Table of Contents

Darkkin Knight

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Contents

Darkkin Knight

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Darkkin Knight

By John Conroe

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2023 John Conroe

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The Demon Accords series:

God Touched

Demon Driven

Brutal Asset

Black Frost

Duel Nature

Fallen Stars

Executable

Forced Ascent

College Arcane

God Hammer

Rogues

Snake Eyes

Winterfall

Summer Reign

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 1

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 2

Demon Divine

C.A.E.C.O.

Darkkin Queen

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 3

Blood Drawn

The Book of Levi (prequel)

Blood Cull

The Zone War series:

Zone War

Borough of Bones

Web of Extinction

The Shadows of Montshire series:

A Murder of Shadows

A Flight of Ravens

A Mischief of Rats (in process)

Cover art by Gareth Otton.

Darkkin Knight was previously published under the same name on Kindle Vella.

Chapter 1

“Such a pretty girl,” the man said.

I knew it was true because I’d heard it my whole life.  Katrina, you’re so pretty. Look how pretty she is. Isn’t she pretty?  A constant litany I heard from the moment I could understand the words. My personal value seemed to be all locked up in how shiny and long my hair was, how perfect my nose was, how deep brown my eyes. Nothing about my brain, my strong school grades, my skill with languages. My family was more likely to acknowledge my average music talent than my mind, except for mother’s father. Grandfather Peters had taught me to play chess and when I started to give him a run for his money, he took notice, praised me and gave me a book about the game. He still won two out of three games, but I was improving.

I ignored the creepy man who was pale and odd, instead pressing closer to my mother’s side. “Thank you, sir,” Mother said with a very formal politeness, the kind of mannerly way she used when she was uncomfortable with a situation. The man was strange, sallow, and kind of shifty, but he was well-dressed in a suit that my father couldn’t afford, despite years of service as a cashier at the bank.

The man, who was tall, thin, and had a narrow face, smiled, showing a hint of white teeth. He nodded to my mother and then smiled at me again, his eyes glittering with a kind of look that I had only noticed in the last year or so. Lately, when some men looked at me, their eyes were sort of... greedy, I guess.

I was wearing my birthday dress, a grown-up gown of white with a high waist, just under my chest, and massively puffy sleeves that I could hide a squirrel in. I loved it; it was all the current fashion and very adult. As a newly minted twelve-year-old, I prized all trappings of adulthood, including the maroon cape that covered most of my dress and blocked the cold winter wind.

In fact, it was the day after my birthday, and we were coming back from shopping at an honest-to-goodness department store. Mother had taken me downtown, to Broadway, for lunch and then shopping at the Marble Palace. We were waiting for a carriage when the man approached us. It was late afternoon, already well into dusk at this time of year, and the street lighters were busy at work. The man studied me some more, making me uneasy, but then tipped his hat to Mother and stepped silently away.

I had seen how men looked at Mother most of my life. She was just as pretty a woman as I was a child, but that man had directed his attention my way, not hers.

“Honestly, I don’t know where those drivers are,” Mother said, a bit exasperated. She had seemed tense when the creepy man approached but now was just a bit annoyed, and maybe a little cold.

“Let’s go down this way, dear heart. I believe the next street over has a tea shop where we can warm up, and perhaps we’ll find a carriage to take us home,” she said, leading me down a gloomy side street. Normally, Mother wouldn’t think of entering a dark alley, being a rather cautious sort. But the wind was cold, the sun had slipped down behind the tall buildings on the West Side, and we could see horses, wagons, and people moving past the far end of the alley. The buildings on either side of us blocked the wind and we were immediately warmer for it as we stepped into the alley.

We made it halfway to our goal when I felt a sudden breeze, a gust of cold wind, and Mother’s grip on my hand was gone. I looked to my side and saw just a spray of red droplets in the dirty snow piled against one wall.

“Mother?” I called, turning in a circle. When I came completely around, I found the creepy man standing in front of me, his eyes burning with something that scared me to my core.

“Where is my mo—” I started to say, but he was suddenly right up in my face, cold wind blowing my hair back, and then everything went black.

I came to suddenly. Completely unconscious one moment and fully awake the next, no in-between. The light was dim, but I could see the whole room without strain. Dirt floor, fieldstone walls, low heavy plank ceiling, the air damp and dank. A thousand smells assaulted my nose and brain, each instantly parsed out and separated for me to identify should I choose to think about them. My ears were filled with dozens of sounds: creaks, drips, wind, deep rumbles under my feet, distant footsteps, and a couple sets of dull drums, each drummer following their own crazy beat.

The smells demanded instant attention: urine, vomit, human poop, and blood being centermost. And somehow, I knew they were all my smells, my urine, my nightsoil, my blood. I sat up but instead ended up on my feet. My beautiful birthday gown was a perfect ruin, stained with everything, including the sour mud of the floor. Then other odors made themselves known: dust, mold, rotting flesh, the smell of a wood that I somehow thought was oak, which matched the massive door to my room.  I heard footsteps outside the door and a bolt was retracted very loudly, like a hammer striking iron. The door opened with a thunderous crack and the tall creepy man stood there, smiling at me.

“I felt you awaken,” he said with self-satisfied smile. Then his eyes looked me over from head to toes and his smile was replaced by disgust.  “You are a mess. Take those scraps off,” he ordered.

Removing my dress would leave me exposed, something I would never do, but my arms were already pulling the ruined gown over my head, and I could not seem to stop them. When the fabric cleared my face, I could see he now held a wooden bucket. No sooner had my traitorous arms dropped the dress than he threw the liquid contents over me. Water, neither cold nor warm, splashed over me, leaving me sputtering with my eyes closed.

“Take off everything,” he ordered. My hands pulled off my underthings, my chemise and drawers, my body still too young for a corset. Horrified, I stood naked while he hit me with a second bucket of water.

“Turn around,” he commanded, and somehow I obeyed. Water struck my back and bottom as he threw a third bucket over me. “Dry yourself,” he said, tossing me a worn towel.

My hands snapped the towel out of the air and began to scrub and dry my body. When I finished, I found I had enough control to wrap the towel around my skinny frame.

“So shy,” he said with a sneer, then turned as if to leave. “Follow,” he said, and I did.  God help me; I did.

We walked into a hall, one with the same dirt floor. A stray thought fluttered through my bewildered head; my feet would never be clean if I had to walk on dirt. But he led me to a stair that climbed upward, and I realized I had woken below ground, in a cellar of sorts.

The stairs led to another hall, this floored in wood, with pairs of closed doors set across from each other, six sets in all. He stopped at the third door on the right and opened it, stepping inside, and when he was gone from the hall, it allowed me to see the single door at the far end. It was closed tightly, an ironclad keyhole under the knob.

“Come here,” he commanded from inside the room.

I turned and followed him into the room, finding it to be a bedchamber with a single lumpy mattress on wooden slats, a small side table, a chair, and a wardrobe—a very large wardrobe.

He opened the door of the wardrobe, revealing clothes, lots of clothes. Dresses of all shape and color hung on the rod that crossed its width, and stacks and stacks of clothes were visible underneath.

“Pick something and get dressed.”

There was nothing I wanted more, and I started to cross the room, only to find myself already at the wardrobe as if the intervening space had simply vanished.

“Ah, motivation,” he laughed.

I pulled what looked like boys’ pants and a boys’ shirt from the stacks, sticking my dirty feet through the legs as fast as I could, buttoning the shirt with fingers more nimble than they had a right to be.

He frowned at my choice of clothes but said nothing. The trousers were a trifle snug, but the shirt was big and billowy. For the first time since I awoke, I felt something like comfort.

“Where is my mother? I want my mother,” I said, wondering as I did why it took so long to think to do so.

“Forget her,” he commanded, and I suddenly wondered who he was talking about. “You must be hungry, my dear.”  It was not a question and as soon as he said it, I was. Very hungry, my stomach knotting with an immediate painful need.

“Come. It is time you fed,” he said. What an odd turn of phrase.

He went back out into the hall, crossed to the door across from the wardrobe room, and unlocked it. A delicious scent tickled my nose and I found myself following him, my stomach growling with need. Wait... was that my stomach growling? Or... me?

He stepped sideways and I saw a man, middle-aged, dressed in the rags of a street person, a drifter, a hobo as my mother might say. Where was Mother? The bum looked at us through bleary, red-shot eyes, the smell of bourbon wafting from him in waves.

The tall sallow man moved suddenly, his hand a blur, but I was able to follow the motion. His fingernails, which seemed too long for a man, flashed across the bum’s throat and a spray of red shot out, pattering the floor, even as the drunk’s eyes widened in shock. The smell overwhelmed me, my vision going red, and then I was feeding—drinking, swallowing, sucking.

The knot in my stomach eased as energy flowed through my body, pain receding. I felt awesome, better than any time I could remember. When I lifted my head, I could see everything in exquisite detail, smell thousands of smells, hear the last heartbeats of the man I crouched over, feel the warmth leave the skin of his whiskery neck.

“Better, my dear?” the sallow man asked.  “You did well, and with such neatness. Not a drop on you. How precious.”

“Who are you?” I asked, burping lightly and holding one hand over my mouth to hide it.

“You will call me Master or Master Starnes, my sweet,” he said, his smile oily and unpleasant.

“Why?”

His brows rose, his expression displeased. “Because I have taken you from the rot of humankind and made you perfect forever. A perfect bloom, preserved at the peak of beauty for all eternity. And in this, your new life, I am your master, as I will always be. But now, after your first feeding, you must sleep as your body changes and purifies itself.”

He moved in a blur again, but I could see some of the motions he made as he rushed to me, scooping me up in his arms, his long, pale hand covering my face as his fingers touched my forehead. And again, the world went dark.

Chapter 2

For a second time, I woke suddenly—out, and then alert and awake. This time I was in bed, the tall, wide wardrobe filling the wall across from me. Lying still, eyes open, I knew many things. It was just dark. I was still clothed in boys’ wear, feet still bare. And Master Starnes was awake nearby. Unmoving, I listened. He was talking, another voice joining his from time to time. Master Starnes was angry... and possibly afraid. For some reason, I liked that.

I moved to get out of bed and found myself on my feet by the door. Too fast. Too smooth. I paused to revel in the feeling of grace I suddenly found myself possessed of. My ballet instructor, Madame Fletcher, had told my mother that I was of only average skill and grace. Yet now, when I twirled silently across the small room, every motion was exact, my body perfectly balanced even when I froze in relevé, first on both toes, then one, without even the smallest wobble.

Master Starnes spoke loudly. “No, of course not!” His voice told me that he was in the room at the end of the hall.

My impromptu dance interrupted, I opened the door to my room and slipped silently down the hall, ghosting along like some phantom of myself until my ear was pressed against hard oak.

“That woman was the wife of a bank officer, Starnes, not some slattern from the docks. She was found with a broken neck and her daughter is missing. Witnesses have told police in great detail of seeing the pair all about the neighborhood near where she was discovered, less than two blocks from here,” the other voice said, male and confident.

Curious, I tried to look through the keyhole, but something, the key maybe, was blocking it. I tried the knob. It turned, slowly and silently, well oiled, but the door didn’t move when I applied gentle pressure. I pulled a little harder, then harder still. With a snap of breaking wood and the squeal of metal, it slammed open, catching me off guard.

I was left standing in an open door, staring at Starnes and two others, a big man and a woman.

The man moved, too fast to see, and suddenly held Starnes by the neck with one huge hand. The woman, tall, willowy, and beautiful, never took her eyes off me. “You say you’ve never heard of Katrina Westing, Starnes?” she asked in a beautiful but disgusted voice. “Then why am I staring at her... and you’ve Turned her?”  The last was delivered in disbelief.

“Foolish girl! Run!” Master Starnes commanded. But I didn’t move, my eyes locked on the woman’s, my feet stuck to the floor. I read her expression as clearly as any admiring glance I’ve ever beheld, although this was one of horror and disgust—and it was directed at me. When I glanced at her companion, the one holding my supposed master with such contemptuous ease, he too looked upon me with eyes wide, his face a mask of outrage and pity.

“Galina needs me, Rovers,” Starnes pleaded, his voice a greasy whine, both hands locked uselessly on the wrist of his assailant. “She needs my skill with numbers, with money.”

“The law is clear,” the man said, the woman nodding in agreement, her eyes still on me.

“Turning the young is one of our greatest crimes,” she said in her dulcet voice. She turned and looked at her companion. He met her gaze and at her nod, his massive hand flexed.  There was a sharp crunch, like the snapping of a thick tree branch, and my master’s feet suddenly drummed on the floor, his body shaking and jerking.

“Finish him, Vadim,” the woman said. I noticed she wore a long, sleeveless black dress, but with long, equally black gloves that went up to her elbows. The big man, Vadim, put both hands on either side of Starnes’ open-eyed head and twisted suddenly. The whole skull came right off, a jet of dark blood spraying the mahogany panels that rose halfway up the walls of the room. Offhandedly, I noted it was appointed most luxuriously with gold-gilded wallpaper above the mahogany and red velvet high-backed chairs in front of a fire.

“Come little one,” the beautiful woman said, holding out one elegant hand to me. I took it, noting the contrast between her black polished nails and my dirty ones, packed with some deep burgundy filth. As if in a dream, she lightly pulled me away from the quivering body of the sallow man who I had briefly called master.

“What’s the matter with her, Anna?”

“She was Turned while in shock, fed improperly, and is less than forty-eight hours old,” the woman said sadly.

“I want to be like you when I grow up,” I said to her.

“My dear, I fear you never will grow up.  Not now,” she said, her voice infinitely sad.

Vadim slung Starnes over his shoulder like a bag of flour and headed out the rear door. Anna asked me to show her the room where I had been kept. She immediately headed to the wardrobe and started pulling clothes out, throwing most on the floor but laying a few dresses on the bed. She held them up to me one by one, assessing cut, color, and size with a glance. There was quite a collection, most around my size, but some smaller and some larger. She frowned in a sad way at the smallest ones.

When she had a half dozen dresses, she threw them into a leather bag, adding underthings and a nice cloak. After a glance back at me, she dug out two boys’ shirts and two pairs of pants.  Lastly, she tossed a couple of pairs of shoes on top and buckled the bag shut.

Taking my hand, she led me out front, where a carriage waited. Vadim was nowhere to be seen, but the driver tipped his hat to her in a very respectful manner.

“Is my mother dead?” I asked as the carriage bounced over the cobblestones.

“I’m afraid so, Katrina. And you cannot go back to your father.”

Somehow, I had sort of surmised that although it wasn’t real until she said it.

“Because he did something to me? Starnes?”

“He did. He infected you with a disease, one that cannot be cured.”

“Will it kill me?”

“In a manner of speaking, it already did. It killed your old life and changed you.”

“Is that why I can smell so many smells, hear things I shouldn’t be able to, and don’t need candles anymore?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised. She pulled back and gave me a reappraising look. “You’re a very brave girl, Katrina. Hang on to that bravery. It will help you immensely as you adjust, because those were just a few of the changes. You’re stronger than a full-grown man, faster than a cat, agile like a monkey. But you also have a new diet.”

I looked at my dirty fingernails, the image of the hobo leaping into my mind. “Blood?”

That earned me a second considering look, but she simply nodded.

She took me to a building, then down below it—way, way below it. I was given a bath, my hair washed by women who tried to keep their faces blank. But I saw glimmers of disgust when they thought I wasn’t looking.

After the bath, I was dressed in the prettiest of the gowns and my hair was brushed and ribboned. Anna came to collect me, taking me down a long hall.  “We’re going to meet the woman who leads us here in this city. Her name is Galina, and she is very smart and very tough. You must always tell her the truth because she will know if you lie. Be brave, little one.”

And with no further ado, I was led before a beautiful woman with hard blue eyes that shone like ice, surrounded by a group of beautiful people like Anna. Unlike my bathers, Galina kept her face expressionless as Anna introduced me. I curtsied and held my tongue as Anna explained about the man named Starnes. A flicker of anger crossed Galina’s perfect features, but it was quickly erased.

“What do you propose?” she asked Anna when the tale was done.

“She can go places and do things that none of the rest of us could,” Anna said.

One elegant eyebrow raised at those words and the cold arctic eyes came back to reassess me.

“She is a child, Anna.”  It was a statement, yet somehow also a question.

“She’s extremely intelligent and adaptable. Galina, she’s less than forty-eight hours old, yet look at how she controls herself. And she is tough, emotionally. I’ve explained that she has a new life, that the old one is dead, and she... accepts it.”

A soft whisper of sound moved through the onlookers, like the sighing of wind. Galina glanced around and the sound ceased. She returned her attention to me. “Katrina, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Mother always said that manners matter.

“You’ve lost your mother.”

I sucked in a breath and held it for a one second, two seconds, and then three. “Yes, ma’am. The man who infected me killed her.”

“You seem very calm about that fact,” Galina said.

“I am angry with him about that, but he is dead. Anna says I must adapt. If I don’t, bad things happen.”

She looked at Anna.

“It seems that Katrina is a born pragmatist,” Anna said. “She is not overly emotional.”

Surprise bloomed briefly on Galina’s face. “Her Gift is... this?”

“I think so,” Anna said. “My understanding is that essential elements of one’s mind are enhanced or inflated by Turning. Why not a rather... logical approach to life?”

An exquisitely manicured fingernail tapped on Galina’s red, red lips, her eyes evaluating me.

“I will allow it,” she said finally. “But Anna, if there are no results, the problem will need to be corrected.”

“Yes, Galina,” Anna said, giving her a little bow rather than a curtsey. I copied her movements, which elicited a raised eyebrow but no further comment, and we left.

“If I can’t do what you need me to do, I will be... killed?” I asked.

Anna winced but didn’t try to deny my words. So many adults always lie about things that I can tell are obviously true.

“How did you feel about the man you fed from?” she asked, rather than answer my question.

“I don’t think I did... feel, that is. I don’t really remember. I saw red and then I was waking up.”

“What do you think happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Did I... bite him?”

“Yes. Yes, you did. And you drank his blood.”

“It smelled so good, and I was very hungry,” I said.

“Hmm, so you were. Here, let’s try this. Are you hungry now?”

I thought about that, consulting with my stomach. “A teeny bit maybe,” I said.

She opened a door and led me into a room with four people in it. Instantly I picked up on their scents, which were warm and rather, well, delicious-smelling, really. The difference from Anna’s smell and Galina’s and all the others was stark. The others smelled crisp and cool, not bad but not appealing, and nothing like these people. They all looked at me, eyes wide, then looked in question at Anna.

“Still hungry?” Anna asked me, ignoring the looks.

“Yes. More than I thought,” I said, looking at one lady’s neck. It was a long, slim neck, her skin quite pretty. Her heart raced, faster than the others’, and she smelled now of both excitement and fear. I felt my teeth change in my mouth, my tongue finding points that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Can you control the hunger?” Anna asked.

I had moved up close to the pretty-necked lady, drinking in her scent. I could somehow see her neck pulsing red with every rapid beat of her heart.  “I want to bite her,” I said. The racing heart skipped a beat.

“Can you do it without going mad?” Anna asked.

“I think so,” I said, and then I lunged. I think I jumped right at her neck, my legs wrapping around her waist, my mouth fastening on the smooth warm skin, my teeth punching through without effort, riding her to the ground. Life poured into my mouth and I gulped great greedy gulps.

“Stop,” Anna said, making no attempt to touch me or come near me. I stopped.

She raised one brow. “Lick her neck. Your saliva will close the wound.”

I became more aware of the woman under me, even as I licked the warm blood from her skin. She was trembling, her breathing slowing as after a great exertion. She smelled... sated, I guess.

Anna beckoned me and I stood and stepped away from the woman. Her eyes were closed but she was smiling, and I could hear her heartbeat slowing back to something like normal. The other three looked from me to their companion, their expressions changing to something akin to envy.

“Did I do it right?”

“More than right. You did excellent, Katrina. I have never seen a young Darkkin who had such control so quickly.”

“Darkkin?”

“It is the name we call ourselves. Others might call us lamia, vampyr, or vampire.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that last one maybe.”

“Yes, well, whatever you heard is likely to be wrong, or mostly wrong. We have a lot to teach you, and you must learn it fast and perfectly. Can you do that?”

I thought about my schoolwork, about chess with Grandfather, who I thought I might miss, and I nodded.

“I can.”  And I did.

Chapter 3

She wasn’t kidding. There was so much to learn. First, the etiquette and culture of the Darkkin. Who the important people were, how to approach or answer them, who to hide from, and what things to observe and listen to. The names and descriptions of the Elders, the Guardians, the scores of leaders, Rovers, and functionaries in my new world. The answer of who to approach was easy—almost no one. If human children should be seen and not heard, vampire children shouldn’t be seen, heard, or smelled. Anna told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to stay out of sight and out of mind if I was to survive. Still, she taught me how to bow and how to address a higher-ranked vampire should it come to that.

Next, I had to learn the ins and outs of taking blood. No fork and spoon here, but who to bite, how to bite, how much to take, signs you were taking too much, how to heal the wounds, and how long to wait between feedings for both the Darkkin and the donor.

We never fed from children; few things rile up the masses like wounded or dead children. Willing donors were always available, as the act of drinking brought most humans intense pleasure, according to Anna. I didn’t know what that meant really, but I did remember the woman I had taken blood from. The satisfied expression on her face. After that, in times of need, we could feed from the homeless, the vagabonds that society ignored and forgot.

Languages were a constant subject—Russian primarily, as that was Galina’s tongue and used by most of her court. But I also continued to learn French, which I had started in school, as well as German.

By far my favorite was learning to use my new body, learning how to move, climb, hide, listen, smell, and look with the incredible power of the Darkkin. The boy clothes Anna had selected were put through heavy use as I followed her around the city, over rooftops, down tunnels, climbing scaffolding, and through the shadows. Here at least, my small size was a boon, and it seemed I had a natural talent for climbing the vampire way.

Part of my movement training included learning to fight, mostly with weapons, as I was too small to attack full-sized vampires, all of whom were older, larger, and stronger than me. I was fast, though, very fast. I learned the knife, the staff, the stick, and the garrote. Many of my lessons were with Vadim, but it was Anna who gave me my first knives, a matched set of perfectly balanced daggers, the blades blackened to reflect no light, with fine leather sheaths that strapped to my arms or legs. Archery and firearms were also a regular part of my regimen, as ranged weapons were perfect for my situation.

“Humans rarely look up, and even vampires will forget much of the time. You will need to own the high ground, Katrina, but always have multiple escape routes plotted. Think like a cat—small, fast, agile, with sharp weapons and sharp senses, yet also prey to dogs and wolves. A cat will strike from ambush but flee almost all fights unless cornered. Then they fight all-out, but sadly, that is often their last fight. Flee, my little Kat. Flee and hide, to hunt another day.”

Anna herself was a lethal fighter, her slim figure far stronger than it looked, and her speed was crazy fast. Vadim, who I learned was a very old vampire warrior, was many times stronger than Anna, yet her speed allowed her to spar with the massive Darkkin.

She took me into houses, vacant ones first, but then, with increasing frequency, inhabited ones too. I learned to pick locks, jimmy windows, grease hinges, pry windows, and move up a creaky staircase without a sound.

After months of training, she deemed me ready and sent me into a rich merchant’s house to steal his wife’s diamond choker. I came in through the attic windows and never even woke the family dog, asleep by the banked kitchen stove. When I presented my prize to her, she smiled, congratulated me, and then sent me to put it back.

That burglary was a graduation of sorts, as the very next night, she sent me into the house of a high-ranking police official to leave a business card on his nightstand as a warning. I took it a step further and left a second card clipped to the cut-out paper lion on his baby boy’s crib mobile. The cards were of the finest stock, almost pure white, printed with the capital letters D and C in gold ink.

“They stand for Darkkin Coven. A warning to back away,” Anna said. “Much of what a Rover does is to smooth over problems, to convince those who hold a piece of knowledge that it is in their best interests to keep that knowledge secret. But Kat, we don’t threaten babies.”

Maybe not, but whatever case was that the cop had been investigating went cold almost instantly.

In fact, most of the work seemed a great deal like the stories I had read of Revolutionary spies. Sneaking into offices to read mail, listening unseen as the city’s movers and shakers met in homes, restaurants, and pubs, following people as they went about their business. As a child, I could go unnoticed almost anywhere, and with my still-boyish body, I could pass for a lad as easily as a lass. My first five years as Anna’s secret weapon were amazing. But as I got older, my body stayed prepubescent. Sex and the facts of life are part and parcel of Darkkin society. I understood a great deal about what men and women got up to in the darkness, as well as men with men or women lying with other women.

The only suitors I had were either schoolboys looking for a kiss or pedophiles looking for a helpless child. I was good for neither. A wave of frustration began to build within me and the only thing that kept those troubled waters at bay was the work. Mission after mission, now with more violent work involved when warnings failed to achieve results. My blades were sometimes bloody, but often it was a simple trip down steep stairs or a shove off a balcony. Sometimes my victims ate a bad meal and died of food poisoning. Sometimes they were bludgeoned to death in their beds or baths if an abject lesson was called for.

Mostly my work was quiet and relatively boring. Listening, watching, moving among adults who might tell me I was a pretty girl or handsome boy, depending upon my choice of clothing. But I learned a whole host of odd skills, things my parents would have fainted to see me engaged in. Shoe shining, running food and drink in taverns and inns, hawking newspapers, helping stablemen and carriage drivers, and sometimes delivering the very messages I was supposed to intercept. I even earned a bit of money doing those jobs; that is, if I was still around come payday. Of course, I was earning pay from the Coven, and that was many times more than the pennies I picked up at my false jobs. But I was young and focused on the jobs I was given—and when I was off, on the life I was missing.

The years passed and Galina was as pleased with my abilities as I was displeased with my lot in Darkkin life, but after twenty-five years, the war between the States became a reality and everything changed.

Chapter 4

I hadn’t paid much attention to national politics, being heavily invested in learning the ins and outs of Coven politics and the seedy underworld of the northeastern States. Most of my missions were right in New York City, and my attention was focused there. Yet even I couldn’t avoid hearing about the building disagreement between the North and South. As I slipped through pubs and gathering places in my boyish disguise, I heard snippets of conversation about slavery, theories of Congress being controlled by slave owners, demands that Oregon be made a state to offset the potential of Texas.

When I spied upon criminal kingpins, city officials, and aspiring politicians who might impact the Coven’s interests, it was impossible to ignore the growing tension with the South. And those few times I attended Galina’s court, hidden in the shadows to avoid the disgusted stares of other vampires, whispers of concern about the Coven’s interests in the South reached my sensitive ears.

“Tell me again what you heard Keitha say,” Anna instructed as she sat at her vanity, powdering already perfect skin.

“She’s afraid the Northern states will actually find a way to reduce slavery. She has properties in Georgia and Alabama where she owns slaves and harvests their blood. Based on who she was talking with, many Coven vampires travel to her estates to feast without fear of repercussion.”

“I will assume that you have names of all she spoke with?”

I set a roll of notes, neatly tied with a black ribbon, next to her rouge pot. She glanced at it, then back at her mirror.  Her rock-steady hand applied kohl under her eyes. She was beautiful without makeup, like most vampires, yet the makeup took her to a new level.

“What do you think about slavery?” she asked quietly.

“Based upon my brief time with Starnes, I do not think I would like it,” I said.

“Not you, but Negroes,“ she said, turning to look at me.

“Owning people? Mother and Father felt it was wrong to own another person,” I said.

“But what do you think?” she asked, now mildly exasperated.

“I don’t... think about it,” I said. Her brow arched, a clear indication that I needed to elucidate.  “I’ve never been to the South. Here, in the city, I see both free and enslaved. Upstate, most are free.”

“And?” Her voice held a warning note. I quickly looked inward to examine thoughts I had never fully voiced, even to myself.

“I would not want to own someone. I would not want someone to own me,” I said. “I would die before allowing myself to be chained.”

“But they are only human?” she pointed out. “How many Darkkin keep households of feeders, be they Black, white, or any other color?”

“Feeders make my skin crawl,” I said.

“Why, Kat?”

“Because they are no different from opium addicts,” I said.

“Yet they flock to you when they find out you are Darkkin,” she said. “While vampires turn from you, the feeders almost seem to prefer you.”

“They think that because I look to be a child, that I am gentle. I disabuse them of that fallacy.”

“Yes,” she said with a sardonic tone. “I have seen what has happened those few times you chose to partake of feeders.”

“I haven’t killed any,” I said, wincing internally at the defensive note in my own voice.

“No, but the damage has been extensive.”

“I prefer the hunt,” I said. “Not my fault that so many men have appetites for children.”

“Yet most young girls do not place themselves in situations that expose them to the unsavory sort of men who prey on children.”

“I will look like this forever,” I said. “What a service I will provide mankind, winnowing the perverted from the herd.”

“You are mixing your metaphors, dear.”

“What do you expect? I am, after all, just a child. I will be a child forever.”

She sighed and turned to me fully. I started to pull back, but I was too slow. Her hand darted out and captured my chin, holding me firm while she leaned close.

“I have told you time and again how sorry I am that such has happened to you, but Kat, I am not at all sorry you are here in my life. You must make the very best of the cards you’ve been dealt because no one knows what the future holds. You don’t know that you will be this way forever.”

“As you have said. Yet I no matter where I look or who I talk to, there are no leads on ways to age vampires,” I said.

“I expect that the vampires you get to speak with have extremely limited knowledge of what is possible,” she said, releasing my chin and turning back to her mirror.

I froze, watching her. She stayed maddeningly silent, now applying color to lips that did not need it. “What do you know?”

“Know? Nothing. But I am high in Galina’s favor, a position that your successes have contributed to.”

“And?”

“And as such, I have had more exposure to Elder Senka.”

I went stiff again, my body frozen. Elder Senka was Galina’s boss and maker and one of three rulers of the Coven. She was the oldest and most powerful of the vampires.

“She does not even know that I exist,” I said.

“Oh, but she does,” Anna said. “As I said, your successes have brought attention upon us. Galina was updating the Elder two days ago.  Senka drilled down on where the information had come from. Galina explained that I was the source, and I found myself speaking directly with her. She asked how I came by my knowledge, and I told her about you. You do not refuse Senka when she asks questions.”

“But I am still alive,” I said.

“She is amazing, Katrina. She complimented me on sponsoring you and mentoring your considerable natural gifts. Galina asked her about how long child-turned vampires generally live and Senka admitted that many give up before their first century. Then the Elder turned to me and implored me to keep you from despairing of your circumstances.  Change is coming, children, and you will all be at the very center of it, she said.”

“She can foretell the future?”

“No, but she has access to Darkkin who can. She did not go into detail, but she is very much interested in Galina herself, even more than the territory that Galina controls. Did you never wonder why a vampire as young as Galina has control of what is arguably the most important city in the New World?”

“Yes, but Galina is extremely competent.”

“She is, yet there are many older vampires just as capable.  Senka favors Galina, and many Darkkin wonder why.  Senka pays more attention to this city and its manager than any other. I’ve heard her own staff speak of it when they did not know I was able to hear them.”

“But what change could occur that could free me from this?” I asked, waving a hand at my tiny form.

“I do not know, but she wants to meet you.”

“Who? Galina?” I asked, suddenly concerned I had done something wrong.

“No.  Elder Senka.”

“What? When?”

“Upon her next visit, which is perhaps a month from now, perhaps sooner. She too is concerned about the troubles between the northern states and those of the South. She will be here more often.”

“Why meet me?”

“I have heard it said that Senka has many vampire gifts. It is said that primary among them are the abilities to influence human minds and to identify vital talent among vampires.”

“I can see how influencing minds would be terrifyingly effective, but what use is the other?”

“Her staff is peopled with the best of the best. The best fighters, spies, administrators, seers. Her ability to find, mentor, and keep the most talented vampires gives her advantages over any who would set themselves against her.”

“But me?”

“You.  So prepare yourself, my little Kat. Keep your ears and eyes open these next few weeks.  Listen and learn about the growing problems between the states, and brush up on your etiquette.  She will likely demand that I present you upon her next visit. Now, time to go. You have your mission?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Chapter 5

“What’s your angle? Newsy Ned?” Anna asked the following week.

I shook my head, watching my curls bounce in the mirror. “Pinafore Patty,” I replied.

She frowned. “Men ignore Ned, but they notice Patty.”

“Exactly. I have a feeling about this man. Patty is his type,” I said, turning my face side to side. I was a little pale, but that was to be expected, as I hadn’t fed in two days. A tiny brush of rouge gave my cheeks a pinkish hue.

“You watched him for one evening and decided he is a pervert?” she asked.

“I’ve learned to pick them out. He watched the serving women but shied away from them, clearly intimidated. Then a family passed through the restaurant and he focused on the young daughter like a wolf.”

“But other men will notice pretty Patty out late at night?” Anna asked, head tilted slightly.

“In a restaurant like Pierre’s, yes. But tonight, Phyte will be gambling at the Red Lady. He always goes there on Friday nights. The men who frequent the Lady will not likely leave their games for a girl stupid enough to be begging at that time of night, but he will.”

“Begging?  So it’s Poor Pinafore Patty tonight, not Pretty Pinafore Patty?”

“Exactly. He would love Pretty Patty, but men like Phyte develop keen instincts for these things. Too clean and too pretty means someone is likely looking for her. Some coal dust and a worn-out pinafore and he’ll know she’s unlikely to be missed.”

“Kat, you can’t kill him,” Anna said. “You’re supposed to get his code key and that’s it. If he goes missing or turns up dead, the Southerners will just use a new spy and a new code.”

“I know,” I said, perhaps a bit peevishly. I do so want to kill him. “He will not die by my hand.”

“Or allow him to die by others after you’re done with him,” she said sternly.

“Of course not. He lives until the Coven is done with him,” I said, turning back to the mirror.

“See that he does.”

Four hours later, I worked my way down the alley behind the Red Lady Tavern, shuffling through the rubbish bins, occasionally rubbing noisome bits of garbage here and there about my person. Poor Patty needed to have a bit of a scent, and vampires don’t generally have much actual scent. I’m not sure why, but it’s often useful.

My victim tonight was a cunning man, a spy for the South who had cultivated a decent amount of paranoia. I had watched him more than Anna knew, and he was a careful type of person. Watchful and cautious, he never stood out in a crowd, never spoke up, stayed quiet, and didn’t cause obvious trouble. I didn’t believe his gambling habit was a normal part of his nature but an affectation to put him in proximity to the men he spied upon. His dress was upper middle class, and he always had coin to bet on games of chance. He neither lost too much nor won too often. As such, he was generally welcomed to most gambling halls without suspicion.

His perversion for female children was as obvious to me as if he had inked it across his forehead. They say eyes are the window to the soul. His windows were filthy lenses that too often focused on pretty young girls of my apparent age. Hence the reason I had been watching him before Anna ever pointed me in his direction. I had seen him once while on another mission and he had been following a street child. I learned the same girl had turned up dead a day later and thus I marked Mr. Phineas Phyte for my personal attention. Before I could remove him from the flock, Anna had identified him as a spy for the South.

I found a bit of squishy apple core on the cobble and rubbed it on the back of my left forearm. Dirt and grime helped hide my too pale skin, and a slightly rotted fruity smell would be unlikely to put Phyte off his game.

The rear door of the Lady opened and a scrawny man heaved a bucket of trash out into the alley. He never looked around, just simply threw it and turned back inside. Crossing sixteen feet of open space and catching the door before it could relatch was nothing; my little body barely even created a breeze.

I listened at the doorway for moment, sniffing the air and feeling out the space before me. The banging of pots, the clinking of coin and chips, the din of men conversing gave me a mental feel for how far I was from the gambling hall itself. I could smell tobacco, whiskey, cooked beef, wet wool, the sour smell of men, perfume from the serving girls, the metallic tang of silver and gold coin. And I could feel just how close the cooks and servers were to me, how they were moving, and most importantly, where they were not.

I slipped through the building like a small ghost, avoiding the employees, pilfering a hard roll, some cheese, and a small hunk of kielbasa, wrapping it all in a dirty napkin. I found a stairway that climbed to the second floor, where a balcony overlooking the gambling hall led to private rooms for private games, sex, or sometimes even just sleep.

I hunkered low to the floor, peeking through the railing to spot my mark.  He played poker at a round table of six. My view was excellent, but more importantly, his was too. If any of them had lifted their eyes, I would be visible as a small clump of clothing and hair, apparently munching purloined victuals.

My ears told me that three of the six rooms on my level were occupied. One was a four-person game of cards, likely high stakes, with a house dealer and a bartender. The other two rooms were producing the rhythmic thumps and professional moans of prostitutes at work. Footsteps on the stairs behind me told me my time was now.

“Hey now! You can’t be here. Get out!” said a man wearing a cook’s apron, carrying a tray of covered dishes. I jumped to my feet, crumbs of bread and cheese falling about me as I clutched the kielbasa and crouched in fear. Well, pretend fear, but my acting is quite good.

The man shifted his tray to one hand with a loud rattle of metal lids and I felt every eye below on me as I dodged his clumsy grab. A slight brush against his left leg unbalanced him, a tremendous crash of dishes and metal guaranteeing me a full audience when I looked at the people below.  Phyte’s eyes were among those locked onto me, and I was sure not to make eye contact. Instead, I raced for the stairs as the cook slipped to one knee.

At the bottom, I met a man in a suit who I thought might be the manager.  A duck and a roll, deliberately slower than I was capable of, got me past him, clearing the way to run down the side of the gambling room and out the front door.

Once outside, I turned left and moved four doorways down the street, stopping at the steps of a closed haberdashery. Head down, I sobbed softly, my hair falling over my face.  I clearly heard the slap of leather soles on the sidewalk and when they got close, I lifted my head, my eyes wide in fear to take in the features of Phineas Phyte.

He was of average height, unremarkable looking, with brown hair and a brown mustache. He held both hands up, open, to show me he meant no harm, while his greedy eyes told me he meant a great deal of harm.

“Here, here. You must be very hungry to risk such a place,” he said. “How about a nice meal? There’s a place still open just around the corner. The least I can do for a nice girl in distress is buy you a dinner, right?”

I sniffled and nodded, letting him lead me around the nearest corner, where I knew damned well no restaurant awaited us. He glanced up and down the street, then shoved me into a dark alley. One last quick look around and he brought his focus back to me. Surprise bloomed on his features as instead of a simpering, cringing child, he found me standing upright, wearing a grin. The predatory gleam in his eyes turned to uncertainty and then I was on him.

As strong as three men and as fast as an African cat, I climbed him like he was a statue, arriving at his upper back, where my thin little arm locked around his throat like an iron ring. Ten seconds of pressure and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The code book was in his belt, inside a clever compartment carefully sewn into the lining, alongside three Gold Eagles. It was a narrow, thin pad of just a few pages, maybe an inch wide and three inches long. Three pages each held one code key, a set of letters randomly scrambled before aligning with the normal alphabet. I copied each code into a little notebook of my own, put his book back into the belt, re-buckled it to his waist, and then went through his pockets. He had a pouch that rattled with a nice metallic ring, a short, wide-bladed knife in the pocket of his suit coat, a handkerchief, and two cigars of decent make. I carefully robbed him of all his coin and currency, except for the hidden gold. As he started to come around, I smacked him in the back of the head with the butt of his own knife.

He came to about fifteen minutes later, sitting up and holding his head. I know this because I watched from the roof of the apartment building across from the alley. I was counting his money, being careful not to touch the silver ones. Two gold twenty-dollar Double Eagles, a five-dollar Gold Eagle, two single-dollar Eagles, and about five more dollars in various silver half dollars, quarters, and dimes. A terrific haul for Poor Patty, and a decent addition to my own holdings. A Darkkin never knows when they might need to flee and hide, a lesson Anna taught me early.

Phyte climbed to his feet, realized he’d been robbed, and then checked his belt with panicky hands. Finding his codes and emergency coins in place, he rubbed the back of his head and moved off down the street in the direction of his apartment.

Anna received the codes, questioned me as to my victim’s health, and then ordered me to partake of a Coven feeder.

Phineas and I would meet again, two and a half years later, when he was recalled by the Confederates. I caught up with him on a road in the Jersey Pine Barrens and killed him with his own knife, then tore his head clean off. His mangled body was found by locals, who blamed the infamous Jersey Devil. Oh, and that time I took his emergency Gold Eagles.

Chapter 6

I didn’t meet Elder Senka when Anna had predicted. In fact, I didn’t meet her for almost a year after we discussed the oldest vampire’s interest in me.

The war between the States had broken out, and Galina put her agents to work with ruthless efficiency. I had a new persona, an odd sort of mixture of the boys currently utilized by both sides of the war. I was sometimes Drummer Dan, Messenger Matt, and occasionally, Medical Mike. It turns out that underage boys were commonly utilized in both armies, employed by commanding officers to provide vital communications via drumming and direct message delivery, either on foot or horseback, and sometimes used as extra hands in the medical tents. Other than my inability to work in daylight, my boyish skills were readily accepted by any Union or Confederate unit I chose to infiltrate. In fact, my constant volunteering for night duty usually brought me a certain acceptance among the other boys. It also helped me hide the fact that I was a girl.

Despite the huge number of underage boys who fought and died, it turns out very few of them were ever spies. Of the very few who might have been thusly engaged in intelligence work, I’m confident that there were no other vampires doing the job that I was. Ranging the full extent of the conflict, hair clipped short and boyish body wearing whichever uniform was necessary, I read officers’ missives, reported troop positions and movements, destroyed vital supplies, and even executed key personnel, all while under the guise of carrying messages, beating drum rolls, fetching special foods, liquor, and tobacco for commanders, and helping the medics as they performed brutal battlefield surgery.

But mostly, I tracked down errant vampires. It seems that the New World vampires weren’t all in agreement on the topic of slavery. The right to own slaves as blood cattle had become popular among a swath of the vampires in the States. As a result, more than a few failed to respond to Coven directions. Willful disobedience, Galina called it. You see, the Coven wanted the war over as fast as possible. Humans engaged in widespread warfare is never conducive to vampires staying hidden and embedded in society. Something about having one’s daytime lair blown up or burned down while one was in a day coma was considered bad.

I found myself in Tennessee, near Nashville, working for Captain Wyatt Baskin, commander of J Company, the Gator Guards, of the 3rd Confederate Infantry Regiment in late December of 1862. There were three of us boys in the company: Zeke Corbin and Winston “Winny” Ellis handled most of the daytime duties while I stayed on call at night.

Captain Baskin, who was chronologically four years younger than I was at the time, used me for messenger duty, as well as lots of night watch and almost no drumming. I was a competent drummer but not as accomplished as the other two boys. As the people I was hunting also preferred the night, this was perfect for me.

Galina was peeved with the leader of the Darkkin in Nashville, a Leonidas Valdes, who had stopped all pretense of following her orders. As Elder Senka had elevated Galina to a position of administrative command for the duration of the war, this meant that Leonidas was disobeying Senka’s orders too. That was very much frowned upon.

I had found my way into Baskin’s unit by the simple expedient of putting on a Confederate drummer uniform and adding myself to the company during a particularly violent nighttime engagement that decimated three companies of Confederate infantry. When the battle ended, I was just simply there, seemingly somewhat shell shocked and battle dazed, but still very useful.

By this time in the war, I had found that dragging wounded soldiers to the aid tent and helping the medics automatically ingratiated me to any unit on either side. It worked smoothly this time, and I was quickly tucked into the captain’s motley collection of drummers.

Anna had briefed me that Wyatt Baskin’s family were landholders in Tennessee, with ties to Leonidas and his coterie of Darkkin. We decided it was just a matter of time before the good captain had contact from the Nashville vampires who seemed to very much want the slave trade to continue.

On duty outside the captain’s command tent one night less than three weeks after joining the company, my sensitive ears brought me the sounds of a pair of horses approaching. I heard the perimeter guards calling out for watchwords and heard the correct responses given, and then heard a female voice ask for the captain’s location by name. Ducking into the tent, I tugged on the uniform of one of the two sentries.

“What, boy?”

“Riders approaching the tent,” I said in my best Southern accent. Sentries dislike surprises, especially when they are supposed to be standing guard outside, not staying warm just inside the canvas.

I ducked back out and moved into the shadows, giving my uniform a sniff. Blood, dirt, and food smells, plus a decent patch of carefully spilled coffee provided a nice cover to my nonhuman scent. Vampires tend to pick out other vampires very quickly, usually by scent but sometimes by our very slow heartbeats. The two figures that approached the tent had almost no heartbeats between them, and so I slipped around behind another tent and went completely still.

“Halt,” one of the sentries I had alerted demanded very loudly.

“Who is it, Clevis?” Captain Baskin called from deeper in the tent.

“Tell him Loreena is here,” a woman’s voice said. “We’re old family friends.”

Clevis darted into the tent and spoke her name to Captain Baskin.

“Bring her right in.”

“Ah, Loreena, it has been some time,” the captain said. I heard a note of something in his voice that told me he was more than a little attracted to her, whoever she was.

“Wyatt.  My, how handsome you look in uniform,” she purred. “This is my associate, Meckler. Leonidas sent us.”

“I assumed he did, as I am certain you have many more enjoyable things to do than venture into a muddy military encampment on a cold December night,” the captain responded.

“Tsk, tsk. When Leonidas asked for volunteers to visit you, I practically leapt at the opportunity,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Meck?”

“Too true, my dear,” the other vampire said. “Too true.”

“Can I offer you wine?” Baskin asked, a certain smugness in his voice.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time,” she said. “Leonidas has found out that Union military units are preparing to move on the 3rd Infantry’s right flank at tomorrow’s dawn. He felt you might make good use of this information. The units involved are listed in this letter, signed by a local businessman who is friends with your commander. He should, therefore, believe the quality of this intelligence. The quicker you act, the better.”

“Yes, yes. I will move on this immediately,” he said, his tone suddenly very serious.

“We will leave you to it,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, his voice recovering a bit of charm as he spoke.

The tent flaps opened and the vampires moved back toward their horses.

“Clevis, find the drummer boy. Mike,” Baskin called from inside. “He’s supposed to be on duty.”

“Aye sir,” the guard said, coming back outside. “Where the hell are ya at, boy?”

I made my appearance quickly, slipping into the tent just as the two vampires turned their horses to ride away.

“Mike— Ah, there’s the lad,” the captain said. He was seated at his field desk, writing rapidly with pen and ink. “Take this to the colonel’s tent immediately!”  He wrapped up his note, along with another parchment in a leather folio and handed it my way.

“Yes sir, Captain, sir,” I said, darting back out into the night.

As it happened, the vampires’ path took them along the same route I needed to traverse, or I might simply have thrown the message away. Following on foot, I deliberately fell a bit farther behind the riders. When as they passed through the 3rd’s headquarters camp, I handed the folio off to a sentry at the command tent. He told me to stay put, then headed inside. Instantly, I took off, picking up speed when the shadows had me safely hidden from merely human eyes.

My entire mission was predicated on me finding Leonidas’s current lair, and I had waited almost three weeks for this night to happen. I followed the two vampires with every bit of stealth I could muster, using bursts of vampiric speed to make up for the horses’ faster pace.

Comfortable in their home territory, the two Darkkin never slowed or looked around. We traveled to the outskirts of Nashville, about two miles south of the city itself. They rode straight to a small family farm and took their horses right into the barn, where a human stable boy took them. Instead of heading to the small, rather worn-looking house, they stayed within the barn. I heard the sound of wood creaking, footsteps descending wooden stairs, and then wood creaking again.

Leonidas was living under the barn of an unassuming-looking house. Clever, but I had found my prey. Time to finish the hunt.

Chapter 7

I checked out the entire property, investigating the house completely before coming back to the barn. I found a few interesting things in the basement of the farmhouse. Like a section of the fieldstone foundation that seemed different. And it was in a direct line with the barn.

Anna had spent a great deal of time educating me about Darkkin habits. Secure hidden daytime lairs, secret caches of supplies and money, and numerous safehouses were all common themes among vampires, paranoia being a necessary survival trait. Also covered was the seemingly deep-seated vampiric need for emergency escape routes. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the wall had been carefully modified somehow. I modified it further, just a bit.

Back at the barn, I listened carefully, sniffing at the small gaps between boards. Based upon individual heartbeats, I was certain that there were two humans inside, along with seven horses, a barn cat, and two different families of mice. I also smelled dog, although it was a different dog smell than any I had ever come across. I couldn’t hear any other heartbeats, though, so I went with what I knew.

Creeping inside was easy; we’ve already established that I’m small, and with my hearing, I could tell when the stable boys were both in the back of the barn. The barn doors weren’t latched, so I opened the right one a tiny bit and slipped through. The shadows were deep and welcoming, as there were just two lanterns burning, both in the back with the boys. They were grooming the two recently arrived horses, talking quietly as they brushed and curried.

One lad was tall and thin, with angry facial pustules and lanky blond hair. The other was average height but well built in a compact, athletic way, with dark hair. Both were in their late teens, approaching manhood. They were talking about how attractive Loreena was, casting nervous glances at the only empty horse stall in the barn. Males. So predictable.

The space was too small for me to sneak into that stall without them noticing me, and I was loath to leave enemies behind me.  So it was either disable them or kill them. Anna says I shouldn’t be so quick to kill, as it is an unrecoverable action. I could always kill someone later, but I couldn’t unkill a person who might have more value alive. I struggle with how to decide these things. It’s much easier in the heat of action, as killing becomes just a reflex. Situations like these with more time to ponder prove to be more difficult.

Finally, I decided to just let them see me and let their reactions guide my decision.

Quietly I stepped out into the open, standing with my hands open by my sides. They didn’t notice me, so I scuffed my feet a bit. Still nothing.  “Excuse me?” I called softly in my drummer boy voice.

Both whipped around, shock on their faces. They froze at the sight of me and then anger flooded the features of the tall one, the other looking puzzled.

“Here now.  Who in tarnation are you?” tall boy demanded, moving to a wall. I had already noticed the holstered pistol hanging there. A small percussion revolver, by the look of it. His hand touched the grip but he didn’t draw it, his body tension reducing as he took in my tiny size and innocent expression. The other boy pulled his belt knife and pointed it my way.

“Excuse me, sirs, but I’ve lost my company,” I said in as plaintive a voice as I could.

The boys exchanged a quick look. “Present for Loreena?” the shorter one asked.

“Oh, she would love that,” the tall, acne-covered lad agreed, releasing the pistol.

The rat bastards were going to give me to the object of their lust as a snack. Decision made.

“Here now, boy,” acne face said with an unconvincing smile, advancing on me with his hands out, his partner close behind.

I punched the tall one in his male parts, then again in his throat as his body jackknifed forward, and I heard the crunch of cartilage. Slipping around him, I was on his buddy in a flash, leaping up to grab his chin in one hand and the back of his head with the other. Pushing with one and pulling with the other resulted in a sharp snap. Breaking a neck is hard, much harder than people think, and doing it while essentially flying through the air reduces your leverage to almost nothing, but I was more than strong enough for the task. His bowels voided as my momentum pulled his body over backward. I landed softly and set him down, turning to acne face, who was slowly collapsing as he gasped, unable to breathe through a crushed windpipe. It took him a full minute to die, his eyes bulging, his hands grasping at his neck.

I took the pistol from the wall, checking to see that was loaded. A five shot Remington-Beals. The cylinder was fully loaded but there were only four percussion caps, the hammer resting on an empty nipple. I did a double take at the gleaming bright .31 caliber balls, touching one with a finger. The instant burn told me that my eyes were correct: The balls were silver.

The holster belt was too big to go around my waist, but I slung it crosswise over my chest. A pouch on the belt held powder, caps, and spare balls, mostly lead, but there were at least three more silver ones. In the back corner of the barn, I found a musket with a powder horn. I left the too-long weapon but took the powder horn, black powder having so many useful properties, especially when combined with the rather unusual necklace I habitually wear on missions.

I dragged the two bodies up to the hayloft and covered them with copious amounts of fresh hay. They were easy to lift but too long to drape over my childish shoulders, so I was forced to tie a rope under their arms, climb the ladder, and then pull them up, hand over hand, one at a time.

The empty stall took a few more minutes to figure out. Had I not heard the mechanism in action or witnessed the boys looking at that space, I might have spent the whole of the night trying to find Leonidas’s entrance. But find it I did. There was a wooden lever, cleverly constructed to look like a peg for hanging bits of tack. When I rotated it downward, I could hear an unseen counterweight dropping in the wall, and a whole section of the wooden floor lifted clear, revealing steps down.

There was minimal lighting below, but enough for vampiric vision. Purloined pistol in hand, I started down the steps. When my foot hit the fourth step, it moved slightly and another counterweight triggered, lowering the floor back into place over my head.

The air smelled of blood, dust, human urine, Darkkin skin, and that odd dog scent again.

Voices carried down the tunnel hallway as I stepped onto an earthen floor. Heavy beams placed periodically, like the bracing of a mine tunnel, led off into the shadows.

Slow, careful steps took me closer to the voices, the scent of dog and Darkkin getting stronger. Wooden doors lined the walls of the hallway, causing me to pause and listen at each. Two were occupied by human-sounding heartbeats, the slowness of them indicating sleep. A third was quiet of sound and smelled of cloth, metal, food, and... powder. Gunpowder. The door was locked but my education included circumnavigating such obstacles and I let myself inside.

Shelves were stacked with linens, wool blankets, foodstuffs, some medical supplies, and various tools, including a pair of swords. Down on the floor, near the wall, was a small barrel of black powder, and next to it were two containers of lamp oil. Wonderful.

I took a moment to quietly break the top of the powder keg open, preparing it for quick deployment. Then it was back out into the hallway, closing the door behind me and creeping closer to the voices.

Ten more feet of travel and I could distinguish that there were four distinct voices. I recognized Loreena’s, which spoke often, as well as the occasional tones of her companion, Meck. There was a deep, gravelly voice that spoke randomly and briefly as if words cost money and the speaker was low on coin. The most frequent voice was male, authoritative, and cultured, with a bit of a European accent.

I slowed my careful progress even more, taking very deliberate steps on the dirt floor. Stalking vampires, especially ones over seventy-five years of age, is much, much different than any normal human. I had to be ultra-careful not to make a single sound.

“But you agree,” I heard the dominant male say. “Your pack will circle the Union forces and attack from the rear?”

“Agreed,” the deep male voice said.

“Excellent. So now we just wait—well, except you, Grayling. You should head to your people.”

“I have time,” the voice said. “You are certain of your payment?”

“You already asked me that. Be careful... I may begin to wonder if you question both my honor and my competence,” the voice I suspected of being Leonidas said.

“And I have already indicated I do not believe you to have honor, so yes, I am questioning your capability of making payment.”

“The gold is close. Not here, mind you, as I am no moron. But it is close at hand and of sufficient amount to meet your price.”

“You have met my pack, seen my wolves. You know I can accomplish my task. Yet I have never seen even a glimmer of your mysterious gold,” Gravel Voice said.

Pack? Wolves? I was beginning to have a bad feeling.

I backed away from the voices, pulling my necklace over my head. It was a single strand of cannon fuse, fastened with small wooden rectangle. The side of the rectangle rotated up and away on a single screw in one corner, revealing a hollow space that held six wooden friction matches, commonly known as lucifers. The back of the compartment was lined with sandpaper.

I cut the fuse in half, dropping the extra bit into the powder horn and recapping it. The other hank of fuse, I intended for the keg of powder. At the door to the storeroom, I pulled on the handle, but apparently I had closed it too tightly, as it groaned before coming free.

“What was that?” I heard the voice I was calling Leonidas ask.

“Your spare vampire you’ve had hiding in the hall,” the deep voice of Grayling accused.

“I don’t have a vampire hiding in the hall,” Leonidas protested.

“And yet I smelled one these last few minutes,” Grayling said, his voice getting louder in a way that told me my time was past being up.

I shoved the fuse into the keg, struck a lucifer well away from the open powder, and carefully lit the fuse. Then I bolted out the door, but my body came to a sudden halt as fingers like steel caught my shoulder. I was lifted off my feet and turned bodily to face a massive, black-bearded man, a man who smelled like dog—or maybe wolf. Werewolf.

Standing behind him were Loreena, Meck, and the groomed figure of a vampire I recognized as Leonidas.

“What have we here?” Leonidas asked, eyebrows up.

Chapter 8

Grayling was fast, but I was faster.

“Galina says hello,” I said, whipping the revolver from behind my back and firing right into Leonidas’s face.  My left hand came over to fan back the hammer and the gun went off a second time, into Grayling’s face.  At the same moment, I brought my legs up, planted both feet on that massive chest, and kicked out with vampire power.

I heard the bones of my left shoulder snap under the unyielding grip, but I ignored the pain in a way my old self never would have been able to.  Wolf man went backward, eyes surprised, a little black hole between them.  I executed a backflip, something Anna had shown me early on.

I landed facing them, left arm hanging limp, Grayling on his back, feet kicking wildly, Leonidas slumping to the ground, Loreena halfway down the hallway and moving fast, a snarling Meck starting toward me, hands out.

I backpedaled, the clock in my head telling me time was up.  Meck blinked at my panicked glance toward the closed storage room door, hesitating slightly. I dropped the pistol, turned, and leapt for the stairs.  The world went black and orange with a roar that shook my bones inside my skin, my body flying weightless through the air till it came to a sudden, hard stop.

Dust falling on my face woke me.  Flickering flames on bits of torn wood lit the tunnel enough to see the wreckage.  Two pairs of legs stuck out from under a heavy beam and above me, the sounds of panicked horses, the smell of their fear threatening to shred my control of my primal vampire.

I wrestled the blood-hungry beast inside me, winning back rational thought.  Anna had told me early on that my ability to constrain my hunger was unheard of in one so young.  Now it saved my life, as I conquered the hunger brought on by my injuries.  It was the cataloguing of those injuries that allowed reason to prevail.  My left shoulder was broken but mending, my head rattled with pain, and something had punched through my right thigh.

The contagion that made me a vampire was already rebuilding me and after a moment, I could lift my head without it falling to pieces.  The trapdoor above me was gone, cold air streaming down from the barn, bringing that delicious scent of equine fear.  I seemed to be stuck on the stairs, which puzzled me until I looked down and found that one of the wooden plank steps had shattered at my impact, a thick splinter driven through my leg.

I wrestled myself off it, fresh waves of pain pressing hard against my control.  Staggering upright, I panted till the red-hot agony receded, focusing on the two bodies.  The legs were similar in size to each other, which made me look around wildly for the big man I had shot.  Nothing.  Closer inspection revealed a dead Leonidas, his eyes wide open, the hole in his head unhealed.  The explosion had torn both men almost in half, but Meck was still moving, if only a little.  I moved over him, watching for a moment as his body attempted to heal itself.  Then I pulled his head to one side, ignored his blinking eyes, and latched my fangs on his throat.

Anna says it is rare for vampires to drink each other post Turn.  It happens, but it’s considered the same as cannibalism among humans. I examined my thoughts as I drank Meck’s blood, my healing accelerating rapidly.  Oddly, I had no qualms about the source of my sustenance.  His movements slowed as his blood was drained while I felt my own body feeling stronger than ever before.  When I was full, I wiped my mouth on his shirt, found a large splinter of wood, and drove it through Meck’s heart.

The Remington revolver was laying on the dirt floor, exactly where I had dropped it.  Reloading it seemed prudent, especially as I had no idea where Grayling or Loreena had gotten to.

The methodical process gave me time to take stock of my situation.  My target was dead. I was healed, fully fed, and soon to be armed.  Above me were several horses, at least two of which sounded healthy if terrified.  I went back into the ruined storeroom long enough to dig out one of the two swords.

A bit later, I came up the broken stairs, holding Leonidas’s head by his hair with my left hand and the Remington in my right.  The barn was completely dark, the explosion having extinguished the lanterns without igniting any of the structure.  Small miracle indeed.

One horse was dead, bled out from a massive wound caused by the trapdoor.  The other six were mostly okay, so I left them while I cautiously scouted the property for a second time.  Inside the house, I found the hidden door in the basement foundation had been forced open despite my earlier attempts to jam it.  No doubt the work of the massive man I now knew to be a werewolf. I had been thoroughly briefed on them but to this point had never come across one. This one had apparently survived a silver bullet to the skull, something a vampire older than myself had not.

Two pair of footprints led out of the house and into the woods.  The black of full night had become the purple of predawn, and my time was up.  If what I had heard was accurate, battle would be joined this day and my time with Captain Baskin had come to an end.  I fed, watered, and treated the horses’ wounds before retreating into the tunnels.

I slept the day away, deep in the darkness.  A calculated risk, as no doubt Leonidas’s people would come for him at first dark.  It was the fear of being caught by the Nashville vampires that kept me on edge through what should have been the normal near-coma of daytime.  The result was I was up and moving as dusk just started to fall, releasing most of the horses from the remains of the barn.

The head tucked into a burlap feed bag, the last horse saddled, and a small pack of supplies in the saddlebags behind me, I rode west, skirting anything human and especially anything military.  It took me most of a month to return north, my trophy reduced to a maggot-infested mess.

“Lovely,” Galina said when I delivered Leonidas to her.  She said it without sarcasm, her smile genuine.  “Word of your success precedes you but seeing him in what little remains of his flesh is wonderful,” she said, giving me a rare smile.  Then she turned to Anna.  “Now, prepare her.  My mother is arriving tonight, and she has expressed interest in our Katrina.”

Four hours later it finally happened.

“You should be proud.”

I knelt on the ground in front of the oldest vampire in the world, and those were her first words to me.  Cautiously, my head came up, meeting her brown-eyed gaze.  “Ma’am?” I asked.  Galina and Anna were behind me, but I could easily imagine my mentor’s frown at my poorly phrased response to the most important Darkkin on the planet.

Senka smiled.  “You are less than thirty years old and yet your list of accomplishments is longer than you are tall.”

I froze, unsure of how to respond to both a compliment and what might have been an insult.

“Hmm, poorly phrased perhaps,” she said.  Remarkable.  Not quite an apology, but I had never heard a vampire over a hundred even admit an error when discussing my condition.  “Both my daughter and her principal fixer have told me of your exploits, the most recent being the culling of an insubordinate leader in the South.  Most Darkkin turned as children last only a handful of years, yet you have not only survived the scorn and frustration of your situation but become more useful than the other vampires your age.”

“Thank you, Elder,” I said, bowing again.

“Rise, Katrina, and look me in the eye as you did before.”

She was smiling when I lifted my head.  “No doubt you have heard rumors of the evil old Elder, but I want you to understand that I always value those Darkkin who get things done.”

I shook my head a little, which brought a slight frown.  Immediately, I looked back down.

“Speak, Katrina,” she said, her tone now firm.

“My apologies, Elder Senka. I was only indicating that I have heard nothing negative, just respect when Darkkin speak of you.”

“When they speak of me to you?”

“No ma’am.  Most Darkkin don’t speak to me, but I hear what they say to others.  I hide well, Elder.”

“Ah, yes.  Anna has said as much.  She also tells me that you are an extremely accomplished actor, with a startling number of polished characters.”

“Thank you, Elder.  Society seems to think of children as harmless, if they are noticed at all.  It is useful, even with Darkkin.  At my size, I need every advantage I can get.”

“Which you use with great effectiveness.  But you are correct that a small size, at least at a young age, can leave you at a disadvantage.  I have therefore directed that you receive lessons from one of the most accomplished fighters of our world.  Have you perhaps heard of Arashi Hosokawa?”

“The Duelist?” I asked, then realized that my mouth hung open and my brows threatened to touch the ceiling.

“That is one of his names.  I have borrowed Hosokawa-san from my sister Elder, Tzao.  He will instruct you.  See that you attend him well, young Darkkin.  His time is valuable, and he does not suffer fools.”

“Thank you, Elder Senka,” I said, bowing again.

“Katrina,” she said, causing me to look up. “I see tremendous potential in you, and I would not have you waste it on despair.  Change is coming to our world, and we will need every Darkkin warrior to be trained and ready to the best of their abilities.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

“Now leave us so that the daughter of my blood might update me on this New World endeavor.”

I bowed again, then walked backward with my head down until I was even with Anna and Galina.  Anna turned and led me out of the room, Galina moving forward to meet with the eldest vampire.

“I survived,” I said when we got a good distance away, with multiple closed doors between us and the Elder.

“More than that, Kat.  She is gifting you with something so valuable that most Darkkin would cut an arm off to get it.  The number of vampires who have had private lessons with Arashi Hosokawa are fewer than two dozen.”

“He’s like over seven hundred years old, right?”

“Yes, and his vampire gift is combat, in all its forms. She must see something very, very special in you.”

The rush of warmth I felt at that was enough to make me forget my childlike body for several hours, something that hadn’t happened since I had Turned.  But the very next night, my predicament was front and center as I stood before a small, compact vampire who looked me up and down with a critical eye.

“You are young—in Darkkin years?” he asked as he walked around me.

“Less than twenty-five, Hosokawa-san,” I said.

“Strength and speed will come with time, no matter the size of your body.  But you will need to survive those decades with legs and arms that lack reach.  How well do you use your Darkkin Grace?”

Grace was the word that was used to describe the odd abilities that all vampires have.  Walking up walls, clinging to ceilings, falling from great heights yet landing with gentle impact.

“I am told that I do well with climbing, jumping, and acrobatics.”

“Do you understand the terms Push, Pull, Post, Cling and Lighten?”

“I have heard them, Hosokawa-san, and can Cling well.  I am still learning the others.”

“Hmm, let’s see.  Climb that wall, crawl across the ceiling, and then jump down to the ground.”

Anna had said that I must do everything he told me, without hesitation.  I did exactly as he said, racing across the room, running up the wall and then bat crawling across the ceiling before dropping to land lightly on my toes.

“You told me that you had yet to learn how to Lighten?”

I nodded.

“Yet that is exactly what you did at the end,” he said, frowning.

“I did not know, Hosokawa-san.”

“Jump to the ceiling,” he commanded.  I did, turning and landing on my feet.  A split second later, so did he.

“Describe what you do when you fall, then do it,” he said.

“Well, I’m not exactly certain.  I thought all vampires changed the speed of their fall.  Anna does it, so I did what she does.”

“More describing. Less other talk.”

“Ah, well, when I fall, I guess I decide at the start how fast I need to reach the ground.  Then I, just, well, fall at that speed,” I said, releasing my feet from the ceiling and slowing my fall to a soft float.

“You execute better than you speak,” he said, frowning. “I was told that English is your native language.”

“It is.”  My only fluent language, I thought but kept that to myself.

“It is not evident,” he said. “Use your command of your native tongue and describe what you do.”

I froze for a second, thoughts running through my head at lightning speed till they fell into a semblance of order.

“I mentally let go of whatever I am Clinging to.  Then as I fall, I think myself to weigh less, or if I must fall fast, I think myself heavier.”

“And your teacher, Anna, did not explain how to do this?”

“No.  She said we could control our speed by will alone.  Then she demonstrated.  So I just did it too.”

“Ah.  I see.  So if I did this”—he reached his hand toward a stack of fighting staffs and one shot across the room to smack solidly into his hand—“you would just do it?”  Then he held the staff up and it shot back across the room.

I had never seen such a clean, clear display of Pull and Push.  Anna had Pulled small items over short distances, but never so smoothly or so far.  Holding my own hand out, I thought of the staff just jumping into it.  The pole wiggled and fell over.  Embarrassed, I angrily reversed my thought, and the staff slid across the floor a few feet until it ran into the others.

Hosokawa looked at me with raised brows.  “Anger gives one mental force.  Do it again with more force and less anger.”

This time, the staff dragged across the floor in fits and spurts until it reached my feet.

“Not so good.”

“I am the judge of good or not good.  Push it away.  More force.”

Gritting my teeth, I put everything I had into it.  The staff moved quickly across the floor.

“Ah. Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

When I finally left the training room, the staff had barely quivered, yet Hosokawa seemed satisfied.  I was told to feed, whether I was hungry or not, rest, and then meet him again the next night.

I had a total of two weeks of his time, but by the end of it, I could Pull a ten-pound weight across an open room or Push the same with respectable force.  I learned to Post my tiny body so that all of my vampire strength was directed at my target.  He taught me techniques that used my slight weight, augmented by what he called my Darkkin Energy, to great effectiveness.  And when he was gone, I was left with a training program that promised to continue to build my abilities.

“Show me,” Galina commanded on the day after Hosokawa’s departure.

I ran up the wall of the dining room, leapt to the chandelier, where my weight was so diminished as to barely cause it to move, dropped to the floor, Pulled two table knives from their settings and Pushed them at Anna, who was holding a wooden board.  They stuck in the wood while I raced out the door.

“Excellent start, Katrina,” Galina said.  “Hosokawa-san says you have some natural ability and pick up Grace quickly.”

“He calls it using Energy,” I said.

“That seems to be the new phrase, yes.  You are to continue to train between assignments.”

“Yes, Galina.”

“The war is over, as you know.  Be ready for your regular roles as the country adjusts.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, glancing at Anna, who gave me a wink.

I could hardly wait to apply what I had just learned.

Chapter 9

Galina kept Anna and I close to home, relying on us to ferret out any and all threats to her control.  When the Civil War ended, the country attempted to heal, but the political tensions and rebellions refused to go away.  Instead, they just slid into the shadows.  Back-room meetings, nighttime conflicts in alleys, and remote locations became the norm for both humans and Darkkin, which fit into my wheelhouse perfectly.

My roles changed from boyish war drummer to underage doxy. Granted, my real age, from the moment of my actual birth, was more like forty, but my body still looked twelve.  I knew all about sex and had no trouble acting older than I looked.  And let’s be honest: Underage prostitutes have always had a steady customer base almost since the dawn of man.

Angry, marginalized men habitually lash out at anyone weaker than themselves.  My roles sometimes demanded that I accept a beating, as such men would lower their guard when they had expended their fury, if only for a short time.  And they would often talk, either to me or around me, handing me information just by lying around. And because my body instantly healed any damage a mere human could dish out, I could absorb a lot of hate-stoked lashings.

But even as I disassociated temporary pain, and even as my bones refused to break or my skin barely bruise, my mind recorded every punch, every backfist, every kick or throw.  And when each task was complete, when each source of information was exhausted, I made it my personal mission to return the pain with at least threefold interest.

I suspect that you are appalled by that.  Certainly, many people display disgust and outrage when I explain some of the methods that we used to obtain intelligence at that time.  I get that, at least because I, myself, am appalled that there are adults, mainly men, but some women too, who enjoy inflicting pain and damage on helpless children, particularly girls.  Except I’m not helpless.  Far from it. The satisfaction I got from successfully finishing each and every mission went far to offset both the beatings and the disgust I faced from other Darkkin, who hated me for simply existing.  And as I said, the eventual balancing of the ledgers of pain became both my hobby and my community service to society.  Rare was the individual human who could survive a three-fold repayment of the pain they inflicted on me.

We lived away from the Coven, away from the Citadel.  Anna and I had a string of apartments and houses, although she was granted a room in Galina’s headquarters for those times when dawn approached before a mission debrief was complete.

Our prime requirement for each dwelling was a cellar with access to the warren of tunnels under New York City, as such egress was vital for escape but also covert movement.  And as I grew older as a vampire, I found that I could stay awake for longer and longer, at least as long as I was underground.  I spent hours, night and sometimes day, exploring the subterranean world of the Big Apple, mapping the hidden world.

Please don’t think that I was always playing a sex worker.  The role of child prostitute was just one of many.  Anna and I could be mother and daughter, two sisters, or sometimes lady and servant, or even nanny and ward. These more respectable personas let us through the gates of society while the more unsavory acting jobs unlocked the sordid underground where valuable information flowed like specks of gold in a sewer of sludge.

Sometimes I was a penniless waif, or a child servant, or even sweatshop worker, rather than a prostitute.  Whatever it took.  Anything to get the job done, get the information Galina needed, to win the quiet admiration of those important Darkkin who mattered.  Our talents as a team had pushed us to the top of the list of agents that Galina used, and our production of cutting-edge intelligence was high, its quality deep, and its importance such that it regularly made it to the ears of the Elders.

So I was, if not happy with my lot in Darkkin life, at least fully occupied—for the most part.  Anna was my friend and we had human servants who managed our daytime requirements, none of whom ever treated me as a child.

But the world was changing rapidly, tensions rising across the globe, and more of the information we gathered had origins outside of America.  By the turn of the century, foreign nations were gathering for conflict.  Several years before World War One broke out, Galina sent us to Washington, DC, and my life as an agent of espionage for the Coven went into high gear.

We travelled to the nation’s capital by train, accompanied by our two principal servants. Elda Ulling managed our household and accounts, while Ralph Douglas managed facilities and transportation.

We arrived unannounced to the vampires of Washington, at least at first, establishing a household on the outskirts of the growing city from whence we could scout the lay of the land, so to speak.

“I’ve been invited to a soiree down the block,” Anna announced, looking up at me from the fancy stationary in her hand.

“Of course you have,” I said.  “That was the whole purpose of visiting six tea rooms in as many evenings.”

“But according to this invitation, you’ve been invited too,” she said, a wicked smile spreading across her beautiful features.

Something unusual happened—I found I was unable to talk.  Almost unheard of.

“Hah, struck dumb,” she said with a laugh.

Being invited to anything was unusual enough to render me speechless, but it couldn’t last.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.  Dear Miss Anna Dakin,” she read.  We were using our real first names but a made-up surname.  “Please do us the honor of attending a modest gathering of entrepreneurial and politically sophisticated women on the evening of October fourteen, this our year, nineteen eleven.  It would be appropriate to include your delightful sister, Miss Katrina Dakin.”

Once again, I was momentarily quiet, but this time to it was to process the invitation’s language.

“Suffrage?” I asked.

“So it would appear.  It’s signed by Madeline Wainwright, who, if you recall, was the middle-aged woman I was talking with at the Madison Tea Room.”

“First of all, I’m middle-aged by their standards, and secondly, we visited so many places that I’m having a hard time remembering which was which.”

“Maybe you are more advanced than middle-age if your memory suffers so?” she suggested.

We both knew that I forget almost nothing and that I knew very well who the lady hosting the party was.

“Well, this will be a new experience,” I said. “Perhaps I can get behind this suffrage movement.”

She snorted, knowing full well my views on society’s treatment of women.  Darkkin society was often run by females, who tended to survive longer than males. Human society was so backward as to be almost prehistoric.

“This will be an excellent introduction to a part of society that sees much and hears even more yet has no real say in the direction the world takes.”

“You know what this means?” I asked.

“An opportunity to show off the latest fashions from New York?” she suggested.

“Yes, but also how well the local Coven members are utilizing this resource,” I said.

“Ah, if we find other Darkkin there, then we know they’re paying attention,” she said.

“And if we remain anonymous, we’ll see how much of what is revealed makes it back to Galina,” I said.

“A test of transparency?” she asked.  I nodded.  “Good thought, as long as no other vampire figures us out, which, based on our fashions, will be hard to accomplish.”

“Not so,” I said. “In a crowded, heavily perfumed room of women, scent and heartbeat will be muddled, especially if we’re well fed ahead of time.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” she allowed. “We must plan.”

“And dress,” I said, earning another smile.

Our dresses were killer.  Or in the vernacular of the times, they were the snake’s hips.  Created for us in New York just weeks before, they were the very forward edge of American fashion.  Anna went with a rich burgundy red that set off the natural auburn highlights in her hair.  Mine was ocean blue, the color of deep sea in sunlight.  It popped against my winter white skin, dark eyes, and hair.

We arrived in our best carriage, and Ralph opened the door and gave us each a hand as we descended to the walkway in front of the Wainwright Mansion.  Madeline, herself, was greeting arrivals by the door at the top of the white marble steps and our arrival caught the attention of the five women who were in front of us.

“Anna, dear, you look absolutely ravishing, and your darling sister Katrina is a veritable porcelain doll,” Madeline gushed as we mounted the steps.

“Thank you, Madeline,” Anna said with easy grace as I executed a flawless curtsey. “Your home is magnificent.”

“Isn’t it though?  Of all our homes, this is my favorite,” our hostess said.  Madeline Wainwright was married to a real estate investor who had bought up much of the land around Washington, DC before the country’s young capital had taken off.  Only just a dozen or so years ago, the capital had been a very informal kind of city.  But in the last decade, as America continued to advance itself in the eyes of the world, Washington had entered a period of rapid growth.  Marshall Wainwright’s holdings had exploded in value over the most recent decade, likely doubling or tripling the family’s already considerable wealth.

With more guests behind us, we moved forward into the foyer.  A grand staircase on the left led to the second floor, the steps covered with a beautiful Oriental rug.  The entry was floored in dark oak, with a Chippendale marble-topped entry table and an honest-to-God electric light of sparkling crystal overhead.  A maid smiled and directed us down the foyer, past closed doors that presumably led to Marshall’s office or library.  At the end of the foyer, the archway opened into a very large living room with twelve-foot ceilings.  Immediately beyond, floor-to-ceiling doors that were each as wide as a big man was tall were opened to the dining room, where the big brother to the foyer chandelier held pride of place over a magnificent mahogany table, loaded with delicacies.

The crowd was exclusively women, although it was obvious at a glance that this was not just a party for the very wealthy.  While many of the women were dressed to the nines with no expense spared, there were many others whose economic status was clearly lower.  The women tended to clump together by wealth and status, but a handful moved from group to group, handing out flyers and attempting to draw various groups together.  A young woman in a pretty gown that was clearly not expensive in make or material approached us with a smile.

“Welcome. Everyone is welcome,” she said.  She was shorter than Anna and not a great deal taller than me, with sunflower yellow hair, sun-darkened skin, and very bright blue eyes.  “I’m Priscilla, one of the organizers.”

“I’m Anna and this is my sister Katrina,” Anna said.

“You will do very well to listen and attend these proceedings, Katrina,” Priscilla said to me with a smile.  “What we hope to achieve here is for your benefit and the benefit of all women yet to come.”

“I’m very interested to see women achieve political parity with men,” I said.

“Well said,” Priscilla exclaimed, almost as if a clear thought from a person of my apparent youth was a wonder. “Should you get bored, there are numerous young ladies of your age, mostly back by the entrance to the kitchen,” she said, turning to Anna and focusing her attention on her.

I took my cue, only mildly offended.  Much of my success as a spy came from my ability to assume the roles of children while commanding the strength, speed, and senses of a vampire.  Still, it stung to know that I would always be judged a mere child by people who didn’t know me.

I drifted past various clusters of women, my sensitive ears sampling each conversation as I moved into the dining room.  It was innocuous stuff, mostly excitement at the idea of getting to vote, sprinkled liberally with bits of gossip and comments on various dresses.  My own gown caused several quiet discussions, as curiosity over the obvious value of my dress led to the backstory we had so carefully sown.

Most went like this: “Oh, such a lovely dress!  And on a child no less,” one woman murmured.

“Yes, she and her sister are newly arrived from New York.  Parents died at sea, and they inherited a fortune.  The older one, over there in red, is guardian for this one.”

“So, they can afford to donate to the cause?”

“Richly.”

I continued around the perimeter of the room, smiling brightly like a good girl while listening for anything of importance.

“It’s bad manners to flaunt your wealth,” I heard from my right, clearly directed my way.

Turning, I found three girls close to my frozen physical age.  The leader, a blonde, and the redhead to her left both wore dresses that, while not on par with mine, were close in value.  The third girl, dark-haired like me, stood slightly behind the other two, her own gown of much meaner origin.

“Yet you wear your best dresses like a badge,” I retorted.

“This… this is hardly my best dress,” the leader said snidely.

This is the other part of my hell.  Forever stuck with the pettiness of preteen girls.

“Oh, good, I’m so glad that that’s not your best,” I shot back. “Now that the pleasantries are over, I’ll be getting back to the adults.”

“Ah, Prudence, making friends with Katrina. How nice,” Madeline Wainwright said, coming up behind me.

I turned and moved back by the three girls for no real reason other than to be polite to my hostess.  Good thing I did because she was immediately approached from the side by two women, one of whom was a vampire.

The swirls of perfume in the room blocked the tall woman’s scent, but her grace of movement, pale white skin, and lack of rapid pulse gave her away.  She had raven-black hair and ebony eyes which were locked on our hostess, much to my benefit.

My random movement had placed me among the young girls whose heart rates increased at the sight of the glamorous vampire now talking to Madeline.  The Darkkin’s companion was human, shorter and attractive, with wavy light brown hair and hazel eyes.  There was something about her that piqued my senses, but most of my attention was on the vampire.

“Madeline, this has been a wonderful soiree,” she said with a hint of Europe in her modulated voice. “I do so hope you are successful.”

“Thank you, Lisbeth.  It is happening in so many other countries that it is only a matter of time and persistence here,” our hostess said, identifying the vampire for me. I had been well briefed but seen pictures of only a handful of the Washington clutch.

Lisbeth Cole was a young vampire, recently arrived from France.  She was new to the Washington vampires and, being only about thirty in vampire years, was low on the seniority ladder.  If she was the Darkkin assigned to this event, then the local master was paying little attention to the suffrage movement.  Good information, but the spy in me wanted more.

“Danielle and I will be leaving now, as unfortunately we have another engagement,” Lisbeth said.

“Oh no,” Madeline protested. “I was so hoping you’d hear our keynote speeches.”

“As did I, but the obligation I speak of was committed to before I learned of your delightful event,” the vampire said smoothly.

Around me, the little girls hung on her words, hearts beating like little birds.  Humans often sense us, on some unconscious level, and children are perhaps even more sensitive.  Her dress, bearing, and Darkkin beauty were all wrappings around the predator underneath, the whole package guaranteed to capture attention.

I too looked her way but kept my eyes moving so as not to alert her inner predator that another predator was watching.  I listened while my eye roved over her companion, trying to figure out the connection.

The young woman was comfortable in Lisbeth’s presence, staying quiet and making no attempt to gather any attention of her own, leaving her taller companion to speak for her.  She was pretty in an unremarkable way, her skin clear and hazel eyes bright.  And she was paying attention to her surroundings, eyes roving over the party, over my underage group and then, swinging back to meet my gaze.

Mistake on my part.  The girls beside me were locked onto Lisbeth, yet I was watching the human, so as not to trigger Darkkin instincts.  And this young woman found that interesting as she studied me, which indicated a familiarity with how the public reacts around vampires.  Her head tilted at me and I gave her a slight, bashful smile, glancing back toward her partner and widening my eyes.  Let her make of that what she would.

“Danielle, did you happen to call for our carriage?” Lisbeth asked her companion politely.

“I did.  It should be around front shortly,” Danielle responded, her own voice lightly accented.

The exchange was between equals, which made it interesting, as most Darkkin assume superiority over regular humans.

Physically we are superior, but mentally we are on parity.  Most vampires over, say, twenty-five years since Turn are of at least medium intelligence.  This is the case for two reasons: First, vampires are Turned by design, not accident.  The process is painstaking and easily disrupted.  Therefore, certain admirable traits are looked for in a candidate, intelligence being a common characteristic.  The second reason is that while some new vampires might be turned for physical attributes of beauty, if they lack the intelligence to adapt to Darkkin society, they rarely make it past their second decade. The result is that most vampires of Lisbeth’s age or older are at least reasonably intelligent.  However, there are plenty of humans who equal or exceed the average smarts of Darkkin.

Anna and Galina had each emphasized those facts to me during my early years.  Don’t underestimate humans, as they can be very intelligent, and they can be very active during daylight hours.  But not all vampires share that awareness.  Many assume a natural superiority exists and treat humans as inferiors, most especially young vampires.

Lisbeth appeared to consider Danielle a relative equal.  Fascinating.

The pair stepped away from the hostess and moved toward the foyer.  I slipped away from my shield of children and found Anna, who was in deep conversation with a pair of older women regarding the timing of the movement.  I caught her eye as I moved behind her companions, flashing a set of hand signals to indicate I was on a trail.

She blinked slowly, twice, like a cat, indicating she understood.  With that, I moved to the back of the house, finding a side entrance near the kitchen that led toward the carriage house.  Outside, a great number of personal vehicles waited in the yard, mostly horse-drawn but also more than a few motorcars.  They were fast becoming popular, and I made a mental note to discuss them with Anna.  Adapting to current trends is vital to the survival of a being who might live for a thousand years and whose suspected existence might scare the masses into rash behavior.  The old literary trope of the antiquated vampire living as an eccentric in modern society is actually very uncommon.  Not unheard of, but far from the norm.

Chapter 10

I found Ralph, instructed him to follow the carriage that was just leaving, and ducked inside our own vehicle.  The carriage leapt forward in an abrupt manner, but I Posted my body to the floor as I began to disrobe and change my outfit.  The beautiful dress came off, to be replaced by trousers, shirt, jacket, boys’ boots, and a cap. When I was ready, I climbed around the outside of the carriage, joining Ralph as he expertly drove the horses through the streets of Washington.  Ahead of us, a small brown carriage in good repair moved at a steady pace, neither racing nor dawdling.

“When it stops, just drive past.  I will drop off and observe on foot.  Then go back and wait for Anna,” I instructed.

“Yes ma’am,” Ralph said.

My senses flared to life in the night as the breeze of our passage brought scents and sounds and my eyes looked deep into shadowed spaces.  This was what I lived for—the hunt.

The carriage ahead pulled into the gated entrance of a mansion and as instructed; Ralph drove right on past.  I, on the other hand, jumped off the side of our carriage, tucking and rolling to a landing just to the left of the gate opening.

The wall was stone, tall, thick, and expensive.  I followed it closer to the corner of the property, then down along the side till I was deep in shadow.  My clothes were dark browns and grays and my step was silent.

There were a few trees on the neighbor’s side of the wall, and one small cherry tree grew only fifteen feet from it.  I climbed the tree rather than the wall, as sometimes walls have bells, glass, or other surprises to alert guards.  The wall was ten feet high, and my tree was only fourteen, but I Lightened my small body and was able to climb high enough to peer over the top.  The house was brick, three stories high, and from my vantage point, I could see nothing in the yard but grass and gravel.  No trees, no statues, no stone benches, nor gardens.  But also, no guards and nothing on the top of the wall itself.

Dropping to the base of the tree, I jumped up the wall, Clinging to the side, my body just below the edge.  Again, I peered over, moving up cautiously until I was on top of the wall, but only after assuring myself that there were no guards, Darkkin, human, or canine.

Excessively cautious, you ask?  Not where Darkkin are involved.  Paranoia is very much a survival trait in a species that lives as long as we do, that goes mostly comatose in daytime, and would inspire terror in mobs of humans.  We don’t have homes; we have safe houses, headquarters, and nests.  I have even heard of vampires making use of witches to place spells and wards around their properties.

With no sign of any watchers, I dropped quietly to the ground, paused to listen and smell, then raced to the house.  Up the outside wall, sloth slow.  Predatory eyes, be they human, Darkkin, or animal, pick up motion above all else.  Slow, careful movement is generally best.  The lack of security was a sign of either complacence or incompetence.  Maybe both.

I looked into each window as I climbed but saw no one.  Also missing were bedroom sets, instead each room was set up like an office, a study, or a meeting room.  Vampires prefer to wait out the day below ground whenever possible.  I was in the right place.

When I reached the roof, I discovered a veritable mountain range of peaks and valleys, all made of slate.  There were also various doors, windows, and access hatches giving me almost too many points of ingress.  I chose a small window that, in daytime, gave light to an attic gable room that appeared to be unused, even for storage.  The latch was solid and in good shape but no match for either my burglary skills or my strength.

Inside, I paused to feel, look, listen, and smell.  The air was cool, dusty, and dry.  After a few moments, I crept cautiously through the empty space and down a short set of stairs to a door.  My ears found no heartbeats and my nose found no living organic matter on the other side.  It was locked, but I habitually carry various skeleton keys and one worked easily to free the bolt.

The hallway outside was dark and quiet as I explored the third floor entirely.  Storage rooms and staff quarters, mainly.  Some of the latter were occupied by sleeping humans, likely the daytime personnel.

I descended to the second floor looking through the offices but finding no one.  Near the center of the house, I found a door that led to a balcony overlooking a massive first floor room, like some kind of great hall or banquet room.  Voices rose from below, the acoustics making my vampire hearing almost unnecessary.

The vampire Lisbeth stood before a set of honest-to-goodness throne chairs, facing two sitting vampires, male and female.  Her friend Danielle stood back twelve feet behind her, and something like nine or ten other vampires lounged in chairs or leaned against the walls on either side.  A royal court, here in the Washington clutch.  Delusions of grandeur were running rampant at this outpost.

“—discussing the suffrage movement, my Lord,” Lisbeth was saying.  Lord?

“And therefore, nothing of import,” the sitting male vampire said in a lazy drawl. “Good. I’ve been advised that Galina has sent observers to our fair city, and we should expect them at almost any time.”

“Observers, William?” the seated woman asked in an equally droll voice.  I remembered that the assigned leader of the local clutch was one William Percell, a Darkkin of about a hundred and twenty-five years.  The female was likely Cynthia Bodwell, his named second.  She was just under a hundred years of age.

“Anna Corlenni, Galina’s primary spy, as well as her monstrous protégée,” William said.  A soft hiss moved about the room like a snake’s voice on the wind.

“The child vampire? The abomination?” Cynthia asked, her tone filled with loathing and disgust.

“Yes. Katrina Westing.”

“Why hasn’t she been destroyed?” a vampire from the sidelines asked, a man.

“She is a gifted spy, it seems, useful to Galina,” William answered him.

“What does she look like?” Danielle the human suddenly asked.

The room went still and William and Cynthia looked at her as if offended.

“You were to train your servant, Lisbeth, were you not?” William asked the vampire.

“Danielle is not a servant, my lord.  She is a highly skilled witch and if she speaks now, it is with good and valid reason, I am sure.”

William considered Lisbeth for a moment, then turned to the human.  Witch?

“She is accounted to be an extremely attractive girl child of preteen years.  Dark hair, dark eyes.  Did you see someone like that?”

“Yes, at the suffrage event,” Danielle said, her voice firm and seemingly unafraid. “Madeline Wainwright was speaking to a set of girls, and one stood out.  She matches that description.”

“How did she stand out, and why would Lisbeth not have noticed her?” Cynthia asked.

“When Lisbeth and I approached Madeline, the girls, as a group, focused on Lisbeth, as humans are wont to do,” the witch said. “But this other girl was watching me, and she was exquisitely attractive for a child, wearing a gown that cost as much as Madeline’s.”

Exquisitely attractive?  Oh, I rather liked that.

“There was far too much perfume to smell anything, let alone a Darkkin,” Lisbeth said. “And the children’s heartbeats were very fast.  I’m afraid I paid no attention to them.”

“Attractive children are not rare and while her behavior seems odd, it is hardly conclusive,” William said.

“Well, yes, but now as I think back, when I noticed her studying me, her expression instantly changed from incredibly intent to bashful,” Danielle said. “It struck me as odd, but I had no knowledge then of any child vampires.”

“You present information that is incomplete and likely useless,” Cynthia said. “Why would Anna Corlenni and her abomination attend a suffrage party?”

“As I mentioned, there were a considerable number of influential women there,” Lisbeth said. “Perhaps she is looking for an introduction to the political scene.”

“Why bring the child?” Cynthia pressed.

“I could not hazard a guess,” Lisbeth said, glancing at Danielle.

“Perhaps I should not have spoken at all, my lord,” Danielle said quickly.

Cynthia started to speak but William held up a hand.  “Katrina looks like a child.  She is not. She is well over seventy years old and has spent her entire vampiric life as a spy and a problem solver.  It is said that she has the eye and ear of at least one Elder.  Underestimating her and her mentor would be a very, very bad idea.”

You think?

“If they have arrived, why have they not presented themselves to you as the Master of the City?” Cynthia asked.

Master?  He was only a few decades older than me and not even as old as Anna.

“Perhaps you should place a telephone call to New York?” Lisbeth suggested.

Telephones—crazy stuff.  I had been enamored with the telegraph system since childhood—chronological childhood, that is.  But the telephone had changed everything, shaking up the world, and it continued to spread like a veritable wildfire.

William blinked a few times, then slowly nodded.  My suspicion was that he had completely forgotten that telephones existed at all.  Technological changes seem to happen faster and faster, and many vampires are slow to catch up.  I decided right then and there that I wouldn’t be one of those vampires.

“I will do just that.  In the meantime, we should be sure our house is in order.  The food in the basement needs to be kept secret.  Lisbeth, I will place you in charge of that,” he said. “Cynthia, you will oversee the finance people and make sure our account books are tidy.”

Lisbeth nodded slowly while her friend the witch just looked down at the floor.  That was a clever manipulation on William’s part.  The only real way to keep vampire senses from finding blood victims—or food, in his vernacular—was through witchcraft.  Danielle clearly had no great respect for William, but she did seem bound somehow to Lisbeth.  Clever way to get the witch to work for him.

“Might I suggest increasing security?” Lisbeth said. “In the old country, Darkkin seem very concerned with the security of the clutch.”

“Hmm, excellent point.  Donal?” William called.

A male vampire stepped forward.  “Yes, my lord, I will see to it immediately.”

And that was my cue to head out.  I retraced my steps with the stealth of a cat, slipping out the attic gable window and down the side of the building.  Back over the wall and off into the night.

An hour later, I was back at our new home, filling Anna in as she took off her jewelry.

“Master?” she asked, incredulous. “He makes them call him Master?”

“Or Lord.  And his second is his Lady,” I said.

“And this Lisbeth has a witch with her?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we should place our own phone call?” Anna mused as she took off her earrings.

“I don’t think there’s a lot of respect on either Lisbeth or Danielle the witch’s part for the Master of Washington,” I said.

“Okay.  Let’s call home,” she said, bowing her head as I unfastened her diamond necklace. “And Katrina?”

“Yes?”

“This was excellent work.  Top-notch,” she said with a grin at her use of the latest slang.

“Thanks. It was fun.”

“Let’s hope it stays fun—always,” she said.

“Always,” I agreed.

Chapter 11

The next part was also fun—exciting and exhilarating.

“William,” Anna greeted the other vampire when we were brought before them.  The two throne-like chairs were there, but only one of them was occupied.  Cynthia stood nearest to William, but it looked like she didn’t dare try for the whole Lady thing.

“Going for informal, are we?” William asked.

“Would you prefer Lord William?  Or Master of the City?” Anna asked.

When vampires are shocked, they don’t show the same expressions as regular humans.  They typically freeze and look blank.  William was suddenly a statue.  In fact, the whole room was full of statues.

“Galina was not amused.  Her mother, however, thought it funny,” Anna said.  I could see the moment realization hit William, because he blinked.  Galina had been Turned by Senka, which made the Elder her parent.

William finally came back to life.  “It was said only in amusement,” he said.  “How do you even know of it?”

I took that as my cue.  “Your security is nonexistent.  I stood right up on that balcony and listened as you debriefed Lisbeth and Danielle, who were correct about me being at the suffrage event.”

“You broke into the nest?” Cynthia asked suddenly, her tone outraged.

“Hardly.  I walked up the outer wall, opened a window, and climbed in.  No breaking involved.  There should have been, though.  Galina was not amused about that either.”

“You… you… abomination!” Cynthia hissed.

“William,” Anna warned in a sharp note, but it was too late.

“I accept your challenge,” I said. “As challenged, I set the terms.  Weapons will be whatever you can find here in this hall.  No quarter is necessary.  Time is… now.”

With that, I rushed her, moving fast, my favorite knife in my hand as I shot past her.  She gasped, a gout of blood surging from the femoral artery in her right thigh.  She looked at the wound for a split second, then moved, leaving a spray of blood in the air as she shot toward the closest wall—the one with a pair of crossed swords on it.  She was fast, but the one thing I had was speed.  I caught up just as she gripped a sword hilt, dropping low to slash across the back of her left knee.

She sagged briefly, the sword pulling loose from its mounting as I ran up the wall above her at a diagonal.  Her thigh wound had healed, and so would her sliced knee tendons in a few seconds more.  Vampires heal fast, which made fights between us long, drawn-out affairs.  But what I was doing was a technique that Hosokawa had told me about.  Lingchi is the Chinese term for what regular humans call the Death of a Thousand Cuts.  Humans know it as an ancient form of slow, lingering torture that takes days to kill, but what they don’t know is that it is derived from an even older Darkkin technique for fighting other Darkkin.

Literally, a relentless method of bleeding a vampire till they are too weak to continue to defend themselves.  Ironically, the human method might take hours while the vampire technique is designed to shorten a fight to mere minutes.

Cynthia turned around in a circle, the point of her rapier held in a steel-steady hand, aimed at me.

I came down off the wall, false rushing her before grabbing a chair and throwing it ahead of me.  Desperately, she used her off arm to knock the chair away, leaving her sword arm free.  But as the chair went to her left side, I went by her right, my short razor-sharp blade cutting across her deltoid muscle and deep into her rotator cuff.

A very complex joint, the shoulder.  Even at vampire healing speeds, it takes minutes to correctly heal.  Her right arm dropped, useless, and she grabbed the sword with her left hand, turning her body to find me.

Hosokawa had told me much of duels when he was training me, and he had assigned me to learn detailed anatomy from a physician tutor in addition to all my other tutors.  I knew that she was healing her left knee, but the right shoulder was shot for a few minutes, and she was right-handed.  The Duelist had told me that certain techniques were stupid and suicidal in most vampire fights—anything like flying punches, kicks, and flips that left you vulnerable in midair.  But there were exceptions.  Like when an opponent had multiple major joint damage to heal and was off balance.  I took a chance and jumped straight up as soon as my blade left her shoulder.  Inverting upside down, my face to the floor, I was in a perfect position to both witness her off-balance turn as well as stick my short, wide blade into the back of her neck, the steel slicing between the C4 and C5 vertebrae.

I Pulled myself to the ground as fast as possible, landing as her body collapsed.  I drank in the terror in her eyes as she began to fall, helpless.

“Katrina,” Anna called, her tone warning.  She had told me before we came to not toy with whichever vampire was stupid enough to insult me.

I moved again, reaching Cynthia as she was about to hit the ground, my left hand grabbing her expensive blouse, stopping her.  Then I unceremoniously set her down on the ground.  An inch deeper and the wound would have been fatal.  As it was, a severed spine would set a vampire back a full week.  Had she slammed into the ground, she might well have died a final death.  Not that I cared, but orders were orders.

“Is your honor appeased, Katrina?” Anna asked me.  Traditionally, it should be the lead vampire for the nest, but William was frozen solid again.

“Yes, Anna,” I said, snapping my wrist hard and fast, as Hosokawa had shown me, the blood flying off the blade, leaving it almost pristine.

“So, William,” Anna said. “Galina has given us specific instructions regarding Washington.  We are not here to interfere with the nest, but likewise, you are not to interfere with us.  War is coming—global war on a scale never seen in human history.  While we don’t intervene in their conflicts, this one promises to be something altogether new.  Katrina and I have very specific objectives.  If we come to this nest for assistance, you will provide it.  Understood?”

William held himself motionless, but this time it was clearly from anger, the smallest of frowns giving him away.  “I will be reporting this to Galina,” he said, waving at Cynthia, who was twitching on the floor.

“You should probably get her into a bed and feed her some blood before you fire up the telephone,” Anna retorted. “But by all means, please give Galina the complete details.”

She turned to go, and I followed her lead a slow second later, letting my eyes meet those of every Darkkin present.  Most were frozen, but Lisbeth gave me a tiny nod and her witch friend, Danielle, raised her brows slightly in surprise.  Having a tiny twelve-year-old beat your second-in-command had to be mildly terrifying—I least I hoped so.

So, all in all, great fun.

Chapter 12

“Uhh, this is awful,” I said, aware that I was, in fact, whining.

“Suck it up, Katrina,” Danielle said with absolutely no sympathy. “Literally please.”

I took another sip of the foul-smelling brew she’d forced into my hands.  “Still horrible.”

“Yes, well, if we’re going to attempt to solve your physical age issue, we have to understand vampirism,” she said, a hint of her native France in her voice.

“So you say, but it seems like you’re just using this as a way to torture me,” I said.

“No, this is diagnostic.  To age you, we must halt or reverse the vampire disease and allow your body to grow again.  Since no witch I have queried knows anything about vampirism, we must start from scratch,” she said in a prim tone. “The torture part is just happy coincidence,” she finished with a smile.

Lisbeth and Danielle had gravitated to Anna and me, mostly Anna.  They spent many a night in our company, clearly preferring us to the rest of the Washington Darkkin.  I knew that to be true and not a ploy to ingratiate themselves with us, for I had spied on them many times after our initial meeting.  But that was several years ago and I was reasonably assured of their sincerity and general trustworthiness.

Anna is a magnetic person and clearly in the favor of Galina and even Elder Senka.  It would make sense that the young vampire and her witch friend might seek her out.  The fact that they treated me as an adult and without pity was a major point in their favor, or at least Danielle’s.

“What exactly does this sludge do?” I asked.

“Well, our best guess is that vampirism is caused by something called a virus.  Are you familiar with viruses?”

“I recall hearing of their discovery just before the turn of the century,” I said to show I wasn’t a complete dullard. “I don’t know all the details, as I pay little attention to disease and illness anymore.”

“Exactly,” she said with a triumphant smile. “The idea among Darkkin scholars is that a particular virus causes vampirism, and that virus somehow guards its host.”

“Host?  You speak as if we have a parasite in us?”

“Well, viruses seem to have much in common with parasites.  This one acts more like a symbiotic parasite.  One that gets into a person and stays there for, well, ever.  In exchange, the person receives a bunch of benefits: speed, strength, enhanced senses, longevity, and immunity to disease.”

“But we have to drink blood,” I said.

“Yes.  The people I’ve spoken to don’t know a great deal yet, but they’re studying it deeply.  In the meantime, I would like to see if there are any aspects of Craft that could reverse the effects, at least long enough to let your body age a bit.  Craft healing has had great success with germs and viruses.”

“And this foul creation?” I asked, swirling the last inch or two of evil fluid in the bottom of the glass.

“This is a potion that Water witches use to help diagnose illness.  It spreads through the body and we can feel it.”

“Well, I can feel it too and it feels disgusting,” I said, swigging down the last of it.

“We’ll let that sit for a bit and then I’ll try my hand at reading you.”

“Great.  More waiting.”

She gave me an understanding look and I didn’t care for it at all.

“They’ll be back soon enough,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not used to being the one sitting around.  I prefer to be out in the thick of it.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  This mission is a bit different, I understand,” she said gently, not looking my way.

Anna and Lisbeth were out in the city, being wined and dined by political staffers placed high enough in the government to know something about where the Wilson Administration stood on the global war currently ravaging Europe.  And twelve-year-old girls only appeal to a very few twisted men.  They were out with adult men who were a third my age, and I was trapped in a prepubescent body.

“Let’s give it a go, shall we,” Danielle said, waving a hand at the couch.  In a fit of pique, I moved to the couch, arriving there before she could process my motion.  Great.  I not only looked like a child, I acted like one too.

She ignored my little display and calmly moved to the side of the settee that was big enough for me to lie on it.

Holding both hands over my body, palms down, she closed both eyes and hummed softly to herself.  Never quite touching me, she moved her left hand down over my legs while her right traveled above my chest, neck, and head.

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing Anna and Lisbeth, both laughing as they entered the room.

“Oh, hey, there you two are,” Lisbeth said with an extra little laugh and a shared look with Anna. “Are we interrupting something?” she asked, in a tone that implied something.

Is it odd that of the two, I much preferred the witch to the vampire?

Maybe I was just jealous of her ripe beauty and exotic French appeal, maybe I resented her assumption of comradery with my Anna, or maybe she just wasn’t as nice a person as the witch who was less than half her age but twice as mature.  I didn’t hate her, but I didn’t like her either.

I have developed something of a poker face, but Anna knows me too well.  She caught my eye when Lisbeth wasn’t looking and gave me the tiniest shake of her head.  Honestly, I wasn’t going to kill the vampire wench; I just didn’t like her all that much.  I turned my head and looked up at the ceiling without responding.

“Well, yes,” Danielle said. “Shot my reading all to hell,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the vampires.   When she turned back to me, she gave me a wink.  “Can’t pick up anything.”  She mouthed sorry to me.

“Oh, Danielle, we’re so sorry,” Anna apologized.  Lisbeth said nothing, which was probably wise.

“Well, it’s back to the grimoires for a new approach,” the witch said. “Were you successful?”

“Yes. Wilson is very close to addressing Congress about joining the war,” Anna said. “There is much to be done.”

Anna and I were charged with delivering actionable intelligence to Galina, who would pass it on to the rest of the Elders and the Coven.  Lisbeth and the rest of William’s Washington cadre were engaged in the Coven’s principal mission: capitalism.  The Coven is driven from the top down.  The Elders considered the business of accumulating wealth and the power that came with it to be one of the Darkkin species’ greatest tools of survival in a world of rapidly expanding humans.

Lisbeth would be looking to turn her new knowledge to the advantage of the businesses that William oversaw here in the nation’s capital.  Anna’s intelligence would be used to help the Coven guide the war in whatever direction the Elders thought most advantageous.

“In fact, if you will excuse me, I must call New York,” Anna said, motioning me to follow her.

We left the sitting room and headed upstairs to the offices.  As we climbed the stairs, she turned and looked at me.

“What?” I asked without turning her way.

“You know what,” she said.

“Relax.  She’s in no danger from me, if only for you and Danielle.  But… it does gets old, and I would have expected her to remember what happened to Cynthia.”

“She is still young for a Darkkin, while you are approaching your first century.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The young forget easily.  And you are easy to underestimate, which I know you have used to your advantage often.”

I sighed. “Anna, I won’t hurt her.  I might not leap to help her, but I won’t hurt her.”

We reached our shared office and let ourselves in.  Anna closed the extra thick door and locked it.  The room was upholstered in a rather garish way: walls, ceiling, and back of the door.  The red velvet lay over three inches of padding that did a pretty good job of absorbing sound and keeping our conversations private.

I sat across from Anna as she took her seat at her desk.  She met my eyes as she picked up the phone and placed the call.

She lay the receiver on the desktop, our Darkkin hearing and that of our boss enabling us to speak and hear without needing to place the handset to our ears.

“What do you know?” Galina answered without preamble.

“It will happen soon. Several weeks to a month at most,” Anna said.

“And the expected outcome?”

“The eagle will enter the fray,” Anna said.

“Excellent. Good work,” Galina said.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.  Oh, and Katrina?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Don’t kill the young one or her witch,” she said.

“I wouldn’t!” I protested. “I like Danielle.”

She snorted. “Very well.”  The phone clicked and went dead as she hung up.

“Why does everyone think I’m ready to kill anyone who looks at me cross-eyed?” I asked.

“Because you are a gifted killer and have a well-known temper,” Anna said.

“Will this end the war?” I asked her, changing the subject.

“Not right away but likely, yes.  And hopefully this is the last of these world wars.”

She was wrong about that. Dead wrong.

Chapter 13

“Are you ready?” Anna asked.

“Look at me. I’m more than ready,” I said.

She looked me over with a critical eye, Lisbeth standing blank-faced behind her.  After a moment, Anna frowned and shook her head.

“What is it?” I asked, suddenly unsure.  I glanced down at myself, hands checking my weapons and gear.  Dark boy clothes, 6.5mm Mannlicher-Schoenauer rifle cased and slung on my back, the ‘21 Bolo pistol across my chest with two spare clips of ammo, and my favorite knife sheathed at my side.  Dark brown boots, a black knit cap small enough for my head yet big enough to cover my pinned-up hair, and black gloves rounded out my kit, as the Brits would say.

I looked back up to meet Anna’s eyes, then narrowed my own at the excited gleam I spotted. “What?”

She held out a hand back toward Lisbeth without looking away, and the other vampire set a wrapped package in it. “This came for you,” she said. “From Japan.  Via the embassy.”

I frowned, reaching for it, but Anna pulled it away.

“It came with a message for me, but it is for you.”

“From whom?  I don’t know anyone in Japan.”

“Don’t you?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see… no… well, except for Hosokawa,” I said, frowning.  Lisbeth blinked at that name and Anna’s lips quivered in an almost smile.

“It’s from Hosokawa?” I asked, not believing my own guess.

Her smile bloomed and she nodded.

“But it’s been decades,” I said.

Anna handed me the package.  It was wrapped in thick brown paper, bound with heavy twine that was tied in a complex, symmetrical fashion.  The knots were so intricate that it was almost a work of art.  I tried to figure out how to untie it but couldn’t see how it might unravel.

“You have to cut it; that’s the purpose of the knots,” Anna said.  Lisbeth was being unusually quiet, her normal snark suddenly dried up.

My short blade sliced through the twine with little resistance.  The paper unwrapped to reveal a light tan box as long as my forearm, made from what I thought might be bamboo.  A note was folded atop the case.  I read it once to myself, then again, out loud.

Young Kat,

I have followed your exploits and adventures since we trained together many years ago.  You have blossomed and grown in so many ways, achieved many successes, and brought much honor to the Coven.  But a Kat as fierce as you must have at least one claw to match.  This tanto is very old and came into my possession just recently.  I needed only one glimpse to recognize that the spirit of this blade matches yours.  Its name is Tora—tiger.

In honor,

Hosokawa

“You trained with the Duelist?” Lisbeth asked, astonished.

I just nodded, my eyes on the contents of the box that I had just opened.

A single arc of gleaming steel laid naked in a bed of black silk.  The tang was bare, etched with the Japanese characters that spelled out the maker’s name.  The two pieces of the grip were emplaced in their own compartments, each wrapped with a beautiful black scaled material that I knew to be the cured skin of a stingray, brass pins tucked beside them, along with a disk of black ivory that would fit on the hilt.  A polished ebony black wooden sheath laid alongside the shining work of metallic art.

I had done my homework in the years since training with the deadliest swordsman in the Darkkin world.  What I was looking at was a masterpiece of craftsmanship.  Steel folded hundreds of times, the cutting edge eleven or twelve inches long, a wavy line along the edge that I knew to be the Hamon, which was formed during the hardening process.  The Jimon was the watery, wavy pattern that was a result of the swordsmith hammering the steel out, folding it, hammering it again and again, so many times that the pattern was tiny, the folds crowded close together. The edge was so sharp, it just seemed to disappear.

“Hosokawa showed me how to assemble and disassemble the handles,” I said, lifting the perfect blade from its bed and fitting the handles in place.

“You’re serious?” Lisbeth asked. “She’s serious?  She was taught by Hosokawa himself?”

“She was,” Anna confirmed. “A personal favor to Senka.  By the end of the two weeks, he thanked Senka for bringing him a student worthy of his teaching.”

“He did what?” I asked, looking up for the first time.

“He told her that his initial thought when he heard of a child vampire was that his time would be wasted, as you were certain to fail before your first decade.  But after training you, he told Senka that you would not only survive but thrive.  Are you ready—now?” Anna asked.

It had been decades, but my fingers remembered what to do.  The assembled blade slipped into its sheath and the sheath tucked tightly into my belt.  The tanto was a close-quarters combat blade, the shortest of the samurai’s weapons, but in my hands, it was almost a short sword.

“It’s just steel,” Lisbeth said.

“So is my common utility knife, but it has killed many vampires,” I replied. “And calling this merely steel is like calling a Picasso merely paint on canvas. It will sever limbs completely, as well as decapitate a vampire or human with ease.”

“Especially when powered by vampire of almost a hundred years,” Anna said.

Lisbeth blinked again. “I forget how old you are,” she said.

A mere century wasn’t old by Darkkin standards, but it was the first true milestone in a vampire’s life.  A hundred-year-old vampire is significantly stronger and faster than a twenty-year-old.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay. Remember this meet is fraught with danger.  You are our guardian angel should things go south, got it?”

“Absolutely. ‘Nilda and I are ready,” I said referring to my rifle, Magnilda.

“Why are your weapons named?” Lisbeth asked. “It’s so weird.”

“Warriors often name their principal weapons, Lisbeth.  Our Kat may be small, but she is every inch a warrior.”

“Are we going or what?” I asked, now impatient for this mission.

“We’re going,” Anna said.

Anna drove our automobile, a 1931 Cadillac V16 All Weather Phaeton, with the same skill she applied to everything.  We headed south out of Washington on State Route 1 toward Fredericksburg, Virginia.

Long before we could get to Fredericksburg, we turned off on a side road that took us into the recently formed Chopawamsic Recreation Area, not far from the Marine Base at Quantico.  The terrain was vigorous, as Lisbeth called it, rugged mountainous folds with long drainage valleys or river flatlands between the ridgelines.

The Washington nest had been contacted by a group of Darkkin from Virginia who had been purportedly hiding almost since the Civil War and now wished to come back into the fold.  After informing Galina, she had decided that Anna, with Lisbeth, should make first contact.  We knew very little about these vampires, so I was going in as security, my sweet little Mannlicher rifle capable of reaching out and tagging targets within a three-hundred-yard range, which was about all you could hope for in the Chopawamsic.  Loaded with long nose copper-jacketed silver-filled bullets, it was a package that I had proven several times to be lethal on humans and vampires alike.

Anna slowed as we saw a sign indicating a parking area a mile ahead, and I jumped from the car, landing at a run.  We had access to some excellent maps of the terrain, and I knew there was a steep drainage coming down from a ridge that ran just above the parking area where the meeting was set.

The climb was steep, the ground extremely taxing, but I was light and fast, my condition always top notch. Knowing that Anna would drive the last part of the road slowly, I raced as fast as I could to get to high ground.

Once, as I slipped over a knocked-down tree, I caught a scent of something foul, but it vanished as quickly as it came.  Prevailing breezes came from the west and my ridgeline was to the east of the parking lot, keeping me downwind.  Four minutes after jumping from the Phaeton, I arrived at an opening that afforded me a clear view of a dirt parking lot below, an older Ford truck, maybe from the twenties, parked in sight.

The rumble of the big Phaeton told me that I was in time to get situated, so I did a quick reconnaissance of my position to be sure I was alone.  Senses straining, I moved quietly about the ridgeline till I was assured that I was the only two-legged predator up there.  Then I found a fallen log that gave me a perfect view as well as a rifle rest and cover.  Settling in, I watched the parking lot as I uncased my rifle.

Magnilda was a carbine version of the excellent Mannlicher 1903, with an eighteen-inch barrel.  She wore a two and three-quarter power Hensoldt telescopic sight in a Griffin and Howe quick release mount and I could place three shots into a space that a quarter would cover at one hundred yards.

I loaded a five-shot magazine into the rifle and the bolt fed a round into the chamber like it was greased with butter.

I folded my body down behind the six-inch pine log and set two spare magazines of ammunition on the top of the log to the left of my rifle.  Prepared as I could be, I scoped the Ford and the area around it.  The window on the driver’s side was down a few inches and a glowing cigarette tip came out to flick off its ashes every five to ten seconds.  I got the impression that there were at least two people in the truck, but I couldn’t see them clearly, even with my vampire vision and the scope’s magnification.  I judged the range at a bit under two hundred yards.

The Phaeton rumbled into the parking lot and swung into a space fifteen yards or so from the Ford.  Now parked parallel to each other, the passenger side of the Phaeton should have a clear view of the driver of the Ford.

Voices rose to me, the wind and sounds of the forest making the words indistinct, but the first one was Lisbeth’s, calling a greeting.  A male answered her in deep tones, then the driver’s door of the Ford opened, and a big man unfolded from inside.  The night was dark, the distance substantial even for Darkkin night vision, but I could see enough of him to know he was very large and very much not a vampire.  My finger slipped into the trigger guard of its own volition, but then the passenger door of the truck swung out and a tall, thin woman stood up with vampiric grace.  I couldn’t see her face but something about her seemed familiar.

Anna’s voice was clear as I heard her door open.  I swung the scope back to the big man, focusing on his head, which was in profile.  Black hair tinged with gray, black beard also showing some salt among the pepper.  An odd feeling in my stomach made me slip off the tang safety, my right index finger finding its way back into the trigger guard.

Both eyes open, I could see the man in the scope and also follow, albeit in a fuzzy manner, the movements of those below.  Anna was coming around the back of the Phaeton and the big man turned to look at her, his face coming into view.  For a second, I thought he had three eyes, then I realized he bore a bullet wound between the eyes.  The image of a giant man holding me by the shoulder as I fired a silver ball into his face flashed into my mind.  Grayling. Werewolf.

The scope seemed to snap back by itself onto to the woman just as she shifted in place. I realized who she was. Loreena.

Just then, howls rose from the woods below.  Wolf howls—surrounding my vampires.

Chapter 14

Anna reacted instantly, pulling her own weapon, a 9mm P-35.  Lisbeth crouched and hissed, neither reaction doing her any good, as Graying pulled a Bowie knife from under his coat and stepped toward her.

He met a 6.5mm rifle round instead, the long, pencil-thin bullet punching deep into him to deliver its payload of silver.  He dropped like a rock, but another form, this one covered in fur, flashed out of the woods.  The huge wolf landed on the hood of the Phaeton and bounded from its crumpled surface straight at Lisbeth.

The wolf hit the vampire at the same time Anna’s first bullet hit it.  Biting deep into Lisbeth’s neck, it took a second for the werewolf to register the lethal metal punching into its body, which was followed quickly by two more.

I was already sighting another wolf, this one coming up behind Anna from the woods.  My rifle spoke just as the werewolf landed front feet first on the dirt of the parking lot. The massive supernatural canine piled up as my bullet entered behind its left front leg and punched through the torso before traversing the neck and spine.

Lisbeth was down, her attacker kicking out its life as Anna aimed downward and shot toward the front of the two cars at something I couldn’t see because of the Phaeton’s heavy metal mass.

Sounds from downhill told me that the enemy was coming to deal with me, but I had time for two more shots; one at a wolf coming around the back end of the Ford—which I clipped in its hindquarters—and a shot at Loreena, who managed to duck behind the frame of the Ford, my round sparking off the bed of the truck.

I popped a new five round magazine into my rifle and unsnapped the strap holding my Mauser.  Two wolves came bounding through the darkness, leaping over blowdowns as they raced uphill to neutralize me.  I got off one shot with the rifle, then transitioned to the pistol.

It was a much older design than Anna’s fancy new Browning, but it was time-tested.  My first two 7.63mm rounds punched right through the skull of the first wolf, my next three shots hitting the second wolf in the middle of its back, between the shoulders, and finally the neck.  Both dropped, kicking and whining as their bodies tried to deal with silver poisoning.

Scooping up my rifle, I climbed on top of the pine log to gain height and scoped the parking lot.  Anna and Loreena were trading shots as each hid behind their respective vehicles.  A pair of wolves were attempting to flank my Anna.  Nope.  I snapped off a shot at first one and then the other.  I clipped the front right leg on the one and grazed the rear of the second, sending both yipping into the woods.  Loreena chose to stand and fire up at me with her revolver.  Bitch.  A rifle beats a handgun almost every time.  Her shot clipped the log low and three feet to my right. Mine punched clean through her shoulder, dropping her behind the Ford.

Anna reloaded her weapon, then paused to listen and sense the night.  After a moment, she whistled sharply and spun the upright pointed index finger of her left hand around in a circle.

I reloaded both weapons, then drew my new blade as I moved downhill.  Tora chopped cleanly through the downed wolves’ necks as I moved past them, although to be fair, I think they were already quite dead.

Reaching the parking lot, I moved cautiously, coming around the Ford to find Anna binding Loreena’s wrists with silver cable.  “Check Lisbeth,” Anna said, her tone flat.

Lisbeth was true dead; the wolf’s teeth having severed her spine even as it died.  The remaining wolves, which might only be the two I had wounded plus maybe one more, had vanished into the forest.

At Anna’s direction, I wrapped our fallen Darkkin in a blanket and carried her body to the back of our Cadillac.  A large wooden trunk was back there, and I was able to fold Lisbeth’s body into it and close the lid.  Then I started chopping the downed wolves’ heads from their bodies.

As I finished, Anna easily dragged Loreena to the rear of the car, shoving her into the back.  “Climb in with her.  Put your new claw to her neck and if she flinches, remove her head too,” she ordered, heading back to the Ford.

She searched the vehicle for a few minutes, coming back with a leather attaché, which she tossed on the front seat.  Then she hauled Grayling’s body to the truck, shoved it into the driver’s seat, and did something with the gas tank.

Coming back to the Caddy, she wasted no time starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.  Two minutes down the access road, a loud whump came from behind us, a ball of fire lighting the night as it rose above the trees.  Loreena, unfortunately, failed to twitch and sadly, I was forced to sheath my blade when we arrived at the Washington nest an hour before dawn.   She was remanded to Michael’s current head of security. Lisbeth’s body was placed in the deepest cellar, and we shared a guest room at the nest.

“Katrina,” Anna said as we prepared to go comatose for the day.  I looked up and squared my shoulders.  “It was not your fault, nor mine.  Lisbeth was not a good fighter; her skills being focused… elsewhere.”

“I was the security,” I said.

“No security in the world is perfect.  A lesson in that: Be your own security.”

Chapter 15

“Ladies, I’m back,” Danielle called from the foyer.  I met Anna’s eyes before we simultaneously looked at the door to the library, where we were sifting through the documents from Loreena’s attaché.  The sun had just set an hour earlier.

Danielle appeared in the entry with a big smile on her face that faded as she took in our expressions. “What’s happened?”

“Did you receive any of my messages?” Anna asked. “I’m guessing no.”

Danielle shook her head, eyes wide and now worried. “I did not.  I left New York just before dawn, stopped in Philadelphia to visit an old friend of my mother’s.  Then I drove straight here.  Where is Lisbeth?”

I felt myself freeze into immobility, watching to see how Anna would handle this situation.

“Danielle, I have some terrible news,” Anna said slowly.

The witch stiffened, a furrow appearing between her eyes as her heartbeat started to race.

“Lisbeth has passed.  She is true dead,” Anna said.

Danielle swayed, her eyes fluttering, but Anna was suddenly there, holding her and keeping her from falling over.

“We were sent to meet with a group of Darkkin who have been missing for decades.  It was an ambush, and Lisbeth did not survive.”

The French witch’s knees gave way and Anna scooped her up like a doll, gently depositing her in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.  Tears running down her face, she listened as Anna told her what had happened just sixteen hours earlier.

The story wound down with Anna explaining the prisoner at the nest and the stack of documents on our library table.

“Why?” Danielle asked.  Anna pointed at the tea service on the little table just inside the library door. I moved to it, poured a cup, mixed in cream and extra sugar, then brought it to Danielle, who took it in an automatic kind of way.

“We don’t know yet.  This group disappeared during the Civil War.  The prisoner and the Alpha werewolf worked for a rogue vampire who defied Galina.  He was executed for his crimes but the wolf and the rogue’s second-in-command escaped.  Why they would initiate a meeting and then try to ambush us, I don’t know.”

“Revenge?”

“Seems unlikely as a primary motive,” Anna said. “It was Galina who ordered the kill, not Lisbeth or me.”

Danielle closed her eyes and sobbed, the hand holding the teacup sliding down precariously.  I rescued the cup before it could spill hot tea on her dress, but she didn’t even notice.

Anna and I waited, motionless, for about eleven minutes.  The sobbing slowed and after a hiccup, the witch spoke. “It is ironic, but my first impression of Lisbeth was that she was so strong,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a cloth provided by Anna. “I was visiting Paris for the first time, a young country witch in La Ville Lumier.  I got turned around and found myself in a bad section of the city and was almost immediately confronted by some men who saw me as sport.  I panicked, forgetting the simplest of defensive spells to protect myself.  But then she appeared.  This tall, beautiful woman who threw those men around like dolls.”

“She was very kind to intervene,” Anna said. “Most Darkkin would simply walk away.”

“That was it… she was kind.  Too kind to be a fighter, at least with other vampires.”

“She fought a werewolf,” I said.  “Entirely different from a vampire.  I had firearms, as did Anna.  Without a gun, I might survive one wolf with a blade, but unarmed, I think not.  Probably have to climb a tree.”

“Like a cat?” Danielle said before turning to Anna. “You killed all the wolves?”

“We killed six, wounded three who got away, and captured the only vampire with them.  We’re trying to figure out where they’ve been hiding, what they’ve been doing for seventy years, and what their goal was.”

Danielle wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and then stood up, moving to the table.  The leather case lay empty, its contents spread around it.

“What have you learned?”

“There are two bank checks, each payable to the same corporation, totaling fifteen thousand seven hundred dollars. There are also letters of introduction for Loreena and the werewolf Grayling, addressed to Cornelius Baker.”

“The Senator?  From Virginia?” Danielle asked. “Who signed the letters?”

“No signature. Just initials: PJ.”

“What is the rest of this?  Oh, this has William’s name, and Cynthia’s. Here’s your name, Anna,” Danielle said, pushing papers around.

“We think it is a brief on the Washington nest, but it is grossly incomplete and out of date.  There is another page in there with descriptions.”

“What was the corporation’s name?”

“Prassius Holmes, Incorporated, out of Kentucky,” Anna said.

“Where are the wounded werewolves?”

“We don’t know,” Anna admitted. “We’re getting our information together, then we’ll head over to the nest to interrogate Loreena.”

Danielle let one slim hand rest on the leather case.  “Well, I can track where this came from.  Maybe they would head back to the same place.”

I could think of a half-dozen reasons why that could be a complete goose chase, but Anna just gave me a tiny head shake and agreed. “What do you need?”

“Just my bag,” Danielle said, “and a map.”

Intrigued, I moved to the shelves, pulling out one of our good quality maps of the eastern United States.  Anna smirked at my eagerness as I rolled out the map and weighted the corners with a horse statue, a small pottery bowl, and a book about Henry Ford.  Lacking a handy fourth item, I pulled a sheathed Tora from my belt and used her to hold down the last corner.

Danielle was arranging items from her shoulder bag.  A clear glass bowl, a stoppered bottle of water, and a small silver knife.  Using the edge of the knife, which appeared to be very sharp, she scraped the leather bag, pushing the fine particles of leather into the glass bowl.  Then she poured water from the bottle into the bowl.

“Is that special water?” I asked.

“Only in that I have kept it in my bag and near me for several weeks.”

“So that it has become soaked in your aura,” I said.

“Essentially,” she agreed, shooting a mildly amused glance at Anna.  My fascination with her witchcraft was well documented and apparently a never-ending source of some amusement to both of them.

She leaned over the bowl, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.  She spoke in the tiniest of whispers, barely more than movements of her lips, and even my hearing couldn’t pick up the words although I doubted that they were of a language I would recognize.

After a moment, she leaned back, picked up the bowl, and carried it to the map, setting it so the clear bottom of the bowl was centered over our location.  The powdered leather had been spread across the surface of the water but now it was in a tight clump floating in the very center. Then she leaned over it again and this time, her whispers were a sibilant hiss that were slightly louder but no less unintelligible.

The leather clump moved, flowing into a teardrop shape that touched the southwest corner of the bowl.  With smooth grace, Danielle lifted the bowl a half inch and moved it in the direction of her powdery pointer—south.  Down the map she moved it until the bowl was directly over a city below Richmond.  At that point, the teardrop moved back to center and became a tight round circle.

“Do we have a map of Petersburg, Virginia?” Danielle asked.

I was already in motion, darting to the shelves and plucking the proper map.  Unrolling it atop the big map, I used the same four objects to weigh the corners down as Danielle held the bowl above me.

“That’s new,” the witch commented when I shifted Tora.

“Only a gift from the most feared fighter in the Darkkin world,” Anna said with a smile.

“To our Kat?” Danielle asked, looking at me.

“Her name is Tora.  It means tiger,” I said.

“Fitting,” Danielle said, setting the bowl back on the new map.

Immediately the teardrop reformed, and again she had to move the bowl south, to the bottom edge of the city limits.

“Here,” she said, pulling the bowl away and sticking a pin from her hair into a spot on the map.

Anna and I moved closer, but Anna beat me to the best spot, leaning over the map.  “Looks like farmland.”

“Probably tobacco fields,” I said, earning a look from them both. “What?  Petersburg is one of the biggest tobacco producers in the world, along with Richmond.”

“So now what?” Danielle asked.

“Now we pay a visit to Loreena and find out about this mysterious spot in Virginia,” Anna said.

“What if she won’t talk?” Danielle said. “I could persuade her.”

“Any of the three of us could, so we’ll pool our talents and strip her of information.”

“What will happen to her? After we’re done?” Danielle asked.

“She’ll die,” I said before Anna could answer.  I picked up Tora and bared an inch of steel.

“Good,” Danielle said, her eyes moving from the gleaming blade to me.

Chapter 16

“Ah, here she is, looking hale and hearty,” Anna said.

Actually, Loreena looked haggard and hungry.  She was bound with steel chains thick enough to hold a fully changed werewolf, each bolted into reinforced concrete.

“Anna Corlenni, washer woman to the bloated slug of New York,” Loreena said, eyeing my companion with disgust.  Her gaze moved to me and Danielle.  “At least you brought me a snack and a toy.”

“Oh, no, Loreena,” Anna said.  “One is completely indigestible, and the other is far too sharp and pointy for you.”

We were in the basement of the nest, where Loreena was being kept in one of the cells used for newly Turned vampires.  The basement had electricity, but not the cell.  Instead, we had good old-fashioned torches to illuminate our guest.  Her white shirt was crusted in blood from my shot, the wound itself mostly healed, as the round had likely punched right through without spewing its payload of silver. There was still a very small open puncture left by the exposed silver tip of the bullet.

Hans Vactor handmade each bullet using an empty copper shell and filling it with carefully measured and weighed jewelry-grade silver wires of various gauges.  The wizened little weapons wizard was not much taller than me, but he was a craftsman of the highest caliber, pun intended.  He had assured me that each 6.5mm rifle round would penetrate deeply.  Older vampires develop very strong skin, but Loreena was too young for that.  The tiny puncture wept blood and plasma, which had weakened her, but maybe not enough.

“She’s kind of chipper,” I noted.

“True.  Danielle, do you think you could pull some blood out of her?” Anna asked.

“Delighted to,” the witch said.

Loreena’s gaze moved to Danielle, her expression a mix of condescension and bewilderment.  It changed a second later when the French witch raised her left hand and made a pulling motion.  The vampire’s face contorted with horror and pain as blood streamed from her nose, mouth, ears, the wound in her shoulder, and the corners of her eyes.  The rest of her white shirt turned to a glistening scarlet as her lifeblood flowed out of her.

“That should do,” Anna said.

Danielle huffed out a wordless objection but lowered her hand.  The gushing streams of red slowed and stopped.

“See what I mean about her inedible nature?” Anna asked the slumping vampire.

“With witches, it’s all in how you prepare them,” Loreena said in wet whisper.

Anna snorted and I nodded in appreciation at her spirit, which we were about to break.

“Strong words from a puddle of blood,” I said.

“The tiny child speaks,” she whispered.

I moved, leaving my spot and returning to it in a blink, Tora now bared in my hand and dripping a thin line of crimson.

Loreena had slashes on both upper arms, deep wounds that bled further as her body struggled to heal them, sapping more of her very limited energy.

“That didn’t even hurt,” she whispered.

“Good to know that I did it correctly,” I said, moving again.  This time, it was both of her thighs that bled profusely, the healing even slower.

“Gee, you must be hungry,” I said.

She bared her fangs at me.  “Come closer and find out,” she hissed.

I did just that, knocking all four canine teeth out of her open jaw with the back of Tora’s blade in another blur of motion.  “This is fun.  I could do this all night,” I said.  Loreena was hanging from her shackles, her eyes now bright with pain as she spat out one of her teeth.

“Ah, Kat, much as I would like to indulge you, I don’t think she’d last that long,” Anna said.  “Hey Loreena, how about some conversation to give you a chance to rest up a bit?  How are things on the plantation in Petersburg?”

The wounded vampire blinked, but that was her only reaction.

“PJ’s gonna be upset that you and your associates failed so spectacularly,” Anna prodded.

“You know nothing,” Loreena said, blood and spit spooling off her chin.

“Well, we don’t know everything, but we do know that Senator Baker might have some of the answers.”

“Fuck you,” Loreena said, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “She will destroy you all, including your precious Galina.”

I slashed her forehead with a slow, lazy swipe, a curtain of blood flowing into her eyes.  Anna was standing still, one long finger tapping her bottom lip as she studied Loreena.

“I think not.  Mademoiselle Pauline has never been all that she thinks herself to be,” Anna said.

Loreena jerked in her chains, surprise showing in her eyes.

“In fact, I always found it amazing that she is able to survive when she is so obviously handicapped by slow wits and even slower lackeys,” Anna said.

Loreena jammed herself forward, straining at the restraints on her arms and legs.  It was a mildly impressive act, seeing as she was so weak from blood loss and repeated self-healing.

“Come on; I think we’re done here,” Anna said.

“But we just got started,” I huffed.

“We now know what we need to. Plus, you need to share with poor Danielle,” Anna said.  “Danielle, you may finish her now.”

The witch, who had been standing silently, raised both hands and pulled.  Clear fluid welled up from every portion of the vampire’s body, washing the blood to the floor in a cascade of water that flowed into the inset drain.  Her skin wrinkled and puckered as every drop of liquid life left her body.  Her eyes shriveled as the fluid that filled them was drawn out, and a final rasping breath rattled from her throat.

“Kat, if you please?” Anna said.

I moved one final time, coming back to stand next to Danielle in time to watch Loreena’s shriveled head slide off her dried-up neck and fall with a hollow thunk to the floor.

Upstairs, we found William and Cynthia in the central room, sitting around the table.

“Well?” he asked when he saw us.

“Pauline Jardine,” Anna said.

“Son of a bitch,” William responded, his eyes going wide. “She’s supposed to be dead?”

“Rumors of her demise and all that,” Anna said. “We’ll see if we can’t rectify that.”

“Please do, although if she was formidable eighty years ago, she’ll be even more so now.”

“We won’t underestimate her, will we, ladies?” Anna said, glancing at Danielle and me.  We shook our heads, then followed our leader out of the nest.

“Ah, who is Pauline Jardine?” I asked in a soft whisper when we got outside to the Phaeton.

“An infamous old vampire from Northern France who immigrated to New Orleans around the time that Galina came to the New World,” Anna said quietly. “She was something of a rogue, never quite falling into line with the Elders, but also never quite openly against them, either.”

“If she’s trouble, why hasn’t she been reined in?” I asked.

“She has always been a favorite of Elder Fedor.  His patronage has protected her from outright censure.”

“But she’s actively moving against Galina in America, which is Senka’s region.”

“She voiced opposition to the selection of Galina for supremacy in the New World, and there were others who agreed. Galina is young for the position, but Senka has her reasons.  Nonetheless, Pauline came to this country, establishing herself in New Orleans.  Since that time, she’s engaged in a very subtle campaign to discredit Galina.  Nothing overt, nothing that we could prove.  Disruptions of Coven business, interference in alliances with criminal organizations, accusations of incompetence, and… political machinations.”

“Senator Baker?”

“Merely one in a long list.  She disappeared just before the Civil War, and many have assumed she was dead.  It seems they were wrong.”

“But you told William we would kill her?” I asked. “Won’t Elder Fedor object?”

“Well, first of all, this appears to be active opposition.  An ambush orchestrated by her that resulted in the loss of one of Galina’s people.”

Danielle, who had been quiet, snorted softly.

“So, if we can get evidence, it will be sanctioned,” Anna said after a quick glance at the witch. “But if we can extinguish her quietly, it won’t even matter if we have evidence.”

“What’s our play?  Head down to Virginia?”

She shook her head.  “No.  First we talk to Galina.  She has many assets spread around the country and we will need help to accomplish this.  Pauline is close to four hundred years old.  She is savvy, strong, and cunning.”

“She’s almost two hundred years older than Galina,” I said, frowning.

“Yes, though it’s not enough.  Galina might be relatively young, but she’s a bit of a prodigy.  Her natural deviousness is without equal.”

“I, for one, can’t wait to hear what she plans to do,” Danielle said.

“Me too,” Anna agreed.

Chapter 17

It turns out that Galina wasn’t inclined to explain her plan to any of us.  Anna pushed a little, which I thought was wonderfully brave, but Galina was adamant that we do nothing else.  The execution of Loreena was fine, but we were to stand down until further orders.

“What the hell?” Danielle protested when we told her.

Anna held up three fingers.  “One, Galina has been battling Pauline for decades.  She knows her adversary well.  Two, as I mentioned before, Galina has assets all over the country.  She will undoubtedly access them for information.  Three, Galina has never backed down from an enemy and never lost to one.  But she does play the long game.  She will gather information, activate agents, plot a response, and execute.”

“You say that, but you don’t know for certain,” Danielle said.

“I have worked for Galina since she came to America.  I can tell you with certainty that she always gets at least even, usually more than even.  And I will tell you that Pauline Jardine is her biggest current enemy.”

“Current?” Danielle asked.

“All past enemies are dead,” Anna said.

That gave the witch pause, for just a moment, then she asked, “So we do nothing?”

“Hah, I never said that.  We do our jobs: Gather intelligence, look for potential problems headed the Coven’s way, and handle individual assignments as we get them,” Anna said, smirking.

“And?  What?” Danielle asked.

“Yeah, what?” I chimed in.

“I just said.  Gather intelligence and look for problems.  Galina’s exact words were Do not take any retaliatory action at this time.  She didn’t say don’t find out whatever you can on her, did she? After all, Pauline Jardine is clearly a massive problem.”

“What’s your plan?” I asked, knowing she had one.

“How about you tell me what your plan would be?” she retorted.

I had been thinking about it since we got back from the nest.

“Well, that Senator Baker must have offices here in DC.  We should learn everything about him that we can.  Also, that corporation, Prassius Holmes, should have public information we can gather.  And Danielle has access to Loreena’s blood—what can we do with that?” I asked, pulling out the vial I’d kept in the pocket of my dress.

“You kept her blood?” Danielle asked, mildly astonished.

“Just a small vial,” I said. “After what you did with a piece of leather, it seemed prudent to have something with a more direct tie to Loreena, and therefore to Pauline.”

“Wow,” Anna said. “Will wonders never cease,” she said with raised brows. “You—using the word prudent.”

I ignored the heckling, turning to Danielle. “What can you do with blood?”

“It’s more like what can’t I do?” the witch said.

“Does the fact that Loreena’s dead detract at all?” Anna asked.

“Absolutely, but her blood is still connected to anything of her that she has left behind, such as hair, fingernails, other blood, or saliva.  That means that I can find each place where such material might remain.”

“We could backtrack her travels,” I said.

“Actually yes, as I can grade hair and nails by time,” Danielle said. “Sort of a time stamp, if you will.”

“Perfect.  Any other tricks?”

“I’m a Water witch, which means water scrying is possible.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I can view each area that holds some of her body matter,” Danielle said.

“Like live surveillance?” I asked.

“Exactly,” she agreed.

“Let’s get a plan together,” Anna said, ringing the service bell.

Elda appeared within ten seconds.  “Miss Anna?”

“Tea please, Elda, with plenty of sugar and cream.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We can drink liquids, and we get a mild effect from sugar.  The cream, though, was for Danielle, as it would do nothing for vampires.

We set to it with a will and before the midnight hour, we had the framework of a decent information-gathering plan.  Then we began to execute it.

Three nights after our planning session, Anna went to pay a call on Senator Baker. He kept evening hours one night a week in the Russell Building, where he had his offices.  I went in with her but dropped out of sight after entering the building.  I had two missions: First, observe him during and after her meeting, and then, later, after everyone left for the night, sift his office for information.  We had spent many, many hours in the Russell Building and I was intimately familiar with the ventilation system.  Which is why I found myself in a crawl space just under Cornelius Baker’s office.

“Miss Corlenni, is it?” I heard a deep male voice ask. “To what do I owe the considerable honor of your visit?”  Not the first guy to be wowed by her good looks.

“Senator Baker, I do believe you sit on both the Foreign Affairs Oversight Committee and the Senate Armed Forces Committee, do you not?”

“Well, yes,” he said, clearly surprised.

“The women I represent are increasingly worried by the rise in popularity of the Nazi party in Germany.  Chancellor Hitler has become a de facto dictator.  We wonder what our government leaders are doing about it?”

“I can assure your associates in the LWV that we are taking all measures to ensure that Adolf Hitler is contained.”

If he knew anything about Anna, and it’s likely he had at least heard of her, then he would know she was linked with the League of Women Voters. It would be natural to assume that those were the women she was speaking of.

“Would those measures include an appropriations bill for the Prassius Holmes Corporation?” she asked calmly.

He literally sputtered.  “H…ho…how the hell do you know that? Who’s been talking?”

“Senator, this is Washington.  Nothing is secret here for long.”

We had sent our driver, Ralph, out the day after our meeting to scout out information on Prassius.  They had an office in DC, and I had immediately paid it a midnight visit.  My careful sifting of files and correspondence had revealed a great many interesting things.

Prassius Holmes was an armament company, headquartered in Kentucky, with munition plants in that state as well as Georgia.  It was privately owned by a group of Southern businessmen, and there had been much correspondence with Baker’s office regarding the purchase of a new type of winged glider bomb that Prassius was producing.

“Notwithstanding the manner in which you came by this information, what exactly is the interest of the fine ladies of the LWV in this appropriation?”

“We are concerned that the weapons being purchased are not actually fully functional and have failed seven out of eight tests.  Wasting government funds on dysfunctional weapons will do nothing to stop the Nazis.”

He was completely silent for a long moment.  “This meeting is over,” he said in an icy voice. “Please leave.”

“As you wish, Senator, but giving me the bum’s rush won’t make this go away,” Anna said, her dress rustling as she stood up.  The cute little shoes she was wearing were distinctive in their sound as she left the office, as was the sound of an office door closing hard, the lock snapping into place.  Seconds later, I heard a telephone ring tone and then a number being dialed.

“What?”

“We have a problem… a big problem.  The League of Women Voters somehow knows all about the G-2B and its problems.”

“That’s not possible.”

“She knew the exact number of failed tests as well as the details of the appropriations bill.”

“Who was she?”

“Anna Corlenni.”

“Don’t know the name.  How many other people know about this?”

“I have no idea.  I threw her out as soon as she hit me with it.”

“An unfortunate reaction on your part.  Our best way of making this disappear is to make her disappear.  Never mind.  We’ll handle it.”  The line went dead and Senator Baker cursed softly.  Then there was silence for a long time, and I tried to picture a man I’d never seen sitting behind a desk, trying to think of what to do next.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard a chair scrape and footsteps leave the room, the door slamming shut, the bolt of the lock snicking into place.  I waited another fifteen minutes and then I crept forward until I was under the floor grate.  The metal ventilation lifted out easily and I popped up into a very masculine office with a dark blue carpet, fancy oak desk, and lavish decorations including a folded American flag, a musket mounted on the wall, and pictures all over.  The man who was common to every photo was classically tall, dark, and handsome.  He had a ready smile that appeared everywhere.  And based on what I’d heard, he was total scum.

At this point in my life, I was extremely experienced at searching an office and leaving no trace. I wore boy’s clothes and gloves on my hands, my hair under a hat, and I tossed that place in under two hours.  Most of what I found was not of much interest, but the hidden safe behind the framed portrait of George Washington held some very interesting letters from PJ.  I took photos of all of them with my Zeiss camera.  Then I put everything back where I found it, erased all evidence of my visit, and slid back into the crawl space.  Two hours later, I was home.

I gave the film to Ralph to develop and then slipped into Anna’s office.  The telephone receiver was on her desk, Galina’s voice coming through the earpiece, and both Anna and Danielle were listening.

“Katrina is back,” Anna said.

“He called someone as soon as you left.  That someone wants to murder you to make the problem go away but doesn’t know how many know what you know.  Also, I have photos of some secret dealings with someone whose initials are PJ.”

“And what is the gist of these missives?” Galina asked.

“Selling weapons to the United States armed forces that do not work.  A whole series of weapons at great expense.”

“Now, that’s fascinating, Kat,” Galina said. “Solid work. It will go a long way to overcoming the fact that you have alerted them to the winged bombs issue.  This forces me to move faster than I would like.”

“Yes ma’am,” Anna said. “But we’ve got lots more information to gather.”

“See that you do so in a more circumspect manner.”

“We will,” Anna said.  The line went dead.

Anna turned to the witch.  “Ready to scry?”

“Yes, and I know exactly where to do it too.”

“Can we watch?” I asked.

“It’ll be like a tiny motion picture movie in a bowl of water,” Danielle said.

“Wow, imagine tiny movies,” I said.

“Pretty special, Kat.  I doubt anyone will ever have an opportunity to see little movies.”

“Yeah, that will never happen,” I agreed.

It was underwhelming… at least at first.  Just a woman staring into a bowl of water.  Pinkish water, because the drops of Loreena’s blood swirled around in dark red tendrils that rapidly slipped away.

But vampires are patient, and neither Anna nor I said a word, both as still as statues.

At the seven-minute mark, the water shimmered, like a reflection flickering across its surface.  Nothing in the library had changed or moved, the lighting exactly the same; even the air was dead still.  The smooth surface twisted slightly and then a completely new view was reflected, a room very different than the one we were in.  Ours was dark wood and rich, deep maroon fabrics.  What we were seeing was intricate wallpaper, covered in stylized peacocks painted in rich jewel tone greens and blues.  A round table of cherry, with three high-backed chairs upholstered in plush turquoise.  And sitting in the middle chair was a female vampire with dark brown hair, pale white skin, ruby red lips, and striking black eyes.  To her left sat a male vampire, tall and blond, with a long scar on his right cheek.  Unusual, as most wounds on vampires heal without a trace—the exception being those caused by fire or silver.  On her right was another male, this clearly human by the pulse in his throat and the flush of his cheeks.  He was shorter, with swarthy skin and black hair.

All three stared down at us without expression, as if they were in turn scrying us.

“This was all you could find?” the female vampire asked, her eyes rapidly moving side to side.  Ah, I got it… she was reading.

“Yes. The truck was burnt to cinders, but this must have been blown outward by the blast,” the blond vampire said.  “We found it in the vegetation, mainly because we smelled Loreena’s blood on it.”

The female didn’t respond, her eyes moving up to stare into space, deep in thought.  She turned to the human. “Our pet senator is rattled?”

“Extremely.  Corlenni clearly caught him completely off guard.  He assumed she was representing the League of Women Voters, but that seems unlikely. He did not know who else she might have shared this with.”

“Well, we can assume that Galina Demidova knows,” the woman said. “Which means Senka will know.”

“What do we do?” the male vampire asked. “Vanish?”

She snorted. “Do not be ridiculous, Tor.  You cannot vanish from the Coven.  No, we must prove her information to be incorrect.  I think a demonstration is in order.  We still have one glide bomb prototype that actually works, do we not?”

“We do,” the human male said.

“Set up a test and invite the press.  Make it dramatic. Extra explosives in the target, that sort of thing.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Tor, of all the documents for Corlenni to miss, this is perhaps the most important.  A fortuitous stroke of luck.”

“Perhaps even a sign that destiny favors us,” he said with a sly smile.

Her answering smile was poisonous as her hand descended over our view, which disappeared to the sound of crumpling paper.

The image in the bowl cleared and Danielle pulled herself upright with a sharp intake of air.

“Wow, that was brilliant, Dani,” I said.

“It was all of that and more,” Anna agreed. “Perhaps we can engineer a less than impressive result for their fake test.”

“Or Galina can,” I said.

Turns out that I was right.

“Excellent work, and more subtle than last time,” the boss said over the telephone.

“We have some ideas,” Anna said.

“As do I, Anna dear.  It happens that I have a pair of Coven Rovers on standby down there, keeping an eye on things.  They will pay the factory a visit this very night and modify the weapon.”

“Damn,” I said softly.

“Ah, do not worry, fierce Kat.  I have need of your talents on a separate, yet perhaps connected matter.”

“We are ready to serve, Galina,” Anna said.

“Elements of the German American Bund group have been promulgating a highly effective propaganda program in Washington D.C.  Elder Senka has asked me to discredit them.  I told her that I would put my best agents on it without mentioning any names.  Do you know what she said?”

“Ah, no Galina. I’m almost afraid to ask,” Anna said, looking from me to Danielle.

“Her words were, and I quote: The three sisters of suffrage are the perfect answer to so many problems, daughter dear.  I am reassured.”

Anna nodded at me to answer.

“High praise, ma’am,” I said.

“The highest.  My mother does not hand out compliments often, Katrina.  See that these are not unmerited.”

“Yes ma’am,” I answered.

“A courier will bring you the target information within the hour.  They must be completely discredited, but they cannot be physically harmed. Am I understood?”

“Completely,” Anna said.

“Kat?”

“Crystal clear, ma’am.”

“Excellent.  Go to work, ladies. Oh, and Danielle?”

“Yes, Galina?” the French witch responded.

“You will have your revenge.  Please consider that this side job is both related and equally important.”

“I will do my best, Galina,” Danielle said.

“Ladies, please do what you do best,” Galina said, then hung up before we could respond.

Anna turned to us. “I would bet money that the courier is already nearby.  While we wait, any thoughts or ideas about how we go about discrediting Nazi agents?”

“They are mostly men?” I asked.

“From what little I know, yes, most likely,” Anna said.

“Men who prefer children and wear women’s lingerie?” I asked as innocently as I could.

Danielle laughed and Anna smiled before frowning a little. “It will require photos and press,” she pointed out.

“Anna, I am almost a hundred.  No one who ever knew me is still alive, except for Darkkin.”

“Very well,” she said. “It is a good idea.”

Elda chose that moment to knock at the door to the library. “Courier service, Miss Anna.”

“Please show them in.”

Elda moved aside and a female vampire entered the room.  Dark hair, hazel eyes, wearing uniform dress and belted overcoat.  Her eyes swept all three of us, hesitating on me before landing on Anna.

“For you, Miss Corlenni,” she said, handing over a thick manila envelope.

“Thank you,” Anna said, taking the envelope to the library table.  The courier looked at me, frowning slightly.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, not liking her look.

My focus was on the courier, but my side vision is excellent, and I picked up the motion of Anna’s head snapping up at my words.

“No ma’am,” the courier said. “I just didn’t expect to meet you.  Some of us in the courier service are big fans, miss.”

I didn’t know what to say.  “Me?” I asked, certain she had mistaken me for someone else.

“Yes ma’am,” she said. “It’s an honor.  Excuse me,” she said with a little bow, backing out of the library.  A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.

I turned to Anna and Dani, completely perplexed.

“They call you Galina’s War Kat,” Danielle said. “I’ve heard it myself.”

“Nobody ever said a thing?”

“We don’t want fame going to your head, kitty kat,” Anna said. “Now, if you can focus your celebrity intellect, let’s go through this.”

Chapter 18

Clothes make the man.  So true.  Incredibly true.  The man I was staring at now had been completely made over by just a few clothes.  Women’s clothes.

Otto Weber was normally very distinguished looking in his fine, expensive suit.  And when he put on his German American Bund uniform, he looked very military.  Black pants, tan shirt, black tie, black hat, and black arm band.  Oh, and a Sam Browne belt and leather strap.  Very official.  But now he was attired in a pink bra, white women’s underwear, and a set of black garter straps.  Those had not been fun to wrestle him into.  The whole thing was distasteful.  In my defense, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.  Maybe it still was, but putting a fat, middle-aged man into lingerie was disgusting.  Almost as bad as wading through a sewer.

He’d wake up in a few minutes, but the reporters’ cameras were already flashing as they took in the Bundesfuhrer in his satin glory. I, myself, wore a young girl’s white shift and cowered near Otto’s feet, keeping my hair over most of my face.  White powder caked under his nose completed the image.

“Okay dear, you can move away from that awful man,” one of the cameramen said.

“I will be punished,” I said to him in flawless German that I was very proud of.

“Nein,” he said, shaking his head. His German was awful, but he understood it well, which was one of the reasons he had been the one to receive the tip that if he hurried to a certain address, he would find evidence that the head of the German American Bund was a pervert, child molester, and a drug abuser.

“George, look at this,” the other camera guy said, aiming his camera at a small pile of cocaine and an empty bottle of vodka.

“Nice shot, Frank.  Take a couple,” George replied.

My work here was done.  Otto’s eyelids were just starting to twitch, the cocktail of pharmaceuticals I had introduced him to now wearing off.  Sirens outside indicated that the Washington police department had answered George’s call.

I slipped out the door while the reporters were focused on Otto, moving down the hall and into another hotel room, where Anna and Danielle waited.

The French witch put out her cigarette, blew a nested pair of smoke rings, and spoke. “Did you have your fun?”

“It lost something in translation,” I admitted. “Had he been a fit young soldier, it might have been different.”

“We need to focus on the next phase,” Anna said. “His second-in-command, Heinz Hoffman, will just take over, if there are even charges filed.”

“He’s wearing women’s underwear,” I said. “Plus, we will have discredited the Bund to the American public.”

“We’ll see,” Anna said. “The German hierarchy gives absolute power to their leaders.  It’s unlikely that they’ll throw him out because he likes little girls.  Hell, they might even admire that.”

“Cocaine is illegal, so the DA should be involved,” I said.

“That’s the only thing that might actually trip the bastard up,” Anna said. “But Hoffman doesn’t seem to like girls or boys or sex of any kind.”

“He likes money,” Danielle said with a sly smile.

“And your scrying has proven that he’s taking plenty of it from the Bund’s treasure chest,” Anna agreed. “But can we actually expose that?”

“Thanks to Dani, I know where his books are hidden,” I said. “You just have to distract him.”

“How do you distract a man who only cares about money?” Anna asked.

“With even more money,” Dani said.

“Face it, Anna. You don’t know how to handle a guy you can’t seduce,” I said.

She snorted.  “No. What I don’t know how to handle is a guy who is uninterested in sex, whether with women or men, little girls or boys.”

“I’m telling you he will respond to signs of great wealth more than to prominent cleavage,” Dani said.

“Alright, let’s get back home so we can work this out,” Anna said.

Down the hall, there had to be six or seven cops moving in and out of the room that the front desk would swear that Otto had paid for.  Anna turned the other direction and led us to the back staircase.  I had changed clothes and put on a blonde wig, holding hands with Dani like she was my mother.  No one paid us any attention at all.

Two nights later, I was busing tables at a fancy restaurant.  I cleared the entrée plate from in front of a young woman who was eating solo and reading a Wall Street Journal.

The food on the plate was mashed up and moved around, but only I could see that none of it had been eaten.  I moved to the next table over and grabbed a plate from in front of a tall, thin man in an expensive suit. He gave me a nasty side-eye and his hand automatically covered the leather portfolio on the table beside him.  Then his eyes flicked back over to Anna, his gaze landing on the Cartier watch on her wrist, then the diamond bracelet on her opposite wrist.

Anna shook the open newspaper, then folded it down to a smaller packet, exposing stock listings.  She pulled a small leather notebook from her expensive purse and uncapped a Montblanc pen.  Leaning close to the paper, she began to make notations in her book.

“Beautiful pen,” the lean man said with a slight accent. “The Meisterstuck model, right?”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

The man ignored her display, his eyes on the open paper.  “Picking stocks?” he asked lightly.

“Well, I haven’t picked any of these yet,” she said, “but I’m watching more than a few.  Always on the lookout for the next investment.”

“You do your own investing?” he asked, intrigued.

“I do my own plus my family’s.  Don’t really trust others to handle our money,” she said. “They either don’t know what they’re doing or they’re trying to help themselves to what isn’t theirs.”

I was watching him closely from the waiter station, moving glassware around absently to cover my presence.  A flicker of discomfort flashed over his features at her words, then it was gone.

“You aren’t paid to stand around gawking, boy,” a voice said behind me.

Turning, I found one of the waiters glaring at me.  Richard, I believe his name was.  I had been introduced to the staff at the beginning of the night by the maître d’, Stephan, as a temporary busboy.  Something about me and my boy’s outfit seemed to piss old Ricky off, as he’d been on me like glue the whole night.  Stephan knew I was just a plant, but Ricky didn’t.

“That guest is very picky,” I said, pointing at Heinz Hoffman, who was asking Anna about companies she liked. “If I don’t clear things from his table almost instantly, he starts to get loud.”

“We have many other guests to look after, Karl, not just one,” he said, using my assumed name.

“I’ll get right on them,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.  Ricky needed to get back to delivering meals or he might become one.

He frowned and moved away, his manner stern but his heart beating unusually fast.  Modern humans ignore their instincts far too often, if you ask me.

“You seem to favor the large companies,” Heinz was saying to Anna.

“Well, many of the little ones are so unstable.  For instance,” she said, “look at this article about this munitions company down South.  Says here that they were called into question regarding the weapons they were selling to the government, and a recent demonstration went completely haywire.  Wouldn’t want to be an owner of that mess.”

He glanced at the article, his eyebrows going up as he skimmed the words.  “No, you are entirely correct.  Large company stocks are perfectly suited to smaller portfolios.”

“And much larger ones, too,” she said. “My father spent many years training me before he allowed me to take over management of the family funds.  It leaves him more time to manage his corporation.”

“Well, I bow before your acumen,” he said with a smile. “What else are you considering?”

“Are you looking to gain from my hard work, sir,” she said with a frown, holding it for a moment before laughing. “What do you think of these?” she asked, turning her notepad his way.

He stood up and moved to look over her shoulder.  In an instant, I was at his table, slipping an identical copy of his portfolio into place as I brought his back to the service station.  I turned and headed for the back of the restaurant where a table of men watched me with sharp eyes.

“Here now, what have you done?” Richard said suddenly, his hand on my shoulder.  I reached up and gave it a sharp squeeze, moving forward without pause to set the portfolio on the table in front of the Washington DA’s chief investigator. “You dropped this sir,” I said.

He raised both brows and then opened the portfolio.  “Ah, thank you, lad,” he said, studying the real accounting books of the German American Bund. “Just what I needed,” he said, flipping me a dollar coin.

I snatched it out of thin air, spun around, walked past Richard, who was cradling his broken hand and complaining to Stephan, then past Anna and out the front door.

Outside, the Phaeton was idling by the curb and I climbed into the back with Dani.  Five minutes later, Anna opened the car door, her coat draped over one arm, and slipped in.

“Well?” Dani asked her.

“He gave me his card—Heinz Hoffman, accountant,” Anna said in a bemused tone. “In case I need help with the company books.”

“What about the DA’s guys?” I asked.

“They were approaching Hoffman to see if the portfolio was his,” she said, unfolding her coat to reveal the dummy portfolio I had left on the table.

We waited another ten minutes and sure enough, the cops came out with Hoffman in cuffs.

“Next,” I said as the Phaeton pulled out into traffic.

Chapter 19

1939 was the year the world went officially crazy.  Germany and the Soviet Union attacked Poland.  Britain and France declared war on Germany.  Japan and China were fighting the Second Sino-Japanese war.  Most of the rest of the world declared themselves neutral, but Senka wasn’t buying it.

We were called to New York City, as were the Masters of every major nest of Darkkin in America.  Deep under the city, the assembled leadership of the American Darkkin sat on rows of seats in a big amphitheater.

Each Master was accompanied by several assistants, all sitting in little clusters in a space that could hold three times as many vampires.  Galina had ordered it constructed several years prior, and now her actions seemed almost prescient.

Anna, Dani, and I sat with William Percell and his assistant, Donal.  Cynthia was back in Washington, running the nest.  When we first sat down, I started to take the spot at the end of the row.

“Why don’t you sit here, Kat,” Anna suggested, pointing to the spot on her other side.

“No, I’m good right here,” I said.  I was aware of the glances we… I was getting, and I refused to hide from sight.

“Now Kat,” Anna said in a reasonable tone, “if you stay on the end, someone will likely do something stupid—like stare at you.  Then you’ll kill them, and our bosses will be very upset.”

She said it in a normal voice that easily carried to every vampire in the chamber.  Many faces that had been turned our way suddenly turned straight ahead, although a few kept watching.

“That is an excellent idea, Katrina,” Galina said, suddenly standing on the aisle stairs next to our row. “Senka would be most put out if you killed any of our attendees.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, sliding to the spot between Anna and William.  Then Galina looked around at the assembled Masters, meeting each of the remaining onlookers with a steady gaze.  They wisely took her hint and turned their faces to the front.

You might think that there is great pageantry and fanfare in vampire meetings, and I’m sure there is in many cases.  Senka, however, is not overly fond of such things.  I once heard her say that cowing underlings with elaborate rituals is a false crutch.  Underlings should be cowed directly and often, without the need for showy theatrics.

“Mother, the flock is ready,” Galina said.

There was a pop of air and Senka was suddenly standing next to her favorite daughter.  Another vampire appeared behind her, this one as blonde as Senka but clearly turned in her early twenties.  She was curvy and beautiful—both factors against her, in my opinion.

I no sooner thought that when the newcomer turned and looked right at me with a smile, raising her index finger and wagging it at me.

“Katrina, have you met Nika?” Galina asked, having observed our byplay. “She is the Coven’s top telepath, so you should perhaps school your thoughts appropriately.”

Senka ignored the side conversation, her attention looking out over the audience.  “Come. It is time.”

All three disappeared in a pop, coming to a halt at the bottom of the amphitheater.  Senka stood in the front while Galina and the mind reader, Nika, stood just behind her.

“My fellow Darkkin, let us begin.  Your time here is short yet important.  As you are all no doubt aware, the humans are again on the precipice of global war, just two decades after the last.  Many countries are attempting to stay neutral—they will not be successful.  Which is why we are here tonight.  America is seeking to stay out of the conflict, but our analysts predict it will ultimately be dragged into this war. We have a solid understanding of the German leadership. They will be satisfied with nothing less than world domination, and that outcome is completely unacceptable to the Coven. Elder Fedor is directing Coven resources to weaken the German military machine and bolster the rest of Europe.  Elder Tzao is rather annoyed with Japan at present and will make her feelings known there.  But this country, despite its tender age, will be vital to stopping both aggressors.”

A vampire down in the third row raised a hand.  Senka’s face was absolute marble, but I thought she was maybe a bit annoyed.  She turned to Galina.

“Theodore, I hope your interruption is a matter of life or death,” Galina said, staring holes in the idiot vampire.

“I believe it is.  Elder, why do we oppose the dominion of the Nazis?  Would not the order and control they bring to the table not be to our advantage?” Theodore asked.

“Ah, you question your Elders’ competence and understanding of human behavior,” Senka said, turning to look over her left shoulder at the vampire, Nika.

“He feels the Coven could just use the German High Command to run the world after they control it.  It has not occurred to him that if the Coven controlled the Germans, the war would never have started.  He also sees no danger from the military might of the humans,” the mind reader said.

“I see,” Senka said.  Then she raised her eyes to the top tier of seats and blinked once.

Instantly a giant was in the third row, a monster of a vampire at least seven feet tall.  He was just suddenly there, his massive left hand palming the top of Theodore’s head.  Then it twisted and we all heard the sharp snap of a spinal cord shearing.  Theodore’s body sagged, his face looking back at us, but his eyes were blank.  The giant held him upright while looking at Senka for guidance.

“Let us leave Theodore there, Ondrej,” she said in her crisp upper British accent.  “While his time as Master of Chicago is over, he can serve as a visual reminder for the rest of the meeting.  I will let you all in on a little secret.  Elder Fedor felt the Nazis could be controlled too.  He felt that right up until they killed the entire Berlin nest and one of his eldest children, who ran it.  Suffice to say, his opinion has changed. When he heals, Galina, send Theodore to Fedor, where he can learn firsthand how compliant the Nazis are with our wishes.”

“Yes, Elder,” Galina said with a nod.

The giant, Ondrej, let go of Theodore, who instantly slumped. The massive warrior moved slowly around behind the three women, turning to face the rest of us.

“While this is not the time for questions and answers, I will tell you why poor Theodore is so very wrong,” Senka said. “The Nazis are fully aware of Darkkin, as well as shapeshifters and even witchkind.”  Her eyes lifted and she looked straight at Dani for a second before moving on.  “Not only aware, but well informed as to our vulnerabilities and the various means of defending against us, as indicated by their successful action against our nest. It is their intention to find ways to control us.  Hitler has directed significant resources to finding possible occult means to do just that.

“In addition, the state of human weaponry has advanced to a level that threatens all of the supernatural races.  Let me remind you that we do not number even one percent of the human population.  That has been by design.  Turning just any human has proven folly many times over during my lifespan.  The weak and unstable are more trouble than humans.  Instead, we will use humans to control humans.  Nazi Germany will stay true to its intention of domination.  America will ultimately be against both the Germans and the Japanese. Canada has already declared war.  This nation will have no choice.  Your mission is to see that it is ultimately ready for its future showdown with the Nazis.”

She paused and looked out over the room.  No one else was stupid enough to even blink.  After a moment, she turned to Galina, who stepped forward.

“We will be working in the shadows to shape America’s readiness,” Galina said.  “There are many political leaders who will oppose American involvement.  They are our adversaries, yet we cannot simply kill them off.  This must be a campaign of careful, strategic actions to prepare the population, prepare the military and the industrial might of this nation for global war.  The rest of this night will be spent giving each of you your orders.  As you disperse, you will be met by our staff who will present you with those directives.  That is all.”

The four vampires walked up the stairs at a normal pace, walking right past our location.  Senka and Galina looked neither right nor left, but as the group came alongside us, the mind reader met my gaze and smiled.  She showed no teeth and it seemed oddly unconfrontational.  I was mildly shocked.

“I suspect Washington will be a hot spot,” William said in an aside to Anna.

“Brilliant deduction,” a voice said.  A brown-haired female was coming up the stairs, two vampires behind her.

“Ah, Pauline,” Anna said. “Glad to see that your poorly run munitions company has lost its contract with the army.  Can’t have shoddy weapons for our fighters now, can we?  Perhaps you should have sold them to the Nazis?”

The intense brunette narrowed her eyes at Anna but before she could say a word, a male vampire was suddenly standing in front of her.  “Pauline Jardine?  I am Frederick, and I have your orders.  Please follow me.”

Pauline looked at the man, then raised her eyes to the top tier.  I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Galina and Senka standing at the top row, looking out over the room, the giant Ondrej behind them.

Pauline nodded and moved past without another word.  Her party was no sooner out of sight than a small female vampire appeared next to our group.  “Anna Corlenni and William Percell?  I’m Lydia.  I have your assignments if you’d care to follow me, or even if you don’t,” she said, hands on her hips, a smile on her face.  She wasn’t all that much bigger than I was, but she had a certain attitude about her.

“You must be Katrina,” she said, looking at me.

“No shit.  How many child vampires do you know of?” I asked.

She met my gaze without the slightest discomfort.  “Senka warned me that you are a pain in the ass,” she said, then looked at the others. “Let’s go. Lots to do.”

Anna gave me a look as we followed the small vampire, but I just shrugged.  Us little vampires needed attitude if we were going to make it.  This Lydia seemed to have it in spades.

Chapter 20

Congress has always been a huge pain in the posterior.  And the older I get, the worse it gets.  Here is this madman running around Europe attacking everyone, and the mouse politicians of the great country of America are too timid and too stupid to see the writing on the wall.  At least the president was competent.  He was trying to get supplies, weapons, and even cash to Britain and France, but the numbskulls that represent us opposed him, worried that we would lose more young soldiers so soon after World War I.  Thus was our mission.

I think it is a true statement to say that there hardly existed a single political office in DC that I hadn’t burgled within the last two years.  The results of those midnight forays had found their way to both Galina’s office and the desk of the president.  Every bit of political and personal leverage we could find was going toward convincing Congress of the need to act against the forces that were assaulting the world.

The fall of France was a huge wake-up call.  Britain was fighting on its own, running out of weapons and even the funds to purchase weapons.  Danielle immediately left for her home country; nothing either Anna or I could say would dissuade her.

She never made it. German U-boats were hunting the Atlantic, sinking transport vessels at will, and they took hers as well.  It had been decades since I had lost a friend and it hit both of us extremely hard. I fell into an angry fugue state—a depression of sorts.  Anna would have none of that.

“You do her a grave misjustice.  Dani went to fight. She didn’t die of old age, hiding from the world.  She went out to do what was right.  What are you going to do?  Hide?” she asked, knowing it was one of my gravest insults, to hide from a fight.  I flared up at her, raising my voice, yelling even.  She barely blinked.  “Take your anger and do something with it.”

It worked because I took to my espionage missions with a vengeance, digging beyond the representatives and senators, spying on their staff and families.  Inch by inch, we helped move the dial.

All the while, the Japanese were beating back China and spreading across the Pacific, their leadership conflicting more and more with the United States.

In June of ‘41, Hitler turned on the Soviets, invading Russia and attacking his erstwhile allies.  The president made speech after speech to Congress, attempting to change their minds.  He even compared lending weapons to Britain to lending your neighbor your horse when his house was burning.  You might not get the horse back but at least your own house wouldn’t burn down.

The war churned on as the months ticked by and suddenly, we were in December of 1941.  When we woke for the night on the 7th, our entire staff was waiting to tell us the news of Pearl Harbor.  It wasn’t that big of a surprise, at least to us.  Coven analysts had been predicting an attack by Japan for some time.

The next night, we woke to find that the US was at war with Japan and within days, Germany and Italy too.  America was now awake and furious.  Exactly what we had been working to achieve, because we’d been furious ever since Dani had died.

And then my own Pearl Harbor came in the late morning hours of January 1, 1942.  I was out on a last-minute errand, dressed as a boy, skulking through the darkness on a mission for Anna.  I was retrieving a document she had inadvertently left behind at a meeting of concerned Washington elites.  It wasn’t all that vital a thing, not really.  Just a small notebook that she habitually carried to make notes in.  She used a code and didn’t have her name or any identifying information in it, so losing it wasn’t the end of the world.  She got home, found it missing from her overcoat, and remembered putting it high on a shelf in the coat room of the meeting place.  It distressed her to leave it behind and I volunteered to get it for her, happy to exercise my skills on an otherwise boring night.

As I came back to our neighborhood, I circled around back, entering the rear of our property over the brick wall.  As I stood atop the wall, I could see into the back window of the kitchen, spotting Anna talking with our new cook, Erica.  She was relaxed and smiling.  She even glanced out the window, her vampire eyes spotting me where a human would only see a reflection.  I waved. She smiled and waved.  The house blew up.

Our eyes were still locked as the building exploded outward, flame engulfing the kitchen instantly in a bloom of fire that part of me recognized as typical of a gas explosion.  Ours was one of a handful of houses that used bottled gas for cooking and heating in our state-of-the-art cookstove and furnace.

The building swelled outward in seemingly slow motion, the kitchen and rear of the building clearly the center of the blast.  The shockwave took me right off the wall, despite my Cling, as the bricks I was standing on came along with me.

I landed and rolled backward, coming up facing forward, my feet moving me toward the raging inferno that was just moments ago our haven.  This time, I simply leapt over the remains of the wall, landing amid burning pieces of our home, my ears ringing from the overwhelming thunder of the blast.  The entire back half of our home was gone, leaving the front half ripped completely open like some grotesque version of a child’s dollhouse.

Burning debris lit the night as I ran across the grounds looking for Anna.  I found her—at least the upper half of her, as everything below the bottom of the ribcage was just gone.  Her eyes were open and staring, but as I moved in front of her, they suddenly focused on me.  She was moments from true death, from oblivion, and she knew it.  Her gaze held mine for a moment before her eyes shifted over my shoulder and widened.

I jumped forward, over a burning hunk of house, rolling and spinning to find a male vampire standing where I had just been.  He held a long dagger and his gaze was focused and deadly.

I turned and ran, moving at top speed.

People say I’m not right, that I’m missing emotions or something.  They say it when they think I won’t hear them, but I’ve been trained to listen, to spy.  I hear them.  They’re mostly right.  I am missing something, some basic human ability to feel the full span of emotions that regular people feel.  But I still feel emotions.  I rarely feel affection, at least for most.  A select few, Anna and Dani being almost the entirety of my favored ones.  What I mostly feel is anger.  Shades of anger, from the dull deep red of being Turned at twelve, to oranges and yellows of violent rage.  What I felt now was a white-hot fury beyond anything I had felt before.  My retreat was purely tactical, a calculated action that was guaranteed to trigger the vampire’s chase reflex.

A child sized and shaped vampire running from a big male was too attractive to ignore.  Sure enough, I could feel and hear the sounds of his pursuit.  He was taller, with longer legs, but I was likely older, as I managed to stay ahead of him.  That should have been a warning to him, should have clued him in that he was perhaps chasing a tiger.  A small tiger, but dangerous just the same.

It was my neighborhood, my territory, and I knew it intimately.  I led him into the Crepseys’ backyard, past their rather largish carriage house and then straight out the back and into the apple orchard they cultivated for a hobby.  I leapt the gully at the rear of their property and immediately Posted my feet, shooting left.  My hunter instantly jumped after me and as soon as he was in the air, I spun around, Pulling him with every ounce of vampire power I had in me.

He tried to Push away, but his own full-bore momentum combined with my power, overwhelmed his defense.  He sailed through the air, unable to stop or divert his motion.

The Duelist had taught me that jumping about during a fight was idiocy.  Even the best vampires have only limited control over their airborne bodies, and he was no exception.  He twisted and turned, Pulled and Pushed, but with limited success.  I, on the other hand, was Posted to the ground under me and to the big maple tree behind me, Pulling with all my hundred-year strength.  His whole flight only lasted a half second; there just wasn’t time for him to come up with a workaround.  He settled for twisting so that his feet would hit me first.

I wasn’t there, though.  I let go, shifted forward under him, spun, and slashed Tora just as he hit the tree.  Bark exploded off the trunk and blood sprayed as my blade cut through his spine just above his waistline.  Forward momentum ripped his body in half, snapping his forehead to his knees.

As he fell backward to the ground, I was there, blade dropped, hands grabbing his head to twist his neck until it snapped.

It took him a solid hour to heal the break in his neck.  He opened his eyes to find me staring at him.  I had him inside another neighbor’s garden shed, while outside came the sounds of firefighters yelling as they struggled with the inferno that had been my home, my world.

“Hello,” I said. “We should make this brief.”

He struggled, shifting his torso a bit, but that was all he accomplished.  “I took the liberty of removing your arms at the shoulder and cauterizing the wounds,” I explained, holding up the rather nifty blow torch that my neighbor kept in his extensive tool collection. “I also cauterized your waist, taking much more care than you did with my friend, Anna, when you blew her in half.”

The anger in his eyes gave way to despair.  Vampires can heal from many things, but burns are not one of them.  I could see the moment he realized that he was now a limbless torso with a head and that’s what he would be for as long as the vampire virus kept him alive.  Makes being trapped in the body of a child seem a rather simple thing, doesn’t it?

“We’re going to have a fast chat.  You will tell me about your employer and then I will release you from this world.  Should you decide that holding out is better, I will lay these silver dimes on your skin until you relent.  No one will hear you, and we have hours left until dawn.”

My belt still held a collection of emergency coins, including silk-wrapped silver.  I was always prepared.

The math of my proposition was simple.  He was going to die within the next few hours.  He had no hope for a life beyond today, even if I left him.  There was nothing that his employer could do to him worse than what I had already done and what I was prepared to do.  So, he talked—at great length.  And I took copious notes in Anna’s notebook.  My fury burned, unabated, like the sun that I couldn’t look at as I listened and planned.

Chapter 21

Of course it was Pauline behind it.  Harold (who ever heard of a vampire named Harold?) gave her up quick like a bunny.  As I said before, the math was simple.  Release from his newly acquired infirmities by me, or torture and decades of misery trapped in his own body.  Most able-bodied vampires succumb to boredom or depression after their second century.  Child vampires like me rarely last twenty years. What I had done to Harold was too horrifying an existence to contemplate. He would have begged for release in a year’s time.

He gave me extensive details of her nest, which was essentially a fortress wrapped in all the multiple layers of security that four hundred years of paranoia could dream up.  Guarded at night by teams of vampires and werewolves, and during the daytime by well-trained humans and more werewolves.  The main house was surrounded by a vast open space, clear of all cover and concealment.  There were several layers of fences with checkpoints staffed to literally sniff out intruders, particularly of the Darkkin kind.

I had sketches, lists of personnel, even schedules.  Theoretically, everything an assassin would need to craft a plan to kill a target, but this was daunting.  Pauline had seen countless assassinations and participated in more than a few.  She had planned her defenses well.  According to Harold, she hardly ever came out of her compound, but if she did, it was with extensive security and her travel plans and schedules were closely guarded secrets.  She even had an on-staff telepath to monitor her own people for betrayal.

I had asked Harold a hundred questions, looking for flaws in the web of protections she had spun around herself.  He had chuckled at each one, a mirthless laugh.  “You got me, Katrina, but I will die knowing that you will not be far behind me.  No one has ever breached her security.”

Anna, my dear Anna, had spent thousands of hours on my education in the craft of my chosen career.  With Galina’s blessing and aid, she had brought in tutors, each expert in the arts of death and espionage, and my education had been ever continuing.  One thing that had been drilled into me over and over was that there was always a weakness, always a way.

“How is the nest resupplied?” I asked my helpless informant.

“Trucks, driven by her own people, searched at two different gatehouses, top to bottom by weres.  All contents are tested by experts, so you can’t poison her liquor, cigarettes, art, or the food the weres and humans eat.  Water is provided by a drilled well, housed inside the compound, inaccessible from outside.”

“What if I flew a bomb into the building from a plane or even one of the rockets her own company makes?”

“Please. The main building is made of hardened reinforced concrete.  And most of the nest is underground.  Security is also trained to fight fires and the compound is equipped with multiple ways to extinguish flame, so you won’t burn her out.”

“Must be boring, trapped inside a veritable bunker?”

“She brings in entertainment of all types, each performer carefully vetted and searched,” he said.  There was a slight hesitation in his answer, tiny really, but I was trained to look for any discrepancy.

“What about her food?”

“Carefully chosen from random locations.  Homeless and vagabonds that no one will ever miss,” he said.  Again, with the pause.

Ah, interesting. There was a weakness here, one that Harold himself was likely aware of.

“Random?” I asked.

“Selected from locations no closer than an hour’s drive.  And never the same location consecutively.”

“Are they tested?  For purity?” I asked.

“You won’t slip silver into any of them,” he said with a sneer.  “Each is cleaned up, checked by scent-trained individuals, and then presented for consumption.”

“What type does she prefer?”

“Type?  She doesn’t have a type.  Male, female, or child, it makes no difference.”

“No. Blood type?  You know what blood types are, right?”

He nodded slowly, but it was clear he was lying.  Despite his murderous skill, I judged Harold to be less than fifty years old.  Probably chosen for a knowledge of bombs.

“How does she eat?  Slowly over time, or fast and gluttonous?  Where does she bite her prey?  Thigh?  Wrist?  Inner arm?  Neck?”

“She kills all her prey in one sitting,” he said, “and she prefers the neck.”

“Neat or messy?”

“She tears out their arteries,” he said.

“How are the bodies disposed?”

“Burned to ash in an on-site incinerator.”

“Who selects her prey?”

“Simone,” he said, referencing one of the higher-placed personnel he had listed earlier.

“Thank you, Harold,” I said. “You’ve been a tremendous help.  Don’t look for me to follow you into the great abyss soon.  Maybe look for Pauline instead; that is if there is anything at all for us after true death.”

“You can’t suc—” was as far as he got before Tora entered his skull from the back.  I decapitated him, doused his body and head with gasoline, and burned the shed to the ground.

A plan had begun to materialize in the back of my head as I traveled about the grounds of our house and then the neighborhood, gathering resources.  My favorite weapons had burned up in the fire that consumed our house, but from under a flagstone walkway in the gardens, I dug out my first escape kit.

Contained inside a set of World War I era ammunition boxes were spare boy’s clothes, cash, gold coins, a decent dagger, and a Walther .32 pistol with concealment holster and silver ammunition.

The detached carriage house had more clothes, a travel bag, and several packs of cash.  The current Cadillac was parked there, none the worse for wear, and I was sorely tempted to drive it away.  Two problems with that: First, Pauline didn’t know I had survived.  A missing car might give her a clue.  Second, twelve-year-olds don’t drive Cadillacs.  Enough said.

Protocol demanded that I contact New York and tell them that I had survived the attack.  Protocol be damned.  Pauline surely had agents among the Darkkin who dwelled in Galina’s underground Citadel, and again, I wanted to hide my survival until the last possible moment.

With everything I could salvage from home, I spent the last hours of the night traveling on foot across town to a safe house that we maintained.  I chose to hide in the garage of the house, not trusting that my enemies were unaware of the property.

Early the next evening, I raided the cache at the safe house for cash and valuables and then was on my way.

My own hunger was raging as I skulked my way across Washington, but the thing about looking like a kid is that my prey usually thought that I was their prey.  The first thug to attempt to mug me paid the price for that assumption with a pint and a half of blood. Type O, if I wasn’t mistaken.  He would awaken dizzy and hungry, but he would awaken.

Like most Darkkin, my favorite is blood type AB, but that’s quite rare and I was starving, so I couldn’t be choosey.  Which just reinforced my plan.  Hungry vampires are not finicky eaters.  As I boarded an evening train for Petersburg, Virginia, I reflected that it was soon going to be time to make Pauline hungry… extremely hungry.

Chapter 22

“You’re honestly going to argue with me about the money?” I asked.  My comments were directed at the big man in front, as the woman and the skinny guy seemed on board.

“Not arguing about taking the money, doll face. I just want all of it,” the guy said.  He was a real bruiser, maybe six foot three inches or so, and well over two hundred pounds.

“Oh, greedy.  Okay, how about you two?  Willing to take the money and go somewhere nice for a while?” I asked the other two.  They looked at me like I was crazy, then at each other.

“They do what I tells them,” the bully said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“Hold your horses, bubba,” I said. “I’ll deal with you in a second.  First, I want to make sure these two are going to abide by my conditions.”

“Enough!” Bruiser said, stepping forward to grab my thin left shoulder.  I put my little right hand over his big paw, locking it into place, then jammed my left hand directly against his elbow.  His arm was massive, and if I had really been the child that I looked like, my strike might not have had much impact.  But I was a hundred-year-old vampire, so his beefy arm snapped at the joint like a rotten tree branch, and he screamed like the little girl I looked like, falling to his knees.

The other two twitched like they were going to run.  “Wait,” I demanded.  They froze at the tone of command in my voice.  “Here’s your money. Now get off the streets for a while,” I said, shoving a hundred-dollar bill into each of their hands.  They took it and, with a look at the screaming hulk, turned and ran.

“Now, what to do with you,” I said.

He blinked in mid-scream and looked at me closely, his pain-filled expression changing to horror.

“Well, I’ll figure something out,” I said, my little right fist hitting him just behind the ear.  He crumpled, blessedly unconscious and silent.

I was on my third town in three nights, paying street people to leave the streets.  The first night, three people tried to rob me; the second night was just one.  Tonight, it was just Bruiser so far, but the hour was still early.  Already, news of my cash payouts was spreading from town to town, street people coming toward the little girl with the money as soon as I appeared.  I honestly expected more shakedowns, so I was pleasantly surprised at how many homeless folks had a sense of honor.  Perhaps word of what happened to would-be robbers had also spread.  Beating up vagabonds and hobos isn’t really much sport and it slowed down my mission.  But of course, any pedophiles that came along were another story.  Oddly, I hadn’t run into a single child predator during my philanthropic endeavors.  Even Bruiser was just a bully and thief, so I let him sleep on the cold pavement and moved on through the night.

“You the girl paying people to sleep in hotels?” a voice asked as I exited the alley.  The old lady the voice belonged to was standing across the street, her wary eyes locked on me.

“Yup, that’s me,” I said. “Interested?”

“You work for the hospitality industry or something?” she asked as I crossed the street.

“Or something,” I said with a nod. “Here’s a crisp hundred if you’ll take a room somewhere for the next few nights.”

“Where does a little girl get that kind of money?” she asked, snatching the bill from my hand.

“Not really any of your business,” I said.

“And why did Lyle and Molly light out of that alley like the devil himself was after them?” she asked, sidling back a step.

“Missing the point here, lady,” I said. “That’s more money than most working people make in a week.”

“But is it real? Or is it funny money?”

“You’re standing here with almost nothing, questioning the stroke of luck that just handed you enough money to spend a week in a hotel with room service?” I asked. “Give me that back.”

She wasn’t the first to be suspicious and just like all the others, as soon as I demanded the money back, she turned and scuttled away, the money clutched in her hands.

My plan was simple:  If Pauline ate street people, I’d remove as many as I could from the towns around her.  Of course, not all of them would head to a boarding house or hotel, but quite a few would, and the rest would likely go looking for their personal vices.  Spending the money on booze or drugs was almost as good for my purposes as sleeping indoors.  Most vampires would avoid alcoholics and addicts.  I was pretty sure that Pauline’s chief of acquisitions, Simone Dupree, would go to great lengths to find healthy prey for her boss to dine on.  In fact, I was betting on it.

“You there—girl,” a male voice commanded. “Come here!”

I had been aware of the man moving down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, his quality clothing and general demeanor much different from the folks on this side of the tracks.  Tall, with a mustache, a good quality pea coat, and shiny, expensive boots.

I was dressed like my clientele, in a dirty dress and well-worn shoes, my hair wild and uncombed.

“What’s it about, mister?” I asked cautiously as I moved a little closer.

“Are you the one responsible for these?” he asked, holding up a fist full of hundreds.

“Gosh, mister, that’s a lot of money to be flashing around in these parts,” I said. “You looking to get rolled?”

He pushed his coat open, revealing a Colt 1911 .45 tucked through his belt.  “Nobody is robbing Gerald Hughes tonight or any other night.  Now quit playing me for a fool.  I own five transient hotels and all of them are flooding with people paying in crisp hundreds.  They all say they got the money from a pretty street girl matching your description.”

I noticed that he was quick to tuck the money away despite his bravado.

“Sounds like a stroke of luck to me, Gerald,” I said, dropping my timid child act.  “What’s your beef with a rush of business?”

“Because nobody drops a fortune on hobos and homeless… what’s the catch, little girl?”

“I have a huge heart and too much money. Why do you care?”

“If that’s true, then you’re the one who’s likely to get robbed.”

“And being the upstanding citizen that you are, you’re worried for my safety… or are you worried about the safety of my money?”

His eyes went wide, then narrowed in anger.  He pulled the coat aside again, showing off the gun.  I took it.  Zip, and the gun was in my hands before he could even blink.

“Jeesh, this thing’s a cannon,” I said as I disassembled it.  “Oh, look, I broke it.  Sorry, Gerald,” I said, dropping the slide, barrel, barrel bushing, magazine, and recoil spring on the ground.  Gerald was frozen, his face a mask of disbelief, staring at his gun in pieces on the ground.

I moved away, watching him.  He watched me right back, even as he knelt and grabbed up his gun.  I thought he would either chase me or move away. Instead, he expertly reassembled the gun, chambering a round.  I waited, but he simply put the safety on and put it in his pea coat pocket.  His heartbeat was fast and his face was pale, but his eyes were steady.

“Perhaps you’re not in danger after all,” he said in a near whisper.

“Not even close.  Have a good night, Gerald.  I plan on sending you more customers,” I said as I slipped into the shadows.

I moved, slipping down the alley and up the side of the building.  Peeking over the roof, I saw Gerald standing on the street, staring at the alley entrance, his hand in his pocket.  Then he shook himself and turned away.  Good riddance.

I finished that town and hitched a ride on a delivery truck to the next town, moving closer to Alexandria.

Over the rest of that week and all of the following one, I paid a small fortune to the homeless of every small town, rail yard, and hobo village in a circle around my prey.  Then I started on Alexandria, a town that according to Harold hadn’t been preyed upon.  Never hunt your own backyard.  Old Darkkin advice.  Killing where you lived was almost always a bad idea.  First, it brought human authorities to search your neighborhood.  Bad business.  Second, if times got tough, you’ve left prey close at hand.   Times were getting rapidly tough for Pauline’s household. Simone would be getting desperate soon.  I needed to be ready for when she started to raid the larders close to home.

Chapter 23

Bright light lit the room like Death Valley at high noon.  Wow, listen to me.  Like I’ve ever been to Death Valley or even seen the sun in over a hundred years.  Anyway, it was bright, but my eyes adjusted much quicker than my companions’.

“Found them,” a male voice called out.  A big man blocked the doorway, the electric torch in his hands blinding us to any of his features.  There was a rush of air and a female shape appeared by his side, then pushed roughly past him.

“Where the hell are the rest of you?” she asked, her own face mostly cast in darkness by the light still shining on us.

No one answered her, but the scent of hot urine flooded the already dank, stale air.  “Shit; there’s always one that pisses themselves,” the male vampire said.  He sounded disgusted in a superior kind of way.

The guilty pisser was lying by my feet, the warm stinky urine wetting my torn and shredded stockings.  Perfect.  Like a deer hunter with fox urine on his boots.

“Get out of here—now!” the female vampire commanded.  Her hair was dark and her voice lightly accented with a trace of Jamaica.

Nobody moved until the male grabbed the closest homeless, a man, and hauled him out like a sack of rice. His screams of fear triggered a mass exodus from the cellar room in the abandoned warehouse.  I let myself get carried along in the panic, my unbound hair hanging around my face, eyes on the floor in front of me.  Two people tripped on the doorway sill that I could easily see, but I made myself copy their awkwardness, stumbling into the back of the people in front of me.

“Line ’em up and let’s get a look at what we’re dealing with,” the female said.  I was careful not to make eye contact with her or any of the vampires, but I got enough detail with a passing glance.

Coffee-colored skin, dark brown eyes, dreadlocked hair.  Simone Lawrence, Pauline’s third-in-command and in charge of blood procurement.

“Not great, but not bad,” she said as she moved down the line.  She stopped suddenly by my feet, sniffing the air.

“This one is bleeding,” she said.

“I didn’t touch her,” the male protested.

“It’s her monthly blood, you moron,” she said. “This one is for Pauline.”

“She’s kinda tiny?” another male vampire said.

“Quality, Curtis, not quantity,” Simone responded.  “Make sure she’s unharmed, got it?  Pauline’s ready to rip off heads and this one smells like a better mood, if ya get my meaning?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Curtis said. “Alright. Get a move on, sheep,” he said to the line of homeless.

The screamer who had gotten yanked out first climbed fearfully to his feet, and the rest of us followed suit.  A line of vampires moved us upstairs and out the back door, crowding us into a big delivery van.  We were literally piled into the thing, crammed like sardines in a tin.  The doors slammed shut and the van lurched into motion, bouncing on the potholes of the Alexandria slum.  I closed my eyes and followed each turn, calculated every acceleration, my internal compass telling me we were headed out of the city and in the direction of Pauline’s compound.  So far, so good.

I almost hadn’t found what I needed in time.  Found who I needed.  But night after night of paying off homeless had finally led me to a desperate young mother and her two children—a young boy and an early teen girl.  A girl with AB blood who was technically a woman, at least by Nature’s rules of reproduction.  I paid that mother five times what I paid anyone else, sending her and her kids out of town on a bus with five hundred dollars in her pocket and new clothes all around.  I kept the daughter’s clothes and paid her an additional hundred for her sanitary refuse.

It was a huge gamble, hoping the girl’s human scent and delicious-smelling blood would cover my vampire scent.  Hungry vampires rapidly lose the ability to focus on fine details, even the older ones.  Hence my plan.

The truck came to a stop, a discussion ensued between the hunting party and two other individuals, then we started forward again.  The same thing happened a second time, but this time, the rear doors opened and a vampire with glowing eyes peered in at us, sniffing loudly and growling slightly.

“Get out of there, Bryant.  You’ll get yours when the boss says so and not a minute sooner,” Simone’s voice said loudly.

The guard took one last hungry look around and then disappeared, the doors slamming shut behind him.  The truck started forward and just like that, I was inside Pauline’s fortress.

A few minutes later, we were herded out of the truck and into a big communal shower room.  “Strip,” the woman vampire who was currently in charge ordered, tearing the dress of a woman who moved too slowly for her liking.

I didn’t love this part, for a couple of reasons.  One, I don’t like being naked in front of anyone. Permanently adolescent doesn’t make for great self-esteem.  But the second reason was more tactical.  My naked body didn’t look like a girl far enough into puberty to have a period.  But the communal nature of the shower gave me cover to hide myself behind all the naked bodies of the rest of the homeless. It was probably the only hot shower most of the humans had had in months.  The hot water shut off and we were directed into a room full of white robes and told to don one.

“Alright, follow me,” the woman said.

“What are you doing with us?” a man asked.

“Why, we’re taking you to a lovely dinner,” the female vampire said.

“Not you,” Simone said, appearing suddenly to grab me by the back of my neck.  Again, that shower paid benefits, as the hot water left my cold skin warm to the touch.

“In here,” Simone said, opening a big oak door and shoving me inside.  The door shut and I looked around at the opulence of what had to be Pauline’s private suite.  Silk sheets on the massive round bed, velvet-covered chairs and sofa in front of a roaring fireplace.  Crystal goblets of deep red liquid that I could tell was French cabernet, not blood.

The door was thick, but my hearing is exceptional, even for a vampire.  “Dinner is served, Madame,” Simone said with humor in her voice. “You are going to really enjoy tonight’s entrée.  Young, tender, and newly a woman from the smell of it,” she said. “And your favorite blood type.”

“That will do for tonight, Simone, but we must find where they all went.” Pauline’s accented voice cut through me like a Japanese katana through flesh. “This bunch will only hold us so long.”

My own Japanese blade had been left behind, as I knew I would be stripped and searched.  But I had other means.  Before she could enter, I reached between my legs and armed myself.

The door opened but my head was down, my wet hair over my face, the damp robe clinging to my childish body, hands clutched at my side.

“Oh, my dear, look at you,” Pauline said.  She sniffed loudly.  How rude.  To sniff one’s dinner like so much grilled steak.  “You really are a woman,” she laughed.  To be honest, my act of arming myself had brought the scent of my borrowed blood richly into the air.  Through the wet strands of my hair, I saw her open her mouth, fangs fully distended.  She moved suddenly, faster than even I could, her arms grabbing my shoulders to pull my throat against those vicious canines.

My left hand came up and pressed against her sternum, stopping her Pull momentarily. My right hand shot past it, driving the silver dart up through the roof of her wide open mouth, deep into her brain, the bloody cloth that protected my skin from the silver stuffing into her mouth like a red-soaked gag.

Her grip was terrible as the light of understanding flooded her eyes.  She was immensely strong, but silver to the brain is almost instantly lethal to even our kind.  Her crushing grip loosened as her eyes began to dim.  Still, she had recognized me at the end, if only for a second.  One tick of the second hand is a lifetime to a vampire, long enough to realize who had just killed her, who had taken revenge for Anna’s death.

I held her as her body went limp, lowering her to the thick Persian carpet under our feet.  I knelt beside her, soaking in the moment, savoring the kill in a way like no other life I have ever taken.  My task was done.  Even if I didn’t survive to escape, I had avenged Anna and Lisbeth.

Finally, I laid her dead body on the floor and began to look around.  Like most Darkkin, she had multiple blades in her inner sanctum.  I used a particularly fine example of a Scandinavian Seax knife to remove her head from her shoulders.  Can’t be too careful.  Then I set about finding whatever I could to help me escape, because I fully intended to survive.

Chapter 24

Pauline left a pool of blood on the floor, so I added the bloody hygiene cloth, lumped up a couple of pillows, and threw my bloody robe over it. May I rest in peace.

Her clothes were too big for me but I made do with a dark shirt, wrapping the leather belt that the seax’s sheath was on around me twice.  Pauline’s body and head went into her own bed, the expensive sheets and blankets covering her to her chin. I left the silver dart deep in her brain.

In the drawers of her desk, I found a ring of keys, a purse full of cash, and a small Colt Detective Special .38 revolver loaded with silver rounds.  A little leather pouch held twelve more rounds.  Older vampires didn’t always adapt to new tech well, but most seemed fine with newer, better weapons.

I listened at the door and, hearing no signs of life, I slipped out into the hall.  The ceilings were high, over ten feet, and the only light in the hall came from wall-mounted sconces.  The space overhead was dim and shadowy, so I climbed the wall and crawled along the ceiling.  Even vampires don’t always look up.

The hall went straight for about fifty feet before coming to the intersection of another hallway that went both left and right.  Each arm of the new corridor was at least thirty feet long, but there were sounds coming from the right, so I went left.

I was halfway down the new path when a door almost directly below me opened.  Two male vampires came out, the odor of fresh blood rising to meet my nose.  I had been careful to sate my appetite before hiding among the homeless, but it still smelled good enough to make me salivate.  I refrained from gulping, staying frozen on the ceiling while they chatted, then headed in separate directions.  I stayed put till both were out of sight, then dropped down to the floor, listening at the door they had exited.  Mostly quiet but perhaps a soft moan or two.  I opened the door with all the stealth at my command.

The room revealed was almost as big as Pauline’s but clearly set up for Darkkin dining.  Couches and settees were spread around the space and the moaning was coming from a man whose heartbeat was almost undetectable.  It was one of the homeless, the ones I had pretended to be part of.  This one had looked at me multiple times during my time among them, but always with concern, not lust.  As I looked the rest of the room over, I heard his heart quiet and stop.

Here’s the thing about vampires. We don’t kill people near as much as you’d expect.  The whole trope of vampires killing every human they feed from is so much bunk.  That way leads to extinction.  Humans are just as clever as vampires, and when they get scared, they get dangerous.  One-on-one, no human is really a match for a vampire unless they have a trick or two up their sleeve.  But stir up dozens, hundreds, or even thousands and you’ve got a problem.  Particularly these days, when weapons have advanced so far.  It’s tough to fight back when you’re out cold in a dark room.  And if the day-visiting humans bring explosives and incendiary devices, there’s really nothing to fight against, is there?

So Pauline’s whole nest was an aberration, a throwback to times when Darkkin could get away with killing people wholesale.  It was also a massive danger to the Coven itself, so maybe I should do something about that on my way out?  Yeah, why not?

I left the room and slipped through the halls, listening to the sounds of vampires feeding without restraint. Deeper into the building, it became more utilitarian and less luxurious, the fancy bedrooms and feeding spaces changing to offices, then small spartan guard quarters, utility rooms, and the guard office.

There were three guards in residence and two of them were human, the third a vampire who seemed to be having a real bad day.

“It’s not right.  I should be in there too.  I deserve to feed as much as any of them,” he complained to the other two.

“Probably just a new guy thing, Terry,” one of the human guards said.

“That’s right… you are the newest,” the other chimed in.

Both humans had raised heart rates and smelled slightly of fear, which in turn seemed to be making Terry even more agitated.  All it needed was a little blood scent and Terry, who seemed quite young, might lose control.

I slipped back to a previous room I had visited, the furnace room, where a couple of dead bodies were stacked, awaiting incineration.  A bit of bloody clothing and then I was back outside the guards’ break room, on the hall ceiling.  The bait went on the floor near the door.

It took only a minute and a half, by my count, for the scent to hit Terry.

“What’s that?” he demanded, his voice rough and deep. “I can literally smell them feeding.  Why am I not there with them?  I’m going,” he said.

I had hoped the humans might argue with him, triggering a fight.  They wisely kept their mouths shut as he approached the doorway.  I waited, standing upside down on the ceiling, the seax in my right hand and a round of .38 Special in my left.  As soon as Terry appeared, I threw the bullet at the lightbulb in the wall sconce and simultaneously dropped on the vampire.

The hall went dark as almost a foot of steel rammed through the top of Terry’s skull.

“What the hell was that?” one of the surviving guards yelled. “Terry?  Terry, where you at?”

I heard the sound of feet moving cautiously toward the door as I pulled up on my blade.  It was jammed so tightly into Terry’s skull that the hydraulic pressure of his cranium kept him on the blade as I lifted, hauling his whole body upright.  Awkward to say the least, but I got my left hand on his belt and lifted him even higher.

Soft shuffles and racing heartbeats announced the other two as they crept out into the hall.

“Bulb’s broken,” one said.  The other never had a chance to answer as I dropped Terry on him and dropped myself on the speaker.  Both hands free, I simply snapped his neck with a quick twist, using my body weight as I fell.  The one under Terry’s carcass struggled to get free but he no sooner got out from under the vampire than I was on his back, my arms choking him unconscious and then kept choking till he was dead.

The guard office had a locked steel door that intrigued me.  One of the keys on Pauline’s ring opened it.  Joy of joys, it turned out be the arsenal.  I added a cut-down double-barreled shotgun to my personal ordinance, along with a bandolier of double aught buckshot.  Then I found a box of fragmentation grenades. Twelve to be exact.

I went back to the furnace room and found a can of kerosene that some lazy bastard probably used to light the coal furnace. After that, I left a series of booby traps behind me, pouring a trail of kerosene as I went.  I made it a third of the way out before a door opened behind me.

“I’m telling you I smell kerosene…” the vampire said.  I blew his head off with the shotgun.  It roared and punched my arms with heavy recoil, but what great fun!  Why hadn’t I ever used one before?

I lit the kerosene trail with a lighter I had borrowed along the way and moved to the ceiling again.  Doors started to open in front and behind me, but nobody looked up for at least three seconds.  The first to spot me won a prize of two barrels of buckshot to the head and shoulders, his pals all getting a conciliation frag grenade.  After that, it was a free-for-all.  Flames, smoke, explosions, shotgun, and revolver blasts as I raced out of the property.  Outside was bedlam as guards tried to get the fire put out.

Sneaking out was relatively easy.  I only had to kill one of them before I was over the final fence and out into the open night.  I still had three shotgun shells and a frag grenade.  Turning to watch the mayhem from the darkness, I shrugged, pulled the pin on the grenade, and threw it with all my strength.  The burning building was just over three hundred yards away.  My throw landed right behind some of the firefighting vampires.  The flash and roar were very satisfactory as I headed out into the darkness.

Chapter 25

The Coven Rovers found me two nights later.  I had been sure I could put them off for at least four, maybe five days, but the knock on the door of the abandoned house I was hiding in came promptly at dusk a bit less than forty-eight hours after I escaped Pauline’s compound.  Smelling vampire through the fieldstone foundation of the old farmhouse, I thought of running.

“Ms. Westing,” a firm male voice spoke in normal tones.  Hmm, if I could smell him, he could probably smell me. “Your presence in New York is mandated by the Elders.”

Wow, that was fast. Took them nights to figure out Anna was killed, yet I was tracked down in record time for Pauline’s execution.

Ghosting up the basement stairs, I approached the front door, listening and smelling to see if any other vampires were present.  No sound, and the wind was coming from the front of the house.

Upon opening the door, I found myself facing an attractive male frozen at about thirty years of age.  Lean and average height, he had short brown hair, a tightly trimmed mustache, and pale green eyes.

“Yes?” I asked, putting on my innocent child expression.

“Katrina Westing, I am Rover Harmon Ashton.  You are to present yourself to the Elders of the Coven in New York City by this time tomorrow night.”

“How am I supposed to get to New York in twenty-four hours?” I asked.  Travel for vampires requires careful and time-consuming logistics.

“We will take you by air,” he said.  At that moment, I felt another presence behind me, just as a dark-skinned vampire woman walked around the side of the house.  Three. They sent three Rovers to get me, I thought.  High compliment indeed. And air travel, how fun.  I’d never flown before, so one wish off the list before I was executed.

“This is Rover Jennifer Robinson and behind you is Rover Serge Carbov,” Harmon said.

“Well, let me get my things and we can be on our way,” I said, testing the waters.

“Leave them. We must go now,” the woman said.

“Good thing they’re right here,” I said, bending down slowly to pick up my small bag, which I had dropped next to the door.

The female rover kept her face blank, but the corners of her eyes tightened in what I guessed was annoyance.  Harmon didn’t display a single twitch, but I heard the lightest of snorts from behind me.  Turning around, I looked back and then up at Serge.  He was blond, very thin, and very tall. Ice gray eyes studied me with mild amusement. I gave him my third-best cooperative child smile, which just increased his amusement.

I expected them to take my weapons and possessions, but they simply escorted me down the quarter-mile long driveway to a rather nondescript Ford sedan.  We drove for about forty-five minutes to reach a small, out-of-the-way airfield, where we climbed into a four-passenger Cessna Airmaster that Harmon expertly piloted up into the night sky. I was in the back right passenger seat, a very wary Jennifer watching me like a hawk, while Harmon was seemingly giving Serge lessons in flying.

Coven Rovers are suspicious by nature, and rightfully so.  Half secret agent and half cop, they are called upon to solve conflict and enforce the will of the Elders.  Each is highly trained, extremely capable (as shown by not one but two pilots in my group) and very experienced.  Sending three for me was maybe overkill, but hugely flattering.  Jen’s close watch on my actions was par for the course, but I was too caught up in looking out the window and watching the ground pass below as we flew among the few clouds.  The stars were out, and I could see across the countryside for miles, tiny little pinpoints of light marking homes across the eastern coast.

We flew to a private airfield on Long Island, which had its own electric lights.

“On a night like this, we could land without them,” Harmon told his student. “But neighbors would be suspicious if planes landed and took off without lights, so we use them.”

Serge landed the plane smoothly enough to elicit praise from his teacher.  Next, we were packed in another car and we drove into Manhattan.  The car drove right into an underground garage in a dark commercial building near Midtown.  We passed multiple guard stations as we descended deeper under the city to the Coven Citadel.

I was fed from a willing donor, allowed to clean up, and then shown to a private room—one with a heavy steel door.  Still in possession of my personal weapons and gear, I was locked in for the remainder of the night and the following day.

I woke early in the afternoon, taking the time to make myself presentable.  I had one dress and one set of clean boy clothes.  The dress was something a young girl might wear to school.  The pants and shirt set were clean and only lightly worn.  I chose to look competent over puerile, but left my hair unbound.  My weapons and gear were all laid out on the small table, but I only took Tora, sliding her sheath through my belt.  Then I lay back on the carefully made bed and waited.  Two hours later, the door unlocked and my three Rovers ushered me out.  Ten minutes of fast walking through a twisting labyrinth of tunnels and passageways brought us to a waiting area outside a pair of massive doors where a familiar vampire sat behind a desk.

“Ah, our wayward agent,” Lydia said. “I will inform the Elders.” She opened one door just enough to slip through.  She seemed too young to be in such a position of importance, which made me wonder about her personal skill set.

We waited ten minutes and then she opened one of the doors and waved me inside.  The Rover team stayed outside, and no one asked for my blade.  Of course.  One century-old vampire with a knife would be no threat to any of the Elders, let alone all three.

Lydia led me into a vast, well-lit room where three high raised daises stood in a semicircle.  The leaders of the Coven weren’t sitting at them, instead standing in a group near the base of the middle dais, conferring.  Galina stood with them, as did the telepathic vampire, Nika.  Lydia walked me up to the group, pointed for me to stand on a copper circle set in the stone floor, and stood quietly before the others.  I took the opportunity to study my leaders.  Senka, I already knew, but Elder Tzao looked to be only about the size of Lydia, her features ageless.  Fedor was a small man, but even standing ten yards away, I could feel the power almost radiating from him.  All three turned to look at me, as did Galina and Nika.

“Katrina, you have not only survived an explosion to your home that killed your mentor, but single-handedly assaulted another Coven nest, killing its leader and many other Darkkin,” Senka said.

“Yes, Elder Senka.”

“I was looking more for an explanation than an affirmation,” she said mildly.  Tzao looked at me with unreadable black eyes, but Fedor was watching me like I was a disgusting bug.

“Yes, Elder Senka.  Pauline Jardine ordered one of her people to assassinate Anna and myself.  I was missing from the building when the house exploded.  The bomber came after me and I led him into a trap.  After crippling him, I questioned him extensively, formulated a counterattack plan, and executed both the plan and Pauline.  During the process, I found that the Virginia nest was killing a great many homeless and itinerant humans, thus leaving the Coven open to dangerous exposure.”

All five looked at me quietly for a few moments before Senka looked at Nika.

“All of it true if overly simplified,” the telepath said. “There is a great deal of thinking, planning, and anger interwoven throughout the tale.”

“I see,” Senka said before turning back to me. “Did it not occur to you to contact the Citadel and report to Galina?”

“Yes, Elder Senka.  However, the agent I interrogated, whose name was Harold Vodit, indicated that Pauline had agents here in the Citadel, waiting for any sign of contact from survivors.”

Nika nodded again, but then wrote something on a slip of paper and passed it to Galina, who read it and handed it to Lydia, who immediately left the room.

Senka raised one brow at her blood daughter.

“Nika pulled the names from Katrina’s memory and Lydia is having them rounded up,” Galina said.

“Fedor?” Senka asked.

“You executed an older vampire, one who was Master of her nest, without instructions from a superior, and then destroyed much of that nest,” he said to me.

“I enacted personal revenge upon the person who ordered my death and that of my mentor, Elder Fedor.  The nest was damaged during my escape.”

“You were trained for espionage and covert tactics, Katrina,” Senka said. “A case of bombs and extensive fire does not seem subtle escape and evasion.”

“I posed as a homeless child, covering my scent with AB blood.  I was taken directly to Pauline’s most private quarters for feeding.  Upon leaving the room, I had to fight my way out of the entire complex, Elder Senka.”

“And fight you did, child,” Senka said. “Thirteen wounded and five true dead Darkkin.”

“They were… persistent in refusing to let me leave,” I said. “Elder Senka.”

Lydia chose that moment to come back into the room. “Two are gone, but the Rovers have caught the third and are holding him outside.  Other Rovers are searching for the missing ones.”

“Katrina, you will return to the quarters provided to you and await our judgement of your actions.  You will not harm a single Darkkin, nor will you attempt to escape the Citadel,” Senka said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Elder.”  I bowed as I had been taught, then backed away and left the room.  My trio of favorite Rovers held a vampire woman in silver chains.  I nodded at them, and they nodded to me.  Then I retraced the twisted path to my room and awaited my judgement.

Chapter 26

“Katrina Westing,” Senka said. “It is our judgement that you live.  You enacted retribution against an enemy of greater age, skill, and resources who attempted to kill you and failed.  However, in doing so, you also damaged your sponsor’s property, as all Coven nests in the New World fall under Galina’s responsibility.  To her, you yourself owe retribution.  Therefore, it is up to her to determine what she would have of you.”

Galina stepped forward in a flowing glide, coming alongside her vampire mother.

“Katrina, I banish you to an indeterminate term of service among the Outsiders.”

I had considered almost every form of punishment they might choose to inflict.  Death, torture, starvation, indentured servitude, but not the Outsiders.

“But…” I started to say but Galina raised one hand, palm out.

“You had the means of contacting me covertly.  You could have informed me that you were alive, and that Anna had been assassinated, and I would have been the one to enact revenge for both of you.  But you chose to hunt her in the dark by yourself.  Therefore, you will live and exist in the dark by yourself, in the tunnels around the Citadel, watching and guarding but removed from this facility until I see fit to recall you.”

Before I could say another word, I was lifted bodily off my feet by the two male Rovers, Harmon and Serge, and whisked away from the audience chamber. Jennifer fell in behind us, a rolled-up blanket that looked and smelled like it came from my bed clutched in her arms.

In less than ten minutes, I was on the outer edges of the Citadel, facing a metal door with more locks and clamps on it than any I had ever seen outside of a bank.

Without a word, they shoved me through the door, tossed the blanket holding my possessions, and slammed the hatch shut.  The locks engaged loudly.

I was in complete darkness, the sound of slow dripping water echoing from somewhere ahead.  A tunnel that led away from the Coven headquarters, that led to a hodgepodge society of deformed and disfigured vampires that no one had the good grace to put out of their misery—the Outsiders.

Sitting on the floor where they had thrown me, I had an awful epiphany—I had viewed my life as a vampire spy and agent as about the best life I could have – given my frozen prepubescent body.  Now, I was here, in the tunnels outside the Coven, starting a new life that was about as bad as it could be.

The tunnel led me to a juncture of sorts, a place where several other tunnels connected, the space big enough to hold the twelve vampires who currently occupied it.  They all watched me, wary eyes focused on me as I entered their space.

“The child,” a one-armed vampire male said aside to his female companion.

“I look like a child… I’m probably older than you,” I snarled, my hand on Tora’s hilt.

“Easy. I do not believe that Dave meant insult,” a hunched vampire said.  “You are Katrina, correct?”

I nodded.

“I’m Niles.  Let me introduce these others.”

I did—let him.  And at the end of his little welcoming speech, I walked through them without a word.  Right through the middle of their space and off into another tunnel, one that promised to take me even farther away from the Coven.  I kept walking, seeing other crippled vampires and ignoring them.  I walked and explored and found my own space, marking it as my own.

A few vampires didn’t like that and protested my occupancy.  I ended their protests and their lives.  There was no Coven law among the Outsiders except survival of the fittest.  Cruel irony, I know.  Especially because I really was the oldest of them and despite being stuck in the body of a child, I was the most fit. What an awful thing, to be ruled over by a child.  Except I chose not to rule them; in fact, I spent several long decades just ignoring them.  I lived under the streets but went up to feed (without killing, as that was one Coven rule that still applied to us), and to manage the accounts and resources I had left, to occasionally shop for other necessities and clothes in the children’s sections, and to watch the humans from the shadows.  Watch them go about their short lives.

For decades, I lived in this manner, with no hope for change, until one night as I returned to the depths, I passed three Outsiders huddled in a dead-end tunnel.  It was the night of November first, and I was well sated from the previous night’s revelries.

A snippet of their conversation hit my ears, stopping me dead in my tracks.

“What did you say?” I demanded.

They were all bigger than me, adult-sized, but not one of them was stupid enough to think that mattered.  Two males and a woman.  She was the one to speak. “Have you not heard of the miracle?”

“Miracle?  Miracle?  We’re vampires; there are no miracles for us,” I answered.

“No, but you are wrong.  A vampire has been born—do you hear me?  Born, not made, not Turned.  A baby, born to Galina.”

“What are you talking about?  Vampires aren’t born.”

“That’s why it’s a miracle.  The Elders are coming to see her. Senka herself has proclaimed her extraordinary.”

“Her?”

“Tatiana Demidova.  The Queen To Be,” she said.  I suddenly remembered the woman’s name, Alex.

“What queen, Alex?” I asked.

“That’s what some are calling her.”

“She’s a baby… a real baby?  That’s going to suck if she doesn’t ever age out of diapers, won’t it?”

“But she grows,” one of the men said.  I recognized him as Dave.

That stopped me in my tracks.  A born vampire, one that grows and ages.  What could it mean?  What could it mean to me?

“How did you even hear about her?”

“I interact with the guard patrols,” Alex said a little proudly. “They told me.”

“Well, we won’t get to see her, now will we?”

Alex had no answer to that, and one-armed Dave opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Yeah, we’ll never see the miracle vampire,” I said.  Turns out I was wrong… very, very wrong.

Chapter 27

Wait… you feel I skipped a whole bunch of time?  Decades, even?  Yup, I did.  Trying not to bore you to death here.  It was my punishment, remember?  Why should I punish you with the telling of it?  Perhaps you deserve it, but I already lived it (shudder).

I existed in the tunnels, visiting the surface sporadically and visiting the Outsiders even more sporadically.  My missions were reduced to edge of the seat forays to obtain clothes and entertainment.  Buying the latest children’s fashions, sneaking into movie theaters, Broadway shows, and concert halls were the extent of my adventures.  Oh, that sounds nice to you, does it?  Maybe for a year or two.  If you had an adult body, which I didn’t, it might even be interesting for five years or so.  But forty?  Not so much.  Add in the constant stink of sewers, dank darkness, rats, dripping pipes, and whiny Outsiders and it was Hell on Earth.

Once every great while, there might be a fight to relieve the boredom, sometimes with some of the edgier Outsiders or occasionally with a homeless pedophile or two.  But come on.  I executed a four-hundred-year-old Master vampire in the center of her power, so how is a fight with a homeless rapist going to compare?

No, I’m not going to recount the years of boredom that led to depression and despair.

I will say that we did hear a near-constant stream of gossip and news on the miracle baby, little Tatiana Demidova, and God help me, I began to look forward to the tidbits of information that floated down into our sewers.

I knew that she spoke multiple languages almost from birth, that she was uncommonly strong and fast, that she took to fighting like she was born for it.  And we sometimes saw photographs and once someone smuggled a video to us, seven minutes of raw footage of her fighting with her instructors when she was six.  Entertainment gold.  It was one of the only times I sat in a group of the others long enough to watch a video.  Despite my anger and depression, I was as enthralled as the others.  She was like liquid mercury, sliding around, under and over older fighters, holding her own every step of the way.  I confiscated that video for my own.

Imagine my surprise when one night, several years later, as I made my way through the tunnels toward my personal nest, I heard the slightest scuff of cloth on concrete just as I rounded a corner.  Fearing attack, I pulled Tora and spun toward a tangle of water pipes tucked into the darkness.  My vision pierced the gloom and I found myself facing a perfect, tiny face with sapphire blue eyes and midnight black hair.

“You’re Tatiana,” I said, caught off guard and thrown off my game.

Her little tear-streaked face nodded, her lip trembling.

“Oh, dear, what are you doing down here?  Did you get lost?” I asked, relaxing my stance.

She shook her head, waves of perfect hair swinging side to side.

“Are you… hiding?”

She shrugged, then nodded the tiniest of nods.  I folded down into a cross-legged position, with Tora tucked on my lap.  Her eyes followed the blade, her expression fixed on the gleaming metal.

“It’s okay.  You startled me.  I’ll put her away,” I said, lining up Tora’s tip with her sheath.

Tatian shook her head, holding up her hands to stop me.

“Oh, you like Tora, do you?”

She nodded, her eyes still on the blade.  I laid the tanto across my open palms.  “Want to look at her?”

She looked me over and then, before I could take a breath, she was out of her hiding spot and folding herself with boneless ease into a copy of my position.  Damn, she was fast.  I held the knife out to her, and she took it with reverent gentleness.  Slowly at first, but with increasing speed and confidence, she put Tora through a series of slices, stabs, and strikes.  She stood and moved with honed precision through a knife kata that was the first one I ever learned from Hosokawa.

This kid had serious moves, her power and grace exceptional.  She was all of eight years old and already as fast and smooth as I was.  What would she become?  My mind was boggled at the thought.

Finished with her form, she bowed, folded back down to a seated position, and offered my blade back to me.

“Wow, that was beautiful, Tatiana,” I said. “You are very skilled.”

She smiled demurely but gave me a nod that was somehow both acknowledgement and thanks.

“I heard a rumor that you stopped talking.  Kind of a vow of silence?”

She shrugged again, looking away.  Then her gaze came back to my knife and she pointed a finger at it, raising her eyebrows at me.

“Ah, change of subject.  Got it.  Where did I get Tora?” I clarified.  She nodded.  “Hosokawa gave her to me many, many years ago.”

Her face lit up at the name and then a sudden flash of realization.  Her eyebrows up, she pointed at me and made whisker motions around her mouth with her fingers.

“Cat?  Oh, Kat?  As in Katrina?”  I asked. She nodded vigorously.

“Yes, my name is Katrina, although some call me Kat.”

She smiled and held out a finger and thumb with just a tiny space between them, then made the cat whisker motion again.

“Little Kat?”

A nod and smile.

“Yeah, Hosokawa called me that and it stuck.  You know him, right?”

She nodded, smiling, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Yeah, he’s something else, isn’t he?  I haven’t seen him in over eighty years, but I doubt he’s changed.”

She shook her head and shrugged at the same time, somehow conveying a message that I took as how would I know but probably not.

“So who are we hiding from?” I asked.

She frowned, unhappy with my change of topic, but didn’t look away.  After a moment, she held up the same thumb and index finger she’d used to denote small or little, and then made finger fangs on either side of her mouth.

“Little fang?  Little vampire… oh, Lydia?” I guessed.

The Outsiders were fanatical with their gossip about Tatiana and knew everything they could about her.  Because of my own fascination, I knew that her principal minder was Lydia Chapman.  I had also heard the tragic story of the death of her nanny—which was the accepted reason for her personal vow of silence.  Somehow, Tatiana had been feeding on her nanny, as was normal, but something went wrong.  Something scared her to the point where she’d lost all control.  And she’d been known for a ridiculous degree of control from the moment of birth.

She nodded at my guess.

“Is she mean or something?”

She shook her head vigorously, eyes wide at my misconception.

“Then why the hiding?”

Her eyes dropped to the ground and a perfect little finger drew artistically in the filth on the floor.  She shrugged without looking up.

“Sometimes it can be really hard to be around people who expect a lot of us,” I said.

Her head came up and she looked at me through black bangs, her blue eyes surprised.

“I had an important person too.  Her name was Anna.  She expected great things of me.  There were times when it was difficult to live up to them.”

She took that in, then lowered both brows in a cute little frown and held her hands, palms upward on either side of her waist in the universal expression of what.

“What happened to her?” I asked.  She nodded.

“She died.  Another Darkkin killed her.”

Her eyes got huge and she made an impatient rolling motion with her fingers.

“Yeah, well, I killed her killer, which is why I’m here in this lovely garden of dirt and shit,” I said.

She frowned, clearly not liking that explanation.

“Well, I chose to go after her killer myself instead of involving my boss, your mother—Galina.  She wasn’t happy about that, and here I am.”

Her expression was one of outrage.  I shrugged.  “It’s possible that I wrecked the whole nest after I killed the Master.”

Her eyes popped, filled with excitement and interest.  She did the finger rolling thing again.

“It’s a long story, filled with blood and gore.  Are you sure you want to hear it?”

She nodded hard enough to shake her whole body.  So I told her my tale, taking my time and telling it with gusto.  I mean, here I was with the miracle child herself, perhaps for the only time ever, and I was going to make the experience everything I could.

The story took some time, and she somehow asked me question after question without saying a word.  I’d heard she was considered uncommonly smart, but her ability to communicate with gestures and expressions was crazy.

“And so that’s kind of it,” I finished.

She breathed out a big sigh, blue eyes wide.

“Well, truth be told, I made it sound cooler than it was.  Lots of boring drudge work paying off homeless people to leave, and then waiting around in the cellar of that building night after night until they found us was a huge drag.”

She shook her head, clearly not convinced by my short selling.

“Tatiana?” a voice suddenly called in the distance.  Her head snapped around to look.

“Is that Lydia?” I asked, although I was pretty sure it was her voice.

She nodded and sighed.  Then she squared her shoulders, reached over to one of the pipes, and rapped it hard with her knuckles.  It gonged like it had been hit with a hammer.  Moments later, the little vampire came around the same corner I had.

“Ah, there you are. With Katrina.  Ah, how are we doing?” Lydia asked, eyeing me warily.

“She’s been listening to old stories.”

“Shocking.  Tanya Demidova listening to stories,” Lydia said with mock astonishment.

Tatiana smiled, and it was a real smile.  Damn.  I used to be a pretty cute kid—well actually, I still looked like a pretty cute kid, but this little charmer was stunning.  The she turned to me, put her hand to her chest, and pushed the same palm out toward me.

“That’s thank you,” Lydia supplied.

“Any time, Tatiana.”

She shook her head and made a letter T with a palm over the straight fingers of the other hand.

“She wants you to call her Tanya.  Reserved for family and… friends,” Lydia said, giving me a surprised look.

Then Tanya pointed her finger at her left wrist where a watch might be and made a spinning gesture.

“She’s going to see you again,” Lydia interpreted, adding a hefty sigh.

“It’s not like she’s in danger down here,” I said, excited by the prospect. “Maybe the other Outsiders will mob her like fans at a concert, but otherwise nothing down here can get past me.”

Tanya turned her big blues on Lydia and the little vampire melted.  “Yeah, alright.  Let’s do all our work and training and then you can visit again. How’s that?”

Tanya nodded vigorously, jumped over, and grabbed my hands, pumping them up and down in a clear display of her feelings on the matter.

“I’ll bring her down tomorrow night, after her lessons and weapons training,” Lydia said. “Same spot?”

“Yeah.  Perfect,” I said, already planning for our next visit.

Chapter 28

“This is it… the Grande Maison,” I said, waving at the two little rooms that constituted the entirety of my home.  Once, it had been a utility office in a subway station. Now, long forgotten, it was my personal nest.

“This is my living room, complete with stereo and television,” I said. “As well as books.”

Tanya frowned at my state-of-the-art gear.

“I can still visit the surface, you know, and I have plenty of money.  Compound interest is a vampire’s best friend.”

She pointed at Tora, sheathed at my belt.

“Okay, okay, so a good blade is a vampire’s best friend, but everyone needs money, right?”

She nodded, a little gleam in her eyes.

“In fact, I’ve heard that you’re quite the accomplished investor already,” I said.

She held up one hand, palm down, and waggled it, her eyes still roving the room.

“There’s power down here, and I snaked a television cable down through the pipe chases,” I said. “Gives me lights, entertainment, and power for a fridge and microwave for either cold water or hot tea,” I said.

She frowned at me and walked to the small college-style refrigerator, turning to me.  Her brows went up in clear question, which I understood immediately.  “Help yourself,” I said.

She shook her head but opened the door.  Peering at the bottles of water, she closed it and looked at me in confusion.

“What?  I don’t like most other drinks, except the occasional Coke.  Sometimes red wine, but I wouldn’t keep that cold.”

Frustrated, she shook her head and tapped her throat, tapping the big vein on the side of her throat.

“Blood?  I’m sorry, Tanya. We don’t have blood supplies down here.  Another reason we have to go to the surface.”

Her expression changed to horror and then, two seconds later, to anger.  She waved a hand in a broad arc, then used both index fingers to draw an imaginary box in midair. As soon as the air sketch was done, she put her right hand inside it and pulled it out dramatically.

Again, I somehow figured it out.  “The other Outsiders?  No, none of us get bagged blood.  We must hunt or have a volunteer topside.  It’s tricky.”

Her angry look changed to determination, and she shut the fridge door gently.  After a moment, her expression cleared and she pointed at the other doorway, brows rising.

“My nest,” I said, moving to open the door.

Inside, there was no mattress. Instead, a massive pile of pillows filled half the space, shelves and clothes hanging from a handy water pipe.

Tanya looked delighted by my pillow fortress before giving me a quizzical look.  “I’m obviously strong enough to carry a mattress, but my arms aren’t long enough.  No way I could drag one down and keep it clean.  So instead, I have two futon mattresses that came rolled up, then all these other papasan cushions and regular pillows.  It’s pretty comfy,” I said. “Give it a whirl.”

She leapt from the door, landing on her rump with a laugh, which was the first sound I heard her make.  She rolled around for a second, then bounced out, landing adroitly on the floor.

“Yeah, fun, right?  But here, I need to show you this,” I said, moving to a framed picture on the wall.  The picture wasn’t flush against the wall, instead mounted on one-inch pegs and a hinge system that I was proud of.  A little latch clicked and I swung the painting out of the way to reveal a ventilator grate.

“Escape hatch,” I said, showing her how to trip a second latch to unlock the grate. “Heads back two yards to a T-shaped intersection.  The right-hand duct will take you back to where we first met, and even beyond.  The left side heads straight for about fifteen feet, then goes up—way, way up.  Lots of side ducts off it.  Be aware that I have trip wires on both sides,” I said. “Those go to booby traps, so avoid them.”

She was looking at me with a puzzled expression.  She tilted her head to one side, frowned, and held up her right hand with her thumb and little finger sticking out in a Y-shape.

“Because you need to know how to escape here if you’re hanging out,” I said.  Vampires are not very trusting of their security secrets, so it might have seemed odd to her that I would just give up my secrets.  “Listen, you make me call you Tanya because we’re friends, right?”

She nodded.

“I want my friends to know how to get to safety if they need to, especially as I don’t have many friends.”

She nodded again slowly.

“Okay, so that’s chez Kat.  What do you want to do with the remainder of our time?”

She jumped sideways seven feet, landing on her back in my pillow bed, feet hanging carefully off the side.  Then she sat up and rolled her two index fingers, one over the other.

“More stories?”

She nodded vigorously, then sketched a triangle shape over her own head.

I frowned, not getting it.

She mimed a crooked nose and then held her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart over her chin.  Ah, a wart.

“Witches?”

She nodded; eyes bright.

“Well, I really only ever knew one witch very well, but she was like a sister, so I can tell you many tales of her.”

More nodding.

“Well, kick off your shoes and get comfy.  And let me get a water.  Do you want one?”

She shook her head, frowning briefly at my fridge as if it offended her.

“Okay,” I said, settling into the nest beside her. “Let me tell you about Danielle.”

There were many to choose from, but I started at the beginning and how we met.  Also, any story of Danielle would almost always include Anna, so that would give her more detail about my mentor.  Remembering my Darkkin sister was a bit cathartic for me too.

Lydia had allotted three hours for a visit, but the time went fast and suddenly it was time to go.

“Ready,” I asked after she tied her shoes.  She nodded and we walked out through the living area.  She gave my fridge another dark glare and then we were out in the warren of tunnels. She led us back to the drop-off point with unerring ease, arriving to find Lydia leaning against a wall, looking at a little notebook.

“Ah, right on time.  We can do this again in two days, alright?” Lydia asked.

Tanya frowned but nodded, then she turned and hugged me before reaching out a hand to take Lydia’s, like any little girl might.  One last glance over her shoulder and off they went.

The next night, I was passing through one of the main Outsider tunnels when I heard a commotion.  The noise led me to the common area, where four Citadel guards were lowering coolers to the floor.

“What’s going on?” I asked a vampire, Leet.

She never got a chance to answer.  Instead, the lead guard did.  “Galina’s orders.  There will be a regular drop-off once a week, here at this place,” he said. “No fighting.  There’s enough for four bags each.  And you, Katrina, are to take six.  Don’t ask me why.”

The room practically buzzed with questions as the Outsiders talked about the new development and why it had happened.  Me, I already knew.

Chapter 29

She checked my fridge first thing.  Walked in and right up to it, peeking inside to see the remaining five bags of O positive.  She nodded to herself and then turned to me with a perfect, brilliant smile.  Girl was going to be an honest-to-God knockout when she grew up.  And she was growing up.  Not like me.

“Thank you for the blood,” I said.  “Makes life much easier.  Better for the Coven, too.  Some of those clowns out there make mistakes when they go hunting.  You just probably saved a bunch of humans.”

She frowned but turned it into a smile.

“So, more stories or would you rather go exploring?”  I offered.

Her face lit up with interest at the mention of adventure.  Internally, I breathed a little sigh of relief.  My fear was that I would eventually run out of good stories and she’d grow bored with me.

Suddenly her smile got even wider and she made a finger-walking motion before doing her rolling index finger sign for stories.

“Oh?  Exploring and stories?” I asked.  Damn, hadn’t seen that one coming.

She nodded vigorously.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Before we go, are you hungry?  I think a couple of those pints in there are for you.”

She shook her head, frowning, but then realization broke across her features like a storm cloud had passed by.  She held thumb and index finger a half inch apart, then made fangs.

“Yeah.  I think Lydia included some extra for your visits.”

Her face changed to that kind of aww look human girls get with puppies and kittens.

“Yeah, she seems… alright,” I allowed. “Come on; let’s go.”

I took her out into the labyrinth of tunnels and passages that laid under the Big Apple.  I noticed that she had worn boots the last two visits, as opposed to the cute black flats she’d had on when I first met her.  Good choice, as we traversed slime, water, layers of dust, and the copious strands of cobwebs that were everywhere.  We saw lots of eight-legged web weavers at work, cockroaches the size of baby mice, and rats the size of small cats.  New York rats are no different than the rest of the city’s inhabitants—tough as hell and fearless—but the rats around Citadel took off as fast as they caught our scent.

“Your supply drops probably saved a lot of those buggers too,” I said. “Some of the Outsiders don’t bother to go all the way to the surface for food.”

She grimaced in disgust.

“Yeah, but hungry isn’t picky,” I said. “I’ve had a few alternative food sources myself, over the years.”

She rolled her fingers, eyebrows up.

“Yeah, it was during the Civil War,” I said, launching into a description of my time as a spy on both sides of the battle lines.

I told her about it as I led her to one of the waterfalls, which were deep storm sewer pools with massive pipes that were almost always full of runoff and leakage.  It was much less smelly than the actual sewage pipes and there were often interesting things floating in the pool.

We watched a half-dozen rats swimming around and she held up both hands, one over the other, fingers spread out like massive teeth.  Snapping them together like jaws, she made her point clearly.

“Alligators?” I confirmed.

She nodded, eyebrows up.

“Never saw one down here.  Lots of exotic fish, though, and a few are kinda toothy.”

Suddenly one of the rats disappeared underwater for a second, seemingly yanked by something unseen.  It popped back to the surface, minus the last inch of its tail, paddling ferociously for the pool edge.  The other rats either fled the water or climbed on floating pieces of wood.

Tanya turned to me, eyes wide, hands palm-up at her waist.

“That was Snappy.  Pretty big snapping turtle that owns this pool.  Got stuck down here,” I said.  “See that little pipe over there?  Overflow from a cooling system somewhere above.  The water is almost hot, and it runs steady.  Keeps the pool close to sixty degrees Fahrenheit.  Enough of the fish live that the turtle stays fed.  Plus, dead things float in and old Snappy loves him some rotted flesh.  His shell is as big as a small trash can lid.”

She turned back to the pool, her eyes searching for any sign of the reptile.  One of the rats that climbed out of the pool got too close and I moved, catching it up in one hand, crushing it to death in an instant.  Then I tossed the broken little body into the water directly in front of where we sat.

It splashed under, then floated back to the surface, swirling a little in one of the ever-present eddies.  Nothing happened for a bit and she turned to me, a question on her face.  I held one finger over my lips and motioned back toward the pool.  Just in time too, as a big beaked mouth rose out of the water directly under the rat, closing with a fast snap, dragging the carcass under.

“Cool, right?” I asked.

She nodded, looking around at other rats.

“He’ll only take one,” I said. “And one that size will keep him fed for a few days.  That’s why the rats keep swimming in the pool.  I think they either forget about him, or more likely, somehow understand that he’s a one-and-done kind of turtle.”

She looked at the pool with wonder for a moment, then turned to me, brows up.  Making her gator jaws once more, she pointed at me.

“Have I ever tangled with a gator?”

She nodded.

“Hmm, no.  Never spent that much time down South.  I did, once, throw a couple of bodies into a Georgia swamp that was full of gators.  Besides, most animals tend to leave us alone.  Except the weres.”

She spun to face me, expression excited with both brows up.

“Yes, I have faced some weres before,” I said.

Her fingers rolled impatiently.

“Greedy girl,” I said, standing up.

She smiled and nodded.

“Alright, but we’ll talk as we walk.  I have another spot to show you.”

I took her to another forgotten subway stop, this one older than any of the others I knew about.

“They had it almost ready to open and then… poof… they didn’t.”

She held her hand up, thumb and little finger in the Y position, her eyes roving over the beautiful tiles and ornate fixtures.

“I have no idea.  No one else around here seems to either.”

She frowned at me like she didn’t believe that.

“Well, I’m about the oldest of the Outsiders, and I didn’t live here at the time this was built.  I was in DC.”

She waved a hand around in front of her.

“A few of the others might be old enough, but remember, they didn’t start out as Outsiders.  They got maimed as regular vampires and had to come out here to avoid the regular ones.  And Tanya, Outsiders are very prone to true death.  Either they do something stupid, like attack me, or they just off themselves.”

I could tell that she didn’t like that piece of information.  She didn’t make any gestures, but she seemed to withdraw into herself.  I turned us back toward Citadel and she just followed my direction, apparently deep in thought.

“Okay, brace yourself,” I said. “We’re running a little late, so I must take us through Outsider central.  You have a lot of fans there.”

We came into the main area, the blood drop-off site, and sure enough, there were seven vampires sitting and chatting.  They spotted me first, expressions going blank, at least until they noticed my companion.  All seven stood up immediately.

Tanya stopped, her eyes a little wide.

“Good job, morons.  Way to startle Tatiana,” I said, my voice loud enough to carry.

Within seconds, more Darkkin appeared from side tunnels.  We were now up to eighteen.

“Tatiana, these are some of the Outsiders.  There’s Dave, and Alex, that one is Agnes, and that’s Bob,” I said, rattling off the names as fast as I could.  I surprised myself by knowing every one of them.

“Okay, Outsiders, this is Tatiana.  Be nice or get your ass kicked,” I warned.

They looked like they were meeting the pope.  All of them started to talk to her, telling her how honored they were and all that yada yada crap.  Some started to crowd in.

“Back up,” I growled. “No swarming.”

My tone made it through their madness, and the four who were closest backed up.  Tanya was past her surprise, nodding to each of them and shaking every hand that was presented.  Great. Now none of those hands would get washed for like the next year or so.

“Okay, we have to keep moving here. She has to meet her assistants,” I said.

“Will she come back?  Will you come back?” Alex asked.

Tanya nodded, turning my way with raised brows.

“Fine.  Next visit, we’ll come here again for a meet and greet.  First sign of trouble and that’s it though,” I said.

“Or what?” a relatively new vampire named Penny asked.  I moved so fast, she didn’t register the motion until I was right up in front of her.  Her head craned down to look at me, eyes wide at my speed.

“Or I cut your head off and feed you to the rats,” I said pleasantly, tapping Tora’s hilt.

“That’s okay, Katrina,” Niles said from a few feet away.  “We would never harm Tatiana.  In fact, we’re here to guard the tunnels so that no one can use them to sneak through to Citadel.”

Tanya moved over to him and shook his hand with both of hers, then made her sign for thank you, first to him, then to the whole bunch of them, glancing at me with a clear demand.

“She says thank you,” I growled. “Now let her through.  If she’s late, her mother will keep her too busy to visit.”

They parted like the Red Sea and I led her away.

“How did it go?” Lydia asked her when we arrived at the rendezvous.

Tanya smiled wide and made a whole slew of signs.

“Wow, a turtle feeding and a bunch of admiring vampires.  Nice,” Lydia said, giving me the side-eye.

“They won’t hurt her,” I said. “More likely to trip her when they fall prostrate in front of her.  And I won’t let any of them near her.”

“Galina is depending on you to keep her safe,” Lydia said.

“Galina has always been able to depend on me,” I replied. “And this one here, I happen to like,” I said with a nod at the little girl wonder.

Tanya made a series of gestures.  Lydia sighed.  “Yeah, she likes you too.”

We hugged and off they went.

Chapter 30

Life meant something again—there were reasons to get up every night, to keep plodding on.  It wasn’t as great as my early Darkkin life, with Anna and Danielle, fixing problems, spying for Galina, living on our own.  But that young vampire was a light in the darkness of my life.

I told her stories, showed her the subterranean world, guarded her when my crazy Outsider neighbors showed up.  On off days, when she was learning her lessons or training with dangerous vampires, I took it upon myself to solve problems for her like I used to for her mother.  Just little things, nuisances really, minor road bumps in her life.

Her birth had created immediate Darkkin myth and prophecy galore.  Predictions that she would act as the shepherd to the Darkkin race or lead us to rule the humans or even that she would literally return our souls to us.

But there were also those who saw her as an omen of ill tidings, a harbinger of doomsday for the Coven and the Darkkin race.  Some of those people spoke out against her, disparaged her existence, claimed she would be the end of everything.

I made it my mission in life to help those poor misguided vampires reach a new understanding of Tatiana Demidova—a mandatory understanding.  Either change your tone or disappear, never to be seen again. Sometimes I viewed myself as a gardener, or at least a pruner of dead wood, cutting out problems before they could grow.

Most of the disappearances happened early on, the numbers falling off year by year as more errant vampires found the light.  I was somewhat busy at first, but as the smarter vampires had personal epiphanies (often at the point of Tora) concerning our young princess, my work slowed, but as she grew older, so did her visits.

They were mostly steady the first year, and a bit less the year after that.  But by the time she reached the age of twelve, my own frozen age, she was down to a single visit every month.    Her training and lessons took up more and more time, and then she was given actual responsibilities—running her own businesses—which ate up her time like piranha eating an unlucky swimmer.

I understood that.  Hated it but understood it.  She was important and unprecedented, gifted beyond understanding.  It was natural.  She was growing up.  Soon she was as tall as I was, then taller.  That was hard.  But worse was the fact that she was not only growing past me but outgrowing me as well.  She’d heard all my stories and my lessons were old-school.  Her instructors were the best in the Darkkin world, and I was stuck in the sewers.

Then came the time when her visits stopped altogether.  In her teens, she was helping her mother run a massive business empire and she had no more time for the Outsiders, the sewers, or me.

My depression returned with a vengeance, my anger coming back threefold.  I was stuck in the darkness and my light was gone.

I heard lots about her, the Outsiders being her biggest fans, even if she ignored them.  Each new win, goal attained, or mark of excellence achieved was like a sharp blade in my gut.  I stopped my personal mission of protecting her reputation—well, to be honest, it wasn’t even required anymore.  Any pockets of negativity had either dried up or sunk deep into the shadows.

Envy and resentment flowed through me, and I too took to the shadows, wallowing in my personal hell.  At the ripe old age of twenty-one, she started a new nightclub, one where Darkkin could act like Darkkin and mere mortals would think it all an act.  It was, of course, a huge success.  Not that I’d ever know because I looked to be a child and could never enter her precious Plasma.  And then the last straw was laid on the massive hayrick balanced on my back—I heard that she had Chosen.  A human, no less, some cop who purportedly saved her life and won her heart had caused her to open her mouth and speak once more.  Chris Gordon, a man who had somehow changed everything for her and somehow been changed by her.

My jealousy knew no bounds and my hate grew hard like diamond.  If ever I should meet this Chris Gordon, I promised myself it would not go well for him.  But I was wrong… so very, very wrong.

Chapter 31

Somewhere along the way, Darkkin began to call her Young Queen.  They talked of her ascending to power, to a position of leadership equal to the Elders.  Idiots.  She was special.  Of that, I had no doubts.  But the rest?  Weak-minded drivel.

We heard tales of her exploits with her human.  Rumor said he was dangerous, a match for our snowflake princess.  Give me a break.  He was lunch, dinner, and breakfast, apparently wrapped in a pretty package.

I did my best to ignore the deluge of information about the wondrous life of adventure she was leading with her boy toy while I was stuck in a sewer and a body I detested.

“Did you hear?” one-armed Dave said as I walked past. “Tatiana was attacked at her own club… by a vampire!”

“What?” I asked, my self-imposed mental blinders brushed aside by the enormity of what he said.

“A vampire from Mexico threw silver powder on her.  She killed him, but apparently her Chosen somehow stabilized her.  The word is that she’s blind.  Some of us are going to check on her,” he said.

“Like they will let you near her,” I said, brushing past him.  I continued on my way, my brain whirling.  My studied indifference was gone, a burning need to know more pushing me onward.

My skills at skulking were as good as ever, maybe better after decades of hiding in the tunnels under the city. I stalked the Outsiders, listening in on their gossip, which, of course, was all about Tanya.  Then I took it further, entering Citadel and listening to the conversations of Darkkin closer to the source.

What I heard was beyond confusing.  She had been silver-burned on her face, eyes, and even in her lungs.  Yet somehow, she was alive and healing.  That her uncle, Illarion, had made a play for her position as head of New York, but had been repelled by this human Chosen.  Apparently, Illarion had ordered his security chief to attack Gordon, but the vampire warrior had been ruthlessly shot down and beheaded.  I could almost approve of that, human or no human.  Illarion was an asshat, pure and simple, and his people were the worst sort of vampires.

The rumor mill also said that she was healing. From silver powder burns, and perhaps even regrowing her eyes.  That had to be bullshit, but I could neither confirm nor deny. Despite my admittedly awesome skills at skullduggery, even I couldn’t breach the defenses that her security chief, Arkady, had surrounded her with.

I was both annoyed and mildly impressed.  And then I overheard Alex filling in the Outsiders at the meeting nexus.

“He said he might try to bring her here,” she was saying.

“You met him?” Niles asked.

“We approached him because we couldn’t get near her,” Alex said. “Myself, Dave, and Leet.” Alex had more brains than most of the Outsiders, and it had to have been her idea to go to the Chosen.

“Smart.  What’s he like?” Niles pressed.

“Scary,” Leet said. “We questioned if he would stay Chosen to her and, ah, he got pretty mad.”

Idiots.  Not much of a Chosen if he gave her up because she was scarred.

“He’s… striking,” Alex said.

“And smells like the best meal you’ve ever eaten,” Leet added.

“The rest of the Coven seems to listen to him,” Dave added.

Dave was a moron, but that was an interesting observation.

“Not only that, but he told us that Tatiana does not like the term Outsiders,” Alex said.  She had such a nice voice.  Perfect for radio.  “She calls us… her Outer Guard.  Because we guard Citadel, because we are the first line of defense.”

The crowd of maimed and disfigured vampires immediately buzzed with conversation over that bit of claptrap.  Like beat-up and broken vampires could hope to fight off healthy, trained vampire troops.  Humans?  Sure.  But other Darkkin?  Not so much.

“When?  When is she coming?”

“He said he would try,” Alex corrected. “Perhaps in a couple days, when she’s up and about and bored.”

“She’s healing that fast?” I asked, announcing my presence.

“Yes, Katrina, that’s what he says. What everyone says,” Alex said to me. “It’s a miracle.  Another miracle.”

“Not miracles, you idiots.  Science, not God,” I said.

“What science?” Niles asked.

“Do l look like an egghead?” I said, waving a hand at my prepubescent self. “I don’t have to have a doctorate to know that science is somehow behind all this.”  Silent glares met my words, but nobody challenged them.  Not until I left the area, then the chatter picked up.

It happened fast, the very next night.  I heard her voice from far away, knew it was hers, even though I’d never heard her speak, ever.  It was a perfect female voice.  Alex had an amazing orator’s voice, but this went beyond that, smooth and clear like the finest crystal ringing in through a cold winter’s night.

She was talking to the Outsiders, naming each, asking personal questions, remembering tiny details of their boring lives.  Other Outsiders were moving toward that voice, toward the meeting juncture, and I followed.

It was already crowded with twenty to twenty-five vampires, all of them taller than me, which pissed me off. I snarled and they parted—reluctantly, but they moved nonetheless.  It didn’t take but a few seconds for me to be standing in front of her.

God, she was beautiful, even wearing bandages over her eyes.  In fact, I could only see a few red splotches on her face to mark the attack.  And the man standing next to her, watching me, was…  Alex had said striking, but that didn’t come close to the impact he had, standing watch beside her.  He was a coiled spring of cabled steel that happened to look like flesh.  And his eyes—sharp violet eyes that looked straight through me.  My anger flared to new levels, sliding past my ability to control it.  The vampires around me pulled back, voices quieting.

“Slumming, Demidova?  Or are you now one of us?”

“Hello, Trina. How have you been?” she asked me, her voice soft.

“How have I been?  How have I been?  As if you don’t know the answer, Young Queen.  I’m the same, Demidova.  Always the same.”

I pushed up close and her boy toy shoved himself between us.  I snarled at him. “Who the fuck are you?  Human?” I sneered. “Is this him? The one who woke you?”

“Trina, this is my Chosen, Chris,” Tanya said.

“And now you brought him as a snack for the rest of us?” I asked.  Not sure why, other than I was really pissed and he did smell really delicious.

“That’s enough, Katrina!” Alex said, like I had ever listened to her before.

“Fuck you, Alex!  I’ll help myself to what I want!” I shouted back at her, then spun and studied the man who’d saved the person that I had always wanted to save.

“Trina, you are making a huge mistake.  But I’m not going to stop you,” Tanya said with a sigh.  “I will tell you he just took out Illarion Demidov’s chief of security.”

“But he used a gun to do it.  And I don’t smell a gun on him now,” I said, and I attacked.

No really, I did.  Smooth and fast.  It was going well until he casually threw me across the room and into a wall.  I caught myself, spun around, and gave it my best.

Something hit me.  Unseen except for a flash of… purple?  I found myself lying on the ground, stunned.  Tanya said something but I couldn’t hear her, my ears dull and full of the sound of my heart beating fast in my chest as I hyperventilated on the floor.  Beating heart?  Hyperventilating?

A face leaned over me and dimly, I recognized Dave.   His nostrils flared and then he jumped backward.

“She’ssss…human!” he said.

“For a few days,” Tanya said, her voice muted.

Human?  I looked at my hands.  They were soft and warm.  I stood up and it was all I could do to get to my feet.  I was human?  Again.  I looked up and met the gazes of vampires—predators who hated me.  And then I ran away.

Chapter 32

Complete darkness—blinding darkness.  I couldn’t see, my innate sense of space was gone, my hearing too dull to even tell if any of the Outsiders were pursuing me.  But I had my memory and over a hundred and seventy years of experience.  My initial panic faded as I felt my way down the tunnel, my body turning left automatically at the first junction.  Fourteen steps, then a right turn.  Four paces, duck under the cross pipe, drop down the access chute until my foot stopped me—painfully—on the next tunnel opening.  That was new as well.  Poor senses plus extremely low pain threshold mixed with awkward reflexes.  How did humans even make it through a twenty-four-hour period, let alone seventy years of life?

I blundered through the dark but found my haven.  The booby traps were an issue, because I couldn’t see the telltales that marked each of them.  But I slowed my movement to a crawl, remembering that the first trip wire was tied to a hot water pipe—a really hot hot water pipe.  One burned hand later, I was past the first trap, which meant that the second trap, a pressure-sensitive mat, was about ten feet ahead.  I crawled on hands and knees, glad for my jeans that were protecting my suddenly sensitive knees, until my fingers found the rubber material.

Beyond the mat, I was home free, literally, and I wasted no time unlocking then relocking my door.  Once the nest was secure, I turned on all the lights, closed and locked the bedroom door, and huddled in my pillow fortress.

When ten minutes or so had passed, my breathing had slowed, and no angry vampires had beat down my doors, I picked myself out of the bed, cursing my sudden human awkwardness.  Then I stood before my floor-length mirror and studied my suddenly flush face.  My cheeks were pink, real pink, without makeup, and warm to my touch.  I pinched the skin of my arm and felt the immediate pain and more warmth.  I was human—again.  What had Tanya said?  “For a few days.”

I fell back into my pillows and stared at the ceiling, my normally ordered mind whirling with confusion.  What did this mean?  How would I survive?

I woke suddenly, confused and muddled.  And I needed a bathroom… like almost immediately.  Vampires use bathrooms, if only to urinate, as you can’t live on nothing but fluids and not eliminate liquid from time to time.  But it was a matter of frequency: every other day, not every other hour.

My nest has plumbing, so once my immediate needs were met, I realized I had another odd sensation. I was hungry—for food.  I checked the time and then checked it again.  It was ten-forty-five… kind of late, until I looked closer at the clock.  The letters next to the numbers said AM, not PM.  Morning… daytime.

I was awake at midmorning. Not just awake, but alert and hungry.  Every vampire in the tunnels would likely be in a coma, but not me.  And if I was actually human, didn’t it track that I could go out in the daylight—the sunshine?

I grabbed money, tucked Tora under a sweatshirt, and rushed to open the door, only to stop dead in my tracks.  Pitch blackness and I didn’t own a flashlight… but I did own a phone.  Minutes later, I had traversed the labyrinth of tunnels by the light of my iPhone and stood just inside the nearest subway station, watching literally hundreds of humans flood the tunnels as I tugged awkwardly at my clothes.

New York’s subways always have some people about, but this was clearly different.  Hordes of people, most in professional wear, clearly going about their daily business.  It took me a while to creep to the stairs up and I had to endure some odd looks from people as I climbed cautiously into the sunlight.  I might have stood in the warmth of the bright light that flooded down from above for the whole day if it wasn’t for the emptiness in my middle.  The smell of bacon drew me away from the station entrance and right up to a tiny neighborhood deli I had passed by literally thousands of times before, never once seeing it open and operational.

“What’ll ya have?” a rough voice demanded.  The man who owned the voice wore the white of chefs and cooks everywhere, his dark hair under a tight hat.

I glanced at the menu boards and zeroed in on the top picture, plucking my constricting shirt.

“The Breakfast Platter,” I said.

He scoffed. “Are you sure?  That’s a lot of food.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, my natural-born New York aggression firing up as I flipped out a twenty to show that I could pay.

“Sure, sure.  Teens eat like horses, right?” he commented, moving off to hand in the order.

I found a tiny table to sit at and then realized what he’d said. Teens?

The platter was three eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, and orange juice and it came quick, while I was still trying to figure out his use of teen.  It smelled amazing and I fell on it like a wolf on a fawn, consuming the whole thing in moments.  The first real food in almost two centuries.  When the small mountain of food was gone, I walked the streets, relishing in the sunlight, the crowds, the beeping of horns, and the loud voices of New Yorkers.

I passed a group of high school girls, well dressed in current fashion, and they all looked me up and down, their expressions turning to sneers.  I almost grabbed Tora when another realization struck me: They might have looked down their noses at me, but they didn’t look down at me.  My eyes were even with theirs.

Ignoring their comments and looks, I moved farther down the sidewalk until I found a shop window that could stand in for a mirror.  In my rush to leave the nest, I never even glanced in my mirror.  I was still dressed in last night’s clothes, and I was so excited about daytime that I had simply run out.  Looking in that window, I was immediately dizzy.  The girl who looked back at me wasn’t the Katrina I knew.  This one wore jeans that were too tight, too short, with ankles poking out.  My sweatshirt had the sleeves rolled up and when I pushed them back down, they stopped well above the wrist.  I was taller, older, and what were those small lumps under my shirt?  No.  No way.  Breasts?  Boobs?  No wonder those teens had gawked at me with superiority. My clothes didn’t fit. They were the wrong size and age inappropriate.

You can find everything in the city, and usually not more than a block away.  I ducked into the nearest clothing store and rapidly replaced my outfit.  New underwear (real underwear, not little girls’), leggings like the girls on the street had worn, brand new white running shoes, a larger long-sleeved shirt, a bigger zip hoodie, and wonder of wonders… a bra.  My first bra.  Over one hundred and seventy years and I finally had a bra. I had listened to women complain about them for my entire long life, seen them burned, witnessed them evolve from horrendous constrictors to lacy wonders, but never owned one.  I wanted to buy ten, had them all picked out, but then the idea occurred to me that maybe I was still growing.  Or maybe… I could find a way to keep growing.

I worked my way back to the nest, stopping to buy a couple of massive sandwiches at my new favorite deli, a small flashlight at a newsstand, and then I descended back into darkness.

The mirror in my rooms showed me a vastly different Katrina.  Fourteen or fifteen instead of twelve, a full three inches taller, and my naked body looked less like a child’s and maybe, just maybe, more like a woman’s.  I ate as I thought and thought as I ate.  By midafternoon, I was out of food and getting hungry again.  Again, I ventured into the silent tunnels, well aware that vampires wouldn’t be moving yet, the sun’s weight bearing down on them even though they were underground.

I found an early dinner at an Italian place, taking myself out for a full meal. The waitstaff treated me differently.  No little girl this or dearie that.  They took in my brand-name clothes, my self-confidence, and especially my Visa card.  One thing the new Katrina had that was the same as the old one was money.  Almost two centuries of compound interest and stock market growth had left me a very wealthy teenager.

After dinner, I looked up and saw my first sunset in forever, a gorgeous blend of pinks, orange, and purple.  The sun was setting on my first day as a human.  Wait, the sun was setting.

I took off at a run, my legs longer but my muscles so weak, body so clumsy.  Entering the city’s subterranean world, I moved cautiously.  An older vampire might already be awake.  I certainly would have been.

I made it to the nest and locked myself in, firing up my laptop to research clothing trends for young women instead of young girls.

My eyes opened earlier the next morning, at eight-fifteen.  This time, after emptying my bladder, I stood in front of my mirror and looked for changes.  I was taller and bigger—everywhere.  I had marked my height on the wall with a pencil.  The new morning me was another two inches taller and my new shoes and bra already too tight.  Awesome.  Never have I been so happy to have brand new purchases already become useless.

Up top, I found an actual diner.  Blueberry pancakes smothered in real Vermont maple syrup with a rasher of sausages hot off the grill.  Orange juice and coffee.  Then it was shopping time.  Another pair of larger shoes, maybe a half size bigger than I needed.  And another bra, this one lacy and fun.  Yesterday’s tights still fit, but I grabbed several pairs two sizes up.

Wearing some of my purchases, I carried the others in shopping bags, depositing the barely used shoes in a Salvation Army clothing drop.  The rest of the morning was spent at a hair salon, getting the kind of haircut that fit physically older me and having an expert teach me about makeup for young women—modern young women.

Lunch at an Indian food place, midafternoon snack at a French bakery, and finally, early dinner at a seafood restaurant.  Then I watched the sunset yet one more time before heading back into the tunnels.

As I approached my door, a dark form suddenly detached from the shadows.  My hand grabbed for Tora but a pale white hand was holding my wrist before I could draw the blade.

“Relax, Westing. It’s just me,” Lydia Chapman said, stepping back. “Whoa, look at you.”

“Yeah,” was all I could think to say.

“Tanya wanted to know how you are and here I find you like four years older,” Lydia said.

I noticed that I was at least her height, maybe an inch taller.

“Yeah.  I grew.”

“Grew?  You sprouted like a weed.  In forty-eight hours, no less,” she said, eyes wide. “How do you feel?”

“I feel everything.  Senses are worthless, reflexes shit, but I can feel so much that I didn’t realize I was missing.  Including sunlight,” I said.

“Yeah, I see the shopping bags.  No sunburns, no sun sickness?”

“Just the beginnings of a slight tan,” I said.

“Don’t get used to it.  You won’t stay human much longer,” she said. “Although to my knowledge, he’s never zapped someone your age.  Mostly been real young ones.  You going to invite me in or what?”

I studied her for a moment.  If she had meant me harm, I’d already be dead.  And there were others in the tunnels who did want me dead.  I opened the nest and ushered her inside, relocking the door carefully.

“Tanya put a moratorium on anyone hurting you,” Lydia said as she watched me bolt the steel door.

“Did she?” I said, surprised. “Still, some might say that accidents happen.”

“True.  Listen. By our calculations, tomorrow is likely the last day of this human thing.”

“How do you calculate something like that?  Trigonometry or calculus for vampire-to-human conversions?”

“The oldest vampire he blasted before you was about a hundred or so years old.  Took a week.  The youngest was ten years, stayed human for much longer. We are just extrapolating.  Tanya, who is pretty good at math, as you might recall, figures you’re done in three days or less.  So tomorrow, if you turn back, come see her in Citadel.  If not, I’ll come find you.”

“Why?”

“Why see her or why am I checking up on you?” she asked.  I just nodded.

“Because, you moron, she likes you.  Always has.  She was worried.”

“And how is she? You know… with the eyes?”

“She can see again.  He healed her.  Silver burns in her lungs, face, neck, eyes, nose, and throat.  He healed them all with his blood.”

“He’s really that special?”

“As special as she is, but if you ever tell him that, I’ll deny every word.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

“Oh, he doesn’t hold grudges.  If things are that bad, he would have just killed you, but otherwise he’ll forget the whole thing.”

“Doesn’t hold grudges?  That’s really not human,” I said.

“Tell me about it.  Gotta bounce.  See ya, Westing.”

“Not if I see you first, Chapman.”

She snorted and left me alone with my thoughts.

Chapter 33

“Ah, you’re here, good,” Lydia greeted me as she opened the door to Tanya’s apartments.  “All nice and vampy again.  When did you turn back?”

“Took four days,” I said, moving into the room as she backed away. “You guys were all gone.  Rumor mill had you everywhere from Alaska to Mexico.”

“That’s me,” another voice said.  Nika, the telepath, sat in a chair across from Tanya, smiling at the prodigal princess herself, who was staring at me with her normal blue eyes. “I had three and a half days, so that’s closest,” Nika said. “I win.”  The other two handed over single dollar bills.

“You’re healed,” I said to Tanya, ignoring the whole betting pool thing.

“It’s all about the correct diet,” Tanya said with a smirk, “and light exercise.”

“Yeah, a very exclusive diet,” Lydia quipped, “that only you can eat.”

“True.  But look at you, Katrina Westing. Almost all grown up,” Tanya said, looking me over from head to toe.  She twirled one finger in the air and I dutifully spun in a pirouette.  “From Wednesday Addams to hotty high school senior,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah, about that?” I said, keeping my eyes locked on her and very carefully avoiding looking at Nika. “Do you think he could move me up a few more years… say, college junior or senior?”

“I think that could be arranged, but tell me, Trina. Are you bored with the tunnels?” Tanya asked.

“You’re kidding, right?  Sewers, no missions, dirty old vampires, dirty old homeless.  I even gave up on shopping therapy—at least until this happened,” I said, waving a hand up and down my body.

“I want you to work for me,” Tanya said. “Running the Coven is challenging.  Problems arise that require… fixing.  Careful, subtle stuff.  Infiltration, subterfuge, covert action.  Who does that sound like?” she asked the other two.

“Well, I’m pretty subtle,” Lydia mused.

Nika snorted, then turned to look at me.  “This one has the skills but the subtle part… I don’t know.”

“I can do subtle,” I said. “I used to do lots of subtle stuff. Tanya, remember all my stories?”

“I do, Trina. I do.  But this job will not be about killing, mostly.  Can’t say for sure that you won’t have some lives to end, but for the most part, those should be huge exceptions to the rule.”

“I’ve done tons of jobs that had no killing involved,” I said in a rush. “It’s actually more challenging to accomplish something without killing.”

“And how do you feel about going to college?” Tanya asked.

“Ah, what?”

“Oh, I know you have multiple degrees already. I was talking about having you infiltrate a local college to help discredit an obstacle that’s in my way.  Discredit, not kill,” she said sternly.

“Well, I look maybe a little young still,” I said hopefully.

“Yeah, let’s go see about changing that.  We’ll tuck you away here for a couple of days till you’re back to vampire.  You can plan your approach while you finish growing up.”

“I’m yours,” I said, meaning it, heart and soul.  My Hell on Earth was already so much better and within days, I might be physically old enough to order a drink in a bar.

On my second meeting her Chosen, I became human again.  Took a lot of convincing, and then it took some acting to move him into the right head space.  “His abilities tie in closely to his personal anger and rage.  We might have to piss him off,” Tanya had warned me beforehand.

She was right and we played our parts, me acting the role of an ungrateful, entitled, nasty vampire.  I seemed to be a natural at the part.

This time, though, I didn’t hide away in my nest. Instead, I stayed in a guest suite, eating meals cooked by a real chef.  It took four more days, and I spent the time exercising to get used to my new body and studying all the intelligence material on my target.

Estelle McCullen was a professor of political science at Barnard College by day, apparently well regarded as an instructor.  She was also the last living member of the McCullen family that had owned the newspaper and printing facility that was now Tanya’s club, Plasma.  The property had been purchased legally from the estate of Estelle’s mother, Elaine, the deed and closing paperwork signed by the family attorney, who was also Elaine’s executor.

Everything had been aboveboard and perfectly legal, but Estelle apparently wanted the property back.  She had approached Tanya’s holding company multiple times, claiming the property wasn’t supposed to be sold, that it went against her mother’s wishes, that it was done by the lawyer to expedite payment of his fee.

Tanya, through her corporate officers, had politely rebuffed Estelle, and so the professor had started a grassroots movement to protest the placement of a gothic nightclub in that neighborhood of Brooklyn. She was using her knowledge and skills at politics to pressure Tanya into lowball selling the family’s previous property back to her, her organization spreading misinformation about the evils of having a so-called vampire club, one that almost undoubtedly worshiped the devil and held Satanic rituals with the youth of the city.

Never mind that Plasma was hugely popular and trendy with the wealthy and elite; it was clearly designed to ruin the young people of that good neighborhood.

“What do you think?” Lydia asked me on the first day of my human growth.

“One, this omelet is to die for and two, this is clearly a trial run for me because this is a minor deal for T.”

“Don’t discount it,” she said. “Plasma means a lot to Tanya, and this woman wants it like a bear wants honey.”

“Speaking of bears, I thought I saw a bear cub running around the halls the other day?”

“Yeah, get used to it.  Gordon’s new pet.  But listen. Estelle is extremely persistent.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why does she want it so badly?”

“We don’t know.”

“Come on, Chapman. You’ve got a super telepath,” I said.

“We haven’t been able to get Nika close enough to read her deeply.  She’s only read surface thoughts.  Estelle teaches more than a few evening classes; she doesn’t go out at night except to set up picket lines of angry parents and even then, she hangs back.”

“She’s not hurting for money, based on her inheritance, her salary at the college, and this financial background information your hacker found.  His name is Chet, right?”

“Yeah, we found him through Chris.  He’s talented,” she said. “Yes, she appears to be comfortable, if not actually rich.”

“What’s so important about Plasma?”

“Answer that and you win a prize.  Chet is fabricating a student identity for you at Barnard.  You’ll be attending her classes.”

“Can I meet this Chet?  I want to dig up some more information before I go in.”

“Sure, why not.  But he’s a busy guy, so no monopolizing his time. Got it?”

“Sure, if you say so.”

“I do.”

I met Chet the next day when he knocked on my door.  I opened it to find a lanky, decidedly nervous Black guy wearing hipster clothes complete with glasses, and a computer bag slung over one shoulder.

“Ah, Katrina West”—was all he got out before I stepped back and waved him in—“ing?”

“Yup.  And you’re Chet Aikens, computer wizard.”

“That’s, ah, me,” he agreed, his eyes darting everywhere, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Chet, you live and work in an entire complex of vampires… why are you nervous around me?  I’m human.”

“For now,” he said, looking around quickly before moving to the little worktable in the middle of the suite’s lounge area. “And you have a bit of a reputation.”

“You’ve heard of me?  I have a reputation?”

“Lydia asked me to work with you, and one of my programming team heard your name.  He’s the one that knew something about you.”

“Really?  What did he say?”

“Um,” he said, then froze up. “I’m close friends with Chris, you know,” he said.

“Oh, please. Take it easy, Chester.  I work for Tanya.  You work for Tanya.  You’re safe.  Just spill it already.”

“Well, these aren’t my words, you understand, but they said you were a bit of a… sociopath.”

“That’s it?” I asked, disappointed.

“They said you were a very dangerous child vampire who killed without a moment’s thought,” he said. “Although you don’t look at all like a child.”

“I know, right?” I said, jumping up and twirling around, doing my best ditzy girl impression.  I was wearing yoga pants, which are amazing by the way, and a tight t-shirt.  In my defense, the shirt had been looser when I put it on, but I sort of grew into it, if you see what I mean.

“Ah, not so much,” he said, eyes nervously roaming my new figure, pushing his glasses up with one finger.

“Thanks to your buddy Chris.  I’ve been stuck in a child’s body for a century and a half.  It made me a little touchy.”

“Lydia said you were human for the moment.  The other guy said that didn’t make you less dangerous.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.  What’s his name?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, never mind.  Listen, I’ve got work to do.  I asked for you because you were already working on my college identity, Lydia said you were excellent, and I need help on my case.”

“Lydia said that?”

“Yes, but I’ll deny it if you tell her I told you that,” I said.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.  I raised a brow, and he launched into an explanation. “I thought you might get mad that they called you that?”

“What?  Sociopath?”  He nodded.  “Well, it’s pretty much true.  Why would it bother me?  That’s like you getting mad because someone said you were a computer nerd.”

He looked at me uncertainly.  “Well, it’s just that people say sociopaths don’t have emotions.”

“Oh, that’s so not true.  I have lots of emotions. It’s the things that trigger them that are a bit different.  But we’re wasting valuable time.  I need to look into the building that houses Plasma and the newspaper that used to be printed there.”

“What are we looking for?”

“A reason why the ex-owner might desperately want it back. It’s likely going to take a lot of time to run down.”

He opened his computer and began typing.  “Maybe not. I already did the background on Estelle, so I have all the pertinent info on the building and her family.  Let me run a bot against the paper’s article archives to see if there’s anything connecting the two.”

“Great.  While you do that, I’m going to take a shower.  No peeking,” I said, wagging a finger.

I showered, dried my hair, applied makeup, and then dressed in new, stretchy clothes.  The one thing about finally having an adult female body that was hard to adjust to was the whole thong underwear deal.  But Spandex was a growing girl’s best friend, so I was learning to adjust.

I emerged from my very adult preparations in a relatively quick twenty-five minutes to find Chet typing away like a madman.

“Thought you already wrote the thing?”

“I did.  I’m answering emails.  Already got the answer to your question.  Smart question too.  Everybody asked about the building, but nobody ever asked about the articles.”

“Well, don’t murder me with suspense… What did you find?”

“Normal building records show nothing alarming.  But twenty-two years ago, the paper published an article about myths and legends of New York.  Standard alligators in the sewer, Captain Kidd’s treasure under the Statue of Liberty, stuff like that.  The reporter ended the article by saying even the building he was writing in had a legend.  Apparently, it was connected at one point to Eddie Corsotti, who was a mob boss back in the Twenties.  The reporter said that Eddie died in a gunfight with police, but that his personal horde of jewels, gold, and silver was never found.  The reporter ended by saying it might be buried right under the printing room floor.”

“How much?”

“In the Twenties, it was rumored to be over a million dollars.  In today’s dollars, that could be more than ten million.”

“And Estelle has a cool million and a half of her own, but ten or more is a pretty big boost.”

“Yeah.  I backchecked the story and found that the building was owned in the Twenties by a guy who married to Eddie Corsotti’s cousin.  So who knows?  It might be actually buried in Plasma.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is or not.  If Estelle believes it, that’s enough.  Have you completed my new identity and backstory yet?”

“No, I needed to meet you and get a few pictures.”

“Let’s hold up on the backstory till I wrap my head around this.  I’ve already got some ideas.”

“Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that.”

Chapter 34

The first step is always intelligence.  Details matter, and while I might have a solid idea or two of how to proceed, real information would either inform the outcome or perhaps even change it completely.  And the best source of information is the mark themselves.  So I went to college—again—only this time in person.

I have several degrees that I earned through correspondence: a Bachelor of Science in Economics (because following the money is the key), an Associate Degree in Law Enforcement (because I wanted to know how cops work), and a Bachelor of Arts in History (just because).  All from different colleges and all through the mail.  This was my first time walking through a college campus looking like an adult who belonged.

I got whistled at.  By boys.  Over a hundred and seventy years of age and I finally got male attention that was normal.  The guy who whistled was an idiot, but I was still thrilled on some level or another.  Sex: It was time to have it, or at least soon.

Four nights stalking my prey, watching from the shadows as she came and went to class, studying her movements, manner of dress, model of car, how she drove, and dozens of other details that matter.  In short, I was getting to know my target.  I was also having fun again, and I was studying the male of the species with a whole new appreciation.

On night one, I learned she was an aggressive driver, which was odd considering she drove a Toyota Prius, and that there was a big difference between freshmen and senior males.  Another night I figured out that Estelle paid close attention to her surroundings in the staff parking lot but not so much on the campus itself. I also learned that the predatory nature of child molesters was in many young men who just happen to set their sights on older girls.  Girls mostly traveled in groups of two or more and the solo ones held themselves a little wary.

But me?  I figured out quick that a pretty girl could command the attention of almost any male of any age.  Also that as I looked now, I had a potentially endless supply of eager young necks to feed from that wouldn’t notice a thing in the throes of sex.  Anna had told me that, decades ago, but now I could see just how stupid testosterone made them.

By night four, I was convinced of the approach and so I set Chet to work on my backstory and on night five, I attended Estelle’s class, Political Theory.

I sat in the back, but it wasn’t a huge class, nineteen people, and her eyes found me quickly.  I took notes, actual notes, in case things went that far.  She had a good lecture style, engaging and clear, so it was easy to feign interest.  At the end, as I made my way toward the door, she stopped me.

“I haven’t seen you before?”

“I’m coming in partway through the semester and my admission counselor wants me to audit a number of classes so I can pick the most appropriate ones for next semester.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, opening her attendance folder.

“Grace. Grace Padaway.”

“Padaway?  Padaway?” she said, like she was trying on the name for size. “Sounds familiar.”

“My father is in technology,” I said. “But I doubt you’ve heard of his company.”

“Ah, that’s it.  Padaway Technology.  Radar or something?”

“Wow, most people don’t have a clue, but it’s ground penetrating radar along with lidar and a bunch of other sensing technologies,” I said.

“That’s it,” she said with a snap of her fingers.  “Archeologists, paleontologists and… treasure hunters, right?  Sees through trees?”  Her eyes held a gleam that told me she knew the answer full well.

“That’s the lidar.  GPR looks through solid ground and concrete. Dad makes most of his sales to the oil and gas explorers, municipalities doing pipe and deep concrete inspections, and engineering firms.”

“Fascinating stuff,” she said, head tilted to the side.

“Not when you grow up with it,” I said.

“You actually understand it?”

“I can run any of the machines and I have working knowledge, but engineering is not my gig.”

“You think poly sci is?”

“It’s more interesting than machines.  Is it alright to come Thursday night?”

“Sure.  Absolutely.  See you then, Grace.”

“See you, Professor.”

The bait was working.  I left the building and walked the concrete path back into the adjacent Columbia University campus, passing a couple of guys as I went.

“Did it hurt?” one of them asked me when they were almost fully past.

“Excuse me?”

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”  He was tall, well-built, and had great blue eyes framed with blond hair, and he was smiling at me.  Apparently, the other bait was working too.

“Not as much as that line did,” I said. “Honestly, how old are you?  That’s probably pre-World War.”

“Ouch, well, at least we’re not socks… even though we’d make a great pair,” he said with a cheesy grin.

I looked at his shorter buddy. “Are you in charge of him?  Can you get him collared?”

“Never been successful at it,” the buddy said. “I’ll warn you: He’s extremely persistent.”

“Look at you with all those curves and me without brakes,” Mr. Blue Eyes said, firing off number three with no hesitation at all.

I actually liked that one because I finally did have curves.  “Alright, come on,” I said, giving him a head tilt in the direction I was going.  He gave his pal a jaunty wave and stepped right up alongside me.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “How about a bite of dinner?” he asked as we began walking.

“You must be psychic,” I said, “because that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Was it romantic? No, but if you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m not really a romantic person.  Too pragmatic, and if I was going to learn about sex, why not with a player?  He might actually know what he was doing. Plus, I really was hungry.

The world’s longest-running virginity ended in a Columbia University student apartment that night.  Sex was… fun.  Exhilarating and energetic, especially when you added in the blood that I took from him.  I was gone from his room long before morning, taking a few ounces of nourishment along with his memory of the whole thing.

Did you know that?  That some of us older vampires can fudge a person’s memories?  Nothing permanent or even extensive, but enough to leave his mental image of me very fuzzy.  Like he probably wouldn’t remember me if he saw me kind of fuzzy. Probably hit on me all over again.

I left pleased with myself, excited by the new me, the power it gave me over males, and the sex had been fun.  Most of all, I was back in the game and on the hunt.  Finally.

Chapter 35

“You sure we should be in here, Professor?” I asked uncertainly.

“When we’re not on campus, you can call me Estelle,” she said.

“Or when we’re breaking and entering into the hottest nightclub in New York,” I said, looking around curiously.  I hadn’t been to Plasma before, and this was my first look at it although it was completely dark.

“I told you we’re legit.  My family used to own it,” she said, leading me across the open dance floor.

“And yet you refuse to turn the lights on,” I said, following behind, trying to picture it when it was open and hopping.  Monday was the only night of the week it was closed.  When this was over, I was definitely coming during regular club hours.

“Listen, I have the key and the alarm code, so what are you worried about?” she said, jangling said key.

That had taken a bit to set up.  A supposedly disenfranchised employee contacting her with damning evidence against Tanya.  Estelle had jumped at the gossip, but her real excitement came when he said he could get her access to the building to verify his claims for herself. She’d paid a thousand dollars for use of the key and alarm code.  She was supposed to give the key back to Malachi, the daytime custodian, in two days’ time.  Malachi was actually Demidova security, a retired US Army light infantryman, who happened to have some actual acting props.  He’d done a great job as an angry, bitter janitor who didn’t make enough money and had to clean up way too much beer and bodily fluids.

“Yet we’re sneaking around in the dark, with an extremely valuable prototype Padaway handheld GPR, looking for something your dad hid in a concrete floor?”

“Yes.  He was supposed to give it to my mom before he died, but nobody thought he’d have a heart attack.  He was a marathon runner, for God’s sake.”

“Why did he hide a box in a concrete floor?”

“He was big into escape rooms, codes and cyphers, and treasure hunting.  The box holds three Spanish doubloons that he found in Florida on a shipwreck hunt.  They’re valuable, but they mean a lot to my family. He left a treasure map, but it got lost for a while and the executor sold the property when she died.”

Her story got better and better.  My second visit to her class had resulted in her approaching me about Padaway ground penetrating radar.  The company was real, as was their product, but when I mentioned a new prototype that could go deeper than current models, she’d almost started salivating.

Chet had lightly modified a standard Padaway Ground Scanner to make it look a bit more advanced than it actually was.  I had spent a couple of nights training with it in the tunnels of Citadel and now here I was, letting myself be led into an extremely iffy situation to retrieve a family heirloom.  The real Grace Padaway was ten, a piece of information that Chet had obscured on the internet.  My older version was rebellious but clearly had some misgivings.

“Come on. It won’t be out here, but in the storeroom area,” Estelle said, pushing through a door behind the lowest level bar.  We were in a hallway, and I realized this was where it had happened, where Tanya had been attacked by a demon and where Chris had saved her.  Where she had almost instantly Chosen him.  Where his blood had saved her life and hers had changed his.

Fascinating.

“What are you doing by those pallets?” Estelle asked. “It’s supposed to be under this portion of the floor right here,” she said, pointing at an open section of old concrete.

I fired up my device and started scanning the floor.  It had to look good, so I just frowned at the display and kept moving for at least three minutes. When I could smell the anxiety and tension rolling off her in waves, I pressed the button that brought up a prestored image.  Chet had almost gone overboard on this one, but it did look good.

I whistled softly, immediately catching Estelle’s attention.  “What?  What is it?” she demanded, leaning over my shoulder to look.

“Got a space under here, about a meter by a meter and a half,” I said, frowning at the display.  “Sounds like your dad really did hide it here but damn, it’s like a third of a meter deep.”

“Where?  Show me exactly where,” she demanded, swinging her backpack off her shoulder.

“Right here,” I said, kneeling down to touch the concrete.

She pulled a cordless electric jackhammer from the pack, slipped a chisel bit into place with practiced ease, and shoved me out of the way.

Modern tools are pretty impressive because that thing ripped through the hardened concrete of Plasma’s storage room floor with ease.  I stepped farther back, then even farther back as she went to town.

As I slipped out the door into the hall, Mr. Deckert was just entering the far end, some of the other human guards immediately behind him.  I left the other way before the uniformed NYPD officers I could hear talking to him could see me.  As I headed out the rear fire door into the stairwell, I heard Estelle’s shocked voice.  Then I was outside the club, facing Tanya, Lydia, and Nika.  Tanya smiled at me.  “Nice work.  All kinds of legal pressure to make her go away. Well done.”

“Do I get the job?” I asked.

She raised her brows as if surprised.  “You think this was a job interview?”

“Of course.  You know my history; hell, I told it to you myself.  But you needed to know if I could do things without violence, blood, and mayhem.  I mean, yeah, those are fun too, but not always ideal.”

She studied me for a moment, then glanced at Lydia and Nika. Neither vampire so much as blinked.

“Yeah, you got the job, whatever the job might be,” Tanya said. “I warn you; it’s going to be different than working for my mother.  Make sure you have a go bag packed because the things I might need you for will likely happen fast and unexpectedly.”

“I’m counting on it,” I said with a grin.

I woke to complete darkness, my body rocking side to side, walls closing tight around me.  For a moment, I felt a bit of panic, just a bit, but then I remembered I had chosen this… this form of travel.

It was my own idea to climb into a shipping crate and let Coven employees nail it shut, then load it into a Coven-owned tractor-trailer that was headed south.

See, Tanya had been almost prescient with the whole fast and unexpected thing.  Her Chosen had vaporized an ancient vampire with the same kind of aura blast he hit me with.  Seems if a vampire was over a certain number of years, centuries really, they aged so fast that they just went to dust.  I thought it was hilarious, but the old ones were terrified, except perhaps Senka, who didn’t seem too worried.  Vampires were up in arms, demanding his death, which to my way of thinking was an absolutely sure way to guarantee theirs.  Tanya first told them all off, then offered to fight any who wanted her Chosen dead.

In the meantime, Chris had needed to get out of town, but his manner of leaving was of some concern.  See, there’s this werewolf girl that keeps hanging around him. I get that he’s attractive, but only an idiot would get between Tanya and her man.  This girl, Stacia Reynolds, had a thing for him.  Something to do with how she got bitten and became a were.  Anyway, she worked for the NY pack and had approached him with a job from a were pack in North Carolina and he’d jumped into a car with her and headed south.  Idiot.

Lydia had appeared and taken me to Tanya.  She was a mess.  Raging against the outspoken Darkken who advocated for violence against Chris, afraid for his life, and jealous beyond measure that he was with Stacia.  Would I track him down, watch over him, protect him?

Help my favorite vampire princess with the man who had aged me out of eternal puberty?  Honey, please.

We knew where they were headed, so while Lydia set up the logistics, I grabbed my ready bag and headed to meet the trucker who would drive me there straight through the day.

Now I was awake, which meant darkness had fallen.  My phone was in the pocket of my jacket and when I powered it up, I found we were just a few hours outside of Asheville.  My email account had an update from Chet with coded details of where to find them, who they were meeting with, and all the particulars of the North Carolina pack.  The Alpha was Ned Granger, and Chris’s job was to exorcise demonic influence from his children.  How that turn of events had occurred was unknown even to Chet’s awesome skills, but that was the kind of thing Chris Gordon did.

Because there were many factions within the Coven, I was to avoid the local vampires unless I deemed it otherwise.  Fine with me.  I work best alone and unimpeded by the power plays of tiny, local wannabe kings.

There was plenty of time to study the area around Granger’s home, to reserve several sets of rooms in various hotels and motels under various names using credit cards that were not associated with me.  Chet was a wizard with computers, and he belonged to Tanya.  I read bios on Granger; his wife, Rose; his Beta, Jep; and various other players in the area.  The local pack owned numerous bars, restaurants, and hotels, so I made careful note of them to avoid being scented by pack members.  It was very like planning an assassination except the objective was completely opposite.  In short, it was fun.

Chet informed me of the presence of a second pack, from Kentucky, who had been suffering losses among its members, at the least the males.  Each had died from gunshot wounds to the head, including one in Asheville, which, because state lines had been crossed, triggered interest in the crimes by the FBI.  A Behavioral Analysis Unit had been dispatched, led by a Special Agent Krupp.  Chet had hacked into the Bureau’s systems and found an oddity.  An Israeli agent had been seconded to Krupp’s group and Chet hadn’t been able to find out why she was there or what agency in Israel she belonged to.  It was clearly driving him crazy, but I didn’t care.  The important thing was federal law enforcement was investigating a were pack without knowing what they were.

So, two werewolf packs, a serial killer of werewolves, demons, a highly trained FBI team, a wayward Chosen, and a blonde predator in every sense of the word.  It was clearly a mission fraught with potential metaphoric landmines, with more potential twists than a back road through the Great Smoky Mountains.  Awesome.

The truck came to a stop and I heard the rear doors open.  My crate was on a pallet with five other similar containers, and I felt the moment a forklift removed it.  The pallet was set down and I heard the forklift drive away.  There came a gentle knock on my crate, accompanied by the scent of the human truck driver.  Soft footsteps walked away, his voice calling out to someone else, perhaps the lift operator.

Taking my cue, I released the hidden latches on one side of the crate, lowering the hinged panel enough to peek out.  The warehouse was clear, and I left my transport, grabbed my pack, and slipped away into the night. It would have been easy to steal a car, but Lydia had arranged for one to be waiting in the warehouse parking lot.  A Toyota Prius, of all things.  I was the James Bond of the Coven before James Bond existed, yet he got a tricked-out Aston Martin and I got a Prius.  Something seriously wrong with that.

I drove first to the Carolina Pack’s headquarters, which was Granger’s rockpile of a house, but it seemed oddly quiet, so I went to the Alpha’s favorite hangout, a bar they owned on the outskirts of Asheville.  Sure enough, as soon as I was downwind, I smelled werewolves and then I picked up the distinctive scent of Chris’s pet were-bear-wolf, Awasos.  Bingo.

The building was a flat, one-story structure and it was ridiculously easy to gain the roof.  With vampire-quiet feet, I prowled until I heard Chris’s voice below.  Dropping down to an easy squat, I listened as he talked with first the weres and then several FBI types, including Agent Krupp.

Good going, Gordon.  An hour on scene and already he was in the government’s sights.  This was going to take some serious work.

Chapter 36

It wasn’t long before Gordon, his crazy pet wolf-bear, and the blonde came out, along with an entire pack of ten werewolves.  Chet’s reports had provided pictures, so I was able to pick out the North Carolina Alpha, Ned Granger; his wife, Rose; and his Beta, Jep.   Granger was lean and powerful looking, with blond hair and beard, and gray eyes.  Rose was a brunette with dark eyes, short but with curves that still had muscle on them.  Jep—Jep was the answer to whether Bigfoot was real or not.  Six-ten, at least, well over three hundred pounds of muscle and bone while still in human form.  His animal form must be simply huge.

Gordon, his wolf Awasos—and the other wolf, the one with the long, tan legs, got into a Volvo wagon and followed the various pack vehicles.  Based on the conversations held in the parking lot, they were headed to the stone pile that Granger called home.

I waited.  Hunters will tell you that patience is vital.  I learned that lesson in my first decade.  I knew there was another pack, if you can call three werewolves a pack, who were being questioned currently by the feds.  Who would leave first?

Ten minutes later, another group came out: polo shirts and very new pants, with tight haircuts and very fit physiques.  Ah-ha, the Bureau.

The leader was clearly of Asian descent, her body language and expression radiating that here be a badass.  I took notes.

She started issuing orders as they fast walked toward a large black Chevy SUV.

“Connor, run down everything you can on a Christian Gordon from Brooklyn, New York.  If he’s just a psychic consultant, I’ll eat your laptop.”

“What about Masten?” a different agent asked while one of the other males opened the car and pulled out a laptop.

“Based on his usual behavior, I’d be surprised if they leave this place before it closes for the night,” the leader said. She had to be Krupp, according to what I heard inside the bar.

“These two groups are very strange.  Supposed to be corporations, but they act like either some kind of weird family or a well-tuned infantry squad,” she continued.

“Ah, boss?” the laptop agent, Connor, suddenly spoke up, a note of concern in his voice. “This is weird.  I plugged in his name and it came up restricted by the DoD, and then my laptop just froze up.”

She glanced at the screen but was interrupted by the buzz of a cell phone, which she pulled out of her pocket.

“Krupp,” she answered, a frown on her face.

“Agent Krupp, this is Deputy Director Pincot of Operations Coordination.  What is your interest in Christian Gordon?”

“I’m dealing with a series of murders crossing state lines in Kentucky and North Carolina.  He appeared suddenly in a meeting with persons of interest to my case.  I was curious, sir.”

“Exactly how did he appear?  Give me every detail.”

“Individuals pertinent to the case own a country-western bar and we chose to visit it with intent to further develop our understanding of the victims in these homicides.  When we arrived, we noticed an interaction between our subjects and two individuals who were accompanied by a huge dog.  One of the individuals had identification as Christian Gordon.”

“Agent Krupp, you are to avoid that individual no matter how he intersects your case, understand?“

“Why, sir?”

“That’s classified, Krupp.   Leave him alone.”  The phone clicked.

“Who the hell was that?” the tall Black agent she’d called Dison asked.

“Deputy Director of Operations Coordination, DHS,” Krupp said, eyebrows up.  Her phone rang again.

“Agent Krupp,” she answered, her tone curious. I noticed that she answered this time on speaker phone.

“Agent Krupp, this is Director Stewart of Oracle.  I’m given to understand that you just pinged the NCIC for possible hits on Christian Gordon. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir.  What agency did you say you were with?”

“Oracle, agent.  Spelled ORACL.  What is your interest in Mr. Gordon?”

“He approached persons of interest in a case, and I was curious.”

“He is a person of extreme interest to the highest levels of government and must be approached with extreme caution and sensitivity. It would be best if you never spoke to him again.”

“Sir, I don’t recognize your agency and I’m certain you are not in my chain of command,” Krupp responded.

“I can insert myself into your command structure if you’d prefer, but it would leave neither of us very happy, Agent.  You are advised to heed my warning.”  That call too went dead.

“What the holy hell is happening?” Krupp wondered, looking at her phone.  It rang again. She looked at her team with wide eyes before accepting the call, again on speaker.

“This is Special Agent Krupp,” she answered, her tone careful.

“Special Agent, my name is Gina Velasquez with DHS.  Deputy Director Pincot informed me that you have had contact with Chris Gordon?”

“Who the hell is this guy and who are you to call me?”

“Chris Gordon is a special asset.  Me, I’m an adviser to the government.”

“What the hell is a special asset?  He some kind of informant?”

“Agent Krupp, I’m fairly certain the deputy director already provided guidance on rules of conduct around Mr. Gordon, but I need to get details of your interaction because that’s my job.  I understand he was not alone?”

“He had a blonde woman with him and a massive dog.”

“Her name is Stacia Reynolds.  The dog is not a dog but actually a wolf… of sorts. Named Awasos. Leave both of them alone.  Do not threaten or engage either of those two under any circumstances.  Gordon was a cop at one time and will likely grant you a measure of respect simply because of your title.  But I would highly advise you to leave the other two alone.”

“Ms. Velazquez, I am a Special Agent in Charge of an FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit investigating a set of serial homicides.  I will engage persons of interest any way and time I see fit.”

“Sure, Agent Krupp.  I get it.  I was NYPD myself.  Now I’m just a consultant.  You proceed as you see fit, but Pincot wanted me to give you advice, and I have.  But if I may, what kind of murders?”

“Men, who belong to an odd group, who are murdered one at a time with no witnesses.  Could your Mr. Gordon be a suspect?”

“How were the men killed?”

Krupp’s eyebrows went almost through her forehead, they rose so high.  “Single pistol caliber gunshot to the brain.”

“Nope, not your guy.  If he was your killer, it wouldn’t likely involve a firearm, although he is highly qualified with those.  It would be much more violent.  Tread lightly, Agent Krupp.”

“Just who is it that you advise anyway?” Krupp asked.

“The president, Agent Krupp.  Good night.” And she too hung up.

I sat back on the roof, wondering just what Tanya’s guy had gotten himself into that all these people knew of him.

“Who the hell is this guy?” one of the other agents asked.  “DHS, some mystery agency, and a consultant to the president?”

Krupp’s phone rang a fourth time and when she looked at the screen, she seemed to recognize the caller.  She answered this time in regular private mode, turning slightly away from the others.

“Krupp.”

“What beehive have you kicked over now?” a male voice said.

“I just ran a name through NCIC and all hell broke loose, sir.”

“The director himself called me. I had no answers for his questions, so give me the rundown.”

She gave him a summary.

“Okay.  That gives me enough to get back to him.”

“I’ll leave this guy alone.”

“No, Krupp, you won’t.  The director is incredibly curious about this guy.  He wants you to gather everything you can glean from him.”

“DHS told me to back off.”

“But our boss said to dig in, got it? Just proceed very carefully.”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll see what I can find out without muddying the waters.”

“I know you will, Krupp.”

Chapter 37

I followed the Feds to a motel not far from the bar, then drove to the pack’s headquarters house, parking on a lone country road that bordered Granger’s land on one side.

Entering werewolf territory is incredibly difficult.  Wolves have a better sense of smell than vampires, so one is advised to take extraordinary precautions.  For years, I have shopped the hunting aisles of chain department stores, as they stay open longer than the smaller specialty hunting and gun shops.  When I checked out with hunter’s scent killer sprays in pine, cedar, apple, acorn, or earth renditions or charcoal-lined clothing, along with the entire cornucopia of fox, raccoon, and doe urine, I invariably got the “Oh, gifts for your dad?” question from the cashier.  My most recent visit was different.  The young male cashier had offered to take me bow hunting and then mansplained the effects of the scent killer I was buying.  The male drive to mate never ends.

The forest in front of me was a mixture of pine and deciduous hardwoods.  I dressed in camouflage charcoal-lined clothing that was specifically patterned for Southern forests.  Then I applied a scent killer to knock down my personal human-vampire scent, covering my whole body.  As I entered the pack’s territory, I scouted till I found a pile of deer scat and carefully stepped in it to put a new, local scent on my soft-soled stalking boots.

Early in my career, I followed various experienced hunters through the woods to see how they moved.  Vampires have such an advantage with our night vision, enhanced senses, and ability to move silently that it would be easy to assume that a pure human couldn’t teach us a thing.  Big mistake.  A pure human has so many disadvantages when going up against big game like deer and bear that they have to use brainpower to overcome them.  Watching a cagey old bow hunter move from downwind and use their understanding of both the prey and the terrain was enormously educational.

I took what I learned and added my own spin: vertical movement through the trees.  My previous self was tiny and weighed almost nothing, hardly a burden to even the smallest of trees.  My new self was heavier, so I needed more robust floral specimens. However, longer legs and arms are very helpful when reaching for distant branches and limbs, offsetting my greater weight.

I started on the ground, leaving a deer scat scent trail, then moved up into the trees, crawling, leaping, and stretching across gaps to invade the territory of some of the deadliest hunters on the planet.  Slow, careful movement, followed by many pauses to listen, smell, and look.

When I got close enough to see the house, I found it had all been a massive waste of time.  Virtually every pack member was surrounding the house itself, all looking inward at the three-story heap of stone and timber.  Not a single werewolf paid any attention to the woods and fields surrounding the house.

My ears told me why. Shrieks, howls, screams, and roars filled the night, all coming from the third floor of the building.  None of the werewolves moved an inch to investigate, but they all quivered from tension and anxiety, no matter if they wore fur or not.  I could just about understand why. The cacophony froze me in place for ten full seconds, the shrieks completely unnatural—evil, even.  And the roars were coming from something so immense that the primal part of my brain knew I would not survive confrontation with whatever that was.  I suddenly realized the roars were ursine. Awaso must have taken his larger form.

I shook off my paralysis and forced myself closer, still a full hundred yards away but well within the envelope of my vision and hearing.

The house went quiet, and I realized that all of the sound and fury had only taken about ten minutes to run its course.  The door opened and a male werewolf stepped out.

“They’re all safe,” he said.  “But we’re not staying here tonight.  Orders of the Alpha.”

The pack got busy either shifting back to human form or going about the business of packing up for the night.  Suddenly, Chris came out of the building, ignoring the staring werewolves and heading for the Volvo.  He rummaged in the back and then held up a fist full of string.  An image of Nika, Tanya, and Lydia, all with small carved animal necklaces flashed through my mind.  Hmm.

He headed back inside.  Five minutes later, he came back out, carrying a square lump the size of a single drawer filing cabinet, Stacia and Awasos with him.

“You stink,” she said to him. “I’ll drive and you can sit on a couple of garbage bags.”

I looked closer and observed that he was, indeed, covered with blotches and splotches of some kind of crud. From the look on both the wolf and the werewolf’s faces, he must have smelled pretty bad.

“Fine, as long as we swing through a KFC for a couple or three buckets of chicken or so.  I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” she replied. “Worse than any were in the whole New York pack.”

They climbed into the car and drove away.  I waited and watched as the pack members sorted themselves out into various vehicles.  Granger and his wife came out with two little girls, followed closely by Jep, a woman I hadn’t seen before, and another little girl.

“See you at the motel,” Granger told his second-in-command, and I took that as my cue to leave.

Exfiltrating was a bit faster, but I worked carefully.  Pack members would likely be patrolling the forest soon, and it wouldn’t do for them to discover traces of an unknown vampire on their land.

At the car, I changed back into regular street clothes and then drove to the same motel I had left Krupp and her team of criminal hunters in, following a hunch. Sure enough, the Volvo was parked in front of one of the rooms.  I pulled my Prius behind the motel, parked it out of the way, and then crept close enough to observe the room directly in front of their car.

I was just in time to see the door open and hear Stacia say, “Good talk, hero. Let’s continue this at breakfast.  I’ve got lots of questions.”

She was wearing a thin sleep shirt that showed an awful lot of long bare leg, along with a towel on her head, and she headed to the room next to Chris’s.  She paused at her door, turning to look out into the night, her head tilted as if she sensed something.  I froze, not even breathing, till she shrugged and went into her room, shutting and locking the door.

Then I crept back to the Prius, crawled into the back seat, and let myself into the trunk by folding the pass-through open.  A string wound around the open part of the seat back let me close it and then I was tucked away for the day with just enough time to consider everything I had heard and seen before the sun lifted high enough to knock me out.

I woke as the sun set, coming instantly alert.  I listened carefully but heard nothing near my car.  Moving slowly, I let myself out into the rear seat.  The sky wasn’t dark yet—mostly just gray—the sun likely having just dropped below the horizon.

It sounded like there was a great deal of activity coming from the restaurant’s kitchen, like people anxiously preparing a tremendous amount of food.  A quick turn around the parking lot showed the car that Gordon and the blonde were using was parked outside their rooms.  I drifted over their way, hearing a shower running in the girl’s room and the soft tone of Gordon’s voice.  After a moment, I realized he was talking to his bear-wolf, mostly about plans for the evening.  Some kind of big event at the Pack house that Granger owned.  Ah, now the restaurant activity made sense.

A box truck pulled in and backed up to the kitchen doors, the driver who exited the vehicle wearing black pants and a white shirt with an untied black bow tie dangling around his neck.  He headed inside, where I heard someone demand to know why he was late.

“I stopped to see if Kyle would work it like you asked,” the driver replied. “He’s bartending tonight.”

“Damn it. Now we’re really shorthanded, and running late. Boss said we were gonna cancel because of some problem with the house.  Now suddenly, everything’s fixed and we’re back on.”

Shorthanded huh?  Perfect.  I walked up to the kitchen door to ask about work, claiming I was new in town and needed work.  The males were both human and they looked me over from head to foot with interest in their eyes.

“Not gonna lie, we need help, bad.  But this isn’t a normal kind of crowd and you won’t be serving normal kind of foods,” said the boss guy, who introduced himself as Frank.

“I’m from New York,” I said. “Was out on my own kind of young.  I’ve worked in places where the people are barely people.  At least the shifters around here are mostly behaved.”

The two exchanged a look, both smelling suddenly of anxiety. “Shifters?” the younger truck driving guy asked. “What are you talking about?” Like he didn’t know.

“Please.  Like this place isn’t owned by a werewolf pack?  Come on, quit yanking my chain.  You ever hear of a nightclub called Plasma in New York?  Owned by real, honest-to-God bloodsuckers.  Your group is polite in comparison.”

They studied me for a second, eyebrows up, but then someone yelled a question at Frank from behind them and time was up.  Frank’s eyes were suspicious, but he was clearly desperate.

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in a spare set of serving clothes that they had on hand and helping load the box truck with chafing dishes of food. I drove myself to the event, spraying my borrowed clothes with scent killer, then adding a touch of perfume.

The framework of a large soiree was being rapidly put together at Granger’s house, the demons and their portal apparently gone due to Gordon’s efforts.

I got busy, helping to set up dinner tables, buffet tables, laying out tablecloths, setting silverware and chafing dishes.  This was a new thing for me, looking old enough to take a cover job like this, and I studied every aspect of the way the other servers went about the job, learning on the fly.  I mean, hauling trays of stuffed mushrooms or putting out place settings isn’t exactly rocket science, but like any job, there is a smooth, professional way to do it and an I don’t care, can’t be bothered way.  Me, I always make sure that I can blend in with the very best.

I listened and watched as I worked, especially to the pack members rushing around the place.  Apparently, Chris had shut down the Hell portal with some help from blondie, the giant Beta wolf Jep, and Awasos.  And did it fast enough to just barely allow Granger’s pack to host a big player in the international were community—Kral Vrana, the Alpha of the Carpathian Pack.

Funny thing about the Carpathian Pack… they basically answered to Elder Senka, who had ruled that part of Europe for centuries.  The scuttlebutt said that Vrana was bringing his whole family, perhaps leaving his kids to learn something about America.  That smelled to high heaven of Senka, who, ever since Tanya Chose Chris, was clearly turning more and more attention to America.

Despite the hurry and bustle, Frank gave us little breaks, and I used mine to call my real boss.

“How is he?” she demanded, her usually dulcet voice almost a hiss.

“He’s fine.  Saved the local pack leader’s kids from a demon outbreak and closed down some crazy portal to Hell.”

“And the werewolf bitch?”

“Seems to be the liaison to the local pack.”

“I don’t give a shit about that… is she after him?”

“Tanya, your guy is kinda hot.  A lot of girls come on to him.”

“But he hasn’t rescued a lot of hot girls from monsters… just me and just her.”

“Well, they’re staying in separate rooms.  He’s into you, not her. Listen, there’s a big event here. The local pack is hosting Kral Vrana and his family.”  Maybe a change of topic was in order.

“Vrana?  In America?”

“Yes, and the word is that he’s considering leaving his children here for a visit… to learn American pack ways.  Sounds like Senka to me.”

“Yes, her fingerprints are all over that bit of news.  She is on my shit list right now.  The Coven is fired up about my Chosen and I’m spending all my time reeducating them.  I absolutely need you to watch over him, Katrina.”

Her tone went from cold rage to anxious worry, but I wondered at what, exactly, her idea of reeducation looked like.  Pretty awesome, I’m sure.

“Of course, T.  I don’t know him very well, but he seems solid and, I don’t know, dependable.”

She was silent for a moment.  “Thank you, Kat, for reminding me just who I Chose.  But my time is up. Lydia is here, and from what she tells me, it would seem that I must reenforce last night’s lessons.  Check in soon.”  The phone clicked off before I could say goodbye.  Her tone, at the end, almost made me shiver—almost.  But then I thought of the idiots that populated the Coven these days and I just laughed.

“Good joke?”

It was the truck-driving waiter from earlier.  He was standing with a couple of other staff, all on break, but he was staring at me.

“More like cosmic justice,” I said. “Well, time to get back at it.”

I grabbed a tray of bacon-wrapped scallops and headed into the crowd, searching for my real job.  I found him talking to the pack leader, Ned Granger.  They were discussing dinner, or rather the delay of it, and Granger’s eyes lit up when he saw my tray of food, pointing it out to Chris.

“Katrina?  What are you doing here?” Chris asked, his hands reaching out to snag a handful of scallops almost as soon as he saw me.

“Checking up on you.  Tell me, Chris, are you tapping that?  You banging the blonde bitch?  Have you gone over to the furry side?” I asked, getting the worst of my mission out of the way first.

He swallowed and frowned.  “Katrina, did you just travel seven hundred miles and take a temp job as a waitress to piss me off?  Were you looking to move your age up?  Because I’d be happy to blast you into, oh, say, about sixty-five or so.”

I sniffed, sampling his scent.  Just him with an overlay of bear and wolf, not at all nervous but slightly annoyed. And delicious… still so delicious.

“Just checking.  Tanya is a might… distraught at your absence, particularly as you are traveling with the furry bitch over there,” I replied.

“She’s a friend.  She’s had my back without fail, which makes her part of a very, very small group of people.  But why are you here and not Tanya?  Why can’t she come herself?”

“Is that so hard to work out?  I know you’re young and not overly bright, but surely you can understand.  If she leaves the Coven now, the faction that is calling for your death will be unopposed.  You have scared the Coven badly.  Most of the older vampires left as soon as the Conclave was concluded, scurrying back to fortify their homes.  Now even the younger ones are terrified of you. Tanya sent me because I won’t be missed and I don’t buy into the crap that’s getting slung all around.  If she had left New York and come herself, there would be contracts on your life within minutes.”

“How is she?”

“How do you think?  She’s separated from her Chosen and fighting a political campaign for his life.  Then, to top it off, she hears that you’re travelling with little miss werewolf over there.”

“I told you, she’s a friend.”

“I heard you, but did she?  You think she views you as just a friend?”

He didn’t answer, a flicker of discomfort flashing across his handsome face.

“Yeah, so you know that much at least,” I said with a sigh.

“I’ve been gone, what?  Three days?  She said I had to leave, and it turns out that I was really, really needed down here.  Stacia was picked by the Malleks to go with me, and you know what?  She’s been a really good friend, nothing more, and she’s doing the job her bosses expect her to.  Yeah, she wants more, but I told her that wasn’t going to happen.”

All truth.  Yet I doubted he truly understood how obsessed the girl was.

“I heard something to the effect that you saved the Alphas’ children and stoppered up some kind of Hellhole or something?” I asked, changing topics.

“It was the first case of multiple possession that I’ve ever heard of.  And there was a dimensional portal to Hell that allowed demons in physical form to cross over to our world.”

“Bad?”

“Big Bad.  Like a breach of the Accord between Heaven and Hell.  It almost killed me.  ’Sos, Stacia, and the pack second protected me while I closed it down.”

“So it’s not a problem anymore?”

“This one isn’t.  But the rip was caused by a witch’s spell, and the grimoire that holds that spell is still around.”

“Can’t you destroy it?”

“It resists casual destruction.  I need a trustworthy witch or a handy ocean, neither of which is close by.”

“A book like that has value.  Considerable value.  You have it with you?” I asked.

He looked at me with suspicion.  Boy would lose his shirt in a poker game.  And based on the looks he was getting from the women at the party and the glares I was getting, losing his shirt wouldn’t cause many complaints.

“No.  It’s hidden away.”

“Good.  I would suggest that there is no such thing as a trustworthy witch when it comes to a book that powerful.”

“That’s my thought as well.”

“Well, Chris, I better get back to work, but I’ll be around, keeping an eye on things.  I’m making wicked tips!” I said, which was true.  The humans were drunk, the male weres horny, and I’m hot, so the math was simple.

He grabbed every scallop on my tray, clutching them in a napkin.

“Gonna share those with him?”

He turned to Awasos, in wolf form, who was plowing through the crowd like a Coast Guard icebreaker.

The beast sniffed me, recognition flaring in his too-intelligent eyes, before his attention focused on the food.

I used the distraction to slip back into the crowd and then the kitchen.

“Hey, new girl,” Frank called out, a worried-looking waitress standing next to him, holding a tray of wine.

“Yeah?”

“You meant what you said about that club in the Big Apple?  About the people who own it?”

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“’Cause some of the local ones are here tonight and someone needs to deliver their O positive,” he said, nodding at the wine glasses that I could now smell didn’t have red wine in them.  Good; I was getting a little thirsty myself.

“Locals?  Really?  Hell yeah. I got no problem waiting on them,” I said, trying to tone down my enthusiasm.  I couldn’t wait to see who was here, and even more for them to see me.

“Yeah?  Okay, New York, go get ’em.  They’re in the back of the living room,” Frank said.

I relieved the girl of her tray and her worries and headed back into the crowd.

Chapter 38

There were just two vampires in attendance, and I knew one of them.  John Yessen was still under a hundred, just old enough for solid responsibility but not old enough to run a territory.  He answered to the Master of Charlotte, a lady vampire named Nadine.  More important than me knowing him was that he knew me.  His eyes got all big and everything.  Cute.

“Miss Westing,” he said, giving me a little bow, ignoring the glass of blood I offered him.  His date, some baby bottle-blonde vamp, took hers even as she glanced between her date-slash-boss and me.

“Got the call to attend, John?” I asked, pushing the second glass in his direction.  He took it this time with a “Thank you.”

“Who is this?” the girl asked him, looking at me with a frown.  Girl next door pretty, very young, like around a decade old, and Turned at about twenty human years.

John choked a little on the sip of O positive.  “Ah, Deena, this is Katrina Westing, from New York, from the Citadel.”

“The Citadel?  Really?  Wow, I’ve always wanted to see that place,” she gushed. “They said I can’t just show up there; I need to be invited or escorted, and no one will take me.”

“Yeah, security is pretty tight.  Show up unannounced and it’ll be a real short visit,” I said.

“I did not hear that you were in town,” John said, making it sort of a question, his tone ultra-polite.

“I don’t really broadcast my whereabouts all that often,” I said. “If I do, it’s usually to deliver a message, and most of those end up kind of messy.”

“Messy?” Deena asked, but John grabbed her hand tightly and she froze.

“I might have heard something to that effect,” he said to me. “You are undercover then?”

“Well, I was, but now the cat’s kind of out of the bag but I’m staying in character anyway, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“As you say, Miss Westing,” he said with a nod and another little bow.  Deena must have caught on to something because she kept silent.

“Okay then. See you around,” I said and sauntered back toward the kitchen.  Frank was standing in the doorway, frowning slightly at me, his eyes flicking back to the vampires behind me.

“I’ll keep their glasses full, boss, no worries,” I said, smiling and giving him a wink as I scooted by.

He pulled back tight against the doorframe like perhaps he’d figured some things out.  I just went on my way into the kitchen, and he didn’t follow me. There was a whole special foods section of the catering supplies, and I found a small gray cooler with chilled bags of donated blood inside.  I poured a glass full and drank it, then helped myself to a second.  In all the commotion, no one noticed.  I even took a moment to study the dinner seating chart.

Frank finally came back into the kitchen, looking at his watch.  “Okay, listen up, everybody.  They’re getting seated now.  We’ll give them a few minutes, then start with the ostrich app.  Everyone know their tables?”

“I got that end one there, Frank… the ones with the liquid diet,” I said.

“You most certainly do, new girl,” he agreed, “and there’s a couple other special diet items for that end of the table too.”

He then started to check with the other servers to see if they remembered their stations.  By the time he was done, it was time to serve up the first course, but me, I got to deliver a haunch of beef to the massive wolf sitting by Chris Gordon.  Then I set the apps down in front of Chris, Stacia, and the weres sitting around them.  John and Deena were there, and I made sure their glasses were full of the deep red stuff.

One of the weres at the table was asking him about the demons.

I set Chris’s app down, which caught his instant attention. “What’s this?”

“Grilled ostrich with sautéed mushrooms,” I said, amused at how easily food snagged him.

I set a plate in front of the little were who had started the questions, and then another in front of his blonde travel buddy, she of the tiny black dress and overworked bra.

I went back for more plates, listening as they talked about the portal, strange demons, and completely avoided questions about some book. Hmm.

It would take him no time to clear his ostrich, the werewolves eating almost as fast, so I swung back to the kitchen and grabbed the next course, seafood chowder.

When I got back, they were discussing Awasos and his bear form. The appetizer plates went onto a busser’s tray, replaced with bowls of soup.

“So, John, does Asheville have a large contingent of Darkkin?” Chris asked.

“Not large,” John said, clearly uncomfortable around Tanya’s boy.

“And you’re the Master for the region?”

I almost snorted out loud at that, but John answered quickly and I managed to hold my composure.

“We’re a subgroup of Charlotte. I answer to the Master there.”

“Oh, I never made it down here during my short stint as a Rover,” Chris said.

“You were a Rover? But you’re not a vampire?” John’s date asked. She clearly had no idea who she was sitting with.

“Please don’t take offense, Chosen. She meant no harm,” John said quickly.

“How could I be offended? She’s right. I wouldn’t expect her to know,” Chris said.

“But the Coven expects her to know, so we have some things to go over later, Deena,” John said, his hand over the young vampire’s.

“Rover? Chosen? What’s all this?” the little were woman who had started all the questions asked.

Stacia looked constipated and Chris frowned in a self-conscious way.

My turn, I decided, as I refilled John and Deena’s glasses. “Christian Gordon is the Chosen of Tatiana Demidova and holds high rank in the Coven.”

“The Chosen of the Young Queen?” Deena exclaimed, eyes wide in awe.

Chris glared at me, but the whole conversation—no, the whole dinner—was interrupted by a commotion from out by the entryway to the house.

The two male werewolves from out of state came barging into the room, one holding a young teenage girl, his companion dragging a slightly older boy, one arm around the kid’s neck, the other holding some kind of weapon. My hand automatically touched Tora in her special sheath that hung down my back.

“Masten, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Granger said, exploding out of his chair.

“I found them! The ones that have been killing my Pack!” the intruder said. He was dressed in work clothes and looked completely out of place. His eyes were wild and I could smell the angry wolf under his skin, but all I could think of was redneck werewolf.

Chris had gone completely still, his eyes wide in recognition.

“Jetta? Jetta from my restaurant has been killing your Pack? Are you insane?” Granger demanded.

“No, the FBI figured out it was her. Ask him,” the werewolf named Masten said, pointing at Chris with one hand before wrapping it in the girl’s red hair, almost hauling her off her feet. Her eyes were full of tears, but her expression was fierce.

Everyone turned to my queen’s Chosen.

“Chris, what’s he talking about?” Granger asked.

“Agent Krupp and her team think that Jetta and her brother Mack are their prime suspects. They’re looking for the two of them right now.”

“And you brought them here, Simon? For what purpose?” Granger asked.

“Justice, Ned. Justice! This bitch and her brother killed off most of my Pack, hunting them down like dogs.”

“Excuse me but am I to understand that a pair of teenage children have successfully hunted and killed more than a half-dozen adult male werewolves?” the guest of honor, Kral Vrana, asked suddenly.

“You must be Vrana! Sorry to meet you like this, sir, but this is one smart little viper. Daddy always told me to watch the redheads,” the half-crazed werewolf said, yanking up on the fistful of hair he held. “She lured my guys in, ya see, one at a time, dressed like this. Then, while they were distracted by her slutty charms, she’d shoot them with that gun.”

He pointed first at her athleisure wear, which probably every female in the house wore from time to time, then pointed at his companion—or rather the odd little gun he held.

“Clever. She exploited your mens’ complete lack of self-control and put them down like rabid animals. Perhaps for the best,” Vrana said before turning to Granger.  “Is this what I can expect my children to learn?”

“No, Kral. You can expect your children to learn what doesn’t work from an example like Simon,” Granger said before turning back to redneck wolfy.  “What are you doing, Simon? Why did you bring them here? The FBI is tracking them, and you dragged them here?”

“I brought them here to show you and your highbrow friends how a real Alpha handles an attack on his Pack,” Masten said. He held up his free arm and it morphed into a vicious claw.

I’ve always been pretty fast and at my current century and a half, I was moving into a new level of speed, but Gordon moved so quickly, it took my breath away. Out of his chair and across the room in a literal eyeblink, holding Masten’s arm in a steel grip, his easygoing manner gone, a coiled killer in its place.

The werewolf jumped at the suddenness of his appearance, then started to stutter and move his arm. It didn’t move at first and he let go of the girl with his other hand. As soon as he did, Chris let go and the werewolf jumped backward.

Chris slipped into the new space, putting himself between the werewolf and the girl.  Masten shook off his shock and surged forward. There was a sharp snap and Masten flew backward into a wall like he’d been kicked by a horse.  Weres are, tough, though and he stood right back up and started yanking off his shirt.

“Gordon, what are you doing?” Granger asked.

“Objecting—interrupting—preventing a murder? Take your pick. All I know is he isn’t killing this girl and her brother.”

“They murdered my pack!” the redneck said, shirtless and starting on his jeans.

“You butchered our parents!” the girl screamed. “Tied them to a tree and ripped them apart like dogs!”

“Masten, that true?” Granger asked.

“They were prey, Granger. Ours for the taking.”

“We don’t hunt regular humans, Masten. It’s our law.”

“Laws! We don’t live by laws, Granger! We’re top of the food chain! Nothing hunts us!” he screamed, pants dropping to the ground, followed by his writhing body.

“Actually, Chris does,” I muttered under my breath, only John, his date, and the little female were hearing me.

Chris just watched Masten begin to change, completely unconcerned. If it’d been me, I’d have cut him to pieces while he writhed around on the ground, but I’d just have to sit back and watch what the person who had killed literally hundreds of werewolves with his bare hands did next.

“Is what you say true? His pack killed your parents?” Granger asked the girl. It was her brother who answered, his voice relatively calm.

“My folks had a small getaway cabin in the mountains just behind our ranch. They would go there to catch a weekend alone from time to time, as running a horse ranch is a full-time deal. They never came home, so we went looking for them. Found the cabin broken into and torn apart. They were about a hundred yards away, tied together to a tree, huge canine tracks all around them. The police were baffled, but my uncle knew what was responsible. He knew about your people—knew that there was a local pack. My uncle hunted those hills his whole life, served in the army, and he’s the one who taught us to track and kill the predators that threatened our horses. He helped us kill the first two werewolves, built that gun, and loaded the ammo for us. He died of a heart attack after the second, but by then, we knew how to do it. We’re not afraid to die, Mr. Granger. This… person killed our family, and family is everything,” he said.

Granger turned back to the mostly formed wolf.  “Stand down, Masten! There will be no killing here!” he said.

The wolf was too far gone, too enraged, and he no sooner stood than he was leaping at Chris.

I’ve seen many fights, vampire on vampire, were on vampire, old vampires and new ones, but I’ve never seen anyone do what Chris Gordon did. Fast, rock sure, smooth as silk, he smacked the leaping wolf with the back of his fist, grabbing its foot, and swung around with effortless ease. He smacked the other werewolf right off his feet with his improvised wolf weapon, then swung him up and down to slam him into the stone floor. One continuous set of movements and the fight was over.

He and I had tangled once, or at least I thought we had, but now I realized he had completely avoided engaging me physically. Instead, I got the blast of whatever crap he projected and well, the rest is luckily history.

Speaking of luck, the kids seemed to be having some themselves because Granger’s guys hauled the two wolves away and most of the ruckus was over.

Chapter 39

I started to follow the pack security guys as they dragged Masten and his minion out the back way, through the kitchen, but the sound of cars pulling up caused them to move faster and simultaneously drew my own attention toward the front door. I moved closer just in time to witness another pair of security guys open the door and immediately tense up. The door was pushed the rest of the way open by the lead FBI agent, Krupp, followed by another agent I hadn’t seen before.

“Tell your boss that Special Agents Krupp and Mazar are here,” Krupp said, holding her credentials up for inspection.

The security were turned his head and nodded at his companion, who slipped back into the dining room. Nobody said a thing as they all waited, but it was a short wait, as the other guy came right back.

“This way, agents,” the second were said, turning to lead them to Granger. The two agents marched through, followed closely by the rest of the team as well as some kitted-up SWAT guys with full auto weapons. Krupp looked straight ahead but the other one, the Middle Eastern-looking Mazar, turned her head to observe pretty much everything, including me in my waitress uniform. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment, but her face registered nothing. Probably because I matched and held her gaze without fear. Nothing captures law enforcement attention like a direct, eye-to-eye stare. I can’t help it; I take it as a challenge every time.

I reversed my steps, coming back to the dining area from the kitchen in time to see two of Krupp’s agents handcuffing the brother and sister while Krupp, herself, held a conversation with the grownups.

“You’ve found my suspects, Mr. Granger,” Krupp said.

“Actually, Simon Masten found them and brought them here mere moments ago, Agent Krupp,” Granger replied, completely at ease.

“Where is Mr. Masten? I’d like a word with him,” Krupp asked, glancing all around.

“He left rather abruptly. Something about his head hurting, I think,” Granger said in an amused tone.

Agent Mazar, whose body language seemed to indicate that she wasn’t completely subordinate to Krupp, moved to the scene of the recent fight, looking at the flagstone where Masten had been slammed.

“What happened here?” she asked, her tone indicating a significant find. She had a slight foreign accent.

Almost immediately, Awasos rushed to his well-chewed beef bone, which lay next to Stacia, and grabbed it protectively, crunching loudly.

“’Sos got a little rambunctious with his dinner,” the beautiful blonde said, patting the massive head affectionately.

Krupp, looking completely skeptical, turned back to Granger. “What do you think we’d find if we searched the house, under probable cause, having found our suspects here?”

“You’d a find a harassment complaint filed with the mayor’s, governor’s and regional FBI offices,” another pack member said. He looked eager, like he would welcome the opportunity, and I pegged immediately him for a lawyer.

“You would,” Ned answered, raising his voice and turning toward the kitchen, “find our dinners, I would hope, about to be served. Otherwise, not much of anything.”

“What do you think, Mr. Gordon?” Krupp asked.

“I’m hoping he’s right because between you and me, the ostrich appetizer was kinda small. I’m hoping that the main course is beefier, so to speak,” Chris said, head slightly tilted as he studied the agents without fear.

“Is it usual to have a wolf at a dinner party?” Agent Mazar asked, her eyes locked on the massive beast in fascination.

“It seems like all men are wolves, especially at dinner parties,” Stacia said with an overdone sigh. “Open bar doesn’t help.”

“Miss Reynolds’ observation aside, my investment group is very devoted to the environment and conservation of our wild spaces, Agent Mazar,” Granger said. “Awasos is a fine symbol for that side of our organization. Excluding him seemed wrong.”

“I see,” Krupp said, unimpressed. She looked at Mazar and I spotted a tiny head shake in response. “Well, Mr. Granger, my apologies for the interruption. I thank you for taking such good care of our suspects. Hopefully there won’t be any need for complaints,” Krupp finished, with a challenging look at the lawyer guy.

“It would seem not, Agent Krupp. Oh, seeing as how the children don’t appear to have legal representation and at least one of them is employed by Mr. Granger, I’ll be offering my services to them. I’ll just follow you down to your field office,” lawyer guy said, standing and dropping his napkin on his plate. Weres don’t generally walk away from food willingly, but he seemed eager, like whatever happened with the FBI would be much more interesting.

“Super,” Krupp said with a pained smile. “Folks, enjoy your evening,” she finished, leading her agents and paramilitary team out.

The lawyer spoke in Granger’s ear for a moment, then followed the feds.

Another waiter tapped my shoulder and nodded toward the kitchen. Ah. Main course was up.

I served my end of the table their filet mignon and for a moment or two, everyone was quiet, mouths filled with food—or, in the case of John and his date, sips of blood.

Tray empty, I headed for the drink station, grabbing a pitcher of water and the stainless-steel decanter of O positive.

“Who is Tatiana Demidova?” I heard as I approached the table. It was a young male werewolf, Granger’s nephew, I think.

“She’s the only born vampire!” Deena answered, almost bouncing in her chair. Ah, youth.

“Born? What do you mean born?” the kid asked her, gulping down a chunk of cow.

“Born like from a mother. What else would I mean?” Deena answered like it was clearly obvious.

Time to intervene, education of the young being so important and all. “She is the natural-born daughter to Galina Demidova, granddaughter of Elder Senka,” I said as I poured cold water into half empty glasses.

“Vampires can’t be born. Can they?” the kid were asked.

“They can’t, but she was,” Deena said, eyes wide, clearly excited by the conversation.

“So what does that mean?” the small female werewolf asked.  Coreena was her name, maybe.

Another waiter approached me with a single plate of food, whispering in one ear, while I listened to the blonde vampire give her answer.

“It means that she is unlike any other Darkkin, ever. She is only about twenty-five or so years old, but her speed and strength already rival the oldest vampires,” Deena said. “And he’s her Chosen,” she said, finger coming up to point at Chris.

“Gabe had to leave, so Frank wanted to know if the guy that beat up the wolf wanted a second filet?” the waiter said in my ear. I nodded, taking the plate and moving up between Chris and Stacia.

“What’s a Chosen?” the were kid asked.

I slid the chunk of meat onto Chris’s well-cleaned plate. “It was Gabe’s, and the chef didn’t want to see it get cold,” I said to him. Then I turned to the werewolf kid. “Vampires Choose lifemates, kinda like wolves,” I explained, nodding in ’Sos’s direction. “Once they’ve Chosen, they never change their minds.”  Without a glance in her direction, I cleared the blonde werewolf’s bread plate, mostly because she hadn’t grabbed the roll yet. Hah.

“So is she at least hot?” Kid Wolf asked, side-eyeing Stacia with a frown. Can’t blame him—the girl is pretty damned hot.

“She is spectacularly beautiful. Right, Chris?” I responded.

“Yes, in all ways. Listen, Malcolm, what will your uncle likely do about Jetta and her brother?” he asked the wolf kid.

Ah, strategic topic change. Nice.

“He’s pretty big on following Pack Law,” Malcom answered. “Since Masten basically confessed to killing their parents, I think he will most likely feel bad for them. That’s why he let Gabe go with them. I think Gabe feels the same way, and Uncle Ned listens to him.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? The FBI has them,” Coreena said, looking at Chris.

“I don’t think there’s much evidence, if any, against them,” he responded. “The biggest piece, the gun, disappeared with Jep. If the Pack is feeling sympathetic to them, then I would guess the gun will soon be on the bottom of a lake or garbage dump.”

“They might confess,” Deena said.

“I doubt it,” John Yessen chimed in. “If I understand it right, those kids traveled here from Kentucky and got jobs, a place to live, and then hunted down their enemies. Not your average teenagers. Plus, Gabe won’t let them say anything. What other evidence is there?”

“Almost none. No witnesses, no fingerprints, nothing really forensic. Even if they found a hair from Jetta on one of the bodies, it’s explainable. She’s been serving them food for weeks,” Stacia added.

Chris got out of his chair and started to clean up the spectacular mess Awasos had made of his cow bone. I zipped in back and grabbed a hand broom and dustpan that was on hand for dropped dishes and stuff.

“What are you doing?” Deena asked him.

“Cleaning up for messy here,” he replied, nodding at the giant wolf who paused to nuzzle him. “Yeah, thanks for the help.”

“Shouldn’t you leave that for the staff?” Deena asked.

“My mother would have killed me dead if I made a big mess in my host’s house and didn’t clean it up,” he said.

I bent down and started sweeping.

“The Chosen of the Young Queen sweeping the floor?” Deena said, aghast. Actually, I was the one sweeping. Girl might be lucky to make it to twenty-five.

“Better than cleaning bathrooms, mucking a cow barn, or emptying a grease trap in a restaurant, all of which I’ve done,” Chris answered.

“Some of the higher-ranked Darkkin don’t mind getting their hands dirty,” I added, heading back to the kitchen. Behind me, the conversation continued.

“Who the hell is she anyway?” Deena asked.  Girl, I can still hear you.

“She’s one of Tanya’s oldest friends. She’s mostly outside of the political structure, does stuff directly for Tanya,” Chris said.

“She was turned a bit young, don’t you think?” Deena asked. Bitch, you only look a few years older than I do.

“Yes, age twelve. We’ve managed to age her a bit,” Chris answered as I entered the kitchen.

Frank saw me come in, his eyes wary, but he stepped up to me. “Granger is entertaining the special guests in the library with brandy. I think you should help wait on them.”

“I agree,” I said with a smile.

I was halfway to the library with two kinds of Scotch, one kind of cognac, and a single bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s family reserve bourbon, all on a tray, when there was sudden yelling and loud bangs outside the front door.

I dropped the tray and bolted for the front door. Two more loud bangs, gunshots, just as I arrived outside. Stacia was yanking her little black dress over her head and then she was Shifting into her wolf form. Fast—fastest shift I’ve ever seen or heard of. Blonde bombshell one second, then white wolf the next. And she was off and running on four wolfen feet, the massive wolf form of Awasos right beside her, racing for the forest several hundred yards away.

I stooped to grab her dress and bolted after them.

Chris stood just inside the edge of the forest, head bloody, facing his own wolf and a very naked Stacia, his expression anxious, maybe even fearful. He held both hands outward as he stepped slowly backward. Behind him, a camouflaged figure was pinned to a tree, a combat rifle driven through the man’s chest.

“What’s the matter? Why are you backing away from us?” Stacia asked him as I arrived. I handed her the dress, my eyes on Tanya’s Chosen.

He looked startled at my arrival and his expression was puzzled, like he had no idea who I was.

“What’s the matter with him? Why is he looking at us like that?” I asked.

“Well, Katrina, he just took a high-powered rifle round to the head, so the fact that he’s standing at all is probably a good thing,” Stacia said as she wiggled and jiggled into the dress. Her head was covered when I glared at her, so it was a completely wasted effort.

Chris suddenly focused on Awasos, who had crept closer, big furry head tilted quizzically.

He looked at his furry companion like he’d never seen the beast before, never mind that he’d hand-raised it. Awasos moved forward, slowly, shoving his head under Chris’s hand. With eyes wide in wonderment, Chris began to pet the massive wolf.

“Chris? How are you doing?” Stacia asked cautiously.

“What do you mean he got shot? I was in the kitchen when the yelling started,” I said aside to Stacia.

“That guy shot him in the head. He dropped for a second, then he was gone so fast, I couldn’t follow the motion. I saw blood spray and his head is bloody, but I don’t see a wound, so it must have healed already,” Stacia said, her finger pointing behind him. “Two more shots, but they missed. He was too fast.”

Chris looked over his shoulder, his body snapping around in alarm when he spied the man behind him. His face went fearful and he opened his mouth, but only grunts and mumbles came out. With a shake of his head, he tried again.

“Who are you people? What are you?” he asked, slurring his words like it was his first time speaking.

“You don’t know us, Chris? Any of us?” Stacia asked him, her tone quiet and careful.

He shook his head, eyes wide.

“What about him?” she asked, pointing at Awasos.

He shrugged, suddenly frustrated, then shook his head again. “You are a… wolf? A werewolf?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe he was saying those words.

I heard others approaching behind us, more of the pack, and I turned and held up both hands to stop them.  Chris was clearly overwhelmed and suffering from brain trauma. More was not better in this case.

“My name is Stacia. Do you remember me?”

He shook his head.

“How about Katrina? Do you remember her?”

He studied me, head tilting as he considered. Then his eyes widened a bit and he looked from me to the guy pinned to the tree, then back again, like he saw something—something common between us.

I moved up beside him, then moved again to stand in front of the dead man.

“He’s Darkkin! Shit!” I said, realizing that a vampire had just shot Tanya’s Chosen in the head.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t unexpected, is it?” Stacia said. I turned at her distracted tone and found her holding Chris’s head in both hands, turning it to look at the wound or for a wound, because his skin was bloody but unbroken.

“What the hell happened?” Granger demanded, Jep towering over him by his side.

“Chris took a sniper round to the head. Then I think he killed the sniper pretty much on instinct, but he seems to have memory issues,” Stacia said.

The small female werewolf, Coreena, arrived at a dead sprint, an emergency medical bag slung over one shoulder. She beelined for Chris.

“Head wound?” she asked, examining him.

“Yeah, you could say. He took a bullet in the side of his head, but it’s already healed,” Stacia said.

“A lot of blood, but I think you’re right. Damn, that’s really fast healing,” Coreena said.

“You keep saying I got shot, but how come I’m still alive?” Chris asked, his words still a little slurred but a bit clearer.

Kral Vrana and his family came through the crowd, walking right into the scene.

“Chris, what’s the last thing you remember?” Coreena asked.

“I do... I don’t really know,” he said, confusion and frustration flooding his features.

“What’s your name?” she continued in a reasonable tone.

“Chris... Christian Anthony Gordon,” he answered, looking certain of something for the first time.

“Do you know where you are?” Coreena asked.

He shook his head, confused again.

“Where do you live?” she persisted.

He paused, eyes looking up at the sky.  “Potsdam. Potsdam, New York.”

“Oh no,” Stacia said.

“Chris, you live in New York City. Remember?” I asked him, my thoughts racing.

He shook his head. “I... I don’t think so. I’m going to the NY Police Academy—then I’ll live in the city. I remember commencement...my grandfather was there. But you weren’t, either of you.”

“For the love of God, can you two cut him a break?” Coreen said to us.  “He just took major trauma to the head—as if a bullet was only trauma. He’s literally had part of his brain scrambled, and he’s not only coherent, but he was able to kill his own sniper.  Of course he has memory issues—it’s been all of five minutes,” she hissed, glaring at each of us.  “By all rights, you should be notifying his next of kin that he’s dead, but look at him! Healed, at least on the outside, and functional. Unbelievable.”

“I’ve seen our kind survive gunshots to the head as well as her kind,” Vrana noted, with a nod my way, “but they all had major memory loss and brain damage. It took years to recover both physically and mentally. I have to agree with your medic here—he’s doing uncannily well.”

“Next of kin? Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! I’ve got to call Tanya,” I said as I realized she likely already knew something was up. Chosen bonds did not care much about physical distance. But first, I needed answers to give her.

“Where’s John?” I asked. I saw him as soon as I spoke, standing with some of the pack, his eyes wide. I dragged him to the sniper pinned to the tree. “Do you know him?”

“I don’t know him. He’s not a local. Must have come from out of state,” he said.

“I need details. Facts. Listen, John, very carefully. I’m about to call Tatiana Demidova and tell her that a Darkkin sniper just shot her Chosen... in your region. How do you think she will react to that? Hmm?” I asked him, trying to get through to his sense of personal survival. “What do you think that means for the Coven?”

John’s eyes got huge.

“Are you cold?” Coreena asked Chris, snapping my attention back to him.

“Just trying to get my brain to work,” he said, his voice very quiet.

“Don’t force it. Just relax. You’ve been wounded, and it’ll take time to fully heal,” Coreena said soothingly.

“Did you recognize that name, Chris? Tatiana? Does it ring any bells?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Who is she, and what is a Chosen?” he asked.

“Let’s not worry about it right now. Okay?” I suggested. “I still need details,” I said to the rest of the group.

Chris spoke before anyone else. “The rifle is a Remington R-25, probably in .308.”

“You remember guns?” I asked.

He nodded.

Jep unholstered a sidearm and held it up. “What’s this one?”

“Glock 21,” Chris answered without any hesitation.

“So he remembers who he is, his hometown, detail about weapons, but nothing from his recent past?” Stacia mused, her tone thoughtful. Too thoughtful. Bitch better not try to use this.

“Let’s get him in the house and get this area cleaned up,” Granger suggested, then started in on the orders. “Jep, collect as much evidence and information as you can and get rid of the body. Malcolm, get a push broom and shovel and clean up the broken glass from the driveway where the flash bang went off.”

I was still watching Stacia and the evil smirk that flashed across her face.

“Don’t even think of it, bitch!” I hissed at her. “I know what you’re thinking! Don’t even try to worm your way in with lies and omissions.”

“Fuck off, leech,” she shot back.  “Do not presume to have the slightest inkling of what I think or how I live.”

“Oh, I’ve known a thousand opportunists just like you over the last hundred years! I know exactly how your kind thinks,” I answered.

“Then you should stop living in the gutter and learn about other people instead of, you know, crack whores and junkies.”

Maybe I should just end her here and now. My phone, which I had been holding in my hand, suddenly buzzed loudly. I knew who it was before I even looked at the display which read Herself.

“Hey, T. I was just gonna call you,” I said as I answered, slipping away from the others, moving into the woods.

“What has happened?” she demanded, a tone in her voice I had never heard before—fear.

“He’s alive. Upright and everything, so calm down,” I said. I heard her take a breath and rushed onward. “He got shot... in the head. The wound healed almost instantly and I think his other persona took over because he ran down the sniper and killed him with his own rifle.”

“He’s okay?” she asked.

“His wound is healed, but Tanya, he took a rifle round to the head. There’s been some... damage.”

“What? What kind of damage?”

“He’s missing memory. Knows his name, where he grew up, stuff like that, but doesn’t remember recent history.”

“How recent?” she asked, her tone now steel.

“Like about the last two years or so,” I said, ripping the Band-Aid off the wound.

“His entire time in the city? With me?”

“Yeah. At least for now. Remember, this happened like five minutes ago. He took a thirty-caliber bullet to the head, healed the wound, and killed his own attacker. He’s lucky to be alive, let alone almost fully functional. We have to give him time.”

“Who fired the shot?”

This was the part that would rock the world, at least the Darkkin world. “An unknown vampire. John Yessen doesn’t recognize him, so he’s like from out of the area. I haven’t examined him yet or dug though his effects—it all just happened minutes ago.”

The others had taken Chris back to the house, so I started across the yard, knowing I needed to have him in sight. First at a walk, then at a full jog.

“You will find out every detail, Katrina, every bit of information that body has to offer and you will tell me, and I will find who is responsible and end them, got it? And you will bring my Chosen home to me.”  Her tone was as hard and cold as a block of solid tungsten and a tiny part of me, deep inside, clenched tightly.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“I need to speak to him, Katrina. I need to hear his voice,” she said, her tone suddenly changed, worried and anxious.

I was still fifty feet away from the group around Chris, but I heard a man speak. “Chris, I think you are doing well for having been shot in the head—really well. I can’t even really tell exactly where the bullet hit. Understandably, you have memory loss and other ... damage. Much of that will heal, but whether you get your memories back or not is uncertain.”

The guy spoke with assurance; he was probably the pack doctor.

“So what do we do?” Stacia asked.

“What I do is take him home! What you do is whatever dogs do,” I said as I arrived, walking right up to Chris and handing him the phone. “Someone wants to say hi.”

He frowned but took the phone, holding it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Zayka, are you all right?”

He jerked like the phone had shocked him, visibly impacted by her voice.

“I know you!” he said, excited. “I can’t remember your name, but I know you!”

“Yes, you know me. My name is Tanya, Christian. Does that help?”

“I’m sorry. I should be able to do better, but I just can’t get my mind to work!” he said, thoroughly frustrated. He slammed the the arm of the chair he was sitting in with a clenched fist, blasting it into splinters. “Oh shit!”

“What happened?” she asked. I moved forward to pick up the mess but bumped into the wolf girl. We snarled at each other but the medic, Coreena, shoved between us with disgust, bending down to pick up the pieces.

“I broke the chair. I didn’t even hit it that hard?”

“You are very, very strong, zayka. You must be careful, dear one. Just keep calm and move slowly. You must come home now,” she said, her voice like a soothing salve. “Come home to me, Christian.”

“Home? Where?”

“New York, zayka,” she said. “May I speak to the doctor, Chris? The one I heard before?”

The pack doctor reached out a hand and Chris put the phone right in it.

“Hello, this is Dr. Peterson,” he said, puzzled.

“Dr. Peterson, I am Tatiana Demidova. Chris is my Chosen. Can you tell me anything about his condition?”

The guy knew that name because he looked like he’d just swallowed glass.

“As near as we can tell, a high-powered rifle round grazed his neocortex. The wound has healed completely, so it’s difficult to be sure. He is responding normally but has lost approximately two years’ or so worth of memories. His motor functions and reflexes appear good, but I can’t tell what would be normal for him, as he is neither Were nor Darkkin. I don’t know if he’ll get his memories back, but then again, I haven’t been able to complete a full exam without being interrupted,” Dr. Peterson said.

“My apologies, Doctor. He is more important to me than life itself. Please do whatever it takes; the Coven’s resources are at your beck and call. Also, if I may provide some background, as I have been researching my Chosen’s lineage. Christian’s maternal grandfather was exposed to both V-squared and LV viruses in a Nazi war camp. Neither virus was able to gain a foothold, but they appear to have changed his DNA and consequently Chris’s. When Chris was exposed to my blood, the V-squared took hold in new and different ways. Our physician, Raj Singh, is available for consultation as well.”

“Very well, Ms. Demidova. Here is your… associate,” he said, handing the phone to me.

“Bring him home, Katrina,” she said, “and bring me answers.”

I turned and headed back outside. “Yes ma’am.”

Time to do what I do.

Chapter 40

I caught up to Granger’s second-in-command, Jep, as he was overseeing removal of the sniper’s body.

“Hold up there, hot shot. Let me look that carcass over before you burn it, acidify it, or whatever method you all use down here to get rid of bodies,” I said.

He paused to look at me—or I should say, look down at me.  The man wolf was tall, tall, tall, even in human form.  It was enough to make me flash back to most of my child-sized life.

Dark eyes assessed me, and I could see about a million questions swirling behind those black pupils.  He stared for a moment then nodded, waving a hand at the two pack members who were carrying the sniper like a bag of dead meat.

They all gave me that guy look, the one where the tough guys look at the college coed and smirk at her weakness, as they dropped the body.

Ignoring them, I went to work.  Stripped the body, searching the clothes and his skin.  No wallet, no phone, no tattoos.  Did find car keys.

“We locate his vehicle yet?” I asked Jep, dangling the keys with one hand while letting go of the dead guy with the other.  The wolves all looked at me slightly differently now.  Something about little miss coed lifting the vamp one-handed changed their opinions.  Pocketing the keys, I pulled up one of Chet’s programs on my tablet and used the camera to scan the guy’s right  fingerprints.  Cellular connection was good, so I sent the scans off to Chet, along with a picture of his face.

Jep turned to another wolf, who was staring at me.  “Tyler?” he asked.

The guy turned back to his boss for a second before looking my way again. “Ah, Morgan and Trevor found a Toyota Corolla parked on Cooper Road.”

“Which is where?” I asked Tyler.

“A bit under a mile that way.” He pointed.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile.  I was practicing my smiles lately and I used the polite, grateful one.  He blinked.

“I’m done with that,” I said to Jep. “Gonna run over and check out the car.”

“You work for Chris’s girlfriend?” Jep asked.

“I thought the blonde…” another guy started to protest but shut up when Jep held up a massive hand.

“Yes,” I said. “Tatiana Demidova.”

“She’s some kind of big shot?” Jep asked.

“That Vrana guy?” I said, getting a nod from Jep. “His whole pack basically works for Tanya’s grandma, Elder Senka.”

“Grandma Elder.  Right.  Tyler, call Morgan and have him meet ah, Katrina?”  Jep looked at me with raised brows. I nodded. “Katrina here at the car.  When she’s done, he can drive it to the warehouse and put it under cover till we figure out what to do with it.”

I nodded my thanks and then moved.  Once I was out of their immediate area, I slowed to a merely fast run, maybe like an Olympic sprinter as opposed to full Darkkin speed.  Moving will burn up energy reserves like crazy and I had already been using it a lot tonight.  I made a mental note to hit that O positive back in the kitchen before the night was done.

I came out on the road in question and spotted the Toyota about fifty feet away.  Two male figures detached from the shadows as I walked up.  I nodded at them as I hit the unlock button on the key fob, the car chirping and flashing its lights in response.  Inside, I found rental paperwork from Enterprise, made out to a James White.  The trunk had a high-end hard shell gun case with match grade .308 ammunition, a small day pack with an envelope containing twenty-two hundred in hundred-dollar bills, a Florida driver’s license in the James White name, and a Chase Visa credit card.  That was it. I took pictures of the license and card, shooting them off into the ether for Chet to run down.

“Thanks,” I said to the two werewolves, who had maintained complete silence throughout my work.  They glanced at each other; one ginger-haired, the other dark brown.  The ginger raised a brow. “Gonna be able to track this guy down?” he asked.

My tablet chimed right on cue.  I glanced at it.  “Just did,” I said with a frown.

“Trouble?” ginger wolf asked.

“Yeah, heads are going to be rolling,” I said. “Gotta run.”  I stepped back into the woods.

My phone rang before I made it back to the house.  “Hey,” I said.

“Vampire out of Georgia,” Tanya said, her tone odd.

“Looks like.  Former Marine sniper, not real old in vampire years,” I said. My iPad chimed with a message from Lydia.  I opened it while holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder.

–She tore seven vampires apart– was the message.

“Nika helped me find the faction who hired him,” Tanya said.  I realized she didn’t have any emotion in her words.

“And?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I took care of them.  Now you just take care of him,” she said.

“He should be resting by now, maybe even asleep.  I’m headed back to check on him and then we’ll get organized to get on the road.”

“Good.  Bring him home to me Katrina,” she said, hanging up.  The iPad chimed again, with pictures.  Bloody, bloody pictures.

I found Stacia at the house.  “Where is he?”

“Rose put him in a guest room and he’s fast asleep.”

“We need to get him on the road.”

“Okay, but we also need to grab that witch book.  We hid it in a saltwater aquarium in a restaurant.”

“Because saltwater covers magic?” I asked.

“You’re up on your witch lore,” she said.

“Lived with one for quite a while.  Let’s go get the book and all your stuff so we can get going when he wakes up.”

“Okay, but we’ll need to break into the restaurant.”

“I’ve been breaking into buildings longer than this house has been standing.  They’ll never know we were there.”

Chapter 41

“I think it sounds like a peyote-fueled comic book plot dreamed up by some author wannabe who couldn’t write bad B-grade movies for the Syfy channel,” Chris said, staring at Stacia in disbelief.  Stacia had brought breakfast up to wake the sleeping Chosen, but time was a-ticking.  Plus she was an opportunist. I decided I better check on them.  But instead of a compromising situation, I found her describing his recent history.

“Maybe a little,” Stacia agreed.

“But it’s all true,” I said from the doorway.  My words were for him, but my eyes were locked on the bombshell, trying to figure her angle.

“There’s no way that’s all true,” he protested, pulling my attention back to him.  He was absently holding a folding knife in his hand, and I remembered throwing it into his duffle bag when we emptied the motel rooms.

That very duffle was on the floor next to Awasos.  I picked up the duffle and flipped it around to show him the military unit patch sewn onto one end.

The Reaper with the purple scythe.  “This is the group emblem from your Loki-hunting days.  Only a couple dozen of these patches were ever made,” I said.  He likely didn’t remember it at all, but he had to recognize at least some of the stuff in the duffle, so maybe the emblem would trigger something.

“We need to get going while it’s still dark,” I said. “So get dressed. We’re heading out.”

“Where?” he asked.

“We came to an understanding last night,” I said, flicking a finger at Stacia. “We retrieved all your stuff and today we’re taking that badass Volvo you drove down here back to the city.  It’s either that or Tanya will fly down here and hunt your ass down.  So go get dressed.”

He frowned at me, clearly not on board with me in the lead, but after a moment, he nodded.  Slipping out of the bed, he grabbed some clothes from the duffel.  Stacia grabbed one side of the bed linens and since I was already on the other side, I grabbed my side, and we made the bed without much effort.  Chris just stood in front of us and stripped off his sweatshirt and sweatpants, ignoring us as he pulled cargo pants over his black boxer briefs.

Stacia watched the show without shame, but then again, so did I.  The guy was seriously put together.

He folded the sweats and set them on the bed as I put pillows in place. Stacia bent over to grab another decorative pillow and Chris about burst an eyeball at the view of her butt.  I wanted to blame him because of Tanya, but hell, she was seriously put together herself.

He got a weird look on his face, all frustrated and maybe pissed-off, then picked up his duffel with one hand, the breakfast tray with the other, and headed out the door.

“What the hell was that?” Stacia asked, frowning at his retreating back.

“It looked like he stared at your ass and then maybe cursed God.  Odd.  I would think it would be another woman that might do that, not a guy?”

“That has happened,” Stacia said with a little frown.

“Are you kidding?  If I was put together like you, I’d crow about it, night and day!”

“Maybe when I was thirteen,” she said. “But then I realized I had simply won a genetic lottery but lost the luck battle in a whole lot of other ways.  And once everyone starts treating you as just an object, it’s hard to get them to stop.  Besides, what are you talking about?  You’re pretty as hell.  You could maybe dress a little different, but that’s not a big deal.”

“Really?  You think?”

“Hell yeah!  Just gotta move your wardrobe from high school to adult.”

“I’m not sure how to do that,” I admitted.  A hundred-plus years of adolescent wardrobes kind of left a mental mark.

“Oh, it’s not hard.  I’ll show you,” she offered with a shrug.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The Grangers said their goodbyes to Chris and Stacia while I put the last few items in the Volvo, including the bucket of salt water we had taken from the restaurant.

“What’s that?” Chris asked.

“Stacia and I retrieved an important book that you found. It was in a temporary hiding spot, and we grabbed it last night while you were sleeping and re-growing your brain and what have you,” I said.

“You keep the book in water?  And re-growing a brain isn’t easy you know, but at least it shows I had one to begin with,” he replied.

“Salt water.  It hides this book’s magical scent or whatever.  And about your brain?  Let’s hope the new one is actually functional, okay?”

“Let’s go, you two.  The sun will be up and you’ll be in a coma soon, Katrina, so you might not want to antagonize him.  There are at least three permanent markers in the glove compartment.  Hate to have you wake up with a mustache,” Stacia said as she slid into the driver’s seat.

“I better not wake up with any additions or deletions, you hear me, half-wit?” I warned him.

“We’ll see,” he said frowning at the soccer mom mobile.

“It’s not yours,” Stacia said with a laugh. “It belongs to the pack.”

His look of relief was palpable.

The giant wolf took up the back of the car and I used a sleeping bag to cover myself from the fast-approaching dawn. I checked emails, finding a whole slew of information about Tanya’s latest activities in Citadel. The details made me sad I had missed all the action. Before I knew it, I went out cold.

I came instantly awake, knowing it was dusk, but when I lifted my head, I could see we weren’t home yet; rather somewhere in New Jersey.

“You guys made horrible time,” I commented.

“We hit some bridge destruction in Virginia and rush hour in Harrisburg,” Chris said.

“You mean construction, half-brain,” I answered.

“He means de-struction, Katrina, as in a full circle of witches, led by Samuel Cooper, attempting to get the Book of Darkest Sorrow,” Stacia said.

The car looked mostly normal except for fast food wrappers tossed in the back with me.

“How’d that go?”

He handed me my own iPad.  There was a news clip showing a lot of emergency vehicles on a bridge, complete with smashed cars and massive scorch marks on the concrete.

The news lady interviewed a couple of accident victims and witnesses, all of them leaving me shaking my head.  The modern world with all of its advances in technology almost made it too easy to cover up the supernatural world.  These people thought that rockets and guns were being used when it was magic fireballs and whatever the hell Chris did.

“—certain that they must have been terrorists.  But the government guy stopped them—cold.  They were launching these little missiles, but he helped me get my kids out, then started shooting back at them.  He had a Glock, I think, and wore a uniform.”

“I didn’t have a Glock.  I have a Glock t-shirt,” Chris said, shaking his head.

Another witness came on.

“Oh, she was beautiful, like Cameron Diaz but prettier.  Here I am, rocking on the edge of the bridge, and she just shows up and grabs the back of my car, keeping it steady till her partner could get there.  Somehow, they managed to drag it back. Maybe that big dog they had helped or something.  I don’t know. It’s very hard to remember… I was so scared.  But my kids and I are alive because of them.”

“Really?  They think we’re heroes?  Wow, this country is getting dumb,” Chris said.

“I know I’m gonna regret this, but why, Chris?  What’s wrong with them thinking you two were heroes?” I asked.

“Well, Stacia maybe, but me?  I’m like some amnesia-ridden serial killer.  No idea what I’m doing or where I’m going.  Just tearing apart cars and shooting EFPs at people.”

“What’s an EFP?” I asked.

“Explosively formed projectile.  Basically a small disc of metal that is collapsed into a form of plasma moving at ultrasonic speeds.”

“How did you remember that?” Stacia asked..

“I didn’t.  He did.  The other me,” Chris said. “The psycho me that you called Grim.  He seems to remember stuff.  I got some flashes of memories.”

“So, you’re saying that when Grim is out, you remember stuff?” I asked.

“I guess.  At least I did this time, but you’re sidetracking me.  I can’t believe those people thought I was fighting missile-shooting terrorists.”

“People see what they expect to see, Chris,” I said. “If I’ve learned anything in a hundred-plus years, it’s that humans excel at self-delusion.”

“She’s right, Chris,” Stacia said. “Those people were going about their daily lives when fireballs started flying and things were exploding.  What else are they going to think, if not terrorists?  Your tricks with the quarters would easily seem to be gunshots.  Honestly, it’s better this way.  People watching TV don’t need to see witches and weres, now do they?”

“Shit!  TV!  Shit!” I said, grabbing for my phone. It was already ringing.  “Hi, T. How are ya?”

“Where are you?” she asked, her tone even.

“Hey, we’re almost to the city.”

“Tell me that Christian wasn’t involved in that situation in Virginia?”

“What?  Yeah, apparently a bit of a dust-up in Virginia.  It’s that book I told you about.  The witches are seriously jonesing for it.”

“Put him on, Katrina.”

I handed him the cell phone without a word, tilting my head to listen in.

“Christian, are you well?” Tanya said.

He got a sudden look on his face like he’d been hit with a baseball bat.  “Yeah.  Hey, I think I remember what you look like,” he said.

“You do?” Tanya asked, her tone hopeful.

“A little.  You have black hair and blue-blue eyes, right?”

“Yes, zayka!  Yes, I do,” Tanya said with the first laugh I had heard from her in days.

“Well, I had flashes of memory when the other part of me was fighting? I think he might have better memories.”

“That is possible, my love.  Grim is from the deepest part of your mind.”

“So maybe I’ll just have to get in more fights, you know, to remember more,” Chris said.

“I am not liking that idea, my zayka.  I think we can just give it some time,” Tanya replied.

“Unless I get whacked by another vampire assassin,” he said like it was no big deal.  Idiot.  I like to pick on him like Lydia does, but he didn’t have to prove us right about his brainpower.

“I have taken steps in that regard, Christian,” she answered, her voice tight with anger. “Katrina was helpful in providing enough information on the Darkkin scum who shot you.  I have expressed my anger to the rest of the Coven.  But your point is well taken.  I must go now and see to your arrival.  We will be together shortly, my love.”

“Okay, Tatiana—” he said, changing it to, “I mean Tanya.”  Again, the idiot.

“Goodbye, Christian, for the moment,” Tanya said, cutting the connection.

“Boy, you are smooth,” I said sarcastically.

“Give him a break; he doesn’t remember her… much,” Stacia said, frowning at the last word.   “How’s he supposed to know how to handle an obsessed supernatural psycho?”

“She tore apart seven vampires that might have been involved in the attempt on your life,” I said to him. “She had Nika—she’s one of the Coven’s most powerful telepaths—read every Darkkin in New York till she found the guilty ones.  I’m told it was so savage, it even shocked Elders Senka and Mausya.”  I paused and took a breath, then a deeper one through my nose. Lydia had emailed me the details.

“Okay, I don’t really know what any of that means or who any of those people are, except it sounds like she was pretty mad.  Why the hell do you keep sniffing me?” he asked.

“I forgot how good you smell,” I said.

“What?  What the hell are you talking about?”

“Memory loss, Katrina… remember,” Stacia said, grimacing.

“Oh yeah. Right.  Well, it’s like this, slugger.  You smell like the most delicious meal possible to vampires.  Something about your blood.  It would be like the smells of the six best meals you could imagine, all rolled up into one mixture.”

“So what?  Are you gonna try and bite me?”

“Oh hell no!  Are you insane?  Did you hear the supervampire on the phone?  She literally tore seven vampires apart.  Like rag dolls. Arms, legs, and heads ripped clean off their bodies.  Then she split their chests open with her hands, yanked out their hearts, and pinned them to the wall.  All seven hearts lined up, spiked head high on the wall of the room she found them in!”

“Didn’t they fight back?” Stacia asked.

“Fight back?  Of course.  For all the good it did them.  Listen, blondie, you’re pretty good for a wolf, especially one who’s only been at it for a couple of years.  You and I would have a pretty good bout.  But Tanya?  She’s instant death. Two of the vampires were over five hundred years old and armed with swords.  The others were all over one-fifty.  She just took them apart barehanded.  Four different vampires told me about it.  They were all part of Tanya’s security team, so they know her, but even they were completely shocked.  Get this through your heads, both of you,” I commanded, pointing at him. “You are her Chosen!  Forever, for always, till the end of time.  She is the only vampire born to the race! She does stuff that even Elders can’t. And she is absolutely without mercy or humor when it comes to you.  More so since you had to flee.”

He stared at me for a moment and I regretted saying some of that.  It was a lot to process.

Then he nodded. “Okay, tell me more about this Coven.  It sounds pretty complex… lots of rules and politics.  I’m not good at political stuff,” he said with a sigh.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I said. “Okay, let Auntie K school you.  We’ll cram what we can into that thick, damaged skull of yours in the time left.”

Chapter 42

Our arrival at the Demidova Tower was a shit show.  A real dumpster fire.  Love that phrase; it’s so descriptive of certain situations.  Like when an uber vampire reclaims her brain-damaged Chosen and almost kills a werewolf but then gets talked out of it by the memory-challenged boyfriend.  I just sat back and watched the fun.  The entire New York staff was on edge, watching Tanya from the corner of their eyes, just waiting for blood to be shed.

But the boy wonder talked her down, clearly remembering her at least to some degree and standing his ground.  I had to give him props for that.  Tanya looks like an angel all the time, but there are moments when she makes me remember that angels were God’s assault troops. Like when she bent a beast form werewolf backward over the hood our car and almost drank her.

No sooner was that fun bit of violent theater over when a bit more drama showed up in the form of an NYPD cruiser with a lieutenant on board, demanding Chris attend the police commissioner.  I didn’t get to go along for that little excursion because Tanya pulled me aside before they left.

“Thank you, Katrina. Thank you for bringing him back to me,” she said in that tone of hers that makes me feel proud.  I’m almost seven times her age, yet just a few words of praise and I preen like a dog.  Well, maybe not preen, and certainly not like a dog.  Perhaps lift my head in a regal splendor like some dangerous hunting cat. Yeah, that’s it.

“We will find out what this police business is all about, but I need you for another matter,” she said.  “The vampires I killed here were plotting Chris’s death, but we don’t think they were actually the ones behind the sniper.  Chet has more information on him, but it seems he was just a freelance mercenary for hire.  I need you to run that lead down.”

“You got it, boss,” I said.

She nodded and then climbed into the police car with Chris and the wolf.  The cops weren’t thrilled, but the vampire and the exorcist didn’t give them any choice in the matter.  The cruiser drove away, followed by a Coven car with Lydia, Arkady, and Nika.

That was my cue to head inside and find Chet.

“Ah, Katrina, you’re back,” Chet noted in a distracted sort of way when I appeared at his workstation.

“T says you got intel on the guy that shot Chris?” I answered.

“Here; I know you like old-school files,” he said, handing me a manila folder.

Inside, I found a picture of the dead vamp and a printout of information.

“South African Special Forces Brigade?” I mused as I read the man’s history.

“Actually, the Hunter Group which proceeded the Brigade,” Chet said. “He was part of the original group formed in 1968.”

“And Turned in ’72,” I read out loud.

“His Coven cell was wiped out before he was ten vampire years old during an inter-Coven clash.  He became a hired gun immediately after.  No real affinity outside of cold hard cash.”

“So who hired him?”

“That’s the hard part,” Chet said. “His time with the Coven was super short.  He basically left after his Darkken group was killed and never looked back. Kept no connection to the vampire world.”

“You’re saying he operated more like a regular human?” I asked.

“Yeah, it appears that way.  I’m having a hard time breaking into that world.  Deckert and some of his guys have helped, but the human private contracting business is pretty separate from the Darkkin world.”

“That means anyone could have hired him?”

“Yes, and in fact, odds are that it wasn’t a vampire who signed the check,” Chet said.

“Because a vampire would have used a Coven resource,” I said, realizing what he was saying.

He nodded.  “Creatures of habit.”

“Can you find any history of employment?”

“Yes. I’ve hacked into a number of private contractor companies—which is fun, by the way.  Military types really value cyber security, but it doesn’t matter when it’s me and I have all this,” he said, waving a hand at the massive wall of monitors and computer hardware behind him.

“He seemed to do a lot of jobs that needed sniper overwatch, obviously at night.”

“What about individual hit jobs like this one?”

“That’s the problem.  The databases I’ve cracked are ex-military that favor small group operations.  I haven’t found any hitman-for-hire sites yet.”

“That’s because you’re looking at it as if he was still hanging around with lots of ex-military.  Hits usually fall under organized crime,” I said.

“I realize that, Katrina. I’ve been searching both deep web and dark web sites, but there are so many, and they all operate with codes, false names, and layered security.  I need some identifier for him, some set of code names, account numbers, or such to backtrack.”

“Money trail?”

He nodded.  “That’s what I’m mostly working on, but this guy travelled—a lot. And he seemed very disciplined in keeping his accounts separated. All the accounts under his birth name, Carl Jacobs, have only had cash deposits or checks that have been so well laundered that I can’t back trace the funds.  Usually, these people get lax and have at least one wire or ACH transfer into their main accounts, but not this guy.”

“So we have to go old-school.  Give me all his known addresses and I’ll start hunting,” I said.

“Already in your file.  Lydia said you would need them, along with any known aliases.”

“She knows my methods well.  Send me emails of anything else you find.  I check on them nightly.  Babysitting time is over; the hunt begins.”

I went to my Coven quarters and re-equipped, this time for an international hunt.  Carl Jacobs had an apartment in Paris, an address in Canada, and part ownership of a riad in Morocco.  I would need to visit all three of them, and quickly.  Whoever was gunning for Chris Gordon was unlikely to give up easily.  But unlike Carl Jacobs, I was very much an active member of the Coven, and my relationship to Tanya gave me lots of clout.  Even unofficial clout.  Vampires all over the world were fascinated by our natural-born princess.  I could use that to my advantage.  And I enjoy using all my advantages.

Chapter 43

Toronto is a beautiful city.  Like Canada in general, it’s just super nice.  Clean, well-thought-out, well maintained.  It was also almost certain to be a dead end.  I chose it for the sake of efficiency, this address being the closest geographically.  But Mr. Murphy and his law were old acquaintances of mine, so it would most likely yield the least amount of fruit.  Gotta go high on the tree to get the good stuff, you know. That meant my best chance was likely Morocco.  But Toronto was closest, and the airport had plenty of flights to Europe or Africa.

Carl had a one-bedroom apartment in a high rise on St. Joseph Street, on the twenty-first floor.  Nice balcony, complete with a view of the iconic CN Tower.  Carl was a vampire, so he had hardened his balcony door with a reinforced locking bar and a vibration alarm on the glass.

“The alarm is neutralized,” Chet said in my earpiece.

Sticking a glass cutter to the door, I spun the cutting blade in a circle around the suction cup and then rapped the handle with my fist.  A quick yank popped out the first layer.  Since it was double pane, I had to do the whole thing a second time.  The final hole was more than large enough for my small arm to reach through and remove the lock bar.

With a sharp eye for any booby traps, I set about searching the place, if only to eliminate it as a potential intel source.  Surprise, surprise.  I found both traps and plenty of intel. I disarmed two grenade traps and a vicious little number that was rigged to electrocute anyone attempting to sit in the metal chair at his desk. And then I found that while Carl Jacobs’s furnishings were minimalist, his laptop was anything but.  At least, that’s what Chet said when I plugged in the zip drive that let him take control.

“I don’t really care about gigs or speed, Chet. I want answers for Tanya.”

“Well, there’s a whole slew of accounts here under three different names.  This might just give me enough information to unravel the threads here.”

“How long?”

“No idea.  Why don’t you toss the rest of the place and see what else, if anything, you can find.”

Good idea.  I’m not super patient unless I’m stalking someone.  Watching him remotely ravage the laptop was not my idea of being useful.  So I took his advice.  Carl was pretty clever with some of his hiding spots, but I’ve been searching out secrets for a hundred years or more than he’d been alive.  I found cash stashed behind light switch covers, American and Canadian dollars as well as Euros. There were multiple sets of identification in the freezer, and a CZ-10 9mm with three loaded magazines in a false wall in his bedroom closet.

The pistol was in its factory-issued case, resting on foam padding.  Under the foam, I found an odd little knife.  It was a Benchmade automatic, a knife that flicked open at the touch of a button—the modern version of a switchblade.  Which was interesting because it was in a fancy ballistic nylon belt case that had the word Switchblade printed right on it.  And the blade was engraved with the letters AIR.

“Sending you photos of everything I found,” I said over my headset.

His sudden intake of breath was a giveaway.

“You recognize this?” I asked.

“We’ve come across the word AIR several times now,” he said. “It showed up as a tattoo on the body of a woman who was killed trying to kidnap a young Darkkin.  She had no other information on her, and I haven’t been able to find her identity through fingerprints, dental records, or facial recognition.  Like she had her identity wiped away.  And besides the word AIR, there was the image of a knife tattooed beside it.  Also a scar where another tattoo was removed.  The security guys say it’s the size and shape of a military emblem.”

“What kind of knife?” I asked.

“Knives aren’t my thing, but Arkady called it a seax.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“The only other reference we had was a snippet of conversation overheard by a Coven operatve surveilling an FBI agent who was meeting with an informant.  They kept talking about air.”

“So maybe some kind of organization?”

“That’s what Lydia thinks too.  Listen, my bots have produced some information.  Jacobs received three sets of matching wire transfers several days apart in one of these accounts over the last year.  I’ve run a cross-reference program, and each period of time between payments matches the violent death of a public figure.  Two politicians and one outspoken businessman.  The last deposit to the account is the largest—two hundred thousand dollars Canadian—and it happened three days before Chris was shot.  There was no second deposit.”

“Because Jacobs failed… and died,” I suggested.

“Most likely.”

“Chet, you gotta backtrack those funds,” I said.

“Already on it, Katrina, but it’s going to be a bitch.  Whoever did this has some pretty strong cyber mojo.”

“Stronger than yours?”

“Don’t be silly,” he scoffed. “Just a matter of time. Like a day or so.”

“Alright. I’m out of here then.”

I put things back the way I found them as the laptop screen suddenly started to flicker, then went blue, then black.  I pulled the zip drive, took the pistol and knife, as well as the identity stuff and the cash.  Also snagged the grenades.  Irresponsible to leave explosives laying around.  Not like I couldn’t find a use for them, wink wink.

I re-barred the balcony door, glued the glass circles back into place, and walked down the side of the building till I could make the jump to the roof of the closest building.  The roof door of that one opened into a stairwell that let me out onto the street below.  Twenty minutes later, I was in my hotel room, sipping warmed blood while I worked on a report to Tanya.  As I typed, I thought about the whole knife thing.  Switchblade—seax.  AIR.  I had no idea what any of that meant, but my gut was telling me this whole thing was really important and that whatever AIR was, we weren’t going to like it one bit.

“We’ve been closing portals all over the place,” Tanya said.

“But you read the report?” I asked.

“Yes, and I want you to keep tracing this AIR thing.  Someone wants my Chosen dead. Someone besides the devils I know.”

“From what I hear, the elements inside the Coven who are afraid of him have gone quiet,” I said. “You seem to have made your point.”

“For now.  Darkkin play the long game, as you well know.  Find me whoever hired that sniper, Kat. Nothing is more important.”

“You got it, boss,” I said.

“Where to next?” she asked.

“Chet shook out a lead in Boston,” I said. “A financial intermediary who moved payments into Carl Jacobs’ accounts.”

“Good luck then.  We’re leaving for Buffalo in less than an hour for another exorcism.  They’re popping up all over.”

“Better you than me,” I said with a shudder.  Murder, mayhem, and mischief might be my life’s calling but demons?  Not so much.  A girl’s gotta draw a line somewhere.

“Good hunting, Kat.  Find my prey,” she said, then hung up.

I was already booked on an evening flight from Toronto to Boston, courtesy of Chet’s computer skills.  I had joked that he could make it as a travel agent if he needed a fallback job, but he informed me that career was made effectively extinct by the very computers he utilized.

The flight landed a little before ten-thirty and I grabbed a taxi ride to my hotel on Seaport Boulevard.  I’ve traveled extensively in my long life, but the frequency and diversity of my trips have grown exponentially since I aged into my current physical form.  It’s always been much more difficult for a supposed child to move around via train, bus, and plane, drawing too much attention, especially in the previous century.  And checking into hotels in a twelve-year-old’s body was almost always an exercise in frustration.  But this place was one of the newer, Euro-flavored places that favored high tech and low employee numbers.  A tiny LED-lit room with a powered bed that folded itself into a sitting position when you weren’t using it to sleep.  There were even self-check-in kiosks that any modern child could easily use.  Where was all that when I still looked prepubescent?

Since I look like a college kid, I often travel like one, with a small carry bag and a student’s backpack with minimal clothes and gear.  If I need more than one change of outfit, I buy it.  If I need weapons, explosives, or specialized gear, I have Coven contacts all over the world, but especially in the northeastern United States.  I also have personal caches like the one I had just set up in Toronto with Carl’s cash and weapons.  After dropping my pack and bag, I took the stairs up to the top floor, which the hotel had set up for outdoor events.  In fact, a private party was in full swing, complete with a large man in a suit and a blonde woman in an evening gown checking names off a list.

“The rooftop has been rented for a private event,” the woman told me in a dismissive tone, her eyes flicking over my every girl outfit of casual sweatshirt and black tights. She held up her clipboard, the list of names prominent evidence of her authority.

“Oh, I was hoping to get a glance at the skyline?” I asked in my most demure voice.

“Sorry,” she said told me with a fake smile that barely twitched her lips.

“Gotta suck getting all dressed up just to watch everyone else have fun,” I said, stepping aside as the elevator doors opened to discharge a pair of fashionable young couples.

Blondie ignored me to turn her false smile on the new arrivals.  The beefy security guy ignored me completely.  Moron.  I slipped back into the stairwell and back to my room.  Thirty-eight minutes later, I was back, wearing a little black dress, high heels, my hair in a quick yet classy updo that Anna had taught me centuries ago.

Blondie’s patented smile never twitched.  She clearly didn’t recognize me at all.

“Elizabeth Haverstack,” I said in my best English accent, quoting a name I had managed to spot when she’d flashed the list at me before.

“Of course,” she said, glancing down.  “Ah, here you are,” she said, making a little checkmark before lifting her head.

I channeled a bit of Elder Senka.  “Yes… here I am,” I said, one brow arched.

She flushed and waved me through.  Bouncer man glanced at me once, eyes flicking away.  In I went.

Old Boston money was mixing with new upstart money.  Air kisses and one upmanship were everywhere.  I grabbed a drink at the bar, opting to pay for two fingers of Macallan 18, neat, rather than drink the open bar well scotch. Then I worked my way to the balcony edge facing the building next door.  A raised clear polycarbonate barrier protected the paying public from falling off the building, so my view was completely unimpeded.

The giant letters on the exterior of the sixteenth floor were PRG, and those letters were the complete name of the corporation.  PRG Incorporated.  Privately held, owned by six different corporations who were each held by multiple legal entities, those in turn leading deeper into a Russian nesting doll of corporate obfuscation.  Tricky stuff unless you happened to have a Chet.  I have a Chet.

PRG stood for Partisan Resource Group, although you had to go on a real deep dive to find that out.  And what they actually did was as unclear as their ownership structure.  I knew they moved money around like poker chips on a dealer’s table, but the rest of the answers were one hundred and six feet to the southeast and ten floors higher.

“Great view, right?” a smooth male voice asked.  Six foot one or two, well built, maybe late thirties, with brown hair and hazel eyes.  Skin almost as white as mine.

I studied him for a moment before answering.  Confident, well-dressed in an expensive Italian suit, holding a martini glass complete with olive.  “It’s a pretty basic building,” I said.  “We grow them bigger in New York.”

“Ouch; way to skewer my pride and joy,” he said. “I thought you had an English accent?”

“Let me guess… you’re the party police?” I asked, raising one brow.

“Well, it is my party and I know everyone here… except you,” he said, raising his own brow. “Elizabeth, is it?”

“No.  I’m Katrina.  I’m sure Elizabeth is an old friend of yours who probably showed up right after I used her name to get onto this rooftop.”

“Currently it’s my rooftop,” he said, smiling. He held out his hand. “Jack Detmer.”

“Well, Jack, this rooftop is overshadowed by your other rooftop,” I said, shaking his hand and nodding at the PRG building.

“Which is why my party is here,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “Celebrating final completion and rent out after six years.”

“Congratulations,” I said, sipping my Macallan. “I can see myself out.”

“You crashed the party for a total of five minutes and an overpriced scotch?” He frowned.

“I don’t like to be told where I can and can’t go.  Sort of the principal of the thing,” I said.

He studied me for a moment, eyes flicking down and then back up.  “Well, the party is for people I know, and we know each other now, so why not stay?” His smirk was almost curated.

“It would be a waste of good scotch if I just left, wouldn’t it?” I asked.

“Enjoy the party, Katrina,” he said, then turned and smiled at someone behind me, moving off to greet them.

Smooth.  Jack Detmer wasn’t done with me; of that, I was certain.  I might be new to a grown-up body, but I had watched the dance of seduction for multiples of his lifetime.  He was a serial player and although he currently stood with his arm around an attractive blonde woman his own age, he was the type of man who would never limit himself to one woman.

Another woman sidled up to me.  Redhead, blue eyes, about five-nine or so.  “You rent next door?” she asked, frowning.

“No. Do you?”

“Well, the agency I work for does.  Whitecap Luxury Realty.  Tenth floor.”

“So then why does PRG get its name on the building and not your group?”

She laughed.  “Because PRG rents three floors, provided Jack with the funding to build it, and is a partial owner.”

“Ah, the almighty dollar,” I said, smiling.

“Exactly.  How do you know Jack?” she asked with a glance in his direction.

“Didn’t meet the man till five minutes ago.  Crashed the party because I don’t like being told I can’t step on the floor of a hotel where I’m staying.”

Her eyes lit up.  “Oh, I like you.  A girl after my own heart.”

Blood, not heart, I thought but squashed it down.  I was getting a bit hungry, but it would have to wait.  Plenty of willing victims in Beantown.

“Worried I was one of his conquests?”

She pulled back.  “I thought you didn’t know him?”

“I know his type.”

“Wise for one so young,” she said. “Mariah Meyers,” she added, holding out one slim hand with exquisite red and black nails.

“Katrina Chapman,” I said, stealing Lydia’s surname.  A bad habit of mine, but everyone has a few, right?

“Well, Katrina, you are exactly his type.  Young and attractive.  Tell me you’re not easily wowed by money?” she asked, sipping her wine.  Pinot Grigio, by the smell.

“I’m from New York and my employer’s building has room in its basement for Jack’s tower.”

She almost spit out her drink.  “And here I thought I was going to rescue you,” she said. “What brings you to Boston?”

“Work.”

“Please don’t take offense, but you look like you’re still in college.”

“I’m blessed with a youthful appearance,” I said. “I’m older than I look.”

“Who do you work for?” she asked, taking another sip.

I opted for the truth.  “Demidova Incorporated.”

This time, she did spit out her drink.  “Good lord, really?”

“Yes.  You know of us?”

“I’m in high-end real estate, Katrina, and Demidova is synonymous with high-end real estate.”

“Lucky I ran into you.  My boss is interested in adding to her Boston portfolio.  Maybe we could meet tomorrow night and talk?”

Her eyes were huge and her hand almost shook as she yanked out a business card.  “Where do you want to meet?”

“How about at your offices next door?  Say six or seven?” I asked.

“We could go now if you like?” she suggested.

“No thank you.  I have to meet someone for a late-night bite to eat.  Thanks, though.”

“No, thank you, Katrina.  How’s six?”

“Perfect, Mariah. Perfect.”

Chapter 44

I left the party and the hotel itself after changing back into my black leggings but choosing a black shirt.

I have worn some form of leggings on and off my whole life.  Never did I think they would one day be worn on their own, uncovered by a dress or skirt.  The daring of it when that happened, as it became a staple of women’s fashion, was shocking to me.  Now days, I could scarcely fathom not having that option. The ease of movement is almost like wearing nothing at all, yet there is protection in those woven fabrics, camouflage in the choices of colors, and empowerment in the flattering shapes.  And pockets.  Clever, clever pockets that almost disappear yet let a girl carry a phone, credit cards, or identification.  The companies that I buy from specialize in leggings for women of serious intent: firefighters, police, federal agents, and the like.  I can carry a gun, spare magazine—and most importantly, Tora—in the special pockets sewn into sturdy fabric.  Or the lock picks, glass cutters, and other tools of thievery that often accompany me.  Which is what I chose, along with a very small zip drive filled to its brim with Chet’s best hacking programs.

A dark windbreaker over my upper body and boots on my feet made up the rest of my outfit.

With little effort, in the black of deepest night, I climbed easily up the PRG tower and worked my way around all three floors, peering in from outside to scout the lay of the land.  Boring.  Typical financial offices, with file cabinets, market charts on the walls, fancy conference tables, and computers of every kind and shape.  Wall monitors, laptops, tablets, keyboards, and a complete room full of server racks.  I was tempted to cut my way through a window and release the zip drive’s contents into as many devices as possible, but after some consideration, I talked myself out of it.  This wasn’t the abandoned apartment of a hired assassin that could sit empty for a month or two before it was opened, cleaned, and rented.  It was an ambitious, profit-driven organization that would find the slightest evidence of a break-in by lunchtime.

No, I would carry on with my plan, meet with Mariah, and see if I couldn’t penetrate the offices from the inside, using one of the most powerful weapons known to man—greed.

I left the tower intact and traveled the streets, singing off-key and wobbling like I’d drunk too much.  It was the other way around; I’d had too little.  At least until the first city predator came for me.  He was short, wide, and smelly.  I didn’t kill him, in case you’re wondering, but I thumped him soundly, drank down two pints, and left him unconscious in a dumpster.  Then I went back to the hotel, showered thoroughly, closed the heavy curtains, put out the do not disturb sign, and fell into bed.

Six o’clock that evening, Mariah met me in the lobby of the PRG building, where I waited under the watchful eye of the security guard.  She swept out of the elevator in a charcoal gray pantsuit, blue eyes bright.

“I checked you out,” she said as soon as we had shaken hands.

“Oh?” I answered, one brow arched suggestively.

She flushed at my innuendo, just slightly, before shaking her head.  “I called Demidova Incorporated.”

I couldn’t help it; I started laughing. “And asked for Katrina Chapman?”

She nodded, her expression now carefully bland.

“How fast did you get Lydia?” I pressed.

She frowned.  “In less than two minutes, Lydia Chapman was on the line, asking who I was.  Demanded your description.  Told me, and I quote: Tell Ms. Westing that there will be payback because I now have proof.  Also, Mariah, Ms. Westing has the full faith and credit of the Demidova Corporation behind her.”

“She’s dreaming if she thinks I’m worried,” I said.

“Why did you lie about your name?” Mariah said, very serious.

“Because some people recognize my name, my full name, and it sets them on edge, makes dealing with them… difficult.”

“Why?  Are you a problem to deal with?”

“Oh, I’m a huge problem, because that’s my job.  I’m a fixer.  I solve problems that threaten the company and my boss.”

She looked at me in mild disbelief, then shook her head.  “If I hadn’t spoken to Tatiana Demidova’s personal assistant, I might call bullshit.  You can’t be more than a year out of college.”

“What do you know of Tanya?” I asked her back.

“One of the youngest billionaires on Forbes’ list.  Business prodigy, fluent in at least three languages, multiple degrees, and daughter of Galina Demidova.”

“More like eight languages.  I, myself, speak French, German, Spanish, Russian, and Japanese.  A smattering of Mandarin.  I graduated college at a young age while I was working for Galina, before I went to Tanya.  Now, do you want to continue with this meeting?”

“Are you actually going to make a purchase?”

“Of property?  Myself?  God no.  I will review what you have and send it back to Tanya.  She approves all real estate purchases personally.”

“If you’re a fixer, what are you here fixing?”

“Mariah, do you want to sell real estate or dig for gossip?”

Her eyes gleamed as she took a breath. “I want to sell,” she said.

“Let’s go.” I waved toward the elevators.

As we got on, so did a man in a dark business suit.

“Realtor’s hours, huh, Mariah?” he asked.  He was late forties, fit, with dark hair just starting to gray at the temples.

“The early and late bird gets all the worms,” Mariah said. “Roger this is Katrina.  Roger is with PRG.”

The luck goddess was smiling down on me tonight.

“You guys have a money management program, right?” I asked as I shook his hand. “We looked at it once, I believe.”

“We?” he asked, a superior smile on his face.

“Demidova Incorporated,” I said with my own smile right back.

His face paled a bit, his smile slipping.  “You looked at PRG.  I would have seen a request for a proposal, and I don’t recall that.”

“We didn’t get that far,” I said. “Tanya thought we could keep it in-house for cheaper.”

“Tanya?”

“Tatiana Demidova… my boss.”

I love dropping her name on business types.  Like letting off a stick of dynamite in the middle of a pack of werewolves.  I know because I’ve done that too.

Roger took a breath, and I could see him regrouping.  He glanced at Mariah, likely doubting me because of my apparent age, but Mariah’s smug smile sent his calculations in another direction.

“I’m always so sorry for the chances we don’t get.  I’d love to tell you why your boss might be wrong.”

“Well, I’m here tonight and have to fly back to New York tomorrow, so unless you’re staying till at least seven-thirty, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“I can stay as late as necessary,” he said.

I pretended to think about it, when I was actually doing a little victory dance inside my head.

“Well, let’s see where we’re at when I’m done with Mariah.  You have his number, Mariah?”

“Oh, I do,” she said with a smile.  The elevator dinged on the tenth floor just as she spoke. “Here we are, Katrina.”

Whitecap Luxury Realty had a respectable half of the floor, the furnishings exactly as lavish as they would need to be to convince people with money that they were an appropriate place to spend it.

Mariah set us up in a small conference room and proceeded to show me the firm’s current listings.  Tanya is always interested in quality real estate, as that’s what she built the core of her business on.  Most of the company’s holdings were businesses of almost every type, but she did purchase residential dwellings as well.  Vampires have an almost compulsory need to own as many safe houses as they can.  I, myself, own seventeen condos and two-single family homes in six different states.  A billionaire vampire owns hundreds.

Knowing my boss, I narrowed the selections down to five, sending the entire list to Tanya’s email.

“You think she’ll like one of these?” Mariah asked.

“No, I think she’ll like all five.  I know her style, and these all meet it.  If she does, you will receive offers from a subsidiary company.”

“You really think there’s a chance?”

“Absolutely, but she’ll want the best price available.  You’ll need to work at this.”

My phone chimed with an incoming email.  I opened it.

“Yeah, she wants all five—told you.  She’s making all cash offers at specific prices with no negotiations.  If any of the sellers take them, fine. If they don’t, well, no harm, no foul.”

She stared at me, shocked.  “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?”

I just looked at her, then dialed my phone.

“Katrina, I really want that waterfront condo,” Tanya said over the speaker.

“Hey T, I have you on speaker with Mariah Meyers.  There were two waterfront condos. You’re talking about the big one, right?”

“Hello, Mariah; nice to talk with you, and yes, Kat, I want the big one as a gift for Chris.”

“Ah, hello, Ms. Demidova.  The owners of that condo are motivated,” Mariah said. “I represent them personally.”

“And your first loyalty is to them, as it should be.  I’ll go full price on that one, but the other four, I’m going to come in a bit under, as they’ve all been on the market a hot minute.”

“I’m sure the owners will be thrilled, and we’ll see about the other four.”

“You’ll have all five offers within the hour.  Each offer will be in the name of a different LLC, but all are owned by Demidova Incorporated.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?  Ha, Katrina is the old woman, not me.  Speaking of which, how is your other project coming, Kat?”

“Hoping to have some progress to give to Chet very soon, boss.”

“Right.  Good.  Priority one.  And nice doing business with you, Mariah.”

Mariah gushed a response and I hung up.  “Okay, that went faster than I thought.  Maybe I can see if Roger what’s-his-name is around for whatever song and dance he wants to throw at us.”

“That was really Tatiana Demidova?” Mariah asked.

“Yup, it really was.  I’m not sure if she’ll get all five, but if you get even one more plus the big one, it’ll be a good month for you.”

“You have no idea.  Let me call Roger.”

Ten minutes later, I was back on the elevator and rising to the second from the top floor.  Roger met me at the elevator and walked me back to yet another conference room.  “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Water?”

“Sparkling or plain?”

“Sparkling,” I said.

“I’ll be right back.”

He left and I instantly jacked Chet’s zip drive into the conference room computer.  It downloaded its file in five seconds flat.  By the time Roger came back with a Pellegrino, Chet owned their network.  I let him show me their corporate cash management system, then ran him ragged with questions on float, overnight rates, and, most importantly, cost.

I gave him a solid thirty minutes and then said I would be in touch but that I had my doubts.

By eight-thirty, I was out of the building, had checked out of the hotel, and was in a taxi to the airport.

“Well,” I said when Chet picked up my call.

“Hi, Chet. How are you?  Great, Katrina. How are you?” he said snidely.

“Don’t whine, Chester.  It’s very puerile.  Now what’s the story?”

“I’ve tracked the money movement back to Washington DC.  Holding company named Fidelus Company.  Trying to break through their security now, but it will be a while.”

“You have until I get to the city,” I said and hung up.

Chapter 45

Chet had hemmed and hawed but had ripped through the encryptions before I made it back to New York.  I took his information, repacked my bags, and headed to DC.

Within twenty-four hours, I was hiding in a Washington alley, listening to a vampire and a witch interrogating a human four stories above me.  The vampire, a young male of five or six decades, was holding the human by the ankle out over the edge of the roof.  The witch, a woman who looked to be mid-thirties, was acting as lie detector, using her crafting skills.  Most vampires can tell when humans are lying through heart rate and smell, but those senses are shot when the human is in a full panic mode, staring at the pavement forty feet below.

“Who or what is AIR?” the vampire asked. “Last chance,” he said, and I could see the moment his fingers flexed, loosening and retightening his grip.  I was against the wall of the building, tucked in the shadows, able to hear fully, but currently could only see the human and the vampire’s right arm.

“Agents in Rebus,” the dangler said, his breath coming in pants.  The pair had decent form, but I wasn’t sure they were accounting for gravity-forced blood flow to the head, or the effects of hyperventilation.  Their guy was gonna pass out.

“Agents in things?” the witch asked. “What the hell is that?”

“Answer her,” the vampire ordered, shaking the man.  Unfortunately, the guy kicked his leg reflexively just as the vamp flexed his arm.  Even the strongest grip breaks down at the gap between the thumb and fingers.  The man’s leg came free and he fell, not even enough consciousness left to scream properly.

Lucky I was there.  I jumped straight up, bounced my left foot off the building parkour-style, and grabbed the falling man by the meaty part of his left thigh.  The arc of my bounce took me to the other side of the alley, where I bounced off that building, pushing upward to land next to the pair looking over the roof for their information source.

They spun to me—the vampire much faster, of course—as I released the informant to fall on the roof.

“You guys dropped something,” I said.

The vamp was in a defensive stance, but his eyes widened upon seeing me, even as his partner started a spell.  I moved around behind her, Tora’s bare edge at her throat.  “Now, now, let’s not cast in haste,” I said.

She gulped and froze while her partner studied me a second before standing upright, fists dropping to his sides.

“You know who I am?” I asked him.

He nodded.

“Who the hell is she?” his partner asked in a sharp whisper, Tora kissing her throat.

“The Queen’s Shadow,” he answered.

I nodded.  “So will you tell Sabrina here to stop with the hocus pocus so we can all chat like big people?”

“Nora, please don’t try any crafting.  Ms. Westing has a reputation for sudden violence.”

“Yes, Nora, let’s please not play with magic.  I have enough protections in place to chop the both of you into morsels before you can abra your cadabra.”

She nodded and I stepped back, removing Tora from the region of her vital blood vessels.

“Queen’s Shadow?  What the hell is that, Lionel?” Nora asked, perhaps a bit pissed at her partner’s rapid acquiescence.

“Also known as the Young Queen’s Kat, Shadow Kat, and Death Kat,” Lionel said.  He was at least six-two, dark skin, dark hair, and eyes.

Nora was an ethnic mix that could have involved Asia or Mexico, and or some Anglo-Saxon influence.  Dark brown hair and pale blue eyes.

“That’s plenty about me. Who are you?”

Nora looked at me, then turned to Lionel.  “By young queen you mean…”

“Yes,” he said with a sharp nod.  “We work for Oracle,” he directed my way.

“What’s that, you say?” I asked.  I remembered the phone call that Agent Krupp had received but needed more.

“The Occult Research, Alternate Combat League, US government,” Nora said.

“That’s a mouthful,” I said. “Some kind of black ops group?”

“More gray than black,” Lionel said.

“You work for Uncle Sam and you’re investigating AIR?” I asked.

“You heard us ask?” Nora asked.

“Yeah, you were doing alright but you gotta watch the blood to the brain and the panic levels.  It’s a finesse thing; comes with practice. Anyway, me too—at least the AIR thing, not the government thing,” I said.

“No, you work for the Coven,” Nora said.

“Wow, the feds actually do have a clue.  I work for part of the Coven.”

“Demidova,” Nora said with a nod.

I narrowed my eyes at her.  “Yes.  She part of your investigation?”

Something about my voice seemed to bother her because her heart rate doubled.

“Oracle is aware of her, as well as most of the major players in the Coven,” she said cautiously.

I turned to Lionel.  His expression went from defensive to defiant.  “The Coven tossed me to the gutter.  I have a right to a life as much as any Darkkin. And the Coven knows about Oracle; why don’t you?”

“Well, I tend to focus on intraorganizational problems, so I don’t read all the memos.”

“Hemovores,” the man lying between us suddenly gasped.

“Hemovores? Sounds kind of nasty,” I said, toeing him with my combat boot. “What do you know about hemovores?”

“We know all about your disgusting species,” he said.  I grabbed him by the shirt under his throat and lifted him off the ground.  Then I walked him to the edge of the roof.  I was too short to get his feet off the ground, so they dragged until they could dangle over the edge.

“If you hold them this way, the blood doesn’t rush to their heads,” I told the young partners.  “You can hold them by the throat, but of course you have to be careful not to choke them unconscious, which slows the interrogation way down.”

The fabric of his shirt tore a little bit.  He wasn’t a small man; in fact, he was downright fat and his kicking legs seemed to stress the cloth even more.  The sounds came from both the front and back of his shirt.

“Hey, hey, you’re gonna tear your own shirt if you don’t calm down,” I warned him.  I had a pretty good bunch of fabric, so I wasn’t super worried.

“Who the hell are the agents in things?” I asked.

“We are patriots,” he said, looking me in the eye before flexing his back muscles.  The shirt tore completely open and he fell… about six inches.  By then, I had a handful of his hair and I tossed him like a sack back onto the roof.

“Cool move, dude, but it ain’t gonna be that easy,” I said.

The government types exchanged a glance.  “We’ve been running across these AIR people recently,” Lionel said. “They use various types of blades for codenames.  What’s the Coven’s interest?”

“Well, they seem like nasty little assholes in general, and we don’t really like those,” I said, “but more to the point, they apparently paid someone to try and kill my boss’s Chosen.”

Lionel sucked a deep breath.

“We are aware of Gordon,” Nora said. “Didn’t know about the murder attempt.”

“He is an exorcist, you know?” Lionel said, as if to explain Oracle’s interest.  Dude was afraid of me.  Good.

“Brutal Asset,” the AIR guy hissed.

I was in his face so fast, he didn’t have time to blink. “What was that?” I asked, baring my fangs.  The smell of warm urine filled the air.  “What do you know about Brutal Asset?”

The guy’s heart rate quadrupled and then the fat bastard stiffened up and had a heart attack, eyes rolling up.

“Dammit,” I said when I listened for a heartbeat.  There was none.  “The number one killer of humans: heart disease.”

“CPR maybe?” Nora suggested.

“Be my guest,” I said. “Pretty low success rate with attacks this massive.”

She turned to Lionel, but he shook his head.  Trust a vampire about the odds of surviving a heart attack.  We have regular continuing education classes on human heart health, as it’s kind of important to us.

“A literal dead end,” I said, looking down at the body. “What led you to him?”

They exchanged glances.  “How about quid pro quo since we’re talking Latin?” Lionel suggested. “We exchange intel evenly.”

I thought about it and nodded.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered that when Chris had met Tanya, he was working for a special police unit of the NYPD.  And that there was a group called DOAA—the Directorate of Anomalous Activity.  Oracle might have been in there somewhere too.

“We think AIR is a secret society that may have been formed at the same time the country was founded,” Lionel said. “Based on surveillance of AIR agents.”

“Patriots?”

“That’s how they view themselves,” Nora said. “But they appear to all follow an extremely narrow view of what patriotism looks like.”

“Lemme guess… it looks like human only?” I asked.

“Well, that’s kind of the party line,” Nora said. “The reality is that the leadership is all about gathering personal power through aggressive experimentation and research.  Harvesting biological agents from vampires, weres, and what they call energy users—witches.”

“They claim they need to find technological and biological methods to protect pure humans, but we think the real agenda is exploitive power,” Lionel said. “Ah, what led you here… to him?” he asked, pointing at the dead guy.

“I’ve been following a money trail from the assassin who attempted to kill Gordon to here in DC.  There is a vast, embedded monetary system to funnel resources into whatever endeavor this group pursues.  This guy’s name came up in a recent intelligence score from that money system.”

“How big of a score?” Nora asked.

“We have seventy-three companies, shells, and holding corporations that move money through a convoluted conveyor system.  Some of the funds originate from the federal intelligence appropriations and some gets funneled in from criminal sources.”  Chet’s intel file had been a veritable treasure trove that he was still digging into.

They frowned and looked at each other.  “We’ve actually never found an organized crime component to AIR.”

“Neither did we.  It seems these so-called patriots have taken out some organized crime units and then repurposed any confiscated funds for their own use.”

“Would you share those companies?” Nora asked.

“I’ll have to confer with my boss.  She might consider it in exchange for what you’ve developed.  How do I get in contact with you?”

Lionel handed me a card.  It had his first name and a phone number.

“Pretty cryptic for a government entity,” I noted.

“That’s the whole gray part I mentioned,” he said.

“Okay.  I’ll be in touch,” I said and stepped off the roof, Pulled myself against the building, and raced around the side, stopping to listen.

“What the fuck?” Nora said above me. “She’s even worse than you for disappearing.”

“She’s older than I am,” Lionel said.

“Could you follow her?”

“Nope, not happening.  I don’t have a death wish.”

“She’s that bad? Looks like my college-aged niece.”

“She looked like a little girl for most of her life… a little girl that regularly killed full-sized vampires, even ones older than she was.  Now she’s grown, somehow, which just makes her more dangerous.  So no.  I’ll wait for a call,” he said.

“I could try Craft,” Nora suggested.

“Nope.  The Coven employs lots of full witch circles.  I’m sure she’s not joking about having protection.  Leave her alone, Nora.  Katrina Westing is no one to fuck around with.”

I heard the door to the roof open and then drag close, their footsteps sounding on the internal stairwell.

I had a lot to talk to Tanya about.  This Oracle group changed everything.

Chapter 46

“We’ve known about Oracle for some time, Katrina,” Tanya said, giving me a strange look.

“It seemed familiar, but I personally never met anyone from Oracle, so…” I said.

“I’m with you Katrina,” Chris said. “I don’t remember them either.”

“You had a bullet through the brain, zayka,” Tanya said. “Katrina has no such excuse.”

“You don’t ever send me to interact with government agencies, T.  Just politicians.”

“I hate to agree with her on basic principle,” Lydia said, “but she’s right.  We have deliberately kept Kat away from DOAA and Oracle.”

“Because I’m your secret weapon, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” Lydia said, nodding and rolling her eyes.

“Well, they already knew about me, on account of that traitor, Lionel,” I said, watching Lydia with narrowed eyes.

“He was kicked out of the Coven, so seeking employment with an obscure government organization doesn’t seem completely unreasonable,” Chris said. “Anyway, we just met with the director of Oracle, Nathan Stewart.  He told us why the portals to Hell have been opening up like crazy.”

“Breakdown in societal values?” I asked.

“Close.  Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland,” Lydia said.

“Oh, science at work.  Great,” I said. “So, nothing I brought back was of value?”

“Oh, no, dear Kat,” Tanya said. “Your information on AIR was impressive, but more so because Oracle knows all about them, and we didn’t know they knew.”

“I think perhaps a meeting with Director Stewart is in order,” Lydia suggested.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Tanya said.

“Can I come?” I asked. “They already know about me, so…”

“They know you are Tanya’s primary fixer,” Lydia said. “Lionel was afraid of you, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“We aren’t looking to intimidate them, just probe them for knowledge,” Lydia said.

“The natural-born vampire and God’s Warrior on Earth aren’t intimidating?” I countered.

“We aren’t known for making people disappear, blackmailing opponents, or planting false evidence to ruin adversaries,” Tanya said.

“But they’re part of the federal government?  Isn’t that how they operate?”

“Most likely,” Chris agreed. “But you’re next level.  They’ve been playing the game for a few decades, but you’re on your second century.  Not a fair comparison.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense,” I said. “As long as it’s not because you think I’ll go all old-school blood vamp on them or anything.”

“Never crossed our minds,” Lydia said.

“Perhaps you can observe from a distance, along with Nika?” Tanya suggested. “They’ll have their agents around, so we’ll have ours.”

“Probably have mind readers of their own,” I suggested.

“Absolutely, but not at Nika’s level.  We’ll have our protections in place.  They’ll have Agent Mazar watching, along with their own people.”

“Oh, I know her,” I said.  “You know, maybe I can be sort of a distraction.  Force them to keep their attention on me instead of you all.”

Tanya exchanged a quick glance with Lydia.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing dastardly.  Just some lurking.”

All three of them just stared at me.  Chris spoke first. “That would certainly distract me,” he allowed, looking at the other two.

“Yeah, good point,” Lydia said. “The Queen’s Kat ghosting about is definitely cause to pay attention.”

“Just lurking though, Kat,” Tanya said. “No ambushing, pouncing, striking, or mugging.”

“How about skulking, slinking, loitering, and prowling?” I asked.

“Maybe not loitering—seems halfhearted,” Lydia said.

“She’s right,” Tanya agreed.

I looked at Chris.  He shrugged. “I get worried when you loiter, but I defer to the experts.”

Three nights later, Tanya, Chris, and Lydia met with Nathan Stewart and his wolverine shifter assistant-slash-bodyguard, Adine Benally, in an Indian restaurant in Manhattan.

Nika sat in a booth in the Greek restaurant next door, sipping tea and pretending to read a book while a plate of spanakopita sat untouched in front of her.  Me, I was moving about, noting each undercover Oracle agent and letting them, in turn, notice me.  Chris had disabled all the recording devices and wires in the immediate vicinity, so I couldn’t catch more than a few words here and there from the meeting.  Entertaining myself was up to me as I moved around the streets, up and over the neighboring buildings, that kind of thing.  Drove the watchers crazy.  Appear, disappear, climb, cling, lurk, and generally look sinister.  The confab was over in less than twenty minutes, so it wasn’t that fun, but I did memorize faces and scents for future fun and games, ’cause I know how my queen rolls.

“Well?” I asked as we reconvened in Nika’s booth.

“They don’t know why the interest in Chris, except that he came to their attention when he took out all those Loki gang members,” Tanya said. “They apparently do a lot of the same stuff you do for me, Kat.  Intimidation, blackmail, assassinations, espionage.  They do a lot of research into weapons systems, including advanced technology, but also occult.  They have secret research facilities involved in genetic engineering and studying supernatural species.  Vampires, weres, and witches, primarily.  Oracle is stepping up their protection details on Toni Velasquez because she represents leverage over us as our goddaughter.”

Chris was busy shoveling the spanakopita into his mouth, but both Nika and Lydia looked at me with worried eyes.

No problem here.  I kept my mouth shut because I wasn’t stupid.  Chris Gordon might be the official godfather of Toni Velasquez and Toni’s aunt was her godmother, but Tanya ignored that little fact and had proclaimed herself godmother to the little girl.  If her Chosen was involved, then she was at least as involved.  Anyone offering the idea that she wasn’t really a godmother was an idiot with a very dim future.

“So, what now?”

“We keep beating up demons. Oracle helps, watches over Toni and investigates AIR, and you, Katrina, in your spare time, keep looking into both AIR and Oracle,” Tanya said.

“Spare time?”

“Grandmother has not taken our separation from the Coven well.  There are some snoopers trying to get in close.”

“Vampires claiming to want to follow Tanya, most of whom are legit, but some are plants,” Lydia said.

“And…?”

“So Nika spots the false ones and you either drive them out, isolate them, or feed them false information,” Tanya said.

“Or all three?” I asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Tanya said. “Of course.”

“Try not to bleed any of them though, Kat,” Lydia warned.

“Grandmother gets… grumpy when we damage her people,” Tanya said.

“Okay, but if they take a stab at me, I’m stabbing back.”

“Of course.”

So we settled into a routine of demon hunting by the power couple and organizational security by Nika and myself.  And since I had spotted and scented so many Oracle people, I was able to stalk many of them in both the Big Apple and, occasionally, DC.  The variety of the work kept me from getting too bored, but there was a distinct lack of violence in my life.  Sparring with Tanya, Chris, and even Stacia helped scratch that itch, at least a bit.

Then one evening, my phone started to ring, and someone knocked on my door before I could answer it.

I checked the camera that Chet had installed for me as I answered the phone. The monitor showed two of the human security guys standing nervously in the hall.

“Katrina, we have an issue,” Lydia said. “Someone kidnapped Toni.”

“And you need me to hide the bodies?” I asked, confused as to why Deckert’s men would be outside.

“Oracle is cleaning up the local bodies, but they got away with her. Chris and Awasos have gone after them.  Tanya is going to follow and catch up, but we need to keep up appearances.  Operation Queen Katrina is in effect.”

“Awesome.  That explains the dudes outside my door.”

“Yes. I hoped to catch you before they got there and maybe got hurt.”

“I’m not that bad,” I said. “I would have asked first.”

“Anyway, they’re there to take you to the security office.  We have a makeup expert waiting to doll you up with a wig and contact lenses.”

“I’ve always wanted to play queen.”

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” she said, worried.

“Just kidding.  Chris is gonna murder everyone involved and that’s not going to take more than forty-eight hours in my estimation, so I’ll behave.”

“I was thinking seventy-two hours. Nika is down for twenty-four.  You want the forty-eight-hour square?”

“Shit.  Hmm, Nika might be right.  Grim’s going to slam through everything and everyone, and if Awasos and Tanya help, it’s not even really fair.”

“Dammit, you’re right.  Maybe I’ll take twelve hours.”

“Put me down for eighteen. No, wait… nine.”

I was only a queen for six hours, start to finish. Not even enough time to change the locks on the Demidova Tower doors.

Apparently, the AIR morons had geared up with all kinds of fancy tech stuff and sent like twenty special operators to grab Toni.  It cost them the entire strike force to get Toni on a helicopter, and then Chris—or, I should say, Grim—just followed on foot, then by ground vehicle till he found them in New Hampshire.  In a nuclear-hardened missile silo, like that was going to work.  I would have told them that my boss and her Chosen would rip through anything they could have come up with, but I couldn’t have said if Toni would have survived or not.

Somehow, it seems little Miss Velasquez had made friends with a witch and a super soldier who protected her, so she was just fine when Chris broke her out.  I was closest to the time, so I won the bet, but I was also the one to have the joyful experience of having to answer Senka’s phone call before Tanya got back.  It was almost a relief when the asteroid slammed into New Hampshire halfway through the call.

In less than twenty-four hours, Toni was back safe and sound with her parents, and my people were back in the Tower.

“This has to be the best year ever,” I said after the team debrief.  “Kidnappings, powered armor, secret societies, evil scientist underground lairs, genetically engineered soldiers, and an asteroid strike from heaven.  What’s next?”

“Don’t forget the boy witch,” Chris said.

Tanya turned to look at him.  “You don’t like witches, but you keep mentioning him.”

“He’s a good kid.  Telling Toni jokes to keep her calm.  How many high school kids could keep their own cool, let alone reassure a little girl after helping to take out a gifted assassin?”

“Boy witches aren’t all that powerful.  Rare, but not much juice,” I said.

“Kid apparently fried three operators and a vehicle with lightning, broke out of a witch-proof cell, reprogrammed the override command on AIR’s teenage weapon system, and kept my goddaughter safe.  Tell me again about boy witches?” Chris asked, his tone a little sharp.

Behind him, Lydia shook her head at me in warning.

“Well, that changes everything,” I said. “Kid sounds special.”

“They both are,” Chris agreed. “Real special.  I think we should help them, keep them close.”

“How, zayka?” Tanya asked him.

“You could pay for their college,” Stacia suggested.

Chris’s head snapped up.  “Or build them a college,” he said, looking at Tanya.  After a second, she smiled.

“I like it.  Lydia and Kat, new project.”

“College for supes?” I asked with a smile.

“Don’t laugh.  You’re going with them,” Tanya said.

Chapter 47

I found myself in Burlington, Vermont, sitting in a fancy new classroom, surrounded by children.  Older children, all near or at the age of majority.  Back when I was young, eighteen meant fully adult.  Moved out, working, and raising a family type adult.  Now days, they’re still children at eighteen.  These were supernatural children, but so immature.

Most were human, with some form of psychic ability—mediums of various kinds, telepaths, clairvoyants, remote viewers, and even some with telekinetic and pyrokinetic powers.  There were a bunch of weres, mostly wolves, but at least one bear and maybe a cat shifter, sitting in the section to my left.

The four girls in the seats below me were witches, as were several more girls spread around the room.  And sitting above the shifter pack was the reason why I was here.  Four kids, two males and two females.  The lower pair I already knew, Mack and Jetta Sutton.  They, at least, were not supernatural in any way that I was aware of, but Chris and Tanya had extended the invitation to them anyway.

“They have been dragged into the supernatural world against their wills, but they’ve more than adapted to it,” Chris had said. “And I think they deserve something, some sort of payback, even if it is meager compared to what they lost.”

Directly above them were the reason this whole facility existed: a boy and a girl, sitting quietly, waiting for the orientation meeting to begin here at College Arcane.  He was tall and lanky, lean rather than skinny, with shaggy dark hair and bright blue eyes that could almost give Tanya’s a run for their money.  The girl was average height, perhaps Latinx, to use the most correct neologism.  Look at me… big words and almost politically correct.

Brown hair, brown eyes, but a distinctly muscular build.  Pretty and clearly feminine, but also clearly no stranger to extensive exercise.  She had her head down, reading through the pile of propaganda that Oracle had put together for this experiment in higher education.  He was Declan, and she was Caeco.

A male witch and a test tube baby.  Only, according to both Tanya and Chris, he was likely the most powerful witch alive, and she was a super soldier, bioengineered and cybernetically enhanced.  These were the kids that had kept Toni Velasquez safe and healthy until Chris and Tanya could rescue her.  These were the kids who had, between them, killed AIR’s most talented and dangerous operative.

They looked like kids.  He was working hard to act relaxed, but he kept watching the witches and looking annoyed at the shifters.  He was clearly aware of me as well, casting quick glances my way that he surely felt were subtle.

His latest glance begged for response, so I turned and met his eyes directly.  His blue peepers widened and then he glanced down at the papers his girlfriend was studying.

“Stop creeping on the other kids, Declan,” Caeco said to him without raising her head.  “Especially the vampires and werewolves.”

She said it quietly, but I heard it clearly.

“You know they probably have hearing as good as yours,” he said.

She smirked. “Maybe.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Gina Velasquez entered, followed by a small group of faculty members, including a witch and a werewolf.

Gina stood front and center, smiled, and welcomed everyone.  After that… well, I’ll admit that I basically tuned out her whole speech.  Lots of talk of education, the future, fitting in, finding your place, blah, blah, blah.  Instead, I studied the children—looking for threats.  Because that’s what I was there for.

“Katrina, we need you to watch over these kids.  Keep an eye on them,” Chris had said.

“The powerful witch and the engineered super soldier?” I’d asked.

“The powerful witch boy and the super soldier girl—who are both under eighteen,” Tanya had said.

“You’re putting them in a building with werewolves, other witches, and who knows what and you want me to watch over them?”

“Yes.  There will be bumps and bruises, but we don’t want them to die,” Tanya said. “They saved Toni when we couldn’t, and Chris feels… and I agree… that they have some important role to play in the future.”

Ah, the future.  A murky place where the humans now knew about the reality of werewolves, vampires, and especially demons.  Where the things that go bump in the night were splashed across the daily news, airwaves, and cyberspace.  The place where humanity wrestled with the sudden knowledge that they weren’t actually the apex predators they had assumed they were.  And everyone knew about Chris Gordon—the so-called Hammer of God. That future.

So I looked at the shifters, particularly the giant man-boy-wolf that was clearly an Alpha in the making.  He was going to be a problem; of that, I was certain.  His actions and body language conveyed that he was a quintessential asshole—only, he was almost seven feet tall and superhumanly strong, and that was before he wolfed out.

Then there were the witches.  The twins, I had been briefed on.  The Boklund sisters.  Identical, although one seemed serious and the other seriously rebellious.  Or maybe seriously self-involved… even more than your average teenaged kid of any species. Trouble.

The Native American witch was Tami Keoni, whose grandfather walked the dark path of Navajo witchcraft. Potential trouble.  And then there was the Irish witch, Ryanne Flynn, the youngest sister of the four witches that formed the Irish folk group, the Sisters Erie.  She’d been invited by Oracle after somehow running into Declan in downtown Burlington with her sisters.  It seemed an awfully odd coincidence, and I hate those.

I had Chet do some cyber digging.  The group’s tour schedule had somehow suddenly changed rather drastically to include an Irish pub in upstate Vermont.  And then Declan’s best friend Rory had somehow come into VIP tickets at the last moment.  Chet hadn’t found any direct evidence, but I knew for a fact that Declan had faced at least one serious witch inside the AIR facility.  That he had broken her circle from inside it, something almost unheard of.  And no one had since accounted for the witch.

Danielle had told me decades ago that male witches were generally weak and very rare and much sought after for breeding stronger witch children.  The kid would be prime breeding stock to any circle of witches on the planet, but with a name like O’Carroll, he would be of vast interest to the witches of Ireland.  I remember Danielle speaking about the Emerald Isle witches with hushed respect.  Lots of potential trouble.

Gina finished her speech, then introduced Chris, who suddenly stood up from behind my charges, my hand flicking to Tora’s hilt before I could control my reaction.  I knew he was supposed to be in attendance, but I hate, hate, hate when he hides in plain sight.  Something related to the demon blood that he was tainted with.

More blah, blah, blah, if slightly more interesting, and then the meeting ending in time for dinner.  I think Gina had made provision for me regarding blood, but tonight I chose to hunt my own.  Burlington is a small, picturesque New England city, but it has plenty of drug issues and enough criminal activity to provide a cautious vampire with an occasional wild snack. Chris was onsite for the night, so I took it off.  He could handle babysitting duty just fine.

The next day was Sunday and when I awoke in the later afternoon, the building was mostly quiet.  I drank tea in the cafeteria, head down, listening in on every conversation in the room.  Who was hot, who was not, young guys bragging, girls posturing, and lots of speculation about everything to do with the school.  Boring.  Perfect.  I made sure my charges were safe in their respective rooms, then scouted the facility.  The only good thing about this assignment was that northern Vermont in January has more hours of dark than light.  The other good thing was that the Oracle guards were all human.  Easy to fool and avoid.  Not that I was up to anything, but skulking is second nature and I needed to get the lay of the land unobserved and unescorted.

I ghosted about the place, finding nothing of serious note.  Ironically, it was when I returned to my room in the girls’ wing that I finally heard something of interest.  My single room (vampires don’t share) was near the witches’ rooms and as I passed one, I heard softly spoken words that caught my attention.

“No, for real, Ryanne. Tell me how he blacked out the whole building,” Britta demanded.

“Ye should ask him if ye want to know.  Water is my thing, not lecky.”

“But you know him… you met him before and you keep hinting at things, so stop playing games and tell me.  We’re roommates.”

“I only know a wee bit about him, but I suspect a lot more.  But if I tell ye me theories and they turn out wrong, I look the fool, now don’t I?”  Ryanne said in a reasonable tone. “But I’ll tell ye what I do know, what I have seen meself.  I watched that tall skinny lad pull power from a dozen streetlamps and all the heat from the air and ground for thirty meters and then stand off me sisters and me without the slightest thought of losing, holding more power than the lot of us combined.  He’s more than he seems—much more,” she said. “So, roomie, I suggest caution, and if yer feeling charitable, ye might suggest as much to yer firecracker of a sister.”

“He’s chummy with Chris Gordon too,” Britta added, her tone thoughtful.

“Why exactly do ye think a vampire is attending college with children?”

“Maybe she’s our age?”

Ryanne scoffed. “Sure she is. More like ten times our age.”

“You think she’s here to what… keep an eye on us?”

“Us, the wolves, him, and his girlfriend.”

“What’s her deal? The girlfriend?”

“I don’t know fer sure, but rumor says she was there with him with the director’s daughter.  That she’s… dangerous.”

It was quiet for a moment and then the door to the girls’ shower opened and another witch, the Croatian one, Zuzanna maybe, stepped into the hall.  I was moving as soon as the bathroom door creaked, so she didn’t catch me standing still, just moving toward my room.

I looked at her as I unlocked my door, her eyes going wide, her body freezing up at the sight of me.  Without a word or gesture, I stepped inside and closed the door.

Only one day and apparently the kid had already caused suspicion.  This was going to be harder than I thought.

It was still dark when we assembled for survival class, which the werewolf was going to teach, and the impending dawn was making me sleepy. I looked like the others, who had clearly just crawled out of their dorm beds.

At the appointed hour, the werewolf, Jenks, strode in and began to lecture us all on survival.  Now, I’m not an idiot. I understand the vampire rule of fang that you have to keep learning or you die, so I’m willing to listen to anyone for at least a minute or two, but somehow I didn’t think this guy was going to be teaching me anything new.

After insulting everyone, he had us all empty our pockets to see what we carried for every night use.  He knew who I was, so he pretty much ignored me, but he did raise an eyebrow at the sight of Tora sitting amidst the lockpicks, vials of false scent, and the dental mirror I sometimes use to look around corners.  After meeting my eyes, he moved on and finally ended up with the soldier girl and Mack and Jetta.  All three had veritable mountains of gear piled in front of them, and Jenks used all of it as a teaching moment.  All in all, not a bad lecture.  Then he announced that Caeco would be his assistant, and all hell broke loose.

That monstrous moron, Dellwood, challenged for the position, and Caeco accepted his challenge, then beat his ass without breaking a sweat.  She was smooth, skilled, and very fast—maybe twenty-year-old vampire fast.  And just when she finished choking out Dellwood, the other mighty moron in the group, Erika, threw a spell at her.  I couldn’t see it, but I lived with a witch for years, and I knew the motions when she made them.  That’s why I also saw Declan twitch his fingers and knock the spell zooming at his girlfriend right into Dellwood.  The massive man-boy had just sat up and now he fell back down, unconscious.  The whole thing was… awesome.  Maybe this mission wouldn’t be boring after all.

Chapter 48

It went from mildly interesting to off the charts in just a few days.  I was only attending morning survival class and the evening seminars.  I thought I would pop back and forth between the Monday, Wednesday, Friday Explorations of Power and Control classes, but changed my mind after the first of Jenks’ Control classes.  He shifted from his violent prepper attitude in the survival class to a quasi-Zen approach of meditation and yoga.  And from what I heard about the other class, the teacher seemed a dud, but Declan had already managed to spice it up with the introduction of some kind of magic war game called Wytchwar.  That class sounded way more interesting.

Tuesday’s evening seminar with Gina was about studying the domestic and global response to the outing of vampires and werewolves across the planet.  That was a topic that I was actually invested in. Every Darkkin I knew was talking about the so-called Emergence.

I participated, at least when Gina asked my opinion.  This event was rocking the entire world’s… well… worldview, and Darkkin life as I knew it was in complete upheaval.

Gina broke the students into smaller groups and had them research news that touched on the Emergence in some way or form.  Then, after some time, she had them explain what stories had caught their eyes, why they had done so, and what the possible ramifications were.  I got dragged into the conversation when she asked the were pack to report.

“Thomas, what did you guys find?” she asked one of the were boys.

“Yahoo Finance and MSN Money both have headlines about the upcoming Demidova IPO. It’s got Wall Street all hot and bothered.  There’s no other company in the world quite like it, and the prices of many major pharmaceuticals are plummeting.”

“Excellent.  Talk about a disruptive technology: refined vampire proteins to treat some of the most devastating diseases known to man, and they currently have the only source,” Gina said.

“What do you mean by currently?” another werewolf asked.

“Katrina, care to comment?” Gina asked, turning my way.

“Tanya’s group is a smaller subset of the Coven,” I said. “The Elders are hanging back and letting her front the Darkkin society, but at some point, they may decide to compete against her.”

“Which are you part of?” T.J., the techno geek asked me.  Snide little shit.

“I am a Vice President in the Demidova Corp.”

“Then why are you here… at this school?” Ariel asked in a rush.  She was some kind of precognitive psychic.

“Exactly how would that be your business?” I responded.

Ariel shrugged.  “You’re likely older than anyone here, probably been to college three or four times, and you already have a job.  Just seems odd is all.”

“Perhaps, nosey little seer, I am on assignment for my Queen,” I replied.

“Enough,” Gina said. “Katrina has as much right to be here as any of you, whatever her personal reasons are.  Let’s get back to the topic, shall we?  Tami, what did you girls find?”

The witches talked about a crime in New York that they thought might involve witches, although that group had yet to be revealed.  I was following my own thoughts on that issue when Gina’s words caught my attention.

“That, ladies, may be a pivotal point in the exposure of witches.  I’ll defer to your expertise on the true nature of what happened, and I suspect that the police might eventually bring in someone who would tell them much the same thing,” Gina said.

“The article mentions that the authorities are waiting for a certain expert to get back into the country,” one of the witches said.

“And he will know almost instantly that it was witchcraft, not demonic,” Gina said, turning her head. “Declan, would he contact you about something like this?”

The American version of Harry Potter flushed at the attention. “Maybe, or maybe my aunt.”

“Why would he contact a little spark like you when he knows my mother just as well?” Erika asked, arms folded under her bust like anyone needed a reminder of her attributes.

“Because Chris Gordon doesn’t trust witches, except for that one right there and his aunt,” I said. “It seems some of them have attempted to put spells on him,” I added, glaring at her.

She dropped her eyes, momentarily embarrassed.

Gina deflected the tension by asking Declan and Caeco’s group for their report.  Turns out it was a story close to home, or at least close to the college.  Three young children were missing from the Burlington area, and one of the group, Ashley Moore, had thought it might be supernatural.  But her take on it involved the stuff of fairytales—elves.  I sat up straight and listened as she told a tale of alien incursion, although in this case, the aliens came from the planet Fairie.  The fact that Gina took it completely seriously, and in fact became visibly alarmed, told me it wasn’t a psychotic episode by the young telepath.  Elves, goblins, pucks, and tinks.  This just might be the best assignment I’d had in years.

Wednesday morning’s Survival class was meh.  Jenks had the kids doing what might be a strenuous workout for humans and perhaps even tax a werewolf a bit, but it did nothing for me.  I did notice quite a lot of tension between Dellwood and Declan though.  Caeco seemed oblivious to Dellwood’s admiring gaze, but the boy witch didn’t miss it at all.  On top of all that, I learned, by standing outside the gym and listening to an after-class conversation, that Jenks was completely biased against witches… or at least male witches.  Clearly no one had told him anything at all about our only male witch.

The fecal matter hit the spinning air propeller on Friday morning.  I made the mistake of working on the far side of the gym from Declan, working the stick fighting with three psychic girls who clearly needed my help.  By the time I heard Jenks berating Declan and started to wonder if I needed to intervene, the action was already underway.  And it only took a few seconds for the fight to begin and end.

In all the scenarios I had considered where I might need to protect the witch, getting his jaw dislocated and ribs cracked in Survival class weren’t part of any of them.  Mostly because I knew he had tremendous power and could protect himself.  I never considered that a teacher would cripple his magic. Or that students like the Irish witch and Jetta would intervene afterward.

“Boss, you’re going to fire me,” I said to Tanya when I called her right after class.

“What happened?” she demanded. “I’m putting you on speaker.  Chris and Lydia are here.”

I told them the whole thing, leaving out nothing and giving myself no excuses.  When I finished, there was deadly silence for a few minutes.

“I’ll kill that fuckwad Jenks,” Chris said, his voice that of Grim’s.

Tanya, on the other hand, sighed.  “He’s alive though?”

“Dislocated jaw that was reset, and perhaps cracked ribs.  He passed out when they reset the jaw.”

“He still have those anti-magic cuffs on?” Lydia asked.

“As far as I know.”

“Probably for the best. He’ll be humiliated and royally pissed off.  He might kill Jenks and the wolf kid.”

“I didn’t know cuffs like that existed.  That’s why I didn’t anticipate this,” I said.

“None of us knew about them,” Tanya said. “Kat, being a bodyguard isn’t really your thing and asking you to guard a human witch who is awake all day when you sleep wasn’t fair to you or well thought out on my part.”

“I disagree,” Chris said. “Declan should be okay with a wolf if he has his magic.  We didn’t consider that.  This Jenks is a complete idiot.”

“We’re coming back, Kat.  I… we’ll teach him ourselves, at least for a week or so.”

“When?”

“We gotta finish up some stuff, so try to keep him out of trouble over the weekend.”

“Yes, boss.”

They hung up and I breathed a heavy sigh.  Then, despite my fatigue with the now risen sun, I went in search of some answers.

The nurse’s office was empty, so I headed to the dorm floors. Standing in the stairwell just outside Declan’s floor, I listened to the witch teacher, Karen Berg, and Gina.

“I don’t understand it?  I can’t shake this door ward,” Berg said, clearly baffled. “Nothing, not even a twitch.”

“Well, I’m not surprised.”

“What?  Why not?  He’s a male,” Berg complained.

“Karen, that kid in that room is not like any male witch you’ve ever heard of.  Right now, my biggest fear is that he gets those cuffs off his wrists.”

“Why?”

“When you completely humiliate a boy—or man, for that matter—and seriously injure him in the process, you activate some of the deepest parts of the psyche, some of the greatest rage and anger possible.  Had the bands come off right after that… dumpster fire… we would undoubtedly have two dead werewolves on our hands,” Gina said. “Let’s leave him to his rest and hope he doesn’t get those things off.”

“Gina, I think I’ve misjudged the boy, but even if he’s some kind of prodigy, there’s one thing I can tell you… he couldn’t ward his room if he still had the cuffs on.”

The silence spoke volumes, as did Gina’s soft curse. After a bit, Gina came up with a better plan.  “Karen, would you find Mack and send him here please?”

Fifteen minutes later, I had to move up the stairs a level to avoid Mack as he bounded up from below.

“See if he’ll let you in,” Gina instructed the boy.  He pounded on the door several times and spoke loudly.  I heard the moment the lock clicked open.

“Is it safe to come in?” Mack asked.  The response must have been nonverbal. “Dude, I came back from class to find Velasquez freaking out.  You disappeared from the doctor’s office and then they couldn’t open your door.  Miss Berg couldn’t break your spells or whatever, and you didn’t answer to their knocking.”

Gina’s soft footsteps approached the doorway.

“Hey, Declan.  Just wanted to make sure you’re all right.  Doctor Rosewell panicked a bit when you vanished, but when we couldn’t unlock your door, I figured you were holed up in here.  You okay?”

Then a second later, she spoke again.

“Okay, so we’ll let you alone.  I told the doctor that you probably didn’t feel safe in her office and just wanted your own room.  Tell you what.  Just have Mack here ask for anything you need, and we’ll see that he gets it for you, okay?”

I heard her step back and heard the door click, which was my cue to step out of the stairwell.

“That was one of the biggest shitshows I’ve ever seen,” I said by way of greeting.

She looked at me without any fear, but she smelled of anxiety.  “You didn’t stop it,” she said.

“To my everlasting shame,” I said. “It happened fast, and I didn’t know that you could block a witch’s magic like that or that Jenks had those things or that he was such a maniac that he would use them.  Are he and Dumbwood even still alive?”

“They are.  I’ve had words with both, Katrina.”

“I’ve heard lots of words from Chris and Tanya,” I said, raising a brow.

“Dammit.  We’ve barely started this thing,” Gina hissed.

“Well, it has been interesting,” I allowed.

“This is a massive mess.  What do we do?”

“Well, let’s go talk about that,” I suggested. “But somewhere else,” I said with a look at the dorm room door.

She nodded and led me back into the stairwell.  “Honestly, what could possibly happen next?” she asked.

Her answer came on Monday.

Chapter 49

I skulked and snuck about the building Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings, listening to Declan’s room and eavesdropping on his friends.  The witches were gossiping like mad all weekend, buzzing on the news that when Ryanne and Britta had visited the beat-up warlock, they found out he’d broken the anti-magic witchbands all on his own.  Apparently, his method was all kinds of innovative and out-of-the-box.  Mack gave the friend group updates, saying that Declan was healing extremely rapidly and planning revenge, which warmed my heart.  I’ll admit that I was slightly partial to the kid simply because Tanya and Chris liked him but hearing that he was plotting vengeance was points in his favor.

I never heard much coming from the boys’ room except the occasional word or two from Mack.  Declan was apparently writing out all his communications.

Monday came, dark and early.  I was down in the gym before any of the others, so I saw the moment when Mack and Declan came in.  Dressed in black combat clothes from head to toe, the witch had an evil glint in his eyes that told me I might want to position myself close by. He still wore the witchbands on each wrist.  They were prominent and visible, more like badges of honor than objects of humiliation and shame.  Damn, this kid had cojones.

Sure enough, when Dellwood came loudly into the gym, Declan made it a point to lock eyes with him, clearly challenging the giant werewolf.

Jenks was both shocked and unhappy when he came in moments later, saw the dynamic, and met the same challenge stare from the young witch.

He chose to ignore Declan and called for the class to line up and warm up.  I placed myself on Mack’s right side as he was on Declan’s, who was right next to Dellwood.  I could literally smell the tension.

Jenks didn’t hold back on the warmup. In fact, I’m pretty sure he added extra moves and reps to make it harder, but the skinny witch kid pounded out the sets as well as anyone in the room.

When the fighting sticks were handed out, Caeco asked Declan several times what he was thinking, but apparently the jaw was still too sore to open because he wouldn’t say a word.  The spectacular black and blue bruises on his face flexed as he kept his mouth tightly shut.

Jetta was next to me, giving me annoyed looks when she thought I wasn’t looking, but I turned to her when I got my pair of sticks.  “Partners?” I asked.  She glanced worriedly at her brother and Declan, then nodded.  Most kids were reluctant to partner with me, except a couple of the weres.  Jetta was clearly worried about Declan while I, on the other hand, was getting more and more excited to see what was going to happen.

It took just seconds for my dreams to more than come true.  Declan made a show of accidentally smacking Dellwood as soon as his girlfriend and Jenks had moved down the line.  He did it again and then a third time and poof, just like that, the action started.  Dellwood glanced down the line, then took a hard swing at the kid.  His stick stopped cold against Declan’s with a seriously loud thunk.  The massive werewolf’s eyes bulged in surprise and fury, but Declan used his other stick and smashed Dellwood in the hand so hard, he dropped his stick.

Time slowed, as it so often does for me when violence is imminent, and I saw strange black markings, like sigils, writhing across Declan’s exposed forearms, hands, neck, and face.  Dellwood dropped like he was going for his fallen stick but started to spin in a leg sweep.

Declan jumped over the massive leg like a ballet dancer, with a grace hitherto unseen, and then kicked the werewolf right in the crotch.  Dellwood grabbed for his injured junk and Declan promptly hit him in the head with both sticks, then dropped one, held the other crosswise with a hand on each end and jammed it hard into Dellwood’s throat.  It was killing move, at least for a human, but not for weres. The crunch of cartilage was loud and clear.

Jenks was there, grabbing Declan and tossing him away like a sack of potatoes.  Declan executed a picture-perfect back roll and came up on both feet, hands out and ready to party.

Dellwood was choking on his collapsed throat, face turning blue.  Caeco looked him over and pronounced, “He may need a tracheotomy.”

Jenks, who was in the middle of a stare down with Declan, frowned at the kid—who looked ready for war—before spinning to look at the wounded wolf.

“He needs to Change.  Everybody get back now,” he ordered before leaning close to Dellwood and whispering for him to release his wolf.

Dellwood dropped to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head, spine bent, bones popping and snapping like kindling.  It was fascinating to watch as his body transformed from extra-large human to gigantic wolf.  A massive muzzle full of big teeth jutted out from his face, the skull pulsing outward as it gained mass, shoulders bursting his shirt as they knotted and reformed into something primordial.  He was absolutely huge, more like a bear in size than a wolf, with thick forearms and wicked long, cruel claws.

Jenks pushed on the beast but was clearly outmatched.  “You should have run.  I don’t think I can control him,” Jenks said to Declan.

The kid was studying the wolf, nodding at the impressive bulk of the beast.  Dellwood locked eyes with him and roared, claws ripping into the concrete floor.

Jetta turned to me, horror on her face.  I think I might have smiled back.  This was freaking incredible.  The kid witch looked mildly thoughtful in the face of every horror moviegoer’s worst nightmare and then he casually flicked his right hand.

All quarter ton of wolf flew backward through the air and slammed into the brick wall almost two body lengths off the floor, shaking dust and mortar from the wall.

Jenks spun to Declan, shock and perhaps a little fear on his face.

“What the bleeding ’ell is going on here?” a female voice demanded from the doorway.

Declan’s pretty aunt stood there, fire in her eyes, hair floating in midair like an astronaut in space, Gina Velasquez right behind her.  I saw the exact moment when the bruises on Declan’s face caught Ashling’s attention.

“Just what the feck have ye done to me boy?” she demanded, her tone furiously cold. “Declan?”

She stormed across the gym, ignoring the thrashing werewolf on the wall, right up to her boy, her hand reaching out to grab his face.  He pulled back before she could make contact.

There were a lot of bodies in the way and even with my newly aged form, I’m not very tall.  I jumped on top of one of Jenk’s Wing Chun wooden practice dummies, perching for a better view.

“He can’t open his jaw, Miss O’Carroll.  It got dislocated on Friday,” Mack said helpfully.

“Dislocated, ye say?  What kind of fecked-up nightmare are ye running here?” she said, spinning to glare at Gina, who flinched.

“Why did me nephew get his jaw dislocated, why is he beaten bloody black and blue and had to activate three of me most powerful healing charms, and just exactly why is he holding a fully changed werewolf against the fecking wall?”

“It’s complicated,” Gina said.

“Then uncomplicated it,” the pissed-off witch commanded.

“Ma’am, you’re obviously related to the warlock,” Jenks began, but Ashling snapped around to glare at him and he shut up instantly in the face of her fury.  Suddenly she spun back to Declan and grabbed his arm, looking intently at the squirming glyphs on his skin.

“Ye broke yer promise.  Away jest a week and ye broke yer bloody promise to me,” she said, staring him in the face, hurt and betrayal clear even to me.

“This warlock is me nephew.  And thanks to this fecking shitty school, he now truly is a warlock,” she said, clearly emphasizing the word like it meant something special and bad. “Eighteen years I’ve loved and protected him and one fecking week away and it’s all ruined,” she said. “How… how and why?”

Gina groped for words and Jenks was useless.  I piped up.

“I can tell you.  It’s pretty simple really,” I said.  “Let me start at the beginning.  Jenks here made the soldier girl his assistant, which makes sense as she’s apparently been birthed to know all this crap.  The big bully kid who’s currently wearing fur up there on the wall pitched a fit, all butthurt that he wasn’t the teacher’s pet.  Soldier girl beat him up and put him in his place, only in some perverse manner, he became infatuated with her.  Started to hit on her, pay attention to her, except she either ignored it or failed to notice it.  Personally, I think it went right over her head.

“Anyway, he’s trying to get her attention and it ain’t happening, but Declan there is noticing in a big way, so wolfy decides on a new tactic.  Push the boy witch until he makes a move, then beat the piss out of him in front of his girl.  It’s a wolf thing—impressing the bitch wolf with your strength and power.  Instructor Jenks here allowed it, as he seems kind of clueless about how weak and soft regular students are.  Soldier girl follows orders instead of interfering as she should have, and now she’s all self-ashamed.  Wolfy whispers some trash talk into your nephew’s ear about taking his girl and making him his bitch.  Might work with a wolf but frankly, I think he misjudged your boy, who’s supposed to be powerless ’cause of those fancy bracelets Jenks put on him, but apparently has some tricks up his sleeve.  He used magic on himself, at least that’s what I think he did, and beat the piss outta the wolf.  Just about killed him.

“Jenks makes him Change to heal but can’t control him.  Then your boy flicks one hand and smashes him into the wall and just leaves him there.  Then you and our esteemed director show up.”

Ashling looked at me for a moment, clearly grinding her teeth before she gave me a little nod and turned back to Gina.

“This is yer idea of teaching witches? I left three of me most powerful healing charms with the boy and I felt all three get used in a matter of days.  So I drop everything and rush here to see what had happened.  And I find ye allowed a sadist werewolf to beat him up till he snapped and used forbidden magic.  There hasn’t been a new, true warlock in almost a hundred years, but now we got one.  Congratulations. You humiliated the son of the most powerful witch to ever come out of Ireland, himself more than her equal.  Pushed him to use battle magic on himself, to tattoo glyphs that change him forever,” Ashling said.

“Ah, if it helps, I think it’s just henna ink,” Mack said.

“Ah, but it doesn’t matter now, does it?  Because once a male witch uses the glyphs, they become permanent, now don’t they?”

Declan’s wary expression turned to surprise at her words. Clearly, he’d been unaware of that part.

“The boy used magic in my class, Mrs. Velasquez.  I want him expelled,” Jenks said.

“Not until a changed werewolf started to attack him.  Before that, he just used it on himself.  Not part of your rules,” Erika said, hands on her hips.

“I told you on Friday, Mr. Jenks, fighting students, especially those with vastly different levels of power, was forbidden.  And yet two days later, you do it again,” Gina said, clearly struggling with the situation.

“I didn’t allow anything.  The witch boy picked a fight,” Jenks replied.

“And almost fecking ended it, too,” Ryanne said. “Ye realize that he could have just hunted ye and Dellwood down as soon as he broke your fancy anti-fecking-magic bracelets, don’t ye?  Instead, he found another way, he did.  It’s what yer always going on about—being prepared. Well, looks like he came to class prepared, but now yer all… what did the vampire call it?  Butt hurt?  Yer all butt hurt cause he beat up yer pet boy.”

“It’s a good damn thing he didn’t come hunting me or we’d be short one warlock,” Jenks said.

“Oh really?” Ashling asked. “Mistress vampire, if ye’d be so kind as to vacate that wooden thing?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.  When a powerful witch—and Ashling O’Carroll was clearly a powerful witch—asks you to move, you move.

“Warlock, immolate that thing,” she ordered her nephew.

Declan looked at the wooden dummy and I felt the air go cold.  Suddenly the dummy went up in white hot flames that burned like a blast furnace, the air going from cold to hot in an instant.  In mere seconds, it collapsed into a pile of black melted metal braces and a tiny piece of wood.  Oddly, there was a complete lack of smoke and even the super-heated air above the fire somehow faded in seconds.

“Ye’ve heard of spontaneous human combustion?  Well, me family invented it and me nephew has perfected it, as ye can see.  How would all yer combat skills do against that, wolf?” Ashling asked Jenks.

“Yer last name isn’t truly O’Carroll, is it?” Ryanne asked her before Jenks could answer, her face alight with speculation.

“No, dear, it isn’t.  I was born Ashling Irwin and me sister, Declan’s mum, was Maeve Irwin.  Have ye heard of us then?” she asked.

Ryanne’s face bloomed into an almost worshipful smile. “Oh yeah, ye bet I have.  The Irwins of Tipperary are famous.  Me own mum used to tell me sisters and me tales of the Irwin sisters.  Said she’d met ye both when she herself was a girl.  Megan Flynn, well she would have been Megan Boyle then.  Said yer sister was sumthing… as were you.”

“Aye, we were all of that.  And me boy here is as well.  What he lacks in training, he makes up for in sheer power,” Ashling said. “So in that regard, the lass is right.  He could have just snapped, and we’d be having a different conversation.  But why don’t we just call it a day, then?  I’ll take me boy out of this… this madhouse, and ye can go about bolloxing up young witches and the like without him?”

“Now, let’s not be hasty here.  Does Declan really want to leave?  Seems to me if he did, he would have right after the incident on Friday,” Gina said hurriedly.

Ryanne was the one to respond, scoffing loudly.  Ashling nodded at the Irish girl and turned to Gina.

“Surely you don’t think an Irwin would run away from a fight, now do ye?  The menfolk of our Clan were bred to fight.  Why, he’d be more like to stop breathing and die on the spot than to run away.  No, ye boxed him into a corner, humiliating him that way.  I can’t imagine a worse nightmare. For eighteen years, I’ve been afraid of exactly what ye’ve done to him.  He was taken as a child, ye know, by a pervert.  The man died, by me nephew’s hand.  And when his friend Caeco, who’s been strangely silent over there, was threatened, he took out three soldiers and a vehicle.  But what ye done was worse.  I’m surprised ye have a building still standing.  So in that regard, I guess I’m glad he chose the route he did.  Except for breaking his promise.  Maybe blasting the damned building would have been better.  Come on, Declan. We’re leaving,” she said.

He just stood there, looking at her, surprised by her words.

“Declan… come on,” she said again.

He shook his head.

“Oh?  That’s how it is, is it?” she said, her expression changing to hurt.

“I think your nephew has made a large number of friends here, Miss O’Carroll.  Despite the recent unpleasantness, he may still want to stay.  Perhaps you and I could talk, just for a bit, maybe over some tea?  You are absolutely right that we have gotten a great number of things wrong with our programming, and your insight would be invaluable.  A famous witch of your caliber?  Critiquing our program?  It would be a major boon,” Gina suggested, her tone hopeful.

Ashling was studying her nephew, hands on her hips.  After a moment, she turned and nodded to Gina before looking back at Declan.

“You and I will have a little chat later, boy, don’t you jest know it,” she said, her voice very quiet and hard. “And put that wolf down.”

Dellwood fell like a stone, landing on all four feet, but Declan didn’t even glance his way, eyes still locked on his aunt.  The wolf trotted over to Jenks and just about tried to hide behind him.

“Okay then.  Let’s call it a class, then?  Have a good day everyone and we’ll see you all tonight at dinner,” Gina said, moving to capture Ashling’s attention, then leading her from the gym.

“Dude, that was freaking awesome!” Mack said, slapping his back.  Declan just looked slightly worried.  He was suddenly surrounded by his fellow students, and it was clear that they had questions.  I moved to my gym bag and retrieved a tablet computer, then wormed my way up near him.

“You’re an Irwin witch?” Britta asked.

He nodded.

“And your mother was Maeve Irwin?  The Maeve Irwin?” Britta pressed further, her eyebrows sky high.  Declan looked frustrated so when he glanced around, I handed him the tablet, opened to a blank document page.  He met my gaze and nodded his thanks, then started to type answers.  He held it up like a placard, showing everyone the words on it.

Yes, she died when I was eight.  Murdered in Boston.  She and my aunt were betrayed by the rest of their Circle.

“Betrayed?  How?  Why?” Erika asked.

Their mother, my grandmother, was leader.  She died and another witch took over.  Feared my mom.  Tried to marry her off to a Croatian witch.  He raped her.  They fled here.

“I thought an Irwin wouldn’t run from a fight?” Janek, the nasty, entitled little werewolf prince from Europe, asked sarcastically.  Declan typed a fast response.

If your entire Pack turned on you, would you stay and fight them?  Kill them?  Your own family? Particularly if most of them were following the orders of your leader?

Janek frowned.  “Okay, that’s different, I guess.  Didn’t think of it that way.”

“All right, enough of twenty questions.  Declan needs some alone time with his girlfriend,” Jetta said suddenly.

Declan nodded at her words, then turned to me, jumping a little.  I might have been almost leaning on him to read as he wrote.  He handed me the tablet, then headed for Caeco.  I followed the other kids out of the gym.

The kid had enacted his revenge perfectly, with style and overwhelming strength.  Then to have his aunt reveal his heritage, well, this had to be one of the best assignments I ever had.  The kid had won major points with me, and I didn’t want to ruin it by listening in on whatever dramatic teen crap he and his girlfriend got into.

Chapter 50

I was in and out of Arcane for the rest of the semester, attending mostly just the evening seminars with Gina and playing the game that Declan introduced, Wytch War.  I’m not going to even attempt to lie.  Wytch War was easily one of the most amazing things I had ever done.  Feeling like you were inside a moving mini-warrior while you fought without restraint against other mini-warriors was so up my alley.  I especially liked that the physical abilities of our avatars were evenly matched and that winning came from strategy, tactics, and preparation, rather than pure physical prowess.  I could indulge my wildest desires for mayhem and destruction, and it wasn’t just acceptable, but it earned me admiration and accolades from the children around me. Trading new weapons and spelled objects, acting out on ideas I had long learned to keep buried; addictive doesn’t begin to describe it.  In fact, with my relatively open schedule, I had lots of free time to practice on the game course while others were studying, writing papers, and taking classes, and I used every second of it to rampage around that artificial battlefield.

I hadn’t understood why Tanya and Chris had held the kid in such high regard until now.  I missed Danielle, but damned if this kid wasn’t my favorite witch of perhaps all time.

Then he had the fight with the other witch in the school parking lot.  I was asleep when it happened but watched all the videos.  And there were a lot of videos.  Security cameras, the personal phones of the guards, kids’ video from out their dorm windows.  I got it all and immediately copied that shit to my phone and tablet so that I could watch it whenever I wanted a little pick-me-up.  Truly magnificent stuff—cars flying, fireballs, kinetic blasts, and a frozen head shattering on the pavement. A new classic by which to judge all other violent media.

I wasn’t just playing cool games or watching movies though, because the boss had me doing background work on a bunch of hoity-toity hotshot college computer wizards that she was hiring for summer interns.  She had a special computing project underway and had hired a strange, but supposedly brilliant, scientist to attempt to build a truly quantum computer.  Don’t know what that is.  I mean, I’ve been told the basics, but I don’t understand most tech, so how am I going to savvy some new super advanced gizmo?  Me, I just use the tools they give me to send emails, texts, search online, buy airline tickets, and track prey.

“We’re inviting Declan to intern for us too,” Tanya said one day before the term ended.

I stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Chris and Lydia.  “Sorry boss, but you say that like there was any other option,” I said, head tilted.

Lydia snorted and Chris grinned, nodding.  “Yeah, pretty obvious, huh?” Tanya asked.

“You, ah, built him a school and sent me to babysit.  Of course you were going to hire him.  Hey, can we have him build a Wytch War course in the basement of the Tower?”

Chris lit up like Macy’s during the holidays, but Tanya just gave me a rueful smile.  “I think we have too much else for him to do.”

I nodded, keeping my face carefully blank.  There had to be a way to put in a course somewhere in that building, but I would keep that to myself. Maybe some quiet negotiations were possible.

The background investigations took almost no time at all, which was good because Demidova Incorporated suddenly had a whole slew of new problems that cropped up in early May.

Internet website assaults, frozen assets and bank accounts, the whole executive team suddenly on Homeland Security’s No-Fly list, sensitive emails leaked, fake emails created and seemingly sent from our own servers, suspicious accidents; in short, a veritable shit storm of coordinated and monumental bad luck, all aimed at Demidova.  Speaking of aimed, there was also a mysterious incident with a nuclear sub launched Tomahawk missile that Chris intercepted in the Jersey Pine Barrens.

Tanya had me, Lydia, Nika, Chet, and almost every other corporate resource working all hours in an attempt to track down the cause of all this damage.  I spent most of May breaking into corporate and political offices, surveilling competitors, eavesdropping on members of Congress, and following every possible lead, all into dead ends. It was enormously frustrating, but at least I wasn’t bored.  When my latest trail went cold in Washington DC, I headed back to New York.

By this time, college kids from major universities all over the world had arrived at the Tower, all of them at or near the top of their classes in computer design, programming, and mathematics.  Oh, and a witch kid from northern Vermont.

I got in after they had all arrived and immediately heard from the security team on night shift that one of our elevators had somehow slipped its carefully crafted safety restraints and tried to crash itself into the Tower’s basement.  Tried, because apparently the strange kid from Vermont had done something and stopped it, saving an entire elevator carload of brainy interns from becoming paste.  Now the same college kid was going all over the entire building, always accompanied by a senior member of the executive team, painting, and drawing strange-looking letters and symbols all over the otherwise pristine surfaces of the multi-million-dollar building.

“He’s a witch,” I said. “A really strong one, and he’s warding our building.”

“Yeah, that’s what Chris said,” the big one,Benson, rumbled at me. “Just weird because the word is that the attacks are coming from a computer program or some shit.  What would a witch do against a computer?”

“He’s not a normal witch,” I said.  “Computer science major, and he can actually talk with computers.”

“Deckert made us watch a set of videos of a fight between this one and some other witch all up in Vermont,” the other one, Stevens, said. “It was crazy stuff.  Like a movie or something.”

“My favorite video,” I said, patting my tablet.

“Oh, you need to turn that in for the witch kid to draw on,” he said. “Tanya’s orders. He’s been writing on everything, so why not phones and computers.”

“Makes sense,” I allowed, handing the tablet over a bit reluctantly.

“Apparently Ron Weasley can somehow block it with a Sharpie,” Benson said.

“Weasley?  Come on, Benson, he looks more like Potter, plus old Ron wasn’t the sharpest wizard in the castle,” Stevens said, handing me another Demidova tablet that was covered in black marker-drawn runes and glyphs.

“Actually, this one is like a tall, skinny, male Hermione,” I said, studying the runes.  His penmanship was excellent, his lines crisp and clean. “When do I get that one back?” I asked.

They looked at each other and shrugged.  “Whenever he gets to it, I guess,” Stevens said. “They got him running all over the building, although I heard that he’s up with some of the whiz kids and Chet in Tanya’s office, doing something even bigger.”

I left them and went to my apartment, dropping my bags and grabbing a bottle of O positive from my personal fridge.  I sipped it cold while I unpacked, then took a shower and dressed in clean clothes.  Then I headed out in search of the boss.

“She’s with Chris in the cafeteria,” one of the Darkkin administrators told me when I stopped him outside her offices. “A big breakthrough happened.  We’re back online with all the overseas offices.”

I headed to the cafeteria floor and walked in to see Tanya, Chris, and the corporate attorney, Darion Cornell sitting at a table, with Awasos next to Chris.  I recognized the girls at the other table sitting with Declan, as I had spent quite some time digging through their backgrounds.  Mostly clear, but I had had to rely on our Chinese contacts for the girl from Beijing. I wasn’t fully comfortable with that, but Tanya had overruled my paranoia.

As I walked up, I heard Declan talking to one of the girls, who seemed to be wigging out.

“If it helps, I tend to agree with you—hanging out with witches is trouble.  I don’t go near them very often at school,” he said.

“That’s true, he doesn’t,” I said from right next to him.  He stiffened in surprise as he recognized my voice.  It’s good to keep people on their toes. “Although he does seem to be often found in the company of a certain Irish witch and he hangs out with his aunt, who is a pretty big deal among witches, so maybe I’m wrong.”

“Hey Katrina, what’s happening?” he asked, now fully relaxed.

“I heard they were starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel for interns and had to come see for myself,” I said.  A flicker of a smirk crossed his face.  None of the other kids at Arcane would see my words as a joke.

“Yeah, the company webpage has a list of officers.  Apparently, they make anyone a VP,” he said. “I figure a summer of this, and I can get the key to the Exec washroom.”

“Oh, I think they’ll give it to you sooner… the last bathroom attendant retired.  You’re a shoo-in,” I replied deadpan, then headed to Tanya’s table.

“Hey, Kat. How’s it going?” Chris asked as I pulled out a chair.

“Dead ends, but I heard we’ve had a breakthrough?” I asked.

He grinned. “Yeah, I tracked down the problem.”

“And your intern fixed it,” Tanya said to him with a level look.  If anything, his smirk just got bigger.

“Yeah, exactly.  We’re back up, building is safe, computers and satellites secure, and all operations coming online,” he said.

“Somebody hacked us?” I asked.

“Something hacked us,” Tanya said. “NSA computer watchdog program that went feral.”

“No shit,” I said. “Hey do you think…?”

“It launched that Tomahawk missile at us?” Tanya guessed. “Yes.  It’s dangerous as hell, Kat, so keep watch when you leave the Tower.  Listen, we’re heading out to straighten out a local organization that thinks we stole their money, so I want you here to keep an eye on things.”

“Things or kids?” I asked.

“Kids,” Chris said. “Although that reminds me.”  He turned and leaned toward Declan’s table. “We’re going to an off-site meeting after dinner.  You’re coming along—as an observer—so you’ll want to get ready when you’re done eating,” he said to Declan.

“How do I dress?” the kid asked.

“You’ll find several sets of the security team’s uniform pants in your room.  Those would be a good idea,” he said, turning back to us.

“I don’t wanna know nothing about this meeting, do I?” Darion asked.

“What meeting?” Tanya replied, flashing him a smile.

“Well, I already ate, so I’m going to make a round of the building,” I said, getting up to leave.

The kids at the next table had kept up a steady chatter, the girls asking our resident witch all kinds of questions, especially the pretty Australian girl, Grace.

“You’re a wiseass,” one of them said to Declan, exasperated.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s true.  It pretty much defines me.”

“No. Dangerous wiseass defines you,” I said as I went by. “And that’s bloody fair dinkum.”

Chapter 51

Once again, I missed all the fun.  Truth be told I never go on team operations because I’m a solo operator and my skills do not add much to a group that includes two fallen angels, a telepath, a combat-form werewolf, and a many-centuries-old vampire warrior.  And now a witch—who had apparently provided a rather spectacular display of power in yet another parking lot.

“Round up the copies of video, any video that you can,” Tanya had instructed me as soon as they returned to the Tower. “Any means necessary,” she added.  My three favorite mission-parameter-defining words.  It means I’m off my leash.  Sounds like somebody had been bad and pissed off my queen.  Tsk tsk.  Now Katrina has pretty much free rein.  Yay.

Of course, I still have to stay under the radar and avoid fireworks and parades, but it seems the team already had a night of those.  I taxied to Brighton Bay in Brooklyn and slipped into the broken, bloody nightclub owned by the Russian mob.  I expected lots of police and firemen roaming around, along with anxious Russian criminals trying to keep trade secrets under wraps, but instead all I found were black government SUVs and federal agent types in either tactical clothing or white Tyvex protective gear.  Lots of shiny metal bits everywhere in the parking lot, along with portable klieg lights and forensic people crawling on the shattered pavement.

The Russian high-tech camera gear had already been taken by whatever alphabet group was currently taking a vacuum to this crime scene, so I was forced to intercept the technician responsible.  He was loading a pricey state-of-the-art video system hard drive into the back of a big SUV when I slipped up behind him.  I was a micro-second from choking him out when another agent called his name.  He turned with an exasperated sigh and a muttered “—can’t do anything yourself,” leaving the vehicle wide open.  I borrowed the drive and slipped away, climbing to the top of a nearby building.

A compact set of precise tools and vampiric speed made short work of disassembly.  The actual hard drive came out of the steel case, which then was reassembled and put back in the SUV before the tech finished lending his unhappy assistance to his fellow agents.  He missed out on a Katrina choke hold, but he would likely be worse off when he had to explain to his superiors how the fancy security system was missing its memory.

There was another security camera on the back of a neighboring building that the feds had missed.  To be honest, I almost did too, because it was one of those home security cameras that are so small, they almost disappear.  Luckily it wasn’t a wireless version but rather a hardwired type that watched the back door of a small convenience store that shared the parking lot.

I hate the new Wi-Fi run ones because they send their images to cell phones, as opposed to storing them in a computer.  This was old-school enough that I was able to copy the data to a zip drive and then wipe the system’s memory.

Back at the Tower, I headed to the security offices, where Deckert’s guys would extract all the video for presentation to Tanya.

Yes, of course I watched it too.  Lots of rain and chaos, but the lightning strikes were awesome.

“What did you think?” Tanya asked me when I delivered the results.

“It’s a hell of a show.  Not to piss you off, boss, but it looked like you all were having some trouble with those metal bugs before your junior Dumbledore spanked the whole lot of them.”

“Yeah, that’s our assessment too.  What were your impressions of Declan’s actions?”

“Not great coverage, but he looks a little dazed.  I made a note; it’s thirteen point four seconds into the clip.”

She smoothly advanced the video to that timestamp and there was a brief glimpse of Declan’s face.

“Yes, he looks… distracted, maybe,” she said.

“I was gonna say bewitched, but that seems like something your man would say, so I avoided it.”

“Possibly exactly what he would say.  I understand that kind of thing is called a dad joke,” she answered. “He thinks he froze up and that’s why the wolf got dinged by a blade.”

“Damn good thing she did get snicked,” I said.  When Tanya raised her brows, I went on. “That’s what pissed him off so bad and basically saved all your butts.”

“Nika said something similar.  Thinks he may have a bit of a crush on the wolf.”

I snorted. “Ya think?”

“It seems like a common occurrence,” Tanya said.

“Oh, it is, right up until she Changes,” I responded. “But that doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.”

“He had to fight all of us during training in Burlington.  He faced her combat forms many times in those four days.”

“And still has the hots for her.  Weird kid, but you gotta admit he’s fun to have around,” I said.

She nodded, although she looked thoughtful as she considered my words.

“Can I, ah, keep a copy?” I asked.  Her brows went up.  “I’ve kinda got a collection started of Declan videos.”

She studied me for a moment, a slight smile that made me a little defensive.  “Come on; you gotta admit that his magic fights are pretty cool.”

She finally nodded.  “Keep it on your newly warded tablet, Kat.  Nowhere else.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Board meeting tomorrow night.  I’m going to have Declan there.  Keep him company,” she said.

“Okay.”

She eyed me with a bit of disbelief.  “That’s it?  Okay?  Who are you and what did you do with Katrina?”

“He’s not horrible like all the other kids at that stupid school of yours,” I said.

“The stupid school where you get to play a live-action game that lets you indulge your wildest ideas of mayhem and misery?  The one dreamed up by Declan?” she asked, smirking.

“See, that’s exactly the kind of point in his favor that makes him not so horrible,” I added as I left.

Back in my own quarters, I replayed the nightclub robot scene about twenty times on my big screen television, starting and stopping it to figure out as many key points as I could.  Then I wrote up my thoughts and observations and sent them to Lydia, who would add it to Tanya’s next intelligence briefing.

The board meeting was mostly boring, although the part where one of the board members, Ian Smitwick, outted the new intern as a witch was kinda fun.  I could tell it sort of pissed off Tanya, but that’s what she got for bringing a shiny new asset to the meeting.  After the meeting, I went out on an information-gathering run, visiting a few different venues around the city.  I hit several bars, an internet gaming café that stayed open till two a.m., and a couple of student hangouts on the Columbia campus.  I eavesdropped, chatted shyly with whoever struck up conversation, and deflected three passes.  All my attention was focused on what the current gossip about Demidova was saying.  Lydia calls it taking the temperature.

News footage of Chris giving an impromptu press briefing was fodder for multiple loud conversations.

The upshot was mostly favorable, although there are always those people who have negative views of my boss and her company.  I don’t really care except if it seems likely to be a threat or grow into one.

Back at the Tower, I wrote up my regular report and shot it off to Lydia.  My email account had a message from Chet with a list of names and addresses.  Chet has some kind of program—or bot, as he calls it—that searches the internet for disparaging remarks about the company.  Any chatroom conversations that mention potential violent actions against vampires, Demidova Inc, or my boss and her guy are flagged for my attention.

Sounds ominous, but most of the time, people are just spouting off.  There is the occasional whacko who seems intent on doing something unfortunate.  Those folks get to meet me. Some of them (well, most of them) live to not tell anyone about it.  I usually just have a chat with them while they are in a vulnerable position—like, say, naked in their bathtub.  Afterward, I assure them that they’ll never see me again, explaining that I mean either they stop their shit and I don’t come back, or they continue and I do, but they won’t see me till it’s too late.

I leave no evidence and I wear a mask over my face.  I don’t reveal my vampiric nature or who sent me, just pound home the truth that they can’t hide from me or stop me from getting to them—ever.  It’s fun, especially as Tanya says my message has to be circumspect in its delivery in case someone records it somehow.  Framing my words is really the most challenging part of the job.  To be honest, a lot of the time, I just catch them in a bad situation and tell them to straighten up or else.  Picking out the proper place and time is where the art comes into play.

Catch a guy with his girlfriend’s roommate and you’ll have his undivided attention when you explain the facts of life.  Appear in someone’s locked apartment while they’re surfing whatever fetish porn they’re into, and the message is loud and clear.  Like I said—it’s fun.

Sometimes, they try to fight me.  When that happens, the need for words is replaced by physical pain.  Not as much of a challenge but even more fun.

I had two people on the list that seemed determined to carry out some strange fantasy attacks on my people.  One guy talked about shooting up the reception area of Demidova Tower with an AK-47.  When I searched his apartment, I found that he did, in fact, have a semi-auto version hidden in the back of his closet behind a false wall. I bent the gun sideways till it formed a smooth arc and left it on his kitchen counter before he got home from whatever dive he’d been hanging out at.

Standing outside his window, thirty-three stories up, I observed his freak-out.  He packed a bag and promptly left, hailing a taxi and telling the driver that he needed to get to Penn Station to catch a train.  Kind of a personal best to not use any words and not even lay a hand on the guy.

The other person was a woman who was attempting to start a grassroots movement against vampires in general.  Of the two, she was clearly the bigger danger.

I followed her as she moved from one bar to the next, posting flyers for her wannabe group on bulletin boards or taped to windows if the bartender was sympathetic to her cause.

I took her from behind as she walked from the Twisted Tortoise toward a relatively new Irish pub with the imaginative name of Clancy’s.  Snagged her right off the street, pinched her carotid artery shut and hauled her body to the top of her own building.  I left her lying on rubber roofing in just her bra and underwear, her keys, phone and wallet stacked next to her, driver’s license and credit cards all laid out in an orderly fashion.  Yes, I waited till she started to come around before I left.  Tanya would be mad if I let someone just sorta die from a bad choke.

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky as I headed home, whistling a jaunty Irish jig that had been playing at Clancy’s.  I love my job.

Chapter 52

I was leaving my apartment in the Tower to check in with Chet on some intel I had asked for on my new assignment—digging into the Church of the True. Immediately, I spotted Declan and Awasos at the end of the hall, faced off with my old Outsider buddy, Dave Low, just outside of Chris and Tanya’s door. Dave had a sword pointed at the kid. Sighing to myself, I moved over to investigate.

“Hey, Declan, watcha doing?” I asked.

“Supposed to be seeing Chris and Tanya, but Dave here won’t even announce me.”

“Ah, you’ve met IQ-So-Low of the Outer Clods,” I said.

“You used to be one of us, Katrina,” Dave said, holding his sword pointed at the young man who could fry him like a fairground onion. “What’s the matter with the were-bear-wolf?” he asked.

“Nothing.  He merely dislikes morons.  I share that trait. Tell me, Brains-So-Slow, why are you holding Chris’s intern at swordpoint?  Perhaps the correct response in this instance is to announce him?” I asked.

“Interns aren’t allowed here,” he said, frowning.

“Well, see, they are if Chris or Tanya calls them here.  When that happens, you’re not supposed to threaten them with a sword. You knock on the door and tell the power couple that the intern is here.  That way, the were-bear-wolf—whose name is Awasos, by the way—won’t rip your only remaining arm off at the shoulder for threatening his friend.  You know? The witch kid that gave Chris back all of his memories?  The same kid that, if you touched him with that sword, would probably send enough volts through it to make you into a permanent night-light?  Why don’t you just announce him, Slave, er, Dave?” I suggested.

The sword tip dropped, and Dave knocked on the apartment door.

“Right, lesson over.  Next time, Declan, just blast him and be done with it.  Nobody will even miss him,” I said.  He nodded his thanks and with my night’s good deed done, I left.

Chet had a full file on the Church of the True on a zip drive and I loaded it into my tablet and helped myself to tea in the cafeteria.  Some of the computer interns were there, and they seemed highly amused with themselves.  One of them was so downright smug that it made me want to delve a little deeper.  But then I noticed information about the local outpost of the True and decided I should hoof it over and investigate.

Sure enough, I found the church, which occupied an office on the first floor of a thirty-story building, was a veritable beehive of activity.  Seems they were gearing up to start a picket line outside Demidova Incorporated.

“Hey, you here to help?” a skinny guy in jeans and short sleeved button-down shirt asked.

“Absolutely,” I agreed, like a good little fanatic.

“We need help with these signs and posters, so jump right in,” he said, pointing me at a table where mostly adult-looking people were engaged in kindergarten art projects with markers, poster paper, and glue.  I dove in and started copying the slogans they were writing.

Pretty unimaginative stuff.  The bloodsuckers will get us all, Down with Vampires, Let God’s Fire Cleanse the Earth.  I didn’t even know what that last one meant, so I decided to make my own.

Stake them and Bake Them, Starve the Bastards—Stop Donating Blood.

“What are these?” the skinny guy, whose name was Jeff, demanded, all kind of pissy.  “No, no.  Just stick with the approved lines.”

“Sure thing, boss,” I said, tossing my projects in the trash.

“Well, now you’ve wasted valuable resources.”  He glared at me.

“Listen, this is lame, and you’re lame,” I said, dusting off my hands and walking away.  My time had been well spent and I had overheard enough to know most of their plans, so I walked away, texting Deckert from my phone.  Then, with Jeff still glaring at me, I left out the front door, walked to the side, and moved around back.  The rear door lock was a joke and I popped it open with a pair of paper clips I had taken from Jeffrey’s art project.  My good lockpicks were in a case in my pocket, but it’s fun to improvise and like I said, the lock was really crap.

Inside, I rummaged at will through the back offices, an ear open for Jeff or any other employees.  Nothing.  Just run-of-the-mill propaganda laying out in the open, and then finance reports on the daily donations and offerings.  Chet’s interns had already flushed out all that stuff.

I suddenly heard the organizers speaking loudly, telling the volunteers to grab a sign and get in line. I moved into the front of the building, pulling my sweatshirt hood up over my head, as I grabbed a sign and jumped into position. Seconds later I added my voice to the chants as we started marching toward Demidova Tower.

When we got there, I peeled off and moved toward the parking garage but froze at what I saw through the giant first floor windows.  Stacia was holding one of the interns off the ground with one hand and looked ready to gut him with the fully formed claws of her other hand.  Declan was standing right next to her, talking rapidly, clearly attempting to calm her.  Oddly, he was having some success.  I realized the kid in the air was the same one who was so smug in the cafeteria earlier.

When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to kill the kid, I kept walking and let myself into the building, nodding at the security guys on duty. “What’s the scuttle bug with the wolf girl?”

“One of the interns food poisoned Declan,” Carl, who had gate duty, said.  “She’s apparently not happy about it.”

“I would have thought the damaged party might be the one upset?” I asked.

“Right?  But he would probably just burst the kid open like a balloon or something,” Carl said.

“Is that a thing?”

“He was hanging around with us, doing his graffiti thing on the company cars and we started asking what he could do.  It was a really long list,” Carl said. “First time I ever saw that many SEALS, Green Berets, and Ranger types get scared all at once.”

“What about you?”

“I was Air Force Pararescue.  Every air base I was deployed to had nukes and JDAMs and all kind of weapons of mass destruction, so the concept isn’t that different.”

“No?  A teenager who can blow stuff up like a thermobaric bomb is the same?  Really?”

“Well, no. But he’s such a nice kid.”

“Damn good thing,” I said, heading deeper into the Tower.

I found Tanya in the lobby, looking at the elevator where the doors were just closing on the ruffled intern who had poisoned another intern.

“Pretty cutthroat group,” I said. “I thought we Darkkin were bad, but these computer types are ruthless.”

She looked at me for a second and nodded.  “Never anticipated anything like that happening.”  She turned and looked outside at the protesters.  “Good work alerting Deckert.  Clear your schedule, restock your bags, and make sure Tora is sharp.  I may be sending you to send a personal message for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, masterfully keeping any kind of smirk or grin off my face.  Mentioning Tora could only mean someone needed to die.  Joy.  I headed to my own lair to do exactly what she asked.

Did I mention how much fun this summer was turning out to be?

Chapter 53

“Soooo, do you think I can take him to Plasma?  We wouldn’t drink or anything,” the kid who could catch falling elevators asked uncertainly.

I looked at him for a second, trying to figure what I would have been like if I had been born a witch with his power.  Most likely an incredible nightmare.

“Of course, you moron,” I said, shaking my head. “You have an extremely short memory if you can’t recall the mildly valuable things that you’ve done since you got here.”

“Well, Aunt Ash says to never assume anything,” he said.

“In this case, I will assume that it is more than okay,” I said. “But we will notify Deckert and Arkady, as well as the staff at the club, which is the only way you’ll get in.”

I was lying about that last part though.  Every Darkkin in New York had been notified about Declan O’Carroll and the esteem to which he was held.  I had little doubt all the bouncers and staff at Plasma knew him on sight, especially as he had already been there once in a very memorable way with the rest of the interns.

“In fact, do me a favor and make sure you tell Deckert when Mack is getting into the city.  I suspect you’ll have an escort.”

He looked muley about that point, so I held up one finger. “Do not put yourself at risk unnecessarily. I will be most put out if I have to retrieve you from an easily avoidable situation.”

He nodded.

“Now get out of my hair, intern,” I said, channeling Galina’s imperial tone.

He gave me a smartass bow, of all things, and backed away.  Punk ass kid.  No wonder Lydia liked to banter with him.

After he left, I texted Lydia and she sent a reply that she would give special orders to the staff at Plasma for VIP treatment.  Most young men would puff up like peacocks at that stuff but somehow, I pictured our resident witch just taking it in stride with polite gratitude.  It figures that they found him in a deep hole in the ground.

With intern management settled for the night, I got to work on my latest assignment—Susskins.

There was a man who was the complete opposite of Declan.  Egotistical, arrogant, condescending, with a complete Dr. Evil vibe.  What?  I watch movies—lots of them, and not all warfare and horror either. Sharks with lasers, baby.

Tanya wanted a deep dive into his past, one that skipped computers entirely.  Never trust the computer record of a computer expert, she’d said.  I never trusted the guy from the moment she hired him, my instincts when I met him overriding the clean background check I had initially come up with. Now, though, I was more than happy to do some additional old-fashioned investigating.  Most of it by phone and email, as Susskins had come to us from Phoenix, Arizona, where he had worked as a consultant for a leading nanotech company, and before that, he came out of Silicon Valley in California.  I had contacts in both places, both Darkkin and mundane.  It was still early evening in Arizona, so I used my preferred method and just called them.

“Weird dude,” Terrance said.  I had hired his private investigation firm to look into Susskins before we hired him.  Now I wanted more in-depth detail.

“Possible Bond villain?” I asked.

“Hah.  Yeah, but while all his records are squeaky clean, his landlady was seriously creeped out by him.  Wouldn’t say anything outright but kept watching her ten-year-old daughter while we talked.  A concerned parent worried for a child’s safety type of vibe.  I could circle back with her and see what I can shake loose?”

“Yup, let’s make that happen, Terry,” I said, hanging up.

My next call went to the Master of the city.  My call went through fairly quickly, almost as fast as the operator heard my name.

“Miss Westing,” a deep male voice said.

“Citymaster Burroughs,” I said back.  As older vampires went, Furman Burroughs wasn’t too bad to deal with, especially as he had enormous respect for Tanya—and an even greater fear of Chris.

“How may we be of assistance?”

“I am looking into the past of a current Demidova employee who may have hidden significant details of his history.  He is very gifted with computers and would likely hack away anything unattractive.  Tatiana wants a deep dive.”

“Send us the pertinent details and I will assign my best people to the task.”

“Excellent. The file is on its way through the secure network,” I said.

“Which has miraculously become functional again,” he said.  It was a statement, but I heard the question buried inside.

“One of our other new hires has panned out rather well,” I said.

“The witch?  The rumor mills are hard at work on that one,” he said.

“The rumor generators will want to be very careful of that topic.  Even Elder Senka holds him in high regard.”

“I hear your words, Miss Westing,” he said and hung up.

Message sent and received.  Darkkin lose many human characteristics when they are Turned, but the need for gossip is not one of them.  If anything, it becomes more honed as the decades slip by. Master vampires were among the biggest busybodies on the planet, at least with their socially ranked peers.  My words would do nothing to dissuade him from talking to others, but it would color what he said.  My job is to protect my queen and everything important to her, even teenaged boys.

I checked my emails and found a coded message from one of my own agents in Arizona, one I hadn’t yet contacted.  A member of Burroughs’ court who was more loyal to Tanya than her own boss, Siena was placed to hear much.

Consider the beehive well and truly kicked over.  Worker bees dispatched with speed.  However, I am personally aware of the parasite in question. I am liaison to local LE.  I remember comments that were made during course of initial job check regarding that parasite and his possible fascination for female pupae. Nothing concrete, no evidence, just instinct and suspicion.

I wrote back.

Why no mention before?

Her response was almost instant.

Parasite produces valuable royal jelly.  Unsubstantiated info was not accepted.  Radio wave bee was aware of possible fascination.

So Nika had an inkling but Susskins’ value to the special project was deemed too high to worry about—until now.  I flashed back to Declan standing outside the royal apartment with dimwit Dave.  Hmm.

My immediate instinct was to go search Susskins’ room, but the building computer recorded everything that happened in the building, and I would bet good money that a supposed computer expert would put some kind of watchdog program on his own space.  I would hold off on that for the moment and wait to see what came of my inquiries before I risked entering his space.  The easy thing would be to use our wizard to hack the hacker, but Tanya had forbidden me from using his skills for that kind of work.  “Let’s not corrupt the super hacker lest we get hacked ourselves, Trina,” she’d said.

It made sense but still. Imagine the work I could get done if he was my intern, even for a day.

I tracked down Nika, finding her in the chapel, of all places.

She looked around as I quietly entered, reminding me that sneaking up on a telepath was a fool’s errand.

“You want my impressions on Susskins?”

“Don’t do that!” I protested, thinking of white and black tiled floors to block her abilities.

She laughed.  “I didn’t read you, Katrina. Tanya told me that you would be looking into him and I expected you to find me.”

“So you hid in here?” I asked, brows up.

“I come here a lot.  Ever since Chris confirmed that we have souls.”

I almost said something snide about believing him, but then I remembered that she did read him, quite often.  Which meant that she had found that he believed what he said.

“Oh,” I said as the implications of her words hit me.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod.

“Matters of religion aside, is Susskins a pedophile?” I asked.

She frowned.  “He is extremely guarded and disciplined in his thinking.  The only slips I have gotten were around the new interns, particularly Grace.  He watches her, very surreptitiously, but I’ve picked up on it.  Yet he’s not truly obsessed with her.”

“Because she’s too old,” I guessed.

“It’s hard to tell, but you might be right.  Have you found past indiscretions?”

“Too early to tell, but a faint odor of something rotten is beginning to waft off his shiny bald head,” I said.

“Declan doesn’t like him at all.  Spoke right up to Tanya about his doubts.”

“Brave or stupid?” I asked.

“Oh, his bravery is not in question.  He’s much easier to read.”

“Really?  That shocks me, what with his powers and what have you,” I said.

“Oh, he can block me if he chooses to, but mostly he doesn’t.  Opens right up if he thinks anyone doubts his word.”

“Then how do you know he can block you at all?”

“Because anytime Lydia drops Stacia’s name or mentions her in any way, he shuts down like a bank vault.  Although truth be told, I don’t listen to him much because of that grimoire he has inside him.  That thing is scary, Katrina.”

“Yes, we brought it up in salt water and locked it in a box under the ocean. Still, it got free and found him way up in Vermont.  That’s kinda my point. Sorrow seems like a big reason to listen more, not less?”

“He handles the book.  Schools it.  In fact, between you and me, I think he’s changed it somehow.”

“He’s changing a five-hundred-year-old evil grimoire?  How?”

“No idea of the mechanism of change, but the book is less… nasty than it was.  Or at least seems less nasty.  It doesn’t throw out as many suggestions of horrifying magical spells to subjugate everyone around him.  Before, it was a horror show and now… not so much.”

“Well, that seems like a good thing,” I said.

“You have no idea.  I’m older than you are, Kat, but I’ve never heard things like this book would throw out.  Every insult, snub, or even unintentional slight and it would talk of boiling skin, exploding organs, mind erasing, and worse.”

“And it lives inside the witch that called lightning?” I asked, appalled—which, believe me, is not my normal state of mind.

“Yup, and that young man just either ignores it or scoffs at it or chides it for aggression.  I think he’s just wearing it down.”

“Maybe you should be listening to him nonstop?”

“Actually, for the first few nights he was here, I did just that.  And I reported everything to Tanya.”

“And you stopped?”

“I slowed down.  He’s just so damned balanced.”

“Except about a certain platinum blonde?”

“Even about that.  He works so hard to guard his thoughts that his body language is easy to read.  I don’t think he believes he even has a shot with her, so he just friend zones himself.”

“Interesting.  Makes sense now,” I said.

She raised a single brow in question.

“At Arcane.  Once he was known among the witches, they threw themselves at him and he rejected all of them, even after his relationship with robot girl dried up.  This summer, I’ve seen him chatting with the interns, but he holds himself back.”

“He’s always guarding against Sorrow,” Nika said. “No dating for a warlock inhabited by an evil grimoire.”

“You read that in him?”

“Ironically, he admitted that to Stacia, first day.”

“He’s going to explode sometime,” I said. “Maybe hookers are called for?”

“He would never—ever.”

“We’ve strayed off topic.”

“A little.  But my point was that Declan senses something amiss with the head of our multi-million-dollar special project.  I pay extreme attention when that boy says or does anything.”

“Well, I’m looking into him, and I don’t like him either.  Listen, I’ll drop a photo of a child in front of him and you see if he slips up?” I suggested.

“A little obvious, Kat.  We need something a bit more subtle.  I’ll work on it.”

“Me too,” I said.

And I would.  Susskins was bad.  I knew it, Nika knew it, witch boy knew it.  Now I just had to prove it.

Chapter 54

“He’s a pedophile,” Terry said over the phone three hours later.  “I can’t prove it yet, but when I spoke to his landlady again and asked if she trusted him, specifically around her daughter, she answered instantly.  I asked Would you trust Dr. Susskins to babysit your daughter? She instantly said Hell no!  No hesitation.  She said he watches young girls, like fifteen and younger.  Also, she said that there had been reports of a man trying to entice middle school girls into his car in the neighborhood.  No good description of the man, as he wore a hoodie, but he drove a white car.  Susskins had a white Toyota Camry when he lived down here.  She was certain it was him.  But again, no proof.”

“Thanks, Terry.  Good work; fast as always.  Send us an invoice.”

I left my rooms and headed to the elevator.  Alarms suddenly blared, not fire but the emergency warning for an attack on the building.  Skipping the elevator, I shot up the stairs, arriving in the lobby to find World War Three underway.

The security team on duty was shooting at an entire army of those black robot centipedes like the two Declan had brought back from the Russian nightclub. Automatic weapons chattering in controlled bursts and heavy shotgun blasts overpowered the soft pops of suppressed pistols as blade-spinning robotic kill machines attempted to enter the building.  Tanya and Chris were smashing metal bugs with parts of other metal bugs while most of the security detail, along with Lydia, Nika, Caeco Jensen, and a number of unknown special-agent-type people shot the damned things.  The government types were ineffective, their bullets just spanging off into the night, but my people were causing the robots to freeze up from their shots, which allowed an enraged Awasos to rip them apart or crush them like empty soda cans.

Then a concrete and asphalt humanoid figure stood up in the street, at least ten feet tall and half as wide.  My heart was in my throat for a moment until the thing grabbed a centipede and tore it into pieces of crumpled metal.

“Don’t shoot him.  That’s Robbie, and he’s Declan’s,” Caeco said.

“I think the fact that it’s crushing bugs left and right might have eventually clued us in,” Lydia said, dropping the muzzle of her Glock and turning to take stock of the situation.

Between the bear and the stone man, the robots were rapidly losing ground.  Chris started our way, but Deckert intercepted him.

“Gordon, three of them made it inside the Tower,” Deckert said.

“How?  The wards should have stopped them.”

“Not sure, but they had an extra hump each on both heads,” the retired Marine said, weapon still shouldered but muzzle low.  “Perhaps you would like to check on them?” he asked, waving his left arm at the interior of the building.

There was a massive hole where the elevator doors usually gleamed in polished chrome splendor. Chris blurred, vanishing up the elevator shaft, but I moved toward my queen, who was handing a small boy to a panicky-looking couple.

She turned toward me, eyebrows up.  “Several made it into the building,” I said. Her eyes widened slightly and then she was gone with a snap of displaced air.  I followed as fast as I could, but my queen is as fast as perhaps even Elder Senka when she’s motivated.  She seemed motivated to me.

All of the excitement was centered on the tenth floor, in the special project space.  Declan lay like the dead, cradled by Stacia as Doc Singh and Chris worked on him. Tanya, Nika, and Lydia were discussing the humming silver-colored machine inside an arcane circle.  Me, I was looking at the lab doors, or actually at the ground, where I saw an identification tag laying between the automatic doors that were supposed to always stay closed.

“We need advice.  We need Barbiel,” Tanya said.

“We could take Declan up the street to that church,” Chris suggested.

“What about this mess?” Lydia asked.

“It’ll still be here, and he’s tied to it by blood,” Chris said.

Tanya scooped Declan from Stacia’s arms, earning herself a loud growl of warning. “Get some sweats on.  You can carry him,” Tanya said to the naked werewolf with the glowing yellow eyes.

Stacia raced past me, grabbing shredded black leggings from the ground and a white lab coat from a swivel chair that was still upright.  Then she took Declan from Tanya and followed the others toward the stairs.  I intercepted my queen, holding up the ID card.

She glanced at it, then back to me.  “Find him.  Now,” she said in a cold, sterile tone before following the rest.

I went to Susskins’ room, yanking the door right off its hinges.  The space was empty, most of his stuff in place and untouched.  But there was no wallet, cell phone, or laptop.  The closet door was open with the light on, one empty hanger between a shirt and a trench coat, a space open between pairs of shoes, and nothing resembling a computer bag anywhere to be found.

I headed to the front security desk, which was abandoned, no doubt when Chris and Tanya took the kid wizard to the church and all the security guys with them.  I sat at the surveillance desk and ran footage until I found a short clip of a bald Susskins leaving the building via the delivery dock, dressed in street clothes and carrying a computer bag over one shoulder.  He seemed to be in a sort of a rush; not running but moving quickly to clear the building.  I froze the image, took a picture with my cell phone, and headed to the same door.

His scent still lingered in the air, a kind of an old-book-soaked-in-sweat stench.  It faded as I followed it down the street, disappearing at the next intersection.  I noted a security camera on an apartment building across the street.  The building was locked up tight but when you can literally run up a building and tear open the roof door, no building is secure.  I broke into the building superintendent’s office and found the footage I wanted.  Susskins had hailed a cab, and I took note of the company and unit number.

An hour later, I was back at Demidova Tower, tracking down my queen in her office on the top floor.  There was a chaotic war room type feel to the place, but Tanya raised her head at first sight of me, her brows up.  The room went quiet as everyone turned toward me.

“He took a flight south,” I said. “Southwest, actually.  He has ties down that way.”

She turned toward Darion Cornell and his cluster of staff.  He met her eyes, his brows going up.  “Right.  Team Cornell, follow me outside—now!” he said, herding the entire group in front of him.  The doors to her office closed and it was just the inner circle: Tanya, Chris, Nika, Lydia, and Arkady.

“Hunt him down, Katrina, and end him,” my queen ordered.

“He endangered our unborn children,” Chris said in an ice-cold voice.

“Children?” I asked.

Tanya nodded, one hand on her stomach.  “Twins.”

I froze, the implications racing through my mind.  Then I nodded and slipped out the doors, not making eye contact with Darion or any of his people, taking the stairway down.  It was time to hunt down a threat to my queen, her Chosen and, gulp, her children.  That simple phrase would rock the Darkkin world to its core, the ramifications huge and unforeseeable.  But Susskins’ future was clear to me, cold stone certain.  I could have taken the Demidova jet, but I simply chartered one instead.  Money was no object on this mission. The threat would be ended as my queen commanded.

Chapter 55

“Miss Westing?”

I was on my feet, Tora bared and ready to rend.

“Miss Westing, this is the captain.  We have landed at Tucson International Airport as per your instructions.  Local time is four-twenty-six a.m.  The flight was without incident and a car is waiting on the tarmac outside.”

Brain now fully engaged, I sheathed Tora and moved to the intercom on the side of the door to press the talk button.  “Thank you, Captain.  Please rest and refuel, as I anticipate leaving in just over twelve hours’ time.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.  Also, I received a quick call requesting that you call Chet soonest.”

“Roger that, Captain,” I replied as I did just that.

“Miss Westing?”  A polite female voice answered Chet’s cell phone line. “I’m Chet’s assistant; let me just wake him.”

I heard her speak his name and picked up on a rustling sound that my brain interpreted as someone being lightly shaken, all while I pondered the fact that she never gave me her name.  That’s fairly common, at least where I’m concerned.  Few regular folks, human or Darkkin, want me to know their names or be aware of their existence at all.  Almost enough to give a girl a complex—if I, in fact, gave a damn.

“Hey.  Ah, you’re on the ground?” Chet asked in a groggy voice.

I reined in my instinctive sarcasm.  Fair question, because I could have awoken while the plane was still in the air, as long as it had passed the sun’s terminator line into darkness. Getting off the ground had taken longer than I had anticipated, leaving just before dawn.  Sometime after liftoff, the plane had risen high enough for the sun’s rays to reach it and knock me out. My total sleep time had been just a few hours, but sunrise would catch me here in Arizona soon.

“Yes, but I need to get going,” I said, scooping up the cute college book bag that holds my go kit.

As I exited the tiny sleeping quarters, the flight attendant was waiting by the open cabin door, nodding outside at the black SUV that waited for me on the ground.  The night air was cool, the sky still lined with stars, although a faint purple glow to the east told me that time was a ticking.

“I have a lot to tell you,” Chet said, his voice getting firmer as he came fully awake.  Unusual for vampire and human to both wake at the same time and suffer the same brain fog.

I was down the mobile stairway and climbing into the SUV, the motor left running for me.

“First give me some coordinates,” I said, looking at the vehicle’s navigation system with some concern.

The screen flickered and changed; the words course being calculated printing on the screen.

“Whoa,” I said.

“Yeah.  First thing.  The special project is a huge success.  You’re seeing it firsthand.  Second, this new, ah, tech, tracked your subject for you.”

“The humming machine in your special space?” I asked.

“No need to make it sound so wrong, Katrina,” Chet admonished. “When Kid Wonder came back from Plasma, Tanya and Chris sent him to me to keep him occupied.  In three hours, he did what we were trying to do for months.  Your subject had some input, but it was the, ah, special skill set that our youngster possesses that allowed it to be completed.  And, Katrina, it’s beyond anything we imagined.”

“Hence my GPS already dialed in and plotting routes,” I said, putting the big car in gear and following the arrows on the screen.

“As you might already know, your subject released a copy of that malicious software we’ve been plagued with into the completed project.  The kid saved it—well, likely saved all of us.”

“Is he alive?” I asked.

“First time I ever heard you ask about someone,” Chet said, a smirk in his voice.

“He makes for good videos,” I replied, already guessing that my favorite witchling was okay.

“Resting under close watch,” he said.

“Under close paws is more like it,” I replied.  Silence greeted me.  “What?  I may have the emotional intelligence of a chair, Chester, but even I can see the writing on that wall.”

“Yes, as you say.  Anyway, your subject landed an hour and sixteen minutes before you did.  He rented a vehicle and proceeded south.  He is carrying a burner phone that he uses to check an offshore bank account every ten minutes or so.”

“Who was supposed to pay him?”

“The rogue government asset.  Not going to happen, as it no longer exists.”

“Oh?  What happened to it?”

“The kid, then the kid’s boss, then our new special… asset.  Ate it right up.  All gone,” he said in a self-satisfied voice.

“Spoken like a proud papa,” I said.

“Hmm, more like an uncle.  If anyone’s going to be handing out cigars, it’s the Potter wannabe.”

“Is that so?  Oh, and you got the order of that culture reference reversed.  Potter would so want to be the kid.”

“Anywayyyy, your GPS is taking you to Rio Rico, specifically a motel there.  It’s within spitting distance of the border, so you might want to…” he drifted off, tone suggestive.

“Do I tell you how to program shit, Chester?” I asked.

“Ah, no.”

“Then don’t do it to me.  And borders are just marks on a map… they have no bearing on me, okay?”

“Yup.  Got it. Loud and clear,” he said, mixing his tone to be both chastised and apologetic at the same time.

Chet’s in no danger from me—unless he crosses my queen, but that’s hella unlikely.  Still, it’s good to keep him from getting too comfortable, if you know what I mean.

I said goodbye and settled in to drive.  In less than an hour’s time, I was in Rio Rico and parked outside the office of the motel across from Susskins’ hideaway.  I slid into my room, closed the blinds tight, screwed the door shut with a trio of three-inch deck screws and a rachet driver from my kit, and then passed out.  When I awoke, eight hours and thirteen minutes had passed.  I could feel the leftover daytime heat through the doorframe as I backed out my portable anti-intrusion devices.

Before I opened the door, my phone chimed.  A text was waiting for me.  The sender was labelled Chet’s Special Place.  The number was unfamiliar and did not have a New York area code.  I opened it.

Subject is 783 feet to the southwest, consuming a meal.

That was it.  Hairs on the back of my neck lifted for the first time in decades… maybe over a century.  I pulled the phone’s SIM chip and crushed it to powder, then twisted the phone itself into a broken mess.  Then I turned on a new burner phone from my kit bag. Outside, I tossed the remains of the old one into the motel’s dumpster, waited until the office attendant went to check on her microwave burrito (beef, by the smell), and left the room key on the counter.

Then I drove a bit over a tenth of a mile down the main road, passing a diner situated at the end of a three-business strip mall.  A single-story structure built from concrete that was painted to look like adobe, it had a brightly colored sign that stressed its Southwestern origins to the maximum. I parked the SUV in the rear lot of a closed dentist office, pausing to look around for cameras.

My new burner chimed with a text.  No one had this number, as I had never used it before.

Chet’s Special Place: There were three security cameras covering all of your possible approaches.  They are all now offline.

I felt the tiniest bit of an emotion I haven’t felt in a long, long time—fear.

I was staring at the phone when I saw the screen indicate that the silent feature had just turned itself on.  The phone vibrated and a new text appeared.

Do not doubt your work.  You are protecting the twins and my father.

I stared at that screen for at least three whole minutes, my brain frozen.  “What did they do?” I asked myself.  Another vibration announced a new, mind-numbing message:

A wondrous thing.

The phone suddenly blanked its screen and, having had enough, I tucked it into my pocket.

Training and experience kicked in.  I could do nothing about the technology in question, but I could do my job, as said tech had so helpfully pointed out.

A quick recon of the place showed that the building was solid and had a commercial rubber-coated roof designed to withstand incredible heat and the occasional extremely violent storm.

I slipped inside and stood in the doorway, unseen and unnoticed by the lone overworked waitress or any of the patrons.  Susskins, wearing a rather ridiculous wig, was eating tacos while reading a paper and checking his own phone every other minute.  He was also glancing idly at a mother with two small children at another table.  The mom was pretty but very tired-looking as she tried to get her toddler son to eat his macaroni and cheese.  The little boy’s older sister was having no issue with her own dinner, munching away like it was her job.  Pigtailed and extremely cute, she was possibly all of six or seven years old. I had no doubt who Susskins was watching.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.  I glanced at it.

When you press the home button, I will turn off the lights in the building and the parking lot.

Damn.  Then I looked back at the man who had tried to kill my queen, her Chosen, and her unborn children.  Holding the phone in my left hand, I watched Susskins, the little family, and the waitress.  When the mother was fully enaged, Susskins was reading his paper, and the waitress had retreated to the kitchen, I moved.

Susskins lifted his head from whatever he was reading, finding me sitting across from him. I pinned him with a glance and a smile.  He froze, heart stuttering.  It wasn’t my nice smile. I glanced at the family, then back at him.

“She’s too old for you.  And she’s going to get older,” I said as I pushed the home button on my phone under the table.  Instantly the lights went out—everywhere.  Moving in pitch darkness, I did three things:  I dropped a twenty on the table, shoved my phone in Susskins’ mouth, and ripped him from the booth like a sack of crap.

Still at top vampiric speed, I hauled him through the front door and then up onto that wonderfully sturdy roof.  In a second, I had him trussed and gagged, grimacing at my saliva-coated phone.  As I turned my attention to him, the parking lot lights came back on, backlighting me.

His normally cold, disdainful eyes were wide with fear, and the front of his pants suddenly became wet.

“You betrayed us—betrayed her.  In fact, you attempted to betray your entire species.”

His mouth worked, the gag blocking any words beyond a muted mumble.  I pulled it out, you know—for shits and giggles.

“I accepted a job, that’s all.  It was a financial transaction.”

“One that didn’t work out well,” I said.  “Congrats, by the way; the project was a complete success, although I understand you were mostly just a consultant at the end.  The first-year computer science intern brought the whole thing home and put your new employer out of business.  Well, truth be known, it was the new computer that ate the rogue software you were working for.  So, no money for you.  Oh, and the kid is alive, lucky for you.”

He frowned as I spoke, then opened his mouth to object.  I crammed the gag back in.

“See, I can count the people that I like in this world on my fingers,” I said.  “He’s one of them. Like number seven or eight. Had he died, I would have flayed your skin from your body – slowly.  Days’ worth of pain.  But he’s okay soooo, your termination will be quick.”

I gripped his head with both hands and snapped his spine with a sharp twist.  Despite the rumors, I rarely drag out a termination.  Best for everyone to just execute the process and move on.

A loud beeping brought my attention to the parking lot, where a garbage truck was pulling up to a dumpster, the huge tines of the hydraulic lift slipping into the side slots with practiced ease.

My phone buzzed.

I modified the current refuse pickup schedule to give you an opportunity to remove your garbage.

Damn scary stuff… but efficient.  More efficient than Chet even, I reflected as I tossed Susskins’ body off the roof and into the open top of the truck just as it lifted the dumpster.

My biggest problem was now buried under a mountain of kitchen waste. I slipped back down off the roof.  Moving toward my vehicle, I paused to let the young mom and her children cross the parking lot in front of me.  She turned suddenly, jumping as she saw me.  Then she settled back down.

“Sorry.  I thought you were someone else.  Someone scary,” she said.

I smiled at her, winking at the little girl who clung to her mother’s dress.  “Not to worry.  I’m not scary at all.  Now, computers—those are scary,” I said.

The mother laughed at my little joke, nodding.  “Yeah, I don’t understand computers at all.”

“You and me both, sister,” I said with a return nod, heading to my ride.

Over a hundred and seventy years on this planet and I thought I’d seen it all.  Wrong.  Something new had happened. Something new had been… born?

I won’t lie… for the first time in over a hundred years, I was shaken.  My world had just turned upside down.  And even Chet didn’t seem to realize just what had appeared in Demidova Tower.  Right now, this thing seemed to be on my side, my queen’s side.  In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, it seemed to be on the side of the punk ass kid that had brought it to life.  The same kid who made this whole year so much fun.  Not sure if I could take this level of fun, though.  Perhaps time would tell.  At least it wouldn’t be boring—ever again.

Author’s notes:

Thank you, Susan Helene Gottfried, for cleaning up my act.  Gareth Otton has made Katrina come to life with his awesome cover art.  Thank you, Gareth.

I wanted to delve into Katrina’s backstory and Kindle Vella was a great platform to do just that.  Now her story, while not complete, has caught up enough to give us all an idea of her life as Tanya’s fixer.  I’m sure we’ll see her again.

Thanks to my family, thanks to the people at Amazon and Audible who support and help me out and mostly, thanks to you fans for continuing this adventure.

John Conroe