Fire is Magic: A Vampire Romance (Hearts of Dagon Book 3)

by Alix Adale

  She looked at Dreck. “You knocked him out cold.”

  “Good,” Dreck answered, not taking his eyes off the female newcomer. “Maybe it’ll teach him how to knock.”

  Dreck could handle himself. He’d been holding back, concealing that amazing speed. What else was he hiding? Then again, these were mere fledglings, so it wasn’t more impressive than drop-kicking first-year karate students.

  Dreck grabbed his jacket. “All right, let’s go see the Queen. And let’s try and avoid the lycans, they’re getting drunker and more ornery by the minute.”

  If Dreck wandered off with his clan mates, he might never return. She might never see him again, which caused a quick burst of panic. That would not help her against Malmardane. He was right: they needed to pool info. “I’m coming with you, Dreck.”

  “I’m touched by your concern, but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “I know that. But we need to share intel. I want you in sight until we do.”

  Hard eyes held hers. “Don’t pull that katana on the Queen, or our truce is over. In fact, leave it here.”

  “I won’t leave it behind.” She ground her teeth. “Didn’t you warn me about the Boss of the Mountain?”

  “No sasquatch is as dangerous as a pissed-off vampire queen. I’m serious, Jordan. Do nothing except defend yourself. Hear me?”

  How many more oaths could she break? She nodded. “I hear you.”

  He grinned and reached for her arm. Fine, let him have it.

  The female vampire squatted in the yard, fussing with her injured friend. She nicked her wrist and fed the boy a few drops of blood. The male’s limbs stirred as he sat up.

  It took every ounce of willpower not to draw the katana and go ninja on this trio of vampires. Her skin crawled, even though the two fledglings walked a few feet ahead, oblivious to their danger. The real threat held her arm—Dreck. Or George Braden, if that was his real name.

  “Who’s your sidekick?” Dreck barked at the fledglings. “A clanless flunky?”

  Cherise wrapped a possessive arm around the other male. “My spawn.”

  “Batshit,” Dreck snapped. “You’re a fledgling. You can’t take a spawn.”

  “Not anymore. The Queen promoted me to page.”

  “Why?”

  “She put out the word—anyone who can take a spawn, takes one. Promising fledglings included.”

  Alarms flared in Jordan’s mind and she listened with interest, trying to commit facts to memory. This info could help everyone fighting against evil. A vampire realm increasing its numbers was a danger to all.

  “What for?” demanded Dreck.

  “On account of my service to the crown,” said the female vampire.

  “I meant, why is the Queen spawning up the Houses?”

  “She thinks a war’s coming.”

  “With who?”

  The woman shrugged. “Something she calls ‘Walk-Ins’ are sliding through the barriers between worlds.”

  “What are Walk-Ins?”

  “We don’t know. Harbingers of the Elder Gods maybe. Preparers of the way.”

  He scoffed. “That’s batshit insane.”

  “Like hanging out in a lycan circus?”

  Dreck lapsed into silence, as if not deigning to answer such a barbed question. But it was a fair one. Walking arm in arm with her, he was as tense as a high-wire. That was unusual for him. Against the Blood Moon bikers, he’d acted almost nonchalant. The only time he’d looked worried so far during their brief acquaintance was when Malmardane had showed up last night. Was the Queen worse? What did a summons by his vampire liege even mean? Was Dreck in trouble with his realm?

  “So George,” said Cherise, glancing back over her shoulder. The cold green eyes met Jordan’s, paired with a fang-filled smile. “Who’s this sword-carrying mystery woman?”

  “None of your goddamned business,” said Dreck. They fell quiet.

  Yikes. Jordan shivered. This whole situation oozed danger. Their whole group might get torn apart by a crowd of lycans at the drop of a hat. On top of that, this Cherise person was getting into her business. This could get ugly. That woman did not look trustworthy in the slightest, so unlike Dreck—and exactly like every other vampire.

  Dreck must be a weird exception and he didn’t realize it. He was the exception that proved the rule. That made sense, fit the teachings. A few vampires sought redemption, tried to do good works, clinging to their humanity, but most were corrupt and beyond saving. Her palms itched and the sword swung on her back.

  The group moved through the rally, avoiding the largest clusters of lycans. After a while, it became obvious that the young vampires were leading them up the hill and away from the dam. A hard hike upslope brought them back to the edge of the highway.

  “Where is Ursula?” Dreck demanded.

  Another fair question. All of a sudden, Firewater Dam didn’t seem as menacing as returning to the material world to face a vampire queen. This Ursula person might kill her on general principals. No quarter asked or given. “Dreck, maybe I’d better stay here.”

  He shot her a look, worry tearing his handsome face two ways at once. “Yeah, maybe.”

  The two young vampires walked on ahead, marching along the median line as if playing a game. “Come on, George,” the female called out. “Scared?”

  Not that one. Dreck marched off down the center of the highway. A fog picked up, the three figures receding in the mist.

  Dammit, what to do? Stay within the dubious safety of Firewater Dam, or risk facing a vampire queen and however many other minions she brought with her? That’s when it hit her. These young vampires were walking around in broad daylight too. First Malmardane at the cemetery. Then Dreck. Now these two, mere fledglings. What was going on?

  Better find out. If there was a war brewing and even the Queen of Dagon’s youngest vampires could endure daylight, that was major news. She took off at a run, sticking to the center line. Mist swarmed up all around then vanished.

  The sky took on a clearer blue, cleaner and more familiar somehow. Birdsong rippled through the trees. The three vampires stood around a red BMW convertible parked at a nearby turnout. Cherise handed an iPad to Dreck. “Ursula’s online.”

  Jordan hurried to his side. The glass flashed in the sun, showing a pale brunette wearing a crown. The Queen! She was talking to them through a video app. So much for slaying an arch-fiend. Tension ebbed away.

  “How did you find me?” Dreck snarled at the screen.

  “We have resources, George,” said the Queen. She spoke in crisp, precise syllables, her English accent and antique gown giving her a theatrical air. “The question is why did you run off and join the circus? That’s old-fashioned even for you.”

  “Not your concern.”

  “It is when you trot off without our permission. You left at solstice without even bending the knee. That’s a fine kettle, George.”

  Horrible, to see a genuine vampire queen in the flesh. What was odd was how normal the woman looked, not the least bit marked by chaos: no horns, no tail, no scaly face. Jordan hovered near Dreck’s side, staying off camera.

  “I’m searching for Ferdinand’s killer,” Dreck said, gruff and resentful. “Custom gives me the right of vengeance.”

  “Come home, and we shall tell you what we know.”

  “I don’t trust you. You’re involved.”

  The Queen laughed. “Whatever gave you that ridiculous, paranoid idea?”

  She’s lying, Jordan thought. She’d never met this woman before, but that much was obvious. Curiouser and curiouser.

  “When Ferdinand vanished, my brothers felt nothing,” said Dreck. “Neither did I. Our bond is strong enough, we should have known. But right away, you stepped in and announce he’s dead.”

  “Armando accepted our declaration. Why can’t you?”

  Dreck scowled. “Because something’s wrong! For years, I’ve kept my ears open. And I kept hearing the same thing—Ferdinand died at Moog’s
Circus of Blood. Moog knows what happened. Go to Moog’s circus to find the killer.”

  Ursula nodded. “This Moog character knows some, but not all. Come see us in Portland. This line is not secure.” She waved her hand and the screen went off.

  Interesting that both the Queen and Moog knew something about this. If she was going to unravel Malmardane’s trail, she had to start somewhere. Her shaky truce with Dreck held—for now.

  Chapter 12: Fight Night

  Dreck

  Answers. It felt like for the first time in a long time, he’d grabbed a few pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. Ursula’s words, Moog’s promise. Things were getting closer. Time to visit Ursula—after tonight’s fight. Moog owed him answers, and if the lycan ringmaster reneged on the deal, the time for subtlety was over. Fists would do. Hell, he’d haul Moog back to Port Selkie if he had to.

  But Jordan. This woman kept her secrets close, but she might hold the key. The one she called Malmardane, the one he called Ferdinand Braden. What did it all mean? How did it fit together? He had put a few pieces and what they revealed made no sense.

  Jordan held more than secrets. She also radiated a natural warmth and magnetism. Running into a tart like Cherise showed what a woman Jordan was in contrast. That’s when the realization hit him.

  Slayer or not, breaking the truce with Jordan was impossible now. Not only because they had sex once or because of his friendship with Kit, but because Jordan was brave, fine—gorgeous. Full of life and sorrow. And so strong, a true warrior. The kind of woman that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Too bad that could never happen. He handed the tablet back to Cherise. “I got the message. Go home, errand girl.”

  Cherise grinned. “What, and miss your big fight?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “The whole rally’s talking about it, dude,” said the green-haired spawn. “There’s posters for this Circus of Blood thing all over.”

  Figured. Moog never missed an opportunity to self-promote. Dreck grunted, stalking along the narrow line that led back to Firewater Dam. “You fledglings stay out of trouble and don’t expect a rescue if you fuck up. You’re Ursula’s problem, not mine.”

  “We’ll behave,” Cherise said, grabbing her spawn’s arm and heading down the median line of the highway.

  Yeah right, but whatever. Still, Cherise and this Burke clown were Bradens now, making them his responsibility no matter what. Jordan was another obligation. He offered the slayer his arm again but she hesitated. He spoke up. “We’re not on the motorcycle, so unless you know how to spirit-walk, I suggest you take it.”

  Her features relaxed into a smile as she took his arm. The change was refreshing.

  Back in the trailer, he took a blood-pack into the bathroom, ripping off the plastic sealant cap with main force. Funny, he never thought twice about drinking blood around Moog’s lycans, but he didn’t want to drink it in front of Jordan. Which was ridiculous: she knew what he was, how his kind survived. He shrugged, shut the door, and sat down on the toilet. Hadn’t she been there when he drained the biker at Moog’s hideaway? Bah. He squeezed the IV bag, suckling the sweet giver of life like taking a milkshake through a straw.

  If only a different Braden had found him, someone like Colin or Desiree. Those two were decent people and—like him—had never wanted vampirism. Jordan needed to learn most vampires weren’t evil killers preying on humanity, at least in the Kingdom of Dagon. Customs and attitudes varied around the world, but Ursula—give her that much credit—ran a clean realm. Her Law of Dagon prevented wanton killing of mortals and curbed the endless blood feuds between the clans. But if he invited Jordan to Braden House, would she come with an open mind? Or would she try to burn it down and kill everyone inside?

  The voices of the others came through the thin wall.

  “Hey, is that the Malleus Mal?” Cherise asked. She must’ve spotted one of the occult books in Jordan’s duffel bag. “Are you a witch hunter? Is that why you have a witchhammer and a sword?”

  “No.” That was Jordan, sounding guarded. “I’m no witch hunter.”

  Uh oh. He paused in his sipping, listening. If Cherise figured out what Jordan was, a bloodbath might follow. How would he explain two dead Bradens to the rest of the clan?

  “Then what?” the fledgling pushed. “You into voodoo?”

  “Why would you say that? Because I’m black?”

  “Seems legit.”

  “I’m from a little suburb south of Santa Barbara, California, not the Caribbean!” Jordan said with some heat. “You want to talk magic? Let’s talk some deep down, under-the-ground black magic. There’s some powerful necromancy-type shit going on around here. These lycans, this Demi-World. It’s spooky.”

  “Tell me about it! I been studying magic since like fourteen.”

  “Sure you have,” Jordan snorted.

  “It’s true! I once summoned the ghost of Aleister Crowley.”

  “Crowley! What do you want with such a weak spirit?”

  “He’s useless, but he’s well-known so he’s easy to summon. And he gives decent advice.”

  “About what?”

  “How to rise through magic societies so you can meet the true masters.”

  Jordan scoffed. “And be dismissed as a rank amateur.”

  “True, but by then I found out what I needed to know.”

  “Which was?”

  “I’m a vampire now, aren’t I?”

  Better put a stop to this before his so-called ‘allies’ killed each other. He chucked the IV-bag in the trash and exited. “That’s enough. Everyone shut up, get something to eat, get some sleep. I don’t know what Moog’s got planned for me tonight, but if I get in trouble…”

  Jordan cracked a rare smile, a grin wise beyond her years. “You will need us to bail you out.”

  Good that he could still count on her. There was that. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But yeah.”

  Sunset came swift in the Demi-World, accompanied by fireworks and lycan shamen throwing light shows against the sky. Cubs and kits cheered from picnic benches. Meat roasted on barbecue spits as the packs gathered together for the evening meal. They ate hamburgers and ribs and listened to portable stereos. The scene resembled a twisted version of a Fourth of July barbecue in a park.

  Still no sign of the Blood Moon lycans. Good. He led his own ‘pack’ toward the circus tent, Jordan at his side and the two fledglings trailing after. Moog’s show would start an hour after dark, according to the flyers scattered around the campground. He meant to be ready when the time came. And it wouldn’t hurt to know what he was up against.

  Inside the circus tent, lupine workers poured sawdust into the center ring. No steel cage this time, which was worrisome. What if the crowd went berserk? Moog was courting disaster and there was no such thing as police in a Demi-World. The ringmaster’s security better be good.

  Kit came bounding toward them as soon as they entered, dressed in the beer-wench dress Moog made her wear to sell beer. Mustard ran along at the lycan’s side, both of them wagging their tails. The big yellow dog leaped on Jordan with genuine joy, licking her face. The hunter knelt, embracing the dog and laughing as the tongue cleaned her cheek.

  At the same time, Kit charged him, pressing her face against his chest as she shifted into human form. The red fur across her limbs changed to smooth skin, but the waist-length tangle of strawberry curls remained. “Dreck! I’m so happy to see you. But I’m scared for you!” Her voice went to a conspiratorial whisper. “Leave right now.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about me kid.”

  “I mean it. Don’t fight!”

  “I promised Moog. But what’s got ya spooked?” He gripped her shoulders, looking into her yellow vixen eyes. “What’s your boss up to? Who am I fighting? It can’t be Brickhouse.”

  “I don’t know—he won’t tell me. You’re right, it’s not Brick, though he’s in on it. They’ve been secretive and whisper
ing. It’s bad. I know it is. They don’t trust me anymore, ever since … never mind.”

  Jordan spoke up, her voice gentle. “It’s all right, Ingrid. I told him about your secret crush.”

  Kit blushed and looked at the floor. “Oops.”

  The poor kid. He gave a good-natured laugh, playing it down. “Oops, nothing. You’re a good kid, Kit. You deserve better than this traveling freak show.” He studied her face, but she kept her eyes to the ground. A nasty shiner marred her complexion. “That’s a nice black eye.”

  Kit sighed, rubbed her cheek. “I know. He never hit me before. I’m scared.”

  “You want out?”

  “Yeah, but where can I go?”

  “Come with us.” The word ‘us’ slipped out without thinking—meaning he and Jordan. He assumed they’d stay together until they got to the bottom of this Malmardane-Ferdinand mystery. Maybe longer. “After tonight’s fight, I’m quitting the Circus. Leave with me. I know a place in Portland that’s safe for lycans.”

  “Portland?” Kit’s eyes went wide. “That’s a vampire realm.”

  “Yeah, but the zoo’s off limits to us. The Queen stashes a few lycan allies there. You can lay low until something new turns up. What do you say, kiddo?”

  “Wow, thanks! I’ll think about it, but now I better go. We need to unpack like a million beer kegs.” With a rustle of her silly beer-wench dress, she dashed off.

  Jordan stared at him with an unreadable expression.

  Well, what did she think? That he would abandon Kit to her fate? “Don’t tell me you don’t want her along?”

  “Course I want her along.” Jordan uncrossed her arms, letting out her breath. “You surprised me is all, George Braden.”

  “I go by Dreck.”