The Kindred

Chapter 5

Fabian watched as every minion took nourishment off the woman. He wouldn’t allow them to finish her, but by allowing them all to take part, he ensured their commitment to the act, and their devotion to silence.

That she was attractive made it more acceptable to them. As a being superior in intelligence, he’d made many observations about mankind. There were vast correlations in how people reacted to cannibalism . . . and to sex.

A beautiful woman was preferable to a hag, a young woman more desirable to the palate than a matronly elder.

As with sex, the thought of dining off a relative, or even a close friend, repulsed at the same level as incest.

And children . . . oh yes, those most sacrosanct of God’s gifts, exempt from all perversions by most. Society thought children were to be protected, cherished. They didn’t see the potential, the delectability of young, tender flesh.

It was the most reviled of taboos—and perhaps that’s why it tantalized Fabian so.

He would bend them to his will. He would convince them, force them if necessary, but they would do as he requested.

For Fabian, that was perhaps the biggest thrill of all.

“That’s enough.” The stupid whore lay sprawled, all but unconscious, stained by blood and saliva. Bruises marred her pale body, evidence that many of his followers still lacked control.

They would learn with time and practice.

Reluctantly, the last man pulled away. He licked his lips and breathed deeply, still in the throes of profound enlightenment.

Yes, they pleased him. They took proper enjoyment as they should, and reacted promptly to his orders.

“Because our last meeting residence was compromised, we need to make this new building home. I know it is not ideal.” The abandoned property, once owned by an elderly woman who had no close relatives, was cold and musty and cluttered with ridiculous furnishings and knickknacks.

The lack of decorating finesse assaulted his senses, but the water and electric remained on, and the solid basement walls would ensure secure attachment of necessary manacles and chains.

Located on isolated land, long forgotten by the nearest neighbors, it provided all they needed. No one would come here; they would be free to do as they pleased, for as long as Fabian deemed proper.

“I’m needed at the shop soon, but before that, I want to see her cleaned and her wounds tended. After that, secure her so that she cannot escape.” With a benevolent smile, he told them, “We will use her for as long as she lasts.”

They accepted his edict without comment, as they should. Like mutts, they hungered for a single kind word from him.

He’d found it beneficial to align himself with society’s outcasts; the mentally challenged and the psychotically cruel. Every being, he’d found, had a use—be it for taking orders, accepting blame, or supplying nourishment.

“No one is to feed from her without my permission. Is that understood?” After each man and woman nodded in compliance, Fabian glanced at Georgie’s gory body. “I’ll get an industrial freezer out here soon, but in the meantime, carve him up and place all salvageable parts in coolers. When I return, I’ll dispose of the waste.”

Fabian trusted no one else for that particular task. It was a tricky thing, dumping bodily remains in a way that would lead others away from them instead of to them. Not that he worried overly about capture. The only link to him would be Georgie’s tattoos, and those would be in a freezer with his meat attached, where police would never see them.

“All of you,” Fabian added as he looked around the dank room of the building, “after she’s properly secured, do what you can about cleaning the place. I want this blood mopped up, and the cobwebs removed. Someone buy some air freshener. It reeks of the old lady who died here.”

Knowing he required his own share of cleaning, given that blood stained his face and shirt, Fabian rushed through the rest of his instructions.

He nodded to one sturdy fellow possessed of a low IQ and a fevered bent toward sadism. “You, begin fastening the restraints into the wall. Adjust them for her height so that her feet reach the floor. I want her able to stand.” Delight glimmered. “To watch.”

Knowing his order would be fulfilled, Fabian bestowed his attention on a small woman afflicted with a twisted need to please men. “You can secure what we need from the hospital?”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed in animated enthusiasm. “I work tomorrow, and I’ll gather the items then.”

As a nurse’s aide, she had access to the anticoagulants necessary to keep the blood flowing freely. However, the sedatives Fabian used to keep their cattle calm were obtained from a local thug, a miscreant of the worst order.

Fabian neither liked nor feared the crude brute, which made him tedious to endure. But Bogg delivered without fail and he didn’t ask questions, and those redeeming qualities kept him a valuable asset.

He supplied the most modern and effective selection of tranquilizers. Victims could stay endlessly in a realm of surrealism, without ever realizing the fate they faced—until the key moment.

Seeing their fear was part of the rush for Fabian, so when they decided to feed directly from her again, he would let the numbing effects of the drugs wear off.

It elated him to get the proper reaction from his prey.

“Complete your tasks,” he told his audience, “and you’ll soon be rewarded with a special treat.”

A low buzz started over what the treat might be, but Fabian chose not to say any more. If he told them now, they would rebel. He needed to present the gift to them first, to work them into a frenzy of wanting it, so that their flagging and seldom-used morals and scruples would be put to rest.

After he procured their special meal, he would entice them into committing the gravest perversion.

Thinking of that moment, he could barely contain himself. Best that he remove himself now before he gave anything away.

With all in order, he headed upstairs to where water and a change of his clothing could be found. He needed only the most rudimentary of cleansings, just enough that no one would notice him. When he reached the tattoo parlor he owned, he could be more thorough.

Despite his proclivity for cannibalism and drinking of blood, he was a fastidious man who always presented himself in a complimentary light. He was handsome, well built, and a good businessman who had turned Sin Addictions into a thriving business—with a believable façade for his predilection.

Peering through the pristine front window of the comic book store, Gaby spied Mort with customers. He didn’t notice her, so she bypassed him and, using her key, went into the connected two-family and up the stairs to the living quarters separate from his.

She wanted to visit Bliss.

Proving she could be a wraith when it suited her, Gaby located Bliss in the kitchen without being heard.

Bliss stood at the stove, stirring what smelled like stew and appearing just like a little Martha Stewart. Since transitioning away from her debased existence of prostitution and into Mort’s upper apartment—the apartment that used to be Gaby’s—Bliss had transformed.

Brassy highlights no longer tinged her soft brown hair, and harsh makeup didn’t age her pretty blue eyes. Instead of wearing clothing that exposed too much skin, she dressed in casual jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

Now eighteen, Bliss looked like any other teenager instead of a homeless, mostly unloved girl who’d once sold herself to anyone willing to drop a few bills for the pleasure.

The thought of Bliss’s past life stabbed into Gaby’s heart with the force of a poisoned spear.

She must’ve made a sound, because Bliss turned and saw her standing there.

“Gaby! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Something in Bliss’s expression put Gaby on alert. “Just got here.” She strode to the table and pulled out a chair. “Whatever that is, it smells good.”

“You hungry?” Before Gaby could answer, nervous energy carried Bliss across the kitchen to get a bowl and spoon. “It should be ready enough for you.”

Eyes narrowed, Gaby studied Bliss’s frenetic aura. Something was wrong, but she’d give Bliss a little time before she grilled her. “Thanks.”

Bliss dished up enough stew to feed two grown men.

Gaby looked toward the empty coffeepot and sighed. She could really use a kick of caffeine. “What’s up, Bliss?”

Her narrow shoulders stiffened. Keeping her back to Gaby, she ladled in yet another serving of the aromatic stew. “Nothing . . . probably.” She jerked around with a forced smile. “Are you just visiting or is . . . anything wrong?”

“So I’m to go first?”

Bliss rolled in her lips, and nodded. “Yes, please.”

“All right.” Gaby lifted her arm. “You got a first-aid kit around here anywhere?”

“What?” Bliss almost dropped the bowl. “Oh my God, Gaby. What happened?” She rushed forward, plopped the bowl on the table, and stared wide-eyed at the seeping wound. She swallowed twice. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a little flesh wound, that’s all.” But she wanted to have it properly cleaned and bandaged before she returned to the tattoo parlor and, ultimately, to Luther.

“You’re not hurt anywhere else?” Her hands twisted together. “You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.” Bliss had a burgeoning special ability that she’d yet to master. Had she seen something happening to Gaby?

“I think Morty keeps a kit downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait.” Detaining her with a hold on her arm, Gaby met her gaze and infused her tone with command. “This is just between us, Bliss. Got it?”

“I won’t say anything.” She patted Gaby’s hand on her arm and tried another tentative smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Gaby pulled the stew around in front of her and started to eat. Before Luther, she’d never paid much attention to food. She could go days without eating, and often only fed herself out of boredom, or when she saw others eat and remembered that she should, too.

Mort, much like an anxious lapdog, had taken great pleasure in badgering her into sharing meals with him. For the longest time she had resisted his efforts at friendship. The idea of anyone caring about her, knowing her beyond a brief exchange, had been . . . unsettling.

And sure enough, the moment she decided to accept the idea of friends, she’d become inundated with them. Mort, Bliss, Luther . . . and Ann. They were all unique, different not only from Gaby, but from each other.

And Ann was the oddest friend of all.

Morty and Bliss she could understand. Like her, they had survived the dredges of society, accepting abuse as commonplace, taking it as their due. That sort of background bred familiarity, an affinity that outsiders couldn’t fathom.

And Luther, well, he claimed some bizarre sexual chemistry—and more. He wanted her, and maybe after that happened he would lose interest. She wasn’t versed enough in men, or relationships, to be sure.

But Ann proved an enigma. She was a beautiful, confident, educated woman with a career in law enforcement. She had breeding and class, and one of the biggest hearts ever.

Gaby would never comprehend why any of them wanted to be a part of her life, but the idea grew on her each and every day.

She had just wolfed down her last bite when Bliss returned with an armful of ointments and bandages and such.

Setting it all on the table, she pulled around a chair for herself and reached for Gaby’s arm. “Let me see.”

“I can do it. But if you want to help, make some coffee, will you?”

Bliss hovered, her big eyes wounded and worried.

“Bliss, seriously, it’s not that bad.” Something other than her meager injury had spooked the girl. Gaby would find out what it was before she left.

“You really do want coffee?”

“Desperately. It’s colder than a dead witch’s left tit in a brass bra out there.”

Choking on a snicker, Bliss moved away to start coffee preparations. As Gaby unwrapped her makeshift bandage, she asked, “The food was good. When did you learn to cook?”

“Ann’s teaching me.”

Hearing the smile in Bliss’s tone, Gaby rolled her eyes. Didn’t Ann have enough to do by being Luther’s partner and Mort’s lover? “She’s a fucking saint, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, just about.”

The wound didn’t look too bad, Gaby decided. In a few days, she’d be almost healed.

“Ohmigod.” Bliss stood over her again. “Gaby, what happened?”

“An accident, that’s all.” Gaby rose from her seat and went to the kitchen sink to wet some paper towels. She scrubbed at the skin blackened by the heat of the bullet and removed the dried blood encrusted around it until she could see the inch-wide furrow gouged out of her flesh.

Already it looked better, but then, she’d always been a really fast healer.

“What kind of accident?”

Glancing at Bliss, seeing her white face, Gaby said, “Nothing.”

“It looks like something.” Bliss swallowed hard. “You know you can trust me, Gaby, right? I can keep secrets. I promise.”

Because Bliss looked so damned hopeful, Gaby gave in. “It’s just a gunshot that missed, that’s all.”

Bliss faltered back a step. She looked sick and scared. “It did not miss!”

“Mostly missed. Trust me, he was hoping for a kill shot.”

Breathing hard and fast, Bliss put a hand to her heart. “He?”

“Just some idiot gang thug.”

Bliss studied her face. “Did you kill him?”

“No, so don’t go fainting on me.” No way in hell would Gaby tell Bliss what she had done to the cutthroat dealers. “Why so damned curious? If you have something to tell me, Bliss, just spit it out.”

Bliss hesitated, and that annoyed Gaby even more. Then, with a determined expression, Bliss said, “First things first. Please, sit down and let me help.”

She urged Gaby back to her seat.

Gaby gave an aggrieved huff, but what the hell, why not? If it made Bliss happy, she could put up with her fussing. “Isn’t that coffee done yet?”

“Not yet. Soon.” Being more careful than necessary, Bliss took out a tube of ointment and coated the wound, put a clean gauze pad over it, and taped it in place.

As she smoothed the edge of the tape down, Bliss whispered, “I keep seeing you with a kid, Gaby.” Other than a quick glance at her face, she didn’t meet Gaby’s gaze. “Not a child of your own—”

“Course not.” Nothing could be more absurd. She was only just learning to deal with adults.

“But . . . a little girl who’s in a lot of danger.”

“Good.” Gaby sat back and crossed her arms.

“Good?”

“I saw it, too, Bliss.” Unwilling to expound on that for fear that others might discover her pastime as a graphic novelist, Gaby said, “Not the way you did. Not like a vision or anything. But I just sensed that she’s there and in some kind of trouble. Really bad trouble.”

Tears filled Bliss’s eyes and she nodded. “Really bad.”

“If you saw it, too, then maybe you have some details that’ll help me to find her before it’s too late.”

“I wish to God I did, Gaby. But all I keep seeing is you with this scared little girl who . . . ”

“Tell me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know if I can. It’s . . . it’s just so horrible.”

A gnawing shaft of fear crawled up Gaby’s spine and coiled around her neck. Fear was such a foreign emotion that she shot out of her seat and went for coffee, just to have something to do.

After a scalding drink of the too-strong brew, Gaby faced Bliss again. “I’ve heard it all,” she claimed with a fallacious bravado that couldn’t beat back the surge of anxiety. “So just spill it, and then I can take care of everything.”

Keeping her head down and her hands folded together, Bliss stood, too. Trembling with fear, she struggled with herself.

And finally, in a whisper so faint Gaby had to strain to hear her, Bliss confessed, “He . . . he wants to consume her.”

A tidal wave of rage swelled over Gaby, warring with incredulity. Everything in her vision turned as red as fresh blood. A crushing weight bore down on her chest, on her heart. “What did you say?”

Bliss gave a sob. “Oh God, Gaby, someone wants to bleed her, and then . . . then eat her. Like . . . like food.” She looked at Gaby with tears spilling from her eyes, and stated, “The blood wasn’t enough. Now they’re cannibals.”

And Gaby, a powerful paladin, a mortal with untold powers and astonishing abilities, did something absurd.

She lost her meal.

Ann put the car in park at the curb out in front of Luther’s house. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. He knew what she thought. They’d been partners—and friends—too long for it to be any other way.

“What will you do if she takes off again?”

Staring out the wet windshield to the dark street, Luther shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“She’s involved, Luther. Again.”

“I know that. But she’s not the one draining those poor bastards.”

“I realize that. Gaby is many things, but she doesn’t hurt innocent people.”

Luther’s muscles tensed. “She puts herself at risk all the damned time, trying to protect people.”

“Yes, she does. But that doesn’t change anything. Her involvement puts you at risk, too, you know. She crosses the line—”

“Our line, not hers.”

Ann touched his arm. “Luther, our line is the one that matters. Whatever Gaby is, whatever her reasons for playing vigilante, she’s on the wrong side of the law.” Ann sat back. “And that’s a complication for me.”

Turning only his head, Luther met her gaze. “What do you want from me, Ann?”

“The truth.”

“Fine. I think Gaby is . . . otherworldly. I think she sees and feels and understands things that we don’t.” Putting his head back and closing his eyes, Luther gave Ann what she wanted. “I don’t understand it. But I trust Gaby, as much, maybe more, than I’ve learned to trust you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

His eyes opened again. “I’ve seen her . . . pick up on stuff. It affects her physically. And somehow, I swear to you, she just knows when shit happens.”

It was Ann’s turn to look away. “Maybe she knows because she takes part in some way. No, I’m not saying Gaby is bad. I wouldn’t. There’s something about her . . . ”

“The same something that draws you to Mort?”

“Maybe.”

“But only after his involvement with Gaby. I saw him before that, Ann, and I swear, you’d have felt nothing but pity for him.” He let out a long breath. “You’ve seen the change in Bliss, right?”

Ann smiled. “She’s a darling girl. It breaks my heart to think of anyone abusing her. Somewhere she has a family who threw her away. Their loss.”

“Bliss is bright and cheerful and she’s getting her life together—because of Gaby.”

“How did they meet?”

Luther smiled, though the first acknowledgment of the tale had filled him with rage, both at Gaby’s audacity and the danger she’d put herself in. “Gaby saw a guy abusing Bliss, and she stopped him.”

“Dare I ask how?”

He shrugged. “Nothing worse than what you’re already imagining. She sank her knife into his shoulder and then threatened to castrate him if he ever again hurt a woman.”

“Wow.” Ann took a moment to assimilate that, then she, too, shrugged. “Effective.”

“Gaby does what we’d like to do. And somehow she always gets away with it. But that particular time, she’d only happened onto the conflict. She hadn’t . . . ” He refused to say she hadn’t been summoned. “She didn’t have any intuition or anything. She was strolling with Mort and saw what was happening.”

“Mort was in on this?”

“If you haven’t already figured it out, Mort always covers for Gaby. They have a special bond of sorts.” Luther studied Ann. “And Mort is a better man for it.”

“Maybe.” Ann flattened her mouth in consideration. “She does seem to inspire him to improve himself. Not that I approve of her methods—”

“Insulting him with ease.”

“Yes. But Mort cares deeply for her.” She tipped her head. “As do you.”

No longer in denial, Luther just nodded. “As do I.”

“So that brings us back around to where we started. How do you think you’re going to work a relationship with Gaby when you’re still a cop, and she gets on the wrong side of the law with alarming regularity?”

Unwilling to share all of Gaby’s secrets, Luther didn’t mention his affect on her perception of evil. Gaby detested any form of softness or weakness, and she wouldn’t want others to know how his nearness blunted her ability to focus on malignant immorality.

But if he could keep her near enough to him, if he could get her to trust him, then maybe they could work together. Gaby would point him in the right direction, and he would handle things for her—within the boundaries of the legal system.

He said only, “I have a few ideas.”

“That you won’t share?”

“Not yet.” Time to quit stalling. Getting his sack of purchases from the floor of the car, Luther opened the door and got out. He didn’t want to acknowledge the dark windows and apparent emptiness of his house. “Just know that I’m on it, okay? I won’t let you get caught in the backlash, I promise.”

Bending to see Luther through the open door, Ann huffed out a breath. “I’m here if you need me, Luther. I have a feeling that this is going to be an uphill battle all the way.”

Luther knew she was right, just as he had known all day that Gaby wouldn’t be there when he returned.

And still he’d held out hope.

After checking the entire house and the backyard, he went in, slammed the door, and threw the bag on the kitchen counter. Purchases spilled out, including two videos and a boxed cell phone with extra charging cords.

It was only eight o’clock. Not late, but later than he’d intended for his return. Had Gaby been here, and then left? Or had she been out and about, doing God only knew what, all day long?

He’d called her at least a dozen times, but she hadn’t answered at the house, and she didn’t have a cell phone.

That’s why he’d stopped on his way home and bought her one. She’d be pissed, but for him, it was like a leash, a way to stay in touch with her for his own peace of mind. If she liked it half as much as she liked the digital music player, she’d carry it with her always.

The two popular horror movies had been an impulse buy. He figured they would entertain her.

For certain, he wasn’t enough to do the job.

His head hurt and his guts cramped. He needed to get a handle on himself before she got in.

She would return tonight.

She had to.

He needed her to come back to him.

Hands fisted, Luther went upstairs for a shower. When he saw the closed door to the room Gaby had commandeered, he hesitated.

But if he so much as stuck a toe in there, she’d know it. Then what little headway he’d made would be shattered, and he’d have to start all over with her.

Storming past the room, he went into his bedroom, threw off his clothes with an uncharacteristic lack of concern, and turned on the shower in the bathroom. The evening was cool enough that steam immediately fogged the air.

Luther stepped under the spray, hoping it would help to dissipate his disgust.

Praying it would help to ease the awful gnawing worry.

A fucking bloodsucker.

That’s what Gaby had claimed, and of course she was right—as always. Some sick fucks were playing vampire, preying on the innocent and . . .

He squeezed his eyes shut. God, to even think it made him feel foul. He’d seen a lot in his lifetime, but now, knowing Gaby’s involvement, it all felt worse, more dangerous. Scarier.

How could he keep her safe, from herself and her warped sense of duty, if she wouldn’t even give in enough to be at his house when he got home?

Head back, Luther let the hot water pound on his skin, easing his cramped muscles but not doing shit for his oppressive mood.

Come home, Gaby.

But she didn’t miraculously appear.

And Luther accepted that it was going to be a very long night.

Staying in the shadows, Gaby kept hidden until it was time for Sin Addictions to close. At nine o’clock, the daylight had long faded, aided by the ominous storm clouds that skirted an eerie half-moon. The wretched chill in the air would bring gooseflesh to most, but not to Gaby.

Her honed senses had fashioned a hermetic shield against mundane matters.

This place was her only lead, the only clue she could follow. One way or another, she would protect the child that Bliss saw in her vision and that Gaby had produced in her novel.

In a small, secret, pathetically wimpy and female part of her, she wished she had Luther with her. But that was an impossibility. His presence fucked with her instincts in a big way, and as much as she wanted him, she couldn’t risk that.

She had to move forward with care. Demanding particulars on cannibalism would only alert the fruitcakes to her involvement. If that happened, they might scuttle off to places unknown, possibly out of her reach, to carry out their sick plans unhindered.

She’d die before she let that happen.

Her eyes burned as she stared at the shadows through the closed shades over the big front window. When the light in that room went out, Gaby slipped around to the back entrance. A young man came out, laughing at a comment said by someone unseen. He had tattoos everywhere, including his shaved head.

He wasn’t the one Gaby wanted.

She made no move to detain him as he got on a motorcycle and drove away.

Hell of a night to be on a bike, Gaby thought, watching without concern as taillights faded into the foggy darkness and the rumble of the engine grew dim.

Oblivious to the peril lurking, a young woman stepped out next. As she kept her back to the alley to lock the door, Gaby approached her. Standing only a few inches behind the woman, Gaby asked, “Anybody else inside?”

The woman jumped and let out a small screech. Pivoting to face Gaby, a hand at her throat and her other arm laden with a large satchel, she took in Gaby’s looming proximity with barefaced terror. “Who are you? What do you want?”

A shroud of bitter disappointment settled over Gaby.

Accepting defeat—for now—she moved back a step. This woman had no audacity. At a very young age, Gaby had learned not to judge people by appearances.

The rankest immorality could exist beneath the most angelic veneer, just as hideous, distorted features could conceal a heart of gold.

Gaby rather admired this girl’s appearance. She decorated herself in a way designed to draw attention: ornate tattoos colored her throat, one shoulder, and her collarbone, while her pierced ears, eyebrows, and one nostril sported silver jewelry. Despite outward appearances, she carried a grayish blue aura of timidity, defensiveness, and fragility.

“Who else works here?”

The girl’s dark eyes blinked fast in a display of nervous fatalism. She expected abuse, but wasn’t used to it.

Hugging her purse to herself, she tried to press backward into the locked door. She was so worried about surviving the moment, Gaby knew she wouldn’t lie.

“There are five of us who take shifts. I do bookkeeping only, but we have two tattoo artists and two body-piercing specialists.”

None of those hit a chord with Gaby. Even standing on a step below the girl, she looked her in the eyes. “Who else?”

“There . . . there’s the owner, Fabian. It’s his shop.”

Fabian. Gaby tasted the name in her mind, let it bring forth a vision, and knew he was the one she wanted.

“When will Fabian work again?”

Fear had the girl glancing left and right before offering a response. “He, uh . . . he’ll probably be in tomorrow. Usually midafternoon.”

Gaby smiled. “You can tell him to expect me.”

Breath expended, it took the girl a moment to realize the import of those words—that she’d have to live to relay the message. “Oh. Yes, yes, I will. I swear.”

Taking a step back before her quarry fainted, Gaby asked, “One more thing.”

Voice tremulous, she asked, “Yes?”

Gaby pulled up a sleeve and dragged aside the bandage covering her wound. “How soon can I get a tattoo around this?”