Blood Rock (27 page)

“But, my Lord,” a voice said, female—and scared. “She’s a skindancer,
his
protégé. We
all
know how dangerous their magic is. You warned us about her,
specifically
. You
showed
us her killing
your own master
. If we let her speak a word of power—”

“You
knew
she was his protégé and didn’t think it significant enough to tell me?” Transomnia said. “No wonder the Stone did not react to her presence.”

“Oh, but it
did,
” the female voice said. “The blood marks resonated when she passed the barrier. That confirmed the tip we received.”

“So, technically, she has the
right
to be here—and
again
you didn’t tell me? Oh, get that thing off her,” he said, cracking his neck. Then he turned back, and his eyes were filled with calm menace as he stared over my shoulder. “And let her out of that chair.”

There was the briefest of pauses, then hands fumbled at the back of my head, and others fumbled at the arms and legs of the chair. As the gag peeled off and I coughed, I caught a glimpse of a goateed, handsome male guard and a pale, beautiful, violet-haired female vampire.

The collar came off. I spat and
bleahed
and wiped my hand with my free arm, which was stinging and stinking, pins and needles mixed with pungent rubber. My other hand came free and I hunched forward, massaging my right nervously with my left through the sticky gloves. My legs were freed, I put my hands on the armrests, I gritted my teeth, and I stood.

I swayed forward, dizzy, and saw a black velvet coat, saw a white hand reach out and steady my shoulder. Oh, God, he was
touching
me. I twitched, feeling magic trapped beneath the suit burn against my skin. Then I leaned back out of it and looked right in his face.

Transomnia stood before me, the man who’d taken two of my back teeth, my confidence and nearly my life. He was precisely positioned on the steps to give him an ever so slight advantage over my height. And, within arm’s reach, holding a sword, was his hand.
The
hand. That awful hand, that had held those awful clippers, with which he’d nearly taken my tattooing fingers.

He could kill me in a second. He’d nearly maimed me for life. And I was defenseless. But I held my ground before him, damnit. I straightened defiantly—and so did he.

“Well, well, well, Dakota Frost,” he said, voice careful and controlled. “I did not recognize you with that hood wrapping your head. What did you want to say?”

“I said, what the
fuck
, Trans? We had a deal!”

“
Did
we?” Transomnia said—and seized my right hand. My eyes bugged, but I stayed frozen: he could kill me in an instant with that sword, or, hell, just with one backhand. “Ah yes, I remember. Our first deal, more of a covenant, really: never cross me again, or I’ll leave you with bloody stumps. Do you remember that, Dakota Frost?”

My knees began trembling, and I nodded.

“To think,” he said, raising my hand to inspect it, “one little squeeze a few months ago could have destroyed this fine, precision instrument, and you would never have tattooed again.” My rubber-gloved fingers now began trembling in his grip, and I felt my teeth grinding against each other, with a sharp cracking pain on the right side where Transomnia had kicked out two of my molars. “That would have been a loss to the world, don’t you think?”

“Y-yes,” I said, absolutely terrified.

He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my two fingers. “Once again,” he said, raising his voice to address the hall, “see forbearance brings more than small favors. I spared Dakota Frost’s hand, and she, in turn, helped me free myself from my master.”

He released my hand and turned away, ascending the steps to his throne, behind which the Sanctuary Stone that was supposed to be protecting me was hanging like a useless gong.

“Following that, I recall, we made a new deal,” he said, throwing himself down abruptly on the throne, one leg over the side, hand resting on the sword like a cane. I appreciated the increased distance between us, but somehow that deliberately casual pose made me feel even
less
safe. “That we would leave each other the hell alone. Why are you here, Dakota Frost?”

“Why am
I
here?” I said, stunned. “
You
kidnapped me and brought me here.”

“Do not dissemble,” Transomnia hissed, shifting forward abruptly, steepling both hands over the hilt of his sword, hair rising up above him like a frozen bonfire. “Why have you pursued me to Blood Rock, Dakota Frost?”

“Why have
I
pursued
you?
” I said—then laughed. He actually thought I had tracked him here for some reason? “Not everything is about you, Trans.”

Something immensely strong struck my cheek with a loud slap, and I staggered sideways. Transomnia had not moved, and I looked to my left, straight into the blazing green eyes of the cruelly delicious female vampire. Eyes watering, I flinched away, coming face to face with the other, goateed vamp. But I didn’t have time to think through the horror of standing defenseless between two hostile vampires, because the female vamp reached out and seized my neck.

“Do not speak to my master with such familiarity,” she hissed. She jerked me close, and I could hear the strands of her hair brush against the suit, could feel her breath against my ear, echoing hollowly against the slick, icky rubber. “His name is Lord Transomnia—”

“Nyissa,” Transomnia said. “Don’t. And do
not
make me say it a third time.”

Both the vampire at my throat and I jerked at the voice. It was quiet, even, and filled with deadly menace. Nyissa let me go, and I straightened, looking up at Transomnia, calm face tilted towards me, eyes following Nyissa away. Gone was the pasty wannabe spouting threats, gone was the sick whiny serial-killer taunts. All the masks were gone:
this
was a vampire lord.

“How old are you?” I whispered.

Transomnia’s glowing red eyes settled on me again, and I looked away. “Not as old as you think,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “But that is the advantage of turning early. I can look as young as I want.” Then the humor vanished. “Why are you here, Dakota?”

“To see Arcturus, my skindancing master,” I said. “To ask how to fight magic graffiti.”

“Magic graffiti?” he laughed, leaning back onto his throne before the Stone in that oh-so comfortable, almost mocking slouch. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Dakota.”

“It’s incredibly strong. It killed Revenance and tried to kill Tully.”

“Revenance was a vampire,” Transomnia said, smiling down at me. “And you hate vampires. Why would you come all the way out here to avenge one of us?”

“He was nice to me and Cinnamon,” I said defensively. “Besides, Calaphase—”

Transomnia raised a hand. “Do not say that name.”

Calaphase had kicked Transomnia out of the Oakdale Clan—and forced him back into the arms of the serial killer who had controlled him. I swallowed. “Well … he … and Sav—the Lady Saffron … wanted me to investigate Revenance’s death.”

“My my my, so many vampires in your life, and you’re doing so much for them,” Transomnia said. “Surely you’re not developing a taste for vampires? I’m sure any of the vampires here would love to get a taste of you and that hot skindancer blood.”

“Yes, indeed,” Nyissa purred.

“My leads had run dry,” I said, swallowing. “My master is the next logical person I could turn to. I didn’t know you’d moved into town!”

“
I
was here first,” Nyissa said, oddly petulant. “Before that Chilean
jerk
took over.”

“But all of the House Beyond Sleep stand with you now, and Blood Rock is yours again,” Transomnia said. Strange that he’d said the city was hers, not his. “Odd that Arcturus didn’t warn you the balance of power had changed, Dakota.”

My brow furrowed. That was odd. I could see Zinaga not warning me; she hated my guts. But why had Arcturus not bothered to tell me a new crop of vampires had rolled into Blood Rock—or that Nyissa was here all along? Why hadn’t I seen her? Was I
that
oblivious?

Then I remembered what Arcturus was
really
like, and grimaced.

“You’re giving him a wide berth, aren’t you?” I asked. Transomnia scowled, and I smiled grimly. “He can be a scary piece of work, but as long as you leave him be, he leaves you be. You could throw my bleeding body onto his doorstep and he’d just yell at me for being late.”

“Why, that sounds like a capital idea,” Nyissa purred.

I glanced at her: goth pale,
painfully
pretty, green eyes blazing beneath a mop of violet hair, a flaring coat/dress that exposed what looked like riding pants and incongruous suede boots, and a long, narrow stick in her hands, which at first I took to be a riding crop—and then realized was a metal poker used to stir a fire. Something about that last accessory made me swallow.

“D-don’t you think it might be a bit obvious to off me the day I roll into town?”

“Off you?” Nyissa said, strutting around me, a cold runway model twirling her poker. “Why, there is no need to be so … indiscriminate. Bleeding and drained, yes, but not dead: a suitable warning. And what danger would you be? You don’t even know where you are.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “You picked me up as soon as I rolled into town. Blood Rock is pretty damn small—and you’ve got the Stone. You can’t hide your location by driving me around for a few hours. I assure you I’ll be able to find it later on Google Maps.”

“Maybe we should blind her,” the goateed vamp guard said.

Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus!
I thought losing my fingers was the worst that could happen to me. “I—I know a blind witch,” I said, blood rising in fear even as I said it. On the surface Jinx had adapted to losing her sight, but a part of her was
still
crushed. “We’ll still find you—”

“Are you sure?” Nyissa said, staring at the end of her poker. She looked past it at me, eyes glowing like emeralds beneath that mop of violet hair. “Why don’t we see—”

“Enough of that talk,” Transomnia said. “
No-one
is going to hurt the Lady Frost.”

“You give her a
title?
” Nyissa said. “Even the Maid of Little Five Points rescinded—”

“Silence,” Transomnia said firmly. “Lady Frost, this city is now
my
domain. We tolerate Arcturus and his current apprentices, but new skindancers are
not
welcome without my leave and their ink may
not
be shown.
You,
in particular, are not welcome anywhere I choose to walk.”

His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Nyissa …
banish
her.”

Nyissa perked up suddenly, flashing me a vicious grin. Then she ascended the steps to the throne, then stepped behind it, leaning against the Sanctuary Stone lasciviously. She waved a hand over it, eyes closed—then found what she was looking for, and touched the Stone.

At first, there was nothing, as she drew her fingers in a circle around one of the stained roses etched into the Stone. Somehow, I knew, that was the rose where my blood was pressed into the rock. As she moved her hand, slowly, a high-pitched tone began to build, the annoying hum of a finger playing a wineglass. It built up until my ears were ringing—but no one else seemed to notice. The noise didn’t stop even when Nyissa took her hand away.

“So, Dakota Frost, I repeat the question,” Transomnia said, swimming in my vision as my head began to ache, “Will you come back to Blood Rock?”

“No way, no how,” I said, swaying on my feet.

“Then go home, Dakota Frost,” Transomnia said. “Go home with your tail between your legs, and do not let me catch you back in Blood Rock again.”

“I will know,” Nyissa said, smiling back at the Stone, “the moment you do.”

Transomnia smiled as well. “That suit looks good on you. You can keep it,” he said, and flicked his hand in dismissal.

—

Hands grabbed at me, another dark cloth was shoved in my face, then nothingness.

I awoke in the trunk of the Prius, drooling on the newly laid carpeting, still wearing that stinking rubber suit. I groaned, and then heard something whoosh by. Moments later, I heard it again, then again, followed by a hiss. I tried to sit up and klonked my head. After struggling with the vanity cover, I kicked it out of the way, forced myself up into the car, and sat up in time to see an eighteen-wheeler scream by in the first light of dawn, eighteen inches from the Prius, leaving scraps of torn clothing scattering down I-20 in its wake.

After a few seconds I realized that it was
my
clothing scattering down I-20. I looked at myself: I looked like a total freak in the full-body rubber suit. More cars swept by,
whoosh
,
whoosh
, hissing every time they hit a wet patch on the road, scattering my clothes further. After the third one I swallowed my pride, crawled out of the car, and retrieved what I could from the highway, mortified with embarrassment every time a car honked at me as it passed.

All of it was ruined: my jeans, my shirt, even my vest. All I could rescue was my wallet, squashed almost beyond recognition where some car had run over it; but, oddly, they hadn’t taken my money, and my driver’s license was still recognizable.

The keys were still in the blue bomb,
thankfully.
At least I didn’t have to go hunting all over the hillside in the freak suit hoping the vampires had thrown them there and not in the trash back in Blood Rock. I started her up, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do, and let the voice of NPR’s Renée Montagne soothe my wounded pride.

“This is Morning Edition. The time is eight fifty.”

I sat bolt upright.
Eight-fifty Wednesday morning!
My meeting with DFACS about Cinnamon was at ten. I couldn’t show up like this! Where the hell was I, and where was I going to get some clothes? I twisted round, scanning the highway for any sign—

Conyers 8. Atlanta 39
.

“Oh, shit.”
Forty miles—in rush hour traffic.
And still with nothing to wear.

My eyes refocused down the road, where I saw a sign for a store.