"She's not human, which you'll discover if you continue what you're doing."
Brigid's blue eyes gleamed brighter. Charming me, or trying to. The power rarely worked on other supernaturals, but to be sure, I took the opportunity to field-test yet another of my new spells: an anticharm incantation. Brigid yelped.
"Stings, doesn't it?" Cassandra said. "Leave the girl alone or she'll move onto something even less comfortable."
Brigid turned to Cassandra. "What do you want, bitch?"
Cassandra smiled. "Undisguised hate. We're making progress. I want John."
"He's not here."
"That's not what your bouncer said."
Brigid flipped her hair off her shoulder. "Well, he's wrong. Hans isn't here."
Cassandra turned on Ronald, who backed up against the wall.
"He was in the back room, with Brigid and the boy," Ronald said.
"Let me guess," Cassandra said to Brigid. "He told you to come out here and create a diversion while he slipped out the back door. Come on then, Paige. Time to hunt a coward."
Never Underestimate the Power of Vampire Ego
The back door of the Rampart opened into an alley.
"What about Ronald and Brigid?" I said, hovering in the doorway. "They might know something, and the moment we're out of sight, they're going to bolt, too. Two birds in the hand are definitely worth more than one in the bush."
Cassandra shook her head, gaze traveling along the alley. "They'd never betray John. Without him, they wouldn't survive." She turned left. "This way."
"You picked up his trail?"
"No, but I'd go this way."
We looped behind a body shop and came out into a warren of dilapidated row houses that looked as if they'd been boarded up since I was in grade school. At the end of the lane, Cassandra stopped and studied the houses. A bottle clinked. I jumped.
"If you hear someone, it's not him," she said.
"Someone else is out here?"
"Lots of someones, Paige. Abandoned doesn't mean empty."
As if to underscore this, a woman's laugh floated down the street. A bottle sailed from a second-story window and smashed on the road, adding to a puddle of broken glass.
Cassandra walked to the far sidewalk and traversed the row of houses, with me at her heels. I felt silly tagging along after her and, worse yet, useless, but there was nothing else I could do. My sensing spell wouldn't work for finding a vampire, and if he wasn't going to give himself away by making noise, there was no use searching on my own.
Two houses from the end, Cassandra peered up at the building. She grabbed the rusted railing and started climbing the steps to the front door. Halfway up, she stopped. She looked at the door, tilted her head, then wheeled. I ducked out of her way, but she stayed on the step and gazed out into the street. After a moment, she turned back to the house, studied it, then shook her head and marched down. At the road, she passed the last house with only the briefest glance and crossed the road. I jogged after her.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
"Yes. Stay out of my way."
I threw up my hands, and walked back to the house she'd first approached.
"I didn't say wander off," she called after me.
"I'm not wandering. Something about this house caught your attention, so I'm checking it out while you search the others."
"He's not in there."
"Good. Then it won't hurt for me to check."
"The last thing I need is to be worrying about you stepping on someone's dirty needle."
"I'm not a child, Cassandra. If I do step on a needle or get mugged, I preabsolve you of all responsibility. You search that side of the road while I double-check your hunch back here."
Cassandra huffed something under her breath and stalked off. I climbed the steps to the row house. The front door was boarded over, but someone had kicked a large hole at the bottom. I crouched and crawled through.
The smell hit me first, triggering memories of a stint volunteering in a homeless shelter. Inhaling through my mouth, I looked around. I was in a front hall. Peeling wallpaper hung from the walls, mingling with strips of flypaper polka-dotted with mummified bug bodies. I cast a light spell and shone it along the hallway floor. The carpet had long since been torn up, leaving bare underlay. As I moved forward, I pushed the trash out of the way with my foot. Though there were no needles, there was enough broken glass and rat droppings to make me glad I'd changed out of my open-toed sandals before leaving Miami.
From the hall, I had three destination choices: upstairs, the living room, or the door at the end, which presumably led into the kitchen. I cast a sensing spell from the foot of the stairs. It might not work on vampires, but in a place like this, the living were of equal concern. When the spell came back negative, I headed for the living room. No sign of a vampire there, or anything large enough to hide one. Same with the combined dining/kitchen area. Even the closets were bare, all doors and shelves having been stripped off, presumably to feed the fire pit in the middle of the living-room floor.
As I headed for the stairs, something whispered across the upstairs floor. The sound was too soft for footsteps . . . unless the feet belonged to the large furry rodents who'd left their calling cards in the debris below. I walked halfway up the stairs and launched my sensing spell. It came back negative. Now that I thought about it, that was strange. Recent rat droppings meant recent rats, and my spell should have picked them up. I suspected I knew the reason for the sudden out-flux. Rats don't just flee a sinking ship—they flee stronger predators, too.
I prepped a knock-back spell and climbed to the top landing. The house was still and silent. Too still. Too silent. The preternatural stillness reminded me of earlier that day, when I'd thought the killer had been stalking me in the parking lot.
From the top of the stairs, I could see into all four rooms. I wanted to be at the front of the house, which narrowed my choices to two, one of which was the bathroom—too small for what I had in mind. I peeked in the front bedroom, making sure it was empty, then stepped inside and cast a perimeter spell across the doorway. Problem was, I'd never tried this spell with a vampire, so I couldn't rely on it now. When this was over, I'd have to test my whole array of sensory spells on Cassandra. Not that she'd ever offer herself up as a guinea pig, but there were ways around that.
Next I readied a fresh knock-back spell. "Readying a spell" means to start the incantation, so it can be launched with a few final words. Spells are wonderful weapons, but on a speed-of-use scale, they rank down there with bows and arrows. If the arrow isn't already in the bow when you get jumped, you're in trouble. The other problem, though, is that you can't pause mid-incantation indefinitely. Lucas and I had once spent a weekend experimenting with this, and concluded that you could ready a spell for about two minutes. After that, you had to prep it again. This being my first practical application of that research, I was re-readying my spell every sixty seconds, just to be sure.
I crossed to the front window. It was boarded up, but someone had pried loose the middle board to let in sunshine. I stood sideways, so I could see both the window and the doorway, then I redirected my light spell behind me, for backlighting.
Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the street below, I could make out Cassandra's figure walking down the empty road, Pradas clicking impatiently against the asphalt, Dolce & Gabbana coat snapping behind her. How many people were huddled behind other windows along this street, drawn there by our earlier noise and now watching as this impeccably dressed, attractive forty-year-old woman strode unaccompanied down their street? Talk about an easy mark. Yet no one came out. Maybe they didn't dare.
Judging by Cassandra's angle and purposeful stride, she was heading here, presumably having found nothing farther down. That meant my hunch about John's whereabouts was probably correct, and it meant I had to move fast.
I turned my back to the door and adjusted my light-ball until I could see the reflection of the door in the window glass. Then I took out my cell phone. I readied a new spell, called our apartment, and started talking before the machine picked up.
"Hey, it's me. I'm still in New Orleans. Cassandra got a lead on a vamp and she's following him now. He was supposed to be at this bar, but he ducked out the back door. Can you believe that? Mr. I'm-an-Evil-Vampire running out the back." I paused, then laughed. "No kidding. Vamps, huh?"
Through the reflection in the window I saw a shape cross the doorway. I prepped a fresh spell and continued talking into the answering machine.
"I bet he is," I said as the shape crept closer. "Probably hiding in some cubbyhole hoping the rats don't get him. Guys like this, it's a wonder they haven't died out—"
I cast the rest of the binding spell, then whirled to see a man frozen in mid-lunge. Slender, early thirties, black hair slicked back into a ponytail, white linen shirt, flowing knee-length black leather coat, and matching leather pants. Mascara, maybe. Eyeliner, definitely.
"John, I presume," I said. "Forgot that vampires really do cast a reflection, didn't you?"
His brown eyes darkened with fury. Below, the front door clicked shut.
"Up here," I called. "I found him."
Cassandra's heels clicked double-time up the stairs. As she rounded the corner, she looked almost concerned. Then she saw John and slowed.
"Like my statue?" I said. "The not-so-cunning vampire swooping down on his not-so-unsuspecting prey."
"I see your binding spell has improved." She looked at John and sighed. "Let him go."
I released the spell. John fell on his face. Cassandra sighed again, louder. John scrambled to his feet and brushed off his pants.
"She trapped me," he said.
"No," I said. "Your ego trapped you."
John adjusted his coat, then scowled at a line of grease across his white shirt.
"This better come out," he said.
"Hey, I didn't do that," I said. "That's what you get crawling around dumps like this."
"I wasn't crawling. And I didn't duck out the back door. I—"
"Enough," Cassandra said. "Now, John—"
"I prefer Hans."
"And I prefer not to have to chase you through abandoned buildings, but it seems neither of us gets our wish tonight. I came to speak to you about—"
"The Rampart." John rolled his eyes and slouched against the wall, then noticed his shirt creased and adjusted his slouch. "Let me guess, you've been to see Saint Aaron. Such a waste of a gorgeous vampire. I could reform him, of course." He grinned, all teeth. "Show him the error of his ways, or the way to delicious errors. Show him what that perfect body—"
"You're not gay, John. Get over it. Now, I don't know what beef Aaron has with the Rampart, but I know nothing about it and I saw no cause for concern myself."
John straightened. "OK?"
"The matter I came to discuss involves the Cabals."
"The Cabals?" John's brows knitted. "What about the Cabals?"
"This"—she flourished a hand at me—"is Paige Winterbourne. You've met her mother."
Recognition sparked in John's eyes, but he dowsed it and shrugged.
Cassandra continued, "Of course, I don't expect you to remember a nonvampire, but Paige's mother was the Leader of the American Coven. Though I'm sure you don't follow spell-caster gossip, Paige is involved with Lucas Cortez, Benicio Cortez's youngest son and heir."
From John's expression none of this was news to him, but he gave no sign of it and let Cassandra continue.
"Young Lucas has some ethical disputes with his father's organization and is actively involved in anti-Cabal activities. That's why Paige approached me. As a fellow council member, she's well aware of my strong anti-Cabal stance."
I nodded, though the thought of Cassandra taking a strong stance on anything had me struggling to keep a straight face.
"Paige wanted me to join their little crusade, but I'm hardly about to join forces with spell-casters. She then told me that you and your . . . associates have formed your own anti-Cabal league. Naturally, I'm intrigued, though I cannot understand why you wouldn't have approached me about this yourself."
"I—we—didn't someone tell you? I asked Ronald—"
"For now, I'll accept that excuse, though I wouldn't suggest you try it again. As for this campaign, I hear that you've been quite busy. Busy and successful."
John hesitated, then shrugged. "Not surprising, really. They're such an easy target."