Serpent's Kiss

EIGHTEEN

In the bedroom, Seremela tactfully looked out the window as Carling stripped. Carling had lost all vestige of modesty within her first hundred years of existence, but for the doctor’s sake, she slipped on a hotel bathrobe. Then she patiently put up with a very thorough medical examination.

“I’m not sure what to make of this,” Seremela murmured. “But your temperature is elevated.”

“Is it?” Her eyebrows rose. “By how much?”

“A good five degrees. No doubt you already know that Vampyres tend to reflect the temperature of their surroundings, which in most rooms tends to be around seventy to seventy-two degrees. You’re running hot at seventy-six point five.” Seremela popped the plastic off her thermometer and tucked the thermometer away in her physician’s bag.

Carling bit back a smile. “I have been in close contact with Rune for quite a while, and he’s like a furnace.”

The medusa looked down. “I imagine so. He cares for you a great deal.” There was a trace of wistfulness in Seremela’s voice, and more than a trace in her emotions.

Carling’s impulse to smile faded. She said quietly, “I am his mate. The timing is inconvenient.”

The medusa’s head came up. Her eyes had gone wide with a stricken compassion. “Oh gods, this is doubly difficult then.”

“Yes.”

Seremela sighed. “Physically you appear just fine, Councillor. Your Power is very interesting to me, but since we’ve just met, I have no way to gauge or assess it. All I know is it hasn’t fluctuated while I have been in your presence. And I wish I could take blood and do some testing, but I don’t have medical privileges at any facilities here.”

Carling said, “At its root, Vampyrism is a blood condition, so it seems highly probable that any original venom would have been hemotoxic in nature.”

“That’s what I think too,” said Seremela.

Carling said, “Ingesting blood is also the only way Vampyres can take in nourishment, at least until they hit the stage I’m in.”

“If it’s all about the blood, then my guess is that blood will also hold the key.”

All about the blood. Carling nodded thoughtfully. She knew very well that feelings weren’t scientific, but it felt right to her, felt true.

Seremela studied her. “And you haven’t taken in any physical nourishment in almost two hundred years?”

“That’s correct,” Carling said. “Drinking blood began to make me violently ill. Let me tell you, throwing up gouts of blood is not a pleasant experience.”

Seremela winced. “I imagine not. Did your succubus abilities appear before or after you lost your ability to tolerate ingesting blood?”

“Some time afterward. I went through a couple of weeks of feeling weak and lethargic, and I ached all over,” Carling told her. She set aside the bathrobe and dressed again in the jeans and flirty T-shirt. “It reminded me a little of when I was first turned, actually. I would get hungry and try to drink, and then it would all come back up again. I finally lost the desire to try. Then some time later I realized I could sense what other living creatures were feeling. The stronger the emotion, the more revitalized I felt. By then I had heard stories of the oldest of us becoming succubi, otherwise I would have been more frightened than I was.”

Seremela sat down in the bedroom’s chair. “It sounds possible that becoming a succubus was a defense response from your mutated immune system. You lost the ability to process your normal form of nourishment, and your body responded accordingly.”

“It certainly sounds possible,” Carling said. She liked how the doctor processed information.

“If this progression is as logical as cause-and-effect, if we could find some physical nourishment that you could tolerate, we might be able to put you into a holding pattern,” Seremela said. “We need to get you into some kind of remission. Perhaps we can’t achieve an absence of all symptoms, but we need to at least try to halt any advancement. It could buy us some much-needed time.”

“That’s an excellent point,” Carling said slowly. “I’ll keep it mind. In the meantime, why don’t you take a little blood and I’ll put it in stasis. That will preserve it until you can get it refrigerated properly.”

“Excellent,” Seremela said with satisfaction.

After the medusa had drawn a vial and Carling had spelled it, she turned to her leather bag to open it and pull out the tube containing the papyri scrolls of her sketches of Python. She took them over to a dresser and beckoned Seremela over as she unrolled them on the dresser’s flat surface.

The medusa breathed, “These are incredible.”

Carling watched the other woman’s face as she reached out to touch the edge of the top scroll with reverence. Seremela’s pleasure was like a keen, bright light. Carling said, “I want you to take these.”

Seremela’s eyes went wide. Both she and all her head snakes looked so shocked, Carling had to bite back the sudden urge to chuckle.

“I couldn’t accept these,” Seremela said. Then, in a stricken whimper, “Could I?”

“Of course you could,” Carling said. “Talking with you has been incredibly helpful. It’s been a comfort as well.”

“It’s been a privilege to meet you and help in any way I can.” Seremela touched the edge of the top sketch again. “You shouldn’t feel like you need to give these to me.”

“Consider it my way of saying thanks,” Carling said. “And honestly I think you’ll enjoy them so much more than I do. I haven’t thought about or looked at them in centuries, until Python came up in conversation with Rune.”

“This is a hell of a thank-you,” Seremela said. “Rune had mentioned something about paying me for my travel expenses and my time. If I do accept these sketches, I don’t want to hear any more talk of payment. All right?”

Carling said, “If that’s the way you need to give yourself permission to enjoy them, I’m not going to argue with you.”

Seremela laughed and clapped her hands. “Then thank you, yes, I accept.”

Carling smiled as she rolled up the sketches, slid them back in the tube and handed it to Seremela, who perched the tube on top of her physician’s bag between the straps. Both women were smiling as they walked out of bedroom to find Rune still dressed in black and armed for war.

He wore two guns in shoulder holsters and a short sword strapped to his back. He had changed out of his sleek dress shoes and now wore steel-toed boots. As Carling and Seremela entered the living room, he was just rolling up his sleeves and strapping leather armbands with throwing stars to his forearms.

After she took one thoughtful look at him, Carling didn’t waste time asking for an explanation. Instead she turned her attention to Seremela. “We need to get you out of San Francisco.”

“And we need to do that as fast as possible,” Rune said. He yanked the straps closed on one armband and began to fasten the other.

“What’s happened?” Seremela said. The medusa looked frightened.

“Never mind, Seremela,” Rune told her. His expression had turned killer cold, but his voice remained calm. “This doesn’t concern you. The less you know about things, the better.”

Carling said, “I’m going to call Khalil and use that last favor. He’ll see that she gets home safely.”

“Sounds good,” Rune said. “Then you and I can take off.”

A loud knock sounded on the suite door. “Nightkind SFPD,” a male said in a voice meant to carry. “Open up.”

Rune said to her, “Call him.”

She spoke the words that were the spell that sent the call spearing into the night.

The knock at the door turned into pounding. “Sentinel Ainissesthai, we know you’re in there. You need to come into the precinct with us for questioning.”

“Get in the bedroom,” Rune said to Carling and Seremela. He positioned himself in front of the door.

Carling grabbed Seremela’s arm and marched her into the bedroom as the cyclone blew into the suite. At the bedroom door, she glanced back to see Rune throw himself at the door, bracing it with his shoulder against the kick from the hall that was meant to break it down.

Khalil materialized in front of her gaze. He looked over his shoulder at Rune then turned to her. The Djinn’s spare, elegant features were sharp with interest.

Carling twisted, hauling Seremela bodily around. She shoved the medusa unceremoniously into Khalil’s arms, physician’s bag and all. “Take her to Chicago,” she said. “See that she gets home safely.”

Behind Khalil, she saw Rune brace his whole body as another kick slammed against the door. “The doorjamb is breaking,” Rune said. “I can’t hold it for long.”

Khalil raised an eyebrow. He looked mildly incredulous. He asked, “Are you sure this is how you want to spend your last favor?”

“Yes, goddammit, GO!” she snapped. She didn’t wait to watch the cyclone blow away with Seremela. Instead she sprinted into the bedroom. Moving as fast as she could, she tore into her suitcases, looking for any weapons Rufio may have provided, cursing herself for not thinking to specify what he should pack. She really had relied on Rhoswen too much and for far too long.

Ah, bless you, Rufio. Two stilettos. Her weapon of choice for close fighting. She snatched them up in their leather sheaths. She wished she had a gun as well for backup, but the most effective long-range weapons she had were her offensive spells. She briefly considered shoes and more protective clothing, but then she heard a sharp splintering and the sound of snarling from the other room and she turned to race back into the living room.

Rune was fighting hand-to-hand in a whirlwind melee with a sixteen-foot-tall troll, and three ghouls. Though the word “ghoul” was etymologically descended from gallu, the Mesopotamian term for demon, ghouls were nevertheless Night-kind creatures. They blistered easily in strong sunlight, and were inhumanly strong and fast, and if they got someone pinned, their Power could consume their victim’s flesh. The massive, gray-skinned troll was not as fast as were the ghouls, but she had a strength that could crush boulders. If she managed to catch up with Rune, she could kill him with a single solid blow to the head.

Rune had partially shifted into the golden monster. He moved with such speed, she could barely track him. He slashed out with both talon-tipped hands, and blood spurted from two of the ghouls.

The troll went down on her hands and knees, fished around with one tremendous hand, and caught hold of one of Rune’s ankles. He lifted his free foot to smash his steel-toed boot into her face. The troll blinked and grunted, but held on.

Carling sighed and spoke the words that iced the air, and stillness spread over the knot of fighters. The troll still looked pained, and two of the ghouls bore deep, bleeding claw marks. The third ghoul was in the process of pulling his regulation gun. Carling walked over to appropriate the gun for herself as Rune’s Power surged against her spell. He shook his head, swearing, and yanked his ankle out of the troll’s grip.

“That spell of yours is beginning to grow on me,” he growled. Rune turned away from the frozen knot of Nightkind fighters, his face and body settling back into more normal lines as he walked over to her.

Carling tilted her face up for his swift kiss. “It’s not their fault,” she said. “I’m assuming they’re just following orders.”

Rune might no longer look like the monster caught in mid-shift, but his eyes glowed with a flat, wicked light. “Julian’s orders,” he spat. “He’s trying to get me out of the picture and isolate you. He got you fired, baby. You’re no longer a Councillor on the Elder tribunal, but I notice he did not come to deliver the news to you in person.”

Anger clogged her throat so that she could barely speak. She said, “He can’t. He’s my direct progeny, and if we get close enough together, I can still command his obedience. I assume you found all this out when you talked to Dragos?”

“Yes,” he said. He put his arms around her, and she leaned against him. He was an inferno, throwing off more body heat than ever, and against her mind’s eye he glowed molten with rage. “He ordered me home, I quit, and he didn’t take it well.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “Seremela’s gone?”

“Yes.” She leaned her forehead against his broad shoulder. “Rune, I’m sorry about Dragos.”

A sigh shuddered through him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m sorry about Julian. But forget about them for now. Grab what you need to take with you. We’ve got to get out of here.”

She nodded and strode over to take the guns from the other two frozen ghouls. The troll did not carry a gun. Her eyesight was too weak, and her hands too large to make effective use of a handgun. When Carling turned around again, she found Rune had scooped up his duffle and her leather bag. He had also appropriated a butterscotch-colored leather jacket for her, along with matching flat-heeled leather boots. “Here.” He tossed the boots at her. “These’re more sensible than the Christian Louboutin boots but alas, not nearly as much fun.”

She caught them and bent over to yank them on. “Fun can happen later.”

A sudden grin slashed across his face. “Later, and again, and repeatedly, I hope,” he said. “You promised. I might have stuffed one of your caftans into my duffle too, in case you want it for later.”

She straightened and gave him a lopsided smile. “You know that hairy bespectacled T-shirt you threw in the trash?” He raised his eyebrows and she nodded to her leather bag.

“Then it sounds like we got all we need, baby,” Rune said. He gave her a hard kiss. “This next bit is tricky but doable. Climb on my back and I’ll take a running launch out the balcony. I’ll shift in midair, so you need to hang on.”

There was stealthy movement in the hall. Several creatures were approaching. She opened up her arms and gestured to Rune impatiently. “You just get us in the air,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll hang on.”

He gave her that white, wild smile of his, tossed the bags at her and turned his back to her. She slung the bags onto one shoulder and leaped at him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. As soon as she was firmly riding piggyback, he turned and sprinted for the open balcony doors.

She had seen the power in his running launch, felt the power in his launch from both sea and land. This was something altogether different. This had the roar of a Harrier jet as it shot off the short deck of an aircraft carrier ship. Each of his long, powerful strides shoved them off the Earth, faster and faster, until he took a springboard jump off the wrought-iron balcony and leaped up into the air with his arms outstretched.

It was one of the most exhilarating things she had ever experienced, and possibly one of the most tragic, for even as he shimmered into the shapeshift, and she felt the flow of his body as he expanded underneath her, a massive nylon net unfurled over them, shot with devastating precision from the rooftop of the hotel. They tangled in it and fell.

Even as they plummeted several stories, Rune was unbelievably fast. They turned as they fell and he twisted in midair, keeping his body between hers and the pavement, but the restricting net made his landing horribly awkward. They slammed into the ground with such force they shattered the concrete underneath them. She could hear the massive bones in Rune’s front right leg and shoulder snap. The breath left him hard as he collapsed in an uncontrolled sprawl. Otherwise he remained silent. She was the one who screamed with rage and anguish at his suffering.

Her talons sprang out. The nylon net shredded like paper. Within seconds she had it ripped away and she leaped to her feet, standing protectively over Rune. But the net had accomplished what it had been intended to do; it had grounded them. With a muffled groan, Rune shapeshifted back into a man and lay curled on his side around his shattered arm.

She backed in a circle, looking around the open space. They had landed on a sidewalk beside the hotel’s large, well-kept grounds. There wasn’t any traffic on the nearby bordering street, and there were no passing pedestrians.

There were, however, plenty of creatures dotting the area around them. Julian had set the trap well. Four more trolls, and as many as fifty ghouls, with perhaps twice as many Vampyres, all standing silent, either watching to see what she would do or waiting for orders.

Even if she agreed to go with them, Rune would never accept it. Injured as he was, he would rise to his feet and fight to the death before he would let them get separated.

Her hands fisted. She called out, “You have been my people, and you’re just following orders. I understand that. As of this moment, you can all walk away. No harm, no foul, no damage done. But if you’re going to go, you need to do it right now.”

She was gratified to note that many slipped away in the night. On the ground at her feet, Rune sat and drew a gun. He was hunched over, cradling his arm against his abdomen. He asked hoarsely, “Can you freeze the rest?”

“There’s too many, spread over too large of an area.” She began to whisper the ancient spell that called all her souls together, gathering all her Power into one compressed weapon. I call my future selves to me. I call all my desires, all my fears to me. I call all my past selves to me. I call my divine self to me . . .

Then Julian called across the open space, in his rough, familiar battleground roar, “All you have to do to stop this is keep your promise and return to the island. You can spend your remaining days in peace.”

She looked down and met Rune’s blazing gaze. “I can’t do that, Julian.”

“You would really rather go to war? How could you kill your own people?”

“I gave them their chance,” she said. “And my give-a-shit button’s broken, baby.” She didn’t recognize her own voice.

Rune came up on one knee. Too many creatures chambered too many rounds. She glanced down, and he nodded to her. He gave her a small private smile. It had been so beautiful for too brief a time. She put a hand on Rune’s good shoulder and began to whisper the spell that would rain fire. She poured all her Power into the incantation.

Then the cyclone returned.

It blasted into the open area with such force, the Earth shook. Buildings rattled in a half-mile radius. Later the news channels would state the shockwave from the earthquake was felt three hundred miles away. Many of the Nightkind creatures cried out in fear and fell to the ground to cover their heads.

Rune stood and put his good arm around Carling as a prince of the Djinn formed in front of them. Khalil’s strange diamond eyes and elegant inhuman features held a fierce smile.

“Now you will be the one to owe me a favor,” said the Djinn to the Vampyre sorceress.

She released all her pent-up Power with a gasp. “Yes,” she said.

“Where?”

“The Oracle in Louisville,” she said rapidly.

Across the open square, Julian roared orders. His Nightkind forces began to fire. But none of their bullets hit their targets. The cyclone enveloped Rune and Carling and took them away.

The trip was as strange and as chaotic as anything Carling had experienced. She turned and put her arms around Rune to hold him tight as a howling wind surrounded them. In the center of the cyclone, Khalil gripped them to his lean, hard chest. Then the world materialized around them again, in the shape of a hot, humid Midwestern night.

As soon as Rune and Carling’s feet touched the ground, Khalil released them. Carling was slow to relax her clench on Rune’s waist, and she noticed his good arm was just as reluctant to loosen on her. The Djinn had not disappeared as he had the previous times he had come. Instead, he stood beside them and surveyed the scene with as much curiosity as they did.

They weren’t actually in the city of Louisville but instead were some distance out, because the night was dark and quiet, populated with the shadowed greenery of deciduous trees and grass, and filled with the sound of crickets and cicadas. Hundreds of fireflies blanketed the area, winking yellow lights. The scene felt saturated with a very old Power.

They stood in a long gravel driveway that led up to an old sprawling two-story farmhouse. They had to have left San Francisco sometime after midnight, so that meant it was after 3:00 a. m. in Kentucky. A light was on inside the house. They could all clearly hear the sound of a fussing baby. There was the smell of a nearby river. Carling sensed the cool, powerful rush of water.

“Is that the Ohio River?” she asked Khalil.

“Yes,” he said. The Djinn stood with his hands on his hips. His head was cocked as he regarded the house.

Even though the dark night outside was lit only by stars and dotted with electric lights off in the distance, Carling’s gaze was sensitive enough she could see the lines of pain on Rune’s face as he cradled his arm. “We need to get you inside,” she said. She walked up the front steps of the farmhouse to the wide covered porch, followed by Rune and Khalil. A motion-sensitive porch light came on as they approached the house. Carling knocked on the door.

Light rapid footsteps approached, then suddenly the door yanked open. A slim, young human woman stood in the doorway with a baby on her hip. The woman was twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with features that might be classified as more interesting than pretty, and she had short flyaway, strawberry blonde hair. She was disheveled and hollow-eyed, and dressed in shabby plaid flannel pants and an oversized gray T-shirt.

The baby was a boy, perhaps nine months old. He looked as disheveled and hollow-eyed as the woman, his small round face splotchy from crying. For a moment he regarded them with as much curiosity as they regarded him. Then he knuckled one of his ears, turned to plop his face into the woman’s neck, and emitted a ragged, miserable wail.

The woman looked at them with unfriendly eyes. “What the hell are you doing, knocking at someone’s door at three thirty in the morning?”

Carling said, “We’re looking for the Oracle.”

“This couldn’t wait until seven?” the woman snapped. She patted the boy’s small back and bounced him with the kind of tiredness of someone who had been doing the same thing for some time now. “Hell, until six? What’s the matter with you people, anyway? Can’t you see I’ve got a sick baby on my hands? Go away and don’t come back until it’s a decent time.”

Khalil said, “You’re the Oracle?”

The Djinn sounded as surprised as Carling felt, and Rune looked.

“You were expecting a gold shrine and a gaggle of virgins draped in pleated white sheets?” the young woman said. “Yes, I’m the Oracle.”

Carling raised her eyebrows and looked beyond the woman at the train wreck of a living room. A scuffed hardwood floor was covered by an old shabby area rug that was littered with toys. Textbooks and coffee cups were piled on the equally shabby furniture. One armchair held a wicker basket piled high with unfolded laundry. The house smelled like sour baby vomit.

The young woman looked around too.

“I know,” she said with a bitter smile. “Whoop-de-fucking-do, right?”