Edie Spence [02] Moonshifted Page 24

  I walked around the limo, wondering if I was supposed to. In movies they always had people opening the doors for you, and I’d skipped prom.

  There was a body dressed in a driver’s uniform lying by the open front door, and blood like a streak of tar against the fresh snow. Something not entirely human, and not entirely wolf either, crouched, waiting for me.

  “Human whore,” said a gravelly voice.

  “Jorgen?” He was still wearing a bowling shirt, and still bald, but his face protruded, his nose and jaw muzzle-like.

  “I don’t think I need protection anymore.” I backed up.

  “Oh, yes, you do,” he said, and leapt.

  My feet went out from under me in the snow as I ran backward, and that was what saved me. He sailed over me as I fell, and I whirled on my ass, trying to kick out at him. He grabbed my ankles and yanked me nearer to him.

  “Now that the moon is out, we no longer have to pretend,” he said, looming over me. He leaned down, and I tried to punch him in the face.

  He pulled back and to the side. His teeth scraped the knuckles of my hand, and my bracelet slid up his cheek as I followed through. He howled, reaching for his face with one hand, and swatting claws down my left thigh with his other.

  I saw my purse and scrabbled backward. The knife was in it, if only I was able—I reached for it, cold slush sliding up my side. I grabbed the strap and yanked it to me.

  Jorgen grabbed and pulled again on my leg as I clutched my purse to my chest.

  “Why? Why this? Why me?” I tried to sound panicked—not hard—and hoped he’d bother to answer. My other things spilled out as my hand found the knife’s hilt in my bag.

  “Because.” His face, undecided between man and beast, was gruesome. “Because life isn’t fair,” he said, sounding like Helen. “I shouldn’t have been bitten. I should have been born. And because your Lucas is unfit to rule.”

  “I don’t understand—” I protested, trying to scoot back.

  Jorgen laughed at this. “Do you think I care?” Then he leapt.

  We were so close it was like a body slam. All I had time to do was hold the knife up inside my purse, like a cartoon funeral rose. There was the sensation of impact. All over my body, a crushing physical blow. The hilt of the knife pounded into my stomach and knocked all the wind out of me. But it was wedged up. Caught on something.

  Jorgen’s sternum.

  “Get off me—” I shoved at him and he groaned. His hands found purchase and he rolled himself away. I let the knife go and it sliced my purse free as it rolled with him. I sat up, holding the leather shreds of my purse, stunned, watching blood pour out of Jorgen like he was a fountain.

  He tried to pull at it. There was an electric snap from the blade as he touched it, repelling his hand.

  “Get it out—” he begged.

  If I took it out of him, there was a chance he’d heal. If I didn’t take it with me, I’d let Anna down tonight. I didn’t think vampires believed in extenuating circumstances.

  I squatted beside him, still catching my breath. “Tell me why.”

  “You saw me hit him with my truck.” Jorgen’s hands played through the blood he was losing, trying to keep some from spilling out.

  I hadn’t seen the driver of the car that hit Winter … but Jorgen assumed I had. Because it had been him.

  Why would Jorgen hit Winter? Wasn’t Jorgen bitten—a faithful were-follower? I swallowed. What could possibly change his mind?

  “Tell Helen I love her. I’ve always loved her,” he said, reaching a bloody hand out to me, then lowering it to the ground.

  “Why’d you hit him, Jorgen?” The wolfman didn’t respond. “Jorgen?” I resisted the temptation to shake him, to try to wake him up. There was so much blood, and Jorgen’s breathing was shallow.

  I could kill him for sure with the knife. Carve it down and slice his intestines through. But I knew what a stab wound through the gut felt like. I didn’t have it in me. I stood, shaking.

  “Don’t follow me if you get up.” I reached down, yanked out the knife, and headed for the limousine.

  * * *

  I stepped on my ID badge on the way to the limo. I freed it from the muck and shoved it into my pocket, lanyard and all, and then got into my ride.

  Most of the blood on me wasn’t mine, but my knuckles and thighs throbbed. The heat was on in the limo, keys still in the ignition, so I revved it up and pulled away.

  The limo had GPS, and the driver, now dead and gnawed on in my parking lot, had been kind enough to enter in his final destination before he left.

  Driving it was like driving a boat. Luckily it was automatic, not stick.

  I didn’t look at myself in the rearview mirror. I knew that would be a bad idea. I knew bruises were welting up all over my body, that my jeans were torn, that my sweater was covered in were-blood, and what else, who goddamn knew.

  No matter how much I might have loved a monster once—I didn’t sign up for this.

  If I let go of the steering wheel, the limo would slide to the side of the road, into a snowbank, and I would cry, and be frozen there like a woolly mammoth until a snowplow happened by or the first thaw of spring. No, I would not look up, and I would not look down. I would only watch the road and the little blue dot on the GPS’s screen that meant we were heading toward something, somewhere else. I followed that little blue dot, went out of town, and out into the countryside, until it pulled me into a parking lot circled by a white picket fence. I looked out.

  It had once been a church.

  * * *

  I pulled the limo up. This parking lot was huge, so the church must have been prestigious, before … the fire. I nodded to myself. Snow didn’t hide all the charred blackness of the roof, and I could see blue tarps underneath it, trying to keep some of the weather out. I bet the congregation hadn’t had enough money or time to rebuild before winter, and now, this.

  I parked the limousine. I didn’t want to leave it. It was warm here, and it was safe, and I was starting to stick to the seat. A knock on the window startled me.

  “You’re late!” Sike said as I opened the door. I could tell she didn’t expect to see me driving. “You stink of were-blood. What happened?”

  “Your driver got jumped.”

  “How are you?” she said, and for the first time, I felt she meant it. She put out her hand.

  I stood even with her, so she could see all of me. “I’m fine. But after this, I’m fucking through. You’re getting me out.” I knew she had no say in the matter, but saying it firmed my resolve.

  “When you’re done here, you should probably go to Y4. To get were-shots.” She touched a hand to an earpiece I hadn’t realized she had. “We need a disposal team at the Ambassador’s personal residence. Driver two is gone.” Then she gestured. “Please, follow me.”

  Some Ambassador I was tonight. Limping, I followed.

  * * *

  Seeing as the church had holes in some walls, it was freaking cold inside. It wouldn’t bother the vampires, but it irritated me. I’d been through enough already tonight, I didn’t need to freeze too.

  The inside of the church had at one time been a Catholic affair. There was a clean space on a blackened wall where a crucifix had been removed, like an inverse cross. The rest of the inside was hollowed out, gutted by the fire. After that, I bet congregants had taken everything they could salvage. Construction lights made everything cast long shadows.

  “Why the hell are we here?” I asked Sike.

  “We wanted the most neutral ground possible. Churches make all vampires uncomfortable,” she said as she led me in. “Plus, it has a sense of flair.”

  “Remind me to never go shopping with you,” I muttered, following behind her, holding Anna’s knife.

  Because the pews were gone, vampires stood where the congregation should be, clustered together in their tribes. Sike led me around them and up to the raised altar at the front. I recognized the other people standing there. Gideon, V
eronica, Mr. Galeman—a prior patient of mine whom Anna had bitten—Sike and I took our place by their side. Veronica still looked as feral as she had at my house, and as if to make up for it, Gideon was eerily calm.

  “How’d they rope you into this,” I asked Mr. Galeman, who stood beside me.

  “Free beer,” he whispered back. Sike hissed down the line at us, then glared at us to keep quiet.

  Well. That. Was. Encouraging. I stood there, exhausted, and my legs kept complaining, each claw mark stung—I wasn’t going to need just rabies shots, but tetanus as well. I looked like that chick from Carrie, or one of any number of segments from Battle Royale.

  “Now the ceremony can begin,” said a vampire I didn’t recognize from the side. Organ music welled up, pretentious, dramatic.

  “Is it always like this?” I asked Sike.

  She glared at me. “Shut it.”

  * * *

  Anna walked in from off stage. She was dressed simply, in white. It made her already fair skin paler; her blond hair gave her the only color she had.

  She made her way down us, like she was in a receiving line. She spoke to Veronica and Gideon first, then Mr. Galeman, then me.

  Anna looked me up and down. “You’re magnificent.”

  “I’m not feeling it right now.”

  She slipped her hand into mine briefly. Then she smiled at Sike and went to the front of the stage.

  “Bathory isn’t here,” Sike whispered, barely breathing beside me. She took her earpiece out of her ear.

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re not voting.”

  I tried to stare out past the lights, to figure out by the crowds where the lines of allegiances ran.

  A vampire who appeared to be the master of ceremonies took the stage. He gestured for Anna to join him. “Anna Arsov, begin.”

  Anna opened up her arms to include everyone in the gathering. She looked so young beside him, and with all the lights shining down, her shadow was slight. “I have passed every test that you’ve given me. I have shown grand restraint, and I have known grave thirst. All the positions on my court have been filled. Who here would dispute my right to ascend?”

  “House Arachne!” A lone vampire in the middle of an empty area of seats stood. “House Arachne does not recognize the right of the Arsinov to ascend to the Sanguine of the Rose Throne!”

  “Old, but not as old as we are,” Sike murmured just for my ear. “Powers include insect and small animal servants. Spiders, birds, and the like.”

  “And why would you dispute me?”

  “You picked this place, so you have no taste. Worse yet, you picked these people—”

  Anna cut her off. “It was within my rights to choose the locale, and to choose my own people. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Many of them hate the church. They believe in the power it holds over them.” Sike continued her narration.

  “And you?” I asked of Sike.

  “I believe in her,” she whispered back.

  “Does anyone else dispute?” the vampire overseeing the proceedings intoned.

  A young woman in a tight burgundy velvet dress with swooping sleeves came forward. “The House of Bathory is undecided. We choose to abstain.”

  “Nouveau riche pretenders,” Sike murmured to me. “Weak.”

  “Is that all?” the ceremony master asked, taking a moment to look around. “Together, two Houses cannot sway the vote. Sanguine rules of order say we should proceeed.” He turned toward me. “Human, can you present your knife?”

  I’d forgotten I had it. I held it out. He took it with a gloved hand and spun the hourglass in the hilt.

  “There’s blood on it—but none of it’s in you. That’s what counts.” He put it in his own robe. “We may begin,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

  One of the hovering observers came up with a small brass box. It had a crank handle and was set on a silver tray.

  Anna turned to me and pointed at the box. “Edie, please.”

  I didn’t want to ask what it was. I wish she’d told me more. I picked it up carefully and looked at the handle, then the sides, and finally underneath. There were grooves cut into the bottom, lined with tiny blades. The metal was old. The blades were unclean.

  A scarificator. I recognized it from our introduction to nursing class, when our teachers had explained how far medical practices had come, and how far it had to go, and how we, the nurses of the next generation, were going to take it there. It was meant to bleed people, from olden times, when just lancing someone wouldn’t do. Shown to be medically useless, despite the esteem it once held. Just like cocaine-spiked Coke, magnet treatments, and the benefits of smoking.

  No one made them anymore—because no one believed in the health benefits of bleeding.

  Except for vampires.

  Anna rolled up her white sleeve and proffered me her wrist. Another observer brought up a golden urn that had been fitted with a delicate tap.

  “I trust you,” she said, looking down at me. I knew what the stakes were, but—“Edie. It will be okay. I trust you.”

  I knew I couldn’t hurt her—doing this wouldn’t hurt her. And many times vampires, and even sometimes me, found pleasure inside pain. But still.

  Where was the difference between piercing someone’s skin with a needle, for their own good, and setting this thing’s blackened grinding blades onto her? How many times had I hurt to make things better—hurt other people, and hurt myself?

  She wanted me to do it. If I didn’t, it might be the end of her. And the end of us.

  I set the box on her skin. Then I stabilized it with my thumb, holding it still, my fingers cupping her wrist. I could feel the smoothness of her skin.

  And then, God help me, I spun the handle around. The blades dug down. I didn’t dare look up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  She didn’t flinch.

  The blades were dull—it’d been a century since they were sharp. At least sterility didn’t matter—this predated the idea of germs, much less the autoclave—since there was nothing Anna could contract. I pressed the box harder and spun the handle with more force. I felt like a perverted organ grinder’s monkey, paid a pittance to liberate someone’s blood.

  The first drops emerged. Snaking down her arm in red tributaries, joining on her wrist to become a river, following the same path of least resistance to pool in the palm of her hand.

  Warm in a way their blood would never be, hot as it rolled down to drip drip drip into the urn. I could hear the first few drops ting, like rain on a cheap window, before there was enough blood to make it sound like slow running water.

  I couldn’t see the vampires in attendance, but I felt their attention, rapt. How much blood did one body hold? Her size, her slight weight? I knew the answer, somewhere. I tried not to think about it. Hard.

  Those who were helping with the ceremony came up and twisted the tap, decanting Anna’s blood into trays of small glasses, which I realized with a shock were communion cups. Some of them were precise, catching every drop. Others were wasteful, overfilling glasses, letting blood drip down between. Anna ignored them, I almost said something, and she put her free hand on my shoulder before I could speak.

  “I heal quickly, even now. Keep going,” she said.

  * * *

  I hadn’t counted the congregants before. I wished I had. Tray after tray of glasses was filled, dispensed, and filled again. Anna’s hand on my shoulder didn’t change; it didn’t claw me with pain or fade away with the urge to faint.

  I wanted to think I would have stopped all this if it had.

  After what seemed like hours, the last tray was full, and there was no one else in line. Anna stood there, still white and gleaming, if you ignored the carnage down her right arm. Sensing things were through, I lifted the scarficator, saw where it had ripped through the skin and into the muscles of her forearm, the shreds of exposed white tendon, the dull gleam of living bone. Just as quickly, she began to
heal, tendons reknitting, muscle sheaths regrowing.

  I had never seen the process up close before. I gasped aloud. It was genuinely miraculous.

  From the front of the stage I could finally see the crowd—and I knew now why I had been chosen. They were rapt with lust. The room was silent, charged.

  “So you see,” Anna announced to the group before us, rolling her sleeve back down her arm. “I have passed the final test. I thank you for those who donated to my trials. Drink now, and think well of me.”

  Some vampires darted long tongues into the small cups, others tipped them back to drink each drop, and still others swirled elegant fingers inside, pulling out drops of blood to lick like cake batter. So cruel to be limited to just a sip of her blood, when they could take—and she would make—so much more. If one of them had been here, instead of me, and she hadn’t been absolutely sure of their loyalty as she was of mine—

  There was a commotion at the back of the room. A group of vampires forced their way in, jostling one another and the already seated host, each of them dressed as elaborately as the lone Bathory speaker before. None of them wore their attire like they were born to it, like they shared its age. Instead they looked like a well-funded Renaissance fair troupe had gotten loose.

  “The House of Bathory will now decide!”

  “Your time has passed,” the master of ceremonies intoned.

  “We have the right!” said a man, one of those entering late. “I am the leader of this House. I get to have a vote.”

  “The votes have already been counted.” The master of ceremonies grew before me, the shadows around him gathering, taking up more space, crowding out the air.

  “What would you find acceptable?” Anna said, stepping in front of me. At her intrusion, the master of ceremonies seemed to shrink and withdraw. All fights tonight were hers.

  The man, dressed as an imitation of Henry the Eighth with a stomach to match, stepped forward. “We would prefer enough blood to bathe in, of course.” Only members of his retinue laughed at his joke. “But we will accept a small sacrifice. One of your court, perhaps. Or more blood from your wrist divine.”