Raven Mask

by Winter Pennington

Futhark actually bowed to me.

  “Prime?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He looked a little confused.

  “My apologies, Futhark,” I said as politely as I could. “I’m a little ignorant of vampire society.”

  “There is no need to apologize. You are wondering what the title means?”

  I nodded.

  He looked at Lenorre again. “I can see why you like her, my lady. She has a sense of honesty and forwardness you do not often see.”

  Oh, yeah, he was an old vampire. I’d bet my ass on that one.

  He swept his arms out in front of him. “A Prime vampire,” he explained, “is a stronger vampire within the vampire community. We are older and offer our loyalty to the Count or Countess of a territory.”

  “You seem old enough to have your own clan,” I said.

  Futhark nodded. “I am powerful enough to become a Count if I did so choose. It is not a burden I wish to carry.”

  “Thank you, Futhark.”

  He gave a slight bow. “You are most welcome. My lady Countess has always had impeccable judgment. Any friend or ally of hers is a friend and ally of mine.”

  I didn’t really know what to say. I felt like I was suddenly stuck in some type of old court. Which, in a sense, I guess I was. Vampire court. Whoohoo.

  “Countess.” A woman’s voice rose from the group of vampires, and the speaker stepped forward, her sable hair gleaming where it fell past her shoulders. “Might I ask why you have called us into council?”

  “You may.” Lenorre looked at the vampire, her voice now empty. “One of our kind has murdered a boy. I want those of you assembled to be on the lookout. Gather what information you can. Either a traitor is among us or a stray is in town.”

  “Very well,” the woman said, smiling. Her gaze shifted to mine, and the breath caught in my throat at its intensity. Her sea-green eyes were unflinching as she stepped toward me. “Is this your new pet? I have heard a little about you.” She watched me intently, as if memorizing my every expression. I resisted the urge to squirm. I wasn’t a child, and I wasn’t human. I refused to let the big bad vampire scare me or make me uncomfortable.

  “Kassandra is no pet,” Lenorre said, and although she looked calm, I could feel the tension in her body where it touched mine.

  “Kassandra,” the vampire said, as if tasting my name on her tongue. “A lovely name for such a lovely young woman.”

  “Eris,” Lenorre said.

  She looked at me, and something in the way she did so made me think Lenorre wasn’t the only vampire with a taste for women.

  Eris turned her full attention back to Lenorre. “Countess.” She lowered her head, though unlike Futhark, she didn’t fall into a bow or curtsy. “You have done well for yourself.” Her sea-green gaze met mine again and the tension between us was like a cord being pulled tight. I didn’t like it.

  There were less than thirty vampires in the room, and not all of them introduced themselves as Futhark had. As I watched from my seat beside Lenorre, I remembered Stanley, a vampire I’d met during my first visit to the club. It was hard to miss his eyes, which were as blue as any Siamese cat’s. It was equally difficult to miss the labret piercing beneath his lower lip. I’d thought he was a younger vampire, but apparently I was mistaken. He stood in one corner of the room, wearing a knee-length velvet jacket the color of a green apple with a pair of tight black pants. I watched his slight nod in profile, the chin-length black hair swaying as he listened to a gothic-looking doll-like woman I didn’t recognize. As if he sensed my gaze, he turned, offering a wink.

  Lenorre advised them to find out what they could and report back to her. The vampires were taking their leave when I caught Eris staring at me. I was standing with Lenorre, waiting to leave, when she visually dissected me as if I stood naked in front of her. I fought my own discomfort and forced myself to look away, sensing the wolf’s agitation at my refusal to rise to the challenge. But I knew better than to take on a vampire in Lenorre’s club just because she was staring at me.

  I sensed more than saw Eris turn her attention back to Isabella. Isabella was the girlfriend of a guy named Trevor, and I had met them both at Lenorre’s when I was working my last case. Isabella lived in Lenorre’s house, but I hadn’t known she was one of the older vampires, though I remembered seeing her wearing a frilly, old-fashioned nightgown. That should’ve hinted at her age, but the first time I’d met her she’d worn a miniskirt.

  Once the room was near empty, we left. Zaphara sat in the backseat as I drove back to Lenorre’s. On the way home, she even managed to keep her mouth shut. I was tempted to swing by a gas station and buy her a damn cookie.

  Chapter Twelve

  I had just stepped into the house when the cell phone rang from my back pocket. Zaphara hadn’t said a word to me as she left the room, and for that, I was thankful. I answered on the third ring. It was Arthur.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “Dirty or—”

  “Arthur, just tell me why you’re calling me at almost one in the morning. Did a medical examiner take a look at the body?” How the hell did he get any sleep? He seemed to be up most hours of the night, though he usually didn’t phone unless it was something important. That thought worried me.

  “She didn’t get the chance.” Arthur was talking in a low voice, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  “What do you mean she didn’t get the chance?”

  “The body went missing.”

  Distantly, I heard Rosalin coming down the stairs. I turned my back on both Lenorre and Rosalin and walked into the parlor.

  “When?” I asked.

  “No one can calculate the exact time of the body’s disappearance. We’re not sure if it went missing before or after it got to the morgue. We do know that it happened somewhere between eleven and one yesterday morning.”

  That made sense. They were still trying to wrap things up when I’d left the crime scene.

  “Where was the ME?” I asked.

  “On break. She didn’t get the chance to look at the body. We’re thinking they snatched it then, when it had just arrived.”

  “Which means it was never even signed in? Have you questioned the carriers?” My mind was racing.

  “Yes. The two of them don’t remember anything. When we asked them what time they got to the morgue, they couldn’t even recall arriving there or that they had a body to transport.”

  “Shit.”

  “You’re telling me. Kass, I need to ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly.”

  “If you plan to accuse me or anyone I know, I will fucking hang up on you.”

  “I won’t accuse you or your girlfriend. I know you didn’t do it. You’re probably too busy doing one another.” He chuckled.

  I shook my head again. “Get to the point, Kingfisher. What?”

  “You said you were pretty sure it was a vampire bite.”

  “Yeah…” Where was he going with this? A thought came to mind. “You’re going to ask me if I think he was turned?”

  “Damn, you’re good. How’d you guess?”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear?”

  “Maybe,” he said lightly. “Do you think he was turned?”

  “I honestly don’t know how to tell.”

  “The only way is to have an experienced witch or vampire look at the body,” Lenorre said from behind me and I jumped, only a little startled. “A turning does not leave any physical evidence.”

  “What does it leave?” I asked her while Arthur coughed in my ear.

  “A change in the aura. You would have been able to sense it, but you keep your shields drawn too tightly.” I believed her. I shield like a son of a bitch to keep a lot of things from getting through them.

  “How long does it take for a vampire to rise?”

  “It depends on the strength of the vampire that turned him. It drains both participants.” She didn’t bother to conceal the thoughtful expression that furrowed her brows. “
Only an older vampire has enough power, or energy, if you wish, to sire a subaltern. If the vampire that sired the lesser is strong enough, the youngling would have risen by nightfall this evening. The longest period of time it would take is four days.”

  “Are you hearing this?” I asked Arthur.

  “Some of it. It’s all vampire-speak to me. What does she mean?”

  “It means, if the vampire that sired Timothy is strong enough, he’d have risen tonight.”

  “Fuck. We’re in deep shit. Not only will Holbrook rip me a new one, but the boy’s parents will tear into me if they find out their son is an evil, undead minion.”

  “Being an evil, undead minion isn’t illegal in America, Arthur. His parents can’t do shit unless they’ve hired someone to stake the body and signed a consensual release. Did they? Did anyone tell them it might’ve been a vampire attack?”

  “No, and no,” he said a little more lightly. “We withheld that information. The parents believe it was a cult.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “Kass, I don’t like them either. The dad’s okay, but the boy’s mother is a fucking right-wing lunatic. What am I supposed to tell them? In the end, we have to say something. You remember how it goes.”

  “Arthur, I know, but we’re still not certain. The only way we can be certain is to find Timothy’s stolen body, dead or undead. If he consented to being turned, you can’t do anything.”

  “Except tell his parents. Kass, he’s only sixteen! I’ve had to tell parents their child was murdered, but never that their child was turned into one of the walking dead.”

  “Arthur, he’s not a zombie. He’s not the walking dead. If he’s a vampire, then he’s undead.” Why didn’t more cops have preternatural training? No offense to Arthur, but they were simply clueless most of the time. Oh, wait, I’d be out a job if all of them had the training I did. Scratch that thought.

  “Can the parents press charges?”

  “On you or the vamps?”

  “Both.”

  I sighed. “Here’s the deal. If Timothy consented to being turned, then no, no one can press charges. In Oklahoma the age of consent is sixteen. That’s applicable to vampire turnings. If Timothy was taken against his will and protests, then he can press charges against the offender. The parents cannot take action against the department. So take a deep breath, pop a Valium, and relax. We’ll figure this out.”

  “I wish I had a Valium.”

  “Welcome to the joys of being a detective, Kingfisher.”

  “I heard Holbrook offered you the position once. You turned it down. Why?”

  I sat on the couch with a sigh. After I was infected with lycanthropy, when I told Captain Holbrook I was leaving, he offered me the position of detective if I agreed to stay. I couldn’t. The pay was a little higher, but the hours were erratic and unstable. It was also a heavy burden I wasn’t willing to carry, werewolf or no. I didn’t know how Arthur had heard. Maybe he’d spoken to Holbrook. That was the only thing I could think of, because no one at the department knew.

  “I didn’t want that much responsibility.”

  I heard his heavy sigh. Being a detective was really beginning to take its toll on him. If he didn’t take it easy, he’d crash and burn. As much as he sometimes irritated me, he was a good guy, and a good cop.

  “Arthur, you need to get some sleep. You’re not any good to the department exhausted and sleep-deprived. Go home and get a good night’s rest. I’ll do what I can. Lenorre’s got her vampires looking into it. If I hear anything, I’ll call your cell phone. You’ll fold under this much stress if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “You should’ve taken the promotion.” His words were empty, his usual jesting tone gone. Arthur always made jokes. He always saw the bright side of any situation. If he didn’t see a bright side, he’d light a match and make one. He was always eager about working a new case, solving a crime. He enjoyed his job, even with the horrors he saw. This level of seriousness worried me.

  “Arthur, you’re a good person and a good detective. You were the one meant to be a detective, not me. That’s not my path in life. It never was. I knew that. That’s why I turned down the promotion. Even now, you’re sacrificing your well-being to make the world a better place.”

  “What for? We take out one bad guy and another one shows up.”

  The vulnerability in his voice made my throat tight. I’d never heard Arthur sound like he was on the verge of breaking.

  “That’s how life is,” I said bluntly. “Arthur, just trust me. You’ll feel better if you go home and rest. Okay?”

  “You’ll let me know me if you hear anything?” The moment seemed to have passed. He wasn’t joking, but his tone was firmer, more like he was getting a grip.

  “Yeah, I’ll call.”

  With that, he hung up. I closed the phone and slid it back into my pocket, then rubbed my temples, taking a deep breath and holding it. “What now?” I said to no one in particular.

  Lenorre answered. “We wait.”

  “I hate waiting.”

  Rosalin sat on the other end of the couch. “Me too.” She looked at me. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”

  I shook my head and she tsked softly. “Come on, I’ll make you some dinner. I know coffee is God for you, but it’s not substantial.”

  Rosalin stood, pulling her bright orange shirt over her hips.

  “You like taking care of people, don’t you?” I asked.

  A look of compassion crossed her face. “I like taking care of those I care about.”

  “Couldn’t tell.” I grinned and looked at Lenorre, and as if she saw my thoughts written across my features she asked, “Kassandra, what are you thinking?”

  I didn’t even know if Lenorre could cook. It was the thought that amused me. I kept grinning, and Rosalin laughed.

  “Uh-oh, she has that look.”

  “What look?” I asked, feigning innocence.

  “The one that says you’re up to something.”

  “I’m not up to anything.”

  “Kassandra,” Lenorre said, “do not try to play innocent. What are you about?”

  “Well, Rosalin does an awful lot of work around the house—cooking, cleaning, and taking care of things. I’m sure she’d appreciate a respite.”

  Rosalin laughed. “How do you think I earn my keep?”

  “Even if you’re working, you should get a day off.”

  “Are you offering to cook dinner?” Lenorre expertly tried to turn the table.

  I laughed. “Oh, no, you don’t want me to.”

  “Yeah, that scares me,” Rosalin said. “Let’s not, but we can say she did.”

  “I can cook, if I have to.”

  Rosalin rolled her eyes. “What? With the microwave?”

  “I was thinking that Lenorre should make dinner.” I was.

  “If you can get Lenorre to make dinner, I’ll do a freaking backflip.”

  Lenorre crossed her arms over her chest and flashed dainty fangs. “Done.”

  “What?” Rosalin’s jaw hung open.

  Lenorre spoke over her shoulder on the way out of the room. “Do not be surprised if you find I have talents even you are not aware of, Kassandra.” To Rosalin, she said, “When I am done fulfilling my part of the bargain you owe us a backflip.”

  Rosalin stared when Lenorre, appearing completely dumbfounded, left the room.

  I tried not to laugh.

  “Yeah, laugh it up,” she said. “Has anyone ever told you you’re manipulative?”

  I pushed myself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. If Lenorre was cooking, I had to see this.

  “All the time.” I grinned like an imp. “I just can’t believe I managed to get two birds with one stone, that time. That’s fucking talent.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lenorre had made fettuccini Alfredo, and I had to admit it was excellent. The sauce was creamy with just the right amount of freshly ground b
lack pepper and chicken. I bit into a warm breadstick smothered in butter and sprinkled with Italian herbs.

  “Lenorre, you have a phone call.” I nearly dropped my fork at the sound of Zaphara’s voice. I hadn’t heard her enter the room nor had I heard a telephone ring.

  “Downstairs,” Zaphara told Lenorre, as she stood. I watched Lenorre leave the room until she was out of sight. Zaphara stayed in the doorway, staring at me. I resisted the urge to throw my fork at her because a fork probably wouldn’t hurt her.

  She’d taken off the spiffy trench coat and was wearing a form-fitting black shirt with slits up the sides of her torso. A line of white skin peeked through the buckles that held the slits together. Zaphara propped herself against the archway, turning at the hip to reveal the silhouette of her small breasts where the fabric clung to them. It took me a second glance to realize her nipples weren’t hard; they were pierced and she was showing them off.

  I met her amethyst stare, giving her the blankest expression I could muster. The expression must’ve worked because the grin on her face faltered.

  “Those must’ve hurt,” I said.

  “It felt good to me.” She raised her hand as if to touch them.

  I busied myself by twirling a small amount of fettuccini around my fork.

  “You don’t strike me as the masochistic type.”

  “I have varied tastes.”

  “Goody for you.” I raised the fork to my mouth and drew the noodles off with my teeth. If she wanted to have a stare-down, fine. I could do that.

  “You would be such fun to play with.” She said it almost wistfully, and I relaxed. I could win this round.

  Rosalin remained silent, as if she didn’t want to draw attention. I ignored Zaphara’s comment. She was just trying to get under my skin, and if I threw a witty reply at her, she’d find one to throw right back. Rosalin leaned over her bowl and I suddenly realized just how submissive Rosalin could be, even though she was beta wolf of the Blackthorne Pack. She might as well be on her back, offering up her soft belly. That said something about either Zaphara and whatever she was or Rosalin. I wasn’t sure which.