Grave Matters

by Lauren M. Roy

  They flowed over to Dunyasha, each taking an arm, and dragged her off Val. The Stregoi thrashed and kicked, one of her spiked heels sailing off and barely missing Justin as he skidded into the room. He was bruised and bloody, but alive.

  “Stake her,” Elly said. She didn’t much care who followed the order, already scanning what she could see of the balcony for signs of the necromancer. This was so close to done. Justin raised a brow, went to where she pointed without argument. They got into position on either side of the doors.

  Behind them, Dunyasha shrieked one last time as the stake pierced her heart.

  23

  DUNYASHA FELL, AND that was when it all went pear-shaped.

  Chaz remembered Dunyasha vaguely, from the few times he’d accompanied Val into Boston those first few years. She’d mostly avoided them, treating Val like one of those out-of-town cousins you don’t really want in your house, but you have to make nice with. Chaz she didn’t even acknowledge. Her own Renfields were hardly more than household staff to her, sent to fetch and carry and otherwise stay the hell out of the way.

  It didn’t surprise him she’d been plotting against Ivanov, aiming to make the Stregoi hers. She’d given her vampiric liege the same snotty reception she gave everyone else.

  Still, he felt a twinge of guilt when Val walked up to where Sunny and Lia held her. Knowing how strong Deirdre was, how strong Val was, how impossibly fucking strong Dunyasha must be, for those two to stand there like it was no big thing made Chaz resolve—not for the first time—never to piss the succubi off.

  It was over fast. No last words, no begging. Dunyasha didn’t stop her squirming like Deirdre had, but maybe she thought she had a chance to get away.

  Val raised her stake and struck true.

  The Stregoi woman turned to ash.

  The necromancer stepped into view out on the balcony.

  Elly saw him at the same time as Chaz, probably reflected in the glass of the open doors. She darted around, wasting no time, that silver spike of hers in her grip. Then Justin was there, beside her, following her out.

  He stumbled.

  “No,” said Chaz, dread rising in his throat, choking him. “No, no. Elly, watch out!”

  Justin recovered his gait. He reached for Elly, snatched a handful of her sweater, and yanked her backward, into his arms.

  His arms, with Udrai’s sigil etching itself on his exposed skin.

  Elly oofed at the impact. She hadn’t seen the sigil, but she wasn’t someone you randomly grabbed at, either. She stomped down hard on Justin’s instep, latched onto him while he was off balance, and perfectly executed one of the throws Lia had made Chaz practice for a whole afternoon.

  Chaos broke out behind him.

  Val gasped and shoved herself away from where Sunny and Lia stood. “Get away,” she spat, when Lia stepped toward her. “I can feel him. He’s in my head.” Her hands fluttered up to clutch at her skull. The movements were jerky, like two puppeteers pulling on the same marionette’s strings. She lurched half a step at Lia, then propelled herself backward. One step. Two. Forward again. “Run. Run, get away from me. Run.”

  Justin scrabbled after Elly on all fours, got her around the ankle, and yanked her down. He dragged her toward him, climbed atop her chest, and pinned her. Didn’t matter how hard she bucked beneath him; she couldn’t throw him off. He shook his head like a dog with a bee-stung nose. “Nnnnnnn. Nnno.”

  But his body wasn’t his. He swiped out with a claw, got her in the midsection. The wound Udrai had closed not two hours earlier gushed open again, as though Justin had torn away a layer of fake skin. All the color drained from her face, her lips gone grey, Udrai’s . . . gift? glamour? fading.

  Her grip loosened on her spike. It rolled away from her hand.

  Cavale flashed past Chaz and scooped up the spike. Elly had her hands up to fend off another blow from Justin, but it never came. Cavale grabbed him by the hair, pulled him off Elly, and shoved him away. Justin rolled. Cavale followed. He caught Justin before the kid could regain his feet, hefted the spike, and drove it into Justin’s shoulder. He was screaming, words Chaz couldn’t quite make out, but he didn’t think they were a spell. Grief, and fury, and fear, they didn’t really need words.

  I know how all this goes.

  Chaz could see it, clear as if it were projected on a screen, as if it actually were happening:

  Val loses the fight against the necromancer’s control. Her arm snakes out, fingers hooked into talons as her claws tear out Lia’s throat.

  Sunny sees Lia fall. Throws herself at Val, that smoking blade seeking vengeance, severing Val’s head neat as you please, but not before Val gets in one last swipe. They all die together, Sunny cradling Lia in her arms.

  On his other side, Justin beats Cavale into a pulp; the warlock has no fight left in him, doesn’t even resist. Then the silver sickness spreads, and Justin lies down beside Elly. His eyes are the last part of him to turn to ash; he dies watching the life leach out of her.

  And missing from all of the carnage is Chaz, the last one alive because he’s no goddamned threat at all, made to watch the necromancer, West, make his exit.

  Left to pick up the pieces, even though with all of them dead, there are no pieces left worth picking up.

  Or maybe if he was lucky, West would drag him to the balcony and pitch him off it, trading his death off one last time before he got out, got on a bus, a train, an international flight.

  The scenario flashed through his mind in the space of a heartbeat, though whether it was simple logic or a vivid imagination or an actual, bona fide vision, he didn’t know. All he knew was he’d be alone, in the end, if he let this play out.

  Fuck. That.

  Chaz stepped up to where Lia stood, still looking for a way to help Val. Her daggers were in their sheaths at her hip. He plucked one out, the shorter one.

  It doesn’t like me. Of course it didn’t; it wasn’t his. It thrummed in his hand, and he could feel the spirit bound within the metal. It didn’t like him, but it was hungry, and he could feed it.

  Lia looked down at him, and he had time to think she didn’t look all that surprised. Sad, maybe, but not surprised. Not angry at the intrusion. “I’ll give it back,” he said, or thought he did. Everything was moving so damned slow around him, like he was wading through a still frame.

  He didn’t think he was alone in his head, but whoever it was, they were just along for the ride. Udrai? That you?

  No answer, but it felt right. One smartass recognizing another. “Watch this,” he told the god, and strode over to meet the necromancer as he crossed the threshold into the bedroom.

  Val lost her fight. She roared and flew at Lia. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

  West didn’t see Chaz coming. He was too busy watching the tableau of Elly, Justin, and Cavale at his feet. His skin had gone grey, the corners of his mouth tinged with dried, rusty blood he hadn’t wiped away after a recent coughing fit. His bluish lips flickered into a small smile as the vampires danced to his tune.

  “Hey,” said Chaz, grabbing him by the shoulder and making him look.

  He brought the keris blade up. He touched it to the man’s throat, watched West’s eyes widen in surprise. “Fuck you, buddy,” Chaz said, and sliced.

  The keris sang with it, the first drops of blood disappearing into the wavy blade before it began to gush. The necromancer dropped to his knees, trying to speak, to form a spell, but all that came out were gurgles.

  Something hit Chaz from behind.

  The wind went out of his lungs as arms snaked around him. He saw the spill of Val’s red hair, felt her fangs at his throat. Justin was up, too, lurching toward him despite the spike sticking out of him.

  Then West thudded forward, face-first on the carpet.

  Val said, “Oh God,” and let Chaz go, backing away in horror
. At the same moment Justin collapsed to the floor and groaned. Cavale hadn’t hit his heart with the spike, but a wound like that, he had to be in a lot of pain.

  It was Udrai who pulled the spike out of Justin’s shoulder. Chaz hadn’t seen him come in, not from the balcony, not from the bedroom door; but then again, he was feeling fairly numb himself as he stared at the necromancer’s body. I did that. Me.

  He was going to kill them all.

  I did that.

  “Good job, there,” said Udrai. He leaned over the body, dabbed his hands in the dead man’s blood, and rubbed them together like he was washing up for Sunday dinner. The blood seeped in.

  It wasn’t that he changed in any visible way. Udrai was still a short bearded man with curly salt-and-pepper hair and brown skin, wearing slacks and a sweater that wouldn’t be out of place in an office. Still, he seemed . . . more present, more real. And though his stature wasn’t very big, the spacious room felt awfully crowded with him in it. “Ohhhh, that feels nice,” he said. He flexed his fingers and looked over at where Elly lay, her color gone grey and waxy. “Now, young lady, I believe we had a deal.”

  Cavale made room for him as he leaned down and touched her side. The warlock’s face was haggard, lined like he’d already started mourning her. Probably had. Probably never stopped, even after she woke up at the hospital. When Udrai pulled his hand away, Elly’s skin was mostly smooth, except for a small scar that twisted its way along. “She’s gonna have to take it easy for a bit,” he told Cavale. “I’m still not at a hundred percent. But she’s not dying anymore.”

  Elly stirred in Cavale’s arms, then bolted upright. Or tried to, before Cavale caught her shoulders. “Shhh,” he said, murmuring softly until she focused on his face. “Everyone’s all right. Everyone’s safe.”

  “But I didn’t . . . The necromancer.” She twisted around despite Cavale’s protests. When she saw the body a few feet away, the blood soaking into the carpet, she said, “Oh.” And, “But who . . . ?”

  Both Cavale and Udrai looked to Chaz. Elly followed their gazes. Chaz caught the little double take, the way she looked at her brother and the death god again to make sure she was seeing that right. “I know, right?” said Chaz, forcing a jollity to his voice he certainly didn’t feel. “Last one of us you’d have pegged for . . .” He lost steam, heard how fake he sounded. “For that.”

  Udrai broke the awkward pause that followed, pushing himself up with a groan. On his way to Chaz, he stopped and peered down at the bloody spike he’d pulled out of Justin. “That’s rough, kiddo. Gonna leave a mark, but you’ll be okay. Chicks dig guys with battle wounds.” Justin gaped at him. Chaz couldn’t blame him; what did you say to the god offering a post-trauma pep talk?

  Then Udrai was grinning up at Chaz. “I meant it, good work. And thanks for the ride. You, uh, ever need anything, you know how to find me now.” He clapped Chaz on the shoulder, tipped an imaginary hat to Sunny and Lia—“Ladies”—ambled out onto the balcony, and was gone.

  Lia came and pried her dagger from Chaz’ fingers. She stood and waited, not speaking, not touching him. Whether it was her succubus instincts at play, or simply knowing what he needed—or didn’t—right then, Chaz appreciated it. If she’d reached out, he might have flinched. He might have screamed. He might have burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” he said, when he figured out how to make his mouth work again. “I know they’re . . . sacred somehow. The blades. If I fucked up their mojo, uh.” Fucked it up by killing a guy, let’s not forget.

  She shook her head. “You did what you had to. Her sisters are jealous, but they’ll get over it.” She sheathed the knife, where it sat smoking just a bit more enthusiastically than its peers.

  Sunny appeared at Lia’s side, slipping an arm around her waist. Do either of them know how close they were to biting it just now? “Chaz, if you need to talk about what happened . . .”

  About killing a man. About opening his throat and letting his life spill out. About that, Sunny? But he forced a smile. “I’m okay. But I know where I can find a good shrink if I need one, yeah?” She nodded. “Got something more important right now.” He felt their eyes on him as he walked away. Pitying. Worried for him. He shook off the cry of frustration that rose in his throat. Poor fragile Chaz, let’s all fret about him now. Clearly he doesn’t know how to handle killing a dude.

  He paused, took a deep breath. Stop it. They’re only doing what friends do.

  Val was in the corner, rebuilding her composure. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but that was a relief—she was the last person he wanted a poor Chaz side-eye from. Turned out, she had something more pressing on her mind. “I almost killed you,” she said.

  “Wasn’t you doing it.”

  “But I felt it. I should have figured we’d be close enough that he could do that. Reach out and . . .” She moved her hand as though she held a puppet’s strings.

  “Don’t. It’s over.”

  She looked at him at last. “Because you ended it.”

  “It needed ending. Val, shit was about to get really, really bad. I saw it.” He couldn’t explain the vision, whether Udrai had planted it, or he’d simply imagined a likely way things were about to go. It had been strong, and real, and though he could still feel the way the necromancer’s skin had slit like a ripe tomato beneath the blade, he was pretty sure he’d made the right decision. Pretty sure.

  “I underestimated you,” said Val, frowning at the way he was opening and closing his fist.

  “You did.”

  “I was scared. No, that’s no excuse. I won’t do it again.” She took his hand, gave it a squeeze. “That said, I’m going to have to go in and talk with Ivanov. Will you come with me, when everyone’s all settled?”

  He grinned. “Can I punch him in the mouth?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Ah well. I’ll go with anyway. Let’s get these kids home first.”

  * * *

  IVANOV’S BAR WAS quiet tonight. Almost all the patrons were human, and the few Renfields hanging out in the back hunched over their drinks listlessly, like they hadn’t slept in days. They probably hadn’t.

  One, a Korean girl who looked like her pool cue was the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor for a nap, pushed herself off her stool as Val and Chaz approached. “Help you?” she muttered.

  “Is Ivanov in?”

  She opened her mouth, the no clearly forming on her lips, when she got a better look at Chaz. “You were at the firehouse. You came for Elly.”

  “Yeah. Were you cleanup crew?”

  She nodded and asked, almost shyly, “How is she?”

  “Alive,” he said, but he didn’t give her any more than that.

  “That’s what we’re here about,” said Val. “Can we go back?” She was only asking as a courtesy. If the girl tried sending them away, Val fully planned to push right past her.

  But she bobbed her head yes and returned to the stool. “When you see Elly, tell her Ji-hye said to get better soon.”

  “Like she has a fucking cold,” Chaz muttered when they were out of earshot. “They all saw her half-fucking-dead.”

  “Easy, now. Ten minutes and we’re out of here. Five, if I can.”

  He took a deep breath. Another. Sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’m cool. Let’s do this. Sooner I get out of this monkey suit, the better.”

  They’d both dressed for the occasion, Chaz in the same charcoal grey suit he wore to any event that required a jacket and tie, Val in black slacks and a maroon silk shirt. They ought to have been going out for a fancy dinner on the town, not visiting the back room of a dive bar.

  “Come,” called Ivanov as she knocked, but Val didn’t wait for him to finish the word. She’d hardly waited for him to start it.

  He sat behind his desk as always, impeccably dressed in a suit that must have run him thousands. Nothing had changed in th
e office since Val had been here a little over a month ago, but the space seemed . . . different somehow. Emptier.

  Realization dawned. “Where’s Katya?” The Stregoi woman was always hovering at his shoulder, or perched on the edge of the desk. Tonight, Ivanov was alone.

  He smiled. “So good of you to ask, Valerie. She’s resting. The fighting got . . . particularly nasty, and she needs some time to recover.”

  She wasn’t part of it. She really wasn’t. Everything Val had planned to say, the speech she’d rehearsed and re-rehearsed, flew out of her head. “You don’t have one damned lick of shame, do you?”

  The affable How may I help you? smile disappeared. “Shame is a waste of an emotion. Besides, what have I to be ashamed of? My people were attacked. We fought valiantly and well, and those of us who remain standing won the day. The Oisín are no more; my Stregoi hold our piece of the city. We mourn the dead and celebrate those who, in battle, made names for themselves. Speaking of, how is our Eleanor?”

  “She’s not yours. That’s what I came here for. I’m tendering her resignation.”

  “Surely that’s for Miss Garrett to do herself?”

  “She’s not coming back here. You can’t be trusted.”

  He raised a brow. “I? Valerie, whatever it is you think, I assure you you’re mistaken.” He ought to have clapped a hand over his heart to complete the wounded effect.

  The feigned innocence was too much. “No,” said Val, “I’m not. You put this all together. Oisín versus Stregoi, the whole turf war was your hand at work.”

  “The turf war was a vampire’s reach exceeding her grasp. Dunyasha began her betrayal years ago, when she made that street rat into one of us.”

  “Dunyasha played the long game. Ten years is far too soon for her to move. No. You found out about it. Or maybe you knew all along, and you were playing a different long game. Either way, this necromancer comes to town, you get wind of him, and you see your chance.”