Laws of the Blood 4: Deceptions: Deceptions (11 page)

“Here,” Falconer called at the third tree he inspected. “Broken bark,” he told Russ when he came trotting up.

“So I see. Stand back,” Russ directed, waving Falconer away from the tree.

Falconer stepped back to let his friend work. After a brief inspection of the tree trunk and the ground around it, Russ opened a bag, put on gloves, and took out a selection of equipment. He used tweezers and put things in vials. It was all very arcane to Mike Falconer.

After a few minutes Falconer couldn’t contain his impatience anymore. “Well? What have you found?”

“Hair, mostly,” Russ answered. “Some fibers. Possibly a tiny amount of blood.”

“Evidence,” Falconer said, and sighed. He was surprised at how anxious he’d been that there might be no way to prove the reality of what had happened to him. “Good.”

“I’ll let you know if it’s good after I get back to the lab. This is everything.” Russ sealed the last bit of evidence and put the container in his bag. “I could bring in some fancy high-tech equipment and go over the area if you like, Mike.”

“Neither of our budgets could handle that.”

“Not if all you’re paying in is coffee and donuts.”

“And favors to be returned,” Falconer added.

Russ grunted and hefted his bag. He checked his watch. “If you’re going to tell me you need this stuff by tonight, you’re out of luck.”

“Understood.” Falconer checked his own watch. He had an appointment in an hour and important meetings the rest of the day. There were no Walking sessions scheduled for the rest of the week, thank goodness. “I wouldn’t be home tonight, even if you had anything for me,” he told his friend. “I’ll be at a party.”

Russ canted a bushy eyebrow at Falconer. “Hot date?”

“Only if you consider kissing up to appropriations committee members hot.”

The FBI scientist laughed. They strolled toward the
street together. “I thank God regularly that I’m a faceless cog in the bureaucratic wheel. At least I don’t have to personally worry about where my funding comes from.”

“Lucky bastard. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” Russ answered.

They tossed empty coffee containers into a garbage can. Russ hefted his bag on his shoulder. Falconer did not let himself look nervously over his shoulder at the shadows and ghosts in the park, and they went their separate ways.

The taste of the Irish coffee was good against his tongue, the heat of it spread a comforting warmth. The raincoat he’d folded over the chair next to his was still soaking wet, and his hair was a little damp. Rain poured down outside, the storm clouds covering the city so dark it was hard to tell that it was near the middle of the day. Frequent flashes of lightning lit up the street outside the wide windows at the front of the bar. Bentencourt checked his watch, something that was a habit still more than a necessity. The blood he shared with Rose was changing him. Among those changes was the growing awareness of the exact position of the sun as the earth turned in its rotation.

He loved the taste of her blood, and hated the necessity of having to taste it so rarely. The anticipation was sweet, of course, and the test of his control was good for him. He needed to be disciplined, to remain focused. The threads he held in his hands were only beginning to come together. He had to keep careful watch on each and every intersecting plan. The drives of the body changing and opening up to new and powerful kinds of magic left one distracted to the point of madness. Look at how Cassandra had behaved at lunch the day before, making a fool of herself in front himself and Gavivi, showing her vulnerability.

Poor dear, he thought. There must be some use I can make of her obvious misery.

Someday he would go through that change, but not until he was in control of the world around him. He looked forward to the night he made his first kill and the brief decadence of rebirth that would follow. Once he was a strigoi he would always be in command of the magic, the need.

“Let me go!” he recalled Lora begging last night when Rose stopped her from leaving the house. He had to admit he was impressed that his lethargic little Rose sensed the young vampire’s intentions and moved with decisive speed to keep the girl in the house. “I need!” Lora cried.

Rose held her in her arms, rocking her like a loving mother trying to ease the broken heart of a child rather than soothing a monster who ripped them out. “Patience,” she urged. “We always need. The hunger bubbles in the mind and whispers all the time—take, Hunt, rape, kill. Fight the hunger, Lora. Be strong, one moment at a time.”

“You told me I could have him!”

“You will.”

“She hurt me. She wouldn’t let me taste him. I stalked him, I claim him. He’s my prey!”

“He’ll be in your bed soon. You hunted him too close to the Hunter’s territory, and that was my fault. I didn’t think she’d care. I shouldn’t have let you go without consulting with the Hunter. I was wrong.”

“You’re never wrong,” Bentencourt interjected quickly. “The Greek witch doesn’t care, except to try to exert control she doesn’t deserve. She can’t control what goes on inside your nest. The Law says that Lora has a right to take a companion.”

“Of course she does,” Rose answered, still holding Lora in a grip of steel. Lora moaned and clutched at Rose’s shoulders, her claws out, but not piercing flesh that only appeared soft and vulnerable. Rose made Lora look deep into her eyes. “You will have a companion. His blood is yours. Soon.”

The constant hunger to Hunt was palpable in both
women. Bentencourt could taste it on the charged air. No matter how well vampires managed to control the dark urges, much of the time it was their weak spot, the place where they could most easily be manipulated. He loved that about them. It made it so easy for him.

Bentencourt smiled at the memory of last night’s little drama. Lora certainly would not be granted her wish to take the companion of her choice soon, but perhaps she would have her bunny one way or another. Bentencourt really didn’t care what happened to Falconer, as long as Lora’s interest in him brought Olympias trouble.

He had plenty of time before he had to leave, especially since he would probably catch a cab instead of walking the ten or twelve blocks to his meeting in this downpour. Time for a pub lunch, and maybe a game of darts if any of the bar’s regulars put in an appearance. The place was not too far from the zoo and a metro stop. Too many tourists found their way to the place at lunchtime to sample the excellent beer and simple but genuine Irish fare. Evenings it was different; locals came for the music and gatherings in the back rooms. Several genuine psychics did readings here once or twice a month and taught classes as well. It was a meeting with one of those psychics that had changed his life. He’d ended up holding his own classes as a way of developing his mental abilities and gaining information with the hypnotic and mind-reading skills he discovered he was so gifted with. Bentencourt was not the regular he’d been at one time, but he did miss the evenings holding court in the back rooms.

It was good to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, but Bentencourt wondered why he was really here today. True, this old haunt was not too far from his destination, but he knew there was no such thing as coincidence for mental adepts, only synchronicity. By the time he’d signaled a waitress, given her his lunch order, then turned his attention to the door, he had his answer.

Ah,
he thought,
of course.

Bentencourt raised his hand to get her attention. Grace Avella smiled when she saw him. He noted that she did not look a bit surprised at his presence as she made her way through the mass of small tables to reach his place near the dark paneled wall. She’d been Walking, he concluded, looking for him. He was annoyed with himself for not having felt her. He’d tried such astral projection but hadn’t yet figured out how it was done. It was not high on his list of priorities. While the ability to watch the actions of others without detection was useful, he didn’t absolutely need it now. Besides, it would develop naturally with other strigoi talents once he’d made the change. He was not paranoid that others could spy on him. He was clever enough to make sure his actions masked his motives, but it was annoying to know that it could be done.

He showed no annoyance when he greeted Grace, and certainly no awareness of how she’d found him. He rose and took her folded umbrella, placing it on top of his raincoat. “What a pleasant surprise,” he said as he gallantly rose and pulled out a chair for her. “I’ve missed our little sessions. You’re looking well. Still practicing the exercises we tried out?” She flushed with pleasure at such attention. It was surprising how these old-fashioned gestures disarmed modern women. “I’ve just ordered lunch. What can I have the waitress get for you?”

“Oh. Nothing. Thank you.” She waved away his question with a flustered gesture. “I can’t stay. I only stopped by on the off chance . . . well, here you are, and I was hoping to see you.”

He gazed upon her with curious delight. “Really? I’m flattered. What can I help you with?” While Grace considered how to word her answer, Bentencourt caught a server’s eye and ordered his visitor a cup of hot tea. “To take the chill off from the rain.”

“Thanks.” She glanced outside. “That’s not rain. That might possibly be the apocalypse.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure that’s not scheduled for several days yet.”

She smiled and grew more at ease. “Is it all right if we talk? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“I do have to be somewhere in about an hour,” he answered honestly. He focused his attention completely on her. “But until then, I am all yours.”

Grace leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her gaze locked onto his. “I hope you can help me set up an experiment. . . something like the past life regressions we did, but different.”

“Go on,” he urged. She did. While he listened to her words he also delicately probed her surface thoughts. Within a few moments he knew that Grace and her cohorts could conceivably pose a threat. He also decided how he could use Grace’s little group to gain more power among the local vampires and their companions. Quite a delicious opportunity, really.

Sara wasn’t quite sure why she turned up at the slaves’ usual meeting place when there was no one she was expecting to meet today. She sat in her usual pew within view of her favorite stained glass window. No sunlight flooded in to illuminate the brilliant colors of the glass on this miserable, rainy day, but she liked looking at the window anyway. She felt abandoned, alone, restless, and melancholy and didn’t know whether she’d rather have someone to share her feelings with or someone she could give orders to and consult with to give her a sense of purpose.

Gerry was still in Denver. Maggie had sent the invitation to tonight’s party by messenger. Caleb was with the White House press corps in New York. Mira was actually on vacation, something Sara would never consider asking Olympias to let her do. Sara had too much to do, and should be in her office catching up right now. So, why was she here? Habit, she supposed. She sighed and took a bite of a very dull cheese sandwich. She
wasn’t a creature of the night, she was a creature of habit. Besides, she wanted the solitude, which was an odd way of looking at it since the house contained only a dead-to-the-world vampire and a snoring dog and her present surroundings was one of the main tourist attractions in the Washington area. It was so peaceful here, so—

“Tell me, Ms. Czerny, do you come here to pray?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of the mild, amused question. Heart racing, she found herself looking in shock into the eyes of Rose Shilling’s latest companion. “Bentencourt,” she said, remembering his name. What was he doing here? “Pray?”

His thinning hair was damp, his bland features shadowed by the dim light in the cathedral. He said, “The National Cathedral is more or less nondenominational. Surely there’s a shrine somewhere for the old goddess our people worship. Do you pray to her?”

“Our people?” Sara repeated, her wits sluggish. Sara had no idea what he was talking about. Despite hosting services of many faiths the cathedral was actually an Episcopal church, so of course there weren’t any shrines dedicated to ancient pagan goddesses on the premises. It took her a few moments to realize that the comment had been meant as a joke and to dutifully smile in response.

A nearby flash of lightning cracked across the sky, and Sara’s gaze automatically shifted to watch the sudden eerie glow that lit her favorite window.

“The Space Window,” Bentencourt said.

Sara turned back to him and rose from her seat. He was a tall man, and she didn’t like the way he’d been looming over her. As thunder rumbled after the lightning she found herself pushing away sudden worry about how Andrew was faring sleeping outdoors in the pouring rain. The companion’s presence was the immediate problem, she reminded herself, not a wayward vampire’s irregular sleeping arrangements.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked,
whispering even though the flow of tourists was thin today and there was no one near them.

“Something your associate Gerry said to you when he left the lunch meeting, about meeting under the rock. He said it in a way that gave it special significance. At first I thought he might mean the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian, but that place is always so crowded, and the gem is displayed at eye level. I could think of only a single place in Washington where one is actually under a very significant rock.” He gestured to the beautiful, modernistic stained glass window in deep reds and blues placed high in the gothic wall nearby. A small rock was set in the center of the vibrantly colored glass. “The moon rock one of the astronauts persuaded the government to donate to the cathedral.” He turned toward the window. “It is very lovely.” He glanced back at her. “It has a special meaning for you, doesn’t it?”