Page 33 of Blood from the Marrow
As if they’d been waiting for the signal, a score of people appeared in the doorway. Mostly adults, but a few little kids peeked out with curiosity.
“Your daughter may come inside.” Judith’s voice had Elena’s commanding edge. It thundered with the confidence of a person in charge.
“Not without me,” Lib said, leaving no room for discussion.
Judith turned from the door and took a step into Lib’s space. Well over six-feet tall, Judith towered over her. Lib pulled back her hood and peered into Judith’s face with her dark red eyes. Neither of them backed down. The silence between them was so heavy with the threat of violence, it nearly made Marisol dry heave. It was the stench of spilled blood and the sickening crack of bones.
“We can handle a single vampire,” a man with a heavy southern drawl said from inside the dark building. “Just make sure your kin stays outside the perimeter.”
At the sound of his soft voice, Judith’s marble face relaxed a fraction. She flicked her gaze to the SUVs lined up outside the fence, consistent with Clara’s directions. Her jaw tightened again.
“What is to keep them from swarming?—”
“There is nothing keeping me from doing it now.” Librada’s voice was cold and unwavering. “I have no reason to harm you unless you provide me with one.”
“This is what you bring to our door, Clara?” Judith’s lip curled in something of a disgust-tinged sneer. “Threats and?—”
“You have nothing to fear from us,” Marisol said gently. She stepped ahead of Lib to break the tension between her and Judith. This wasn’t the way she wanted to start a relationship with other Aglion. Shaking off her confusing, but mostly angry, feelings about Clara, she took a deep breath.
“I think we can all help each other.” Marisol rested her hand lightly on Lib’s tense shoulder. She wanted to show Judith and the others that they weren’t a threat. That Lib wasn’t some fanged monster.
Judith scoffed, narrowed gaze still fixed on Lib.
“My name is Marisol.” She called on the patience she’d only ever needed while working in the emergency room. “And this is Librada.” She squeezed her shoulder, but Lib didn’t so much as blink. “We need your help, but we think you need ours too.”
“Need?” Judith repeated like the word tasted sour. “What could we possibly need from you?”
“I’m Dutch,” the man said, stepping out into the light. Slim and sandy-haired, Dutch offered a crooked smile along with his hand. “Why don’t you folks come inside then? We’ll all have a chat.”
Marisol took his hand in both of hers and looked into his bright blue eyes when she said, “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand, eyes brimming with sincerity. “It is always an auspicious day when a wayward sheep comes back to the flock.” Under heavy brows, he shifted his attention to Lib, smile unwavering. “Even if she’s escorted by a wolf.”
Inside, the old arena looked like a stop on a tour of haunted buildings. Dark except for camping lanterns, they walked through a graffiti-covered lobby and into the huge room where jai alai had apparently been played.
Rows of faded red and blue plastic seats climbed up three stories on one side of the massive concrete cave. Some were intact, but years of heat and humidity had cracked others beyond repair. A few industrial fans as tall as Marisol whirred in a losing battle against the wet heat, and they did even less to fight the stench of mold and mildew and more significantly unpleasant things.
The Aglion had set up what looked like a makeshift living room in the stadium seats, with blankets and pillows spread across several rows. The sight made Marisol’s stomach clench. She couldn’t imagine living like this by choice.
Dutch led them down to the dilapidated court. As the group of nearly forty gathered, Marisol’s body hummed with energy. Her shoulder blades buzzed like her wings were desperate to break free, and it took all of her modest control to keep them contained.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Clara asked, hazel eyes hopeful.
“Feel what?” Librada’s sharp eyes scanned the low-lit room like Clara had spoken code for a sniper.
Marisol sat on one of the folding chairs that had been yanked out from a row and set on the court to face the stadium of seats. Librada remained standing behind her while they both faced the curious crowd.
“It only gets stronger the more of us that gather,” Dutch said before sitting next to Clara. Behind him, thirty-six sets of eyes peered while Judith glared. Judith—the only other person who refused to sit.
“We’re not meant to be on our own,” Clara explained, voice cracking like it might shatter with regret. “If you join?—”
“I can’t,” Marisol snapped, but this time it wasn’t from anger. “My partner,” she said because at nearly three-hundred, Elena was a little old to be anyone’s girlfriend, “is in trouble.”
Dutch’s attention jumped to Librada. Marisol corrected his assumption before explaining the situation with Sayah as best she could. Tried to explain how the people she loved most in the world were in mortal peril.
When she was finished, there was nothing but the sound of fans and the faint echo of dripping water. Judith’s laugh, deep and horrifying when it bounced off the cement enclosure, broke the silence.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Judith crossed her muscled arms over her chest. “You think we’re going to fight vampires for you? To kill ourselves for you? Why?”
