Phoenix Contract: Part Three (Fallen Angel Watchers) (3 page)

“Aiden, what are you doing?” Matthew’s demand, sharp and loud, broke the spell.

Aiden jumped away from the sword, jerking her hand back. Pure fear jolted her entire body, causing her to tremble.

“Nothing,” she replied automatically, meeting his eyes. But he’d seen, and he knew, and she hung her head in shame.

“Never mind,” Matthew said, adopting a kinder tone. “It could happen to anyone. I’ll have to be careful not to let anyone near it alone.” He moved to the table and quickly wrapped the blade in its cloth, obscuring it safely from view. Then he locked it in the safe.

Her hands shook, and her stomach twisted into a sick, tight knot. Panting, Aiden averted her gaze and took a moment to recover, trying to put her mind back in order.

When she finally looked up, she discovered that Matthew had put on his long overcoat. He wore the heavy jacket even in the summer. Cold aggravated his arthritis which caused him a great deal of pain.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aiden demanded sharply, moving toward her mentor with the intention of stopping him. Doctor Henriques had made it perfectly clear that the priest needed to rest, or he’d risk a relapse.

“As I said, I’m going out to locate Magnus. He’s Celtic and the sword is Celtic. They’re both museum pieces. It stands to reason that he might know something about it,” Matthew explained, pretending not to notice Aiden’s attempt to block him. He tried to evade, but she was both quicker and nimbler.

“Oh no you’re not,” she forbid, giving him a hard, stern look through narrowed eyes. She put her hands on her hips. “You sit. I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Aiden said. “Remember what the doctor said?” They traded stares, both frowning furiously, and then, to Aiden’s astonishment, Matthew gave in and sat down.

“Oh, very well,” he complained. “But I wasn’t going very far. I sent Magnus home to rest, but I know he didn’t leave. He’s been stuck to me like glue for the last few weeks.”

“You mean he’s here?” Aiden remembered Magnus’ disappearing act at the hospital, and hairs rose all over her body. She stared suspiciously at the shadowy corner near the bookcases.

“Not here in this room,” Matthew corrected, dispelling some of her unease. “He wouldn’t eavesdrop on me like that. But yes, he’s close. I’d bet my last dollar.”

“Here, you’ll need this.” He reached into his pocket and removed a small silver dog whistle.

Aiden accepted it with a reluctant sigh. “Isn’t there some other way? I could call his name,” she said dubiously.

“He might not hear you,” Matthew explained. “The whistle has a much better range. Just go on up to the roof and give three short, hard blows.”

“And he’ll come?”

“He’ll come,” Matthew said, suddenly smug and smirking. “I have him trained. Now shoo.”

Troy stepped into the crowded coffee shop and scanned the caffeinated throng: the noisy groups of friends, the intent intellectuals caught up in intense debates, the desperate students bent over books, the transient Goths, the Internet junkies tethered to their laptops, and even the occasional couple.

The Alastor was somber and determined, dedicated to his purpose: the hunt. In centuries past, he might have been entering a bar or a brothel, a club or a cemetery. However, times had changed, and 21
st
Century vampires had adapted, leaving the savvy modern hunter no choice but to do the same.

Welcome to Starbucks.

Troy moved with grace and deliberation, a wolf in a roomful of sheep. He exuded an aura of danger and excitement that had nothing to do with the veritable arsenal concealed beneath his brown leather jacket. He carried knives, guns, stakes, and a 14” short sword worn in a single strap, baldric and sheath across his back.

The big blonde, blue-eyed Troy boasted the ideal physique of an athlete, tall, lean, and muscular. Cool but classy, he dressed in Abercrombie & Finch coordinates: khaki cargo pants and a baby blue V-neck sweater. He regularly received job offers from the fashionable, exclusive retailer which irritated his Japanese American partner to no end.

Katsue had once waspishly commented that she could work for them too… if she were willing to clean windows and stay in the back room out of sight. In reply, Troy smirked and suggested that she submit an application. “I know the manager. I’m sure he can get you in.”

Cutting sarcasm and fierce rivalry were their mode of communication. The first year they’d been assigned to work as a team, Katsue had bought Troy a gay-pride tee shirt from San Francisco during a visit home to see her family. He supposed she’d intended it as a gag-gift, but he’d instantly recognized the underlying challenge. Katsue was the sort of woman who’d take a mile if given an inch.

A week later he’d given her a pretty pink gift bag tied with matching ribbons. The white tee shirt inside read, “Two Wongs Can Make It White.”

“I’m Japanese, you asshole!” Katsue had snapped, dark eyes flashing dangerously. She’d flung the offensive shirt, which depicted a Chinese man, down like a gauntlet.

“And I’m not out of the closet, bitch,” he’d returned snidely. “My sex life is no one’s business but my own. Remember that, and we’ll get along great.”

That single exchange had set the tone of their partnership, cementing it with rivalry and intense one-upmanship. Differences aside, both were determined professionals, and they developed an innate understanding of one another until they moved with practiced synchronization, communicated volumes with a look or hand signal, and knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses inside and out.

Liking wasn’t part of their relationship, but it didn’t stand in the way of them doing their jobs. After six years as partners, they were one of the most accomplished and deadly Alastor teams on the East coast.

Tonight, they were hunting vampires, one in particular that they’d been tracking for the last week. It had been three weeks since Thrash had disappeared, and one since Desdemona Leromenos had called off the search for the missing albino. Troy was furious. Thrash was one of their own and a buddy, and in Troy’s book that warranted more than just two people looking for a couple weeks.
Two long weeks.

He’d protested of course, but Desdemona had overruled him, calling any further investment of time and energy “a waste.” Instead, she sent them vamp hunting. So while Katsue waited outside, Troy entered the Starbucks alone, because he’d been elected to the reluctant role of ‘bait.’ Their objective was to lure a pretty young female vampire away from the crowd so they could isolate and kill her.

“Go on. It’s your turn to be the bait,” Katsue had said, eyes alight with glee. She barely restrained laughter as her partner’s face twisted into a grimace. She delighted in his discomfort. “I’ll wait outside, and don’t sweat it. If you strike out, then I’ll have a go at her.” With a wink, she melted into the shifting crowd.

Troy exhaled heavily, staring at the sandy blonde with obvious reluctance. About five-five, slender and attractive, she dressed in blue jeans, an orange baby doll tee shirt, and white Nikes. She wore her hair loose to the shoulders, and it curled outward with a cute little flip.

Deliberately, Troy got into line. Standing three people behind the blonde, he watched her without being too obvious about it. She ordered a Vanilla Latte, Grande, and told the girl at the register her name was Cheryl.

Troy waited his turn and ordered a Venti
Tazo Chai Crème, distractedly giving the girl at the register his name and money. He motioned to the tip jar, not wanting to wait for his change, then stuffed his wallet back into his pants and headed directly to the drink waiting area.

His best chance of hooking up with the vampire was while she waited for her drink which didn’t leave him much time to work.
Taking long strides, he juggled potential pickup lines on the short trip from the register. The vampire stood next to the Hear Music rack, holding a Blues compilation CD. Troy tensed with a rush of excitement, seeing the perfect opening.

“That’s a great CD,” he said, approaching her with a winning smile. Once into the role, his nervousness dropped away, and he was ready for action.

She glanced up, looked him over, and then smiled as she tilted her head up to his face. “Yeah?”

Troy could feel her eyes on his throat, no doubt sizing him up for a bite.

“I’ll confess, I’m not much of a Blues fan. Bit before my time,” she said with a giggle. “It was just something to look at while I wait.”

She started to put the CD back, but he intercepted it, turning it over so he could scan the back. “The Blues are more than just music. It’s about savagery and suffering and the triumph of the human soul.”

“Wow, that’s really beautiful.” Her hazel eyes were wide and moist, greed and interest glimmering in their depths. She wasn’t smart enough to really understand what he meant, but he had her hooked anyway.

The vampire gave him the once over, her gaze lingering along his lengthy form, and her appreciation increased with each passing second. The more she saw, the more she liked. Eventually, she noticed his ring, as so many people did, because the remarkable sapphire was big and brilliant.

“That’s a gorgeous ring,” she said.

“Thanks. My father gave it to me,” Troy replied with a bland, practiced smile.

“It’s really pretty.” Her gaze coveted the ring, and he speculated that she planned to take it from his corpse after she fed.

“Cheryl.” One of the Starbuck’s employees called her name and set the Vanilla Latte on the counter.

“That’s me.” The vampire hesitated, torn between grabbing her drink and risking the loss of her prospective meal. Her transparent expression betrayed her thoughts so thoroughly that he might as well have been a mind reader.

Luckily, at that moment Troy’s drink appeared on the counter, and they called his name. “And that’s me,” he said with an easy smile. “Want to grab a table?”

“Sure! That sounds great.” The vampire bounced on the balls of her feet with a perky smile and a swish of her hair. She moved to fetch her latte, and while her back was turned, Troy peered out the store glass windows.

He spotted Katsue watching them from a pay phone across the street while she pretended to make a call. Their gazes locked, and Katsue used sign language to acknowledge him. Katsue wore a bland, bored expression, but he could sense her amusement at his expense. She knew hitting on women made him uncomfortable, even when it was only professional role-play.

He resented her smugness, and if he could have reversed the situation, purely for the sake of revenge, he would have, but Katsue demonstrated the same sexual ease with women that she did with men. There would have been no point.

Resigned, he returned his attention to the vampire, adopting an easy smile to cover the grim determination he gave to his task.

Katsue held the receiver of the pay phone tucked against her shoulder and mimicked the sounds of a real conversation, occasionally pretending to listen to the non-existent person on the other end. A middle class businessman had been waiting for five minutes to use the phone. He impatiently shifted and used body language to show his irritation.

“Hurry up,” he finally snapped.

“Get a cell phone like everyone else in this City, you loser!” Katsue retorted, tossing her waist-length black hair and turning her back to him. She switched to Japanese and sang the lyrics to a popular pop song.

Finally, the man gave up and marched off in a huff.

“Took you long enough,” Katsue muttered. “Jerk.”

She scowled and returned her attention to Troy and their quarry. From her vantage point, she watched the pair make their way to a table. It looked like they were hitting it off, talking and laughing. The girl had the look of a real Rhodes Scholar. Oh yeah, Katsue could see the intelligence gage straining toward the triple digits with this one.

Katsue wore tight red leather pants and a matching leather corset laced in the back. Her black knee-high boots, tucked beneath her pants, had a three-inch heel. Her tight fitting outfit left little to the imagination, and the few weapons she carried had been concealed with difficulty.

Her favored weapons were knives—slender, balanced throwing blades which she wore concealed about her body. She practiced Jujitsu and the Niten’ichi-ryu style of katana fighting. She routinely only carried a couple weapons on her person. At the moment, she had a pair of matched throwing knives tucked into her boots and a compact pistol nestled against the small of her back. A trade off in safety versus utility, but like she always told Troy: “When killing’s done right, it doesn’t take more than one weapon.”

Settling in to wait, Katsue drummed her fingers in boredom and annoyance. Troy always operated much slower and more carefully than necessary in her opinion. He had a cautious nature, but also he disliked propositioning women. Ironically, his laid back “nice guy” approach seemed to make him all that much more attractive to the females of the species. Women ate it up, even if they were members of the living-challenged.

Katsue preferred a hard, fast come-on and rarely found a vampire resistant to her wiles. The undead simply lacked inhibitions. Demons possessed absolutely no concept of mortality or empathy. Most of them welcomed an over-eager, easy victim without question and didn’t realize anything was amiss until she had her weapon pointed at their head or heart.

The better part of an hour meandered past while Troy indulged in an intense heart-to-heart talk with the vampire he was supposed to be setting up for some good old fashioned slaying. If Katsue hadn’t known so well that Troy liked boys, she’d have been worried.

Finally,
finally
, Troy and the blonde vampire vacated their table and left the coffee house. They were still deeply engaged in conversation, each no doubt plotting the death of the other. Katsue gave them a thirty-second head start and then followed.