The reluctant renfield, p.2
The Reluctant Renfield, page 2
Which was just weird. Hello, vampires? Not my kind of vampire, but the blood-drinking variety. If they could snack on other people’s blood, then how was using blood in magic worse? Probably because it was adjacent to alchemy and alchemy had only recently transitioned from forbidden to merely unpalatable.
Whatevs. Far be it from me to attempt to untangle the weird traditions of the archaic world of the enhanced.
“It’s for Tangwystl,” I finally replied. Because really, what more explanation was needed?
“Ms. Andrews, you cannot simply parcel out your blood willy-nilly without regard for the consequences.”
“First, there haven’t been any consequences. Not yet, unfortunately. And second—” I paused to give him a hard look. “How long have you known?”
His cool, silvery assassin gaze was all I got in reply. At least his eyes weren’t glowing.
“Exactly. You’ve known for a while now, and you haven’t said a word. You’re hoping it will work, because Tangwystl is a valuable asset.”
Actually, that last part wasn’t fair. Tangwystl had a personality. She was a person in her own right, even if she didn’t have legs or opposable thumbs. And Cornelius wasn’t a complete user. He probably wanted her back for the same reasons I did…but also because she was a solid asset.
“The accidental part?” Alex prompted.
Right. It seemed a little hokey in retrospect, but it really had been an accident. The first time. Only that first time.
“I was cleaning her blade.” My lips twisted, and I avoided Cornelius’s gaze as I continued. “With Santa’s magic hanky.”
Cornelius made a sound that mimicked that of a deeply displeased hound. I should know. Boone’s growl was scary when he occasionally dusted it off.
Whatever. As if experimenting with Santa magic was dangerous. It was Santa’s magic. Healing magic. Basically, no bad could come of it. That was my story, and I was sticking to it, especially if there was a chance his hanky could help Tangwystl return from the dead.
“You were cleaning Tangwystl’s blade and accidentally cut yourself, and…?” Alex didn’t seem to have any qualms ignoring the unpleasant sounds emanating from his boss, so I did the same.
“A drop fell on her blade and it was gone, absorbed into the blade. And since nonmagical, not-living metal doesn’t do that, and Tangwystl used to seal my wounds and basically drink any blood she came into contact with—” I stopped before mentioning the part where she found my blood extra tasty, because that was a little weird, right?
“You thought maybe she wasn’t completely gone,” Alex guessed.
“I hoped. I’m still hoping. Where’s the harm? It’s not like she hasn’t already had more than a few sips of my blood.” Although, to be fair, she’d previously had nothing like what I was giving her now, given the fact I wasn’t dripping droplets but slicing the underside of my forearm on a daily basis. But they didn’t need to know that.
It was clear from Cornelius’s expression that he was about to lower the hammer on me. Or read me the riot act in his too-quiet, faintly British-sounding, angry voice.
Alex stopped him with a raised eyebrow and simple logic. “Not only is she right, but you started this. You’re the one who brought the sword to her when she was still laid up in bed recovering.”
Oh, burn. I’d forgotten about that. So not only had Cornelius known about my blood sacrifices for a while now, he’d also been the one to initially give me hope that Tangwystl was still in there, beneath the dull metal and silence.
“My ‘blood sacrifices’ to Tangwystl have nothing to do with Bitsy and her neighbor, and you know it.” I barely refrained from adding, “Shame on you,” but that wouldn’t have gone over well, and I was getting much better at filtering out the most detrimental of my internal thoughts.
As it was, he scowled at my assertion.
I swallowed a sigh. Not like I expected him to smile and agree, but could he at least nod? Or not scowl?
I wasn’t getting in trouble over my questionable, blood-sacrificing choices. Not when Cornelius practically put me up to it and wanted Tangwystl back just like me. At this point, I knew it, Alex knew it, and Cornelius couldn’t pretend otherwise.
It was also clear that Tangwystl’s blood-sipping sessions had nothing to do with the Bitsy problem. Or, rather, Bitsy’s neighbor’s problem.
Which might not even be a problem. Heck, it sounded like there wasn’t even a body. And going “missing” when you were an adult was problematic on several levels. That Vegas theory sounded good to me.
Since I was starting to feel like a naughty kid in the principal’s office, I decided it was time to end this back-and-forth of accusations and withheld information. Cornelius was all about the cat and mouse games and Alex considered negotiation a fact of life, but I didn’t have their patience.
“Why am I here? You want to confine me to my house while you guys investigate? Keep me away from potentially influencing Bitsy?” I didn’t roll my eyes, but only just. Because please. We might have been connected at one time, but that was months ago. Also, my subconscious wasn’t bloodthirsty or violent. Maybe before I’d been turned, but vampire me was a peach. A pure ray of sunshine. Minus the occasional desire to smack idiots, I was only violent when it came to defending myself and others.
If my subconscious was sending telepathic signals—which it wasn’t—those nonexistent signals would involve some excellent television recommendations, cravings for chewable food, and maybe (probably) some R-rated thoughts about Alex.
I waited for someone to answer my question, hesitant though they might be.
Alex deferred to Cornelius, who frowned as if he didn’t approve of the words he was about to release into the world. “I want you to work with Bitsy.”
I blinked.
“We’ve been avoiding the question of Bitsy ever since she consumed your blood.” Alex turned in his seat so he was facing me fully. “Keeping the two of you apart was nothing more than a delay tactic. Whether your influence over her is a current problem, a temporary effect, or a nonissue will remain unanswered unless we get you two together again.”
“So chuck that Mento in the Coke bottle and stand back? That’s your solution? Put us in proximity, and watch us explode.”
At least I was the Mento in this situation. Coke was gross.
Cornelius sighed. He acted like I was some kind of drama queen. So not true.
This was my life. The enhanced hated weakness. I was a mutation, broken by any sort of definition that mattered to the magical. If it turned out that I really could control other vampires by dosing them with my blood and it leaked out into the general enhanced populace, my life would get a whole lot more complicated.
Without Alex, Wembley, Star, and my other connections, that information would likely make me very dead. The real kind of dead, not just undead.
“No one expects an explosion.” Alex gave me a tolerant look, one that I probably deserved because he would hardly condone placing me in a dangerous situation, and he was clearly in on this plan. “We just need to test whether you have obvious control over her actions.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then, Ms. Andrews, you, Alex, and Bitsy will work together to find her missing neighbor.”
Now it was my turn to sigh. Because blech. I understood the subtext. Bitsy and I would be under a microscope the whole time.
Did that eye twitch mean that I was sending her subtle signals?
Did she crave that veggie shake because I was craving a veggie shake?
Was she dreaming of stabbing, stealing, and burying the body of the person who lived next to her because I was sending her telepathic commands in my sleep?
Obviously I made up that stabbing garbage, because no one was actually telling me what kind of dreams she was having. Oh, and the neighbor hadn’t been stabbed, stolen, and buried. He was likely in Vegas. Or on a beach.
Any way I looked at it, working with Bitsy seemed like a nightmare. Also, what if I was exerting some subtle influence? What the shoot-man-heck were they gonna do about it? What was Cornelius going to do to me?
But I didn’t really have a choice.
Also, I wasn’t ashamed to admit to myself that I had FOMO. I wanted to work this missing person case, even if it turned out to be nothing more than a misunderstanding.
And it would be good to finally resolve whether or not I had my very own Renfield running around. “Do we even know for sure if this neighbor person is actually missing?”
Cornelius flipped open a folder on his desk. “Victor Robert Smalls was reported missing by his assistant this morning shortly after we heard from Bitsy.”
That would have been helpful information to have fifteen minutes ago when he first told me that Bitsy thought her neighbor was missing.
“She knocked on his door this morning and got no answer,” Alex explained. “Then she contacted Cornelius.”
“Because he wasn’t home and because of these dreams she’s been having.”
Cornelius inclined his head in agreement then picked up his phone.
Less than an awkward minute later, the woman herself walked through the door.
3
QUEEN OF THE MEAN GIRLS
Bitsy looked…not great.
The last time I’d seen her, she’d looked pretty good. Fit, tan. A normalish twenty-something if you looked past her blank expression, the archaic symbol burned into her skin, and the fangs.
Okay, maybe normal was the wrong word. But whatever she’d looked like before, it hadn’t been like this.
Instead of trim and fit, she looked fragile. She was still lightly tanned, but her skin had an unhealthy cast, like she wasn’t eating well or getting the proper nutrients. Ewww. I didn’t really want to think about what constituted the proper nutrients and diet for blood-sucking vampire Bitsy.
Too late. Now I was thinking about it. Ick.
She had dark circles that I hadn’t noticed at first glance, because I’d been intent on avoiding the scorching ferocity of her gaze. All that anger was pointed at little ol’ me, as if I’d done what I’d done to her on purpose.
She didn’t look like a person who recognized I was responsible for saving her life. Just the person who was responsible for the fallout of saving her life.
And there it was: guilt.
She’d attacked me and sucked on my blood. I hadn’t thought, “Hey, let’s give this really sick vampire my blood.” Definitely did not think that, because vampire blood was supposed to be poisonous to other vamps.
I hadn’t fed her my blood; she’d stolen it.
I shouldn’t feel guilty.
And yet I did.
It was my messed-up, mutated blood that had done that to her. The haggard appearance, the bitterness, the anger, the dreams—they were all on me and my not-quite-right vamp blood.
Guilt was uncomfortable, even the variety that was mostly undeserved and only a smidge deserved, so I deflected.
“Bark like a dog.” I met her fiery gaze as I gave the command.
Oh, wow. That metaphorical fire in her eyes had morphed into a real, actual glow. A bit reddish, a little orangey. Yep, she was level-ten, pissed-off-vampire angry.
I stared back while trying to shake off the discomfort those glowing orbs were eliciting. Then I waited.
They wanted to know if she was under my nefarious control. They were about to get their answer.
She narrowed her eyes and said nothing. She most certainly did not make any sound remotely resembling a bark. She did look even more angry than she had before.
I pointed at her, but directed my comments to He Who Had Bad Ideas but Also Sometimes Paid Me. “Done. Question answered. Not susceptible to my every whim. But I’d like to reassert my objections to working with her.”
Cornelius’s expression said he wasn’t having any of my nonsense. He really was channeling his inner principal. Maybe in between lawyering gigs and running the law enforcement branch of the Society, he’d snuck in a few years as a high school administrator in a small, out-of-the-way school district.
“You think I want to be here?” Bitsy’s voice sounded hoarse. Like she’d smoked too many ciggies or was coming down with a cold.
Vampires didn’t get colds.
And no way she was smoking cigarettes. Those things were gross, and she didn’t stink of smoke.
I looked closer at her. Vampires didn’t get colds or smoke cigarettes, but they also didn’t run around looking haggard and tired.
Most vamps, myself not included, didn’t need a lot of sleep.
Interesting, because Bitsy had the look of a woman who was in desperate need of a good night’s rest.
And then the guilt was back again.
I frowned at her. “I don’t want to work with you, because frankly, I prefer not to be scrutinized like a lab rat by my boyfriend, my boss, and miscellaneous emergency responders.”
“Suck it up. There’s a man missing and we need to find him. The longer we sit here, the better the chance something bad could be happening to him.”
Whoa. That sounded like concern.
Genuine, I-care-about-someone-not-me concern.
How very unvampirelike of her.
There weren’t many of us who made it through the transformation with empathy, which meant that vampires tended to be egocentric sociopaths.
I’d have included Bitsy in that group before today. Maybe I still should. She might yet reveal an angle that reeked of self-interest.
I turned my attention to Cornelius. What did he know that he wasn’t saying?
There were only two chairs for guests. Bitsy had opted to stand between the exit and Alex’s chair.
A heavy sigh came from that direction. “You get a call, Mallory. From Cornelius. He tells you that Victor’s body was discovered. We need to try to find him before that happens, just in case he’s still alive.”
She looked exhausted, resigned. Done. She looked just completely done.
What she didn’t look like was a person who was lying or on the cusp of revealing a practical joke. Which meant…
“You can see the future.” The words came out about the same time they appeared in my head.
But nope. No. Precognition was rare. And my precognitive skills didn’t sound anything like what she was describing. I got a vibe. A push to do, or not do, a certain thing. I didn’t get detailed visions of the future.
“No, I can’t see the future. I can see your future. Brief scenes, usually nothing more than a few seconds. Inconsequential bull and sickly sweet drivel. Until now.” Her eyes glowed again. “You need to wrap your head around it, because it’s real. Pretty sure what I see isn’t very far into the future. Twenty-four hours, maybe less. Which means that we don’t have time for this. You need to wrap your ditzy, underutilized brain around the idea so we can try and save a man’s life.”
“Watch your mouth.” Alex barely moved in his chair. He didn’t need to. He looked subtly more lethal and his tone conveyed a clear warning.
“You…” Her face twisted as she looked at Alex. “Just, no. I’ve had enough of you in my head.” She turned to Cornelius. “You’re sure he needs to be involved?”
Cornelius responded only with a single raised eyebrow, which elicited a groan from Bitsy.
“Can we please leave? It’s a half-hour drive to my neighborhood. We can talk on the way.” Bitsy frowned. “Did you bring the dog? We should have the dog.”
The dog. Nice. She knew I had a dog, specifically what kind of work he did for the Society, and yet didn’t know Boone’s name.
She was exactly the self-involved, uncaring person I’d thought her to be. She’d been willingly turned, had planned to unethically and illegally turn others, and now was concocting some cockamamie story about visions that she expected us to believe.
I suspected Bitsy hadn’t been a nice person even before her transformation into a blood-sucking parasite with fried synapses and that she’d turned into an attention-seeking fantasist in her isolation.
“Do you believe this vision garbage?” I asked Alex. He was notoriously skeptical of precognition.
“Cornelius verified some of the details she’s seen in her dreams. With me.”
Holy wow. That was a yes. And also, what exactly had Alex verified? What was Bitsy claiming to see in her supposed predictive dreams?
I ignored Bitsy’s restless murmurings, because I wasn’t sold on her ability and correspondingly that this Victor guy was in trouble. Not yet. “So Wembley’s full of it when he supports precog as a talent, but her you believe?”
The implication being that all those times I’d had a sense that I should make a specific choice or do a certain thing, all instances that Wembley believed were expressions of my developing talent for precognition, were in my (and Wembley’s) head, but Bitsy’s malarky was magic.
“Your precog wasn’t verifiable. Not until now.”
I frowned, because, nope, I didn’t get it.
“Seriously?” Bitsy had the look of a person about to strangle another person. “You must be amazing in the sack, because you are seriously dense.”
Bitsy’s mean girl attitude was grating on my last nerve. But I wouldn’t rise to that bait—not about my sex life or my intelligence.
Cornelius cleared his throat. “We’ll all agree that devolving to personal insults is not helpful.”
Not sure that comment landed with its intended target, because Bitsy rolled her eyes and headed for the door. “Where do you think this crap I’m dealing with came from, Mallory? I didn’t have precog dreams before I drank your blood. Not about anyone, and most certainly not featuring you of all people.” She muttered a profanity. “I didn’t even need to sleep until your stupid blood messed me up.”
Requiring sleep—which she hadn’t previously as a vamp—and then to have that sleep interrupted with an ongoing informercial of my life… Yeah, I could see how she might hate me. I’d probably be pretty peeved, and I was much chiller than queen of the mean girls.
“I’ve provided Bradley with the basics of Victor Smalls’s case,” Cornelius said. “He’s working up background for you.”
