Fury's Kiss

by Karen Chance

Something dropped onto my back and I screamed and wrenched my jacket off, throwing it as far as I could and blasting the shit out of it at the same time. I stood there, panting, my eyes flicking around the room for the next target, and decided that maybe I could cut Radu a little slack. Because vampires didn’t form themselves into fleshy grenades and fly around, eith—

  I stopped, having caught sight of the bag I’d dropped when the arm of doom grabbed me. It had somehow remained intact, maybe because most of the parts with the muscle were in the other one. But the face was still pressed against the plastic, and the staring blue eye was now…

  Staring at me.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Hello? Hello? What’s happening? Why aren’t you talking? Are you coming to get me OUT?”

  “Give me a sec,” I said, trying to line up a shot through a cracked windshield. It would have been easy—except that the air in front of me was suddenly full of flying flesh. It looked like a hurricane had hit a butcher shop, which freaked me out less than the fact that it knew.

  “I DON’T HAVE A SEC!”

  “Where are you?” I asked, waiting for an opening while a hail of bloody rain pitted the car.

  “Where else? The morgue in the basement.”

  “And that is how far from the carriage house?”

  “I don’t know! I never come in that way!”

  “Then look it up,” I gritted out, as something sizzled against the wall behind me.

  “My computer is outside. Just ask one of your crew!”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You…you do have a crew…don’t you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? NOT EXACTLY? What do you mean, not—”

  The rest of his diatribe was lost in the sound of a .45 obliterating an eyeball. And as soon as it did, all the little things fell to the ground, twitching aimlessly. And then finally went still.

  Okay, I thought. All right. It looked like all those video games had had the goods, after all.

  So, yeah. Easy.

  I swallowed. “Radu. Tell me what level you’re on.”

  “I don’t…It’s…it’s the next to lowest. I think…Yes, it should be fourteen on the elevator.” An ominous crack echoed through whatever crazy connection he’d been able to make. “Dory.” His voice had suddenly gotten very small. “Hurry.”

  “I’m coming, ’Du. Just…sit tight. I’m coming.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Since I had exactly one gun to my name and was almost out of ammo for that, my first stop was the car and the battered toolbox on the floor in the back. It contained emergency supplies, including a couple nice ten-inch knives that I pocketed and an even nicer .44 Magnum that I didn’t. Because I was hemorrhaging weapons lately, and had had to press it into service just in time for Slava’s guys to take it away.

  I took the box of .44 ammo anyway, just in case I ran across a usable weapon. But even assuming I did, I wasn’t going to make it to ’Du with that alone. I needed more weapons, a lot more ammo and some dirty tricks.

  Fortunately, I was in the right place for all three.

  “’Du. Do you know where the nearest weapons cache is?” I asked, picking up my once expensive leather jacket, which now resembled a target at a shooting gallery. But I didn’t have a choice; thanks to Marlowe’s idea of evening wear, I had nothing else to hold all the—

  I suddenly realized that Radu hadn’t responded.

  “’Du?”

  Nothing.

  I felt a cold hand clench in my chest when he didn’t answer, when I didn’t even get a sense of him in my head. But that didn’t have to mean anything. My mental abilities weren’t exactly reliable. I was like a radio that could usually only receive, and that didn’t even work half the time.

  So ’Du might be fine. No, he was fine, I told myself fiercely. He was a damned second-level master and a Basarab. He’d spent five hundred years outfighting, outsmarting and just plain outlasting the hell out of everybody. He would hold out.

  Now I just had to get to him.

  Considering the Senate’s level of paranoia, there were probably multiple weapons caches tucked around, though they’d neglected to share their location with me. But when I’d shown up to join the posse tonight, I’d seen a couple of Marlowe’s boys coming out of a hall by the main reception desk, still buckling on holsters. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it was the only clue I had. So I headed for the lobby, hoping I was right and that the guys on duty hadn’t emptied it already.

  And…they hadn’t, I thought, coming to a halt just outside the door.

  Or if they had, it hadn’t done them any good.

  The tasteful gray marble columns, impressive onyx desk, and cheerful old-world scenes that usually greeted visitors weren’t looking so cheerful anymore. Not covered in vast slashes and strokes and dribbles like a modernist painting. Blood sprayed the walls, where weapons’ fire had already marred the soft blue paint, beaded on the surface of an antique table and spattered the petals of an ornamental arrangement.

  It wasn’t so much a problem on the floor, however.

  Since most of it was missing.

  I approached the blackened, jagged hole of what had once been an inlaid marble star with caution, since the sides were still smoking. And looked down into the next floor. And the next. And the one after that. Something had just carved a Volkswagen-sized hole through four stories and was working on a fifth.

  And there was no need to wonder what that something was: the sickly neon green puddle at the bottom was sending up fumes that caused me to jerk my head back abruptly, eyes watering and throat seizing up. Somebody just used a weapons-grade potion and you stick your head in the fumes? Great, Dory. Freaking great.

  I backed off fast, my eyes flicking around, in case somebody was planning to capitalize on my stupidity. But I didn’t see anyone. Just a blackened chandelier overhead, crystals chiming softly in the air-conditioning, scattered papers underfoot and someone’s spilled tea.

  And a guy nailed to the wall by four huge daggers.

  I’d rounded the reception desk and almost come nose to nose with him before I shied back, gun up and heart missing a beat. He was behind a short wall separating the desk from the rest of the room, and was facing the main doors. Like some macabre sort of greeter.

  I stared at him for a second, unsure if my blurry eyes and the crazy lights were playing tricks. And they were, sort of. Because the lower body wasn’t in shadow as I’d first thought. It wasn’t there at all, unless you counted the snakelike spine glistening palely against the darker wall.

  And curling up and down like its owner was still alive.

  After a moment, I swallowed and started to edge around, only to have a spear of light fall over the face. And I got a second shock. Because he looked horribly familiar.

  The head was down, with the chin resting on the breast, so I couldn’t see the face. But the hair was dark and about the right length. And so were the weight and the height, as far as I could estimate, considering the damage, and—

  And suddenly I couldn’t breathe because I thought it was ’Du.

  I took another few steps forward, and I still did. Even when I gently cupped one cheek, to avoid the dark blood that had dripped down covering the chin. And pulled the face up, into the light. And felt my spine turn to water.

  Because it wasn’t him.

  The features were handsome, but lacked ’Du’s hint of the exotic. And the hair was faintly curly instead of his shining waterfall. And the clothes, now that I saw them up close, were wrong: a dark suit, well made but not up to the family’s exacting standards. I licked my lips, feeling my heart rate back off the danger zone.

  Until the head suddenly moved in my hand.

  And the eyes—cold and dark and dead—fixed on me.

  I froze, because there was no life in them, no spark, much less the glow of a vampire in distress. But there was cold, calculating intelligence, nonetheless. Not in them so muc
h as behind them. Like someone was using the dead man’s face for a mask.

  And there was only one creature I knew who could do that.

  Necromancer, I thought, staring at him through his proxy’s eyes. Which made sense, given what Radu was facing downstairs. But it still seemed impossible.

  Technically, a dead body was a dead body. And necromancers could exert control over any that wasn’t already in control of itself—like a vampire—and sometimes even then. That was why they’d once been killed on sight, and why any with serious power often still were, despite the Senate’s claims to the contrary. Lower-level vamps could be taken over by a powerful necromancer and used as spies against their own kind. It had happened often enough in the bad old days, if rumor was to be believed.

  But this wasn’t a lower-level vamp. He wouldn’t have been on the desk—considered the first line of defense—if he was. So what the hell?

  I didn’t get an answer—unless you counted the eyes suddenly narrowing, and the mouth screwing up. I jerked to the side, hard enough to wrench something. But it ensured that the spit intended for my face hit my shoulder instead, splattering against the heavy leather with an acidic hiss. And then I was out of range, rolling and flipping and putting three bullets through the evil thing’s eyes.

  Which didn’t stop it from laughing.

  I snatched off the jacket, breathing hard and cursing. And watched the leather bubble and burn and then disintegrate into a baseball-sized hole. I pulled a knife and ripped off the sleeve, wishing I had the ammo to spare to obliterate that horrible grin.

  But I didn’t, because I’d just announced my presence to everyone here. Or if I hadn’t, that thing probably had. Was that why he’d been left there? Some kind of early-warning system, a CCTV for the magically inclined?

  I didn’t know, but I didn’t intend to wait around and find out.

  I pushed on, navigating around puddles of still-sticky blood in case any of them might burn my feet off. But it was impossible to miss the stuff completely. It had even run into the grout between the tiles in the elevator alcove, placing a red grid on the floor. Hell, even the potted plants were splattered with it.

  Which was kind of disturbing, since they also appeared to be moving.

  Now what? I thought, gripping my gun tighter. But I didn’t retreat because I couldn’t. The damned plants were framing the hall running between the reception area and the elevators. And of course it was the one I needed. So whoever or whatever was back there was about to get—

  “Aughhhh!”

  I’d jerked on a quivering frond, only to have it jerk back. And scream. And then go running wildly down the corridor away from me, shedding bits of leaves and moss and making strange huffing shrieks. Right up until it ran out of hallway.

  It ricocheted around for a second, as if trying to find a branching corridor that wasn’t there. And then it seemed to go a little mad, turning around and coming back again. Which was less of a concern than the fact that it appeared to be sprouting hand grenades like some weird sort of fruit.

  One of which fell off and went bouncing along the baseboard.

  I didn’t wait to see if the pin was still in it or not. I stumbled back a few steps and then turned and ran, right back the way I’d come, across the lobby and through a corridor and down a flight of stairs, slamming the garage door behind me. Only to have frantic fists beat a staccato hail on it a second later and someone start screaming bloody murder.

  I hesitated a second, but I thought the screams sounded a little familiar. And even if I was wrong, whoever it was didn’t seem interested in attacking me so much as in getting the hell out of Dodge. I jerked open the door and something flew through, just a green blur against the dim garage, right up until it hit the bottom of the incline.

  At which point it dropped like a stone, screeching and flailing around like some kind of panicked banshee.

  A muffled boom came from the other side of the door and I waited a few heartbeats, holding my breath. But there were no other sounds, like running footsteps coming this way. It looked like whatever was downstairs was either deaf or was waiting for me to come to it. Which would have been fine if that hadn’t been exactly what I was about to do.

  But at least it gave me some options.

  I peeled myself off the wall and went to see what the blubbering thing was doing.

  It was blubbering. And writhing. And sizzling slightly because it had just run into the wards at top speed.

  It also wasn’t an it so much as a he, and a familiar he at that.

  I bent over and jerked him up, and this time he didn’t try to run or even respond, except to continue a litany of “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, know, know, know, know—” until I slapped him.

  That shut him up. For about a second. And then he started quivering all over and screeching, and throwing bits of himself at the ward, tearing off leaves and fronds of what looked like half a dozen different plants, pieces of which had been stuck into and taped around a familiar-looking pair of assless pants.

  “Ray!” I said sharply, only to be ignored. “Ray!”

  He just stared at me out of a blackened face, like some kind of whacked-out commando who’d failed camouflage school. His blue eyes were wide and glazed; his black hair was sweaty and sticking up everywhere; and he was drooling slightly. He looked completely out of it, and that really wasn’t going to work right now.

  So I slapped him again.

  Only to have him promptly slap me back.

  After which followed a bitch-slapping fest that I won by virtue of kneeing him in the gonads.

  “Oh. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!”

  “Get up!” I told him impatiently, because I hadn’t hit him that hard.

  But he just continued to moan and roll around, to the point that I seriously contemplated leaving him there. But Ray had been stuck here for a couple weeks while the Senate pumped him for information, and there was a good chance he knew more about this place than I did. He could hardly know less.

  So I jerked him up again.

  And was rewarded by a slightly more sane, if entirely infuriated glare. “The fuck was that?” he screeched.

  “That was to get your attention. I need—”

  “You hit me in the nuts!”

  “And I may do it again if you don’t—”

  “You don’t just go around hitting guys in the nuts!”

  “Ray—”

  “You just don’t, okay? That is not cool. That is not on. That is not—”

  “Ray!”

  “—ever, ever—God! There’s got to be some damned limits—”

  So I did it again.

  “THE FUCK?”

  “Ray. Get a grip—”

  “I have a grip! I have a damned fine grip! If I didn’t, I’d be dead already, and I don’t know why I’m not and it’s no thanks to you and where the hell have you been?”

  “That’s what I’m trying—”

  “We have to have a talk,” he told me, his voice trembling slightly. “About your responsibilities as a master.”

  “I am not your master.”

  “One of which is protection, okay? Which I haven’t been seeing too goddamn much of!” He took off his bushy hat and threw it at the floor. For a second he just looked at it, a crumpled mass of leaves and Scotch tape sliming about in an oil slick, and then his face crumpled, too. And he grabbed me in a bear hug that threatened my ribs. “Oh God,” he said brokenly. “I didn’t think you’d ever get here!”

  I just stood there a second, completely nonplussed. Of all the crazy things that had happened today, I thought this might actually top the list. I had a master vampire sobbing in my arms and no idea what to do about it.

  Except for the obvious.

  “Ray?” I told him, stroking his dirty, disheveled hair.

  “Hmm?”

  “I know you’re upset—”

  He nodded into my neck.

  “—
and you’ve probably been through a lot today—”

  He nodded harder.

  “But right now I need you to do me a favor.”

  He looked up. “What?”

  I clenched a fist in his mane and jerked his head back. “Man the hell up!”

  “Oh, that’s nice!” he said, wrenching away. “That’s just great! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”

  “No, and I don’t care.”

  “You suck as a master!”

  “I am not your master!” I said, pulling a rifle sling over his head and checking out the gun attached to it. Which I supposed he’d been using for a club, since it contained no actual bullets. “Where’s the ammo?”

  “Like I know. I got it off a dead aide,” he said, talking about one of the Senate’s human employees. “But I couldn’t stay to frisk him ’cause there was more of those things coming—”

  “What are they? Where are the Senate’s people?”

  “They’re the Senate’s people! Don’t you get it?” He glanced around fearfully. “It’s like Night of the Living Dead around here, except they aren’t living.”

  “Just tell me what you know,” I said, and started stuffing my pockets with grenades. And cut my finger on a freaking cleaver he had wedged up in there.

  “I don’t know anything, okay? I just—” He stopped and took a deep breath, I guess for effect. Or maybe because in times of stress, old habits resurface. “I was in the break room, trying to make myself a damned cup of coffee. ’Cause Marlowe had to do something tonight and didn’t have time to yell at—excuse me, interrogate—me some more until tomorrow. But they wouldn’t let me go, not even back to your place to get a change of clothes, assuming that stupid driver ever brought back my luggage. Even with my shirttail out, it’s getting a little drafty in—”

  “Ray.”

  “Yeah. So they just left me here. And I was gonna make some coffee and then do a little Web surfing, maybe watch some TV. But I’m down in the kitchen and I hear this commotion outside in the hall. So I open the door and there’s one of the guards getting slammed against the wall by this guy. And the guy was like—he was messed up. Blood and stuff everywhere, all oozing and holes and—and he was dead, okay? Not our kind of dead, either, but DEAD dead. And soon the guard was, too—”