The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Page 9

  “You have to let her go,” said a man’s voice, not one I recognized.

  “The hell you say! She’s a freaking killer. She’s admitted it.” That was Detective Rawlins.

  “Doesn’t matter. It was a righteous shoot. Even if it wasn’t, she’s got diplomatic immunity from two countries. She’s also a freaking celebrity, and she just foiled an assassination attempt on members of a royal family. We’ve got press screaming for blood, politicos riding our ass, and no good reason to keep her. We can bring her back in if we need to. For now, cut her loose.”

  “Have you looked at her? She has fangs. She should be staked or put in a fucking cage. Even her attorney admits that she could lose control if she doesn’t eat.”

  “So let her eat, and let her go.”

  “Is that an order?”

  A pause and then the voice lowered to a growl. “Does it need to be?”

  There was a long silence. I could hear Rawlins breathing harshly. “We’ll wind up regretting this. When that time comes…”

  “If that time comes, there’ll be a note in your file.” The voice made it a threat.

  “Good,” Rawlins spat. “Glad to hear it.”

  When they cut me loose, the first thing I did was grab my cell phone and dial Adriana’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. Annoying, but not unexpected. Roberto had told me that Lopaka and the others had been taken to the secure ward of a local hospital, but he didn’t know which one. If Adriana was there with her mother, it was likely that no call could reach her. So I dug out the card Baker had given me and keyed the number into my phone. The line rang only once.

  “Princess.” Ah, caller ID, gotta love it.

  “Special Agent Albright.”

  She sounded both amused and exhausted. “Am I to assume the police have finally tired of interrogating you?”

  “They have. How is the queen? Where are Adriana and the others?”

  “Her Royal Majesty is in intensive care at St. Anthony’s Hospital. Princess Adriana is with her.”

  Intensive care? It was that bad? I couldn’t help but worry. Despite only knowing her for a short time, I really liked Lopaka.

  “What about Olga and Natasha?”

  “They’re secure at the Ruslandic Embassy.”

  “As soon as I can get some weapons, I’ll head over to the hospital.”

  “Don’t bother. We’ve got it covered for now. Get some rest. Check in again in the morning.” She hung up before I could argue. No surprise. She had a lot on her plate.

  My aunt, the queen of queens, the most powerful siren in the world, was in intensive care. Crap.

  It took a minute for that to fully sink in, which told me just how distracted I was. Sirens are hard to kill. Very, very hard to kill. I’d seen one get shot to pieces and she had kept breathing, her damaged heart still beating. It isn’t public knowledge, but I had it on good authority that the only things that can actually kill a pure-blooded siren are weapons wielded in jealousy—an emotion that is a poison to us—or certain specially made magical artifacts.

  The shooters in the car hadn’t been women, so jealousy wasn’t a factor. That told me two things. First, someone in the know had leaked exactly where we were going and when we’d be there. Second, the attackers had arranged for literally dozens of bullets to be spelled—because that was the only way to try to kill royal sirens. Even a thousand standard rounds wouldn’t be enough. The cost to prepare this attack, in both time and money, had to have been outrageous. So we were looking at a well-funded group with inside information and access to some of the top-tier mages in the world. Artifacts take a long time to produce, which meant that these had been created long before Adriana and Dahlmar’s engagement was announced. The wedding was just an excuse.

  That was very interesting.

  I couldn’t help Lopaka at the hospital. My job was to protect her daughter. I wouldn’t be able to do that properly without rest. I wanted to do that someplace safe. I also wanted to go over the intel Baker had given me, and see if there was a clue that would tell me who the traitor was.

  Because there was a traitor. Someone allowed that limo to get close enough to kill.

  12

  “I really appreciate this, Emma.”

  “So you’ve said … repeatedly.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words. “Seriously, it’s all right.” She handed me a nutrition shake. “Drink this. You’re glowing.”

  She was right. I didn’t feel vampy, exactly, but I wasn’t myself, either. I’d been hungry back at the police station and while I was waiting for Emma to come pick me up. Now, back at her new home, not so much. Still, I twisted open the bottle and drank as Kevin shoved past me into the main living area.

  I flinched. He was really pissed and not even trying to hide it. I hadn’t expected him to show up, but he and Emma had arrived in his big truck and Emma had given me a this-wasn’t-my-idea look as they pulled up to where I was sitting and watching cops and civilians flow in and out of the precinct house. The ride back to the old church had passed by in a silence cold enough to frost the windows of his truck. Emma might not mind my being here. Her brother obviously did.

  The second I stepped into the living room Kevin turned to me, his expression granite. In a flat yet furious voice he said, “Computer, big screen, channel six.”

  At the far end of the room, the television came on. The perky brunette and her silver-haired coanchor wore grim expressions as film of the front of the destroyed bridal shop ran in the background, immediately followed by photos of King Dahlmar and Princess Adriana.

  “A terrorist group calling itself the Guardians of the Faith has used various social networks to claim responsibility for the attack.” A close-up of a screenshot appeared; the group’s avatar was a blue-green S bisected diagonally by a bloody harpoon. I’d seen that symbol before, but couldn’t remember where or when.

  I pummeled my brain, searching for the answer as the anchorwoman droned on. “The group has vowed to continue the violence against all sirens unless King Dahlmar breaks off his engagement. Our sources say that the governments of all three nations are treating this as a credible threat.” An image flashed onto the screen of a note written in a foreign language, accompanied by photocopied pictures of Lopaka’s face, Adriana’s, and mine, all marred by black “X” marks.

  My stomach heaved and I locked my knees to keep from swaying on my feet. It’s one thing to hear you’ve been targeted. It’s quite another to see it in color on the big screen.

  “Damn it, Kevin!” Emma was seriously pissed. Her eyes were blazing and there were two spots of color on her cheeks. “Was that necessary?”

  Her brother was perfectly calm. Smug, even. The bastard. “She wasn’t taking it seriously enough. She never does. She brought you into it without a second thought.”

  Emma rounded on him in fury, hands balled into fists at her sides. “You didn’t have to do it that way. You were deliberately brutal and callous and you know it.”

  “Celia’s tougher than you give her credit for. Quit treating her like a fragile snowflake.” Kevin made a disgusted noise and stomped over to fling himself into a recliner. Emma led me to a nearby chair, where I sat down hard and lowered my head into my hands. Above and around me, I heard Emma and her brother arguing and the television playing sound bites of statements released by the Ruslandic and Siren ambassadors, but nothing really sank in. Terrorists. I was being hunted by armed, organized, freaking terrorists.

  “She needs to know what you’re risking, having her here,” Kevin said.

  Emma glared at him. “It’s my choice to make,”

  He slammed a fist down on the armrest, causing his assistance dog, Paulie, to raise her head just a bit. “It’s unnecessary. There are other places she can go. Places that won’t endanger you.”

  Keeping Emma safe had always been Kevin’s main priority. It was why he and his father had served me up as bait for the insane siren, Eirene, a serious misstep that had cost me my friend
ship with Warren and nearly cost me my life. But Emma had grown tired of being babied. She was a grown woman now, capable of striking back and of making her own decisions.

  “Not tonight, she can’t. The cops took her guns as evidence, remember?” Emma argued. “Bruno can’t get into her office until morning.”

  He can’t? Why not? I opened my mouth to ask, but she’d moved a step forward and was pointing a finger at her brother’s nose. “Celia’s staying here until the sun comes up, and that’s final. This is my home and it’s my choice, Kevin. Mine. Not Daddy’s, not yours. Mine.”

  “I don’t like it.” He probably meant having me here. Then again, maybe not. Having Emma stand up to him probably wasn’t a happy development in his life.

  “You don’t have to.” Emma met his gaze without flinching. Points to Emma. Kevin was maybe a step and a half from going wolfy. His eyes were glowing amber and I swear his teeth looked sharper than normal. He was clenching and unclenching his fingers around the arms of the chair. It might have gone further if Paulie hadn’t placed herself between the two of them and started barking.

  Kevin glared at the dog and she sank into a sit. But she didn’t move out of the way, just stared at him with those huge brown eyes: calm, trusting.

  He sighed and closed his eyes.

  “I’m going to go outside and calm down.”

  “Good idea.” Emma’s words were crisp. “Meanwhile, I’ll fix us all something to eat.”

  “Come on, Paulie.” Kevin strode through the living area to a side door, the dog at his heels. I couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. Kevin was not himself. Not at all. Maybe being out in quiet and moonlight would help. I was betting he’d go to the little walled cemetery on the west side of the building. I’d wandered through it when I’d visited before and seen that it really was old, two hundred years at least. Where the stones could be read, they told of the missionaries who founded the church and of their very first converts. They’d probably been such true believers that there wasn’t even a single ghost left to haunt the place. Hopefully the graveyard would be peaceful enough to soothe Kevin’s troubled soul.

  I stared at the door for a long moment. “Do you think you should call his Vaso?”

  It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Wish I could. She had to go out of town for a few weeks. Her mom’s dying of cancer.”

  Well, hell. “Can we send him to her?” I asked hopefully.

  Emma shook her head. “He can’t travel when he’s like this. Certainly not this close to the full moon. Once that’s passed, in a couple of days, he’ll be better. He always is. Now, you settle in and watch the news. You really do need to know what’s going on. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  I checked my watch, then said, “Computer, big screen, channel ten, please.” Since Channel 10’s nightly newscast starts at ten o’clock, I’d be able to catch the beginning of the report.

  It didn’t hit me as hard the second time. I sat in the recliner, watching the images on the screen and mentally going over everything I knew and suspected. Which wasn’t much. I needed more information.

  I called out to my hostess, who was cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen. “Emma, do you think Kevin could set up a secure conference call for me?”

  “Probably. The question is whether he will.” She came in, carrying a plate that smelled like heaven. The eggs were runny, but there was cheese, and she’d brought along a couple of jars of baby food. “But it’ll have to wait until morning in any event. We don’t have all the equipment he’d need. How many people would be involved?” She handed me the plate. “Eat.”

  I ate. When I’d finished, I called Special Agent Albright and got not only the numbers I requested, but an update.

  They’d put an aquarium in the queen’s room at Adriana’s suggestion. Her royal majesty was conscious and improving. She was still in intensive care, but the doctors were hopeful. The princess was already on her way back to Serenity. Apparently Chiyoko, the siren queen of the Japanese islands, had managed to scrape up a quorum and had called an emergency meeting of all of the siren queens. Adriana was going to attend on behalf of her mother.

  I asked Albright about traveling to Serenity with the princess, but she rejected the idea.

  “You have other things to do.” Her voice was calm, but was rough around the edges. People who didn’t know her might think none of this was bothering her. I guessed it was.

  “Like what?”

  “I need you to convince the other bridesmaids to remain in the wedding. Her majesty’s assistant has scheduled a dinner for the three of you tomorrow evening after their afternoon television interviews have finished.”

  Oh goodie. I was going to get to spend time alone with Olga and Natasha. “My job is to protect the princess.” I said it, but I knew I was fighting an uphill battle.

  “It was an order, not a request.”

  Of course it was. The question was whether or not I was going to obey it. I might technically be a siren—and technically, under Lopaka’s rule—but I was born and raised an American. I am not good at taking royal orders.

  Please, Celia. I heard Queen Lopaka’s voice very faintly in my mind. She sounded weak and very tired. I thought about her lying in the hospital bed, maybe still in the ICU, worrying about her daughter, her throne, and the public humiliation she’d face if the wedding didn’t happen, or even if the bridesmaids bailed from fear of the terrorists.

  She was my aunt, and she’d said please. “All right, I’ll do it.” And I would. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.

  13

  I woke to the light patter of rain against glass, the smells of breakfast, and the sounds of familiar voices. I lay in a pool of muted light in a rainbow of colors filtered through stained glass. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Emma’s guest room, formerly the choir loft. To my right was the door to the stairs that led down to the bathroom and the old foyer. To my right were the floor-to-ceiling drapes that covered the half wall that looked down into the living room. A glance at the clock told me it was ten in the morning. I’d slept longer, and more deeply, than I had in weeks. Just like the night I’d slept at Bruno’s, I hadn’t had any nightmares, so I actually felt rested. It was a nice change. Some of those dreams…

  I shuddered.

  It felt good to actually get real rest. On the downside, sleeping in meant that it had been a lot of hours since my last meal. I was hungry, and the smell of coffee, bacon, and hash browns wasn’t helping one bit. My stomach growled and my vision started to shift to vampire focus, even though it was morning, not night. Crap.

  I wanted to go downstairs and find out what was going on. But I didn’t dare, not like this. I’d gone too long between meals before and wound up having bloodlust. Most of my nightmares lately have been dreams of waking up after too little nutrition and too much exertion and stress, and slaughtering the people I’d been hired to protect. The worst part was, carving those paths of destruction had felt good.

  Thing is, there’s no Ensure in the jungle. No baby food in the cramped cellar of an old church or a drug-smuggler’s tunnel. Sometimes I had to eat what I could find that could be squished into a paste and mixed with polluted water from improperly dug wells. I felt hungry almost all the time I was on the job. My nightmares too often felt like they were one tiny step away from my reality.

  I recognized the ache in my stomach and the twitching of my muscles. Then I realized that the bands of light decorating my vision weren’t just from the stained glass. I was seeing things as a predator. Crap.

  I rose without really meaning to. Gliding with unnatural grace to the half wall, I pulled the curtain back a fraction and peeked out.

  I know I was careful. The curtain barely twitched. But Kevin’s voice rang out from downstairs only seconds later. He sounded more cheerful than he had the night before, almost actually welcoming. “Morning, Celia. ’Bout time you got up. Breakfast is at the foot of the stairs, along with a chan
ge of clothes. You need to hustle. We’ve almost got everything set up.”

  “Thankth.” God, that lisp! And my voice was about an octave lower than normal. Kevin’s head shot up at the sound, his eyes narrowing and seeming to glow. A fellow predator who knew what I was feeling.

  “Eat. Now,” he ordered, then called to someone I couldn’t see. “Guys, we’re delaying the video conference. Celia has to feed.”

  Feed. He’d used the word I refused to use. I fought through the rising fog of bloodlust. Food. I needed food. There were humans downstairs, filled to the brim with blood. I could hear their heartbeats, smell their sweat—patterns that hinted how each of them would taste. Glimpse the bands of color that spoke of their emotions: warmth, fear, worry. But I knew I’d have to get past the wolf to get to any of them. The wolf was a threat. I began trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

  Kevin gave a low growl, blocking the stairway. He knew. The wolf could sense what I wanted.

  I fought my inner bat for control and won, but it wasn’t easy. “I need … food.” The words sounded sort of strangled, my struggle reflected in my voice.

  “There’s a tray at the bottom of the stairs.” Emma stepped into view and patiently repeated what her brother had already said. “Kevin didn’t think it was a good idea for anyone to bring it up.”

  Kevin was so freaking right.

  He pushed Emma back. “Get away, Em. She’s right on the edge.” He looked up at me with an expression that mixed anger and respect. “I’ll be barricading the door.”

  I forced myself away from the half wall as he closed the door and locked it audibly—making it very clear that I would have to go through him to get to anyone in the room beyond. I flowed down the staircase to a tray that couldn’t possibly hold anything that would compare to what my body really wanted … needed at that moment.

  I guzzled the diet shake on the tray first, hoping it would take the edge off. It did, but not enough. My hands were still shaking hard enough that it was all I could do to get the lid off a jar of strained-beef baby food. I couldn’t seem to get the spoon into the jar. In the next instant I wrapped my lips around the opening and poured it into my mouth, sucking at the goopy contents and swallowing as fast as I could. I stabbed and slashed at the glass, feeling my fangs slide uselessly against the sides of the jar. Only then could I make my fingers work right. The shakes finally stopped after the second serving of baby food. By the time I finished the third—peaches—I was actually able to think clearly.