by Skye Knizley
He bowed again and turned to Raven. “Good night, Ravenel.”
With a flourish he turned on his heel and headed for the doors. Raven moved closer to Valentina and lowered her voice.
“Mother?”
Valentina shook her head. “No, Ravenel, you may not kill him. He may yet prove himself useful. I shall have someone keep an eye on him.”
Aspen didn’t believe in killing for the sake of killing, but given the state of affairs and the attacks on the House, it seemed dangerous to let Du Guerre leave after dropping such a bombshell. They should at least ask more questions, with an axe if they needed to.
“Lady Valentina, is that wise?” she asked.
Valentina arched an eyebrow. “Aspen, I love you like a daughter, but you may not question my decisions, is that clear?”
Aspen’s own temper flared. “Lady Valentina, I am first and foremost Raven’s partner. I am also the Magus of this house, a position I take seriously. Du Guerre may prove to be a danger to this house, I have a duty to inquire.”
“She’s right, Mother,” Raven added.
Valentina’s face darkened, then paled and she gave a curt nod. “Quite so, Aspen. I apologize for letting my anger get the better of me. Your counsel will be considered.”
She looked at Dominique. “My love, attend me. I wish to…powder my nose.”
Dominique stood in a smooth motion and took her place beside Valentina. “Of course, my wife.”
The two left without another word. Aspen watched them go, a measure of concern and surprise in her mind.
“Now what?” she asked as Court discussions resumed around them.
Raven was watching the crowd. ‘We mingle and end Court in her place. When we can, I’m going to check Strohm’s tomb.’
‘I thought he was still at the tower with your sword through his skull,’ Aspen said.
‘That’s where he’s supposed to be, yes, protected by four wards and a concrete tomb Mother had built a couple years ago,’ Raven replied.
‘And if he’s missing?’
Raven met her eyes. ‘Then we’re in trouble.’
‘That’s an understatement, love,’ Aspen said.
CHAPTER FOUR
343 Wolf Point, Chicago, IL 11:15 p.m. December 22nd
Court ended without further drama and Raven drove back toward Wolf Point in silence. What had Du Guerre hoped to gain? He’d known that she and Mother would refuse a private meeting in the middle of Court, it would have been seen as showing favoritism to a vampire of questionable loyalty. He’d done it on purpose, but why?
Whatever his angle was, Raven was certain the only person it favored was Du Guerre. He was a thoroughly selfish man. He had his moments, but his loyalty was to himself.
They arrived back at the apartment just after eleven. Aspen kissed Raven’s cheek and adjourned to the kitchen to make tea while Raven peeled off her corset and dropped onto the sofa, grateful to have feeling back in her ribs. She was still rubbing the soreness out of them when Aspen sat beside her and set a cup of steaming mint tea on the table. She then sipped her own cup and Raven knew she was admiring the view.
“Do you need help with that?” Aspen asked.
Raven leaned sideways and kissed Aspen’s nose. “Maybe later. I’m thinking of getting changed and going out to the Dark to verify Francois’ story.”
Aspen arched an eyebrow and glanced at the clock above the stove. “It’s going to be midnight soon, are you sure the middle of the night is the best time to go out there?”
“No worse than any other.”
Raven kissed her softly then stood and adjourned to the bedroom, where she changed into soft leather leggings, an oversized blue sweater and high boots that concealed her knives. Aspen changed into a similar outfit, choosing a tee shirt and jacket rather than a sweater.
“That’s better,” Raven said, pulling her long crimson hair into a ponytail.
Aspen cocked her head. “I dunno, I kind of like it when you’re all corseted it up. Have you seen what that thing does to your boobs?”
Raven made a face. “I know it makes my ribs feel like they’re breaking. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
She was almost to the door when Aspen stopped her with a gentle hand on her elbow. Raven paused and in that moment Aspen kissed her. It was a long, loving kiss that left her lips tingling and the rest of her body feeling as if it was on fire.
“What was that for?” Raven asked when they parted.
“Promises for later,” Aspen replied.
Chicago, The Dark, 12:01 a.m. Dec 23rd
The Dark. That’s what they’d called it from the first week, decades before, when electricity stopped working within the sixteen square blocks north of Old Town. The Dark. It sounded ominous, foreboding, and well it should. Within that zone, the sun never shone brighter than a dim yellow light through grey clouds. Electric devices sparked and died, radios spewed nothing but gibberish and a strange dark mist always coiled around the manholes and drains, as if something far more sinister lurked just beneath the city streets.
Almost no one lived there now, just a handful of squatters, drug addicts and the preternaturals that preyed upon them. The Dark was a ghost town, a place of stygian nightmares in the heart of the city.
Raven parked her Jaguar as close as she could to the edge of the Dark and looked at the street in distaste. Snow was still falling, choking the street and making walking a lesson in balance even in the well lit streets behind them.
“Are you sure about this?” Aspen asked.
Raven nodded. “Yeah, it needs to be done and I don’t trust anyone else to do it. I know the Dark makes you feel weird, you don’t have to come.”
Aspen made a face and looked back at the street. “I’m not letting you go by yourself.”
The walk was slow going through the snow and eternal gloom, especially when they had to navigate around abandoned vehicles or equipment that had been left behind by the government in their efforts to reclaim the area. It took the better part of an hour to reach the door to the tower that had once housed the House Tempeste. The building looked the same as it had when Raven had last seen it, an imposing sky-scraper with black walls, gargoyles around the first floor and front steps chiseled from black marble. It was a place that seemed to belong to another world, perhaps in hell bathed in the blood of Satan’s enemies.
Raven climbed the steps with Aspen close behind. At the top she glanced at Aspen then tested the doors, which opened easily on oiled hinges.
The lobby beyond was larger than the entire ballroom at the Manor, with a circular reception desk in the middle and four elevators that had been blown out in the wake of Raven’s battle with Xavier some years before. There should have been two human House Tempeste guards on duty, but there was no sign of them.
“That can’t be good,” Aspen said.
Raven drew her pistol and approached the one working elevator. Her senses were working overtime telling her she and Aspen were not alone. The smell of death lingered, like ancient vampires crawling from their coffins.
She pressed the elevator button and waited, checking the shadows for any sign of the missing guards, but there was nothing. They were either dead, turned, or worse. She was hoping for dead, being turned by a Renegade wasn’t likely to be a picnic for anyone loyal to the House.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and she ushered Aspen inside. The ride to the penthouse was an eternity of waiting. She didn’t bother to check any of the other floors, there wasn’t much left after the explosion. They hadn’t bothered to repair anything that wasn’t necessary, nobody could live here, anyway. It was a miracle of magik that the elevator worked at all.
The doors opened on the highest floor and Raven led the way into the wide corridor. The carpet was slick with water and ice blowing in through the shattered windows and the win
d howled like a banshee as the storm outside continued to rage to some unknown crescendo. Blood was visible beneath the ice, and Raven could smell it even in the wind and snow. She picked her way down the corridor, through the fire door and up the steps to the roof.
The rooftop altar and unholy temple were buried in almost two feet of snow. The stations where the Tempeste family had once been tied in preparation for their sacrifice had been removed and a tomb now filled the space, a concrete monolith intended to be the last resting place of Strohm, sanguinarch vampire and evil pain in the ass. During the final battle, Raven had pinned his skull to the altar with her sword. The tomb was built and his skull, complete with sword, was interred within, never to be touched again.
At least, that was the plan. The doors to the tomb stood open, their magikal wards shattered, the mundane locks broken and useless.
“Ray, I sense magik. Dark and powerful. Whoever broke into the tomb, they were a spellcaster, maybe as strong as I am,” Aspen said.
“Great. Just great,” Raven muttered.
She made her way through the snow and switched to her vampire sight to peer into the depths of the darkened tomb. The slab where Strohm’s remains should have been was empty, save for the broken hilt of Raven’s sword.
“Du Guerre was right,” she said.
Aspen joined her within the safety of the open doors. “Do you think he had something to do with it?”
It was a reasonable question. Du Guerre had done Strohm’s dirty work on more than one occasion, it would be no surprise if he was involved. It was unlikely, though, that he would give himself away in such a manner. He would be more interested in selling out whoever had been involved to the highest bidder than in risking his own neck.
“No,” Raven said at last. “I don’t know what game he’s playing, but he’s not dumb enough to do this and tip his hand to us.”
She stepped into the tomb, where the scent of blood was stronger, almost overpowering. She flicked on her torch and shined it around the room. Blood was spattered on the walls and ceiling, where it had frozen in rivulets of black and crimson. In the far corner lay the two guards left to watch the tomb, their faces covered in bloody ice. By the looks of them and the odd angles at which they lay, their necks had been broken. Now they lay like toys discarded by a careless child.
“Gaia,” Aspen breathed.
Raven knelt beside them, knowing they were dead, but needing to know. They were both cold, colder than the storm outside.
“Swell,” she muttered.
Old Town, Chicago, 12:52 a.m. Dec 23rd
The drive to Old Town had been done in silence. Raven was in no mood to talk and Aspen respected her wishes. What was there to talk about? Strohm’s remains were missing, taken by someone powerful and quick. Though the guards were human, they were well trained in magik and bloodshed. They should have been able to hold off anyone who made an appearance, and if they couldn’t Marie LaVeau herself had placed the wards. The remains were well hidden and protected. So how had they been taken? Raven was betting Du Guerre knew and she wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.
Old Town was busy when she parked the Jaguar in the tow-zone just outside the northern gate. The wrought iron fence that surrounded the heart of the district was decorated with old fashioned holiday lights, the kind common in 50s and 60s sitcoms. Costumed carolers were capering through the holiday-themed decorations on the green and merry-makers of every description were taking advantage of the music, food stalls and comradery. Regardless of religion, the holidays were a major event in Old Town. Traditions from all over the world were celebrated and enjoyed within the confines of the preternatural district. It was something Raven had appreciated since childhood. She’d eagerly escaped the too-perfect Christmas season at the Manor to the welcoming arms of Marie and her friends in the city.
Raven walked hand in hand with Aspen through what vampires, lycans and Fae considered a Winter Wonderland. If you weren’t looking too hard you could almost believe that the elf dolls didn’t have fangs and the sugarplum faeries weren’t drinking blood from thimbles. Almost. Still, it didn’t take away from the experience.
Halfway across the courtyard Raven stopped and bought warm apple cider from a vendor and sat with Aspen to listen to the carolers, who were dressed in Victorian garb of leather and lace.
“This is the kind of Yule I had in mind,” Aspen whispered.
Raven kissed her cheek. “I know. I’m sorry that things haven’t gone quite like we’d planned.”
Aspen smiled and sipped her cider. “I understand, love. I’ll take the moments that we can get.”
Raven knew that Aspen wanted more, more time for the two of them to just be a couple, more peace and less violence. She wanted that, too, in her heart. But there was always a case, always something putting innocents in danger and not enough good guys to keep the darkness at bay. Even now, in this perfect moment, her heart was drawn to the Night Shift and the need to continue the investigation into Strohm’s missing remains, it was the reason she’d come in the first place. It didn’t seem fair to Aspen that she couldn’t just enjoy the damn moment, but instead had to worry about Strohm, not to mention Jensen’s death and the strange sorcerer from the hotel.
She sighed and sipped her own drink. The cider was warm and rich with sweet cinnamon and just a hint of cloves. MacLeod made it every year, it was and Old Chicago staple that brought holiday travelers to Isle of Night year after year. It was just that good.
“Good evening, Ravenel, Miss Aspen,” Du Guerre said behind them.
Raven hadn’t noticed him, and that bothered her. He was a sneaky bastard, and getting worse all the time.
“Francois,” she said, without turning.
“Enjoying the music? It’s good to see you out and about,” Du Guerre continued.
“We were until you showed up,” Aspen said.
Du Guerre dusted snow off the bench opposite and took a seat. “Apologies, if I am intruding, Miss Aspen. I couldn’t help but notice you were here, and my instincts tell me it is more than just the allure of holiday music that brings you to Old Town this night.”
“The courtyard isn’t really the place for this conversation, Francois,” Raven said.
“Is it not? We’re surrounded by our kind, Ravenel. Should they not know?” Du Guerre asked.
Raven glanced at the vampires and assorted preternaturals that danced and capered around them. They were quieter now, their attention drawn to the conversation in their midst.
“Hell no,” Raven snapped. “Take it inside or shut up!”
Du Guerre smiled and tapped a nut of tobacco into the Churchwarden pipe he’d recently adopted. “It is a concern to the community, Ravenel.”
He finished filling his pipe and snapped his fingers, inhaling on the suddenly smoldering tobacco.
“Mother will decide what is of interest,” Raven said.
Du Guerre shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “In any case, I have already shared what I know with the Court. I have nothing else to say.”
Raven stood and leaned down to look into Du Guerre’s eyes. They were a beautiful blue, as clear and cold as the Arctic Ocean.
“What’s your game, Francois?”
Du Guerre looked innocent. “I beg your pardon, Ravenel? I am nothing but a vampire loyal to the house sharing information for the good of the Totentanz.”
“Really? How do I know it wasn’t you? That was a neat trick with the pipe. Learning a little magik are we?” Raven asked.
“Merely a parlor trick, my dear Ravenel,” Du Guerre replied.
“It wasn’t him,” Aspen said.
Raven felt Aspen’s hand on her shoulder and looked back. Aspen’s eyes were glowing blue, her magik was active.
“How can you tell?”
“His magik feels different. He’s not a caster, like he said, it was a par
lor trick,” Aspen replied. “Whoever broke the wards was a full-fledged mage.”
“For once, your pet is right,” Du Guerre said, gesturing with his pipe.
It was all Raven could do not to punch him in the face. When she spoke, her voice was low. Menacing. “Don’t call her that, Francois.”
Du Guerre snapped to his feet. “She’s a Fae, Raven. Hardly worthy of you.”
“She’s far better than a toad who changes his alliance to suit his petty needs,” Raven replied. “At least I can trust her to always have my back.”
Du Guerre’s smile was almost manic. “Indeed, a fae you can trust? Isn’t that a contradiction?”
“Shut up, Francois,” Aspen snapped.
Du Guerre’s eyes shifted. “Silence, pet! People are talking!”
Raven had never gotten so angry so fast. In an instant her full rage was evident in her blazing eyes. Her roundhouse slap echoed off the nearby buildings and brought the festivities to a shocked halt. Du Guerre staggered back into the bench and Raven was in his face, fangs bare, claws extended.
“I warned you, Du Guerre. Aspen is my partner. Not my pet, my partner,” she growled. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
Du Guerre wiped blood from his lip. “There’s the Ravenel I know. The one Court needs to see. They fear you, Raven.”
Raven blinked in surprise and glanced at the onlookers that surrounded them. The preternaturals watched with a mix of fear, awe and blind hatred. She had, after all, dared to slap Du Guerre. They didn’t know what an eel he could be.
She straightened and let her anger fade. She didn’t know what Du Guerre was up to, but she’d fallen for it enough.
“Good night, Francois,” she said. “If you speak like that to my wife again, I will kill you, laws or no laws.”
She turned on her heel and pulled Aspen into her arms for a long and passionate kiss that none of the onlookers could mistake as anything but love. When they parted, Raven cast a final warning glance at Du Guerre and returned to the Jaguar with Aspen in tow.