Devil's Cry

by Shayne Silvers

  I climbed to my feet and sighed irritably. “My apologies. Excuse me for just a moment.” I noticed a bar nestled up against the back wall and made my way past several tables of wine-guzzling guests bedecked in gems and furs. No one sat at the bar, leaving the lone bartender—a thin man with a curled, bushy mustache wearing suspenders over his white dress-shirt—with nothing to do but polish glasses with a white towel. I called Dr. Stein, lifting the phone to my ear as I sat down at the bar. “I’ll take a chianti,” I told the bartender, recalling Hugo’s favorite wine.

  He nodded, plucking out a fresh bottle and a clean glass, understanding that I was not in the mood for conversation.

  “About time!” Dr. Stein snapped. “You told me to rush the blood tests and then you don’t answer!”

  “I didn’t think you’d get results so fast,” I muttered. “What did you find?”

  Nosh suddenly appeared beside me, almost making me fall out of my chair as I hurriedly switched ears in an effort to get the phone as far away from him as possible. He shot me a curious look before turning to the bartender and clearing his throat as he sat down.

  The bartender was still uncorking the wine bottle, so he flashed Nosh a polite look. “Just a moment, sir. I’ll be right with you.”

  Nosh nodded, waving a hand to let him know he wasn’t in a rush. Another waitress slipped into the bar area, glancing briefly at the bartender who was still fighting with the cork, having partially turned his back to me to mask his struggle. “Don’t worry, Matthew. I’ll get it.” Then she turned to Nosh, smiling brightly. “What can I get for you?”

  The bartender paused to glance over his shoulder with a frown. “My name isn’t Matthew. It’s Oliver,” he muttered grumpily before resuming his fight for my simple glass of wine.

  She smiled at Nosh, completely ignoring Oliver’s wounded pride as she flicked her head of thick, wavy brown hair over her shoulder. “First day. It’s hard to remember all the names. Speaking of names, mine is Winnie,” she said, leaning closer with an inviting grin, her pale skin was almost translucent.

  “I’ll take a dirty martini,” Nosh said absently, not seeming to care one way or another—about her, her name, or the drink. I had no idea what a dirty martini was, but my solitary bar had just turned into a social gathering—exactly what I had wanted to avoid. Especially with the subject of my conversation sitting right next to me. Winnie was unperturbed by Nosh’s disinterest as she began mixing up a brew from various bottles she found below the bar, pouring them into a metal cup which she promptly began to shake loudly as she smiled coyly at Nosh, obviously determined to catch his attention. She was cute, but it was blatantly obvious that the stoic shaman had no interest in her or anyone else other than Isabella. In fact, he was glancing back at our table, smiling privately at our women—

  “Are you listening to me?” Dr. Stein demanded.

  I flinched involuntarily. “Sorry. It’s loud here. I’m listening,” I told her.

  Winnie began to pour Nosh’s drink into a strange glass, spilling some onto the mahogany bar since she was too focused on trying to bat her eyelashes at the obtuse shaman. My own glass of wine was set before me at almost the same time.

  “Thanks, Oliver,” I said, reaching for my glass.

  “I assume he’s sitting nearby since you haven’t said his name,” Dr. Stein said, sounding as if she was speaking quietly—although it was hard to tell as Winnie resumed her attempts to entangle Nosh into a conversation as she slid the sloppy drink closer to him.

  “You’re Nosh Griffin, right? I’ve seen you on the news,” the bartender said, smiling at him.

  “Yes,” he replied politely.

  “Yes,” I said into the phone, at almost the same time. “Victoria and I are having dinner with Nosh and Isabella,” I said, heavily enunciating the name in an effort to get Winnie to shut the hell up.

  Winnie shot me a brief, irritated look before turning back to Nosh, leaning forward to prop her elbow onto the bar and rest her narrow chin in her palm. “Go ahead. Try it, Nosh,” she said, letting his name slide across her tongue in a way that seemed highly inappropriate.

  I rolled my eyes and saw Oliver doing the same, frowning disapprovingly at Winnie’s blatant attempts to snag Nosh with her feminine wiles. Nosh turned back to the bar, finally peeling his eyes away from Isabella to glance down at his drink.

  “Okay,” Dr. Stein said. “I took some magical liberties with my tests, not bothering with the scientific method since this is a rush. Nero has been exceedingly helpful in teaching me to color outside of the lines.” That sounded ominous, but I couldn’t speak openly, so I continued listening without interruption. “I had plenty of Nosh’s blood to use since I tended him after his injuries a few weeks ago,” Dr. Stein said, choosing her words carefully.

  I nodded, listening closely as I stared at the mahogany bar. What seemed to be faint tendrils of mist drifted up from where Winnie had spilled Nosh’s drink, and I idly wondered again what the hell a dirty martini was.

  He said something to Winnie, but I didn’t catch it over Dr. Stein’s voice in my ear. “I haven’t run your blood yet, but I ran his against samples from both of his parents, and they were matches.”

  I blinked in confusion, watching the strange tendrils on the bar as they shifted harmlessly back and forth. I wasn’t sure where she had acquired blood samples from his parents, and I couldn’t very well ask with Nosh sitting right beside me. “That’s impossible.”

  “My thoughts as well, but this test doesn’t lie,” Dr. Stein said. “Even though I haven’t finished running yours yet, this indirectly gives you your answer. Unless you’re related to his parents as well, he is not your son.”

  I stared at the bar counter, blinking slowly as I tried to process her simple statement. All I could hear was a dull roar in my ears as part of my heart that had recently been rekindled was instantly extinguished.

  6

  The strange vapor on the bar shifted back and forth as Nosh swirled his glass in slow, lazy circles, an idle gesture, as Winnie laughed loudly at something he’d said.

  “I don’t think that’s possible, but I don’t know,” I admitted. Deganawida had said that Nosh was a descendant of my original tribe, but I couldn’t recall if Deganawida had known that Nosh had been adopted. Perhaps the Medicine Man had really meant that the Griffins were descendants of the tribe, which might also explain Mina Harker’s interest in them. She worked for Dracula, and Dracula hated the tribe.

  But how could his blood match theirs if he’d been adopted?

  “I’ll have to call you back. Thank you,” I said numbly, realizing that our dinner was at an end—even though we hadn’t eaten a thing.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, boy,” Dr. Stein warned. For the first time, I sensed a matronly concern hidden in her tone, but my mind was too distracted to acknowledge it. “I need to see you in person about the Phoenix project anyway. I should have the rest of the blood tests in an hour or so. Stevie and Renfield are working with Nero on them as we speak. You should come by. Stevie has a dozen wolves patrolling the marina so it’s safe for you to come without anyone noticing.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” Then I hung up, lifting my wine to my lips in an attempt to fill up the sudden hollow sensation in my chest. I wasn’t sure why it hurt to learn that he wasn’t my son, but…

  It did.

  A lot.

  As frustrated as I had been about the lies it would imply, I had obviously been hoping for it. To learn that my son had not only survived, but that I was having dinner with him and a woman he cared about, would have been wonderful.

  Winnie’s laughter raked across my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Cease that incessant screeching, girl. You’ll attract feral cats if you keep it up,” I growled, settling a glare on Winnie.

  Her laughter cut off abruptly and I sensed Nosh turning to me with a startled look, lowering the drink he had been about to taste. Her face blushed bright red and her shoulders wilt
ed.

  Oliver had a panicked look on his face, shooting his attention from me to Winnie, uncertain whether he should defend his coworker or agree with his customer. Nosh slowly shook his head. “That was unkind,” he said gently.

  I gritted my teeth, unable to meet Nosh’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, sir,” Winnie apologized. “I was just trying to be friendly. It’s my first day and I’m nervous, is all.”

  I didn’t care about her hollow apology. There was professional courtesy and there was desperate, pitiful flirting. Winnie hadn’t acted even remotely professional or genuine, especially after I’d spoken Isabella’s name. That single name should have instantly ended her ruse. Whatever game she was playing, I could see right through it.

  I’d met thousands of women like her—throwing themselves at the feet of powerful men, hoping that a faux act of adoration would net them a fine catch. She would get no forgiveness from me. Better for her to learn her lesson early.

  Powerful men gobbled up girls like Winnie by the dozens, forgetting their names the moment they got what they wanted, leaving them tarnished and jaded like discarded, broken dolls to litter the streets of the forgotten pages of history.

  And I was having a hard-enough time trying to calm my own turbulent emotions. Because I wanted to kill something. To destroy something priceless. To drink an ocean of blood. I settled for my wine, careful not to break the stem of the glass in my grip as I guzzled it down in one swift pull.

  I carefully set down the glass, locking my attention onto the wooden surface so that I didn’t spout any further cruelty to the desperate bartender. My eyes settled on the shifting tendrils of fog—which no one else seemed to have noticed. Or maybe they didn’t care because they all knew what a dirty martini was. I was the only ignorant one at the bar, after all.

  I belted out a harsh laugh, shaking my head at the humorless, unspoken joke.

  “Are you alright?” Nosh asked warily.

  I peeled my gaze away from the strange tendril of vapor on the bar to look over at him as he lifted his drink to his lips. “We’re leaving,” I said abruptly, standing to my feet.

  Nosh froze, his eyes widening as he lowered the glass without drinking. “What?” he asked, sounding baffled. “We haven’t even eaten yet.” He glanced at the phone in my fist and frowned. “Who—”

  “We’re leaving,” I repeated, cutting him off as I shoved the phone into my pocket.

  “Oh, don’t leave,” Winnie said sadly. “Finish your drink at least. You haven’t even tried it yet,” she complained sadly, sniffling in fake tears to garner his sympathy.

  I turned to glare at her and her inane comment just as she was wiping her forearm across her nose, but she wasn’t looking at me, proving my point about her ridiculous, suicidal game.

  “Good idea, Winnie,” Nosh said, lifting his glass in my peripheral vision. “I have a feeling I might need a drink to understand what the hell he’s talking about,” Nosh said in a gruff, disapproving tone. “And why he’s being unnecessarily cruel.”

  I hesitated as the familiar scent of hot blood struck my nostrils and I saw a fresh drop of blood roll down Winnie’s upper lip. She hardly seemed to notice, staring hungrily at Nosh, gripping the bar with both hands. Another drop of blood rolled down her lips and I saw the strange vapor shifting across the surface of the bar.

  I suddenly hissed, backhanding the drink away from Nosh’s mouth just before it touched his lips. The dirty martini splashed all over Winnie and she let out a sudden gasp. Then she simply disappeared, leaving her clothes and a pair of shoes behind the bar.

  Nosh’s instinctive anger transformed to disbelief, and I noticed heads swiveling our way from nearby tables. Oliver stared from me to the pile of empty clothes, his eyes widening in confusion and horror. I sensed him taking a deep breath before opening his mouth to shout out an alarm as his eyes locked onto mine, assuming I had just killed the new bartender, Winnie.

  I enthralled him in the blink of an eye and his mouth clicked shut. Sing, I told him, using our sudden connection to make him obey my silent command. He instantly began to belt out Happy Birthday, of all things, at the top of his lungs, drawing every eye in the restaurant.

  I gripped Nosh by the elbow and forced him back towards our table, plastering an embarrassed smile on my face while my eyes darted warily from face-to-face, searching for any other threats. “What the fuck, Sorin,” Nosh demanded in a breathy whisper, but he let me guide him back to our table, unable to deny that I’d just saved his life.

  “Winnie just tried to kill you,” I said, gritting my teeth as the other diners began to clap and sing along with Oliver, assuming I was the shy birthday boy trying to flee from Oliver’s song. Victoria and Isabella were staring at us in blatant confusion, crooked smiles on their faces as they likely wondered if this was some orchestrated surprise that Nosh and I had cooked up for them as a special treat.

  I jolted to see that Isabella’s nose was bleeding, and that her crooked smile was actually a delirious expression frozen onto her cheeks. Nosh cursed, lunging for her just as her eyes rolled back into her skull and she passed out.

  7

  Nosh managed to catch Isabella just before her face struck the table, and Victoria leapt to her feet, spinning to stare at me with wide, startled eyes.

  “We’re leaving,” I commanded. “Now—”

  Victoria abruptly reached back into her hair with a snarl, yanking one of the silver chop-stakes out and hurling it over my shoulder. I sensed the threat behind me the moment her projectile left her fingers—too late to save myself. The silver metal missed me by a finger’s width, and I heard a sudden gargling sound from over my shoulder.

  I spun and saw a vampire crumple to his knees, blood burning away to ash around the silver chop-stake through his eye, radiating outward like cracking ice. Diners instantly leapt to their feet in a collective gasp, and I realized I only had seconds to save their lives.

  I pulled deep on my blood reserves, using up a ridiculous amount of energy to enthrall everyone except Nosh, Victoria, and Isabella in a brute-force blast that left twinkling stars at the edges of my vision. Sleep, I commanded, not having time for finesse. Oliver’s song instantly cut off and the humans all dropped bonelessly where they had been standing or seated, catapulting bowls of soup, drinks, and plates of food up into the air in a messy chain reaction.

  Other than my party, only three men remained standing. Two wore the clothing of the wait-staff and one man wore a white apron, walking out from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about. The three of them took one look at the piles of sleeping bodies and narrowed their eyes, baring their fangs at me as they comprehended that their efforts had been foiled.

  Vampires had crashed our dinner party.

  And I’d just used up a good portion of my blood reserves to enthrall the entire restaurant. In the past few weeks, Dracula must have sent more of his army to New York City, hoping to amass a small force that might be capable of taking me out without a full-blown war.

  It’s what I would have done in his shoes. Luckily, I’d anticipated the move, which was why I’d been working so tirelessly with Gabriel to increase our own numbers. It was also why I’d spend an exorbitant amount of money on project Phoenix with Dr. Stein and Nero.

  But that didn’t explain Winnie. She definitely hadn’t been a vampire, and I feared that she might have found a way to kill or injure Isabella, judging by the sudden nosebleed she and Winnie both suffered. But what had been in the drink to make her simply disappear? Had she actually died or was she still here? Her final gasp had sounded fatal.

  Victoria crouched down beside me and tugged her chop-stake free from the dead vampire—who had also been wearing a wait-staff disguise. How had they known where to find us? Had they simply enthralled their way into the restaurant, posing as employees? And why hadn’t I sensed them?

  Victoria unceremoniously stabbed him in the heart for good measure—or petty violence for ruining her
date night—and then pulled it back out, wiping off the blood on his suit.

  Then she stood, grinning savagely at the three remaining vampires as her hand drifted to her purse. “Sorin, this might just turn out to be the best date I’ve ever had.”

  The three vampires pulled out gleaming knives from their suits—definitely not from the restaurant’s silverware collection—and began throwing them at us. I leapt up onto the nearest table, hoping to block my friends from the projectiles—especially Nosh and the unconscious Isabella. Three concussive blasts rocked the restaurant as Victoria whipped out her pistol, and two of the vampires went down in an explosion of gore as their heads simply exploded.

  She had her gun loaded with the silver bullets that had almost killed me a few weeks ago—the ones that shattered into tiny silver fragments on impact.

  The third vampire—the one in the apron—was mine. I batted away one knife as another sliced into my side with a fiery flash of pain. But I didn’t stop running, hopping from one table to the next. I stepped onto an old woman’s head, shoving her face deeper into her bowl of soup as I used her skull as a steppingstone to tackle the last vampire. My claws ripped through his chest and out his back just as he was preparing to throw another knife.

  I held his still beating heart in my palm and I crushed it with a snarl, not daring to try drinking his blood. Dracula would have anticipated that.

  I discarded the oozing hunk of meat and yanked my hand clear as I spun back to check on Victoria. She nodded at me before scanning the rest of the room for any other threats. Nosh had Isabella draped over his shoulders, using one hand to hold her in place, and he had a fierce, furious look on his face as he clutched a magic tomahawk in his other fist—a weapon made from pure light and energy like I had seen him use at the auction. He could make it change shapes and even throw it, much like warlocks could make blades of magic fire out of thin air, bending the elements to their wills.