The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  I pondered that for a moment. Once you accepted the basic premise, which was admittedly something I desperately didn’t want to do... it made a twisted sort of sense.

  “But,” I began hesitantly, “why would anyone agree to that?”

  Guthrie made a choked noise, and my eyes flew to him.

  “You’d be surprised,” he said.

  “I’m certain you’ve heard the old saying about making a deal with the devil,” Rans murmured.

  Guthrie made an unfortunate decision, and his wife died, he’d told me after we first met.

  “What did you do?” I asked Guthrie softly.

  He looked away.

  “Mate, you don’t have to—” Rans began, but Guthrie shook his head and cut him off.

  “It’s all right.” He met my eyes, and once again I was struck by the depth of sadness that lay behind his deep brown gaze. “In 1948, I got out of the army after serving for several years. I came back to the States and married my high school sweetheart. It took me some doing, since blacks weren’t terribly welcome on Wall Street back in those days, but I eventually managed to get a foot in the door with the first African-American owned securities firm—a little place called McGhee & Company located in Cleveland, of all places.”

  I nodded to show I was listening, fascinated by this unexpected glimpse into the past.

  “Things seemed to be looking up for us,” he continued. “Right up until Clarabelle visited a doctor to find out why she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. While she was there, he found a tumor growing in her breast. It turned out to be cancerous.”

  I winced.

  “The only real treatment available at the time was surgery and radiation. It didn’t usually work, and it would have bankrupted us in short order, but I begged her to try it anyway.” He swallowed. “Within a few months, we were just about broke, and she was too sick to leave the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry, Guthrie,” I said uselessly.

  He shook his head. “It was more than half a century ago, Zorah.”

  I didn’t reply, because it obviously still haunted him.

  “Anyway, I have no idea what brought me to the demon’s attention, but just when things were at their darkest, this rich-looking white guy shows up and offers me a deal. My soul in exchange for Clarabelle’s cancer going into remission.”

  He gave a dark laugh. “Now... I was a good, upstanding churchgoer at the time, so I knew exactly what was going on. And I jumped on that deal faster than a drowning man lunging for a life preserver... more fool me.”

  “Did the demon double-cross you?” I asked, utterly captivated by the story.

  But Guthrie shook his head. “Nope. Not in the least. Within a matter of days, Clarabelle started getting stronger. The tumor began to shrink, and within a couple of months it was too small to be detectable anymore. She gained back the weight she’d lost, her hair grew back, and the doctors were completely befuddled. Eventually they shrugged their shoulders and labeled it ‘unexplained spontaneous remission.’ They told her to come back if she noticed any new lumps, and sent us on our merry way.”

  I held my breath, suspecting that what came next would hurt.

  “And then?”

  His eyes went flat and far away. “Four months after that, she was walking to the corner store in broad daylight one afternoon when a drunk driver mounted the sidewalk and ran her over. She died on the spot.”

  My throat closed up. It was Rans who filled the silence when it threatened to stretch too long.

  “We don’t know which demon it was who made the deal; not that I’m sure it matters much. It was a violation of the treaty, obviously. Interference on Earth—though of a relatively subtle sort.”

  Guthrie rubbed at his eyes. “Anyway, it’s moot. The deal can’t be undone, so I’ve been hanging around ever since, waiting for the proverbial guillotine to fall. For now, I seem to be more valuable to the demon as a moneymaking machine. I stopped aging decades ago, and the handful of times I got pissed off enough to attempt suicide, it... didn’t work very well. Obviously.”

  I frowned, looking between the two men. “I don’t understand.”

  Rans shifted. “Demons are very powerful, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Once the bond is established, it’s easy enough for them to funnel a bit of power through it to stop a human aging and prevent physical injury. As long as the bound human is more valuable to the demon alive than dead, they stay hale and hearty. Indelibly so.”

  Guthrie snorted—a bitter sound. “Just think of me as a roast stuck in the freezer for a few decades to keep it fresh,” he quipped, with very little humor. “In the meantime, I funnel an obscene amount of money from investment proceeds into an untraceable Swiss bank account. And the demon doesn’t seem to give a shit if I also manage some other accounts, or if I grow rich myself.”

  “But you have to move around every few years to keep from arousing suspicion, I’m guessing?” I hazarded.

  “All of which makes him a right handy bloke to know when you need a fake identity in a hurry,” Rans finished.

  “Pfft. And here I thought you only loved me for my dashing good looks,” Guthrie said flatly.

  Rans’ smile was small, but genuine. “Don’t get mushy on me, old man. Go on, then—you look knackered. Toddle off and be your usual reclusive self; we’ll try to stay out of your hair. Lunch at Fleming’s tomorrow?”

  Guthrie rose from his stool with a grunt of acknowledgement. “Nah. Screw that upscale shit. Let’s go to Blueberry Hill. Have you ever been, Zorah?”

  I mustered a smile for him. “On the Loop? Not for years. But I look forward to it.”

  He nodded. “Good. Speaking of which, have you eaten this evening? There’s no roast duck this time, I’m afraid, but there should be plenty of options in the freezer. Just help yourself.”

  “Thanks, Guthrie,” I said, feeling like I had just gained much more of an insight into Rans’ taciturn friend. “I grabbed some fast food at the airport, so I’m good. I’ll make sure to go rummaging in the morning if I need something to tide me over until lunch, though.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he told me. “Oh, and if you don’t feel like fighting the crowds tomorrow evening, the view of the downtown fireworks display is actually pretty good from the roof even though we’re a few miles from the riverfront.”

  My body froze as my mind registered the meaning behind the innocent words. I barely noticed it when Guthrie inclined his head briefly to Rans and headed deeper into the apartment. The silence stretched for a long moment as I tried to reorient myself around the reminder of tomorrow’s date.

  “You’d lost track of the day, I take it?” Rans asked quietly. “Understandable—given, well, everything.”

  “I wasn’t even paying attention,” I managed.

  July Fourth. The date my mother had been killed. And I’d forgotten all about it.

  FOUR

  WHAT AN IDIOT I was. I’d been wandering around in a daze since Ireland. I still had one of the cheap burner phones in my possession, but I hadn’t taken it out of my suitcase in days to look at the display. The battery was probably dead by now, anyway. Even so, the date must have been plastered all over the various airports I’d been through... printed on the boarding passes, lit up on the arrivals and departures displays. I hadn’t noticed. It simply hadn’t registered.

  “Twenty years,” I breathed. Tomorrow, it would be two decades exactly since my mother was shot in front of me... and I’d forgotten all about it. Jesus, what kind of a daughter did that make me?

  “You’ve had a few other things on your plate, these last few days,” Rans said, still in the same calm voice.

  I ran a shaky hand through my curls. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” A new thought hit me. “Dad’s all alone.”

  Strong hands closed around my shoulders from behind. Rans’ fingers were cool through the fabric of my blouse. “Zorah. He’s in Dhuinne. There’s no technology. There are no calendars marked with Earthen dates hanging on
the walls where he’s being kept. And, anyway, I doubt he’s alone. The cat-sidhe seemed rather attached to him.”

  Closing my eyes, I attempted to let that sink in. He was right. If Dad was in any kind of mental condition to understand the anniversary in the first place, he would still have no way of knowing it was tomorrow.

  “Okay,” I said. “Yeah. He’ll be all right. At least... as all right as he can be, under the circumstances.”

  I had to believe that, even if tears were still burning at the backs of my eyes. I refused to let them fall. I needed to think about something else. Anything else. The deep breath I drew hurt my lungs, but I felt a little better after I let it out. My fingers curled around Rans’ hand on my left shoulder. He squeezed once and let his grip fall away, sliding out from under my touch.

  “Can we... talk somewhere private?” I asked, suddenly desperate for distraction. “I have more questions.”

  “Of course, luv,” he said. “Let’s drop our luggage in one of the guest rooms, and then I know just the place.”

  For some stupid reason, a small jolt ran through me when I recognized the bed where Rans had first touched me and shared his power with my succubus nature. It was as though my emotions were on hair-trigger, ready to explode at the slightest brush. In a daze, I ran my hand over the sky-blue comforter, lying clean and pristine across the soft mattress.

  “Guess Guthrie’s cleaning service got the blood out, after all,” I said absently.

  “Hmm?” Rans asked, stowing our carryon bags out of the way in a corner.

  “This duvet,” I said. “You bled on it when we were here last time.”

  He spared the bed a glance, and I wondered what he thought about its unspoken associations. “Did I? That seems shamefully rude of me,” he quipped. “Between the cleaning bill and the artery-munching, it’s a wonder Guthrie keeps letting me come back here.”

  With that, he ushered me out of the bedroom and down a hallway. The room at the very end contained exercise equipment. One wall was made almost completely of glass, with a sliding door leading onto a rooftop patio. Beyond, the city lights sparkled, dancing through the distortions caused by the humid evening atmosphere as St. Louis surrendered the day’s heat to the sky. I took it all in, breathing deeply.

  The outdoor space was as beautiful as the rest of the place. As far as I could tell, it wrapped all the way around the penthouse suite. Large potted plants had been placed at regular intervals along the length of the concrete wall surrounding the open area. Strategically placed lights illuminated our surroundings without overpowering the spectacular view beyond.

  A hot tub bubbled away to my right, and a swim spa lay nearby, its current rippling gently. Iron patio furniture was scattered invitingly around the remaining space, making me wonder how much use the place got, given Guthrie’s apparent tendency to be reclusive.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged our host as the type to throw lavish rooftop parties,” I said, glad of the new subject to focus on.

  Rans leaned against the low wall at the edge of the building and shrugged. “He’s not exactly a social butterfly, but he is a businessman—and quite a savvy one, at that. He knows how to grease the wheels as needed.”

  “How did you two meet, anyway?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  He turned around, leaning hipshot on the wall with only empty space at his back.

  “Nigellus put me onto him, back in the early nineteen-sixties,” he said. “I think he just wanted me to keep an eye on the poor bloke... make sure he didn’t get angry enough to rat out the demon who’d made the illegal bargain with him to the Fae, or start helping the Fae Queen as a way to get revenge on demon-kind in general. We ended up getting on rather well, and it doesn’t hurt that Guthrie is an excellent investment manager.”

  I tilted my head curiously. “Does that mean Nigellus knows which demon broke the treaty and struck the bargain with him?”

  “Probably.” Rans settled his weight on his hands, regarding me. His tone turned wry. “Try getting anything out of a demon, though...”

  “Yeah—I’m beginning to understand what you mean about that,” I muttered, still irritated with myself for having left Atlantic City with nothing more than non-answers and vague reassurances from Rans’ demon mentor. “Speaking of which—like I said, I still have questions.”

  He nodded. “I may or may not have answers, but ask away.”

  It took a moment to organize my thoughts. “Right. First thing. This whole concept of demons actually bartering souls. I don’t... understand what that even means, in real terms. I mean, if we’ve established that Hell isn’t really a lake of fire designed to torment the sinful, then what physically happens to someone’s... soul, when a demon takes it? Is soul even the right term? You called it life-force, right?”

  Rans shrugged. “Eh. Tomato, tom-ah-to. I suppose the distinction depends on your religious and philosophical outlook, mostly.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, though,” I pressed. “What is a demon-bound person giving up, in reality? What would normally happen to their... life-force, or whatever, if they hadn’t bartered it away?”

  A grim smile tugged at one corner of Rans’ lips, and disappeared an instant later. “I’m afraid you’d have to ask someone who’s dead to get the answer to that question, luv.”

  I stared at him pointedly, and he huffed in annoyance.

  “There’s quite a difference between dead and undead, Zorah,” he said. “The clue’s in the prefix—it means ‘not.’ From the proto-Germanic, I believe.”

  “Fine,” I allowed, wrinkling my nose at him. “But if Hell is just another world rather than a realm of eternal punishment, is there also a Heaven?”

  He considered me across the distance separating us. “According to the demons, there’s an angelic realm, yes. But there’s no passage into it from the other worlds, and angels show no interest in intervening with the other races. They haven’t for eons, apparently.”

  Okay, this was good. This topic was interesting enough—and important enough—that for now, I could successfully put aside thoughts of tomorrow. Of my parents, and everything I’d lost.

  I nodded my understanding.

  “All right. So we can discount angels. Good to know, I guess.” I drew in a breath and tried to summarize. “Basically, then, if a human dies, no one knows what happens to their life-force. Maybe it dissipates into the universe, or maybe it’s transferred somewhere. Maybe the Buddhists have it right, and it’s reborn into, I dunno... a mollusc or something.”

  “A mollusc?” Rans echoed, giving me an odd look.

  “Or something,” I reiterated. “But if you’re bound to a demon, they vacuum up your life-force when you die, and add it to their own power.”

  “More or less. At least, so I’m told.”

  I frowned. “And what’s so horrible about that? I still feel like I’m missing something.”

  Rans looked at me with mild astonishment. “What’s so horrible about it? I think your succubus blood is starting to show around the edges, luv.” When I only looked blank, he continued. “Guthrie mentioned the metaphorical axe over his head.”

  “He called it a guillotine,” I corrected. “So, you’re saying the demon might decide to harvest his soul at any time?”

  “Quite so.”

  That made sense. “Okay, I get it. They could keep you on ice for decades, or centuries, even, and just randomly decide to kill you one day. Yeah, I can definitely see where that would mess with a person.”

  I flopped down in one of the wrought iron chairs and chewed on a thumbnail.

  “You seem very interested in the subject all of the sudden,” Rans observed.

  I lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “It’s a distraction, isn’t it? I kind of need one at the moment. Also, I need to know as much as I can about this stuff, in case I end up getting stuck in Hell despite my demon heritage.”

  His expression shuttered, and I gathered he still wasn’t on board with my decision to go
and see Dad, come hell or high water.

  So to speak.

  I forged ahead. “Next question. If demons get their power from eating other people’s souls, but they’re not supposed to interfere on Earth anymore because of the treaty, then how do they keep from starving?”

  But Rans only shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. Human souls aren’t the demons’ version of fish and chips. They’re immortal in the literal sense. They can’t starve for the lack of something. Absorbing life force is more like... erm, what’s a good metaphor? It’s more like a RAM upgrade for your computer. Having it makes the computer more powerful, but the thing would still work just fine with the RAM that came from the factory.”

  Understanding dawned. “Ah. So it’s a pecking order thing, not a survival thing.”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way,” Rans agreed. “There are different kinds of demons, as you’re aware. All of them can barter souls. Incubi and succubi can also draw power through sex—from humans, or from other demons.”

  “From Fae, too?” I asked curiously.

  “Evidently,” he said. “At least, you didn’t seem to have a problem doing so.”

  I flushed, not pleased at the reminder.

  “There are also imps,” he continued. “They tend to attach themselves to any being or location with magic, and are able to draw power from that. Then there are demons of fate. They draw power from the fabric of reality itself.”

  I thought of the timeless depths of Nigellus’ eyes. “I’m guessing Nigellus is one of those?” I asked.

  “A very powerful one, yes.” Rans crossed his arms, a hint of tension visible in his shoulders.

  Maybe that little tidbit should have surprised me. Somehow, it didn’t.