In the Blood (20 page)

The ghost-child tugged at her mother's skirts and pointed at Sonja. Her lips moved
but all Sonja heard was a skewed, half-speed garble.

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"Mrs. Seward...

The dead woman looked up, surprised at being recognized. The undamaged side of
her face frowned.

"Mrs. Seward, I need your help in finding my way to the center . . " Sonja stepped
forward, one hand outstretched.

Mrs. Seward looked down at her daughter, then at Sonja.
As
she opened her mouth,
the flames issuing from the gas jets intensified. The ghost-woman, now looking more
terrified than terrible, motioned for her child to leave. The little girl obeyed, rolling
herself into a ball of witch fire and bouncing from the room.

There was a distant whistling sound, as that of air being sliced by an axe, followed
by a hollow booming. Whatever was creating the noise was making its way toward
the room Sonja occupied with the late Mrs. Seward.

The ghost gestured for Sonja to follow and moved to one of the walnut panels set
into the wall. Her long, bell-like skirt left the thick dust on the floor undisturbed.

Mrs. Seward pointed to the molding where the plaster met the paneling, and she
passed through the wall. It took Sonja a few seconds to locate the hidden catch that
opened the secret door. The booming sound had grown considerably closer as she
closed the panel behind her.

Mrs. Seward was waiting for her, glowing in the gloom of the secret passage like a
night-light. Sonja followed her spirit guide through the narrow passageway to a
cramped circular staircase that pierced Ghost Trap's various levels. Mrs. Seward
motioned for her to go downstairs.

"How many levels? One? Two?"

The dead woman held up two transparent fingers and mimicked opening a door.

Sonja nodded to show that she understood and began her downward climb. After a
couple of steps she paused and looked back at the ghost-woman.

"You're trapped in this place, aren't you? You and the children!"

The ghost nodded, nearly dislodging her dangling eye.

"How can you be freed?"

The ghost hastily traced letters in midair. The ectoplasm hung suspended for a few
seconds before wavering and losing shape, like a message left by a haphazard
skywriter:

Diztroe Tarappe The dead were notoriously bad spellers.

Before Sonja could ask anything else, Mrs. Seward disappeared. Sonja shrugged
and resumed her descent into the bowels of Ghost Trap.

On the second level she found a narrow oak doorway at the base of the stairs. She
could tell the door opened inward, but other than that had no idea where it might
lead or what might be on the other side.

Taking a deep breath and hoping it didn't open onto a room full of hungry ogres,
Sonja grasped the handle and yanked the portal open.

She found herself faced not by tigers, but with a lady.

The woman was seated in a tastefully upholstered easy chair, reading a thick
paperback romance novel, her slippered feet resting on an ottoman. The room
seemed very cozy, in a Victorian kind of way. Somewhere nearby a grandfather

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clock measured out the afternoon. A small, cheery fire crackled away in the
fireplace. The woman had yet to notice the intruder in her sitting room.

Sonja frowned and moved further into the room, allowing the secret door to silently
close behind her. She was wondering if the petite black woman was another ghost,
albeit a bit more opaque than the last, when the woman looked up from her book
and smiled at her. Her eyes were the color of claret. Sonja's right hand closed on the
switchblade in her pocket.

"Hello," said the woman, putting aside her romance novel. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear
you come in. Are you one of our Father's servants?"

Sonja adjusted her vision, scanning the woman to see her true appearance and
strength. To her surprise, the black woman did not reveal herself to be a wizened
crone or rotting corpse. She remained exactly what she looked like: a young African-American woman in her early twenties. Sonja hesitated pressing the ruby eye on her
switchblade.

Why are you hesitating? She's just another vamp. Just another filthy bloodsucker.

What's your problem, woman?

"Is there something wrong?"

Sonja shook her head, the back of her hand pressed against trembling lips. It wasn't
possible. It couldn't be. But she could clearly see the aura, crackling around the
woman's neatly cornrowed head like a halo of fire. The only time she'd previously
seen such an aura was in the mirror.

He is plotting on revolutionizing Pretender society... Something about creating an

army of silver-immune vampires.

The woman struggled to her feet with a deep grunt and Sonja noticed for the first
time just how huge the other woman's belly was.

It was worse than even Pangloss could have imagined. A lot worse.

13

"Is something wrong? Should I call Dr. Howell?" The pregnant woman reached for
a cellular phone resting on the table next to an array of medication vials.

Before she had a chance to touch the receiver, Sonja wrapped one hand in her dark,
abundant braids, yanking the woman's head back, exposing her café-au-lait throat.

The point of her switchblade pressed against the pregnant woman's pulse.

"Who are you?" Sonja's words hissed like live steam.

"I'm Anise." She spoke loudly and slowly, as if communicating with an emotionally
disturbed child. She was trying not to sound frightened, but Sonja saw how her
hands clutched at her swollen belly. "What are you doing? You're hurting me - "

"Where is Morgan?"

"Our Father?"

Sonja cranked another length of braid around her fist, yanking Anise onto her
tiptoes. "He's not my father, bitch! Answer me, damn you, or I'll go in and take
what I want to know! Who else is in this fuckin' spook house?"

Anise's eyes flickered, tracking something behind Sonja's shoulder.

The thought that there might be two of them entered Sonja's head the same time the
fireplace poker came down on her skull.

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Of course there are two of them, you pathetic ninny!
The Other shrieked delightedly
as the pain and rage sparked and fed on one another.
There
has
to be two of them!

And baby makes three. Vampires that breed together bleed together.

The Other wanted out. It wanted out
bad.
The Other wanted to twist the head off
the bloat-bellied bitch. The Other wanted to gouge the eyes out of the asshole with
the poker. The Other wanted to yank the little unborn shit out of its mother's womb
and snap its head between her teeth like a terrier worrying a rat.

"No. I'm not letting you out. Not yet. Save it. Save it for Morgan."

As Sonja struggled to keep the Other under control, another blow fell across her
shoulders, knocking her to the floor. She felt ribs crack and blood fill her mouth.

"Fell, stop it! I said
stop!"

Anise grappled with her mate for control of the poker. The male was tall and thin,
his features pale and finely chiseled. His hair was the color of raw pine, hanging to
his shoulders in long silken tresses. His rubescent eyes were dilated, like those of a
panther scenting its prey. Sonja knew that wild, cruel look all too well.

"I told you they hated us! They're all crazy with jealousy because our Father loves
us more than them!"

"No, Fell! She's not a renfield. Look at her.
Look!"

Fell grudgingly turned his gaze on Sonja. The poker in his hand wavered.

Sonja grinned crookedly, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "The little lady's right,
you know-I'm not a renfield." She was up and moving before Fell had a chance to
react, kicking the weapon out of his hand and catching it in midair.

Anise screamed as Sonja slammed the fire tool's butt into Fell's abdomen, knocking
him to the floor. Sonja pinned him by firmly planting her boot on his throat. She
reversed the poker, gently pressing its point between his eyes.

"Anyone moves, I'll ram the damn thing through his brain."

"Anise! Go get help!" Fell hissed, trying not to move.

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Do what I say, Anise!"

Tears trickled down Anise's cheeks as she shook her head.

"You can cry." There was awe and envy in her voice. Sonja moved the poker away
from Fell's forehead, but kept a boot planted on his Adam's apple.

"Of course I can cry!" Anise wiped at the tears with the flat of her palm. "Everyone
can cry."

"No. Not everyone. Have you ever seen Morgan cry?"

Anise stared at her as if Sonja had started speaking in tongues. "What do you mean
by that?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is Morgan. I want to know where the bastard is
holed up."

"Our Father?"

"Stop calling him that!"

Fell and Anise stared at her as if she'd told them not to call the sky blue or the grass
green.

Sonja cursed and stepped away from Fell, motioning for him to join his mate. "Get
up!"

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Fell looked toward Anise, then back at his attacker, as if expecting a trick.

"I
said get
up!" Sonja snarled, kicking him in the rump. This time he did as he was
told, hurrying to where Anise stood. Fell wrapped his arms protectively around his
wife, glowering at Sonja with unalloyed hatred.

"Well, if this ain't a fine little family reunion, eh?" She chuckled and twisted the
poker into a pretzel. "I guess Big Daddy never told you you had an older sister. Not
surprising, though. I doubt he knows I even exist."

"Can my wife sit down?" Acid dripped from Fell's words.

Sonja shrugged. She watched Fell help his pregnant wife into her easy chair. Sonja
noticed that their auras were nearly identical, although the female's seemed the
more robust of the two. She idly wondered if that had something to do with the
mutant life form inside her.

On closer inspection, she saw that while the energy sheaths surrounding the two
were similar to her own, they were definitely weaker. She had learned a long time
ago how to guess the relative ages of various Pretenders by their auras. Anise and
Fell were still quite young, by Pretender standards.

That explained a lot of things. If her own early development was anything to go by,
they were still "mute"-incapable of telepathic communication.

"I'll give the bastard credit-he doesn't plan small."

"I take it you're referring to our Father."

Sonja grimaced. "Why don't you come off that 'our Father' bit, blondie, before you
piss me off so bad I forget I'm trying to be nice and rip out your fuckin' tongue?"

"Nice? You call brutalizing my wife and attacking me
nice?"

"So I'm lacking in some social graces."

Anise reached up and took her husband's hand in hers, her eyes fixed on Sonja.

Despite their reddish hue, they could still pass for those of a human. "You seem to
know a lot about our Father-Morgan, as you call him. I have never seen a creature
such as you, outside of Fell and myself. Not even our Father, the few times He has
favored us with His presence, is like us. You say you are our sister. How can that be
so?"

"You talk about Morgan as if he's some kind of god."

"He is our creator. He is our Father." Anise smiled up at her husband, who
squeezed her hand in return. Sonja felt a sudden, sharp pain of envy. "From His
essence were we conceived, and in His image were we shaped. We came into being
within moments of one another and have been conscious of no other life, no other
love."

Sonja fell silent, eyeing Anise speculatively. In 1970 she herself had emerged from a
nine-month coma and discovered her long-term memory was blank. She'd been
desperate for an identity, any identity, to fill the void inside her. It wasn't long
before she fell into the hands of a cruel, streetwise pimp named Joe Lent. Lent had
been more than willing to shape her in his image and prescribe the limits of her
world.

In the months between her initial awakening and the brutal beating that triggered
the Other's emergence and resulted in the bloody murder of her erstwhile
benefactor, Sonja had seen Lent in much the same light Anise and Fell viewed

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Morgan. And why not? Lent had given her life form and meaning. She had needed
him the same way an empty pitcher needs water. But that innocence had ended with
Lent's murder and the restoration of her memory. Her life had been a living hell
ever since.