Tainted Blood (Hell's Belle Book 2) (8 page)

"Damn, woman, I wasn't sure if it would work." Casper sounded as relieved as me. "I thought you may have gone full bore vampiro on me."

His flippancy made me grin after what had just happened. Maybe we'd be okay.

"If it happens again, move your hands like we just did, and call for Mud-Kesta. She's the blood stauncher," he explained before he jumped out of my body, leaving my vampire nature to finish the rest of my healing.

"What the hell just happened?" Darcy was staring down at me, confused and alarmed. She took my hand and pulled me up from the freezing pavement.

"Guess I just had a crash course in witchcraft." I handed her the keys to the Fiat. "You better drive. Just in case."

She grabbed the keys and nodded. We walked in silence across the parking lot to the car, slipping along on patches of ice. Darcy popped the trunk and dumped the blood bags into the snow packed cooler. I hoped it was enough to hold Matty over for a while. After this fiasco, I wasn't about to break into a blood bank again.

We settled into the car, heat blasting, and I pulled out my phone. There were ten missed calls and texts from Frankie, which I continued to ignore. I was pretty sure he was aware of my vamp out, and I wasn't really up for discussing it with him just yet. Not until I talked to Dr. O.

With shaking hands, I typed out a text to Dr. O, asking him to meet me at the bar at noon, when we opened. I bit my lip and considered adding that it was an emergency and I needed only him to handle it. I glanced at the time on the dashboard clock. It was just after 9 a.m., which gave me less than three hours. I typed it in furiously, hit send, and then sighed and closed my eyes. I could feel Darcy stealing glances at me, but she didn't press me on anything. Until I knew what the hell was happening, I wasn't ready to talk about any of it.

I broke the silence. "Drop me at the bar?"

"I'll get the car back to you after I take the stuff to..." Darcy said before hesitating. "To the guys."

Darcy liked Matty. I smiled slightly in spite of myself, as my eyes fluttered closed for a few welcome moments of light sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dr. O was at the door of my now-spotless bar, courtesy of The Cleaner, when I unlocked it. With a large hot Dunkin' Donuts coffee in one hand, he was a welcome sight for my very blurry eyes. Dog padded along beside me, though she and Cookie Puss were keeping a good distance between each other. I was grateful that they weren't fighting. Between the lack of sleep and the smell of the chemicals used by The Cleaner to wipe up the previous night's blood bath, my head was starting to throb. I reached under the bar for a bottle of aspirin, popped three and washed them down with the coffee. It scalded my throat, but I didn't care. I was desperate for the caffeine.

Dr. O wrinkled his nose as he settled onto the bar stool, sniffing at the bleach-infused air. "I see The Cleaner took care of things."

Given everything that happened overnight and this morning, it was hard to believe that less than 12 hours before, a Beta-Vamp had exploded in the bar. I plopped down onto the stool next to Dr. O, Dog curled at my feet, and recounted all of the night's events, tears welling up in my eyes when I admitted to losing control and drinking from the broken blood bag.

Dr. O didn't speak until I finished. "How much sleep did you actually get last night?" He touched my forehead, like he was taking my temperature.

"Not enough," I sighed. I looked at the mirror behind the bar, and my own pale, gaunt face stared back at me. I could barely see my green eyes from the dark circles surrounding them.

"I'll say," he muttered, moving on to check my pulse. "What about the scar from the knife? How's that healing?"

I pulled back my still-tangled hair and showed him the scar on my neck, from where Marcello tried to slit my throat. It was raised, red and angry. Dr. O touched it lightly, and shivers ran down my spine. I took another swig of my coffee, and the hot liquid removed the chill.

"Would you mind pouring out a whiskey, my dear?" Dr. O asked, sounding as weary as I felt. I kept my eye on him as I dragged myself off the stool and to the other side of the bar. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. His shock of white hair was disheveled and his face looked more cracked and weathered than ever. As a Druid, Dr. O could pretty much live forever, but lately he was showing his age.

I cracked open a new bottle of Ardbeg single malt Scotch, a new top-shelf brand I bought exclusively for us. Our clientele was a mix of old neighborhood barflies and college kids, a crowd that preferred quantity over quality. But I stocked the good stuff for us, and Dr. O looked like he needed an Ardbeg.

I poured out the amber liquid and slid the drink over to him. His silence was unnerving.

"So, did Marcello's blade do something more to me? Am I dying?" I asked nervously.

Dr. O chuckled sadly. "That blade clearly did
something
, but no, my dear, you are not the one dying."

"That's a relief," I sighed, only to suddenly understand his implication. "Wait a minute. Are you saying—"

He lifted the Scotch to his lips. "I am not saying anything. And I suggest you don't either, until we know for sure."

The door burst open, interrupting us, and Alfonso rushed in from the cold.

"Sorry I'm late. Did you save my seat?" he teased, knowing full well I wouldn't let anyone sit on his bar stool. The bar usually opened with Alfonso on the stoop.

"I was about to file a missing person's report." The levity in my voice felt hollow.

Al stopped halfway to his bar stool and looked around, his nose twitching. "What the hell happened here? ¡Dios mío! You didn't
clean
the place, did you?"

I grabbed a glass and pulled down the Bud tap. It sputtered and then beer sprayed everywhere except the glass. The keg needed changing.

"Don't worry," I said, wiping down my t-shirt and jeans with a bar rag. "This place will be filthy again in no time."

Al didn't notice, however, since he was preoccupied with his phone. I pulled the Bud Light tap instead, poured a glass and dropped it in front of him on the way to the basement. He'd probably never notice anyway.

"Be right back," I said to Dr. O. "I just have to tap a new keg. Dog, you stay."

She raised her head lazily and gave me a look that said, "I wasn't planning on following you."

The basement of Babe's was sufficiently creepy. This was an old building, so the basement was barely more than a crawl space. Even I had to stoop to fit, and I'm not exactly tall. Crouched uncomfortably, I duck-walked over to the kegs, cutting a path through the cobwebs to the crawl-in beer fridge.

I could see my breath in the just-slightly-above-freezing room. My fingers stiffened almost instantly, and I blew on them to manipulate a quick disconnect on the empty keg. Still hunched over, I hauled a full keg over to replace the empty one. Just as I tapped the new keg, I felt the familiar ooze of ghost drop into me. It was so cold in the fridge that I barely noticed the temperature shift.

Casper settled into my body with a shiver of his own. Things were still a little awkward from the episode at the hospital.

"You want to talk about it?" I reconnected the beer line, hoping he hadn't distracted me so much that I left air in it.

"Not really," he responded.

"Look, that wasn't me..." I started to explain but backtracked quickly. Until Dr. O said something was up with Frankie, I didn't want Casper — or anyone — to jump to conclusions. "I mean, I wasn't myself. But I am just as much vampire as I am witch, and I never hid that from you."

"You didn't go around knocking back stolen blood bags before," he interrupted hotly.

"No, but something weird happened back there, and I can't explain it right now. And what if this is some residual effect from those
witch
spells Marcello used on me? Don't be blinded by your own prejudice."

Casper went so still, I wondered if he popped out without my taking notice. For a split second, I considered ghost-proofing the building — at least then I'd be rid of the insufferable Lovecraft spirit.

But Casper was still possessing me, and he was none too happy with the idea. He forced me to stand straight and my head collided with the low, frost-covered ceiling.

"Ow!" I yelped, rubbing the point of impact. "You're an ass!"

"Don't you even think about ghost-proofing this place," he fumed. He was so angry, I could feel my own body temperature rise. The wall next to me in the frosty icebox was getting a little melty.

I crawled out of the fridge and closed the door. "So then we're good?"

"Just don't tell my mother. I don't want her hexing you."

"Good, because I kind of need you." I think that was the olive branch he needed.

"You do?" He asked.

"Of course I do! You are my friend, and I need my friends. And besides that, how else am I supposed to learn this witch stuff with Babe on vacation?"

"We should practice today then—"

"Hold on," I interrupted him. "I can't just close the bar." I sensed his impatience with me, and after what we had just been through, I felt better placating him. "We'll practice tonight, alright. As long as Darcy can watch the bar. Good?"

"You ain't gonna pussy out on me again, are you?"

Though I scowled at the term he used, I considered it for a minute. But if Darcy would watch the bar for me tonight, and I behaved myself and learned to stir a simple spell, maybe I could go to bed early and get some sleep. 

"As long as Darcy can cover me, we'll do it," I insisted while marching up the stairs. When I was halfway up, I could hear Alfonso's one-sided phone conversation.

"I'm telling you, she cleaned the bar! Limpio! Spotless! Clean!"

Alarmed, I raced the rest of the stairs. "Who are you talking to?"

"Babe!
You cleaned the bar!
" His eyes flashed with anger. "It smells...
not bad.
"

"Are you serious? No really, are you serious?" I asked him wide-eyed. "You’re
telling
on me because I had the place cleaned? What the hell is that, Alfonso?"

Dr. O chuckled from his stool and poured a little more whiskey into his near-empty glass.

"Your aunt wants to talk to you." Alfonso handed me his old clamshell phone and sipped his beer, his expression smug. I grimaced and took the phone, secretly happy I poured him a light beer instead of a regular.

"Auntie Babe, it's not my fault," I stammered, ready to defend the need for The Cleaner. But she was chuckling.

"Oh, Nina, honey! Alfonso just hates change." Even her voice was smiling, and I let out a relieved sigh. "I know the place wasn't at its best, but Al says the place sparkles. Did it need to be so thorough?"

I recounted the prior evening's events that necessitated the visit from The Cleaner. Babe's chuckles were replaced by gasps of shock.

"That sounds awful! You okay?"

I reassured her of my well-being and decided not to share my experience at the hospital. There were some things my aunt was better off not knowing.

"How're your parents?" I tried changing the subject. Technically, they were my grandparents, but there's a lot of bad blood between witches and vampires in my family. Everyone on the witch side, with the exception of Auntie Babe, shunned me.

"The usual," she sighed. "Can we talk later? Maybe do a Skype? I'd love to see your face."

Pressing my fingers into the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes. I could feel my go-to-bed-early plan slipping away, but it would also give me an excuse to shorten the lesson, ensuring it didn't go on all night.

"I know what you're thinking," Casper rattled in my head, and I rolled my eyes.

"I need to do some spelling with Casper..."

"Oh good," she said, more excited than I expected.

"As long as Darcy can watch the bar," I added.

"What else does she have to do?" Babe interjected, and I immediately thought of Matty. Since I sent her on to drop off the blood bags on her own, she could have
plenty
going on, for all I knew.

"Oooooo, caliente!" Casper chirped.

"Oh shut up, will you?" I said out loud.

My aunt's voice went stern. "I know you did not just tell me to shut up!"

"No! No! Not you, Auntie! Casper. He's interjecting in my head, and it's hard to focus," I squeaked.

Babe harrumphed. "Tell that ghost to cut the crap. Call Darcy, get her to cover for you. I'll go to the Internet cafe and Skype you at 7 p.m. your time, and all three of us will work on your spelling. Sound good?"

I groaned in response.

"Glad you're looking forward to it. I love you! Put Al back on the phone please."

I considered dropping the phone in his half-empty beer mug, but he drained it before I could make my final decision. We traded phone for mug, and I gave him a refill of more light beer. That traitor would get nothing but light beer out of me from now on.