Lore vs. The Summoning

by Anya Breton

  My heart slammed into the wall of my chest as I gasped for breath. This was getting out of hand. I didn't mind fighting these bastards in their own buildings and in Underground locations, but out in the middle of the city...in cars...where innocent people could get caught in the crossfire...that was hard on me.

  But it was clear now that someone was trying to kill me. It shouldn't surprise me considering I'd dispatched six of their guys to the afterlife, freed their captive women and poked my nose where they probably thought it didn't belong. But it did surprise me. I'd gotten along fine until now by keeping a low profile.

  It was difficult for the big bad guys to look at me, a puny female, and consider her a formidable opponent. I suspected that was part of the reason why the reports of the Black Death's appearance were so greatly varied. No one wanted to believe that a five foot six plump woman had killed the mighty Marco. How long would I last now that they were closing in on my identity?

  This was ridiculous. Some asshole had taken my apartment from me, ruined the majority of my stuff, scraped the hell out of my precious car and had tried to kill me multiple times. I was going to figure out who was behind this and stop them if it killed me. But not before I killed them first.

  I was smelly, groggy and light-headed when the pounding on the lobby doors woke me. But I wasn't too dazed to forget my pistol. It was nestled beside my thigh as I crept forward to see who'd dared wake me.

  Out the glass I saw a guy squinting in sunlight with his hand over his eye as he tried to peer in. He had a large box in his hands that was too thick to be pizza but too wide to be a gun. What would a delivery guy be doing here at the brownstone?

  I unlocked the inner doors and considered leaving the outer doors locked for security purposes when I realized the glass between us wasn't going to keep me safe from anything important. In any case he was smart enough to stand back. Now that I was a good deal closer I could tell he wasn't a guy at all, he was little more than a kid with a driver's license. There was a slightly fearful look to him as if he'd been warned about me. Then again, it might be because he'd spotted the gun in my hand.

  "Um," he stuttered in a cracking youthful voice. "Are you Miss Denham?"

  My teeth immediately set. Aiden had sent this punk to me. "Why?"

  "I have a delivery for a Miss Denham. Is that you?" He gave me a skeptical look as if to say he didn't think I was her. I wondered what Aiden had told him.

  Unwilling to admit that I was this Miss Denham I asked, "What kind of delivery?"

  "Are you her?"

  He was frustrated but I was pissed. My irritation trumped everything today. "Look, kid, I'm not going to answer anything you ask until you tell me why you're here."

  "Geez!" He tugged up the box as if he'd tried to throw his hands up angrily. "Fine! It's a bunch of stupid clothes! Have a fucking cow!" The kid's face went sheet white. "Omigod, I mean...oh shit, don't shoot me, lady!"

  My lips lifted into a grin. "Tell whoever sent you that I don't want 'a bunch of stupid clothes'."

  His head shook fearfully. "You're scary, but he's scarier. Shit, please don't tell him I called them stupid clothes."

  I'd never thought Aiden was particularly scary before, well, except that one time when he'd looked like he'd wanted to tear out the Alpha's throat. But he hadn't looked at this kid that way, had he? Hmm, that was something to consider another time. "I won't so long as you take them away from here."

  "He said you'd refuse them," the kid grumbled. "And that I was supposed to tell you that you need these to finish the job you agreed to."

  "I didn't agree..."

  He interrupted me before I could get the rest of it out, "He also said you'd say you hadn't agreed to any job. I'm supposed to tell you that I'll be standing out here singing country as loud as I can until you take them."

  "Country?" The bridge of my nose crinkled in disgust. "Did he say country or did you come up with that?"

  "He said country."

  "That rat bastard." I snarled a few more choice words. Somehow Aiden knew I despised country music with a passion. "Fine, bring the stupid things inside and then get the hell out of here."

  I stepped out of the way to let him stumble in. He looked around for someplace to set his big box, ultimately setting it on a table on the edge of the lobby. Unfortunately the box hadn't been all he'd brought. There were several high-end department store bags, smaller boxes that might have been for shoes, and a thick black garment bag. My irritation grew with each item that passed through the glass doors.

  "That's it," the kid announced with an uneasy look leveled at me.

  I made a gesture toward the door so he knew he could leave without my shooting him. He didn't wait for verification before rushing out. I heard the tires on his beat-up Nissan peel out of the parking lot a minute later.

  My fingers went to my mouth so that I could gnaw on my nails. I was damn curious what Aiden had sent me. But I wanted to be able to tell him I hadn't bothered looking at anything and I didn't want to have to lie.

  I forced myself to walk by the packages to the leather couch. There was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep now that I'd been so rudely awakened. After several minutes of staring at the rug I got up to load the gifts into my Mini. The plan was to get a hotel room so that I could shower and perhaps catch a bit of shuteye on a comfortable bed that didn't smell strange. Then I was going to deposit the whole slew of boxes and bags on Aiden's front porch.

  I was conscious of every car, truck and utility vehicle on the road during the trip downtown but thankfully none were more aggressive than a typical Masshole driver. At the Hilton's counter I waited to see what room rate they could give me before breaking into the sob story about how I was with the symphony and how my apartment was flooded in a freak accident. They shaved fifty dollars off the price and supposedly upgraded it to a nicer room.

  It wasn't a bad room, but suite it was not and I wasn't sure it was worth the hundred and fifty dollars they were charging me. I dropped my purse on the floor beside the lushly appointed king-sized bed and immediately tossed off the tank top and pants I'd worn "to bed". A half hour later I was squeaky clean, blow-dried and crawling beneath the sheets of the king-sized bed.

  Nothing interrupted my snooze this time. It was a little unfortunate because I didn't wake until nearly one in the morning. With only a handful of days until the sabbath I needed my nights free to track down the culprit before they unleashed unholy havoc on our city.

  My first stop of the night was Aiden's place. The front door to his massive house opened just as I stepped onto the stone porch. His young doorman, or butler, or whatever he was, stood with a slight frown crinkling his mouth.

  "Miss Denham," he greeted steadily. "Lord Bruce was expecting you some time ago."

  Why was I not surprised? "I was busy," I lied. "I suppose he's also expecting me to try to return these things?"

  "Yes," the guy replied without nodding. "I'm instructed to refuse them. He wanted to be here for your visit himself but he was called away on Senate business."

  "Welllll, that's unfortunate," I drawled sarcastically. "I'll just leave these here until he can get to them. You have a good one now." And I turned on my heel to start back down the stairs.

  "I was also instructed to ask you to wait. He won't be long," he called after me.

  I shook my head without turning back. "I've got other business to deal with, business he wouldn't want me delaying."

  "Please, Miss Denham."

  The fact that a vampire, any vampire, had nearly begged me made me pause. I looked back to find the young man standing on the porch now, outside the building as if he might come get me if I didn't voluntarily go inside. I didn't want to get into a fight with a vampire on Commonwealth Avenue.

  My retreat stalled so that I could turn fully. "Why's he so insistent I stay?"

  "He didn't say," the man replied blandly.

  He was obviously a well-trained doorman, or butler, or whatever. He was b
eing properly cryptic and doing a good job of hiding his trepidation that I might leave and anger his master. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble so I decided to go inside. I'd wait a few minutes and then leave. It should appease everyone involved.

  The man worked on setting the bags and boxes within the foyer as I hopped up the porch steps. Once finished he led me within and up the marble staircase to the first floor. (In these old houses they always called the floor visitors entered upon the "ground floor" and what everyone else in the States considered the second floor was confusingly the first.) To the right of the first floor's landing was an arched doorway closed off by etched glass double doors. It was through those doors that the man ended our trip.

  I followed him inside and glanced around. A modern L-shaped sofa in a deep purple chenille fabric with fluffy cushions held the prime position in the large wainscoted room with plush white carpet. There was a complimentary flower patterned chaise lounge behind it and a stuffed chair with a similar design across. In the middle of the room stood a square coffee table made with a deep mahogany wood that looked as expensive as it was shiny.

  Strangely one of those ridiculously large universal remote controls that was the size of a small laptop sat atop its bright surface. I suspected it controlled the focal point of the room -- the massive flat screen television mounted above the stone fireplace. It seemed to be playing the Barber of Seville in high definition. The audio played softly but no doubt that was Dolby Digital or perhaps THX emitting out of the tiny tweeters around the room.

  "Make yourself comfortable. I was in the middle of watching an opera on PBS but I'll change it," the man said. He headed for the remote control. "Would you like anything to drink or eat?"

  Now was the time to ask, when Aiden wasn't around to overhear it. "What do you have?"

  He stood to his full height with the massive remote control in his hand. "Several wines, spring water, milk, an array of soft drinks. I believe Lord Bruce purchased orange soda specifically with you in mind."

  My jaw clamped shut until he turned to change the television channel. "No, leave it. It's fine."

  The man set the remote control down without arguing. "I regret that we have little in the way of food. There are some biscuits and cakes for tea but they are all quite processed. Had I known ahead of time I would have prepared better."

  I shook my head to allay his worry. "I'm good. No need to get me anything."

  After an awkward moment of silence I shuffled over to sit on the edge of the sofa nearest the exit. The vampire moved to sit catty-corner from me. We watched a few minutes of the opera quietly until he ruined it by speaking.

  "What sort of foods do you like?"

  I couldn't help but inhale an amused breath. "No offense but I don't plan on making a habit of visiting so there's no point in telling you."

  He let that go without commenting. We watched the actor's antics on screen for several more silent minutes. I must have allowed a smile to crack at the barber's postulating because the vampire mentioned it.

  "Most your age don't appreciate the opera."

  I lifted my shoulders flippantly. "I'm a musician. We had opera shoved down our throat in college."

  "Yes. We've been to see you at Symphony Hall," he told me lightly.

  That snagged my attention away from the opera. "You have?"

  The vampire's eyes rounded ever so slightly but the only answer I got was a nod from him. I wondered how in the hell I'd failed to notice Aiden Bruce in the crowd at any of the performances. Yes, the hall held twenty-six hundred people people but I was confident I'd be able to spot him of all people, especially considering how easily I'd picked Morrígan out. Aiden must not have wanted me to know. I bet the doorman would get an earful for spilling the beans.

  We went back to quietly watching the opera. Two minutes into Rosina's latest aria the doorman pulled out of his pocket, of all things, a sleek cell phone. Discreetly I watched as he checked something on the screen and then began hitting buttons.

  "Lord Bruce is on his way back," he informed me without lifting his gaze from the phone's screen. "It will only be another ten minutes at most."

  Damn it. I'd lost my chance to leave. Who knew vampires text messaged?

  I slumped a little into the seat, set my chin on the arm I rested against my knee and watched the opera until I heard the door open downstairs. Mutely my companion stood to meet Aiden. There was no greeting between the two when he arrived. It was like the changing of the guards without the funny costumes or weapons.

  "Miss Denham, thank you for humoring me by waiting," Aiden said as he breezed into the room with as much presence as a gale force wind. He was dressed in a gray and silver pinstripe three-piece suit with his long chestnut hair pulled behind his neck. My eyes shot to his face next to find that he'd kept the same features I'd seen for several days. "I see you returned the clothing. Were they not the correct size?"

  I stood so that I felt less diminutive. "I don't know. I didn't bother to look at any of it because I had no intention of keeping it. I only took the boxes in the first place because the poor kid you sent was scared shitless about making you angry."

  His lush lips hadn't budged until I'd mentioned the frightened part. They turned down in a slight frown. "It wasn't my intention to frighten him. I'd merely made it clear what I expected of him."

  One of the things that had bothered me most popped out of my mouth without warning. "And if I'm so damn predictable that you knew everything I'd do, why did you bother with this in the first place?"

  "You aren't always predictable," he assured me. "In this I knew you would be. And to answer your question, because you said you had nothing else to wear to the club save that...outfit...the priestess had given you. Because you've been visiting the Dungeon in an effort to investigate our little matter, I thought it only equitable for us to supply the uniform."

  "That would explain one box, maybe." I gestured toward the stairs behind him. "You sent a hell of a lot more than that."

  "I didn't know what you would prefer," he replied in what seemed like faux-innocence to my ears.

  Now I wished I'd peeked at what he'd sent because that tone of voice made me think perhaps he'd sent things worse than a leather strap fetish cat suit. But no. I couldn't accept any sort of gifts from Aiden. Stiffly I said, "I can handle outfitting myself. Thanks."

  "How did the priestess manage to convince you not to return her gift?"

  Morrígan had incriminating information on me. And these days she had a whole lot more of that. "You honestly expect me to answer that?"

  He inhaled an amused breath. "It was worth the effort." The amusement quickly faded as he let out a long sigh. His chin lifted in such a way that I knew I wasn't going to like what he said next. "I won't accept the packages back. There are no receipts. Nothing can be returned. You might as well keep it."

  I was right. And the rat bastard was lying. Coolly I replied, "There are always receipts and a way to return things."

  The left corner of Aiden's lips twitched. "Then perhaps I don't wish to."

  My eyes rolled toward the Domain. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say, which is why I'm not keeping any of it." I lifted a palm toward the door. "So are we done now? Can I go be productive with the few days I have left to catch the asshole behind all of this or did you want to continue unsuccessfully convincing me how much I need the things you sent?"

  "We are done with that," he conceded. "But I have the information on your would-be assassin."

  On to business, I could handle talking shop with him. My back relaxed a smidgeon. "Yeah, about that, you wouldn't happen to know of anyone with a black SUV bent on my demise, would you?"

  Aiden's eyebrows drifted upward. "No, of course not. What happened?"

  I explained about the crazed car chase on I-90 last night while watching his face darken.

  In a hard-edged voice he assured me, "I'll find out what I can. A police report was no doubt submitted."

  He turned to
walk closer to the etched glass door. It put his back to me. I tried not to look at his ass. Thankfully it was covered by his sports coat. Aiden's profile swiveled enough that he'd be able to see me out of the corner of his eye and I'd be able to see half his expression. That expression was drawn tight, perhaps in worry.

  "This has gotten out of hand," he said. "I think it would be best for you to bow out of the investigation."

  I pushed enough breath through my nose to form a derisive snort. "You say that as if you have a team of detectives working on it. Do you?"

  "No. I do not."

  By the cool tone of voice I got the feeling that he didn't want to admit that tidbit. Surely I was reading into it because there was no way in hell Aiden would tell me something he didn't want to tell me simply because it was the truth. He was a vampire after all.

  "Then I'm all you've got," I replied. "If I bow out, then a demon shows up in Beantown. I'm going to have to deal with that eventually anyway."

  "Why?" He whipped around to face me as he grit out the sharp question. The lines at the bridge of his nose and around his mouth were deep crevices large enough to hide things in. And the silver of his irises had gone gun metal gray. But it was the fierceness of his voice that made me take note. He revised his question, "Why must you deal with it?"

  I didn't understand what had gotten him so worked up so I merely stood staring at him with eyebrows lifted.

  Aiden continued in his vehement tone, "Isn't there a city full of vampires, witches, shapeshifters and Were?"

  "I'm sorry," I replied sarcastically. "I was under the impression that you'd sought me out to take care of this. So, in other words, no, apparently there isn't a city filled with an Underground capable of doing anything about one fucking demon."

  "I didn't seek you out," he corrected me. "The rulers of Boston did. I was the messenger."