Master of the Moon

by Angela Knight

  “It’ll have to be early,” Bobby said. “The Verdaville Voice goes to press at noon.”

  “First thing in the morning,” Gist promised.

  “Okay.” The reporter turned to eye the crowd standing around the house. “I think I’ll go see who I can find to interview.” He wandered off.

  “Damn, Diana,” the chief said as soon as he was out of earshot. “I thought you were gonna eat him.”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like the taste of vulture. Besides, there’s somebody I want to bite a lot more.” Diana took a quick look around. Nobody was watching, but she jumped up into the back of the van for a little extra concealment anyway. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He nodded. She let the power go. Magic raced over her body, changing her once again into the shepherd form she used when posing as a K-9. Diana actually preferred being a wolf—her senses were more acute, her body better suited for the chase—but it drew too much attention. So shepherd it was.

  Settling back on her furry haunches in the bed of the truck, she watched as Gist got her collar and leash out of the toolbox he kept it in.

  Diana lifted her chin and he buckled the canvas collar around her neck, then clipped on the leash. “Okay, Luna,” he said finally, calling her by the name he used for the shepherd, “let’s go find the bad guy.”

  With a soft woof, she hopped out of the truck and the two of them started off down the sidewalk.

  Diana trotted along with her nose down, sifting through the confusing jumble of scents from the crowd. Concentrating ferociously, she was scarcely conscious of the musical jingle of her chain and the scrape of Gist’s shoes on the sidewalk as he followed her.

  “Look, Mommy! The policeman has a dog!”

  “Shh!”

  “Wonder how much that mutt costs the city,” somebody else said. “It must eat ten pounds of dog food every day. What is it, part Clydesdale? Biggest damn shepherd I’ve ever seen.”

  “Coming through, please,” the chief said patiently. “Give Luna here room to work.”

  Alien. Blood. Death.

  Diana stopped dead, almost gagging. She’d hit the killer’s trail.

  Despite the instinct to back away, Diana forced herself to breathe in the scent of carnage, committing it to memory as her hackles rose. She started off again, following the trail carefully, not even feeling the tug of the leash anymore in her excitement. The crowd melted back as she followed it down the sidewalk away from the house.

  The wind shifted, carrying the overwhelming stench right into her face. Lifting her head, she stared out into the darkness.

  The bitch who’d butchered one of Diana’s people was out there. In the woods. Watching.

  And she was going to pay.

  Diana didn’t even think twice. She shot off in pursuit, barely even noticing Gist’s shout as she tore the leash from his hand.

  She was running flat out by the time she hit the concealment of the woods, plunging around trees and bounding over brush with the killer’s scent goading her every time her paws hit the leaves.

  As she ran, Diana realized this fight called for something more substantial than a dog. She transformed into the wolf form she used for combat without even breaking stride, magic rolling down her body like a hot wind.

  When she burst into a small clearing, Diana found the killer waiting.

  Her first impression was of deceptive fragility—a pale, oval face, big green eyes, and a shimmering tumble of red hair. The killer wore a tight black skirt and a cutoff T-shirt that exposed a neat silver belly button ring. She was splattered from head to toe with drying blood, and the scent of the man’s death hung around her like a particularly nauseating perfume. She grinned at Diana as if the wolf was somebody’s goofy pet. “Why, hello there, White Fang. What’s got your—”

  Diana didn’t even break step as she leaped right for the killer’s throat. The woman dodged with a startled, “Whoa!”

  Diana sailed by and hit the ground, instantly wheeling in a flurry of leaves to lunge at her enemy again. This time her fangs scored the woman’s wrist. She growled in pleasure as the taste of blood flooded her mouth, but before she could get a good grip, something slammed hard into the side of her head. The blow tumbled her a dozen feet across the slick leaves before she managed to get her paws under her again.

  For an instant she and the killer eyed one another in simmering rage. “You’re fast, furball, I’ll give you that,” her opponent spat. “What the fuck are you?”

  She just concentrated and let the magic spill. The woman’s eyes widened as Diana grew, falling back on her haunches, stretching upward and upward until she towered on two long legs.

  Diana rarely became the Dire Wolf. In fact, she’d never before used the guise in combat. The seven-foot biped monster was the tactical nuke of her arsenal; too deadly, too blatantly magical to use except in the worst emergencies.

  Which this was.

  With a sense of pleasure, she watched the killer back up a pace.

  Unlike her other canine forms, the Dire Wolf was capable of human speech. “Verdaville is my fief,” Diana said, pacing toward the woman with hackles raised and a deep growl vibrating in her throat. “Its residents are under my protection. You don’t come into my territory and kill my people.” She displayed every tooth in her long wolf muzzle. “Not and live.”

  The killer bared fangs almost as long and sharp as Diana’s. Whatever she was, it definitely wasn’t human. “Wrong.” As she lifted her hands, a glowing nimbus appeared around them, crackling with tiny lightning bolts. “I go where I want. I kill who I want. And that includes you.”

  The magical blast detonated in Diana’s face with a roar, its heat and light blasting her back on her haunches. It stung, but Diana’s people were designed for magical combat. She shook it off like a wolf shedding water. “Nice shot.” Her muscles bunched under her as she prepared to fling herself at her foe. “But can you take as much as you dish out?”

  An expression of fear flashed over the witch’s face as she realized Diana was magic resistant. Then her eyes narrowed with calculation. “Oh, yeah. But you know, just now I’m not in the mood. Later.”

  Sensing the build of magical energies, Diana leaped.

  Too late. Even as she opened her jaws to rip out the witch’s throat, the killer disappeared in a swirl of energy.

  Unable to stop, Diana crashed into the tree just beyond. Pain exploded through her head in a shower of stars, and she hit the ground hard.

  Luckily she could take a lot of punishment in Dire Wolf form. Growling savagely, Diana rolled to her feet and glowered at the spot where her foe had stood. “Now that is a bitch.”

  “Luna!” The chief called the name of his mythical K-9 as he crashed through the woods toward her. It was a good thing the witch was already gone, or he’d have handed her a hostage.

  Diana cursed and muttered. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, dammit.” Transforming herself back into the shepherd, she trotted toward Gist, dragging the leash that had reappeared with her shift.

  “You okay?” he murmured as she reached him, dropping to one knee to examine her anxiously.

  Diana woofed softly even as she turned to look back at the clearing. She wished she could tell the chief this was over, but she knew better.

  In fact, she had the ugly feeling her new enemy was only getting warmed up.

  Llyr walked into the Great Hall of Avalon flanked by his six most trusted bodyguards, including the twins Egan and Bevyn Cynyr, and Iden Naois, an intense young man he’d elevated to guard captain.

  Llyr and Oriana had placed truth spells on all two hundred of the remaining palace guards and questioned them ruthlessly. They’d all passed the test, but the Cynyr brothers and Naois were the most fanatically loyal, as well as the most skilled. He decided to make the three his primary security team.

  Even so, the guards were even more grimly paranoid than usual. Their beloved captain and three comrades had attempted regicide, and they hadn’t see
n it coming. Now they all eyed one another and kept one hand on their swords.

  Not exactly the spirit of trust and teamwork Llyr wanted in his men.

  To make matters worse, the news had spread through the palace. He’d expected as much; there was simply no way to keep something like that quiet. Unfortunately, the end result was a mood of fear among the Cachamwri Sidhe, in part because Llyr was well-liked, but also because none of them wanted to be ruled by his brother. It was known the Morven Sidhe suffered under Ansgar’s heavy hand, and the Cachamwri hated him.

  Llyr had decided the best way to reassure his people was to go about business as he usually did, while cementing his alliance with the Magekind. He’d need it if things heated up even more with Ansgar. That meant helping the Liege of the Magi with his current problem. Tricky, but still a better solution than the arranged marriage Llyr had sought. Arthur would have supported Llyr if he’d made a Maja his queen, but this deal was much more certain.

  Unfortunately, it also meant hunting vampires.

  Before Reece and Erin managed to slay Geirolf, the demon had gathered around himself thousands of mortal followers who had provided him with human sacrifices. Deciding he might need a more physically formidable force, Geirolf had used a magical rite to transform them into vampires. Unlike the heroic Magi, however, Geirolf’s vampires were tainted with his evil—killers with a taste for sadism and murder.

  When Geirolf died, Steven Parker, one of his priests, had used the energy of the demon’s death to scatter his vampire army all over Mortal Earth. Now the Magekind had to find them all before they did any more damage.

  Arthur looked up when Llyr entered with his men at his back, a smile of welcome on his deceptively boyish face. He wore trousers in some coarse, dark blue fabric and a short cotton tunic with the legend GRATFUL DEAD. Llyr puzzled over it as he crossed the room, wondering what the dead would have to be grateful about.

  Otherwise, Arthur looked little different than he had when he’d been High King of Britain all those centuries ago: stocky and muscular, with warm brown eyes and a thick brown beard. He hadn’t been king in hundreds of years, but his people had elected him Liege of the Magi’s Council, so he still had an active role in leading them.

  Llyr was skeptical of democracy. It seemed to him a form of government designed by those with a short attention span. Still, he had to admit there was a certain attraction in the idea of actually being chosen to lead by one’s followers.

  Not that he’d dare propose such a concept to the Sidhe. His people disliked change on general principles, believing if something was working, there was no reason whatsoever to tinker with it. It was a philosophy Llyr had certainly benefitted from. His family had ruled since the first Galatyn helped the Dragon God slay Uchdryd the Dark One.

  “Welcome, Your Highness,” Arthur said, striding toward Llyr. Llyr’s bodyguards simultaneously dropped their hands to their swords. He stopped, a dark brow lifted.

  “A recent assassination attempt,” Llyr explained, adding to his men, “At ease.” They obeyed, though Naois aimed a dark, warning look at the surrounding Magekind.

  Arthur nodded in understanding. “Ansgar?”

  “To my knowledge, no one else wants me dead.”

  “That may change, if you insist on helping us with our vampire problem,” Reece Champion said from where he sat with his new wife. He was a big man, as dark and intense as Erin was beautiful and blond. If he held a grudge over Llyr’s attempt to woo her before their marriage, it didn’t show.

  Llyr gave him a tight smile. “It’s worth the risk, if you help me deal with Ansgar afterward.”

  “That is the arrangement,” Arthur said.

  “It’s also a lot easier said than done.” Morgana Le Fey straightened from the thick tome sitting on the table. She was lovely enough to be a Sidhe herself, with waist-length dark hair and a face as cool and elegant as a goddess’s. Unlike her half-brother, she wore a white linen suit, its short skirt showcasing a pair of legs Llyr thoroughly appreciated. “Apparently, Geirolf’s little henchman, Parker, did far more than just scatter his brood of vampires all over the planet. He also managed to shield them from magical detection. I have no idea how we’re going to find them.”

  “Look for the bodies,” Champion said. “That bunch will leave a trail.”

  Erin Champion nodded. “Which means you should be able to Google ’em.”

  Llyr frowned. Human slang changed so quickly it was impossible to keep track of it. “Google?”

  “She means you can use the Internet to search online newspapers for unusual murders,” Champion explained.

  Llyr glanced at Arthur. “Did you understand any of that?”

  “They’re talking about computers.” The immortal grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve really got to start keeping up with the times, Llyr. Try watching MTV once in a while.”

  Ignoring the dig, Llyr lifted a brow at him. “So do you have one of these ‘computers’?”

  “They don’t need one,” said the massive book at Reece’s elbow, flipping itself open. “They have me. And I can access newspapers that are not even online.”

  Interested, Llyr walked over to the table as the others crowded closer. The enchanted tome known as Merlin’s Grimoire was the alien’s ultimate bequest to his followers. Sentient as it was, there weren’t many questions the great book couldn’t answer.

  Llyr watched over Erin’s shoulder as she began to flip the pages, each of which seemed to have turned into a newspaper front page. Their mastheads read the New York Times, the Atlanta Constitution, the San Francisco Chronicle. And others, too, towns he’d never heard of.

  Each had similar headlines: TWO MEN VICTIMS OF BIZARRE MURDER, BODY FOUND DRAINED IN FIELD, POLICE: WOMAN SACRIFICED IN BLACK MAGIC RITE.

  “Are all these our escaped vampires?” Arthur asked, leaning closer to read over Erin’s shoulder.

  “I can’t say for certain,” the Grimoire said. “But all of them share characteristics that suggest vampire killings or occult elements.”

  “Makes sense,” Champion said. “Geirolf’s cultists were committing bizarre murders to power his magic even before he turned them into vampires. Now that they’ve got powers of their own, it’s not surprising that they’d still be killing people.”

  “Plus, Geirolf starved his troops,” Erin added. “One reason they were so eager to fight is because they were hungry.”

  “Add all that up, and you’ve got an excellent motive for some spectacularly nasty murders,” Arthur said. “This is going to get ugly.”

  “It was already ugly,” Llyr told him grimly, watching as Erin flipped another page over. His eyes widened as he recognized a familiar face staring out at him. “Wait. That one. I know that woman.”

  The grainy color photograph, obviously taken at night, showed a man in a police uniform standing beside a woman in front of a big vehicle. Her eyes shown in the light of the flash with an eerie luminescence that didn’t look quite human.

  It was the woman from his dream.

  “The Verdaville Voice,” Llyr read. “What’s that?”

  “A weekly newspaper in Verdaville, a small town in the state of South Carolina,” the Grimoire announced.

  “The caption says she’s Diana London, city administrator,” Erin said, then looked up at Llyr. “How did you meet a city administrator from some podunk South Carolina town?”

  “I haven’t. Yet. I had a dream about her,” Llyr said.

  Erin groaned. “God, not another dream.” Both Janieda and various Majae had experienced prophetic dreams about the confrontation with Geirolf.

  “Don’t underestimate the power of dreams, Erin,” Llyr said, staring intently at the photograph.

  “In this job?” She snorted. “Not a chance.”

  “Do you want to check this one out, then?” Arthur asked.

  “Check it out?”

  “Investigate it. Find out if it’s one of Geirolf’s vampires doing this killing, or just
a random human lunatic.”

  Llyr looked down at the paper. “Oh, yes. I definitely want to see more.”

  The next day

  Diana’s nervous system seemed to be buzzing like a cicada as she fought to concentrate on the report the head of the sewer department was giving her. Last night her mind had insisted on conjuring all kinds of dark, bloody dreams. Which was probably no surprise given the circumstances.

  What was a surprise was the number of times the blond sex god also put in an appearance, delicious and flexing. And there’d been a dragon, too. She had no idea where the hell that had come from.

  “We’re going to have to get the sludge pumped out of the treatment pond, or DHEC’s going to eat our lunch,” Randy Johnson warned her, breaking into her preoccupation.

  Diana grimaced. The state’s Department of Health and Environmental Control was notoriously hard-nosed when it came to small-town water treatment plants. DHEC was fully capable of fining Verdaville thousands of dollars if it decided the town had violated water quality standards. Money they didn’t have, which would mean raising taxes. Which, in turn, would bring outraged voters down on the city’s hapless head. “How much is it going to cost to pump out the sludge?”

  As Johnson quoted a figure at her, the office door opened and Gist slipped in. Most department heads knew better than to arrive late for the weekly staff meeting, but Diana cut Gist some slack because he was usually out answering calls.

  “Sounds like we’re going to have to dip into the emergency fund for that one,” she told the sewer department head, eyeing Gist as he dropped into a chair. “I’ll call a special meeting of the council, get ’em to okay it.”

  Diana paused, frowning. The chief’s smile was downright dreamy. Something about it made the hair rise on the back of her neck. “Judging from the happy face, you must have had a break in last night’s murder. What’s going on, Chief?”

  “It’s off our plate,” Gist said. “FBI’s taking over.”

  She sat up in her chair. “What? Since when does the FBI get involved in a run-of-the-mill homicide?” Actually, this case was far from run-of-the-mill, but the Feds had no way of knowing that.