The Demon Mirror (Dragongods Saga, #0)

by David J Normoyle

  The smell of him shitting himself.

  Chapter 2

  “Everyone be gone.” Mortissa spoke for the first time. The softness of her voice contrasted with the alacrity with which everyone in the room reacted. The double doors were thrown open, and Sistine’s two shirtless fawns immediately exited, followed quickly by the vampires who’d been watching from the semi-circle of couches and armchairs.

  When I started after them, Mortissa clarified, “Except you, Alessandra.”

  Sistine wiped blood from her mouth, then she slunk out after the others. Her fangs retracted, and she shot one last defiant glare at me from the doorway, then closed the doors.

  I licked my lips. By Gaston’s body, dark blood seeped into the white carpet. With his life force gone, the blood no longer hummed. As the bloodlust left me, my fangs disappeared back into my mouth. I turned slowly toward Mortissa, saying nothing.

  Mortissa leaned back, her arms on the armrests, her gaze that of the haughty queen she was. Her hair was burnished red, and when the candlelight wobbled in the drafts, long strands of the red hair flickered like flame. A sleek, midnight-black gown hugged her slim figure. Her face was angular, both youthful and ageless, beautiful and terrible. Her skin was bone white, her eyes a dark glittering green.

  My knees felt weak, and my heart thundered in my chest. I had been terrified and transfixed when I’d first met her, and three centuries later, the feeling was the same.

  “That was nicely done,” she said.

  “Thank you.” I risked a small smile.

  Mortissa descended from her throne to stand beside me. Even though we were the same height, I always felt shorter. She reached out a hand and ran a finger down my cheek. She examined the streak of blood on it, then wiped her fingertip on the shoulder of my dress. “Yes, little dove, certainly very well done. However, don’t think I didn’t notice that you avoided killing him.”

  I wiped my sleeve across my face, cleaning off the remaining blood. “After all these years, you surely can’t doubt me, Mortissa. I’ve killed in your name for centuries.”

  Mortissa gripped the back of my neck and pulled me closer. “We’ve been through a lot, you and I, haven’t we?”

  “We certainly have.” Over the centuries, I’d become comfortable with my queen’s closeness—most of the time, at least. In that moment, though, with Mortissa’s fingers squeezing against the nape of my neck, a shiver of fear oscillated deep in my bones. Even though I had lowered Sistine a notch or two, showing my willpower to be stronger than hers, the real danger had just begun.

  “Many people have history together,” Mortissa said. “But not like us. We have lived through more history than most people have even heard of. We lived through the winter when the Seine froze for over two months. Remember those days? No one riots like hungry Frenchmen. We read Oliver Twist in serialized form.”

  “More exactly, we had it read to us,” I said. “Under protest. I never could figure out what everyone saw in Dickens.”

  Mortissa smiled. “It’s been glorious, Alessandra. The people of this age think themselves worldly. They know little of the elegance and intellectualism of the English nobility from a century ago and earlier, or of the fiery spirit that led to the French Revolution. Now we have idiots with nothing better to do than watch television programs of other idiots doing nothing. What a world this has become! I barely get any pleasure from the life force of some of these people. They are unworthy of the honor I do them in taking their lives. Even hideous underworld demons hold more attraction these days.”

  “Indeed,” I said noncommittally. Most of that rant I’d heard before in one form or another, though Mortissa had never expressed admiration for demons before.

  “I’ve always admired your strength,” Mortissa said, squeezing my neck tighter. “It was you who gave me the idea that a female-only vampire family was possible. So many women of that age were docile and weak. I wasn’t like that, not at all, and I saw that same steel in you. And I realized that there must be other women as strong as you and me. From that radical idea, the Colescu family was born.” She paused. “I was always wary of you, though, because that strength meant you would inevitably have to challenge me one day. Or so I thought. But the challenge never came. Any who pushed for your position died or were forced to flee. But you never looked higher. Why was that?”

  Had Mortissa really been expecting me to challenge her all these years? “I would never—”

  “But why?”

  “Loyalty,” I said, my throat dry. “Loyalty and friendship.”

  “Friendship.” Mortissa let the word hang in the air. “Once, we may have had that. Or something similar. No. I’ve come to think that it was a weakness in you that I’m only just seeing. What do you think? Can I allow a weakness to fester in the heart of the Colescu family?”

  “You have it wrong. You think I’m weak just because I didn’t challenge you? Not everyone thinks like you do. Not everyone wants to rule. My loyalty is not a reason to doubt me. You said yourself I’ve always been strong.”

  “But not recently.” Mortissa’s smiles never contained humor, only pleasure or the threat of danger. “You have been distracted lately. More than distracted.”

  I faked a surprised look. “Has Sistine been spreading lies about me?”

  “Worse than lies, little dove. She’s been spreading truths.”

  “Summon one of the fawns. I will kill him in front of you if that’s what you require. If that’s what it takes.” I desperately hoped not to be taken up on the offer, but I had to make it. The dangerous edge in Mortissa’s tone was getting sharper all the time.

  “Hush.” Mortissa touched a finger to my lips. “Don’t be so adamant in denying, or I’ll really start to believe the whispers. I’ll allow you to prove yourself to me, though.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “An old crone, one of my workers, is overstepping herself, so you’ll deal with her for me.”

  “An old crone. Do you not think someone else...?” I trailed off, seeing Mortissa’s expression. “Of course, if that’s what you wish.”

  “Things have drifted between us, and it’s time to bring our relationship back on track.” Mortissa released my neck, climbed back up to her throne, and sat. She gestured at Gaston’s body. “Summon someone to take that away.”

  “Of course.” I made for the double doors.

  “And Alessandra,” Mortissa said.

  At the doorway, I paused, but didn’t turn.

  “Just in case I haven’t been clear, I’m giving you this one pass for not killing that fawn. In the future, you’ll sate yourself on the life force of my enemies, or I’ll sate myself on yours.”

  Chapter 3

  Hendricks and tonic with a slice of cucumber was my choice of poison, though alcohol had never held huge appeal. The bar at the Pink Palace was just a front for a whorehouse out the back. Two women in lingerie idly played pool, sending balls careening around the table, rarely potting any or even caring to try. Several others sat around a table, too bored to even start up a conversation. Even under the dim red lighting, the women in the bar had a tired, vapid look. When I had entered, one had approached with a smile as wide as it had been fake. I’d dismissed her, and taken a seat in the corner.

  Before I’d arrived, I’d been afraid of being recognized. The Colescu family owned many of the whorehouses around Philly and I had, at one point, directly run several of them, including this place. But when I calculated how long ago that was, I was surprised to realize two decades had passed. Time had a habit of slipping away. Though, other than the staff, surprisingly little had changed in the joint.

  The barman, a well-muscled man with dark stubble on his jaw, and even darker scowls, kept a watchful eye on me. From his bulk, he doubled as security. He knew I wasn’t the average punter, though he had enough sense not to challenge me.

  I had learned that Val Beaugard, the old crone who Mortissa wanted me to deal with, helped run the place. I wor
e my long leather jacket with my katana sheathed inside it. I didn’t expect to have to need a sword, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions. I surely hadn’t been sent just to kill an ordinary old woman.

  My phone rang, and I took it out of my pocket to check the caller. Kingston. I hesitated a moment, then accepted the call.

  “What are you wearing?” Kingston asked.

  “I’m dressed to kill, and the victim will be you if you ever say that to me again.”

  “Dressed to kill.” Kingston chuckled. “Looking sexy. All cleaned up with no muck on your shoes, no dirt under your fingernails, and, most importantly, no blood on your hands.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Just drinking in my desire for you,” he said.

  The slur in his speech was obvious once I listened for it. I made a face. I didn’t even like Kingston; I just needed to keep in contact with a vampire that didn’t kill. To know that what I was trying to do was possible. “Why did you call?”

  “I was concerned about you. That late-night call yesterday about killing innocents. I wanted to know the outcome.”

  “There’s no blood on my hands. Not yet, at least,” I said, remembering Mortissa’s final remark. She was going to make me prove myself a loyal and murderous vampire, beginning with killing an old woman for her.

  “I’ve told you many a time. You can’t stay with that family,” Kingston said. “Not while becoming the person you want to. Surely you’ve realized that by now.”

  “I’ve nowhere else to go to.” Vampires needed to stick together. We were vulnerable during the day, and helsing gypsies were always looking for vampires to hunt. Helsings tended to stay out of the cities and rarely attacked the open strength of a full vampire family.

  “About that,” Kingston said. “I’ve been talking to a few people at home, and I think they’ll agree to let you come.”

  “The Huntley family will accept me?” The family which didn’t kill humans.

  “Not automatically,” Kingston admitted. “You have quite the reputation for destruction and evil. But come in to us, and I’ll make sure it happens. I’m at Casino Demonica right now. Meet me for a drink. We can discuss.”

  “You expect me to beg to be allowed to join your family?”

  “You on your knees. Now isn’t that a pretty picture,” Kingston said.

  “You’re disgusting.” I hung up.

  After what I’d just been through, joining the Huntleys held plenty of appeal—upon initial consideration, at least. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized it wouldn’t work. For a start, Mortissa wouldn’t just let me leave the Colescus and join another family. Not easily, at least.

  Also, vampire families were very hierarchical, and new members were plopped onto the lowest rung. I could barely remember a time when I hadn’t been near the top of the ladder. Could I put up with having to defer to slimeballs like Kingston? Just because the Huntleys didn’t kill humans didn’t make them nice, or even necessarily good.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have any better choices. Except for the easiest one, but the one I least wanted to choose—to go back to being my old self, and a killer. I had told Kingston that I had no blood on my hands, but that wasn’t really true. I had tortured Gaston, watched his life bleed into the carpet, then goaded Sistine into finishing him off. Hardly the acts of an innocent.

  Being able to say I hadn’t killed Gaston was a technicality, but considering how hard it had been to resist the call of the blood, it was still something to cling to.

  I heard the click of the front door of the bar opening, and I jerked to attention, listening. After a whispered conversation, padded footsteps disappeared down a corridor. It wasn’t the first time that had happened since I’d entered. I had heard enough to realize that the bar wasn’t where the main action was happening, unless one was looking for something insipid and tawdry. I knocked back the drink, then stood, nodded to the barman, and made my way toward the front door.

  Once out of sight of the barman, I turned left instead of right, and headed down a corridor that circled the bar. I paused to make sure that no one had noticed, then took the same route that I had heard others take, ignoring the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. When I had last been to the Pink Palace, the backroom at the end of this corridor had been nothing but a storeroom.

  The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open and silently slipped inside. A large group of people clustered in the center of the room, but I concentrated on staying out of sight, quickly moving to my left and behind a large bookcase. From there, I spotted a small stairwell, and I climbed that—careful to step lightly and avoid creaks—arriving at a second-story wooden platform that circled the room. From there, I crouched into a corner shrouded in shadows, then surveyed the scene before me.

  The storeroom had been turned into a library slash schoolroom. Bookcases lined the walls, both on the lower levels and on the raised platform where I was hiding. In addition to old books, arcane objects lined the shelves. In the center of the room, young students with notebooks in front of them sat in rows of small one-person desks. Facing the class, sitting with a proudly erect back and a severe expression on her face, was an old woman. Val Beaugard.

  Val was reading from an old book. In front of her, an illusion of a sunflower rotated in the air. Vampires were unable to hear Merlin’s language, so though I could see Val’s lips move, I couldn’t hear any sound come from her mouth.

  It wasn’t the lack of additional illusions alone that allowed me to know that little or no magic was being performed by Val’s students. The audible buzz of intermingling voices told me that that whatever words they uttered, most of the students weren’t speaking Merlin’s language. Could any of them perform magic? I craned my neck, scanning the classroom. I saw no sunflowers, though one girl—short with black-rimmed rectangular glasses—held her notepad vertical, hiding something. She had an intense look on her face.

  Those who were failing at magic were better off. Mage families were extremely insular, and outsiders who used magic were considered hood mages and dealt with harshly. I was surprised anyone would be reckless enough to teach a classroom like this, even if it was hidden in the back of a whorehouse. Through from the established look of the library, Val had been using magic for quite a while without getting caught.

  Mortissa couldn’t be unaware of what this storehouse was used for, so what Val had done to bring her master’s wrath upon her was still unclear. Was it related to the now dead fawn? I had asked some of my sisters for further details on what Gaston had done, but all I’d discovered was the extent of the frosty reception that House Colescu held for me these days.

  I wanted to remain cautious until I figured out exactly what was going on. Val being a hood mage was already a surprising discovery, and I sensed deeper developments under the surface. Still, was I going to just sit all night and watch these youths play at magic?

  It wasn’t in my nature to be a spider.

  Should I instead be an executioner? Hood mage or not, I had no doubts about my ability to kill an old woman. I didn’t want to do it in front of a dozen screaming witnesses, of course, but the bigger problem was that I didn’t want to kill anyone. Figuring out what Val was up to, and why Mortissa wanted her taken out, and why she had sent me in particular, was just procrastination, putting off the real decision.

  Mortissa had ordered me to kill in her name. I either had to do it or defy her. She had made it very clear that I had no other options.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a surreptitious creak of wood, and I glanced up. Seeing a man easing himself through an open skylight in the ceiling, I leaned further back into the shadows. With everyone else immersed in magic, or attempts at magic, no one else noticed the new arrival. He lowered himself silently onto the platform, not far from where I hid. Then he pulled a fist-sized pendant from under his shirt, and as he leaned closer to the railing, I was able to make out the decoration on the pendant: depictions of the ark an
d a dove with a leaf in his mouth. Symbols that marked the man out as a Cressington mage.

  I glanced back up at the skylight, then at the door through which I’d entered, checking for more mages. He appeared to be alone. The Cressingtons were the premier mage family in Philadelphia, with a reputation for being extremely severe on hood mages, so I wasn’t surprised that the Cressingtons were doing something about the illicit magic school. It was just bad timing that it was happening while I was there.

  I considered. Perhaps it was good timing and could work in my favor. If I let the Cressingtons deal with Val, I could tell Mortissa I had arrived too late. That way I’d be able to put off my dilemma for another time. I might not be a spider, but I could remain hidden for a while longer.

  Or perhaps not.

  The mage took two silent steps toward my hiding spot, then he crouched down beside me.

  Chapter 4

  I gave a start, and my hand went inside my jacket, my fingers brushing the hilt of my katana.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he whispered.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I whispered back, “I’m Essa.”

  “And you are here to learn magic?” the mage asked. “Like the others?”

  “Of course not.” Even if I were, a Cressington was the last person I’d have been admitting that to. “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Investigating what?”

  I nodded toward Val. “The old woman.”

  “For what?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” I said.

  “You know who I am?” he asked.

  “A Cressington mage,” I said.

  “Lionel.” He held out his hand.

  I hesitated again, then removed my hand from under my jacket and took his hand. His skin was warm, and his handshake firm. He was handsome, with soft, almost feminine features. The light caught his eyes and they gleamed.