by Skye Knizley
“That’s what I’m doing,” Levac said. “You can bet I’m looking forward to catching this guy more than any of our pending cases. I’m going to have nightmares worse than usual.”
Aspen let go of Raven to hug Levac. Raven turned away so they wouldn’t see her face. Her friends, her familiars. They were her real family. And she silently promised them that she would bury this psycho before he killed another child.
NEW STREET, CHICAGO
PRESENT DAY
NIGHT FELL AND WITH IT came a stygian darkness accompanied by the kind of penetrating cold that left Raven feeling as if her bones were freezing. The number she’d found in Bob Doe’s pants had belonged to a local club called Kryptorium. After spending the latter half of the day uselessly digging through her father’s casefiles, Raven had enjoyed a light supper and driven across town to the club, which lay within a few blocks of the lake. She’d changed into something more appropriate for Chicago’s supernatural nightlife and she now stood looking at the club dressed in black leather pants, a leather bustier that enhanced her curves and a matching leather jacket. She’d hidden her knives in stiletto-heeled boots and had her Automag concealed in the pocket of her jacket. It wasn’t ideal for a fast-draw, but it was hidden, which was better than nothing. A silver cross dangled between her breasts and she’d put her hair into a ponytail that fell in a fiery waterfall down her back.
She handed the keys to the blood red Porsche Cayenne she’d borrowed to the vampire valet and stepped onto the curb to where Aspen was standing looking at home in a black lace dress, biker jacket and knee boots with more buckles than Raven had ever seen in one place.
“Hi, love,” Aspen said with a smile.
“Hey, Aspen,” Raven said. “I’m glad you got my message. You look amazing.”
“Thank you. You could have just sent me a psychic thingy though,” Aspen said.
Raven rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that. You know I hate doing that to you unless I’m desperate.”
Aspen shrugged. “I’m just saying it is an option. I know it isn’t something you would abuse, so using it occasionally would be, I don’t know, kind of cool.”
Raven looked at Aspen, the way she was standing with her arms folded, her eyes not meeting Raven’s, and she understood.
“Aspen, I haven’t been treating you like a familiar because you’re more than that, okay?” she said. “You’re my colleague, my friend and just about the only person in the world I can let my hair down with. Even Rupert gets weird when the vampire comes out. You don’t.”
“Just seems like since we got out of that damn hole in the ground you’ve been distant,” Aspen said. “Business as usual. I thought we were past that.”
“It isn’t like that, Aspen,” Raven said. “After what happened, I didn’t really know what to do. Even with our connection you almost died. Twice. I had to sit there in the hospital and watch you with tubes coming out of places there should never be tubes. What if you get hurt again?”
Aspen sighed and stepped closer to Raven, looking up at her. “Ravenel, you gave me the choice and I took it, just like Rupert. If I get hurt, I get hurt. It’s part of being with you. Don’t keep me in the shadows ‘cause you’re afraid. I’m not.”
Raven felt nothing but honesty coming from her friend, but she couldn’t bring herself to agree. Instead, she said, “Come on, let’s check this place out. I’m willing to bet at least one of the vics was here before he was killed.”
“There are vamps, familiars and witches here. Probably fur balls, too.”
“I noticed. The guy who parked the Porsche was an Embraced,” Raven said. “This is way outside the Old Town district. Mother is going to have kittens when she finds out.”
“What are you going to do? Play cop or Fürstin?” Aspen asked.
Raven took Aspen’s hand and turned toward the doors. “For now, neither. Play along and let’s see what we can see.”
They were met at the door by a tall male vampire dressed in enough leather to make a good-sized cow. He smiled wide enough to show fang and extended his hand. “Good evening, ladies. Welcome to Kryptorium. May I see your hand, please?”
Raven could feel the vampire’s power dancing on her skin and she wanted to snap his pencil-thin neck. He was trying to use glamour on her. Instead she offered her hand, palm down. The vampire took it and gently ran an ultraviolet light over the back. It showed nothing. With a grin the vampire stamped a stylized K on her hand in ink that only showed under the UV light. He repeated the process with Aspen, who looked like she wanted to scream, and ushered them through the doors and into a foyer that included a large coat-check area manned by a pair of familiars that couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Raven stared at the young women and knew she was going to shoot someone before the night was out.
“How old are you?” she asked the blonde who offered to take her coat.
“Old enough,” the girl replied. “Did you have something in mind?”
“Just a little curiosity,” Raven replied. “I’ll keep my coat, thanks.”
Beside her Aspen had handed over her long coat and now stood in her dress and boots. Raven could see the chain belt she wore and recognized it was made from silver and would make a reasonable weapon, in a pinch. She winked at her and led the way through a door with a side that said “Into the Krypt.” Smaller letters in the alphabet of the Totentanz said, “Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter.” Aspen caught Raven’s eye and nodded toward the words.
Raven shrugged and continued through. It was too late to back out now.
As soon as they entered they were assaulted by a song called ‘The Bleeding” by Five Finger Death Punch. The inside of the club had been decorated like an underground catacomb complete with walls made of bones that Raven could only hope were fake. Subtle blood-colored lights flickered in alcoves filled with skeletons and blue strobe lights popped on and off above like faeries flitting to and fro in time to the music. Dancers packed the dance floor like eggs in a carton and filled dozens of tables on the floor above. Raven recognized the too-fast movements of young Embraced, the slow-motion dances of pure-blood vampires and the frenetic bouncing of lycans huddled in a pack on the far side of the club.
“It’s like the Supernatural United Nations,” Aspen said. “Lycans and vampires don’t usually dance this close together. Hell, Lycans don’t usually dance at all.”
Raven’s eyes were locked on a werewolf that was licking a young vampire’s face. “I’ve only seen it once before and it took Strohm’s will to make it happen.”
“But you pinned his skull to a monolith with a sword,” Aspen said. “He’s dead, right?”
“Depends on what you mean by dead,” Raven said. “He’s like a bad Dracula copy, he always turns up somewhere. His skull was stolen from Evidence about a week after I brought it in. Thad is still looking into it, but I doubt he will find anything and Frost couldn’t care less.”
Aspen turned to Raven, “So some idiot could have brought Strohm back again? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Keep your voice down!” Raven hissed. “I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t worth mentioning. He can’t just down a pint and pop out of a box yelling ‘surprise!’ he’s got to regrow a whole body. Just chill!”
Raven walked up a short flight of steps to where a series of tables were positioned with a good view of the dance floor. She hung her jacket on the back of a chair and sat. Aspen joined her a moment later, still looking unhappy. A waitress appeared before Aspen could say anything else and they both ordered drinks from a menu of things they’d never heard of. Raven ended up with something called a Blood Sunset and Aspen settled on a Muertos. While they waited, they held hands and played the ‘happy couple on a date’ routine, making small talk or watching the dancers around them.
When their drinks arrived, they sipped cautiously then pushed them away. Both were highly alcoholic and Raven had a feeling hers, at least, was laced with Thirst. She thought she’d ended Thirst production in Chic
ago for good, but it was just as easy to have brought in as any other drug. Just twenty times more dangerous. Thirst would also explain the number of new-dead Embraced in the club. If the Thirst didn’t kill you, you would end up someone’s vampire bitch.
“Do you see the DJ?” Aspen asked.
Raven followed Aspen’s gaze to the far side of the club where the DJ booth was located. An elder Embraced vampire stood behind the turntables, his face illuminated in the glow of his laptop. Raven thought he looked like Vincent Price on a three day bender.
“The skinny guy with a lousy fashion sense and shoddier taste in music?” Raven asked.
Aspen smiled and clasped Raven’s hand tighter. “Now look.”
Raven looked back and could see that the he was surrounded in a pale red glow, deeper than pink, but only just. Inside the glow, the Embraced looked much younger, barely into his twenties.
“He looks younger. A lot younger,” Raven said.
“It’s a glamour spell,” Aspen said. “You can see through it because you’re part Sanguinarch, but most people see the DJ as young and handsome not old and disturbing.”
“I’ve never seen one that powerful,” Raven said. “He isn’t strong enough to do that, he’s a low level Embraced.”
“I know,” Aspen said. “It has to be a mage or a powerful pureblood vamp. No one else could glamour another person.”
Raven picked up her glass and turned to survey the room. Almost all of the vampires whose physical age was more than about thirty-five were shrouded in the strange glow. All but one. A lithe vampire with blonde hair pulled into cornrows and skin so dark it was almost ebony sat at a table in the middle of the lounge, a goblet of dark wine in front of her. She was beautiful, though clearly mature. Raven placed her as a pureblood vamp around three hundred years old. The vampire’s eyes were closed yet she seemed aware Raven was looking at her for she cocked her head in Raven’s direction and smiled, acknowledging her. The vampire then drained her goblet and beckoned to a waitress. They conversed for a moment then the vampire stood and walked through the crowd to section of wall that looked like every other section. She placed her hand on the wall and a narrow doorway opened in the wall. The vampire stepped through and vanished into darkness.
“That vamp was two hundred years old, easy,” Aspen said.
“Three, with the power to go with it,” Raven said. “I’m betting she’s a spellslinger, too.”
Aspen shrugged. “It’s possible. It is rare for the art to run in vampire bloodlines, but not unheard of.”
“I think we need to get a look behind door number one,” Raven said.
She stood and shrugged into her jacket. Aspen joined her and the two women made their way through the crowd toward the hidden door. They were almost there when a werewolf appeared in front of them. He’d shaved and was wearing leather pants and a vest instead of his traditional stained denim, but with his long mane of shaggy brown hair and feral eyes he was unmistakable.
“Tate,” Raven said.
“Well if it isn’t—”
“I know my name. Get out of the way, Tate,” Raven said.
“The Master won’t be happy you’re here without an invitation,” Tate said. “This place is off limits to those of the royal line.”
“Shit,” Aspen said under her breath. “Did you have to say that, Purina breath?”
Raven smiled, letting her fangs show. “Since when do you play by a vampire’s rules, Tate? Did you and your wolves decide to become civilized and lick some Embraced’s boots?”
Tate growled and reached out with one hand, claws extended. Raven ducked under his arm and came inside his guard. She pushed her forearm under his chin and slammed him into the wall making nearby candle-sconces rattle.
“Come on, Tate, this isn’t you. You’re an ass, but not stupid,” Raven said. “I don’t know what vampire has called your pack, but you have to fight them. You’re a free wolf not somebody’s lapdog.”
“I serve the Master,” Tate said.
He shoved Raven away and backhanded her across the face, drawing blood and sending her tumbling backwards.
Raven stood and let her monster out. Her blood boiled and the world turned blue, dotted only by red spots of heat. She raised her head and glared at Tate. She could see the echo of power wrapping around him, tendrils of green and red twisted into a cocoon that left him nothing more than an obedient puppy.
“Your choice, Tate,” she said. “I suggest you back off or you’ll spend the rest of your life eating through a straw. You know who I am, think about this.”
By way of answer Tate swung a wild haymaker. Raven blocked his fist with her forearm and punched him in the face with the pommel of one of her blades. He staggered backwards into the wall and Raven spun into a kick that should have dislocated his head. He sagged unconscious, his neck broken. Raven guided him into a nearby booth and set him down.
“Sleep tight,” she whispered. “I hope you can walk again. Eventually.”
Only a handful of seconds had passed; one or two dancers had noticed a commotion, but none paid it any attention. They were too busy dancing and having a good time.
When Tate was safely out of the way, Aspen made a few symbols in the air with her hand, making the palm-reader in the wall glow with a faint light. It clearly showed the outline of the dark-skinned vampire’s hand. Aspen put her own hand over the imprint and the door slid open like something out of a cheap science-fiction movie. Raven took another look around the club and stepped through with Aspen close behind.
The corridor beyond was short, no more than a dozen steps. It ended in an old cargo elevator that only went down. Raven ushered Aspen inside and pushed the down button.
“I thought you were going to fight the entire club,” Aspen said once they started moving.
“The night’s still young. Let’s see what’s so damn important.”
Raven could smell something and it tickled the deepest part of her vampire heritage, something hungry. The door opened and she stepped into the corridor beyond. They stood in a white-tiled subbasement beneath the club. Water trickled through the cracked eastern wall and disappeared into a copper drain in the floor. There was a sliding door in the northern wall with red lettering that spelled out “Bathhouse” in the language of the Totentanz while a corridor headed into gloom to the south.
Following her nose, Raven guided Aspen through the northern door and into a wide, steam-filled corridor. She drew her Automag and tossed her clinging leather jacket aside. If they got back out she would pick it up. If not it was just a jacket.
The hallway opened up into an octagonal chamber still made of the same white tiles. Seven large bathtubs were set against the wall, each with its own silver tap and towel rack holding pristine white towels. In the center was a circular pool whose depth was anyone’s guess; the bottom was obscured by the blood Raven had been smelling since they’d hit the elevator.
“Ray, is this what I think it is?” Aspen asked.
“A blood bath,” Raven replied. “You never saw anything like this with Xavier?”
Aspen knelt next to the nearest pool and used her magic to push the blood around. “Never. Your brother was freaky, but this is twisted even for him.”
“I’m not sure if that’s comforting,” Raven said.
Aspen looked up from the pool she’d been examining. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure if it’s comforting my family isn’t this twisted or disturbing that we are dealing with someone more touched than Xavier,” Raven said. “Find anything?”
“There’s no sign of a body,” Aspen said. “Considering how big it is they would have needed an army of donors.”
Raven paused then squatted and dipped a finger in the pool. It was warm and slightly sticky to the touch. There was also a tingling sensation, as if the pool had been carbonated. She raised the blood to her lips and touched her tongue to it. The taste made her spit and swallow the urge to gag.
“Animal,” she
said when she could speak without being sick.
“Weird question, boss, but can you tell—”
“At a guess I’d say pig,” Raven replied. “Or sheep.”
She straightened and moved to the nearest cast-iron tub. A twist of the tap brought a flow of warm blood that filled the bottom with a sound like a straw at the bottom of a glass.
“That’s just gross, Ray,” Aspen said.
“You don’t have to tell me. Come on, let’s see if we can find the Beyoncé lookalike,” Raven said.
The southern hallway was lit by a half dozen red bulbs in safety cages. The red glow made the corridor seem even more sinister and Raven could feel the anxiety radiating from Aspen. She turned and looked back at her friend.
“Relax, love,” she said.
“Easy for you to say,” Aspen said. “This place is majorly creeping me out. It’s worse than that crazy werewolf crucible we went through.”
“Just remember that we survived,” Raven said.
“Barely. It isn’t exactly my fondest memory and this is spookier.”
Raven smiled. “We can go back, if you need to.”
Aspen blinked in surprise. “Of course not. We’ve got a job to do. It’s just creepifying down here. Can’t you ever take me somewhere that doesn’t have dank dungeons with monsters that want to eat my face?”
Raven shook her head and continued down the corridor. It wasn’t long before it opened into another chamber, a huge one. Earthen walls and ceiling were supported by wood timbers and shored up against the eastern side where lake water trickled in thin rivulets. A dozen coffins of varying ages darkened the walls, silent as the graves they’d risen from.
In the center of the room was an dais made of native stone with unlit pitch braziers set at the points of the compass. In the center rested an oblong box made of dark wood. Raven stepped close and ran a hand over the wood, certain it was the same kind she’d found in Pepescu’s basement. Every side of the coffin was expertly carved with scenes of vampire brutality, from beheadings of human servants to the creation of blood starved Forsaken. It was a beautiful work of hate that made Raven feel ill. How could anyone be so brutally evil?