“Thanks.” He runs a finger over his bracelet. “Don’t suppose you could spare any blood, Daisy?” He shows me the indicator hovering in the yellow area, right above orange.
I flinch a bit at the thought of anyone but Jay biting me. Still, it might be best to let Michaelis drink now, before he gets too desperate. Not that I think he’d hurt me, but I don’t know him well enough to be sure.
“Is it safe?” I ask. “With all the others in here… Will it attract their attention?”
“They’re occupied,” he reassures me. “And I’ll make it quick. Trust me, I wouldn’t do anything that puts Jay’s girl in danger. He’d have my head if I let you get hurt.”
“That’s true.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself. “Just take a little. Jay might need some later.”
Where is Jay? I can’t pick him out in the blur of slashing claws and flailing limbs and snarls.
I hold out my wrist to Michaelis and he champs down eagerly. I barely feel the pain as I rake the room with my gaze, hunting for Jay, my stomach coiling tight and sick. If anything happens to him—if they kill him—
The melee is settling down slowly, figures collapsing in weariness or death. And then I see Jay, with his head blessedly in place, holding down one of the attacking vampires with the help of Keziah, the red-haired, pantsuit-wearing woman. From what I can see, that vampire is the only attacker left alive. The others are all headless now.
“Put the kitchen door back up,” Jay shouts. “Daisy—has anyone seen Daisy?”
“I’m here.” My voice is a quiet croak, but he hears it anyway and his head whips toward me. When he sees Michaelis fangs-deep in my arm, his eyes go whiter and he snarls.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I offered. He was badly hurt.”
Michaelis pulls his fangs out of me. “I only took a little, Gatsby. Chill out, man.” He licks the punctures and pats my arm. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” I cup my fingers over the wound.
“How many did we lose?” Michaelis calls, rising. He sways and grips the island for support. Jordan hurries over and loops his arm over her shoulders, helping him stand.
“We lost two of ours,” another man answers. “And we got all of them, except that one.” He points to the vampire Jay and Keziah are holding down.
I stand shakily, scanning the bodies. One of the headless vampires is wearing scrubs. She wears a blood bracelet on her wrist.
I didn’t even know her, but tears prickle in my eyes.
“Who are you?” Jay growls at the captured vampire. “Who sent you to do this?”
“Meyer Wolfsheim,” the vampire answers. “And this is just the beginning, unless you bow to the Progenitor and follow the Codex. Those who follow will be blessed, and those who resist will be cut off and their blood will be spilled as a warning to all who practice impure transformation.”
“Wow,” says Michaelis slowly. “That is some serious cult talk right there.”
I pick up the machete—better safe than sorry—and sidle closer, until I’m within arm’s length of Jay. The vampire under him has hollow eyes and a shock of white hair. His fangs are receding gradually. Bloody spit flecks from his mouth with every panicked breath.
“What happens if I refuse?” says Jay.
The captured vampire looks confused. “Those who resist will be cut off and their blood—”
“I heard you the first time.” Jay’s clawed fingers tighten on the man’s throat. “What’s Wolfsheim’s next step? Tell me, and I’ll let you live—for now.”
The vampire hesitates, probably weighing his options, then says grudgingly, “Wolfsheim is coming here himself. To your house. Tomorrow.”
“That’ll be at night, right?” I say. “Because he’s too old to handle daylight well.”
“He can probably handle it for a few minutes at a time, but yes, I’d say night is a good guess.” Jay pushes himself off the vampire. “Let’s tie this one up and take him back to my place. It looks like we need to prepare for a few extra guests at tomorrow night’s party.”
“Jay, you can’t have the party,” I say. “Think of all those people.”
“Those people would show up even if I tried to cancel.” He scrubs at his bloodstained mouth with his even bloodier sleeve. “Honestly, they’re probably our best insurance against a big scene. Wolfsheim wants to keep vampirism a secret, remember? So they won’t come in and start killing humans right and left.”
“That would be a good way to ruin you,” I tell him. “Suppose they send someone in with a gun to shoot up the place? Then people wouldn’t come back to your parties, and your vampires wouldn’t get their blood supply.”
“But if that happened, we’d just find another way or another venue. No, Wolfsheim’s going after the source of the problem.”
“You and Cody.”
“Exactly. And they’re going to want—” He looks as if he’s about to say something else, but then he shakes his head. “With all this noise, it’s likely someone in the neighborhood will have called the police. Michaelis, I’ll stay here with you and talk to the cops. Everyone else, go on home. Wash up first if you need to. Jordan, would you take Daisy home for me?”
“No problem.”
“Good.” Jay points to the sergeant and Keziah. “You two tie up this guy and take him to my house. Henry will show you where the dungeon is.”
They obey him immediately, even though both of them are much older than he is. Do they know he’s only twenty-four? Or do they think he’s been around for decades, like Cody? Either way, Jay commands an astonishing level of respect. Maybe his post-battle appearance has something to do with it, too. His shirt is soaked with blood, his pants are spotted with it, and more blood drips from his hair and gloves his fingers. The entire lower half of his face is coated with red, like a half mask over his jaw and lips. I can barely look at him, but I force myself to. Anything less could hurt his feelings. After all, he was only protecting his people.
“Michaelis, I’ll have a cleaning crew come by tomorrow, and I’ll replace anything they can’t clean,” he says.
“Thanks, Gatsby.” Michaelis gives Jay a grin that would be pleasant if he didn’t also have fresh blood glistening all over his face and neck. “Hey, sorry about drinking from your girl.”
“She agreed to help you.” Jay’s eyes slide to mine. “Her choice. And I’m good with that.” He surveys me, and I’m suddenly conscious of how short my skirt is, and how much blood-spattered leg I’m showing off right now, and the fact that I’m still holding the machete. Tie my red-streaked hair into a couple of pigtails, and I’d be a distant cousin to Harley Quinn.
His gaze is still threaded with pain, but there’s pride in it, too, and relief.
