| |
If someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be helping in a revolt against the Blood Tribe, I would have said they were out of their goddamn minds.
But he was helping, and damned if it wasn’t going better than it had a right to. Doyle had spent decades using cloak-and-dagger strategies to keep himself balanced meeting needs of both the Tribe and a handful of rebel factions, and now those strategies might keep him alive. For a few more days, anyway. Once the Big Brawl happened, either the world would fall apart under Charles thumb, or... or whatever Armageddon was. He didn’t know for sure, but it didn’t sound good.
Burner phones. Clandestine websites. Meetings with people using names that were clearly aliases. Doyle would locate them, Bully would pop them to their new location, and DB would use his persuasion skills —and sometimes a little pyrotechnics—to convince people that this battle was one they didn’t dare spend on the sidelines. Combining Doyle’s covert skills in pinpointing rare and hidden people with Bully’s magical relocation talents and the verbal skills of the silver-tongued fire-breather, they were gaining momentum rapidly. In very little time, they’d already recruited nearly twenty fighters to their cause, and they’d only begun.
“What do you say? Are you in? We could really use your skills.” DB held a ball of fire on his fingertips, and the group of... well, Doyle wasn’t sure what they were. Demons, maybe. Or ghouls. One of his old friends had once called them jinn, whatever the hell that meant. Maybe they were right. The humanoid creatures’ reddish skin, sharp features, and black irises had always unnerved him, but they’d always been unsettlingly proficient at locating illegal items he needed to procure over the years—especially drugs.
The unusual beings exchanged a conversation with furtive glances, their brows furrowed, their dark eyes squinted in scrutiny.
“We’ll come,” the stoutest of them said. Stout for these beings only made him about as wide around as a water pitcher, but for all of their slenderness, they were surprisingly wiry and strong. Their build and fluid, confident movements sometimes reminded Doyle of Bruce Lee.
“Excellent,” DB said with a smile. “How soon can you be ready?”
“Now,” the stound one said with a carefree cock of his head. “We can acquire whatever we might need when we get there.”
I’ll bet you can, Doyle thought.
––––––––
AS THEY APPROACHED the concrete staircase attached to the three-story red brick townhouse, Vivian checked the address on the napkin in her hand. A somber expression crossed her face. The conversation she’d had with Harmony as they strolled the D.C. streets had changed her demeanor from one of hope to that of uncertainty.
“This is it,” she said. “This is the address. If he was right, this is Blu’s boyfriend’s place.”
Harmony’s face was stolid. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” she said. “Knowing him, I expected something more...”
“Flamboyant?” Michael ventured. Vivian managed a giggle, and a smile crossed his face. Vivian was not one to giggle often, and the sound was the first sign that maybe she was hopeful, which brought to mind why she’d been despondent. His smile faded.
“Man, this is weird,” he said. “How can you know it wasn’t Blu?”
“He felt absent,” Harmony said. “If he was Blu, I’d have sensed it. Vampires have an aura—an undead one, but an aura. He was blank.”
Michael turned to Vivian.
“What?” she said. “I didn’t feel him out. It was Blu, for Pete’s sake. At least I thought—”
He held up his hand, pressed the doorbell, and his smile reappeared as the chimes sang out the melody to the first lines of a Gloria Gaynor tune.
“That’s a good sign,” Vivian said with another giggle. She tried and failed to suppress her smile as Blu opened the wide wooden door to the townhouse. His eyes searched for the source of her mirth, then realized what must have caused it. He chuckled as he shambled onto the steps to take her in a hug. Gone was the black leather from before; his muscular, barrel frame was housed in a teal t-shirt and baggy jeans.
“Michael! Vivian! Damn, it’s good to see you,” he said.
Michael took in Blu’s wardrobe, the interior of his home, his arms embracing Vivian as if he hadn’t seen her for weeks. Harmony had been right. “Good to see you,” he said.
“I haven’t been able to find my phone since my family got attacked last night at our other house,” Blu replied apologetically. “With all the hubbub from the fight, there’s a good chance it’s lost for good. I’ll have to get another one. That pisses me off. You’re lucky you caught me. The only reason I’m here now is to get my shit and split. I’m sorry. I must look like hell. If I’d have known you were going to come...” he let the sentence trail off, unfinished. He caught the knowing looks shared back and forth. “What’s going on?” he said, pushing it all together into one breathless sentence.
Vivian turned to Michael. “Eoghan.”
“What the fuck is an Eoghan?” Blu asked.
“The new Balance,” Michael replied.
“There’s a new Balance?” Blu said. “Who told you this?”
“You did. At Brickskeller, an hour ago. Vivian called your phone, and you told us to meet you there. Only it wasn’t you.”
“The Balance has my phone?”
Vivian burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Blu queried.
“The way you look at life,” Vivian said. “One of the leading forces in the universe impersonates you, and you’re worried about them stealing your cell phone.”
After shooting a glance up and down the street, Blu smirked and waved them inside. With a sense of odd déjà vu, Michael offered introductions to Crystal and Harmony.
Blu shut the door and led them under a winding iron staircase into a comfortable living room with wood floors so shiny they nearly reflected. Vintage movie posters flanked a wide fireplace on an exposed brick wall. Overstuffed seating was arranged around a large entertainment center with a plasma television. A first-aid kit lay open on the coffee table, and Vivian noted a lump protruding near his shoulder blades that she suspected Blu had bandaged under his shirt.
After moving a blue chenille blanket out of the way so his guests could sit, Blu flopped onto the armchair, elbows on his knees. The others took seats around the coffee table.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Blu’s large, brown eyes reflected such sensitivity, Vivian wondered how she’d ever mistaken the Balance for this deep-feeling vampire.
“First,” Michael said, “I want to make sure all of our facts are straight. Is it true the Tribe killed your entire family but you?”
Blu nodded somberly. “All the vampires, and a few of our human friends, too. Everyone there last night. Brady—he got away. He wasn’t here when it happened.”
Michael then divulged their tale, starting from when they left Savannah and concluding at their exit from Brickskeller. Blu took it all in without interrupting.
“Do you think you need me?” he asked when Michael finished.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence the Balance impersonated you and gave us your address,” Vivian said.
“Yes, but...” he dropped his head a moment as he put his hands on his thighs. “Whose side do you think the Balance is trying to favor by suggesting that I come with? I’m injured. I’ll heal quick enough, but do you think maybe you’d be better off without me?”
“No,” Michael said. “Look at it this way: Charles is heading to South Carolina to get Amara to improve his chances at affecting the balance of good and evil in favor of evil. He’s killed off hundreds, maybe thousands, of vampires who’ve refused to join the Tribe. If the Balance sent us to you, it’s likely to improve the odds for good.”
“I hope you’re right,” Blu said. “I don’t have any clue what I can do to help, but if the Balance told you I’m needed, I’ll go.” He looked at his house as if surveying it for the last time. “We made it through the last war, all right. And while this one doesn’t seem to be going in my favor, at least I’m still alive. I hope my luck holds out.” He rose. “Let me get my bag and turn stuff off, OK? Brady left town yesterday morning and...” his eyes looked down as he recalled the last night’s unpleasantness. “Well, he hates it when I waste electricity. At least he made it out alive. I’ll be right back.”
Michael and Vivian nodded, and Blu headed upstairs.
Michael asked, “What’s wrong?”
“He knows something, Michael,” she said. “Maybe he can’t touch the Source the way I can, but he knows that something bad might be about to happen to him, or someone close to us.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t feel it. He’s the one who senses it, and I sense it through him.”
“Harmony?” Michael asked.
Crystal interrupted, her mouth a flat line. “Don’t bother. She won’t say, even if she knows.”
“I can at least say this time that I don’t know,” Harmony said, “but also that I’m not free to speculate.”
Michael’s mouth turned down at the corners. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Turning to Vivian, he said, “Do you think he’s—”
“Lightning fast and every bit as brilliant,” Blu said, reappearing at the landing with an olive-green overnight bag in his hand. He’d topped his wardrobe with a black cap with interlocked, rainbow-colored rings. “‘Course, it helps that I was mostly packed when you got here. I’m ready when you are.”
Vivian waited to see if Michael wanted to finish his sentence. He didn’t. He rose and then offered his hand to Vivian to help her stand. As she reached her full height, Vivian wavered on her feet, and she gripped Michael’s hand tightly. Harmony and Crystal rose as well.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Her free hand left her temple and motioned for quiet. Crystal and Harmony exchanged a fleeting, confused look. Vivian winced, and Michael cringed as her hand—centuries stronger than his—crushed his fingers. He swallowed a yelp.
Vivian swallowed. Her lips tight, she managed the word, “Lukas.”
Michael forgot the pain in his hand. “Lukas? What about him?”
Vivian’s eyes opened. Noting the contorted shape she’d forced his hand into, she loosened her grip. “I don’t know. I think—I think he tried to reach me? It didn’t come through well.”
“What did you get?” Harmony asked. “Any impressions?”
Vivian shook her head, frustrated. “A plane. Megan. Fear. Pain. He’s—he’s hurting.”
“We knew most of that,” Crystal said. “It’s why I can’t cleave us to him—you said he’s on the move.”
Saddened, Vivian put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Michael. I wish there was more. It’s gone.”
He wished so, too, but knew it wasn’t time to say so. He rubbed the back of her neck and drew her close, not sure who needed more consoling. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”
