Magic Bites

by Ilona Andrews

  “I hate to disappoint you, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

  Nataraja’s laugh polluted the air. “Of course,” he said, as if humoring a small child. “How insensitive of me.”

  I smiled at him. “Indeed. Now that we’ve established that you have appallingly poor taste, would you like a chance to chat with me as a representative of the Order or shall I make my exit?”

  “Suddenly you’re all business. Very well.” Nataraja leaned back. “I’m dissatisfied with the direction your investigation has taken you.”

  I bared my teeth at him. “I find that amusing. I don’t answer to you.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I elaborated. “I work for the Order and the last time I checked the Order didn’t report to Roland.”

  It was amusing to see the effect of the name. Both men jerked, as if shocked with a live wire.

  “As you can see, gentlemen, I have access to the Order’s database.” Which was a blatant lie but they had no way of knowing it. Roland’s name short-circuited their logic. If they realized how I knew the name of their leader, they both would suffer an instant apoplexy.

  “Here is what I know, and please, correct me if I’m wrong. Ghastek’s shadow vampire was tailing Greg Feldman. It was killed suddenly and you haven’t been able to extract an image of the killer from the mind of the journeyman who had been piloting it. You’ve made no effort to disclose this information to the Order, which is understandable since you’d have to explain why your vampire was following the knight-diviner. What I don’t understand is why you have been making so much noise over a single vamp.”

  A long pause stretched and then Nataraja jerked his wrist in a kind of “tell her” gesture and looked aside, seemingly losing all interest in our conversation. Rowena remained tranquil, her hand on the snake’s head. I wondered what went through her mind.

  “We’ve lost more than one vampire,” Ghastek said.

  “You have proof?”

  Ghastek opened the briefcase and extracted a stack of photographs. Déjà vu. He walked forward to give the stack to me. Derek stepped between us, wordlessly took the pictures from his hand, and delivered them to mine.

  I looked at a black-and-white image of a deceased vampire. The bloodsucker lay in a crumpled heap, its wiry body pitifully broken. Thick dark blood stained its pallid hide. The vamp was coated in it, as if someone had dipped his hand into the blood and smeared it all over its taut skin the way one would rub oil over the skin of a chicken to prepare it for roasting. The bloodsucker’s bald cranium had been neatly cracked and wet emptiness glared at me where the brain had been.

  The second photograph. The same vampire, this time placed on its back to better display a long gash that split its torso from the genitals to midchest. Yellowish ribs protruded from the blackness of bloody tissue. Someone had used a very sharp knife to cleave the cartilage of several ribs on the left side, separating them from the sternum, not sawing but slicing in a single motion with awful force. The vamp must have been turned on its side to allow the stringy clot of its nearly atrophied intestines to fall out. There was no fat attached to the intestines, so the killer didn’t have to bother with cutting it. Same with the bladder and colon; both organs had atrophied within weeks of undeath, so he didn’t have to deal with the mess.

  The diaphragm was neatly slit, both to remove the remaining intestines and to gain access to the esophagus. He must have peeled back the diaphragm and worked his hand up the chest cavity until he could grab the esophagus and cut it. Then he simply had to pull the esophagus out through the hole, and the blood-soaked, useless lungs and bulging heart would come out with it. I’ve seen this before. That’s how you gutted a deer.

  “He took the brain, the heart, the lungs, what was left of the liver and kidneys, but discarded the intestines,” Ghastek said.

  I raised an eyebrow, since I didn’t see the intestines, and he murmured, “The next photograph.”

  I looked and saw the ugly wet clump of innards in a puddle of blood. Unused, they had shrunk until they resembled tough twine.

  “Admirable skill,” Ghastek said dryly. “The cuts were made with almost surgical precision. He has an excellent knowledge of the vampiric physiology.”

  “Any chance of it being an inside job?”

  Ghastek looked at me as if I had accused him of devouring small children.

  “We are not stupid,” he said, meaning I’m not stupid.

  “All of our people with that degree of skill are accounted for.”

  “Besides this one and the shadow, how many did you lose?” I asked.

  “Four.”

  “Four? Four vampires?”

  Ghastek shifted uncomfortably, looking as if he had tasted something slimy and sour. “We aren’t happy about the situation.”

  “Where are the other photos?”

  “We have none. The others were taken. We were not able to recover the bodies.”

  “What do you mean, taken?”

  “Something killed them instantly, severing the link between their minds and the navigators who piloted them. Then their bodies were removed before our field team was able to recover them.” He produced a piece of paper covered with neat typescript. “Here’s the list of the locations, dates, and times.”

  Derek took the list from him and gave it to me. I glanced at it and put it in my pocket. Six vampires and seven shapechangers. Someone was trying to start a war between the Pack and the People and was doing a damn good job of it. Who would benefit from it?

  “You’re out six vampires and you can account for only two of the bodies. Are you positive that the other four aren’t active?” The idea of four unpiloted vamps running around the city made me hurt with dread.

  “They are deceased, Kate!” Nataraja snapped out of his reverie. “Why don’t you ask Curran and his pet lympago what was done to our property?”

  A lympago was an inaccurate term to use for Corwin but Nate seemed so happy to have found it that I let him wallow in his own ignorance.

  “I spoke to the Pack,” I said. “I’ve been able to clear Corwin to my satisfaction.”

  “That’s not good enough for me,” Nataraja said.

  “It’ll have to do.” All of this verbal fencing strained my patience. “His m-scan didn’t match.”

  “I saw the m-scan of the crime scene,” Ghastek said, coming to life like a shark sensing blood in the water. “There was no power print except for our vampire and the diviner.”

  Shit. Me and my big mouth. I should carry a banner with a big sign, “Confidential Information Given Away Free!” At least it would let people know upfront who they were dealing with.

  “You must not have been looking at the right m-scan. The one I saw had a clear power record of the murderer.”

  I could almost feel that formidable brain working behind Ghastek’s eyes. “Would you be willing to provide us with a copy of this other m-scan?”

  “Would you be willing to tell me why the hell your shadow vampire was tailing Feldman?”

  “Perhaps we merely wanted to keep an eye on the diviner,” Nataraja said.

  I pretended to consider it. “No. I don’t buy it. Keeping a vamp in the field is too expensive for casual surveillance.”

  “We have nothing further to discuss,” Nataraja said.

  “A pleasure seeing you, too,” I said.

  “Ghastek, escort the Order representative out of our territory.” Nataraja grimaced. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. I simply couldn’t bear it.”

  Ghastek gave me an odd look and walked out with us, leaving Rowena and Nataraja behind.

  As soon as we were out of Nate’s earshot, I stopped. “You don’t really have to escort me.”

  “But I do.”

  “In that case I have a question.”

  Ghastek looked at me.

  “If I were to taint a living animal with necromantic magic, how would I do it?”

  “By taint you mean . . . ?”

/>   There was no way out of this question without giving myself away. I was too stupid for this job.

  “A sufficient amount of necromantic magic to produce a blended power print.”

  “What color?”

  I strained to keep from gritting my teeth. “Pale orange.”

  He thought about it. “Well, the most obvious answer would be to feed an animal on necro-infused flesh. If a rat gorged itself on the flesh of a vampire, the necromantic magic would show up in its stomach contents. Some of it would make its way into the blood stream. But, since it’s obvious, it’s also wrong. I’ve scanned animals that fed on undead flesh before and the power print showed a pure necromantic arch.”

  “The magic of the undead flesh overwhelmed the magic of the animal?”

  Ghastek nodded. “Yes. To produce a blended power print, the influence of the necromantic magic would have to be very subtle. In theory—and this is only in theory—it would have to involve reproduction.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you ask me nicely, I might explain,” Ghastek said.

  “Could you please explain this to me? It’s important and I would very much appreciate it.”

  Ghastek allowed himself a smile. It touched his lips and vanished in a flicker, as if it was no more than a muscle twitch. I showed him my teeth.

  “You’re much more pleasant when you talk like a human being,” Ghastek said. My smile failed to disturb him. “The bravado is amusing, but it becomes tiresome.”

  I sighed. “I’m a merc. I walk like a merc, I talk like a merc, I act like a merc.”

  “So you admit to being a walking stereotype?”

  “It’s safer that way,” I said honestly.

  For a moment I thought that he somehow understood the deeper meaning of my words. Then he said, “We were talking rats?”

  “Yes. And I did ask nicely.”

  “In theory, if I take a female rat and feed it undead flesh, while allowing her to mate and carry offspring to term, then repeat the process with the offspring, somewhere down the line the descendants of the original rat may display permanent influence of necromantic magic, which will produce a blended power print. Something along light orange on the m-scan.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled.

  THE WATER OF SHIVA’S FOUNTAIN WAS REFRESHING. I splashed it on my face, fighting an urge to lay down on the lovely cold concrete. Nataraja’s little test had sapped my reserves, but I had once again prevented the show of power he was trying to provoke. I sat on the rim of the fountain. “I’m tired. I feel soiled and in need of a shower. How are you?”

  Derek gripped the rim with his hands and dipped his head into the water. He shook, flinging droplets from his wet hair and washed his nostrils the way shapechangers did when they wanted to clear a strong smell from their noses.

  “That place reeks of death,” he said.

  “Yeah. You know, it’s not wise to mouth off to Nataraja.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “He expects me to mouth off. Still, it was pretty funny. What did you think of Rowena?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he said.

  “You’re right. I probably don’t. She bothers me,” I admitted.

  “Why? Because she’s prettier?”

  I winced. “Derek, never ever tell a woman that someone is prettier than her. You’ll make an enemy for life.”

  “You’re funnier than she is. And you hit harder.”

  “Oh, thank you. Please, continue to reinforce the fact that she’s more attractive. If you say that I have a better personality, you’ll find out how hard I can hit.”

  He grinned. We walked to our horses.

  “Be careful on the way back,” I said.

  He gave me a puzzled look. “I’m the one protecting you. You be careful.”

  I shook my head. I finally got my knight in shining armor. Too bad he was a teenage werewolf.

  “You think the People are gonna try something?”

  “Not the People.” I slowed down. “The Pack and the People lost roughly equal numbers and the murders took place right on the border between them. This string of killings feels carefully managed.”

  “By Nataraja?”

  “By someone who would benefit from a war between the Pack and the People.”

  “Like Nataraja?”

  “Would you let go of Nataraja already?” I frowned at him. “Nate above all is a businessman. Yes, he would like to diminish the Pack. In an outright conflict the People might even win, but it would leave them so weakened, a baby burp would knock them down. The war isn’t cost-effective for the People right now, that’s why we got invited into the Casino. For all of their posturing, the People are worried. Not only are they out six vampires, which are expensive to replace, but they also sense a deeper threat. Why do you think Ghastek is walking us home?”

  “What threat?” Derek shrugged.

  I had forgotten how good it felt to talk a theory out. “Have you ever heard people say ‘pulled a Gilbert’? You know where the saying comes from?”

  “No.”

  “About nine years ago a rogue Master of the Dead named Gilbert Caillard tried to take over the People by framing Nataraja in a sex-slave ring. Which is richly ironic—I doubt that snake ever had sex, let alone brokered it. Anyhow Gilbert’s reasoning was that if the People were shamed and Nataraja got arrested, he could waltz in and take over the operation. He had power in abundance and almost pulled it off.”

  “You think he’s back?”

  “No, Gilbert’s dead. Nataraja killed him and had his heart burned. He still carries the ashes in a little satchel on his neck. But this feels very much like a Gilbert. The plan has a certain brilliance to it: get the Pack and the People to battle it out and then come in and wrestle control from Nate’s weak and hopefully dying fingers.”

  “Dying is good,” Derek said.

  “One, we have Pack people being torn apart by animals with necro taint, probably fed on undead flesh. Two, we have vampires being taken out by someone with advanced knowledge of vampiric anatomy. And three, Nate is scared. Look at the battlements. He doubled their patrols. See, the People prize power most of all. They don’t exactly encourage violent coups like this, but if the victor offers his obeisance to Roland and makes the appropriate noises, he’ll most likely get away with it. I think we have a rogue Master of the Dead on our hands.” That had to be it. It made perfect sense.

  “Who’s Roland?” Derek asked suddenly, intruding on my thoughts.

  “Roland? He’s the legendary leader of the People. It’s rumored that he’s been alive since magic last left the world, which was about four thousand years ago. He’s supposed to have incredible power, almost godlike. Some say he’s Merlin, some say he’s Gilgamesh. He has some sort of agenda and uses the People to achieve it, although the majority of them have never seen him. There’s no proof of his existence and lay people like you and I aren’t suppose to know about him.”

  “Does he exist?”

  “Oh yeah. He’s real.”

  “How do you know about him?”

  “It’s my job to know.” And trust me, boy wonder, I know entirely too much. I know his habits. I know what food he likes to eat, what women he likes to take to his bed, what books he prefers to read. I know everything my father had known about Roland. I even know his real name.

  The flow of people to the white arch of the gates had ebbed. It was late or early, depending on the way you looked at it.

  Skeletal claws of fear iced my spine. The small hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood on their ends. A vampire. Close.

  Derek’s gelding neighed, but Frau remained stoic. I loved this horse.

  I turned slowly and watched the bloodsucker descend down the snow-white wall of the Casino. It crawled head-first like a mutated gecko, long yellow talons digging into the mortar. The pallid body, taut with dry, stringy muscle, dripped necro magic.

  The vamp c
rept down until its head was level with mine and raised its face. It used to be female during life. Undeath had sharpened already delicate features, making it look like a concentration camp victim. The bloodsucker stared at me with haunted eyes. It raised a thin hand clutching a small object. Slowly it opened its maw. Its face twitched, trying to twist into a different set of features.

  “I believe this is yours.” Ghastek’s voice said from the vamp’s throat. The vamp’s fingers opened and the object fell. I caught it: my throwing dagger. How considerate. He had even cleaned the bloodsucker blood off of it.

  “Tell me, Kate,” Ghastek said. “Why do you paint your daggers black?”

  “So they don’t shine when I throw them.”

  “Ahh. Obvious, come to think of it.” The vamp’s throat stank of death.

  “Shall we depart?”

  “Please.”

  “What’s our destination?”

  He knew perfectly well where Greg’s apartment was. They probably kept the bloody place under surveillance.

  “Just take me to the edge of your territory. Corner of White and Maple will do.” Too late I remembered that Greg had died at that intersection. “This isn’t necessary, you know.”

  “It is. If you died after a visit to the Casino, we would have to answer many unpleasant questions.”

  I petted Frau’s neck, untied the reins, and mounted.

  “A horse,” Ghastek said with disgust. “I might have known.”

  “You have something against horses?”

  “I’m allergic. Not that it matters under the circumstances.”

  He stabled the undead but good old horses made him sneeze.

  “Go on ahead,” I said. The vamp took off, running upright in a clumsy, labored manner. Bloodsuckers aren’t built for running on the ground. It requires coordination and breathing and the process no longer came naturally to one who does not have to breathe.

  I gave Frau’s sides a gentle squeeze and she took off, breaking into an easy trot, Derek on his gelding close behind. I had a feeling that if the bloodsucker got within striking distance, Frau would try to find out if it was good to walk on.