“To see Arcturus, my skindancing master,” I said. “To ask how to fight magic graffiti.”
“Magic graffiti?” he laughed, leaning back onto his throne before the Stone in that oh-so comfortable, almost mocking slouch. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Dakota.”
“It’s incredibly strong. It killed Revenance and tried to kill Tully.”
“Revenance was a vampire,” Transomnia said, smiling down at me. “And you hate vampires. Why would you come all the way out here to avenge one of us?”
“He was nice to me and Cinnamon,” I said defensively. “Besides, Calaphase-”
Transomnia raised a hand. “Do not say that name.”
Calaphase had kicked Transomnia out of the Oakdale Clan-and forced him back into the arms of the serial killer who had controlled him. I swallowed. “Well… he… and Sav-the Lady Saffron… wanted me to investigate Revenance’s death.”
“My my my, so many vampires in your life, and you’re doing so much for them,” Transomnia said. “Surely you’re not developing a taste for vampires? I’m sure any of the vampires here would love to get a taste of you and that hot skindancer blood.”
“Yes, indeed,” Nyissa purred.
“My leads had run dry,” I said, swallowing. “My master is the next logical person I could turn to. I didn’t know you’d moved into town!”
“ I was here first,” Nyissa said, oddly petulant. “Before that Chilean jerk took over.”
“But all of the House Beyond Sleep stand with you now, and Blood Rock is yours again,” Transomnia said. Strange that he’d said the city was hers, not his. “Odd that Arcturus didn’t warn you the balance of power had changed, Dakota.”
My brow furrowed. That was odd. I could see Zinaga not warning me; she hated my guts. But why had Arcturus not bothered to tell me a new crop of vampires had rolled into Blood Rock-or that Nyissa was here all along? Why hadn’t I seen her? Was I that oblivious?
Then I remembered what Arcturus was really like, and grimaced.
“You’re giving him a wide berth, aren’t you?” I asked. Transomnia scowled, and I smiled grimly. “He can be a scary piece of work, but as long as you leave him be, he leaves you be. You could throw my bleeding body onto his doorstep and he’d just yell at me for being late.”
“Why, that sounds like a capital idea,” Nyissa purred.
I glanced at her: goth pale, painfully pretty, green eyes blazing beneath a mop of violet hair, a flaring coat/dress that exposed what looked like riding pants and incongruous suede boots, and a long, narrow stick in her hands, which at first I took to be a riding crop-and then realized was a metal poker used to stir a fire. Something about that last accessory made me swallow.
“D-don’t you think it might be a bit obvious to off me the day I roll into town?”
“Off you?” Nyissa said, strutting around me, a cold runway model twirling her poker. “Why, there is no need to be so… indiscriminate. Bleeding and drained, yes, but not dead: a suitable warning. And what danger would you be? You don’t even know where you are.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You picked me up as soon as I rolled into town. Blood Rock is pretty damn small-and you’ve got the Stone. You can’t hide your location by driving me around for a few hours. I assure you I’ll be able to find it later on Google Maps.”
“Maybe we should blind her,” the goateed vamp guard said.
Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus! I thought losing my fingers was the worst that could happen to me. “I-I know a blind witch,” I said, blood rising in fear even as I said it. On the surface Jinx had adapted to losing her sight, but a part of her was still crushed. “We’ll still find you-”
“Are you sure?” Nyissa said, staring at the end of her poker. She looked past it at me, eyes glowing like emeralds beneath that mop of violet hair. “Why don’t we see-”
“Enough of that talk,” Transomnia said. “ No-one is going to hurt the Lady Frost.”
“You give her a title? ” Nyissa said. “Even the Maid of Little Five Points rescinded-”
“Silence,” Transomnia said firmly. “Lady Frost, this city is now my domain. We tolerate Arcturus and his current apprentices, but new skindancers are not welcome without my leave and their ink may not be shown. You, in particular, are not welcome anywhere I choose to walk.”
His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Nyissa… banish her.”
Nyissa perked up suddenly, flashing me a vicious grin. Then she ascended the steps to the throne, then stepped behind it, leaning against the Sanctuary Stone lasciviously. She waved a hand over it, eyes closed-then found what she was looking for, and touched the Stone.
At first, there was nothing, as she drew her fingers in a circle around one of the stained roses etched into the Stone. Somehow, I knew, that was the rose where my blood was pressed into the rock. As she moved her hand, slowly, a high-pitched tone began to build, the annoying hum of a finger playing a wineglass. It built up until my ears were ringing-but no one else seemed to notice. The noise didn’t stop even when Nyissa took her hand away.
“So, Dakota Frost, I repeat the question,” Transomnia said, swimming in my vision as my head began to ache, “Will you come back to Blood Rock?”
“No way, no how,” I said, swaying on my feet.
“Then go home, Dakota Frost,” Transomnia said. “Go home with your tail between your legs, and do not let me catch you back in Blood Rock again.”
“I will know,” Nyissa said, smiling back at the Stone, “the moment you do.”
Transomnia smiled as well. “That suit looks good on you. You can keep it,” he said, and flicked his hand in dismissal.
Hands grabbed at me, another dark cloth was shoved in my face, then nothingness.
A Good First Impression
I awoke in the trunk of the Prius, drooling on the newly laid carpeting, still wearing that stinking rubber suit. I groaned, and then heard something whoosh by. Moments later, I heard it again, then again, followed by a hiss. I tried to sit up and klonked my head. After struggling with the vanity cover, I kicked it out of the way, forced myself up into the car, and sat up in time to see an eighteen-wheeler scream by in the first light of dawn, eighteen inches from the Prius, leaving scraps of torn clothing scattering down I-20 in its wake.
After a few seconds I realized that it was my clothing scattering down I-20. I looked at myself: I looked like a total freak in the full-body rubber suit. More cars swept by, whoosh, whoosh, hissing every time they hit a wet patch on the road, scattering my clothes further. After the third one I swallowed my pride, crawled out of the car, and retrieved what I could from the highway, mortified with embarrassment every time a car honked at me as it passed.
All of it was ruined: my jeans, my shirt, even my vest. All I could rescue was my wallet, squashed almost beyond recognition where some car had run over it; but, oddly, they hadn’t taken my money, and my driver’s license was still recognizable.
The keys were still in the blue bomb, thankfully. At least I didn’t have to go hunting all over the hillside in the freak suit hoping the vampires had thrown them there and not in the trash back in Blood Rock. I started her up, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do, and let the voice of NPR’s Renee Montagne soothe my wounded pride.
“This is Morning Edition. The time is eight fifty.”
I sat bolt upright. Eight-fifty Wednesday morning! My meeting with DFACS about Cinnamon was at ten. I couldn’t show up like this! Where the hell was I, and where was I going to get some clothes? I twisted round, scanning the highway for any sign Conyers 8. Atlanta 39.
“Oh, shit.” Forty miles-in rush hour traffic. And still with nothing to wear.
My eyes refocused down the road, where I saw a sign for a store.
“Oh, hell,” I said, starting the Prius. “At least it’s not a Laura Ashley.”
So it was almost ten thirty when I reached the massive complex downtown that held the Fulton County Courthouse, and ten fifty by the time I parked, wound through the metal detectors, found the right floor, and finally found the heavy wooden door of the hearing room-closed.