Blood Bound (Mercy Thompson, #2)

by Patricia Briggs

Under the rule of science, there are no witch burnings allowed, no water trials or public lynchings. In return, the average law-abiding, solid, citizen has little to worry about from the things that go bump in the night. Sometimes I wish I were an average citizen.

The Marrok, the leader of the North American werewolves, insists that all of the wolves wear a collar when they run in the cities, with tags that identify them as someone’s pet. He also insists the names on the tags be something innocuous like Fred or Spot, no Killers or Fangs. It’s safer that way—both for the werewolves and the law-enforcement people who might encounter them. Needless to say, it’s as popular with the werewolves as the helmet law was with the motorcyclists when it first went into effect. Not that any of them would dream of disobeying the Marrok.

I knew those names, Asmodeus and Kurfel, both, and as soon as I realized where I’d heard them, I knew what I had been smelling. Once the idea occurred to me, I realized the smell could be nothing else. Suddenly Stefan’s fear wasn’t surprising or startling at all. Demons were enough to scare anyone. “Demon” is a catchall phrase, like “fae,” used to describe beings who are unable to manifest themselves in our world in physical form. Instead, they possess their victims and feed upon them until there is nothing left. Kurfel wouldn’t be this one’s name, any more than Asmodeus was: knowing a demon’s name gave you power over them. I’d never heard of a demon-possessed vampire before.

“I have swallowed enough death in years past that more sickens me, but believe as you wish. So many deaths threaten our secrets, werewolf. Even if I cared nothing for any human’s death, I would not have wanted so many to die and endanger our secrets.”

“‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing’,”

I’d met Lilly. She’d been crazy when she’d been human, and being a vampire hadn’t changed that. She was also an incredible pianist. Her maker had been so caught up by her music he hadn’t taken the time to notice anything else about her.

“Why didn’t the demon stop this sorcerer from falling victim to the vampire?” asked Samuel. “They usually protect their symbionts until they’re finished with them.” “Why would it?” I said, mentally dusting off all I’d ever heard about sorcery, which wasn’t much. “The demons’ only desire is to create as much destruction as they can. All vampirism would do is increase Littleton’s ability to create mayhem.”

Never trust a mechanic who drives new cars. They’re either charging too much money for their work, or they can’t keep an old car running—maybe both.

Then I’d have had to take my liberal arts degree and gotten a job at McDonald’s or Burger King like all the rest of the history majors.

“You don’t have a heart,” I told him. “Just a gaping hole where it should have been.” “All the more reason for you to give me yours.” I pounded my forehead against Warren’s back. “Tell me Ben’s not flirting with me.” “Hey,” said Ben sounding hurt. “I was talking cannibalism, not romance.”

Besides, a crucifix was the instrument of Our Lord’s death—I don’t know why people think a torture device should be a symbol of Christ. Christ was a willing sacrifice, a lamb, not a cross for us to hang ourselves on; or at least that’s my interpretation.

“See, the professor here has leukemia.” The younger girl took out a quart of milk and drank out of the carton. “As long as she’s playing blood bank, Stefan’s return donations keep her cancer in check. If he quits”—she made a choking, gasping sound, then gave Naomi a faint pleased look. “In return she acts as Stefan’s business manager—paying bills, doing the taxes…shopping. Hey, Naomi, we’re out of cheese.” She replaced the carton and shut the fridge.

“Look. The wooden stake thing works, but it’s better if it’s oak, ash, or yew. And if you kill them that way, you have to cut off their heads or burn the body to make sure they stay dead. Remember, a dead vampire is ashes. If there’s a body, it’ll come back—and it’ll come back angry with you. Cutting off their heads is pretty good, but difficult. They’re not likely to stand around and wait for the chainsaw. Sunlight’s good, too. But the stake and sunlight, they’re like kicking a guy in the balls, you know?”

“So how would you kill a vampire permanently?” She pursed her lips. “Fire’s best. Stefan says they burn pretty well once they get started.”

“The Teacher?” I asked. “Her real name is Estelle—she reminds me of an evil Mary Poppins.” I knew the one she meant. “They all have names among themselves,” she explained. “Stefan was the Soldier, Andre is the Courtier.

“A vampire likes to keep a food supply at hand, so they live with a small group of humans, usually anywhere from three to seven. Three are enough to provide food for a month before they die, seven is enough for six months—because if the vampires feed lightly on each, their prey lasts longer.”

“Only the strongest vampires can live on their own and survive purely on human blood. All the others live in the seethe. They are the Mistress’s menagerie,” Naomi told me after a moment. I worked it out. “She feeds on the vampires?” Naomi nodded. “And gives them a little, very little, blood in return. Without that blood, the weaker vampires would die—and only the Mistress is allowed to feed other vampires and feed from them. She keeps humans there, to nourish them all, but without her, the lesser vampires would die.”

“The four of them, Stefan, Andre, Estelle, and Bernard are the only vampires strong enough to live outside the seethe. Stefan says that once they can live without feeding from the Mistress, vampires start to get territorial, so they’re sent out to gain their own menageries.” She paused. “Five, actually. The Wizard lives on his own.” “The Wizard?” I asked. She nodded her head. “Wulfe. You’ve seen him because Stefan said he was present at the trial. He looks younger than Daniel and has white blond hair.”