Blood Song (35 page)

I pulled harder against the bindings, adrenaline roaring through my system, giving my senses the hyperfocus they’d had the other morning. Her breathing, harsh and loud. And, fainter, in the distance, but closing fast, running footsteps.

She lunged at me, syringe at the ready, but I was too quick for her. Moving with unnatural speed, I rolled, kicking at her knee with both feet. The blow connected hard, and with the extra strength behind it her knee didn’t just give, it tore, the bone breaking through the skin with a spray of blood.

Screaming, she fell to the floor, her lower leg nearly severed. Blood was everywhere, the scent nearly overpowering. She grabbed her leg, trying to apply pressure, but it wasn’t working.

My stomach growled, my eyes started to bleed red. I could see the needle, far from her reach. Hear the sound of her racing pulse as she stared at me in horror and growing fear. My arms were free, the straitjacket torn apart, but I couldn’t remember doing it. Couldn’t think past the roaring in my ears and the hunger that had drool running from the corner of my mouth.

She tried to back away, shoving herself with her good leg, a trail of smudged blood shocking red against the stark white linoleum.

I fought not to follow, fought every instinct with the one remaining shred of humanity left to me.

The door to the observation room slammed open. Gerry and Dr. Scott burst into the room, both panting hard from exertion. They took in the scene on the other side of the window with a single horrified glance.

“Thank God!” Greene shouted. “Save me. She’s gone feral!”

“Liar.”
My voice sounded not the least bit human.

“Dr. Greene, please. Don’t antagonize her.” Dr. Scott’s voice was still a little breathy, but calm, and I could feel him using his talent to try to reach the part of me that was still human, to soothe and calm me. “Celia, you must stay calm. Vicki told me everything. The police are on the way here and to the church. You’ve done nothing wrong, and we’ll find proof of that. But you
must
hold on.”

I turned to look at him, the movement difficult and disjointed, as if my body were unwilling to follow the orders my brain was giving it. My skin was glowing.

“I’m going to send Gerry to get you some food, and then I’m coming in to treat Dr. Greene’s injury. I can’t let her die. Can you let me do that?”

“Yes.” I forced the word through clenched jaws.

“Good. Now if you’ll back up to the far corner, please.” He moved past Gerry, who was standing, pale and shaking, in front of the door. He’d switched off the intercom before turning to leave, but with my heightened senses I could still hear them as clearly as if we were in the same room.

“Are you insane? You can’t mean to go in there with that …
thing
.”

“I would remind you that
Ms. Graves
could easily have killed and eaten the doctor. She hasn’t. In fact, she’s shown admirable self-control. But it would be foolish to push the issue by leaving her in there with a bleeding woman. So go to the kitchen and get her some food. Now.”

Gerry left. I heard his footfalls going down the hall at a jog that was not quite a run. And I heard Dr. Scott’s gentle knock on the door.

I managed to make it through the next few minutes without killing anyone, but I don’t know how. It was one of the hardest things I’d done in my life. I
wanted
to kill Greene. Not just the beast in me, but the human part as well. Because a part of me felt she’d deserved it. Reverend Al was dead—the cops arrived in time to protect the people in the church from the bad guys, but the drugs in the pizza had reacted with the pain meds he was on for an old football injury. I knew all this because Vicki had Alex make some calls.

I’d been kidnapped and set up for a perfect frame. Even if I was proven not guilty in a court of law, I was a monster. I’d be locked up in one of the state institutions, probably never to see the light of day again.

But it didn’t happen.

Everything worked out exactly the way I
needed
it to. To the sound of ocean waves and the call of gulls. It wasn’t subtle, and there’d be a price to pay. But I did what I had to do.

Was it wrong to manipulate everyone I dealt with?
Hell, yeah.
Did I care?
No.
Because I was running out of time. Everything, from start to finish, was tied to the plots against King Dahlmar. Good people were dead, I’d been turned into a monster, and demons were loose in the city. While it seemed to me to be a lot of trouble just for a pool of natural gas under Rusland, there could well be things I wasn’t aware of yet.

Tonight the king would go to the World Series game. Tomorrow, first thing, he was scheduled to fly back home with his sons and entourage. Security before and after would be incredibly tight, but there’s only so much you can do in a crowded public venue. It was all going down at the game. I’d have bet my life on it. Greene’s comment about Kevin had just confirmed what I already suspected.

Gibson pulled up to the door of Birchwoods administration building in the same midsized Buick sedan I’d ridden with him in earlier. I was climbing into the front seat almost before the vehicle had come to a complete stop. I didn’t dare dawdle in case the mojo wore off. That was entirely possible, since I didn’t really know what in the hell I was doing.

I pulled the seat belt tight over my oh-so-chic gray Birchwoods sweats. At least they were clean, and better than the stuff I’d borrowed from Bruno, even if I was liable to die from heat prostration. “Did you get everything?” I reached into the bag on the seat next to me and began rifling through its contents.

“Yeah.” Gibson pulled the car around the circle drive, heading toward the gate. Gerry was there, but he didn’t smile or wave. No surprise.

“I’ve got to tell you, that little toy of yours is worth damned near as much as this car.” He didn’t bother to keep the disgust from his voice.

“Yeah, well, I’m the one paying for it. And if we need it, it will be worth twice the price.” I pulled out an assortment of gaudy holy items and a pair of mirrored sunglasses that I slipped on. Next were an Angels cap and a new denim jacket. I pulled the former onto my head and yanked the price tags off the latter, unbuttoning it to reveal the lining. Sure enough, tacked pockets. Perfect.

I slid a pair of single-shot squirt guns into the slots made by the stitching and began unwrapping the replacement sensor car. This time I’d splurged on the deluxe model. It looked exactly like the one Matty used. Taking it from the hinged jewel case it came in, I tucked it into my pocket and began skimming the directions. It worked basically the same way as my previous one, but with a few added features. Good to know.

Last, but not least, I grabbed the small blue water bottle with a sponge on the end that you can buy at any office supply store to seal envelopes. Twisting off the cap, I filled the bottle with holy water. Sealing it closed, I tucked it into the right side pocket of my jacket, the opposite side from where I’d put the gizmo. Taking a deep breath, I told myself I was ready.

I lied.

Gibson had slowed the car nearly to a stop. Not that he had much choice. It was already 4:15 and traffic to the ballpark had things jammed up back onto the highway. “The king’s driver, Ivan, will meet us at the giant cap on the right with the replacement tickets.”

“Good.” I didn’t look up, I was too busy checking the water pistols one last time, making sure that they’d function if I had to fire them. I’ve always had better luck with the actual One Shot brand than with the imitations, but Gibson had been doing the buying.

“I wish he’d have called it off,” Gibson said. “It’s stupid to deliberately walk into a trap.”

“No chance. He wants to find the traitor and to know whether or not his sons are involved. He figures his people can handle whatever comes up. They’ve had plenty of warning.” I grinned. “Of course, he may decide to hire a double. If a spawn does a shapechange, it actually becomes a double of the target’s body. Fools fingerprints, voice analysis, lab work. Everything down to DNA.”

“I know,” Gibson said bitterly. “Makes life hard for us cops. Fortunately, there aren’t too many spawn out there.”

“Yeah, but what do you wager the king’s got at least one on the payroll? We
know
the bad guys do.”

Gibson grunted and turned the car onto Gene Autry Parkway. We were nearly there. From where we sat I could see fans in Angels red and Cubs blue hiking toward the stadium across the packed parking lot as outdoor vendors hawked their wares. Four fifteen in the afternoon and already there were plenty of people who acted as if they were trashed. I shook my head. Call me a prude, but I can’t imagine paying a small fortune for a ticket to a game like this and then getting so wasted I wouldn’t remember the game.

Traffic was moving at a crawl. Just ahead, a man in a neon orange vest signaled with a flashlight that there were openings in that row. Gibson followed the line leading toward him.

“Did you get hold of your boyfriend and the werewolf?”

“I tried. Neither one of them answered his phone. I think Bruno’s pissed at me for standing him up. Of course he may have just not recognized the number. But I doubt it. He knows I had to get a new phone the other day and I imagine he got the number from Dawna.”

Gibson had to stop to let the driver ahead of us pull into a parking space, so he had the chance to give me a shocked look. “You stood him up?”

“It’s not like I had a choice. As you’ll recall, I was unconscious at the time. But he doesn’t know that, and he’s pissed and won’t answer his phone because I was supposed to return his Mets cap and I didn’t.”

“He should know you better than that.”

“Yeah, he should. And he’ll realize that about the fifth or sixth inning and start worrying. He’ll call me back during the seventh-inning stretch.”

Gibson laughed as he pulled the car into one of the last few vacant spots. “You know him pretty well.”

“We were together through most of college.” I didn’t quite manage to keep the wistfulness from my voice.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s things like today that made me so crazy. If he’d just
pick up the damned phone
. But nope. He’s too hardheaded.”

“And I bet it’s things like today that made him crazy, too. Knowing that you’re going off into danger and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

I managed not to flinch, but ouch. That was a little too close to the mark. I climbed out of the car so that I wouldn’t have to answer. Not that Gibson didn’t notice. Still, he didn’t press. I was glad. I didn’t want to think about Bruno. I didn’t need the distraction.

We moved across the parking lot with the rest of the herd, making our way past the huge “A” with its lit display. Peppered throughout the crowd were plenty of uniformed security and warrior priests of the various militant religious orders in full regalia and armament. Even from this distance the noise of the crowd beat against my sensitive hearing. Competing scents vied for my attention. Unwashed bodies, cologne, buttered popcorn, hot dogs, and beer were the most prevalent, but by no means the only, smells floating in the air.

The announcer was doing the usual pregame nonsense that most of the spectators were happy to ignore. The first pitch was set for 8:00 EDT. It wouldn’t be too much longer before they announced the starting lineups and played the national anthem.

Ivan was waiting right where he was supposed to be. He stood there, unmovable as a mountain, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt under a Cubs jacket. The clothes were supposed to help him blend in with the crowd but didn’t. For one thing, they were pressed. His jeans had a
crease.
And then there was his posture. The regular fans were excited but relaxed. He wasn’t. He held himself in absolute readiness, his eyes constantly moving, taking in everything. I wondered if I looked like that when I was on duty, and figured yeah, I probably did.

I paused, letting Gibson take the lead. I took off my sunglasses, turned slightly, and, pretending to clean them, took a good look at old Ivan in the mirrored surface. He passed test one. He wasn’t an illusion.

Sliding the glasses back on, I reached my right hand into my pocket, pressing it against the little sponge until I felt wetness on my palm. Test two was something Matty had suggested when I called the hospital. Spawn and demons can change form until they look just like the real thing. But that uses demonic magic—which can be shorted out by the judicious use of holy items. If Ivan was a spawn this little dab of water wouldn’t make him change back, but it would sting like hell (literally) and give me a glimpse of his true form.

I walked up to Ivan, my arm extended in the classic “shake hands” gesture. I could tell he hated it. But there were witnesses, and refusing would be obvious. So he grimly shook my extended hand as quickly as he could manage, discreetly drying his damp palm on the leg of his jeans when he thought I wasn’t looking. “Follow me.”

He led us to the gates and into a line that was rapidly thinning as game time approached. One at a time we passed through curse and then metal detectors, pausing briefly as the security agent admired my little gadget. Then we were off, moving briskly through dim, wide halls lined with vendors and shops. Ivan was setting a quick pace, but we didn’t seem out of place. The announcer was reading off the lineups. Almost everybody was hurrying, hoping not to miss the first pitch.

I stopped when I saw something … odd. In the corner of my vision I saw a pair of spectators heading toward the elevators. The woman looked vaguely familiar, like I’d seen her before, and recently. The drunken companion she was helping walk looked, to my eyes, like a petite blond woman. But the reflection in my glasses was of a dark-haired young man, looking ill and only semiconscious.

I did a double take and the woman noticed. She glared at me as she stabbed her finger against the elevator button, and I recognized her from the expression. It was the guard … Lydia. The woman from Birchwoods on Vicki’s birthday. And that …
oh,
crap, that was the younger prince, Kristoff, Rezza’s little brother. I shouted a warning to Ivan and took off at a dead run.