Blood Song

“No problema.” She gave him a smile that could’ve lit the entire West Coast.

She watched him for a ful minute, until he disappeared from sight. When the door slammed, her face

took on a calculating look I knew from long experience. She’d set her sights on the detective.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Dawna. Bad idea.”

She stuck her lip out in a pretty pout and huffed a bit, flinging her long black ponytail over her

shoulder. “Damn. There you go, spoiling everything. Is he yours? Is that the problem?”

“No.” I admitted. “He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him. I can smel it.”

“You can smell it? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Ewwww. That is just … gross.” She shook her head. “What do I smel like?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Chanel Number Five, high-quality leather, and chicken salad on

rye.”

She blinked. “Wel , al right then.” Then, giving a gusty sigh, “Shame, though. He seemed nice. A little

old. But nice.”

I didn’t answer. I’d grabbed a cup of coffee from the tray and was taking a long pul of liquid nirvana.

Caffeine, nectar of the gods. I didn’t gulp it down, it was too hot for that, but I savored each sip, letting

the scent fil my nostrils and chase away the stench of il ness.

“Thanks for that. Give me a few minutes more to myself, okay? I’ve got to make a couple cal s.” I’d

start with my gran, which would be tough enough. But as soon as I’d finished with that I was going to

have to cal Bob’s wife and break the news.

Gran stil wasn’t answering the phone. That was ominous al on its own. She’s healthy as a horse, but

she’s not young. Of course it was much more likely that she was avoiding my cal s. She does it every

time my mother talks her into something they both know I’m not going to approve of—little things, like

letting my mother, who has had her license revoked and is an uninsurable drunk, take the car.

Don’t think about it. You don’t know that’s what’s happening. She could be busy at the church.

I tried cal ing Kevin. I real y did. But he didn’t pick up. I left him a voice mail saying I was hanging in

there and not to worry and thanking him, Emma, and Amy for saving my life.

My own voice mail was stil presently unavailable, which was getting annoying. If I didn’t have access

in the next hour or so, I was going to be cal ing the main line and complaining to my carrier.

I hesitated before dialing the next number.

Gwendolyn Talbert had been one of the best therapists in the business until she retired two years ago

due to health problems. She had specialized in trauma victims—particularly children. She saved my

sanity and probably my life after the events that led to my sister’s death and my own torture. It was

Gwen’s delicate use of magic that had blunted the memories of the trauma, making them bearable,

enabling me to eventual y have a normal, loving relationship with Bruno DeLuca. No, I hadn’t dated

anyone since we broke up, but that was by choice, not because I wasn’t able to.

Now I needed help. I was hanging on to my sanity with my teeth and toenails, mostly by very

deliberately not thinking about things. But that wouldn’t last. The shock would wear off, and when it did I

was going to need a damned good therapist. I wanted it to be Gwen.

The phone rang three times before going to voice mail. Apparently this was not my day to reach

anybody. I listened to the calm, feminine voice saying, “You have reached Gwendolyn Talbert. If you

have cal ed on a professional matter, I regret that I am no longer seeing patients. If this is a personal

cal , please leave your name and number after the tone.”

I waited for the beep. Taking a deep breath, I spoke as clearly and calmly as I could manage. “Gwen,

it’s me … um, Celia Graves. Um, something’s happened. I need to talk to someone. I know you’re

retired, but I don’t trust anyone else. If you can’t see me, can you at least give me a name? Somebody

you trust? Please?”

God I sounded pathetic. Desperate. Then again, I was. I left the office number and hung up. I would

have left the new cel number, if only I’d written it down somewhere to remember it.

While I was making useless cal s, I left a message for El Jefe. I needed to find out everything I could

about abominations and brush up on any successful techniques hunters had used to find the daytime

lairs of master vampires. I wasn’t sure if he was back from Chicago, so I decided to start doing a little

research on my own.

But first, I had one more cal to make.

I had Dawna get me the number from the Internet. I hadn’t been sure she’d be home. Stil , I

recognized Vanessa’s voice when she picked up the phone on the third ring.

I tried to break it to her gently. I was rewarded by a stream of expletives screamed at top volume

—loud enough that I had to move the receiver away from my ear the length of my arm. She fol owed

this by blaming me for his death, then weeping hysterical y and hanging up on me. Bob didn’t have any

other living relatives, so I didn’t know who else to cal . But it seemed wrong. He’d been a good man.

Not perfect, but who is? He deserved to have somebody more than just me to mourn him. Maybe there

was someone. I hadn’t realized they’d gotten divorced until the screaming voice in my ear informed me

of it in no uncertain terms. Did he have a new girlfriend? I had no way of knowing. I sure as hel wasn’t

going to cal Vanessa again.

Maybe in a day or two, when things settled down, I’d put some effort into looking into it. But first, I

wanted to take care of the crisis du jour.

I braced myself and sprinted from the curb to the front doors of the university library. Since most of the

building’s front facade is glass, I wasn’t real y safe until I’d gotten halfway down the stairs down to the

basement.

I’d always considered it a nuisance that they’d put the paranormal section down there, al by itself,

behind every known kind of protection. Now I wasn’t sorry. Being in the basement meant that I would be

able to have a windowless study room to work in.

Halfway down the stairs I hit a magical barrier I couldn’t see and nearly lost my footing. I had to grab

onto the handrail and steady myself for a minute before I could move forward. When I did it felt … odd

… like I was forcing my way through a wal of Jel -O. Tiny sparks exploded against my skin. None of

them were strong, but there were a lot of them. The sensation was similar to that of being in a room

with too much static electricity. I couldn’t move backward at al and moving forward was slow. It didn’t

get better until I stepped off of the staircase. When I did, the change in pressure made my ears pop

and my nostrils twitch.

I recognized the staff member behind the reserved desk. Anna had been in charge of the Paranormal

and Metaphysical Desk for over a decade. She’d helped me with research for many a project, and