Black Magic

by D B Nielsen

  Aislinn couldn’t remain annoyed with Cole for long. It would be mean, like whipping a playful puppy. Taking stock, she gave him a onceover. Pale, freckly, English. With a candid expression. Wearing an outrageous outfit that looked like he’d raided the costume department of the national opera. Were mustard-colored jeans the thing now?

  She didn’t think so, but she hadn’t been paying attention to clothing trends since the Renaissance when she’d refused to wear a wig and hooped petticoat in favor of pants and leathers. She didn’t mind wearing a corset but had turned it into an outer garment long before Madonna, Kendall Jenner, and all those others.

  Cole meant well, but there was no way she was going to share this new knowledge with the coven’s biggest source of gossip. She might as well post it on social media. Besides, the Minter had requested their discretion to avoid a loss of confidence and possible rebellions in an already volatile region, and she preferred not to get involved in Middle East politics or her eldest brother’s business.

  She sighed inwardly as Cole met her halfway along the path, deflecting his questions with one of her own, “Where’s Varya?”

  The fair-haired, younger vampire shrugged. “Varya’s on duty. She’s putting out fires. Literally.”

  Aislinn raised her eyebrow. It was her turn to ask, “What’s going on?”

  “The usual unrest.” He shrugged casually, but there was both fear and worry in his expressive blue eyes. “The Zooarians are burning an effigy of Dorian in front of the manor’s gates.”

  She snorted with sudden laughter in response. “Damn. I would have liked to have seen that, but they should have waited for Guy Fawkes’ night. At least it wouldn’t call that much attention to our coven, and November isn’t too far away, but I guess they couldn’t wait that long. Still, I admire their creativity. Was it a good likeness?”

  “Too good. They put a lot of effort into it. It even had his habitual sneer.”

  Aislinn laughed louder. The notes tinkled on the crisp night air like blown windchimes. She was surprised Cole noticed that telling detail about his younger brother, whom he blindly revered. It was a positive sign he was finally maturing.

  “Maybe you should go talk to them?” Cole offered, a hopeful tone in his voice.

  Aislinn looked at Cole in surprise, stopping a second time along the boardwalk. “Me? Why me?” Secretly, she thought it a good thing that someone was after Dorian’s head. The little shit deserved it. He was rotten to the core.

  Turning him had been pure madness. Caleb had warned her, and she hadn’t listened. It was true Dorian had deceived her with his outward display of contrition for all his unspeakable acts, but she’d wanted to believe it—wanted to believe that he genuinely wished to turn over a new leaf and begin again. A clean slate. Maybe that had been her wish for herself, and stupidly, she had believed Dorian capable of a more radical transformation than simply turning into a vampire. She’d been a colossal fool, taken in by his angelic looks. She swore she would never again be deceived by angelic appearances.

  “They’ll listen to you. You’re their idol, in case you didn’t notice.” Cole waited for a positive response. It was a good thing he couldn’t read her mind. She wouldn’t mind if they took Dorian out, just so she didn’t have to do it herself, which she knew she would be forced to do one day. But it was no easy thing to kill her own progeny, despite the provocation, especially when she only had three Darklings to her name.

  Aislinn gave no real reaction to Cole’s claim. She preferred to be nobody’s idol, not even her fangirl, Mia’s.

  Cole shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “You didn’t notice.”

  “No, not really. Can’t say I’ve been concerned about the Zooarians.” She could have added, any more than I already am, which was zilch. Instead, she shrugged, and said, “What do you expect me to do? I’m not their leader.”

  “They don’t have a leader. Well, not anymore. She was incinerated in the attack.” He implied this was the reason for their aimless revolts, reminding her of her responsibility. “But you are the daughter of Kayne.”

  Aislinn rolled her eyes, frustration written all over her face. “Not you, too. I have no wish to start a revolution or become head of the London Coven. Besides, I did what Kayne requested and turned Cooper. That’s it. I’m done.”

  “You can’t always get what you want. I wanted to be a famous poet like my cousin, inspired by the sublimity of nature and pantheism to write lyrical verses. Look how that turned out. I’m a vampire who can’t walk in the sun without applying ten layers of fifty-plus protective sunscreen, and I write on a monstrous electronic tablet, the device of the industrial devil. I’ve sold out, Aislinn. My Romantic ideals have been corrupted by cold mechanization.”

  “Oh, for Vlad’s sake! Don’t be so melodramatic. You can still become a famous poet. It’s not like your time is running out.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Though it might be if you think that ten layers of fifty-plus sunscreen is equal to SPF five hundred. I hate to burst your bubble, but it isn’t. Layering sunscreen doesn’t have a higher ultraviolet block.”

  “You mean it doesn’t protect me from sunlight?” Cole asked, horrified.

  “Sorry, no,” she said unapologetically. “Not unless you want to end up like one of those exploding characters from Looney Tunes.”

  “I guess not. I like being reborn. I’d kind of like to remain among the living.” He was a little dejected at the thought that he’d never be able to bask in the sun again, but a new thought occurred to him, and Cole’s eyes brightened. “You know I love Looney Tunes. I think there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

  “I know you do. And yes, there is. There’s not enough sunscreen in the world for vampires.” Aislinn raised her eyes, scanning the horizon, then looked at Cole directly. “Have you seen the episode where the vampires try to outrun the sun?”

  His eyes brightened. “Like Count Blood Count? I love Count Blood Count!”

  She waited the length of a heartbeat.

  “Wait! What?” Cole turned rapidly, pale eyes scanning the horizon. His voice became a panicked squeak. “OMV! The sunrise! Holy Vlad balls!”

  “C’mon, Cole,” she cried, tugging at his arm to get him moving. “Looks like you’ll be testing your UV protection.”

  He didn’t think twice.

  Swallowing hard, Cole took off at a run, following his maker, ignoring the imagined sharp cramps in the muscles of his legs. He leaped over walls, dodged trees and parked cars, and tried to keep to the dark shadows on the path. None of the survival training had prepared him for the reality of this kind of strenuous activity, and he’d never faced the Abattoir since he wasn’t cut out to be in the military.

  The wind howled in his ears like an animal in pain, but at least he was still alive as he surged forward. He ran like there were hellhounds on his heels, picking up the scent of his trail.

  “Stanislav’s Underground is far easier and safer to travel through since my bike’s useless at the moment,” Aislinn said, heading at speed toward Tower Hill Tube Station. She didn’t tell him she was intent on going through the Underground anyway, and it would probably be dangerous. She knew Cole would rather take his chances with the sun.

  Even though they were only a stone’s throw from the Tube, Cole could no longer tell in what direction they were headed as the dread of imminent death set in. The autumn sky became lighter with every step, and he worried they weren’t going to reach the Underground in time. “We’re not going to make it.”

  “We are,” she said calmly. “C’mon, leg it. Get a move on, Cole.”

  “We’re going to die!” he insisted, looking hastily back over his shoulder, and then wishing he hadn’t.

  Chapter 6

  The sun’s first fiery rays stole along the pavement behind them, still at a distance, but it seemed to be hard on their tracks, licking at their heels. Cole imagined he could feel its terrible heat, even through layers of sunscreen.

  Aislinn laughed,
barely slowing her pace to accommodate the younger, less fit vampire. She could have picked him up and run with him, or just as easily thrown him the distance into the safety of the station. She did neither.

  “Cole, calm down. Look up. We’re already there. You can’t really be afraid of a little sunlight, can you? It’s not even that strong compared to summer in the Sahara. Not that I want to be caught in a desert in any season, but it could be worse.”

  Cole finally calmed down enough to get his bearings, recognizing the large red ring announcing the Tube station and the welcoming dark entrance of the Underground. “Hot, hot, hot! Thank Vlad, we made it! My skin’s so fair, I’d just burn. Do I look like a lobster to you?”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “Actually, you could do with some vitamin D. You’re too pale.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Cole said, offended. “I think I have heatstroke.”

  “Honestly, you act like you’re newly turned,” Aislinn teased, walking ahead of him. “Sometimes you’re worse than Cooper.”

  “Seriously? You have no idea how close you like to cut it, do you?” Cole grumbled irritably, causing her to turn around and look at him in surprise. “I suppose I should be used to it by now, but every time I’m with you, we end up racing the dawn. It’s like you have a death wish or something.”

  Aislinn had heard Cole complain before about her close calls with death, but she’d never given it much thought. She didn’t really think she had a death wish and was surprised to hear that this was how others might see her behavior.

  If she thought about it at all, she would have said she was like Benjamin, a bit of a thrill-seeker. But maybe that was why so many vampires were wary of tangling with her—a vampire who didn’t fear death had nothing to lose. It made her a real badass, a force to be reckoned with.

  Cole scanned the sprawling expanse of Tower Hill Station’s concourse which was largely empty due to the unusually early cold front forecasted midweek, already causing delays with commuters going to work or traveling from the country’s northern regions. He hated the Tube and avoided it as much as possible since it reminded him of the Industrial Revolution and the dirt and pollution which steam engines had brought to the beauty of the London landscape.

  It isn’t much better now.

  Wincing at the squalid tile-and-concrete walls with their thick layer of grime which no amount of cleaning could beautify, Cole wondered if facing the autumn sun wouldn’t be at least marginally better. For two hundred years, he’d written poetry about the sublimity of nature in reaction to the increasingly rapid urbanization of his beloved city, and lamented that things were only getting worse. Human beings didn’t seem to care about the Earth at all. Perhaps Caleb was right—humans were only fit to be eaten. They weren’t friends of the vampire race or the environment.

  “Cole, stop scowling. You’re scaring the humans,” Aislinn warned.

  He quickly masked his intense anger. But as always, his rage was fleeting and easily forgotten, as he seemed incapable of holding onto the emotion, something Aislinn envied.

  Briefly pausing at the electronic information display boards, he asked, “Are we headed to the Nocturne?”

  A nasally female voice crackled loudly over the speaker system, announcing expected delays and planned platform closures for weekend servicing, with replacement buses operating instead, as the display board signaled the dismal situation.

  “No, and we aren’t taking a train either, which is probably a good thing with all these delays,” Aislinn said.

  Cole was confused. “But I thought—”

  “Styx is probably closer than the Nocturne, but we’re not headed in that direction either. Don’t look at me like that. Remember, you wanted to join me—and I told you to stay at the manor house—so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  “Look, why don’t I catch up with you later?” Cole looked panicky. “As you said, Styx is close by, and it’s probably safer than whatever you have in mind.”

  Tossing her platinum-blonde hair behind her shoulders, she flicked a glance at him. “Forget it. You know how I feel about you going to that devil’s lair on your own. Your boss has made things more difficult. I’ve warned you about this. He’s protecting the dark mages and dealing in necromancy and souls.”

  “But how do you know that he’s protecting the dark mages?” Cole asked, not even batting an eyelash at the news Styx was a soul-trader. Everyone knew that. He was a demon, after all.

  Aislinn flicked a glance at Cole, realizing not many people knew of Thirteen’s intervention on behalf of Styx’s business interests, and she preferred to keep it that way for now. “Trust me. Styx is involved up to his demon horns with the dark mages. Styx is always doing business. He doesn’t care who his clients are or what rock they’ve crawled out from under.”

  “Is that why you met with Stanislav last week?” Cole asked nervously, referring to the head of the Underground Russian vampire mafia. “You’re not thinking of attacking Styx, are you?”

  “I’m no fool,” Aislinn stated bitterly. “Neutral ground. I’m not about to place my head on a chopping block by violating Styx’s rules. No, I’ll just have to find another way.”

  Cole looked dubious. “What other way?”

  “The vampire Underground.”

  Her answer surprised him. “You mean I was right? You can’t be serious. The vampire Underground? That bunch of degenerate lowlifes?”

  “I didn’t say you were right,” she replied tersely. “My meeting with Stanislav had nothing to do with Styx. Well, maybe only indirectly. But that doesn’t mean that Demurian devil isn’t going to get his comeuppance one day—and odds are that his daughter will be the one to do it, despite them playing happy families for now.”

  “His daughter? But she’s so nice,” Cole protested in disbelief.

  Aislinn wondered—and not for the first time—what la la land Cole lived in. “Nice” wasn’t a word she would have used to describe Styx’s only acknowledged offspring. That particular biatch was as dangerous as her father. Even the degenerate lowlifes of the vampire Underground, thieves and assassins, didn’t have a patch on her when she wanted to get her hands on something or someone.

  Even so, Aislinn felt it necessary to caution Cole about what they were walking into. “Whatever. Forget about Styx. And Jezebel. They’re not important right now. Just stay close to me and be on your guard. Be prepared to meet the underbelly of the vampire criminal world. Actually, it’s probably best to be prepared for anything.”

  Having offered her only warning, she hauled the reluctant Sanguis along with her to the disused, old eastbound platform. It was largely intact but had been stripped down following its closure, lending it a ghostly atmosphere. Both the platform and the stairway leading to it could be seen from passing trains, but most humans remained incurious about the dank, moldy areas below as the tunnels were now nothing more than cold, concrete crypts and cellars.

  This suited the rogue vampires working the Underground just fine. Drug dealers. Assassins. Grease-men. Thieves. Demolitions experts. Cyber-criminals. All those who were coven-less and not cashed up enough to stay at Styx for lengthy periods found their way to the Underground.

  “I don’t like this,” Cole said warily.

  “What’s to like? You shouldn’t be here.” Aislinn wanted to provoke Cole into a blood rage, which was extremely hard to do. Going through the Underground was dangerous enough without him reeking of fear like a frightened, hunted animal. The other vampires would smell it a mile away. “I told you to stay where it was safe, with Varya to protect you. I would have caught up with you after I’d made my visit to Stanislav’s domain. Now you’re here, you’re going to have to suck it up and stop whining like a defanged Nubes.”

  Cole straightened, tearing his arm out of Aislinn’s grip, affronted. “Well, if you’re going to be nasty about it, next time I won’t bother showing my concern.”

  She flashed him a look. “Next time, you and Coop
er will both do as I say. Hopefully, Caleb is knocking some sense into your brother as we speak. Boot camp will do him a world of good. It’s a pity you never made it through.”

  “It’s not my fault,” he protested. “You know how I feel about the sight of blood, especially my own.”

  “And you call yourself a vampire. Vlad help us all.” She gave a snort. Then, on a serious note, she said, “Forget it. Try to put your eyes and nose to good use instead. And be quiet, we don’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention down here.”

  Instantly alert as they descended into the tunnel’s darkness, Aislinn inhaled deeply—not to breathe, which was unnecessary, but to sniff out any danger. Her eyesight was perfectly good but as she had cautioned Cole, a vampire could smell fear a mile away. Aislinn’s sense of smell was so acute, she was able to smell the sins of humans in their body odor as if they left a trace like permanent dye when tattooed. But she didn’t expect many humans to be down here, or rather, if there were any, they were probably food for the tunnel’s residents. She wasn’t kidding when she said the vampire Underground was a dangerous place.

  Aislinn could smell traces of old blood, stale vomit, urine, and the stench of death ahead. It was offensive, but she ignored it. She’d smelled worse.

  “Aislinn?” Cole asked on a hushed note. “Why exactly are we down here? If it’s not about Styx, then what are we doing?”

  “We’re doing Stanislav a favor,” she replied cryptically and would not be drawn further on the subject.

  She had it on good intelligence the Black Magic drug labs were down here, hidden within the many twisting tunnels of the Underground. But she’d also learned the names of some of the drug lords—vampires who were willing to betray their own coven and kind for power and territory.