The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Page 9

  Footsteps pattered across the floor. The door slammed. The house grew quiet. Dawn had arrived.

  “James?”

  A shiver of apprehension scuttled across her bones. He couldn't be dead. Vampires had already died. When taken from this world, they dissolved to ash, the remnants of their spirits relegated to the Eidolon Wastes to wander as the formless, voiceless. And James still had form.

  She reached around his back. Just above his shoulder blade, her fingers skimmed a hole in his flesh. A big one.

  “James?” She wriggled out from under his weight, envisioning light flooding the room. The lights flipped on, just as she rolled him onto his stomach.

  The ghost had left two oval-shaped wounds, each about an inch around, on his back. The edges of his skin were red and raw, but beyond the layer of muscle tissue she saw nothing but a thick, inky blackness. No blood, no bone. He was empty.

  Think.

  She read something about vampires leaking energy the way humans bled. They could die, just like a human, from open wounds. She covered both wounds with her hands and closed her eyes. Gods, she wished she had her Grimoire. The few spells she remembered were child's play. Cleaning and turning lights on and off. Nothing that would help him heal. Nothing that would've protected him or herself. Useless, just like Nan had always said. Vampires self-healed; if she kept pressure on him long enough, his body would take care of the rest. Or she could bleed on the wounds.

  She didn't need to cut off a limb, she just needed to bleed on him. Reaching under his pillow, she grabbed the knife she'd examined earlier. She unsheathed it and drew the edge over the side of her hand, gasping at the bite of the blade. She smeared her blood over one of the wounds, then pressed her hand to the other.

  Immediately, his skin started to grow. New pink flesh filled the void, making the wound smaller.

  Lilith lifted her hand, squeezing the cut until more of her blood welled up and pressed it to the other wound. Within minutes, both disappeared, leaving nothing but scars. She grabbed a towel off his dresser and cleaned the remaining blood away. Then ran downstairs to get a bandage for her hand from the kitchen. When she returned, she crawled back into bed, covered them both with his blanket, and curled herself around her mate.

  Three times now, he'd saved her. Blasted man. Her debts were stacking up

  He'd been right. She wasn't in the same orbit as him. Not yet.

  Chapter 12

  James found Lou's mobile office parked in a darkened lot in downtown Bellevue. Three bikes were already lined up outside, suggesting half his team were already inside. He parked his bike and walked up to the bloodmobile.

  As a phototroph, Lou's Vampiric talent allowed her to thrive in sunlight and like most, she worked two jobs. During the day, she earned her living as a phlebotomist. At night, she ran errands for him and the other Guardian in the area. Lou had added a new sticker to the back bumper: I Brake for Vampires. In her profession, she could get away with such things. No one would believe the short, round, busty phlebotomist was a vampire anyway.

  Walker, Ghost and Shadow all hustled out of the trailer and headed to their bikes. Walker caught sight of James. He paused and pointed to the trailer. “I’d keep your helmet on if you go in there.”

  Ghost chuckled as he dragged on his helmet. “She’s been in a mood ever since you missed your last appointment. You all right?”

  James rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Shadow shook his head. “Poor Ghost couldn’t make payment tonight. She’s not pleased.”

  Great. Lou wouldn’t allow him to escape without paying up. Not if Ghost already got a pass. He rapped his knuckles on the door.

  It swung out, revealing Lou's surprised face. “Hey, there's my man. Come on in, James.”

  James stepped into the small mobile home, the whole thing rocking under his weight. “How you been, Lou?”

  “Worried.” Her tone got stern. “You're two weeks late. How many years have I been doing this and you always keep the same routine. You come like clockwork on the first Thursday of the month. I started to think you were the one they referred to in the e-mail.”

  James shrugged, not wanting to discuss it. Last night he’d remembered something. Something he was sure accounted for his missing time . . . but the memory had faded by the time he woke. And tonight before he’d left the house, Lilith kept asking about him. How did he feel and was he all right. “Been busy. What happened?”

  “I got an e-mail a couple weeks ago saying the west coast is down one Guardian.” She shrugged. “That's all the Council ever tells us. We don't know who, unless one of our guys doesn't show up.”

  “I haven't gotten any messages saying my patrol area got bigger, so I doubt it's any of ours.”

  “Still, check in more often, will you?” Lou nudged him with a dimpled elbow. “I worry about you. You're my favorite.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess I just like you big, surly guys.” She poked him playfully in the chest.

  He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “I meant, why the concern?”

  “Well, I—” She glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers.

  Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he said, “Just us here, Lou.”

  “You gotta promise to keep this on the down low, a'right?” She waited for James to nod, then explained in a hushed voice, “So some of us, you know, we get bored, and no one tells us nothing. And with the way the Council monitors communication, we can't chat on our phones. So, some of us started keeping in touch on one of those human-vampire chat rooms.”

  He knew of the sites. A whole subculture existed of HVs—humans who wanted to be vampires—pleading among Internet predators to change them. HVs would do anything, pay anything, for a transformation. Those offering transformation were the worst sort of criminals. Occasionally, HVs just lost their savings—many didn't get away with their lives. “Please tell me you're not encouraging those people.”

  “No, no, of course not.” Lou brushed away his concern. “We ignore the HVs, and everyone there thinks we're just like them. We don't get much attention. But anyway, don't interrupt if you want to hear this.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a pointed glare.

  “'Kay, so here's the scoop: Between all of us, we've counted one hundred-thirteen Guardian destroyed. Most of those just in the last few weeks, mind you.”

  Her claim was outrageous. “That's not possible.” The Guardian were trained warriors. Rarely did one fall, much less so many. Not even in times of war had the Guardians taken such a loss.

  “You bet it's true, big guy. And I'll tell you another thing: The Council isn't replacing them.”

  Now that couldn't possibly be true. “How are all the territories getting coverage?”

  “They're not,” Lou said. “So Lin Sue over in Sapporo, Japan? They used to have six Guardians. Now she's the only one left in the region.”

  He couldn't believe the Council would shut down territories. Still, Lou was trustworthy. Her tale must be based in some kind of truth. “All right, I'll look into it. Listen, Lou, I'm sure this is nothing, but I don't want you to tell anyone else what you just told me.” If what she said turned out to be true, trouble was brewing, and it came from home base. “Do me a favor, hop online and tell the others the same thing. One of you talks to the wrong person and you could all be in the kind of trouble you don't walk away from.”

  “Sure, James. A’right.” Lou spun her chair toward the computer and relayed the message, her acrylic nails tapping across the keyboard. “It's posted. They'll all see it when they log in.”

  “Good.”

  “I got something for you.” She spoke in a singsong voice, waggling her eyebrows.

  “I hope so. I'd be upset to find out you gave away what's mine.”

  “We couldn't have that now, could we?” Lou picked up his backpack and started loading in units of blood, giving him tidbits of information on each. “So, now, this here is from Miss
Jennings; lovely woman—doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. You'll like this. This here is from Mrs. Oliver. She's a doll, a real health nut. Oh, and guess who came by? Mr. Roberts, so I'm putting a unit of his in here, 'cause I know you prefer vegetarians.” She winked at him and finished packing his bag.

  “Thanks, Lou.” He scrubbed his hand over his head. “Hey, listen, is there any chance I could get a little extra?”

  Lou’s eyebrows crept up high on her forehead.

  Hell, he shouldn't have asked. None of them did. The only reason they needed more than what they got is if they had someone else to feed. “Actually, never mind.”

  “What's she like?”

  He closed his eyes. “An angel.” He shook his head. “I'm losing my fucking mind, Lou.”

  She grinned. “Give me two days. I'll have what you need.”

  “It's just in case. I probably won't need it.”

  “You'll have it if you do.” She winked.

  “Thanks.” He got up, ready to leave.

  “You ain't going anywhere yet. Ghost didn’t have anything for me tonight.” Her frown eased and she shot him a wink. “You know what I want.”

  Moaning, he fell back into a patient recliner. She'd been so distracted with everything else he thought he might escape before she remembered. “I swear, if you ever tell anyone. . . .”

  “You know me better.” She hugged the backpack to her chest. “This is purely for my own pleasure.”

  He slumped back in his chair, giving her one last glare before making his ridiculous payment. She started giggling before he’d even gotten halfway through the joke. He never had figured out if she found the bad jokes amusing, or if she found humor in his annoyed monotone but by the time he reached the punch line, Lou's laughter filled the blood mobile, and his payment was complete.

  Chapter 13

  “Comfortable, you little bastard?”

  Lilith slammed the kennel door shut on George and carried it into the ritual room. She'd searched the entire house twice before finding the damn cat and it was nearing 2:00 AM. James could return any time and she refused to go another night with both Aimee and the ghost to contend with.

  She closed her fist around her bandaged palm. The odd thing was, James didn't seem to remember what happened this morning. When he'd woken, she'd asked him how he felt and the blank look he gave her didn't seem to be an act.

  She managed to ensure they missed a twilight confrontation that evening by luring James outside so she could marvel over the repairs done on her car. Not only had his friends replaced the windshield, but they'd also repaired the bumper and replaced the airbag. The impossible man refused to let her pay for the damages, insisting she accept it as past rent.

  Leave it to her to find the sweetest vampire in existence. As a child, she'd sat through countless daemonology lessons and never had it been even hinted that vampires might be anything other than cold-blooded killers.

  James seemed to be anything but.

  She eyed the kennel warily. Without access to her family Grimoire, she’d been forced to search online for various expulsions and binding spells. Without knowing exactly what Aimee was, finding the right binding spell proved difficult.

  Her training stopped when she was ten years old, being an outcast from the coven, leaving her inexperienced and unpracticed. She didn't have as much knowledge as she would have liked for this undertaking. Banishing Aimee would be a matter of trial and error. She'd spent the evening doing research and practicing spells. She'd captured Aimee. She could do this. She could. No problem.

  She dropped the kennel in the middle of a circle of thirteen brown and white candles and started the first ritual. “San Cipriano, I invoke thee.” Though she shut all the doors and windows tight, the candles flickered as a breeze blew through the room.

  “Lend me your experience and wisdom.” She lit several bowls of incense—frankincense, jasper, sage—while speaking the rest of the incantation, and sprinkled turmeric on a bowl of smoldering resin. The smoke blended, letting off a heady, rich odor.

  George sneezed.

  “You'll be okay, George. Just kick her out.” She waited, disappointed when nothing else happened. This wasn't the right ritual.

  “So you're not an evil spirit.” She flipped the page. “Then you must be some type of daemon.”

  She grabbed a large gilded mirror from the wall and walked around the room, letting everything reflect into the mirror, including George. She set the mirror against the wall. She held her hands over her head and visualized a bright light shining into the reflective glass. Starting as a small spark, the light grew into a brilliant ball of yellow light.

  The kennel started to rattle. At first she thought the spell was pulling Aimee out of George and into the mirror, but the reflection remained the same, just her holding the ball of light and the room as usual. No daemon trapped in the glass.

  Still, possessed George threw himself around violently. She edged closer to the kennel and the cat grew frantic. When she let the ball of light fade away, George settled. He reacted again when she created another orb.

  Aimee wanted her Magic.

  That's why Aimee attached to her. Why hadn't she realized this before? Probably because she'd been told both events were separate parts of her karmic punishment. As a child she’d trusted the high priestess and accepted Rowena's explanation. She'd felt guilty for her part in Nan's death and her expectation of retribution from the universe made her gullible. She hadn't lost her powers for her part in Nan's death, Aimee had been sucking the Magic right out of her.

  White-hot rage shot through her veins. “Now I'm pissed.” The only question was, had Rowena believed the rubbish she'd told Lilith or had she known what Aimee was?

  She shook her head. Rowena was the only mother figure she had, and while strict and somewhat misguided in her beliefs, she didn't think the high priestess would ever intentionally hurt her.

  The cage rattled with a vengeance.

  Aimee must be some type of Magic-eating daemon and that meant any spell that included holy water should bind her tight. With a decent bestiary, she could pinpoint exactly what Aimee was. Maybe then she could figure out where it had come from. First things first, she had to get Aimee out of George before she killed the feline. She had holy water, so she could at least get Aimee bound into a jar. Now, she just needed a Bible.

  Lilith ran upstairs to James' room and grabbed the Bible she’d seen there yesterday. Back in the ritual room, she rummaged through the items on the altar, selecting a bottle of holy water from Notre Dame, salt, and a glass jar with a lid.

  Opening the Bible to Psalm 91—the psalm of exorcists—and read the verse out loud. The kennel stopped moving as Aimee listened. “You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High . . . .”

  The kennel rattled violently and she raised her voice to be heard. The cage banged against the hardwood floor, knocking over candles.

  Gods, she hoped she could do this.

  ***

  James let himself into the house and glanced around. Lilith had turned on every single light in the place. Her voice came from the room under the stairs, her muffled words vaguely familiar.

  When he first arrived he'd been curious about that room—about why a door shield remained intact there, but not on the front door. Whatever was in there, wasn't meant for his kind.

  She banged on something behind the door. Her voice grew louder over the racket. He strained to make out her words, the rhythm tugging at his memory. A Bible verse?

  There was a loud crash, then silence. He started to walk away.

  Lilith screamed.

  Swinging around, he eyed the door seal. How the hell was he going to get in there?

  ***

  The old, rusty kennel gave up the battle, breaking apart.

  George crouched, ears back, panting. He retched, as if he needed to cough up a fur ball. The cat dry-heaved a couple of times. His mouth opened in a too-wide feline yawn.

  Aimee's three-fingered han
ds came out first, pulling the rest of her body in their wake, squeezing strangely out of the too-small opening. She shed George's body like a cheap coat, letting him fall in an exhausted heap on the floor. Aimee sprung, desperation making her quick, agile.

  Lilith shouted, throwing the only weapon she had, the Bible.

  “Lilith, are you okay?” James called through the door.

  Damn. “Don't come in here. I'll be out in a minute.” She hoped.

  She scrambled away from Aimee, bumping into the small altar and sprawling to the floor. The contents of the altar scattered in every direction. Some of the bottles shattered, spilling essential oils and mixing with the burning incense embers. Flames leapt from the floor. For a heartbeat, Lilith froze. She needed to put the fire out, but Aimee—

  The small entity jumped through the flames.

  Lilith snatched up one of the summoning jars and darted out of reach.

  Flames spread across the floor between them, forcing Aimee back. Outraged, she let out a high-pitched keening screech.

  Lilith covered her ears.

  “What's that noise?” Gods, he sounded worried. He pounded on the wall. “Answer me, Lilith.”

  She circled back to the upturned altar, keeping her eyes focused on Aimee. She needed the salt and holy water to finish the banishment.

  James continued banging. “Answer me.”

  “I'm fine.” Figured he'd decide tonight he wanted to be a Chatty Kathy. “Did you have a nice evening?”

  ***

  Did I have a nice . . .? “What the hell are you playing at?”

  Behind the door, her heart beat a frantic rhythm and a softer, even faster heart beat elsewhere in the room, which he recognized as George. Other displaced noises came from other areas. Something was in there with them and it didn't have a heartbeat. Whatever was in there was daemon. Which meant Lilith was in there fighting for her life and he was . . . unable to do a goddamned thing.