That's how he figured out what he could do." "Blackwood?" The ghost scooted around to face me, his hand going through the bucket he'd just been playing with.
"He told me.
Once, just after it had been his turn to drink from her--she was Mistress of his seethe-- he killed a vampire with his touch." Lesser vampires fed from the Master or Mistress who ruled the seethe, and were fed from in return.
As they grew more powerful, they quit needing to feed from the one who ruled the seethe.
"He said he was angry and touched this woman, and she just crumbled into dust.
Just like his Mistress could do.
But a couple of days later, he couldn't do it.
It wasn't his turn to feed from her for a couple more weeks, so he hired a fae-blooded prostitute--I forget what kind she was--and drained her dry.
The fae's powers lasted longer for him.
He experimented and figured out that the longer he let them live while he fed, the longer he could use what he'd gained from them." "Can he still do that?" I asked intently.
"Kill with a touch?" No wonder no one challenged him for territory.
He shook his head.
"No.
And she's dead, so he can't borrow her talents anymore.
She can still kill if he feeds her blood.
But he can't use her now like he used to before that old Indian man died.
It's not that she minds the killing, but she doesn't like to do what he wants.
Especially exactly what he wants and no more.
He uses her for business, and business"--he licked his lips as if trying to remember the exact words Blackwood had used--"business is best conducted with precision." He smiled, his eyes wide and innocent.
They were blue.
"She prefers bloodbaths, and she's not above setting up the killing ground to point to James as the killer.
She did that once, before he'd realized he wasn't still controlling her.
He was very unhappy." "Blackwood had a walker," I said, putting it together.
"And he fed from him so he could control her--the lady who was just here." "Her name is Catherine.
I'm John." The boy looked at a bucket, and it moved.
"He was nice, Carson Twelve Spoons.
He talked to me sometimes and told me stories.
He told me that I shouldn't have given myself to James, that I shouldn't be James's toy.
That I should let myself go to the Great Spirit.
That he would have been able to help me once." He smiled at me, and this time I caught a hint of malice.