Blood Secrets

nine



VARIK FOLLOWED THE WIDE SWATH OF BROKEN TWIGS and churned-up earth that marked Alex’s and the shadow’s passing. The forest had grown eerily quiet around him, as though it waited, but for what remained a mystery.

He crept through the underbrush, senses on full alert. Reaching the edge of a basinlike hollow, he could see where someone had slid down the steep slope but saw no signs of either Alex or the shadow-thing, as she’d called it. He carefully navigated the slope, tracking the faint smell of jasmine and vanilla—Alex’s personal scent—that abruptly ended next to a jagged stump.

Fear kicked his pulse into overdrive. Casting caution aside, he called to her. “Alex!”

Silence.

“Damn it,” he muttered and used a controlled slide to reach the bottom of the hollow. He inhaled deeply, searching for any trace of her scent, but found none. “Alex!”

“She’s gone,” a voice answered from behind him.

Varik spun, lowering himself into a crouch and baring his fangs. When he spotted the man near a half-dead tree, his tension eased. He sighed as he drew himself up to his full height. “Where is she?”

Bernard Sabian stepped forward. The dappled light played off his snowy hair and highlighted the bright copper streak through his bangs that was the only remnant of his once-red hair. Dark green eyes, the same color as Alex’s, fixed Varik with an appraising stare. When he spoke, it was with an Irish lilt that never gave way to the Kentucky drawl possessed by his children. “Gone, as I said.”

“You made that part clear. Care to expound on it?”

“Her consciousness has slipped back into the physical world, but it didn’t return to her body.”

Varik stared at the shade of the vampire who’d been his partner and friend for nearly a century. When Varik first joined the Hunters, he’d been singled out as one of the most promising recruits and assigned to the Special Operations unit. Eventually he worked his way into the position of tracking corrupt Hunters and eliminating them, but to find them, he relied on the psychic readings of Bernard Sabian in addition to traditional investigatory methods.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Dread nibbled at his spine and knotted his stomach. “Where is she, Bernard? What’s happened to her?”

“For lack of a better term, Alexandra has become a ghost.”

“Where is she?”

“I’m not entirely certain.”

“Can you track her?”

“Yes, but I need to send you back through the Veil first.”

“I’m not leaving without Alex.”

“Where she’s gone, you cannot follow.”

“Bernard—”

He held up his hand to stave off Varik’s protest. “I will retrieve her, but you have to leave—now. The longer you remain in the Shadowlands, the greater the risk becomes of you never leaving.”

“I know the risks. I’ve been here before, remember?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t pulled you back through the Veil, you would’ve been a permanent resident. You barely survived the transition as it was.”

Varik dropped his gaze to the leaf-strewn ground. When he was young and still inexperienced, he was given the task of tracking down a vampire who’d killed several humans. He found the rogue, but unbeknownst to Varik or his superiors, the vampire was a moderate Talent. Varik ultimately achieved his goal and eliminated the other but not before he dealt Varik a psychic blow that left him on the wrong side of the Veil.

Bernard had found Varik, saved him, and took it upon himself to train the young Hunter in psychic self-defense. Even though Varik was a Nil, a vampire with no discernible Talent, he learned to construct elaborate shields to protect his mind. A skill he’d found particularly useful blood-bonding with Alex.

A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Varik met the steady gaze of his deceased mentor.

“Once I find Alexandra, returning her consciousness to her body won’t be easy. The transition will be difficult, and you must be in the physical realm to provide an anchor for her.”

“Blood calls to blood.”

Bernard nodded.

“I’ll go,” he answered the unspoken question in Bernard’s eyes. “But answer one question first.”

“Yes?”

“How did I get here?”

“I don’t know, but given the size of the hole you made, I’d say someone pushed you through the Veil.”

“The shadow-thing.”

Bernard frowned. “What shadow-thing?”

Varik summarized the attack in the salvage yard and the subsequent encounters since being forced through the Veil. “Have you ever known of something like this happening?” Varik asked when he’d finished his tale.

Bernard scuffed a toe of his shoe against a rotting log. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me?”

“Have you ever known me to be less than honest with you?”

“Well, no, but a lot has changed over the years, the most significant being you’re dead.”

“Death doesn’t negate one’s propensity for honesty.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t f*cking lie either.”

Bernard huffed and glanced toward the canopy. “Time is drawing short, my friend. The longer we stand here and discuss this matter, the closer we both come to losing Alexandra.”

Varik raked a hand through his hair and nodded, relinquishing his hold on the argument.

“I’m trusting you to keep my daughter safe once she’s on the other side,” Bernard said as they began the process of climbing out of the hollow. “Now let’s get you home.”

For as long as Peter could remember, the Shadowlands had been his playground. It’d been his second home for over two hundred years, and he’d only encountered a handful of others with the ability to part the Veil and enter this special place, even fewer who could access the Hall of Records.

It was that ability that had first drawn his attention to Alexandra. Even though she was only a child, he’d recognized the potential buried deep within her, a power to rival his own—a true soul mate. He’d wanted to guide her, instruct her in the limitless power that was hers to control.

He’d wanted to teach her.

To care for her.

To love her.

To possess her.

But Bernard had barred his way, thwarting his every attempt to reach her, until he suddenly disappeared.

Peter had rejoiced in her father’s death. Because Alexandra had grieved, he made attempts to ease her suffering, wanting only to comfort her. He left offerings for her—food, money, toys—mostly small things that would ensure her health and happiness, but still he was forced to keep his distance.

With Bernard’s passing, a new protector had risen in his stead. For years, the Dark One—named so because Peter never knew his true name until now—pursued him before assuming a guardianship role for Alexandra, never allowing him close to her. So Peter watched her from afar as she left childhood behind and grew into womanhood, never achieving her full potential.

Then the Dark One—Varik—wooed her, corrupted her.

That would change.

Soon she would come to him.

He would purify her, rid her of Varik’s influence.

He’d already begun the process. Using the blood-bond between them, he’d attacked Varik, blasting him through the Veil in an effort to separate them and sever the bond. He hadn’t anticipated Alexandra pursuing them and attacking him to save Varik.

However, after their struggle in which she tumbled down a hill, he could sense that she was no longer in the Shadowlands. She had returned to the physical world, leaving Varik behind. It would’ve been easy enough to keep Varik’s consciousness on this side until his physical body died.

If Bernard hadn’t chosen that moment to intercede.

Once again, Peter was forced to retreat. He’d fled to the Hall of Records and searched for his rival’s records. Though he hadn’t much time, he’d learned enough to know Varik was a danger to Alexandra. The sooner he destroyed the bond between them, the better it would be for her.

Breaking the bond wouldn’t be easy. The first step was drawing Alexandra to him. Preparing the path for the ritual that would bring her to him was exhausting but vital. If the proper connections weren’t made at the precise moment they were required, the ritual would fail, as it had in the past.

He wouldn’t fail this time. Not when he was so close.

As he sat in the center of his ritual circle, mentally rehearsing the complicated ceremony, a shudder passed through the space around him, and the aroma of jasmine and vanilla filled the attic.

His pulse leapt. He opened his eyes, scanning the room, but nothing moved.

The scent intensified, and he knew she was here.

She’d finally come to him of her own volition.

Expanding his senses to encompass the entire house, he rose and gleefully began his search.

“Lieutenant!” Tony Maslan’s call pulled Tasha from the dream she’d been having.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she glanced around, disoriented. Shapes slowly came into focus along with her memory. Salvage yard. Body dump.

The sun was dipping behind the tree line and she knew she had to have been asleep for at least an hour. She stood, brushed the dirt from the seat of her Tyvek jumpsuit, and made certain the flask of bourbon stashed in her pocket wasn’t visible. As she rounded the side of the panel van, she popped a stick of peppermint gum in her mouth. If anyone detected alcohol on her breath at a crime scene, her ass would be toast.

She saw Tony striding her way and waved. “What’s up?”

“Enforcer Baudelaire’s awake.”

“And Alex?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

Tasha could see Varik sitting on the ground looking perplexed. Damian knelt beside him and Morgan stood nearby, fists on her hips. The vampires paid her no attention as she joined them while Tony veered off to oversee the transfer of the abandoned car onto the flatbed tow truck that had finally arrived.

“Something attacked Enforcer Sabian and then you,” Damian said. “What happened after it hit you?”

Varik swiped the paper hair cap from his head. “Everything went black and I woke up in a forest. At first I didn’t see Alex or the thing that jumped us. I looked for Alex and eventually found her. That’s when she confirmed my suspicion that we were in the Shadowlands.”

“The what?” Tasha asked, drawing their attention.

“Shadowlands,” Varik repeated as Damian helped him stand. “It’s what vampires call the buffer zone between the physical and spiritual planes.”

“Are you saying you had a near-death experience?”

“No, I’m saying that whatever attacked Alex and me has the ability to drag another’s consciousness into a different plane of existence and leave it there.”

Tasha’s head was spinning. She was a cop. She dealt with the real world and real dangers, and all this metaphysical vampire bullshit was out of her league. “Alex said you were possessed. So this was some kind of demonic force?”

“Not every possession is demonic,” Damian said as Varik stripped out of his Tyvek coveralls. “There are other forms but only exceptionally strong Talents are able to perform them.”

“Who or what are Talents?”

“That isn’t any of your concern, Lieutenant,” Morgan said, stepping forward. “In fact, Chief Alberez and Enforcer Baudelaire have said too much already so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Tasha nearly fell on her ass when she turned to face the vamp and her foot slipped on a patch of weeds. “I’m the liaison officer, and if I’m going to effectively do my job I need to know what the f*ck is going on here.”

“This is an internal FBPI matter, Lieutenant, and therefore beyond your scope as a liaison officer.”

“But I’m a member of this investigation. If it affects the case or if either Varik or Alex is at risk, I need to know.”

“I disagree.”

“Since we can’t generate enough psychic energy to sustain ourselves, we have to look to outside sources,” Varik said.

“Enforcer Baudelaire.” Morgan said his name like a warning.

He glared at Morgan but continued. “As a side effect of our blood-hunger, most vampires are considered Nils, essentially possessing no or very little psychic talent. However, a very small portion of our population has above-average psychic abilities. We call them Talents.” He walked past Tasha, shoving his wadded-up Tyvek coveralls into Morgan’s hands. “There, she knows. Now quit being such a f*cking bitch.”

Morgan threw the coveralls to the ground. “Enforcer Baudelaire!”

Varik ignored her and moved to Alex’s side. He dropped to his knees and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “I need you to listen to me, baby. You have to come home now.”

Tasha was surprised by how quickly Morgan covered the ground between where they stood and Varik.

Morgan grabbed Varik’s arm and pulled him to his feet, shoving him away from Alex. “Your behavior is inappropriate, Enforcer Baudelaire.”

“As is yours.”

“I should report you for insubordination.”

“Why? Because I’m not fawning all over you? And it’s Director Baudelaire.”

“You’re out of line.”

“You’re interfering with my investigation.”

Morgan replied in French, as did Varik, and Tasha looked to Damian. “I’m assuming they know each other well.”

Damian snorted. “What tipped you off?”

“What do we do about Alex?”

“We wait.”

She watched as he stepped forward to break up the argument between Varik and Morgan. The three vamps continued to banter while Alex lay crumpled on the ground at their feet.

Tasha glanced around the scene, noting the tow truck readying to leave with the abandoned car. The hearse that had retrieved the body had long since gone.

Sighing, she crossed her legs, lowered herself to the weed-choked ground, and waited.

Alex cowered on the floor, covering her ears in a futile attempt to block the constant wailing that assaulted her. The screams escalated until she added her own to the mix.

A shudder rippled through the room, silencing the voices.

Her ears continued to ring in the ensuing calm. The sudden shift unnerved her, but she used the moment to pick herself up from the floor. She turned in a slow circle, staring at the dolls lining the walls of what could’ve been a dining room, if it had been furnished with anything other than floor-to-ceiling shelves. Each doll was unique in hair, eye color, dress, and expression. As she examined one shelf, soft murmuring seemed to emanate from the dolls.

So dark.

Please, no!

Can anyone hear me?

He’s coming.

Oh, God! No!

As she moved around the room, similar whispers filtered from other shelves. She reached a broad archway that fed into a dark paneled foyer. More voices called to her from beyond the archway. She stepped into the wide hallway and fresh horror hit her.

Clusters of dolls lined the walls, sitting on shelves, tucked into large shadowboxes, staring out from behind the dusty glass of display cases. At the opposite end of the hall, a sprawling staircase swept upward and curved back on itself to access the second floor. More dolls sat between each carved banister spindle.

All doubt of where she was left her. She was in the center of the Dollmaker’s lair. The question that remained was how.

Another rippling shudder passed through the house. The wave hit Alex and made her shiver, leaving in its wake the sensation of cobwebs covering her body. They pulled at her hair and tugged at her clothing as though they would draw her deeper into the house. She passed another archway, pausing to peek inside what had probably served as a parlor once upon a time. Shelving identical to the other room lined the walls.

Somewhere overhead a door opened, closed, and a man’s voice drifted down to her. “I know you’re here, little one.”

The unseen webs tugged more forcefully when the man spoke, excited by his voice. Alex brushed at them while she crept into the shadows beneath the winding stairs.

“Let’s play a game.” Footsteps echoed on hardwood in the distance. “Hide-and-seek.”

Alex froze.

“Remember how that used to be one of your favorite games?”

She began to tremble. Childhood memories flittered before her, narrated by a stranger.

“Darting among the headstones of that cemetery near your house. Hiding under your parents’ bed.” Another door opened and closed. “The way you shrieked when you were found. So precious.”

How could he know about that? Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

Footsteps neared the stairs and paused at their apex. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Another ripple cascaded down the stairs and throughout the first floor but avoided her hiding place. The cobwebs that had pulled at her seemed to loosen and fall away.

Movement on the stairs above stilled her breath.

“Tricky, tricky,” her still-unseen pursuer muttered, then raised his voice. “Oh, you’re good, but I’ll find you, chickie.” Feet rapidly descended the stairs. “Chickie chickie, boom boom.” He laughed as he stomped on the last two stairs.

The scent of leather and old blood wafted to her, and Alex retreated farther into the shadows. She could see him now—the Dollmaker—standing with his back to her at the foot of the stairs.

She estimated his height at over six feet. He swiveled his head from side to side, scanning the wide hallway. Short blond hair clung to his skull as though it was damp. When he finally moved, his long legs covered the distance between the stairs and the front of the house with purposeful strides. He paused next to the archway into the dining room, and she caught a glimpse of his profile before he disappeared from view.

She had to move, had to find a way out. Keeping her focus on the archway where he’d disappeared, Alex slipped from the shadows, hugging the wall as best she could while avoiding display cases and doll-filled shelves. She came to a closed door and reached for the porcelain knob.

Her hand passed through it as though made of air. Laughter filled the hall, and she glanced toward the archway.

The Dollmaker leaned against the doorjamb. His blue eyes sparkled and white fangs flashed as he grinned. “Tag, chickie,” he whispered. “You’re it.”

Alex sprinted for the stairs. She could hear him giving chase. Grabbing for the stair’s railing, she stumbled as her hand once again failed to make contact.

Behind her, the Dollmaker whooped in delight.

A shadow darted down the stairs, forcing Alex to duck as it sped by overhead. It slammed into the Dollmaker’s chest and sent him sliding backward along the hardwood floors.

He crashed into a display case, toppling it and spilling the contents. A chorus of screams erupted as porcelain doll faces shattered. Wisps of silvery-white mist drifted up from the remains.

“No!” The Dollmaker reached for the tiny puffs of mists, but they easily slipped through his fingers and evaporated. Rising to his knees, he threw his head back and howled like a wounded animal.

Alex covered her ears as hundreds of voices matched his wail.

The shadow that had slammed into the Dollmaker dropped to the stairs in front of her, taking on the form of a man in a dark suit. He extended his hand to her. “Time to go, Princess.”

She gaped at her father but clapped her hand in his without question.

As they raced up the stairs, the Dollmaker shouted from below. “No! She’s mine!”

Alex and her father reached the second floor and plunged down a hall nearly identical to the foyer. The dolls were fewer in number here, interspersed with artwork, photos, and mirrors. A large multipane window glowed with fading sunlight at the opposite end.

“You have to get to the light and cross the Veil,” her father said as they ran. “Find Varik. He’s waiting for you.”

She dug in her heels in the center of the hall, staring at one of the dolls encased in glass like a priceless piece of art.

“Alexandra, we don’t have time for sightseeing.”

“Hang on.” She pulled away from her father and stepped closer to the glass enclosure.

Dressed in overalls and a red-and-blue striped shirt, the doll held a miniature bouquet of daisies in its hands. Red hair styled in pigtails framed a familiar smiling face. Dark green eyes rimmed in gold stared back at her.

“That’s me,” she whispered. She looked at the other dolls encased in similar glass boxes. Each wore a different outfit and hairstyle but the face remained the same. “They’re all me.”

“Alexandra,” her father said, spinning her around to face him. He glanced toward the sound of the Dollmaker charging up the stairs. “We have to go. Now!”

The Dollmaker reached the top of the stairs and stopped, glaring at them, his face twisted in rage. “Back away, old man.”

Her father moved in front of her, shielding her. He backed up slowly, forcing her to match his steps, and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“She came to me.” The Dollmaker advanced. “She’s mine.”

“Keep dreaming, buddy,” Alex muttered.

Her father shot her a withering glance over his shoulder.

The Dollmaker stretched his arms wide and continued to advance. He voice softened as he focused on her. “I made them all for you—gifts for my soul mate. Don’t you like them?”

“They’re f*cking creepy as hell. You’re a sick bastard, and I’m not your f*cking soul mate.”

“Such ugly language from such a pretty mouth.” He grinned, showing the full extent of his fangs. “I like it.”

Alex and her father had nearly reached the window when the Dollmaker lunged forward.

“Daddy!” she screamed as her father rushed ahead, meeting the attack head-on.

A burst of energy struck the Dollmaker, knocking him back. He growled but didn’t charge again. “Impressive, old man. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“There is much you don’t know about me.” Her father took up a low fighting stance in the center of the hall.

“Perhaps, but I’m not the only one.” He focused on Alex and smiled. “Am I?”

“You’ll not lay a hand on my daughter,” her father growled. Not shifting his attention, he asked over his shoulder, “Princess, do you remember when we used to play rocket ship?”

“Daddy’s little princess,” the Dollmaker sneered, pacing like a predator trapped in a cage. “Not for long, old man.”

“Yes,” she answered her father’s question, ignoring the other’s taunts.

“Get ready.”

She dropped into a crouch.

“Blast off!”

Alex and her father both sprang into action. He turned and ran for her. She leapt into the air, arms outstretched. The Dollmaker’s roar of fury echoed the childhood sound effect in her mind. Her father caught her in midair as he jumped forward, and they both sailed through the window, into the twilight.