Deadly Storm

by Skye Knizley

  Raven straightened and cracked her back. She’d grown stiff from examining the two corpses.

  “You’re not alone, Rupe. Let’s finish our sweep and get the hell out of here,” she said.

  The house was enormous with a rambling floorplan and maze of room that made it seem larger on the inside than it was on the outside. They found signs of habitation on the upper floor, some of the bedrooms were devoid of the dust and debris that covered almost every surface and the bed linens smelled of fabric softener and detergent with a decidedly feminine perfume. In addition, closets were stocked with clean clothing that included dresses, corsets and the finest in leather.

  Levac sniffed at a teacup sitting on one of the bedside tables. “This is still warm, Ray. There might be someone in the house still.”

  “If they are, they’re good at hiding,” Raven said. She closed her eyes and let her monster out of its cage in the darkest corners of her mind. Her senses went into overdrive and she cocked her head, listening for any indication that there was someone else in the house. She could hear Levac’s heartbeat and smell the chocolate in his pocket as if it was beneath her nose. Deeper than that she could detect the scent of the two corpses on the first floor, the human-fat candles that were part of the ritual and the glue that clung to the rotting wallpaper in the foyer, perfume from women who had passed through the house, but nothing to indicate that anyone else was present.

  She opened her eyes and shook her head.

  Levac frowned. “Nothing? No scent, no heartbeat, nothing?”

  “Just yours,” Raven said.

  “What if they don’t have heartbeats?” Levac asked, setting the cup back down.

  “Everyone has a heartbeat, even elder vampires,” Raven said.

  Levac looked genuinely curious. “Even dead people? Like zombies?”

  Raven made a face. “I don’t think I’ve ever encountered zombies. Ask Jynx or Piper when you see them.”

  She turned and stepped back into the corridor. They were on the third floor and the hallway was narrow, with hardwood floors and walls papered with an antique flower print. Water and time had peeled the wallpaper in places, but it had held up surprisingly well, given the apparent age. She ran a hand along the wall, feeling the silken texture of the paper until she reached the end of the corridor where a narrow six-paned window overlooked the street below. Snow covered everything in a heavy, impenetrable blanket that made the distant city look like a holiday postcard.

  Raven watched it for a moment then turned and almost ran into Levac coming the other way.

  “Find anything?” he asked.

  “Just more snow, no sign of Zhu or any backup. You?”

  “Nothing. My gut tells me someone’s here, the tea is warm, candles are still burning, the upper floor feels lived in, but no sign of life,” Levac replied.

  “Let’s head back downstairs, I saw another door maybe this place has a basement we haven’t checked out.”

  She continued past him toward the narrow spiral stair that led down to the second floor. Levac trailed behind, muttering “Great, a basement in a moldering old mansion. I bet there are spiders.”

  Raven descended the steps with care, they’d been designed for much shorter people.

  “Since when are you afraid of spiders?”

  “Since Thad told me there were spiders as big as Buicks in the Chicago sewers,” Levac said.

  “He’s pulling your leg,” Raven said.

  Levac looked relieved. “Really?”

  “Of course, he’s just messing with you. They’re no bigger than Volkswagens,” Raven said.

  Raven felt his glare against the back of her head.

  “Thanks, I feel oh so much better. What else is down there? Alligators the size of tanks?”

  The stairs to the main floor sat at the other end of the house, but a servant’s stair led straight down to the kitchen from here. Raven opened the door and peered into the darkness below. Inky shadows stared back, obscuring the stairs and the door at the bottom. Something about the swirling mass made Raven pause, and she pressed the light switch by her elbow in a vain hope that the lights would come on. To her surprise, a single bulb halfway down the steps flickered to life, casting a dull yellow light on the rickety steps. There was no shadow monster waiting in the depths, and she had to fight to hide her relief from Levac. What the hell was wrong with her, anyway? She’d faced much worse than a creepy old house. Witches, demons, hellhounds, who cared about some dark stairs, even if they were in the heart of a house that had inspired at least three horror novels and a B-grade slasher flick? They were just stairs.

  “Ray?” Levac asked softly.

  Raven almost jumped. “Yes?”

  “Why did that light work when none of the others in the house do?”

  It was a good question, one Raven didn’t have a good answer for. It was possible the stairs were on a separate circuit, one that still had power, but it seemed unlikely. On the other hand, few other explanations made even that much sense.

  She started down the steps, taking them with slow, sure steps. The wood creaked beneath her feet, a sound that echoed in the confined space of the narrow stairwell. Step, then step again until she reached the four-paneled door at the bottom. The knob turned easily and she stepped out into the large kitchen at the back of the house. Here, sumptuous meals prepared over an open fire or on the wide coal-fired stove had once been served to the denizens of the monstrous house. Now, the fires stood cold and empty, the stove a silent testament to decades long gone.

  Next to the stove was a wide countertop of polished wood scarred by knives and time. Opposite was a double sink with a tall faucet and pull-chain sprayer to wash away scraps and detritus. At the other end of the room was the door into the first floor hallway and a wide, old-fashioned ice box. Beside them, another door led to the basement stairs. Raven tested the knob and found it unlocked. She pulled it open and was assaulted by the scents of death and decay that boiled from the depths below.

  “Damn, more dead bodies?” Levac muttered.

  “Long dead, by the smell,” Raven said. “That’s old death.”

  She pressed the light switch on the wall and, to her surprise, the bulbs below clicked to life. She could see the dull yellow glow vanishing somewhere below.

  “Do we have to?”

  “Harley said he found the skull on an altar, this is the only place left to look,” Raven said.

  The creaking wooden stairs became stone halfway into the basement, as did the walls. The chamber below had been cut from bedrock, drill and chisel marks still covered the walls, which glistened with moisture from the snow above.

  Raven’s breath came in plumes of white as she stepped into the chamber and glanced around. The first room was typical of most basements, with tools, rope and rotting household goods piled against the walls or on shelves that were rotting in the damp. A wooden door led deeper into the basement and she pushed it open with the fingers of one hand, hissing at the piercing cold of the wood.

  “It’s frozen solid,” she said to Levac’s inquiring look.

  Levac pulled a tool from his pocket and shined its beam against the wall until the device beeped.

  “The walls are well below freezing, minus ten on the surface,” he said.

  Raven cocked her head. “You just happen to have an infrared thermometer?”

  “It’s a gift from Sloan, she thought it would help with determining time of death at crime scenes,” Levac said.

  “Hmm… Aspen just buys me underwear,” Raven said.

  Levac grinned. “Oh, Sloanie buys me drawers, she got me this one pair with−”

  Raven held up a hand. “I don’t need to know about your undie situation, Rupe.”

  “But they have−”

  “No, Rupe.”

  The hallway beyond was short, ending in a circula
r chamber with polished stone walls and a depression in the center that put it three feet below the rest of the chamber. A round altar made from wood, stone and polished glass sat in the middle of the depression. An offering of blood, meat and gemstones sat on the altar, indicating a recently completed ritual.

  Levac took several photographs with his phone. “I think we found the altar.”

  Raven joined him, surprised it got colder the closer she got to the altar. “There’s a hollow in the middle. Where the skull used to reside, you think?”

  Levac shrugged. “Metaphysics aren’t my thing, boss. I can tell you those rubies cost a pretty penny, though. I bought Sloan a holiday ring with a much smaller stone, cost me three large just for a single ruby.”

  The altar was small, less than two feet wide, with carvings that matched those that still surrounded Ash’s corpse. A goblet of gold, almost a bowl with a stem, rested in the center. Raven could tell it was filled with lycan blood just by scent. She touched a finger to the still-wet blood and held it to her nose, almost certain it had once filled the veins of one Jensen Murphy.

  “Welcome, Lady Raven,” a voice said behind them.

  Raven spun, one hand going to the weapon holstered beneath her left arm. Standing just inside the door was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. The newcomer had hair so blonde it was almost white, eyes the color of ancient ice and wore a crown of silver high on her brow. She was dressed in a blue and white gown and wore high boots of white leather.

  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” Raven said.

  “No, you haven’t,” the woman replied in a soft voice.

  Levac passed behind Raven and smiled. “Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m−”

  The woman cut him off. “You are Rupert Levac, Lady Raven’s familiar. I care little for your human title.”

  “And you are?” Raven asked.

  The woman smiled. “You may call me Arden.”

  “You got a last name?” Raven asked.

  “No,” Arden replied.

  “Okay then,” Levac said. “You obviously know who we are, what are you doing here?”

  Arden paced slowly along the outside of the depression. “This home belongs to my coven. What are you doing here, Childe of Strohm?”

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t common knowledge, even in House Tempeste, that Strohm’s blood ran through her veins. He’d fed off Valentina while she was pregnant. Only he, Valentina, Du Guerre, and Strohm knew of this.

  “Do not call me that,” she said. “We’re here investigating the death of a man named Jensen Murphy.”

  Arden laughed and Raven felt it on her skin the same way she did when Aspen was truly happy.

  “He was hardly a man, Childe of the Tempeste. I believe the modern word is lycan, though we had less savory names,” Arden said.

  “Are you saying you killed him?” Levac asked.

  Arden laughed again and Raven cringed. She wasn’t human, she was part fae, at least as powerful as Aspen.

  “Of course not, familiar.”

  “Who did?” Raven asked.

  Arden turned and favored them with a smile that seemed to light up the room. “That I do not know, we only had need of his blood.”

  “You’ve got a quart of his blood and expect me to believe it just showed up one day? Come on, Arden,” Raven said.

  Arden started pacing again. “Word was sent that we had need of a lycan’s blood and would pay handsomely. The blood was delivered and we asked no questions.”

  “You didn’t care,” Levac said.

  “He was a lycan, of course we did not care. It was pure, that was all we needed,” Arden said.

  Raven turned to keep Arden in her sight. “Who brought it to you?”

  “It was not I who accepted delivery. You would have to ask my sisters,” Arden replied.

  Levac stepped forward. “Might we have their names, ma’am? Perhaps telephone numbers?”

  Arden stopped and lowered her head, shaking it slowly. “This game you play, what is the purpose? This asking of questions as if you care about the death of a lowly lycan.”

  “We do care,” Raven said. “Murder is a crime, a violation of both human and vampire law. Give us the names.”

  “I will not, little dhampyr. The Coven is a closely guarded secret and you’ve no need of the names,” Arden said.

  “We kind of do,” Levac said. “I’d like to make an arrest and be home in time for the holiday.”

  Arden stepped into the center and smiled at Levac. “I’m sorry, sweet familiar. The Yule festival is the least of your concerns.”

  She exhaled, sending a cloud of cold that surrounded Levac and froze him where he stood. Raven barely had time to draw her pistol before the freezing vapor filled her lungs and the dead, cold sensation raced through her veins. It was like the morgue all over again, the terrifying sensation of cold, the utter helplessness. She fell to her knees shivering with cold and pain as Arden turned her attention back to Levac, a cruel smile on her lips.

  “I must thank you for bringing your familiar into the Coven. His blood is sweeter than poor Ashwell’s. It will do nicely,” she said.

  Raven watched powerlessly as Arden drew a silvered dagger from beneath her cloak and gathered a crystal chalice from beneath the altar. The cold was in her blood and skin, freezing her slowly from the inside out. The pain made her vision fade and her mind cry for mercy. If she’d had breath she’d have screamed at the agony coursing through her, it was as if her entire body was bathed in icy fire.

  Arden turned and looked at her, mere inches from Raven’s face. “I know, Child of Strohm. I sense your fear and hopelessness. The pain and cold are temporary, I’ve no desire to harm Lord Strohm’s favored child. The pain of his loss will be somewhat less temporary, and for that I apologize.”

  Raven found her voice and forced her jaws to move. “Don’t. Don’t hurt him, please.”

  Arden blinked in surprise. “Fascinating. Your strength is impressive, Lady Raven. It is little wonder Lord Strohm desires you.”

  She turned away and began muttering words that Raven heard, but didn’t understand. They were dark fae, she knew that much. It was a language forbidden even in the Faewild, the source of some of the darkest magiks ever to be cast.

  Raven fought against the pain, pressed against the spell freezing her to death and willed it to stop. She knew her father was practically immune to such magik and her blood held the same power, awakened by her death in 1943. The power was there, she just had to find it.

  She closed her eyes and focused her attention inward as she’d been taught as a child. Her monster, her vampire blood, was there, a pale blue pulse in her veins. Beneath was the throbbing deep red potential of her father, one of the most powerful warriors ever to walk the Earth. With her will she touched it, felt the immense power and anger that lived within her. It fought, something in her that didn’t want to unleash this monster, didn’t want to feel it again. Her vampire was a soft, comfortable old friend that she’d known since childhood. This, the power of immortality, was something else entirely. It was dark, a thing born from the depths, a thing not meant to be carried by the heart of man.

  Raven didn’t care. She growled and stomped through her mind after it, into the darkest corners of her psyche where dreams became nightmares. She had to tap her father’s magik or Rupert was going to die. She couldn’t do it alone and she’d be damned if her subconscious was going to rob her of her dearest friend.

  She found her immortality in a memory of her father’s funeral. In her mind’s eye she saw the black coffin, with its silver trim and sodden American flag. She felt the rain on her cheeks and choked on the stench of turned earth, but this nightmare didn’t scare her anymore. It was the last place the magik should have hidden. She opened the coffin and unleashed her immortality without a second thought.r />
  Raven’s eyes snapped open after what felt like an eternity. Power boiled in her veins, fighting back the faerie’s magik, and made her eyes throb as if they were on fire. She focused on Arden and realized only seconds had passed, the faerie was just finishing the ritual and preparing to take Levac’s life. Arden held the blade loosely in one hand and smiled like a teacher about to give a spelling lesson.

  “Not today.”

  Raven’s voice sounded far away and choked, but it was there. Arden spun and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Impossible,” she said. “How can this be?”

  Raven stood on shaking legs and raised her pistol. “Back away from him, bitch, and drop the knife.”

  Arden began to cast a spell and Raven squeezed her pistol’s trigger. The big gun jerked in her hand and the bullet exploded from the gun in a cloud of righteous fire and steam. It bounced off Arden’s dress as if it was made of stone and vanished into the darkness with a metallic whine.

  “I am not stupid, Childe of Strohm. You already killed one of our sisters, we are protected from your weapon,” Arden said.

  Raven took another, more confident step and raised her aim. “Does that protection include your head? Drop the knife or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

  Arden whirled and the knife became a silvered missile propelled by magik that struck Raven in the right shoulder with enough force to crack bone. She grunted in pain and fired again, intent on killing the witch and putting an end to the fight. Her aim was true and the bullet impacted with Arden’s forehead, where it stuck, a spinning lump of lead, silver, holy oak and garlic.

  Arden flicked it away with two fingers. “To answer your question, dhampyr, yes. You cannot harm me. Drop the weapon, don’t make me kill you.”

  Raven holstered her weapon. “I’d be impressed, but I’m too damn tired. Get away from Levac.”

  Arden shook her head. “I need him, Lady Raven. We need him.”

  “Why?” Raven asked, stepping closer. “What’s so important about familiar blood?”

  “You will find out soon enough. You may leave, or stay and watch. If you try to interfere, I will be forced to kill you. This is too important,” Arden said.