Marie turned the photo and seemed to examine it carefully before pushing it back towards Raven. “He looks beyond my help,” she said. “I didn’t make any magic for him, of that I am certain. Tell me, what does this gris-gris bag do?”
Raven shrugged and slipped the photo back in her purse. “I’m not exactly sure. But it was a strong talisman containing thirteen elements. I’ll know more about the contents once the tests are done.”
“Thirteen?” Marie asked. “That is an unusual number. Most strange. Are you certain it was thirteen?”
“Pretty sure,” Raven said. “I counted them myself. Does it matter?”
“I don't know,” Marie replied, “but I will look into it for you. It is the least I can do for a childe of Valentina.”
“Thank you, Marie,” Raven said with a small bow. “I’ll contact you in a few days.”
Marie nodded and ducked back through the curtain to attend to her work. Raven watched her for a moment before leaving, wondering who else in the city could make such a potent gris-gris, and if Marie was protecting someone.
She slipped behind the wheel of the Shelby, glancing at the clock as she buckled her seatbelt.
She groaned at the time displayed. “Shit, I’m late!"
With an expert hand, she raced the Shelby Mustang through the city’s almost-deserted streets, her police training the only thing keeping her from spreading the car all over the landscape. In record time she reached the immense estate her family had owned for nearly three hundred years and pulled into the underground garage that housed dozens of vintage cars, including her father’s 1955 Chevrolet Bellaire, without even a glance at the sprawling Gothic-style mansion.
Raven didn’t bother to change into more appropriate attire, deciding that putting an appearance in as the youngest Fürstin and only dhampyr in the family was more important than the yards of leather and lace tradition called for. She entered the hall her mother referred to as the sitting room and everyone else called the “throne room” to find that Court was all but over. Her mother, a petite, pale-skinned woman with black hair that brushed the floor and green eyes that glowed with an inner light, was seated on her throne at the head of the room. She glanced at Raven when she entered and frowned before continuing her conversation with a vampire Raven didn’t recognize. Valentina looked calm and collected even in a gown that required the sacrifice of at least three good-sized cows and a few hundred yards of lace. In all her finery and petticoats, Raven thought she looked like a beautiful Zeppelin on final approach.
Sitting on either side of her mother were Raven’s five sisters and two brothers, each dressed as befitted their station as the children of the Mistress of the City. In other words, almost identical to their mother in yards of black lace and leather so tight it left little to the imagination, though almost every inch of their flesh was covered.
Ignoring protocol, Raven walked behind the small gathering to take the empty seat next to her sister, Pandora. Of all her siblings, Pandora, with her cloud of white hair, piercing blue eyes and translucent skin was the only one Raven was close to, and the elder woman gave Raven a small smile of welcome. Raven smiled back and then turned her attention to the proceedings, which she was certain not to care about. She had little interest in vampire society.
Valentina Tempeste-Strohm, Mistress of the City and de facto leader of the city’s supernatural population, concluded her conversation with the newcomer and arched an eyebrow at her youngest child.
“Good of you to join us, my daughter,” she said, “though your attire leaves something to be desired. Next time, I expect you to arrive garbed as befits your station in this house.”
Raven bowed her head and replied, “Yes, Mother, my apologies. I was detained by work.”
Valentina smiled and returned her attention to the handsome vampire before her. “My youngest childe, Ravenel Tempeste, Monsieur Du Guerre,” she said. “She enjoys active participation in the affairs of mortals. Perhaps you could wean her of such a nasty habit?”
The tall vampire turned and Raven got her first real look at him.
He’s gorgeous! She gazed at his perfect face, piercing green eyes, and mane of golden hair. He was dressed in a custom-made grey suit paired with a light green shirt that was open to reveal his wide, muscular chest. He smiled at Raven, revealing twin rows of perfect white teeth, and butterflies danced in her belly.
“Perhaps I can,” he said in a voice that sounded like honey. “I would be pleased if she would join me at my new club…once it opens, of course.”
“I am certain she would be glad to join you for an evening,” Valentina said before Raven could respond. “My attendants will provide you with her contact information so you may arrange the perfect date.”
Du Guerre bowed low to Raven and took her hand in his. He pressed his lips to the tender flesh while she stared at him, still nonplussed by his beauty.
“You are truly a delight to behold, Ravenel,” he said in the formal tones of the Court. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your mother has told me much about you, though not enough to pierce the veil of mystery surrounding you.”
Raven blinked twice, her eyelids feeling heavy. “The pleasure is mine, Monsieur Du Guerre. Please, call me Raven. All my friends do.”
“Raven, then,” Du Guerre said, releasing her hand. “And you may call me Francois. I look forward to spending more time with you. As time allows, of course.”
She watched the beautiful vampire bow to her mother and then take a seat at one of the empty tables arranged for Court guests. Though she found it difficult, she dragged her eyes away from him and returned her attention to the proceedings, which as usual revolved around hunting rights, taxes paid to the Mistress, and general complaints regarding Valentina’s tolerance of lycans and wizards within the city.
After what seemed like an eternity, Court drew to a close. Most of the upper crust of vampire society had filed out to enjoy a repast of willing donors in the next room before Francois Du Guerre stood and approached Raven, who was standing near the foyer watching everyone leave. He laid a hand on Raven’s shoulder and smiled down at her.
“Your mother believes we would make a fair couple,” he said in a hushed tone. “The start of a powerful vampire clan.”
Raven half turned and looked up, again impressed by his breathtaking beauty. He looked the way good dark chocolate tasted: mysterious and delicious with a hint of more to come.
“My mother thinks many things,” she said in the same hushed voice. “I’ll make my own decisions on whom I date and whom I share my bed with.”
Du Guerre’s smile widened and he inclined his head in deference. “Of course, Miss Raven,” he said. “I meant no disrespect. I look forward to the chance to win both. Good evening to you.”
Raven watched him leave, her eyes on his behind, which was defined rather than hidden by the cut of his suit. Her brothers and sisters followed him, and Raven waited patiently, leaning against the wall. When only Valentina remained, the two embraced lovingly.
“Sorry I was late, Mother.” Raven ended the embrace. “There’s a new case I’m working on and they saddled me with Levac.”
“Is that the little nebbish who eats cheeseburgers all the time?” Valentina walked slowly towards the doors "Codumbo or something, they call him?"
Raven laughed. “Yes, him. He’s my partner on this one, which makes things more difficult. He always smells like food.”
“Of course,” Valentina said. “I do understand your situation, Ravenel, but I cannot make exceptions, even for my cherished daughter. Next time, I expect you to come in an appropriate dress as befits your title. Please remember you are Fürstin to the Mistress of the City, not just some simpering kindred. You are my right hand and need to look the part.”
Raven grimaced. “Yes, Mother.” She hated the protocols of being her mother’s chosen one, having to be her mother's bodyguard, second-in-command and confidant all in one just because she had mistress-level abiliti
es and could walk in daylight. Most dhampyrs didn't have half her strength, but even so, there were others who would have enjoyed the position. “Now tell me about this Du Guerre guy. He seems to think you want us attached at the hip.”
Valentina smiled at her youngest child and cuddled her close. “He's a new member of the Court, my love. He emigrated from France and was seeking permission to open a night club within our lands. He comes from a good, ancient family and is very well bred. I thought perhaps the two of you would hit it off. I do so worry about you. You’re the only childe in the family who doesn’t have a steady partner.”
“He is gorgeous,” Raven said. “But you know I enjoy the single life. What I do is too dangerous to get close to anyone. The last thing I want is someone I love getting the call that I took a bullet to the brainpan or a fall off a balcony.”
“That’s the beauty of dating one of us, my child,” Valentina said as they reached her chambers. “We are very hard to kill and able to come to your aid should it be necessary. You should give him the opportunity to open your heart and show you what you’re missing.”
Raven laughed and embraced her mother again. “I’ll give him a chance, Mother, but no promises.”
"That is all I ask, Ravenel,” Valentina said. “Now, I need to get out of this dress and into a bath before I melt. Dominique is waiting for me; she so loves to rub my feet.”
“Good night then, Mother.” Raven smiled. “Enjoy your…bath.”
Valentina winked at her daughter and passed into her room. Raven’s glimpse of the beautiful Dominique pouring bubble bath into the tub was cut off as her mother politely closed the door. With a grin, she turned to continue her climb up the stairs to her own quarters.
Raven’s room, a spacious apartment located on the third floor of the sprawling mansion, was decorated in a hodgepodge of modern and gothic. The antique bed, side table, and vanity had been given to her by her maternal grandmother and dated back to sixteenth-century Germany. All were made of heavy, dark wood stained almost black by the passage of centuries. The light grey carpet and matching curtains combined with framed 1940s movie posters to soften the darkness of the furniture.
Raven disrobed and slipped into a thermal nightgown before sitting at her vanity to remove her makeup. She checked that the bruises on her forehead and around her neck were nearly healed, then brushed out her long hair. After a few moments, her eyes fell on the small-framed photo of her and her father in front of the old sixth district. He had been a stern man, but always gentle with his daughter, regardless of the day’s events. His death had been the reason Raven had joined the police force rather than living out her life as her mother’s bodyguard and fetch-all.
Raven ran her thumb over the photo, admiring his full beard, pipe and impeccable uniform, a sad smile on her face. After a moment, she put the photo down and whispered, “I miss you, Daddy,” before blowing out the candles and climbing into bed.
II
The following morning found Raven and Levac cruising out to the address in Evanston. Behind the wheel, Raven smiled at the charm bracelet that hung from her wrist, a gift she had found outside her door this morning with a short note that read, ‘With love, Francois.’ She couldn’t help but think the single rose-shaped charm was sweet, and she glanced at it as she drove. Perhaps Monsieur Du Guerre would work out after all.
Levac, on the other hand, was wearing the same rumpled suit from the night before, albeit with a new ketchup stain on his tie. He was chewing on his breakfast as he read from the autopsy report.
“Hey, listen to this,” he said with a smack of his lips. “The angle of the damage to the stomach and lung indicates an outward thrust, as if the victim's stomach really did explode from the inside out.”
“Inside out?” Raven asked. “That can’t be right. I thought Finkel was just joking; how does someone explode from the inside out?”
“Zhu didn’t know. There wasn’t much left to get evidence from,” Levac replied. “He sent out some tissue samples for chemical analysis; we should have the results in a few days. The techs also found pieces of gelatin imbedded in King’s stomach and intestine.”
“Probably one of those nausea pills we found in his bathroom,” Raven said. “Anything else?”
Levac took another bite of the breakfast sandwich he had been holding in his left hand. “Yeah…yeah, here it is; the blood and skin under his fingernails was his own and he had a wound on his hand that matched the crack in his center console.”
Raven clenched the steering wheel in annoyance and frowned. She had hoped the mess under his nails would have DNA from a potential suspect, a sort of smoking gun. The fact it was his own just made King’s death more of a puzzle.
“I hate puzzles,” she groused. “I hate them.”
Levac shrugged and tossed his empty sandwich wrapper out the window, and Raven reached over and grabbed his tie with one hand.
“You do that again,” she growled, pulling the thin silk, “and I'll tighten this thing until your head pops off!”
“It was just a sandwich wrapper!” Levac choked.
“And there are garbage cans for that; it doesn’t belong on the side of the road!” Raven replied. “Clear?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Levac replied, gasping.
Suppressing her vampiric bloodlust, Raven let go of his tie, watching out of the corner of her eye as Levac loosened it and rubbed his bruised throat.
“Jeezum Crow, Storm! I knew you were a freak, but didn’t think you’d kill a guy over a piece of paper!” he moaned.
“Watch what I do if you spill that coffee in this car,” Raven replied. “No one will ever find what’s left of your body.”
Levac smiled uncertainly, hoping Raven was kidding. Her expression didn’t reassure him.
III
Evanston, one of Chicago’s most affluent suburbs, lay ten miles to the north of the city's center. With its profusion of churches and churchyards, the town was often referred to as the ‘City of Churches’ or ‘Heavenston’. Due to this, it had long been a haven for werewolves seeking to avoid the city’s vampire leaders as well as other preternatural creatures with a religious bent. True vampires and their ilk could not step on holy ground without permission, which made holy ground an ideal hiding spot.
After a brief drive through the downtown area, the detectives arrived at the address Raven had found in King’s navigation system. Raven guided the Shelby past at a crawl, both police officers gazing out at the small house. It turned out to be a small, two-story bungalow not far from the old lighthouse on the Point. Though a newer white Honda was parked in the driveway, there was no indication that anyone was home.
After driving past the house twice, Raven pulled into the driveway and parked behind the Honda. She paused to write down the car’s registration number, then led the way up the short paving stone walkway to the front.
Raven rang the bell and waited for any response, rocking one heel back and forth and watching the road. There was an old Ford pickup down the street that, for some reason, seemed out of place. Something about it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.
When no one came to the door after several minutes, Raven glanced again at the truck and then pulled a slim wallet of lock picks from her purse and set to work on the door.
“What are you doing?” Levac thumbed through the mail he had retrieved from the nearby mailbox.
“The same thing you are,” Raven replied. “Breaking the law. Find anything good in the mail?”
“Not really.” Levac stuffed everything but a lingerie catalog back in the box. “Just about all of it is addressed to King except the catalog, which is addressed to someone named Vicki. I think he rented this place as a love nest or something.”
The doorknob clicked and Raven put her picks away before edging the door open with her toe.
The smell of death hit her like a hammer. She covered her mouth and stifled a gag, her eyes watering. Behind her, Levac put his hand over his nose and asked,
“Hey, did you fart?”
“Classy, Levac.” Raven drew her Automag pistol. “A lady never tells, but my guess is we have a dead guy in the house.”
“Another one? Does this happen to you a lot?” Levac asked in surprise.
“All the time,” Raven replied. “There’s never just one.”
“Lucky you.” Levac pulled his own service revolver.
Raven led the way down a short hallway, past an empty half bath and into the bungalow’s living area. This one was far more tasteful that King’s Penthouse in Chicago. Light-colored wicker furniture with tasteful white cushions filled the room, a large sheepskin rug covered the floor, and seascape paintings in driftwood frames adorned the walls. If it had not smelled of decay, Raven would have found it airy and homey. As it was, the smell smothered everything in the shadow of death.
Next to the living room was an eat-in kitchen with modest, stainless-steel appliances contrasting with white countertops. A woman’s purse lay on the counter, the contents spilling out in disarray as if it had been dropped in a hurry.
Opposite the kitchen was a staircase. Raven took the stairs one at a time, her back pressed against the wall. Levac, so close she could smell the chocolate bar in his pocket, followed her, one hand still over his nose.
At the top was the door to the bungalow’s single bedroom, the door ajar. From within came the loud buzzing of flies and the lingering charnel-house smell the detectives had been following. As with the rest of the bungalow, this room looked like it had been chosen straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog. An antique bed covered in faux mosquito netting dominated the room. An old writing desk made of some light-colored wood was pressed into the corner of the small room and a vanity had been placed beneath a window that overlooked the sea.
Raven entered, checking behind the door out of habit, but knowing she wouldn’t find anyone. Though it was clear someone had died in the house and been left for some time, the body was now gone, leaving behind a bloodstained comforter and a few dozen flies.
Stormrise Page 3
