Dark Heir

by Faith Hunter

  “Silver lining,” I said. Leaving the vamp-killer buried in Santana, I stumbled back to my M4 and reloaded, knobby fingers shaking. Bruiser laughed again, sounding more alive.

  At the edges of the ringing in my ears, I heard sirens, the sound of traffic, and music. And voices, growing closer. “I like the new look,” he said.

  “Yeah? No mirror handy. I’ll admire myself later.” I went back to Santana and leaned over him. I removed the bracelet from his wrist and stuck it into the other side of my bra, where it wouldn’t accidently touch the new weapon. I went back to Santana and aimed down at his body. I fired. Kept firing. Until I stood over the Son of Darkness, empty weapon pointed down onto a macerated pile of blood and meat simmering in silver on the ground. Head still attached. Heart still beating. Not dead. It was messy.

  I tucked the M4 under an arm, and with my fully healed hands, I yanked up on a broken rib, exposing what might once have been a lung. It had the right shape but was deflated, full of silver-fléchette holes and blood. Beside it, something pulsed. Can anything survive without a heart? Leo had asked me. I put a foot on Santana’s shoulder and yanked the vamp-killer out of his spine, feeling, hearing, the crunch of bone. I’d done it before. It felt familiar, and maybe that was a bad thing, because I didn’t feel any guilt at the sensation. No guilt at all. Yeah. A bad thing.

  Bare-handed, I shoved the lung aside and gathered up the heart in one hand. Using the vamp-killer like a filleting knife, I cut it out, a cold, gooey mess of silver-chewed muscle that stank of silver-charred-vamp. “Ick,” I muttered, letting blood drip through my fingers back into the goo that had once been Joses Bar-Judas / Joseph Santana. There wasn’t life in his eyes anymore, but I didn’t delude myself that he was dead. Not yet. I swished my bloody hand in a puddle. “Ick and yuck and eww.” I stood and slung my hand in the rain to finish the cleaning. I looked up and discovered that the building had no roof. From the hole I’d made in Santana’s flesh, a coil of silver-stinking smoke curled into the rain.

  “What do we do with this?” I indicated the silver-charred pulp. “He’s still on fire.”

  “Put out the fire?” Bruiser looked up at the sky, turning his face to the rain, which washed away his spreading blood. He’d taken a cut to his face, across his eyebrow and up into the widow’s peak of his hairline. He was holding his gut together with both hands, but already the flesh was knitting together. He might have some dandy scars, but he’d heal. Onorios—whatever they are—are hard to kill. Which looked to be a really good thing. He looked back at the body. “The rain doesn’t seem to be having a great effect on the fire.”

  “Holy water might work.”

  Bruiser chuckled, the sound exhausted and beaten.

  He was staring at me, taking in my face, and a spark of something unknown lit his warm brown eyes. Something tender. An answering something turned over in me and murmured Ours . . .

  Behind me I heard a growl and turned, lifting the vamp-killer, but it was only Brute. The white werewolf stood in the doorway, his hackles high, his canines glistening in the candlelight. He was wet and stank like dog.

  “Too late, Brute.”

  The white wolf walked slowly into the ruined house, his nose on the ground, sniffing. He stopped at the body of Joses Bar-Judas / Joseph Santana and sniffed. When he was convinced Santana wasn’t going to get up and do anything, he sat in the mud and looked up at me. His pale eyes seemed to be satisfied.

  Thinking, I pulled out the diamond/sliver/iron thingamajig. I wondered if the doohickey would turn Brute back to human. Or maybe just kill him. I remembered the dream where someone—Me? Brute?—asked to be set free. Not worth the risk to prick either one of us, I guessed.

  Humor stronger in his voice, Bruiser said, “What are you going to call your new toy?”

  “I was going for Glob. What do you think?” I held it up.

  “Simple. Catchy.” From his position in the mud, Bruiser kicked at Joseph’s left hand. It flopped before it fell motionless, blood and rain pooling in the palm. “I don’t know, Jane. It might make things worse for him.”

  “Yeah?” I tracked the smoke that was coming from the body of Joses Bar-Judas and shoved the tip of the Glob inside the cold, bloody mass. All around the weapon I felt a frisson of something heated and icy as it passed from the weapon into the flesh of the Son of Darkness, but I saw absolutely nothing. Smelled nothing. And then there was a soft sizzle and the smoke died away. “Huh. It worked. How ’bout that?”

  Bruiser shook his head in what looked like amused affection.

  “Janie?” Eli called from the dark. “Janie, where are you?”

  Had he tracked me via the cell? I touched a pocket. It had once held a cell phone, but it was gone now. Reading my mind, Bruiser said, “They used mine. I felt it vibrate during the fight.”

  “I have Molly,” Eli shouted.

  I tucked the Glob back into my bra, which was uncomfortable, but I didn’t have much choice, and shouted, “Over here! Bruiser’s hurt. He needs vamp blood.”

  “And we need to haul a bleeding mass of meat to the Master of the City,” Bruiser added, softly, “before he heals enough to get away.”

  Eli and Molly trudged through the softening rain, passed through the empty doorway, and walked inside the walls of the burned house. When they reached us, Molly’s mouth fell open. Eli’s eyes took in me, Bruiser, and the thing at my feet. “Looks like I missed all the fun. Not bad, Janie,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

  “Got a plastic zip bag?” I asked, holding out the heart.

  “Son of a witch on a switch,” Molly cursed.

  * * *

  Hours later, back at the house, Molly took a shower while I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t quite look like me anymore. Or Beast. Or even the half me, half Beast of my previous form. I didn’t have tusks in this form. My face had my human bone structure but was lightly pelted, with glowing gold eyes and longer-than-human canines. Very pointy canines.

  I had rounded ears, perched too high on my head, ears that I could move to catch sounds better. And I had Jane hair, still wet, flowing down my back, long and lustrous black.

  “I like it,” Bruiser said. I smelled truth coming off him. “But I think we’ll eat in tonight.”

  “Afraid I’d scare the other diners?”

  He grinned, his eyes resting lightly on me. “I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks. But you might want to try eating in private first.”

  I touched my tongue to my pointy teeth. “Eh. Maybe so. Could be messy.”

  His face went serious. “Thank you for returning the body to Leo. He’s already sent word to the Europeans that he has recovered a wounded Son of Darkness and is healing him in his lair. If they were planning anything, they will stop now. At least for a time.”

  “Before they show up here, I need to know how to make Leo fall in love.”

  Bruiser’s eyebrow rose, just the uninjured one. The other had a new, sexy scar bisecting it. “With you?”

  “No. Either Del or Katie. Or both.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” he said, his tone wry. “Where’s the heart of the Son of Darkness?”

  “In my fridge. Jodi will be here to pick it up in an hour or so. I also need to know what happened to Immanuel’s scions and blood-servants.”

  “They were absorbed into Leo’s clan a century ago.”

  “I need to talk to them.”

  “That can be arranged. I think the new look will make them all talkative.”

  “I don’t plan on keeping it,” I said. “Gimme a minute.” I sat on the floor and thought about my Jane-form. And changed.

  When I was human again, I turned on the shower, twisting the knob to nearly scalding, stripped, set all my handy-dandy new magical thingamabobs on the sink rim, and stepped in. Bruiser wasn’t far behind me.

  CHAPTER 29

  I Don’t Give a Rat’s Ass Who’s Getting Pampered

  Beast crouched on limb over edge of bayou, where slow strea
m curved like snake and doubled back on itself. Staring down at good, stinky water full of big fish. Jane called them cat-fish, but fish are not cats. Fish are food for cats. Fish are good to eat. Fish with whiskers like cat and spines to stick, like claws of cat. Jane was smart. Cat-fish was good to hunt and good to fight and good to eat. Like cat-fight, with fish-meat after.

  Cat-fish are sneaky like cat too. Cat-fish were not always where they looked to be, when Beast stared from above. Sometimes were to the side. Or deeper. Fish moved fast. Had to study fish. Had to take time to be sure where they were. Would only have one chance to catch fish. When Beast dove into water, fish would flee, sliding through water like snake, and would be gone.

  Beast does not like water. Alli-gator live in water. Some much bigger than Beast. But did not see any alli-gator in bayou. Was safe.

  Stared at water. Stared at fish, longer than Beast tail, bigger around than Beast head, full of good, stinky fish-meat. Good food. Licked jaw with coarse, rough tongue, thinking about fish-taste. Wanted fish to eat.

  Stared. Was more than five cat-fish. Beast could count to five. Was more than five.

  Studied water. Water flowed from there to there, from upstream to downstream, like wind flowed from upwind to downwind. If Beast landed wrong, fish would flee from below Beast to there and Beast would have to hunt again.

  Pulled paws in tight. Inched out on limb, pawpawpaw. Slow, so cat-fish would not see movement reflected in water. Beast was beautiful in surface of water. Big-cat. Beast hunter. Beast picked place where three cat-fish lay unmoving in water, nose to nose to nose. Slowly stretched out back legs and lifted hips into air. Slowly, slowly, slowly pulled paws close to fish-side of limb.

  Snarled and closed mouth. Dropped. Hit water, nose first. Water shot up nose, into head. Opened mouth and spread claws wide. Before tail hit water, Beast brought front paws together in fast move.

  Claws hooked into fish. Cat-fish wriggled and fought. Pulled cat-fish to mouth. Bit down on head. Caught cat-fish! Held cat-fish in mouth and swam to surface. Other cat-fish were gone. Sneaky cat-fish.

  Swam to shore with cat-fish struggling like . . . like fish. Bit down harder and walked from bank of bayou, dripping, shaking pelt and loose skin free of bayou water. Lay belly down in cool mud and put paw on catfish, holding fish in mud. Bit off fish head and chewed. Fish stopped fighting. Was dead. Was good cat-fish. Was good fish-meat. Ate and ate. Beast belly was full and stretched. Beast lay on side in cool mud and snorted with laughter. Would change here. Would let Jane wake in muddy place, stinking of dead fish. Snorted with laughter again.

  Entered Gray Between. And changed.

  * * *

  “I don’t freaking believe it. Mud? Beast, you are dead meat!” I slipped and slid to my knees and then to my feet. I was slathered in mud, as if I’d gone to a spa and had them do a total-body mud bath. But this mud was rank and fishy and . . . I saw something on my thigh and pulled off a fish fin. Tossed it to the water. “Oh, you are in so much trouble,” I muttered.

  Inside, Beast chuffed with laughter.

  I pulled off my gobag, tossed it into a low tree limb, and dove into the water. A trail of mud followed me as I swam off the muck and then paddled to the low-hanging limb where the gobag was resting in the branches. Using the limber branches, I pulled myself out of the water and up into the tree. And got dressed. I stank, but at least I wasn’t muddy. Two hours later I was back home, in the shower, and smelled less like rotting fish. Gag.

  Deep inside, Beast was still amused and snorting with laughter from time to time. Dang cat.

  * * *

  We stood in sub-five, staring at the thing on the wall. It had some vaguely humanoid features—left hand, mouth, throat, two feet. The rest looked like hamburger, including his skull. The body smelled like sickness, like the way vamps smelled when the plague ravaged them, and slightly scorched, the way vamp blood smelled when it came in contact with sterling silver. As we watched, a small, discolored, bloody blob was expelled from the mass and fell to the clay floor. A silver fléchette, ruined by vamp blood and then extruded from the mass of muscle and bone as if by peristalsis. That had been Bruiser’s word. I had looked it up, as it hadn’t been part of my EMT training so long ago. It meant the fléchette had been pooped out on the floor.

  If Santana was conscious, there was no way to tell. Leo had seen to it that vamps came by several times a day, always under guard, and fed it from their torn wrists. Humans came by too, two or three handpicked by Leo, and gave a few drops.

  Jodi asked, “What’s the werewolf doing here?” She indicated the floor in front of the thing on the wall.

  “Brute lies there twelve hours a day. He refuses to be sent away. You try getting a three-hundred-pound wolf to move.”

  Jodi narrowed her eyes and looked from the bizarre thing on the wall to me. “I said, ‘What’s the werewolf doing here?’ A werewolf. In the city. Without one of those green things that kill them when they try to get out of hand.”

  “Oh.” Lately I had begun to forget about Brute as a source of were-taint contagion and started thinking about him as a big dog. Not the smartest thing I’d ever done. “He lies there staring at the artwork while it quivers and drinks and occasionally pulses with some bizarre form of life. When that happens, Brute sniffs and growls and snarls. That’s about it. No grindylow has come by to check on him, but he also doesn’t seem interested in biting people.”

  I didn’t add that at night the wolf appeared at my side door scratching to be let in. I had no idea how he got from vamp central to my house, but Alex had done a preliminary sweep of security cameras and found no trace of the wolf on the streets trotting, running, lumbering, or riding in a car to get there. He just appeared, scratched, demanded a steak on a plate, and went to sleep. He slept on a small twin mattress Alex bought him the morning after the Kid woke buried beneath three hundred pounds of dog.

  “I’m satisfied,” Jodi said. “For now. But if he bites a human I’ll shoot him.” Brute raised his head to us and chuffed. Jodi frowned.

  “Questions. What did you do with the heart of the vamp?” I nodded to the wall. “And is it decomposing?”

  Jodi’s lips twisted into something that was nothing like amusement. More like satisfaction and vengeance and something darker than I’d ever seen on her face before. “Lachish has it. She’s . . . working with it.”

  She turned on a heel and walked to the elevator. Just before the doors closed, she said, “Don’t forget girls’ day out this Thursday.”

  “I haven’t. Del will be joining us.”

  “Long as I get pampered, I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s getting pampered with me.” She lifted a shoulder as if she thought her words were a tad too strong. “I like Del. She’s good people.” The doors closed and the elevator took the local law up to the public floors. I was looking forward to a massage and maybe a facial. Maybe a little time in a steam room.

  I heard a snort and looked at Brute. He had risen while Jodi walked away and was standing at my thigh. I tensed. Brute still didn’t like me, and I had been inattentive long enough for him to get from the feet of the SoD to me. Not my smartest moment for distraction. “What?” I asked him mildly.

  He put his nose at my hand, where it hung by my side, and snuffled me. Tentatively, he opened his mouth and his large tongue licked out and . . . tasted my hand. Then he shoved his big head under my palm and nudged me. I took the hint and scratched him behind his ears. “Don’t get used to this,” I warned. “I am not a dog person.”

  Brute snorted slightly in clear disbelief. I stayed with Brute for a while, scratching his ears, neck, chest, and shoulders, studying the Son of Darkness. He was a problem I had no idea how to deal with. I should have killed him. If killing him was even possible. But if I had succeeded, the EuroVamps would have declared war, descended on the U.S., and . . . That would have been bad.

  Leaving him semi-alive was better than us at war. Maybe.

  Leo had informed the vamp world tha
t Santana was “currently abiding as my guest,” refusing to add any details.

  The Europeans had screamed and wailed about Santana, sent long letters and even e-mails full of promises and threats, demanding their Dark Heir be returned to them. Then they had sent notice that the negotiation and visit by senior vamps was back on, according to the previous schedule. And they went silent again. We knew they were plotting. Planning. We knew they would come eventually, looking for vengeance and justice, looking for a return of their creator, but mostly looking to steal land and territory.

  We’d be ready.

  I turned on a booted foot and left the subbasement for the morning skies and an overheated summer day.

  * * *

  Entering from the back, I stepped into my garden. The morning light softened the broken stone of the boulders I’d had put there and sparkled off pooled rainwater.

  Molly sat on the ground beside the fountain, her clothes rain damp, her hands pressed into the soil, fingers curled around what looked like a stick. Her eyes were closed, her face turned up to the sun. I stopped and studied her, watching and wondering. I could see her magics sparkling around her, not the new death magics but the old earth magic that had been hers before she embraced death to save her sisters, her daughter, and herself. Silvery and greenish and full of life.

  I didn’t know what it meant, but Molly looked almost peaceful. Almost normal. Except for the stick. It was the root and branch of the dead rosemary plant she used in workings. It had once been alive, but her death magics had killed it, and I didn’t know why she still kept it. It had to be painful to constantly see proof of one’s magic gone awry.

  Molly lowered her face and opened her eyes, staring at the deadwood. “Vivo. Coalesco,” she said in Latin, instead of her usual Gaelic. Her power swirled and shot down to the dead stick. Hesitantly, she raised one hand and held it over the dead root and branch of rosemary resting near her knees, and . . . it sprouted. Pale green leaves sprang from the branch, growing to half an inch long. The root spread rootlets that crawled over the ground and dug into the earth. Molly gasped and made a soft, surprised, questing sound.