Blue-Blooded Vamp
Page 2At my dubious look, Asclepius sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, but this vamp is gorgeous. If I didn’t want her dead, I’d try to fuck her myself.”
I grimaced and decided to change the subject before I lost my patience completely. “Can you at least give me more specifics about where to find her? Italy isn’t exactly small.”
His eyes shifted left. “No.”
“Why not?”
“You dare question a god?” he thundered.
I raised an eyebrow, sensing he was holding out on me.
He resisted my knowing glare for a few moments before he relented. “Fine. A cloaking ward was embedded in the chain mail so that she cannot be found by magical means.”
I laughed before I could help myself. “Wait, so you gave her an item that prevented you from finding her and then got pissed when she didn’t pay up? Way to screw yourself, dude.”
“Enough!” He took a menacing step forward.
I sobered instantly. “I apologize.” Time to get the conversation back to the big picture. “But if the vest protects her from all weapons, how exactly am I supposed to kill her?”
The god shrugged. “Not my concern.”
I bit my tongue to trap the angry curse that begged to be spoken. “How much time do I have to find her?” I said instead.
“Sabina, time is a fluid thing.” He raised his hands dismissively.
I supposed when you’re an ancient god, that might be true, but I lived in the mortal realm, where time was decidedly inflexible. I didn’t want to leave this detail open to interpretation so he could use it against me later.
“I’m gonna need something more specific.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll check in on you in a few days. By that time, I expect to hear you’ve put serious effort toward the task.”
“I accept these terms.” He nodded and thunked his staff on the floor three times. I got the impression this was some sort of supernatural handshake. “So it is done. Gods speed, Sabina Kane.”
I expected the god to vanish in an intimidating display of fireworks; instead he simply opened the doors and exited like any mundane passenger. Only after he reached the sidewalk did he wave his staff and disappear. The instant he did, the world exploded into a kaleidoscope of movement, color, and sound. The trolley jerked into motion with a screech. The sudden movement knocked Adam forward off the bench, where he landed at my feet. He looked up at me with a sober expression.
“What the hell just happened?”
I sighed and held out a hand to help him up. “I’ll tell you in a sec. I need to get something first.”
While the mancy dusted himself off, I wound my way through the disoriented passengers to retrieve my gun from the floor. The old biddies nearby gasped when they saw the weapon. Luckily, the trolley was already slowing again as it approached the stop at First. I tucked the gun into my waistband and pushed Adam toward the door.
“Red?” he said, shooting me a tense glance over his shoulder.
I leaned in so no one else could hear. “Asclepius just threw a colossal wrench in our plans.”
The doors finally opened. Adam hopped into the street, turned to help me down, and without missing a beat said, “Of course he did.”
We headed up First into the heart of the Garden District. Rain dropped like tears from the drooping boughs of the stately oaks. Golden lights winked at us from a few windows set high in the mansion walls, but the late hour meant we had the night mostly to ourselves.
As we walked, I filled the mancy in on the god’s request. When I finished, he was surprisingly calm. “We’ll be in Italy anyway, so I don’t see that it will distract too much from our original mission,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Besides, assuming we even find this Nyx, it wouldn’t hurt to have a healing god on our side when shit goes down with Cain.”
“You’re probably right, but it’s a complication we don’t need.”
Adam put his arm around my shoulder and leaned into me. “Oh, what’s one more?” His tone was dry, teasing. I shot him a glare. “Listen, he said he just expects you to make an effort, right?”
I nodded.
“So we make a couple of inquiries when we get to Rome. As long as you show a good-faith effort, he can’t be pissed.”
Erron’s home was on the corner of Prytania and First. We’d visited the house a couple of times during our last trip to New Orleans, and it hadn’t changed much. Same Greek Revival architecture. Same stately columns and deep porch. Same wrought-iron fence standing guard at the sidewalk.
“Here we go,” I said. “Remind me again not to use force.”
Adam smiled. “You’ll do fine. Erron’s a reasonable guy.”
I shot Adam an ironic look. Reasonable wasn’t the first word that came to mind when I thought of Erron Zorn. The first time we’d met the lead singer of Necrospank 5000, he was hosting a midget orgy in his living room. “Reasonable,” I said. “Sure.”
Adam nudged me. “Just get it over with. Like pulling off a bandage.”
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the gate. It creaked in protest, as if warning me to turn back. If I’d had the choice, I’d have done just that. But I didn’t have that luxury.
The minute Cain killed my sister, he’d cemented both our fates. I just hoped that this time, fate would be in my corner. But if it wasn’t, I prayed that I at least would be able to kill the bastard before I joined my sister in Irkalla.
As we got closer to the house, the muted strains of piano music reached my ears. At first I couldn’t place the melody. Not until I climbed the front steps and stood directly outside the front door.
Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” curled under the threshold and grabbed me by the throat. As beautiful as the song was, each mournful note felt like a punch in the gut. I glanced at Adam, whose face was cast in the porch’s shadows.
“Well,” he said, “at least his taste in music has improved.”
I tried to smile, but my mouth tightened into a grimace instead. “I was hoping to find him in a good mood, but now I’m not so sure.”
The last time I’d spoken to Erron, he’d been lecturing me about optimism. Telling me that Cain was a nonissue and I could relax my guard. As far as famous parting words went, those ranked right up there with “Hey, y’all, watch this.”
I paused, wondering if I should wait. Go sit on his front steps until the song was over, or better yet come back the next night. But part of me knew I was looking for an excuse to escape the music. The melodic reminder of the things I wanted to forget.
Adam nudged me with his elbow. “Clock’s ticking, Red.”
My hand pounded on the door before I was aware of instructing it to do so. In the house, a discordant note signaled the end of the song. I stood waiting, my heart thudding in my chest. Would he answer? Or was he praying the intruder at his door would just go away?
I pounded again, calling out, “Erron! It’s Sabina and Adam.”
“Erron?” I whispered. The dark made calling out seem sacrilegious.
“Here.” The voice had come from the living area, where I remembered seeing a piano on my last visit. The darkness wasn’t a challenge for my vampiric sight, but something about the whole scene had my instincts on red alert.
I exchanged a wary look with Adam and withdrew the gun from my waistband. My palms were clammy and my pulse thumped in my ears. Taking careful steps, I proceeded to the archway between us and the living room. I plastered my back to the wall, and Adam took a similar posture across the way. We went still, waiting, listening.
Nothing.
“Are you alone?” I finally said in a low tone.
A light flared to life in the other room. A cynical laugh reached me. “Always.”
I frowned and chanced a peek around the corner. Sure enough, Erron slumped on the bench in front of his Steinway. His back was to us, but the bend of his shoulders and the half-empty bottle of amber liquor told me he wasn’t in trouble or afraid. Erron Zorn, famous musician and Recreant mage, was dead drunk.
We entered the room slowly, scanning the periphery for signs of another occupant, just in case. But sure enough, Erron was alone. I relaxed my shoulders and lowered the gun. I didn’t holster it, though, didn’t trust the silence or the mood enough to relax completely.
Adam cleared his throat. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not healthy to drink alone?”
As an Adherent mage, Adam had always been a little tense around Erron. The rocker’s refusal to follow the Hekate Council’s laws made him a bit of a loose cannon in Adam’s eyes. Still, the two men also had a sort of fragile mutual respect thing going—the type that naturally builds when you’ve fought side by side.
Erron turned slowly on the bench to look at us. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been sweaty and exhausted after a show at the Jupiter Ballroom in Manhattan. But that didn’t compare to the haggard specter sitting in front of me.
His black hair was longer than when I’d last seen him, and the way it drooped limply around his face indicated he had shunned his normal regimen of styling products. Dark circles shadowed the skin under his gray eyes. Instead of the Johnny Cash wardrobe he usually favored, he wore a ratty T-shirt advertising a tour he’d done in Asia five years earlier and a pair of frayed jeans. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">