Blood Trade

CHAPTER 7 Sheet Creases on His Left Cheek

I raised the bloody, silvered vamp-killer. Before I could bring it down, Eli emptied his gun into the vamp’s chest. Which disintegrated like a watermelon at a shooting demonstration. It was easy work thereafter to pin him to the floor with my blade. I stood over the vamp corpse, breathing heavily. He wasn’t moving and he might even be true-dead, but I wasn’t betting on it.

Eli touched my shoulder to get my attention and motioned to the vamp, then tapped his own neck with the edge of his hand, asking me why I hadn’t beheaded him. We were still deaf from the weapon fire and I mouthed, Prisoner. To question. Eli frowned as if he didn’t think that was such a good idea and started checking over the injured humans, freeing the last one. Actually, I didn’t think it was a good idea either, but I needed info on the Naturaleza, and one of Silandre’s goons might give it to me.

While Eli made sure Esmee was okay and led her to the doorway of the room, I texted Big H’s primo for three things: a silver vamp cage, and to send a cleanup crew to the house and another one to the woods where we had left the other body. Vamps didn’t want medical professionals to have access to vamp bodies, blood, or genetic material. Until recently, even Homeland Security hadn’t gotten hold of a true-dead vamp corpse, but on my last visit to Natchez, we had left so many lying around that I figured at least one vamp had gone missing and into their clutches. Rick had been on scene so it stood to reason that some giddy government forensic anthropologists and pathologists had carved one up. Not that I had mentioned that to Leo yet. I was getting smarter. I also texted the Kid to tell him we had Esmee and that she was unhurt.

Esmee tapped my arm and I jumped. I had gotten so busy texting that I’d forgotten to keep aware of my surroundings. Not smart. I was getting too dependent on Eli for backup. I put my phone away and led the tiny older woman outside. It was testament to the political power of the vamps Under the Hill—or to Bruiser and Leo’s helpful interference—that no sirens had sounded despite the gunfire. I put her in the backseat of the SUV, where she sat, silent, staring down at her wrists. Though my ears were still ringing and hers had to be even worse, I tapped her wrist above where it had been abraded by the rope that had bound her.

Esmee shook her head and lifted it, meeting my eyes. I half read her lips when she said, “I nearly got those boys killed.”

I knew about guilt. I knew about guilt that was richly deserved and guilt that was misplaced, and this guilt fell into both categories. “Miss Esmee, what you three did was utterly crazy. You three, Eli, and I could have died tonight because of your ill-conceived and ill-thought-out vamp-hunting plan. But unless you held a gun to their heads and forced them to dress in camouflage, loaded their guns against their wills, and then drove them here under threat of death, you are not ultimately responsible for the actions or the current state of health of two grown men.”

“I should have known better.” She stroked her wrist and flinched at a tender place. “I never saw a vampire move so fast. I didn’t know they could do that. I thought we’d just bust in and shoot ’em and rescue some of the missing humans. Case closed. But there weren’t any humans there. The men vampires reached out and took our guns like we were babies. Just plucked them away.” She shook her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “We were tied up so fast. And we could hear Bubba crying.” She blotted her cheek. “Is he going to die?”

I looked at Eli coming through the door, Bubba’s arm around his shoulders, the anemic man being half carried. I got out and watched as Buddy and Eli helped the injured man into the backseat. “I think he’ll live,” I said, closing the door. “He probably needs a transfusion.”

“I ain’t gonna take no blood,” Bubba said, his lips blue and his head lolling. “I might get some gay man’s blood and turn into an abominable and go to hell.”

Eli’s brows went up and I turned so no one could see my grin. “I think he means an abomination, and I also think he thinks being gay is contagious.”

“Our preacher says it can be spread just like any other disease,” Buddy said.

“Your preacher a doctor?” Eli asked, and started the engine, leaving it running with the heater on full. “No. Your preacher’s an idiot.”

“No blood,” Bubba said.

“And you’re an idiot too. But have it your way.” Eli went around to the back of the SUV and tossed me a bag. I caught it, surprised at the weight. “Silver restraints for your captive.”

I grinned and went through the house to the bloody bedroom in back. I might be becoming too dependent on him, but it was great to have a partner who could read my mind. The room was splattered with vamp blood, the once-white carpet saturated, as were the walls, the bedspread, and the kitsch for sale.

My vamp captive was unmoving. He should be true-dead. He didn’t have much left where his chest used to be, and silver to a vamp’s heart should have killed him. Even if his maker had been a thousand-year-old master and poured his powerful blood into the vamp’s mouth the instant he fell, the silver should have killed him. That much silver and that much blood and tissue loss should have killed any vamp of any age, and the only way he should have survived was if he was buried with the commingled blood of all the nearby clans. Or just buried, and maybe—not likely, but maybe—he might rise three days later as a revenant. I’d never had to kill a revenant, but it was reputed to be messy, bloody work. Revenants and young, uncured vamps were where the myth of zombies came from. I remembered the way the vamps had moved in the dark, under the trees. Though the vamp should be dead, as I stood over him I could actually see the tissue of his chest grow out, healing. Even revenants didn’t heal like that. I was getting a bad feeling about all this.

I dumped Eli’s bag of supplies onto the bed and discovered silver handcuffs with silver spikes on the inside and outside. Ankle cuffs made the same way. A neck cuff was included, and maybe it was being surrounded by the remembrances of slavery in this lovely little town, but the collar reminded me of the collars slaves used to wear. This one was silver and spiked, and a metal handle came out of the side to better control the captive.

Shoving away my disgust, I clapped the restraints on the vamp, wrapping Eli’s silver chain through the ankles and wrists, and then pulled tight so the vamp was curled up and fastened in the fetal position. Last, in spite of my revulsion, I applied the handled neck collar, because if he came to on the ride home, that could be deadly. I removed my vamp-killer from his shoulder, cleaned all three blades on the bedspread, and sheathed them.

In the bathroom, I ripped down the shower curtain—pink, of course—and lay it in the doorway. Then I used the collar handle to roll the vamp in the plastic. With the mess and gore contained, I dragged him across the room, through the house and outside, where Eli and I manhandled him (vamp-handled him? I wondered grimly) into the back of the SUV, and got in the front seat. Eli swung the SUV into a five-point turn and gunned the vehicle back up the bluff as we started home.

“Hey. What about our ATV?” Buddy asked.

“I’ll see you get home. You can get your ATV when you can both walk under your own power.” Eli added, “Make sure your brother drinks a lot of fluids, and none of it beer or shine or wine or malt liquor or regular liquor. Get him some Gatorade. Feed him liver for the next three months or so.”

One of the men gagged but no one replied, and the ride to the boys’ single-wide trailer was made in silence except for monosyllabic directions. We were met by four pit bulls chained to trees in the bare-dirt front yard. A rusted red pickup truck was up on blocks near the front door, a disused chicken coop was to the left of the trailer, and a patch of what looked suspiciously like marijuana and turnip greens growing together was to the right. Everything was lit like the noonday sun by two security lights, bright enough to see that the front door was open and the trailer was missing several windows, the holes blocked by grocery bags and duct tape. Eli helped the men inside, and Esmee and I waited in the safety of the SUV.

When Eli got back in, he said, “Those two boys are one match away from a bonfire or an explosion. They’re living on borrowed time.”

“How so?” Esmee asked.

But Eli just shook his head and spun the wheel into the night. I caught a whiff of something like ether and I swiveled my head back to the trailer. Ether was often used to make methamphetamines. Great. Esmee was friends with idiots who aspired to be drug lords.

“Where do you want to keep our fanghead guest?” Eli asked.

“Big H should be sending a silver vamp cage to Esmee’s.” Even as I said the words, a car pulled up beside us and a vamp rolled down the passenger’s window, flashing us some fang and waving before easing in behind us to follow us back to the B and B. Eli laughed, a breathy sound, part amazement, part disbelief, and shook his head.

We were met back at the house by a stranger standing on the front porch. “Oh, dear,” Esmee breathed when she caught sight of him in the headlights.

“Your son?” I asked.

“Yes. That tattletale Jameson must have called him.” Her tone didn’t portend good things for the chef-cum-bodyguard.

She opened the door and slid to the ground the instant the SUV rocked to a halt. I figured she would slink up to him and take a tongue lashing. Instead she squared her shoulders and stormed up to the man. “Gordon. You will mind your manners. If you open your mouth for so much as one word of condemnation or one of your legal-based tongue lashings, I will rewrite my will and leave everything to Jane Yellowrock.” She stormed past him and inside, slamming the door.

“Oh, crap,” I said. Eli burst out laughing. I followed Esmee to the front door and the steely-eyed man there. Before he could open his mouth and take out his ire on me, I said, “I don’t want her money. I don’t want your money. I am not responsible for her chasing out after the vamps. She went with—”

“Her vulgar druggie friends.”

“Yes. And they won’t be taking her anywhere anytime soon.”

Gordon, a fair-haired, blue-eyed man wearing a dress shirt and dress pants under a tailored wool jacket, lifted his chin. “And why might that be?”

“Because by his symptoms,” Eli said, coming up behind me, “one lost about half his blood supply, and he won’t feel up to hunting anytime soon. Their transportation is still parked Under the Hill. And we have the boys’ weapons.” Instead of going to the hatch, which would have exposed the bloody pink shower curtain to the world, he opened the back passenger’s door and reached behind the seat to lift three shotguns, broken open so they wouldn’t fire, and four handguns, all of their magazines missing. “From the quality, I assume that these are your mother’s?” He handed over a shotgun, a rifle, and two handguns to Esmee’s son.

“Good lord. She’s gone bonkers.”

“No,” I said. “She’s just bored. When’s the last time you took her shooting or fishing or shopping?” I made it more of an accusation than a question, and followed it up with a left hook. “Big, fancy lawyer hands off his mother to the help and then wonders why she acts out? Spend some time with her other than holidays, and maybe she’ll stop.” I grabbed the vamp med kit that had somehow survived the hellish night and set it inside the house door.

“I’m not a practicing lawyer,” Gordon said. “I’m a judge.”

“That’s what you heard out of what I just said?”

Behind me, I could hear Eli’s soft laughter. “Still,” he said. “The lady has a point.”

“Humph,” I said, and thought, Lady? Me? I went back outside and met the vamps just getting out of the car that had followed us. I waved them back into their older-model Caddy, saying, “In back, in the garage. Eli, will you bring the car around?” Gordon stood on the front porch, looking nonplussed. I had the feeling he wasn’t used to being ignored in his mother’s home. I also had the feeling that he would have a lot to say about a vamp being kept caged in the garage, so I wasn’t going to tell him.

In minutes we were in the garage, the delivery vamps standing back, watching, as we worked to assemble the silver cage, which was bigger than the ones I’d seen in Leo’s city, bigger and woven with silver-tipped barbed wire. Ingenious and horrific, and the pointy bits had traces of dried blood on them that I could smell. I removed the silver chains in which I’d bound the injured vamp, and Eli tossed him inside. I locked the cage shut.

“He true-dead, he is,” one vamp said, sounding very Cajun. He was wearing a searing-bright lime green shirt, bright enough to reflect the moon. Big H’s vamps were nothing like Leo’s, style-wise. “Why you cage him?”

“No one wit’stand dat much silver,” the other one said, tucking his long blond hair back behind both ears. “Him come back rev’nat, two, tree day from now, you don’ take his head.”

“That’s the usual way,” I agreed. “But this fanghe— vamp is coming back alive. Or undead. Whatever. He’s healing.” I pointed to the fresh flesh on his ribs. “Half an hour ago, he didn’t have ribs. Now he has skin over a rib cage and organs inside it.”

The vamps leaned in and studied the prisoner. “Him smell wrong, he do,” Blondie said.

“Stink, he do,” Limey said. “Like smell of poison and rot in ground and blood magic. Like dem new vamps brought by dat de Allyon, what come and try to take over Hieronymus’ territory.”

“Different kind vamps, dey was,” Blondie said.

“Yeah,” I said. “About those different kinds of vamp. Did de Allyon actually come to Natchez himself, or did he send an intermediary?”

“Hem come,” Limey said, sounding disgusted.

Blondie snorted. “Hieronymus be sick wit dat vamp plague, or de Allyon not take over.”

“Hem and he humans go first to Hieronymus, invade his sleeping lair, place what should be secret but he know it,” Limey said, making sure I understood that it had been an inside job. “De Allyon come out in charge, big man, act like king wit he queens on he arms.”

“Den dey tell us Fame Vexatum is ended and humans is prey again, to take and drain and kill. Our priest say no, and de Allyon kill him.”

My ears perked up. Priest? But before I could ask, they went on, and because they were so chatty, I didn’t want to derail them with my curiosity.

“We call Leo Pellissier in New Orleans for help, we did,” Limey said. “And we wait.”

I opened my mouth and closed it fast. More hinky. Either the disloyal vamps in Leo’s camp hid the call for help or . . . or Leo refused it.

“De Allyon, hem bring twenty Naturaleza wit him,” Blondie said. “Twenty is like forty of us. Maybe sixty. Dey kill . . . Dey kill seventeen of us dat first day, true-dead.”

“And when Leo not answer, we go into hiding.” Limey spat to the side to show his disgust. It landed on the garage floor with a soft splat of loathing. “Politics is what dat was. Hem put politics before us.”

“How soon after de Allyon got here did you start noticing the difference in vamps?”

Blondie made a little chuffing sound, much like Beast might make, part laughter, part loathing. “Dem Naturaleza is faster, stronger than us. But they start to crawling like bugs, only later, after she join him.”

“She?”

Limey elbowed him. “Enough. I hear when Hieronymus tell her to call Clark. He tell her what she need to know.”

“Mmmm. You ask Clark,” Blondie said to me, “about dese vamps what scuttle like bugs and stink of dead earth.”

I had gotten a lot more from the vamps than I had expected, so I didn’t protest. Bumping the silvered cage with a toe, I said, “Smell or not, I’m hoping he’ll tell me what I need to know.” I frowned grimly and gestured the vamps out of Esmee’s garage. As they drove off, Eli and I headed to the kitchen, following the smell of steak. I wanted to sink my teeth into a thick juicy, bloody, rare one. I spotted Jameson in the back entry and heard him murmur as I passed, “Thank you, Miss Jane, for bringing her back.”

“Welcome, Jammie. Do I smell steak?”

“I have just now removed it from the grill, rare and cold in the center. And I promise not to spoil it with sautéed mushrooms or salad.”

“You’re a good man.”

Jameson held out robes, one to Eli, one to me, thick white, soft ones. “If you’ll give me your bloody leathers, I’ll see to it that they are properly cleaned.”

My brows went up. “Yeah? Cool.” I could get used to this. “No chemicals,” I warned, sliding out of the crusty jacket. “Not even mink oil. Vamps can smell it. I usually just rinse it off and wipe it down. The blood residue confuses future vamps and gives me an edge.” Eli looked at me curiously. “What?” I said.

He shook his head, dropped his jacket, and pulled down his pants zipper. I quickly faced away and pulled the robe over my shoulders before dropping my own leather pants. “The things you say,” Eli said, “and the things you think about. That’s all.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t really care either. I smelled steak and my stomach rumbled. Beast purred. Food.

After I finished a hunk of beef worthy of a king, I showered off, pulled on warm clothes, and dialed Clark. He answered with a “Miss Yellowrock?”

“Got it in one. Is it true that you called Leo when de Allyon got here and he didn’t come?” The silence was long and chilled, and I realized it must have sounded like a verbal ambush with a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t reply option, so I added, “Because if you called Leo, I’ll be looking into that for you.”

Clark expelled a breath. “Thank you. It would be—” He stopped and rephrased. “I would be happier if I knew that my master was safe and not still in great danger from politics.” He said the last word as if it was something vile, and it wasn’t like I could argue.

And then it hit me. “You’re wondering if I’m here to help or to harm Big H. Aren’t you?” His silence was my answer and was almost enough to make me cuss. I echoed his tone and said, “I hate politics. You understand, Clark? I’m here to fulfill my contract with your master. And keep him alive. And restore peace to this territory. That is all. On my honor.”

He breathed out again and said, softly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” We said polite good-byes and hung up, which left me staring at the walls. What the heck had I gotten myself into? And how long before the local cops paid me a nasty visit and threatened to lock me up? Knowing I needed to get a handle on this investigation, I took Big H’s kill list to bed with me.

• • •

A little after two a.m. the doorbell rang and I jerked up in bed, shoved the paperwork I’d fallen asleep reading to the floor, and yanked on clothes, seeing flashing lights in the front yard. At least three official cars and no one trying to hide who they were, which could mean a lot of things, none of them good. So much for my question about when I’d receive a visit from the local law. Downstairs, I threw my hair over my shoulder, deactivated the security system, and opened the front door to see a very unhappy member of county law enforcement. “Sheriff Turpin,” I said, stopping myself from saying more when she glared at me from my bare feet to the top of my head.

Sylvia Turpin, whose family had a generations-long tradition of law enforcement in Adams County, took her job very seriously, and despite the fact that Leo had contributed a hefty sum to her election campaign, she didn’t like me. I sorta understood her feelings, because the last time I was in her town, I kept her people and the city cops awfully busy at various crime scenes. “Yellowrock. I should have known.” She didn’t ask to come inside, but pushed past me, which I thought was against the law unless she had a warrant or probable cause. But, then, in her mind, I was likely probable cause. “Where’s Gordon?”

“I’m here, Sylvia.”

I looked down the hallway and saw Esmee’s son, his robe floating behind him, his slippers making small shussing sounds on the wood and carpets. His hair was mussed and he had sheet creases on his left cheek. The one on his face. He was wearing jammies, so I didn’t know about sheet creases on any other cheeks.

“I thought I’d be notified if she came back to town.”

“I wasn’t notified myself until this evening.” He paused and blinked, as if still waking up. “This past evening, now. She didn’t go through the agency. She called Mother directly.” He slanted his eyes at me. Like he was blaming me.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t call anyone. I have”—I chuffed at what I was about to say—“people for that.”

Eli stepped in through the front door. He wasn’t carrying his toys, but he’d been on watch. I needed to get him some backup or he’d never sleep. “Everything okay here, Miz Yellowrock?”

“Eli, meet the sheriff. Not sure you had the chance last time we were in town.”

He glanced down at the petite, pretty, redheaded woman, and his eyes widened slightly. A more-than-half smile drew his lips up on both sides and exposed his teeth, an expression I was sure I’d never seen. It transformed his face. “Ma’am.”

Honest to god, the lady sheriff blushed. She squared her shoulders as if she could feel the heat on her face. “I remember you. You work for Yellowrock.”

“With,” I said. “My company has expanded, Sheriff Turpin. He works with me.”

“Partners of a sort,” Eli clarified, his eyes holding to the sheriff’s with near-predatory intensity. “Though we’re still working out the kinks. And I only saw you from a distance when we were here before, ma’am.” He stepped closer, his black camo muted in the dull light. “At the time I wasn’t worthy of being introduced, being the hired help.” He smiled down at her, his face developing a look I could only call weird. Or stupid. Or maybe insipid. Yeah. That was a good word for it.

Turpin’s breath caught and heart faltered before catching a harder, faster rhythm, the kind of thing I can hear when Beast is paying close attention. She raised a hand and pushed her hair back behind an ear, the gesture out of place and puzzling. “I see. I hope you manage to keep her from causing too much trouble in my county this time.”

“It’s a hard job, ma’am, but someone has to do it. You have any suggestions on how I can . . . do it better?”

And then the pheromones hit it. Mating pheromones. They liked each other. A lot. That hair thing had been all girly and coy. And Eli was making goo-goo eyes back at her. Beast panted with amusement in the back of my mind, and I rolled my eyes. “Good grief,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Leo Pellissier sanctioned my presence in the county, ma’am. I should have had his primo or the Natchez MOC’s primo, Clark, send a notice of my arrival. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

She glanced at me, and I noted her eyes were an amazing shade of blue, brilliant against her fair skin and dark red hair, and her pupils were dilated with desire as much as with the dim light. “Have him send me notification. I understand there were some problems tonight Under the Hill. I guess you didn’t think to inform local law enforcement,” the sheriff said, more a statement of irritation than a question.

“Oops,” I said. “Um. My bad. Sorry.”

“I also got a call from Homeland Security about problems across the state line, and word that an agent is on the way. I am not happy, folks.”

My heart did a fast three-beat trip before it fell. Homeland Security meant PsyLED. Which could mean Rick. Or not.

“I’ll need to start the necessary paperwork for PsyLED, so who wants to give me a report about the DBs in my county?”

As part of the new ruling affecting vamp hunters—unless the courts tossed it out on appeal—paperwork was required wherever there was a hunt for rogues or Naturaleza. Because it was an expense most money-strapped states could ill afford, few places had instituted it yet, but it seemed that Mississippi and Turpin had. It made my job harder, but, then, government always made things harder.

“I’ll drive into town and give a report later on today, ma’am,” Eli said.

“And I’ll inform the PsyLED agent we’ve checked in, belatedly,” I said, “and get the local MOC to send you notification. Thank you, ma’am.”

Grudgingly, Sylvia said to the pajamaed man who had been listening as we jockeyed for position, “While I hate to say anything nice about a bounty hunter in my county, we’ve received reports that Yellowrock saved your mother and two other citizens from a vampire attack. We might both want to think about that, Gordon.”

To me she said, “I’d appreciate it if you warned my people when you go hunting. We have a small number of good ol’ boys who think killing vampires is a nifty way to make some extra cash, and not all of them understand the difference between sane and legal vamps and the new, crazy kind. Add in a little illegal substance before they start shooting, and it’s been a problem. I have four locals in lockup now with charges pending for attacking Hieronymus’ people instead of the crazy ones he’s licensed for bounty. Hopefully that’s all of the dumb-asses, but you never know, so that warning, and open lines of communication, are paramount.”

“Yes, ma’am. Hunting vamps for bounties is dangerous,” I agreed. I mean, what else could I say? And the bounty was mine. I’d won the contract, so the good ol’ boys needed to take a backseat. I couldn’t figure out a way to say that so I kept my mouth shut. Go me.

“We’ve just instituted a mandatory curfew to keep the citizens safe, from sundown to dawn, but I’ll add you to the list of exceptions, along with law enforcement, fire, and hospital employees. We have enough problems in this county with missing-persons reports without adding in outsiders and hunting parties.”

“How many missing people?” Eli asked.

“If I count the homeless and transients, which I do, I’m looking at a little less than one-hundred twenty missing people. Missing humans.”

I had been hoping the numbers were skewed, but Turpin was right in line with Clark. Not good. Somewhere there was an unofficial graveyard full of dead people, and maybe some devoveo and revenants who might rise. More not good. Worse, somewhere else there were likely kidnapped, penned, and tortured humans who were being drained.

“We’ll call you with everything we learn, ma’am,” Eli said.

Turning to him, Turpin said, “Pleasure to meet you,” and handed Eli her card before she stepped down toward her car. Eli tucked it into his pocket with that odd look still on his face. The closest I could come to describing it was wonderment. Crap. Eli and the sheriff. And he liked her in a very carnal way, if the smells wafting from his pores were an indication. That could possibly help things, but I was betting that it would only complicate matters. We all stood staring out the front door until the three sheriff’s deputy cars pulled away.

Gordon and Eli both turned to me, Gordon getting in the first words. “I apologize. I assumed you had made an end run around me and the system I set up to protect my mother. And, had you not been here tonight, Mother would have likely gone out with the brainless duo anyway and might have . . .” He stopped as the realization hit him.

“No might. She would have died,” I stated. “You’re welcome. And if someone sends an anonymous report to the sheriff, that duo could end up in jail on multiple charges for drug possession. I hate to send them to the county lockup, but that might protect your mother.”

“And keep them from blowing up half the county,” Eli added.

“I’ll call Sylvia tomorrow,” Gordon said. “Thank you again. But please take this in the spirit I intend it. When this job is finished, you aren’t welcome back here.”

“Got it,” I said. Gordon shushed into the dark. I looked at Eli, who was again holding Turpin’s card like he’d won the lottery. “She’s pretty,” I said.

He gave me the usual quirky half smile instead of the bigger one he’d given her. “Yeah. And she likes guns. She was carrying three, an H and K nine mil under one arm, a small semi in her spine holster, and something on her ankle, under her pants.”

“A match made in heaven,” I said.

“Or on the shooting range. Hope she likes coffee.”

“She does. Black.” At his questioning look, I gave a hand shrug and said, “I smelled it on her. She’s been mainlining the crappy stuff they keep in cop shops for hours.” Eli grinned happily, real emotion on his dark-skinned face. The last time I’d seen that much mobility on his features, I’d just kicked his butt in the dojo. “I’ll hire some backup to keep watch so you can get some sleep.”

“No need. I’m good,” he said. But I was sure he only half heard me. He was thinking about Sylvia again, in a most erotic way. I shook my head and went back upstairs to my bed. I had about two hours before I had to get dressed for my next meeting with Big H, and I wasn’t feeling all fresh and daisyfied. I needed to be at my best when I made my next call to Leo and also when I set up the med clinic to treat the sick vamps.

I texted Clark about the legal paperwork and to ask about the unnamed she our Cajun fanghead had mentioned, stripped off my pants, and was climbing into bed when a knock sounded. I was marginally presentable and I covered my bare legs. “Come in.”

The Kid opened the door, the hallway dark behind him, his face and white T-shirt lit with the bluish light from the laptop he was cradling. He was wearing flannel SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms, and I held in my grin. “I found something I think you need to see,” he said. He walked into my room uninvited, flipped on the switch at the door, which turned on the bedside light, and handed me the laptop. An Internet file was open. “If you tell my brother, I’ll be in trouble, but I drilled into Camilla Hopkins’ publisher’s Web site and found this on her editor’s PC.”

“Drilled?” I asked. He shrugged. “Hacked is soooo yesterday,” I said. He shrugged again, not making eye contact, and pointed to the laptop.

It was a book proposal created by Misha, and it was very different from the one I’d seen in her hotel room. Under the section title about research on vamp blood was a new listing of research papers, all papers written by human researchers on vampire blood for medical research.

I skimmed down until the word jumped out at me. Leukemia.

The Kid said, “Several docs are proposing that vamp blood might cure leukemia,” he said.

Recently, I’d met a Cajun preacher man who claimed that vamp blood had cured his cancer, though it had taken a long time and a lot of blood, a debt he was still paying off years later. I thought of Charly, her body thin and her hair already falling out. I wasn’t sure, but I thought hair didn’t fall out until later rounds of chemo. The stuff Charly was on was pure poison, and it had only a slight chance of curing her. But maybe mixed with vamp blood . . .

Because of her research, Misha had known vamps could maybe offer a cure. Misha was a single mother with a daughter who meant everything to her. Misha was desperate.

“I have a feeling that Misha’s not just planning to interview vamps for her book,” the Kid said, sounding worried. “She’s also trying to find a vamp who will give Charly blood.”

Which, if I’d had half a brain, I would have realized from the moment I saw the child. I am such a dweeb about humans. Asking a vamp for blood was offensive, and humans who were so importunate or stupid as to ask had been known to vanish without a trace. Mish hadn’t replied to my voice mail or text about her dead contact, Ryder. I frowned and checked my cell. Nothing.

“Another thing,” the Kid said, sounding uneasy. “It might be nothing.” I gave a little finger curl to continue. “Misha has a concealed-carry permit for the state. And I found a receipt on her bank card for a load of silver shot. So maybe if the vamp she was going to interview wasn’t willing—”

“She might be planning to shoot him, kidnap him—or her—and force him to feed Charly,” I said. “Crap.” I scrubbed my hand across my head, mussing my braid. “I’ll go see her after dawn. Talk her back down from this stupid plan.”

“That might be a good idea. Assuming we’re reading it right. But maybe we’re not. Bright side and all that.” The Kid picked up his laptop and backtracked through the room, turning off the lamp. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, and closed my door. Like that was gonna happen.