But Darren and the woman didn’t do that. They stood up and the woman pointed at the masked men. “We’re calling the cops. We’re not letting you get away with abusing this poor—”
One of the men grabbed the two by the necks, moving too fast for the couple to prevent it. He lifted them easily and carried them up the steps and into the alcove, forcing Lizzi back into the courtyard.
The men stopped in the shade. The couple made hard-fought gasps while they squirmed, hit, and kicked with no effect. The other man removed his mask and goggles.
It was Lorcán. He looked at Lizzi, his eyes that weird blue-gray.
“Tell the bandruí you want to meet her again. I will let you know when and where by leaving a note at your domicile. If you do as you are told, I will let you live.”
“Who?” breathed Lizzi, confused and terrified.
“The woman in your home.” He then nonchalantly turned and grabbed Darren from his associate, pulling him effortlessly toward him even though Darren was at least six-feet tall and was thrashing wildly, yelling indignities and profanities. Lorcán bared his teeth, opening his mouth wide, showing fangs that he buried deep into Darren’s neck. The man’s yells turned to gurgles as blood flowed down his neck and soaked into his t-shirt.
You convinced yet?
Lizzi nodded as she fell to her knees. The other man, Ciarán if she remembered correctly, removed his own mask and goggles. He sank his fangs into the woman’s neck. The couple stopped moving. The vampires finally lifted their heads, their mouths and necks and the front of their expensive suits covered in blood.
Lorcán looked at Lizzi. “Do we have an agreement?”
She nodded just before she threw up on the grass. The two men dropped the bodies, replaced their masks and goggles, and then carried the bodies back to the parking lot.
Lizzi struggled to her feet and walked like an uncoordinated robot back to her apartment. The front door was open, the doorknobs were on the floor. She shut the door and propped a chair against it to keep it closed.
Lizzi walked into her office. The dead man—the dead vampire—was gone. A section of the carpet was gone. The flooring beneath the carpet was black-maroon from the vampire’s blood. All the old books in the garbage bags were also gone, probably rolled up with the body.
She walked slowly into the bathroom. Her face looked pretty beat up. She turned on the water to wash her face but found herself waking up on the floor some time later. It was nighttime and the water still ran in the sink.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Calico risked going back to the hotel to get her things and found Detective Pomeranian waiting for her outside the room. He smiled as she stopped in the hallway. That’s who was following her. Working for Lorcán. Maybe even as simple as a private eye the vampire hired to tail her.
“Detective Palmerroy,” he said.
“You failed to mention you’re a private eye and not a police detective,” she said, reaching under her jacket, but she’d used and lost all the rowan stakes.
He looked confused. “Private eye? No, I’m a cop.”
“Bullshit. The real police detectives didn’t know who you were.”
“Well, that’s a little more complicated.”
Calico pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the real cops.”
“I am a cop, just not here in Denver. I’m from Kansas City.” He pulled a badge out from his front pocket.
She hesitated. “Go on.”
He seemed flustered. “Look. You see. Shit. Let me back up. In Kansas City I was, uh, looking into some disappearances of homeless people.”
“What the fuck does Kansas City have to do with this?”
He raised his hands. The badge was gone—had he put it away? “It does, I promise. It’s just, you know, complicated. And I don’t know how much you know, and I don’t want to scare you.”
“My parents were slaughtered, how much more can you scare me?”
“You’re right. I’m so—”
“What. The fuck. Do you want?”
He took a deep breath, keeping his hands up as though that would somehow stop her from calling the cops. Of course, she wasn’t calling the cops.
“Okay. I ran into this guy. Tall, well-dressed.”
“Lorcán.”
He looked surprised. “Yes!”
“And he hired you to spy on me,” she said, pressing 9-1-1 and tapping the call icon.
“No! He kidnapped me! He—” the man stopped, as though trying to find the words.
“911, what is your emergency?”
Calico held the phone to her ear, “Yes, I—”
“The demon! I saved you from the demon!”
Calico stared at him. Lorcán hadn’t known how she’d been saved.
“911, what is your emergency?”
Calico stared at him a moment longer, then said, “Sorry, butt dial,” and hung up. She still had to pack and get the fuck out of the hotel, so she said, “Okay, let’s talk. But not here. Meet me at—”
“I can’t, I have to leave soon.”
She shrugged. “Sorry then. Please get out of my way, I’m in a hurry.” She held the phone up. “I can still call the cops.”
He stepped backward and disappeared through the closed door.
What just happened?
She heard his voice, “Come on, I don’t have much time either.”
It sounded like he was still in front of her in the hall.
Calico thought about running, but what good would that do? She opened the door slowly, peering around the edge. He was across the room, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She entered and let the door shut.
“What are you?”
“I’m not really sure. I’m here, but I’m not, if that makes sense. I mean, my body is back in Kansas City. The demon—it attacked me, broke my body, paralyzed me. But after I woke up in the hospital, my whatever-this-is was able to, uh, move around.”
Calico walked up to him. “You look real. Solid.”
He put his arm through the wall. “I’m not.”
She braced herself for a collision and walked at him, through him, and into the bedroom. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“So how did you save me from the demon?” She wasn’t sure she believed anything he said—well, she believed he was a ghost-thing, but was he working with Lorcán? Fuck, maybe he was the demon.
He shrugged. “My best guess is that we’re now kinda opposites. It sorta made me. Right? Gave me this ability, but I’m like the light half and it’s the dark.”
Calico shook her head. “No. When the demon infected other people, like Lorcán, its dark power turned them into monsters.”
“Lorcán just recently became a vampire?”
“Oh, no, that was over two thousand years ago.”
The ghost or whatever he was stared at her for a moment. “How old?”
“Couple grand.” She flung her suitcases onto the bed and unzipped them. Before packing, she slipped four rowan heartwood batons into her vest.
“Cripes,” he said. “How—how are you so calm about all this?”
She nearly fell over laughing. It was an explosive volcanic release of laughter making her gasp and double over, tears streaming. It was a laugh dipped deep in hysteria. She convulsed, face contorted, her whole body shaking.
It was the same type of laugh she’d shared with Dad—and that stopped it. She pushed herself upright.
“Something I said?”
“You have no idea.” She went into the bathroom and unrolled several feet of toilet paper, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked in the mirror. Her pale Irish face was bright red. She tossed the toilet paper into its namesake and flushed.
“Well, I have some idea,” he said as she came back out. “I mean, ever since following the demon and, you know, saving you, I’ve been sort of watching you.”
“What? You’ve been stalking me?”
“I, uh, wouldn’t put it that way. I’m just trying t
o figure out what’s going on. And the demon came after you for a reason, right? You’re connected to this somehow. I thought maybe you’d have answers for me. Like why am I this way? Why is Lorcán so interested in your family?”
She glared at him for a moment, not sure how she felt about a stalker ghost. “You’ve been spying on me this whole time?”
“Oh! No, no, no. I actually can’t stay out of my body all that long. When I do leave it, I check in on you and—”
“Were you there at the apartment just now—you know, like half an hour ago?”
“You mean your townhouse?”
She sighed. Fuck it. Besides, if he worked for Lorcán, the vampire already knew the family history. “I can answer your last question about my family. You see, when Lorcán and the others were infected by the demon—”
“There are other vampires?”
She nodded, packing what few clothes she’d removed along with toiletries. She zipped up the bags and motioned to them. “Can you grab these for me?”
“Oh, sorry. I can’t touch things. Can’t pick them up.”
She gave him a look she hoped conveyed you’re-not-much-help and moved the bags to the main room. Dropping them by the door, she sighed. There was still all the computer crap to box up. She started in on it. “Anyway. A couple thousand years ago, this group of priests tried to send the demon back to Hell. Druid priests, not Catholic or whatever.”
“Sure. A couple thousand years ago there weren’t Catholics.”
There weren’t? She was about to ask why not when it dawned on her. Right. Christ was born after the incident at the rowan tree. Catholicism wouldn’t get going until—well, she had no fucking clue when any of that started.
“Anyway, none of it has to do with Christianity. The daemón is an evil spirit from a place called Dubnos. What they didn’t know—what the druí didn’t know—was that the daemón had tricked them into releasing it. The priests and priestesses were infected with the daemón’s dark power. They became monsters. Literally. Lorcán became a vampire, others became, well, other things. Then there was my great-great-great-whatever grandma. She was one of the priestesses and she managed to re-trap the daemón. That woman became known as First Sister. Through her bloodline, the bandruí gaiscíoch were born—those are kickass female druid warriors.” Calico stopped and thought about Tabby. She was still alive.
“That’s extraordinary. And you’re one of these bondrew goshgills?”
She smiled at his pronunciation, which actually wasn’t half bad, and shook her head. “I wish. I could really use their strength when I go after Lorcán.”
“What? You’re going after him?”
“Yep.”
“But how? He’s a vampire. What if he kills you?”
“He probably will.”
“You can’t—ah, crickets. I have to—"
“What?” She looked up just as he vanished. “Hello?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Crypt was a sex shop on Broadway that specialized in BDSM. It was smallish with spindles of clothes that alternated between black leather and vinyl. A glass display case with everything from glass butt plugs to psychedelic condoms ran nearly the length of the shop, which smelled of leather, vinyl, and incense.
Behind the counter sat a woman a little older than Calico with black and purple hair, a matching ripped t-shirt, and intricately inked arms. As Calico approached the counter, she saw the woman’s black tulle ballerina tutu over black short-shorts with purple and black leggings, and black calf-length leather boots with lots of buckles.
She smiled at Calico. “What’cha need, sweetie?”
“Really good handcuffs. Not toy ones.”
The woman came out from behind the counter and walked to the back of the store. “Our BDSM toys are back here. Have you thought about leather cuffs?”
“Leather? They need to be really strong.”
“Bobby!”
A man about the girl’s age came out of the back room. He was dressed in jeans and a Ramones t-shirt. “Yeah?”
“What happened to the manacles we got in a couple of weeks ago?”
Calico liked the sound of that.
Bobby frowned and did a slow turn. “I think—ah, over here.”
The back wall had a peg board covered in hooks with every kind of metal cuffs, leather cuffs, fuzzy cuffs, lacy cuffs. Cuffs that fit wrists, necks, and ankles. Bobby walked along the wall and then grabbed something that made a clinking sound. The manacles looked right out of a dungeon—thick and heavy. “They’re pricey,” he said, “but they’re iron.” He held them out. The wrist cuffs were thick bands at least two inches wide with a real chain welded between them.
“Oh, that’s perfect. Do you have any for ankles as well?”
Bobby turned back to the wall.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
It was nearing midnight when Calico parked two blocks from her townhouse. The manacles in a plastic shopping bag swung heavy while she held two rowan heartwood stakes in her hands. She kept an eye out for Lorcán and Ciarán. Or even Winston, if Lorcán had rescued him.
This was stupid. She should have been on I-70 driving far away. But Tabby was alive. That trumped her own safety. She had to save her sister, but she needed to know where to look. Pomeranian mentioned Kansas City. Was Tabs there?
She went down the alley behind the row of townhouses. Opening the gate to her little yard, she sought out any shadows that were darker than they should be, that moved unnaturally. Which, of course, made her see every shadow as a threat. Well, if they were in the backyard, or in the alley, it was too late for her—they could catch her no matter what she did.
“Oh, man,” she muttered. She hurried to the door and let herself in.
If Winston was still in the basement could the other vampires get in automatically—was it a sort of open invitation? Shrugging, she closed and locked the door, then made sure the front door was locked. It made her feel better even though she didn’t know if it would help at all.
The basement was still covered in debris and there was a smell of something dead. Not as bad as the garbage outside on a sweltering day, but a little gamey. Winston was there, his body mummified. Dried out. The stake still in his heart.
She pulled the manacles from the plastic bag and cuffed his wrists and ankles, crisscrossing the chains behind his back to hogtie him. Rolling him onto his side, she grabbed the rowan stake and pulled. It stuck for a second, his skin and blood dried to it, but then it slid out easily once that broke off. She peered closely at the oval hole in his desiccated chest. If it was healing, it was happening so slowly she couldn’t see it. Maybe there was a shelf life to vampires. If they were staked for too long, they were done for.
Or he needed blood.
Maybe she didn’t have to talk to him. Shaking her head, she peeled off the bandage from the fleshy part of her palm from where she’d sliced it open with the glass she’d broken. She held her hand up close to her eyes. It looked almost healed. Maybe the cut had been more superficial then she realized.
And how much blood could she get out of her hand? Did she need to cut her wrist, and if she did, could she stop it? She’d known someone who tried killing herself that way and survived.
Shuffling through the debris, she looked for a blade, either one of her woodcarving knives or—she picked up an X-Acto knife. Perfect. She found a microfiber towel used to wipe down finished jewelry. Calico crouched over Winston. The round wound in his chest didn’t seem any smaller.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
She positioned her wrist over his mouth and cut. Blood welled and flowed down and splashed against his lips and chin as she tried to keep her arm steady. Fuck. She pried open Winston’s mouth and mashed the cut against his lips. How much blood could she lose and still be okay? She lifted her wrist. Blood flowed out more quickly than she thought it would, which scared her, but she held it above his mouth. It came out fast enough that it didn’t take long to fill his mouth and run down
his cheek.
She grabbed the towel and wrapped it tightly around her wrist, which throbbed with pain. Winston lay immobile. This wasn’t going to work.
Calico sat back, trying to figure out what to do next when the corpse swallowed hard.
Well, shit.
She unwound the towel and put her wrist over his mouth again. He swallowed before his mouth filled up. His chest wound was closing. Calico wrapped her wrist and waited. After about five minutes he opened his eyes.
“You bitch,” he whispered.
She picked up the stake. “Before Denver, where was Lorcán? Where’d he come from?”
“Your neck,” he said, sounding puzzled. “How long have I been out?”
She almost started to explain how Cait Sidhe had saved her, but fuck Winston. “Where’s Lorcán—”
“Why hasn’t he killed you yet?”
She yelled, “Where the hell did Lorcán come from? Was it Kansas City?”
“Missouri?” he said.
“Lorcán said Tabitha was still alive. Do you know anything about that?”
Winston’s eyes narrowed. “You spoke with Lorcán? That’s impossible, you wouldn’t still be alive.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Something’s happened. Why are you lying to me?”
She shook her head in exasperation. “He confronted me and I got lucky, hurting one of his nestlings enough to make my escape. Lorcán said that Tabby was still alive. Where would he keep her?”
“How would I know? He just turned me.”
“Okay, then why would he keep her alive?”
“I have no idea. The sooner you’re all exterminated, the better. Does he have the books?”
Was he lying about Tabby? There was no way to know what was and wasn’t truth. This had been a waste of time. The hole in his chest wasn’t completely sealed. She stuck the point into it. He tried to move, to rear back, but couldn’t.
“Wait, wait. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
She looked him in his weird blue-gray eyes. “There’s no way I could trust your answer.”
Dark Vigil Page 16
