by M. D. Massey
“What was his name?”
“James Broussard, but he went by Jim.”
I held a finger up. “Give me a second.”
It took only a moment to respond to Sophia Doroshenko’s text. Within seconds, I had a reply verifying that, yes, Jim Broussard was one of Remy’s favorite Renfields.
Germain rattled his cuffs to get my attention. “Whoever that is, don’t tell them I’m here. I suspect there are spies in Luther’s coven working for DeCoudreaux.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
The old vamp coughed up more black gunk. “Ask Luther about me, if you don’t believe me. He doesn’t know why I’m here, but he’ll at least vouch for my character. I can assure you, Monsieur McCool, I am nothing like Remy DeCoudreaux.”
I really should’ve checked his bonafides with Luther, but I wasn’t ready to face the local coven leader yet. He was a trusted friend and always would be, but I had personal issues to work out before that particular reunion could happen.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said as I unlocked and removed the silver cuffs from Germain’s wrists and ankles. His wounds were healing, but it was clear his body was scavenging itself to make those repairs. “You got any blood around here?”
He tilted his head toward the house. “A few bags, in a cooler in the kitchen. The utilities haven’t been turned on here yet, I’m afraid.”
“No funny stuff while I’m gone,” I warned.
Germain gave me a wry smile. “I assure you, I am in no condition for antics.”
I retrieved two I.V. bags of blood from a plastic cooler on the kitchen counter and brought them to Germain. He clipped the tubing off neatly with his teeth before proceeding to suck each bag down like a kid sucking the juice from an ice pop. I looked away as he fed. After my time in the Hellpocalypse, the whole vampire feeding thing still gave me the creeps.
“I see you’ve had traumatic experiences with vampires. My apologies if this makes you uncomfortable.” He paused to assess me anew. “Strange, that someone with such a hatred of my kind should be so close to the local coven leader.”
I turned to look at him, swallowing bile as he licked a fleck of blood from the corner of his mouth. “It’s a more recent thing, actually.”
“Does Luther know?”
I shook my head. “No, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“As you wish.”
Germain sucked down the last of his bloody meal. Already his body had regenerated, blackened flesh flaking away to reveal new pink skin underneath.
“Sorry about your clothes,” I said, not meaning it. I was still finding it hard to have empathy for a leech.
“Mere things that can easily be replaced. I’m much more concerned with discovering what your intended plan of action might be.”
I squeezed the porch railing harder than I intended, causing it to creak. “First, I mean to find Remy DeCoudreaux. Then, I’m gonna beat him within an inch of his life and make him tell me who he’s working with at the Circle.”
“I may be able to help you with that. By now, Remy will know you tracked me back to Austin. We could use that to our advantage—”
Germain let the implication of his words hang in the air. I considered what he was suggesting, wondering yet again if I should trust him. Without checking with Luther, I really had no sure way of knowing whether he was on the level.
Well, there’s one way to find out.
“Alright, Saint Germain—let’s see if you’re telling me the truth.”
The next day, I was back in New Orleans at the vamp bar, waiting for one of Silvère’s flunkies to let Remy know I was here. The coven leader’s major domo—or bodyguard, or whatever the hell he was—had refused to let me in, at least not until he got the okay from his boss. Currently, he was standing in the doorway giving me the stink eye while he waited for word from his maker.
“Haven’t you guys heard of cell phones? Texts? Emails? It’d be a lot faster than sending someone, you know.”
Silence.
I scowled. “Have it your way. I’m going to grab a beer—and I’m putting it on your tab.”
Silvère simply stood and stared at me, hands clasped loosely in front of him, shoulders back, a look of smoldering intensity on full display. Obviously, he wasn’t a member of my fan club. I didn’t care, really—not many vamps would be after I was done with this sad, sorry mess.
I sauntered to the bar to order a pint of Abita, glowering at anyone who so much as looked at me sideways. Every hard stare I received made me question the wisdom of what I was about to do. We’d decided the best course of action was to convince the New Orleans coven leader I’d killed Germain. “Immolation by sunlight spell” was my cover story. That way, Remy wouldn’t expect to receive any physical evidence of the act.
Just in case, we’d faked a video of me killing the coven leader’s rival. Germain himself had provided the illusory effects for that—and rather convincingly, in fact. His vampire power was alchemy, a weird talent if ever there was one, but one that turned out to be useful in this instance.
I’d triggered the sunlight spell at the exact moment Germain had released an alchemical smoke screen. On video, it looked like he’d been immolated, while in reality the smoke had protected him from most of the effects of my magic. Before the smoke could clear, the old vamp zipped out of frame, leaving a smoking pile of human bone and ashes in his place. I had not asked Germain where he’d gotten them.
Personally, I thought the video was convincing enough to fool DeCoudreaux. Hopefully, said “evidence” of Germain’s demise and my carefully-concocted story would be enough to get me on the inside with the coven.
Too bad it required me to go alone into the lion’s den.
Don’t think about what could go wrong. Focus on getting it right.
Once I’d gained Remy’s trust, I planned to snoop around and discover the identity of his accomplice. Failing that, I’d abduct and torture him until he revealed that person’s identity, and that of every other vamp who was involved in the scheme. Then, I’d ruthlessly hunt them down, one by one, until not a single member of their cabal was left standing.
Was brutality the only option? No, not by a long shot. However, it was the most efficient option. But was it necessary?
Fuck. Yes.
Hell on Earth was coming, and I was the only thing standing in its way. I’d do anything—and sacrifice anything—to prevent that chain of events from coming to pass. I’d risk my reputation, my friendships, and even my life. I would not let them win, not while I still drew breath.
Speaking of my reputation—even if I survive this, that’ll be fucked for sure.
It was a foregone conclusion that I’d be despised by vampire society after all was said and done. Wanton slaying of vampire-kind would do that for a hunter. The one good thing I had going for me now was that I had an ally—if Germain could be trusted. Perhaps with he and I working toward the same goals, his involvement would at least partially excuse the actions I was about to take.
I leaned against the wall near the bar, sipping my beer and scanning the crowd in case someone decided to try me. As far as I was concerned, every vamp here was a potential enemy. I got a few more hard stares, but the patrons left me alone.
A pretty, careworn barmaid walked up to me with a tray full of empties propped against her waist. “Remy’ll see you now.”
I nodded, downed my beer, and set the empty bottle on her tray. “Keep the change.”
She sneered, cursing at me as I headed to the back. Not wanting to take any chances, I stealth-shifted along the way. Upon reaching my destination, I discovered that the door had been left open, but Silvère was gone. I glanced down the hall and casually checked my flanks, wondering whether I should enter or bolt. Then, Mr. Silent stepped out of a doorway twenty feet from me, beckoning me to approach. I didn’t like being beckoned, so I stared at him for a few seconds, then headed in.
Silvère stood at parade rest just outsid
e a nondescript metal doorway. I gave the mute a look that made his lip twitch, then turned and looked into the room.
It was a small office filled with grey metal furniture, a few file cabinets, stacked boxes, and not much else. Piles of receipts littered the desk, and cases of beer and liquor sat in the corners or against the walls—some open, some sealed. The way I’d come in was my only exit.
Remy sat behind the desk, hands clasped behind his head with his legs kicked up. “Tell me you have some good news, druid.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Silvère, just to fix his position in my mind. “Depends on what you’d call good,” I said as my eyes flicked back to the coven leader. “Germain’s dead, if that’s the answer you’re looking for.”
Remy’s eyebrows knitted together as he steepled his fingers. “Oh? That’s interesting. And tell me, how did this come to pass?”
“I tracked him to Austin, then I killed him. I have it on video if you want to see.”
“Video—I’m sure that would be very entertaining, but I’m not the type to enjoy dramatizations and acting.”
My left eyebrow shot up. “Dramatizations? Are you accusing me—”
Remy held up a hand. “That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of, druid. I had you followed, you see. And just a few hours ago at sundown, my people spotted Germain alive and well at the farmhouse where you left him.”
Busted.
“Does this mean I don’t get my incentive bonus?” I asked, readying a spell in my left hand.
Two things happened next. First, I sensed movement behind me in the hall. And second, I saw Remy’s hand slip under the desk. There was a “click,” then a sheet of thick, tinted glass slammed down between us, effectively walling him off from my side of the office. He stood behind the desk, straightening the cuffs on the expensive silk shirt he wore.
I glanced at the doorway, where at least three vamps stood in fire-retardant jumpsuits and motorcycle helmets with dark, UV-protective visors. They wore matching Nomex gloves and held electric stun batons in their hands. Based on the additional footsteps I heard, at least a half-dozen more were lining up out of view in the hallway.
I heard Remy chuckle through the speakers overhead. “I am sorry it had to happen like this, cher, but I was suspicious of you from the moment you showed up unannounced in my city. And though I did get my hopes up after the mayhem you caused at Germain’s mansion, ultimately you failed the test.”
I sniffed and rubbed my nose, mostly to cover the few words I was mumbling as I prepared another spell. I tilted my head toward the hallway. “And them? I suppose they’re simply here to escort me from the building?”
The coven leader smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid my business partner has requested that I deliver you to him as soon as possible, and preferably alive. He didn’t say how alive, though—which provides me with a bit of leeway, thankfully.”
So, his accomplice is male. That’ll narrow things down a bit.
“You should know, Remy—once I’m out of here, I’m coming after you.”
A hidden door swung open behind the vampire. “If you can manage to escape, you are welcome to try. Goodbye, Colin McCool.”
Secret switches, hidden doors, drop-down bullet-proof glass—all this guy lacks is a monocle and a cat in his lap.
The coven leader stepped through the doorway and was gone, the door swinging closed behind him. He was out of my reach, for the moment. Even if I busted through the glass, I suspected the walls beyond would be reinforced concrete behind the plaster and wood facade. I could fight, but I was trapped and outnumbered. If I managed to fight my way through these clowns, I’d still be surrounded by dozens of potential hostiles.
That left me with but one other option—escape. I pulled an object from my Bag, transferring magical energy into it from the second spell I’d prepared as I dropped it to the ground. Then, I leapt straight up, covering my head with my hands and hoping my gamble would pay off.
Plaster, wood lath, and floor planking shattered as I burst through the ceiling and landed in a crouch just to the side of the jagged hole I’d made. I glanced below, waiting until Remy’s shock troops had begun to file in before I leaned away from the opening. I triggered the spell and my makeshift frag grenade exploded, peppering the vamps with shrapnel.
The device was nothing more than an M-80 firecracker with silver beads glued to its outer shell, but it became a deadly weapon with a small magical boost of power. While the vamps were protected from fire by their Nomex suits, the material would do nothing to stop speeding projectiles. Several of the silver pellets pinged off the glass, some shot up through the hole, and the rest hit targets below at random.
I didn’t wait to see how my pursuers fared, instead opting to get the hell out of Dodge just as fast as my Fomorian-powered legs could carry me. Heading left as I exited the room, I ran toward what I thought was the front of the building. I spied a window at the end of the hallway, boarded up but thankfully not bricked over. By the time I sprinted toward it, my remaining pursuers were already hot on my heels.
Hitting the window at speed in this form was a bit like crashing through balsa wood and sugar glass. While my human skin sustained a few superficial cuts, my Fomorian flesh beneath proved more than a match for the glass and lumber. I shot through the opening and out into the night with the intention of landing in a dead run so I could get a head start on my pursuers.
But rather than finding a stretch of solid tarmac outside to land on, instead there was a magic portal, roughly ten feet across and hovering just above the surface of the street. Already airborne, I had no means of altering my trajectory, so I readied another spell as I plummeted through the portal into the inky blackness beyond.
15
Portals were heavy-duty magic, which meant I wasn’t dealing with a bush league practitioner here. Chances were good they’d be waiting on the other side, ready to ambush me with a spell designed to knock me out or otherwise incapacitate me.
Well, this is fucked.
My only chance would be simultaneous retaliation with enough juice to overcome their wards and knock them out. If I was really lucky, I’d recover before they did, in which case I’d dispose of them while they were still incapacitated. I prepped one hell of a lightning spell in one hand and drew my pistol in the other. My plan was to fry them and plant one between their eyes—that was, if they weren’t protected by a projectile barrier.
As I plunged through the portal, cold air hit me like a wall of ice. To my shock and horror, there was nothing on the other side. Nothing but empty space, that is, because I found myself plummeting out of the sky in the dead of night, from what I estimated to be a distance of many thousands of feet above the Earth. I immediately began tumbling head over heels in dizzying, random rotations, and the stars and moon traded places with the dark earth below with every revolution.
As I approached terminal velocity, I flailed frantically in an attempt to stabilize my descent. Having never gone skydiving, it took several seconds to determine the optimal position for my limbs, one that would flatten me out and stabilize my fall. Once I stopped spinning, I instantly took stock of my situation. While the ground below was nothing more than a dark-gray blob marked here and there by patches and pinpricks of light, it appeared to be rushing up fast. It didn’t take much critical thinking to intuit that whoever had sent me through that portal knew exactly what they were doing.
And whoever it is, they must know a hell of a lot about me.
I’d fallen from some fairly precipitous heights, back when I was still blaming myself for Jesse’s death. During that dark time, I’d tried to kill myself in dozens of different ways, and one of them was by jumping from the tallest buildings I could find. Unfortunately, my Hyde-side had taken over in every instance, saving me from flattening myself like a pancake via gravity and inertia. I didn’t remember any of what happened on those occasions, only that I’d wake up somewhere far away with my clothes in shreds, lamenting the fact tha
t the part of me I hated most wouldn’t let me die.
Having jumped off both the Frost Bank building and the Fairmont, I knew I could survive falls of five hundred to six hundred feet while in my full Fomorian form. And while that was only about a third of the distance it took to hit terminal velocity in free fall, when I’d hit I was doing about one hundred miles per hour. I knew, because I did the math after I went back to look at each of the impact craters I’d made.
Skydivers in controlled free fall reached speeds of about one-hundred-twenty miles per hour, which meant that if I could shift before I hit the earth below, I’d probably survive. I’d be out of commission while my body healed from the impact, but I’d live. This realization caused me to again reflect that the portal caster knew things about me that only Finnegas, Jesse, and my clued-in lycanthrope therapist could have known.
But I could suss that out later. Right now, I needed to focus on surviving the fall. Knowing that a full shift was my only option, I pulled my Craneskin Bag off and shoved my phone and jacket inside, then I let it flutter away in the wind. The strap would tear as I shifted, so chances were good I’d lose it as I fell anyway. Besides, the thing was semi-sentient, and it had an odd way of showing up again whenever I lost it or had it taken from me. If I was lucky, it’d appear after I’d been locked up by my soon-to-be captors.
Gravity waits for no man. Time to get this show on the road.
I was already shifting to my full Fomorian form as I did the calculations in my head.
Let’s see, fifty-six meters a second times twenty seconds equals about eleven hundred meters—times three-point-two-eight equals about thirty-seven-hundred feet.
Fuck.
Here’s to hoping they dropped me from above five-thousand feet.
As I felt the change begin, I did my best to keep my eyes open and on the ground below. I’d lose stability due to the shift every so often, and I’d tumble through the air until I could recover enough to stabilize myself again. Each time it happened, the ground would be that much closer.