Circus of Blood (6 page)

“We’re on our way.”

“Hurry.” Larson said over the connection.

I pushed the accelerator to the floor.

Larson’s clinic was crawling with people. They filled the lobby. Men, women, children, some of them were even human. Every chair was filled and people leaned against the walls and sat on the floor. They moved aside as I pushed open the door, scrambling to clear a path.

The room was charged with panicked lycanthropy. It rubbed raw against my nerves. My power bubbled in my veins. I flashed hot and queasy, like food poisoning on a summer day. It stopped me dead in the doorway, fighting down the urge to be sick. My power had been overtaxed tonight, running wide open at the circus. Deep breaths in and out as I tried to pull it together, to fold it away. It’s like trying to not throw up when you are feeling sick and somebody puts food in front of you.

Every eye turned to stare. It could have been me. I know I looked like hell. Sawdust and vamp dust stuck to me with dried blood, left arm tied with a scrap of shirt and soaked in blood, battered and bruised. All of that covered in a layer of kerosene soot from setting that damned circus on fire after getting all the people free.

Or it could have been the vampire wrapped in chains that was thrown over my shoulder.

Larson’s voice called out from down the hall on the other side of the lobby. I started walking toward it, Father Mulcahy and Sully trailing behind.

Larson was pulling a syringe out of a kid’s arm. He was a high schooler, upperclassman from the looks of him. Shoulders just starting to fill out into the promise of what he would be as a man. He was sleekly muscular, too short for basketball and too light for football, so I would guess wrestling or even swimming. His head drooped almost as soon as Larson laid the syringe down.

He slumped back on the cot and closed his eyes, going completely still.

“What are you doing?”

Larson rolled over. “We put the word out warning people. The ones who are prepared have locked themselves up, the ones who don’t have that option are here and we are putting them down before the virus turns them rabid.”

I looked at the kid on the cot. He wasn’t moving, chest still. “Putting them down? You mean . . .”

“What? No!
Sedating
them. Jesus, Deacon! What the fuck?”

“It’s been a long night.”

I shrugged, tossing the Ringmaster off my shoulder, dumping him onto the floor with a metallic clatter. He was cocooned in chain, wrapped tightly with duct tape across his mouth. I had taken the hatchet to his arms, whacking them off at the shoulders, then used the flat back to knock out his fangs, taking away both his weapons.

Larson looked down at the vampire, then up at me. “What’s this?”

“He used his blood and magick to make the virus.”

“I’ll get to work.”

We stood over Fallene’s bed. She was sunk into the mattress still in Were-bat form. Her skin pulled taut and thin, outlining her bones as clear as an X-ray. The disease was burning her up, boiling her down to sinew and bone. Short hair littered the sheets and pillow where her fur had fallen out, leaving her shivering under the blanket. She wasn’t sedated or chained down, too weak to be a threat.

Larson was pushing a syringe full of antivirus into her IV. “This may not work.”

I looked down at Fallene’s condition. “Can’t hurt.”

He nodded sharply. His thumb pressed the plunger. The thick, brackish liquid pumped into her veins. He pulled away.

We stood and watched.

At first, there was no effect. Fallene lay still, only breathing.

Then her eyes opened.

They were huge in the hollows of her skull, like a cartoon. She blinked at us, mahogany brown irises glowing fever-bright.

Her mouth worked, trying to speak. Her skull shifted, the bones in her face moving. The bat receded, her humanity slipping through. Once her throat was human enough for speech, she said, “It’s so pretty.”

Father Mulcahy leaned in. “What’s so pretty, child?”

Her head turned toward him, small smile on her lips. “All the Angels. Shiny.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

She stopped breathing.

Larson lurched forward. “No. No. NO!” He shoved his fingers under her jaw, feeling for a pulse.

He sat back.

“She’s gone. It didn’t work.” He pounded his thigh with a fist, beating the useless limb like he hated it. “Dammit! Dammit! Dammit to hell!”

“Larson.”

“It should have worked! It should have cured her!”

“Larson.”

“We’re about to have an epidemic on our hands!”

My foot lashed out, kicking his chair. He slung sideways as the chair skidded away from me. He whipped around, face purple with rage, spit flying from his mouth as it opened to yell at me.

I shoved my hand in his face, palm up.

“Shut up for two seconds and look at her.”

He drew up short. “What?”

“Look at your patient before you flip the fuck out.”

He wheeled over. I pointed at Fallene. Death had made her human. She lay peacefully on the bed, still skeletal, but her skin was clean and whole.

Every cut, every scrape, every bruise had vanished.

She had healed.

Larson ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. He stared at Fallene for a long moment. Wheeling over, he picked up an empty syringe and stuck it into her thin, thin arm. Once it was full of blood he rolled over to a counter that held an array of medical equipment, including a microscope that he pulled to the edge.

I watched him work for a minute, doing something I couldn’t see. He leaned in, eye to the viewer of the microscope. He stayed that way for a long minute. Finally he looked up and smiled.

“Are we good?” I ask.

“I think we just might be.”

Hallelujah.

It took a while to inoculate the lycanthropes in the area, but we eventually got them all. Larson worked like mad, brewing up batches of antivirus. We kept the Ringmaster around long enough to supply the blood needed. Once we were done, I tossed him out into the sun to die.

Kat finally found Fallene’s parents living in Washington state. They flew out and took her home for burial. They were a nice, unassuming couple. I didn’t tell them that their daughter died in a ploy to try to kill me. Sorry, but I didn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. I did assure them that I killed the bastards responsible.

They weren’t comforted by that at all.

I knew they wouldn’t be, but it was all I had to offer.

Sometimes it’s enough.

When it’s not, all you can do is keep moving forward.

Either way, it’s the job I do.

Loyals and True Believers,

Can you believe it? Here we are five releases deep into the Deaconverse and things are really starting to cook. I want to take a moment and thank you, truly thank you for all your support and love for Deacon and his family of misfits.

You have no idea how much what you do means. Every review you have posted, every status you have updated about the Deaconverse, every tweet, and pin, and e-mail, and conversation over whatever beverage you enjoy, it builds this thing that you and I are doing. You are the soldiers on the ground spreading the word and you are
mighty
. Keep it up. Tell everyone you can and let’s take Deacon global.

I love how you have really embraced this world that I created. I do it for you, and you have repaid that in spades. Now hang on tight because it’s only gonna get crazier from here! Trust me,
Blood and Magick
is where the wheels come off. Turn the page to get a sneak peek.

Stay True,
James R. Tuck

 

 

Deacon Chalk knows the biggest danger
in fighting monsters is becoming one.

Just another day at the office for your friendly
neighborhood occult bounty hunter.

If keeping three helpless Were-dog children safe
means battling a malevolent trio of witches
by any means necessary, so be it.

If that means partnering with a ruthless government
agent to stay one step ahead of the allies
and friends he must now suspect,
he’s not going to cry about it.

The only way Deacon can save humans
and shape-shifters alike is to embrace a power
beyond his imagining, putting his team at stake—
and his soul on the line . . .