Vintage soul dc-2 Page 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  There was no sound, but he knew they were coming. The alley extended another ten yards, and Donovan ground his boots into the alley floor and launched forward. He heard traffic on the road beyond the alley’s mouth, and the honk of a horn. He needed to stagger into traffic, fade into a crowd, something — anything — to distance himself from the red glowing eyes and starved fangs of the young idiot on his heels.

  Someone grabbed his jacket from behind, and he drew his arms in instinctively, sloughing off the outer garment in a graceful lunge. As he dove forward again, he expected to feel strong, cold hands on his shoulders, or his arms, or the colder bite of ivory through the flesh of his neck. He prepared himself for a final curse, something to leave his mark in defiance.

  Someone screamed. Then there was another. Donovan ran another step, frowned, and whirled, pressing his back to the wall of the alley. He gasped as he caught sight of Vein, gripped at the throat by long, slender, gloved fingers that held him easily, lifting him from the ground. Vein and one of his followers were held aloft by a tall woman with flame red hair and eyes that flashed like ice chips in the dark alley, despite the lack of light.

  “Amethyst?”

  Donovan grinned. His breath came in deep, heaving gasps, and he wanted to collapse onto the ground and clutch his gut, but he stood his ground. For some reason, this particular woman’s presence made him want to appear strong and brave. He knew this was an illusion even he wasn’t going to pull off in this situation, but he did what he could.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked. One of her eyebrows rose, and she smiled lazily back at him. “Men are never good at this sort of thing.” She informed him.

  Vein, who had overcome his fright at being snatched from his feet unceremoniously, whirled and lunged at her neck. Amethyst flung him to the side, slamming him into the brick wall of the alley so hard that Donovan was afraid they must have heard the collision inside the club. Amethyst tossed the second vamp to the far wall and strolled indifferently down the alley to where Donovan leaned on the wall and watched in amazement. He’d seen her in action before, but never like this. She had never exhibited more than normal strength in his presence, and he was wondering what other secrets she might be keeping when a ragged cry broke out behind her.

  The three vampires who’d followed Vein down the alley lunged from behind, one for each of her arms, and one straight at her throat. Amethyst shook her hair down off her shoulders, and a blinding flash of light erupted from a glittering web of crystals woven in among her lustrous locks. The light was brilliant yellow, and the alley lit as if the night had passed in an instant and the sun had peeked her head in over the wall.

  The vampires scattered. Vein crouched by the wall, his eyes very wide and his once well-groomed hair and clothing in complete disarray. There was a ragged tear at the elbow of one sleeve of his jacket, and his sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. Still, he didn’t look beaten — just angry.

  “I wouldn’t do it,” Donovan said. He stood and brushed dust from his arms. He eyed his jacket, still lying in the middle of the alley, and sighed. “I’m going to have to pay a fortune to get that thing cleaned.”

  Amethyst turned to glance at the trampled jacket, and as she did so, Vein sprang. Donovan was already whirling the green crystal again, but Amethyst had anticipated the move. In fact, Donovan decided with amazement, she’d invited it by turning her head. She flicked her hair again, and Vein took the blast of light full in the face. He cried out, unable to stop his forward progress. He clawed at the air, and smo
ke rolled out from the sleeves of his jacket and up through his collar to wind about his hair. Amethyst held out her hand, and he smacked into it with a thud. He crumpled to the ground, then, screaming in pain and fear, he tore at his jacket, ripped it from his back, and turned to follow his friends back down the alley. He scuttled up the back wall like a spider, moving so quickly he was over wall and out of sight before Donovan’s crystal stopped it’s now lazy, pointless circle and dangled limply on its chain.

  “Wow,” he said. “You never told me Hercules was your brother. Where did you get that strength?”

  She met his gaze, stepped forward to offer him her hand, and promptly collapsed forward into his arms. Donovan, surprised, barely managed to catch her and hold her upright.

  “I could use a drink, cowboy,” she said. “Buy me one and maybe I’ll show you how I did it.”

  She shook in his arms, and he all but carried her back to the phone booth. He pushed the numbers 3, 6 and 0 again, and they rotated inward. The alley stood quiet, and empty. All that remained were the empty booth, three pairs of battered sunglasses, and a half-burned sports coat. It was turning out to be a hell of a night.

  NINE

  Once Donovan got her seated at one of the small tables and a glass of rich red wine into her hand, Amethyst recovered somewhat. She still looked pale, but her hands no longer trembled. Donovan sat for a while, watched her in silence and admired the glitter of the crystals woven into her hair.

  “You make quite the lovely cavalry,” he said at last. “I don’t know what my next move was going to be, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

  “You get yourself into more scrapes than a pat of butter,” she said. Her eyes sparkled as she glanced at him over her wine, and he very suddenly felt more kinship with melting butter than was comfortable. “What would you do without me, anyway?”

  “I could have handled it,” he said defensively. “I was just — regrouping.”

  “From where I stood when I joined you,” she said, “you were regrouping with your back turned. Didn’t I teach you how to use that shield?”

  “I haven’t had much time to practice,” he said. “I’ll tell you, I might have been more prepared, but the very last thing I expected tonight was trouble with vamps. Birds, maybe, some sort of charm or spell, but, these clowns? I’m working for their damned elders, and believe me, the minute I get a chance to report them its going to happen.

  Besides, I’ve been holding off on practicing with the shield. I prefer private lessons, and you’ve been pretty unavailable since I got back.”

  “I have commitments,” she said. “Just because you find time between running around the world and sorting books to spend a day or two with me doesn’t mean I’ll drop what I’m doing. Not every time, anyway…” She laughed and winked at him. “What were you doing with those idiots anyway?”

  “They don’t have anything to do with it,” he said wearily. “They just don’t think I’ll do a very good job, and wanted me to hand the job over and run home.”

  Amethyst perked up a little. “So, you’re working for the council of elders? It’s been a long time since you did that, hasn’t it? I remember something about some teenage kung-fu artist who thought he was a vampire slayer, but that was years ago.”

  “Yeah, he’s all grown up now. I had a chat with him and he only works for hire now, and only with good reason. Turns out he was right, though. He’s a damned fine slayer — took everything I had to get him to put an end to his ‘quest’ and look to his future.”

  Amethyst snorted. “Never saw that coming,” she admitted. “Who could have imagined a vampire slayer working for the council of elders? I’ve never been able to figure out how you kept them from killing him; and why didn’t they go to him, if they have trouble?”

  “It isn’t vampire trouble,” Donovan said. “It’s much worse. I guess Cleo found you?”

  Amethyst sipped her wine, and then nodded. “About an hour ago. I wasn’t at home, or I might have been here sooner.”

  “Your timing, as usual, was perfect,” he told her. “That was some trick with the hair; what are those crystals?”

  She laughed and shook her head, sending a ripple of light through her long wavy hair and shimmering down over her shoulders.

  “You like them?” she asked. “They’re particularly fine quartz. I had them cut and faceted, then carefully strung — like beads — so they could be worn.”

  “I have plenty of quartz,” Donovan replied skeptically. “None of it has shown the slightest propensity toward flashing like sunlight and scaring vampires.”

  “Well, that’s my own touch, of course. They had to be stored in bright sunlight for a very long time. There’s a ritual that must be repeated daily to maintain their strength, and they have to be stored in a specially prepared elixir that preserves the energy from the sunlight.”

  “How did you know to wear them tonight?” he asked her.

  “A girl has to have some secrets, Donovan DeChance. Why in the world would men remain so intrigued if we started giving them away?”

  It was Donovan’s turn to laugh, and it felt good, particularly since only a few short minutes before he hadn’t been certain he’d ever laugh again. One thing was true beyond a doubt; he’d been cooped up in his own little world for far too long. He’d made a serious error, and if the danger confronting him was even a fraction as intense as he believed it to be, that put him one mistake beyond his limit. He couldn’t count on being rescued, and the young vampires, for all their bravado, shouldn’t have been much of a challenge. He’d been careless.

  “When I get a chance,” he said, “I’ll stop by and see how you did it. That was the most effective defense against the undead I’ve ever encountered.”

  “I try,” she said. “And when you ‘stop by’ you’d better bring chocolate, flowers, and something pretty. I’m going to start thinking you have someone else hidden away if you keep ignore me. Now, what’s this all about? Cleo seemed pretty disturbed, but for all her talkative ways, I’ve never been able to get more than weak impressions from her.”

  Donovan smiled, then grew serious and told her everything. He started with the break-in at Johndrow’s party, Vanessa’s abduction, and Kline’s death. She stopped him and questioned him thoroughly at this point. They both knew the implications of such a death. Kline had been powerful, cautious, and very good at what he did. Neither of them would have wanted to try and figure a way past his defenses, though both had done so once or twice in the past, and they knew that to have done so put their enemy in an elite and fairly small pool of possible suspects. Removing themselves from that pool made it smaller still.

  “You said his familiar was a crow?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “A crow, or a raven,” Donovan agreed. “It was big, and it was black, but it was in and out very quickly, and I wasn’t really able to concentrate on it. I had problems of my own with the face in the fireplace. Cleo got a better look than I did, but I left almost the second the thief was gone, so I haven’t been over this with her at any length. She nearly got the thing on the bookshelf. I got a couple of feathers. One was mangled, but I was able to use the other to search for trace. I need to go over it all more thoroughly.”

  Amethyst nodded. “Then you contacted Johndrow?”

  “Not immediately,” Donovan said, watching her face to gauge her reaction. “I was concerned about the particular book that was stolen.”

  “Le Duc’s journal?” she asked. Her brow creased in a slight frown. “Why? What is it?”

  “You may be hell with crystals,” he laughed softly, “but I see history isn’t your forte. Le Duc was an odd one. The journal he left is very thin, and concerns only a single spell — the Perpetuum Vitae Potion.”

  “The Perpet…eternal life?”

  Donovan nodded. “Le Duc never tested the potion, and because of certain tenets of the ritual, it’s now forbidden magic. Apparently someone has decided that the rules don’t apply to them.

>   “I remember now,” she said thoughtfully. “Le Duc was killed by a vampire, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. He was trying to acquire the final ingredient for his formula — the vampire’s blood.”

  “Then Vanessa…” Amethyst’s words trailed off, and Donovan nodded.

  “Yes, she’s going to be part of the potion.”

  “But, why her?” Amethyst asked. “I mean, there were plenty of others at that party, older and more powerful. Why would he choose Johndrow’s lover?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Donovan replied. “She’s beautiful. Maybe our thief is something of a romantic? Maybe he likes the idea of having a beautiful, ancient, powerful prisoner to gloat over.”

  “But, won’t he hurry to finish this? Surely he knows that you, or someone like you, will be on his trail? There are protections to prevent detection, but they can only work so well, and for so long. It’s just a matter of time until we find him…”

  “Not we,” Donovan said. “I will do it. I’ve been hired to do it, and, as I told Johndrow, I’d have done it anyway. I don’t like having my things taken.”

  Amethyst’s eyes sparkled again. “Yeah, you certainly had it all under control tonight. What was I thinking, offering my help to a big, strong cowboy like you?”

  Amethyst looked up at him then, wide-eyed, and batted her lashes. If Donovan had had a drink he’d have tossed it at her. As it was, all he could do was laugh.

  “You missed all the best parts,” he told her. “I don’t believe they’d ever seen an elemental summoned, for one thing.”

  “You summoned an elemental in an alley?”

  “Under it,” he corrected. “It was Pachacama,”

  “Incan,” she commented, sipping her wine and watching him over the rim. He knew she was flirting, and he wished he had time to let her know how well it was working.