Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [140]
I knew whose blood the vampire in the hallway had been covered in. Did I feel bad about killing them? No. I walked down the hallway, keeping near one wall, gun ready in case there were more of them. I was searching for vampires with that part of me that likes the dead. Years ago I’d watched my mentor Manny Rodriguez be able to sense vampires in a house. He was always right. It had seemed like magic back then; now I sent my necromancy out through the house and couldn’t sense any more of them. Unless they were really, really good, better than me, I’d killed the only two vamps in the house. The real danger now was human servants; I couldn’t sense humans the way I could vamps.
The end of the hallway just had an opening into a larger room. What I could see looked like everyone’s living room: couch, television, floor lamp. I came out of the opening with my back pressed against the wall. I knew the corner nearest me was clear, and I put that at my back while I used the gun to sweep the room.
There was something in the middle of the room, in front of the couch, not quite to the love seat against the other wall. Something that lay in a pool of blood that had changed the gray carpet to black. My mind would not see everything about what lay on the floor. My mind refused to see it, I think. I let my mind play its tricks, because I knew what I was trying not to see. It was Jason. It had to be Jason.
One of the hardest things I’d done in years was sweeping that room, and not rushing to Jason’s side once I saw him. I forced myself to see every corner, including the corners at the ceiling. I’d seen vampires fly; hovering near the ceiling was nothing. I forced myself not to look at Jason until I was sure the room was clear. Only then did I let myself go forward. Only then did I let myself make the noise that had been caught in my throat. I didn’t scream, honest. It was worse than a scream. It was that sound you make when the worst has happened and no word ever invented will say your pain. The Irish called it keening.
I knew it was Jason on the floor because of his size and the little bit of his hair that wasn’t blood-soaked, but those were the only clues the vampires had left. The carpet squished under my knees as I dropped beside him. The room smelled like raw hamburger, and the carpet was a sea of blackness.
I think I went a little crazy for a few minutes. I dropped the extra magazine and the gun into the blood-soaked carpet so I could undo his hands. I fixated on undoing the bonds. If I could just get him free, it would be better. If I could just get him free. They’d used flex-cuffs and hinge cuffs through a metal loop that they’d drilled into the floor. I needed a knife and a key. I looked up and found knives lined up on the end table by the couch. Lined up on a towel, like some kind of macabre surgery. There was a wallet, a ring of keys, and a cell phone near the lamp, as if the vampire had emptied his pockets before starting the torture. It was so terribly organized. He’d done this before. I got a knife that was less bloody, and the keys. The flex-cuffs cut easily, but I couldn’t find the right key. I had to force myself to slow down, to stop fumbling.
I got his hands free, finally. I crawled down to his feet, because they were bound the same way. It was only after I got him free that I even thought I was doing this in the wrong order. But I had to undo the chains, I had to. Jason hadn’t moved, at all. He was free of the restraints, but he…
I reached for his neck. I prayed, “Please, God, let me find a pulse. Please, oh, please.”
His skin was cool to the touch. Not good. I couldn’t find a pulse. My pulse seemed to speed up like it would beat for both of us. I put my hand on his chest, and there, I could feel his heart. I didn’t know if I couldn’t find his neck pulse because I was bad at it, or if he’d lost that pulse. If the latter,