by Judith Post
"A crossbow," Enoch said.
"Why doesn’t that surprise me?" Doc gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm not in the inner circle, am I?"
"That's a good thing. We like you." Enoch's tone was serious.
Doc gave him a level stare. "Do you know what? I believe you. We'll leave it at that for now. I don't have anything else to tell you, and it seems to be mutual. But I'm a man who likes answers, so let's hope no more odd corpses land on my table."
"This should be a one-time thing. Really."
"Good." Doc pulled the sheet over the dead man's face and turned his back, dismissing them.
When they slid into Danny's unmarked car, he let out a long sigh. "That didn't go well."
"We can't keep dodging the issue," Enoch said. "If much more happens, we'll have to level with Doc. He deserves that."
"Do you think more is going to happen?"
"Someone's stalking Bart's generals, and someone else is killing crime lords on high floors. There has to be a connection."
"A war between vampires and mafias?" Danny asked.
"I've been thinking about that, and it doesn't quite work. Even the mafia wouldn't take on vampires. I'm guessing that some bad humans have sided with some bad vamps to try for a chunk of power."
Danny stared. "Why would humans ever work with vamps? And why would the vamps need them?"
"Because each of them can do something the other can't. Humans can hunt vamps during the day. Vamps can kill rivals that mortals can't get to."
"So it's a trade-off." Danny thought about that. "And it's about power."
"And control." Enoch's expression grew serious. "If they win, nothing will be the same."
"You're telling me that gangsters will rule in the human and vampire worlds.""If I'm right."
"Then I can help you this time. Mortals are involved. That's my domain. No one goes around staking people—or good vamps—in my city."
"I'm guessing there's only one good vamp here, and there's only one killer who's after him."
"Then let's get this guy before he stakes one of Bart's generals."
"No we," Enoch said. "This killer's probably a professional. He's going for broke. He'd take out any cop who got in his way."
"Okay, I got it. You're worried about me. This case is out of my league, so you want me in the background. I'll do what I can so you can nab the guy and give him to Bart."
"I'd rather you weren't involved at all."
"Not gonna happen."
Enoch argued with Danny on the drive back, but once his friend sank his teeth into a case, there was little that deterred him. And once there was a body…. Enoch shook his head. He couldn't help but worry. Danny was a friend. He didn't have that many.
Chapter 4
Bart stood in the center of the empty plaza and turned in a slow circle. He sent out a message to his generals. "We're being hunted. No matter where you hide, you'll be discovered. Find a spot no mortals can reach, go there, and don't leave unless you have to. Four of our fellow soldiers are already true dead."
Claudia waited for him to finish before she laid a hand on his shoulder. "One of Victor's converts brought his ashes. Are you ready to leave?"
Bart took the wooden box and bowed his head. He was a Roman centurion when Caleb turned him. Claudia was a Vestal Virgin when they met. They both still clung to the old ways. He worshipped Zeus, and she Vesta, even though their concepts of the god and goddess had changed greatly over the centuries. Gripping Victor's ashes, he said a silent prayer. He wasn't sure that vampires were allowed in heaven, but he was convinced that they should not be punished for a condition they didn't choose. Did they have souls, even though they were undead? He thought so. Did they make moral choices to do good or bad? Victor was a good vampire. Bart prayed for his soul to find peace, and if possible, eternal happiness.
Claudia gently touched him again. "Our plane leaves in an hour. We need to drive to the airport."
Bart looked at the night sky. Durbin would be waiting for them. Converted during World War I, Durbin was a pilot who flew vampires all over the world. With a quick nod, Bart stalked to the sleek, black Lincoln he'd rented for his trip. He waited for Claudia to fasten her seatbelt and drove toward the private air strip where Durbin had landed.
Soon, they'd be in Indiana. He'd meet with Enoch. Hopefully, his friend's gift could give them the names of more vampires listed as intended victims in this new battle. What the battle was, Bart didn't know. Whom he was fighting was a mystery. What he did know was that he and his fellow generals had to win. They were the ones who kept the balance in the world, who hunted down and destroyed rogue vampires who preyed on innocent mortals. Without their presence, vampires were free to do as they pleased, and the truce between Caleb and Enoch would end. Vampires would rampage while Caleb and Enoch struggled. The last time the two angels wrestled, the Earth had been pitched into the Dark Ages.
Bart chafed with impatience. He needed answers. If anyone could help him, it was Enoch. And that rankled too. Where was their creator, their master? Why wasn't Caleb doing anything to save the generals he'd converted to serve him? But Bart had been disappointed in Caleb before. Why not now?
Once they boarded the plane and Durbin lifted them into the air, Bart leaned back and closed his eyes. Victor's ashes were cradled on his lap. Shame burned his cheeks as Bart remembered the horrible hunger, the lust for blood that consumed him when Caleb drank from him for the third time. And he, in turn, had fed on Victor—a fellow centurion who'd shared his tent, his food, his battles. But instead of hating him, Victor understood.
"I know you. I know your honor, your conscience, and your strength. If this was too much for you to control, I won't stand a chance. Help me."
And together, they worked to control Victor's own savage bloodlust. They'd learned to dine on cows and horses' blood, deer, and bears. They didn't drain them, and they only bit them once. Little by little, they'd learned to be "good" vampires. And they taught their skills to others, to vampires who didn't want to feed on mortals. Slowly, they built an army.
Now, their army was under attack. Bart intended to find and destroy whoever was killing his men. And he vowed to protect Claudia with his dying unbreath.
Chapter 5
Enoch didn't expect Voronika home until after dark, but when he saw the Land Rover turn into the parking lot and head straight for the canopy, the driving a little erratic, he knew she was really sick. He rushed downstairs to meet her.
She staggered, covered by her shroud, into the hotel lobby and Enoch shoved her into the elevator and pushed the button for their floor. He parked the car, then hurried after her. When he stepped into the penthouse, he could hear her in the bathroom, throwing up. She'd stop, groan, then puke again. He knelt beside her and gently rubbed the back of her neck. Warm. Her skin should be cool.
"This was a horrible idea," she moaned.
Her face was ashen, her skin growing hotter. Soon, she'd be burning up—literally. He reached for a washcloth, soaked it with cold water, and wrung it out. Then he washed her face with it. Still too hot. The sun was death for a vampire. Her blood could boil, and she could combust. Soon, she'd be ashes.
"Bite me." His blood could heal. He wasn't being punished, like Caleb was. He was simply cleaning up a mess he'd made. He still had the Light and all that went with it.
"What?" Her eyes glazed. She could barely function.
He pushed his arm toward her, the vein showing clearly. "Drink."
She started to argue, but he shoved his wrist in her mouth. She gagged, pulled back, and her fangs extended to sharp points.
"Your neck. . ."
He pulled her to her feet and offered his throat. She took a long gulp and the shakes left her. When she drank again, her temperature dropped. Three more slurps and she pushed away from him.
She took one look at his face and lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry."
He couldn't hide how furious he was. Fear pooled in his stomach. He could have lost her. Rage
simmered in his veins. "You could have burst into flames. For what? A dress. . ."
Tears trickled down her cheeks and her eyes begged for understanding. "Not the dress. The whole thing. An afternoon out with a friend. Feeling sort of normal. Being a part of real life." Her words ended on a sob and she buried her face in her hands. "I feel so stupid."
His anger left as fast as it came. He scooped her close to him and caressed her hair. "No, I get it. You wanted to feel human."
"I miss it sometimes. There's a void." Normal routines had been taken away from her. She could never walk in the sun again, be a part of everyday life.
The tears fell faster. He held her tighter. When she slowly relaxed, he carried her into the living room and pulled her onto his lap. He cradled her close. "Tell me about the shopping trip. Did you have a good time?"
Her words were muffled. "It was wonderful until I got sick."
"Tell me about it."
"You'll laugh at me, or get mad."
"Neither."
She moved away from him to study his face. "You mean it."
"I do."
She inhaled deeply. "We started at the dress shop. You wouldn't believe how many wedding dresses there are, all different styles and fabrics. Maggie found the perfect one." Her eyes glowed. "She looks like a dream—a fairytale princess—in it."
"What's it like?" He didn't care especially, but he wanted to distract Voronika. He wanted to prolong her enjoyment, if he could.
Her face lit up. "It's soft and satiny and hugs her body to the waist, then grows fuller at the bottom like a bell."
"Long sleeves? Short? Lots of petticoats? You're no better at describing fashion than Danny is."
"Danny! That's pretty insulting."
He laughed. "You must be feeling better. Your temper's back."
"Danny's always wrinkled. He wouldn't know fashion if it bit him in the ass."
"Unfortunately, true. Did you spend all day at the dress shop?" he asked. "I expected you back later."
"After we ordered the dress, we went to a hair salon downtown. Maggie's friends told her that a Mr. Mark works there and he does the best updos in town."
"Maggie has short hair."
"Yeah, that was a problem, but he pulled it all back somehow and he added some fake hair for a chignon."
"Could he match her brown curls? They look like they hide sunlight in them."
Voronika stiffened, a frown furrowing her brows. "Do you like Maggie's hair more than mine?"
"I don't like anyone's anything more than yours."
She softened, cuddled closer. "Right answer."
"Your hair is kissed by moonbeams, silvery white."
She was silent a moment, then said, "He put tiny flowers in her hair. It looked beautiful."
"There's a hair salon in the apartment complex. You could get flowers in your hair."
She shook her head. Her face grew serious. "Maggie asked me to be in her wedding, but that just wouldn't be right. No one should have a vampire as a bride's maid."
"Why not?"
"Would you be Danny's best man?"
"No." He recoiled at the thought. A fallen angel shouldn't be part of a solemn, religious ceremony. Not that the Father was angry with him, but he felt unworthy.
"See? Anyway, I told her that we'd both be at the wedding and reception."
"What time is it?"
"The wedding's at six."
"On August third. It's still light out."
She sighed. "I'll sip some of your blood instead of a cocktail."
"That will make an impression."
She laughed. "Not where people can see me. And I told her that we'd make all the food except for the cake."
"What?" Enoch sat up straighter.
"It's our wedding present to them."
"Why don't I just pay for a caterer?"
She wrinkled her nose. "It wouldn't be as special."
"For how many people?"
"One hundred. They don't want to make their wedding into a big deal."
Enoch relaxed a little. Cooking was one of his hobbies. He enjoyed it. "We can do a hundred. Tell me more about your day." He listened until she was talked out. Then he told her about Bart's upcoming visit and Victor's death.
She bit her bottom lip, distressed. "I met Victor once when I was running from Vlad. He never told anyone, didn't turn me in. He just told me that I'd better leave because more vamps were coming to town soon and I wouldn't be safe."
Enoch nodded. "I worked with him a lot. The first time was in the Victorian Age. A rogue was running around killing poor prostitutes—and I mean poor. When husbands divorced their wives, they tossed them on the streets. The only way to survive was by selling themselves for the price of a meal or a bed. This rogue targeted them."
"Jack the Ripper?"
"He ripped, all right."
"But you caught him?"
"Me and Victor."
Voronika ran her fingers down his cheek, gently stroking it. "Don't you ever get tired of cleaning up after Caleb?"
"That's why I'm here. I shouldn't have protected him. I should have let him join Lucifer and be thrown in the Pit. I interfered, and he was tossed to Earth. Innocent people are paying for it. I owe them something, some help, some protection."
"You've been paying off your debt a long time."
Enoch shrugged. He'd replayed his misguided loyalty over and over again in his mind. He thought Caleb would be grateful he was spared the Pit, but when he grew weak and tired without the Light, instead of repenting and returning home, he'd used human blood to replace his energy. He'd infected mortals with his own immortality. But that was history. Enoch couldn't undo what was done. Now, he just dealt with it. "The point is, I liked Victor. The killers are going after Bart's generals, the vamps who help keep control—my friends."
Voronika ran her hands up and down her arms.
"Are you cold?"
"No, just nervous. I lived with Vlad when he tried to overthrow Caleb. It got ugly. It could get ugly again." She yawned. Dark circles smudged her eyes.
"You're tired, almost exhausted. Today was too much for you." He picked her up and carried her to their bed. "Bart and Claudia are coming with Victor's ashes. We'll know more then. Rest and get ready."
When he returned to the living room, he meant to take his own advice. He went to his computer. If he could write, it would take his mind off vampires. The good thing about being an angel was that he never needed sleep. The bad thing about being an angel was…he never needed sleep. He had endless hours to write. . .and if that failed, to worry.
Chapter 6
Bart could smell Enoch's apartment before he saw it. Vampires had a keen sense of scent, and Italians had a great fondness for spaghetti. His friend, who loved to cook, was preparing a meal for Claudia and him. When they landed on Enoch's balcony, the sliding doors were open, an invitation for them to enter.
"Hello?" Bart called.
Enoch yelled a welcome. "Come in. We're in the kitchen, cooking."
Bart’s eyes went to the red wine Enoch and Voronika were sipping while they chopped and stirred. "Help yourself," Enoch said, motioning to the bottle of chianti.
"It smells good in here." Bart leaned over a pot on the stove and inhaled the aromas of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs that simmered together. Human food didn't sustain a vampire, but it did bind them to remnants of their old lives. Important reminders. "Smells like my mother's kitchen."
"Did Italians cook spaghetti back then?" Enoch asked. "Were you even Italians? Or were you Romans?"
Bart frowned, his black brows furrowed in thought. "You know, I have so many memories from so many centuries, they get muddled, but spaghetti came later. It still makes me think of home."
"You must have been fond of your mama," Voronika teased.
"Fond? No. Loved her? Yes. She made my father look soft."
“The Roman soldier?” Claudia shook her head.
Bart looked like his father, he knew, with gleaming
, white teeth, a swarthy complexion, and a bulk of muscles, but when his tiny mother flew into a rage, she scared all of them.
"So that's how you became a centurion?" Enoch asked. "You followed in your father's footsteps?"
"It was better than being a peasant or slave." Bart missed his family, even after all these years.
"And you?" Voronika asked Claudia.
Claudia shrugged lush shoulders. "A younger brother. Two older sisters. One married. One didn't. My parents were tradesmen, owned a bakery. When my brother and sister both helped with it, they didn't need a third hand, so when I ended up halfway attractive…"
Bart laughed. "Honey, you're lots more than halfway."
She ignored him. "They couldn't wait to take me to the temple to be a Vestal Virgin. The gods would provide for me, and they didn't have to. When Vlad bit me, he took me home one last time to see them. He thought if he threatened them, he'd have more control over me. Then he met them and realized it was a waste of time. I hadn't seen them since I was eleven, and I only resented them. I never saw them again."
"Which left you free for me." Bart put an arm around Claudia's narrow waist. She might talk tough, but he knew how much her parents’ abandonment had hurt her.
She nestled closer. "The best thing that ever happened to me. You rescued me from Vlad and made me a warrior."
Voronika turned to Enoch, an odd look on her face. “And you? Did you have a childhood?”
“Me? I’m an archangel. I just….was…am.”
“Always?”
Enoch nodded.
Bart frowned, trying to fathom that concept. “You missed out, friend. You never had a mother sing you lullabies or swat you when you did something wrong.”
“I had the One.”
“Not the same.” Bart felt sorry for him. No wonder the angel took his job way too seriously.
Enoch reached for Voronika. "That aside, we have a lot in common. Not something that happens to me too often, so it's good to have you here, even if it's for a crummy reason. So make yourselves at home. Supper will be on the table in half an hour."