Before she could react to my slamming into her or to Jones playing blood donor, I brought the straw to my lips and began to suck. Surprisingly, it was warm and thick and tasted equally of fruit and something I couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it satisfied the hunger of both vampire and human.
I looked at Dawna questioningly while continuing to drink. She had given Emma one of the Styrofoam containers and Emma had a sick look on her face as she stared at the rich tomato sauce. Jones’s blood was dripping onto the pavement. Jones didn’t seem to mind; he reached for one of the containers of Chinese with his free hand and a calm expression. Dawna handed it to him at the farthest reach of her arm. The discomfort on her face was the same sort of expression she would use while watching a relative snacking on live crickets. And she had relatives who did.
“What’s in this?” I finally got enough down to tear my lips from the straw. “It’s really good.”
“It’s a mixed-berry smoothie with lots of au jus. I asked the guy at the Chinese place to cook my beef slightly and pour the bloody broth in there before adding the stir-fry spices. Glad you like it.”
The look on my face as I regarded the cup made both men laugh. Edgar used the back of his arm to wipe blood from his lips before he said, “At least your friends have common sense, Graves.” His fangs weren’t showing, and he seemed once again like a collected, albeit amused, businessman, instead of the evil bloodsucker we’d just seen. I refused to dignify the comment and went back to drinking my shake. “I think you’ll find that eventually beef won’t be enough. There’s a reason why we instinctively seek out humans to feed from.”
“I’m doing just fine.” And I was. I was treating my vampirism like a food allergy. Adapt, but never give up your sense of self and humanity.
They were both still chuckling while they got in the car. Edgar took the wheel while Jones opened his food container and dug in as the twin holes in his wrist dripped down his arm. Crap. I so didn’t want to work with these guys. Yeah, they’re professionals, and powerful. But they seriously creeped me out.
“So what’s the scoop?” Dawna was looking pretty green and hadn’t touched her food. I could tell she was hanging on by teeth and toenails. It didn’t surprise me that this bothered her, given that she’d been attacked just a couple of weeks ago. The question was, would she collapse later? I’d have to make sure Emma stayed with her.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Me, too.” A shudder overtook her. “I have the feeling I’ll have a lot to talk about with the therapist this week.”
I hoped I wouldn’t be needing to join her in the session room by the time we got Kevin out.
3
Forty-five minutes later, I was in my third-floor office staring at the contents of my weapons safe. The safe is stark black bespelled steel. Running from floor to ceiling and taking up most of one wall, it doesn’t really match the rest of the decor. My office is fairly feminine, with its peach walls, drapes pattered with cabbage roses, and dark wooden furniture. The safe is heavy enough that installing it required putting in several reinforcing beams underneath to hold the weight. Those beams had been a real pain in the tail to find because they had to fit the guidelines of the building’s historic-landmark status. But without them, the safe would probably have wound up crashing down through the ceiling of the second-floor bathroom, which was primarily used by the lone attorney in our building—and his clients.
I’d already changed into clothes more suitable for covert operations—heavy black denim pants, a black turtleneck, and my favorite “Frankenstein” boots with the steel toe inserts. I could put my hair up under a stocking cap if needed, which left only my pale face standing out like a beacon. I could take care of that later.
First I strapped on my knives. Created by the former love of my life, Bruno DeLuca, they were major magical artifacts. Bruno is one of the most powerful mages around, and it had taken him five years to bespell the blades. I shuddered just thinking about it. I mean, seriously, he’d bled himself every day for five years to create the magic in those knives. I was pretty sure they’d also been blessed by Matteo, Bruno’s warrior-priest brother. Which made them perfect for hunting demons.
It had been one of these knives that had killed Lilith. She was some kind of evil beyond a typical bat, because she’d been able to call a bitten priest while he was on holy ground. That takes some oomph. Killing her had turned the metal of the knife itself black. No amount of scrubbing or grinding could turn it silver again. I’d tried.
The knife’s mate was still gleaming and bright. Not long ago, I’d been forced to gift it to the queen of the sirens—and it had hurt me terribly to do it. She’d given the blade back after she’d had to use it to kill a member of her own family. Emotional pain seemed to follow the knives, but they worked and that was the important thing.
I shook my head. I needed to focus and get moving. The shoulder holster was next, for something with a higher caliber than my regular Colt. I wanted stopping power for any demon I might run into in the prison, so I moved up to a .44 Magnum. Then I reached for a black vest, which was a magically resistant Kevlar creation of Isaac Levy, my tailor and weapons specialist. It had multiple pockets and loops for weapons. I grabbed a stack of magical spells encased in ceramic disks, things that even non-magic humans can effectively use.
I checked each spell, making sure the raised codes on the edges hadn’t worn down. There’s seldom time during battle to read labels, so the disks are distinguished by size and shape and by the symbols carved along the edges. I pocketed disks that could cause short-term blackouts and others that were “boomers” that emitted powerful sound and light.
I was still hoping that another mage I knew, John Creede, could put a full body-binding spell into a disk. There were a lot of occasions to use that one in my business.
The black hinged case housing my newest gadget caught my eye. It was a perimeter detector that could sense the demonic. After my first one disappeared on the job where I’d been effectively killed, I’d bought a new one—the deluxe model, with a blessed silver cross. Just like the warrior priests use. I tucked it into another pocket.
There was a knock on my office door. While it was after hours and the front doors were locked, our building houses several businesses that operate 24-7. Like Bubba, the bail bondsman down the hall from me, for example. The attorneys don’t work nights, and since nobody else was in the building when I arrived I called out, “Come on in, Bubba!”
“Close,” said a familiar voice as the door opened. “Bubba let me in.” Speak of the devil. John Creede poked his head in the room. He looked good. I hadn’t seen him for almost a month, since his partner in the security firm of Miller & Creede had tried to kill us. Miller had been killed in the attack and Creede had gone back to the business to try to salvage what he could of the multinational corporation he and Miller had spent a decade building. “Got a minute?”