Last Blood

He nodded. “I want.” He looked at Chrysabelle. “You have your blades?”

She patted her sides. “One on each hip, but it’s not going to come to that.” She reached out to Lilith. “Time to go home.”

Lilith tugged on Mal’s hand. “Him come.”

“I can’t, Lilith. Only very special people can go into that building and I’m not one of them, but you are. You and Miss Chrysabelle, okay?”

She stuck her lip out. “No kay.”

He took her small face in his hands. “You’ll see us again. I promise. Now be a good girl and go with Miss Chrysabelle.”

Lilith threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, then handed her over. “I hate that I can’t go in there with you. Anything happens and you need me, I’m coming in. To hell with the consequences.”

Jerem opened the door and held out his hand to Chrysabelle. She passed Lilith to him, then scooted closer to the door. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Promise.” She kissed his cheek and got out. Jerem shut the door.

She glanced at him. “Stay behind me, okay?”

“Will do,” Jerem said. “I know you want to handle this alone.”

“That and I don’t want any unnecessary casualties.” When he nodded, she turned her attention to the building in front of her.

The hallowed structure loomed over them, a symbol of power and sanctuary at the same time. Chrysabelle hoped the sanctuary part was still true. She inhaled and took Lilith’s hand. “All right, kiddo. Let’s go find your father.”

Chapter Forty-seven

Madam Mayor?”

Lola looked up from the news program she was watching. The holovision rarely had anything good on it these days. One of her security guards, Andrew, stood stiffly in the doorway of her den. He was one of the first fringe she’d hired, a good worker and second in command of the night shift. “Yes?”

“One of the patrols trailed the comarre from Mephisto Island to Little Havana.” He put a hand to his ear, pressing the receiver closer. “They’re there now. At Preacher’s. The vampire Malkolm is with her.” He listened again, then nodded. “They have a child with them.”

She sat up, pushing Hector’s head off her lap. “How can that be? A child? How old?”

He spoke into the mouthpiece on his lapel. “Approximate age of the child?” After a beat, he nodded again. “Young. Maybe two, ma’am. What would you like the patrol to do?”

“Nothing. Just watch.”

“Very good, ma’am. Have a nice evening.”

She waved him off and as Andrew left, she dropped her head back to stare blindly at the ceiling. Why on earth would Chrysabelle take a toddler to Preacher’s? Was she trying to pass the kid off as Mariela? And for what purpose? The Mariela she’d seen at Tatiana’s was grown. And a monstrous, killing machine. She shuddered at the memory. Her grandchild. It was… horrific.

Still, that didn’t explain what Chrysabelle was doing with a child of that age. Were she and Malkolm up to some kind of revenge? Against her? If so, why now? Why not do something to her at Tatiana’s when they’d had the chance?

She sat up again. Unless that hadn’t been Mariela at Tatiana’s. Maybe he and Chrysabelle had had possession of her granddaughter all along and never intended to tell her. Anger drove her to her feet, almost knocking Hector off the couch.

“What’s wrong? Are you leaving?” he asked.

“I have business to take care of. I won’t be long. Follow me.” She strode down the hall, Hector trotting behind like a puppy. “Andrew,” she yelled. “Here. Now.”

The guard came running back. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Tell the patrol no one leaves that church. Detain them by any means necessary, but the child is to remain unharmed at all costs.” When he nodded, she continued. He fell into step beside her. “Bring the car up front immediately. As soon as I’m suited up, we’re going out there.”

“Anything else?” He broke off toward the front of the house, but waited for her word.

“No. I’ll be five minutes.”

“Very good.” He bolted for the door, already sending orders out through his radio.

She diverged into her room and opened the newest section of her closet. A Kevlar vest, tested to withstand direct blows to the heart, hung waiting. She shed her blouse, then lifted it, hefting it over one arm. Hector jumped in to help, getting her strapped in quickly.

“I hate when you wear this. It frightens me,” he moaned.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me; it’s just a precaution.”

“I still worry,” he said. “You should feed before you go, for the protection. My blood is stronger than ever with the new vitamins I’ve been taking.”

Vitamins? That might explain the change in taste. She didn’t know anything about these vitamins, but if they could make her stronger she was all for them. “I fed this morning. That will have to do. I don’t have the time now.” She tugged on a sweater over the vest, then grabbed her gun and slid in a clip of silver bullets. Just having the gun tucked into her shoulder holster made her skin itch from the silver being so close, but that was a small price to pay to have some protection. She added a light jacket to cover the holster, then turned to Hector. “Don’t let anyone into the house until I get back, got it?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “I could come with you. Help you.”

“No. Don’t make me say it again.” There was no time for his drama now. She left the room, knowing he’d follow.

The car was waiting when she walked through the front door. Hector hung back, moping. She forced herself to smile at him. “Just think, I may be coming home with my granddaughter.”

He clapped his hands. “Why didn’t you say so? Go get her!”

She got into the car and one of the guards shut the door. Nerves skipped along her skin. “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she said to herself. “And this time, I won’t leave any loose ends.”

Mortalis stood guarding the door when Creek returned from fetching the Cuban coffee Mawmaw had insisted on. A neighborhood like this must house a few of Dominic’s enemies; no wonder he’d wanted Mortalis to keep a lookout. Creek gave the fae a nod as he walked back into the machine shop. Mawmaw had declared Creek’s brand of coffee too weak to wake a fly. He imagined what she really wanted was a chance to speak to Dominic alone before everything came out.

“Here you go, Mawmaw. Cream and extra sugar, just like you asked.” He handed her the coffee, then sat on the cable spool.

“Thank you, Thomas.” She popped the top and blew on the steaming liquid. She tapped the arm of the chair where Dominic sat as if she were calling a meeting to order. “Go ahead, tell him what he wants to know.”

Jacket unbuttoned but still looking uncomfortable, Dominic began. “When I came to New Florida with Marissa, Chrysabelle’s mother, things were not good for us. We were forced to leave Corvinestri with little more than the clothing on our backs. Marissa was severely injured during the fight required to gain her freedom.”

“Libertas,” Creek said.

“Si.” He crossed one leg over the other, picking at the crease of his pants. “She was paralyzed from the waist down.” Not a spark of silver in his eyes. Instead, he seemed to stare blindly at a spot on the arm of the chair. “None of that mattered to the way I felt about her. I loved her regardless. I knew her feelings for me were not as strong as mine for her, but I understand now why that was. Everything she did, she did in the hopes of saving her daughter.”

He smiled a little. “Marissa was such a fighter, so strong-willed and so beautiful.” One hand drifted to his