Blood Song

“Yeah. Wish I knew what I needed help with.” I said it for Alex’s benefit, but it was the truth. Vamps

frequently run in packs, but they’re not organized. They don’t general y clean up their messes, either.

Something big was going down and, lucky me, I’d stepped right in the middle of it.

“Look, you’re only about ten minutes away. Come straight over. I’l meet you in the lobby and bring you

up. Otherwise people are liable to freak when they see you.”

She wasn’t wrong. Just on the short trip to the car from the lab I’d noticed a couple of people doing a

double take and hurrying away from me. Daylight or no, something about me scared them, even with

me carrying Emma’s pretty floral umbrel a.

Alex seemed to sense something in my silence. “Just get here. One step at a time.”

“Right. See you in a few.”

She hung up without saying good-bye, but then, she usual y did. I set the handset back in its cradle

and steeled myself to go inside. I wanted a replacement cel phone sooner than later. You can get a

basic phone cheap and easy at pretty much any convenience store—such as the one I was standing in

front of—and it only takes a couple of minutes to activate it and load up some minutes. Maybe I’d find

my regular phone. If not, I could get it replaced for a smal fee by the company that held my plan. But in

the meantime, I needed something.

I took a deep breath, told myself that it was broad daylight. Everybody knew that bats were nocturnal.

I’d be fine. I was stil repeating it like a mantra when the clerk behind the counter let out an earsplitting

shriek of abject terror, grabbed one of those huge multitank squirt guns, and began hosing me down

with holy water.

It wasn’t how I would’ve wanted to test whether or not I could handle holy water, but hey, I got lucky. It

didn’t burn. Nor did the cross she held up glow, burn, or react to me in any way. I was grateful for that.

But it embarrassed the hel out of me, and made me just a little bit pissed. Because everybody in the

store was staring and muttering to each other under their breath, even as the clerk apologized and

handed me paper towels to dry my face and hair.

I practical y threw the money onto the counter for the phone, the minutes, and a large blessed cross

set with enough rhinestones to blind the unwary, and ran from the store.

Sitting in my car, I fought not to cry. Stupid, real y. I was alive. The water hadn’t burned me, hadn’t hurt

me at al . For a brief moment, I was relieved beyond measure.

But I could stil see the expression on that woman’s face, the naked fear in her eyes, could see and

hear the pulse pounding at her throat.

It made my mouth water.

I hate feeling helpless. Yeah, I know, pretty much everybody does. But I hate it. I’ve spent years in

therapy, and more years doing just plain hard work, to gain as much control as I can over my life. I train

my body, my mind. I run my own business so that no one can order me around. I make sure that each

job is planned to the last detail, and that I have the absolute best equipment so that I can control

everything as much as I can.

Her fear had made me hungry.

How the hell was I supposed to cope with that?

I thought about cal ing in to my office, but I had to charge the phone first and then load the minutes. A

black and white police cruiser pul ed into the lot and I decided against using the pay phone again.

Apparently the clerk didn’t like that I was stil “lurking” outside. I said a couple of uncomplimentary things

under my breath and started the engine. I even gave the cops a cheery little wave as I drove past.

Bitchy? Possibly. But it made me feel just a teeny bit better. Today, I’d take every little bit that helped.

I’d stop by the office and check my messages after I finished talking to the police. I wouldn’t stay long.

I was already tired, and I had lots of things to do if I was going to get ready to hunt my sire.

I was distracted enough that I almost missed my turn. I managed to get onto the Loop, but I had to cut

across two lanes of traffic to do it. Traffic was lighter than usual, so I made good time. Normal y I’d

have slipped in a CD, but I turned on the radio instead. I was listening for the news. If I’d made it to the

job and the prince had gone down, it’d be a headline story at the top of the hour. If he hadn’t, the

politicos would probably sweep the whole thing under the carpet. Because while the press may love a

scandal, royalty general y doesn’t, particularly when the folks back home are fundamentalists.

The news came on just as I was pul ing into the multilevel parking garage that serviced the Santa

Maria de Luna PD. Nothing about the prince. In fact, other than the unrest in Pakistan and the peace

talks going on in the former Soviet satel ite nations, there didn’t appear to be much going on at al .

I knew from past experience that if I parked in the garage attached to the police department I could

take an elevator directly into the second-floor lobby of the building. No sunlight. Which, al things

considered, was probably a good idea. Yes, if I had to, I could use the umbrel a again, but I didn’t want

to. Maybe it was denial, or just plain stubbornness, but hiding from the sun just felt … wrong.

The parking garage was dim and cool enough to be almost welcoming after the car’s heat. The soft

sound of my sneakers was lost in the wail of a car alarm echoing off of the concrete.

Pressing the button for the elevator, I tried to shake off a growing sense of unease. This entire

situation was just too strange. Nothing made sense. Emma would never believe it, but I’m actual y a

creature of order. I plan things practical y to death, and then I double-and triple-check ’em. Because I

want to control what I can. Invariably there are lots of things you can’t control—completely

unpredictable things that force you to improvise and think on your feet. But if you’ve got a handle on the

other stuff, you have a better chance of success in dealing with the random crap. At least that’s what I

tel myself.

But in the words of my gran, this whole situation was “hinky” and “stank like week-old fish.”

The bel rang, and the elevator doors slid open with a gentle whoosh. I stepped over the metal

threshold onto white speckled linoleum waxed to a high gloss. Air-conditioning hit my wet clothes,

making me shudder. In the distance I could hear the soft rush of water over stone. I froze. Running

water—a big vampire no-no. Was it going to be a problem? The holy water hadn’t been. I tried to think

of a way of finding out without making a spectacle of myself and came up blank.

Screw it. Just suck it up, Graves. Squaring my shoulders, I marched toward the lobby. The piped-in

stream that fed the moat of magical water surrounding the holding cel s was surprisingly pretty. Not only

was the waterfal supposed to inspire peaceful feelings in the prisoners, but it also nul ified any spel s

that might try to break people out.

I passed it without so much as a flinch, which made me seriously happy. Thus far I was proving more

human than bat, which was just fine by me. I just hoped the trend continued.

I stepped into the automated scanners set to detect weapons and offensive magic. Warmth swept

over me, from head to toe and back up. When the light flashed green I walked over to admire the