“Ah,” I say. “Dawn Slayer?”
“You got it.”
“What is Dawn Slayer exactly?”
“This is where it gets interesting. And dangerous.” Foley glances out the window. “Oh. We’re here. Let’s take a break and finish this discussion inside.”
“Inside?” I follow his line of sight toward a big hotel a block down, and realize Lucian is slowing the car to pull us up to the curb. “Which hotel is this?”
“The Ararat Park Hyatt,” Foley says. “I’ve rented out the presidential suite for the week to give us a firm base of operations.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“Me, Lucian, Annette, and fifteen other agents from House Tepes. All we could spare from my house’s diminished combat forces. The rest are in Berlin, working with the other houses and what remains of the Vampire Parliament. They’re finessing the attack plans to retake House Nystrom and House Fujioka from the Knights.”
“Given that retaking those houses should be priority number one for practically the entire Vampire Federation,” I say, “I’m guessing this Dawn Slayer artifact is extremely dangerous?”
“You have no idea.”
The car stops, and Lucian peeks around the driver’s seat. “There are scouts on the terrace, so it should be safe to go on up. I’ll find a place to park and join you in a minute.”
“Thanks, Luc.” Foley slips on his charmed glasses to obscure his true eye color, opens his door, and steps out onto the sidewalk. He leans back in and says to me, “Wait one second. I’ve got a spare coat in the trunk. You can swap it out with your bloody one so you don’t attract too much attention.”
I wriggle out of my dirty, sliced-up coat and toss it onto the floor. “Good plan.”
After donning the new coat, which is a bit tight around the shoulders, I emerge once again into the brisk afternoon. This time, there’s a layer of tension sitting heavily atop the general dreariness of the weather. Sirens in the distance. Silence on the sidewalks.
There aren’t nearly as many people out and about as there should be, visitors and citizens alike scared away from the touristy parts of town, fearing another explosion at any of one of the numerous local landmarks. I imagine the news stations are already running headlines about terrorist attacks and suicide bombers.
Sighing, I follow Foley through the gold-framed glass entrance of the Hyatt. The interior of the building is a mix between a classic fancy hotel look and a modern interpretation of “high end.” We take a cylindrical glass elevator up to the floor where the presidential suite awaits, giving me a bird’s-eye view of the expansive lobby.
The door to the presidential suite is guarded by two male vampires, each of them dressed in the Secret Service style, complete with dark glasses to hide their amber eyes. Upon spotting Foley, they bow. Then one of them opens the door and ushers their lord and master inside.
Both of them give me the stink eye as I pass by on Foley’s coattails. But neither of them question Foley’s judgment in bringing a non-vampire into the suite. Foley might only be twenty-seven years old, but he’s Lord Tepes now—and the last of his bloodline—so his decisions are law.
The presidential suite is an impressive sprawl of finely decorated rooms, with its own private terrace and a dining area fit for an extended family reunion. The suite is crawling with vampires, all the furniture commandeered as office spaces. Papers and maps and overstuffed manila folders are strewn about every available surface. Pairs and trios of Tepes agents murmur to each other as they pore over what I can only assume is the latest information regarding the incident at the satire theater and the theft of Dawn Slayer.
All the bustle ceases in an instant, however, when everyone becomes aware that Foley’s in the room.
Annette, the only vampire besides Lucian and Foley to survive the brutal showdown at the art museum last month, takes the lead on greeting her house elder. She caps the marker she was using to jot things down on a whiteboard set up in the corner and crosses the room. “Lord Tepes,” she says with a short bow of her head, “I trust Lucian kept you safe during the incident at the theater.”
Foley throws up that half-smile you use when you’re forced to answer the same question for the hundredth time in a row. “You’d do well to trust him more. I’m completely unharmed.”
Several people in the room are visibly relieved, and I realize they must’ve been horrified that Lucian took Foley somewhere that could’ve resulted in the last Tepes getting killed.
Why did he bring Foley along to the artifact exchange? I wonder. Lucian cares a great deal about Foley’s well-being, which means he must’ve had a good reason. Something to ask about later.
Foley gives everyone a brief rundown on who I am. Some of the vamps look skeptical that the skinny Hispanic guy smeared with soot and blood could possibly be the same man who killed Lizzie Banks and saved House Tepes. But Foley ignores their sneers and moves on to the next topic, proclaiming that Lucian will provide everyone with a detailed summary of what happened at the theater momentarily.
Once he finishes addressing the room at large, he says to Annette, “If you need me, I’ll be in my bedroom. I need to bring Cal up to speed on the Dawn Slayer situation. He’s gotten himself involved in a rather…unorthodox way.”
Annette shoots me a wry look. “What else is new?”
I subtly flip her off.
She sees it, and smiles.
Chapter Four
At a small table beside the window in Foley’s suite bedroom, we spend a few minutes chowing down on the soup and sandwiches someone ordered as takeout and left in the kitchen. After I shove the last of four sandwiches down my gullet—healing saps a lot of energy, okay?—I say in between gulps from a water bottle, “So, Dawn Slayer. What’s the lowdown?”
Foley dips a piece of his sandwich into what remains of his soup and replies, “Put simply, it’s a sword.”
“What’s it do?”
“To be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Then why is everyone so keen to get it?”
He tosses the sandwich piece into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Because of its suspected origins.”
“Which are?”
His smile is more than a little sheepish when he says, “Word in the supernatural artifact market is that the sword is a seraph blade.”
I pause with my water bottle halfway to my mouth. “Seraph? Like…angels?”
“Yes.”
“Like, real angels? With fluffy white wings and halos?”
Foley tears another piece from his sandwich, shrugging. “I’m sure they don’t look exactly like the mainstream religious depictions, but yes, real angels.”
“So those are a thing?”
“They were. A very long time ago.”
I set my water bottle on the table. “How long?”
“Give or take ten thousand years, going by the best records we have.” He rolls the sandwich piece between his fingers, squishing its contents. “The born vampire families have extensive records, dating all the way back to the dawn of civilization. But even the oldest documents we possess only contain brief and vague mentions of the seraphs. What we do know is that they spent several centuries on Earth, during which time they engaged in numerous conflicts with other supernatural forces that were prevalent during that era. And then, one day, they just packed up and left the Earth. Went back to the Eververse, back to their home realm, I guess.”
He finally eats the flattened sandwich chunk. “But the seraphs and their motives for coming and going aren’t really pertinent in this particular case. What’s important is what they left behind when they moved out.”
“Artifacts,” I say. “Like magic angel swords.”
“Right.” He takes a sip of his own water. “As you’re probably aware, there’s a thriving black market for supernatural artifacts, especially in Europe and Asia, where supernatural societies have existed just as long as human societies. This market has given rise to all manner of t
reasure hunters, witches and wizards and vampires and werewolves, and even the occasional normal human in the know. All of them looking for the next incredible find to sell for a cool fifty million and set themselves up for life. Every now and again, one of those people stumbles upon something that is legitimately valuable, and legitimately dangerous. Historically speaking, the most dangerous of these artifacts have been seraph in origin.”
“There have been other swords?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “And that’s the problem. Every other seraph artifact on record has either been naturally limited in power or largely diminished by the ravages of time. This is the first time that a fully intact seraph weapon has ever been located. And if it’s also fully functional…”
“Then a group like the Children of Enoch, who clearly have untoward goals meant to negatively impact the supernatural community, could use it to wreak an untold amount of havoc.”
Foley sighs. “Precisely.”
“That’s why you assigned all available assets to try and recover the sword.”
He drops his gaze to the table. “No. That’s what I should’ve done, in hindsight. But I got cocky.”
“You, cocky? No way.” I dip my head to force him to look at me. “What happened?”
“I knew that if I ordered my house agents to raid the theater and recover the sword during the exchange, it would spook the Children of Enoch and drive them further underground.” He raps his nails on the tabletop, agitated. “I decided that using the lure of Dawn Slayer would present us with an excellent opportunity to learn more about the people behind the formation of the Knights. So instead of organizing a raid, I opted for a stakeout. The plan was for Lucian and me to watch the exchange between the Knight operative and the representatives of the Children, and then tail the Children back to wherever they’d set up shop in Moscow. Once we learned where they were staying…”
“You would have had all your agents raid their base, recover Dawn Slayer, and potentially capture a significant number of their operatives,” I finish.
Foley raises his hands in defeat. “You can see how well that worked out. I should’ve considered the possibility that another party had taken up the challenge to obtain the sword and might interfere during the hand-off.”
“Did anyone else bring that possibility up when you were planning the stakeout?”
“Um, no?”
“Then why are you putting all the blame on yourself?” I flick the underside of his chin, urging him to raise his head. “If none of the experienced intelligence agents crawling around in this suite brought up the issue, then you shouldn’t consider yourself lacking. The only way you’d be ‘at fault’ is if you ignored advice contradicting your stakeout plan.”
Foley considers this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I still feel like shit for sitting by and watching my whole plan fall apart.”
“Join the club, pal.”
That elicits a tiny smile.
“So,” I continue, sliding smoothly into a different subject, “how did DSI end up in the mix?”
“DSI Moscow has agents inside most of the local supernatural smuggling groups. Several of those groups found out that something important was being moved into the city from Egypt, which set off rumors that a new Egyptian god artifact had been uncovered. Those are always popular with the less savory characters in the supernatural underground. So I assume DSI decided to try to obtain the artifact before it fell into the wrong hands. Obviously, that was a poor decision.”
“You didn’t think to warn them off?”
“I thought about it,” he says, “but you have to remember, Cal, that we don’t know what kind of intelligence network the Children of Enoch have. They chose to have the sword delivered to Moscow for a reason. Could be that their whole organization is based here. If it is, then it stands to reason they have moles inside all the local supernatural groups and affiliated organizations, including DSI.
“We simply couldn’t risk alerting them to the fact that we were on to them. They don’t know we obtained those messages, don’t know we’ve learned a few crucial pieces of information about them. And we want to keep them in the dark for as long as possible. So Lucian and I went to great lengths to make sure we weren’t noticed during our stakeout of the exchange. Hence the tinted car windows and our late arrival to the ‘party.’”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “I am sorry though, about the DSI agents who were killed. It’s just…the stakes here are so much bigger than a handful of lives. And I have to think long and hard about exactly who to value and exactly who to forfeit every time I make a decision now. Every time.”
What little anger had sparked in my chest is doused by the strain in Foley’s voice.
Last month, he was considered nothing but a child in vampire society, his every opinion ignored by his seniors, his every action considered inconsequential. Now he’s the last living member of his family and has hundreds, maybe thousands, of vampires hanging on his every word, relying on him to make decisions that could influence the Vampire Federation for centuries to come.
I can’t imagine what kind of stress he’s under on a daily basis. Especially since the Federation is still working their asses off to wrest control of two whole houses back from the Black Knights. Has Foley even slept a full night these past few weeks, with so much on his plate?
Cut him some slack, Kinsey. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t be doing any better. Hell, you’d probably be doing a whole lot worse.
“It’s all right, Foley,” I say. “You’re doing your best. And we can still salvage the situation. If the shapeshifter got away from the Children with the sword, that means the game is still on. We play this right, we can figure out who hired the shapeshifter and why. And learn more about the Children in the process, maybe even deal them a blow, just like you originally planned.”
Foley’s tense shoulders relax slightly. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” I bite my tongue, hard, as I work up the courage to say my next words. “In fact, I might have a bit of intel on the Children of Enoch to tide you over until we can corner them and wring out the good stuff.”
Foley snaps to attention. “What intel? I thought you didn’t know about the Children of Enoch until now.”
“I didn’t. But I do know something else.”
“Oh,” says a new voice, “this ought to be good.”
Lucian slips through the bedroom door and closes it behind him as the din from the crowd outside starts to bleed over the threshold. He leans against the door, like he intends to block anyone else from entering, and says, “All right. Let’s hear it, Kinsey. What immensely useful secrets have you been keeping from us?”
I can’t tell whether he’s being facetious or accusatory—knowing Lucian, probably both—so I refuse to look at him as I address Foley. “Well, you remember when I died?”
Foley frowns. “Yes, Cal, I remember when my sister brutally murdered you.”
“Right, so, here’s the thing.” I idly scratch at my scalp as I organize the disheveled memories of my short jaunt to the Eververse as a shade, the experience having faded the way a dream fades, the sensory information fragmented and incomplete, images full of artifacts, sounds full of static. I still remember all the pertinent details, however. The words of Don and Pell.
“When I died, my soul didn’t wind up in any sort of regular afterlife. Instead, I somehow got pulled onto this island in an unknown realm of the Eververse. On this island, there were two people—not human—discussing some issues they were both concerned about. The main topic of this discussion, I now strongly believe, was our mysterious group of enemies, the Children of Enoch.”
Before Foley and Lucian can shake off their confusion, I launch into a terse summary of Don and Pell’s exchange. I emphasize the bits about the “blood restraints” that are apparently plaguing our enemies, and the possibility that some being from the Eververse side is involved in all the chaos that’s been rocki
ng Earth’s supernatural underworld these past few years.
After I finish my spiel, no one speaks for almost a minute.
Lucian is the first to gather his wits. “Why didn’t you tell me this last month?”
“Because,” I snap back, “I didn’t understand the full context of what I overheard. I was concerned if I started shouting about Eververse interference in Earth affairs and an unidentified millennia-old group of somethings working to sabotage the stability of the global supernatural super-community, that I might accidentally cause more harm than good. Set off baseless accusations between already tense groups. Incite mass panic and inadvertently cause countless deaths. The supernatural world is sitting on the head of a pin right now, as you well know. I can’t afford to play stupid hands, even if I hold all the good cards.”
Lucian stares me down for a moment, and nods in reluctant agreement. “Guess I can’t entirely fault that reasoning.”
“Also,” Foley says, “Cal didn’t cost us anything by holding back. We still wouldn’t have been able to put a name to the group until we obtained the messages during the Caprio estate raid. In fact, it might have been better we were introduced to the Children of Enoch through that route before we learned everything Cal just told us.
“If we’d started sending our inquiries about the Children through our usual channels, using Cal’s description of them, we may have very well tipped them off that we know far more than we should about their origins. As of now, all they could have gleaned from our recent inquiries is that the Federation thinks the Knights are in cahoots with someone. Given that, they’re likely to underestimate us.”
“I don’t disagree,” Lucian says, crossing his arms, “but I would like to point out that Kinsey’s info doesn’t tell us much about how to stop these people. We don’t even know what they are.”
Dawn Slayer Page 4
