Blood and Kisses(29)

He smoothed his thinning hair and scrutinized his reflection in the smoke-clouded mirror behind the bar. The glass was a bit wavy with age, and the silver had worn away in places, but it did the job. He looked a bit thin. He stroked his jaw. His skin was still elastic. He leaned forward over the sticky, scarred, teak surface of the bar to get a closer view. His eyes were beginning to sink in, but only the most perceptive eye would detect that.

Still presentable.

He hadn’t fed yet. His strength was running low. He could almost feel his energy bleeding away, but couldn’t remember being this satisfied. And it had been such great fun. The shocked expressions on the detectives’ doltish faces when he’d attacked almost compensated for the loss of their precious blood.

He could still feel the thrill of watching the one named Poole gasping for air. No doubt the man wore the imprint of his fingers even now. Perhaps he’d go back and find him again later. He could come to enjoy playing with his food.

He was amazed at how well his impersonation had worked. He loved the media. Gideon’s face was smeared all over the news like mud on a white shirt. The police were watching Gideon’s house, the phony crime scene he’d set up, and the Tomb. Stakeouts they called them. There was a pun in there somewhere. Not that he actually wanted them to catch Gideon, but dodging the police would keep his old adversary off-balance.

Of course, it also made it a bit more challenging to pick a victim.

Or did it?

He had thought the police might shut down the nightspot, but they’d decided Gideon might return to choose a new mark. He brushed the consciousness of some of the officers, delving into their histories. Several of the policemen and women knew the Champion. Convenient, but not surprising considering her mortal career as private investigator.

He inhaled, savoring the pungent aroma of adrenaline and fear that infused the hazy air. Rochesterians were scared. Oh, they pretended everything was normal. There was a rather reckless gaiety suffusing the human patrons of the club. He could hear it in their thoughts, but he didn’t have to read their minds to see it in their too bright smiles, exaggerated laughter, and wild dancing.

Cattle bleating in a pen.

They put on a good show, but deep down they were terrified. And well they should be.

He probed the thoughts of an undercover police officer in torn jeans and an unseasonable, though trendy, black leather jacket. Jackpot!

The thirty-something sandy-haired man was speculating that Damek had kidnapped the Champion. Although, of course, the man didn’t think of her that way. He was a petty through and through. The officer had always admired her. Had wanted to date her, but she’d seemed oblivious to his overtures. He couldn’t believe she’d willingly go with a wanted man. She was too honest, too by-the-book.

Quickly bored by the man’s banal thoughts, unrequited attraction was so trite, he was relieved when the man’s cell phone rang.

He let him answer it. Then he found the digital signal in the air and blocked it. Being the dutiful officer the man was, instead of hanging up, he moved toward the door to reacquire the signal. The ancient manipulated the signal again. He let it out and pulled it back like a fishing line, luring his foolish victim gradually toward the door. Ah, the wonders of modern technology. He really should get a cell phone. Perhaps after he ate the policeman, he’d take his phone.

A fresh, moisture-laden breeze diluted the smoky air near the exit as the officer stepped outside, braving the nearly torrential rain. The heavy steel door slammed behind him. The ancient felt the sweet smart of his fangs lengthening in heady anticipation. He preferred to feed on women, but a young healthy man would do in a pinch. Already imagining the ambrosial flavor of the man’s rich blood, the intoxicating euphoria of the Claiming, he tailed him out the door.





Chapter 17



“What is the ritual of power?” Gideon shouted, as they dashed through the rain to the car Mina had lent them.

Thalia ripped open the heavy passenger-side door and jumped into the white, classic Cadillac. The massive door clicked shut under its own weight. Her T-shirt was soaked through. She pulled the clammy fabric away from her skin, but when she let go, it simply adhered more closely to her chilled flesh. Her ponytail dripped water down her back. She leaned forward to protect the red leather upholstery. Gideon slid into the driver’s seat. He was barely damp. Typical.

Thalia rummaged through the glove compartment for some tissues. She found a small pack and began to blot her wet neck. “It’s a series of spells intended to determine the strength of a witch’s powers. It used to be a kind of witches’ duel, but it’s not done much anymore.”

“I’m surprised they agreed. They already had their pick.”

“The Champion has always been hereditary. It’s never been decided by vote, my guess is they want to silence the critics. They probably figure I’ll lose anyway, so why not let me spin my wheels.” A tear eluded her control and slid down her cheek. It mingled with the raindrops she’d missed. Damn, when did she get to be such a crybaby? Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Gideon placed a large hand on her shoulder. “Spirit said you’ve faced pretty tough problems in the past, and the gods know you’ve saved my life enough times. I would have bled out after we fought the rogue, if you hadn’t got me home so quickly and sewed me up. I know you can handle this.”

Thalia hung her head. She could feel her nose pinking. “Don’t forget I had to augment my powers with some of your energy.”

“Which you gave me back in spades when you saved me the second time.”

“I didn’t save you.”

“Yes, you did. Oh, I would’ve lived, but if I’d succumbed to the Claiming...I might as well have been dead. You brought me back from the edge and gave me the strength to hold on.” His voice was firm, and although less than convinced, Thalia smiled, glad for the vote of confidence.

Silence stretched between them like a rubber band. Thalia occupied herself with mopping her face and blowing her nose. She flipped down the visor. No mirror. Just as well. She didn’t even want to think about what she must look like. She smiled inwardly. What did it say about her that with all that had happened, she was still worried about her looks? Although, with a face like hers, she didn’t know why she even bothered. Clean and neat, her mother always used to say, that was all anybody could expect.

Gideon started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Why couldn’t they perform the ritual tonight?”

“Tomorrow is the solstice. Timing is everything in spells of this nature.” Her shirt was starting to dry, and she waved the hem in front of the air conditioning vent to help it along.

“I think it’s brave of you to take the chance. You could have simply given up.” His voice was nonjudgmental, but Thalia sensed that while he couldn’t understand how much the Championship meant to her, he respected her commitment.

Thalia sighed. She felt like she’d gone three rounds with Muhammad Ali. “What choice do I have? I have no family left. The Championship is my life.” She smiled, sadly. “Besides, my mother would have wanted me to do it. She loved this community. She felt there was nothing more important than serving others. Lily on the other hand”—she laughed—“Would’ve told me to tell them to go to Hell. To ditch this town and start over somewhere else.” A pang struck her in the chest, stealing her air. This was the first time she’d thought about Lily without thinking of her murder. It felt good to remember her as she’d been, but at the same time it was like admitting she was truly gone.

Damn it, Lily. Why’d you have to go off with a strange man? What were you thinking? The anger faded, leaving only an aching void in the place her spirited cousin had once occupied. Lily would never have worried about being cautious. She’d been too busy living to think about dying. And strong, God, she’d been strong. She never would have let the community push her around. She would have shaken Rochester’s dust off her feet and never looked back.

“I wish I could be like her,” Thalia continued as if she’d never stopped speaking, “but I just don’t have it in me. It wouldn’t do any good to run from this anyway. Assuming he has the prophecy, and he must because why else would he be focusing on people who know me, there’s no reason to suppose he wouldn’t follow to force me to come back.” She thought out loud, as she slipped the ponytail holder off her wet hair and raked her fingers through the heavy strands in an ineffectual attempt to dry it. “I guess you’re stuck with me for now.”

“There are worse people to be stuck with.”

“Thanks.”

There was another long silence, but it had a comfortable, easy feel to it, as if no more words needed to be said. The windshield wipers squeaked as they did their job, and rain streaked and beaded the tinted windows. Thalia was reminded of the first time she’d ridden in a car with Gideon. It seemed so long ago now. Had it only been four days? She peered at his handsome profile out of the corner of her eye. He appeared to be concentrating on the traffic, competently navigating the rain slick streets with the deftness of a man who did everything well. Who would ever have imagined how much she would come to trust and rely on him in such a short time? Don’t get used it, she reminded herself. You’re perfectly capable of handling life on your own. And you’re not alone anyway. You’ve still got Spirit.