Master of the Moon

by Angela Knight

  But none of them stopped.

  “You see?” Adsulata gestured at the scrying mirror she’d conjured. Its silvered surface showed Llyr’s back as he ran through the night, pursuing the Direkind woman. “It’s as I said. That werewolf has Egan and the king chasing vampires on Mortal Earth.”

  Ansgar Galatyn sat back against the headboard of his bed, watching the mirror with narrow-eyed interest. His little spy was right. Llyr was trying to cement his alliance with Arthur by aiding the Magekind on this latest idiotic quest of theirs.

  He was just going to have to do something about that.

  Silently, Ansgar counted his brother’s bodyguards. Four. Nowhere near enough, but then, Llyr had always been convinced he could handle any assassin Ansgar sent.

  Unfortunately, he’d been right. Ansgar’s men had succeeded in killing Llyr’s wives and children, but never the bastard himself. It was as if Cachamwri himself protected him.

  Tits of the Goddess, it was frustrating. Ansgar would have much preferred to simply challenge the lackwit and kill him, but he didn’t dare. Dearg had seen to that, interfering old bastard. Ansgar wished he’d known that before he’d betrayed his father into that demon ambush. He’d have eliminated Llyr first and saved himself the trouble. As it was, he had to make sure Llyr died in a way that was not immediately traceable to him.

  Ansgar stroked his spy’s bare breast and considered the image she’d created for him. This quest of Llyr’s had real potential as something he could use.

  Particularly this murderous vampire. How convenient it would be if she killed Llyr. Nobody would be able to trace the assassination back to Ansgar.

  All he had to do was find the vampire first.

  Llyr caught up to Diana when she stopped between two houses, her wolf ears pricked as she stared at whatever lay beyond them. Odd patterns of blue light struck the building and disappeared. He threw up a fist as he stopped, and his men skidded to a halt behind him, going silent and alert.

  Cautiously, Llyr moved up beside Diana. A cluster of mortal vehicles lined the street, some of them parked at haphazard angles that seemed odd compared to what he’d noticed earlier in the day. The vehicles were topped with long electric lights that produced the blue flashes he’d noticed. Some of the cars were marked with VERDAVILLE POLICE, others with GRAYSON COUNTY SHERIFF. All terms for their officers of the law. The home must be the location of the murder.

  Magic shimmered, and suddenly Diana was standing next to him in human form, once more in her blue uniform. “Oh, hell.”

  “What?” He glanced over at her. Her expression was so grim, he tensed.

  “We’ve got media. This isn’t good. And what the hell are they doing out here at four in the morning, anyway?” She glanced at him. “Hey, that glamor thing of yours—does it fool television cameras?”

  “That depends. What is a television camera?”

  “Mechanical device. Collects digital images, which that live truck”—she nodded at a large, boxy vehicle parked down the street—“beams back to a television station, which broadcasts it to a hundred thousand people or so. At least in this market.”

  “What market?” Llyr frowned; he hadn’t seen any sort of bazaar. Then he dismissed the question as yet another overcomplicated mortal reference. “The answer is no, in any case. A glamor is a spell that only affects people in my immediate vicinity.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Which means the entire television audience will wonder how my police chief mistook members of a rock band for the FBI.”

  “You do realize I understood perhaps two words in that entire sentence?”

  Diana indicated the men behind him. “Let me break it down for you—the butt-length pastel hair is a problem. I don’t suppose y’ all could cut it?”

  Llyr winced. “No.”

  “Tie it up and stuff it under a hat?”

  “What kind of hat?”

  “A fedora, maybe.”

  “A what?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a Bogart movie? Oh, forget it. We don’t have time. Maybe we can take you in the back way, avoid the cameras.”

  “Or perhaps I will tell the mortals not to use their devices on us.” He started across the grass toward the truck.

  He’d never understand why mortals had to make simple things so complicated.

  SEVEN

  The young man sat slumped in the wooden chair, his throat and groin ripped to bloody shreds. His intestines had been torn from his abdominal cavity and draped over his body like tinsel around a Christmas tree.

  Chief William Gist crouched in front of the corpse, smoking a cigarette and contemplating his own guilt. It was brutally obvious this case was related to the one two nights before. He couldn’t understand why he’d dropped it the minute that FBI asshole told him to.

  Regardless of what they thought, the Feebees were not God’s gift to law enforcement. Besides, the people of Verdaville were his responsibility. It was his duty to protect them from this kind of shit, and he hadn’t.

  With a sigh, he rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. Where the hell was Diana? He needed her nose for this. They had to find this prick and put him away. Preferably tonight.

  Light flashed behind him. Must be the crime scene photog. Gist turned. “’Bout time you got here. I want a—” He broke off and stared.

  The guy was built like a running back for the Carolina Panthers, but he had black hair down past his ass. He wore some kind of poofy shirt with a velvet vest, tights, knee boots, and a cape that draped over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. Gist barked out a laugh. “What the fuck are you supposed to be? And how did you get in here, anyway? Hey, Jones! Get in here. I need you to—”

  “Silence,” the fruit growled.

  And suddenly Gist couldn’t say a word. Looking into the man’s cruel black eyes, the chief suddenly felt a raw, cold terror greater than anything he’d ever known before.

  Mentally cursing, Diana hurried in Llyr’s wake. He might have the world’s most luscious ass, but he was a loose cannon. She could already tell she was going to have her hands full keeping him from making a bad situation worse.

  She’d been tempted to tell him she didn’t need his help, but she suspected he wouldn’t listen. Besides, the galling fact was, she did need him.

  Diana’s quick and dirty circuit of the area had revealed not so much as a whiff of vampire. She was going to have to spend quality time with her nose on the pavement to trail the little psychopath. Assuming, of course, the vampire hadn’t created one of those magical gates and zapped herself wherever.

  All of which meant Llyr’s magic hands might prove useful in more than just the carnal sense. Diana was just going to have to grit her teeth and keep an eye on him.

  As they approached the live truck, a spill of bright light made her lengthen her stride. Sure enough, she saw as she neared that the light was coming from a camera. They were interviewing somebody.

  “So you were the one who found your son, Mrs. Bryce?” The reporter was a slim redhead with a sympathetic smile and sharp blue eyes, dressed to the teeth even at this ungodly hour. Diana knew and liked Sandra Kent from previous encounters. She was ambitious enough to go out on a story at four in the morning, good enough to find out entirely too much, and bright enough to get it right.

  In short, she was the last reporter they needed.

  “Yes, I found him.” The lady Kent was interviewing lifted her chin. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her dark face looked much older than she probably was, lined and gray in that particular way Diana had learned to associate with sudden, traumatic loss. Her blue jeans and knit shirt were scrupulously clean. “I got home from work at the Kwick Mart just after midnight. I knew something was wrong when I opened the door. It smelled like something had…” She broke off, and her round chin quivered. “I went into my Gerald’s bedroom and I found him. He’d been…” The woman began to sob, shoulders shaking with the violence of terrible grief.

  Diana winced, remembe
ring what she’d seen two days before. Llyr, standing just beyond the circle of light, turned to look at her. He gestured at the photographer, a muscular young man who held a video camera balanced on one shoulder. “Is that one of those camera devices you were talking about?” he asked in a low voice.

  She nodded and gestured at him to be quiet. She wanted to hear what the woman had to say.

  “Could you tell us what had happened to him, Mrs. Bryce?” Kent asked gently.

  “He’d been…” She stopped with a gasp, then tried again. “I can’t talk about it. What I came out here to say was one of the police told me the same thing happened to a boy just night before last.” Now anger lit her gaze, lending animation to her grief-blasted face. “If this is some kind of serial killer, they got to tell people. People got to know so another boy don’t die like this.”

  “Are you saying you think there’s a cover-up?” Kent asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying! The city’s hidin’ this just because it don’t look good, and that ain’t right. My boy wouldn’t have died like that if we’d known! He wouldn’t have gone off with whoever did this. The police as good as killed him!”

  “That’s enough!” Llyr growled, laying a big hand over the top of the camera. Its halogen light flared and went out as he stepped past its operator.

  “Shit!” the photographer spat. “Sandra, I’m off! Camera’s gone dead.”

  “Well, get it back,” Kent ordered, assessing Llyr. “Check the battery. Sir, I’m Sandra Kent, WDRT News. And you are…?”

  “In charge. Leave.”

  The reporter’s eyes went blank. Without another word, she and her cameraman went to work packing up their equipment.

  Diana swore silently and tried to decide how to handle the new disaster the Sidhe king had unleashed on her head.

  Mrs. Bryce watched, confused. “Wait, the interview’s over? I wasn’t finished! People need to know about this! Somebody could…”

  Llyr turned to her. “Madame, I regret your loss. Rest assured, your son’s killer will pay in very short order. But accusing Diana’s men of involvement in these crimes accomplishes nothing, and you will not do so again.”

  The woman’s eyes went as blank as the news crew’s. “All right.”

  “Llyr!” Diana gasped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” But the king and his entourage were already headed across the sidewalk toward the house.

  Growling, she touched the lady’s shoulder. Dark, vague eyes lifted to hers. “Do you have family in town, ma’am? Or maybe a friend? Somebody you can call who can come help you?”

  “I’ve got a brother. I’ve already called him. He’s coming.”

  “Okay, good. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll have somebody wait with you until your brother can take you home with him.”

  As she led the woman across the yard, the news truck’s doors slammed, and Kent and her photographer drove off. Diana didn’t envy them their coming conversation with their news director, who would surely want to know why they didn’t have anything on the murder they’d been sent to cover.

  She didn’t doubt that Llyr had completely fried both the camera and the digital tape they’d shot. The whole thing was going to drive Kent nuts as soon as the spell wore off.

  Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She collared the first Verdaville cop she saw and told him to take care of Mrs. Bryce, then went to find Llyr.

  The Bryce home was a two-story rental, which smelled as if it had been recently painted. Padding through the kitchen over scarred vinyl flooring, she automatically checked the sink. Unfortunately, there were no handy glasses or dishes standing around that looked as though they might host the killer’s fingerprints.

  Diana continued through the living room past a forty-two-inch television that had probably cost twice as much as the sagging couch. The unmistakable scent of violent death led upstairs, where she found Gist, the Sidhe, and what was left of the poor young man who’d been Mrs. Bryce’s son.

  She stopped dead in the doorway, staring at him in nauseated horror. “Oh, Jesus. Poor bastard. And his poor mother.”

  Llyr turned and looked at her, his expression grim. “Well, the vampire witch has outsmarted herself. She’s left enough traces here to make it possible to track her. All I have to do is follow her trail, and we’ll have her.”

  Diana sighed in relief. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day.” She closed the door behind her and eyed the boy’s ruined body grimly. “Let’s get started. I owe this…person, and I’m looking forward to collecting.”

  Llyr nodded and turned toward the body. As Diana watched, a spark of light appeared, then another, then another. The tiny points of energy began to swirl over the corpse, slowly at first, then faster. They rose in the air, dancing like a storm of fireflies, streaming toward the ceiling. But just before they reached it, the stream went out.

  Llyr frowned. “Huh.”

  “What?” She moved closer. Around her, Llyr’s Sidhe guards shifted in surprise and unease. “What happened?”

  “Something’s blocking the spell.”

  “The vampire?”

  “I’m not sure.” He stared at the ceiling, his expression grim. “It could be, but if so, she is surprisingly powerful. But how did she know she needed to spend that kind of energy on a shield?”

  “Dammit.” Diana sighed, then straightened her shoulders. “Okay, so we’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.” She looked at Gist as she turned toward the door. “Chief, let’s go get Luna’s leash and take a look.”

  But Gist remained where he stood, staring at the boy’s body, a cigarette smoldering forgotten in his hand.

  “Chief?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Bill?” Diana touched his shoulder, but he didn’t move. “Oh, shit.” Teeth bared, she swung toward Llyr and gritted, “Goddamn it, Llyr, I told you to leave my police chief alone! I’m tired of you putting spells on my people every time I turn around!”

  His opalescent gaze examined her with chill displeasure. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything to your man.”

  “Well, somebody has. Look at him!” She shot a suspicious look the guards.

  “We would certainly cast no such spell without His Majesty’s permission,” Naois told her coolly. “You are mistaken.”

  “No,” Llyr said slowly. He’d stepped nose to nose with Gist, who gazed back at him with blank eyes. “He’s definitely been bespelled.”

  Diana cursed. “The vampire. She must have still been in the house when the police arrived. Can you break it?”

  Naois spoke up. “Your Majesty, we should search the house. The killer may still be here. With her powers, the mortals might not even be aware of her.”

  Llyr nodded shortly. “Naois, you, Egan, and Kelar search. Bevyn, you remain here.”

  The guards nodded and trooped out.

  Diana stepped closer, examining the chief’s blank face in concern. What if he didn’t come back to himself? What if he was stuck like this? “Llyr, help him. Please.”

  “If I can.” The king reached out and cupped the side of Gist’s head in his palm. Sparks of energy spilled around his hand.

  Instantly, Gist’s eyes widened and focused. He jerked back in surprise. “Whoa. Where did you come from?” Backing up another wary pace, he tensed, obviously ready to punch Llyr in the teeth. “Who the hell are you?”

  Diana caught him by the shoulder. “Bill, it’s okay. He’s a friend.”

  Gist frowned, staring into Llyr’s face. “You’re that FBI agent, aren’t you? What’s going on?”

  “We’re not sure,” Diana explained. “You seemed to be in some kind of trance.”

  Bewildered, the chief glanced around, spotted the body, and winced. “Damn. I don’t understand this. I’ve never had blackouts in my life.” He smiled dryly. “Not without a whole lot of beer being involved, anyway. And I definitely haven’t been drinking.”

  “
What was the last thing you remember?” Diana asked.

  “I…think I was kneeling in the floor smoking a cigarette. Then…I don’t know. You were here. It was like you just appeared.”

  “You don’t remember us walking in at all?”

  “No.”

  Diana turned toward Llyr. “How did he seem when you walked in?”

  The king shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t notice. I was concentrating on the body.”

  “I don’t like this.” She bit her lip and eyed Gist. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “Neither do I, but there doesn’t seem to be much we can do about it,” Llyr said.

  Gist spoke up. “Diana, do you want to walk out to the truck with me? I need to get…Luna.”

  “Bill, Llyr knows what I am.”

  “You told him?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see what kind of scents I pick up in here.” Diana gathered herself and concentrated. Again, she felt the tingling rush of energy that reshaped muscle and bone. Then she was once more on all fours.

  Pausing, she breathed deep, focusing her canine senses. All she could smell was the nauseating scent of the boy’s death. With a low woof of frustration, she dropped her head to the floor and sniffed her way over to the corpse.

  Nothing.

  She circled it. The killer’s scent should be all over the body—it certainly had been with the first victim—yet she smelled nothing but the boy. Stubbornly, she went on working the room, but there was no trail at all.

  Finally Diana transformed again and propped her fists on her hips. Her baton rapped her thigh with the motion. “Hell.”

  “What?” Gist demanded. “What’d you smell?”

  “Nothing. Our killer somehow erased her scent trail.”

  “That’s not possible,” Gist protested.

  Diana met Llyr’s grim gaze. “I’m afraid it is.”

  “If she could block my power, anything is possible,” Llyr agreed.

  They decided to return to the Mageverse to discuss strategy.

  Stepping through the gate with Llyr and his guards, Diana found herself in yet another lushly appointed room in the Sidhe palace. Chairs lined the walls, and the floor was covered with a huge hand-worked rug that practically glittered with magic. Every time she stepped, the image the fibers depicted changed—a hunting party pursuing a dragon; armored men doing battle with demonic creatures; inhumanly beautiful Sidhe men and women dancing. It made Diana dizzy.