The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5)

The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5) Page 16

I stared at the door for a long moment. “Do you think you should call his Vaso?”

It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Wish I could. She had to go out of town for a few weeks. Her mom’s dying of cancer.”

Well, hell. “Can we send him to her?” I asked hopefully.

Emma shook her head. “He can’t travel when he’s like this. Certainly not this close to the full moon. Once that’s passed, in a couple of days, he’ll be better. He always is. Now, you settle in and watch the news. You really do need to know what’s going on. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I checked my watch, then said, “Computer, big screen, channel ten, please.” Since Channel 10’s nightly newscast starts at ten o’clock, I’d be able to catch the beginning of the report.

It didn’t hit me as hard the second time. I sat in the recliner, watching the images on the screen and mentally going over everything I knew and suspected. Which wasn’t much. I needed more information.

I called out to my hostess, who was cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen. “Emma, do you think Kevin could set up a secure conference call for me?”

“Probably. The question is whether he will.” She came in, carrying a plate that smelled like heaven. The eggs were runny, but there was cheese, and she’d brought along a couple of jars of baby food. “But it’ll have to wait until morning in any event. We don’t have all the equipment he’d need. How many people would be involved?” She handed me the plate. “Eat.”

I ate. When I’d finished, I called Special Agent Albright and got not only the numbers I requested, but an update.

They’d put an aquarium in the queen’s room at Adriana’s suggestion. Her royal majesty was conscious and improving. She was still in intensive care, but the doctors were hopeful. The princess was already on her way back to Serenity. Apparently Chiyoko, the siren queen of the Japanese islands, had managed to scrape up a quorum and had called an emergency meeting of all of the siren queens. Adriana was going to attend on behalf of her mother.

I asked Albright about traveling to Serenity with the princess, but she rejected the idea.

“You have other things to do.” Her voice was calm, but was rough around the edges. People who didn’t know her might think none of this was bothering her. I guessed it was.

“Like what?”

“I need you to convince the other bridesmaids to remain in the wedding. Her majesty’s assistant has scheduled a dinner for the three of you tomorrow evening after their afternoon television interviews have finished.”

Oh goodie. I was going to get to spend time alone with Olga and Natasha. “My job is to protect the princess.” I said it, but I knew I was fighting an uphill battle.

“It was an order, not a request.”

Of course it was. The question was whether or not I was going to obey it. I might technically be a siren—and technically, under Lopaka’s rule—but I was born and raised an American. I am not good at taking royal orders.

Please, Celia. I heard Queen Lopaka’s voice very faintly in my mind. She sounded weak and very tired. I thought about her lying in the hospital bed, maybe still in the ICU, worrying about her daughter, her throne, and the public humiliation she’d face if the wedding didn’t happen, or even if the bridesmaids bailed from fear of the terrorists.

She was my aunt, and she’d said please. “All right, I’ll do it.” And I would. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.

13

I woke to the light patter of rain against glass, the smells of breakfast, and the sounds of familiar voices. I lay in a pool of muted light in a rainbow of colors filtered through stained glass. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Emma’s guest room, formerly the choir loft. To my right was the door to the stairs that led down to the bathroom and the old foyer. To my right were the floor-to-ceiling drapes that covered the half wall that looked down into the living room. A glance at the clock told me it was ten in the morning. I’d slept longer, and more deeply, than I had in weeks. Just like the night I’d slept at Bruno’s, I hadn’t had any nightmares, so I actually felt rested. It was a nice change. Some of those dreams…

I shuddered.

It felt good to actually get real rest. On the downside, sleeping in meant that it had been a lot of hours since my last meal. I was hungry, and the smell of coffee, bacon, and hash browns wasn’t helping one bit. My stomach growled and my vision started to shift to vampire focus, even though it was morning, not night. Crap.

I wanted to go downstairs and find out what was going on. But I didn’t dare, not like this. I’d gone too long between meals before and wound up having bloodlust. Most of my nightmares lately have been dreams of waking up after too little nutrition and too much exertion and stress, and slaughtering the people I’d been hired to protect. The worst part was, carving those paths of destruction had felt good.

Thing is, there’s no Ensure in the jungle. No baby food in the cramped cellar of an old church or a drug-smuggler’s tunnel. Sometimes I had to eat what I could find that could be squished into a paste and mixed with polluted water from improperly dug wells. I felt hungry almost all the time I was on the job. My nightmares too often felt like they were one tiny step away from my reality.

I recognized the ache in my stomach and the twitching of my muscles. Then I realized that the bands of light decorating my vision weren’t just from the stained glass. I was seeing things as a predator. Crap.

I rose without really meaning to. Gliding with unnatural grace to the half wall, I pulled the curtain back a fraction and peeked out.

I know I was careful. The curtain barely twitched. But Kevin’s voice rang out from downstairs only seconds later. He sounded more cheerful than he had the night before, almost actually welcoming. “Morning, Celia. ’Bout time you got up. Breakfast is at the foot of the stairs, along with a change of clothes. You need to hustle. We’ve almost got everything set up.”

“Thankth.” God, that lisp! And my voice was about an octave lower than normal. Kevin’s head shot up at the sound, his eyes narrowing and seeming to glow. A fellow predator who knew what I was feeling.

“Eat. Now,” he ordered, then called to someone I couldn’t see. “Guys, we’re delaying the video conference. Celia has to feed.”

Feed. He’d used the word I refused to use. I fought through the rising fog of bloodlust. Food. I needed food. There were humans downstairs, filled to the brim with blood. I could hear their heartbeats, smell their sweat—patterns that hinted how each of them would taste. Glimpse the bands of color that spoke of their emotions: warmth, fear, worry. But I knew I’d have to get past the wolf to get to any of them. The wolf was a threat. I began trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

Kevin gave a low growl, blocking the stairway. He knew. The wolf could sense what I wanted.

I fought my inner bat for control and won, but it wasn’t easy. “I need … food.” The words sounded sort of strangled, my struggle reflected in my voice.

“There’s a tray at the bottom of the stairs.” Emma stepped into view and patiently repeated what her brother had already said. “Kevin didn’t think it was a good idea for anyone to bring it up.”

Kevin was so freaking right.

He pushed Emma back. “Get away, Em. She’s right on the edge.” He looked up at me with an expression that mixed anger and respect. “I’ll be barricading the door.”

I forced myself away from the half wall as he closed the door and locked it audibly—making it very clear that I would have to go through him to get to anyone in the room beyond. I flowed down the staircase to a tray that couldn’t possibly hold anything that would compare to what my body really wanted … needed at that moment.

I guzzled the diet shake on the tray first, hoping it would take the edge off. It did, but not enough. My hands were still shaking hard enough that it was all I could do to get the lid off a jar of strained-beef baby food. I couldn’t seem to get the spoon into the jar. In the next instant I wrapped my lips around the opening and poured it into my mouth, sucking at the goopy contents and swallowing as fast as I could. I stabbed and slashed at the glass, feeling my fangs slide uselessly against the sides of the jar. Only then could I make my fingers work right. The shakes finally stopped after the second serving of baby food. By the time I finished the third—peaches—I was actually able to think clearly.

I sat down on the bottom step, breathing hard, as if I’d been running. What the hell was wrong with me?

Slowly my brain started to focus. Had Kevin said video conference? I’d asked him to set one up, but hadn’t really thought he would. He’d been so damned uncooperative last night.

I knocked gently at the door. I couldn’t smell him anymore, but I bet the wolf in him could smell me. Hopefully he’d realize that it was safe—that I was safe, now. He opened the door a crack and peered in at me, estimating the threat, while I squinted past him at the living room. My plain human vision showed me that he’d set up video equipment in the center of the main room. All right then.

“I’m going to hit the bathroom and change so I look presentable for the camera.”

He nodded, pleased that I didn’t press to go to the others right away. Vampires are tricky, so my backing down hopefully helped him realize I was probably back to normal. At least I thought I was.

Bruno had brought the bag sitting at the bottom of the stairs. I could tell by what he’d packed—all things he could pick up at my office, including a change of clothes. He’d even brought my spare makeup kit, which I kept in my desk. Best of all, he’d brought weapons—not mine, he couldn’t have gotten into the safe, but a sweet little Glock with an ankle holster. And people wonder why I love him.

Twenty minutes later, after a shower and makeup, I was fit to step in front of a camera. The front room was already buzzing, but I easily spotted Bruno, who looked like he’d been through the wringer. There were dark circles under his eyes, he had beard stubble, and his eyes had darkened to almost black, the way they do when he’s really, seriously angry. He smiled when he saw me, which softened the harsh lines of his face a little. But only a little, and only for a minute. He was wearing black jeans and a black Bayview college sweatshirt that had the sleeves chopped short and had a vertical slit cut in the neckline.