Devil's Dream

by Shayne Silvers

  I nodded. “Miss Helsing is on her way. Have one of them ready to receive her and show her every courtesy.”

  Renfield nodded. “Valentine will suffice.”

  I nodded, glancing down at the unconscious Nero. “Do we have any sedatives here?”

  Renfield nodded. “Certainly. We also have fully furnished rooms available for guests who are here on an extended stay.” I cocked my head, frowning. “Warded prisons, Master Ambrogio,” he explained, smirking.

  I nodded. “Even better. Let’s do both, just to be safe. I want to take a shower without worrying about him.”

  Renfield bowed and walked up to Nero. He grabbed him by a boot and simply began dragging him across the floor. “I’m afraid the elevator doesn’t descend to the dungeon,” he said, not sounding the least bit disappointed.

  I chuckled. “Stairs it is, then.” I was entirely certain that Renfield had no intention of carrying the warlock over his shoulder. He would either drag Nero down the stairs or get one of the other vampires to do the dirty work.

  Case in point, Renfield forgot to hold the door open so it banged shut on Nero’s head, eliciting a pained groan from the sleeping warlock.

  The door finally closed and I sighed contentedly, lacing my hands behind my neck. I spotted fresh wood beside the fireplace and two doors leading off from the main room. I walked over to find that one was an elaborate bathroom with a luxurious shower similar to the one I had used in Nosh’s parents’ penthouse. The other room was a large master suite, complete with dressers of fresh clothes and a large closet.

  I nodded satisfactorily. “This will do nicely,” I murmured, making my way back to the bathroom to turn on the shower. As the water warmed up, I walked back out to the main room and started a fire.

  “Much better than the subway,” I mused. “Probably smells like wet dog down there now anyway.”

  43

  I sat on a couch beside Victoria, listening to the crackling fire in Nero’s old office. She had teased me several times about my robe—something I had found in Nero’s closet that had looked ridiculously soft and fluffy—but the look in her eyes told me her teasing was closely tied to envy.

  Renfield had returned, confirming that our guest was enjoying his new accommodations that we had provided, and that he was currently resting. Translation—Nero was buttoned up tightly in his warded prison cell, sleeping off his sedatives.

  Stevie had accompanied Victoria, and Renfield had discovered an exquisite bottle of wine from my new collection, filling everyone’s glass to the brim. Her blood coursing through my veins was still present, but it had significantly faded after my struggle against Dracula.

  On the other hand, bonding four vampires—old, powerful vampires—had given me a boost of power all my own. I knew it would be some time before I was back to my full strength without the assistance of Victoria’s potent blood, but no one else knew about that. I wondered why I couldn’t sense that power in her veins from a distance. She smelled enticing, but no more than other immortals I had met in my life. Nero, for example.

  Stevie had given me an update on Nosh, stating that he was perfectly fine but that Dr. Stein was refusing to let him get out of bed—which was a cold pallet on the floor, with dozens of werewolves stepping over him every five minutes.

  “The only vampires left in New York City are mine, Stevie. You don’t have to live underground if you don’t want to. The choice is yours, of course. But there is a new rule. If a wolf kills a vampire—or vice versa—they die. Unless a crime was committed.”

  He nodded. “We’ll have to figure out a way to judge that. A way we can all agree on.”

  I nodded. “In time. For now, you will give me the responsibility in exchange for freeing you of your vampire problem. I imagine there is now a large power vacuum for your werewolves to fill. I have no problem sharing.”

  Renfield cleared his throat politely. “Hugo is gathering financial reports for you so we can review the various business operations that were in play.”

  I nodded, eyeing Stevie. “Operations that suddenly need new management.”

  He finally nodded, reading between the lines. “That sounds nice. I can make that work.”

  I smiled. “I have no desire to become a king again, Stevie. This is a large city. Plenty for us to share.”

  Victoria cleared her throat. “We aren’t the only players in town. The witches are silent but powerful. They usually stay out of town, but that was a result of the infighting between werewolf and vampire.”

  “And now werewolf and vampire are allies—an even greater force.”

  She shot me a grim look. “Technically, it’s a much weaker force. Hundreds of vampires dropped dead, and that’s impossible to hide. People are already talking.”

  I nodded. “We have a lot of work to do, and Dracula is still out there.”

  “Should we meet again tomorrow?” Stevie asked me. “I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on,” he said, gesturing at the door and the vampires diligently working outside. I nodded. “The police are still looking for you, and you don’t have them in your pocket. Whatever evidence they had on you is still out there. The DNA thing will be hard to beat,” he said, setting his drink down and climbing to his feet.

  I kept my face composed as Victoria shot me a stern look, shaking her head. Stevie hadn’t noticed since he’d been climbing to his feet. “I’m looking into it,” I said carefully, not sure what Victoria had been trying to tell me.

  “We should probably head out,” Stevie said, glancing at Victoria.

  “I think I will stick around for a bit longer. I want to talk to Sorin about something.”

  He smirked, holding up his hands. “I don’t want to know,” he said, chuckling. He turned, accidentally bumping into a side table with an ornate chest on it. “Whoops.” The table stood firm and he let out a relieved breath, shaking his head. “This mysterious Necromancer had nice taste,” he mused, tapping the ornate chest with a fingernail. Renfield stood, guiding him from the room.

  I stared at the chest, not having noticed it before Stevie bumped into it. My hand began to shake as Victoria said something to me. Rather than respond, I abruptly climbed to my feet and hesitantly made my way over to it.

  “Sorin? Did you hear me?” Victoria asked.

  I opened the chest, holding my breath. Inside was a familiar silk pouch, and I let out a gasp of surprise. Victoria was suddenly standing beside me, gripping me by the shoulder.

  “Sorin! What’s wrong?”

  I pointed down at the silk pouch. “Dirt. The son of a bitch found it.”

  “Found what?” Victoria asked, sounding frustrated and nervous. “How will a box of dirt help you?”

  I smiled down at the box, my mind suddenly racing with possibilities. I thought this chest had been long lost. My safety net.

  “Dirt,” Victoria repeated, sounding concerned.

  I nodded, turning to face her. “I need a large open place without a lot of people.”

  “Why?” she asked, looking baffled.

  “I want to get into real estate.”

  She arched an eyebrow, looking suddenly concerned for my sanity. “Well, the only vacant land in New York City without people is probably Central Park. But that’s not for sale. Period.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not looking to buy it. I want to build something there.”

  She didn’t look relieved by my answer. “With dirt? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  I nodded excitedly. “This is my coffin dirt. The coffin dirt of the oldest vampire in the world. It’s tied directly to my castle. No matter what Dracula claims, that castle is mine. If I can’t travel to him…”

  She gasped incredulously. “That story is true? About your coffin dirt establishing a portal to Castle Dracula?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “With this coffin dirt, I can bring Castle Ambrogio to us.”

  She made the sign of the cross. “Shit. If you want to do anything in Central Park, you better start prayin
g.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s consecrated ground. The Nephilim own Central Park. Not even the vampires risked setting foot there.”

  I stared at her, stunned. “The Nephilim are in New York? The offspring of Angels?” I’d never met one, but I was well aware of the dangers rumored about them.

  “And the witches…

  I nodded. “It seems we have a lot to think about,” I said, feeling suddenly optimistic.

  She paused, pursing her lips. “You weren’t listening to me earlier, were you?”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry. The dirt distracted me. I’d buried it long ago and hadn’t known Nero recovered it. I thought it was lost.”

  She nodded stiffly, guiding me back to the seat. I complied, wondering what she had said that had her so rattled. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” I said carefully.

  “It’s about Nosh,” she said. She took a deep breath and then spoke haltingly. “The police found DNA at the scene of the crime. They dismissed his parents’ DNA, but they found two other sets.”

  I shrugged. “What is DNA?”

  She let out a breath, looking frustrated. “Right. That wasn’t a thing in your day. DNA is evidence tied to a specific person. Everyone’s DNA is different. They use it to confirm someone was at the scene of a crime. Fingerprints, hair, blood, saliva,” she explained.

  I blinked at her. “I showered at their penthouse,” I said, suddenly understanding her concern. “It puts me at the scene of the crime.”

  She nodded. “They found Nosh’s DNA too, of course.”

  I waited. “Well, he spent a great deal of time there, so that’s not surprising.”

  She shook her head, looking sick to her stomach. “Sorin…your DNA matched Nosh’s DNA,” she whispered. “You two are related somehow…”

  All thoughts of exploring the bedroom with Victoria suddenly evaporated from my mind.

  All I could think about was a tiny little boy learning how to walk near a campfire before the world turned to fire and blood…

  Did that mean that Nosh…

  My son?

  The Devil of New York City returns on 11.25.2019 in DEVIL’S CRY. PREORDER HERE!

  Turn the page to read samples from Shayne’s other worldwide bestselling novels in The TempleVerse—The Nate Temple Series, the Feathers and Fire Series, and the Phantom Queen Dairies.

  TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)

  There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless. This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.

  Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly. Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of magic—no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.

  I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or possibly even a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.

  I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in case. I was safe. I hoped.

  Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text.

  My body’s fight-or-flight syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal, as I noticed no changes in my surroundings. Hopefully, my magic had silenced the sound and my resulting outburst. I glanced down at the phone to scan the text and then typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the cursed phone to vibrate.

  Now, where were we…

  I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. Breathe, I chided myself. He doesn’t know you’re here. All this risk for a book. It had better be worth it.

  I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the genetic cards I had been dealt. I had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden-brown tufts of my hair—a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was two bottles of wine into a date, so I could have been a little foggy on her quote. Still, I liked to imagine that was how everyone saw me.

  But tonight, all that was masked by magic.

  I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He was blessedly alone—no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin on my face from dissolving into a maniacal cackle.

  My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been told not to do it again; those who knew declared it cruel, evil, and sadistic. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, that wasn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too much of a rush to ignore.

  The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing was everything.

  I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing nothing, a fierce grin split my unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to goose him good.

  “MOOO!!!” The sound tore through the cool October night like an unstoppable freight train. Thud-splat! The beast collapsed sideways into the frosty grass; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always will be, shit.

  Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.

  Especially when you’re tipping the Minotaur. Capital M.

  Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand, grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah! Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect myself. Some people just couldn’t take a joke. Cruel, evil, and sadistic cow tipping may be, but by hell, it was a rush. The legendary beast turned his gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into heavily-booted feet. The thick, gold ring dangling from his snotty snout quivered as the Minotaur panted, and his dense, corded muscle contracted over his human-like chest. As I stared up into those brown eyes, I actually felt sorry…for, well, myself.

  “I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” he growled.

  I swear to God his voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jon
es. Like Mufasa talking to Scar.

  “You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing points.

  The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate Temple…your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in warning, my roiling flame blue now.

  “You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself in resignation, appraising me with the scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”

  I pointedly risked a glance down towards the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  The Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had allowed myself to experience genuine laughter.

  In the harsh moonlight, his bulk was even more intimidating as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’ Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia look puny.

  From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembled a thickly-furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, how he had looked just before I tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so efficiently killed the mood.