Blood Secrets

ten



EMILY FOUND HERSELF IN AN ALL-TOO-FAMILIAR POSITION: pacing the floor while she waited for the phone to ring. How many times had she performed the same ritual when Stephen and Alex were teens? Being a vampire didn’t free her from the worry all mothers carried for their children. If anything, the worry was compounded, especially with the Sabians’ family history.

She waited for a call from Gregor Wahl. He’d been a Hunter during the time before the formation of the FBPI and had known Bernard well. While Gregor had retired from active duty, he remained with the Bureau as an instructor at the Academy located on a portion of the Fort Knox base outside of Louisville. His years of service had provided him with an extensive network of contacts within the Bureau, and Emily hoped it could be used to influence the Tribunal into either sparing Alex’s life or dropping the charges altogether.

Restless, she paced to the bay window overlooking the oak tree–lined street in front of Stephen and Janet’s shared home, and her thoughts turned to the past, to the day she discovered her beloved husband wasn’t the man she thought him to be.

It was early May 1962, and she and Bernard had been married for two hundred and thirteen years. She dropped off Stephen at a friend’s house for a sleepover birthday party and was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with her husband.

When she entered their small home east of downtown Louisville, she found Bernard sitting in his favorite chair, staring out the front window.

“I wasn’t expecting you home, dear,” she said, and gave him a peck on the cheek. The stiffness of his reception took her aback. “Is something wrong?”

“Siobhan’s pregnant,” he replied softly.

Emily tried to place the name. “Siobhan Kelly? She’s one of the other Talents, right?”

He nodded.

She beamed. “Well, that’s wonderful, isn’t it?” When he didn’t answer, she frowned. “Siobhan’s married, isn’t she?”

“No.”

Then Bernard looked at her and his expression carried such remorse—Emily knew even before asking. “Who’s the father?”

Almost inaudibly, he answered. “I am.”

An electronic version of “Greensleeves” began playing and shattered her reverie, bringing her back to the present.

She picked up her cell phone from the coffee table and answered. “I’m here, Gregor. What were you able to find?”

“Not much and what I did find isn’t good news,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“The Tribunal isn’t going to drop the charges. Alex will have to face them next month.”

“Why won’t they—”

“Hang on,” Gregor interrupted. “That’s not the worst of it. I was able to find out that Woody Phelps has taken a personal interest in Alex’s case.”

Emily felt her heart sink as she dropped onto the sofa’s edge. Woody Phelps, Chief Magistrate of the Tribunal, was known for his hard-line stance against corruption among Enforcers. The Bureau’s retention of the death penalty for Enforcers convicted of the offense was largely due to Phelps’s influence. “Why is he so interested in Alex?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you Phelps and the other magistrates have been holding regular meetings over the past few weeks. They’ve called in Enforcers from all across the country and questioned them behind closed doors. The scuttlebutt is that it’s some sort of massive internal investigation.”

“Does it have any bearing on Alex’s case?”

“I’m trying to find that out.”

“It’s an awfully big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“It does seem odd.”

Emily stood up and began pacing again. “If they won’t drop the charges, what are the chances of at least influencing the Tribunal toward leniency? Alex has had a spotless record until now.”

“Given Phelps’s interest, not good.”

“There has to be a way to save her.”

Silence filled the line for a moment. “You won’t like it.”

“I won’t sit idly by while they take her from me. I’ll be the judge of what I like or don’t like.”

“Siobhan.”

“What about her?”

“She’s still wanted by the Bureau.”

Emily stopped pacing. “Gregor—”

“If you know where to find Siobhan, you may be able to barter her location for leniency.”

“You’re asking me to trade my daughter’s life for another woman’s.”

“Siobhan killed three Hunters.”

“You have no proof of that. Even if I knew where to begin looking for Siobhan, I can’t do what you’re suggesting. There has to be another option.”

He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Gregor.”

He grunted his acknowledgment and the line fell silent.

Emily pushed the button to end the call, Gregor’s suggestion still echoing in her mind, and she wondered, once again, had she made the right decision—both in calling Gregor and when she made a promise on a cold January night more than forty years ago.

The window before him was unbroken even though he’d seen Alexandra and Bernard crash it. They were nowhere to be found once he’d reached the window, but he hadn’t expected to find them.

Ghosts left no visible tracks.

Turning from the rapidly darkening window, Peter breathed deeply, inhaling her lingering scent, and smiled. She had come to him, just as he’d predicted. He hadn’t counted on her father’s appearance, but it also didn’t surprise him. Bernard had always been her greatest protector, even surpassing Varik.

But it no longer mattered.

She had come. She had proven she wanted to be with him.

He paused by the replica doll she’d been admiring. Varik and Bernard would try to prevent her return, try to keep them apart.

They would fail and he knew precisely how to guarantee their failure.

He strode down the hall to the oversized print of Duchamp’s painting. His fingers swept along the side of the frame and found the dual triggers that released the lock. It clicked and he swung open the hidden door leading to the attic. The door closed soundlessly behind him as he jogged up the stairs.

His latest acquisition stared at him from across the spacious room. He picked up one of the scalpels he used for delicate sculpting work from his table as he passed.

She remained immobilized with his special restraint system but whimpered when he stroked her hair.

“Shh,” he cooed. “Everything’s fine.”

The scalpel flashed in the light and her breathing increased, as did her futile pitiful sniveling. Blood welled from the tiny cut he made along her shoulder. Her skin was soft beneath his tongue as he licked away the crimson beads. Images of her life darted before his eyes and he drank them in, coveting each as though it were a rare jewel.

Peter pressed close to her naked body. The need to find solace from the inner fire that burned his flesh and tortured his mind consumed him. He wanted to bury himself within her, plunge his fangs into the tenderness of her neck, and quench the fire with her blood.

It took all his strength to step away from her. He couldn’t seek the release he desperately wanted, that he’d denied himself for so long. He must save it for Alexandra. Once she was his and his alone, then he could satisfy his desires.

He returned to his worktable and picked up the newly completed doll’s head. Its porcelain face was a perfect copy of Alexandra’s as he’d seen her in the Hall of Records. Holding it delicately, he turned it so the neck revealed the cavity within the head—the perfect vessel to ensure his soul mate remained with him forever.

Turning back to the girl, he could see her fear. He stroked her new penny-colored hair. Tears rimmed her jade green eyes. As his eyes and hands admired the lines of her body, the smoothness of her unblemished skin, she trembled and sobbed.

“Shh,” he said and wiped her tears. “It will all be over soon. I’m going to release you.”

“You’re letting me go?” she croaked, the first words she’d spoken in days. A spark of hope flared deep in her eyes.

He smiled. The scalpel he’d tucked in his belt now pressed into the soft flesh of her neck. “I said I would release you. I said nothing of you leaving.”

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the scalpel flashed red in the light.

A dizzying kaleidoscope spun around Alex. Wind whistled past her ears and ripped away her scream as she fell. Vivid colors flashed, searing her eyes, until everything turned black seconds before she slammed into the ground.

Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted to her feet, only to immediately collapse, struggling for breath. Darkness enveloped her. She swatted at the hands that tried to pin her as voices shouted all around her. “Daddy!”

“Alex!” The scent of sandalwood and cinnamon cut through the chaos, easing the panic that consumed her. “It’s me, baby. Calm down. You’re safe now.”

“Varik?”

“Yes, baby. It’s me.”

She closed her eyes and melted in the warm safety of his arms. “It was him. He was chasing me. I was so scared. Where is he? Did he follow me?”

“What is she talking about?” a woman—Morgan, Alex remembered—asked.

“Baby, Bernard’s dead. If you saw him it was in the Shadowlands,” Varik said calmly.

Images flashed through her mind in a confused jumble. “No, not Daddy—the Dollmaker. Did he follow me?”

Varik’s hold tightened. “You saw the Dollmaker?”

She nodded, feeling the soft scrape of his shirt against her cheek. “I saw him and his house.”

“The Dollmaker’s been on our Most Wanted list for decades,” Morgan said. “If you saw him, who is he? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Alex grumbled, pushing away from Varik. “I was running for my life so I didn’t stop to swap recipes and Twitter handles.” She felt as though fine grit coated her eyes and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. When that didn’t work, she tried rubbing them.

“Is there something wrong?” someone else—Tasha, Alex placed the voice—asked.

“I’m not sure.” Alex frowned. “Varik, do I have something in my eyes?”

He tilted her head back. His breath was warm on her face and his hands gentle. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because I can’t see shit.” A chill flashed up her spine. Her hands tightened on his arms. “I’m f*cking blind!”

Kirk nursed his amaretto cappuccino while he gauged the appearance and reactions of the girl seated in front of him.

Jennifer Lee was petite, barely five feet tall, and maybe a hundred pounds when weighed soaking wet. Bright red hair surrounded her head like a giant puff-ball. She would glance at him with her bright blue eyes and quickly look away.

Piper sat beside him in the corner of the booth they all shared in the back of Mug Shots. She yammered on about an assignment she and Jennifer had recently been given in a psychology class.

He hadn’t expected Piper to actually find a willing redhead to replace her cousin so quickly. He liked having a variety on hand and natural redheads were the hardest to find. Hopefully Jennifer would prove more loyal than Amber Lynn, whose body had been safely deposited in three separate Dumpsters around town. Steam cleaning the stains out of the carpet had taken longer than depositing the bitch’s body.

“So, Jennifer,” he cut into the girls’ conversation, earning a startled look from the new bunny. “Piper tells me you’re looking for work.”

Jennifer glanced at Piper, who nodded encouragingly just as he’d taught her. “Yeah, I got laid off from my job and my rent’s already late. If I don’t pay my landlord soon, he’s going to kick me out.”

He nodded sympathetically. “This economy is tough on everyone. What kind of work do you do?”

She shrugged and sipped her chai tea latte. “Whatever I can find. What about you?”

“I’m in the entertainment business.” Kirk leaned back in the booth and slipped an arm around Piper’s shoulders. “I supply goods and services to a select clientele.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, it is.”

“Do you ever meet anyone famous?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Like when the vampire band Primal Dark was playing in Jackson,” Piper said in a rush. “Kirk set them up with—”

He squeezed her shoulder, a silent warning to shut her mouth.

Jennifer sat forward. “Primal Dark? I love them!” She closed her eyes and began swaying in her seat, singing off-key. “She was my lover, my bloody lover, my dancer.…” She giggled and when she looked at Kirk, her eyes sparkled with visions and dreams of fame. “Do you really know them?”

He nodded and sipped his cappuccino. “Wow. I’d give anything to meet them. I’m, like, their biggest fan.” Kirk smiled, showing his fangs, and knew he had her.

“Vita in nex,” Peter intoned and poured a few drops of blood on the first sigil. “Life in death.”

Stripped of his clothing, he knelt within the circle he’d carved into the attic’s wooden floor. His latest acquisition lay to the left of the center, on the side of death. The newly completed Alexandra replica was to the right, on the side of life. The ritual was a delicate process and if performed incorrectly could result in his own soul becoming splintered and trapped within the doll.

He moved clockwise around the circle to the second sigil and dribbled more of the girl’s blood. “Pectus pectoris nutritor nex—the heart feeds death.”

The girl moaned softly. He’d drained as much of her blood as he dared, bringing her near death. She needed to be hovering on the edge of the abyss in order for the ritual to work. Shattering a soul required precision timing and over the years he’d become adept at making it quick. However, there was no way to make it painless.

He followed the outline of the circle to the third sigil. Three liquid rubies fell in its center and were greedily absorbed by the dry flooring. “Nex nutritor obscurum—death feeds the darkness.”

Power hummed within the circle. It crackled in the air and made the tiny hairs on his neck and arms stand erect.

“Totus animus servo obscurum,” he droned and added the last of the blood to the final sigil. “All souls serve the darkness.”

The circle snapped closed, sending a charge through his body. His breath hissed over his teeth as he sucked in the electrified air.

The initial rush of power was always the sweetest and the hardest to control. Peter forced himself to relax and open his mind to the energies now swirling within the confines of his circle. Gradually, with each measured breath, a balance was achieved both within him and within the circle.

Now the ritual could truly begin.

He paced to the center of the circle and knelt between the girl and the doll. Picking up the ceremonial dagger, he held it over the girl, blade directed toward her heart.

“Ut quod est recipio, quod novus visum est instituo in obscurum,” he recited as he had done countless times prior. “That which is, recedes, and new vision is found in darkness.”

He positioned the dagger over the doll. “Memento vivere,” he said. “A reminder of life.”

The girl moaned as he laid his free hand on her bare chest, over her heart. “Viva enim mortuorum in memoria vivorum est posita.” He placed the dagger against her throat. “The life of the dead is retained in the memory of the living.”

The dagger sliced through her flesh. Bright red arterial blood sprayed upward, coating his arms and chest.

Power surged around the circle’s perimeter, flowed through him, and into the girl. She convulsed beneath his hold as her life drained away, pushed into the abyss by the energies now coursing through her—the same energies that caused his back to bow and his penis to stand erect, energies he had to control and direct into the doll.

Peter gasped and groaned as another surge of power hit him. “Vita mutatur … life is changed.…”

The girl stilled and the power receded, but he knew it was only a momentary pause—the eye of the storm. The girl’s mouth fell slack and a pulsing blue-white stream of mist rose before him.

He speared the mist with the dagger. Coldness spread over the blade, up the hilt, and into his arm. “… non tollitur … not taken away,” he completed the incantation as the energies ripped the girl’s soul from her body.

A piercing shriek filled the circle and he answered it with his own howl of pain. The mist quivered and writhed on the dagger’s blade. Power rushed into him.

The girl’s soul shattered like glass, leaving a small piece clinging to the dagger’s blade.

Peter positioned the blade over the doll, reciting the words he’d used to seal the circle in reverse order. “Totus animus servo obscurum. Nex nutritor obscurum. Pectus pectoris nutritor nex. Vita in nex.”

The soul shard slipped from the blade and melded with the doll.

He covered the doll’s chest with his hand, feeling the final surge of power building within him. “Ego sum obscurum quod vestri nex sustineo mihi.”

The dagger fell from his hand. The last of the circle’s energy coursed through him. His hips bucked violently as he climaxed and then collapsed to the floor between the doll and the girl’s corpse.

Panting from his exertion, he gazed at Alexandra’s replica, glowing brightly with life. He stroked the doll’s fine red hair and a spike of power jolted his fingertips.

He smiled and whispered to the doll. “I am the darkness and your death sustains me.”