Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (24 page)

“Are you lost, mister?” The stranger’s voice cracked as he spoke. He lifted his head slightly, his pale visage blindingly white against his careworn jacket.

“Ah, you’re looking for your brother?” The bum moved away from his precious cart and his hands, enveloped in torn gloves, smoothed the front of his jacket. He fidgeted as he approached, twitching with each step. “Would this brother be special to you?”

“Are not all brothers to one another?” Amado asked with relative ease.

A short bark of laughter, quickly muffled, answered his question. The vagrant’s nervous twitch vanished and his bent shoulders straightened while he pulled of his battered cap. His golden eyes glowed as he stared into the face of the suavely dressed individual before him, and a slow and easy grin crossed his features.

Amado snorted, a reluctant smile curving his mouth as he nodded. He turned away as the vagrant dug deep into his cart, beneath the piles of cardboard, the discarded and dented aluminum cans, and the glass bottles. Placidly, he listened to his compatriot root through a jangle of glass before issuing a vigorous sigh of satisfaction.

He watched the homeless person through dispassionate eyes as he pulled a pair of identical bottles from his treasure trove. The colored green glass appeared even darker as the thick fluid inside swished about, and Amado nearly cursed aloud as his stomach lurched with hunger.

“I’d offer you a goblet, knowing it’s what your sort prefers, but I’m a little low on the finery.” Jared jested as he wiped the twist cap with his cuff before passing the bottle.

Too hungry to care, Amado grabbed at the container, his eyes flashing with the need clawing at him. He’d gone too long without sustenance, and felt weak, every limb quivering. The urge to feed tore viciously at him, and he feared the damage he’d inflict, if he succumbed to the darkest portion of his mind.

He’d spent the last few hours speaking to the police, struggling every moment to keep his composure, though restricted to a building exuding more evil than Declan could summon. Low voiced, and purposely staring at the floor in his attempt to ignore the wickedness surrounding him and his ever-growing hunger, he intentionally delivered vague statements to a detective that ruthlessly plied him with questions. All the while, the scent of blood, the pounding of heartbeats, and the shouts of the guilty taunted him to unleash the demon.

Miraculously, the Chief of Police had decided to take her turn interrogating him regarding the break-in and his relationship with the social worker. Valentina Daskova, a fifteen-year veteran of the force, succeeded in directing the attention of the intrepid detective elsewhere, while her vivid blue eyes scanned him with an impatience bordering on annoyance.

Amado sympathized with her lack of civility.

Only she understood what he was behind his calm demeanor, and look beyond the strange eyes staring at her with merciless intent. She was aware of the bizarre denizens haunting her streets, merging into society with a grace and skill defying reason, as what they truly were.

Happily married to a man formerly one of their own, she’d insight into the supernatural underworld in Bentham. Daskova was familiar with what lingered in the darkest alleyways and behind the powerful doors of the city’s most esteemed individuals, and delivered her own form of justice when the need arose.

Most of all, she wasn’t a fool.

Captain Valentina Kureyev-Daskova was wiser than any regarding the inner workings of the realm existing in the shadows of her city. She knew that too many of the immigrants of Bentham weren’t only from distant shores, but also from unbelievable backgrounds.

She didn’t ask many questions, accepting Amado’s explanation of the break-in with unenthusiastic ease. Moodily, she scribbled notes pertaining to Meghan’s suspicions, before filing them away in an unmarked folder.

As he left the police station, he sensed she’d keep a watchful eye, and notify him of any possible suspects. In particular, she assured the case would be handled discretely, which meant his involvement wouldn't be leaked.

“What can I help you with, Gianni?” Jared asked in a voice oozing with the charm of the undead, educated jargon replacing his formally garbled speech.

Amado took a long swig from the bottle he held, the lukewarm taste flooding his system. Closing his yes, he savored the cloying flavor of the liquid, and felt vitality flow back into his limbs. Temporarily sated, he lowered the flask before responding.

“You’re a regular at this park, aren’t you?”

He didn’t require a response. The strange assemblage of The Brotherhood subsisted in all lifestyles and countless were easily recognizable in public circles, mingling among mortals with ease. Many, though, seemed to be nothing more than a horde of the forgotten. Under the guise of vagrants, commonly overlooked by both human and vampire alike, their presence was a necessity. They had eyes throughout the city, and were acquainted with what often went unnoticed by others.

More established vampires avoided them, but didn’t overlook their innate skills.

Familiar with the raggedly attired creature, the fellow vampire had once been a respected figure in society, several centuries ago. In this era, he preferred the security of his anonymity. Linked by their common background and hearing of his need for information, Jared volunteered without question.

He leaned against his cart, bottle held firmly in his hand. His hooded assessment raked over the suavely dressed vampire, while questions sprang to his tongue.

“Why didn’t you call a convention of The Bloods?” He inquired abruptly.

Innocently begging among humans, they performing the tasks necessary to keep their numbers informed of the mythical world in which they lived, The Brotherhood often went by the less popular moniker of The Bloods. Amado longed to laugh aloud at the sinister acronym, blatantly realizing their group sounded more like a gang from the poverty-stricken South side, but held his reaction in check.

“We both comprehend how the elders feel with regard to intervention in human affairs.” He supplied easily, sated on the warm liquid filling his ravenous stomach. “It’s against their code.”

Jared smirked, remembering identical words falling from the vampire’s lips roughly a decade ago. At that time, his declaration had been chastising and low, almost whispered among the fluttering of dead leaves scattering the ground.

Now, they held the same pain that had echoed in Dominic Delano’s anguished plea to save the woman.

“We both are aware of the code.” The vagrant took a long swig from the innocuous bottle. “So, if our meeting is not only for us to dine together, why am I here?”

Amado frowned, the inky darkness of his brows drawing heavily over his sultry orbs. “I hadn’t supped in nearly twenty-four hours and was…”

“Getting a trifle lax in your observational skills?” Jared finished the sentence with intentional ease as he squinted.

Amado shrugged offhandedly, not willing to admit the assumption was correct.

“I saw that abomination arrive shortly after you did this morning.” Jared continued harshly, using a ragged handkerchief to wipe a stray drop of precious fluid from the corner of his mouth. Scowling at the cloth, his eyes glowed with a solemn flame and Amado couldn’t discern if his response was due to the waste of prized blood or the thought of Sebastien DeClerq. “You didn’t do anything to stop him, and she allowed him to enter her home.”

He shrugged again, not about to be questioned relating to his brief involvement with DeClerq. Still, in spite of his deliberate nonchalance, his uneasiness was apparent.

“I can’t say I do.” Amado divulged grudgingly, wondering at the secretive meaning in the other’s tone. “I’ve asked, but everything I’ve been told points back to a human. What I’ve seen is a different matter, though.”

“He deals with magic, and is more powerful than you could ever image.”

“Sebastien DeClerq is a wizard of sorts?”

“Wizard is an understatement. Honestly, to us, he’s the harbinger of death,” Jared responded cryptically, staring directly into Amado’s blemished eyes. “Whether you’re part of The Sanctum or The Bloods, it doesn’t matter. He’s our Reaper, and a danger to any vampire.”

“He’s not posed a menace to me.” Amado stated soberly.

Jared laughed outright, his golden-hued eyes glittering strangely in the night.

“Of course he won’t.” He managed roughly, as he leaned against the sturdy weight of his cart with elegant ease. “His type thrives on wrapping a calming enchantment around difficult prey, right before they suck the very essence of their being out.”

Amado grimaced, recalling the compelling enchantment Sebastien had cast on Meghan. If what Jared said were true, the storeowner was a foreboding force, which explained his previous unease.

“What is he?”

“He’s an old sorcerer that would love to erase our breed

He couldn’t disregard Jared’s statement, since the undead vagrants sleeping on the streets of the city were more familiar with the inner workings of the dark side of Bentham. Those denizens recognized of the multitude of mythical creatures inhabiting the mortal world far better than those in the public eye did.

“Is he a threat to me?” Amado asked suspiciously.

Jared shrugged.

“When I have to consider what his type look for in ours, I can’t supply you with a yes or no. I recall the accounts where his sort had a debilitating effect on the affiliates of The Sanctum.” He shuddered slightly as he thought of the horrific tales woven around the ancient sorcerer.

“They say the faces of the accursed are eternally etched on his arms and body, his entire torso bears a striking resemblance to the distorted renderings from the pages of Dante’s Inferno.”

“He openly hunts the members of The Sanctum?” Amado posed, uneasily recalling Sebastien’s mentioned encounter with Declan during the gala at the hotel. As Amado understood, his nemesis continued to wander the streets, not having incurred the wrath of the ageless magician.

“He certainly does, hence the belief he’s the Reaper of the Damned,” Jared affirmed. “I’ve heard tales of the powerful DeClerq as far back as the beginning of time immemorial. The pronunciation of his name was enough to make the Dark Ones seek sanctuary in hidden crypts and valleys, away from his wary eye.”

“I don’t know.” He disclosed with great reluctance. “Despite the rumors, I can’t ever remember hearing a tale of one of ours meeting The Mage and suffering from the consequences. But, then, we don’t intentionally go out seeking his sort.”

The Mage.

Amado wanted to chuckle at the irony of the reference. By design, Sebastien appeared to advertise his profession in the most blatant manner possible, the name of the proclaiming his title. Short of affixing neon signage to the shop, every creature existing in Bentham’s underworld was aware of his location!

“He talked to you for quite a while,” Jared continued hoarsely. “He stuck around even after the police showed up, and offered to take the mortal woman back to his place.”

“There’s one that draws humans in like flies, making them excited to view the place, buy stuff, chat with the owners.” He took a mouthful from his bottle, and then growled deeply. “There’s another though, that only we can sense. The enchantment he’s placed on the store prevents any of our kind from coming within twenty feet.”

“If Meghan would have gone…”

“Your human would’ve been untouchable to any of us.”