Blood Song (10 page)

“How
much
did you wish for it?” Detective Gibson’s voice cut into the memory and I started. My eyes blinked several times, trying to focus on the here and now. When I did, the implication came home.

He was trying to trip me up. It probably works well when there’s some guilt. But I didn’t have any, so it didn’t bother me. “Please. Get real. I’m not perfect, but I
like
who I am. A vamp turns you, you lose your identity, lose
everything.
Besides, if I’d asked for this, don’t you think I would have stuck around to see it finished?”

He didn’t rise to that bait. He just spun his finger in a circle. “Go on.”

I tried to remember where I was. Oh yeah. Arguing with the bitchy mage about the trunk.

Gibson’s snort of laughter brought me out of the spell-induced reverie again. He was good, damned good, to put me in and out of the memory spell like that. I hadn’t felt a thing when he’d worked his magic. Oh, he didn’t have Bruno’s power, few do, but Gibson was smooth enough to make up for the difference.

“Clever, very clever.” He grinned at me, and the impish expression on his face chased back the death’s head for a moment.

“Thanks.” I grinned back at him. “I thought so.”

“Bet it pissed her off.”

“Oh yeah.” I didn’t even try to keep the satisfaction from my voice. It made him shake his head and chuckle.

“So, you celebrated your friend’s birthday, then what?”

“Dinner at La Cocina.” The words popped out of my mouth of their own volition. I blinked in startlement. I didn’t actually
remember
it, couldn’t have told you what I’d ordered, but at the same time I was absolutely certain it was the truth. Weird.

“Anything else?”

I tried to relax, just let the information flow, but there was nothing. I shook my head. With the spell compelling me, I couldn’t fake the lack of knowledge. Actually, I’d hoped the spell might pull something more out of my mind. No such luck.

“That’s it?” He sounded disappointed. I didn’t blame him. It was so damned frustrating.

Gibson stared at me for a long moment. I could see he was appraising me, judging me against some inner scale. Maybe he was trying to see if I was lying, despite the magic. Most people do. Some deliberately, because they want to misdirect the cops; some out of sheer habit, or from faulty memory. But the way he’d primed me, the memory
should
be there.
If
the freaking bat hadn’t screwed with my head.

“How badly do you want to remember?”

I met the intensity of his gaze without flinching. “I don’t
want
to remember,” I snarled. “I
need
to.”

He reached down to the tape recorder and abruptly hit the stop button. I watched the little wheels that moved the tape come to a halt, wondering what in the hell was going on. “How much money have you got on you?”

I blinked a little in shock. Alex is incredibly straightforward, honest, and honorable. I couldn’t believe that a man she trusted as much as Gibson could be crooked, but he was certainly acting suspiciously. I picked my words carefully, trying to keep my voice utterly neutral. “Not much, but my office is only a couple blocks from here. I can get some. Why?”

He smiled a slow, wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As a cop, I am not allowed to employ the services of a clairvoyant to look into the past, or hire a mage or hypnotist to make you remember. Particularly since recalling the attack might be traumatizing and could cause brain damage.” He sounded both bitter and resigned. “But
if
”—he forced his face into neutral lines—“you, as a civilian,
choose
to employ one of those esteemed individuals, and if you should
choose
to have me present—”

“That’s cutting the rules awfully fine, Detective Gibson.” I made sure I didn’t sound judgmental. But I knew as well as he did that the courts frowned on this sort of thing. Magic is a fact of life, but it is too easily manipulated. For that matter, so is some of the newer and flashier technology—which was why Gibson was using a tape rather than a digital recorder. Somewhere along the way he’d turned off the camera as well. I could tell because there were no lights flashing on it at all.

“Ms. Graves.” Gibson took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “There are things we don’t tell the press. Mainly because if the public knew, they’d panic and make things worse for everyone.”

I nodded. It made sense. I didn’t
like
it, but I’d seen a mob mentality in action once before. It had scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t have to try to stop them. The cops were the ones who got to face that sort of thing head-on and get crucified afterward, no matter how they handled the situation. I could accept the need for … discretion.

“I need your help, so I’m going to tell you something—but you didn’t hear it, and you sure as
hell
didn’t get it from me.”

“I can keep my mouth shut,” I assured him.

“Good. Because we don’t need this getting out, especially not right now. But you need to know why we’re taking this so very seriously, and why I’m willing to bend a little to get the job done.”

“Tell me.”

Gibson leaned in and spoke even more softly. “There was a spell used on that alley to eliminate every trace of living or formerly living matter down to the pre-cellular level. Not even bacteria survived. The spell that was used is
anathema.
Do you know what that means?”

I forced my mind back to my history of magic classes in college and recited from memory, “‘The early Catholic church declared
anathema
all magic that was based on demonic power, magic that can be worked only by a demon or a half-human/half-demon spawn. Any human party to that type of magic is immediately excommunicated.’”

“Yep,” he agreed. “And all spells that are
anathema
have been incorporated into the Nuremberg Accords. Their use is considered a crime against humanity and cause to be brought before the international tribunal. Demonic spells are war crimes … even when there’s no war.”

Demonic. Something must have shown in my expression, because he said, “
What?
You’ve thought of something.”

It was so frustrating, I
almost
remembered something … a whistling sound, flashing lights … but out of context it didn’t make sense.

Gibson gave me some space. We sat and sipped coffee and stared at nothing for a few minutes. When I had a little better grip on my emotions I broke the silence. “So we’re dealing with at least the semi-demonic.”

He let out a little growl and lowered his voice. “Don’t say that too loud, and
never
in public. We’ve got the World Series coming up just a few short miles away in Anaheim.”

Well, that certainly explained both why the police had decided to act dumb to Emma and why Alex had been careful about what she said to me. Assuming, of course, she actually knew anything. She might not.

Gibson slid his glasses back on and scooted back in his seat. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began reading from it. “‘The first officers on the scene were Conner and Watson. They arrived within fifteen minutes of Ms. Landingham’s call. The place was deserted, but they could see what looked like the remains of two adult males on the ground near the foot of a back staircase next to a Dumpster and a rather large pile of smoldering ash that they believed might be the burned remains of multiple vampires. They radioed for backup and proceeded toward the alley. Watson was in the lead. As he reached his left arm into the alley to shine his flashlight on the remains he felt …’” Gibson hesitated for a second before continuing with the same clinical detachment coroners use to stay sane. “‘… a burning, tingling sensation in his arm. He told his partner to stay back and call for magical backup.’”

Gibson’s jaw clenched, and I watched a slow flush creep up his neck. He kept it under control, but I could feel the rage beating off of him like heat from a furnace. “In less than two minutes, the bodies in the alley began to disintegrate, along with every other thing that had ever, at one time, been a living thing, up to and including the cotton of Watson’s shirt and the arm beneath it.”

Gibson’s eyes locked with mine and I
couldn’t
look away. His gaze compelled me to face him, face what he said next head-on. No hiding. No flinching. “It started at his fingertips and worked its way up, his arm
disintegrating
into powder-fine
dust
while he watched. It would have kept going if Conner hadn’t thought to run back to the car for the vampire kit and the axe—” His jaw clenched, and the words cut off, choked off by his rage. He worked to steady his harsh breathing. It took a couple of minutes, but I waited silently. There was nothing to say. Just the thought of it was horrifying. I felt my stomach roll with revulsion that had nothing to do with the smell of his illness. “The Internal Affairs officer threw up watching the dashboard cam video. They brought in a priest to bless him and doused the tape with holy water—in case watching it activated another spell.” Gibson paused again. “Watson and Conner are still alive. The doctors think they can magically alter their memories enough to let them out of the psych ward in a few weeks and send them home.”

Gibson’s eyes bored into me like lasers. “I want the bastards who did this. The priests can deal with the demons, but somebody human had to summon them—has to be working with them. I won’t do anything that will risk a slick lawyer getting them off. But I
want
them.”

I agreed wholeheartedly. The best part was, I must have been gone by then. Even if I recovered the rest of my memories, I wouldn’t have to remember seeing one cop cut off another’s arm with an axe. I even had an idea of how to get started on the right track. “Detective Gibson, my best friend is a level-nine clairvoyant. What say we pay her a visit?”

He shook his head. Alex must have suggested the same thing. “No dice. Vicki Cooper is an inpatient at a mental facility. Anything she got would be dismissed out of hand as being tainted.”

Shit. He was right. Which sucked, because she was the best and I trusted her implicitly.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Not
what,
Ms. Graves.
Who.
”

Dorothy simmons
was a sweet-looking little old lady with fluffy white hair and a round face. She met us at the door of one of a collection of tiny red-brick duplexes that formed the government-subsidized housing for the elderly in our fair city. She was wearing a lavender velour track suit with a white tank top and the kind of heavy sensible white shoes you see advertised in magazines for nurses and other folks who spend most of their time on their feet. At her invitation we followed her inside, moving slowly as she shuffled along using one of those aluminum walkers with bright green tennis balls attached to the front feet for traction.

We’d come here because Mrs. Simmons didn’t have a history of mental instability. I was going to be paying her fifty dollars, because she was on a fixed income and needed the money. Seemed like a small enough price to pay if she could help me out.

At Gibson’s suggestion I’d hung back a bit, in the shadows cast by a trellis of pink climbing roses. He wanted to make sure my appearance didn’t startle her. After my experiences earlier, I didn’t blame him.

“Dottie, I have someone with me who was attacked last night. She’s a victim, and I swear to you she is not a danger to you.”

“Don’t be silly, Karl, I know you’d never put me at risk. Miss … come on in. There’s no need to be skulking around in the shadows.”

“Yes, ma’am. If you say so.” I tried to show my appreciation with a smile. I shouldn’t have. It flashed the fangs. She stepped back so abruptly she nearly fell, her face as white as a sheet, her blue eyes as wide as saucers.

“Dottie … Dot, it’s all right,” Gibson assured her. “Celia was ambushed last night. She was rescued before the process went too far, but we need your help to know exactly what went on in that alley. We need to catch the bat that did this to her.”

“Oh, my.” Dottie put her hand to her chest, her breath coming in short gasps. It took a couple of moments before she calmed enough to speak. “I’m so sorry, dear, but you
did
give me a turn.” She shook her head. “So silly. I
know
better. A vampire couldn’t be out this time of day. Still …” She shook her head again. “It is a shock. You poor thing. You’ll be facing a hard time, I bet, with people reacting before they think, just like I did. How are you feeling?”