Aveena sighed, but knew what she had to do. Plan A had fallen apart outside Vincent’s Hollow. Plan B was just as likely to fail as succeed. Plan C was something she was still formulating, but called for a lot of plastic explosives. She needed an insurance policy, something that, if she failed, might save her head. It wouldn’t save her honor, but that might be a price she had to pay.
Her decision made, she spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Saffron called after her.
“To make a deal with the devil,” she sighed, and stepped.
***
It didn’t take long to get where she was going. A few dozen, long strides and she found herself in front of a set of wards so bright she had to look away. In the Land Between something this bright shouldn’t have existed, but so much power had created a bleed-through effect. The blazing light kept everything unwanted out. She couldn’t even cross this threshold if Cameron Dupree was right on the other side of it giving her the finger. Hell, the wards around Caesars weren’t this powerful.
She stepped right up to the edge and stepped back into reality. Damp cold and the overwhelming smell of pine hit her like a sensory sledgehammer. She involuntarily shivered. It wasn’t the temperature in this place, but what it represented. In front of her was a cold iron gate. It was a flagrant violation of all the treaties signed between Fae and humanity, but the people that lived behind this gate didn’t give a shit about that. They were an ancient bloodline of warriors, and in their opinion, if the Fae had a problem, they could come down here themselves. As far as Aveena knew, no one had taken them up on it.
Next to the gate was a buzzer. No high-tech security apparatus; just a buzzer. With a trembling finger, she hit the button. There was a click, and all she heard was the breathing on the other end.
“I . . .I’ve got a job for you,” she hated that she sounded weak and afraid, “and request your Hospitality under the covenants.”
Hospitality, with a capital H, was an ancient, powerful concept. Inviting someone into your home, and guaranteeing them safety, bound the host and guest to act in good faith. The resulting gea could do terrible things to the being that violated guesting laws; death was probably the most painless of the penalties.
Only recently had the practice begun to wane. You could blame Hollywood. The movie with the gangster who invited everyone over to dinner, and then bludgeoned a man to death with a baseball bat, was a particularly good example of how the world was going to hell in a handbasket. That, or the TV show where everyone went to a wedding that ended with several characters having their throats slit. If Aveena paid more attention to pop culture, she’d remember their names. The only thing that really mattered was the masses embraced the ideas that anyone could do anything to anyone without retribution.
Suffice it to say, things didn’t work the same for near-immortal supernaturals as vanilla humans. People might no longer have any concept of the true meaning of hospitality, but the person on the other side of the cold iron gate sure as hell did; and, they would be bound by their word not to harm Aveena. Of course, there were always paths to get around a gea, but it didn’t do the Fae any good thinking about the ways she could wind up with her own throat slit.
The next second seemed to take an eternity, but then there was a loud buzz, and the gate opened a few inches. She’d rather have heard someone swear an oath, but this would have to do. She used her boot to kick the gate open a few feet, and had to squeeze through the small opening before it swung back and locked behind her. She gulped, but raised her chin and walked forward up a sloped driveway. The trees that lined the asphalt were old, tall, and strong. Just like the feel of this place. It was a place of power, and had been for a very long time. That’s why the family had chosen it.
When she finally reached the top, there were three buildings. The first looked like a barn about to collapse in on itself. Scaffolding was set up around it, and it looked like someone was about to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. The second was a small, stone chapel that had a few centuries under its belt. The weathered stones had taken the best nature could throw at it and survived.
Lastly, there was a large house; all wood and windows situated among the trees. It was the opposite of the other two structures; ultra-modern, and all white and light grays from what she could see. She felt like a voyeur as she surveyed the home, but her senses were on high alert. Her insurance policy could put her in a premature grave if she upset the people who lived here. She took another deep breath and headed toward the house.
“The chapel,” a voice said in her head.
She nearly tripped over nothing as fear rippled through her. Mental attacks were something the youngest Fae children were able to defend against, and this person had stripped aside her normal defenses like they were nothing. Aveena turned to the chapel and wrapped layers and layers of glamour around her mind. It reduced her situational awareness to a faint buzz, but what good was it when someone could fuck with your mind. There were some things worse than death.
She slowly approached the chapel. Its heavy wooden door was ajar, so she pushed it open to see a space of light and shadow. Light flooded in through the high, stained-glass windows; a rainbow of hues crisscrossed rotten pews that were collapsing in on themselves, but all light abruptly stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the altar. Aveena felt for wards, but found none, so she carefully stepped over the threshold.
Bang. The door swung shut behind her and made her jump. A small laugh echoed from deep within the altar’s shadow.
“This is like a shitty Halloween movie,” Aveena tried to remain calm. “The person who goes alone into the creepy church always gets killed by the guy with the chainsaw.”
There was no rumble of someone starting up such a device; not that it would cut her anyway, but that didn’t stop the coldness that crept into her bones.
“I’ve got a job for you,” she said, more confident than she felt, “Van Helsing.”
As if the name was the magic word, the light penetrated the barrier around the altar. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to Aveena, was the person the noble Fae had come to see. She wore loose, white karate gi pants. Her back was bear except for the thin strap of her sports bra. The thin strip of latex did nothing to hide the tattoo of three, concentric rings covering the majority of her back. Each ring had what looked like chicken scratch etched into it. Seeing the symbology was enough for Aveena to know she’d made a horrible mistake. You didn’t enter the den of a sleeping bear and punch it in the nose. She wanted to run screaming from the room. Only the thought of her mother’s battle axe coming down on her neck kept her rooted in place.
In comparison to the Fae, humans only had an adolescent understanding of magic. Most people thought that was because the Revelation was less than forty years ago. The Fae let people believe that; but the old mage families knew better. For millennia, the Fae had financed a magical cleansing of humanity. People today would call it genocide, but to the Fae, it was simple strategy: you wanted to keep your enemy weak.
Aveena had nothing to do with that policy, but the woman sitting in front of her was from one of the bloodlines that had survived the historical purges. When the Fae infiltrated Christianity, and brought about the Inquisition, this woman’s family had survived. In the last few centuries, they’d even thrived. The stories about the Van Helsings were about as true as the old myths and legends concerning supernaturals; mostly wrong, but with a few sprinkles of truth.
The part they got right was that the Van Helsings were monster hunters. They’d hunted just about everything the supernatural world could throw at humanity; and if Aveena wasn’t mistaken, the woman in front of her had some of her family’s ancient foes tattooed in a half-sleeve between her left shoulder and elbow. There were shifters, vampires, Fae of all sorts, and in a place of prominence . . . a dragon.
What the stories got wrong was that the Van Helsings weren’t just your average humans; they were ma
ges, extremely powerful mages. Thus, Aveena’s fear of the chicken scratch.
It might not look like much, but what looked like a drunken tattoo artist’s epic failure was actually the source code of this realm’s magical power. That was why the Fae had been periodically eradicating humanity’s magical population. If humans didn’t know the language of their magic, they were the next best thing to weak and helpless. The Van Helsings knew how to manipulate the magic of this realm better than just about every other mage alive; at the same level, or better, than most Fae could in their home realm.
As far as Aveena’s intelligence was concerned; the Van Helsings were one of five bloodlines that retained the knowledge. It made them incredibly formidable; and if the rumors were true, they were able to pass down the family’s collective knowledge through a blood ritual. So, the woman sitting by the alter in front of Aveena might just be a human mage, but she had the accumulated magical knowledge of her entire family dating back millennia. That combination of power and knowledge gave the noble Fae pause.
Today, what made other Fae hesitate, drove Aveena forward.
“Speak, child,” the woman’s derogatory tone made Aveena bite her tongue until it bled, but she didn’t lash out. “What do you want?”
“I want you to kill someone,” Aveena stated, and the woman laughed. Not the single laugh from before, but a full-throated holler that made birds take flight and rats skitter away.
“And why should I kill anyone for you, Fae?”
Van Helsing turned to regard Aveena. She wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young. She’d lost the glow of youth and replaced it with the forged steel of experience, patience, and willpower. She was also fucking ripped. An eight-pack, defined biceps and triceps underneath the tattoos, and veins that popped all over her body. More chicken scratch encircled her neck like a garrot, and when she blinked, there were even symbols etched into her eyelids. She looked like a super-scary badass that should be part of some fringe group living in the mountains plotting the downfall of the government.
That was another thing that stories didn’t get completely right about the famous family. Sure, they killed monsters, but there was a skewed motivation behind that. The Van Helsings were the type of people who fervently supported the WRA. They disliked anything non-human at a very deep level, and their ideology was ironclad; no room for negotiation or mercy. Aveena wasn’t going to go around calling them speciesists; but they clearly thought the only beings that mattered were humans. The Fae ranked above vampires, werewolves, dragonspawn, and other half-breeds the Van Helsings detested; but not by much. Certainly not enough for her to take Aveena’s deal without a good reason.
Good thing she had one. “Cameron Dupree.”
Van Helsing paused, which was enough for Aveena to know she had her attention. A creepy pair of white irises, only a shade darker than her sclera, studied Aveena thoughtfully. Aveena didn’t meet the older woman’s eyes. Instead, they wandered over Van Helsing’s muscular, athletic body.
She wasn’t big, tall, or intimidating; which was what you’d think from someone of her reputation; but the evidence of battle was written all over her. Scars covered parts of her chest and shoulders. She’d covered some of them up with normal tattoos, but there were even more ancient magical symbols written across her flesh.
An All Seeing Eye – not the crap the Venetians marked their servants with – but the actual rune was tattooed around her naval. It allowed the woman to pull back the layers of reality to see the true workings of magic in the world. More markings worked their way down the insides of both her forearms; what they said Aveena didn’t know. Twin pentagrams adorned the back of Van Helsing’s hands. In the light that streamed in from the window, they all glinted metallic silver.
Aveena hissed at the sight. Most of Van Helsing’s tattoos weren’t drawn with ink, but a metallic polymer that made them three dimensional. Her skin had been cut apart, the mixture poured into the wounds, and then sealed back up with magic. The pain must have been extraordinary, but those tattoos gave the Van Helsings an edge against nearly everyone they came across. They worked their mystical art through Theurgy circle magic; which was normally a versatile, but long and drawn-out process. The Van Helsings had inscribed circles, runes, and wards into their very bodies; increasing their power, and allowing for quick casting of everything from simple to very complex spellwork.
For instance, it was well known that the Van Helsings had invented not only silverbane but developed cold iron as well. With thought and power, the woman in front of Aveena could transfigure mundane, household items into the bane of the Fae’s existence; literally turning anything into a weapon that could kill her.
“Cameron Dupree,” the corner of Van Helsing’s mouth turned up as Aveena tried not to think about how easily this woman could kill her; guesting rights or not. “I’ve heard about him.”
“He’s staying at Caesars Palace, a guest of Venus,” Aveena stated.
“I won’t move against the succubus queen,” Van Helsing stated flatly, “but he won’t be under her protection forever.”
“I’ll pay you two million dollars,” Aveena sweetened the pot, but it did nothing to enthuse the hunter.
“I’d kill Dupree for free. You have no idea what he is, the scourge that he represents to my world,” anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. “But I will take your money and kill him when he loses the old god’s protection. It won’t last forever,” she smiled, and despite being human, Aveena felt like she was looking at an undersea predator’s rows of serrated teeth.
“Then we have an agreement. If I fail, you will kill him,” there was a flex as magic solidified in the air around them. An agreement made in magic was more than just words or writing.
“We do. Now leave here, child, before I decide to rid this world of one more interloper,” the darkness coalesced back around the alter, and before Van Helsing completely vanished from sight, Aveena was out the door and running down the hill. She threw herself through the open gate, and stepped. The Land Between felt warm and cozy as she headed back to Vegas.
Human practitioners called themselves a bunch of things. Mage was the most common, but some were wizards, sorcerers, enchanters, etc. What most people didn’t call themselves, especially women, was a witch. There was a negative connotation throughout history, and people stayed clear of the word. Not Monica Van Helsing. She was a witch, and proud of it.
People called her the wicked witch – not to her face – because then she might kill them on the spot. Still, as an insurance policy, the wicked witch was as good a guarantee as there was in this realm. If Aveena failed to get Cam, Van Helsing wouldn’t. Then, Aveena could deliver his head to her mother. It wasn’t the Lady of Winter’s will, but coming back with a head was better than nothing at all.
She’d take whatever punishment her mother dealt out, but a woman like Ymira Foxbelle could always use a new head to mount on her trophy wall.
Chapter 12
“Is he awake?” a voice grated in my ear like nails on a chalkboard a moment before someone dug a finger into my spleen.
“Go away, mom. Five more minutes,” I shut my eyes tighter and tried to bring back the warm embrace of sleep.
“Let’s go, Cam. You’re going to be late,” another voice echoed louder, but it only made me shut my eyes tighter.
“Go away,” I had no idea what was going on, but all I wanted to do was sleep.
“Ah,” I smiled into my pillow when the reply was blessed silence. I was halfway back to sleep when there was a violent jerk, the pull of gravity, and the unyielding floor smacked me in the face.
“What the fuck?” I growled; all thoughts of sleep gone as I tried to untangle myself from my sheets. They clung to me like a two-dollar whore who I’d stiffed.
“Look whose finally awake,” Dani stood over me with the mattress in one hand.
“Geez, Sergeant Hard Ass,” I groaned as my stomach did somersaults. “I . . .” something jumped into my throat as my stomach v
iolently rebelled.
I jumped to my feet, shouldered aside Fern and Dani, and made a beeline for the bathroom. I barely got the seat up before rancid sludge poured out of me. The smell hit me, and I retched some more. I was pretty sure I was dying as more and more sludge came out of me. Eventually, I had nothing left, and I sat with my head on the cold porcelain as my hand felt around for the flusher.
“Master,” Fern got there first, and the smell lessened as the hotel’s plumbing took care of the problem.
“Whoa,” Dani stopped at the door and waved her hand in front of her face. “Did you drink your weight in wine last night?”
“Last night?” my memory was a little hazy. The only thing on my mind was the purple tinge to the cream-colored wall behind the toilet.
“Your time with Venus,” Dani knelt down next to me and gave me a closer look. “You son of a bitch, you actually did it.” I peeked an eye open and saw the dwarf smiling. “If you fucked her, I’d smell her cream all over your dick. Since you smell like ass, and clearly haven’t showered, you actually resisted Venus fucking Venitas. Color me impressed.”
As she spoke, the details of the night came back to me. “You told me yourself,” I struggled to my feet, and wobbled enough Fern reached out to steady me. My stomach physically hurt from the puking, but I felt better. “Sometimes it’s not about fucking. She made dinner, we talked, and apparently I drank too much,” I shrugged as I moved back toward the bedroom while ignoring the cramping in my gut.
Dani didn’t lose the respectful expression, and I knew word of this would make its way back to Lilith. That made me happy. Resisting her mother’s charms, even if she never put the moves on me, was going to be good for our little harem.
“Happy succubus, happy life,” I made a tweak to the old saying, but it still worked.
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