Blood Trade

CHAPTER 8 Makes It Easier to Stomp ’Em to Death

But I did, somehow, get two hours of catnap before my phone alarm sounded just after four a.m. I dressed in jeans and weaponed up, the movements so automatic I seldom even thought about the process anymore, and slung the medical kit with Leo’s vamp-plague cure across my shoulders. I met Eli in the hallway, catching a whiff of aftershave and man.

“You think our captive is alive again?” he asked as we quietly descended to the main floor. “And sane?”

“We should check,” I said, yawning.

“He’ll be hungry.”

I chuckled. “Kinda counting on that.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a cruel streak?”

My step faltered, a slight hitch that I caught, hopefully before Eli noticed it.

“Not that I think that’s a bad thing,” he added. “Too many people are fu— freaking bleeding hearts without the guts to survive when the sh— uh, malodorous refuse hits the fan.”

Cruel? Me? Beast purred, happy, while I felt . . . what? Not much of anything. Not even guilt, which was odder than I wanted to admit. I lifted a shoulder and turned through the house to the kitchen, where I opened the fridge and lifted out a raw, chilled steak. Watery blood was pooled in the corner of the zip-lock plastic, and so I grabbed a roll of paper towels and some hand sanitizer on the way out back. Cruel. I didn’t have time to deal with the accusation, and filed it away in my hind brain for later consideration. Hopefully, I had a starved Naturaleza vamp to interrogate. I could deal with the truth later. I said, “Thank you for not cursing in front of me.”

“I can kill in front of you, but not curse?” He sounded amused.

I shrugged again. “We all have boundaries.”

Eli pulled his shotgun around front, from where it rested like a sling on his back, opened the door to the garage, turned on the light, and stepped through, the motion gallant, the big man willing to take the hit for the little lady. Gallant but kinda stupid. I could heal from most anything with my skinwalker metabolism. Eli was human. He couldn’t. Still, I appreciated the gesture.

Inside, the vamp shielded his eyes with an arm and moved through the small space where he was trapped, his body flowing weirdly, like one of those vamps in the woods. And the vision of what he looked like was suddenly there, blinking on my eyelids. He moved like one of those feathery centipedes, all long legs and bizarre body mechanics and aggression. He hissed. It was a primal sound, and Beast rose in my mind and stared out through my eyes.

I gave her control and dropped the plastic baggie to the floor. Squatting in front of the vamp’s silver cage, I chuffed softly and pulled my vamp-killer. I twirled it in my hand so the silvered blade caught the light. I smelled the peculiar scent of silver-poisoned vamp, his blood on the spikes of the cage. It was sickly and slightly burned, like the studio scent of a metalworker, pickling solution and fire and heated silver, topped off by the old blood like a rancid top note on a really bad perfume. Ugly, but fascinating to Beast. She growled low in my throat, a sound no human can make.

I smiled when the vamp’s eyes widened. He was Caucasian with the pale, pinkish skin of the Irish, dark hair and green eyes, handsome, as most vamps are. He was also vamped out, sclera bloodred, pupils so dilated his eyes were black, and I could smell the hunger on him. Dangerous. I widened my smile, showing blunt, human teeth and a predator’s confidence.

“You should know,” I said, conversationally, “that the Master of the City, Hieronymus, has put a bounty on your head. I make around forty thousand dollars if I take it to him. Separated from your body, of course.” The vamp snarled. It was really effective with the fangs and all, but Beast’s fangs were longer. I didn’t flinch; I smiled wider, twirling the vamp-killer. The blade was fourteen inches long, the flat plated with polished sterling silver, the steel edge so sharp it could cut flesh before the human eye could even see it.

“I am hungry,” he said, his fangs making it hard to understand. His ability to speak meant that he had at least one lung functioning in the hollow of his chest.

“Tough. But we can make a deal. Dinner for answers. I have questions.”

He hissed at me. I shrugged. And opened the raw steak. His eyes darted to the baggie and stuck there like a fly on flypaper. “Give,” he demanded, thrusting his open hand at me. “Feed me.”

“Nope.”

His eyes flashed back to mine, compelling. “I’m hungry, little nonhuman.” It was a Southern accent, a well-bred one, with a hint of old in it.

“Don’t care, little fanghead. If you want to drink anything, or even suck on the juices of this steak, you have to tell me what I want to know.”

“Animal blood and meat will not nourish me.”

“It’s better than nothing, fanghead.”

His eyes went back to the steak and his fangs clicked shut on the little hinges in his mouth. “And what is it you wish to know?”

“For starters, your name.”

“Francis Adrundel, at your service.”

Yep. Only one of the old ones would say at your service. And poor Francis was on the bounty list, good for nothing but a good beheading. He’d been eating humans, a Naturaleza, transported in by the now-true-dead vamp who had started this whole mess, Lucas Vazquez de Allyon. But at least I had Francis talking, which, as everyone in the interrogation business knows, is a necessary first step to getting your subject to tell you anything. “Age?”

“I was born in the seventh month, on the twelfth day, in the year 1820.”

He was older than I expected, by nearly a hundred years. Interesting. “How did you get here to Natchez? Did de Allyon fly you in?”

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath through his nose, scenting, smelling the blood in the bag. And maybe my blood. I’d forgotten that my scalp had taken a scratch or two. And Eli, who had shaved very recently and likely drawn blood to the surface of his skin even if he hadn’t nicked himself. It was like a vamp buffet in the garage. “Answer the question,” I said.

“Yes. Flight,” he said, with his eyes still closed. “And the lovely place in town. And all the slaves and servants I could drink. I liked being sworn to Lucas. I like being Naturaleza here, in this town, where the humans are such easy prey.” His eyes popped open and he vamped out, fastfastfast. Eyes bled wide, sclera went pale pink, and fangs dropped down on their hinges again, with a snick of sound. “The Naturaleza here have much power, all the power that Lucas ever dreamed of having, and more. Here we are finally free. Feed me,” he commanded, his compulsion wrapping around me like a silken veil.

Beast pressed claws into my brain and flopped down in the forefront of my mind, her thick tail tip twitching slightly. She gave me the control I needed to withstand the coercion in his eyes. “Nope.”

Francis rushed the bars, vamp fast, appearing inches from me, growling, but without the pop of sound that most vamps make crossing a larger distance. I didn’t drop away, but it was a near thing. I felt Eli tense. “Feed me, woman,” Francis demanded.

“Tell me who’s in charge of the Naturaleza now that de Allyon is true-dead. Tell me where the monsters sleep. And tell me where the humans they’re feeding from are being kept. Be a good boy, and you might earn yourself a pint of human blood.” I let a smile start, showing my blunt human teeth.

“Give me a human to drink and I will tell you what I know,” he bargained.

I tossed the steak on top of the cage and the vamp followed its transfer with his entire body, a near backflip of motion that ended with two fingers pinching a corner of the baggie and letting the watery blood drain into his cupped palm. He slurped it while his other palm caught more. He made a face like it was nasty, and Beast agreed. Nasty water-blood of old dead cow, cold and tasteless. Vampire will hunt us and kill us for this.

“Maybe,” I said aloud, not caring that no one knew what I was talking about. “Talk.”

“I know nothing about humans except the ones I owned, and they are drained husks.”

I kept my anger off my face and forced down the spike of fury that followed his statement. Behind me, Eli had no such skills, and his anger swirled into the air. This undead dude was a true-dead man, just as soon as I could arrange it. Too angry to allow him any respite, I reached to take away the steak, but he grabbed the baggie through the silvered bars and yanked it, tearing it and releasing the blood in a wide splatter.

The caged vamp sucked on the tip of the steak and said, “I was going to gather more cattle, but you arrived, and now everything is changed.”

Go me, I thought. Nothing made my day like screwing up vamps’ plans. But I didn’t say it.

“But I know other things,” he said, his fingers getting a grip on the steak and squeezing it, forcing out the watery blood. He was hungry enough that he didn’t even care that the silver was touching his back where he lounged and blistering his skin through his tattered shirt. The metallic stink of poison and scorched meat filled the garage and made me want to sneeze. He bit off an edge of the steak and sucked, which was what I’d expected but was still icky.

“How about your master’s cattle? Ones still alive? Are they penned?” I asked.

“My mistress keeps her humans beneath the ground, in basements and darkness.” He looked at me slyly. “She owns many properties, and her cattle will be in one of them. She detests them, except those she has for dinner.” He sucked the gob of raw meat until it was dry and spat the husk to the floor before biting off another. Which was just ewww.

“Is her name Silandre?”

“No. But I know her. She is growing into a Naturaleza power to be reckoned with. You will give me a human to drink?” he asked.

“For that info? No,” I growled. “Starve.”

Beast stared out through my eyes, and the caged vamp paused, his mouth on the dried out gob of meat. “I have heard one other thing,” he said. “You should search for full circles. The great one is once more complete.”

Which made no sense to me, but the vamp smelled of truth, beneath the stink of whatever he was becoming. So maybe it was important and fitted into the picture somewhere, somehow.

Keeping my reaction off my face, I stood and left the garage, turning off the light as I went, Eli on my heels. “Food?” Francis shrieked. I shut the door as my answer.

“If our friend Francis gets free, he’ll come looking for you,” Eli said casually.

“Yeah. He will. He’s on the list, though, so it won’t be a loss.”

Eli snorted through his nose, a near-silent laugh.

“Have your brother do a search for circles. Crop circles, witch circles, even tribal circles. Maybe some local tribe had one in the past that’s been reactivated or something.”

“And maybe he can get a handle on this new female master he mentioned,” Eli said. “Could there be a new, secondary master of the city here? Maybe two different masters claiming one city? Hieronymus and de Allyon’s heir?” I shrugged, and Eli finished with, “I’ll get Alex to start a search on her too. We need a name.”

“Good. While he’s at it, get him to see if there’s any record about what happened here in Natchez while de Allyon was in charge. That info would go a long way toward helping us see what’s happening now. And see if he’s turned up anything on why these vamps are moving like insects. It creeps me out.”

“Just makes it easier to stomp ’em to death,” Eli said, “emotionally, and morally.”

He had a point.

We left the property, hearing only the soft purr of Eli’s SUV, and arrived at the Clan home of the Natchez MOC a little after five a.m. The house was an amazing structure, three stories of brick and sandstone. The windows were full of light that spilled out into the night, windows even in the roof, showing that under the eaves was more living space. Rounded towers were on either side at the front, topped by peaked roofs like parapets with flags flying from them. The house was surrounded by live oak trees with sinuous twisting limbs so heavy that they had lowered toward the ground and now seemed to dance across the grass like massive, frozen snakes. Moss hanging from the higher limbs moved in the night breeze. Cars were everywhere, parked on the grass and along the drive, a few vehicles I recognized from the first meeting in the converted warehouse.

Pulling on Beast’s night vision, I spotted humans in the dark, keeping watch, noting that security was better there than in town. Or perhaps the fact that Eli and I had taken the humans down so quickly had warped up the human servants’ awareness.

Eli pulled directly to the front door and stopped, the tires grinding on the white shells. Not asphalt made with white shells, which was common in the South, but loose white shells used like gravel. When we got out and walked to the front steps, the sound of the shells beneath my boots was like the sound of crunching brittle bones. We walked up the seven steps and stopped in front of the door. To the three well-armed humans standing there, I said in my best vampire fancy talk, “Jane Yellowrock and company, here to provide surcease from illness and pain for the Master of the City of Natchez and his scions.” Which I thought sounded spiffy.

One of the humans opened the door and two stepped aside. I walked in, knowing that Eli had come through the doorway on my heels, moving fast, and faced back at the opening until the door closed softly. Then he moved out to my left into the formal foyer, checking it out while I stood in the center of the magnificent circular space and took it all in. The scents hit me first: vamps, candle wax, smoke, leather, roses, and the faint smell of human blood that pervades every vamp dwelling.

I had been in Leo’s Clan home, and Grégoire’s, and Rosanne’s in Sedona, and others’, and they were all like something out of a magazine titled Cribs of the Disgustingly Rich and Fanged, but, frankly, I’d never seen or imagined anything like Big H’s house. The foyer was thirty feet wide, round, and three stories tall, with a three-tiered, humongous chandelier hanging down from forty feet overhead. A stairway curved around and around the walls, rising the full three stories, its handrail painted gold and shimmering in the light.

There was gold-veined white marble everywhere, on floors, pillars, walls, and statues, gilt work on the ceiling moldings and floorboards, and gold candles burning in white and gold candle holders, the flames flickering. On the ground floor, there was a large round table to my right—white, of course—centered with a scarlet vase three feet tall and filled with white, gold, and scarlet roses. A sitting area was across from it, the furniture upholstered in white leather and tone-on-tone cloth, set with scarlet pillows and resting on a scarlet rug. White silk draperies cascaded along the windows, tied back with scarlet tassels. A scarlet and gold family crest—a lion and something geometric—on white silk took up one wall.

There were arched openings in the marble walls, and through one was a dining room with an ebony table and chairs that could easily seat forty. The table was covered with a white linen cloth and set with white-and-gold place settings. Through another was a traditional living room, all the furniture upholstered in white leather. Another room sported a full-sized white concert grand piano. Through a fourth opening came the aroma of old books, and I wondered if they had all been re-covered in white bindings or wrapped in white paper, and a small smile lifted my lips. It was overdone and tasteless, and the blood-splattered-on-drained-flesh image of the color scheme could not have been by accident.

“You like my home?”

I lifted my head, saw Big H standing one floor above me, and said, “It’s awesome.” But my mind was thinking, Awesomely gaudy. I didn’t say it, of course. He was wearing a red silk dressing gown that matched the scarlet of the décor, with white silk jammies beneath. On his feet were white calf-skin slippers that I could see when he leaned over the balustrade, hands on the banister, his ugly necklace dangling away from his chest, the chain swinging negligently.

“You brought the antidote to the Sanguine pestis?”

My mind stalled out and then I put it together. “The cure for the vamp plague. Yes.” I patted my go-bag. “All I need are the vamp . . . ires.” I added the second syllable as an afterthought, out of politeness. I mean, I was in his home. No need to be insulting without cause. “And a table and chair.”

From the doorways on the second level, vamps poured out and down the stairs, gathering behind H, all looking eager and smelling sickly, all dressed in casual evening wear and not jammies, thank goodness. Big H walked down the stairs, leading the way into the dining room, and I counted twenty-two vamps. Their sickly sweet stench overpowered the scent of roses and leather. I glanced at Eli, but he was otherwise engaged, keeping an eye on everything else. It was good to know my back was covered.

I entered the dining room and saw that every vamp was sitting at the table, with H at the far end. The chair there was shaped like his peacock chair at the warehouse, but made of black wood, probably something that was now extinct, and he had one elbow on the chair arm and the other on the table top, his sleeve rolled up.

None of the others was sitting in that position, so I strode down the table to him and set my medical kit on the surface. When I opened it, I could feel most of the vamps straining to see, so I laid everything out on the pristine white tablecloth. “I have sterile needles and syringes, several bottles of the antibodies, gauze pads, and alcohol pads.” When the kit was empty I placed the container on the floor and said, “This is really easy. I just roll up your sleeve, draw up the antibody fluid in the syringe, and give you a shot into your arm muscle. Because your hearts beat so seldom and your blood flows so slowly, it will take a day or two to totally flow through your tissues. But because you don’t have human kidneys and digestive functions and processes, you need only one dose. Your bodies don’t filter out the drug, so it stays at a high concentration for long enough to kill the disease. The only side effect is a total lack of energy, requiring most vampires to stay in their lairs for a while with their blood-servants, where they feel safe. Oh. And everyone complained of a bitter taste in their mouths.”

“All who feel the need to rest may do so,” H said, making it a proclamation to his people. “We will not convene here again until all are well.” The vamps all nodded once, as if taking an order. “How long for this bitter taste?” Big H asked me. “It has been many years since I tasted bitter.”

“According to Leo’s people, the shortest time for the energy loss and taste was four days, for the young ones. The longest time for the oldest-lived was sixteen days.”

“Proceed,” Big H said.

I cleaned the bottle top, opened and inserted a sterile needle, drew up one dose of the drug into a three-millimeter syringe, and changed needles, leaving one needle in the bottle and putting a fresh one on the syringe. I hoped I was doing this right. I’d seen it done in my emergency medical class, but I’d never actually given a shot. To refresh my memory, I’d watched a video online to get the basics down, but I had no idea if the videographer knew what she was doing. I cleaned Big H’s upper arm and popped the needle into the muscle. Carefully, I pressed the plunger down and let the clear liquid enter Big H’s arm. Then I pressed a piece of gauze on it and said, “If it doesn’t stop bleeding, have a healthy vampire scion spit on it to close it.”

Big H’s brow crinkled in surprise, and his eyebrows would have risen had he possessed any.

“Yeah. I know. Gross, right?” I said. Then I smiled brightly down the table. “Next?”

• • •

By five fifty a.m., the vamps were all dosed up and had departed or headed to the MOC’s guest sleeping quarters, leaving me with Eli and Big H. The MOC still occupied the flared-out chair and lounged back in it, one foot up on his chair seat, one elbow resting on his knee, and a glass of red wine before him, which he turned around and around on the linen cloth. His other hand swung the ugly necklace in the air, mesmerizing as a hypnotist. He hadn’t moved from that position since I started dosing his scions. Something about his posture reminded me of a young Hugh Hefner. It had to be the silk jammies and the décor.

A silence settled on the room as I packed up my waste paper from all the sterile needles and syringes, and if Eli hadn’t been there, still watching my back, I’d have been nervous with the vamp’s intense gaze. It was almost as if he were trying out his compulsion on me or something, and it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I snapped closed the lid to the medical go-bag, slung the strap over my back, and opened my mouth to say good-bye. The MOC beat me to it.

“You do scent of Leo, but only vaguely, as if you have not drunk from him in a long time. Longer than most Enforcers.”

“It’s been a while,” I hedged. “I’m the part-timer, remember.”

“Mmmm. How many of my enemies and my people have you dispatched since your arrival?”

The topic switch took a moment to follow, but Bruiser had called Clark about Silandre, so this must be my comeuppance. “Four. A woman who followed us from your meeting and attacked us in the woods. Silandre had gone over to the dark side and was drinking humans to death. We killed three of her scions. Silandre and the others got away or healed from silver shot and scuttled off like insects. I sent pictures to your scion with a request for payment.”

“I did not authorize Silandre or her scions.”

“Yeah. About that. Leo approved her beheading, and I expect to be paid as per our revised contract,” I said, thanking my lucky stars that the Younger brothers had amended my boilerplate. “Got it?” I let a bit of Beast shine through my eyes, just in case he was thinking about paying me only for vamps listed.

Big H made no alterations in his body posture or movements. The wineglass kept turning, the wine inside moving slightly up and down with each turn. “You will be paid according to our agreement.” He looked up at me under his hairless eyebrow ridges. “Lucas de Allyon was evil. He took being a Naturaleza to new and lower depths. He wanted for my kind greater power over humans. He desired a return to the sun. All that he set in place—” Big H stopped as if his words had been cut off. He sat up in his chair and pushed his wineglass away, still holding his copper necklace like a talisman, his fingers shaking. “All that Lucas did was of the dark,” he finished, his voice a croak.

I wasn’t sure why Hieronymus was acting so weird, but I knew about de Allyon’s background. He had been around for longer even than Leo and had enslaved and murdered thousands of tribal Americans, drinking them down with abandon, Cherokee, Mississippians, Natchez, and Choctaw, just for starters. The old vamp had killed so many of my own people, the skinwalkers of the Cherokee, that we never recovered our numbers. He was the first European to import and own slaves from Africa. He was brutal and amoral pure evil, and killing him had been one moment of violence I would never regret. “Any idea how the new Naturaleza manage to heal from mortal wounds and silver?” I finally asked.

Big H didn’t answer for a long time, long enough for the room to brighten through the windows as the sun worked its way toward the horizon and dawn. “Perhaps it is magic.”

“Yeah.” I frowned at his flippancy. “Have your scion deposit my money in the account or I’ll leave you to deal with the magic insectoid bloodsuckers all on your lonesome.” I slung the kit around my shoulders and left the room, trusting Eli to shoot Big H if the vamp tried to chase me down.

As I opened the front doors, the window shades—which must have been on timers or sensors—started to close with a rattling whir. The door closed behind me and Eli and I drove off at a sedate pace.

“Magic?” he asked.

“Vamps are magic of a sort. He was probably yanking our chains,” I said. “But to be on the safe side, see what the Kid has on our circle info. And see how many of our missing humans are witch-born. Something about that conversation has my gut in a twist.”

“Good thinking,” Eli said.

“Did you get the whole Hugh Hefner vibe?”

“I kept looking around for bunnies in corsets.”

“In your dreams.”

“True dat. Eeeevery night.”

I let another smile take over my face. There was something satisfying about banter with Eli Younger, something I had missed while I was depressed and chained in New Orleans. That family feeling, I was guessing. Maybe now that business partner feeling. I realized how much better I was feeling since I got to Natchez. “Huh,” I said. When Eli glanced my way, I waved his curiosity off as unimportant.

“You know there’s an IHOP on Highland Boulevard, don’t you?” he said.

I sat up in my seat. “Nope. But I can always eat.”

“So I noticed. International House of Pancakes coming up.”

• • •

Bellies so full it hurt to move, we were back at the B and B as the sky grew noticeably gray. We opened the door, and my pocket buzzed, the number unfamiliar. I picked up. “Yellowrock.”

“Jane, it’s Bobby.” He was whispering and I smiled, remembering the young Bobby telling me secrets one day as I walked him from the school bus to his group home. I started to reply when he said, “Misha’s gone.”

I checked the time. Too late to be a vamp interview/kidnapping. “Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “She went out last night to see somebody and she didn’t come back. Charly’s still asleep, but when she wakes up, she’s gonna be scared.”

I could hear Bobby’s own fear, a prickly tension in his voice. “I’ll be right there,” I said.