Blood Song

could recite where every book or artifact was from memory. A soft-spoken woman of “a certain age,”

she had iron gray hair and warm brown eyes hidden behind thick-lensed glasses. I’d always admired

her drol sense of humor, and knew she had enough mage talent to be able to handle any studentrelated accidents that might occur due to mishandling of the merchandise. I didn’t doubt that it was her

spel I’d passed through a moment before.

“Stop right there.” Her voice rang with authority. She rose, leaning both hands on the counter. “You

have no business coming here.”

Anger rose up in a wave. How dare she? “It’s ful daylight, Anna.” I didn’t bother to keep the scorn

from my voice. “I’m not a bat.”

“If you were a bat,” she answered coldly, “you wouldn’t have made it through the wards. But that

doesn’t mean you aren’t dangerous. In fact, it makes you more so. Because you’re stil human enough

to pass through unhindered.”

I felt a surge of rage that sent the blood pounding through my veins. My vision narrowed, focusing on

the pulse throbbing at the base of her stringy neck; the adrenaline-laced scent of her fear rose to my

nostrils like the bouquet of a fine wine. I could almost taste—

I closed my eyes, shutting out the image of her pulse. Slowly, careful y, I fought to rein in my temper by

control ing my breathing, panting through an open mouth so that the scents wouldn’t overwhelm me. It

didn’t feel close to nightfal , but my brain was tel ing me, Time to go hunting.

I am not a vampire. I am not a fucking bat . I will not do this.

It took time. It wasn’t easy and it probably wasn’t pretty, but I fought down the beast within me. When I

opened my eyes, I was myself again.

Silence dragged on for long moments as Anna stared at me. When she final y spoke, her voice was

soft and careful. It was the same tone you use to talk to people standing on a ledge, or wild animals you

don’t want to spook. “I shouldn’t have threatened you, Celia. That was stupid. But you don’t belong

here. You don’t belong anywhere in public. It isn’t safe. There are too many people. Too much

temptation.”

Her expression was so serious, so pained, that I knew there was personal history behind her

reaction. I knew I should care. But God help me, I didn’t. Not real y. Al I cared about was getting away

from her and finding out what I could do to fix this. There had to be something. When it comes to

metaphysics, there are very few absolutes. There’s almost always something you can do. It may be

difficult to the point of being damned near impossible—but almost nothing was actual y undoable, with

enough power, time, and money.

“I need to know about abominations, Anna.” I said it quietly, and while I couldn’t quite manage not to

lisp, I did my absolute best to stifle the part of me that wanted to rage at the injustice of the situation. “I

need to know how to fix this.”

“You can’t.” Her whispered words were just a bare breath of air. Normal y I wouldn’t have heard them.

I closed my eyes against her pain. I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know. I had enough problems

of my own. “Please. I have to try.”

I heard her chair scrape back as she moved away from the desk. “I suppose you do.” The words

shook, just a little. But from the sound of it, her fear was being overcome by a combination of sorrow

and determination. “But you don’t have to do it here. And I wil not al ow you to endanger the other

students and staff.”

“So, what? What do I do?”

“Go to your office. I’ve already scanned and e-mailed copies of everything we’ve got to Dr. Reynolds,

Professor Landingham, and a police detective.” Duh. Why was I surprised that everyone had the same

idea? “I’l send the documents to your student account. You can print out whatever you need. Now go!”

I felt the air between us harden into a solid wal of force. Slowly, inexorably, it began pushing me

backward. It was actual y kind of cool that she could do that. I was stil annoyed. I could appreciate the

technique without admiring the cause.

The drive back to the office didn’t take long, but by the time I got there the place was locked up tight. It

was lunchtime, and Dawna had hung up one of those little clock face signs saying she’d be back at

1:00.

I let myself in, grabbed my messages and faxes, and climbed the stairs to the copy room on the

second floor. My laptop was locked in the safe, but we’ve got an old desktop hooked up in the copy

room for people to use in an emergency. It’s hooked directly to the big printer, so even if the network

goes down, it’s stil possible to print. I had no idea if Dawna had managed to get the computers fixed,

but even if she hadn’t, I should be able to bring up Anna’s e-mail and print it. While I was at it, I plugged

the new cel phone in to charge.

It didn’t take long to log on and find the right e-mail, but it took a while to print. There were a lot of

pages. Good news for me. Maybe somewhere in there I’d find information to help me get through this.

God I hoped so.

While I waited for the printer to finish, I started flipping through my messages. Kevin had cal ed some

more. Dawna had final y resorted to a sort of code—“K 29.” Twenty-nine? Wow. I’d try him again as

soon as I got up to the office.

None of the other messages were earth-shattering: some work stuff, a cal from Gibson asking if I

was sure about the address I’d given him, and Dr. Reynolds saying I’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t

had a chance to give me my fol ow-up orders, so he’d be faxing them to my office.

I flipped pages until I got to his fax. His orders were handwritten and barely legible. I was exhausted. It

wasn’t long before the words on the pages began blurring in front of my eyes. I didn’t intend to close

them, had no intention of fal ing asleep. But there you go.

Come to me, Celia.

He was in a very ordinary motel room. I recognized the decor—or lack thereof. The drapes had been

pul ed tight. The only light came from one of those little wal -mounted lamps. He was sitting at a table on

the opposite side of the room.

My sire looked like a kid of about seventeen or so. Dark hair, but with skin that had probably been as

fair as mine even before someone had changed him. He was probably old as dirt, but he’d been young

enough at his death that he couldn’t grow a decent beard. Al he had was a wispy little soul patch. It

looked kind of sil y, which made him just a fraction less frightening.

You must come to me.

The hell you say.

He frowned, as if he heard the thought. Maybe he had. I mean, if this was real and not just