Secrets in Blood

  Copyright © 2016 by Patricia D. Eddy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Fiona Jayde Media

  Editing by Clare C. Marshall

  Proofreading by Darcy Jayne

  Contents

  Just for you

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Italian Phrases

  About the Author

  Also by Patricia D. Eddy

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  Prologue

  Italy - 1921

  Spreading the last page out on the dark wood of the table, Nicola Angliatti nodded as he surveyed his handiwork. In the seven hundred and thirteen years of his vampire life, he’d not felt such pride in his work. The treaty, six pieces of parchment spread out like fallen leaves, had taken months to negotiate, and at times, he’d almost given up hope. But now…it was done, and humans would always be protected.

  Flickering candlelight illuminated the opulent meeting room, and incense perfumed the air. Despite the lateness of the hour, strength surged through his muscles, and his suit remained perfectly pressed. The other eleven members of the Conclave—those entrusted with ruling over the whole of the vampire race—gathered around him, most holding goblets of blood.

  Willing blood donors, paid handsomely for their service, kept the vampires well-sated, and with the signing of this treaty, vampires everywhere would be guaranteed safe, easily accessible blood, with no risk to human safety or independence.

  “We are in agreement?” he asked.

  Antonio Conti, second in command and two hundred years older than Nicola, read the first few paragraphs, set down in their native Italian.

  “Vampires are forbidden from impressing their will upon a human. Whether by strength or the compulsion of the incantesimo, this offense is punishable by imprisonment and, in extreme cases, death. The Conclave is the ultimate authority in the matter of vampire crimes and will appoint representatives throughout the world to ensure no vampire violates this decree.

  “We have been given the gift of long life and superior strength. We must never abuse this power. Let us, as a race, always remember where we came from. We owe humans our very existence. We must respect them and treat them as equals.”

  “Your wisdom and leadership make us better, Nicola,” Luigi, the head of the Conclave, said as Antonio threw the paper down in disgust. “Grazie.”

  Antonio’s amethyst eyes flashed darker, and a frustrated edge laced his tone as he whirled towards Luigi. “Are you certain of this, capo?”

  As the eldest—and strongest—vampire in the room, Luigi demanded respect. In a blur, he had Antonio by the arms. “You would be wise to remember the votes we all cast over this agreement. And your position here.”

  “Si. D’accordo.” Antonio dropped his gaze, and Luigi released him.

  With almost a millennium on Antonio, Luigi could snap the younger vampire in two without a second thought, though the elder was approaching the end of his vampire life—he had perhaps another three hundred years at most.

  “This decree shall be sent far and wide,” Luigi said. “We cannot have a repeat of the tragedy in Armenia. Few know that most of the dead were vampire. We worked hard to hide such atrocities from the young ones in America, China, and Great Britain. Nicola was right to suggest this. Next, we must set down rules for when we are allowed to sire another.”

  “But how will our brethren feed?” Angelia, one of two women members of the group, arched a brow and clutched her goblet of blood close to her chest.

  “Just as we do. They will pay for the privilege of taking a human’s blood. Centers in every city will open, allowing the humans to sell their blood, and our brothers and sisters will pay for what they need,” Nicola said as he ran a hand through his long, black hair.

  Protests from the younger members of the Conclave, some of whom had been vampire fewer than a hundred years, echoed off of the stone walls. Blood directly from a human’s vein did not compare to blood that had spent even a few moments outside the body.

  Nicola held up his hand. “The Vampirico Ricerca Compagnia in Rome has perfected a way to store human blood for later use and believes they have found a way to maintain the rich flavor of blood taken from the vein. Blood donors must be compensated, and none will ever be victims again.”

  “You are too soft, Nicola,” Antonio said as he reluctantly signed his name under Luigi’s. “You will one day regret this.”

  “And you forget your place.” Luigi looked down his thin nose at the younger vampires. “We voted, and you were in the minority. This will be done. Nicola, you are in charge of ensuring this law is enforced. Humans will be protected. Always.”

  Seattle — May 2005

  Only a week ago, Henry Longo had witnessed a murder. Sitting at this very table in the little outdoor café, he’d recorded the bloody, vicious attack.

  He didn’t care that the vampire had been defending his own life or that the thing was, at this very moment, awaiting trial in the Conclave’s underground prison. Punishment wouldn’t bring the human back to life.

  The sun beat down—a rare spring heat wave in Seattle. Across the street, Hand of God members handed out flyers advertising their weekly meetings.

  “You don’t know how important your work will be,” Bishop Inverness said as he returned to the table with two iced coffees and handed one to Henry. “We need every able-bodied man, woman, and child to fight these things. Every day, they grow stronger, while we weaken.”

  Stacks of newspapers fanned out across their table, each headline more disconcerting than the last.

  Twelve Vampires Trapped in Burning Warehouse—Public Outraged

  Hand of God Member Indicted for Beheading Influential Vampire Developer Edward Klotke

  Second United States Senator Announces Support for the Blood Slave Act

  “They’re evil bloodsuckers, Bishop. And nothing we say can stop them.”

  “An abomination against God,” the bishop said. “Immortal, soulless creatures who want nothing more than to enslave the human race. They should all burn in Hell for eternity. Once the Supreme Court ruled they were legally people, subject to the same rights and protections as humans, the world changed.” He met Henry’s gaze. “It’s up to us to take our world back.”

  Decades ago, when the first vampires came to America, all the myths that had long surrounded them proved false. Sun was no danger to a vampire, though
most preferred the night. They ate food—simply not much. Holy water did no more damage than rain. Stakes to the heart only pissed them off. Silver could kill in sufficient quantities, fire destroyed the bloodsuckers easily, and beheading had been used for centuries. But a vampire’s rapid healing and immense strength couldn’t be bested by any human.

  “How?” Henry asked. “We’ve tried lobbying against the vampire blood banks, but humans are too weak. Too desperate for money. Too…naive for their own good.”

  “Vampires have the American people under some sort of spell,” the bishop said as he gestured to the newspapers. “No one knows just how evil these fuckers are.”

  Henry flinched at the vulgar language. “I did as you suggested. Sent the video to the Hand of God’s media contacts. If we’re lucky, it’ll be all over the news in a few hours.”

  Wiping his brow, Henry glanced around the café, trying to spot any vampires among the patrons. The bloodsuckers all had deep purple eyes. Otherwise, they looked just like humans, making them even more dangerous. “Do we have any idea how the hell their mind control works?”

  “No.” The bishop took another sip of his iced coffee. “But I have a plan. One I need you for.”

  “Me?”

  Leaning forward, the bishop lowered his voice. “Yes, Henry. I need someone I can trust. Someone with your unique medical skills. And…someone with the dedication to embrace this as their lifelong mission.”

  The cool drink soothed Henry’s parched throat as a beat of sweat trickled down his back. “Your Eminence, I will do whatever you need me to do. But…my wife is pregnant. Will I need to travel? I’d rather not leave her until the baby’s at least a few months old.”

  “You’ll be able to fulfill this mission with Marie at your side. She has an extensive background in epidemiology, does she not?”

  Straightening with pride, Henry nodded.

  “Excellent.” The bishop dug into his robes, withdrew a zippered pouch the size of a small book, and slid the pouch across the table.

  His brows furrowing, Henry eased the zipper open. A dozen vials of blood rested on cold packs, deep red and very full. “What is this?”

  “Vampire blood. We trapped one of them with silver and drained him before we took his head off. Study it. Find out its secrets. Then, find a way to fight them. Kill them. Guns are useless. Knives a joke. Silver is the only effective weapon, and vampires control half the world’s silver mines. We’re stockpiling, but soon, even silver may be out of our grasp. You’ll lead a team, Henry.”

  “A team?”

  “Yes.” Bishop Inverness passed Henry a USB thumb drive. “I’ve compiled a list of a hundred different potential allies. Epidemiologists, biomedical engineers, chemists, physicists, molecular biologists, oncologists, and experts in cellular regeneration. Take your pick. Then get to work on a vaccine. A drug. Something to turn vampires mortal.”

  “I can’t.” Henry shook his head. “The vampires are everywhere. The university has a vampire on its Board of Regents. They’d never let me pursue this line of research. They’d have me jailed.”

  The bishop smiled. His thin, pale lips curled into a snarl. “I have an idea about that.”

  Middle of Nowhere, Washington State — July 2005

  Henry and Marie Longo stood in a clearing with thirty strangers, selected from the best and brightest members of the Hand of God. Each carried a single rucksack—all the possessions they were allowed to bring with them. The Hand of God would provide the rest.

  Henry sized them up, then let his gaze linger on his wife. Marie, a slight woman with long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles, laid her hand on the generous swell of her belly. The early part of her pregnancy had been difficult, but now, well into her seventh month, the baby inside her kicked happily. She gave Henry an encouraging smile.

  He took a deep breath. “When I interviewed each of you, I told you our mission would be difficult and long. You’ve all had extensive psychological testing to ensure you could handle what’s coming. But I couldn’t share the details until today. Twenty stories below our feet lies an intricate system of catacombs left over from Cold War. The Hand of God has painstakingly outfitted these catacombs with everything we'll need to survive for years. Our mission? To use our stockpile of vampire blood to find a way to stop the bloodsuckers from healing. To turn them mortal.”

  Murmurs rose up from the men and women gathered around him. “How?” one burly man asked.

  “Look around, Vince. You’re surrounded by the best and the brightest medical researchers in the world. Those of you without a medical background will help with support operations: food, supply runs, maintenance, technology… There’s a war coming. Even now, the government is preparing to slaughter the prohibitions against using humans for food. If we don’t stop the fucking things now, our entire race faces enslavement. If not genocide.”

  He let his words sink in, scanning the small group. Pleased with the nods and the number of the group murmuring “amen,” Henry pulled a handheld computer from his pocket.

  “This is how we’ll travel between the catacombs and the surface. These portal generators can carry two people up to fifteen miles. The NSA has been working on these for years, but the head of the project is a loyal Hand of God member. He was able to smuggle one of the devices out of the NSA’s research lab in Fairfax before he volunteered to lead the Portland Catacombs.” With a triumphant grin, Henry held the device aloft.

  “How does it work?” A thin, dark-haired man wearing black glasses stepped forward. Nervous fingers straightened his tie, and he mopped his brow with a stained handkerchief.

  “Don, I’m glad you asked.” Henry tapped a sequence of keys on the touchscreen. A wide oval of blue light sprang to life in front of him, and the crowd gasped. “At its core, the generator is a dematerialization device. We’ll use these portal generators to travel between the catacombs and the surface. We’ll be able to hunt and forage for food and pick up supply drops sent to us from HQ. Over the past few days, Marie and I have traveled back and forth more than a dozen times.”

  Henry gestured to his wife, and Marie smiled as she stepped forward and linked her fingers with his. “There’s an odd tingling sensation as you travel,” she said. “But there are no ill effects.”

  Marie stepped into the oval of light, and almost immediately, the portal shrunk down to a pinpoint before disappearing entirely.

  Swears, stutters, and gasps rose all around him, and Henry tried not to let his pride show. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

  With a quick tap to his earpiece, he said, “Come back now, dear.”

  A low buzz accompanied the return of the glowing blue oval, and when Marie stepped back into the forest, Henry took her hand and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Amusement danced in her brown eyes, and she rubbed her belly. “I think the baby likes the little zing she gets from the portals.”

  “She’s already loyal to the cause,” Henry replied. “Why don’t you go lie down and put your feet up. The DVD player in the lounge is all set up. Superman.”

  “My favorite.” Marie squeezed his hand and then disappeared back through the portal once more.

  Henry shut the device off. “My head of security, Will Sheridan, is already down in the catacombs. You’ll travel two-by-two. We have three portal generators, and each can be used twice before needing to recharge. Will has your assignments for you, and he’ll direct you to your rooms. Everyone here has already been assigned to teams: security, research, maintenance, water and recycling, hunting, hospitality, and tech. Are there any questions?”

  “What if we need supplies?” Don, Henry’s security expert, mopped his face again. Despite his credentials—a former hacker and programmer for one of the largest software firms in the world—Henry couldn’t get past the whiny edge to the man’s voice.

  “We have requisition forms for anything you need. But be practical. This is a war, and we won’t win if we spend preci
ous funds on luxuries. All requisitions must go through Will.” Henry dug in his backpack for the second portal generator.

  “One more thing,” he said as he handed the portal generator to Don. “The north wing, where the medical team and I will be performing the most sensitive research, is off limits to anyone I haven’t personally authorized. No exceptions.” He glanced from person to person, ensuring that everyone nodded.

  “Today is yours. We’ll all meet in the galley for dinner at eighteen hundred. Then tomorrow, we get to work.”

  Two-by-two, the team traveled down to the catacombs. Henry stayed behind until the last pair descended.

  With a quick sign of the cross, he fixed his gaze on the sky. “God shows his anger from heaven against all sinful, wicked people.” A bird chirped from a branch high above him, seeming to carry God’s approval. “I will defeat the bloodsuckers, Lord. By my oath, I swear to you. Their entire, wicked, cursed kind will die.”

  Stepping through the portal, he began the most important mission of his life.

  1

  Middle of Nowhere, Washington State - 2013

  Crackling flames licked at the dry tinder amid the ring of carefully arranged stones. The campfire’s smoke wafted through the canopy, wispy ghosts flitting through the leaves. Men’s voices rose and fell, and a little girl narrowed her brown eyes at the river nearby. She could try to spear a fish with her bow and arrow, but then she’d get her feet wet.