Faith Hunter - Blood Trade

“Leo owes me one. A boon, sorta.”

“A vampire owes you a boon?”

I was getting pretty good. I had astounded Evan several times today and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. I quoted, “‘In recompense of your debt and in honor of your service, you may choose a gift from among mine. Choose wisely.’ Sounds like a boon to me.”

“Yeah. That is . . . stellar.” Then his face twisted into a frown so dark it looked like a storm was raging inside him. “Let the other shoe drop.”

“Well, there’s just one problem. Somewhere around here is the spike from Calvary, used to make amulets. It was probably the focus for all the power from the circle of witches, and with it, it’s possible to do transformational magic. And Hieronymus, Master of the City of Natchez, wants it for his very own.”

Big Evan groaned. “It just never ends with you. Does it?”

Bobby stood straight and tall, his red hair brushed and shining in the noonday sun, his new suit sharp and neat. Misha and Charly stood to his sides, dressed to the nines. Misha still looked drained, pale, and wan, but she was alive and writing and working on her book’s deadline. Charly looked better than I had ever seen her, her hair growing back out and her skin pink and healthy. I knew the impression of good health was only skin deep. She still had leukemia, but the combo of vamp blood, Evan Trueblood’s magic, and chemo seemed to be working, at least for now. I stood at a right angle to the three, wearing my full vamp-fighting gear, at Bobby’s request. He wanted me to look like a vamp killer on his special day.

Eli, wearing full-dress military uniform, stepped slowly, formally, to Bobby, his eyes staring straight ahead, his every movement ceremonial. When he reached Bobby, he stopped, put his feet together, and slowly, so slowly, saluted Bobby. My old friend’s blue eyes followed every motion, every movement, full of wonder.

The Ranger slid a box from the crook of his left arm and opened it. Inside was a Purple Heart. I had argued against Eli giving Bobby his own medal, but Eli had laughed and said, “I won’t miss it. I’ve got two more.” Which was a story for another day. I hoped.

Tears gathered in my eyes as Eli lifted the medal from the box and carefully pinned it over the left side of Bobby’s chest.

Bobby’s eyes swelled with pride. He stood straight and tall, his eyes never leaving Eli’s. The Ranger stepped back and saluted Bobby again. Bobby raised his hand and touched the medal, and then sought me out. “I’m a hero too now, Jane.”

“Yes, Bobby Bates. You really are. You always have been.”

Faith Hunterwas born in Louisiana and raised all over the South. She writes full-time and works full-time in a hospital lab (for the benefits), tries to keep house, and is a workaholic with a passion for travel, jewelry making, orchids, skulls, Class III white-water kayaking, and writing. Many of the orchid pics on her Facebook fan page show skulls juxtaposed with orchid blooms; the bones are from roadkill prepared by taxidermists or a pal named Mud. In her collection are a fox skull, a cat skull, a dog skull, a goat skull (that is, unfortunately, falling apart), a cow skull, the jawbone of an ass, and a wild boar skull, complete with tusks. She would love to have the thighbone and skull of an African lion (one that died of old age, of course) and a mountain lion skull (ditto on the old-age death).

She and her husband own thirteen kayaks at last count, and love to RV, as they travel with their dogs to white-water rivers all over the Southeast.

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