“Got him,” Lee confirmed. His eyes were fixed on the bat. Thanks to his shifter blood, Logan could see decently well in the dark. But Lee could see as if it was daylight. What’s more, as a vampire he had a sixth sense tingling when another vampire came near. Most vampires don’t develop the natural talent, and let it stagnate. For Lee, it was the opposite. He trained it at every opportunity he could. Although he didn’t dare ask anyone and risk compromising Lee’s identity, Logan was certain that Lee was one of the best, if not the very best, vampire tracker in the world.
Lee drove through the city after the bat. Logan had no idea where the target was, but Lee’s stern expression and tight lips told him they hadn’t lost the trail. A long red light, stuck behind two cars with traffic going by in the other lane, left Lee sweating.
“Is he—”
“Don’t talk,” Lee tersely replied.
The pickup truck kicked into a new gear as Lee drove uphill, higher and deeper into the city, into the old part where the rich had called dibs on the high ground.
Russian Hill.
It was not surprising that one of Maeve’s minions would have the resources to live in style, but it made Logan nervous. As Lee continued on, the streets began to look more and more familiar to Logan. He rarely had reason to come to Russian Hill, as the magi elite almost always took matters into their own hands. The recent exception had been his motorcycle ride with Suri, to investigate the disappearance of Boyde Weathers. The fact that this vampire had chosen to live so close to the magi councillor’s house did not feel like an accident.
Lee turned onto Boyde Weathers’ street. Logan’s heart beat faster. He leaned forward and rolled down his window. Stuck his head part way out and stared at the councillor’s mansion, white and huge behind its iron front gate.
Lee slowed to a stop right out front. The two enforcers standing guard at the gate watched Lee’s pickup truck with hard eyes. “We’re here,” said Lee. He turned to Logan, saw his stricken expression. “What’s wrong?”
17
Logan ran a hand over his scraggly black beard. “Keep going,” he rasped. Lee put his foot on the pedal, rolling his blue pickup truck further down the road.
Logan pointed to the left. “Turn here and park.”
Lee did it without question.
Did they see me? Did they see my cast?
The plaster was bright white, standing out in the dark. And only one enforcer had a broken arm at the moment—as far as Logan knew.
McNaulty lied to me. He said all of the enforcers were tied up at the Academy. I counted three of them back there.
“How many men did you see?” he asked Lee.
“Four,” Lee replied. No hesitation. “Two out front, two walking around the front yard. They are enforcers?”
“You’re damn right they’re enforcers. What the fuck!”
“This is not good,” said Lee, matter-of-factly.
Logan shook his head. “I knew it. McNaulty, that bastard. He’s been working with the vampires this whole time. That’s why he put me on the Weathers case. He thought I’d be scared of them.”
Lee grinned, showing his fangs. He grabbed his shotgun from where it laid across the backseats, and loaded it. Then he set it on the dash and started taking off his clothes.
“Hold your horses.” Logan put out his arm, causing Lee to pause unbuttoning his white chef uniform. “We’re not going in guns blazing. Are you crazy?”
“Why not?” Lee look perplexed. “You said they are working with the vampires. Maeve’s vampires,” he added.
“It’s not that simple. We don’t know what’s going on here. There’s too much going on behind the scenes.”
Lee pointed back at the mansion. “I saw him go in there. I can feel it. Right now. He is inside.”
“No one will believe you. If we go in there and shoot up the place, and don’t end up with a dead vampire, we’re done. And I mean really done. Besides,” he continued, “McNaulty could make up any old excuse to explain it.” He rubbed his beard with his one good hand. Really dug his fingers in deep, and pulled on it. “Ok, we’re going in.”
Lee grabbed his shotgun.
“But no shooting unless we have to, understand? I want to gather evidence.” He took out his cell phone and waved it for Lee to notice. “Pictures. That’s all we’re going for.”
Lee shrugged. “If I see a vampire, I kill it.”
Logan frowned and shook his head. It had been so long since he and Lee had partnered up like this that he’d forgotten one important fact, that his Chinese friend lived for one thing and one thing only: killing his own kind. The long decades without a vampire in San Francisco hadn’t calmed his vigor, apparently. Could have made it even stronger.
Lee exited the truck. Took of his chef uniform and threw it on the driver’s seat. From the illumination of a streetlight, Logan saw his dragon tattoos on full display, covering his hairless chest so completely that it hid his olive colored skin. The tattoo wrapped around Lee’s shoulders, neck, arms, back and legs. All one dragon, the piercing eyes and open mouth facing forward from the center of Lee’s chest. Ready to consume what came into its path.
Lee ran both hands over his shaved head, one at a time. He inhaled and exhaled powerful breaths, quickly, through his nose. Stretched his arms out in front of him, rotated his hands, then pulled them back in, taking another deep breath as he did it. Then he let it out again, all the air in his lungs, from deep in his gut. Pushing, until his stomach sucked back against his spine.
Logan shook his head at Lee’s pre-vampire killing ritual. “You’re crazy, you know that?” He said, getting out of the truck.
“You’re crazy,” Lee replied. He took off his small, round glasses and set them on top of the uniform. Grabbed his shotgun from the dash. Blinked, and blinked again as if clearing his eyes after a long sleep. Ever so slightly, the dragon tattoo slithered across his skin.
“Fuck me,” Logan muttered. There’s no way this night is ending well.
Lee slipped out of his shoes, leaving them next to the truck. Logan kept up with him the best he could as Lee made his way back the way they had come.
They stopped at the intersection where the street they had parked on met the street of the councillor’s mansion. Around the corner, a stone’s throw distance away, the two enforcers stood outside the front gate.
Lee looked at Logan. He made a circle gesture with his hand, followed by another gesture of an arch.
“I don’t know what that means,” Logan whispered.
Lee sighed, and jogged off into the bushes.
Logan cursed into his beard and looked back at the street to make sure no ungifted had spotted them. Having the ungifted dullards pull up with sirens screaming would not be good right now.
All the wealthy ungifted were inside their palatial houses. The streets were empty. Logan jogged after his vampire informant, feeling very much that he had lost the lead position. That might have been the cause of more than a little conflict if Logan was your ordinary wolf or lion shifter. But badgers are solitary creatures. He’d always been more comfortable alone. It had taken four dates for him to warm up to Suzy. God only knows why she was patient with him. Maybe she knew how badgers are: hesitant to take a partner, because when they do, it’s for life.
“Lee!” Logan said it as loud as he dared, in a hushed voice. He pushed his way through the row of bushes, and saw, under the light of the full moon, Lee running in a crouch through the backyard of some rich person’s house. Towards the wall surrounding the councillor’s mansion, on the other side.
Idiot! Doesn’t he know about motion detectors and flood lights?
Logan went after him, not wanting to lose track of where his vengeful friend was going. A man dressed in a bathrobe opened a sliding door on the third floor and stepped onto the balcony. Logan saw the orange glow of a cigarette. Watched, frozen like a rabbit, while the man looked out blissfully on what must have been beautiful view from up on Russian Hill.
> Logan waited. Lee kept going, and reached the wall that was at the edge of the property. He looked back at Logan, stared at him for a second, then started climbing.
Logan shook his head, rubbed his beard. He was sure that the white plaster stood out bright in the dark. So he tucked the cast inside his jacket and ran crouched over, as quietly as his big, dirty old boots would allow, across the man’s backyard.
The ungifted didn’t notice a thing. But his dog did. It hadn’t paid the slightest notice to Lee. Maybe it caught the whiff of Logan’s shifter blood. Whatever the reason, Logan’s trespassing set it off. Logan couldn’t even see the thing; it was somewhere out of sight, behind a fence, barking wildly and scratching with its claws.
“Oh my god!” the man shouted. “Be quiet!” He grabbed the railing with both hands, holding onto the cigarette with his lips. Looked out over the backyard. Not at Logan, but in the direction of the dog. He spun, stomping back in through the sliding door. “Rosalind! Your dog is barking again! Will you please teach that thing—”
Logan didn’t hear the rest. He was off, running across the grass while the dog barked bloody murder. Lee slipped over the top of the wall just as Logan reached the bottom. “Fuck, fuck.” Logan wasn’t a good climber. He was more the stout, resilient type. And he only had one good arm.
Lee’s head popped up from the other side. He put a finger to his lips, then came back over and lay on the top of the wall. He reached down with one arm. Logan jumped to grab it, and came up short. Lee reached further down, Logan jumped again, and this time grabbed hold.
Logan scrabbled with his feet against the wall. The back light of the house behind him came on, washing everything in a revealing yellow glow.
The sound of a gate opening. Claws scraping against asphalt. The devil dog rounded the corner of the back of the house, and came growling to take a bite out of Logan’s ass.
The tattoo writhed on Lee’s arm. Logan would have let go from being startled, if it wasn’t his only thing keeping him off the ground. Then Lee pulled. Or is it the dragon? Logan thought, as he flew high into the air and sailed over the wall. He landed hard on the grass on the other side. Lee dropped down next to him in a cat-like crouch.
Lee picked up his shotgun from where he had left it in the corner where the manicured lawn met the wall.
At least there’s no storm this time.
Logan brought himself to his feet. Sucked in a deep breath. His injured arm ached like holy hell, but it quickly faded.
There weren’t any enforcers around that Logan could see. He and Lee went side-by-side over the same ground where Logan had caught the suspect only a little over a week ago. They got to the mansion itself, and slipped in through the unlocked back door.
Inside, all was quiet. The lights were off. Lee pointed at Logan’s feet. When Logan looked back blankly, Lee pointed again, insistently. A jabbing motion.
Oh.
Logan took his boots off. Held them in his good hand for a second, like an idiot, while he thought of what to do with them. They were in a mudroom, small and narrow with a tiled floor. Two rows of cupboards lined one of the walls. Logan opened one at random and carefully set his boots inside. If the vampire they were chasing was nearby, he would definitely smell and hear the intruders. One of them, anyways. But Logan didn’t plan to get that close.
He pulled out his camera, waved it in front of Lee and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, ‘remember?’
Incriminating evidence. Enough to take down McNaulty. That is the goal, and nothing else.
Lee held his shotgun with one hand, opened the door in front of him a crack. Waited, and when he didn’t see or hear anything, slipped out of the mudroom. Logan followed, clutching his cell phone. He still hadn’t answered the question that had been itching at the back of his mind ever since he lit the first cigarette in the back of Lee’s pickup.
If my vampire buddy goes full Rambo, do I lay it all on the line? Or do I ditch the crazy bastard?
18
All of the lights were out inside councillor Weathers’ mansion.
But it’s not his mansion anymore. Logan stepped onto the soft, shaggy carpet that he remembered from his first visit. The question is, who’s living here now? And why are the enforcers protecting this place?
The new occupant had a different taste in style than Mr. Weathers. The erotic paintings in the main room had been replaced with paintings of predatory animals—lions, tigers, bears, crocodiles, eagles—all in the moment of capturing their prey. One of the paintings showed, in bright red detail, a vulture picking at the ribs of a carcass.
The old furniture was gone. New, black leather couches and chairs had been placed at random places on the ground, as if recently put there by movers. Each one was covered with a loose blanket of protective, see-through plastic. Moved in, but not yet accepted. Still awaiting approval.
The bar had been completely emptied. From the pillars inside the room, holding up the second floor above, hung long narrow sheets of bright red cloth. Satin, it looked like, by the shininess of the material.
It was too dark to make out any other details. Logan opened his cellphone, and held the screen outwards to glare on the cloth hanging next to him.
The cloth hung from the railing at the stop of the stairs, on the second floor. All the way down to where it barely brushed the white carpet. Going by the decoration changes made thus far, it seemed likely that the shag carpet would be next to go. The vampire, or whoever had moved in, was not the sensual type.
The phone’s bluish glow passed over the front of the banner, catching the mark stitched into its front: a devil’s trident, made with black thread. The left spike held a heart, the right one a skull, the middle and tallest of the three a dove.
Logan trembled. He dropped his phone. The shag carpet absorbed it, not making any sound.
Maeve’s symbol! She’s here!
Logan touched his neck. His Mark was bleeding again. He stumbled away from the red banner. Turning by chance to face a painting of a harpy eagle, wings outstretched, long claws reaching forward, moments from snatching a screaming monkey off of a jungle branch.
He started hyperventilating, as long-repressed scenes from his time as Maeve’s slave flashed through his mind.
Tied naked to a bed and feasted upon by Maeve’s vampire minions. Maeve watching from the corner of the bed without blinking, holding his gaze without blinking. First without expression, then, when Logan begins to scream, with a smirk.
Dragged, screaming, across a blood soaked floor towards a door made of rusty iron. It screeches open, showing darkness. Logan is thrown inside, painfully hits a concrete wall. He realizes it’s not a pit, but a closet. A lightless closet, so narrow that he can touch both walls with his elbows. So small that he cannot sit down. The metal door screeches shut. The bolt slams into place. Days pass without food. One week. He wonders if Maeve has forgotten about him. Then he becomes sure that the closet will be his tomb.
Logan regains control. He pushes the memories back to the corner of his mind. He breathes through his nose, and lowers his heart rate. Once his hand is steady, he draws his revolver. “Lee,” he whispers.
Lee holds a finger to his lips. He points up the stairs.
Logan shakes his head like a child being told they must eat their vegetables. He looks warily at the shadows. “It’s Maeve,” he whispers, hoarsely. “She’s here.”
Lee shakes his head. ‘No.’ Points upstairs again, and moves towards it.
“No. Fuck,” Logan mutters, to himself.
In all the years that passed between his time as Maeve’s pet and now, Logan had imagined himself acting bravely at their next encounter. Fighting valiantly, perhaps dying, but never letting himself fall into her clutches.
He was terrified. He knew that, if she suddenly walked into the room, he would be a trembling mess. Aim even worse than normal, if he could even find the resolve to pull the trigger. And knowing that only made him even more terrified. A loop feeding upon
itself, growing in power. I can see her in my mind. She smiles, her lips covered in my—
Lee’s hand lashed out, slapping Logan across the face. It made an audible sound through the room.
Logan blinked, eyes wet and cheek stinging. No one had slapped him like that since his teacher in fourth grade. He wanted to rub the sting out of his cheek, but one hand was in the white plaster cast, the other holding his gun. And he wasn’t putting his gun down. Not for a long while yet.
He breathed deeply through his nose again, and met Lee’s eye.
Lee nodded once, and started up the stairs. He held his shotgun close to his chest, in two hands. He looked like a soldier. For all I know, he’s ex-military, Logan thought.
His vision of Maeve had been banished by Lee’s open hand. He held his gun with the barrel pointed forwards, ready to shoot, and followed his vampire friend up to the second floor.
The bloody clothes were gone, where they had once rested on the stairs and railing. So was the trail of blood, that had led Logan and Suri to Weathers’ office. If the new owner had cleaned that up, chances were high that they had cleaned the rest of the house too. Not likely we will find any more clues. Not the original ones, anyways.
Every step up the stairs was another step closer to hell. Logan felt it keenly in his bone. This is wrong. Don’t do it. Stop. Danger. Turn away.
He stopped, and lowered his gun, while Lee went on ahead. He was a broken man. Part of the reason why he had never gotten together with someone after his wife died was that he still loved her, and only her, it made him sick to picture himself in another woman’s arms. The other part, the part that he hid from himself, was because he was emotionally unstable. Fucked up by Maeve, and unable to trust himself.
Like now, when I should be doing the right thing but I just can’t.
Lee went around the corner at the top of the stairs. The floor creaked once.
Logan gripped the railing hard, paralyzed in the middle, caught between going up and retreating down. He went to rub his scraggly black beard, as he always does when faced with a dilemma. Only to remember the cast around his other arm, making it useless.
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