Blood Bond (22 page)

“Thanks,” I said. He gave a curt nod and
turned back the way he’d come. “By the way,” I called after him.
“Where exactly is the sunroom?”

He pointed down the hall behind me. “Go to
the end and take a left, then an immediate right. You can’t miss
it. The lilacs are fragrant this time of year.” Then he walked
away.

George came out of the bathroom and stared
at me. The bruise stood out starkly against his skin, and his hair
was wet at the edges as if he’d splashed water on his face. “My
eyes …”

“It’s going to be fine. We’re here now and
we’re going to figure it out.” My tone held way more certainty than
I felt, but it did the trick in satisfying his worry. For now.

“All right.” He took a deep breath as if
setting it aside. The fact that he counted on me so absolutely both
warmed and terrified me. “Did I hear talk of food?” he asked. His
light tone sounded forced.

“Yeah, the butler said to meet in the
sunroom.”

He raised a brow. “Dude has a butler?”

“His name’s Mathias. He said Astor would be
in there, so let’s go.”

I started off at a quick pace, eager for
another chance to get answers, and hoping Astor was a little less
insane this morning. “Whoa there, tiger,” George called from behind
me.

I waited while he caught up, his steps slow
and stiff. “Ran over by a bus, remember? What’s the rush, anyway?
The food will be there when we get there.”

“I know, it’s just … we don’t have a lot of
time left.”

“You think I’m going to change again?”

I stopped and held my arm out. The small
hairs stood straight up.

“I’m doing that?” he whispered. I nodded.
“So you can sense me now?” I nodded again. He let out a breath and
rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, I get it. We need to
hurry.” We started walking again.

“That … and my mother is probably on her
way.”

“How do you know?”

I filled him in on the events of the
previous night. He looked a little wary when I got to the part
about Astor’s craziness and frowned when I told him about Professor
Flaherty.

“Do you think we can trust her?” he asked.
We’d almost reached the sunroom. I could smell the flowers from
here, just as Mathias said. I stopped before we reached the doorway
and dropped my voice.

“I don’t know, but it’s not like we’ve got
much choice. We’re out of options. We just need to get our answers
before my mother tips off the others and sends a posse.”

“You’re assuming Cambria didn’t already
crack and tell them our exact location. Your grandma scares me,” he
said.

“True.” Cambria hadn’t answered either time
I’d tried to call her, which could mean she was afraid to admit
she’d failed, or Grandma was torturing her in a basement somewhere.
“Either way, we need to make the most of the time we have
left.”

He craned his neck side to
side, as if stretching it. It was a gesture I’d seen him use many
times before a game. I heard a small
pop,
and he rolled his shoulders
back and straightened. “All right. Let’s get in there.”

The sunroom was true to its name in a way I
hadn’t imagined. Somehow, through the maze of halls that made up
the house, we’d ended up in the rear. The exposed wall was done
entirely in glass that curved upward well past where it met the
ceiling. The sunlight against all of the bright green and purples
and yellows of the plants was gorgeous. All that was missing was a
hammock.

In the right corner, near a wall covered in
hanging vines, a table had been set with bowls and platters of what
looked like every breakfast food imaginable.

Astor sat in the chair at the head of the
table; at least I assumed it was him behind the newspaper. I
cleared my throat before approaching, not wanting to startle him.
The paper jerked aside and he eyed me sharply. The bathrobe he’d
worn the night before was gone, replaced with a long-sleeved shirt,
lopsided and misbuttoned, and khaki slacks. He still wore the
slippers. His white hair stuck out, as if he regularly ran a hand
through it the wrong way.

“Jeremiah’s daughter,” he muttered. Then
louder: “You’re still here, I see.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” I said, taking
a tentative step forward.

He didn’t have time to answer before
Professor Flaherty breezed in, stepping around me and heading for a
seat at the table. She sat closest to Astor, looking fresh and
ageless in her black pants and flowing halter.

“Aren’t you two hungry?” she asked, pouring
coffee from the carafe on the table.

That was all the encouragement George
needed. He shuffled forward and took a seat. “Starved,” he said,
digging into the closest bowl.

Professor Flaherty raised a brow at the
purple-and-yellow coloring of his face. “Tara?” she prompted,
gesturing toward the empty seat beside George.

I sat down and eyed the choices. The table
was covered with eggs, bacon, fruit, and dishes with stainless
steel tops that, when lifted, revealed pancakes and waffles within.
I decided on coffee and toast.

“You must be George,” Professor Flaherty
said, extending a hand across the table. George dropped his spoon
and hastily shook her hand, openly staring as he took his attention
off the food long enough to notice her face. “Your heroism in the
cave gives you a reputation to be proud of. Friends that loyal are
hard to come by,” she told him.

He smiled, appreciating either the
compliment or Professor Flaherty herself, or both. “Tara’s my best
friend. I’d do anything for her,” he said.

“As it seems she’d do for you.” She looked
at Astor, who’d gone back to hiding behind his newspaper, and laid
a hand gently on his arm. “Darling, Tara’s come a long way for your
help. Won’t you hear them out?”

He lowered his paper barrier and blinked at
me. “What?”

I scrambled for words, unsure how long his
attention would last; he seemed impatient. At least he hadn’t
screamed at me yet. “My friend George,” I said, nodding at him,
“was injected with a serum that will turn him into a Werewolf. The
thing is, he’s human, so his body can’t handle the change. It’s
hurting him, and if I don’t figure out a way to fix it, he’ll die,
or become some sort of monster. I was told you could help.”

“What is it you think I can do exactly?”

“For starters, give me answers. Miles—”

“That DeLuca kid isn’t quite right, you
know. I’m not getting into bed with the likes of him or his
associates.”

“Me, either,” I agreed. I spoke quickly,
hoping to make it clear I wasn’t in league with Miles before Astor
lost it again. “Miles only injected George as a way to get to me.
Miles was evil, and all I want is to fix the damage he’s done.”

“Anna says he’s dead,” he said, still eyeing
me. His brows furrowed into a thick knot spanning his forehead. He
looked half suspicious, half curious.

“He is. One of my friends killed him.” I
tried not to hesitate over the word “friend,” especially referring
to Cord. We were something, but I wasn’t sure it was friends.
“Before he died, Miles told me the only way to save George from
becoming a monster was to give him my blood.”

“So do it already. What do you need me
for?”

“I don’t trust him. Everything he ever told
me was a lie. He said I should come to you to verify it, so here I
am.” Astor’s frown deepened. He didn’t answer. “Look, you’re my
last hope. I have no idea what else to do, and if I give him my
blood, and it kills him, it’ll be my fault, not Miles’s anymore. I
can’t live with that. I need you to tell me if it’ll work.”

“And what makes you think you can trust
me?”

I sat back, pausing to consider what was
actually a very valid question. Why did I trust him? I didn’t even
know him. And I couldn’t say Professor Flaherty’s vote swayed me
much, since I still wasn’t entirely sure whose side she was on.
“Well, for starters, Vera trusts you.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

I shrugged, frustrated. “You’re my family.
My father trusted you. That counts for something.”

“We’ll see if that holds,” he said.

I ignored that. “Will you help?”

“Come with me.” He pushed back from his
chair so abruptly the table shook. The salt and pepper shakers
toppled. Professor Flaherty righted them again. He looked down at
her, looking ready to issue some sort of apology.

“Go on,” she said waving her hand. “I’ll
tidy this and catch up with you.”

“Call Jeeves. He’ll handle it.” Astor spun
on his slipper-clad heel and headed for the door. I motioned to
George to follow. He grabbed a handful of bacon before stepping up
beside me.

Astor didn’t seem to notice, nor did he look
back to see if we still followed. He wound through hallways and cut
through rooms like a mouse in a maze headed for cheese. He muttered
to himself, but I pretended not to notice. Finally, when it felt as
if we’d walked the length of the house and back again, he stopped
in front of a door marked “Lab” and threw it open.

I stepped inside after him and halted.

It was huge, the size of five of my living
rooms. Stainless steel tables ran the length of the room in neat
rows, each of them covered in glass beakers, scales, Bunsen
burners, and bottles of various liquids. As I passed, I caught
sight of labels that advertised types of acid. Buckets lined the
shelves bordering the room. These, too, sported labels marked with
acid.

“What does this guy do?” George whispered in
my ear.

I shook my head. “No idea.”

We weaved in and out of rows, peering down
at tables and the strange instruments that littered them. Astor
stayed in the back of the room, apparently content to ignore us for
the time being. I found bowl after bowl filled with clear liquid
and metal rods. George met my eyes with raised brows.

Finally, Astor beckoned us to the far end of
the room where two large vats stood bolted to a slab of concrete.
Connected to the lid were lines of tubing, feeding something in or
out, I wasn’t sure. A swishing sound similar to a washing machine
came from one. Astor opened the lid on the one that wasn’t making
watery noises and peered inside.

He picked up a pair of tongs and reached
into the barrel, extracting a long, shiny piece of silver. He
closed the lid and carried the silver to a container on the table.
I watched as he dipped the bar into clear liquid and swished it
around a few times before picking it up again and holding it out to
me with the tongs. “Take it,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A test.”

“A test for what?”

“To determine whether or not your blood will
help your friend.”

He shoved the metal at me, clearly impatient
at having to explain himself.

I stared at the shiny, silver bar. It looked
like a stake without the point and was made entirely of some kind
of steel. I exchanged a look with George, who shrugged. I reached
out and took the bar.

I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it,
looking for something that made it special, meaningful. I knew all
about the way Hunters used metal as weapons, though I didn’t fully
understand the why. Was this supposed to be some sort of weapon?
Did he want me to use it?

I frowned at the same moment Astor laughed.
It sounded closer to a giggle, and promptly led into a raucous bout
of cackling. I stared at him.

Astor tossed the tongs aside and clapped his
hands.

“What?” I demanded.

More cackling laughter.

“Astor!” At my look, his laughter died off.
He fumbled with his shirt, trying to straighten up and appear
serious, but the grin was there, just beneath the surface. “What’s
so funny?”

“You passed!” He broke out into a dance,
both feet jumping and hopping, arms swinging. No laughter this
time, only ear-to-ear grinning.

“What do you mean ‘I passed’?”

“The test, the test, you passed the test.”
His knees rose and fell with the rhythm of his words.

“Altogether now, say it with me, loony.”
George’s breath tickled my neck where he’d leaned in close to
whisper to me.

I shushed him and shook my head, frustrated.
I was afraid to snap at Astor too hard, in case it set him off like
last night. “Astor,” I said as calmly as I could, “I’ve touched
metal, or steel, or whatever, many times, so I don’t understand why
this is a big deal. Can you please explain?”

He danced back over to me,
still obviously thrilled. “Of course, of course, but you’ve never
touched
this
.” I
cocked an eyebrow at him and he went on. “The material you just
held is called Unbinilium. It is one of the newer members on the
periodic table and one of the purest metals on the planet. That bar
is especially pure because of the extra leaching I’ve given
it.”

He was hopping in place. I was losing
him.

“Leaching?” I repeated. “What is that?”

He sighed, but it was dramatic rather than
impatient. “I see I better start from the beginning. You know the
weapon of choice against a Werewolf is anything laced with or
tipped in metal, yes?” I nodded. He seemed relieved, and I assumed
I’d earned a little redemption from my ignorance. “Right-o. And
metal works best when it is purified. Now, most metals manufactured
by CHAS, or at least the convenient and cost-effective sorts, are
comprised of aluminum, copper, or if they feel like splurging,
titanium.”

“CHAS manufactures metals?” George
asked.

“Not the metals themselves. Gah! Why do I
always get the clueless ones? CHAS, the powers that be, the head
honchos, they manufacture all Hunter-approved weapons.”

“I get it,” I said. “CHAS pays for the metal
and they’re cheap spenders.”

“Right. And cheap metals equal cheap
reactions. You’ve got to wield it better, stronger, and get a
clearer shot for optimum results. Now, if they used the good stuff
like iron, gold, silver, that’s something else. Stronger metals
equal a stronger reaction. On both sides. The Werewolf could be
taken out with a less-than-lethal blow because the material would
do the work. And the Hunter would feel it too.”