Vintage Soul

by David Niall Wilson

  A short, very thin man with long moustaches, a beak-like nose, and dark eyes smiled up at him. The man held a small tumbler cupped between his palms, and Johndrow caught the scent of the bayou, Cajun blood. The drink was whiskey, warm and raw, served at room temperature. Johndrow smiled.

  “It is marvelous,” the little man said. His voice was soft, but it carried easily. He surveyed the room and took a sip of his drink. “Truly marvelous.”

  “Thank you, old friend,” Johndrow replied, turning and refilling his own glass. “I wanted it to be special. Vanessa and I don’t get out as much as we once did. There are some here tonight we haven’t seen in years. It isn’t good to remain cooped up too long. There is too much to forget, and once it’s gone – you never really get it back, do you?”

  He glanced thoughtfully at the cognac in his glass. It held a fleeting glimpse of the past. It held the essence of a lifelong fallen to ash, but it was a pale image of the reality that had spawned it.

  “You have a better reason to remain locked away than most,” the little man chuckled. “She is magnificent, as well, but you know this. Even my Ligaya watches Vanessa with hunger.”

  Johndrow laughed. The little man, whose name was Joel, had traveled the world with his lover Ligaya for nearly a third of that time, and nothing born of darkness or light could part them. They were insatiable, incorrigible, and Johndrow found that he had missed their company more than he’d realized.

  “It is good to see you both,” he said, taking a sip.

  A scream rose from the hallway where Vanessa had disappeared, and everyone in the room froze. The sound cut through the rhythmic heartbeat flowing from the stereo and slapped conversation to silence. It echoed, rose a second time, and then fell away. Johndrow dropped his glass and was at the door the hall before it touched the polished wooden floor.

  He reached the kitchen in seconds, but it was empty. There was a crashing sound in further down the hall, and Johndrow launched himself toward it. It came from the direction of the elevator. As he hit the hall, he saw the doors closing, but before he could reach them, they had sealed tightly. The small man who’d served the wine and sealed the door lay on the floor. He was broken. That was the only way to describe it. His arms and legs jutted at impossible angles. Blood soaked the floor and leaked from his pale lips. His eyes were open wide, staring up at the ceiling in abject terror.

  Johndrow turned to the panel on the wall to alert the drivers. Where the panel had been there was nothing but a molten mass of circuits and wire fused into a single, shapeless lump. Nothing remained. He knew this would alert the drivers as well as he might have, but he screamed in frustrated anger. The corpse beside him told him the intruder was no ordinary threat, and he knew there was nothing the drivers could do.

  “What is it?” Joel cried, joining his friend in the hall.

  “Vanessa,” Johndrow growled. “Someone got in here and they’ve taken Vanessa.”

  “How do we get down?” Joel asked, turning and looking for a door, or a panel that might open on a stair.

  “There is no other way,” Johndrow said flatly. The elevator is the only entrance. It can be operated manually, assuming anyone is left alive below. If not, I’ll have to send someone down the shaft. It could take hours, and by then?”

  Joel didn’t answer. Others poured into the hall, some clutching drinks, some half-amused, wondering if this was a new and unexpected amusement. With a snarl, Johndrow pounded his fist into the wood paneled wall. The wood cracked and buckled inward.

  Several floors below, the huge garage door slid open silently, and a single dark Mercedes coupe rolled out into the darkness. The door did not close behind it, and no one followed.

  TWO

  It took Johndrow the entire night, and his staff working throughout the day, to arrange a meeting of the council. It had been several years since they’d last convened, and many members were reluctant – particularly those in attendance at his party the previous night. Threats had grown fewer and less likely in recent times. Electronic security, for those who could afford it, had progressed to incredible levels, and, as Joel had bemusedly put it, people just weren’t as frightened. The human race had reached a point in its evolution where they were as likely to seek and embrace the way of the blood as they were to reject or fear it. They were as likely to attract groupies and talk show hosts as any form of modern slayer.

  None of this changed the face of Vanessa’s disappearance. When Johndrow’s staff managed to free up the elevator, the guests had dispersed quickly into the fading night. Johndrow had rushed from the main door of the garage, but there was no sign of forced exit, and none of the drivers remembered seeing anything out of the usual. In fact, their memories were sufficiently clouded that Johndrow was certain they’d been wiped, hurriedly and without much thought to what consequences such an act might have on their minds. Most of them vaguely remembered arriving at the party. A couple were able to tell him what hand they last remembered holding in their poker game.

  None of them remembered anything out of the ordinary, nor had they seen Vanessa or anyone unexpected. In the chaos that followed the elevator repair, no one thought to check for an empty space in the lot, and by the time they did, half the guests had disappeared into the night, and there was no way to sort it all out. No one remembered opening the outer door or hearing any alarm from the penthouse above.

  On top of this, there was the matter of Stine, Johndrow’s head of security. The man had been ancient and quite skilled at his duties. Whoever had taken Vanessa had brushed past the gnomish wizard with no more thought than one gave a mosquito, and the result of that encounter had been astonishingly violent – and final. Stine’s people had worked over the body for twelve hours straight, but the effort was wasted. There was no chance of resuscitation, and despite intricate charms and incantations, they’d been unable to extract any information from the corpse.

  Since Johndrow’s penthouse would not be fully secured for several days, the elders had opted to meet in Joel’s office. His quarters were not as ostentatious as Johndrow’s, but the security was tight. Joel occupied the seventeenth floor of a twenty story office building in downtown San Valencez, California. Below were the vaults and offices of the bank Joel had built and held full controlling interest in. The eighteenth floor was vacant, not accessible by public elevator or stair, and housed offices for security and other dealings that required separation from the financial institution below. The upper stories were apartments Joel leased to relations and associates. Each had its own private security and access. There was a helo pad on the roof.

  The last time the council had met, there were sixteen in attendance. Tonight, there would be only ten. The Resendez brothers were in Argentina on business, and though their people had, of course, been alerted, and warnings passed, they were unable to return in time to be present. Claudia Forsythe and her current paramour, who Johndrow knew only as Benjamin, were in Europe and could not be reached. Copper and Alicia Contreaux were still in Louisiana, and there were reports that the two had troubles of their own in the bayou.

  Johndrow glanced up and down the hallway as he entered the large conference room Joel had cleared for the meeting. Two of the small, gnomish men and one gnarled woman, a good foot shorter with piercing blue eyes and a hooked nose reminiscent of a buzzard were stationed at intervals up and down the hall, and there were others at every entrance. At Johndrow’s apartment, Stine had been alone, and had fallen to the element of surprise. It was obvious that his people considered the threat a serious one. Johndrow had never seen such a concentration of the security force. He knew it must have cost a fortune, and he knew as well that a bill would arrive at his penthouse shortly for his part in it. Joel was a good friend, but business was business.

  Joel stepped up to greet Johndrow at the door, laying a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “They will be sufficient,” the old man assured him. “They take what happened last night as a personal affront. I would not like to try a
nd breach their defenses tonight.”

  “I would have had them there last night, if I’d had any idea…” Johndrow’s features darkened. He was angrier than he’d been in over a century, but there was nothing on which to vent his rage. He wanted to roar up and down the hallway, smashing anyone and anything that got in his way, but it would have served no purpose, and he knew that Joel was right. If he tried something crazy like that tonight, it would be his bones scattered haphazardly over the carpeted floor.

  “Come in,” Joel said, stepping aside. "Corwyn, Ballard, and Jensen are here already. I just received word that Grimshaw and Nystrom are in the garage. Lydia and her Adriana will be fashionably late, of course, and that only leaves Ligaya, who will finalize security. We’ve commissioned extra wards. It’s an inconvenience, I know. No one will be able to leave before the charms are raised, but it will afford us the extra level of security we need to be certain we are not disturbed.”

  Johndrow nodded distractedly. He’d expected as much, and knew the others would as well. Only extraordinary circumstances could have dislodged them all from their comfortable holdings at such short notice, and anything less than perfect security would not do at all. They would see it as their due.

  They were ten of the most powerful creatures on earth. They were men, or had been men, and women, but now they were more. Sixteen floors beneath them were corridors and offices where the finances of the world were bartered, traded, negotiated and sealed. Huge vaults held the vast fortunes of those who ruled the daylight hours. The wealth of minor foreign countries was tucked safely beneath the polished marble floors, and centuries of treasures, secrets, and lives were tucked into row after row of secure safe deposit boxes, some so old and intricately guarded that the building could withstand anything short of nuclear attack and not breach their integrity. That was what the world saw.

  Beneath those secure vaults, beside them, sometimes even within them, were other vaults. Joel had gathered wealth, treasure, and power of his own. Centuries of it. There were secrets held safe within his walls that kings would ransom their holdings to acquire, that wars could be and had been fought over; artifacts that required such deep concentration and dedication to control and secure that the task boggled Johndrow’s mind. And Joel was only one of the ten.

  Before long the first nine were seated. Ligaya entered last, drawing the doors closed behind her. Just for a moment the gnomish security woman’s fierce eyes filled one pane of the glass paneled door behind her, glared into the room, and then were gone. Ligaya seemed not to notice. She took her seat beside Joel, and Johndrow rose slowly, getting right to the point.

  “There’s no sense in my going over the events of last night in detail,” he said. “Most of you were there, and those of you who were not have no doubt gathered the details through your own people. Vanessa was taken, right out of my penthouse, right out of my party. Most of you know – knew – Stine. He was one of the oldest and most trusted of his kind. There was only just enough left of him for identification. My elevator system was thoroughly fried, and at least a dozen drivers had their memories wiped. All of this took place in the span of only a few moments time, and the intruder left no trace.”

  “It’s bad about Vanessa,” Nystrom called out. He was a trim man in a gray suit, and as he spoke, he slowly filed a long, sharp fingernail. He didn’t meet Johndrow’s gaze. In fact, he looked somewhat bored by the entire proceeding, though it would have been a mistake to believe he wasn’t paying scrupulous attention. “The two of you have been together a long time now,” he went on. “I remember a time when you were not, though. In fact, most of us remember that time. Vanessa has disappeared in the past, what makes you so sure someone took her this time?”

  Johndrow’s hands shook and he dug his nails into the hard, smooth surface of the conference table. Had it been wood alone, he’d have splintered it, but it was reinforced against just such extreme treatment. He kept his voice even and calm. Nystrom and Vanessa had been involved with one another for a short period, perhaps fifty years, before Johndrow had met her. He knew Nystrom was testing his nerves, but they were dangerously frayed, and he had to fight to keep from launching himself across the table and gripping the smug bastard by the throat.

  “I am as aware of Vanessa’s history as any of you,” he said. “Probably more than any other, I understand her nature, and it is true that in the past she has been – somewhat less than reliable.”

  There was a soft snicker from one corner of the room, but it fell to silence before Johndrow could pinpoint the source.

  “This is a serious threat,” he said. “You can sit there and make light of it if you want, but I don’t think there’s anyone here who believes that Vanessa, even in a fury, could have done what was done to Stine, let alone what happened to the elevator and the drivers below. She’s old, and she’s powerful, but none of us is that powerful.”

  Nystrom glanced up, as if he took offense at this statement, but he held his tongue. He stared pointedly at where Johndrow still clutched the conference table in a death grip, chipping his nails from the pressure. Nystrom went back to his manicure, shaking his head.

  “What would you have us do?” The speaker was Andrew Corwyn, a peevish, bookish little man with large glasses perched on his nose that he no longer needed, but wore in memory of a mortal life he claimed to miss. No one believed him, of course, but neither did they suggest he cast aside the spectacles. “I mean,” the man said, glancing around at the others for support, “It’s your problem, not ours. It was your party, your security, and, to be blunt, Vanessa was your lover. How does this affect me?”

  “You were at the party,” Joel cut in evenly. “It could as easily have been you, or your Meredith, that was taken. Would you feel differently then? How is security at your place, Andrew? A few gnomes short of a quorum, I’m betting, since they won’t work unless you pay them fairly.”

  Ligaya reached out and laid her hand gently on Joel’s. “They don’t like to be called gnomes, dear, you know that. Considering how much is riding on our contract…?”

  “What are they then?” Nystrom cut in, “Height challenged? Charisma challenged? They certainly aren’t human.”

  Corwyn slowly pulled his spectacles off and began cleaning them, doing his best to take on the indifferent air that Nystrom pulled off so effortlessly – and failing. He fumbled the glasses back onto his nose and glared at Joel.

  “I don’t care what we call them, or for that matter, what they want to be called. My point is, it wasn’t my place that was attacked, was it?”

  “Not this time,” Johndrow said softly. “How do we know it’s an isolated attack? We have no idea who, or what, pulled this off. We have no idea where Vanessa has been taken, or why. We have no way to know, in other words, that this threat was to her in particular, or to any one of us, rather than a sign of things to come. It may have just been a warning shot.”

  “Warning of what, exactly?” Grimshaw cut in. “Not to be quarrelsome, but we seem to be particularly short on facts to have called a meeting over this. Wouldn’t our time have been better spent tightening security and trying to find out who this mysterious intruder might have been? As powerful as he – or she,” he nodded to Ligaya with a smile, “might be, they are not beyond detection. The list of those with the power and intelligence to pull such a thing off is a short one.”

  “There is no time,” Johndrow replied wearily. “Vanessa may already have passed to final death. I believe we’ve been together long enough for the blood bond to form, but I can’t be certain. I have not felt her pass. If she is out there in trouble, we owe it to her as one of our own to find her and bring her back.”

  “A tall order,” Nystrom observed.

  “That is why I suggest we put it in capable hands and tend to our own defense,” Joel interjected. “There is one we can call at such times, and though we have not needed his services for a very long time, I believe that extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures.” />
  “You mean DeChance, Preston?” Lydia Hollinshead asked. She pursed her lips and steepled her hands, delicate elbows perched on the surface of the table. Lydia never spoke without striking a pose, and it was such long habit that none paid her odd habit the slightest mind.

  “Yes,” Johndrow replied. “DeChance, of course. I took the liberty of checking to be certain he’s in town.”

  “And he is,” Joel cut in. “I agree with Preston. This is serious business, and not something we can afford to ignore. We are all far too busy to complicate our lives by constantly watching over our shoulders, and I for one have no time or resources to devote to this full time. DeChance has served us well in the past, and as long as we meet his price, I see no reason not to trust him. Besides,” Joel scanned their faces, “which of you believes they know more about the sort of power we are talking about here than Mr. DeChance?”

  “What about the gnomes?” Nystrom asked. “We’ve already paid them quite a lot – couldn’t they be persuaded to look into this?”

  “Possibly,” Ligaya replied, taking over for her husband. They all knew she was the bank’s liaison with the security firm, so none objected when she interrupted. “But it isn’t their specialty. They protect things. They covet things, and when they cannot have them for themselves, they help others to covet more safely. They aren’t detectives, and they aren’t good on the offensive. Whoever we are up against already bested them once, and without much difficulty, it seems. I, for one, don’t feel safe in letting them handle this without help. Particularly,” she glared at Nystrom, “if you continue to insult them.”

  “And they aren’t cheap,” Grimshaw cut in. “DeChance has his price, but it’s always been fair, and it’s certainly less than the – um – security wizards? -- would ask to go so far beyond their normal tasking. I say we bring DeChance in and be done with it. Security will be over-taxed answering our additional concerns for the immediate future, no sense straining them to the breaking point.”