Death's Mistress

by Karen Chance

“So do we have a deal?”

  “I don’t know. What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters, you could tell me who killed Jókell.”

  The creature’s small ears went back, and its eyes widened before it started beckoning frantically with a paw. “Get in here!”

  It could have been a trap, but I didn’t think so. He looked genuinely panicked. Before I could move, the horn snagged my jacket and dragged me inside. The door slammed shut behind me, and I found myself in a narrow hallway smelling of mildew, urine and spices.

  I didn’t get a chance to look around, because I was dragged into an apartment before my eyes had even adjusted, and another door slammed shut behind me. “He’s dead? Are you sure? What happened?” The luduan’s tail was twitching excitedly back and forth as he prowled across the floor. He looked freaked.

  “Yes, yes, and someone gutted him,” I said, looking around for a chair and not finding one.

  “But he had protection!” The little thing looked genuinely upset.

  “You mean Naudiz?”

  “That thing!” He wrinkled up his features in what I guess was a scowl. “I wish I’d never heard of it!”

  “That seems to be the consensus. So what happened?”

  He sighed and sat back on his haunches, but that still left his head too low for his liking. “Sit down, can’t you?”

  “Where?” The apartment was clearly set up for nonhuman use. The weak streetlight angling in through gaps in the blinds striped a nest of blankets on the floor, a large rawhide chew bone with one end gnawed off and a couple food dishes. I assumed these were for the cat, because a wash of junk-food wrappers had collected in the corners.

  “It’s over there,” he said, reading my body language. “I keep one for bipedal clients.”

  He used the horn to point to a stack of folding chairs in the dining room area and I fetched one, bringing us closer to eye level. “Tell me.”

  “Worst night of my life; I thought I was dead for sure.”

  “You were there? You were in the office when he was attacked?”

  “Yeah. I’d been there maybe a minute. I was late because I had to wait for that vampire who owns the club to leave. There was supposed to be a diversion to get him out of the office, but it wasn’t needed. He left on his own and I walked up. And a few seconds later the attack came.”

  “You were working for Geminus.”

  “I didn’t want to do it, but I needed the cash. I was in debt to him, big-time. Fin’s boys will just beat me up; he would have killed me.”

  “In debt? For what?”

  He blinked those massive eyes at me. “You’re kidding, right? Geminus owns half the illegal fights around here. Between fey and humans, fey and fey, humans and humans—anything, really, as long as someone will pay money to see it. Or to bet on it.”

  I stared at him, a few things sliding into place. Along with drugs and weapons, no-holds-barred fights were another illegal import from Faerie. Ironically, it was the sort of thing the Dark Fey, who were treated like animals by some of their light counterparts, were fleeing Faerie to try to escape. But, once here, they had few contacts and fewer choices.

  The authorities shut the matches down when they stumbled across them, but it wasn’t a priority. They weren’t a factor in the war, and that was all anyone cared about right now. Or maybe there was another reason.

  “You’re telling me a senator was involved in a smuggling ring?”

  “Involved in it? He runs it. He’s been smuggling for longer than anybody. He started bringing people over for the fights, and then branched out. He’s into a little of everything now.”

  I sat there, growing quietly furious. No wonder we’d had so much hell stopping the smugglers. Geminus must have been tipping them off to our every move. Leaving us to clean up his competition—like Vleck or Ray—while he grabbed a bigger and bigger share of the pie.

  I guess he’d been telling the truth when he said he wasn’t interested in politics.

  “Why did he want the rune?”

  “He didn’t give me the details. But I guess so he could control the fights. Give the stone to the fighter he wanted to win, and he could determine the outcome of every bout. And clean up even more than he already does. My debts were nothing compared to that.”

  “You agreed to make the switch.”

  “I thought it would be easy: a little sleight of hand, and no harm done. Jókell would get his money, I would get out of hock to all the people I owe and Geminus would get off my back. But I didn’t expect to be attacked!”

  “What happened?”

  “I’d barely gotten in the door. Jókell had taken the rune out of its carrier and was about to hand it to me, when the door burst open and someone threw me across the room.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t see? You were right there!”

  “Right there and almost unconscious. I hit the wall and all but cracked my skull open. I heard the fight going on behind me, realized something had gone wrong and knew I had to get out of there. But the only window was bricked up, and the fight was between me and the door.”

  “What did you do?”

  He shrugged glossy shoulders—withers—whatever. “The only thing I could do. I went through the portal into Faerie. But time’s running a little slower there, so it took me this long to get back.”

  I’d said it was like he’d fallen off the face of the Earth. I just hadn’t realized it was literally true. “You didn’t see anything?”

  “I glanced back just as I crawled through the portal, to see if anybody was coming after me. And I glimpsed somebody in a dark cloak. But I didn’t see the face.”

  “So tell me what you did see. Was he heavyset or skinny? Tall or short? Did you see hair color?”

  “I saw the back of a cloak and it had the hood up; I couldn’t tell. And you all look tall to me.” He mumbled something that sounded like “planet of mutants.”

  “Scent, then—what did he smell like? Or sound—did he say anything?” At this point, I’d take what I could get.

  “I don’t have senses as acute as yours, and that club was too smelly and too noisy to make much out. Besides, I don’t think he said anything.”

  I regarded him in utter frustration. I had an eyewitness who hadn’t bothered to use his eyes—or anything else. Perfect.

  “You knew I was dhampir before I even opened my mouth,” I reminded him. “You must have sensed something.”

  “I can tell species, even under a glamourie. It’s the whole truth thing.” He waved a paw.

  “Then what was it?”

  He started to open his mouth, and then stopped, frowning. “You know, that’s weird.”

  “What is?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. But if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a human.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The luduan’s evidence hadn’t helped as much as I’d hoped, since the only human involved in the case was dead. But vamps had human servants, even mages on occasion. And he had provided one tasty little nugget.

  I had my phone out before I’d reached the bottom floor. “Geminus,” I told it.

  “The master is—”

  “Going to be really sorry if he doesn’t take this call. I can talk to him, or I can talk to Marlowe about the smuggling ring he’s been running. His choice.”

  Geminus was on the phone in less than a minute, which told me a lot on its own. SOP was to let people like me hang, but then, he was probably afraid I’d do the same to him. One call to the Senate, and Geminus was going to be a very unhappy boy.

  “What do you want?” The question was snapped in my ear before I’d even had a chance to say hello.

  “I already told you that.”

  “I don’t have it!”

  “That’s too bad. I’m sure you’ve managed to cover your tracks pretty well up until now. But that wa
s because no one was looking too closely at you. Once that changes, I don’t think the evidence for your smuggling operation will be hard to find. And that doesn’t even count what the fey are likely to—”

  “Where are you?” he asked abruptly.

  “Chinatown. Why?”

  “Stay there, and keep your phone with you.”

  “If this is a stalling tactic—”

  “It isn’t. I really don’t have the damned stone. But I may know who does.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t need to know that. I’ll get it and meet you.” The phone went dead.

  I looked up to find Frick and Frack staring at me. “That was Senator Geminus,” Frick said.

  “You do talk.”

  “You’re blackmailing him?”

  I put my phone away. “We’re reaching a mutually advantageous agreement.”

  “What about the smuggling?”

  It looked like someone had been eavesdropping. Not too surprising—it was probably why Marlowe had sent them along. “I’ll have to keep quiet about that, if he comes through. Of course, what you do is none of my business.”

  They smiled.

  Half an hour later, I was rooting around in my bamboo dim sum tray, hoping for another little barbecue pork bun, while my eyes scanned the scene outside. Chinatown is always colorful, but tonight was something special. A river of glittering lapis scales flowed by the window in front of me, twisting and turning in the traditional dragon dance, the light of nearby neon signs scattering spots of color on its long snakelike back.

  The impromptu parade had been by twice already, a crowd following the dancers like the tide and blocking the entrance to the small restaurant. It was making the owner scowl from his perch behind the cash register, but the waiters and patrons clearly loved their front row seats. The August Moon Festival was a big deal, and everyone was in good spirits.

  Everyone but me. Geminus hadn’t called, and his phone went automatically to his mailbox. I drank my beer to wash the anxious heartburn back down and watched the spectacle with everyone else.

  My chopsticks rattled on bamboo. I added the dead soldier to the tower across the table while my waiter watched with big eyes. He was clearly wondering where I was putting it all. “Metabolism,” I explained.

  I was trying to decide between more buns and the Mongolian barbecue when a static charge ruffled the hair on the back of my neck. My head jerked up to stare at a vampire walking down the street, flickering in between the line of glossy duck butts in the window. He paused on the corner, the shadows around him ebbing and flowing along with the overhead neon light.

  It wasn’t Geminus. I saw a pleasant face with generic features under a swath of dark hair, totally unremarkable except for the sense of power radiating off him like a small sun. I watched the figure brighten and fade, brighten and fade, until it seemed like the face itself was flowing instead of the light.

  There weren’t too many vamps with a power signature that strong, and most of them were at the Challenge. The traffic stopped, and he headed across the street. And my eyes narrowed.

  Despite the stereotypes, there are plenty of tall Chinese. There are also quite a few who fill out a pair of jeans in interesting ways. But there are few people of any race who move through a crowd as gracefully as a dancer across a ballroom. I knew those moves.

  More unmistakably, I knew that butt.

  I swallowed the last of my Kirin, shoved a fifty at my waiter and burst out into the brilliantly colored night.

  The vamp was already almost a block ahead, moving fast through the mass of shopping-bag-carrying locals and camera-toting tourists. He hit a snag in the form of the crowd around the dragon dancers, and it let me get close enough to scent him—or it should have. I took a breath, but all I got was the acrid smell of gunpowder from teenagers setting off illegal fireworks. Then the wind shifted, blowing in my direction, and I fell back quickly.

  And someone grabbed my arm.

  I whirled, slamming my attacker back against the darkened window of a shop, a knife to his throat. “Y-your change?”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, as I recognized the startled black eyes of my waiter. He thrust some bills into my hands and fled.

  The distraction had been brief, but that’s all it takes when chasing someone who can move like the wind. I ran across the street and into the alley, and found what I’d expected. The full moon hung low and fat and orange in the sky, glowing like a lantern through the crack between buildings. It lit up four- and five-story brick structures, garbage, and the ribbon of water down the center of the passageway. And nothing else.

  Damn it!

  I forged ahead anyway, pausing every few yards to sniff the air. I hadn’t managed to get a whiff of him, but it didn’t matter. That particular scent was already cemented in my brain. But all I smelled were dog droppings, gasoline and garbage, the latter redolent of the reek of rotting fish. That was probably because there was a fish market at the end of the alley, its bright electric lights piercing the dark like a beacon.

  The vamp had come that way. I finally caught him on the air, a thin thread of scent interwoven with the cleaner the proprietors used, the chlorine in the water and the smell of fresher sea life. But he was nowhere in sight.

  But someone else was.

  I stepped back into shadow as a tall figure in a black coat and hood came down the alley. New York in August does not require outerwear unless you’re hiding something. In my case, that something was weapons. I didn’t think that was the reason here.

  The asphalt under the coat was splashed with a delicate white light. The person wearing it was outlined by a narrow halo as well, as if the coat’s fibers weren’t thick enough to contain the radiance within. It probably hadn’t been obvious on a street washed with light and color of its own, but in the gloom of the alley, it glowed.

  I felt Frick and Frack come up to bracket me on either side. “Fey,” one of them said unnecessarily.

  A dark shape flickered into view up ahead, under a streetlight, then passed out of view around a corner. The vampire emerged from the night to follow, and the fey ghosted behind him. With us bringing up the rear, it was like a small parade. It would have been funny, if I hadn’t thought it was about to get a lot more crowded.

  “Can you distract him?” I asked Frick.

  “We have no orders to engage the fey.”

  “I’m not asking you to engage him, just to distract him. Make sure he loses his target.” They didn’t bother to respond, and neither moved. “What exactly were your orders?”

  “To assist and protect you.”

  “God, Marlowe must be desperate.” Frick remained impassive, but Frack’s lips quirked slightly. I saw them. “Look, I don’t have time to explain. But if there’s one fey, there’s probably more—maybe a lot more. And they don’t have any problem with engaging.”

  Frick still didn’t say anything, but Frack stirred slightly. “If they spot her tracking them, we will have no choice but to defend her. And if there are others, the odds in that event might not be favorable.”

  Frick didn’t respond, but after a moment, he sighed. The next second, they melted into the night after the fey. I gave them a brief head start and did likewise.

  Away from the market’s dazzling glare, the street was a half-perceived tangle of tumbled shapes and awkward angles. The coat was barely a glimmer, its radiance swallowed by the shadows crowding thick and suffocating on all sides, and the vampire was just a slightly different texture of night.

  I didn’t see what happened, exactly. One minute, the coat was gaining on the vampire, and the next, it had simply disappeared. It might have been jerked into an alley or side street, but it hadn’t looked that way. From back where I was standing, it appeared to simply vanish.

  Marlowe’s boys were good. I wondered what they planned to do with him. I decided I didn’t care.

  I emerged onto a busy cross street in time to see the vampire pass into a pot noodle place on a cor
ner. I followed and found it jam-packed with waiters shouting orders, people standing three and four deep at the counter and crowding the small tables. But a quick glance around told me that my two weren’t among them.

  I headed through the swinging door to the kitchen. I’d expected to be called on it, but I merited no more than a disinterested glance from the staff, who were sweating bullets trying to keep up with all the orders. I crossed to the back door, which was propped open to help with ventilation.

  Outside, a graffiti- covered wall loomed over a small space filled with a stone table, a lot of cigarette butts and a heap of garbage bags. A tattered awning fluttered overhead on a small breeze. The remains of someone’s dinner sat on the table, being nosed at by a few flies.

  It was dark. It was quiet. It was utterly boring.

  I glanced back at the kitchen, where the staff were still scurrying around, ignoring me. They seemed way too comfortable with guests roaming around their private preserve. I had the feeling a lot of people came this way. The question was, where did they go then?

  I paused beside the table. Despite the utter normalcy of the scene, something was wrong. It took me a minute to realize it was the garbage.

  The flies buzzing about the half-eaten meal were totally ignoring the bounty in the trash bags nearby. I walked over to the pile, my nose twitching. Not at what I smelled, but at what I didn’t.

  I’d expected the pungent odor of soured beer, the sharp acid of wilting vegetables, the stench of rotting meat. I’d expected it to smell bad. But it didn’t. It didn’t smell like much of anything, which was fair because it wasn’t actually there.

  It’s never a good idea to stick anything you’d mind losing through an opaque ward. I went back to the kitchen, where a mountain of real garbage bags had been piled in a corner. The third one I tried yielded an empty industrial-sized aluminum foil container. In the center was a long cardboard tube, which I fished out and took back to the ward.

  It wasn’t fancy, but my makeshift periscope allowed me to peek beneath without risking my head. The tube didn’t immediately catch fire or get chopped in two, which I counted as a plus. Of course, that didn’t mean that there were no booby traps, just that any that existed were farther down.