by Devon Monk
Rossi would know every way a vampire could be killed. Myra was right to have sent Sven’s body to him.
“Have you heard from him yet?”
“He wants to see you.”
I took another drink of coffee. “At his place?”
“You’re not going alone.”
“I won’t. But we have something else we need to deal with.”
“Crow?”
Thunder rumbled and a hard flash of yellow sunlight broke the clouds before being swallowed down.
Crow crumpled the paper bag and tossed it in the lobby garbage can. He walked a slow circle inside the small lobby, umbrella hat tucked under his arm, then stopped in front of the windows so he could stare out at the storm. His hands were shoved in his coat pockets, the beanie still tight on his head. I didn’t think he’d run off, but I wasn’t sure what he’d do now that he was officially on all the gods’ shit lists.
“He lost the powers.”
Myra blinked. Her eyes were wider than mine, a lighter blue beneath the straight dark bangs of her pin-up style. Whereas I had more of a runner’s build like our dad, she had inherited all of Mom’s curves. Even our unflattering uniforms couldn’t hide her figure.
I tended to tan under my freckles, but she had pale skin. Right now she went down another shade.
“He lost what powers?”
Crow, in the waiting area, snorted. I threw him a glare, but he was still staring out the window. He rocked up on the toes of his feet then down, up and down, in a nervous movement that looked like he wished he could run out of here.
Not on my watch.
“The gods’ powers.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
She stared at the lobby, lines pulling between her eyebrows. “How the hell did you do that, Crow?”
“Not on purpose. Not consciously either, which pisses me off, you know? What a great trick this would be...well, is, I suppose. But I didn’t think of it. It’s irritating to be out tricked.”
“How did you even...how does anyone lose all the powers? That’s never happened. That shouldn’t even be something that can happen.”
“We know,” I said.
“So that’s the emergency meeting of deities?” she asked.
“Yeah, he was smart enough to get everyone on board as soon as he found out they were gone.”
“Well...” he hedged.
“You did call us as soon as you knew they were gone?” I asked.
“Almost as soon as I knew.”
“How long did you wait?”
His gaze drifted up to the ceiling. “Maybe an hour, tops? I called a few gods first. Thought they were screwing with me. Asked them if they’d taken them.”
“Who did you ask?” Myra moved over to her desk, pulling out a pad and pen.
“Death, first.”
“Why Death?” she asked.
“He’s new here. I’ve tricked him out of more than one soul over the years. I mean...a lot. He might look refined and restrained and smart, but he’s fallen for the same bait and switches for centuries. I thought he might want to get back at me for some of that.”
“And?” I asked, trying to connect the image I had of Thanatos—humorless and infinitely more interested in the little details of living a mortal life—with the idea of pulling a prank.
Could not brain my way through that.
“He said he’d never break contract with Ordinary in such a way.”
“You believed him?”
He nodded. “Death has a thing about contracts. Then I called Eris, Ares, Bishamon, Apep.”
Goddess of discord, God of war, God of warriors and punisher of evil-doers, and God of chaos. Looked like he’d covered most of the obvious bases.
“Nopes all around. So I called Poseidon.”
“What?” Myra asked. “Why Poseidon?”
“Because when doesn’t he screw up? Do you know how many times Poseidon has died? Not just died, but died stupidly and accidentally?”
Not that most people made it a point to die purposely, but he had a point. Poseidon’s power had changed hands five times in recent history because the mortal—both males and females—who tended to pick up that power, were always too confident about their ability not to drown.
Then they always drowned.
Just three months ago during the Rhubarb Rally, Poseidon had almost drowned when drinking a toast to the blessing of the Rhubarb Regatta.
But dying a lot didn’t mean Poseidon was after the god powers. Nor that he had the ability to pick up all of them, move them, and find a place to hide them.
“Seems a little out of Poseidon’s M.O.,” I said.
Crow rolled his eyes. “Ask any of the gods. Most of our biggest disasters have happened because of Poseidon.”
“He’s the god of the sea,” Myra said. “I’m not convinced he’d want anything to do with stealing god powers.”
“Yes, well you haven’t been alive for several thousand years. God of the sea is klutz of the universe. He probably tripped and somehow fell on the oven latch and let all the powers loose and doesn’t want to get blamed for it. Trust me, he’s a suspect.”
“Trust you?” I put down my coffee. “Because you’ve given us so many reasons to do so?”
“Hey, I helped you find your ex-exboyfriend so you could give him Heimdall’s power.”
“He’s still an ex-boyfriend, and you picking up your power to help me find him is what got you into this mess. You should have just left Ordinary for a year. Like the rules say. Like Hera and Thor did. Like everyone does.”
“But I like it here,” he whined.
“Of course you like it here—it’s a vacation.”
“What kind of consequences are we going to have to deal with from him not picking up his power?” Myra asked.
“Good question,” I said. “If we’re lucky—and we never are—maybe all that will happen is the powers will have been stolen.”
She was still frowning. “It’s in our job description to mete out punishment to the god who breaks the rules of Ordinary.”
“Is there precedence for this sort of thing?”
“No,” Crow said.
“I’m sure there is,” Myra said. “But I’d have to look it up.”
“Do that.”
“What?” Crow said. “I thought you were my friends.”
I raised my eyebrows at his fake outrage. “We are. But like it or not, once we find the powers, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. We have a job to do—look after Ordinary and make sure everyone plays by the rules. And you do have a job to do, Crow. A power to wield. You can’t ignore it for eternity.”
“You’re not going to kick me out of Ordinary are you, Delaney? Throw me off of my Native land.”
Yes, the mortal Crow had been born full-blood Siletz. Technically, well, and literally, this was his Native land. But the rules of Ordinary applied to all our citizens, no matter their race.
“I’m going to follow the rules laid down by our ancestors. Just like you should have.” I was getting tired of telling him this. I started toward the door. “Myra, stay here until Roy comes in. Keep an eye on Crow. I’m headed out to talk to Rossi.”
“I thought I was supposed to stay with you,” Crow said.
“No, you’re supposed to stay under our custody. Make yourself useful around here and handle some of our filing or something.”
“Filing? You do know I’m an artist, right? I’ve won awards. I hire people to handle my paperwork.”
“I’m sorry. I assumed you wanted to be useful. How about you spend the day in the holding cell.” I glanced at Myra. “That position’s open for important artists, right?”
“Always.”
“Fine.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’ll do your menial labor. But don’t think I won’t talk to the tribe about this. Using a Native boy to do your grunt work. I’m feeling oppressed.”
Myra gave him a bland look. “Please. Wanna talk oppresse
d? Woman in a man’s world here.” She pointed to the badge on her chest. “I’ll be happy to put my three-quarter pay and glass ceiling against your cut of the casino profit, successful business ownership, and godhood.”
He grinned. “Gotta love that Reed spirit. Marry me? I’m a successful business man, you know. We can be oppressed together.”
Myra rolled her eyes. Then, to me: “Call when you get to Rossi’s. Call when you leave. I’ll get hold of Jean so she knows what’s going on.”
“Okay. You got Apocalypse Pablo’s statement?”
“Yep. It’ll be on your desk by the time you get back.
“Good.”
I gathered up my coat and a beanie, shivering a little as I slid into the cool and damp of them.
“I could loan you my hat,” Crow offered.
“No.”
“It will keep you dry. C’mon. You know you want it.”
“I don’t want it. No one wants it. It’s stupid and isn’t even a funny joke.”
“Fine. You obviously don’t understand fashion. Have fun being wet and so last year, beanie head.”
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “Bye, Myra. Don’t shoot him anywhere he’d sue us for.”
“Got it,” she said.
I ducked out into the rain and trudged to the Jeep.
Chapter 3
The vampire at the door wore a tuxedo and a scowl. It’d been awhile since I’d seen short, dark, suspicious Leon Rossi. Last time was at the July beach “clothing optional” bonfire Old Rossi had thrown. Leon worked night shift lead at the cannery and had been living in Ordinary for over a century.
“Chief.” He stepped aside so I could enter. Rossi’s home could at best be described as eclectic and at worst Winchester Mansion crazy.
“Didn’t know you were pulling butler duty, Leon. Tux looks good.” I unzipped my coat and he took it, holding it at arm’s length so it didn’t drip on his fancy shoes.
“Was out of town at a midnight wedding. Got the call about Sven. Didn’t take time to change.”
“Everybody here?” I asked.
“Yes. This isn’t something that Old Rossi will take lightly.”
“He shouldn’t. Someone in his family is dead.”
His eyes flashed that odd blue unique to angry fangers. “It’s rare to happen. Not death, but the manner of it.”
“Gunshot and blood symbols?”
His lips pressed together and I could see the slight indentation of his fangs pressing into his bottom lip. Leon was angry, and more than that, uncomfortable.
“Gunshot,” he said.
All right. I don’t know why he didn’t want to acknowledge the blood symbols. Maybe it was a vampire thing.
“Were you close to him?” I asked.
“Never saw him outside of family gatherings. Didn’t talk to him much then. He was nice. Followed the family rules.”
The Rossis weren’t related. The clan was made up of individual vampires Rossi had approved and given his family name. They passed themselves off as cousins, in-laws, and distant relations. They didn’t make a big deal about it, and the mortals in town didn’t question it. Since Old Rossi presented himself as a man who would rather make love than war, people expected him to help out his family members, take them in, line up employment, and help get them on their feet.
What most mortals in town didn’t know was that Rossi carefully vetted every vampire who came into Ordinary and upheld a strict set of rules for vampire behavior. If a vampire stepped outside those bounds, Rossi took them down, quietly, and with no trace left behind.
That was another of Ordinary’s agreements: Rossi took care of vampire behavior and violence, and Granny Wolfe took care of werewolf behavior and violence. As the police in town, we could arrest either type of creature if they were breaking the law, but if they dissolved into gang war or racial violence, Rossi and Granny put an end to it by putting an end to them.
Leon gestured me toward the interior of the house, and I followed.
“Where was the wedding?”
“Spokane. One of my coworkers needed a date. It was her sister’s wedding. Since it was at night, it worked for me.”
One of the reasons so many vampires came to Ordinary was because of the living conditions. Not only was it a quiet little town, it was also one of the few places in the world where daylight didn’t harm vamps.
Vampires in town could go out in daylight, though they usually kept most of their skin covered and wore sunblock. I’d asked Old Rossi why daylight in Ordinary didn’t hurt vampires and had gotten a vague lecture on geology, meteorology, and I’m pretty sure the Bermuda Triangle.
It didn’t make sense then, and I hadn’t asked again.
Outside of Ordinary, vampires accepted by Rossi could also move in daylight for limited times. That had something to do with his claim as their prime, the connection between them and him, and him and Ordinary.
If not for that, vampires would be night creatures only just like in the legends and movies.
“Her sister was furious she had a date.”
“Sibling rivalry?”
He grinned wide enough to show fangs. “Had to break up a fight. Between the bridesmaids.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Open bar and a show. I enjoyed it.”
“By open bar you are talking alcohol, not jugular, right?”
“Sure, Chief.”
Vampire activity outside of Ordinary was beyond my jurisdiction. Over state lines it was definitely outside my jurisdiction.
“You tell me anymore, I’ll have to take you in, Leon.”
“I suppose you would.”
Well, now I was worried. Not that there was a lot I could do about it. If I found a dead body and told the cops a vampire drank them dry, I’d be laughed out of the station. Plus, there would be the problem of proof.
As in I had none.
Old Rossi kept some cutthroat lawyers on call for family members with legal problems. Lawyers who also happened to be vampires and would make sure I’d lose that sort of case.
Still, I’d do a quick check to make sure no one from Spokane had turned up dead after a wedding.
“I’m joking,” he said. “I drank alcohol, not blood.”
I tried not to let him see how glad I was to hear that. But he was a vampire. I’m sure he could tell my mood by my heart rate.
Voices grew louder as we neared a family room toward the back of the house that was the size of a hotel ballroom.
Leon wasn’t kidding all the Rossis were here. At last count, we had sixty-four vampires in town. Many of them were hermits on the outskirts of Ordinary whom I never saw. But I knew Rossi kept tabs on them, and their comings and goings. I scanned faces of the vamps I’d rarely seen, reacquainting myself with them. They, of course, hadn’t changed since I’d last seen them.
Long life had some advantages.
“He’s in his study.” Leon pointed to the door at my right.
“Who?”
“Old Rossi.”
“Did you tell him I was here?”
He smiled again. His eyes focused on my neck and did not budge. I knew he was messing with me. “He knows you are here. We all do.”
Right. If it wasn’t the scent of my blood that tipped them off, it was probably the whole vampire telepathy thing they all shared. I’m sure Leon had told Old Rossi I was at the door before I’d even rung the doorbell.
“Thanks.” Still, manners were manners. I knocked softly.
“Come in.”
I opened the dark wooden door and stepped into the room.
For a creature of the night, Old Rossi sure liked his pastels. The room was painted a soothing misty gray, the accents a soft white, the wood floor honey blond. Although this was his study, there were no books in this room and no desk. There was, instead, a curve of lush shell-blue couches, slender tables that seemed to have grown out of the honey flooring, and wall-to-wall white open-fronted cabinets with backlit glass
shelves. All filled with carved eggshells.
Hundreds of eggshells, from huge ostrich eggs to tiny hummingbird eggs, all of them carved into impossible swirls, hollows and designs, perched on delicate glass pedestals that seemed too thin to for them to balance upon.
A few of the eggs were brushed with gilding or showed glints of diamonds and other precious gems and metals. A few were dyed so that the contrast in carved layers created landscapes and portraits. But most of them were simply soft shades of shell, carved into impossible twists and cages.
There was no carpeting on the floor. Every vibration of every movement in the house was telegraphed to the fragile sculptures. It said something about vampires that there could be dozens of them in this house and the shells weren’t even trembling.
I took in a breath and let it out slowly, hoping my heartbeat didn’t send anything tumbling.
Rossi sat on the couch, his back toward me so that I only saw his dark hair and wide shoulders.
“I need to speak with you,” I said.
“I know.”
I walked over to him, my feet falling as quietly as I could manage, the slightest rattle of glass and shell brushing the air with each step. When I rounded the couch, I could see what Rossi was looking at.
Sven Rossi lay upon a glass table in front of the couch. The glass table beneath him was low to the ground but both long and wide enough to hold him. It seemed to be the only sturdy thing in the room.
Sven was naked, a white satin sheet draped over his hips. The designs drawn in blood across his pale chest seemed too loud in the room, a gory shout against the silence of the artistic carved shells that surrounded us.
“What is on your mind, Delaney?” Old Rossi’s voice was toneless and soft, as if his words were sifting down from a long distance.
I tore my gaze away from Sven’s still form, shoving aside my sorrow. I hadn’t known Sven for long, but I’d liked him. To see him here, dead—totally dead and not just sort of undead—made me realize I’d miss him.
“Do you know how this happened?” I asked.
“Bullet to the head.”
“That doesn’t kill a vampire.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So how did he die?”
“Ichor techne.”
