by Skye Knizley
“Gee, thanks. And I didn’t get you anything,” Levac said.
“Call us even You and your partner won me fifty bucks last Christmas” Murtaugh said with a chuckle.
Levac pulled out his notepad and licked his pencil. “So what do you have?”
“Well, like I said not much sign of a struggle and no sign the door was forced or picked. The bed is mussed up and the table beside his wheelchair was knocked over…”
Murtaugh led the way from the front room into the bedroom. Sandoval’s wheelchair was in front of the window beside an upturned table. Levac knelt to examine a wet patch beside the chair.
“Scotch?” he asked.
Murtaugh nodded. “Pocock bagged and tagged the glass already. It was cracked, probably from the fall. He spilled an almost full glass of Walker on the carpet.”
Levac straightened and looked out the window. The window faced east and he could see the storm overhead, stretching to the horizon. Lightning flickered back and forth in the clouds, like cannons firing broadsides. Below was the city beneath a blanket of snow and ice that reflected the lightning overhead. Was that what Sandoval had been watching? The snow and lightning?
Levac looked away at the rest of the room. Nothing seemed out of place. The bed looked as if Sandoval had been resting and gotten up to sit and look out the window.
“Was his attendant here?”
Murtaugh shook his head and consulted his own notes. “He got off at six. There are eight attendants on duty tonight, the last found Sandoval on his first round through the building at seven fifteen. According to the staff, there was nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Aside from finding him dead, you mean.”
Levac hated locked room mysteries. They usually turned out to be elaborate suicides, or at least they had before he met Raven Storm. Sandoval hadn’t cut his own throat and it wasn’t lost on Levac that Sandoval’s wound was similar to the one Demarcus Saylor had suffered back in 1939.
“Anything else I can offer, Rupe?” Murtaugh asked.
Levac walked back to the window. “No, thanks, Murt, get home to Gladys. Have one of the boys get the file together and leave it for me.”
Murtaugh smiled and clapped Levac on the back. “Thanks, Rupe. I really appreciate it.”
Levac smiled back. “No problem. Tell Gladys I said hi.”
Murtaugh left and Levac went back to the crime scene. The only thing amiss was the overturned chair and spilled hooch. There was only a small amount of blood in the wheelchair and minimal blood-spatter, which confirmed Pocock’s theory that the man had died prior to having his arteries cut open.
Levac paced the room, letting his mind wander. He found it helped him think to not actually think. After a moment he paused in front of the room’s mirror. It stood directly opposite the window, above a wooden bookshelf laden with old pulp fiction novels. There was something odd about the reflection, however. It was distorted, as if the mirror didn’t fit properly or had been warped somehow. He donned a pair of gloves from one of his spacious pockets and lifted the mirror so he could see behind it. At first, he saw nothing, but then he noted that the cardboard backing was bubbled and somewhat charred. He placed the mirror on the bed and photographed it, then used his pen knife to pry away the backing. It peeled off easily, revealing the cheap silver backing.
“Harvey, you better get in here!”
Pocock shuffled in a moment later, a collection of evidence bags in his arms. “What’s up?”
Levac pointed. On the back of the mirror was a perfect handprint etched in blood.
“What the hell is that?” Pocock asked.
Levac photographed the print. “Evidence. Bag and tag it, I need to go find my partner.”
Pocock shrugged and set the other bags he’d been carrying down. “Sure. What about this stuff?”
Levac looked at the pile. “What is it?”
“Most of it is just his personal belongings. I found some medium brown hair on his cloths, doesn’t belong to him, might be the assistant. I also found something in the wound,” Pocock replied.
He pointed at a sample jar amidst the collection. “Something hard, like bone fragments, in the wound.”
Levac picked up the jar and looked at the blood-red goo within. “Put this on priority and run fingerprints on the hand. I want an analysis tonight.”
“Tonight? But—”
Levac looked at him. “Tonight. My boss says this is important, so it’s important.”
“You got it, Agent. Where do I bill the overtime? Mauser isn’t going to pay for it.”
Levac stuffed his notepad into his pocket and unwrapped a chocolate bar. “Section Thirteen. Call me if you get anything.”
He tossed the wrapper in the trash and headed back out into the night. He needed Raven, but right now any Storm would do.
CHAPTER NINE
The North Atlantic, Crescent Star: Unknown
“Are you ready for this, kid?”
Raven smiled at Mason. He looked distinguished in his classic black and white tuxedo, like an evil Sean Connery. His hair had greyed a bit more in the last year, but otherwise he looked like he always had, complete with shoulder holster holding a Desert Eagle pistol.
“I’ve been waiting for this for years, Dad. Do you really think you need that cannon? It’s a wedding not a war zone.”
She turned and took one more look in the mirror. Her dress was a miracle of white lace, satin and leather that left her curves in full view while keeping them modestly covered. Her feet were bare save for dainty lace that circled her ankles and ended with rings on her toes. That had been Aspen’s contribution, something Raven had fought for with her mother, and won.
“Raven, you know things have a tendency to not go exactly like we planned. I’d rather be safe than sorry,” Mason replied.
She knew he was right, her wedding was the perfect place for their enemies to make good on their threats. Mom had never been more vulnerable than during the last month while they were planning what had become a very public wedding. Strohm Anucarudu had grown in number and taken their campaign against Valentina from the political to one much more violent and overt. It was all Section Thirteen could do to keep the war from spilling over into the human streets.
The wedding march started and Raven turned to the door, where she was stopped by Mason. “Not yet, Raven, remember? Aspen is first.”
Raven rolled her eyes. “I remember, Dad. I just wanted to see her in her dress.”
Mason smiled. “You will see her in about a minute.”
Raven waited impatiently and tried to quiet the butterflies doing somersaults in her stomach. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling nervous, but she was now. She hadn’t pictured herself married since high school and the very idea made her feel ill. What if Aspen got hurt because of her? Or worse, she hurt Aspen herself? She wasn’t exactly the marrying kind, with her long hours and violent career choices.
Mason must have seen the concern in her eyes because he pulled her into a hug. “It’s a big step, Raven. But you’re going to be okay, you and Aspen. You’re meant to be, just like your mother and I.”
He let go and opened the door. The wedding march was just starting over. “They’re playing your song.”
Raven smiled and stepped through the door and into the Cathedral, which took her breath away every time she saw it, with its ancient stone walls, stained glass windows and gothic style. Mother had spared no expense, even the high arches were decorated with black and red streamers that ran along the ancient beams and trailed down the walls to hang in perfect lines, each adorned with the House Tempeste crest. Thousands of black, red and purple roses sat in crystal vases along the aisle, which itself was covered in rose petals of the same colors.
At the altar stood Father Casside in his white and black vestments. Beside him was Rupert Levac, looking uncomfortable
in a black and white tuxedo, and Abraham King. For once King looked like a gentleman instead of an angry old man, he’d even replaced his gnarled old cane with a black and white walking stick that matched his tuxedo.
Between them stood Aspen in her own carefully crafted gown. Where Raven’s was skin tight and richly adorned, Aspen’s was more carefree, though no less beautiful. She had chosen a design that was low-cut across her back and shorter than Raven’s, showing off her bare legs and the lace that adorned her feet. Her hair had been pulled into thousands of tiny braids, each adorned with a single white feather, and they hung to her waist in a curtain of violet and silver.
Raven smiled again, but something wasn’t right. Part of her was uncomfortable and warning that she shouldn’t be here.
Mason took her arm and patted her hand. “Don’t be nervous, you two are perfect.”
Raven took his lead and they walked slowly down the aisle without pause. Her eyes never left Aspen where she stood beside the altar. She looked as beautiful as Raven had ever seen her, and far happier.
They reached the end of the aisle and Raven stood beside Aspen while Mason took a seat beside Valentina. They clasped hands and Raven beamed at Levac, who crossed his eyes and made a face. Aspen snorted laughter and Father Casside smiled obligingly. He opened the large red Bible that lay on the podium in front of him and raised his hands.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, be seated.”
The wedding guests took their seats at his command and he began to speak. Raven had heard his wedding monologue before and kept her attention on Aspen instead of on his words. As usual, Aspen was in contrast with her; where she wore dramatic makeup, Aspen had chosen to wear nothing but light powder with silver around her eyes. Where Raven wore elaborate jewelry, Aspen wore feathers and earrings of hand-carved wood. As a couple, they were a dichotomy, which is what Raven thought made them work. But only time would tell.
This isn’t right.
Raven blinked. The voice had been her own, but she hadn’t spoken and Sable wasn’t here. She’d told mother she had better things to do and Raven hadn’t argued the point.
She pushed the strange voice away and squeezed Aspen’s hand. Aspen squeezed back and blushed. Raven knew she didn’t like all the attention. She’d wanted a civil ceremony in some out of the way courthouse, but they’d lost the argument to Mother, who had insisted that the Fürstin had to get married in a big way. Most of vampire society was seated behind them.
Raven frowned. That was a neat trick, come to think of it.
It isn’t right. They can’t…
Holy ground. How were vampires attending a wedding on Holy Ground?
The thought skittered away like a cockroach in the light and Raven turned back to Father Casside, who had just started the wedding ceremony. At that moment, the antique windows exploded inward, causing the guests below to scream and dive for cover as hundreds of vampires came through, accompanied by winged Forsaken and screamwings. Raven pulled Aspen to safety behind the altar and ducked as two of the Forsaken attacked. One knocked Agent King sprawling while the other bit through Levac’s throat in a spray of blood. Levac screamed and dropped the pistol he’d been holding. Raven dove forward and scooped it up in one hand. When she rose it spat two of Thad’s specials into the creature’s neck and she pushed it away from Levac even as it dissolved into ash. Levac crumpled to the floor and Raven knelt beside him, ignoring the firestorm of battle around her.
“Rupe? Come on, partner, it isn’t that bad.”
Levac’s throat had been nearly torn out. Raven could see the white of his spine through the blood and torn flesh.
“Hang on, Rupert. Aspen! Rupe needs help!” Raven yelled.
Aspen appeared at Raven’s elbow. Her eyes glowed with the blue of her magik and she began muttering a spell. She was only partway through when Francois Du Guerre appeared behind her, sword in hand. Raven looked up at him and smiled.
“Francois, can you cover Aspen while she heals Rupe? I need to get into this fight.”
Du Guerre didn’t answer. He simply swung his blade once. Raven felt the pain as if it were her heart that had been pierced instead of Aspen’s. Raven caught her as she fell forward, black blood dribbling from her lips.
“Aspen? Aspen, no! Hold on honey, draw on our connection, it will heal you,” Raven said.
Aspen touched her face and Raven watched the light fade from her eyes. She never even tried to heal herself.
“No. No, Aspen! You aren’t dead!” Raven yelled.
But she was. Raven could feel it. She rolled Aspen over and stood, facing Du Guerre, who licked Aspen’s blood from his blade.
“Why?” Raven asked.
Du Guerre smiled. “Because my master wills it. He wants you to suffer, to know you are powerless against him.”
He raised his sword and Raven shot him through the face. He exploded in a cloud of ash that left nothing but his burning skull with a perfect hole between his eyes. Raven dropped the pistol beside his remains and knelt next to Aspen and Levac. All around her, the battle raged, but she no longer cared. Somewhere, Valentina screamed in horror and her father burned to death, and she didn’t move. She held Aspen’s hand and stared at nothing.
Get up.
“No,” Raven said.
Get up. This isn’t you.
“No. They’re dead! Don’t you see? They’re dead!”
No, they’re not. But they’re going to be if you don’t get off your ass and fight.
Raven blinked away tears and looked at Aspen, then Levac. They were dead. She knew dead, she’d seen enough corpses to know. But something wasn’t right. She stood and moved through the battle. All around her vampires loyal to the House fought Anucarudu and Forsaken, but she passed through without a scratch. She paused near the altar and looked down at the corpse of Father Casside. She’d known him, he was a good man. She’d been sorry to hear he’d been killed…
He’d been killed. Weeks ago, outside his church in Old Town.
Raven spun and looked at the church. She’d never seen it before, beyond photographs. Going onto true holy ground made her head ache and her feet burn. She couldn’t be here, it wasn’t real.
“This isn’t real,” she said aloud.
Pain thudded through her skull and details began to fade away, like watercolors in the rain. After a moment she stood on the deck of the Crescent Star, shotgun in hand. Outside, the storm still raged and waves crashed against the ship’s side, making it quake beneath her boots.
Raven slung the shotgun and checked her watch. The hands had stopped at 7:30 p.m., likely damaged when she fell in her first confrontation with the Mason-thing. She touched her earpiece. “Francois? Francois, do you read?”
There was nothing but faint static accompanied by a strange hissing noise that made her skin crawl.
“Francois? Come in, dammit!”
“Who is this? Is somebody out there?”
Raven didn’t recognize the voice, but it definitely wasn’t Francois. “This is Agent Storm, FBI, who am I speaking to?”
“Special Agent Kane, the same. Where are you, Agent Storm?”
Raven looked around. “I’m on deck one, almost to the middle of the ship.”
“Come ahead, we are in the pool area,” Kane replied.
Raven started walking. “Where is Aspen Kincaid? Is she with you?”
There was a pause. “I’m here, Ray. My radio got broken. I’m so happy to hear your voice, are you okay?”
Raven’s walk became a jog. “I’m fine. What about you?”
Again there was a pause. “This is Kane. She was poisoned by a screamwing. She is alive but we’ve been unable to counteract the poison. I believe she is dying, Agent Storm.”
“Not today.”
Raven ended the conversation and charged through the next door, all thoughts of caution replaced with co
ncern for Aspen. She ran through the next section, barely conscious of the stringy bits of human flesh hanging from the ceiling and walls spattered with still-wet blood. She passed through the midship casino, which was now as dead and silent as an ancient tomb, and stepped through the door onto the midship pool deck.
The deck was much as it must have been years ago, with sun chairs, cabanas, two small bars that had once served the best in poolside beverages and a huge pool that would have been the envy of any in Miami. If it hadn’t been for the raging storm overhead, piled skeletons, deck slid with blood and pink-tinted water, it would have been the perfect vacation spot.
There was also no sign of Aspen or her team. Raven lifted her shotgun and turned on the light. Rain pounded her, drenching her to the bone and the wind tore at her, but it did not slow her. She moved toward the only cover on the deck, a sun-deck enclosure on the far side. It was bigger than it first looked, and shaped like an octagon made of glass. Blood was smeared along the outer walls, washed by the rain into strange, ghostly shapes. Raven’s light panned across them as she walked along the side to the door, which was closed against the weather. She reached for the handle and the doors opened to reveal a tall blonde woman holding an MP5 and an even taller, middle-aged man carrying a sword that was almost as tall as he was.
“It’s about time you got here,” the woman said.
“Where is the rest of the rescue team?” asked the man.
Raven stepped past them into the room and shook rain out of her eyes. “There isn’t one, it’s just me.”
She looked around the room. A scummy hot-tub big enough for twenty or thirty people sat off-center surrounded by rotting deck chairs and tables, some of which had been stacked against the walls and windows. Another bar, this one designed to look like a beach hut complete with thatched roof, sat in the corner.
“Where is Aspen?”