Destiny's Child (Kitsune series Book 3) (18 page)

That was odd
.

Fran finished the second window, jumped off its ledge, and padded over to the bed.  She looked around.  “Where’d Maddy go?”

I pointed toward the bathroom as the shower came on.  “Jumped up and left rather suddenly.”

Fran’s eyes widened.  Her brows lifted.  She put her fingers up to her lips in a classic display of shock.  “Oh, no, I’m so stupid.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I love that new Elektra Blue album that just came out.  Maddy got it in the mail from her mom and gave it to me.  She can’t stand to listen to her mom’s music: the darkness in it.  She gave the CD to me, and I sometimes forget and start singing parts of it.  Like I said, totally stupid.”

“Kinda was,” I agreed.  “Do both of you a favor and stick to Lady Gaga, or Pink.”

Fran stared at the door. 
Madison should have been out already.  “I’d better go and—”

“No.”  I eased off the bed and snatched up the clothes off the bed.  “I’ll handle this.  Need a shower anyway.”

“Thanks,” Fran said. 

I nodded and went into the bathroom.  It was small with an odor of pine-scented cleaner.  There was the usual toilet, sink, and wall mirror.  The tub had been sealed in with sliding glass doors on its closest edge.  They were frosted with rippled indentions. 
Madison had one door slid open, and the shower hissing.  Her back was to me.  “Water’s just about right,” she said.

She sounded all right, but my sensitive kitsune nose smelled her tears, and her shampoo and soap scent, and her sweet toothpaste, and her deodorant.  I quickly dialed my nose back down, having too much of a good thing.

“Fran loves you.  She didn’t mean to hurt you, and she’s sorry.”

“I know, my own fault.  When I gave the CD to her, I should have realized…”  She turned to face me and gave me a weak smile.  “There, is that better?”

“Sure.”  I put fresh clothes on the tank of the toilet and quickly undressed, leaving my castoffs piled in the floor.  Madison moved out of my way as I stepped into the tub and the warm spray of water.

“Grace!”

The piercing excitement of her voice had me spinning, expecting a rampaging goblin or something.  I saw nothing unusual in the room.  “What is it?”

“On your back.  I thought you said you got Wocky to remove his demon brand.”

I showed her my bare arm.  “I did.  It’s gone, see?”

“Uh, no, Grace.  Or rather, if he took one off, he left another on your back.”

I screeched, “What!” 

“Look for yourself.”  She pointed at the mirror.  Dripping, I stepped out, put my back to the mirror and strained to look over my shoulder at it.  There it was, black and writhing on my right shoulder blade.  “That motherless sack of pond scum!  I knew I should have cut his heart out when I had the chance.  You can never trust a demon.  When I get my mitts on that lying, lousy so-and-so I’m gonna peel him like a grape and stake him out over an ant hill!  That dirty, rotten piece of—”

Fran burst into the room.  “What is it?  What’s going on?”

“He’s going to be mulch!” I cried.  “Anyone know where I can get hold of a wood chipper?” 

SEVENTEEN

“Pirouette on the stage,

The lights of Hell are blazing.

And I’m so tired of all the crap,

You find so damned amazing.”

                                                      —Innocence

                      
                                    Elektra Blue

It took a while to calm down.  No surprise there.  Finally, I was washed, clothed, and settled in bed with a slayer to either side.  The ceiling light was out.  Moonlight made the sheets on the window glow.  Fran broke out several glow-sticks, shaking and bending them so they emitted a low-level, spectral green light that added to the spooky atmosphere.  The sticks were left on the nightstands. 

“Let’s tell ghost stories,” Fran said.

Maddy mumbled into her pillow, “I will stab you with your own stake.”

“Or not,” Fran said.

I smiled, lying on my back, enjoying the freshness of the sheets, the soft mattress, and pillow.  My eyes were closed.  I was almost asleep.

Maddy said, “Mom’s coming to town to do a show.”

Fran thrashed up out of her top sheet.  “What?  You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

My eyes snapped open.  “Is Van Helsing going to want you to stake her?”

“No, thralls are still human.  That would be murder.  The meeting’s just going to be … awkward,” Maddy said.  “Mom’s going to try to talk me into leaving the slayer school.  I’m going to get the whole ‘Vampires-are-just-misunderstood-predators’ speech.”

“Can she make you leave?” I asked.

“No.  Van Helsing had me go through a lawyer to get myself emancipated.  It pissed Mom off that I sued her to get control of my own trust fund.  She’d been about to hand it over to her vampire lover’s
Domus
.”

“Domus?” I asked.

“Latin for House.  It’s what vampires call their colonies.  She has more freedom than most donors, touring as a poster girl for vamp whores everywhere.  A lot of her groupies wind up as fang food.”

“So what are you going to do?” Fran asked.

“I’ll have to see her, but I’m not going alone.  Her handlers might be nearby, wanting to grab a slayer, even if it’s just one in training.”

“I’ll back you,” Fran said.

“Me, too,” I said.

Maddy rolled over and set her back to me.  “Thanks.”  I heard tears in her voice she’d never show.  We were alike that way.

Conversation died down.  The girls’ breathing grew deeper and slower.  It took me a little longer to drift off.  I slid into my inner darkness wondering if I’d meet Tukka in my dreams, or if he’d be too busy guarding the lodge to indulge in play.

*     *     *

The cloudy edges of sight, and the floaty feeling I had, combined to tell me I was asleep, that and the fact that Taliesina—my inner three-tailed fox—was prancing down the aisle beside me.  Since this was a dream, we could have separate bodies.  It had just never happened before.  We were in a huge auditorium with red-velvet seats, predominately filled with teenage Goth girls looking like raccoons with way too much eyeliner.  The crowd was happy and agitated, bouncing in their seats, generating a sea-like murmur. 

Taliesina and I walked toward the stage.  There were stacks of
Marshall Amps up there, backlit by purple and blue colored spotlights.  A massive drum kit was center stage, toward the back.  Left and right were long-haired roadies laying out cables, testing connections, placing microphones.  This didn’t seem to be a regularly scheduled event with set-up still under way and an audience present. 

I suddenly had a bad feeling about who was going to be playing here tonight, wherever
here
was.

A familiar voice boomed in the back of my head:
Grace, take seat.  Show start soon.

I turned and found Tukka filling the whole width of the aisle.  He wore a red usher’s jacket with gold buttons and braid.  His grin was enormous.

“Whose dream are we in, Tukka?”

He jerked his head to the side.

I glanced along the row of seats he’d indicated.  Half way to the end, I saw a familiar face framed by a mane of straw-blond hair that had a faint greenish quality in the gloom. 
Madison.
  She had a shell-shocked expression, eyes fixed on stage. 

If this is her dream, her mother’s playing here.  Why is Maddy’s subconscious doing this to her?

I turned my attention back to the stage.  The roadies were scurrying off like rats.  The colored spots were strobing, fanning light streams went up and down to draw attention.  Band members hustled out on stage from the wings.  They were all guys, each taking position at their station, on their instrument.  The drums started a rapid-fire beat.  The synth player sent out a trill of notes like an icy, brittle wind.  The bass player
thudda-thumped
a deep rhythm, felt as much as heard.  Joining in last, a white-haired young guy in torn black leather pants and purple tee swung the neck of his electric guitar up into the air, shaking it with passion as his fingers danced, and a piercing riff slashed through the sonic hash.

A blue spotlight hit front, center stage, illuminating a solitary microphone stand.  A moment later, a woman came out of nowhere, stepping into the light.  Her short, bleached-white hair had an indigo Mohawk that matched her lipstick, nail polish, and the blue star painted around her left eye.  She wore a tinfoil blue shirt and black jeans.  Sandals flopped on her feet as she danced back and forth, and a silver bat fluttered on a silver chain.

She screamed to the audience, “Hello, children of the night!  Are you ready to rock?”

I rolled my eyes.

Madison muffled a sob.

I looked at Tukka.  “Why don’t you go ahead and eat this dream.  This isn’t good for Maddy.”

Tukka shook his head in disagreement. 
Evil backs off when snarled at.  You run, darkness chases. 

Taliesina yapped confirmation.

“Maddy will be facing her darkness soon enough,” I said.  “Cut the crap.  This isn’t necessary.”

Dry run
, Tukka said. 
Practice makes perfect.  Besides, can’t break dream until we find dreamer.

I pointed at
Madison.  “She’s right there.”

“Not that easy,” Tukka said.  “Real dreamer takes more active role.”

“If this isn’t Madison’s dream, then whose—”

Electra hunched forward, knees bent, a death-grip on the microphone lifted to her face.  Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the song, and her amplified voice slammed out across the auditorium, spinning me around like a wave, with her warm, sultry promise of pleasures to come:

“I know you’ve been hurt before.

I know the scars run deep.

And love has never been

Something you could keep…”

I stared at her, speculation bubbling up from my brain.  “This is her dream?”

The drums did a run, building up tension.  Electra’s band put the pedal down, pouring out intensity, sweat dripping from their faces.  The electric guitar guy danced backward while shooting off a rapid-fire riff that leaped octaves.  The bass player’s head was bobbing for all it was worth.  Electra’s voice hardened, soaring into forever.

“But you gotta pay the price no matter the cost.

You gotta take a chance or all is lost.

You gotta try again, or this is the end

of us both!”

Movement caught my attention.  Someone left a seat up front to go to the edge of the stage.  I only saw the girl’s back, her raven black hair, and the graceful glide of a predator, but I recognized the true dreamer by the very sharp stake in her hand.  “Fran—what does she think she’s doing?”

She shimmied up onto the stage, pushed up off her belly, and headed for Electra.

A security guard rushed to intercept her.

Fran jumped into the air, ever-so-more graceful than in real life, and kicked the man across the face.

He fell heavily, stunned.

She settled softly on her feet like a dove touching down—a dark dove of justice with a mission.  She turned toward Elektra once, stalking closer.

Another guard came at her.

A sandbag hanging from the rafters chose that moment to slip its rope and come crashing down on him.  I said, “Somehow, I’d expected an Acme anvil.”

Tukka chuckled.
Not Coyote’s dream, Grace.  Roadrunner’s not  around.

Elektra saw the assassin coming, but kept singing as if nothing else mattered.

“It’s now— or never—  Now— or never!

          Now— or never—  Time to decide!”

Fran screamed above the pounding rock music.  “It’s now, bitch.  You’re going down!”

Quite a show
, Tukka said.

Taliesina yapped agreement, her tails
whumping
the carpet energetically.