Kristen Painter: Out for Blood

Everglades, New Florida

Creek notched the kickstand down on his V-Rod and hopped off his bike. The last time he’d been out to his grandmother’s had been in a last-ditch effort to keep Chrysabelle from bleeding out after having her signum stripped off her back. As a tribe healer, his grandmother had known what to do, but Mal hadn’t liked it. Neither had Chrysabelle.

This time, Creek was the one who needed help.

He climbed the steps of the small, wood-paneled house to knock on her door. Not that there was a need to announce himself with Pip around. His grandmother’s fifty-pound mutt barked like the house was on fire anytime a person, vehicle, or gator got within a few yards of the place. “Pip, settle down. Mawmaw, it’s me, Tommy.”

One last bark and the door opened. “Shush, Pip, you’ll wake the dead.” Rosa Mae Jumper peered up at Creek through the thick lenses of her glasses. “I know who it is.” She smiled and held her arms out to him. “Come here, child.”

He gave Pip a quick head rub, then bent to embrace her, inhaling the soft violet scent of the homemade sweet acacia perfume she wore. “How are you, Mawmaw?”

“Just fine.” She let him go only to take his hand and lead him into the kitchen. The aroma of browned meat greeted him, making his stomach grumble. “I’ve got a venison roast in the oven. Sit down and you can eat supper with me.”

“A whole roast? I thought Mom was still on night shift.” The table was set for two. “You and Pip eating formal tonight?”

Without looking at him, she tsked. “Foolish boy, that setting’s for you. I knew you were coming. Don’t I always?”

Yes, she did. He smiled and took a seat at the kitchen table while she went to the oven. Mawmaw knew all kinds of things that most people never had a clue about. He hadn’t planned on eating here, but she’d be more amenable if he did. Plus, eating her cooking was no hardship after his years of prison food. Damn, he was glad the KM had gotten him out of there, even if they did hold it over his head like a thousand-pound weight.

While they ate, he got her to tell stories from his childhood and managed to keep the conversation to lighter topics, but the way she looked at him said she wasn’t that easily fooled. At last she cleared the plates, set a pan of scraps down for Pip, and motioned for Creek to join her on the back porch. He took the rocker next to her, the paint worn off the seat and arms from use. She lit a cigarette and offered him one.

He shook his head. “Those’ll kill you, you know.”

She inhaled long and slow before letting out three perfect smoke rings. “So will those damned blood eaters you chase after.”

He laughed softly. No hiding anything from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Just like I don’t feel the air of power coming off you.” She took another puff. “Nice of you to visit.”

In other words, get on with it. “I need your help, Mawmaw.”

“You tired of working for those people?”

He shifted. The way his grandmother sensed things… “Those people got me out of jail. Paid Una’s tuition.” Kept his sister, Mawmaw, and his mother safe, too.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

He sighed and watched a red hawk float on a thermal. “Sometimes, yes, I am bone-tired of working for them, but a deal’s a deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

Time to change the subject. “I need a charm made.”

Pip came out licking his chops and flopped at Mawmaw’s feet with a contented sigh. She stared out at the swamp that made up her backyard. “What kind of charm?”

He dug into his shirt pocket, extracted the three black feathers he’d been given, and held them out to her. “This kind.”

Pip lifted his head and gave a short, growling bark.

Rosa stopped rocking. The ash on her cigarette grew a little longer while she studied his offering. At last, she tapped the ash off and set the cigarette into a coffee cup filled with a little sand. “I don’t know what all you’re involved with these days, Thomas, but that’s nothing for you to play with.”

“I’m not playing. I need the protection.”

“You need to leave that woman alone.”

“It’s too late for that now.”

She turned enough to see his eyes. “It’s never too late.”

He stared at the words HOLD FAST tattooed across his knuckles. “It is. I saved her life. She’s sworn to protect me now.”

His grandmother dropped her head as if praying, her eyes squeezed tightly closed for a moment, and she sighed hard. When she raised her head, Creek swore there were tears in her eyes. She held out her hand. “These are from her?”

He gave her the feathers. “Yes.”

She turned them over in her fingers. “This is dark magic, child. And dark magic can’t be trusted. It’s fickle. Like a woman.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. She told me to come to you.”

All expression vanished from her face as she looked up at him. “Did she call me by name?”

“No,” he reassured her. “She didn’t say your name.”

Relief lit her eyes. “Maybe she truly doesn’t mean any harm, then.” She turned the feathers over again, looking for what he didn’t know. “They feel… false.”

“They’re real. I saw her pull them from her hair.”

“Not what I meant.” She frowned. “I’ll make the charm. You’re going to need it if what you’ve told me is true.”

“It is. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She gave him a sideways look. “But you’d step over the truth if you had to.”

“There are some things you shouldn’t know.” Like the full details about his work as a Kubai Mata, defender of mankind, killer of othernaturals, and enslaver of desperate mortal men.

She got out of her chair. Pip was on his feet a second later. “Yes, I know, it’s for my own protection.” She motioned with a tip of her head back toward the house. “Come inside. Let’s get this charm made.”

An hour later and missing a little blood, Creek rode away from his grandmother’s, the charm dangling from a leather cord around his neck. He’d promised to visit more often but knew that promise was emptier than he meant it to be. His life was unsettled, his time not his own, and judging by the flock of ravens overhead, none of that was about to change any time soon.

Paradise City, New Florida

Madam Mayor?”

“Yes?” Lola Diaz-White looked at Valerie, her administrative assistant, and away from her inbox, currently overflowing with e-mails from citizens expressing their fear or in some cases harassment from their human neighbors or their disapproval of how she was handling the othernatural situation from both sides, or reminding her elections were less than a year away. It was enough to make her wonder if reelection was worth it.

“Alden Willamette is here to see you, and the police chief is still waiting.”

Willamette was a city councilman. No doubt he’d been getting the same kind of e-mails she had. He was a good man, honest, and one of her most stalwart supporters. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the headache building behind her eyes. “Send Alden in first.”

The man came in a few moments later, shutting the door behind him. “Lola.”

“Alden. Please, have a seat.”

He stayed standing. “I’m fine. This won’t take long. I’m sorry about this, I really am, but”—he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out an envelope, and laid it on her desk—“effective immediately, I’m resigning.”

Her jaw slacked. “You can’t just resign. It’s not like you can be replaced that easily.”

“I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean to do it this way. Things just came to a head these last few days. As of today, though, I’ve tied up all my loose ends.” With a labored sigh, he finally sat. A thousand emotions rolled through his eyes. “Lucinda’s fae. Three-quarters.”