Out for Blood (33 page)

That matched the number of blackouts. “What did you make me do?”

Her mouth took on an ugly shape. “Made you persuade the mayor to set the curfew. Made you side against the vampire and his whore. All necessary. All to set you free—”

“Shut up.” He grabbed the leather cord off the table and dangled the charm in front of her. “Why do you want me to wear this so badly?”

“P-protects you,” she stuttered.

He reached back and scooped up another handful of salt. “I’ll ask you one more time. What does this do?”

She cowered as far back as she could within the confines of the circle. “Opens you up to me and keeps you safe. Otherwise you would die when I left you.”

He had a feeling that wasn’t exactly the truth. “You used me.”

“No more than the Kubai Mata have,” she squawked. “The othernaturals must be removed. They are polluted with evil. Their blood taints our land.”

“You and I are done. Do you understand? Done. I don’t want to see you. No showing up in my bed, no flock of ravens following me on my bike, nothing.”

The whites returned to her eyes and she smiled. “You cannot be done with me. We are together always. You saved my life.”

“I didn’t save your life. You said it yourself—there’s no death for the soulless woman. You would have been fine inside the belly of that demon. You trapped me.”

Her smiled stretched farther across her face than was natural, and her hands fluttered at the edge of the circle as if wanting to touch him. “Let me go and I will show you again how good we are together.”

“I’m going to let you go, but then you’re going to leave and never come back. Understand?”

She nodded, the lust in her eyes barely hiding her contempt. He had no doubts she’d try to possess him again as soon as he brushed the salt away. He was counting on it.

He slid his boot out and kicked a hole in the salt circle.

She gathered like a rising storm cloud and thrust forward, plowing into him with the intensity of a hurricane gust. He staggered back with the force, feeling her struggle inside him. He knew instantly this was why she hadn’t tried to possess him until he’d worn the charm. Whatever the KM had done to him didn’t agree with her; that much was painfully clear.

His ears rang from the inside with her screeching. Out of reflex, he clamped his hands over his ears as he fell to his knees. She was trying to seat herself in him and tearing him apart in the process. Raking his bones with her talons, shredding muscle and sinew as she fought against the power sealed into his flesh.

At last she burst free of him. She hovered before him, barely resembling the Yahla he knew. Smoke trailed off the singed remnants of her feathers; blood dripped from the hooked black beak of her mouth. Her body was a shifting mass of bird flesh and human limbs. She opened her beak once to caw at him, then dissolved into a flock of ravens. They shot straight up, shattering the dirty skylight and raining broken glass over him.

He collapsed as the shards bit into his skin, knowing he was about to pass out but unable to stop it. His last thought was for Mawmaw’s safety, his last sight the dirty concrete floor sparkling with broken glass and black feathers.

Chapter Thirty

C
hrysabelle closed the door to the hurricane shelter where Mal was catching up on his daysleep, his last kiss still cool on her lips. Calm filled her, despite the situation they were preparing for. Whatever happened, they would face it together, and she had faith that the holy mother would bring them safely back, Damian included.

Velimai met her halfway to the living room.
Mortalis just dropped Nyssa off and is on his way to Dominic’s tailor with Mal’s measurements. She’s having a cup of tea and a muffin in the kitchen. You should eat. It’s going to be a long couple of days.

“I’ll eat a big lunch. I’m too wound up to eat right now. I’d rather go upstairs and start looking through the dresses. Which room?”

Last room in the east hall, right next to the gym. The key is in your mother’s jewelry box in the bottom drawer.

“I thought that door was another entrance into the gym.”

Velimai smiled wryly and shook her head.
See you in a few minutes.

Chrysabelle headed upstairs and retrieved the key. It was just where Velimai had said it would be, tucked into the bottom drawer of the jewelry box Chrysabelle hadn’t paid much attention to. She hadn’t had a reason to, but maybe for this ball she would borrow a few pieces to make her outfit convincing.

Key in hand, she headed down the hall, passing the same rooms she walked by every time she went to train. When things calmed down, she’d investigate the rest of the house. Would Damian want to live here with her? It was as much his house as it was hers. The whole property was. She’d have to talk to the Lapointe Cosmetics board of directors, let them know that the company was half Damian’s. Surely the corporate lawyers could take care of that paperwork.

Making plans like that filled her with happiness. Damian would be pleased to know there was something waiting for him when he returned to Paradise City. She smiled wistfully. It might take him a while to come to terms with having a sister. Comarré education gave no place for such intimately connected family. Hopefully he’d be as happy about the news as she was.

If only Maris had lived to know all of this. Chrysabelle’s smiled disappeared. No doubt if Maris were still alive, things would be different. She couldn’t picture her mother allowing a vampire, Mal or otherwise, into the house or approving of her daughter’s relationship with one. Would Chrysabelle be living at Mal’s? On her own? Or would things between her and Mal never even have developed?

That thought saddened her more than she expected. No matter how she’d fought her feelings for him, now that she’d accepted them, she couldn’t imagine not caring for him. It seemed as natural as breathing. She was still scared of what it meant for both their futures, still learning not to run from the difficult times, still coming to grips with what it meant to make decisions based on two people instead of one, but that’s what love was, wasn’t it? Compromise? Growth? Finding new ways to do old things?

If not, someone else would have to teach her, because nothing in her background had prepared her for this. The only relationship rules she knew involved the care and feeding of one’s patron.

Was that what had come between her mother and Dominic? Chrysabelle expected she’d read the full story in her mother’s journals at some point but had found nothing yet, and Dominic didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. Whatever had happened between them had left them both scarred and bruised.

Would that… could that happen to her and Mal? How would she know what to watch out for if she didn’t know what she was looking for? Maybe Dominic would give her a few clues. Or maybe she was being silly. Maybe whatever had happened with them would never even be an issue.

She trailed her fingers across the doors into the training room. With the time she’d lost to recovering after being dead and everything else that had been going on, she hadn’t sparred in days. She missed it, but when Damian was here, she’d have a permanent training partner. That would be wonderful.

Pausing in front of the storage room door, she fit the key into the lock and turned. After the soft click, she twisted the handle and pushed. The door opened with a soft hiss and a rush of air as the rubber sealing around the frame released. Leave it to Maris to preserve her things with an airtight closet. Chrysabelle felt the wall for the light panel, tapping the softly glowing green button.

The overheads flooded the space with cool light.

Racks of garments lined each side of the long room. At the end, ceiling-high shelves held handbags of every description, shoe boxes, jewelry rolls, and other accessories. Judging by the lack of color present in the clothing, Maris’s early days had been a struggle to wear anything that wasn’t white just as Chrysabelle’s were now.

She walked in, the scent of her mother’s perfume almost bringing tears to her eyes. There was no doubt to whom these things had belonged. Chrysabelle caressed the sleeve of one gown, the silk slipping out of her fingers like a whisper.

Behind her, a throat cleared. Chrysabelle turned to see Velimai and Nyssa standing there. She waved at the remnant. “Hi, Nyssa. Thanks for coming over so early.”

Nyssa nodded and signed,
Happy to help.

Chrysabelle’s hand strayed back to the silk dress, her fingers rubbing the soft fabric. “Velimai, why are these things in here? They’re all beautiful. Why not keep them in the closet in her quarters? She didn’t give up wearing white entirely. She wore it much of the time she was here with me.”

Velimai smiled a little sadly and her gaze drifted through the room. Slowly, her hands began to move.
These things… she loved them very much, but they were a reminder of…
Velimai’s words faded along with her smile.
This is everything Dominic ever bought her.

The declaration weighted the air with a heartbreaking poignancy. Chrysabelle nodded, not knowing quite what to say but feeling very much as if she’d just entered a shrine. The room held a fortune of things, but the cost wasn’t what staggered her. It was the effort that had been made on Dominic’s part. The pure display of love and affection that the items represented. And how her mother had packed them away, carefully preserving them but wanting nothing to do with them either. “He must have truly loved her to buy her all of this.”

Velimai shook her head.
It wasn’t just that. Your mother had a hard time leaving the comarré life behind. Perhaps it was the injuries she sustained during libertas or the friends she left behind or knowing that her children were still trapped in that life. Neither Dominic nor I could figure it out, but he did his best to surround her with the things she’d left behind. Beautiful clothes, fine jewels… she wanted for nothing. And yet, she was never really happy.

Imagining her mother longing for something unknown broke Chrysabelle’s heart a little. What was it that her mother had missed? Her daughter? Her head suddenly came up. “Wait, you said neither Dominic nor I. Exactly how long did you work for my mother?”

Long enough.
Velimai’s gaze hardened, and she gestured toward the racks.
We should pick a dress so that Nyssa can get started with the alterations.

“Yes, we should. There are so many to go through.” Chrysabelle let the conversation drop. Velimai was a tough nut to crack when she wanted to be. There was no point in pursuing what had happened between Dominic and Maris now, but certainly Velimai knew. Soon, Chrysabelle would get the wysper to explain. Then maybe Chrysabelle would understand better how to be with Mal.

Nyssa helped Chrysabelle go through the racks while Velimai, unable to touch most of the delicate fabrics due to her sandpapery skin, explained the last place Maris had worn each gown or in many cases, pointed out that it had never been worn at all. Indeed, tags dangled off much of what the closet held. Dress after beautiful dress was examined, but nothing quite fit what they were looking for. The dress had to be white and cover a good portion of Chrysabelle’s signum in keeping with comarré custom, and it had to be lightweight enough for fighting, with a skirt full enough to hide the slits Nyssa would add so Chrysabelle could easily access the daggers she’d be strapping to her thighs, yet not so full that Chrysabelle would get tangled in the fabric.

“How can there be so many dresses and still not one that works?” Chrysabelle hung yet another gown back on the rack. “I wish that pale blue gown was white. It comes pretty close.”

Wait
, Velimai signed. She walked the racks, peering intently at the garments as she passed. Near the end of the long room, she pointed to a large white box on a shelf near the ceiling.
Get that down.

Chrysabelle unfolded the stepladder tucked between two rack supports and climbed up. Carefully, she balanced the large box in one hand and came back down. “What is this?”

A dress that might work.
Velimai took the box and set it on the floor, then eased the lid off.

Precisely folded tissue paper covered the garment. Chrysabelle pulled back the first layer of snowy white wrapping. “Oh.” The word left her like a sigh.

Velimai nodded, waving her hand and urging Chrysabelle on.

She lifted the dress out of the box. The fabric fell loosely, unfolding to reveal a swath of white silk and shimmering lace. “This is… gorgeous.”

Try it on
, Nyssa signed, smiling.
Let’s see it.

Chrysabelle shed her loose tunic, pants, and half-cami, then stepped into the dress and eased it over her body. She moved so that Nyssa could zip it and tie the sash around her waist. Then she turned to face the mirror on the back of the door.

And let out the breath she’d been holding.

The skirt was full enough to take the necessary slits, descending from a narrow waist defined by a gold-embroidered sash that looked as if it might have once belonged to a Medici countess. Lace flowed from the straight strapless neckline to hug her upper chest and arms, sheer enough to show off her signum, except that they blended with the design and luster of the lace so well it was hard to tell what was gold and what was lace. It revealed her and hid her at the same time.