by D. R. Perry
There’s nothing I can do about it besides worry, and there’s too much on my plate for that.
In the hall, I try to express those concerns to Raven. They shush me until we’re in the car, tires rolling.
“I already thought of that.” They lean back in the passenger seat. “We have to rely on the king’s personal prowess. He’s got to be at least twice my age. If anyone can fight a room full of body-snatchers, it’s him.”
Raven can’t be wrong about that. If they have reservations, they’re not showing. And I get the feeling neither of us would make one bit of difference if we turned out to be the only ones defending King DeCampo, anyway.
Chapter Twelve
We could go straight to the Pickerings’ house, but the minute we get in the car, there’s a text from Kayleigh. She’s got Leora and is on her way to my office, so that’s where I bring Raven first.
“Maybe you should wait in the car.”
“Excuse me?” It’s a question, but Raven doesn’t mean it that way. I can tell because they’re already out of the car. For a vampire named after a bird, they sure have a catlike demeanor.
“So much for not meeting the hunter.”
“Tino, if you think I’ve never been in the same room as a hunter before, you’re disappointingly naïve.” The king’s attaché strides through the parking lot.
“There are Mafia guys in there, too.” I’m trotting to catch up.
“Been there.”
“A police detective.”
“Done that.”
“A mean alchemist?”
“Hmm.” Raven stands in front of the door, staring at the lock. It’s not propped open anymore. “That’s a first. Sounds interesting.”
“The door’s locked.”
“Not for long.” They reach out, grab the handle, and glare. I hear a click, and they pull it open. “You coming or not?”
I bend down and stick a loose brick in the doorjamb. “Now I am.”
We go down the hall, into the stairwell, and up one flight before I ask, “Are you telekinetic or something?”
“Something.”
“Can I learn to do it?”
“That information’s too expensive for the likes of you.”
“Oh.”
We’re at the door to my office before I fully realize that I’ve been following Raven all this time. Old vampires are reputed to be powerful so I’m not sure whether there’s some blood-related ability in use or if the king’s attaché is simply disturbingly well-informed. I watch them open it.
Frankie’s eating a square sandwich at my desk on the customer side. Maury’s still snoring on the futon. Esther looks up from something she’s drawing, eyes wide. And that’s when I remember the wards.
“Raven, wait.”
“Hmm." They peer at empty space. "Wards. Good idea, but bad news if we cross them.”
“Um, Esther?” I gesture at what looks to me like thin air. "Would you mind?"
Esther rolls her eyes and tears up the paper in front of her. A faint shimmer of green falls from the top of the doorway, then she waves us inside. I take a deep breath I don’t need and let it out. Old habits die hard.
We walk in just as Frankie pops the last bite of his tuna salad sandwich into his mouth. He looks up at Raven, blinking. They saunter over and sit in my chair. One thing I can say for Raven, I expected a ton of snark and attitude about my office's shabby unchic decor. But they don’t say a word about that.
“Um, Raven. That’s Frankie. This is Esther. And the guy sleeping off the potion is Maury.” I shrug, unsure exactly how to introduce my unlikely ally. Time to keep it simple. “Guys, that’s Raven, a way more experienced vampire than me.”
“Charmed.” But Raven doesn’t look charmed at all. More bored than anything else.
“And the lady on the way here is Kayleigh. She’s bringing Leora to us. That other Lamb I mentioned.”
“So, it’s you, me, this Leora, and Frankie going over to talk to the Pickerings?”
“No way.” Frankie has his hands flat on the desk now. “You don’t want me there.”
“Actually, we do.” I lean against my totally occupied desk, which is better than having to sit in the customer side seat, I guess. “This is an intervention.”
“Yeah, the Pickerings have a serious addiction to power at all costs that’s gone on way too long.” Raven locks gazes with Frankie. “I know from long experience. It’s time to encourage them to renegotiate their contract with the Deep Ones.”
“You assholes don’t know what the fuck you’re getting into, going over there.” She crumples up a piece of paper and throws it into the trash.
“Letting us know would be great, Esther.” I grin at the angry alchemist, sure she isn’t somehow ordering us not to go. “Thanks for offering to do that.”
“No fucking problem.” She’s smiling widely enough that I wonder what she’s hiding. Maybe Esther's just happy we're not telling her to quit swearing in front of the kid. “You need to go in there armed like a motherfucker. Not with some shitty guns, either. You need fucking swords and knives.”
“I think I’ve got something.” I head to the Shoji screen, reach behind it into what used to be some college kid’s umbrella stand. I bring out a rapier.
“You’re a swordsman?” Raven snorts. “Give me a break.”
“He was in the Fencing Club.” The voice from the door defends my reputation. “Won a few awards, too, unlike that poor sap on the futon.” Yeah, fencing was the one thing I was better than Maury at. Go figure.
Kayleigh Killarney stands in the doorway, trying to block Leora from entering. But the kid squeezes under her arm. She heads right over to me and looks down at the sword. “Cool weapon, Mister Crispo.”
“You can call me Tino like everyone else does, Leora.”
“Thanks!” She pats the pouch strapped to her chest. I notice a charm bracelet around her wrist this time. It’s got a mortar and pestle charm hanging from it. “Sparky says hi.”
“Hello again, Sparky.” I wave at the pouch even though it isn't open. Who knows, maybe the magic lizard can see me. Amphibian. Whatever.
“You’re not going to fight real enemies with that thing, are you, Tino?” Kayleigh’s frowning at my rapier. “It’s not a good idea to use those in actual combat, even the theatrical kind.”
“Well, you’re the tactical expert.”
“You’re using that fucking thing on wards and magical shit, Tino, not people.” Esther’s got a stack of Post-it notes, pen poised over it. "I can reinforce that shit. Bring it the fuck over here." I do, and she sharpens my rapier. The edge gleams, and it looks more solid, Feels better in my hand, too.
“Well, I guess your fighting style and the magic enhancement will have to do.” Kayleigh shrugs. “At least that’s not your old practice foil. Anyway, what’s Maury doing here? Thought he was in the dark with the rest of the mundanes.”
“He is.” I shake my head. “But he had an accidental brush with some magic, and he’s sleeping it off.”
“Well, do you want me to get him out of here?”
“Um, excuse me for asking, but why is a hunter helping you?” Raven’s eyebrow raise could give the real Stephanie’s a run for its money.
“You can ask me directly, you know.”
“Okay, fine. Why are you helping? It makes no sense.”
“My higher-ups told me about these Deep Ones making menaces of themselves. Bigger fish to fry. And I’ve got my own arrangement with these three, anyway.” Kayleigh gives Raven a bright smile. “You know how important deals and debts are, of course.”
“Wow, you’re cheeky.” Raven shakes their head, then smiles back. “But sensible.”
“Damn straight.” Kayleigh walks over to the futon, unfazed by Raven's fangs. “I’m taking Maury back to his place.”
“Okay, thanks.” I hand her his keys from my pocket, where I stashed them earlier. After that, I move to help her, but she waves me away. “I don’t want him wakin
g up here if I can help it, and it’d take a chunk of time from my night to do it myself.”
Kayleigh carries Maury with no problem. Sure, she’s strong for a human, but also Maury’s lost weight. I know she notices it, too, although she doesn’t mention it. We say goodbye as she heads out the door.
“Well, that was interesting.” Raven leans back in my chair. “You’ve got a way of collecting strange and unusual friends, Valentino.”
“Yeah.” I belt the rapier around my waist. It’s okay to carry it around in Rhode Island like that. Open-carry for bladed weapons is legal here. Told you it’s a quirky place. “So, let’s go visit the Pickerings.”
“Wait a fucking minute.” Esther’s been scribbling on the Post-its this whole time. She hands them to me.
“Uh, my hands will probably be too full for these, but thanks anyway.”
“Fucking delegate that shit, dead man.” She rolls her eyes. “Not to the kid, either. She’s packing enough magical heat already. Give it to the guy. You know, the one with the thing. I can’t say who.” I peer at Leora and notice a shimmering red and white glow around the charm bracelet. It’s probably a trinket from Baba Yaga. What was it Raven said about the witch’s Lambs running errands?
“Oh. Okay, then.” I turn and hand the magical papers over to Frankie, who’s got the least power in my little troupe of misfits. “Let’s get out of here.”
We leave the building and get into the car. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute drive from the address I got off Frankie’s ID yesterday. It feels like it’s been a whole week instead of a day.
We pull up and park on the street in front of the big green gambrel at 66 Ocean Drive. Frankie’s looking at his feet instead of the house, and I can’t blame him. I’m not too surprised when Raven pats him on the shoulder or when Leora takes his hand. These three are all survivors of a similar set of trials, set on them by their families without choice or even consent.
And now they’re following me into another one. At least they’re making their own decisions about the danger they face this time.
Chapter Thirteen
I walk right up and ring the doorbell, then draw my enhanced rapier. Leora pats the hand holding it, and I see a shimmer of red and black surround the blade. Double magic, cool deal. Her smile reminds me of flecks of white skin peeping out through holes in a lacy veil. The kid doesn’t smell like anything at all. I realize this means she’s not normal.
Well, for that matter, neither is the lady who answers the door. She’s middle-aged, with touches of gray at the temples of her bound up chestnut hair. Frown lines punctuate her mouth and the space between her eyebrows. Her skin’s sallow with a faint greenish cast. She’s wearing a long gray dress, with long sleeves and a high neck that’s something between mock and actual turtleneck height.
This woman is not happy to see us. At her breast is pinned a green-backed cameo with a white urn in bas-relief. Her hands move through the air with the fingers pressed together as though she’s swimming in water instead of standing on land.
The overall effect has my brain so far back into my read-through of Shadows over Innsmouth, I almost fail to defend my group.
My sword comes up just in time, executing a block my muscles remember from college. Red blade clashes with sickly green magic, producing a shower of black motes that dust the mat in front of the door before vanishing.
“We’re here to talk.”
“You’re not invited.” The woman in gray holds her hands up again. “Begone, vampire, and take your Renfields with you.”
“They're here by their own volition. And that’s not how this works.” I sigh and shake my head.
“That’s not how any of this works.” Raven steps forward, hands on their hips. “We don’t need invitations, and even if we did, this is technically my house. Step off, witch.”
“Hey!” Leora pouts.
“No offense, kid.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d say that.” The woman hasn’t set her gaze on Frankie yet. Which apparently he was counting on. “This house has been in my family for generations.”
“What a funny little coincidence. Mine, too.” Raven pushes past her and into the hall, sticking one of the Post-its Frankie slipped them on the front of the woman’s dress. She freezes like a statue, one that blinks.
Leora tags along after Raven. Frankie follows her. The woman looks right through him, ignores his muttered “ Hello, Mother,” too. I bring up the rear, eliciting a glare that could wither an entire apple orchard.
“Gather the rest of your family.” I put on the old glad-handing face and voice that went with my stint selling Cutco door-to-door back in High School. “We’re here to tell you about something that’s going to change your lives.”
She either can’t or won’t answer. I follow my allies down the long hallway. One door near the back has that same sickly green light coming out from under it. Raven pushes through it and into the room. We enter, one by one, including the lady of the house who can apparently walk, at least.
Envy rears up and strikes me in the heart like a viper. This room is covered on every wall, from floor to ceiling, with books. There are too many for me to count even if I wanted to turn on vampire speed. I promise myself that somenight, I’ll have a library like this. But I’ll come by it honestly, not from literally selling my family members to degenerate body-snatching Deep Ones.
Raven takes the most prominent seat, acting like they own the place. Which, apparently, is what they’re here to claim. I admire their audacity, and the tactic definitely has at least the lady in gray off-guard. She pulls a bracelet from one sleeve and blows on the whistle attached to it. The notes from it take me all the way back to our middle school production of The Sound of Music and the whistle Captain Von Trapp blew to summon his too-obedient children.
Leora sits in one of the chairs, feet kicking the air as they dangle. But Frankie remains standing behind me and to my left. It’s a good position for a non-combatant expecting trouble, so I let him stay there instead of inviting him to sit down.
My rapier’s still got that reddish glow, too. I keep it unsheathed for now. As strange as it seems in a room full of people with way more experience in supernatural affairs, I turn out to be the enforcer. Well, maybe I’m the only one with conventional combat training here. And sometimes, that makes all the difference when dealing with supernatural people used to relying on their powers to make up for lack of tactical prowess or even awareness.
One by one, more of the home’s residents file through the door. There’s a man who looks about the same age as the lady, though he’s dressed much more conventionally and his skin’s a healthier pink. And then there are two kids, a boy and a girl. They look to be in their early teens, like Leora. Only the boy looks at her though he doesn’t return her friendly wave. He spares a glance at Frankie, too, but the girl elbows him, and he stops.
I figure this must be Levi, the brother Frankie mentioned last night. From the looks of things, the three of them are siblings. The girl next to him takes one look at my sword, then steps around Levi so he’s between her and me. I give her a smile, and she shudders. Her hands light up with that same greenish glow that was around the woman’s when she attacked earlier.
“Cool it, kiddo.” I hold my free hand up, palm out. “We’re here to talk, not fight.”
“But you brought the Lamb back. And you’re a vampire. You’re not supposed to do that, and you're not supposed to be here, either.”
“He’s here because I brought him.” Raven leans on the arm of their chair. “And believe me, I belong to the Pickering family.”
“You might have while you lived, which would entitle you to have a say in our household matters.” The man shakes his head, then reaches out and plucks the Post-it off the woman’s dress. “The compulsion’s off you now, Mother. Let’s determine whether this vampire’s claim of family ties is true.”
“Thank you, Father.” She reaches down and clasps his hand for a brief squeeze. D
o these two actually call each other Mother and Father? Weird. “I know we refused to talk to the lady vampire on our doorstep last night. She had no magic. But this one used some on me, and might well have been a Pickering before getting turned.” She pulls a monocle from a pocket on her dress and hands it to the man. “Have a look.”
The man puts the glass to his right eye and shuts his left. After that, he nods. “Yes, you’re right, Mother. He’s Pickering, through and through.”
“It’s they, not he.” Raven bares their fangs. “I’m non-binary.”
“But old vampires are supposed to be traditional, not obsessed with all these new gender things.” The woman sticks her nose up so high in the air she could have gotten a nosebleed.
“Back in my mortal days, there were more than two genders.” Raven rolls their eyes. “So I am technically more traditional than you. But considering you’re family, I’ll let it slide this one time. Now, we need to have a talk about your Lamb, Frankie, and his future.”
I figured out what Raven’s playing at here, and it’s a good plan. They’re pretending to be Whitby, as though their identities and fates were reversed back in the Middle Ages. With the Post-its letting Raven do something that looks like magic, we might get away with this charade, too. But only if Whitby hasn’t been here and proven himself first.
“There is no future for him. It’s as it was since we became Pickerings and first came to our agreement with the Deep Ones.”
“No, it’s not.” Raven shakes their head. “My generation’s Lamb was cast into the waves but was returned, like your son. And you ought to embrace him, because without him, your contract would have broken.”
I can see where Raven’s going with this, but if I can tell their story includes some serious omissions, so can the odd couple. But before they can point that out, the Pickering girl speaks up.
“Yeah, why can’t he come back?” She finally stops glaring at me to look at Mother, who is clearly the most powerful member of this family. “He’s not dead like you said he would be. And I’m sick of doing his share of the chores when I could be practicing my magical studies, Mother.”
