Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  “Vincent?” I called, but no one responded. I straightened and knocked once, and when no one answered, I tried the handle. Empty. I left the office and strolled over to Valerie, Roland's assistant.

  “Hey, is Vincent in with Roland?” I asked, but the woman just typed on her laptop, ignoring me completely. Had it not been for the fact I've seen her talking to other members, I'd have said she was deaf.

  I glanced at Roland's closed door and hesitated before turning and making my way to the elevators. If I were into the habit of carrying my cell phone with me, I could have called Vincent and spared myself the chase.

  The doors to the elevator parted with a ping and a swoosh as I neared, and Tony, a werewolf with yellow eyes and dark brown hair, stepped out. She gave me a warm smile and a wave as she passed, and I waved back. She was one of a few who didn't hold anything against my human hybrid status, and I was grateful for that.

  I stepped into the car just as the doors closed, belatedly realizing it was going down instead of up. Sighing, I leaned back against the side of the car. When the doors parted, it wasn't to reveal the ground floor or the parking area, but a dim corridor, with Jeremy the Bear waiting on the other side.

  I took a step forward before I could think better of it, and he moved aside to give me room to pass. Embarrassed to step back, I nodded at him and stepped onto the plush carpet, acting as if I knew where I was going. Unlike Tony, Jeremy the Bear wasn't friendly, but he wasn't hostile like the others either, and after observing him interact with the other members, I gathered he was the lone sort of guy.

  When the doors closed and I heard the mechanical whir, I sighed and looked around for the stairs.

  The corridor stretched long and far, with a few dark-wood doors on both sides, all of them closed. None were parallel to the other, and the arrangement seemed somewhat odd. I paused near the closest door – the one to my left – noticing carvings of symbols in the woodwork. I traced one of them, recalling seeing it in one of the books Vincent had given me to study. A rune? Or maybe a sigil?

  Curious, I pressed my ear to the door, but there was no sound on the other side, so I tried the handle. Locked. I glanced at the elevator, somewhere up on the second floor. I moved to the room on the right, and like the first one, there were carvings of runes or sigils on it, and no sound of inhabitants on the other side.

  What was this place?

  There were nine doors on this floor, four to each side of the corridor, spaced well apart, with one more at the end, directly across from the elevator. They all had carvings on the woodwork, all shut with no sound or light coming from underneath.

  I was moving back to the elevator – no stairs on this level – when I heard a noise to the left, and I paused before inching toward the closest door. My heart raced, and although I chastised myself, I reached for the handle nonetheless. I Listened, heard the odd noise again, but couldn't decipher it. The handle turned in my hand, and I realized with a thrilling rush that it wasn't locked.

  An invitation to come in. What was on the other side? An image of a bright red room with a small draped table and tarot cards came to mind. Or, a sterile room with a steel slab and men dressed in white lab coats…

  I pushed the door open with a foot, and what I found on the other side was so ordinary, it took my mind a second to shift gears. A spacious well-furnished living room was certainly not what I'd expected. Small nooks on the wall supported flickering candles, providing illumination and a soothing ambience. Deep, richly colored cushions were pushed against the walls in what seemed to be a very comfortable Japanese seating arrangement. Various weapons decorated the walls, but it was on the guy standing in the middle of the room that my eyes focused.

  Douglas Vemourly, aka Diggy as he was called here in base—or Doug, the friend Rafael and Logan had talked about. My superior, giving that he was third in command.

  He was naked to the waist, his chest gleaming with sweat, feet bare and eyes closed. He was doing a macabre combat dance, a thin plain blade in each hand.

  My eyes moved to the weapons adorning the walls, modern and antique, of different sizes and shapes, all gleaming with proof of a recent oiling. Cannon guns, axes, rapiers. Even a mace, dull with age, hung below one of the candles. But the prize went to the swords; they were countless. Some were long and slender, some wide and small, some ornate with precious stones. Dull blades, metal blades, golden blades, sharp blades, pointed blades, serrated blades.

  A single, closed door stood to the left, no doubt leading to the rest of the apartment.

  My focus returned to the man, now doing an amalgamation of motions, thrusts, arcs, pirouettes, even a semi-diagonal flip, kicking an invisible opponent, blade arching down on a second. Realizing I had no right to be there and feeling Ashamed of myself, I was about to turn and leave when Diggy half turned at the waist, the powerful muscles of his back flexing, and threw one of the blades at me. It passed my ear with a loud frightening whiz, embedding in the doorframe. His hazel eyes blazed with anger, his breathing harsh, his sandy hair sticking to sweat-wet temples. It made for a formidable image, and if I had my phone with me, I'd have risked taking a photo. Not wanting to give him enough reason to strangle me, I turned and beat a hasty retreat, realizing too late I should have at least apologized.

  Back up on the first floor – I was on Level Minus One –I tried Valerie once more, only to be stone-walled. Again. Not having the patience or will to play her games, I bared my teeth – something she ignored – and marched to Roland's office without permission, knocking once before pushing open the door. Valerie didn't even twitch.

  Roland wasn't in his office, or the conference room adjacent to it, so I returned to the gym, expecting to find a pissed-off Diggy waiting, and feeling ashamed of myself. I had better manners than that. As I started an awkward warm-up, I heard Asra and Raji – both fire mages – talking about a threat with a vampire gang turning unwilling humans into fledglings and that Vincent had been assigned the case.

  Half an hour later, I was summoned to Roland's office and was dressed down for barging into it without permission. Ok, it was really just an admonishment where he pointed out Valerie was out there to inform members when and if he was available, and it was disrespectful both to the rules and to him to shrug her off. I nodded, head lowered so he wouldn't notice my clenched jaw. I could almost see Valerie gloating in the next room.

  Resigned, Roland pointed at the chair across from him, laced his fingers together and gazed down at me as if I were an unruly child he didn't know how to handle.

  “Vincent gave Valerie a training schedule for you to follow in his absence,” He said, and I nodded once, not pointing out that Valerie had ignored me when I'd asked after him earlier. “He assured me you'd have no trouble following the schedule on your own until he returned.”

  Another nod. “When will he return?”

  Roland's lips pursed for a moment. “The situation down in Miami is delicate. The fledglings, they are like children in need of firm guidance. Vincent will need to locate the sire, provide appropriate homes for the new fledglings and deal with the media.” He grimaced at that. “If all goes well, a week tops.”

  Meeting over, I moved out to Valerie, half expecting her to ignore me again. But without a word, she handed me several papers clipped together, filled with instructions for the entire week. Without saying thank you, I took the stairs to the fourth floor and devoted the coming days to the notes Vincent had made.

  Chapter Three

  On Thursday evening while I walked home, head lowered, body braced against the wind, something happened. One step, I was planning to bake some cookies to please Frizz, the next, the hairs on my neck stood at attention and goosebumps broke out all over my body.

  Night had fallen, but you wouldn't know that for all the lights illuminating the streets and surrounding shops. Casually I raised my head, searched the people ahead, checked the reflection of those behind me on the windows of passing cars and shops. There was nothing I could p
inpoint, no reason I could find for the alarm.

  It wasn't rush hour, but there were enough cars on the street, enough people on the sidewalks for an attack to be noticed. Still, there was a nervous ball rolling inside my stomach, the feeling of prey being stalked, and my gut had never led me askew.

  There were eyes on me. Predatory, hunting eyes.

  Someone bumped my shoulder, and I glanced sideways, expecting to see someone brushing by. Instead, I found a woman, long hair bound in a high ponytail, keeping pace with me. She was shorter by a few inches, dressed in a nice short burgundy jacket that looked expensive and not suitable for the frigid temperature. Her neck and hands were bare, the cold not affecting her. My heart skipped a beat, not for the fact that a prickly memory told me I'd seen her somewhere before, or the strange thick air about her. No, it was the dark red, almost purple aura surrounding her that kicked my fear awake. That and the horrific fact that her face flickered between a corpse-like mummy and a beautiful brunette.

  A vampire. A very old one if the dark purple color mixed with the red in her aura was any indicator.

  “There is an alleyway ahead,” She said without preamble, her accent one I couldn't place. “We will turn into it together.”

  “No, we're not,” I replied calmly, despite my churning anxiety. Maybe I didn't know how the preternatural community worked, but I was no fool either.

  A knowing secretive smile lifted the corners of her lips, the kind that says the other shoe will drop soon and she's very pleased with it. The guy coming from the opposite direction must have sensed the menace oozing from her, because he gave her a wide berth, his complexion draining of color.

  “I have your friend. If you don't come, I'll just have fun with her alone.” She looked at me and the empty, total lack of humanity in her blue eyes was like an icy splash to the face. “She's young and fragile. I'm afraid she won't last long.”

  With that, she pressed something in my pocket, against the palm of my hand, picked up her pace and moved away, tucking her hands in her pockets.

  Angelina Hawthorn of Bond Street, was the thought that came to mind. Like an unexpected bolt of electricity, I jolted, recalling where I'd seen her before: in the mind of the mercenary vampire who had attacked me in Marian's B& B all those many weeks ago. He had been the reason I'd ran from that small town, even before I'd met Logan. The starting point to the domino fall that had brought me here to New York.

  And I had killed him with a psychic ability I still couldn't fathom.

  I watched her go, my mind whirling with thoughts. When she turned into the alleyway, I snapped out of it.

  The first thought in my head was that Vicky was in Sacramento. Relief was an acute pang that left me weak.

  But when I looked down at what Angelina had pressed into my hand, a honey-colored lock of hair that looked so familiar, relief turned into grave fear.

  Vicky!

  I didn't think twice. I followed after Angelina. If she had Vicky with her… if she had Vicky with her… God, I couldn't even finish that thought. Now would be another brilliant time to be carrying my phone with me.

  Damn you, Roxanne, damn you. So what if Roland could track you through your phone?

  I cursed myself into the alleyway, knowing I couldn't risk Angelina torturing my friend because she thought I didn't follow fast enough.

  A few feet in and it was as if I'd entered another dimension. The noise of traffic was still loud, the burning smell of exhaust still thick, but there was a muffled quality to it, as if I had entered a room and shut the door to the noise. Or maybe it was all the blood roaring in my ears.

  The acrid smell of piss and decay got stronger the farther I went, my footsteps echoing in the confined space. I didn't slow or try to be silent, I was sure Angelina was already well aware of my presence.

  In any other situation I'd have stopped to consider where I was going and figured any possibility of escape, I'd have tried to form a plan. Hell, if this was any other situation I wouldn't have been so foolish as to follow a vampire whose lover I had killed a few months earlier. This had trap written all over it. I clenched the lock of hair and hurried after the vampire.

  I could barely see ahead, and was aware that the light from the mouth of the alley marked my presence to anyone in front of me. I was attuned to every noise, every pair of scurrying feet, trying to pick any nuance with my other senses. That's what saved me – the air displacement I felt behind me. I ducked, rolled, and squished something rotten and disgusting beneath my weight. What was with me and stinky alleyways? I finished the roll, jumped up and pushed Angelina as hard as I could. There was a grunt and a hiss, but instead of hitting the wall like I'd intended, she pulled on her brakes and did a one-eighty, barely losing momentum.

  She rushed me, incredibly fast, grabbing me by the throat. I garbled out a choked sound and slashed her wrists with my talons while kicking her hard. She let go with a grunt and I backed away, talons ready for the next attack.

  She came at me, a whirlwind of shadow and teeth, and I dodged too late. Nails and teeth dug deep into my bicep, ripping muscle when I pulled away. I punched her, catching her in the shoulder, and although my well-formed muscles were strong, she didn't budge or twist with the impact. I kicked next, and hit only air.

  I backpedaled to the wall, keeping it behind me as I searched and listened to the darkness. “Vicky?” I called. “If you're here, grunt. Make a–”

  I rolled to the right, atop more disgusting things, and jumped up. I searched the darkness, left, right, back. Where did she go…? And then I saw the shadow of a figure ahead. I rushed forward, not sure what I was doing. One thing Vincent had drilled over and over in these past weeks was the capability to discern when it was better to stand and fight, when it was better to run. I'd have rather run, but I couldn't leave Vicky behind.

  Angelina dodged the punch I had aimed at her face. I aimed at the shadow ahead, and my fist found empty air. Damn, she was fast.

  “Look, I never meant to”—kill—“hurt your friend. He came after me. I was just trying to live my life when—ooof.” Something heavy and hard hit me from behind and I head- butted the wall. Stars appeared in my vision, along with vultures and crossed bones. Warm blood started trickling down my face.

  “He was my first,” A low voice said from somewhere to my right.

  I straightened and turned in that direction, head pounding. Just on the other side of the alleyway, life went on as usual.

  Talking was good. I pressed a hand to my head and tried to put some pressure on the wound. Talking was good. It meant she wasn't trying to kill me, right?

  “I'm sorry. He was going to enslave me. He wanted to take me somewhere and be my master.” Silence met my words and I cursed myself. Wrong thing to say. “He sounded like he was a great guy. Had a sense of humor too,” I babbled on.

  “Did he tell you about me?” she asked, this time from my left.

  I spun in that direction and there were two of her. Maybe I had a concussion.

  “Yes, yes. He couldn't stop talking about you.” Angelina snarled at the lie, and I hurried to add, “He called you Angelina Hawthorn of Bond Street.” She hesitated then, and I could sense her indecision.

  “Liar,” she said and the shadows split. There was another person in the alley with us. I moved back, trying to find the wall again. Instead, I hit a body. I whirled and slashed blindly, but it seemed like their night vision was way better than mine. A strong hand caught my wrist and pulled, bringing me flush with a man's broad torso. I think I smelled gardenias, but WTF, there was nothing but urine and garbage here.

  “Vicky!” I called. Strong hands pinned down my arms and I tried to buckle free, wiggling and stomping my foot on the guy's foot. I may have been a fly, so easy was my struggle thwarted. Ahead, Angelina stalked forward.

  “Tell me what happened to my Jacob,” Angelina demanded.

  “He ran away when I refused to become his slave. He was afraid of you.” A sharp punch to my stomach had
me wheezing and pulling myself forward, trying to double over and ease the pain.

  “Try again.”

  “I'm telling the truth,” I began, but Angelina cut me off with another punch. I think she broke my lower rib. Or maybe ruptured an internal organ. The pain was unbelievable. Gasping with pain, I stomped my heel at the foot of the guy behind me, high on the arch, putting all my pain behind the stomp. I heard the crunch of bones, a grunt and the arms pinning me loosened. I wiggled free, but Angelina caught me by the neck and pushed me back with so much strength, my throat closed and I gagged.

  “Hold her,” she growled at the guy behind me. She moved closer and murmured, “I'll just drink the truth out of you.”

  I was still processing her words when she bit me hard on the side of my neck. Atop the scarf and all. A stabbing, piercing pain moved through my body, making my knees weak, my weight supported by the guy behind me.

  The pain, however, was nothing compared to the sensation of someone violating my private thoughts like so many discarded postcards. I could tell exactly what she was seeing, and I tried to reverse the process, like I'd done to her Jacob. The moment this thought crossed my mind, Angelina latched on to it like a burr, sucking in all that horrible memory, “drinking” the truth of what had happened that night.

  She hesitated at the part where I had pushed Jacob out of my mind and followed him into his, but she could also see the horror and confusion of what I'd done.

  The alarm I should've felt at how weak I was getting warred for first place with relief when her fangs released my neck. My knees buckled with my heavy weight, unable to keep me vertical. The guy keeping me upright let go and I crumpled to the ground, a mess of limbs and weakness.

  Angelina crouched, her eyes heavy on me. “It is interesting. So many people want you, but it was so easy to subdue you.” She shifted and I cringed away. Everything hurt and I felt so weak. My heart was beating too fast, faster than it had ever before.