Tooth and Nail

by Chris Underwood

  “Well, give that a try,” I said, nodding toward the jar in her hands. “I think it’ll do the trick. It should keep blood pure indefinitely—both chemically and metaphysically. Obviously you won’t be able to hold much in there, but it should do for a snack if you get caught short.”

  “Can it be scaled up?”

  “To a degree. If you can source enough barghest liver. Which I doubt you can.” I paused. “Speaking of which, my fee—”

  She held up a hand. “Say no more. You’ve earned this.” With a click of her fingers, she summoned Nolan, who returned carrying a plain white envelope. He laid it in front of me. I resisted the urge to immediately start counting the cash inside.

  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  I slipped the envelope into my pocket just as Lockhart brought her song to a close. There was a smattering of applause from around the restaurant. I added my golf clap for good measure.

  For the first time, Lockhart turned to the audience. She bowed her head in acknowledgment of their applause.

  “Say,” I whispered to Atwood, “What’s the occasion tonight, anyway? Why are you all gathered together like this?”

  “Nothing special,” she replied. “Just a celebration of a successful hunt.”

  “Hunt?”

  She nodded. “Every month some of us volunteer to roam the woods around Lost Falls. We cull the populations of any wild Strangers that are getting too numerous, and clear out those that have gained a foothold close enough to town to risk exposing us.”

  “Huh.” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that. Didn’t think you guys were much for public service.”

  “We’re not. It’s for our own benefit as much as anyone else’s.”

  As we spoke, I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. Like I was being watched.

  I glanced up at the stage. Lockhart was standing in front of the piano, her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on me.

  I swallowed, my forehead feeling suddenly damp. I raised my glass to her, and the corners of the vampire queen’s eyes crinkled. Golden bangles clinked on her wrists as she raised a hand.

  “We are privileged to be hosting an honored guest tonight,” she said to the room. Her voice wasn’t silky smooth like the rest of her kind. There was a hardness there, an undercurrent that made it clear she took no bullshit. She gestured with an open palm toward me. “One of our town’s hard-working cunning folk, Osric Turner.”

  The eyes of everyone in the restaurant swiveled toward me. I didn’t like the way this evening was going.

  “I have heard that you used to be quite the pianist, Mr. Turner.” Lockhart stepped aside and swept an arm toward the piano. “Would you care to entertain us?”

  It took me a moment to find my voice. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m…rusty. Thanks, though.”

  “There’s no need to be modest.”

  “I’m not. Believe me.”

  Her bangles clinked once again as she turned her palm upward in a gesture that said, Very well. She turned her attention to my client. “Carlotta, perhaps you would grace us with your skills.”

  A shy expression crossed Atwood’s face. Feigned? I couldn’t tell.

  With a glance at me, Atwood rose to another touch of applause and made her way to the stage. As Atwood sat at the piano, she and Lockhart exchanged a few whispered words. Lockhart smiled, then made her way over to me.

  Conversation resumed as Atwood began to play. She was good. Not as good as Lockhart, but good nonetheless. I wondered if all vampires learned the piano sooner or later. When you live as long as they do, I guess you have to fill the time somehow.

  A swain approached my table to pull out a chair for Lockhart, but she waved him off. Where Atwood had sat opposite me, Lockhart set herself down on a seat right next to me, close enough that her knee brushed against mine.

  I caught the faint vanilla scent of her perfume in the air. She fixed me with eyes that looked older than the rest of her strangely ageless face.

  “That was a dirty trick,” I said.

  “So was arranging your meeting with Carlotta just so you could speak to me.”

  I resisted the urge to lick my lips. “What makes you think I did that?”

  “I make it my business to know such things, cunning man. If you’re not here to talk, does that mean you’re here to kill me?”

  I blinked. “I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy,” I said. “What gave you an idea like that?”

  “A paranoid mind. A necessity when ruling over a group like this.” She cast her eyes across the room. “There isn’t a vampire in this room who wouldn’t tear out their own lover’s throat to climb a little higher in our hierarchy. Back-stabbers, every one.”

  I was taken aback by her candidness. Sure, I’d had some first-hand experience of the ambitious nature of vampires, but I hadn’t expected Lockhart to open up to me about it.

  “Well, I’m not one of you,” I said. “And I’m sure as hell no assassin.”

  “No. No you’re not. So tell me, cunning man, why are you here?”

  I took a deep breath. I’d been working myself up to this for days. Weeks. But now that it came time, I was finding it hard to speak. Lockhart’s gaze was so intense it almost hurt.

  “I’m looking for information,” I said at last.

  “That much I surmised. Concerning what?”

  “Ancient history. I need information from Lost Falls’ past. From before the first covenant.”

  “Before my time, I’m afraid.”

  “Early says you’re old enough to have been around then.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t humans consider it impolite to discuss a woman’s age?”

  “We also consider it impolite to tear a man’s head off. What’s your point?”

  She gave a little smirk, then shook her head. “I was young, then. Do you know what I remember of that time? Hunger. A desperate, unquenchable hunger. That is what it means to be a young vampire.” Her eyes pierced mine. “I suspect there’s little I know that would be of any use to you.”

  “You’re not the oldest vampire here. One of your underlings might know something.”

  “Perhaps. Though I suspect they would refuse to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “The principle of the thing, mostly.”

  I frowned. “And what about your archives? One of your swains once bragged to me that you have the most extensive library of the arcane in town.”

  Her shoulders raised in an easy shrug. “It was no boast.”

  “Got any history books in there?”

  “Perhaps. But while my forbears were very skilled at the hoarding of rare tomes, they were not always so diligent about cataloging. Especially when it comes to information from that far back.”

  “Then I’ll do it the hard way.”

  Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the table. “Why should I help you, cunning man?”

  “Because I’m such a swell guy?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not how we do business.”

  I sighed. “’Course not. Everything’s business, right?”

  She shrugged again, as if to say, What can you do?

  “What’s your price?” I asked.

  “That depends. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for. Then, if I think I can help, perhaps we can negotiate.”

  Involuntarily, my gaze swept across the room. Across the dozens of swains waiting on their vampire masters and mistresses. Humans bound to the service of monsters. I wondered how many of them had negotiated themselves into this mess.

  “It’s about a friend of mine,” I said.

  Lockhart seemed to think for a moment, then nodded slowly. “The revenant.”

  “You know her?”

  “I’ve heard rumors.”

  I leaned toward her. “I need to know how she died. I need to know who killed her.”

  “There are others who could tell you more. Non-vampires olde
r than me.”

  I shook my head. “The hag knows something, but she’s not talking. Neither is anyone else.”

  “Then I suppose that means I have you over a barrel, doesn’t it? I…”

  She trailed off as her gaze shifted to something behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a beautiful young man approaching the table in a hell of a hurry. He was looking so frazzled it took me a moment to realize I’d met the man before. He was one of Lockhart’s swains, a real asshole by the name of Isaac. Wind and rain had stirred up his usually perfect blond hair. His narrow, angular features were pinched and nervous.

  Without even glancing at me, he crouched down beside Lockhart and muttered in her ear. The vampire queen’s expression didn’t change, except for a sudden tension pulling at the corners of her eyes. She hissed an order back at him, to which he nodded and quickly retreated. Lockhart’s eyes glazed with heavy thought.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She blinked, as if suddenly remembering that I was there. She fixed me with that intense stare again. I could see the calculation in her eyes.

  She stood. “Something has happened. Come with me.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Doyle’s Reach.”

  I frowned. Doyle’s Reach was a dead-end riverside trailer park half an hour outside Lost Falls. Sure as hell not the place a high class bloodsucker like Lockhart was likely to frequent.

  Around the restaurant, a handful of other swains were whispering in their masters’ ears. The piano music came to an abrupt halt as Nolan hurried to the stage and muttered in Carlotta Atwood’s ear. Several vampires rose to their feet.

  When I didn’t move, Lockhart made a frustrated noise. “If you want access to my archives, you’ll come with me this instant.”

  That got me off my ass, but it didn’t answer any of my questions. “What the hell is going on? And what does it have to do with me?”

  Lockhart swept past me, but not before her hand closed around my upper arm and tightened. I could feel the unnatural strength in those long, delicate fingers.

  “You, cunning man, are going to be my witness.”

  3

  A convoy of luxury sedans sped through the night, headlights cutting orange beams through the pouring rain. Half a dozen vampires and their bloodswain entourages drove through the outskirts of Lost Falls and into the dark of the woods, along a winding road that roughly followed one of the many rivers that ran like veins through the valley.

  And in the middle of that line of Audis and Mercedes Benzes was my beat-up old van, the bald tires threatening to skid out at any moment. It had been bad enough driving within Lost Falls—now I was away from even the street lights.

  It didn’t help that the engine whined in anger whenever it picked up speed. The old van had never been the same since Lilian rammed it into an SUV full of bad guys a while back.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the tail lights of the black BMW in front of me. That BMW, I knew, held Lockhart and her favorite swain.

  I’d only managed to pull a few more details out of Lockhart before we all mounted up and headed out. One of their associates had come across something out at Doyle’s Reach. Something that concerned the vampires. Before we left I saw more than one swain loading shotguns and pistols into the trunks of the luxury cars.

  The further we got from the lights of Lost Falls, the more tempted I was to turn the van around and head home. Whatever the vampires were mixed up in, it wasn’t my business. I wasn’t Lockhart’s lapdog.

  And yet on I drove. I had to. It was worth tagging along, at least, if it got me into Lockhart’s good graces.

  Plus I’m a nosy bastard.

  I figured I wouldn’t be in much danger—or at least no more danger than sitting in a restaurant surrounded by vampires. Half a dozen vampires and a bunch of armed swains would be more than enough to deal with even the toughest wild Strangers that haunted the woods this far out of town. If things went south, I could just get back in the van, turn on the radio, and drive away, letting these assholes deal with the problem.

  That was what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  In truth, there was only one reason I was doing this. I needed access to Lockhart’s archive. I needed it now.

  It had been months since Lilian and I had ventured into the tomb of Morley the Profane. Since Lilian had almost lost herself to the vengeful monster inside her. Since I found an old locket inside that tomb, depicting a pregnant Lilian with some man I didn’t know.

  I hadn’t told Lilian about the locket. We’d hardly spoken about what had happened those few days, where she’d nearly lost herself. Honestly, we’d hardly spoken at all. In the brief moments we’d shared, she’d assured me that she was fine.

  But she couldn’t hide the truth. Not from me. The duality of her nature was still wearing away at her. Slowly, painfully.

  The nature of death is decay. Sure, you can slow that decay. Do your best to preserve what remains. But in the end, entropy always wins.

  Lilian was feeling that decay. Not in her body—between the hag’s magic and her own strange powers, she’d managed to repair all her injuries, mending broken bones and healing torn skin.

  No, the decay was in her mind. In her soul. I’d seen firsthand what happened to a soul kept from death too long.

  I wouldn’t let that happen to Lilian.

  She needed answers. She needed to know who she was. Why she’d died. Who had killed her.

  I didn’t know what would happen when she got those answers. Maybe it would destroy her. But I knew Lilian. If she had to choose between destruction and the slow, agonizing decay of her soul, there was only one option.

  The brake lights of the BMW ahead of me flashed red in the darkness. I slowed and followed the convoy of cars as they turned off the main road and bumped down a narrow, pot-hole-filled street. A handful of street lights glowed dimly ahead, revealing the shadowed shapes of trailers and small prefab houses. Everything sat amid overgrown yards strewn with abandoned furniture. Power lines crisscrossed overhead, like the web of a giant spider. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I knew that off to our left, beyond a scattering of trees and houses, was the river.

  Nothing stirred in the night. No one peeked through the curtains at the line of luxury cars going by. Maybe they couldn’t even hear us over the hammering of rain on tin roofs.

  Lost Falls was a backwater, and Doyle’s Reach was the backwater’s backwater. Nothing ever happened here. No one ever came here. Not unless they had no other choice. And yet, here we were.

  One by one, the cars ahead of me turned down an even more poorly maintained side road and then pulled over. Swains began to jump out of cars to deploy umbrellas. Flashlights snapped on, cutting through the rain.

  I pulled in behind the other cars, taking care not to get my tires stuck in the muddy roadside. Rain flooded my windscreen as soon as the wipers stopped moving, but not before I got a glimpse of Lockhart emerging from the car ahead of me, protected from the rain by Isaac, her pretty little swain.

  I grabbed my coat and hooked my silver-plated truncheon to my belt. I wasn’t in the vampire’s restaurant anymore, so I’d carry as many damn weapons as I liked.

  Steeling myself, I stepped out into the pounding rain. Mud instantly splashed across my only pair of formal shoes. If they got ruined, I’d be sending Lockhart a bill for a new pair of the best from Marvin’s Discount Shoe Emporium.

  Through the darkness I spotted the swain Nolan escorting Carlotta Atwood toward the gathering group of vampires and slaves. Atwood was grimacing as even Nolan’s expert umbrellamanship couldn’t stop stray drops from coursing down her face. Vampires aren’t big on running water. Rain doesn’t cause them any harm, but I got the feeling it wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation either.

  I caught up with Atwood and strode alongside, braving the full fury of the weather.

  “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Atwood stared straight ahead, her glas
ses spotted with rain. “We’ve lost someone.”

  I frowned. “Do you mean lost, or lost lost?”

  The look on her face told me the answer. I rubbed my damp beard. “Shit. How?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  With a grunt, I left Atwood’s side and hurried ahead. Lockhart was walking within a huddle of figures and umbrellas. I could hear her giving orders as she moved, but I couldn’t make them out over the sound of the rain. I elbowed my way between a couple of petite swains to get to Lockhart’s side.

  Another swain started at my sudden appearance and reached beneath his jacket. Lockhart put out a hand and touched the man’s elbow just as I saw a pistol grip appear in his hands.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “The cunning man is with me.”

  “Swain or vampire?” I asked without preamble.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Was it a swain or a vampire who died?”

  She paused, casting a glance in my direction. She turned back to the vampires and swains gathered around her. “You have work to do. Get to it.”

  Several pairs of predatory eyes glared at me. Then, one-by-one, the vampires began to peel off, taking their swains with them into the darkness of the wild land behind the scattered properties of Doyle’s Reach. In a few seconds, it was just me and Lockhart and her swain, Isaac, with the umbrella.

  Lockhart turned to me, lowering her voice. “Vampire.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know, Osric. I don’t know anything. Not yet.”

  “Tell me this, then. Why am I here?”

  “I already told you.”

  “You said I’m your witness. Witness to what?”

  She stopped in her tracks and grabbed me by the collar. With inhuman strength she jerked me down to her level, bringing us face-to-face. Her lips peeled back and her eyes flashed with animal rage. My breath caught in my throat.