It was a feast day of gluttony. The Disciple couldn’t even think the name if he didn’t want his insides to twist in disgust. He knew that most of the restaurants in his best hunting place in Pioneer Square would be closed. The bars would be open, and the scent of alcohol wasn’t as hard on him as the greasy, rotting stench of solid food. To get to the square he’d have to pass the Witch’s homeless shelter. He dreaded the sight of her standing by the door and sneering at him. But maybe she wouldn’t be there tonight. Maybe she’d be stuffing her face just like all the other swine.
He smiled at the thought of the Witch bitch being no better than other mortals, and the thought gave him strength. The Disciple squared his shoulders once he was outside and took in a few deep breaths of cold, night air, ridding his lungs of the last of the brimstone odor of the Demon. He started up the sidewalk confidently, happy to be on the hunt alone. The Vessel had his place in the great scheme of things. The Vessel’s job was to make the kill, to channel some of the energy of the death back to the Prophet, to store the rest. The Prophet spread the magic. The Demon kept watch. The Angel gave life everlasting. And they all fed the Angel. But the Disciple was the hunter. His duty, skill, and privilege was to bring the Angel slaves and prey for the sacrifice.
He sent up a prayer to the Angel as he set forth. “Let me bring new blood to you tonight, for whatever purpose you see fit.” He would hunt for the Angel. With that thought in mind, the Disciple was certain that fate would let one of the gifted fall into his hands.
And fate was kind when he set out with a pure heart and purpose. He skirted past the homeless shelter on the other side of the street, and no one was there to see him pass. Then, around the corner and a few blocks past the Witch’s dwelling, he spotted a man standing beneath a corner streetlamp, smoking a cigarette. The buildings all around were dark. There was light traffic on the street, but a quick look around assured the Disciple that he and the smoking man had the block to themselves. Best of all, the stranger had the gift.
Even at a distance, the Disciple felt the low-level hum and crackle of energy from the stranger. He’d heard the basic gift called many things: personality, charisma, sex appeal, intelligence, focus. Sometimes it was combined with ESP of some sort. A few rare beings were born with the charismatic energy, the psychic abilities, and a fierce will to control them. The Disciple had the complete gift and knew this gift was the reason the Angel would make him immortal. The Prophet had the gift, but the Disciple sensed a weakness in him; the Demon was a mockery of the gifting, but the Disciple would be One with the Angels.
But not tonight.
Santini was much better looking in person than in his mug shots. Char hadn’t recognized the bearded man until he stopped under a streetlight and lit a cigarette. She hung back in the shadows to watch him, and the connection clicked when he turned his head. It had to be Santini. She had files on the entire Tucson pest control operation. But what was one of Haven’s partners doing in Seattle? Why had he been at Della’s? Della’s words came back to her. “Been sniffing around.”
Implications buzzed at light speed through Char’s head. For an instant, she was back in the mountainside clearing with the shotgun blast ringing in her ears and the pain in her gut. She knew exactly what sort of man shot first and didn’t bother with questions: Haven. Jebel Haven, the self-proclaimed vampire hunter, was in Seattle. Looking for real vampires this time?
“Oh, shit.”
Char was not given to swearing, but the circumstances seemed dire enough to warrant it. But consternation did nothing but freeze her in place and make her lurk back deeper into the shadows. She was an Enforcer. She had fantasized about her first field assignment, but no one had given her a handbook outlining what her behavior should be under the circumstances. Mortal law enforcement officers had it easier. They went to a police academy, took tests, served an apprenticeship with more experienced officers. Marguerite had not been an enthusiastic teacher, and Istvan had given her no pointers on how he’d gotten to be everyone’s worst nightmare. One just picked it up as one went along, Char guessed.
“I hate being a rookie.” Hating it didn’t change the fact that she needed to respond rather than watch. If she wanted to find out what Santini was doing in town, she had to approach him. “I can do that.”
She moved forward the several steps she’d unconsciously retreated. Santini took a look up and down the street, still calmly smoking. She was certain he was unaware of her presence. She was smiling with a sort of fierce pleasure as she took another cautious step forward, anticipating a short conversation with this mortal who thought he knew about vampires.
But the stick-figure man walked across her path and into the circle of light first. His shadow had the shape of a praying mantis, and it fell ominously across Santini. Char paused to study this development as the mortal vampire hunter turned to look at the newcomer. Santini’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Char gaped, wondering why she hadn’t felt the newcomer’s approach.
“Do you want to live forever?” The skinny wraith’s voice was beautiful, deep and seductive.
He looked like a drunk or drugged-out derelict and sounded like the voice of God. He looked like a slight breeze would blow him over, but psychically—Char shook her head, partially to clear it. She faded into the shadows, wrapping them around her to escape detection, not that she really needed to. Psychically, this weirdo was off the scale, but all that talent was focused on seducing Santini.
Santini did not appear to be the seducable type. He flicked away his cigarette butt, and drew a knife from inside his coat with a smooth, economical gesture. “Yeah,” he answered. “Do you?”
The newcomer showed no fear of the knife. He smiled and shrugged. “I’m here to help you, friend.”
“Don’t need my soul saved. . . friend,” Santini answered.
“Eternity awaits.” The smiling stranger reached out a hand, a gentle, beckoning gesture. He was unafraid of the knife. In fact, he radiated riveting confidence. His technique was mesmerizing, and Char watched with reluctant admiration.
Santini took a step closer to the curb. He lifted a gold chain from around his neck and dangled a gold cross before the other man’s face. “Save it for somebody else.”
A big Jeep Grand Cherokee came around the corner then. Santini let go of the cross and waved the skinny man off. The other man didn’t move. The vehicle pulled up beside Santini.
The streetlight gave a clear view of the Jeep as Santini went around to the passenger’s side and opened the door. It was a dark blue Jeep Grand Cherokee with Arizona plates. She wasn’t surprised.
Char got a look at the driver. She would have recognized him even if she hadn’t expected him to show up the minute she made Santini. The driver was a square-built man with short dark hair flecked with silver. He sat with his head tilted slightly to one side, intensely alert, thought he appeared to be paying attention to the steering wheel.
Jebel Haven, the great vampire hunter, was in town.
Vampire hunter, her butt.
“Haven wouldn’t know a vampire if it bit him.” Oh, really? she reminded herself. Then how come he shot one last night?
Fury snarled through her along with vivid memory of pain. Her claws began to grow with sudden, delicious anticipation. But this was no time to leap out of the shadows, rip the roof off the Jeep, and feast on the heart of her enemy. She had something more important to deal with right now. It wasn’t easy, but she kept her mind on her purpose for coming to Seattle rather than on the less important assignment to rid the world of Jebel Haven.
Cold premonition crawled up Haven’s spine as he stopped the Jeep. Haven didn’t like the feel of the situation, even though Santini was obviously unconcerned by the skinny weirdo standing near him. Haven got the strongest feeling that he didn’t want to look into the weirdo’s eyes. To Haven, the area beyond the yellow circle of streetlight was too dark. The block was too empty. The closer he’d gotten to the corner where Santini told him he’d be waiting
, the stranger the city seemed.
Santini slid into the passenger seat. The skinny guy said something and held his arms out wide as Santini closed the door. Santini ignored the bum and asked, “What took you so long?”
“Got lost.” Haven put the Jeep in gear. He watched the side mirror as he pulled away from the curb. “You see someone back there?” Haven asked his partner. “In the shadows?”
“No.”
Haven ignored Santini’s answer in favor of squinting hard in the rearview mirror. The shadows had moved, he was sure of it. “There’s somebody back there.”
“The missionary sicko.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t actually see her, but she was there. Her? Haven’s skin prickled a warning, and his scalp stood on end. He gripped the wheel with sweating hands. The temptation was to stop the Jeep, get out, and start shooting.
Santini turned around in the seat. “Nothing back there but the loon, and he’s heading the other way.” Santini faced forward again. “Let’s get out of here. Place makes my skin crawl.”
“Yeah.”
They shared a quick sideways look that spoke volumes. Spooking either of them took a lot. Haven had been spooked too much since coming to this wet, cold place. Somebody was going to pay for that. Not tonight, though. Vampire hunters worked best in the daylight. Same rules probably applied to werewolf hunters. And if there was a girl lurking back in the shadows, she was probably some out-of-luck hooker having a slow night. Haven put his foot down hard on the gas.
Chapter 10
CHAR WATCHED THE Jeep pull away and marked it down as unfinished business. She saved her concentration for the more important target. There was a vampire in town all right, one with a very powerful companion.
Char wondered if Santini had the faintest inkling of the real danger that had been presented by the skinny man. If Santini had let the companion say another word or looked him too long in the eye, he’d have been caught. And then what would have happened? Would Santini have become a slave or a victim of the skinny man’s master? The former would be just desserts, she supposed, but the latter was quite unacceptable behavior.
And what vampire would that be? she wondered and stirred the shadows surrounding her to stay hidden. No way she was approaching one of her own kind’s lovers until she was certain Haven was long gone from the neighborhood.
She was puzzled but also elated to have finally found some connection to the strigoi. It occurred to her that she might have found another holdover from the past, someone who’d survived on the streets the way Della had, but she didn’t think so.
The companion made a rude gesture after the Jeep, then continued on up the street. Char cautiously followed. Take me home, she thought at him, equally cautiously. Ordering someone else’s companion around was not only against the Law, it was difficult and sometimes fatal.
He wanted to go back, but he couldn’t go back.
The Disciple looked around, frantic and afraid, and so frustrated he wanted to throw back his head and howl into the night. What am I doing wrong?
You’re doing fine. Go home. Rest.
For a moment he felt almost reassured. It was as if a soft hand stroked his fevered brow. A gentle breeze pressed against the burning fear. He thought of blankets and sleep in a comfortable place. He remembered the room he used to sleep in, hidden under the streets, and all the candles he’d brought to light the place. That had been home until the Prophet found him, until the Angel took him in his arms. Sweet, sweet Angel. The Disciple closed his eyes and swayed, almost smiling.
Then he remembered that if he did not bring the Demon and the Prophet what they wanted, they would deny him the Angel’s touch. If he failed them, he was also failing the Angel and didn’t deserve the gift of eternity.
He would be punished. He hurried up the street, repeating the words over and over in his head.
He would go to Pioneer Square, he decided. There would be people there even tonight. That was always the best place to hunt. He’d find someone.
Lost him, Char thought. Mind games with other people’s property were not her thing, anyway. The stick-figure man was heading for Pioneer Square, Char realized after she’d trailed him for a few blocks. And Daniel had told Helene Bourbon that he wanted to return underground. She would have started her search for Daniel there if she hadn’t gotten lost earlier. It was possible to access a ruined section of the oldest part of Seattle from Pioneer Square. In fact, parts of it were a major tourist attraction. The underground really wasn’t a vampire hangout, it was just too obvious. During the day, tourists were led through the area, and there was a gift shop in one of the abandoned nineteenth-century buildings that had been covered over when the streets had been graded.
Char remembered going to a party down there once, a haunted house Halloween party that was put on by a tour company. It was supposed to have been spooky, but the mortal tourists had been unaware that the nests of Seattle were also at the party. The strigoi stayed on after the tourists left. Char remembered how musty and damp the place was. It smelled of garbage from nearby alleys, as well. It was certainly not an appealing place for even children-of-the-night-type vampires to call home.
That Halloween party was the only time she knew of that the local community had gathered in the Seattle underground, and that was well before Daniel’s time. She supposed the strigoi that had been involved in the child sex abuse ring might have used the underground as a gathering place, or maybe Daniel was a local boy who played down there and that was where he had been picked up. But why would Daniel return to a place where he’d been abused? Maybe because he was an infant, she supposed, and a damaged one at that. The poor kid wasn’t sane; maybe he’d gone looking for his lost innocence. Innocence, he’d discover if he lived long enough, was highly overrated. Or so she’d been told.
There was no one in the square he could use. The Disciple knew it even before he set foot in the place. Winter clouds were close overhead, no music spilled into the square. Even the gulls seemed to have taken the holiday evening off. The quiet was unnerving. The stillness, or something in the stillness, made the Disciple’s skin prickle. A sense of being surrounded by sound-deadening shadows crept up on him, flowed over him.
He spun around in a dizzying circle, assuring himself all was well. There were a few derelicts asleep under the trees or huddled on the benches. The bars that were open were just about empty. Lights were off most places. He stopped beneath the wrought iron bus stop pergola and wrapped his scrawny arms around his middle. It was so dark and lonesome here.
Go home.
The voice sounded so soft, so soothing, so kind. He closed his eyes and he could almost make out the shape of a black cape and hood made out of purest night.
Char hummed “The Lady Wore Black” under her breath as she gave up trying to be subtle and walked up to the companion. The poor man was shaking and hugging himself, wild-eyed with terror, and Char simply couldn’t take it anymore.
“Listen,” she said, putting her hand on a skeletal shoulder. “You’ve got to calm down before you have a heart attack. Talk to me,” she crooned as eyes wide with fear and fanaticism focused on her, then slid away before she could make further contact. She sighed. “Where’s Daniel?” Might as well get straight to the point. She drew the companion closer. She did not want to get any deeper into his mind, but she had to make him understand. He shook like a leaf in her grasp. “I’ve come for Daniel. Take me to him.”
A leaf made out of spring steel, she realized a moment too late. He moved like a cat. He wasn’t stronger than her, but he twisted so fast and hard he was impossible to hold on to. He got away, and left her holding his dirty denim jacket in her hands. He backed up, snarling, face so viciously transformed that for a moment Char thought she was facing a rabid rat rather than a person. Taken by surprise, she backed up a step.
Char dropped the coat and held up her hands. She spoke gently in response to his terror. Companion or not, this man was deeply mentally disturbed. “I onl
y want to talk to you.”
His breathing was harsh. “Don’t touch me!”
“I won’t hurt you.”
He pressed up against the back wall of the bus stop and slithered sideways, shaking his head wildly. “The Prophet protects me! The Demon defends me!” He repeated the words over and over, turning them into a chant. He began to bang his fists rhythmically on the cold, echoing metal of the wrought iron pergola. The sound set Char’s head ringing.
Char’s temples began to throb, then ache in time with his pounding fists. Then a lance of fire exploded inside her skull.
“The Prophet protects me. The Demon defends me.” His chant rose to a hoarse shout. “The Prophet. The Demon. Prophet. Demon. Prophet! Demon!”
Char clutched at her head, reeled with dizzy nausea, and fell to her knees.
“Prophet! Demon!”
It took her too long to realize that the words themselves were causing the pain. Magic. A simple spell of protection. Not so simple.
Nausea and pain twisted through her. “Oh, God . . .” She began to retch but fought to lift her head. She was so dizzy she was uncertain where she was, but she managed to turn toward the horrible voice. It took all her will to look up and up and meet the companion’s eyes.
Big mistake.
His eyes were full of fire. The fire grew teeth and fangs and horrible, burning scales. Char tried to cover her face with her hands. If it didn’t see her if she didn’t see it—
The monster screamed, and her mind exploded.
The first mistake I made, Char thought when she realized that her cheek was resting on cold, damp concrete, was in getting up this evening. Everything had simply gone downhill after that. Of course, it might have helped if she’d remembered that she was the Enforcer. What was the use of being a superhero if she forgot to use the superpowers part?
Laws of the Blood 2: Partners Page 8
