Laws of the Blood 2: Partners (25 page)

The Disciple began to crawl toward the Angel, but the Angel didn’t look his way. He had eyes only for one of the beautiful women. He paid no attention to the Witch.

The Vessel laughed.

The Prophet said, “They’re all yours for the next two days.”

The Demon said, “It’s dawn.”

The Angel took a step away from the bed. He shook all over. He stumbled back, his body going slack. He fell on the mattress. As he did, he pointed at the prisoner. “Mother?”

“Where have you been, sweetheart?”

“How’s Santini?”

“In a coma. Where you been?”

Char tried not to take in the ruin of the condo. Thinking about the wreckage might get her pissed off. Haven was seated on the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining area. His shotgun rested beside him. All the
chairs were broken. So was the table. The dishes had been pulled from the cabinets and smashed. It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t her stuff. She took a deep, calming breath. Jimmy Bluecorn wouldn’t know or care that a mortal had had a tantrum in his old home.

She looked at the large black nylon bag on the floor at Haven’s feet. It was longer than it was wide and had a shoulder strap. “What’s that?”

“Been shopping.”

She nudged the bag with her foot. Definitely something metal in there. “Doesn’t feel like a sword.”

“Where have you been?”

Char gestured, taking in the shattered contents of the condo. “Avoiding a confrontation.” She put her hands on her hips. “I assume you did this and that it wasn’t the demon’s minions that broke in.”

He shrugged. “I got a little frustrated when I didn’t find you at home.”

She could picture exactly how it had happened, though she’d spent a day dream-riding in a different part of town. Haven would have sat by Santini’s hospital bed, thinking over everything that had been said and done between him and her. He’d weigh the experience against his mission to rid the world of monsters. And he’d choose to make a vigilante raid on her place.

“Stopped by to bring me a present, did you? Something for our
wooden
anniversary.”

“Thought you might like a stake,” he admitted. “Didn’t want to wake you up, since you work nights. Was just going to plant it and go.”

“Sorry I wasn’t here.”

She almost was sorry; he would have found the results surprising. Most likely a wooden stake would bounce right off her tough Enforcer’s hide. Then again, knowing Jebel, she figured he’d have sawed off her head and filled it with garlic for good measure and probably burned her body. A simple stake through the heart wouldn’t be good enough for Jebel Haven. They’d slept together, they’d worked together and laughed and eaten and talked. But she was a monster. Accepting her as a person was wrong if he wanted to keep his narrow, focused point of view. He had a score to settle and a conscience to assuage for almost letting her get to him. More than almost—or he wouldn’t have made a mess of the place where they’d spent so much time together. She’d been right to think that trusting him through the day would have been mistake.

Char picked up a piece of broken chair leg and held it out to him. “I’m home now.”

He batted the impromptu stake out of her hand. “Bitch.”

“Ambivalence sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You’d know about sucking, sweetheart.”

“Bitch,” she snarled back. “Listen, Jebel. If one of those desert monsters you hunt bit you, it would be over. Death is sweet release from what those creatures do to people. But if I were to bite you, it would be a whole different ball game.”

He looked at her with narrow-eyed fury. “What would it be, sweetheart?”

“Heaven.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for awhile. He
looked away first. He jumped off the counter and shouldered the black bag. It looked heavy, even heavier after he put the shotgun in it. “Sleep well, sweetheart?”

“Not particularly. We didn’t find Della last night. Couldn’t feel her today.” Char took a step back. “Are we allies again for the evening?”

Haven spat. She bit her lip rather than complain. “Yeah. Why not?” She was surprised when he put his hand on her shoulder. “The first time we had sex,” he said.

“Was in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Did we really have sex, or did you—?”

“Make you dream it?”

“Yes.”

“Define reality.” Char fought the smile but lost. “We both came, didn’t we?”

He backed away from her. “Stop confusing me.”

“Too late. Let’s get to work. While you’ve been trashing my ex’s place, I have been rousing the rabble.” She decided it was best that Haven not know about the Carnation nest’s role in the rescue. Both she and Helene Bourbon had spent their sleeping hours at Helene’s safe house monitoring and attempting to increase the tension growing in Seattle. Not that it had taken much work. There was a dark anger already present in the city.

It affected the outsiders who’d come to protest the trade organization meeting even more than the citizens who’d lived with the magical radiation from the ritual murders for weeks. Tempers were ready to blow at any excuse. With the arrival of both the trade delegates and the protesters with many agendas, the mob exploded.

The nest members were out among the rioters tonight, working. Constance and Helene were supposed to call her with periodic updates. She was willing to bet they wouldn’t remember; a hunt without the gnawing drive of blood fever would be too much fun.

“What rabble?” Haven asked.

“I keep a radio on when I’m asleep,” she equivocated. “I’ve been monitoring the local riots. The city isn’t exactly going up in flames, but the protesters are keeping the authorities busy. No one will notice our activities.”

“Good thought,” he had to agree. “Baker’s not here to cover my usual trail of violence and destruction. And there’s a lot more cops per square inch in Seattle than my usual territory.”

“So nice to work with someone with your lack of scruples. Because I have a simple, if somewhat brutal, plan,” she said. When he gave her a questioning look, Char explained, “So far, we’ve had more luck finding where the demon and sorcerer
aren’t
hidden than where they are. We need to catch and question one of their minions. Then we’ll know where to look.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “In theory.”

“You have a better idea?”

“I’m working on it. Why’d you come back here?” he asked as he followed her toward the door. “Looking for me? Or did you just want to take a shower?”

“I enjoy your company, Jebel.”

“I’m bad-tempered, violent, and wanted to drive a stake through your heart.”

“Fine qualities in a monster hunter. My heart is
definitely not safe with you.” She sighed. “That doesn’t mean we don’t make a good team.”

He put his hand over hers as she reached for the doorknob.

She turned back to face him. “Yes?”

He kissed her, swift and hard. It was quite unexpected and wonderful and lasted only a few seconds.

“We’re quite ridiculous,” she told him.

“Have you put a spell on me?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Haven.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You’re not my type. And no jokes about blood types, please.” A few nights ago, she would have felt like a hypocrite, completely guilt-ridden and mortified to be kissing him, talking to him like this. A few nights ago, he was her lawful, chosen prey. He still was, but all the polite, civilized constraints she’d lived by before meeting Haven didn’t matter right now. She needed him.

To kill a demon,
she reminded herself. She stopped looking into his deep brown eyes and finally managed to open the door. “We had better concentrate on saving lives.”

“Killing demons and vampires—”

“And sorcerers, oh my.”

“We’ll take my Jeep,” he said and led the way down the back stairs. “For once I want to drive.”

“Have a destination in mind?” she asked when they were in his vehicle.

“You’ll know when we get there,” he answered and pulled into the street. “Tell me about this sacred magical vampire holy day,” he said as he drove. “What happens
that makes it so special? The mouth of hell open or something?”

Char stared at him in confusion. “What sacred vampire—oh, you mean Blessing Day.” She laughed.

“What’s so funny? I thought the world was going to end on this Blessing Day.”

“Vampires don’t want to end the world—especially before they get the chance to exchange all the gifts they don’t want. One of the Laws is to always keep your Blessing Day present receipts.”

“But—”

“The new moon before the winter solstice is just—Blessing Day.”

“But what is it?”

She pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers and made a decision. “What the hell, I’ve already told you too much. Vampires have a religion, and all religions have festival days. Blessing of the Knives is the holiday’s full name.”

“Charming.”

“But no one calls it that anymore. It’s sort of the opposite of the winter solstice celebrations. Mortals have ancient fire festivals in the middle of winter to reassure themselves that the sun will return soon. Vampires have a festival that revels in the long nights of winter, but sadly commemorates the fact that the days are destined to get longer. These days it’s more like what Christmas or Hanukkah have become to most Americans—a chance to party and give presents.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Blessing Day’s no big deal.”

“But last night you said—”

“That the sorcerer would assume it has significance. His research is going to be ninety percent bogus. Has to be.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause the Enforcers have spent hundreds, maybe thousands, of years keeping information about our people away from mortals.”

“This guy knows enough.”

“To be dangerous. If he’s planning to kill a vampire to steal his immortality—”

“And why should I mind his doing this?”

“Because of all the other people he’s killed and is going to kill.”

“Right.”

She peered at a figure standing under a corner streetlight as Haven slowed to a stop. “Is that Santini?”

“Yes.”

“You said he was in a coma.”

Haven ducked his head and smiled. “I lied.”

S
ANTINI WAS COVERED
in bruises, wore a bandage on his head, and a manic grin on his saturnine face. He was also carrying a huge crossbow and had something Char suspected was a flamethrower. He said, “Hi,” stowed his gear, and climbed in the backseat of the Jeep.

“I feel underdressed going to this party,” Char commented. “All I’ve got is a knife.” Haven tilted an eyebrow sarcastically at her. “And big teeth and claws,” she added. “But I don’t use them on mortals. Generally.”

“Wanna borrow a gun?”

“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “I’d like that.” Haven reached over and opened the glove compartment. She took her pick of several firearms inside and tucked the .22 into her waistband. “Thanks.”

“You know how to use that, right?”

“Yes.” In theory. She’d had lessons. It seemed the sort of thing an Enforcer should do. Teeth and claws weren’t everything. Though the karate lessons had been a mistake. She never could fake being slower and weaker than her instructor.

Santini reached from the backseat and patted her on
the shoulder. “Della says you’re wussy but have a good heart. I promised her I wouldn’t open you up and take a look for myself just yet.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Char said.

“Glad you didn’t do her today,” Santini said to Haven. “We need her to get Della back.” He touched his forehead. “Della talks a lot.”

She certainly does
, Char thought, curious to find out what the former companion had told Santini about the strigoi. People get lonely, then they talk too much to anyone willing to listen. Look at her and Haven, for example.

“Where are we going?” she asked Haven.

“A lake,” Santini answered. “We need to find a lake.”

Haven ignored his partner for the moment. He still had some questions for Charlotte. “The guy who’s got the spell—the sorcerer dude. You said his information was ninety percent bogus. How’d he get these spells he’s using in the first place?”

“Internet, maybe. Maybe the ritual’s been in his family for generations. And the Vatican library was broken into a couple years ago. You’d be amazed at what’s in there. He might have got his hands on some black market grimoires from that theft.” She smiled at his snort of disbelief. She told him, “When people go looking for information about vampires, they’re likely to find trouble.”

“And when they get close to some truth?” he wondered. “What happens then?”

She gave him a sideways look, but her cell phone started buzzing before she answered him. She listened
to the caller, then announced, “Got one.” She flashed him a smile. Then, “Dead? I said to . . . oh. Suicide,” she told Haven. “Helene says the slave she caught chose death over dishonor.” She spoke back into the phone. “Keep hunting.”