by Karen Chance
“And now I ain’t got nothing nowhere else, neither.” He sighed and patted my hand. “You been a good customer, Dory, and you know me. I’ve always played straight with you, right? But it’s the times we’re living in. Word is, the Senate is vulnerable and its control is slipping. Who knows what’s coming? Nobody, that’s who. So they all want protection, don’t they? A little something extra in case things start to implode. Truth is, my inventory was getting pretty thin even before the raids. And now…” He shook his head. “I got nothing.”
A harassed-looking mother walked by the bar, little girl in tow with a sno-cone clutched tightly in one fist. The girl’s bright blue lips shaped a startled “oh” of astonishment as she caught sight of Benny, who dropped her a friendly wink. “Mommy! Look at the elf!”
“Don’t stare, Melissa! And don’t call people names!” I looked at Benny as the little girl was towed away, still protesting that she wanted to say hello to the “nice elf.” “I wouldn’t call an Occultus charm nothing, Benny,” I observed mildly. They were expensive items used to ensure that anyone who didn’t already know what someone looked like would see only a projected image. The exception was young children, whose brains hadn’t yet formed the preconceived ideas about the way the world ought to work that the charm exploited.
He shrugged, unapologetic. Benny was like most of his kind when it came to turning a buck. He’d sell his own mother—who had, after all, tried to eat him—if he thought he’d get a good price. Problem was, he didn’t think I had the funds for the no-doubt completely over-inflated prices he was getting these days. Most of the time, he’d have been right. But not today.
“Well, that’s a shame.” I casually placed my shiny yellow marble on the surface of the bar, next to his collection of colorful paper umbrellas. “You know I’d prefer to deal with you, but I guess I’ll have to go somewhere else.”
His eyes fixed on the small orb and he slowly set his drink back down. “Come to think of it, Dory, I might have a few special items put away.”
A little over half an hour later, we pulled up outside a large warehouse. “A few items?” I asked as we climbed out of the Jag.
Benny shrugged and struggled with a heavy lock on the thick metal door. “I’ve had this place for years. Usually, I keep it at least half-full. Right now, well”—he pulled back the sliding door—“take a look.”
A large, echoing space greeted us. Empty pallets were scattered about, along with a lot of crushed cardboard boxes and a rusty forklift. The overhead lights flickered on reluctantly, and I noticed what looked like a small office in back. “This way,” Benny said, picking a path through the trash. “Got a shipment in a couple days ago, and lucky for you, nobody’s been by to rob me yet.”
“Why don’t you move your inventory somewhere they can’t find it?”
“If I leave some interesting stuff lying around, I stay up and running and don’t get dead.” Benny’s booming voice bounced off the walls. “War isn’t a time to have people start looking at you as expendable. The Senate knows I got contacts they don’t. That’s what comes of trying to put craftsmen out of business for a couple hundred years—they tend not to want to do business when you get yourself in a jam.”
After disarming a few dozen protection wards, Benny flipped on the fluorescents in the claustrophobic office and squeezed around the side of a desk even messier than mine. I stayed back a few feet, in case any of the towering piles decided to fall, and waited. “But I wasn’t shooting you a line earlier. My selection ain’t what it used to be.” Out of his old metal desk he pulled a small briefcase. There was a wait while more spells were disarmed, and then the lock stuck. When he finally got it open, I had a hard time keeping a suitable poker face while eyeing the stuff inside. Benny waggled a shaggy eyebrow at me. “Well, Dory. Can we do business or what?”
I bent over for a better look, making sure a few of the items were what I thought they were, and barely kept from grinning like a fiend. Oh, yeah. I really thought we could.
Ten minutes later, I had four disrupters with the power of about twenty human grenades each, and a top-of-the-line morphing potion. The latter was a yellow glop that performed a glamour even on nonmages like me. Spread it over your face and within minutes you could look like virtually anyone. It tended to break me out, but there were lots worse things than a bad case of acne, and with Drac on my back, I needed all the help I could get.
Benny and I were dickering over whether four or five disorienting spheres—which made you either very dizzy (demons), forget why you were fighting (vamps) or pass out (humans)—should complete the deal when a faint whiff of ozone suddenly replaced the dry tang of the desert. I hit the ground and the next moment, the glass windows that composed the top half of three of the office walls shattered inward, and a wave of force slammed Benny against the metal back wall, reducing his oversized head to so much jelly. I started to move about the same time that the glass shards hit the stained carpet squares.
I grabbed the case from where it had been knocked to the floor by one of Benny’s thrashing arms, and hopped out a now missing window on the far side of the room. I threw an expensive disorienting sphere behind me as I left the office, since I was now in possession of twelve of them, and took a second to glance about. The office had obviously been an afterthought, perched near the back exit by someone who decided that managers should have a little privacy. It was not near enough, however. I dove behind a bunch of empty crates and wondered if my extensive karmic debt was about to be called in. A foot away, several more crates and half the wall exploded as the giant fist that wasn’t there slammed into them.
Have I mentioned that, sometimes, I really hate magic? The problem was that I didn’t have a full warehouse offering plenty of cover—the sad state of Benny’s business had seen to that. Since I doubted my ability to survive a blow from whatever was attacking me, the dozen yards to the back door may as well have been a thousand, especially since I strongly suspected that I’d find a welcoming committee waiting outside. Even if I made it in one piece, I wouldn’t remain that way for long.
And again I smelled it, a faint flicker of ozone, like the first lick of an approaching storm. I told myself I was imagining things. It had rained lately, after all. But, slicked with sweat, I froze in the darkness, muscles locked and singing with strain as icy panic gnawed at my spine.
Another smash of crates, which was close enough to send splinters into my boots, brought up my other small problem: I might not be able to move, but I also couldn’t stay where I was. My usual choice when backed into a corner is to attack everything in sight, but since there was nothing in sight, I decided I might have to try something else. The trashing of Benny’s office had blown out the lights, so the only illumination was the dim starlight filtered through some grimy windows near the ceiling. Acting on the hope that whoever was out there couldn’t see me any better than I could see them, I backed away from the exit toward the forklift I’d noticed earlier.
I kept near to the wall as the area closer to the door was systematically wrecked. One nice thing about all the noise, I didn’t have to bother being quiet. I finally made it to the metal monster and climbed aboard. I was not, of course, going to try to drive it. Forklifts weren’t likely to be able to outrun even a fit human, and if it was mages with magically enhanced speed, weres or vamps after me, I’d really be toast. It would, however, provide a nice distraction if I could get it to work. I put a couple of Benny’s disruptors on the floorboard, emptied the rest of the case’s contents into my new coat’s roomy pockets, started the engine and jumped out of the way.
When the invisible hand smashed the thing to bits a few seconds later, I was already halfway across the floor running full out for the front door. I’m as fast as all but the oldest vamps when I want to be, and knowing what would happen when the disruptors went off gave me the best incentive I’d had in a long time to break speed records. I was still inside the building when the explosion came, but just barely. The blast pic
ked me up and threw me against the sliding door, which buckled and then tore off its track. The crumpled metal sheet and I went for a wild ride across the parking lot, striking sparks off the pavement, skidded past a group of dark figures and careened into an SUV.
I rolled underneath the chassis of the vehicle but didn’t stay there long. A set of powerful hands grabbed me and hauled me out the other side, about the same time that pieces of the warehouse began to rain down all around us. So much for having to worry about disposing of Benny’s body, I thought, as I brought a knee up to connect with my captor’s groin. He let out a curse, which I barely heard, being temporarily deaf from the blast, but a flaming crate landed almost on top of us at the same moment and I got a glimpse of his face. Uh-oh.
“Dor-i-na.” The syllables were like three strokes of a lash. “I have been looking for you.”
I swallowed and gave a sickly smile. Ashes and fire continued falling all around us, like a vision straight out of hell, but I barely noticed. Who cares about the setting when you’re already looking at the devil? “Uncle.”
Chapter Nine
“It is a simple enough bargain, Dorina.” Drac sat in his suite at the Bellagio and smiled at me. It might have been more effective if the expression hadn’t completely missed his cold, dead eyes. “I would expect even you to understand.”
All vampires are technically dead, of course, but most manage not to look like it. Drac didn’t bother. There was no reason at all to forget that the slender body draped comfortably over the armchair was, in fact, stone-cold dead. He didn’t breathe, blink or swallow. His skin was a matte white a geisha might have envied, and his eyes were a flat, opaque green like the glass on a beer bottle, with no spark whatever in their depths. The smile, the only expression on his face, was so completely without meaning that it could as easily have graced a department store mannequin, except it would have made the customers very jumpy. I was feeling a little like that, too.
“What part of the conversation did you not comprehend?” Drac was speaking Romanian, I suppose because he felt like it. Or maybe he didn’t want his goons to overhear. Either way, it wasn’t making me happy. My memories of the old country compose a large percentage of my nightmares, even though I haven’t been back in almost three centuries.
“The part about me retaining my ‘miserable life’ in exchange for helping you,” I replied. I spoke in English. If he didn’t like it, good.
“You think I would betray you?”
I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. Vamps are like dogs—showing fear only makes it that much more likely they’ll rip you to shreds. “It crossed my mind. I did help to trap you, after all. I doubt I’m on your favorite-people list.”
Drac seemed to find this funny. The eyes didn’t warm up—I had never seen them do so—but the laughter sounded real. “Ah, Dorina. You do flatter yourself.” He sat up slightly and changed expression again. I think it might have been an attempt to look earnest. Mostly, it just looked blank. The newer vampires have that problem sometimes, until they figure out how to get their dead features to form appropriate expressions. Drac had never been real interested in learning.
“Let us be clear, yes? You are a dhampir. A misbegotten creature with no concept of honor, so how can you betray? You acted as you did for two reasons: it is your nature to hunt my kind, and my brother enlisted your aid. I cannot fault you for the first any more than I would a snake for biting me or a scorpion for stinging. I might crush them, under the right circumstances, but blame them? No. As for the second, you could have refused my brother’s order, but you would have been foolish to take such a risk on my behalf. I would not have thanked you for it, and he might well have punished you. In your position, I would have acted the same.”
“Well, if you aren’t carrying a grudge, then I’ll be on my way.” I didn’t bother getting up; it would have been pointless, and the goon behind me looked like he’d appreciate a chance to put me back in my seat. Preferably in little pieces.
I had already calculated the odds of busting out of there, and didn’t like them. Benny’s stash had been stripped off me along with my other weapons, and I’d been knocked unconscious for the trip here. That isn’t easy to do with a dhampir, and my head was feeling like a jackhammer had been at it. When I woke up, it was to find that Drac had a dozen followers in the room, a combo of mages and vamps. Together, they rendered any attempt to run for the door suicide.
I didn’t recognize any of the vamps as being from Drac’s old stable, but none of them were days-old babies, either. The one behind me, for instance, was at least a fourth-level master, and therefore had to be on loan from someone. I was betting Rasputin, the self-appointed leader of the other side in the war. He had plenty of vamps to spare but had just been given a black eye by the Senate. He must have been over the moon at the chance to unleash Drac on them. He could lie low and lick his wounds while Uncle kept his enemies busy, not to mention depriving them of a powerful member if he got really lucky. The fact that Rasputin was allied with the Black Circle would also explain the mages.
The vamps were standing around seemingly at random, but enough were near the windows to ensure that even if I decided to attempt the ten-story plunge, I’d never make it. My chance of getting away using force was about the same as that of the suckers downstairs winning at roulette. But unlike for them, a loss for me could be permanent.
Drac continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Let us say that, at the moment, you are no more to me than any other dhampir. Normally, I kill all of your kind who are foolish enough to cross my path. It is a precaution, like a farmer putting out traps for mice. But under the circumstances, I am willing to make you the offer of a trade. Your life for assistance with my current endeavor.”
“You want me to kill Mircea and Radu for you.”
Drac stared at me for a moment before breaking out into laughter once again. At least I was providing entertainment, even though I still had all my internal organs intact. Would wonders never cease.
“I had forgotten how amusing you can be.” Drac calmed down after a moment, the nonexpression replacing the previous mirth. “I admit to some surprise that no one has yet managed to end your existence, but certainly you overrate your skills if you believe you have a chance of disposing of either of my siblings. Admittedly, Radu is a coward and a weakling, but he is not stupid enough to trust anyone, particularly one such as you. And Mircea… has always been remarkably difficult to kill.”
When he spoke Mircea’s name, Drac’s face finally found an expression—hatred. The depth of his emotion thrummed through the room, like the skull-throbbing sensation of a building storm. And I suddenly realized that maybe I’d been wrong about Drac’s main target. “Yeah,” I agreed slowly. “You’d think he has some sort of guardian angel.”
Drac’s face twisted. “He doesn’t need one. He has always been able to persuade others to fall on their swords for him. Our father sent Radu and I to the Turks, but his precious heir was kept safely by his side. Mircea lived like a prince while Radu whored himself to get out of the dungeons and I was tortured every day for years!” I didn’t need to complain about the lack of emotion now. His eyes were glowing with it. “Even death worked in Mircea’s favor,” he spat. “When the treacherous dogs of the nobility lynched him, he was saved—by the very curse meant to destroy him!”
I stared into incandescent green eyes and finally understood. What I’d put down to madness was sounding a lot more like out-of-control jealousy. Even weirder, I could sort of relate. Mircea always seemed so sure of his place in the world: he was Mircea Basarab, scion of a noble house and prince of the supernatural world. He wore the assurance of his worth like a cloak, while the bastard he’d sired shivered in the cold. “He always lands on his feet,” I said, and not all the bitterness in my voice was fake.
“Not this time.” In a flash, Drac’s face was once again a bland mask. He regarded me narrowly. “As astonishing as it is, we have something in common, Dorina. One man has
plagued both our lives for far too long. He made you the abomination that you are, doomed to live forever alone, shunned, an outcast, while he condemned me to an existence of perpetual suffering for a single mistake.”
I badly wanted to ask what he meant, but bit my lip to stay quiet. Questioning Drac was a risky business. You never knew when he would decide he’d had enough and start amusing himself other ways.
“I do not expect you to undertake the risk of challenging him,” I was told. “I merely require you to bring both of my brothers together in one place. Somewhere away from the Senate and the protection of this MAGIC enclave. I will do the rest.” He thought for a moment, steepling his hands like a bad impression of Sherlock Holmes. “A private residence would be best, somewhere secluded. Mircea’s home in Washington State would be perfect, and rather fitting. With the surrounding forest, it resembles the old country.”
The conversation was getting pretty surreal. Mircea and I weren’t what could be called close, and I’d threatened many times, loudly and in public, to kill him. But this was the first time anyone had ever taken me seriously. Did Drac think I hated Mircea as badly as he did? Had he honestly forgotten London, or did he think a century had blunted my memory? I repressed a shudder. That wasn’t the sort of thing that slipped your mind. Not in a century, not ever.
“I don’t think it’s too likely,” I commented blandly.
“There is a problem?” Drac asked, almost politely.
“Yeah. Mircea isn’t in Washington right now. The last time I saw him was in New York a few days ago, but I got the impression he wasn’t planning to be there long. And he’s not in Vegas. He’s on some mission for the Senate—I’m not sure what—but with a war on, I doubt he’s going home anytime soon.”
“Plausible.” Drac thought for a moment. “And Radu?”
I didn’t hesitate. Radu and company had a four-hour head start, not to mention a Senate escort. Telling the truth simply meant one fewer hurdle—how to get news of the move to Drac. “You might have more luck there. Radu is moving to his place and I’ve been invited along as bodyguard until another team can be assembled to replace the one you killed.”
