Blood Rights

Maris narrowed her gaze and smiled gently. ‘You’re making plans.’

Chrysabelle turned away to get coffee and hide her face. Maris was too perceptive. Farther down the counter, Velimai sliced cantaloupe as rapidly as a machine. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have. It’s a wonder there hasn’t been some sort of movement already. How do you know your source won’t give me up?’

‘For one thing, he doesn’t know any details, just that you need help. And for another, he’s left the city. I don’t know where he’s gone, but I wired him enough money to ensure it was far away. You’re safe, my darling, I swear it. And I insist you stay here with me.’ Her aunt sniffed.

A twirl of a spoon and Chrysabelle returned to the table. Her aunt’s eyes glistened with moisture.

‘I need you, Chrysabelle. I’m an old woman. I’m tired of being alone.’

Chrysabelle nodded toward Velimai. ‘You’re not alone. And you’re not that old.’

‘You’re my family. Please, as long as there is no immediate danger, stay.’ She reached across the table and clasped her hand over Chrysabelle’s. The pulse that beat beneath the hidden signum was strong, the skin firm, the joints smooth. Maris might consider herself an old woman, but by human standards she looked barely middle-aged. Granted, she was paralyzed from the waist down, but she’d been willing to pay that price for her freedom. Velimai set a crystal bowl of fruit salad on the table, along with smaller dishes of organic yogurt. Life here was good, luxurious to a fault, thanks to her aunt’s impressive cosmetics fortune.

‘I’ll stay. But if anything happens, anything that makes me think I’ve brought danger to your doorstep, I’m gone.’

Maris patted her hand. ‘Nothing will happen. You’ll see.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Although she wasn’t. Not at all. Nothing had seemed safe since that night.

Velimai signed something Chrysabelle didn’t quite catch. Maris nodded and the wysper left.

Maris turned back and stroked her thumb over Chrysabelle’s wrist. ‘Are you … taking care of yourself? Without a patron, the buildup can make you sick.’

Chrysabelle nodded, her thumb worrying the band on her right middle finger. A twist to the side and a flip of the tiny mechanism released a hidden blade sharp enough to open a vein. ‘I drained once in Paris. I feel fine, but I’ll probably do it again tonight when I get back.’ Or wherever she ended up.

Maris patted her hand again. ‘Forgive me for mothering you, I can’t help myself.’

‘It’s okay. It’s kind of nice, actually.’

After a long breakfast, she packed a few things and dropped the bag out the window. Later, she’d skirt around and pick it up. Having a backup plan was never a bad idea.

She tried to read for a while but concentration eluded her. Finally, she excused herself to get ready. Back in her room, she strapped on her carved bone wrist daggers, then tucked a different blade into the sheath on her waistband. If only she had her sacre, but hiding a sword was a little trickier.

Saying good-bye to Maris without tearing up was difficult. Hopefully, the person Chrysabelle was going to meet would help her prove her innocence. Then her new life could truly begin and she could keep the only family she had.

She took a cab into the city, then walked a block over and up to a new street. There she hailed another cab to her final destination, satisfied she’d left no easy trail.

The cab wound through the marine district, past the small portion of the port still in use and into the depths of the shipyard where weeds sprang from the sunbaked concrete and warehouse doors hung off hinges. Finally, the driver stopped in front of a docked freighter that looked as though it hadn’t been to sea since the End War. Rust spotted the sides like a rash. Debris-free solar tiles sparkled on the main deck, the only indication the ship was in use. She checked the slip of paper.

‘Are you sure this is the place?’

‘That’s the address you gave me, sweetheart. You change your mind? Couldn’t say I blame you, the docks are no place for a woman like you. Nothing but skeletons and bad news down here.’

‘No, I haven’t changed my mind.’ Although she’d begun to have questions. ‘I will pay you to stay here and wait for me though.’

‘I hope you got deep pockets, ’cause I charge extra for ghost towns like this. Plus, I only got about three hours of running time after the solar juice disappears. You ain’t back before then, I’m gone.’ He buzzed the window down, turned the vehicle off, and fished a cigar nub out of his pocket.

‘Understood.’ Not really, but this was no time for a lesson in alternate fuels.

‘Then we got a deal.’ He tapped the com cell behind his left ear and checked in with someone named Dispatch.

Nobility didn’t allow those in their employ to have the com chips embedded, nor did they use them themselves. Supposedly the chips could be used to gather a multitude of information from the user. Maybe she would get one when this was all over. When her life was her own again.

She shouldered her bag and got out. The stench of decay and rancid crude wrinkled her nose before a shift in the breeze replaced it with salt and sea. A seabird circled, then dove and came up with a wriggling silver fish. She headed for the gangplank, squinting against the sun and, despite the haze of smog, a brilliant blue sky.

No wonder the vampire from the club hadn’t come after her again. With this much sun, he’d probably been unable to find a safe place to recover from the wound she’d given him and turned to ash with the sunrise. Comarré one, Nothos zero. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">