by J. C. Staudt
There’s a crack, and when I come up the bridge of his nose is bent askew. The silver is dampening his powers of fast healing. The smell of his burning flesh sickens me, and I stifle a surge of nausea. “Last chance, fuckface. Tell me where the book is, or you die.”
A smile edges his lips. He knows I’ll never find the grimoire after he’s dead. He’ll burst into unholy flame, leaving me with no way to locate it. It’ll be lost to me forever, locked away in one of his vaults for time untold. He pushes past Calyxto’s block and speaks into my mind. You can’t kill me. Felix will use the grimoire to bring me back as a revenant. I’ll never truly die.
“Get out,” Carmine shrieks, gripping her head in her hands, flailing and stumbling to her knees. “Get out of me.”
Last night, Carmine picked up Gilbert Mottrov from a house that wasn’t Mottrov Manor. If Mottrov’s got other houses, he’s got other coffins. That’s what I’d do if I were him. Find a way to make sure I always had a secret place to sleep. The instant my silver buckle loses contact with his skin, he can float away to his nearest coffin in a cloud of mist, making the return of the revenants unstoppable.
I scan the patterned carpet, but there isn’t a single pill within reach. Carmine’s head splits open with a wet cracking sound. Her scream lets me know the revenant is coming. Lady Sebraxis. Ancient vampire of the black kingdoms. Mottrov’s sire.
Helpless and desperate, I cry out and reach for Carmine. It dawns on me then how pathetic I am. My imagination is a soap opera where love stories have happy endings. There’s no such thing as a happy ending for me and Carmine Savage. I’m reaching for someone I swore I loved, but who I never met face to face. Someone who will never know the real me.
We’ll both die, but at least we’ll die together. That’s my final pitiful thought before I slump to the floor. Mottrov takes the opportunity to roll me off him. In his weakened state, he can only stand and hobble toward his liege, toward the revenant Carmine Savage is becoming.
Mottrov isn’t leaving. He isn’t turning to mist and fleeing to safety so his spell can weave its final effects. Instead he watches in wonderment while Carmine begins the transfiguration. I know why he’s staying. Why he needs to be here when Lady Sebraxis is reborn. Why he can’t walk away, and why he can’t wait to be with her again.
He’s in love. A vampire’s version of it, anyway. He told me love was a human fabrication. Maybe that’s true. And maybe it means there’s an inkling of humanity left in Gilbert Mottrov. Whether that’s true or not, this motherfucker needs to die.
Then it strikes me—a lightning bolt of pure obvious. I didn’t need a residue pill to kill him. I was in physical contact with a goddamned othersider. Why didn’t I see it? I’ve never drawn magic from a vampire, and I have no idea how it behaves or what it would do to me. But it’s fuel, and as Ersatz taught me during my first-ever magic lesson sixteen years ago, fuel is good.
I walk up behind Mottrov and clamp my hand over his open mouth. Drawing from his own innate magical energy, I push a stream of fire down his throat. His eyes bulge and sizzle as flame pumps through him. Fuel is good.
Fuck yeah, it is.
Mottrov’s body bursts into flaming ash. I spin away while tongues of fire lick my tux. I shrug off my suit jacket and hurry over to Carmine, who’s collapsed on the floor. She’s feverish, blood streaming from the gash in the top of her head. I feel for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.
A residue pill lies on the carpet beneath the table. I grab a glass of water and gulp it down, then shove Carmine’s clutch purse into my pocket and scoop her into my arms. Mottrov’s thralls are snapping out of it, their thralldom at an end, the ancient spirits trying to possess them now lacking anything vampiric to seize upon. Without Mottrov’s dominion, the entire spell topples like a line of dominoes.
The leading lords and ladies of the Ascended are gaining the upper hand as I hoist Carmine over my shoulder and head for the nearest set of double doors. I try the push bar, but the doors are locked. I consider casting the locktongue spell Ersatz taught me. Screw that.
I stand back and draw from the pill, extending my hand toward the doors. A blast of force blows them open, and I march past battling vampires and frightened guests to freedom. I duck behind a square pillar and cast a second spell, then smack Carmine on the ass to turn her invisible. I’m going to look like a freak carrying her across the street to my car, but it’s better than looking like a kidnapper. Carrying invisible people. Story of my life, I reflect. If I ever write my autobiography, that’s what I’ll call it.
“Mr. Savage,” says a voice behind me.
I turn to find Felix Mottrov standing in the doorway I’ve just blown through, long black ponytail swaying behind him. “Don’t fuck with me right now, Felix.”
“You’ve ended my father’s reign. Thank you.”
I look him a question. “You’re not going to bring him back?”
Felix smiles. “It’s my time now. You’ve helped pave the way toward a better future.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, but alright.”
“We’ll be seeing each other again, Mr. Savage.”
“That, I’d count on.” I wag a finger toward the mayhem behind him. “Good luck with all that.”
“I’m leaving,” he says. “Let the chips fall where they may. I’ll be back to pick up the pieces.” He blurs across the atrium and vanishes through an exterior door. He’ll have some explaining to do when it comes time for the coven to investigate what happened here tonight. For now, he’s better off distancing himself from his father’s coup.
The signet ring is in here somewhere, but damned if I remembered to bring my metal detector, and I’m not about to spend three hours crawling around on patterned carpet while vampires get all up in my business. If it’s meant to be, the signet will find me again.
I carry Carmine outside. The wind bites through the burned and tattered remains of my tuxedo as I bring her to the Maserati and lay her in the back seat.
“You did well,” Calyxto says from overhead.
“Get in. We need to talk.”
He lowers himself to the ground and slides into the passenger seat beside me. I peel out and head for the hospital. Not my father’s hospital. A normal one.
“What’s your deal?” he asks.
“You went and saw Helayne when you knew you weren’t supposed to.”
“I tried to stay away. I honestly did. And I’m rarely honest.”
“How many fairies did Quim and Ersatz have to fellate before they let you go?”
“None. Ersatz used his dragon powers to buy me time on the outside.”
“Dragon powers?”
“Yeah. He’s a dragon. He has powers.”
“How much time do you have?”
“Not nearly enough. Back by dawn, or they haul you into fairy prison with me. Trust me, you do not want to go there. The amount of pixie dust in that place is oppressive. My asthma has been acting up for days.”
“You’re going back. Right?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t be in there a second longer. Not even joking.”
I look at him. “You’d better be joking, or I’ll be the first servant you’ve ever had to break a foot off in your ass.”
He sighs. “Okay, I’m joking. I’ll go back.”
“Take off my mark, and you have my word I’ll get you out of there. For good.”
He’s skeptical. “You? Lawyer me out of fairy prison?”
“Take off the mark. Set me free, and I’ll do this for you as a friend instead of a servant.”
He purses his lips. “Let me think about it.”
We drive in silence the rest of the way to the hospital. I tell him to wait in the car while I dispel Carmine’s invisibility and rush her into the ER. A middle-aged nurse with short brown hair notices us straightaway and comes over to help. “What happened?”
“We were at a charity banquet at the Civic Center,” I explain. “There was a fire. She hit her head.”
“You’re bleeding,” she says.
“I’m fine. She’s the one who needs help.”
The nurse frowns, but gives a begrudging nod. “Let’s get her checked in. I’ll have them wheel out a bed.”
“Thank you.”
“And you are?”
“Her brother.”
Carmine opens her eyes and stares dazedly up at me. She blinks. Squints. “You’re not my brother.”
It’s then I notice the belt buckle dangling from my front belt loop on a thin strip of charred leather. The reaction of the silver against Mottrov’s flesh must’ve burned through the belt band. When I picked Carmine up to carry her inside I probably knocked the buckle loose and changed back into myself, only I didn’t notice because of all the other aches and pains. The tux is too small now, my pant legs two inches too short.
I pivot quickly. “Her brother’s friend. I’m a friend of your brother’s. Of Arden’s. He couldn’t be here. He was helping to put out the fire and get people to safety.” I give Carmine a somber smile, hoping it’s neither cheesy nor creepy but knowing it’s probably both under the circumstances.
“Here’s the bed,” says the nurse as an aide wheels it up.
I lay Carmine on the soft white sheets and help her get situated.
“We’re going to bring her to triage, and then I’m guessing we’ll probably take her straight back,” the nurse tells me.
“Can I come?”
She purses her lips. “We’re going to ask you to stay in the waiting room while we treat her. Once she’s in stable condition and we’ve had a chance to assess things, we’ll call you back.”
“Sounds good.”
“What’s your name?” Carmine asks me.
“I’m Cade.” I know her well by now, but the fact that I’m just introducing myself for the first time gives me goosebumps. It’s like meeting her all over again.
“Carmine,” she says. “My little brother’s always had cute friends.”
I laugh. “I don’t—”
“Carmine?” the nurse interrupts. “We’re going to take you back now, okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
“I’ll be here,” I assure her.
I sit in the waiting room for half an hour before they call me back.
When I walk into Carmine’s room, she’s drowsy but awake. They’ve got her hooked up to all the machines. Her head is bandaged, and the skin around her face already looks better. She looks at me and smiles. “Hey.”
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Headachy. Tired. They say I need stitches. They have to shave my head.” Tears well in her eyes.
“That’ll be a good look for you,” I tell her with a wink. “You can totally pull it off.”
She studies me, my tux burnt and bloody, with an odd look. “What happened to you?”
“Don’t you remember?”
She blinks, thinking back. “I remember getting to the Civic Center. Setting up for the gala. Seeing my brother. Giving him a hug. Then… that’s it.”
“There was a fire. Arden helped put it out. He was still helping people when we left.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. A few minor burns, maybe. Nothing serious.”
“Thank god. What about Gilbert?”
I look away. “I’m sorry. Mr. Mottrov was burned very badly. They didn’t think he was going to make it.”
“Oh. God.” She puts a hand to her mouth, tears brimming. “Is he here? I have to go see him.”
I shake my head. “The way he looked, I doubt they got him here before…” I trail off.
She shuts her eyes and rolls away from me onto her side. Her back heaves with sobs.
“Do you want me to go?”
Sniffle. “No. It’s alright.” Sniffle.
I hand her some tissues from the box on the side table.
She spends a minute blowing her nose. “So how do you know my brother?”
“We just met a few months back. I’m in a similar line of work.”
Carmine rolls her eyes. “You’re a scum-bagger too?”
“A scum-bagger?”
“A bounty hunter. You bag scum.”
“Oh. Yeah,” I laugh. “Kind of.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Cade.”
“Last name?”
I clear my throat. “Cadigan.”
She frowns. “And you were a guest tonight at the gala? I don’t remember seeing you on the list.”
“Funniest thing. I was there at another party when I heard about the fire. I rushed down to help, and lo and behold, Arden was standing there with you in his arms. It was like fate.”
She looks up at me. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, but her eyelids droop with fatigue. “I’m exhausted, Cade. And I don’t feel good.”
“You’ve had a traumatic night. Rest up, okay? I’m sure your brothers will be here to see you any time now.”
She nods. Her eyes do another pump-fake before sliding closed.
I get up to leave, then turn back. I’ve got a little juice left, and a sleep spell would help her forget. As I lower my hand toward her forehead, she speaks.
“Cade?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for bringing me here.”
“Of course.”
I return to the Maserati, where Calyxto waits with uncharacteristic patience. He notices I’ve shifted back into Cade but doesn’t mention it. Instead he folds his hands in his lap and looks at me with a smug expression.
I frown. “What?”
“On a scale of one to infinity, how in love with her are you?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not a number.”
“There aren’t any numbers. Me being in love with Carmine Savage isn’t a thing. It’s the same as you being in love with Helayne. It can’t happen, so we’re both better off leaving it alone.”
Calyxto lifts his chin. “Was that a note of hope I heard in your voice?”
I grin despite myself as I turn the car onto the avenue.
“I thought so,” he says. “I’ve considered your offer. You want to be a free man? Fine. So do I. Shake my hand like we did at the DMV, and I’ll remove your mark this time instead of giving you one.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Because I’m usually lying.”
“If I convince the Fae Council to release you, will you stay away from Helayne?”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance. Not without a really good reason.”
“How about because she’s better off without you?”
“That’s a mean thing to say.”
“It’s an honest thing to say. Carmine is better off without me, and Helayne is better off without you.”
“If you get me out of prison and I wind up back inside, just leave me there. I probably deserve it. But for now, I accept your offer.” He spits into his palm and holds it out to me.
I give the hand a wary look.
“Oh, come on. Live a little.”
I spit into my palm.
We shake hands.
“See you on the other side, Cade Cadigan.”
“Yeah you will. Oh, and about the asthma. Get an inhaler.”
“Not sure that’s covered under my infernal health plan, but I’ll look into it.” He fades to transparency, flashing me one last grin before he vanishes.
I examine my palm. It no longer bears the mark, and it didn’t even burn coming off.
“What do you know,” I mutter to myself. “The old trickster was telling the truth.”
Chapter 31
All is still and silent when I park the Maserati behind the ambulance garage at my father’s hospital. Fearing the worst, I rush toward the rolltop door only to be stopped in my tracks by a hard-landing Fremantle. She stands to full height, flapping her wings to repel me, then folds her arms across her chest. “Going somewhere? Betrayer.”
“Betrayer?”
/>
“You knew what was coming through those portals.”
“I warned Ryovan as soon as I found out.”
“Yet you still ordered him to post a team there.”
“I didn’t order anything. I asked.”
“You sacrificed our wellbeing for your own gain.”
“And I’m grateful to all of you. I would’ve turned into a vampire tonight if you hadn’t been at that crossing.”
Fremantle scowls, shaking her head as if my gratitude means nothing. “Why are you here?”
“To make sure everyone is okay.”
“Everyone is not okay. Everyone is hurt. Shenn, most badly.”
“Can I see her?”
The gargoyle doesn’t move for several seconds. With a heavy sigh, she uncrosses her arms and steps aside.
The lights are low in Janice Drummond’s operating room. She’s alone, and she isn’t smoking. I guess even dead people need a break from their vices. When I approach her, she lifts a hand with one finger raised. No need to specify which one it is.
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it, kid. I’m not the one you should be groveling to. Shenn’s in her room.”
I move on without another word.
The first thing I notice when I enter Shenn’s room is the empty wastebasket. Someone has taken out the trash. All the notes she wrote me are gone. Ryovan sits by her bedside. He’s cut up and dirty, but his focus isn’t on himself. The steady beeping of the pulse monitor gives cadence to an otherwise empty room. Ryovan turns his weary gaze on me.
“This is my fault,” I volunteer. “I shouldn’t have sent you to that portal.”
“We did what needed to be done.”
Shenn opens her eyes and looks at me. “Vampire ghosts are assholes. So are you.”
“Yeah, we have that in common. What did they do to you?”
“She’s headstrong and impetuous,” Ryovan cuts in. “Like her mother. She strained a ligament in her knee last night, yet she refused to stay behind tonight and got hurt even worse. Two cracked ribs and a bruised lung.”
“Looks like you took a beating yourself,” Shenn adds, sizing me up.
“It sucked,” I confirm. “How are the others?”
“Bruised and battered, but they’ll be fine. Those spirits were vicious. We knew it the moment you killed Mottrov. They screamed and withered away. Mazriel’s magic is the only reason most of us are still standing. A few more minutes of fighting like that and we would’ve been toast.”
