by J. P. Rice
Lauren pointed at the phone as she spoke, “It makes phone calls and sends texts, nothing crazy. When you called earlier and said you were stopping by, it didn’t give me much time. But I just uploaded the numbers of all your former contacts into this phone. I don’t know if they are current, but these numbers were all I had to go on from your files.”
“I suppose I will need a new phone, no matter how much I hate technology.” I went to stuff it in my pocket.
Lauren’s eyes lit up as if she had just remembered a great secret. “Oh wait, there is one cool feature on this. Let me see it.”
I handed the phone to Lauren. She backed up, pressed a few buttons on it and pointed it at me. A loud camera click sounded, and Lauren walked up to me. She showed me the screen of my headshot. Not to be too narcissistic, but I looked damn good for my age.
“You can take a picture of someone else, even just their head, and then project a full body image of the person. Down to every exact inch.” She pressed a button at the bottom of the picture and a beam of light sprang from the phone.
It projected a life-size image of my head and then it filled in my body, including the clothes I was wearing. It was like looking in a mirror, exact height too. Lauren said, “You can use this if you are trying to shift to look like someone else. You probably don’t need it with your skills, but this will give you a full image of their body so you can replicate it exactly.”
“That might come in handy if I ever remember to use it,” I joked.
Lauren added, “Well, it’s the only special thing this phone does so there won’t be a bunch of apps to confuse you.”
“And there’s one other thing yinz’ll be needing.” Randall jiggled a set of keys in his hand as he approached me. “Your company car awaits in the garage at the end of the block. There’s directions on the passenger seat to your new town house. Give it a few hours so we can stock it with food and supplies. Then, she’s all yours.”
“Thank you. It was so nice to see both of you. I’ll be back soon.” I hugged them again and went on my way.
I picked up my chariot in the form of a modified Jeep Wrangler with a 6-inch suspension lift. The red apple body with chromed step bars and edging made for a bad ass vehicle well suited for off-roading. In this crazy business, having those capabilities could only help. As I drove down the street, I dialed up a six-hundred-year-old vampire whom I needed to visit.
Chapter 5
Lexis, the female vampire concierge, knocked on Jonathan’s office door. A muffled yell sounded from inside. She opened the door and poked her head in the crack. “Jonathan, Gale is here to see you. She doesn’t have an...”
I heard a familiar voice cut her off, “Send her in right away.”
Gale Sutherland was my undercover name. I used it for obvious reasons. Lexis pushed the door open and I strolled into the beautifully decorated office with museum quality paintings hanging on the walls. Picasso. Marc Chagall. It was a regular who’s who of famous artists.
My gaze quickly landed on Guernica and a jolt of pride shot through me. I stared at the Picasso piece that represented the German bombings of the town named Guernica. I shivered thinking about the death and destruction in Guernica.
However, I also realized how much additional mayhem I had stopped by taking the spear away from the Nazis. The pride was laced with a bitter sweetness knowing if the spear ever landed in the wrong hands, it could spell doom.
A dirty-blond man stood near the two chairs facing Jonathan’s desk. “I’m glad we can still work together. Let me know if you hear anything else I might need to know.”
“Absolutely,” Jonathan told him as he walked across the room to meet me.
Jonathan looked tiny standing next to this strapping young man who appeared to be a vampire, but a damn sexy one at that. It was like an old King Arthur next to a young and mighty Lancelot. Jonathan had a round, pumpkin-colored face, gray eyes and long, ebony hair tied in a ponytail. His orange-tinted skin separated him from the other vampires who were ghostly white.
The blond man, although pale and sweaty, had chiseled facial features, a strong jawline and a perfect smile. I looked down shyly, caught off guard by the sparkling circular slivers of sapphire irises that were barely visible because of his dime-sized pupils. I wasn’t attracted to him sexually due to my allegiance to my husband, but I could appreciate a handsome man when I saw one.
“Hello,” he said, nodding with a smirk as he walked by.
“Hi,” I responded and stepped to the side.
The young man opened the door and turned around with the knob in his hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Jonathan.”
“All right, Mike,” Jonathan said and waved at him, but he focused his attention squarely on me.
Mike? That wasn’t? Was it? It was. The Golden Boy. The blond hair. On second thought, he wasn’t that good-looking. Average at best, really. Other than my husband, there was only one man who stirred those kinds of feelings inside me. And he wasn’t Mike Mungino or whatever his name was.
I cut right through the pleasantries and said what was on my mind, “So that’s the Golden Boy of Pittsburgh, huh?”
Decked out in a deep purple suit with a dovetail jacket and a black bow tie, Jonathan held his arms out at his sides. Our greeting probably seemed cold, but I didn’t touch vampires in fear that they would try to sap my powers, and Jonathan understood that.
The short vampire said, “Hey, June. How the hell have you been for the past three decades? You act like we saw each other last week. And how the hell do you look younger?”
Jonathan knew me better than most. He could tell when I was getting mad and knew how to change the subject to keep me from blowing up. I went with him for now, but I wanted to know what association he shared with Mike.
“Sorry,” I apologized, and stared at his Guernica painting on the wall again. “I just keep hearing about that kid everywhere I go. By the way, I wanted to thank you for keeping the agency open. I’ll pay you back when I hit up my buried treasures.”
Jonathan waved me off. He probably had more money than he could ever spend. Not only were there priceless paintings hanging on the wall but he had shelves filled with antiques that one would find in a museum. Jonathan picked up a remote control from his desk and pressed a button with his thumb. Heavy metal blasted from speakers hidden in the walls. He pressed the remote again, lowering the volume until it reached a low background level.
I continued in a calmer tone, “As for me, I’d love to say the last thirty years have been great. The first twenty, not so much, but after I escaped the near-death experience at the Red Cavern, I went down south and just lived. For once, I just lived. No worrying about anyone except myself. I didn’t worry about someone sneaking up behind me and sticking an enchanted knife in my back. I just lived.”
“That sounds great. Like a drink?” he offered, raising his eyebrow.
“It was wonderful. And a drink sounds wonderful too. How about a Sazerac? I discovered them down south. Does your crew know how to make one?” I inquired.
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders and took his jacket off, folding it neatly. “We have rye whiskey, bitters, absinthe and simple syrup at our disposal. Unless you substitute bourbon, which we have as well.”
I shook my head. “I prefer the classic.”
“Fair enough. Our bartender is properly trained, so worry not, young lady. He knows to coat the glass with absinthe first. What are you doing back in these parts?” he asked as he laid his jacket over the back of the chair. He sat down at his ornate desk, picked up the corded phone receiver and pressed a few buttons on the base.
I sat down on the chair on my right. “Mainly here to see my father, but I’m too scared to go to his house now that I’m so close.”
Jonathan Rickleshaw told everyone that he was over six hundred years old, but I knew the truth. After some heavy drinking about a hundred years ago, he’d spilled the beans to me and three other people. Even in his inebriated condition, he’
d forced us to swear under an oath that we wouldn’t tell anyone his secrets, or we would suffer immediate death.
The vampire had been true to his word. Two of the men died within two months of Jonathan’s revelation, serving as a firm reminder to keep my mouth shut. As far as I knew, only three people who were still alive knew this story. Two were sitting in this room.
Jonathan’s father was none other than Vlad the Impaler. When his father had turned into a vampire and fled Wallachia, Vlad IV Dracul the Monk vowed not to follow in his father’s footsteps. After being exiled to Transylvania for twenty years, he’d ascended to the Wallachian throne.
Due to civil and regional unrest, Vlad IV knew he had no choice but to fake his own death and flee his homeland. He allowed himself to be turned, and once he had vampire blood coursing through him, his closest subjects stuffed him into a coffin.
They sneaked Vlad out of Wallachia and released him from the casket. He traveled west through Europe, eventually finding passage to the United States in the late 1800s. Vlad IV Dracul the Monk became Jonathan Rickleshaw the Vampire. Over the years, he’d developed a stranglehold on the rare antique auction business in Pittsburgh.
Ironically, his father, Vlad Dracul the Impaler now lived in the demon underworld called the Red Cavern.
Jonathan held his finger in the air in the “one second” pose and spoke into the phone receiver. “Yes, Shane. I’m in my office. I need my usual and my friend would like a Sazerac.” He paused for a few moments and glanced at me. “Yeah, better make it a double. Thank you.” He hung up the phone, slid back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “Does your father’s new family still give you a hard time?”
“Psshh. Hard time. Louis and Mary Antoinette got off light compared to this. Their eyes pierce my soul like a restless dagger in the dead of night. They strike cowardly. In groups. Using their blond pigtails like spiked whips. They gang up on me and all the while I could easily kill all of them on the spot. I don’t know why I put up with it if we are being honest.”
“Ah, being civilized is vastly overrated,” he said, cracking a smile.
I’d come to Pittsburgh over one hundred years ago because of Jonathan. We’d met in Sleepy Willow and he recommended this city because it had a strong, yet secret supernatural element. As to when the vampires had arrived in Pittsburgh, I’d never been able to get a straight answer. The most common answer was 1850.
I had a friendly relationship with a lot of the vampires, but I always remembered they were bloodthirsty animals. And I didn’t intend to demean animals or vampires, just to state that they are both animalistic in nature. Driven by primal needs.
I asked, “So how is everything with you?”
Jonathan’s eyes widened as if he had a lot to say. “Since I last saw you, us vampires finally got our shit together and organized a set of rules to abide by. I’m happy to say it’s been rather effective. We developed the Midnight Council with one representative from each house. Since its inception, all the houses have stopped working against each other. No more infighting amongst ourselves, and no more heat from Johnny Law. The latest development would be that a group of wolves attacked one of my men who simply went to see my lawyer.”
Werewolves and vampires hated each other. They both constantly thought the other was infringing on their turf and well-being. Vampires could kill lycanthropes in unconventional ways and vice versa. With that in mind, it surprised me these spats didn’t occur more frequently. A war between the two factions would be detrimental to Pittsburgh.
“Why would they do that? Was Octavius there?” I asked and unzipped my jacket the rest of the way.
“As for the latter question, no. It was at my lawyer’s house. Roydell went up to deliver a package to my lawyer and they jumped him. He took out a few of them first, but then he succumbed to the assault. Brave warrior. Regarding the former question, who knows why they do that voodoo that they do, so well,” he stated with a clever grin.
I chuckled at his Blazing Saddles reference, but this was a serious situation. The wolves killing a vampire out of the blue made no sense. Even as natural enemies, neither side was stupid enough to start a war. Were they? “Are they trying to start a war?”
He swung his feet down and leaned over his desk, his normally orange face bordering on burgundy. “That’s what it seems like. If so, they got one. I’ll be more than happy to oblige. More than fucking happy. They are asking for something they can’t handle. I’ll tell you that, June,” he said, eyes wide and filled with blood lust.
My calm, cool and collected friend had transformed into a beast. If there was a huge pile of coke on his desk, this could be a cut scene from the end of Scarface. My man was losing it.
I had to reverse his tactic on him and change the subject before he started foaming at the mouth. “Have you heard anything about Darabond?”
Jonathan pursed his lips, causing his cheeks to wrinkle. He shook his head as if the question disgusted him. “June, I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t been asking around like I used to, but I haven’t heard anything on the matter. Good or bad. I hope I can count on you not to run over to Octavius’ side.”
Jonathan knew better than to force me to choose a side. He differed drastically from the cerebral vampire I remembered. I barely recognized this animated immortal, ready to act on emotional impulse. That meant either Jonathan had changed dramatically, or he had already exhausted his peaceful reasoning and was moving on to the next step. Or had I changed?
I’d destroyed so much in my past. So many beautiful creatures. I could admit that I regretted some of my actions. Now was my chance to be a peacemaker. A new Junipher. A moral Junipher.
I’d known Octavius for over fifty years. Maybe I could work out this wrinkle and heal my tainted soul in the process. It couldn’t hurt the prospect of my induction into the Celtic Pantheon either. In fact, it would bolster it.
I suggested, “Why don’t I sit down with Octavius as your representative and solve this problem? I know I’ve been away for a while, but I know him well and he’ll listen to me.”
Jonathan’s glossy eyes, still filled with rage, stared at me as he rose slowly from his chair. “He owes us big for what he did to Roydell.”
He was already making this more difficult for me. I asked, “What type of retribution were you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s say the head of Octavius since he clearly sanctioned the atrocity. I don’t even need the body, just the head,” he stated melodramatically, waving his hands around.
“Do you have any proof that Octavius sanctioned it?”
Jonathan stopped moving and stared at me, dumbfounded. “Have you ever heard of the word, intuition? You should look it up.”
I stood up, anger coursing through my body, and walked purposefully toward his desk. A ginger storm was brewing. “Listen, motherfooker. I know you’re fired up about this, but don’t you dare talk down to me.” My former self kicked in. The one that would kick ass first, and ask questions later if there were any survivors.
He backed up and put his open hands in front of his chest. I could smell his magic, probably brimming right under the surface of his skin. Ironically, it gave off an odor of roasted garlic. If he wanted a fight, I could break his vampire neck right here.
Instead, he spoke apologetically, “I didn’t mean to insult. And it’s not like you haven’t insulted me in the past. People still ask me why you call me Jack-O’.”
I stopped in my tracks. He was right. I had to work on controlling the dark blood swimming around inside me. Before my husband had disappeared over two hundred years ago, I was as happy as a meadowlark. My bitterness over the situation had quickly shifted to rage.
It had sparked a fire of anger inside me. A fire that consumed my body and soul. A fire that still smoldered just below the surface, waiting to come out and cause wrath. A fire that, once stoked and it began to blaze, took a mighty effort to extinguish.
I had given him the nickname J
ack-O’ about 70 years ago, which was short for jack o’lantern because of his orange face. I’d meant it in jest, but I had to cut him a break because of it. He had never snapped at me over the insult.
Perhaps coming back to Pittsburgh was a bad idea. It already had me fired up. Perhaps I could turn this into a quick visit and get back to Hilton Head. Get the hell away from all this nonsense.
As I walked back to my chair, I asked, “So have you heard any rumors about Lugh’s Spear?”
Jonathan smiled and pointed at me. “There it is. I knew it. I knew why you came back to Pittsburgh. You just can’t keep your hands off that shaft, can you?”
I smirked at his reference and sat back down. “I told you. I came to see my father. But I wouldn’t be handling my due diligence if I didn’t at least ask about it.”
A firm double knock sounded on the door, and Jonathan screamed, “Enter.”
Shane walked in with a drink in each hand. He dropped off Jonathan’s red beverage first and handed me my drink on his way out the door. Perfect timing. Hopefully, these drinks would calm us both down. I took a sip and nodded in approval. Jonathan was right. His bartender was skilled. It was one of the better Sazeracs I’d ever had.
Jonathan took a sip, set his drink on his desk and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry about the spear, I can just put Mike Merlino on it. It sounds like you’ve heard some stories about him.”
I leaned back and drained more of my tasty beverage, the alcohol soothing my nerves and relaxing me. “I’ve heard some stories. I suppose you’re going to gush all over him too?”
Jonathan pulled his chair up behind him and sat back down. “Not at all. However, if you are to stay in this city, you’d be wise to befriend him. He has his finger on the pulse and always knows what’s going on. But I won’t gush over him. And I am extremely partial considering he took a few silver bullets dipped in holy water for me.”
