Ravenous (16 page)

"What's the verdict?" he asked in a whisper.

Holly felt a sloppy grin cover her face. "Oh, I think you're healthy. You shouldn't have any more problems."

Relief widened his eyes. "Hallelujah. Then go make yourself comfortable and I'll bring our coffee." He gave her a sly grin. "Maybe we can discuss a program of preventive health care."

Holly gave a bemused smile, all logical thought having swooned away. She wandered into the living room, the air around her chill after the heat of their embrace. Her skin felt alive to the texture of the couch, the brush of her skirt against her thighs. Mac's embrace had held unexpected depths. It buzzed with the prospect of more. Holly felt like a skydiver at the brink of her jump.

But did she want to jump? Or did she want simply to walk away?

The sound of running water came from the kitchen, coffee on its way. What sort of a conversation would follow a kiss like that? What was Mac expecting? Holly leaned her head against the back of the couch, not sure what she wanted to happen. Even with all the spells she had at her disposal, she didn't have the gift of reading minds, especially her own.

The water sounds stopped. Coffee was getting closer and, with it, the need for decisions. Holly grabbed her handbag from where she'd left it by a chair, reapplied her lipstick, and waited.

And waited. Then she took off her shoes and picked up a magazine. Holly flicked the pages impatiently while she waited some more.
How long does it take to make coffee
?

She got up and went to the kitchen, expecting to hear more running water, maybe the clatter of silverware, but it was quiet. And empty. Dishes were piled in the sink; the dishwasher door was ajar. The coffeemaker carafe sat on the counter, full of water. It looked like Mac had set it down, interrupted in the middle of making coffee, and never come back.

Holly put her hands on her hips. Perhaps he had passed out somewhere, overwhelmed by her womanly charms. She checked the bathroom. It was white and chrome and empty of sprawled bodies.

Next Holly tried the study. It was a small, spare room with a desk, computer, and filing cabinet. On the wafer-thin monitor, a string-art screen saver did slow cartwheels in the darkness. She wiggled the mouse, but no
Help, I've been abducted by aliens
message flashed onto the screen. She was getting irritated and a bit scared.

Onward to the bedroom. Images of furry handcuffs and stethoscopes danced in her mind, giving life to all the bad-date urban legends that lurked in her imagination. By now in no mood to find Macmillan reclining on a fur rug, she flipped on the overhead light.

Mac was sprawled face-down on the bed, one arm dangling off the side. Then she smelled sickness—psychic sickness, a faint, desiccated, dusty smell, as if death had been dried and ground into a powder.

Omigod, how did I miss this? Alessandro said Mac didn't smell right!

Holly ran to the bed, grabbing his shoulder. The sweater was soaked through with perspiration, his hair trailing in sodden waves. "Mac?"

His only reply was a gurgling haul of breath.

Panic lanced through her.
Sweet Hecate, this happened so fast
! There must have been something there, festering, but something so foreign she didn't recognize it. Something hiding.

She dug her fingers into Mac's shoulder muscle, hoping for a flutter of consciousness that didn't come. She bent close. "Mac, can you hear me?"

The foul energy rolling off him nearly made her gag. As she recoiled, he made a noise between a grunt and a moan. At least it was something. Holly grabbed the phone from the bedside table, dialing 911.

"Ambulance, please!" Holly pleaded.

The plastic receiver slipped from her sweating palm, forcing her to give it a white-knuckled grip. The dispatcher was saying something. Holly stared at Mac's prone form, chewing her lip.

"What is your address, please?" the voice on the phone repeated, the woman's tone sharp.

Holly gave directions, stammering when she tried to recall the apartment number. No, she didn't know what was wrong. Yes, she would be there to answer the door.

She was panicking. It was the horrible, cloying energy, black like tar, thick in her throat. Rot. Decay. Despair. Not a smell so much as an aura of horror. A gray tide sloshed across her vision.

She dropped the phone.
I'm going to be sick
.

Window. Hard to open. Lock sliding through her fingers.

The dispatcher's voice came in tinny mumbles from the dropped handset.

A blast of cold air rushed into the room. Holly braced herself against the wall, her mouth nearly touching the wire mesh of the screen. The wind seemed impossibly sweet, the room unspeakably foul.

"Oh, God."

She turned at the sound of the wet, rasping voice. The fresh air must have revived Macmillan, too. He was trying to sit up, but every limb shook until the bed itself rattled. He angled his face to her, the whites of his eyes wide with terror. "What's happening to me?"

Holly shook her head. "I don't know." The confession brought a sting to her eyes.
I failed him. I should be able to help, but how
? Tears slipped out, hot with guilt.

"You said I was okay." The words came out like a cry from the heart.

"I couldn't find anything. Honestly. I've never seen this before."

"No." He was on his side now, his legs curling into his chest. His breath was coming in jerks, as if each would gag him with the effort. "No, it can't be.
OK God, it hurts
."

He stopped speaking, his eyes squeezed tight. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as fresh rivulets of sweat ran down his cheeks, soaking the pillowcase. Warped power rolled off him in waves, as if his very soul were vibrating out of phase.

Holly's gorge rose, but she fought it back, steeling herself for his sake. She fell to her knees beside the bed. "The ambulance is coming. They'll help. They'll make it right."
They

won't have a clue what to do, but they may keep him alive long enough for me to find an answer.

"Don't leave me," he said, gripping her hand so hard that it cramped.

"I won't," she said.

"Holly, I'm losing myself."

"Damn you, Pierce, you killed it!" Alessandro folded his arms and looked down at the changeling, disgust welling. Disgust at Pierce's clumsy job of questioning. Disgust at the sight of the grease spot where the creature's body had melted into the carpet.

"It was an accident," Pierce protested.

Omara stood a few feet away, her expression that of an irritated schoolteacher. She was still dressed in the pantsuit she had worn earlier, reminding Alessandro of a carnivorous Emma Peel. They were in one of the hotel's plush conference rooms, the mahogany furniture pushed against the wall. Two of Omara's security vamps stood either side of the double doors, arms folded.

"You could have waited for me," Alessandro growled at Pierce. "Interrogation is my job. I know how to do it properly."

"You always get to question the prisoners."

"Apparently I'm better at it."

Omara cut in. "Boys, I'm glad you're both in touch with your respective inner children, but skip the tantrums."

Her jibe did nothing to improve the atmosphere.
Why did she let Pierce screw this up? When I left, she was angry with

him for feeding from the human woman in public. Now she is letting him serve her? Letting him do
my
job
?

Alessandro rounded on Pierce. "The changeling was the best lead we had, and now it's gone. Did you kill it to cover your tracks?"

"
What
?" Pierce gave him a what-the-hell look. "You think I'm in league with changelings? Why?"

Omara inspected her rings, tilting her hand so the gems glittered in the light from the overhead chandeliers. Their divisive squabble seemed to please her. It certainly gave her the position of power. "Alessandro is determined to think the worst of you. It's the sad effect of centuries of bad behavior, darling. People start to judge." Omara snapped her fingers, bringing the security vamps to attention. "We're done here. Tell the concierge to clean up."

Alessandro swore in lusty, antique Italian. He had left Holly for nothing. Right now she was enjoying a meal with Macmillan, having a pleasurable bonding experience he could never offer her. In so many ways the detective outmatched him.

He wrenched his thoughts back to the mess in front of him.

"Where did you find the changeling?" he asked.

Pierce replied. "University Laundromat. One of the local werewolves phoned in the sighting as a courtesy."

Alessandro furrowed his brow. "The changeling was doing laundry?"

"No, but it was eating someone who was. The werewolves pulled it off the student and held it until we got there. The changeling was pretty, um, subdued by then. I think the wolves were enjoying themselves a bit too much."

Lovely
. "Did you manage to get any good information before you turned him to sludge?"

Pierce shrugged. "He was too afraid to talk."

It was all Alessandro could do not to bang his head—or Pierce's—on the wall. "We. Are. Vampires.
We
make the prisoners afraid. Us."

Pierce's eyes narrowed. "Whatever master it served was worse."

The demon
. Demons were the only creatures more feared than vampires. Despite losing a suspect, Alessandro felt a flutter of satisfaction. His emerging theories were holding up.

Omara cut in. "The changeling's name was Arnault, and there are others of his kind in Fairview. That was all we learned."

Alessandro frowned. "What about these others? The police looked for more changelings. We looked as well. None were found."

The queen shrugged. "Obviously there are hiding places we missed."

I should have gone with them on the search
, Alessandro thought, but he had been watching over Holly. There had been the demon mouse. He couldn't be everywhere at once.

Then he looked at the splotch on the floor where the changeling had melted.
I should have done the questioning
.

Frustration chewed at his gut. He had to work harder. Faster.

Just then the double doors to the conference room opened, and the janitor with his cleaning cart entered, followed by Omara's security men. One vampire carried a Shop-Vac.

"I'm done for the evening, gentlemen," Omara said to her security. "Finish up here, and then you're free for the night." She turned to Pierce. "You can go, too. I think you've done enough damage for one evening."

The last remark was icy cold. Pierce's eyes flared, anger and shame in competition.

Omara touched Alessandro's sleeve. "Let's go upstairs."

She led the way out of the room, crossing the lobby to the elevators. Pierce was left standing alone next to the stain on the carpet.

"Did the changeling say how many others there are?" Alessandro asked.
Surely they got something useful out of the discussion? Omara did not get to be queen without knowledge of how these interviews are done
.

"No, though it sounded like quite a few." The elevator doors opened and they got in. Omara pushed the button for the top floor, where she was staying. The doors slid closed.

"So what now?" asked Alessandro. "Another search? Find another changeling to question?"

"What's the point?" asked Omara softly. "The wolves captured the changeling, and so it made sense to see what we could learn. But to chase down another? They are barely articulate. Their tolerance for pain is legendary. A waste of time. We need to find their master."

The elevator doors slid open and they got out. Omara started down the hall to her room, Alessandro at her side.

"I don't understand what happened tonight," he said. "When I left you earlier, you were going to question Pierce."

Omara waved a dismissive hand. "The affair with the changeling was more urgent."

"You let Pierce interrogate the changeling."

"Pierce was here and you were not."

"So, just like that, you let him deal with the prisoner?"

"I wasn't about to touch the changeling myself. Besides, I knew I could count on John's cruelty. He needed a chance to redeem himself after tonight's little performance with the human."

She sounded almost—he searched for the right word—indulgent. Not like Omara at all.

Alessandro tried again, frustration making him push. "But what if he is in league with them? Wasn't that what we were wondering? The tokens, the bleeding ring? Murders?"

Without answering, Omara stopped in front of her door and handed Alessandro the passkey. He swiped it and pushed open the heavy door, holding it for his queen. The balcony doors were open, and the sitting room was cold but fresh. Omara switched on a table lamp, showing expensive, spacious, and utterly anonymous decor. Alessandro entered after her, locking the door.

"Consider this," he said. "Pierce's clan is well versed in magic. Someone has been casting summoning spells. If Clan Albion wanted to stage a coup, what better way than to raise an army of changelings and summon a demon to perform their bidding?"

Omara turned, throwing her arms in the air. "But why?
Why
would there be an alliance between Albion and a race of hideous mutants?"

Thrown on the defensive, Alessandro raised his voice. "I can remember when they were your rivals. Albion was bitterly ambitious. Only your superior sorcery stood between them and the crown, and they would have taken your place as ruler had you had faltered for one instant. Do you think they have changed so much since those days? Besides, changelings would never challenge you on their own. They are too few. They
have
to be working with somebody else."

"But John Pierce is not capable of any of this. He is pretty, vain, and foolish. A man with a child's need for reassurance. He behaves badly because he wants my love."

"Earlier tonight you thought he might be the murderer."