by Debra Dunbar
And we waited. For once I kept my mouth shut. The house was eerily silent, the only sounds were the crickets outside and the brush of tree limbs against the windows. The vampires were like statues beside me. Finally I heard the soft whoosh of a door swinging on well-oiled hinges and three more vampires entered the room. The air crackled with their energy, prickling my skin and making me feel slightly claustrophobic.
So. Much. Leather. I bit my tongue and watched as one woman made her way to the seat of honor. She was tall and generously proportioned with a pale oval of a face. Her black hair was curled and arranged in a complicated updo, her eyes dramatically made up. Impressive cleavage squeezed northward from the riveted corset. The woman had a serious rack. I swear she could put a tray on her boobs and serve hors d’oeuvres.
Leonora sat. I held my breath, waiting for the tight leather pants to give way, but they held. She leaned back and crossed her legs, further testing the limits of modern tailoring.
“Solaria Angelique Ainsworth to see you, Mistress,” the bald vampire beside me announced.
I cringed at the God-awful name my parents had saddled me with. Aria. Aria Ainsworth was what was on everything except my birth certificate and the family bible. Even the shortened version was weird. I would have changed it years ago, but names had power when given in ceremony and I wasn’t willing to leave that power behind—even if I had the worst name in the history of our Order.
Dario jabbed an elbow into my side. Suddenly I realized the vampires were staring at me expectantly, and had been doing so for a while. I made a hasty bow. “Pleased to meet you Mistress Leonora.”
The vampire Mistress got right to the point. “We have been told you are a Templar.”
I glared at Dario who didn’t even have the grace to flush. I guess this was payback for those Bloody Marys and snarky napkin messages.
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t taken my Oath, though.”
She blinked. “Not taken…but you must be at least thirty years old.”
“Twenty-six.” Guess I needed to start moisturizing. Maybe a little Botox of my own would be a good idea.
Leonora exchanged an unreadably blank glance with Dario. “But you are an Ainsworth? Tarquin Ailpean Ainsworth’s great-granddaughter?”
Okay, maybe I wasn’t the only person in the history of the Templar Order who had been given a truly horrible name.
“I am.”
I could feel her confusion. My great-grandfather was a legend among the Templars. His descendants had been…disappointing. Still, children of Templar families took the Oath at twenty-two and began their lifetime of service. They didn’t shirk their duties for four years then skip off to make espresso in Baltimore.
“We request the gift of knowledge,” Leonora announced. The former confidence in her voice was now edged with doubt.
Knights of the Temple had three guiding principles that served as the focal points of their lives. One of those involved the pursuit and recordation of knowledge, which included ensuring that knowledge was openly available to all—and that did mean all. If the Prince of Darkness himself flagged one of us down on the street corner to ask directions, we’d be duty bound to provide him with such. Good and evil were subjective concepts, and we were not in a position to judge. Only God held that right. In the normal course of things, a Knight would have smiled and told her they would be honored to do so.
But I wasn’t a Knight. And I was on the verge of being evicted from my crappy apartment if I didn’t find something that paid more than making lattes.
“Do you now? Well, if I decide this job is a good fit for my talents, I’ll be requesting the gift of U.S. currency.”
Her eyes narrowed. It was forbidden for Knights to take payment, but I had rent to pay. Overdue rent. And I was sick and tired of my Ramen noodle diet.
“How do I know you can perform this task? If you have not yet taken your Oath, then how will you guarantee your silence concerning what we are requesting of you?”
I shrugged. “I understand if you don’t trust my abilities or discretion. You could always make your request to another Templar, one who actually is a Knight.”
Again, there was an uneasy wordless exchange between Leonora and Dario. There were only a few thousand of us Templars left in the world, and less than one hundred on this continent. Knights don’t respond to supplications for aid over e-mail or via phone, requests must always be made in person—which meant Leonora would need to travel to Virginia, New York, or California. All of those were outside the safety of her Balaj’s territory. A Templar in the hand, no matter how untested, was definitely worth two in the bush in this instance.
After a long moment, the Mistress nodded and pulled forth a paper. She handed it to another vampire who couriered it the five steps to me. “We need you to identify this mark, and tell us everything you know about it.”
I looked down at the paper. This was a bit embarrassing. Everything I knew about this mark was a big fat zero. It wasn’t any of the more common angel or demon sigils. Although it bore a slight resemblance to Mars, it wasn’t planetary in nature. Maybe if I’d stuck around and become a Knight, I’d actually know what the heck this thing was.
I pursed my lips and pinched my chin in an imitation of my college professor. When you don’t know squat about something, it’s best to bullshit. “Small details make all the difference when it comes to sigils and magical marks. I’d like to consult some of my texts to confirm my suspicions, and give you a definitive answer rather than conjecturing.”
All those years in boring elder meetings, and the only benefit was that I could say “I don’t know” in a way that made me sound like I truly did know. Nobody could talk their way around a situation like the Knights Templar. Legends abounded of how we rid a holy site of the devil by talking the poor guy into a painful state of boredom.
I took a steading breath and made my outrageous demand, ready to negotiate. “Five thousand dollars, flat fee for this job. Half up front, half upon completion.”
“You have seven days.” Leonora got up and walked out, flanked by her bodyguards and the three vampires who had escorted me into the room.
No negotiation? Really? Earning five thousand dollars in one week was exciting, but her easy acceptance of that amount made my stomach roll over. I looked down at the symbol on the paper again, worried that this job wasn’t going to be as simple as I had originally thought.
Dario tightened his hand on my arm, almost to the point of pain, and steered me to the exit. “Hey,” I protested, trying in vain to pull free from his grasp. The former protective feeling I’d had from him was gone. This seemed more like he was marching me out to rough me up in the driveway.
“I will give you your payment in the car,” he told me. Was it my imagination, or did I detect an edge of disappointment to his voice?
Chapter 2
THE MONEY WAS indeed in the car. I stuffed the wad of bills into my purse, but not before counting it first. Twenty-five hundred dollars. I’d be caught up on rent. I could stop stealing rolls of toilet paper from the library bathroom. I could actually add some protein back into my diet.
And if I didn’t find out what this symbol meant in seven days, Leonora would have me at the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay, weighted down with cinder blocks, Templar or not. No, she’d probably lock me somewhere in her home for vampires to feed from until I passed out from anemia. I glanced over at Dario. He was pretty hot, and necks were an erogenous zone. I could see how women everywhere thought the idea of tall, dark, and handsome sinking his fangs into your neck would be orgasmic. I don’t know, maybe it was, but puncture wounds hurt, blood loss was no fun, and orgasms didn’t last forever. I’m quite sure they didn’t last long enough to make it worth the dizzy hangover feel, throbbing neck wounds, and weeks of withdrawal symptoms.
I glanced over at the vampire in question. Maybe, with the right vampire, it would be worth it. Before I could continue on with that suicidal train of thought, Dario’s phone rang. He s
hot me a quick glance and began speaking in an unfamiliar language.
Okay. Vampire business. Not for my ears. Got it.
My hand touched the folded paper in my pocket. Where to begin my research? I had thirty or so reference books back at my apartment, not counting the occult ones I’d picked up over the years. I’d start with the basic symbols then see what was left if I removed them from the equation. With any luck, I’d be in bed in a few hours.
“I need to get back, so I’ll drop you off here.” Dario put his phone down and pulled the SUV to the curb, setting the emergency brake.
I looked up, surprised. “But my car is back at the theater.” And we were nowhere near my house. I glanced around at the boarded up buildings, the convenience store with a healthy number of loiterers outside indulging in their own sort of commerce, at the street lights, half of which were not working.
Dario didn’t answer and before I could dig in my heels and refuse to leave the vehicle, he’d unbuckled my seatbelt and was leaning across me to open the door.
No way. If he got that door open, he’d have me out with a quick shove. I thought of my gold keychain, but that was more for temporarily stalling a vampire while fleeing. I didn’t want to flee, I wanted to stay safely in the car while Dario drove me home. Or to my car. Either one.
Since my seatbelt was off, I shifted, blocking the door handle with my body. “You can’t just leave me here! Can’t someone else handle it?”
“No. You need to get out. Now.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, or his fingers digging into my arms as he tried to move me aside. I wedged myself in place and braced my feet against the middle console, not bothered by the rather intimate position that put us both in. He pulled, I pushed, but ultimately his strength was greater than mine, even with the force of my weight in play. I felt the handle jab between my shoulder blades. The door flew open, and I fell backward onto the curb.
It wasn’t an easy landing. The SUV was up higher than a regular car would have been, and I was launched backward from the way I’d had myself braced against the door. My tailbone hit and I rolled, not wanting to bounce the back of my head against the broken concrete of the sidewalk.
It gave Dario just enough time to slam the door, lock it, and take off. Asshole. He’d dumped me in a less-than-desirable neighborhood with twenty-five hundred dollars in my purse and nothing to defend myself with besides a can of mace and a gold keychain. Yes, I was a Templar. Yes, I’d been trained to fight, but the majority of that had been with a sword—a big hand-and-a-half sword. It’s not a modern weapon. People don’t go walking around cities with huge swords strapped to their backs. People don’t even go walking around the countryside with huge swords strapped to their backs. Why couldn’t the Templar weapon of choice be a Glock? We weren’t in the Middle Ages anymore.
I had a sword, one I’d named Trusty, back in my apartment hidden under the mattress and secured by several magical spells. Why I’d bothered to bring it to Baltimore, I’ll never know. It’s not like I could use the thing for more than a Halloween accessory. The sword was too big to lug around. I might not have a concealed carry permit for a pistol, but I could at least stash a knife in my purse. It would come in handy the next time I got shoved out of a car in a bad area.
I was wishing I’d had a knife now. Even the ones I used to chop vegetables or cut steak would have been welcome. Dario’s and my little scuffle hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the group on the corner was eyeing me with amusement. Trying to preserve my dignity, I stood and brushed off my ass, giving the small crowd a quick nod as I turned to leave.
I started walking with false confidence while getting my bearings. It was important to at least look like I knew where I was going. My car was in Mount Vernon. My apartment was in Fells Point. Leonora’s place had been somewhere in north Baltimore. I listened for the sound of traffic as I walked and checked the street signs, hoping to find a major intersection. I’d been here six months, but I hadn’t spent my time roaming the far reaches of the city.
There were some side streets that looked like residential neighborhoods, but I decided I should stay to the main roads. Sketchy as they might be, streets with loiterers and some traffic were better than quiet neighborhoods where residents were probably used to sleeping through gunshots and fights. I paused at an intersection and made a quick decision, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety as I saw a sign for Johns Hopkins University—ahead five miles. At least I knew roughly where I was. And I wasn’t in the best neighborhood for after midnight on a Wednesday.
I headed south, trying for the quickest route south and east. Row houses gave way to shops and stores, small pockets of gentrification nestled among distressed properties and abandoned homes. I turned a corner and saw a church, barely indistinguishable from the shops and houses beside it. The sign above the doorway was worn, but clearly proclaimed that services at Saint Mark’s Evangelical were held Sundays at eight and eleven.
Pilgrims on the path. One of our three founding principles was to safeguard the journey of pilgrims on the path. Traditionally that had meant Christian pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem or other holy sites. For the last century our elders had debated what this meant in a modern era. What defined a pilgrim? And should we expand the definition of “path” beyond one of Christianity?
Whatever the elders might eventually agree on, I doubted it included that guy beating the shit out of a hooker in the narrow space between the church and the building next to it.
I shouldn’t care. I wasn’t a Knight, and even if I was, I doubted any Templar would consider a hooker to be a “pilgrim on the path.” Highway to hell maybe, but not on the path.
She might not be a pilgrim, and she might not be on a righteous path, but I just couldn’t turn my back and walk away from someone getting the crap beat out of them, especially against the wall of a church. I dug in my purse, thinking that if I was going to be a hero, I wasn’t going to be a stupid one.
It was times like this I could use that really big sword—the one I’d left home under my mattress. Luckily I’d spent the last five years pursuing non Templar-sanctioned extracurricular activities.
“Lume creo.” Blue fire launched from my fingertips, speeding in a line toward the pair grappling against the wall. Before either could react, the flames licked up their pants and consumed them.
Illusion. No one was harmed in the making of this rescue, but unfortunately my little spell didn’t allow me to differentiate between victim and attacker. Instead of running, the woman did the stop-drop-and-roll right beside the guy. I was hoping to keep this whole thing impersonal, but clearly that wasn’t the way it was going to go down.
I ran into the alley and grabbed the woman, pulling her away from the man. “Foi.”
The fire vanished. It took the man about two seconds longer than the woman to realize that he had no physical injury. By that point I had her out into the street. Thank you Mom for insisting I spend all that time in the gym lifting weights.
“Run,” I told her. She took off one way, her skirt still up around her waist, shoes left behind. I hesitated a second too long and felt the impact of a body tackling me from the side. My shoulder hit the ground with a sharp stab of pain, and in my sideways vision, I saw the hooker still running. Go, baby, go.
I rolled, feeling the gravel digging into my skin and catching my breath at the horrible stench of old sweat and garlic. Man, this guy stunk. His smell was the least of my worries as his fist punched my already bruised shoulder with the force of a Mack truck.
The woman was home free as long as she hauled ass. And the longer the guy who had knocked me to the ground kept his attention on me, the better her chances of getting away. I took a few blows to the stomach, curling in to lessen the impact and struggling to keep my dinner on the inside of my stomach.
“Bitch. What the fuck was that? I’ll make you pay, bitch.”
I caught my breath at the amount of garlic in the man’s words, then let it out in a who
osh as his fist hit my stomach once again. I couldn’t take much more of this. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hooker round the corner, far enough away for me to finally defend myself. I rolled, unloading the can of expired mace in the guy’s face.
He screamed with the pitch and volume of a pissed-off banshee and jumped away from me. Evidently that expiration date was just a marketing ploy to convince consumers to buy more frequently, because that stuff was far from ineffective.
I scrambled to my feet, running in the opposite direction from the woman, of course. Making sure that the guy was more likely to follow me, I stumbled on purpose a few times, slowing down to look back and double check that he was after me as opposed to her. It would really suck if this asshole managed to go back for the prostitute after all I’d done to free her.
His breathing sounded like a tornado as he narrowed the distance between us. Block after block of row houses ended and I ran beside a brick fence line surrounding a park. I heard the footsteps behind me. My lungs burned along with the muscles in my legs as I hauled ass as fast as I could alongside the fence. My poor diet the past month had taken its toll, as had the lack of regular, regimented exercise I’d done up until I’d left my Templar training. And the shoes. Yes, I was blaming the shoes, too. Either way, I was one sorry Templar if I couldn’t outrun a John on the straight.
Maybe that mace wasn’t full strength after all. He was gaining and I could practically feel his garlic-laden breath on my neck. I was fast, but out of shape compared to him. There was no way I could outrun a guy with longer legs and some serious adrenaline. I needed to use my agility to an advantage. Reaching out my right hand I jumped, grabbing the top edge of the brick fence as I vaulted over it.