The Invoker: A Lawson Vampire Novel 2 (The Lawson Vampire Series)

by Jon F. Merz

  "So, he knows you know he’s after the boy."

  "Worse, he knows where I live."

  "How’s he know that? I thought you guys kept you stuff classified."

  "We do. But an ex-Fixer knows all the tricks. He’s probably got some informational pipeline that scored him the info."

  "You can’t go home," said Wirek.

  "Not with Jack, anyway. That’s why I brought him here."

  "You shouldn’t go home at all."

  I grunted. "And disappoint Petrov’s reception party? That’d be rude."

  "I’ll look after Jack." He nodded at me. "Who looks after you?"

  "Lady Luck when she remembers me."

  "She remember you often?"

  "Doesn’t feel like it."

  He pointed at the kitchen. "Coffee?"

  "No. But I’ll take some tea."

  I stood and followed him around the apartment. He’d cleaned the place up, too. Even the kitchen, small as it was, looked recently scrubbed. I smiled. "You’ve been busy."

  "Like I said, I knew you’d be back and that I’d be having a guest."

  "That some kind of special ability peculiar to Elders?"

  He shrugged. "Not really. Anybody can do it. It’s just a matter of rediscovering innate abilities that have lain dormant for a long time. You get in touch with that aspect of yourself and things begin to…come to you."

  "Sounds like a lot of mystical mumbo-jumbo."

  Wirek frowned. "You’re one to talk. From what I’ve heard about you, you’re very much into martial arts."

  "Yeah. It’s for self-protection."

  "Not self-defense?"

  "Self-defense is what happens when you’re too stupid to see the warning signs that always precede a violent encounter."

  "What kind of warning signs?"

  "You know, environmental changes, subtle energy shifts, intention…you start to pick up on it-" I stopped and looked at Wirek. He smiled at me.

  "See? You know exactly what I’m talking about."

  "Maybe." I wasn’t convinced. There’s a big difference between sensing something when your life is on the line as opposed to just plucking it out of the air when you’re relaxed. At least, as far as I knew.

  "What about the Sargoth a few months back? That doesn’t exactly fit into the realm of normal society does it?"

  "No." Maybe the old guy had something after all.

  Wirek passed me the cup of tea. "The boy, he has a special gift, as I told you. The ability of the Invoker is rarer than I mentioned earlier. I didn’t want to upset the boy. But it is very rare, Lawson. And the power he wields is great. If he knows how to properly use it, that power can be used to great good. But if the wrong people can subvert him, bend him to their cause, that would be bad. Very bad."

  "I don’t think the folks Petrov works for would qualify as decent people. Not if they’re trying so hard to either kidnap jack or kill him."

  Wirek shook his head. "Shame. It’s always so sad to hear of a Fixer who’s sold out. I wonder what caused it."

  I stirred some sugar into the mug. "Can’t say. But I’ve got to get to Petrov and then get beyond him if I’m going to figure this mess out."

  "And how will you do that?"

  I took a sip of the black pekoe tea and felt its warmth course down my throat, warming my insides. "Might as well go crash my own party."

  "Are you sure that’s a wise move, Lawson? If something happens to you, I’m not sure how long I can keep the boy hidden."

  "I’m not sure anything I do qualifies as a wise move, Wirek. But I don’t have much of a choice right now. If there was another way, I’d take it."

  "At least finish your tea," said Wirek.

  *** *** ***

  I parked my Volvo two streets over from mine.

  I blew hot breath into the crisp cold night air, listening to sounds echo off of the houses all tucked away for a few hours sleep. The air smelled of grimy snow and slush the way winter air always does after a snowstorm. Underfoot, my feet mashed ice crystals together in a steady cacophony of crunches. Overhead, the new moon bled darkness into the night and I blended with it – stealing through back yards and over fences, until I at last reached my street.

  I moved slow.

  Snow and slush, like crisp autumn leaves, has a way of alerting people you are coming. And I definitely didn’t want anyone to know I was in the area.

  So I went from a walk, to a crawl, to a very slow form of pulling myself along the ground using my arms. It’s a method I learned at the martial arts school I study at over in Allston. And I’ve used it enough times to be thankful I learned it.

  Cover and concealment are also difficult during the winter months when most of the foliage is well, exfoliated. Unless you live in an area surrounded by evergreens, there was not going to be much shrubbery worth hiding in.

  Fortunately for me, my neighbor loves rhododendrons and planted a solid wall of them in front of his house. I slid into them, feeling their branches yield to my presence.

  I sat still.

  Breathing.

  Even inhalations and exhalations - tasting, listening, and feeling the surrounding area. I let my jaw hang slack, opening the auditory canals a little bit more.

  It took twenty minutes.

  Three.

  Again.

  Petrov obviously preferred threesomes. I wondered if they were human or vampire but figured they must have been more human riffraff. Petrov wouldn’t be able to hire vampires without word getting back to the Council and hopefully then to me.

  Humans or not, they’d still probably have Fixer guns. That made them dangerous.

  I spotted the first one easily enough. No one on my street owns a red Toyota. And in the darkened interior of the car, a bright red cinder from a cigarette burned – a trail of smoke wafted out of a cracked window.

  More amateurs.

  I sighed. It must be getting harder to find true professionals. A real pro would never smoke in a car. Hell, he wouldn’t smoke to begin with. Smoking shows a lack of discipline. It’s a weakness most operatives can’t afford.

  I spotted the second one sitting ten feet off the ground in the branches of the linden tree next door to my house. Maybe he thought it was a nifty position.

  It was stupid.

  Hiding in trees limits your ability to move or stay still. I noticed him when the branches moved out of rhythm with the breezes.

  Goon number three showed the most, albeit limited, sense by simply strolling along the sidewalk from one end of the street to the other and back again.

  He looked like a sentry out on such a cold night. If any of my neighbors spotted him, they’d call the cops. My neighbors are like that.

  Still, compared to Einstein and Copernicus, he at least had the ability to move quickly and freely. That made him the most dangerous.

  Part of me wondered if this was truly a serious attempt at staking my pad out. I wondered if there were more of them hidden outside. I chucked that theory. Something told me this was all there was.

  The easiest option would have been to pull out and wait for them to get tired and leave. Surveillance is boring work. Boredom makes you lazy. No matter how alert you are when you come on duty, you get tired real fast. And if Petrov had no bench strength – which I doubted he did – all I’d have to do was wait them out.

  Unfortunately, easy and I haven’t been on speaking terms for as long as I can remember. Pain-in-the-ass and I are great friends, though.

  Lucky me.

  And right now PITA was telling me to go get Petrov.

  I needed to get past the three stooges and have myself a heart-to-heart with the ex-Fixer.

  That meant taking them out.

  Stroller boy would go down first.

  I waited until he reached one end of the street and then I carefully slithered my way to the opposite end, working through front and side yards as quietly as possible.

  I found the perfect ambush spot beyond the curve in the street
. Once he passed that point, the other two wouldn’t be able to see him. I just hoped they didn’t have radio contact.

  He came quietly.

  His footsteps like a soft whisper against the wind, even with the snow and ice covering everything. His stride made me think he might be a cut above the other two. He walked on the balls of his feet, the way dancers and thieves do.

  I waited until he drew parallel to the tree trunk I’d hidden behind and then clotheslined him with my right forearm, already moving behind him to catch his body and drag him into the shadows of my neighbor’s yard.

  It doesn’t sound particularly romantic to say I just stepped out from behind a tree and rammed my forearm into his throat, but I’ll let you in on a secret: simplicity works.

  Most amateurs prefer elaborate ambushes that simply don’t work. I subscribe to the Keep-It-Simple-Stupid School of thought.

  I frisked the stroller under cover of the bushes and found him packing a Fixer gun and a hypodermic syringe. I frowned. Was Petrov hiring junkies now? Nah, probably not. I decided it was a knock-out drug of some sort.

  Next, I stripped the stroller of his jacket and tried to make my hair resemble his as much as possible. That was kind of tough. I keep my hair real short.

  Then I simply began walking back toward the other two like I was the Stroller.

  Now the fun really began.

  I’d have to take out the other two almost simultaneously without alerting anyone else who might be watching. That’s tough. Even for me.

  Tarzan must have heard me coming because the branches started moving again. The linden trees on my street were planted close to a hundred years ago which means they have nice thick trunks. I stopped next to the trunk and sighed.

  A gnarled voice dripped down from above. "You okay?"

  I coughed. "Yeah."

  "See anything?"

  "No."

  "Want a smoke?"

  I coughed again. "Yeah." Sure, come give me one of your cancer sticks. Please, oh pretty please…

  I saw a hiking boot appear followed by the other and then two legs as Tarzan shimmied down the tree. His back was to me and he jumped the last two feet, came down with a dull thud.

  He turned – facing me – surprise already registering.

  "What th-"

  I jammed the hypodermic into his stomach and pressed the plunger down, hoping whatever the needle contained acted fast. I needed this guy out quick.

  It must have been strong stuff.

  The guy’s legs buckled and he slumped back against the tree.

  Unfortunately, we were both visible to the guy in the car. I heard the door open. He came running.

  "What the fuck-?"

  He whispered quietly.

  I smiled.

  He must have assumed the guy in the tree was having a problem, because he didn’t pay any attention to me at all. He just stooped, trying to get his arms around the guy’s chest to help him back on his feet.

  "What happened?"

  Thank god for amateurs. "The same thing that’s happening to you." I chopped down on the side of his neck with the edge of my hand and watched the lights in his eyes blink out.

  It took me two minutes to drag them both into my neighbors shrubs, bind them with their belts and shoelaces and then work my way over to my porch.

  I needed some supplies inside and then I’d collect the three goons. Then I’d interrogate them, find Petrov, and settle this damned thing once and for all.

  I slid my key into the lock and turned.

  Shit.

  It was open.

  I’m really anal retentive about locking my door. My home is one of the few places I can relax. It’s sacred to me. So, finding the front door unlocked meant that someone had violated my sanctum sanctorum.

  Not a smart move.

  For anyone.

  I climbed the steps to the second floor. My cats Mimi and Phoebe, who usually thump down the steps to greet me when they hear the door open, were nowhere to be seen.

  Something had spooked them.

  True it doesn’t take much to scare Phoebe. She’s about as schizo as a cat can get. I was betting she was buried under the covers upstairs in my bedroom.

  But Mimi’s the guardian of the house when I’m out. Hell, I didn’t spend hours wrestling with her for nothing. She could fight.

  Her absence meant she was equally spooked.

  I don’t like it when someone scares my cats.

  My house sat in darkness. The automatic lights hadn’t come on or else they’d been unplugged.

  Darkness doesn’t bother me. And after being outside in the cold and wet snow, my night vision was acute. I began scanning the place as I crested the stairs.

  Naturally, as I started into the living room, the lights suddenly exploded, bathing the house in bright light. I squinted reflexively and in that brief second, a kick slammed into me from behind. My legs buckled.

  And a gun rammed its way into the small of my back.

  "Good evening, Lawson. Don’t you think it’s about time we had a talk?"

  I looked up, finally adjusting to the brightness.

  Petrov sat in my favorite leather wraparound armchair.

  Smiling and drinking a glass of my juice, of all things.

  The bastard looked a helluva lot more relaxed than I was just then.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "It’s a comfortable chair."

  "So glad you like it."

  Petrov leaned forward so I could see that he was holding a pistol aimed at my heart. That made one in front of me and one behind me. Not good odds.

  He smiled. "Now, Lawson, can you blame me for waiting for you here? After all, you did call me." He took a sip of juice and smacked his lips. "Very nice."

  "You leave any for me?"

  "That should be the least of your worries."

  "Guy comes into my house, uses my favorite chair, and drinks my juice…real nice." I sighed.

  "You’re upset," said Petrov. "It’s understandable. I feel the same way about my home."

  "I’m not mad about you being here and using my stuff, Petrov. That’s rude, true. But I can tolerate rudeness."

  "Can you?"

  "Yeah. What gets me mad though is why you’re here. You sold out. And treason isn’t something I tolerate."

  "Wrong, Lawson. I didn’t betray anything or anyone. I was betrayed."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "The Council turned its back on me. Turned me out into the cold, as it were."

  I pointed at the less comfortable chair across from Petrov. "You mind if I sit?"

  He nodded. "Please."

  I sat and looked at him. "That’s ridiculous. You were their shining star. Why would they do that?"

  "There was a situation over in Paris."

  "What kind of situation."

  "I wouldn’t expect you to know about it, Lawson, no one ever did. But when it was over, I was out."

  I did recall hearing about another Control being put into place a few years back, but I’d thought that was due to Petrov’s sudden disappearance.

  He sighed. "They sold everyone on some silly story that I’d just opted to take my retirement and get out of the business. When in reality, I was being turned out to keep an embarrassing situation from coming to light."

  "So clue me in. What happened?"

  "One of the Council members was having an illicit affair with a human. I found out."

  "How?"

  "She was French. As you know, the Controls for most cities have access to a lot of information. I was doing routine reports one day, checking travel logs, that sort of thing, and I noticed a name kept popping up in my files. It was the name of this Council member. He was flying over here three times a month."

  "Bullshit. He would have used a cover name-"

  "Perhaps not. Why should he suspect he was being surveiled? He was, after all, a member of the Council, our illustrious governing board. Shouldn’t he be above such speculation? S
houldn’t he be beyond reproach?"

  As much as it bugged the hell out of me, Petrov had a point. Council members tended to either fall into one of two categories: hard-working and dedicated to vampire society or egotistical as holy hell. The latter outnumbered the former.

  "So, what then-you followed him?"

  Petrov nodded. "I located his mistress. But I’ve been in love enough times in my life to know that this wasn’t just a casual tryst. It was a full-blown love affair. He was as serious about her as she was about him. Obviously, the ramifications were enormous. A Council member accused of one our highest crimes wouldn’t wash well with the vampire society at large. There’d be endless investigations, calls for reform, a nightmare in short."

  "Let me guess: you made the mistake of telling someone."

  Petrov cocked his head. "Mistake? That’s a curious statement coming from someone like you. I would have thought you’d understand."

  I might have, too. Once. But I had other reasons now. Reasons I wasn’t about to cue Petrov in on.

  "I meant mistake in the terms that the gravity of who it was would have possibly made you second-guess your course of action."

  He thought about that over another sip of my juice. "Maybe I should have. But I didn’t. Maybe I was a bit too full of myself, after everything I’d been through. I might have thought myself above such perils." He nodded. "It was my mistake, as you say."

  "So they tossed you out for reporting the crime?"

  "They told me that I’d been incorrect in my appraisal of the situation. That the Council member was actually working on some top secret operation. As if they could feed me that drivel and expect me to believe it. You know as well as I do, Lawson, that after everything we see, we become jaded. Bullshit, as it were, does not wash with us."

  "True enough."

  "I insisted otherwise and we went back and forth. I kept pressing them for an inquiry. They refused. I threatened to go public-"

  "What?"

  "That may not have been wise."

  "No shit, Sherlock. No one ever goes public about who we are and what we do. I thought I explained that to you back in Paris."

  He finished my juice. I wondered if he’d wash the glass. Probably not. "They finally reached their limit with me. Told me I was out. Just like that. No ceremony, no thank you very much. Just a quick wad of cash in an envelope, a full pension, and then a swift kick in the backside. I was out for doing what I’d been trained to do."