Cosmopolitan: Phantom Queen Book 2 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “You sure she’s up for it?”

  “She’s tough. I didn’t get a solid read on what all she can do, but she’s a good shot and can throw a punch. Doesn’t hesitate. I can take down Magnus and the rest, but not while trying to save Othello at the same time. This way, we divide and conquer. Besides, she’s so into me that if I told her to go home, she’d probably follow me anyway. Like a puppy.”

  “Like a what?!” I asked, pouncing up, prepared to slam Alucard’s head into the windshield.

  Roland’s bellowing laughter made me even more irate. “Ignore him,” the ex-Shepherd said. “We heard your breathing change when you woke up. He knew you were listening.”

  Alucard winked at me. “Just a joke, cher.”

  “Ye know, I’ve killed vampires for less,” I hissed, only partly joking.

  Roland chuckled. “To be honest, so have I. A lot less.”

  “About that,” I said, “what’s a former Shepherd doin’ runnin’ around with someone like him?”

  “Someone like him?” Roland asked, amused, his crimson eyes glinting. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a vampire, too.”

  “I’m not blind,” I said. I replayed Alucard snapping the neck of the vampire I’d been interrogating—noting again the satisfaction he’d gleaned from it. “I meant someone without a conscience.”

  Alucard jerked his head around, then turned to face the window. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I’d hurt the big bad fanger’s feelings.

  “Alucard is not all monster,” Roland said. “I’ve worked with monsters, men with souls darker than the demons they were supposed to save people from.” Something about the way he said it made me wonder how fresh that wound was.

  “I wasn’t criticizin’ him,” I clarified. “Havin’ a conscience is overrated. I’m just curious.”

  The tension in Alucard’s shoulders eased, but he remained facing the window. “I used to be Master of New Orleans, you know,” he said. “I traded that in for something I didn’t know I wanted. A family. Friends I could trust. But you never really come back from the war, you understand? Not all the way. Still, you’re wrong. I have a conscience. I care about my friends and my family. But everyone else? Collateral damage. Can’t be helped.”

  “Like the crowd at the club?” I asked.

  “Crowd?” Roland interjected. “What crowd?”

  “They were between me and what I wanted,” Alucard said, ignoring his companion.

  “Aye. But goin’ through ‘em would’ve made t’ings far worse.”

  Alucard nodded. “And, if nothing’s happened to Othello, I’ll say thank you when this is all over. Gladly. But if she’s not okay, it’ll be on us for not taking that risk.”

  I sighed. He was right, of course; if Othello ended up hurt because I’d opted to save a crowd full of strangers, I’d never forgive myself. On the other hand, Othello had picked me for my discretion, for my ability to weigh risks and rewards. Deep down, I know she’d have wanted me to step in, regardless of what happened to her.

  “That’s the price you pay for keeping your soul,” Roland said.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Ye believe ye still have a soul?” I didn’t ask this judgmentally, more out of curiosity. Most vampires I had met didn’t seem overly concerned about having a soul, even going so far as to flaunt the fact that they didn’t have one.

  Roland shrugged. “I still have my magic. Maybe He hasn’t forsaken me just yet. Or maybe it’s up to me to prove I can carry this burden with grace. Either way, I’m glad you stopped my friend here from doing something I know he’d regret.”

  Alucard smirked. “See, that’s why I keep you people around. Otherwise I’d be tearing out throats left and right.”

  “Well, once we get there, ye have me permission to execute every single one of ‘em,” I said, coolly. “Of course, if ye want to leave a few of them crawlin’ on their knees, beggin’ for the Almighty’s forgiveness…” I leaned forward until I could see Roland’s profile, “we can put this absolution theory to the test?”

  Roland grunted. “Maybe next time.”

  Chapter 33

  The mansion gates were wide open.

  “What do you think that means?” Alucard asked Roland.

  “It’s a trap,” I said.

  “Definitely a trap,” Roland agreed. “Didn’t run into any wards. And now no guards.”

  The mansion itself was visible in the distance, rising above a copse of trees on either side of the road. The sun had yet to rise, but the lights from the windows made the mansion stand out like a beacon. Alucard didn’t seem to care, but Roland kept an eye on the horizon, likely gauging how long they’d have until the sun rose. My guess was another couple of hours.

  “I don’t like it,” Alucard said, one hand propped against the dash as he studied our immediate surroundings. “I was really hoping to do this Nate’s way.”

  “Nate’s way?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Blow shit up and apologize later. I’m not sure why, but it always seems to work out for him.”

  “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” Roland said, as if that made total sense. Catching our befuddled expressions, he continued, “That’s how you keep people you care about safe. Temple hasn’t mastered the first part, but he’s got plenty of firepower to use as a deterrent. You need a bigger stick.”

  Alucard glared at the ex-Shepherd. “I think my stick is plenty big enough, thank you very much.”

  Roland shrugged.

  “Let’s go,” Alucard grumbled.

  “Wait,” I said. “Pop the trunk.” He did, and I went around back and snatched up my duffel bag. If we were about to walk into a trap, I wanted to be armed. I ducked back into the car and glanced at my traveling companions. “Oy,” I said, a thought occurring to me, “d’ye t’ink he might’ve rigged explosives? Ye know, along the road.”

  The two of them looked back at me, eyes wide.

  “What?” I asked. “It’s what I’d do.”

  “Maybe we should walk from here,” Roland suggested.

  “I think I’d rather fly,” Alucard said.

  “Hah hah,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  As if vampires could actually fly.

  We made it to the door without incident, although it had been entertaining watching the two vampires test out the ground with their boots, shuffling dirt about every so often when it bubbled up conspicuously. Honestly, the fact that they hadn’t considered it meant Magnus probably hadn’t either, but it never hurt to be cautious.

  “So, do we knock, or…?” I asked.

  Roland slammed his balled fist against the door several times.

  “Did you seriously just knock on his door?” Alucard asked.

  “Just because we’re here to kill him doesn’t mean we can’t be polite,” Roland said. “Besides, some of us have to be invited in.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or serious.

  The door creaked open a moment later and a stunning young woman, her eyes glassy and unfocused, greeted us, “Welcome to Kensington Manor. Please, come in.”

  The three of us shared a look. You know when something is about to go terribly, terribly wrong—that oh shit feeling you get right before it happens? That was written on all of our faces. We’d come prepared to go to war, and now it felt like we’d been invited to dinner.

  I didn’t like it. At all.

  We followed our guide inside, walking past a sitting room and ascending to the main foyer. From what I could tell from the outside, the mansion—three stories tall and as wide as a grocery store—had at least a couple dozen rooms. A few hundred priceless paintings and statues. Probably an indoor swimming pool. The display of wealth was obscene, but not particularly surprising—with a few hundred years of saving, my 401K would probably cover something like this.

  Well, maybe a few rooms like this.

  Two staircases wound their way around either side of the main room, joining together high above our heads. Magnus stood at the rai
ling in a dark blue frock coat that would have looked at home in the Edwardian era. Behind him stood a small harem of women, each displaying anesthetized expressions similar to our guide, who joined them. Magnus rapped his cane on the wrought iron rail with a resounding clang. “Welcome to my home, I—”

  “Where’s Othello?” I asked, ignoring the pleasantries. One, because I didn’t have time for them. And two, because I hated it when vampires did the whole I was born in blah, blah, blah and back in my day we took six days to say hello bit. You’d be surprised how old that got—no pun intended.

  Magnus glanced at me with disdain before turning his attention to my companions. “Ah, Alucard, once Master of New Orleans. And the former Shepherd. Haven’s acquisition. I’ve heard some interesting things about you. About both of you. I—”

  The sound of gunfire interrupted his pithy monologue as my first round burrowed itself in the meat of his arm. The second took him in the stomach. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I asked ye a question.”

  Magnus straightened and stared down at the blood leaking through his clothes, clearly furious. Unlike his fledglings, he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the bullets. Magnus pointed his cane at me. “How dare you come into my Manor and—”

  This time I shot him in the leg.

  I glanced over at my companions, who were staring at me in complete shock. “What? He’s not listenin’ to me.”

  A horrific giggle I recognized erupted from the stairwell on our right. “Ooh, I like her!”

  We turned as one, eyeing the scrawny man sprawled out along the stairs, propped up like a pinup model, kicking his legs. His scars appeared even more ragged and disturbing than they had the last time I’d seen him—I thought I could make out words gouged into his skin.

  Alucard hissed and took a step forward. “What are you doing here?” he asked in stunned disbelief.

  “Who, me?” the man asked, his smile so wide it threatened to tear his face in two. “I’m playing the stock market. Human stock. Vampire market. Investments, my friend. It’s all about investments.”

  “We aren’t friends, you creep,” Alucard snarled.

  “So much animosity,” the scarred man admonished, flipping onto his back and sitting up. “With a friend like me, you could have all the twisted things your Daywalker heart desires. Respect. Power. Freedom.” His eyes glittered. “No more leashes. In fact, you could have pets of your own. Would you like that? Your Beast Master all tied up…waiting to do what you tell her, begging. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could see the scarred man’s words were having an effect. Alucard’s body language was rigid, as if he were fighting against his own instincts. I decided it was as good a time as any to interject. “Oy, why d’ye and that mountain attack me the other night, ye miserable shit?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s you! I’d forgotten. Things slip my mind so easily these days. But you disappeared! Where’d you go, I wonder?” He thrust a couple fingers into his mouth and yanked on his own teeth, pulling his jaw down. He withdrew them with a giggle. “Oh well! You’re here now. Let’s make the best of it, shall we?”

  “Who is he?” Roland asked, nudging Alucard, who nearly jumped at the contact, looking guilty.

  “He’s an enemy,” Alucard replied. “Someone we dealt with a long time ago. He’s the original deal-maker. Rumpelstiltskin.”

  Of course, he was.

  Because that’s the kind of trip this was turning out to be.

  Chapter 34

  Magnus, fully recovered, but sporting some seriously gruesome stains, interrupted our discussion by yanking one of the girls from the crowd. “Tell me, Miss MacKenna…is this your friend? The one Othello spoke of?”

  I glowered at him, refusing to speak.

  “No?” Magnus threw her aside by one arm. I heard the girl’s bone snap from below, and watched in horror as she sunk to the ground, cradling her shattered forearm without so much as a sob. “How about this one?” Magnus snatched another girl.

  I ground my teeth together, aching to put another bullet between his eyes. Two things stopped me: the distance and the consequences. At this range, I might end up hitting the girl he held by accident; I was a good shot, but not that good. The other problem was—either because Othello’s blessings had worn off or because Magnus was a Master vampire—my bullets didn’t have what it took to end the motherfucker.

  “Not this one either. Shame.” He flung his newest victim back into her companions, many of whom collapsed in a heap without a sound, despite the pain of having a whole person chucked at them.

  “Stop this!” I screamed, my trigger fingers tingling from need.

  “Tell me how you managed to get past the rules of Guest Right, and I’ll stop.”

  Guest Right. A set of laws imposed on Freaks entering one another’s territory—a sort of behavioral guide meant to keep Freaks from killing each other in their own homes. By all accounts, anyone who broke them would forfeit their power and, in some cases, their lives. Roland and Alucard’s reaction suddenly made more sense; they hadn’t expected me to take pot shots at Magnus any more than he had.

  “Some rules don’t apply to me,” I responded, cryptically. The truth was I had no idea why I’d been able to shoot the bastard without repercussions of some sort—it had simply never occurred to me that anything would happen.

  Magnus sneered and dragged a girl from the pile behind him. Her eyes were wide, but not frightened. She’d been dressed in a thin shift that revealed way more than I was comfortable with—her naked legs smooth and tan and corded with lean muscle. She was barefoot, but heavily made up, like a doll.

  Terry.

  “Oh, I see we’ve found our missing young woman,” Magnus said, gauging my reaction. “But after all the blood loss, I find myself insatiably thirsty.” Magnus leaned down, planting his lips against Terry’s throat. I took a threatening step forward, but realized I could do nothing about it. Alucard and Roland seemed equally pissed, but attacking Magnus would render them powerless. All we could do was watch.

  A man I hadn’t noticed before ascended the staircase on our left. “Now, now, Magnus, settle down,” he said. “The cameras haven’t even started rolling yet. Go get yourself cleaned up, that blood is off-putting.”

  “Dorian,” Magnus replied, rising to his full height to tower over the newcomer. “Don’t presume to tell me what to do in my own home. Just because the Marquis requested you, doesn’t mean you have any true authority here.”

  Dorian mock-saluted, the action as graceful and practiced as a bow. “All I’m saying is that, if you bleed that lovely young woman out now, we’ll lose a juicy opportunity later on. Besides, we need everyone’s cooperation to get things off the ground.”

  Roland grunted, speaking through gritted teeth. “This isn’t good.”

  “What’s the matter? Other than the obvious,” Alucard said, his gaze inexorably drawn towards Rumpelstiltskin, who waggled his fingers in an obnoxious wave.

  “That’s Dorian Gray,” Roland replied. “Callie told me about him. Likes to put on shows and events.”

  Dorian Gray. Another character fresh from the pages of a storybook. How many of these guys were there wandering the world? Had these legends been written into existence, or had they been there all along, and written about only afterward? I studied the man behind Oscar Wilde’s legend and noted the same things he had—his incomparable beauty, the slight, ever-present sneer that reeked of self-satisfaction. Dorian Gray was a man it would be easy to love and easier still to hate.

  “What kind of shows?” I asked, absentmindedly.

  That pale, almost-blush returned to Roland’s cheeks. “Orgies, for one.”

  I eyed the small horde of scantily clad women behind Magnus, who was having a heated argument with Dorian, still holding Terry close. Under the circumstances, it would be more like group rape—except how would we factor in? I suddenly became very aware of the layers I had on and what I would d
o to make sure they stayed that way.

  I took another look around the room while Magnus was distracted, hoping against hope to find Othello nearby. Nothing, unless you counted Rumpelstiltskin, the dealmaker. He’d climbed up on the railing, now, mounting it like a horse. Like a bored toddler.

  A thought occurred to me. I groaned and rubbed my temples. “Of course, it was ye,” I said, mostly to myself.

  “What was that, Quinn?” Roland asked.

  “The wee scarred fucker,” I said, pointing. “Alucard said he’s the dealmaker, right?”

  “So?” Roland asked.

  “So, he’s the one. T’wasn’t the vampires at all. Or at least not all them.” I called out to the little man, “Oy! Stilts!”

  Rumpelstiltskin batted his eyes at me cartoonishly. “Yes?”

  “Were ye the one who got Terry her interview with Austina?”

  “That depends. Which one’s Terry?” he asked, head cocked to one side like a dog’s.

  I pointed to the young woman in Magnus’ arms.

  “Oh! I sure did. Fame and fortune. Right up my alley.”

  “But she didn’t even become famous,” I argued. “Shouldn’t that be a breach of contract?”

  Rumpelstiltskin slid down the railing with a joyful squeal, landing on his feet. “Oh no. She had to feel famous. To feel fortunate. Never works on the stuck-up broads—they won’t be happy until they’ve won an Oscar. That’s why I steer clear of LA. But New York City? If they can cover rent, they think they’ve made it.” He tottered on over, pumping his arms as he went. “I’ll let you in on a little secret though, if you’d like? Free of charge.”

  I sneered down at the odious little man. For centuries he’d cashed in on his talent for offering people what they wanted in exchange for something they didn’t think they’d ever need. And yet somehow, Terry and the other girls had ended up here, against their will, as living mannequins—a blood supply wrapped in smooth, shapely bodies. “Tell me what they agreed to.”

  Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers and pointed his fingers at me like a gun. “Bingo! Fine print! You know what I hate about making deals?”