Bad Blood

“Who? Who’s dead?”

“The witch you sent to steal my child.”

“What? You’re crazy.” Did he mean Aliza? If she was dead, she couldn’t be working a spell on Doc. Fi kicked Preacher in the shin. He didn’t move. “Let go of me, you freak. I’m not here for your kid.”

He squeezed harder. “Then what are you here for?”

Telling him the situation wasn’t going to help, but what else could she do? “I’m looking for Doc. You know, the varcolai who lives with your best friend, Mal?”

Preacher’s mouth hardened into a scowl. “So he’s coming back here, is he? I got home just in time. Thanks for letting me know.” He pulled a camo-painted knife from a sheath on his belt. “I’ll be ready for him this time.”

A squeak from the floorboards drew their attention. Preacher twisted in the direction of the sound, dragging Fi with him.

Doc stood in the doorway on the opposite side of the sanctuary, a wrapped bundle in his arms and a full backpack strapped to his body. He must have helped himself to the kid’s supplies, too.

“Put my daughter down!” Preacher yelled as he dropped Fi and lunged for Doc, his knife out.

Doc’s eyes were glazed with the look of heavy drugs. Or magic. Fi leaped onto Preacher’s back. “Stop it. Hurt him and you could hurt the baby.”

Preacher slowed enough to grab her arms and flip her over his head. Her back made hard contact with the floor. The air whooshed out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to get it back. Preacher grabbed her up again and put the knife to her throat. “Put my kid down or your girly gets it.”

Doc stared blankly at Fi for a moment, then down at the bundle in his arms before answering Preacher. “Don’t… hurt… her.” The words came out like the effort was almost more than he could handle. “Witch,” he managed, his gaze solely on Fi.

So he was under a spell. To let him know she understood, she nodded but stopped when the movement caused the knife’s edge to dig into her skin. Doc was in no shape to fight off Preacher, and she could defend herself. They could deal with the witch and the baby problems later. And now she knew where he was headed. “Go,” she mouthed.

Suddenly time seemed to slow down. Doc tossed the baby toward Preacher, who let Fi go to catch the child. As soon as Doc’s arms were empty, he turned, pushed through the door behind him, and ran into the night. The bundle of blankets unraveled in the air. Empty.

Preacher howled with anger and ran into the room Doc had come out of. The sound of things breaking followed him as he returned to the sanctuary, his face a black mask of fury. “He kidnapped my child.” He stalked toward Fi, the knife pointed in her direction. “I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to track him down and strip the hide from his flesh. You think I can’t find my own flesh and blood? No one will keep me from her.”

Crap. This had gone way worse than Fi anticipated. At least she had a way out. She whipped out the sacre. Wasn’t like she could take it with her anyway. She glanced behind her. About fifteen feet to the door, but Preacher had a vampire’s speed.

Preacher laughed. “You think that fancy sword is any match for me? I’m a vampire and a Marine. You don’t get more dangerous.”

The sacre fell from her hand. Now wasn’t the time to school him on just how mistaken he was. “Look.” She put her hands up as she slowly edged backward, concentrating on maintaining the image he saw. The longer she kept him busy, the more getaway time Doc had. “We can go after him together. He’s under the spell of the witch Aliza. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Nice try, but dead witches cast no spells.”

Twelve feet to go. “What?”

“Aliza’s dead. That’s what happens to people who touch my child.”

Okay, that was news. “Well, he’s under some kind of magic, then. He’d never steal your child. Someone is making him do this.” Eleven feet. She hoped she’d bought Doc enough time to get away.

“No more talking. Time to die.” Preacher lunged, slicing through her belly with his blade.

But Fi had left her corporeal body behind when she’d dropped the sacre. His blade sliced through the intangible form of her ghost self. With a roar, he tried to grab her, his arms meeting air.

“Time to leave,” Fi corrected him. And with that, she slid through the wall and out into the night.

Chapter Sixteen

Chrysabelle had barely closed her eyes when Dominic’s plane touched down in Metairie. He’d given her the plane without any argument, even calling ahead to have it fueled and ready for them when they got to the airport. Apparently, he was willing to keep her happy so long as she was willing to keep those two comarré. Considering she’d had them move into the house while she was gone, it still seemed a slightly unbalanced deal on her end. The only comarré she wanted around her was her brother. Her family.

She tapped her finger on the window, watching the tarmac vanish beneath the halo of the plane’s lighting. What would her brother be like? Would she find traces of Maris in his face the way she could in her own? Was his patron kind to him? Or cruel? She wouldn’t think that. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on what awaited her in New Orleans. She had little idea, but no matter what, she would get the ring and come home with it. Atticus was on standby, waiting for her the moment she returned. As soon as the ring was melted down and the gold stitched into her skin, Tatiana would have nothing left to hunt for.