Wicked as They Come (Blud #1)

Wicked as They Come (Blud #1) Page 40

Criminy shut the door softly behind us, muttering, “We don’t want these poor creatures wandering into the jungle or the sea. Might as well tie tags around their necks with ‘Eat me’ on them.”

I smiled to myself at the irony of a vicious, cutthroat predator worrying about the safety of the soft, squishy innocents of the animal world. He was right, though. The animals had no fear. As soon as he’d made me visible again, deer and giraffes and cows and a strange sort of club-tailed porcupine were all nosing and snuffling hopefully at me, and I felt a little sorry that I hadn’t brought a bag of bread or bananas for them. They all shied away from Criminy, though, and a llama even spit on him.

“Can’t hide the blud,” he said with a shrug.

I shoved past the hungry animals, and we headed straight up to the main building, a two-story manor that looked as if it had been lifted straight out of an American’s version of quaint Mexico. White walls, dark orange roof tiles, a fountain in the courtyard. It was beautiful, inside and out. But no humans at all. Just echoes and creepiness. Someone had been there recently, as the fruit bowl on the table was filled with fresh mangoes and pineapples. I was too anxious to eat, but I scooped water out of a fountain with my hand after suddenly realizing I was parched.

We checked every room, harpoons at the ready. And we found no one.

Criminy searched the closets and checked under the beds. I sifted through chests and dressers and anything that might conceivably hide treasure. My locket was nowhere to be found.

We tried the cookhouse next. The ashes of the fire were still warm under the spit, which held an abandoned haunch of meat, burned to the bone.

Beyond that, we found a sandy field with a tall tower, several iron rings sunken into the ground, and a windsock.

“Bastard’s got a metal cladder,” Criminy said grimly. “No wonder he keeps beating us. It’s only two hours to Manchester by dirigible.”

I felt as if the breath had been knocked out of me.

“From here to Manchester?” I spluttered. “My locket’s all the way back in Manchester now?”

“Don’t fret, little love,” he said softly. “We’ll get it back.”

He folded me into his arms, harpoon and all, and I started sniffling, then full-out crying. Whether the old man had tricked us, outrun us, or just coincidentally left his island was unclear, but he was undoubtedly very far away, as was the locket.

I clung to Criminy as if he was the only thing between me and madness. Maybe he was. He held me, patted me, and muttered kindnesses into my ear. I couldn’t help thinking about my other world, wondering if my body was in a hospital yet and, if so, how long it had taken my proud grandmother to break down and hire a new nurse for her homecare. What if she tried to get out of bed by herself and broke a hip? And who was feeding Mr. Surly? But I wasn’t going to sit around, uselessly indulging my own frustration. I needed to act. I took the handkerchief he offered and blew my nose.

“There’s got to be a clue here somewhere,” I said between sniffles. “There’s got to be something else we can do.”

“We can eat and sleep,” he said. “Because wherever he’s gone, we’re not going to catch him today. Might as well get dried out and well rested.” He chucked me under the chin. “And let your bum rest after that horse ride, eh?”

But I wasn’t done. I saw one more building on the other side of the landing strip, and I squelched through the sand, leaving wet bootprints behind me. Criminy caught up with me, holding his harpoon at the ready.

The last building looked like a storage shed, a simple windowless hut with the same smooth white walls and orange tile roof. In my world, it would have held a couple of rusty, nonworking lawn mowers and the neighbor’s long-forgotten weed eater.

As we got close, I felt Criminy tense, and he aimed his harpoon at the door.

“What is it?” I whispered, whipping my own harpoon into place against my shoulder much less gracefully and almost smacking myself in the nose.

“There’s someone inside,” he said. “A Bludwoman. I can smell her.”

The island was silent as we crept toward the hut. Well, except for the random mooing and bleating and occasional horn clashing of the animals, but those noises were normal and comforting. No sound came from within the outbuilding.

When we were right outside the door, Criminy barked, “Who’s in there?” in his most fearsome voice.

There was a small noise inside, a scraping. Then a cough. Then a word, barely a ragged whisper.

“Help.”

“We’re coming in!” Criminy shouted, and he kicked in the door.

It was pitch black inside, except for the perfect rectangle of sunshine radiating through the door frame. Tiny motes of dust and sand danced in the air, and we waited.

The cough came again, followed by scraping and rattling. Chains.

“Criminy?” she whispered from the darkness.

“Tab?” he said, rushing into the room. “What have they done to you, lass?”

I stood just outside the door, wishing I could see what was happening within but afraid to get too close. I heard a loud clang and a whooping gasp, and I leaned in through the doorway.

From the darkness, something flew at me too fast to see. I tried to scream, but the sound was choked off as I crashed to the sand with a body driving me into the ground. Claws settled around my throat, pressing down on my windpipe.

So I did what any sensible person would do.

I passed out.

26

“Letitia, love, come back to me.”

Criminy’s desperate voice buzzed from far away, annoying.

Then I heard a stranger whisper, “What do you see in that thing? It’s unnatural.”

I heard gulping and a wistful sigh.

I didn’t know the voice, but the tone was all too familiar, calling me back to consciousness. There was something to fear there. I kept my breathing even, my eyes closed.

“There’s nothing unnatural about loving someone,” Criminy said. “You just think it’s unnatural that I don’t love you.”

“It should have been me,” she said. “Thirty years ago, when Merissa left you, I was there. And you taught me parlor tricks, chucked me under the chin. I’ve been here all along, waiting. And then she showed up and started hovering over that stupid glass ball, and you insisted on acting like a lovesick child. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Tab, but it’s just not to be,” Criminy said, then made a slurping noise and cleared his throat. I was touched by his devotion, but it occurred to me that there was only one thing that he ate, and he had left his blood vials in the lost satchel.

What on earth were they slurping?

“It’s not too late, you know,” the female said, her voice taking on a sprightly but seductive air.

Oh, please, I thought, inwardly rolling my eyes.

“It was too late the day she arrived,” Criminy said. “Look, Tab, you’re beautiful and lovely and clever and all, but there’s never been a spark here. You’re going to make some Bludman very happy one day, but it’s never going to be me. You’ve got to get over it, girl. You’ve got to move on.”

“Oh, like you moved on?” she purred. “I remember you, in the days after Merissa left. I remember those nights on the moors. Just you and me on the blud altar under the moon. Those were good times, Crim.”

“Yeah, that was fun,” Criminy said, and I could hear annoyance creeping into his voice. “But it was nothing more than that.”

“It could be. I could end it now. We can both take her.”

Quick as a snake, there was the odd slap of a scale-covered hand on a hard face.

“Never speak it,” he growled. “Or I’ll end you.”

“Hmph!”

“Speaking of which, Tab, I’m curious. How’d you get here?”

“You didn’t even know I was missing, did you?” she cried. “You self-centered bastard! Some gypsy king you are, not even knowing when one of your own is gone!”

“Emerlie said you had a difficult case of ladies’ troubles,” he said, sounding oddly prissy.

“And you didn’t know she was lying? She’s always lying!”

“What happens between your legs is none of my damned business,” he snapped. “I had other concerns.”

“I ran away, if you must know.” She sniffed. “Right after I heard she was to glance on the carnivalleros. I didn’t want her to touch me, vile thing.”

Criminy chuckled. “Didn’t want her to see your true feelings for me, eh? That’s understandable. But I’m sure you didn’t run away to this charming island on your own.”

“I took my carpetbag and followed the tracks back toward Wolvenhampton. I figured I could scratch by for a few decades, wait for your doxy to die off or get old and ugly. But the Coppers found me, just outside the caravan. Two of them and the old man.”

She went quiet. Criminy waited. I almost opened my eyes and told her to get on with it, already.

“He’s a nasty character, that Jonah Goodwill. Almost drained me, as you can see. Seemed awfully interested in you and your lady.” She paused, and I heard something snap. It sounded like a bone. “Didn’t mean to tell ’em everything, but I did.”

“Torture and draining not your bag, kitten?” Criminy asked, and I imagined the quirk in his lips, the humor in his eyes.

“Not unless I’m on the other side of the whip,” she whispered, a seductive purr in her voice. I’d had just about enough of the minx, and I’d never even seen her.

I sat up. But when I opened my eyes, I realized that I had seen her before, although she had looked very different then. It was Sirena, the mermaid from the caravan, but she had legs. Quite a lot of leg, poking out from her dress in ripped fishnet stockings and sky-high heels. And, of course, she was sprawled in the sand, giving Criminy quite an eyeful.

Even more disturbing, though, were the dead things strewn around in front of the shack. Cows, goats, sheep, a giraffe with an awkwardly bent neck. Not a drop of blood could be seen, and the deflated bodies were all placed calmly, side by side. It was like a grisly slumber party at the San Diego Zoo. I cringed.