Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Opening his eyes, Dante shoved his hood back, then combed his fingers through his hair. He shivered, cold and knotted up. He rubbed his hands over his face. He just needed to feed, and he would, after the gig. “You and Silver fed yet?” he asked.

“Yeah…but is that a cut I see in your shirt?” Von’s voice was low with suspicion. “You been scrapping again? Or did tough little Heather greet you with a big ol’ knife?”

Dante looked at Von’s watchful reflection in the mirror. “Nah. Her sister did.”

The humor vanished from Von’s face. He sat up. “Seriously? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Tugging off his hoodie, Dante draped it over the chair. His personal kit was on the table, beside a tall, deep green bottle of black market European absinthe; he unzipped the kit and felt around inside for his kohl stick. Pulling it out, he uncapped it, leaned forward, and touched up the kohl smudged around his eyes.

“Seattle nightkind are here for the show,” Von said. “Well, some of ’em, anyway. The Lady of the leading household asked for some time with you before the show.”

“She can wait for the meet-and-greet like everyone else,” Dante replied. “Why should she get special attention just cuz she’s nightkind?”

“That’s you all over, aiming to please,” Von said.

“My fucking mission in life,” Dante agreed. He paused, the kohl stick pressed against the outside corner of his eye as sudden movement drew his gaze.

Eli hurried past the curtains and into the room. “Dante! I was beginning to worry,” he said, his words rapid, spring-loaded. “Which set list do you want for tonight?” He hunkered down beside Dante’s chair. His patchouli and ganja scents curled up into Dante’s nostrils.

“The first one. Why you so anxious, mon ami ?”

Eli shook his head, his dreads swaying with the movement. Tension played across his face. “I’ve been having some programming problems with the keyboards.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look in a bit,” Dante said, “and see what’s up.”

“D’accord.”

Dante dropped the kohl stick onto the table. Worry still darkened Eli’s hazel eyes. “What ain’t you saying? What’s got you worked up?”

“Nightkind in the crowd,” Eli said.

“That ain’t nothing new.”

“Looking for easy out-of-town meals.”

“Yeah? Where’re Jack and Antoine?”

“Watching Dogspit set up. Silver’s with ’em, keeping an eye on things.”

“I’ll say a few words to the nightkind in the audience at the start of the show.” Dante touched a finger to the hollow of Eli’s throat, his black-painted fingernail underlining the tiny iridescent bat tattoo etched into the skin—visible only to nightkind. “Make sure you don’t cover that up. Remind the guys; the mark needs to be seen.”

“Will do.”

“Anything else?”

Eli shook his head again, smiling. “That takes care of it.”

Dante twisted around, bent his head. Eli lifted at the same moment, and Dante cupped a hand against his face, and kissed his offered lips. Murmured, “Bonne chance, ce soir.”

“Et toi.” Eli straightened, and then walked from the room.

“So why ain’t Heather here?” Von asked. “The way she was looking for you, you woulda thought you’d burst into flames and she was the only one with a bucket of water.”

Dante stood, then turned around. He trailed a hand through his hair. “Her sister’s kinda messed up at the moment, not well, y’know? She needs to be with her.”

Von nodded his head at the slice in Dante’s latex shirt. “No shit.”

“The Bureau ain’t letting her go either,” Dante said, his voice low. “They plan bad fucking shit for her if she refuses to sign over her soul. She’s got till Monday.”

“She never said a word about that,” Von said, looking a little indignant. “She only talked about the trouble you might still be in. Told me a bit about Bad Seed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m only concerned about Heather,” Dante said. “I’m gonna help her win her freedom, one way or another.”

“Naturally, you’re counting me in on the action.”

“Yeah?” Dante said softly. “Okay, then, mon ami . Merci .” Some restless part of Dante drummed a fast-paced tempo within, a rhythm he paced out across the floor. “After I make sure she’s safe, I’ll walk away.”

“Dante, man, walk away? What are you saying?”

The tone in Von’s voice, troubled and tight, drew Dante’s gaze and stopped his feet. Von parked his shades on top of his head, and an emotion Dante couldn’t name flickered in the nomad’s green eyes.

“What I have to do.”

“Have you talked things out with Heather?”

Dante shook his head. “Why? What’s to talk out?” His resumed pacing, his boots silent on the floorboards as he walked back and forth, measuring with his stride the rhythm pulsing in his veins. Underneath the rhythm, voices whispered, droned like angry wasps crawling beneath his skin.

She trusted you. I’d say she got what she deserved.

Tainted. Everything you touch, boy, dies.

I knew you’d come for me.

Little fucking psycho.

Whirling, Dante kicked the metal chair he’d been sitting in, knocking it across the room—a blurred, gray streak. It hit the wall with a loud clang, then clattered to the floor. The noise pierced his head, scraped down his spine like flint, sparking pain in his mind.

Hands suddenly latched onto his biceps, spun him around, and held him tight. Von’s frost and leather and gun-oil scent enveloped him. Dante heard the steady beat of the nomad’s heart, and looked up into Von’s face. Light gleamed in his eyes, sparkled along the edges of his crescent moon tattoo.

“You honestly don’t know, do you?” Von said.

“Know what?”

A smile lifted one corner of Von’s mustached mouth, but it wasn’t amused or laughing, just kind of sad, which perplexed Dante. What the fuck? He tensed beneath the nomad’s hands. “C’mon, let go.”

“You’re in love, little brother.”

Dante stared at him. “Yeah? I know what love feels like, but this , this man… fuck me. Steals my breath. Knots me up. Torches me.”

Von shook his head. “No, this is what denying love feels like, man. Why you denying your heart?”

Dante flexed free of the nomad’s tight-fingered hold and stepped away. Images flickered behind his eyes, like pictures seen in a burning-white lightning flash.

Flash: Gina’s tear-streaked face turned toward the door, her eyes empty.

Flash: Jay, straitjacketed, blood pouring from his throat and puddling around him, staining his blond hair red.

Flash: Heather, falling, a wet circle of blood spreading on her sweater, her twilight-blue gaze locked on his face.

Flash: A child’s hand, fingers curled in toward the palm…

Dante-angel?

Here, princess .

Chloe.

Pain spiked through Dante’s head. He tried to capture the images that’d just lightning-stroked through his mind, but he couldn’t hold onto the last one, couldn’t even recall the name that’d flared like a candle in his mind and was just as quickly snuffed.