Death's Mistress dbd-2

by Karen Chance

  “I’m hearing multiple sirens now,” I pointed out.

  “Not for long.”

  Mircea had barely finished speaking when a huge moving van rumbled out of an alley. I managed to squeak by on the sidewalk, sacrificing the front bumper to a fire hydrant, but the cop wasn’t so lucky. He stood on the brakes, judging by the sound, but still plowed straight into the side of it. The coupe rear-ended him and their combined force pushed the truck onto the sidewalk and took out a candy store.

  “If I’d known you were that efficient, I’d have asked for help before,” I told Mircea.

  “You don’t usually require it.” It was mild enough, but it sounded like a rebuke.

  “I don’t usually get mugged by family, either!”

  “Who?” Mircea asked sharply.

  “Radu’s bright-eyed boy. You might have mentioned Louis-Cesare was involved.”

  “I was not informed.” His voice suggested that someone was going to pay dearly for that little lapse.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” I said tightly.

  “Meaning?”

  “That I don’t think it’s coincidence that three first-level masters from three different Senates all suddenly formed an intense desire to talk to—”

  “Dorina!”

  “—a certain person on the same night. There’s more here than you bothered to tell me.” Not like that was new.

  “It should have been an easy errand. You didn’t need to know.”

  “Oh, no. No, no. That’s not how I work. If I’m going to take someone’s freaking head, I need to know why! You want blind obedience, send one of your boys.” It suddenly occurred to me to wonder why he hadn’t.

  “You do freelance assignments for many people,” Mircea said, before I could ask. “You were not as easily connected with me as one of my own stable.”

  “I hate when you do that,” I told him.

  “Do what?”

  “Answer questions before I ask them. It makes it seem like our conversations are planned out four or five steps ahead, and you’re just waiting for me to catch up.”

  “If that were the case, they would not end in arguments much of the time.”

  “Most of those arguments are because of this kind of thing. Start trusting me with the truth, or use someone else.”

  “I will explain the situation later, if you wish it.” Translation: it’s bad enough that I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. “Did Louis-Cesare mention what his interest was in your errand?”

  “He wasn’t feeling chatty. But probably the same as yours. Whatever that is.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I sincerely hope not,” he said quietly.

  It really is amazing what they can do with their voices, I thought, as gooseflesh broke out over my arms. I couldn’t translate that particular tone, because I’d never heard it before. But it had sounded a lot like: I’d hate to have to kill a member of the family.

  “Come again?”

  “Pull over. My men will locate you and assist with the search.” Translation: I’ll have my loyal minions take over and find Louis-Cesare, because you might not like what I plan to do to him.

  I stared at the phone for a moment. I owed Louis-Cesare a world of hurt, and I fully intended to deliver. But that wasn’t the same thing as throwing him to the lions. This was personal, and until somebody bothered to give me a good reason otherwise, it was going to remain that way.

  “Sorry. I didn’t get that,” I said.

  “Dorina! Pull off and wait for—”

  “I’ll call you back,” I told him, then chucked the phone out the window so he couldn’t use it to track me.

  It looked like we were on our own.

  CHAPTER 13

  A quick check in the rearview mirror showed that the coupe was back on our tail, with a crumpled front bumper but no other obvious damage. It had also acquired a buddy, a black sedan. It sped past the accident, passed the coupe and was coming up fast.

  Ray flapped a hand frantically at me and held up the map. HE’S AT THE CLUB. I RECOGNIZE THE CARPET.

  “The club? But why would he go back—”

  The sedan rammed us from behind, and it was a hell of a hit. We went spinning into an intersection, barely missed a motorcyclist and didn’t miss a streetlight. Fortunately, the Impala was from the era when cars were built like tanks. Even more fortunately, the light toppled onto the sedan as it tried to follow us onto Leonard Street, and put a mass of white cracks in the windshield. Things were starting to look up until the coupe screeched in behind us, and our front left wheel started going soft.

  I didn’t know if we’d run over some glass or if the tire had just been crappy all along, but either way, we were screwed. A bullet whizzed through the air, like an exclamation point on that thought, and took out my driver’s-side mirror. And Ray stuck the map in front of my face again.

  It was flapping in the breeze, and there wasn’t a lot of light. But even so I managed to see that he’d circled a street five or six blocks ahead. “Read the map,” I told him impatiently. “That’s a dead end.”

  He snatched it back and wrote PORTAL over the top in bold black letters.

  “That doesn’t help! If I stop, they’ll shoot us before we get anywhere near it!” Not to mention that portals give me the creeps, and that’s even when I knew where they went.

  Ray shook a fist at me and stabbed the spot, repeatedly. If he’d had a head, he’d have been screaming it off. “I get it!” I told him, stabbing back with my finger. “But I can’t stop, and cars don’t go through portals!”

  We were rammed again before he could respond, and the pen in his hand went flying. But he really didn’t need it. I didn’t know what our odds were of surviving the portal, but they had to be better than staying here.

  “You better be right about this,” I told him, and swerved hard to the left.

  There aren’t many true dead ends in Manhattan, but this one qualified. On either side were tall buildings and narrow sidewalks, and in front, only more of the same. There was a walkway for pedestrians that cut through to another street, but it didn’t look wide enough for the car. And then it didn’t matter, because Ray wrenched the wheel toward the plywood-covered front of a restaurant.

  We hit going about forty, which doesn’t sound like a lot unless you’re plowing into a wall of wood. The plywood front was apparently real enough, because it splintered and flew everywhere. As did glass, brick and drywall as we hit something fairly substantial on the other side. But there must have been an active portal in there somewhere, because I felt the usual nauseating drop as it caught us.

  I’d never heard of portals being approved for vehicular use, and now I knew why. There was suddenly no road anymore, no up or down, no anything but a rushing slur of color and noise and out-of-control momentum. We were tossed down its long gullet, twisted violently around and then hurled out onto a quiet, tree- shaded street. Upside down.

  We hit the ground hard, smashing in what was left of the roof and shattering the remaining windows, before flipping twice. Then something caught on the asphalt, slinging us sideways toward the curb—and the very large, very hard-looking tree just beyond it. I couldn’t do anything—the engine had died, and anyway, there was no time. I braced for impact.

  It didn’t come. Instead, we rode a wave of sparks toward the side of the road, with various metal bits cutting deep gouges into the street. They slowed our momentum somewhat, but we still hit the curb hard enough to tip us over onto one side. We scraped along the gutter like that until the car finally came to a halt. It teetered on the edge for a long moment, while deciding whether to give up the ghost or not. Then it gave a metallic sort of whine and slowly fell back onto all four tires.

  I clutched the steering wheel with nerveless hands, wondering why I wasn’t in a thousand pieces, while the car bounced up and down like a boat on rough seas. I finally swallowed and glanced to the side, to see Ray clinging to the seat next to me. He was clutchin
g it backward, with a leg wrapped around one side, and vibrating from missing head to toe.

  “I told you to buckle up,” I said shakily.

  He’d have probably flipped me off, but that would have required moving, and he and the seat appeared to be welded into one entity. That was a problem, because we weren’t out of the woods yet. If we could use the portal, so could the vamps, as soon as they figured out it was there. And that wouldn’t take them long, since there weren’t too many ways we could have vanished into thin air.

  “Come on, Ray.” I tugged at him, but he was having none of it. He was clinging to the seat like it was a lifeline, his fingers buried deep into the leather cushion. “You know we can’t stay here!”

  Nothing.

  I tried pulling his fingers out of the seat manually, but as soon as I let go of one, plop, back in the seat it went. “It’s like a roller coaster, Ray. If you don’t get out, they make you go again.”

  That did it. He scrambled out of the wreckage, but then the portal activated, and I had to drag him back in. There was no way the car was going to start, or drive if it did. But I turned the ignition anyway, because it was even less likely that we were going to outrun a group of masters on foot.

  Unbelievably, the engine caught. I gave a whoop of disbelief and pressed the gas. For a second, nothing happened. Then the mostly flat tires hit the asphalt with a flapping sound, and we slowly lurched forward. We’d gone maybe half a block when the coupe came slinging into the road out of nowhere.

  It landed on one end, hitting hard enough to send it somersaulting into the air before it smashed back down, almost on top of us. Humans would have been dead, but the crash did not noticeably inconvenience the vamps. They immediately began piling out of the car, and one of them saw us. Three black blurs started down the road after us—and disappeared.

  It took me a second to realize that they had been broadsided by the sedan. It had come hurtling out of the portal at maybe fifty miles an hour, smashed into them and then into the tree, and burst into flames. I just sat there for a second, feeling the heat on my face and watching car parts fly through the air, because I don’t get that kind of luck.

  And then lights started coming on in brownstones all along the road, which didn’t look like it got a lot of traffic—especially of our dubious variety. Concerned citizens were probably dialing the cops right now, giving me yet another reason to get gone. I floored it, and we took off, going all of twenty miles an hour.

  I chewed a thumbnail and wondered how much time this bought me. I suspected it wouldn’t be a lot. The vamps in the pileup might be out of commission, but it didn’t matter because they’d had plenty of time during the chase to call for backup. And with two flat tires, a whine in the engine and something grinding ominously under the dash, no way could we outrun them. We needed to go to ground, but if we did, the Hounds would be on us in no time.

  This is why I hate Uptown, I thought, staring around at the well-tended brownstones of the wealthy. They kept their cars in luxury, air-conditioned garages. Not to mention that they were probably all late models I couldn’t have hot-wired even with the tools I didn’t have. I was a Downtown kind of girl, and this was a strange land.

  I clamped my teeth on what I suspected would be an hour-long string of obscenities. Not that I had an hour. Come on, come on, think! You’ve lived here for years. There has to be someone—

  I got a glimpse of the nearest street sign and stood on the brakes, craning my neck to be sure. I parked the Impala in the middle of the road, tossed my jacket over Ray’s stump and dragged him over the seat behind me. Come to think of it, I did know one Uptown kind of guy.

  I just hoped like hell he was home.

  “Home” to senior masters traveling outside of their territories could mean a lot of things. For those on Senate business, it usually meant staying at one of the Senate’s many properties worldwide. But if they were traveling for pleasure—or if they were up to no good that they didn’t want their fellow senators to know about—they usually sponged off a subordinate. But what if they didn’t have a flunky in the area? Then they went to the vamp equivalent of a hotel. They stayed at the Club.

  Vampire owned and Senate approved, with branches in most major cities, the Club provided visiting masters with luxury, convenience and, most important, security. If someone wasn’t on the approved list, they didn’t get in. And I was most definitely not on that list.

  Fortunately, I was with someone who was.

  “Raymond Lu to see Prince Radu Basarab,” I told the little bald daub of a desk clerk.

  He didn’t answer, being too busy gaping at Ray’s gory stump. My jacket had fallen off somewhere in the mad dash here, and even I had to admit that the result was kind of gruesome. The blood flow had finally stopped, though, so that was something.

  “I–I—”

  “Radu Basarab,” I repeated slowly. “He’s here, right?” The vamp swallowed, and his hand disappeared under the counter, his shoulder jerking as he repeatedly stabbed the panic button. I glanced over my shoulder and wished whoever was in charge would hurry the hell up already. And then it was too late.

  A truck rumbled down the street, its bed full of men. They were seated on benches along each side, like a bunch of soldiers on their way to a fight, which looked a little out of place in this area. It was pretty accurate, though, I realized a second later, as a streetlamp caught a familiar face.

  It was one of Cheung’s boys, the one I’d fought in the storeroom. He must have been a senior-level master, because that shot should have killed him. Instead, livid and puckered scars crisscrossed his face and neck, and disappeared into the collar of the new shirt he’d acquired. He’d probably taken it off a subordinate, because it was too small, showing off a large indentation where his stomach ought to be. He’d heal eventually, of course, but in the meantime, he looked a little peevish.

  Scarface spied me through the leaded glass in the front door and his mouth dropped open—for a split second, until he leveled his shotgun at me. I jerked to the side, and it blew a hole through the door and across the room and would have taken out Ray’s head, if he still had one. Instead, it exploded against the expensive wood paneling behind the desk.

  “Never mind. I’ll find him myself,” I said, and dragged Ray over the counter.

  We dashed down a hall and ran straight into a group of well-armed security. “Oh, my God, look what they did!” I screamed, and pointed at Ray, who obligingly slumped against the wall. The security guard shied back; then his jaw set, and he and the rest of the team streamed past, headed for the lobby.

  Ray and I scurried ahead as the sound of shots, curses and breaking glass echoed down the hall. A waiter coming out of the kitchen saw Ray and dropped a tray of glasses. “Have you seen Prince Basarab?” I asked him. He just stood there, the tray clutched to his chest, and didn’t say anything. So I poked him. He jumped and stared at me instead. “Radu!” I repeated.

  He pointed up the stairs, and Ray and I took them two at a time. Vamps were peering out of all the doors on this floor, and none of them was ’Du, so I kept going. But at the top of the next flight of stairs, a handsome young man in a light blue dressing gown was just pulling a door shut behind him. I thought I recognized him, and sure enough, he saw me and smiled. “Dorina, isn’t it?”

  “That would be me.” The guy was one of Radu’s humans, brought along as a snack, among other things. I didn’t remember his name, but it didn’t matter. I doubted very much if most of the vamps did, either.

  He pushed sweaty blond hair off his neck. “I thought so. Things always get so much more… lively… whenever you’re around.” He looked past my shoulder. “Radu was wondering what all the commotion was about, but I suppose you’ll tell him.”

  “You bet.”

  He glanced at Ray and made a little moue of distaste. “So much for a quiet weekend,” he sighed, and edged on by.

  I slipped into the room he’d just left, closed the door and turned to see L
ouis-Cesare’s maker sitting up in bed. Radu Basarab shared his brother’s darkly handsome good looks, most of which were on display at the moment because he appeared to be wearing only a sheet. He snatched it up breast high, like a modest woman, and stared at me out of annoyed turquoise eyes.

  “Dory. You can’t be here, you know. Really you can’t.”

  “Why not? This is a vampire club.” I nudged Ray. “He’s a vampire.”

  “He doesn’t have a head.”

  “Okay, most of a vampire. And you said we’d get together while you were in town.”

  “I said I would come see you,” he said crossly. “That’s a very different thing! And what are you doing?”

  I looked up from settling Ray into a camel-colored wingback chair. “What am I supposed to do with him? Prop him in a corner?”

  Radu threw up his hands, but he stopped bitching long enough to wrap the sheet around himself and pad across to the bathroom. He emerged a moment later in a quilted orange silk robe and threw a towel at me. “For his neck. You have no idea what they charge here for incidentals. It’s a disgrace.”

  “Why aren’t you staying with Mircea, then?”

  Radu made a face. “Because of those damn races—”

  “Races?”

  “The World Championships, Dory!”

  “Of what?” I asked, spreading the towel along Ray’s chair back. He didn’t really need it, but arguing with Radu was a pointless occupation. His conversational style defied all logic except his own. And we were going to get interrupted in about thirty seconds anyway.

  “Ley-line racing. You know, the mages’ favorite sport.”

  “I don’t keep up with it,” I said, listening to the bumps, crashes and shouts coming from downstairs.

  “Well, neither do I! That’s the point. I planned this visit weeks ago, assuming that of course I would stay with Mircea. Only to be told that he was already hosting guests and was full up.”