Siren's Song

by Karen Chance

  “Mage Pritkin! Damn it, wake up!”

  John swallowed and glanced around, but there was no one that close. Except for one of the burly guards, who was standing nearby, leaning on what appeared to be an old-fashioned battle-axe. But he wasn’t saying anything. And even if he had been, John didn’t think he would sound like Minnie Mouse!

  John tried to shake his head to clear it, but that earned him a glance from the guard, so he stopped and lolled some more. Which changed his field of vision, allowing him to notice something rather odd. Make that very odd, he thought in alarm, as something began wriggling and squirming and moving about under the fabric of his shirt.

  Something alive.

  John was desperate to throw a spell to do what his hands could not, but there were too many mages in the crowd who might notice the magic, and weres who could smell it. He couldn’t take the chance when he was the only corpsman still conscious. But he also couldn’t lie there while some creature ate him alive! Which is what it felt like it was doing, with something sharp piercing his skin like—like—like—

  Like a tiny golden stiletto?

  John stared as a mostly naked and entirely pissed off temple dancer emerged from under a rip in his shirt, her face red and her ceremonial headdress askew.

  She was somewhat 3-D, with the lines of her body raised against the skin of his chest like a colorful bruise. But mostly, she was flat, except for certain assets that she was adjusting grumpily, while pulling her hat back into place. She finally managed it and then glared up at him, pushing tumbled black hair out of her eyes.

  “Finally! About time you listen to—”

  John freed his right hand and clapped it over her. And then glanced wildly around, to see if anybody had noticed. It didn’t look like anybody had, possibly because she wasn’t there, being merely the product of his fevered imagination!

  Or possibly because a fight had just broken out.

  And, for once, it didn’t involve a war mage.

  Instead, it was a vampire who went sailing across the large open area—literally. He wasn’t staggering back from a savage blow, as is usually the case when that phrase is used. He was literally flying as if shot out of a cannon. He burst through the two barn-like doors where John had come in, letting in a greenish swath of light that spotlighted the only other vamp in the clearing.

  John recognized him as the creature who had brought him here, and who was currently being jumped by at least a dozen smaller men—because every man in there was smaller—but who did not appear to be overly worried about it. If anything, he just looked bored.

  A moment later John found out why. Everybody did. And, for the first time since he’d entered the room, the noise level died down.

  Well, except for the shrieking.

  Luckily for them, the vampire’s assailants were all vampires themselves, which meant that they might survive having their heads ripped off, or having a leg separated from the rest of their bodies so that the big vamp could beat them with it, or being pulled in two. Part of the latter specimen—a torso with a stunned looking face—scuttled across the floor and stopped near John, where the bloody yellow-white column of his spine slithered back and forth, back and forth across the floor, making tracks in the dirt like the tail of a snake.

  Or a scorpion, John thought dazedly, when it suddenly arched upward, as if searching for its body’s missing half.

  John’s horrified gaze went from the carnage in front of him to the creature who had caused it. The breadth of chest and shoulders would have done a gladiator proud, although the big vampire was dressed more like a fashion model. He rather looked like one, too, something John hadn’t had much of an opportunity to notice before now, considering that most of what he’d seen of him had been fist. But the knife-edged jaw with the slightly cleft chin, the glittering black eyes, and the sleek black hair, which was somehow still perfectly styled, made him look vaguely like a Chinese superman.

  Of course, there were other reasons for that.

  A bigger than average vamp jumped off the dais to try his luck while the monster was busy with someone else. He was wielding what John assumed to be a pair of scimitars, based on the curvature of the blades, but he couldn’t be sure. They were moving so fast that they looked like airplane propellers while the craft was still in motion, just two silver blurs.

  Until the large vamp spun and kicked some dirt in the sabre wielder’s face. And when that caused him to falter, grabbed him by the throat, snapped his neck and threw the twitching body back onto the dais. Where it was toed off by one of the vampires standing near a trio of thrones, with a slight moue of distaste.

  The duel, if such it had been, was over almost before it began, and now the huge vamp was speaking to the people on the platform. John couldn’t understand him, and not just because of the language barrier. But because the chorus in the gallery seats had started up again and become even louder than before. John stared at them groggily, the noise, pain and blood loss making it almost impossible to think straight.

  Until another hard jab to his thigh refocused his attention.

  He risked a look under his hand, hoping against hope that the crack to his skull hadn’t been that bad. Perhaps he’d simply had a mental hiccup. Perhaps the memory spell had coughed up a flicker from the recent past. Perhaps he’d merely picked up an angry insect.

  It wasn’t an insect.

  It was, however, seriously pissed off.

  “Get your hand off me,” the tiny thing snapped. “I have a cost!”

  “What?”

  A miniscule finger came up, tipped with an even tinier bright gold nail, and waggled at him. “You pay to play, big boy, or no touchy touchy!”

  “What?”

  “I said—” The little creature stopped, and the tiny forehead crinkled. She suddenly started examining herself, and seemed as surprised as John by what she found. She finally looked up. “What you do to me?”

  John stared down at the vision of loveliness on his chest in complete confusion. She looked like a tattoo—of the magical variety. Some of those could move, like the sleek tiger currently prowling around the big vampire’s face. And most of them had a purpose beyond just the cosmetic: they enhanced a trait for the wearer, provided extra power to spellcasting, or formed an added layer of protection beyond a person’s personal shields. They were many and varied, but they all had one thing in common: they took as long to apply as human tattoos, and were just as painful.

  So, what the hell was this?

  It was the girl from the phone booth, the one he’d last seen on a business card touting her mistress’s charms. A business card that he’d lost track of in the carnage, but which might have gotten stuck to his shield at some point. Like about the time the huge wave of magic hit?

  Had it gotten sandwiched between the wave and his shields and, once they were retracted, somehow transferred itself to his skin? It was his best guess, although he’d never heard of such a thing. But clearly something had happened.

  Leaving him with perhaps the first temporary tattoo in the magical world.

  “I’m . . . not sure,” John finally whispered.

  “Well, that no good, is it?” she demanded, taking out a tiny mirror. And then shrieking in alarm when she saw her face. “I have a beard! I have a beard! Why I have a beard?” Some incoherent Cantonese cursing followed, along with more glaring at John. “You so hairy!”

  John had no idea what he would have responded to that, but he wasn’t given a chance. Because the crowd roared again, and he looked up to see the massive vampire striding purposefully in his direction. Well . . . fuck.

  He managed to get his shirt front closed and his hand back behind him, although it hardly mattered. The next second, he was being jerked up, the ropes burning his skin as they fell off, and being towed forward. Away from the relative shelter of the barrels and into the big open space.

  Where he was flung on his knees in front of the thrones.

  Chapter Nine

 
; R elax, they don’t know who you are. The big vamp’s voice echoed in his head, causing John to twitch. That’s why I messed up your face a little.

  “A little?”

  Stop whining. And why are your eyes closed?

  John hastily dropped the glamourie over his eyelids and rearranged his expression, not that it mattered. A second later he was being shoved flat against the dirty floor, why he didn’t know. Until he realized: he’d just been put in the traditional kowtow pose of respect in front of the dais.

  He was left there, with a heavy boot on his neck, while the big vampire talked to a trio who John assumed were the triad leadership. He wasn’t sure since Cantonese was not one of his languages and translation spells were shite at the best of times, not that he could risk using one at the moment. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

  “They say they kill you all,” the tiny dancer whispered, from a new perch on his collarbone. He was bent over like a pretzel, ensuring that she was right by his ear. “But Zheng-zi, he say no.”

  “Zheng-zi?” John whispered.

  “Senator Zheng he is now, or so my mistress heard—”

  “A senator?”

  “Mmhm.” Her voice changed from the somewhat strident tones she had been using to something soft and breathy. “Isn’t he dreamy? My mistress say she’d visit him for free.”

  John ignored that last bit of information in favor of the more relevant part. By senator, he assumed she meant a member of one of the six vampire senates that governed the world’s fanged population the way the Silver Circle did for magical humans. Or they were supposed to.

  He’d heard that the Chinese consul, who led the East Asian Court, was mostly content to collect her taxes and leave the denizens of Rogue’s Harbor to their own devices. But perhaps he’d heard wrong. Maybe there was some oversight, after all.

  John’s mood perked up slightly.

  Of course, senators could be complete bastards—indeed, he often thought that was part of the job description—but they did tend to care about things that other vampires did not. Like the fact that killing off a fuck ton of war mages when they were currently allies with the Circle against a greater foe might not be the best idea. Perhaps that explained why the creature was helping him, if help this was.

  Only it didn’t seem to be going well. John couldn’t currently see the people on the dais from his position, but he had gotten a glimpse on the way down. And he’d been trained to pay attention.

  The figure on the left was a woman, Korean by the look of her, in an outfit that blended pirate chic with modern sensibilities: a red silk shirt, a pair of brown leather trousers and matching boots, and a bright blue headscarf. It was a somewhat masculine outfit, but she had brightened it up with ropes of jewels around her neck. Not necklaces, exactly, but golden chains strung with miscellaneous small items: men’s signet rings and old-fashioned watch fobs, ladies’ lockets and brooches and a large emerald crucifix, earrings that could have come from either sex, and a few odd additions that took him a moment to identify: horn buttons, an ornamental shoe buckle, hat pins looped around on themselves to make oddly shaped pendants, and a huge citrine bead. There appeared to be hundreds in all, and judging by their designs, they spanned a great swath of time.

  Trophies, John thought, and felt his skin crawl.

  He wondered what she’d take from him.

  The middle chair and the one on the right were occupied by men, with the vampire in the center being the obvious leader. That was a bit surprising since he wasn’t Chinese. He was an older man, if that meant anything when discussing beings who were technically immortal, and not only looked Japanese but was dressed the part in golden medieval emperor’s garb. It contrasted with his modern haircut and the Omega watch on one wrist, but John had to admit that it drew the eye. Unlike his younger looking companion’s sleek gray business suit, which next to all that splendor rather faded into the background.

  The younger man looked Chinese, but so far, he hadn’t said a word. Maybe because he couldn’t get one in edgewise. The Korean woman and the emperor were shouting at each other, at Zheng, and at what appeared to be half the audience, who were not shy about expressing their opinions.

  The tales he’d heard about Asian deference to authority appeared to have been somewhat overstated, John thought dizzily.

  It didn’t take long for things to get heated. To the point that he started to wonder if there was about to be another fight, and what exactly he was going to do if there was. But he was jerked back to his feet before he could decide.

  “The city masters want to know what the Corps is doing here,” Zheng told him, taking over the role of interpreter. “I have to admit to a certain curiosity myself.”

  “They’re enthralled,” John rasped, his throat still sore from all the screaming he’d done back in the ally. “They don’t know what they’re doing. Someone is using them—”

  He cut off because there seemed to be plenty of people in the crowd who spoke English, and they hadn’t liked that answer. “It’s true,” John yelled, to be heard over the uproar. “We’re not your enemies!”

  Annnnnd they liked one that even less.

  Several of the spectators suddenly ran at him, one with a drawn dagger, only to get smacked back into the stands by Zheng. It was a somewhat impressive feat considering that he still had the nape of John’s neck in his other hand. “If you want to live, let me do the talking,” he told John, as if he hadn’t just asked a damned question!

  Then he struck him.

  The blow was hard enough to send John back to his knees, his head ringing, but it quieted the crowd. Which meant that he could almost hear the words the creature on the central throne was saying. Not that he understood them.

  But then, he didn’t need to.

  “He doesn’t believe you,” Zheng said, as the man gestured threateningly at the cages. “What he does believe is that the Corps needs a lesson in respecting other people’s sovereignty, one written in blood. If you have a reason—a good reason—why that isn’t the case, I would mention it now.”

  John didn’t hesitate. His training had covered this sort of thing, too, and even if it hadn’t, there weren’t a lot of options. Not with a crowd currently baying for his blood.

  A very expensively dressed crowd.

  Like the Korean woman, most of the throng had on a combination of expensive designer clothes and pirate chic, with all of it dripping in jewelry. Money clearly mattered here, and the status that went with it. And people who like money tend to like more of it.

  “Ransom,” he croaked, and saw the emperor’s eyes light up.

  Apparently, that was a word he knew.

  “The Corps will buy them back from you,” John said loudly. “All of them, as long as they’re alive, and at a generous price—”

  “Good answer,” Zheng murmured.

  But not good enough. Because the Korean woman, at least, was not interested in ransom. The Korean woman wanted blood.

  “Hye-Jin say money not bring back her dead,” the temple dancer whispered, causing Zheng to start a little. And then to stare at what was visible in the darkness beneath John’s shirt collar. But he didn’t say anything, including about the Korean woman’s comment, and neither did John. Because what do you reply to that?

  John decided he’d better think of something.

  “We’ll also help you get to the bottom of this,” he promised. “Find out who is really behind it—”

  “She say she already know who behind it,” the dancer said, as Hye-Jin jumped off the dais and started for John.

  Zheng stepped in between them, so fast that John didn’t even see him move. The big vamp and the small woman had a standoff that made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand up from all the power suddenly being flung around. It felt likely to give him a sunburn.

  But not because of Zheng. The big vampire didn’t wince, didn’t flinch, didn’t give any outward sign that he’d even noticed. He also didn’t reciprocate, keeping
his own power on a tight leash. He obviously wanted to avoid another fight, probably because a good number of the people in the stands were sworn to the woman, judging by how many had on matching headscarves. And powerful or not, he couldn’t take on the whole room.

  And neither could John.

  But he knew someone who could.

  “Jonas Marsden!” he yelled, loudly enough that the woman flinched.

  “What about him?” she snarled.

  So, she could speak English when she felt like it.

  “You have two choices,” John said, equally harshly. “You can negotiate with him—I can open a channel for you right here, right now—and take a king’s ransom for each of these men—”

  “I don’t give a damn about—”

  But the woman was cut off by the emperor, or whoever he was, saying something with a slash of his hand. And the next moment, a dozen vampires in ancient golden armor suddenly appeared and encircled John, adding their bulk to Zheng’s protection. It worried him that the old man had thought he needed it, but the way the woman’s eyes flashed, he might have been right.

  “Or?” Zheng said pointedly.

  “Or, you can refuse and kill these men—who I assure you, did not know what they were doing—and afterwards you will meet Lord Protector Marsden. But it will be on his terms, at a time of his choosing. And I doubt that any of you will survive it!”

  The woman moved. John didn’t see her, hear her, or have any other warning that his senses could track. But since her fist was suddenly around his throat and he was dangling an inch or two off the floor, he felt fairly safe in making the assumption.

  The fist squeezed, but it looked like he could manage a shield, after all, when the incentive was sufficient. Because try as she might, his neck didn’t snap under her hand. Until her eyes began to glow, and his shields began to retract, crumpling under the pressure and threatening to choke him out.

  Then he was suddenly back on the floor, gasping and retching beneath the protection of a slew of golden clad spears, while the woman and the emperor screamed at each other some more.