Blood and Kisses (10 page)
Ironic when he barely remembered the details of the faces of those he had slaughtered those many eons ago.
Thalia gestured to the newspaper. “I went to school with her. She was in all my classes. I didn’t realize it before because her last name changed from Connor to Reese.”
“Did you get your mother’s book?”
Thalia nodded. “It’s in the suitcase.” Her beautiful eyes grew solemn in her pointed face.
“After what just happened, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you knew both victims. Or that they were killed near the Tomb.”
He scanned the thoughts of the woman heading toward the door. She was tall and slender with long shiny brown hair, but her looks weren’t important. Did she know the Champion? It was difficult to find humans who frequented the Butcher’s bar and knew the Champion. Unless they were witches.
He grimaced as he remembered how close he’d come to taking a witch the other night. He’d only discovered his mistake at the very last minute. Witches. He curled his lip back in distaste. What a waste of human prey. He’d almost killed her anyway just for spite, but had decided it would take too much time.
He rose from his stool at one of the high tables. The Champion and the Butcher were the talk of the bar. Their association vied with the murders as the topic of the day.
Vampires didn’t trust anyone they couldn’t read or control, they hardly trusted each other, and witches considered vampires little more than worthless parasites.
His plan was working. His reward was near. After so many long centuries of waiting, he would have both his revenge and incredible power. He smiled as he followed his unsuspecting prey out the door.
In the dream, a soft breeze ruffled Thalia’s long hair as she walked, head up and alert, to her car down the dark quiet street. She wasn’t herself in the dream; she was taller, younger, freer. Grace, that was her name, and she stood on home turf, not far from The B.B. and C. Her flip-flops shushing against the pavement the only sound as the wind died down. A strange smell raised the hair on the back of her neck.
Seeing her car across the street, she tucked her hand in her pocket, groping for her keys. The sound of a distant bark cut like a rifle shot in the distance and she flinched, almost dropping them.
Damn. What was that stink? The odor held a pungent tang, like something decaying. She glanced around. With the recent murders, she couldn’t be too careful. She supposed she should have stayed home tonight. She had an early class in the morning, but she and her friends had done well on that evening’s belt test, and they’d wanted to celebrate.
She was a regular at the Bell, Book, and Candle, but her friends, all male, had never been. The memory of their reaction to the Goth club eased her nerves, and she grinned. At first, they’d made fun of the bar and its clientele, but as they’d noticed how incredibly attractive most of the women were, their reservations had disappeared, and they’d begun to enjoy themselves. When she’d left them, they’d each been busy pairing off.
The breeze strengthened, tossing a tendril of hair into her eyes, and a fresh wave of that terrible odor crashed over her. It was thick and foul, a mixture at once sickeningly sweet and repulsively sour.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The smell seemed to trigger some primordial response in her body, like an animal scenting a poacher. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her heart began to speed.
She sucked in a deep breath, suddenly choking on the vile smell. Tears of fright filled her eyes. What had she been thinking of to leave the bar alone? She looked over her shoulder. There was nothing there. She struggled to stay calm, but the smell overwhelmed her. It was more than a collection of scent molecules driven by a careless wind. A shiver rippled through her. Her body recognized the smell for what it was, the incarnation of evil. Death come calling.
Grace began to run.
“Thalia!” Gideon’s beautiful voice wrenched her from the dream. She caught her breath. Her eyes opened to find that glorious face leaning over her. His dark eyes liquid with worry. His full lips no more than inches from hers. Her heartbeat, which had started to slow when he’d banished the dream, leaped back into frantic mode.
“Gideon.” She sat up, forcing him to move back, then ran her hands through her ruffled hair, still recovering from the all-consuming terror of the last few minutes.
“You were yelling in your sleep.” His face was grave and tender, as if he had awakened a child from a nightmare. The thought further dampened her spirits. From his point of view, it must be true. She, after all, was no more than an infant in his terms, and she had been having a bad dream.
Fragments of the dream flowed back, a stream of twisted images, and Thalia sighed.
Another prophetic dream. One she had a feeling she was already too late to prevent.
She placed a hand on his corded forearm, her voice husky with emotion and sleep. “I think there’s been another murder.”
“Gideon!” The manager of the Tomb, Tom Delgado, greeted him nervously as they entered. The tavern was curiously empty for a Friday night, but sunset had just fallen. A couple slow-danced alone on the dance floor, several men sat at the bars, sipping imported beer, a couple of witches chatted at one of the high tables.
The Tomb was, in essence, just a large, low-ceilinged chamber with two long bars running the length of the east and west walls. The northern wall sported a low stage and a dance floor. Tall, round tables with high-backed barstools filled the area between the bars and the dance floor. Mirrors lined the walls behind the bars.
The witches occupied the west side of the tavern, the side that held their separate entrance, the vampires the east. No physical barrier defined the two spaces, but each community was careful to stay in their area. Only the humans, mostly unaware of the true nature of the supernatural patrons of the bar, crossed easily back and forth.
Tom had taken over for his father, Antonio, when he’d retired. Cam was his mother. The Delgados had served Gideon since before he’d come to America and were his partners in the tavern. Human, in his early thirties, with spiky black hair and sun-bronzed skin, Tom was one of the few people Gideon trusted.
The man nodded in Thalia’s direction, but swiftly turned his attention back to Gideon.
“The police have been here. Everyone knows you own the bar.”
Gideon sent a wave of calm over his employee. He made it a practice not to manipulate the Delgados mentally, but Tom was unusually agitated. “Don’t worry, Tom. It’s still early. The business will recover. Meanwhile,” He handed Tom a wad of hundreds. “Tell your mother to take a vacation until this blows over.”
Mindful of the few vampires present, Tom lowered his voice. “I’m not worried about the bar! It’s you I’m worried about. Even if you’re not a suspect, all this attention...”
Gideon patted Tom on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern. But as soon as the rogue is caught, the publicity will die down and everything will return to normal.” Tom took a deep breath and shook his head, shooting him one last doubtful glance as he returned to his duties.
“You have very loyal employees,” Thalia observed as Gideon ushered her to his favorite table and helped her into her seat.
“I pay well.”
Thalia smiled gently. “I’m sure that’s an understatement, but I don’t think that’s why they’re so loyal.” She placed a slim hand on his wrist. He could feel her heat through the Egyptian cotton of his sleeve. It seemed to expand in concentric rings until his whole arm was warm, his shoulder, his torso. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. Gods, it felt good to be warm.
He fought the urge to cover her hand with his own, reminding himself she had violated his privacy, she was a witch, he didn’t deserve her comfort. The list was endless. But the monster liked warmth as well. The creature flickered to life inside him. He traced the sweet contours of her face with ravenous eyes.
The pliant curve of her lips drew him like a moth to a street lamp. He had tasted that mouth. Her face was soft. Eyelids dropped slightly over aquamarine eyes. He could taste her again. A burst of remembered flavor flowed over his tongue. The potent honey of her mouth made his mouth water.
His body hardened joyously in preparation for an act it must never perform again. The terrible, glorious pain of arousal filled him, but it was not alone. Bloodlust accompanied it. His fangs engorged, descending into his mouth, and he longed for another flavor, the rich pungent taste of blood.
He looked at her hand on his wrist, so fragile, so easily crushed. His earlier vision of her crumpled body flashed into his head. That thought tore him away from the cocoon of desire that enmeshed him. He wasn’t here to enjoy her company, to wallow in her incredible warmth. He was here with her to catch a murderer.
He loved cities. They pulsed and breathed like a giant creature, exhaling noxious fumes with each loathsome breath. And they grew like a tumor, spreading and killing anything natural in their path. In the daytime, there was the illusion of life, people on the streets, flocks of birds, patches of green, but at night... At night, their true natures were revealed, barren deserts of stone and long-dead wood, concrete, and metal. Places so inert, only parasites could thrive. Cities were feeding grounds for those who gorged themselves on the spirit and flesh of the living, thieves, drug dealers, murderers, and of course, himself.
He was the master of this environment.
At present he was content to hide, to take his nourishment and retreat to the shadows. He had the added benefit of watching the police and media spin their wheels, wasting their time searching for a human serial killer, while at the same time bringing the Butcher under suspicion. But as each day passed, the prophecy came closer to fruition and when that happened, he would no longer need to hide.
He ran an absent hand over his scabrous flesh. The Claiming didn’t last as long as it used to. But, no matter, once the prophecy was fulfilled, he would be permanently restored to his former beauty. Of course, he wouldn’t need it. He would no longer be forced to cajole his prey to him. He could seize them openly like the cattle they were.
No one, human or otherwise, would have the power to stop him.
Heath paced in front of the long oval table. “I’m just saying, let me a call a meeting. A test group, if you will.” Heath was in advertising. He studied the faces in front of him. They were buying it.
“I don’t know.” George March chewed the inside of his wrinkled cheeks. “There’s no precedent for this. What about tradition?” He held out a gnarled hand. “If we do this, what’s next? Disband the council?” A ripple of alarmed murmurs skipped through the thirteen people, men and women of all ages and skills, who sat around the rosewood table. They were the council, and George’s words had clearly given them pause.
Heath hurried to rescue his plan. “George, didn’t you tell me yourself, you think there’s something coming?”
The older man nodded his white head, cloudy blue eyes thoughtful. “All the signs point to a possibly catastrophic event.”
“And you’re not the only one who’s predicting such an occurrence. Heidi, Samantha, you told me you felt the same.”
“That’s right.” The two women, identical twins, nodded, but the first one he’d addressed, Heidi, spoke. “We’ve seen a single black crow on our lawn every day this week and that’s only the beginning. Bad omens are everywhere.”
“Whatever it is, there’s no reason to believe Thalia can’t handle it.” George spoke firmly.
Heath opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Heidi said, “I saw her after she helped John Trenton banish that demon.” She looked avidly around the table as if eager to share such juicy gossip. “She could barely walk.” She gave George a pointed look.
“I can’t say I’ve never been drained after a spell,” George countered.
“But not for days afterwards, and you’re not the Champion,” Heidi said. “The Champion has always been the strongest of us.”
“I like Thalia.” Heath swept the group with fervent eyes. “But everything in me says that we are way beyond curse-breaking here. The Kent blood has thinned. It’s time to let someone new have a chance.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to preempt Thalia when she’s never failed.” George put both hands on the table and leaned over the table toward Heath. “If she fails, then someone else can take over.”