Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires (61 page)

The werewolf on my left arm relaxed his grip and I used the moment to tear free of him; then I pulled in the one on my right and sank my fangs into his throat. Werewolf blood doesn't taste much different than human blood. The tricky part is not getting any fur stuck in your teeth.

I didn't have time for a prolonged snack, just enough to speed my healing. Blood is both food and medicine for us. I tore out enough of his throat to put him out of the fight, and rubbed my eyes against the wound. Gross, but effective. My vision returned, but it was still cloudy, like viewing the world through a sheet of wax paper. Lucky for me, werewolf silhouettes are easy to recognize.

I turned on the second werewolf just in time to get a claw slash to the chest as he extricated himself from the ruined ticket booth. Cuts and scrapes from the glass dotted his hide. Behind him, I could see Greta going toe to toe with pug-face and the others in the middle of the street.

A minivan sped by, swerving to avoid the melee, and I could only imagine what the driver would remember. Greta used the distraction to snatch the railroad-tie cross away from Bulldog and concuss him with it, her hands igniting even as she touched the wood. She sank her flaming claws into Bulldog, using his blood to extinguish the flames, and then latched onto his neck with her fangs.

I pulled myself upright and boxed my opponent's ears. He howled in pain and I did it again. The second time, I heard the pops I was waiting for and he dropped to his knees.

I saw that Greta was now on her own against the collared werewolves that had been helping Bulldog, so I simply wrenched my opponent's jaws apart, taking the top half of his skull with me as I turned away, hastily stuffing guts into my rapidly healing torso.

I charged toward Greta only to get pulled off my feet by Jim, the werewolf with the no-longer-broken neck. He had the same fighting style as the wolf from the alleyway, and I had terrible déjà vu as he battered my head first into the concrete, then the brick, then the bench in front of the Pollux.

I caught a
fwoosh
of flame out of the corner of my eye as Wolfboy kept swinging, applying the tiger by the tail principle. One of the werewolves had removed his collar and strapped it around Greta's neck. He and his companions were holding her down as she burned.

So much for keeping my temper. My vision blurred, and then everything went dark, but I could still hear the screaming. Usually, a rage blackout was a hole in time that I could never get back, but this time was different. I heard flesh rending and tearing. I heard bones break and smelled fur charring. Underneath it all, there was another noise, like wings flapping in the night. Finally, when everything was silent, I could see again. Greta was in my arms and the fuzzies were scattered in piles across the street. One of them was impaled on the massive railroad-tie cross, his ribs splayed open by the massive wooden center beam protruding from his chest. The rosary beads and cross-studded collars were nowhere to be seen. I was pretty sure I didn't want to know what had happened to them.

I took Greta inside the Pollux and called Tiko. He's an oni—sort of a Japanese ogre. His kind are body-disposal specialists. They eat them. Sometimes they play with them first. I don't ask any questions as long as the corpses go away and don't show up again.

“I need you to get out here,” I said when he answered. “I've got a bunch of dead werewolves for you…and the good news is that some of them had shiny new trucks.”

Tiko said he'd get there as quickly as he could, but that he was going to have to charge extra. “I have a few cousins over in Georgia who could help,” he offered, “if you're going to keep killing off werewolves left and right. We can only eat so much.”

“Yeah. Call ‘em,” I said, sighing. “There may be seventy more where those came from and who knows what else.”

I hung up before he said anything else and carried Greta up to my office. She was pretty badly burned. There would be no talking to William now. Son for son, I was willing to accept. I was even close to overlooking the Mustang. But now he'd fucked with my little girl and there was going to be hell to pay.

EYE OF THE…?

O
ne of the things Roger taught me was that a sire, if he or she is powerful enough, can heal their offspring with their blood. Not that he'd meant to teach me on purpose, but near the end of the whole El Segundo thing, the only way we found to heal the cross-shaped burns Roger received was to take him home to mommy. He, like Greta, had difficulty healing wounds inflicted with holy implements. I'd thought the burns were pretty darn funny, myself. Anyway, we'd looked up Roger's sire in Atlanta and she had taken care of his wounds.

I didn't get to meet her; Roger made me wait outside. For weeks afterward, I had to hear how she'd had this whole ritual that I thought was her way of making sure Roger knew what a pain in the ass it was to do the healing for him. Roger had been impressed, but I was pretty sure that it was little more than the strategically placed flour women get on their faces in the movies. You know, so the audience can tell they've been toiling for hours to bake those instant cookies?

As far as I could tell, the ritual was like that, all pomp and circumstance, and highly unnecessary. Fortunately for Greta, she had me for a sire; trust me, I'm powerful enough, and I have no use for ritualistic ass kissing.

I tore my wrist open with my fangs and bled directly onto her ruined face, working the blood into the remaining skin, smearing it across bare bone where necessary. Skin bubbled back into place, like burning in reverse. Greta's hair grew back long and blonde, the same as when I had embraced her. My blood bubbled like thick red hydrogen peroxide over the marks on her neck, only when the bubbling was over, the wounds weren't just disinfected, they were gone.

I moved on to her injured hands, withered stick fingers crackling as I doused them liberally with blood. It started to work immediately. The claw marks on her side and a nasty bite she had taken to the left calf healed just as quickly after a similar treatment.

When I was done with the front, I rolled her over and checked her back. There were a few claw marks, but they had already started healing, so I left them alone. My own wounds were gone by the time I finished with hers, but I didn't feel the hunger I thought I should. Between my own healing and bleeding all over Greta, I should have been ravenous. Instead, I felt nothing.

I washed myself off using the sink in my Pollux bedroom and changed into jeans, tennis shoes, and a fresh
Welcome to the Void
T-shirt. By the time I was done Greta was waking up. The clock in my office read four o'clock. That meant I'd slept for a good hour before the fight, maybe more. I should have been feeling the daily hunger as well, but I wasn't. True, I'd ingested a little werewolf blood, but that didn't account for everything.

“Dad?”

Greta stood up, covered in blood, and looked down at what was left of her clothes. The running shoes were okay and her panties had survived (they were soaked with blood, but technically intact); the rest was in a desperate state. “Okay, either you healed me or you thought it would be fun to blood wrestle your unconscious naked daughter.”

I averted my eyes. My first thought was to send her down to the dressing room Rachel had appropriated, but Greta was taller than Rachel and more endowed. “You can probably find some clothes across the street in the club, but if Tiko is out there, I'm going to want to walk over with you. Oni have two favorite pastimes: eating people and raping them. Tiko is a good guy as far as oni go, but—”

“Seeing me naked and covered in blood might stretch his self-control a little?”

“Yeah, something like that. And you can't kill him…. I need him right now.”

She walked out and I waited, listening. I heard her footsteps on the stairs, the door opening and closing, but I didn't hear her go outside. I couldn't hear Tiko working, but I assumed that was why she had stopped. Finally her footsteps echoed on the stairs again, then down the hall to my office door.

“Is he out there?”

“Yep.”

“So you came back to get me.” She nodded and I headed out with her. “Good girl.”

“Dad?” she asked on the stairs.

“Yes?”

“Is there something wrong?” She bit her lip nervously. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

“What? Where the hell did that come from?” We stopped midway down the stairs and she put a hand on my shoulder. She looked genuinely concerned.

“No, nothing, it's okay, it's just, you know, your eyes…”

I didn't know. “No. What about my eyes?”

“They're still…doing the thing.”

The thing? I held a hand up in front of my eyes, but there was no red light shining on them. “What thing?”

She exhaled and I was a little taken back. Greta never breathed unless she was talking; even then, she took only the necessary breaths. Breathing was like pacing for her; she only did it when she got nervous. “You know…your angry eyes.”

“My angry eyes? Am I supposed to be Mr. Potato Head all of a sudden? They aren't glowing red. I just checked.”

She looked away and removed her hand from my shoulder. “I'm sorry. It's nothing. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“No,” I said quickly. “It's okay; I just don't know what you're talking about. Seems like everyone mentions it but no one will talk about it. You act like I'm going to chomp you or something. Can we please talk about it?”

“Okay,” she said, “but let me shower and dress first. This blood is starting to congeal on me.”

I took off my shirt, right there on the stairs and slipped it over her head. Why hadn't I thought of that before? The hem of the T-shirt only came down to mid-hip on her, but it concealed most of her nudity. We crossed the street to the club uneventfully. Tiko stared at her, hunger in his eye, but looked away when he realized I was with her.

Greta showered and dressed quickly. The clothes came from a stash Marilyn had been keeping for her, but hiding from me. She walked straight to Marilyn's office and pulled them out of a small travel bag stored in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. I wondered absently what other secrets Marilyn was keeping from me.

When she was finished, Greta met me back in Marilyn's office. She was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that read
Welcome to the Void
. It was similar to mine, only hers showed a fair amount of midriff and had pink lettering.

“Are they still doing it?” I asked.

“Your eyes?”

“Yes, my eyes.”

She sighed. “Yes, Dad, they're still doing it.”

“Describe it to me.”

She got up and crossed the room, knelt in front of me and rested her arms across my lap as she stared into my face. One thing that I find unnerving about other vamps is the lack of heartbeat. If she had been human, there would have been all sorts of signs to give me insight into what she was feeling, whether she was scared and trying to look calm, or vice versa.

“I've never gotten a good close look like this before,” she said, sounding fascinated, “but it's actually kind of cool. The whites have turned black and the veins in your eyes…from a distance I couldn't see it, but up close they're dark, dark purple. Your irises are purple too, but sort of crimson at the same time. They're shifting back and forth slowly from one color to the other, with a kind of subtle glow. When you get totally furious they glow more and more brightly until there are actual beams of light shining out of them. I've only seen that once, but I didn't stick around. I've never been too sure about how safe you are when you're like that.”

“Like what? Angry?” I asked. Greta scooted back away from me across the floor and climbed backward up into her chair.

“No, Dad,” she said quietly. “I mean when you go all uber vamp, with the wings and all.”

I stood up so quickly my feet nearly left the floor. “What do you mean ‘wings'?”

WAYS AND MEANS

P
hillip's violin was made of a beautiful dark-colored wood and so was his bow. I could tell it was old and probably expensive. The light dimmed as he began to play, and underneath the music, outside the range of human hearing, disembodied voices moaned along with the song. I didn't like classical music; pissed-off girl rock was more my style. But Phillip's music, indescribably beautiful and sad, captured even my attention, although it was still a little too loud for my enhanced hearing.

Talbot listened with rapt attention. His eyes were half lidded and subtle movements of his chest and head suggested that he was in full-blown musical bliss. Finally, Phillip put down his bow and bowed to us. Talbot and I clapped with an appreciation that wasn't feigned on my part. I was glad that Phillip wanted to spend time with me. It was very flattering, and I had to admit that the whole violin playing deal was pretty romantic.

“That was beautiful,” I told him.

“Too shrill for your ears, though, I fear,” Phillip said sadly. “I forget how sound-sensitive newborns can be.”

I blushed again. “I'm sorry, Phillip. It truly was beautiful, my ears just aren't”—I struggled to find the right word—“refined enough to really appreciate it yet.”

“The fault is mine,” he said as he put his instrument away. Even the case was lovely. It also looked expensive. Everything around Phillip looked expensive.

Phillip glanced at the wall clock and frowned. “It's after four and I promised to tell you about
El Alma Perdida
.” The fire in the fireplace turned blue, then green, and the lights dimmed even further. Phillip either had the coolest dynamic lighting setup I'd ever heard of, or he was using magic.

“The Lost Soul is the Colt Peacemaker used by John Paul Courtney in his misguided quest not only to kill werewolves, but to save their souls. Oh, it's such a remarkable story. No one knows how Courtney came by the weapon, but many know its description.
El Alma Perdida
is a pearl-handled six-shooter with silver crosses worked into the grip to help ensure that his enemies, vampires and werewolves, could not use it against him.”

Phillip flicked his wrist and a translucent image of the gun appeared in front of him. It just looked like any old gun to me, but Talbot leaned in closely. Must be a guy thing. “Made in 1873, it was lost when Courtney died in 1925 at the ripe old age of one hundred and two. Few knew he was that old. You wouldn't have suspected that he was a day over fifty.” Phillip's expression became dark and mysterious. “Some say his soul was bound to his weapon and resides there to this day.” He smiled. “If one is inclined to believe in ghost stories.”

Another gesture from Phillip caused the gun to transform into the shape of a man. He wasn't handsome, but something about his eyes, the confidence there, reminded me of a lion. They were a startling shade of blue. “He looks familiar.”

“You might find he resembles your sire. I tried to turn Courtney,” Phillip mentioned casually. “Do you know his blood actually burned my mouth? I had to snap his neck—twice. Such a waste. He would have made a most interesting foil for those long boring nights. I had such hopes….” Phillip must have noticed my confusion, because he smiled sweetly. “You're so young, Lady Tabitha, but trust this wizened old vampire when I tell you that eternity, after a time, begins to wear on one's nerves.”

“What would a vampire want with his gun, though?” I asked.

“Guns are generally used for two purposes: one is display, the other killing. It's the motive that always interests me. How did you come by the bullet?”

“It was found.”

“By whom?”

“Eric.”

“Eric. Hmmm. Scandinavian, I think, meaning kingly, honorable ruler, or even ever-powerful. How interesting. Did you know that in the hands of Eric, your sire, this gun could be used to kill nearly any werewolf?”

“Because its bullets are blessed—” I started.

“Magical, silver, and, in his case, inherited,” Phillip completed. “It's made for lycanthropes, but it will work on any type of therianthrope that walks this mortal earth excepting one.”

“Which one?”

“Snakes,” Talbot answered too quickly. “Reptilian skinchangers are vulnerable to gold, not silver.”

Phillip wrinkled his nose. “Yes, snakes. These bullets would still hurt them, though, lock their form.”

“Magbidion already told us about that part.” I clapped my hands over my mouth. Lord Phillip didn't appreciate interruptions and Talbot and I had both managed to cut him short, back to back.

“Then I won't bore you further.” Phillip snapped his fingers and the room brightened so swiftly that spots danced in front of my eyes. “Surely Dennis won't be much longer,” he added.

I looked at the clock and suppressed a yawn. It was only 04:17 and I was already starting to feel tired. Shit! What was going to happen to me when the sun came up? Would I just pass out? I gave Talbot a concerned look, but he gave a slight shake of his head. Did he mean I shouldn't mention it or that it was okay and he'd take care of everything? I stared at him for a few more seconds until he finally nodded toward Phillip. Not knowing what to do, I turned my attention back to the elder vampire.

“So,” I began, “based on what you said earlier, you're kind of your own sire? How does that work?”

Phillip stiffened for a moment, but then chuckled and relaxed. “After a fashion, you could say that, yes. I was a wizard during my human days, but as I grew older, I became obsessed with immortality. The prospect of what lay waiting for me in the great beyond was a bit too chilling. At first, I sought out a true immortal, one of those lucky souls who walk the earth born to immortality: human, but unending. I spent decades searching, but never found one. I had a ritual, you see, that would have allowed me to steal his immortality. Along the way, I made certain discoveries about vampirism and as time grew shorter for me, I decided that vampiric immortality was better than none at all and so, here I am.”

“That's interesting,” I said. I stilled another yawn as I stretched.

“How about you?” Phillip asked gently. “I assume you were sired in the more conventional manner?”

“Yes, by Eric,” I answered.

“Oh, yes. If I'm not being too bold, are the two of you involved?”

“I'm in love with him,” I blurted. I hadn't meant to say that, but it came out anyway.

Phillip didn't look surprised. He smiled warmly and closed his eyes. He stood and waltzed himself in a little circle. “Ah, young love.” He put his hand to his heart. “I hope it lasts. Lady Gabriella and I were in love once. Now we are waging a merry little war of intrigue against each other.”

There was a knock at the door and Phillip rushed over to it. “That should be Dennis,” he pronounced. Checking the little peephole, he clapped his hands together excitedly. “It is!”

He opened the door and invited the man in. As he had the last time, Dennis declined.

“What do you have for me?” Phillip asked.

“It seems that the Gryphon Suite houses a Master vampire named Roger. According to security, Master Roger hasn't been home since Friday, but his girlfriend, who answers to the name Veruca, has been in and out of the apartment at odd hours for several days.”

“How interesting,” Phillip said gleefully.

“She returned Friday in the early evening with an assortment of bites and scratches that prompted the security guard to ask if she needed help. According to his report she responded with a rude gesture. She went out again on Saturday. On both days she carried a pistol Master Roger had registered with security.”

Outrage washed over me. That bitch! She was a part of it. And Roger…what an asshole! How could he do something like this to his best friend?

“And why, may I ask, did security not alert me to the presence of
El Alma Perdida
?” Phillip asked.

“Greed, milord.”

“Greed?” I asked.

“He was bribed,” Dennis explained.

“His name wasn't Fergus Jenkins, by any chance?” Talbot asked.

“No, sir. Salvadore Belino,” the man replied. Shifting his attention back to Lord Phillip, Dennis smiled. “He awaits your pleasure in the lower galleries, milord. I've also taken the liberty of sending a car around to collect his family.”

Thinking about Veruca, the spiked blood, and the way I'd had to cover her set made me really mad. My eyes flashed red, but I shut them down quickly. Dennis was a little taken aback, but Phillip just laughed it off. “Ah, the impetuousness of the young.”

“I'm sorry; it's Veruca…not you.” I looked at Dennis. “Did she come back here?”

Dennis looked questioningly at Phillip before answering my question. When Phillip nodded, he proceeded. “She returned just after dawn looking much worse for the wear. More scratches, I'm told, and some burns.”

“Is she still here?” I asked.

The same series of looks was exchanged between man and vampire, and then Dennis hesitantly answered my question. I guess he didn't want to ruin his chances of being Phillip's newest son. “As a matter of fact, she is still here. She hasn't left Master Roger's apartments since she returned this…that is, yesterday morning.”

“How do I get to the Gryphon Suite?”

“Not so fast, milady,” Phillip said, holding up his hand. “Everything in its own time.” He walked around to his desk, opened a drawer and came back holding five one-hundred-dollar bills. He folded them carefully and handed them to Dennis. “Thank you, Dennis; that will be all.”

Phillip closed the door, turned and leaned against it with a tired look on his face. “I'm afraid I can't allow you to go rampaging through my building, knocking down doors and dragging people from their apartments, my dear. Neither you nor your mouser will be allowed to behave that way within these walls without earning my most sincere reproach, as did my dear friend Percy.” He gestured to the vampire in the glass case, the one with the stake through his heart.

“Then why even bother to tell us she's here?” I complained, stomping my foot. “God, that's infuriating!”

Phillip clasped his hands. “Anyone who has been granted access to the common areas of the Highland Towers may call upon any resident by simply approaching their rooms, wings, apartments, or floors, whichever is appropriate, and knocking upon the door in a polite manner.

“It is forbidden for one of my guests to physically assault a resident.” He acted like I was supposed to be going “A-ha!” From his tone, I knew he was trying to give me a hint, but I sure as hell didn't know what it was.

Talbot walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “We've taken enough of Lord Phillip's time, milady. Perhaps you could assure him that we wouldn't dream of physically assaulting any residents of the Highland Towers, but would be quite happy to pay a call on a good friend of ours by the name of Veruca. Perhaps we'll find we see eye-to-eye on a few things.”

Talbot stressed the word
residents
and the phrase
eye-to-eye
when he spoke, but I still didn't get it. Still, Phillip seemed to understand and he carefully explained how to go about getting an elevator to the Gryphon Suite. I gave Phillip a kiss on the cheek and, by virtue of our comparative heights, a really good look down my top, and walked out wearing the diamond necklace he had given me. As the door closed, I stifled a yawn and started to ask Talbot what was going on, but he shushed me and walked over to the elevators. We waited a few seconds for the doors to open. Dennis was not inside. Talbot pressed the correct button and when the doors closed he winked at me.

“Not bad, Tab. I think he wants to go steady.”

“Whatever!” I liked Phillip, but I wasn't going to date a balding little short dude no matter how much money he had, not unless I was in love with him; and since I was currently in love with an attractive, not to mention quite wealthy in his own right, vampire, things didn't look good for Phillip.

“He told you everything you need to know to get Veruca out of this place and wherever you want her.”

The elevator slowed and we walked out into one of the building's elegant waiting rooms, crossed to a set of elevators that served the correct floors, and waited for another elevator to show up. After the doors closed and the button was pushed, I asked Talbot what the hell he was talking about.

“You're a Vlad and she's a Soldier. All you have to do is lock eyes with her and you can make her leave with us.”

“Oh. If you wanted to make me feel stupid, you succeeded,” I told him.

Now all I had to do was get Veruca to answer the door, lock eyes with her, get her into the car, and restrain her somehow before I passed out from vampiric sleep deprivation. Great.

So there I was, a few minutes later, in front of Roger's door, doing my impersonation of Mr. Fuzzy Bottom. It was a silly plan, but I didn't have a better one. If Veruca hadn't eaten, then a cat might seem like a tasty treat to take the edge off. On the other hand, if she didn't want to eat a cat, she might want to cuddle with one and enjoy the body heat. Heck, she might even like cats for all I knew. It was worth a shot.

Talbot was waiting down the hall next to the television playing in Roger's waiting area. Which, incidentally, was nothing compared to Phillip's. There were no comfy chairs, no stashes of bottled blood. It looked like a waiting room in a doctor's office, right down to the magazines that nobody interesting would want to read. They were all about money, or people who have money, or what was happening to other people's money. Even the station the television was turned to was all about money. I wondered what Eric's waiting room would have looked like if he'd decided to live here. Lots of strippers, maybe, or a giant neon sign that said,
Go away!