Cat Adams - Blood Song

the hal . They walked with the kind of confidence that comes with the weight of authority. I smel ed gun

oil and the tiniest hint of powder, as if the weapon hadn’t been cleaned quite as wel as it should have

been after its last use.

They slowed to a stop outside the heavy steel of the main door. I heard the metal shift as someone

began pul ing it open, and a voice I recognized as belonging to Dr. Reynolds from the university health

clinic, babbling nervously. I watched, alert, as their figures were silhouetted against the sunlight of the

glass-wal ed outer hal way. The sunlight seemed too bright, like staring into a spotlight onstage. It made

my skin itch even from a distance, and I felt my muscles cringe. That annoyed me.

From the corner of my eye I saw the argument between Emma and Kevin cease. Jones had simply

disappeared. Like magic. Except that I know magic … and nobody I’d ever known or heard of was

capable of that particular trick.

The man who held the door was familiar to me, and probably to every student who graced the hal s of

USC Bayview. University president Donald Lackley had movie star good looks, a permanent tan, and

shoes that had once roamed free in the Florida swamplands. His designer suit was impeccable,

perfectly tailored, and probably worth as much as the car I drive. He is a presence , and as such never

misses a photo op or a chance to cadge donations for the campus. That said, he is stil one hell of an

able administrator. No detail is smal enough to escape the notice of those sharp dark eyes. Most

people would have been surprised that he’d choose to lead the charge down here himself. I wasn’t. If

he was here he could control the situation. Like most administrators, Lackley was all about control. If

he hadn’t already been married, I’d have said he was the perfect match for Emma Landingham.

“Good morning, Emma … Kevin.” Lackley’s voice was much cooler than usual when he spoke to

them. He knew my name but didn’t greet me. I wasn’t surprised.

He looked at Emma. “Dr. Reynolds explained to me that there’s been an … incident involving Ms.

Graves.”

Kevin glared at the good doctor, who flinched a little under the heat of his gaze.

“I did say you had the situation in hand,” the doctor mumbled.

Lackley spared the doctor an eloquent look. The poor man shifted nervously from foot to foot. He

was a smal , mousy little man with a receding hairline and a slight paunch that didn’t show when he was

wearing a lab coat. He seemed to be a fairly good doctor but a poor politician. Today he just couldn’t

catch a break. No matter what he did, he’d be pissing somebody off.

“You did. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t personal y check to make sure that a potential y deadly monster

hadn’t been brought onto the campus.”

I smiled and hoped the fangs didn’t show. “I’m fine, President Lackley. But thank you for your

concern .” Unlike Kevin and the doc, I don’t work for the university and am thus exempt from kissing

administrative booty. So long as I paid my tuition on time, there wasn’t much they could do to me. I

could be as sarcastic as I wanted—provided I didn’t appear to be a threat.

I saw the muscles in Lackley’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t say a word in response. So I turned my

attention from him to the third man in their happy little group.

C. J. “Rocky” Rockford was the head of the campus security forces. We’d had occasion to run into

each other, and while he knew he probably shouldn’t like me, he did. We even went to the shooting

range and worked out in the gym and weight room together occasional y. “Hey, Rock.”

Rocky’s a big guy, former boxer and tough as they come. His skin is deep brown with copper

highlights. He keeps his hair cut short enough that you can see the scalp beneath it. He isn’t a

handsome man, but he is impressive. Which al ows him to, in the immortal words of Patrick Swayze,

“be nice, until it is time not to be nice.” Rocky was always armed, but today he was carrying a plain

black nylon satchel. I was betting I knew what was inside: holy items, a stake, a mal et, and a saw

—your typical vampire kit.

“Graves. What happened?” His voice didn’t sound particularly friendly this morning and he was

rubbing his finger along a ridge of scar tissue at the bridge of his nose. He does that when he’s

nervous. I couldn’t say as I blamed him. Never makes things easy when the ultimate boss takes a

personal interest. Plus, I’d like to think Rocky hadn’t been looking forward to staking and beheading a

workout partner.

“I don’t real y remember much about it. I should be dead, from what I’ve gathered. But I’m not and,

despite the fangs, I remember who I am. I was out on the slab until just a few minutes ago.”

He blinked a couple of times in surprise but final y managed to ask, “Hit? Here on campus?”

Kevin answered that one. “No.”

“Then why is she here?” Lackley’s gaze locked with Kevin’s and neither of them seemed inclined to

back down.

“It was my fault.” Emma spoke quietly. “I’m a level-four clairvoyant. I knew Celia was in serious

danger. I cal ed my father and brother and told them what I saw. My brother went to get her. Dad’s in

Chicago on business, so he cal ed Dr. Reynolds. Nobody wanted to risk what happened in that

emergency room in Denver, so he brought her here and brought the equipment in. The restraints on

this table are graded to hold an uncontrol ed ghoul if need be. We figured they’d be strong enough to

handle whatever she became.”

I was surprised. Emma’s gift is sporadic at best, and usual y only works in connection with people she

cares about. I wouldn’t have put myself on that list. She’d saved my life. Of course, she’d turned around

and risked it a couple hours later, but stil . I turned to look her in the eye. “Thank you.”

She blinked, obviously startled. “You’re welcome.”

“So, you admit to bringing a potential y dangerous monster onto campus and not reporting it.”

Emma flushed at the implied criticism. “I did report it. To the local police, over the phone, while Dr.

Reynolds was giving Celia the blood transfusion.” She met Lackley’s gaze head-on, her chin thrust up

in defiance. “And if you check the voice mail for your office, you’l find an urgent message from me.”

Lackley didn’t rise to the bait. “What did the police say?”

“They said they’d look into it.” She turned to me then. “When I cal ed back they said there were no

dead bodies at that address, or even in the area, monster, human, or otherwise.”

I blinked. That made no sense. None. I blinked a few more times, trying to process what she’d just

said, without much success.

“The officer I spoke to seemed to imply that I was being hysterical. He was polite. Extremely polite.

But I got the impression he considered me a nutcase.”

Whatever he’d implied, they were most likely working on it. She probably hadn’t made a particularly

good impression—she could be a raging bitch in heels, and they wouldn’t take to it. But somebody was

probably doing the legwork. They take talk of monsters and dead bodies very seriously.

“For the record.” I turned and spoke directly to Lackley. I didn’t want Warren and the others getting in