Bloodlines: Medius: A Dead Hearts Novel, #7

By Susanne L. Lambdin

'First comes the Dark, then Fire, Fang, and Flood.'

​

Bloodlines: Medius, book 2, finds Logan Bennet and his mother, Lenora, in Miami with the remnants of the Dark Angels. Shirkas—a species of super-zombies—are harassing the coastline. The Blood Syndicate and U.S. military defend the Wall of Liberty that surrounds the city, the only thing standing between the inhabitants and the horde. However, the Centauro rebels may have a solution—kill the High Council members, whom they believe control the zombies, and destroy the Babylonian Stones to prevent TTD agents from time-traveling. And they want the Dark Angels to help.

 

Dark mysteries and demonic rituals threaten the survivors of a war-torn world. Cadence and the Earth Corps are needed to prevent a hellish uprising, but where are they? And if Picasso, Logan, or Parish can find them, will they be able to stop the demons, or is this the beginning of Armageddon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Lambdin
• Release date: Jul 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393471035

Book preview

BLOODLINES:

Medius

A DEAD HEARTS NOVEL

by

Susanne L. Lambdin

Bloodlines: Medius

Copyright © 2018 by Susanne L. Lambdin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the email addresses below.

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Author’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Bloodlines: Medius / Susanne L. Lambdin –1st Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1724292193

ISBN-10: 1724292196

ALSO BY SUSANNE L. LAMBDIN

A Dead Hearts Novel Series

Morbid Hearts

Forsaken Hearts

Vengeful Hearts

Defiant Hearts

Immortal Hearts

Dead Hearts: Bloodlines

Exordium

Medius

Ultimum

The Realm of Magic Trilogy

Seeker of Magic

Mistress of Magic

Queen of Magic

* * * * *

Medius – The Middle

In memory of my mother and guardian angel:

- Frances L. Lambdin -

2/12/1933 – 12/14/2017

CONTENTS

DODGER

Caceri - Timeless

Prologue

Dodger, standing in a white cubicle behind a force field, watched a small group of scientists in white lab coats conduct experiments. Today the unfortunate victims were ten male clones that looked exactly like him. Dodger had tried multiple times to break through the force field, but like the thousands of immortal prisoners who had once been condemned to life imprisonment in Caceri, the dark magic employed was unbreakable. Hades, the former warden, was dead, leaving the new wardens of the Caceri controlled by Samael, the CEO of Vescali Inc.

The clones stood in a straight line with blank expressions as Dodger stared at them, willing them to do something—anything. A nurse Dodger thought looked Nordic, due to her pale blonde hair and blue eyes, poked the clones’ upturned palms with a needle. If the test was to see if the clones had reflexes, they had none. If it was to monitor their pain levels, none flinched. A little smile appeared on her face whenever she jabbed a clone; likely she enjoyed stabbing them almost as much as she enjoyed drawing Dodger’s blood. She repeated the process, and when she grew bored, started to stab their faces. Since the clones stood with their backs to Dodger, he was left to imagine where the nurse pierced, but from the height of her raised arm and the momentum of her jabs, he came to the awful conclusion she stabbed the needle into their eyes.

There was clearly something wrong with the medical staff. Two male doctors stood like tall, slender bookends on either side of a female doctor. Their eyes appeared more thoughtful than repulsed as they observed the nurse, and they quietly jotted notes. Dodger was familiar enough with ancient immortals to know the nurse was not a Norse goddess or a Valkyrie, but something was off about her. The men were Vescali demons, easy to recognize by their height, bald heads, sharp teeth, and blue veins visible beneath their unnaturally pale complexions. The female doctor wore her hair in a simple bun and was older than her colleagues; Dodger suspected she was a vampire by the way her eyes glowed.

What’s wrong with these clones? Dodger shouted, no longer able to keep silent. I might be a prisoner, but they’re my duplicates. I have a right to know what is going on! When no one responded, he raised his voice, For God’s sake, stop piercing their eyes with that needle! Are you monsters or doctors?

No one listened to him.

Dodger whimpered when the nurse jabbed another clone in the eye. He wanted to pound on the invisible force field, but in the past whenever he touched it, a jolt of electricity threw him against the back of his cage; he was not about to repeat the same mistake. He remained quiet and stood with his arms crossed until he spotted a drop of blood fly from the needle and shouted before he was able to stop himself.

You created a bunch of lamebrains! Why would you make clones without the smallest amount of intelligence? Huh? No normal person would let you poke them in the eye. What’s the point? Dodger grimaced, not intending to make a pun. I want to talk to the person in charge of this Death Lab. I didn’t sign a consent form, and I’m sure what you’re doing isn’t sanctioned by the World Federation, the Blood Syndicate, or the Earth Corps! His stomach cramped, a reminder he had not eaten in ages, and he angrily tossed out another complaint, At least Hades fed his prisoners—when do I get some chow?

The nurse jabbed the last clone in the eye, and its foot moved a smidge.

Did you see that? Dodger cried, not sure whether to be relieved or repulsed.

This time, both male doctors glanced at Dodger and flashed sharp teeth as they scribbled onto their notepads. He imagined the tests were performed to study the clones’ tolerance for pain. If the medical staff wanted his full attention, they had it, and while he paced in his cell, the nurse took a can of spray paint to draw a large red circle on the lab floor.

The female doctor chose two subjects; one was the idiot who had moved his foot. She motioned for the nurse to lead them into the circle. The other duplicated freaks simultaneously took two steps back, not at all curious, and stared straight ahead.

Are you going to make them fight? Dodger asked, more to himself. He wanted someone to talk to him and at least answer a question or two. It was obvious Samael, the head ghoul of Vescali Inc., had brought him to the lab to create clones in Dodger’s likeness. But why?

Hey, he said louder, waving his hand. Did you know Prince Balan had me fight in the Death Games that aired on TV a few months ago? Did any of you see me fight? I was part of the ‘Dynamic Duo.’ Odin killed my fighting partner, Xena. He bit back a sad sigh. Now there was a girl worthy to be cloned! Nobody could swing a sword like Xena! The fighters lined up toe-to-toe. I’ll have you know I helped defeat Odin! Yeah, that’s right! If I can beat a Norse god, then I can certainly defeat one of those turkeys you bred in your lab. Let me fight these guys, and I’ll show you how it’s done!

The boy is annoying, a Vescali said, breaking their rigid silence. Dodger grinned at making one of them crack.

Ignore him, the female doctor replied, tight-lipped. Nurse Francine? You may commence your test; we have a thousand more to assess before morning.

A thousand, Dodger thought, horrified.

You heard her . . . fight! Francine shouted, eyes wild with excitement.

The pair faced off, fists raised and eyes filled with a sudden rage. Equally fast and strong, they showed no remorse or restraint as they beat each other to a bloody pulp.

Dodger tried not to gag as blood splattered the medical staff and the walls. This test made no sense either. The clones did not fight like him. They stood toe-to-toe, like robots, traded blows, and bled. In the same situation, Dodger would have flown over his opponent and kicked him while in the air or put him in a headlock to snap his neck. He knew Vescali Inc. wanted to make an army of super soldiers; hence, why they wanted to clone him. However, the clones only relied on brutish instincts, relegated to pounding one another in the face, until both fell to the floor. One cracked his head hard and blood pooled.

This test subject is dead, the nurse said with a cold smile.

Pity they cannot regenerate. The female doctor frowned as she scrawled a note before underlining it several times. Nor do they seem capable of flight or evasion.

The Vescalis exchanged glances.

Two guards in dark gray uniforms entered the lab, picked up the dead clone, and removed his body. The victor stood and silently joined the other eight.

Their ability to withstand pain is remarkable, a male doctor commented. Dodger was unable to distinguish them since one Vescali looked exactly like the other. They reminded him of Dr. Leopold from Balan’s Death Lab in Colorado.

Leopold I and II, he thought, remembering they acted more like clones than the subjects did.

Dodger’s temper got the better of him again. Samael has to be the dumbest Vescali in history, he blurted. Having your prized test subjects fight to the death is stupid! There’s no sport in it; it’s not even logical. One is dead, and his pal most likely has a concussion and broken bones. He winced when he glanced at the injured dullard’s face. His nose is smashed flat! Don’t you care? I demand you talk to me!

The nurse looked at him and nervously slid a finger through a tiny hole in his white pants to scratch at a scab. He wore slippers and a white shirt with No. 1 embroidered in red on the left side. Each clone was also numbered, and out of sequence. Dodger wondered at the precise number of the creeps, how they were created, and if they were kept in a refrigerator. It was dreadfully cold; he rubbed his hands to help the blood circulate.

Let me out of here, and I’ll give you turkeys something to write home about! Dodger puffed out his chest as two more subjects were selected to fight. No one listened, and he shouted while the pair slugged it out like robots. Are you scared the Earth Corps will find out about this Death Lab? They will, you know. Cadence or Dragon will figure out where you concealed me, and they’ll come for me. When my friends get here, they’ll kill all of you! The one demon shrugged, and Dodger growled before continuing, They killed Aries and Odin. Have you heard of those creeps? Aries didn’t spell his name right; I don’t think he knew how to spell, even if he was the Greek God of War. As far as I’m concerned, his boss, the Norse All-Father, was a nitwit! They tried to mess with us, and we kicked their butts. That’s what my friends will do to you jerks and your clone army just as soon as they get here . . . a particularly nasty blow had Dodger look away as he finished his rant, which will be any day.

Hush, Nurse Francine snapped and turned back to the fight. Dodger shuddered at the glee in her icy eyes.

Two final punches were thrown before two bodies hit the floor. Another pair of clones were selected to fight.

So, you figured out how to use my DNA to make a thousand look-a-like idiots, he said. But you can’t clone memories or emotions. Your clones aren’t me! They’ll never be me! They’ll never know joy, happiness, or friendship; they’re just meat bags.

Nevertheless, they exhibit super strength and speed, the nurse said with a sigh. And they look like you, Dodger . . . sixteen years old, tall, strong, brown hair, and a lopsided grin.

It’s not lopsided, lady; it’s a smirk!

The nurse walked to his cell, her heels making a sharp click with each step.

"I said hush!"

Dodger wore a smile to hide his fear and anger. He had lost track of how many weeks had passed since his abduction in Rome while meeting his friend, Mia Moretti, intending to take her out of the city. He hoped Mia was okay. The Eternal City was controlled by the Blood Syndicate, which was led by another Vescali demon called Azazel, brother to Samael. The two were sworn enemies, and now that Prince Balan, their creator, was dead, they competed for ownership of the planet, although he wasn’t privy to information from the outside world and things might have changed in the battle for world domination.

He remembered to smile whenever the medical staff poked him with needles, drew his blood, shaved his body hair, or clipped his nails; they used the bits and pieces to make their monsters. He smiled through the pain, but when left alone, which was not often, he tried telepathy to contact the Earth Corps; no one had yet to respond.

I thought you were human, but you’re not; you’re a vampire, Dodger said to the nurse. I can smell you through this stupid energy field. You smell like vanilla! So does the other woman, only she’s not half as pretty.

The nurse stared at him with her big blue eyes. Thank you, she said, lips pulling back to offer a hungry smile.

Why are we in Caceri? Your main base is in New York City. Why do you have to come to the ends of nowhere to conduct your tests? I thought the Vescalis were the best minds in the world, and that’s why they keep to the medical field, practicing voodoo, hoodoo, and DNA-cloning. He went back to pacing. Are you worried Azazel and the Blood Syndicate have a better clone army? Both demons flinched at the name, and Dodger pounced. Oh, I know Samael’s brother, Azazel, oversees the other creepy corporation. They’re the ones rebuilding the world after Prince Balan destroyed it with a zombie apocalypse. Odin tried to stop Azazel, but the Earth Corps didn’t know what we do now—that the two Vescali brothers plan to fight each other for Balan’s throne! Is that why you’re churning out clones? Do they get dumber with each batch?

The Blood Syndicate does things their way, and we do them our way. We’re new to cloning and have relied on the copies generated by the demons inside the monoliths. We learned, through trial and error, our copies are inferior to clones. It took a considerable amount of time and effort to build this new facility over the remains of the old prison. It’s quiet here—no one comes to this place. Nor do your friends know you are in Caceri. I shouldn’t worry, if I were you, about these replicas; they can be replaced. This was merely a demonstration.

Dodger laughed with scorn. ’The best-laid plans of mice and men,’ or something like that, he said. You give only pain and grief. What’s the point?

Obedience.

Excuse me? Look, lady, if my parents, my school principal, and the police failed to make me obey, what makes you think you’ll have better luck?

I don’t. That’s why you are contained and why we made clones from your DNA and not copies out of a monolith . . .. The copies tend to deteriorate after a few days, but not your clones. They are, in their own way, magnificent!

"With no memories or emotions, they’re just things that have no will, Nurse Monster Lady. You can’t scramble my DNA in a bowl, bake it in an oven, and expect it to come out perfect. It doesn’t work! I know you’ve been printing off thousands of copies of soldiers—it’s how you got all those zombies out in the snow. He felt a burst of satisfaction at her surprised expression. Oh, I saw them. Stop worrying about quality when you want quantity. Isn’t it obvious? I’m a unicorn! I am the only one."

The nurse’s gaze lost its coldness, replaced by something darker—cruelty. She seemed to be in charge, but that didn’t make sense. No one had introduced her or the medical staff, and he had no idea where any of them came from or why they wanted to serve demon masters.

You have the eyes of a cobra, Dodger growled.

All your prattle has given me a wonderful idea, she replied. Thank you, Dodger. I knew listening to your rants would prove useful.

The nurse approached the doctors, who eagerly gathered around her, acting like students with their mentor as she whispered to them. The female doctor glanced at Dodger and nodded while the two Vescali doctors smiled wide.

Wait! Dodger shouted. What’s my good idea? What did I say?

The nurse placed her finger over her red lips and whispered, Hush.

LOGAN

Florida Coast - Present

Chapter 1

Seated on the vast sun deck of the luxury yacht Moonbeam, Logan studied the eastern coastline of Florida, lost in memories that unfolded in his mind like a bizarre dream. He had sat frozen inside a cell in Caceri for seven centuries, reliving the moment he had stepped through a portal that opened in a monolith at Stonehenge which forever changed his life. Had he simply remained with the Blood Knights as their Grand Master, Logan might have lived a full life as a vampire in the 1340s. Hoping the portal might return him to Colorado Springs, where his sweetheart Rose and the Earth Corps waited, he entered, but instead, a Vescali prince named ‘Azazel’ had escaped from the prison, taken his place, and Hades had added Logan to his collection of inmates.

Logan gazed at the turquoise water, watched the waves rise and fall, and felt his worries submerge. The sun was warm on his face, and reggae played over the speakers.

To hell with everyone else—this is the life, Logan said, as he took a sip of his Bloody Mary. Four drops of human blood and a large amount of vodka made the perfect drink. All he wanted to do was drink, soak up the sunshine, and enjoy the company of the human crew for as long as possible. He doubted his mother and the two remaining Dark Angels felt the same, which was why they were headed to Florida. It was a mistake.

The yacht had everything they needed; five levels, ninety feet prow to stern, with two swimming pools on two different decks, three hot tubs, and twelve cabins. His room had a round bed, mirrors overhead, and a stereo system that required a snap of his fingers to turn on or off—a room he currently shared with Vivian, one of the female crew. He stared at his drink as he tossed the celery stick overboard and considered the olives spiked on a long toothpick that remained untouched; it was a shame he was unable to digest them.

Hades, this one is for you, Logan toasted, and took another sip. I’m glad Cadence killed you. Another sip. I’m grateful your big brother provided the means to reach this yacht. He paused to jiggle the ice cubes. And, I’m thankful for vodka. He drained the glass and set it aside.

A pod of dolphins appeared beside the yacht. As they gave chase, Logan pretended he was on vacation and did not have to be concerned with what happened on shore. He again glanced at the olives. Tempting, he thought. He missed food and olives were an old favorite.

There you are, handsome.

A sultry voice carried to Logan, along with the whiff of Chanel No. 5. He schooled his features at her approach; most of the crew were female, but only one had a fondness for that particular perfume. Logan had to applaud the captain’s efforts to save the female gender even as he kept his eyes on the dolphins. Vivian sat next to him and moved closer to rub her bare foot against his leg, wanting attention.

Why don’t you come inside and join the party?

I want to enjoy the sunshine, Logan replied, sliding his hand over his thick beard. Facial hair was the perfect mask to keep anyone from recognizing him; the last thing he wanted was to try to explain why he looked like the Chancellor.

Should you be outside? Vivian asked, trying another tactic.

Despite popular belief, vampires do not burst into flames in direct sunlight, Logan said with a laugh. But we do get sunburned. Rub some lotion on my shoulders, babe. He pulled off his shirt and turned his back. Pretty please.

Vivian eagerly grabbed a bottle of sunscreen and poured it onto her hands. Logan sighed while the long-fingered beauty rubbed the lotion onto his skin.

The party is boring without you, she whined. At his silence, her hands pressed a little harder against his skin. Do you know it’s been three weeks since we plucked you out of the sea? Captain Kirkpatrick thinks it’s a good idea we head to Miami. The Syndicate has made it a safe zone, but I’d rather head to St. Lucia; not all the islands are infested with zombies.

Logan smiled absently. Dolphins are supposed to be a sign of good luck.

I never understood why they called it a ‘school of fish.’ Fish aren’t smart, and dolphins are just stupid fish, Vivian said dismissively.

Mammals, sweetie, and they’re not stupid. Any one of those dolphins has a higher I.Q. than the two of us put together.

I love sunsets, Vivian said, changing topics, her mind in another place as she dreamily gazed at Logan. It’s so romantic. They don’t have sunsets like this back in Kansas.

I can’t disagree with you on that point.

You like me better than Doris, don’t you, Logan? Vivian asked. Her purr reminded him of a house cat. She always wants to spoil my fun. We made a bet on the first day you arrived to see who you would pick, and you picked me. She didn’t seem to notice, or to mind, his silence. I really do like you, Logan. When we arrive in Miami, I want to stay on the boat with you. Her eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her over his shoulder.

I have no intention of stepping one foot on shore, Vivian. If I were captain, I’d turn this boat around and head to St. Lucia . . . at her sigh, he tacked on, anything to please you, doll face.

You say the nicest things.

Logan shifted to look at her as her hands slid around his shoulders. Vivian wore a sexy, little red bikini. Short, black hair, a pert nose, and toenails painted bright red added to her allure. The sounds of laughter and music drifted closer; the party inside the main cabin was in high gear. Doris was visible in the doorway as she danced in front of Picasso. The vampire and Logan shared a glance before Vivian stroked Logan’s arm to get his attention again.

Someone cut their finger when slicing the celery—I can taste the blood. Did you make this for me? Logan asked, pointing at his empty glass. Care to make another?

Maybe. She shrugged. Later.

Vivian reached into the glass with two slender fingers, removed the olives, plopped each between her red lips, then licked her fingers clean. With a giggle, she leaned closer and kissed Logan, undaunted at his inattention while he searched for the dolphins on the port side of the yacht; he was sorry to find they had vanished. Vivian lay against his chest while he noted a golden sunset reflecting in the windows of empty hotels along a stretch of beach inhabited by wandering zombies.

Everyone knows this is our last evening together, Vivian said, gazing into the main cabin. Doris likes Picasso, only he’s not interested in her. Logan raised his eyebrows. He had not noticed Picasso looking annoyed at the attention he received from the staff as the young women made their rounds through his group. I’ll tell you a secret; I think Picasso pines over a lost love. So many of us lost our families and loved ones. It makes me sad.

Logan casually glanced through the pane of glass into the cabin and tried not to think about the ones he had loved and lost. He watched as humans danced and drank alcohol with wild abandon. His mother and Pallaton sat together on a couch and played cards with a crewmember. He rolled his eyes when he saw her playfully wink when placing a bet. Even though Lenora was twenty years older than Logan, she looked like his sister, not his mother. With long black hair hanging in dark curls on her slender shoulders and a face without wrinkles, Lenora Bennet was beautiful.

Pallaton recognized this and spent most of his time with her. The vampire spread his arms across the back of the couch and laughed when Lenora threw down her cards and shouted, I win, before she gathered the cards to reshuffle.

Logan doubted his mother and the Dark Angels wanted to disembark any more than he did and considered asking Captain Kirkpatrick to turn the boat around and head back to the Caribbean islands.

The captain had found the Dark Angels in Bermuda when he stopped for supplies; a near-fatal mistake, for the island crawled with zombies. Logan, Lenora, Pallaton, and Picasso had killed the monsters, and as a reward for their assistance, Kirkpatrick invited them onto his yacht. No one had asked how the Dark Angels had survived on Bermuda. Nor had anyone seen the Royal Fortune, a part balloon and part frigate airship commanded by Captain Black, make a hasty departure. The airship had sailed to the magical island of Antillia, located in the Bermuda Triangle and governed by the sea god, Poseidon. Logan had wanted to stay with Captain Black, but the sea god refused them; hence their enforced disembarkation at Bermuda.

Kirkpatrick and his crew had no idea another world existed and never regretted his decision to invite vampires onboard. In return for his help, the Dark Angels had saved the crew on several occasions from being boarded by pirates. It was dangerous enough at sea, but a visit to Miami would put them in direct contact with the Blood Syndicate, and that was not a good idea.

Let’s go join the others, Vivian begged, stalling his budding pity party. I’ll make you another drink if you come with me, Logan.

He glanced over her head and spotted Kirkpatrick and Picasso talking at the bar while looking over a map. If fate lent a hand, they would decide not to go to Miami. He gazed at the line of hotels running the length of the beach and was able to see zombies watching from dark windows. No, Logan thought, the last thing he wanted was to leave the yacht and go ashore.

After the outbreak, I hoped we would never come back here, Vivian said as if reading his mind. A shudder went through her body. He knew she came from Kansas but little else about her past and preferred it that way. I am scared, Logan—really scared. What do you think we’ll find in Miami?

Nothing like you’d expect—everything will be different, Vivian, from how it was before the outbreak, Logan said. Kirkpatrick told me President Lang signed the Blood Syndicate’s ‘Tolerance Act,’ which allows humans to live side-by-side with every species spawned by the mutating virus. There are far more than zombies and vampires to worry about on shore. At the fear in her eyes, he smiled. Supernaturals are not the problem, honey; the Syndicate is bad news.

Why? I don’t understand. I thought the Syndicate helped restore our government. If the President trusts them, then I do too.

Yeah, but at what price, babe? Anyone offering something too good to be true usually has another motive. Sure, I appreciate the fact they rebuilt Miami and many other international cities, but don’t count on a warm welcome. She frowned, and he rolled his eyes at her naivety. You do realize the Syndicate is not run by humans? They’re vampires, Vivian, every one of them. All of you think vampires are just like us, but that’s not the case. He smiled suddenly. If I bit you, do you know what would happen?

You’d drink my blood, but I know you wouldn’t drain me; you like me, Vivian said, with the innocence of an ignorant.

Oh, I like you, Vivian, and that’s why I’m trying to explain why it’s not a good idea to go to Miami, he replied. I wouldn’t make another vampire—I’d turn you into a zombie. Only Pallaton can make other vampires if he wanted to, but don’t ask him. Stay human. Stay on the boat. Stay alive.

Vivian lit a cigarette while Doris slipped outside and approached them. Captain Picasso, the fearless leader of the Dark Angels, followed her. He was a former U.S. Army Ranger with twenty-five years of service, which Logan suspected was the reason Kirkpatrick trusted him. Picasso had a stocky frame, a shaved head, and a gun strapped on his hip to cement his creed—‘Always be ready for the unexpected.’ His attitude was that of a man on constant vigil. Logan assumed Picasso slept with one eye open; probably the reason why the vampire was still alive.

Kirkpatrick asked us to join him on the bridge, Picasso announced. He barely noticed Doris bat her eyelashes. Come on, Logan; we might catch some radio chatter. I want to find out what’s going on before we head into Miami.

Killjoy, Doris huffed.

That goes double for me, Logan muttered.

Doris, with a bottle of wine to share, joined Vivian on the seat as Logan stood to follow Picasso up a ladder to the bridge. Maybe Picasso had the right idea not to get involved with the female crew. There were eighteen women and twelve men. Most were young and fit, which was part of the reason they had survived for so long. Picasso did not like to mingle, but Logan enjoyed the company. What he did not want was a commitment, and Vivian was already too attached. Logan had to admit he admired Picasso’s strict code of conduct left over from his soldiering days. Picasso did not talk about his past, and Logan felt sorry for him—the man was laced so tight, he would eventually snap.

We’ll arrive at Miami in the morning, Picasso said, as he paused outside the bridge. The captain was already inside with two young officers by the wall chart. When Picasso did not attempt to open the door, Logan wondered what was on his mind.

You’re worried about going ashore; I am, too.

These are good people, Logan. Kirkpatrick doesn’t understand the Blood Syndicate is perfidious. He knows the restored governments joined the World Federation and function as the United Nations, but you know as well as I do they bow to the Chancellor. Kirkpatrick is so anxious to rejoin civilization I can’t make him understand the Tolerance Act is a form of servitude. He sighed before admitting, I guess I might as well tell you the Syndicate’s council member who runs Miami is Rose Standish, your old girlfriend; Kirkpatrick might bring her up. But I’m telling you right now, Rose is not who you remember. She’s a vampire-demon, something like a hybrid, and it’s changed her, Logan; the demon blood made her evil.

Logan frowned. I’ve thought about Rose a million times since I last saw her. I wondered if she might think about me, he said. I want to see her again, Picasso. I miss her. No one is completely evil, not even Balan. You’re being overly dramatic.

Evil is evil, Picasso restated. Being a vampire is one thing, but when you add demon blood, it does something to the soul; maybe she doesn’t have one anymore. She’s cold, Logan, and lacks all empathy. When I saw her in Scotland, she threatened to kill the Dark Angels if we didn’t go to Caceri. His hands clenched at his sides. Lucky for you we did, but not for Tandor or Micah, who died trying to save you. If we go to Miami, Pallaton and I will have to report to Rose—we still work for the Syndicate, and it’s something I really don’t want to do.

Good, Logan said. We’re in agreement on this point. I suppose you want me to convince Kirkpatrick to turn the boat around. But if you didn’t have any success, I seriously doubt he’ll listen to me.

The last time Logan had convinced anyone to do what he wanted had led to disastrous results; ten vampire knights had accompanied him to Stonehenge in 1345, and after Logan entered a time portal, his friends had left with the wrong leader. Those same ten men now worked for the Syndicate in their Time Travel Department, the TTD, and used the monoliths to do the Chancellor’s bidding, which was the only reason the Blood Knights had not died centuries ago.

Vampires were not immortal. This was a common misconception, thanks to Hollywood movies, and people believed what they had seen on the silver screen. Logan and his ilk did not burn in the sunlight or only come out at night. Nor did they turn into bats or wolves. They fed on blood, and it was not romantic or pleasant. It certainly did not make him someone to follow. Logan did not intend to convince anyone to trail him ever again. To avoid further involvement, he turned to leave, but Picasso grabbed his arm.

I feel responsible for these people, Picasso said, and a trace of violet light appeared in his eyes as he glanced at the setting sun. They’ve been at sea for fifteen months and are itching for dry land. I know it’s been tough on them, Logan, but they managed to survive this far by staying away from other folk. Just talk to the man. Please. I don’t want you to tell him about Caceri or anything like that. I don’t think these people would understand what you’ve been through, and it would only scare them.

They should be scared, Picasso. Hell, I’m scared.

Logan heard chatter from the radio inside the wheelhouse. Through the window in the door, he was able to see Captain Kirkpatrick and his officers move to stand beside a row of flat screens set into a wide panel to listen to a radio broadcast. He leaned closer to catch the muffled words through the glass: ‘The Miami Syndicate and the U.S. military welcome you to the city—a haven for all." The message kept repeating until Logan thought he’d push Picasso over the railing to get inside and bust the radio into pieces. Kirkpatrick looked more concerned than relieved at the message, which was the only thing keeping Logan from losing his temper, pleased the older man’s cautious nature kept him from racing straight to port.

What do you want me to tell Kirkpatrick? Logan asked, turning his attention back to Picasso.

Tell him we should find anchorage further north and try to find out what’s going on before we head into Miami, Picasso said in a stern voice. If he won’t do that, then tell him we stand a better chance of survival doing precisely what they have been doing all along. Turn the ship around, and let’s head to Key West; I’ll be glad to kill every zombie there and defend it, provided he agrees.

Don’t you think Lenora is better suited for this? At Picasso’s snort, Logan glared. Hell, if you can’t convince him, Picasso, then how am I going to? I can smell the rot from the shoreline—can’t they smell it? Don’t you think they can smell it in Miami?

Picasso grabbed the door handle. Lead with that, he said and slid the door open. He pushed Logan inside then followed.

Is everything all right? Captain Kirkpatrick asked, looking at them.

We need to talk about Miami, Logan said before he lost his nerve. He pointed out the window at the beach where zombies had started to gather. Do you see all those zombies on the shoreline? If it’s like this here, you know it will be twice as bad outside of Miami. Until the zombies are dealt with, it’s better to stay at sea. He walked past the fancy monitors, a high-grade wool carpet under his feet, as he studied the shoreline in the waning light. I know you think that broadcast sounds like an invitation to come home, Kirkpatrick; you’ve come to trust vampires because of us. However, we want to make certain you’re doing the right thing, and if we can cruise past Miami, maybe take a closer look to see what it’s like, it might be worth the time and trouble. Just give us another day.

I’ve got thirty homesick people on this boat, Kirkpatrick replied. Now my two officers here will do what I ask. Sure; we will head back out, once we get a few barrels of gas and oil, but I can't keep these people on this boat any longer, Logan—they already feel like prisoners. I’m sure you can understand that.

Why? Did my mother tell you where I’d been?

Picasso cleared his throat. We’re trying to help, Captain, he said, giving Logan a dirty look. I have explained the situation to you. The Syndicate runs the country, not President Lang. The moment you enter Miami, you’ll be under Syndicate jurisdiction, and I don’t think the Tolerance Act favors humans. Just turn the boat around and let’s make for Key West. I’ll be glad to clear out the zombies for you to get oil and gas and whatever else your crew desires.

Some of my crew want Pallaton to turn them, the man said, surprising them. I heard he’s a vampire maker, or whatever you people call it, but I don’t want my crew to be vampires or zombies, Captain Picasso. He turned to Logan, I appreciate what you and the others have done for us, Logan. The best thing I ever did was pick you four up when I found you stranded on that reef. He held up a hand when Picasso started to speak. You said your boat sank, so I had to do the Christian thing and help. I realize you want to return the favor now. My crew has heard the same broadcast for days now, and if I don’t want a mutiny, then I’m going to have to respect their wishes and head into port. But I am willing to wait until morning.

Logan was surprised at the request. He did not respond