Cat Adams - Blood Song

idea? “I’l send the documents to your student account. You can print out whatever you need. Now go!”

I felt the air between us harden into a solid wal of force. Slowly, inexorably, it began pushing me

backward. It was actual y kind of cool that she could do that. I was stil annoyed. I could appreciate the

technique without admiring the cause.

The drive back to the office didn’t take long, but by the time I got there the place was locked up tight. It

was lunchtime, and Dawna had hung up one of those little clock face signs saying she’d be back at

1:00.

I let myself in, grabbed my messages and faxes, and climbed the stairs to the copy room on the

second floor. My laptop was locked in the safe, but we’ve got an old desktop hooked up in the copy

room for people to use in an emergency. It’s hooked directly to the big printer, so even if the network

goes down, it’s stil possible to print. I had no idea if Dawna had managed to get the computers fixed,

but even if she hadn’t, I should be able to bring up Anna’s e-mail and print it. While I was at it, I plugged

the new cel phone in to charge.

It didn’t take long to log on and find the right e-mail, but it took a while to print. There were a lot of

pages. Good news for me. Maybe somewhere in there I’d find information to help me get through this.

God I hoped so.

While I waited for the printer to finish, I started flipping through my messages. Kevin had cal ed some

more. Dawna had final y resorted to a sort of code—“K 29.” Twenty-nine? Wow. I’d try him again as

soon as I got up to the office.

None of the other messages were earth-shattering: some work stuff, a cal from Gibson asking if I

was sure about the address I’d given him, and Dr. Reynolds saying I’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t

had a chance to give me my fol ow-up orders, so he’d be faxing them to my office.

I flipped pages until I got to his fax. His orders were handwritten and barely legible. I was exhausted. It

wasn’t long before the words on the pages began blurring in front of my eyes. I didn’t intend to close

them, had no intention of fal ing asleep. But there you go.

Come to me, Celia.

He was in a very ordinary motel room. I recognized the decor—or lack thereof. The drapes had been

pul ed tight. The only light came from one of those little wal -mounted lamps. He was sitting at a table on

the opposite side of the room.

My sire looked like a kid of about seventeen or so. Dark hair, but with skin that had probably been as

fair as mine even before someone had changed him. He was probably old as dirt, but he’d been young

enough at his death that he couldn’t grow a decent beard. Al he had was a wispy little soul patch. It

looked kind of sil y, which made him just a fraction less frightening.

You must come to me.

The hell you say.

He frowned, as if he heard the thought. Maybe he had. I mean, if this was real and not just some

funky dream, then he was a daywalker. He might not be able to endure sunlight, but he wasn’t dead for

the day, either. Even most master vamps can’t manage that. Which meant that while he might look like

a teenager and dress like a teenager, he’d been around long enough to get very, very good.

Of course, it could be a dream.

The frown deepened. He turned his head so that I was seeing him ful -on. His expression changed,

and while his body was stil young, the look on his face was old, old and corrupt with power. His pupils

expanded until his eyes were almost total y black. I could feel the power of them sucking at me as he

wil ed me to meet his gaze. It was like fighting an undertow in the ocean, a pul that was irresistible,

relentless.

As if in response to that thought I began to smel the tang of salt water and fish, hear the familiar

sounds of the beach, the crash of waves, the cal of gul s.

What the hell?

I woke with a start to the sound of a light tap on the door. “Celia?” The room was dark except for the

flickering lights of electronic equipment. Apparently I’d dozed off. When I hadn’t moved for more than

ten minutes, the lights had shut off automatical y, al owing me to sleep … like a dead thing. When I sat

up they came back on. I blinked, trying to adjust to the glare and gather my muddled thoughts.

I wiped a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth and nicked the back of my knuckle on a fang. It

stung for a second, then went numb. But the blood flowed freely—more freely than it should’ve.

Swearing under my breath, I used the hem of my shirt to apply pressure on it, and cal ed out, “Come in.

”

Dawna didn’t come in, but she did crack open the door. Al I could see through the opening was the tip

of her golden brown nose and the reflection from her reading glasses.

“Celia, what are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Printing, reading stuff the library sent me. Why?”

“Because about two minutes ago every speaker on every computer, cel phone, Bubba’s TV

—everything—began playing ocean sounds. Crashing surf, whales, and seagul s. It stopped when I

knocked on the door. But the source was this room. So I’m asking again. What are you doing in there?

”

“Is that even possible?”

She gave the door a gentle shove, so that it swung ful y open, al owing her to give me a look , but she

stayed outside. She’d closed in on herself, hugging her arms to her body as though she were cold. But

she wasn’t cold. Her body radiated heat … life that nearly vibrated around her. I felt drawn to that

warmth, wanted to wrap it around me and ease the cold that was seeping into my fingers.

I watched her, standing in the doorway, her posture guarded as she took in every detail of the room

… and me. I suppose she was looking for evidence of something weird or worrying. The only thing to

find was the wet spot on the page where I’d drooled as I slept. Embarrassing, but hardly earthshattering.

Of course she noticed. And for just a second her wary expression softened slightly. I almost believed

I saw a flicker of amusement pass through her eyes. But if I did, it was gone in an instant, to be

replaced by another worried look.

“Dawna, what’s wrong?”

“We need to talk. I read those notes from Dr. Reynolds, and El Jefe faxed a bunch of research to

you on the downstairs machine. This thing that’s happened to you—it’s real y serious shit.” Her voice

sounded shaky, and I could see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. I wasn’t hungry, in fact I felt

a little nauseous, but I couldn’t not notice. I swal owed hard, dragging my eyes upward, making myself

meet her worried almond-shaped eyes.

“Yeah. It is.”

“What’re you going to do?”

A part of me wanted to lie, wanted to give her the reassurance she so obviously needed. But

Dawna’s my friend, one of my best friends. You don’t lie to friends. You just don’t. “Longterm—I don’t

know. But if I want there to be a long term, I have to find the vamp that tried to bring me over and take

him down. Preferably before dark.” I looked around, trying to find a clock. There wasn’t one. No

windows, either. “What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s almost four thirty. Did you find anything useful in what the library sent?”

“Not yet.” Which was true as far as it went. “Lots of interesting stuff, but no answers.”