Blood Song (Blood Singer #1)

Blood Song (Blood Singer #1) Page 51

I finally was able to scream with all the agony I’d been ignoring. As I gathered what might be my last breath, I spotted the others running my way, Kevin and Bruno battling for the lead.

That was the last sight I remember.

28

I can’t believe they let you out of the hospital to come to a wake.” Bruno shook his head and handed me a frozen margarita. I licked some of the salt off the wide rim to blend with the sweet, powerful drink as it slipped down my throat.

“Well, I was nearly healed anyway, and they had to let me out tomorrow by court order. I have to report to Birchwoods.” The authorities have no sense of humor. They tried to prove telepathic manipulation in connection with my release prior to the ball game. On Roberto’s advice I agreed to take a battery of tests, all of which I failed spectacularly. I’m not a telepath. I’m a siren. But they didn’t ask that specific question, and my attorney felt no need to offer the information. Said it “wasn’t pertinent.”

“You should have appealed,” Emma added. “You know the law school faculty would have helped you fight it. You’re admittedly a little nuts, but a dangerous animal? Just because of the abomination thing?”

I shook my head and took another sip of drink before answering. “There were a lot of witnesses to the Birchwoods incident. But they couldn’t push too hard. Not after somebody leaked it to the press. Besides, there must have been twenty ordained priests, pastors, rabbis, and monks lined up to testify at the hearing that I was fighting the demon, not helping him.” Still, it was touch-and-go, and I’d been forced into agreeing to an inpatient stay until the extent of my disability is known.

Bruno nodded at Emma. “The Feds pushed to put her in a state facility.”

That made me spit out a harsh laugh. “Fat chance. I can afford Birchwoods. Sixty days, with day passes for Vicki’s and Gibson’s funerals, and I get to stay in Vicki’s old room that looks out over the ocean. I can do that.” I hadn’t asked for the view, Dr. Scott had insisted. Partially because of my siren blood, no doubt. But also I think as an apology. After all, he’s the one who’d pushed for Dr. Greene to be my therapist.

They laughed just as another poor soul stepped up onstage to assault our ears with bad karaoke. This time it was Alex, which made me smile. She began to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings” and the air chilled again and confetti began to spin and rain down on the hardwood floor. It was nice that Vicki had decided to attend her own wake.

Her parents weren’t too happy with this particular aspect of her last wishes. I think they’d expected a more somber affair, a tasteful memorial service that the press could attend, rather than a wild wake at La Cocina y Cantina, with cheesy sombreros and piñatas for decorations. The piñatas were filled with both confetti and little pouches of Pop Rocks—Vicki’s favorite guilty pleasure when she got drunk. The place sounded like there were firecrackers going off after we broke open the first papier-mâché burro, and the cops had come in more than once, only to leave with annoyed shakes of their heads when they saw the cause of the commotion. The police are my special escort. The court deemed me a security risk because too many people felt I shouldn’t be committed. The judge was afraid someone would slip me out of the country before the hearing. Since I report for my confinement tomorrow, the judge insisted on guards at the door of the wake and Dr. Scott attending to be sure I wasn’t endangering anyone. He seemed to be having an okay time—if the pickup game of darts in the corner with El Jefe was any indication.

“This was their song.” I said it to nobody in particular as Alex began to cry and raised one hand to touch the cold breeze swirling around her head, still singing into the mic while sobbing. Emma nodded and smiled, too. Yeah, this party really was what Vicki wanted and there was no denying that Jason and Cassandra’s daughter was having the time of her undead existence. Everybody who’d ever known her was there. I’d had to really dig into online records to find everyone she’d listed on the back of the napkin.

When the song was done, I looked up to see that Bruno was staring hard at something across the room. I followed his gaze to see John Creede sitting on the other side of the bar, next to Cassandra. They were really glaring daggers at each other and I nudged Bruno to get his attention. But he was lost in his own world, so I just shrugged and started to talk to Emma again. It was nice to be able to talk to her.

I tried to touch on the subject delicately. “Have you heard from Kevin?”

Emma shook her head, her face both concerned and sad. “Not since he resigned from the university. But”—she reached into her pocket and pulled something out—“he left this on my desk. I completely forgot to give it to you.”

It was a plain white envelope with my name printed on the front. I slit it open and looked inside. It held a yellow sticky note with two sentences written on it.

Lydia is first, then Erikson. I’ll be back for you.

Kevin

I passed it to Emma to see, because she was twitching so much to know what was going on that she was about to climb over the table and grab the note anyway. She frowned, but then again, she didn’t know about Jones’s offer. I was a little worried about the I’ll be back for you part. Was I the third “hard target” on the list and he was giving me advance warning? Or was it a warm and fuzzy confirmation that we’d see each other again?

“That’s like Kevin. He thinks he’s telling you the whole situation and it’s only in his head.” Emma shrugged, so I did, too, and then she changed the subject. “So, Matty really stood up for you in the hearing? I thought he couldn’t stand you.”

I nodded. “You and me both. He might not like me, but I think he respects me now. That’s something.”

She raised her glass and clinked it with mine. “To respect.” I dipped my head in thanks and thought about Matteo at the courthouse. He’d seemed genuinely pleased to see me when I showed up, which surprised me. I doubt it made much impression on their mom, but she’s a tough nut to crack. The hearts of her babies aren’t to be trifled with. Like I consider either of her boys a trifle.

As if on cue, Bruno touched my arm. “C’mon. We need to talk.” My brows rose at his very serious expression. Unfor-tunately, there weren’t many places to go where we could be alone. After hurriedly telling Emma to watch our drinks, I stumbled away with Bruno pulling me forward by the elbow. We wound up in the ladies’ room, because it was bigger than the men’s.

“So what was all that about? What do you and John Creede have against each other? You were glaring at each other so hard, I was afraid I was going to have to stand between you like with preschoolers on the playground.”

He reared back in surprise. “Glaring? We weren’t glaring at each other. He was offering me a job.” At my confused expression, Bruno tapped his temple. “He’s a telepath, remember?”

Oh. Duh. “But you have a job. Didn’t you submit to a binding oath to them?” Like the confidentiality oath, the non-compete oath prevented employees from moonlighting or being double agents. Nothing worse for a firm’s reputation than an employee killing the client because he got a better offer from the bad guys. “Didn’t you tell me once that your fingers would start to burn off before you could finish signing your name on another deal before the contract term was up?”

He tipped his head ruefully and crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously hiding his hands from sight. “That is a point. But my current job is on the East Coast and the term is up at the end of the quarter. Creede’s offering to make me the head of the L.A. office. It’s less money, but—” He raised his brows significantly. “It’s just down the road from here. What do you think?”

My jaw dropped far enough to feel cool air on my fangs. “Are you asking my opinion? On your career?”

He shrugged and started to fiddle with the button on the wall-mounted hand dryer, tracing the edge of the square over and over before he answered. “I don’t really know. It just came up and I thought … I really didn’t like you facing that demon alone. You were lucky and you know it. And it’s not the only one out there—”

I took a deep breath and let it out slow. We both knew something big was happening, which was why the Vatican had been beefing up on warrior priests.

The door opened before I could reply. Dottie walked in and reared back in surprise to see a man in the bathroom. He blushed as she let out a little squeak. I grabbed Bruno’s arm to push him out of the room and had started to follow, thinking about what to say to his offer, when Dottie tapped me on the shoulder. Her face showed that she was eager to talk to me, so I said, “Be right out, Bruno. Keep my drink cold.”

“I’ll ask Vicki to spin by the table again. Sure is saving on ice having her here.”

When the door closed and the music faded somewhat, Dottie smiled. “I’m so glad you survived, my dear. I was very worried when I saw the demon in your future. But I just couldn’t tell you.” She seemed both embarrassed and afraid.

I gave her a small smile. “It’s okay, Dottie. I understand. I was friends with Vicki long enough to know how hard it is for clairvoyants to live with what they see. It doesn’t always come—”

“—true. Precisely. If I told you everything I saw, either you’d not believe me or you’d want to rush it … or, worse, ignore the signs. But that’s not what I’m here to ask you about.”

I raised my brows and leaned back against the sink. I should have looked first, because I felt cool water from the last hand washer wet the back of my shirt.

“You know that Mr. Gibson died.”

I nodded. “He was a good man. I’m glad he died in the line of duty. He would’ve wanted it that way.”

She sighed. “There was nothing to be done. I think he probably didn’t move fast enough … intentionally. But he was taking care of Minnie for me, and now that I’m back in the housing project I was hoping—”