Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

Keanu looked slightly squirmy, which thrilled me. Finally a reaction.

I pressed on. “Is this form of overindulgence a frequent thing?”

Keanu looked mortified. “No, it’s not,” he said quietly, which made me feel guilty. “Fresh blood can help offset the sun’s impact, but it also can produce an effect similar to intoxication—particularly when drinking more than normal.”

“Oh.” Damn it, I’d said it again. “Well,” I rallied, “that makes sense as long as he’s able to leave when we need to.”

“Not a problem,” Keanu assured me. “I’d hoped you’d sleep later, but since you’re awake, would you like breakfast? I could teach you how to make Eggs Benedict. A frittata perhaps? A quiche? Salmon crepes?”

Since the only words I’d recognized were ‘salmon’ and ‘eggs’, I had no preference. Then Keanu was dragging me to the kitchen and I realized my opinion hadn’t mattered. Apparently my choice of attire didn’t matter either. It looked like I’d be cooking in my night shirt.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

BY the time breakfast was over, my
nightshirt was a wreck. Keanu had chosen ‘the art of the egg’ as our lesson and while I have no objection to art, his artistic approach neglected a few practicalities—such as lowering electric beaters into a bowl
before
turning them on. Admittedly, I’d been replaying various portions of my dream during his instructions, so perhaps Keanu hadn’t been entirely to blame.

While he’d lectured on vital information such as the subtle nuances distinguishing omelets and frittatas, I’d remembered Ian’s hands peeling my clothes off. While he’d prattled on about the proper way to coddle an egg, I could think of nothing but the feel of Ian’s body beneath my hands. And as Keanu had begun droning on about the architecture of a quiche versus a strata, I was speculating on what might have happened had I not inadvertently woken myself up—only to be startled back to reality by the shock of raw eggs splattering all over me.

By the time we’d put everything in the oven, I’d felt flushed enough to plunge my entire body into a frozen cocktail bath. Even more confusing than the dream was the question of why I’d had the dream in the first place. When exactly had I begun to view Ian in
that
sort of way? And why? Even the most oblivious part of me had to acknowledge that Ian was attractive, but so was Keanu, and I hadn’t dreamed about him. At least not yet.

Despite all of Keanu’s effort, our breakfast extravaganza barely even registered on my taste buds. I’d had a bite or two of each, but by the end of breakfast I was certain of only two things—I didn’t want to see another egg for weeks and I needed to keep my guard up around Ian. And I didn’t have to wait long before putting the latter into action.

Ian strolled past the kitchen—okay, it was more of a lumbering stomp—right as Keanu declared cleanup time. Bad mood or not, I was grateful for his interruption because the kitchen was trashed. Dirty dishes were stacked two feet high, to say nothing of the raw egg mixture spattering the walls and countertops.

When Ian announced we needed to leave I scampered away to get ready, leaving the mess for Keanu without a backward glance.

I dressed for our first delivery attempt in layers. (I assumed Ian would need air conditioning in the truck but the temperature outside would skyrocket as the sun rose.) My all brown packing strategy would have made for excellent hunting camouflage. From the neck down I looked like I was wearing tree bark.

Ian had swapped his black outfit from the light deprivation room for a more casual choice of sneakers, jeans and a long sleeved cartoon t-shirt—the latter so shabby it could only belong to Keanu. 

He led me through the jumble of spare rooms again and I paid careful attention, determined to memorize the way. The first five doors went straight, straight, left, right and right, and I planned to eventually make a mnemonic. 

Outside, Nicky’s truck sat in the shade. It looked almost sinister with its temporarily darkened windows—so dark I wondered how I was supposed to see through them. The truck was also cleaner than I’d ever seen it. Someone, my bet was on Keanu, had given it a thorough scrub and polish. Even the tires were shiny.

I personally didn’t see the point as the truck would be filthy before we reached our destination, but it did look very bad ass.

The back of the truck still held the splintery wooden crates and I exhaled in relief, not that theft was likely an issue out here. Then I clambered into the driver’s seat with the grace of a water buffalo while Ian vaulted up like a panther. The sky was growing steadily lighter, which made me nervous.

“I wish we could have left earlier,” I fretted as I put the truck in gear.

Ian sighed. “That wouldn’t work, Aurora. If we arrived at dawn, Mr. Kyrstack would know we’d left before daylight. Dominic wouldn’t do that.”

His inflection was weary enough to stop me from reminding him I wasn’t an idiot. I knew
why
we hadn’t left earlier; I’d simply felt sorry for him. I wondered if vampires could get hangovers and if Ian was suffering from one now. It would go a long way toward explaining his crankiness.

Determined to be efficient—and to ignore Ian’s mood—I hit the power button for the navigation system and scrolled through the destinations until I found Mr. Kyrstack.

“Did you or Keanu peek in any of the boxes?” The delivery manifest had no details, and I’d been dying of curiosity since I’d loaded the truck.

Ian looked surprised. “The crates are sealed.”

“Yes, but maybe we should pop one open and close it again. It might be conducive to our conversation with Mr. Kyrstack.” My presence was a big enough deviation from the norm without us appearing ignorant of our cargo. Plus I was nosy.

“No.” Ian shook his head. “I wasn’t referring to the crates being closed, Aurora. They have an
actual
wax seal along the edge. If anyone opens them, the seal irreparably breaks and Mr. Kyrstack would know it had been opened.”

Of course, that doubled my curiosity. “You know,” I considered, “I’ve seen Nicky and Luigi make hundreds of deliveries and have never seen wax seals. I mean, I get the concept,” I added, “but I didn’t know they used such a device. I wonder what requires that level of privacy.”

Ian shrugged. “Might have nothing to do with privacy—or with the Carrieros. A long distance parcel passes through many people before reaching its destination. Maybe the seals are in place to prevent theft or tampering.”

The edge of the sun became visible in the distance and Ian reached over to crank up the air conditioning. Since it was
still cool outside, I helpfully angled my vents toward him. He also pulled on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, though how they were necessary with the tinted windows was a mystery. I could barely see to drive.

Lack of vision aside, the first hour of driving passed easily for me. The mirrored lenses blocked my view and I couldn’t tell if Ian was merely silent or had genuinely fallen asleep.

Not wanting to bother him, I focused on the directions. Unless I was mistaken, we were heading toward Niagara Falls, a notion confirmed when we reached an enormous bridge. I pulled the truck to a stop and Ian turned to look at me.

I’d never seen a bridge before and the thought of crossing one scared the crap out of me. It was hundreds of feet long and looked centuries old—which of course it was. “Is this the Niagara River?”

Ian’s chin dipped precisely once. “Yes. This bridge crosses to Grand Island.”

“Any suggestions on how to cross?” I asked, hoping his suggestion would be for him to drive instead of me. 

“I would recommend driving over the bridge as opposed to driving
off
the bridge.”

How helpful. “Are you sure it’s safe? It looks pretty old…”

“This bridge was built to hold dozens of vehicles and the power plant maintains it. It won’t even notice this truck.”

Easy for him to say. He could probably surf Niagara Falls whereas I’d plummet to my death—if I didn’t drown first. Thinking very bad words, I eased off the brake and coaxed the truck onto the bridge.

Once we were halfway across it was easier. I stared straight ahead and kept my hands locked on the wheel, daring the occasional glance to either side to check the scenery. Then I caught Ian smirking and kept my eyes forward till we were over the bridge.

A few miles later we reached a second bridge that looked identical to the first. I didn’t say a word as I drove onto it.
Midway across, Ian spoke. “You can see the mists from the falls if you’d like to stop for a minute.” So I did.

We were closer than I would have guessed, maybe a mile from the edge. We couldn’t see the waterfall, but the rainbows above it made me smile. It was good to know some things were permanent, regardless of who ruled the world at any given moment. 

I put the truck back in gear, bringing us off Grand Island. Then I snorted out a laugh.

At the base of the bridge I had the option to turn off at an enormous red and white sign: “PERIMETER CROSSING FOR THE NIAGARA FALLS POWER FACILITY. PREPARE TO STOP FOR INSPECTION. TRESPASSERS MAY BE SHOT ON SIGHT.”

“Well,” I said drily, “at least they’re straightforward about it.” Needless to say, I stayed on the main road.

The entire sun was now visible, but Ian wasn’t showing ill effects yet. However, a few miles later,
my
eyes began to water.

“What on earth?” I choked.

“Pig farm,” Ian replied with more cheer than I’d seen all morning, apparently unaffected by the blinding stench. “Lots of pigs on a hot sunny day. These local squares supply considerable livestock for Toronto.”             

“Please tell me we’re not delivering to the piggy square,” I gasped between strangled breaths. I’d throw up on Mr. Kyrstack before we unloaded the truck.

“There’s also a square that specializes in chickens.” Ian laughed as I gagged behind clenched lips. “But the wind is blowing the wrong direction today.”

“Something to look forward to,” I wheezed, making him laugh. My square had chickens, pigs
and
cows, but only enough for local consumption. I silently vowed to never complain about our annual walnut harvest ever again.

I breathed as little as possible, but it didn’t stop my nose from running or my eyes from watering. Fortunately, the stench lifted in another mile. My ability to breathe restored,
I pulled over to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. I also stuffed my jacket beneath my seat. Not only was it getting warm, I feared I’d absorbed some
eau de pig farm
.

Ian was looking slightly uncomfortable by the time we reached our destination, despite the tinting and air conditioning. It was subtle, almost like someone who needs the bathroom but is trying to hide it. I wouldn’t have noticed in a human and maybe not even in Keanu, but Ian did not squirm or fidget. Ever.

“Oh sure, we have to park on the sunny side of the building,” Ian complained as I parked. I left the engine running to allow him the benefit of air conditioning.

“You should do your illusion now,” I pointed out.

“Glamour, we call it a glamour,” he grudgingly corrected as his form shimmered into that of Dominic Carriero. Keanu’s version of Nicky had been more accurate, which I attributed to his having been Nicky’s patron.

“A bit longer on the nose,” I said, “and a little sharper while you’re at it.” I took his chin in my hand and turned his head for a frontal view. “Mouth is fine, eyebrows are good, chin is excellent, your height was almost a match from the start… Maybe Nicky has a bit more muscle in his shoulders and arms?”

Ian/Nicky glared at me.

“What? I was trying to help.” I hastened to change the subject. “I thought vampires used glamour as a verb, as in to glamour someone and put the whammy on them.”

Ian/Nicky looked at me. “The whammy? Though languages evolve constantly, the proper terms for mind influence are entrancement and captivation.”

“Are they the same thing?” I rolled the words around my mind and decided I approved. They sounded very old school. Very Ian.

“Similar, but not the same,” Ian answered absently, using the mirror on his sun visor to make minute facial adjustments to ‘Nicky’. “They’re each exactly what they sound like. Entrancement leaves people susceptible to mental suggestion. It’s used to alter memories, to persuade people, and to make them do things via the power of suggestion. We can make humans do as we say.”

“Like forcing an invitation,” I said.

He nodded. “On the other hand, captivation is much stronger and takes more power and practice to wield. It is not a suggestion—the vampire controls the person both mentally and physically. You hold someone captive to your will. It offers absolute control but is exponentially more difficult.”

I mulled this over. “So it’s like…” I fumbled for a suitable example. “If you entranced me, you could tell me to turn cartwheels and I would to the best of my ability. But if you
captivated
me, you’d do the cartwheels using my body and I’d move as you wanted through no effort of my own. Like a puppet and puppeteer.”

He nodded again and I felt like a kid who’d aced a test.

“So,” I theorized, taking it a step further, “if you were to—”

“Aurora?” He interrupted me. “Not to discourage your love of learning, but maybe we could get this over with?”

Shit. Right.

I turned my attention back to the delivery instructions. Mr. Kyrstack didn’t want anything carried inside, so we had no need to wrangle an invitation. Ian could unload the truck while I located Mr. Kyrstack.

Ian reached for his door and I stopped him. “Let me untie the cords first. There’s no need for you to waste time on my terrible knots.”

I flung the door open, causing a hissed intake of breath from Ian. “Shit, sorry!” Wanting Ian to stay in the truck, I scrambled into the back to undo my handiwork. After I’d finally untangled everything, I eased down and walked to the courtyard entrance.

We’d parked out of sight, and as I rounded the corner an elderly woman sat on a swinging bench beneath the large tree outside the main entrance. She greeted me with a chirping voice that made me mentally christen her ‘the parakeet’ and I cheerfully returned her greeting before inquiring if she knew where I might find Mr. Kyrstack.