“One of those twists, I guess. He lived in the midlands, near where Shana’s parents are now. Her father led them to him. He came here from this side, Marco. Years ago, he came here from America, and was welcome, and he does this.”
She gave him the bare bones of it.
“Got kids and everything.” Caught between sorrow and disgust, Marco shook his head. “You know, if somebody’s going to suck out loud, Breen, it don’t matter a damn where they start out. It’s where they end up.”
“One place he won’t end up is Talamh. Keegan’s got to go back east for a few days. But there’s more, and it’s going to be harder to tell.”
“The kind of hard that says it’s glass-of-wine-thirty?”
“Boy, that’d be nice. When I was with Nan this afternoon, I had a vision.”
“Was it bad? Are you okay?”
“It was bad, but I’m okay.” When they came out of the woods, she stopped, just to take in the cottage. Her cottage.
“One day soon, you and Brian should pick your spot.”
“I still gotta tell him. Keegan give the go?”
“With all the rest, I didn’t have a chance to tell him. We’ll tell them both tonight. Anyway, the vision.”
She started as they walked to the cottage, continued as she set the fires to light and Marco poured wine. And finished as they sat drinking it in front of the fire.
“He’s not just evil,” Marco concluded. “He’s one sick son of a bitch. He just, like, sucked the blood out of her throat? Like a vampire?”
“Sort of. He didn’t bite it, use fangs. He slit it open with a claw, then drank it from… the source.”
“So not like a vampire god—which doesn’t make sense anyway because that would make him undead, and he’s not. Is he?”
“No. No, he’s alive. But he does have demon in him, Marco. That means I do, too.”
“Yeah, sure, I get it. There are all kinds of demons. I used to figure they were just fun fiction stuff, but I guess most fun fiction stuff had to start somewhere. So whatever demon’s in him wants to drink blood. You don’t.”
“No! Ew.”
“I’m saying”—Marco gestured wildly with his glass—“you won’t even eat a rare steak. Much less a little tartare.”
“Because ew.”
“You’re so wrong about that, but I’m saying the demon part of himwants it, or needs it, and yours doesn’t. Because he likes it.” Now Marco shot up a finger. “The whole Odran psycho gets off on it. And you know what Spike said.”
“Buffy’s Spike?”
He shot her a deadly serious look. “There’s only one Spike, girl. Blood’s life. It’s always about the blood, has to be blood and all like that. You know why?”
“Because Spike’s a vampire?”
“Yes, and no. Because when Odran takes blood, he’s taking life from somebody else. Because that’s his life, and his psycho shit, and it’s power and, you know, it’s ritual. And it’s a fucking show on top of it. A goddamn performance for the crowd, Breen.”
She stared at him, then sat back. “Holy crap, Marco Olsen. That’s just completely… right. That’s all of it. That’s exactly. He needs it for all of that, and he needs to do this horrible thing in front of an audience, in front of his cult to keep them loyal, excited, in awe.”
“But like you said, he hides the demon so they only see the god. Some of that cult, they’re demons, and if he shows he’s sort of one of them—”
“It diminishes him.” She punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Hammer. Nail. Head.”
Looking smug, he gave a shoulder wiggle. “I got some skills.”
“I’ll say. How come you’re not even a little weirded out that I’ve got some demon in me?”