Blood Ties (15 page)

James passed me a haunting smile. His eyes were so clear and sparkly. I knew I was in trouble. I could handle Adrian. My feelings for him were a shallow stream. But the ones I had for James were turning into the Mariana Trench.

Julie stood on the porch waiting for me and saw too much bounce in my step for her comfort.

“So, how’d your little session go?” she asked.

“Fine. We got a lot done,” I responded, trying my best not to say it in a sing-song way. “James is still at the barn.”

Julie was edgy. “You know this isn’t about getting you laid. You have a job to do. And besides, they are Bolingbrokes, and you know the history. Remember where your loyalties lie.” With that she went into the house.

That brought me back to reality. Julie was right; this was about a mission, and James did come from a rival family. It got me to thinking. Why was James—a Bolingbroke—even there? What was his deal? And why did my mother bring in one of the enemy to help us?

Chapter Seventeen

Trust is hard to come by. That’s why my circle is small and tight. I’m kind of funny about making new friends.

—Eminem

C
atherine sat in the back of the Mercedes drinking a vintage bottle of Krug Brut champagne with Chetan, who was thrilled that he was indulging in the fabulous life and being driven around by Nick. Catherine knew Chetan’s initial attitude toward Nick was jealousy, though.

When Catherine had informed Chetan she would be creating a protégé, Chetan had wondered what was wrong with him. Why did Catherine need a protégé? But now he watched Nick with a sideways glance and was relieved not to be him. To Chetan, Nick was the walking dead. Chetan made mental notes, comparing the two-timing man Catherine had picked up at the mall to this empty shell driving the car.

With all the bottle popping, Catherine understood, Chetan couldn’t grasp the fact that she was playing him for a fool. She had employed a divide-and-conquer tactic that powerful people had used since the dawn of time. She knew she’d be able to manipulate Chetan even more by giving him two things. One, a carrot. She dangled the potential prestige in front of his face, giving him just a taste of it. Once he had a bite of that, he’d chase it forever. Two, she gave him the illusion of superiority. She would never let him feel above her. However, if Chetan felt he was better than someone else, that would keep him satisfied and working on her program. With those two things, she’d have a flunky for life.

The trio arrived at Long Island College with the intent of locating Grace. Catherine had tried all manner of magic spells, trances, and astral travel to find her. But no matter what she did, she could not get a clear picture of Grace’s location. Old-fashioned detective work was Catherine’s final option.

As the car made its way over endless speed bumps, Catherine was surprised by how bucolic the campus was. It was so much better than Jersey. She closed her eyes and breathed the air deep into her lungs, trying to soak in any remnant of Grace’s essence. The car passed the campus washateria. Catherine got a ringing in her ear that sounded like tinnitus.

“Stop! Stop the car right now,” she commanded Nick. The car screeched to a halt.

“Is something wrong?” Chetan asked, trying to recover from the mild whiplash he’d just gotten.

Catherine pointed at a young Indian woman, Naisha Samala, who grabbed a container of laundry detergent from the backseat of her Toyota Corolla and zipped back inside the building.

“That girl,” Catherine said, her voice displaying rare excitement. “She can tell me where Grace is.”

Catherine got out of the car and noticed another vehicle next to Naisha’s. It had a flat tire.

“Nick, you park the car over there, out of sight,” she instructed, then she stepped into the washateria.

As soon as Catherine got through the double doors, a blast of hot air circulated by ceiling fans hit her in the face. It smelled like burning cleaning solvent. She strode onto the black-andwhite checkered floor, careful not to slip on the liquid fabric softener someone had spilled.

Down a long row of double-stacked dryers, Catherine could see Naisha. She was the only one in the place; Catherine ascertained the driver of the car with the flat tire was out getting help. Catherine knew she had to act fast before that person came back.

Naisha sat in front of two dryers and was engrossed in something on her computer screen. She didn’t hear Catherine’s footsteps coming toward her because of the dryers’ loud tumbling and rumbling.

Catherine was no social-media butterfly, but she could tell Naisha was. She found it funny that humans left themselves so open to attack through these means. She guessed that youthful obsession with these mediums diminished the gift of instinct; it was nearly impossible to develop or use over a computer screen, and that carried over to in-person interaction. And without instinct everyone becomes your friend. Therefore Catherine knew that this young woman wouldn’t know a predator until it had her in its mouth. Unfortunately for Catherine, Grace had no profiles on any social media to speak of.

“Excuse me, miss,” Catherine said.

She saw Naisha quickly closing out a window to a lesbian dating site and switching it over to a photo of a handsome, young Indian man her parents were trying to arrange a marriage with. Naisha had not yet fully embraced her homosexuality and considered her frequenting of lesbian websites a harmless pastime.

“What do you need?” Naisha said with a childlike voice.

Catherine did a quick once-over of the girl’s immediate space. Naisha was an editor of the college newspaper, and despite being a nice young woman, she was a rabid busybody. She had a legal notepad, articles she was proofreading, and the most recent copy of the paper. The headline article was about Samantha’s murder.

“Oh my. That’s awful,” Catherine said, picking up the newspaper.

Naisha didn’t seem bothered by Catherine’s handling of her personal property. “I know. The killer left her head and took the rest of the body. Isn’t that deranged?”

“Let me tell you, this world is filled with demons. And here you are, all alone. You must be very brave.” Catherine pretended to be interested in the article.

“Not really…just laundry. Uh, did you say you need something?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a friend of mine. Grace Valois. I haven’t seen her in a very long time, and it’s a surprise that I’m here.”

“I know Grace. We have a mutual friend—Julie.” In reality Naisha thought Julie was a lesbian too, and had a serious crush on her. But Naisha had backed off when she’d found out Julie and Grace were living together; she’d assumed they were lovers.

Naisha said, “You won’t find either of them here on campus, or even in their apartment. They just got up and left all of a sudden. A moving van picked up their stuff the other day.” Naisha knew this because of the many hours she spent driving past their apartment and looking through their windows. “You said you’re a close friend of Grace?”

Catherine could see Naisha was starting to get suspicious. After all Catherine had walked into some random washateria with no clothes to launder, asking a stranger for information about someone who was supposed to be a friend. She opted for the blitzkrieg approach. “Do you know where they are?”

If Naisha was anything, it was compliant. She immediately got on her computer and pulled up a campus directory. “Don’t tell anyone I have this. I got it from an informant in student admissions. He comes in handy when trying to get the scoop on a story.”

The computer screen came back with Julie’s last known address—the apartment. “You don’t want that. They don’t live there anymore,” Naisha said as she searched for Grace’s information. She pointed at the screen. “Here it is. Grace’s home address. I’m sorry. It’s in Massapequa. I guess you won’t be able to surprise her.”

“Massapequa? That’s no problem. I love Massapequa,” Catherine said, trying to contain herself. “What’s the address?”

Naisha tore a piece of paper out of the legal pad and wrote down the address. “Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Catherine stared at the paper and said, “This is just fine. Thank you.” She knew she would have to kill Naisha, just in case the girl decided to run her mouth about this encounter— that whole six degrees of separation thing. As Catherine’s fangs started to pop out, however, the owner of the vehicle with the flat tire came in. He had a bottle of Fix-A-Flat in his hand and proceeded to make his way to his dryer.

As Catherine tried to escape out the door without the young man noticing her, Naisha shouted, “Tell Julie I say ‘hi’!”

Damn it
, Catherine thought as she looked at the young man. But he was so absorbed by his clothes, he didn’t even look up.

Good. Then I only need to kill one
.

Later Catherine sat in the Mercedes with Chetan. She saw Naisha putting her scorching-hot clothes into the trunk of her car. The car with the flat was gone.

“Go get her,” Catherine said, sending Nick to retrieve the girl.

To Naisha, Nick’s hand was like some big, hairy paw coming out of nowhere and covering her mouth. He picked up the frail-boned young woman and tried to drag her to the Mercedes. But Naisha had some fight in her. She managed to bite Nick’s hand, causing him to drop her on the concrete. She noticed his blood didn’t taste right. It didn’t have the normal metallic undertone; it was more like soured milk.

“Nick, really, you can’t capture one little girl?” Catherine yelled.

Naisha tripped and scraped her knees as she tried to run back into the washateria. With her on the ground, Nick took the opportunity to grab her again, this time breaking her arm in the process. He threw her into the back of the Mercedes. Naisha screamed bloody murder, but the soundproof windows prevented anyone from hearing it.

Chetan looked at her like she was steak and a baked potato. The protégé was too young to have developed his hunger yet, but Chetan was starving.

Catherine slapped Naisha across the face. “Dear, you really do need to shut up.”

“What are we going to do with her?” Chetan asked. He expected Catherine to say they were going to eat her. Instead Catherine stuck a pencil through Naisha’s temple, killing her. Then she directed Nick to drive, and they wound up in a heavily wooded area, at a rickety bridge that had not been used in decades.

“Nick…Chetan…toss her,” Catherine said from inside the Mercedes.

Chetan grabbed Naisha’s legs while Nick held her arms. They lifted the body over the rail, but Chetan had to ask Catherine, “Why aren’t we eating her? Isn’t this just a waste of meat?”

Catherine put her sunglasses on and said matter-of-factly, “I’m not in the mood for Indian food.”

Chapter Eighteen

To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.

—George MacDonald

I
looked down my red nose at the thermometer that dangled out of my mouth.

My whole body was fatigued and heavy, like it was being crushed. I had a mad case of the chills, complete with blueberry-colored lips and icy fingertips. My mind was totally disconnected from my body, and I couldn’t seem to remember how to properly move it. It just kind of laid there in a lump, making reflexive, erratic movements like a sleeping newborn does.

James knocked on my door and stuck his head in. I quickly stashed the thermometer under my pillow, not wanting to alarm him.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Ready to get the day going?” He actually had a tiny bit of cheer in his voice for a change. Then he entered the bedroom and gasped at the death mask called my face. “What’s wrong?”

I was glad to see James and welcomed him in—until Julie’s words popped into my head:
Don’t trust him. He’s a Bolingbroke
. My face instantly transformed into the embodiment of spite. James halted in his tracks, and he looked at me with the most bewildered expression on his face. For a second he went back into his mental file to see if he had done something to offend me.

I sucked my teeth and said, “I’ll be down in a minute.” I knew I was a bitch, but until I knew his true intentions, that attitude seemed to be the most appropriate way to deal with him.

“Alright. I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said cautiously as he backed out the door. He never took his eyes off me, just in case I decided to pounce.