by D. R. Perry
“It wouldn’t. But I believe Valentino is right. The Stephanie out working the room is a copy. If it were really her, the Lazakhar would glow in her presence. So that means another vampire has a contract with the Pickering’s monster friends.” Raven closes their eyes. I’ve only ever seen another vamp look this weary when Stephanie exhausted herself helping the King last month.
“And all we’ve got to do is figure out who, I guess. Right?” I feel like it’s my personal responsibility to bring some energy back to this room. It’s what we younger vampires are supposed to be good at, after all.
“No. That part of the mystery has a clear answer.” The King’s stare is focused on his Attaché. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Not like he’s looking through you, but into you and at every secret in your mind and heart.
“It’s my brother. Whitby. But I can’t imagine why he’d do this. I always thought he liked Stephanie.”
“He killed her best friend and you think he likes her?” I blink. Three whole times because that idea seems so beyond the pale. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty. I should have asked for permission to speak so freely on an unrelated topic.”
“I’m willing to entertain the idea that perhaps these matters have a connection, Mr. Crispo. And your police training gives you insight on how some minds work differently. Please continue, both of you.”
“Whitby’s a sociopath. By his logic, Tierney’s death means no competition. And somehow, I've got a hunch that Whitby's ideas about my sire are what he considers romantic.” I shake my head. “I can’t imagine anyone thinking of Stephanie in that way. She’s like everyone’s maiden aunt or something.”
“I’m not getting into my brother’s proclivities here and now." Raven rests one hand on their chin. "But come to think of it, he always did gravitate toward the type of woman who valued chastity. We ought to bring the impostor in here before she does any more damage.”
“More?” I try not to take a step back in alarm.
“Yes." The King nods. "She’s been out and about, pushing whatever agenda the monsters have here.”
“Can they make contracts with vampires?” I direct this question at Raven.
“Yes, but only if said vampire was born into the family. The contracts are for life but terms can be changed if both parties agree that circumstances have changed drastically enough.”
“So Whitby might be negotiating toward commanding an army of these things?”
“In theory. But they can’t exist for long outside of the water.”
And suddenly it all makes sense.
“Your Majesty, I know you want to call Stephanie in here. But let me drink this first.” I point at the vial. “It’s going to be messy but we might get vital information.”
“Proceed, Mr. Crispo.”
I uncork the vial, down its contents, and prepare for the worst. But it turns out not to be so horrible after all. Maybe the more I use this awful ability, the easier it gets. Or perhaps not. My stomach cramps like someone’s kicked me in it with seventeen steel-toed boots. The pointy kind. And just like that, I’m trying to avoid upchucking all over King DeCampo’s sensible wingtip shoes.
Remember Maya’s telepathy, achieved with close contact? Nice little special ability, pleasantly used. Mine’s the opposite. Blood from a dead person isn’t too nourishing, and the expired bags Hargrove gets from his hospital connection sometimes come from a person who’s also exceeded their best by date. For most vampires, all this means is it’s like junk food. They’ve got to have twice as much to sate their hunger.
But it makes me puke to the point of self-harm. Which would utterly suck if it didn’t have an extremely helpful side-effect. I get to see how the person that blood belonged to died. Pretty spiffy for a Private Investigator who happens to be a vampire, huh?
I lose count after four heaves, which is the point where only ashes come up. By the time I stop puking, I’ve had the whole vision. And it’s a doozie. I can’t talk sensibly until I’ve had some proper nourishment, though. Raven hands me a blood bag. I open it, take a whiff to make sure it’s not some other poor dead sap’s blood, and drink it down. I can feel the lining of my stomach and throat knit back together. They hand me a second bag and after that, another.
“Sorry about the grotesque performance art, Your Majesty.” I look up from the floor as I try sweeping the ashes I’ve regurgitated into a pile with my bare hands. “I should start carrying a trash bag and a hand-broom.”
“I’ve seen others with similar abilities, Mr. Crispo.” He waves a hand at the mess. “I’ll have someone clean it up later. Now, what did you see?”
“That the real Stephanie’s being held prisoner.” I include details from my dream, which I understand now was some kind of psychic connection to my sire while she went through this. I get to my feet. “She got captured outside a moving house when Leora Kupala’s mother died, right before dawn. The kid’s a Lamb, working for Baba Yaga.” This explains why Esther didn’t take that tracking potion herself. She’s probably banned from interfering directly and couldn't even tell me. Magicians are weird.
“Lucky kid.” Raven smirks. “Baba’s Lambs get all the perks.”
“Like what?” I’m thinking about Sparky, how she said he was the most important thing ever. And I remember the kid-sized figure in the long black veil attending Larry Nelson’s funeral.
“No trauma. They run errands, travel the world, and get to meet all kinds of interesting creatures.” Raven shrugs. “That’s all I know.”
“I think I’ve got all the information you need to detain Stephanie, Your Majesty. The main thing you want to make sure of is not to let her touch you or your allies. There's an attack they can use that messes just about anyone up.” I glance down at her Lazakhar, still dangling from its chain in his hand. “But I need to talk to the Pickerings if you want any more information about this invasion of the body-snatchers. And I need a way out of the building that's guaranteed to take me past Whitby without any trouble. He’ll try to stop me.”
“I’ll need you to do more than get information, Mr. Crispo.” King DeCampo’s eyes aren’t focused on anything in this room. It’s enough to make me wonder whether he’s got a vision-granting ability of his own.
“What?” I freeze because this time, blinking’s not enough.
“You’ll have to confront these monsters and rescue your sire.”
“Okay. But can I bring Hargrove and Shadow?”
“No. I’ll need them here.”
“Your Majesty, I will go with Valentino, with your permission, of course.”
“Granted.” The King tilts his head at his Attaché. “May your efforts bear the fruit you need, Raven.”
“So how are we getting out of here?”
Raven turns their head and smiles. “Through the front door. Together.”
And that’s exactly what we do. On the way out the door behind the throne, we pass Shadow and Hargrove, hands on Fake Stephanie’s arms, her clothes providing a barrier against skin-to-skin contact. She’s got a baleful gleam in her eye, pinned on me like a bug on a card. I flap my golf wave at her again.
Whispers and stares usher me and Raven through the room full of vampires. We must make a strange spectacle. The only one smiling is Maya. For the first time, it occurs to me that with a mere few months’ stay in Rhode Island under his belt, Whitby may have compromised or replaced more than just Stephanie. But the more reasonable explanation is, he only made himself look better than me. An easy enough feat.
And there’s nothing I can do about it besides worry. And there’s too much on my plate for that.
In the hall, I try to express those concerns to Raven. They shush me until we’re in the car, tires rolling.
“I already thought of that.” They lean back in the passenger seat. “We have to rely on the King’s personal prowess. He’s got to be at least twice my age. If anyone can fight a room full of body-snatchers, it’s him.”
Raven can�
�t be wrong about that. If they have reservations, they’re not showing. And I get the feeling neither of us would make one bit of difference if we turned out to be the only ones defending the King DeCampo, anyway.
We could go straight to the Pickering’s house but the minute we get in the car, there’s a text from Kayleigh. She’s got Leora and is on her way to my office. So that’s where I bring Raven first.
“Maybe you should wait in the car.”
“Excuse me?” It’s a question but Raven doesn’t mean it that way. I can tell because they’re already out of the car. For a vampire named after a bird, they sure have a catlike demeanor.
“So much for not meeting the hunter.”
“Tino, if you think I’ve never been in the same room as a hunter before, you’re disappointingly naïve.” The King’s Attaché strides through the parking lot.
“There are mafia guys in there, too.” I’m trotting to catch up.
“Been there.”
“A police detective.”
“Done that.”
“A mean alchemist?”
“Hmm.” Raven stands in front of the door, staring at the lock. It’s not propped open anymore. “That’s a first. Sounds interesting.”
“The door’s locked.”
“Not for long.” They reach out, grab the handle, and glare. I hear a click. They pull it open. “You coming or not?”
I bend down and stick a loose brick in by the doorjamb. “Now I am.”
We go down the hall, into the stairwell, and up one flight before I ask. “Are you telekinetic or something?”
“Something.”
“Can I learn to do it?”
“That information’s too expensive for the likes of you.”
“Oh.”
We’re at the door to my office before I fully realize that I’ve been following Raven all this time. Old vampires are reputed to be so powerful I’m not sure whether there’s some blood-related ability in use or if the King’s Attaché is simply disturbingly well informed. I watch them open it.
Frankie’s eating a square sandwich at my desk on the customer side. Maury’s still snoring on the futon. Esther looks up from something she’s drawing, eyes wide. And that’s when I remember the wards.
“Raven, wait.”
“Hmm." They peer at empty space. "Wards. Good idea but bad news if we cross them.”
“Um, Esther?” I gesture at what looks to me like thin air. "Would you mind?"
Esther rolls her eyes and tears up the paper in front of her. A faint shimmer of green falls from the top of the doorway. Then, she waves us inside. I take a deep breath I don’t need and let it out. Old habits die hard.
We walk in just as Frankie pops the last bite of his tuna salad sandwich into his mouth. He looks up at Raven, blinking. They saunter over and sit in my chair. One thing I can say for Raven, I expected a ton of snark and attitude about my office's shabby unchic decor. But they don’t say a word about that.
“Um, Raven. That’s Frankie. This is Esther. And the guy sleeping off the potion is Maury.” I shrug, unsure exactly how to introduce my unlikely ally. Time to keep it simple. “Guys, that’s Raven, a way more experienced vampire than me.”
“Charmed.” But Raven doesn’t look charmed at all. More bored than anything else.
“And the lady on the way here is Kayleigh. She’s bringing Leora to us. That other Lamb I mentioned.”
“So, it’s you, me, this Leora, and Frankie going over to talk to the Pickerings?”
“No way.” Frankie has his hands flat on the desk now. “You don’t want me there.”
“Actually, we do.” I lean against my totally occupied desk, which is better than having to sit in the customer side seat, I guess. “This is an intervention.”
“Yeah, the Pickerings have got a serious addiction to power at all costs that’s gone on way too long.” Raven locks gazes with Frankie. “I know from long experience. It’s time to encourage them to renegotiate their contract with the Deep Ones.”
“You assholes don’t know what the fuck you’re getting into, going over there.” She crumples up a piece of paper and throws it into the trash.
“Letting us know would be great, Esther.” I grin at the angry alchemist, sure she isn’t somehow ordering us not to go. “Thanks for offering to do that.”
“No fucking problem.” She’s smiling widely enough that I wonder what she’s hiding. Maybe Esther's just happy we're not telling her to quit swearing in front of the kid. “You need to go in there armed like a motherfucker. Not with some shitty guns, either. You need fucking swords and knives.”
“I think I’ve got something.” I head to the Shoji screen, reach behind it into what used to be some college kid’s umbrella stand. I bring out a saber.
“You’re a swordsman?” Raven snorts. “Give me a break.”
“He was in the Fencing Club.” The voice from the door defends my reputation. “Won a few awards, too, unlike that poor sap on the futon.” Yeah, fencing was the one thing I was better than Maury at. Go figure.
Kayleigh Killarney stands in the doorway, trying to block Leora from entering. But the kid squeezes under her arm. She heads right over to me and looks down at the sword. “Cool weapon, Mister Crispo.”
“You can call me Tino like everyone else does, Leora.”
“Thanks!” She pats the pouch strapped to her chest. I notice a charm bracelet around her wrist this time. It’s got a mortar and pestle charm hanging from it. “Sparky says hi.”
“Hello again, Sparky.” I wave at the pouch even though it isn't open. Who knows, maybe the magic lizard can see me. Amphibian. Whatever.
“You’re not going to fight real enemies with that thing, are you, Tino?” Kayleigh’s frowning at my saber. “It’s not a good idea to use those in actual combat, even the theatrical kind.”
“Well, you’re the tactical expert.”
“You’re using that fucking thing on wards and magical shit, Tino, not people.” Esther’s got a stack of post-it notes, pen poised over it. "I can reinforce that shit. Bring it the fuck over here." I do and she sharpies up my saber. The edge gleams and it looks more solid, Feels better in my hand, too.
“Well, I guess your fighting style and the magic enhancement will have to do.” Kayleigh shrugs. “At least that’s not your old practice foil. Anyway, what’s Maury doing here? Thought he was in the dark with the rest of the mundanes.”
“He is.” I shake my head. “But he had an accidental brush with some magic and he’s sleeping it off.”
“Well, do you want me to get him out of here?”
“Um, excuse me for asking but why is a hunter helping you?” Raven’s eyebrow raise could give the real Stephanie’s a run for its money.
“You can ask me directly, you know.”
“Okay, fine. Why are you helping? It makes no sense.”
“My higher ups told me about these Deep Ones making menaces of themselves. Bigger fish to fry. And I’ve got my own arrangement with these three, anyway.” Kayleigh gives Raven a bright smile. “You know how important deals and debts are, of course.”
“Wow, you’re cheeky.” Raven shakes their head, then smiles back. “But sensible.”
“Damn straight.” Kayleigh walks over to the futon, unfazed by Raven's fangs. “I’m taking Maury back to his place.”
“Okay, thanks.” I hand her his keys from my pocket where I stashed them earlier. After that, I move to help her but she waves me away. “I don’t want him waking up here if I can help it and it’d take a chunk of time from my night to do it myself.”
Kayleigh carries Maury with no problem. Sure, she’s strong for a human but also Maury’s lost weight. I know she notices it, too, though she doesn’t mention it. We say goodbye as she heads out the door.
“Well, that was interesting.” Raven leans back in my chair. “You’ve got a way of collecting strange and unusual friends, Valentino.”
“Yeah.” I belt the saber around my waist. It’s okay
to carry it around in Rhode Island like that. Open-carry for bladed weapons is legal here. Told you it’s a quirky place. “So, let’s go visit the Pickerings.”
“Wait a fucking minute.” Esther’s been scribbling on the post-its this whole time. She hands them over to me.
“Uh, my hands will probably be too full for these, but thanks anyway.”
“Fucking delegate that shit, deadman.” She rolls her eyes. “Not to the kid, either. She’s packing enough magical heat already. Give it to the guy. You know, the one with the thing. I can’t say who.” I peer at Leora and notice a shimmering red and white glow around the charm bracelet. It’s probably a trinket from Baba Yaga. What was that Raven said about the witch’s Lambs running errands?
“Oh. Okay then.” I turn and hand the magical papers over to Frankie, who’s got the least power in my little troupe of misfits. “Let’s get out of here.”
We leave the office, the building, and get into the car. It’s maybe a fifteen minute drive from the address I got off Frankie’s ID yesterday. It feels like it’s been a whole week instead of a day.
We pull up and park on the street in front of the big green gambrel at 66 Ocean Drive. Frankie’s looking at his feet instead of the house and I can’t blame him. I’m not too surprised when Raven pats him on the shoulder or when Leora takes his hand. These three are all survivors of a similar set of trials, set on them by their families without choice or even consent.
And now they’re following me into another one. At least they’re making their own decisions about the danger they face this time.
I walk right up and ring the doorbell, then draw my enhanced saber. Leora pats the hand holding it and I see a shimmer of red and black surround the blade. Double magic, cool deal. Her smile reminds me of flecks of white skin peeping out through holes in a lacy veil. The kid doesn’t smell like anything at all. I realize this means she’s not alone.
Well, for that matter, neither is the lady who answers the door. She’s middle-aged, with touches of gray at the temples of her bound up chestnut hair. Frown lines punctuate her mouth and the space between her eyebrows. Her skin’s sallow with a faint greenish cast. She’s wearing a long gray dress, with long sleeves and a high neck that’s something between mock and actual turtleneck height.