Cat Adams - Blood Song

I acknowledged that with a dip of my head. “Stil , I’d think that the religious extremists wouldn’t want to

be involved with the demonic. Pretty much every religion frowns on that sort of thing.”

His expression soured. “Yes, but sadly, there are always those who believe the end justifies the

means; and the offer of enough money can frequently make a man forget his loyalties and his beliefs.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pul ed out a heavy white envelope. “My men have

questioned the retainer who they saw in your memories.”

My memories ? That comment made me frown, since we’d never actual y made it to that stage in the

office. Had someone been prying into my brain while we’d been negotiating terms? That would not

make me happy.

He paused, his eyes darkening, his expression steely, but his voice was utterly emotionless. “They

were quite … thorough.”

I couldn’t decide whether to shudder or growl. I hadn’t particularly liked the man who’d hired me, but I

was starting to wonder about Dee and Dum’s ethics.

“He had become involved with an organization that hired professionals to execute a plot against me.

We learned enough of the details to make reasonable preparations.”

“I’m glad.”

“But I am left with questions.” He sighed and shook his head. “As a king, that is neither uncommon

nor unexpected.” At his gesture, the driver of the limo popped open the trunk and walked to the rear of

the car, where he retrieved a black and white bag that might have passed for a bowling bag but wasn’t.

Matty had carried a similar bag. It had two completely separate inner compartments, each of which

was impervious to blood, and the whole thing had been blessed. The king continued, “We wil ,

eventual y, get to the bottom of this.”

He sounded absolutely certain. Then again, he might wel be. With enough time, money, and effort,

most conspiracies can be unraveled, particularly if you’re not too particular about whether or how much

blood wil be spil ed in the process. “As a father, I find it unacceptable that I carry suspicions about my

children for even one moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”

He extended the envelope to me. It was of heavy, high-quality paper in a rich cream color, without

writing of any kind on it. I took it but didn’t open it. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Neither of my sons has ever been good at maintaining a deception when confronted by the truth. I

am hoping that you wil assist me in confronting them.”

“Assist you how?” I tried to keep my voice neutral but didn’t quite manage to keep a note of suspicion

from creeping in.

“In that envelope are two tickets to the World Series game on Friday night. I have purchased a

section of tickets and wil be attending with my sons and our retinue.”

A section of tickets? For Game One of the World Series? I didn’t even want to think how much that

had to have cost. And oh, wouldn’t his security people be having fits.

“Ivan”—he gestured to the driver—“wil meet you next to the giant cap to the left of the main entrance.

He wil escort you and your guest to my section between the singing of your national anthem and the

throwing of the first pitch. And I wil see which of my sons or my retainers reacts to seeing you join me.”

It didn’t sound like much of a plan to me. But he was a king, and even I knew better than to point that

out. So I held on to the envelope and kept my mouth shut.

“And in case I am a fool, and my sons are better liars than I believe them to be, I wil also have with

me skil ed telepaths to read their thoughts as you arrive.”

Now that was more like it.

“In exchange for this, I wil pay you the money that was promised when you thought you were guarding

my son, and the amount your insurance would have paid for your injuries.” He gestured to the driver,

who came to stand in front of us. The king stood in a single fluid movement, and I stood with him. “To

ensure that you wil be alive on Friday, I have taken some … additional precautions.”

On cue, the servant unzipped the front of the bag, revealing the bloody severed head of my sire.

Um, wow. Okay then.

And while he didn’t show it to me, I was betting the heart was in the second compartment. How they’d

found him I had no idea. But it was him. No doubt about it. Wow. That went way beyond the pale as far

as payment in advance.

I was more than mildly surprised that I hadn’t noticed when it happened. Shouldn’t I have had some

sort of attack or felt pain or something?

I looked at the pleasant, debonair man standing calmly beside me. Everything he’d said had been

excruciatingly polite, but I wasn’t being given a choice about this and I knew it. I could assist him

wil ingly, or not. But I would assist him. Or it would be my head in the bowling bag.

I took a deep breath, and it came out in a sigh. I was incredibly tired of being corral ed, but I would like

this to be over. “I’l be there.”

20

Dawn took its own sweet time coming but eventual y arrived. When it did, I got into the rental sedan

and drove my sire’s head to the nearest crematorium. It was one of the big chains, so the minute they

saw the head they knew what had to be done. I was told it would be given priority treatment and that I

could pick the ashes up anytime after two. The look the clerk gave me said that he’d probably like to

shove me into the furnace after the bag. Fortunately, I was standing in a broad ray of sunlight, so he

couldn’t quite decide what to make of me and just took the head and walked away.

That done, I drove back to the expensive hotel where Bruno had been staying.

There was no way I wanted to brave the lobby, what with the bloodstains and my vampy appearance,

so I parked around back. Using his guest key card, I let myself in through one of the secondary

entrances. I could have gone home. The gas company had made their repairs. But David had cal ed

and left a voice mail tel ing me how the intruder had gotten through our security. He’d kil ed our pool boy

and taken his right hand. Exactly what had happened to Louis at Birchwoods. Home might not be safe,

which made a nice, anonymous hotel room seem pretty damned attractive.

I trudged wearily up a set of concrete fire stairs until I reached the appropriate floor. Pushing open

the door, I came face-to-face with a pair of men in almost identical navy suits with crisp white shirts

and dark ties. Each also wore a barely perceptible little ear-radio and a gold cross and each discreetly

held a single-shot pistol fil ed with holy water. They stood in front of the doorway looking stern and alert.

Well, crap.

“Good morning, ma’am. We’re with hotel security. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Of course

they would. Who wouldn’t at this point? I smiled pleasantly. I’d seen the security cameras downstairs. I

wasn’t surprised that security had spotted me. My appearance was somewhat … irregular. “Of course.

My name is Celia Graves. I am Mr. DeLuca’s former fiancée and I’ve just gotten back from a policesanctioned vampire hunt of the bat that tried to turn me dead. Mr. DeLuca and his brother, Father

Matteo DeLuca, wil verify it. I’l be perfectly happy to wait here in the hal while you check with the