Queen Of Blood (9 page)

The old man made her nervous. She was certain he suspected her of something. It was in the way he looked at her and the subtly
doubting tone of his voice when he questioned her. In the aftermath of her confrontation with the intruders, he’d asked her
a series of questions that made her uncomfortable. He wanted to know why she’d been up at that late hour. Wanted to know every
tiny detail of how things went down. She explained everything in minute detail. It helped that much of it wasn’t made up.
She’d been restless and had come into the kitchen for a late night snack, she’d told them, and that was fiction. The rest
was stone cold truth.

More or less.

So it was aggravating that Jim clearly wasn’t buying it. This despite understanding why he was suspicious of her. She was
an unknown quantity as far as he was concerned. He was a hard guy to figure out, not much at all like the wild rock-and-roll
madman portrayed in movies and books. He was calmer, quiet, and coldly analytical. He’d hauled the dead men away in the bed
of his pickup and disposed of them somewhere. It was chilling how unfazed he’d been by that.

Once the cleanup chores had been completed, Jim made the offer of sanctuary at his “place in the mountains.” He made the offer
explicitly to Chad, pointedly leaving her out. But Chad would only go if Allyson accompanied him. Jim acquiesced without argument,
but his demeanor told the real story—he’d didn’t trust her.

Allyson straightened and took a large gulp from the can. The cold soda felt good going down. Slightly invigorated, she set
off toward Chad’s Lexus. She smiled at Jim as she passed him and he nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his dark sunglasses.
Then she opened the Lexus’s passenger door and slipped inside.

“Thanks for stopping. I feel so much better after getting—”

Then she saw the thing propped on the dash and her voice died in her throat. It was an ID card with her picture on it. At
the top in cobalt blue block letters were the words FRANKLIN SECURITY CONSULTANTS. Beneath her picture in small black type
was the name Jennifer Campbell, and beneath that the title Senior Solutions Specialist.

The back door on her side opened and someone slid into the seat behind her. The door thunked shut and Allyson detected a faint
scent of tobacco.
Jim.
No one said anything at first. Allyson’s face reddened as sweat appeared on her forehead. The air in the car felt close and
hot. The slick Coke can began to slide from her fingers. She set it in the cup holder with a shaking hand and tried to think
of something—anything—to say.

Chad cleared his throat and said, “Is there anything you want to tell us, Allyson? Or should I call you Jennifer?”

His tone thrummed with equal measures of anger and hurt. Hearing that hurt snapped her out of the state of speechless panic.
The partial admission that followed came before she could take even a moment to consider it. “I’m an ex-porn star and drug
addict. Allyson Vanover is my real name. I’m from Los Angeles originally, but I ran away from my life there because it was
out of control. I did twenty-four pornos in just under two years, and the ten thousand dollars is what I had left from that
when I met you. I used to do so much coke my nose bled all the time and I wouldn’t sleep for days. I had to get away from
that or I was going to die. Jennifer Campbell is the alias I came up with in case I needed a new identity to really start
over.”

The words had come out in a rush, tripping over the tip of her tongue like pebbles tumbling wildly down a waterfall. As with
her previous explanations in the aftermath of last night’s carnage, her story now was comprised of interweaving strands of
truth and fiction. And, again, much of it was truth. But she had no faith at all they would buy the whole package this time.
She suspected the combination of Jim’s paranoia and Chad’s hurt feelings would conspire to put her out on the street. The
thought filled her with a black despair. She’d done many bad things, but she was doing her damnedest to make up for them.
The unfairness of it burned, coming so soon after taking her stand against the bad guys.

Chad blinked slowly, his face registering shock. “Um…porno?”

Allyson’s nod was emphatic. Her eyes were shining, imploring him to believe her. “I swear to God.” She glanced at the rearview
mirror, met Jim’s stoic gaze, and looked again at Chad. “I don’t know what you guys are thinking or what you suspect, but
I swear it’s fucking wrong.” A quaver entered her voice and tears began to roll from the corners of her eyes. “I’m not a bad
person. I love you, Chad, and I didn’t tell you the truth about my past because I knew you wouldn’t want anything to do with
someone so…trashy.”

The tears gave way to sobs, a display of genuine emotion devoid of even the smallest hint of fakery. She had known all along
the real Allyson Vanover was not the kind of person who could ever hope to move in the same circles as a Chad Robbins, much
less ever hope to marry a man of his quality. And now that this part of the charade was over, she felt like crawling into
a hole and never coming out.

Jim shifted in the backseat and spoke up: “I don’t suppose you have proof to offer of the veracity of this tale?”

Allyson’s eyes went wide and she said, “Chad! Your laptop, please get it.”

Chad’s brow furrowed and he stared at her in a searching way for a moment. Allyson expected to see judgment in his eyes, but
it didn’t seem to be there. Or maybe he was merely holding everything in for a big explosion to come. But then he sighed and
got out of the car. He popped the trunk with the electronic key fob, and Allyson glanced again at Jim as she listened to the
rustling sound of baggage being moved around. His sunglasses were off now and he was staring hard at her.

She made herself hold his as gaze as she said, “I’m telling the truth.”

Jim’s nod was barely perceptible. “I’m sure you are.” Then he smiled, an expression untouched by humor. “But I don’t think
you’re telling all of the truth.”

Allyson looked away from those cold eyes. “I’m not lying. You’ll see.”

Jim didn’t reply.

Chad returned to the car, sliding back behind the wheel and moving his seat back before flipping open the laptop. The computer
came out of hibernation mode, its screen a bright glare in the sunlight. Chad tapped some keys and said, “Lucky us, there’s
a wireless network in range. We’re connected.” He glanced at Allyson. “What are we looking for?”

Allyson swallowed hard before replying. She didn’t want Chad to see the things she was about to show him. But she knew she’d
been left with no choice. “Do a Google image search on Sinthia Fox. That’s S-i-n-t-h-i-a Fox.”

Her fingernails etched grooves in her palms as Chad tapped the keys. The search immediately produced pages of results. And
though the glare of the sun obscured the shameful images somewhat, she was able to see enough to know she’d delivered her
promised proof. Her hair had been a darker shade of blonde then, the sandy shade that was her natural color, and the makeup
she’d worn for the movies and photo shoots had been starkly whorish and slutty. But it was her. Chad stared at the thumbnail
pictures without saying anything for long moments before clicking on one that showed her fellating a dildo. He winced at
the enlarged image and flipped the laptop shut. Then he looked up and stared straight ahead, eyes focusing on nothing at all.

“I’m sorry, Chad.” Allyson’s voice sounded small, defeated. “I understand if you kick me out now.”

Chad finally looked at her again. She saw pain in his expression. The withering aspect of judgment she expected was still
missing. “I’m not kicking you out.” His voice was softer now, entirely devoid of the rage and implied accusations of before.
“I wish you’d told me the truth before. It would’ve saved us all some grief. But I understand why you didn’t. It’ll take me
a while to come to terms with this, but I want you to know that I care about you, too.” He indicated the closed laptop with
a nod. “I know how hard it must have been for you to show me those…things.”

He reached out to her, stroked her cheek with the back of a hand, and Allyson melted inside. She grabbed his hand and held
on for dear life. “I’m so sorry. Chad, I’m so sorry.”

Jim said, “I take it you’re satisfied, Chad?”

Allyson blinked her tears away and watched Chad as he hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah, Jim. I’m satisfied.”

“Fair enough.”

Jim opened the rear door and swung his legs out. He paused before getting the rest of the way out. “I trust you, friend, and
if you choose to place your trust in this woman, I’ll abide by that. But we’re going to a place I can’t afford to compromise.
We’ll stop ahead of arriving there and blindfold young Allyson. She’ll ride the rest of the way in with me. That condition
is non-negotiable. Understood?”

Allyson answered before Chad had a chance to open his mouth. “Understood. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Jim nodded. “Good.”

He departed without another word, throwing the door shut and returning to his pickup. Allyson settled back into her seat and
felt her eyes flutter shut. There was so much else she wanted to say to Chad about her old life in California, so much she
needed to explain, but she didn’t have the energy now.

Darkness took her as the Lexus followed the old Ford back to the highway.

CHAPTER TEN

Giselle Burkhardt opened her eyes in darkness. She was back. She felt the cold steel of the cage beneath her bottom. Giselle
sat upright and grasped the bars of her prison. Then she pulled them apart as easily as a child deconstructing a clumsily
assembled Lego building, the steel yielding with stunning ease to her strength. She climbed out of the cage and dropped to
the floor. Instinct guided her to the room’s only point of egress, a place where the texture of reality was thinner and more
susceptible to the manipulation of magic. She splayed her hands on the cool stone wall and focused her will.

It was easy.

A door formed in the wall. It swung open before her and she stepped into a large room that was a precise replica of the Master’s
old chambers. The door closed behind her, its outline vanishing instantly. An odd sense of peace settled within her as she
surveyed the uncannily familiar surroundings. Giselle had emerged from her dank and freezing prison a changed woman. It was
as if she’d shed an old skin with her passage back through Azaroth’s portal. The missing parts of her body had been restored,
obviously, but there was an inner change as well.

The murder of Eddie and his woman seemed to have erased the last traces of her conscience. She was no longer a redeemed sinner.
There was fresh blood on her hands. Innocent blood. She’d taken it willingly, even eagerly. So she was no longer afraid to
shrink from the core truth about herself. She was a murderer. A sadist. And by killing Eddie she’d unleashed the tamed beast
she’d kept hidden in the darkest part of her soul f or so long.

She thought of Eddie and tried to feel some trace of her former feelings for him, but those feelings now seemed as dead as
he was.

She had done it fast, sprinting across the apartment’s
living room floor toward the oblivious couple seated on
the sofa. They were watching a movie and laughing.
Their arms were around each other, the woman’s head
on Eddie’s shoulder. Giselle gripped a handful of Eddie’s
hair and yanked his head back. Eddie gagged as his eyes
rolled up to look at her. His woman screamed. There
was a moment of recognition in Eddie’s terrified expression.
His eyes may have expressed pain over the betrayal.
The knife slashed across his throat, blood leaping
from the gash as Eddie’s woman disengaged herself from
the dying man and tumbled to the floor. She got to her
feet and ran for the door. Giselle hurried after her, moving
with the speed and grace of a wolf. Unnatural, unhuman
speed. She gripped the screaming woman by the
shoulder, spun her around, and slammed her against the
door. Then she drove the knife through yielding flesh,
plunging it in just below the sternum. The woman
screamed and thrashed some more, but Giselle held her
in place with a strong hand to the throat. She held the
knife in place a moment, coldly holding her agonized
gaze, then yanked it out and thrust it in again to the hilt.
The woman died and Giselle returned to Eddie and
drank blood from his still-bubbling wound, knowing the
obscenity would further honor Azaroth and the other
death gods.

Killing the woman hadn’t been strictly necessary. But it had seemed the right thing to do. So she had killed the woman, a
primal, reptilian part of her enjoying the act of senseless murder. She had a feeling Azaroth and the other death gods would
appreciate the additional blood offering. And even in the midst of those savage moments she’d known that something within
her had changed forever.

Now, standing here in Ms. Wickman’s lovingly recreated version of the Master’s chambers, Giselle understood that other things
had also changed, including her immediate plans for the future. The things she wanted now were no longer the things she’d
coveted prior to summoning Azaroth.

A full-length oval mirror on a swivel-stand caught her attention. She walked over to it and a ppraised her reflection. She
was as flawless as ever, her flesh porcelain-white, body slender and shapely. Her face was delicately beautiful, almost angelic,
with exquisitely fine lines and angles that belied her capacity for savagery. Her long hair was jet-black and straight, a
shimmering raven mane that starkly contrasted her pale flesh.

Giselle smiled. She looked good.

Better than ever, in fact.

She turned from the mirror and moved past the large four-poster bed to the French doors at the end of the room. One of the
doors was standing open. Giselle moved through it and stood on a long balcony. She moved to the edge of the balcony, braced
her hands on the metal rail and looked down. The vista that unfurled below took her breath away. The balcony was high in the
air, maybe as much as a half mile above the ground. The landscape beneath was a pockmarked, blasted place. The red terrain
made her think of pictures she’d seen of the surface of Mars. She spied a big bonfire in the distance and a thick haze of
black smoke rising toward the horizon. Teams of men in black hoods worked together to haul huge stones of varying chiseled
shapes in the direction of the bonfire. Other men with machine guns and whips prodded them onward.

These activities were likely connected to Ms. Wickman’s own efforts to appease—and draw power from—the death gods. The thought
made Giselle smile. Ms. Wickman was powerful and ruthless, but she did not have Azaroth on her side.

Giselle turned away from the tableau of horrors and returned to the bedroom. This time she went directly to the bed and spread
herself across the plush and luxuriant feather mattress. She let out a low groan of satisfaction and rolled across the mattress
a time or two, reveling in the decadent cradle of comfort. Then she repositioned herself, propping her head on the plump pillows
and staring up at the heavy velvet canopy.

She heard a cough and turned her head to see a bare-chested man with a studded leather collar around his throat. The man was
lean and sinewy, the exposed flesh of his torso a map of scars and abrasions. He stared at Giselle with eyes that were wide
with fear and confusion.

Giselle eyed him coldly. “Stop your gawking, boy, and go fetch your Mistress.”

The man flinched as if slapped, then turned and hurried across the room. He tripped and tumbled to the floor, smacking his
head against a marble pedestal. A sculpted bust of someone Giselle failed to recognize rolled off the pedestal and split in
half as it struck the floor. The man scrambled to his feet and resumed his flight from the room.

Giselle closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift. It was amazing how at peace she felt now. Life was so much easier
minus the tiresome complications of moral concerns. The apparent obliteration of her conscience did not alarm her. One risked
these things when making deals with gods, especially of the darker variety. She fell into a sleep state, entering a dream
in which she sat on a high throne made of gold. An audience of slaves knelt in rows below her, chanting, their arms extended
in praise of their queen.

Then the creak of a door opening roused her from the dream state, and her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and saw
Ms. Wickman and a coterie of followers enter the room. Ms. Wickman, as always, was elegantly attired, wearing a simple black
dress with a hemline just above her knees. She wore black stockings and black heels. A single strand of glittering white pearls
encircled her throat. The last time Giselle had seen Ms. Wickman she’d worn her long brown hair down, but now her hair was
gathered in a bun at the back of her head, the way she’d always worn it during her time as the Master’s top servant and de
facto second-in-command.

Two of Ms. Wickman’s entourage were muscular men clad in black, militaristic uniforms, complete with gleaming black jackboots
and crisp black caps. These men flanked her. Both were armed, one with a machine gun, the other bearing a sidearm in a holster.
Giselle felt a faint flicker of amusement. In so many ways Ms. Wickman had exactly resurrected aspects of the Master’s former
regime. Behind the guards was an assortment of Apprentices and servants, among them the bare-chested slave Giselle had sent
to fetch Ms. Wickman.

Giselle stifled a giggle as Ms. Wickman paused next to the pedestal and stared at the shattered bust. There was a subtle atmospheric
change in the room, a gathering of energy sensed by all present. No one said a word, but some of the Apprentices were smirking,
sensing what was coming. Even Giselle felt a surge of excitement as she felt Ms. Wickman’s always considerable anger build
and build.

Ms. Wickman at last lifted her gaze from the shattered bust and looked in Giselle’s direction. She smiled. “I’ll deal with
you in a moment, dear, but I need to address a housekeeping issue first.”

She turned and brushed past the armed guards, her head down like a bull’s as she strode purposefully toward the cowering,
bare-chested slave. He shook his head, whimpered, and held his hands out in a beseeching way. He backed away, but Ms. Wickman
moved fast. In a moment she had the man’s head locked in her strong hands. Then there was a sickening snap and the slave fell
dead to the floor.

One of the Apprentices, a young girl with pale skin and golden blonde hair, applauded. “Bravo.”

Ms. Wickman smoothed her dress and smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. Could you get rid of this…mess for me?”

Gwendolyn smiled. “Of course.” She unfurled a whip and snapped it at two nearby slaves, barking strident instructions at them
as the whip peeled away strips of their flesh. The slaves worked together to hurriedly haul the dead slave from Ms. Wickman’s
quarters. Gwendolyn and two other Apprentices followed them out.

Ms. Wickman made eye contact with Giselle now, holding it as she circled the bed and came to a stop on the side nearest the
French doors. Giselle shifted position slightly, rolling to her left a bit to better observe her adversary.

“I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished, Giselle.” Ms. Wickman’s tone was even and devoid of any hint of emotion. Amazing.
The woman’s self-control was remarkable. “Clearly you possess magical capabilities far beyond what I suspected. In retrospect,
I should’ve had you killed immediately.”

The guard with the sidearm moved toward the bed.

“Should I execute this woman, Mistress?”

Then Ms. Wickman smiled again and said, “No, Captain. This…girl…presents no threat. Stand back, please.”

The guard nodded and retreated to his former position.

Ms. Wickman said, “You puzzle me, Giselle.”

Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose I should have you killed now, as the Captain suggests, but my curiosity has been aroused.” She licked
her lips and allowed her gaze to slowly travel the length of Giselle’s naked body before again settling on her face. “I would
like to know some things. For instance, with your level of ability, you could easily have escaped this place already. Instead
you summoned me. Why?”

Giselle smiled. “Because I do not wish to escape.”

Now it was Ms. Wickman’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s surprising, given the nasty things that have been done to you
here.”

Giselle raised one of her restored hands, bending it at the wrist for better display. “Nothing that was permanent, as you
can see.” She lowered her hand and smiled again. “You’ll want to know about that, of course. A god assisted me. Do you have
any direct experience with the death gods, Ms. Wickman?”

Ms. Wickman’s gaze hardened. “I do not.” Her terse manner indicated this was an admission she was furious to have to make
in front of her followers. “But I know a death god would not assist you without a suitable offering…”

“A sacrifice, you mean.” Giselle moved a hand over the empty patch of bedsheet next to her, enjoying the feel of the smooth
silk beneath her restored flesh. “Yes, a death god granted me temporal transport to a location far from here. There I made
the required sacrifice by killing one of the men instrumental in the Master’s demise.”

Ms. Wickman grunted. “How very fitting.”

“The Master should never have died,” Giselle said, the sincerity in her voice surprising even her. “I’ve changed. And I’ve
seen the error of my ways. I want to serve here with you, Mistress, to honor and exalt you. I want to kill for you. Torture
for you. Anything you desire…”

Ms. Wickman continued to regard her coolly for several long moments, her expression giving away nothing as she mulled over
Giselle’s words. Then she said, “Is there anything else you want, Giselle?”

Giselle patted the smoothed-down silk sheet and said, “I would like for you to lie here with me for a while.”

Something subtle sparked in Ms. Wickman’s dark eyes. Giselle felt a deep satisfaction at having prompted it. Without moving
her eyes from Giselle’s face, Ms. Wickman barked out a single command:“Leave us!”

The others in the room reacted as if slapped. They scurried almost as one out of the room, even the guards, responding to
the undeniable imperative in their Mistress’s tone. The big door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the large room for a moment.

They were alone. At last.

Ms. Wickman held Giselle’s gaze a short moment longer. Then she turned her back on Giselle, dipped her head, and said, “Unzip
me.”

Giselle got to her knees and moved to the edge of the bed. She took the tiny zipper tab at the collar of Ms. Wickman’s dress
and began to slowly draw it down, unveiling a wedge of flesh nearly as pale as Giselle’s own. Then a surprise, a hint of color
as she pulled the zipper further down. Then further still, Giselle’s breath catching in her throat as she slid the zipper
all the way down to Ms. Wickman’s waist.

“Oh, my…that’s…beautiful.”

She gripped the flaps of the dress and pulled them farther apart to better admire the illustration. Ms. Wickman had a large
and intricate tattoo of a dragon etched into the flesh of her back. Its scales, nostrils, teeth, talons, and glaring eyes
were all stunningly rendered. Giselle touched a forefinger to the back of Ms. Wickman’s neck. Her flesh was cool and marblelike,
but warmed nicely to her touch. She drew the tip of her finger down the length of her spine, moving through the dragon’s mouth
before stopping at the small of her back. Then she splayed her fingers and moved her hand slowly over the bared flesh. Ms.
Wickman made a soft sound and reached behind her to undo the bun at the back of her head. She shook her hair loose and turned
around.