Black Magic

by D B Nielsen

  She knew how extremely devious, cunning, and untrustworthy demons were. But she never anticipated Styx would go so far as to protect the dark mages. Of course, business was business. And Styx protected his business interests. How else was it possible for him to become the most successful purebred demon on Earth with his global operations?

  Sadistic, shit swizzler. When I get my hands on him—

  Aislinn paused her train of thought. It wouldn’t do to get too worked up about something she couldn’t change. And it was unlikely she’d ever get her hands on Styx since he never ventured outside of his domain.

  Reining her emotions in, she turned toward Benjamin, who was now speaking.

  “Prima Aislinn is correct. External monitoring of all the London Coven’s establishments from the Surveillance Hub hasn’t indicated there was anything out of the ordinary.” Benjamin began, all business, slightly affronted at the thought his security system wasn’t working in top order. “In fact, had there been any attempted break-ins or someone trying to internally hack the Minter’s security system—”

  “No, no, it’s nothing at all like that. Be assured, the systems you set in place are working perfectly, Benjamin.” The Minter did not smile in reassurance, but they didn’t expect him to since he had an aloof and reserved personality and the driest sense of humor, even for an old and crusty vampire. He gestured at the table where a bottle of the finest, ruby-red sixteen-year-old from southern France discreetly appeared, along with three goblets, as Dominic entered and left the room. “Sit. I’m certain you have time to join me for a simple meal.”

  It wasn’t an order, but they obeyed anyway—especially as it was obvious the Minter had gone to some trouble to impress them with the rare bottle, suggesting he’d prepared for this meeting. His hospitality didn’t fool anyone. The Minter was deliberately stalling.

  Aislinn’s unease went up a notch but she moved with fluidity and ease, displaying none of her anxiety in front of the others. She nodded as she gracefully sat and accepted a brimming goblet, seeing the subtle shift in the Minter’s expression.

  “May I then ask why we were called here?”

  The Minter glanced at the plexiglass screens in front of his desk, now dormant. Although the glance was brief, Aislinn could see it was significant.

  Not for the first time in the last six months, she wished that Caleb was around to lend her his wealth of experience and knowledge. No one was better than him at intelligence gathering and reading people, especially reading vampires who were among the most inscrutable species of all the three realms, since they rarely displayed emotion. Caleb was one of the few vampires who could intuitively piece things together to see the bigger picture.

  The thought was fleeting, but it brought with it the usual pang of sorrow at his absence.

  Caleb had left London with Cooper and several other of the London Coven’s newest recruits on an extensive vampire boot camp that was meant to whip them into shape—or submission. It was as good a punishment for Cooper as any—in fact, it was better than most. His defiance of Aislinn’s direct orders to stay safe at the manor house had cost her the opportunity to gain revenge upon the Druid leader in protecting him. He still thought like a human. Like a hunter. It was a huge mistake. Anyone could see that Cooper was far too impulsive for a vampire and needed some of the brashness of youth kicked out of him—literally.

  Boot camp was also a means of keeping Julius away from her youngest offspring. She knew, given an opportunity, Julius would use Cooper as a political pawn—or worse. No other coven had a former hunter in their ranks, especially a Malum. This made Cooper a significant prize—and made Aislinn’s desire to protect him more difficult. Caleb’s solution was perfect, but it came at a cost.

  “Prima Aislinn, I have only recently received the findings from our investigation into the most ancient bloodlines, which I hope will assist you in your quest to uncover the source of the Black Magic drug.” He sighed on a falling note as if this knowledge was a burden for him. “You understand the scope of this search? The Minters of the other ten covens were less than forthcoming with information about their columbariums, but of course, yielded to your request since it was made by one of Kayne’s chosen Twelve.”

  She raised a brow. Officious dumbasses. How kind of them to accede to her request. If she hadn’t made it, eventually one of her brothers would have. The Black Magic drug was dangerous to them all. Maybe if the request had come from a Primus, it would have been better received and acted upon immediately.

  Beside her, she heard Benjamin grind his teeth. He was probably thinking the same thing. She knew of his revolutionary fervor. He wanted her to rule the London Coven—as long as he could rule beside her like a regent or prime minister. Aislinn smiled inwardly.

  Benjamin would just have to cool his heels. She had no intention of usurping Julius, no matter how unstable he was at times. She certainly didn’t want to rule over the decadent and pampered members of the London Coven. That headache, she didn’t need. No thanks. She much preferred owning a nightclub.

  The Minter plowed on, “My fellow Minters were not too pleased at allegations that their establishments are less than secure and their security may have been breached. Maintaining the identities of the most ancient vampires who once lived among us—some of whom, regrettably, are no more—is our honor and duty. We, Minters, have been taxed with keeping a record of their lives in their blood. The task I requested on your behalf was arduous, given the need to cross-check ancient records for accuracy. It is perhaps lucky that while ancient parchments deteriorate, a vampire’s memory is infallible.”

  Aislinn’s gaze narrowed. She suffered in silence, anxious to hear of his findings, despite having to put up with his pompous, grim attitude.

  She wished she could just hurry him up as he gave his report. But despite his youthful looks, the Minter was older than she was, and expected to be given all due respect in accordance with his age and position. Besides, he didn’t have many opportunities to speak with members of the outside world. Clearly, he was enjoying his moment, even if his speech was all doom and gloom.

  “I can imagine the difficulties,” she said, attempting to appease him, which he casually ignored.

  “While we are careful to ensure the security and purity of the blood of the sons of Kayne, these ancient relics have been stored for so long they have almost been forgotten. It is a shame to say that in such circumstances, they are at the mercy of time and human enterprises.” He gave them a considering look as he passed on the blame for centuries of neglect. “Like the damage done to the London columbarium from the Blitz, some of my colleagues have found their own columbariums in a state of disorder or ruin from natural or manmade disasters.”

  Aislinn’s eyes widened, momentarily flashing obsidian in concern. “That’s very sad to hear. I can assure you that you have our absolute discretion. Please continue. What did they find?”

  Again, the Minter took his time to explain. He considered the matter closely and spoke more slowly. “Thank you, Prima Aislinn. I know both you and Benjamin will maintain what I tell you in confidence since if word got out, it could lead to social unrest in your eldest brother’s coven.”

  It was a dire warning. Honestly, the news could hardly get any worse.

  “Primus Marduk, the firstborn of Kayne, whose Minter is the oldest of my colleagues, lives in the most volatile area of the world, in a constant state of conflict. His coven is not only the most ancient, but one of the largest, encompassing the area of Africa and the Middle East.”

  Aislinn knew some of the history but not all. Millennia ago, Marduk’s coven was situated in ancient Babylonia but had to relocate within the last century to Cairo in Egypt—a region that was still volatile but not as bad as present-day Iran and Iraq.

  The Minter sighed as if in deep, painful thought. “Sadly, due to the constant warfare, their columbarium, which is still located in Iraq, suffered damage caused by mortar shells and was further vandalized by looters.”
He rose, walked to the table and began to pour more blood for his guests.

  It wasn’t much of a delaying tactic for the inevitable question that followed.

  “Looters?” Aislinn queried, incredulity in her voice.

  “I see you understand my meaning perfectly.” His back stiffened, but he did not turn around as he took a fortifying sip of the ruby-red liquid. At length, he faced them. “The Minter of the Cairo Coven does not know who the culprits were nor when this might have occurred. He is currently investigating the breach and has compiled a list of the ancient reliquaries and bloods that were stolen.”

  It was a miracle both Aislinn and Benjamin were able to maintain their outward calm, despite the extreme provocation to swear in front of the Minter, but for some reason cussing in the Minter’s establishment was like blaspheming in a church. It didn’t seem proper.

  “Why didn’t they relocate the columbarium at the same time they relocated the coven?” Benjamin asked the Minter when he felt reasonably safe from cursing out loud, trying to fathom the logic of their decision.

  The Minter didn’t answer the question, at least not directly. “The Minter’s establishment in this region can only be compared to the necropolis under the streets of Rome or Paris. The dead, or in our case the ancient reliquaries of blood, would far outnumber the living. Besides, it is no small task to move the Mint itself. It would be more difficult than the humans relocating Fort Knox.”

  Aislinn was livid. She took a fortifying sip of the rare, bottled sixteen-year-old. It was damn good, warmed to the perfect temperature. Appreciatively, she swirled the ruby-red liquid around in her goblet, releasing the rich aroma. The Minter obviously liked his little luxuries. She had to admit, it certainly was the sweetener to his unpalatable news.

  The Minter’s thin lips stretched into a cold smile. “Their facilities are located so deep underground, it was thought to be impregnable. Bear in mind that the present operations have state-of-the-art security measures—not quite as good as what you have designed for us, but by no means outdated.”

  Aislinn’s eyes narrowed as she sensed his hesitancy. She was done. No more pussyfooting around. “So, what aren’t you telling us?”

  “Unfortunately, the Minter’s establishment and the columbarium are situated in an area prone to flooding.”

  There was a short, heavy silence.

  “Well, that’s just plain dumb.” Benjamin’s tone was withering.

  “Not at all, since the entire region of the Fertile Valley is a flood zone. Even modern Baghdad floods regularly. You must realize the ancient Babylonians worshipped the water and Earth.” Their host frowned discouragingly. The Minter was the dourest vampire Aislinn had ever met. “Human beings have always built their cities near water—London, New York, Tokyo, Sydney—and vampires continue to inhabit the cities where humans live. After all, they are our food source. Between the flooding and constant bombing, these ancient relics were safer left where they were housed.”

  “But they weren’t safe,” Aislinn said.

  The Minter shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Benjamin on a rising note, his tone livid. “You’re saying that stored blood from the most ancient vampires of the Cairo Coven has been stolen from a columbarium so old and vast it was impossible to relocate elsewhere? And its Minter was unaware of it occurring until you alerted him to this possibility? Or did he just think it was the usual flood or mortar damage? And he never thought to check whether there had been looting?” Benjamin exhaled deeply. “So, the only thing we’ve got going for us is the inventory they’re putting together as we speak. But we don’t know when it happened. It could have happened sometime last century or last year. And we have no evidence as to who did it, not even a sneaking suspicion.”

  The Minter remained silent. There was nothing to add.

  It was Aislinn’s turn to sigh deeply. This wasn’t helpful.

  Chapter 5

  Aislinn emerged from the Thames as if from the womb, through a watery tunnel with very little light and the strangest feeling of being the only person left in the world. She climbed onto the wharf and shook out the water from her leather coat. After a protracted meeting, she’d left Benjamin behind to go over the Minter’s security system, running a diagnostic check that would take more time than she wished to spend down there. She began walking, careless of the trail of foul water she left in her wake.

  The streets were almost as empty as when she had arrived at the Minter’s establishment. A few humans drifted out of the various London pubs after watching the televised football match between Chelsea and Manchester United the previous night. It was well after last call. Like her, they were heading toward the Tube, but unlike her, they seemed in a bit more of a hurry as the late autumn night air held the first bite of winter.

  Aislinn didn’t feel the cold but was still grateful there was no snow. Wet leather didn’t dry very fast, but it did get stiff when frozen and difficult to move in.

  A group of drunken louts, discordantly singing their team anthem, veered across the boardwalk ahead. Clinging to each other for support as they weaved back and forth, one large man stumbled directly into Aislinn’s path. He was about to stammer an apology when he realized she was alone and stopped.

  “Are you okay?” He slurred his words as he spoke to Aislinn, leering suggestively. “Because heaven is a long fall to here.”

  Holy fuck! She didn’t know whether to laugh at his Vlad-awful pick-up line or say something snarky to put him off, but his next attempt made up her mind.

  “I hope you know CPR because you take my breath away.” He rounded this off with a loud belch, causing all his friends to break out into mindless chortles.

  She gave him a tight smile as her eyes flashed obsidian. “I don’t have breath to waste on you, but I do know Muay Thai, and I could rip your lungs out.”

  The threat in her black eyes made him stumble backward, falling against his friends, suddenly sober and afraid. “Sorry, luv, didn’t mean no harm.”

  “C’mon, Gordie.” His drunken friends, none the wiser, snickered in response, thinking he had struck out with the stunning blonde who was out of his league. Throwing an arm around his shoulders, they pulled him away, commiserating by striking up their song again.

  Aislinn held herself tightly in check. She was on edge, too close to snapping her incisors into place and tearing out someone’s throat.

  And for what? Because he’d tried to hit on me?

  It was a silly provocation, but lately, she found she was restless in her own skin.

  Always before, she had a passionate commitment to avenge her sister’s needless death. It was simple. A dagger was a dagger, a corpse was a corpse, and a Druid’s magic was dark and destructive.

  Now, she often found herself filled with self-doubt about her reason for being. Maybe it was because of the Druid’s taunting offer of resurrection. Or maybe it was because of the warning issued by the angelic bastard who turned up afterward. Either way, she felt unmoored.

  Aislinn noted the anxious, cautious humans who gave her a wide berth, alarmed by her bedraggled, preternatural appearance and her suddenly aggressive stance. No one would come near her now, not unless she compelled them to with her vampirism, but she didn’t feel the need to feed after the Minter’s meal.

  Ignoring them, she walked slowly but purposefully past the Tower of London, wanting to put some distance between her and her surroundings. It raised too many haunting memories. She’d never been too good at forgetting.

  The Thames mirrored the high walls of the Tower, framed by starlight and the shape of the moon. Pushing back wet strands of platinum-blonde hair from her face, she gazed up at the battlements as she walked by, her steps slowing unconsciously, a habit she’d acquired and performed almost every night now.

  Almost a year had passed since those events. The time meant nothing to an ordinary vampire, but it meant everything to Aislinn.

  Two nights past
, she had kept her promise to Caleb and dropped in on his old military pal, veteran Ford and his Street Sanctuary for lost souls. Caleb wouldn’t be pleased when he came back from boot camp, as rumor had it that some homeless vampire was leaving drained, bloodless corpses around Fleet Street, near the church of St. Bride. Someone would need to deal with that and soon, since there was no talking to Ford about the dangerous antics of his people.

  Tonight, she had intended to perform a not-so-random incursion, but most of the night had already passed. The boardwalk was now empty except for the occasional pre-dawn jogger passing by. No one disturbed her. But she still hadn’t quite recovered from the events of a year ago.

  It wasn’t just this place.

  Every time she now looked up at the night sky, every shooting star reminded her of the angel. She felt his presence. And it was both reassuring and aggravating.

  “Aislinn?”

  Surprised, Aislinn turned her gaze away from the high walls, her hand reflexively touching the hilt of her precious skean. She’d been standing still for far too long, frozen into immobility in her daydreaming, limbs locked like marble as she gazed up at the Tower.

  “Cole, what are you doing here?” There was a slight annoyance in her tone which signaled her displeasure to the approaching vampire. “I thought I told you to meet me back at the manor house.”

  Cole enthusiastically bounded up, ignoring her irritable mood. “I waited and waited, and when you didn’t show after hours of waiting, I decided to come down to the wharf. So, what’s the problem? Did you speak to the Minter? What’s going on? Where have you been?”

  How long had she been woolgathering? Had it really been hours?

  This was really embarrassing, though it might have been worse for her if a hunter or shapeshifter had found her instead of Cole. Thank Vlad, he had been the one to find her. He wouldn’t bother to remark upon her strange, dreamy behavior, which for him wasn’t strange at all. It wouldn’t even occur to him how odd she’d been behaving lately, since he spent most of his time off with the fairies—at least, in his imagination.