Secrets In The Bones: The Curse of Blood Bay

Forty

Their faces were a picture as I approached the car. The headlights were on full; damn near blinded me as I walked in the beam line with my arm three-quarters covered with dried blood. Jean vanished as mysteriously as he'd arrived, but had given me plenty to digest, and none of it was good. He made it clear he'd join the fight when the time came; this was one battle he couldn't afford to miss.

Jean's help aside, he'd been sincere. A tiny element of doubt crept into my mind. He may have another motive at play. That could well be freedom. If Ruth was who I thought, and the curse got broken, Jean would be free to leave; with talk of Locke being connected, he could be too—two birds with one stake.

What if the Count was killed, and that ended his sire line? Surely, I wasn't the only one to think about it, except Jean and perhaps Ruth. This means that not only did we have to worry about vampires coming at us from all angles, a low-life crime family, a dodgy mayor and a supposed vampire witch. We had to be weary of contingencies in motion. A luxury we didn't have the numbers to afford.

"I see that went well." Michael rolled down his window to hand over the whiskey. His eyes fixed on the blood.

Straightaway, my brain flashed the image of me holding Amos's aloft before crushing it in my claws. That alone rapped a chill across my shoulders that made me shudder. It was fine in the heat of the moment, but once sober from the adrenaline, a tinge of shame, over time, will ease. The way life keeps handing our arses to us, I'm going to need to get good with it, fast.

"You could say that not before the bastard clawed my chest up. Look," I pulled open the shredded clothing, but nothing. It was gone.

I was used to speeding healing; normally, there is a little reddening left behind that takes longer. Considering how much it burnt, it appeared like it had never happened. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for that. A little consistency would be nice.

"What did they have, rubber nails?" Michael laughs.

"Christ no, burnt so bad, but I have another story for reasons,"

"So, what happened, lad? Scare them off or something?" Skip piped up as I downed a large mouthful of whiskey. Throat-burning music to my ears.

"Let's just say Amos didn't have the heart for it in the end," Skip smiles with a huge, cheesy grin.

"Thank fuck for that. After that shit fest by the pier, he deserved what came his way. Question, though, is there any way he could still return?" Michael enquired, and I'd say no if this place has taught me anything except the unexpected.

"Not unless he somehow could superglue all the pieces back together or regrow a new one. Being as he's dead, I mean dead, dead; he wouldn't even be able to try."

"What if one of his bloodsucking friends got a shovel and scooped it back into his chest?"

"No, Michael,"

"But if they did, and say, the big boss gives him a decrepit 'golden shower', could he then? I mean, they're many fucking weird, aren't they?" Michael smiles; he knew what he was doing.

"First, I bloody doubt it. I'm not even sure vampires can go to the bathroom. Second, Michael? Again? What's the matter, Michael? Are you missing dressing up as your alter ego 'Sharon' and travelling to Soho? Or is it your weekend gimp fests?"

I couldn't help but laugh; Michael could see I wasn't comfortable with what I had to do to Amos and his heart, so he turned it into a joke. The sick bastard has a twisted sense of humour, but we needed it.

"Wise guy, leave Sharon out; she's done nothing to you. Now, what will we do next to get our girl back and send the wrinkly bastard to hell?"

"Oi ... less of the wrinkly bastard," Skip butted, chuckling to himself.