“Agreed,” Albert replied.
“Yessir,” Tucker added.
He nodded. As lycanthropes went, he could have done far worse than these two, even if he did have to keep them away from each other’s throats. A dyed-in-the-wool Confederate who remembered the actual Confederacy and a relic of Prohibition’s glory days in Chicago…both brought the kind of cut-throat attitude he needed if his plans were to come to fruition.
As far as he—and every other vampire—was concerned, all werewolves ranked lower on Nature’s totem pole than vampires. That still put them above humans, however.
“Now,” he went on, “despite the danger to my person, I will continue to perform reconnaissance during the day. No one has caught on yet. They simply don’t look for me when the sun is up. I do believe I brushed past a couple of acquaintances and they did not even recognize me.”
Part of that, granted, was because he’d worn a hood, jacket, gloves, and sunglasses in addition to a thick layer of sunscreen. He made certain to be very careful with the application of the sunblock and the draping of the hood—the burns from before had healed but the searing memory of their pain remained fresh.
“And,” he continued, “Taylor’s own sleeping habits seem to be entirely predictable. The chances that she herself will appear during the day are slim to none. She’s content to sleep in safety with her own pet werewolf to watch over her. The fact that I am willing to brave the sun and she is not is all the evidence we need that we will win. She is old and lazy and complacent. We are the future.”
He folded his hands over one another—first the left over the right and then vice versa.
Tucker produced a flat green cylindrical can and popped a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth. Gabriel and Albert both watched him with quiet disgust but relaxed when they saw him pull a golden ashtray toward himself.
“In a manner of speaking,” the man said as he chewed, “that’s true, but it sounds strange when you consider what we all agreed on—that we’re bringing the old days back.”
Gabriel nodded impatiently. “Yes, but we can save the philosophizing and semantics for later. For now, I want to know how things are coming along with each of your individual assignments. Albert, you first.”
Albert unfolded himself from his position in his chair and drained his wine glass of its remaining contents. His beady gaze darted around the room. The man never seemed able to entirely relax.
“My guys have been all over town,” he explained. “We visited every establishment Taylor does business with—all those run by preternaturals or have dealings with them. A couple are too powerful to threaten directly, yeah, but we got the message out to anyone who has ears to hear.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, “that’s what you were supposed to do. And?”
The mobster grimaced. “And we haven’t made much progress. We sent a couple of tough guys to each of the main places—that occult bookshop, the blood bank, Por’s Bar, the restaurant, and the trucking company that moves coffins in refrigerator packaging—and they all gave us the cold shoulder, basically. They acted all respectful, but my guys said that the sons of bitches are still more afraid of Taylor than they are of us and they didn’t get any straight answers from them. We rustled ʼem, yeah. But it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to cut her off from her usual suppliers anytime soon. Maybe after she’s dealt with.”
The vampire looked somewhere off into the distance before he returned his gaze to his co-conspirators. “That is disappointing but it’s almost to be expected. She runs this town with an iron fist and has convinced almost everyone of what will happen to them if they cross her. For these last few decades, people simply aren’t as terrified of your type of organization as they used to be.”
Albert tensed. He clearly did not like hearing the truth.
Gabriel recalled that Albert had grown up when the American Mafia families had been at the peak of their power, thanks largely in part to the government’s ridiculous ban on alcohol. The man had idolized the celebrity mobsters of his day and adapted to that lifestyle, rising in respect and authority as he used his preternatural abilities to make people completely disappear.
But after what had happened first to Al Capone and then to John Gotti, he had grown increasingly paranoid and sullen. Now, he had Taylor to deal with as well, and watching the Family kowtow to her was a nightly thorn in his side.
The vampire’s black eyes turned to his other werewolf cohort. “Tucker. How are things coming with our weapons shipments?”
Tucker picked up the golden ashtray carefully and spat some of his chewing tobacco juice into it discreetly. “Things are coming fine, Gabe. Just fine.”
“Would you care to enlighten us with details?”
The heavyset Southerner readjusted his position so that rather than sitting at attention, he slouched to appear more relaxed. “Everyone came through. The first shipment has already been received and distributed to all my people, with some of the guns on their way to your place as we speak. And I’ve received confirmation that the second shipment is on its way and ought to be here in another day or two. There’s a group of good old South Carolina boys handling it. They trust me, and I trust them.” He chuckled. “It’s gonna be like Fort Sumter all over again.”
Albert scoffed. “Weren’t you all of five years old when that war started? You didn’t actually fight in it.”
He turned his head slowly toward the mobster. “My pa did. I remember him not being home—ever again. That’s close enough, friend. And for all your talk about being more civilized and sophisticated, you seem to be the one having trouble on your end of the mission.”
Gabriel saw Albert lean forward in his seat with his jaw jutted out menacingly, and he held a hand up. “Stop. There will be no infighting. We don’t have time for that. Tucker, good job but don’t get cocky. Albert, your men have still done good work in providing us a better picture of the overall situation.”
Both men relaxed and returned their attention to the vampire.
“And,” he continued when satisfied that he had their full focus once again, “we know that at least some of the other preternaturals in this area sympathize with us. Not all of them have the courage to do so openly but I strongly suspect that Taylor’s reign is widely resented. In addition, our own subordinates have all been cleared for loyalty.”
“Yessir,” Tucker agreed.
He allowed himself a smirk. When he was younger, he’d been overly brash and even arrogant. Elder vampires told him even today that he was still young and foolishly hotheaded.
But over the course of three human lifetimes, he’d learned a few things. One of those was how to project an image of charismatic leadership that people would naturally want to follow.
He’d been carefully vague about exactly what the endgame was. This let his potential allies project their own goals and desires onto the proverbial blank sheet. So far, with these two—his top lieutenants—it seemed to be working.
Albert saw his alliance with Gabriel chiefly as a business opportunity. He and his associates in the world of organized crime stood to profit from a New York freed of restrictions on who was and wasn’t fair game. In his mind, Taylor was little different from an aggressive and meddling prosecutor who could not be bribed and therefore had to be silenced.
Tucker’s motivations were more romantic. The vampire was, after all, the leader of a rebel cause, and the South Carolinian werewolf had never gotten over his obsession with that particular conflict. Through him, he would be able to re-fight the war.
It occurred to him then that Tucker was smarter than he seemed. He’d proven himself competent thus far and his affected image as a stereotypical redneck shit-kicker from the Deep South was in all likelihood a way to make people underestimate him. In fact, Tucker might not even have been his real name. He made a mental note to investigate the matter in more detail.
Later, anyway. For now, they had work to do.
“The time is approaching,” Gabriel p
ronounced, “in which, at last, we are able to act. Soon, our natural prey will no longer have artificial protection and the creatures of the night again can flourish with freedom and self-determination. The pieces are almost all in place.”
He paused and cracked the base knuckle of his left hand. “There is one other order of business to discuss before we go our separate ways.”
Albert raised an eyebrow and scanned the room, apparently concerned that he might suddenly betray him.
Tucker spat more black juice into his ashtray. “Oh?”
“There are rumors,” he continued, “that Taylor has a new human assistant—someone running errands around the city for her and even working his way upstate. This is likely nothing of major concern. He may be no more than an errand boy. And, of course, he is merely human. Still, it represents another potential loose end that ought to be tied off.”
Albert nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll have some of my men tail the guy—see what he gets up to and where he pokes his nose. Anything he sees or hears will probably make its way back to the lady, after all. And let me tell you—Capone was taken down by a group of fucking IRS accountants. Never assume that someone isn’t a threat if there’s even the slightest chance they can do you ugly. If we have to rub this guy out, we will.”
“Good.” Gabriel sat back in his chair. A tremor of excitement went through him—the thrill of the hunt. It reminded him of the incredible sensations he’d experienced the first time he’d run down a hapless mortal and fed.
He went on. “In that case, this meeting is adjourned. I will send coded messages to each of you detailing when and where we’ll meet next. Although by then, it may well be only for the purpose of celebrating.”
He grinned and tried not to get ahead of himself. There was still much to be done, but his head swelled with confidence in his powers. His fangs showed.
Tucker nodded. “Sounds good, Gabe. There’s only one problem, though….”
“What?” he snapped. He and Albert both glared at the Southerner.
The man shook his head sadly. “There’s still a third of a bottle of this fine, excellent wine left. Are you gonna finish it?”
Gabriel frowned. “No. I do not drink…wine.”
Chapter Eleven
Harrison, Westchester County, New York
Taylor was well experienced in the use of bait to spring a trap. Anyone or anything could potentially be employed in this useful—albeit risky—fashion, including herself.
The night was dark as they were only two days from the new moon. Her senses more than made up the difference, however.
She knew the rest of her neighborhood almost as well as her own house. Although she rarely interacted with her neighbors—they were largely diurnal—she’d still taken it upon herself to learn about all of them. She knew the names and backgrounds of every person in the household, their professions, their extended families, their extracurricular associations, and their human or preternatural status.
As a rule, she made no use of this information, except at those times when it might be needed for her own protection. Now was one of those times.
The vampire crept down the street as a silent shadow and checked leftover letters and ads in mailboxes for any new or unfamiliar names. Nothing suspicious came to light, fortunately. She also scouted the roads and drives and the houses themselves, looking for tracks and spoor—anything unusual, any sign of new or unusual activity.
She moved in ways that, while invisible to humans, would still have been fairly obvious to most preternaturals. If someone was about to try something, they might as well get it over with out in the open. She knew she would survive against anything except the most unlikely combination of overwhelming force combined with the element of surprise.
But there was almost nothing tonight. Certainly, no one attacked her outright, nor did she see or hear or smell anyone who ought not to be there, sneaking around somewhere out of easy perception.
There were no blatant signs, either. A few ambiguous signs, possibly, but no red flags.
Presley reported that the vehicular traffic during the day had increased, but that could be unrelated to her situation.
And there were slight disturbances in the surrounding woods. If these had been made by a humanoid creature, whatever it was appeared to be good at disguising its tracks since all she found might as easily have been made by raccoons or possums.
And yet, she knew something wasn’t right. A ghostly wisp of ill intent wafted on the night’s breeze.
She climbed the hill toward her own property and stood in silence before the garage of her mansion to think.
The conspirators may have been moving during the day. Based on the information she’d teased out of the dwarf’s brain, they included at least one vampire. Werewolves preferred the night as well, despite not actually being harmed by sunlight.
Daytime excursions were unlikely but neither impossible nor unheard of. A vampire could walk under the sun with sufficient protection and sufficient will to withstand the pain and primal terror that the burning orb always brought. If that was the case, she might be dealing with a dangerous foe indeed.
Taylor glanced around one last time. Then, she pulled her phone out and called her new employee.
He did not answer. She waited for the voice mailbox to greet her and prepared to leave him a message. Even he didn’t seem so unperceptive and irresponsible as to fail to notice a voicemail from her.
“Remington,” she said after the tone, “if you’re looking for more important jobs than merely delivering letters and cleaning toilets, I have an opportunity for you. It’s something that will allow you to prove yourself if you can show up in the morning prepared for it and avoid tardiness.”
For the simple joy of moving in the night, she reentered her house not by the front door but instead, leapt onto the garage and clambered up the rear wall toward the guest bedroom’s window.
As she crawled along the shingles, a horrifying thought came to her. If her problem-child accomplished the task she had in mind, he might be able to say, in all truth, that he’d saved her life. Then she might owe him.
Midtown Manhattan, New York City
David had awoken to the irritating blare of his alarm, having only slept through the first minute or so of it. As such, he assumed he’d have no problem with being punctual. Not this time. Taylor would have no choice but to praise him for how quickly he’d improved.
He had also awoken to an intriguing voice message from none other than the vampire herself. It seemed she’d already promoted him to doing real, actual private-detective stuff. This struck him as a definite step up from household maintenance and errand running. It never occurred to him to consider that he had no idea how to conduct an investigation.
Now, as he stood again in the foyer—at, he was proud to say, 4:42 am—it seemed that he’d at least get some answers.
Presley closed the door behind him. “Ms Steele should be along at any moment. Oh, and thank you for arriving in a timely fashion today. It makes all of our lives easier—including your own.”
“No problem, Jeeves,” said Remy. “Is life really the right term in Taylor’s case, though?”
As if he’d somehow conjured her, Taylor’s voice—soft and musical but with a cold edge—wafted out of a dark corner. “Close enough, young man. One day, perhaps, the deeper mysteries of vampirism may be explained to you. But for now, we have other things to discuss. I take it you received my message?”
She stepped out into the foyer and looked elegant in a black silk robe and matching slippers.
He turned toward her, his hands in his pockets. He swallowed his snarky response barely in time. “Yeah, and I’d love to hear more.”
The vampire glanced at the grandfather clock. “I only have a few minutes before sunrise, but I need you to investigate the activities of a man named James over the past few weeks. You will discover he went missing several days ago. Do you remember when, the second time we met, I told you of a
werewolf who had decided the rules didn’t apply to him? His punishment was death by my hands. I now need to find out who that werewolf spoke to in the days and weeks before then. You will find notes on the kitchen table, as usual. Look at them carefully and think about it before you leave. I also have a couple of other suggestions.”
Remy rocked a little on his heels. Last night, he’d been sufficiently exhausted to sleep like a log. Now, he felt refreshed and even a little excited. He didn’t feel even the slightest urge to comment on the fact that there were literally thousands of men in New York named James. How many werewolves would there be with that name, after all?
“I’m all ears,” he quipped. “Metaphorically speaking.”
“First,” she said and extended one finger, “James came into a fair amount money quite recently. Use whatever sources of information are available, including your own contacts, to find out anything you can about someone by that name who might have recently appeared in the kinds of places frequented by the rich.”
His mouth twisted to the side in a sour expression. “Most of my so-called contacts among the wealthy and beautiful elite hate me, but I’ll keep that in mind, yeah.”
“Do so.” She extended another finger. “Second, go back to the Fluttershire Fairy Colony. They’ll be able to help you.”
At this, his eyes widened. “Wait, do you mean the same little pricks who went all police-brutality on me a couple of days ago? Hell no. That doesn’t even make sense. I doubt they’d want to so much as see me, let alone—”
“Do as I say,” she interrupted. “They don’t think the way we do. It’s not as though I have zero experience with these matters, so I won’t tell you to do something without good reason. Seek them out and explain the situation to them. That may well be your best bet.”
He could only shrug. “If you say so.”
“Thank you, Remington. Now, I need my rest. Good morning, and good luck.”
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