Cat Adams - Blood Song

been with the two of them before. Was he hanging around in the shadows, waiting for his chance? I

didn’t feel him out there, but that didn’t seem to mean a thing. Bruno held Matteo’s body draped over his

lap. Tears were streaming down his face. I knew Matty wasn’t dead. I could hear the breath rasping in

and out of his chest. There were red bubbles at the corner of his lips. He had a punctured lung and

God alone knew what else. I fumbled in my jacket pocket and pul ed out my replacement cel phone. I

dialed 9-1-1 with trembling fingers, explaining to the dispatcher what we needed as I propped the little

phone between my ear and shoulder and set the gun on the ground within reach so that my hands

would be free.

I reached inside my jacket again, fumbling the phone a little, but not so much that I couldn’t stil give

directions. My fingers grasped the hard plastic handle of the one-shot I’d packed earlier. I said a silent

prayer upward, hoping that my grandmother was right, that there is a God up there who listens to those

in need. I pul ed the little squirt gun from its concealment and yanked out the tiny plug.

I leaned toward the two of them, but Bruno pul ed his brother back, out of my reach.

“Let me see his neck, Bruno. I need to make sure she didn’t bite him while we were dealing with her

partner.”

Bruno stared back at me, his eyes nearly as blank as Matteo’s had been earlier. Shock. He was in

shock. Shit, shit, shit! “Bruno! I need you, buddy. Stay with me. We’ve got to check Matteo’s neck.”

Bruno nodded, but the motion was jerky, and the hands he used to pul off the clerical col ar and

unbutton his brother’s shirt were shaking so badly it took longer than it should. But he got it done, and

with the shirt col ar open we could see the delicate half-healed punctures.

“Oh fuck. Matty !” Bruno’s words weren’t quite a sob.

“Hold him stil ,” I ordered. “This is going to hurt and he’s liable to fight.”

Bruno shifted his weight, getting a better grip. When he was ready, I upended the little gun, pouring

holy water over the tiny bite mark.

And Father Matteo began to scream.

19

The police were gone. The ambulance had taken Matty and Bruno to St. Joseph’s Hospital—holy

ground. Matty was badly hurt, but we’d done the best we could for him. Tough as he was, he might

make it. Maybe.

I was resting, sitting on the slight curb next to the newspaper dispenser in my blood-soaked clothing

and gaudy holy items, sipping a strawberry diet shake and reading a magazine, when the traditional

long black limo pul ed into the parking lot, cruising smoothly to a stop a mere six feet from me.

A pair of large suited men who looked like older, larger versions of Dee and Dum climbed out,

standing in perfect bodyguard formation on either side of the rear door of the vehicle. The one on my

left bent and opened the door for the man inside.

I rose as King Dahlmar exited the vehicle.

I might not have recognized him if I hadn’t been reading about him just a few seconds before. He was

average height and build. He was handsome, with sharp features, olive skin, and penetrating gray

eyes. His silver hair and beard were perfectly trimmed, his dark gray suit impeccably tailored to fit a

man who wasn’t carrying even one extra pound.

“Good morning, Ms. Graves.”

“Is it already?” I glanced at my watch. Yep, sure enough. Just after one. “Then good morning, Your

Majesty.” I bent ever so slightly at the waist, using the opportunity to check his reflection in the tinted

windows. It was him. Or maybe a spawn. But I was betting it was him. It was too weird for the ruler of a

smal nation to hunt me down in the predawn hours in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

Nobody setting up a fake would do something that hokey. Too unbelievable.

“I would speak with you for a moment.”

“Of course you would. The question is whether I would speak with you.”

He gave me a long look, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly with amusement, before using his

hand to brush off the curb next to where I’d been sitting and lowering himself comfortably onto the

concrete. His retainers were too wel trained to show their shock by more than a slight widening of the

eyes.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the spot I’d vacated on his arrival. “I’d offer to have you join me in the

limo, but I doubt you’d be wil ing to.”

I sat. “You’d be right. I’d get blood al over the upholstery. You wouldn’t get back the deposit.”

“They don’t make royalty give deposits. But I’d hate to ruin the fabric.” This time the smile was

broader and more genuine. He had a nice smile. It lit up his face, making his gray eyes sparkle. The

change in expression changed his entire look, making him handsome. I was betting he’d been quite the

heartbreaker in his youth. Maybe he stil was.

The smile faded, like the sun disappearing behind clouds. He gestured to the magazine beside me,

with his son’s picture on the cover. “You’ve read the article?”

I nodded.

“My elder son, Rezza, has quite recently rediscovered his religion. He has turned away from drinking,

drugs, and womanizing. Whether it is sincere or a ploy to gain the support of the fundamentalists who

have growing influence in my country remains to be seen.” He continued, “There are those who would

see me dead, and Rezza on the throne, thinking they could control him.”

“One of the perils of being king.” I was surprised Dahlmar was being this open, but considering the

circumstances, who else did he real y have to talk to except a commoner from another country whom

nobody would believe even if she told someone?

He smiled, but it was wry acknowledgment, not the happy expression I’d seen earlier. “It is. They’d be

wrong about control ing him, though. He is his own man. Not the man I’d choose, but his own

nonetheless.” He shifted his weight, trying to make himself more comfortable on the unforgiving

concrete before he continued. “My younger son, Kristoff, is …” He paused, seeming to look for the

right word. He final y settled on one I wouldn’t have expected. “Weak. He is weak. And there are those

who would discredit my elder son so as to see him on my throne in my stead.”

That explained the pictures. “They think they could control him. ”

“Oh, they could. Easily,” Dahlmar said drily.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut. Eventual y, he continued.

“It wasn’t such an issue before we found the natural gas deposits. Now, however, we have wealth

and, with it, power. The European Union courts us, our enemies fear us. It’s a dangerous combination.”

And power draws plots like a corpse draws flies.

“Both groups want me dead.” His smile was a baring of teeth. “I’m not inclined to oblige them.”

“I can relate to that.”

He laughed. “I am sure you can. Your file is quite impressive.” He paused, then, “You are caught in

the middle of our power struggle. One of these groups has already tried to use you. The questions I

want answered are”—he ticked off items on his fingers—“Who in my retinue has betrayed me? And

which, if either of my sons, is complicit?”

I nodded, not sure what that had to do with me.

“The situation is made more difficult by the fact that there are demons and spawn involved.”