Blood Trade

I blinked, not sure what I had seen, but absolutely certain that it wasn’t good. I put the one free iron piece into a pocket that had a zipper to keep it closed; I didn’t want them getting anywhere near each other. Sitting there as the day brightened around me, I tried to fit the pieces together, and I remembered a tiny bit of info that had never fit anywhere.

“Long years past,” Kathyayini had said, “was cold iron, blood, three cursed trees, and lightning. Red iron will set you free.” Which had made no freaking sense then and made none now. Except that now I had some red iron. She had also said, “Shadow and blood are a dark light, buried beneath the ground.”

Shadow and blood. Shadows like the shadow land of the old church. Blood like in blood magic—black magic. I had done black magic once, as a child. It was how I’d gotten Beast. Buried beneath the ground. Like my soul home? The cavern I always saw when I was doing spirit work with Aggie One Feather?

“If the cops will let me go,” I said, “I have a woman to see. She might have answers.”

“I’ll see to it,” Soul said, “I’d have done it sooner, but I couldn’t hear until now.” She took a cleansing breath and pulled a black case out of a pocket and flipped it open. Inside was a gold badge with the letters HS in gold relief, and below them, in smaller lettering, PSYLED. Soul, a VIP in Homeland Security, was about to pull rank.

Eli gave me the keys to the SUV, but I was too tired to drive, so the Kid drove. Which was scary on a whole different level. I didn’t even know the Kid had a license. If he did. I had also forgotten he was here, but he’d been monitoring the action from the street with his brother’s military observational toys and filming the action—I guessed in case we all died and he had to report it to the police and PsyLED. As we pulled into the early traffic, I eased the small silver coin from my pocket, the one with the sea serpent on one side and the square on the other.

Fingering the small silver coin, I gave him directions, and wondered if Kathyayini would come to me in the daytime.

CHAPTER 23

Vampire Blood. Mixed with Something.

The lot was vacant, lit by bright morning sun. But no church. Just an empty space. I recognized trees I had seen the night I came here, and when I looked hard, I could see the outlines of an old foundation, mostly gone, marked more by the way the grass grew than by any rise in the ground or scattered stone or brick.

“Wait here,” I said to the Kid. “If I disappear, don’t freak. But if I’m not back in an hour, tell Eli to bring Soul here. She might be able to find me.”

The Kid looked at the lot, at me, and back at the lot, his brows creased together. “Disappear? Like into some kinda interdimensional space-time fold?”

I huffed a laugh. “Been there, done that once, a long time ago.” The Kid’s eyes bugged out. “Long story. This didn’t feel like that. Not exactly. But maybe there were similarities. Last time I was on the outside of the bubble. This time maybe I was on the inside.”

“Can I film it?”

I started stripping off the weapons and the weapon harness, because one should never take weapons into a consecrated place or into the presence of an elder. “Go for it,” I said. “But I’m guessing you won’t see a thing.” I thought a minute. “Maybe a lot of fog.”

Weapon free, with nothing on me except the silver coin, pocket watches, and the discs, I got out of the SUV. Took a slow breath and blew it out. Another. And wished I’d taken the time to get a shower. I was rank with the sweat of battle. I squared my shoulders, gripped the coin between the index finger and thumb of my right hand, and walked between the trees. Nothing happened.

I sat on the ground in front of where I thought the front doors of the church had once been and crossed my knees—which was not a comfortable position in the leathers and boots. The sun was warm on my shoulders, the fickle winds of the Mississippi chasing away the night’s chill. I pulled off my leather jacket and set it behind me. Finally got my shirt straight, now that the weapon harness was off.

My socks were still twisted. I wanted tea. Breakfast. My stomach growled. Nothing else happened. I studied the amulets and the iron discs. And realized that the stuff I thought was copper was actually something far darker. It was blood. I lifted one and sniffed it, pulling on Beast’s senses. Vampire blood mixed with the iron itself. And with . . .

I dropped the disc, staring at it on the grass. Skinwalker blood. It all came together.

Lucas Vazquez de Allyon had killed off my kind everywhere he could. But one miniature painting I had seen in an old book had depicted him holding a bowl of blood, with dead and drained skinwalkers from the Panther Clan everywhere around him on the ground. Skinwalkers like me.

I looked at the silver coin in my hand. Kathyayini had known what I was. Somehow she had known. As I fingered the coin, I found a sharp edge, just a spot where the coin had ground against something sharper or harder once. I spat on my thumb and rubbed it on my jeans, cleaning it, and pressed the pad of my thumb on the coin. Nothing happened. I gripped it in my left hand and cut into my right thumb with a hard, fast motion. My flesh tore. A shock of pain flashed through me.

Blood welled and dripped into my palm. I put the coin into the pooling blood. In the distance, from a clear sky, thunder rumbled. In the echo of the rumble, the sky darkened and a low fog appeared. Lightning flashed, a spreading fan of power that reflected off the clouds boiling up in the sky in this place that wasn’t. I remembered the whole quote.

“Long years past was cold iron, blood, three cursed trees, and lightning. Red iron will set you free.” Then: “Shadow and blood are a dark light, buried beneath the ground.”

Lightning, like now, in a mystical place full of storms.

Dream-walkers were mystics. Mystics opened themselves to spiritual possibility, and being mystical meant that they seldom communicated logically. They left spiritual hints and clues . . . and the most mystical aspect of vamps was their creation story, an act of black magic that had unintended consequences. And beings who did good magic and black magic were . . . most often witches.

Red iron and trees, I thought, trying to find sense in the dribs and drabs of knowledge I had. The Sons of Darkness, the witch sons of Judas Iscariot, had used the three cursed trees of Calvary to bring their father back to life. The wood from the three crosses had been mixed with blood and black magic to create the first immortal, and when they ate his flesh, they became the first two vampires and fathers of all the vampires who followed.

My breath released in a slow exhalation. I was close to something. Very close.

Night had fallen around me. The SUV was gone; so was everything else. Shadow and blood are a dark light. There were shadow and my blood in this place.

There had been shadow and blood on Golgotha the evening the Christ died. There had been his blood on the tree. And on the cold iron that pierced his flesh, holding him there.

I took a slow breath, not moving, not fighting for it—whatever it was that my hindbrain was putting together. The words rolled through my mind again, low and sonorous, potent as the lightning: Long years past was cold iron, blood, three cursed trees, and lightning. Red iron will set you free. Then: Shadow and blood are a dark light, buried beneath the ground.

Some outclan priestesses had a sliver of the wood of the crosses that had been used to make the vampires. But what had happened to the iron? Had it been melted down and used for more black magic? Like the transformative magic that was turning Naturaleza into spidey vamps?

Lightning cracked again, slamming into the ground only yards away. The power of it sent electric shivers through me. My loose hair stood on end, and my skin crackled with the pain of electric shock. On the ground in front of me, the last red iron disc slid across the grass and snapped into place atop the other two. The pocket watches that were still whole glowed with a greenish light in the gloom of wherever or whenever this was.

Red iron and three cursed trees. Is it possible?

I closed my eyes and took a cleansing breath. When I opened my eyes, the church was before me. I started, even though I’d been expecting it. Overhead, thunder rumbled, close and ominous. Rain pattered down, just as the last time I was here. I gathered up my jacket, the amulets, and the thick iron disc, putting them into pockets where they couldn’t touch one another. I held the silver coin in my bloody fist as I walked up the short steps and into the church. The doors crashed shut behind me, an angry boom that reverberated through the church.

I walked down the aisle, but Kathyayini wasn’t there. The church was empty. Which sent willies down my back. My heart sped, an irregular pain, and I massaged my chest with my fist as I walked, not thinking about the blood until the air chilled it on my skin. Rain pounded down outside and on the roof over me. The din of the storm was incredible. I could feel the power through the soles of my boots. Wind hit the side of the church, and the old building groaned.

I reached the front, the church dark, lit only by lightning strikes outside. Each strike was intense, showing me the pews, the cross over the entry door that I hadn’t noticed last time. It was painted red. I eased my backside onto the dais and sat, feet dangling. And waited.

“You don’t got no match? It’s dark in here.” Kathyayini.

I sighed out a breath, relief so strong it hurt as the air left my lungs. “I don’t carry matches,” I said.

I heard the scratch of a match striking right beside me and I flinched at the sound, the smell, and the flickering light, after the long minutes of darkness and lightning. Kathyayini lit a candle and then another, and a third. “You don’t listen too good. Do you? This a lot harder in daytime.” Kathyayini hopped up on the dais beside me and sat. She was wearing a different dress this time, with a biblike front over her chest and a red T-shirt underneath. The fabric of the dress had huge red flowers on a pink background. It wasn’t flattering, but it did look comfortable.

I said, “I was busy getting inside a witch-warded house during the night. At dawn, I was busy killing vamp things, spidey vamps, inside the house.” 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">