Bloody Bones ab-5 Read online

  "Looks smooth to me," he said. He ran his fingertips over the naked wood. "But it doesn't look like an axe."

  The wood was too smooth. An axe will come in at an angle. This was almost flat, like each tree had been felled with a single stroke, two at most. Some of the trees had been nearly a foot in diameter. No human could do that, even with an axe.

  "Who could have done this?"

  I searched the darkness, fighting an urge to aim the gun into the dark, but I kept it skyward. Safety first. "A vampire with a sword, maybe."

  He stared off into the darkness. "You mean the one that killed the guys? Why would the vampire chop down a bunch of trees after he killed them?"

  It was a good question. A great question. But like with so many questions today, I didn't have a good answer. "I don't know. Let's get back to the car."

  We scrambled back the way we'd come. Neither of us fell down this time. A record.

  When we were at the car I put the gun away. I probably hadn't needed it at all, but then again... something cut down those trees.

  I used the aloe and lanolin baby wipes that I kept in the car to wipe off blood, to wipe the sap from my hand. The wipes worked nearly as well on tree blood as it did on human.

  We drove on, searching for lights. We had to be close to Bloody Bones, unless the directions were way off. Here's hoping they weren't.

  "Is that a torch?" Larry asked.

  I stared into the darkness. There was a flicker of fire, too high off the ground to be a campfire. Two torches on long poles illuminated a wide gravel turnaround to the left of the road. The trees had been pushed back here, too, but years ago. It was an old, established clearing. The trees formed a backdrop for a one-story building. A wooden sign hung from the eaves. It was hard to read by torchlight, but it might have read "Bloody Bones."

  Dark wooden shingles covered the roof and climbed down the walls, so that the entire building looked like a natural growth that had sprung from the red clay soil. About twenty cars and trucks were parked haphazardly on the dark gravel.

  The sign swung in the wind, the torchlight reflecting off the deeply carved words. "Bloody Bones" was carved in smooth, curving letters.

  I walked carefully over the gravel in my high heels. Larry's dress shoes worked better on gravel than mine did. "Bloody Bones is a strange name for a bar and grill."

  "Maybe they serve ribs," I said.

  He made a face at me. "I could not face barbecue anything right now."

  "It wouldn't be my first choice either."

  The door swung inward directly into the bar. The door swung shut and we were plunged into a fire-shot twilight. Most bars are gloomy places to drink and hide. A place of refuge from the noisy shiny world outside. But as refuges went, this was a good one. There was a bar along one side of the room, and a dozen small tables scattered on the dark polished wood floor. There was a small stage to the left and a jukebox near the back wall where a small hallway probably led to bathrooms and the kitchen beyond.

  Every surface was dark wood and polished 'til it shone. Candles with chimney glass over them shone from the walls. A chandelier with more chimney glass and candles hung from the low, dark wood ceiling. The wood was the darkest of mirrors, glowing in the light rather than reflecting it.

  The beams that supported the ceiling were carved with fruiting vines and stray leaves that looked like oaks. Every face was turned towards us like a bad western. A lot of the faces were male; the eyes slid over me, saw Larry, and most went back to their drinks. A few stayed hopeful, but I ignored them. It was too early in the night for anybody to be drunk enough to give me grief. Besides, we were armed.

  The women were grouped three deep at the bar. They were dressed for a Friday night, if you planned to spend Friday night on a street corner propositioning strangers. They stared at Larry like they wondered if he'd be good to eat. Me, they seemed to hate on sight. If I knew any of them, I'd have said they were jealous, but I'm not the kind of woman to elicit jealousy on sight. Not tall enough, not blonde enough, not Nordic enough, not exotic enough. I'm pretty, but I'm not beautiful. The women looked at me like they saw something I didn't. It made me glance behind me to see if someone had come in behind us, even though I knew no one had.

  "What's going on?" Larry whispered.

  That was another thing. It was quiet. I'd never been in a bar on a Friday night that you could whisper in and be heard.

  "I don't know," I said softly.

  The women at the bar parted like someone had asked, giving us a clear view of the bar. There was a man behind the bar. I thought what beautiful hair she had when I first saw him. The hair fell to his waist like thick, chestnut-colored water. The candle flames gleamed in his hair the same way they shone in the polished wood of the bar.

  He raised startling blue-green eyes, like deep sea water, to us. He was dark and lovely rather than handsome, androgynous as a cat. He was exotic as hell and I suddenly understood why the bar was three deep in women.

  He sat an amber-filled glass down on a tiny napkin and said, "You're up, Earl." His voice was surprisingly low, like he'd sing deep bass.

  A man got up from the tables, Earl probably. He was a large, lumbering man, formed of soft squares like a gentler version of Boris Karloff's monster. Not a cover boy. He reached for his drink, and his arm brushed the back of one of the women. The woman turned, angry. I expected her to tell him to go to hell, but the bartender touched her arm. She was suddenly very still, as if listening to voices I couldn't hear.

  The air wavered. I was suddenly very aware that Earl smelled of soap and water. His hair was still damp from the shower. I could lick the water from his skin, feel those big hands on my body.

  I shook my head and stepped back into Larry. He caught my arm. "What's wrong?"

  I stared at him, clutching his arm, my fingers digging through the cloth of his suit, until I could feel his arm solid under my hand. I turned back to the bar.

  Earl and the woman had gone to sit at a table. She was kissing the palm of his calloused hand.

  "Jesus," I said.

  "What's wrong, Anita?" Larry asked.

  I took a deep breath and stood away from him. "I'm okay; it was just unexpected."

  "What was?"

  "Magic." I stepped up to the bar.

  Those amazing eyes stared back at me, but there was no power to them. It wasn't like dealing with a vampire. I could gaze into those beautiful eyes forever, and they would still just be eyes. Sort of.

  I placed my hands on the gleaming wood of the bar. More vines and leaves curved around the edge of the heavy wood. I ran my fingers over the deep set carvings. Hand-carved, all of it.

  His fingertips caressed the wood like it was skin. It was a proprietal touch, the way some men touch their girlfriends when they're into ownership. I was betting that he'd carved every inch of it.

  A brunette in a dress two sizes smaller than it should have been touched his arm. "Magnus, you don't need a stranger."

  Magnus Bouvier turned to the brunette. He trailed those caressing fingertips down her arm. She shivered. He raised her hand gently from his arm, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. "Pick anyone you want, darlin'. You are too beautiful to be denied tonight."

  She wasn't beautiful. Her eyes were small and muddy brown, her chin too sharp, nose too large for a thin face. I was staring right at her from not a foot away, and her face smoothed. Her eyes were suddenly large and sparkling, her thin lips full and moist. It was like seeing her through one of those soft filters they used during the sixties, except more.

  I glanced at Larry. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck. A slim, lovely truck. I stared out over the bar, and every other male in the place except Earl was staring at the woman in exactly the same way, as if she'd just appeared before them like Cinderella transformed by her fairy godmother. Not a bad analogy.

  I turned back to Magnus Bouvier. He was not staring at the woman. He was staring at me.

  I leaned into the bar, meeti
ng his gaze. He smiled slightly. I said, "Love charms are illegal."

  The smile widened. "You're much too pretty to be the police." He reached out to touch my arm.

  "Touch me and I'll have you arrested for using undue preternatural influence."

  "It's a misdemeanor," he said.

  "Not if you're not human, it isn't," I said.

  He blinked at me. I didn't know him well enough to be sure, but I think I surprised him, like I should have believed he was human. Yeah, right.

  "Let's talk at a table," he said.

  "Fine with me."

  "Dorrie, can you take over for a few minutes?"

  A woman came behind the bar. She had the same thick chestnut hair, but it was tied back from her face in a severe ponytail, high and tight on her head. The long, shining tail of hair swung as she moved, like it was alive. Her face, free of hair and makeup, was triangular, exotic, catlike. Her eyes were the same startling seawater green as Magnus's.

  The men nearest the bar watched her out of the corners of their eyes, as if afraid to look directly at her. Larry stared at her open-mouthed.

  "I'll watch the bar, but that's all," she said. She turned those eyes to Larry and said, "What are you staring at?" Her voice was harsh, thick with scorn.

  Larry blinked, closed his mouth, and stuttered. "N-nothing."

  She glared at him like she knew he was lying. I got an inkling why the men weren't staring at her.

  "Dorcas, be nice to the customers."

  She glared at Magnus; he smiled, but he backed down. Magnus stepped out from behind the bar. He was wearing a soft blue dress shirt untucked over jeans so faded they were almost white. The shirt hit him at nearly mid-thigh; he'd had to roll the sleeves over his forearms. Black and silver cowboy boots completed the outfit. Everything but the boots looked borrowed. He should have looked sloppy, too casual among everyone else duded up for a Friday night, but he didn't. His utter confidence made the outfit seem perfect. A woman at one of the tables grabbed the hem of his shirt as he moved past. He pulled it out of her hands with a playful smile.

  Magnus led us to a table near the empty stage. He stood, letting me choose my seat; very gentlemanly of him. I sat with my back to the wall so I could see both doors and the room. It was sort of cowboyish, but magic rode the air. Illegal magic.

  Larry sat to my right. He'd watched me and scooted his chair a little back from the table so he could see the room too. It was almost frightening how seriously Larry watched what I did. It would keep him alive, but it was like being followed around by a three-year-old with a carry permit. Kind of intimidating.

  Magnus smiled at us both, indulgently, like we were doing something cute or amusing. I wasn't in the mood to be amusing.

  "Love charms are illegal," I said.

  "You said that already," Magnus said. He flashed me a smile that I think was meant to be charming and harmless. It wasn't. There wasn't anything he could do to make himself less than exotic. He sure as hell wasn't harmless.

  I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges, and he swallowed. He spread his long-fingered hands on the tabletop, staring at them. When he looked up, the smile was gone. He looked solemn, a little nervous even. Good.

  "It's not a charm," he said.

  "The hell it isn't," I said.

  "It isn't. A spell, but nothing as mundane as a charm."

  "You're splitting hairs," I said.

  Larry was staring at us intently. "Was that stuff at the bar a love charm?"

  "What stuff at the bar?" Magnus's face was incredibly mild, as if he thought Larry would believe him.

  Larry looked at me. "Is he kidding? The woman went from a three to a twenty-three. It had to be magic."

  Magnus turned his attention to Larry for the first time, excluding me—and I felt excluded. It was like a ray of sunshine had moved away from me, and I was just a little colder, a little more in the dark.

  I shook my head. "Cut the glamor crap."

  Magnus turned back to me, and for a minute I felt that warmth. "Stop it."

  "What?"

  I stood up. "Fine; let's see how funny you think you are in jail."

  Magnus encircled my wrist with his hand. His skin should have been work-roughened, but it wasn't. His skin was unnaturally soft, like living velvet. Of course, that could have been illusionary, too.

  I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened. I kept pulling, and he kept tightening with that certainty of someone who knew that I couldn't get away. He was wrong. It wasn't just a matter of strength, it was a matter of leverage.

  I turned my wrist towards his fingers in a quick turning motion, jerking at the same time. His fingers slid over my skin trying to dig in, but it was over. My wrist felt rubbed raw where his finger had scraped along the skin. It wasn't bleeding, but it hurt anyway. It would have felt better if I rubbed it, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I was, after all, a tough-as-nails vampire slayer. Besides, it would have ruined some of the effect, and I liked the surprise on Magnus's face.

  "Most women don't pull away once I've touched them."

  "You use magic on me one more time, and I'll feed you to the cops."

  He stared up at me, a thoughtful look on his face. He nodded. "You win. No more magic on you or your friend."

  "Or anyone else," I said. I sat back down carefully, putting a little more distance between me and him. I angled the chair just a little to one side so the grab for my gun would be smoother. I didn't think I'd have to shoot him, but my wrist was aching where he'd squeezed. I had arm wrestled with vampires and shapeshifters. I knew preternatural strength when I felt it. He had it. He could have squeezed until my bones popped out of my skin, but he hadn't squeezed fast enough. He hadn't really wanted to hurt me. His mistake.

  "Oh, my customers wouldn't like the magic going away," he said.

  "You can't manipulate them like this. It is illegal, and I will turn you in for it."

  "But everyone knows that Friday night is lovers' night at Bloody Bones," Magnus said.

  "What's lovers' night?" Larry asked.

  Magnus smiled, already regaining some of his easy charm, but that flicker of warmth was gone. He was being true to his word, as far as I could tell. Even vampires couldn't work mind control on me without my knowing it. That Magnus could made me nervous.

  "I make everyone beautiful or handsome, or sexy, tonight. For a few hours you can be the lover of your own dreams, and someone else's. Though I wouldn't spend the night. The glamor doesn't last that long."

  "What are you?" Larry asked.

  "What looks like Homo sapiens, can breed with Homo sapiens, but isn't Homo sapiens?" I asked.

  Larry's eyes widened. "Homo arcanus. He's a fairie?"

  "Please keep your voice down," Magnus said. He glanced around at the near tables. No one was playing much attention to us. They were too busy gazing into each other's magically enhanced eyes.

  "You can't be passing for human," I said.

  "The Bouviers have told the future and made love charms for centuries around here."

  "You said it wasn't a love charm," I said.

  "They think it is, but you know what it is."

  "Glamor," I said.

  "What's glamor?" Larry asked.

  "It's fairie magic. It's what allows them to cloud our minds, make things seem better or worse than they are."

  Magnus nodded, smiling, as if pleased that I knew so much. "Exactly; it's really a minor magic compared to some."

  I shook my head. "I've read about glamor, and it doesn't work this well unless you're high court, Daoine Sidhe. The seelie court of fairyland doesn't interbreed with mortals often. At least not commoners. The unseelie court, on the other hand, does."

  He stared at me with his beautiful eyes, looking, even without glamor, so gorgeous you wanted to touch him. Wanted to see if his hair was as luxuriant as it looked. He was like a really fine sculpture; you wanted to run your hands over it and feel the lines.

  Magnus sm
iled gently. "The unseelie court is evil, cruel. What I do here is not evil. For one night these people can come here and be their own fantasies. They think it's love charms, and I let them. We all keep the secret of this small illegal act. The local police know. They even come down once in a while and join in."

  "But it's not love charms."

  "No, it's natural talent on my part. Using my own homegrown magic isn't illegal if everyone knows I'm doing it."

  "So you pretend it's love charms, and everyone looks the other way because they're having a good time, but it's really fairie glamor, which isn't illegal with permission of the participants."

  "Exactly," he said.

  "Which makes it all legal."

  He nodded. "Now if I was descended from the dark side of fairie, would I do anything to bring pleasure to so many?"

  "If it suited your needs, yeah."

  "Isn't there a ban on unseelie court moving to this country?" Larry asked.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Not if my family moved here before the ban went into effect. The Bouviers have been here for nearly three hundred years."

  "Not possible," I said. "Nobody but the Indians have been here that long."

  "Llyn Bouvier was a French fur trapper. He was the first European to set foot on this land. He married into the local tribe, Christianized them."

  "Bully for him. So how come you didn't want to sell to Raymond Stirling?"

  He blinked at me. "It would disappoint me greatly to find out you are working for him."

  "Sorry to disappoint you," I said.

  "What are you?"

  He hadn't asked who, he'd asked what. It was a very different question. It sort of stopped me for a second.

  "I'm Anita Blake; this is Larry Kirkland. We're animators."

  "I take it you don't draw cartoons," he said.

  It made me smile. "No. We raise the dead; 'animate' from the Latin, to give life."

  "Is that all you do?" He was staring at me very intently, like there was something written on the inside of my skull and he was trying to read it.

  It was an uncomfortable level of scrutiny, but I've been stared at by the best. I met his eyes and answered. "I'm a licensed vampire executioner."