Blood Canticle (25 page)

We had to pass the ground floor suites with their private swimming pools, and here the internal lamps burnt and there was chattering and laughter.

I caught the sound of the Bossa Nova coming from somewhere deep in the main part of the building, a soft seductive music pulsing over the breeze-swept sands.

In the dark, beyond the low walls of the suites, we weren’t visible as we moved along, scanning room after room. It was all drug goons who functioned as lackeys, bodyguards, unquestioning assassins, whatever the boss wanted, hooked to their giant televisions or chattering away on their cell phones, or even up to their waists in the pools. Blue walls. Bamboo furniture. Their rooms were pits of garbage, girlie magazines, bottles of tequila, beer cans, packaged chips spilling out of bags and bowls.

We scanned desperately for knowledge of the tall people. We got nothing for our pains.

My urge was to kill all of them. “They are all gone aside, they are all together become filthy, there is none that doeth good, no not one,” saith the fourteenth psalm. But who am I, Saint Juan Diego, to mete out such a fate to these souls who might in some distant future repent and become saints of the Lord on High?

Nevertheless! I’m a ruthless dude. And they had to go if we were to extricate even one Taltos from this island.

Besides, there just wasn’t any other way to do it.

Gathering Mona and Quinn to me, I blasted the lackeys one after another, feeling the strength leave me in the instant that it hit them. This was not exhilarating. This was not fun. This became repulsive, and the only thing that made it endurable was my abhorrence of their boot leather souls.

We came on a pair, fancier than the others, Miami-retro Hawaiian shirts. Mona took the comely one with the dazzling rings and the naked chest, and I clamped down on the older, frightened one, who gave up images of contrition in the blood.

“They can’t give us anything!” Mona said, wiping her lip. Her eyes were glassy and large. “Why don’t they know?”

“Because they come and they go, and they know nothing about what actually happened here,” I said. “We’re cleaning them up, that’s the point. When the big man calls for help he won’t get it. Move on.”

Two more suites. Low-level, groveling servants. Snorting coke and listening to salsa. Mad that they couldn’t turn up the volume. Orders of the guy in the main building. The strength was getting a little more difficult, and I let Quinn have a go at them and he took them down swiftly, eschewing the blood.

Then Pay Dirt!

The last suite fitted partially into the body of the main building. Considerably larger than the others. Forget the powder blue walls and the rattan furnishings. This was a palatial cell of pure whiteness. White leather couches, chairs, broad pillow-laden bed strewn with glossy magazines. Vases of fresh flowers bursting with color. A wall of books. Immense dressing table laden with cosmetics. Burgundy carpet. Shining in the night.

And maybe just the strangest creature I’d ever seen in my long wanderings on the planet.

Mona let out the expected gasp, and Quinn put his hand resolutely on her shoulder.

As for the occupation of the beast, he was clacking away on his computer, which had a large printer connected with it, and he did not sense our presence any more than the drug bums in the other chambers. He paused in his work to pick up a full glass of milk and drain it. He set the glass on the table to his left, beside a large opaque pitcher.

He was easily seven feet tall, apparently male, though it was difficult for me to tell until I really caught the scent, thick and sweet, and his lustrous black hair was cut maybe shoulder length and brushed back and held away from his bone-hard face by the common red bandanna.

Sweet fragrance. Remarkable fragrance.

He had huge black eyes, enormous and beautiful cheekbones and baby fresh skin all over. Clothes? Sleeveless gleaming satin T, chocolate brown leather mock jeans exquisitely stitched up, enormous feet in open sandals. Spiderlike hands, and fingernails and toenails polished in shimmering metallic blue. Mouth baby soft and large.

He played delicately with the keys, oblivious to us, oblivious to all things, humming and turning his head from side to side as he wrote or calculated or sought or talked, and then—

—he rose up to his height of seven feet and pivoted and pointed to us, eyes wide, hostile, mouth open.

“Blood Hunters!” he cried out in a weary exasperated and disgusted voice. “Pass over me, you fools of the night, I assure you my blood is bitter to you. What do you want me to do? Cut my wrist and paint the door post? Pass over. Go feast on the humans on this island! Kindly don’t disturb me again.”

Mona darted across the courtyard and around the pool and we went after her.

“Taltos!” she said. “I’m Mona Mayfair, the mother of Morrigan! You came down from me! You have my genes in you! Where is Morrigan!”

Rocking back on his heels, he gazed upon her as though he pitied her.

“You’re a cute little pixie to be such a liar,” he said with withering scorn. “You never birthed a human being in your life,” he went on contemptuously and coldly. “You’re a Blood Hunter. You can’t birth. Why come into my room to lie to me about Mona Mayfair of all people, Morrigan’s mother? Who are you? Don’t you know where the party is, darling dear? Listen to the Bossa Nova, and go dance with the Drug Lord and his select minions. Drink their blood. It’s hot with evil, you ought to love it.”

The contrast between this large-boned baby fresh face and this dark free-flowing disdainful voice was shattering. But we were far from interesting to the creature, obviously, who was about to sit down again at the desk when Mona protested.

“I was human before this,” said Mona, reaching out to take the creature’s right arm. (He pulled back.) “I did birth Morrigan,” Mona said. “I love Morrigan. My love has crossed into the Blood. I’ve come to find out if Morrigan is well and happy. Ash Templeton took Morrigan from me. You’re descended from them. You have to be! Talk to me. Answer me! This is the goal of my life!”

The creature took the measure of each one of us. More easy scorn. A little amazed laugh. He slouched back with a gorgeous grace, the lids of his eyes coming just perfectly halfway over his big glistening eyes, and his baby mouth smiling brilliantly. He raised one eyebrow.

“Goal of your life?” he said mockingly. “Little redheaded Blood Hunter on stilts? Why should I care about the goal of your life? Ash Templeton, you said. Ash Templeton. Now that name is not known to me. Unless you refer to Ashlar, my father.”

“I do, yes, I do!” said Mona.

I was cautious in studying him, out of courtesy and full awareness that this was a Taltos, this was the mysterious being, and we had found at least one, but then my eyes saw what I should have seen before—the creature was shackled to the wall by his right leg.

He wore a cuff of steel connected to a very long chain that was hooked to the wall behind the desk. It was a chain long enough to allow him access to the pool in the courtyard behind us, and conceivably to the bath, which lay to the right of the immense bedroom.

“You know where Morrigan is, don’t you?” said Mona. She seemed suddenly so tragic as she spoke these words. She’d been asking them forever, and now even this being wouldn’t answer her.

I focused my force on the chain and broke it with a loud snap. I knelt on one knee and severed the cuff.

The creature jumped back, staring at the remnants of the shackles.

“Well, aren’t we the little band of wingless angels,” he conceded, his voice still sneering, “but how on Earth am I to escape? These stunted apes control everything. Listen to them. You hear the Bossa Nova? That’s the big boy’s song. Rodrigo, Lord of All. And his Mother, Lucia. Can you imagine living with this music for a year now? Isn’t it sweet?”

“Oh, you’ll escape all right,” I said. “We’ll take you out of here without question. Every human between here and the airstrip is already dead. And the others will soon join them. But we want to rescue all the Taltos. Where are the others? Do you know?”

“Morrigan,” said Mona. “When did you last see her?”

“Morrigan!” the creature said, his head falling back, his voice like a black ribbon as the words flowed: “Stop saying her name. You think I don’t know who she is? She’s the mother of the entire Secret People. Of course I know her name. Morrigan is probably dead. Anyone who didn’t cooperate with these Drug Merchants is dead. Morrigan was dying before they ever came. She birthed five males before she birthed Miravelle. That’s too many children in too short a time.”

He gave a weary shake of his head, eyes still half-mast, weight shifting from one hip to the other.

“Her own sons rose up and raped her in the hope of a female birth. At last Miravelle! And da da da DA! The tribe goes on! Morrigan was sick unto death, and her milk dried up, and then came the poison. If the Drug Men shot her they wasted their bullets. She was my mother, by the way, I loved her. Past tense. Get on with it.”

I expected Mona’s tears to come and I thought them justified, and I held her tight with my right arm. But they only stood in her eyes, forming a glaze in the light as she followed this cold, hard speech. She looked suddenly like a costumed waif in her feathered finery, gazing up at the face of this bizarre and sardonic creature.

This was a blow of such weight falling upon her that she could only stand there and let me support her. I wondered if she would slip from consciousness, so grave was her stare, so still her figure in my grip.

“Take it easy, my little one,” I whispered. I kissed her cheek. “We have yet to explore the main building.”

“Oh, Beloved Boss,” she said in a faltering voice. “Oh, Beloved Boss, I have sought and so I have found.”

“Not yet,” said Quinn, eying the creature grimly. “Not till we search the island end to end.”

“Well, aren’t we the gallant little gang of Blood Thieves,” said the tall being, “and we all love each other, kissy, kissy! I’m impressed. Seems in my fathomless noisome memories of Paradise Lost and Come Again and Gone Underground and Lost and Species Wiped Out that you merciless little beings preyed upon humans rather ruthlessly. What is this, Valentine’s Day for Vampires?”

“We’re going to get you out of your little prison,” said Quinn with equal coldness. “Will you kindly cooperate with us and tell us what Taltos are left here?”

“And I’d oh, so love it if you told us your name,” I said sarcastically. “It’s a bit hard to read your mind. I keep stumbling in the ice and snow when I try.”

He gave a bitter laugh in a small show of sinister spontaneity.

“Oh, so the outside world has finally come,” said the being, swaying with undeniable grace, his words flowing like glossy syrup. “Well, you’re a year too late. I don’t know who’s left or where they are. I might be the sole specimen.” He made a broad upward gesture with both hands, and a broad hateful smile.

“And you did say that Morrigan was your mother?” Mona asked tenderly.

“Out of Morrigan and Ashlar,” he said. “Pure as they come. Oberon of the first rank, known by the younger ones as a cynic and eternal wet blanket. Though I’ve never called them by name. They are Mother and Father to me. If I’d killed my brother Silas when he first started talking sedition maybe none of this would have happened. But I don’t think the Secret People could have gone on forever.”

“The Secret People, that’s a lovely name,” I said. “Whose idea was that?”

“Yes, I’ve always thought it was sweet,” he said. “And our life wasn’t bad at all, let me tell you. But Father was naÏve to think it could last. Even Morrigan told him that. You can’t keep a community of twenty Taltos perfectly under your supervision, you know, that sort of thing, no matter how much diversion and education and stimulation you provide. Father was a dreamer. Morrigan was an oracle. Silas was the poisoner. So it came to a bloody end.”

Suddenly I divined a human presence behind the far door, and so did the Taltos.

A tall dark-skinned woman came in, perhaps fifty years in age, but extremely well groomed and seductive—black-rimmed eyes, heavily made-up face, blood red lips, and a head of luxuriant dark hair and a pinched waist, breast-heavy figure.

She was holding in her hand an obviously religious statue. She was fastidiously dressed in a mauve silk dress with a golden chain for a belt, black net stockings and sharp heels, flashy gold earrings, and she spoke immediately in heavily accented Spanish.

“Well, I finally found it but I had to move Heaven and Earth, I tell you, you’d think it should be common enough, with the Pope going all the way to Mexico, but I had to go on the Internet and find it, and here it is.”

And there it was!

She set it down on the low white table along the wall! A brilliantly painted statue of Saint Juan Diego!

I was thunderstruck.

There he stood, brave little fellow, with his arms out, and the unmistakable image of Our Lady of Guadalupe in full rich color emblazoned on his
tilma,
and the famous roses dropping to his feet, and all this in unmistakable detail! Of course, the image of Our Lady was glued on, and the flowers were paper, but so what, it was Juan, my Juan Diego.

“And you left the party just to give this to me?” said Oberon with dripping mock affection.

“Oh, shut your filthy mouth,” she said. “And who are these people?” Flash of brilliant smile. “Ah, you are my son’s guests, are you not? Welcome.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for that statue,” I said. “No, I’ll make you a better deal. I’ll let you live. After all, what good would a thousand dollars be to a dead woman? Go get in one of those small boats in the marina and take off. Everybody else on this island’s doomed, except for the tall people.”

She stared at me with immense curiosity and utter fearlessness, eyes opaque, mouth hard. In a flash she had a black pistol in her hand. And in a flash I’d taken it from her and thrown it on the bed.

“You think my son won’t cut you and your fancy friends to pieces? How dare you!”

“Better take my offer,” I said. “Woman, thy faith has saved thee! Head for the marina, now.”