Smoke (The Slayer Chronicles Book 1)

by Val St. Crowe

  “I was going to ask you if you wanted to grab some dinner,” said Logan.

  Oh, Jesus, he wasn’t giving up, was he? He was still trying to get with me, even though I had told him that I couldn’t—

  “That’s funny,” said Naelen, “I was here to actually ask you the same question, Clarke. Whether or not you wanted to get some food.”

  Logan smirked. “All right, then. So, who do you want to go with, Clarke?”

  I looked back and forth between them. “Seriously?”

  “Let’s not be silly,” said Naelen. “We all need to eat. Let’s all go eat together. At Moreau’s. Certainly Cunningham can’t have bought it out every night of the week.”

  “Moreau’s, huh?” said Logan. “That’s that fancy place.” He looked down at his clothes, which were his typical beat-up t-shirt and jean shorts. Being living stone, he didn’t have a lot of temperature fluctuation, and probably would have been happy without any clothes at all, but he put stuff on as a concession to propriety. “I don’t know. I’m trying to avoid unnecessary expenditures this trip.”

  “My treat, of course,” said Naelen. “If you’d rather not accompany us, that’s fine.”

  Logan’s nostrils flared. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, man, but—”

  “Logan,” I said, giving him a look. Logan had a temper sometimes.

  “My ‘deal’ is that I’m inviting you to dinner,” said Naelen, giving Logan a saccharine smile. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Fine,” said Logan, his voice hard. “Thank you very much.” But he didn’t sound grateful.

  * * *

  Logan was staring at all the forks on the table.

  I was fairly confused by them too. This place really was pretty fancy.

  “Start outside and work your way in,” said Naelen, smiling at me.

  “Okay,” I said, picking up the outermost fork to start in on my salad. “Thanks.”

  Logan fiddled with his fork but didn’t pick it up. He wasn’t much for salad. “So, can you two tell me what you know about Cunningham? You said you met him, right?”

  “We did,” I said, “but only for a few minutes. Only long enough for him to compel Naelen. Are you sure he’s a vampire?”

  “Positive,” said Logan. “I came out here on a tip like anything else. Some woman said she spent five years of her life as Cunningham’s blood slave.”

  “Blood slave?” said Naelen. “Never heard that term.”

  “It’s not an official term or anything,” said Logan. “It’s just kind of what we call them. Vampires have a standard scheme. They offer something in trade for blood, and they often do make good on their word.”

  “It’s common for vamps to pay off debts,” I said. “If a human gets in bad with gambling or something, then vampires offer to pay off their debts in exchange for blood.”

  “Only they’re not very specific about how much blood,” said Logan. “Since they use compulsion, it’s generally until they get bored with whatever human they’ve got under their thrall. It could be years. Even decades.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Naelen. “Why do they do that, when it’s easy enough to buy blood at the grocery store? Hell, they even have it at convenience stores in Sea City.”

  “Animal blood,” said Logan.

  “Cold blood,” I said. “From a dead source.”

  “So, get a pig and keep it around to drink from,” said Naelen.

  “Can’t compel a pig,” said Logan.

  Naelen’s lips curled in distaste. “Well, this can’t be legal. Why don’t the police do anything about it?”

  “Human police?” I said. “What would they do? Most of them won’t even carry a talisman. Lots of them are wary of magic and they’d rather not tangle with magical creatures.”

  “So… what? You run around freeing these people?” said Naelen to Logan.

  “Among other things,” said Logan. “I take care of problems.”

  “Why?” said Naelen.

  Logan shrugged. “Someone’s got to. I’m a gargoyle, so I’m strong, and I’m impervious to flame, and I heal fast. Unlike most gargoyles, I don’t have a family, so I got no responsibilities. Seems like I’m a good fit.”

  “But… how do you do it?” said Naelen. “People don’t pay you for rescuing them, I don’t suppose?”

  Logan laughed. “Of course it’s all about money to the dragon.”

  “Please,” said Naelen. “Don’t be that way. Dragons don’t hoard wealth. That’s a myth.”

  “Most dragons I know of are filthy stinking rich,” said Logan.

  “Well, correlation doesn’t equal causation,” said Naelen.

  “They inherit the money, Logan,” I muttered.

  “I didn’t inherit my money,” said Naelen.

  “No, right, you toiled and toiled, working your fingers to the bone,” I said sarcastically.

  Naelen pressed his lips into a firm line but didn’t say anything.

  Logan cleared his throat. “So, maybe I change the subject here?” He grinned, clearly meaning to lighten the mood.

  But neither Naelen or I cracked a smile.

  “I could use your help, Clarke,” said Logan. “With Cunningham.”

  “Like I told you, we don’t know anything about him,” I said. “But he seems to have this town wrapped around his little finger. You get the impression that people are quite frightened of him.”

  “More than just info,” said Logan. “If this guy is as powerful as you say he is, then going into his nest solo might be too much, even for me. I could stand some backup.”

  “Clarke is working for me,” said Naelen.

  “I can speak for myself,” I said.

  They both turned to look at me, waiting.

  “Well,” I said, “I am sort of working for Naelen.”

  We were interrupted at that moment by a waiter bringing out our entrees. We’d all gotten different dishes. Naelen had baked camembart. Logan had ordered hachis parmentier after the waiter had described it as a lot like shepherd’s pie. I had gotten magret de canard, but only because Naelen said it was good. I had never really eaten much duck, but it looked pretty delicious all plated up. The waiter put it down in front of each of us and refilled our water glasses.

  “More wine?” asked the waiter.

  “Two bottles,” said Naelen.

  “Geez,” I said. He really drank a lot, didn’t he?

  For several minutes afterward, we didn’t say anything as we were all digging in to our food. We chewed. We swallowed.

  “Good?” said Naelen to me.

  “Yeah, very good,” I said.

  “I think mine’s bit dry,” Naelen said. He turned to Logan. “Yours?”

  “Fine,” said Logan, putting down his fork. “Look, Clarke, I get that you’re working on something else, but do you even have any leads on this guy’s sister?”

  “We know she was in this town,” I said. “But nothing more specific yet.”

  “So, then you’re not really busy tonight, are you?” said Logan.

  “Tonight?” said Naelen. “After the day we’ve had?”

  Logan glanced at him. “You. Have you shifted lately?”

  “Today,” said Naelen, “not that I see how that’s your business.”

  “So you’ve got magic, then,” said Logan. “I could use you too.”

  “Me?” Naelen drew back.

  The waiter brought the two bottles of wine and started to uncork them.

  Naelen stopped him, and then looked back at Logan. “All right. I’ll help out with this vampire, save the blood slaves. Why not?” He turned back to the waiter. “Two bottles of wine won’t be constructive for the activities we’ve got planned for the evening. But I’m happy to buy the bottles and take them along if that would be possible?”

  “As you wish, sir,” said the waiter and scurried off.

  Logan smirked at Naelen. “You sure you’re up for this?

  “Positive,” said Naelen.


  I rolled my eyes. Nothing like two guys in a pissing match. What the hell?

  * * *

  “All right, here’s what I know,” said Logan as we crouched behind some shrubbery about fifteen feet from a big house that could only be termed a mansion.

  It was a relatively new construction, three stories, with big pillars in front and an enormous picture window taking up practically the entire second story. We could see through the window to a gleaming chandelier inside. It must have one of those high-ceilinged foyers.

  “Ronan Cunningham heads up a nest here in this house,” said Logan. “There are three other vampires. Two women and one man. The man’s name is Edmund Stevens. The two women are Eloise Green and Mara Reid. This house is their hideaway and their lure. They get people here with various empty promises, and it looks pretty and glitzy on the outside. But once they’re in, they’re stuck. Anyway, we should meet with very little resistance getting in.”

  “No guards or anything like that?” I said. “Not even humans compelled to be sentries?”

  “Not that my source knew of,” said Logan.

  “So, where do we go in?”

  “Not the front door, I hope,” said Naelen.

  Logan laughed. “Funny, Naelen.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make a joke,” said Naelen.

  “Sure you were,” said Logan. “At my expense. Anyway, there’s a door that leads to the basement, there. It’s underneath the back porch. Do you see it?” He pointed.

  I squinted. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “We’re going in there?” said Naelen.

  “Yes,” said Logan. “Hopefully, we’ll sneak in without anyone seeing us. The object is to get as many of the people out as we can, so, Clarke, if you see people, I want you to pick them up and take them outside right away.”

  “What, while you two fight the vampires?” I said.

  “That’s the best way to do this,” said Logan.

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “Naelen has no idea how to fight anyone.”

  “Well, I’ve got this sword thing, haven’t I?” said Naelen.

  “That’s a machete,” said Logan.

  “Just because I’m a girl—”

  “It’s nothing to do with your gender,” said Logan. “But I’m a gargoyle and Naelen’s a dragon shifter. You’re only human. It will be better if you—”

  “I have magic,” I said, holding up the talisman around my neck, even though I had positively no idea how to do magic with it. “And I’m better with a machete than Naelen.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Naelen.

  “He breathes fire,” said Logan.

  “But—”

  “What could you possibly say that tops that?” said Logan.

  I huffed.

  “All right,” said Logan. “So, Clarke gets the people out. Naelen and I work on chopping off vamp heads. We do it quick, we do it clean.”

  “What if Cunningham compels you?” I said to Logan.

  “I’m a gargoyle. I can’t be compelled,” said Logan.

  “I’m a dragon. I can’t be compelled either,” said Naelen. “But I was compelled, apparently. When I try to remember it, I only remember a soft, male voice, and thinking how very much I agreed with him. After we left, though, I snapped out of it, and I couldn’t figure how I’d changed my mind.”

  “If one of us gets compelled,” said Logan. “Another person better be watching and get around Cunningham and chop his head off. That’s all we can do. Anyway, we can’t keep talking about this. We need to get in there and actually do something. Let’s move.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure we had a very good plan going on. It was pretty vague.

  Logan was already starting to creep forward toward the door.

  But that was the way Logan worked, after all. He liked to keep things loose. He said that making too detailed of a plan only led to panic, because in the moment, if things started to go off, it made everything so much harder. He said that there were always too many variables to predict. He preferred to react as the punches hit him.

  Naelen went after him, impulsively, machete raised in the air. God, he was conspicuous. Someone needed to tell him that it might be possible to see that blade glinting in the light of a window or a streetlight.

  I started after Naelen. I caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm.

  He jumped, letting out a shrill noise.

  I laughed, and then covered my mouth to stifle it.

  “What?” Naelen said in a loud whisper.

  “Lower your machete,” I said to him.

  Logan turned back to glare at us. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I shoved Naelen after Logan.

  Naelen turned to look at me for a moment, half-confused, half-angry. But then he turned back and kept going forward.

  We crossed the lawn in the darkness, sticking to the shadows, hugging trees and bushes and the outbuildings—a shed and a poolhouse.

  This house had a pool. It was lit up with outdoor blue lights. Strings of them dangled from fence posts around the pool, giving it an otherworldly, cold glow.

  In a few moments, we reached the door to the house.

  Logan tried the knob, and it turned in his hands. I never did quite understand why people only locked their doors when they left their houses. When they were at home, they were actually vulnerable. I kept my apartment door locked at all times.

  He eased the door open.

  Inside the basement, it was dark.

  We all entered quietly, tiptoeing.

  I peered around as I got inside. The basement was finished. It was a rec room of sorts, with a pool table in one corner and a dart board hanging on the wall. There were several plush couches gathered around a large screen TV. Under our feet was thick, soft carpeting, but I couldn’t make out the color without lights.

  I shut the door behind me.

  Logan was already across the room, next to the pool table, opening another door.

  This one led to the rest of the basement, which wasn’t completely done. It had been framed out with boards. All the outlines of the rooms were there. Someone had even run the electric cabling down. It was attached to some of the boards. But it was a work in progress.

  The steps to the upstairs sat right in the middle of the house. A washer and dryer were tucked under them. Neither was in use, although the lights were on on the washer.

  Suddenly, we heard a noise.

  The door opened at the top of the steps.

  Logan dove back inside the finished room.

  I followed him, but Naelen stood there dumbly as the lights came on and someone began descending the steps.

  I reached out to grab Naelen and pull him into the room, and I caught sight of a woman.

  She didn’t seem to see us.

  I yanked us out of her view. Now, we were back in the finished rec room. But there was nowhere to hide in here. No closets to get in. No curtains to stand behind. We could maybe crouch behind the couches, but they weren’t against a wall, so we’d be exposed if this woman came around the other side.

  So, we just stood there, flattening ourselves against the wall and waiting. Listening.

  We heard the sound of the washer opening. Clothes being dumped into the dryer. And then the dryer came on with a steady thump-thump-thump. There was something a little heavy in there. Maybe shoes. Maybe a rug. I couldn’t be sure.

  But it wasn’t good, because it meant that we couldn’t hear the woman go back up the steps.

  We waited some more.

  Finally, I caught Logan’s gaze. I shrugged at him.

  He shrugged back, pointing to his ear.

  I nodded.

  Slowly, carefully, he peeled himself away from the wall and craned his neck to look out the doorway.

  Immediately, he was thrust backward, hurled through the air, propelled by magic. He landed flat on his back on the pool table.

  The woman stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “What the hell do you thi
nk you’re doing here?”

  Logan struggled to sit up. “One chance, Mara. Or is it Eloise? Release all the humans you’re holding here, and I’ll let you live.”

  She flicked her wrist. “Shut up.”

  Logan fell flat on the pool table again. He was stuck there.

  Mara or Eloise turned to look at Naelen and me.

  I dove forward, leading with my machete.

  She pointed at the ceiling.

  I slammed into it. Now I was stuck to the ceiling and looking at everything upside down.

  Naelen flung out his arm, scrunching up his face as if he was concentrating really hard.

  Mara-or-Eloise’s feet came right out from beneath her. Naelen had used magic on her.

  It must have startled her enough to lose her grip on her own power, because I came tumbling down from the ceiling. Instinctively, I tucked into a ball as I fell. When I hit, I rolled over.

  It still hurt.

  But I was on my feet in minutes.

  Naelen stood over Mara-or-Eloise, holding her in place.

  She pointed at one of the cues hanging near the pool table. It rose into the air and turned horizontal, like a javelin.

  “Naelen!” I screamed. “Behind you.”

  He turned, gesturing with one hand, knocking the pool cue down just in time.

  By this time, Logan was off the pool table and had come around behind Mara-or-Eloise. He stood over her head. “Could have been easy for you,” he said.

  She reached out with her hand, and probably her magic too—

  But Logan brought down the machete in a wide, swinging arc.

  And her head rolled away from her shoulders.

  Naelen’s eyes got wide. “Jesus,” he breathed.

  Logan ignored him, peering down at Mara-or-Eloise’s body. “Huh,” he said. “What’s that?”

  “You just cut her head off like nothing,” said Naelen.

  Logan knelt down and took a necklace off of Mara-or-Eloise’s severed neck. He held it up.

  It was a gold arrowhead pendant, dangling from a glittering, gold chain.

  “It’s an arrowhead,” said Logan. “You should have it, Clarke.”

  “I’m not taking a trophy from a dead body,” I muttered.

  “Oh, come on,” said Logan, dropping it into my palm. “She’s not going to being using it anymore.”