Blood Song

warn

everybody before you come in.”

Did I look that bad? A glance in the mirror said I did. The puffy, reddened eyes made them look larger

and darker than normal and the red tinge had nearly overtaken the amber. “Right.” I pul ed around the

building and took the closest parking spot that hadn’t been marked for handicapped use only. It put me

at the last bright edge before the shadows but wel within the protections of the ward. So I shut down

the engine and waited the requisite minutes before climbing out, making sure my credit card was in my

wal et. I was betting this little trip would bring me right up to the credit limit, and it’s a high-limit card.

The automatic doors whooshed smoothly open as I passed beneath the security cameras and into

the bright fluorescent lights. One of them was flickering a little, and I could hear it buzzing, like a large,

annoying insect.

The store was empty. Seriously. Completely empty except for the teenage boy who had talked to me

through the drive-up window.

I blinked, looking around. There was a price gun on the counter in Cosmetics, a half-fil ed cart. But

other than him, no people. Weird. “Where is everybody?”

“Everybody else went back into the pharmacy area where the wards are better. Just in case.”

“What, you drew the short straw?” I didn’t mean it to sound bitter, but it did. This whole instil ing fear in

everyone was getting real y old, real y fast.

He shrugged. “Dr. Scott’s office said you had been bitten and gone through a partial change but that

we should be safe. I know him. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Besides, if anyone is going to

get hurt, I’d rather it was me.”

A hero in the making. I almost smiled … then remembered the fangs. “Al right then, let’s do this.”

There was a huge stack of stuff waiting for me at the checkout counter, along with a shopping cart

ready to take the load. There was a blender, cases of baby food (no formula, thank God), individual

containers of flavored “shakes” from a popular liquid fast program, a jar containing a liquid form of a

multivitamin and mineral supplement, jars of dehydrated beef and chicken broth, and more. None of it

looked particularly appetizing. Of course, part of the problem was that somewhere I could smel fresh,

hot pizza. The aroma reminded me forcibly of what I wouldn’t be eating … possibly ever again.

I tried not to be surly about it as he rang up the order. Unfortunately, the total kept going higher, and

the smel kept getting stronger. By the time he ran my credit card through I was more than a little bit

grumpy.

“Do you want some help taking this out to the car?” Now that I hadn’t shown any signs of aggression

he was starting to relax. He smiled. Despite the crooked teeth, it was a nice smile, friendly, not phony,

without that leering undertone I got a lot of the time. Since there was more stuff than the cart would

hold, I accepted, with thanks. I wanted to get out of here and home.

It took some work to wedge al of my purchases into the trunk and the passenger side of the Miata,

but we managed. The clerk had straightened up from the trunk and grabbed the cart, starting to turn

away from me, when he just … froze. The cross at his neck flared white-hot as his face went limp and

expressionless, green eyes dul and empty. One foot hovered in midair from the step he hadn’t

completed. Without the cart to balance him, he’d have keeled over and never even realized it.

I felt cold power like a snake brushing against me, sliding over my skin and moving on. I turned toward

that power, turned toward the deepest shadows just past the magical barrier, to see three indistinct

figures leaning casual y against a midsized sedan.

I couldn’t see their features, but I recognized the man in the center from Dottie’s vision.

Edgar.

He struck a match and the light flared orange, casting his features in sharp relief as he puffed a

cigarette to life. He kil ed the flame with a practiced flick of his wrist, letting the spent matchstick fal to

the ground at his feet.

He was dressed much like Dr. Scott had been. Khakis and a polo shirt, standard casual wear for the

upper middle class. No hint of blood on anything. Either Edgar was seriously good at il usion or he’d

cleaned up from his earlier “meal.” He looked more like an ordinary businessman than an undead

monster.

My eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the second male figure. A black man, he had been kil ed

in his late teens or early twenties and was dressed in the kind of clothes you’d expect to see on

campus. He looked just like everybody else … except for his eyes. Those dark brown orbs held the

knowledge of someone much older. They were without warmth, pity, or any trace of humanity.

The third figure was a woman, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t see her clearly. It was her

powerful mind magic that held the boy enthral ed and kept me at bay. But, powerful as she was, she

apparently couldn’t get past the barriers surrounding the property. Because if she could have, she

would have. I felt her hunger, her malice at being denied what she considered her rightful prey.

“Good evening.” Edgar blew out a puff of tobacco-laden smoke as he greeted me, his tone pleasantly

conversational.

“Hel o.”

He glanced at the contents of the overflowing passenger seat, his expression grimly amused. “You

do realize it would be easier and cheaper to just take that last step?”

“No, thank you, I’d rather not.” No, thank you? My words sounded odd even to my own ears. But

Gran had hammered good manners into me and, for the most part, I revert back to them when I’m

nervous. No matter what I’m thinking, I say the polite thing. She’d be so proud.

The black man snickered, his expression condescending. It pissed me off. Not enough to do anything

stupid, but it took the tiniest edge off of my fear, made me able to think more clearly.

Edgar didn’t say a word. He simply looked at the other man. Just looked. And the other bat instantly

subsided.

“You’re not my sire, Edgar. Stop it.”

“You remember? I’m impressed.” He sounded amused. “Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be

surprised. You appear to be a remarkable woman. And, as much as it annoys my associates”— his

casual hand gesture made the embers on the end of his cigarette glow briefly brighter—“I have

decided that, for the moment, you’re more useful to me alive than dead.”

Good news for me. Because I believed, wel and truly, that if they wanted me dead, I would be. There

are people who are cocky because they think they’re good. Others don’t have to be cocky. They are

that good. Professionalism is easy to spot but hard to define. I’m a professional. I’m not just decoration

or mindless muscle. These three were professional monsters. I could tel . I know it sounds stupid. But

that doesn’t make it any less true.

“May I ask why?”

He took a long drag on his smoke while he considered it. He dropped it half-smoked, grinding it out