Blood Song

I couldn’t decide if I was upset that Bruno hadn’t thought to invite me. I mean, I don’t really like baseball that much and he really was here on business, but—



Plus, there went my second choice for a backup—Kevin. But I kept my tone cheerful. “You don’t need the cap, the Mets aren’t playing.”



“It’s my cap.” He said it like it should be self-evident. It wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to argue. This must be one of those guy things.



“Fine, fine. I won’t wear it. I’ll pick something up at the store and then bring your cap by the hospital tomorrow morning.”



“Don’t bother. I’m checking out.”



“Bruno—,” I started to protest.



“Don’t say a word. Just don’t. I’ve already heard about it from my mother, my brother, and my uncle. I can rest just as well at a five-star hotel with all the amenities as in the freaking hospital, and I am not missing the game.”



He probably could rest at the hotel. If only he would.



“Celia? Are you there?”



I’d been silent too long … again. I was having a hard time focusing this morning. Then again, I hadn’t had any caffeine yet. Hurry up, Room Service!



“Yeah, I’m here. Just a little tired. And worried.”



“You’re the one who should get some more rest. You didn’t get back until after sunrise and you’re already up. And you’ve had a helluva time the past couple of days.” His voice was gentle, and it made me smile. Bruno is an original tough-guy Italian. But he is also a sweetheart, my sweetheart. Well, my former sweetheart. But I’ll always love him. No matter what. And while he was right about resting, I wasn’t going to do it. I still had a life-threatening emergency going on.



“In that case I won’t deliver the hat back to the hotel. Because if I do neither one of us will rest.” I was only partly teasing. I remembered yesterday’s kiss so clearly it made me shiver.



“How ’bout you bring it by the hotel pool? Say tomorrow, one thirty?” He suggested this with a hint of laughter in his voice. “It’s nice and public. We should be safe.”



“I’ll do that. You can buy me a margarita.”



“Make it a pitcher and you’ve got a deal.”



“Are you planning to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”



“Would I do such a thing?” He spoke in an exaggerated drawl that made me laugh. We were still laughing when we hung up.



I thought about who to take to the game most of the day—while I dumped half the vampire’s ashes into the ocean and the other half at a designated dump spot on the river—and was still thinking on it as I drove out to Birchwoods for my doctor’s appointment.



Yes, doctor’s appointment. One of the names Gwen had given me was for a doctor at Birchwoods. She’d said Dr. Scott had specifically asked her to make time to fit me in.



Peachy. And while I knew it was important, that I really needed to talk to somebody, I didn’t want it to be a stranger. Besides, I hate shrink appointments. Yes, I did them. For years. Then I was done, and glad for it. You can only get out of psychiatric treatment what you’re willing to put in. I know that. I also knew that I’d needed the treatment then, and now. I’d been a patient of one of the best shrinks in the business, and she’d gone pretty damned deep into some seriously painful and dark places with me. I was grateful. But it hadn’t been easy on either of us. Who could blame me if I wasn’t anxious to repeat the process?



On top of that, I looked utterly ridiculous. Dawna would have a stroke if she could see me. The only things of Bruno’s that even came close to fitting me were a red T-shirt and a pair of oversized black nylon basketball shorts with a drawstring waist. The shirt wasn’t so bad, but the shorts hung past my knees and looked damned silly, particularly with the added touches of the denim jacket, ball cap, and sneakers without socks.



I’d been too upset to notice before, but the outpatient treatment area shared an entrance with the administration building. I hauled my oh-so-elegantly clad ass up the sunlit sidewalk as quick as I could manage, huddling under the umbrella I’d borrowed from the lab and feeling surly. I’d bought sunscreen from the hotel gift shop, but it’d been a small bottle and only SPF 15, which didn’t really cut it with my new pallor. If there was time before sundown, I was definitely going shopping for something decent to wear, a replacement hat, and heavy-duty sunscreen. Until then, I decided to feign blithe indifference.



There was a different receptionist this morning. This one was just as attractive as the previous model but younger. Her blond hair was darker than mine, exactly the color of honey, but with well-applied highlights. Her clothes were stunning and fit her well. I didn’t want to know how much those designer shoes had set her back.



She was also too polite to gawk at my appearance. She did blink rapidly, several times, looking at the umbrella as I collapsed it, as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing was actually in front of her.



“I’m here to see …” I dug in my jacket pocket, pulling out the note I’d scribbled on hotel stationery. “Dr. Greene.”



“Ah.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up with understanding. “Ms. Graves.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a clipboard and a thick stack of forms. “If you could please take a seat and fill out these forms for us, Dr. Greene will be with you soon.”



“Soon” is a relative term.



I’d been there long enough to get through the maze of paperwork and was scanning my second magazine when a familiar voice brought my head snapping up.



“You bitch!” Cassandra Meadows charged at me, past her husband and bodyguards and heedless of the other patients in the lobby. “How dare you!”



It was a big lobby, but I had barely enough time to stand before she was in front of me. She swung her hand back, intending to slap me, but I caught her arm and blocked the blow before she could make contact. If I hadn’t had control of my senses, I would have snapped it in two. As it was, she let out a little wince.



“What the hell, Cassandra!”



The bodyguards stepped between us, and Jason pulled his wife against him. She didn’t stop struggling. She was just too furious. I only wished I knew why.



“What the hell is the matter with you?” I tried to talk to her between the twin walls of muscle that had interposed themselves between us. Creede and two others were fanned out around Jason.



“How dare you!” she repeated, her voice a venomous hiss.



I shivered, from both the look on her face and a blast of frigid air I hoped was coming from the air conditioner. The last thing we needed was for Ivy to start acting out.



“What exactly is it you think I did?” I asked Jason. He was rigid with fury, but he was being quiet about it, because we had company. Pretty much everyone in the building had come running to see what had Cassandra Meadows screaming like a shrew. She’d be damned lucky if there weren’t cell phone photos up on the Internet before sundown.



Creede answered, his voice calm but cold. “Someone leaked a story to the press about Vicki’s stay here. It was very specific about the number of visits her parents have made, and it was illustrated with an assortment of pictures of her with you.” There was a look on his face that I didn’t like. It was both disappointed and disgusted … like he’d thought better of me and I’d let him down.



Obviously, I hadn’t done it, but as I stared at him, a hideous thought formed in my mind. I didn’t want to, but I had to ask. “Were they taken at a family dinner?”



He nodded and my heart sank. I’d always thought my mother had some limits. Apparently, I was wrong. I wasn’t sure how she could have found out about the number of visits, but money crossing palms was probably involved.



“I could kill you.” Cassandra had lowered her voice, but it was intense. At that moment, she meant every word. It wouldn’t do any good to protest my innocence. And in a way, it was my fault. Leaving those photos at my gran’s was the equivalent of leaving a diamond necklace in front of a kleptomaniac.



The temperature dropped even more, and at least one of the big brutes in front of me knew what it meant. His expression grew wary … right before it was wiped clean like a slate. He turned to face Jason and Cassandra, but the movement wasn’t his. Before, he’d moved with the speed and grace of a predator. This move was softer, more feminine. It takes a hell of a lot of ghost to do something like that. We’re talking serious mojo. I felt a shiver of primal terror run down my spine like ice water. I shuddered but forced the fear down, slamming the door on it.



“She didn’t do it, Mother.” It was Vicki’s voice, but cold, hard, unlike anything I’d ever heard from her. Objects began levitating, slowly at first, then with building momentum. The stereo that had been playing soft music in the background burst into sudden earsplitting static. I knew what that meant, knew that I had to stop her before someone got hurt.



“Vicki, stop it! Stop!” I shouted at the top of my lungs to be heard over the din. Everything stopped as abruptly as if I’d hit a switch. Flying objects dropped to the floor. The stereo shut off.



“You’re crying.” Vicki’s voice softened, sounding more like the woman I knew. Objects started rising again. “She made you cry.”



I interrupted Vicki before things could get even further out of hand. “It’s been a rough couple of days. See, I lost my best friend the other day—” I tried to make it light, sarcastic, but my voice cracked. Not only was I scared, I hurt. This was Vicki, or a part of her. And I missed her. So much had happened in such a short time that this loss hadn’t really had time to sink in. She was dead. Gone. Forever. This might very well be the last time I ever got to hear her voice.



I closed my eyes against the pain, tears pouring down my cheeks.



Usually ghosts feel cold, but this one didn’t. The air moving around me in a gentle breeze was warm and scented lightly with a familiar perfume. I felt a finger trace the curve of my cheek.