Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 22

Understatement, Caterina thought.

She swung her gun around to the man on the floor, aimed. Taser p.r.o.ngs protruded from Dr. Robert Wells's chest and his head lolled to one side. Foam flecked his lips. His eyelids fluttered and Caterina caught a glimpse of rolled-up white. He groaned deep in his throat. A faint odor of p.i.s.s and singed flesh drifted up from the floor. She wondered how many times Athena Wells had zapped her father.

"She's come to kill you," Athena said to her father. "But I won't let her."

Athena was wrong about that, but Caterina saw no point in telling her so.

Caterina's finger tightened against the trigger. But instead of pulling it, she heard herself say, "How did you know we were here?"

"I knew the tightrope walker was here."

Athena's words hung in the air, charged and potent. Caterina's skin p.r.i.c.kled. She kept her finger against the trigger. She nodded at Wells. "Why?"

"I'm warming him up for Dante."

"Explain that."

"Xander went to Seattle to get Dante and bring him home. We're going to give Father to him."

Renata's furious words hissed through Caterina's memory-Kill that one slowly, very slowly-searing the strangeness of this encounter into her mind.

Wells had tortured and twisted an innocent child, a True Blood child, and murdered his mother. If anyone deserved a chance to kill this man, it was Dante Baptiste. If she could give him that, she might earn his trust. Then she could take him to Rome and her mother. Caterina's pulse quickened.

She s.h.i.+fted her gaze to Athena. "When will your brother be back?"

Athena's sea-green eyes seemed almost translucent in the light. "As soon as he has Dante." "Please help me," Gloria Wells whispered again, her words clicking from a dry throat. "My husband..."

"Is a monster," Caterina said, lowering the Glock to her side. But maybe the monster's wife was a victim also. She moved to the bed and handed Gloria a gla.s.s of water from the nightstand. Grat.i.tude glinted in Gloria's eyes. Slipping the straw between her lips, she drank.

If Lyons didn't return with Dante Baptiste, Caterina could still kill Wells and fulfill this part of her a.s.signment. She felt the tightrope quivering beneath her feet.

She tucked the Glock back into her shoulder holster. She stepped behind Wells. Bending, she hooked her arms around his shoulders. She glanced at Athena. "Grab his legs. Let's get him on the bed."

Without a word, Athena leaned her spear against her mother's bed and slid to her feet. She ghosted over to the closet, her dirty, bare feet soundless on the carpet. Pulling the accordion-style door open, she rummaged through its contents. A moment later, she turned around, a girlish smile lighting her face. She held up leather restraints.

"He used to put these on me back in the days when I was still his daughter."

"We'll use them now," Caterina said.

Draping the restraints over her shoulder, Athena crouched and grabbed her father's ankles. Between the two of them, they managed to wrestle Wells's slack body up off the floor and onto the second bed. A few moments more and he was restrained at wrists and ankles. Caterina wiped sweat from her forehead.

"Do you know if your father received a package from Nevada a week or so ago?"

Athena glanced at her father, a dark smile twisting her lips. "Yes," she said and walked into the hall.

Caterina followed Athena, listening to the sound of her renewed whispers, down the hall to the faint pool of light and the room beyond, a well-appointed office decorated with spears, s.h.i.+elds and breastplates-most likely h.e.l.lenic, given Wells's interests in all things Greek.

Athena led her to the desk. She bent over the computer and tapped her fingers across a couple of keys and clicked open a file. She stepped back. "There."

Caterina took Athena's place at the desk and glanced at the monitor. Black wings arched behind the back of the man- man? No, Fallen-who held Dante in his arms.

"Do you remember Genevieve Baptiste? My son's mother?" the fallen angel said.

Knees weak, Caterina sank into the chair, her heart pounding hard against her ribs, her thoughts whirling.

At long last, she learned what had become of Johanna Moore.

And why Jon Bronlee had stepped in front of a semi.

24 THINGS FALLING APART.

Seattle, WA-Vespers March 23

VESPERS REEKED OF SPILLED beer, clove cigarettes, and patchouli. Heather grabbed Annie's hand and held it tight as she steered her away from the gleaming bra.s.s and mahogany bar and into the sweat-soaked crowd jammed up against the rail in front of the stage.

Dogspit had finished their set and Heather was sorry she'd missed them. Annie had taken forever to get ready, changing clothes at least three times and fussing with her hair, but that was her little sister.

The crowd buzzed and chattered as people waited for Inferno to hit the stage. Goth princesses in velvet and black lace and fishnet stood side by side with cyber-Goths in PVC and fetish wear; neo-punks in Mohawks spiked in purple and red shoved against muscular misfits in leather and latex, their black-dyed devil locks hanging over sullen faces; a handful of nomads in road- weathered leathers stood off to the side, the black bird-vee tattooed on their right cheeks marking their clan as Raven.

Male and female, the crowd fought for places along the rail, anchoring themselves in place with double-handed grips and feet braced against the struts.

Heather felt underdressed in her Skechers, black jeans, and purple fishnet s.h.i.+rt pulled over a purple bra. Or overdressed, depending on who you were looking at, she thought as she sidled past a woman crammed into a black leather bustier and leather hot pants, flesh spilling over at both ends.

"Have you been to an Inferno show before?" Annie shouted above the drunken buzz. The pungent smell of pot curled into the air.

"No, first time I've seen them perform." Heather worked an elbow path through the crowd to a spot at the right of the stage, near the nomads, and behind the first phalanx wedged up against the rail. "Dante said he'd heard WMD," she shouted. "Said he thought you guys were among the f.u.c.king best."

"Yeah? Cool." A pleased smiled curved Annie's lips. With heavy kohl around her eyes, glittering purple shadow on her lids and smeared across her lips, she was a s.e.xy club beauty in her tight, black GRAVEYARD tank, black and purple crinoline skirts, fishnet stockings, and latex-strapped boots.

The crowd stirred as someone-tall, lean, and mustached-strode out onto the stage and waved for the lights to be lowered. The crescent moon tattoo beneath his eye glittered like sun-struck mica under the lights.

"Hey, darlin'!" Von shouted, striding to the edge of the stage. He crouched. "Whatcha doing in the crowd? Dante has y'all signed up as VIPs."

Heads at the rail craned around to see who he was speaking to. Attention riveted on Heather. People whispered to each other.

"Hey, Von," Heather called to the nomad. "I wanted to see the crowd."

Von lowered his shades and winked at Annie. "This must be your sister. Looks sure as h.e.l.l run in the Wallace family." He grinned wolfishly.

"Thanks," Heather said, and glanced at her sister. Annie stared intently at the fangs Von's grin revealed.

He jumped down off the stage and into the area between the stage and the rail. He motioned for people to move aside and, reluctantly, they did. "C'mere, doll," he said, motioning to Annie.

Chin lifted, Annie stepped forward and a path to the rail opened up for her as people shuffled to either side. Von slid his hands around her waist and lifted her to the stage as though she weighed nothing.

"Your turn."

Heather walked to the rail and Von slipped an arm around her waist and jumped onto the stage with her at his side. For a moment, she felt like they were flying.

Von led her and Annie across the darkened stage, past the shadowed equipment and speakers, to the curtained wings.

Dante walked out, pale face lit, eyes gleaming, light glinting from the steel ring in his bondage collar. And Heather stopped, her heart in her throat, breathless.

Dammit. Gotta quit doing that. It's just Dante.

And that was the whole thing in a nutsh.e.l.l: It's just Dante. No one else like him.

"Catin." He looked her up and down, appreciation lighting his eyes. "Tres f.u.c.king s.e.xy." He looked at Annie. "Hey, p't.i.te. You clean up good."

"Gee, thanks," Annie said, rolling her eyes.

Dante wrapped his arms around Heather. His latex-and leather-clad body burned against hers. His hands slid up to her face and cupped it, his rings cool against her skin. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her. His lips tasted sweet, like black licorice, and she tasted alcohol. Electricity arced to her belly and between her legs.

"Glad you're here," he said when the kiss ended.

"Me too," Heather murmured.

"Geez," Annie said. "Get a room, why don't you?"

"Tais toi, p't.i.te."

"Speak English, dork."

"f.u.c.k you."

"That's better. Heard you were a WMD fan."

A smile tilted Dante's lips. Releasing Heather, he stepped back and gave his attention to Annie. "Yup. Y'all ever gonna get together again?"

"Maybe," Annie said. "Depends. You ever gonna let me put that collar to use?"

Dante laughed, but Heather sucked in a breath, stung, and whirled on her sister. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing. Just teasing. f.u.c.k, relax!" Annie crossed her arms over her chest and a familiar, sullen look masked her face.

"He's..." Heather paused. What was she about to say? He's mine? He's taken? Was that true? Sudden heat warmed her cheeks. When had she made that decision?

"You're f.u.c.king blus.h.i.+ng," Annie said, her tone incredulous.

A smile tilted Dante's lips. "I think I like it when she blushes," he said. Then he stepped forward and touched his forehead to Heather's. His hands settled on her waist, his fingers hot against her mesh-draped skin. Heated tingles rippled though her.

"Anytime you want," he whispered. "I'm yours."

"Yeah?" she whispered back.

"Yeah. Leash optional."

Heather laughed, her embarra.s.sment fading. She was grateful Dante hadn't asked her to finish what she'd been about to say. Especially since she still didn't know what she'd intended to say in the first place.

Dante lifted his head, his hands sliding away from her waist. He clasped her hand, his fingers folding through hers. He walked her and Annie backstage to the spa.r.s.ely furnished greenroom. "C'mon, let me introduce you and Annie to the guys."

Sticking his index finger and thumb into the corners of his mouth, he whistled-sharp and loud. All activity in the greenroom stopped. All faces looked in his direction.

"Everyone, this is Heather," Dante said, inclining his head toward her, "and her sister, Annie." He draped an arm around Annie's shoulders.

People nodded, smiled, waved and yelled "Hey!"

Dante directed Heather's attention to the easy chair and the person just rising from its sagging depths. "This is mon cher ami Eli," he said, his voice warm and low and affectionate. "We've been making music together for...how long?"

"Almost five years, Tee-Tee," Eli said. He was a blend of bloodlines. Cafe au lait skin, almond-shaped jade-green eyes, tall and rangy, mid-to-late twenties.

"And over there in front of the mirror," Dante said, "is Black Bayou Jack. A h.e.l.luva drummer. Kicks f.u.c.king a.s.s."

Jack grinned. "A pleasure, m'selles, for true." His Cajun-musical tone marked him as another Louisiana native. His faux hawk had been transformed into a braided horse mane, the dark blond hair buzzed short at sides and back, the braids dyed deep cherry red. Black-ink stylized tattoos twisted around his neck and muscular arms.

"And over there, twitching to go out and triple-check the f.u.c.king equipment, is Antoine, the man who puts the funk and the s.e.x into the ba.s.s."

"Hey," Antoine murmured, s.h.i.+fting his weight from foot to foot. Also in his mid-to-late twenties; dark brown skin, toffee- colored eyes. Topped by a s.e.xy, untrimmed and natural 'fro, the last member of Inferno was clearly itching to get away.

Dante jerked his head toward the curtains and, flas.h.i.+ng a smile, Antoine disappeared behind their thick velvet folds.

"Gonna go make sure things are set up right," Dante said, squeezing, then releasing Heather's hand. His breath caught. He touched his fingers to his temple.

Panic burned through Heather when she saw his eyes dilate. She reached for his hand, but he backed quickly out of reach.

"You're hurting," she said.

He shrugged. "No big. See you soon, cherie."

But Heather saw his jaw tighten as he turned away. She looked at Von, but the nomad's attention was already fixed on him, brow furrowed. Dante slipped past the curtains and out of sight.

"Simone said his migraines were getting worse," Heather said.

"Ain't the half of it," Von said, voice low. "He's been having seizures, too."

"Seizures?" Heather suddenly felt cold.

"Keep it quiet for now, doll," Von said.

"He shouldn't be going onstage."