Blood Song

you go, and I’ve made Jones promise

not to fol ow you. But I want you to check in every few hours. And if you feel anything odd, cal

immediately and I’l come get you. Okay?”

It occurred to me then that I was being given a rare gift—I was being let go. Warren’s vamp lectures

came back to tighten my chest and make my heart pound. Vampires are never let go once they’re in

any sort of custody. They’re staked, imprisoned, or tested. But they’re not let go. Crap. That could

disappear in an instant if I wasn’t careful.

“Thanks. I’l stay low-key. Mostly I want to do some research and catch up with people.” That wasn’t

precisely true, but mostly. I would do the research, when I had time. Right now there were more

important things I needed to be doing. So I grabbed my bag and the umbrel a and walked with false

confidence toward the sunlit entrance. Kevin started to come with me, but President Lackley stopped

him with a gesture and a firm, “I have a few more questions for you, Mr. Landingham. If you don’t mind.

”

He obviously did. But he didn’t argue. He couldn’t if he wanted to keep his job. Lackley was just in that

foul of a mood. I could hear him trying to cal Reynolds on the carpet, with minimal success. The doctor

had more backbone than I’d given him credit for. Too, he knew his stuff. This was a campus, with hardpartying students. Mine was not the first vampire bite he’d treated. Most individual bites aren’t fatal. A

single vampire can’t hold that much blood. Oh, they can deliberately open several wounds and let the

victim bleed out, but they general y don’t. Like al good parasites, they know the value of keeping the

host alive and in the larder. Only when there’s a group al draining a single victim, or a master vamp

siring a baby, do they drain a victim dry. Since a bat seldom attacks the same person twice— which

would imply more planning than most have—standard procedure is to replace the lost blood and put the

victim under a four-hour sleeping charm in case of complications. Which was exactly what Reynolds

had done, only with the added precaution of the restraints.

I could hear their voices, stil arguing, al the way to the parking lot as I walked out to my car in the

shade provided by the umbrel a.

I knew I looked ridiculous, and it pissed me off. Not enough that I’d risk second-and third- degree

burns, mind you—but enough to make me irritable. As promised, I got no hint—either scent or sight

—that Jones was around, which was a concern of a different sort. There’d been some real tension

between him and Kevin before Jones did his disappearing act, which made me wonder about their

relationship. They obviously weren’t friends. Former business associates most likely. And how the hel

had Jones vanished like that? Experts have been working on invisibility spel s for decades with no

success. Il usion maybe? That sort of thing is difficult, but at least marginal y possible for folks with

enough talent.

I pondered it al the way through the parking lot as I searched for my vehicle. Kevin had used the

spare key to fetch my car from wherever I’d left it parked. I juggled umbrel a, duffel, and keys as I

walked across the scorching asphalt to a spot in the very last row. There, tucked between two monster

trucks, sat my gleaming midnight blue convertible.

Wel , hel .

Yes, the top was up, but the thought that I might not be able to ride around during the day with the top

down just pissed me off even more. But I was alive. And I had more important things to think about. I

had a lot to do. First thing, I wanted to cal Gran. I was supposed to have had dinner with her last night,

so by now she’d probably contacted the authorities to make sure I hadn’t been in an accident. Then

again, maybe not. I do tend to work weird hours.

Second, I definitely needed to chat with the police. Something very weird was going on and I was right

in the middle of it. I mean, no bodies? I wouldn’t have gone out at night alone. I’d been scheduled for a

job. If I/we’d been hit, there would’ve been more casualties than just me. I’m good enough not to go

down without a fight. So, why no bodies? Who would move them? And why? Getting rid of that kind of

evidence takes real work.

I put my duffel in the minuscule trunk. It fit, but there wasn’t a lot of room to spare. I love my little

sports car. It is a joy to drive and everything I’ve always wanted. But practical it isn’t. I col apsed the

umbrel a and let myself into the car, dropping the umbrel a onto the floorboard on the passenger side.

The car was an oven. In seconds, sweat started to trickle down my back, between my shoulder

blades, and under my breasts. I started the ignition, put the air conditioner on ful blast, and set about

looking for clues.

The first and most obvious was the file folder sitting on the passenger seat. I knew what that was

—my research on Prince Rezza. That it was here in the car instead of in my files at the office said that

I’d actual y made it as far as going out to the job. More interesting to me by far was the little multicolored photo envelope peeking out from behind the seat.

I didn’t remember celebrating Vicki’s birthday, but apparently we’d done it. I flipped through the

snapshots over and over, trying to remember. We’d obviously had a great time. From the expression

on her face, she’d loved the mirror and the card. There were pictures of us laughing and hugging. But I

didn’t remember. I tried, but there was nothing. Not a damned thing. I felt a lump in my throat and a pain

in my stomach. Memories lost were just that—lost. Sure, there would be more smiles, but I’d missed

these and not even the pictures could give them back. They might as wel be photos of two strangers.

I slid the photos back into the envelope and reached over to open the glove compartment. Normal y I

tuck my cel phone in there when I go out on a job. After al , no cal s when you’re on duty.

It wasn’t there. I swore under my breath. If it wasn’t in the glove box, it had probably been in my

pocket. Which meant it was gone—along with who knew what al else.

Since I put the file in the car, I must have gone to the job, and I would have been wearing my jacket

and carrying my new gadget—both of which were valuable and neither of which I had any longer.

Dammit!

I thought about what to do as the car engine did its best to blast cooler air through the vents. I