Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  Bloodstone

  ( Deadtown - 3 )

  Nancy Holzner

  They call it Deadtown: the city's quarantined section for its inhuman and undead residents. Most humans stay far from its borders - but Victory Vaughn, Boston's only professional demon slayer, isn't exactly human...

  Boston's diverse South End is known for its architecture and great restaurants, not its body count. So when mutilated human corpses begin turning up in the area, the entire city takes notice. The killer-dubbed the South End Reaper-uses a curved blade for his grisly work. And even though there's no real evidence pointing to a paranormal culprit, the deaths are straining the already-tense relations between Boston's human and inhuman residents.

  As the bodies pile up, Vicky, her formidable aunt, Mab, and her werewolf boyfriend, Kane investigate, only to find that the creature behind the carnage is after something much more than blood...

  PRAISE FOR

  HELLFORGED

  “One of the most inventive urban fantasy series out there.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Deadtown was good, but Hellforged is even better . . . The writing is airtight; her characters have been honed to an edge. There is comedy, drama, romance, and a whole lot of ass kicking. Hellforged is the total package.”

  —Fantasy Literature

  “The thrills are nonstop in Holzner’s latest Deadtown novel as the action races from continent to continent and into the reaches of Hell itself. Even better than the first book; this series is becoming highly addictive!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Gripping the reader from its highly entertaining opening scene, the terrific Hellforged, the second installment in the Deadtown series, maintains that hold until the very end . . . Holzner’s expertise as a mystery author shines brightly throughout the narrative as she flawlessly connects threads of both the tale told in Hellforged and the overall story arc of the Deadtown series. This fabulous novel skillfully combines several distinct elements into a highly satisfying whole: action, adventure, suspense, Welsh mythology, humor, and pitch-perfect characters that live and breathe on the page . . . This excellent series belongs in the collections of all urban fantasy fans.”

  —Bitten by Books

  “The demons Vicky chases in Hellforged are bigger, badder, and so much more fun. I love the unexpected twists and turns . . . I cannot wait to see what is in store for my new favorite demon hunter!”

  —Intense Whisper . . .

  “The second Deadtown novel is jam-packed with action. A quick and satisfying read, Hellforged will have readers on the edge of their seats for more. Vicky is a very likable and headstrong lead . . . a fun yet serious novel; fans of Laurell K. Hamilton, Rachel Caine, Kim Harrison, and Karen Chance are likely to enjoy this series.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Vicky is the kind of kick-butt heroine fantasy lovers can get behind—rough and tough, afraid to jump into the fight but too stubborn to stay out of it . . . Aided by a whole cast of interesting characters, including her aunt Mab, who is a perfect mix of hard taskmaster and sweet and comforting aunt, Vicky and crew are ones you can’t help but root for in the battle of good versus evil . . . Hellforged is a novel lovers of fantasy, urban fantasy, and paranormal fiction in general won’t want to miss.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  DEADTOWN

  “Fresh and funny, with a great new take on zombies.”

  —Karen Chance, New York Times bestselling author of Hunt the Moon

  “Holzner’s prose combined with a spunky protagonist with a dark side, woven together with fast-paced action, emotional reveals, and engaging plot twists, makes Deadtown a mustread. I’m looking forward to more adventures in Deadtown with Vicky Vaughn—this heroine totally kicks butt!”

  —Phaedra Weldon, author of Revenant

  “Fast, fun, and feisty, Holzner’s Deadtown is chock-full of supernatural action, danger, and creatures who do more than go bump in the night.”

  —Devon Monk, author of Dead Iron

  “Zombies, demons, and a sassy slayer. Deadtown sparks with an incredibly realized world and a cast of vivid characters. I can’t wait for the next book!”

  —Chris Marie Green, author of Deep in the Woods

  “Full of dangerous magic and populated with characters so realistic they almost jump off the page. I loved this book. Nancy Holzner is a master of characterization, and I’ll be buying her next book the moment it hits the shelf.”

  —Ilona Andrews, New York Times bestselling author of Magic Slays

  “A perfect blend of mystery, fantasy, humor, and even modernday social issues. It’s Boston as you’ve never seen it . . . where the shapes shift, the zombies gnaw, and the blood flows warm through the oh-so-delicious veins of the area known as Deadtown. Victory Vaughn gives evil a run for its money.”

  —Anton Strout, author of Dead Waters

  “Welcome to Holzner’s fascinating world, where a plague has turned much of the Boston population into zombies. Part demon-busting tale, part political thriller, Holzner’s take on urban fantasy is exciting and fresh. Here’s to the future adventures of Vicky Vaughn.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Holzner applies humor with a deft hand, enhancing the reading experience of this superb addition to the urban fantasy genre. This reviewer will be first in line for Deadtown’s sequel.”

  —Bitten by Books

  Ace Books by Nancy Holzner

  DEADTOWN

  HELLFORGED

  BLOODSTONE

  To my parents, Harold and Lois Brown,

  with love and appreciation.

  Thanks for reading my books even though

  they’re not always your cup of tea.

  I could not have chosen better people

  to love and guide me throughout my life.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It was a great pleasure to work with Kat Sherbo, who took this manuscript through several drafts, editing them all with great care and attention. Kat’s questions weren’t always easy to answer, but they were always perceptive, intelligent, and aimed at making Bloodstone a better story. Thanks, Kat, for all your hard work. You’re awesome!

  The kick-ass cover art comes from Don Sipley, who does an amazing job of bringing Vicky to life. Thanks also to Edwin Tse.

  I’m also grateful to the other professionals who worked on this book: text designer Tiffany Estreicher, production editor Michelle Kasper, assistant production editor Andromeda Macri, copy editor Jessica McDonnell, and proofreader Pam Barricklow.

  My agent, Gina Panettieri, works hard on my behalf so I can focus on writing. She even sent me chocolate!

  My friends and fellow writers Emily Johnson, Pat Carlson, Jeanne Mackin, Nicola Morris, and Janis Kelly offered helpful feedback on parts of the first draft—not to mention fun conversation and good company. Thanks, all!

  My daughter, Tamsen Conner, thinks it’s cool that her mom writes this stuff, and listens patiently when I moan about the writing process. She’s the best.

  Many friends just made life more fun while I was writing, including Kathy Giacoletto, Maria Giacoletto (you’re still an inspiration!), Michelle Brandwein, Deborah Blake, Kate Laity, Margaret Strother, Sydney Chase, Chris Schjoth, Carlos Thomas (who appears here in a cameo and who created a video game avatar based on Vicky), Keith Pyeatt, Christina Henry, and my fellow bloggers at Dark Central Station: Sean Cummings, Wayne Simmons, Erin Kellison, Gary McMahon, Thomas Emson, and Darren J. Guest.

  Thanks to Cam Dufty for making my Deadtown series possible in the first place. And thanks to everyone who reads my books—it’s such a thrill to know that people are following Vicky’s adventures.

  Most of all, thanks to my husband, Steven Holzner, who may well be the most
patient man on the planet. I know for sure he’s the most loving.

  1

  BAYSIDE HEALTH CLUB, A FORMER GYM ANGLING TO GO upscale, is where Bostonians go to pump some iron, get sculpted, and trade in their beer bellies for the sexier kind of six-pack. I’d read the brochure. It has a weight room, state-of-the-art exercise equipment, a lap pool, and full-time personal trainers and nutritionists on staff. Everything you need to get motivated and get buff.

  But I wasn’t here for a workout. The duffel bag I carried didn’t hold gym clothes. It was loaded up with bronze-bladed daggers and two bottles of holy water. This afternoon, I was here to kill a demon.

  As Boston’s only professional demon exterminator, I kill other people’s personal demons for a living. Often, that means I get rid of the demons that give you nightmares or gnaw at your guts with guilt or worry. Harpies—revenge demons sent by a sorcerer—are also big business.

  Today, though, I was after a different kind of demon. Bayside Health Club had an out-of-control Peccatum infestation. Peccatum, Latin for sin, describes a type of demon that contaminates people’s personal behavior. A Peccatum looks kind of like a giant octopus, but with seven tentacles instead of eight. Each tentacle represents one of the seven deadly sins—Anger, Greed, Pride, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth—and can branch into an infinite number of tendrils. The tendrils snake out and wrap themselves around their victims, ensnaring them in whichever sin the Peccatum has sent forth. When a victim indulges in that sin, the demon feeds.

  Bayside, like a lot of businesses, had paid for this Peccatum, buying it on the black market. A whiff of sin in the air can make a place feel edgy, a little dangerous, and a whole lot of fun. Bayside’s owner had told the sorcerer who conjured the demon to keep it small and to stunt all the tentacles except for Envy, Pride, and a thin strand of Lust. Those sins were good for business. But the Peccatum had gotten out of control, and now Gluttony and Sloth had taken over. How—who knew? Maybe someone showed up for their workout feeling lazy, calling Sloth forth from the demon. Maybe a nutritionist appointment made a client fixate on forbidden foods, stirring thoughts of Gluttony. Or maybe the sorcerer did a sloppy job of binding the demon. Since conjuring demons is illegal, anyone who buys demons on the black market takes that risk. No money-back guarantees from a sorcerer. If you complain, you might find a Harpy handling customer service.

  As I pulled open the door and walked inside, the receptionist barely glanced at me. She leaned back in her chair, feet up on the desk, eating a cupcake. Frosting dotted the tip of her nose, and the number of empty wrappers that littered the floor around her would do any zombie proud. (Zombies are worldclass eaters. They don’t go after brains so much, but they adore junk food.)

  “I’m Victory Vaughn,” I said. “I’m here to . . .” I glanced around. Business owners don’t like to advertise that their business is infested by demons, but there was no one else in the lobby. “I’m here to fix your Peccatum problem.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She waved a hand vaguely toward the club’s interior and let the empty cupcake wrapper fall to the floor. Then she sat forward and put her head down on the desk. Her snores riffled Post-it notes like a gentle breeze.

  Great. Sleeping Beauty would be no help at all. I checked my watch. This was supposed to be a quick-in, quick-out job. Tonight my werewolf boyfriend, Kane, would be meeting my sister for the first time. In a few hours we were due at her home in Needham for dinner. For all kinds of reasons, being late would spell disaster.

  I’d have to track down this Peccatum myself. I opened my senses to the demon plane. The room dimmed, and the stink of sins filled the air, making me cover my nose against the stench. Gluttony smells like flatulence and belches, Sloth like long-unwashed bodies caked in shit. The sounds of a Peccatum at work filled my ears: burps, openmouthed chewing, farts, sighs, snores—a symphony of gross bodily functions. The receptionist let loose a gentle burp in her sleep. Peccatum tendrils coiled around her, wrapping her tightly in their embrace. Gluttony and Sloth both gripped her. Gluttony is sickly yellow and sharp-edged, like a serrated knife to saw at the guts with hunger. Sloth is gray and more diffuse. It enfolded her like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

  I let her sleep. Cutting off the tendrils would do nothing more than alert the Peccatum I was here. To kill the demon, I had to get its head.

  Of course, “head” might not be the best term for the blobby main part of a Peccatum. It had no eyes, no ears, and no mouth, although it could sense people around it, mostly through their weaknesses. The demon’s main body was a roiling mass of oily mist, globbed up into a big ball of ugly.

  I opened my duffel bag and removed a belt that looked like something a Wild West gunslinger would wear. But instead of guns, the holsters held water bottles. I hadn’t brought a pistol for this job; shooting the demon wouldn’t work. Although bronze is lethal to a Peccatum, as it is to any demon, the bullet passes through the thing’s misty head too quickly to do any lasting damage. The mist merely fills in the hole. It takes a thorough dousing with holy water or prolonged contact with a bronze blade to kill a Peccatum.

  I put on the belt and fitted my liter bottles of holy water into the holsters. Then I strapped on two thigh sheaths, each loaded with a bronze dagger. I checked that everything was snug, the caps on the bottles tight. I was ready to track down the demon.

  Unlike other demons, which manifest only after the sun goes down, Peccata are active around the clock. After all, sin is a 24/7 affair. But Peccata don’t like sunlight, so the sorcerer would have conjured it in a dark place, a closet or a windowless room. I set off to explore.

  The first room off the hallway was the weight room. Inside, bodybuilders lay on benches, sleeping or staring into space. Some sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, heads nodding forward. The whole room was filled with a thick, stinky fog of Sloth.

  That was the trouble with Sloth. It’s so lazy and diffuse it has a hard time holding its own shape, so it’s difficult to follow Sloth tendrils back to their source. I needed to find some gluttons. The tendrils that enwrapped them would lead me to the demon.

  But, really, what was the hurry? I yawned. It was only late afternoon, but already I’d had a long day. I deserved a break. My eyelids drooped. My body felt too heavy for my legs to hold up. I could just lie down right here and . . .

  No. I was in a hurry. I shook off the sleepy feeling and stepped back into the hallway. Fluffy gray tendrils puffed toward me, following. Bits of gray fluff clung to my legs.

  There are two ways to avoid a Peccatum’s tendrils. One is through virtuous living and iron-clad willpower, and I’m sure that works great for some demon-killer, somewhere. But I’d come prepared with option number two.

  From my pocket, I pulled out a crystal atomizer and misted myself with its contents. Not perfume; holy water. It makes the wearer temporarily invisible to the Peccatum. I’d misted myself before I entered the health club, but the effect wore off as soon as the holy water evaporated.

  The fresh misting of holy water did its thing, and the reaching Sloth tendrils drifted toward the floor. They lay there like dust bunnies.

  I went back to the receptionist and picked up the trail of Gluttony. The jagged yellow tentacle snaked down the hall, branching off into several rooms. I ignored the branches and followed the main tentacle, which grew thicker and sharper as it went deeper into the club.

  The tendril led to a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM. Next to the door was a placard: WINNING LOSERS SUPPORT GROUP. Gluttony—in a dieting club? Uh-oh. I spritzed myself with holy water and opened the door.

  Half a dozen people sat around a conference table stacked high with extra-large pizza boxes. With my senses open to the demon plane, I couldn’t see their faces. Gluttony tendrils covered them like kudzu in a Georgia forest. All I could see was slice after slice of pizza disappearing into Gluttonypossessed lumps.

  “Did you bring food?” a lump demanded.

  The holy water made me invisible to the Peccatum, but not
to the humans it possessed. I reeled my senses back from the demon plane, making the tendrils disappear, to see who was speaking. A plump woman of about thirty had paused mid bite to address me. Pizza sauce was smeared on her face, and a string of mozzarella dangled from the corner of her mouth.

  “No, I—”

  “ Then get out!” she shrieked. “There’s not enough for you!”

  Five other angry faces glared at me. “Yeah!” a man yelled. “We’re starving here.” He turned to a college kid who wore a baseball cap adorned with a slice-of-pizza logo. “Call your boss and order a dozen more. Extra large with everything.”

  “Double everything!” someone added.

  “And garlic bread!”

  “I want a calzone!”

  “A meatball sub!”

  As the dieters clamored for more food, the kid pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Between bites of pizza, he placed the order. Or tried to. It was impossible to keep up with all the shouted demands.

  Looking at all the empty pizza boxes, I was glad Tina had quit being my apprentice several weeks ago. Tina’s a teenager and a zombie, and that combination makes her a nonstop eating machine. Plus, like all zombies, she’s super strong. Holy water or not, if Tina had walked in on this pizza fest, she’d have taught everybody here a lesson in Gluttony. And it’s a little distracting when your apprentice gets possessed by the demon you’re trying to kill.

  “Didn’t I tell you to leave?” the plump woman snarled. “ There’s not enough to go around.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’m not hungry. I’m here to do some maintenance.” I didn’t have time to waste with the Winning Losers, anyway. I had to find the Peccatum. Another spritz of holy water, and I stepped inside. I opened to the demon plane a little, enough so I could make out both the faces of the support group members and the tendrils that gripped them. They regarded me suspiciously, ready to fight to defend their pizza. I stayed near the wall, studying the floor, trying to see where the main tentacle left the mass of tendrils. Soon they forgot about me and started arguing over the few slices that remained.