“I don’t think anyone has an edge sharp enough not to be affected by that.”
True enough. Even Adam, who was normally unflappable, looked green around the gills. “Does Slade have any idea who did this?”
Adam shook his head. He turned to walk back down the hall. I froze, my feet glued to the grimy tiles. My gut twisted at the thought of going back into that room. But then I noticed someone had closed the door. Swallowing my resistance, I marched toward Slade, determined to ignore the fear and the memories and focus on the job of finding out who killed Marty.
When we reached Slade, Michael Romulus was by his side, going over what they knew so far. Adam and I exchanged quick handshakes with the werewolf Alpha before we all got down to business.
“None of the girls saw anything,” Slade said. “Cinnamon found Tansy knocked out in the supply closet. They found the body together.”
“How many entrances and exits are there to this area?” I asked, switching to just-the-facts-ma’am mode.
“Just the one door. None of the rooms have windows either. Best bet is the killer did the job and slipped back into the club while Pussy Willow was playing. Looks like probably a fifteen-to thirty-minute window between his escape and Cinnamon finding Tansy.”
In other words, he had fuck-all in the way of leads.
“From the looks of it,” I said, “the culprit is almost definitely a vampire.”
Michael frowned at me. “What makes you say that?”
I hesitated, not wanting to go down this path but knowing I had to. “The position of the body.” I couldn’t stand to say Marty’s name right then if I was going to maintain my distance. “There’s an old Dominae ritual where they string up virgins above an altar and bathe in the blood.”
Adam’s eyebrow raised to his hairline. Something in his eyes told me he was connecting the dots about my earlier reaction. Luckily, Michael jumped in before the mage could question me about it.
“Or someone wants us to think it was a vampire to throw us off their scent,” Michael said. “Any number of beings could have done it. Several classifications of demons would be capable of this.”
“Or a rogue werewolf,” Slade said.
Michael tensed like he wanted to get defensive about that theory but thought better of it. “A rogue wolf wouldn’t make it far without me picking up a scent, but it’d be foolish to rule any possibility out at this point.”
“He’s right,” Adam said. “A mage could flash in and out unnoticed, which blows Slade’s escape-through-the-club theory out of the water. Hell, even a faery with enough motivation could have pulled this off.”
“There’s something else,” I said to the mancy. The other two males knew this already but it was time to fill Adam in on the truth about what I’d seen earlier that night. “Remember how I said there was a murder in Central Park earlier?” He frowned and nodded. “When Slade asked me to come to his office it was to discuss that killing. When I saw the body, it had bite marks and there wasn’t enough blood at the scene to show for the extent of the male’s injuries. That means vampire.”
“She’s right,” Michael said. “My boys saw the body and believed the culprit was probably a vamp, too.”
“So you think the two murders are connected?” Adam asked.
“I think it’d be a mistake to think two sadistic murders happening on dark-race territory on one night is a coincidence,” I said. “The real question is, are we dealing with a garden-variety psycho or someone with more strategic reasons?”
“Do you think this is related to the peace negotiations?” Michael asked.
My stomach tightened at the possibility. “Like you said, we can’t rule anything out yet. But for the record, I sure as hell pray this is just a psychotic vampire with a hard-on for drama.” I didn’t even want to contemplate the alternative. I’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much to face yet another roadblock to peace.
Slade ran a hand over his face. “Christ, what a clusterfuck. When the Despina finds out about this, she’s going to rake me over the coals.”
“Forget the Despina,” Adam said. “When Orpheus finds out a mage was murdered—possibly by a vampire—he’s going to shit bricks. With the peace treaty signing looming, he’s going to lock this city down until the perpetrator is found.”
Slade looked like he was going to be sick. “Speaking of, I’d better go call the High Councilman now so he hears this from me. In the meantime, Mike, I want you and your boys to get statements from everyone in the bar. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will have seen something.”
“And if they didn’t?” I asked.
“Then I’m going to tear this city apart until I find the asshole responsible.”
6
That morning I had the dream again. The same one I’d had at least once a week since that fateful night in New Orleans. The night everything changed.
I am tied to a cold marble slab.
“Look at what you’ve done to them,” Lavinia whispers. I jerk my head, desperate to block out the sight of Maisie’s red-and-black head bobbing against Adam’s chest.
So much blood. Too much. Adam’s face contorts into a grimace of pain. Lavinia’s fingernails dig into the soft skin around my eyes, drawing blood. But I am too crazed with guilt and horror to register the pain. If anything, the red blurring my vision is a blessing. “Oh, no, you must watch and understand. Your existence brings pain to all unfortunate enough to meet you.”
Here the dream deviates from memory. Instead of calling on the powers of Lilith and Hekate for aid as I did that night, I rise from the slab under my own power. The shackles fall away. I inhale Lavinia into me until she is me and I am her.
As I rise, the walls of the temple fall away and reveal a dusty crossroads with Adam and Maisie in the center, locked in their bloody embrace.
“Sabina!” Adam shouts, but his voice shatters and disperses like blood mist. I run toward him, but it’s like running through a deep tide. When I finally manage to reach them, Maisie looks up.
I still and my heart stops. It’s not Maisie who looks up. It’s me. My face is smeared with Adam’s blood. I smile and flash my sharp, red fangs at myself.
Cain appears. His red hair flashes brighter than arterial blood and his green eyes glow with evil intent. “Finish him,” the father of the vampire race says. “Finish him, Lamashtu, and we can finally be together.”
For a moment, I inhabit my vampire half’s mind and I look up at my mage self. I pity her with her tears and sickening vulnerability. I can’t blame her for her weakness for the mage, though. His blood tastes like candy. Like a drug I can never quit. I raise an eyebrow and smile at my mage self. Once I’m sure she’s looking, I go back for more.
I slam back into my mage self. The greedy slurping sounds make my stomach turn. “No! Stop! You’re killing him.”
“Why do you deny yourself?” Cain whispers in my ear. “You are a killer.”
I shake my head. “Not anymore.”
A sword appears in my hand, as if summoned. I white-knuckle the grip. Adam sags as my vampire drains his life away drop by drop. Tears wet my face. Indecision shatters me.
Adam’s face is pale, too pale. His eyes burn into mine, pleading. “Kill her, Sabina. One last time and then you will be free.”
I peer down at the bloodthirsty incarnation of myself. The self I’d known for fifty-four years. The one whose past was soaked in blood and anger. I barely recognize her now. She’s all fangs and hunger. A wild thing. Uncontrollable. Savage.
“Don’t listen to him,” Lavinia’s voice comes from the vampire-me’s lips. “Without me you’ll fade to nothing.”
“Sabina,” Adam pleads. “I love you.”
Those three words work on me like a spell. Like a sleeper awakened, I know what I must do. My vampire self is a cancer. And like all cancer, it must be excised before life can flourish. The blade glints on its downward path. Slices clean through the neck. I feel the impact severing the umbilical cord connecting my two halves. My vampire explodes in a cloud of black smoke and flame.
The instant she is dead, Lavinia’s soul rises from the ashes like a phoenix—or an exorcized demon. Adam falls forward into my arms. I cling to him like he’d just saved me instead of the other way around. Cain towers over us. But when I look up at him, he’s transparent.
I wake with Cain’s parting words on my lips. “We aren’t finished.”
7
The summons came at the butt crack of dusk. Adam was already awake and had received the note from Orpheus’s assistant. When he woke me up and showed it to me, I cursed.
“Please tell me this is about Giguhl peeing in the flower beds again,” I groaned.
“We both know what it’s about.” Adam slapped my ass. “Come on, get up. It’ll only be worse if we keep him waiting.”
“Worse for you, maybe. He’s not my boss.” Adam was a Pythian Guard, sort of a mage version of the secret service and special forces rolled into one. Part of Orpheus’s role as the leader of the Hekate Council was to be the commander in chief of the guards. But in addition to being his boss, the ancient mage was also a father figure and mentor to Adam.
“Stop it,” Adam said, losing his patience. “He’s as much your boss as mine now, Miss High Priestess of the Blood Moon.”
I shot a sour look in his direction. “Technically, Rhea is in charge of the priestesses. Besides, it’s not like that’s my job.” In fact, I didn’t have a job at all, except for twice-weekly magic lessons, which didn’t earn me anything other than some cool new party tricks.
“Let’s make a deal, then. If you get up and into the shower, I’ll bring you a huge mug of coffee.”
With a martyred sigh, I made a production of hefting myself out of the bed. “Fine, but make sure to put a shot of whisky in it. If this is really about the murders, I’m going to need some liquid fortification.”
