The Ghoul Vendetta

by Lisa Shearin

  Ambrus Báthory said he would tell us what was in his and the other vampire families’ safe deposit boxes.

  Even better, the proposed meeting location couldn’t have been safer.

  St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  It was a myth about vampires not being able to go into churches. They could go there; they just wouldn’t be comfortable when they did. Another myth was the whole garlic thing. Vampires didn’t like an overabundance of garlic for the same reason as humans. It stank. It stank on the breath, in sweat, and I’d heard that it ruined the taste of perfectly good blood. Even Italian vampires didn’t like garlic.

  And of course, Ambrus Báthory wanted to meet now.

  Sleep would have to wait. I insisted on going.

  Those going inside the cathedral included me, Moreau, Rake, Yasha, and Sandra Niles, the commander of one of our two commando teams. The rest of Sandra’s team was outside the cathedral covering all exits. It was a good thing it was almost two in the morning. While New York was the city that never sleeps, at least most of it was dozing right now. Only an occasional cab or late-night partier cruised by. Commandos were experts at concealment, but it was a heck of a lot easier now than during daylight and regular business hours. Sandra had been told that Báthory likewise had people stationed in, on, and around the cathedral. That was expected, but that knowledge didn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy about our impending meeting, but at least I was breathing better.

  Yasha was with me because he wasn’t about to let me go anywhere without him. Moreau didn’t mind, especially when Yasha told him that his friend Vlad Cervenka was responsible for nudging his temporary employer into cooperating. I would have to be sure to tell Ian how his best friend had come through for him by networking behind the scenes.

  New York churches—or most churches anywhere nowadays—weren’t unlocked at night. It didn’t say nice things for us as a species, and made you wonder why God continued to put up with us. Ambrus Báthory had said that the front doors would be unlocked, and they were. For some reason, that wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

  The head of House Báthory was waiting for us seated on one of the ornate chairs near the church’s altar. Again, it was something that should have made me feel better, but did the exact opposite.

  What did make me feel better was seeing Vlad Cervenka standing at Báthory’s right shoulder.

  At least one of Báthory’s people was on our side.

  I hoped.

  Ambrus Báthory remained seated when we reached the front of the church.

  He was a big man, or he had been in life. Now he was what my grandma Fraser would have called “gone to seed.” What had probably once been muscle had gone to fat. According to the file we had on him, Ambrus Báthory had been born in 1297. Humans during that time who may have been considered tall then, were short now. Báthory was dressed like a successful banker, the fleshy fingers of one hand resting on the carved handle of an ebony cane. Our file referenced an attack from a rival family in 1623 that had left him near permanent death with his right leg shattered. Vampires would eventually heal from nearly any injury, but there was no guarantee that the injury would heal right, especially considering what passed for medical knowledge in the early sixteen hundreds.

  His skin was pale and looked soft, though with vampires, every aspect of their appearance was deceiving. I had no doubt Báthory could break me in half with that seemingly flabby arm and never have to rise from his chair—which looked more like a throne with him seated in it. The chair was facing the front pew, indicating that we were to sit there.

  Moreau handled the introductions. No one made any move to shake hands, or any move at all, for that matter.

  “Forgive me for not rising.” Báthory’s voice was smooth and cultured, which was at odds with his overripe and corrupt appearance. He inclined his head toward the pew. “Please, be seated.”

  I didn’t know what the proper etiquette for dealing with a vampire don was, and right now I was too creeped out to care.

  Alain Moreau solved that dilemma for all of us. “No, thank you, Monsieur Báthory. We would prefer to stand.”

  One side of Báthory’s fleshy lips curved slightly. It could have been a smile, or an annoyed twitch. “There is no need to fear me.”

  “Not fear, Monsieur Báthory. Prudence.” Moreau graciously inclined his head to the ancient vampire. “I aspire to have a life as long as your own.”

  Again, his lips twitched, this time in pain as he shifted his leg. “Be careful what you ask for, my boy, you just may get it.”

  “You said you had information for us, Monsieur Báthory,” Moreau said pointedly.

  The old vampire kept his eyes on Moreau. “My nephew was kidnapped to extract information from him.”

  “What kind of information?” Moreau asked.

  “The location of my family’s First Relics.”

  Moreau froze.

  My manager obviously knew what First Relics were, and from his reaction, it was bad.

  I gave Moreau a questioning look. Báthory saw.

  “Each vampire family can trace their ancestry back to a single individual; the first of our family, if you will. The First Relics are the physical remains, the bones, of the First Father or First Mother of a vampire family.”

  Rake spoke. “I take it these remains have more than a symbolic or ritualistic importance?”

  “Merely the source of our power and longevity.”

  I knew that the more powerful the vampire, the stronger the fledgling. The strength was in the blood passed from the elder to the younger. If blood strengthened new vampires, the bones of the family’s ancestor . . .

  I made a face before I could stop myself.

  Báthory smiled in a twist of fleshy lips. “Yes, Agent Fraser. We ingest the bones of our ultimate ancestor—at least myself and my chosen heir do. We take a small segment of bone, reduce it to dust, and mix it with the blood of a powerful . . . donor, shall we say.”

  “And without the . . .” I was thinking “ancestor smoothie,” but I wasn’t about to say it.

  “Our strength fails, along with our power and influence over our families—and our enemies.”

  “Vampire civil war,” Moreau stated.

  Báthory’s nod was more of a royal inclining of his head. “Chaos both inside our families and out. A ruthless struggle for power among the strongest of our kind. The elixir the family rulers consume is all that stands between peace and open slaughter and lawlessness.”

  “And this will affect humans?”

  “Our laws, Agent Fraser, stipulate that we conceal ourselves from mortals. There are many among our kind who grow weary of living in mankind’s shadows. They want to take and to rule what they believe to be theirs by right of being a supreme predator. Their ultimate goal would be to make enough fledglings to subdue and subjugate the entire human race.”

  Moreau was right. This was bad.

  Then I did the math, and it was even worse.

  “Your First Relics were in that safe deposit box,” I said.

  “Correct, Miss Fraser. The First Relics of the Báthorys and those of the strongest families in this part of the world. I keep some in my compound for easier access. For the rest, I and others have trusted the security of mortal and immortal banks. This is the first time that trust has been violated.”

  “So Janus has stolen your ancestor’s remains. What can he do with them?”

  “They possess great power to those who have the knowledge to access it.”

  “Mages.”

  “More powerful than mages,” Rake said quietly. All eyes were on him. “It would take a near godlike power.”

  “It would,” Báthory agreed.

  “The same level of power that it would take to control a kraken,” Rake added. “And if this Janus and those who are working with him c
an control a kraken without a power boost, what can they do with the remains of the most powerful vampires who ever walked?”

  No one answered that question. No one wanted to.

  Janus needed power, a lot of it.

  He also needed Ian.

  Now he had both.

  This was why Ambrus Báthory had asked us here, why he had risked leaving the safety of his heavily guarded Long Island fortress.

  Báthory’s hard eyes were watchful. “I understand that one of your agents, Ian Byrne, was abducted by the same creature who took my relics.”

  “He was,” Moreau said.

  “Do you know why?”

  “The creature responsible calls himself Janus. At least that is one of his aliases. He is a known shapeshifter. He first encountered Agent Byrne several years ago when he was still with the NYPD. His partner was killed; Agent Byrne escaped. Janus has hunted him ever since.”

  Not a lie, yet not the truth.

  Báthory huffed a laugh. “The one that got away.”

  “Essentially.”

  “This Janus has gone to much trouble to regain escaped prey. From time to time a meal gets away. If this being is as ancient as you say . . .” Báthory shook his head slowly. “One does not attain great age to become obsessed with mere prey.”

  I felt a growl growing in my throat.

  Báthory noticed. “My apologies, Agent Fraser. Agent Byrne was your partner—”

  “Is my partner.”

  “Perhaps. This creature has slaughtered and fed off of my nephew. I do not understand why Bela would be killed, and a mere mortal—”

  “Mr. Báthory,” I said quietly. “Do you really need to finish that sentence? I realize that the long-lived have little regard for us mere mortals; however, myself and those here with me do not share your lack of regard. That being said, we are at as much of a loss to fathom Janus’s motives as yourself. You said you had information for us, information that would help us find Janus—and my partner. Stopping whatever it is that Janus has set into motion is a goal we can all agree on, is it not?”

  The vampire don’s lips curled into a fleshy smile, as he looked over my head to where Rake stood behind me.

  “An intriguing mortal, Lord Danescu. I had wondered what you could see in her. I believe I understand.”

  I clenched my teeth. “And I believe I’m right here. Or is a mortal, regardless of how intriguing, not worthy of regard or speaking directly to?”

  Ambrus Báthory leaned forward and the chair’s dark wood creaked ominously. “I am regarding you now, Miss Fraser.”

  Yes, he was.

  “I chose to deliver this information personally,” he said, his voice low, “at great danger to myself and my family. It is information that I did not want to disclose, again for the safety of my family. My property has been stolen, and one way or another, I will have it back in my possession. Failure in this is not an option.”

  “I agree with you that failure is not an option. You want your property; I want my partner.”

  “Wouldn’t the relics be safer in your own compound?” Rake asked.

  “Unfortunately, the vast majority of the danger to my rule comes from within my own family,” Báthory said. “The same is true of any of the older families. A takeover by outsiders is rarely attempted due not only to the danger, but the difficulty. Some of my worst enemies are my own fledglings.”

  Talk about biting the hand that feeds you—or in this case, that made you.

  There were younger, powerful, and ambitious vampires in every family who would’ve loved to have known if the head of their family was losing his or her strength.

  “We want our property returned,” the vampire continued. “However, our resources in certain areas are lacking, areas where your organization is abundantly qualified.”

  “You propose an alliance,” Moreau said.

  “A temporary sharing of information and resources for our mutual benefit.”

  “What benefit is there to us?”

  Báthory kept his dark eyes on Moreau, raising his left hand toward the equally dark-suited vampire standing to the left of his “throne.” The vampire placed a manila envelope in his master’s waiting hand. Báthory gave it to Moreau, his gaze unwavering.

  “This is everything we know about the creature you know as Janus,” Báthory said. “Before his present career as a bank robber, he was a tomb robber. Late last year, he stole the First Relics of two of the oldest families in Europe. My contacts there traced him to London, and from there to New York.”

  Alain Moreau frowned. “Did he have business in London or meet with anyone?”

  “Not that my contacts were able to determine. However, also inside is a short list of contacts this Janus has here in the city, as well as the location of two known residences.”

  “We appreciate your forthrightness, and your invaluable assistance,” Moreau assured him. “One of SPI’s missions is to keep the peace between supernatural factions. It is in no one’s interest to have the vampire families at war—either within a House or between more than one. You have my word that we will do everything in our power to retrieve the Houses’ First Relics.”

  27

  “POKING the dragon in his borrowed den,” Rake teased. “You live dangerously.”

  I bristled. “I’m not going to stand there while anyone talks about Ian as if he’s dead. He’s not dead now, and he’s not going to be that way for a long time.”

  We were back where we had left the Suburban. With a wave and a word from Rake, it appeared before us, and Yasha let out a heaving sigh of relief. Rake had hidden it with a ward, and guarded it with a spell.

  “Batman wishes he could do that,” I said.

  “Batman has a cooler ride to hide,” Rake muttered.

  Rake said it, but at least he had the sense to lower his voice before he did. Yasha didn’t put up with any insults to what he considered to be his partner. Yasha hadn’t liked Rake doing any hocus-pocus on his precious Suburban, but he’d felt better going into the cathedral with his automotive partner safely concealed.

  Rake leaned closer and kept his voice low. “Would you be as fierce standing up for me?” He wasn’t teasing now. Actually, he sounded a little hopeful.

  “I have been.”

  Rake wasn’t expecting that. “In front of who?”

  “People who don’t trust you.” I gave him a half smile. “Yet.”

  “How many?”

  I patted his cheek. “Darlin’, how about I take the Fifth on that?”

  We got in the Suburban and I checked my e-mail. I frowned in confusion. I had one from a name I didn’t recognize in the NYPD. It was a legitimate NYPD e-mail address, so I opened it.

  Ian’s friend in Evidence. Randall Torres. He’d heard what had happened to Ian, so he forwarded the JPGs of the jewelry stolen by Janus and his ghouls in the string of robberies nearly six years ago to me.

  I opened the photos in rapid succession.

  All of the pieces had one thing in common: a large center stone. Only a few had been diamonds; most were semiprecious stones. I had a flashback to the Dragon Eggs—all diamonds, all cursed.

  “I wonder if these are cursed,” I murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?” Moreau asked from the front passenger seat.

  I told him my and Ian’s theory about the stones Janus had stolen when Ian had first encountered him.

  “Janus had been spotted at the Metropolitan Museum during the Mythos gala,” I said. “Ms. Sagadraco felt that he may have been one of those behind the theft of the Dragon Eggs. If he was looking for a power boost then, maybe he’d started his collection a couple of years ago with these robberies. I’ll forward the e-mail and photos to Kenji and have him run them through our cursed gem database.”

  Rake raised a brow. “You have a cursed gem database
?”

  “After what happened with the Dragon Eggs, and what nearly happened with us? Heck yes, we have a database.”

  I forwarded the e-mail to Kenji and flagged it as important. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a “life or death” designation, but I could and did text him to let him know what was coming and what we thought it might be.

  Rake considered it. “Cursed gems to help break a curse. Sounds logical enough.”

  “If they’re anything like little Dragon Eggs, it’s probably the power boost he’s after, especially if he also has these First Relics.” I leaned forward to Alain Moreau in the front seat. “Sir, do they really drink . . .”

  “I’m afraid so, Agent Fraser. There’s not anything the heads of these families wouldn’t do to stay in power.”

  “Though the Dragon Eggs were merely the batteries for the ley lines that ran under North Brother Island . . .” I stopped and thought and slowly looked at Rake.

  He was looking at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I’m too tired to take over the world, but if you’re thinking ley lines, and wondering where up the Hudson River do they intersect, then yes, I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”

  “Agent Fraser?”

  I looked in the rearview mirror at my manager’s pale blue eyes looking back at me, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.

  “I remembered a minor fact about ley lines that I learned from the encounter with them last year,” he said. “They derive their power by unlocking the power of the land.”

  I smiled back. And there was the answer to the last piece of the puzzle.

  • • •

  By the time we’d arrived at headquarters, Kenji had been a very busy boy, and every ley line that crossed the Hudson or anywhere nearby had been mapped on the big screen at his desk. Rake and Yasha were right behind me as we hurried through the bull pen. The elf computer guru’s hair was standing up at angles that suggested someone had been gotten out of bed. By the intensity with which Kenji was working, he hadn’t minded.

  “I woke you up,” I said. “I’m sorry. But that means you were asleep, which also makes me jealous.”