Laws of the Blood 2: Partners (21 page)

“Della?”

“The lady at the shelter. I’ve been sleeping there,” Santini answered.

“Sleeping with her.”

Santini raised an eyebrow and gave a knowing wink. “Woman’s hot. Into things I only seen in porn movies.”

“Bites and scratches, does she?”

“Better her than what usually wants to bite me. You have a problem? You haven’t been sleeping at home. I’ve checked. You’re doing pretty Miss Charlotte. Della says so.”

“How would Della—”

“She says it’s inevitable—and a lot of stuff I don’t understand. Della sees things.”

Haven kept his response to himself. Della’s hallucinations and Santini’s getting laid were none of his business. Killing Danny and the demons were. And Charlotte.

He’d had sex with a werewolf. Jesus.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed a shave. He needed a plan.

He didn’t need the loud knock that sounded on the door just as he turned to go into the bathroom. Haven had a gun in his hand even as Santini moved to take a cautious look through the small window next to the door. They were not expecting company. Of course, the company they usually got wasn’t polite enough to knock.

“Charlotte?”

Santini shook his head. The biker looked disgusted, but he didn’t hesitate to unlock the door. Haven cautiously lowered the gun, but he didn’t put it down.

Haven almost wished he was being attacked by
vampires when he saw who Santini let into the room. “I’m tired of waiting for a report, Haven,” the woman said.

It was Special Agent Brenda Novak, the mother of the vampire he was going to track down and kill.

“Isn’t this fucking great?” he greeted the woman, and sat back on the bed, wishing he could pass out again.

“Not good enough! Pitiful creature! How am I supposed to work with the dregs of the streets? The sacrifice is barely worth killing.”

“I want to kill,” the Vessel said. “I like it when the magic flows into me. The way it’s building in me—I need the rush.”

“It’s not about you,” the Prophet snapped at the Vessel. “You serve a higher purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Vessel said. “You’re going to make us all immortal.”

“The one that idiot brought in last night is hardly worth the trouble of performing the ceremony. The Angel barely bled him. What was that fool thinking?”

“He doesn’t think,” the Demon said. “He obeys. All the kiddies are in off the street. Might as well light the candles and sharpen the knife.”

The Disciple listened, but only to make sure all the shouting, pacing, and raging in the other room didn’t disturb the Angel. He hadn’t dared close the door all the way, but he’d pushed it closed far enough to give a semblance of privacy with the Angel. Everyone was gathered, preparing, waiting. He’d have to join in the ceremony soon. They’d notice his absence in a minute.

The Prophet, the Demon, and the Vessel would call
him out, or worse, march in and disturb the Angel’s sleep with their complaints. They didn’t think the Angel could hear them in his holy sleep, but the Disciple knew better. He knew because the Angel spoke inside his head. Not often, and he had to listen very hard. It had to be utterly still, and they needed to be alone. It was best if he touched the Angel; then the Angel spoke to him skin to skin—no words or images when they touched, but the Disciple would
know
.

The Disciple knew the Angel was unhappy, deeply troubled. Giving and taking the blessing of blood was growing less important. The Disciple was worried about the heretics that searched the city even though the Prophet and Demon were smugly certain that nothing could happen to them.

All they thought about were themselves. They didn’t give a damn about the Angel.

But he did.

“I have to go.” He stroked the Angel’s strong white hand. He knelt and cupped the Angel’s beautiful face in his hands. “We’re going to have another sacrifice,” he told his lover, his master, his Angel. “To help you.”

Some of it would. The ceremony would grab the sacrifice’s soul and transform it. Some of the magic would go into the Vessel, stored for the Great Transformation. But some of that magical energy, far less than the Disciple liked, would serve to protect the Angel. They needed something, someone, stronger. It was up to the Disciple to find a truly powerful sacrifice.

“Tonight,” he promised his sleeping lover. “Tonight I’ll bring you what you need.”

•••

“I kicked major butt. Me. Char. Nighthawk. Enforcer. Hunter. Me,” she addressed a passing gull. “That’s me.” Char giggled, glad to be alone on the top section of the observation deck. The water below was smooth and beautiful, black and deep out here between the island and the city. She pressed a closed fist to her chest, then punched the air a couple of times. Her eyes glittered in the dark that was not dark to her. She wanted to crow. “Superhero. With my secret identity intact. I’ve got what it takes. Really. How ‘bout that?”

Char turned her face to the wind, lifted her cup of Starbucks in a salute to herself, and looked back on the city skyline as it receded in the distance. She took in a deep breath of sea air and smiled. This was her third ferry trip between Seattle and Bainbridge Island tonight, and she wasn’t bored yet. She doubted if she would be, even if she rode all night. It was about a half-hour trip each way on the big commuter ferry. It had still been rush hour when she’d come aboard soon after sunset among a huge crowd of pedestrian traffic. She’d stayed on after her fellow passengers disembarked. She was enjoying the privacy, and the water was soothing.

She chuckled, remembering that one of the legends about her kind was that they couldn’t cross running water. Terribly inconvenient, as well as ridiculous. She’d always loved the Washington State Ferries, even when she’d had to use them in the winter and had no aspirations of becoming a vampire. Okay, they made commuting hell and you had to live your life by the ferry schedule to get to and from the islands in the Sound.
But she still loved the big white boats that tied together the islands and peninsulas of Puget Sound.

On board the ferries, she could be part of the crowd and anonymous all at once. In the world but not of it. Besides, they had Ivar’s clam chowder in the cafeteria tonight. She’d had a celebratory bowlful for dinner, then brought her coffee up to the top deck where it was too windy and cold for even the tourists to go. Up here she could gloat a little without anyone being any the wiser.

I really am an Enforcer. When I had to act, it just came to me. I’ve been so scared it was some kind of mistake. Well, hot damn! As Mr. Haven would say.

“Jebel, baby, I owe you.” Not that he was anybody’s baby, of course.

Last night she’d been too busy to savor her victory. In fact, she’d been too angry at first at the vampire’s presumption at attacking Haven, then too concerned with seeing to Jebel’s injuries to even realize what she’d done. Then during the day, the daymare had been too vivid to let in any echoes of last night’s events.

Char shook her head, sobered by the knowledge that another mortal had been ritually murdered while she was frozen in her bed today. She finished the coffee and studied the lights of the city. Somewhere down near the water, a man had died horribly. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where, but she’d felt it happen. She studied the docks, gantries, and warehouses down by the shoreline. Somewhere in there was a sorcerer, a demon, and a dangerous buildup of energy that was likely to blow the city apart if she didn’t stop the fools soon. Laws or no Laws,
she couldn’t just find Daniel and walk away. Fortunately, she had a plan.

Char checked her watch. She had a plan, but a big part of it had better show up soon. She didn’t have all night.

She tapped her foot impatiently and concentrated on the city once more. It seemed to her that she should somehow be able to see the stored magic, that all that power should set off a huge, pulsing, hot glow. So far, the sorcerer had been able to hide a lot from her, and she didn’t like that one little bit.

Char gripped the railing and kept up her solitary watch for a few minutes longer. Then she decided that the combination of elation and trepidation had made her hungry. Maybe she’d get a hamburger from the cafeteria.

A woman rose with serene grace from a seat on one of the outside benches when Char came down the stairs to the next deck. There was no one near her. Char met the strigoi’s gaze, nodded slightly, and came to join her. “Hi, Connie,” Char greeted the nest leader of Carnation breezily.

She almost apologized for her tone when the nest leader frowned. Char knew very well that the reserved Constance ran a tight, old-fashioned household and didn’t go in for informality. In fact, Constance politely waited for Char to invite her to take a seat on the bench.

Char sat down and graciously gestured for Constance to join her. Then she held out her hand. Constance placed a heavy gold coin in Char’s palm.

Char looked at the incised image of a stooping owl on the coin, and her light mood sobered with the
seriousness of the moment. She clutched the coin in her fist. It was still warm from Constance’s hand. This was treasure indeed, the first acknowledgment that she was indeed Nighthawk, Enforcer of the Laws. Enforcer of the City. She gazed out once again on the skyline of Seattle, shaken with the wonder and rightness of it all. She’d been born here, twice. It was right that she would come into her own in the place that was her home.

In the meantime, it was time to put ceremony and sentimentality aside. She slipped the coin into a velvet pouch she’d brought for the occasion and tucked the pouch into her pocket. Char folded her hands in her lap, looked at the waiting Constance, and said, “Thank you for coming.”

Constance gave a slight nod. “I am at your disposal, Hunter.” She added, “Pascal sends his apologies for interfering in your affairs. He thanks you for his life.”

“He lives to hunt again.” Char smiled. “Soon.”

Constance tilted her elegant head to one side. She had high cheekbones and uptilted eyes. Char would have killed for the nest leader’s makeup secrets. Constance lifted one beautifully shaped eyebrow in question. Her serene expression hadn’t changed one bit, but Char was well aware of the woman’s intense interest. “You’re declaring a hunt?”

“Pascal mentioned that your nest is aware of a mortal sorcerer practicing in Seattle. How?”

“We don’t live that far from the city, Hunter. We come into Seattle sometimes. It’s hard not to be aware of the. . . dark spots. Not very pleasant. We’ve been avoiding Seattle for the last two months because of it.”

“You know about the serial killings?”

“Only what’s been mentioned on the local news.” Constance made a slight gesture. “None of our affair.”

It is now, sister.
Char said, “Do you know anything about a missing nestling? Or a demon?” Constance shook her head. “Didn’t think so. Never mind them. What I need from your nest is a hunt.”

Constance favored Char with a wide smile. “In time for the holiday. Happy to oblige, Hunter. Who do we hit?”

Char didn’t know exactly how many members belonged to the sorcerer’s cult, but there would be a great many fewer loyal minions for her and Haven to have to deal with after the Carnation vampires got in on the act. She’d had a few qualms about the deaths of so many mortals when she’d come up with the plan last night. That was before she’d felt today’s ritual. The minions had all been there. They’d participated. Maybe they were slaves to a vampire, but they were also helping a mortal commit vicious, dangerous crimes. Besides, Daniel was too young to have slaves.

“There’s a nut cult called the Angel’s Children. I want them all dead.”

Hunger flared in Constance’s eyes. “We’re a small nest, Hunter, but we’ll do our best. When do we hunt?”

The ferry was coming into the Seattle dock. Char stood up. “You have a place in town?” Constance nodded and told her a phone number. Char memorized it. “I’ll get back to you soon,” she told the nest leader and walked away. She thought she did a credible job of disappearing mysteriously in the crowd heading for the pedestrian exits.

“
T
HERE
’
S A SPLATTER
pattern on the back wall, Haven.” Novak swept the tight beam of the small flashlight she’d taken from her purse from the wall to the ground. “Bloodstains here. But nothing in the crime scene bears any resemblance to the serial killer’s signature. Local homicide isn’t my problem . . . even if you’re the perp. What happened to the body? I suppose the cult members took it,” she answered her own question. “More importantly, what did the attack have to do with Danny?” A hint of excitement entered her voice. “You must be onto something after all.”

“After all?” Haven asked.

“Don’t see any scorch marks,” Santini said, drawing Haven away from confronting the woman. Santini squatted and ran his fingers over the ground. “No ashes.” He sniffed, shrugged, and bounced to his feet again. Haven knew that his partner wasn’t going to say anything more in front of Special Agent Novak. Santini stepped back into the alley and walked into the darkness at the end of it instead. He came back in a few seconds. “Nothing in there.”

“How can you tell?” Novak asked.

“He can tell.”