"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 2 - Partners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

Speaking of putting things off, long, lonely walks in the mist weren't going to help her forget her troubles or that she was now Haven's trouble. Char sighed loudly. There was nothing she could do but to go home and consider the best way to kill a man. And what she needed to pack for a trip to Arizona.

Home was not a nest, with a household and companions and all the other trappings of strigoi society. She knew some Nighthawks lived perfectly normal lives, but she wasn't up to it, not yet. Maybe never. She hadn't been involved with anyone since Jimmy left, not in any emotional way. She was pretty certain she was a one-vampire woman who had ended up a lone hunter. But that was all right, because Enforcers needed to focus on the job rather than having personal entanglements. Char knew her destiny was to be more like the scary, psychopathic Istvan than Marguerite, Portland's other Enforcer. Portland's real Enforcer, actually. Char was allowed to hang around because she didn't have anywhere else to go. Or she hadn't until a few hours ago. Now she had somewhere to go and didn't want to go there.

"On so many levels," she murmured, noticed that she held the key to her apartment in her hand, and wondered why.

Char focused her attention and realized that she was staring at the dark, blank wood of a door and that she was home, at least in the physical sense. She shook her head, annoyed at being so out of it tonight. It was a good thing no one had attempted to assault her on her evening ramblings, or they would have ended up a tasty, wholesome snack before she'd been able to stop herself. Thinking of people as snack food showed how undone she was by Istvan's appearance once more in her orderly, quiet life. Not that she'd actually gotten a look at his appearance, per se, not this time, but the dhamphir's taking an interest in her was no more welcome this time than the other times she'd communicated with him. Been communicated at by him? Yes, that said it much better. The last time he'd talked to her, he'd told her he didn't think she was up to acting as an Enforcer yet, and she'd readily agreed. Now it seemed he had changed his mind.

Of course, she had to go out into the world sometime and prove her mettle. She knew that, but she had enjoyed her two quiet years doing research and compiling data on subjects relating to the strigoi. It was useful, important work that she'd taken far beyond the strict parameters she'd begun with. Highly classified, as well. In fact, she strongly suspected only she and Istvan knew about it, that it was his idea. They would both be in big trouble with the Strigoi Council if they - whoever they were - ever found out about it. In fact, she suspected one of the reasons Istvan wanted the information was so that he could find the Council. But why he wanted to do that since he was their voice and hand, at least in North America, Char quite firmly refused to think about.

Besides, she didn't like the idea of leaving town so close to the holidays. She had an invitation from Marguerite's nest for Thanksgiving. She didn't get invited out often. And then there was Hanukkah, Christmas, and Blessing of the Knives coming up. "Maybe I can put off killing Haven at least until after Blessing Day."

With that thought in mind, Char unlocked the door and went into her dark apartment. Of course, she needed a better excuse than multicultural merrymaking if she was going to put off carrying out a direct order from the Strigoi Council.

Char had barely turned on the living room light and taken off her old blue raincoat when she realized someone was about to knock on the door. A tight knot formed in her stomach, and her hands balled nervously into fists. Natural shyness warred with predator instincts, and the result was that her diamondsharp claws pierced bloody indentations in the tough skin of her palms. The knock sounded, low and fast and frantic.

"Coming," Char called to the vampire in the hall. She snatched a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wiped her hands, then stuffed the Kleenex in her pants pocket before turning the handle. The tiny cuts were already healed, her claws safely retracted, but the scent of blood lingered on the air. Not such a bad thing, she told herself, in the home of a hunter. She was still blushing when she opened the door. A woman stood outside, a thin, pale wraith of a woman. At least that was the impression Char had at first sight. The woman was actually short, matronly, and comfortably plump, but Char could tell that the stranger's spirit was worn thin with worry. "Yes?" she said to the other vampire.

The woman looked up and down the empty hallway, then pointedly at Char. "May I come in?"

The legend about vampires having to be invited into human homes was not true. However, no rightthinking vampire would enter another strigoi's home uninvited. To do so was a gross insult, a breach of territorial rights that led to the sorts of dominance games Enforcers actively discouraged in this modern age. To enter an Enforcer's home uninvited was tantamount to offering yourself as the Enforcer's next meal. Sort of like being a selfdelivering pizza.

Char grew queasy at this thought. She stepped back and said, "Please come in."

Once the stranger was inside, Char took the woman's coat, made room enough for her to sit on the living room couch, and said, "Can I get you anything? Coffee? And you are?" she added almost as an afterthought, trying to sound cool and in control as well as polite.

The woman dismissed Char's courtesy with a slight smile. Then she turned a worried expression on Char and said. "My name is Helene Bourbon. I need your help."

A ripple of emotion went through Char that was so strong she had to quickly sit down in the chair across the narrow coffee table from the couch. She sat on a pile of paper and books, of course, but she ignored that. Help? Someone actually needed her help? She was thrilled. Excited. Happy. Terrified. Definitely terrified. Puzzled. Why would anyone need her help? This was the opportunity to aid her community that she'd been hoping for and dreading with equal zeal.

"This is an eventful night," she said and found that she was rubbing her forehead. She even tried the old nervous habit of pushing her glasses up on her nose and then remembered that she hadn't had to wear glasses for years. Yes, she was shaken. First Istvan and now Helene Bourbon putting in appearances to shake her out of her quiet, circumscribed life. "I've heard of you, Ms. Bourbon," Char said to her visitor. "Your nest is down the coast."

"Near Yachats. And I'm too old to be comfortable with being called Ms. Of course, I was never anyone's Mrs. And Lady Helene does sound a bit silly these days. Never mind." The woman made a sweeping gesture, as though waving away her own facetious words. Char had noticed that Helene Bourbon had been looking anywhere but at her, but then the woman made an obvious effort to make eye contact with her. She said, "I'm nervous about being in your presence, Hunter."

It shocked Char that a vampire would be afraid of her, but that was supposed to be one of the perks of the job. She knew who Bourbon was, some of the woman's past as well as her present occupation and address. She wasn't a lady in the heraldic sense of the word, and she wasn't one of those Bourbons, but she never actually claimed to be. Char thought everyone was allowed at least a little vanity. So, rather than reveal that she had secret knowledge, Char asked, "What brings you to Portland?"

Any sign of nervousness disappeared in the woman across from her, and all her concern rushed back. "I've come about my missing nestling," she told Char.


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Chapter 2
NOVEMBER

TUCSON



"I've come about my son," the woman said.