Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 37

36 THE UNDERWORLD.

Damascus, OR March 24

DANTE moved.

Heather jumped back, shielding her throat with her arms, hoping to h.e.l.l she'd hit her mark. Dante stumbled to a stop about two feet from her, staggered. He plucked the dart from his throat. A familiar smile tilted his lips and, for an instant as he looked at her, he was himself again.

Relief flickered in his dark eyes.

The dart tumbled from his fingers. Then he followed it, sprawling belly down on the oatmeal-shaded carpet, his black hair spilling across Heather's Skechers.

Heather lowered her arms. She tossed the trank gun aside, then dropped to her knees beside Dante. She grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over. She touched his face. He was burning up, his skin hot beneath her shaking fingers.

"Good shootin', Tex," Lyons said from behind her-in the hall. "I kinda thought he'd tear you apart. Gotta admit, I'm glad he didn't."

Heather glanced at him from over her shoulder. "You're so full of s.h.i.t, I'm surprised you haven't suffocated yet."

"Ouch," Lyons murmured, voice amused. He sauntered into the room and crouched beside her. "Looks like he took a bullet."

Heather followed his gaze to the hole in Dante's PVC shirt above the left pec. Almost a heart shot. Not fatal, but Rodriguez would still be alive if he hadn't missed. But where would that have left Dante?

"Move away, Wallace. I'll truss him up."

"Where's my dad?"

Heather lifted her gaze to the girl still standing wide-eyed and trembling beside the sofa where Dante had shoved her for safekeeping. "Is my dad here?"

Heather's throat tightened. "I don't know, honey," she said softly, rising to her feet. "What's your name?"

"Brisia," she said. "Shouldn't we call 911? My dad always told me-"

"You've been very brave, Brisia," Heather said, crossing to the sofa. She knelt beside the dark-haired girl. "Your dad would be proud of you. You just need to be brave for a little while longer, okay sweetie?"

Brisia nodded, expression uncertain, her eyes gla.s.sy with shock. Heather stroked her arm, knowing her attempt to soothe the girl was hollow, at best.

Brisia's father was dead, his body in another room, just yards away. She'd learn the truth soon enough and it wouldn't matter to her that Dante'd had no choice, that he'd been programmed to kill on a madman's whim.

All Brisia would know was that he'd murdered her father.

The mingled smells of coffee, blood, and burning leaves wove a pungent latticework throughout the room, a scent of pending grief. A scent Heather knew Brisia would always remember.

Lyons flipped Dante back onto his belly and cuffed his hands behind him. Then, still face-down, Dante's unconscious body lifted into the air, his hair swinging forward to curtain his face.

Heather felt Brisia tense beneath her hand. She looked at the girl just as she hid her face behind her hands as if she was a three-year-old watching a monster movie.

But she was a ten-year-old and the monsters were real.

"Back in a sec to tie up loose ends." Lyons accompanied Dante's floating body down the dark hall and out of sight.

Heather squeezed Brisia's arm, then rose to her feet. The girl dropped her hands from her face. Heather hurried her to the front door. "I want you to run to a neighbor's house and have them call 911, okay?"

Brisia nodded. She grasped the doork.n.o.b, then glanced at Heather. "Do you need help too?" she asked.

"Don't worry about me," Heather said. "Just go."

Brisia yanked the door open and dashed out into the night and across the street, her long hair streaming behind her.

Breathing a little easier, Heather closed the door. She left the house by the back door and trotted over to Lyons's truck.

He finished snapping the black cover over the truck bed, then looked up.

Heather's hands curled into fists. Lyons had stashed Dante in the back of the truck like a piece of equipment. "We need to move," she said. "Cops'll be on their way."

Lyons shook his head, his expression amused. "So you let the kid go. I figured you would." He shrugged. "It's Dante she'll remember. I'll bet his face will be burned into her memory."

Heather had a feeling he was right. "Dante's done everything you asked; so have I. Where the h.e.l.l's Annie?"

"Listen, Wallace," Lyons said, all humor gone from his face, his eyes cold and still, "and listen very close. Screw up my instructions and your sister pays."

SHERIDAN FOLLOWED A LONG stream of traffic onto I-5 south, merging the SUV at high speed into the interstate flow of red taillights. Lyons's address in Damascus glowed in green letters across the GPS screen mounted on the dash.

Rutgers's voice curled into his ear from the Bluetooth hooked around it. "I just got the word from the Seattle PD, Rodriguez is dead. Murdered."

"Prejean," Sheridan murmured.

"I believe so. The Seattle PD said it looked like a wild animal had torn into Rodriguez. I certainly couldn't tell them that a vampire was more likely."

"No."

"I a.s.sured them that I'd be sending a team in. There's also a witness, a daughter. She mentioned two men, one woman."

"Prejean, Lyons, and Wallace."

"Given your intel about what occurred between Prejean, Lyons, and Wallace at her house this evening, I did a little digging.

h.e.l.l, I roto-rootered the files and uncovered a cla.s.sified gem."

"Ma'am?"

"Lyons is the son of Robert Wells."

Sheridan whistled. "Do you think Wells sent him to intercept Prejean?"

"I do. And to use Prejean."

"Mission accomplished," Sheridan murmured. "And Wallace?"

"Still Prejean's. Nothing's changed there. And since Lyons loaded the vampire into his truck bed and drove away with him, I think it's safe to a.s.sume Lyons or his father or both plan to keep using him."

"Instructions?"

"It chaps my a.s.s that the SB was right, even if for the wrong reasons."

"Ma'am?"

"Wells and Wallace." Rutgers sighed, the sound low and weary. "I rescind my order on Cortini. But if she gets in the way, don't hesitate to remove her."

"Yes, ma'am. And Lyons?"

"He takes Cortini's place in your list."

"Roger that," Sheridan said.

"And Brian? Be careful. Do you have your rifle?"

"Yes."

"Use it." The connection ended.

Buzzing on yet more pick-me-ups, exhaustion sanding his eyes, Sheridan arrowed the SUV into the fast lane.

HEATHER STEERED THE TRANS Am around a lumbering semi, gliding into the fast lane, the truck's red and yellow lights streaking into one long carnival streamer of color as she pa.s.sed. Through the windshield, the road merged with the night, endless and black.

Her heart drummed a relentless, angry cadence.Rain beaded the windshield and Heather flipped on the wipers. She realized her hands were aching and she eased her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

Almost there, she told herself. Almost there.

Lyons's instructions after they'd left Rodriguez's house had been clear: Take the Trans Am and wait in a nearby Safeway parking lot for a half hour, while Lyons fetched Annie. After the half hour was up, Heather was to drive to Damascus, to the address she'd looked up earlier on the computer.

If she didn't pull into Lyons's driveway within ten minutes of his arrival, Annie would never wake up again. Heather had only Lyons's word that Annie was still alive.

If she wasn't, if Dante had sacrificed his sanity and freedom for nothing...

She had to be.

Heather goosed the gas and edged the speedometer past 80 mph.

ALEX WALKED INTO THE cottage's front room. "Athena?" he called. Unzipping his hoodie, he pulled it off and tossed it onto the sofa.

Watching Father.

Wonder if he's begged yet? Promised Athena love and miracles?

Wonder what he'll promise me?

Alex pulled his currently useless S&W from the back of his jeans, freed Heather's Colt from his hoodie pocket, and headed for his room.

His nose wrinkled. The cottage smelled dank and stale, but as he stepped into the darkened hall, he detected a faint, fetid odor layered underneath the mustiness.

He flipped on the hall light and frowned at the clumps scattered across the carpet. Looked like dried mud or dirt clods.

Alex followed the trail to his sister's bedroom. He pushed open the door.

A thing lay in Athena's bed, a dirty thing dressed in a nightgown, a thing with scrawny arms, clawed fingers, and no head.

The thing's torso ended in a raw-edged neck stump. It took Alex several heart-pounding moments to realize that the thing was his mother. Or what was left of her.

Alex leaned against the threshold, his muscles weak with relief.

She promised not to kill Mother, but did anyway. No wonder she's not answering.

Alex rubbed his face with his hands. A tendril of unease curled through his thoughts. The fact that Athena had finally murdered their mother didn't bother him, not really. But what surprised him was the body's condition and location-Athena's bedroom, not her lab.

And where was Mother's head?

Dropping his hands from his face, Alex pushed away from the threshold and the thing in Athena's bed, and crossed the hall to his room. He dialed open the gun safe on the bureau, and pulled out a fresh magazine for his S&W. Stashing the Colt inside the safe, he locked it up again. Alex slapped the magazine in place, then retucked the S&W into the back of his jeans.

Time to unload the sleepers and check in on Father.

ALEX DROPPED ANNIE'S GYM bag with its lingerie-wrapped bottle of absinthe on the carpet beside the main house's front door. Dante was stretched out on the sofa, his blood-smeared hands cuffed behind him. The vampire was still unconscious, but at least he no longer bled from his nose or from the bullet wound in his chest.

Alex strode across the room and into the hall. He glanced into the guest room. Annie slept curled on her left side atop the quilted comforter, her wrists and ankles flex-cuffed. He'd stripped the duct tape from her mouth. She'd be awake soon, and here in the boonies, she could make all the noise she wanted.

Alex walked down the hall to his mother's dark room, following the sound of his sister's whispers. He paused in the doorway, his finger hovering below the light switch. He closed his eyes, basking in his twin's warm and electric presence-a cat in sunlight-and ignored the mingled stink of clotted blood and decay curdling the air.

"Threeintoonethreeintoonethreeintoone..."

"Athena?" he asked softly, opening his eyes. The whispers stopped.

"Alexander returns triumphant," she said, her voice vibrant and proud. "Behold the Lord of the Underworld."

Alex flicked on the switch, bathing the room in light.

THE INDIAN MOTORCYCLE RUMBLED through the night, the sound vibrating up Von's spine as he leaned against the gear strapped to Marley Wilde's bike, his right hand perched on her hip. The wind whipped through his hair and needled his face with cold rain, rain he finger-wiped from the goggles protecting his eyes. Marley's blonde dreads writhed around her skull like Medusa snakes.