Bloodstone (28 page)

Just like the zombie plague hadn’t been contagious to paranormals. My heart stopped. This virus hadn’t infected any norms, but it sure as hell was affecting Juliet. “I’ve got to go, Daniel.” I cut the connection.

The phone began ringing again almost immediately, but I ignored it. I skidded into the living room. Kane was at my heels, wondering what the hell was going on.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Mab asked.

“No. Mab, do you know of any viruses that can infect paranormals?”

“What kind of paranormal? When you were a teenager, I recall you were ill for a week with chicken pox.”

“Vampires. What about vampires?”

She considered, then shook her head. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of one.”

The phone stopped ringing. Next the Goon Squad would be pounding on the door. We had to hurry. “You know that wound of Juliet’s? The one that won’t heal?”

She nodded and held up her book. “Yes, I’ve been reading about the toxicity of certain silver compounds, and—”

“Forget that. The blade that cut Juliet was coated with a variant of the zombie virus.”

Mab’s mouth dropped open. Kane sat on the floor. Both of them stared at me as though I’d just announced the beginning of the apocalypse. Maybe I had.

“The human victims of that plague were dead for three days before they rose again,” I said. “Juliet was attacked three days ago.”

Mab was already up and pulling on her coat. A minute later we were out the door.

IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER SEVEN IN THE EVENING, TOO EARLY for Creature Comforts to be open. I’d lost the key Axel had given me when those vampire junkies grabbed me, so I pounded on the back door, praying Axel would open it. He did. He didn’t say a word when we rushed past him and opened the secret door. As I sprinted down the stairs, I wondered what we’d find: Juliet, awake and somehow changed? Or Juliet, reduced to a pile of grave dust?

Neither. She was still unconscious. There was no change at all.

I sank into a chair; Mab took another. I rubbed my temples. Ever since I’d hung up on Daniel, I’d been trying to figure out why the Old One who’d burst into Juliet’s cell would carry a virus-coated sword. Was the blade tainted with the virus on purpose? If so, did that mean the Old Ones were behind the original plague? It made sense. Juliet had said they were experimenting with a formula for eternal life. What if that formula was a virus, one that killed its victims and then reanimated them? It would explain why there had been only a single outbreak of the virus, and in only one place—the Old Ones, damn them, had loosed it on downtown Boston and then sat back to see what happened. But that experiment failed. The virus infected only humans.

I voiced these thoughts to Mab. “I’ve been considering along the same lines,” she said. “It seems they’ve been trying out different magical formulas and somehow binding them to a virus. The virus part would be important. It gets inside the body’s cells and allows the formula to replicate there, spreading throughout the body. If the formula confers eternal life, every cell becomes eternal.”

“But the Old Ones are basically vampires. Viruses don’t affect them.”

“And that’s precisely what went wrong with the Old Ones’ first attempt at an eternity virus—it didn’t affect its true target. And it failed. The Old Ones don’t want to become zombies. They want to become gods, with their former youth and beauty restored. In the years since that experiment, I’d wager they’ve been working to perfect the formula.”

Two thousand people, along with their families and friends, had suffered—were still suffering—because the Old Ones had decided to use Bostonians as their guinea pigs. The callousness of it floored me.

And they weren’t finished yet. “Juliet said they killed four vampires with their recent experiments.” And that was just the number she knew of.

“I believe they’ve added silver to the mix somehow,” Mab said. “Silver actually kills many viruses, but if they’ve found a way to make it work . . . The silver would weaken the vampire’s immune system, making the vampire vulnerable to the virus and allowing infection to occur.”

“That’s why Juliet’s wound isn’t healing.”

She nodded. “The Old Ones themselves are highly vulnerable to silver right now, but that’s a good thing from their point of view: The silver will take them into death; the virusbased formula will bring them out of it.
If
they can get the balance right.”

And they were trying out that balance on Juliet, no matter what it did to her. The whole point of breaking into the Goon Squad facility must have been to infect her, and then grab her and take her back to their lair—with one leg or two, it didn’t matter to them—to observe what happened. Shit. Her odds didn’t look good.

I walked over to the bed. Juliet was so still and pale: not alive, not dead, not undead. She was simply
there
, another object in the room, like the bed she lay in.

The jar of salve sat on her nightstand. I didn’t know whether it was helping her, but Mab thought so. If she could just hang on a little longer, maybe we could find a cure, a way to force the silver out of her body so she could heal. I picked up the salve and pulled back the covers. Her leg was unchanged.

I scooped out some salve, cool and tingly on my fingers, and spread it on Juliet’s calf. Her skin didn’t absorb it. The salve smeared into a gray, greasy paste.

What the hell?

Wiping my hand on a tissue, I looked closely at Juliet’s skin. It was covered with an even layer of fine, grayish powder. I tried to wipe some off. The dust came off on my hand. More formed immediately beneath it. Brushing at it was like brushing Juliet away.

“Mab!” I shouted, holding out my dust-covered hands. “She’s dying!”

Mab was at my side in a flash. She leaned over Juliet, and her breath puffed a powdery cloud into the air. The dust had spread. It covered Juliet’s hands and face, clung to her eyelashes and hair. Grains flaked off and fell away, speckling the sheets, as Juliet slowly disintegrated.

My roommate was turning to dust before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Mab shoved my arm. “Go upstairs, child. Quickly!” She tried to push me toward the staircase.

I planted my feet and stared at her. I wasn’t going to leave Juliet here to die alone.

“Do as I say! There’s a chance I can save her, but I must work alone.” She reached inside her blouse, pulling out her pendant.

“The bloodstone? It can help her?”

“
Upstairs
, child! Before it’s too late.”

One foot on the stairs, I looked back. Mab dangled the bloodstone over Juliet’s forehead. The room’s light had softened to a silvery glow. It seemed to come from every direction, erasing all shadows. Motes of dust floated above Juliet’s body, sparkling like stars. Mab murmured something in a low voice. I turned and hurried up the stairs.

I COULDN’T STAY STILL. I PACED THE LENGTH OF CREATURE Comforts: from the storeroom, along the hallway past BOOS and GHOULS, through the bar, to the front door. And then back the other way. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Axel wasn’t in the bar. I didn’t know where he’d disappeared to.

What was happening downstairs? I couldn’t blot out the image of Juliet, lying so still, her body crumbling to dust.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

I was brewing coffee—for no reason other than it seemed like a semi-useful activity—when the bolts on Axel’s private entrance slid back: one, two, three. A moment later, Axel stood in front of the bar. When he noticed me there, he did a doubletake and scratched his head, eyebrows up.

“Want coffee?” I asked.

He nodded.

I poured him a cup and set it on the bar. “Okay, this is backwards,” I said. “We’re on the wrong sides of the bar.”

He nodded again, and we switched positions. I sat on my usual barstool. He poured a second mug of coffee and slid it in front of me, where it sat untouched. I didn’t want coffee. I wanted Juliet to be okay.

Axel sipped his coffee and waited.

“Juliet’s bad,” I said. “I think she’s dying. Mab’s trying to save her.”

A large hand appeared on the bar, millimeters from my own. It was a strong hand, with square nails and long fingers. Axel wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but I knew what he was trying to say.

He finished his coffee, and I helped get the bar ready to open, carrying in trays of washed glasses and setting them on shelves, scrubbing some of the customary stickiness from the tables. As we worked, I strained to listen for any sign of what Mab was doing, but the only sound was the clinking of barware. Axel didn’t scrimp on soundproofing.

Time dragged its feet through half an hour. I could almost hear the minutes shuffling slowly along—until I looked up and saw Mab in the hallway, leaning against the wall. The shuffling footsteps were hers. She looked exhausted.

I ran to her side. Axel was right behind me. Together, we helped her into the main room and made our way to a table. Axel tested a chair to make sure it didn’t wobble, and we got Mab settled in it. I pulled around another chair and sat next to her. She slumped, one hand over her heart as if checking to make sure it still beat. Her face drooped; her skin was ashen and papery. Whatever she’d done downstairs, it had taken a lot out of her.

I clasped her hand. “Are you all right? How’s Juliet?”

“Juliet’s alive. Or undead—whichever’s appropriate to say about vampires. At any rate, she hasn’t dissolved into a pile of dust.” She took a long, shaky breath and attempted a small smile. “Although that’s rather an apt description of how I feel at the moment.”

Axel looked inquiringly toward the coffeemaker.

“Do you have tea?” I asked. “She doesn’t drink coffee.”

“Downstairs,” Axel said. He went to get it.

Mab closed her eyes and inhaled a long, slow breath. She raised a hand to pat her hair into place. It scared me, seeing how badly her hand shook.

“How about some of that aquavit?” I tried to make my voice bright. “Water of life, right? Sounds like just what you need.”

Mab shook her head. “A sip of tap water, perhaps.” Her tongue darted across parched lips.

“Coming right up.” I squeezed her hand and went behind the bar. As I took down a glass and filled it at the sink, I wondered what saving Juliet’s life had cost Mab. Despite her age, my aunt was a strong, vital woman. I’d never seen her so weak.

Mab accepted the water glass in both hands. She gulped down a couple of swallows and set it on the table. She licked her lips again. “Better.”

“Mab, what did you do down there? What’s the bloodstone?”

She fingered the chain around her neck and pulled out the pendant. The bloodstone looked different, duller and shrunken in its setting. The green and red coloring had faded to a drab, flat gray.

“This stone,” Mab said, “is my talisman. My object of power. It binds me to the land, and the land to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The bloodstone possesses three qualities: it’s sacred, it’s powerful, and it’s personal. Centuries ago, the stone was chiseled from an ancient altar—that’s the sacred part. It was buried deep in the soil, where it absorbed power from the land. And it’s personal to me, infused with my blood—the blood of numerous lifetimes.”

Was she kidding? I knew the ancient druids believed in reincarnation, but I thought that particular belief had been put away in the filing cabinet of wacky ideas, somewhere between
Fairy, Tooth
and
Santa Claus
. Yet Mab’s eyes were dull with exhaustion, not twinkling with a joke.

“The bloodstone is what gives me longevity,” she said. “You might say it’s the source of my power.” The corners of her tired mouth twitched upward. “And I used that power to heal a vampire. You have some second cousins in Carmarthenshire who’d argue I should have staked her instead.”

It was good to see Mab smile a little, because her appearance frightened me. Her skin was dull and sallow. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. The creases in her face had sharpened, and her jawline sagged almost into jowls. The past half hour had aged her twenty years.

“Can the bloodstone’s power be renewed?” I asked.

“When I return to Wales, yes. I’ve drawn on it too much recently. First there was the injury to my heart”—Pryce had nearly killed her a month ago in a swordfight in a Welsh slate mine—“and then I used the stone to find you. And now this. I’m tired. The stone has dispensed much of its power without replenishment. When I get home, I’ll bury it deep in good Welsh soil for a few weeks, give it time to regenerate. And we’ll both be good as new.”

“We could find a place to bury it here.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t work, child. The bloodstone’s power, and my own, is tied to the land of Wales.”

“Then you’ve got to go back.” Mab’s passport had arrived in the mail. Carlos could forge an entry stamp, and everything would be in order for her to leave. If being away from Wales weakened Mab, she needed to go home, and as soon as possible.