Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 26

"So it was something you wanted? Being turned?"

"Yeah, you could say that." He looked at Heather for a long moment, stroking the sides of his mustache with forefinger and thumb, thinking deep.

"Tell me," Heather said. "Whatever it is. I'll keep it safe."

Von stopped stroking his mustache. "I know you will," he said softly. "No matter who or what Dante might be, no matter what he has done or might do, his heart's true. I've never regretted giving up the Road for him."

"Did Dante ask you to?" Heather asked.

"Nah, my choice. I saw him. And I knew."

"Knew what?"

"He is the never-ending Road."

"But to where?" Heather said, holding Von's steady gaze.

"Don't matter and don't care. I'll be with him."

"I'm glad you are," Heather murmured, then added, "Nightkind for forty years, huh? So how old are you, anyway?"

"What kinda question is that, woman? How old. Seventy-one. I'm still jailbait, nightkind-wise." Von b.u.mped her with his shoulder, a surprisingly catlike gesture. A mischievous grin parted his lips. "You're wet."

"So are you."

"Okay, then. Inside?"

Smiling, Heather b.u.mped him back. "Inside, Mr. I'm Still Jailbait."

Von laughed.

Inside, all was quiet. Eli snoozed on the couch while Jack watched TV, plate of sandwiches in his lap. Antoine relaxed in the recliner, reading one of Heather's books about vampires, a look of amused disbelief on his face.

Heather locked the front door and twisted the dead bolts into place before grabbing a towel from the bathroom and then walking into the bedroom to check on Dante. He'd moved; he was curled on his side, facing the door, Eerie tucked in the crook of his arm. Eerie's eyes slitted open. He mewed, then closed his eyes again. Very content.

She'd never seen him take to anyone like he'd taken to Dante. And that particular endors.e.m.e.nt meant a lot to her, since she trusted Eerie's judgment. Heather kicked off her shoes, then pulled off her wet clothes. Toweling herself dry, she slipped into her jammies and slippers.

Pulling her .38 from her purse, she automatically checked both the safety and the magazine, then, gun in hand, she hung the towel up in the bathroom to dry. As she walked back into the living room, she saw Von unbolting and unlocking the door.

"What's up?" she asked.

Von opened the door. Annie walked in, followed by Silver. Both were wet and disheveled-Annie's makeup smudged, her skirts in reverse order-and, in her sister's case anyway, reeking of booze and cigarette smoke.

Relief flooded through Heather and she felt her tension unwind. She opened her mouth, then closed it. No point in saying anything to Annie when she was drunk and, besides, she was just glad she was home, safe.

"Hey," Silver said. "Everything okay?"

"Golden," Von said, relocking the door.

"How's Dante?"

"Still out."

"Oh."

Heather heard something sad and a little lost in Silver's voice, and she wondered at it, remembering some of his pensiveness in New Orleans. She wondered if he was homesick.

"I'm back," Annie announced, lifting her chin. "C'mon," she said, grabbing Silver's hand. She led him into the guest room-her room now-and slammed the door.

Heather looked at Von. He was grinning at her. "What?"

"Little sheepcovered jammies and a gun," he said. "Now how hot is that?"

"Not half as hot as a nightkind nomad dripping water on my carpet," she replied. "Rowr. There's towels in the closet, doofus."

"The closet." Von smacked his forehead. "Never woulda thought of that."

"Since Annie's home, I'm going to bed. Wake me before you Sleep, okay?"

Von nodded. "You got it, darlin'. Sleep tight."

Back in her room, Heather placed her .38 in the nightstand drawer, kicked off her slippers, and left the door open just enough for Eerie to come and go. She slipped beneath the quilt and up beside Dante. She spooned him, tucking herself against his fevered heat, and draped her arm over his waist. As she slid into sleep, his warm scent enveloped her and perfumed her dreams.

27 HER GUN AT HIS FEET.

Portland, OR March 23/24

CATERINA LOCKED THE MOTEL room door behind her, then tossed her overnight bag onto the bed. She was exhausted after the long, dirty night and was looking forward to a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. She reeked of soil and sweat and decay, the smell of the dead clinging to her like a fetid perfume.

She eased her laptop onto the lacquered desk, then opened it. She needed to report her progress. She needed to buy time.

Keying open the minibar, she pulled out an ice-cold bottle of SoBe Green Tea, twisted the cap off, and poured a long, cooling draft down her throat.

Plunking down on the desk chair, she clicked on NEW MESSAGE and typed in: Wells a.s.signment completed to satisfaction. Since Wallace is no longer ours, we'll catch some sleep, then a flight home.

Caterina hit SEND and folded the laptop. Closing her eyes, she rested the cold bottle of tea against her forehead. Burying Beck and Mrs. Wells had taken more energy than she'd expected, energy she hadn't planned on expending.

Caterina regretted Mrs. Wells's murder. It had never occurred to her that Athena would off her terminally ill mother. Her father, yes, given her hostility toward him. But since Athena was determined to see him in Dante's hands, Caterina had thought it safe to leave her with her parents while she disposed of Beck.

A mistake.

Remembering what Wells had so enthusiastically done to Dante Baptiste from birth, Caterina had believed the man empty of normal human emotions, soulless.

But Wells's spittle-flying fury after Gloria's death had proven her wrong on that score, at least where his wife was concerned.

I'll have S rip you out of that body and pour your mother into it! I should've had you put down like your mother advised! You're nothing but a flawed and bitter mistake. Alexander will be happy to kill you! He's looking forward to it!

Wells's threats had stopped only when Caterina had slapped several layers of duct tape across his mouth.

Small wonder Athena Wells's sanity had unraveled.

Watching Athena, listening to her, Caterina had realized that the woman who'd renamed herself Hades was a precog. An unusual gift for a mortal, but not unheard of. But was Athena's future sight warped by madness, the clarity of her visions whirling with debris from the storm raging within her mind?

Caterina had a feeling the answer to those questions would be both yes and no.

Later Caterina had walked Athena to the guest cottage and put her to bed as Alex Lyons had requested. As per their arrangement-she would care for his sister and guard Wells, for Dante's sake, and Lyons would make sure that Dante arrived safe and sound. And he'd make sure the team coming to collect Heather Wallace failed.

Dante Baptiste had saved Wallace's life, had carried her from the center cradled in his arms. As far as Caterina was concerned, that marked Wallace as Dante's beloved. Reason enough to protect her.

"Time for bed," Caterina says. "I promised your brother."

Athena strips to her bra and panties, then crawls onto the bed like a child, and slides beneath the blankets. She stares at the ceiling, her lips moving as she whispers. Shadows smudge the skin beneath her eyes, hollow her cheeks.

Cold ices Caterina from the inside out as she looks around the room. Pictures of Dante are pinned to each wall- night-vision shots from the security cam footage-his pale face rapt, his eyes closed, rays of light whipping around him, from him.

Caterina bends and smoothes the blankets over Athena's chest, tucks them in securely. She seems insubstantial, a ghost, the flickering memory of a woman, and Caterina brushes Athena's hair back from her face. A pretty face, smooth- skinned and oval, pale brows, gently sloping nose over curving lips. But her eyes are incandescent, as though moonlit. And gazing upon things only she can see.

Athena lifts her arm and Caterina injects her with the sleep meds as Lyons had instructed during their conversation. Athena's lids droop. Pale lashes flutter.

"Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol, fi la nana, e mi be fiol," Caterina sings softly, her voice more husky than her mother's, not as sweet.

Athena's whispers falter. End.

Caterina finishes her lullaby, and then walks from the room, easing the door shut behind her. She leaves the cottage, Athena's words spiraling through her mind like a never-ending staircase and chilling her blood-Dante will make us three, holy trinity.

Relaxing into the chair, Caterina lowered the SoBe bottle to her mouth and finished the tea. She'd considered giving Athena a lethal bedtime dose, but honor wouldn't allow it. She was trusting Lyons to fulfill his end of his agreement; she needed to tend to her end.

But that obligation was now satisfied.

Whatever the twins had planned for Dante would never come to pa.s.s. They'd never live long enough to do him harm.

Caterina would make sure of that.

Eventually, it would be discovered that Beck was dead and that Caterina had gone rogue. One of two things would happen: she'd be named traitor, her life forfeit, and she'd be hunted by the best; or fear of Renata Alessa Cortini and the h.e.l.lstorm she would unleash upon the SB if anything happened to Caterina would convince her handlers to look the other way.

No matter the outcome, Caterina knew she'd be wise to look over her shoulder and watch her back for years to come.

Many, many years. Some of her soon-to-be former handlers had long memories, indeed.

Caterina set the empty SoBe bottle on the desk and rose to her feet. Walking into the bathroom, she turned on the shower and undressed while waiting for the water to heat up, folding her clothes neatly as she removed them.

She stepped into the shower, the hot water easing the kinks from her muscles and the weariness from her limbs. Steam curled into the air. As she tipped her head back and wet her hair, an image from the footage she'd watched flashed through her mind.

The energy surrounding Dante shafts into Johanna's body from dozens of different points. Explodes from her eyes.

From her nostrils. Her screaming mouth. She separates into strands, wet and glistening. Dante's energy unthreads Johanna. Pulls apart every single element of her flesh.

Unmakes her.

Johanna Moore spills to the tiled floor, her scream ending in a gurgle.

Energy continues to emanate from Dante, snapping like whips into the air and altering everything touched. The counter transforms into a heaving twist of vines thick with thorns; Johanna's gun slithers into the vines.

Dante's beautiful face is ecstatic. He closes his eyes and shivers as energy spikes from his body, flames from his hands.

With a shudder, the energy and light recedes, vanishes. Dante lowers his hands. Opens his eyes. He looks down at the moist strands that used to be Johanna. Kicks them apart with his boots. And walks away.

For a moment, excitement burned away Caterina's exhaustion. She had so much to tell her mother; the Bloodline not only still held, but was evolving, and a whispered myth from the ancient past now walked the earth in a slender, tight-muscled, breathtaking form.

A True Blood prince and Fallen Maker.

Did Dante represent a new path for all-Fallen, vampires, and mortals?

After Caterina had slept, she'd return to the Wells house. After Dante Baptiste arrived in Damascus, Caterina would go to him and lay her Glock at his booted feet. She'd humbly ask to serve him as samurai and protector.

And refuse to leave until he agreed.

COLLEEN SHEP STEERED THE rented Lexus ES into a slot in the Doubletree's parking lot and shut off the engine. She leaned back in the seat and sighed.

"I hear that," Norwich said, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. "The flight sucked, the rental desk sucked bigger, and the traffic from the airport sucked huge."

"Wanna bet they screwed up our reservation?"

Norwich laughed. "You're on. If they screwed it up, I'll buy you a nightcap in the bar. If everything's in order, you'll buy."

"Deal." Shep reached under the dash and pulled the trunk release lever. "How do you wanna handle things tomorrow?"

Norwich opened his door, then paused. "Swing by Wallace's house during the day, when her neighbors are at work." He rubbed his face as he considered, and in the silence, Shep heard the whiskers rasping against his palm. "Tell her she was exposed to something top secret and potentially lethal, tell her she's being escorted to the CDC in Atlanta."

Shep nodded. "We can even ask for a list of everyone she's been in contact with to make it sound good."

"I like that," Norwich said, stepping out of the car and unfolding his length. "Should keep her cooperative." A cool breeze smelling of rain blew into the car and ruffled Shep's hair before Norwich closed the door. Shep glanced in the rearview mirror and swiped at her razor-cut black hair, trying to spike it back into edgy life. The Lexus bounced as Norwich freed their suitcases from the trunk. She heard a couple of dull thuds. Grabbing her purse, she slid out from behind the wheel. With a tap to the smart key, she locked the car.

"Y'know, we could spend part of the day checking out the waterfront first," Shep said as she walked to the rear of the Lexus. "I've never been to-" She halted, staring at the tall man in hoodie and jeans bent over the trunk's opened mouth. He sure as h.e.l.l wasn't Norwich. Her hand darted for the Colt in her purse.

Not-Norwich straightened and turned, his pulled-up hoodie shadowing his face. He aimed a small black gun-trank gun, Shep realized in that split second-held in his gloved hand.

Shep yanked the Colt up and out of the purse. Wrapped her finger around the trigger. But before she could squeeze off a round, something dropped over her, something p.r.i.c.kling and charged, like a net woven of electricity. Shep tried to squeeze the Colt's trigger. But nothing happened when she attempted to flex her finger. She couldn't move.