For all the voiceless dead Elroy Jordan had left behind.
For justice unrendered.
For Dante.
She thought of all that could’ve been—traveling between New Orleans and Seattle; Dante creating music, touring, putting his past together. She might become a victim’s advocate, a PI, something to help those who could no longer speak for themselves, and—together—she and Dante could work to heal his wounded mind and help him find the redemption he sought.
Could still be. Nothing’s written in stone.
Penance.
Could he be redeemed? She believed he was worth the chance. She just needed to find out if she was strong enough to give him that chance. And herself.
I won’t walk away from you.
A song wisp suddenly curled through Heather and, for a moment, she thought she heard Dante’s voice, smoky and low, burning like a flame in her heart: Shhh. Je suis ici. Always.
Glossary
TO MAKE THINGS as simple as possible, I’ve listed not only words but phrases used in the story. Please keep in mind that Cajun is different from Parisian French and the French generally spoken in Europe. Different grammatically and even, sometimes, different in pronunciation and spelling.
For the Irish and Welsh words—including the ones I’ve created—pronunciation is provided.
One final thing: Prejean is pronounced PRAY-zhawn.
Aingeal (AIN-gyahl), angel. Fallen/Elohim word.
Ami, (m) friend, (f) amie. Mon ami, my friend.
Ange, (m) angel. Mon ange, my angel. L’ange, the angel.
Ange de sang, angel of blood; blood angel. Mon ange de sang, my angel of blood.
Anhrefncathl (ann-HREVN-cathl), chaos song; the song of a Maker. Fallen/Elohim word.
Beau diable, mon, (m) my beautiful devil.
Bonne nuit, good night.
Bon á rien, good for nothing.
Calon-cyfaill (KAL-on kuv-EYE-luh), friend of the heart, usually bonded. Fallen/Elohim word.
Ça va bien, fine. I’m fine/okay. It’s going well.
C’est bon, that’s good.
C’est vrai, that’s true.
Cher, dear, beloved. Mon cher, (m) my dear or my beloved.
Cher ami, mon, (m) my dearest friend, my best friend; intimate, implying a special relationship.
Chéri, (m) dearest, darling, (f) chérie.
Chien, (m) dog.
Comment ça va, how is it going?
Creawdwr (KRAY-OW-dooer), creator; maker/unmaker; an extremely rare branch of the Elohim believed to be extinct. Last known creawdwr was Yahweh.
D’accord, okay.
Elohim, (s and pl) the Fallen; the beings mythologized as fallen angels.
Enchanté, delighted, pleased, enchanted.
Et toi, and you.
Fallen, see Elohim.
Fille de sang, (f) blood daughter; “turned” female offspring of a vampire.
Fils de sang, (m) blood son; “turned” male offspring of a vampire.
Foute ton quant d’ici, get away from here.
Frère, (m) brother. Mon frère, my brother.
Gètte le, keep an eye on him.
J’ai faim, I’m hungry.
Je comprend pas, I don’t understand.
Je sais pas, I don’t know.
Je regrette, I’m sorry.
Je regrette, mes amis, I’m sorry, my friends.
Je suis ici, I’m here.
Je va te voir plus tard, I’ll see you later.
Laissez les bons temps rouller, let the good times roll.
Le coeur, the heart.
Llygad (THLOO-gad), (s) eye; a watcher; keeper of immortal history; story-shaper. A Fallen/Elohim word originally.
Llygaid (THLOO-guide), (pl)
Loa, (Haitian) spirit; associated with voodoo.
Marmot, (m) brat.
Merci, thank you. Merci beaucoup, thanks a lot. Merci bien, thanks very much.
Mère de sang, (f) blood mother; female vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”
Mon Dieu, (m) my God.
M’selle, (f) abbreviated spoken form of mademoiselle, Miss, young lady.
M’sieu, (m) abbreviated spoken form of monsieur, Mr., sir, gentleman.
Nightbringer, a name/title given to Lucien De Noir.
Nightkind, (s and pl) vampire; Dante’s term for vampires.
Numéro un, number one. (Cajun)
Oui, yes.
Père, (m) father. Mon père, my father.
Père de sang, (m) blood father; male vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”
Petit, mon, (m) my little one, (f) petite, ma. (Generally affectionate.)
Pour quoi, why.
Sa fait pas rien, it doesn’t matter.
Sa fini pas, it never ends.
Sa vaut pas la peine, it’s not worth it.
S’il te plaît, please (informal).
Tais toi, shut up.
Tayeau, (s) hound. Tayeaux, (pl) hounds.
T’es sûr de sa, are you sure about that?
T’est blême comme un mort, you’re as pale as a ghost.
Très belle, (f) very beautiful.
Très bien, very good, very well.
Très joli, (m) very pretty.
True Blood, born vampire, rare and powerful.
Viens ici, come here.
Vous êtes très aimable, you are very kind.
Wybrcathl (OOEEBR-cathl), sky song. Fallen/Elohim word.
Genevieve’s Prayer
POURQUOI TU NOUS ASabandonnes? Je ne sais pas ce que j’ai fait pour vous faire partir, je t’en supplie, sauve ton fils. éloigné le d’ici. Mets-le l’abri. Il est ma lumière et mon coeur—comme tu as pu l’être. Lucien, mon ange, s’il te plaît, écoute-moi.
WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED us? I don’t know what I did to send you away, but I beg of you, save your son. Take him away from here. Keep him safe. He is my light and my heart—just as you once were. Lucien, my angel, please hear me.
Pocket Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Jeremy F. Lewis
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lewis, J. F.
Staked/J. F. Lewis.—1st Pocket Books trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
1. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.E9648S73 2008
813'.6—dc22 2007032930
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6553-6
ISBN-10: 1-4165-6553-1
eISBN-13: 978-1-4516-5215-4
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
The book is dedicated to four very special women:
My mom, Martha
My wife, Janet
My mother-in-law, Virginia
and
My good friend, Mary Ann
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author would like to acknowledge every single person who made this book possible, but he’s quite certain he left someone out. If it was you…oops.
With that said, I’d like to thank my writing group, WTF (Write the Fantastic): Janet, Rob, Mary Ann, Dan, Karen, and Virginia. Thank you for the many Tuesdays you’ve sacrificed on my behalf and for letting me go out of order every single time I was up against a deadline. Mom and Dad, thanks for the child care that made those editin
g sessions possible. Sandra and Rachel, I know you aren’t technically in the group, but for your feedback and general ability to put up with me, I thank you. Rich and Shea, I know editing’s not your thing, but thanks for your support during the whole process. Having friends helps.
Thank you to my agent, Shawna McCarthy, for rescuing me from the slush pile and letting me know what genre I was actually writing. Your advice was invaluable.
Thanks to my editor, Jennifer Heddle, not just for buyingStaked but for going above and beyond the call, sanding the rough edges, and making the novel shine.
Thanks also to my copyeditor, Chris Fuller, for his detailed character sketches, time line, and especially fine attention to detail.
And thanks to you, the reader, for picking up this book. I hope you enjoy it. (Buy two!)
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1: ERIC: THE ALLEY
Chapter 2: ERIC: DEMON HEART
Chapter 3: ERIC: EVENING AFTER
Chapter 4: TABITHA: MIDWIFE
Chapter 5: ERIC: DEAD CAR
Chapter 6: TABITHA: VAMPIRE 101
Chapter 7: ERIC: LITTLE SISTER
Chapter 8: ERIC: PRICE TAGS
Chapter 9: ERIC: DAMAGE REPORT
Chapter 10: TABITHA: RELATIONSHIP ISSUES
Chapter 11: ERIC: THE VOID CITY HOWLERS
Chapter 12: ERIC: BISCUIT IN THE BASKET
Chapter 13: TABITHA: HIDDEN DEPTHS
Chapter 14: TABITHA: THE SHOW MUST GO ON
Chapter 15: ERIC: SPIKED
Chapter 16: ERIC: BUYING A CLUE
Chapter 17: TABITHA: FINDING FROGGY
Chapter 18: TABITHA: AN AUDIENCE WITH INFAMY
Chapter 19: ERIC: GRETA
Chapter 20: ERIC: EYE OF THE…?
Chapter 21: TABITHA: WAYS AND MEANS
Chapter 22: TABITHA: CAT FIGHT
Chapter 23: ERIC: NO GOOD NEWS
Chapter 24: ERIC: THE OTHER SHOE
Chapter 25: ERIC: THIRD EYE OPEN AND READY FOR BUSINESS
Chapter 26: ERIC: AGORANAUT
Chapter 27: ERIC: POWERHOUSE
Chapter 28: TABITHA: PMS
Chapter 29: ERIC: PICTURE PERFECT
Chapter 30: ERIC: ORCHARD DAM ROAD
Chapter 31: TABITHA: BAT GIRL
Chapter 32: ERIC: ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
Chapter 33: TABITHA: TIDYING UP
Chapter 34: ERIC: UNFINISHED BUSINESS
Staked
1
ERIC:
THE ALLEY
Somewhere in the middle of my rant it occurred to me that I’d killed whoever it was I’d been yelling at, so arguing was no longer important. I looked down at my victim’s broken headless body and winced at the unnatural odor of rapidly rotting flesh. It never smells right to me when a vampire dies. I’ve always chalked it up to bowels. If you don’t eat, you don’t shit, and death just doesn’t smell right without it.
Whoever this guy was, he’d obviously been a Master vampire, because Drones and Soldiers don’t get the quick rot treatment. They turn to dust and blow away…which smells even less natural. And if he’d been a Vlad like me, he’d still be kicking.
I glanced around the dingy back alley where we’d been arguing and couldn’t remember exactly where I was, what we’d been fighting about, or what I’d done with the guy’s head. From the way the neck muscles had been ripped, I was guessing I’d torn it off. If he’d been human, I would have been soaked in blood, but vampires don’t bleed easily; my fingers were barely damp.
Out of curiosity, I went looking for What’s His Name’s head and found it lying next to the Dumpster at the back of the alley. I figured I ought to see if I recognized him. In spite of the unnaturally rapid decay, he looked vaguely familiar, like I might have seen him around town. Other than that his face didn’t ring any bells.
A homeless man was curled up against the wall of the alley, shaking like a leaf and staring at me. I tucked Dead Guy’s head under my arm and slipped the bum a twenty, mostly to screw with his mind, but also because I was sorry he’d seen whatever it was he’d seen. Besides, the homeless guy kind of looked like Alex Trebek andJeopardy! is a damned good show.
“Do you want me to tell the police somethin’ in particular?” asked the bum.
“Don’t talk to me, you dirty little fucker,” I snarled. I flashed my fangs at him and let my eyes do the whole glowing red bit. “I’m not paying you to do anything. The body will burn up when the sun hits it. Tell the cops whatever you want. If they believe you at all, they’re well paid to do the right thing. This is Void City, sweetheart.”
Norms don’t notice the supernatural here unless they aren’t really normal. The spell that hangs over this city doesn’t work on crazies, though. In this case I suspected the bum might remember what actually happened rather than thinking he’d seen a mugging or a gang fight or something.
I can’t see magic, but I know that’s how the spell is supposed to work. Your average Joe or Jane will forget the undead, the werewolves, even the demons that roam Void City and call it home…or sometimes they remember it wrong, their memories haphazardly replaced or jumbled by the spell. To see vampires and remember it later, you have to be crazy, be supernatural yourself, or be part of the scene, focused on being “in” with the undead crowd.
The cops all work for some high society fang I’ve never met and have no interest in meeting. I forget his name. If the police in his pocket have to cover up your crimes, you get a bill in the mail or a demand via phone from Captain Stacey with the VCPD. Everybody calls it the fang fee, because vampires get hit with the most of them. It’s just one of the extra headaches of being a vampire, right alongside having to drink blood, staying away from holy objects, avoiding sunlight….
Sunlight. I looked at my watch and cursed angrily. You’d think a vampire could remember to be in by sunrise, but my time sense has always sucked. Dropping the vamp’s head and ignoring the bum, I dashed for my car only to see the driver’s side door already glowing cheerily with the first lovely rays of dawn. I stopped for a moment in the shade of the alley to watch the sun’s reflection in my Hummer’s windshield. I used to love the sun. I still do, but now she doesn’t like me so much. Which makes her not that much different from any number of women I dated back during my living years.
I strolled back down the alley and glared disapprovingly at the bum. In the increasing illumination I could see him much better, and he didn’t look a damn thing like Alex Trebek. “You could have told me how close to sunrise it was,” I complained.
The bum smiled, and began to grow fur.
It rippled across his body, fingertips first, in a wave so fast the brown hair breaking the skin made little musical tinkling sounds like a giant rainstick. In the movies, the transformation always looks painful, but the bum’s eyes rolled back in his head, eyelids fluttering in what looked more like pleasure than pain.
“If I’d have done that, it would’ve been a fair fight, dead boy.” He growled, his skeleton distending with a sound like a hundred knuckles popping all in order, smallest to largest. The human teeth fell out of his muzzle as it lengthened, replaced by a mouthful of sharp pointy teeth. The better to blah blah blah me with.
“If you put those under your pillow, does the tooth fairy still pony up?” I asked.
“She pays more for vampire fangs,” he retorted.
What a pistol, that guy! I was laughing even as I picked up the Dumpster and emptied its contents over his head. Two more dead vamps rolled out to join No-Name. Their bodies weren’t like Headless Guy’s. They were little more than skeletons, the quick rotting flesh having bubbled away, leaving only a thin layer of gray scum. The bones had been gnawed on; the rib cages were splintered, gaping open where their hearts had been ripped out. They stunk even worse than Headless Guy did.
Normal animals won’t touch vampire remains, which left Werewolf Bum the obvious culprit. I’d have guessed even a low-level Master to be equal to one werewolf, so either thi
s guy’d had help or he was really something special.
The werewolf launched himself from beneath the garbage, sending gouts of filth into the air and scattering refuse everywhere. The dead vamps’ peculiar odor problem ceased to be an issue. Now the whole alley smelled like human waste of all types, foreign and domestic. I smiled, though. After all, Wolfy had to have a much more acute sense of smell than me. Heh.
“Damn it!” he roared, then sneezed pathetically and swatted at his nose.
I’ve always had trouble taking werewolves seriously. They all look like one of Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion creature effects to me; you know, fake looking. I keep expecting Sinbad to show up and pretend to duel with them, like he did with the skeletons inSinbad and the Eye of the Tiger . Normally I could probably take on four or five of them. This guy had no chance. I was still thinking that when Wolfy sank his fangs into my shoulder. The Dumpster fell backward out of my hands. He should have bitten my head or my neck; he wouldn’t get another shot.
Time seemed to slow as I reached up and grabbed the werewolf’s jaws, forcing them apart until I felt the joint give. Then I let go and rolled backward, coming up beneath the falling Dumpster, and catching it before it landed. It always makes me feel like a superhero when my vampire speed kicks in. Some vamps are able to use that speed all the time, but mine has always been sporadic for some reason.
I knew that I should kill Wolfy, but I really wasn’t interested. Werewolves tend to stick together. Kill one and you might wind up fighting the whole pack, or worse. Besides, I didn’t care about the other two vamps he’d killed. Wolf Bum was just doing what came naturally to him, so if I could, I’d let him go with a warning. I swung the Dumpster in an arc and knocked him into the air with it.
Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires Page 37