Bloodstone (42 page)

“Gwen felt the change, as well. She accused me of playing some trick on her. I told her it was no trick, that you were under attack by a demon, like the one in her dream. I told her you needed help, but I was too weak to give it to you. And I asked her to lend me some of her strength. All she had to do was stay in my dreamscape and give me her hand.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me to go to hell and started to end the call. Her colors rose up, and I reached out to her, pleading.” Mab held out a hand now, as though Gwen were in the room. “Her colors rose some more. I could barely see her. I thought I was losing you both. And then she walked straight through the mist. She came back.”

Mab dropped her hand to her lap and shook her head in wonder. “I don’t know why she did. Maybe the demon from her dream remained vivid in her mind. She stepped out of the mist and took my hand. She let me draw upon her strength so I could project myself as Viviane before Myrddin. The effort drained her, I think, but she held on. She didn’t let go until you’d killed the demon.”

Mab paused. She watched my face, making sure I understood. “Your sister didn’t do it for my sake, child. She did it for you.”

 

 

ONCE AGAIN, THE REAPER WAS ALL OVER THE NEWS. NORDEN was listed as the fifth victim, and the containment order was extended for another forty-eight hours. But when the clock ticked down and no murder occurred, the police changed their tune. They identified Elmer Norden as the Reaper.

According to the news, his fingerprints were on the curved blade found at the site and matching the other victims’ wounds. They theorized that Norden, driven to despair by his psychotic urge to kill, had taken his own life. Reporters interviewed endless people who’d known Norden. Neighbors, coworkers, his barber, even past teachers. Everyone described him as mean, rude, bullying, and bad-mannered—all pretty accurate descriptions. The only one who had anything halfway nice to say about him was Pam McFarren.

But nobody said the one thing about Norden that I knew to be true. In the grip of a murderous spirit that tormented him unbearably, he tried to hold on to some little piece of what made him human. However much a jerk he’d been in life, in death he’d sacrificed himself for that bit of humanity.

Juliet went back into hiding. With the Reaper case closed, the police were putting more resources into other cases, including tracking down vampire fugitives from justice. The Washington police still wanted to question her about Justice Frederickson’s murder, and the Goons still wanted to find her for breaking out of their facility. Juliet stayed at our apartment for a couple of days—the cops had already checked for her there so many times it was becoming the last place they’d look—then left. She wouldn’t tell me where she was staying, but she’d pop up from time to time when she thought it was safe.

The Old Ones had scattered, she said. Many of them were dead, killed by the virus they’d used to infect Juliet. When they’d seen her that night on Back Street, apparently unharmed by the virus, several Old Ones had immediately infected themselves with it, expecting the same results. All were dead now. Others, including Colwyn, had been more cautious, torturing Juliet with more silver than any vampire could survive to test her immortality. Those Old Ones were still out there somewhere.

“I thought they’d really done it,” I said. “Really achieved immortality. When I hit that Old One with silver and he didn’t die . . . why didn’t it affect him?”

“I’m not sure,” Juliet said. “That was one of the Old Ones who infected himself. I think it had something to do with the bloodstone. The stone has so much power, and the Old Ones were in its presence for more than a day. My guess is that they absorbed some of that power. But obviously the effects were temporary.”

I wondered if they’d be temporary for Juliet and asked Mab about it later. She didn’t know. “You must understand, child, that the bloodstone has never been used in such a way before. The stone is life-giving, and I employed it in an emergency to counteract an artificially engineered, death-dealing virus. There’s no telling what the long-term effects could be.”

For now, Juliet said she felt like a kid of three hundred again. I don’t think she noticed Mab’s smile.

 

 

WITH THE CONTAINMENT ORDER LIFTED, KANE RETURNED to Deadtown. I left Mab grilling Tina on
Inimicus
demons and went to his place to wait for him. I opened all the windows to let in the fresh spring air. I hung a brand-new bathrobe on my side of the closet—and then I stepped back to marvel that I had a side of the closet here. It felt good.

I was sitting on the sofa, leafing through the latest copy of
Paranormal Rights Law Journal
, when the key turned in the lock, and Kane opened the door. I looked up—and then just looked. He was the same Kane I’d known for years, and yet I felt like I was seeing him for the first time. I let my eyes linger on every part of him. His silver hair. The broad shoulders that made him look so damn good in a suit. His strong hands, their square-nailed fingers. Everything. But especially the eyes that had helped me hold on to Kane when I was so afraid I’d lost him.

“Hi, Killer,” I said. “Wanna see my new bathrobe?”

He grinned and closed the door. “Maybe afterward,” he said.

He scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom. And then there was no need to say anything at all.

 

 

THE NIGHT BEFORE MAB FLEW BACK TO WALES, AXEL THREW her a farewell party in Creature Comforts. The aquavit flowed freely. Mab and Axel sang songs in Trollspråk and even demonstrated a traditional folk dance. Tina jumped up to try it, too. As the three of them thumped around the room, customers clapped their hands to keep time. After tonight, it would take years for Axel to recover his scary reputation.

Kane sat beside me, his arm around my shoulders, tapping his foot as he watched. I reached up and laced my fingers through his. Since he’d been back, I couldn’t touch him enough.

Axel went back behind the bar to pour some drinks. He put on some quieter music.

Juliet popped in and out—in that sudden, “now you see me, now you don’t” vampire way—to offer a toast to Queen Mab. “ ‘Fair thoughts and happy hours attend you,’” she said. “ ‘Heaven give you many, many merry days!’” Mab nodded, accepting the good wishes, and replied with something equally Shakespearean.

For the few minutes she stayed, Juliet sat at our table. “I’m going to Washington,” she told us. “I think Colwyn may be hiding out there. I want to expose them. If I can find Colwyn’s lair, I’m certain I’ll find evidence linking the Old Ones to Justice Frederickson’s murder. It’s time to put that matter to rest.” She looked around and slowly licked her lips. “I want to get back to trawling the bars for hot blood.”

Kane cleared his throat. “Juliet,” he said. “I’m sorry I mistrusted you. I owe you an apology.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “‘Sorry,’ ‘apology’—please. Vampires don’t know the meanings of such words.” But she looked pleased he’d said it.

I asked Juliet if she’d come across any news of Pryce while she was tracking the Old Ones.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.” Then the door opened. Juliet disappeared in a blink, before the new customers came inside.

Pryce was out there somewhere, plotting. If he hated Mab for imprisoning his father, he now hated me exponentially more for killing him. I didn’t know how the life force he stole from me would affect him. When I reached out with my mind, searching, I got a big blank. No connection to him at all. But could he sense me? Did he know where I was right now? The questions creeped me out, but I couldn’t dismiss them.

A waltz came on. Kane stood and asked Mab to dance. As he whirled her around the room, I felt a twinge of sadness that Gwen wasn’t here. I’d invited her, even though I knew she wouldn’t come. Gwen would never set foot in Creature Comforts, let alone for a bon voyage party for Mab.

Tina sat down in Kane’s seat and bugged me to quiz her. “Go on,” she said, nudging me with her arm, “ask me anything about
Inimicus
. Anything at all.”

“Not now, Tina.”

She pouted. “Then give me a sip of your beer.”

“You’re not twenty-one yet.”

“So? I just want a sip. Zombies can’t even get drunk.”

I picked up the bottle and looked at the pale yellow contents. Nobody—zombie, human, or otherwise—would ever get drunk off this stuff. “No, Tina. If Axel won’t serve you, I’m not sneaking you beer.”

She threw herself back in her chair. Then she leaned forward again. “Come on.” Another nudge. “Just one question.” Her red eyes gleamed with eagerness.

I put my bottle on the table. “Mab says you’re going to school again. Is that true?”

Tina nodded, looking almost embarrassed to admit it.

“Tell you what. Next Monday, come over after school. We can go over
Inimicus
then.”

“Really? Does that mean—?”

“Don’t push it, Tina.”

And for once, she didn’t.

 

 

MAB RETURNED TO WALES. I WAS SAD TO SEE HER GO, BUT it was where she belonged. Her strength came from the land there, she’d said, and I wanted my aunt to stay strong for a good, long time.

It didn’t really feel like she was gone. I was conscious of her in a way that was new. It wasn’t like I could hear her thoughts or see through her eyes, but an awareness of my aunt was a constant presence in some corner of my mind. Adding my blood to the bloodstone had helped to renew the stone; it had also brought us closer. I cherished the connection.

That night as I slept, a rose and gold mist filled my dreamscape.

“Gwen?”

The mist cleared. My sister sat in a rocking chair, wearing her nightgown. The chair glided rhythmically back and forth. “I used to rock Maria to sleep in this chair when she was a baby.”

“How are you doing?” I asked. “How’s Maria?”

“She told me she called you, and that you showed her how to control her dreamscape.” Her laugh sounded sad. “Want to show me, too?”

I waited.

“I can’t stop dreaming about that night. It’s like a looped tape that plays endlessly, over and over and over and over . . .” She pounded her fists on the arms of her chair. Then she closed her eyes and rocked for a few minutes. She stopped and looked at me.

“I talked to Mom,” she said.

“What did she say?”

“That you should pick up a phone once in a while.”

“She’s right.” I’d intended to call Mom and ask her to talk with Gwen about Maria, but events had gotten in the way. But events always do that, even when you’re not stopping a murderer. They were no excuse. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“She also said that Maria’s not my baby anymore. That I should give her time, let her explore and make her own decisions. Like she did for us.”

“She did pretty well with her kids. Both of us.”

Gwen lay her head back, as if she were looking at the sky. “Mab’s gone?”

“I took her to the airport last night.”

She nodded and rocked a few minutes more. “Too many things are changing—Maria, my feelings, even the past.” She shook her head in bemusement. “You’d think the past, at least, would stay put. How on earth did that woman manage to change it?”

“She didn’t. She just showed you something you missed at the time.”

“I know. And I even know it’s the truth. Gut-level.” She smiled distantly. “I may have lost shapeshifting when I became a mother, but I gained intuition.”

Silence settled again.

“I can’t let go of the past all at once, Vicky.”

I thought about Myrddin’s curse on Mab, how she carried the pain of her sister’s death with her through time. “But you can let it go eventually. Just do it a little at a time.”

“Should I have said good-bye to her? I thought about it. I had the keys in my hand to drive to that farewell party before I chickened out.”

In that corner of my mind, my sense of Mab stirred, like she could feel Gwen’s regret. “I don’t think she’s bothered you didn’t say good-bye. I think she’d rather you start with hello.”

Later, after Gwen had gone, a dream unfolded in my dreamscape. I didn’t try to shape or control it. I just let it happen. It was a simple dream. Mab stood beside me. Then Gwen appeared on my other side, holding Maria’s hand. Four Cerddorion women, each one different, but standing together and looking forward, not back.

 

Nancy Holzner
grew up in western Massachusetts with her nose stuck in a book. This meant that she tended to walk into things, wore glasses before she was out of elementary school, and forced her parents to institute a “no reading at the dinner table” rule. It was probably inevitable that she majored in English in college and then, because there were still a lot of books she wanted to read, continued her studies long enough to earn a master’s degree and a PhD.

She began her career as a medievalist, then jumped off the tenure track to try some other things. Besides teaching English and philosophy, she’s worked as a technical writer, freelance editor, instructional designer, college admissions counselor, and corporate trainer.

Nancy lives in upstate New York with her husband, Steve, where they both work from home without getting on each other’s nerves. She enjoys visiting local wineries and listening obsessively to opera. There are still a lot of books she wants to read.

Visit Nancy’s Web site at
www.nancyholzner.com
.