Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6)

by Skye Knizley

  The creature reappeared a moment later, beak and tail poised. It glided around the corner and came straight toward her. Raven sighted down her pistol’s barrel and squeezed. The monster’s head exploded, sending blood and ash flying. It crashed into the ground and slid to a stop inches from Raven, who looked at it in distaste. The fresh dead smelled worse than the ones Aspen had fried.

  Raven stood and moved back onto the rain-swept deck. The storm outside was worsening, the sky had grown darker and the lightning was almost constant, making the ocean outside look like a selection of still photographs rather than a wind-raked sea.

  She paused to collected the shotgun and replace its magazine with a fresh one from her vest, then contact Du Guerre, who answered immediately.

  “Have you found them?” he asked.

  Raven could hear the Osprey’s engines over the com; they sounded labored and weak.

  “No. I was attacked by some kind of bird things with scorpion tails. Just loaded the last magazine into the Saiga,” Raven said.

  “They are called screamwings, I thought they were extinct. Ravenel, it is impossible to pick you up in this weather and we are burning excess fuel to stay close. I am ordering the Osprey above the storm to conserve fuel. I will return every hour,” Du Guerre said.

  Raven slung the shotgun and began to reload her pistol. “Dammit, Francois! You can’t just leave us here!”

  “I assure you, I am not. I have calculated the closest land to our current location and will stay until you are safe or we are at minimum fuel. I’m sorry I am not beside you, Ravenel.”

  Raven walked to the window and looked out. There was no sign of the Osprey, but she could hear the engines roaring. “You’re always sorry. Don’t let me down again, Francois.”

  “I will be here. Next contact in fifty-seven minutes. Du Guerre out.”

  The sound of the engines got louder and then moved away. Raven didn’t wait to see if they came back. She unslung the shotgun and walked across the water and blood-slick deck to the next section. A companionway led down into darkness and she could smell Aspen’s blood, a faint scent carried from somewhere below. Her weapon’s tactical light cut through the gloom and she started down the steps. At the bottom she found the deck half-filled with water coming from above and sloshing out through windows in the port side. Pieces of wood, bits of paper and long, stringy pieces of flesh floated on top, like the scum beneath a pier. Here and there furniture rose through the lapping water and Raven realized this had once been some kind of library or reading room, now nothing but moldy paper, ruined leather chairs and broken shelves.

  She stepped into the water and sank until it was over her knees. She hated the sensation of the cold water against her, but ignored it, instead standing still until she was used to the sensation. After a moment she started across the chamber, hoping to catch Aspen’s scent, though she knew it would be difficult to track through the deep, scummy water.

  The library was roughly rectangular, with walls paneled in dark wood, crystal chandeliers that had long since stopped working and a central bar that had once served cigars and alcoholic beverages to first class passengers, but now sat silent and dead. There was no sign of any bodies or Aspen’s team, but Raven felt certain they had come this way. If they had holed up in one of the staterooms, they would have heard the shotgun blasts and come to investigate.

  Raven turned and waded through the water, her weapon ready. The light reflected off of old framed photographs and brass fixtures, making the shadows on the water dance. She rounded the bar and climbed a short flight of steps that brought her out of the water and into a paneled corridor. As with the first class deck, one side consisted of a series of numbered doors that lead to the standard or “second class” staterooms while the opposite side was open to the ocean. Old deck chairs lay scattered like toys on the wide deck along with remnants of wicker tables, broken glass and rotting towels. On the wall between two of the staterooms was the word “Deditio” written in thick, red letters of blood so dark it could only have come from the human heart. It was accompanied by Aspen’s unmistakable scent. Raven crossed to the painting and touched a finger to the blood, which was just beginning to dry into a sticky mass. Raven shook her head in denial and backed away.

  “No. She’s not dead, I’m going to find her.”

  “Oh, but she is, little one. You’ve seen and smelled her heart’s blood. She is dead.”

  Raven turned and wasn’t surprised to see her mother standing a few feet away. Valentina was clad in a black leather gown that both hid her body and accentuated her curves. It was so tight it looked as if she’d been sewn into the garment. Her black hair was braided and trailed down her back, where it almost touched the floor.

  “For crying out loud,” Raven muttered.

  “What is wrong, my childe?” Valentina asked.

  “You. You are not my mother, has this seriously ever worked on anyone?” Raven asked.

  The faux-Valentina extended a hand. “I don’t know what you mean. Come, daughter, we must get you ready.”

  Raven sighed. “Look, I know you aren’t my mother. Whatever you are, you reached into my head and pulled out a memory to try and freak me out. My mother wore that dress ten years ago and she never wears the same thing twice. It’s hard on the wallet and the Italian bovine population. So drop the crap. Where is my familiar?”

  Faux-Valentina took another step and smiled widely. Pain lanced through Raven’s head and she fell to one knee. Her vision darkened and she growled in pain and anger, calling on her vampire side. She could feel blood pounding in her ears, her heart thudding and she fought to stand. She was rising when the faux Valentina touched her, one hand running down her face with a painful electric sensation. Raven looked into its beautiful blue eyes and the world began to spin. She felt like she was falling, and she was. She felt her knees hit the deck and tried to catch herself with her hands, but it was too late. She fell…

  II

  Raven sat up and stared around herself. Gone was the pitching, foul-smelling deck of Crescent Star, replaced with a room it took her a moment to recognize. The Spice Girls looked down at her from the poster beside her bed, next to Billy Idol and AC/DC. Across the room, Humphry Bogart tipped his hat and looked for the Maltese Falcon and Elvis was All Shook Up.

  Raven lay on a queen-size four-poster bed with a thick white duvet and black satin sheets, which was arranged between a pair of antique bedtables with flickering gas lamps accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. She listened and knew where she was. It was her room in Tempeste Manor as it had been when she was in High School, fifteen years ago.

  She stood and moved to the window, and it was then that she caught her reflection. She was dressed in black; black schoolgirl skirt, black net stockings, black tank top and black jacket over her father’s pistol. Her red hair was pulled into a thick ponytail laced with black leather strips and almost a dozen rings hung from her ears. It was the clothing she’d worn to her father’s funeral. Not the official one, the one by his grave, but the one for Court, attended by the cream of vampire society.

  She turned and walked to the door, almost falling in the platform boots she was wearing. Raven tugged them off and tossed them aside in irritation then yanked open the door. The grand hall below was exactly as it had always been, complete with ugly marble statues and her father’s overstuffed chair, where he liked to relax and read. Raven had never understood why he’d preferred to sit in the hall instead of the library, but he’d been a fixture there for most of her life. At least when he wasn’t up to his neck on a case.

  Several groups of vampires dressed in funeral attire, which for vampires meant yards of leather, black lace and red velvet armbands, stood below, talking quietly and drinking Claret. Some of the conversation was about the late Mason Storm, but most was about Valentina’s choice of Fürstin. In Mason’s absence, Raven was now the Mistress’ protector an
d many did not think a teen dhampyr was up to the task.

  Raven remembered this night. There would soon be an attempt on Valentina’s life, one that Raven had stopped, cementing her place as Fürstin.

  A figure leaned against the railing beside her. “You can let her die, you know. Be normal.”

  “Hello, Father,” Raven said.

  Mason Storm smiled. “Hello, Raven. You can let her die.”

  “I heard you,” Raven said.

  She turned to look at the man beside her. He looked the same; a tall man in black pants, red shirt and black leather jacket with his badge on a chain that dangled above his stomach. His goatee was neatly trimmed and his greying black hair was brushed back from the temples with just a hint of pomade. He scratched the corner of his mouth and Raven could smell bourbon and cheap cigars on his breath.

  “You’re going to stare a hole through me, kid,” he said.

  Raven looked away. “Sorry.”

  Mason shrugged. “No problem. Got a hug for your dad?”

  “You aren’t my father.”

  Mason chuckled and fished a cigar out of his pocket. “How do you know?”

  Raven closed her eyes. “Because they buried him yesterday. Or fifteen years ago. Whatever. You’re not him.”

  Mason lit the cigar with a lighter from his pocket and inhaled the rich-scented smoke. “Mm, but I’m immortal. They can’t kill me, just inconvenience me for a while. How do you know I’m not me?” Mason asked.

  “Because you’re not.”

  Mason felt his arm and grinned. “I feel like me. And tonight, I’m giving you a choice.”

  He did indeed look like Mason had. He sounded like him, even the voice was right, the cadence and the way he’d called her ‘kid’.

  “What do you mean?” Raven asked.

  “I mean, this is a second chance, kid. Let your mother die, as you wanted to, and come with me,” Mason said.

  He turned and started down the stairs. He stopped halfway down and looked back, cigar smoke swirling around his head. “The show is about to start, are you coming?”

  Raven felt as if she were in a dream. Some of it felt real. The house, the floor beneath her stockinged feet, the cool air, even the distant rumble of thunder that made the walls shake, along with the scent of smoldering tobacco.

  Other things felt like so much fog. Her hair was all wrong. She’d endured an hour of torture three years ago and had almost two feet cut off. The weight now was off, and it wasn’t just because she’d had her hair cut. It didn’t feel right, it felt like mist against her back. So did the skirt that rustled around her legs and the earrings that should have weighted her ears. They were there, but not. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself.

  She followed Mason down the stairs and padded across the hall, where she was stopped by Dominique. Dominique, in her long white gown, flowing blonde hair and bare feet. She’d been a godsend that week, and every day since. Valentina had been aloof in her pain and left Raven to her own grief. Dominique had held her, comforted her and told her it was okay to cry.

  “Ravenel, my child. How are you?”

  Raven smiled. “I’m doing okay, Dominique. Thank you.”

  Dominique hugged her tight. “I know you are not, child. I am here if you need to talk, but after court. Your mother needs you in the ballroom right away.”

  Raven nodded and waited for Dominique to acknowledge Mason. After a moment, Dominique frowned.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “What about Dad? Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “She can’t see me,” Mason said.

  Raven blinked. “What?”

  Mason took the cigar from his mouth. “She can’t see me. I’m here, I promise, but she can’t see me. Not yet.”

  “I’m sorry he is gone, Ravenel. We can talk about it after court. Please, attend Lady Valentina,” Dominique said.

  Raven hugged her again then moved through the ballroom doors, which were guarded by two vampires she didn’t remember. One of them smirked and said, “Fürstin,” in a way that was more snide than deferential. Raven met his eyes and let her power show. “I beg your pardon?”

  He blinked in surprise. “Greetings, Fürstin Ravenel. Lady Valentina is expecting you.”

  “That’s better.”

  Raven crossed the ballroom, which was more a throne room than an area reserved for parties and dancing. The floor was made of white marble, the ceiling was covered in hammered gold and crystal chandeliers filled with enough candles to light New Hampshire hung at intervals around the chamber.

  Half of the room held tables covered in black velvet and decorated with china that bore the Tempeste family crest. Chilled Claret and a variety of finger-foods had also been set out, presided over by a hired staff, and a collection of funeral gifts had been stacked on a low table on the far side of the room.

  Opposite this was Lady Valentina dressed in a black and red gown of leather, satin and lace. Her black hair hung loose about her shoulders and her face was hidden by a veil that left only her blue eyes visible. A group of vampires, a mix of suitors and mourners, surrounded her where she sat in the high-backed chair she called her office and everyone else called her throne. Valentina snapped her fingers and the crowd parted, allowing Raven to approach with Mason at her side munching on what smelled like crab salad.

  “Ravenel,” Valentina said, extending her hand.

  “Mother,” Raven replied.

  She kissed her mother’s hand and Mason made annoyed sounds.

  “I always hated this stuff,” he said.

  Raven ignored him. She knew he hated the theatrics of vampire court as much as she did, which is probably why he’d said it. She hated mind games even more than Court.

  Valentina stood and put her arm around Raven, turning her to face the crowd. “Masters and Mistresses of the Court, as you know, with the passing of my husband, my daughter Ravenel Tempeste has been elevated to position of Fürstin. She is young, but I have every confidence she will make me and the Court proud. By the Totentanz, may I present Fürstin Ravenel Tempeste!”

  Most of the crowd raised their glasses in salute to Raven, who smiled in spite of herself. A single vampire, however, poured his glass out onto the marble floor, where the chilled blood spattered and ran into the small gutters that lined the room.

  “Here we go,” Mason said. “All you have to do is nothing.”

  Raven watched the vampire. He was tall, with a mutton-chop beard and bald head that reflected the candles above. Like everyone else, he was dressed in black and had a red velvet armband around his left arm. Unlike the others, he was carrying a sword and he drew it in a fluid movement that told Raven he knew what he was doing.

  “You will be still, Marius!” Valentina thundered.

  “I will not stand by and allow you and your half-breed child rule this city!” Marius yelled back.

  He rushed forward and time slowed.

  “Just let him by,” Mason said.

  Raven almost let him. She stepped aside, giving him a clear line to Lady Valentina, who looked both angry and frightened. Then time came rushing back. Raven drew her father’s Automag from the holster she wore beneath her jacket and put two rounds into the back of Marius’ head. He exploded in a shower of ash and flame, not even able to scream. Valentina blinked in surprise then began to applaud, her face a mix of pride and worry.

  Raven looked at Mason. “My father would never have let my mother be hurt. Never.”

  Mason’s eyes flared blue and again pain thundered through Raven’s head. She finished falling to the deck of the Crescent Star, where she writhed in pain as the storm raged around her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chicago, Tempeste Manor: 7:00 p.m.

  Sable looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Dominique had dressed her in the leather dress
matched with pumps with heels so high she felt like she was going to fall on her face. More makeup than she had ever worn before made her look exotic and the red ponytail that fell in a waterfall down her back was laced with leather and velvet.

  “This is really what a Fürstin wears?”

  Dominique gave her a critical look. “Mm…you are showing less skin than Raven usually does, but yes. Why?”

  “I can hardly move! How am I supposed to fight in this?”

  “Practice,” Thad said from the door.

  Sable turned to face him. “Practice? How do I practice breathing with my waist crushed?”

  He shrugged. “Ask your sister. Grab your weapons, mother needs you downstairs.”

  Dominique helped Sable buckle on her short-swords and thigh-holster that allowed access to her revolver through the thigh slit.

  “Not ideal,” Dominique said, fiddling with the massive weapon, “but it will do.”

  “I feel sexy and ridiculous at the same time,” Sable groused. “Can’t I just put on some pants?”

  “We must go,” Dominique replied.

  Sable teetered in the heels, but after several steps managed to find a swaying gait that worked and seemed to please Dominique, who followed just behind her and to the left. A few moments later, Thad opened the doors to the ballroom and Sable entered. It was only the second time she had ever been in the throne room, and it still took her breath away. The marble floor was so polished it shone like a mirror and reflected the gold of the ceiling in a way that made it look like it was laced with rich veins. Columns of black held up the ceiling and the crystal chandeliers held thousands of candles that somehow never dribbled on the guests beneath. Valentina sat on her black and red throne, chatting with an older vampire and sipping Claret from a goblet made of crystal and gold. A tall, white-haired female vampire stood to her right, clad in a black cat-suit that had more holes than leather. A pistol hung on her right hip and the way she stood let Sable know she knew how to use it.

  “Remember the Totentanz! Move to her left side!” Dominique hissed.