Last Blood (45 page)

He sighed. “It had no effect. Or so I thought. When I went with Mal and Chrysabelle to Corvinestri to rescue Marissa from Tatiana’s clutches, I found out she could walk. She’d been hiding the ability for who knows how long. I knew right then your grandmother’s remedy had worked.”

“How did you know it was her remedy that did the trick?”

Dominic narrowed his eyes. “I am an alchemist. I have a feel for these things. I
knew
.” A pained look crossed his face. “Also, it wasn’t long after I started giving her the remedy that she began to pull away from me. I believe now that it was because she wanted the freedom to retrain without having to continue the pretense of her injury with me.”

Creek just nodded, a little awed by Dominic’s story. The man wasn’t exactly the monster he’d believed him to be.

“After we returned to Paradise City, after Maris was buried and I’d made my peace with her death, I went to see your grandmother again. To tell her what had happened and to acknowledge that I owed her a favor. She told me when she needed it, she would let me know.”

Creek leaned back, studying his grandmother. The short, gray-haired woman in the chair across from him
suddenly looked very different. He shook his head as he spoke to her. “My bond price was the favor.”

She held the thick paper coffee cup with both hands. “It would have been a not-guilty verdict, but Dominic couldn’t make that happen. And not because he didn’t try.”

Dominic balled one fist. “Human courts…” He snorted in disgust.

Mawmaw poked her finger into her knee. “This, however—this was something he could do.”

Dominic stood and buttoned his jacket. “And now that it’s done, I should go.”

Creek got up. “Does Chrysabelle know anything about this?”

“No. Not even Marissa knew the real reason she regained her legs. Some things don’t need telling.” Dominic raised a brow. “This is one of them.”

Creek nodded. “Fine. But what about us? Our agreement.”

“I assume you still want a job?”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll expect you at the club by sundown.”

Creek looked up at the sleeping loft. “Considering I have to be out of here in twenty-four hours, I can be there a lot sooner than that.”

Dominic bowed to Mawmaw. “A pleasure to see you.” She nodded back at him, and then he walked toward the door. As he passed Creek, he tossed him something.

Creek caught it. A key. “What’s this for?”

“Your apartment at Seven. Yours for as long as you work for me.” He pushed the door back. “Mortalis, we have an appointment to keep.”

C
hrysabelle lifted her hand to knock on the door of the old church, but it creaked open before she touched it. Preacher glared at her from the dim interior, his gaze skipping briefly over Lilith to shoot straight to where Mal waited in the car. After a long, hard look, his gaze returned to her. “Comarré. What brings you here?”

About the greeting she’d expected. “I have great news. Can we come in?”

“You can.” His gaze stayed on Mal. “That’s it.”

“The child comes with me.”

He glanced down at Lilith and crinkled his forehead but stepped aside to let them pass. He swung the door shut as soon as they were in. “What’s this great news?”

“First, how about you lose the attitude?” How was she ever going to leave this child with Preacher if he didn’t cool it? “I’m not the enemy.”

Preacher sneered. “The vampire out in that car is.”

“No, he’s not. In fact, he saved this little girl’s life. And she happens to like him very much.”

Preacher crossed his arms, but the tone of his voice softened a little. “What’s it to me?”

“You’re starting to make me regret this decision.” Chrysabelle leaned in until only a few inches separated them, then lowered her voice. “She’s your daughter, you self-loathing hypocrite.”

The scowl on his face melted into disbelief and his eyes focused on Lilith. He shook his head, the scowl coming back. “That’s a dirty trick and it’s not going to work on me. That child is human. My daughter is not.”

“She is now.” She put her hand on Lilith’s shoulder where the little girl hung onto her leg. “This
is
your daughter, rescued from the clutches of the ancient ones.”

Doubt clouded his eyes. “Mariela has a birthmark on her hip shaped like a crescent moon.”

Chrysabelle nodded and crouched by the little girl. Lilith looked on the verge of tears. This all had to be so confusing for her. At least Velimai had been able to get her some decent clothes. Chrysabelle patted her hair. “It’s okay, baby. Can I just look at your tummy and see if you have a spot there?”

“M’kay.” She pulled up her dress, showing off a pair of pantaloons, then pointed at her side. “Here.”

Chrysabelle tugged the pantaloons down half an inch, revealing the crescent-shaped mark. She looked up at Preacher. “Satisfied?” But his eyes were already filling.

He dropped to his knees in front of them, his dog tags clinking softly. “Mariela,” he whispered. “My Mariela. At last. I don’t know how she’s grown so fast, but I don’t care.” He looked heavenward. “Thank you.” Then he held out his hands to her. “My sweet girl. I’m your papa.”

Mariela looked at Chrysabelle. She nodded. “He is.”

Mariela shook her head, her bottom lip thrust out.

“Wait,” Preacher said. “Give me a sec.” He disappeared into a back room, returning with a speed only made possible by his vampire abilities. He held out a stuffed pink giraffe. “Remember Gigi?”

Mariela’s frown disappeared. She put her hand on the giraffe’s head. “Gigi.”

“That’s right. And I’m papa. Remember?”

Mariela smacked one of his hands with her own like she was playing a game, then loudly pronounced, “Vampire.”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I am.” Then he glanced at Chrysabelle. “And so was she. So how isn’t she a vampire anymore?” He shook his head. “She’s changed so much. She’s so… big.”

Chrysabelle let go of Mariela as the little girl tucked Gigi under one arm and took hold of both of Preacher’s hands. “You can thank the ancients for her growth spurt. As for the vampire half of her, it’s a bit of a story, but it’s gone for good.”

He looked up. “How is that possible?”

“It has to do with the Tree of Life and the—”

“The Tree of Life?
The
Tree of Life?” He scooped Mariela into his arms, kissed her face, and stood. “In the Garden of Eden?”

“That’s the one. She ate fruit from the Tree and it killed off her vampire side, making her completely human again.”

A single tear tracked down his face. He pressed his mouth to Mariela’s cheek in a long kiss. “Thank you. Thank you for saving her.” He hugged his daughter tightly, causing her to squeal. “Parenting a human child is not going to be easy for me, I know, but I will do the best I can.”

“Do you wish that you could be human again too?”

He nodded, obviously too choked with emotion to speak.

Chrysabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out the gleaming black apple Michael had allowed her to leave with. “It just so happens, I can help you with that.”

He stared at the fruit. “What is that?”

“Apple!” Mariela shouted. She reached for it.

Chrysabelle pulled her hand back. “No, no, little one. You’ve had yours.” She nodded at Preacher. “She’s right. It’s an apple from the Tree of Life.”

He shook his head. “How did you get that?”

“It was a gift from my… from the Archangel Michael. For this exact purpose.”

He glanced at the fruit with new appreciation, holding out his free hand.

She drew the fruit back slightly. “First, I have to know something. When you turned yourself into a vampire through that accidental blood transfusion, did you die before you were transformed? The way it usually happens?”

“No. I was conscious the whole time.”

“Then, from what I understand of how the Tree works, eating this should kill off your vampire side and restore you to your full humanity, just like it did with Lilith. I mean, Mariela. But eating this also means you’ll age, lose your extra strength and speed. All your vampire abilities will be gone.”

“But I’ll be human?”

“Yes.”

He stared at the apple. “You’re sure about this? That it won’t kill me?”

“Not a hundred percent, no.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry,
I can’t promise you better than that. I just thought you’d want the chance. If not…”

He grabbed the apple. “I do.” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “If this doesn’t go good, what happens to Mariela?”

“I can… take her to the mayor. Let her grandmother raise her.”

“The woman who lied to me about Mariela being dead? No. You raise her. Promise me.”

Chrysabelle hesitated. That had not been part of any scenario she’d run. She was about to have a child of her own. Raising two couldn’t be that much harder, could it? “I promise. But it won’t come to that.”

He set Mariela down, but hung onto her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Give me a minute, sweetheart.” He took the apple. One last look at Chrysabelle, as if seeking assurance, then he bit into the fruit.

Juice ran from the corner of his mouth and the scent of spice and honey mingled with the waxy essence given off by the bank of votives near the altar. He took another bite and a shudder racked his body. He dropped to the ground, groaning.

Shouts erupted beyond the doors—Mal’s voice and a female one she couldn’t quite place at first until she heard the word “granddaughter.” A second later, a loud pop rang out followed by a guttural roar that sounded very much like Mal.

She had taken one step toward the exit, ready to fly to his side, when the church door flew off its rusted hinges. Wood splintered like confetti. Lola stood at the threshold, trembling, a gun in her hand. Chrysabelle imagined the shaking must be the pain of being so near sacred ground. Or nerves. Then she looked past Lola.
Jerem stood behind Mal, who was on the ground. An armed group of fringe guards surrounded them. Jerem’s eyes glowed with varcolai rage and Mal’s eyes were bright silver. Suddenly she realized blood dripped from Mal’s thigh.

Rage narrowed Chrysabelle’s vision. “You shot him? You stupid—”

“Next bullet goes through his heart.” Lola pointed at Mariela. “Unless you bring the child to me.”

Chrysabelle didn’t need to see Mal shaking his head no in order to make her next move. She hoisted Mariela under one arm, hooked her hand through Preacher’s belt, and dragged them deeper into the sanctuary. “This child belongs with her father. And I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be dead before there’ll be a next bullet.”

Preacher wasn’t moving and Mariela began to cry.

“That is my granddaughter. She belongs with me.” Lola stepped a foot inside the church. The hand holding the gun shook so badly she almost dropped it, but she somehow put another foot forward. “And I intend to bring her home.”

Memories flashed in Lola’s brain at the sight of the child in Chrysabelle’s arms, memories of another little girl. Julia. And seeing this child now, there was no question she was Mariela. She was Julia’s twin at that age.

Her dead heart ached to possess her grandchild. To show everyone she was right, that she was the one best suited to raise her. So much so that the nerve-crunching pain razoring through her body couldn’t keep her out of the church. She pushed forward. The moment she crossed
the threshold, her body went up in white-hot waves of agony. She hesitated, knowing she should turn back, knowing death lay in her path, but unable to stop moving. Something inside her had clicked on, pushing her forward. Tiny teeth gnawed on the soles of her feet with every step, but still she went deeper in.

She clenched the gun in her hand harder, trying to stop the shaking. “Give her to me,” she commanded. “I’m her grandmother.”

“And Preacher is her father. That bond comes first,” Chrysabelle said. “You want to see Mariela, you work it out with him.”

She raised the gun at the comarré. “I sacrificed so much for her.”

Chrysabelle shook her head, her expression full of disgust. “You told Preacher she was dead.”

“Only because I know what’s best for her.” Unable to hold on any longer, the gun fell out of her hand. And Preacher, who Lola had assumed dead by the way he lay crumpled on the floor, started to stir. His movement spurred her on. Her tortured steps grew ragged and off balance. He would fight her. Blame her. Accuse her of lying. He didn’t understand that she was the only one who could properly raise Mariela. She reached her hands out even as shots of lightning-fast pain danced through her muscles, making her twitch. The ability to care about her own life had vanished. “Give her to me. I have to have her. I did all this for her.” Tears streamed down her face. “For her.”

“You became a vampire for your own reasons.” Chrysabelle shook her head, fear reflected in her eyes. “Get out of here. Save yourself.”

But Lola knew that was impossible.

Preacher pulled himself up using one of the pews. He stared at her with a horrified look. “You foolish woman. You’re killing yourself.”

“Just like you killed my Julia?” Red edged her vision and the tang of smoke filled her nostrils. She stumbled to her hands and knees. Pain shot through the contact points and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out, but a jagged sob left her anyway. A cry for her own life. For the life of her granddaughter. For everything she was about to lose and powerless to stop. If only she could get Mariela.