A Vision of Vampires 1-3 (A Vision of Vampires Collection)

by Laura Legend

  “Some other time, Richard,” Cass offered. “I’m done for tonight.”

  Zach’s relief was obvious. He already had Cass’s gear in hand and stepped to her side, holding out her jacket.

  “Richard,” Zach said and nodded.

  “Zachary,” Richard said and nodded.

  The crowd, though, wasn’t done for the night. Cass had won their hearts, and the palpable crackle of energy between Cass and Richard (and Zach) fed their hunger to see one more fight—a fight with something a bit more personal at stake—before the night was done.

  The chant quickly gathered steam: “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

  Zach frowned. Richard repressed a smile. Cass raised her eyebrows skeptically.

  The emcee seized the moment again, stepped between Cass and Zach, and lifted Cass’s and Richard’s hands high in the air.

  “Fight!” the emcee roared. The crowd cheered.

  Cass relented. She, too, was susceptible to that crackle of energy.

  “Alright,” Cass taunted Richard, “I hope all your rehab time has taught you how to enjoy convalescing.”

  Richard smiled, a bit of his old self shining through. He was, of course, not in the least surprised that he’d gotten what he wanted.

  “Good luck, mate,” the emcee whispered to Richard as he stepped out of the ring, “because you’re going to need it.”

  Cass, though, had been thrown off balance by Richard’s arrival. Her night had gone from fun to epic to awkward. And she knew, too, that Richard wasn’t here just for fun. He wanted something.

  While Cass was trying to puzzle through what it might be, Richard took advantage and swept her leg, sending her tumbling to the floor. The crowd “oohed” in response. Cass rolled through the fall and back up onto her feet, embarrassed.

  She could hear Rosie shouting from the sideline, “Don’t let him do you like that!”

  Cass cracked her neck and waded back in. Richard was waiting. He drew her in and swept her leg again.

  This time when Cass popped back up from the mat, she was angry.

  Who did this bastard think he was? Who gave him the right to play with her like this? Who gave him the right to mess around in her life without her permission? Who gave him the right to swoop in when he felt like it and then disappear without a word? He’d even let her think—for months—that he was dead.

  This last thought especially hurt, more than Cass wanted to admit.

  She threw a punch and followed up with a kick. Richard evaded both. Cass, though, was just setting the stage. When Richard kicked back, Cass grabbed his leg, slid her hand higher up his thigh, and flipped him onto his back.

  She didn’t let go.

  Richard tried to scissor her upper body between his legs but Cass saw it coming and used the opening to reposition her hold, driving his shoulders down into the mat and applying enough pressure to his leg that he was forced to give ground.

  He strained against her hold and almost slipped free when Cass, with her ear pressed against his abs, got distracted by his cologne.

  She’d forgotten how absurdly good he smelled.

  She applied more pressure to his leg and Richard gave more ground. He grunted. Sweat poured off them both.

  Cass seized the opportunity to clear some things up.

  “Did Maya double-cross us on your orders?” she whispered fiercely, squeezing.

  Richard’s head bobbed up, trying to get a look at Cass’s face and gauge how the fight had changed into an interrogation, but Cass forced it back down. His hands scrambled to get a hold of her torso, but couldn’t find a grip.

  “No,” he said, “that was not what I had in mind.”

  Cass absorbed this response. It rang true. She’d always been able to tell if someone was lying.

  Quick as lightning, Cass switched holds, her hands now looped under his shoulders and around his neck, her cheek pressed against his collarbone, her mouth pressed against his ear. He bucked but couldn’t slip free before she had him locked down again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were still alive?” she whispered softly into his ear. This second question sounded less like an interrogation and more like a plea.

  Richard stopped struggling and leaned into her. His breathing calmed. Cass waited, her body pressed hard against him.

  “I . . . I was afraid,” he finally whispered back.

  This, too, she knew was the truth. He was telling the truth. But what was he afraid of? Her?

  The crowd was growing restless. The fight had slipped from a grudge match into something more like pillow talk. “Finish him! Finish him!” they shouted.

  Cass agreed. It was time to be done. She brought her weight to bear on a choke hold, intending to force Richard to finally tap out. But, just before he did, Richard had one last revelation.

  “Cassandra,” he croaked, struggling to catch his breath, “I know which relic the Lost are after next.”

  8

  The crowd thinned out quickly. As mysteriously and spontaneously as it had gathered, it disappeared. Cars tore out of the parking lot, engines revving, and soon enough there were only three cars left: an old Volvo, a beat up F-150, and a red Maserati. Outside Cass’s Volvo, it was hard to say which one belonged to the emcee and which belonged to Richard.

  Their emcee was locking things down. Cass and Richard were seated on a bench near the wall. Zach was staying close but, full of nervous energy; he found himself compulsively cleaning up garbage that had been left on the floor. He didn’t have to go far before he found an empty can of chicken soup with the remnants of a T-bone steak stuffed inside. Frowning, he held both the can and the bone up to the light.

  “Who eats chicken soup straight from the can during a late night fight club?” he wondered aloud. “And were they eating a steak with their bare hands at the same time? Or was the T-bone just their version of a spoon?”

  Cass squinted up at Zach’s find with a quizzical look and shrugged. Richard looked puzzled, his brow furrowed, as if Zach had just asked them a very serious question. Or, Cass thought, it might just be that he didn’t understand what Zach was doing. She was pretty sure that it would never have occurred to Richard to pick up someone else’s garbage.

  “Umm, regardless,” Richard began, “I came to ask for your help, Cassandra. I have dependable intelligence regarding what relic the Lost will pursue next. It’s imperative that we acquire it first. We mustn’t give them room to regroup and gather their power. Unlike Judas, the Heretic is an unknown entity and her intentions, if she can consolidate control, are not clear.”

  Cass unraveled the tape from her hands, let the skein drop to the floor, and straddled the bench to face Richard. Zach picked up the tape and added it to his collection. He pulled a white garbage bag from his pocket, snapped it open with a quick shake, and deposited all his finds inside.

  Cass couldn’t help but wonder where Zach had gotten that garbage bag. Had it been in his pocket since they’d snuck out of the monastery? Had it been with him all night, just in case they might need to clean up trash at some point? Did he have more?

  Cass willed most of her attention back to Richard. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is the Heretic after?”

  However, as Zach passed by, Cass reached out and affectionately trailed her fingers across his lower back, adding a quick pat on his butt to check his back pocket. She couldn’t be certain—she’d need to do a more thorough check later—but she could have sworn there was at least one more garbage bag, neatly folded into a tight little square, back there.

  “In a few days,” Richard answered, consciously ignoring this interchange, “a once-in-a-generation fighting tournament will be held in an Underside hub appended to Singapore. Underside fighters from around the world will compete. The prize is an extremely rare cache of sarira, beads of glass left in the ashes after the cremation of a Buddhist master’s body. These sarira belong to a special subclass of relic that have an especially strong effect on practitioners of magic.”

  Cass n
oticed that Zach’s attention perked up at the mention of magic. He’d trained in magic for years with Kumiko and the Shield.

  Zach dropped an empty box of condoms and a curling iron, still warm to the touch, into his garbage bag and added: “The sarira are legendarily powerful—and legendarily dangerous. There are dozens of cautionary tales about how their power can overwhelm and destroy practitioners of magic who try to use them. The legends are campfire staples for kids training in kotodama magic.”

  Richard nodded in agreement, turning to straddle the bench and face Cass. “They are very powerful and very dangerous relics. The tournament itself is an ancient tradition, held every fifty years for the past five hundred years. It’s now run by a handful of wealthy Turned who’ve amped up the spectacle in order to more effectively monetize the event. I, however, have secured a slot in the tournament for a representative of York Enterprises.”

  Zach’s circle of garbage collection had widened and he was bit farther away now. Cass watched him hold a banana peel at arm’s length before dropping it into the bag.

  Note to self, Cass thought, make sure Zach washes his hands before getting too close again.

  Richard glanced at Zach and saw that he’d bent over to get a closer look at something else he’d found. Richard took Cass’s hands in his own, gave them a squeeze, and looked directly into her weak eye. “We need to win this tournament,” he said, lowering his voice. “And I need you . . . I need you to win it for me.”

  Cass tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, leaned back, and folded her arms. Zach had deposited his full bag of garbage in a can and was cleaning his hands with an antibacterial wipe. The gym floor was spotless. Their emcee flicked the lights on and off, indicating that he was ready to go.

  “I don’t like it, Cass,” Zach said. “But if you’re going to do it, we’d better get a green light from Kumiko first.”

  Richard’s nose wrinkled a little at the mention of Kumiko, but he kept his mouth shut. Cass shared the sentiment. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do it, but she also didn’t like the idea that she needed Kumiko’s permission. She’d do what she wanted.

  “I’ll do it,” Cass said, standing. “But only if, after I win, the sarira are turned over to the Shield for safekeeping.”

  Richard stood, hands on his hips, and bit his lower lip thoughtfully. The emcee flicked the lights one last time.

  “Okay,” Richard said, holding out his hand, “you have a deal.”

  Cass took his hand and they shook on it.

  “Now,” Cass added, “let’s see if you have the guts to join us in Japan to inform Kumiko.”

  9

  Given his gentle demeanor, it was easy to forget that Dogen was actually a grizzly bear. Dogen, though, never forgot what he was and he roared when he caught sight of Richard York crossing the monastery courtyard with Cass and Zach.

  “You—” he shouted, pointing a finger the size of a winter sausage at Richard.

  A look of fear briefly flashed across Richard’s face before he shut it down and reasserted control. Dogen lumbered across the courtyard toward them. Cass could sympathize with Richard. The first time she and Dogen had tangled during Miranda’s abduction, Dogen had handled her without much problem. If she hadn’t gotten lucky with a cheap shot and escaped, she might be suffering from the same Dogen-related PTSD.

  Richard, to his credit, held his ground. “Dogen, you monster,” Richard spat back, pushing up his shirtsleeves.

  Clearly, the two of them had a history. Cass wasn’t sure how old Dogen was, but she suspected he and Richard had both been around long enough to have crossed paths many times.

  Dogen was getting close now and picking up steam. Zach, who was positioned between Dogen and Richard, stepped out of the way, matador-style, to let Dogen at his target.

  “Zach,” Cass scolded as she took up the mantle of peacemaker and stepped into the space Zach had just vacated.

  “Out of the way, Cassandra Jones,” Dogen said, still bulling forward.

  “Please, Cass,” Richard echoed, “I can handle this.”

  “I’m sure you fellows can ‘handle this,’” Cass said, “but that’s exactly what I’d prefer to avoid.”

  Cass held out her hands, separating the two of them by the length of her body. Her hand looked tiny when she planted it on Dogen’s chest, and her arm span wouldn’t create more than a symbolic distance between Dogen and Richard if Dogen chose to just reach out and take a swing.

  “We’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment,” Cass continued. “We’ve got a problem and a plan, and Richard is here to help.”

  Dogen’s wrath visibly cooled a notch at Cass’s plea.

  Cass, though, took a wrong turn when she added: “Richard is here to see Kumiko.”

  At the mention of Kumiko’s name, Dogen’s nostrils flared again and his eyes went dark. Whatever their history was, it obviously involved Kumiko. Dogen reached right over Cass in an attempt to palm Richard’s head with a single, bare hand. Richard ducked and avoided getting his head squeezed like a grape, but in the scuffle, Dogen’s mass knocked Cass against the low wall that surrounded the ancient well at the center of the courtyard.

  Cass stumbled against the hard mass of stone and almost fell in. As she teetered on the edge, scrambling for a hand hold, she felt something—a deep but insistent beckoning. The magnetic call of the well pulling her down and in.

  Balanced for a moment at her tipping point, Cass got a clear look deep into the well and, in response to its penetrating call, her weak eye snapped into focus. Time slowed to a crawl and, all at once, she glimpsed the truth of it.

  She saw deep into the well, penetrating the darkness far beyond the reach of her normal vision. And what she saw surprised her: about halfway down the shaft, a set of circling stairs emerged from the wall and spiraled downward. The stairs curled deep into the water and, if there was a bottom where the stairs came to an end, Cass couldn’t see it. The well was an abyss.

  The waters pulsed, calling out to her, and, somehow, Cass felt like she’d just glimpsed the beating heart of the Underside itself. The frequency of the pulse slowed to deeper and deeper bass notes as Cass’s conception of time slowed in tandem. The deeper the frequency of the beats, the more Cass ached to just let go and sink into the black waters.

  But even though this moment stretched wide for Cass, it happened in a flash for everyone else.

  Luckily, both Dogen and Richard were faster. As soon as they saw what was happening to Cass, they both reached out and simultaneously snatched her back from the edge. Dogen set Cass on her feet and Richard took hold of her arm to steady her. Cass shook her head, trying to clear her vision of the waters, feeling like she’d just woken from an impossibly lucid dream.

  An embarrassed look of concern passed between Richard and Dogen. At least for the moment, their shared worry for Cass had sealed a sort of truce between them.

  “What is happening here?” Kumiko asked in an icy commanding voice from the stairs of the main building. Everyone turned in her direction and, intentionally or not, offered at least a curt bow.

  Kumiko glanced over their bowing bodies, swiftly assessing the situation. Her gaze paused briefly on Cass, then hardened. Cass smiled, still shaking off remnants of bliss from the well. Kumiko, though, was not amused. She narrowed her eyes at Cass, her anger at the mounting evidence of Cass’s disrespect simmering visibly under an otherwise impenetrable mask of control.

  Zach put his arm around Cass, pulling her close and relieving Richard of any responsibility for looking after her. Cass gave Zach an appreciative squeeze, but stepped free of his embrace. She felt fine. In fact, with a faint, lingering pulse from the well still echoing in her bones, she felt . . . amazing.

  “Kumiko,” Cass answered for them, “Richard is here to help. We know where the Lost will strike next, and we know what they want. We can stop them.”

  “I see,” Kumiko said curtly, her voice balanced between consideration and skepticism.<
br />
  Kumiko held Cass’s eyes, searching them for a moment. With just that glance, Cass could tell that Kumiko knew about the deep look she’d just taken into the local ancient well of mystery. Cass could almost see the wheels turning in Kumiko’s head as she processed this development.

  “Kumiko,” Richard said, stepping forward and bowing again, “please excuse my clumsy entrance and unannounced arrival. Cassandra, though, is correct. I have urgent news and actionable intelligence. Together, we can take advantage of it.”

  Kumiko took in Richard’s words with a cool stoicism.

  “I see. But you didn’t exactly set out in search of my help, did you, Mr. York? You went looking for Cassandra and, I’m sure, you were a little disappointed when that ultimately meant also finding me.”

  Richard kept quiet. His silence conceded the point.

  “I will, however, hear you,” Kumiko continued. Richard began to explain the importance of the upcoming tournament with its sarira prize. He paused expectantly, waiting for Kumiko’s questions.

  Kumiko, however, apparently had none. “Despite your preference to not include me, I must concede that I think your plan is worth pursuing. Cassandra will win the tournament, the relic will be kept out of the Heretic’s hands, and we will take charge of protecting it here.”

  Cass let out a huge sigh of relief. Should she be surprised that Kumiko already seemed to know the plan Richard had proposed? Either way, Cass was glad to have Kumiko’s blessing—even if she chaffed a little at needing it in the first place.

  “I just have one condition,” Kumiko added.

  “Let’s hear it,” Richard responded immediately.

  Kumiko turned from Richard to Cass. “My one condition is that I must personally attend the tournament as Cassandra’s coach and trainer.”

  10

  There were official and unofficial access points to the Underside at the monastery. As a Seer, Cass was already more acquainted with several of the unofficial ones than many people who’d lived there for centuries.