by Mark Tufo
"Only those with no soul?"
She nodded, her mouth full.
He shifted his long legs, “Angelique always struck me as a soul-less monster, though not in the literal sense.”
Tamsin swallowed. “Oh, sorry, I should have clarified that a bit. From what I've learned, and I admit it is pretty second and third hand, all souls are not created equal. There are human souls and other souls. Since I am, was, a human, I can only jump into a non-human at the point of death. Otherwise the body just spits me out.”
“What about dogs? Can you jump into dogs?”
Tamsin gave him a sour look. “Doggy dogs, no. Certain kinds of shapeshifters, yes.”
“Cats? I bet cats would work.”
“The body has to be close to human. At least most of the time.”
“Monkeys?”
“No! No monkeys. We're talking sentient here!”
He gave an exaggerated shrug, “Who makes these rules?”
She inhaled a large crumb and whatever she was going to say got caught in a fit of coughing. When she finally got her breath back, she saw the little quirk at the corner of his mouth, laughter lurking in his eyes.
“You're teasing me,” she wheezed.
He gave a bark of laughter.
“As I was saying! At the point of death, when their 'non-human' soul has fled,” she put imaginary quotation marks around 'non-human' for emphasis. “I step in and reanimate the body.”
“Otherwise you have no form?”
“Nope. None at all, though I have learned how to make my spirit alter the body I take. Making it subtly more 'me'.”
She had run into the bathroom here at the coffee shop when they first came in, curious to see who she was. A thin, angry-eyed stranger stared back. Pale skin, high cheekbones, inky eyes set in a narrow face, black hair falling like silk to her waist. Angelique had skull tattoos on her arms, throat, the back of her neck, both shoulders and, Tamsin peeked, all the way down to the naughty bits. Nothing but skulls. Over and over and over. That was just weird, even for a vampire.
“So you're searching for the pieces of your soul. That means you are looking for yourself, as it were?”
She nodded, savoring the hot, bitter coffee running down her throat. Savoring having a throat. 'Throats are awesome', she sighed to herself.
“What will happen when you get all the pieces?”
She liked how he said when not if. He was very calm and relaxed with her. This man Drake, whatever he was – and she was sure he wasn't human – had strength. Spiritual as well as physical. Her altered state let her see it, feel it. Plus he bought her food. She liked a man who knew to feed a woman.
“I'm hoping they will just sort of stick themselves back together like magnets.” Which was a lie. Engaging as he seemed, she must be cautious. She decided not to tell him that since her body had already turned to dust, her soul bits would not 'just stick themselves back together'. For that, she needed certain objects to facilitate a powerful spell. Four to be precise. Separately, each object contained a set of runes somewhere on it. Together the runes formed a complete summoning spell. Four very valuable objects other supernaturals would kill to get their hands, paws, or claws on. Maybe the kind of people – and she used that term loosely – that hired big, dark Hunters.
“There isn't a manual. It's taken me years of research, trial and error. Rather an amazing lot of errors actually, to get this far.” She gave him a bright smile.
“Then what? I mean, once they've stuck themselves back together.”
She shrugged. “No idea.” Which was actually true. The four objects would allow her to bind her soul. The rest still seemed a little hazy. “Maybe I go to the afterlife all the good boys and girls get. Or maybe I just live out the rest of my years in the body I reside in at the time and then die. I don't know.” Actually, revenge more than resolution had been the driving force in her mission. Until she learned about the four runes.
He gave her a thoughtful look as though he could see there was more going on in her head then she was letting on. “Have you found any, um, soul parts?”
“Two.”
“Where are they?”
“In a Swiss bank vault.”
He choked on his cappuccino.
Leaning over, she patted him on the back while he gagged.
“You're joking?” he gasped out.
“No. I have a safe deposit box with a private bank in Zurich. Right off the Bahnhoffstrasse, close to the lake. Because of the body switching thing, valid I.D. gets complicated. I have an agreement with a very sweet Swiss succubus who is a partner in the bank.” She waved one hand in the air, “Though that's another story. Enough to say they are locked away, glowing in two little crystal vials as I search for the rest.”
Much to her surprise, he started to laugh. A deep, rumbling, good-natured laugh that had the other people in the coffee house turning and smiling with him, wishing they could share in the joke with the big man and his wide smile.
“What?” she asked. “What's so funny?”
He wiped at his eyes with the back of one broad hand, “I envisioned many, many ways this evening could turn out. Most of them involving blood and terror. Sitting in a coffee house sipping cappuccino with a toxic Prime Vampire opposite me smiling away like a country girl who just hit the big city and talking about a sweet Swiss Succubus. That was never on the list. Never even close.” He laughed harder.
Tamsin flushed. “Is that how I look? It's just...” She tried to find the right words. “To feel everything again so fully. When I am spirit, the real world has very little substance.” She took a big bite of the roll. “And no taste.” Though the words came out like 'mumble, mumble, garble' because her mouth was so full.
Still chewing, she looked longingly at the counter.
Drake correctly interpreted her expression. “What else would you like?”
“Do they have any almond croissants? I would kill for an almond croissant.”
He gave her a sharp look, his eyes flashing.
She made a face. “I didn't mean that literally. Whatever Angelique's appetites were, they are not mine.”
“Obviously, since you apparently have the appetite of a 200-pound man.”
She nodded, still chewing, “Yeah, I've been that. Maybe 250 if you add in the horns, wings, tail and oversized testicles.”
Drake froze in the midst of rising from the chair and gave her a shocked look.
She laughed.
That laugh. As he waited in line, he thought about her laugh, her smile, those bright eyes shining out of Angelique's. Honest, direct, laughing at herself, at her terrible fate or in spite of it. Without defining it in so many words, he felt a subtle change in the direction of this very strange night. Strange even for a Fae hunter banished to the mortal world meant it had to be weird, he thought wryly.
He was just turning away from the register, plate in hand, when he sensed their presence.
Four of them.
Watching Drake's posture, watching him because honestly, this was a man worth watching in action or repose, Tamsin knew immediately something was up. Returning, he set the croissants on the table and placed his hand on her elbow, pulling her to her feet. She stood, forcing her new senses into overdrive. Blood, she smelled blood and something else. More elusive, yet somehow familiar.
The four young men pushed through the doors. Two of them fair; two of them dark. A double set of twins. They were dressed in such cutting-edge fashion it was a wonder the men didn't slice themselves on the wool and leather couture seams and bleed to death right in the doorway. Their boots, handmade and stitched, jingled with metal amulets. If she focused her eyes, she could see each amulet in minute detail. Vampire vision rocked.
“Are the Lost Boys friends of yours?” She asked as he steered her towards a small alcove near the bathrooms.
“No, yours.”
“Oh crap.” That was why they smelled familiar. It was her smell as well. “There's no back door through h
ere, you know that, right?”
He nodded, “I need to tell you something. About Angelique and the Primes. Her father runs Chicago's Dark Side. Immortality leads to a terrible sense of ennui, especially when their own lands in Fae are at peace. As they are now. To offset the boredom, Prime Vampires use the mortal world as their own personal playground. They create complex role-playing games as though this world was one vast X-Box game catalog for the supernaturally enhanced. They form alliances, join each other's games, or create new ones. Most humans are nothing more than very satisfying game pieces, as well as tasty snacks. Currently Prince Duprey amuses himself playing a complex game of cops and robbers. Obviously he's not one of the cops. You're going to have to find another body. Soon!”
◦ Chapter 3
One of the fair men raised his head, sniffing the air. He looked directly at her, “Angelique!”
No more time for talk. She stepped out of the alcove.
“Don't smile,” Drake hissed. “Angelique never smiles.”
Turning down the corners of her mouth in what she hoped was an expression of fierce boredom, she faced them and motioned subtly towards the door, as though she wished to speak outside. She took Drake's arm and gave him a push in the direction of the exit. As they walked past their table, she grabbed the croissants and shoved them in the coat pocket.
Drake shot her a disbelieving look and she tried not to grin.
They walked out into the cold night, the buzz of traffic still busy even at this late hour. People on the streets were bundled up in coats and mufflers, out for a good time despite the fearsome wind-chill factor of a Chicago winter. Though this was her first visit, the severity of the city's weather was legendary. Even Tamsin, or rather Angelique, shivered. Nearby, a massive black Hummer limo stood idling, surrounded by a fog of exhaust, its bank of lights practically blinding.
The other vamps entered first.
As she and Drake stepped through the double doors, one of the dark ones, fangs extended, said in a bored tone, “Here, give him to me.”
In a heartbeat she was crouched inside the Hummer, all vampire, her teeth fully extended, hands like claws. It had been surprisingly easy to slip into this mode, Tamsin thought. Angry was probably Angelique's default emotional setting.
"He's mine," she hissed. "Touch him and I will tear out your hearts and eat them in front of you!” Malice radiated from her almost visibly, like heat off an open flame.
The fair-haired pair sat further back in the rich leather seats and stared.
The dark ones did not seem quite so impressed.
“Angelique, Princess, daughter of my progenitor, what are you talking about?”
Tamsin thought fast. “Is there nothing sweeter than to turn an enemy? Make him a slave?”
All twins looked blankly at her for a moment, then at each other, then back at her.
“Why are you talking like a character in a movie?” asked one of the dark pair.
“And Drake is Fae,” his brother pointed out, speaking slowly as though to a child. “You can't turn him. You know that. You two have been frenemies forever and we're all just a little sick of it. All I meant was let him sit by me.”
The other rolled his eyes, “Have you been doing Jell-O shots again? The red ones? You know how badly that turned out last time.”
"Or those blueberry martinis. I bet it was that," said his brother nodding. "Duprey's and fruit-laced cocktails do not a happy mixture make."
They both shuddered.
Tamsin felt she was losing control of this conversation. “You dare argue with me?” Revving into vampire speed, she wrapped her hand around the nearest one's throat, the nails breaking his skin. She had no idea what she was doing but Angelique had been an uber bitch, she guessed. Might as well play it for all she was worth. Otherwise their lives might not be worth anything at all.
Unfortunately, he did not seem impressed. “Damn. Chill, girl!” He pushed her back, rubbing his throat. There was a trickle of blood where she'd scratched him. “What is up with you? Take a Midol or something.” Wiping the blood away with his fingers, he held them out to his twin who licked each fingertip with slow – and to Tamsin, disturbing – care. “We've been trying to call and text you for hours. Your father has a meeting tonight with his lieutenants – that means you, too, as you well know – over what to do about that slimy sorcerer trying to muscle in on our territory. The bastard has redone the wards around several of the docks to lock us out and summoned a gang of Kelpies as enforcers. The damn things are as big as elephant seals. They ate an entire crew of longshoremen last night from one of our docks. The bastards. We crossed your scent a few streets back and followed it here.”
“I bet she shoved her cell down someone's throat again and just left it there,” said his brother, pausing mid-lick. “God you have no concept of time.”
“Or money,” the other sighed in agreement. “That's like the fifth one in as many months. iPhones do not grow on trees.”
The two fair ones, who had until now observed the conversation silently, looked at each other, nodded, then spoke simultaneously, “That's not Angelique. She's a jumper.”
“Ah, damn,” Drake sighed.
The world slowed down as they all moved between time at paranormal speed. Tamsin was not shocked the Primes could pull this off. Drake, though, was moving right along with her. Slipstreaming, the supernaturals called it. That was a surprise.
He pulled two jagged-edged silver knives from hidden pockets on his vest. “She's good with blades,” was all he had time to say.
By normal standards a Hummer limo is a big vehicle. Really, really big. For six supernaturals fighting for their lives, the interior was a little cramped. The driver, Tamsin saw out of the corner of her eye, wisely scrambled out the door and scampered away at the first spurt of blood.
Tamsin didn't think; she just let the body feel. She had done this many times before in many bodies. Muscles have memories, too. These vamp boys were not full Primes but they fought and struggled and a couple of times she thought she was done for. Finally she took them out, the knives so sharp the blades nearly severed their heads. Unlike on TV, the blonds didn't burst into flames or poof into dust. They just sort of sprawled there on the wide leather seats oozing blood and looking very dead in their fashionable clothes. She had been in a body much like a vampire twice before – and been killed in that form – forcing another transition. They hadn't been human on the inside, obviously, since the bodies would have spit her right back out. Maybe the true death differed from vampire-type creature to made vampire, or even clan to clan. Or maybe they weren't really dead, dead and just needed their heads sewn back on like Drake said. That was just too gross to contemplate.
It was hard to tell exactly what was going on with Drake and the others. There were arms and legs and blood and body parts everywhere at once and she scooted around trying to get out of the way. Certain rules of physics apply even in the paranormal and there just wasn't room for her to insert herself into the melee. In the end, only one rose up from the blood-soaked floor.
Drake was breathing hard, “You fight really well, Tamsin.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Those Soul Eaters I'm hunting don't just give me back the pieces of my soul. I have to kill them – dead, deader, and deadest. Death having many layers as I am sure you know. All the bits of souls they've captured, the ones sustaining their immortal youth, are then set free. Including mine if I'm lucky.”
He gave her a measuring glance which slipped into a grimace. The night was bright as day to Tamsin. She could see his face had gone very pale. He seemed to sag a little, as though gravity was suddenly too much. Tamsin smelled the blood soaking the hollow under his arm.
“Nicked me pretty good,” he wheezed. “Not a normal blade. Poison. Can't seem to find my feet.”
Tamsin's mind kicked into overdrive. Everything happened so fast, she had just hung on and run with it. The transition. Drake. The vamps. Now though, she had to make a decision.
Drake and Angelique apparently had a long and extremely twisted history together. On top of that, some kind of paranormal gang war was brewing between the Prime clan and a new sorcerer in town. Their battles were not her own. It had taken a lot of effort to locate this body and she did not want to squander the opportunity.
Some months and several transitions ago, she tracked and fought a Soul Eater in Prague. Not just any Soul Eater. One of those who destroyed Tamsin's life. Her name was Nicole. At least when Tamsin knew her. An antique dealer. A dark French beauty and, Tamsin's research discovered, once a favorite at the court of Louis the XIV.
In Nicole's house, between the blood and dismembered limbs – it had been a hard, dirty fight – Tamsin discovered that first clue. Nicole collected far more than antique furniture and paintings. She was an archivist of arcane spells. Tamsin was always hunting for new spells that could be used in battle. Shifting through the dead woman's many (many!) documents, she came across a reference to the four objects and the powerful runes they held. The clue that made her think the story more than just a legend was so insubstantial, she almost missed it. That clue led to a sorcerer in Madrid, then a shapeshifter in Zagreb and finally, step by step, here to Chicago and the first of the four objects on her list. An ancient, demonic little statue from Mesopotamia that lay sleeping in a museum right here in this city.
She looked at Drake. His eyes were nearly closed and he was breathing in short, fast, gasps. Really, she owed him nothing; yet she couldn't just walk away. Tamsin sighed as the West family motto ran automatically through her head: no man, woman, dog, cat or gerbil (the last had been added by her little brother one gerbil-filled summer) left behind. She supposed that included supernaturals. You'd think she would have learned by now being nice didn't get a girl very far in life – or death.