Blood Trouble Page 2

  "Meaning this one hasn't stayed long enough to draw our attention again in any particular period," came the reply.

  "Or that the Mighty has ceased expending energy in that timeframe. I have several searching in both, but nothing has been reported."

  "Keep searching. I have planted many throughout time, and each has been instructed to perform specific tasks, designed to draw one out. I find it amusing that they weren't to know what they were after their birth—that it would be discovered by accident, for the most part. A very great flaw, wouldn't you say, that it would be easy to discover them? They find their power and before they learn to hide it, they use it indiscriminately?"

  "I find it humorous that they don't know one another," the lieutenant's face held a grimace—he wasn't used to smiling and that was as close as he might get.

  "You should work on your humanoid expressions, they are lacking."

  "Of course."

  * * *

  "Trajan."

  "I heard."

  "Traje, I'm not sure what to say."

  "Then don't talk." Trajan clipped off another limb—he'd gone to help Bear Wright trim trees between fruit bearing seasons.

  "Will it help to tell you that she seems to be powerful? Renegar says she's the Vhanaraszh."

  "I don't know what that means." Trajan jerked on the pruning saw, allowing the cut branch to drop away.

  "It means Restorer, in Larentii."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means she can do alone what all five of the Larentii Wise Ones can do together."

  "You should have let her look at Kay, then. I knew she could read anybody. She could tell you immediately what's wrong with Kay."

  "What?" Ashe stared at Trajan in shock before cursing and tugging at his hair.

  "I'm telling you, you screwed up. Breanne could read almost anybody, and tell you everything about them. Kevis can't get Kay to talk, and he says she's an unreadable. I don't think that would stop Breanne. Go ahead, ask Gavin or Queen Lissa. I heard she saved Grey House's bacon, too, but I couldn't get the full story on that one. She's been gone three weeks, Ashe, and nobody knows where she is. Nobody knows where to look, either. She's gone, plain and simple."

  "Traje, I didn't mean to take her away from you. You know that. I was terrified Kalia—Kay—would be upset. I know you wanted to bring Breanne here—I could see it easily. You wanted to get her away from Le-Ath Veronis—admit it."

  "Because she was being mistreated."

  "I know. I didn't wait for you to explain anything, I just lost my temper. Look, if she shows up again, I'll do my best to get her here to take a look at Kay. I'll grovel if that's what it takes."

  "I'll have to grovel first, and that probably won't work. You say she's powerful? What can I do against that?"

  "Traje, I've given you a lot. You don't use half what I gave you."

  "I usually don't need it. You don't use a jackhammer to hang a picture."

  "I understand that." The corner of Ashe's mouth curved slightly.

  * * *

  Lissa's Journal

  "Are you kidding?" I stared at the report on a comp-vid—Grant had shoved it into my hands and showed me what only a few months of collecting taxes had accomplished toward paying the crown's expenses. Breanne had done that for me, while I'd been gone.

  She'd done so many things to benefit Le-Ath Veronis in my absence, and Gavin and Cheedas had given her nothing but grief the whole time. Cheedas, too, had been manipulated in some way—Belen informed me of that. I'd also learned that he and Gavin had suffered from a mind cloud. If Gavin had done the mistreatment on his own, he'd still be locked out of the bedroom.

  Cheedas still wouldn't talk to me and disappeared if I came anywhere near—he was deeply ashamed, although his actions had been coerced. Yes, I recalled my death, as did he. I think, at times, he felt a hundred times worse about it than I did.

  The mind cloud had been removed at least—Belen saw to that. He told me he'd removed it from Gavril, anyway, so it was likely he'd done the same for Gavin and Cheedas. We were still no closer to locating Breanne, though. Belen didn't seem to think it a bad thing—he worried that she might be a target if she stayed in one place for long.

  "Mom?" I jerked around to see Gavril standing at the door to my study, as if I'd called him.

  "Gav?" I sighed when I looked at his face. Something was wrong. Would he tell me what that was? Probably not. He and Gavin wore the same look on most days—as if they'd done something horrible and weren't ready to own up to it yet.

  "Dad and I have talked. Several times."

  "I know." I did. My son just hadn't bothered to talk to me. Until now.

  "I didn't know, Mom. How was I to know she was related? Nobody knew that, except you."

  "If you'd been a little nicer, she could have told you herself," I snapped.

  "She knew?"

  "The whole time. She saw it in your face. Saw it in my face, whenever she looked at a photograph. Nothing like getting mistreated by family, huh?" I lowered my eyes and pretended to scroll through figures on the comp-vid. "You had that asshole hit her in the face and break bones."

  "That'll follow me until the end of time," Gavril muttered, ducking his head.

  "Probably just like the fact that your father sired a vampire, and then did absolutely nothing in the sire department. He didn't teach her a single thing, starved her and worked her—with your help—day and night. I've been advised, you see." I still didn't look up from the comp-vid.

  "Your assistants hired that dickhead Rathik Erwin, who stole from her and got her attacked by the other dickhead, Skel Hawer," Gavril attempted to deflect my wrath onto new targets.

  "I've already had that discussion—with my assistants and with Norian," I snapped. "You, on the other hand, see fit to speak with your father several times, while I, having been gone for months, see you three weeks after I return—temporary death notwithstanding."

  "Yeah. That's just, well, Mom, I'm sorry."

  "If your aunt hadn't been here and decided, even after you and your father did your best to kill her, to save my ass anyway, where would we be right now? Answer that, will you?"

  "Mom, you know I don't have any excuse. Sometimes I wish you'd just punch me and get it over with."

  "Gavril Tybus Montegue, that's pure stupidity, so stop it now. You don't know what it's like to get punched in the face by someone who's supposed to be your parent. I do. Take your lumps. You fucked up. Admit it." I threw the comp-vid in my hand at the wall so hard it shattered. "Grant will just have to use the crown's funds to buy another one," I growled. "Gavril, go home. Come back when you're more sorry and I'm less pissed." He disappeared and I wiped away stubborn tears.

  * * *

  "We have another aunt," Kyler rubbed her forehead. "Why couldn't we see it?"

  "I get the idea that not many can," Cleo sighed. Kyler had come to visit Grey House when Cleo sent mindspeech. "I healed her headache and still didn't know I was putting my hands on a relative."

  "Lissa's really upset, according to Flavio. She barely talks to Gavin, and threw Norian out of the palace. Flavio says she used power and sent all of Norian's stuff to Ildevar's palace on Wyyld."

  "What would you do? He almost let an attempted murderer go."

  "He would have, but Ildevar told him to put Hawer in jail."

  "At least Ildevar remembers the law. Norian doesn't seem to."

  "Daddy still wants to reward Breanne somehow, but how can you do that if nobody can find her?"

  "At least we're not being bled dry by Bexari anymore and the wizards are getting more days off. Nissa, Toff, Yoff and Trik have been to Le-Ath Veronis four times since Lissa got back."

  "That's probably a relief to all of them," Kyler observed, brushing back long, auburn hair. "Daddy says that Toff and Trik will make First Level soon."

  "That'll make Nissa happy. Since she made Master Wizard level, she's felt a little guilty."

  "Any idea where Breanne might g
o? I'd really like to talk to her. Nobody knows what her background is or anything. All we know is she's from Texas, and that's because Erland and Rylend treated her well."

  "Both of them are so good," Cleo sighed. "Ry was the best choice for the throne. Wyatt wanted to be a healer so badly."

  "Have you seen him lately? Garwin Wyatt?"

  "No. Still at that prep school on Wyyld."

  "Doesn't appear to be interested in healing, this time."

  "Yeah. Too bad. I hope he learns more from Lissa than he does from his father."

  "Teeg is too heavy-handed. I wonder if he knows people say that about him?"

  "Would it matter? He's got Gavin in him. Goes and does what he thinks ought to be done, and be damned with everybody else."

  "Yeah."

  Chapter 2

  Breanne's Journal

  "I found an antique bar on the Internet and ordered it last night. Three thousand, but it'll be more than worth it after it's refinished." Hank grabbed two paint cans from the back of his truck and walked toward the door of his soon-to-be nightclub.

  We'd spent the morning buying supplies at a local home improvement warehouse after putting an extensive list together. We had paint, tape, paintbrushes, boxes of wood flooring, sinks for the bathrooms and bar, light fixtures—his truck was completely filled and we hadn't gotten a fourth of what the list contained.

  "We'll have to clear it out, first," I gazed about me after we'd piled supplies in a corner near the window.

  "Yeah. I have one of those construction containers rented for trash and debris; they're supposed to drop it off this afternoon in the alley behind us." Hank stood roughly four feet away from me, surveying the space just as I was. Three ancient display cases stood against a wall, and they were in such bad shape we couldn't even give them away. Trash, dust and debris littered every available surface, including the ancient, vinyl tile floor.

  "I can see why you wanted wood flooring," I muttered, toeing a cracked tile, which lifted and scooted away. "At least it looks like it'll come up easy."

  "I hope so. We've got a ton of stuff to do before we can even start painting and laying the new floor."

  "Lovely," I muttered.

  "Afraid of hard work?" He turned to me and grinned. Well, he might have to stop smiling—in any form. I never wanted to lean against anyone so much in my life. Could I explain that? Nope.

  "I know hard work. Hard work knows me. We're like this," I held up two fingers twined together. Hank chuckled. It was a heavenly sound.

  "Well, shall we?"

  "Yeah." I pulled on work gloves, grabbed a box of industrial strength trash bags and started clearing away the clutter.

  * * *

  "I still don't understand how you can do this—the side of this trash container is almost as tall as you are," Hank said later.

  "Are you saying I'm short?" I said, attempting to pull him away from any evidence of my unnatural strength. We'd just lifted the third rickety display case over the edge of the metal receptacle and dropped it in with a crash.

  "Undertall? Vertically challenged?" He was grinning again. Both of us were covered in dust and grime; I hadn't bothered to look at my face in a mirror—the tiny facility at the back of the shop was nothing more than a cube with a broken toilet, a stained sink and no mirror. We'd already swept up shards of the mirror that had previously hung over the sink.

  The sad thing? Hank looked good, even covered in dust and grime. I probably looked like an ostrich after a dust bath. An undersized ostrich, anyway.

  "Dinner?" Hank sighed after we'd mutually agreed to stop working at nine that evening. At least the place looked minutely better when we stopped.

  "I can't go like this," I held out the hem of my gray T-shirt—it was filthy.

  "Meet me at Bogey's in an hour, then. That'll give us both time to go home and clean up." Hank's grin was tired, this time. I didn't grin, but I felt exhausted. Hungry, too. We'd ordered pizza for lunch, and the delivery boy had stared at our mess as Hank handed over a wrinkled twenty as payment.

  "Bogey's?" I blinked at Hank.

  "A bar two blocks south. They have a decent menu, and they stay open late."

  "Because it's a bar," I nodded.

  "Yeah. You may even find something for your awkward, inconvenient vegetarian preferences."

  "Hey," I frowned at him. "I don't eat animals. They don't eat me. It's a good system."

  "What if you're attacked in the woods by a hungry wolf? Or a bear?"

  "I don't go into the woods," I pretended offense.

  "A rabid seal or sea lion, then?"

  "If I knew you better, I'd just shake my head and call you hopeless," I said. "Besides, if I'm eaten or attacked by evil, mutant sea lions, then it's probably karma or something."

  "Come on, short karma woman, I'm starved. Go clean up. I'll lock up, drive home, shower and still get to Bogey's ahead of you."

  "Are we issuing a challenge?" My fists automatically went to my hips in mock indignation.

  "Women always take forever," Hank rolled his eyes and drew out the word forever.

  "If Paul were here, would you be insulting him like this?" I lifted an eyebrow while my fists remained firmly planted on my hips.

  "I'd be calling him prick or asshole, but he can drag his heels, too." Hank was enjoying himself, I could tell.

  "Unbelievable," I muttered, shaking my head. "Look, you do all those testosterone-inducing things you mentioned earlier, and I'll go upstairs, get a shower and show up at Bogey's when I feel like it. Don't wait on me to order or stuff your face." I turned and stalked toward the door.

  "Hey, now, I'm teasing," he called softly behind me.

  "I know. I am, too." I kept walking.

  * * *

  "What's this?" A flat-screen television hung over the bar to the left of Hank's booth, and the news was on. I settled on the opposite side and wriggled out of my jacket—the fog and mist had drifted in again and the temperature had dropped outside.

  "Missing college students," Hank muttered, emptying a mixed drink.

  "When?"

  "Earlier tonight. At least that's when they were reported. Two freshmen girls."

  "Not good," I sighed. "Did you order?"

  "Nah. Waited on you."

  "I told you not to."

  "I know. It didn't seem right. Besides, I needed a drink to unwind."

  "What's that?" I nodded to his glass.

  "Old fashioned. They make good ones, here. Not everybody does."

  "Care for a drink?" A waiter sidled up to our table.

  "Glass of wine? Soda?" Hank lifted an eyebrow in my direction.

  "White wine," I nodded. "Not too dry. And some water."

  "I'll get that and come back for your order, Mr. Bell." The waiter turned and walked toward the bar.

  "You a regular, here?"

  "Yeah. My apartment is nearby."

  "Ah."

  "And they're open late. Works out well if you're assigned to swing shift," he added, chewing on two slender, red drink straws that came with his old fashioned.

  "Glad to leave that behind?" I asked, meaning his work as a paramedic.

  "Yeah. It was taxing, to say the least. Not that I didn't mind saving lives; it was the ones I couldn't help."

  "Understood," I nodded as glasses of white wine and ice water were set on bar napkins in front of me.

  "Know what you want?" Hank grinned before going back to chewing his red straws.

  "I haven't even looked at the menu," I muttered, opening the item in question and staring at the plastic-covered sheets inside. "Grilled cheese sandwich?" I looked up at our waiter, "with fries and a side salad?"

  "Dressing?" He wasn't writing anything down. I always admired waitstaff who could do that—keep everything in their head.

  "Red wine vinaigrette?"

  "Sure. The usual, Mr. Bell?"

  "Yeah."

  Hank's usual turned out to be a roast beef and Swiss sandwich, toasted, with fries and a h
alf-order of onion rings.

  "They let you order a half-order of rings?" It hadn't been listed on the menu.

  "Tommy will bring me anything I want," he said.

  "Because you're a regular."

  "Yeah."

  I wanted to tell him that he cleaned up nice. I didn't. He was clean, smelled really good and wore a yellow polo over dark jeans and boots. His leather jacket lay on the seat beside him. Dark eyes caught me staring at him. I dropped my gaze.

  "So, Texas, huh?"

  "Yeah. The hot-as-hell-in-August part."

  "That describes most of Texas."

  "It does," I agreed.

  "You don't have much of an accent."

  "I can do the accent." My "I" came out "ah."

  "I can see that. Hear it, too." Another old fashioned was set at his elbow, and he hadn't even ordered the thing. He really was a regular. Our food came shortly after that, so we didn't talk for a while.

  "Want me to drive you home?" Hank asked as he shrugged into his jacket after paying the bill. I'd offered to cover mine and he'd declined, handing Tommy a credit-card.

  "It's only two blocks. I can walk." I buttoned up my jacket against the mist and chill outside.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Be downstairs at seven-thirty tomorrow morning?" he asked.

  "I'll be there. I'll try to get up and run first, though."

  "Suit yourself." I walked away after flinging a half-wave behind me. Hank didn't even say good-bye.

  Chapter 3

  I did go for a run the following morning, but I ran three miles instead of five, and went early enough so I could run near the wharf before the tourists started showing up in droves. It still meant I had to hurry through a shower to get to the shop downstairs at the designated time. I was on time, though.

  "Punctual," Hank nodded as he unlocked the metal gate and slid it aside before putting his shoulder to the stubborn, ill-fitting door and pushing his way inside.

  "Well, the cleaning elves didn't show up during the night," I said, surveying the main room while chewing my lower lip.