Blood in Her Veins (Nineteen Stories From the World of Jane Yellowrock) (8 page)

Rick laughed, the sound low and vicious and victorious. She had decided to trust him. She had arranged for the dangerous, insane vampire to bring Jason here tomorrow night. And at some point in the proceedings Loriann was going to make sure he got the chance to stake Isleen.

•   •   •

The knife and rasp made the work of chipping and shaping stakes much easier, and by noon Rick had six good stakes, two short ones and four well-shaped, well-balanced ones that hefted nicely in his hand. And he had the knife, which he had carefully honed with the rasp, though the edge wasn't particularly sharp; the rasp wasn't manufactured with the goal of smoothing steel, and his efforts had been laughable at best. It also wasn't plated with silver to kill a vampire. But it was a bladed weapon, and having the weapons improved his chances of saving his hide. Rick knew that fighting a pissed-off vamp while naked, weakened, hungry, and sick as he was wasn't likely a survivable endeavor, but he had decided that going down fighting was better than submitting.

Midafternoon he showered in the cold water, ate the small plate of food
left by Loriann, and took a nap on the dusty floor, curled on the folded sheet, hoping to garner some strength for the night.

And he woke with a vampire's jaws at his throat. Drinking.

His body reacted instantly, sexually, to the attack. One of Isleen's hands was holding his nape, the other playing him. He couldn't scream; he couldn't fight. He couldn't stop her. And with the vampire saliva entering his bloodstream, he didn't want to. He was aroused, chained by the ankle, and drunk on vamp. Her hunger was insatiable. Her body corpse-cold. But resisting was all he had left.

One hand wound into her hair, holding her. His head fell back and his spine arched up, closer to her. His other hand found a stake under the edge of the sheet. He curled his fingers around it.

Isleen pulled away, her body moving so fast that he couldn't follow, seeing only a wisp of movement and the vampire standing in the shadows at his feet. The stake was in his hand, still hidden beneath the sheet. He'd missed his chance. Rick laughed, a biting bark of sound; he could almost see the laughter float around the barn, bitter as the taste of weeds and ash. Cold as the vampire's lips on his throat. Colder than the feel of her dead fingers on his flesh.

She held his eyes with hers, which glowed like a deer's in headlights; her blond hair fell around her face like a veil. He heard a
click
to the side, and a lamp lit the barn. Isleen was revealed out of the dusky shadows, dressed in a white lace gown. It was stained with blood, crusty brown overlaid with fresh blood, scarlet and damp. The fresh blood was his, he figured. The old stuff was probably from some other poor bastard she had trapped and chained up.

Isleen's eyes seemed to fix him in place, holding him as surely as her hand and fangs had only moments before.

He heard the roar of a generator in the distance. The sound of wind in the foliage outside. The twitter of birds nesting in the rafters overhead. He'd missed his chance. And he laughed again once, the sound crazy, harsh as graveyard sobs.

Loriann handed Isleen a small cup. Isleen spat into it.
My blood. She's
spitting out my blood.
With one sharp canine tooth, the vampire pierced her finger and held it over the cup, allowing her cold, dead blood to drip down into his own blood, mixing them. The drops seemed to echo into
the barn, distinct and ominous, flying like bats' wings, darting into the shadows.

Isleen handed Loriann the cup, then licked her finger and her lips, still holding his eyes. With a
poof
of sound, the vamp was gone. His arousal drained away. Tears he hadn't known had fallen dried on his face.

Loriann turned on more lights, and he could see clearly. He should have been embarrassed about the little witch watching while Isleen . . . But he wasn't. He couldn't seem to care about much tonight except his failure to stake the vamp. He turned his head, watching the witch as she moved around the small space, setting out her tools. She knelt at his side and handed him a plastic bottle of water. He drank. His throat ached with the movement. Isleen hadn't been gentle with him. When the bottle was empty, he said, “Is she gone?”

“Yes. She'll be back at midnight for me to finish the spell. And she'll bring Jason. It'll be your only chance.”

He sat up slowly, belly muscles protesting, bringing the stake with him. “You didn't mean for me to stake her just now?”

Her eyes widened. “No. No, not until Jason is here.”

“Mighta been nice to know that.”

“I didn't think— Oh my God.” She turned away, holding herself around the waist, her hair sliding forward, hiding her face. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Okay. Never mind.” Her tone said that she was forgiving herself and him for the near miss. She stood straight and went back to work. “We don't have much time. Do I have to chain you to the stone tonight?”

“No. I'll be a good little human vamp snack.” He could hear the bitterness and anger in his tone, but the hopelessness that had settled on him like a grave shroud had lightened. He had another chance. “Speaking of which, I smell food.”

“I brought you some Popeyes chicken, biscuits, and sides. A gallon of tea. Hope you like it sweet.”

“Yes. I'm starving. Can I eat while you work?”

“No. So eat fast. And we have to talk. I need to tell you how the spell works so you can pick the right time to . . . to kill her.” Loriann placed a bucket of chicken at his side, and he dug in, listening, wondering at himself and at the way he could plan the death of an insane, undead monster with such enthusiasm.

•   •   •

Loriann was almost done with the tats. Around his right bicep was a circlet of something that looked like barbed wire but was really twisted vines in a dark green ink. Interspersed throughout the vines were claws and talons, recurved big-cat claws and raptor talons, some with small drops of blood on the tips—blood from Isleen and from his own body, mixed with some cat blood and scarlet dye, the mixture meant to bind his body to the vampire once the spell was complete. On his left shoulder, following the line of his collarbone, down across his left pec, down from his shoulder to his upper arm, and almost to his spine in back, was a mountain lion. He was a tawny beast, with darker markings on his face, body, and tail, his amber eyes staring. He was crouched as if to watch for unwary prey, the clublike tail curved up around his shoulder blade. Behind his predator's face peeked a smaller cat with pointed ears and curious, almost amused eyes, lips pulled up in a snarl to reveal predator teeth—a bobcat, snuggled up to the larger cat. It was beautiful work. But it was a spell woven into Rick's body.

“The gold in the eyes is pure gold foil, mixed with my grandmother's inks. It shouldn't infect or cause you trouble. And as long as you kill Isleen before the spell is finished, the eyes won't glow. If the binding is completed, you'll know it, because the eyes, all four of them, will catch the light and glimmer just like gold jewelry. Either way the tattoos won't fade, not ever. And you probably can't get them lasered off. Not with the dyes my grandmother used . . .” Loriann stopped and stood unmoving, her body almost vibrating with fear, exhaustion, and excitement. She met his eyes, hers dark ringed with fatigue and blood loss from feeding the vampire. “You'll save Jason?”

“We don't know where he'll be. In a stall. Hanging from the rafters in a cage. I'll kill Isleen. Whoever is closest will save Jason.”

“Okay.” Loriann licked her lips. “One last thing. I called Katie. A guy answered. I told him about you. About Isleen and Jason. He was pretty pissed.”

Hope shot through Rick. He could feel his heart thud in his chest. His uncle Tom answered the phone at Katie's Ladies. “And?”

“I told him to expect a text message with directions. And I programmed the message with directions on how to get here.” She pulled out a cell
phone and snapped it open. “It's in my phone, waiting. As soon as Isleen arrives, and I see that my brother is still alive, I'll hit Send. If I can. I don't know—”

With a
pop
of displaced air, Isleen appeared. She held a small boy in the crook of her arm, his long legs dangling. The boy was asleep or unconscious but breathing. Isleen had fed again, and the front of her dress was soaked with blood. Rick had no idea how much of it was the boy's.

Loriann made a helpless moan of fear and longing and horror, one hand outstretched to the child. With her other hand, she pressed a button on the phone and sent the text message. Rick closed his eyes for a moment, hiding his relief. Help was coming. If he could keep them all alive until it arrived.

He focused on the vampire. Her hair was up in curls and waves, with a little hat and a scrap of netting perched on top, like something a woman from the eighteen hundreds might have worn. When she set the boy down, he saw that the lace dress had a bustle in back. And she wore pointed lace shoes. Strings of pearls were around her neck, crusty with dried blood. She looked like a parody of a horror movie, dressed for a wedding, covered in blood. She patted Jason on the head. The kid had pinprick holes in his neck. She had fed from him. Recently. It was all Rick could do to lie there and watch as Isleen positioned Jason on the dirt of the barn, curling him into the fetal position and covering him with a blanket she must have brought with her.

Rick was stretched out on the black stone, spread-eagled, his hands and feet appearing to be manacled but really free. The sheet was bunched at his side near his right hand, and beneath it were two stakes. Beneath his back were the knife and two more stakes. Hidden in the dust at the base of the black stone to his left and to his right were the two short stakes, his last-ditch-if-all-else-fails weapons. But help was coming. Help had to come.

“Begin,” Isleen said to Loriann, standing above Jason like a threat from the grave. “If you do it right, your brother will live. If the man is not bound to me when you are done, the boy will die while you watch. Then you will die.”

“Yes, mistress.” Loriann sat by his side, above his shoulder so that his right arm would be unimpeded, her most delicate tattoo needle in her hand. On the stone near her was the pot of mixed blood. She had woven
her spell into his flesh with the blood on the tips of the cat claws, leaving only parts of three to be filled in.

“Sit beside him on the stone there”—Loriann pointed with the needle—“in the crook of his left arm. I'll speak the ritual words while I fill in the last globules of blood on the cat's claws.” Loriann met his eyes, telling him that she was ready.

All they needed was to put Isleen at a disadvantage, cause her to focus on something else just long enough for him to react. If the help came after the vampire was dead, he'd have a ride home. If the help came before, well, he'd have a weapon to protect the kid.

To Isleen, Loriann said, “When I say, ‘For all time. For all time. For all time,' you have to bite him on his wrist and drink from him. One sip. And then you say, ‘Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. I claim you as my own. For all time. For all time. For all time.' And it'll be done.”

•   •   •

“How long?” Isleen asked, her fingers trailing down his face, cupping his cheek. He smelled old blood and something sweet and parched, like dried lilies. The smell of the vamp herself.

“The last globules will take about half an hour. I have to chant the whole time. If you talk, if you move, if you cause me to lose my concentration, it will break the spell.”

“And the child will die.” Isleen flashed her fangs. “Never forget that. Begin. Now.”

Loriann closed her eyes and ducked her head as if to pray. Then she opened her eyes and placed the needle into the pot of blood. “Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. These two are one.” She pierced Rick's flesh with the needle. “Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. These two are one. Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. These two are one.”

The needle pierced him again and again as Isleen stared into his eyes, hunger in hers. He knew that she was trying to roll him, to do what vampires did to get free blood-meals and to bind blood-slaves and blood-servants. He could feel her compulsion tickling at the edges of his mind. If needles and fine blades hadn't been sticking into him, he might have succumbed. But the pain kept him alert. Ready. The minutes ticked by. His blood trickled around his bicep to pool on top of his dried blood on the black witch stone.

Loriann changed the chant when she started on the second globule. “Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. These two are one. Time and time and forever. Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul. These two are one. Time and time and forever. Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, soul to soul.These two are one. Time and time and forever.”

Rick regulated his breathing, keeping himself loose and relaxed. Letting Isleen believe that she was succeeding in rolling him. He slid his expression into a goofy smile. Let drunken love fill his face.

Loriann started on the last drop of blood on the last claw. Again her chant changed. “One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever. One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever. One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever.” The phrase was like a drum beating into his mind. His heart stuttered and found a new rhythm, meeting and following her words. “One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever. One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever. One blood, one flesh, one soul. Time and time and forever.”

And then she said the words Isleen had been waiting for. “For all time. For all time. For all time.” The tattoo was complete.

Isleen bit. The pain was instantaneous. An electric shock. Rick gripped the stake. And spun, pushing up and away. Fast. Faster than he had ever moved. He plunged the stake into Isleen's back. The point slammed through skin and muscle and cartilage.