by Ken Lange
I shook my head. “Maybe… I think he was the one who catered the wedding that Heather took me to when we first met.”
Justine frowned. “Is that the same night someone tried to gut her?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She stopped me, and wrapped me in a hug. “Thanks for protecting her that night.”
I patted her back. “You’re welcome.”
The scent of Italian seasoning, red sauce, and pasta wafted out of the apartment, making me hungrier than I already was. When I finally made it inside, it struck me how normal the place was. Given Viktor’s supposed age, wealth, and status, I’d expected the place to be a bit more opulent.
Whoever designed the lobby had had a hand up here as well, but they’d somehow managed to fit in a set of recliners, a comfortable-looking sofa, and barstools without any of it looking out of place. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded having a place like this…if it were about a tenth of the size.
Justine pointed at the sofa. “If you guys have a seat, I’ll go see if I can’t hurry Viktor along.”
My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. “Sorry.”
Justine snickered. “No worries. William should’ve left some snacks on the bar if you’re starved.”
Not wanting to be rude, I declined the offer. “I can wait. Thanks, though.”
Justine winked. “Suit yourself.”
She ducked down a hall a second later, and my gaze drifted over to the bar.
Heather kept her voice low. “Don’t even think about it.”
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m just scoping the place out.”
She grinned. “Don’t feed me that line of shit. You were looking for food.”
“Again, she brought it up.”
She snickered. “They’ll be out soon, and we can have a sit-down dinner.”
A few minutes later, Justine was escorted into the living room by a stocky man with short black and gray hair, matching neatly trimmed beard, and three scars across his right eye…which happened to be entirely blue. In fact, it appeared to be a piece of glass instead of actual flesh and blood. Overall, he was a fairly average looking middle-aged man, someone you’d pass on the street without a second thought. Where things got interesting was the way he carried himself and his easygoing, yet confident demeanor.
While I’d missed the power my uncle wielded—partially by design—Viktor couldn’t have hidden his charisma under a mountain of baggy clothes.
He strolled over and gave me an easy smile as he held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I took it and nodded. “Likewise.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Justine. “Dunno about you, but I’ve been told to be on my best behavior tonight.”
I snickered. “If it makes you feel any better, so was I.”
He thumbed over at the bar. “Good, then let’s have a few drinks, and see if we can’t get ourselves into some trouble.”
Justine cleared her throat, and we both froze. “Dinner first then drinks.”
Viktor frowned. “But…”
She raised a finger and shook her head.
He sighed and glanced up at me. “Food first then drinks…but there will be drinks.”
I nodded. “As if there were any doubt about that.”
Heather nudged me and whispered, “I thought you were hungry.”
I shrugged. “I am…but.”
She pinched the back of my arm. “I swear you’re easily distracted.”
Viktor chuckled. “In his defense, it was my idea.”
Justine snickered. “That’s right, dig yourself in deeper. See where that lands you tonight.”
Viktor grinned. “It might be worth it. He’s the first vigil Lazarus has had in nearly a thousand years, so I might be willing to risk a night or two in the doghouse.”
Justine giggled. “I swear, it doesn’t matter the age, boys will be boys.” She gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “You two can drink and talk to your heart’s content…once the table is set.”
He smiled. “I’ll remind you that you said that.”
She stifled another bout of laughter. “I’m sure you will.”
When we were seated, Justine poured us a glass of wine to go with a healthy portion of lasagna, breadsticks, and Italian sausage and peppers.
Viktor gestured at the table. “Sorry about having to cancel our plans to dine out, but work ran late, so I asked a buddy of mine to step in to make us dinner. Plus, this gives us the privacy a busy restaurant wouldn’t.”
Justine’s voice was full of humor. “That was sort of the point of going out…I wanted you two to get to know each other before you start telling stories.”
Viktor grinned. “I’m quite capable of having a conversation without turning it into some random anecdote.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Tell you what, if you’re able to get through the night without regaling us with some story, I’ll never mention it again. If you don’t…we’re going on a two-week vacation of my choice.”
He grinned. “Sounds like I win either way.” Putting on a serious face, he glanced over at me. “I hear Bryan Hotard stopped by your place today.”
I swallowed my food and nodded. “Yeah, I’m starting to think he has a crush on me.”
He snickered. “The man’s a prick. He had me cuffed and locked in the back of a squad car a few weeks ago.”
Justine frowned. “He’s an asshole, no doubt, but you did have a dozen-plus corpses at your feet that day.”
He choked down a bite of lasagna. “Hey, some of them were dead when I got there.” He turned to me. “They were using necromancers to control a bunch of undead.”
I frowned. “Another one?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I heard about Walter. It seems they’ve been cropping up a lot over the last ten years or so.” Shaking his head, he grumbled, “I haven’t got a clue why.”
“Well, that’s not good news.”
Viktor’s expression hardened. “No, it’s not.”
I leaned back in my seat. “Hopefully, they’ll fade into the background for a while…I’ve got other problems to deal with at the moment.”
He nodded. “You’re talking about the new laws concerning the weres, right?”
At the mention of the global initiative I’d implemented, my stomach did a little flip-flop as my nerves set in. “Yeah, but I’m having trouble maintaining the peace. The Archive doesn’t have the manpower to keep order while we work through the transition.”
Viktor laid his fork on the side of his plate. “I could offer you a hand in that department if you wanted.” He shrugged. “It’d stretch me a bit thin for the foreseeable future, but this is important.”
I could hardly believe my ears. He was throwing me a lifeline…and offering me an actual chance at making this happen. “Really?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
I blinked. “Thank you.” Sighing, I said, “To be honest, I’m not sure how things got this bad in the first place.”
Viktor frowned. “I am… Have you ever heard of Red Riding Hood?”
I chuckled. “Of course, but what does a fairy tale have to do with weres becoming slaves?”
Justine checked her watch. “Christ, that’s got to be some sort of record. By the way, we’re going to Hawaii at the end of the month.”
Viktor opened his mouth, closed it then let out a belly laugh. “Looks like it.” His expression instantly soured. “But back to the Brothers Grimm and their propaganda machine.”
It turned out Red Riding Hood was a real person named Chandra Raghnailt, and she wasn’t the helpless little girl the stories made her out to be. In fact, she was a full-grown woman who happened to be an excellent swordsman, not to mention a powerful necromancer. While she did wear a red cloak, it wasn’t the bright piece of clothing in the stories—it was dark, almost black, stained with the blood of the fallen. Acco
rding to the legends, she’d spent centuries hunting and killing weres of all types, for no other reason than that she felt like it.
Viktor found out about the woman’s rampage after she killed one of his friends. That was when he decided to hunt her down to put an end to her genocidal crusade. He’d nearly disemboweled her, but before he could finish the job, two of her henchman showed up, forcing Viktor to retreat. He hadn’t seen or heard of her since then—meaning she’d either died of her wounds or gone underground.
Even though Chandra hadn’t resurfaced, the Brothers Grimm brought back the tale of Little Red Riding Hood a few centuries later. They made it their life’s work to brand all weres as evil. But their hatred hadn’t stopped there as they were quick to include all supernatural folk in their propaganda disguised as fiction in an effort to turn humans against us.
We continued with our dinner as the subject changed from weres to necromancers and finally came full circle to Captain Hotard…and by extension the UCD and my position as the head of it. Which was a bigger deal than it sounded, as it was a division of Interpol.
Being the center of attention never sat well with me, so I thumbed over at the bar. “How about that drink?”
Viktor grinned and got to his feet. “Absolutely.” He gestured Justine and Heather over. “Come on, after I pour us a whiskey, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
Viktor grabbed a second bottle of scotch and handed it to me. “We’ll be wanting that later.”
I glanced over at Heather and shrugged. “Okay…”
Viktor raised his glass and waved for us to follow. Tucking the bottle of scotch under my arm, I casually strolled up behind him as he opened an unassuming metal door. A moment later lights flickered to life overhead, and I damn near dropped my glass.
What lay before us was the most amazing collection of art, books, and artifacts I’d ever seen in my life. They were items he’d acquired over his exceptionally long life, and it was nothing short of awe inspiring. We spent the next several hours perusing the shelves and being patiently guided to its heart, which was a sunken firepit in the center of the space. That was where we stayed till almost dawn, talking and listening to the most fantastical stories I’d ever heard.
Chapter 2
February 20th
Late last month, I’d called for a conference to be held to work out the particulars of giving the weres full rights. With Viktor’s assistance, I’d been able to maintain order, but that was about as far as the good news went. While the governors were on board, quite a few prefects were not, and they were the ones causing all the problems. They were doing their best to negotiate a rewrite of the law I’d already passed. Which was never going to happen.
While I hated to leave them on their own, my duty as a vigil—okay, the vigil—made it necessary. I’d received a call from Heather yesterday morning about a situation in New Mexico. A man named Cole Pahe had phoned the triumvirate and spoken at length with Heather. She’d done some cursory checks on him, and it turned out that Andrew, my uncle and the governor of North America, held the man in high regard. In his words, if Cole needed to speak with me, it was important enough for me to stop what I was doing and tend to the matter sooner rather than later. The frustrating part was that Cole had refused to share exactly what the problem happened to be, saying he’d only discuss it with me personally.
Given all the small-minded racist shit being thrown around, it was probably for the best that I’d left anyway.
There were far too many holdouts amongst the old guard for my liking. No matter what they thought, weres were now on equal footing with the rest of them. I was doing my best to get them onboard with the new agenda without knocking anyone’s teeth out. Which was proving far more difficult than I’d ever imagined. I had to remind myself that beating people within an inch of their lives wouldn’t help.
Another upside to this return trip to the city: it allowed me the opportunity to speak with Alicia Sanders, my real estate agent. Captain Hotard had made it clear, along with several of the residents of my building, that I wasn’t welcome there. Which was fine by me—I’d discovered very quickly after moving in that apartment living wasn’t for me.
But I’d stuck it out while I searched for something more suitable. Although that hadn’t happened yet, Captain Hotard had landed himself on suspension for excessive force, which made this the perfect time for a change without him up my ass.
I parked the Tucker a half block from my apartment and made my way up to meet with Alicia. She was a pretty woman, but definitely high maintenance. Just being around her for more than half an hour at a time exhausted me, but she was the best at what she did.
When I got to the top of the stairs, she smiled and waved me into my empty apartment before setting a clipboard on the counter. Like every other time I’d met her, she was meticulously dressed. She was the type of woman who wore her beauty like armor, and wielded it as a weapon against the unsuspecting.
Which I wasn’t.
She’d tried to seduce me on several occasions, which went absolutely nowhere. Even if I’d been single, nothing would’ve happened. There was something iffy about the woman, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Maybe it was her flirting that’d turned me off. She’d once described me as ‘tall, dark, and interesting.’ The tall was easy enough to understand as I stood six-foot-six, and the dark was due to my native heritage. But if I had to guess, it was my heavily scarred hands that were the interesting bit. The left one looked as if God had shoved it into hell’s forge for shits and giggles. Not to be outdone, my right bore the markings of my office: a wreath with crossed swords on the back, and the word Pax was carved into the flesh of my palm.
Alicia cleared her throat, bringing me back to the reason I was standing here. “Did you hear what I said?”
I shook my head. “Not a word.”
Puffing out her bottom lip, she flashed me those brilliant blue eyes. It was an act meant to melt men, and I was sure it worked on most of them. But, while the woman was beautiful, she was also trouble with a capital T. She had a deep-down gold-digger quality that was hard to miss when you weren’t distracted by the window dressing.
Alicia smirked and handed me a pen. “Since you paid for the place outright, I may be able to work it out so that you break even.”
I signed on the first page, flipped through the next dozen, signing and initialing as needed, before handing the pen back. “Do me a favor…turn up the charm, and if you sell it within the month, I’ll give you a five-thousand-dollar cash bonus.”
I’d said the magic word. Her eyes lit up, and I could practically hear the gears turning as she picked up the paperwork. “You know I couldn’t take cash like that…it wouldn’t be appropriate. But I’m certain you’ll find a creative way to make things right.”
“Consider it done.”
She stowed the papers in a leather folder and flashed me a big smile. “I’ll be in touch in a week, maybe two.”
And with those words, I knew the place was sold. Some poor guy, or maybe girl, would be suckered into buying the place sooner rather than later. Did I feel bad about bribing her? Hell no. It wasn’t as if the cash made that much of a difference in the scheme of things. She was getting ten percent of a three-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar sale. The five grand was more of a trophy for her. She hadn’t been able to bed me during my search, so as far as she was concerned this was compensation for her time.
I followed her down four flights of stairs to the ground floor. She made a performance of climbing into her Mercedes, showing as much leg as possible.
The woman was persistent; I had to give her that.
She smirked. “If you ever get tired of looking…”
Smiling, I shook my head. “You can stop right there. It isn’t as if I’m not interested. I’m male, for God’s sake, but you’re out of my league.” I winked. “Take it as a compliment, get the bonus, and be a happy woman.”
“If you say so.” She shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Your loss, honey.”
And in her mind, I’m sure it was. I gave her a wave and waited for her to drive off.
Chapter 3
It was a bright, clear day in the city of New Orleans, and the moderate temperature allowed me to open the windows before making my way down Magazine. For my first trip to the great southwest, I’d be using one of the transport gates to get to my destination, instead of a plane, train, or some other form of mundane transportation.
The local version of which was in the heart of Audubon Park at a place called Newman Bandstand. Heather was meeting me there to show me how to activate the thing since it would be my first time using it. I pulled off Magazine, found a suitable spot for the Tucker, and grabbed my bags.
When I’d first arrived in the city, I hadn’t been able to fill even one duffle, and now I had two crammed with gear. Heather had insisted I pack a jacket, but I doubted it would get any use. I’d always loved the cold. The heat, on the other hand, well, I hated that with a passion—especially when there was humidity involved.
I made the short trek to the oversized cement pavilion. Standing at the top of the stairs, Heather offered me a warm smile and a wave. Flatfooted, she stood six-foot-one, with sea green eyes and shoulder-length strawberry blond hair. This month. Last, it was black. Every time she went to the stylist with Justine, she wound up with something new.
When I walked up the stairs, Heather wrapped her arms around me and pressed her lips to mine. It was her favorite way to say hello, and I wasn’t exactly complaining.
After several seconds, she pulled back and beamed. “Are you ready for this?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
She walked to the nearest pillar, and with a wave of her hand, a low hum reverberated throughout the pavilion. A few seconds later, a couple of pathetic looking trees popped into view.
Gesturing at the scene, she grinned. “Enjoy your trip. Cole should be in the parking lot past Frenchy’s Field. Since he’s been keeping mum about what’s going on, he’ll be the one to chauffer you around while he explains things.”
