Cat Adams - Blood Song

“What? Whose car was she driving?” My mother didn’t have a car. It had been impounded when she

got picked up for her second DUI with no insurance. She hadn’t had the money to get it back and I

wouldn’t lend it to her. After al , she didn’t have a license, so she didn’t real y need a car.

“Now Celia, you know your mother has her doctor’s appointments—” My grandma started making

excuses, but I cut her off.

“She can take a cab. Or a busss. Or you could drive her.” My lisp grew as I spoke even though I

knew what I was saying was useless. My gran has been enabling my mother since before I was born.

It’s not like she was likely to stop anytime soon. But that didn’t keep it from driving me crazy. “And

ssshe wasn’t picked up near the doctor’s office, was ssshe?” I fought to get my tongue under control.

She didn’t say a word, which meant I’d hit a nerve. If we were running true to form, she’d get angry

now, use my ful name, and refuse to talk about it.

“Celia Kalino Graves, I’ve had just about enough of your lip. I know your mother isn’t perfect. But she

does the best she can.”

The sad part was, Gran was probably right. It’s just that my mother’s best was so damned pathetic.

But there was no point in saying that. Instead, I said the only thing I could that would end the argument:

“I love you, Gran. I real y do.”

“I love you too, punkin. Don’t worry too much about the car. I don’t like to drive much anymore anyway.

There’s too much traffic, and I don’t see as wel at night as I used to.”

I let out a deep sigh. “We can talk about it at Sunday dinner.” I always had Sunday dinner with Gran.

Although, come to think on it, dinner was liable to be problematic. Maybe I could have soup?

“I was hoping maybe you could take me to church on Sunday morning?”

Of course she was. Hope springs eternal, and Gran is an optimist. A cross hadn’t bothered me, but

what about a ful -blown church? Would I burst into flames and force the priest into a change of

sermon?

“Someone just came into the office, Gran. I’ve got to go.”

The first part was true and no doubt she’d heard the squeak of the door hinges. Dawna had come in,

carrying two steaming mugs of fresh-brewed coffee that smel ed like heaven.

“Celia—”

“Bye, Gran. Love you.” I hung up before we got into another argument. Dawna was shaking her head

and snickering under her breath.

“Your grandmother never gives up, does she?” Dawna passed me the mug. She looked tired, with

dark circles under eyes puffy from crying. But her makeup was perfect and unsmeared, her dark hair

styled, and she was wearing a tomato red suit and matching heels that looked absolutely stunning on

her.

She sank into one of the wing-backed chairs, crossing her legs with easy grace. I knew she didn’t

make a lot of money as the receptionist here, but you’d never tel it by looking at her. She has a gift for

making even inexpensive clothes look like designer originals.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of fresh-brewed java before taking my first sip. “Nope.”

Dawna gave me a very direct look over the rim of her coffee mug. I could actual y watch her go

through the process of forming the questions she was about to ask me.

“How are you holding up?”

“About as wel as can be expected. You?”

She sighed. “I can’t believe she’s dead. I mean, it’s just unreal. I just cal ed and talked to her on her

birthday—she thanked me for the purse I got her and was going on and on about the mirror and her

presents from Alex. It just doesn’t make sense. ”

No. It didn’t. Then again, nothing else did, either. We sat in shared, miserable silence for a long

moment, sipping our coffee.

“Just how much trouble are you in?”

It wasn’t a question I’d been expecting, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that innocent look, Celia Graves. I’m not an idiot. You’re half vampire—you have

fangs, you’re being hounded by cops and federal agents, and this morning you’re barefoot and in

bloodstained pajamas. You’ve got a stack of messages an inch high from reporters and lawyers, and I

don’t know if that’s because of Vicki or the fangs or something you haven’t told me yet! You’re my

friend, and you know I’l stand by you. But you’re going to need my help, and if I’m going to be able to do

anything useful I need to know just how bad it’s going to get.”

I winced. Put that way, it sounded pretty awful. “It’s already bad. I’m honestly not sure how much

worse it’s going to get.”

Notice that I didn’t say it couldn’t get worse. It can always get worse. I know this. And thus I refuse to

tempt fate. Superstitious—probably. But magic exists. So does karma, and karma can be a bitch.

“What can I do?”

“Um, don’t you have a computer system to rebuild?”

She rol ed her eyes. “I’m not on the clock until nine. I usual y come in early to get out of the house and

have a quiet cup of coffee without listening to my sister’s screaming kids. So, what do you need?”

“In that case—” I rol ed my chair backward and checked the lights on the safe. It hadn’t quite been the

ful twenty-four hours, but the lights were flashing green. Green was good, but I wasn’t sure what

flashing was. I hoped that meant I could get past the wards on the safe and not that the whole thing was

fucked up beyond al relief … otherwise known as FUBAR.

“I really need some fresh clothes: jeans, medium T-shirts, underwear, and a sports bra. You know my

sizes. Also, a men’s large denim jacket and some running shoes in a seven wide.” I thought for a

moment, then continued. “And you’d probably better buy me a case of those diet shakes to keep here

at the office. Chocolate, please. Oh, and replace the ones I drank earlier.”

“I’m not worried about that. But shouldn’t you have something a little more … I dunno, substantial?”

“There’s a bunch of stuff the doctor ordered on the counter at home. This is just to get me through in

a pinch.”

She made a hmph sound and pursed her lips. “Like last night?”

“Exactly.”

“And just what happened to bring you here in your jammies? You haven’t said.”

I used the process of opening the safe to buy me time to figure out how to answer her. Taking a deep

breath, I ran through the steps to disarm the wards and punched in the combination with a little more

vigor than was strictly necessary. Closing my eyes and saying a quick prayer, I pul ed the door lever.

Dawna was careful y crouched behind my desk in case the whole thing blew. When the door opened,

we both let out a little whoop of joy.

I drew out the old-fashioned cash box I keep on hand for emergencies. I only kept a couple hundred

dol ars in there, but if Dawna didn’t go nuts, that should be enough to cover the basics.

“Last night we caught somebody messing with the gas line to the cottage. Before you ask, he got

away. And I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to meet with the cops after dark in my current …

condition. So I bugged out before they got there.”

She blinked rapidly several times, her expression one of complete shock. “Oh. But why—”

“Would somebody want to blow me up? No clue. And if I could’ve thought of somewhere else to go

that would be safe and unoccupied, I would’ve done it. I don’t want to put anybody here in danger.”