by Skye Knizley
Raven’s gut told her that Creed would have tried to get lost in the nearest large crowd where he might find a victim. Levac’s profile indicated that Creed needed to kill in the same way a drug addict needed his next hit. It made him more dangerous than most psychos, but far more predictable.
Raven cruised past Club Purgatory and saw the Hayabusa very neatly parked in front where not even a blind man could miss it. She shook her head at his brass and turned the Ninja to the far side of Old Town where a second club had opened. She parked her borrowed Ninja next to a Bugatti Veyron near the door and walked toward the entrance.
The Night Shift was entirely new, constructed to replace the one lost in the fire. It had been built to look like a 1940s nightclub. The outside was a mixture of stone and antique wood framing imported art-deco glass and stone sculptures. The front doors, also made in art-deco style opened into a marble foyer that contained nothing but a reception desk, an attractive Asian receptionist who was always dressed in a white Cheongsam dress and a bellhop who would operate the elevator. The jazz club was on the floor above and Francois’ staff insisted that was all there was to the building. Raven knew however, that a set of hidden doors led to Francois Du Guerre’s private sanctum in the basement. A few bucks and a few threats had gotten her that information. Her father had always said, “Kid, don’t keep your enemies too close, but always know where the bastards lick their wounds.”
Raven pushed through the doors and smiled at Lim Yu who stood primly behind her desk. “Good evening, Lim Yu.”
Lim Yu bowed slightly from the waist. “Good evening, Detective Storm. Do you have a reservation?”
Raven shook her head and kept walking toward the elevator. “Nope, just here to pick up a scumbag. Don’t worry, it isn’t your scumbag. This time.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Storm,” Lim Yu said, hurrying after Raven. “The Master said you weren’t to be allowed into the club without a reservation.”
Raven withheld a growl and turned toward the smaller woman. “Did the tall freak with green hair have a reservation?”
“No, Ms. Storm,” Lim Yu replied.
“But you let him in without any problems?”
Lim Yu gave another slight bow, her ears turning pink. “Of course.”
Raven smirked and turned back to the elevator. “Swell. Yu, tell your Master he’s an ass.”
The bellman looked at Lim Yu and at Raven, uncertainty in his grey eyes. Raven pulled the elevator gate open. “Don’t sweat it, kid. If Du Guerre fires you, I will get you a job at Purgatory, no problem.”
“Ms. Storm, I really can’t…” Lim Yu started.
Raven spun, her eyes glowing green. “Get in my way? Good, a girl’s got to know her limitations. This building is open for business, I’m performing my duty as a peace officer and I’ll go wherever I like. If you want to be helpful call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s a green-haired asshole upstairs, he’s resisting arrest and they should send an ambulance. And a spatula.”
Lim Yu bowed more deeply and backed away. Raven watched her for a heartbeat then stepped inside the elevator. The young operator closed the gate behind her and she cranked the handle, her gaze aimed upward.
She could hear music over the elevator’s whine before she reached the second floor. She recognized the Brian Setzer Orchestra and wondered if Francois had actually managed to get the band to work his club or if it was just a very good collection of wannabes. Knowing how tight-fisted Du Guerre was with his money, it was probably the latter.
The elevator stopped and the attendant at the top opened the gate. Raven stepped out and smiled at the young Embraced. He was a handsome man in his apparent twenties with slicked back hair, a pencil thin mustache and a black tuxedo. He looked surprised that the elevator operator wasn’t in the car, but took one look at Raven’s face and didn’t comment.
Raven’s eyes took in the marble foyer, art-deco chandelier in the shape of a giant icicle and the three sections of the club. To her left was the entrance to the dance hall where the Orchestra was doing a reasonable facsimile of Jump, Jive and Wail and a few dozen couples were swing-dancing with enthusiasm if not skill. To her right were intimate tables where couples could hear the music at a softer level and take advantage of each-other’s company. Raven’s nose told her more than a little claret had been spilled behind the velvet curtains.
Directly ahead of her was a spacious sound-proof bar where an antique jukebox that looked like an old Philco radio was playing Dean Martin. Raven spotted Creed’s green Mohawk seated in the corner of the bar and she walked toward his table. She was stopped just short of the entrance by Francois Du Guerre. He was dressed in a shiny black tuxedo with a pressed white shirt, black tie and burgundy cummerbund. He wore his blonde hair loosely around his shoulders and offered Raven a smile that never reached his eyes.
“Detective Storm, I gave instructions you were not to be admitted without a reservation,” he said, his French accent curling around the words.
“Yeah, your flunkies mentioned that,” Raven replied, her eyes still on Creed. “I told them you were an asshole. Are you going to move so I can go arrest a killer or am I taking you in for obstruction? Obstruction is my preferred choice, maybe with a side of resisting arrest.”
“A pleasure as always, my little Ravenel,” Francois said. “I have no wish to delay you in your duties, but you know my rules. Do you have a warrant?”
Raven’s eyes shifted to Francois’. “One, don’t ever call me your little anything. You lost your chance to call me pet names when you served me on a platter to my so-called sire. Second, this is a public building. I don’t need a warrant to arrest Creed unless you’re going to admit you have a coffin and fresh dirt in the basement in which case I will gladly go get a warrant and broadcast to every enemy you have that this is where you’ve been hiding since my brother tried to kill you.”
Du Guerre frowned. “I have not been hiding, Ravenel. I have been…recovering.”
“Whatever. Get out of my way, Francois or they are taking you out of your own club in a baggie.”
Francois’ face darkened, but he stepped aside allowing Raven to pass into the tavern. A long bar of polished cherry sat to her left, running the full length of the room. A barman dressed in period costume complete with garters on his sleeves and a bowler hat stood behind the bar, polishing glasses that were already sparkling.
To the right were tall tables made of the same dark cherry surrounded by handmade high-backed chairs. A handful of men and women were lingering over drinks and listening to the music. Raven knew a few were old-dead vampires pretending the blood in their glasses was Scotch or wine or whatever their drink of choice had been when they were alive. Others were clueless humans out to enjoy the ambiance of Old Town.
Raven ignored them and strode toward Creed who was cradling a glass of bourbon in his long-fingered hands. He looked up when she approached and licked his cracked lips.
“Hello, half-breed,” he said, his voice deep and tinged with a German accent. “I’m surprised you found me.”
Raven frowned. “No one can hide from me in my city. Care to explain that half-breed comment?”
Creed laughed. “It’s your scent, girl! Anyone with any sense of smell at all should be able to detect the death and blood that surrounds you.”
“You’re one to talk about being surrounded by blood, Creed,” Raven replied. “You’re under arrest for multiple murders including the attempted murder of Katherine Baker.”
Creed finished his drink. “So that’s who gave me away. I figured someone survived. A pity, I was having such a good time, too.”
“I’m sorry that reality has spoiled your killing spree,” Raven said, pulling out her handcuffs. “Get on your knees and place your hands behind your back.”
“Now, Detective, do you really think I am going to jail?” Creed asked.
“That’s the plan,” Raven replied. “Get on your knees, right now!”
Creed leapt up so hard the table fell ov
er. Corpse-grey hands with inch long claws sprouted from his arms, tearing through his skin like it was tissue. He used one clawed hand to swipe at Raven, the other to peel the skin from his face to reveal his huge, tooth-filled maw.
Raven jumped back and drew her Automag. “Francois, get everyone out of here!”
She could hear Du Guerre’s melodic voice directing guests to the exit and relaxed. His hypnotic powers would make sure no one would remember anything other than Jammer Creed resisting arrest. At least the son of a bitch was good for something.
She fired three shots into Creed’s chest, staggering him. He snarled, venom dripping from his blackened fangs. “You can’t hurt me you stupid half-breed! I am immortal.”
Raven fired again, both shots hitting their targets. The skin-walker’s eyes exploded like bags of jelly and he reached for the now empty sockets, howling in pain. He staggered backwards into a table, crushing it beneath his weight and making Francois cry out as if he’d been struck.
The dhampyr didn’t give Creed any time to recover. She ejected the magazine from her pistol and exchanged it for one loaded with rounds designed to destroy supernatural creatures. She stepped forward and placed one booted foot on Creed’s chest, holding him in place.
“I wish things like you would do a little research before you try this kind of crap in this city,” she said. “I’m not just any half-breed. I’m the Childe of Strohm, Fürstin to the Mistress of the City and lead detective for the Chicago Police, 42nd District. This city is under my protection. And nothing, not even you, is immortal.”
Creed whimpered and tried to squirm away. “My apologies, Mistress, I had no idea! Please let me make amends for my transgressions.”
Raven thumbed back the Automag’s hammer. “Not a chance, skinjob. You’ve killed and killed again. I’d put you behind bars if it would do any good, but you’ll just switch with a guard and be out in a handful of hours. That isn’t a chance I’m willing to take.”
With that she squeezed the Automag’s trigger once, twice, three times. Creed shook with each impact, his skull shattering and leaking grey ichor into the imported hardwood floor. He then began to dissolve leaving only the body of Jammer Creed, lifeless and limp.
Raven knelt next to the body and closed Creed’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Creed. You get to take the fall. Damn. You were just some poor bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes this job really sucks.”
She stood and turned to find Francois who was standing a few feet away, his hands on his hips and his eyes glowing blue. He didn’t look happy.
“I know that look,” Raven said. “It usually means you want to break something.”
“You destroyed my bar!” Francois yelled.
Raven rolled her eyes. “One table and some goo on the floor is hardly the whole bar. Besides, I know you got a fat bankroll for selling me down the river…twice. You can afford the cleanup.”
Francois stepped forward. “Ravenel, I didn’t…”
Raven raised the Automag and leveled it at Francois’ heart. “Finish that sentence and they will be sweeping you up with Creed’s body.”
Francois raised his hands in surrender and stepped back. In turn Raven holstered her pistol and fished her phone out of her pocket. She called in the details to her Lieutenant as she left the bar, ignoring Francois’ whispered, “I love you, Ravenel.” Killing him just wasn’t worth the argument with her mother.
RAVEN SPENT THE EVENING FILLING out reports explaining why she’d shot Creed a total of five times and why there were an additional three slugs pulled from the club’s floor. She hated to lie on official paperwork, but it was either that or tell the truth and get locked up in Chicago-Read Mental Health Center as a delusional psychopath. She’d take a few white lies over that any day.
She pushed the paperwork away just before eleven and stretched, her back popping loudly in the empty squad room. She rubbed her neck and looked at her desk. A stack of reports sat in her out box, a few long forgotten messages sat in her in box and her shiny new report sat in the middle on top of a blotter her father had used at the very same desk. Other than that, there was a picture of her and Aspen sitting on the hood of the Bass, a picture of her father and a small commendation for heroism in the fire that destroyed twenty-three city blocks. Not much for all the cases she and Levac had solved over the last couple years. She knew Levac kept a binder of all the weird cases they had solved together. He kept it stashed in his bottom drawer, but she rarely looked at it. She knew every weird case by heart.
With a sigh she picked up the picture of her and Aspen. Aspen was grinning like a twelve year old, her purple hair held in braids and Raven was smiling, something she knew she didn’t do often enough. She couldn’t for the life of her remember what Levac had said before snapping the picture, but it had been funny.
Aspen had left Chicago for parts unknown three weeks after the picture was taken. She’d sent a post card from someplace in St Louis and Raven could still feel her somewhere not too far away so she knew the kid was okay. But it didn’t keep her from missing the purple haired geek. She’d forgiven the girl’s betrayal long ago. Aspen hadn’t asked Xavier to make her his familiar and she’d fought him as best she could. Maybe Aspen just hadn’t been able to forgive herself.
Raven frowned and put the picture back. She needed to get out of there.
She grabbed her things, flicked out the lights and headed down the back stairs. She would call Levac and make sure he was okay, grab a cab and head home.
The night air hit her like a wall and she pulled her leather jacket around herself to keep out the worst of the chill. A pink tinted full moon hung over the city and illuminated the mostly empty parking lot in the gruesome shade of watery blood. Raven folded her arms and watched the odd moon for a minute before a vague flapping noise caught her attention. She turned her head and realized what she thought was some equipment covered by a tarpaulin was actually a car under a suede-cloth cover. Her eyes took in the shape of the car and her heart beat faster. She walked toward the shape and plucked a black envelope from the cloth. Red ink read “My Darling Ravenel.”
Raven pulled the envelope open and read the note.
This came for you today. I heard about the Bass from that sweet detective Levac and thought I would have it delivered for you. She’s beautiful. Dominique will be waiting for you. Don’t be late.
All my love,
Mom.
Raven jumped like a happy schoolgirl and ripped the car cover from the vehicle. Beneath the suede-cloth sat a black and grey 1967 Shelby 500. She’d ordered the car from a custom manufacturer after her dad’s car had been destroyed by her brother Xavier. She’d reversed the two tone paint job and replaced the stock 428 engine with a twin-turbo 427 that was pushing close to one thousand horsepower. She had then added all the bells and whistles including lights, sirens, alarm system, ultraviolet fog lamps and a radio that would reach Moscow on a clear day. She’d thought she would need it if things kept getting worse. The weird cases were just getting weirder. The Shelby had taken longer to get in than she’d expected, but she was happy it had arrived just when she needed it most.
Raven ran her hand over the near frictionless paint job and walked around to the driver’s side. She popped open the door and slipped into a seat that felt as familiar as her own bed. She checked the ignition and center console for a key, but found nothing but the sales slip. She tossed it into the back seat; she knew she’d paid more than 140K for the car, she didn’t need to see the receipt. The trust fund was hers and at the rate she collected bullet holes she’d never retire anyway.
Raven glanced around the black interior with its chrome dials and knobs, custom Hurst shifter and discrete police radio, siren and light controls and she smiled, a thought coming to her. She reached up and pulled the visor down, catching the keys as they slipped out. She folded the visor back into place and slid the key into the ignition. With a deep breath she turned the key and the engine roared to life, a familiar w
arm thrum that had always made her heart sing. It was almost like coming home.
She backed the car into the street, shifted smoothly into first and roared down the alley, loving how the new engine echoed off the brick walls.
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat she called Levac. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey Ray, what’s up?”
“I’m finished filing reports for the day and called to check on you. How’s the head?” Raven asked.
“It’s still attached, more or less,” Levac replied. “The paramedics gave me some pain meds and I’ve been right as rain ever since. How about you?”
Raven shrugged. “You know how I hate being less than truthful in my reports, but there really wasn’t much else I could do. Our suspect was a skinwalker, one of those German things that can take over the bodies of humans. It isn’t like I can put that in my report if I want to stay out of the psych ward with my very own padded cell.”
“No… I suppose not. It sounds like you’re in a car, I can hear an engine. What are you driving?” Levac asked.
“I’ll show you in the morning,” Raven replied. “You get some sleep and I will see you at the District tomorrow.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Levac said. “Catch you in the morning.”
Raven ended the call and punched the gas, thrilled with her new ride and the resurrection of her lost love.
THE FAMILY MANOR SAT SEVERAL miles outside the city on enough land to make a good-sized park. It had been built in the early 1800s before Chicago was even officially founded. Different Masters and Mistresses of the City had added on over the years until the house was part manor, part castle and part fortress. The odd pink moon hung behind the north tower and Raven frowned at it before pulling into the drive. She cruised past a collection of cars ranging from a 1960s hearse all the way up to a Pagani Zonda and pulled into the garage. She parked in her space next to her father’s old Chevrolet, locked the car and headed for the great room.