by Skye Knizley
The elevator opened and she stepped out into the bare concrete corridor. The hallway ended in a pair of glass doors decorated with the FBI seal. A single Marine guard sat at a desk next to the doors, a rifle leaned against the wall beside him.
“Good morning, Agent Storm,” he said.
“Hiya, Blake,” Raven said. “I told you to just call me Raven. I don’t like titles much.”
The Marine smiled. “Yes, ma’am, but it’s against the rules.”
Raven rolled her eyes and placed her palm against the biometric reader. The doors slid open and she stepped through into the stale gloom of the Section 13 office, which consisted of two rows of desks leftover from World War II, a thick blue carpet that smelled of mold and a set of three glassed-in offices. One belonged to Abraham King, the others were empty save for furniture that matched all the rest.
Raven dropped her jacket on her chair and moved through the maze of old furniture to King’s office where she found the older man bent over his desk examining a photograph with an antique magnifier.
“Good morning, Ravenel,” he said without looking up.
His voice was raspy and sounded as if he’d been smoking since three in the morning.
“Good morning, Abraham. What’s that?” Raven asked.
“Crime scene photos from Boston,” King replied. “A priest, Monsignor Ronan Quinn was killed yesterday in his own church.”
Raven pulled one of the photos from the pile. It showed a slim, elderly man in Catholic vestments. His throat had been cut and he’d bled out onto the carpet.
“It looks like a standard murder. So what?” she asked.
King plucked the photo from Raven’s fingers and tossed it on top of the pile.
“These have been happening all over the country. One in New Hampshire, one in New York, one in Los Angeles. They are all the same, which makes it a Federal matter.”
He sat back in his chair and pulled a clay pipe from its tray on his desk. Raven watched him light it and draw on the fragrant tobacco. She knew he would eventually get to the point and rushing him was just as worthless as reminding him there was no smoking inside.
“Normally the homicide unit would take it, but there is something about this case that gives me pause. No witnesses in any of the cases, no suspects and no clues. Sounds right up your alley. I want you and Wregan to work the file. She will meet you at the airport where I have a plane waiting,” he rasped.
“Who is Wregan?” Raven asked.
“Wregan Kole, a new agent from the Portland office. She had a run in with a Lycan and lived to tell the tale,” King replied. “Which means she got assigned to Section Thirteen.”
“Was she bitten?”
King chewed on the end of his pipe. “That’s why she’s being partnered with you.”
“Swell.”
KING’S COUNTY AIRPORT
SEATTLE, WA
RAVEN PARKED HER SHELBY IN a police spot outside Landmark Aviation and grabbed her go-bag from the trunk. She’d stopped at the apartment and packed what she might need for a day or two and promised Aspen she would meet her in Chicago by the end of the week. Aspen hadn’t been happy with her quick departure, but knew it came with the job. Both of them were slowly adjusting, to a lot of things.
She slung the bag over her shoulder and passed through the gate onto the tarmac. A Gulfstream G650 jet sat on the parking ramp with a fuel truck. A slender woman dressed in a black pantsuit stood nearby. She was fidgeting with her bag and pacing back and forth. If she hadn’t been standing on pavement, she’d have worn a groove in the ground.
Raven approached the woman and removed her sunglasses.
“Agent Kole?” she asked.
The woman turned. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, but Raven could see the beast lurking in them. Not only was she a new lycan, she hadn’t yet learned to hide it.
“Yes?” the woman asked. Then she smiled. “Oh, you must be Agent Storm. A pleasure, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t say the same,” Raven replied. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She set her bag down on the tarmac and looked at the plane. It looked new; so new that the FBI seal on the tale looked as if it was freshly painted. It was also a little big for just two women.
“Is anyone going with us?” Raven asked.
Kole shook her head. “No, not that I know of, Agent. Just the two of us and a case file that Agent King sent by courier.”
“Don’t call me agent,” Raven said. “I’m still getting used to not being a detective. Raven is fine.”
“Oh! Thank you,” Kole said. “Feel free to call me Wregan. Raven and Wregan, it has a sort of ring to it, eh?”
Don’t get used to it, furface, Raven thought.
She opened her mouth to reply when a uniformed pilot stepped out of the plane and waved.
“Good morning, ladies. Agents Kole and Storm, I presume?”
“I guess you’re the pilot,” Raven replied.
“Henry Simms,” the pilot said. “Join me aboard, they’re almost finished, we’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”
Raven motioned for Kole to go first and she followed the other woman aboard. The inside of the Gulfstream looked just as new; it even still held that new car smell she associated with curing plastic and fuzzy carpet. Twelve comfortable-looking chairs had been set up in the cabin, six to a side. Each pair had a shared table and there were televisions front and back. There was also a small galley in the rear of the plane next to the restroom and Raven could see another crewman making coffee and stacking donuts on a tray.
Kole took a seat and began struggling with her seatbelt, dropping it several times before fastening it over her narrow hips.
Raven leaned into the cockpit where Simms and his partner were busying themselves with takeoff procedures.
“Hey guys, how long will it take to get to Boston?” she asked.
Simms shrugged. “We’ll be there in about six hours, maybe seven depending on weather.”
Raven looked back at Kole, who gave her a little wave.
“Damn. It’s going to be a long flight.”
She took a seat next to the smaller woman and sighed as her new partner pulled out the contents of the case file and promptly dumped them on the floor.
BEVERLY MUNICIPAL AIRPORT
BOSTON, MA. 8:00 P.M.
BY THE TIME THEY ARRIVED in Boston, Raven knew more about Wregan Kole than she ever wanted to. She was a graduate of Princeton with a degree in mathematics. She’d joined the FBI right out of college as an analyst then spent three years behind a desk before being given a field assignment. She was bitten by a wild lycan on her first day out. She’d survived the virus and been recruited by Silver Daniels into Section 13 with less than two weeks of field experience.
They passed through the gate and out into the parking lot of Beverly Municipal Airport with Wregan still prattling on about growing up in New Hampshire. Raven couldn’t fault her enthusiasm, but it was getting hard not to throttle her. She was about to ask her to be quiet when she spotted the vehicle the local FBI office had left for them. It was a 1999 Crown Victoria police special.
“There’s our ride,” Kole said, nodding at it.
“Oh, hell no,” Raven said. “I’m not doing this in a Ford POS.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Kole asked.
Raven pulled her phone out without looking at Kole.
“It’s slow, clunky, ugly, and has no style whatsoever. We’d be better off in a Volkswagen Beetle.”
She pressed a key on her phone and waited. A moment later her brother Thad answered.
“Thaddeus Tempest, who is there?”
“It’s Ravenel, I need a favor.”
“Ravenel, I have missed you. When are you coming home?” Thad asked.
Raven smiled. “Soon. I’m in Boston on a case. Can you have a car delivered for me?”
She could hear the frown in Thad’s voice. “Boston? Ravenel, you kno
w things are strained there right now. You aren’t supposed to be there, especially without an escort. Mother will be furious.”
“I’m not here as Fürstin, Thad, I’m here as an agent. If Caderyn doesn’t understand that I’ll explain it to him the hard way,” Raven said.
“Mother will not be pleased if you kill him, but I know that won’t stop you. Just be careful. Where do you need the car?”
“Have it delivered to the Lenox here in Boston.”
“The Lenox?” Kole asked. “But we’re booked at the Quality Inn.”
Raven ignored her. “You know what I like, Thaddeus, don’t let me down.”
“I’m sure I can find something to your liking, little sister,” Thad said. “Something that snarls and gets five miles per gallon.”
“Sounds about right,” Raven laughed. “Thanks Thad.”
Thad ended the call without another word and Raven turned back to Kole. “I got us rooms at the Lenox and my brother is bringing something better than that thing for us to drive.”
Kole looked confused. “Agent King won’t authorize those expenses…”
“Perks of working with me, kid,” Raven said. “I come with my own expense account. Can you get us to the Lenox in one piece?”
Kole nodded and Raven followed her to the Ford, hoping she wouldn’t talk the whole way across town.
1400 WASHINGTON ST.
BONSTON, MA
IT HAD TAKEN TWO HOURS to get them registered at the hotel and receive the car Thad had requested. Raven was only a little surprised when she stepped out of the historic hotel to find a brand new black Dodge Challenger Hellcat Special Edition. At eight-hundred horsepower it was almost as fast as the Shelby and had its own form of class that somehow made her feel more at home. She slid behind the wheel and brought the engine to life with the touch of a button. Kole almost jumped at the roar of the Hemi behemoth and Raven grinned at her through the windshield.
“Get in, kid,” she said.
The coroner’s office was closed by the time they were settled in, but there were still plenty of doors to knock on.
Kole got in, the reassembled file clutched to her chest like a shield. The Hellcat was racing away from the curb before she even got the door closed.
The Cathedral of the Holy Cross was one of Boston’s oldest churches, nestled in the middle of Washington Street. It was a huge Gothic structure made of grey stone blocks and white mortar. The front doors were stained wood that dated back to 1875 and, by tradition, were always open. Raven showed her badge to the uniformed officer standing outside and led the way into the huge structure. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor and she tried to ignore the weight of one-hundred and fifty years of history pressing down on her from the high cathedral. The Church alone was giving her a migraine. She’d been surprised she could even step through the door. The fact she could meant that it was no longer exactly holy ground.
The far end of the center aisle had been roped off and she could smell the blood that had soaked into the wood from the murdered priest. It was a heavy, coppery scent by which she could tell the man had been pure human and had lived well.
Beside her, Kole was holding a hand over her nose and making mewling sounds.
“Get a hold of yourself, Kole,” Raven hissed. “We’re on the clock!”
“What is that god-awful smell?” Kole moaned.
“It’s blood, human blood,” Raven replied. “If you’re going to do this job you have to get used to it. Concentrate on normal things and it won’t be so bad.”
Kole shook her head and hurried out of the church. A moment later Raven could hear her vomiting into the bushes. She felt a pang of sympathy, she still got overwhelmed in the morgue back home and she knew how overpowering the scent could be. She considered going after Kole, but it sounded like the officer had everything well in hand. And it would keep the kid from asking stupid questions while she worked.
She continued down the aisle to the police tape. In the middle of the protected area was a bloodstain almost two feet in diameter along with half a dozen evidence tags, the items they’d marked long since tagged and taken away.
Raven straightened and walked a slow circle around the scene, letting her vampire senses do their job. The scent of blood was very strong, as were the mingled smells of sweat, perfume and just people being people. Seventeen hundred people in a room every Sunday tend to leave a tangible mark that lasts long after they’re gone.
But what her nose couldn’t detect her eyes did. Pressed into the carpet a few feet away from the bloodstain was low-velocity blood spatter on a pew and soaked into the carpet. Amidst the droplets on the floor were two small, round objects. Raven donned a pair of gloves from the pouch on her belt and plucked the beads from the carpet. They were less than a centimeter in diameter and made of some old, dark wood. They were also covered in the Monsignor’s blood.
She put them in an evidence bag and turned at the sound of the door opening. Agent Kole entered followed by two large men dressed all in black. One of the men was very tall and burly, with a bald head and a wicked scar that trailed from his chin to a spot hidden beneath his sunglasses. The second was shorter, with a modern duck’s ass haircut and white sunglasses. Both steamed slightly in the light.
“Agent Storm—” Kole began.
“Shut up, Lycan,” the bald vampire growled. “Ravenel Tempeste, Fürstin of the House Tempeste, our master would like to know why you haven’t paid tribute upon arrival in his city.”
“This again? Look, pal, I’m not here as Fürstin. Even if I was, I wouldn’t kneel to Caderyn. He’s an ass and an Embraced,” Raven said. “Let go of my partner and go tell your master to piss off.”
“Your manners are lacking, girl,” the second vampire said. “Our instructions are to bring you in to pay tribute. If you wish, we can take it out of your skin, instead.”
“I don’t think you two could take out the trash without help,” Raven said. “If you’re all Caderyn has, it’s going to be a slow night.”
“We have of course heard of you, Lady Tempeste,” baldy said. “Gentlemen, the Fürstin needs some persuasion.”
From the corner of her eye, Raven saw half a dozen vampires, all dressed in fashion typical of vamps trying too hard to be cool enter from the side doors. Their leather and chains clashed badly with the glory of antique plaster and stained glass.
Raven sighed and glared at Baldy. “We’re really going to do this on holy ground? Bad form, chrome dome. Why don’t you just go away and we’ll call it a draw.”
“It isn’t holy ground and I’ve wanted to do this since you came of age, half-breed,” Baldy replied. “Boys, soften her up.”
The vampires to either side of her moved in, forming a circle around her. Raven watched them from the corner of her eyes and didn’t move.
“Last chance, Baldy,” she said.
Baldy laughed and his men attacked. Raven blocked the first one with her forearm and drew the pistol from his belt. She put two shots through his skull and spun, the borrowed Glock spitting flame. By the time it was empty, four vampires had collapsed to ash from head-shots and two more would be spending the next month regenerating ribs and hearts. She tossed the Glock aside and drew one of her blades. Two more of Caderyn’s thugs dropped in a flurry of steel, blood and ash that left Raven standing on top of the sacristy rail, her blade dripping ichor that smoked where it landed. She kicked the next vampire in the face, shattering his jaw, and pointed her blade at Baldy.
“What are you waiting for? Come get some. Or are you scared of getting your ass kicked by a half-breed?”
Baldy shoved Kole into the pews and charged Raven. She waited until he was in the sanctuary before leaping into the air. Halfway through the leap she drew her Automag and came down with it pointed at the back of his skull.
“You’re a little slow for a pureblood,” she said, cocking the pistol’s hammer. “Maybe you aren’t getting enough iron in your diet.”
“Go ahead, Für
stin. Caderyn will turn your skull into a soup bowl,” Baldy said.
“I doubt that. Haven’t you heard? I’m Fürstin to the Queen of the Midwest. I could dust you and not blink an eye,” Raven said. “You have one chance to leave here tonight. What did you do to the cop outside?”
“Lance knocked him out,” Baldy said. “He’ll be fine. We don’t kill humans unless we have to. We obey the Totentanz Pact.”
“Good. Gather the rest of your cronies and report back to your master that I’m here on business. Human business. If he’s stupid enough to send anymore of you idiots after me, I’ll be paying him a visit he won’t like and you’ll be buried in a matchbox. I don’t need this shit, are we clear?”
“Yeah. Clear,” Baldy said.
Raven backed away, keeping her pistol leveled at his head. Baldy stepped forward and nodded at his men, who headed for the exits. He then turned back to Raven.
“This isn’t over, half-breed,” he said.
“Yeah, it is,” Raven replied. “Unless you’re really so eager to fill that matchbox. I’ve got plenty of bullets left.”
Baldy glared at her another beat then backed away through the door.
Raven holstered her weapon and turned to see Kole, now in full lycan fury, rise from the pews with teeth bared.
Raven shook her head. “Marvelous.”
ARMITAGE ROAD
CHICAGO, IL. 10:00 A.M.
WHILE RAVEN WAS BOARDING A flight for Boston, Levac was waiting in the lobby of Riscassi and Levine for a meeting with Antonio Riscassi Jr. Junior had taken over the firm after the death of his sister, Maria, two years previously. He was also the suspected head of the Riscassi crime family and an under boss to Louie Tomatoes, one of the Outfit’s major street bosses.
Levac sat in the lobby for close to three hours before two burly men stepped out of the elevator. They had a woman with them who was dressed in a smart skirt suit in navy blue. Matching pumps and a cream blouse completed the outfit, but Levac couldn’t help thinking she looked like a fifties librarian.