Blood Song

Ivan’s expression grew distracted and I knew he was talking mind to mind. A telepath then. No wonder

he hadn’t bothered to check out Gibson and me the way I had him. He could look in our minds and see

who we were.

Then he could also see that I was serious. And I hoped he’d understand what I was about to do.

I went dashing down the nearest stairs, taking them three at a time, dodging last-minute arrivals.

Gibson was at my heels. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he gasped out.

I heard Ivan’s voice inside my head. They have unmasked and are detaining the impostor. We are

to pursue while our mage attempts a tracking spell. Sounded like a plan to me. But just in case they’d

taken precautions against things like tracking spel s and telepaths, I needed to think.

Kristoff wasn’t big, but he was practical y deadweight. Lydia—or whatever her name was— wouldn’t

want to lug him far, not alone. And they’d need a vehicle to transport him in. Probably a van or a

camper, so that he’d be out of sight in case he tried to raise a fuss. Not that he’d seemed coherent

enough to do so. But they’d want to be careful.

A catering truck? Nah. They’d be long gone by now, their work completed. As the soaring notes of the

national anthem began to play for the crowd and the television audience, a new thought occurred to

me. The press area. There’d be plenty of vans and trucks to choose from. It would be close to the

stadium, too. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to do any research. I had no idea where the news vans

would be. In the distance I heard the voice on the P.A. system order everyone to rise.

Good thought. I will find out.

It didn’t take Ivan long. Seconds later he was giving me directions. It wasn’t far. Just around the next

corner.

Gibson and I took the corner at a sprint. He looked like death, but he kept up, just a step or two to my

left. He gave a cry that was more a cough than a shout, and I saw them.

They were a third of the way across the crowded lot, heading toward a white van with the Channel 9

logo emblazoned on it in bold red letters. Erikson crouched inside the open doorway. He cal ed out a

warning to our quarry and reached inside the van to grab a long weapon. What the hel ?

Kristoff seemed to gain focus a little, managing to struggle weakly against his captor. But I barely

noticed. My eyes were only on Erikson, who had dropped into position and was preparing to fire.

“Look out!” I shouted to Gibson as I dodged between vehicles. I couldn’t see the shooter anymore,

but I heard the crack of a shot even over the sound of blaring guitars, and the window just inches

behind me shattered. He was good, scary good. I ducked my head and kept running, making myself as

much of a moving target as I could, using the vehicles for cover, doing my best to close on the woman

and her captive.

A second crack, barely distinguishable from the pyro-technics playing over the sound system, and I

heard the thud of a body hitting the ground. Glancing back, I saw a crumpled form in a slowly spreading

pool of blood on the pavement a few feet away.

The last words of the anthem trailed off, and the distant roar of jets flying in formation overhead took

their place.

Risking a look around the edge of the portable radar dish I was hiding behind, I saw Lydia less than

twenty feet from me. Though injured, she was rushing toward the spot where the prince lay on the

ground. The door to the van was empty, but its motor was running. Ivan lay col apsed in the open

ground between his prince and the van, the vehicle behind where he’d been standing splattered with

meat and blood.

I charged, shouting in rage and defiance, throwing myself into the woman with a jarring ful -body tackle

that sent us sprawling onto the pavement.

She was tough, and good. She rol ed with the impact, using my own momentum against me and

breaking free. I rol ed, too, gaining my feet, taking a defensive posture that put me directly between her

and her quarry.

The van was moving, heading for us. She glanced at it and seemed to make a decision. I readied for

an attack, but she did something I didn’t expect and couldn’t have prepared for. Reaching inside her

jacket, she pul ed out a ceramic disk not much bigger than a half-dol ar. It looked almost exactly like one

of the “boomers” I use, its spel released when the disk is smashed. As the van swung up beside her,

the side door open and beckoning, she threw the disk to the ground, shattering it. Her smile, as she

turned to jump into the vehicle, was pure predatory malice.

27

At first nothing happened. I didn’t feel any spel . I figured it must have been a dud, so I turned to help

the fal en prince. I was hefting him upward when I heard a hiss much like aerosol spraying from a can,

fol owed by soft male laughter that was purely sexual. It was the kind of laughter meant for dark nights

spent between silken sheets and just the sound of it tugged at things low in my body. I turned; I couldn’t

not.

He was beautiful. Not the twisted, frightening monster of my grandmother’s il ustrated Bible but a

perfect, heart-wrenchingly beautiful angel, with only the cant of his expression and the red tint in his

irises giving any hint of the corruption beneath.

A demon. I knew it, and the knowledge brought with it a fear that dried my mouth to cotton and had me

trembling with both terror and desire.

He gave a delicate sniff and laughed again. “Oh, my. A siren. I haven’t tasted siren in far too long.

And not a bit of faith to preserve you.” He smiled, taking a slow step forward, and my heart lurched in

my chest. “I’m going to enjoy this. I’l have to come up with a suitable reward for Lydia.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but I could stil move my hands. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I

fumbled blindly for the switch to turn on my little sensor car, and was rewarded by it coming to

screeching, almost deafening life, red light from the alarm showing clearly even through the thick denim

fabric.

He scowled, and even that expression was as beautiful as a cloud passing across the sun. “I’m

disappointed in you. Do you really want us to be interrupted?”

“Hel , yeah.” I’d meant to sound defiant, but I could barely get a breath of sound past my lips.