Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Thank God,” Garrick said fervently. “When do we start?”

  Quinn laughed. “Tomorrow night. But first, I need you to run a full background on someone. Her name’s . . . Fuck,” he snarled.

  “You didn’t even get her name? You’re such a dog.”

  “It’s not like that. I just walked her home.”

  “And didn’t get an invite through the door?” Garrick said in disbelief. “You’re slipping, Q.”

  Quinn balled up a piece of paper and threw it at his cousin. “Fuck you. Her first name’s Eve, and I have an address. Howth’s a small place. How difficult can it be to find her?”

  His cousin snorted. “Give me what you have. I’ll find your lost maiden for you.”

  “Be careful. She killed two vampires last night.”

  That got Garrick’s attention. “What the fuck? Why’s she still breath­ing?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I didn’t particularly like the two vampires she killed. She probably saved me the effort.” He paused. “And she’s rather fuckable.”

  “Fuckable,” Garrick repeated flatly. “Look, I know you like com­plicated women and all, but let’s keep our eyes on the prize, okay? We’re here to seize a country, not get you laid. Besides, Dublin is full of fuckable women. Don’t get hung up on one that likes killing vamps.”

  “I’m not hung up. I want to know who she is and why she’s killing vamps. Hell, I want to know how she’s killing them. She’s not exactly superhero size.”

  “Not a vampire herself?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Huh. Okay, I’ll find her for you. You go be a vampire lord and get us back to Dublin.”

  Quinn laughed and wondered what someone like Raphael would think of his relationship with Garrick. Strictly speaking, his cousin was his lieutenant. In the world of vampires, a vampire lord’s lieutenant was an important and powerful position. More than one lieutenant had gone on to rule his own territory, although it was such a close and almost symbiotic relationship that many powerful lieutenants preferred to stay with the lords they served. And even the ones who left tended to maintain a deferential relationship with their lord. Quinn was reminded of Raphael again, and the way his former lieutenant, Duncan, still deferred to the powerful Western Lord, even though he now had a territory of his own. Lucas was the same. He played at being the disobedient son, but when it came down to it, Raphael’s word was law.

  Quinn and Garrick had a different relationship. They’d been raised together from the time they were born, had lived next door to each other most of their lives. Their families had vacationed together, spent all their holidays together. He and Garrick were more brothers than cousins, and becoming vampires hadn’t changed that much. Sure, Quinn was by far the more powerful vampire, but Garrick was no weakling. He was a strong master vampire who might have ruled a nest of his own, had he not chosen to serve as Quinn’s lieutenant.

  But they were still brothers under the skin. In public, they played the game as well as any other powerful vampire lord and his lieutenant. But in private, they were simply Quinn and Garrick, brothers and co-conspirators, just like always.

  “I’ll do the bloody part,” he told Garrick now. “You find the girl.”

  “Wait, wait,” Garrick protested. “I want in on the bloody part.”

  “Fine,” Quinn agreed with feigned impatience. “But, first you find the girl.”

  “Already done,” Garrick said, with an exaggerated slap of a com­puter key. “Check your in-box.”

  Quinn gave him a surprised look and opened the email. “Eve McKenzie Connelly,” he read. “That’s a lot of name.”

  Garrick shrugged. “You don’t have to shout the whole thing when you’re coming, lad. Fact, it might be odd if you do. Just stick with ‘Eve.’”

  Quinn sighed, thinking it might be nice sometimes to have a proper lieutenant.

  THE NEXT NIGHT found Quinn and Garrick back on the Howth docks, but there was no cozy café this time, no hot pot of tea or pretty waitress. They stood in the cold and damp, watching a lone boat slide into the darkened harbor. The boat docked, and two of the three men onboard jumped onto the pier, looking around as if expecting someone to meet them. Figuring that was their cue, Quinn and his cousin stepped out of the shadows and strode down the dock to the waiting boat.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Quinn said casually.

  The men jolted into readiness. “Who the fuck are you?” one of them asked, as behind them, the boat’s engine revved, preparing for a quick departure.

  Quinn turned his head slowly, until the gleam of his eyes painted the cluttered boat deck with an icy blue light. Reaching out, he touched the captain’s mind and stopped him from running, or anything else, until Quinn gave him permission.

  “You’re here to drop off a shipment,” Garrick said in a friendly voice. “We’re here to pick it up. Simple as that.”

  The man who’d spoken glanced back at the boat, his muscles tensed to hop back on-board, probably wondering why his captain hadn’t reversed engines yet. He found no answers, and his next words demon­strated why he was only muscle.

  “Yeah, well. I don’t know you, and I ain’t about to turn over the shipment to you or anyone else I don’t know.”

  Garrick grinned. “I was so hoping you’d say that.” He moved before the man had a chance to react, before the human’s eyes had even widened in surprise. The second man was still staring at bloody ruins of his fellow smuggler when he, too, became little more than blood and flesh on the dirty dock. Through it all, the captain hadn’t moved, still caught by Quinn’s will. He studied the human briefly and noted a complete absence of the usual stress reactions. There was no increased heart rate, no rapid breathing, no more than the usual sweaty skin. He looked deeper and saw that some other vampire, either here or wherever he’d picked up the contraband, had put him under compulsion. The human would still feel fear, but he couldn’t act upon it.

  “We’ll have to scuttle the boat,” Quinn said.

  Garrick chuckled. “Let’s get Captain Ahab there to help us unload first.”

  “Not here.” He eyed the gore splashing the worn boards of the dock. “I don’t want blood all over the crates.”

  “Good point. Think you can convince him to move the boat?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Quinn laughed, and caught the captain’s flinch from the corner of his eye. Interesting. The human must have some small measure of in-born resistance to telepathic control. It wasn’t enough to resist whatever vampire had planted the compulsion, though, which, oddly enough, was a bit of good luck. That compulsion had saved his life. If he’d fought back when Quinn and Garrick had first confronted them, he’d be dead along with his crew. Quinn decided, in that moment, to let the human captain live. After all, he wasn’t guilty of anything other than conspiring with vampires to smuggle illegal goods. And he was unlikely to go running to the authorities with that story.

  With a graceful leap, Quinn was on the boat. Two long strides took him into the small wheelhouse which reeked of the captain’s stale sweat.

  “Relax, Captain,” he said smoothly. “What’s your name?”

  “Bohdan,” the human rasped. “Bohdan Honza.”

  Czech, Quinn thought to himself. Not entirely a surprise. Despite its landlocked status, a lot of young Czech men found their way to the ports of Europe and worked as crew on big cargo ships. It was a short step from that to running a small smuggling vessel of your own. “Well, Bohdan Honza,” he said to the man, “this is your lucky night. Is there a place nearby where we can unload your cargo without anyone noticing?”

  “Yes, sir. The other end of the harbor. No one’s there this time of year, and especially not at night.”

  “You wouldn’t be setti
ng me up, would you, Bohdan?”

  “No, sir!” the man said fervently. “It’s a good place to unload. I tried to get the others to use it, but they wanted to be close to the pub.”

  “They should have taken your advice. Okay, let’s get what’s left of your crewmen back aboard, shall we?”

  The captain nodded, his terror ramping up a notch now that Quinn had removed the old compulsion. He probably assumed he, too, was going to die that night.

  “Don’t worry, Bohdan. I’ve decided to let you live.”

  The man nodded again, though it was obvious he didn’t believe Quinn’s assurances. That was all right. He’d learn soon enough that Quinn was a man—or a vampire—of his word.

  Quinn leaned out of the boathouse and signaled Garrick, who quickly picked up the bloody bodies of the two crewmen and tossed them onto the deck, then jumped onboard himself.

  “Where we going?” he asked Quinn, as the captain backed out of the slip.

  “Captain Honza has suggested a more discreet location to unload the cargo.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Not at all. But right now, he’s mine, and he’s telling the truth.”

  Garrick grunted. “I’ll have to move the car.”

  “The exercise is good for you.”

  “Good one, Q.” They both laughed. Garrick hardly needed the exercise. He was something of a fitness freak. They both were, if truth be told. Vampire longevity was a blessing, but it didn’t come with instant physical health. Regular vampires—those who weren’t in the business of running a territory—had the luxury of being out of shape. Although between the vampire symbiote’s obsession with keeping its host body healthy, and a diet of blood alone, it was rare to find a vamp who was overweight. But vampires like Quinn, and like his cousin, who thought to rise to the top, to rule a territory . . . they had to be prepared to fight for their lives on a nightly basis. And that meant rigorous and constant training in every form of combat.

  Quinn turned back, his attention divided between keeping the captain from stroking out from fear and watching their progress through the still water. It was only a matter of minutes before they’d motored to the other, darker end of the small harbor, with its modern concrete dock. The lights of the busy pub were visible, but distant, with only the occasional loud laugh rising up enough to break the silence. There were no other boats in sight, and, though modern light poles arched overhead, none of the lamps were lit. Quinn thought back to what he’d learned about Howth. This part of the harbor had been upgraded for the tourist trade. It would be busy during the summer, when vacationers swelled Howth’s population, but in the cold winter months, like now, there was no one around.

  The boat bumped the dock. Garrick stepped off and tied it down with efficient motions. “I’ll go get the car,” he called softly and took off with a burst of vampiric speed.

  “Let’s go, Captain,” Quinn said in an upbeat voice. “Shut down the engine, and help me get these crates off so you can get on with your night.”

  Sweat was rolling off the man’s face, his eyes wild as he obediently turned off the engine and led Quinn out onto the deck, where he stared, frozen, at the bodies of his former crew.

  “Don’t worry about them. You can dump the bodies out at sea. You know better than I do what the best location would be.” Quinn pulled back the thick tarp covering the cargo. “Just stack them on the dock. We’ll do the rest,” he said, lifting the first crate and noting its sub­stantial weight. It was too heavy for drugs, and the configuration of the crate was consistent with weapons shipments. Guns, then. The only question was, what kind?

  The captain tried, but he couldn’t lift the crates alone. It was faster and easier for Quinn to do it himself, so he told the man to sit and rest, while he went to work. By the time Garrick returned with the car, nearly a third of the crates sat on the dock. And with the two vampires moving in unison, the rest were quickly off-loaded and stacked.

  Honza’s agitation seemed to increase with every crate unloaded, until he was practically shuddering with terror. Quinn eyed the man and shook his head. “Honestly, Bohdan. There’s no need for this.” Reaching out, he touched the human’s forehead with a single finger, then gave him a jaunty salute and jumped off the boat to stand next to his cousin on the dock.

  His foot had barely touched the concrete before the captain had the boat reversing away.

  “Where’s he going?” Garrick asked, watching the boat depart.

  “Our good captain will travel several miles out to sea, where he’ll scuttle the boat.”

  “He’s going down with it?”

  “Of course, not. I’m not a monster. He’ll escape on a life raft, the lone survivor of a tragic wreck. What he does after that is up to him. But he won’t remember anything of this night.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Quinn turned to study his cousin. “If you were any other vampire, Garrick, I’d take offense at that question.”

  “Lucky I’m me, then.”

  Quinn snorted. “Help me transfer all this mess to the car.”

  Garrick hefted the first crate. “We’re going to need the back seat. It won’t all fit in the trunk.”

  “It’s called a boot, you American heathen. Do whatever’s necessary, but do it fast. This place is deserted for now, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  EVE KICKED OFF her shoes and sat on the bed, reaching down to rub her foot. The damn heels were sexy and made her legs look great, but they hurt like hell. She wondered if the really expensive shoes, like the ones with the red soles that all the movie stars on the talk shows wore, hurt as badly. Did those beautiful women go home and rub their feet, too?

  She flopped back on the bed, rolling to one side and reaching for her cell phone, immediately rolling back when the hilt of her knife dug into her thigh. She laughed to herself. That was one thing Hollywood starlets didn’t have to worry about, she’d wager. Not that her knife had seen much business tonight, she thought, with a sigh. She’d gotten a late start, bogged down as she’d been on her side job, and, though she’d walked her usual patrol, the night had been eerily quiet. Almost as if some greater threat had the local vamps and other bad guys lying low. And then she wondered what kind of threat could make a vampire want to hide out.

  Shit. Well, whatever it was, there’d been no sign of it or any stray vampires, either. The pub had been active, but the vamps had stuck to the crowds and each other. Looked like she’d be visiting Dublin sooner than expected, a move she’d been planning for some time. Not that she expected to immediately start hunting vampires in the big city, but that had been her ultimate goal all along, and it was time for some recon­naissance. She knew vampires had a pecking order, an almost military structure of command. Vampires might not be human anymore, but they gossiped and bragged, just like everyone else, and she’d listened. She even knew the name of the so-called Lord of Ireland. Orrin Sorley. Talk about a puffed-up bastard. Lord of Ireland. She heard those words and pictured some fancy vampire doing a step dance across the stage while his fang-toothed soldiers cheered him on.

  She laughed out loud at that, but sobered almost immediately. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Ordinary vampires were dangerous and strong. But the big boys? The ones at the very top? They were something else. They had true power, almost magical abilities if one believed the rumors. And she had no reason not to. There were now entire online sites dedicated to the worship of the monsters, sites filled with first-hand accounts of people—mostly women—who’d been to their blood houses. Places like the local Howth pubs, but run by the vampire lords and dedicated to vampire needs. There were even a very few stories on one site from women who’d been taken as lovers by vampires close to the top, women who’d seen for themselves what the vampire lords could do.

  Eve didn’t know how much she believed of what they said, bu
t she couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. There was too much similarity between the stories, too many repeated themes. She hated the thought of going to one of those places and mingling with the monsters, of offering herself up like meat in a market. But she had to do it. The vampires who’d killed her brother weren’t in Howth. They were in Dublin. And though she’d searched the Dublin streets for them, quietly visiting pubs frequented by the vamps, and lurking outside Orrin Sorley’s palatial Donnybrook estate, she’d never caught a glimpse of them.

  Her years of hunting had only confirmed what she’d begun to suspect early on, that the vampires who’d killed her brother were high up in Sorley’s organization. She wasn’t going to catch them roaming the streets or drinking in the pubs in Dublin or anywhere else. It was going to take more than that. She’d hidden in Howth for too long, telling herself they might show up. Telling herself she needed the practice, needed to hone her skills. But the time had come. If she really wanted to find the vamps who’d killed Alan, she was going to have to put her life on the line in a way she hadn’t yet. And the truth was, she was scared.

  “Looks like you’re headed for Dublin, lass,” she whispered. A shiver shook her body, and she told herself it was just the cold. She had a heater in her flat, but she used it sparingly, to save money. She got up and put on the kettle for a cup of tea, but couldn’t escape the dread that sat like a block of ice in her chest. Yes, she’d managed to kill some vampires over the last few years. But she had a feeling Dublin would change everything.

  Chapter Four

  Dublin, Ireland

  “THIS IS IT?” QUINN glanced casually through the passenger window as Garrick drove them past Sorley’s headquarters in the Donnybrook district of Dublin. The big, red-brick house was half-hidden behind a wall overgrown with trees and hedges that screened most of it from casual view. He caught a glimpse of several vampires through the half-open wrought-iron gate, but since he didn’t know any of Sorley’s people, that gave him little more than a head count. And he didn’t need to see vampires or humans to count their numbers. He swore softly. “We’re going to have to go in there.”