Blameless: A Vision of Vampires 3

by Legend, Laura

  In response, Kumiko brought her magic to bear. As they passed a handful of booths, she gathered items for disguises. Before he knew what was happening, Richard found himself ready for the deep desert with a checkered black and white keffiyeh wrapped around his head and face. Cass found herself enveloped in a dark, hooded cloak that, to be honest, looked pretty badass. And Zach found himself disguised with a woman’s head scarf, neatly tied under his chin—a beautiful blue floral print—that would have matched perfectly with a light pink shade of lipstick. Kumiko, though, didn’t bother to give herself anything. She must have figured she was short enough to get lost in any crowd, regardless of what she was wearing.

  Richard took their disguises in stride and urged them on through the crowd. Zach, though, trailed behind. Not because he was embarrassed—Cass could tell he kind of liked that shade of blue—but because he felt bad about using magic to shoplift, even in their extenuating circumstances. To compensate, he slipped some cash to each of the merchants, then hurried to catch up.

  They slipped down another side street that dumped them back onto one of the main streets. It was raucous with music and dancing and food. The smells were fantastic and, even though Cass was again unsure what many of them are, her stomach rumbled. What could be better, even in the Underside, than lunch from a food truck?

  Once they were back onto the larger street, Cass counted to ten and then took a look behind them to see if they’d lost their tail. No luck. Something about the men tailing them stood out to Cass like a sore thumb. There was something about how they were pretending not to follow them—about how they were lying with their bodies—that Cass could see right through.

  Cass, though, wasn’t subtle enough when she looked back. They spotted her spotting them. Now they knew that she knew that she was being followed. Well, at least that simplified things. The men gave up trying to be subtle and aimed, instead, for speed. They began aggressively pushing their way through the crowd, shoving people out of the way.

  “Go, go, go!” Cass relayed to Richard.

  Giving up on misdirection, Richard pushed them toward the sidewalk where they might have more room. The booths were thinning out now and the area had a more residential feel.

  They were making decent progress, but not enough. The men were gaining on them, swimming through the crowd. And to make matters worse, Cass spotted another group of four thugs, lumbering towards them from the opposite direction. There were no alleys branching off at this part of the street.

  They would be caught between the two groups, outnumbered two to one, and forced to confront them in public.

  Richard pressed forward, angling for a more defensible spot just up ahead. Cass rested her hand on the hilt of her sword concealed just beneath her cloak. Zach and Kumiko both had a green glint in their eyes.

  The two battalions of thugs were almost on top of them on both sides when Maya Krishnamurti popped her head out of a neighboring door and yanked all four of them inside, slamming and locking the door behind them.

  Chapter Eleven

  The five-story building was nondescript at street level, but once they entered the lobby it was obvious that the bland exterior hid a York Enterprises palace.

  Cass ran to the street-facing window and saw that their pursuers had already melted back into the crowd.

  Maya had pulled them inside just in time.

  “So nice to see you all again,” Maya said with a hint of sarcasm, taking inventory of what she’d just pulled off the street. “Cassandra. Zachary. Richard.” Then, pretending not to have seen Kumiko at first, as if her tiny figure were hard to spot, Maya added acidly, “Kumiko.”

  Kumiko gave a slight bow, but remained silent.

  Maya was gorgeous and intimidating in a tight black dress, a string of pearls, and stilettos.

  “What the hell are you dressed as?” Maya asked them, fingering the cheap keffiyeh hanging loosely across Richard’s face, as if it were contaminated. “A desert band of Jedi warriors with grandma in tow?” The last remark seemed specifically aimed at Zach, not Kumiko. He reluctantly pulled off his blue kerchief, his hair a bit mussed, and neatly folded it into a tight little square before slipping it into his pocket. Evidently he’d already grown attached and intended to keep it.

  “Maya—” Richard began.

  “There will be time for that in a moment,” Maya responded, “but there’s no reason to have this talk in the lobby.”

  Maya turned on her heels and clicked across the varnished concrete floor to a high security stainless steel elevator. She waved her pass in front of a scanner and the elevator dinged open.

  “After you,” she said, holding the door.

  The elevator ride was as socially awkward as it was mechanically smooth. Cass could barely tell they were moving as they shot upward to the fifth floor.

  “The second, third, and fourth floors,” Maya explained, casually breaking the tense silence, “serve as office space and staging grounds for various York Enterprises interests. But the top floor—well, that offers a little home away from home for those in need of a highly secure and well-appointed place to stay.”

  The door opened onto a giant, open-plan apartment that occupied nearly the entire top floor of the building. The centerpiece of the layout was a sunken living room positioned in front of an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Singapore hub. The kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances and the walls, furniture, and carpet were all an immaculate white.

  Cass couldn’t help but check the bottom of her shoes before stepping out of the elevator. Who knew what kind of Underside filth she’d stepped in?

  Richard looked at home. Zach looked skeptical. Kumiko walked straight to the wall of windows and stood looking out over the hub, still and silent as a stone.

  “There are four bedrooms, each with a separate bath. The pantry and refrigerator are stocked. Key cards for each of you are on the kitchen counter. I hope you enjoy your stay for as long as is necessary.”

  Maya smiled her mercenary smile at Zach and Cass, then turned her attention to Richard.

  He rubbed his short beard absently and raised an eyebrow when Maya met his gaze.

  “This is all very nice,” Richard said, a touch colder than he may have intended. “Though I hadn’t asked you to arrange any of this.”

  “Well,” Maya responded, also a bit chilly, “that is true. But you have been so distracted lately”—she paused and looked Cass up and down—"that I felt it best to take the initiative on your behalf.”

  The look sent a shiver down Cass’s spine. While she couldn’t help but admire Maya, she certainly didn’t trust her.

  Cass turned away from Maya’s appraisal and, taking Zach’s hand, wandered toward the closest pair of bedrooms, exploring the apartment. The apartment was gorgeous, but she couldn’t imagine living in a place like this. It felt like a beautiful cage, not like a home. Cass felt a dull ache at the thought that, these days, she barely had a place to call home.

  The bedroom nearest to the elevator was actually a small suite of rooms with a sitting area and bathroom of its own. The décor in here was brown and slightly more inviting, but it still somehow felt sterile and generic.

  Cass leaned in through the door, taking a closer look. Zach leaned in with her, pressing against her, his hand on her hip.

  “Boring,” Cass said with a sigh. “This one is yours.”

  “Hey,” Zach objected, giving her a playful squeeze, “I resemble that comment.”

  When Cass peeked into the other room, though, she let out a short squeal of delight. Zach dropped his things and came to see what she was doing. The second bedroom’s sitting area had swapped out couches and a TV for a space outfitted with mats, workout gear, and, best of all, a wing chun dummy just like the one Cass kept in her studio apartment.

  Now this, Cass thought, feels like a home.

  Maya knew what she was doing. And she’d done this just for her. Knowing this made Cass feel both grateful and a bit n
ervous. She was glad for a little piece of home, but she didn’t like being manipulated.

  Regardless, Cass couldn’t help but love it. She put down her gear and hung up her new cloak in the closet. She would save that for later.

  When she stepped back into the living room, she found Richard and Maya engaged in a fiercely whispered conversation in the kitchen. Kumiko was still silent and staring out the window. Cass couldn’t quite tell what Richard and Maya were saying, but Richard, in particular, didn’t look happy. He was jabbing a finger into the palm of his hand, making a point. Maya absorbed his point and tone but shook her head, clearly not giving any ground. As he responded, Richard’s voice finally raised to a level that Cass could hear across the room.

  “—no, this is not the time. Go back to London and wait for me there. I’ll let you know when things are in place to take the next step.”

  In response, Maya played it very cool. She smiled a tight little smile, handed Richard the master key card, and asked them all to please let her know if they needed anything else. As she shut the door behind her, she paused for just a second and give Cass an ambiguous final look, and then she was gone.

  Richard seemed relieved and sank into a sofa in the living room. Cass and Zach joined him. Kumiko kept staring. Inevitably, the intensity of her unbroken attention drew their eyes to what she was looking at.

  Cass stood behind Kumiko and glanced over her shoulder. Kumiko’s eyes were fixed on the venue for the Underside fighting tournament, an NBA-sized arena with a worn Asian flare, tournament banners, and a stream of colorful people coming and going.

  “Bingo,” Cass said, a flutter of excitement in her breast.

  Chapter Twelve

  The tournament felt like the functional equivalent of an Underside Super Bowl.

  The streets outside the arena were packed. Scalpers were selling tickets hand over fist, meats were grilling, and all kinds of bets, formal and informal, were being wagered. The first match of the tournament would be underway in less than an hour. Except for all the leather—presumably worn by the Lost—Cass couldn’t tell how much of the unusual clothing was normal for the Underside and how much just counted as game-day gear. Either way, the colorful costumes populating the concourse gave the whole event a Mardi Gras feel.

  Kumiko had stayed at the apartment to rest, leaving just Cass, Zach, and Richard. Richard had a spot reserved for his fighter, but they still needed to get Cass officially registered for the tournament.

  Richard guided them to a side door and the registration table. The line, doubling as a ticket hub, was ridiculously long.

  “Ugghh,” Cass couldn’t help huffing at the sight of it.

  Richard weighed their prospects for a moment and said, “This is not a problem for us.” With that, Richard took Cass’s hand and cut straight to the head of the line. Zach, who’d been wondering where the smell of shawarma was coming from, lost track of them for a moment and had to run to catch up.

  Richard—wearing a casual blue blazer, white linen shirt, and designer jeans that were his version of dressing down—cut off a skinny guy arguing over the price of his seats.

  “We’re here to register a fighter,” he said, stepping in front of the man.

  The skinny guy threw up his hands in the air and looked to the line behind him for help. “What am I, invisible?” he asked.

  A general murmur of disapproval grew in the line and a black man the size of Shaquille O’Neal stepped forward to confront Richard and represent their collective grievances.

  “Look ,mister,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling as he tapped Richard on the shoulder. “You can’t just cut in line that like. We’ve been standing here forever. Just who do you think you are?”

  When Richard turned to respond, the man got a good look at him. All the blood drained from the man’s face and all the fight went with it.

  “So, so sorry, Mr. York,” the man apologized, his voice cracking. “Please excuse my manners. I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  Richard, eyes narrowed, gave the man a benevolent nod and, with a look of relief, the man bowed his head and returned to his former place in line.

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he told the people in line around him, calming them down. “It’s Mr. York.”

  “Well,” Cass said to Richard, “I didn’t realize that you were the local mob boss.”

  Richard absorbed the comment. “There’s nothing local about me, Cassandra,” he parried, then turned his attention back to the man at the registration desk.

  The man at the desk was short and balding, with a hooked nose. He wasn’t going to officiate what happened in the line, but he looked decidedly less awestruck by Richard’s presence. When Richard ushered Cass in front of him, he looked even less impressed. The bald man was shadowed by a towering woman in a black leather vest, heavy eye shadow, and tight jeans.

  The woman looked familiar, but Cass couldn’t quite place her.

  Cass glanced over at Zach and when she saw his face go a little pale, she remembered: this woman had been the bouncer at BO-Bs bar who’d almost choked Zach out.

  The woman, though, gave no sign that she recognized—or cared to recognize—Cass.

  “As I’ve already said,” Richard repeated, “we’re here to register a fighter.”

  “Fine,” the man said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Name?”

  “Cassandra Jones,” Cass answered.

  “Banner?” the man asked.

  “Umm,” Cass hesitated, unsure what the question meant.

  “The Shield,” Zach jumped in and offered.

  “No,” Richard countered, holding up his hand to wave Zach off. “She will fight under the banner of York Enterprises.”

  “Now, wait a minute—” Zach started, thinking of their agreement that the tournament prize would belong to the Shield.

  Richard interrupted him. “You are welcome to assign her any banner you’d like, Zach . . . if you’re willing to pay the registration fee.”

  Zach pulled out his wallet and looked at the hook-nosed man.

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” the man drawled. “The registration fee is $50,000 either way.”

  Zach stalled, pretending to count the money in his wallet. Richard smiled.

  “Okay,” Zach said, “why don’t you go ahead and get this one. But I’ll get the next one.”

  “Sure,” Richard said.

  Cass, as usual, was both flattered and annoyed by the little contest Zach and Richard had staged for her.

  “There’s just one more thing to do, then,” the man at the table said. “You’ll need to sign here.”

  He gestured with a pen in hand, pointing at a dotted line on a nearly blank sheet of paper. Cass reached out to take the pen but, as she did, the bouncer seized her hand, pinned it to the table, and drew a small but sharp looking knife. Cass was about to fight back when Richard squeezed her shoulder and calmed her.

  “It’s alright, Cass,” he whispered. “Be still. Trust me.”

  Cass, despite herself, found herself once again putting her trust in Richard York. She uncocked her fist and relaxed the hand pinned to the table.

  The bouncer just smiled a pissy smile and drew a thin line down the palm of Cass’s hand. The blood immediately welled up, pooling in her palm. The bouncer waited a beat for a the blood to gather, then, in one smooth gesture, flipped Cass’s hand and planted it on the paperwork, leaving a bloody, scarlet handprint as her signature.

  The bouncer let go and Cass pulled her hand back, protectively. The little man handed Cass some kind of green-tinged disinfectant wipe and, before she’d even taken it, yelled, “Next!” and waved them away from the table.

  They moved off to the side, Cass’s hand still bleeding freely. The cut wasn’t serious, but it was deep enough to be bloody and distracting. This didn’t seem like a great way to start the tournament. Zach pulled her toward him so that they were facing each other.

  “Let me help you w
ith that, beautiful.”

  He pulled the green-tinged wipe from its package and swabbed Cass’s hand. As he wiped the blood away, the cut sealed itself up.

  “Good as new,” Zach said.

  Cass held up her hand in the light, flexing it.

  “Huh,” she said.

  They could hear the crowd inside the arena roar, the energy in the building revving up for the upcoming match.

  “Let’s go,” Richard urged, “the first match is about to begin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Richard, of course, had a private box.

  The venue was set up like a standard arena: a lower bowl, a ring of box seats, and an upper bowl. The lower bowl was already packed, many of the boxes were occupied, and the upper bowl was filling fast. The arena floor consisted of nothing but a gray mat with a crimson circle painted at the center. The red dot, about ten yards across, stared up at the roof like a bloody, unseeing eye. The mood in the room wavered between a crowd of teenage girls waiting for their favorite boy band and bloodlust. The whole arena vibrated at the frequency of a once-in-a-lifetime event.

  The crowd was a cross-section of the Underside and, at first glance, it resembled the same slice of people you’d expect to find at a similar sporting event in any major city. The population was clearly diverse in race, class, and gender, but these common differences were also overlaid with the additional tribal lines that split people between Turned, Lost, and practitioners of magic. To Cass’s surprise, however, there also seemed to be a fair amount of circulation between these three groups. Some people might be tightly affiliated with the Shield or the Heretic or York Enterprises, but many seemed to just be living some version of a normal life, loosely affiliated at best.

  A leathered-up vampire woman with short, chartreuse hair was folding her arms and leaning against a wall next to a short, stocky man in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt that screamed casual Friday. Both were laughing. Nobody looked concerned when the man snorted and green sparks flickered in the corners of his eyes. It was, it seemed, an essentially human exchange, the kind of thing Cass had seen at the coffee shop on a regular basis.