Blood Relations - Chapter 10

1939

Glasgow, Scotland

Vicky allowed William to pull her into an alley, assuming that he meant to avoid another police patrol. The cops were becoming more alert due to the number of people disappearing from the city, but so were the citizens. In recent months, William had needed to make more random turns into dark alleys to avoid roving mobs, who were also patrolling the streets each night.

Although William’s plan of killing only the lowest citizens in Glasgow was sound in theory, the people of the city had become indignant at the police’s inability to locate the killer.

That the victims were criminals didn’t matter, nor did it matter that the police were asking the mobs to go back home and not interfere in the ongoing investigation. The men of Glasgow were taking to the streets nightly, and taking a meal was becoming ever more perilous, even with William’s abilities guiding them.

William was thinking of neither the police nor the locals when he drew Vicky into the alley. Instead, he pushed her against the wall, pressing his body to hers while he raised up on his toes for a kiss.

Vicky had gone through her second growth spurt, and where she’d been a few inches shorter than William’s impressive height of six foot two, he now had to stand on tip toes to kiss her.

Her muscles had filled out from her constant feeding, and she examined herself critically in the mirror all the time. She feared William might not care for her if she got too big, and she considered going on a diet to slim down. Perhaps she could skip meals on certain nights?

But if her diversionary thoughts slipped and William heard her concerns, he would move in quickly to embrace her. To settle her worried thoughts, he would tell her that he loved her no matter what she looked like.

Which didn’t quite help, but it did feel good to be in his arms again.

Vicky adored his spontaneous urges to touch and cuddle with her, so when he pushed her back against the wall, she didn’t offer protest. She pealed tittering laughter before his mouth closed over hers. Then the pleased laugh became a soft moan.

William broke the kiss and stepped back. He held her hand, his teeth glinting in the darkness as he offered her a grin. “I suspect you’re lying when you say you can’t work magic.”

Vicky returned the smile. “Why is that?”

“Because you’re a talented enchantress already.”

Vicky giggled at the compliment, but the sound faltered when William’s expression fell into a troubled look. He glanced over his shoulder and uttered a groan.

She asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We’re surrounded.” He pointed away toward the end of the alley. “No matter which way we go, we’ll run into a patrol or a crowd, and everyone is converging on this street.”

Vicky nodded and pulled her hand away from his. “William, go home.”

“But I can—”

Vicky silenced him by putting her finger over his lips. “You can’t be seen with me. I can take care of myself. Go, please. I’ll be home in an hour, maybe less.”

William delayed only to cup her cheek in his palm, his silver eyes filled with anxiety. “Be safe.”

It’s not likely, she answered behind her diversionary thought, nodding mutely to send him home without arguing.

He left, and she walked into the middle of the street, watching him rush away on feet which made no sound when they hit the stone-paved road. All she could hear was his panting breath, and that was soon drowned out by the many footsteps of a crowd moving in from the other end of the street. The voices of the men were low as they spoke in murmurs, but they obviously weren’t drunks.

The wind brought their scent, and the men were afraid. But mixed in with their fear was anger. They’d been afraid for too long, and they didn’t care for being held captive by an invisible menace.

Their fear and anger made them desperate to do something to reclaim the night, so that they could once again sleep soundly.

Vicky saw the crowd shuffle out of the darkness, and then they spotted her. The men froze, many of them debating to each other in shocked whispers. This was the monster they sought, but what to do? Cry out for help, or attack?

Vicky didn’t give them time to debate. Flicking open her knife, she ran at the men, drawing her arms wide while she let loose a feral screech.

A few of the men broke away from the crowd and ran for their lives, but others tensed, their knives held out in shaking hands. Only one man was armed with a sword, and Vicky noted gratefully that no one was carrying guns.

Vicky leapt high in the air, then tucked her thighs against her body as she dropped. The man with the sword raised his weapon to meet Vicky’s leap. The blade glanced off her shin, sliding through the skin and muscle of her calf with a flash of heat that flared quickly into an aching throb when her leg slammed into the man’s head. His skull hit the road and split under her weight, and his body spasmed as the life drained out of him.

Vicky stayed on the ground, lashing out to pull or kick men off their feet when they tried to move in for attacks. The men hit the ground hard, dazing them into inaction.

But she could not move in to make any killing strikes. She was too busy dodging slashes and thrusts from the rest of the panicked mob.

One of the men came in at her side, drawing his leg back for a kick. Vicky sat back on her knees, raising her arm to block the blow.

She grabbed his leg, and she was pulling him off of his feet when a man in front of her dropped to slam a headbutt into her forehead. It was Vicky’s first “Glesca kiss,” and she rocked back, dazed from the impact.

Her face contorted into a mask of rage, and she swung her head forward. Returning the “kiss,” she broke the man’s nose and caved his forehead in. She was sure that he was dead, at least.

Someone looped an arm under her throat. Vicky grabbed the man’s wrist and shifted onto her feet. Despite her weak leg, she spun, holding the man’s wrist to sling him around in a full circle before she released him. His flailing legs knocked aside many of the men who were moving in, or who were just getting up. When Vicky let him go, he piled onto two other men. Vicky could almost believe that she would win the fight.

But the few men left standing backed away rather then try to press the advantage they had with their numbers. Once they were out of range, they formed a wall, and they waited. The wall became two deep as others recovered and rolled away from Vicky, and then the group began to close in on her.

Vicky thought, Two years fighting crime, and I’m still gonna get chibbed. So much for doing these people a favor.

All at once, the men fled, dropping their weapons while they flailed their arms about their heads to ward off some unseen menace.

She caught scent of William and turned to see him at the far end of the street. He ran to her, and he encouraged her to lean on him while he guided her home.

Vicky wanted to tell William to leave, but her tongue was stilled by the recurring memory of the men fleeing.

Why had she bothered fighting, when William was capable of sending the men away with a mental command?

She started to feel foolish, and she tried to say as much. But William shushed her and returned to his own thoughts.

Vicky assumed he was brooding until she realized that he was distracted by the effort of moving people out of their path.

They encountered no one else during the walk home, and they were no sooner inside before William started packing. Vicky stood near the bedroom door, watching him with an anxious expression. By then the cut in her leg was just a dull ache that she could ignore, but her wound wasn’t what kept her rooted in place.

Glesca had become her home, and she didn’t want to leave. After years of running away from the fire in New York, she didn’t want to run and abandon all of her things. She didn’t want William to give up his home either, or any of his possessions.

She thought, It’s not fair.

William closed a trunk filled with Vicky’s clothes, and then he raised his head to frown at her. “Get moving. We need to be out of here tonight.”

“Where will we go?” Vicky asked.

“Edinburgh, probably. We can’t go any further north without running into my kin, and if you think the humans here are acting intolerant...” William trailed off when he noticed that Vicky was still standing by the door.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she fretted with the tattered hem of her ruined silk blouse.

Sighing, William stepped over to take her hands and stop her from fidgeting. “Don’t be like this, Vicky. You knew we would need to move eventually.”

“Can’t we pack tonight and leave tomorrow night?” Vicky asked.

William shook his head. “No, we can’t risk feeding you even one more time here. Those men will give your description to the police, and it won’t take long before someone recognizes you.”

“But I thought you could—”

“There is a limit to my power,” William said, cutting her off. “After an exposure like that, it’s possible that the next mob who finds us will be too big for me to send away.”  William squeezed her hands. “We’ll leave tonight, and we have to travel light. I’ll make a space under the trunks, so you can sleep during the day. I’ll sleep at night, and you can drive to keep us moving.”

Vicky nodded, and when he let go of her hands, they were no longer shaking. She started to pack, and then she helped him move the trunks into the bed of his truck. By then, the sky was getting light. William helped Vicky crawl into the narrow space under the trunks and crates. He slid another box in behind her and dropped a tarp over the top of the load, plunging the tiny space into complete darkness.

But he didn’t climb into the cab and pull the truck out of the bay garage below his loft. William left the garage on foot, and an hour passed without his return. Vicky longed for sleep, but she forced her eyes to stay open while she panted, trying to find his scent.

But she found nothing.

Another hour passed, and by then, Vicky was almost willing to push out of the crawlspace and suffer the light of the sun to look for him.

Then she smelled him, and she smelled the kerosene. She couldn’t hear his footfalls, and she didn’t know that he’d gone to his bank to withdraw his assets and close his accounts. She couldn’t see the briefcase that he carried in his right hand, filled with cash.

But the kerosene in the ten-gallon can that he carried in his left hand sloshed, and the overpowering petroleum odor alerted Vicky to his plans. William was going to burn down the house, taking with it all of his art and every trace of Vicky’s existence.

Vicky closed her eyes, resting her face in her forearms while she cried. She ached not for her losses, but for William’s. He had to be suffering by destroying his home and his artwork, but he would sacrifice everything for her.

It was more than she felt she deserved, and her guilt became a gnawing pain to match the animal hunger clawing her stomach.