Ravenous

Chapter 7

Venue decisions were easy. There were only a handful of places in Fairview fit to entertain a vampire queen, so Alessandro chose the most elegant and discreet, a place named Sinsation.

"Quaint," said Omara, looking though the rafters of the ceiling to the empty loft above.

It was an old building, the interior gutted and left with wood and brick exposed, but the bar was made of granite, glass, and chrome. The light fixtures were something from a futurist's brain fever.

Sinsation was pretentious and expensive, but Alessandro liked the fact that one could carry on a conversation without screaming. A good feature, since he wanted answers. On the way there, Omara had given no hint about exactly what she wanted him to do.

Out of habit, Alessandro scanned the room. The bar was to his left, dwarfed by the shadows of the high ceiling. Toward the back a small, raised stage sat empty, only a man-sized candelabra filling the space with twin branches of flickering light. In front of it, each of the round tables was occupied by two or three patrons, a mix of vampires and humans.

The soft electronic music sounded like New Age gone to the dark side. It was easy to hear, because the murmur of voices stopped. All eyes, supernatural and human, turned to him and Omara with surprise and a hint of fear.

"Do they always stare this way?" Omara asked Alessandro in an amused whisper. She had her arm slipped through his, her face upturned to give him a sharp-toothed smile.

"They did not expect you, my queen."

As if of a single mind, the vampires rose and then fell to one knee in obeisance, the humans awkwardly following their lead. Alessandro studied each face. One set of eyes lifted and glittered unpleasantly, but looked away when Alessandro met that angry glare with one of his own.

Pierce, Alessandro thought with a flare of annoyance, and then turned deliberately away. The male was as irritating and unwholesome as chewing gum stuck to one's shoe.

Omara nodded to the crowd, bestowing a smile that was somehow both gracious and dismissive. "Greetings, my friends. Please carry on as you were. Enjoy the night."

There was a rustle as patrons resumed their seats. Then a hushed babble of conversation rose, urgent and filled with repressed exclamations. A hostess arrived and quickly cleared the best table. Alessandro and the queen waited politely while she worked.

Omara's hand tightened on his biceps. "John Pierce looks like he wishes to snap your neck."

Alessandro gave a slow smile. "Let him do his worst. I will put him in his place."

Omara laughed. "What an arrogant beast you are."

"I know my worth."

"Does he wish to replace you as my representative here?" The question was taunting. "Or perhaps take over your role as my battle champion?"

"He is nothing but a playboy and a dabbler in spells. More to the point, last year I was obliged to behead his brother."

Her eyes widened with interest. "I had forgotten. Why did that happen?"

"He attacked a human in anger. I merely did my duty."

"As you should, but watch yourself. Pierce will cause you trouble."

"I know. I look forward to his mistake."

The table was ready. Alessandro held the chair for Omara while she sat, an old habit that still lingered. A waitress appeared, clad in black slacks and crisp white blouse that showed soft, warm skin. Omara ordered a complicated martini. He ordered a dark Hungarian red wine, the thick vintage nicknamed Bull's Blood. His usual. The drinks were more props than sustenance, but it was a pleasant ritual. As the waitress left, Alessandro wondered how she might be described on a menu. A young vintage, but with a delicate bouquet?

Omara folded her hands on the glass surface of the table. Her rings sparkled in the dim light, shimmering with every movement of her fine-boned hands.

"To return to the murders, and what I wish you to do…" Omara said without preamble.

Alessandro straightened, glad she was finally ready to talk. "Yes?"

She ducked her head, licking her lips. It was a rare show of nerves. "I believe one of my old enemies has returned. I was not surprised when the Fairview police contacted me."

"Why not?"

"My home in Seattle was ransacked. Nothing was taken: not my money nor my business records. Not even my jewelry."

"Your books and implements of magic?" Alessandro asked anxiously. Omara possessed powerful, dangerous rarities any sorcerer would covet for his collection.

Her eyes went wide for a moment, perhaps envisioning that disaster. "No, those are safe."

"A blackmailer, perhaps? Someone looking for information?"

"No demands were made." Omara looked away. "It was odd, disturbing. Then the Fairview police called, wanting my advice, so I came. Perhaps the incidents were unrelated, but I doubt it. I believe the break-in was to put me on notice. Someone desires a fight. They have picked Fairview as their battleground."

"Was it wise to come?"

Her lip curled. "I do not run."

"But why Fairview? Since I've been here it's been a quiet city, at least until these murders."

"That's because you, my champion, are here. I haven't needed to worry about this part of my domain. You keep the law here with a strong and just hand. If something went amiss, you are my natural successor."

Alessandro allowed himself a small, sardonic smile. "You know I have no ambition to be king, and I have never learned the sorcery necessary to hold the throne."

"If you choose, you could learn. You have more than enough ability and natural power."

Alessandro wasn't sure if this was the truth or an attempt to secure his interest. It didn't matter. "If our enemies bring us together in Fairview, they face a double threat."

Omara shook her head. "Still, it puts us both within one killing stroke. There is danger as well as advantage to you and I being in the same city."

"But who is our adversary?"

"If the token you found is a clue, a very old, very powerful enemy. Someone willing to kill to put us in jeopardy with the human police."

Alessandro tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly devoid of moisture. "You told me once that you foresaw trouble in this place. I began to doubt anything would ever happen here, but you were right."

"I wish that were not so."

He frowned. "There may be more than meets the eye to this adversary. In the last few weeks a magic user has been using summoning spells."

"What?" Omara was all attention.

Perhaps his client hadn't been the target of the spell caster's art, but collateral damage. Such things happened. "And the latest victim was concealed with a look-away spell. Who could work that kind of magic? You say you know the source of this trouble. Who could it be?"

"It must be an old enemy. But which? I could fill a telephone book." Omara raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if to see the names written there. "To begin with, there is every other king or queen who might want my territory, and every other clan leader who covets a crown. The leaders of most other species. Then there are those special few: Morlok. Aloysius. Geneva. Michael. Gervaise. Callandra."

"Demons." He had gone cold. He did not like to admit fear, but there it was.

"Yes, the demons. I've fought one here before."

"But we're searching for a vampire. There was the token."

Alessandro paused. He didn't like the look in Omara's eyes, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

She smiled. "Indeed, there was the token. You're right. We must look to our own kind."

The drinks came. Omara brought the bright blue martini to her lips, tasting it with just a dart of her pink tongue. "You'll need the help of that witch friend of yours. The Carver girl. Pretty thing, I'm told."

Alessandro started at her words, his wine sloshing to the lip of the glass. "You know of her?" Pretty thing. Yes, all long, walnut-dark hair and emerald eyes. Omara didn't like rivals.

"Of course. She's a Carver witch in my own territory. Rumor has it she can squash a poltergeist in five minutes flat." The queen's eyes asked for confirmation.

"That's true. And she defeated a rogue house tonight. An exceptionally bad one."

"You'll need her magic," Omara said softly. "Get her to raise one of the murdered girls. A little necromancy will go a long way toward identifying my rival. The dead could at least describe the attacker."

Alessandro pushed the wine away, recoiling from the memory of Holly writhing on the floor in pain. Necromancy demanded a huge amount of magic and would be even more excruciating for her. "Is there no one else we can bring in to help? I'm not sure she can do this."

"Of course she can. She's a Carver witch. Their specialty for generations has been calling the dead."

"There is something wrong with her magic. Necromancy would probably kill her."

"Would she survive long enough for the magic to work?"

Alessandro narrowed his eyes, growing even more uneasy. "I don't know."

"I think she might. And still you hesitate. What is a witch's death compared to the defeat of my adversary?" A look passed over Omara's face that he had never seen before: a flicker of… terror? "I led the vampires out of the darkness and into this century. I am the one who talks to judges and politicians, lobbying for our rights. I deserve to survive."

He started to interrupt, but her icy gaze froze his words. "If this murderer keeps killing, the terrified citizens of Fairview will turn on the entire supernatural community. They could massacre us without a flicker of remorse. Think of that when you start to feel heroic and protective of some girl with the significance of a gnat."

She leaned across the table, putting her face close to his. They must have looked like a courting couple working up to a kiss. He could feel the slow exhalation of her breath. "Don't disobey me, Alessandro. I don't want to lose you. You're my champion, my questing knight. Harden your heart for my sake. Love me, Alessandro."

Without Omara, there was no one, no clan, no kin. Without his queen he was utterly without a foothold among his kind. Eternity was a long time to be alone.

She wrapped her hand around his, squeezing hard. "A rogue vampire—or demon—will feed and feed until all around him are destroyed. I must know who is doing this."

"Of course," he said, but his mind was fumbling for alternatives. I will find another way to solve this. What she asks is unthinkable. Even if he never touched Holly, never tasted her, she was his partner—she didn't belong to anyone else, not even his queen. Alessandro protected what was his.

Omara took another sip of her drink, a faint tremor in her fingers. "I know you will do the right thing. You always do. It's part of your old-world charm."

He bit his tongue, but any unwise statements were preempted by someone approaching the table. Pierce.

"A moment, my queen." Pierce bowed low, his waving blond hair burnished by the candlelight. He still had the grace of an Elizabethan courtier, but a feral streak hid behind those fine manners.

"How may I help you?" Omara asked formally, but there was eager heat in her glance. Suspicion flittered through Alessandro's thoughts. Did they know each other better than either of them let on?

Pierce straightened, a smile lighting his even features. Wearing an open-necked shirt and gray wool jacket, he gave off an air of monied ease. "I come on behalf of Clan Albion to beg the favor of offering refreshment."

Pierce held up his right hand with a graceful flourish, and a human stepped forward from the shadows. The moment was dramatic, just the sort of show Omara liked. The human was also very much to her taste, on the brink of full manhood, a light blue sweater straining across the muscles of his chest.

"It pleases me that you remember the service owed to your queen." Though her words were for Pierce, her eyes were on Alessandro. "My favor shall always go to those who serve me best."

Alessandro returned a false smile, mentally peeling the skin from Pierce's flesh.

Turning to the young human, Omara gestured for him to kneel. She stroked his cheek, caressing the straight fall of his chestnut hair, and then took his right arm, pushing the sleeve up the sweater up past his elbow. The forearm was thick with muscle, but still had the soft skin of youth. The human's face was joyous, his soft lips parted.

"Is this your first time?" she asked gently.

"He is untouched and willing, my queen," said Pierce, as if the human had no voice of his own.

Omara braced the youth's arm on the edge of the table and touched the crook of the inner elbow, looking for veins. She bent her head and bit, her venom sending the young man into shudders of ecstasy. Alessandro knew Omara would not kill the human, she would not mark him as a servant, but she would ruin his appetite for anything an ordinary woman could do. Even a casual bite could shatter a life if the human fell prey to the addictive high.

That brought back the conversation about the token. According to the legend of the Chosen, only a human untouched by a vampire's bite could Choose a mate. The act took free will untouched by the power of the vampire's venom. He watched Omara feeding. The legend was nonsense. Only an addict could love a creature like that. Like him.

Scenting the blood, Alessandro felt his own appetite stir. His skin flushed hot, his groin tightening. The sucking, lapping sounds of the meal made his palms slick with sweat. He rose, making a polite bow Omara did not see.

"Excuse me," he murmured to no one in particular, and headed toward the back of the lounge.

Beside the washrooms there was a back door that led to a dead-end alley. The storm drain was plugged with weeds, leaving a trough of water down the center of the narrow space. Alessandro stood against the wall, breathing in cold, clean air. For all he owed Omara, for all he needed from her, he was glad to escape for even a minute.

To human eyes the alley would be pitch-black, clouds blotting out the moon and stars. He could see a rat scuttling along as if fleeing for its life, burrowing into a crevice in the bricks across the way.

Alessandro frowned. The reasons to solve the vampire murders were mounting. The case threatened his freedom, Omara's safety, and now, indirectly, Holly's—not to mention the lives of the human victims. Yet for all Omara claimed to know it was an old enemy at work, Alessandro felt he still had no solid information. The queen's adversaries were too many to count.

He sniffed the air. Odd. There was something building, a pressure that throbbed in his sinuses. There was a faint sound like tearing cloth. Alessandro wheeled toward it.

The wall at the end of the alley, just before it reached the street, was bathed in a sickly green glow the approximate shade of bile. At first he thought it was a reflection, but the light flared, turning the alleyway a pearly rainbow of pinks and grays that deepened to a bloody orange. The light was coming from inside the old brick wall of the radio station next door.

Alessandro pulled his boot knife and began running toward the light, his heels loud on the pavement. He was in a blind alley, and he didn't want to be trapped with whatever that light portended—but he had to know what it was. Now there was a heavy smell of magic in the air, a pungent, charred stink like burning toast.

The bricks of the wall shimmered, putting off a fierce heat. Once, Alessandro had watched a movie screen when film caught and burned in the projector. There was a similar hole melting the wall. Irregular edges flared orange, light pouring from the hole's center. It was small, but appeared to grow with each moment that passed, filling the air with a faint ripping sound. Powdery ash dropped, vanishing before it reached the ground.

He passed the hole, stopping only when he had nearly reached the safety of the street. By then he had figured out what he was seeing: This was a portal; the barrier between the demon realm and earth was burning away.

Shock ran through him, a dismay so sharp he had to fight nausea. A portal meant someone—no doubt his rogue spell-caster and Omara's murderous vampire enemy—was summoning a demon. This was far worse than they'd thought.

The demon had not yet passed through, but it was trying to make a door. The hole had grown to the size of a dinner plate. Alessandro clenched his fists, offended. This is not your town, he thought, glaring at the hole in the wall. Frustration leaped through his body. He was no sorcerer. He had no power over this kind of magic. Who is close enough to help?

A desperate cry came from the street behind him. He turned to see a cluster of figures pounding through a parking lot a block away. The figure in front was moving fast, but the two creatures pursuing it were gaining ground.

He stared, for a moment feeling nothing but cold refusal to believe. Then horror surged through his flesh, like blood tingling into a sleeping limb.

Bald, hunched, the two in the rear chased their prey with a peculiar, rolling lope. Changelings. Squat, gray, misshapen abominations, they were the bastard children of the Undead realm, made from a line that had never Turned properly. They were vampires, and yet they were not. Abhorrent and insane, they were shunned by even the lowest of the vampire clans.

Changelings in Fairview? They're extinct!

But that had been the odd smell clinging to the body of the girl he had found. Vampire, but not. Drinking blood, but unable to bite without mangling the victim.

Then he felt his stomach turn cold all over again. He knew the prey. It was Macmillan, one of the detectives from the Flanders house. Ironically, Alessandro had tried to avoid the cops. Now here was one running virtually into his arms. And he's not going to make it.

Alessandro sprinted across the street at an angle that brought him to a point ahead of the running figures. Gripping his knife, he faded into the shadows, willing himself to be one with the darkness. A moment lapsed, thick with anticipation.

Macmillan was track-star fast, but losing ground. Alessandro let him pass, timing his own attack with a predator's instincts. As soon as the man was two steps away, Alessandro lashed a kick at the first of the changelings, sending him flying into the side of a passing Toyota. The metal dented with a resounding thud. The vehicle's owner jumped out with a yell, but Alessandro was already running after the detective and the second pursuer.

The other changeling was easy to catch, but harder to hold. Claws slashed at Alessandro's eyes, forcing him to duck. The movement loosened his grip on the creature's arm. It seized the advantage, landing a hard blow to Alessandro's shoulder. Alessandro got a glimpse of its face, the maw of needle teeth where a nose and mouth should have been.

Macmillan had stopped and turned. As Alessandro drove his elbow into the changeling's chin, the detective pulled his weapon and fired. The silver grips on the sidearm meant it had silver bullets—the standard ammo for stopping a vampire.

The changeling kept coming with the determination of a nightmare, bits of blood and flesh spattering the street. The cop was a good shot, but not fast enough to keep up with the changeling's supernatural speed. He fired again and again, but none of the rounds penetrated the heart or head.

The gun clicked empty.

Alessandro feinted with his knife, drawing the changeling's attention away from the detective. The creature turned, slowed only a little by its gaping wounds. Alessandro circled, looking for a weakness in its guard. He gave an experimental lunge; the creature parried with its claws. Alessandro circled again, testing while Macmillan took cover behind a mailbox and drew his regular weapon—the one meant for mere humans.

"Get out of here!" Alessandro ordered the man.

The changeling edged sideways toward the mailbox, its limbs hunched like a squat spider, its maw gaping wet and red. Then it leaped, using all its limbs to spring. Macmillan emptied his second weapon, the sheer force of the assault knocking the creature sideways. It fell to earth, but got up and lunged again, jaws extended.

The detective vaulted backward, barely avoiding the changeling's grasp. Alessandro tackled it from behind.

"Run!" he bellowed.

Macmillan had no choice. He bolted, disappearing into the shadowy parking lot between his would-be killer and the bright lights of the nearby movie theaters.

Deprived of its prey, the changeling twisted free, howling in frustration. Wounded in half a dozen places, it still had the strength to bound forward in yet another attack. Only Undead reflexes kept Alessandro from its fangs. He swept the knife up, slicing the changeling in midflight. The creature fell to the asphalt, curling in on itself, limbs tucked protectively around its wound.

That was one wound too many. This time it stayed on the ground.

Alessandro looked down at the misshapen thing. The pink light of a neon sign flickered over its gray skin, picking out the ragged claws where its hands and feet should have been. It gave an eerie, mewling cry of rage. Like all vampires it had once been human, but changelings were different. None of their human personality survived the Turning.

Alessandro was quick, and the knife was sharp. As soon as the spine was severed, the body began to melt into a reeking sludge. He bent to clean his knife on a scraggly patch of grass next to the sidewalk.

Alessandro hadn't seen changelings in at least several centuries. Some claimed they had been hunted to extinction after their last bid to challenge the vampire clans. Apparently not, he thought as he ran back to where he had kicked the other changeling into the car. The Toyota, he noted, had left the scene. Just as well.

The first changeling was a puddle of slime. Its neck must have snapped on impact. Alessandro felt a shiver work its way down his spine. Changelings didn't even go to their final death properly. True vampires turned to dust.

Now he just had to deal with a doorway to the demon realm.

He had reached a point across the street from the alley, but stopped in his tracks as soon as he could see the portal. Creatures were worming through the rip between dimensions, emerging from the wall to drop with a splash to the puddles of the alley. They looked like huge dogs, red-eyed and coal black. Their forms seemed indistinct, like beasts made of nightmares.

Hellhounds.

It was one thing to fight a pair of changelings, another to take on a pack of half demons. He stayed utterly still, melting into the shadows. He dared not even take out his cell phone to call for help. Their hearing was even better than a vampire's.

A change in the light caught Alessandro's attention. The brightness was receding, as if something were reeling it back into the portal. Faster than it had burned open, the portal was closing, the edges shimmering and healing. One last hellhound was squeezing through, shaggy black legs pumping as it squirmed through the narrowing gap. It dropped to the ground and raced after its fellows. A drool of ectoplasm coursed down the wall, sticky and faintly phosphorescent.

Then the doorway shrank to a pinpoint and disappeared with a faint pop. The air pressure changed, growing suddenly heavy. Perhaps it was just returning to normal.

No demon in sight. The spellcaster's summoning had failed.

A reprieve.

The hounds faded into the darkness, silent as dreams. Alessandro released his breath. The werewolves could deal with the hounds better than anyone else. He didn't like asking the wolves for help—it never paid to show weakness—but this was a commonsense exception.

Not all hellspawn were so easy to clean up. How many other portals had there been, and what had come through them?

Alessandro walked backward until he leaned on the brick exterior of Sinsation. Too many thoughts crashed through his brain, each one bellowing for attention. He had believed changelings wiped from the earth, but here they were, their scent all over a murdered college student. That raised so many questions. What would they hope to gain by coming to Fairview? What, if any, connection did changelings have to a summoner or his demon? Moreover, what possible connection did they have to Omara?

A rogue vampire would have been a dangerous but far less complex scenario. All these circumstances together reeked of magic and obscure motivations, two of his least favorite things.

Police sirens yowled in the distance. The detective had raised the alarm. Alessandro needed to take the queen and leave.