Blood Song

were bleeding I didn’t know or care. I dropped to one knee, braced my elbow against the concrete base

of a light pole, and aimed for her neck, hoping to sever her spine and cut off her head, putting an end to

this. I was concentrating hard, looking for the right opening, which is my only excuse.

I didn’t hear it coming, didn’t see the car until it slammed into Matteo, sending him flying across the

line of protection to lie, crumpled and bloody, beside the vampire. She howled in triumphant rage,

grabbing him and pul ing him into her lap to use his body as a shield. Despite what had to be hideous

injuries, he struggled until she forced his gaze to meet hers. I watched furious resolve melt into a

passive smile that was horribly, disturbingly, vacant.

I aimed for the eye that peeked over the top of Matty’s head but was distracted by a blur of movement

in my peripheral vision. It was moving too fast to be anything human, so I pul ed the trigger as I turned.

Blood and worse blossomed from the vampire’s back as the bul ets tore into his chest. He grunted with

pain, but momentum carried him into me, slamming me against the concrete with a vicious impact that

sent the gun spinning from my hand.

That he was stunned was the only thing that saved me. Fighting with abnormal strength and utter

desperation, I managed to get out from under him. As I crab-crawled awkwardly away, Bruno fired one

shot after another. The shots tore through the creature’s neck, severing the head. It was messy but

effective. Blood splattered and pooled around him, but his chest stopped moving and his eyes stared

vacantly upward.

My ears were stil ringing, my right arm was numb. But I grabbed the gun with my left hand and

scooted over until my back was braced by the base of the streetlight. I felt blood soaking into my

trousers, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was kil ing her. I raised my knees, propping my arms on

them so that my aim was nice and steady.

She spoke.

I didn’t so much hear it as feel it vibrating through me, as if my body were a tuning fork struck by her

words.

“I could take him now, make him one of us.” She stroked a manicured finger along Matteo’s neck. He

settled against her with a sigh of contentment. Apparently he was beyond pain, beyond thought. I

shuddered. She saw it and laughed, a cold, bitter sound that scraped across my raw nerves. “His

memory of his family, his God, everything he was, gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

She was toying with us. Trapped and injured, she stil acted like she had the upper hand. I glanced at

Bruno and realized she did. Matteo would have told us to kil her, would’ve sacrificed himself. But he

was Bruno’s brother. Bruno would rather die himself than let Matty die, and if she made him a vamp,

we’d have to kil him. The bitch knew it.

“I offer you a deal.” She looked at me when she said it, as if Bruno were beneath her notice. “You let

me go—I let him go. For now. ” She glanced over at the corpse of her companion and glared back at

me. I could almost feel the heat of her hatred burning my skin. “But it isn’t over between us.”

“No. It isn’t,” Bruno answered her. She turned her gaze to him, watching avidly as with a word and

gesture he lowered the outer wal of power that kept her trapped. She flung Matteo away from her, his

body hitting the pavement with a wet thud. In a blur of speed, she was gone.

I crawled to the fal en priest as fast as I could manage. I didn’t holster my gun. I hadn’t missed the “for

now” part of the deal, and I wouldn’t put it past her to come straight back. Yes, she was injured, but to

my mind that only made her more deadly. Because she was pissed. Too, there was always Edgar. He’d

been with the two of them before. Was he hanging around in the shadows, waiting for his chance? I

didn’t feel him out there, but that didn’t seem to mean a thing. Bruno held Matteo’s body draped over his

lap. Tears were streaming down his face. I knew Matty wasn’t dead. I could hear the breath rasping in

and out of his chest. There were red bubbles at the corner of his lips. He had a punctured lung and

God alone knew what else. I fumbled in my jacket pocket and pul ed out my replacement cel phone. I

dialed 9-1-1 with trembling fingers, explaining to the dispatcher what we needed as I propped the little

phone between my ear and shoulder and set the gun on the ground within reach so that my hands

would be free.

I reached inside my jacket again, fumbling the phone a little, but not so much that I couldn’t stil give

directions. My fingers grasped the hard plastic handle of the one-shot I’d packed earlier. I said a silent

prayer upward, hoping that my grandmother was right, that there is a God up there who listens to those

in need. I pul ed the little squirt gun from its concealment and yanked out the tiny plug.

I leaned toward the two of them, but Bruno pul ed his brother back, out of my reach.

“Let me see his neck, Bruno. I need to make sure she didn’t bite him while we were dealing with her

partner.”

Bruno stared back at me, his eyes nearly as blank as Matteo’s had been earlier. Shock. He was in

shock. Shit, shit, shit! “Bruno! I need you, buddy. Stay with me. We’ve got to check Matteo’s neck.”

Bruno nodded, but the motion was jerky, and the hands he used to pul off the clerical col ar and

unbutton his brother’s shirt were shaking so badly it took longer than it should. But he got it done, and

with the shirt col ar open we could see the delicate half-healed punctures.

“Oh fuck. Matty!” Bruno’s words weren’t quite a sob.

“Hold him stil ,” I ordered. “This is going to hurt and he’s liable to fight.”

Bruno shifted his weight, getting a better grip. When he was ready, I upended the little gun, pouring

holy water over the tiny bite mark.

And Father Matteo began to scream.

19

The police were gone. The ambulance had taken Matty and Bruno to St. Joseph’s Hospital—holy

ground. Matty was badly hurt, but we’d done the best we could for him. Tough as he was, he might

make it. Maybe.

I was resting, sitting on the slight curb next to the newspaper dispenser in my blood-soaked clothing

and gaudy holy items, sipping a strawberry diet shake and reading a magazine, when the traditional

long black limo pul ed into the parking lot, cruising smoothly to a stop a mere six feet from me.

A pair of large suited men who looked like older, larger versions of Dee and Dum climbed out,

standing in perfect bodyguard formation on either side of the rear door of the vehicle. The one on my

left bent and opened the door for the man inside.

I rose as King Dahlmar exited the vehicle.

I might not have recognized him if I hadn’t been reading about him just a few seconds before. He was

average height and build. He was handsome, with sharp features, olive skin, and penetrating gray