Jeanne C. Stein - Retribution

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Why wouldn’t he tell me?

  Accepting the fact that he didn’t want my help is bad enough. Worse yet is the realization that if Culebra found her, what he is suffering from is likely no human illness at all. It’s the result of a spell. Burke practices black magic. Modern medicine will be useless against it.

  The doctor has been listening to Culebra’s heart through a stethoscope. He is frowning and shaking his head. When he catches my eye, he says, “His heartbeat is erratic. I don’t know how long he can last.”

  His words galvanize me into action. I grab my cell phone. “I know someone who can help.”

  Daniel Frey picks up on the second ring. He’s a teacher and when I explain why I’m calling, he doesn’t berate me for calling him at school or interrupting his class. He simply asks to speak with the doctor.

  I hand the phone to the doctor and listen as he describes Culebra’s symptoms to Frey. When he’s finished, he gives the phone back to me.

  Frey says, “I have to line up a substitute. Then I’ll take a cab home and get what I need. Can you pick me up in ninety minutes?” Frey doesn’t drive.

  “I’ll be there.”

  I’ve learned a lot since becoming vampire. One of the most surprising is how close-knit and supportive the supernatural community is when it comes to caring for its own. There are exceptions, Williams and his animosity toward me for one. And yet, even he came to Beso de la Muerte to warn me about the vampire slayers. I’m sure he regrets it now.

  So when I pull up, I’m not shocked to find Daniel Frey already waiting, standing at the gate to his condo unit. He’s dressed in jeans, a T-shirt. He’s fortysomething, has salt-and-pepper hair, a good smile, a lean build. He’s carrying two large tote bags. He lays them carefully on the backseat, then joins me in the front.

  “Tell me,” he says without preamble. “Has there been any change?”

  I gun away from the curb and fill him in. I also tell him who and what I believe is responsible.

  Frey, a shape-shifter like Culebra, was with me when we had our run in with Burke. In fact, she shot him and came close to killing him. He has an extensive library of books on the supernatural. I called him because I know that if he doesn’t have an idea himself how to help Culebra, he will know which book to consult.

  He listens carefully, then reaches into the backseat and does pull a book from one of the totes.

  “I can’t reverse the spell,” he says, thumbing pages. “But I can arrest the symptoms. For a while.”

  “How can we break it?”

  “We can’t. Only another witch can.”

  Shit. How do I find another witch?

  Frey is still looking through his book. Unlike Culebra, I can’t read his mind. I broke our psychic connection when I bit him once. Dumb mistake with long-term consequences.

  I give him a few minutes before I ask, “What do you think?”

  He releases a breath. “I think we’d better find a witch.”

  Culebra didn’t tell me where he was going. When we met yesterday he had papers with him. Are they at the bar? Did he tell Sandra? I remember seeing a map but I was too aggravated at the time to take note of what it was for. Could he have marked his destination? Can I retrace his trail back to Burke?

  I’ll have to ask Sandra if Culebra had anything with him when he reappeared in Beso de la Muerte.

  If not . . . “How do we do that?” I ask. “Where do I find a witch?”

  Frey throws me a sideways glance and says, “Go see Williams.”

  My shoulders bunch. “Why?”

  “Because he has witches on his payroll. You should know that.”

  Shit again. I don’t tell Frey about my last meeting with Williams. Besides, what difference does it make? Saving Culebra is the important thing. If I have to see Williams to help him, I’ll see Williams.

  As soon as we’re back at Culebra’s bedside, Frey gets to work. He’s brought potions and candles and some kind of crystal that he shatters against the floor and places in fragments around the cot.

  As he sets up, I turn to Sandra. “Did Culebra have anything with him when he got back last night? Papers? A map?”

  She shakes her head. “No. He had nothing with him.”

  The sound of Frey’s voice draws us both to Culebra’s bedside. He’s mumbling an incantation in a language I don’t understand. As he speaks the words, the pressure in my own chest subsides. After a few minutes, he motions for the doctor to check Culebra’s heart.

  The doctor listens, then nods. “Much better. How long can it hold?”

  Frey slumps into a seat beside the cot. “As long as Burke doesn’t realize what we’ve done,” he says. “When she does, she’ll adjust the magic and I’ll have to start the counterspell all over again.”

  I’ve been so intent on Culebra, I hadn’t noticed the change in Frey. His face is pale, drawn.

  “Are you going to be all right?” I ask.

  “Magic always exacts a price,” he says. His hands tremble in his lap. He interlocks his fingers and looks up at me. “Go see Williams. Find us a witch.”

  “I don’t think I should leave you.”

  Frey shakes his head. “I’ll be all right. The sooner you get to Williams, the better.”

  I search Frey’s face. I know he’s right. The way I left things with Williams yesterday, I doubt he’d take my phone call. He’ll want to see me grovel. And if that doesn’t do it and I need to persuade him to use his supernatural connections, in person would be best.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  CHAPTER 10

  AT LEAST I KNOW WHERE TO FIND WILLIAMS. Since he’s quit the human police force, he’s gone to work full-time for the supernatural one. His headquarters is underground in the middle of one of the country’s most popular tourist attractions, Balboa Park, in the middle of one of the most popular tourist destinations, San Diego.

  I know because I used to come here as a Watcher. Back when I was learning what it meant to be vampire. Back when I thought Williams was a friend who had my best interest at heart. I wanted a mentor; he wanted an enforcer. Someone to help keep the supernatural bad guys in line. He thought I was perfect for the job. And his way might be easier—find a rogue and eliminate him—but at least what I do as a bounty hunter doesn’t involve being judge, jury and executioner.

  It’s late in the afternoon and there are lots of people around. I still get a little nervous when I attempt to access the place, even though it’s protected by powerful magic. I don’t understand how it works, I probably wouldn’t be able to understand it if it were explained to me, but I’m standing across from The Natural History Museum and I take one step past a stone bench into some bushes and suddenly I’m not visible to the throngs passing by on a sidewalk ten feet away.

  I’ve disappeared. Through a veil that feels wet and cold against the skin.

  The door in front of me is locked. I fish a big brass key out of the depths of my purse and fit it into the lock.

  I turn it.

  Nothing happens.

  At first, I think I must have turned the key the wrong way so I try it again.

  Nothing happens.

  I pull the key back and examine it. It looks the same as it did the last time I used it. Why won’t it work now?

  After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, a thought dawns on me. You need to be invited to access this place. Williams, in a fit of anger or resentment, may have revoked my invitation.

  Damn him.

  I step back onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a toddler walking on unsteady legs a few feet in front of her parents. The adults don’t notice that I’ve just materialized out of nowhere but the kid does. She plops down on her bottom and starts to cry, which garners me dirty looks from her parents. I step gingerly around them and head for the fountain in the center of the quad a few yards away, yanking my cell phone out of my handbag.

  The first time I ring through, predictably, the call goes to voice mail.

  I
picture Williams reading the caller ID and refusing to answer. I leave a curt message, telling him it’s important and to take my call.

  I don’t add that if he doesn’t, I’ll find a way in and rip his head off. My hand is shaking with impatience. I wait two minutes and call again.

  This time Williams does answer, his tone cold. “What do you want?”

  “A witch.”

  There’s a moment of silence before he asks why.

  When I tell him, some of the antagonism drops from his tone. “Where are you?”

  “Outside by the fountain. Seems I’ve been locked out of the clubhouse. My key no longer works.”

  “Try it again,” he says, disconnecting.

  The kid and her parents are still hanging around the bench. I’m not sure what to do. If I walk right past them and they watch to see where I go, how will they react when I disappear? Always before it’s been early in the morning or late at night when I’ve shown up here and nosy humans have not been a problem.

  I can’t wait. Not with Culebra’s life at stake.

  I sidle past them, pretending to be interested in the flora, touching the bushes as I walk. Williams always said supernaturals could access this place without attracting attention. Damned if he isn’t right. This time, the three don’t so much as glance my way as I pass right by them and disappear again through the magic portal.

  Now the key works. The door opens and I’m in a small windowless room equipped only with a desk and a computer. I punch in a few keys, and the room becomes an elevator that whisks me downward.

  Williams is waiting. No exchange of pleasantries. He gestures for me to follow him, leading me away from the busy command center in the middle of the room to an area off to the side—an area I’ve never seen before.

  He opens a door. “Inside,” he says.

  It’s a small room with a circular table and five chairs. Three women are seated around the table—each as different from one another as is humanly possible—for they are humans. No supernatural emanations.

  Williams makes the introductions quickly, pointing as he goes. “Min Liu.” A small Chinese woman with piercing eyes and waist-length black hair. “Susan Powers.” Middle-aged WASP with a quick, bright smile, chin-length bob of salt-and-pepper hair. “Ariela Acosta.” The youngest of the three, midtwenties, I’d guess, Latina, pretty, dark eyes and hair drawn back into a ponytail.

  He finishes up with a jab of the thumb in my direction. “Anna Strong.” Pain in the ass, he adds, for my ears only.

  It’s his only diversion. “Tell them what you need.”

  They are witches?

  Isn’t that what you asked for?

  He is still pissed over what happened yesterday. His tone resonates with it. Well, I am, too. It’s surprising he took my second call.

  Quickly I explain about Culebra—his symptoms, who I suspect is behind the spell. They listen with careful attention. Williams listens, too. He knows of Burke. He remembers what she tried to do, how close Frey came to dying at her hand.

  When I’m done, Min speaks first.

  “We know of Belinda Burke. She, alone, is more powerful than we are working collectively. We cannot reverse her spell. That would take an equal.”

  “But we may be able to locate her,” Susan adds.

  Ariela is nodding. “We can follow her telekinetic trail. To cast a spell such as the one you described involves creating a psychic bond between victim and witch. We can tap into that trail and follow it to its source.”

  Susan must read the question on my face because she says, “It’s like a GPS system. We follow the signal to its point of origin.”

  “You said you couldn’t reverse the spell,” I say. “What would happen if Burke was to die? Would that break the spell?”

  Min frowns. “It would be dangerous to attempt to kill this one,” she says. “She has a powerful protective glamour. You must tread carefully.”

  “But would killing her break the spell?”

  She nods.

  That’s all I need. I have some pretty powerful glamour myself—vampire strength and if that’s not enough, a nice .38. Witch or no, Burke is human. Once I have her in my sights, I’ll know what to do. “How long will it take to locate her?”

  The three exchange calculating glances. “If we can do it, an hour.” Ariela says. “Maybe less.”

  “If you can do it?”

  Another exchange of glances. “If she’s on this—an earthly—plane we can find her. If not—” Ariela’s shoulders raise in a shrug.

  Williams touches my arm. “We’ll let you get to it. We’ll be in my office.”

  Great. Bad enough that I may be wasting an hour of Culebra’s life, but the idea of spending that hour alone with Williams sets my teeth on edge.

  I don’t like it any better than you do, he snaps. But something else has happened that you should be aware of. It affects the vampire community.

  When I don’t respond fast enough, he bristles with indignation. You can’t choose to be a part of this community only when it suits you. I’ve made my resources available to you. The least you can do is hear me out.

  He’s right. I lift my shoulders in a half shrug of resignation and reluctantly follow the lion into his den.

  CHAPTER 11

  GUILT GOT ME HERE. BUT ONCE WE’RE SEATED in uncomfortable silence around Williams’ desk, I’m reminded of my conversation last night with Lance—and what happened after. I smile, letting some of the good stuff through.

  “My boyfriend says hello.”

  Williams acts like he doesn’t hear me, but the coil of his antipathy tightens. He pretends to ignore me, shuffling papers around his desk as if searching for one in particular, but a muscle at the base of his jaw jumps, betraying his agitation.

  After another minute of thumbing through the piles on his desk, he finds what he’s looking for and shoves a sheet toward me.

  The first thing I notice is the letterhead: “SDPD Headquarters.” Then, in bold letters: “Internal Memo.”

  I glance over at him. Are you supposed to have this?

  Again no reply, concentration focused instead on arranging the discarded papers he’d shoved aside in search of the one I’m holding.

  I take that as a no.

  His mind is shut so tight, his jaw muscles strain with the effort.

  That must hurt.

  I barely suppress a smile as I start reading.

  The memo is the summation of three police reports filed during the last twenty-four hours. Both involve males attacked by females who cut their victims with knives and suck at the wounds. The men describe their attackers as in their early thirties, attractive, seductive. Not the same woman, though the MO is the same in all three cases. The men meet the women in bars, the women agree to go home with them but instead of engaging in sexual activity, the women attack. They don’t appear to want to kill their victims, the wounds are superficial, on the arms or legs, and the men easily subdue the women once they get over the shock. The women seem to just want to suck their blood. All three women have managed to escape before the police arrive.

  Weird, I say, handing the report back to Williams. They’re obviously not vampires. Newly made vampires are still stronger than the strongest human. I pause a second before adding, Are you getting information from Ortiz?

  Ortiz is a vampire. Also, a member of San Diego’s finest. He worked for Williams before the shake-up.

  He nods. Ortiz is keeping me in the loop. He’s assistant to the new acting police chief. Gives him access to information pertinent to our community.

  A hint of wistfulness comes through. He misses his job. I wish I could muster some sympathy.

  Instead, I gesture to the report.

  Sounds like a weird cult to me. No one has been killed. No one has been seriously hurt. So why is this important to the community?

  I’m not sure.

  Three words I never thought I’d hear from the supreme know-it-all. He tents his fingers on the desk in a
deliberately casual movement and looks at me.

  And looks at me . . . until I get it. This is the favor he wants in return for lending me the witches.

  So what do you want me to do? Work with Ortiz? Question these guys again? What can I find out that the police haven’t?

  A shrug. I don’t know. You fancy yourself a smart cookie. Come up with an angle. All three victims have been picked up in bars around the Gaslamp district. You know the area. Maybe you can stake it out, catch one of these women in the act. Find out what the game is. Between real vamp corpses showing up and these wannabes out there attacking men, it won’t be long before the Revengers involve themselves. We don’t need that.

  Especially if the Revengers get it in their heads that one of these human women is a vampire and decide to take her out. Killing a mortal would bring the worst kind of attention—to them and to us. Still—

  I can’t promise to do anything until I know Culebra is safe.

  Agreed.

  I stare at him. Too quick.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  Ariel pokes her head in. “We have a location,” she says.

  I’m on my feet before she’s finished the sentence.

  Williams and I follow her back to the room. The table has been pushed to one side, a pentagram chalked on the floor. Crystals wink from each of the star’s five points. In the middle, three candles burn. Under the candles, a map is laid out.

  It’s a detailed map of the city.

  “She’s in San Diego?” I ask.

  Susan points to a tiny diamond on the end of a silken rope. The gem rests on a street in National City, a suburb to the south of San Diego.

  “How could you—?”

  Min smiles. “We started out with a bigger area,” she says. “A map of the U.S. Working such a powerful spell would require proximity. When we were shown the way, a map of California. Finally, the energy led us right here. She’s close.”

  She hands me a piece of paper with an address written in neat script. “But I must warn you, Anna, the same energy that led us to her location may have warned her that she was being sought.”