Serpent's Sacrifice (The Vigilantes Book 1)

by Trish Heinrich

  “It’s time for dinner,” Aunt Diana said at last, walking back to the kitchen.

  “That’s it?” Alice asked after Aunt Diana was out of sight.

  “You should change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold,” Uncle Logan suggested, turning back to his study.

  “Wait! You’re just going to act like nothing happened now?”

  “You heard your aunt, dinner is—”

  “I’ll do it anyway,” she said, marching toward him. “I’ll go out and investigate, and I’ll find out who’s behind this and you can’t stop me. You know that.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his frizzy hair and sighed out a curse word. Alice waited for more, but when nothing came, she turned on her heel and ran to her room.

  It wasn’t until she’d changed out of her ruined dress that Alice realized she never got around to mentioning the vigilantes.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Frost glistened on the grass in the front yard and the sun was barely above the horizon when Alice left the next morning. By the time she reached the trolley, her fingers were red from the cold. She made a mental note to get her wool mittens out of the garage.

  When she smiled at the person she took a seat beside her, her face ached, a not-so-gentle reminder of her skirmish last night. Some careful application of makeup had covered the impressive bruise on her jaw, which had given Alice an uncomfortable image of her own mother covering the evidence of assault. She comforted herself with the knowledge that this bruise wasn’t the result of being anyone’s victim. No, this was won in defense of herself, and she’d done much worse to the one who had dared lay a hand on her.

  Or, she would have, if Shadow Master hadn’t scared him away.

  And then there was American Steel. She couldn’t get the image of him jumping three stories onto a fire escape out of her head. Every possible explanation had been tossed aside at least twice. She was left with the feeling that something bigger was going on with the vigilantes. Something that defied logic.

  As Rose often told her, she needed more data. That was why she’d left so early. Maybe, if she looked hard enough, she could kill two birds with one stone: find out more about the crime syndicate and see if anyone else had any theories about the vigilantes.

  It would be at least three hours before Atlas Books should open and Alice needed every minute, if she was going to figure out how to help her uncle. Her pride still stung as she remembered the way she was dismissed. An argument would have at least shown something from them, but to be ignored! That was worse and only made Alice more determined to prove herself.

  The loft above Atlas Books had once held six boxes stuffed with scrap books, filled to the brim with her uncle’s articles, something her aunt had started doing when he’d won the Journalism award. Most of the boxes had been taken home, but Alice knew the most recent ones hadn’t made it there yet and were in the back entryway.

  Plopping down on the flowery rug in the children’s reading area, with a thick note pad and pens, she began with the oldest articles in the box, about nine months back.

  The articles on vigilantes she ignored for now, and focused on the others. The articles on the rise of crime in Jet City looked straight forward enough, but Uncle Logan had also written several editorials on the police force and District Attorney’s focus on the vigilantes, instead of the real criminals. He never out right said, “crime syndicate”, but the more Alice read, the more clear it was that he was talking about it in nearly every article.

  Making a list of all the areas referenced, she put check marks next to each, depending on how often they were mentioned. Something tickled the back of her mind and she looked at the vigilante articles. They had begun with stopping small crimes, but as the months went on, they began tackling tougher criminals, even some who had eluded the police for years.

  She then carefully re-read the editorials and articles Uncle Logan had written in the past three months and found that he had left subtle clues as to what he’d discovered about the crime syndicate. A few weeks after each article was published, the vigilantes would produce an impressive catch, usually related to one of Uncle Logan’s articles.

  Alice laughed.

  He’s working with them. Or at least giving them help. I wonder if he knows who they are? And if he does, how can I get him to tell me?

  Another thought shot through her mind.

  What if he’d asked them to watch me? Perhaps mentioned that he was a target of the syndicate? How weak does he think I am though, that I would need that?

  But then, she thought of the opportunity having the vigilantes watch her afforded. If she could catch them when they were watching her, then maybe she could turn the tables and find a way to follow them. This would give her the chance to see if they did indeed have some sort of enhanced abilities. Plus, it would give her more information about the syndicate.

  The morning paper smacked against the shop window, jarring her thoughts.

  Or, maybe The Chronicle will tell me.

  Flinging the doors open, she was startled to see a tall lanky man waiting outside the shop. After last night, her immediate response was to clench her fists, in case one of the men had come back for a second round.

  But then, his thin lips smiled and he ducked his head shyly.

  “We aren’t open yet,” Alice said, studying him.

  “Oh, I can come back.” His voice was hesitant and soft.

  “Half an hour?” she offered.

  He looked up, large brown eyes crinkling around the edges as his smile widened. “I’ll do that.”

  She watched him walk away, his shoulders slumped a little in his trench coat. Something about him made her heart race, as if she should know him. But no matter how she tried, Alice couldn’t place him.

  He glanced back once, a look of tenderness on his long face. When he realized she saw him, he turned back so fast that he collided with a woman. He apologized, picking up the bag he’d knocked from her hands. The woman scowled at him, though Alice could tell the man was truly embarrassed and trying to help.

  Something about the way he brushed the hair back from his face, the flustered smile...

  He almost reminds me of—

  “Are you open?” asked the woman he’d collided with.

  “Uh, no, not yet. Half-hour.”

  The woman sighed. “Very well.”

  When Alice looked up, the man had disappeared. She frowned, hoping he would indeed be back.

  He wasn’t back in a half-hour, or an hour. The day passed in a slow trickle of customers, none of them the tall stranger. Alice tried to focus on the last of the inventory, but her mind kept wandering to that hauntingly familiar face.

  Alice was in the back entryway, putting the box of articles away, when she heard the bell on the door chime. It was almost closing time and she was tempted to tell the customer to come back tomorrow, until she saw who it was.

  His back was to her, as he looked at a book from the children’s section.

  When she’d seen him that morning, she hadn’t noticed how broad his shoulders were, or the thickness of his dark hair. The hands slowly turning the pages of the book were a little bony, but elegant, with long fingers, looking as if they might belong to an artist or doctor.

  She didn’t want him to catch her spying on him, so she made sure her shoes clicked on the polished wood floors as she came around the corner.

  He whipped around as though he’d been caught doing something wrong, and then smiled the same awkward smile as before, his brown eyes locking on hers.

  Now, she was more sure than ever that she knew him.

  “You’ve come back,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I was so late. I had a job interview.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Surprisingly good.”

  She laughed. “You can’t be all that hopeless.”

  “Depends.”

  His long fingers played nervously with the pages of the book he was holding. She caught her
breath as she saw the title: Alice in Wonderland. She looked at his face again, the high cheek bones and Greek nose that would’ve looked overly large on someone younger...

  Taking a deep, shaking breath, she said, “Why’s a raven—”

  The door opened again, interrupting her.

  Alice was ready to tell this latest intruder that they were closed, but the words froze on her lips.

  Standing in the doorway was the single most beautiful man Alice had ever seen.

  His head, topped with golden hair, seemed to tower over Alice. Deep set, navy-blue eyes took quick stock of her curvy figure before settling on her face. A crooked smile fixed on his full mouth. He moved toward her as Alice tried so very hard to make her lips form words, but it was impossible. If she looked like a fish caught in a net, this new stranger didn’t seem to notice. He leaned on a nearby shelf, so close that Alice could feel the heat coming off his well-muscled body.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Her smile felt too wide, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “I was just looking for my friend here.” He gestured to the first stranger. “And I guess I found something else besides.”

  A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “Uh...and what was that?”

  He looked at the first stranger in confusion.

  “She hasn’t guessed it?”

  The first one shook his head.

  Any lust she may have felt evaporated like ice on a hot day. The events of the previous night were still alive and well in her memory. Alice wasn’t going to wait for the attack this time.

  The tall stranger was leaning toward her, so she drove the heel of her palm into his nose. Taking advantage of his shock, she swept his legs out from under him and forced her forearm on his throat.

  “Don’t move or I’ll crush his throat!” she demanded of the first stranger.

  The tall stranger’s eyes were huge with shock, blood pouring from his nose.

  “What the hell!”

  “You think you can get the jump on me in my store! You should’ve learned from your friends last night that I’m not an easy catch!”

  “Alice!” said the first stranger.

  “You stay back!”

  “It’s not what you think,” he said.

  “We aren’t here to hurt you,” the other one croaked.

  Suddenly, she realized the first stranger had used her name.

  “How did you know my name?”

  “Because...oh, hell!”

  Surprisingly strong hands pulled her off the gorgeous stranger she had pinned to the floor. At first, she felt terror and anger warring inside of her, but after a moment, it became muted and her pulse slowed. Warm breath touched her cheek like a feather.

  “It’s Marco and Lionel,” said the first stranger quietly.

  It was like the first time someone had thrown her to the mat, that sensation of being slammed down to earth with such force all the air is forced out of your lungs, and the only thing you feel is mind-numbing shock.

  Lionel jumped to his feet, holding his nose, which had stopped bleeding.

  She backed up, eyes huge in her heart-shaped face. All the times she had imagined what she would do if she ever saw them again. Her reaction now wasn’t at all what she’d thought it would be.

  At first, she started to cry, big heaving sobs that made as little sense to her as they seemed to make to them. Then she saw the confusion on their faces, the way they seemed to want to reach out to her, but didn’t know if they should. She took in Lionel’s bruised nose and Marco’s look of pure confusion.

  And suddenly, the whole thing seemed hilarious. Sobs became gut-wrenching bellows of laughter.

  She took in great gulps of air, trying to stop her body from shaking, but all she did was laugh more.

  “I-I thought you—you were—”

  “Someone bad, obviously,” Lionel said, his voice grumpy as he touched his nose.

  “Oh! Oh, my God! I’m sorry,” she said, walking to him.

  Lionel flinched back and Marco gave a chuckle.

  “It’s not funny,” Lionel said.

  “A girl half your size breaks your nose. It’s a little funny.”

  The bubbles of laughter were lessening, and Alice was at last able to catch her breath, small giggles escaping as she looked at the two of them.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, touching Marco’s long face.

  “I can’t believe you broke his nose,” Marcos grinned.

  “Me, either,” Lionel said.

  “I’m so sorry.” Alice touched Lionel on the shoulder. The hard, impressive muscles under her small hand made her stomach leap. A flush rose to her already red cheeks and she turned away before Lionel could see anything but embarrassment on her face.

  “I feel sorry for whoever you thought we were,” Lionel said. “Who was it, anyway?”

  “Long story.”

  “You have dinner plans?” Marco asked. “You could tell us.”

  She looked at them, so many feelings careening through her body, but the strongest among them was the need to be with them. No matter what.

  “Okay. Let me lock up.”

  Lionel nodded, and Alice could swear that his nose wasn’t as swollen as it had been a minute before. But, she shrugged it off as a trick of the light.

  Alice stared at the small sign above the door to Solomon’s Lounge. She’d heard of it, of course. Everyone in Jet city knew of the famous speakeasy that had become a haven for jazz musicians and beat poets alike.

  “You need a password to get into Solomon’s,” she said, eyeing her friends.

  Lionel smiled. “So you do...”

  “He loves this part,” Marco whispered, walking down the stairs from the sidewalk to a red door.

  “Is it just me, or is his nose not so bad?” Alice asked.

  Marco just shrugged.

  A burly, bald man glared through a peephole in the door at Lionel, who whispered something to him. The bouncer nodded and opened the door wide for them to enter.

  “Down the rabbit hole we go,” said Alice, a bounce in her step.

  They walked down a narrow hall and through another door that had an eye of Horus painted on it.

  The low thump of a bass was the first thing Alice heard, followed by the sultry strains of a saxophone. The lights were low with a strange bluish quality. They stepped onto thick, dark red carpet that spread out to walls and booths of cherry wood, old and scratched in places, but still lustrous. Blue velvet adorned the backs of the booths, which held the most bizarre mix of people Alice had ever seen.

  In the first booth were two older men in suits, with women half their age draped over their arms as they sipped champagne. Next to them were six young people, around Alice’s age, all dressed in tight black pants or skirts. One even sported a beret and sunglasses.

  How does he see?

  Cigarette smoke rose all around her like clouds from a genie’s lamp, and indeed she felt transported into the pages of a book, as Lionel guided her around the circular room. They found a table with a side view of the stage, which was in the very center of the room.

  As Alice took off her coat, a gorgeous Asian woman dressed in a clinging black and red dress stepped onto the stage. Her voice was soft, yet sure, as she sang an old love song.

  She wanted to appear mature and cultured in front of Lionel, but Alice couldn’t help an excited giggle.

  “So? What do you think?” Lionel asked.

  “It’s amazing! How did you get a password for this place?”

  “Well, you see...it’s funny what having a man like Jason James for a step-father can do for you — even if you do think he’s a jerk.”

  “Not to mention that they like you.” Marco nodded to a curvy blond, who was walking toward them.

  “Long time, Lionel,” her voice was low, like her décolletage.

  Lionel leaned back in his chair as his navy-blue eyes raked up and down her body. “It has been, hasn’t it, Doris?”


  “You promised to call.” A long finger pushed into Lionel’s firm chest. “And you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, baby, extenuating circumstances.”

  Doris’ eyes flitted to Alice and turned cold. “I bet.”

  “How about a second chance?”

  Her lips pursed for an instant, before spreading in wide grin. “Alright. Tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “You better. ‘Night, Marco.” And without a glance at either Alice or Marco, Doris sauntered away.

  A sour taste coated Alice’s tongue when she saw the lusty glint in Lionel’s eyes.

  “You hungry?” Marco asked her, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

  Alice smiled. “Famished. I don’t think they serve much food here though.”

  “They do for me,” said Lionel, and waving down a short man, he began ordering half-a-dozen plates of food.

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll eat what you don’t,” Marco said.

  Alice laughed. “I remember how he’d eat half a pan of your mother’s lasagna, and then pie and milk. How is your mother? I think of her sometimes.”

  Marco shifted in the booth, eyes on his folded hands. “Oh, uh...she died about a year after you moved.”

  “Marco...I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded. “It was sudden.”

  Alice squeezed Marco’s hand, a bone-deep sadness settling in her heart. “She was such a sweet woman. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What about your father? Is he still living in the house or...”

  “Dad never really got over it. We went to Metro City to see mom’s family after she died, and we were going to live there, but...I don’t know, he changed his mind, and we moved to a small town in the Midwest, for some reason. But he was never the same. And...well, about a year after I graduated High School, he died, too.”