Even more heads than usual turned towards me as I ascended the steps, but I tried not to mind. I knew I was doubly out of place. In addition to my deathhawk and tattoos, I now wore a tight, patterned corset bustier, my most stylish leather pants and my best matching leather vestcoat. The outfit went so well together there was no doubting that this was eveningwear, but there was no escaping that it wasn’t normal eveningwear either.
Inside was warm, cozy, brick, with huge glass windows looking out onto garden paths. I was early; even with traffic it was still only six-ten, so I decided to wait by the bar. The sun had set only minutes ago; it was highly unlikely that the vampire would be… early?
Calaphase glanced up from the bar and smiled at me. He was wearing another long-tailed coat, narrowly pinstriped, expertly tailored, that gave the impression of impossible elegance from a bygone age. He saluted me with a glass of what looked like liquid gold, finished the last swigs with a flourish and grimace, and then pushed the squat empty glass back to the bartender with a wink and a twenty. I just stared, as the man I’d once known as a biker walked up to me, as sharply dressed as a Victorian James Bond-and twice as appealing.
“Dakota,” Calaphase said, with a smile and a gracious bow. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Afraid I’d jilt you?” I responded.
“Never,” Calaphase said, his eyes drifting over my tattooed midriff, my corset, my breasts. Then he caught himself and looked up. “Sorry. That is quite the outfit.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “Yours is easy on the eyes as well. Shall we dine?”
“We have fifteen minutes,” Calaphase said, extending an elbow. “Care for a stroll?”
I looked outside. “Are you sure you want to go out there? The sun just went down.”
“I like twilight,” Calaphase said, pulling out sunglasses. “A benefit of the Saffron diet.”
Canoe’s garden was as inviting as its interior and as friendly as its clientele. Another glowing sign hung over the patio, lending electric color to the warmth of the torches; under their luminous glow we strolled through green, inviting gardens, watching the Chattahoochee ripple past. Somehow the river looked cleaner here, even though I knew it was the same water that flowed past the werehouse only a few miles to the south.
“So… ” I said. “How much does a vampire on the Saffron diet eat?”
“Not much,” Calaphase admitted. “I rarely have more than the squash bisque and a glass of wine. If I indulge in too much solid food, I have a thermos of cow’s blood at the werehouse.”
“Appetizing,” I said. “It looked like the drink was killing you.”
“It’s difficult,” Calaphase admitted, stopping to stare out into the black flowing water, barely lit by flickering torches. “But the Lady Saffron is right. It’s worth it. I hunger less, and stay awake longer, every day. I’ve seen the aftermath of sunset, and withstood the onset of sunrise. I can’t yet face the sun, but the day is coming.”
Staring out over the water, he looked noble, even heroic, like a sea captain of old contemplating time passing in the night, the essence of his profile, pale skin and blond hair captured by the torchlight, abstracted and made eternal, like a statue of brass.
“And I have the Lady Saffron’s bravery, and your challenge of vampire assumptions, to thank.” He glanced back, weighing something, then smiled. “I bet you usually go Dutch,” he said, again extending an elbow, “but may I buy you dinner in thanks, Dakota Frost?”
“You know, Calaphase,” I said, taking his arm, “perhaps I can make an exception.”
“Here’s to promising exceptions,” he said, patting my hand with his free one.
I smiled, looking down bashfully. Calaphase was charming. Well, yes, handsome, sexy, and in all reality terrifyingly dangerous, but-absolutely charming. I felt no pressure from him, nothing to fear. We would have a nice dinner, and that would be it.
Then Calaphase froze in his tracks. “Speak of the devil… ”
And I looked up just in time to meet the eyes of the Lady Saffron and the Lady Darkrose as they stopped dead not five feet from us on the path.
Saffron wore a stunning red dress of flaring silk with matching red gloves that left her shoulders bare beneath her flaming hair. Her South African vampire consort, the Lady Darkrose, wore a white-trimmed robe open over a black leather catsuit that went well against her dark skin. A typical evening out for them. I could see echoes of smiles and laughter on their faces, and Saffron even had her arm in the Lady Darkrose’s, just as mine was in Calaphase’s; but as they registered my arm in Calaphase’s, the Lady Darkrose’s face went carefully blank.. . as Saffron’s face turned beet red. I hadn’t even known vampires could blush.
At first, I just thought innocently, Oh, this is awkward.
Then the shouting started.
“ Dakota? ” Saffron said- not in her indoor voice. “Why are you here with him? ”
“Sav-” I began, then bit it off as she glared. “Uh, my Lady Saffron-”
“I thought you disapproved of vampires,” she said, voice rising, “but you just disapproved of me! ”
My jaw dropped. When had I ever loved this petulant bitch? Her voice rose further.
“What, did you get tired of your man in black and decided to move on to the next cock? ”
“Saffron!” Calaphase said, shocked as I was. “That was completely out of line-”
“ You shut your mouth,” Saffron snapped. “And it’s Lady Saffron to you.”
“I thought we were friends now, but if you really want the respect due a vampire queen, you have to be a vampire queen,” Calaphase said, tilting his head. Diners on the nearby patio had recoiled in shock at her outburst, and Darkrose had intercepted an angry waiter and was speaking in quiet tones. “Is this the example the leader of a great house sets, much less the Queen of Little Five Points?”
Saffron flinched. She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it. Then she nodded to Calaphase, not meeting my eyes, and turned to Darkrose, who was still calming the waiter.
“No, Lady Darkrose, please do not cover for me, that was my fault,” she said, spreading her hands graciously. “Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my rudeness, I was just startled. Please accept my apologies… and a complimentary dessert, courtesy of the House of Saffron.”
With a nod to Darkrose to arrange it, Saffron stalked off. “Walk with me.”
We followed her to a secluded part of the path, and she turned to us.
“Thank you, Lord Calaphase,” she said coldly. “I had that coming. I was out of line. Becoming a vampire hasn’t turned out as liberating as I expected.”
“I know that feeling,” Calaphase said-lightly, but it backfired.
“ Don’t think I’m distracted,” Saffron said, “from this… this insult. ”
“Saffron!” I said. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re the one who turned on me -”
“That excuse worked when you stuck to humans,” she said coldly, “but not when you’re parading around with a rival vampire lord while wearing the sign of my house.”
“I’m so sorry to have offended you,” Calaphase said. “I made my offer to dine with the Lady Frost as gracious thanks to someone who helped a friend.”
“She’s still wearing the sign of my house,” Saffron said, glaring at the collar around my neck. “You’re a vampire-and a clan leader. You should have cleared it with me.”
Calaphase stiffened. “Yes, yes of course, my Lady Saffron.”
“What? No, no of course not, ‘my Lady Saffron,’” I said. “Calaphase said you didn’t share well with other clans, but this is ridiculous. ”
“You’re being naive,” Saffron snapped. “If I had the reputation of ‘sharing,’ the Gentry would eat me alive-or, more likely, eat you alive, first chance the Lady Scara got-”
“But this is Calaphase,” I said. “He’s a friend- our friend. And we’re here for dinner-as-food, not dining-on-companions. He’s on the Saffron diet, maybe you’ve heard
of it?”
“ You’re wearing my token,” Saffron said. “Calaphase still needed my permission.”
“Look, Saffron,” I said testily. “I’m a full grown adult, not a teenager on curfew.”
“If the sign of my house means nothing to you, we can dispose of it,” Saffron said, voice unexpectedly level. “Lady Darkrose, bring me the key please.”
My hand went to my throat. The steel collar I wore was my shield against the world of vampires, my guarantee they would treat me decently. I’d only worn it for a few months, but it had been fitted just for me, so I had gotten used to it-and forgotten that only Darkrose had the keys that could take it off. As possessive as Saffron was, I never thought that would happen.
In moments, Darkrose rejoined us, her dark face a mixture of shock and embarrassment. Without a word, she slipped a leather-gloved hand inside her robe, briefly exposing the hard ribbing of her corset, boots that seemed to come to her hips, the handle of a whip. But she was Saffron’s dominatrix only inside their bedroom. Outside, Saffron called the shots. And when Darkrose’s hand returned, it held a single silver key on a golden chain.
Saffron took it and stepped up to me. “Turn ’round.”
I just stared at her in shock. “Saffron… ”
“I said, turn ’round,” Saffron snapped, reaching out, then jerking her hand back.
I felt my hands tingling, and looked down to see the religious symbols tattooed on the back of my knuckles glowing slightly as they reacted to the hostility in her aura. That never happened-Saffron normally kept her aggression under such a lid that she could safely live in a deconsecrated church, complete with exposed crosses. She was more steamed than I thought.
“Don’t touch me,” I said quietly, meeting her cold red gaze. Scratch that-she was much more steamed. “Vampire queen or no, do not touch me without asking.”
“As you wish,” Saffron said. “But you have something of mine and I want it back.”
“ Fine, then,” I said, turning, sweeping the long tail of my deathhawk out of the way.
I felt Saffron step up behind me, felt her hands fumble at the lock, felt the coolness of the keychain against my neck. Then there was a pop, and the lock opened-freeing my neck from the collar for the first time in two and a half months.
Saffron pulled it off, scraping my neck, and angrily I turned to face her. We glared at each other a moment, her holding the collar-and then Saffron flung it into the darkness over the Chattahoochee, where it vanished with a distant plop.
“But… you had it made for her,” Darkrose said, staring after it.
“That was a long time ago. A different life-when I believed we could still be together. Or at least close,” Saffron said. I felt my throat. I’d never liked it, but now I was sorry that it was not just off, but… gone. “I should have abandoned that hope long ago, and the collar with it.”
“That… was… foolish,” Calaphase said, fangs clenched, pale face livid. Saffron glared at him, but he just straightened his jacket with a sharp jerk. “Dakota-the Lady Frost-has performed invaluable services to my clan and our clients.”
“Then you give her protection,” Saffron said.
“Perhaps we will, but she has provided even greater services to you,” Calaphase said. “You do not know how much her dispatching that magician last year helped your reputation with the clans. It’s bad enough you’d withdraw her protection, but it is worse that you’d do so as such a public stunt in front of the humans. Not even old school vampires would-Oh, damnit. ”
Suddenly Calaphase cursed and pulled out his phone, which I now could hear faintly buzzing. Never underestimate vampire hearing. His brow furrowed, his thumb hovered over the button to kill it, but after a long pause he said, “Sorry, I have to take this.”
“What? Am I not here? Is this not important? Don’t you have voicemail?” Saffron said, looking legitimately astounded. “Am I really nothing to you two?”
“Yeah Gettyson, now isn’t the best-” Calaphase began, waving her off. “What? What? What the f-speak up, I can’t-Holy crap!”
It was hard to believe, but that pale stone face became paler, drained of all color. “Do we need help? Should I tell-” and he looked up at Saffron, then at me. “I’ve got them both right here. Yes, yes, no promises. Yes, I’ll hurry-I’m on my way.”
Calaphase closed the phone, and I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“We have to go,” he said. “The werehouse is on fire.”
The Tagger’s Revenge
We screeched round the corner down the old ironworks drive, debris rattling up a storm beneath the green loaner as it slid through loose gravel at every curve. Calaphase gripped the dash in fury, hunched forward, eyes intent, hands curled like the claws of a predator.
“Hurry,” was all he said.
But I was already stepping on it. Vines and bushes tore greedily at the Accord’s exterior. Then we were through, darting through chainlink and rumbling over concrete, speeding towards a vast pillar of glowing smoke looming over ruined buildings lit by yellow flame.
“And God moved over the desert in a pillar of flame, destroying everything in his wrath,” I said, eyes wide. “My daughter is in there! In a cage! ”
“Get as close as you can,” Calaphase ordered. “Then we do what we can. Everyone gets out. Stop here! I don’t want your car to catch on fire, we may need it to evacuate the wounded.”
I hit the brakes and we scrambled out. The rollup doors to the werehouse were open and Fischer burst out of the smoke, beard grimed with soot and eyes glowing with power. A young boy was in his arms, and an endless stream of animals swarmed out around him: mostly wolves, but also mountain lions, deer, even a horse-but no Cinnamon.
“Those are all the cages,” he shouted at Gettyson. “I checked the whole level!”
Gettyson nodded-he was in the throng, gesticulating, using the vampire guards and the unchanged elders to sort predators from prey. He caught sight of us and waved. “You two, take the side wing,” he shouted. “Get anyone out of there before the flames cuts them off!”
We ran round the right side of the building, opposite the wall where I’d saved Tully from the graffiti. Here was a long, low blockhouse, half buried in the ground, that had perhaps once been a storage area. It abutted the main building of the werehouse, where smoke was already billowing out an open door and jetting through cracks in the dark, sooty windowpanes.
“I’ll take the upper level doors, you the lower,” Calaphase said, vaulting up over the railing onto the next level and touching the first door with his hand. He cursed and jerked his hand back, then ran to the next door.
Stairs led to the lower level doors. They were all in a long low trench, sealed off by a chain link fence like a cage. The stairs stopped at a chain link grate with a simple padlock. I tried to bolt forward down the stairs, hoping to snap the padlock with one of my snakes, but was pushed back by a new wave of smoke from the door closest to the stairs.
“Help us!” a voice screamed, and I caught a glimpse of cat eyes and furred hands reaching through the links for help. Not Cinnamon, but for the grace of God-” Help us! ”
But the fire wouldn’t let me: wind goaded it on. Ugly, roiling yellow smoke boiled out of the door, breathing in and out like a living thing, surging every time I tried to get past. I tried crouching and slipping past, but the heat was so intense it staggered me, and when I tried to catch my breath the hot stale air and the tightness of my corset left me dizzied and coughing.
Well, fine. There’s more than one way to save a cat.
“ Spirit of fall,” I murmured. “ Extend my reach.”
A long vine uncoiled from my wrist and curled past the smoke, down the stairs, and I prepared myself, stretching my body, as best I could in the corset, to bring the snake to life. It began to crawl down the vine, and I willed it to slink down and snap the link on the chain And then the door screamed with rage and vomited forth a great blast of flame. The roiling fireball knocked me back, th
e flash of heat singing my skin even from dozens of feet away. And for a brief moment, the fire enveloped the snake on the curving vine.
Pain hit me like a live wire.
I screamed. The vine recoiled, trailing sparks through the air-sparks of flame, not mana, as heat destroyed the delicate pigments. The vine snapped back onto my skin and I jerked back uselessly, curling up into a little ball as white-hot pain burned into my flesh.
“Dakota!” Calaphase said, coming to my side. I tried to answer, but the corset was still crushing my diaphragm and I just gasped for breath. “Dakota!” he said. “Are you all right?”
I held up my hand. The snake itself was completely gone, the vine tattoo’s color had faded to a dull brown, and the skin around it was red and beginning to blister. The fire had burned me, burned me through the magic, even though my skin never touched the flame.
I caught my breath and looked at Calaphase helplessly. “I can’t help with this.”
“You know what? I can’t wade through fire either. So screw magic,” Calaphase said, punching my shoulder. “Get up, let’s help these people.”
He sprinted, no, shot down to the end of the low building with vampire speed. By the time I caught up with him, gasping, limping, my knee throbbing, he had torn the chain link fence away, and all I had to do was help lift the poor trapped werekids out of the dark hole.
“Where’s Cinnamon!” I asked the werecat. “Cin! Stray! Where is she?”
“Down by the weight room,” she said, coughing. “Lucky bitch was going on a hunt-”
“Show me,” I said.
We ran back around the werehouse, past the main entrance, jumping down onto the lower level, again curving around towards the same area where I’d fought the graffiti yesterday. When we got there, I paused, gasping again, looking up at the fire, at the tongues of flame now licking through the smoke-curling, artistic, like brushstrokes.
“Oh, hell,” I said. It wasn’t just fire.
“Come on, Dakota,” Calaphase said, beckoning from the corner. A great orange glow came from behind him, and I ran around him, bracing myself for the horror of the flames.
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