by RJ Blain
“Lion centaur.”
“Racist?”
“Yeah, he is. If we were alone on a bridge, he might think twice before tossing me off. I was a body to fill a quota to him. I don’t think that opinion has changed even with my new status as a shifter. The trial won’t have helped matters much. That said, I don’t think he’s the type. He takes his job seriously, and when he found out the NYPD had called about me, he flipped his lid because he hadn’t been informed.”
“Well, if he’s behind the attack, of course he’d flip his lid,” Marian countered, bending over to pick up a bundle of dark clothing. “It’s information he didn’t have but needed to keep tabs on you. The nationwide concealed carry permit number he wants would be a convenient excuse to keep an eye on you.”
“Or he wants to make sure I continue breathing, since a former CPD officer being killed by a mafia hitman would be a publicity nightmare.” While my shoulder still ached where Abil Ili had stabbed me to make Marian’s bite permanent, I shrugged into my shirt and jacket with minimal discomfort. “He probably doesn’t care what happens to Marian. He’s not a fan of the feds.”
“We do have a reputation of stomping all over their territory when working a case. I’ve done it, and since I don’t take bullshit from uppity police officers, they don’t like me all that much.”
I didn’t hide my admiration while Marian wiggled into a pair of jeans and a form-fitting blouse. “I don’t know who the Babylonians stole those jeans from, but remind me to thank them later.”
“You’re welcome,” Quinton replied, laughing. “I left while you were napping. Your lady needed some space, so I went up top for a few minutes. I could have asked Abil Ili, but I thought his time was better spent elsewhere. You need to loan her one of your cute pocket toys, though. It was one thing to duck into a store. Getting firearms would’ve drawn too much attention.”
“I’m running light on ammo,” I warned.
“Then I suggest you make every shot count.”
“It would help to know who we’ll be shooting.” Checking my pockets revealed someone had stuffed a tie inside, which somehow hadn’t wrinkled. At Dad’s insistence, I’d mastered the art of tying my ties without using a mirror on the grounds if a woman spent hours looking pretty for, I needed to put in the few extra minutes to make myself pretty for her, too.
We both agreed I needed all the help I could get.
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”
“Very soon,” Abil Ili announced, separating from the crystals near Marian. She launched towards the ceiling and almost reached me before she touched down. With a soft laugh, I caught her and pulled her to me as Abil Ili announced, “We are ready. I have a list of names, locations, and information. Follow, and I will tell you all I have learned—and the role you three will play in the hours to come.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Babylonians didn’t appear to be technologically inclined until Abil Ili guided us several floors beneath the ziggurat to their server room. My first glimpse into the cavernous chamber took my ignorance, bashed me over the head with it, and made my fingers itch for a chance to play with the countless systems packed inside. The computers needed a lot of electricity, but I couldn’t fathom where they got it from; I hadn’t seen a single power outlet anywhere in the caverns, nor sign of anything modern, not even a lightbulb.
Yet computers surrounded me, installed into countless racks forming aisles, fans buzzing while thousands of lights blinked. Abil Ili marched ahead, and Marian shoved me to spur me into motion.
“That’s a lot of computers,” I stammered.
“While we still have our traditional library, knowledge has evolved, much like humans. There is a certain amount of wisdom in making knowledge accessible.”
“It’s my fault,” Quinton admitted, flashing me a grin. “About a decade ago, I made the mistake of showing them my new cell phone. They’d been rather reclusive and missed the dawning of the technological era. They rectified the situation with their typical determination. When they discovered a wealth of information could be at the tips of their claws in an instant, they embraced computers. Now, many of them fill their hours separating truth from lies, taking news and hearsay and distilling them to truth and fact. They even have a library dedicated to the study of human fallacies. It’s interesting. Perhaps they’ll show you one day.”
“One day,” Abil Ili murmured, turning at an intersection. “We have more important things to do now. Follow, else we will be late, and the other hives will be displeased with us for being poor hosts.”
At the end of the aisle, an archway waited, which Abil Ili ducked through, vanishing beyond a shimmering curtain of light. Quinton waited for us, gesturing for us to precede him. “This blocks the sound of the fans so those beyond can work. It’s quieter than normal; they’re shutting down many of the systems since no one will be here to maintain them.”
Marian and I exchanged worried glances. I stepped through first, uncertain of what to expect. A cool breeze washed over me. I blinked at the dim illumination, squinting to adjust to the unexpected darkness.
Someone had watched too many war movies, basing their construction on the White House Situation Room. Counting chairs, I wondered why anyone would build a table big enough for thirty people—and whether Babylonians even bothered with chairs. The ten in the room were all standing, their attention focused on the largest digital screen I’d ever seen.
I added television crime dramas to the list of programs someone spent too much time watching. The CPD station where I’d worked had exactly one digital crime board, an ancient model less effective than a standard white board and markers.
Captain Martins used it as a status symbol.
Since patrol officers didn’t get to use any type of crime board, I thought my drooling over the ten foot wide, clear-backed display was justified. Laughing, Marian wrapped her arm around me and squeezed. “If you want to play with a murder board, arrangements can be made. I have one at home.”
First she gives me two guns, and then she tells me she has a murder board I can play with? Ah, heaven. I’d found it at last. “Take me home with you.”
“I can’t tie you to my bed and have my way with you if I don’t take you home with me, so I suppose I must.”
“Well, that got his attention. You’d already talked him into going home with you with the murder board.” Quinton snickered. “I don’t think he needs extra encouragement, Marian.”
“I’m making sure he understands there is no point in resisting.” Turning her attention away from me, she stepped to the gathered Babylonians with no evidence of her earlier fear, planting her hands on her hips while she regarded the panel and its data. “Nice board, terrible organization. You’re going to have to start over. Make it snappy. Also, your board privileges are revoked, so after we’re done, that board is coming home with me, where it will be used properly.”
I laughed. “I see she wants it, too.”
“Who doesn’t? That damned thing’s state of the art and cost a pretty penny. That woman’s going to tire you out, Gibby. Anytime you need rescued, you let me know. I’ll take you over to Papa’s, and he’ll keep you until she comes storming the castle to retrieve you.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The Babylonians made space for Marian, and not to be outdone by the FBI agent, I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and rested my chin on her shoulder. A grid of faces and names appeared, and the one in the upper left corner caught my attention. “Surprise, surprise, Mark O’Conners.”
“New York City, Italian Mafia,” Abil Ili confirmed, pointing at the man who’d shot me. “He is our linchpin. He and those he knows that tie them all together, an intricate tangle of the red threads of death.”
The poetic side of the Babylonian startled me. “He’s the one who got me involved with all this.”
Mark O’Conners had taken Marian—who known as Sally at the time—away from me. He’d try again, an
d he’d keep trying until he succeeded, either by taking her, killing me, or killing us both. For men like him, there’d be no other choices, not ones they’d be willing to make.
“Yes. This is why we started with him. His master is Luca Ricci, a vampire—a traditional one.”
Quinton sighed. “We know of Ricci. He’s a young fool who wishes to own the world so he might drink it to dust.”
Abil Ili flicked his hook-tipped claws at Ernesto’s son. “Tell them of traditional vampires, the ones like this Ricci. They only know of your brood. It shows in their lack of true fear, their respect, and their friendship. If you demonstrate, take his jacket and shirt off, and try not to leave a mess on my floor. They should know what they face. Ricci is here, and he is prepared to hunt.”
His entire body tensed, and Quinton stared at me. “Traditional vampires aren’t kind when they feed.”
“I’d say your fangs weren’t so kind to my wrist. Your bite hurt.”
“A forced feeding is much worse. Although my bite hurt, I had your consent. You knew I was hurting you to help. You didn’t fight me. If Ricci fed on you, you would fight, and you would lose. A vampire’s sway becomes easier to fight with subsequent bites. It’s why Papa insists we feed as we do. We don’t need to prey on an entire city, only a few. The violence of Ricci’s feeding grows with every bite because the will of his prey strengthens. He’s a weak, despicable vampire.” Quinton hissed, flexing his hands. “You believe it’s necessary?”
“For both of them. If you take him first, you won’t have to fight both of them. His lady, I think, will understand the necessity.”
Marian pressed her back against me, and her hands covered mine. “Convince me it’s necessity, perhaps.”
“Vampire magic. If I bite you both, you’d fall under the protection of Papa’s brood—blood magic. Your parents, freshly bitten, already have that protection. It takes roughly three days to fade. We’re aware of the blood in our veins, and it binds us together. Papa will bite your parents again once he learns Ricci is coming. Papa is stronger than Ricci, and Ricci’s magic cannot overwhelm Papa’s. They would be immune to his enthrallment, immune to the enthrallment of Ricci’s entire brood.”
“So if you bite us, we enjoy that same protection?”
“The bite will hurt. There’s nothing kind of how a traditional vampire feeds. Papa would use Amy to mitigate the pain—enraged lycanthropes are a force that challenges even him, but you two need to understand it in its entirety, so you can fight its effects should you be taken or they try to bite you.”
Marian sighed, a frustrated, angry sound. “Explain how this Ricci is involved.”
Abil Ili tapped Ricci’s picture with his claw, and a map of the United States appeared. Red and gold lights marked most of the major cities, with thin lines connecting them into a network. A network of what, I wasn’t sure. “Ricci is one of three masterminds of the operation. One part feeds the sex industry, which is how you were caught in the web. With a little help from a friend, we learned the true purpose of the sex trafficking operation. Not only does it provide women, but it provides blood—last life blood, death blood. The women are used until they no longer appeal to the market, and then they are sold a final time to old vampires in need of new life. Their deaths are purchased, and they’re drained of their lives, their bloodless, empty husks discarded.”
The thought of Marian being killed after being sold into slavery chilled me to the bone, and I tightened my hold on her. “They’re murdering the victims.”
“Our research, provided to us from another source, indicates the women are killed when they are either too old to fetch a good price or become pregnant. A pregnant woman can’t work.” Abil Ili’s claws slashed the air, and the reflective panels of his carapace turned crimson. “You got too close to their operation. Ricci must eliminate you both. He would rather the woman serve him and add to his wealth, but he has no use for a man who has thwarted his plans too many times.”
“Accidentally,” I muttered.
“Accidental or not, you could break the circle of his so-called eternal life. That is the problem with traditional vampires. They do not understand or care other ways exist to gather the life they need to sustain them. Sustenance is more than blood taken.”
I inhaled, a sharp, hissing sound. “The Saven brood drinks blood freely given. Ricci’s brood steals it.”
Turning to Quinton, Abil Ili chuckled. “Intent matters. To nurture and flatter goes against a vampire’s basic instinct to hunt and kill, but for the Saven brood, it is the secret to a long, life—an immortal one. Ernesto’s children walk beneath the light of a noon sun hundreds of years before other vampires. Even in their youth, a glimpse of the sun isn’t lethal. It hurts, and it is dangerous, but they survive long enough to seek shelter. Ricci must create new children more frequently because his are weak and die young.”
“Papa is different.”
“Your entire brood is different,” the Babylonian corrected. “But you would be wise to show them how most vampires feed. Not only to gift them with the protection of your bite, but so they might feel what it is like to be truly dominated by a vampire.”
Marian pulled free of my arms, stepping closer to the murder board to touch the map, zooming in on Des Moines. Flags marked twenty locations, and I recognized one as the farm she’d been taken to when she’d been trapped in an alpaca’s body. “This is worse than I thought.”
“The FBI was close to discovering the truth, too close. Mark O’Conners was not supposed to let you live. From what we have learned, framing you for his murder was an attempt to redirect resources and turn attention away from their operation to allow time to restructure, reroute, and erase evidence of their crimes.” Abil Ili pointed at several of the markers in Des Moines. “Most of these are part of the sex trafficking operation, but some are part of the final sales network. The clients are almost always vampires, but demons participate, too. The demons interest me. They take the pregnant ones.”
I shivered. “What happens to them?”
“They are the reason the FBI was getting close. Vampires want life to end. Demons feed on the creation of new life. The women would have been impregnated due to their influence. That creates a bond—with the mother, with the child. The bond fades within a few months of the child’s birth, but it is against a demon’s nature to kill those they help bring to life.” The Babylonian tapped a flag, bringing up information on a butcher’s shop on the outskirts of Des Moines. “This butcher works with an animal auction not far outside the city. He provides the tag numbers for the animals—transformed women and men—so the vampires can purchase them. The demons infiltrate the market, outbid the vampires on the pregnant women, and take them to safety. They have figured out the secret to reversing the transformation, so the woman is sold to new owners—owners who care for her and her infant. The mother and child are relocated, and often will rejoin the cycle, but in a more pleasant atmosphere. Incubi tend to become protective of the women in their keeping. It is not uncommon for one to settle down with a female thus procured until the end of her lifespan.”
I froze, cold terror stabbing deep into my chest. “My grandfather is an incubus.”
“Yes. Your grandmother may have been a victim of such an operation, and your grandfather had claimed your grandmother as his to protect her and your unborn mother. We do not know for certain, but it is possible. Incubi do not settle with lifelong partners often—not without duress being involved.” The Babylonian sighed. “Or angelic influence. I have seen the results of your genetic testing. You are no angel.”
I took several wobbly steps to the conference table, grabbed a chair, and sat down before I fell down. “How likely?”
“Very likely. We have uncovered some interesting facts during our research.” Abil Ili tapped the screen, focusing the map on Lincoln, Nebraska. Unlike Des Moines, it was clear of flags. “This is today.”
He tapped a few more times. Seven gold and two red flags appeared. �
�This was thirty years ago.” After a few more taps, a handful of other flags appeared. “Forty years. The FBI has never investigated sex trafficking operations in Lincoln.”
My grandmother fought fires, and because knowing how they ignited and burned was critical to extinguishing them, she could start them, too. I shivered as the possibilities tangled in my head and led me places I didn’t want to go. “Arsons?”
“You understand.”
“God,” I muttered, wiping my hand over my face as though I could erase the horror of what my grandmother had endured, resulting in the birth of my mother. “You’re really implying my grandparents took on one of these rings all on their own.”
“The numbers do not lie. Someone did, and it wasn’t the police nor was it someone within the FBI.”
“And my great-grandfather? What of him?”
“Things like this have been happening for as long as humans have realized they could enslave each other for wealth. That is a question you have to ask him, but it is not an incubus’s nature to remain with a human family unless they have been forced to claim responsibility for something, a life that would not otherwise exist, one made of his seed against his will. They do not form bonds easily. Is that not right, Quinton?”
“He’s right. An incubus doesn’t form a bond unless he has had constant and frequent exposure to a woman. Ours often bond with our donors; it’s part of how we feed. That’s why we take care of our donors like we do. It isn’t just for us, but for them, too. A succubus won’t form a bond unless she’s ready to have a child, and she’ll bond with the incubus or the human who’ll become the father of her child. Her bond fades after her child’s birth.”
Marian joined me, pulling a chair close to mine, sitting with a grunt. “Against his will—as in if he didn’t get her pregnant and take her out of the situation, she’d be killed?”