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Medichi lowered his head to his knees. He despised what the death vamp had done, but he’d also seen that as a young ascender, a Twoling born on Second Earth, he’d tried dying blood on a dare, offered not from a body but from a goblet at a party. He’d been promised no ill effects, just pleasure. Well, pleasure he’d gotten, but he’d also gotten about three centuries of addiction, killing, despair, and no way back from a stupid teenage mistake. He hated all this shit, the treachery of Greaves and his forces, the resulting mortal victims. Still Medichi remained close to the vampire, as much a victim as those he’d killed, until he felt the final breath.
Stillness overcame the broken body. Medichi looked up. How far away the rim of the canyon seemed. The rush of water was loud in his ears and dominated his impression of the space. Above, complete silence. Below, all this rushing noise.
With his hand still on the death vampire, he repeated the words that had been his ritual for centuries. He was a man of faith if not a believer in structured religion, so in certain situations, like this one, he did what he thought was right, even necessary.
He looked at the now empty shell beside him and spoke against the hurtling water: “May the Great Spirit help you atone for these your terrible sins. May you be forgiven and may you find peace in the arms of the Creator. Amen.”
He released a heavy sigh.
So much death in their ascended dimension when it wasn’t necessary. Vampires were essentially immortal, or had the potential to live forever. But the addictive nature of dying blood, which seduced every death vampire who partook, made it necessary to kill mortals and ascenders alike for more.
In turn, Commander Greaves, bent on the domination of two worlds, used dying blood as one of his weapons. He not only encouraged the creation of death vampires, but built armies made up of them. There were even rumors that he provided the blood not just to his armies but to those High Administrators around the globe that he’d persuaded to join his faction.
Medichi had no qualms about being the sword of justice.
He left forgiveness to God.
Still sitting, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his black leather battle kilt and held it to his ear. He thumbed it. The phone was the size of a credit card and was a direct line to Central. For all other calls, he had a BlackBerry.
“Hey, Warrior Medichi,” Carla said. “Did you get him?”
“I got him.”
He heard a whoop and a shout and then Medichi smiled. Thank God for the women at Central. They were chosen for their calm tempers and positive outlooks even in the face of nightly death. They also did cleanup through a sophisticated inter-dimensional process that was more technology than preternatural power.
“Has Jeannie gone home for the day?” Carla and Jeannie overlapped their schedules. Carla had the day shift, while her best friend, Jeannie, had the night shift. The women were gold and served seven days and nights a week, just like the Warriors of the Blood.
“Yeah,” Carla said. “I kicked her out an hour ago. She has a brunch this morning with a Militia Warrior.”
He bristled. As a Warrior of the Blood, his protective instincts were always in overdrive, even where Jeannie and Carla were concerned. The Militia Warriors, though less powerful than the elite Warriors of the Blood, were still strong hombres and carried a shitload of testosterone in their own right. “Is he treating her good?” he growled.
“He’d better if he wants to stay alive,” Carla responded, but she was chuckling. “Hey, don’t worry. Not only can Jeannie handle herself after so many centuries as a vampire, but our Militia boys aren’t stupid. They know the Warriors of the Blood would be all over their asses if either of us got hurt.”
“Damn straight,” he cried, but more softly he added, “You still dating your man?”
She giggled then sighed.
“I take that as a yes.”
“He’s gorgeous,” she cooed. “Almost as pretty as you.”
Medichi found himself smiling all over again even though he was exhausted and had a torn-up and really dead pretty-boy beside him. Yeah, this was his life, finding small measures of comfort while sitting next to a corpse.
“I need a little cleanup action,” he said.
“I see him. What a mess. Oh, God, look at those wings.” In recent months, satellite imaging had enhanced the grid’s capacity as well. Medichi wondered if Carla could see the scars laced down his back, although right now his hair hung almost to his waist. Well, if she’d seen his scars anytime in the last three months, she hadn’t said anything. One more reason to love her. “Close your peepers.”
Medichi let his eyelids fall. Damn, he was tired, because it felt good to shut down like this, on a wet rock in the middle of the Colorado River. “Ready,” he murmured into his phone.
He saw the flash of light behind his lids. He felt the air move beside him. He opened his eyes. The death vamp was gone as well as any traces of blood, bone, or other feathered debris. “Clean as a whistle as usual, Carla. Thanks.”
“I know you’ve been after this death vamp for weeks. Please tell me you have some news for me? Anything I can use to find our girl?”
Our girl. That’s why he loved the Central staff. They made everything feel like a team effort; no matter what you went through, you had backup.
Relief flowed through him again, like a cool breeze on a hot day. “Actually, I have the best news.” He explained getting inside the pretty-boy’s head and finding the shrouded dwelling.
Carla squealed several times in the telling. He could hear her tapping on her keyboard. “I’m reconfiguring the grid to Burma, Second Earth, even as we speak. If I find so much as a flyspeck out of place I’ll call you. Just remember that this will probably take two or three days. Jesus, this country is so frigging big. Did you know it’s the size of Texas?”
“Do what you can do,” he said.
“If we were looking for a power signature, it would be different, but we’ve already searched both worlds and didn’t find one, so expect some near-misses.”
“Hey. Trust me. I know the drill.”
“I know you do but oh, how I want this to go fast and it just can’t but holy shit—” Carla rarely used profanity. “Burma, Second Earth. This is fantastic news. Have a limoncello on me. Now head home, Warrior, and for the Creator’s sake, get some sleep. You’ve earned it.”
Aw, hell. Carla was such a sweetheart. “Can’t. Not yet. I’m heading over to the Cave. Some of the brothers might still be there having their morning bullshit session, and I’ll want to talk to Thorne. I’ll let him know about the shift in grid coordinates.” Thorne was in charge of the Warriors of the Blood, including all communications with Central. But once the warriors had checked in from a night of battling, searching for Parisa took priority.
