Blood Cross (Jane Yellowrock 02)

"Back." Derek and the point man backed up and we each entered a room, Derek with me. "Five, four"--I covered my ears to protect them from the explosion--"three, t--" The explosion took out his words. Dust blew into the hallway, along with the smell of rotten meat and old blood. It was a charnel house effluvia. Derek cursed.

 

The point man disappeared inside the dark opening. We'd been in about forty seconds, according to my time sense. I was expecting human servants. Armed. So far, nothing.

 

"No live ones," the point man said. "All dead. Lights." Derek and I rushed inside as the point man pulled off his goggles and knelt, weapon up and ready to fire. The lights flickered once and came on. The sudden illumination sent a shock of tingles through me. Followed by a shock of another sort.

 

The windowless room was fifty by forty, give or take, with a fifteen-foot-tall ceiling. The walls were painted a soft coral, oriental rugs were piled deep, and leather furniture, tables, lamps were scattered in small groups, as if someone had wanted the place kept appealing. Except for the far corner where the floor was concrete with a drain in its gently sloped center. Along the walls in that corner were cots made of blackened steel and chained to the cots were vamps. No humans, no witches. I counted quickly. Nine vamps on ten cots. The tenth cot was covered by rumpled, stained sheets.

 

"We got cameras," someone said as we entered.

 

At the sudden appearance of humans--of bloody meat, to the vamps--they all vamped out, screaming and wailing and fighting the restraints. Steel cut into wrists and ankles, and the smell of fresh vamp blood mixed with the reek of old, decaying vamp blood. The empty cot bothered me. A lot.

 

I scanned back and forth, the Benelli at ready. Behind me, the point man was letting in the others from the garage entrance. They raced to take out the inside cameras and I heard the shhhhft of spray cans, the chemical smell adding to the reek in the room. "We got nine vamps restrained. One missing. Seal exits," Derek said, reading my mind. The door to the garage shut firmly.

 

"I got the door," Point Man said, heading back to the door we had come through.

 

That left us with four shooters inside. I moved across the room to the concrete-floored area. It was about ten-by-ten with a showerhead hanging over the drain; a lever and a handheld sprayer on a long tube hung nearby. Soap and clean cloths were in a basket, and liquid bath soap and industrial cleaners stood on a narrow, wheeled table. Above it were butcher tools, the blades looking well used and well cared for, sharp. The narrow table was clean but blood lined the cracks. I bent and sniffed. A lot of blood. For a long time. From a lot of humans and not a few vamps. Under the table was a zippered body bag, and it wasn't empty.

 

Trepidation climbed up my spine on cold gluey feet. I swung the Benelli out of the way and knelt. My fingers were quivering as I opened the zipper. A vamp face appeared. Not Angelina. Not Little Evan. Not stuffed together into the body bag. The vamp's head was separated from the body. True-dead. And he'd begun to stink. Like, really stink. He'd been dead long enough for his skin to be slippery and oozing. I rezipped the bag. Sniffed again. There was no scent of the kits. No scent of Bliss. They weren't here and hadn't been here. But maybe upstairs?

 

I stood and repositioned the shotgun as I walked between the cots. There were little racks above each bed holding what looked like medical charts with ID and medical details on each, which included date of birth. I stopped at the two teenagers, a boy and girl on thick foam mattresses, Adora and Donatien Damours, brother and sister. The family resemblance was evident even beneath the vamped-out teeth and eyes. Both wore clean hospital gowns and bowties, both had been showered and their blond hair washed. Both had long faces, with firm chins, high foreheads. Both were hungry. Gaunt. Starving. I looked around. They all were starving. The girl was trying to lick her own wrist where she was bleeding, but her shackles kept her too far away. She was mewling with need. I checked the other ID cards.

 

Sick things. Kill them, Beast murmured as I read.

 

I agreed, but there were reasons not to, important reasons, primarily Angelina and Little Evan. Besides, killing the long-chained wasn't covered by my current contract, which made this a job for the council. "No Tristan Damours," I said. "So maybe the rumors are right and he found sanity. Or maybe that's him in the body bag."

 

"Company," a voice said in my headset. Over the speaker I heard the sound of feet clattering on stairs. Someone was coming down the inside stairs. "Heat signature is human. Two of them. Wait, one. There's a vamp with them." They weren't trying for stealth either. I could hear them without the headset.

 

"Another on the fire escape," a second voice said. "Moves like human."

 

"Let's have a chat with our hosts," Derek said.