Iago Wick and the Vampire Queen

by Jennifer Rainey

  But Iago knew this man was no demon hunter. His empty eyes marked him as one of the vampires’ servants. The Morgan family took part in the blossoming European practice; their servants were part man and part machine.

  Iago smiled at the cybernetic man. Unless a tempter’s case at hand is complex, with multiple targets, there is always a lull between cases to keep the humans in the area from getting too suspicious. It would be a while before his Overseer gave him another assignment. He certainly had time to tangle with a brood of vampires. “Yes, I am Mr. Wick,” he answered sweetly.

  “I have a message for you,” the servant said, and he held out a letter stamped with what Iago recognized as the seal of the Morgan family.

  “Is that so?” Iago asked and took the letter.

  “Lady Eustacia wishes to meet with you. She will call upon you this evening at precisely midnight,” the servant explained. He cocked his head to one side, and Iago thought he heard a mechanized hum within the man’s spine.

  “Lovely. And that’s precisely what this letter reads. Do vampires feed upon redundancy, as well as the blood and souls of the living?” Iago asked.

  The servant blinked, unsure of how to respond before he turned and walked away. He nearly sent another man tumbling to the ground in the process, turned, coolly offered his apologies, and left.

  “Lucifer Below,” Iago said. “He appeared almost perfectly human. Astounding what they can do these days.”

  Dante added, “I hear the Morgans have adopted Lord Julius Weiss’s methods.”

  “Weiss is a genius. A self-important fool… but a genius, nevertheless,” Iago said.

  The Weiss family was one of the oldest vampire families in Europe. Lord Julius found traditional servants entirely impractical. Eventually, they would die if they were not turned to vampires themselves. They grew old. They longed for immortality and, frankly, wouldn’t shut up about it. And every vampire knew that a good servant would not necessarily make a good vampire.

  And yet… he thought there was something preciously charming about that human element. So, some thirty years prior, wise Lord Julius Weiss, who had long practiced robotics, decided his servants should be part machine and part man. He fiddled with their brains and replaced body parts with metal, gears, and valves. The creatures would have little memory of what they were before they were kidnapped by the darkly handsome German nobleman.

  Should the servant’s health begin to fail, the defective parts were merely replaced. It would allow a vampire to keep his valued servant for decades, because it was, indeed, so difficult to find good help these days.

  “Eustacia…” Dante said. “I’ll admit that I have lost track of the Morgans, but I am not familiar with her.”

  “Nor am I, but as I said, she reeks of inexperience. I saw her fawning over Locksley while I was hidden in his room, observing. She’s nothing to worry about,” Iago explained. And then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Lemon custard. We’ll have lemon custard for dessert.”

  Iago Wick was always well-dressed, but he did put additional care into his appearance that evening. Vampires were as averse to cheap clothing as they were to sunlight, but Iago was not about to be out-dressed by some fledgling bloodsucker. He took the chair from behind his desk and placed it in the middle of his small, well-kept apartment so that it faced the window. He then poured himself a glass of scotch, and he waited.

  Unsurprisingly, it was precisely midnight when there was a sudden rapping upon the window. There was a fresh face on the other side of the glass, emerging from dark fog. She had pale skin and inky eyes, and she looked remarkably annoyed. Iago took one more sip of scotch and stood before walking slowly to the window. He opened it.

  “Well, hello there,” he greeted cheerfully.

  “Invite me in,” the face hissed from within the cloud of fog.

  “Absolutely not,” Iago answered. “I am no fool. Though I have no soul to devour and my black blood would be poison to you, I still can’t trust you. If you wish to speak with me, we shall meet somewhere else, somewhere where I do not sleep, should the desire to do so take me.”

  Lady Eustacia’s face twitched and rolled its eyes. “Of course. The river. Caldwell’s Dock. You will meet me there. We will speak.”

  “I would be delighted, Lady Eustacia,” Iago answered. “Now, get along. What will the neighbors think if they see me conversing with strange, floating fog women at this hour?”

  There was a crispness to the spring air that made the walk to Caldwell’s Dock quite enjoyable. The dock was named as such for one very simple reason: the man who owned it was named Caldwell. He allowed the citizens of Marlowe to sit and watch the river or to dock their boat… as long as they were “good Marlowe folk,” that is.

  Iago did not qualify as good, though he had lived in Marlowe for nearly two hundred years. Lady Eustacia, he had a feeling, met neither of the criteria, but he would have liked to see the ancient and tottering Mr. Caldwell do anything about it.

  When Iago reached the stone path that led to the dock, he could already see her in the darkness. She was a petite woman, dressed in red from head to toe. Iago supposed, suppressing a smirk, that she believed that made quite a statement. It did, but it was not as profound a statement as perhaps she wished; rather, the ensemble shouted, “Oh, I am trying so hard to look like a vampire! Is it working?”

  “Mr. Wick,” she greeted as he approached, and her voice was like crystalized honey. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard about you from locals since I first arrived in this part of Massachusetts. You are quite a prolific and impressive demon.”

  Iago raised his brows. “So I have been told,” he said. “And you, Lady Eustacia Morgan. What was your name prior to your initiation into the Morgan family?”

  “Halloway. Eustacia Halloway. I was a maid to a family in New York. My sire offered me a life… an after-life… I had never dreamed possible.”

  “Well, you’ve acclimated wonderfully, my dear. You certainly look the part,” Iago said smartly. “Your family has made their camp at Ravenscrest Caves just outside of Marlowe?”

  “Hmm. Yes. How did you know?” she asked.

  “You have a rather damp, musty smell about you—mustier than most vampires. A slight scent of mud,” Iago explained to her dismay. “Don’t worry. Your secret location is safe with me.”

  Lady Eustacia’s dark eyes shimmered like the moonlight upon the river. “I would love to stand here and simply chat, Mr. Wick, but there is something pressing I must discuss with you.”

  “Pressing, m’lady?”

  “Michael Locksley.” Her lips tightened in a small, grim smile as though she were trying to be diplomatic, but they both knew this was going to end with a magnificent tantrum.

  “Ah, yes. I claimed his soul this morning, the price for all the will and wit of Casanova. He had his eyes upon you, dear Lady Eustacia. Was he able to woo you?” Iago asked innocently.

  “No!” she spat before drawing a deep breath to calm herself. “He was mine to claim, Mr. Wick. I had been courting him for some time. I had left my mark upon his throat before you contracted a deal with him. His soul was mine to claim.”

  Iago looked out across the river and shook his head. “Lady Eustacia, I am not a vampire. Your mark upon his throat meant little to me. You can have his body and his blood. Just know that you won’t have his soul.”

  “He is meaningless to me without his soul! I don’t wish to drink the blood of a man who has no soul to flavor it. I cannot truly make him one of my children if I don’t devour his soul!” she shrieked like a heartily offended banshee. “What did he do to attract you, to attract Hell?”

  Iago tisked. “Thou shalt not steal. Mr. Locksley has been pilfering profits from his employer for several years, pinning the blame upon others. He’s not the precious innocent you think he is. It was enough to garner Hell’s attention, and now we have him, and that is that.”

  Lady Eustacia stamped her foot with a hollow thud u
pon the dock. She breathed deeply twice, three times before she turned to Iago, a sudden softness in her eyes. Oh dear. He knew what was coming. “Mr. Wick,” she said sweetly. “I apologize. I forget myself. I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  She sidled toward him with a sort of seductive shuffle, though she succeeded in looking more inebriated than lustful. “I understand that we all have duties to perform. You completed your task as required. And… if I may say, you did it splendidly. Right under my nose!” she sang and dared to bop her finger upon the tip of Iago’s nose.

  “Please don’t do that,” Iago said. She was close. She had a graveyard perfume about her. “I’ve been living in this town right under the noses of humans for almost two centuries. I’m rather practiced.”

  “Oh, it shows,” she giggled. “I am certain even you can make exceptions, however. If you were to disregard this deal, remove his name from your black book and return his soul, I would reward you handsomely.” With something of a purr, she reached for his hand. Her grip was cold, and long, sharp nails scraped Iago’s skin. She sank her fangs into her lower lip in a manner she perhaps thought to be seductive and reached to touch his cheek.

  Iago stopped her. “First and foremost, Lady Eustacia, I am happily spoken for. Second, I am a demon—we wrote the book on charm and seduction, and I highly suggest you read it. Take notes. Third, a contract with Hell cannot be destroyed. I’m afraid those are the rules. You’ll find another soul to devour. This town is full of them.”

  Lady Eustacia still forced a smile. “You’re so cute. And yet, in your true demonic form, I’m sure you are a magnificent and fearsome Hellbeast.”

  Lucifer Below, was she batting her eyelashes?

  “I’m going home,” Iago said flatly.

  “We can surely come to some kind of agreement,” she said.

  “For the clerk’s soul? I’m afraid not,” he said.

  Lady Eustacia’s expression soured, and she shook her head wildly. “No. You took what was mine. If you do not give it back, you will regret this night, Iago Wick.”

  “Demons don’t make a habit of regretting anything,” Iago said. “So, if we’ve nothing else to discuss, I bid you good night, Lady Eustacia.” He turned to walk home.

  “You would do this to the Queen of the Morgan family?” she growled.

  Iago stopped. He pondered the question for a moment and looked back to her. “Most likely, yes, but that can’t possibly be you,” Iago answered. “Though demons haven’t the ability to read the thoughts of your kind, I can tell you are young. Inexperienced, if you don’t mind me saying. You can’t be the Queen.”

  Like many vampires, the Morgans all tacked a meaningless Lord or Lady to the front of their name after joining the family, a pretentious cherry on top of their transformation from human to vampire. They bowed to a single king or queen, who was usually good for little more than ordering everyone else around and basking in glorious praise. As good as Lady Eustacia might have been at being pretty and doing nothing at all, she couldn’t possibly be royalty.

  “Yes, I am the Queen. Roland Morgan was our King, my sire. He was killed, and with his dying breath, he made me Queen. I was his favorite, his newest child. Of course, a few of the older members of the family were not pleased, but I cast them out. Did you not know this?” she asked and looked genuinely concerned that the details of her personal life weren’t so important to the rest of the world.

  Iago blinked. He didn’t know this, and though he could not dip into her mind, he could now tell one slightly disconcerting fact: she was not lying. “I did not. Forgive me, but I don’t often find myself chatting about vampire politics.”

  “It is true. I am the Queen of the Morgans.” Lady Eustacia grinned, baring her fangs. They were two pretty things like ice picks. “Do you still want to stalk away, Iago Wick?”

  Iago looked out over the river and sighed. He had a feeling this would come back to haunt him, but the call to cause such mischief was too resonant to ignore. “Lady Eustacia, if anything, this new information makes me even more content to stalk away. Good night, Your Majesty.”

  And so, he left her fuming upon the dock while he walked toward home, certain that this would not be the last time he heard from Lady Eustacia Morgan, the Vampire Queen.

  Iago was nearly to Willard’s Cigar Shop when he heard someone behind him shout, “You!”

  A demon constantly embroiled in trouble tends to assume that he is the “you” in question, and so, Iago turned. Under the lamplight, he could see Michael Locksley, stumbling toward him like a lovesick drunk.

  “Why, Mr. Locksley,” Iago said, “I was just thinking of you.”

  “I demand you return my soul to me,” he said as strongly as he might. He had a reedy voice like an oboe.

  “It’s one of those nights, isn’t it?” Iago sighed. “No, I cannot return your soul to you.”

  “You must,” Locksley said and followed Iago up the street. “You did not deliver on your promise. I was unable to woo my lady. She left me, furious because I had no soul!”

  Iago stopped under a streetlamp and looked Locksley in the eye. “Mr. Locksley, I did deliver on my promise. I said I would give you the language and fortitude to woo her, correct? I owed you those tools. I gave you those tools. If you did not use them properly, that is not my concern. These are matters between the lady and yourself.”

  Michael Locksley drew a trembling breath and looked to his hands. He mumbled something through quivering lips.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” Iago asked.

  “She’s… she’s a vampire, isn’t she?” He gulped. “I always wondered. I told myself that vampires were the stuff of fiction. But then you came—a demon—and I realized that maybe it wasn’t such a wild notion after all.”

  Iago beheld the pathetic man before him and felt a twinge of sympathy. He breathed a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mr. Locksley, but I must confirm your fears. Yes, your beloved is one of the blood-sucking undead.”

  “You know her?” Locksley asked tremulously.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Iago threw a glance over his shoulder, expecting to see her waiting in the darkness. “I am certain there are women around the world more deserving of your newly-acquired romantic expertise. You must find them.”

  Michael Locksley slumped over, head hung low. “But I do not long for anyone else… why are there people in the world who behave this way?”

  Iago cocked a brow. “Vampires? Well, there’s some codswallop that they descended from demons, but that’s nothing but a lot of nonsense and—”

  “No, not vampires,” Locksley insisted. “I’m talking about people—women!—who ensnare a man and then abandon him. She didn’t really want me. She wanted my soul and my blood. I was being misled! I loved her!”

  Iago blinked. “Mr. Locksley, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Lady Eustacia owes you nothing. Her intent is her own. Move on. Abandon her for greener pastures.”

  “Lady Eustacia,” he gasped, suddenly lovesick again. “That is her name? Oh, it is like the finest music—as though the stars themselves began to sing and their song was Lady Eustacia.”

  Iago grimaced and wondered if he felt bile stinging the back of his throat. “Perhaps I do owe you a refund. Good night, Mr. Locksley.”

  “No! Don’t leave yet. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “No,” Iago lied, “and I don’t suggest you try.”

  “But she must be mine!”

  “It would be a fool’s errand. Please, go home, Mr. Locksley,” Iago said and left the poor amorous creature to wallow in his own fancies and lamentations.

  But even as he left, Iago could hear Locksley muttering, “No, I will have her. I will have her.”

  II.

  The air was unseasonably cold the following evening as Iago and Dante strolled along the river. It was something they had always enjoyed in the purple glow of twilight. The path along the river was well-worn by Marlowe citizens, though the bite in
the air kept them inside that evening. The two demons, perpetually warm-blooded and comfortable in the weather, could have walked the path blindfolded now. It was idyllic, and yet, Iago couldn’t help feeling as though Lady Eustacia were following him. More than once, he looked over his shoulder.

  “Does the lady vampire have you nervous?” Dante finally asked with a chuckle.

  “What? No, not nervous, just… I’m being attentive,” Iago said, and though he did not look his partner in the eye, he knew the critical stare Dante was giving him. “How is your current case coming along?”

  “Oh, it’s a fine case. The Miss Margaret’s voyage begins one week from today. A pleasure cruise. A bit of tampering here, a spark there—and I am putting a little faith in the captain, who is a drunk. And down it will go,” Dante said.

  Dante spoke of his work very delicately for his own sake. He had to consider the people on board as only numbers, and the anguish which flourished was nothing more than fodder for hungry journalists. The aftermath chronicled in newsprint was how he measured his success. One could argue that Hell forced his hand by pushing him into the role of catastrophe artist. If he truly thought of the pain he caused, his melancholia would overtake him.

  The sensation of being watched intensified suddenly. Unseen hands seemed to reach around Iago’s shoulders, and they held him still. The glow of twilight softened and waned as shadows swept around them.

  And at once, they were upon them: four decidedly perturbed vampires wearing various shades of red. They were terribly fond of the color, it seemed. Iago thought it a tad obvious, but these gentlemen did not look as though they would take criticism well, even if it were only sartorial in nature. Their skin was as iridescently pale as their queen’s, and their lips were as red as their cummerbunds.