Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  “All right.” Manny nodded. “That all?”

  “No.” Ethan pulled a picture of Mark Brandt in from his cache. “You seen this one anytime in the last year?”

  Manny studied it, shook his head. “No.”

  Ethan replaced the photo with the senator’s. “What about him?”

  Nervousness spilled from Manny’s psyche before he began blocking hard. “Yeah. A few times, talking to Vladimir.”

  “When?”

  “About six months ago. Then he stopped coming around.”

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “You listen in on any of those conversations, Manny?”

  “Yeah,” the vampire said, and though Manny wasn’t moving, everything about him seemed twitchy as hell. “Mostly they talked about letting people know about us. And whether Katya and Vladimir would be willing to be the proof humans might need if the senator went public. He kept saying people deserved to know the truth.”

  Maybe so, but it’d likely unleash a commotion unlike people had ever seen. “Did they agree with him?”

  Manny hesitated. “No. And he stopped coming around after that.”

  Something wasn’t sitting right here. Ethan didn’t think Manny was lying—but he wasn’t telling the whole truth, either.

  “You know if money changed hands, Manny?”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Ethan would have wagered that was a flat-out lie. “If it did, maybe as an incentive for Vladimir to help the senator out, you know of any reason he wouldn’t have given it back?”

  “Jesus, man—maybe Vladimir sold the guy some blood or something.”

  Maybe, but that didn’t sit right, either. If Vladimir hadn’t agreed exposure would be good for the vampire community, then he wouldn’t have been giving the senator evidence.

  Manny edged toward the door. “Drifter, man—I can feel the sun coming.”

  Ethan clenched his jaw in frustration, then nodded. “Go on then.”

  He watched the vampire scamper away. He’d take a few seconds to look around, but three months of living would have erased most of the evidence of the encounter with the nephil. He eyed the phone on the wall, then shook his head, frowning. San Francisco was just far enough south that the sun rose a couple of minutes later than in Seattle, but there wasn’t enough time to call Charlie and make sure she’d settled in before the daysleep hit.

  In any case, the one thing that’d settle Charlie more than any other was if he tracked down Jane, saw how she was getting on. There’d likely be a record of a hotel stay under her or Sammael’s name, as she wouldn’t be returning to the burned out house.

  Then he’d best be on to Caelum, for another long drift and searching through the Scrolls before he headed back to San Francisco.

  He frowned up at the sky as he left Manny’s house. The sun was just coming up, and he was already looking forward to sunset. He sure couldn’t go long without thinking of her, without wanting to hear her. Already, he was planning his day around when he’d be seeing her again.

  And that sounded awful similar to something Charlie wouldn’t want, something that might have her chewing her arm off to escape.

  He’d best be careful not to spook her; God knew, he’d rather chew off his own arm than send her running.

  The Gate to Caelum lay pretty much in a direct line between Seattle and San Francisco. Though Ethan usually kept over the ocean when making the long flight between the two cities—the better to keep from being seen—he veered inland to a forest clearing just outside of Ashland, Oregon.

  Though invisible, the Gate was a hum in his blood, and he could clearly sense its shape and position with a psychic probe. He dove through the shadows, and moved instantly from air rich with moisture, the scent of pine and dark soil, into Caelum’s bright and dry atmosphere.

  The sun shone against white marble, dazzling his eyes until he blinked and adjusted. Ethan swooped back up, above the tiled courtyards, skimming over a brilliant smooth dome. Caelum’s library was housed in an enormous temple near the center of the city.

  Scarce few Guardians walked below, and Ethan was the only one in the sky. Just fifteen years before, Caelum had been teeming with life; not so since the Ascension, when thousands of Guardians had chosen to move on to their afterlife.

  Most of those that remained in service—particularly the novices—had drawn in close to one another. And as they’d suddenly been without mentors, many Guardians had taken on one or two of the novices for training, knitting the groups even more tightly.

  Now that Castleford had taken over a good chunk of their training, it had loosened up. But not much—and Ethan reckoned not one Guardian who’d been in Caelum after the Ascension would ever forget the sudden, terrible silence that had fallen over the city.

  It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, his gut twist, just thinking of it.

  And there were some it had hit worse than others.

  He found Alice standing motionless in a long aisle of gleaming marble shelves, her arms crossed and her head tilted back as if she was looking for something on one of the higher rows. There wasn’t a bit about the archivist that wasn’t sharp—not her brown hair in its severe braid or the tall, thin figure that she’d wreathed in black. Her appearance hadn’t changed any since the Ascension, but her manner had. Whereas once Alice had moved with the elegance of a dancer, now she reminded Ethan of a many-jointed spider—and he could easily imagine her creeping around inside the Archives. And he didn’t know if she was aware that the novices had taken to calling her the Black Widow, but he figured she was—and that she didn’t care much.

  He was just glad to find her there; she disappeared from Caelum for irregular stretches of time. But excepting those absences, he didn’t figure she’d stepped out of the temple since the Ascension, with only the Scrolls, books, and the occasional visitor for company.

  Though she must have heard him coming, Ethan opened his shields and projected a warm greeting. He and Alice had been transformed around the same time, trained by the same Guardians—and she was one of the few who hadn’t ever taken to calling him Drifter.

  “Ethan.” Her eyes thawed slightly at his approach. “You look well. Considering what I’ve heard of your brother, I hope your appearance is not deceptive.”

  “It ain’t.” He grinned when her mouth turned down with her disapproval. She’d never been a schoolmarm, but he figured if she had been, she’d have used the ruler well and often. “Is yours?”

  Her frown disappeared, smoothing into a tiny smile. “No. Is this your usual social call, or are you looking for something?”

  “Looking for something. You got anything on the nephilim? The offspring of humans and demons—it may have been recorded as a myth.”

  She tilted her head, almost birdlike. “I seem to recall coming across a mention of them about thirty or forty years ago. I believe I can locate it, if you have some time to wait.”

  “I do. I’ll be in my quarters three, maybe four hours. If you find anything, it’ll need to be transcribed.”

  Only Michael could vanish the Scrolls, or carry them through a Gate. Nor could they be photocopied or scanned; if a copy was to be made, it had to be written out by hand.

  “Would you like me to translate it, as well?” Alice asked with a teasing lift of her brow.

  Ethan shook his head. “I’ll be taking it to Hugh.” Castleford could easily read the Latin; Ethan still stumbled over his.

  Alice nodded. “Very well.”

  “I’m much obliged.”

  She gave his arm a poke with her bony elbow. “Are you so obliged that when you pick these up, you’ll tell me a little about this vampire I’ve been hearing about?”

  Ethan figured he might just talk her ear off; but for now, he dropped a kiss to her cheek and walked away to a sound that was eerily like a cackle.

  Ethan’s quarters were halfway up a large spire at the edge of the city. There weren’t any doors; just an arch that opened to a view of the
silent, waveless sea surrounding Caelum. Looking out, it was near impossible to tell where sky and water met at the horizon—the sea reflected an image of pure, dizzying blue.

  Inside, it was just dizzying white. Ethan had broken it up some with items he’d collected—from other Guardians before he’d gone active duty, and in his own travels after he’d returned to Earth.

  Still, it wasn’t much to look at. He’d never had much of a hand at decorating, and most everything he needed he kept with him in his cache. It was certainly nothing like Charlie’s brightly colored and cozy space.

  Thinking of her room, he reckoned maybe he’d take his bed with him this time. He didn’t much relish the idea of having his loving interrupted every time his feet became caught between the slats in her footboard.

  He vanished his clothes, laid faceup on the mattress. No breeze to tickle his skin. No sound or smell. He closed his eyes, got rid of the white, and let himself drift into the emptiness.

  It was vast, and more than capable of taking everything he had to throw into it…until he brushed up against something that was Charlie’s. Then she tugged at him, pulled him back in.

  Less than ten minutes after he’d lain down, Ethan sat up, frowning out into the blue.

  He was missing her—and didn’t want to rid himself of the effect of her touch, her smell. Not when he didn’t have something to fill him right back up again.

  Instinct led him to searching through his cache, looking for something to use. He’d left most of her things with her, but there were towels from her laundry that likely held her scent.

  He dropped one onto the bed beside him, tried again.

  Not perfect, but better; she was still there, and he could get rid of the fuzz without fearing so much that he was losing something of her.

  But everything else…everything else, it could go.

  When he got back to SI, Ethan paused only long enough to drop off the transcribed Scrolls at Castleford’s office before running up the stairs. Sunset was five minutes away, and Charlie would be more comfortable waking up to a familiar face than a strange room.

  He frowned walking through the common area; he was still getting those grave looks, and everyone was speaking real quiet-like when he entered a room. They all needed a talking-to, or a solid beating at the poker table. Losing a bundle of money would make them a bit less sympathetic.

  Charlie’s door was sealed with the spell. Ethan blinked and tried again, fighting the disappointment…and failing.

  Well, son of a bitch. He hadn’t even considered that she’d lock everyone out while she slept, but she must have been worried about her privacy.

  “Drifter.”

  Ethan swung around, suddenly uneasy. He couldn’t mistake the concern in Jake’s psychic scent.

  “Is Charlie all right?”

  “Yes,” Jake said. “And, no. I had to put up the spell about thirty minutes after sunrise because she was projecting so hard that we couldn’t block it out. I went back inside around noon, but there’s been no change.”

  Jake swung the door open.

  Everything looked just fine. Two new throws lay over the foot of the bed; she must have knitted both after he’d left. She’d taken the time to dress in her pajama bottoms and a—

  Jake lowered the spell, and the psychic wave hit Ethan hard, left him struggling for breath. God Almighty. Fear, despair, and loss were pouring from her, choking him under their weight.

  He went in; Charlie was sleeping curled up on her side. She clutched the ragged feather beneath her chin, and her grip on it didn’t loosen when he pulled her up into his arms.

  But there was nothing to do but hold her. A vampire’s daysleep—and the dreams that came with them—was solid, unbreakable.

  “Jake.” His voice was rough. “Get the spell up.”

  Jake drew in a sharp breath. “She’s skinny again.”

  Ethan couldn’t answer for a long minute. “Yes,” he finally said hoarsely, and brushed her hair back from her cheek. Almost as bad as the previous night, but she’d fed enough she shouldn’t have lost any weight. A healthy vampire might go two, three days without looking so emaciated, even if the bloodlust was tearing at them. “You go on out now.”

  Jake hesitated. “Milliken didn’t feed much, but when he did, he still woke up looking starved like that—”

  “Go on out, Jake.”

  Ethan waited for the click of the door before rolling onto the bed and tucking Charlie against him. She wasn’t breathing, didn’t react, couldn’t respond.

  And a vampire’s daysleep had never seemed so much like death to him.

  CHAPTER 21

  Charlie gasped herself awake, clawing her way out of darkness and frigid blood—into Ethan’s strong embrace and the warmth of his voice murmuring her name over and over.

  The lights in the room were off, but she clearly saw his face, his cheek against the pillow and only inches from hers. And she saw the worry in his eyes, even before he said, “Bad dreams again?”

  Charlie nodded, pressing her lips tight. Did every vampire go through this?

  His gaze was direct. “What are they about?”

  “Jane,” she rasped. “Blood.”

  He trailed his fingers along her jaw. “I saw her this morning. They’re staying at the Marriott, downtown. Separate rooms.”

  She couldn’t halt her smile. “She’ll make him pay, at least a little. Although I guess for a demon, it wouldn’t be punishment.”

  “I reckon it is. It may be he began sharing her bed to strengthen his hold on her, so as she wouldn’t leave him—but he loves her, so it’s likely it also gives him some measure of satisfaction when he pleases her. Denying him that opportunity would be punishment.” The corner of Ethan’s mouth tilted up, but the lines beside his eyes didn’t echo his smile. “He sure did look awful sorry. And I didn’t speak with her, but she seemed all right, Charlie.”

  “That’s good.” She couldn’t come up with a better response; he was so close, and she was so, so tired. She cleared her throat. “Did I sleep the whole day?”

  “Yes. It’s half past eight.”

  She blinked. Sunset was at seven thirty, and she’d woken just after it the night before. “That late?”

  “Yes.” His eyes closed for a long second before he met hers again. “You hungry?”

  “No. A little, maybe—but not like last time.” She sighed, rose up onto her elbow. “I should probably call Old Matthew before it gets too—”

  “It can wait a spell, Charlie.” Ethan’s palm smoothed over her shoulder, brought her closer to him. “And if you feed now, when you’re not too hungry, we can see if that’s why it was hurting last night.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze fell to his neck, and her thirst swelled, a mild ache in her fangs.

  Mild…not uncontrollable. She scooted toward him; he was on his side, but she was leaning so far over she was almost on her stomach, her thigh against the front of his trousers.

  Sexual excitement was threading through her veins now, almost indistinguishable from the thirst—but Ethan wasn’t hard.

  She touched his throat, his skin like rough satin beneath her fingers. “Just feeding again?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  There was an odd, hollow note in his voice. She studied his face, looking for evidence of whatever was causing it, but didn’t see anything except an expressionless mask.

  “Ethan…is everything okay?”

  His only response was to cup the back of her head, draw her gently down to his neck. Her fingers rose to unbutton his shirt.

  “Are you sure?” She smoothed his collar back until it folded over his suspender, and she had to stifle her soft moan of anticipation when she revealed the muscle bunched atop his shoulder. Almost of their own volition, her hips rolled against the mattress. “Because I could probably find a rat or something. That was how I earned my extra spending money when I was in New York. I used to steal my roommate’s flute, and head on down to the subway—”

>   Her lips touched his throat. Ethan tensed beside her. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, but his scent, so masculine, almost undetectable, was filling her head. She hadn’t known it was there, but now that she’d inhaled it, she didn’t think she’d ever get enough.

  She eased into him, his skin parting beneath her fangs with the faintest pressure. His hands clenched on her hips, his pleasured groan an echo of hers, a hum against her tongue. And then there was Ethan, heated and liquid, a symphony of strings and reeds, all rising together in a strong, steady beat.

  So incredible. She memorized the sound, tried to tease out the notes. The agonizing scream was there, but she barely heard it beneath the luscious tones that made up his lifeblood, beneath Ethan’s harsh breathing in her ear. She pushed him onto his back and slung her leg over his stomach.

  And because she could stop, she did, licking across the already-healing punctures.

  Ethan’s hands settled on her waist. “Was it hurting you, Charlie?”

  “No.” She kissed his jaw, his chin. “I could feel it, but it’s not so painful this time.”

  “It shouldn’t be painful at all.”

  She lifted her head, met his eyes. “Maybe not, but it’s not so bad.” She paused, studied him. His features were still unreadable. “And you’re okay?”

  A smile broke the flat line of his mouth. “Even though I don’t mean to, Charlie, you take just one little bite and I’m stretching out my britches and feeling mighty fine.” His hands caught her cheeks, prevented her from sitting up. “Now, don’t you go looking or touching, or this won’t be just a feeding.”

  She nodded breathlessly. “What about later tonight?”

  “I’d like that, Miss Charlie.” His gaze fell to her lips, and his throat worked before he repeated softly, “I’d like that an awful lot.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled, dropped a kiss to his mouth before trailing her tongue down to his throat. “I’m going to bite you again, Ethan.”

  “All right. I reckon I’ll just lay here and moan.”

  She was laughing when her fangs pierced him. Could he feel her emotions when she fed from him? The erotic pleasure of it, obviously—but did she send anything else, or did he have to deliberately look into her? And could she get into him?