Half Past Hell

by Jaye Roycraft

  “All right. Try to calm down. Stay inside as long as you can, then do your best to get out.”

  The suckling started to cry.

  Bloody stupid, spineless creatures! He hated sucklings. “We’re on our way.” He disconnected the call before the suckling could do any more blubbering.

  “Boston! We got us another one.” He and his old acquaintance Boston Ackerman had been canvassing the west side for the past month, contacting every vamp they knew in the area, holding meetings at night, and sleeping every day in a different house. It was a working class area, an ethnic stew and a hodgepodge of urban renewal and decay. The sucklings had started moving in decades ago for the cheap housing, and they were now as entrenched as the Greeks, Italians, and African Americans. But the Great Chicago Fire hadn’t come this far west, so wooden housing was abundant. It was easy to see why the area had quickly become prime feeding ground for the voracious Brothers of the Sun.

  By the time he and Boston arrived, the block looked like the war zone it was. Chaos was everywhere, as police squads and fire trucks pulled up and tried to secure the scene. Bodies littered the lawns, while the houses behind them blazed. The BOS were nowhere in sight, their work done. He and Boston parked around the corner and ran to the end house on the block. It wasn’t on fire yet, but it would be next, for the neighboring house had already caught. They had visited this block just last week. Four sucklings lived here, with another three next door.

  Wulf pounded on the back door. “Open up! It’s Wulf Duvall.”

  A frightened female let them in. She had dark hair and dark eyes and looked to be in her twenties, trapped in an everlasting youth she would die in. “I was afraid to go outside. I heard shots and screaming and sirens . . .” Three others joined her, two males and another female, and none of them looked like they had any life experience beyond their apparent years.

  “It’s all right. The Brothers of the Sun have gone, but the police are here. You need to get out.” He shoved a piece of paper into the dark-haired girl’s hand. “Here. It’s a list of safe houses. Get to any one of them as quickly as you can.” He’d given her the list at the meeting last week, but he had no doubt she’d already misplaced it.

  “Do you know if the vamps next door got out?” asked Boston.

  She shook her head, and tears leaked out, as if in apology. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” said Boston. “We’ll check the house. Now, all of you get out.”

  They left the house, the sucklings to the street, and he and Boston to the blazing home next door. They went in the back, calling out, but heard nothing but the flames crackling. The fire was like yellow water, ebbing and flowing around them. Crested waves of flame rose and fell and crashed like surf. They split up, he down to the basement, Boston to the kitchen. Wulf just reached the bottom step when an explosion shook the floors above him. Beams and boards collapsed, and without hesitation he ran for the nearest window and crawled through the already broken glass pane. He crawled, then ran, as burning brands and debris rained steadily down.

  When he turned at last to look behind him, the house was gone.

  WULF USED HIS KEY to let himself into Cade’s mansion on Orchard Street in Lincoln Park. The downstairs rooms were empty, but he knew from the scent of both immortal and human in the air that Cade was somewhere about.

  “Cade!”

  He ran up the winding staircase and started checking bedrooms. Leave it to Cade to fiddle while Chicago burned. Wulf found him in the master bathroom, parked on his arse in the sauna-sized tub with a mortal female straddling him. The waves in the water weren’t caused by any washing or scrubbing.

  Cade flicked his gaze at him as though Wulf were an annoying insect. “Don’t you know better than to come in here looking and smelling like a chimney sweep?”

  “We have to talk.”

  “Later. Get out.”

  “Boston is dead.”

  The waves quieted, and Cade swept a long wet strand of hair out of his eyes. “Throw the lady a towel.”

  Wulf slid a towel from a gold rack. Cade stood up, water streaming down his body, and Wulf tossed him the towel. Cade caught it in one hand and held it out to the girl, who wrapped it around her kimono-style as she rose.

  “Leave us,” Cade said to her.

  She looked at Cade, then at him, her eyes cold. Was she pissed because he was the bearer of bad news or because he’d interrupted her bath-time play?

  Cade stepped out of the tub, fully erect and big enough to bulldoze a building. Stupid question. The latter, obviously. But Wulf was in no mood to feel remorse for having broken up Cade’s rumpy pumpy. The girl walked out slowly, like she was royalty, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Cade turned to reach for a towel, giving Wulf a view of the tattoos that flowed, like the bath water, from his shoulders to his calves. Wulf had seen them before, but he concentrated on them now to distract him from his anger. They were brown in color, just a little darker than Cade’s skin, and geometric in design. There were nested triangles, zigzags, and a circle and cross design. Wulf had never asked about the tattoos, but Cade had had them when they met, so Wulf assumed they were from his mortal days as an Illinois Indian.

  “How did he die?” asked Cade.

  “A block of wooden cottages on the west side burned. Boston and I were only a mile away when we got the call. By the time we got there, the buildings were almost fully engaged. We went in anyway. A gas line exploded.”

  Cade dried himself off and pulled on a pair of black sweatpants. “And the fire department?”

  “You know CFD won’t go in until they’re sure the Brothers have left the scene.” The BOS had a habit of shooting at firefighters trying to put out fires they had started.

  “And the sucklings?”

  “The usual story. They fled their homes, only to be shot by the BOS. We were able to save four.”

  Cade towel-dried his hair and threw the towel to Wulf. “Clean yourself up, then come downstairs.”

  Twenty minutes later Wulf joined Cade in the study and closed the door. Cade stood at the window. The branches of the trees outside swayed in the summer night breeze, but Cade’s gaze was steady and unblinking.

  “I know the death of a handful of sucklings doesn’t matter to you, but you don’t even care about Boston, do you?”

  Cade turned to him. “Would it change anything if I did? I didn’t order Boston, or you either, to play at being superheroes.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  “So you can blame me instead of yourselves when one of you is killed?”

  “I’m not concerned with placing blame, Cade, but with leadership. Maybe if we had more leadership, the sucklings wouldn’t make such easy marks for the BOS.”

  Wulf hadn’t held it against Cade that he was part Indian for a long time, but right now the haughty look on Cade’s face reminded him of a few hatchet-wielding savages he’d seen two centuries ago.

  “You think it’s easy to lead, Wulf? There are three hundred thousand sucklings in this city, and far too few competent masters to control them.”

  “We’re doing everything we can do. Boston Ackerman was one of the strongest masters this city had.”

  Cade’s muscles contracted with his anger, making him look every inch a warrior. “And he shouldn’t have died! You risk too much. You know the Brothers do their burning right at dusk just so they can lure masters to the scene. The BOS laugh at you and your feeble attempts to save each other.”

  This wasn’t the first conversation they’d had on this subject, and that fact only heightened Wulf’s frustration. “And what would you have us do instead? Sit back and do nothing? Let the humans burn us out? Drive us from our homes? Tell me what to do, Cade. Tell me, and I’ll do it, gladly.”

  “Your job is to do what you’ve alwa
ys done, and that’s to survive. Leave the rest to me.”

  “And what will you do?”

  Cade stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “I will walk with you, brother, as I always have. You must trust me.”

  Wulf turned away. He couldn’t allow his doyen to see that the trust he asked for wasn’t there.

  Twenty-five

  “CADE.”

  He was more beautiful than ever. The smooth caramel skin, high cheekbones, and full lips gave him an exotic look that set him apart in a city of Germans, Poles, Irish, and African Americans, and the long black hair and dark eyes had always attracted mortals of both sexes like flies.

  “Wulf Duvall. Jump into any burning buildings lately?”

  Vall declined the bait. “We need to talk.” It was a casual way to address a doyen, but after two centuries, though they’d clashed more often than not, time alone had forged a bond.

  “Come hunting with me. It’s been a long time since the two of us have hunted together.”

  There was an ordinance against it in Chi-No. “Loitering—Solicitation of Blood” was what it was called, or some such nonsense—a sister violation to prostitution. Vall was sure Chicago had a similar city ordinance, but it didn’t matter. Cade’s immunity from mortal law, unlike Nestor’s, extended beyond the walls of his club. Or so it had always seemed.

  Cade wasn’t dressed in costume or period dress, but the finest quality and most cutting-edge fashion that money and Michigan Avenue could provide. This one was silk, double-breasted, and lavender, and was paired with a black shirt, ivory tie, and an amethyst tie stud the size of a marble. The suit could have been striped like an Easter egg, and it wouldn’t have mattered. One didn’t laugh at Cade.

  “Come,” said Cade, and he held out an arm on the way to the door that led to a side exit. A vampire appeared and draped a long black coat over the silk-clad sleeve. With a practiced move, Cade twirled the coat, and it wrapped itself around him as if by magic.

  The side door opened to a short stairway that led to an alley adjacent to the building. The entrance to the alley from Halsted was blocked by a white wrought iron locked gate. In days long past, the alley no doubt had provided paddy wagons with space off the street to unload their unfortunate guests, but now it seemed simply to serve as a convenient way for Cade to enter and exit the club without being mobbed.

  They wound their way back to the street. There weren’t as many people out as there would have been in summer, but even in cold December, Halsted was alive with traffic. Some were leaving the bars, some were still arriving, but just as many were simply trolling the sidewalks, as they themselves were, using their eyes or smile as bait, hoping to hook their desired prey. Cade had always seemed to need no lure but his beauty.

  “So why have you come, Wulf?”

  “How much do you know about what’s been happening in Chi-No?” Unless Vall was very much mistaken, Cade knew every detail about everything that had happened during the past couple weeks, including the number of bullet holes that had ventilated his wardrobe.

  Almost every person they passed reacted to them with either a glance, smile, or something bolder—a touch or a blown kiss. Cade discouraged most with a look.

  “I know a dozen sucklings have died the true death. I know you’ve been Clawed. And I know both Nestor and Chi-No’s officials have done a cover-up that would make any fed proud.”

  They turned east on Armitage Avenue. The many jewelry, clothing, and shoe boutiques were closed for the night, but the bars and restaurants were in full swing. They passed a human male who looked to be in his early twenties. He was about their height, slender, but with long ice-blond hair, golden-brown brows, and eyes that glittered with life under the street lamps.

  “Walk with us,” said Cade, and their prey twitched with the delight of being chosen. They strolled as a threesome, looking for a feeding hole.

  Food was plentiful in Lincoln Park, but feeding holes had always been as scarce as parking spaces. Residential row houses had wrought iron fences and locked gates protecting their property. The narrow walkways between commercial buildings were either boarded over by high wooden fences or the more popular wrought iron gates. Twenty years ago there had been the occasional open walkway between buildings, but since Hell, those, too, had been blocked off. But there were still alleys, there were still the little benched mini-parks next to the elevated stations, and there was still Oz Park, and Vall knew that Cade knew every such secluded spot in the neighborhood.

  When they reached the mouth to an alley, they pulled the young man deep into the darkness between the buildings. Their prey smiled, shook his head like a preening bird, and pulled his shirt open at the neck. Cade and Vall drank together, one on either side of the man’s neck. Hunting in the cold always had its special pleasures. The chill air made human flesh feel hotter than it actually was, and the cold made skin shiver and dance in all kinds of titillating ways. Perhaps it was just the icy air tonight, but the man’s blood was hot and rich, much like Kilpatrick always boasted his cherished coffee was. But Vall couldn’t see how a dead brown liquid could possible compare to the red elixir of life. They fed silently, but the man moaned like a woman on the brink of orgasm.

  In the old days, Cade had always been generous in sharing his kills with his hunting partners, a thing unheard of in the vampire world, for the undead were like any other animal, with a defined pecking order among its members. The most powerful fed first, and the young and the weak satisfied themselves with whatever remained. Not so with Cade. Vall had always chalked it up to his Indian heritage and “I walk with you” philosophy.

  Their victim whimpered and swooned in ecstasy, but both Vall and Cade finished feeding long before doing the young man lasting damage. Though they still called their conquests “kills,” there was no actual killing, not any more. Vall suspected that Cade went to special pains to avoid fouling his backyard with dead bodies.

  “Take me home with you,” pleaded the young man. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, as if he’d just shot up. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

  Cade kissed him on the mouth, biting the man’s lip in the process. When Cade pulled away, a red droplet clung to the corner of the young man’s mouth. Never take the last drop, Cade always said.

  “Perhaps another time,” Cade whispered, and they resumed their stroll along Armitage, leaving their victim slumped against the wall in the throes of both satisfaction and frustration.

  “You didn’t mention the Brothers of the Sun,” said Vall.

  Cade cocked a brow. “What is there to say?”

  “Come, Cade. I know you know their every move. The two who died in Chi-No were from Chicago. Has there been an increase in activity among the BOS in general? Is Carlos Silgar still directing the shots, or are they being hired out by outsiders?”

  “Carlos is dead. He was killed years ago.”

  Vall raised his brows. Even CPD didn’t know that. “I hadn’t heard.”

  Cade eyed a passing female in high boots and an even higher skirt, but let her go. “It isn’t known. Very few in the Chicago colonies know. I don’t want my people to become complacent. As you can personally attest to, the threat remains.”

  A young woman approached them. She was blond and slender, like the girl Dora at Nestor’s club, but without the practiced smile. Still, her gaze stayed on them as she drew near, bold and unblinking, crossing the line from casual acknowledgment to invitation. Cade had always seemed to prefer blonds of either sex, and as Vall expected, when the girl came abreast of them, Cade turned her and positioned her between them. They turned off Armitage and headed toward Oz Park, like Dorothy linked arm in arm with the Scarecrow and Tinman, skipping down the yellow brick road to meet the Wizard. In the pre-Hell days, the park had officially closed at eleven, but vamps had used it during the night almost at will. The beat cops wh
o’d patrolled the area were like the statue of the Tinman who greeted visitors to the park—they were window dressing only, there to be seen. Any cop who’d actually tried to enforce the park’s hours of use was simply compelled to look the other way. It seemed now that nothing had changed. They entered the park and found a secluded spot between two huge pine trees.

  The girl unbuttoned her jacket, and Vall pulled it off her shoulders. Cade unbuttoned her blouse, reached beneath the fabric to slide her bra straps off her shoulders, and slipped a hand under the bra to uncup her left breast from its restraining lace. Her nipple hardened immediately and conveniently in the frosty air. Once again they fed in tandem, Vall standing behind her and taking from her neck, and Cade facing her to take the nipple of the bared breast into his mouth. She shivered, perhaps with the cold, perhaps with fear or anticipation, but the shuddering of her body excited Vall, and he drew harder on her. With one hand he held her chin, his hand in position to silence her if she cried out too loudly. He felt her body jerk as Cade pierced her skin and began suckling her, and Vall slipped his hand over her mouth, holding her fast and still while they took of her bounty.

  Her ragged breath was hot against his palm, and the skin of her neck hotter yet against his mouth. Their tandem sucking fell into an easy rhythm, and the girl was quiet, as if in a trance. Vall moved his hand from her mouth and ran the pads of his fingers over her lower lip. Full and soft, it excited him almost as much as her blood did. He slipped a finger inside her mouth, feeling the warm wetness of her tongue. His body, cold and hard as a rock, yearned for more human flesh than could be gotten outdoors on a cold December night, but knowing Cade, there’d be more victims yet to satisfy their wants.

  As before, this feeding was brief, and they stopped well short of endangering her. This time it was Vall’s turn to kiss the kill, and he took her mouth with his, savoring the taste of her excitement on his tongue. He nipped at her full lower lip, lapping the blood that beaded there, but leaving a drop to dribble down her chin.