Die and Stay Dead

by Nicholas Kaufmann

  “You suck at sarcasm,” I said. I dropped the lid I was still holding.

  Gabrielle put down the dented garbage can. “This was my fault,” she said. “I should have known better than to follow Reve Azrael into an alley, but I didn’t listen to my instincts. I was too angry. So I led us right into a trap. God, I’m such a fool. Reve Azrael is just going to keep using Thornton against me until I slip up even worse and someone gets killed.”

  “Anyone would have done the same thing in your position,” Bethany pointed out. “There’s no point blaming yourself.”

  Gabrielle glared at her. “No. She knew she could play me like that. And she was right.” She shook her head. “I’m not ready for this. It’s too soon. Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this anymore.” She sank down against the wall until she was sitting on the alley floor with her knees up against her chest. “She’s using Thornton against me. Against all of us. I just … I just want him back. I want everything to go back to the way it was.”

  I stood there, watching her. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t very good with words.

  Bethany knelt down beside Gabrielle and spoke softly to her, doing a much better job of comforting and reassuring her than I could have. It made me wonder how many other times Bethany had had to do this. Back before my time they hadn’t been the Five-Pointed Star, just a loose team of freelancers in Isaac’s employ. Individuals he paid to locate and secure artifacts. I hadn’t thought of it before, but given how dangerous this line of work was, it struck me as inevitable that Thornton wasn’t the only one who’d died.

  “There’s something I never told you,” Gabrielle said, wiping tears from her eyes. “After Thornton and I got engaged, I wanted to tell him not to take that last job for Isaac. I didn’t want him to do it. I knew it would be dangerous. I also knew if I asked him not to do it, he would turn Isaac down. But I could see how proud Thornton was, how much he wanted the money so we could have a big wedding. I didn’t need a big wedding to be happy. All I needed was him. But I didn’t tell him that. I could have stopped him from going on that mission, but I didn’t, and he died.” Her breath hitched in her throat. New tears formed in her eyes. “Even when I had the chance, I couldn’t save him. He died because of me.”

  Bethany shook her head. “You’re wrong. The only one to blame is the gargoyle who killed him, and it’s dead now. Thornton has been avenged.”

  “I don’t want him avenged,” Gabrielle said. “I want him back.”

  My cell phone went off. I pulled it out and saw Isaac’s name on the caller ID. I got up and walked away from them, moving toward the mouth of the alley as I answered the call.

  “I’ve got Bethany and Gabrielle, but there was a situation,” I told Isaac. “Reve Azrael has finally crawled out of her hole. But the weird thing is, she didn’t make a move herself. She sent some kind of creature after us instead. A Fetch.”

  “She must still want something from you,” Isaac said.

  “Yeah, revenge,” I said. “She wanted to turn New York into her own personal city of the dead, remember? Just her and ten million revenants bowing to her will. She blames me for stopping it.”

  “But if she wanted to hurt you, why send a Fetch?” Isaac asked. “There are far more lethal creatures she could have sent, including her own revenants.”

  “Maybe she’s shorthanded?”

  “If only. There’s no shortage of fresh corpses in New York City,” Isaac pointed out.

  I didn’t like not knowing what Reve Azrael was up to. She’d been laying low for a month, and now this? She had something up her sleeve. I was sure of it.

  “We found Clarence Bergeron’s address,” Isaac continued. “I’m sending it to your phone now. He’s got a house up in Bronxville, about half an hour outside the city.”

  “A billionaire living in Westchester,” I said. “Shocking.”

  “We also found out where the Ghost Market auction took place,” he said. “It was a warehouse on the Brooklyn waterfront.”

  “Sounds a little seedy for a Bronxville type,” I said.

  “It’s the black market, they don’t go to Sotheby’s,” Isaac said. “I’m going to check out the warehouse now. I’m sending Philip to you.”

  I started to protest, but he stopped me.

  “If Reve Azrael is gunning for you again, I want you to take Philip with you to Bronxville for protection. She’s not just going to try once. She’s going to keep trying.”

  A strong, sudden wind blew past me. I ignored it. “That’s not necessary, Isaac. I can take care of myself. I don’t need Philip.”

  I heard Philip’s voice say, “Careful, you’re gonna hurt my feelings.” I turned around. He was standing behind me draped in the dark cloak and gloves that protected him from the sun. The gust of wind. I shook my head. Damn, Philip was fast when he wanted to be.

  “Never mind,” I said into the phone, “he’s already here.”

  “Good luck,” Isaac said. “And watch your back.”

  “You, too.” I ended the call and turned to Philip. “Are you going to behave yourself, or do I need to bring bail money?”

  He grinned, showing me his fangs. “Don’t I always behave myself?”

  I sighed and went back to the others. “A man named Clarence Bergeron bought the Thracian Gauntlet at the Ghost Market. Isaac just gave me his address. We should get moving. Oh, and Philip’s here to help, in case we run into trouble.”

  “I don’t run into trouble,” Philip said. “Trouble runs into me.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Bethany helped Gabrielle to her feet. “We can drop you off at home first, if you want, Gabrielle.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not ready. I’m just not ready for this,” Gabrielle said. She looked up at Philip. “It was Reve Azrael. She was in Thornton’s body again.”

  Philip grunted disdainfully. “If you walk away now, all you’ll do is show her how weak you are.”

  “Philip, that’s enough,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why would you say that to her?” Bethany demanded.

  Philip ignored us. “If you think Reve Azrael won’t exploit that weakness, you’re a fool. If you want to send her a message that you’re not to be fucked with, you keep fighting. You take the fight to her. You don’t stop until she’s dead. Unless you really are as weak and foolish as she thinks. In which case, yeah, go home. You’ll only slow us down.”

  Philip turned around and walked out of the alley, pulling the cloak’s protective hood over his head. Gabrielle stared after him in silent shock.

  Thirteen

  Isaac had said Clarence Bergeron owned a house in Bronxville, but house was an understatement. Mansion would be a better word. Or estate. I watched Bergeron’s sprawling, three-story brick residence through the high-definition binoculars. In daylight, the special lenses that boosted light transmission for nighttime use gave everything a crisp vividness. The view was clear enough that I felt like I was standing right in front of the mansion, rather than lying on my belly in a grove of trees on a nearby hill. But at least here I could remain hidden from the house, the main road, and the great curving driveway in front. A marble fountain surrounded by meticulous hedges and spiraling topiaries stood at the center of the drive.

  Bergeron had serious money. Casing the house of a wealthy man felt all too familiar to me. Like comfort food, in a way. I didn’t like what that said about me.

  In the back of my mind, a small but insistent voice kept reminding me that I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be with Jordana. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and everything she’d told me. I felt alive, energized, and desperate to get back to her. Having to wait was unbearable.

  Lucas West.

  Lucas West.

  The name had the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that wouldn’t stop playing in my head. Calliope, the Thracian Gauntlet, Reve Azrael’s latest ploy for my attention—they were the furthest things from my mind right now.

  I pulled myself together and
swept the binoculars along the mansion’s front windows. There was no movement inside the house. Nothing moved in the enormous, columned portico that shaded the front door, either. I put down the binoculars and picked up my phone. I texted Philip: I don’t think he’s home.

  Philip and Bethany had gone around to the back of the house to look for signs of life and find a way inside. Gabrielle wasn’t with us. We’d dropped her off at her apartment before driving to Bronxville. She’d spent the whole car ride sitting in silence with her arms crossed, staring out the window. She was furious—at Reve Azrael, at Philip, at the world. I couldn’t blame her. She had every right to be.

  Philip texted back immediately. I could imagine his fingers moving lightning fast over the touch screen of his smartphone. Agreed. Not seeing any body heat inside. Makes no sense. There should be staff in a house this big. Bethany says we have to remain cautious. Thousandth time she’s said it. Thinking about tying her up in the trunk of the car just so I don’t have to hear it again.

  I wasn’t sure if Philip was joking, because you could never be sure when Philip was joking. I wrote back: Please don’t. Then another message came through.

  This is Bethany. I’ve taken the phone from Philip, who clearly doesn’t deserve to have it. Have to be quick before phone fries. Meet us in back. There’s a storm cellar entrance. Bergeron won’t notice signs of forced entry here.

  On my way. I put the phone in my pocket.

  Something tapped me on the shoulder. Someone cleared his throat behind me. Damn. Like a fool, I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts about Jordana to hear him approach. I turned my head slowly and saw a man in his seventies standing behind me. He wore a pinstriped three-piece suit, complete with a watch chain looping from the vest. A horseshoe of short, white hair ringed his otherwise bald, age-spotted head. In his right hand he held an ivory-handled, wooden cane, which he used to poke my shoulder again.

  “If you’re going to skulk about my house, young man, you might try being less conspicuous,” he said.

  I twisted onto my back and saw two guards standing behind him in private security uniforms. They had their guns drawn and pointed at me. The tip of the old man’s cane came down on my chest, as if to pin me to the grass.

  “I assure you, I may be old but I’m not helpless,” he said. He nodded over his shoulder at the two guards. “Nor am I alone, as you can see.”

  My eyes went to the old man’s hands. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlet. That was a relief. I didn’t want to know what it felt like to get hit with the same blast that had popped Yrouel like a water balloon and knocked Philip down a couple flights of stairs.

  “Clarence Bergeron, I presume?” I said.

  He grunted with self-satisfaction, as if he’d outwitted me somehow. “So you know my name. That speaks to premeditation. Motive.” He jabbed the cane into my chest again. “Now kindly get to your feet so my guards can take you into custody and call the police.”

  The two private security guards looked well trained. Their expressions were grim and their gun hands were steady. Still, I knew I could take them if I needed to. The one on the right was smaller, with a baby face. Probably a lot younger than his partner, which likely meant he wasn’t as experienced. I could sweep his legs out from under him before he even knew what was happening, and while he was down I could draw my own weapon on the second guard …

  Just then, Clarence Bergeron started coughing. Great hacking tremors shook his entire body, wet and deep and painful sounding. With his free hand he fished a handkerchief out of his vest pocket and put it over his mouth until the coughing fit passed.

  This obviously wasn’t Yrouel’s killer. Clarence Bergeron was too old and sick to be the same man who’d led us on a chase across the rooftops of Chinatown. He didn’t look like he could run more than a few feet before collapsing. Not that it let him entirely off the hook. We’d traced the gauntlet to him. He was involved somehow.

  “Let’s go, pal,” the older guard barked, waggling his gun at me.

  Bergeron tucked his handkerchief away. He pulled his cane off me and held out his hand. Against the protests of the guards, he helped me to my feet. His hand felt frail in mine, fragile enough that I wondered if his bones would break as he hefted me off the ground. When I was on my feet, I put my hands in the air.

  “Are you alone?” Bergeron asked.

  Philip’s voice came from behind them, “No, he damn well isn’t.”

  Bergeron and the two guards spun around. Philip was standing in his protective cloak a few feet away. Despite their surprise, the two guards fell back on their training with a speed I couldn’t help admiring. The older guard turned back to me quickly, keeping his gun on me. Baby Face moved toward Philip, holding his weapon in front of him.

  “You told me you didn’t see anyone’s body heat,” I grumbled to Philip.

  “I was looking in the house,” he replied. “They must have already been outside, tracking you.”

  “Keep your hands up,” Baby Face said. “I’m authorized to use deadly force if necessary.”

  “So am I,” Philip said. “Care to make it interesting? How much do you want to bet I can take your head off your neck before you even pull the trigger?”

  Baby Face glared at him. “Mister, you don’t want to try me.”

  “Really? Let’s see what you’re made of, kid.” Philip took one taunting step toward him.

  Baby Face bristled at being called a kid, but he regained his composure quickly. He squared his shoulders and assumed a firing stance. “This is your last warning.”

  Philip smiled, baring his fangs. Baby Face’s gun hand didn’t so much as shake. Either he didn’t know what he was looking at or he wasn’t scared of vampires, which made him a fool. A fool with a gun. That was the most dangerous kind.

  If something didn’t change, this was going to spin out of control fast. “Tell your guard to back off,” I warned Bergeron. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

  “Is that so?” Bergeron said. “My private security firm is the best in the country. They’ve handled far worse than your friend here, I assure you. Besides, your friend is clearly bluffing.”

  “He doesn’t bluff,” I said. “He doesn’t have to.”

  The older guard still had his gun trained on me. Suddenly, he went stiff. His eyes widened in surprise. Bethany peeked out from behind him.

  “I don’t expect you to recognize the shape of the object I’m pressing against your back,” she told the guard, “but I assure you it can put a good-sized hole through you if I want it to. Drop the gun.”

  The guard lowered his gun. Bethany snatched it out of his hand. She pocketed the charm she was holding, the same one she’d used to put a hole in the door of Biddy’s dungeon, and pointed the gun at Bergeron. The old man raised one hand. He kept the other on his cane.

  “You’ll excuse me for not raising both. If I let go of the cane, I’ll fall,” he said. He lowered his hand slowly and pulled on his left pant leg, lifting the cuff. Above his expensive leather shoe and crisp argyle sock, the skin of his leg was withered and discolored, black and purple like a nasty bruise. “An old injury that never quite healed right.” He let go of his pants and raised his free hand again.

  “Good enough. Just don’t try anything,” Bethany said.

  “I wouldn’t get very far if I ran,” he replied.

  Baby Face turned toward Bethany. Philip took another step toward him, drawing his attention back. The guard’s jaw muscles clenched under the skin of his cheek. He was clearly torn, unsure what to do and unwilling to stand down without a direct order from his employer.

  “That’s far enough,” Baby Face barked at Philip. “Come any closer and I will drop you!”

  “That sounds fun,” Philip said. “You promise?”

  “Call off your guard,” Bethany instructed Bergeron. “Do it.”

  Bergeron sighed. “That’s enough, Francisco. Stand down. There’s no need to make things worse than they already are.”


  Baby-faced Francisco lowered his gun reluctantly. He didn’t take his eyes off Philip. The vampire snatched the gun out of his hand.

  Bethany nodded at the second guard, who stood a few feet away with his hands up. “You, too. Get over here.”

  The second guard didn’t move. He looked at Bergeron for instructions. The old man nodded. “It’s all right, LaValle. Do as she says.”

  Keeping his hands up, LaValle moved to stand beside Bergeron. Philip herded Francisco over to join them. The three of them stood facing us angrily.

  “Well, you’ve got us outnumbered and outgunned, so you might as well make your move,” Bergeron said. “What’s it going to be? Kidnapping? Blackmail? Petty theft?”

  “None of the above,” I said. “Let’s start over. I’m Trent. This is Bethany and Philip. We’re with the Five-Pointed Star.”

  Bergeron squinted at me. “The Five-Pointed Star. I see. So you’re the ones everyone is talking about.”

  “You’ve heard of us?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “You killed Stryge, and since then you’ve been taking out Infecteds all over the city. Even that lunatic kidnapping women in Central Park.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “It’s a small community,” he said with a smile that was both mirthless and condescending. “I met them once, you know. The original Five-Pointed Star, Morbius and the rest of them, back in the day. I was living in the city then, in an apartment building on Amsterdam Avenue. We didn’t know it, at least not right away, but an Infected was living in the basement. He’d mutated into something terrible. Something big and hungry. Let’s just say he wasn’t a vegetarian. The Five-Pointed Star came and…” He shook his head at the memory. “I never saw anything like it. Like them. They saved us. It’s a pity what happened to them in the end.” He sighed and composed himself. “So you’re picking up where they left off, eh? A new Five-Pointed Star. I’ll help however I can. I owe that much, if not to you then to your predecessors. But there’s no reason to keep my guards here, is there? Whatever brought the Five-Pointed Star to my home, I suspect it should be discussed in private. Am I right?”