by Skye Knizley
He touched one of the holes in the wall with a gloved finger. “Did you find any spent casings or slugs?”
“No, not yet. I’m bringing in a team to help with that, why?”
Levac pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and used the blade to pry a bullet out of the wall. He wasn’t the best at ballistics, but to him it looked like cold iron. Whether that was true or not, the size was unmistakable.
“Tell them they’re looking for 357 magnum or thirty caliber. If I’m any judge I’d be leaning toward the thirty over the 357,” Levac said.
Pocock looked up from the bloodstain he was sampling. “What, you mean like that antique cannon Storm carries?”
Levac held up the mushroomed slug he’d pulled from the wall. “That’s what it looks like, yes. I’ve seen enough of them over the last three years.”
“Who besides her would carry that thing?”
Levac shook his head. “I have no idea. But I plan to find out.”
He slipped the slug into an evidence bag and dropped it on the pile next to Pocock. “Let me know what else you find. I’m going to go ask a few questions.”
“Just one more thing, detective,” Pocock said.
Levac stopped, but didn’t look back. “Yeah?”
“What if it’s Raven?”
“It’s not,” Levac said.
Harvey wiped the sweat on his forehead, leaving a smear of drying blood. “How do you know?”
Levac looked over his shoulder. “Count the holes in the wall. Raven hits what she aims at and uses ammunition that stays in the target. Call me if you find anything else.”
Outside the hotel Levac leaned against the wall and lit his first cigarette in three years. He still carried the pack around to remind him of worse habits than eating, he hadn’t touched it more to move it out of the way since he met Raven. She hated the smell of cigarettes.
Now he felt like he needed one desperately and he held it to his lips with shaking fingers. He inhaled the acrid smoke and blew it out through his nose. It burned and tasted like the bottom of a public ashtray looked, but it gave him a second to think. He only knew one person who made cold iron slugs and he doubted very much that Thad would be supplying ammunition outside the family. It was hard enough getting him to make ten millimeter slugs for the Sig. But if it wasn’t him, maybe he would know who was.
Levac hoped to God it wasn’t Raven who’d done the shooting.
He mashed the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and climbed behind the wheel of his Nash. He had never been to Tempeste Manor without Raven, but there was a first time for everything.
TEMPESTE MANOR
CHICAGO, AN HOUR LATER
TEMPESTE MANOR LAY SOME DISTANCE outside the city on a plot of land you could build a stadium on and still have room for the house. The house, a Gothic monstrosity that had been added onto so much it was impossible to tell where the original structure ended and the new began, sat at the bottom of a long circular drive and Levac’s old Nash rattled down the hill and stopped in front of the house. At this early hour the place was silent and it made a chill run down his spine. He knew the place had a sinister look to it, it was home to more than twenty vampires, after all, but it was the first time it had ever felt so lonely, as well.
He climbed out of the Nash and loosened his pistol in its holster beneath his coat. The act made him feel a little better and he took the steps two at a time. He raised his hand to knock and the door opened. Dominique, Valentina’s lover and familiar stood in the gap, a smile on her beautiful face. As always she was dressed in the kind of gown Stevie Nicks would have killed for with flowing sleeves, low-cut bodice and lettuce hem. She was barefoot and stood on her toes as if the floor beneath her feet was cold.
“Good afternoon, Rupert, and welcome,” she said.
She moved aside and Levac entered, feeling silly for being nervous. As Raven had explained, he was family now, and would be treated as such. But vampires still gave him the creeps.
The foyer beyond consisted of a wide chamber with a cold marble floor and walls made of freshly painted plaster matched with antique wood. Beyond was the great hall where Levac had once seen Raven kill nineteen vampires without taking a breath. Now it was empty save for a single over-stuffed leather chair that had once belonged to Raven’s father Mason.
“Thank you, Dominique,” he said. “I know it’s a bother, but could I speak with Thad?”
Dominique smiled wider. “It is no bother, Rupert, I’m sure he is still up working on one of his gadgets or new ammunition. He sleeps rarely. If you would care to have a seat in the den I will fetch him for you.”
“Thank you,” Levac said.
If he’d had a hat he’d have been ringing it in his hands.
Dominique stepped closer and took his hand. “Child, you are family here. What troubles you?”
Her touch made him feel more comfortable and he smiled. “It’s a case I’m working on. I’m hoping Thad might be able to help me with a problem.”
Dominique stood higher on her toes and looked into his eyes. She turned away, tugging on his hand, her grip like a steel vice. She’d been Valentina’s familiar for a very long time.
“Come. That is not all you must ask.”
Levac followed her through the great hall and into a side room he’d never seen before. It was a semi-circular chamber with a window that overlooked the driveway. A mix of rain and snow was just starting to fall, making the single wide window glisten with a thin coating of moisture. In the center of the room was a sofa made of green velvet flanked by two antique end-tables while the walls were covered in bookcases heavy with forensic manuals, encyclopedias and histories.
“Take off your coat and sit with me,” Dominique said.
Her tone would brook no argument and Levac did as she asked. She sat beside him and again took his hand.
“Now, tell me what is really troubling you,” she said.
Levac’s mind raced. On the one hand he wanted to tell her everything and have her reassure him that Raven hadn’t somehow gone rogue, come back to the city and started murdering people. On the other, it was an open case and you just didn’t share that kind of information with civilians.
Then again, it was one of the weird ones and he’d learned the rules didn’t exactly apply. He realized he was thinking himself in circles and settled for a different track entirely.
“Have you seen Raven recently?”
Dominique shook her head. “No, not since she went to Quantico. She’s in Boston right now, I understand. Thaddeus said she was quite unhappy with the partner they’ve given her, a lycan I understand. She misses you terribly. Why do you ask?”
Levac took his crumpled notepad out of his suit pocket.
“Because someone fitting Raven’s description has been seen at least twice in the last three days and I dug a thirty caliber bullet out of a hotel room wall about an hour ago.”
“It isn’t Ravenel, Rupert,” Dominique said. “You should know that. I daresay we would all know if Ravenel was near. She is not the most subtle of souls, she takes after her father.”
Levac shifted on the sofa. “That’s what I thought, but the coincidences are piling up. I thought Thad might be able to point me in another direction.”
Dominique pursed her lips.
“Perhaps. Ravenel is a unique individual and I daresay the weapon she carries is even more so. If anyone in the preternatural realm is carrying a similar one then I expect Thaddeus would know.”
Levac could sense it in the way Dominique sat. “There’s a ‘but’ isn’t there?”
Dominique smiled. “Of course there is, Rupert. If it is not someone whose life touches both realms, he may not have an answer you like. You must understand that the person you seek is not Ravenel, in spite of appearances. Trust your instincts.”
“Thank you, Dominique. May I speak with Thad?”
Dominique nodded. “I will fetch him.”
She left on silent feet and closed the door
behind her. When she was gone, Levac stood and began pacing. He hated sitting still. He knew Dominique was right. Though their connection was weak. When he tried, he could feel she was far away, not lurking in the shadows of Chicago. Somehow, though, he wasn’t comforted. The fact remained that someone who looked just like her had been seen in Chicago, he’d seen her with his own eyes. The woman on the film couldn’t just be dismissed because his gut told him so.
He ran a hand through his messy hair and scanned the nearest bookcase out of habit. He hadn’t meant to read the spines, but his traitor eyes caught a name and he went back down the row to a white volume with a homemade label that said ‘Raven.’ He pulled it out and examined the cover. It was a plain white book bound in leather. On the cover someone had, with great care if not skill, written ‘Ravenel Erszebet Tempeste-Storm’ in gold leaf.
Levac smiled at the cover and opened the book, running a hand over each page as he flipped them. It was a scrapbook, of sorts, with photos of Raven at a variety of ages, from a badly-framed photo of her as a baby to what was captioned as ‘Raven’s First Fight.’ That photo showed a smiling young Raven in pigtails with a black eye; she looked about eight years old.
The last photo was taken when she was about fifteen, judging by how long the ponytail hanging over her shoulder was. He recognized the background as one of the interrogation rooms at the district house and noticed that Raven had a handcuff around one wrist. He’d seen her look angrier, but only once or twice. If he’d been the photographer he’d have been wearing Kevlar.
The book also contained copies of school report cards, her MVP softball card from high school, drawings she’d done as a child, all the kind of mementos he’d always thought her family didn’t keep, but here they were, in living color.
“Hello, Rupert,” Thad said behind him.
Levac almost dropped the book. It bounced from hand to hand until he caught it in both mere inches from the floor.
“Uh, hi Thad,” he said.
Thad chuckled and reached out to pluck the book from Levac’s hand.
“I see you found Mason’s scrapbook. He loved that girl, even if she didn’t know it.”
The vampire behind him was of average height, perhaps a shade under, with black hair that hung to his shoulders and a narrow soul-patch on his chin. Like Raven, he had green eyes and dressed almost like a normal person in jeans and a tee shirt. What looked like a Glock G20 hung under his right arm. Beyond that, the only thing that stood out about him was his makeup, which made him look like a beautiful, feminine doll. Levac had never had the courage to ask why he wore the makeup.
“Hi, Thad,” Levac said. “I hope I wasn’t intruding, the book just sort of jumped out at me.”
Thad flipped a few pages then handed it back. “Of course not, you’re welcome to anything here, you know that. Dominique says you need my help. You and dear little Ravenel seem to be calling a lot this week.”
“You’ve been in contact with Raven?”
“Of course,” Thad replied. “She needed some assistance on a case in Boston, though I think part of it is she misses home. Not that she would ever admit to missing this place.”
Levac pulled out his notepad again. “What did she need?”
Thad looked at the notepad and arched a carefully waxed eyebrow. “Is Ravenel under suspicion for something, Rupert?”
“Not exactly,” Levac said. “My only suspect in a murder case could be her doppelganger. If you can help me rule out Raven’s involvement, I would appreciate it.”
Thad folded his arms and Levac noticed the motion let his hand rest near his pistol.
“You should know she is not involved in anything here, I thought she had chosen well when she made you her familiar. Perhaps I was wrong. You need to trust her, Rupert.”
Thad turned away to look out the window.
“Ravenel is in Boston at the Lenox Hotel. I arranged for a vehicle for her, answered questions and directed her to a local arms dealer. I have been notified the car I arranged has been quite damaged by my little sister and she has refused to return it until her work there is done. As such, she could not be in Chicago. Now, tell me about this case of yours.”
“I saw a video of a woman who looks just like her, save for a silver comb she was wearing. It was taken yesterday at the approximate time of a murder I am investigating,” Levac said.
“It is not the first time someone has impersonated Ravenel, Rupert,” Thad said. “Gemma did it just a few years ago. Raven would most assuredly not wear a comb in her hair, she will barely wear a ponytail. What other clues do you have?”
Levac frowned. Is this how Raven dealt with her family? By telling them everything?
“Thad, it’s an open case, I can’t just tell you all the details.”
Thad turned and his eyes were like Raven’s when she was angry; bright green slits.
“Rupert, it is important that you tell me what you need. Otherwise I cannot help either of you,” he growled. “It isn’t Ravenel, we must therefore determine who it is and why they look like her. No such person should be in this city.”
Levac raised his hands. “Relax, Thaddeus, I’m not trying to annoy you. But you aren’t a cop.”
“I was an officer of the law two hundred years before you were born,” Thad replied. “Whatever you tell me will not go beyond these walls. Speak.”
“Alright. A person fitting Raven’s description was seen near two different murders, one a group of people, the other a priest. This morning I dug what I’m pretty sure were thirty caliber slugs out of a hotel room wall where five men were killed. I think the bullets were made with cold iron, but I’m not positive. The lab is going to test them to make sure. I don’t suppose you’ve made any special ammunition like that recently?”
“I don’t make cold iron anymore, it’s too brittle,” Thad said. “Most of my ammunition is the special cartridge Mason taught me to make years ago. It works against everything, hence the name ‘the works’.”
“Okay, so how about anyone else in town? Are you the only gunsmith who makes odd ammunition?” Levac asked.
Thad rubbed a finger across his lip and Levac watched the anger fade from his eyes.
“There are a few. Cold iron is usually used to eliminate fae creatures. I know of only one man who specializes in weapons for that purpose. Speak with August Kemp, he has a small shop at the edge of old town. Look for a place called the Begging Stone and tell him I sent you.”
Levac jotted the name down in his notepad and picked up his coat.
“Thank you, Thad, I appreciate your help.”
Thad nodded and Levac turned for the door. He’d just opened it when a thought occurred to him.
“Just one more thing, if you don’t mind. Raven’s birth picture. A man is holding her, not her mother, I could see Valentina in the background. So who was the guy holding her?”
Thad shrugged. “I’m not sure. Mason wasn’t home when Raven’s photo was taken. Mother would know, if you would care to ask.”
Levac shook his head. “No, just curious. Thank you again.”
The wintery mix that had begun to fall when he arrived had become a full-blown snow squall, not uncommon in October, but unwelcome nonetheless. Levac raised his collar against the cold and splashed through the puddles to his car. Inside, he cranked up the heat and guided the old rattle-trap back toward the city. Even the old car’s reliable heater couldn’t chase away the chill growing in his bones.
WORCESTER STATE HOSPITAL
WORCESTER, MA. 2:00 P.M.
WORCESTER STATE HOSPITAL WAS NESTLED so far in the woods it looked as if the giant building was alone and abandoned, left to rot in the wilderness. Just from looking you would never know that more modern facilities lay just a short distance from the massive Gothic structure in a state of the art business park just off the highway. The perceived loneliness made the building look that much more menacing in the overcast afternoon.
Raven parked the Challenger in the nearly empty lo
t in front of the building and looked up at the four story clock tower that read ‘2:05 p.m.’ It hardly looked like the sort of place that should be welcoming patients that had suffered a mental break, more like the backdrop for some sort of cheesy horror movie.
She walked up the steps and pushed through the scarred wooden doors into a foyer that would have been right at home in a Stephen King novel. Thick wood paneling covered the walls, red carpet the floor and white plaster slowly turning yellow covered the ceiling. The only light came from antique wall sconces; the crystal chandelier that hung over the middle of the room was unlit and appeared to not have been touched in a long time; the delicate prisms were covered in dust and yellowed with smoke.
To either side of the room were wide archways leading to security doors while another led straight ahead. To her right was an enclosed reception desk and a man dressed in crisp white scrubs sat inside typing away on a computer that belied the antiquity of its surroundings. Raven knocked on the glass and he looked up, a fake smile appearing on his not-unhandsome face.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Special Agent Raven Storm,” Raven said. “I’m here to see Mr. Lorne Givens, please.”
“Oh, right, Mrs. Givens called. He should be in the rec-room this time of day, I’ll have someone come down and escort you,” the receptionist said.
“Thanks.”
Raven looked around the room, then back at the receptionist.
“How many patients do you have here?”
“Only fifty or so. Most have been transferred downtown,” he said. “Let me make that call for you.”
Raven couldn’t believe they had any patients at all. If people didn’t have paranoid delusions when they arrived, they were sure to when they left. She was used to gothic and strange, she’d grown up in it, but this place gave even her the creeps. She could smell a variety of things, from blood to urine to the unmistakable scent of charred flesh, all of it old and still very powerful. This wasn’t a place of healing, even if it did say ‘hospital’ on the door, it was where people came to die.