by Rob Cornell
An engine rumbled from the top of the ramp leading to the next floor of the structure. My host turned toward the sound and watched the bright yellow Hummer roll down the ramp toward them. It came to a stop ten yards from the line of dressed-up vamps. Its windshield was tinted black, no way to see who sat inside.
More than ever, my host wanted to rip his tie loose. It pressed so hard against his neck it might as well have joined the knot in his throat.
I knew what was coming would probably be the best clue I could scrape out of this vamp’s memory. I put all my effort into holding my consciousness in place and blocking out the growing discomfort from my physical body.
Just a little longer, damn it.
The Hummer’s driver’s side door swung open.
I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe some vicious Nosferatu-like monster. But the anticipation in that last moment nearly knocked me out of the vision.
Then the driver swung the door shut to reveal himself.
A cold wash of fear and awe ran through my host.
Logan Goulet, he thought. It’s him. It is really him.
I had a name. I almost pulled out right there. The hot sting around my ears and the sides of my face belonged to me, not this vamp’s memories. I hung on, though, to take the measure of the man this vampire feared so much.
Logan Goulet stood about six feet, maybe a few inches taller. He had long, tightly curled brown hair tied back in a ponytail that hung nearly to his waist. He wore a gray three-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch tucked in his vest pocket, its chain neatly draped between pocket and buttonhole like gold garland.
It made me think of Dad’s old enchanted pocket watch which had saved my life last summer at the expense of losing its bestowed power. I still had the watch. I had tucked it safely inside the gun safe in my closet where I kept my personal assortment of magical curios. The gun safe that now, likely, sat among the collapsed debris in the basement.
Damn these bloodsucking demons and their fancy fucking suits.
I assumed this Goulet dude was the leader of the crew. He clearly liked to dress snappy. Had he instated a dress code for his lackeys?
Goulet tucked his hands in his pleated slacks, with his arms drawing his jacket open. Even through the vest and crisp white dress shirt underneath, I could see the guy probably had a six-pack. As he sauntered forward, his shiny loafers tocking on the concrete, I could sense the strength coiled inside him like a spring just waiting to break loose.
My host sensed it, too. The closer Goulet came, the stiffer my host’s body became. A liquid chill ran through him, a stark contrast to the heat he had felt within while feeding. And speaking of feeding, he had forgotten his hunger pangs.
Goulet’s gaze skated back and forth among the vamps aligned before him. He came to a stop only a couple yards away from the line, and directly in front of my host. He grinned as he stared into my (no, not mine, not really) eyes, opened his mouth, then let his fangs slowly lengthen until they came to about three inches.
My host and I came to the same quick conclusion. This vamp, no matter how hip he looked, was old. Toft Kitchens, despite looking like a kid, had about four centuries behind him. But relative to this guy? Toft actually looked his age.
“You are the elder here?” Goulet asked my host.
Vampires don’t shit, but old mortal sensations never die, and he sure as hell felt like he might ruin his boxer shorts right then.
“Yes, my…master.”
Goulet laughed. “I’m not your master. But I do appreciate your respect. I’m sure those I’ve gathered here for you will show you the same respect. So I leave it up to you to make sure my instructions are followed perfectly.”
“Yes…of course.”
My host’s panicked thoughts almost broke into another symphony of speed metal. Enough chaos that I couldn’t quite splice together what Goulet’s instructions were, only that my host didn’t feel confident he could pull it off.
Turned out, I didn’t need his stray thoughts. His memory worked fine on its own.
Goulet drew his fangs in and took a couple steps back to better address the whole line. “For those who don’t know,” he said. “I do not care about consequences, about law enforcement, about Ministry law. Nothing matters more than the task. Kill the boy sorcerer if you must, but bring me the old woman…unharmed.”
The vamps all down the row, including my host, nodded their understanding, though my host’s uncertainty remained.
“Now,” Goulet went on. “You should all have fasted. You will thank me for that requirement shortly.” He pivoted toward the black vans. “Bring the cows.” His voice echoed through the structure’s concrete corridor.
A second later, the back doors of two of the vans split open, and a group of young girls dressed for a night at the club were ushered out, one for each vampire in the line.
Chapter Fifteen
I’d seen (and heard, and smelled, and felt) enough. I had already suffered through the exasperating pleasure of a vampire feeding on a young virgin. I didn’t need to relive that memory again. And I didn’t have the strength to push any further back in my host’s timeline. The pain and trembling of my physical body had superimposed itself over the vampire’s senses. I was living two lives stitched together.
I had to unravel those stitches.
Like now.
I inhaled as deeply as I could and snatched my consciousness out of the vamp’s memories as if slipping through a closing elevator door at the last second. Vertigo spun me in my chair. I clutched the table in front of me as the floor seemed to tilt sideways. The black slop covering the glasses blocked my vision, so I couldn’t orient myself through my surroundings. Any second now, gravity would quit, and I’d fall to the ceiling.
A hand clutched my right arm, grip firm. The touch steadied me some.
Something in the air smelled like bacon frying. I no sooner registered the smell when I felt the straight lines of searing pain across both my temples, along my brow, and under each eye.
The glasses, still humming with excessive amounts of my magical energy.
I grabbed them. The wire frames burned my fingertips. With a stark cry, I threw the glasses off my face. As they sailed away from me, they glowed bright orange. When they landed on the floor, I expected the red carpet to catch flame. But once the glasses had left contact with me, the energy dispersed before they had finished their downward arc.
I felt hollowed out, an emptiness I recognized from the summer—that one tiny spell had drained my power to nothing.
I raised my hand, palm up, and tried to cast a small flame, just a wick’s worth. An itchy tingle crossed my palm, but my hand didn’t so much as warm up, let alone hold fire.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Dude, what’s going on?”
I started at the sound of Odi’s voice. I had forgotten he was there, and he still had his hand on my arm. A dreadful cold oozed from his touch. Kid didn’t realize a vamp’s contact didn’t offer much in the comfort department.
I tugged my arm away. “I messed up the spell.”
“It didn’t work?”
I stared at my empty palm. “It worked,” I said. “It just cost me too much.”
“I’m sorry, dude, but I have no idea what that means.”
I curled my fingers closed, my nails gouging my palm until they nearly broke the skin. My knuckles turned white. My hand trembled.
“You want me to get Mr. Kitchens?” Odi asked.
A mad laugh bubbled into my throat. I had to seal my lips shut to keep from cackling like a psychopath.
Odi scooted his chair back. “Yeah, let me go get him.”
I choked down my threatening psychopathic outburst. Nodded.
Relief washed over Odi’s face. He popped out of his chair and speed-walked to the back office.
While I waited, I gazed down at the glasses on the floor. Drops of vamp mud had flung off the lenses and left black plops on the carpet around the glasses. They lo
oked so innocuous now, so stupid. Not like anything that could drain a sorcerer of all his power. And, in actuality, they hadn’t. The blame for my emptiness laid with me and my ignorance.
I had around ten minutes to mentally flagellate myself before Odi returned with Toft. Toft looked down at the glasses—lip curled, nose wrinkled—then looked at me. He kept his distance, obviously still worried about the presence of the holy water. He needn’t have. The spell would have nullified any blessings on the water.
“Well?” he asked.
“Who’s Logan Goulet?” My voice sounded like a toad stuck in a drain pipe.
Toft’s little boy eyes widened. His pale skin turned gray. He looked like a kid watching his first horror flick.
Meanwhile, Odi gaped at his master as if he didn’t recognize him. I got it. Toft looked weird to me, too. I had never seen him afraid.
“How do you know that name?” Normally, Toft managed to give his young voice a sophisticated weight that hinted at his true age. Right then he sounded exactly how he looked—like a scared kid.
“He’s the one behind my mother’s abduction,” I said. “He’s the vamp I need to get to.”
“Your mother is dead,” he said flatly.
“Wrong. He specifically wanted her alive and unharmed.”
“To what end?”
“I have no idea.” I still felt weak from my massive power discharge, feverish and shaky, as if my blood sugar had bottomed out. I used the table to push myself to my feet. “Who is he?”
Toft forced the fear out of his expression with a frown, but I could tell it took some effort. “He is untouchable.”
“Not very helpful,” I said. “Care to give me a little more?”
“I do not.” He took Odi by the arm. “Dawn is close enough. You can come back for your apprentice tomorrow at dusk.” Then he turned and drew Odi along with him.
Odi glanced over his shoulder at me and silently mouthed, “What the fuck?”
Good question. Not one I planned on leaving the Black Rose without an answer for.
“Hold on a damn minute,” I said. “You can’t brush me off like that.”
Toft stopped, but didn’t turn. “I am not your personal vampire Wikipedia. I owe you nothing.”
Odi said, “Mr. Kitchens, can’t you just—”
“Hush!”
The kid flinched. Then, like a good little vampire noob, he ducked his head and fell silent.
I shouldn’t have been so hard on the kid. After all, he had tried to question his elder’s authority on my behalf—though probably more out of ignorance than defiance.
“I expect you to leave now,” Toft said, keeping his back to me. “All future communication between us will strictly pertain to Odi’s tutelage. Nothing more.”
“He has my mom, gods damn it!”
“I cannot interfere with the Elder’s affairs.”
It drove me nuts that he not only wouldn’t tell me anything, but that he refused to even face me. “Fuck you, Toft. Here I thought a four-hundred year-old vamp would have more balls. Maybe you are just a little kid after all.”
Probably not the smartest thing to say. He had tossed me across the room once already. But I didn’t care.
Slowly, Toft turned. He had dropped his glamour. His gray skin stretched across his face tightly enough that I could easily make out the ridges around his eye sockets and down his jaw line. His eyes glowed a vibrant red. He bared his fangs, which had the dirty yellow tinge of hundreds of years worth of plaque. His small body no longer mattered. He looked both ancient and frightening.
My heartbeat quickened. I instinctively went to draw on my power, and my gut twisted when I came up empty.
“Do not forget what I am, Sebastian Light.” He stepped forward. “My very presence should make you tremble. But I have only myself to blame for your complacency. Tonight, I correct that mistake. I am neither your friend nor your informant.”
I did tremble, a little, though I did my best to hide it. Showing fear now would validate his effort to intimidate me. Before getting branded, when I had been a full-powered sorcerer, he might have thought twice about taking such a stand. It seriously irritated me that his knowledge of how the brand worked on me gave him the confidence to do so.
“Fine,” I said. “You don’t want to be BFFs. Whatever. I don’t need you. If this bloodsucker is such hot shit, I can find someone else to tell me where to find him.”
A feral hiss came from within Toft’s throat. His lips peeled back, revealing rotten black splotches on his gray gums.
Odi backed away. His disgust of his own kind made me feel all the more sorry for him. How long would it take for him to finally revel in his soulless nature? It would happen eventually. While some vamps qualified as “tame,” none of them that I’d met could be mistaken as friendly.
Toft’s red eyes flickered. “Face the Elder, and you will die. You will break your oath to me.”
“Yeah, um, I know the whole mortality thing is confusing for you older vamps, but dying doesn’t count as a breach of oath.”
I saw a blur before I blinked, then Toft stood right in front of me. He had to look up to meet my eyes, but his ugly face made up for his positional disadvantage.
“He is the oldest vampire in Detroit,” Toft said, and all his showy vampire performance couldn’t hide the quiver in his voice. “Not an elder. The Elder.”
I looked him right in the eye. “I. Don’t. Care.”
Toft snarled, backed away, and reapplied his glamour—once more the little boy dressed like the ring bearer in a wedding. “Very well. But I refuse to contribute to your demise. You’ll get no more from me.”
He turned on his heel and took Odi into the back with him.
Odi gave me one more look over his shoulder on the way out. The kid looked frightened, and I knew it wasn’t for himself.
It was for me.
Chapter Sixteen
It was nice of the kid to worry about me. I wasn’t doing a good job of that myself. If this Goulet vamp scared Toft so much, I should have been terrified. I didn’t have time for fear, though. Mom didn’t have time for fear.
The best place I knew to learn nearly anything about the goings on in the supernatural world was a bar called The Switch. While the bar itself existed between our cosmos and the next, the way in was in Warren, one of the many suburban cities peppered around the Detroit area.
A brewery off Mound Road that made some of the best craft beers in Michigan hosted the portal into The Switch—unbeknownst to the owners. I parked in their lot, but instead of heading in through the front door, I went around behind the building.
A gray cinderblock wall formed an alleyway behind the brewery just wide enough for a garbage or delivery truck to fit through. Besides the rusty Dumpster missing one of its pair of plastic lids and the brown metal door of the rear exit, there wasn’t much to look at back there. A long puddle of rain water ran down the middle of the alley where the asphalt dipped. The air smelled like yeast and wet trash.
I stepped up to an empty stretch of the building’s brick wall. I held out my hand and felt for the low hum of magical energy. A single brick emitted the energy, and when I found it, I lightly tapped it and said, “Ego veni in pace.”
Starting with the brick I touched, the wall seemed to crumble, but without leaving dust behind. The wall spread open to reveal a wooden door held together by metal braces that looked like it belonged to a castle dungeon. A tarnished brass knocker in the shape of a goblin’s head stared at me from the door’s center, the knocker’s ring hung through the goblin’s nose.
I didn’t have to use the knocker because the brass goblin’s face came to life and gave me a black-toothed grin. “Sebastian Light. The Unturned himself.”
“I really wish people would stop calling me that.”
“Well, I’m not a person, so I get a pass.”
“Gonna let me in?”
The goblin pursed his brass lips. “Hmm.”
“Don’t
mess with me.” I grasped the ring through his nose and gave it a little tug. “I don’t have time for it.”
“Ow. All right, all right,” he said in a nasally whine. “You used to be a lot more fun before you got all vampy.”
His face froze in its original expression, and the sound of a large bolt lock clunked from behind the door. I let go of the knocker ring and pushed my way inside.
With only a couple hours left till dawn, I was surprised to see so many patrons. The Switch wasn’t a large place, with the main seating area only able to accommodate a half dozen four-top, square oak tables. Only a couple of those were taken, one of them by a huge guy wearing what looked like a black muumuu. At the other table, a couple who didn’t look much older than Odi stared googly-eyed at each other, holding hands across the table, and hardly moving, frozen by young love.
The bar was a different story. All but one of the thirteen stools were taken—nobody ever sat on number thirteen, which always made me wonder why Barry, the bar’s owner, bothered to leave it there. Maybe something to do with the bar’s feng shui.
As the door swung shut behind me, every pair of eyes in the place turned to look at me. Even the young lovers gave their googly eyes a break to look me over. I felt like I had stepped behind a podium to deliver my first Toastmasters speech. Even had the butterflies in my stomach. And this wasn’t the typical casual glance to see who just came in. They stared.
Did they really expect me to give a speech?
I swallowed, waved a hand, plastered on a fake smile. “Yo.”
They kept their gazes on me for another few seconds, then one-by-one, they returned their attention to their drinks and conversations—and their googly eyes.
Barry stood behind the bar, still watching me while he poured tequila into a shot glass, not spilling a drop, and knowing right when to stop pouring without having to look. He had a thick black beard that ran down his neck and connected with the matching thatch of hair on his chest above his V-neck shirt collar. Barry was a werebear, and, yes, Barry was his given name, not a nickname to suit his animal form. He could turn into a twelve-foot grizzly. I’d never seen him shift in person, but he had once shown me a few pictures taken by his wife of him salmon fishing at Lake Michigan. Even on his phone’s little screen, he had looked both majestic and terrifying.