Bloodstone

“All right.” I took a deep breath. “From the beginning.” I told him everything that had happened from the time he’d dropped me off until I walked through his front door. Well, I did gloss over the bachelorette party, saying only that some Creature Comforts customers, fooling around, had started spraying champagne at each other. The party, the bride-bitch, the idiotic dominance contests—somehow, discussing the commitment rituals of werewolves with my lone-wolf boyfriend would feel more than a little awkward. I didn’t want him getting any ideas. Not now. I was comfortable with things as they were.

There are some areas where I’m perfectly happy being a craven coward.

“So Juliet’s safe,” I wrapped up. “I’m worried about her wound, but maybe with some rest she’ll start to heal. I’ll try to convince Axel to let me see her when I go back after sunrise.”

Kane got up and paced in front of the sofa, rubbing his chin. He stopped abruptly and turned to me, his expression troubled. “She asked for me.”

“What?”

“Juliet. She asked for me as her attorney.”

“Yeah, so? You’re a lawyer. You specialize in paranormal cases.” Kane was the most famous paranormal- rights lawyer in the nation, possibly in the world. What vampire in trouble wouldn’t want his counsel?

“Look at the timeline, Vicky. I get a call asking me to meet with her ASAP. Within two hours, these creatures—the same kind that attacked me in Washington the night Justice Frederickson was murdered—show up to bust Juliet out of jail.”

It took me a second to process what he was saying. “You think she was setting you up?”

“Doesn’t it look that way?”

“I can see why it does to you.” Even though you’re wrong, wrong, wrong. “You believe she was involved in Frederickson’s murder, so of course you’d think she’s out to get you. But we don’t know what happened in Washington. What if she went down there to try to help you?”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, she didn’t get a chance to tell me anything. But she did try to tell me, several times over the past month, that she was working against the Old Ones, not with them.” I described the postcards I’d received—the international postmarks, the hints that Juliet was trying to stave off some danger related to the Old Ones.

“You’ve gotten five of those? You never told me.”

“If I had, what would you have done? You’d have wanted me to take them to the police. I wasn’t going to do that.” Juliet had already been running from the Old Ones. I wasn’t going to put the cops on her trail, too.

I set my jaw, expecting to see anger in his face. Instead, what I read there was hurt.

“You didn’t trust me,” he said.

Shit. I’d rather have him fuming—anger I could deal with. This was harder, especially because he was right, about the postcards, anyway. I could have told him about them, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. I simply waited, hoping Juliet would find a way to let me know if she needed my help.

Now I didn’t know what to say.

Kane stared at me for a moment. Then he sighed.

“All right. Talk to her. Find out her story.” He covered my hand with his, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. “I know she’s your friend, Vicky. But I don’t trust her.”

In a way, I understood his distrust. Vampires are notoriously self-centered. Most vampires’ personalities are an unholy blend of narcissism and deviousness that make Machiavelli look like Mister Rogers. Most of the time, I’d agree with Kane’s caution. But this time, I thought he was mistaken. Juliet was no altruist, but she wouldn’t betray a friend.

Kane raised his hand and touched my cheek, and I remembered my face was smeared with blood.

“I need a shower,” I said, pulling away.

“I don’t know,” he said, tilting his head. “That whole bloodon-the-face look is kinda sexy to a werewolf.”

“Good to know. But I’m still taking a shower.”

I’d taken two steps toward the bathroom when he grabbed me from behind and pulled me close against him. “Need someone to wash your back?” His voice was soft in my ear; his warm breath against my neck sent little sparks through me.

I turned toward him and put my arms around his neck. “You know,” I murmured, my lips brushing his, “that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

WHEN THE POUNDING ERUPTED ON THE FRONT DOOR, I was in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, combing my hair. Kane had gone out to the living room to put away his work for the night.

He answered the door. Then it closed again, and I heard three voices: Kane’s, a woman’s, and another man’s. The man’s voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

I looked around the bathroom. I didn’t have a bathrobe here (note to self: buy second bathrobe for Kane’s place), and I wasn’t going to put on the torn and stained dress that lay on the floor. Instead, I picked up Kane’s discarded shirt and pulled it on. Under it, I rewrapped the towel around my waist, like a sarong, and strolled nonchalantly into the living room to see what was happening.

Kane sat on the sofa, wearing his bathrobe and looking completely at ease. Across from him, in a leather chair, sat a female zombie dressed in a blue blazer, yellow sweater, and navy pants. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was blonde; she’d probably looked good once in that shade of blue. Slouching by the door stood a norm I recognized. One I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see.

“Norden,” I said, “I heard you were out of the hospital.”

He snorted, not a pleasant sound. “Yeah, my insurance ran out so they booted me. Too bad. The food was lousy, but at least somebody else cooked it.” Elmer Norden had been providing security for Deadtown’s Paranormal Appreciation Day concert when Pryce loosed the Morfran to feed on the zombies. Norden tried to stop him, and my “cousin” had nearly killed the guy, slicing him up badly. Now, Norden seemed back to his usual caustic self: short and sneering, with a pitted complexion and piggy eyes. The scars on his face only made him look meaner.

I glanced at the zombie who’d arrived with him, then back to Norden. “You’re back on the Goon Squad?”

“Yeah. They couldn’t keep me off it, since the mayor gave me an award for my actions at that goddamn concert. I don’t remember shit about that night.”

“You were brave.”

“Yeah? Well, I hope nobody expects me to act brave again. I’ve had enough of that shit. And now, my first night back on the squad, I manage to run into you. My luck stinks, you know that?”

“No worse than mine. So why are you bothering us, anyway?”

“We got some questions for your boyfriend here about a vampire who broke out of our holding facility. He looked at the notebook in his hand. “Juliet Capulet. Says here she’s your roommate. So we got questions for you, too.”

“Then I’m going to get dressed before you ask them. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, put some pants on, for God’s sake. McFarren, go with her.”

“What?” the female zombie and I asked at the same time.

“Go with her. This freak’s into knives and shit like that. I don’t want her charging out of the bedroom with a goddamn sword.” He shooed at her with both hands. “Go on. Make yourself useful for once.” He turned to Kane. “Can you believe it? Two chicks on the entire goddamn Goon Squad, and I draw one of ’em as my partner. See what I mean about my lousy goddamn luck?”

The zombie got up and followed me to the bedroom. We introduced ourselves on the way. Her name was Pamela McFarren—“But everyone calls me Pam”—and she’d been a corrections officer before the plague had turned her into a zombie. Like two thousand other Bostonians who’d woken up to find themselves zombified, she’d lost her job and her home when she was forced to relocate to Deadtown. “I didn’t mind,” she said, shrugging. “Moving out of the South Bay House of Correction and onto patrol was really a promotion.”

“Even with Norden as a partner?”

She barked out a laugh. “Hey, I worked in corrections. He’s a pussycat compared to some of the people I dealt with there.”

“Norden” and “pussycat.” Two words I never expected to hear in the same sentence, unless it was