Darkyn - Private Demon Part 12

We've subst.i.tuted human blood for what was in evidence, so there will be no question of exposure."

"This weapon he used." Cyprien resisted the urge to crumple the report in his fist. "A steak knife."

"Also covered with Kyn blood, so I had it replaced with a duplicate as well." Jaus removed a plastic bag from a drawer and offered it. "A very cheap steel blade with no copper content."

"That tells us that he hasn't been feeding properly." Only when weakened could a Darkyn be vulnerable to metals other than copper. "Why would he be in such a state?'

"He's mad, Michael. If his wounds have not yet healed, he'll be even more dangerous." Jaus nodded toward the door, outside which his seneschal waited. "Falco has crossed swords with Thierry in tourneys, and he's by far my best tracker. He's been taking the hunters out every night, but we've yet to find a trail."

"Gabriel Seran, Angelica's brother, taught Jamys to track," Cyprien warned. Gabriel had been the finest hunter in France, and his skills had only increased when he had risen to walk as Kyn. "So, where you find the father, you will find the son. I don't want the boy hurt, Val. Like his father, he's suffered enough."

Jaus nodded. "Tremayne is waiting for your call." He dialed a number on a line Cyprien knew was encrypted and secure, and put the phone on speaker.

"Dundellan Castle," Cyprien's former tresora answered the line. "eliane Selvais."

Jaus gave him a thin smile. He knew that eliane had in part prevented many Darkyn from dying in New Orleans, but she had also been planted in Michael's household as the high lord's spy. "Valentin for Richard."

There was only a fraction of silence. "One moment."

Although eliane had only remained with him to serve as a conduit to Richard, Cyprien sometimes regretted losing his tresora. She had been cool under pressure, kept his household extremely well organized, and carried out his orders without question. Phillipe was doing his best to fill in until he found a replacement, but he had yet to fathom computers and the extensive paperwork involved in Cyprien's empire.

"Michael, Valentin." Distance and telephone equipment only partially reduced the power of Richard Tremayne's voice, which could bespell a human with a few whispered words. "I trust all is well on your side of the Atlantic?"

"As well as can be expected, my lord," Cyprien answered. He moved his chair a little closer to the desk so he could be heard clearly, and saw the framed photo of Jaus holding an infant. "How may we serve you?"

"The good Brothers have elected D'Orio to replace poor Stoss," Tremayne said. "He was in Chicago a few days ago to meet with Hightower. He then went to New Orleans to put his seal of approval on the new cell there. Thoughts, impressions, gentlemen?"

"After Stoss's attack on my jardin, I am not surprised," Cyprien said carefully. The picture of Jaus and the baby distracted him; Darkyn did not allow themselves to be photographed. "They send their hunters wherever there is prey to be had." "In the four hundred years since our kind came to America, no one knew about New Orleans." Tremayne's tone changed. "This fallen priest, John Keller, exposed your jardin, Michael. He led the Brethren practically to your front door. Yet he remains at large, free to do things such as meet with Hightower just before the archbishop received the Lightkeeper. In your city, Valentin."

Jaus rested his head against his hand.

"John Keller was a victim of the Brethren." Cyprien had little love for Alexandra's brother, and John had created an enormous amount of trouble for them. His annoyance did not stop him from feeling pity for Keller. The man had been manipulated and tortured; his faith abused, so much so that his life would never be the same. "He is no longer in a position to harm or expose us."

"I am sure it is as you say," Tremayne told him, "but I do not gamble on whether a man will or will not remain worthless. Find John Keller and kill him."

Cyprien almost agreed, but then remembered that he and Richard were, in essence, equals now. "Are you giving me an order, my lord, or a suggestion?"

Tremayne laughed, and it was a beautiful, horrible sound. "I am giving you three days, seigneur."

The call ended there.

"If I ever wish to be elevated to your position, Michael," Jaus said, "I hope you will talk me out of it."

"When you did not do so for me?" Cyprien rose. "I had better go collect Alexandra. Do not speak of this to her, Val."

One of the guards directed them to the kitchen, where Alex and Sacher were sitting at a table. Alex had retrieved her medical bag from the car and was gently cleaning a festering wound on the back of the old man's hand. Neither of them noticed the two Darkyn standing and watching them.

"You do not put b.u.t.ter on a burn," Alex was telling Sacher as she discarded one stained gauze pad and applied a new one to the raw-looking wound.

"It is part of the salve I make, a remedy from the old country." Sacher grimaced. "It feels better than this."

"This is antiseptic, to kill all the little germs that have been breeding in your homemade salve and infecting your wound." Alex inclined her head toward a discarded bandage. "You've been keeping it wrapped up and damp. Wounds like these need to dry out and form a scab. No more bandages and absolutely no more b.u.t.ter."

"It is unsightly," the old man explained. "I do not wish to offend the master's eyes."

Alex snorted. "He's a big, strong vampire; he can deal with it. Or would you prefer to answer the phone and sort the mail with a hook?"

Jaus moved to the table. "I do not think a hook would be very becoming, Gregor."

The elderly tresora started, and then sighed. "You said this would be done before our masters were finished."

"Your master. My boyfriend. I didn't know how bad it was until we got the bandage off." Alex finished and collected the used gauze. "Don't get it wet and don't wrap it up. I'll have another look at it in the morning." She turned to Jaus and dumped the dirty material in his hands. "You know where the garbage can is; I don't." She walked past him to stand before Cyprien. "You ready to hit the street with the hunters?"

Cyprien looked over her shoulder at Jaus. "Alexandra, we need to talk."

Chapter 10.

John heard water running overhead. From the direction, it sounded as if someone was using the showers on the third floor. He looked around the common room. "Has anyone seen Beanie?"

The kids gathered around for his first encounter discussion group answered the same way they had to his discussion topic: grunts and sounds, all negative.

"Keep talking, and pa.s.s this around," John told them, handing the bowl of microwave popcorn he'd made to one of the kids. "I'll be right back."

Hurley had left John in charge of the Haven so that he could make the rounds of the few charitable organizations willing to share some donations of food and clothing with him.

"No showers, partying, or raiding the pantry until I get back," the shelter manager had warned. "That goes for the kids, too."

John had forgotten about Beanie, whom he was sure he would find in the midst of another artistic session. It had taken two hours to clean up after the last time, and that had been with Hurley's help. I'll tell her to stop and take a shower while I mop the floor. I'll make it a game of some sort. See how fast she can wash herself.

The sound turned out to be coming from the girls' showers, but the door was locked from the inside. John had Hurley's master key ring, which unlocked every door under the roof. He didn't make the mistake of knocking-Hurley had also told him that when startled, Beanie would often throw her fecal matter in defense-but released the dead bolt and walked in.

The warm, humid air inside the shower room was lightly scented, but with floral soap instead of feces. The girl standing under the center shower had her back to him, but she wasn't thick-bodied or entirely naked. Not until she reached down and stripped off the wet, transparent pair of pink bikini underwear covering her hips. Water had turned her bleached hair a dark yellow, and there was an eighteen-inch-wide, wing-shaped black tattoo above the cleft of her bottom. A fist-size bruise marred the peach curve of one b.u.t.tock.

It was the dark roots beneath the bottle-blond hair that identified her for John, who turned around and faced the door. "You're not supposed to be in here, Pure."

"Oh, John." She laughed. "You scared me." A shower tap squealed, and then the sound of spraying water dwindled to a leaky trickle. "You can turn around. I don't care if you see me."

"I do," he told the door. "No showers during the day; you know the rules."

"Rules." She blew a raspberry.

"I can't take one, either," he a.s.sured her.

"Dougall said you weren't a priest anymore." Her voice echoed against the tile, and wet feet made small splashes as she came closer. "That means you can be like everyone else is. Everyone else would look at me naked, John."

"I'll wait outside for you." He went to open the door and found her wet hand on top of his. Warm water from her body soaked into his s.h.i.+rt and trousers as Pure pressed herself against him. She'd washed her hair with a shampoo that smelled almost like papaya or mango. It was so strong in that moment he could almost taste it. "This isn't appropriate. Please step back."

"Have you ever had s.e.x with a girl?" Pure asked as she pressed her cheek to the center of his back.

I raped a woman once. John closed his eyes. "That's none of your business."

She chuckled. "I'll be your first, if you want. I've never been with a guy virgin. I think it would be kind of neat. I bet it doesn't hurt you."

"Pure." John reached down to remove her hand from his fly. "You don't have to use s.e.x to get what you want."

"If you're a priest, I guess not." She brought her other hand around to stroke his hip. "But outside church, Holy Daddy, everyone f.u.c.ks each other." "I'm not here for that," he said through clenched teeth, willing himself not to get hard. "I'm here to help you make a fresh start."

"My uncle picked me up one night." Her voice went low and soft. "I thought he was going to take me home to live with him and my aunt. You know? To stop me from turning tricks. He took me to this fleabag motel. Said he'd always wanted to do me, and how I should, like, give him a family discount."

"I'm sorry." He turned around and took her by the shoulders. "He had no right to do that to you. I know it was a terrible experience, but not every man who cares for you will behave that way."

She smiled up at him. "Terrible? Are you kidding? My uncle is hot. I f.u.c.ked him blind." She slid out of his grip, catching his hands and trying to put them on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I bet you've got a nice, big d.i.c.k. It'll feel so good when you push it inside me. We can do it here, on the floor."

He closed his hands into fists and pulled them away. She's not Sister Gelina. She's a traumatized kid using the only thing she knows. Why would she come on to him; that was the question. "Was this your idea or Brian's?"

Her dark brows drew together. "Huh?"

"You don't give it away for free, I know. Do you need money? Or did Brian tell you to do this, to get even with me for something I did?"

Pure folded her arms. "I just wanted to f.u.c.k you."

"You've got Brian coming here every day for s.e.x. It's not for that." He was onto something; he could see the fear and resentment in her eyes. "Did Hurley turn you down? Did he say you had to leave here?"

"Shut up." She strode over to the wall rack and yanked down the threadbare towel. "You don't know anything.

You probably like boys. I know, I'll ask Brian if he wants a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b next time he comes around. He might give you one, too, if you pay him enough."

"I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," John said as gently as he could. "s.e.x isn't the answer to everything."

"I'm pregnant, okay? For, like, the fourth f.u.c.king time." She wrapped the towel around herself. "It costs three hundred dollars to get rid of it, and they won't do me anyway 'cause I still owe them a hundred bucks for the last one."

"Brian's the father?"

She screwed up her face. "Yeah, Brian's the father," she mocked.

John picked up her clothes from the bench near the sinks and handed them to her. "What does he have to say about this?"

"It's not my fault the rubber broke, you know? I told him to take it easy, but did he listen? No, he's got to drill me like f.u.c.king was gonna be outlawed next week." She pulled on her jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt. "He's gonna be so p.i.s.sed."

"You could stay here, have the baby, and put it up for adoption," John suggested. "We'll talk to Dougall about it."

"Decree doesn't want me here. He hates me being here."

Just how much control did this boy have over her? "Brian isn't having a baby. You are."

She sighed and regarded the slight, round curve of her belly. "I hate abortions. Not 'cause I'm Catholic or anything; I just hate... killing it." She looked up at him. "I thought if I f.u.c.ked you and told you it was yours, you'd help me. I'm sorry."

"I'll help you anyway," John told her. He opened the door. "Clean up in here and come downstairs. I'm having an encounter group with some of the long-term residents."

Pure's lips formed a reluctant curve. "Is that like for close encounters, or what?"

John felt somewhat damp but considerably better as he went back to the common room. Getting the truth out of Pure was real progress, for her and himself. He'd tell Hurley all the details of the incident, including the offer of s.e.x, just in case Pure said something to one of the other kids. The last thing he needed was Hurley thinking he was going after the female residents while they were bathing.

John opened the door to the common room and walked in. "Sorry, everyone, now where are-" The popcorn bowl sat on the coffee table, as empty as the rest of the room.

"I'm not happy with you, young lady," Daniel Bradford said as he removed the pressure cuff from Jema's arm.

"Your blood pressure is off, and it's not simply the weight loss. How many injections are you taking each day? Three, I hope?'

Jema knew she shouldn't have skipped dinner after coming home from work. Going directly to her room always brought Dr. Bradford up to check on her. But she'd been so tired, and in no mood to hear another hour of her mother's complaints about how she looked, talked, ate, and breathed.

"Three most days, but sometimes I need four." She flexed her arm and sighed. "Yesterday I took five."

"Jema, you know that's too much insulin. You're not eating enough to balance it out." The doctor placed his stethoscope in his medical case and sat down on the side of Jema's bed to tie a rubber strap around her upper arm and fill a syringe with clear liquid from a small vial. "I'm going to give you a B-12 shot, but you need to pick up the slack here. I want you to eat full meals, three times a day, and keep to your injection schedule."

"Two meals." She turned her head and winced as he injected her. "I can never manage three."

"Two, and a large snack." He pressed a cotton ball to tiny wound the needle had left in her skin and bent her arm up to hold it. "Jem, I know this is hard on you, and your mother doesn't make things easier, but I can't wave a magic wand here. If you don't eat, you run the risk of going into insulin shock."

Insulin shock had put her into a coma once for a week, an experience Jema would rather not repeat.

"Two meals and a huge snack." When he would have risen from the bed, she touched his arm. "Dr. Bradford, can I ask you a really personal question?"

"With as many as I've asked you all these years?" He chuckled. "Fire away."

"Why did you come here to live with us?"

He looked puzzled. "Because Meryl hired me to; you know that."

"No, that's not what I mean." She wasn't sure what she meant. "Didn't you ever want to set up your own practice, or get married, or not be around my mother for a few decades?"

"Ah, I see." He took her hand in his. "I'll tell you a secret about me, honey. I had all those things once upon a time.

Good practice in the city, great wife, and I only saw your mother in the newspaper. She's much nicer in print, by the way." His smile drooped a little. "I don't know how to put this any other way but the truth. I made a mistake with a patient, Jem. As a result, the patient died, and I got sued. My second mistake was that I tried to cover it up. They let me keep my license, but they took my house and my practice, and what was left my wife took in the divorce."

He had never spoken of any of this to her. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Bradford. I shouldn't have asked you-"

"This was long before you were born, Jem. You weren't even a twinkle in your parents' eyes. I got work as a doctor for a private home health care service. A few years later your father hired me to examine your mother when she was flown back to the States. It was a couple of weeks before his accident in Greece."

"I think I was only a month old," Jema said. "Why did he leave us like that?"