Blood Song

Glad he could find something funny about it. I didn’t. Most of my weapons, and al of my computer

files, were locked behind those wards. It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to get to

them. Crap.

I turned back to the desk and picked up the phone with my right hand as I thumbed through my oldfashioned Rolodex with my left.

I found the number quickly enough and was pleased when the tech support rep picked up on the third

ring—without routing me through an annoying voice-mail system.

“Moore Lock and Safe, Justin here.”

I blinked a couple times in surprise. Justin is the owner, and the man who most often comes by to

refresh the warding. I couldn’t imagine what was going on that he’d be stuck manning the phones.

“Justin, it’s Celia. We have a problem.” I settled into my desk chair as I explained to him what the safe

was … or, more accurately, wasn’t doing.

“Any chance you’re preggers?” he asked. “That kind of a heavy-duty biological change can play

havoc with the system.”

I stared at the phone for a long moment in silence. I couldn’t be. No. Not possible. But the question

itself was unexpected. It would never have occurred to me that sort of thing could be a problem. I

mean, yeah, you’re carrying a baby, but you’re stil you.

I’d been quiet too long. He let out a soft chuckle that managed to mix wry amusement with sympathy.

“Sorry or congratulations, whichever applies.”

“No, it’s not that.” I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, I’m not. But I got attacked

by a bat last night, and he tried to change me.”

The humor evaporated immediately, replaced by a flattering level of concern. “Oh, crap. Are you al

right?”

“Apparently the safe doesn’t think so.” I tried to make it a joke, but I couldn’t quite pul it off. There was

just the hint of a tremolo in my voice. I plowed on anyway, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Any ideas as to

how we can fix this?” Gibson was probably listening, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He opened

the door to the balcony and stepped out, then leaned against the railing and basked. Bright sunshine

il uminated the harsh contours of his face.

“Wel … um … wow,” he muttered under his breath while he thought and I drummed my fingers

impatiently on the desktop. “Theoretical y the same procedure should work. I mean, I’ve never tried it,

but the principle is sound.” He sighed. “And let’s hope it does, because if not you are so screwed.”

“What do I do?”

“We need samples with your DNA from before you changed. Hair, fingernail clippings, something like

that.”

“I can get some hair from my brush in the bathroom.”

“Good. Once you’ve got it, hit the reset button, do the voice recognition and the palm print, then say,

‘Pregnancy override.’ Two smal drawers wil open up beneath the palm reader. Drop the hairs in the

left one. The right one has a sharp point in it. Jab your finger on it until it draws blood.”

Ow.

“The drawers wil close, and the machine wil start cross-matching the DNA between the two samples.

It’l take about twenty-four hours. When it finishes, if you’re cleared, you’l get the green light and it wil

have reset to the ‘new you.’”

“And if it doesn’t?”

A long pause. “Cal me back.”

“Right.”

He hung up without saying good-bye—probably to go find and study the tech manuals. I went down

the hal to the bathroom I share with the guys from the bail-bonding company and retrieved my

hairbrush. I fol owed Justin’s directions careful y, with Gibson in fascinated attendance.

“Think it’l work?” he asked.

I sighed and steeled myself before stabbing myself on the finger prick. “Ow. It’s never a good thing

when the tech guys start saying things like ‘theoretical y’ and ‘in principle.’”

Gibson winced, but whether it was in sympathy or frustration at the fact that al my records were just

out of reach I couldn’t be sure.

“Even if it does, it’s going to be twenty-four hours before I can give you any more information.”

He put both hands on the back of the guest chair, leaning his weight on them. “You don’t have

anything that’s not in the safe? Written notes? Message slips?”

I shook my head. “Not real y. Everything’s on the computer …” I wound up leaving the sentence

dangling as my mind wandered. “Except … I remember the name and address of the place where I

reported for duty. I can take you there.”

He shook his head. “No way, Graves. This situation is a political nightmare, a freaking diplomatic

‘incident’ just waiting to happen. You’re going to give me the name and address of the building and

anything else you can remember about how you were hired, and then you’re going to stay the hel away

from that part of it. It’s going to be hard enough finding out whether the prince you were guarding was

the real deal or a body double and what happened. The State Department is going to have a fit, and

they’re going to want in. They’re also going to want you out of it except as a witness.”

“But—,” I started to protest.

“I’l keep you advised. But stay away from it. Trust me, you’l have enough on your plate, dealing with

the vampire end of things.” He was probably right. That didn’t mean I had to like it. I scowled at him but

gave him the information without further argument.

Gibson reached into his pocket, withdrew a notebook and a silver Cross pen, and scribbled down the

address of the hotel.

“I’l head right over. In the meantime, thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else

before I get back”—he reached into the breast pocket of his suit for a business card—“give me a cal .

Otherwise, I’l meet you back here, this time tomorrow.”

Crap. He was going to leave me stuck here without my car. I mean, yeah, he was in the middle of an

important investigation and it was only a couple of blocks, but I had that whole sunlight al ergy thing to

consider. “Right.”

He stopped so abruptly I wondered if he’d heard my thought. “Do you need me to take you back to

your car?”

I could tel from the way he said it, he was hoping I’d say no. He was just that anxious to get on with

the investigation.

“I can give her a lift.” Dawna appeared in the hal , carrying a tray with coffee and creamers.

“Thanks.” He took a Styrofoam cup from the tray and took a long pul . “I appreciate that.” He took one

more drink, then set the cup on the tray and started down the stairs.