Blood Call

  A wrenching mental effort closed it all away. No. Josiah came and took me out of there. That’s what I remember, and that’s what I’ll remember until the day I die. I don’t care about anything else.

  “I remember you came for me,” she finished. “I don’t care about anything else. When are we leaving?”

  It took him a few moments. The pain in his eyes spread over his entire face, an awful crumpling like a child in agony, though he spoke with the deep gravel tone of an adult male with a sore throat. “I’m a filthy fucking murderer, Anna. You don’t want to know what I’m capable of.”

  Oh, Christ. “I told you, I don’t care.” Hot tears welled in her eyes. “Do you want me to go with you or not?”

  “I’m telling you that you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. Is that clear?” He set his jaw and glared at her.

  Her arms hurt, but she lifted them. Her hands cupped the rough stubble of his face, and she pulled him forward. Their foreheads touched, and she closed her eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.

  “I’m going with you,” she said, as firmly as she could. “Just tell me what to do first.”

  “It’s not ever going to be like it was. Anna. You know. You know what I’m—”

  If he keeps this up I’m going to cry. If I start to cry I’m going to scream. I don’t want to do that. Anna gathered herself. “Josiah. Shut up.”

  He did.

  “They had me down there.” It was difficult to say it. It was difficult to even think of the cellar and the harsh bright light shining through her skull. “They were going to…one of them, he told me Eric…” Her throat filled. She had to swallow the sudden smooth hard stone in her throat several times before she could speak again. “If I could have killed him right there I would have. I would have even been happy about it. I’m not a hypocrite—at least, I don’t want to be one.” I’m just as bad as you are, and I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. The words trembled on the edge of her tongue. She swallowed their bitterness.

  It was one more thing she was never going to be able to tell him.

  “It’s different for you.” He must have had the same stone in his throat. “You’re different.”

  No. Anna breathed him in, Ivory soap and clean male. I’m not different, Josiah. Underneath everything, I’m not different at all.

  But she let it lie. “I love you,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Jesus. You shouldn’t be sorry. I nearly fucked the whole thing up. If it hadn’t…well, it almost went bad. I’ll get you something to wear. We should get out of here soon.”

  I don’t even know where we are. “All right. Josiah?”

  “What?” The tension left him, draining away bit by bit.

  I can handle this, Anna realized. As long as he’s here I can handle it. “Do you love me?” It wasn’t what she meant to say. What she wanted to know was more like, Do you still want me? Or even, Will you forgive me?

  “Why do you think I kept that phone number?” The sentence broke in the middle; he finished it with a sigh. “You are so goddamn stubborn, baby doll.”

  She sagged with relief. Josiah pulled her gently, carefully, into his arms. The sheet twisted around her legs and her back shrieked with pain, but Anna didn’t care. A cloud went over the sun, and daylight dimmed.

  That didn’t matter either. She rested in his arms, and if the dark suspicion of a memory remained, even weak sunshine was enough to keep it away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  If you wanted to bury yourself somewhere, India was a good choice.

  Night descended upon Bombay suburbs with shrieks, clatters, and a whole host of other noises that began to seem like home once you’d spent long enough there. It was a world away from the States, full of the smells of curry and hot stone, a crowd of humanity and incense. There were other, less pleasant scents—but there were plenty of places in this city’s skirts where expatriates could hide.

  So this quiet stone house with its courtyard garden and reliable plumbing, its satellite dish and easily covered fire angles, was one of the best places he’d ever gone to ground.

  Of course, any location with Willie’s cooking and Anna next to him every morning was a good one. Josiah propped his feet on the balcony railing and closed his eyes.

  Listen.

  Anna hummed inside, her familiar wandering melody as she opened the cabinet in the dining room. Her footsteps dragged a little as she headed back into the kitchen—she still limped when tired. Just a little.

  Willie said something, as a pan lid clattered and something sizzled.

  “Watch the curry, love,” Hassan piped up.

  Night just as blood-warm as the day, dusk gathering between juicy green leaves in the garden. The sky had turned that fantastic shade of blue only possible in smog-choked sinks, an indigo like the robe of angels. Anna liked the colors here, even if the rainy season gave her nightmares.

  At least she didn’t remember them when she woke up.

  Josiah settled into the chair a little farther. The heat was oppressive, the worst thing about India. Unless it was the bugs.

  The back of his neck prickled, an animal’s consciousness of danger.

  “I know you’re there,” he said to the damp-breathing evening.

  The sense of presence sharpened, resolved next to him. “Still canny, I see.” Kit lowered himself down to perch on Anna’s deck chair, shadowed lamplight from inside falling over his dark hair.

  He was no longer the ruined scarecrow. Instead, he was an attractive English businessman in Bombay, his haircut sleekly fashionable and his linen suit of the latest cut. The ring glittered on his left hand as he settled into motionlessness, his eyes hooding. He looked more human, true…but not human enough.

  Not to Josiah. The gun was heavy in his hand, but he didn’t raise it. “I suppose if you meant me any harm I wouldn’t have time to use this.”

  “You would not. Though you are dangerous, for a mortal.” Kit cocked his head as Anna’s laughter drifted from inside, Hassan swearing good-naturedly. “She sounds happy.”

  “Whatever you did to her head, it worked. She’s bounced back. Mostly.” Though she can’t sleep without a night-light. Sometimes, I think she dreams about that cellar. Even if she doesn’t remember it. “They’re after you.”

  “Your ‘agency’ has suspected the existence of my kind for a very long time. I erased most of the evidence before we made our attack.” The creature shifted slightly. “What did you think I was doing, while you distracted them so handily?”

  That answered a couple of questions. Josiah sighed. A cold beer would go down really well right about now. He shelved the desire. “Nice to know.” Now, why are you here, you freak?

  Kit got to the point. “They are no longer pursuing you. You are presumed dead in their files, and fair Anne as well.”

  If I can believe you, that’s good news. “They do like to cut down on variables. I suppose you had something to do with that?”

  “I am not without methods for such occasions.” Kit paused. When he spoke again, he sounded almost uncertain. “The bite has faded.”

  Josiah nodded. His neck suddenly felt very naked, though he’d grown his hair out a bit for camouflage. Anna liked him with the sun-scorch of highlights. She said it brought out his eyes. “It quit bleeding after a while.”

  “Were I to mark you again…” The sentence trailed off into the spice of a Bombay night, jasmine in the courtyard exhaling perfume, mixing with the drift of curry from inside. “Her I cannot change. You, however…you are like me.”

  A stone-cold killer, you mean? Willing to do anything and use anyone to get the job done? Or do you mean I’m a fellow predator? He almost winced, controlled the motion. His boots rested against the railing. Josiah leaned back in his chair.

  Anna carried a gun now. After some initial flinching, she’d learned how to use it well enough that Willie was satisfied, even if Hassan rolled his eyes. Anna had even learned about cover angles, and how to
check a street, and was doing well with some other hard lessons. But she was still…

  She flinches. No matter how hard she tries, she’s not ruthless enough. I’m glad about that. If I have any soul left it’s her. I don’t even want to think about losing her, ever again. “Is that an offer?”

  “Would forever be too long to spend with her? I owe you a service, canny one. I change you, you change her, and the world is your garden.” The ring glittered, a stray random flash of green. Heat lay on Josiah’s skin, Bombay heat, wet and close.

  At least I get to see Anna in those dresses. She wears a sari like she was born for it.

  Josiah sighed and stretched, rolling his shoulders back in their sockets. “My name’s Josiah.” His voice was clear, pitched low, and steady enough to satisfy him. “You can keep that service you owe me. I don’t want it.”

  “You may change your mind. If you do, call for me. I will answer.” Kit sat very still, as still as one of the lizards in the garden. Anna drew the flowers, sketched people on the street, and paled sometimes when a reptile blinked at her.

  Josiah thought he knew why. “Thanks.” I won’t ever get that desperate. I hope.

  “I have one question.” Kit tapped the chair’s arm with his fingers, once, a sharp blurring-quick movement.

  “Shoot.” Josiah grinned, a wolfish leer. I might, after all. I don’t know if the new rounds will kill you, but I might give it a try. They kept going on about silver, you know.

  “Was she worth it?”

  Josiah didn’t even have to think about it. “What do you think?”

  He waited for the answer.

  Kit was gone. The wet, jasmine-laden air was full of the skittering of nasty laughter for a moment. Sweat trickled down Josiah’s back. He let out a long, uneven breath.

  I never want to see you again, mister. But for what it’s worth, thank you. I owe you one for getting her out of that cellar, and if the agency thinks I’m dead, I owe you even more.

  God help me if you ever come to collect, because even if I owe, I’m not paying.

  “Josiah?” Anna, calling from inside. She was coming through the dining room, heading for the balcony where he and Hassan sometimes sat and knocked back a few beers before dinner. “It’s almost ready.”

  Was she worth it?

  “Always,” he said to the empty, listening night. The garden’s sweetness drifted up, the clatter and hum of the city in the distance growing fainter for a moment.

  “Jo.” She was at the window now. “Come on in, it’s time for dinner.”

  “On my way.” He slid the gun back into its holster and stood, shrugging so his T-shirt didn’t cling to his sweating back. “Pour me some iced tea, will you?”

  “Oh, sure.” Her eyes glittered for a moment as she held the sheer drapes aside. She’d cut her hair, and its sandalwood was now thickly streaked with blonde. “Should I put on my French maid outfit while I do it?”

  “I won’t stop you.” He stepped into the dining room, slid his arm over her shoulders. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Is everything all right?” There it was: the worry. She stopped short, examining him and chewing on her lower lip. Of course, she sensed tension. She was getting damn good at reading him, now.

  Not good enough. You’re still lying to her, Josiah.

  Ask me if I care. “Everything’s fine, baby. You said something about dinner?”

  She leaned into his side, the gun secure under his other arm. “Lazy bum. Come on, it’ll get cold.”

  “Not Willie’s cooking. Hassan won’t let it.”

  Her low laugh was enough to tempt him to say the hell with dinner and pull her down the hall into the bedroom, to the wide bed with its mosquito netting and cool sheets. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her damp temple, jasmine and her skin under a thin screen of cooking sweat and the spice of curry. Goddamn edible.

  Outside, a yellow moon rose over teeming streets and a thin man in a white linen suit was probably sauntering through the nighttime crowds, on his way to whatever waited next in his immortality.

  Josiah let her lead him into the brightness of the kitchen, where Hassan had piled his plate already without waiting, while Willie scolded him.

  extras

  BY LILITH SAINTCROW

  Blood Call

  GALLOW & RAGGED

  Trailer Park Fae

  Roadside Magic

  Wasteland King

  BANNON AND CLARE

  The Iron Wyrm Affair

  The Red Plague Affair

  The Ripper Affair

  DANTE VALENTINE NOVELS

  Working for the Devil

  Dead Man Rising

  Devil’s Right Hand

  Saint City Sinners

  To Hell and Back

  Dante Valentine (omnibus)

  JILL KISMET NOVELS

  Night Shift

  Hunter’s Prayer

  Redemption Alley

  Flesh Circus

  Heaven’s Spite

  Angel Town

  Jill Kismet (omnibus)

  A ROMANCE OF ARQUITAINE NOVELS

  The Hedgewitch Queen

  The Bandit King

  As Lili St. Crow

  THE STRANGE ANGELS SERIES

  Strange Angels

  Betrayals

  Jealousy

  Defiance

  Reckoning

  meet the author

  Photo credit: Daron Gildow

  Lilith Saintcrow was born in New Mexico, bounced around the world as an Air Force brat, and fell in love with writing when she was ten years old. She currently lives in Vancouver, Washington.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  BLOOD CALL,

  look out for

  TRAILER PARK FAE

  Gallow & Ragged: Book 1

  by Lilith Saintcrow

  Jeremiah Gallow is just another construction worker, and that’s the way he likes it. He’s left his past behind, but some things cannot be erased. Like the tattoos on his arms that transform into a weapon, or that he was once closer to the Queen of Summer than any half-human should be. Now the Half-sidhe all in Summer once feared is dragged back into the world of enchantment, danger, and fickle fae—by a woman who looks uncannily like his dead wife. Her name is Robin Ragged, and her secrets are more than enough to get them both killed. A plague has come, the fullborn fae are dying, and the dark answer to Summer’s Court is breaking loose.

  Be afraid, for Unwinter is riding…

  A DIFFERENT BEAST

  1

  Summer, soft green hills and shaded dells, lay breathless under a pall of smoky apple-blossom dusk. The other Summer, her white hands rising from indigo velvet to gleam in the gloaming, waved the rest of her handmaidens away. They fled, giggling in bell-clear voices and trailing their sigh-draperies, a slim golden-haired mortal boy among them fleet as a deer—Actaeon among the leaping hounds, perhaps.

  Though that young man, so long ago, hadn’t been torn apart by gray-sided, long-eared hounds. A different beast had run him to ground. The mortals, always confused, whispered among themselves, and their invented gods grew in the telling.

  Goodfellow, brown of hair and sharp of ear, often wondered if the sidhe did as well.

  The Fatherless smiled as he watched Summer wander toward him through the dusk. She was at pains to appear unconcerned. His own wide, sunny grin, showing teeth sharper than a mortal’s, might have caused even the strongest of either Court unease.

  Of course, the free sidhe—those who did not bend knee to Summer or her once-lord Unwinter—would make themselves scarce when the Goodfellow grinned. They had their own names for him, all respectful and none quite pleasing to him when he chose to take offense.

  Summer halted. Her hair, ripples of gold, stirred slightly in the perfumed breeze. Above and between her gleaming eyes, the Jewel flashed, a single dart of emerald light piercing the gloom as the day took its last breath and sank fully under night’s mantle.

  Someday, he mig
ht see this sidhe queen sink as well. How she had glimmered and glistened, in her youth. He had once trifled with the idea of courting her himself, before her eye had settled on one altogether more grim.

  The quarrel, Goodfellow might say, were he disposed to lecture, always matches the affection both parties bore before, does it not? The Sundering had taken much from both Courts, and that bothered him not a bit. When they elbowed each other, the space between them was wide enough to grant him further sway. Carefully, of course. So carefully, patiently—the Folk were often fickle, true, but they did not have to be.

  He let her draw much closer before he lay aside his cloaking shadows, stepping fully into her realm between two straight, slender birches, and she barely started. Her mantle slipped a fraction from one white shoulder, but that could have been to expose just a sliver of pale skin, fresh-velvet as a new magnolia petal. Artfully innocent, that single peeping glow could infect a mortal’s dreams, fill them with longing, drive all other thought from their busy little brains.

  If she, the richest gem of Summer’s long, dreamy months, so willed it.

  “Ah, there she is, our fairest jewel.” He swept her a bow, an imaginary cap doffed low enough to sweep the sweet grass exhaling its green scent of a day spent basking under a perfect sun. “Where is your Oberon, queenly one? Where is your lord?”

  “Ill met by moonlight, indeed.” She smiled, just a curve of those red, red lips poets dreamed of. There had been mortal maids, occasionally, whose salt-sweet fragility put even Summer to shame, and woe betide them if any of the Folk should carry tales of their radiance to this corner of the sideways realms. “And as you are an honest Puck, I have come alone.”