Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2

by Shayne Silvers

  I was all alone. I had taken to sticking my nose in anywhere it wasn’t welcome in the local supernatural community. Essentially, picking fights with anyone who looked at me crossly. I’d even had to kill a few lately, and I’d heard the whispered rumors about the White Rose—the apparent moniker I’d been given. I wasn’t sure whether it was due to my white hair and last name Penrose, or if it signified a white rose cast upon a casket at a funeral. Either worked.

  In fact, I myself had even been warned about “that crazy, white-haired lady rebranding the City of Fountains to the City of Blood Fountains.” Direct quote, for the record. Although, the gossiper had quickly made the connection between my own white hair and that of Kansas City’s newest supervillain, and had then promptly run away from me, begging for his life.

  While we were in line at lunchtime in a deli downtown.

  The rest of the wait for my sandwich had been particularly awkward after that.

  This fear was evident in many of the wary looks I had received tonight. I’d chosen white for this exact reason, relishing the nickname I’d been given. But that was mere pettiness on my part.

  Dorian’s claim, bless his heart, was spot on.

  Chapter 4

  I nodded at him calmly. “You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “But why were you scared to tell me? We’re friends, Dorian,” I said, feeling slightly hurt at the fear in his eyes. To scare someone who couldn’t die meant I was more than just a rumor. I was a force of nature in his eyes. And if he was thinking it, thousands were saying it.

  He nodded slowly. “I’m concerned because the way you’re running around town…I don’t know if you might someday find a reason to take me out. I’m not the only friendly face to say this, by the way,” he added in a whisper, letting me know I was even scaring my staunch friends and allies. That was a shock to hear. Then again, I hadn’t really spoken to anyone recently, not after sending most of those I cared about away from town for a while.

  Because I’d released a Greater Demon from his prison, and I was pretty sure he would personally come to thank me in the very near future, even though I’d heard nothing to satisfy that claim. I just knew how Demons thought. They thanked people by destroying them. They didn’t like owing favors. It was much easier to ‘accidentally murder’ the one you owed the favor to and apologize after. Demons, by nature of existence, weren’t that great on honoring their prior obligations.

  Samael would come for me. Likely sooner rather than later. So, I had bought tickets to send my adopted father, Terry and his lady-friend, Raidia trekking across Europe for a few months. I’d purchased their return flight ahead of time to guarantee their extended vacation. Because his girlfriend and I had history that I didn’t quite want to hash out with her yet, and she had been present when I broke Samael out of his cage. She would likely be a target.

  The others who had been involved with that night had their own protection, so I hadn’t been as concerned with them. Beckett Killian was spending his time smoking out any of the existing Templars and their Commander, Olin Fuentes. He hadn’t found him yet but had surprisingly recruited many of the old Templars to his cause, becoming the de-facto Templar Commander to counter Olin. Which meant a civil war was brewing for the future.

  Alyksandre and his Nephilim had been shaken to the core to see their Angel boss, Nameless, Fall from Grace. But they were even more horrified to see me catch the Angel and bind him to my service by wrapping him around my finger. I was still waiting for the consequences of that action to hit me and had advised the Nephilim to keep their distance from me in case Nameless’ Angel brothers decided to pay me a visit for a…talk.

  Recently, I’d pretty much spent time only around Cain—the world’s first murderer—and Roland. Dorian, too, but he wasn’t looking too honored to be my friend right now. He looked like a startled rabbit with his leg caught in a trap. And I was the trap.

  Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn white tonight.

  “Well,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not angry or anything. This isn’t vengeance.”

  He grunted, unconvinced. “You bound an Angel, killed two Demons, have been seen in St. Louis for a whole mess of earth-shattering wars Nate Temple keeps starting, and you’ve single-handedly broken the Vatican, the Templars, and the Nephilim,” he said in what sounded like a rehearsed speech. “You look like you are perpetually angry, Callie. Very, very angry. I’m glad to hear you say otherwise, but you need to know how everyone else feels. I think they are too scared to tell you,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll…temper myself. It’s just…” I swept the room as I took a sip of my drink, suddenly feeling like I wanted to leave and abandon my mission. I noticed dozens of pairs of eyes flinch away, not wanting me to catch them watching Dorian and I talk. I gritted my teeth at the real-world example of Dorian’s claims. I needed to go on a vacation. To run away to St. Louis and have Nate whisk me off to Fae where I could kill to my heart’s content. Until this pain inside me was drowned in pools of blood—

  I cut off the thought abruptly, surprised at my own vehemence; I was openly panting, for pete’s sake.

  Huh.

  Maybe I did have a problem.

  I met Dorian’s eyes and, even though I hadn’t said any of that out loud, his face looked like he had heard every thought. I lifted my hand, hoping he would take it—careful not to appear threatening. He didn’t even hesitate, or I might have broken down in tears. Which really would have scared everyone—to see the terror of Kansas City have an emotional breakdown.

  Like Carrie, but with an LL. And, as previously observed, this party did kind of resemble a prom night. On steroids…with grown-up monsters.

  I squeezed Dorian’s hand in gratitude. “I feel like I’ve lost my purpose, Dorian. Everyone has either betrayed or failed me…” I murmured, leaning into his shoulder as I guided him back into the party. “But right now, we have a job to do. Are you still on board with it, or is this a roundabout way of telling me it’s a catastrophic idea?”

  He chuckled, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “Oh, tonight will be fun. Taking out the trash is important.” He grew silent as we walked past a huddle of conversation taking place between some vampires. Their eyes tracked us anxiously, their shoulders tense. I realized they weren’t watching us…

  Just me.

  And I was friends with the vampires. Damn it. I hated when Dorian was right. He was arrogant enough without successfully impersonating Dr. Phil.

  “Is it anything in particular, or…” he gestured vaguely to imply all recent events combined.

  “I don’t know. Probably a combination. I feel like I’ve lost my place in the world. Who am I fighting for? Why am I fighting? What am I standing for? One week it could be protecting a vampire, but the next week, one of the vamps murders a wolf and I’m staking him to a wall in a dank alley to collect his fangs like a trophy,” I admitted softly. “I get so frustrated at all the injustice. All the backstabbing.”

  “Maybe you need to start a gang,” Dorian offered. Of course that was his solution. To make the city’s crazy lady a gang overlord. “I’m just saying that maybe you need a family. Something to fight for, like you mentioned. Right now, you’re unaffiliated with anyone.”

  I frowned thoughtfully. “Is there anything wrong with being unaffiliated?” I asked, wondering if he was dancing around the topic for some reason.

  He shrugged. “I’m unaffiliated, too, but everyone needs a buddy in the trenches. Friends and allies make you stronger and keep you safe when you need to rest. They give you something to fight for, something the rest of us can look at, understand, and know ahead of time whether their decision is going to cross that line in the sand. People need to know where you stand on things. What the rules are. Otherwise, they get scared. And scared dogs bite. Without friends to look out for you, eventually that dog will go looking for you. Maybe an entire pack of dogs.

  I frowned. “Are you hinting at something specific?”

  He shook his head ad
amantly. “No. Just a word of warning from someone with personal experience. Why do you think I teamed up with the Hellfire Club? That’s my family.”

  I nodded thoughtfully, but something he had said really angered me. “I think my line in the sand is pretty obvious. Don’t be a dick,” I snapped.

  He met my eyes, a flicker of a playful smile dancing in those depths. “Well, Callie, I don’t mean to tarnish your delicate sensibilities, but there are dicks, and there are dicks,” he suggested, complete with a colorful hand gesture portraying the difference. He grinned proudly.

  I slapped his arm, opening my mouth to tell him that not harming innocent people wasn’t a hard rule to wrap your head around. “Do unto others as—”

  I was interrupted as the lights abruptly dimmed and the hum of conversation halted instantaneously. Damn. We were running out of time. Dorian had to get moving, fast.

  Chapter 5

  The music changed to a livelier tune as we slipped back into position, angling our path to where we needed to be.

  Members of each supernatural family had contributed something to the night’s festivities. I’d even convinced Fabrizio to write a check for the food—after arguing with him for an hour that no, he wouldn’t be welcome to attend, no matter how many jokes he prepared ahead of time. Inviting a Shepherd to the party would have gone off about as well as a fart during Sunday Mass.

  He hadn’t thought my metaphor as funny as the jokes he had already prepared in anticipation of his invite to the party. I’d agreed to let him read me the jokes instead, somewhat soothing his disappointment over the matter. But getting him to write a check had been a stroke of pure genius on my part—letting him do a good deed for the monsters without ruffling any feathers.

  The crowd murmured appreciatively as the entertainment seemed to come out of hidden closets around the room, courtesy of Dorian Gray—his contribution to the party.

  Waiters wearing only body-paint suddenly mingled through the crowd, some dancing, some laughing, and others carrying golden trays—can’t have polished silver around shifters—full of fresh drinks. We dodged a trio carrying small sticks with crimson ribbons attached to the ends as they skipped and frolicked before us. They entertained the guests with their acrobatics and clever use of their harmless streamers as a playful whip, or as a rope, wrapped around a standoffish guest and then used to tug him closer to a lone woman. More often than not, their antics produced successful romantic pairings, and conversation soon grew from its previous sober hum into a playful buzz.

  Some of the entertainers were actually doing cartwheels—both in pairs or alone—as they purposely mingled through pockets of conversation, giggling and smiling as they forced attendees to break up from their safe social circles and instead mix with new groups of guests.

  Since Dorian abhorred mediocrity in all things, every one of the new servers was exceptionally pretty to look at. They even moved as fluidly as their silk ribbons, weaving through the crowd to ensnare the guests’ attention with artfully choreographed steps.

  The body-paint didn’t hurt, and it was done in such a way that their nudity wasn’t quite obvious at first—looking like tight spandex in the now dim lighting. The dancers were painted to look like skeletons wearing Candy Skull masks, the rest of their bodies liberally coated in black. Their Candy Skulls were a myriad of colors and unique designs, turning the party into a Día de los Muertos fiesta. Once you were close enough to really look, it became apparent that not a single thread was worn outside of their ribbon batons. The men were easier to point out and were causing the loudest hubbub among the guests.

  Because they had chosen to paint an additional bone on their bodies.

  The best part was that the ‘costumes’ were so artfully applied that I found myself actually having to stare at a few of them to confirm that they were actually nude. I wasn’t the only one reacting, but where my giddy laughter was an act, the crowds’ reaction was authentic.

  All by design, thank you very much. As each guest began to realize and take a closer look, their attention was distracted as easily as if someone had flipped the fire-alarm switch.

  Dorian touched my wrist with two fingers, subtly steering me in a different direction.

  I followed, finding myself smiling at the extravaganza bubbling around me. Dorian was good at his job. I had initially been against the chosen face paint due to some past experiences in St. Louis with Nate Temple where we had run afoul of some actual Candy Skulls—wardens to the prison of Hell—but most of the guests present had no reason to fear Candy Skulls and probably didn’t even know there was a reason to be afraid of such an iconic look.

  Still, if any had been wearing black cloaks, I might have thrown out a fireball.

  The new servers were also each liberally dusted with pheromones to boost libido and inflame sexual appetites. I hadn’t known that was actually a real thing, but apparently Dorian knew a guy named Michael Riley who had nefarious connections in the supernatural underworld. I wasn’t sure how he had acquired the pheromones or how much they cost Dorian, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know since it probably involved things that would make me blush.

  If I’d had any doubts about the pheromones working, they were dashed against the rocks of my naivety as I saw guests’ nostrils flare, their pupils dilate, and their postures change. Several sniffed at the air openly—likely the shifters with their hyper-aware sense of smell—but even they couldn’t decipher if it was simply them scenting something very appealing or if it was some kind of danger.

  In actuality, we didn’t have anything dangerous planned. We just needed a lot of distractions to keep everyone relaxed and unaware of the clever maneuvering Dorian needed to pull off in the next fifteen minutes.

  And sex had clouded male judgment for a good majority of human—and inhuman—history.

  Many women, too.

  So, even though the various flavors of shifter smelled something strange, none wanted to point it out lest it be seen as a weakness that they couldn’t keep their instincts under control—and since the crowd consisted of almost every supernatural group in town, none wanted to show any sign of weakness that could later be used against them.

  Which was a great opportunity for some third party to exploit a weakness. To consider creating one in the first place. Sensory entrapment.

  I spotted my target only paces away and used the motion of setting my empty wine glass on one of the proffered trays carried by a smiling waitress to conceal my quick assessment of my quarry. Le Bone was a new vampire in town—a security representative for the Master of Paris, who was planning to visit Kansas City in a few days on behalf of the Sanguine Council, the ruling body of vampires—but the French vampire had already ruffled some of the wrong feathers in his brief stay. Back in Paris, he had a notorious reputation for drinking his victims down to the bone, emptying them of almost every drop of blood in their bodies. Hence the nickname he had proudly accepted.

  And two bodies had recently shown up in my city, drained of all blood.

  Haven—the Master Vampire of Kansas City—had sent some of his vampires to question Le Bone on the matter, but the French prick had denied all allegations, rudely informing them that if they had a proper accusation with corroborating evidence, Haven could take it up with Le Bone’s Master when he arrived in a few days. In the meantime, he had more important matters to attend—like confirming that this backwards city was safe enough for his Master to visit in the first place.

  His words.

  That hadn’t gone over well, and Le Bone had since refused meeting with anyone else without his Master present.

  Le Bone had also made the grave mistake of forgetting to request permission from Haven to enter the city in the first place and had shown exactly zero remorse when confronted about it, once again redirecting all further inquiries to his Master. Since I felt like I owed Haven a favor or two for his agreement to sign the lease that paid me back for Roland’s new home—a decrepit old church I had purchased�
��I’d offered Haven my non-existent investigator services.

  Le Bone was currently too busy ogling a female ribbon dancer to notice me brushing past him. Then again, he also had two looming security guards shadowing his every move, which was why I arched my neck in their direction as I slipped past their boss, momentarily distracting them with the pale, vulnerable flesh over my jugular vein, since they were also vampires. I waved my hand at someone behind them, conveniently clutching my compact mirror in that palm so my gesture turned into an impromptu strobe light to flash directly into the guards’ eyes. It worked as planned because their eyes flicked away from my throat at the sudden flash of my mirror long enough for my other hand’s motion—signaling Dorian—to go unnoticed.

  For a single moment, both guards regarded me, assessing me for any sign of threat…and I was somewhat disappointed to realize that they had no idea who I was.

  But then, Dorian ‘accidentally’ nudged Le Bone with an elbow, following my signal. Le Bone grunted, drawing the guards’ attention away from me—the apparently non-threatening woman in the white dress. I watched from the corner of my eye as Dorian mumbled an apology and then picked out the entertainer Le Bone seemed fixated upon. “The best five-thousand you’ll ever spend,” Dorian encouraged, chuckling good-naturedly.

  Le Bone grunted, the comment calming his initial anger from Dorian’s elbow. “Is she yours?” he asked Dorian, eyeing the ribbon dancer with a visible hunger.

  Dorian scoffed. “Oh, I thought you were admiring Tyler,” he said, jerking his chin at the male server currently smirking at Le Bone. The vampire stiffened, finally turning to face Dorian as if only just now realizing who he had been talking to. Dorian shrugged innocently, discreetly eyeing Le Bone’s attire. “I thought you played both sides against the middle.”

  Le Bone didn’t find that humorous at all. “No. I do not, Mr. Gray. Not all of us share your appetites. My Master will be here soon—”