Blood Song (Blood Singer #1)

Blood Song (Blood Singer #1) Page 23

“No.”

He held up a placating hand. “I’m not suggesting one of the state-run facilities.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t consign a rabid dog to one of those. But—”

“No. Not there. Not here.” I wouldn’t go. I’d literally rather die than go to a “facility.” If even half of what I’ve heard happened in those facilities is true, it would be far, far more merciful to just kill those committed. Other magically dangerous types get locked up, but vampires get staked and beheaded. An abomination? Who knew? At least there’s a hope of getting out for some people. A minuscule hope, but a hope. Not for the furry, like Kevin. And, I suspected, not for me.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t voluntarily lock myself away and risk being officially labeled dangerous. That might put me in line to go to one of those places if anything went wrong in the future. Yes, Birchwoods could probably help me. And I make a good living, so it wasn’t the money, although God knew a place like this would set me back. But unless I absolutely knew I was a menace to myself and the public, I wasn’t checking in. Still, I needed to be careful. Because the good doctor could commit me. There wasn’t a judge in the country who wouldn’t back him up on it. The standard for commitment was “is he/she a danger to him/herself and others?” Based on my display a little bit ago, I quite obviously was. I kept my voice calm, not betraying even a hint of fear. “If possible, I would prefer outpatient treatment.”

“Ms. Graves—”

“Dr. Scott, I’m not being deliberately difficult. Truly. But there are … practical considerations, things I need to deal with that can’t be put off. I didn’t attack you. You said I need to eat every four hours. I can do that as an outpatient. You say I’ll need therapy. I can do that, too.” I needed him to believe me. Needed him to work with me on this. As I focused my thoughts, I realized I could almost hear the sound of lapping waves through the window behind him. I smelled salt water on the air.

He stared at me through narrowed eyelids. I felt the weight of that gaze. He was testing me. Long minutes passed before he spoke. I sat silent, waiting. I didn’t squirm. Didn’t react much at all.

“The two people with your condition that I read about were killed by their sires within twenty-four hours after leaving a protected facility.”

“And the one you treated?”

“Suicide—again after leaving the facility. She apparently couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done.”

I asked because he expected me to, not because I wanted to know. “What had she done?”

“She murdered her mother … tore her throat out, drank until she was full, and then left her to bleed to death. Even though she remembered who she was, the bloodlust was too much for her.”

If he was hoping to shock me into submission, it didn’t work. Oh, I’d be careful, damned careful. But the only way he was getting me to be an inpatient anywhere was by force. “I’m not easy to kill and I haven’t murdered anyone. I can do outpatient treatment, Dr. Scott. I can.”

The silence stretched long again. Now I could hear the rolling crash of waves against rocks … even though there were no cliffs outside. The harsh caw of seagulls seemed right outside the window. My eyes flicked up when I saw movement over Dr. Scott’s shoulder. There were gulls right outside his window. Floating and dipping in a glimmering dance. Quite a few for some reason. A bit odd for nightfall, but I’m not an expert on shorebirds.

Dr. Scott’s head cocked and he spun his seat toward the window. He watched the gulls swoop around in the glow of the lamp, for all the world like giant moths near a flame. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and blinked repeatedly. When he turned back and spoke, his voice was strained. “I will make you a deal, Ms. Graves. We’ll try it your way—if you agree to follow the diet I am about to give you, take the supplements and medications I am prescribing, and come to this facility on an outpatient basis three times per week. But if I determine the situation has become too dangerous, you will agree to abide by my judgment and voluntarily commit yourself for two months of inpatient treatment.”

It was the best offer I was going to get. I could tell from the set of his shoulders, the grim determination on his face. He didn’t like bending even this far.

“I’ll agree—as long as you agree to give it a fair shot. No cheating and ordering me in without cause.”

“No cheating.” He repeated the word drily. “Fine. We’re agreed. Don’t make me regret it.”

I didn’t answer, merely watched as he scribbled a long list of notes. Pausing briefly, he tapped the pen against his teeth a few times, then continued until most of the page was full. I decided to use the time to watch the birds outside, but when I looked out the window they were gone. Who knows why. So I stared at the twinkling lights down on the beach instead. Someone was having a party, if the flickering tiki lights were any indication.

When he finally looked up again, he met my eyes. “I’ll have my assistant call these in to your pharmacy. That way they can have everything ready and waiting for you when you arrive. You should take a dose of the supplement immediately. While we have no way of knowing for sure, it seemed to help Rachel control her bloodlust.”

I nodded my agreement. “I’ll do that.”

“Where should I have Heather call?”

I gave him the name and address of the place I usually use for my birth control and vitamins and he scribbled the information at the top of the page.

“I think we’re done here for now.” He rose and I did the same. “In answer to the concerns you didn’t get the chance to express earlier, independent examiners will be on site to look into Vicki’s death thoroughly. I should also mention that the reason I’m telling you any of this is because Vicki signed a written request that we explain the details of her death to all of the heirs and devisees in her Will. Naturally, we will abide by her wishes and keep you apprised of the results of any investigation. I imagine the investigators will want to speak with you as well.”

His words confirmed what I’d suspected for some time now. He was a telepath, and a damned good one. He’d pulled the question about an investigation out of my head, plus God alone knew what else, without my even noticing. Dangerous man. Of course, it will be easier to be in therapy with someone you don’t actually have to talk to. There are a lot of things I’d rather not reach air.

If, as he seemed to be hinting, I was inheriting money from Vicki, I’d have had one hell of a motive, and in the circles I ran in it would probably even be possible for me to arrange for a professional hit. I wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t. Shit.

He led me to the door of the office, and was holding it open for me when I answered. “It doesn’t matter if they investigate me. Let them know I’ll cooperate fully. I loved Vicki very much. She was a genuinely good and gentle person.” I smiled, knowing as I did that the smile didn’t reach my eyes and showed more than a hint of fang. “For better or worse, I’m not. If she died of natural causes, fine. But if she didn’t, I’m going to find out who did it and why. Then I intend to make them pay.” I preceded him to the office doors. Since I got there first, I opened them for both of us. He paused at the edge of the wide hallway.

“Ms. Graves, may I ask you a blunt question?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you know the contents of Victoria Cooper’s Will?”

“No. She never told me, and it was none of my business. I assume she gave me a minor bequest—just like I’d do for her—and that pretty much everything goes to either Alex or her parents. She didn’t have any other family.”

He gave me serious eyes. “I think you may be in for a shock. It’s her parents who will be receiving the minor bequests. They do, after all, already have their own fortunes. And there has been an … estrangement between Vicki and her mother for some time.”

A hard lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. No. She wouldn’t … would she?

He noticed my expression and put a light hand on my shoulder. “Celia, do you really want to be out in public, enduring a media firestorm, in your current condition? Are you certain you wouldn’t rather stay here for a time … learn some skills to keep you, and the public, safe?”

I took in a deep breath and let it out slow. Yes, this new information complicated things. Complicated them a lot. But— “Dr. Scott, a gilded cage is still a cage. And you know as well as anyone that hiding from your problems doesn’t make them go away.”

He gave a nod that was almost a bow. “My offer stands. If you find you can’t cope, you are welcome here.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate that.” I did. But I wouldn’t take him up on it unless there was no other choice. There were too many memories here. Good memories for the most part, but that wouldn’t make it any easier. If anything, it would be harder. Everything would remind me of Vicki, of her loss.

Dr. Scott escorted me through the lobby to the glass doors leading to the parking lot. His body language was stiff, reluctant, almost as if he were being forced to let me go against his will. But he did it. And I was grateful as hell for it. Because I needed to be away from here. Stupid, I suppose. This place was probably as safe as or safer for me than just about anywhere else right now. But I needed to leave. It wasn’t smart, wasn’t logical. But I needed to do it just the same.

The door closed behind me, and I heard the snick of the dead bolt being turned. I didn’t turn around. Just stood on the concrete step, letting the warm breeze carry the scents of salt water and seaweed to my nostrils. The gulls were gone. But if I listened hard, I could still hear the ocean. For a long moment I just stood there, drinking it in, letting it calm me as much as anything could.

Mine was the last car in the lot, gleaming midnight blue under the street lamps. I crossed the wide expanse of asphalt, unlocked the door, and climbed inside.