by J. C. Staudt
I look at him blankly. “Quim. Are you serious?”
“I must’ve mentioned that after Buster’s bomb melted your cell phone into a heap of slag.”
“So Carmine is part of the Order of the Raven, only she doesn’t know it.”
Quim lifts his head. “Which means she could be a thrall.”
“I don’t know if I believe that. She sounded perfectly normal when I talked to her on the phone Tuesday.”
“Thralls typically act and sound normal,” says Ryovan. “That’s what makes them such good spies.”
“Don’t you wonder how the vampires knew you’d be at that concert?” Quim asks. “Someone told them you’d be there. Who do you think it was?”
I think back to my conversation with Carmine. “Oh no.”
“Everything you told Carmine during that conversation, you were telling Mottrov, too.”
“I have to get her away from him.”
Ryovan is shaking his head. “She’s no different than Lorne. If she’s already a thrall, there’s nothing you can do for her.”
“Bullshit. I’m going to find her master and kill him.”
“How?” Quim wants to know. “If Calyxto comes around, there’s a chance we can find out who’s controlling Lorne. We’ve got nothing to go on when it comes to Carmine. Her master could be literally any vampire in the city.”
“She’s on a first-name basis with Gilbert Mottrov. She was gushing about how tall and rich and handsome he was. It has to be him.”
“Sounds like she’s been seduced,” says Ryovan. “It’s one of the ways vampires gain control over their victims. Thralls are as likely to be sexual slaves as they are spies and servants.”
I don’t like the sound of this. “How could Carmine be interested in a slimebag like Mottrov?”
“Have you ever been seduced by a vampire?” Des asks, entering the war room. “It’s not even fair. I’d recognize the signs anywhere. Mild infatuation makes it a foregone conclusion. Mottrov’s her master.”
“Then Mottrov has to die.” I set my brow, determined.
“Killing a vampire as ancient as Gilbert Mottrov isn’t like gunning down a thrall or staking a spawn with a table leg,” says Des.
“We’ve burned down his house. That’s a start. Without a coffin to return to, he’ll be forced to sleep somewhere else. All we have to do is find out where that is.”
Shenn smirks. “So you do know a few things about vampires.”
“I told you I did. Mottrov’s got the same weaknesses as any other vampire, doesn’t he?”
“A vampire his age is too clever to be caught out by a garlic necklace or a squirt gun filled with holy water.”
“Where does Githryx take the vampires he blinks away with? Do they die?”
“They don’t die,” says Ryovan. “He takes them to the middle of nowhere so they have to run really far to get back.”
“So much for that idea.”
“There are no shortcuts when it comes to creatures of the night.”
“The best way to kill an elder vampire like Mottrov,” says Des, “is to trap him in the sunlight and keep him there until he burns up.”
I study Desdemona Dolman. “Are you a vampire hunter?”
She smirks. “Why do you ask?”
“The way Mottrov talked about you, he sounded scared. You’re obviously a kickass cop, and you know your way around a nine-millimeter. I’m just wondering what else you bring to the table.”
“I’m a dhampir, Prince Cade. A half-vampire. Or as Baz likes to say, a vampire without the suck. My father seduced my mother just like Mottrov is seducing Carmine Savage. I’ve had my sights set on him for a long time, but his daughter Irys is protecting him and the other high-ranking elders of the Ascended. Irys and her dhampirs would put us all in the ground if I gave them a reason to.”
“Why do you and Mottrov hate each other so much?”
“Vampiric blood feuds run deep. There was a crossing a while back where an elder vampire came through. When we approached her, she was so disoriented and crazed she couldn’t be reasoned with. She killed two of ours, so we put her down. Turned out she was Mottrov’s sire, Lady Hayle Sebraxis, one of the ancient vampires of the black kingdoms. Mottrov incited his coven to retaliate, and for a while we traded hits with the Ascended. That’s partly why our numbers are so low these days. Ten Guardians is the fewest we’ve had since I’ve been here. Our war with the Ascended went on until their rivals, the Hallowed, stepped in and put a stop to it. By then the damage was done. Mottrov and his coven still think we kill every vampire who crosses over.”
“You don’t?”
“Not by a long shot. Vampires come in as many flavors as humans do. They might be bloodthirsty, but they aren’t all senseless killers. The Hallowed give us free reign to operate as we like so long as we give their coven members a fair shake when they cross over. It doesn’t always work out, but they’re more understanding of our mission than Mottrov and his brood.”
“Technically I’m not a Guardian, so the Hallowed shouldn’t hold it against you if I go after Mottrov on my own. I know you don’t think I can handle him, but I’m not abandoning Carmine. I’m sorry I’ll have to miss the crossing tonight. Mottrov just fucked with the wrong wizard.”
“If you kill Mottrov, you’ll never find out where the Book of the Grave is hidden,” Quim points out.
“It’s the grimoire or the Savages, QuimTak. I can’t have both. I’ve accepted that.”
“It’ll be dark soon,” says Ryovan. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow if you want to kill Mottrov while he sleeps. And you’ve got no idea where he’s holed up.”
“No, but I know where to find someone who does.”
Chapter 23
“You can’t seriously be thinking of doing this by yourself,” Quim gripes, hovering around me as I pack my things.
“I’m not waiting around here, that’s for damn sure. Calyxto hasn’t shown up. Carmine’s a thrall. Lorne’s probably a thrall. And Mottrov’s homeless. We’ve got him on his back foot. If the iron ain’t hot now, it never will be.”
“So you’re going to go home to your apartment, which is most likely being surveilled by vampires, and wait for Calyxto to show up so you can use your freebie to find Mottrov… how, again?”
“I’m going to find Mottrov without Calyxto. I did get one useful piece of information out of Buster McCracken before he turned the Neon Cafe into a Cajun barbecue. He said his Auntie Gragie owns the bowling alley where a couple of Mottrov’s guys play Texas Hold‘em every Thursday night. If I can find the right bowling alley, I can nab myself a vampire and put him to the question.”
Quim speaks slowly, keeping his voice flat even though he’s asking a question. “You’re going to interrogate a vampire.”
“You heard me.”
“You’re walking into a deathtrap, Cade.”
“What else is new?”
“This won’t be like Krydos and the satyrs. These creatures are way more dangerous than goat-men with magic schlongs.”
“Listen to you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a regular Guardian of the Veil already.”
“I’m not joining these people, and neither should you. You barely know a thing about them.”
“I know one thing. They served my father.”
“They don’t serve you.”
“What do you want me to do, Quim? They’re the only friends I’ve got.”
Quim nods, hurt souring his expression. “I see. Good luck, then. Hope the vampire hunt is everything you dreamed it’d be.”
“Get someone to blindfold you. We’ll hitch a ride to the crossing. I’ll have Baz drop us off along the way.”
Quim leaves the room.
I stop by quarantine one last time before heading to the ambulance garage. Lorne is lying on his hospital bed in peaceful slumber, the IV back in his arm. Janice finally agreed to sedate him so she could administer some much-needed medical attention. Thrall or no, he
wouldn’t have survived long otherwise after all the blood he’s lost.
I wish I could go in there and tell him everything’s going to be alright. I wish I could tell him to sit tight while his little brother fixes his problems. But I’m not his little brother. I’m a shabby replacement. And his problems are only beginning if he plans on entering the business world alongside heavy-hitters like Gilbert Mottrov.
I arrive in the garage to find Shenn loading up the back of one of the milk vans. Baz is tinkering under the hood, whistling between his pronounced front teeth. I pull Shenn aside. “Can I talk to you for a sec? Alone?”
Shenn frowns. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Baz.”
Baz pokes his head out from under the hood. “Don’t mind me, your highness. I ain’t listening.”
“Thanks for that, Baz.” I turn my body to hedge him out, sidling up to Shenn. “I read your letter. I want you to know I—”
“Forget it,” Shenn interrupts. “That was years ago. I was a kid.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I just want you to know I understand where you’re coming from.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry yourself over it.”
“Shenn. I know I’m not what you expected—”
Des strolls through the sliding door and stops when she sees Shenn and me. Her eyebrows raise in an amused smirk. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting anything,” Shenn says. “We were just packing up.”
Ryovan follows on Des’s heels a moment later. Shenn is already back to loading. I help her, though she avoids eye contact and works around me like I’m not there.
A short while later we’re all piled into the van. Des is in the passenger seat beside Baz while Fremantle hunches in the open cab between them. On the bench beside Quim and me are Shenn, Ryovan, and Urdal, the latter three decked out in combat gear. The sun is setting as we head east into the city. Baz pulls into a secluded alley to let Quim and I get out.
“You should bring one of these,” Ryovan offers, taking an AR-15 off the rack and jamming a magazine into the housing.
“I’ve got one at home,” I tell him.
“These are not your standard consumer-grade firearm,” he assures me. “They’re modified to fire on full-auto.”
“Walking into a goblin-owned bowling alley with an illegal assault rifle strapped to my chest sounds like a bad idea. I’ll take some nine-mil hollow-point, though, if you’ve got it.”
He opens a drawer beneath the gun rack and gives me a fifty-round box of handgun ammo. “Custom-made. Jacketed in silver alloy, only because solid silver is quite expensive and contracts as it cools.”
“Should come in handy.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to wait? We can help you.”
“This happens tonight. It’s my only chance to get at Mottrov’s guys before he can regroup. Unless you’re going to abandon tonight’s crossing and come with me, I don’t see what help you could be.”
“You’re an idiot,” says Shenn, staring me down.
Ryovan gives her a scolding look.
“Everyone else here might be too nice to say it, but I’m not. You’re a disgrace to your father’s name. Guardians stick together. Always.”
“I’m not a Guardian, Shenn. I never asked to be a prince, either. While you all were busy sticking together, I spent the last fifteen years with only myself to rely on. You know who’s always been there for me? Me. You know who’s never let me down, or left when I needed them most? Me.”
Shenn’s stare is cold. “Looks like you’ve got everything you need.”
The others exchange uncomfortable glances.
“Almost everything,” says Ryovan, handing me a black velvet ring box.
I open it. A flat-topped silver ring gleams within. Its circular face is engraved with a quartered shield emblem bordered by ornate filigree. “Wow. Shouldn’t you be getting down on one knee?”
He looks confused, but he complies.
“I’m kidding. Trying to lighten the mood. You’re giving me a ring. It was like you were about to propose.”
Ryovan takes his seat with a grunt. “Apologies, your highness. I didn’t understand it was a joke.”
“Stop apologizing. What is this?”
“It’s your father’s signet. The Seal of Tolmyr, and the symbol of the Guardians. I should’ve given it to you when you arrived last night, but I was saving it in hopes that you’d join us.”
“Ryovan. I haven’t joined you.”
“I know. But it’s wrong of me to keep it hidden. It belongs to you. This is a very special thing. Its composition is an alloy of sterling silver and cold iron, with veins of other trace metals woven in. It can act as a channel for your spells, stabilizing any inefficiencies or volatility in your spell components. As an added bonus, its mere touch will sanctify water. Do you remember the prayer I said in the pool last night?”
“I remember you praying. I don’t know any prayers.”
“With this ring, you don’t have to. Any water it touches becomes holy.”
“Is there a limit? I’m assuming I can’t make Lake Erie holy by dipping my hand in the Detroit River.”
He laughs. “There’s a limit of a few gallons, yes.”
I slip the ring onto my finger. “This is… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll consider becoming one of us. It’s what your father would’ve wanted.”
What about what I want? I think, but don’t say. “I’ll consider it. Come on, Quim. You can take your blindfold off now.”
Quim does. He shoves past me and gets off the truck, heading down the alley toward the street.
“Thanks for everything, Ryovan. Good luck on your crossing tonight.” I stuff the magazines and the ring box into my pockets and shut the van’s doors before following Quim to the street.
“Stay away from me,” he says when I catch up.
“What’s wrong?”
He stops and stares at me. “What do you think? You just told them you’ve never had anyone but yourself. Earlier today, you said they were the only friends you had. What about me? What about Ersatz?”
“Oh, Quim. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”
“You meant you only have friends when it’s convenient for you. When they’re the type of friends who will set aside everything else to do your bidding. You’ve been acting like a prince your whole life. You’ve never seen us as friends; we’re your subjects. I’m just pissed it took me this long to realize it.” Quim starts walking again.
“Quim, that’s not fair.” Except it is. Quim is absolutely right, and we both know it. “At least let me give you a ride home. My apartment’s closer.”
Quim ducks beneath a storefront awning crusted with snow. A red-breasted finch flaps away through the air a second later.
I sigh in defeat, my breath misting in the cold. It’s already past dark, and I’ve got plenty to do before I confront Mottrov’s guys. Without Quim to help me research bowling alleys in the metro area, I’ll have to stumble through it myself. I need a new phone, but I don’t have time to go through all the hassle at the wireless store. If Calyxto finally decides to show up, so much the better.
The reason it can be so hard to accept criticism is because we don’t often see ourselves the way we truly are. I would describe myself as headstrong when a more accurate word would be stubborn. I march to the beat of my own drum, which is a polite way of saying I don’t listen. I’d tell you I’m a lone wolf, but in reality I’m just a control freak who doesn’t play well with others. My current predicament is a testament to my own idiocy, so I guess I deserve what I’ve got coming.
I know going home is a bad idea. But Ersatz is there, and so are my guns, and so are the vials of blood with which I intend to inoculate myself in anticipation of tonight’s activities. So there’s no question I’m going, vampire stakeout or not. Vampires at a stakeout. I feel like there’s a punchline in there
somewhere.
Othersiders thread their way through the crowds as I walk the cold dark streets toward Phipps Plaza Tower, dodging piles of shoveled snow. Any of them could be watching me, but strangely I feel less self-conscious knowing the Guardians of the Veil aren’t. If the vamps want to rumble, they can catch me on the sidewalk outside my building.
But they don’t.
They can grab me as I go through the lobby, or find me in the elevator.
But again, they don’t.
Down the hallway to Apartment 503, no one jumps out and gets me.
Then I notice the sliver of incandescent light through the doorjamb.
I push; the door creaks open.
The foyer and living room are a wreck. Overturned tables, shredded couch cushions, shattered TV, unpotted plants, smashed statues, and a naked floor lamp with a live bulb shedding dim light from behind the capsized armchair. Then I hear a noise.
I’ve got three syringes and a box of silver-plated ammo in my pockets. Very powerful when combined with their respective components. On their own though? Not so much.
Chapter 24
If the noise I’ve just heard is Calyxto or Ersatz, there’s a chance things aren’t as terrible as they appear. Granted, they look pretty terrible. Assuming the visitor isn’t a friend of mine, can I get to a gun and arm myself before whatever is waiting for me in the dark turns me inside out? Any question you can answer with ‘there’s only one way to find out’ is best left unasked.
The hardwood floors in this place are quality; they don’t make a sound as I step over the upturned side table in the foyer. I leave the door open behind me in case I need to run. The living room is still and silent, as is the adjacent powder room, so I edge along the wall and peer into the kitchen, where deja vu smacks me in the face. Cabinet doors, dishware, small appliances. All scattered and broken, just like the night I mistakenly summoned a poltergeist into my last apartment.
Whoever did this is a real jerk-in-the-box. The way everything’s been rifled through, it’s like they were looking for something. Or trying to intimidate me. What was the point of throwing my high-end coffee maker through the wall? They could’ve brewed themselves a steaming mug of Irish Cream and we could’ve talked this out like civilized adults.
