Blood Trade

“Uh huh. Okay.” My phone buzzed like a hornet in my pocket, but when I reached for it, it wasn’t there. Yet I still felt the buzzing in my pocket, against my thigh.



Something was very, very wrong. I had told Eli that the church might not really be here in our reality, but I hadn’t considered what that might mean about where I’d be if I went inside. “Kathyayini, where am I?”



She waved her hand as if waving away my question. “Neither here nor there. Nor any place in between.”



“How do I get back?”



“You done asking questions of me?”



Not really, but I didn’t want to stay wherever I was. “For now. Thank you.”



Kathyayini tossed me something and I identified it as I caught it. A coin, larger than a penny, heavier than a quarter. The metal felt cold, the engraving smooth and ancient. “You want me again, you come here at night and put that coin on the ground. I’ll come.” She waved the back of her hand at me, like shooing a fly. “Go now. We talk later, if you need.”



Behind me, the church doors opened, allowing in a strong breeze that swept through, making the candle flame flicker and sputter. I backed slowly toward the old church doors, my eyes on Kathyayini. When the door appeared in my peripheral vision, I turned and went out into the night and down the steps. And remembered to breathe. A fog had roiled up outside, moving on the breeze in fitful gusts of shadow and white, and I couldn’t see anything except the old trees just to my sides, which I was sure hadn’t been there before.



The church doors slammed shut, making me jump and turn. Behind me, the church was gone. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap,” I whispered.



“Jane?” a voice called, sounding muffled and distant, directionless in the heavy air.



“I’m here,” I shouted.



“Where? Say again!” Eli appeared in the mist, both hands clutching weapons, a nine mil in his right hand, his shooting hand, and a vamp-killer in his left. He brought up the gun, centering it on my chest, finger resting gently on the trigger. I had no doubt the gun was ready to fire.



I raised my hands. “Easy there, Eli.”



“Prove to me you are who you look like.”



That was a weird request, but no weirder than anything else had been lately. “I want a steak, still mooing, hold the salad.”



“And?”



Weirder and weirder. “And your brother, the computer geek criminal, wants ravioli. What about you?”



“I eat the steak and the salad. With beer.”



“I’m guessing these were identifiers. What’s going on?”



Eli approached slowly, growing firmer out of the fog. “Open your mouth.”



I frowned but opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. “You want me to say ah too?”



“Nope.” He sheathed the knife and ejected the round from the chamber before he holstered the weapon. “Just looking for fangs.”



I tucked my chin uncertainly. “Say what?”



“You are the third Jane Yellowrock I’ve seen in the past two hours, and the others had fangs. I staked them both and took their heads, but when I did, they vanished, body and head. Illusions, but with tactile stimuli.”



“You staked me and killed me.” My tone went flat.



“Yeah. It sucked killing you too. Especially the first time. It was easier the second time.”



I wanted to laugh, but I knew he was serious. The fog rolled in thicker, as if trying to separate us, and Eli stepped closer, until his sleeve brushed mine. “Stick close. This way out. By the way, where are we?”



“An old Indian woman I saw said ‘neither here nor there.’”



“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”



Which seemed a little strange, but fit the evening so far. Around us, the fog thinned and the wind that caused the white to roll and billow fell still. And suddenly we stepped to the curb and into the street. I looked back and saw only an empty lot, narrow and filled with saplings. No fog.



“I want to go back to Miss Esmee’s,” I said.



“Yeah. And have a good, stiff drink.”



I said nothing to that as we got in the SUV and drove sedately away. I looked back once and saw a hint of white fog, but that was all. Then I faced front and said nothing, studying the coin by the streetlights we passed. It was blackened, but I could make out the head of a dragon on one side, a dragon with huge spiked teeth. I turned the old coin over and over in my fingers as the sun rose, ending the strange night with a wash of pale pink, shrimp, and soft persimmon clouds against a golden sky.



Back at Esmee’s, I knocked on the Kid’s door. When he opened it, he was wearing a sheet and the stink of garlic and sweat; he needed a shower. Badly. I handed him the coin. “Shower and get logged on. Tell me about this—everything you can find. What it is, where it came from.”



“Breakfast,” he croaked.



“Shower. I’ll whip up some eggs.”



“Try not to poison me.” The door closed.



“Funny guy,” I murmured. In my room, I toed off my boots, tossed my clothes on the bed and pulled on a stretchy tee and soft sweater, with clean jeans and fuzzy socks with half boots against the cold floors. Louisiana might not have what I think of as cold winters, but the house was chilly. Downstairs, I didn’t have to worry about poisoning the Kid, because his brother was already frying eggs and bacon, making toast, and percolating coffee. He even had tea steeping under a padded tea doily. “You’re not worried about taking over Jameson’s kitchen?” I asked as I poured a mug of strong black tea and added a slice of fresh lemon.



“I asked permission. He wasn’t thrilled,” Eli said as he slid a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate, “but I promised to keep Esmee away from the battlefield, and we reached an accord.”



“Ah. So. What’s today’s schedule?”



“Sleep. At least eight hours. Then I say we chase some Naturaleza vamps and take a few heads.”



I hid my smile behind my cup and sipped. “You got any idea where we should look?”



“Yeah. Alex collated the addresses of properties owned by the fangheads on Hieronymus’ kill list and compared them to properties owned by Silandre and Esther. They’re on my bed, listed in order from most likely to least likely. I say we pick one, go in a few hours before sunset, and clean house.” He dished up a rasher of bacon and put my plate in front of me before filling two more. Knowing I should wait for the rest of the expected diners, I dug in. Good manners were never my strong suit. I was better at killing things.



The Kid joined us at the table shortly, his wet hair straggling down his neck, sticking to his dark skin, dribbling onto his vintage Grateful Dead tee. He was wearing sweatpants and smelled a lot better, like strawberry shampoo. He set his laptop and the coin on the breakfast-room table and shoveled in bites while he logged in and started a search. Silent and comfortable with that silence, we ate. When we ran out of bacon and eggs, Eli got up and slid more onto our plates, having left the food cooking on the stove and timed it just right.



By the time I cleaned my plate with a triangle of toast and poured myself a second cup of tea, the Kid was done. Still wordless, he spun the tiny laptop around and pushed it to me. On the screen was an exact replica of my coin, a dragon head on one side, and what looked like a wagon wheel inside a square frame on the other. Of course, my coin was blacked with tarnish and filth. “Head of Ketos. Greek silver coin,” the Kid said as he poured another cup of coffee, starting to wake up. “Ketos was a sea serpent. Latin was Cetus. There’s a constellation by that name. Probably worth something on today’s market as a collectable and just for the silver.”



Sea serpent, not dragon. Somehow that made me feel better. “Huh.” I studied the coin. “Wonder how an old Choctaw woman got one.” When no one answered, I tucked it in a pocket and sipped my tea. Eli read a newspaper, a real paper newspaper, the New York Times, and the crinkle of paper and stink of ink took me back to my earliest days in the children’s home. Usually there were eight children in one house, and a married couple, sometimes with children of their own, living there with them, in an attempt to give the children the American ideal of a two-parent, two-gender family. The housefather had read the newspaper every morning, absorbed just like Eli, the smell and sound so distinctive. His name was Carlton. Or maybe Kevin. Something like that.



Eli said, “Media is reporting the number of deaths due to vamps. Locals are having meetings about it.”



“Yeah?” I said. “Maybe they can bore the fangheads to death with their meetings.”



Eli snorted. “Civilians.” It wasn’t a compliment.



Silent as a cat, Rick entered the room and peered into the empty frying pans. “Bro, that’s evil to fill the house with bacon smells and not leave a man any.”



Eli offered one of his microsmiles and said, “Feel free to cook anything you want. Or you can wait on Jameson. He’ll feed you after eight.”



“I’ll cook,” a soft voice said from behind. It was Soul, and I realized that she had been nearby for quite a while, her scent on the air. Today she smelled blue with touches of rain, which was weird, but that was what Beast thought. Soul handed Rick a cell. “You talk. It’s Monica.” Rick’s skin went a faint pink, and his breathing changed. His pheromones shifted from hunger into pleasure.



Rick has another woman in his life.



He wandered out of the room and toward the back door, his voice sounding far too interested, nearly cooing. Beast hissed with displeasure. I sipped tea, feeling a sense of space open up inside me, wide and empty. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but it wasn’t happy. It was empty and lonely and . . . betrayed. Yeah. How stupid was that? Feeling betrayed because my boyfriend-who-wasn’t was chatting up some girl named Monica. Monica. Bet she had blond hair and big boobs and humongous green eyes. Or blue eyes. Yeah. Wonder how she’d look after tangling with Beast. A wry frown drew my mouth.



Eli got up and left. Alex picked up his tiny computer and wandered away, engrossed.