Blood Song

“It’s going to be very difficult to make any progress if you refuse to cooperate.” She sounded a little waspish. Her professional demeanor was slipping just a tad.



“I am not refusing to cooperate. I am merely choosing outpatient treatment, which was an option offered to me.”



She let out an irritated little huff of air, her eyes narrowing. She glanced at the elegant gold watch on her wrist and shook her head. “We don’t have much time left.”



“Where do you want to start?” I asked.



“I suppose that would be up to you. Where do you think we should begin?”



I leaned back, thinking about it. There were so many possibilities. But the one that was top of my list at the moment had to do with the scene in the lobby.



“Let’s stick with tradition and start with my mother.” I’d intended it to sound more humorous than it came out.



“Your mother?”



“Have you talked to Dr. Talbert about my past?”



“I like to start fresh.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What do you want to tell me about your mother?”



Wow. Where to start? I mean, there was just so much and none of it particularly good. I didn’t even know if I loved her anymore. But I sure as hell didn’t like her.



I was still trying to come up with the right words when the bell rang, indicating the end of the session. Typical.



Dr. Greene picked up her BlackBerry with a sigh. “Why don’t we set you up for Monday at eleven fifteen? That will give you the weekend to decide how to begin.” She looked up, meeting my eyes directly, “Although I really feel I must try one more time to convince you that it would be in your best interest at this point to pursue inpatient treatment… .” She let the end of the sentence drag on hopefully. She needn’t have bothered. I shook my head no.



She let out a little sniff of displeasure but didn’t raise any further objection. “Fine. Monday at eleven fifteen.” She entered the appointment into her BlackBerry.



I was still thinking about my mother as I drove the Miata down the main highway back to the city. Traffic wasn’t good, which meant I wasn’t going to have time to stop and buy decent clothes. Not if I wanted to get some nourishment into me and arrive at the church before sundown.



Part of me wanted to throttle my mother for what she’d done. Oh, I didn’t have proof. But I knew. It was just so … her. Damn it anyway.



I knew I shouldn’t let it bother me. I mean, God knew it wasn’t the first time she’d betrayed me. I should be used to it and not expect any better from her. And yet there was that little part of me that just wouldn’t give up hope: hope that she’d change, dry out, become the mother I remembered from before.



Hurt and anger formed a hard knot in my throat that made it hard to swallow. “Grow up, Graves,” I told myself sternly as I took the Thirty-eighth Avenue exit that was the quickest route to Old Town. “She is what she is. She isn’t going to change.” And maybe she’d always been that way and I was just remembering her through rose-colored glasses. Maybe it had only been my father who kept her in any sort of check.



I went through a drive-through pharmacy and bought some more nutritient drinks and the liquid version of a popular multi-vitamin. I chugged two of the former and took a dose of the latter before I even left the parking lot. I was going to a church, my gran’s church, for sanctuary. I needed to make damned sure I wasn’t going to lose it when the sun went down.



I forced myself to pay close attention to where I was going. I didn’t want to get lost, not in this neighborhood. When my gramps had been alive, Old Town had been a working area. Very blue-collar. Back then, there were no gangs to speak of and the bats and monsters weren’t nearly the problem they were now. Things change.



Christ Our Savior Chapel is a little white clapboard and brick building in one of the more run-down sections of the Town. The parking lot is bare dirt, but there isn’t a spot of trash on it. The windows are clean and the wooden doors gleam with polish. The last time anyone tried to graffiti the place, Reverend Al caught him at it. With the approval of the kid’s mother, the good reverend set the kid to scrubbing the sanctuary floor—with a toothbrush—while Al read to him from the scriptures. My gran swears the kid still comes to services every Sunday and alternate Wednesday nights.



I pulled my little sports car into the empty parking spot between Reverend Al’s ancient Chevy and my gran’s Oldsmobile, fresh back from impound, just as the sun’s last rays were sinking below the western horizon. I hoped the Miata would be all right. The last thing I needed was for something to happen to the car. But the sun was sinking fast, and I needed to be on holy ground.



Just as soon as I was safe I was going to take it for a nice long drive along the coast. It’d have to be at night if I wanted the top down, but I like moonlight.



It was a goal to shoot for.



But for tonight, I was going to take Uncle Sal’s advice and lay low. And just in case the überbat got any ideas, about coming after my nearest and dearest, Gran was going to be right there with me.



I hurried up the cracked concrete sidewalk that led to the glass front doors just as the orange glow of halogen lights came on up and down the streets. Pulling on the handle, I stepped over the threshold into safe haven and wound up standing less than six inches away from my mother.



I felt a rush of emotions the minute I set eyes on her. Anger, lots of anger, but frustration and pity were in there, too, and a deep, aching sadness that I didn’t like to think about.



She was arguing with Gran, her voice raised, her words just a little bit slurred. If she wasn’t completely drunk yet, she was certainly well on her way. Nothing unusual about that. She was dressed for a night on the town, in a nylon leopard-print top that was cut low enough to display ample cleavage and a pair of black jeans that clung like a second skin. Four-inch stiletto heels with a matching bag completed the outfit. She didn’t look quite like a hooker, but with her figure and peroxide hair she had definitely gone over the line into the realm of white trash.



I mean, four-inch heels? Damn, I wouldn’t attempt those sober. But then, that was my mother, all over.



“I can’t shtay, Mama. Celiash comin’ and you know how she’ll be.”



“Too late. She’s already here.”



My mother turned on a dime, her eyes wide with honest-to-God panic. If I’d had any doubt as to whether she was the culprit behind the photos and the story, that look took care of it.



My grandmother spoke up. “You can’t leave, Lana. There’s a vampire out there hunting Celia and the people she cares about. You need to stay here tonight.” Her voice was unyielding. She stood solid as a rock, all of four foot eleven in her sensible shoes and hand-knitted cardigan, refusing to budge.



“Then I should be jusht fine. Because we all know my little girl doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about me.” Crocodile tears filled her eyes.



Oh, for the love of— “Cut the crap, Mom,” I snarled. Anger was driving the other emotions off. I love my mother, but sometimes I almost hate her. “Nobody here’s buying your little pity party. Besides which, even if you had a valid license, you’re too drunk to be driving.”



She straightened to her full height to glare down at me. “I am not drunk.”



“Of course not.” My voice dripped enough sarcasm to earn me a filthy look from both the reverend and my grandmother.



“I don’t have to stand here and take thish.” My mother turned to face Gran. “If you won’t loan me your car, I’ll just call myshelf a cab.” She stalked unsteadily past me, slamming the glass door open.



I turned to follow, emerging just in time to see her freeze in mid-step about six feet from the property line, her eyes glazing over.



Oh, shit.



23



I had my knives out. They glowed pure silver white in the moonlight. The streetlights had gone out. So had the church light. The only illumination came from the moon, my knives, and the gleam of greenish light shining from my skin. It wasn’t the best way to introduce my gran to my condition, but I had little choice.



I saw movement, a deeper shadow moving in the velvet darkness. It was her. Had to be. The question was, was she alone? Knowing my luck, probably not.



“Mom.” I tugged at her arm without letting go of my knife. She was stiff as a board. She’d stopped just inches from the boundary. If she didn’t take that last step, the vamp wouldn’t get her. But with the beast fighting for control of her mind, I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t take that last fateful step.



I couldn’t let that happen.



I loved her.



I might want to throttle her more than half the time, but I still loved her. And I wanted her here, alive, and in full possession of her faculties. Because if she died or became undead, we’d never be able to fix what was wrong between us. And I wanted that. Until this moment I hadn’t realized just how badly I wanted it.



I decided to take the vamp by the fangs. “Hello, Lilith.”



The darkest shadow responded, “Celia.”



She stepped out of the blackness—lithe, feral, and hungry. I didn’t look at her face. I didn’t dare. One look in those eyes and she’d have me for sure, just the way she’d caught my mother.



“There’s a bit of a resemblance”—she looked Lana up and down—“but not much.”



“Yeah, well, she’s had a hard life.” I stepped between my mother and the vampire, hoping I wasn’t being an idiot. Because if Lilith had enough control of my mother’s mind, she’d be able to force her to attack me. But if I could break Lilith’s line of sight, my mother might be able to slip her mental bonds. I didn’t think she was strong enough, but I wanted her to be. I mean, this was the woman who had stuck around when our life had gone to hell. She’d started drinking to cope, but she’d stayed, which was a damned sight more than Dad had done.



“So I can see.”