by J. P. Rice
The vampire had been true to his word. Two of the men died within two months of Jonathan’s revelation, serving as a firm reminder to keep my mouth shut. As far as I knew, only three people who were still alive knew this story. Two were sitting in this room.
Jonathan’s father was none other than Vlad the Impaler. When his father had turned into a vampire and fled Wallachia, Vlad IV Dracul the Monk vowed not to follow in his father’s footsteps. After being exiled to Transylvania for twenty years, he’d ascended to the Wallachian throne.
Due to civil and regional unrest, Vlad IV knew he had no choice but to fake his own death and flee his homeland. He allowed himself to be turned, and once he had vampire blood coursing through him, his closest subjects stuffed him into a coffin.
They sneaked Vlad out of Wallachia and released him from the casket. He traveled west through Europe, eventually finding passage to the United States in the late 1800s. Vlad IV Dracul the Monk became Jonathan Rickleshaw the Vampire. Over the years, he’d developed a stranglehold on the rare antique auction business in Pittsburgh.
Ironically, his father, Vlad Dracul the Impaler now lived in the demon underworld called the Red Cavern.
Jonathan held his finger in the air in the “one second” pose and spoke into the phone receiver. “Yes, Shane. I’m in my office. I need my usual and my friend would like a Sazerac.” He paused for a few moments and glanced at me. “Yeah, better make it a double. Thank you.” He hung up the phone, slid back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “Does your father’s new family still give you a hard time?”
“Psshh. Hard time. Louis and Mary Antoinette got off light compared to this. Their eyes pierce my soul like a restless dagger in the dead of night. They strike cowardly. In groups. Using their blond pigtails like spiked whips. They gang up on me and all the while I could easily kill all of them on the spot. I don’t know why I put up with it if we are being honest.”
“Ah, being civilized is vastly overrated,” he said, cracking a smile.
I’d come to Pittsburgh over one hundred years ago because of Jonathan. We’d met in Sleepy Willow and he recommended this city because it had a strong, yet secret supernatural element. As to when the vampires had arrived in Pittsburgh, I’d never been able to get a straight answer. The most common answer was 1850.
I had a friendly relationship with a lot of the vampires, but I always remembered they were bloodthirsty animals. And I didn’t intend to demean animals or vampires, just to state that they are both animalistic in nature. Driven by primal needs.
I asked, “So how is everything with you?”
Jonathan’s eyes widened as if he had a lot to say. “Since I last saw you, us vampires finally got our shit together and organized a set of rules to abide by. I’m happy to say it’s been rather effective. We developed the Midnight Council with one representative from each house. Since its inception, all the houses have stopped working against each other. No more infighting amongst ourselves, and no more heat from Johnny Law. The latest development would be that a group of wolves attacked one of my men who simply went to see my lawyer.”
Werewolves and vampires hated each other. They both constantly thought the other was infringing on their turf and well-being. Vampires could kill lycanthropes in unconventional ways and vice versa. With that in mind, it surprised me these spats didn’t occur more frequently. A war between the two factions would be detrimental to Pittsburgh.
“Why would they do that? Was Octavius there?” I asked and unzipped my jacket the rest of the way.
“As for the latter question, no. It was at my lawyer’s house. Roydell went up to deliver a package to my lawyer and they jumped him. He took out a few of them first, but then he succumbed to the assault. Brave warrior. Regarding the former question, who knows why they do that voodoo that they do, so well,” he stated with a clever grin.
I chuckled at his Blazing Saddles reference, but this was a serious situation. The wolves killing a vampire out of the blue made no sense. Even as natural enemies, neither side was stupid enough to start a war. Were they? “Are they trying to start a war?”
He swung his feet down and leaned over his desk, his normally orange face bordering on burgundy. “That’s what it seems like. If so, they got one. I’ll be more than happy to oblige. More than fucking happy. They are asking for something they can’t handle. I’ll tell you that, June,” he said, eyes wide and filled with blood lust.
My calm, cool and collected friend had transformed into a beast. If there was a huge pile of coke on his desk, this could be a cut scene from the end of Scarface. My man was losing it.
I had to reverse his tactic on him and change the subject before he started foaming at the mouth. “Have you heard anything about Darabond?”
Jonathan pursed his lips, causing his cheeks to wrinkle. He shook his head as if the question disgusted him. “June, I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t been asking around like I used to, but I haven’t heard anything on the matter. Good or bad. I hope I can count on you not to run over to Octavius’ side.”
Jonathan knew better than to force me to choose a side. He differed drastically from the cerebral vampire I remembered. I barely recognized this animated immortal, ready to act on emotional impulse. That meant either Jonathan had changed dramatically, or he had already exhausted his peaceful reasoning and was moving on to the next step. Or had I changed?
I’d destroyed so much in my past. So many beautiful creatures. I could admit that I regretted some of my actions. Now was my chance to be a peacemaker. A new Junipher. A moral Junipher.
I’d known Octavius for over fifty years. Maybe I could work out this wrinkle and heal my tainted soul in the process. It couldn’t hurt the prospect of my induction into the Celtic Pantheon either. In fact, it would bolster it.
I suggested, “Why don’t I sit down with Octavius as your representative and solve this problem? I know I’ve been away for a while, but I know him well and he’ll listen to me.”
Jonathan’s glossy eyes, still filled with rage, stared at me as he rose slowly from his chair. “He owes us big for what he did to Roydell.”
He was already making this more difficult for me. I asked, “What type of retribution were you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s say the head of Octavius since he clearly sanctioned the atrocity. I don’t even need the body, just the head,” he stated melodramatically, waving his hands around.
“Do you have any proof that Octavius sanctioned it?”
Jonathan stopped moving and stared at me, dumbfounded. “Have you ever heard of the word, intuition? You should look it up.”
I stood up, anger coursing through my body, and walked purposefully toward his desk. A ginger storm was brewing. “Listen, motherfooker. I know you’re fired up about this, but don’t you dare talk down to me.” My former self kicked in. The one that would kick ass first, and ask questions later if there were any survivors.
He backed up and put his open hands in front of his chest. I could smell his magic, probably brimming right under the surface of his skin. Ironically, it gave off an odor of roasted garlic. If he wanted a fight, I could break his vampire neck right here.
Instead, he spoke apologetically, “I didn’t mean to insult. And it’s not like you haven’t insulted me in the past. People still ask me why you call me Jack-O’.”
I stopped in my tracks. He was right. I had to work on controlling the dark blood swimming around inside me. Before my husband had disappeared over two hundred years ago, I was as happy as a meadowlark. My bitterness over the situation had quickly shifted to rage.
It had sparked a fire of anger inside me. A fire that consumed my body and soul. A fire that still smoldered just below the surface, waiting to come out and cause wrath. A fire that, once stoked and it began to blaze, took a mighty effort to extinguish.
I had given him the nickname Jack-O’ about 70 years ago, which was short for jack o’lantern because of his orange face. I’d meant it in je
st, but I had to cut him a break because of it. He had never snapped at me over the insult.
Perhaps coming back to Pittsburgh was a bad idea. It already had me fired up. Perhaps I could turn this into a quick visit and get back to Hilton Head. Get the hell away from all this nonsense.
As I walked back to my chair, I asked, “So have you heard any rumors about Lugh’s Spear?”
Jonathan smiled and pointed at me. “There it is. I knew it. I knew why you came back to Pittsburgh. You just can’t keep your hands off that shaft, can you?”
I smirked at his reference and sat back down. “I told you. I came to see my father. But I wouldn’t be handling my due diligence if I didn’t at least ask about it.”
A firm double knock sounded on the door, and Jonathan screamed, “Enter.”
Shane walked in with a drink in each hand. He dropped off Jonathan’s red beverage first and handed me my drink on his way out the door. Perfect timing. Hopefully, these drinks would calm us both down. I took a sip and nodded in approval. Jonathan was right. His bartender was skilled. It was one of the better Sazeracs I’d ever had.
Jonathan took a sip, set his drink on his desk and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry about the spear, I can just put Mike Merlino on it. It sounds like you’ve heard some stories about him.”
I leaned back and drained more of my tasty beverage, the alcohol soothing my nerves and relaxing me. “I’ve heard some stories. I suppose you’re going to gush all over him too?”
Jonathan pulled his chair up behind him and sat back down. “Not at all. However, if you are to stay in this city, you’d be wise to befriend him. He has his finger on the pulse and always knows what’s going on. But I won’t gush over him. And I am extremely partial considering he took a few silver bullets dipped in holy water for me.”
That could complicate matters. I’d never saved Jonathan’s life. We were good friends, but in the battle for allegiance, saving someone’s life usually served as a trump card.
“So, he’s a vampire, huh?” I hinted.
“No. Why would you say that?” Jonathan asked, looking away and scratching his scalp.
I stated the obvious, “Because he looks like a damn vampire with all the sweating, not to mention his pale face and giant pupils.”
He shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. Why was he acting strange? He said, “He’s a mortal human as far as I know. Supposedly shares a bloodline with Merlin.”
I rolled my eyes and stirred my drink with my finger. “That crusty fooker. Now I hate the kid even more.”
Jonathan finally turned back to face me. “Speaking of that self-righteous curmudgeon. Is he still chasing after you?”
I tossed my head from side to side. “Kind of. He’s been sending the Bounty Huntress after me. Obviously, I haven’t seen either of them in a long time. Maybe he retired. Anything else about that kid?”
The vampire paused for a moment as if he’d forgotten who we were talking about. Then he nodded confidently and said, “Mike was kind of a whiny bitch when I first met him, but he’s come along nicely. He did however, lie to me about a member of my clan. An unforgivable act.”
Unforgivable? He hadn’t seemed the least bit angry with him earlier. I commented, “Looks like you forgave him during your chummy meeting.”
Jonathan leaned forward, his bushy brows obscuring most of his dark eyes. Apparently, I’d offended the delicate vampire.
He spoke in a growling tone, stressing every syllable, his words sharp and biting, “Commiserating with someone on a business level, especially someone who presents a great value to me, does not mean his lies have not changed our relationship completely.”
He took a deep breath and continued in a softer tone, “I will still use him for what I need, just as he will do the same to me and you do the same unto others. Round and round the wheel spins. Who will come out on top this time? He or she who employs their resources most wisely.”
Oh, puke. I didn’t need a vampire—even a historically famous one—getting all philosophical on me. “So. Lugh’s Spear,” I hinted.
“Right. I haven’t really heard much other than a few bullshitting antique hunters promising me that they could get their hands on it. They’re the kind of guys who can always get something, but it falls through at the last minute. A friend of mine heard that Loki ended up with it and broke it in half. Then he buried both pieces in two different locations.”
“Why ever would he do that?” I asked rhetorically. I knew the answer. Loki had earned the God of Mischief moniker. He did things to stir the pot. He’d start a war just to sit back and watch the destruction. “Has Loki been around here lately?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Thor has been spotted around here, though. As far as I know, Loki’s in Asgard. And you know, you can’t just hitch a train there. With the God of Mischief, anything is possible. And as we both know from this business, it could all just be a vicious rumor. One started by Loki himself, just to cause some angst. So if I were someone hunting the Spear. Hypothetically, of course. I would stand pat right now,” Jonathan added and capped it with a wink.
I finished my drink and stared at the candied lemon rind. The garnish added a unique southern sweetness. Nice twist. I rested the empty old-fashioned glass on my thigh as the flavors danced on my tongue. Ummm, that was a damn good one.
“I didn’t plan on going after the spear anyway. I know you don’t believe me, but I want to stay out of this. The spear pushed me to the brink. I can’t go back again. I just can’t. No. I won’t.” I told myself that, but I also couldn’t let this kid steal my thunder. That was my spear to return to the Celtic God to secure my spot in the pantheon.
No. I tried to fight against it. If only Goibniu had never mentioned the Spear. Why had he struck that match?
With a fire stirring inside me, I tried to beat back the flames, but that only enraged them even more and caused them to blaze out of control. Probably courtesy of the absinthe.
Maybe I could just solve one last case, secure peace between the wolves and vampires in Pittsburgh and receive my overdue nomination for the pantheon. While I squashed this beef, I could pick up more clues about the spear.
Or I could take the easy road and head right back to the sunny beaches of Hilton Head.
Jonathan said, “I understand, June. We all have demons to deal with. And we all must choose our own path.”
Chapter 6
As I pulled over on 18th Street in the Strip District, the silver Mustang that had appeared to be following me drove right past. That was strange. I waited for my racing heart to slow down, got out of the Jeep and headed down the sidewalk, hungry for a sandwich from Primanti Brothers. The classic Pittsburgh treat put fries and cabbage slaw on the sandwich. It was one of my favorite meals before I left town. With all the modernization taking place, it was nice to see a classic Pittsburgh tradition still standing tall and proud.
As I walked down the sidewalk, I noticed someone speaking into a walkie-talkie. I took a few more steps and passed a tall gentleman in a suit talking into a shoulder rig. My dragon sense told me something was going on. I nonchalantly looked around as I kept moving and saw another man with a walkie-talkie.
In an age of cell phones and tiny communication devices, the big walkie-talkies with antennas really stood out. If they were in uniform, it would have made sense, but plain clothes individuals had no business with those devices. Could they be undercover FBI agents?
I continued toward the sandwich joint, but I went on red alert. I sniffed the winter air, trying to detect any lingering magic, but the strong smell of French fry grease wouldn’t allow it. It only made my stomach churn in hunger.
Something wasn’t right. Was I being followed? Watched and reported on?
Before I could dwell on the thought, a man screamed, “He’s choking. Somebody help him.”
A horde of gawking citizens surrounded the victim about twenty feet up the sidewalk. A man in a suit ran past me, yelling, “I’m
a doctor. Let me through.”
For some reason, the people surrounding the choking man wouldn’t move aside and allow the doctor to get in. They were elbowing him out, instead of opening a path to the victim. I walked forward, hoping this wasn’t an elaborate trap to lure me in. My recently softened heart demanded I help that doctor get through.
A woman shouted, “What’s that? Up in the sky.”
Superman? As I lifted my head and shaded my eyes from the sun’s rays, I saw an angelic figure descending on the city. The object came into focus, and I realized it was a man on a white Pegasus. The giant animal’s wings beat powerfully, but I couldn’t tell who was on it. Then, unexpectedly, the Pegasus tucked its wings snugly against the rider’s legs, sending them torpedoing toward the earth.
As they closed in, it seemed like they were going to smash into the street, but the pale Pegasus extended its wings and they slowed down dramatically. They circled the area a few times before landing near the choking man. The rider jumped off the Pegasus. It was him. Like a superhero coming out of the sky.
Tyr, the former Norse God of war, had been evicted from his pantheon because Odin wanted to consolidate power. Tyr shoved people aside, but did so heroically, attempting to get to the choking victim. Tall and powerful, the breathtaking man was dressed in white enameled battle gear, looking almost as majestic as his Pegasus. Tyr positioned himself behind the man, as the panicked crowd shouted for him to act quickly.
Tyr smiled with confidence, but his hands were too low for the Heimlich maneuver. He positioned his clasped hands over the man’s belly button, not up near his diaphragm. Tyr picked the man up off the ground and jerked his hands back. The victim coughed and a brown chunk of food shot out of his mouth and landed next to a sewer. The strong trail of steam coming from the sewer grate obscured the chunk within a few seconds.
I couldn’t believe his questionable technique had worked on the first attempt. The crowd cheered, and Tyr took a bow, smiling and waving to everyone. I didn’t know Pittsburgh accepted the supernatural. A former Norse God had just flown in on a Pegasus and the people acted like it was normal. The times, they are a changin’.