Cat Adams - Blood Song

As if from a great distance I heard a worried male voice cal ing out, “Dottie, are you al right?”

“I’m fine, Robert.” The old woman’s voice was surprisingly unperturbed. She gave me a meaningful

look before continuing. “Celia here just saw a mouse. It startled her.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I was too busy hyperventilating. Memory suppression is a psychological

defense mechanism. The subconscious mind tries its damnedest to protect us from the things we’re

not equipped to deal with, and the vampire’s spel had helped. It had been too soon to tear the lid off of

these particular memories. Any time in the next mil ennium would have been too soon. “Trauma” is

such a nice, sterile word for what was ripping through my brain and chest.

An elderly man shoved roughly past Gibson to stand in front of Dot, his eyes narrowing with

suspicion. He turned to me, his mouth dropping open.

“I’m phobic.” I managed to gasp out the lie, and saw real relief chase across my hostess’s features.

“Real y, Robert, we need to get an exterminator in here! What I wouldn’t give for my dear Minnie. She

was quite the mouser.” Minnie the Mouser. That was just sick. But I liked it. I found myself choking on a

hysterical laugh.

“Are you al right?” Gibson’s eyes were on mine and were dark with concern.

“I’l be fine.” It was a lie. Fine had gone for a long vacation somewhere along with my sanity. But I was

alive, and here, and I damned wel needed to get my shit together if I was going to survive this. And I

intended to.

Dottie stepped over my foot, splayed across her nice carpet. “Be a dear, Robert, there’s a pitcher of

lemonade in the refrigerator—”

“No.” I shook my head and tried to col ect myself. “Thank you, but no. I’m fine now, and we need to get

going.”

“Are you sure, dear?” Dottie might not want Robert to know what had happened, but she was

obviously concerned about me.

I shook my head again. My brain was gathering the fabric of reality around itself again and I was

happy to report the truth. “I’m okay. Just let me clean up the mess and we’l be out of your hair.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But she wasn’t hurrying to do it herself, either.

“Real y. I insist. Are there paper towels in the kitchen?”

“Yes, dear. On a holder attached to the wal by the refrigerator. You can’t miss them.”

I got my feet under me and hurried out of the room. Yes, I’d clean up the mess. But more than that, I

wanted a couple of minutes alone.

The prince was a fake. There hadn’t been a raid. There had been no cops at either end of that al ey.

The entire job, from start to finish, had been a setup. I’d been supposed to die and have the whole thing

be blamed on the vampire named Edgar. Why? Damn it … why ? And who was behind it? I mean, the

whole thing was being set up by someone with enough resources and money to make it al happen and

have access to demons or half demons capable and wil ing to work spel s that were anathema.

I’d come here for answers, and wound up with more, and scarier, questions.

8

Gibson slid his cel phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He’d cal ed in and left a voice mail for his

superiors as soon as we’d gotten into the privacy of his car. Now that the cal was over, he glanced at

me from the driver’s seat. “You look like shit.”

I didn’t doubt him, but that didn’t mean I liked hearing it said out loud. “Gee, thanks.” I made the words

as dry and sarcastic as I could, and it brought a tight smile to his face. “You try remembering your own

murder sometime, see how you like it.”

“Nah, I think I’l pass.” He turned his ful attention back to the road.

“Quick thinking, by the way—tel ing the neighbor I’d seen a mouse.”

“Wel , she had to say something. You were screaming bloody murder. And Dottie doesn’t want

anyone to know about her talent. The last time people found out, they hounded her constantly, wanting

her to ‘find out things.’ She didn’t get a minute’s peace.”

I shook my head. The lie had made me look like an idiot, but I’d played along. “Did she real y have a

cat named Minnie the Mouser?”

“Right up until the landlord made her get rid of Minnie.”

“Bastard.”

He chuckled. “I take it you like animals?”

“Love ’em. But my schedule’s weird.”

He let out a heaving sigh as he took a left turn. “Too bad. I was hoping you might want a cat. She

real y is one hel of a mouser.”

I started to laugh. It was a little bit hysterical, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes either you laugh or

you cry, and crying wouldn’t do any good.

Unfortunately, I laughed hard enough that tears started. Then I cried. Gibson didn’t say a word, just

reached over when we hit a red light and popped open the glove box. Inside was a box of tissues.

I used a few to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. He pretended not to notice. It was a relief, real y. I

don’t like crying. It makes me feel weak and out of control. I’m not weak, but out of control … today that

was something of an understatement. Besides, Bob Johnson was a friend, and judging from what I’d

seen in that vision, he was dead and gone. How the hel was I going to break the news to Vanessa?

I cried hard, but not for long. Stil , even that smal release was good for me. I was feeling a little bit

better by the time Gibson pul ed into the parking lot of my office building. My office isn’t quite in central

downtown. Even with office sharing I couldn’t afford that. Instead, we’re about four blocks off. It puts us

closer to the county jail, which works wel for the bail bondsmen. Being in the same building with the bail

bondsmen (who do not and ethical y cannot actual y refer clients to a specific attorney) is good for the

attorney. Because let’s face it. Even without a referral, sheer placement means they’re going to get

noticed.

Left over from a bygone era and surrounded by squat office buildings, our three-story Victorian, once

a mansion, has more charm and style than anyplace else within miles. The bulk of it is painted slate

gray, but there’s lots of gingerbread trim that is done up in white, burgundy, and black. A portion of the

rents is pooled into a fund that pays for building maintenance, including lawn care, so David’s son

comes by once a week to keep the grounds picture perfect, including the huge trees that shade the

front and back porches.

The place has its drawbacks. The parking lot is smal , only holding six cars. And the high ceilings and

choppy floor plan make it hard to keep it a reasonable temperature. In summer, the upper floors can be

wretchedly hot. In winter … wel , let’s just say I’m glad it’s California and it doesn’t get too cold. Stil , it’s

a gem of a building, with the original dark wood stain on trim and doors, a huge stained-glass window

on the second-floor landing, and a turret where I can sit and eat my morning bagel and watch the world

go by. I rent about half of the third floor, including said turret.

Gibson pul ed his sedan into the spot marked with my name. It was one of only two in the shade. I

watched him take a seemingly casual look around while taking in every detail. I didn’t mind. The place

looks good. Even the windows get washed on a regular basis.

He looked around and grinned. “Nice. You want to clean up before you go inside?” He unfastened his