Blood and Kisses(14)

Gideon patted Tom on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern. But as soon as the rogue is caught, the publicity will die down and everything will return to normal.” Tom took a deep breath and shook his head, shooting him one last doubtful glance as he returned to his duties.

“You have very loyal employees,” Thalia observed as Gideon ushered her to his favorite table and helped her into her seat.

“I pay well.”

Thalia smiled gently. “I’m sure that’s an understatement, but I don’t think that’s why they’re so loyal.” She placed a slim hand on his wrist. He could feel her heat through the Egyptian cotton of his sleeve. It seemed to expand in concentric rings until his whole arm was warm, his shoulder, his torso. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. Gods, it felt good to be warm.

He fought the urge to cover her hand with his own, reminding himself she had violated his privacy, she was a witch, he didn’t deserve her comfort. The list was endless. But the monster liked warmth as well. The creature flickered to life inside him. He traced the sweet contours of her face with ravenous eyes.

The pliant curve of her lips drew him like a moth to a street lamp. He had tasted that mouth. Her face was soft. Eyelids dropped slightly over aquamarine eyes. He could taste her again. A burst of remembered flavor flowed over his tongue. The potent honey of her mouth made his mouth water.

His body hardened joyously in preparation for an act it must never perform again. The terrible, glorious pain of arousal filled him, but it was not alone. Bloodlust accompanied it. His fangs engorged, descending into his mouth, and he longed for another flavor, the rich pungent taste of blood.

He looked at her hand on his wrist, so fragile, so easily crushed. His earlier vision of her crumpled body flashed into his head. That thought tore him away from the cocoon of desire that enmeshed him. He wasn’t here to enjoy her company, to wallow in her incredible warmth. He was here with her to catch a murderer.



He loved cities. They pulsed and breathed like a giant creature, exhaling noxious fumes with each loathsome breath. And they grew like a tumor, spreading and killing anything natural in their path. In the daytime, there was the illusion of life, people on the streets, flocks of birds, patches of green, but at night... At night, their true natures were revealed, barren deserts of stone and long-dead wood, concrete, and metal. Places so inert, only parasites could thrive. Cities were feeding grounds for those who gorged themselves on the spirit and flesh of the living, thieves, drug dealers, murderers, and of course, himself.

He was the master of this environment.

At present he was content to hide, to take his nourishment and retreat to the shadows. He had the added benefit of watching the police and media spin their wheels, wasting their time searching for a human serial killer, while at the same time bringing the Butcher under suspicion. But as each day passed, the prophecy came closer to fruition and when that happened, he would no longer need to hide.

He ran an absent hand over his scabrous flesh. The Claiming didn’t last as long as it used to. But, no matter, once the prophecy was fulfilled, he would be permanently restored to his former beauty. Of course, he wouldn’t need it. He would no longer be forced to cajole his prey to him. He could seize them openly like the cattle they were.

No one, human or otherwise, would have the power to stop him.



Heath paced in front of the long oval table. “I’m just saying, let me a call a meeting. A test group, if you will.” Heath was in advertising. He studied the faces in front of him. They were buying it.

“I don’t know.” George March chewed the inside of his wrinkled cheeks. “There’s no precedent for this. What about tradition?” He held out a gnarled hand. “If we do this, what’s next? Disband the council?” A ripple of alarmed murmurs skipped through the thirteen people, men and women of all ages and skills, who sat around the rosewood table. They were the council, and George’s words had clearly given them pause.

Heath hurried to rescue his plan. “George, didn’t you tell me yourself, you think there’s something coming?”

The older man nodded his white head, cloudy blue eyes thoughtful. “All the signs point to a possibly catastrophic event.”

“And you’re not the only one who’s predicting such an occurrence. Heidi, Samantha, you told me you felt the same.”

“That’s right.” The two women, identical twins, nodded, but the first one he’d addressed, Heidi, spoke. “We’ve seen a single black crow on our lawn every day this week and that’s only the beginning. Bad omens are everywhere.”

“Whatever it is, there’s no reason to believe Thalia can’t handle it.” George spoke firmly.

Heath opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Heidi said, “I saw her after she helped John Trenton banish that demon.” She looked avidly around the table as if eager to share such juicy gossip. “She could barely walk.” She gave George a pointed look.

“I can’t say I’ve never been drained after a spell,” George countered.

“But not for days afterwards, and you’re not the Champion,” Heidi said. “The Champion has always been the strongest of us.”

“I like Thalia.” Heath swept the group with fervent eyes. “But everything in me says that we are way beyond curse-breaking here. The Kent blood has thinned. It’s time to let someone new have a chance.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to preempt Thalia when she’s never failed.” George put both hands on the table and leaned over the table toward Heath. “If she fails, then someone else can take over.”

“If she fails, there may not be anyone left to take over.”



Thalia craned her neck trying to estimate how many people stood around her, hands cupped around sweating drinks, voices raised to be heard over the din. The bar was full to the rafters.

Thalia didn’t think she’d ever seen so many people at the Bell, Book, and Candle. The newspaper coverage seemed to have had a reverse effect from what she had thought it would. Far from frightening people away, it seemed to have brought new customers out of the woodwork.

The stools at both bars were occupied, as were the tables. It was standing room only for everyone else. The dance floor was so packed she didn’t see how anyone could dance.

The female vampire Gideon was speaking with ran a hand down his arm, dark eyes glinting beneath raven lashes. She was practically devouring him. Thalia turned away. Really, did they have no shame? It was embarrassing.

She waved a stiff paper coaster in front of her flushed face. Heavens, it was hot. Was the air conditioning even running? The heat of so many bodies was almost overwhelming.

She took a sip of her ginger ale. The ice had melted, making it watery, but it was wet, and she took another swallow while she surveyed the room. A haze of cigarette smoke hung over the crowd, thicker on the eastern side of the bar. The vampire half. Witches rarely smoked. After all, they weren’t already dead. She didn’t have to ask how the vampires got away with breaking the ban.

It was likely that somewhere in this noisy throng was the creature who’d stolen Lily’s life, and those of at least two others.

And he would strike again. From what Gideon had told her, the rogue had no other choice. A weighty sense of doom settled over her, pressing against her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Three women dead already. Women whose only crime was their relationship with her.

Relationships that, at least in the case of the last two victims, were tenuous at best.

Because the list of Thalia’s non-witch acquaintances was small, she and Gideon had planned to keep an eye on any of the human pettys that also frequented the bar, but with such a crowd... How could she even know who to watch? Nor did she know how the vampire knew her connection with the victims, when even she hadn’t been aware she knew the second victim.

She closed her eyes against the pain and guilt. She couldn’t sit here any longer. She set down her drink and jumped off of her stool. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

The restrooms at the Bell, Book, and Candle were simply labeled “Women” and “Men,” but someone had long ago written “witches” and “mages” crudely above each sign.

Vampires didn’t need bathrooms, although the females sometimes used the mirrors to primp. Some human habits died hard.

The ladies’ room had an antechamber for just that purpose. A sort of lounge decorated in twenties-era style with a large gilt mirror, flowered wallpaper, and a pink velvet settee guarded by two stuffed chairs. For all Thalia knew it had been decorated in the Twenties. It’d looked the same for as long as she could remember.

Three young witches, two brunettes and a blonde, were using that part of the restroom, brushing their hair and applying lipstick in front of the mirror.

They didn’t look up as Thalia slipped past them, through the arch, into the back room that contained the stalls. Out of their view, their chatter, merely background noise in her ears, she splashed water on her face and ran some over her wrists. She turned off the faucet and took a paper towel from the dispenser, drying her face.