries ago, the Old Ones created them. In a sense, vampires belong to them.”

“Explain, please.”

Mab cleared her throat, going into storyteller mode. “In ancient times, shamans were the most powerful men in the world. They were prophets, priests, and rulers, or advisers to rulers. In Wales these shamans were the
derwyddon
, the druids.” She poured herself another mug of tea, sipped. “Most druids were admirable men, loyal to a code of service and honor. But power corrupted then, as it always does. A druid named Colwyn became obsessed with the power of death. How could he have so much influence over men, and over the natural world through magic, and still be subject to death? The question possessed him, drove him mad.”

“This is the same Colwyn who’s working with Myrddin now?”

“Yes, but I can’t imagine that either of those two is happy in their alliance. I’ll explain why in a moment. When Colwyn was still human, still a druid, he began experimenting. He realized that power doesn’t exist on its own; it’s something you receive—or forcibly take—from others. And life, he reasoned, works the same way. Every sentient creature needs to consume life in order to sustain life. Predators eat other animals. Grazers absorb life from the living plants they eat. But that’s consuming only a small amount of life, just enough to keep going for another day. Take more life, Colwyn reasoned, take it in massive quantities, and you could live forever.”

“Sounds like a recipe for mass murder.”

“Indeed. There have always been rumors of druids performing human sacrifice. Anthropologists still debate the question today. The druids did not sacrifice living humans.” Her expression darkened. “Only Colwyn did. Hundreds of them. Eventually, he passed through death and turned himself into a vampire. The first one.

“Colwyn discovered how to create others like him. At first, Colwyn’s little band of vampires were very much like the vampires you know today, possessing youth, beauty, and strength. There were arguments, of course, power struggles, splinter groups. Vampires spread across Europe, across the world. They went to war with each other. With the rise of the Roman Empire, they went underground. And then, about seven centuries after he’d corrupted himself, Colwyn began to weaken.”