Tainted Blood (Hell's Belle Book 2) (19 page)

"Which way?" I asked, zigzagging around the spirits, hoping that Casper could find the least ghost-populated route to the parking garage.

"This way," Casper muttered. I could feel his tension pressing against my temples. The ghosts were getting to him. He ran down a protection chant, keeping them from dive-bombing me. Max wasn't so fortunate. He had to rely on sheer will. I gripped his hand and squeezed, speeding past Suicide Bride, who stood at the top of the stairs ready to throw herself down, a scene that was on endless repeat.

The mezzanine was on the same level as the parking garage, but the back corridor leading out to the structure was the most agonizing area of the hotel. The ghosts were desperate to keep humans around to feed off their misery, so they tried to keep their victims from running out the door. I took the hallway at a sprint, half-dragging Max along. I didn't slow down until we burst into the garage from the back hallway. Max stopped to catch his breath, but I barely broke a sweat. It was tough for anyone to keep up with a vampire, even a half-breed.

I scanned the parking level, looking for my Triumph motorcycle. The bike was completely matte black, including the parts that were normally chromed, making it tough to locate, which was exactly the point. I saw it tucked into a dark corner at the far end of the garage. I cracked a wide smile and barreled towards it like a long-lost lover, stopping short when I noticed a blood red circular smear on the gas tank, marring the otherwise perfect stealth black.

"What the hell is this?" Like a fretful mother cleaning up her child, I licked my fingers and rubbed at the stain. It didn't budge.

"It came that way from the impound yard, Nina," Max held up his hands in mock surrender. "I swear."

I scowled at the red mark, and then ran my hand down the length of the bike, tracing the gentle slope from the tank to the seat. Even with the mark, she was beautiful.

Max took the helmet off the back and handed it to me before settling onto the bike. "Ready?"

I frowned but took the helmet, secured it on my head, and then climbed on behind him. It felt really weird to be on the back. But when the bike roared to life, its familiar vibrations warmed my body like a glass of good Scotch.

"Where are we going? Babe's?" Max yelled over the motor, kicking it into gear.

I considered it for a second. Where could we go? To escape the wilding demons who were crossing downtown, we needed to go west. That was the direction of the factory building, but I didn't think Frankie was holed up there. I suspected he was somewhere near the demons, on the east side, most likely hiding in the abandoned rail tunnels that wove through the subterranean parts of the city.

But that meant crossing the line of possessed concertgoers. Max and me against a demonic army? Not great odds.

Then it hit me. I brought my hand to my head, making contact with the helmet instead. "We need to go to Holy Ghost Church. On Federal Hill."

"Church?" Max was baffled.

"Casper?" I called out.

"Yeah?" I could barely hear him over the roar of the engine. The trip through that damn hotel was always a battle for him. Casper was just a few months dead. He had to put up a hell of a fight to get me through there without so much as a ghostly tickle from the spirits.

"Casper, you need to split for a bit," I said. "We have to visit Father Dougherty."

"I can't be caught out in a church. Later." He exited my body so quickly that my ears popped from the pressure.

"A priest?" Max asked, gunning the engine.

"We need an exorcism. A big one."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The 10-minute ride to the church was awkward. I wasn't used to being a passenger on my own bike, and I didn't know where to place my hands. A normal person would have wrapped her arms around the driver, which in this case was a pretty damn attractive federal agent. But I wasn't normal, and Max and I didn't have a normal relationship.

So instead of hugging his body, I reached my arms around and gripped the back of the seat. It was below freezing and I didn't have any gloves, so by the time I sighted the Gothic spires of the church, which sat at the summit of a large hill overlooking the city, my fingers were frozen to the seat.

My stiff appendages fumbled with the strap of my helmet as we climbed the steep stairs to the massive front doors of the church.

"Nina, it's almost midnight. Shouldn't we call first?" Max nagged at me as we ascended. "We're not breaking into a church. Are we?"

"The door'll be open," I said with confidence, taking the stairs two at a time. Max's breathing labored under the exertion of keeping up.

I pushed at the front door and it opened with a creak. Pausing for a moment at the threshold, I braced myself as I prepared to cross it, waiting for a lightning strike or the church to crumble. Normally I passed through without a problem, but it never hurt to be cautious. And tonight, a tingle of electricity jolted through my body as I stepped into the vestibule. Weird.

Our arrival surprised the curate, who was on the altar wrestling a giant Bible open. "Can I help you?" he asked.

I stopped at the far end of the church, noticing Max was shaking invisible cobwebs from his body. He must have been hit with the electric jolt, too. Glad I wasn't the only one. "We are looking for Father Dougherty," I said, focusing my attention back on the curate.

"It's okay, Peter." The elderly priest's kind voice boomed from the anteroom behind the altar. "I was expecting you, my child."

"Hello, Padre," I called out, my voice echoing around the huge church. "Sorry to intrude so late."

"You know my door is always open." His robes whirled as he rushed past his curate and down the center aisle towards us. "Especially for you."

He enveloped me in a warm hug.

Max cleared his throat. "Speaking of unlocked doors, Father. Are you sure your doors should be unlocked at this hour? In this neighborhood?"

Father Dougherty released me and I smacked him on the arm. "Father Dougherty, this is Max. In case you couldn't tell, he's a cop."

Father Dougherty laughed, a rich sound that warmed me to my toes. "I could tell. Young man, God's door is always open, especially to the most desperate among us."

"Father D believes that all humans are innately good," I explained to Max.

"It also helps that the doorway is warded," the old priest said with a wink. "True evil can't make it across the threshold. We're safe here."

"Those are some strong wards, Father." I rubbed at the goose bumps still prickling up my arms. Father Dougherty motioned for us to sit in the pew. He genuflected and then joined us.

"You look tired, Nina," he said as he placed his hand on my forehead. "Are you not well?"

"Been working a lot, that's all," I lied. No sense in worrying the priest. Or Max.

"What can I do for you, child?"

I took a breath. "Well, Frankie's gone missing. I think I know where he is, but there are demons running amuck Downcity. They are directly in my path."

"It's not wise to engage demons, Nina. Why don't you wait until they move on?"

"No time," I explained. "Somehow Frankie ingested opium-laced blood. We don't have much time left."

Father Dougherty pressed his thin lips together. "That's a death sentence, Nina."

"Maybe not," I said, trying to sound hopeful. "Casper and I came up with a spell. Well, we think it might work. Maybe."

The priest's expression darkened. He pressed his hand on my forehead and closed his eyes. "Frankie bound you to him, didn't he?"

"Marcello just about finished me off, Padre. I was good as dead. If Frankie didn't do it, I would have..." I shuddered, not wanting to finish the sentence.

His eyes snapped open and he dropped his hand. "You would have turned. Well, that explains why you look like crap."

He certainly didn't mince words.

Father Dougherty reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a flask. He uncapped it and took a swig before handing it over to Max, who looked at it apprehensively. "Bottom’s up, Max. It's not the sacrament."

Max fumbled awkwardly with the flask before passing it to me without taking a nip. The church clearly made him uncomfortable. "Why would she look like shit?"

"The binding. He feels what she feels, and vice versa." Father Dougherty explained. "She should be in a lot of pain right now, the madness tearing her up inside, particularly if she's not acting on the impulse. Nina, have you been short-tempered?"

Max snorted. "How is that unusual?"

"Shut up," I said as I took a quick pull from the flask and stifled a cough. It was straight vodka. "I guess I've felt more...I don't know. Anxious lately? Could be stress."

The priest waved at me to pass back the flask. He took one more swallow before slipping it back into the folds of his robes. "This isn't good, Nina. If Frankie dies, you're right behind him."

I wished the flask was still out. "But I haven't been able to sense him. I thought maybe him being sick somehow broke the binding. Like he was too weak to keep it."

"I think Frankie is the one blocking you, not the illness. To keep you from feeling its effects. But that's good news," he hastened to add. That didn't do much to steady my heart rate.

"How can that be good news?" I reached inside my jacket and nervously fingered the stakes strapped around me, as if they could bring me closer to Frankie. Little sparks of magic set off by the runes danced between the wood and my fingertips.

"If he's well enough to block you, he still has some of his wits about him."

"Then all the more reason to get to him quickly," Max interjected. "Before he loses these wits."

I nodded. "But we have got to get through those demons, Padre."

Father Dougherty closed his eyes, his pale face etched with lines of time. "So, you need an exorcism."

"Father, we need a super-sized exorcism." I felt awful asking. Under the best circumstances, exorcisms were dangerous.

He rubbed uneasily at his eyes. "A mass exorcism is not something to trifle with. You know this. Has Lachlan agreed to this?"

"Dr. O..." I hesitated.

"We don't know where he is," Max jumped in.

I looked at Max sharply. "I thought you said he was tied up with something!"

Max ran his hand through his hair. "He was. And then he just..."

"Dammit, Max." Tears stung at my eyes, threatening to spill. First Frankie, then Babe, now Dr. O. Where the hell was everyone?

"What exactly was he tied up with?" Father Dougherty said, his tone firm. "Speak the truth, Max, even if Lachlan told you to keep it secret."

"There were problems," Max began as he shook his head. "There was some guy, from the Department of Defense, up his ass about the Blood Ops program."

"What guy?" I pressed.

"It was bureaucratic bullshit. Just sorting through red tape."

"There is not much bureaucratic bullshit with Blood Ops, Max. Technically, we don't exist."

"Well, this guy knew about you." Max looked down at his hands. "And Dr. O said he was asking about Berserkers."

"Shit!"

"You are in God's house, Nina," Father Dougherty scolded. "And this is a worrisome development, but it doesn't help Frankie. And at least we have an idea where he is. Right?" Father Dougherty injected a needed dose of practicality.

"I am pretty sure I can find him," I fibbed. I wasn't sure at all.

"That's the easy part," the priest said, getting up from the pew. "First we need to dispel how many demons?"

"A couple of hundred," Max said. "I think."

"A couple of hundred," Father echoed in disbelief. "You really know how to find trouble, Nina. No matter. Your mother was like that, too."

He hustled down the aisle towards the curate who was now praying at the altar. "Come on, Peter, we have to get ready."

"I am sorry, Father, for what?"

"An exorcism, my boy!"

"Did the Vatican...?"

"Oh please, the Vatican," the elderly priest chided the younger one. "The Vatican doesn't know their ass from an exorcism."

"But, sir," the young priest said, insistent, "how can we be sure? Perhaps this is drug use. Perhaps a manifestation of mass delusion. Are these people mentally ill? There are rules we must follow for a reason."

"Oh for pity's sake," Father Dougherty said as he tossed up his hands in exasperation. "Nina, were they crazy? On drugs?"

I shook my head. "They weren't on drugs. And not insane. They were possessed."

"There you have it, my boy. We're dealing with demons. Are you in or are you out?" Father Dougherty's Irish brogue grew stronger as his patience flagged.

The blood ran out of the young priest's face and he nodded.

Father Dougherty clapped him on the shoulder, and the two hurried into the chamber behind the altar. I turned to Max, ready to direct some rage.

He tried heading me off. "I didn't tell you because of Frankie and Babe."

"Babe?"

"You can't find her either," he said.

"Babe is on vacation."

It sounded hollow as I said it. Babe wasn't usually out of touch for this long, especially when I left endless voicemails and text messages trying to track her down. Her vacation was officially over.

A tear slipped out of my eye, tracing a hot line down my cheek. Babe, Dr. O and Frankie were the only three people I truly trusted and relied on. Hell, they were my family. And I was losing all of them.

I turned my back on Max and slipped out of the pew. I took off down the aisle, chasing...chasing what? I wasn't chasing. I was running.

I stopped when I hit the front of the altar, its majesty dwarfed by the vaulted ceiling covered in beautiful stained glass. The cross with the body of Jesus nailed to it hovered above me, as though suspended alone in the air. Blood dripped from the head wounds where a crown of thorns dug into his skull. The imagery was gruesome. I sat on the first step leading up to the altar, and dropped my head in my hands.

Max came down the aisle and planted himself beside me. He rubbed my neck gently. "Hey, you okay?"

"I just...yes," I sighed, feeling the knots smooth out a little at his touch. "It's just the first time...I don't have..."

Max stopped rubbing and draped his arm loosely around my shoulders. "You're without your backup. Trust me. I get it."

"You know the first bust I made without backup?" he continued. "I was bringing in my own parents."

I dropped my hands and looked at him. "What?"

He nodded and a small sad smile tugged at his lips. "They had their neo-Nazi goons stationed in front of this warehouse. They were packing Uzis. The submachine guns aren't exactly the most accurate shot. My partner..." He paused. "My partner trusted the weapons' inaccuracy more than their deadliness and assumed the lug heads didn't really know how to use them. Instead of being cautious, she rushed. She underestimated the ability of ignorant rednecks to train hard and train smart."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I would probably have assumed the same thing."

"Yeah, but you can afford to underestimate sometimes. You can heal." He moved his arm off my shoulders, cleared his throat and continued. "Neo-Nazis are almost like military. They go off into the woods and go through hardcore training. Weapons, hand-to-hand combat. They are put into extreme situations and taught to survive."

He stopped and took a breath. "Anyway. She was down, and I had to go in on my own. Backup was on the way, but I had to face down my parents, without Jess. My first mission without my partner was probably the worst possible mission I had to face."

"I can't even imagine," I said as I glanced at him. "And I don't know what to say."

He shook his head. "The point is, this is what you've trained for. With or without your partner, with or without your backup. With or without Dr. O. Or Babe. This is who you are. You got this."

I smiled at him and nodded.

"Besides, I have your back," he reminded me. "You won't be alone out there."

Father Dougherty hurried out of the anteroom wrapped in a black wool coat, a huge cross hanging down his chest. He clutched a small, black, leather-bound Bible and a bottle of Holy Water in the other.