Even Vampires Get the Blues (17 page)

Call it elf sense, call it heightened awareness, call it Sally if you like, but something sent my peripheral awareness into overdrive as Paen ran toward me. The world suddenly downshifted into first gear, time expanding so that everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Paen loped across the tiny parking area, his hat angled to protect him from the sun. Beyond him, a dark-haired, familiar man rose from where he'd been hiding behind a large square trash bin, his arm swinging up in a slow arc as he shouldered a lethal-looking crossbow, turning his body so the metal bolt was aimed to intersect Paen's path. Next to him, clinging to the trash bin, a small spider monkey in a green striped suit sat busily unwrapping what looked like the remains of a candy bar.

“
Noooo!
” I screamed, even my voice sounding drawn out as I threw myself forward. I intended to push Paen out of the way of the bolt, but as I lunged toward him, my feet leaving the ground in a leap of distance they would never again surpass, the thought flashed through my mind that despite having just met him, despite the fact that he alternately aroused and frustrated me, despite the fact that we were clearly not in the least bit suited for one another—despite all that, I was willing to do whatever it took to save him.

Even at the cost of my own life.

Paen yelled my name as the bolt slammed into my shoulder, knocking me backward, flinging me up against the concrete side of the building. Hot,
sickening pain swept through me, causing the world to spin off its axis. Paen roared something I couldn't make out, catching me before I slid helplessly down to the ground.

The last thing I saw before blissful oblivion took me in its arms was Paen's face, his eyes so dark they looked black.

“You've got your soul back,” I said.

“Well, all I can say is it's lucky you're immortal.” The voice cut into the black abyss in which I was floating. It was female, familiar, with a posh English accent . . . ah. It was Clare speaking. To whom was she speaking, I wondered?

“Hrng,” a voice answered her. It, too, was female and familiar. I racked my brain for a moment to place the voice, realizing with a shock it was mine. “Narf?”

“You see? I told you she would be fine. Elves can survive all sorts of injuries.” Clare's voice was rife with authority. “You're worrying about nothing, Paen.”

A dark Scottish voice rumbled around in my head, deep as the ocean and soft as velvet.
Sam? How do you feel?

Confused
, I answered, smiling at the voice.
When did you drop Samantha and start calling me Sam?

He sighed.
Is that really important?

Kind of. It's a sign of intimacy.

Sweetheart, we've been about as intimate as it gets, and you're making a big deal about a word?

You called me sweetheart!
I said, my toes curling with sudden pleasure.

“I can see that I am worrying about nothing. Sam, you can open your eyes now. The bolt is out of your shoulder.”

Bolt. Shoulder. The man who tried to kill Paen!

“Ack!” I squawked, my eyelids snapping open as I sat up. “Paen, are you—holy moly! What happened to you?”

A sudden zing of pain in my shoulder tried to claim my attention, but the sight of Paen standing in front of me, bloody and beaten, overrode all other concerns. The left side of his face was bloodred with what looked like a nasty burn, his eye swollen and starting to turn dark, a cut on his temple responsible for the blood cascading down the other side of his face. One arm hung limp, the sleeve of his long coat was shredded, while the entire front of his shirt was covered in dirt and blood.

“We were ambushed. How do you feel?”

“A lot better than you look. Your poor face! Your poor . . . um . . . what else is hurt on you?”

“Nothing. I'm fine,” he said, waving away my concern with a nasty-looking metal bolt. He saw me looking at it and quickly tossed it into the garbage.

“OK. What's going on here?” I asked, looking from Paen to Clare and on to Finn, who was standing to the left. Finn also looked worse for wear, although not nearly as hurt as Paen. “Why are you guys so beat up? What happened to Pilar? And why am I sitting here now with just a dull ache in my shoulder rather than being rushed to the
hospital to bleed to death like any normal person would do?”

“Oh, Sam,” Clare said, shaking her head as she wrung out a washcloth over a small bowl. She dabbed gently at a swollen spot on Finn's cheek. “You never
were
normal. Now you're less so.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” I said, shifting my gaze from her to Paen. My heart dropped a little at his battered face. I slid off the desk and ever so carefully touched his reddened cheek. “Sunburn?”

“Amongst other things. The man who shot you attacked me with a two-by-four as I was trying to bring you inside. You're sure it was Pilar? I didn't see him clearly.”

“I'm sure. Beppo was there, too.” I took one of Clare's cloths to hold on the wound on his temple.

“Finn got the crossbow away from him before he could stake Paen,” Clare said proudly.

“That's nice of him. Can you heal this?” I asked Paen.

“Yes. How is your shoulder? Did you hit your head?” He flinched as I tried to dab up the blood, taking my hand in his to stop me.
No fussing.

Why? I like fussing over you.

Why do you like doing that?
he countered.

I don't know. Because it makes me feel
—I stopped before I could say something I wasn't prepared to admit to myself yet, let alone him.

Aha! I knew it! You're falling in love with me, aren't you?

Would I do something like that to you
? I asked, innocence brimming out of me.

He gave me a dark look. Gratefully, I let the matter go.

“I'm OK, and yes, I hit my head, but only just a little,” I said, rubbing a knot on the back of my head. “What did Clare mean about me being immortal? I'm not immortal. I never have been. I just have a longer life span than most people.”

“It'll stretch into centuries now,” Finn said with a slight smile.

“I'm lost. Why on earth would you think I'm immortal?” I asked him.

He raised his chin and sniffed the air. “Believe me, I know. Welcome to the family.”

“Huh?” He just smiled at me. I turned back to Paen, who was standing with his eyes closed, concentrating fiercely on healing his wounds.

“You're Paen's Beloved,” Finn said. “Thank you for that, by the way. It's nice to see him with a soul.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, watching as the redness in Paen's face faded slightly, the wound closing itself. The swelling in his eye went down enough for me to see a bright silver glint when he opened his eyes to meet my stare. His new soul shone like a miniature sun within him. “You want to explain all this to me now?”

“Not really, but I suspect you won't allow me to get away without an explanation.”

“Damn straight,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning my butt against the desk. “I'm all ears.”

A little zipper of excitement had me quivering for a moment as he glanced at my ears, but I pushed that down as something to indulge in later.

“We were attacked, evidently by your old friend Pilar. You foolishly threw yourself in front of a bolt meant for me. While I was trying to carry you inside,
Pilar attacked again. Finn got the crossbow from him, but couldn't stop him from cracking me a few times with a hunk of wood while I was trying to protect you. He left before Finn could disable him. It's noon now, or else Finn would have been able to track him. Everyone is fine. End of story.”

“Oh, not even,” I said, my arms still crossed. Paen's eye was almost down to normal, and although he was still covered with blood, at least the gaping cut on his temple had closed up and stopped bleeding. “I have lots of questions, like why Pilar would switch from attacking Clare to you? That question aside—”

“You are absolutely certain it was Pilar? Finn had never seen him before today, and I didn't get a good look before he attacked me,” Paen asked, interrupting me.

“Yes, I'm sure it was him, although I didn't get a good look at him since I was too busy trying to shove you out of the way. Back to major confusion—your brother says I'm your Beloved, but we tried those seven steps, and you didn't get your soul back. What changed?”

“You sacrificed yourself for him,” Finn said, stealing a kiss from Clare, who was bustling around gathering up bloody cloths. “It's necessary for a Beloved to be willing to sacrifice everything in order to redeem her Dark One's soul.”

I narrowed my eyes at Paen. “You left that out of the list of steps.”

He shrugged. “I didn't think it was pertinent.”

“You didn't
think
—” My tiny little hairs on the back of my neck hackled up.

He held up a hand to stop the coming diatribe. “I meant that I did not think it was pertinent in the steps to Joining. My father said he hadn't been Joined until Mum offered herself up in his place, but I didn't connect that with us.”

“So I was right after all,” I said, feeling a warm glow of happiness at the thought of Paen having his soul back.

“Yes, you were right.” He avoided looking at me, as if he wanted to hide something.

“Well, don't thank her or anything, brother,” Finn said, rolling his eyes. “Talk about ingratitude.”

“It's all right, he doesn't have to thank me.” I examined his face, looking for some other sign that we were now bound together. There was nothing, no miraculous . . . something. I had no idea what I was expecting to see, but I felt a strange sense of loss that the indescribable something wasn't there. “I told him I would be happy to help him regain his soul.”

“Yes, but—”

“Leave it, Finn,” Paen said, shooting a look full of unspoken comment at his brother. “If you're feeling better, Sam, perhaps we can move ahead with our previous plans?”

The sense of something missing heightened. “Sure. Um. Just a second . . . I'm sorry, I guess I'm a bit more addled than I thought. We're Joined now, right?”

“Yes,” Paen said curtly, using one of the damp cloths that Clare left to wipe the blood off his face.

“So I'm . . . what? I'm a vampire?”

“No, you're a Beloved,” Finn answered, smiling when Paen scowled at him. “Someone has to tell her, Paen, and it's clear you're falling down on the job.”

“I'm just trying to get a handle on this,” I said with a faint apology. “I'm not a vampire, but I'm . . . what exactly? Still me or different?”

“You're no different than you were with the exception of being immortal,” Paen said, tossing the now soiled cloth in the trash.

“Paen, that's not really fair . . . right. None of my business. You two work it out yourselves,” Finn said, holding up his hands when Paen shot him yet another potent glance. “I'll just say this, Sam—there are three sorts of Moravians: Dark Ones, who have no souls until redeemed, Moravian men like me who were born with a soul, and females, who all have souls. Beloveds are more or less the same as female Moravians.”

“Ah. Do the women . . .” I picked up a staple remover and made biting gestures toward my neck.

“Drink blood? They can, but they don't need to in order to live like we need to.”

“That sounds rather unfair,” Clare said, patting Finn on the arm as she made pouty lips. “All that biting you have to do that they don't.”

He grinned at her. “Ah, but you like it when I bite you.”

“So the females and down the line Moravians have souls, but the Dark Ones don't? Why are the males and females so different?” I asked.

“Ask him,” Finn said, nodding toward Paen. “He's been researching the history of our people for decades.”

“It has to do with the manner in which the first Dark One was created,” Paen said. “No one knows for certain just how he ended up damned, but I hope to uncover the details soon.”

“Ah. Sounds fascinating. But about this immortality thing—that's like payment for giving you back your soul?” I asked.

“Of a sort, yes. Any other questions?”

One. Why aren't you happier about getting your soul back?

I told you before—I don't need a Beloved. This changes nothing between us, Sam.

Oh, I thought it did, but this was clearly not the best moment to have a discussion about the new definitions of our relationship, so I let his comment slide and went over to my own desk, pulling out my phone book. “I'll call Mr. Race and see if he has time to talk with us.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Race? Our client?” Clare asked as she reclaimed her desk. Finn spun her client chair around so it was backward and sat next to her, allowing her to murmur soft little things to him every now and again.

Paen explained what he had been told while I worked my way through the hotel hierarchy of voice mail to leave Owen Race a message. I was just finishing when he picked up the phone, somewhat breathless. “Hello? Miss Cosse? Sorry, I was just coming into the room when I heard you leaving a message. Have you found it?”

“I'm sorry, no, I haven't. Not yet, but I'm working quite hard on it. I wonder if it's possible to set up an appointment to meet with you?”

“I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming to London for a few days?”

“I'm sorry, but that's out of the question,” I said
firmly, wondering why he wanted to see me so badly. “Unless you have a solid lead indicating the manuscript is in London, that is. Do you have such a lead?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “No,” he said finally, regret audible in his voice. “I don't have a lead.”

“We are working as hard as possible on it,” I reassured him. “I believe you said you'd be returning to Edinburgh at the end of the week?”

“Yes. I suppose I could come home early. Since you refuse to come to me, I shall have to, shan't I?”

I didn't roll my eyes. I wanted to, along with wanting to point out to him that in this day of instant technology, on-site research all over the globe was not necessary, but I kept that to myself, as well. “I don't intend to rush you, naturally, but if you
were
coming back to town—”

“I will return tomorrow.” His voice was clipped, as if he was biting off the words.

“Great. Can we meet as soon as possible once you return?”

“That would be agreeable. I am free in the early afternoon.”