The Last Vampire Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  Guthrie snorted—a bitter sound. “Just think of me as a roast stuck in the freezer for a few decades to keep it fresh,” he quipped, with very little humor. “In the mean time, I funnel an obscene amount of money from investment proceeds into an untraceable Swiss bank account. And the demon doesn’t seem to give a shit if I also manage some other accounts, or if I grow rich myself.”

  “But you have to move around every few years to keep from arousing suspicion, I’m guessing?” I hazarded.

  “All of which makes him a right handy bloke to know when you need a fake identity in a hurry,” Rans finished.

  “Pfft. And here I thought you only loved me for my dashing good looks,” Guthrie said flatly.

  Rans’ smile was small, but genuine. “Don’t get mushy on me, old man. Go on, then—you look knackered. Toddle off and be your usual reclusive self; we’ll try to stay out of your hair. Lunch at Fleming’s tomorrow?”

  Guthrie rose from his stool with a grunt of acknowledgement. “Nah. Screw that upscale shit. Let’s go to Blueberry Hill. Have you ever been, Zorah?”

  I mustered a smile for him. “On the Loop? Not for years. But I look forward to it.”

  He nodded. “Good. Speaking of which, have you eaten this evening? There’s no roast duck this time, I’m afraid, but there should be plenty of options in the freezer. Just help yourself.”

  “Thanks, Guthrie,” I said, feeling like I had just gained much more of an insight into Rans’ taciturn friend. “I grabbed some fast food at the airport, so I’m good. I’ll make sure to go rummaging in the morning if I need something to tide me over until lunch, though.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he told me. “Oh, and if you don’t feel like fighting the crowds tomorrow evening, the view of the downtown fireworks display is actually pretty good from the roof even though we’re a few miles from the riverfront.”

  My body froze as my mind registered the meaning behind the innocent words. I barely noticed it when Guthrie inclined his head briefly to Rans and headed deeper into the apartment. The silence stretched for a long moment as I tried to reorient myself around the reminder of tomorrow’s date.

  “You’d lost track of the day, I take it?” Rans asked quietly. “Understandable—given, well, everything.”

  “I wasn’t even paying attention,” I managed.

  July Fourth. The date my mother had been killed. And I’d forgotten all about it.

  FOUR

  WHAT AN IDIOT I was. I’d been wandering around in a daze since Ireland. I still had one of the cheap burner phones in my possession, but I hadn’t taken it out of my suitcase in days to look at the display. The battery was probably dead by now, anyway. Even so, the date must have been plastered all over the various airports I’d been through… printed on the boarding passes, lit up on the arrivals and departures displays. I hadn’t noticed. It simply hadn’t registered.

  “Twenty years,” I breathed. Tomorrow, it would be two decades exactly since my mother was shot in front of me… and I’d forgotten all about it. Jesus, what kind of a daughter did that make me?

  “You’ve had a few other things on your plate, these last few days,” Rans said, still in the same calm voice.

  I ran a shaky hand through my curls. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” A new thought hit me. “Dad’s all alone.”

  Strong hands closed around my shoulders from behind. Rans’ fingers were cool through the fabric of my blouse. “Zorah. He’s in Dhuinne. There’s no technology. There are no calendars marked with Earthen dates hanging on the walls where he’s being kept. And, anyway, I doubt he’s alone. The cat-sidhe seemed rather attached to him.”

  Closing my eyes, I attempted to let that sink in. He was right. If Dad was in any kind of mental condition to understand the anniversary in the first place, he would still have no way of knowing it was tomorrow.

  “Okay,” I said. “Yeah. He’ll be all right. At least… as all right as he can be, under the circumstances.”

  I had to believe that, even if tears were still burning at the backs of my eyes. I refused to let them fall. I needed to think about something else. Anything else. The deep breath I drew hurt my lungs, but I felt a little better after I let it out. My fingers curled around Rans’ hand on my left shoulder. He squeezed once and let his grip fall away, sliding out from under my touch.

  “Can we… talk somewhere private?” I asked, suddenly desperate for distraction. “I have more questions.”

  “Of course, luv,” he said. “Let’s drop our luggage in one of the guest rooms, and then I know just the place.”

  For some stupid reason, a small jolt ran through me when I recognized the bed where Rans had first touched me and shared his power with my succubus nature. It was as though my emotions were on hair-trigger, ready to explode at the slightest brush. In a daze, I ran my hand over the sky-blue comforter, lying clean and pristine across the soft mattress.

  “Guess Guthrie’s cleaning service got the blood out, after all,” I said absently.

  “Hmm?” Rans asked, stowing our carryon bags out of the way in a corner.

  “This duvet,” I said. “You bled on it when we were here last time.”

  He spared the bed a glance, and I wondered what he thought about its unspoken associations. “Did I? That seems shamefully rude of me,” he quipped. “Between the cleaning bill and the artery-munching, it’s a wonder Guthrie keeps letting me come back here.”

  With that, he ushered me out of the bedroom and down a hallway. The room at the very end contained exercise equipment. One wall was made almost completely of glass, with a sliding door leading onto a rooftop patio. Beyond, the city lights sparkled, dancing through the distortions caused by the humid evening atmosphere as St. Louis surrendered the day’s heat to the sky. I took it all in, breathing deeply.

  The outdoor space was as beautiful as the rest of the place. As far as I could tell, it wrapped all the way around the penthouse suite. Large potted plants had been placed at regular intervals along the length of the concrete wall surrounding the open area. Strategically placed lights illuminated our surroundings without overpowering the spectacular view beyond.

  A hot tub bubbled away to my right, and a swim spa lay nearby, its current rippling gently. Iron patio furniture was scattered invitingly around the remaining space, making me wonder how much use the place got, given Guthrie’s apparent tendency to be reclusive.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged our host as the type to throw lavish rooftop parties,” I said, glad of the new subject to focus on.

  Rans leaned against the low wall at the edge of the building and shrugged. “He’s not exactly a social butterfly, but he is a businessman—and quite a savvy one, at that. He knows how to grease the wheels as needed.”

  “How did you two meet, anyway?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  He turned around, leaning hipshot on the wall with only empty space at his back.

  “Nigellus put me onto him, back in the early nineteen-sixties,” he said. “I think he just wanted me to keep an eye on the poor bloke… make sure he didn’t get angry enough to rat out the demon who’d made the illegal bargain with him to the Fae, or start helping the Fae Queen as a way to get revenge on demon-kind in general. We ended up getting on rather well, and it doesn’t hurt that Guthrie is an excellent investment manager.”

  I tilted my head curiously. “Does that mean Nigellus knows which demon broke the treaty and struck the bargain with him?”

  “Probably.” Rans settled his weight on his hands, regarding me. His tone turned wry. “Try getting anything out of a demon, though…”

  “Yeah—I’m beginning to understand what you mean about that,” I muttered, still irritated with myself for having left Atlantic City with nothing more than non-answers and vague reassurances from Rans’ demon mentor. “Speaking of which—like I said, I still have questions.”

  He nodded. “I may or may not have answers, but ask away.”

  It took a moment to organize my thoughts. “Right. First th
ing. This whole concept of demons actually bartering souls. I don’t… understand what that even means, in real terms. I mean, if we’ve established that Hell isn’t really a lake of fire designed to torment the sinful, then what physically happens to someone’s… soul, when a demon takes it? Is soul even the right term? You called it life-force, right?”

  Rans shrugged. “Eh. Tomato, tom-ah-to. I suppose the distinction depends on your religious and philosophical outlook, mostly.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, though,” I pressed. “What is a demon-bound person giving up, in reality? What would normally happen to their… life-force, or whatever, if they hadn’t bartered it away?”

  A grim smile tugged at one corner of Rans’ lips, and disappeared an instant later. “I’m afraid you’d have to ask someone who’s dead to get the answer to that question, luv.”

  I stared at him pointedly, and he huffed in annoyance.

  “There’s quite a difference between dead and undead, Zorah,” he said. “The clue’s in the prefix—it means ‘not.’ From the proto-Germanic, I believe.”

  “Fine,” I allowed, wrinkling my nose at him. “But if Hell is just another world rather than a realm of eternal punishment, is there also a Heaven?”

  He considered me across the distance separating us. “According to the demons, there’s an angelic realm, yes. But there’s no passage into it from the other worlds, and angels show no interest in intervening with the other races. They haven’t for eons, apparently.”

  Okay, this was good. This topic was interesting enough—and important enough—that for now, I could successfully put aside thoughts of tomorrow. Of my parents, and everything I’d lost.

  I nodded my understanding.

  “All right. So we can discount angels. Good to know, I guess.” I drew in a breath and tried to summarize. “Basically, then, if a human dies, no one knows what happens to their life-force. Maybe it dissipates into the universe, or maybe it’s transferred somewhere. Maybe the Buddhists have it right, and it’s reborn into, I dunno… a mollusc or something.”

  “A mollusc?” Rans echoed, giving me an odd look.

  “Or something,” I reiterated. “But if you’re bound to a demon, they vacuum up your life-force when you die, and add it to their own power.”

  “More or less. At least, so I’m told.”

  I frowned. “And what’s so horrible about that? I still feel like I’m missing something.”

  Rans looked at me with mild astonishment. “What’s so horrible about it? I think your succubus blood is starting to show around the edges, luv.” When I only looked blank, he continued. “Guthrie mentioned the metaphorical axe over his head.”

  “He called it a guillotine,” I corrected. “So, you’re saying the demon might decide to harvest his soul at any time?”

  “Quite so.”

  That made sense. “Okay, I get it. They could keep you on ice for decades, or centuries, even, and just randomly decide to kill you one day. Yeah, I can definitely see where that would mess with a person.”

  I flopped down in one of the wrought iron chairs and chewed on a thumbnail.

  “You seem very interested in the subject all of the sudden,” Rans observed.

  I lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “It’s a distraction, isn’t it? I kind of need one at the moment. Also, I need to know as much as I can about this stuff, in case I end up getting stuck in Hell despite my demon heritage.”

  His expression shuttered, and I gathered he still wasn’t on board with my decision to go and see Dad, come hell or high water.

  So to speak.

  I forged ahead. “Next question. If demons get their power from eating other people’s souls, but they’re not supposed to interfere on Earth anymore because of the treaty, then how do they keep from starving?”

  But Rans only shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. Human souls aren’t the demons’ version of fish and chips. They’re immortal in the literal sense. They can’t starve for the lack of something. Absorbing life force is more like… erm, what’s a good metaphor? It’s more like a RAM upgrade for your computer. Having it makes the computer more powerful, but the thing would still work just fine with the RAM that came from the factory.”

  Understanding dawned. “Ah. So it’s a pecking order thing, not a survival thing.”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way,” Rans agreed. “There are different kinds of demons, as you’re aware. All of them can barter souls. Incubi and succubi can also draw power through sex—from humans, or from other demons.”

  “From Fae, too?” I asked curiously.

  “Evidently,” he said. “At least, you didn’t seem to have a problem doing so.”

  I flushed, not pleased at the reminder.

  “There are also imps,” he continued. “They tend to attach themselves to any being or location with magic, and are able to draw power from that. Then there are demons of fate. They draw power from the fabric of reality itself.”

  I thought of the timeless depths of Nigellus’ eyes. “I’m guessing Nigellus is one of those?” I asked.

  “A very powerful one, yes.” Rans crossed his arms, a hint of tension visible in his shoulders.

  Maybe that little tidbit should have surprised me. Somehow, it didn’t.

  “Did he take a lot of human souls before the treaty?” I wasn’t sure why, but the idea bothered me.

  Rans’ blue gaze grew very serious, and his eyes held mine unblinkingly. “Don’t ever underestimate him, Zorah. Nigellus is legion, and he contains multitudes.”

  The words sent a shiver along the length of my spine.

  “He’s your friend, though,” I said, not sure if I was arguing with him, or just trying to understand. For some reason, I desperately wanted Nigellus to be one of the good guys, despite the fact that he was a demon.

  Like me.

  “He has been… my haven, when things are at their darkest,” Rans said, very carefully. “He’s the one who found me after the Fae destroyed the rest of my race, and prevented me from following them into true death when I learned what had happened. I suspect… he may also be the one who negotiated for my life at the end of the war.”

  Your continued survival is mandated within a clause of the peace treaty, vampire, the Fae Magistrate had told him.

  My throat grew tight.

  “I guess that puts Nigellus firmly on the same side we are,” I managed eventually.

  Rans’ gaze never wavered. “I hope it does,” was all he said.

  I hoped so, too. “Anything else I should know about him?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Edward is bound to him. He has been for a very long time.”

  I let that sink in, thinking of the sweet octogenarian butler.

  “Another treaty violation?” I asked in surprise. If nothing else, it seemed far too blatant an act for someone as canny as Nigellus.

  But Rans shook his head. “When I say he has been for a very long time, luv, I mean exactly that. There was no treaty when Nigellus bound Edward to him.”

  “Whoa.” I blinked, fitting that piece of information into the puzzle that was my life now. “Okay, so Uncle Demon has been keeping Edward on ice for centuries, instead of gobbling him down for the extra power? Why?”

  Rans pushed away from the low wall and wandered along it, looking out across the city. “Because he likes him, presumably. Edward claims Nigellus has given him the final say over the time and manner of his death, and I believe him. If Nigellus were planning to harvest Edward, he’d have done it when things turned against the demons during the war. When he needed additional power the most.”

  Some of my fresh misgivings about Nigellus eased. I silently decided that if I did end up stuck in Hell and needed a demon-bond to get out, I’d ask Nigellus rather than anyone else. Assuming, of course, that I could be demon-bound in the first place, when I already had a life-bond with Rans.

  Something told me that asking whether that was possible wouldn’t go down well, so I kept si
lent on the subject. With luck, I’d have the magical key to Hell’s door encoded into my succubus DNA, and the subject would never come up.

  Thinking of the life-bond brought me around to another thing, though.

  “Next question,” I said. Rans glanced over his shoulder at me, so I rose and went to stand next to him. Beyond us, St. Louis glimmered like a million jewels in the dark. “You said demons can will some of their power through a bond with a human to extend their life indefinitely. Can vampires?”

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

  I let my shoulder brush his. “Can you push power through the life-bond to extend my life, so you won’t be sentenced to death with me in a few decades?”

  He looked so surprised that I almost wanted to shake him. The urge grew stronger when he said, “You seem far more concerned about that eventuality than I am, you know.”

  I scowled up at him. “I heard what you told Nigellus about being ‘weary of life.’ That doesn’t mean I like what I heard.”

  His face closed off. “No, luv. I can’t magically stop you from aging. Not by—” He paused, then gave a faint shake of his head and continued. “Not by pushing power at you. If I could do that, I’d just lock you up somewhere so we could shag each other day and night until you got tired of me. It certainly sounds a lot more enjoyable than most of the other available alternatives.”

  My treacherous demon nature agreed with him. I shifted restlessly, attempting to ease the sudden ache between my legs. “Now you’re just trying to distract me,” I accused.

  “Too right,” he agreed. “Is it working?”

  Bastard. Almost despite myself, I reached up a hand to cup his cheek, drawing him down until his lips covered mine in a kiss. My arms went around him, pulling him to me until we were pressed together from chest to knees.

  Clearly, it was working very well.

  FIVE

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING brought with it an almost unbearable heaviness, as the significance of the date hit me at the same time as the blinding morning sun.