Vintage Soul (12 page)

“You'll think this is just a cliché attempt to get out of a bad situation,” Donovan said conversationally, “but I really think you should look behind you.”

Vein stared at him, unblinking, but one of the others glanced back and let out a startled sound.
 
Vein turned, more slowly.
 
He saw the bouncers gathered to either side, weighed their size against that of his followers, and glared.

“I wouldn't try it.” Donovan said.

Vein turned back with a snap of his head, and his eyes blazed.

“I don't' need advice from you,” he said.

Donovan shrugged and took a step back toward the bar to distance himself.
 
Vein turned back toward the shadowy bouncers, who were closing in, and he scowled.

“Come on,” he said to the others, as if it had been his purpose all along.
 
“Let's get out of here.”

The dark shapes stepped aside as the five vampires, one by one, stepped into the booth and spun out of sight.
 
Donovan watched them go.
 
Vein was the last.

“We'll see you later, DeChance.
 
You can't stay here forever.”

The booth spun, and Vein was gone.
 
Donovan glanced around at the bar.
 
The bartender was polishing another glass and staring up into the rafters as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
 
No one else in the club had paid the slightest attention to the commotion at the door, or if they had, they'd managed to get their eyes directed at their tables before Donovan turned.

Donovan turned back to the phone booth, and found that he was alone.
 
There was no sign of the bouncers.
 
He hesitated. He thought about heading back to the bar for another drink.
 
If he left them out there long enough, he figured they'd get bored and look for him later.
 
He could always buy the seer a drink and spend a fun half hour avoiding her gaze.

There was only one way in or out of the club, unless you went to a lot of trouble and paid a lot of money, and even the more secretive exits could be watched.
 
He didn't know if Vein knew any of them, but it didn't matter.
 
He had no time to go looking for someone to let him out, and he wasn't inclined to run from such a ridiculous challenge.

With a sigh of resignation, he arranged his charms, gripped a dark, green crystal pendant in his right hand, and stepped into the booth.
 
He lifted the receiver, and then placed it back in its cradle.
 
The booth spun, and he stepped into the alley beyond the club and stopped.
 
Vein and his followers stood waiting.
 
The moon was rising, and there was no one else in sight.

“Hey
fellas
,” he said, taking a step closer and smiling as he lifted the green crystal over his head, “did you miss me?”

The narrow alley afforded little room to move.
 
Vein stood dead center between Donovan and the streets beyond.
 
The others formed two small phalanxes, ranks of two, on either side of the phone booth, blocking both ends of the alley.
 
One end was, or at least appeared to be, a dead end, but apparently Vein was in no mood to take chances.
 
It was likely he knew more about Donovan than he was letting on, though he didn't seem concerned.

“Always the funny man,” Vein said.
 
“We'll see if you can keep that smile in place.
 
You are going to tell me what you know, or we'll make you wish you'd seen the light.
 
Am I clear?”

“Oh, I understood you the first time,” Donovan replied.
 
“You know, inside the club, when the bouncers showed up and you all ran like whipped puppies?
 
I was hired to do a job by your elders, and I intend to finish that job as contracted.
 
You can get out of my way and let me proceed, or I will proceed through, across, and despite of you, and your elders will be informed of your stupidity.
 
It's your call…Vein.”

Maybe it was the thought of a living, breathing man, regardless of how old or powerful, giving him orders.
  
Maybe it was the calm delivery, which Donovan had perfected over many years and much worse situations.
 
Probably, Donovan reflected, it was the sarcastic inflection of his voice when he pronounced the affectatious name.
 
Whatever it was, the vampires lunged.

Donovan raised his hand, swung the green pendant in a slow arc, and chanted softly.
 
Greenish light, matching the hue of the crystal, appeared in the air, trailing after the circling chain.
 
The light crystallized, and the first two attackers met that barrier head on.
 
Sparks
flew, and they cried out, stumbling back.
 
Donovan started toward the head of the alley.
 
He lowered the crystal in front of him like a shield and the shimmering barrier of light preceded him as he ran straight at Vein.

Young and foolish as he was, Vein was fast.
 
He didn't back away from Donovan's attack, but instead leaped straight up.
 
It was a graceful motion, like you'd expect to see in a bad kung fu movie, the leap taking him so high, and the whirling motion of his body so precise, that it gave the impression of slow motion.
 
As Vein hurtled back to the floor of the alley and landed with his booted feet spread, already running forward, that illusion was shattered.
 

There was still one black-suited vamp between Donovan and the mouth of the alley.
 
The shield of light divided them, but Vein was coming up fast from behind.
 
Donovan knew he had to think fast, and make no mistakes.
 
He didn't have the strength or speed his adversaries could bring to bear, and he had to make a quick decision now and pray it was the right one.
 
It would be hard to explain to Johndrow and the elders how he'd been ambushed and taken down by their own whelps in an alley.

Vein was moving much more quickly than he was, and Donovan knew he had no chance of reaching the other vamp blocking his way before he was caught from behind.
 
With an odd gesture of his left hand, Donovan wove a character in the air.
 
He spoke the name Pachacamac, and relaxed absolutely.
 
He closed his eyes, blanked his mind and focused, and his body dropped like a stone to the floor of the alley.

Vein was moving so quickly that stopping wasn't even an option.
 
He roared over the point where Donovan had stood and plowed into his follower full tilt.
 
The other cried out and raised his hands, but it was far too late to provide any protection.
 
The two crashed to the ground and fell, thrashing and fighting to untangle themselves.

Donovan floated within the stone and brick and soil beneath them.
 
He felt the earth elemental's hold tighten, and with a quick mental push disassociated himself.
  
While he lacked the innate agility and strength of the undead, Donovan was not weak.
 
He arched his back, executed an admirable kip up and scanned the alley.

Vein was back on his feet, though his companion still sat on the ground, shaking his head.
 
Their glasses had been knocked free, and Vein stared down the alley at Donovan in unfettered rage.
 
His eyes glowed red and predatory in the dim light.
 
Donovan glanced back toward the dead end and saw that any ill effects from his crystal charm had worn off.
 
He had a decision to make.
 
He could try getting past these three, who didn't seem overloaded in the brains department, and find his way up or through the walls at the far end of the alley, or he could give Vein a second chance, hope he got lucky, and sprint for the streets.
 
Angry as they might be, Vein and his “posse” wouldn't dare to follow if Donovan made it onto the crowded streets.
 
It would draw too much attention.

“That was a mistake, magic man,” Vein said.
 
His voice was low now, grating and dry like it had been filtered through charcoal.
 
“I wanted to talk, now I ‘m going to kill you.”

This time there was no mad rush.
 
Vein and his companion, who'd finally managed to get back on his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust of the alley floor, strode purposefully toward the phone booth.
 
Donovan considered slipping back in and dialing, but he knew they were too fast.
 
One or more of them would be in the booth with him, and in their mental state even the thought of the bouncers waiting inside wouldn't be enough to deter them from ripping out his throat.
 
That meant he'd have to kill them, and he didn't want to explain that to Johndrow any more than he wanted to explain his own defeat.
 

From the other side, the three remaining undead mimicked Vein's slow approach.
 
They spread out, like a dark curtain, so the only open space was the blank wall directly in front of the phone booth.
 
Donovan considered this, and frowned.
 
He hadn't brought as much protection as he should have, and hadn't even considered his present danger, considering it was Johndrow who'd hired him.
 
The danger was very real, though, and he had to think quickly, or he might not live to get back to his office and the charms he should have brought with him in the first place.

He could try the wall.
 
If he were quick enough, he might summon another elemental, slip into the brick, and take his chances in its arms until they reached the far side of the wall.
 
He didn't like it.
 
The Elementals were unpredictable in allegiance, and in strength.
 
If he caught the wrong one at the wrong time, he would spend the rest of his days embedded in that wall, the essence of his spirit joining with the elemental, and that would be the end.
 
It wasn't the death he had in mind for himself – not that he'd give his preference much thought.

He could try levitating, but with the speed and agility of his attackers, he wasn't certain he could get out of reach before they scaled the walls and dragged him back down.

“Not so funny now, are you magic man?” Vein asked.
 
His smile widened, and Donovan saw the fangs fully extended and the dripping, drooling hunger fairly foaming from that yawning, arrogant mouth.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
 
His skin was clammy, and he knew his heartbeat thundered in the ears of his attackers.
 
Even if they wanted to stop, it was beyond that point now.
 
He knew enough about vampires to understand that, civilized as they appeared; they were a slave to the hungers that defined them.
 
Once certain limits were reached, and exceeded, there was no turning back.

Then it hit him.
 
Without waiting to gauge the wisdom of his actions, Donovan concentrated on his heart.
 
He dropped his breathing into rhythm with that pulsing beat, and he incanted a short, monotonous chant, being very careful to match the inflection of his voice to that steady pumping of blood through his veins.

The vampires didn't hesitate, they surged forward.
 
Vein's grin widened and his eyes filmed red.
 
Donovan chopped one hand through the air, as if slicing his own words into equal pieces, and there were two of him standing in front of the phone booth.
 
The vampires hesitated, mesmerized by the motion of his hand and the pounding of his heart, which he continued to magnify through the deep, sonorous accompaniment of the chant.
 
He chopped his hand down again, and again.
 
The six undead stood stock still, staring from one to the other of four flickering images.
 
Donovan slipped forward, and before they realized what he was going to do, he joined the other three versions of himself in a slow, whirling dance.

“Kill them all,” Vein whispered.
 
His voice was hoarse, and his gaze flicked first one way, then the other.
 
The pounding heartbeat confused his senses, and with it magnified to such intensity, it was impossible to attribute it to one, or the other of the dancing Donovan DeChance figures whirling before his eyes.

Donovan knew it was only a diversion, and he knew it wouldn't stop, or fool them for more than a moment.
 
As he reached the outer edge of the ring of images, he broke out around the far side of the slower vamp to Vein's left.
 
As he moved, the images wavered, and seconds later there was nothing but a scent of acrid smoke floating in the center of the alley.
 

Donovan skirted the wall as closely as he could and sprinted for the mouth of the alley.
 
He knew he had a second, maybe two, before Vein would recover.
 
Maybe a bit longer for the others, but their leader was sharper than he'd first appeared, certainly more formidable than Donovan had given him credit for.