Matters of the Blood (16 page)

"Really, Keira, I think it's okay,” he said. “You're just stressed. Too much happening. That's why you lost control. You have until tomorrow night. It'll be okay."

"All right, you win,” I said, capitulating. “I'll go to dinner. I'll ask questions, but that's it. No romance, no strong emotions, no ‘just getting laid'. It's not fair to Adam and I just can't deal."

I sure as hell wasn't going be so cavalier about shielding anymore. I'd gotten so used to being around nothing but humans, I'd let myself go a little. Let those metaphysical muscles get soft and vulnerable. I'd have to definitely do some serious work on strengthening my safeguards before tomorrow night.

"
M'hija,
look, I know I'm pushing you to go. You need to ask questions, maybe just even reconnect with someone who's a friend. But don't forget your cousin was killed by someone who meant it. It wasn't an accident. Whatever happens at dinner, whatever you discover at the ranch, don't forget. Whoever killed Marty might actually be someone with a grudge against your family. Please be careful."

My family saga was full of tales of vendettas and blood feuds, like some sort of supernatural Sopranos. Not all of those stories were ancient history. About ten years ago, a new feud had started between cousins in Spain over a piece of hunting land. Last I heard, they were still duking it out.

"But, Bea, this was Marty,” I said. “He was human. That's backwards. If there were a grudge, it would be against—” I stopped. The only one of my family around here with any powers was me—and Tucker—but as far as I knew, no one but Bea and Carlton knew he was here.

She nodded. “I know, he's the one that died, but what if it is family related? If there's a vendetta against your family, you're it around here, girlfriend, and no matter what you are, you're not invulnerable. You can still be hurt."

It might take the equivalent of a wrecking ball to really injure me, but the fact was that I could be injured, even killed. I hadn't thought of that. After all, how many women or even men were ever in real, life-threatening danger? Now, I might just be.

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After Bea left, I turned to my brother.

"Well?"

"Well, what?” he asked.

"Know anything about any vendettas?"

"You know I don't keep up with that shit, Keira."

"Then how are we supposed to find out?"

Tucker took one look at me and said nothing.

"Damn,” I said.

He grinned and shrugged. “There's no other way. She's the only one who'd know for sure."

"But if I call her, she'll know I'm changing."

Tucker's smile turned into a belly laugh.

"You really think she doesn't already know?"

"What do you mean? She can't possibly know."

My brother came over to sit beside me on the couch. “Keira, sister mine, why on earth do you think I'm here?"

The realization hit me about the same time his hand took mine. I pulled away.

"Shit, Tucker. She sent you?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Yeah, pretty much,” he said. “She's the chief, Keira, connected to each of us in more ways than you care to know. She knew you were changing before you did."

"Well, fuck me,” I said. “So great-great-granny really did send you to babysit."

"I told you it was either me or Ciprian,” he smiled. “I figured you'd be less pissed off if I came."

"You're right about that,” I agreed. My brother Ciprian, although centuries younger than Tucker, was a dried-up old fart. He was the only brother who didn't enjoy the shapeshifting part of his nature. A numbers-cruncher at heart, he kept the family books and considered himself our prefect. Gigi let him play his little game because she hated dealing with the realities of modern financial considerations. Ciprian had increased the family fortunes tenfold in the last couple of centuries, meaning each of us was independently wealthy in our own right. We were grateful for his fiduciary talents, but Tucker was definitely an improvement over an immortal with the heart of an accountant and the demeanor of a Jesuit headmaster.

"Why don't
you
call?” I asked. “She likes
you
."

"She likes you, too, Keira,” Tucker said. “I don't know why you don't think so."

"Maybe because I'm in fucking exile here,” I retorted. “Think that's why?"

Tucker's voice was gentle. “Sister mine, be reasonable. You chose to stay in Rio Seco when we all left. There was nothing for you here except to rot and wallow in guilt and self-recrimination. So Gigi gave you an assignment."

I didn't want to admit it, but Tucker was right. I'd reacted out of confusion and stubbornness, refusing to take my family's advice. Too soon after I'd bought my house, the burning need to stay and lick my wounds morphed into an endless round of boredom and sameness. All I could see before me was the excruciating parade of endless nights/days/months turning into decades, into centuries. I'd been trained for and enjoyed action and all I had was inaction and ennui. Just last week, I found myself whiling away the hours pacing my own floors. Where does one go when the world stops being discoverable? When Paris, Rome, even Nairobi all have the same air of ... sameness? Another city, another few decades. I'd felt the change coming on, didn't admit it. Instead, I'd played the ostrich and look where it got me.

I looked at my brother. “I stayed in Rio Seco to get away from things, Tucker. It was easier then. I didn't have to think. All I had to do was to keep Marty out of trouble, and I couldn't even do that right. Damn it, I've pretty much fucked up what little life I do have at this point. I don't know what the hell to do."

Tucker handed me the phone then walked outside to the porch, closing the front door behind him. I knew I'd be fooling myself if I imagined he couldn't overhear. His hearing was better than mine, but at least he was pretending.

"Dear child, I knew you'd be calling soon.” The honeyed voice was calculated to sooth and relax. It had just the opposite effect on me. I paced while I talked.

"Hello, Gigi.” I tried to keep my voice steady and not let her hear my emotions.

Great-great-grandmother was too much of a mouthful, and I couldn't quite bring myself to use her given name of Minerva. Too personal. I'd started calling her Gigi as a child. “Grandmother” with two G's in front. For whatever reason, she'd thought it was cute. The name caught on and now even my brothers used it.

Her silvery laugh chimed in my ear. It didn't make me feel any better disposed toward her. I'd heard her laugh in the exact same manner after a hunt while she was blooding her kill. Not exactly calculated to put one at ease.

"You've come to your senses, then?” she asked. I could imagine her sitting in her opulently-appointed sitting room decorated like some Arabian Nights fantasy. She loved her little luxuries. That was one of the reasons she never hunted now. Too much dirt and sleeping out in the woods for her taste. It was easier to have dinner brought in, even though she did prefer it still kicking. There were plenty of flunkies to cater to her whims.

"Come to my senses about what?"

I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.

"Coming home, of course,” she said with the same infuriating self-righteous cheeriness that I hated so much. Some people called it “perky.” I just called it annoying, especially in a woman who was my senior by more years than I cared to think about.

"Gigi, I don't have any clue what you're talking about,” I said, being deliberately obtuse. I went back to the living room and curled up in the big armchair.

"Keira, I'm your great-great-grandmother and the chief of our clan. I know what's happening with all my people. I know you're changing. I can feel your power even from here."

She sounded pleased, but she was also putting on her chieftain voice. The second-grade schoolteacher mixed with head librarian and Mother Superior all in one. I could even feel myself sitting straighter.

"Okay, so you know,” I said. “And you know that I know, considering that you sent my brother here to spy on me. But let's not change the subject."

"Subject?"

"Gigi, I called to find out what's going on."

"What are you talking about, dear child?"

"Don't play games,” I said. “Since you're so damned all-seeing, then you're bound to know that Marty's dead—murdered.” As I spoke, I suddenly realized something. There didn't need to be a vendetta. I blurted out the words without thinking."Did you do it?"

The silence on the other side was thick, nearly tangible. Not even a breath or a sigh escaped my ever-so-perfect granny. She was either trying to figure out an excuse, or a valid reaction.

"Do you really think I'd have him killed, Keira?"

Not the right answer. In fact, it wasn't an answer at all, only another question to deflect the truth. Damn her.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm stupid, Gigi,” I said. “You're not exactly a candidate for grandmother of the year. I know how you felt about Marty. Did you have him killed?"

I was insistent. I wasn't going to hang up until she told me the facts.

"Do you really care?” She said it with the bald certainty that only our clan chief could have. Marty had been human and, therefore, not worth the paper his birth certificate had been printed on. A degradation and shame to our people who was better off dead.

"Yeah, Gigi, damn it. I care.” I did. “Besides, you were the one who assigned him to me."

Gigi's light laughter danced over the phone. “You haven't changed a bit, Keira.” There were those words again.

"Neither have you,” I said. “You still haven't answered my question, Gigi. There were fang marks on Marty's neck. Which one of your muscle-men was it?"

She laughed even harder this time. “Darling child, do you really think that if one of my enforcers had been sent out there that they'd leave evidence so tacky as fang marks? Besides, why would I bother? You know the drill. You were trained in our ways. He was mortal. Eventually, we'd all just outlive him.” I could picture the easy shrug and her dismissal of the topic.

She had a point. We almost never bothered with humans. Why kill something you'll just outlive? Survival is, after all, the best revenge. Gigi may tease, may skirt the issue, but deep down, I knew she really didn't care enough about Marty to inconvenience herself by having him killed. As long as he didn't affect the clan. As far as I knew, he hadn't.

"I take it you're investigating?” Now she was being sarcastic.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't,” I said, “not really, just poking around a little. Then it occurred to me that there might be some sort of feud going on and Marty got caught up in it. Tucker didn't know anything so I called you."

"Keira, do you really think I'd forget to tell you if some family disagreement involved you or the human?"

"No, Gigi,” I said, realizing she was telling the truth. “I'm just tired of this whole thing and punchy with no sleep."

"Hmmph. I imagine you're planning on finding out who killed him, then."

"I suppose so."

"Fang marks, you said?” The question was tossed out, casually.

"Two,” I answered.

"Throat intact?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't sound like one of ours,” she said. Another point to Gigi, since our brand of hunter usually ended up tearing out the throat of the victim, not just sinking fang and blooding the kill, but anything was possible, including killing him and making it look like a vampire kill. Why on earth had I not just stopped to think and avoided this call altogether? The only excuse I had for myself was that I was overly tired and not at my best.

"Any visitors lately?” she asked, meaning non-clan paranormals.

"No. At least none that I know of, but maybe."

"Maybe?"

I sighed. I told her about the visions and the dead cat. I could almost see the pretty frown on my granny's face as she pondered what I'd said. Gigi could pass for my sister—my younger one. It was her dainty size and delicate features that did it. I was far from dainty and delicate.

No matter that she was one of the most ruthless predators I'd ever known. Practical to a fault, her only raison d'?tre was the well-being of the clan.

"Use Tucker. He's a tracker, better than you. He'll help. Try not to get yourself killed.” She hung up without further explanation.

My brother was back in the house the second I put the phone down.

"She told me to use you. You're a better tracker than I am."

"She's right,” he said. “Centuries of practice.” His grin took the sting away. “Tell you what, Sis, why don't I spend some time roaming. Sniff around. See what I can find out? You can concentrate on the front end of things."

He meant the sniff part literally.

"Sounds like a plan, big brother,” I said. “Let's keep in touch. If I hear anything from Carlton, I'll let you know."

"Or if you find out something from Mr. Walker.” He was teasing.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm not giving you details of my date, though."

His laughter echoed as he walked back out and down the porch steps. Brothers. Sometimes, I wondered if they were worth all the trouble.

I pulled the Rover up, hiding behind a stand of live oaks just in front of the entrance to the strip center. I'd finally managed to relax a little after Tucker left, whiling away the night by burying myself in a good book. I'd fallen deeply asleep sometime before dawn, waking up sometime after four in the afternoon. At least, I hadn't had any nightmares, or any phone calls either, at least none that counted.

Carlton left a phone message about eight in the morning. Bexar County had picked up Marty's remains. He expected autopsy results in a few days. Odd word, remains. Made me think of scattered papers and bits of trash.

His message said he was headed for Houston to serve a subpoena for the bank records and one of his deputies was on the trail of the still missing Albrights. He'd be in touch. Sounded like he had it all under control. Bully for our man in brown.

Tucker hadn't called, but I didn't expect him to until later. He'd probably spent the night wandering the countryside, snooping around. Now that it was daytime, he'd sleep, hidden from prying eyes. I wasn't worried. I knew he'd done this more times than I could count.