MONACO, EUROPE
Stars shone in the night sky and the air was alive with easy chatter. Lysette Cohen swung her long, bare legs out of a rented limo. It had been a short drive from her apartment in the principality’s centre to Monaco’s least famous casino. If all went well tonight, she’d be leaving with another year’s rent.
She preferred to enter through an inconspicuous side door rather than follow the obvious route taken by security guards, celebrities, and tourists. After all, she thought, in her calf length, sheer, split-to-the-groin Donna Karan dress; she was noticeable enough as it was.
She’d styled her black hair upwards in a complicated do. Diamonds twinkled at her ears and iced her neck, none of them as striking as her blue-eyed gaze. She looked a million dollars- the look that blended in and said, conversely, that here in Monaco she wouldn’t be remembered past tonight.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to the doorman who ushered her into the casino’s inner sanctum. Once inside she was surrounded by an unmatched elegance and a sense of barely-contained excitement. The ultra-wealthy played it to the bone here and the air was ripe with sophistication. Lysette threaded her way through roulette tables and Black Jack stations, heading towards the back of the casino, where the real game was played.
Poker.
A game she’d played twice in her life. She’d learned the basic rules off the internet. But her winnings to date were over two million Euros.
“New player?” The question was asked as she sashayed past an assured looking young man dealing Black Jack. Her slightly mocking expression told him she knew his game. Half the men working here had learned their craft in order to bed gorgeous, wealthy women. It helped their cause that half the women who came in here had married for money.
Lysette ignored the man as she laid eyes on a playable table. Two spaces were available. She sidled into one.
“Bhouka,” she said, affecting an accent which she’d perfected listening to CD’s.
Whilst Lysette waited for the dealer to get on with it she studied the players. Time to get serious. Gucci Tie was to her left, a vacant Playboy bunny stood behind him, dangling a heavy wrist of Bvlgari swag over his steroid-enhanced shoulders. Gay Blonde was to her right, nicely-ripped boyfriend standing to his left. Stud Muffin was dead ahead, a playful smile lighting his eyes. The only other player was Old Hag, a conventional wealthy crone in her late sixties, wearing too much make-up, too much hair coloring, and much too little clothing.
Lysette watched the dealer- Secret Transvestite- toss down the cards. Her method of keeping track of everyone she met was to give them nicknames. It also afforded her a bit of private fun.
Her drink was placed before her along with two cards. Her hole cards. She checked her luck, a pair of threes, and flicked them back down, turning her attention to the other players. In truth she hadn’t a clue about body language, she hadn’t a clue how to look for ‘tells’, she just had a…gift.
A gift that had taken her out of Hell and saved her life.
Lysette kept her eyes low, staying inconspicuous. Even so she knew Gucci Tie wasn’t happy with his cards, Gay Blonde was neutral, and Stud Muffin was trying to hide a smile.
Old Hag pulled out. Everyone else stayed in.
Lysette smiled sweetly. She didn’t dislike these people. She just wondered at their indifference. Two years ago, she’d had been trapped in a living nightmare – penniless, adrift, and trying to endure the nightly ordeal of watching her husband, Richard, drink away their joint wage and punish her for his troubles with ready fists.
Now she sipped her drink. Strong liquid burned the dry ash of memory from her head. The dealer flipped over four cards. No one looked too impressed. But then they wouldn’t, would they.
Lysette started to push.
Her life had changed one snowy January night. Richard had come home after a particularly bad day, banging through the door with a fresh pizza and a dangerous attitude. Ten minutes later he was on straight whisky. Without knowing what she was doing Lysette had pushed. At least, that’s what she called it later.
Pushing.
When she pushed she read a person’s mind. And at that exact moment she’d read her husbands’.
That night, he would either break her for good, or kill her.
Lysette was running within the hour, running for her life and her freedom. To all intents and purposes she disappeared, flying to Paris and then taking trains and taxis, contacting no one. She carried no baggage- nothing that would tie her to her past. She would never allow anyone into her heart again.
And so, she’d ended up at this poker table, a stranger among strangers. This was her life, this loneliness. Endured, respected, required.
Her power was both savior, and curse. How could she ever love again when she could read everyone’s thoughts?
Lysette pushed.
Gucci Tie had nothing; he was bluffing his way to an early exit. Gay Blonde was running for a flush but doubted he was going to get it. Lysette guessed that a round of extravagant betting would soon send his well-shaved arse into his boyfriend’s willing lap. Stud Muffin was the real danger here, in more ways than one.
Lysette wanted them all to stay at the table for a few more rounds to raise the stakes. She shuffled her chips and clipped off a small stack.
“Four thousand.” Her voice was even.
There were a few smiles, a smirk from Old Hag. Good. They thought she was a pretty girl with a sugar daddy out to donate a few Euros. Predictably, they all stepped up to the cause.
It wasn’t pretty. She fleeced them. She read them, pushed them, played on their fears, and their desires. By the time she finished most of them were drunk, and Stud Muffin was as edgy as a pig who’d won a Busman’s Holiday in a bacon factory. When she’d finished ,she moved her chair back and took her sweet time about dropping the dealer a hundred. She left the table, feeling Stud Muffin’s eyes on her clear across the floor.
At the gate, she cashed out. Took a banker’s cheque and slipped it between the soft velvet folds of her designer purse.
Outside, the limo was waiting. She stopped for a moment to take in the crisp night air. The smell of success and filthy money greeted her, but best of all was the sweet scent of freedom. She unfastened her hair, letting loose a black cascade around her shoulders and down to the middle of her back.
Alone was good. To be able to push was good. It ensured she would never be ensnared again.
The man who approached from the tree-line looked uncomfortably hot and grossly out of place. Lysette eyed him as he walked towards her. She told herself all was well. A casino guard stood six feet to her left.
“Lysette Cohen?” the man huffed as he reached her. “Christ knows why I had to wear this bloody tie to speak to you outside the bloody casino.”
“Who are you?” Fear slid uncomfortably down her spine like a caress of skeletal fingers.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Cohen,” the man’s voice was unmistakably English. An ex private school boy for sure. “My name is Geoffrey Giles. I represent a company called Aegis.” He yanked off his tie and blinked at her.
“I really need to talk to you, Ms Cohen.”
“You don’t need to,” Lysette stopped pushing, suddenly feeling light-headed. “I just read everything in your mind. And saw the truth of it. The first pure truth I’ve seen in three years.” She smiled at the man’s priceless confusion. “I don’t mind going to York with you, Mr. Giles, but you’ll have to put a different name on my passport to get me there.”
19
MIAMI, U.S.A.
Marian Cleaver crossed into the wealthy Coconut Grove area of Miami, arriving at the shopping mall a few minutes later. The scene could be described in two-no-three words.
Utter fucking chaos.
Cleaver flashed his I.D. to get inside the perimeter. Police cruisers were strewn everywhere. Unmarked vans took up several spaces in the parking lot. Police and plain-clothes agents made up the bulk of manpower, but there were others
scattered around he didn’t recognize, most likely agents from anonymous agencies.
Beyond the staging area he saw palm trees on fire, their splayed branches crackling and spilling blazing globules onto the sidewalk. Beyond them flames licked through the mall’s shattered windows. Cleaver could see inside the main entrance to the food court. Tables and chairs and fake palm trees and benches and other debris had been piled high and was the source of inferno. Vague shapes danced and flitted around the bonfire. Occasionally a shot rang out.
Cleaver unclipped his cell phone.
Thankfully his contact at Aegis answered quickly. “Yes?”
“I’m at the mall, Myleene. No sign of Gaines.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“Not from Aegis. Not yet. I don’t have much time. What’s your input here?”
“Eldritch is coming to you. We just aren’t ready to commit everything yet.”
Cleaver watched a tower of smoke plume into the sky. He jammed a finger in his right ear as Miami PD ran by, shouting into their radios. “Best be ready sooner than later, Myleene,” he said. “This place is going to hell.”
“Any sign of the shadow phenomenon?”
“Some of the smoke is moving against the wind.”
“Those people in there,” Myleene hesitated. “They…well…we know evil is rising through the cracks in the world, the weak spots. It no doubt attracted them. If they weren’t openly criminal-minded before, they will be now. It will have consumed their minds.”
“Meaning?”
“Bleeding hell, Cleaver. Use your brain. Ever see Dawn of the Dead? Resident Evil? Gaines might be planning to send them into Miami. Don’t forget, you are at the epicenter. Miami is New Babylon – the focal point of everything evil that’s rising. Stay safe, Cleaver. And don’t rush into this one.”
“They’re just people in there,” Cleaver wondered if Gaines might be testing him again. “They didn’t harm anyone before today.”
“Remember this – evil attracts evil. There’s a reason those people answered a calling to visit the mall tonight, and I’m guessing it’s not for Popeye’s chicken and biscuits. You might have every child molester and serial killer in the southern States running amok in there.”
“Radio says people have been seen leaping into the flames.”
“I understand.” Myleene’s voice was a disturbed whisper. “But-”
“Understand this-” Cleaver snapped his cell shut mid-sentence.
If you’re gonna save the world, you gotta pick a time to start, Cleaver thought as he pulled one side of his duster apart.
His shotgun, concealed by a shoulder holster, swung into sight. He began to thread his way through the haphazard lines of police cruisers. Miami PD began to move. Cleaver’s thoughts were all about the innocents who might be trapped in the mall – the women with young kids and babies in strollers. The schoolchildren out for a Coke and a smile. The families, the geeks, the students. All the potential Josh Walker’s. If he could help them, he would.
The noise level grew as he approached the front line. At that moment there was a commotion ahead. Shots rang out. Everyone ducked for cover. Cleaver bobbed down behind a civilian Chrysler, suddenly finding his view blocked by a large guy with the SWAT legend across his back.
Cleaver raised his head cautiously. He saw a policeman caught half way between here and the mall entrance, frozen in fear like a deer trapped in a searchlight. And people were rushing from the mall, chasing him down.
People covered in blood, with open wounds, wielding makeshift weapons.
“Shit!” Cleaver was up in an instant, sweeping his duster aside like a cape and freeing his shotgun. Officers around him read the situation and began to shout at their colleague to get the hell out of there.
Taken by surprise, almost everyone stood and watched. Or shouted. Or scratched their heads.
Cleaver was already two thirds of the way to the stranded cop. The officer caught sight of him. Cleaver saw his eyes go wide with fear. The cop didn’t know if Cleaver was one of the good guys.
More gunfire rang out. Cleaver watched in horror as the cop spun in place, spraying blood. Cleaver reached him a second later, catching him with one hand and firing his shotgun with the other. Reloading one-handed Cleaver scooped the cop up and backed away. Officers behind him laid down covering fire.
There was a hiss like gallons of water boiling and then a white streak shot from one of the mall’s windows. A SWAT truck exploded in a roiling mass of metal and flame.
“Fuck!” Someone cried. “They just fired a fucking missile!”
A second streak shot from a different window. Screams of warning filled the air. Cleaver automatically ducked as the missile flew over his head and struck something big behind him. He heard the whoosh of a huge explosion and then a blast of heated air drove him to his knees. Cleaver used the distraction to drag the wounded cop the last few yards over the police line. Other cops rushed to help, eyeing Cleaver with quiet respect. A medic rushed towards them.
The blood-soaked people were returning to the mall.
Cleaver took a deep breath and then turned around to a scene of bedlam. At least four cruisers had been destroyed by the second missile. Nothing but twisted metal and flames remained. Cleaver saw three cops lying nearby, unmoving, broken as if they’d been thrown from the uncaring hands of a passing giant.
Uniforms ran in and out of the turmoil. Someone shouted on a bullhorn to pull back the perimeter. Cleaver turned once more to the burning shopping mall.
Was this ‘all Hell’ starting to break loose?
20
YORK, ENGLAND
I woke in the dead of night. The rain beat against the window and a wind blasted around the eaves. I climbed out of bed and padded to the window. The garden below was under assault from the elements. Security night-lights flicked themselves on and off as trees and shrubbery waved. I stared harder, wondering if there were any vamps or lycans down there.
If I woke at this time normally, it would be because of an old, unresolved guilt called Raychel. Mentally, I shook my head. Memories of Raychel inevitably led to raw reflection on Lucy. The thought of an early coffee in the warm security of the kitchen beckoned me, along with the chance that I might bump into Belinda.
The kitchen was occupied, but only by Felicia. I hesitated.
“Come on in, Logan,” she said with a smile. “I won’t eat you.”
I sniffed the air. “Coffee?”
“Belinda’s finest,” Felicia smirked. “we all drink it when she’s asleep.”
I took a seat, smiling when the small lycan placed a hot mug before me. I watched as she took the seat opposite. She was perfectly formed, this Uberhuman, and she looked like a bundle of fun. The sparkling ring at her navel drew my attention again.
“It’s not silver, it’s steel,” she followed my eyes.
“Is it. . . symbolic?”
“It’s an Uber thing.” She shrugged, then gave me a sly smile. “I have them. . .in other places too.”
I did my best to ignore that one and leaned back in my chair, sipping coffee. The wind howled outside, and rain rattled against the windows.
I said, “I know nothing about Ubers. I never knew you existed before…” I paused. What day was it anyway?
“Lycans are the best Ubers,” she grinned. “We turn when the mood takes us. We change back at will. We live among humans easily, so long as we stay clear of silver. We are completely free.”
She unwrapped a chunk of expensive chocolate marked with the Ghirardelli seal.
“And vamps?”
“Chained forever by their reliance on blood. By their duty to their Shades. By their aversion to sunlight. And by their incessant need for material gain.” She bit off a chunk of chocolate and pulled an ecstatic face.
“Vamps like power?” I guessed. “And all its trappings?”
“Ceriden owns two Maserati's and uses a Bentley for the grocery run. His home is worth millions. Tristran, h
is direct superior, lives in Las Vegas, in a new apartment built on the Strip. The complex has its own beach. The saying among Ubers goes: behind every great man, there’s a great fang. They’re everywhere.”
I tried to keep the shock off my face as my view of the world shifted. “Wow.”
“Vamps bask in power.”
“But lycans are free? Why do you say that?”
Felicia smiled, masses of blonde hair framing her perfect face. “Okay, Logan, I’ll try to explain.” She didn’t sound condescending, just earnest. “It’s the freedom of being here in this house today but knowing I could be just as happy in the depths of a forest or on the wild moors tomorrow. It’s the freedom of being able to mingle with anyone, anytime. We don’t need anything material to be happy. We just need the Run, passion, sex, excitement. All the best things that makes your blood hot. Could you say that? Could any other species?”
Felicia took a breath and fixed me with her deep saucer-like eyes. “But, most of all, it’s the wild, uninhibited sense of the Run. When we change, we are raw nature, untamed and unbound, beyond regulation and rule. The Run is true freedom, Logan, the passing of tree and root, the caress of the harsh sun or the silvery moon upon your flawless body. When you’re given that kind of release, well, that’s when you howl.”
I didn’t know what to say. She made it sound so good.
“Don’t believe a word,” a new voice boomed from behind me. I started, almost spilling my coffee as I whipped around.
Ceriden said, “Sorry, Logan, dearest. Us ‘material-beings’ tend to move without making much sound.”
I lifted my mug. “Grab a coffee.”
“Is it double blended?” Ceriden asked. “With blood and a pinch of Bram?”
I certainly hoped not, but before I could speak Ceriden went on, “Felicia, I simply love the way your belly-button ring sparkles when you twist it, but please give it a break.” He made a nauseous sound.
Felicia screwed her face up. “This, coming from a vampire?”
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