by Skye Knizley
“I can think of reasons,” Levac said. Raven met his eyes and nodded. There was much more to this than there seemed. Casters in broad daylight, mysterious statutes and two dead? This was more than a simple crime of passion. But then, they always were.
“Pack a bag, Harley. You’re spending the holiday in custody,” she said. “And I want the name of the guy you lost the skull to.”
“Alright. It’s better than waiting for these weirdos to hunt me down and blow my brains out or something,” Harley said. “The guy who beat me was Kaeden Frey. I don’t know much about him, he’s a new guy. I’ll be back in a minute, don’t touch anything.”
He left and Raven looked back at the toolbox she’d been rummaging through. There was more to Harley than he’d let on, that much was certain. She removed a carved piece of wood about a foot long from the recesses of the box and gave it a closer look. Old blood had soaked into the wood, staining it a deep crimson that melted into the dark stain and became one. It looked old and well used, with smoothed edges and an expertly sharpened point.
“Is that..?” Levac asked.
“Vampire slaying stake. An old one,” Raven said. “Harley still has some secrets to share.”
CHAPTER SIX
Aspen
FBI Building, Chicago, IL Dec 23rd 2:15 p.m.
The lab was silent and cold, not unlike an ancient tomb in the depths of winter. Aspen hated the thought as it crossed her mind, but it was an apt description. It was quiet most days, but the closer they were to the holidays, the worse it got. Harley had checked out for the day and Agnes was working a scene, which left her alone. It usually didn’t bother her, but today the silence was almost too much. To keep it at bay, she turned on the radio and tuned to a station that played the wide catch-all known as “alternative.” The music made the room seem warmer and she bent back to her work.
The samples of Thirst they’d obtained from Decker were some of the most potent she’d ever seen. Thirst was highly addictive, but this stuff was all but guaranteed to hook a victim with the first hit, no matter how small. For all intents and purposes, it was a vial of murder. She’d found something else in the sample, however, something that surprised her. This version of Thirst wasn’t just a synthetic version of vampiric bloodlust, it contained a significant amount of vampire blood. Normally, vampire blood evaporated just like vampires did upon death. This should have been, at best, powder, but here it was large as life; vampire blood held in a suspension.
This could be bad. Very bad. The process of making a familiar involved the swapping of blood from vampire to human. The ritual was unnecessary drama, all that really mattered was the vampire’s will and blood. She herself had become Xavier’s familiar after being forced to drink his blood at a party. Was it possible that everyone taking this brand of Thirst could become a familiar to whoever’s blood it was?
Aspen didn’t know. It was generally accepted that a full cup of blood was needed to begin the change. The Totentanz required a crystal goblet enchanted and bathed in the rest of the House, then filled with the blood of the sire, to be swallowed by the prospective familiar, but that could be nothing but more vampire drama. Legend told of vampires able to gain power over humans with a single bite, just a few drops of shared blood.
She shook her head. No one would be so crazy as to try and create familiars this way. Taking humans without consent was forbidden, this was insane.
But the possibility remained, and she had no way to test the theory. She wasn’t about to take Thirst or give up her connection to Raven to see if this worked, and there was no other way to know for sure. The power was either in the blood or it wasn’t.
She glared at it through the microscope as if she could will it to give up its secrets and chewed the inside of her lip. Her instincts told her she was right, the intention was to turn Thirst addicts into familiars. They were an army waiting to happen, and that was bad. The House was already outnumbered by Renegades…
Her thought trailed off and she straightened, feeling cold. What if it was Valentina or one of her allies pushing this brand of Thirst? Raven’s head would explode, that was for sure, and it would mean a major violation of the Totentanz. So far Valentina had stuck to the rules on almost everything, it was out of character for her to break the laws on this scale, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
She sighed and began putting the slides into evidence containers for the cooler. Staring at them wasn’t going to help. She had no way of typing the blood to find out whose it was, there was no vampire DNA database and no other tests she could think of. Spinning her wheels was a waste of time.
She signed her name on the sealed containers and crossed the lab to the coolers. Most labs had at least one, they looked like glass-front refrigerators, the kind that held beverages at the local quickie mart. These were taller and completely sterile, but the resemblance was there. She placed the container on the bottom shelf, out of sight from any prying eyes, and locked the door. She was just getting back to her station when Agent King entered through the sliding doors. He’d once been a tall man, now stooped with age and arthritis. His gnarled hands rested on his antique claw cane, and he was dressed in an old frock coat, paisley vest, string tie and slacks that hid the knee boots that were likely as old as he was. He looked like an extra from a Victorian film, a man two steps from the grave, but his piercing eyes belied his frailty. He was old, not weak or senile.
“Agent King, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Aspen asked.
“Agent Kincaid. Or should I say Storm?” King asked. His voice was low and raspy with age.
Aspen smiled. “Still Kincaid, we aren’t officially married,” Aspen said.
King waved her away. “Nonsense. You are her blood familiar, a relationship closer than any human marriage. What need of you for the words of my world?”
It was a good question. Aspen considered herself Raven’s partner and wife, and she knew that Raven felt the same. The words, however, were important, somehow. Not the religious ones, Aspen no more believed in the human God than she believed in the Tooth Fairy, but the “I do,” was something she knew they needed.
King smiled and patted her hand. “I understand, child. I’m not here for that.”
Aspen returned the smile. “What can I do for you?”
“A question.”
King settled into one of the leather chairs nearby and stretched out his knees. “The Thirst Agent Storm found, was there anything strange about it? Did you find anything odd?”
Aspen fought to keep her surprise off her face. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d found, which meant another lab had found something, somewhere. That was troubling, she didn’t trust King as far as she could throw him. Humans had no business meddling in the preternatural world, it always ended in a war between humans and everyone else. King’s actions would eventually do the same, she felt it in her gut. Telling him was a gamble, but could be worth it. King lied as easily as he breathed, but he was trustworthy in his capacity as lead agent.
“Yes, I did. I was just going to do my report,” she said.
“Blood. Vampire blood, held in a liquid suspension you couldn’t identify,” King said. It wasn’t a question, he knew.
Aspen nodded. “Yes. I’ve no idea how they managed it, but this version of Thirst is far cleaner, purer than anything I’ve seen before.”
King’s face was carefully neutral. “Could it be used to make unwilling familiars?”
It was frightening how his thoughts paralleled her own. She knew he was neither a mage nor a psychic, he’d come across this before and was probing his own concerns.
Aspen decided on honesty. “I don’t know. The presumption is it takes at least a full cup of blood to begin the change. The Thirst contains less than half an ounce, which shouldn’t be enough.”
“But?” King asked, leaning forward.
“Bu
t… I think it could be possible, even with this little. If not, definitely with repeated hits. This version is clean, an addict can take it longer before succumbing to insanity or death,” Aspen said.
King sat back, his face dark. “Its possible, then, we could be facing an army of vampire-controlled humans.”
Aspen shook her head. “Being a familiar isn’t control. Raven doesn’t control me−”
“Raven isn’t most vampires, Agent Kincaid, and you are no ordinary familiar,” King said, cutting her off. “I’ve seen it more than once, a familiar completely subjugated to the will of the master.”
Aspen wanted to reply and was stopped by memories of Xavier, Raven’s half brother. She’d done things she never wanted to do, like having sex with him and betraying Raven. He’d made her do them, the pain for disobeying had been too great and he’d known how to find her simply by thinking her name. It wasn’t mind control, but it was control nonetheless. Raven would never do such a thing, never punish her through the link, but a vampire willing to take familiars against their will wasn’t going to be stopped by human morals.
King nodded. “You’re thinking it through. Do you have any idea who might be making this drug?”
Aspen shook her head. “No. It isn’t something the House would do and, as far as I know, only a few of the Renegades are able to make familiars. Francois Du Guerre, Karayan Bathory, a handful of others.”
“Why discount the House Tempeste so easily? Loyalty?”
“No, sir. Valentina prides herself on following the Laws of the Night. It’s how she holds the throne and keeps Raven by her side,” Aspen said. “She wouldn’t break the laws in this manner, certainly not using Thirst.”
“Why?” King asked again.
Aspen met his eyes. “Valentina loves Raven, Agent King, and Thirst almost killed her. She would never allow this. Never. When Raven found out, Valentina would lose her forever.”
King stood with a creaking of old bones. “Good, I agree. I want you to stay on this. The Thirst case is yours, you’re the only one with the expertise.”
He walked toward the door, leaning heavily on his cane. “If you need assistance, call in one of the Kane twins. They bagged their prey this morning and I’ve left their plate clean. They’re going freelance until after the holidays.”
“But, sir, I’m working with Raven on this,” Aspen said.
King paused as the doors opened. “Keep her out of this, Agent Kincaid. Thirst isn’t something she should be working on. As you said, it has almost killed her. Twice.”
He turned and proceeded into the corridor where Silver Van Helsing stood waiting.
“Swell,” Aspen muttered as they boarded the elevator.
***
The Dark, Chicago, 3:14 p.m. Dec 23rd
Aspen hadn’t spent much time in the field, though she was a fully qualified agent. She was a technical person and generally preferred her role as lab-rat to handling an investigation on her own. Talking to suspects was ick. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, she did, but she’d chosen her profession for a reason. She liked to believe people were basically decent, and that was impossible once you’d seen the underbelly of a city, where there was only a veneer of society hiding the barbarians beneath.
Because she hadn’t spent much time in the field, especially in Chicago, she had few contacts of her own. One she’d adopted from Raven was Wilson. He’d once been Detective Wilson of the Chicago Narcotics Taskforce, and Raven’s training officer. Now, he was a burnt out husk of his former self, an addict continuing his battle against himself. Though Raven had gotten him off Thirst in the nick of time, he’d been unable to shake dependency entirely. He now lived on his pension and what odd jobs he could find in a small trailer at the very edge of the Dark. The gloom and remote location kept most people from seeking him out.
Aspen skirted the edge of the Dark and parked her purple Jeep less than a block from the trailer. She could see it, sitting on the edge of an abandoned lot next to a huge diesel generator that coughed and spat in the snow. It was close enough to the edge of the Dark to fail on a regular basis, but Wilson didn’t seem to mind.
The trailer itself was just as dilapidated. It had once been a larger travel trailer, with aluminum walls and a double entry covered by an awning. The awning was now torn so badly it hung around the trailer like enormous cobwebs and the aluminum was stained and smeared with age and neglect. Wilson had deserved better, but he just couldn’t see it, nor did he want to see what was outside. The windows were covered with street signs, boards and pizza boxes, anything that would keep the light of day out and visitors away.
Aspen walked up the shoveled path and knocked on the sagging plywood door, a paper-wrapped package in her hands.
“Wilson? It’s me, Aspen,” she said.
A corner of box covering the window edged aside. “Go away!”
Wilson sounded even weaker than he had last time she’d visited. His voice was shaky and gravelly, as if he’d been smoking something, or worse.
“I can’t, Wilson. I need your help and I brought corned beef from Kerryman’s,” Aspen said.
There was the sound of boxes and take-out containers being kicked away and the door opened a hesitant inch. “Kerryman’s?”
Aspen gave him her best smile. “With potatoes and cabbage. It’s a Christmas present from me and Raven.”
Wilson’s pale face appeared in the crack. His eye was bloodshot and his skin was pale, almost translucent, dotted with red streaks and stubble. He’d been hitting something hard.
“Gifts don’t come with questions,” he muttered.
“The gift doesn’t come with questions,” Aspen said, offering the package to him.
Wilson unlatched the privacy chain and took it without comment. Aspen fought not to cover her nose against the stench coming from inside. Was that blood?
He slammed the door and she heard him shoot the bolt. She counted ten heartbeats before the door opened again. Wilson stood in the gap wearing a tattered dressing gown over jeans and a Ramones tee shirt.
“Did…did you bring mustard? I got none,” he said in a soft voice.
Aspen felt awful. “I did…but it comes with questions.”
Wilson sighed. “Fine. It’s better with mustard, what do you want, Asp?”
“Thirst,” she said, holding up the empty vial.
Wilson stepped back, horrified. “I don’t do Thirst no more!”
“Shh, I know, Wils. It’s okay. I just need to know who is selling this brand.”
Wilson moved closer, donning a pair of broken glasses that made me look like an older Buddy Holly. “Fangs…”
“Fangs?” Aspen asked.
“The logo, I recognize it,” Wilson said. “Vampire fangs. Talk to Damien Riscassi.”
In spite of Raven’s efforts the Riscassi family was still one of the most powerful families in the Chicago underworld. They had ties dating back to the twenties and had worked out of the Lexington hotel for almost one hundred years. Damien was Rocco’s youngest nephew and, if his reputation was accurate, he was a bastard of a man who stabbed friend and foe alike just to see what would happen.
“Why Damien. Is he pushing Thirst?”
Wilson shrugged. “Damien got all Maria’s business after Raven killed her and he uses a fang logo. Worth a try, and the mustard. Come on, Asp, its getting cold. Not as good cold.”
Aspen pulled the small jar of dark mustard out of her coat and handed it over. “Thank you, Wilson.”
He nodded and started to close the door, but Aspen stopped him with a light magikal push on the door.
“Wilson… Ray and I are having a small holiday meal at our place. Why don’t you come by, get out of this place for a while?” she asked.
Wilson smiled sadly. “I would love to, Aspen. I really would. But I don’t belong there. I don’t belong an
ywhere.”
He pushed on the door and Aspen let him close it.
“Tell… Tell Raven I said happy holidays, huh?” he said in the gap.
“I will. Take care of yourself, hon,” Aspen said.
She watched the door for a moment then turned away. She knew Raven had tried everything to get him clean, but he couldn’t. No matter what anyone did, he didn’t think he was good enough. His inaction and addiction had caused deaths, almost gotten Raven killed. He couldn’t cope with the guilt.
She walked back to the Jeep thinking about what Wilson had said. Maria Riscassi had been behind a strange coven and the return of Thirst to Chicago several years previously. Their efforts had tied into Xavier’s plot to bring Strohm back from the dead, a plot Raven had foiled at great cost. It wasn’t a fluke that another Riscassi was involved with this new formula, the question was how deep did it go. Aspen wasn’t aware of any vampires in the Riscassi family, but times and bloodlines changed, anything was possible.
She climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. It caught on the second try and she turned the vehicle around, heading back into the city. Finding a Riscassi in Chicago wasn’t hard, the Riscassi and Levine building was a well known landmark off Michigan Avenue, but Damien wasn’t like the others. From his reputation he reveled in the “wise guy” mystique and spent most of his time clinging to the shadows pretending it was 1926. That would make finding him more difficult, but not impossible. If he was pushing Thirst, Paco would know where to find one of his dealers or at least the street corner where they lurked.
The Jeep rumbled through the hushed silence of the city, splashing in puddles of icy water and crawling over snowbanks with ease. The news said they’d reached twenty-nine inches of snow, a record even for Chicago, and the roads were closing one by one as they became impassible to anyone without deep tires and four wheel drive. Even now, just two days before the holiday, the streets were almost empty. Only a few brave souls were still risking their cars in the blizzard. Everyone who could was riding the train, taking taxis or just plain staying home and warm. As she neared Old Town, Aspen felt as if she was driving into some frozen apocalypse. It was a comfort to see that Old Town, with its Gothic themed holiday decorations, was still busy. The shadows and gloom allowed the more powerful vampires and preternaturals to walk about before full dark and Old Town was almost as lively as it was after dusk. Christmas and the solstice were a big deal in Old Town and likely always would be. After all, many of them had been celebrating the holiday long before the city existed and would be long after the city was gone.