by Skye Knizley
“Maybe I die.”
Raven stepped off onto the third floor and glanced down the hallway in both directions. Unlike the lobby, this floor looked as if it had been the set of an action movie. Bullet holes lined the walls on both sides and the floor was spattered with blood and brass bullet casings.
“I’m guessing this isn’t normal?”
Storm bent and picked up one of the cartridges. “Not since about 1934. It’s a nine millimeter, not local boys, then.”
Raven started down the hallway, stepping with care to avoid falling on the casings or walking through still-wet blood. “What do you mean?”
“Those Thompson’s you see everywhere? They fire forty-fives. Nine mil isn’t a common weapon on this side of the pond,” Storm replied.
“So more Nazis.”
“I didn’t say that,” Storm said. “Karayan used the MP38, it fires nine mil.”
Raven stopped in front of room number seven. The door was charred and chunks had fallen to the floor where they scorched the carpet and melted the metal threshold. The acrid scent of melted nylon and burned wool hung heavy in the air mixed with the coppery tang of blood. The foyer beyond was a nightmare of peeling paint, burned carpet and smoldering corpses. Three lay just inside beyond the entry amidst the remains of the living room furniture. One was burned down to bare bone and snapped sinew.
“You don’t have to, I think it’s pretty obvious. I doubt Archer had his men shoot up his own place.”
She squatted beside the first corpse. It had been a male dressed in slacks and shirt. Fangs showed through lips peeled back by heat revealing he had been a vampire, possibly pureblood.
“What can kill vampires without turning them to ash?” she asked.
“Nothing I know of,” Storm said. “How do you know it’s a vampire?”
Raven pointed at the jaw. “Fangs and extra teeth are usually a dead giveaway. Are there more Bori in the city?”
Storm moved to the next body. “I don’t know, I’m not really up on events at Court. It’s possible, Karayan was known to be more open to sub-species than most Masters.”
Raven stepped over the body and moved deeper into the apartment. Off the living room were four modest-sized bedrooms, two bathrooms and an eat-in kitchen. Jars of blood were stocked in the refrigerator while another sat empty beside the stove.
“They were definitely blood drinkers. Looks like whoever did this interrupted a meal,” she said.
“That kind of timing would require surveillance,” Storm said.
“Agreed, I don’t believe in coincidences.”
The dining table was untouched save for a few scorched books and a plate of what looked like uncooked ribs. Raven sniffed at them and made a face. Raw goat wasn’t a pleasant aroma.
“Naga,” Storm said.
“What?” Raven asked.
Storm pointed at the ribs. “Goat is a favorite of the Naga. It would explain why they’re dead, but not ash. Naga fangs are similar to vampire unless they unhinge their jaws.”
“And you know this how?”
“I dated a few,” Storm said.
“Okay… I don’t want to hear anything else about me being with a fae,” Storm said.
“I didn’t say a word!”
Raven walked toward the nearest bedroom. “No, but I saw it in your eyes. I know what you thought, don’t think it. Be proud like you told Poole.”
She stopped almost to the door and felt her breath catch in her throat. “I think I know what Archer wanted us to see.”
A man stood between her and the bedroom, not visible from the foyer. It looked as if he was coming out of the wall, one arm extended, reaching for help. His upper torso was stuck halfway through the wall and his right leg vanished somewhere beyond while his left was visible coming through. His face was barely visible, just a nose, lips and eyes sliced neatly in half by the wall. Blood ran from where his flesh met brick and pooled at the carpet, leaving trails that reeked of sulphur and ozone.
Storm came around the corner and cursed under his breath. Raven looked at him, trying to wipe the image from her mind. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Me either. What the heck are we looking at?”
It took two hours to clear the scene. All told there were between seven and ten victims, four Naga, at least two vampires and the unfortunate soul stuck in the wall who appeared, against all probability to be human. Once the bodies were separated, Storm called Archer to have him send some men to clear the scene and cut the human free of the wall. It was an arduous process that made everyone involved feel ill. Raven could see it in their faces. She herself had been unable to shake the terrified face from her imagination. What must it have been like to be stuck like that? His final moments must have been sheer agony.
“Ray, I’ve got something else,” Storm said from the living area.
Raven joined him near the balcony. The glass was broken inward from outside, and Raven surmised this was the entry point, though how someone would get through a third story window without being noticed was a mystery. Storm was measuring and photographing a familiar-looking boot print.
“More Wehrmacht footwear?”
Storm nodded. “And it’s a smaller size. Our group of mysterious Nazis just got bigger. It looks like they came through the window, at least three different men.”
“But why? What was the motive?” Raven asked.
“Information,” Archer said from the door.
Raven turned. “I thought I smelled your cologne. What do you call it, Eau De Walking Corpse?”
Archer smirked. “That’s what I love about you, Fürstin, you’re always so charming.”
“What do you mean, information?” Storm asked.
Archer slipped past two Embraced gathering the remains of a Naga. “The Naga staying here were working on a project for me. Did you find any research materials, maps, anything like that?”
“No, most everything was burned beyond recognition, but I don’t smell anything like burned paper. Nothing that would come from a map,” Raven said.
Archer put his hands in his pockets and turned a slow circle. “What about bone, Ms. Storm?”
“Look around, Archer, there is charred bone everywhere. Tell me what I’m looking for and maybe I can help,” Raven said.
“A skull, Ms. Storm, specifically the skull of a Viking priestess covered in ancient runes. The Naga were researching it for me, it was the only thing of value in this pit.”
“Human?” Storm asked.
Archer shrugged. “Presumably.”
Raven shook her head. “I don’t smell anything human. Naga, vamp, sure. Even the poor man in the wall didn’t smell human. He just smelled…cooked.”
“An unfortunate odor, to be sure,” Archer said. “This is getting out of hand. I have four dead Naga, a dead gnome, at least three dead Embraced and zero answers. I want them, Fürstin. You now have two skulls and a murderer to find. I suggest you try harder.”
Raven glared at him. “Are you threatening me, Archer?”
Archer met her gaze. “I would have thought that was obvious, Ms. Storm. You have forty-eight hours, then I will make other arrangements.”
He turned on his heel and vanished into the hallway. “Forty eight hours, make them count!”
Raven looked at Storm. “I’m going to shoot him in the face.”
“With a bazooka,” Storm added. “Let’s get out of here, I’m tired of the stench.”
Hanging Hill Lane, Chicago IL, 1943
Raven looked out at the snow-covered alley and frowned. It wasn’t that the alley was dark, it was, but so were most alleys. By definition, Dark Alleys were supposed to be dark. It was that it was narrow, between two of the taller buildings in a not-so-good section of the city, smelled of death and didn’t look to have been used for anything but hiding b
odies in a very long time. It was the kind of alley that gave other dark alleys a bad name.
“We’re here why?”
Storm popped a chocolate into his mouth. “I know a guy.”
He got out of the car and stepped into the mouth of the alley. Raven could see him, a silhouette against the stygian black of the alley.
“Great, he knows a guy. What does that mean?” she muttered.
She zipped her jacket and joined him in front of the alley. It didn’t smell any better up close than it had from the car. She added the disgusting aroma of urine to the list of noisome things in the alley and glared at Storm.
“What does ‘I know a guy’ mean? You haven’t said a word since we left the apartment.”
Storm didn’t look at her. “It means I know a guy. Don’t you have stoolies where you’re from?”
“You mean a C-I? Sure, I use them all the time. Is that why we’re here? You have an informant who might by some miracle have an idea what is going in?” Raven asked.
“Something like that. Just don’t say anything about the smell, Gaspode can be a little self-conscious,” Storm said.
He raised his voice. “Hey, Gaspy! It’s me, Mack, I brought you some smokes and chocolate!”
There was a snuffling noise and the manhole in the middle of the alley rose and slid aside. A figure that looked more like a sapient trash heap than anything human crawled out of the depths and shuffled forward. Raven struggled not to cover her nose against the stench, as it was she slipped a chocolate into her mouth and hoped it would be enough to keep her from being sick on the informant.
“A troll? Your informant is a troll?” she snapped.
Trolls were an ancient race descended from demons that chose to live on the surface rather than the dimension known as hell. As humanity evolved, trolls had moved underground for safety. They were tall, ugly and known to bathe in sewage like it was rosewater. Raven had only met a few and it was never a pleasant experience. She could still remember being sick on Thad.
“Be nice!” Storm whispered back. “They see and hear everything. If there is any news, Gaspode will know.”
Gaspode remained in the shadows, but Raven’s vampire sight gave her a clear picture of the tall, lanky figure. His arms were triple jointed and impossibly long, as were his legs. His skinny torso was covered in a coat made from cardboard, trash and what looked like reptile skin. The skin also covered his clawed feet and formed a sort of floppy hat the hung low over his head and left his pointed ears bare.
“Mack, it’s good to see you,” Gaspode said.
His voice was a very pleasant tenor that didn’t at all match his appearance. In another world he could have covered Dean Martin with little difficulty.
“Gaspy, how’s the underworld treating you?” Storm asked.
Gaspode made a so-so motion with his hand. “Same as always. Who’s the dame?”
“My partner, Raven. Raven, meet Gaspode, an old friend,” Storm said.
Raven swallowed the chocolate and tried to smile. The best she could manage was a sort of grimace. “Hi, Gaspode. Pleased to meet you.”
“You’re a vampire?” Gaspode asked.
“Dhampyr, actually,” Raven said.
Gaspode’s smile was one only a mother could love, full of black, jagged teeth and a forked tongue. “Pretty, lady.”
He looked back at Storm. “You didn’t bring me smokes and chocolate just to shoot the breeze, what do you want?”
Storm held up the packet of chocolate. “Know anything about a rune-covered human skull that went missing a few hours ago?”
Gaspode shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked around before leaning closer. “The one the Master had under lock and key? That skull?”
“That’s the one. What do you know?” Storm asked.
“Word is a thug named Skorzeny was looking for it,” Gaspode said, reaching for the chocolate.
Storm pulled away. “Not so fast, Gaspy. What does Skorzeny want with the skull and where can we find him?”
Gaspode scratched one ear with a sound like fingernails on sandpaper. “The skull is a map to some kind of treasure, is the rumor. No one knows where Skorzeny is, though. He comes and goes like the wind.”
He smiled again. “But I can tell you he’s a Nazi. Came in with a whole team of SS Paranormal troops, they’re hunting something special, something Hitler wants real bad.”
Raven shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. We’ve already killed more than a dozen of his troops, how would so many get into the States? I don’t think so, there would be some sign, someone would have noticed and raised a fuss.”
Gaspode leered at her. “Look at the smart skirt! Gimme the chocolate and I’ll tell you what I heard from Leaky down on the docks.”
Storm glanced at Raven, who shrugged, and handed over the package of M&Ms. “Tell us what you know.”
Gaspode opened the package and sniffed the contents before replying. “Leaky was diving that sub that went down, he said he found an altar and magik paraphernalia down in the wreckage. He thinks the Nazis are using magik to hide their presence.”
“And your pal Leaky knows this how?” Raven asked.
Gaspode popped a chocolate into his mouth and chewed slowly. “Leaky used to deal in magik. He’s not a caster, but he knows his stuff.”
Storm held up two packs of Lucky Strike cigarettes. “What else, Gaspy, that’s not enough. Give me something I can work with.”
Gaspode held his M&Ms close and backed up a step. “That’s good info, Mack, I promise, gimme the smokes!”
“Rumors we can’t confirm,” Raven said. “You’re supposed to have your ear to the ground, that can’t be all you know.”
“Come on, Gaspy, help us out. There are eight people dead and we’re fresh out of leads,” Storm added.
Gaspode made the M&M’s vanish beneath his filthy coat. “Okay, how bout this? I heard from Tank that Skorzeny’s guy on the ground is a vamp named Draven. Draven Horne. You can find him at Nightmane’s.”
“What’s he doing at Nightmane’s?” Raven asked.
Gaspode backed away another step. “Collecting information on Preternaturals, looking for the skull, that’s what I heard.”
Raven checked her watch. “They’re going to be shutting down soon. Do you have any idea where this Draven is making his bed?”
“I dunno if I should be sharing this much information…we’re talking about evil customers…” Gaspode said.
Storm held up another pack of cigarettes. “That’s three. All I need is an address, Gaspy.”
Gaspode took two hesitant steps closer. “Malachite Hotel.”
He snatched the cigarettes out of Storm’s hand and disappeared down the alley. Raven breathed a sigh of relief and ran a hand through her snow-slick hair. In the hush she could hear the strange droning noise again, like dozens of engines running somewhere overhead. She scanned the sky, but there was nothing but cold, spiraling snow and the distant lightning-filled clouds.
Storm lit a cigarette and snapped his lighter closed. “Looking for angels?”
Raven ignored him. “You don’t hear that?”
Storm looked up. “Hear what? Those engines? It’s probably the airbase. They just got some new bombers in for cold weather testing or something, it was in the news.”
“At three in the morning,” Raven said. “It’s a little early for testing, don’t you think?”
“Have you met any test pilots? Bonkers, the lot of them. Come on, I’m freezing out here.”
The Packard was axle deep in snow, but it didn’t seem to bother Storm who cranked up the tiny heater and guided the car through the blizzard at a slow, steady speed. Raven watched the city go by, amazed how clean and new it looked with a fresh layer of snow. The sidewalks were deserted with only street lights to keep them company and
the lights were out in most buildings they passed, the city was asleep beneath its blanket of white.
“Penny for your thoughts, kid?”
Raven kept watching the street. “Nothing, really. It’s just been a long day.”
“Can’t argue with that. It’s been a while since we ate, feel like some grub?” Storm asked.
“Is anything open?”
Storm nodded and turned down a side street, “I know a little diner that makes amazing flapjacks and half decent coffee and they are open all night.”
“Sounds good,” Raven said.
She settled back in her seat. She wasn’t used to being driven around. Hell, she wasn’t used to working in a city she didn’t know like the back of her hand. She’d wanted to come back from Seattle because Chicago was home. But this? This wasn’t home. She’d driven this section of the city a hundred times, but this wasn’t what she was used to, what she remembered. The Donut Vault where she’d shared almost a thousand coffees with Levac wasn’t there, the bank that seemed to get robbed every two weeks? That was gone, too. Or rather, hadn’t been built yet.
Raven felt a wave of loneliness wash over her. She wasn’t an emotional woman, as Aspen had pointed out on more than one occasion. Life was about duty, doing the right thing and protecting the ones you love. Emotions could get in the way. It wasn’t that she didn’t have them, but personal didn’t mean important. She tried to keep the unnecessary emotions locked away where they couldn’t cause trouble. She’d promised Aspen she would do better, but she hadn’t expected to be alone when feelings like these snuck past her control. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt lonely. It had probably been sometime after her father died.
She sighed and glanced at his reflection in the windshield. Now, there he was and she still felt lonely. He was Mason Storm, but he wasn’t. It would be fifty years before he was the man she remembered, if that man had ever existed at all. This man was different, not the badass 80s detective she always thought he was. This was a man who followed rules and kept his nose clean, not one who risked everything seeking justice.
It bothered her. If he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was growing up, her life was even more a lie than she’d thought. Sure, he’d been himself when he was fighting the lycans, but just hours later he was Captain Cautious again. What was he afraid of?