Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  And although Ethan was certain no one watched, it was best not to perform impossible feats. It was easy enough to change his direction, take a leap at the alley wall and push off with his foot, using the momentum he’d gained to launch himself to the roof of the opposite building. Every human who’d ever watched a martial arts movie had seen a man run up a wall and flip away from it; Ethan had taken that to an extraordinary level, but not outside the realm of human belief.

  Wings would have been.

  Crossing the street took only another leap. No one was likely looking up—and in the dark, they would mistake whatever they’d seen. The next block down, Manny’s red boat of an automobile idled off a side street, its wheel rims shiny as spit. A human was in it with him.

  Ethan propped his foot on an air-conditioning unit, rested his elbow on his knee, and settled down to watch and listen.

  Luckily for Manny, the person in the car with him didn’t sound all that young. The first and last time Ethan had found the vampire passing something off to a boy not much past puberty, Ethan had rolled him over hard. Guardians had to respect human free will, even when the decisions humans made were foolish. If they wanted to rot their brains with the shit Manny sold, that was their choice. But Ethan figured kids didn’t know any better—and if he couldn’t stop the humans from selling to them, at least he could stop Manny.

  Hell, there were plenty of reasons to beat the vampire, but not enough reasons to slay him. And, at any rate, it was Ethan’s own damn fault Manny was alive. He’d been the one to transform the vampire twelve years before, when he’d heard the screams coming from an alley in Tacoma. Only the nosferatu’s focus on Manny and its bloodlust had allowed Ethan the easy kill; but the nosferatu had already fed well, and Ethan had had to use the nosferatu’s blood to transform Manny into a vampire.

  A Guardian wasn’t meant to judge, but there were times Ethan reckoned he’d have done just as well to let Manny bleed to death in that alley.

  But those times inevitably led to wondering whether Michael had thought the same of him, transforming him to Guardian in an oven of a jail cell. And so it was best not to wonder at all, and just get the job done.

  And if the vampires who’d come after Charlie belonged to the Seattle community, Manny might prove a useful source of information. Until a few months ago, he’d remained on the periphery of the vampire community. Aside from his two female partners, Manny had only associated with Vladimir and Katya, the heads of the Seattle community, acting as their enforcer.

  A community’s leaders meted out punishments and executions to vampires who threatened the secrecy of their kind or who fed from humans, but not every leader liked to get blood on his hands. As one of the rare nosferatu-born, Manny was the strongest vampire in the city, and he’d taken on those duties in return for modest payments.

  But when Vladimir and Katya had been killed three months before, Manny had taken their position—likely by virtue of his strength, as Ethan doubted Manny had been the one to murder them…and whoever had wasn’t stepping up to claim their place.

  Manny hadn’t been all that successful winning over the community, but perhaps he intended to change that. Money would give him a more solid foothold than strength alone. Maybe that was why he was selling out here. Ethan hadn’t seen him in this part of the city before, but Manny might be thinking to expand his territory.

  The transaction didn’t take long, and the human finally slid out onto the sidewalk. Nineteen to twenty-two years old, buzzed blond hair, undershirt, and oversized pants with the crotch hanging down near his ankles. Ethan shook his head; the only difference between this kid and fifty others Ethan had seen come out of Manny’s car was the brand names on their skivvies, and whether they cinched their belt around their ass or below it.

  The kid looked up and down the deserted street before strolling off, and Manny climbed out of his car. The silver medallions banding his black hat winked as brightly as his wheels. The brim cast a shadow down to his hooked nose and over a mustache that hung like a skinny dead ferret down the sides of his mouth.

  Ethan waited until the kid disappeared around the corner before clearing his throat.

  The tail end of the ferret twitched back to life. Manny’s eyes widened briefly and met Ethan’s before the vampire dropped into his seat. The white reverse lights flared as Manny shoved the gear out of park.

  Ethan leapt from the roof and slammed to the ground in a crouch, getting an up-close view of the Cadillac’s rear license plate. He reached just beneath and behind the bumper; once he got a good grip on the frame, he braced his elbow against his knee and lifted.

  The vampire was stubborn—Ethan had to give him that. Manny sat for a good thirty seconds with his rear tires spinning wildly, the rubber grabbing for purchase an inch above the road. Finally, he eased up on the accelerator and fired a barrage of curses over his shoulder.

  Not trusting that admission of defeat, Ethan called for him to shut it down, then waited another minute until the engine cut off.

  The air reeked of fuel. Ethan rounded the automobile; Manny grinned at him through the window and pushed down the little plastic lock.

  Ethan braced his hands on top of the car, leaned down. “You planning on playing all night? Or do I haul you out?”

  With barely a touch of his Gift, the lock popped up, straight as a toy soldier. Manny glanced uneasily at it, then slowly opened the door. His polished, pointed boot swung to the ground.

  “Drifter. I didn’t know it was you, man,” he said as Ethan stepped back to give the vampire room to stand. Even at full height, Manny had to tip his head back so far the brim of his hat was near vertical. “All I seen was some huge white dude jumping off a roof, and I didn’t want to be hanging around here when the cops come to scrape up the mess.”

  Chrome glittered over his front incisors, and matching wire wrapped the upper length of his fangs, making for a smile as pretty as the automobile’s radiator grill.

  Ethan angled his head, looked Manny up and down. There wasn’t much money to be had as a two-bit dealer, pimp, and former enforcer, but considering the sparklies the vampire sported, Ethan wouldn’t have guessed it just to look at him.

  “You dealing out here now?”

  “No, man.” Manny plucked at the third button of his striped shirt, the cotton as crisp and stiff as his black jeans. “I was just sitting here, and he just walked by.”

  That fit what Ethan had caught from Manny and the kid; the transaction hadn’t been planned, but a chance meeting.

  “Are your girls working over here?” Ethan asked, though he doubted it. Capitol Hill wasn’t Angie’s and Cora’s style. “Maybe drinking from their johns?”

  Offended machismo poured from Manny’s psychic scent. “I’m man enough for both of them.” When Ethan refrained from commenting on that, Manny pulled at the button again. “Come on, Drifter. Why are you hassling me? I haven’t done anything.”

  Ethan’s gaze fell to Manny’s fingers. “You’re awful twitchy for someone who doesn’t need to be hassled.”

  Manny’s hand immediately dropped to his side, and he gave a short laugh before it, too, dropped away and left a hunted expression in its place. His voice had an edge of a whine to it. “I just came by to see if what I heard about a dead man walking was true.”

  Ethan frowned. “What dead man?”

  “Just some dead white guy.” A passing car’s lights caught the flash of chrome teeth and gleamed off the silver ring on his middle finger. Manny was absently rubbing the band with his thumb, spinning it around. Another tell, but Ethan wouldn’t call the vampire’s attention to this one.

  “You, me, we’re all dead men walking,” Manny added with a grin and a shrug.

  Now, that was just nonsense. Was Manny thinking to distract him? The ring went round and round. Ethan’s gaze narrowed, and he inhaled deep. “Put your hands on the hood.”

  “Aw, man—” Manny’s lips pressed together, and he turned around.

  Ethan qu
ickly patted him down, pulled the small bag of sweet-smelling marijuana from the vampire’s front pocket, and vanished it into his cache. Unfortunately for Manny, vampires couldn’t carry or hide items the same way. Another sniff led Ethan to the giant trunk. He popped the lock and dug out what he figured was about five thousand dollars’ worth of goods from beneath the spare tire.

  “You Guardians are worse than the pig cops,” Manny said with an expression more resigned than angry.

  “And here I thought we were such good friends, Manny, considering that I saved your life and all.” Ethan slammed the trunk closed. He confiscated Manny’s stash each time they met up; this couldn’t account for the vampire’s jumpiness. “You hear of any vampires—one female, two males, black hair, a lot of black leather—talking about being in this area? Maybe hunting down a human girl?”

  “You’re describing half of the community, Drifter. Them white boys like to go around looking like dead freaks.”

  Not all of them, but too many to make those that had gone after Charlie remarkable. “Any word about demons, maybe vampires who are thinking of working for them?”

  Manny shook his head. “The only thing everyone talks about is how nervous they are.”

  “Why is that?”

  The vampire’s eyes hardened into weasely little beads. “Well, we’ve been hearing about these other cities being wiped out. Then you Guardians come in with your Rules, and talk about these demons.” His fingers started working the ring; the whine came in again. “It was better back when only I knew about you, Drifter—Vladimir and Katya never had to deal with everyone wanting to know what you Guardians are planning to do, what you are, what all of us are. And then comes that fancy vampire up from San Francisco, talking about changing the way things are done, telling us we should align ourselves with you Guardians—though you’ve never given me anything but shit.”

  Ethan didn’t figure Manny had earned anything but shit. “Maybe you ought to talk to that fancy vampire.”

  “Vladimir and Katya did. No one got anywhere, except they got dead. So I don’t think I’ll be rushing into that, Drifter.” Manny looked away from him. “Was that fancy boy the same one that girl was talking about?”

  Ethan stiffened. “What girl?”

  Manny grinned. “I thought I could hear you coming, so I went on over to take a look. Fine bit of ass there. You should get a piece of that.”

  Manny’s grin slowly faded under Ethan’s stare.

  Ethan didn’t disguise the menace in his voice. “You get back on your side of town right quick.”

  He didn’t wait for Manny to slink away, but Manny was fast enough that Ethan had just turned from him when the squeal of tires split the night.

  Halfway back to Cole’s, Ethan caught the presence of another vampire. And another. They were mostly shielded—he couldn’t get a strong fix on their location.

  He’d have to wait for them to come for Charlie. Going out and hunting them would only leave her vulnerable to any he hadn’t sensed.

  And he’d gone off half-cocked once in his life, hunting down men who’d transgressed against those Ethan considered his. But although Ethan had handed some of them what they’d deserved, he wasn’t certain it had been worth it in the end, and he’d lost more than his life.

  Now he knew that Caleb had lost, too.

  Hell and damnation, he could have done without reading that newsletter. Over a hundred and twenty years had passed since that hellish week in an Eden jail cell; he’d known his brother couldn’t have been alive. His grief had settled down—but discovering Caleb hadn’t made it out west was still tearing at his gut.

  But Ethan would be damned if his brother’s death meant his sacrifice was nothing, if it meant the demon had won.

  Caleb had always claimed there were two things worth living for: good drink and a pretty woman. Ethan figured he could have one for his brother, and keep on protecting the other.

  “So they must have used a crowbar on that gate, huh?”

  Charlie nodded without glancing up. She didn’t need to see Vin to know he’d be leaning against the bar, the cork-bottomed drink tray balanced on his splayed hand. That stance had accompanied every question he’d tossed her way that evening.

  “Yeah, must have,” she agreed. And she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “What do you need?”

  “G&T and a Riesling. Table ten—take a guess.”

  Charlie glanced over his shoulder. Table ten was in the restaurant, but she had a clear view through the lounge’s entryway. Two men faced each other across the red vinyl booth. Both well fed and groomed. One sported silvering auburn hair, the other lighter with just a touch of red—a father and son, maybe. Surrounded by Cole’s rock-and-roll memorabilia, with the Stones trolling about a little yellow pill, their conservative suits, spit-shiny shoes, and dark overcoats looked wildly out of place.

  She guessed, “The gin and tonic for the uptight blond.” And he apparently needed it. The younger sat with his feet placed firmly together, his back rigid.

  Vin shook his head, his choppy blue bangs brushing his eyebrows, the diamond studs in his ears winking. “That’s zero for three tonight, Char. Junior wanted the wine—and your number.”

  Charlie sighed and returned the Riesling bottle to the small refrigerator under the counter.

  “I didn’t think he was your type, but he said he knew you.”

  She frowned and studied the blond’s profile. It was vaguely familiar, but—

  He swiveled his head, met her eyes, and it clicked into place. She forced a bright smile and returned his wave. “Shit,” she muttered between her teeth when his fingers waggled in a beckoning gesture.

  “Old boyfriend?”

  “One of Jane’s.” What was his name? Patrick? Paul? Something with a “P.” “About five years ago, I think. Will you tell him I’ll come over in a second?”

  Better to go to him than wait until he approached her. If he was chatty, she could use work as an excuse to get away.

  “Will do.” Vin placed the glasses on the tray, the tribal tattoo around his lower biceps peeking out from beneath the edge of his sleeve.

  She watched him deliver the drinks, and delayed as long as possible by wiping down the counter. Five years. She didn’t want to deal with this tonight, didn’t want to lose the sweet buzz left over from her walk with Ethan by dredging up the past with a guy whose name she couldn’t remember.

  Peter? Or maybe the “P” had been in reference to something else…his job? A professor? Five years ago, he wouldn’t have been old enough. A politician—?

  She snapped her fingers in triumph. “Mark Brandt!” It was as close to a crow as she could produce.

  Her lone customer at the bar—a precise elderly gentleman in a tweed coat—raised his graying eyebrows. He was probably wondering if she’d been taking a few drinks and talking to herself as a result.

  Her smile aggravated her sore cheek, so she kept it brief and nodded to his glass. “Another?” A swallow of their best single malt remained in the bottom.

  He shook his head. A quiet one. Charlie was used to it—some of them wanted to talk all night. Others never opened their mouths except to pour in more liquor.

  “I’ll be right back if you change your mind.” She hoped he would now, so that she could put Mark Brandt off for another minute, but he only responded with a slow dip of his neatly combed head.

  Strange that he didn’t seem as out of place here as Mark did, she thought as she crossed the lounge. But then, Mark was on the wrong Capitol Hill; he probably looked on edge anywhere he wasn’t amid movers and shakers. No one at Cole’s came close to qualifying.

  But he’d been nice enough, she remembered. Full of admirable ideals and ambition. Jane had dated him for six or seven months before he’d relocated to D.C.

  Jane hadn’t been hurt, so Charlie didn’t have to hate him.

  Mark stood as she approached the table. “Charlotte!” He took her hand in a two-fisted shake, his smile ex
posing his square, even teeth.

  Well, he’d perfected the politician bit. His kiss to each of her cheeks was overkill, but maybe it was a D.C. thing. Hopefully he wouldn’t realize her grin was more amusement than greeting. “Mark. It’s been a long time.”

  He pulled back, and his gaze dropped to her cheek before darting back up. “Not so long that you’ve forgotten me,” he said, smiling again. “How are you? You look well.”

  That was sweet of him, but it said a lot that even with the bruise, she very likely did look better than when he’d last seen her. “I’m doing okay.” She shrugged and glanced at his companion. Mid-fifties, as good-looking as Mark with his regular features and healthy frame. His pale blue eyes were scrutinizing, assessing.

  Almost like a cop. Charlie shoved her unease away.

  “Charlotte—my father, Bill Brandt.” Mark slid back into his seat. After a quick look from the older man, he added, “Senator Bill Brandt.”

  Charlie said something she thought was appropriate, but dipped her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t have to shake his. On the table, their drinks sat untouched. She rocked back on her heels. “So—how is D.C.? Are you visiting long?”

  “A few weeks.” Mark drummed his fingertips against the back of his opposite hand. “I’ll return to prepare for summer session. I’m legal counsel to Senator Gerath.”

  There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, but Charlie had no idea who that was. She shifted her weight, tried not to appear as ignorant as she felt. What could she say to that?

  She grasped for something, anything, and was relieved when she remembered it was an election year. “You must be busy preparing for his campaign then.”

  “Gerath was Ohio’s incumbent in 2006. He’ll serve another six-year term before running again,” the senator put in with austere tones. “It was a highly publicized race.”

  She darted a look at the elder Brandt and said lamely, “That’s right.”

  Mark’s hands clenched. “But there are other campaigns to support, Dad.” He turned back to Charlie. “We’ll be swamped until November.”