“What’s up, Chief?” Oliver asked.
“They found the body.”
Oliver’s shoulders sagged. “And?” This was not a prank. This was not a drill. There was a body count now, a victim. In his mind’s eye, Oliver saw the peace of the Coven shattered like glass against a dark wall, and somewhere in the background, a demon was smiling.
“Young girl. Puncture marks on her throat,” Sam said, flipping through the file he carried. “Bled to death.”
Oliver cursed.
“Blood signature is murky. Can’t find a match with Coven records, anyway. Unregistered. Looks like the work of a renegade.”
“What about that Nephilim hive we shut down? One of them got away maybe? Did this?” he asked.
“Maybe,” the chief acknowledged, although Oliver knew he was insulted. The Venators had cleared that hive with holy water, and nothing could’ve survived that raid. “I don’t know. Bunch of strange vampires in town for the ball…”
Oliver nodded and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips before speaking. “All right. Let’s put all the teams on high alert. I want you to scour this fucking city and find her killer.”
Sam Lennox nodded. “We won’t rest till we do.”
“Whoever did this is going to burn,” Oliver promised. The Code of the Vampires protected mortal as well as immortal life now; it was one of the first changes he had made as Regent. Vampires who ran afoul of this law were in danger of losing their immortal lives.
There were no more second chances, not in his Coven.
6 TAINTED LOVE
MIMI FOLLOWED KINGSLEY OUTSIDE the gallery to the sidewalk, where he popped his collar and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a deep, satisfying inhale. He blew a smoke ring and watched it drift. He was back to his old habits, she thought, and something told her he hadn’t come straight from the underworld. He had an earthly sheen on him; he wasn’t sallow-faced and pale like she had been when she first arrived. How long had he been back? she wondered.
“So how’d you find me?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I made sure to put a cloaking spell on my aura so that the Coven wouldn’t bother me.”
Kingsley’s smile was smug and the darkness in his eyes faded a little. “And who taught you how to do that?”
Of course he knew all the tricks. He was the one who invented them. Plus, she had to admit she had been waiting for him to show up and beg her to come back ever since she had arrived in New York. She hadn’t been hiding so much as playing hard to get. “I’m not going back with you,” she said suddenly. “I can’t.” And the moment she said it, she knew it was true. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him for forgiveness, as seeing him only reminded her of how much she had missed him. But she couldn’t go back to the underworld.
“Sweetheart, I’m not here to ask you back.”
Those terrible words they had said to each other before they had parted hung in the air between them, but Mimi still recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. It had never occurred to her that he would be here for any other reason. Okay, so it wasn’t like he had begged for her to stay, and he had pretty much let her go without even putting up a fight, but this was Kingsley Martin she was talking about here. He was mad for her, he always had been, up to the night before she left. He could pretend he wasn’t interested, but she knew otherwise. She decided to rile him up a little; she was good at that. “So why are you here, then?” she asked haughtily. “Heard a new nightclub opened up?”
He didn’t take the bait. “Take a walk with me.”
“I can’t, I’m working.”
“Right,” he said, not even trying to hide his amusement.
It was her turn to feel indignant, and unlike Kingsley, she showed it. “I’m not completely useless,” she said defensively.
“I never said that,” Kingsley said mildly. “And you never were.”
“Murray says I have a good eye. I might even pick an artist or two to represent.”
He nodded, looking weary of the conversation. “All right, then. What time do you get off?”
She told him and he nodded, all business. Aside from the fact that he had remembered it was their anniversary, Kingsley gave no indication that he had given a minute’s thought to the demise of their relationship. It was as if even after all their years together, they were right back to square one again, and everything each had endured and sacrificed for the other didn’t matter in the least. He had to be bluffing. That was the only explanation. He could never resist her in the past, and so now she fell back to the usual feminine devices, the ones that had never disappointed her before, the ones he had been so susceptible to when they had first fallen in love. “Is it a date?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering.
“No,” he said, and flicked the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it with his toe.
It was hard to concentrate on work, but she did. The museum was glad to hear that the paintings were finally on their way but asked if the gallery could help them get in touch with their artist. Mimi left a message for Ivy Druiz, creator of the “period pieces,” as she and Donovan had dubbed them behind her back. Oh, they were so very clever.
“Hi, Ivy, it’s Mimi Martin from Murray Anthony Fine Art. The curator at the Modern wants to ask you a few questions for the program. Can you give him a call when you can? They’ve tried you all week, apparently. Thank you.”
Mimi shot off an e-mail and a text message, as well. Artists were so irresponsible, she thought. Was it so difficult to return a call? She had heard Ivy was fond of pulling disappearing-into-the-desert-to-get-in-touch-with-my-inner-child acts. It drove Murray up the wall.
“Hey, Murray, have you heard from Ivy lately?” she asked, when her boss wandered to the front to look up a price from the catalog.
“I saw her two weeks ago at the Whitney gala,” he said. “Why?”
“She’s not answering her phone, and the museum has to ask her a few questions so they can write the copy for the pieces.”
“Well, that sounds exactly like Ivy not to call them back. I told you about her.”
“Yeah, her whole ‘My work speaks for itself,’ ” Mimi said, making air quotes. “They also wanted to confirm her attendance for the patrons’ dinner on Thursday night.” The Coven was certainly back to its swanky heyday, she noted.
She dialed Ivy again. Even if the artist was a bit childish and irresponsible, Mimi thought it was a bit odd she hadn’t bothered to return the curator’s call. Ivy was incredibly ambitious and would’ve bitten off her hand for this opening—the biggest of her career.
Mimi decided she would pay Ivy a visit at her apartment tomorrow if she didn’t hear back. Although when she saw Kingsley waiting for her after the gallery closed, she knew she was just worrying about Ivy in order to take her mind off the fact that her husband was finally back in New York City. Or was it ex-husband? He was certainly acting like an ex.
“Let’s grab a drink,” he said.
“I thought we were going to take a walk.”
“Changed my mind.”
They repaired to a bar not far from the storefront, where off-duty artists and gallery workers liked to converge. The place was all white and chrome, as minimalist and stylish as its patrons. She nodded to the bartender as they walked in and led Kingsley to her favorite table in the corner. The waitress came around and they ordered, a dirty martini for her and a Scotch double neat for him. A few minutes later, drink in hand, she took a long sip and appraised her husband over the rim of her glass. “So if you’re not here to ask me to come back, why are you here?”
He tapped the end of his cigarette against the table and stuck it in his lip.
“That’s not allowed inside anymore,” she told him. “And it wasn’t even when we were still in New York.”
Kingsley sighed, tossed the cigarette on the table, and downed his drink in one shot. “I need your help,” he said finally.
“Okay,” she said, curious. “What’
s going on?”
“Hear that?” he asked, drumming his fists on the table, which he did when he was anxious. She had a vision of him doing the same thing on their kitchen table not so long ago, and she felt a sudden sadness that she had broken up their happy-enough home.
But she kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. If he wasn’t going to talk about their relationship, then neither would she. “What?” She looked around the bar. “You mean that terrible cover of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’?”
He smirked. “No—the ringing,” he said, leaning over. It was the closest they had been all day, and Mimi felt a familiar spark at their proximity, and fought an urge to put her hand on his arm and pull him in, to stop pretending that they didn’t want what they wanted. Maybe this separation had been good for their relationship—she hadn’t felt more attracted to him than she did at the moment. She had forgotten how sexy she’d found his indifference. But then, she’d always responded to rejection.
She studied his face, fighting a rising heat as he stared right back. Finally she replied, “Ringing?”
“In your ears—don’t you hear it? You must,” he said, continuing to slap the table.
Her face fell. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that.”
“You hear it, too?” she asked, plucking an olive from her glass and popping it into her mouth.
“Of course.”
“What is it?”
“You really don’t know? I thought you were just ignoring it, which was why you didn’t report it or come back. Or maybe you really don’t care anymore.”
“Care about what?”
“Keeping the world safe from harm?” he said lightly.
Mimi rolled her eyes. “As if I ever cared about that.” Everyone was so dramatic. She had done her duty in the War, but it made her uncomfortable when people called her a hero.
“You did once,” he said heavily. He looked down at the shiny white table and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
She shrugged. Had she cared? She supposed she had, once, just like he said, just as she had cared about him. Although she still cared about him, she really did, even if she was the one who had left, but as for the rest of the world—well, that was another story. The vampires had been saved, the Coven reborn. They didn’t need her anymore. They were even mounting a Four Hundred Ball. Everything was supposed to be peachy, with a slew of happy endings for all after Lucifer’s defeat. Even Jack Force, her twin brother, had risen from the dead to live the rest of his immortal life as a vintner in Napa, happily married to Schuyler Van Alen. What was up with all the former Venators retiring to toil the earth and work with their hands? Kingsley and Jack had been Angels of the Apocalypse, hell-raisers, and now the only things they were raising were… seedlings.
“Well, are you going to tell me what it is or am I going to have to get it out of you?” she asked, giving him her sultriest smile, hoping to remind him what he’d been missing.
Kingsley leaned away from her and looped a long arm over the back of the booth. “It’s Hell’s Bells.”
Mimi raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”
“I’m as serious as our troubled marriage,” he said. “Hell’s Bells is an alarm system, one of the most ancient ones. It means something’s gotten out that shouldn’t have. It’s an alert… a warning.”
She chose not to comment on his first mention of the status of their relationship. Troubled, was it? She supposed he was right to call it that (they were separated after all), and living together had been a trial. How did people do it? How did they hang on to love when routine was so deadening? She wondered if their friends had fared better, if Jack and Schuyler were going through the same struggles, and she felt a wash of bitterness at the thought of the two of them ecstatically happy while she and Kingsley had found their happy ending turned to ashes. It wasn’t supposed to be this way between them.
Kingsley shifted in his seat. “A human girl was murdered over the weekend. Venators found her body in the sewers. She was killed by a vampire.”
“You’re in touch with the Coven?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. That was interesting, since back in the underworld, he had shown no interest in the news of life aboveground.
He didn’t reply, which meant if he was in touch with them, it wasn’t through official channels. Of course not—Kingsley had never once worked through official channels.
“How long have you been back?” she asked suddenly.
Once again, he remained silent, continuing to look guilty.
“That long, huh?” It made her jealous, that he had gotten in touch with his old friends but had not seen her until now. He was so infuriating.
“Listen, darling, I meant to see you earlier… but things got in the way,” he said.
“For sure,” she said, put off but trying not to show it. Since they were separated, it wasn’t too hard to imagine what he was up to. The city was sure to awaken his old vices and desires. New York held a myriad of delights that appealed to Kingsley: nightclubs, bars, after-hours clubs, shady gambling dens, beautiful girls of every stripe.
Kingsley raked his fingers through his dark hair in frustration. “Let’s not fight, my love. I came to ask for your help.”
“And what makes you think I’ll give it to you?” she challenged.
He smiled at her. “Because. It’s you. I know we’re having problems, but I was hoping we could sweep that aside for now and work together like we used to. I need you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Feeling a bit mollified by the smile and his admission, Mimi got down to business. “All right, then. A mortal—murdered by one of us, are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said, his dark eyes cloudy and angry.
Mimi took a sharp breath. “But it can’t be, no one would ever do such a thing; it has to be something else… someone else,” she said, feeling a familiar dread at the thought of their enemies. “One of Lucifer’s demons maybe. Oh.” She realized now why Kingsley was so worried about Hell’s Bells ringing.
“You think someone’s escaped from Hell?” she said. “And you blame yourself.”
“I thought I must have missed something,” he brooded, his tone bleak. “When the bells began to ring, I went back immediately to check. I made the rounds, checked every cell, and no one has escaped from Hell. Not on my watch.” His forehead crinkled in annoyance. He kept silent, but Mimi knew he was right. She had seen him crush demons underneath his heel, thrust his sword into their hearts, toss their bodies into the Black Fire, leaving them to burn. Those who had begged for mercy had been locked into their eternal prisons. No one was getting in or out of the underworld without his permission.
She nodded. “So what could possibly have set off the alarm?”
“I don’t know, and that’s what’s troubling,” Kingsley said. “Whatever it is, we need to send it back where it came from.”
“We?” Mimi asked. “Let me remind you that I haven’t said yes.”
“Well, it’s the only way to get rid of that infernal noise in our ears, and I assumed, at the very least, you’d want that, too. Don’t you?” he asked innocently.
Mimi almost smiled. She drained her drink and motioned for another round. He had been back in the city for a month and only came to her now, which meant he was either in terrible trouble or still held hope for their marriage. At the moment, she didn’t care what the reason was. Hell’s Bells were ringing, and Kingsley Martin was out of the underworld and back in Manhattan.
It looked like she’d been granted her wish.
7 MEAN GIRLS
THE VENATOR-WIDE MEETING was held in the conference room the next day. All units reported in, from day to graveyard shifts. Sam Lennox stood in front of the podium with the Regent of the Coven as the Venators clustered around, talking in groups and exchanging notes. Ara and Edon found a place in the back, and she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Ara noticed Deming was sitting in the front, chatting with Sam and Oliv
er. She caught her eye and Deming looked away with a frown. Ara wondered if Deming would ever let it slide, and she thought the answer was definitely in the negative, at least for now.
Sam approached the podium and cleared his throat, and the room immediately went silent. “Here’s what we know about the victim. Her name was Georgina Curry and she hadn’t been seen since she left a party last Saturday night. She was a Holy Heart girl. A junior. Sixteen years old, mortal. Her family isn’t part of the Coven; they aren’t registered Conduits or familiars. We don’t know how she came in contact with a vampire. This could be a random attack or a secret liaison.”
So the girl was young, so much younger than Ara had first assumed. And it was such a horrid way to die, Ara couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had been sucked dry and bled to death, then dismembered and stuffed in a hole.
The chief told them the autopsy showed that the girl had been killed sometime over the weekend—Saturday night, most likely. Day shift had found the pentagram on Sunday morning, and Ara and Edon had found the body on Monday afternoon. Ara hoped that the girl had died quickly and painlessly, that the euphoria that was part of the Sacred Kiss somehow shielded her to the violence that had been done to her.
Looking around the room, Ara wondered how many of the Venators were thinking about the last time a teenager associated with the Coven had died, although it was vampires who had been killed then, not mortals. She remembered the panic that had almost destroyed the Coven when the vampires went back underground, some to sleep forever, choosing not to reincarnate. It was different this time, but just as troubling if not more. The Coven had made the health and safety of its human familiars a priority in order to keep the vampires’ existence a well-guarded secret from the rest of the world. The spell from the Sacred Kiss kept familiars from revealing their status, while human Conduits came from families that had served the vampires for centuries, their loyalty unquestioned and ingrained into their nature. Ara shuddered to think what would happen if the mortals ever discovered the Conspiracy was a lie, that real vampires lived among them and had been since the beginning of time. The mortal world could be as cruel and violent as Lucifer when it wanted to be.
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