Dawn Slayer

by Clara Coulson

  “Beats me.” I shrug. “But it goes hand in hand with that illusion spell the Children pulled in the park. Lucian and I didn’t notice any magic then either. We just sensed that something wasn’t right with our surroundings.

  “I learned recently, from a faerie, that not all magic looks the same to my magic sense. Different creatures exhibit different types of magic signatures. It stands to reason that some creatures, perhaps those farther removed from Earth, produce magic signatures that don’t ‘resonate’ in an obvious way with the type of magic sense that most Earth-born beings possess.

  “We’ve already been teasing the theory that there are two Eververse forces at work here, one supporting the Children’s attempt to obtain the sword and one behind Hays’ theft of the sword. I’d say these crazy messages make that theory all the more likely. Two Eververse powers, possibly from the same realm and therefore using the same obscure language and the same kind of magic. Both of them vying for the sword, and both of them utilizing proxies to obtain it so they don’t expose themselves to Earth’s supernatural underground.”

  Foley shifts his weight from side to side. “If that’s the truth of the matter, then we’ve inadvertently wedged ourselves between a rock and a hard place, either of which could tip forward and crush us at any point. I don’t like it. We know too little about these beings. We’re too ill prepared.”

  “And yet,” Annette says, “we need to press ahead anyway. Because we have no evidence that either of these Eververse parties intend to use the sword in Earth’s favor. For all we know, both could seek to wreak havoc on this side of the veil.”

  “So our ignorance puts us in a dangerous position,” I pick up, “but since extracting ourselves from the situation could make matters much worse, the only moral choice is to continue and pray for a good outcome.”

  “As much as I hate to say it, I agree,” Foley says. “We need to do our best to retrieve that sword and hide it somewhere neither of the two hypothetical Eververse parties can ever find it again. If we can take Dawn Slayer out of play entirely, we’ll be withholding a dangerous trump card from anyone who may wish to use it against us—‘us’ being any Earth-born creature, not the Vampire Federation in particular.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t want to use it for yourself?”

  He shakes his head emphatically. “If that thing is truly as powerful as the determined efforts to obtain it suggest, then I absolutely don’t want that sword in my hands. For one thing, objects of great power are easily misused. And for another, having that sword in my possession would make House Tepes an even larger target for its usual rivals, and a new target for groups who covet that kind of firepower. The last thing I want right now is more people trying to damage or destabilize my house. If we get that sword, we’re going to bury it. Very, very deep.”

  A feeling of mad respect wells up in my chest. I hide a grin with the back of my hand so I don’t throw Lord Tepes off his roll. You’re a lot readier to be a house elder than you think you are, Foley.

  “So you want to proceed?” I ask. “Go for the sword during the exchange in Izmailovsky Park?”

  Foley nods. “The park’s as good a place for an intercept as it is for the exchange itself. With the weather still bleak, and the city subdued by the recent ‘bombings,’ a park that size should be largely clear of civilians.”

  Annette, looking at her phone, adds, “The pond specified in the message is in the middle of the park, so we should have great deal of leeway in how we assail the shapeshifter and whoever shows up to retrieve the sword.”

  “If they show up.” I push my chair back from the table and stand up in increments. The headache is gradually waning, but I still feel a bit woozy.

  Does the magic behind those messages just have that effect in general, I wonder, or did the magic backfire on me for some reason? An interesting question, and one I file away for later.

  “Whoever hired Hays has been very careful to stay off the radar, far more so than the Children of Enoch,” I continue. “Before they try to take the sword, they’ll scope the park out thoroughly. If they sniff out anything suspicious, they might bolt without the sword.”

  “Depends on what they value more,” Annette says, “obtaining the sword or maintaining their anonymity. I don’t think we should bank on either option. We should station a considerable force around the pond, enough people to overwhelm the shapeshifter and his client, both in a battle and in a pursuit.”

  “Agreed.” Foley turns to the vampires standing in the doorway, a group that now encompasses most of his agents. “Trisha and I will remain here to look after Lucian. The rest of you will take part in this operation, under Annette’s command.”

  The fiery redhead at the front of the crowd says, “But, Lord Tepes, if we all go, you’ll have virtually no protection. Lucian is in no capacity to fight, and Trisha”—she glances at the woman standing next to her and phrases her words carefully—“is highly skilled in many areas of magic and science, but she’s not a combat-ready field agent. She’s support staff.”

  Foley straightens his posture and replies, “I appreciate your concern, Esther. But in this particular case, with its urgent nature and high priority, and with the house’s available personnel restricted by the current state of the Federation, we have to make compromises. We must get that sword, before the enemies behind our enemies—or a completely unknown quantity who may have even worse designs—obtain it and use it to wreak mass destruction. We can’t insulate ourselves more than others right now. We have to consider the bigger picture.”

  Esther bows her head. “Of course, Lord Tepes. You’re right. I just…”

  “I know.” Foley gives her a sad smile. “And I don’t blame you for wanting to put my personal safety above everything else. I remember the Parliament massacre just as well as you.”

  A heavy moment of silence blankets the room, a dozen vampires mourning a great loss.

  Then Foley inhales deeply and says, “Now, let’s get to work and deal our enemies a blow they will never forget.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vampires, I learn, know how to prepare for a firefight.

  After Foley’s proclamation, Annette takes charge of the group and dishes out orders left and right, like she’s been waiting for this specific mission for the past ten years. Esther is assigned to hand out weapons from the makeshift armory, and by the time she finishes rifling through half the boxes piled up in the room, everyone is wearing at least two handguns, one shotgun or rifle, and a pair of grenades.

  On Esther’s heels comes a man whose name I have yet to catch, handing out charmed medallions with belt clips soldered to the back. The medallions are imbued with numerous defense spells, like a veil, a shield, and a slew of anti-tracking measures, the last of which is meant to ensure there won’t be a repeat of yesterday’s high-speed pursuit through the city.

  Two more agents dump boxfuls of body armor onto the living room floor, including Kevlar vests, wrist and shin guards, knee and elbow pads, and helmets. No one takes a helmet—too conspicuous—but we all hide as much of the other gear under our clothes as we can.

  While all of us can heal at superhuman rates, getting shot or stabbed in the right place during combat will make any of us a sitting duck. And having witnessed the brutality of the Children of Enoch, none of us are enamored with the idea of being incapacitated in a place where the Children are liable to show up.

  My unanticipated “translation” of the meet-up message might have put us ahead of the rat race, but we’d be fools to use that as an excuse to slack off on planning and prep. Especially with Eververse powers pulling strings behind the scenes. There’s no telling what kind of damaging magic such beings could conjure up if they put their minds to it.

  Given how much all our opposing parties seem to want that sword, it’s safe to say that they’ll use all the resources at their disposal to locate Hays and relieve him of his pilfered prize. Even if the Children are still unaware that it was a shapeshi
fter who nabbed the sword at the theater, I seriously doubt that ignorance will stall them much longer. They will figure out a way to find the sword.

  We have to find it first.

  My last step on the preparation train turns out to be another visit to Trisha the not-doctor. She makes me sit down at the dining table while she jabs another needle into my arm and drains several more vials of blood. This time, fully healed and well rested, I don’t feel faint when she yanks the needle out. But a few pairs of eyes still follow me expectantly as I stand up and dab at the needle hole with a piece of gauze.

  Trisha doles out small doses of my blood in those little plastic medicine cups to all the vampires, including Foley. She reasons that my blood might act as a sort of vaccine for as long as it remains in a vampire’s system, and diminish the effects of the golem poison.

  As I watch them all knock back doses of my blood like tequila shots—and yes, the experience is as unsettling as it sounds—I pray to any gods currently listening that the not-doctor is right. Because if she isn’t, and the Children show up to this morning’s “festivities,” Izmailovsky Park could become the scene of a grisly massacre.

  “Bear in mind that the poison still burned my skin on contact,” I announce to the room after they finish their drinks. “So don’t dive headfirst into a cloud of the stuff under the assumption it won’t hurt you.” A rash of disgruntled murmurs fills the suite in response, and I shrug at no one in particular. “Sorry, guys. I’m not a miracle worker.”

  “We have to work with what we have on hand,” Trisha says in my defense. “Kinsey’s blood will surely be better than nothing, considering how well Lucian responded to it post-exposure. In the future, once I and the other house scientists have had more time to analyze this poison, we may be able to distill a more effective antidote. Until then, I’m afraid you will have to be satisfied with Kinsey’s generous donations.”

  “But not too satisfied,” I tack on. “I’m not the house’s personal blood bank.”

  “Of course not.” Trisha gives me a mollifying smile and shakes one of the empty vials. “But you will be a treasured resource until such time as we create a synthetic replacement for your blood. So please try not to get yourself killed during today’s walk in the park.”

  I groan. “Now you’re starting to sound like my DSI teammates.”

  “God forbid,” she says mockingly, “I sound anything like a Crow.”

  Annette claps her hands to capture the room’s attention before Trisha and I can rekindle last night’s round of verbal sparring. “Is everyone ready to go?” she asks.

  Everyone calls out an affirmative.

  “Then split off into your assigned groups and head to your vehicles at five-minute intervals in the order we discussed. We will move out at exactly nine o’clock. Do not deviate from the routes I’ve given you, unless there is an obstruction in the road you cannot pass, because we all need to arrive in a timely fashion. Everyone should be in position around Krasny Pond by nine forty-five.” She waves her hand, signaling mission start.

  I’m assigned to Annette’s group, the last to leave. So as people begin to exit the suite, I hang back in the kitchen, picking through some scrambled eggs and toast for an extra energy boost. Annette herself joins me there, tapping away at her phone screen, after leaving Foley to oversee the deployment of each group. For a moment, she just loiters on the opposite side of the room without acknowledging me in any way. Then, out of nowhere, she says, “I tried your ‘mind’s eye’ trick with the messages. It didn’t work for me.”

  I lean back against the countertop, pensive. “Is there an accusation in there somewhere?”

  She draws her lips into a thin line, but still doesn’t look at me. “Not so much an accusation as a question. How is it that you, with your special blood that can cure the poison of your enemies and incredible eyes that can see through magically coded messages, wound up here, at exactly the right time to get involved with the struggle over Dawn Slayer?”

  “I told you, the ‘blizzard of the century’ sent me here.”

  “And you think someone sent it to redirect you from your original destination?”

  “Given everything that’s happened since I stepped off that plane, I don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

  She makes a thoughtful humming sound. “So either one of the two powers we already know are involved in this mess wanted you here to interfere for some strange reason, or there is a third power at work, whose nature and motives we cannot yet discern.”

  “To be fair, we don’t really know the other powers’ motives either. Just that they want the sword.” I rap my knuckles against the countertop. “Based on the Children’s past behavior, we can infer that they, and their benefactor, want to obtain the sword for use in nefarious schemes, but beyond that, we really don’t know much of anything.”

  “So I am all too aware,” she says. “Our intelligence is usually better than this.”

  “I sure hope so. I’d hate to think Lucian’s been showboating about his intelligence work all this time.”

  Annette cracks the tiniest grin. “He does have an ego at times, but he is generally a capable spymaster.” The smile flattens out after only four seconds. “But let’s not change the subject. We’re talking about you. Specifically, about what you are, and about how your presence in our ranks will influence the house’s future interactions with the Children of Enoch, and anyone else who gets involved in this budding war between them and the Federation.”

  “I honestly can’t speak to that subject,” I admit. “I’m assuming Foley told you what I told him last night?”

  “Your theory that you are of the same race as the Children? Yes, he relayed that to me.”

  “Well, if you know that, then you’re all caught up with what I know. Until just a few months ago, I still thought I was human. And a few months before that, I still had no idea I had any connection at all to the supernatural before Lucian killed Mac. I didn’t know my mom was a witch until Delos tried to break into my brain, because she went out of her way to make sure that I couldn’t remember.

  “The fact I even uncovered my true memory of the day she died was a fluke. Whatever I am, whatever my father is, however my heritage connects me to the Children of Enoch…it’s apparently been a danger to me since the day I was born. But that’s all I know about it. That’s all I know about me.”

  Annette chews on her response for a tense moment. “If you were anyone else, Kinsey, I’d believe you were holding back on me. But when you seek to be honest, you wear sincerity on your face like it’s a badge of honor, bright and gleaming to the point that it’s physically painful to look at. So I will take your words as fact for now. But I do hope we can expound on your minimal knowledge before this operation comes to its inevitably explosive end.”

  She lowers her voice to a whisper almost too soft to hear. “For your sake, and for the sake of Lord Tepes, who has bound himself to your fate out of an unending, and unwise, sense of gratitude.”

  Her eyes finally meet mine, and I hold the contact, sharp and steady, as I say, “If today is anything like yesterday, I’ll have a treasure trove of information to lay at the feet of House Tepes’ intelligence by sundown. I might even have a name for myself, for the thing that I am, when all is said and done.”

  “And will you hand this information, and this name, over to us freely?”

  “Of course not. I’ll hand it over in exchange for the monthly salary that my contract with House Tepes stipulates you owe me for my work as a ‘consultant.’”

  Dark amusement flickers through her amber eyes. “Careful, boy. Vampires do not tolerate conceit as well as humans do, because we can generally rip it right off our rivals’ faces. If you want to walk in our world for any length of time, you will need to learn when to show someone respect.”

  “I respect people who deserve respect.” I tip my chin in the direction of the foyer, where the third team is doing their final checks before heading out the door. “Lik
e Foley, for instance.”

  Annette closes her eyes, and smiles. “You’re an infuriating person, Kinsey. Be glad that I also find you deserving of respect.”

  With that, she slips out of the kitchen and heads off to join Trisha in Lucian’s sickroom.

  Unsure whether I should feel flattered or worried, I snag a piece of overdone toast and stuff it into my mouth, call that breakfast, and head back into the living room to watch the procession of teams as they leave the suite.

  When the second to last team steps up to the plate, Foley gives them his standard “good luck” speech and his best encouraging smile, then holds the door open for them. They march out in an orderly fashion and head for the stairwell at the end of the hall. Foley closes the door in their wake and sighs.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I hate sending people into life-threatening situations.”

  “You’re in the wrong line of business then, pal.”

  He peels his head off the door panel and frowns at me. “Screw you too.”

  “Hey, I’m just saying—”

  Glass shatters loudly in Lucian’s sickroom.

  Startled, we both race across the living area, jump the furniture, and practically plow through the bedroom door. Only to stop short a few inches past the threshold, as the scene inside is the complete opposite of what we were expecting. No one in the bedroom is under attack, or injured, or dead. No assailants have broken through the window and ambushed the unsuspecting inhabitants. No enemies have pinned down our location and sent a golem to melt us all to death.

  There are only two things out of place. The first is a broken drinking glass, whose pieces are scattered across the carpet. Judging by its position on the floor, it was sitting on the nightstand, until the errant swipe of a hand sent it tumbling. That hand likely belonged to the second thing out of place—Lucian Ardelean, totally nude and as pink as a freshly washed newborn—who is standing with one hand braced against the edge of the nightstand. Although “standing” might be a generous term. His knees are wobbling so badly it’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen flat on his ass.