Dead Rising (7 page)

The vampire set down his fork and leaned back, his expression becoming distant once more. “I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you, to report back on your progress. I figured that dining with you was the best way to do that. Now you can either make this a pleasant experience or an unpleasant one. Your choice.”

The Lobster Alfredo turned into a lead weight inside my stomach. We weren’t here because he found me attractive, or my O-Negative Templar blood irresistible. We weren’t here because he thought I was a cool person to hang out and have dinner with. We were here because he was supposed to keep an eye on me and report back to his Mistress. All those Bloody Marys and drinks with plastic swords had meant nothing. Yes, he wanted me, but I was off limits. This meant nothing but business to him.

And that shouldn’t bother me as much as it did.

Fine. Screw him. If Dario wanted business, he’d get business. I’d hit up the internet when I got back to my place and figure out what the connection was between the Robertsons and the vampires. Then I’d finish up the job and have the joy of never dealing with these soulless blood-suckers again.

I ate my pasta in silence, not worrying about small talk anymore. Let the vampires foot the bill for a decent meal. It’s not like I needed to impress my companion with my quick wit or anything. Eat. Go home. Get to work.

My plate was nearly half empty by the time Dario broke the silence. “I’ll give your information to Leonora about the spell being necromantic in nature.”

It wasn’t anything close to an apology. Business. This was all about business. “Please let me know what she says.”

I interpreted his expression as “when pigs fly”. “If Leonora wants you to know, then I will convey the information.”

My temper flared. I blamed it on the wine and my bruised ego. “You ask me to do a job, a job that I have a seven day deadline to complete or presumably I will cease to live, a job that, judging by all this, is important to the vampires here in Baltimore, but you won’t clarify details or communicate information I need to do the job?”

I completely couldn’t read the expression on his face, although I got the feeling I was supposed to. “You don’t need that information. Research the symbol. Tell us what it is, what it does, and do that in the next six days.”

I was beginning to hate vampires. No wonder my ancestors had killed them on sight. “All you do is repeat the party line to me. Can you tell me nothing without your Mistress’s approval? Do you ask her permission to feed? Does she pre-screen all of your prey? Isn’t there anything you can do without her authorization?”

The stem of the wineglass snapped in his hands. “Watch your tone.”

What I’d said was out of line, but there was no need to snarl at me as if I were a bad dog. He’d grilled me about my life choices, turning on the seduction to pry information out of me. He’d arrogantly informed me that I wasn’t going to get any information from him that might help me do my job. Yeah, the vampires were paying me, but a business arrangement like this had an unspoken agreement for a good-faith exchange of information. And I’d had more of this vampire tonight than I could stand.

He’d abandoned me last night in a shitty neighborhood miles from home and never even apologized. But I guess as my minder, my parole-officer for this job, he didn’t need to apologize.

“Fuck you.” I slapped my napkin on the table and without even a glance in his direction, got up and stomped out the door. I had money for a cab. Heck, I could walk home if I didn’t have these heels on. I wasn’t one of his vampire groupies, I wasn’t about to have him tell me to “watch my tone”, like I was his needy, desperate, blood-slave.

T
AXIS WEREN’T ALWAYS
the easiest to find in Little Italy, especially on a Thursday night, so I headed toward the Inner Harbor, knowing I’d encounter one there with all the clubs and tourists. Three blocks later I had to lean against a street sign and take off my heels. The sidewalk was cool against my feet, and kind of sticky. I tried not to think of all the disgusting stuff I was probably stepping in. Barf, urine, pizza grease, spilled beer—no, I wasn’t going to think of that, but the moment I got home I was scrubbing my feet with that anti-bacterial stuff.

It was a long walk before I hailed down a ride, and the taxi from the Inner Harbor to my apartment was stupidly expensive. My feet were filthy. I was angry at Dario, and angrier at his Mistress. I was also worrying about my looming deadline.

But first things first. After scrubbing my feet practically raw, I curled up on the sofa and opened my laptop. I typed in “Lincoln Robertson”, his date of death, and “Baltimore”.

God bless those Google people. I was well aware that there were still things that would require my journeying into the dark recesses of a records room with miles of microfiche, but computers made preliminary research so easy. Even the Templar Librarians had begun cataloging electronically and scanning manuscripts. They’d never be available over the internet, but it was nice to know there were back-up records and a speedier way of searching than sitting at a table, paging through papyrus with gloved hands.

The obit came up first. Funeral service details and place of eternal rest were given for the family. No “in lieu of flowers” request to hint at cause of death. The pre-deceased by list was short, and one name stuck out—a daughter, Shay Robertson. I made a note of the name. There hadn’t been a marker for Shay Robertson at the cemetery that I could remember. She could have been buried elsewhere, especially if she’d died as an infant. Still, it was worth checking.

The survived-by list was much longer. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Lincoln’s mother had still been alive as well as his wife’s parents. They’d come from large families, both with multiple brothers and sisters with their spouses and children. I was going to need another piece of paper if this continued. Finally I paused at the last name. Russell Robertson, a son.

I frowned. The whole family had died on the same day, minus a daughter that had died before them…and this Russell. The eldest child’s grave had been Lincoln Junior, so I assumed Russell was a younger child. Where had he been? What had happened that shielded him from whatever killed the rest of his family?

I closed out the tab with the obituary and pulled up the next one.
Parents and Three Children Found Murdered
. I winced at the pictures of the family smiling at the camera in their Sunday finest, at school photos of the children. They’d been found by the surviving child and his aunt, who had been bringing him home from a sleep-over. There was some conjecture that the murders were gang related.

I didn’t know much about gangs, but I couldn’t see them just randomly killing a family of five. It seemed a bit excessive to be an initiation rite. Could Lincoln Junior have been involved in a gang, and this was revenge by a rival group? I made a quick note to check, even though juvenile crimes weren’t public record.

Follow-up articles to the murder were scant on information. Police asked the public to come forward with any information. There was a suspect questioned, but released. That was it. No charges made. It seemed as if this remained an unsolved case. And the only way for me to dig further would be to get off my butt and check police records. Tomorrow. When it was daylight and normal people were up and working.

Which left me staring at the books I’d been perusing prior to Dario’s arrival. This was the other end of the project, the one that got me paid and kept me from dying an early death. I fingered my personal grimoire. Why not? It was almost midnight on a Thursday, I was wide awake thanks to caffeine that even a few glasses of wine couldn’t negate. I might as well summon myself up a demon and put this project to rest.

My cheap apartment had carpet, which is far from ideal when trying to delineate a magical space. It’s downright deadly when drawing a summoning circle meant to hold a demon. I couldn’t exactly do this out in the parking lot without drawing a crowd and possibly finding myself in the loony bin. That left my kitchen or bathroom vinyl, neither of which were large enough. Technically you could summon a demon into any size circle, but I didn’t want to risk trying it with one three feet in diameter.

So much for my security deposit. I dug through the junk drawer and grabbed up a utility knife that I used to cut up boxes for recycling. Then I proceeded to remove my carpet. Thankfully it wasn’t the glue-down type, and it came loose easily from the tack strip around the edges. I rolled it against a wall and surveyed the multi-colored padding that lay underneath. It was… disgusting, although at least it didn’t smell of anything beyond dust and old carpet glue. I was going to pretend those stains were from some long ago party where lots of beer had hit the floor. Yeah.

I removed a few sections of padding, prying the staples up with my utility knife. Luckily the subfloor underneath was plywood and not chipboard. I sat back and eyed the four-by-eight piece. I could do a four-foot diameter circle within one sheet of plywood, or deal with the joints and create a larger circle across two sheets. I ran a finger along the seam and grimaced. No one cared if one section was a bit higher than the others, or if there was a gap. The foam and the carpet evened it all out.

This was risky enough without trying to contain energy across two gaps. Four feet it was. Better than the three feet it would have been in my kitchen or bathroom, but I wasn’t sure the extra foot was worth all the demolition work I’d just done. Hopefully the demon would appreciate the extra space.

I cleaned my piece of plywood as best as I could, then got out my paint set. In a pinch, chalk worked, but it often left gaps and smudges that allowed energy leaks—or room for a demon to escape. I painted until my wrists ached. By the time I was done it was ten minutes until midnight. Perfect.

I had a four foot circle, binding runes on the inside reinforced by another circle. I’d thought about adding a triangle, just in case, but that would have made the summoning area really tiny. Besides, this was a low level demon, commonly summoned for information. I’d never seen him need more than one circle.

I double checked the sigil in the center, took another look at my incantation, and thought of what offering I could make to the demon as I lit the four black candles, and then the incense.

Yes, my landlord was gonna kill me. Whatever had caused those stains on the carpet padding probably wasn’t as bad as defacing the carpeting, having dangerous open flame,
and
bringing a being from hell into the apartment building. The last was probably an event worthy of immediate eviction, even if the lease didn’t specify any prohibition against demon summoning. I’d just need to be careful and make sure none of the other residents knew. Luckily this should be a fast ritual.

“I invoke, conjure, and command thee spirit to appear before me in this circle. Come into this circle and give answers, faithful and true, to all my questions. Come peaceably without delay into my presence.”

Kneeling, I drew the demon’s sigil on parchment and touched it to the flame of the candle in the southern quarter. It caught so fast I barely had time to toss the burning paper into the metal bowl.

“Vine, I request your presence. Appear before me and hear my appeal.”

I opened the bottle of wine, pouring some into a crystal glass and setting both bottle and glass at the edge of the circle. Then I sat down to meditate. Centering, balancing, I let go of this world and called out, “Vine, I respectfully ask you to appear. I need your knowledge, and would like to share an offering with you”

A surge of energy hit the room, rocking me backward. The candle flames went sideways, incense smoke flattened on the ground in a spiral around the outer edge of the circle. This wasn’t typical. My breath caught in my throat before I managed to push the anxiety away and focus, pouring my energies into strengthening the perimeter. I shouldn’t have needed to do it, but something was wrong about the energy flowing into the circle.

I felt it, pressing against me, compressing my lungs to the point that I could barely breathe. One by one, the flames atop the black candles went out. The runes glowed bright white—the only light in the room. Dark as it was, I saw it. Smoke blacker than the darkness around me rose in a column from the floor, flowing outward only to be halted by the line of runes.

The pressure…it was as if an anvil were on my chest, as if the building had collapsed on top of me. I took tiny breathes, tried not to panic, and kept the circle intact. What was up with Vine? I’d seen him summoned twice before, witnessed three other demons being summoned, none of them ever appeared like this. And none of them ever put forth this amount of energy.

The black smoke coalesced into a bipedal shape. Eyes glowed like coals, blue flames around the edges. In the dim light of the apartment I could see the impressive horns rising from his head, the gnash of sharp, white teeth in a black snout. This wasn’t Vine. I’d copied the sigil accurately, summoned according to the most formal of methods. What in hell had responded to my summons?

“I respectfully request the presence of Vine. Any other demon is not welcome.”

That was a bit confrontational, especially given the type of runes and circle I’d cast, but I was getting scared. Where was Vine? Who was this demon and why had he responded? There were very specific rules concerning evocation and invocation and the dealing with celestial and infernal beings, and this flew in the face of all of them.

Vine is otherwise occupied, so I am here in his stead
.

I fought back a wave of terror. Vine had never spoken. He’d always communicated his information either through dream or divination. Who was this?

Who is this Templar Knight who summons demons? Clearly your Order’s manifesto has taken an interesting turn.

Shit, shit, shit. I’d used an invocation, not an evocation because the Goetic demons were somewhat friendly and helpful. They responded best to polite respect, to offerings and requests. And they expected an open channel of energy with the mage. The circle I’d drawn was meant for balancing energies, not forcibly holding malignant spirits.