Books 1–4

by Nancy A. Collins

  The Borges Brothers sat at one end of a long table, flanked by several armed men. The senior of the two remaining siblings, and nominal leader, was Antonio, a squat man with graying temples and a long ponytail that hung down the back of his Armani suit. Seated on his right hand was his younger brother, Lucio, who wore his hair full of gel and whose sartorial tastes leaned more to Ed Hardy fashion wear. Seated at the opposite end was Esher, accompanied by Decima, as well as four trusted members of his brood and a half-dozen Pointers.

  “I am honored that you have agreed to meet with us, Lord Esher,” Antonio Borges said.

  “My condolences on the untimely death of your brother, Senõrs,” he said, careful to smile without showing his teeth

  “Dario was not just our brother,” Antonio said sadly, “he was an integral part of our business. But then, you know more than most the value of blood. That is why we have traveled here from Miami to make this proposal.”

  “Yes, that I do,” Esher agreed. “What is it you would propose, Senõr Borges?”

  “An alliance between your brood and our family,” Antonio replied. “We need you to help us destroy Sinjon.”

  Esher stroked his chin for a moment, then leaned over and whispered something to Decima, who scowled and shook her head. Esher nodded and returned his attention to Borges. “I see. And what would I get out of the deal?”

  “The death of our mutual enemy,” Lucio Borges said, his eyes gleaming with barely-restrained rage.

  Esher laughed, making sure the drug dealers saw his fangs. “If that was enough motivation for me to act against the Freemason, he would have been dead years ago! No, Senõrs—you know my kind do not work to the advantage of humans unless it benefits us in some way. Come, amigos, what do you have that might entice one such as I?”

  “We’ll supply you with all the cocaine you want. You’ll be twice as rich as Sinjon within a month.”

  Esher’s smile widened and grew even sharper. “My, that is enticing. You have yourself a deal, amigos. However, there are a few, um, formalities that must first be observed between us.” Esher produced a folded piece of parchment and an old-fashioned fountain pen from his breast pocket. The nib gleamed like the edge of a razor.

  “Formalities?” The elder Borges brother echoed, raising his eyebrow.

  “I prefer to get things down in writing,” the vampire lord explained.

  Antonio exchanged a frown with his younger brother. “You expect us to sign a contract?”

  “I prefer to call it a pact,” Esher said as he walked the length of the table to where the Borges Brothers sat. He unfolded the parchment and handed it to the elder of the two. Antonio picked up the blank sheet and muttered something in Spanish to Lucio, who fidgeted nervously.

  “This isn’t paper,” Antonio said, struggling to conceal his revulsion.

  “Ah! I appreciate a man who can identify human skin when he feels it!” Esher smiled at his new partners.

  After exchanging glances with his brother, Antonio reached out to take the proffered pen. Moving with the speed of a cobra, Esher abruptly rammed the nib into the ball of the Borges’ thumb, drawing blood. The druglord yanked his hand back.

  “Madre de Dios!” Antonio cursed. “What are you playing at, you crazy bastard!?!”

  “I play at nothing, Senõr!” Esher replied sternly. “If you want my help against Sinjon, then you must do as I say—sign your name in your own blood on this parchment. If you decide not to do so, well, Heaven help you. Because I know where Sinjon’s help will be coming from.”

  The look on the faces of the Borges Brothers was that of men who have seen their damnation and know that salvation is no longer an option. With a trembling hand, Antonio took the pen from Esher and signed his name at the bottom of the blank sheet of human parchment, then handed it to Lucio, who pricked his own thumb and added his signature next to his brother’s.

  “Excellent!” Esher smiled. As he moved to fold the document and return it to his breast pocket, the French windows flew open, and Sinjon strolled into the room, in all his foppish glory, accompanied by several vampires and a dozen or more armed Black Spoons.

  “Good evening, one and all!” the vampire lord said cheerily. “It looks like someone forgot to send me an invitation to this little soiree. I hope you don’t mind if I gate-crash?”

  The Black Spoons promptly pointed their guns at the Pointers and Borges’ muscle, while the Pointers trained their weapons on the Black Spoons, and the Borges’ men, uncertain as to who to trust, attempted to cover everyone.

  “You miserable bloodsucking freak!” Lucio bellowed at Esher, pushing himself away from the table as he pulled a chrome-plated .38 from under his shirt. “You set us up! Nobody sets up the Borges Brothers! Nobody!”

  The younger Borges fired point-blank at Esher, but the vampire turned into a dark blur, reappearing at the other end of the table. However, the bullet intended for the vampire did not go entirely to waste, as it plowed into a waiter who had just stepped out of the service stairwell bearing a tray of coffee sent up by the management. The hapless employee hit the ground in a crash of crockery, his blood mingling with the scalding hot liquid.

  “You dare open fire on me?” Esher’s eyes flashed in outrage. “I had nothing to do with this!”

  “You better fuckin’ believe I’ll shoot you!” Lucio retorted. “I ain’t scared of you, cocksucker!”

  “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” the vampire snarled. “Your bullets are nothing to me.”

  “Is that so?” Lucio grinned. “You think we humans are so stupid that we’d fuck around with monsters like you and not cover our ass? I’m packing silver, bitch!”

  “Very well,” Esher said, crumpling the parchment he was holding into a ball, “our deal is off!”

  Lucio cried out in agony as his gun dropped from his hand, his eyes starting from their sockets. A second later Antonio cried out as well and clutched at his chest. Lucio dropped to his knees as if felled by an axe, blood drooling from the corners of his mouth, then pitched forward onto the floor. Within moments his elder brother followed suit, crimson leaking from his nostrils, ears, and tear ducts. Upon the sight of their employers keeling over, the Borges’ men opened fire.

  Roaring his anger, Esher overturned the table, pinning one of the druglords’ lieutenants underneath. The air suddenly seemed to grow tight, like the skin of a soap bubble before it bursts, and one by one the vampires disappeared, leaving only the human gang members. The Pointers and Black Spoons drew closer to one another, making sure their backs weren’t exposed, while the druglords’ men blinked and looked around in confused. Suddenly one of them screamed in pain as his arm was broken by unseen hands, and a second one’s head came detached from his body and bounced across the floor. Within seconds, all the Borges Brothers’ men were as dead as their bosses, their carcasses scattered about like those of chickens after a fox raids the coop.

  Suddenly Decima winked back into view, framed against one of the French windows. The female vampire had the youth Johan in a chokehold, the point of a crossbow bolt pressed under the boy’s chin.

  “Show yourself, Sinjon!” she shouted at the shimmering air. “I have your catamite!”

  Sinjon appeared out of nowhere, his powdered wig askew and his waistcoat stained with blood. The Noble lifted his hand in signal, and the other members of his group popped back into view.

  “I did as you asked,” he growled. “Now let him go.” He took a step toward Johan, but Decima shook her head and tightened her grip on her captive.

  “Stay put, old man,” she warned, “or I’ll spear his brain like an olive!”

  A second later Esher’s forces reappeared on the battlefield. While Esher was unharmed, the same could not be said for his recruits, most of whom were relatively untried. Sinjon’s brood were far more seasoned fighters, and their experience showed in the damage t
hey had managed to inflict.

  “Good work, Decima,” Esher said. “I knew I could rely on you!” “Let him go!” Sinjon snarled. “He’s of no use to you!”

  “On the contrary,” Esher replied. “He makes a wonderful human shield! Order your brood to stand down, or I’ll have Decima do something decidedly unpleasant to your little boy-toy!”

  “You heard him!” Sinjon barked at his troops. “Stand down!”

  The remaining Black Spoons and vampires exchanged uncertain looks, and then lowered their weapons as Decima dragged Johan past Sinjon, pausing to allow the Noble one last look at his lover’s face.

  “Don’t you dare hurt the boy!” the vampire lord warned, turning to face Esher. “Or you’ll be sorry, warlock! Mark my words.”

  “How so, old man?” Esher sneered.

  “Why don’t you go home and ask your precious little dancer?” Sinjon replied.

  Esher’s triumphant smile disappeared as if wiped off with a rag.

  The sound of rapidly approaching sirens spurred both vampire lords to hiss in unpleasant surprise. They had grown used to Deadtown, and were unaccustomed to the city’s authorities meddling in their affairs. Moments later, the police came thundering up the stairs, followed closely by EMTs. They found over a dozen dead bodies, some of them bullet-riddled, others pulled apart like fresh bread. And, to make matters even more confusing, some of the dead appeared to be withering and collapsing into themselves, like pumpkins rotting on the vine. The first responders muttered amongst themselves, and some of the older hands glanced about warily. If anyone noticed the shadows flickering at the corners of their eyes, they did not mention it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sonja lurched uncertainly along the topsy-turvy corridors of Esher’s stronghold. It was difficult enough navigating the House while Esher was in residence; when he was away it was as close to madness as she wished to tread. All the doors seemed familiar and strange at the same time, mocking her sense of direction. Some of them she had opened revealed empty rooms, while others seemed tied to a menacing void. Those were the doors she wasted no time slamming shut. Who knows what lurks in the corners of a house where space has been folded in on itself like a child’s paper hat?

  If the vampire lord had not fallen victim to Sinjon’s forces, he would be back any time now. If he found her searching his private chambers, then it was all over; she’d be forced to duke it out not only with the Noble but his entire brood as well. Although she was willing to take risks, she wasn’t suicidal.

  She tried yet another doorknob, expecting it to open onto blank nothingness, only to find herself peering into Esher’s private chamber. The suite of rooms was spacious and decorated similarly to the audience chamber, with tapestries draping the walls and candelabra the only source of light. A bewildering hodgepodge of antique furniture, from Late Renaissance to Jugendendstil, cluttered the bed-sitting room. Finding the Chinese Box was going to be considerably more difficult than she originally imagined.

  After several minutes’ search, she finally found it tucked inside an alcove, hidden behind a curtain of multicolored glass beads. It was a black lacquer chest shaped like a pagoda, with bronze feet and a grinning dragon’s head decorating the uppermost rooftop. Lifting the lid, she saw two five-pound bags of Jack Frost brand sugar. Esher had certainly wasted no time in repackaging the stolen drugs.

  She quickly stashed the purloined cocaine in special pouches sewn into the lining of her jacket. She’d done her fair share of smuggling over the years, although the contraband she normally dealt in was far more esoteric than mere narcotics. When dealing with demons and other unsavory paranormal elements, the body parts of convicted murderers and similar dark totems were far more valuable than money.

  After making sure the packages were secure, she pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket. The hanky was unremarkable, save for its distinctive perfume and the Masonic emblem embroidered at its corner. How careless of Sinjon to leave such personal items lying about the Black Lodge. With a smirk, she dropped it inside the Chinese box and closed the lid. Now all she had to do was hurry back to the audience chamber and await Esher’s return. Something told her he wasn’t going to be in the best of moods when he got home.

  The doors to the audience chamber flew open, slamming against the walls hard enough to make the very building quake.

  “Where is she?!?” Esher thundered. “Where is my Nikola?!?”

  “She’s gone, milord,” Sonja replied as she hurried to greet him.

  Esher’s right hand moved faster than the human eye could track, clamping tight as a vise around her throat. Her body went rigid as she battled an overpowering urge to plunge her silver switchblade into the vampire lord’s heart. While physically attacking him might prove personally satisfying, it was far from wise. She was locked into an elaborate quadrille with both Esher and Sinjon, and deviating by a single step could prove disastrous, not only to herself but Ryan and his mother.

  Despite this knowledge, she could still feel the Other stir, deep at the bottom of her brain, responding to Esher’s aggression like a hibernating serpent experiencing the first signs of warm weather. The last thing she needed was to have her vampiric personality become ascendant, ruining all her plans with its outbursts of psychotic rage. She reminded herself that she would have Esher’s blood soon enough—she just had to be patient.

  “I can’t tell you what happened if you snap my neck!” she gasped as she pried Esher’s fingers from about her throat. She staggered backward, massaging her larynx. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” she said, her voice as black and sharp as volcanic glass.

  “Are you threatening me?” Esher growled. “I’m just telling how it’s going to be.”

  The Noble’s lip curled in derision, revealing a glimpse of fang. “You’ll do well to keep a civil tongue in your head, if you don’t want it yanked out by its roots. Now tell me what happened to Nikola.”

  “Sinjon has her.”

  “How did that happen?!?” Esher exclaimed angrily.

  “I did as I was told: I waited outside on the curb for the Batmobile to arrive. When it didn’t show, I went looking for it. I found it wrecked, a few blocks away. The driver and Webb were dead. Obeah was alive, although badly injured. I brought him back here. Nikola was nowhere to be found.”

  “Is Obeah conscious?”

  “Yes. The Pointers are looking after his wounds.”

  Esher strode up the stairs of the dais that lead to his chair of office. “Bring him to me.”

  “As you command, milord.”

  A few minutes later Obeah arrived in the audience chamber, hobbling about with the help of a makeshift cane made from a length of rebar. His broad, dark face was crisscrossed with red welts, and shards of busted safety glass still glinted in his thick dreads. His nose was broken and his left eye was swollen shut, but aside from that he was in surprisingly good shape for a man who’d gone through a windshield and bounced off the hood of a car.

  “You have failed me, bokor,” Esher said grimly.

  “It’s not my fault, milord!” Obeah explained. “Lady Decima wasn’t there to guard us against vampire attack. Whatever moved on us wasn’t human! The first moment I realize something is wrong is when Webb was yanked right out of the fuckin’ window like we was standing still! Then they go for the driver. I’m in the back seat with Nikola, right? So I try to grab the wheel, but it’s no good. Next thing I know, I’m flyin’ through the windshield! I wake up with busted glass in my hair, my face, even in my fuckin’ mouth! This mirror-eyed bitch here, she’s shaking me, yellin’ at me where the hell Nikola is. I told her Sinjon snatched her.”

  “Are you certain it was Sinjon’s brood?”

  “All I know is one minute I’m riding in the back seat, next minute I’m bouncin’ off the hood of the fuckin’ car! But who else could it be?”

  Esher motioned for t
he former Tonton Macoute to step forward. Although his eyes were bright with fear, Obeah did so. Esher leaned forward, resting his hand atop Obeah’s, his voice soft, almost sad. “Regardless of your excuses, which, I grant, are valid, you have still failed me, Obeah. And those who fail me must suffer for their mistakes. It is a matter of discipline—do you see what I mean?”

  “Y-yes, milord,” he whispered.

  “I’m glad we understand one another,” Esher said, with a small smile, as he snatched the length of rebar from Obeah’s hand and swung it at his kneecap. The witchdoctor shrieked in pain and collapsed to the floor, clutching his shattered leg. Esher snapped his fingers and a pair of Pointers stepped forward and lifted him by his armpits and dragged him from the audience chamber. “See that he’s tended to,” Esher called after them. “Give him some oxycontin to shut him up. But not too much and not too soon!” He resumed his seat, his features set into a fierce scowl. “Sinjon is not as senile as I thought. Turns out he got wind of my meeting with the Borges Brothers.”

  “Yeah, how’d that turn out for you?” Sonja asked, feigning ignorance.

  “It was a bloodbath,” he replied darkly. “And not the good kind. Sinjon crashed the party and now the Borges Brothers are dead, along with my most trusted followers. Now I return to find that he’s stolen my bride while my back was turned! I underestimated the Freemason—but he is not as clever as he would think; he made the mistake of taking his catamite along with him to the restaurant.”

  “He did what—?” Sonja gasped. There was no need to feign surprise this time.

  “If the old reptile wants to take a trophy, so be it; two can play that game.” Esher clapped his hands and Decima entered the room dragging the youth called Johan behind her on a leather leash attached to a spiked dog collar, his hands secured behind his back by a pair of hinged wristcuffs. The teen’s eyes widened upon seeing Sonja, but luckily, for both of them, a rubber ball-gag filled his mouth.