Chapter 15
I CALLED OUT to Aegis, Sandy, and Max to join us in the living room.
“Essie Vanderbilt, meet Max Davenport. You know Sandy, and of course Aegis.” I turned to them as they took their places on the sofa. “Essie said she thinks she knows where Dracula’s hiding.”
“Actually, I said I think I might know where he’s hiding. We can’t guarantee it, but it occurred to me that you might not know about the catacombs.”
“Catacombs? That sounds like a barrel of laughs. I didn’t know we had catacombs on Bedlam.” All I could think of were the catacombs of Palermo, Sicily. Containing nearly eight thousand bodies, the catacombs were a grisly tribute to death.
“If you’re thinking of mummies, then you’re a little off-base. These catacombs were created around two hundred years ago, before vampires were officially let into Bedlam. Once again, I’m breaking tradition by telling you. I don’t think they’re used much by anybody anymore, so I doubt if I am revealing any secrets. But it would be just the place for someone like Dracula to hide.”
“You wouldn’t be interested in going with us, would you?” I held her gaze for a moment, though I knew what her answer would be.
Essie laughed. “Oh, Maudlin. Somehow I don’t think that would be the wisest thing for me to do. But in the interests of being a good neighbor, and I do consider us neighbors, although we live in completely different neighborhoods, I thought you might want to check it out.” She stood, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. “I’m off. I have things to do.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m disinviting you from my house.”
“I’d think you were stupid if you didn’t. No offense taken,” she said as she swept out the door.
I shut it behind her, turning to lean my back against it. “Oh hell, I forgot to ask her where the catacombs are.”
“We can find out from Delia. She’s sure to know.” Aegis handed me my phone.
“Good idea.” I called her, but there was no answer. When I called the station, Bernice, the receptionist, told me that Delia was over on the mainland for the evening. She had left instructions that only emergencies were to be forwarded.
“Well, hell. You wouldn’t happen to know where the catacombs in town would be, do you? The entrance, that is?”
Beatrice cleared her throat. “No, I don’t happen to know that.”
“No problem. I’ll find out a different way.” I bit my lip, thinking as I hung up. Then, snapping my fingers, I jumped up. “Henry! He’s writing the history of Bedlam. I’ll bet you he knows!”
Aegis clapped his hands. “Of course. You know, we need to remember we’ve got quite a resource under our roof.” He stood up. “I’ll go see if he’s in his room.”
“Be sure to knock,” I said. “Henry and Franny have been getting awfully friendly lately, remember. I have some suspicions that something’s going on between the two of them. Not that I know how that could happen, logistically.”
Aegis rolled his eyes, but gave me a nod. “I’ll be polite. I promise I won’t pry.”
As he took off toward the stairs, I turned back to Max and Sandy. “Now that you know about the witches’ blood, I can talk to you about it. I was thinking about pulling a raid on the blood bank, though I’m not sure that’s exactly the best way to go about this.”
“I’m certainly not giving my blood to Dracula, that’s for sure.” Sandy let out a snort. “What do you think would happen if news got out that Dracula’s running around Bedlam?”
I thought about it for a moment. The groupies would go crazy, and if anybody from the clubs like the Vulture Underground, or even the Utopia, found out, we’d have such an influx of goth girls and boys that it would clog the ferries and road system. That alone might be enough to drive him away. Except, with so much fresh meat on the island—and some of them willing victims—it might be enough to make him stick around.
“So,” Max said, “if he’s allergic to witches’ blood, how much will it take to kill him?”
“I’m not sure. Essie didn’t say, but you can bet that since she told me, it has to be an amount that I can get my hands on. Essie does nothing without forethought. She’s probably got one of the most streamlined ulterior agendas that I’ve ever seen. She is intent on working her way up in the vampire nation, and she’ll do anything she can to get there. Even cavorting with the enemy. My guess is she’s hoping that we’ll kill Dracula for her, and that will be one less of the old guard to stand in her way.”
Sandy walked over to the bar and poured herself a snifter of brandy. “Want one?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I paused for a moment, then added, “I’m still not sure what to do about Fata Morgana. Today, I saw a side of her that made me want to weep. She was so willing to use Ralph to get to me, and then when I turned my back on her, it was painful to see her grovel at my feet. She’s lonely. The Ocean Mother may take care of her and may have changed her, but Fata’s still inside of that incredibly powerful water elemental.”
“Do you think Auntie Tautau will do anything?” Sandy handed me a snifter of brandy and I sipped the fiery liquor, closing my eyes as it trickled down my throat.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She seems to think Fata’s presence here is vital, though for how much longer, I don’t know.” I caught Sandy’s gaze and held it. “Do you think I’m to blame for her going away? Did I really lead her on? Those days are such an incredible blur. After so much blood, after so much pain…the freedom and booze and sex…it was like a feast after famine. I barely remember any of it, I was so stoned.”
“You had to let go of all the death. You were steeped in it, Maddy. I remember days where all we did was run, stop, kill vampires, then run again. They were a plague, and you singlehandedly prevented them from devastating the continent.” She shook her head. “Fata loved you because you were strong. You burned so bright, you were like flames to a moth. And even then she was drifting on the tides. Did you ever ask her where she was born? How she came to be Tom’s cousin? Because I did, once. And she had no answer. She couldn’t trace their lineage together. Did you ever ask Tom about her parents?”
I blinked. “I never thought about it. He said she was his long-distant cousin, but he never once mentioned how they came to meet.” I searched my memory. Fata had introduced me to Tom, had said they were cousins, but that was about it. He didn’t contradict her, and I didn’t think to ask. “I have no clue if they were actually related, now that you mention it.”
Sandy drained her snifter and refilled it. I held out mine and she poured me another shot. “I’m just saying this: you saw her come in on the waves, from the ocean. What if she’s always been part elemental and just never knew? Or had somehow forgotten? What if she was never Tom’s cousin but he thought she was?”
I slowly eased myself into the rocking chair, breathing shallowly. If Fata wasn’t Tom’s cousin, why had she told me she was? What would she get out of it? And then, I thought, what if she hadn’t expected Tom and me to get together? What if she had regretted her decision to introduce us? Could she have sicced the vampires on us out of jealousy?
“Oh, Sandy. I can’t think about this. I can’t let myself even begin to believe this. The ramifications could mean…”
“But you have to think about it. You have to pay attention because your life could depend on it. She still loves you. Her behavior makes it obvious, but now she seems even more dangerous than she did back then. When did you meet? I can’t remember.”
I thought back. “I met her in 1659, even before I saved Bubba. So I knew her for over a hundred years before we fought and she left.”
Max cleared his throat. “I don’t want to interrupt, but I see where this is going. If she lived among people—be they witches or humans—for a hundred years, she was influenced by you, and quite possibly the elemental side of her nature calmed down. But now, for the past two hundred years, she’s been back in the ocean, back in her element. She’s forgotten the social niceties.”
“Social niceties like not killing people and not playing with people as pawns.” Sandy winced, settling on the sofa near me. “I love Fata, but the more this unfolds, the more terrified I am of her staying here. What if we can’t control her?” She turned a pale face to me, tears flecking her eyes. “I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”
“We have to break the pact we made—” I stopped as Aegis returned.
“Henry and Franny were having a heart-to-heart, and they looked serious. I said nothing, but I have the feeling both of them were relieved when I got my info and left. Anyway, Henry told me that the catacombs in Bedlam have several entrances, but the nearest is down at the base of Beachcomber Spit. We can be there in fifteen minutes.” He stopped, glancing curiously at me. “Are you all right? You and Sandy both look like you’ve seen a ghost, and I’m not talking about Franny.”
I suddenly burst into tears. Aegis, looking confused, opened his arms as I rushed into them. He closed his arms around me, kissing my head as I leaned against him, crying, the jagged sobs wracking my body. The next thing I knew, Sandy tapped him on the shoulder and he backed away. She pulled me down onto the sofa and, crying with me, took my hands. I curled up on the sofa, my head on her lap as she stroked my hair and brushed it out of my eyes.
I was crying for Fata, and for me, for Tom and Sandy and for all those years we ran steeped in blood. I closed my eyes, and the visions of my dagger slashing through one vampire and another and another and another filled my thoughts. There was blood on my hands, blood on my soul. I could taste it, smell it, until it merged with the fire within me and then—then, for a time, all that mattered was blood. Until the night on the hill, and the flames raged so brightly that there was nothing left the next morning and we were hip-deep in ash. And that had broken the rage.
After a time, the tears slowed. I was breathing out of my mouth, my nose was so stuffed up. Sandy slowly eased me into a sitting position and I panted raggedly. Max found the tissues and handed them to both of us.
I caught my breath, then blew my nose. “I’ve needed to do that since I first felt her on the wind, returning. I knew in my heart this wouldn’t be good. That it would be better for everyone that she stay out in the ocean depths. I wish she would have forgotten about us. About me.”
“But the Aunties seem to feel she needs to be here,” Sandy said, resting her hand on my arm. “So we accept their decree, and we ask Arianrhod for protection. Because we need all the help we can get.” She accepted the water that Max brought for both of us. “Thank you. We have to be clearheaded when we go after Dracula. The question is, do we draw some blood in advance? If our blood will burn him, shouldn’t we siphon off a few vials that we could use as a weapon?”
“I’ll bathe my stake in my blood. Then I’ll drive it into his heart and see if that eats him.” A fire was burning in my belly now, warming me after what felt like a long, cold winter. “I’m not sure what ramifications that will bring, but we have no choice. I don’t like being hunted.” I stood. “I’m going to call Jordan and ask him to swing by. He’s looking into a way that we can contain Fata, should we need to.”
I straightened my back, realizing that I couldn’t think about her as the person I once believed her to be. I could love her to pieces, I could love the memories and hate the memories, but I had to be clearheaded and face the fact that she was a powerful entity who could destroy the island if she got angry enough. And I was the High Priestess whose job it was to watch over Bedlam. I couldn’t let my emotions endanger us.
Sandy seemed to pick up on my mood. “I’ll do it. You call him so often I’m sure he’ll be happy to be interrupted by somebody else. Meanwhile, guys, gather the equipment you think we’ll need to go hunting the big D.”
AN HOUR LATER, Jordan was once again driving off after he had drawn off a pint of blood from both Sandy and me, leaving us with the warning, “You do not want to let anybody else get hold of this, but then you know that.”
Blood was life. Blood was power and control. Sandy and I were both extremely aware that somebody with access to our blood could do some serious damage if they were experienced enough as a magician or witch.
We sat at the kitchen table, using a funnel to siphon the blood into small vials. They were glass, easily breakable, and as we fit the stoppers into the tops, it suddenly occurred to me that we had to have a way to carry them. I didn’t want them jostling around together in a fanny pack, where they could jar against each other and possibly smash.
“We need a way to transport these where they aren’t going to get broken or be hard to find. It would be ideal to have a belt that we could hook them onto, but I haven’t got anything like that.”
Sandy laughed. “I hope not. I certainly hope you don’t make a habit of carrying around blood vials wherever you go. I’m coming up with a blank. Max, Aegis, either of you have any suggestions?”
Aegis was staring at the blood that he was pouring into the vials. “I’m just doing my best not to take a taste. You have no clue how good your blood smells to me. Both of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that witches’ blood is an aphrodisiac for you, but dude, that sounds creepy when you say it.”
Max laughed. “Creepy is as creepy does. As long as he doesn’t put the fang to your throat. Say, why not wrap a piece of packing foam around the center of each vial? Then even if you put them into a container together, they won’t be rattling around. And it should break just as easily if you throw it.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea. Kelson,” I called, “can you find us some packing foam or bubble wrap?”
Max’s idea worked like a charm, and we loaded the vials into four separate belt pouches and strapped them on. Then Sandy and Max armed themselves with makeshift stakes and we headed to my CR-V. Sandy had suggested her van, but my CR-V took steep grades better than her retro hippie-mobile. We were as ready as we’d ever be, so I eased out of the driveway and we headed toward Beachcomber Spit.
BEACHCOMBER SPIT WAS another shoreline park, accessible by a narrow road with a steep grade. To get there we had to drive up Sidewinder Road to an outcropping that overlooked the eastern side of the island. A turnoff led into a small parking lot, where a one-lane road offered access down to the shore. There were hiking trails down the cliff as well, but I wanted a faster escape route, and that came with wheels. The rain was splattering down, steady and constant. The wind had calmed, but I could still smell a storm on the horizon.
“So exactly where are the entrances to these catacombs?” I asked.
“Henry told me that there are two entrances on Beachcomber Spit, one beyond a large pile of rocks against the cliffside. He said you couldn’t miss them. The other is underwater a little ways down the shoreline.”
“I wonder how come we never hear about them, if there are entrances around the island,” Sandy said.
“I asked Henry that too. He told me that while there are several entrances, and he knows where they are, they aren’t all that easy to see unless you’re actually looking for them. They camouflage well. Once we get beyond the pile of rocks, we’ll have to do a little bit of searching. Henry apparently went looking for them, and he said that the one we’re headed toward is covered up by a tangle of tall sea grass and other shoreline shrubs. I hope somebody brought flashlights, because it’s not going to be easy in the dark.”
“I always carry a couple of them in my emergency kit in the car. But I thought you and Max brought whatever supplies you thought we would need?”
“We did,” Max said. “I brought some rope, and we did bring flashlights, Aegis. I also brought some chalk in case we get in there and aren’t sure where we’re going. We can mark large white arrows on the wall.”
“Have you been reading Hardy Boys mysteries?” Sandy asked.
“Believe it or not, I was part of the Raven Scouts when I was a kid,” Max shot back. “I held badges in tracking and scouting, and in hunting.”
“What the hell are the Raven Scouts?” I had never heard of them. Then again, I hadn’t heard of many groups, given my belief that any group that would have me probably wasn’t a group I wanted to join. The coven not included, of course.
“The Raven Scouts are a multi-Otherkin organization for young shifters of all types. Think of a supernatural Boy Scouts–type of group, minus the homophobia. Members learn all sorts of survival skills, as well as socialization skills. Trust me, young weretigers need to be socialized with other shifter types. We can be a handful when we’re little, given big cats are solitary by nature. I was always getting in spats when I was a little kid, and I don’t know how many times I had to take interspecies communications remedial courses.”
I couldn’t help but smile. There were so many different issues that surrounded members of the Pretcom, and I was mostly familiar with those of witches. It kind of tickled me when I heard things like what Max had just told us, because to me, it pointed out the similarities between races and species, rather than the differences. Every child needed to be socialized. Young witches needed to be taught not to misuse their magic, apparently Weres needed to be taught how to interact without striking out at others, and I was sure that the Fae had their own forms of childhood misbehavior.
As I pulled into the parking lot at Beachcomber Spit, I hoped that we wouldn’t find anybody else there, and for once my hopes were answered. I paused at the top of the road, trying to ascertain whether there was anybody coming up it, before easing the CR-V onto the graded lane. It wound down and around, big enough for one car with a very narrow shoulder, and a guardrail that had seen better days. Maybe I should bring that up in the next town council meeting, I thought. We should check all the guardrails around the island and make certain that they were strong enough to stop a car that might careen over the edge.
In the distance, the faint sheen of silver waves crashed onto the shore, spurred on by the breezes coming in off the strait. We were one night away from the new moon, and combined with the cloud cover, it was dark as pitch. My headlights were the only guiding force we had at this point, and I flipped them to brights so that I could see better as we crept our way down the road. Finally, after bending to the left to follow the edge of the cliff, the road opened into a small parking lot next to the sandy shore.
Rocks and pebbles littered the shore, as with almost every Washington beach. The mud flats were exposed, and one huge driftwood log sat to our right, chained into the cliff. The tides along Bedlam Island were strong, and like a number of Washington shorelines, giant logs—tall timber that had washed into the ocean—often rolled in with the tides. Driftwood logs could be dangerous, since the waves would toss them around like matchsticks and they could kill beachcombers when the storms grew violent.
I parked in the spot furthest up the shore, hoping the tide wasn’t coming in yet. I hadn’t consulted any of the tide charts so I wasn’t sure. I slipped into my jacket, which was hanging over the back of my seat, and then, motioning to the others, stepped out of the car and looked around.
Without the headlights, the only light we had was from the silver glint of the waves. I hesitated to turn on my flashlight in case anybody might be around—namely, Dracula—but I realized that we could easily break an ankle as we searched for the opening.
“I suppose we better get a move on,” I said, finding myself reluctant now that we were here.
“I take it you want to do this as much as I do,” Sandy said.
“Yeah, but it’s better to be proactive rather than have him show up on my doorstep. All right, I’m going to turn on my flashlight so everybody take a deep breath and be ready in case we’re being watched.” One hand on the hilt of my dagger, I lifted my flashlight with the other hand and flicked it on, training it against the cliffside as I swept the beam from side to side.
The pile of rocks that Henry had told Aegis about was right where he said it would be. A large jumble of boulders and stones rested near the foot of the cliff, concentrated in one area. I wasn’t sure if it had been an old quarry, or if someone had just taken it into their mind to gather all the massive stones into one area. Whatever the case, at least we had our direction pegged.
Aegis took the flashlight from me and moved to the front.
“I’m going first,” he said. By his tone, I knew it was futile to argue. Max took up the rear, to keep watch behind us. Sandy and I walked side by side, sandwiched between them.
We crept up the shore, toward the base of the cliff. The overlook must have been a good sixty to eighty feet above us, if not more. The slope leading up was so steep it would have been difficult to climb. It was obvious that several landslides had occurred over the years, a common occurrence when the slopes and hillsides around Western Washington were stripped of their vegetation so that unthinking people could enjoy the view. Erosion was exacerbated by the heavy rains that we had, leading to a number of houses toppling over the edge. At least with Beachcomber Spit, there weren’t any houses to come crashing down should the hillside decide to give way.
The pile of rocks sprawled about twenty feet wide and five feet deep, looking for all the world like what I referred to as “nature art.” As far as I could tell in the beam of the flashlight, it wasn’t meant to resemble anything, and it certainly didn’t spawn any emotion in myself except curiosity. Perhaps that was what it was meant to do, I thought. Artists tended to focus on inspiring questions and curiosity. Then again, maybe somebody just wanted the fun of making a big old pile of rocks.
As we cautiously skirted our way over the rocks, careful not to twist any ankles or go faceplanting on the smooth, weatherworn surfaces, I tried to scan again the base of the cliff, looking for an entrance. But Henry had been correct. Massive stands of beach grass, some waist high or taller, covered the expanse between us and the rock surface. And beach grass had a nasty habit of slashing into the skin, the gashes stinging like paper cuts. I was glad I had worn jeans and a turtleneck and a jacket. Sandy was in her yoga pants and a sweatshirt, thinner material but still able to stave off the worst of the razor-sharp blades.
Aegis suddenly stopped. “I hear something coming from that direction,” he said, pointing to the left, beyond a waist-high patch of grass. “It sounds like wind whistling through a tunnel.”
As we headed in the direction he pointed out, the blades whipped back and forth with the rising wind.
“I wonder if Fata is having a nightmare,” I said. “We get a lot of storms on the island, but I have a feeling that most of them this week have been due to her.”
“You’re probably right,” Sandy said. “Hopefully, Auntie Tautau will be able to help her.”
“I have no clue, but I have to admit, I’m hoping Auntie Tautau will help her find her way back to the ocean before long.” I stopped as Aegis motioned for us to be quiet.
We broke through the thicket of grass, into the shadow of the cliff where everything was so dark it was hard to see even with the flashlight. But then Aegis shone it a few feet to the left, and there, behind a large outcropping, we could see a dark shadow against the base of the precipice. It looked like the opening into a cave. We had found the entrance to the catacombs.