Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 40

"He's either the end of us or the beginning."

"I don't think we're going to be able to make him whole again," Lyons said. He trailed both hands through his curls. "Not without Father's help. Maybe he told the truth about the labyrinth."

"He'd tell us anything to get free." Athena stopped pacing and faced her twin. A bitter smile touched her lips. "But he'd only lead us to the minotaur within the labyrinth's heart."

Heather went still. Wells was here? And a prisoner of his own warped children? She felt a dark smile twist across her lips.

Maybe there was such a thing as karma, after all. She hoped he remained a prisoner. She didn't want to think about what he could do to Dante if freed. Or worse, what he would make Dante do.

Didn't want to think about what she might do to Wells, given the chance.

"Blood might give Dante the strength to reclaim his past," Athena/Hades said.

Lyons nodded. "I'll fetch his meal." He walked from the room.

With a low sigh, the Athena-wind gusted into the air. "Holytrinitydante..." She resumed pacing, her spear once again thumping against the floor. Her eyes closed. "Holytrinitydantewillmakeusoneholytrinity..."

Hoping Athena was as lost in thought as she appeared, Heather rose from the recliner. Pulse racing, she knelt beside the sofa and touched Dante's face. "Can you get up?" she murmured.

He closed his eyes, the lashes black against his skin. Three words whispered from his lips and knotted around Heather's heart.

"Little f.u.c.king psycho."

Little f.u.c.king psycho.

Chains looped around his ankles, he hangs upside down above the bodies of the men he killed. Above the body of the girl he tried to protect, but slaughtered instead.

Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.

A heart pulsed, hummingbird fast and delicate, and Dante smelled sage and lilac and smoky sorrow. Hunger sc.r.a.ped his heart hollow.

You're not alone. I'm with you. I'm here and I'm with you.

Cool white light encircled him, a sacrament of silence. Heather's promise.

"On your feet, Baptiste," a voice whispered. "C'mon."

Dante opened his eyes and looked into Heather's blue eyes. Fear glimmered in their twilight depths. "Cherie," he breathed.

The fear faded and she nodded, a smile brushing her lips. "We gotta move now."

Dante slid the rest of the way off the sofa. The room spun around him. His head felt full of broken gla.s.s. Heather slid her flex-cuffed hands through his arm and tried to haul him to his feet. Black spots flecked his vision. Pain p.r.i.c.kled through him, twisting like a thorned vine through his insides. He stumbled upright with Heather's help. She steered him toward the door while he concentrated on moving his feet.

The quiet shush of wind through the treetops stopped.

A chill crawled up Dante's spine. Heather pushed him forward, urging him on.

"Little G.o.d," a woman's voice said, a familiar voice. Lyons's whacked-out sister. "If you want to rescue Heather from death again, I'll be pleased to oblige you."

Dante pulled free of Heather's grasp, and turned around. Athena/Hades stood a yard behind them, her spear lifted and aimed at Heather. Curiosity lit her eyes. Dante stepped in front of Heather. Pressed his back against hers. "Keep walking for the door," he said.

"Gotcha." But as Heather took another step forward, Dante felt some splintered thing shift inside his head and an electric shock surged through his skull. His muscles locked. A blinding burst of light exploded through his vision, scintillating white light.

Memory sheared up.

Tres joli, dis one, like an angel. Play with him all you want, but don't put nuthin' in his mouth. Boy bites.

Like an angel, ah, kiddo, that doesn't even begin to cover it.

The man strokes Dante's hair, curls a black lock around his finger. f.u.c.ker's name is Eddie. He's visited Dante in the bas.e.m.e.nt a bunch of times. This time he brought a present-a handful of comics. Dante wishes he'd finish and leave so he can look at the comics and practice his reading. And, later, share them with Chloe.

This time Eddie's tender and full of careful kisses. Some of the things he does feel good, make Dante close his eyes and suck in a breath. Yeah, feels good, but he still hates Eddie and everyone else who tromps down those f.u.c.king bas.e.m.e.nt steps.

Do you think you could love me?

Nope.

If I had Papa remove your handcuffs, could you love me then? Nope. I'd kill you then.

When Eddie leaves, the f.u.c.ker takes the comics with him. And Papa, p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l, comes downstairs.

The world spun away. Time spun away.

And Dante felt himself falling and falling and falling.

38 UNTIL THE VERY END OF ME, UNTIL THE VERY END OF YOU.

Damascus, OR March 25

THE SEIZURE ENDED.

Dante laid motionless on the floor, eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Sweat trickled down his temples, blood from his mouth and nose. Heather knelt beside him. She blinked hard until her vision cleared. Her hands trembled as she pushed his hair back from his face.

"You're killing him," she said, her throat almost too tight for words. She shifted her gaze to Athena/Hades. "He's not going to remember. For all you know, your father programmed a self-destruct safeguard into Dante's mind." "Self-destruct," Athena/Hades mused. She tilted her head. "You might be right. I wanted him to know why he was killing father, but maybe that doesn't matter."

"I thought Dante was supposed to heal you."

"Heal me?" Athena/Hades smiled. "No."

"But your brother said-"

"I said what?" Lyons asked. He walked into the room, a body slung over his shoulder. Sneakers, taped ankles, black jeans, and a black sweater, hands flex-cuffed behind the back, slim but rounded hips-female.

"That you wanted Dante to heal your sister," Heather said.

"I don't need to be healed," Athena/Hades said. "I'm who I was intended to be."

A dark, desperate emotion flitted across Lyons's face. "Of course, but Dante can make it so you'll never need meds again.

You'll be able to sleep."

"We won't need sleep once we're joined-Conqueror, Counselor, and Creator."

"Do you know how we'll be joined?"

The whisper-wind sprang to life. "Holytrinitydantewillmakeusoneholytrinity..."

Shooting Heather a furious look, Lyons dumped the woman he was carrying onto the sofa. She landed on her side, her dark hair fanning across her face. Duct tape sealed her lips. She was conscious and her calm gaze skipped from Heather to Dante.

Recognition sparked in her hazel eyes.

She knows who we are or who Dante is, at least.

She also seemed to be very cool and collected for a woman bound and gagged and about to be offered to nightkind.

Heather wondered who she was and how she'd ended up on Lyons's sofa.

"Your father wanted to know if Dante had compromised your humanity," Lyons said, his gaze locking with Heather's.

"Betcha he'd give you up to the SB without hesitation if he believed Dante had."

Heather held his gaze. "Is that the best you can do?"

A muscle in Lyons's jaw flexed. "Just warming up." Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a pocketknife. He flipped open the blade. "Ever seen your boyfriend feed?"

A chill touched Heather's heart. She remembered Rodriguez's body sprawled on the floor of his office. Remembered how Dante had torn into etienne at the slaughterhouse in New Orleans. Remembered the pungent tang of spilled blood.

Lyons bent over the woman on the sofa and nicked her throat with the knife. A thin line of blood trickled from the cut, disappearing into the collar of her sweater. Then Lyons swiveled around and pa.s.sed the knife's bloodied blade underneath Dante's nose.

"Wake up and feast," Lyons said.

Dante's nostrils flared. His eyes opened. "J'ai faim," he whispered.

HOLDING HER BREATH IN the stinking room, Annie hurriedly unbuckled the last strap around the man's ankle. He eased up into a sitting position, then swung his legs off the bed. One slippered foot brushed against the IV stand, an IV stand topped with a woman's gray-haired head, her face with its gaping mouth aimed like a spotlight-a flesh spotlight-at his bed.

Something Annie was trying hard to avoid looking at again.

And failing.

When she'd seen Alex come out of this room with a woman draped over his shoulder, she'd wondered just how many people the Psycho Twins had stashed in their House of Horrors. Wondered if anyone she found and freed would help her rescue Heather and Dante.

"Who are you?" the man whispered. He seemed to be close to her father's age, maybe a bit older, with graying blond hair.

"Annie," she whispered. "Who are you?"

"Bob."

Annie glanced at the door. It was awfully quiet out there. She crept across the carpeted floor to the doorway and listened.

A low voice, then another. No sound of footsteps headed down the hall. She released her breath, relief curling through her.

Glancing back at Bob, she noticed the gla.s.s sitting on the nightstand beside his bed/prison. Her throat felt cactus-spiked.

"Is that water?"

Bob followed her gaze to the gla.s.s. "Yes."

Carefully skirting the IV stand and its flesh spotlight, Annie laid the pocketknife down on the nightstand and grabbed up the gla.s.s. She drank the room-temperature water down in two throat-stretching gulps and wished for more. When she set the gla.s.s back down on the nightstand, she noticed the pocketknife was gone.

Musta fallen, she thought, scanning the beige carpet.

The bedsprings squeaked as Bob stood up.

"Did you see where my knife went?" she whispered.

Bob's arm slipped around her shoulders as if for support and he leaned against her, stinking of BO and p.i.s.s like an old wino. "It's right here," he murmured and pressed something sharp and steel-cold against her throat.

DANTE BAPTISTE ROLLED ONTO his knees, his gaze on Caterina's bleeding throat. Hunger and delirium burned in his dark, dilated eyes. His beautiful face was etched with pain. Weariness smudged the skin beneath his eyes blue. He knee-walked to the sofa, then pressed himself against it.

Heather Wallace was kneeling on the floor behind him, her attention not on Dante, but focused on something either on the floor or maybe under the sofa. Caterina wondered what she'd discovered, hoped it was a possible weapon. She'd seen bitter hatred simmering in Wallace's eyes when she'd locked gazes with Lyons.

A hatred Caterina understood and shared.

Dante's screams still echoed in her mind. Dante might have escaped Bad Seed but his torture had never ended.

Dante leaned over Caterina. He lowered his face to her throat, his lips parting and revealing the points of his fangs. Wishing she had the use of her hands, Caterina tried to shake her hair back, then arched her neck to make it easier for him to feed since he also didn't have the use of his hands.

She felt the heated touch of his lips and her heart raced. She forced herself to remain still as his fangs pierced her skin.

Renata had taught her the skills necessary to keep her alive among vampires.

Never struggle, my little love. That will awaken the hunter, especially among the young ones. If you struggle, they will tear and rend, seize their prey. Keep still. Keep centered. And shout your thoughts-you will be heard. And that will save your life.

Dante's body, hard and coiled and fevered, pressed against hers as he drank her down in deep ravenous swallows.