by Skye Knizley
Raven’s mother, Valentina Tempeste, had redecorated in the last few months and the once airy but dark foyer was now made of all light colors and the windows in the dome far overhead had been replaced with stained glass. At midday the hall looked like the inside of an ancient cathedral.
Dominique, Valentina’s familiar stood near the door to the large dining hall, a leather garment in her arms. The young-looking blonde woman, barefoot as always, smiled at Raven and held out the clothing. “You are just in time, Miss Ravenel.”
Raven pulled off her torn blouse and bra and laid them on a nearby chair. “Dominique, you helped raise me. I think you can call me Raven, don’t you?”
Dominique blushed and looked down. “That would not be proper, love. Now let me get this on you.”
Raven rolled her eyes, but turned. Dominique wrapped the leather corset around the taller woman’s waist and laced it tightly. Raven ran her hand over the leather and found that her knives had been slipped into sheaths at her waist, which meant her mother was expecting trouble.
The athletic redhead turned and let Dominique put her official badge of office around her neck. The family crest hung quite visibly at her throat, the silver glistening wetly in the light.
“You look beautiful, Miss Ravenel,” Dominique said, bouncing on her toes.
“I feel like I’m stuck in a vice and my boobs look like a pair of barely restrained zeppelins,” Raven replied. “Why Mom insists on this crap is beyond me.”
“It is tradition, love,” Dominique said. “Now get inside, the Mistress is waiting.”
Raven kissed Dominique’s cheek and pushed through the doors into the dining hall. Close to fifty vampires were seated at the long oak table, a handful of familiars standing or kneeling nearby. Raven shook her head and moved to stand next to her mother. The day she asked Rupert or Aspen to kneel was the day she ate the barrel of her own gun. Familiars were friends and confidants, not pets or portable snack trays.
Valentina sat in her chair, her leather dress cut to reveal far too much cleavage and thigh. Her black hair had been piled on her head, held in place with an antique comb and pin that dated back to twelfth century Germany. Her red-nailed hand was playing with a glass of warm claret while she listened to Evangelina, a vampire who had once followed Raven’s brother Xavier.
“…and what of Lord Strohm?” she was saying. “It is well known he didn’t die when you and your human lover claimed. Your right to the throne is in dispute until his whereabouts are determined and his assassin, if there is one, dealt with.”
“My late husband did indeed pass as Mason Storm and I reported before the council,” Valentina replied in a calm voice. “His subsequent means of resurrection is a mystery currently being investigated by my son Andre along with Igor. Regardless, my claim to the throne is not in dispute.”
“It is if Strohm lives!” another vampire, an Embraced named Lankan Choum, interjected.
Valentina stiffened and Raven laid a hand on her shoulder. She knew what was being asked of her. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on Choum. “Strohm is dead. He’s nothing but ash sitting in a mausoleum and a charred sword sticking out of an ancient stone.”
“So you claim,” Choum said, swirling his own glass of claret. “I somehow doubt a half-breed, even a Fürstin such as yourself could have destroyed the great Lord Strohm. Where is your proof?”
“You want proof?” Raven asked, turning and walking around the table toward Choum.
“I do indeed!” the lanky vampire replied.
Raven stopped next to him, her eyes glowing green. “By the laws of the Totentanz no proof of my kill is required, save the absence of the deceased. This was decreed in 1366 due to the… volatile nature of vampires when their heart is pierced or head removed. I claim that Strohm is dead by my hand and sword. Do you dispute this claim?”
Across the table Evangelina leaned back, one hand going to her chest. Raven watched her from the corner of her eye and waited for Choum’s next move.
“You do not frighten me, Fürstin Ravenel,” Choum said. “You are a half-breed with no claim to the title you carry so proudly. Yes, I dispute that you destroyed Lord Strohm! He lives and Lady Valentina rules in his stead! You should both be bound in silver and locked in coffins for all eternity!”
Raven’s eyes narrowed and her hand moved in a blur. She drew one of her long silver knives and stabbed it through Choum’s hand, pinning him to the table. He screamed in pain and pulled at his wounded hand. Raven punched him in the throat to silence his cries, her other hand twisting the knife into the table.
“Let’s get this straight,” she said, addressing the rest of the room. “You’ve all heard the rumors. They’re correct. I am a Childe of Strohm, a day walking half-breed with all a vampire’s strength. And I killed the bastard some of you revere as some great leader to protect myself and my family. He was killed in self-defense as proscribed by the Totentanz and his death is a matter of record not a matter of debate. Discussion of his demise has no place here at court. Lady Valentina is the rightful Mistress of the City and I am her Fürstin. If you have a problem with my actions, like Choum here, bring them directly to me as the laws demand. Is that clear?”
The only sounds were the rustle of silk and satin as forty-nine heads nodded in unison and the muffled gagging of Choum as he tried to regrow his windpipe.
“Good,” Raven said. “As for my friend, Choum, under the laws of the night he has challenged my truthfulness and my honor. I choose the right of combat to prove my words.”
Choum’s eyes bulged and he shook his head furiously.
Raven shrugged. “You made the claim, Choum, and you know the law.”
She pulled her knife from his hand and stepped back, allowing Choum to stand.
Choum rubbed his hand and stepped away from Raven. “I misspoke, Fürstin Ravenel. Allow me to apologize…”
Choum had barely finished the sentence when a derringer popped from his sleeve and spat a 357 magnum bullet. The vampire-killing slug missed Raven by inches and embedded itself in the wall.
“Your apology needs some work, Choum,” Raven said. “It should start with ‘I’m an idiot and I apologize profusely, please don’t kill me like the worm I am’.”
Choum tried to fire again, but the tiny weapon had been spent. He threw it at Raven and looked wildly around the table for support. Even those loyal to Strohm looked away from the doomed vampire.
“You’re on your own, Embraced,” Raven said, drawing a second knife.
Without another word she stepped forward, ramming her knife up through Choum’s jaw and into his skull. His eyes bulged and he clawed uselessly at Raven. She ignored him; her second blade sliced cleanly through his neck and he exploded into ash that swirled around everyone at the table and settled on the Persian rug.
“Does anyone else want to challenge Lady Valentina’s right to the throne this night?” Raven asked. “I have plenty of knives.”
No one spoke, though Evangelina looked as if she wanted to. Raven glared at her for a heartbeat before returning to her spot at her mother’s elbow. She dropped the bloody blades on the table next to the Mistress, whispered, “Happy, Mother?” in a tone only Valentina could hear and made her exit.
Outside, Dominique had been waiting. She stood, her beautiful face creased with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Mom is safe, if that’s what you mean,” Raven said, walking past the blonde woman and turning toward the stairs.
“I heard a scream…” Dominique began, reaching for Raven’s arm.
“I did what you and Mom planned,” Raven replied, her voice like ice. “I made an example of some idiot defying mother’s authority, something she should have done if she wants to hold the throne. Now I’m going to my room to get out of this stupid thing and get some sleep.”
Raven started up the stairs feeling Dominique’s eyes on her back. She refused to turn around.
RAVEN ENTERED HER ROOM AND used one hand to tear the la
ces out of her corset; she was in no mood to fuss over them. She dropped the corset onto the floor, kicked off her boots and leather pants and slipped into the purple Batgirl nightgown Aspen had gotten for her before she left.
She dropped into the chair in front of her vanity and ran her silver-backed brush through her hair. The mundane activity always seemed to relax her. While she worked the knots out of her waist-length tresses of fire she let her eyes wander. Her room hadn’t changed much over the years. She’d added more photos of herself and Levac between the noir movie posters, added a gun case that contained two spare Automags, two Nightmare 1911s, a massive shotgun and her father’s original police issue revolver. It had only been fired twice; once at the factory and once to commit his murder.
The room now also contained a photo of her father’s Shelby framed with the charred ignition key, all that had been left of the wreck, a broken Katana and a framed picture of Aspen and Raven enjoying cranberry juice at Club Purgatory’s grand re-opening. The two women had become close after the events that saw the destruction of a several city blocks and Raven had to admit she missed having someone around who understood her, the vampire world and could do magik. Levac was a wonderful partner and her dearest friend, but he was never going to fit into the supernatural world. Nor did she want him to. The darkness had a way of devouring people and she wasn’t going to lose anyone else.
Raven set her brush aside with a sigh and turned toward her four poster bed. She was about to climb under the purple covers when there was a knock on the door. She turned and pulled the door open, not at all surprised to see her leather-clad mother standing outside.
“Hello, Mother. I trust someone found a dustpan for Choum?”
Valentina scowled. “His was a necessary death. These challenges to my power cannot be allowed to continue and it is your job to put a stop to them.”
Raven turned away and sat on her bed, one leg curled under her. “I know what being Fürstin means, Mother. You’ve been drilling it into my head since I was seven.”
Valentina entered and sat next to her daughter, her satin-lined dress whispering around her legs. “Then why all this hostility, my child? What’s wrong?”
“This vampire baloney is your life, Mom,” Raven replied, pulling her Naugadoll into her lap. “Not mine. I’m a cop. What I just did still boils down to murder even if he was a bottom-feeding little twerp squirming on the end of Evangelina’s leash.”
“Raven, you know human laws do not apply within the Totentanz,” Valentina said. “We are above that, above mortals.”
“Murder is murder, Mom. I’m your champion, not your assassin.”
Valentina stood, her face darkening. “You are Fürstin of the House Tempeste and I expect you to act accordingly or as much as it pains me you will be duly punished!”
Raven snorted. “Go ahead and try, Mother. If you could even find someone stupid enough to try and punish me, how long do you think they would last? In seconds? You know none of the House can take me in combat and I’m not about to let you lock me up somewhere.”
“You would defy me, my daughter?” Valentina asked in a soft voice.
“Only when you’re wrong, Mom,” Raven replied. “There has to be a better way to consolidate your power than executing everyone who disagrees with you. That’s Strohm’s way. You and dad wanted something better, something human. You destroyed Strohm to get away from his madness and the dark world he was creating. I won’t help you make the same mistakes.”
“You are a very wise woman, Ravenel,” Valentina said. “Your father would be very proud of you. Goodnight, my child.”
“Goodnight, Mother.”
Valentina exited the room, closing the door behind her. After a moment Raven got up and locked the door.
*Morning rose over the city of Chicago, trading a pink moon for the bright pink and yellow of a new day that reflected off the distant city like a candle off of diamonds. Raven had watched the sun come up from her bed then taken a long hot bath. Her phone was ringing when she left the bathroom dressed in a mauve long-sleeved tee, belted jeans and a denim jacket. A pair of cream suede boots and matching endless scarf completed the outfit. Knives were sheathed in her boots and her Automag hung comfortably in its holster beneath her left arm.
She plucked her phone from the nightstand and slid her thumb across the screen. “Storm.”
“Detective? Lieutenant Frost. I’ve got a new case for you and Levac. A patrolman found a body hanging from a gargoyle in Old Town,” Lieutenant Frost said. “It’s got you two written all over it. Meet Levac and that new kid Pocock outside Isle of Night, pronto.”
Frost hung up before Raven could even reply. She shrugged, slid the phone into her jacket pocket and put her wallet and badge in the other. She’d given up carrying a purse, it always seemed to get dropped somewhere.
She left her room, locking the door behind her. She passed her mother’s room halfway down the stairs and paused to lay a hand on the door as she had a thousand times before. Mother was rarely awake during the day.
“She knows you love her,” Dominique said from the bottom of the stairs.
Raven closed her eyes. “And I know she loves me.”
“She is under a lot of stress, Miss Ravenel. Perhaps you could cut her a little slack? These are, after all, enemies of the house,” Dominique said.
Raven continued down the stairs. “But where does it stop, Dominique? With enemies of the house or do we kill everyone who questions or disagrees with Mother’s decisions?”
Dominique looked down for a moment and then her blue eyes met Raven’s. “Guide her, Raven. Don’t fight her. Be her conscience.”
“I’m not Jiminy Cricket,” Raven said, walking toward the garage.
Dominique smiled and walked with her. “No. You are your father’s daughter. She will listen. Temper her anger and fear with humanity, as he did.”
Raven shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll see you later, Dominique. Give Mom and ‘Dora my love.”
“Of course,” Dominique replied, holding the door open to the garage.
Raven ducked beneath the woman’s arm and walked into the dark, her heels clicking on the black and white tile.
A few moments later she was cruising into the city, the Shelby’s engine rumbling and the stereo belching out The Peter Gunn Theme. At such an early hour the roads were clear and quiet; she took advantage of the empty highway and unleashed the Shelby’s horsepower, reveling in the noise of the engine and the feel of the gearshift in her hand. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed her dad’s Shelby until she was behind the wheel of another one.
The roaring engine, hissing supercharger and squealing tires brought her to the edge of Old Town in record time and she parked the Shelby next to Levac’s rust on rust Nash Metropolitan. The battered old car was empty and she spotted the detective’s beige trench coat and messy hair within the crowd of uniforms in front of Isle of Night. She grabbed her kit from the trunk, silently thanking Dominique for remembering to put it in the car, and moved to join them. She put on a pair of Nitrile gloves as she crossed the courtyard. From here she could see six feet of rope hanging from a particularly ugly gargoyle on the second floor of the building. Blood was smeared on the brick wall just above the first floor window and it ran down the glass in thick rivulets.
Raven took it all in and slipped under the police tape to join Levac, who was slurping from a familiar-looking coffee cup. He glanced at Raven and handed her the cup he’d been holding in his free hand. Raven sipped it gratefully and smiled at her partner.
“So what do we have this time?” she asked.
Levac gestured at the chubby young man kneeling next to a brown tarpaulin. “Harvey and the boys lowered the victim a few minutes ago,” he said. “Apparently a male, killed by deep lacerations that cut through the arteries in his neck. He looks like he had the crap kicked out of him before death. but it’s hard to tell.”
“Why is it hard to tell?” Raven asked, taking another si
p of coffee.
“Hey Rookie! Show Detective Storm what you’re playing with” Levac called.
Harvey Pocock looked over his shoulder. Sweat covered his chubby face and black hair spilled down over his eyes. He wiped his forehead with a cloth and shrugged. “Your stomach, Detective.”
He pulled the tarp back with a sound like tearing silk. Beneath lay a human body, carefully skinned down to the muscles. Some kind of reddish crust covered the whole body from hairless head to nail-less toes. Raven swallowed her coffee and looked the body over. “Judging by the musculature and narrow hips I’d say male. He’s lost a couple inches of fat, but he was probably over six feet tall. What’s that stuff all over him?”
“You know, the patrolman who found him left his breakfast around the corner,” Levac said. “You see this and all you do is start asking questions.”
“Death doesn’t bother me,” Raven replied, taking a swig of coffee.
“What does? Besides the morgue?” Levac asked, pulling out his notebook.
“All that ketchup you put on hotdogs. Nobody puts ketchup on hotdogs, it’s just gross. Why is our victim all crusty?”
“Salt,” Pocock said from his place next to the victim.
“Excuse me?” Raven asked.
“Salt,” Levac repeated. “Sea salt, to be exact. Whoever did this salted him down.”
Raven looked back at the body. “Tell me he was dead first.”
Two technicians lifted the body and put it on a gurney which then rose to its normal height at the nudge of Pocock’s toe.
“We don’t know for sure,” he said. “I can’t get an accurate time of death. Doctor Zhu can give you more later. For now all I can tell you is this guy bled to death, he didn’t bleed to death here and he was hung afterwards while he was still juicy. My guess is that he was salted after death as a sort of preservative and to keep him kinda dry during transit. Whoever did this wanted people to see him in all his skinned glory. His Johnson was even saved in his mouth. You get some weird cases, Detective Storm.”