Blood Rock

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Blood Rock Page 38

by Francis, Anthony


  “I thought you controlled the graffiti,” I said, “but you’re more in the dark than I am!”

  Power, Fire and Ice

  The vampire lord’s smile deepened—and then he laughed.

  “I can see at first glance how you might think that, given how we have enshrined it,” the lich said, gesturing at the freestanding wall, “but you understand the situation. Excellent.”

  My mouth quirked. I couldn’t help it.

  “You watch the Simpsons?” I asked. “You’d make a great Monty Burns.”

  The vampire’s smile vanished, with the slightest hint of befuddlement. “As insolent as your werekin brat,” he said. “But only human … and human insolence can be burned away.”

  And then the white points of light in his eyes flared, expanding to eat the world.

  “Jeez! Stop that!” I said, flinching. I wished I’d taken Nyissa up on her offer to learn how to fend off vampires. The religious symbols on my knuckles were tingling as the lich expanded his aura, but I didn’t feel the fire I’d felt when facing Saffron’s rage. This vampire had control and an agenda: simple crosses would not thwart him. “Velasquez, do you have any Advil?”

  Velasquez made a choking sound. Then the vampire hissed, and Velasquez snapped an order. “Sir,” he said, as a minion darted off, “I think that the Lady Frost was making a joke.”

  “I am aware of that,” the vampire lord said icily. “In a moment she will need it.”

  I swallowed.

  “Why are you humoring her?” asked a strong woman’s voice. Heels clicked closer from my right, and I glanced cautiously aside to see a black ballgown, a broad, matronly African-American face, and two blazing points of eyes beneath ponytailed salt-and-pepper black hair. Now the crosses on my fingers felt like they were burning, and I jammed my hands into my pockets and glanced away as she said, “Why have you brought this human before us as an Envoy? She is free game, fairly caught as part of pruning the branch of Delancaster—”

  “Fairly caught as part of an assault on the Consulate,” a cultured male voice said. This new vampire stepped from the shadows behind one of the killing cages. Tall, blond, regal, in a textured grey business suit with a banded-collar shirt, he moved towards us in velvet silence, a physical chill the only sign of his power. “Never mind your vendetta against Delancaster—it was useful for us to have a public lever. Now you have destroyed that.”

  “My little trap caught the paramour, did it not?” the black vampire said, and I swallowed. Had she really destroyed the Consulate, killed Saffron, just to get to me? “Stunned a formidable witch enough for Velasquez to scoop her up like so much cat litter, with no loss of life.”

  “No loss of our lives,” the new vampire said, pale blue eyes flashing.

  The evil Oprah hissed at the evil James Bond while the lich just cackled, a dry croak that would have done the Emperor of the Sith proud. Oh, God. This wasn’t good. My collar was gone, Saffron was gone, and I stood between three vamps: power, fire, and ice personified.

  I swayed there in the nexus of their magic; then a tanned white hand appeared, holding two little pills. I stared at it a moment, then looked back to see Velasquez. I was glad he had taken me seriously, and the lich had proved right.

  “Thank you,” I said, and cautiously slipped a hand out to reach for the Advil.

  The black vampire struck Velasquez’s hand and sent the pills flying. “You mock us!”

  “Such treatment of our guests,” the lich said, “does not become you, Lady Scara.”

  “You are worse than Iadimus,” Scara snarled. Oh, crap. She was the enforcer Calaphase had been afraid of, and her idea of a ‘little trap’ was blowing up a whole building. “I caught this criminal. Why have you called a full council and paraded her before us as a guest?”

  “Because those are the rules, my dear Lady Scara,” the lich said, extending a claw towards my chest. “She bears the token of the House Beyond Sleep.”

  “True, but it is a House we do not recognize, headed by a Lord we have barely heard of,” said the blond ice vampire I presumed was Iadimus. “The Lady Scara has a point, Sir Leopold. Why did you have Velasquez bring her before us, rather than question her in private?”

  “And do not say as an envoy,” Scara said, with a rough laugh that was little different than a snarl. “Ridiculous. Free game, caught fairly, is still free game, even with the brand of an upstart vampire unwilling to face us. She did not come here on a mission, she has no protector—”

  “I am on a mission,” I said hotly, “and I have a protector, the Lady Nyissa—”

  Then it all happened so quickly.

  Scara leapt upon me, blindingly fast. My hand popped up in a block, agonizingly slow. Her teeth and blazing eyes surged upon me just as my upraised hand struck her chest. Magic flared with a clap of thunder. She screamed and batted me away, spinning me round. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Iadimus, looming close, then flinching in turn from my flailing, blazing hand—and then my eyes refocused to see Velasquez, standing before me, drawing his gun.

  I had no time to think. I just gasped and thought shield. All the mana built up from my sudden twist and from the feedback from Scara poured into my tattoos. And then Velasquez opened fire, the bullet ricocheting off my shield, knocking me back into someone’s arms.

  I sagged back as Velasquez blinked in shock. Red blood started seeping out of his expensive white banded shirt, his mouth opened—and then he toppled forward.

  The teeth of a T-Rex loomed large in my peripheral vision, and I realized I had fallen into the arms of the lich, who had actually caught me and now leaned over my shoulder, snarling, as his best man bled out upon the ground. “No!” he snarled, and tossed me away.

  I stumbled towards Scara, who was staggering backwards, patting a burn mark on her chest with one hand, something glittering held in the other. She looked up and snarled, and without thinking I surged forward, her swinging claws sliding off my upraised arm, my knee popping up to shield me and then stomping down on her instep as my other arm shot out and landed all my religious tats under her chin.

  With a satisfying flash and clap, Scara fell backwards like a log of wood. The glittering thing tumbled out of her hand—Transomnia’s token, complete with its chain. When she’d leapt upon me, she must have ripped it off—but I didn’t have time to think about it. Two crossbow-armed guards surged off the dais, and I slid backwards, feet dancing sashaying J-steps, thinking shield, shield, shield! With a twang the guards loosed their bolts, one bouncing off my chest, the other skimming my temple, staggering me backwards towards the graffiti’d wall.

  I stumbled, my magic-filled skin recoiled from the magic circle barrier and I caught myself leaning against thin air. The guards moved in, I slid back to my feet sinuously, building up power, re-establishing my shield—but I had to get this jacket off!

  I glanced aside, making sure Iadimus wasn’t about to pounce upon me. But he was not moving: he just stood there like a pillar, staring down at the lich, who cradled Velasquez in his arms, holding him like a child. Then the lich let him fall, and turned his blazing eyes on me.

  In less than a blink the lich was on me, seizing my throat, lifting me bodily, snarling. I gagged. I choked. Then my vines erupted from my skin and tore my jacket apart. I shot my hand out, and my vines whipped out across the chest of the vampire and sank into his flesh.

  “You killed one of our best men,” he snarled. “I’ll tear out your throat!”

  “You killed one of my oldest friends!” I said. “I’ll tear out your heart!”

  The lich’s eyes burned on me, furious—then curious—then amused. “Tear out my heart because Scara killed … who? Your little vampire queen, perhaps?”

  “But,” I said. When Iadimus said no loss of our lives, I’d thought he meant the Gentry, not vamps in general. “But … prune the house … Scara blew up her Consulate.”

  “Oh, Dakota Frost, you fool,” the lich laughed. “Thinking you can fight with us like we
were common street thugs. We are not pugilists; we are strategists. Uncover the cages.”

  The guards at the winches, who had not moved an inch during the battle, now stepped forwards. The golden tassels were pulled; the red shrouds fell. And inside the killing cages I saw Darkrose … and Saffron. Darkrose looked all right behind the bars, just worn and tired; but Saffron looked like … like she had become a vampire.

  Her ruddy skin had gone pale, her curvy cheeks had become drawn, and one hand gripped the cage, bony and white. Only her flaming hair had held its color, but had an odd luminous cast to it that made it seem unreal. She raised her head to look at me, eyes pinpricks of light.

  “You’re starving her,” I said, choking it off as the lich tightened his grip.

  “Yes,” he said, “and we will be killing her, unless you release me.”

  “You’ll kill her anyway,” I said, gripping his wrist. It was like a bar of iron, and I concentrated, letting out my breath, murmuring words of strength to protect my throat.

  “You don’t know that,” he said, tightening his grip, choking me again. “You do know we’ll kill her—or her companion, or perhaps your daughter—gak!”

  My vines tightened about his chest, and I had the distinct feeling that they had penetrated that chest, that they were curling about his heart. I found the twisting knot rolling underneath the tendrils of my magic and squeezed, and he snarled and choked harder.

  “You—so much as—break my daughter’s iPod and I’ll be most irate.”

  “You’ll do nothing,” he snarled. “Or she and her friends all die by

  inches—”

  A roaring blast tore through the room, striking my face with the sting of a full backhand mixed in with the hot breath of a dragon. Broken splinters of a wooden door sailed past us and clattered off the wall. Guards began dropping around us, red flowers blossoming in foreheads and chests under a hail of silenced machine gun fire.

  Just like that, Iadimus was gone, just gone, and I gripped the arm of the lich tighter as he stumbled back, still suspending me in the air, moving away from the smoke and dust rippling out from a side entrance that had exploded. Secondary explosions and more gunshots echoed through the room, and the remaining guards retreated behind columns and doorways that gave them cover. One ducked out to fire and took a bullet straight to the face. I looked away, squirming in the lich’s grasp, trying to see who was storming through that door. Was it SWAT? Was it the DEI? Was it the remnants of Darkrose’s crew?

  No. It was just one man—one werewolf, eyes glowing green and lupine as he darted out of the roiling smoke, silenced machine pistol in one hand burping death as he took cover behind the flaming casket, silvery rapier in the other deflecting crossbow quarrels as he rounded it and moved in, fluid and unstoppable, black body armor deflecting another crossbow as he stepped up to us and placed his rapier against the lich’s throat.

  —

  “Hello, Dakota,” said Doctor Yonas Vladimir. “I see you’ve found Cinnamon.”

  A Life for a Life

  “What the fuck?” I said.

  “Lords and Ladies of the Gentry, if I may have your attention,” Vladimir said, voice ringing out across the hall. He no longer looked like the crippled math teacher: his thin hair rose like a dark halo, his eyes glowed like twin emeralds, and his body moved with the grace only possessed by werekin. “Forgive my entry without an introduction, but no one living knows me by sight. Except, of course, Sir Leopold—who can tell you all that I am Vlad the Destroyer.”

  “Oh, sweet merciless night,” Lord Delancaster said, voice filled with horror.

  “You all know my rules,” Vladimir said. His dark body armor gleamed where Kevlar mesh met exotic composites, and night vision goggles and grenades and widgets hung from the ballistic straps crisscrossing his body—armed and armored like a werekin Nick Fury. “I walk alone in secrecy and peace. If either is disturbed, I destroy everyone who has seen my face.” He smiled, and I felt a shiver in the lich’s grip. “You remember, don’t you, Leopold?”

  “There is no need for such measures,” the lich whispered, head tilted ever so slightly back from the point of the blade. “We have not disturbed you.”

  “Ah, but you have, Leopold,” Vladimir said, glancing past us. “When you attack my friends, you become my enemy.”

  “Thank you, Yonas,” I croaked. “But how did you even know—”

  The lich laughed. “Oh, you do not know Vlad the Destroyer, Frost,” he said. “He could track a ghost across the steppes of Russia, even before all the toys of this modern age.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Dakota,” Vladimir twisted the blade back and forth, and I could see it was made of bands of two different metals, one steel, the other … silver? “But I would not break cover and destroy a great House just for you. I’m here for Cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?” the lich asked—then snarled. “That foulmouthed little stray?”

  Vladimir dug the point in. “Never use that word,” he said, smiling up at me, very, very grimly. “She goes by Cinnamon.”

  Scara stirred. I started to speak, but the lich tightened his grip on my throat. Scara rose to her feet. I kicked, seemingly uselessly, but really building up mana to shield my throat. “Vladimir,” I choked out. “Behind—”

  Vladimir just kept smiling at me, but his gun moved, just a flickering blur, phut-phut, and Scara went down, screaming, blood spurting from her shattered knee. “You coward,” she roared, fangs fully exposed. “Drop the guns and face me.”

  The gun spat again, and Scara tumbled over, bleeding from her hip and arm. “Not likely,” Vladimir said. “No duels, no contests, no facing off in the pit with the rules stacked against me. I am a warrior. I do not fight for machismo or tradition. I only gird my loins to go to war.”

  “You have no honor!” Scara snarled, trying to right herself.

  “Honor?” Vladimir snarled, shooting her again, knocking her other arm out from beneath her so she faceplanted on the stone floor. “Is it honorable to kidnap a vampire because her lover was too powerful? Is it honorable to burn a young girl alive because she was loyal?”

  “Burn to … oh no,” I said, still struggling on the end of the lich’s arm. They’d left Nagli in the Consulate, oblivious, even after they’d booby-trapped it. “You did kill someone in the Consulate—Nagli! She was practically a child, still in college! You murderous bastards!”

  Scara began trying to get up again, and the lich snarled at her. “Stay down, you fool,” he said. “This is Vlad the Destroyer. You are lucky to be alive.”

  “You are all lucky to be alive,” Vladimir said softly, digging the point of his blade into the lich’s neck. “Now, Leopold—”

  The lich cackled at him. “I will do nothing. By coming here and not killing us, you have proved yourself as impotent as Frost.”

  I kicked and writhed, and Vladimir snarled, digging the blade in further..

  “Do not tempt me,” Vladimir said. “I will kill even you, Leopold.”

  “Yes, but before I break her neck?” the lich said, squeezing harder. Surely he had noticed my shield was up, that any human neck would have already broken? “Before Iadimus cuts the rope on the cages? Before my guards lay their bolts into the heart of the werecat?”

  Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. “You will still die—”

  “And you will still have lost your objective,” the lich said, cackling softly. “And I will go to my grave knowing I have taken something precious from Vlad the Destroyer.”

  Vladimir did not move. “A truce, then,” he said.

  The lich’s piranha grin grew wider. “Raising the white flag so soon?”

  “Suggesting you lower the witch,” Vladimir said, “before I remove your head.”

  The lich shoved me harder against the field of the magic circle, and I went still. He smiled, thinking I’d given up. I was thinking something else: what an idiot!

  For a magic circle to have this much resistance, it had to conta
in an immense amount of mana. What if the circle broke and we tumbled inside? Didn’t he care about what was trapped in there, something so dangerous its last kill was still burning with magic flame weeks later?

  My eyes opened. Something was wrong with my theory of how the magic graffiti worked if it was Demophage who was burning. He was inside a magic circle. What was happening to him had to be the natural outcome of the magic, absent all other influences.

  I glared at Vladimir and Leopold. They were arguing, politely, about the details of their little truce, about the rules they would follow. Vladimir looked like he was making progress.

  Too bad I had had just about enough of all this shit.

  “Perhaps I can let the death of Velasquez go,” the lich said, “and you the Consulate secretary, if you agree your kills today balance those we made in Darkrose’s army?”

  Vladimir cocked his head. “That is … acceptable—”

  “The hell it is!” I said, squirming against the lich’s grip.

  “Dakota—” Vladimir warned, as the lich squeezed and I writhed.

  “Nagli for Velasquez,” I said. “Darkrose’s men for Velasquez’s men. Deaths for deaths. Fair enough. But what about life for life? What will you give me for the life I spare?”

  “Whose life will you spare?” the lich said.

  “Yours,” I said, and I released all my pent-up mana at once.

  The head of the Dragon screamed out from behind my neck. The wings burst through the shoulders of my jacket. The tail tore through my rights pants leg and whipped out through the air. And my vines began emerging, from wrist and ankle and through every open hole.

  The lich quailed, trying to tighten his grip: but his fingers slowly loosened as my vines inexorably expanded, and then Vladimir dug the blade in and the lich gave up entirely, slowly lowering me to the ground. I kept my eyes narrowed upon him, as much for concentration as anything else. The Dragon was not complete, the four segments were not connected, and without the crash course in advanced skindancing that Arcturus had given me the tattoo would already have disintegrated. This was a bluff, a grand bluff: but the lich did not know that.

 

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