Frost Moon s-1

by Anthony Francis

  "I saw it," he said, closing his eyes briefly, as if recalling and re- memorizing every detail. "Is there anything else you'd like to protect?"

  Abruptly I flashed on Richard Sumners-he'd insured his hands for a million dollars. What the hell? It couldn't hurt. "Just my hands. I'm a tattoo artist."

  "Your life, blood, and sex; your friend, scooter, and hands," he said, reciting the odd list in complete seriousness. "I think that is as extensive, and as specific, as we can make the ban; but it will have to do."

  "Thanks," I said.

  He took my hand, raised it, and kissed it chastely. "Remember, this protection only lasts in the inner city. Outside the Perimeter, the vampires can no longer protect you.. So please, do not forget: if you travel outside the circle of I-285, you should stick to the safe places that humans instinctively gather in-or else you will run into creatures far more dangerous than either vampires or werewolves."

  My lip pursed up. "Thank you, Lord Delancaster."

  I still couldn't wrap my head around the vampires being Atlanta's force of supernatural law and order.

  13. The Werehouse

  The werehouse stood at the edge of the Chattahoochee, a bombed-out vestige of ironworks damaged beyond hope of repair on the river's slimy banks. The entrance was an unlikely path struggling down an embankment of a bridge crossing, a trail so trampled that the earth opened up in a jagged wound of red clay. Trash was piled everywhere, cigarette butts, beer bottles, ants swarming over mustard packets spilling out of a discarded Chick-fil-A bag. I gagged. I couldn't stand the smell. I couldn't imagine how the weres did either.

  No doubt it was a steal on the rent.

  The moon was swelling close to whole-what did that make it? New? Gibbous?-and I heard a soft thump as the vamp guard I'd been told to expect jumped down behind me.

  "Ah-ah-ah," a soft, velvety voice said, almost near enough to taste. You could almost hear him wagging his finger. "You don't want to go down that path at this hour, mortal."

  I turned, and the vampire cringed at the blaze of my cross.

  "Jeez!" he said, half choking on the word.

  "Sorry," I said, slipping the cross back under my shirt. I squared off with the vampire, hands jammed into the buttery leather of my trench vest, letting my tattoos gleam in the silver of the streetlight. "You must be Insomnia?" I said, hoping I got his name right.

  I was wrong.

  The little vampire punk quit cringing and glared, drawing himself to his full height, pale, made-up face falling as he realized I still towered a half a head over him, even counting his ridiculous teased hair that made him look like an albino member of the Flock of Seagulls. His face fell even further as he realized I was not the least bit intimidated.

  How could I be? A vampire in makeup, designed to make him look more like a vampire? Total poseur. He looked like he shopped at Hot Topic-not that I don't-and had even gotten mud on the hems of his bondage pants, the ones with the cheap plastic handcuffs and glittering chains that are supposed to look all Goth and edgy. And this was supposed to be a guard?

  "I," he said pretentiously, fake accent and all, "am the Vampire Transomnia."

  "Dakota Frost," I replied, and the rest of him deflated. "I was sent by Jinx to see the Marquis, and I travel under the protection of the Lady Saffron, Queen of Little Five Points." I tugged at the metal collar once or twice to make sure he saw it.

  The little vampire glowered at me-ok, perhaps not little, most likely average height for a guy-and I hopped down from the slight ridge to land in the clearing next to him, hoping that reducing the height difference would set him at ease. It didn't help. The proximity apparently made me even more threatening. His lips parted in a slow sigh, tips of his canines pointed past human, eyes glinting in his pale pudgy face like black olives shoved into the surface of a puff pastry.

  "Saffron protects you?" he said, hot breath curling on the air, a dull red glow building in his eyes. I suddenly realized I was within arms' reach of a vampire-a scrawny, poseur, threatened, insulting vampire who wanted a pissing match. "You could have done better than to ally yourself with that… maid."

  His lip curled further, and the bit of dried blood at the root of his fangs erased any illusions as to whether he'd been the one to eat the fast food from the sack tossed on the ground. Christ, he'd fed, not minutes ago, and not from the drive-thru window. He'd been sloppy about it. I hoped to God it had been a rat, but…

  I swallowed and slowly took my hands out of my pockets- empty. Showing him I wasn't carrying a stake or something.

  "I didn't have a choice," I said. "I live in her district."

  "No, you had a choice," he said, his lip twisting up into a mocking sneer. "Not to come here. Now that you have… you have to pay the toll."

  I raised my hands. "I'll use a different entrance-"

  "Too late," he said, grin widening, both fangs now exposed. "You're already under the bridge, and I'm the troll."

  Shit, so much for Saffron's protection. "Hey, I just want to speak to the Marquis," I said, raising my hands higher. "And I'm glad to go through you to do it."

  I said it so placatingly that he actually blinked as he processed it. In that split second I flipped my hands, and when his lids opened he got an eyeful of the crosses, stars and sickles upon each knuckle. They blazed with power, resonating with the vampire's own projected aura of hostility, and when he flinched, my right fist popped out and landed the holy symbols on his face in a twisting one-inch punch.

  All the mana stored in my tattoos and all the hate feeding back through the holy symbols released with a flash and a solid, satisfying BANG, and the vampire flew back into the mud and slid halfway down the riverbank.

  "I protect Saffron as much as she protects me," I said, strolling over to where the vampire lay, planting my fist in my other hand to let the charms charge up against the yin-yang in my palm. "Now would you, pretty please with sugar on it, take me to see the Marquis?"

  The vampire was blinking, twitching, and I started to worry I'd hit him too hard. Then his eyes focused on me, and I felt the holy symbols on my knuckles start to tingle in a hot wave of hate. I settled back, feeling adrenaline flood me. He wasn't supposed to get back up-what the hell was I going to do if he rushed me with vampire speed? "You're dead," he snarled, fangs fully exposed. "You are so dead, bitch!"

  He reached toward a bush to pull himself back up-but before he could, the bush put out a strong male hand to steady the vampire. "Enough, Trans," said a deep voice, and the bush unfolded, branches morphing into the proud antlers of a deer's head that flowed into the shoulders of a ruddy Native American warrior-a werestag, in halfhuman form.

  "Homina," I breathed.

  "Lord Buckhead," Transomnia stammered. "I-I didn't see you-"

  "You were not meant to," the werestag said. "I was watching your watching."

  Lord Buckhead carried a staff topped with the skull and antlers of a deer, adorned with eagle's feathers, but beyond that wore only a loincloth, buckskins, and an ornately woven chestpiece of beads bumping against his broad chest. His bare feet were almost as ruddy as the clay, but left only the slightest impressions as he effortlessly helped the smaller man up the bank and set him down beside me. I paid the vampire no mind. The werestag was almost seven feet tall- without the antlers-and despite the oddly solemn expression of his deer's head, there was a lively, reactive intelligence behind his eyes that I never saw in any beast.

  "Luh-Lord Buckhead," I stammered. For years I'd heard Edgeworld stories that 'the lord of Buckhead' was real, and not just a character cooked up by the marketing team of Atlanta's party district, but now when he stood before me all I could think was how nice it was to stare up at a guy, even if he had a deer's head. "The Lord of the Wild Hunt?"

  "The one and only," he said.

  I became convinced I'd seen him before-and after a second, I realized exactly where. "That-that statue of you in downtown Buckhead

  … is for real?"

  "The human sculp
tor Fleming used me as his model," he said, extending his hand. "I can take you to the Marquis. Trans, you will accompany us."

  "I'm not supposed to leave my post," he said, staring at the ground.

  "Your post is well-covered by my hunt," Lord Buckhead said. The little vampire looked around suddenly, but nothing was visible. "It is your orders that I want to clarify."

  "Yes, sir," Transomnia said, hunched over.

  We wove through the weeds along a path that was little more than a crease in the grass. Lord Buckhead seemed to move without a trace, and I suspected the rest of the werehouse's population also didn't leave the mess left by humans or vampires.

  Lord Buckhead stopped by a weathered POSTED – NO TRESPASSING sign and lifted a heavy section of chain-link fence for us to step under. As I did so I saw a trio of magical runes and Edgeworld tags listing this as a were-lair, a no-man's land, and a safe house. An odd combination, but it made sense. All who are not werekin are not welcome.

  The werehouse was a long, low brick building with cracked walls and rusted cranes that resembled a derelict battleship more than the fortress I'd expected. A few spotlights on the roof and at the edge of the weed-grown parking structure made pools of light, but beyond that I could only make out outlines. My tattoos tingled with a whisper of power, and I felt as if the place was crawling with movement I could not see. Figures seemed to lurk at the edge of the lot, behind the windows, on the battlements, but I could never draw a bead on a one. I could hear the din of a party, or a barfight, raucous cries of humans mixed in with rougher cries of something else. And then, shockingly close, a howl.

  I looked up to see a dark form howling at the moon from the tip of a crane: he looked… bipedal, but when he quit howling and looked down at me, his eyes glowed a brilliant violet, and when he ran off he ran too low, too hunched and too fast for any man.

  "Keep moving," Transomnia said, bumping me roughly with his shoulder as he passed. "Let's get this over with."

  He stopped at the base of a loading dock, staring up at a huge freight door, and two shadows detached themselves from either side to glare down at us with cold, blue eyes. This time, I didn't risk looking the vampires in the eyes; I'd never been hypnotized by one before, but my experience with the quite friendly Lord Delancaster had put the fear of God in me-something these guys probably lacked.

  "Brought us a snack, Trans?" one of them said, hopping down from the dock to land at our feet. He was scrawny, but confident, letting his long trenchcoat drape along his thin form with an ease that Transomnia lacked. Like the poseur vampire, his frosted locks were upswept, and keys dangled from a glittering chain at his belt; but somehow he made it look right. The other vampire's teased locks were brown but he had a similar trench, similar chain, and equal grasp of style. The first vampire was all business, but the brown- haired hanger-back made an odd hand signal that Transomnia shot back at him.

  Gang signs. Jinx wasn't kidding-a real vampire gang.

  "You are a pretty one," the vampire said. "What's your name, morsel?"

  I glared at him. I couldn't make out anything about his face other than his glowing blue eyes, but I glared anyway, screwing up my forehead as if I could force myself to maintain my concentration in the face of any psychic assault that he might mount-ridiculous, of course, as my psychic training was about zip. But I could feel my tattoos start to burn as he began to project his aura, and I looked away, jamming my tingling hands in my pockets. I didn't want a repeat of my insult to Trans, not in the middle of three vampires.

  I heard a sudden exhale behind me that ruffled the hair of my 'hawk.

  "My Lord," the vampire guard said, beginning a bow. Then he caught sight of the collar around my neck, and I saw his eyes widen-and the blue glow fade.

  "My apologies, Emissary," he said, with some respect. "What news do you bring from Lady Saffron's court?"

  "I am here under her protection, but on my own behalf," I said, looking up to meet his now more-human eyes. They were blue, a clear blue that stood out even in what little light we had from the few spotlights, and his face was fine, even handsome, when he wasn't putting out his scary vampire mojo. "My name is Dakota Frost. I'm here to consult with the Marquis at the behest of Jinx. I'm told he's expecting me."

  The vampire stared at me, then inclined his head and spoke to his brownhaired fellow guard. "Should I know any of those names?"

  "Well, the Marquis for starters," Transomnia interjected sarcastically.

  "And why did you abandon your post?" the vampire said sharply, and Transomnia stared at the pavement. "And why did the Lord Buckhead see fit to escort you back here, bloodied and covered in mud?"

  "These two fought," Lord Buckhead said, and I suddenly became embarrassed. "He barred her way… and she objected. Forcefully."

  "My, my," the brownhaired vampire guard said, leaning close in to me. "You objected… and brought our 'mighty' Trans low?"

  "I could have taken her," Transomnia said.

  "Knowing she was under the protection of the Daywalker?" the blond guard said. "You're lucky Lord Buckhead intervened. You're already on your third warning; had you done anything rash, we would have given her your head on a platter."

  "But I-"

  "Enough! This is a good gig, and we don't need you screwing it up. Revy! Take his post. Scare away the curious and the riffraffespecially the prostitutes. But if you get anyone persistent, do what Transomnia was ordered to have done-call the guardhouse for an escort."

  "Yes, Calaphase," the guard said-and quicker than a blink, leapt off. I whirled, but by the time I had turned, all I could see was the fence shaking. He was gone. I looked back to find Calaphase towering over Transomnia. "Our guests should not find it necessary," he growled, "to have Lord Buckhead watching over them."

  "How are you really different?" I asked. "You were going to nosh on me."

  Calaphase stared at me briefly, calculatingly. "My apologies," he said, not sounding apologetic at all. "I was… playing the role I thought you expected. Not all fear us as you do. You have the scent of blood and vampires on you so… I thought you were a willing morsel."

  "We just did this stupid ceremony not an hour ago," I said, tugging at the collar's ring. "Besides, Sav-the Lady Saffron is my ex. Every time I see her, she gets clingy."

  "You weren't in her court before?" he said. "You took her collar just to come here?"

  "Just because I was afraid of you, yes," I said. "Or more to the point, both Jinx and Saffron thought that I needed her protection, and the ban of Lord Delancaster, to come here."

  Calaphase glared down at Transomnia. "You have not helped our reputation."

  "Except our reputation as scary motherfuckers," Transomnia said.

  "Not even that," Calaphase said, "Apparently, she won Round One."

  He extended an arm towards a set of stairs, and I climbed the stairs up the loading dock. Transomnia, Lord Buckhead, and Calaphase leapt up on to the dock nimbly, as if they'd just climbed a single step. Calaphase looked at me, then Transomnia, shaking his head; then with one hand he pulled the huge freight door open to reveal a carnival of light and sound.

  "Come with us, Lady Frost, and the Oakdale Vampire Clan shall apologize to you for our rudeness before the Bear King."

  "And then," Transomnia said, unsmiling, "we shall see what he will make of you."

  14. The Marquis

  Drums beat, strong and primal. Fire blazed from burning barrels. And on the broad floor of what had been a warehouse, a crowd of nearly-human shapes cheered on as a huge wolf the size of a tiger faced off with a stag the size of a Buick.

  I started to think that maybe this job wasn't worth it.

  Ragged young boys ran the outer perimeter of the werehouse, human in form but snapping and snarling at each other with the voices of dogs. Wolves padded back and forth around the largest and scruffiest single group of men; both wolves and men stared at me with hungry eyes. There were other groups-tall, proud men I took to be werestags, another group cro
wded around a werebear, and many others. Or perhaps there was no relation between their human forms and their beasts-I had not seen any of them change yet.

  To the snarling was added whistling. I looked up, and saw an upper set of loft structures, perhaps once offices, that had been converted into living space. Boys and young men, expertly tattooed with wolf s heads and cat's paws, hung from the railing, whistling down at me. I laughed. Actual wolf whistles and cat calls! My laughter faded as I saw girls mixed in with the boys, angry, indignant-hitting their men and glaring down at me.

  Then an orange-haired girl leapt down from the railing, shoved a knot of boys apart and stalked up to me. She wore a cropped top and vest and short pants that showed off elaborate, tattooed tiger stripes-and it was good work, I mean, I was impressed-but the claws erupting from her fingers and the tail curving behind her were quite real.

  "You thinks you can just waltz in here and get a taste of our men?" she said, glaring up at me with yellow cat eyes, which made her all the more exotic and beautiful. She held up a long, sharp set of claws. "You thinks you can go through me to do it?"

  I leaned in down on her until my face was inches from her exotic, oval face, and her tufted cat ears folded back as her eyes grew wider. I closed mine, and drank in her scent. She was warm and spicy with sweat, with a hint of real perfume that tasted of cinnamon.

  "Oooh, you smell yummy," I cooed, opening my eyes to see hers terrified. "Why would I want them when you're throwing yourself at me? Give me a taste, little girl."

  Emboldened, I licked her face, and she leapt back with a squeal, hissing at me and swatting like a frightened little cat. It made her all the more cute, like the younger Savannah I remembered, and I watched her back all the way to a clump of the very same boys she'd challenged me over, hissing and swatting at them as they laughed.

  I licked my lips. "Definitely cinnamon."

  "Most interesting," Calaphase said. "Definitely Saffron's ex."

  Lord Buckhead suddenly strode forward and broke into the ring, pulling the wolf and stag apart like a pair of stuffed toys. The stag snorted and challenged him, but the wolf just whined and tried to get away. Both twisted uselessly at the ends of his straightened arms.