Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Such as him? Colin’s amusement returned. “They attempted to stop me…once. Will you try to do the same now?”

  “You fought them?” Fia’s question was echoed by uneasy murmurs.

  Colin raised his heel to the sofa cushion, rested his elbow on his knee. His smile was as lazy as his posture. “I’d no need for such drastic measures,” he told her. “Would you kill such as me?”

  Her lips parted as her gaze slid over his features. For an instant, she stopped breathing…then shook herself out of it. “Yes. If you didn’t follow the community’s rules.”

  Delighted by her response, Colin laughed softly. “Your elders found that they could not kill me. And why should they? When I first came to this city, there was no vampire community here, and worldwide the requirement of partnerships and bloodsharing was in its nascent stages; our numbers weren’t high enough to warrant it.”

  As the vampire population rose, it became a requirement of most communities that each vampire have at least one blood-sharer, so that they’d not feed from humans. Almost all vampires paired up in twosomes or threesomes and exchanged blood between themselves. It was an arrangement that had evolved from the need for secrecy; even a single vampire would be found out if he needed to hunt each night.

  But for Colin.

  He agreed with the reasoning behind bloodsharing, though he could not do it—and he would not tolerate being told how to live. “Why should I submit to a rule that didn’t exist when I was born?”

  “For our protection,” Paul said, as if it were that simple.

  “You’ve been watching me feed for months; have my activities drawn human notice?”

  “No.” Once again, the bold vampire with the wolf tattoo spoke. This time, Colin caught a hint of frustration and bewilderment in his psychic scent. From his inability to understand how Colin could feed undetected, unremembered?

  Even Colin did not fully understand it.

  “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be discovered in the future.”

  “I have not in two hundred years,” Colin said with a careless shrug, and returned his attention to Paul and Fia. “I’ve no intention of bloodsharing, or discontinuing my hunts. I’ve no intention of leading you. I fear I don’t have what you’re looking for.”

  “You have answers.”

  Yes, but most of these vampires were too eager to fall into line, to follow. He couldn’t imagine what they’d become if they received some of the truth. Individually, it might be safe, but a group would likely become a cult, speculating on realms they’d never see: Caelum, Hell, Chaos.

  Participating in rituals, carelessly playing with curses and symbols.

  “I also have a tan,” he said as he rose to his feet. Several vampires took a step back; Paul and his human did not flinch. “If there is anything else I can provide you, do ask it of me.”

  Fia’s mouth flattened with her disappointment. “Maybe you could lower the thermostat? You’ve got the air-conditioning on at the bar and in the DJ station, but it’s blasting heat everywhere else.”

  “I’d hate for my employees to suffer discomfort. Are you uncomfortable?”

  “No, but—” She waved toward the vampires, her partner. Their skin glistened with perspiration.

  “I daresay no human here is. More to the point, neither am I—so I’ll not likely adjust it. I find that seventy-two degrees is a near perfect temperature.” In the nightclub, at any rate. Colin lifted her hand from the table, pressed a kiss to the back of it, and left a folded business card in her palm.

  She looked up, startled. He only smiled and walked away through the gyrating bodies, toward his suite of rooms.

  He didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Though he’d only moved in a month previous, he was as familiar with these rooms as he’d been with his house. He’d lived in the Victorian mansion in the Haight for over a century—now he waited for its restoration to be completed.

  The soundproofing around the suite erased the heavy electronic beat. Three symbols were carved into the door frame, and he might have used them only to silence the noise from outside, but the spell they cast also prevented any communication from being sent or received. The form of communication did not matter; a phone call, an e-mail, or sign language were equally useless.

  His computer screen glowed softly in the corner of his office. His message to Lilith was short: My dear Agent Milton, you may soon expect a call from Paul and Fia. She’s human, but he’ll likely transform her soon. She is the brains; they share the ballocks. Your compliments had best be poetry to my exquisite ears, because your sodding little experiment is a bloody pain in my arse.

  Lilith could interpret that as she pleased.

  Christ, what a nuisance this had all become. After Lilith and her unlikely partner—Hugh Castleford, a former Guardian, knight, and composer of horrid prose—had out-wagered Lucifer and saved Castleford’s students from the nosferatu seven months before, the nosferatu had been teleported to the Chaos realm and the Gates to Hell closed for five hundred years.

  With such a resounding success, Colin had never imagined there’d be a need to recruit vampires to fight rogue demons, that Lilith would continue playing secret agent under the same Homeland Security directorate as the FBI—within the newly established and vaguely named Special Investigations division—or that she and Castleford would head operations from a dilapidated warehouse in Hunter’s Point. The agency had three primary functions: to slay the demons and nosferatu who remained on Earth, to conceal from the human population and cover up all otherworldly activity, and to train novice Guardians and vampires.

  Which, Colin supposed, suited Lilith and her partner well—she liked nothing better than to lie, and Castleford nothing better than to lecture.

  Still, it was absurd. But nothing equaled the absurdity of the Guardians and their blasted Ascension, which had left the angelic corps reduced to a few dozen warriors—a force incapable of containing the hundreds of rogue demons who’d escaped from Below before the Gates had closed, or the nosferatu who’d yet to crawl from their caves. Even Castleford, for all he lacked in style, had the grace to Fall and give up his Guardian immortality, rather than Ascend and leave Earth defenseless.

  Nor had Colin imagined that he’d involve himself in SI’s operations and become part of that defense. He hadn’t resisted Lilith’s suggestion that he appear in public to gauge the vampire community’s knowledge of things Above and Below, and to enlist those who could be of use to her. Initially, it had been an amusing diversion, but the level of attention he’d garnered from the vampire community had been…unpleasant.

  They should look and admire; they shouldn’t expect anything in return.

  Colin leaned back, stared up at the ceiling. He’d known that others had watched him and his movements over the past few months, but he hadn’t realized they’d catalogued his victims and analyzed the results. Statistically, dark-haired women would be his primary source of blood—but statistics wouldn’t account for the trend they’d observed.

  An obsession, fueled by guilt. This one would burn out soon, as well.

  A chime from his computer alerted him to the incoming mail. Lilith, likely with an effusive description of his beauty. He wasn’t in the mood for it.

  But he stayed his hand from closing the program. It wasn’t from Lilith, but Savitri Murray, who lived in the apartment above Castleford’s garage. Who played with her electronic devices and kept the books at her grandmother’s restaurant. Who never looked at anything with fear, but instead a wide-eyed curiosity. Dark, lovely Savitri.

  The message was probably a mistake—something in which she’d accidentally replied to all of the original recipients instead of just Castleford or Lilith.

  The subject line said only, A question…Help?

  His lips twitched. Always questions with her. Endless questions.

  She wouldn’t look to him for answers. His smile faded, but he opened the e-mail, intrigued.

  Is there any *good* reason for a
nosferatu to take the overnight flight from London to New York?

  He stared at the screen, dread freezing an icy knot in his chest. No idle question, this. An airliner from Heathrow had crashed into the Atlantic the previous week, the cause of the malfunction unknown. And Colin knew Savi was scheduled to return from India via London that evening.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  The probability of this ending well was a big fat zero.

  Savi went back once, just to make certain her eyes hadn’t deceived her—she wished they had. There, in the aisle seat, near the starboard wing: a pale face with liver-slice lips. No eyebrows. Huge, muscular form. Cap pulled down over its ears to hide their pointed tips.

  Nosferatu.

  She quickly glanced away.

  The flight attendant smiled apologetically when Savi returned to the cabin, as if good flight attending should have included the power to prevent Savi’s bladder from reaching the breaking point while the two restrooms in first class were in use. “Is there anything I can bring to you, Miss Murray?”

  Do you have a sword in your little beverage cart?

  Savi shook her head. With luck, this would be over before Nani woke from her nap. She would be disappointed; Savi had promised her grandmother she wouldn’t use the computer on the long flight home.

  But then, Nani was often disappointed in her.

  “Asha looked very beautiful,” her grandmother said without opening her eyes.

  “Yes, Nani,” Savi said automatically as she sat down and checked her e-mail for replies. Thank god the airline provided Internet access through a LAN connection—it would be easier if she could use a phone, or the microphone in her headset, but the nosferatu might hear her speaking. E-communication was her safest option.

  “Her hair was exactly as a bride’s should be. You should grow yours out. No suitable boy is searching for a hedgehog to be his wife.”

  “No suitable boy is searching for a college dropout, either,” Savi muttered, and glanced away from the screen.

  Nani’s face was drawn and tired; the trip to Mumbai had been difficult for her. Like Savi, she had delicate bones and a slim frame—but she’d not had Savi’s luck in avoiding the parasites and bacteria that were so easy to pick up abroad. She’d spent a good portion of the month dehydrated, unable to eat or drink without losing it later.

  Despite her frailty, Nani’s voice was steady, strong. “You’re twenty-six, naatin. You are beautiful, but if you wait much longer you will have only divorcés and shop owners to choose from.”

  Savi fought the hysterical giggle that rose in her throat. The nosferatu wouldn’t leave much for a divorcé or a shop owner to marry.

  Her instant messenger connected, and she scanned the list of online friends. No one she could trust to call Lilith or Hugh, or even the vampire. What time was it in San Francisco? Nine in the evening, but perhaps Lilith and Hugh were near their computers at home.

  Just in case, she duplicated the e-mail and sent it as a text message to their cell phones, then surfed to find a news article about the plane that had gone down the previous week. She’d only caught the headline during their trip. Now she needed details.

  Overnight flight—the same flight. No survivors. Preliminary inquiry suggested it hadn’t been a mechanical failure, nor an explosive—and there were rumors the bodies found had sustained injuries inconsistent with a crash.

  How easy would it be for a nosferatu to kill everyone on board, then leap out mid-air? It could fly quickly enough to reach Europe again before the sun rose, or go west to America—or simply dive into the ocean and wait for the next evening before emerging.

  What time had the flight gone down?

  Twelve fifty-eight Eastern. Savi’s heart stopped. Less than an hour. Would the nosferatu keep the same pattern? Most likely; Hugh had once told her they hated change, hated to veer from a familiar course.

  Nani sighed. “You’ve been so difficult since we returned from that place.”

  Caelum. Savi’s throat tightened, but her voice was light as she said, “I was difficult before that.”

  A messenger window popped up. No, my sweet Savitri. Are you in the air?

  Colin. She’d avoided the vampire for seven months, but now her eyes flooded with tears of relief. Except for brief meetings in which his affectations had known no bounds, she hadn’t spoken with him. And he’d never been the least bit apologetic, as if he thought she didn’t remember what he’d done in Caelum. A few times she’d caught him watching her—probably wondering why she hadn’t said anything of it to anyone. It must prick his vanity to be ignored.

  It pricked hers knowing how stupid she’d been to trust him. Now she had no choice but to trust him again.

  Yes. She added the flight number and a link to the news article.

  She didn’t expect an immediate response. Colin would be trying to reach Lilith and Hugh, or one of the SI agents who handled this type of thing.

  This type of thing. Again that hysterical laughter threatened. Seven months ago, she hadn’t known this type of thing existed. Had known nothing of Guardians, who protected humans from demons and nosferatu. Nothing of vampires. What she had known she’d considered little more than a fantasy, spun from books into video and card games—and she’d profited well from it.

  Now she’d probably pay.

  It only took two minutes for Colin to get back to her. Lilith is sending a fledgling to the Gate to collect Michael or Selah.

  Michael or Selah. Both Guardians could use Savi as an anchor, and they could teleport from Caelum directly into the airplane. But the Gate nearest to San Francisco was in southern Oregon. How quickly could a young Guardian fly?

  E.T.A?

  Forty-five minutes.

  Oh, god. Too close. She stared at the screen and willed the number to decrease. But wishing had never helped her before; it wouldn’t now. She didn’t have time, she didn’t have a sword or a hellhound or a gun—what did she have?

  Hellhound venom. Hugh had given it to her along with a few other methods of protection. It was in a perfume vial—a significant payload, enough to paralyze the nosferatu, but she had no way to deliver it. Stabbing wouldn’t work; the creature was too fast. And even if she managed to cut it with a venom-laced blade, it wouldn’t slow it enough to allow her to get away. Not a lot of damage could be done with the few items she had—a plastic fork to the eye?

  The big fat zero was growing morbidly obese.

  As if concerned by her lack of reply, Colin wrote, Do not be afraid, sweet Savitri.

  I’m not. Not for herself. But Nani, the other passengers?

  You should be. A round yellow face suddenly winked up at her.

  “Shh, naatin,” Nani admonished a moment later. Savi stifled her laughter; it had too sharp an edge, anyway. “You waste too much time with those friends online.” The rest lay unspoken: Had Savi not spent so much time on her computer, she’d have passed her classes, finished her studies, obtained the almighty degree. It did not need to be spoken; it had been said a million times. Nani meant well, of course—it was just that Savi’s idea of what was good for her conflicted with her grandmother’s.

  But it was hard to blame it on a generation gap when a two-hundred-year-old vampire finished a sentence with a smiley.

  She closed her eyes, tried to imagine his expression at that moment. His features were impossible to forget: his short hair, like burnished gold; the darker, slashing brows; thick lashes around wintry gray eyes. A blond god, with a deity’s careless cruelty; the firm line of his mouth suggested it, and his smile was a predator’s.

  Was that wink to reassure her or to mock her?

  Talk to me, sweet. Can you see it?

  Savi turned, leaned out over the aisle. The top of its head. It took only another minute to locate the seating plan from the airline website and send him the link and seat number.

  You’re in first class?

  Nani’s with me. And the reason she’d chosen the ridiculously expensive tickets. Sav
i had insisted over Nani’s protests, citing reasons that ranged from her grandmother’s age to the fatigue of the endless flight and multiple connections.

  Did it accomplish anything? Is she impressed by what you’ve made of yourself, or does she think you more reckless than ever, tossing away money?

  Ah, there it was. She could almost hear the aristocratic accent, the lazy viciousness.

  Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?

  Yes. The nosferatu will eat your fear. It’s ambrosia to such as us.

  She sighed. Surely he realized that seven months of living near Lilith had inured her to such melodrama. And he didn’t need to convince her that the nosferatu was terrible, evil—she knew what it was.

  I’m not afraid, she repeated.

  She didn’t add that if he asked again in forty minutes and Michael still hadn’t shown, he’d get a completely different answer. Colin took as much pleasure in producing fear as he did in his appearance. And Savi was easy—but not that easy.

  CHAPTER 2

  Caelum is…beyond beautiful. A fitting home for once-humans who call themselves Guardians, and who claim their powers have an angelic source. I’ve heard Hell described exactly as you imagine it: fire and brimstone, cities crawling with demons, and torture pits. But Chaos—no one will tell me anything about Chaos. I’ve had to guess most of it.

  —Savi Murray, in a secured e-mail to Detective Taylor, 2007

  Colin tore his hands through his hair and tried to ignore the voice yelling at him through his speakerphone. “Make sure she stays calm, Colin, or I’ll rip your balls off! Tell her to get into that bathroom right now and use the fucking symbols.”

  Shut up, Lilith. He didn’t say it aloud, because she would rip his balls off. They’d regenerate, but he liked that part of his anatomy too much to lose it, even temporarily. He said through clenched teeth, “Agent Milton, my dear, you are not helping. Where’s Castleford?”