by Skye Knizley
“You’ll find I’m full of surprises, Francois. Why are you here?”
Du Guerre shrugged. “It’s my club, as I told you.”
“And you’re hardly ever here. Does the name Napoleon Lash mean anything to you?” Raven asked.
Du Guerre looked innocent. “Should it?”
Raven tried to gauge his reaction. She’d learned to tell if he was lying, over the years, but this was a younger Francois. Still, his reaction seemed genuine.
“He’s a customer here. Perhaps you could do me a favor and ask the manager? A name like that should jog more than a few memories,” Raven said.
“Have a drink with me and I’ll consider it,” Du Guerre said.
“Ask around and I’ll consider not kicking your ass,” Raven replied.
Du Guerre’s jaw dropped. “Kick my ass?”
Raven’s smile was so sweet it dripped honey. “That’s what I said. Like Sugar Ray beat Armstrong.”
“Fascinating. You truly believe you can beat a man in a fair fight?” Du Guerre asked.
“I know I can,” Raven said.
Du Guerre spun her into a dip and his smile became a grin. “I accept. I will ask my staff about this Napoleon Lash if you can beat me in a fight. If I win, you tell me of Strohm and share my bed for the night.”
“When and where?”
“Why not here and now?” Du Guerre said.
The song ended and Raven slipped from his grasp, unsure what his intentions were. Du Guerre clapped his hands and beckoned to the manager. They held a hushed conversation and the manager hurried off. Du Guerre then accepted a microphone from the bandleader.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us tonight a dear friend of mine, Ms. Storm. She’s just returned from overseas and would like to show us what’s she’s learned. Kindly indulge us by clearing the floor,” he said.
Storm grabbed Raven’s arm. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Getting some information and kicking a traitor’s ass,” Raven replied.
She gripped the slit in her dress and tore it higher, allowing more freedom to her legs. She then kicked off the short heels she was wearing and gathered her hair into a ponytail that trailed down her back.
“A duel? Are you crazy? This isn’t the wild west!” Storm snapped.
Raven drained her glass and watched the dancers and staff clear away the dance floor while Du Guerre stripped down to his undershirt and pants. “It may as well be. Look, Dad, I know this guy. You will, too. If Lash was here, it was no coincidence. Either Du Guerre is involved or he knows who is.”
“This is ridiculous, Raven! We can just ask! This isn’t how it’s done!” Storm raged.
Raven glared up at him. “Maybe not today, but I once watched you arm wrestle a lycan to get a lead. I saw you duel a master vampire just to get the answer to a single question. This is the job.”
She stepped back and smiled. “Besides, I owe him a beating or two.”
She joined Du Guerre in the middle of the dance floor. He smiled and snapped his fingers. A spotlight from somewhere overhead came on and he basked in the glow.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Storm!”
The crowd erupted in applause and Raven bowed. When she straightened, Du Guerre smiled and took a step back. “Dear Nightingale guests, do not be alarmed by anything you see, Ms. Storm and I are both professionals, I assure you neither of us will be truly harmed.”
He let go of the microphone and said, “Begin.”
Raven stepped forward balanced on the balls of her bare feet. When she was close she snapped a kick at Du Guerre’s head then spun into a sweep that knocked him flat on his back. He fell hard and the crowd gasped in surprise. He was back on his feet in an instant, his smile still in place. “Amazing, you’ve learned well.”
He leapt into his own flurry of attacks, punches, spins and kicks all of which Raven blocked as she backed away. When she reached the far wall she danced back and pushed off the white-washed plaster. Her knee hit Du Guerre in the chin and her elbow came down hard on the top of his head. He fell again and Raven landed on top of him straddling his chest.
“Had enough?” she asked.
Du Guerre’s grin flashed. “I’m intrigued, and I admit more than a little aroused. You aren’t even breathing hard, little one. Who are you?”
Before Raven could answer, he lifted her off and threw her across the floor. She caught herself and turned the motion into a back handspring that left the crowd clapping in delight. Across the floor, Du Guerre bounced to his feet and charged. As he moved, he blurred and suddenly he was right in front of her. His fist hit Raven in the stomach and then he backhanded her hard enough to draw blood from her lips. His kick broke at least two ribs and Raven fell to her knees, blood dripping from her mouth.
“Had enough, Princess?” Du Guerre asked.
“Not remotely,” Raven gasped. She closed her eyes and unleashed her power. She rose like the wrath of kings and slammed the back of her head into Du Guerre’s jaw. He fell back stunned and she kicked him in the chest then spun and kicked him in the face and swept him off his feet. He crashed to the floor and she kicked him in the crotch like she was going for a goal at the World Cup. She felt the crunch of his pelvic bone and kicked again, this time in the ribs hard enough to snap bone. Du Guerre curled into a private ball of pain while the crowd laughed and cheered him on as if nothing had happened.
Raven let her power fade and looked at the crowd. They were deep beneath the drowning waters of Du Guerre’s special influence. She’d seen the glazed look before, once in the mirror and more than once in his club. She shook her head in disgust and hauled Du Guerre to his feet. He groaned in pain and spat a gobbet of blood.
“Impressive, you are no ordinary dhampyr,” he said.
“No, she isn’t,” Storm said, taking Du Guerre’s other arm. “Let’s get him in the back.”
“What about them?” Raven said with a jerk of her head.
“I will free them once we are elsewhere,” Du Guerre said.
They found Du Guerre’s office at the top of the stairs beyond a maze of corridors behind the main stage. It was large, with a wooden desk, two filing cabinets, a dressing screen and a lounge area with four chairs, a table and a champagne bucket with ice and a bottle of expensive champagne. Raven and Storm helped Du Guerre to the lounge and Raven wrapped a wad of ice in a napkin. Du Guerre took the ice and held it to his crotch.
“You do not fight like a lady, Ms. Storm,” he wheezed.
“You shouldn’t have used your powers,” Raven replied. “You were always more a lover than a fighter. Do you have Claret?”
“In the cupboard behind the screen.”
“I’ll get it,” Storm said. “You both could use some.”
Raven sat in one of the empty chairs. “Napoleon Lash?”
Du Guerre winced. “I honestly don’t know who that is.”
“Who does? I found a matchbox for the club in his belongings,” Raven said.
“Hardly helpful, anyone who buys cigarettes, cigars or pipe tobacco in the club gets matches,” Du Guerre said.
Storm handed him a glass of Claret. “Drink.”
He gave the other to Raven, who winced, but drank anyway. Broken ribs hurt too much to ignore. The blood filled her mouth and she felt her body begin to heal before she’d even swallowed. She seemed to heal faster around Storm, she’d noticed.
“Listen, Francois, we know he was here the night he died, the match box was full and in pristine condition which means it was new. Who was working last night?” Storm asked.
“Most of the regular staff,” Du Guerre said.
Raven drained her glass and set it down. “You’re being obtuse and I’m losing patience. Your manhood is going to be the least of your problems if you don’t stop jerking us around. Who would know when Lash was h
ere and if he was here with anyone?”
Du Guerre saw the look in her eyes and sighed. “Get me the phone.”
Raven got the old Bakelite phone from the desk and handed it to him. It was heavier than it looked and had a cord that must have been a mile long if it was an inch. Du Guerre finished his drink then picked up the phone. He had the switchboard connect him to a number that made no sense to Raven.
“Good evening, Astrid, it’s Frank. I trust you are well? How is your mother feeling?” he asked. There was the sound of someone else talking and Du Guerre laughed. “Maybe next time, dearheart, I have some friends here with a question. Can you tell me if a man named Lash was…oh he was? Was he with anyone?”
Du Guerre mimed writing and Raven handed him the pad from his desk. He scribbled a note in French and set the paper aside.
“Thank you, you’re a doll. I’ll see you tomorrow for that drink. Ciao,” he said. He hung up the receiver and handed the paper to Raven.
“Your Mr. Lash was here with a vampire she didn’t know. Tall, good looking woman with waist length black hair and green eyes. She was wearing a red dress that looked silk and stockings that definitely were.”
“That’s a lot of detail. Who is this Astrid?” Storm asked.
“The hostess from last night. She took today off to care for her sick mother,” Du Guerre said.
“I won’t ask how she knows what our suspect’s stockings were made from,” Raven said. “Does that description match anyone you know?”
Du Guerre stretched, accompanied by the cracking of bones. “That’s better. No, I can’t say I do. Red isn’t a popular color this season, green and gold are far more common.”
He stood in a flash and embraced Raven. “You are a fascinating woman, Ms. Storm. Not many can shrug off the attack of a Master vampire.”
Raven pried his arms loose and pushed him back into the chair. “I’m not interested, Francois, not now, not ever.”
She turned away, trying not to look at Storm. She knew he would be able to read her like a book.
“Are you certain, Ms. Storm? I feel like we have a strong connection,” Du Guerre said.
Raven didn’t look back. “Quite certain. Touch me again and I will kill you.”
Outside, Raven huddled in her fur and looked up at the night sky, trying to push the memories away. Even now, with Aspen in her heart, she could remember how it felt to be in Du Guerre’s arms, the love she’d felt whenever he was near or she thought about him. None of it was real, of course, he’d used his talents and blood on her, but it felt real. She imagined it always would, which made his lies and betrayal even worse. His love had been an act, hers had become real and he’d used her heart as a hockey puck. He only lived because cold-blooded murder was wrong.
Hey, remember me? Aspen’s voice said. I love you, Ray, let him go.
Raven shook her head and looked back at the city. She didn’t belong here, there had to be a way to get home, to get back to Aspen.
“Are you okay, kid?” Storm said, stepping out of the club.
Raven looked at him. “Yeah, my ribs are almost healed. How’s Du Guerre?”
“Ready to find Ms. Right Now for the evening,” Storm said with a chuckle. He sobered and touched Raven’s arm. “Not what I meant, though. There’s history between you two, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Anything you want to share?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Raven said.
Storm shrugged. “Suit yourself. Do you have another move up your sleeve or is it time to get some shut eye?”
Raven ran a hand through her hair. “Do you think Archer would know this mysterious vampire?”
“I doubt it. Karayan would have been the one to ask, but he’s a pile of ash,” Storm said.
The club’s door opened and an Embraced stepped into the cold carrying a white card. “Mr. Mason? A man named Archer called, he says you can reach him at this number.”
Storm took the card. “How did he know we were here?”
The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. It sounded urgent.”
Storm slipped him a quarter and looked at the card. “I don’t know the number, I’ll call from the lobby phone. Are you going to be okay out here alone?”
Raven nodded. It was a cold, clear night, the kind she preferred, it would help clear her mind. Storm walked back inside and Raven crossed the street to where a newsstand was just opening. The midnight editions would be arriving any time now and the elderly man was clearing away the earlier newspapers to make room. Raven was taking the change from her purchase of hard chocolate candies when she was distracted by the sound of engines. It was a low drone from somewhere overhead. She stepped away from the stand and looked to the sky, but there was nothing and the sound faded as quickly as it had come.
The clerk held up the quarter she’d dropped. “Your change, miss?”
“Did you hear that?” Raven asked.
“Them engines? Probably just one o’them sea planes taking off from the lake. Happens day or night,” he said.
That didn’t sound right. A local company operated two Grumman G-21 planes in modern Chicago, they didn’t make the kind of droning noise that she’d just heard. This sounded like a dozen engines, not two.
“Ma’am?” the clerk asked, again offering the change.
Raven waved him away. “Keep it.”
She crossed the street, still checking the sky behind her. The moon was full, a silvery orb that hung just to the east of the city behind wispy clouds that floated like fish in the black sky. To the west, the storm still gathered, dark purple and grey clouds shot with lightning from deep within the storm. It was going to be a bad one, the wind was already rising, tugging at her coat and the hem of her dress. Maybe she’d heard the airbase? If the wind was right the sound might be carried for miles.
“What’s wrong, Ray?” Storm asked.
Raven shook her head. “Nothing, just thought I heard something. What did Archer want?”
“He’s got another body, other side of town inside a Court-owned building. He’s got men waiting for us on scene, if you’re up for it,” Storm said.
“Let me get changed−”
Storm tossed her the valise she’d packed her leathers and weapons in. “You can get changed on the way.”
Raven arched an eyebrow and Storm smirked. “You’re the one who said it was nothing I hadn’t seen before.”
Raven threw her coat in the back of the Packard. “Fine, if I accidentally kick you in the face, you only have yourself to blame.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
700 West Fullerton, Chicago, IL 1943
Snow fell, lit by crackling lightning and flickering street lights that cast eerie shadows over the snow-covered road. Thunder rumbled overhead, so loud it shook the car’s windows and made Raven shiver in her coat. She hadn’t seen a storm so bad in years.
They parked in front of an old brick building and climbed out into the snow. The bitter wind seemed to slither right through Raven’s coat and pierce her skin, carrying tiny needles of ice with it. For the hundredth time in the last hour she wished there was a Starbucks or Dunkin, but there wouldn’t be for another twenty years.
The building was a six story complex with a flat roof and square windows. Three staircases led to separate entrances and a fire escape ran down the western side, a rickety affair that looked made from used plumbing parts. Two Embraced vampires dressed in suits and longcoats stood at the top of the central staircase, huddled away from the wind. Storm raised a hand in greeting and Raven followed him up the stairs.
“Detective Mason, Agent Storm, here on Archer’s orders,” Storm said.
“Aye, Stefan told us. I’m MacCandless, this is Rourke. This way,” MacCandless said.
The hallway was well lit by electric lights and looked as if it had been recently cleaned. The tile floor was clea
n and waxed, the walls painted bright yellow and the wood trim polished to a gleaming shine. An elevator with brass doors was set across from a set of matching mailboxes and a door leading to the stairs. MacCandless pressed the call button and leaned against the wall. Raven felt his eyes on her and turned.
“Are your eyes stuck? Maybe you should shake your head,” she said.
MacCandless licked his lips. “Not stuck, dollface. Why are you dressed like that?”
Raven shifted. “Like what?”
“Like that, in all the leather. You a dike or just into the scene?”
Raven’s hand snaked out to wrap around the vampire’s neck, tight enough to draw blood and make his eyes bulge. “I’m getting real tired of you Neanderthals. My name is Raven, I am Fürstin to a Mistress and you will show me the respect I’m due, Embraced, or Rourke here will be taking you home in a box!”
She shoved him into the wall to make her point and let go. MacCandless rubbed his neck and licked the blood from his fingers. “I didn’t mean to make you so sore, Fürstin Raven. Apologies.”
Raven turned away. “Not accepted. If I hear the word dike come out of your mouth again it will be the last word you ever speak.”
Storm leaned close. “Do you always make friends like this? What happened to blending in?”
The elevator opened with a soft chime and the rush of warm air. Raven stepped inside and unzipped her jacket. “Fuck blending. I’m tired of being treated like a simpering idiot because I have ovaries. Are you coming?”
Storm joined her and Raven looked at the two vampires. “What floor?”
“Third,” Rourke said. “Room seven, you can’t miss it.”
Raven pressed the button. “You clowns wait here, I don’t need you screwing up the crime scene.”
“They’re going to remember you,” Storm said when the doors closed.
“So? If you and Marie are right, I’m stuck here. I may as well make the most of it,” Raven said.
“Yeah, but vampires in this time have powerful allies, you might bite off more than you can chew, and then what?”