Les vampires de Manhattan

by Melissa de la Cruz

  The lights came back on and Mimi exhaled. Chris was right. She, too, had been holding her breath and was glad that the investiture had gone off without a hitch. She startled as someone touched her arm, but it was only Kingsley, who had stepped out of the shadows to whisper in her ear. “Oliver’s in the greenroom, behind the stage. Let’s go.”

  “Roger that.” She nodded.

  He smiled. “Roger that?”

  “I thought you’d like it. For old times’ sake.”

  He took a good long look at her and smiled. “You look beautiful, darling.”

  She cocked a hip and winked. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Even though she was still a little mad at him, she couldn’t help flirting with him. He was her husband after all, and Kingsley looked deadly handsome in a tuxedo.

  He leaned down, and she allowed him to brush the hair off her face and kiss her cheek. He was murmuring something in her ear when she saw them.

  Two Venators looking right at them, and they were drawing their guns and heading their way.

  “They’ve made us,” she told Kingsley, pushing him back and snapping his spellcloak into place. “Hide!”

  Kingsley shrugged. “They won’t catch me. I’ll see you there.”

  They separated and Mimi saw the Venators run after her husband. He was fast, though, and already cloaked. They wouldn’t find him. Mimi cloaked herself and ran through the party toward the room on the first floor that had been reserved for the Regent. The ceremony had been held in the middle of the vast lobby, and there was a hallway of doors behind a hidden wall just as Kingsley had told her, where Oliver had disappeared to.

  Mimi was the first to see the blood seeping out from underneath the doorway. Goddamnit.

  She looked up to see Kingsley arrive, breathless. They exchanged a stricken glance. Kingsley broke down the door. Inside the room they found Oliver slumped over the body of Finn, both of them covered in blood. They had come to warn Oliver about the danger and it was too late.

  Mimi knelt to take Finn’s pulse. There was nothing. “She’s dead,” she told Kingsley, her eyes widening with shock. “And it looks like he killed her. What the fuck is going on?”

  Oliver wasn’t a killer. He would never do this. He loved Finn; they knew he loved her.

  Then she realized.

  Some way, somehow, this was Lucifer’s doing. It had to be. Lucifer had made this happen.

  “It wasn’t Ollie,” Mimi said. “Or if it was, he didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “No, of course not,” Kingsley agreed. “She’s gone, and now he’s a dead man. If the Venators see this, they’ll come after him. He won’t be safe anywhere in the Coven.”

  Mimi cursed. “What do we do?”

  “Get him out of here before they find him like this, or they’ll burn him for sure,” Kingsley said. He knelt down and shook Oliver awake. “Oliver, get up. Oliver.”

  Oliver blinked his eyes open and stared at them. “Kingsley? What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

  In answer, Kingsley helped him up and let Mimi shoulder the weight. “You got him?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll follow.”

  Oliver looked at them bleary-eyed. Blood was dripping from his fangs onto his white tuxedo shirt. He certainly looked like a killer.

  They heard footsteps, shouting in the hallway. The Venators. They had tracked them.

  “GO!” Kingsley said. “I’ll deal with them.”

  “But what about you?” she asked. Suddenly, she didn’t want to leave him. She was scared for him. Scared to leave him alone, without her protection. No matter how much he’d hurt her, he was still hers.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Kingsley said. “You know I can take care of myself.” He pushed her away. “Hurry!”

  Mimi half held, half pulled Oliver into the back corridor, thinking she would take him through the kitchens and out the back way, out of the party and out of the Coven before anyone could find out what had just happened.

  “Mimi?” Oliver asked, finally opening his eyes. They strove to focus and make sense of the situation. “Mimi, is that really you? What are you doing here? In New York? And where’s Kingsley? Didn’t I see him just now?”

  “Oliver, please, can you stand? Can you walk?” she asked, pulling him. “I can do it, but it would be easier if you could. Come on. We need to go.”

  “Go? Where are we going? Where am I?” He looked around. “Wait—why are we in the kitchen?”

  “I’m trying to get you out the back entrance, so that no one will see you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re going to be looking for you in a second,” she said, hurriedly casting ignorance spells on the kitchen staff.

  “Looking for me? But why?” He threw her off him, his face red, blood seeping from his fangs. “What’s happened? Where am I?”

  “Oliver, calm down. We don’t have much time, and you’re in terrible danger, my friend.”

  “Why? Where’s Finn?” he said, looking around. His shirt was covered in blood, her blood. Dark red blood all over his white shirt, except there was more of it than he had ever seen, so much more; he was sticky and wet with it. Her blood.

  “MIMI, WHERE IS FINN?” he yelled.

  Mimi looked stricken. She didn’t know what to say, but it was better to be blunt and let him have the truth rather than talk around it. Maybe if she told him the truth, he would hurry up and help her get him out of here. “Oliver, I’m sorry, but Finn is dead and the Venators are coming after you.”

  He just stared at her. “What are you talking about? What—Why?”

  “Because it looks like you killed her, you drank too much blood,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to get you out of here. I’ll explain later, but if you don’t come with me now and the Venators find you, they’ll kill you on sight. On your orders.”

  32 TO CATCH A KILLER

  HIS MISTAKE WAS THAT he had left the shadows to say hello to his wife. The minute Kingsley Martin had taken off his spellcloak to say hello to his beautiful wife, Ara had spotted him. “There,” she said. “There he is.”

  He was smiling and laughing as he kissed Mimi on the cheek. Ara was surprised to find she was even more striking than she had heard. The famous Mimi Force, now Mimi Martin. One would think marriage or the underworld would have aged her, changed her, but she was as glorious and beautiful as ever, if not more so.

  Ara felt a little jealousy at the affection between them. You could tell from across the room he was mad for her. For a moment she thought that maybe Edon was right—there was no way Kingsley Martin would take a little mortal girl over Mimi Force. Anyone could see he loved her. But there was only one way to find out—detain and question him.

  “Let’s go get him,” she told Edon.

  The investiture ceremony had cleared the tents; everyone was gathered in the main hall now, to watch Oliver take the blood of the Coven into his immortal spirit. It was harder to cut their way through. Ara kept an eye on the couple, but Kingsley disappeared again.

  “Where is he?” she whispered to Edon.

  “Lost him. He’s cloaked again.”

  “Keep an eye on her.”

  “No! It’s him we want. Let’s go.”

  They separated and Ara scanned the party. Onstage, the Regent was taking the cup in his hands and drinking the blood of the Coven. The audience was silent, attentive, as Ara and Edon snaked their way through.

  Your blood is my blood. My heart is your heart. My soul is your soul.

  When it was over, the newly crowned Regis smiled and disappeared with his human familiar. They walked toward the back rooms, toward the shadows.

  Then she saw him, a flash of his dark head. Kingsley was following them, hot on their heels. He looked intent and focused.

  “There he is,” she said.

  What did he want with the Regis?

  What was Kingsley up to?

  But the crowd was packe
d tightly, and they couldn’t fight their way through without giving away their position. They couldn’t let him know they’d spotted him, couldn’t risk him getting away. But by the time they’d found the hidden door that led to the hallway, there was a blood trail and footprints leading out to the kitchens.

  Blood. So much blood… but whose?

  Ara drew her gun. Edon was at her elbow. “I’ll go after them, you check out the room,” he said and left, following the trail of blood.

  Ara burst through the door.

  “Hands up!” she cried, horrified at the sight in front of her.

  Finn Chase, the Regent’s human familiar, was lying in a pool of her own blood, bleeding from the wounds on her neck, and Kingsley Martin was looming over her, blood on his shirt and jacket.

  “You’re making a terrible mistake. This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “DON’T MOVE!”

  “I’m merely trying to help,” Kingsley said.

  Ara wavered. Her training, her orders were to kill an enemy on sight. Shoot to kill. She had done it to the Nephilim and she would do it to Kingsley. Shoot, she told herself, shoot.

  He stood up and faced her. “Now if we can discuss this as civilized adults—”

  She shot him.

  Kingsley fell to the ground.

  But not a moment later, before she’d had time to understand what she’d done, he got up again. Kingsley picked the bullet out of his dinner jacket and flicked it to the ground, leaving a hole in the coat. “I liked this tuxedo. My wife is going to be very annoyed with you,” he said, wagging his finger.

  “But I shot you,” Ara said, still holding her gun.

  “So?” Kingsley shrugged.

  “These are demon-killers.”

  “Well, there’s your problem. I’m not a demon.” He smiled, just as she realized her mistake. He was no demon, but a Dark Angel. A Silver Blood. She should have used the crescents. What did Rowena say? Use the shanks if you want to be standing after meeting a Silver Blood.

  “I was telling you the truth,” Kingsley said. “Use your training to figure out if I’m telling the truth. Listen to me. I didn’t kill her. Oliver did.”

  She did. He was right. He wasn’t lying. “The Regis—did this?”

  “It appears so,” Kingsley said. “But like I said, things are never quite what they seem.”

  Edon thundered into the room. He shook his head. “I followed the blood trail—it was Mimi and Oliver, but they’re gone. I let the chief know, though, and Venator teams have been sent out. They’ll find them.”

  “I can explain everything,” Kingsley said.

  “You can tell your story at headquarters,” Ara said, slapping silver cuffs on him. “I need it on record for the chief.”

  33 A CERTAIN SATURDAY NIGHT IN AUGUST

  DO ANY OF YOU HAVE A LIGHT?” Kingsley asked. “Nobody smokes anymore? That’s a shame.” He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared. He lit his cigarette and took a deep inhale.

  “Start at the beginning. When did you come back from the underworld and what have you been doing here?” Ara demanded.

  “Everything?” Kingsley asked. “Then I suppose I’ll have to start with Darcy.”

  He propped his foot up on the table and unreeled his tale.

  Come on, Damien, let’s have a good time.

  Her name was Darcy McGinty, and Kingsley knew the minute he set foot inside the taxicab that he had made a mistake. He should get the fuck out of there. What was he doing with these kids? He was too old for this; he had been out of his mind to think he wanted this. He wanted to get out of the car, get back to Mimi, and clear his head. Stop that ringing in his ears, which was starting to drive him insane. He thought he might know what caused it, but he wasn’t sure. Although he knew for certain that it was irritating.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go,” he said, reaching for the door latch.

  “What? Why? Stay,” Darcy said, annoyed.

  “No, I should go.” He told the cabdriver to pull over.

  “Stay, this party is going to be something else,” she said, uncurling her fist and showing him a white pill.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, darling. I don’t do drugs. I’m high on life,” he said with a smile, thinking of his friend Oliver, who used to say that.

  “It’s not a drug. It’s from angels,” she said. “Right, Georgie?” She turned to her friend, who looked just like her. Blonde, too much makeup, too little clothing. The girl in the front seat turned around with an avid smile. “It’s awesome, you should try it.”

  “Angel dust?” Kingsley asked. “That all?” He shrugged. Big deal.

  “No, not that sad, old seventies thing. Angel blood. Sangre Azul. Blue Blood. Holy blood. Because angels are real.”

  Kingsley stopped and turned around to look at her. “They are? How do you know?”

  Darcy giggled. “I’ve seen one. I’m looking at one right now,” she said and pretended to shoot him.

  She was pretending, of course. She had no clue, he saw soon enough. It appeared she was already a little high on something. But what was this talk about angel blood, the Sangre Azul, and angels being real? Where did she hear that? Kingsley leaned back into his seat. “All right, then, give it to me.” A drug made from angel blood. Was it a joke? It had to be. Were the Venators aware of this? Weren’t they supposed to keep the Coven’s secrets safe? What was going on if kids could get their hands on this stuff?

  “How does it make you feel exactly?” he asked.

  “It’s awesome. You feel so good, and all your senses are, like, alive; you hear better, you see better, everything you touch feels good,” she said dreamily, as the cab stopped in front of a dark warehouse building. “All right, here we are. Time to fly with the angels.”

  The room was pitch-black, and the music was more than loud; the stereo system pumped the rhythm so violently it beat in your heart, throbbed in your chest, you drowned in the music, it washed over your soul, became part of your body, until you were just a vehicle for the beat. Thump, thump, thump. Kingsley squinted. He was used to nightclubs, to dance floors, to weeklong music festivals in the rain, but this was different. It was like the music was more sinister, more intimidating, or maybe he’d just gotten old.

  “Feeling good?” Darcy laughed, and ran her hands up and down his chest.

  He smiled and took her hands off him, shaking his head. She was way too young, and besides, he was married. Maybe he was with her at this party because old habits died hard, but he had stayed because he was working a job now. He fingered the pill he’d hidden in his pocket. So far, it didn’t seem to do much to the kids except what you would expect, a lot of floppy dancing, a lot of glazed eyeballs, a lot of sweaty foreheads. Maybe the pill was nothing but a placebo. Maybe the Conspiracy was behind it, although those mythmongers usually stuck to creating pop fantasies, not influencing underground drug culture. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this.

  Kingsley danced for a few more songs, then went into the men’s room. He removed the pill. There was a quick test that would let him know whether Darcy was telling him the truth. He was sure the girls were being ridiculous, but out of overabundance of caution, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to test the product.

  He pulled out his blade and cut his thumb, and let his blood drip on the little white pill.

  It hissed and smoked.

  There was Fallen matter in it all right.

  The blood of the angels, she had called it.

  Fuck.

  Kingsley shuddered. This was the stuff of nightmares. He’d been in the underworld for a decade and everything was off the rails. He had to get to the bottom of this.

  He wandered around the party, talking to people, and heard other names for the drug. They called it Angel Wings, or Vitamin P, or Type A, or Sang Blue (some kind of mishmash of Sangre Azul and Blue Blood). Others called it something even more insidious—Allegra’s Sacrifice. How did these mortal teenagers know about Allegra? How did they know
so much about the Coven?

  They were all popping or snorting it. But no one would tell him anything about the drug or where to get it. Whenever he asked, they only said, “Darcy.” And when he asked Darcy, all she did was give him a seductive little smile. He tried reading her mind, sifting through her memories, but he found little that could offer a concrete answer. Maybe she was too out of it to remember where she got this from, or maybe she didn’t care.

  He motioned to Darcy that he was going out for a smoke and made his way through the sweaty tangle of bodies toward the door.

  “Hey, can I have a light?” a girl asked, walking out with him. She was one of the girls from the taxicab with Darcy. The one who looked just like her, blonde and pretty, but somehow outside, alone, Kingsley saw he was wrong. She wasn’t like Darcy at all. Her pink dress had looked more scandalous in the dark, but the cut was actually conservative. She didn’t look like the type to hang out at some rave on the outskirts of Brooklyn. “You’re too young to smoke,” he told the girl. “And you should never start.” He was immortal, after all, but she was not.

  “Fine.” She sighed.

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Georgie,” she said, hugging herself tightly.

  “What’s wrong, Georgie?” he asked because he sensed she was feeling low, and he felt bad for her. She looked too young to be at a place like this.

  “I’m tired. I have school tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Come on,” he said, tossing the cigarette. “I’ll take you home.”

  “What about Darcy?” she asked fearfully.

  “What about Darcy?” He shrugged.

  Georgina was a nice kid. He called for a car and dropped her off at her apartment building in Midtown. She was different from Darcy, he could tell right away. He liked Georgina. He and Mimi should have a kid, he thought. Why didn’t they? Oh, right, she didn’t want to raise a kid in Hell. This is no place for a baby, she’d said many times.

  “Call me,” he said, plugging his digits—he’d picked up a burner the other week—into her phone. “We’ll hang.” He needed an informant, he thought, someone who could tell him where Darcy was getting this stuff and who was making it.