Bad Blood

The door behind Havoc opened a few inches, spilling light and the mayor’s familiar flowery-limey scent into the evening air. “Is there a problem, John?”

Without taking his eyes off them, he leaned back. “Ma’am, Creek’s back with the alleged vampire and comarré, but they’re armed and refuse to give up their weapons.”

“Armed with what?”

“Blades only.”

After a brief pause, she spoke again. “Let them in, but you stay with them. Now. I’m tired of waiting and not knowing.”

“Madam Mayor,” Creek said. “The vampire needs to be invited inside.”

Realization lit Havoc’s eyes. He tipped his head toward the mayor again. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea, ma’am. Perhaps you could meet them in your office at city hall.”

Before she could answer, Chrysabelle spoke up. “We meet now or not at all. I have other business to take care of this evening.”

A small snort of disbelief answered them, followed by, “Fine. You are all invited in. John, keep a close watch.”

He jerked his head in a quick acknowledgment. “Yes, ma’am.” The door shut. “You heard her. But one move I don’t like and I’ll ask after I shoot. Got it?”

Chrysabelle stood at Creek’s side. “Yes, we get it. Let’s go. Filling the mayor in on what goes bump in the night isn’t my evening’s top priority. I want this over with as much as you do.”

Creek walked to the door and opened it. “You heard the lady.”

Havoc kept Chrysabelle at his side as he guided them through the house and into the living room Creek had been in the night before. The mayor sat facing them, a tablet PC balanced on her knees. Creek caught the dull gleam of nickel-plated metal tucked behind the pillow under her elbow. A gun. Probably the same one he’d suspected her of having earlier.

The mayor waved her hand over the PC, darkening the screen, then set it beside her chair and looked at him expectantly. “These are the people you told me about.”

“Yes.” Creek held his palm toward Chrysabelle. “Chrysabelle Lapointe. She is a comarré. One of the originals, not a…” He searched for the right word, one that wouldn’t offend the mayor.

“Not a counterfeit like your daughter,” Chrysabelle supplied. “I am very sorry to hear about her death. My sympathies.”

But the sincerity sounded thin in her words. Creek understood Chrysabelle had a lot on her mind, but the mayor might not get that.

The mayor’s mouth bent a little and she nodded. “Thank you.” Her reply was as falsely genuine as Chrysabelle’s. At least both women were on the same page. “Lapointe. Any relation to Maris Lapointe? Her cosmetics company makes its headquarters here.”

“She was my mother. I am the figurehead CEO of Lapointe Cosmetics now.”

The mayor tipped her head slightly to the side. “Was your mother?”

“She died about a month ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your mother was a very generous woman.”

Chrysabelle’s body stiffened. “You knew her?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting her a few times at various fund-raisers.”

Chrysabelle nodded and seemed to retreat within herself. Memories, maybe. Questions more likely. Creek cleared his throat and pointed at Mal. “This is Malkolm Bourreau. He’s a noble vampire. The nobility are considered a superior class to fringe vampires, which are mostly what live in this city and the rest of the continental U.S. Or what’s left of it. The nobility prefer Europe and the Middle East.”

The mayor’s gaze narrowed on Mal with laserlike focus. “Noble vampire? Seems like an oxymoron to me.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Mal stared back just as hard. “You should know I’m not nobility anymore. I’m anathema. An outcast.”

“Why is that?” the mayor asked.

Mal waited the space of a breath. “I killed my sire.”

Something they had in common, Creek thought. “I’m sure you’d like to hear about the comarré, Madam Mayor.”

Ignoring Creek, the mayor stood, walked around the coffee table that separated them, and stopped in front of Mal. “I can sense that you’re not exactly human, but how do I know it’s not some kind of trick? Prove you’re a vampire.”

Mal shot Creek a look that spoke volumes. Like crazy. And death wish.

“Go easy,” Creek muttered, but it was too late.

Mal shifted his human face away, flashing fangs and silver eyes along with the hard angles of his true self. The mayor cursed in Spanish, stumbling backward and crossing herself. Havoc pulled his weapon.

Chrysabelle stepped between Mal and the mayor, throwing a hand up at Havoc. “You got what you asked for, Madam Mayor. Call off your dog.”

The mayor’s mouth closed slowly, her gaze flitting from Chrysabelle to Mal. She nodded, finally glancing at Havoc. Her eyes hardened. “You think this is a game? You think to scare me? I am not someone you want to make an enemy of.”

Mal’s face went back to human. “I did what you asked. Your reaction is not my problem.”

Chrysabelle flashed a look at him, then went back to the mayor. “We’re here at your bequest, yet you threaten us. You’re human, and this world you live in, the one you think is so safe? It isn’t. Not anymore.”

“My daughter is dead. I am aware of the world we live in.”