Bloody Bones (32 page)

He glanced at them. “I don't see why not. Serephina had us collect them mostly for your benefit, Anita. They've served their purpose.”

I didn't like the way he said that last. “Safe, Magnus, no more harm. Are we clear on what that means?”

He smiled. “They walk out the door, and go home. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Why so cooperative all of a sudden?”

“Would letting them go be apology enough?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah, if they go free, unharmed. I'll accept her apology.”

He nodded. “Then consider it done.”

“Don't you have to check with your master first?”

“My master whispers sweetly to me, Anita, and I obey.” He smiled while he said it, but there was a tightness around his eyes, an involuntary flexing of his hands.

“You don't like being her lap dog.”

“Perhaps, but there's not much I can do about it.” He started up the stairs. “Shall we go up?”

Jean-Claude paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you need some help,
ma petite?
I have taken quite a bit of your blood. You do not recover as quickly as my wolf.”

Truthfully, the stairs looked longer going up than they had coming down. But I shook my head. “I can make it.”

“Of that,
ma petite,
I have no doubt.” He stepped close to me, but did not whisper; instead I felt him in my mind. “You are weak,
ma petite.
Let me help you.”

“Stop doing that, dammit.”

He smiled and sighed. “As you like,
ma petite.”
He walked up the steps like he could have flown, barely touching them. Larry and the girls went up next; none of them seemed tired. I slogged up after them. Jason brought up the rear. He looked hollow-eyed. It may have felt good, but donating that much blood is still rough, even on the temporarily furry. If Jean-Claude had offered to carry him up the stairs, would he have agreed?

Jason caught me looking, but he didn't smile; he just stared back. Maybe he'd have said no, too. Weren't we all just being uncooperative tonight?

27

T
HE SILKEN DRAPES
had been drawn aside. A throne sat in the far right-hand corner. There was no other word for it; “chair” just didn't cover that golden, bejeweled thing. Cushions were scattered on the floor around it, heaped like they should be covered with harem girls, or at least small pampered dogs. Nothing sat on them. It was like an empty stage waiting for the actors to appear.

A small wall-hanging on the back wall had been pushed aside to reveal a door. The door had been wedged open with a triangular piece of wood. The spring air poured through the open door, chasing back the smell of decay. I started to say “Come on, girls,” but the wind changed. It blew harder, colder, and I knew it wasn't wind at all. My skin prickled, the fine muscles along my arms and shoulders twitching with it.

“What is that?” Larry asked.

“Ghosts,” I said.

“Ghosts? What the hell are ghosts doing here?”

“Serephina can call ghosts,” Jean-Claude said. “It is a unique ability among us.”

Kissa appeared in the doorway. Her right arm hung loose at her side. Blood dripped down her arm in a slow, heavy line.

“Your handiwork?” I asked.

Larry nodded. “I shot her, but it didn't seem to slow her down much.”

“You hurt her.”

Larry widened his eyes. “Great.” He didn't sound great when he said it. Wounded master vampires get cranky as hell.

“Serephina bids you come outside,” Kissa said.

Magnus dropped to the cushions, boneless as a cat. He looked like he'd curled up there before.

“You aren't coming?” I asked.

“I've seen the show,” he said.

Jean-Claude walked towards the door. Jason had moved up beside him, but back a couple of steps like a good dog.

The two girls were holding onto Larry's jacket. He had been the one who unchained them. They'd seen him shoot the bad guys. He was a hero. And like all good heroes, he'd get himself killed protecting them.

Jean-Claude was suddenly at my side. “What is wrong,
ma petite?”

“Can the girls go out the front?”

“Why?”

“Because whatever's out there is big and bad, and I want them out of it.”

“What's wrong?” Jason asked. He stood a little to one side. He was flexing his hands, closed, open, closed, open. He'd seemed a lot more relaxed thirty minutes ago, but then, weren't we all?

Jean-Claude turned to Kissa. “Was this one right?” He motioned to Magnus. “Are the girls free to go?”

“They may go; so says our master.”

He turned to the girls. “Go,” he said.

They looked at each other, then at Larry. “Alone?” the blonde said.

The brown-haired one shook her head. “Come on, Lisa, they're letting us go. Come on.” She looked at Larry. “Thank you.”

“Just go home,” he said. “Be safe.”

She nodded and started for the far door with Lisa clinging to her. They left the door to the room open, and we watched them walk out the front. Nothing swooped down upon them. No screams cut the night. What do you know?

“Are you ready now,
ma petite?
We must pay our respects.” He took a step forward, looking at me. Jason already stood at his side, nervous hands and all.

I nodded and fell into step behind Jean-Claude. Larry stayed at my side like a second shadow. I could feel his fear like a trembling against my skin.

I understood why he was scared. Janos had beaten Jean-Claude. Janos was afraid of Serephina, which meant she could take Jean-Claude without raising a sweat. If she could take the vampire that was on our side, she wouldn't find us much of a challenge. If I was smart, I'd shoot her as soon as I saw her. Of course, we were here to ask for her help. It sort of cut my options.

The cool wind played in our hair like it had little hands. It was almost alive. I'd never felt any wind that could make me want to brush it off, like an overly amorous date. But I wasn't afraid. I should have been. Not of the ghosts, but of whatever had called them up. But I felt distant and faintly unreal. Blood loss will do that to you.

We walked out the door and down two small stone steps. Rows of small, gnarled fruit trees decorated the back of the house. There was a wall of darkness just beyond the orchard. It was a thick wall of shadows, so black that I couldn't see through it. The naked tree branches were framed against the blackness.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Some of us can weave shadows and darkness around us,” Jean-Claude said.

“I know. I saw it when Coltrain was killed, but this is a freaking wall.”

“It is impressive,” he said. His voice was very bland, matter-of-fact. I glanced at him, but even in the bright moonlight I couldn't read his face.

A sparkle of white light showed behind the blackness. Beams of cold, pale light pierced the darkness. The light ate away at the dark like paper burns, the blackness crumbling, vanishing as the light consumed it. When the last of the darkness had shredded away, a pale figure stood among the trees.

Even from this distance you wouldn't have mistaken her for human, but then she wasn't trying to pass. A pale, white luminescence swirled above her head, a glowing cloud, yards across like colorless neon. Vague figures darted out from it, then swirled back.

“Is that what I think it is?” Larry asked.

“Ghosts,” I said.

“Shit,” he said.

“My thoughts exactly.”

The ghosts flowed out into the trees. They hung on the dead branches like a froth of early blossoms, if blossoms could move and writhe and glow.

The strange wind blew against my face, sending my hair streaming backwards. A long, thin line of phosphorescent figures whirled out. The ghosts came sweeping towards us, low to the ground.

“Anita!”

“Just ignore them, Larry. They can't actually hurt you as long as you keep moving and ignore them.”

The first ghost was long and thin with a wide, screaming mouth that looked like a smoke ring. It hit me at mid-chest; the shock ran through me like electricity. The small muscles in my arms jerked with it. Larry gasped.

“What the hell was that?” Jason asked.

I took a step forward. “Keep walking and ignore them.”

I didn't mean to, but my pace took me ahead of Jean-Claude. The next ghost swept over my face. There was a moment of smothering but I kept walking and it passed.

Jean-Claude touched my arm. I stared into his face and wasn't sure what I saw. He was definitely trying to tell me something. He stepped out in front of me, still staring at me.

I nodded, and let him lead. It didn't cost me anything.

“I don't like this,” Larry said in a singsong voice.

“Me either,” Jason said. He was batting at a tiny swirl of whiteness like a tame mist. The more he swatted at it, the more solid it became. A face was forming out of the mist.

I walked back to Jason and grabbed his arms. “Ignore it.”

The small ghost perched on his shoulder. It had a large, bulbous nose and two half-formed eyes.

Jason's arms tensed under my hands. “Every time you notice them, you give them power to manifest themselves,” I said. A ghost hit me in the back. It was like a lump of moving ice in the center of my body. It crawled out the front of my body like a cold rope being pulled through me. The sensation was unnerving as hell, but it wasn't permanent. It didn't even really hurt.

The ghost dived into Jason's chest, and he cried out. Only my grip on his arms kept him from clawing at the thing. Every muscle in Jason's body twitched like a horse being eaten alive by flies. He sagged when the ghost was through him, looking at me with horror-filled eyes. It was nice to know he could be scared. The vampires seemed to have taken some of his courage with their rotting arms. Couldn't blame him. I'd have had screaming fits, too.

Larry jumped when a ghost popped through him, but that was all. His eyes were a little wide, but he knew where the danger lay, and it wasn't the ghosts.

Jean-Claude came to stand near us. “What is wrong, my wolf?” There was an undercurrent of warning, anger. His pet was not living up to his reputation.

“We're fine,” I said. I squeezed Jason's hand; his eyes were still wide, but he nodded. “We'll be fine.”

Jean-Claude walked towards the distant white figure once more, his movement graceful, unhurried, as if he wasn't as scared as the rest of us. Maybe he wasn't. I pulled Jason with me. Larry had moved to my back. The three of us walked like normal human beings behind Jean-Claude. We
looked like good little soldiers except for the fact that I was holding the werewolf's hand. His hand was sweating against my skin. Couldn't afford to have a hysterical werewolf. My right hand was still free to go for a gun, or a knife. We'd hurt them once; if they didn't behave themselves, we could finish the job. Or at least go down trying.

Jean-Claude led us among the naked trees with the ghosts crawling over the bare branches like phantom snakes. He stopped a few feet away from the vampire. I almost expected him to bow, but he didn't. “Greetings, Serephina.”

“Greetings, Jean-Claude.” She was dressed in a simple white dress that fell in folds of shining cloth over her feet. White gloves covered her arms almost completely. Her hair was grey with streaks of white, left unadorned save for a headband of silver and pearls. It wasn't a headband, probably called a coronet or something. Her face was lined with age. Delicate makeup had been added, but not enough to hide the fact that she was old. Vampires didn't age. That was the whole point, wasn't it?

“Shall we go inside?” she asked.

“If you like,” he said.

She gave a faint smile. “You may escort me inside, as you did of old.”

“But it is not olden days, Serephina. We are both masters now.”

“I have many masters serving me, Jean-Claude.”

“I serve only myself,” he said.

She stared at him for a space of heartbeats, then nodded. “You have made your point. Now be a gentleman.”

Jean-Claude took a deep enough breath that I heard it sigh from his lips. He offered her his arm, and she slid one gloved hand through it, her hand resting on his wrist.

The ghosts floated downward behind her like a great flowing train. They brushed past the rest of us with a skin-prickling rush, then floated upward, hovering about ten feet off the ground.

“You may walk with us,” Serephina said. “They will not molest you.”

“Comforting,” I said.

She smiled again. It was hard to tell in the moonlight and ghostly glow, but her eyes were pale, maybe grey, maybe blue. You didn't need to see the color to not like the look in them.

“I have looked forward to meeting you, necromancer.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

The smile didn't widen, and didn't fade; it didn't move at all. It was like her face was a well-constructed mask. I raised my glance to her eyes, for just a moment. They didn't try to suck me under, but there was an energy in them, a deep burning that pushed at the surface of her being like a banked fire; move a log just wrong, and the flames would come licking out and burn us all up. I couldn't judge her age; she was stopping me. I'd never met anyone that could actually stop me—trick me into believing them younger, yes, but not just glare at me and keep me from doing it.

She turned and walked through the door. Jean-Claude helped her up the steps, as if she needed it. The easy distance of the blood loss was receding, leaving me real, and alive, and wanting to stay that way. Maybe it was Jason's hand warm in my own. The sweat on his palm. The reality of him. I was suddenly scared, and she hadn't done a damn thing to me.

The ghosts flowed into the house, some pouring through the door, some sliding through the walls. Watching them pull free of the wood, you almost expected a sound, like a plop, but it was utterly quiet. The undead make no noise.

The ghosts bounced along the ceiling like helium-filled balloons, poured down the walls in back of the throne like milky water. They were translucent near the candle flames, like bubbles.