The Strigoi Chronicles Box Set

by Nya

  How good to see you again…

  We’ll have someone clean up that…

  Can I get you some—

  Bambi will be available shortly…

  Pops pressed his lips together, his brows going uni when I said, “Bambi? Really?” I’d file that away for future reference. For the time being, I hung back and watched all hell break loose, metaphorically speaking, as humans and minions alike scurried to accommodate their Sire’s unexpected visit.

  If going in hot meant the toadys broke out the welcome mat and made Bambi available, well … being a badass might not be as hard as I thought. What clued me in that I was wrong on all counts was Dad’s body language. He was having a tough time holding onto his glamour, the suave, urbane man-about-dimensions morphing with subtle shifts into his true demon form.

  The lackeys were too busy running the vacuum and tidying up to notice, but the concierge, a fellow demon, went eyes-on-stalks at that show of pique and pulled his cell phone to speak to someone in authority. The demon on the other end wasn’t happy.

  He had no idea.

  Dad checked his Tag Heuer Grand Carrera sports watch and gave the hapless concierge his best I’m waiting smile, the one that puddled intestines. With a miniscule twitch of his tail, he bid me to scout the lobby area. I was pleased to have something useful to do so I backed away, widening my field of view and listening hard.

  It wasn’t easy to separate out conversations from the background din of machines ka-chinging and a dull bass beat from a band located off to the far left. Probably near one of the bars. The lobby itself was a well of calm and cool, the imposing walnut veneered reception desk uncluttered and professional. A minion tittered nervously into one of the land lines, checked the monitor and glanced up at me. It blinked, set the phone in its cradle and found something compelling to do in an adjoining office, probably preparing itself for the oncoming onslaught of checkouts.

  It didn’t take long. With fire drill efficiency, the casino disgorged its demon clientele, leaving only humans who seemed to take no notice of the mass exodus. They bowed and groveled their way past the leather clad bearer of mayhem but I sensed no untoward menace. They were simply scared shitless.

  A few of the minions recognized me and paused to stare. My reputation as fifth dimension slayer was a carefully guarded secret, but the truth was too many had known about my incarceration in that dimension. When I vanished following the mass extinction of minion friends and co-workers, someone would surely have connected the dots.

  I gave my new groupies a flash of fang to move them along.

  When the lobby cleared, a human tarted up in a sharkskin suit and bolo tie bid us follow him into the recesses of the casino. We stopped at a bank of elevators. Dad practically vibrated with irritation. Without a word he advanced down a long hallway to an exit sign, barged through the doors and took the stairs three at a time. The human and I tagged after him, making best time but eventually losing him.

  Fortunately for us the hotel portion of the casino was on the order of a Motel Six, three floors high and with no imposing penthouse at the top. What it did have was a floor devoted to admin stuff. That’s where Dad ended up, waiting for us by the safety doors. He had his .357 in his left hand, the barrel pointed to the floor. For now.

  Suddenly the notion of going in hot took on a whole new meaning. I eased the Glock out of the holster, chambered a round and joined my sire by the doors.

  The hapless human took the remaining steps reluctantly, his suit soaked through with sweat.

  Dad said, “Wipe him.”

  A telltale stain formed below the jacket lines.

  I said, “Have you considered opening a Hanes franchise?” He looked at the poor man gasping his last breath before joining us, then at me, and grinned. To clarify, I pointed out, “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? You’re half Vampyr.”

  This was getting old. “Yes, but I did not inherit that particular skill set.”

  The human was hyperventilating. I couldn’t blame him.

  Exasperated, he growled, “Well, what can you do?” Pops sounded a tad disappointed in me.

  Actually that was a good question. I had a gun so shooting him was a possibility. I waved it in the human’s direction to make the point. He blanched but all things being equal in his line of business, I was pretty sure having a dainty, lady’s sized pistol brandished in his face was no big deal.

  I said, brightly, “I’m pretty strong for my size. Is there a roof?” I had no intention of dispatching anyone, human or demon, off a rooftop; but truth be told, I was getting into the whole going in hot scenario in a Demon Five-O way.

  The human gave me the ‘it’s only three stories and I’d probably survive, asshole’ look as he sauntered closer, the stink of fear and sweat reminding me that I was weaponized in a wholly creative way.

  Grinning, I announced, “I can fuck him into next week.” I was in the process of asking the man, “Does that work for you?” when he passed out and tumbled backwards down the stairs to land in a heap on the concrete.

  Dad nodded and muttered, “Huh.”

  Before this got out-of-hand, I needed clarification. “Can I ask what the hell is going on?” If we were going through those doors with weapons drawn, my guess was nothing good was on the other side.

  “Constantin is dead.” His voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion. He’d gone demon-deep, shutting down into lethal and avenging. His wrath would level the building, if not this entire quadrant and he would do it without breaking a sweat.

  As was my penchant for overthinking a situation, I countered with, “How do you know?”

  “Informant.”

  “Did he say who…?” Not that it mattered. Whoever ‘who’ was, he/it was dead. However, that opened up a more pertinent question. “Was it a demon?”

  “Human.”

  “So is that why you evac’ed the demons and left the humans downstairs?”

  I didn’t like how this scenario was shaping up. And I really didn’t like what I was seeing of my pater familias. I was going to play the innocent card from the outset but I knew that held no currency for a Demon King Hel-bent on ethnic cleansing. As far as he was concerned, the humans trespassed on his territory. If one transgressed, they all transgressed. And whoever was in the blast radius would pay whatever price he exacted.

  This was going to get ugly, fast.

  “You can’t do that.” I won’t let you.

  Shoving the door open with a massive shoulder, the leather-clad weapon of mass destruction glared a ‘try and stop me’ scowl in my direction. I followed behind him, not sure what was going to happen or what I could do about it if worse came to worse and he decided to rain Armageddon down on those clueless idiots.

  The Glock chittered unhappily in my palm. I would use it if I had to, but a .22 caliber would only annoy the demon, not stop him, even if I emptied the clip into his huge frame.

  Deciding to bide my time and see what transpired, I trotted behind him as he goose-stepped down the carpeted hallway toward a steel door at the far end. A keypad located on the wall was a dead giveaway that the other side housed a person of importance.

  I offered an alternative when he aimed his .357 at the security device. “That will only signal a complete lockdown. Let me try.” He nodded okay and moved aside so I could focus on the number pad. Over time, constant use wore indents in softer plastic. Indents I could detect with my Vampyr vision.

  “Shit.” Hard plastic. No go.

  “What?” He spoke normally, conversationally, and I sensed that cost him, but he was trying to get a grip. I gave him props for that.

  “Ssh. I need to listen.”

  The click sequence indicated a five digit code. Three, five, six, eight and nine. One hundred twenty possible combinations.

  I asked, “Are we in a hurry?”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  Assuming that meant the minions were guarding the castle from outside intrusion
, I proceeded to systematically run through the combos, listening carefully to hear if anything popped. Unlike with computers that could run a sequence using a grid, I had to remember what I used and not repeat. If I did, we might be there a while.

  Differential equations threw me for a loop but I was usually da bomb with number sequences. Nine hundred years cloistered from society left little to entertain the brain. I’d filled my time with erotica and mathematics.

  Pops inquired, “What are you trying to do?” so I explained, and in a fit of illumination gave him the numbers and asked, “Do you have any idea?”

  He did. Shoving me aside, he keyed in the correct sequence and the ominous click of enter-and-you-die rang loud and clear. I waited for him to say, very dangerous Dreu, you go first, but instead he walked in nice as you please, leaving me to either wait outside or follow him in.

  Neither selection blew a breeze over my Nutty Buddy, the device much roomier now that my dimensions had shrunk to a more manageable size. That removed my most reliable weapon but at least it made movement easier.

  In or out?

  Idiot savant Dreu decided to be part of the solution, so I trundled behind my sire after making sure the door didn’t somehow lock from the outside and effectively trap us.

  The suite was modest in its proportions, a little sleazy, a lot worn out. A microfiber couch in an eye-numbing olive tan occupied the far wall. It could seat four humans comfortably, or one demon and his hafling son. Standard issue motel windows with the drapes drawn framed a metal desk and leather office chair in an ergonomically pleasant design.

  The space was empty so I let my ears do the honors. A door to our right probably led to what was once a bedroom, perhaps still was. I held up three fingers. Pops nodded and moved out of the line of fire. I did the same, except I dropped to the ground and rolled as wood and drywall splintered in every direction.

  I’d had enough of being sprayed with bullets, my memories of that time in Romania still raw. Back then I’d had Jefrumael to save my and Fane’s ass. And it had been a close thing. I wasn’t in the mood for a repeat performance. Besides, I’d never asked Pops if apparating was part and parcel of his skill set. Even if it was, there was a kill zone between me and him.

  Michel had tipped the metal desk to make a barricade while he aimed his portable cannons at the wall and door separating us from the unknown assailants. We were at a standstill, a very noisy one, and I didn’t discount the ability of one or two bullets doing a ricochet in my direction.

  Pops paused to reload and silence descended like a veil. Neither of us was equipped for an extended siege. It would be stupid in the extreme to believe that our human counterparts were similarly restricted.

  I wished with a vengeance that I had those flamethrowers instead of my little pop gun. That thought gave me an idea.

  Crawling to a credenza along the wall on the other side of the small foyer, I rummaged around for bottles of liquor. When I held the bottle up, Pops nodded he understood. After slithering out of the leather jacket, I pulled the tee-shirt off and tore strips off it. There were three half full bottles of whiskey or brandy and one of vodka. Balling the short lengths of cloth, I stuffed them into the necks of the bottles, making sure the fabric came in contact with the alcohol.

  There was one little problem. I had no way to light the material.

  Dad hissed to get my attention and launched his box of cedar matches like skeet disks across the field of fire. Mercifully none of the rain of bullets connected. Dad was holding his fire, waiting for me to crabwalk quickly to a spot near the door but still reasonably protected.

  Once settled he unloaded a clip just to keep them back from the door. The minute he let up I lit the fabric and counted to ten, then lobbed them, one after another, against both the door and the drapes closest to the plaster wall.

  Pops fired a round at the windows, shattering the center section, just large enough for us to make our escape. Neither of us had any illusions that there were only three gangsters to deal with. Whoever Pops was after was unlikely to even be on the other side of that wall. And more would be arriving soon, either up the stairs or via the elevators.

  The thought that maybe they’d known we were coming was unsettling. But now wasn’t the time to engage in a Socratic dialog.

  Alcohol isn’t a hot flame but it will ignite other stuff, like the drapes and cheap carpet not up to federal specs on fire retardant properties. We had our distraction so I made a dive across the kill zone and followed mine Père into the goodnight.

  He landed easily and rolled. I landed hard and jammed my hip joint clear up to the rib cage. To my credit, I didn’t drop the gun, though its loss wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans. The next time Dad decided to arm me I wanted the big boy toys. But that was a discussion for another day.

  We had an army, a human army, massing on the other side of the building and spreading out to cut off all means of egress from this damnable area. Sheltering next to a dumpster, we labored to catch our collective breaths.

  I hissed, “That wasn’t a casino full of innocents, was it?”

  “No.”

  “You have an exit strategy?”

  He slapped the final clip in the .357 and nodded yes.

  “And would you care to share what that is?”

  “You.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I don’t suppose you could pull that bubble thing over here?” As in put a shield around us? I’d deal with the side effects, as unpleasant as they’d been, in return for a little shelter. Besides, I kind of missed the supersized dangly bits, though I could do without the split personality thing. And it held our getaway vehicle, always a bonus.

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  I groused, “Why the fricking hell doesn’t anything work the way I think it should around here,” and made no bones about my seriously not having a good evening. My hip burned and I’d yet to try to stand up. The prospect of doing that paled in the face of knowing that fleet-of-foot wasn’t going to come close to helping us out, even if I could manage to motivate my bruised body into a sprint.

  Dad had his back to the dumpster. It reeked of grease and garlic and stale fries, the kind of odor that sank into pores, contaminating each and every follicle with noxious fats. While I was choking on the assault on my taste buds, he was sending out his demon senses to evaluate our situation. Checking on his last clip, he scowled with the kind of twitchiness around the eyes that said we’re fucked more eloquently than mere words.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You. There’s no we.”

  “You don’t mean…”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Shit.

  Pushing off with the good leg, I joined him, letting my bare back relax against rust and other unimaginable substances. I was seriously creeped out and regretted leaving my leather jacket in the suite.

  “A couple points of interest.” I was good at pointing out my shortcomings, what with a few centuries of practice to back me up. “First off, that was an accident.” Sort of, referring to that blast that had taken out an entire demon level of Hel. It didn’t seem fair to include the half dozen or so practice minions who’d poofed when I’d sucked virtual lemons over my treatment on Level Five.

  When demon-me had surfaced during my original incarceration, my Vampyr half had done an Elvis has left the building. And when Elvis left, he took all my vamp filters, including several centuries’ worth of religious indoctrination.

  My lord and master gave me the look, the do you want to get it over with so we can move this cluster fuck along expression of discontent.

  Since it was hard to argue with his logic, I proceeded with, “Second…” and came to a grinding halt.

  Objection number two wasn’t going to hold water because I had let loose with a pulse that addled werewolf brains, including that of my dearest Fane, leaving him tall, dark and furry for more than a day. My little gift managed to switch circuits on one variation
of supernatural being, the wolves. All interesting, of course, but more to the point was that on that particular day, it was a deliberate act of aggression on my part. I had called it up at my command and directed the energy specifically to the pack surrounding the dacha. So, on the matter of me not being able to summon my talents at will, that wasn’t going to fly.

  One thing I didn’t know was how that pulse, the most powerful one I’d managed to date, had affected Dad’s army of minions and the few demon guards stationed around the perimeter, so I asked.

  He shrugged. “We lost most of the house workers. Two of my guards fell, unconscious, but they survived.”

  “And you?” He’d have stayed, sinking ship and all that. That’s how the man rolled. Besides, he had a tactical nuke on the loose, not something you abandon just because you’re in a rush.

  Tersely, he said, “Let’s just say I’d rather not repeat that experience.”

  Well then … so why did he want me to use my destructo-demon superpowers against a swarm of human militants, when he was sitting right next to me?

  Why indeed?

  Then the light bulb went on.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no, no… You are not staying here. Or dying, or whatever you think’s going to happen.” Fangs in a panic pop, I snarled, “Not. On. My. Watch.”

  “We don’t have a choice, son.”

  “Let me point out that we have no idea what effect my, my … thing will have on a human. What if it does nada, zilch, zippo? Huh? Did you ever consider that?”

  And why did we suddenly have forever and a day to hold a dramatic discussion over plot points when I knew for a fact we had red-dots-of-death trained on us? Pops had one dead center on his high forehead. A glance down at my bare chest revealed a sultry tango of at least three laser sights. The urge to reach into my compression shorts and pull my bullet resistant Nutty Buddy up to chest level had me rethinking our options.

  “You’re slowing time, aren’t you?” Stupid question, of course he was. Otherwise we’d already be ventilated and trussed like pigs for the spit. We were hard to kill, but you could slow us down enough to manufacture more permanent solutions to a demon infestation of two.