Cat Adams - Blood Song

observer to the worst things that happened to me as a child.

It sucks.

If I went back to sleep now I’d drop right back in where I left off. So no. Throwing back the covers, I

sat up on the edge of the bed. By the light of the moon I padded into the kitchen. I was reaching for the

light switch when I saw a shadow moving outside. I froze. Listening hard, I could hear the rustle of

leaves and what might have been a careful footfal on the wooden steps of the back deck.

Stealthily as I could manage, I slid over to where my bag was stil sitting on the breakfast bar.

Reaching in, I drew Bob’s gun and checked it. Loaded. Good. Clicking off the safety, I rose and edged

gently across the carpeted floor to the edge of the French doors leading out onto the back deck. By the

silvered light of the nearly ful moon, I could see a shadow squatted down near the base of the house,

near the kitchen door.

My vision shifted as it had that morning, into a sort of hyperfocus. I could see every stitch in the black

knitted ski mask the prowler wore, every mark in the gray and black camouflage pattern of his clothing.

Quietly as I could, I turned the key in the lock of the door in front of me and reached down to lift the

brace bar that served as a second lock, blocking the door’s movement. I cringed at the soft metal ic

noises I couldn’t help making. With the bar out of the way, I hit the latch and slid the glass door gently

aside, never taking my eyes off the man, who had set a handgun onto the floor of the deck beside him

and drawn a wrench from inside a black backpack. An unmistakable smel fil ed the air.

Oh, shit. He’s messing with the gas line.

I needed out of here. Now.

I clicked the safety back on, thrusting the gun into the waistband of my boxers. A gun would be worse

than useless right now. I could hear the hiss of gas escaping. I burst through the door and ran forward,

kicking his gun off of the deck and out of reach before slamming into him, sending both of us tumbling

down the wooden stairs to the hard concrete sidewalk below.

He started to swear, and we rol ed together, struggling for supremacy. I was strong for a human, even

before the bat got to me. Now I was stronger. But he was a match for me, not just in power but also in

skil and pure, unrelieved viciousness. He went for my eyes, forcing me to rear back. I hissed, flashing

fangs, and my power started to rise, making my skin glow a pale greenish white and cast an eerie light

over the shadowed corner we’d rol ed into. That made him pause for an instant. Less than a second,

but it was enough. I put everything I had into a punch to his jaw, just as spotlights came on al over the

grounds and David shouted from the main house that he’d cal ed the police.

The man lay limply beneath me, his jaw at an angle that practical y screamed “broken.” His pulse,

however, stil beat strongly in his neck. He’d be coming back around soon. By then I wanted to be far

away from the cottage and my assailant safely tied up.

David was coming toward us, holding a shotgun with the authority of a man who had hunted most of

his life. He looked at me as though he’d never seen me before. And, in a way, he hadn’t. I didn’t doubt

that Dawna had told David and Inez about my condition, but hearing about it and actual y seeing the

reality are two completely different things.

I spoke, and happily, it was my normal voice. “Don’t shoot. We’ve got a gas leak.”

He started swearing but backed away. Not just from the guesthouse, but from me . “Are you al right,

Celia? The cops are on the way.”

It was a loaded question. I knew it. But he needed some comfort now, too. “I’m fine.” Actual y, I wasn’t.

I hurt like hel where blows had landed. I’d lost Bob’s gun somewhere along the way. But more than that,

I couldn’t tear my eyes off the pulse beating beneath a smal mole on the man’s throat, where the ski

mask had pul ed away to expose bare skin.

I could smel blood, fear, and sweat, and the glow around me grew brighter, casting harsh shadows.

My stomach growled, and I felt actual pains from the hunger, as if a wild animal were trapped in my

bel y, trying to claw its way out.

I forced myself to my feet, stumbling a little.

My attacker must have been playing possum, because he chose that instant to strike. The movement

was almost too quick to see. His leg moved with a blur of speed, aimed directly at the knee that held

most of my weight.

I went down with a scream of pain, my head slamming against the concrete hard enough to make me

see stars. He rol ed, then lurched to a standing position, grabbing for his pack.

I made a clumsy lunge, unable to do much more with a dislocated knee that was in unrelieved agony.

I couldn’t catch him. I did manage to grab the dangling padded strap of the canvas pack. He let it go,

running ful out in the direction of the beach. David started to take a shot, then thought better of it.

Thank God. The last thing we needed was a gas explosion.

Sirens and lights were coming closer on both of the cross-streets. The cops would be here any

second. I dropped the bag, then limped over to the gas hookup, thinking I could just tighten the valve

again. Unfortunately, he’d done more than just loosen it. It was broken. We’d need to get the gas

company out here.

“You should probably get out of here, Celia. If the cops see you …”

David was right. They’d see a monster and act accordingly. Later, they’d be very sorry about the

mistake. But I’d stil be dead or incarcerated.

“Right.”

“I’l turn off the power until they get the gas fixed.” He moved with smooth assurance toward the

breaker box, shotgun at his side.

“Cal my office when we get the al clear,” I cal ed out as I limped through the French doors as quickly

as I could. The smel of gas was intense. I didn’t dare stay more than a minute or two. Even so, I took a

second to stash the Crock-Pot back in the fridge before grabbing my keys, phone, weapons, and wal et

and rushing to the car.

14

I went to the office. It was the wee hours of the morning. Normal y one of the bail bondsmen would be

in, but there were no cars in the lot. Stil , the place was wel lit, the careful y placed security lights

ensuring that there were no deep shadows where monsters or bad guys could hide.

I pul ed into my usual parking place and cut the engine. My leg hurt. It was healing. I could feel that.

But it hurt, dammit, and using the manual transmission hadn’t helped.

I didn’t like the fact that I’d had to avoid the police. It made sense. But I didn’t like it. Then again, there

weren’t too many things about my current situation that I did like. Maybe the healing. If it weren’t for the

vampire healing abilities I’d be looking at surgery on the knee. But even that was weird. Some things

were healing practical y instantly. Other injuries, ones that real y didn’t seem any worse, were taking

longer.

I hobbled over to the front door, let myself in, and punched the buttons to reset the alarm while trying

to remember whether I’d left the faxes and paperwork in the copy room or taken them up to my office.

Upstairs.

Oh, hell. That was going to hurt. A lot.

It did. And it was slow going. I had to stop every third step or so to rest my knee. I was on the fifth

stair when the grandfather clock struck four. I wasn’t even at the top when it hit four fifteen.