Ashes to Ashes-Blood Ties 3 (27 page)

Still, I didn't freeze up or break down once I was back in this room that had terrified and excited me before. It looked different, for one thing. The walls were still white, the carpet still ivory, but she'd hung posters up, and it appeared she'd raided Pier One Imports of every remotely gothic wall sconce they carried. The room was way too much of a fire

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hazard for hyperflammable little me, but I supposed if she wanted to sleep in a death trap, I couldn't complain.

Dahlia lay on the bed, dressed as though she'd been ready to go out for the night. On
the
bedside table, in front of a metal tree sculpture
with
twisting branches, from which hung a dozen or more necklaces, spiked collars and chokers, was an empty glass with bloody residue. I lifted it and sniffed. Whatever drug Clarence had used to render her unconscious, he'd wisely picked one that didn't leave a scent. From her shallow breathing, I could tell Dahlia truly was asleep. So I had her where I wanted her, I guessed. But what the hell was I going to do with her?

I paced the room, from the fireplace to the writing desk. I thought of Cyrus sitting there the night I'd come to him. Dahlia's laptop was there now, but the gold-plated desk set was, too, albeit covered in a layer of dust. I pulled out the letter opener and wiped the blade on my shirt, not entirely sure what I intended until my gaze rested on the empty glass at the bedside.

If I had seen Cyrus's and Nathan's pasts in their blood, could I see Dahlia's? Or did it only work if there was a blood tie? I supposed there was no time like the present to find out. I wouldn't drink directly from her. It would be too weird, considering she was the first person I'd ever fed from, and now we were enemies. Plus, things hadn't gone so well for me that first time. I wanted to escape this with as few stab wounds as possible. I wiped the inside of the glass with my shirttail, hoping the residue of the drug wouldn't knock me out and I rolled back the rubber bracelets on Dahlia's wrist. I took a deep breath, dosed my eyes, and stabbed the point of the letter opener into her arm. Blood squirted out, and I wiped some from my face, gagging, before I managed to direct the flow into the cup. When It was full enough for a few swallows, I set it aside. I ripped a strip from the sheets and wrapped it tight around her wound. Lifting the cup to my lips, I caught the scent of her blood. It had changed, just as she had, from human to vampire, but beneath the stale, dead scent of vampire blood I caught the smell I remembered from the night I'd fed off her. You never forget your first time.

I swallowed the blood quickly, concentrating on the taste of it, willing myself to access the cellular memory it might carry. The room spun as if I were drunk, and I slid to the floor, my head lolling back to rest on the mattress. Slowly, my vision blurred and a rushing sound built in my ears. Dahlia's memories seeped into my consciousness without any goading from me.

Was this something that happened with all vampires? Human blood didn't affect me this way, at least not often. It had happened when I'd fed from Ziggy, but he'd been trying to communicate with me then, I think. Was Dahlia conscious enough to manipulate my brain now?

I became too absorbed in the pictures flashing through my mind to think further on it. Dahlia's thoughts were concerned mainly with Cyrus, a fact that didn't surprise me. A noisy club packed with writhing bodies—the club where I'd met Dahlia?—seethed around me; the monotonous pounding of industrial music filled my ears. The crowd parted like something out of a movie—perhaps Dahlia embellished this part—and she caught sight of Cyrus across the crowded room.

This was the first time she'd seen him. And she'd wanted him at first sight She approached him purposefully, and when he noticed her, I recognized his expression. Hunger, and

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deviant lust. He'd wanted her, too.

It made me oddly jealous to know he'd felt this way for her. I wanted to believe she'd been more passionate for him than he had been for her, but there was no mistaking his intent as he rose, took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

"I'm Cyrus. And you are?" he asked, and she had to strain to hear him, as he didn't raise his voice over the loud music.

"Going home with you tonight," she responded boldly. Then I was rushing forward in time, to the car where Dahlia sat in Cyrus's lap as he tugged her head back by her hair and bit her neck, not to feed but to arouse. Then to his room, where he pinned her to the bed and showed her his true face. She feared him, but she didn't show it, and he liked that. That's why he didn't kill her like the other girls. That, and when he held her down and fed from her while he fucked her, she invaded his mind and gave him a sense of her true power. If there was one thing Cyrus hadn't been able to resist in his former life, it was the promise of power.

I lost track of time as I watched her short life unfold from that moment. It was like watching a movie on a broken projector. Sometimes the images moved too fast to comprehend, sometimes so slowly it seemed they would burn up. Still, I wasn't frightened. I felt I could pull myself out at any time, though I couldn't control what I saw or heard. Then I saw Max, standing in the parlor of what used to be my room, and I jolted. This must have been the night we came to kill Cyrus. I knew he'd been delivered to Dahlia's room. But why would she remember him? That had been months ago, and as I'd witnessed, Dahlia was fairly Cyrus-centered then.

The guards who'd wrestled him up the stairs pushed him through the door and slammed it behind him. In true Max fashion, he flashed a huge grin despite the fact his arms were bound behind his back and he was completely vulnerable at the hands of his enemy. Dahlia didn't waste much time looking at him. She turned back to whatever she had been doing, which involved a mortar and pestle, a Bunsen burner and a beaker, and a huge, leather-bound book with handwritten lines. She took a carafe of blood that rested to her right and poured a glass, then removed the beaker from the heat and mixed the contents with the blood. The scent of burned cloves stung my nostrils, and my stomach clenched with dread.

With little ceremony, Dahlia picked up the knife—an athame, as she thought of it—and the blood, and approached Max. She cut the plastic tie holding his hands and gave him the glass. "Drink."

"Yeah, honey, I wasn't really looking forward to turning into a toad tonight." He tried to hand the glass back. "I mean, I'm sure you're a wonderful cook and all—"

"Helping the—" Max began, only to be cut off again by Dahlia.

"Drink it or I'll kill you." She went back to her book, but I couldn't read the writing before she snapped it shut. "I was saving it for Cyrus, but he doesn't seem to have any interest in helping the cause."

"Drink it or I'll kill you." She turned to watch him finish off the glass, then strode forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He resisted her a little, but she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Now fuck me."

Max obliged with relish, and Dahlia was no slouch, either. We were going to have to have a serious talk when I saw him next. He'd never mentioned any of this to Nathan or me.

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Normally, I wouldn't care to hear details of Max's sex life, but Dahlia was the enemy. He should have at least mentioned that he'd had sex with her.

When they were done—her memory skipped mercifully ahead—she ordered him to get dressed, and pushed him toward the door. The rushing sound started in my ears again, and I was pulled out of the scene. I was back in Dahlia's room, sprawled on the floor, with a wicked hangover.

"See everything you needed to?"

The voice startled me enough that I sat up despite the splitting pain in my skull. Dahlia glared at me, her eyes accusing slits, but she did not move. "Get out."

"Tell me what 'the cause' is, and I'll consider it." I reached into my back pocket for the stake I'd brought for protection.

"I'm not going to tell you anything." Even her voice sounded tired. "I want you out."

"Are you going to make me leave? You don't seem to be in any position to fight me off." I climbed on the bed and pressed the point of the stake into her chest, making sure she could feel it through her clothes. "What's 'the cause' ?" Her eyes narrowed. "Fuck you!"

"You leave me very little choice." I raised the stake as though I was going to plunge it through her heart, hoping she would change her mind and tell me. I should have known better. She just glared at me while I hesitated with the stake in midair. Then I felt something at my back, and turned to see Clarence there, brandishing a crossbow.

I dropped the stake. "Clarence, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, miss. But I can't let you kill her." He kept the bow leveled at my chest to show he was serious. "I think it's about time you leave now."

"Wait, wait." I shook my head. "She knows you drugged her. She knows you worked with me. She'll kill you once it wears off."

Dahlia laughed behind me. "Damn straight I will."

"She can't kill me," Clarence said, and he sounded as if he truly believed it.

"Think about what you're doing. She's a vampire" I raised my hands, my gaze flitting between the point of the bolt aimed at me and his face. "Besides, you can't kill me, either. I don't have a heart in my chest."

He shook his head. "Oh, I might not kill you outright, but I can put you out long enough to stoke up that fireplace."

"Fair enough." I looked at Dahlia, then back to Clarence.

"Fine. I'll go."

"You know your way out," he said. "I won't be seeing you around here again."

"No, you won't." I paused at the door. "Why are you protecting her?"

"Because I come with the house. And she's better than some of them that's been here." He nodded in the direction of the door. "Like the old master and his father." The Soul Eater? I wanted to ask more, but he dropped the bow and turned to tend his mistress. I didn't want to make him any more of an enemy that I already had, so I left. Exactly how old was Clarence, and how long had he worked in the house? I knew he had a peculiar affection for it, so much so that he would not escape his vampire employers even when he had a chance. It was a riddle I would probably never know the answer to. I was crossing the foyer to the front door when I stopped. The doors to the study were

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