by Skye Knizley
Chicago Zephyr All Night Diner, Chicago, IL 1943
The diner Storm parked in front of was patterned after the dining car on a train. In fact, that is what it was when it came down to it. The outside was polished chrome with a neon sign that read “Zephyr, Open All Night.” Lights glowed in the windows and smoke billowed from the chimney carrying with it the scent of grilled onions and frying bacon, the best advertisement in the world.
The inside was done in shades of red, black and silver with a polished counter down one side and a series of small booths down the other. It was so clean Raven expected she could eat off the floor and be assured of nothing in her food that didn’t belong there. She took a seat at a booth that gave her a view of the street and ordered coffee while Storm cleaned up in the men’s room. The waitress was an attractive woman with dark skin and the prettiest smile Raven had seen in a long time.
The waitress brought a pot of coffee and filled two cups, then set it aside. “Can I get you anything else or are you waiting on your father?”
Raven looked up sharply. “How did you know?”
The waitress smiled again. “It’s in your face, honey, and the way you move together. He isn’t a lover, but there is love there. He is older and doesn’t approve of your manner of dress. Which means father. What can I get you?”
“I may as well have it stamped on my forehead,” Raven groused. “I’ll take the short stack, some of the bacon I smell and a side of potatoes.”
“Make that a double,” Storm said, sliding into the booth.
“Coming right up, Mack,” the waitress said.
“Thanks, Kelly. Smack Joe upside his head for me and tell him not to burn the bacon this time, that stuff is gold right now,” Storm said.
Kelly laughed. “You can smack him, I ain’t, he pays the bills.”
When she was gone, Raven sipped her coffee. It was good, rich and strong with a little butter. “That’s the Mace Storm I remember.”
Storm took a drink of his own coffee and added a cube of sugar. “I like that name.”
“Well, it was really Mason, but your partner and friends called you Mace. Mom always called you Wulf, like Archer does,” Raven replied.
Storm grunted and drank from his cup. The message was clear, he didn’t want to talk about the future.
“Why do they call you Wulf?” Raven asked.
Storm set his cup down and refilled it. “I never told you?”
“I know you have a lot of names, Mack, Mason, Marcus. Wulf. But I never knew why. When I found out you were immortal I assumed it was because you have to start over every now and then,” Raven said.
“True enough. Kid, you have to stop asking questions. If I didn’t tell you, I had a reason. Don’t pluck at threads, they might unravel,” Storm said.
Raven wanted to probe further, but the food arrived and her stomach growled at the scent wafting from the platters. She and Storm busied themselves with eating and listening to the music pouring from a nearby radio. It was tinny and distant, but happy, which helped to chase the blues away.
Outside the storm continued unabated. The Packard was already becoming covered and the ruts were almost gone. A few cars slipped and slid down the street, but it was almost deserted, like an abandoned city in a bad apocalypse movie. Raven ate and watched the snow fall wondering what people did in the 1940s when conversation lapsed. There wouldn’t be a smartphone signal for seventy years.
After a moment, her eyes were drawn to the shadows of the alley down the street. She’d seen enough dark corners to know this one was too deep, which mean someone was standing in it trying not to be observed. She pushed her plate away and slid into her jacket.
“Now where are you going?” Storm asked.
Raven loosened her pistol in its holster. “A hunch. Kelly, is there a back door out of here?”
Kelly appeared wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course, why?”
“Because I think my father and I are being followed,” Raven said.
She followed Kelly through the small kitchen and stepped out into the snow behind the diner. An old Ford was parked a few feet away and a bicycle leaned against the back of the diner beside the trash bins. Raven hurried past and slid to a stop at the edge of the Ford. In the darkness she activated her vampire sight and focused on the shadow. A bluish figure stood in the alley dressed in a long coat of some kind. He was smoking a cigarette and holding what looked like a two-way radio big enough to pick up Radio Moscow.
“Vampire,” Raven muttered. She moved further down the street and crossed when she was out of sight of the alley, then backtracked until she could get behind the watching figure. He’d chosen a narrow alley, more a slot between buildings than anything, but it was wide enough for her to pass. The figure took no notice, his eyes were trained on Storm who was still enjoying his early meal.
Raven was almost behind him when another voice said, “I wouldn’t do that, Fräulein.” It was a German accent, but somehow dirtier than what she’d heard so far. More guttural.
Raven froze and half turned. Another figure was standing just a few feet away holding a submachinegun.
The first vampire turned and drew his own weapon. “We were watching for you, Fräulein.”
“So I noticed,” Raven said. “What do you want?”
“Stop searching for Black Eon,” the second said. “Concentrate on Lash.”
Raven arched an eyebrow. “I don’t take instruction well, I respond to threats even worse. What’s Black Eon?”
“It does not concern you. If you stand in our way, the Reich will crush you and your father,” the first snapped.
Raven gauged her chances. The alley was narrow and dark, but both men had weapons at the ready and no doubt could see her as well as she could see them. On the other hand, they were Embraced and far too cocky for their own good. Number one had so much swagger he vibrated just standing there.
“You’re on American soil without permission. That’s an act of war. How bout you go back to your U-Boat and get the hell out of my country?” she said.
Number one laughed and that was Raven’s chance. She kicked him in the crotch and drew one of her knives. The silvered blade slipped through two’s chest and he exploded into a shower of ash that sparked and sputtered in the snow. Raven completed the move by placing the blade against One’s neck and pinning him to the wall.
“Now, Herr Scumbag, tell me what Black Eon is? Why did you kill Lash?”
The vampire smiled, showing silvered fangs. “I will not talk, Fräulein Storm, you will have to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you tell me what I want to know. As the saying goes, I have ways to make you talk. I’ll start with eating in front of you and we’ll go from there.”
She took his MP38 and slung it over her shoulder. “After you.”
The vampire walked out of the alley with his hands over his head. He was stepping off the curb when he doubled over in pain and began to burn. Raven reached for him and he began to dissolve, pieces of ash drifting away on the wind. His screams of agony were cut off and he exploded, covering Raven in ash and goo.
Storm appeared at her elbow, sword ready. “What happened?”
Raven spat ash. “Two Nazis, watching us. They were here to warn us off the investigation into Black Eon. He wasn’t making sense.”
She stirred the ash with her boot. There was more left than usual, including a blackened skull with melted silver teeth. The ash was coarser, too, like burned newspaper. Raven picked through it and retrieved a partially melted ring.
“More of the SS. How many of them are there?”
Storm sheathed his sword. “Too many. No way did a U-Boat carry a full crew and all these SS agents. Something else is going on, here.”
Raven tossed the ring down the gutter. She didn’t disagree, she was beginnin
g to think that Lash was just an innocent caught in the crossfire of something much bigger. But what? She didn’t know, but she had a feeling if they didn’t figure it out, the city was in grave danger. Whatever Black Eon was, it meant death.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Malachite Hotel, Ghost House Lane, Chicago, IL 1943
Raven had spent a fitful night in her room at the Stevens. She’d been unable to stop thinking about the case, people with their hearts burned out had plagued her dreams and left her tired and sweaty. She fell into a deep sleep just before dawn and didn’t awaken until nearly noon when Storm arrived with yet another meal and a fresh outfit. Raven chewed a bagel and sorted through the clothing. The bra was questionable, but her own was starting to smell like she’d run a marathon. She tossed the corset-like thing that came with the bra away, along with the wide belt and gloves, but the pants and bright blue blouse were a welcome change. She showered, did her makeup and dressed before meeting Storm in the lobby. He, too, had changed. He wore a clean grey suit with an overcoat sans bullet holes. Like the previous one, this also had an opening for his sword.
Storm was sitting at a table reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar when she arrived. He did a double take when she dropped into the chair across from him and it made her blush.
“Now I see why you dress like that,” Storm said. “Far better than the plain top you borrowed from Pandora.”
“Comfy and functional, you should try it sometime,” Raven said.
“I’ll stick to suits, for now. You ready?”
Raven finished Storm’s coffee and stood. “Yep, time to shake down a Kraut informant.”
Storm folded his paper and dropped it on the table. “You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Or maybe you’re starting to sound like me,” Raven said.
Outside, tractors and military-style trucks with plows were doing their best to push the snow back and make the roads passable. They were nothing like modern roads, but Storm seemed unfazed as he cleaned snow off his car with an old broom. Raven helped as best she could and wished, more than once, she’d kept the ugly gloves he’d brought. When they were almost done she turned to Storm.
“Tell me about the sword.”
“What sword?” Storm asked.
Raven rolled her eyes. “The one you have strapped across your back. The one that, for some reason, most people can’t see.”
Storm put the old broom in the car’s trunk. “People see what they expect to see, and the sword is enchanted. Its name is Hrunting.”
“That’s not much of a name for a sword that can stop explosions,” Raven said.
“It means Thrusting Blade,” Storm said, opening the door.
“Because that’s so much better,” Raven said.
She joined Storm inside and he put the car in gear. “What do you think would be a good name?”
“How should I know?” Raven asked. She tried to hide her grin. “Only weirdos name their swords.”
Storm drove into the street and headed toward Covenant Garden. “I didn’t name the sword, the king who gave it to me named it, he didn’t have much imagination.”
“But no one can see it?”
“Obviously you can. Why so chatty today?” Storm asked.
Raven put her foot on the dashboard and adjusted the knife she’d sheathed alongside her calf. “I don’t know, I woke up feeling chatty and the sword has been bothering me. That coffee you gave me with all the sugar didn’t help, either.”
“Wait, you’ve never seen the sword?”
“Nope. In my timeline you carry this,” Raven said.
She drew the Automag, spun it around her finger and held it out. Storm looked, but didn’t touch it. “It’s very pretty, but I would still carry a blade.”
“Automag three, holds nine rounds of thirty caliber carbine, weighs about forty five ounces, has a six and one half inch barrel and, using your words ‘can kill anything’.” Raven said. “You gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday.”
“Kill anything?” Storm asked.
Raven holstered the pistol. “Yes. Thad’s specials don’t hurt, but I’ve noticed my aim is improved and I’ve killed vamps and lycans even without special ammunition.”
Storm grunted and guided the Packard around a slower-moving vehicle. He seemed uninterested in any further questions and Raven let him be. The roads were slippery and the Packard’s tall, narrow tires weren’t the best in bad weather.
The Malachite Hotel sat just a few blocks west of Covenant Gardens. It was a fifteen story building of black stone with green trim that Raven thought was ostentatious even for present day.
“They may as well have put up a sign ‘vampires here’,” Raven muttered.
“Ugly doesn’t begin to cover it,” Storm agreed.
The inside wasn’t an improvement. The floor was covered in dark green marble tiles matched with gold and black rugs, leather chairs and a marble fireplace with a smoldering fire dying within. A handful of men and women in expensive clothes were sitting around the lobby enjoying what smelled like Espresso and listening to the morning news on the radio. They looked up when Raven and Storm entered, then went back to their cliques. Raven heard a few of the women whisper amongst themselves about how she was dressed, and she chose to ignore them. They weren’t worth the time or effort.
A registration desk was set in the far wall between two wide, sweeping staircases that led to a mezzanine level above. Like the foyer, registration was a monstrosity of green, gold and black. It was no wonder the hotel was gone long before Raven was born, nothing this ugly could be allowed to exist. An older gentlemen stood behind the desk wearing a green sport coat over white shirt and black pants. His red bowtie made him look like a snooty Christmas elf.
“Good morning, checking in? We have a beautiful suite available,” he said. His cheerfulness made Raven, who was coming off her sugar high, want to slap him.
Storm held up his badge. “Detective Mason and partner, I’m looking for Draven Horne, can you tell me what room he’s in?”
The clerk looked over his glasses at Raven. “She is your partner? I wasn’t aware the police were desperate enough to promote meter maids.”
Raven gripped the counter so hard the wood creaked beneath her fingers. “I was never a meter maid. What room, please?”
“Of course, one moment,” he said.
The clerk walked away and Storm laid a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “Easy, Tiger, don’t hurt him, he knows not what he says. Remember, it is 1943.”
Raven didn’t look at him. “How women didn’t bitch-slap the men in their lives I will never know. If this was 2017 I would be bouncing his head on the desk until he got it through his head, misogyny is annoying.”
The clerk came back with the registration book and flipped through the pages. “Do you know when he checked in?”
“A week ago, give or take,” Storm said.
The clerk licked his finger and flipped more pages. “That’s a little vague, detective.”
“Just find the damn room!” Raven snapped.
“Patience is a virtue, young lady. You would do well to remember that,” the clerk said.
Storm’s hand on her shoulder kept Raven from reaching across the counter and yanking his tie. As it was, she snapped wood off the counter and dropped it to the floor. This was why she didn’t put sugar in coffee.
The clerk tapped the page. “Here it is, he has a suite on the fourteenth floor, room fourteen twelve.”
“Thank you, we’ll see ourselves up,” Storm said.
The elevators were located to the left of the lobby. A female bellhop wearing a green uniform opened the cage and stepped inside. “Fourteenth floor, detective? I heard you speaking with George.”
Raven stepped inside, followed by Storm who said, “Yes please.”
The bellhop joine
d them and operated the controls, sending the elevator upwards into the darkness. The shaft was open to each floor, which passed at a walking pace before vanishing into darkness again. It seemed to Raven that the distance between the floors was more than it should be, but she’d never been in an elevator quite this slow or open, so she couldn’t be certain. It gave her something to concentrate on while she got her anger under control.
They stopped at the fourteenth floor and the bellhop opened the cage with a crash. “Fourteenth floor, Mr. Horne’s room is to your left. Watch your step, please!”
Raven handed the young woman a quarter and followed Storm down the hallway. Here, the green and black motif had given way to more traditional dark wood panels dotted with faint electric lights in brass sconces and oil paintings that looked as if they’d been done by a local artist.
They found the room in question and Storm raised his hand to knock. Raven stopped him with her hand and tested the knob. It was locked, but the mechanism felt loose. She applied pressure and the door popped open with almost no sound. She met Storm’s eyes and stepped through into the dark room beyond. The suite was as large as the one at the Stevens, with a central living area, a side bathroom lit by a nightlight, a built in bar and two bedrooms. The doors to the bedrooms were closed and the room was quiet. The cliché hung on Raven’s lips, but she didn’t say it.
On the living area table was a model made from wood, stone and what smelled like real grass. It consisted of eight standing stones arranged atop a sandy knoll. Great pains had been taken to age and carve the stones to be as realistic as possible.
Beside the model was a map of Chicago with circles and X’s around the city as well as a single one in the middle of Lake Michigan near the Canadian border.
“What’s this?” Storm whispered.
“No idea, maybe he likes to make models,” Raven whispered back.
Storm cocked his head and shuffled to a different angle. “It looks familiar.”