Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) (25 page)

“Just trying to get the story,” Grady replied, and everyone laughed. He tried to join them, but bloody damned hell, it
hurt
. “Did everyone… Are they all safe?”

“All of the schoolgirls are safe, save one who…well, they’re not sure she’ll make it. But they’re doing what they can for her. Dr. Fintucket is the best at—at treating these sorts of injuries.”

Grady sobered.
Damn
.

“It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t gone in there,” said Barnett. “How you got them out the window like that—”

Linwood interrupted smoothly before anyone started asking uncomfortable questions. “And all the others—the ones who broke in to help you—they’re safe too.”

Grady nodded, though the action made his head thud harder. “And the—er—perpetrators?”

“Dead. All of them.”

All
of them? Even Iscariot? Could that really be true?

“That
was
very strange,” Barnett said. “I came in right behind Linwood, and one minute they were there, and the next—”

“Hello, Grady.”

Everyone turned to the new arrival—a handsome, well-groomed man with piercing, dark eyes and black hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He stood at the end of the bed, tall and imposing in a smart pinstriped suit and black trench coat with a fedora in his hand. He looked at the others standing around, then meaningfully at Grady.

“This is Max Denton,” Grady said, and went on to briefly introduce his visitors.

“Pleasure to meet you. I need to have a word with Grady here, but after, shall we meet for a pint—oh, blast, I forgot that’s illegal here. Bloody hell. How about I buy you each a cup of coffee, then? Sounds like you have some stories to tell, and I’d like to hear them.” He smiled pleasantly at the others, and no one denied they had “stories to tell.”

Arrangements were made for the cops to meet Max shortly after, and they all took the hint and peeled away.

When Linwood lingered, eyeing Max suspiciously, Grady said, “This is the bloke who sent me the note to meet him at the Gold Coast, Linny. We’ve got business.”

His uncle still didn’t seem to want to leave. But after Max met his eyes with a calm, steady look, he acquiesced. “I’ll look forward to hearing more about your ‘business’ over a cup of coffee.”

Once they were alone, Max took the seat next to Grady and withdrew several items from his pockets. “Salted holy water,” he told him. “Use it liberally—till it makes you want to scream. Then pour on more. Then you know it’s working. And this is a jar of unguent that will help you heal more quickly. It smells nice, but it’s very sticky. Do you still have the silver ring? That will help as well.”

Grady showed him the ring he’d replaced on his finger, as well as the cross necklace Linwood had held for him when he went inside the school. “The doctor put salted holy water on me already. It hurt like a live skinning, but I think the bites and scratches have already begun to heal.”

“Did he now?” Max paused from opening the small pot of salve. “And how did the doctor know to do that?”

“I told him. Right, Max, about yesterday, with Savina—”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “It was nothing. I was…well, I— Well, forget about it. I’m only here to bring you this salve—and to let you know, if you didn’t, that Iscariot is dead. Double-staked. Poofed into a cloud of dust.”

“That’s bloody good news. And though it might not matter any longer now that Iscariot’s gone, I have this for you.” With effort—because damn, he was sore, and everything seemed crunchy and painful whenever he moved, not to mention that his head still felt light—Grady reached for the small box on the bedside table where they’d put his personal belongings.

He was grateful that, though he fumbled with slow fingers and it took him forever to get the box onto his lap, Max showed no impatience, nor seemed inclined to offer assistance in order to move things along. Inside the box were several articles of his own—wallet, keys to his house and automobile—but also other items.

The first thing he withdrew was a square emerald—the item Iscariot was wearing that had emitted a nauseatingly green glow.

Max’s eyes widened with shock. “Rasputin’s amulet. How the devil did you get
that
?”

Grady couldn’t hold back a satisfied grin, though even that action, in the wake of hustling the box onto his lap, made him want to puke. “Snitched it right off his shirt just as he decided I’d be a good snack. It’s the simple magician trick of misdirection and distraction—you remember from talking to Harry.”

“Right. Well, I was more interested in picking handcuff locks than pockets,” Max replied with a wry smile as he took the amulet.

“I’d had holy water to drink before I went inside,” Grady added ruefully. “But it must not have permeated my blood soon enough to create an aversion.”

Max nodded. “That’s going to help with your healing, too. It’s an old trick of Max Pesaro—you wouldn’t know of him, but he’s legendary. I’m named after him, in fact—he’s my great-grandfather. Savina had that happen to her once as well—she didn’t have enough time to let it get into her blood before she was…bitten. That was…a difficult time.”

He looked back down at the emerald. “I don’t know how you managed it, but thank you. Surely the loss of this pendant weakened Iscariot, and that only helped us to kill him.”

“Us?”

“My daughter. Macey. Perhaps you’ll meet her some day. She was… She’s here in hospital too. I…uh…” His expression changed to one of pained chagrin, then closed off. “She’ll be all right. Right, then. Thank you again, Grady.”

“I also emptied his pockets, and that of three of the other goons who got close enough. I’m not sure anything is important.” Grady shrugged when Max looked at him with a strange side-eye glance. “Old habits die hard.”

Max made a show of patting his own pockets and checking for his timepiece, but his eyes glinted with appreciation. “Glad to have you on my side, then, mate.”

Grady pulled out the other items he’d taken from the vampires. He didn’t believe there was anything else significant, but Max would be the one to know.

“Keys…some coins…a few scraps of paper,” he said, poking through the small pile. “Wouldn’t have thought the likes of them would bother to pay for anything, but that looks like a receipt. I’ll take them; it might help us find out where the rest of the bastards are holed up. Thank you again.”

Grady shrugged. “Not sure why you’re thanking me. Anyone would do the same. If they knew.”

Max shook his head, his expression sober. “No, they wouldn’t. Believe me, I know.”

“So, what does this mean now that Iscariot is dead?”

“It means for the first time in thirty years, I might sleep well tonight.” Max smiled slightly, then stood. “And now, you should rest. I have to meet up with your copper friends to ensure none of them leave remembering what they saw today.”

“Linwood…can you spare him? He’s known for a while. He’s discreet, and with him being on the police force, it helps that he knows when there are incidents like this.”

Max nodded and stood. “Very well. I hope they let you out of here soon.”

“Tomorrow. At the latest. I’ve got a story to write.” Grady smiled wanly.

Max replaced his hat and touched his brim, then swept out of the ward just as quickly and silently as he’d come.

Grady took the jar of salve and began to use it. Max hadn’t lied—it was sticky as molasses, but it smelled fresh and clean.

The sooner he felt better, the sooner he could get out of this damned place.

+ + +

Max had delayed as long as he could. Now he was out of time.

Grady had been visited, the cops and young girls had been relieved of any memories related to fangs and bloodsucking, and the surgery to remove the stake and stitch up his daughter had been completed. Max had run out of excuses.

His hands were shamefully clammy as he approached the door to Macey’s room. He’d arranged for her to have a private room in the hospital—and willingly paid through the nose for the privilege. St. Joseph’s was a Catholic hospital, which meant there were crosses, crucifixes, and other vampire deterrents throughout the building and at every entrance, so she’d be protected from any unwanted visitors until he could get her out.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Macey’s eyes were closed, and she seemed to be breathing normally. He exhaled noiselessly, relief sweeping through him.

She’s sleeping
.

He could go, and he’d be able to tell Savina truthfully that he’d gone into the room and seen Macey.

Max turned, reaching for the doorknob…then stopped.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had no fear when it came to facing an entire battalion of undead, but his knees were knocking at the thought of being alone with his only child?

Of course, he
had
nearly killed her…

As if he’d sent his thoughts to her, Macey opened her eyes. They were clear and lucid.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked.

Damn. She’d been awake all along.

“No.” He stepped closer to the bed and looked down at her. She looked frail and fragile, small and pale, under the blankets and what he could see of the bandages around her injured shoulder. But he knew better. “How do you feel?”

“Iscariot’s dead. How do you think I feel?” She managed a wan smile, and Max felt a burst of pride and delight.

She was right: Iscariot was gone.

“Nice work,” he said, then glanced at the chair next to the bed.

She saw him look at it. “You can sit down. I’m too sore to be in a vengeful mood.”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “Christ, Macey, I’m so sorry about that.” His half-smile disintegrated and he felt a lump in his throat. “I could have killed you.”

Christ. He could have
killed
his own daughter.
The thought was simply horrifying, and he couldn’t get rid of it.

“I’ve missed being killed several times now, Max. I guess I’m just lucky.” She looked at him, and he was relieved to see compassion in her eyes. “You couldn’t have planned for that, and I’d have done the same thing if I were you. But you do have one hell of an arm. Even from that distance, it went right through me.”

“I wanted the bastard dusted,” he said from between tight jaws.

“You and I both.”

“Rather fitting that we did it together,” he said with another crooked smile. “Both at the same time. We couldn’t have planned it that way.”

“What were the chances?” she replied. After a moment she asked, “And what about the others? The girls? Anyone else? Did— How are they all?”

“All but one of the girls is safe. The man who was in there—he was a reporter, name of Grady—he’s here at St. Joe’s too, and doing all right. He’ll live. But the one girl…” His mouth flattened with regret and grief. “We aren’t sure yet whether she’ll make it.”

Macey sighed sadly, and they lapsed into silence.

Max had so many things he knew he should say…things long overdue, things that had been locked away so deeply they hadn’t seen the top of his mind for over a decade.

But the words weren’t ready to come, and so he dug in his pockets to pull out more salted holy water, and another pot of the sticky salve.

“You’ll heal well on your own thanks to the
vis bulla
,” he said, offering them to her. “But these will help speed up the process. And take away the pain.”

“Thank you.” She opened the jar and sniffed. “Hmm. Not bad.” Her hands dropped to her lap, the jar and its top still gripped in her fingers. She stared down at them. “I’m glad you were there. I don’t…I don’t know if I could have done it alone.”

A spark of warmth popped inside him. “You were brilliant, Macey. Every bit of it. I…I confess, there was a moment there when I was just waiting, enjoying, watching to see what you were going to do next. You’re going to make an excellent
Summa
Gardella.”

“Let’s not rush things. The current
summas
is still alive and well.” Her lips curved, and she looked down shyly. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Macey,” he began in a rush—because it felt like now or never, “I want to tell you how sorry I am about—”

She held up her hand. “Please, Max. Let’s not talk about that right now. I’m— I…don’t want to… Look, I’m glad you’re here, because I don’t know if I’d have been able to take care of Iscariot myself—especially with Chas being gone, and Sebastian, too. But beyond that…I’m not
ready
to think about…about you being here, you know, in any other capacity. All right?”

His spark of warmth fizzled out. “Right. All right.”

Take it slow.
That was what Savina had said. Take it slow, but accept responsibility.

Damn. This was just not the sort of thing he was good at. Not the sort of thing he understood how to handle. Women: daughters, lovers, mysterious chatelaines…

All of them—unless they had fangs or were in his bed, and even that wasn’t a given—were a source of pain and confusion to him.

“But you should know,” he went on stubbornly, “that I regret the last thirteen years.”

She looked up at him with liquid brown eyes. “So do I.”

+ + +

Returning to 1926 Chicago only a few hours after he’d left it caused Chas no small headache—literally.

Wayren had warned him, asking if he’d rather spend at least one full day in the Paris of a century earlier, but he’d declined. The sooner he returned with the skull and its tonguelike dagger, the sooner they could destroy the pyramid.

But as he walked along the street, making his way back to The Silver Chalice, his legs felt wobbly and his brain mushy. Nothing a glass of good Armagnac wouldn’t cure, he thought with a smile, patting the satchel he wore over one shoulder that contained four bottles of the ambrosia. Temple was going to be very pleased, especially when she learned he’d brought her three instead of two.

He’d considered asking Wayren to borrow her book satchel—the one that seemed to be able to hold an infinite number of volumes, but never bulked out or appeared heavy—so he could bring back an entire case of contraband, but he’d thought better of it.