by Carly Hansen
“Well, if this is sure to disturb your fragile peace, what are you going to do?”
“There’s no way I can do anything but bring it to the Assembly of Werewolves. I must let them know we’ll be hunting for the perpetrator. This isn’t something that can be swept under the rug. If the werewolf that did this is allowed to strike again, humans may dig deeper. And who knows, this may be the investigation that blows the lid on the existence of all supernaturals.”
“Well, you might get lucky and have the investigation led by lazy cops who say the girls were killed by wild animals.”
“Animals that then shaved their heads?”
Fenix sighed. Yes, that was an important detail.
“Okay,” she said. “So the cops may fall back on the easiest theory, which is to say that this was the work of some sick serial killer.”
“That would be an incredibly mobile serial killer to get to those three victims in one night. Werewolves could do it, but even the most determined human couldn’t.”
And vampires easily could, Fenix thought.
Micha folded his arms and looked at her sternly. “But your point is?”
Fenix felt gagged and frustrated.
If Micha was somehow responsible for the destruction his own kind had wrought this night, and if it was all part of a devious campaign to benefit his business, there was little she could say to stop him.
But if he was honestly unaware that vampires had been on the prowl and had mauled those girls to make it appear to be the work of werewolves, then he was on the brink of being used to set off a dangerous chain of events.
Fenix wanted to believe it was the latter case, but she’d known Micha for too short a time to be sure of that. She couldn’t risk telling him of the visions she’d had of the three Birstall murders, and of the attack on the girl in the alley.
She took in a deep breath. “Your fear that humans will uncover the existence of supernaturals through these incidents is probably unfounded.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“You’re probably overestimating the abilities of the cops. And if that fear is causing you to push to raise this with the werewolves without concrete evidence of who exactly did this, then you’re probably doing yourself and all supernaturals a disservice. Why incite a war based on flimsy evidence?”
Micha narrowed his eyes. He parted his lips as if to say something, but then he held his jaws shut as if struggling to master his anger.
This was not a man who liked to have his judgement questioned.
“Hey, I’m just saying, okay?” she said with a shrug.
Micha turned sharply away from Fenix.
“You two,” he called out to Twain and Java, “put some haste in your pace. I don’t have all night to wait around for you.”
********
Micha took to the wheel and remained silent the entire way to Alda’s. He seemed angry. Or maybe that was just how he chewed over matters.
Fenix was sorry to see that handsome face of his darken in that manner. But she didn’t regret throwing a wrench into whatever was in the works.
She didn’t understand anything that was going on. Before Micha crossed Alda’s threshold and entered Fenix’s life, she had never heard of the Vampire Council that he served, much less the Assembly of Werewolves he was planning to approach concerning the murders.
She knew nothing about inter-species diplomacy, and governing a territory was a subject that was beyond her. That was entirely Micha’s province. But what she did have was secret knowledge about the night’s events that could make all the difference between peace and war.
Intriguing as it all was, it was not enough for her to get involved in Micha’s high administrative affairs. Fenix could just as well have him drop them off at Alda’s and watch him drive off in the night, never to see him again.
Except perhaps in her daydreams.
Or maybe, her nighttime dreams. He had stirred up new and exciting feelings in her, and she wanted to see more of him. But because she didn’t understand what overcame her when he was near, and because she didn’t think she could control those emotions, she thought it was safer to deal with just the memory of Micha Angelo, rather than vampire himself in all his supernatural glory.
However, what now drew her inextricably into this web of intrigue was the girl with pink hair.
She couldn’t help but conclude that the kidnapping of the girl and the Birstall murders were somehow linked. How could they not be?
Micha had been so certain that no vampire in the territory under his authority had any further urge to feed on humans. And yet, all of a sudden, in one night, vampires had attacked, killed, and fed on three girls. And had kidnapped a fourth, right before Fenix’s eyes.
She didn’t get a clear view of the girl’s face, either in her vision or when she was chasing the kidnappers. But the girl’s body was small, and Fenix figured she was younger than her.
The girl’s long hair made Fenix think of her sister, Catelyn.
Pain stabbed her in her head, just at the thought of her sister’s name.
She hadn’t protected her sister. She had, in fact, been the cause of Catelyn’s death. Even if she had no control over the power that flew out of her hands that fateful night, Fenix couldn’t excuse herself.
She had failed her baby sister horribly.
Fenix had no clue who this girl with pink hair was or why she felt this tug in her stomach toward her. But her tormented memories of Catelyn would not allow her to back away from this now.
She couldn’t fail this vulnerable girl in her moment of need, too.
But what could she do?
Fenix came up blank as to how to deal with this dangerous information that she alone possessed. She settled on the best course that she could think of—tell Alda and see what the witch had to say.
Chapter 18
Alda’s silhouette darted from the second-story window of her apartment as Micha pulled up and parked outside the warehouse.
When they got out of the car, Twain eyed Fenix hard and snorted. “You’re in for it now.”
He had often disparaged her as being Alda’s favorite. Fenix never saw it, though. She thought Alda treated her as roughly and with as much contempt as she did any of them. Apart from Java, of course. As the smallest and youngest among them, he seemed to always get off lightly whenever he screwed up.
Twain’s skewed perception, however, meant he was forever trying to get Fenix into trouble. The twinkle in his eyes told Fenix he felt that, tonight, he was onto a winner when it came to offenses that would get her into Alda’s bad books.
The front door creaked open, and Alda’s silhouette appeared in the rectangle of light.
Twain bounded toward her. “Fenix went off and attacked some men,” he said. “He used his charmed knives on humans.”
Although Fenix’s head throbbed, her side ached, and she felt faint, she quickened her steps to catch up with Twain.
Alda turned to face him. In the dim light from the torches, her wrinkles seemed deeply grooved into her forehead. She held her lips tightly pursed. Her eyes blazed with anger.
“They were kidnapping a girl,” Fenix said. “I had to do something.”
Fenix was sure Alda would see things differently once she heard it was vampires, not humans, she’d used her charmed knife against. But with Micha coming up behind her, Fenix let Twain’s inaccurate report stand.
“I tried to stop him,” Twain said, “but he wouldn’t listen. He just had to rope us into his little crusade.”
“We couldn’t just—” Fenix began, but Alda’s hand shot into the air, cutting her off.
“Enough, you two,” the witch growled. “I’ll deal with that later.”
Twain frowned. His eyes flashed on Fenix, as if to say, “See what I mean about you being the favorite? He shifted his weight and exhaled sharply. “But Fenix—”
“Can it, Twain,” Alda snapped. She slapped him with the back of her hand and stepped outsid
e. “I want you and Java to go find Ivan.”
“What?” Java trotted toward them. “Ivan’s missing?”
Fenix felt a twinge in her heart at this development, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. “Did you and Ivan get into a fight while we were away?” Fenix asked.
Alda didn’t look at her. “Words were exchanged.”
Fenix shook her head. She could only imagine!
Alda led the way through the garden and into the garage. “He sped off in the Beetle,” she said. “You guys will have to take the motorbike.”
Alda kicked boxes and cans out of the way, then stopped at a mound hidden under a blue tarpaulin. With an angry tug, she ripped the covering from its place. A cloud of dust rose and danced in the air.
Micha walked around the gleaming silver Harley, which had a sidecar attached. “I can’t believe my eyes. This looks like something from three centuries ago. Does it still run?”
“Of course it does.” Alda let those words drop with as much contempt as they would bear. She checked the gage. “It’s still got fuel in the tank.”
Fenix knew that “fuel” meant lavender water and a drop of dragon bile.
Alda cuffed Twain on the shoulder, then pushed Java toward the sidecar. “You boys get out there, find Ivan, and bring him back.”
Twain rubbed his shoulder. “Where did he go?”
“How the hell would I know? He just stormed out of his room, stole my Beetle, and took off.”
“We could try the meatpacking district,” Java said. “That’s where his old street gang is based.”
“Well, get a move on it,” Alda said with a stamp of her foot. “With the medicine I gave him, he’s in no condition to be out there alone.”
Twain and Java took helmets out of the sidecar and donned them. Alda rummaged about in bins that sat on the ground, then produced a length of rope, which she handed to Java.
“Hog-tie him if you have to. That cord is charmed; it won’t break.”
“I’m guessing you want us to bring the Beetle back, too,” Twain said as he mounted the bike.
“But of course.”
Alda was not materialistic when it came to contemporary things, but she was almost maniacally possessive about everything she’d collected in bygone years.
Java hopped into the sidecar. Twain fired up the engine. With a roar, they sped off into the night through the magic portal in the wall.
Micha folded his arms as he watched them with wide eyes.
Fenix thought that seeing them slice through the solid wall might have left Micha speechless, but then she heard him say, “I have to admit, that machine is a beauty.”
“Don’t you try to sweeten me up,” Alda quickly replied.
It seemed to Fenix as if the witch bared her teeth with as much viciousness as the vampires had earlier.
“All this is your fault,” Alda added.
“My fault?”
“Yes,” Alda hissed.
To Fenix, the voices suddenly seemed as if they came from very far off. The dim light of the torches seemed to grow even dimmer. Her legs buckled under her, and she felt her body falling.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. She felt herself being lifted off her feet.
“Let me help you.” It was Micha’s voice, drenched with concern.
“I don’t need your damn help,” Alda said. The witch curled her hands around Fenix’s arms and legs and held her tightly against her body.
She was a proud old witch, and from what Fenix remembered of Micha’s conversation, Alda had her reasons for being permanently testy with him. But considering that it was centuries that her now-curved body had been around, Fenix would have preferred if Alda had taken up Micha on his offer to help.
Alda must have kicked in the door, because it slammed against the wall. The witch’s body jerked as she ferried Fenix up the stairs. They soon pushed through the beaded curtain, and Alda laid Fenix down gently on a hard, cold surface.
Rosemary and peppermint filled Fenix’s nostrils. A blanket of warm air wrapped around her body. Her mind drifted away. She didn’t know how long she had been in that state, but the next thing she was aware of was voices engaged in a heated exchange.
“That’s two of my crew that I had to do major work on tonight.”
“Well, I had nothing to do with the first one.”
“But it’s because of you that he’s out there wandering in the night when he should be here, in his bed, recovering.”
“I don’t see how you can blame that on me.”
“It was because of you and your filthy money.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Before Twain and Java left, Ivan heard them talking about how you were going to pay them for your little job tonight. It stirred up a lust in him. He said it was the last straw; that if I didn’t start paying him, he was walking out. It was if he had a mental block. I couldn’t get a word through to him.”
“This was no little job, Alda. It was work that could result in very serious consequences for me, you, and all supernaturals. Even humans too.”
“You and your battles! Everything is always so dramatic with you, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Face it, Micha Angelo, you were created to fight. Your blood craves it.”
“I can’t deny that.”
“You’re on the prowl all the time, just looking for fights to satisfy your blood lust. And you rope others around you into your battles, without the slightest thought about how it might destroy them.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Alda.”
“Am I?”
“First, I never asked to be what I am. I had no choice in the matter. If I could have gone back in time knowing what I know now, I would have run a stake through Eurus Angelo’s heart before he had a chance to convert me. For centuries, I’ve fought against the nature Eurus gave me. You have no idea how hard I’ve fought it. But I won’t deny that the hunger for battles is in me. That’s why I’ve chosen my fights very carefully.”
After a short pause, Micha spoke in a less severe voice. “I’ve worked damned hard all these years to channel these desires, this need to fight, into just causes. So that it all has meaning and serves a greater purpose. Secondly, I get others involved only if it absolutely can’t be avoided. It this case, it couldn’t. I had to collect that evidence in a way that would avoid sparking a war with the werewolves.”
“But you offered my boys money to do your dirty work, without a thought as to how it would tear my crew apart.”
“Alda, you should be paying them. Bartering your services is a concept that died a millennium ago. And I didn’t come here with any intention of using your assistants. If you’d gone as I’d asked, none of them would’ve been exposed to any of this.”
“And what, exactly, did you expose my boys to?”
“I admit it was bad, but not as horrible as I originally thought. The werewolf or werewolves mauled the three Birstall victims. Turned out to be all young girls. But at least they weren’t scalped. Their heads were shaved, though. Seems the perpetrators had some kind of weird fetish.”
“How young were they?”
“Who?”
“The victims.”
“Early twenties, I’d say. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Anyway, I didn’t have a chance to hand Twain and Java their payment. I’d like to give it to you before I leave.”
Two things Fenix knew about Alda’s medicine was that it was effective, and that it was rarely ever pleasant. And the second truth was very apparent, now. An intense urge to hurl came over Fenix. The thought of doing so in front of Micha horrified her. Immediately, she rolled over and sat up. She gulped down air and then held her breath.
Alda seemed to realize what was happening.
“Excuse us a moment,” the witch said as she shoved Micha toward the beaded curtain.
********
Wit
h Micha out of the room, Alda took up a small bottle and passed it under Fenix’s nose. Sparkles floated in the air. They smelled sweet, like raspberries and cinnamon. Fenix’s stomach began to settle.
“You all right?” Alda said.
Fenix nodded.
Suddenly, Alda grabbed her by the arm and tugged her down toward her.
Fenix doubled over, and Alda knocked off her flat cap.
Fenix felt the witch’s gnarled fingers working through her hair. It made her think of leeches and worms crawling around on her head.
She tried to pull away, but Alda yanked tufts of her hair, pulling her lower. The witch continued her creepy head massage, and it made Fenix’s skin crawl.
“Stop it, Alda,” Fenix cried. She pushed Alda’s hand away, but, with lightning speed, the witch grabbed her arm again.
“Tell me the truth,” Alda hissed. “Where are you from?”
“I told you a long time ago.”
“When I found you, you said you were from Tresmort.”
“And that was the truth.”
Alda shook Fenix roughly, almost undoing the work of the sweet-smelling sparkles.
“Don’t play games with me now. I may have let a lie or two pass when I needed to recruit you. But this is serious. Tell me the truth, right now!”
“Technically speaking, it was the truth. I’d been living on the streets of Tresmort for years before we met. So I could say—”
Alda squeezed Fenix’s arm so tight she thought the witch’s fingers would crush her bones. Alda could very well use her magic to do it, if she wanted.
“Answer me, Fenix. Where were you born?”
Pain shot through Fenix’s arm, and she could barely breathe. “Birstall,” she shouted.
Alda immediately let go of her.
Fenix exhaled in relief.
Alda stuck her finger under Fenix’s chin and flicked her head back. The witch’s eyes roved Fenix’s face, then she looked her deep in the eyes. “Who are you?” Alda asked. “What are you?”
The last thing Fenix wanted to talk about right now was her past and the powers she didn’t even want to have. And she especially didn’t want to discuss this with Micha Angelo just beyond the beaded curtain.
