by Skye Knizley
“There is a struggle coming, Childe of the Raven. A battle between good and the darkest of evils. The tide will be turned by a woman with hair of flame. You, Ravenel.”
The chanting grew loud enough to shake the windows and thunder rolled in the distance. Outside, the sky darkened and clouds boiled into existence, crackling with green and purple lightning. Marie’s eyes faded until they were milky white orbs, like the skin on old milk.
“A pale horse, Death astride, is coming! He will ride that night, and though there will be victory, I see loss. Terrible, loss to the Childe of the Raven.”
She turned over the last of the cards revealing Death astride his white horse and the Tempeste, a card with a beautiful red-haired woman standing in a lightning storm. As Raven watched, the storm rolled on the card and lightning flashed outside, striking the light pole across the street in a shower of sparks that left the shop bathed in darkness.
The last card was blank, nothing but a field of white that rolled past like mist on a moor. Marie’s eyes returned to normal and she lapsed into silence, one hand on Raven’s. “The Lady of Tempeste will fall, an act of sacrifice to stop the oncoming darkness of Hell.”
Raven stood and paced to the window. The sky was now so dark it was almost night outside. A few drops of rain hit the window with so much force the glass thrummed and vibrated in its frame.
“Which Tempeste?”
“You, Childe. I cannot see your mother’s future, she is of pure blood,” Marie said.
“And the blank card?” Storm asked.
“I don’ know, never have I seen a card change like that and I have no blank cards. Tonight I will sacrifice and ask de Baron for guidance,” Marie said.
She stood and Raven felt gentle hands on her shoulders. “Have I never read your future, in your time?”
Raven looked at Marie’s reflection. “Never. You almost never do magik for me, I had to threaten your life to get you to save my fiancée.”
Marie’s face softened. “This is why, childe. This was your future, I couldn’t tell you.”
Raven shook her head. “No, no way. I’m not dying in 1943, send me back!”
“I am sorry, childe. That I can’ do.”
Storm joined them at the window. “Raven, I know how you’re feeling. Trust me, no future is set in stone and the cards are fickle, at best. We will find another way.”
Raven saw Marie’s expression. Whatever was coming, Marie believed it was going to kill her. Raven smiled. “I don’t believe in destiny, Marie, I make my own path. You taught me that.”
The Stevens, Michigan Avenue, Chicago, IL 1943
The next hours were spent over a light lunch and the collection of evidence provided by District One. There wasn’t much. Lash had carried a pocket pistol that was fired twice with one bullet recovered from the wall of the packing plant. There were no other prints on the weapon and it was found beside his corpse. Otherwise he’d had a wallet with driver’s license and ten singles, a ring of keys, a box of matches from Nightingale’s and a piece of scrap paper with a dock’s address scribbled on the back.
Raven finished her coffee and picked up the matches. The box was black with the Nightingale’s logo in white. The matches inside were ordinary stick matches with red strike anywhere tips. Raven took one out of the box and stared at it.
“Why would a preternatural afraid of fire carry matches around?”
Storm didn’t look up from the bullet he was examining. “A guy still needs a light now and then, I’m sure it isn’t important.”
Raven ignored the sarcasm in his tone. “What’s Nightingale’s?”
“A gin joint with dancing and music. It’s outside the district, but owned by a vampire, why?” Storm asked.
“Tell me what’s so interesting about the bullet and I’ll tell you,” Raven said.
Storm tossed the slug on the table. It was smashed into a mushroom shape from the wall impact and there were traces of blood.
“It’s a silver compound used by hunters to bag preternatural prey. There are traces of blood I would swear are vampire, but I can’t be sure,” he said.
Raven picked up the slug and rolled it in her hand. “It’s a good thing you have lax evidence control rules. Back home this would break about ten rules and get my ass in a sling.”
“What are you talking about? Everything is bagged and tagged.”
Raven sniffed at the bullet. “I would never be allowed to look at evidence like this while eating a cucumber salad and sandwich. It’s definitely vamp blood, Lash hit one of his attackers.”
She put the slug back in its little yellow envelope and initialed the outside. “I’m asking about Nightingale’s because the box doesn’t smell like matches, it smells like perfume. Lash got these from a woman, maybe someone who knows about this box Lash was supposed to have.”
Storm made a face. “I can’t tell if I’m glad I don’t have your nose or not. What else can you smell?”
“Everything, if I want. My sense of smell isn’t lycan level, but it is pretty close,” Raven said.
“But you have to concentrate?”
Raven shrugged. “This I can just smell. If I want to track by scent then yes I have to concentrate and it burns energy.”
Storm pushed his plate away and started packing the evidence back up. “What does that mean? ‘Burns Energy’?”
“I’m not like normal preternaturals. My basic dhampyr abilities work all the time, but when I want to, I can be Master level, but to do so burns energy. I have to feed to maintain them or I will die,” Raven said. She caught the eye of a passing waiter who was giving her a strange look and smiled. He gave a hesitant smile back and continued on his way.
“But what energy, though?” Storm pressed.
“Calories plus whatever it is vampires get from blood. No one seems to have a name for it, mana, soul energy? Who knows? All I know is if I want to bench press a Buick there better be a bottle of Claret or a willing donor nearby afterwards.”
“Or you pass out.”
Raven stood and slipped into her jacket. “Or worse. I’ve almost died a couple of times.”
Storm put the evidence into a box and sealed the lid. “Swell. And you don’t feed regularly because it makes you feel sick.”
“Bingo. The only blood that doesn’t is my fiancée Aspen’s. She has the blood of a familiar so it tastes better.”
Raven cocked her head. “Why all the questions?”
Storm pulled on his coat and adjusted the sword that hung on his back. It bothered Raven that everyone else seemed to ignore it, like he didn’t have a broadsword in plain view. It was right there sticking up behind his head, how could they not see it?
“You’re unique, Raven, and one day I’ll have to explain how this works to you. Why not get it straight from the horse’s mouth?” Storm said.
They left the hotel and approached Storm’s Packard, which was parked on the street. Raven looked at Storm over the roof. “That’s cheating.”
Storm cocked his head. “That’s parenting. You should try it some time.”
“I have. You should meet my partner,” Raven said.
She climbed inside the Packard expecting Storm to join her. She turned and saw him scanning the street like he was looking for something. Or someone. He opened the door a moment later and stepped inside.
“What’s wrong?” Raven asked.
“A feeling,” Storm said. “I trust my gut, it’s why I’ve stayed alive so long.”
He pulled away from the curb and accelerated into afternoon traffic, which was heavier than Raven would have expected for war-time Chicago. News reports and history books made it seem like wartime US was almost as bad as the European theater.
“What does it tell you?” she asked.
Storm shifted gears and changed lanes before answering. “We’re bei
ng followed.”
Raven twisted and looked back through the small window. It took a moment, but she spotted two sedans and two motorcycles moving through traffic as a unit. Every time Storm changed lanes, they followed suit.
Raven smirked. “They’re making it kind of obvious, aren’t they?”
“Or they just aren’t very good,” Storm said.
He accelerated and swerved across two lanes of traffic, making other drivers honk and curse in annoyance. The Packard’s tires screeched and the car roared down an alleyway sounding too much like Raven’s own beloved Shelby for comfort. At the far end he slowed, timed traffic and swerved back into the flow with a howling engine and smoking brakes.
Raven watched one of the motorcycles emerge from the alley behind them, followed by one of the sedans. “You haven’t lost them, they’re right behind us.”
Storm glanced at the tiny rearview mirror and shifted again. “They’re better than I thought. Hold tight.”
The car surged forward, almost pushing a taxi out of the way before changing lanes, swerving through an intersection and jumping a curb to get into the clear one road over. Storm changed the gears again and made a left and then a quick right, sending them down another narrow alley barely wide enough for the Packard. Storm slowed to a stop at the next intersection and Raven climbed out.
“What are you doing?” Storm asked.
Raven kicked the door shut. “Getting answers, I don’t like being followed.”
She waited for traffic to ebb then stepped into the middle lane. If their shadow had any brains at all they would pass right by in a moment or two. Raven waited, ignoring the honks and waved hands of irritated passerby until, as if on cue, the motorcycle appeared half a block away. The driver spotted her and tried to accelerate past, but Raven’s arm shot out and she ripped him from the back of the bike. He fell to the ground with her on top of him while the motorcycle spun away and crashed into the curb. The cyclist was wearing leathers similar to her own, with a belted jacket and leather trousers tucked into high boots. The silver Death’s Head ring on his left hand was unmistakable, as was the wet dog scent of a sweaty lycan.
“Why are you following us?” Raven asked.
The SS officer smiled and Raven saw he had extended canines, he was lycan on the edge of shifting in broad daylight. “I’m not telling you anything, damphyr!”
Raven gripped his jacket bounced his head off the pavement. “I’m not fucking around, furball, tell me why you and your buddies are following us! Did you kill Lash?”
Before he could answer there was the sound of a horn, the crash of automobiles and the sound of an engine revving. Raven looked up in time to see the sedan bearing down on her before Storm barreled into her and carried her to safety. The sedan rolled right over the lycan, crushing him beyond recognition. A truck followed suit and Raven saw the thug’s skull explode like an overripe melon. A second later he burst into flames, bringing traffic to a halt.
“That was really stupid, Raven,” Storm said.
Raven couldn’t disagree, she’d avoided being roadkill by inches. She dusted herself off and looked at Storm. “He was lycan, wearing a Totenkopf ring.”
Storm’s brow creased. “Vampires and lycans working together? Interesting.”
“Hitler shouldn’t know about us, how can any preternatural serve him? The Totentanz forbids it!”
Storm watched the body burn. “Der Fuhrer doesn’t care much about rules and laws, Raven. His charisma and rhetoric has a powerful effect on the weak-minded.”
“Then plain old morality should be their compass,” Raven retorted.
Storm folded his arms and leaned against the car. “Humans don’t have a monopoly on stupid or evil. He’s a leader, they do what most everyone does, they follow. Why are you taking this so personal?”
Raven glared at him. “My duty is to my house and the Totentanz, if it becomes public knowledge it could cause a preternatural war.”
“I rather doubt that,” Storm said. “He’s just a dictator, and sooner or later he will fall, taking his knowledge of the Totentanz to his grave.”
He straightened and looked down at Raven. “Look, kid. This isn’t the big deal you think it is. Humans knew about the monsters before they learned to make fire. We take care of our own, and this will get swept under the rug like every other time. There’s no war in your time, right? Forget it, we have other things to worry about.”
Raven knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any better. It felt like ignoring her duty to not do something. But what could she do? Allies were already fighting and it was a given that Hitler was going to die.
There was a loud crash and the sound of an air horn down the street. She turned to see one of the following trucks barreling toward them, ramming everything in its path. She drew her weapon and looked at Storm, who was holding his Colt. He stepped into the path of the approaching truck and cracked his neck.
“What are you doing?” Raven asked.
“Making an arrest,” Storm replied.
He raised the Colt and yelled, “Halt!”
The truck blew its horn again and kept coming, ramming a Ford out of the way as it gained speed. Raven wanted to just go ahead and shoot the driver, but she’d never seen Storm do this before. Heard about it, yes. He was Mike Hammer, Dirty Harry and Sam Spade all rolled into one, to hear the stories told after his death.
Storm thumbed the hammer on his Colt and squeezed the trigger. It boomed in his hand and Raven saw the truck’s windshield explode from the impact. The truck began to decelerate, rolling to a stop a few feet from where Raven was standing.
“Seventy years from now, my Captain is going to yell at me for doing what you just did,” Raven said. “You do know we can’t arrest dead guys, right?”
Storm winked. “Benefits of having a Captain that never reads reports, kid.”
Raven’s sarcastic comment was cut off by the sound of weapons being readied. She yelled, “Get down!” and grabbed a dazed pedestrian out of the way as submachinegun fire erupted from the back of the truck. She felt bullets graze her back and grit her teeth against the pain.
“This was a brand new jacket you Nazi bastards!” she growled.
Six men dressed in brown dungarees and work shirts climbed out of the truck. They could have fit in on any street in America if it wasn’t for the submachine guns clutched in their hands. Three approached Storm, weapons spitting lead, while three formed a skirmish line and approached Raven.
Raven pushed the pedestrian into the shadow of a doorway and rolled out of the line of fire. Bullets pinged off the car she took refuge behind and whined off into the distance.
Across from her, Storm was behind a taxi that was absorbing so much lead one side had started to sag. When the Germans paused to reload and spread out, he rose and started firing. Raven saw one of the lycans fall to Storm’s pistol before she dropped prone and shot one of her stalkers in the foot. When he screamed and fell to his knees she put a second bullet between his eyes. She didn’t see him burn, she was up and running over the roof of the Ford a second after pulling the trigger. She leapt from the Ford onto the truck and shot twice more, killing another lycan, before sliding to the ground on the far side.
“You’re all alone, pal, drop the weapon and I’ll make sure you get a solid meal before Archer locks you up,” she said.
There was silence, then the gristly noise of a lycan shifting to hybrid form. Raven rolled from cover and almost landed on the lycan’s paw, which was bigger than her head. He stepped on her arm, locking her weapon in place, and growled.
Raven’s nose wrinkled. “What have you been eating, tuna? I’ve got some mints, do the world a favor and have one.”
The lycan roared in response and Raven yanked her arm free, losing her pistol in the process. She was rising to draw her blades when the lycan backhand slapped her. She flew back
into the truck and felt a bone-shattering pain in her hip from the impact. Before she could recover, the lycan’s claws tore through her jacket and arm. Raven groaned in pain and rolled away, trying to ignore her broken arm. If these weren’t Primal lycans, they’d definitely had their Wheaties.
The lycan grabbed the back of her jacket as she slithered away and she pulled free, leaving the jacket behind. The werewolf sniffed it in surprise and Raven drew her knives. The weighted silver felt good in her hands, comforting.
“Okay, dogbreath, let’s do this. You have the right to remain silent. Please do, every time you growl it smells like bad fish,” she said.
The lycan’s eyes darkened and he unleashed a roar so loud it made Raven’s ears hurt. She wiped the spittle from her eyes and backed away a step.
“Anything you say isn’t going to be much, I don’t speak Chihuahua,” she continued.
The werewolf swiped with his claws. Raven blocked with her forearm and spun inside his guard. Her right knife punched through his chest, while the left cut across his face, eliciting a whimper of pain. The werewolf tried to push her away, but Raven was in her stride. She spun a kick at the lycan’s head, slashed across his belly with the knife, opening his skin and spilling his intestines out in a greasy tangle. The werewolf howled and clutched at his belly, which gave Raven the opening to slam her blade through his eye socket and into his brain. The silver killed him instantly and he fell to the ground, shifting and beginning to burn.
Raven spat a mouthful of blood, picked up her pistol and stepped out from behind the truck in time to see Storm behead the last werewolf he was fighting.
“What were those things?” the pedestrian asked.
Raven looked at her. “Would you believe German Shepherds?”
The stunned woman looked at the greasy patches on the sidewalk. “Bad dogs!”
Raven straightened and turned away. “You tell them, lady.”
She met up with Storm, who was wiping at a deep cut on his chin with a handkerchief.
“What was that you were saying about doing something stupid?” she asked.