B R Kingsolver - [Rosie O'Grady's Paranormal Bar and Grill 02] - Night Stalker

by Kingsolver

  With my kindest regards,

  Rodrick Barclay

  My first thought was that it would be a cold day in hell when I next visited Barclay at his home. He had tried to kidnap me and have me killed, and he also worked with an Illuminati operative trying to silence me. Of course, I was convinced that he was crazy, so he probably didn’t see any contradictions in his behavior.

  The problem was in how to tell a homicidal lunatic that you didn’t want to play with him. None of my training covered that sort of thing. I just knew that I felt very lonely and wished an adult would show up to make everything better.

  CHAPTER 5

  As soon as I got out of bed, I hauled my butt down to Rosie’s to show Sam the note from Rodrick Barclay.

  “The man is truly daft,” Sam said, gazing at the letter as I dug into my breakfast. “Does he really think you’d show up there after he tried to kidnap you?”

  I took a sip of coffee to wash down a mouthful of omelet, then said, “Note that there’s no way to contact him to say I decline. And how am I supposed to get there? Fly? He just seems to assume that my chauffeur will deposit me on his doorstep. Hell, he doesn’t even give me a time.”

  Sam chuckled. “He doesn’t say if he’s going to feed you dinner, or if you’re going to be dinner. If the latter, then I guess it doesn’t matter what time you show up.”

  I stared at him, aghast. I hadn’t even considered that.

  “Surely, you don’t think Barclay considers a million dollars as a ‘great reward’,” Sam said. “A million is just a pittance. And while we’re on the subject, did that other chap, Gallagher, offer to make you queen of his realm, also?”

  Luckily, I wasn’t drinking or chewing on anything when he asked me that.

  I sputtered for a moment, then calmed down. “No, he was more straightforward. He just invited me to a party so he could screw me and drink my blood. Said I would enjoy it.”

  “An honest bloodsucker,” Sam said in a musing voice. “Who woulda thought?”

  “So, what do I do about Barclay?”

  Sam shook his head. “I have no idea. You don’t want to ask any of his competitors for help, because in their way of looking at things, that would put you under their protection. And being in debt to a vampire is as bad as a debt to the Fae.” He sighed. “You could go up there and kill him, I suppose. The only problem would be getting out alive. While Lord Carleton was very picky about who he chose to turn, my sources tell me that Barclay is actively building up his forces.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Ask your friend Lieutenant Blair if there has been an uptick in missing persons lately.”

  “But what do I do about Barclay tonight?” I said. “I mean, I can sit alone in my apartment and hide behind my wards, but that’s a lousy way to spend my night off. And the problem will still be there tomorrow.”

  “Come in here tonight,” Sam said. “Go home, get your toothbrush, and you can sleep in the apartment upstairs. I’ll think on it and try to figure out what to do about Barclay.”

  I knew there was an apartment on the bar’s second floor—that’s where Sam’s mother Rosie lived when she was alive—but I had never seen it. Sam sometimes spent the night there when he didn’t feel like driving home.

  When I left the Illuminati, I had taken a hand-written book, The History of the Illuminati. To my knowledge, I had the only copy, and I was the only living person who had ever read it. It mentioned vampire wars at least a dozen times, mostly during ages past in Europe or the Middle East. One of the consistent details about all of those conflicts was that the different factions built up their manpower in preparation for the fight.

  A vampire “turned” a human into a vampire by draining their blood to near death, then feeding the human some of the vampire’s blood. After three days, during which the person appeared to be dead, most of the new vampires arose—ravenous, nearly mindless, and absolutely in thrall to their parent. Blood and discipline over several weeks brought the mind back to a functional level. But just like human teenagers were driven by their hormones, new vamps were driven by their predatory instincts and need for blood. That made them highly dangerous, and only their parent could control them.

  I wondered if Barclay was the only one building his forces, or if Flynn, Gallagher, and Montgomery were also turning victims as fast as they could. Flynn’s and Montgomery’s nightclubs provided a steady flow of candidates.

  Humans often became addicted to a vampire’s bite. The enzyme that prevented coagulation also released endorphins and other pleasure hormones in the victim. As a result, groupies—called “thralls” by the vamps, and often called “blood whores” by outsiders—usually provided older and wealthier vampires with a steady supply of blood. Someone like Flynn certainly didn’t hang out in public parks when he was hungry, hoping a stupid coed happened by, and I doubted he was drinking sheep’s blood.

  Normally, vampires avoided turning their bloodstock into new vamps. An overabundance of bloodsuckers tended to overgraze the available food supply, and angry villagers tended to notice when too many of their family members disappeared. Thus, Lord Carleton had only four children senior enough to vie for his seat. But those considerations went out the window when a war threatened and cannon fodder was needed.

  I hiked back to my place and borrowed the phone in the apartment complex office to call Jordan Blair. It reminded me that I really should check into whether I could afford a phone now that I’d been working long enough and I wasn’t living on my tips from day to day.

  “Erin, what a pleasant surprise,” Blair said when I identified myself. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m wondering if you’ve seen an increase in missing persons. Say, over the past three months?”

  “I don’t know. I can check.” His voice took on a suspicious tone. “Why are you interested?”

  “Get me an answer, and then I’ll tell you,” I said. “I’ll even buy you and Frankie a drink on Thursday night if you stop by the bar.”

  There was a moment of silence, then he said, “I’ll ask Frankie to find out. Why do I have a feeling neither of us is going to be happy about the answer? See you Thursday.”

  Francis “Frankie” Jones was Blair’s boss and the Assistant District Attorney whose responsibility was keeping the supernatural world from public notice. Unlike Blair, Frankie was talented, an aeromancer of considerable strength. I had helped her a couple of times, and we’d developed a kind of friendship.

  Feeling restless and unsettled, I took the train downtown all the way to the harbor and walked around, watching the ocean and the gulls and feeling the breeze. I ate fish and chips at a little café, then walked some more.

  It had been more than three months since I delivered the artifact to Master Benedict that destroyed the Illuminati, and my life was vastly different than it had been before. I was used to structure, to knowing how I fit into the world, of who I was. A Hunter. A powerful mage. A trusted aide and confidant of one of the most powerful men in the world. His bedmate. He made me feel safe and wanted.

  Then all of that changed, and I was cast adrift, making my own decisions, charting my own path. And I had absolutely no training and no experience in doing that. I realized that at twenty-three, I was woefully unprepared to be an adult.

  Oh, I could function and act like an adult. Sam said I did a great job running the bar, and people seemed to like me. But that was a structured environment. The bar had rules and standards. I had friends for the first time since I was a little girl. I was still figuring out what that meant, but it felt good. They made me feel good. They made me feel as though I was worth something.

  But when I was alone, I felt lost a lot of the time. I read that I should have goals, a plan for my life. By the time I was twenty-three, I should know what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be. I had absolutely no idea. I just lived from day to day. And in the back of my mind, always, was the terror that the Illuminati would find me and find out what I’d done. The Hu
nters would descend on Westport, and they would kill me, and probably kill anyone they suspected I might have talked to. And my soul would go to whatever hell a murderer and thief deserved.

  Late in the afternoon, I grabbed a bus to the nearest train station, then took it back to my apartment. I stuffed a change of clothes and some toiletries into my backpack and took the creek-side path back to Rosie’s.

  Sam took me up to his mom’s former apartment and showed me a bedroom I could use. I didn’t know what to expect, but the place took me by surprise. It was large—the size of the bar downstairs. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, two bathrooms, a laundry room, and a large living room, or parlor, were decorated in nineteenth-century Victorian style. Heavy wood furniture, Persian rugs on the floor, and Tiffany lamps. Rosie had lived in style.

  “This where you grew up?” I asked.

  “Aye. I was born in that bedroom over there and lived here until I was past thirty. I considered moving back after Mum died, but it always felt like her place and not mine. So, I have it for emergencies, or to put up friends from out of town.”

  I put my stuff in an empty wardrobe and went back downstairs. I ate dinner at the bar, then Jolene and Lizzy came in, and we moved to a table. Tuesdays were quiet, so not much was going on. I rarely went into the bar on my days off, but we talked and laughed, and I really enjoyed it.

  My friends stayed until about ten o’clock, and I made ready to go upstairs, read for a while, then go to bed.

  On my way toward the back stairs, I saw Lieutenant Blair come in. He stood at the entrance and looked around. When he spotted me, he immediately headed in my direction.

  “Hi, Lieutenant. What’s up?”

  “I stopped by your place, but you weren’t home. Is Sam here?” He looked about half panicked.

  I shook my head. “No, he’s been gone for hours.”

  “Is there somewhere private we can talk?” he asked.

  Taking him up to the apartment didn’t feel right, so I led him back to the room where employees took their breaks.

  He looked around, saw that we were alone, then said, “Something crazy’s going on. There was an attack, hell, an all-out assault, on The Devil’s Den by somewhere between fifty and a hundred vampires. We’ve got dead vamps and dead humans, and more casualties than I can count. I was hoping Sam and some of the mages here might be able to help us cordon the area off to keep the press out.”

  The Devil’s Den was George Flynn’s strip club. I was suddenly a bit light-headed, put my hand on a table and closed my eyes to steady myself. It had started, and I didn’t feel at all good about being right.

  Of course, it had actually started with an assassination attempt on Flynn outside of Rosie’s a few weeks earlier, along with the kidnapping attempt on me, and then Barclay helping the local Illuminati kidnap Frankie Jones. But both Illuminati were dead, along with the Hunter they had brought in, and Barclay was left without any allies. He must have decided it was time to push the issue.

  Opening my eyes, I saw that Blair still looked on the verge of panic. “I could block off the road and keep people from coming in,” I said, “but that would block your emergency vehicles as well, and I’m definitely not an illusionist.”

  I called Sam, and when he answered, I said, “Lieutenant Blair is here at the bar and wants to speak with you.” I handed the phone to Blair and stepped back.

  They spoke for about five minutes, and I could only hear Blair’s side of the conversation. He explained the situation and then evidently answered a series of questions. Then he held out the phone to me.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  “Erin, see if Jack Crawford or Ruby Meadows are at the bar. If so, tell them I would consider it a personal favor if they can round up any other illusionists or aeromancers they know and meet us at Flynn’s club. And if you could come along, I would appreciate it, too. If any vamps want to get frisky, I think you can probably dissuade them from bothering the illusion casters.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you there,” I said.

  Both Jack and Ruby were in the bar, and I filled them in on the situation. Then I asked Blair if he could swing by my apartment so I could change clothes. I didn’t think the blouse and skirt I was wearing would hold up very well if I had to kick some vampire ass, and my Hunter boots would definitely serve the purpose better than the flats I had on.

  I hadn’t realized Blair’s car was equipped with a siren and lights, but we reached my apartment in record time. I jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. Right into the arms of two vampires who slid out of the shadows and reached to grab me. Barclay and his invitation had completely slipped my mind.

  Since I wasn’t shielded, the vamp on my left grabbed my arm in a grip like a steel vise. I threw an elbow into the solar plexus of the vamp on my right, but knocking the breath out of a creature who didn’t breathe didn’t have much effect.

  They dragged me away, and I heard Blair shout. Recovering from my shock, I pulled magic from the ley line. The power filled me, and I directed it down, to my feet and my hands. I dug in my heels and brought the three of us to a stop. The vamps were thrown off balance, and I brought my hands together as hard and fast as I could, pulling the vamps into a collision with each other.

  Pulling my right hand free, I punched the vamp still holding me in the head, crushing his skull, and he let go of me. A kick to the knee of the other vamp sent him to the ground. And then a mountain fell on me as at least four vampires leaped on me, bearing me to the ground. They immobilized my arms and legs, so I pushed magic at them, trying to push them away and free myself. Their strength was incredible, and their holds on me were painful.

  I couldn’t shield with them touching me, and although I was dealing out some punishment, so were they. A punch under my ribs was a lot more effective than one of my blows were to them, and I gasped for air. Fingers curled in my hair and slammed my head against the pavement. But it was the feel of a tongue on the inside of my thigh that spurred me to a renewed effort.

  The sound of a gunshot concurrent with one of the vamp’s head exploding caught all of our attention. A second gunshot and another exploding head caused two of my assailants to leap away from me.

  As I struggled to beat the remaining vamps with my magic, I heard a third shot and then a muffled cry of pain.

  I freed one leg and kicked the vamp holding my other leg. He flew backwards out of my sight. I rolled away, ripping myself out of my captors’ hold. A kick to the head took out one vamp, and a roundhouse kick took out the knees of another.

  Without waiting to engage any more of the vamps who had been holding me, I whirled and leaped toward Blair’s car.

  A vamp held the cop against his car, one hand in Blair’s hair, and the other pinning his arm. The vamp’s mouth was against Blair’s neck, and I saw the horror in the lieutenant’s eyes.

  With a punch to the vampire’s back, I snapped his spine. As he arched his back, I grabbed his head with my hands, twisted it, and broke his neck. I noted the blood on the vamp’s mouth.

  Blair’s pistol lay on the ground. I snatched it up and turned. Two vampires leaped at me, and I shot them both, the explosive incendiary rounds blowing both of them backward.

  Three of the vampires who attacked me still appeared to be mobile. I aimed carefully and shot one of them in the head. The other two ran toward a black car parked two buildings down from mine.

  Rather than try to shoot either of the runners, who really were too fast to track accurately, I aimed at the front-seat window of the car and fired twice. The window shattered, and then a fire sprung up inside the car. A man—a vampire, I assumed—opened the driver’s side door and rolled out onto the pavement. The two vampires running away grabbed him on their way past and carried him off into the darkness.

  Turning back to Blair, I saw he was still upright and his eyes were open. He clutched his bleeding neck with one hand.

  “Give me another clip,” I said.

  He blinked at me, then fum
bled at the pocket of his suit coat. I knocked his hand out of the way and reached into the pocket, pulled out an ammunition clip, and traded it with the empty clip in the pistol.

  I still held the ley line magic in my hands, so I ripped the sleeve off his coat, folded it, and pressed it against his neck.

  “Hold this. Okay?”

  He did as I told him, and then slumped, sliding down the side of the car to sit on the ground.

  “Are you all right?” I practically screamed at him, frantic with worry. “Talk to me, Blair! Tell me you’re okay!”

  “I’ll live,” he said.

  Relief flooded through me. I’d gotten to him before the vamp tore either the carotid artery or the jugular vein, either of which would have been fatal.

  I looked up and saw lights in Eleanor’s apartment and the office. Assured that she was probably calling someone, I scanned for more trouble, holding Blair’s pistol with both hands and ready to shoot anything that jumped at me.

  “You shoot pretty damned good for a girl,” Blair said.

  I turned to look at him and saw him trying to smile. My eyes misted a little, and I used one hand to rub them and clear my sight.

  “Beginner’s luck,” I told him.

  “You’re so full of bullshit sometimes,” he answered. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

  “No, not really.”

  He barked a laugh, then flinched with pain.

  The sound of sirens in the distance grew louder.

  CHAPTER 6

  The paramedics dressed Blair’s wound and put him into an ambulance. I sat on the curb watching as cops loaded the vamps into a special paddy wagon converted from an armored car.

  An orange-haired witch walked up to me—Detective Mackle, one of Blair’s people.

  “You look like shit,” she said.