Bloody Bones

Chapter 26



Falling does not cover the speed and abruptness of being thrown from less than ten feet high. I smacked into the wall and tried to slam my arms and hands against it to take some of the momentum before my head smacked into it. I slid down the wall, though slid implies something slow, and there was nothing slow about it. I collapsed at the base of the wall in a crumbled, breathless heap, blinking at bright jarring images that didn't quite make pictures yet.



The first image that came clear was a rotted face with a patch of long, dark hair dangling from its scalp. The vamp's tongue rolled behind broken teeth; something black and thicker than blood spilled with a plop out of her mouth.



I pushed to my knees and found skeletal arms wrapped around my shoulders. The blonde's dried, fang-filled mouth whispered in my ear. "Come to play." Something hard and stiff poked my ear. It was her tongue. I scrambled away, but claws caught in my jacket. Hands that should have been weak as dried sticks were like steel bands.



"They broke the truce, ma petite. I cannot hold him long."



I had a moment to glance up and find Jean-Claude on his knees with both hands extended towards Janos. Janos still stood, but he did nothing else. I had a few moments, nothing more.



I stopped trying to get free of the two vampires. They swarmed over me, and in the mess of arms and legs and body fluids, I drew the Browning. I fired it point-blank into the rotted one's chest. She staggered, but didn't go down. Fangs sank into my back, and I screamed.



A gun exploded from across the room, but there was no time to look. Jason was suddenly there, pulling the blonde off me. I fired into the rotting skull of the brunette. She finally collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of liquid and jerking limbs.



I turned back to Jean-Claude and found him nearly prone on the floor, a pool of blood in front of him. He had one arm still held outward towards Janos.



Janos made a small, flicking motion, and blood flew in an arc from Jean-Claude's body. He collapsed to the floor, and power rushed outward, blowing back my hair. The world suddenly stank of rotting corpses.



I gagged and pulled the trigger on that long black body.



Janos turned. It seemed like slow motion, as if I had all the time in the world to aim and fire again, but somehow he was facing me when I pulled the trigger the second time. The bullet took him squarely in the chest. He staggered, but didn't go down.



I sighted on that round, skeletal head. His white hand came up and slashed the air. And impossibly, I felt like some invisible claw had slashed my arm. I fired, but my aim was a little off. The bullet grazed the side of his face.



He slashed at me again, and I saw blood start to drip down my hands. Scare tactics. It didn't hurt that much, not nearly as much as it would hurt if he got his hands on me for real.



A second gun sounded, and Janos staggered as a bullet took him in the shoulder. Larry was behind him, gun out.



My vision faded, as if fog was rolling in behind my eyes. I lowered my aim to the larger target of his upper body and pulled the trigger again. I heard Larry's bullet go high and wide into the wall behind me.



A startled, "Hey!" let me know Jason was still back there.



I saw Janos go for the door, like watching slow motion through a fog so thick I could barely see. I fired twice more and knew I hit him at least once. When he was out of the room I fell forward onto all fours, and waited for my vision to clear. Hoped it would clear.



Through my ruined vision I saw Jean-Claude still lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. The question that came into my head was, Is he dead? A stupid question about a vampire, but it was still the first thing I thought of.



I glanced behind me and found Jason scattering bits of the two female vampires around the floor. He was tearing at them with his bare hands, cracking their bones and throwing them far away from each other, as if by sheer destruction he could wash away what they'd done to him.



Bruce lay on his back by the wall. Blood had soaked into his tuxedo. I couldn't tell for sure, but he looked dead. Ivy and Kissa were nowhere to be seen.



Larry was still standing across the room, gun extended, as if he didn't realize that Janos was gone. He was frowning. Everybody was up, everybody was moving except Jean-Claude. Shit.



I crawled towards him, not trusting myself to stand with my vision so spotty. It seemed to take a long time to reach him, as if more than my eyesight wasn't working quite right.



My vision was mostly clear by the time I got to him. I knelt in a thick pool of his blood and stared down at him. How do you tell if a vampire is dead? Sometimes he didn't have a pulse, or a heartbeat, or didn't breathe. Shit, again.



I holstered the Browning. There was nothing here right now to shoot, and I needed my hands. I bled on my shirt and looked at my hands for the first time. It looked like fingernails had scraped down both of them, a little deeper than normal, but they'd heal. Probably wouldn't even be a scar.



I touched Jean-Claude's shoulder and the flesh was soft, very human. I rolled him over onto his back. His hand flopped against the floor with a bonelessness that only the dead have. Some trick of the night had made his face beautiful again. The most human I'd ever seen it, except for the fact that no one was that pretty.



I checked for the big pulse in his neck. I held my fingers against his cooling skin, and felt nothing. Something like tears welled against my eyes, and my throat was tight. But I wouldn't cry, not yet. I wasn't even sure I wanted to.



When is dead, dead for a vampire? Is there such a thing as CPR for the undead? Hell, he breathed some of the time. He had a heart, and it beat most of the time. Not beating couldn't be a good thing.



I positioned his head, pinched his nose closed, and blew a breath into his mouth. His chest rose with it. I tried two more breaths, but he didn't breathe on his own. I unbuttoned his shirt and found the spot above his breastbone, and pressed, one, two, three, four, all the way to fifteen compressions. Two breaths.



Jason staggered over to me, then collapsed to his knees. "Is he gone?"



"I don't know." I pumped with everything I had in me, hard enough to break ribs on a human being, but he wasn't human. He lay there, his body moving only when I moved it, as loose and boneless as only the dead can be. His lips were half-parted, his closed eyes edged with the black lace of his thick eyelashes. His curling black hair still framed his pale face.



I'd pictured Jean-Claude dead. I'd even thought about killing him myself once or twice, but now that his death was a fact I didn't know how to feel. It didn't seem fair somehow. I'd brought him here. I'd asked him to come, and he came. And now he was dead, well and truly dead. And it was partially my fault, partially my doing. If I killed Jean-Claude, I wanted to actually pull the trigger and watch his eyes as he died. Not like this.



I stared down at him. I thought about no more Jean-Claude. This beautiful body rotting at last in the grave it so richly deserved. I shook my head. I couldn't let that happen, not if I could save him. I only knew one thing that all dead respected, craved. Blood. I tried to breathe life into him one more time, with one difference. I smeared my blood on his mouth first. My lips touched his, and I tasted the sweet, metallic taste of my own blood.



Nothing.



Larry knelt beside us. "Where did Janos go?"



He hadn't been able to see through the fog, but I didn't have time to explain. "Watch the door; shoot anything that comes through."



"Can I let the girls go?"



"Sure." I'd forgotten about the girls. I'd forgotten about Jeff Quinlan. I'd have traded them all for Jean-Claude to blink his eyes at me. Not if the choice had been offered to me as an either-or, but just now they were strangers. He wasn't.



"More blood, maybe," Jason said softly.



I looked at him. "You offering?"



"Neither of us can feed him back to full strength without dying, but I'll help," he said.



"You fed him once tonight already. Can you donate twice?"



"I'm a werewolf. I heal quick. Besides, my blood has more kick to it than a human's, more power."



I really looked at him then. He was covered in slime. A big black smear covered most of one cheek. His blue eyes didn't look wolfish; they looked haunted, hurt. There are things that harm a lot more than physically.



I took a deep breath and slid one of my knives out of its sheath. I sliced my left wrist. The pain was sharp and immediate. I placed the wound against Jean-Claude's lips. Blood welled into his mouth. Blood filled his mouth like wine pouring into a cup. It seeped out the corner of his mouth and slid down his cheek. I stroked his throat to make him swallow the blood.



How he'd laugh to know I'd finally opened a vein for him. More blood spilled from his unresponsive lips. Dammit.



I breathed into his mouth and got a taste of my own blood. I made his chest rise, breathing in my own blood. I thought one word at him: Live, live, live.



A shudder ran through the body. The throat convulsed, swallowed. I pulled back from him. He caught my wrist as I moved it back from his chin. His grip hurt. I could feel that unnatural strength that could break bone. His eyes were still closed; only the grip on my wrist let me know we were making progress.



I put a hand on his chest. He wasn't breathing on his own yet. No heartbeat. Was that bad? Good? Indifferent? Hell, I didn't know.



"Jean-Claude, can you hear me? It's Anita."



He raised up in a small motion and pressed my bleeding wrist to his mouth. He bit me, and I gasped. He used both hands to press my wrist to his mouth and sucked me. In the middle of sex it might have felt good; now it just hurt.



"Damn," I said.



"What's wrong?" Larry asked.



"It hurts," I said.



"I thought it was supposed to feel good," the blonde girl said.



I shook my head. "Not unless you're under hypnotic control."



"How long will this take?" Larry asked.



"As long as it takes," I said. "Watch the door."



"Which one?"



"Oh, hell, just shoot anything that comes through it." I was feeling lightheaded. How much had he drunk?



"Jason, I'm getting a little woozy here." I tried to pull my wrist free, but his hands were like iron forged to my skin. "I can't get him off."



Jason pulled at the pale hands, but couldn't budge them. "I could tear the fingers off one at a time and get you loose, but..."



"Yeah, Jean-Claude would be pissed." Dizziness was coming in waves, nausea starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I had to get him off me.



"Let go of me, Jean-Claude. Let go of me, dammit!"



His eyes were still closed, his face blank. He fed like a baby with single-minded determination, but this baby was draining my life away. I could feel it going down my arm. My heart was beginning to pound in my ears as if I'd been running, pumping the blood faster. Feeding him faster. Killing me faster.



Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The darkness beginning to eat the light. I drew the Browning.



"What are you doing?" Jason asked.



"He's going to kill me."



"He doesn't know what he's doing."



"I'll still be dead."



"Something's moving around at the head of the stairs," Larry called.



Great. "Jean-Claude, let go of me, now!"



I pressed the barrel of the gun to the flawless skin of his forehead. Darkness was eating my vision in great moving bites. Nausea burned up my throat.



I leaned over him and whispered, "Please, Jean-Claude, let me go. It's your ma petite, let me go." I sat back up.



"Vampires coming," Larry said. "Hurry up."



I stared down at that beautiful face locked on my arm, eating me alive, and squeezed. His eyes flew open. I moved my whole finger to keep from squeezing down.



He lay his head back onto the floor, still holding my wrist but no longer feeding. His mouth was crimson with my blood. The gun was still pointed at him.



"Ah, ma petite, haven't we done this before?"



"The gun," I said, "but not this." I drew my wrist from his reluctant hands and sat back with the Browning cradled in my lap. Nausea and darkness flew inside my head like clouds driven by the wind.



I saw Larry crouched by the foot of the stairs, gun out. But it was like looking down a tunnel, distant and not as important as it should have been.



Jason lay down on the bloody floor. I blinked at him. "The neck hurts less," he said, just as if I'd asked. Jean-Claude crawled on top of him. Jason turned his head to one side without being asked. Jean-Claude pressed his bloodstained mouth over the big pulse in Jason's neck. I saw the muscles in his mouth and jaw as he sank fangs into the tender skin.



Even if I'd known the neck hurt less, I wouldn't have offered it. It looked too much like sex. The wrist at least let me pretend we weren't doing something intimate.



"Anita!"



I turned back to the stairs. Larry was crouched there, alone, with his gun. The two girls had moved back away from the door. The blonde was having hysterics again. Couldn't really blame her.



I shook my head, lifted the Browning in a teacup grip, and pointed it at the door. I needed the extra arm to steady me. There was a faint tremor to my arms that wasn't going to help my aim much.



Power breathed through the room, prickling along my skin. You could almost smell it like perfumed sheets in the dark. I wondered if Jean-Claude and I had given off that kind of power when he'd fed off me. I hadn't noticed it.



Something white appeared in the doorway. It took me a second to figure out what it was. A white handkerchief tied to a stick.



"What the fuck is that?" I asked.



"A flag of truce, ma petite."



I didn't look away from the stairs to that thick, honey-dipped voice. Jean-Claude sounded better, or worse, than ever, each word like fur rubbing along my tired body. His voice was thick enough to wrap around all the aches and pains. He could make them go away. I just knew it.



I swallowed and lowered the gun towards the floor. "Stay the fuck out of my head."



"My apologies, ma petite. I can taste you in my mouth, feel your frantic heartbeat like a treasured memory. I will curb my enthusiasm, but with effort, Anita, with great effort." He sounded like I had let him have just a little sex, and he wanted more.



I glanced at him. He was sitting beside Jason's half-naked body. Jason was staring at the ceiling, eyes heavy-lidded like he was half-asleep. Blood trickled from two new puncture wounds in his neck. He didn't look like he'd felt much pain. In fact, it looked like it had felt good. I'd taken the edge off Jean-Claude's need, and Jason had gotten a smoother ride. Bully for him.



"May we talk?" A voice from the hallway, a man's. I couldn't place it. Hell, I was having trouble focusing on anything, let alone who the disembodied voices belonged to.



"Anita, what do you want me to do?" Larry asked.



"It's a flag of truce," I said. My words felt slurred, though they sounded clear enough. I felt almost drunk, or drugged. It was a bad drunk, a dangerous downer.



Magnus stepped into the doorway. For a second I thought I was seeing things. It was so damned unexpected. He was dressed all in white from his tux to his shoes. The cloth seemed to shine against his dark skin. His long hair was tied back with a loose white ribbon. He had the handkerchief-coated stick gripped in one hand. He walked down the steps in a graceful, almost dancelike movement. It wasn't a vampire's glide, but it was close.



Larry kept his gun trained on him. "Stay where you are," Larry said. He sounded a little scared, but like he meant it. The gun was pointed nice and steady.



"We've discussed the fact that silver bullets don't work on the fey."



"Who says this gun has silver bullets?" Larry said.



It was a good lie. I was proud of him. I was certainly too gone to have thought of it.



"Anita?" Magnus looked past Larry like he wasn't there, but he didn't come down those last few steps.



"I'd do what he says, Magnus. Now what do you want?"



Magnus smiled and spread his arms away from his body. To show he was unarmed, I guess. But I knew, and Larry knew, that weapons weren't what made him dangerous. "I mean you no harm. We know that Ivy broke the truce first. Serephina offers her most sincere apologies. She asks that you come directly to her audience chamber. No more tests. We have all been unforgivably rude to a visiting master."



"Do we believe him?" I asked of no one in particular.



"He speaks the truth," Jean-Claude said.



Great. "Let him pass, Larry."



"You sure that's a good idea?"



"No, but do it anyway."



Larry pointed his gun at the floor, but he didn't look happy. Magnus walked down the stairs, smiling, mostly at Larry. He walked past him and made a show of giving him his back. It was almost enough to make me wish Larry would shoot him.



He stopped a few feet in front of the rest of us. We were all still on the floor, sitting, or in Jason's case, lying. Magnus looked down at us, amused, or bemused.



"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.



Jean-Claude glanced at me. "You seem to know each other."



"This is Magnus Bouvier," I said. "What are you doing here, with them?"



He loosened the tie at his collar and spread the stiff cloth. I was pretty sure what he was trying to show me, but I couldn't see from the floor. I wasn't at all sure I could stand without falling over. "If you want me to take a peek, you're going to have to come down here."



"With pleasure." He knelt in front of me less than two feet away. He had two healing bite marks on his neck.



"Shit, Magnus. Why?"



He looked at me, eyes flicking to my bloody wrist. "I might ask you the same thing."



"I donated blood to save his life. What's your excuse?"



He smiled. "Nothing half as nice as that." Magnus undid the ribbon and let his hair fall like a curtain around his shoulders. He looked at me with his turquoise blue eyes, and crawled on all fours towards Jean-Claude. He moved like he had muscles in places that people didn't. It was like watching a great cat move. People just didn't move like that.



He knelt in front of Jean-Claude, so close they were almost touching. He swept his hair to one side and offered his neck.



"No," Jean-Claude said.



"What's going on?" Larry asked.



It was a good question. I didn't have a good answer. I didn't even have a bad one.



Magnus slipped off his white jacket and let it slide to the floor. He undid the cuff to his right wrist and pushed the cloth back. He offered his bare wrist to Jean-Claude. The skin was smooth and unbroken. Jean-Claude took his hand and raised the skin to his lips.



I almost looked away, but in the end I didn't. Looking away is like lying to yourself. You pretend it isn't happening, but it is.



Jean-Claude brushed his lips across the skin, then released Magnus's hand. "The offer is generous, but I would be drunk indeed if I added your blood to theirs."



"Drunk?" I asked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"



"Ah, ma petite, you do have a way with words."



"Shut up."



"Losing a quantity of blood makes you grumpy," he said.



"Fuck off."



He laughed, and the sound was sweet. It had a taste just outside description, like some forbidden candy that was not just fattening but poisonous. But what a way to go.



Magnus stayed kneeling, staring at the laughing vampire. "You won't taste me?"



Jean-Claude shook his head, as if he didn't trust himself to speak. His eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.



"The blood has been offered." Magnus crawled back towards me. His hair had spilled forward on one side so one eye was lost, glittering like a jewel through his hair. Eyes just weren't supposed to be that color. He crawled up to me until our faces were inches apart. "A pint of blood, a pound of flesh." He whispered it, leaning in towards me as if for a kiss.



I leaned back, away from him, and overbalanced. I ended up on my back on the floor. It was not an improvement. Magnus crawled over me, still on all fours, hovering. I pressed the Browning into his chest.



"Back off, or bite it."



Magnus crawled backwards, but not very far. I sat up, keeping the gun on him one-handed. The barrel wavered a lot more than normal. "What was that all about?"



Jean-Claude said, "Janos spoke of taking blood and flesh from us this night. As an apology, Serephina offers us blood, and flesh."



I stared at Magnus, still on all fours, still looking feral and dangerous. I lowered the gun. "No, thanks."



Magnus sat back on the floor, smoothing his hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face. "You have refused Serephina's peace offerings. Do you refuse her apology as well?"



"Take us to Serephina, and you will have done what was asked of you," Jean-Claude said.



Magnus looked at me. "What of you, Anita? Are you content that I take you to Serephina? Do you accept her apology?"



I shook my head. "Why should I?"



"Anita is not a master," Jean-Claude said. "It is my vengeance, my pardon, you should be asking."



"I am doing what I was told," he said. "She challenged Ivy to a test of wills. Ivy lost."



"I didn't throw her across the room," I said.



Jean-Claude frowned. "She resorted to brute force, ma petite. She could not win by force of will or vampire wiles against a human being." He looked suddenly very serious. "She lost... to you."



"So?"



"So, ma petite, you declared yourself a master, and proved that claim."



I shook my head. "That's ridiculous; I'm not a vampire."



"I did not declare you a master vampire, ma petite. I said you were a master."



"A master what? Human being?"



It was his turn to shake his head. "I do not know, ma petite." He turned to Magnus. "What does Serephina say?"



"Serephina says to bring her."



Jean-Claude nodded and stood like he was pulled by strings. He looked fresh and new, if a little bloodstained. How dare he look so good when I felt like shit?



He looked down at Jason and me. His strange good humor had returned. He smiled down at me, and even with blood staining his mouth he was beautiful. His eyes glittered with some amusing secret. He was full of himself in a way I'd never seen before.



"I do not know if my companions are able to walk. They're feeling a little drained." He chuckled at his own joke, putting a hand in front of his eyes, as if it was too funny even for him.



"You are drunk," I said.



He nodded. "I believe I am."



"You can't be drunk on blood."



"I've drunk deep of two mortals, but neither of you are human."



I didn't want to hear this. "What the hell are you talking about?"



"Necromancer with a chaser of werewolf; a drink to make any vampire giddy." He giggled. Jean-Claude never giggled.



I ignored him, if you can ignore an intoxicated vampire. "Jason, can you stand?"



"I think so." His voice was thick, heavy but not sleepy, more the languor after sex. Maybe I was glad my bite had hurt.



"Larry?"



Larry walked over to us, glancing at Magnus, gun naked in his hand. He didn't look happy. "Can we trust him?"



"We're going to," I said. "Help me stand up, and let's get out of here before fangface busts a gut."



Jean-Claude was doubled over with laughter. He seemed to think "fangface" was outrageously funny. Ye gods.



Larry helped me stand, and after a second of dizziness I was okay. He offered a hand to Jason without being asked. Jason swayed on his feet, but stayed standing.



"Can you walk?"



"If you can, I can," he said.



A man after my own heart. I took a step, another, and was on my way across the room. Jason and Larry followed. Jean-Claude staggered to his feet, still laughing softly.



Magnus was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for us. He had the jacket slung over one arm. He'd even found the ribbon to tie back his hair.



Jason walked wide around the torn bodies of his two would-be lovers and picked his shirt off the floor. The shirt covered the mess on his chest, but the goo was still on his face, and his hair was stiff and nearly as dark as his pants.



Even the back of Jean-Claude's clothes and hair were thick with congealing blood. I had my own share of blood and goop. Good thing I wore mostly black tonight; didn't show dirt as badly. The crimson blouse was looking a little worse for wear.



Larry was the only one without any blood or gore on him. Here was hoping he could keep up the good work.



The two girls had hidden under the stairs while we discussed things. I was betting it was the brown-haired girl's idea to hide. Lisa seemed too scared to think, let alone do anything smart. Not that I could blame her, but hysteria gets you nowhere but dead.



The brown-haired girl walked over to Larry. The blonde came along for the ride, her hands dug so tightly into the other one's torn blouse it would have taken surgery to remove them.



"We just want to go home now. Can we do that?" Her voice was a little breathy, but for the most part solid. I stared into her brown eyes and nodded.



Larry looked at me.



"Magnus," I said.



He raised his eyebrows, still waiting by the stairs like a tour guide, or a butler ready to escort us up. "You called?"



"I want the girls to leave now, safe."



He glanced at them. "I don't see why not. Serephina had us collect them mostly for your benefit, Anita. They've served their purpose."



I didn't like the way he said that last. "Safe, Magnus, no more harm. Are we clear on what that means?"



He smiled. "They walk out the door, and go home. Is that clear enough for you?"



"Why so cooperative all of a sudden?"



"Would letting them go be apology enough?" Magnus asked.



"Yeah, if they go free, unharmed. I'll accept her apology."



He nodded. "Then consider it done."



"Don't you have to check with your master first?"



"My master whispers sweetly to me, Anita, and I obey." He smiled while he said it, but there was a tightness around his eyes, an involuntary flexing of his hands.



"You don't like being her lap dog."



"Perhaps, but there's not much I can do about it." He started up the stairs. "Shall we go up?"



Jean-Claude paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Do you need some help, ma petite? I have taken quite a bit of your blood. You do not recover as quickly as my wolf."



Truthfully, the stairs looked longer going up than they had coming down. But I shook my head. "I can make it."



"Of that, ma petite, I have no doubt." He stepped close to me, but did not whisper; instead I felt him in my mind. "You are weak, ma petite. Let me help you."



"Stop doing that, dammit."



He smiled and sighed. "As you like, ma petite." He walked up the steps like he could have flown, barely touching them. Larry and the girls went up next; none of them seemed tired. I slogged up after them. Jason brought up the rear. He looked hollow-eyed. It may have felt good, but donating that much blood is still rough, even on the temporarily furry. If Jean-Claude had offered to carry him up the stairs, would he have agreed?



Jason caught me looking, but he didn't smile; he just stared back. Maybe he'd have said no, too. Weren't we all just being uncooperative tonight?