Small Town Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 5)
Page 15
She set her head on straight—this was just a job, not a date, even if she was dressed for it. “I want more than a look. I need fingerprints. One was found at the first ritual murder, and it doesn’t match any in police records. The last human suspects were a bust.”
“Our mole in the police can send a copy of the print to the DVA to run on our end. If an Alaric loyalist is alive and causing trouble, I need to know before I can leave Charm.”
Red would miss him. It wasn’t logical. Returning home was already stressful without explaining that she was developing complicated and sometimes fuzzy feelings for the vampire who’d claimed her. She couldn’t even blame the sex dreams on drinking his blood, since it didn’t work like that. What would she say? “Oh, I used to slay unsouled vampires when I was a teen hero, now I date them if we hit it off?”
Telling herself that kissing him was a freak incident, she pushed her conflicted feelings aside. Part of a working relationship was returning favors, and he had done a few for her already. “You’ve helped me go home. I should do the same.”
“We wined and dined the populace last night with professional bleeders so they should be full and docile.” Kristoff caressed her arm, fingers provoking that spark between them. “The proceedings will be recorded, backgrounds checked, the works. I can propose a tame blood toast so our best minion can collect the glasses and transfer the prints. He used to work for the Mounties before Arno recruited him.”
More effected by his touch than she wanted to admit, Red shifted away. “Is your brother like you? Was it consensual?”
“Immortality and power might not tempt you, but I assure you it’s not a hard sell.” Kristoff held out his elbow for her to take. “Want to come to a tithing, then?”
“As long as I am not the blood toast, I’m in.”
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Kristoff sped the Lamborghini through a haze up the curving road to the Charm Country Club. On a bluff overlooking the ocean, the view would have been extraordinary on a clear day.
“What does the rift zone feel like for vampires?” She asked, checking out the scenery with her third eye. The random question triggered the tendrils of spectral smoke glimmering between the trees. “It attracts demons, but I don’t sense the allure. It mostly feels… complicated. Like I can’t quite sense where nature magic and the dimensional energy begins or ends. How about you? How does it feel?”
“Tingly.”
She pouted at the answer. Hoping for something more poetic. “Like mouthwash?”
He laughed. “I don’t know how to explain it. I feel it on my skin, but it sinks into you—power. Churned up by dimensions rubbing together. You’re stronger, bolder. The younger vamps act stupider here because of it. Some of the older ones too.”
“Like a little devil on your shoulder?”
“More like whiskey in your system, convincing you to dance.” He brushed his knuckles down her arm. “Are you sure you don’t feel it? Not a single spark?”
She covered the blush rising on her cheek. “Something. Maybe.”
Eyes twinkling, he grinned. He nodded to her golden ring. “That is lovely. Is it new?”
“It was my mother’s.” She presented her hand to recount its origins as they drove to the Country Club’s ornate gate.
The ride felt too short. It wasn’t because she was going to face vampires. It felt like too much like a date with one. Kristoff hadn’t been the one to bring up the similarity, staying in the bounds of professionalism that she’d set for them. Not for the first time, Red tried to understand her intentions toward him. If his ferociously loyal best friend Nedda questioned her again on the spot, she still wouldn’t know what to say.
Unlikely as it seemed, a friendship with him made sense after all they had been through together. It wasn’t like he hadn’t worked to earn her trust. He’d had her back in a fight; they shared senses of humor, shared enemies. More than that, she enjoyed being with him. It was still something she hadn’t admitted outright even in her journal.
The lull in the conversation wasn’t awkward. The previous discussion about her mother’s ring merely gave way to comfortable silence.
“You called me your friend,” Kristoff said, keeping his voice casual, even as his gaze darted to her as if expecting the title to be revoked. “You defended me to them.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that he seemed to be thinking of their unorthodox relationship too. “No more than you deserve. You’re a chaotic neutral at best, and a benign evil at worst in the bigger scheme, if we’re putting you on a spectrum.”
“I have too many investments to want to end the world. Apocalypses are for desperate demons or bored has-beens. Alaric was both.” Kristoff’s amused smile faded to earnestness. “I still appreciate it.”
“I know I’m safe with you even if I couldn’t push you around with this ring,” Red said. “I trust you with my life, which is super weird, considering our pasts—” She tilted her head, frowning. “—or not, if you consider our past lives.”
“There is plenty you can trust with me.” He slapped on a leer as if to distract from his earlier vulnerability.
“Let’s start the night by gathering intel.” Joking, Red looked away to hide her face. Even at night, he’d be able to see the color rising on her neck. He was a vampire. He could hear her sped-up heartbeat; hiding was impossible. She surrendered to the truth. They did promise to be honest with each other. “It’s taken a while for me to trust you.”
“If not, you’d be an idiot, and I wouldn’t be half as interested.”
She laughed. “You like my jaded millennial nature?”
“You were always ahead of your time. Even a century ago, it was enchanting.”
Biting her lip, she looked away from him into the side car mirror. “I’m not Emma or Juniper. I’m a different person now.”
“I’m not. I’ve never been a saint, and I know what my kind have done to you.” Parking the car at the front entrance, he broke eye contact, voice lowering to a whisper. “Perhaps better than you do.”
She touched his hand resting on the stick shift. “You told me to have high expectations for you. I want to.”
“I’m not a good man, but I can be good to you.”
“I believe you now.” Lost in his eyes, she couldn’t look away as if he mesmerized her.
She almost said more but was interrupted by a uniformed valet opening her door. Legs shaking from what she’d almost confessed, she accepted the offered help to rise.
A cold wind ruffled her dress hem as they left the car. She hugged herself. It was the temperature that made her lean toward Kristoff. She smiled ruefully. Keep telling yourself that, sister.
Victorian columns greeted her at the entrance to the palatial club on the bluffs. It looked like the mansion of a Gilded Age robber baron, donated long ago by family to be free of the upkeep. He rested his palm on her lower back as they entered the octagon atrium, each side featuring a closed door. A chandelier glittered high above them. Her third eye revealed sigils and spells scribbled like neon graffiti over the classical décor. The sole occupant was a single aged clerk at a mahogany desk who disappeared into the coat check at their arrival.
Kristoff took her through a door on the left, into a wide hallway lined with portraits of old balding white men along with more scaly club members. It wasn’t surprising. The powerful in this town knew what lurked in the dark—or were what lurked in the dark. Either way, they golfed together.
“No one will speak to you besides Arno. Don’t feel compelled to speak to them either. And if you are, tell me. I’ll rip the fangs out of them for mesmerizing you. I know of one young thug who can do it, but there are a few Gifted in the village.”
Red knew it wasn’t an idle threat—claimed humans were off limits to other vampires. Murder was frowned upon without official permission, but maiming was on the table. “I’ve hit the vamp scene with you before. I know the score—mouth shut, all three eyes open.”
“Stand beh
ind the table. You’ll see every face. If you see anyone trying to pass off fae gold, let my brother know. He is counting the take.”
She huffed out a short laugh, sardonically observing, “This was all a ruse to get a witch to do your bidding for free, wasn’t it?”
“I have a few agendas tonight. Look on the bright side, now you don’t have to mingle.”
“What are you going to do—act like a king receiving tribute?”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
A vampire in a black helmet with a black AK-47 rifle and the fatigues to match opened the door for them. The rest of his unit, over a dozen strong, stood between stately windows and paintings in the stately ballroom. One stood behind a leather chair that could only be described as throne-like. Chandeliers, dimmed for supernatural sight, created as much gloom as light, elongating shadows over the marble floor.
The contrast of the military-style guards against gilded wallpaper spoke of the might that Prince Marek wielded from afar. His tentacles extended throughout the west through official alliances with Cora Moon in Los Angeles and unofficial ties with the Alchemy Academy in Vegas. Wherever Novak and Novak Company invested, the brothers were in the ear of the local leaders, advocating for their liege lord.
She tossed a wry glance at Kristoff. He wasn’t being subtle tonight. They might as well have put a picture of Prince Marek on the throne to further drive home who was in charge here. The bizarre vision of the elder vampire in a modern elementary school photo floated through her head.
A green-haired minion closed the door—Ana, the former bartender at the Club Vltava. They’d must have promoted her from the LA branch of Novak operations to the home office. It was still hard to imagine that the other women had chosen to become a vampire. Red avoided looking at her.
Next to the throne, Arno stood at a white linen covered table. The large lockbox on it seemed brutish compared to the gold-plated Victorian décor. “You’re almost late.”
Kristoff cheerfully answered the peeved remark. “You’ll want to sell property when you learn why.”
“And here I expected to be annoyed because you brought your human girlfriend.”
Red lifted an eyebrow at Kristoff.
“I didn’t tell him that.” He shrugged, leaving her side to whisper to his brother.
Red took her place behind the table, off to the side of the throne. She wanted to get a view of every face, not just the locals. What was Kristoff like in his own territory? She had only ever seen the subtle political manipulator navigating foreign supernatural courts and keeping his name out of official record. Here, he had the freedom to throw his weight around.
Arno sighed when the brothers finally broke their huddle. “I only just had the roof redone on the building downtown.”
Red quipped, “Get act of God insurance, then. You might cash in.”
Serious expression cracking, Arno snorted as he opened the chest, ready at the front of the table to receive tithes.
Phone half out of his pocket, Kristoff seemed torn between taking a picture and savoring the sight of her with his brother. He smiled softly as if everything he wanted was here.
Shy suddenly, lips twitching up, Red tried to joke away the feelings he roused. “Am I supposed to look all gothic and witchy back here? Because I might need black lipstick for that. It’ll go with the hair.”
“Silence is the best cosmetic,” Arno retorted, adjusting his cuffs. “The rubes should be along now.”
In position like an extra in a play starring the Novak Brothers, Red speculated on rest of the proceedings—taxes paid and favors asked? She had guessed wrong about one thing—Kristoff sat in the throne. Tired of standing, or symbolism? It was hard to tell, considering how political vampires could be. With his dark blond hair and tailored suit, he looked the part of a king.
“You could come closer.” He caught her stare, smirking as if he could read her thoughts.
“I’m not sitting on your lap.” She laughed dryly, shifting on her feet. It wasn’t terrible to have his arms around her…
“I didn’t suggest it, but I wouldn’t say no.”
The doors opened. Vampires filtered into the ballroom in twos and threes. These were the equivalent of the blue-collar undead, even the ones in designer duds. They weren’t attached to a powerful master, living either solo or in a small nest, vulnerable to other supernaturals. Many of the souled ones had regular jobs, taking the concept of the graveyard shift literally. If you’ve gotten a night call from a telemarketer, it might have been a vampire.
Some looked bored already, rummaging through purses and backpacks like they were in line for a bank teller. Others held frosty looks of annoyance for the immortal brothers. It wasn’t far off from the human reaction to Tax Day.
Slumped slightly in his chair, Kristoff met each eye like a lion lazily deciding which gazelle was worth his effort. There was something reminiscent of Lucas’s usual careless posture, but where his sire seemed bonelessly casual, Kristoff had a rigidity to the pose as if he’d jump up and clock a man in a second. Zach had called him a Capo. Red saw the Godfather energy now. He gave a short speech about killing the ghouls and Prince Marek’s continued protection from demon tribes and human scrutiny with a bored reminder about being vigilant of cellphone cameras and social media. It wasn’t inspiring nor meant to be.
This was a racket, and the Don came to collect.
Ana rolled in a cart covered with slender flutes of blood, doling them with the efficiency of an experienced bartender and the speed of the undead. The toast was as tame and quick as advertised, glasses collected as quickly as they were finished.
One by one, the vampires laid cash on the table. Kristoff passed judgement on the value as Arno counted and placed the take inside an armored case.
“It’s all there, fellas.” A man in a plaid sweater vest shirt, gray tuffs of hair on either side of his head, presented a smoothly stacked billfold. “Good on you with that ghoul hunt. Those white eyes give me the willies. So, I was thinking of asking permission to turn a claimed human. The old ball and chain is nagging me to do it before the crow’s feet set in.”
Red schooled her expression, stopping her lip from curling. She avoided Kristoff’s searching glance. Hunters saw becoming a vampire, feeding on the innocent, worse than death. A soul or a stake was the only way to stop a new, uncontrolled vampire from killing in the rush of awakened bloodlust. The tradeoff for immortality was other people’s lives. It still boggled her mind that some asked for it.
Arno flipped through the bills, speed counting, before nodding.
Kristoff granted the request with a handwave. “The Prince will approve. Mazel Tov, Ernie.”
The tithing continued with more silent subdued payments than favors asked. Most were in cash, the bills stained with blood. A woman in leopard print handed over a collection of rings, all different styles and sizes. Red scanned them for magic, guessing with distaste that they must have come from victims.
The next vampire in the tithing had the overwrought hang dog expression of a middle manager. His white collared shirt lay wrinkled on his stocky shoulders, a tie limp around his neck. Deep worry lines stretched across his low forehead. He must have been turned after years stewing in a cubical. Eternity hadn’t seemed to improve his lot. He set a wad of wrinkled bills on the table, grimacing like a man who knew it wasn’t enough.
Arno said as much.
“Gavin, we need tithes for this year and the last,” Kristoff reminded coldly. “The Prince has been more than understanding. What do I tell him now?”
Nostrils flaring, Gavin lowered his balding pate. “I can barely hunt with that damn Hero around.”
The words sent a murmur through the others, separated into whispering clumps, blackening the mood. Red felt it like magical energy shifting. Vampires were more like snakes than bats with their venomous fangs. Right now she could almost hear a warning rattle.
“Your fellows were able to hunt without whining.”
“Sounds like we have a grievance. Who else is as grieved as Gavin?” Kristoff nodded, not moving from his casual pose. The black-clad guards stepped forward.
No one answered the question except the cricket song from an open window. As the moonlight faded, hidden by clouds brewing over the sea, shadows grew in the room. Red might not have matched vampire vision, but she could see their freaked-out auras. Kristoff had made his point.
“The Prince will make work for you.” Kristoff dismissed him with a nod. “You’ll do better next year.”
Gavin stomped away, pausing only for a few words with a blond vampire half obscured by the others. It was the one from the reunion. They were too far way to hear their conversation.
She tried to focus on him, but Arno beckoned for her attention as the next offering was brought forward. A plea for another year of protection from a distant lord. It wasn’t far off from bargaining with the gods. They were only immortal, not impervious. In a hidden supernatural world of factions with ancient laws written in blood, fangs weren’t enough to survive. You needed clout.
Tithing continued with less drama until the next vampire in line set a stolen computer on the table. Plucked from humanity at no more than eighteen, the young vampire shifted on his feet, wallet chain rattling on his jeans. Dark brown hair swooped over a surly mug.
“This it, Yuki?” Kristoff asked.
Arno opened the laptop, frowning at the crack in the screen. “Ugh, it’s a PC.”
“Yes. I went to high school with Stacey Bonner, I can’t go anywhere without her over my shoulder. She knows what I am.” Yuki crossed his pale tattooed arms over a black wifebeater T-shirt, tucked into dirty denim. He looked like becoming a vampire was graduation from a life of trouble. “She caught me heisting laptops at the college. I got out with my unlife and this piece of shit.”
“What, you only remembered the tithing yesterday?” Arno snarked. “You have a shiny new motorcycle but nothing for the Prince?”