A Renaissance in Blood

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Jesse Madding died alone.

What would Gideon say if he saw this?

It was fitting for Jesse’s final thoughts to be of Gideon. The vampire’s face lingered in his mind. He always remembered Gideon the same way—bathed in silvery moonlight with a bloody battle-axe held loosely in his fingers. He had looked immortal, unending. Jesse didn’t know why it was that memory that hung before him like an image still from a movie, when there were so many moments and days to choose from. He dreamt about it, too. Every night. Only, in his dreams, he was convinced that Gideon was still alive, and then he woke. And he remembered in shaking, dark seconds that Gideon wasn’t there, and would never be there again.

His muscles burned. There were more demons than Jesse had expected, and he had been armed to face a dozen. As soon as he shot one, or sliced one in half, or stabbed one in the chest, another would pop up. Every lesson Gideon ever taught him, directly or indirectly, came rushing back to him. Duck and then turn. Stab right and then left. Shoot the smaller one because it is faster than the lumbering giant approaching. Stay focused. Always stay focused. Vampires didn’t have spirits, or else he might have fooled himself into thinking that Gideon’s ghost hung at his shoulder, whispering advice, giving him strength he never dreamed he could possess. He didn’t burn with exhaustion. Adrenaline and endorphins flooded his system, removing his free will. He had to fight. If he didn’t, his skin would split in two and all the energy would pour from the shell of his body.

But there were still more demons than he could possibly kill. He had gone hunting and found the nest in an abandoned warehouse—abandoned because the demons had eaten, maimed, and tortured the inhabitants until they finally claimed the space as their own. The warehouse had three stories, and apparently a basement, and the monsters poured from unknown doors and materialized from the corners. Gideon wouldn’t have taken these things on by himself, even at his most reckless. But Gideon had never been this reckless. He always had something to tether him to the Earth, even if that was just his own guilt.

Jesse just wanted to kill things until he felt better. Or until he didn’t feel anything at all. Don’t let him just kill stuff. Emma’s voice. Humans supposedly had immortal souls, so maybe she was there at his shoulder. Warning him. Because he finally understood the thing in Gideon that craved bloodshed.

Blood ran thick and hot from a gash in his forehead, coloring the world a deep red, but besides that, he remained uninjured. A part of his brain chewed on that problem, convinced there was something wrong. He had felt the claws against his body, grasping and holding him as tightly as any lover could. But there was no blood.

A demon grabbed the sword and yanked it from him. Jesse let it go without a fight, automatically reaching for the gun at his side. His father had a veritable armory in the house, including guns and grenades. He claimed they were collectibles, and some of them were. Bullets didn’t always kill these things, but they sure as hell caused damage. Empty eye sockets gushed black blood. Pieces of skull and horn went flying, revealing the sticky substance of freshly exposed brains.

What would Gideon think if he saw this?

Jesse thought he would be proud. Proud of Jesse for fighting. Maybe he wouldn’t agree with Jesse’s ultimate plan, but these demons had killed dozens of people in the area, and they were growing. They were spreading. Invasive species. That’s what they would have been called by biologists. They were invading, and Jesse wasn’t going to let them. And Gideon wasn’t there to stop them.

He lost track of time. He had lost track of time when Michelle sat on the edge of his bed and said with a solemn frown, “We need to talk, Jess.” Time had become something malleable and frightening. He could make seconds last for hours. He could make days collapse into seconds. So now Jesse didn’t know how long he stood fighting, only that he finally reached the point where he couldn’t raise his arms to defend himself.

The demons realized Jesse’s weakness at the same moment. They actually smiled, licking their lips and preparing for the final charge. At least a dozen of them were within two or three feet, but he knew there were more on the periphery. They would swarm, unmindful of the blood and corpses of fallen comrades under their feet.

“Sorry, fellas.” He yanked the grenades from their clips, letting them fall to his feet.

They all froze. It would have been comical, but Jesse didn’t even have time to smile. Everything went orange, everything went white, and then everything went black.

When the smoke cleared, Jesse Madding stood alone.

He dropped to his knees, unmindful of the flames that still burned untended, the ash coating his skin, the hot wood beneath his legs. Soot covered his hands and arms, and probably his face, too. All of the demons were burning, smoldering corpses, reeking of s**t and rubbish and smoke. Jesse stared at his hands, knowing without checking that he wouldn’t find a single injury on his body.

For a moment, Jesse wondered if he was a ghost. But he could still hear his heart pounding in his ears. And that pain—that horrible, sharp pain—still pierced him with every breath. The loss of Gideon and Emma was a sword, stabbing him every second, reminding him without fail that he was alone. He had nothing.

Not even the comfort of his own death.

Approaching sirens finally penetrated the fog in his head. In the old days—old days that weren’t that long ago—Jesse would have stayed to speak to the authorities. He’d say whatever he needed to say to keep Gideon out of jail for assault or arson or whatever else, and then he’d go home. Their home. The home he shared with Emma and Gideon. But none of that was true now. If he stayed, there would be too many questions he couldn’t answer. And he wasn’t going to his home. He was going to his father’s home, and Oliver Madding wouldn’t bail him out of jail if he was caught in the right place at the wrong time.

Jesse pushed himself to his feet, marveling as he moved with ease. One step after another. He had never been so stunned by the difficult simplicity of locomotion. He didn’t borrow Oliver’s car, because he hadn’t planned to drive it home. He just walked, putting more and more distance between himself and the site of his supposed death.

Every question narrowed down to only one question.

What did she do to me? What the f**k did she do to me?

Jesse was so absorbed in the question, he didn’t hear the being behind him until it was practically on top of him. It could have been anything—a vampire, a burnt demon, some other monster. He reacted on instinct, his body still focused on survival, even if his heart wasn’t. But the throat he grabbed didn’t belong to a vamp, it belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl. He loosened his grip, but he didn’t release her.

“What are you doing here?”

The wide, chocolate eyes staring up at him were defiant. “You’re the one sneaking out of f*****g Fawlty Towers in the middle of the night.” Dominique Chappell didn’t even make five feet, but her tiny, fifteen-year-old body was as steadfast as any opponent he had ever faced. “You tell me.”

“I’m an adult.” Jesse kept his voice even, though his nerves were frayed, and she was the last thing he needed to deal with at that moment. “I don’t sneak out of places. You, on the other hand, have a ten o’clock curfew.”

She c****d a single brow. Michelle had taken the teenager in when her mother—and Michelle’s lover—had been killed. It was frightening how many of her mannerisms Dominique had picked up in just the thirteen months they’d lived together.

“You know Michelle isn’t going to give two shits about me if she finds out you were tripping the light fantastic.” Her gaze swept over his ruined clothes. “Or just tripping, even.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that Michelle is going to be worried about you wandering around in the middle of the night. Do I need to remind you again that I’m an adult?” Jesse sighed, unsure why he was even arguing with her. “Did you follow me?”

“Someone has to look out for your ass.” Dominique shrugged off his hold, her riot of dark curls flipping over her shoulder as she stepped back. It cast her in shadows, her dark skin merging into the surrounding murk. “What do you think you’re doing, anyway?”

“Killing demons. Come on, let’s go home and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

They fell into step next to each other, three of hers to every one of his, but Dominique didn’t say a word as they headed for the bus stop at the end of the deserted street. She looked over the schedule to figure out the best way to get back to the Madding house near Hyde Park, then sat down on the bench to wait for the night bus to arrive.

“We got ten minutes before it’s supposed to get here. You might as well park yourself, because my feet are f*****g killing me from following you here.”

Jesse settled beside her, but only because his feet were starting to ache, too. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? It’s dangerous, Dominique. What if one of those demons got past me and went right for you? What would you have done?”

Without a word, she bent down and lifted the baggy leg of her jeans. When she straightened, she cradled an ornate dagger from his father’s collection in the palm of her hand.

“I listen to you,” she said calmly. “When you’re not talking shit.”

Jesse gently took the dagger away from her and held it up to the streetlight. It was a prized part of Oliver’s collection—an antique. Jesse smiled despite himself, wondering how Dominique knew exactly which piece would make his father hit the roof.

“Don’t do that anymore, Dominique. If anything happened to you, Michelle would murder me. And I…I just don’t want anything happening to you.”

“Don’t sneak out anymore then. Problem solved.”

“I wasn’t sneaking out. I was hunting demons.” The protest sounded weak to his ears. Neither Michelle nor his father encouraged him to leave the house. They especially didn’t want him to search for vampires and demons. “There was a whole nest of them on the East End. Somebody’s got to take them out.”

“A nest. And one of you.” Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the roll of her eyes. “Yeah. That’s sane.”

“What was I supposed to do? Take a fifteen-year-old with me?”

“Two against a horde is better than one against a horde. Or you could’ve asked Michelle. It’s not like she’s got to worry about watching her back.”

Michelle could definitely hold her own in a fight. An immortal Guardian, she was the only person in Chicago Gideon wouldn’t cross, regardless of the provocation. The thought made Jesse double over, and he stared at the ground between his feet.

“Michelle doesn’t enjoy killing demons. And she certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed this particular excursion.”

“You don’t look like you’re rockin’ the casbah, either.”

“Did you get into somebody’s cassette collection or something?”

She shrugged, turning her head to look down the road at the approaching headlights of the night bus. “So I found some Clash stowed away. Just goes to show not everybody in that house of yours has always been dead.”

No, he hadn’t always been dead. And there was more where that came from. He had records, eight-tracks, cassettes, and even a few early CDs. All things he had left behind when he moved to the States—ostensibly to continue studying, but really to find Gideon.

“Well, you can keep it if you like it.” The bus stopped in front of them, and Dominique jumped to her feet. He let Dominique follow him around because sometimes, when he was with her, he didn’t feel like a zombie. Now he followed her to the seat in the back of the empty bus. “In fact, you can keep anything else you find that you want.”

“That was yours?” Her crooked grin was a moment of pure unadulterated joy. She didn’t have many of those, even in his presence. “What other secrets are you hiding away?”

Jesse snorted. “Of course it was mine. Did you think I was born this old?” He must have seemed ancient to the teenager. He felt like he had aged twenty years in the past month. “And as for my other secrets…well, you’re too young. I don’t want to give you any ideas.”

“Oh, please. I’ve been living with Michelle for how long now? You really think I haven’t figured out how to break my way into the good s**t?”

“I guess that depends on how you would define the good s**t. Honestly, I think it’ll take more than a year for you to figure out how to get to the really interesting stuff.”

The bus stopped and a man got on. He took one look at Jesse and his face registered shock and disgust. Jesse glanced down, and realized that dark globs of burnt flesh and blood still clung to his jacket—which was hanging open, revealing his gun and two of his knives.

“Why didn’t you tell me I look like a psychopath?”

Dominique glanced over, then lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Because you look more alive now than you do half the time I catch you in your room. I figure, why f**k with what works.”

Jesse pulled his jacket shut with one hand and turned to the side, hoping nobody else would notice him and ring the police. You look more alive. Except, he was supposed to be dead. Tiny bits and pieces scattered all over the East End.

“Did you see the explosion?”

Dominique turned to mirror his position. “No, but I felt something. You blow the fuckers up?”

“I thought a few grenades would even the odds.” For both sides. Funny how it didn’t work out that way. “But that’s why you shouldn’t follow me when I go out like this. I didn’t know you were there, and you could have been hurt in the blast.”

“I was two blocks away. Try again.”

“Were you two blocks way because that’s where you stopped, or were you two blocks away because that’s where you happened to be?”

Her full mouth pressed into a line. Busted. For several seconds, all he heard was the low rumble of the bus.

“Somebody’s got to take care of you. Don’t see why I can’t have the job.”

Because it was dangerous. Because Jesse felt like he was going to fly apart, with or without the help of grenades, and he didn’t want this girl to be caught in the fallout.

“Maybe you’re right. But Michelle whisked me to London. I think the responsibility is on her shoulders. Unless you think she’s not doing a good job of it?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is you don’t think she’s doing a good job of it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sneaking out of the house all the time.”

Jesse sighed. “It’s not that easy, Dominique.”

But he didn’t know how to explain the desire to go out in a glorious blaze of light to a teenage girl. And he didn’t know how to explain that it was difficult to look at Michelle without feeling a tug of anger, and not knowing where that anger came from. What happened had absolutely nothing to do with her, and he should be grateful—on his knees—that she was there to try to put him back together. He wasn’t grateful, though. He just hurt.

“But I won’t sneak out anymore. Clearly, I’m a bad influence on you.”

Dominique smiled. He’d always thought it was impossible for such a young girl to look so old, but now he got it. “I like your influence, you know.” She paused. “You’re the only real friend I got, Jess.”

Jesse studied her face, but there was never anything except complete sincerity in Dominique’s eyes when she looked at him.

“These days, I think you’re the only real friend I’ve got, too.”

Jesse stood as their stop approached and offered his hand. Dominique let him pull her to her feet, and he relished the warmth of her skin. This was the sort of contact he had to be content with now, which seemed ludicrous to Jesse, when so much of his life had been dedicated to the joys of physical touch in all its variety.

“We won’t be stuck in London forever,” Jesse promised as they exited the bus. “I’m going to talk to Michelle about going back to Chicago.”

Another roll of her eyes. “Good luck with that. I think she’s taking root. Her and your old man Ollie act like they’re long lost pen pals or something.”

Jesse thought that was probably why he couldn’t really stomach being around Michelle anymore. He had pointedly escaped Oliver Madding, and then Michelle had dragged him back. And worse, she had immediately stepped into Oliver’s home and life as though she’d always fit there.

And between the two of them, there was one word that was never uttered in the Madding residence. Even if sometimes Jesse thought he just needed to talk about Gideon.

“Yeah, but your home is in Chicago. It wouldn’t be right to keep you here, away from everybody and everything you knew.”

“I’ll live. As long as you don’t go disappearing on me, too.”

The house loomed in front of them, dark and dreary. It represented everything Jesse had always hated, and the thought of returning to his claustrophobic bedroom slowed his steps even further. Only the fact that Dominique was with him kept him going, even though she seemed as reluctant to return as he did.

“You’re not going to tell Michelle I snuck out, are you?” she asked.

“No. Not this time. It’ll be our secret.” Jesse paused at the door. “Unless she’s waiting for us in the entryway. I don’t suppose you have a convincing cover story?”

“I did before I found you looking like the Reaper chewed you up and spit you out.” She peered to the side. “Maybe we should go in the back way.”

“Come on, then.”

Jesse led her around the side of the house to the door that would let them into the kitchen. Dominique had a light step, and he did not have to worry about anybody hearing her. And Jesse knew how to move without waking a sleeping vampire—another needle working its way through his heart. He unlocked the door and gently pushed it open. Nothing stirred in the shadows, and he allowed Dominique to pass in front of him.

She moved through the house as if she’d lived there for years, not just a month. The first thing she did was go to the refrigerator and pull it open to look inside. Jesse bit back his smile. His father had had the kitchen redone in his absence, and he still couldn’t remember which cupboard hid the fridge. Though that might have been because he’d only started venturing from his room very recently.

“This family does s**t for leftovers,” Dominique complained. “Anything specific you want?”

Jesse moved to the sink and turned on the faucet as hot as he could stand it. He thought he could get the blood from his skin, but not the smell. And in the confines of the spotless kitchen, the smell was not something he could ignore.

“A sandwich is fine. Unless there’s something specific you want.”

“I’d kill for a decent pizza,” she muttered. She grabbed a container of sliced ham and some condiments, setting them on the counter before rooting around for bread. “How are you going to explain what happened to you when Michelle sees you in the morning?”

“How bad do I look?”

Dominique glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe nothing a shower won’t fix. But unless you burn your clothes, she’s still going to figure it out.”

Jesse leaned against the counter heavily. He had been caught in a fire before, and though the flames never touched him, it still took several days to fully recover from the smoke inhalation. He still felt the heat of the fire licking at the ground near his feet, and on the walls, and over his head. The memory of coming home and finding Gideon and Emma asleep as their lives burned around them was still so vivid, it might have happened the previous day.

But he had been in the center of a huge explosion, and there was nothing wrong with him? Nothing a shower wouldn’t fix?

“Something very strange happened tonight, Dominique. I think I’m going to have to come clean to Michelle anyway.”

“I already said I wouldn’t tell on you.” But when she looked up this time, the teasing vanished from her face. She abandoned her sandwich making to come over and frown up at him more closely. “You look like you’re going to be sick,” she pronounced. “What could have happened that was so bad?”

I didn’t die.

It was clear she wouldn’t step away until he gave her an answer. He chose his words carefully. “There were more demons in the nest than I had anticipated. Several of them attacked me at once, before I could break away and throw the grenade at them. But look…” He shrugged off his damaged jacket and rolled up his sleeve, selecting a spot on his body that wasn’t already vibrant with scars. “There’s not a mark on me. Even the cut on my forehead isn’t bleeding anymore.”

She absorbed every detail with the same intensity she gave to everything, remaining silent long enough to make him itchy. “Maybe there just seemed like there were a lot. You’ve been out of the game for a while.”

“Not so long I can’t tell the difference between a handful and a horde of demons. And Michelle told me she brought me here to heal. But when I woke up…whatever injuries I had were superficial. Something’s not right.”

Dominique opened her mouth, but Michelle’s hard voice cut her off. “Why are you up at this hour?”

“I woke her up. She came downstairs to see what was going on,” Jesse said, surprised by how easy it was to lie for the young girl.

“I wasn’t talking to her. Dominique, go to your room.”

Dominique cast one glance in his direction before saying softly, “Night.”

“Pleasant dreams.”

Michelle folded her arms and nodded at Dominique as she passed, though her mouth was twisted with disapproval. “I’ve asked you not to cover for her. I can tell she went out.”

“She was with me.”

“She was following you, you mean.” Michelle shook her head. “I’m not going to let her spend any more time with you if you continue to allow this sort of behavior.”

“First, she’s going to do whatever she wants. Second, I’m not her father, and I’m not going to treat her like a child. And finally, where do you get off telling me what sort of behavior is appropriate?”

Michelle’s eyes widened at his outburst. “Where is this coming from, Jess?”

“We need to talk.”

Her lips thinned. “Yes, I think we do.”