Twice as High, page 13
How was all this possible?
“Who wishes to volunteer?” Jenny asked.
A ginger-haired young man, no older than twenty-three, raised his hand. His face was round, his lips thin, his eyes filled with hope.
“I will, Miss,” he said and stepped toward us.
There, next to the altar, was the stone I’d just held in my hands and what resembled a golden trident. Could that be Poseidon’s trident? It had a retractable handle? My Internet search did not reveal that.
Alistair, if you can hear me, now would be a great time to listen.
As if given a silent sign, the vampire moved forward toward the altar and snatched up the stone. He raised his hand toward the sky. The floor shook.
The room filled with his pain, his agony, his dashed hopes. For a moment, I felt the loss, saw the sadness, and his memories. His mind flashed to that of a young woman on the streets of Edinburgh, the love he’d lost.
A car quickly rounded the bend, knocking into her. Holding her dying figure, hearing her gasping breath, death tugged him.
Like drowning in darkness, filled with a thousand needle pricks.
My heart clenched. Love dashed, and the vampirism had numbed it all. The days seamlessly shifted one to the other, shackled only by the new limitations, and forever reminded of a love he could no longer have, no longer save, and always damned to remember.
When nightfall came, he’d return to where she died, hoping that ghosts existed to see her again.
This life tormented him to no end—the cold grasp of his nightly reflection. The pain was almost physical.
“Do you feel it, Leslie?” Jenny asked. She walked to me, and in her hands she carried a black necklace box. Opening it, she removed the serpentine like necklace from earlier and clasped it around my neck.
He was more than bruised by the accident that took her away, but scarred, wounds that went deeper than what even a second chance at living could bring him. To him, he was shackled, not free.
“Freedom?” I wondered. “Is that what this is all about?”
“As long as we have existed, there have been those in charge and those who’ve crushed us. And these tools can free us.”
But holding that stone, raising it to the heavens, it brought back all of his humanity.
“Focus, Lewis.”
The vampires circled him.
The one called Lewis puffed up his cheeks with air, as if in his hands, he bench-pressed all of his massive sins.
He turned and looked at me, and still, I heard and saw the memories in his head. A film I’d not paid to watch, a song I’d not needed to hear. But in those eyes, as if drawn to the shallow’s edge, I saw him. I saw the good that he’d done since his transformation, all on fast-forward. Those he’d helped.
Rogue, yes. Evil? Absolutely not.
I saw him. I saw him in the shell he was in and recognized the pain in him, and the god-spark that had eaten him from within.
Finally, a tormenting scream poured from his lips. His last thought was his regret in again failing, always failing.
Then, as quickly as one flipped on a light switch, lightning rose from the floor, pulverizing him until only ashes floated in that stale basement air.
“Next!” Jenny said.
“Why would one volunteer for this?” I asked.
“Everyone wants to be free, dear, even if it means death.”
The next vampire lined up.
They didn’t need to torture me with devices when all they had to do was fill the room up with hopelessness and despair like steam in a sauna.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Jenny,” Rose said. “What will you do with her?”
Jenny turned to Rose. “Are you questioning me? You have done your job to get her here, and what happens now is none of your concern.”
“It is my concern if you plan to do her harm for your design.”
“I will use her to free us all, and to punish the gods.”
“Punish the gods? That wasn’t our agreement.”
“Of all of us, Medusa, you have the strongest motivation to ensure that they pay, or have you forgotten how you were abused at Poseidon’s hands, and then Athena’s?”
“You told me that we were to destroy the weapons, not to use them.”
“Why be rid of something that could help us finally overthrow them all?” Jenny raised her hands, two vampires moved toward Rose, and after one last flicker, the façade of Rose fell, and I gasped.
The Medusa I’d always heard of was a seductive serpent, half-woman, and half-snake, but this one wasn’t at all. Instead, she stood on two legs. Her locks of venomous snakes slithered about on her head. Dark wings sprouted from her back and boar tusks from her mouth.
She moved over to the altar and thrust the items into her satchel. “Since the terms of the deal have changed, so has the deal completely.”
A vampire moved to attack. Medusa glared at him, and the vampire turned to stone.
An audible “whoa” sounded across the room.
“You are a traitor to the supernatural, Jenny,” Medusa said, quickly filling her bag, while the vampires inched toward her. “Or whatever your name is. You feed the flame of enmity between us all and now seek to start a battle that you can’t win.”
“We will never win a battle without the tools. To destroy them would make us foolish.”
“No, it would make you something that the gods have never been: Conscientious.”
“We will have the seer, Medusa, and there is nothing that you can do against it. We are the same.” Jenny advanced.
“No, I fight for the small guy so that they will not be the pawns of the gods, not because of some anger. That rage doesn’t punish them, but only did it to me. What they took from me, that of choosing destiny—what a crock of lies. I make my own destiny.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam move. His movements grew more and more inhuman. “We have to get out of here, now,” I yelled at Medusa.
My hands began to glow blue. There was magic in the room. I was not one who could create it, but I could wield it.
“No, no, no,” Medusa said, but I hadn’t any idea why.
I raised my hands as if prompted, but instead of summoning magic to help us, I’d done the opposite, and it knocked my ally right through the basement wall.
“Tsk, tsk, Leslie.” Jenny wagged her finger at me. Have you forgotten? Magic comes with a cost. You wear a cursed necklace, and even one such as you, that means only drawing darkness.”
The vampires moved forward and placed me on the altar, lifting a box, and raising the lid. I stared into the box’s swirling depths. Coldness washed over me. My body shook and quaked, as bouts of frigidness crashed into me.
“Embrace the gifts of Pandora, dear seer, and free us.”
Just as Lewis had screamed in torment, it was now my turn, and this time there was no reprieve.
A fire lit up in me to be replaced with an arctic-like coldness. The wave of empathy that I’d just felt crashed and dissipated. Why shouldn’t the supernatural creatures rule the world? Why shouldn’t the gods pay for all that they’d done to us? Trauma could be inherited, science said. Maybe this was what I was supposed to stand up for.
And this Medusa, she was supposed to be a living icon, a monster that fought back against those who sought her head, but those must have only been myths, poorly developed legends. How could one have such a responsibility and shirk it?
I wouldn’t do that.
“Release me,” I ordered. “The gods want a sacrifice to be pleasing. I say, tonight we feast on the city and allow their pleas to be all that is needed to get their attention.”
“And the Order?” Sam asked.
“If they get in the way, let’s see if the gods’ tools will work. I want it all, and at the top of my list is destruction.”
I raised my hand and watched the sack Medusa had once carried away return, but this time to my grasp. The power radiated, and the clasp on the necklace tightened around me like the abusive hold of an ex-lover.
A part of me shivered, not from coldness, but anticipation. The power of the gods flowed over and through me.
“What is happening?” Sam asked.
“She is getting a taste of what it means to wield the weapons of the gods, just as we plotted.”
Chapter 22
Alistair
Friday, Museum
Alistair stuck to the shadows, watching the men and women entering the lit-up gala. Magic was all around him, and he knew that this wasn’t just a normal human function, especially when he saw a gorgon crawling out of the basement.
It didn’t take long for Killian to meet up with him.
“We should head to the club,” Killian said. “If anyone will know what is happening with the rogues, it would be Beau Charming.”
Beau and his were-pack overlooked and protected the city and policed the different vampire covens around town. Although Beau wouldn’t be acting like a bouncer on the street corner, he’d have information that might prove beneficial.
“Where is the playboy tonight?” Alistair asked. Time was of the essence to find out what was going on with the rogue vampires, and Beau should have boots on the ground tackling the problem head-on with his pack.
“Yancy’s Beavers and Dames,” Killian said with a wink. “They do enjoy their box lunches at the ‘Y.’”
Alistair refused even to guffaw. There was a time and place for it, but right now, he focused on the central problem, and for that, they needed information.
“I reached his secretary, and she said he was at his monthly meeting,” Killian said.
“I see she didn’t overstate the issue.” That would have been simple
The club wasn’t where people would meet up to play chess, but instead for those who fetishized the vampire lifestyle. Members of the Order ran the different places around town, sticking to the rules of secrecy, and since vampirism had become such mainstream, it had also attracted those who embraced what they thought to be the lifestyle, including wearing crushed-velvet smoking jackets, black gowns, and contacts. It was like the brand colors were black and red. Those on the upper levels of appreciation went so far as to create fang-like veneers. They accepted the supernatural, and many wanted to become it.
There were rules about that part, too, in any case.
They entered the strange side of New York, where the vamps lived. These were the ones who were not blessed with true vampirism, but for lack of a better word, they liked the vampire lifestyle. It was Halloween combined with some awakening, every day where they fed on blood and energy.
“Charming,” Alistair said to the vampire sitting at the check-in desk. Part of him appreciated that the vampires and werewolves could get along, but boy, did the place reek of sex, lubricant, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“That’s latex you’re smelling, Uncle.” Killian chuckled. He must have been getting a kick out of this.
The receptionist cleared her throat. “Mr. Charming is in the red room.”
Alistair listened as she described the route to the room, and he and Killian headed there. He didn’t want to ask if it was a room for flogging, balloon popping, or cake farting. This place had enough to comfort anyone on the fetish spectrum. The only difference between supernaturals and humans was that the fantasy was their reality.
He ignored the sights and sounds of sex as the vocalized panting and screaming combined. Rounding the corner toward Charming’s room, they had to bypass a self-satisfying, peeping Minotaur—who liked to watch—might have been too much, though.
“Charming is under your command. Is this how you lead?”
“Don’t hate, Alistair. The poor minotaur was surely just a little horny.” He laughed at his joke, and Alistair clenched his jaw in response.
The hallway was decorated in decadent and upscale gold, crimson, and black, sort of like the owners tapped in some of the best Hollywood set designers to replicate the grandest of hallways. Ambient lighting cast a warm glow, as well.
Most of the doors were closed, and those, too, resembled rich mahogany, with posh names etched in gold lettering on them. Walking onward, they bypassed everything from the Kingston Suite, to Bardot.
The floor was sticky in some spots, wet in others. Alistair’s keen sense of smell determined what he stepped on or in. He tried to resist the shaking of his head. Sure, he wasn’t strait-laced. He had his moves that combined touch, tastes, and teasing. At least none of his past partners had complained. The difference was his inclinations, of course, were not on exhibit. The dragon within had certain rules, and sharing for everyone’s enjoyment was not part of it. But then again, he didn’t need sexual energy to feed like many of the vampires in the place.
“For him to even be here shows how the vampires and weres have united,” Killian continued. “I’m sure Beau is just playing a little hide-and-go-seek. But go easy on him. I’ve heard rumors that he has a thing for red capes.”
“Like a bull?”
“He can be stubborn like one, but no, like red capes. You’ll see.”
Finally, locating the room, Alistair braced himself and tapped on the door. He could hear every salacious coo and squeak on the other side of the red-painted door. A snarl cut through, followed by a bellowing voice. “Wrong room,” was quickly said.
“The wolf trials will begin soon, my feral one.” Alistair heard a female say through the door.
“I tried to do this the nice way, but my patience has worn thin.” Alistair kicked the door open. It splintered loudly.
The room smelled pungent like alcohol.
There Beau stood, holding his date in the strangest wheelbarrow-like position. Beau, dressed as a medieval knight’s black-and-red tabard, clenching his partner’s thighs like handles. His vampire companion was dressed like a sexy Little Red Riding Hood, the adult Halloween version—basket and all. Beau yanked and tugged at the bottom of her cape, which hung from his mouth, while he stood positioned between her legs, like an oversexed teenager, and not like one of NYC’s most eligible bachelors.
Beau looked up, seeing them, and he dropped her legs. “Hey, what’s up?” Beau casually said, while his companion fixed her short dress and moved over to the decanter to pour a glass of red.
“We tried calling first,” Killian remarked with a shrug.
“Yeah, that could have saved some of the interruptions.” Beau turned his attention back to the woman. “Bianca, I’ll catch you later, doll.”
She gave a small wave and strutted away.
“You okay?” Killian asked. “You seem a little under the influence.”
“No problems on my end. That’s what happens when vamps and wolves collide. It can be quite heady.”
“Your missus didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption, either,” Killian said.
“Well, that’s the thing about being a bachelor. When I meet the one, my fated mate, then I won’t have to worry about it. This is just me buying time. Heck, I don’t even know who she is, or where for that matter.”
That was more personal than Alistair wanted to get. He needed to move this along, and away from the cocky story Beau was trying to shove his way.
“We’re here to find out what you know about the rogues.” Alistair interrupted.
Beau went over to the red-velvet chair and pulled on his tailored black pants.
“There’s been an uptick of vampires in the area that aren’t the usual, and who don’t belong to any known coven or house. Those caught on our watch, we’ve handled, but there’s something else behind them. Rumor is that they’re after a seer. Leslie’s been under our protection, guarded. As far as we’re aware, we haven’t had another seer around these parts in a bit, and the last incident with the vamps a couple months ago was nullified.”
Killian frowned. “What happened here a few weeks ago? I remember that at the Compound, but was there more?”
Beau looked to Alistair as if he’d have something to say. “If the goddess made you forget, it was for a reason.”
Killian bristled. “I can’t serve if I’m left out of the loop.”
“That was not up to me, Nephew,” Alistair attempted to sooth him, “but Freyja, and surely, you are not wiser than she.”
“The only reason I know is because of the threat to the city, Killian. I’ve directed all of those reports to Alistair’s attention since the incident.”
Alistair hated secrets. He hated that the only thing he knew as to what happened with the rogue vampires came from Beau’s reports and his deal with this growing infestation.
“Yes, Freyja told us to watch her, to protect Leslie at all costs. I’ve had her training some with Goose, under the medical care of Sethos, and shadowed her every move as directed. I thought you both knew.”
It was strange for the goddess to appear to those outside of the elite of the Order, but technically seen, Beau was part of the higher ranks.
“Goose? Now, Uncle, what were you saying about trusting the goddess and her ways?” Killian threw back his head and laughed. “If you could see the expression on your face right now. Bollocks is not a strong enough word.”
Leaving the club, Alistair encountered the agent who should have more than enough answers.
“Medusa?” Alistair called out to her, and she stopped, smoothing over a glamour to hide her normal snakes-in-hair appearance. Traffic zoomed on by, not paying any attention. Thankfully, nothing was ever too weird in this city.
“Alistair, Killian.” She sighed. “I take it you are here to save your mate who is now on the side of evil?”
“Leslie is what?” Shock resonated in Alistair’s words. If one woman could stir a pot of trouble, it would be Leslie handling the spoon.
Alistair turned within to see if he could feel Leslie. Unlike before, when he’d been given easy access, no walls between them, this time, she must have blocked his voice.
He glowered.
“With your not training her,” Medusa accused, “she’s on her own, and now she is truly in possession of the trident, Hephaestus’s firestone, and only the gods know what else the dragons have gathered.”
