To Kill a Sorcerer (5 page)

“I’m working with Hamilton and Gonzales again. It looks like a strange one.”

“Yesterday’s killing?”

“So you know about that.”

“Among other things,” she said.

Ah. Proceed with caution. “I’d like you to read the case file.”

“We can still watch more than one fight.”

“No. Aliena, I don’t like them.”

Silence.

“Midnight, as usual?” I asked.

“Yes.” Her voice left frost along the edge of my ear.

“Where is 49 tonight?”

Tuesday, December 21, 11:54 p.m.

The address Aliena gave me led to an abandoned warehouse in the Wilshire District. I knew the area. It was not a place to go unarmed, though I would never kill anyone. Flashing a weapon sometimes made it possible to bluff your way out of a tight situation, so I carried a forty-caliber Walther P99 on my left hip. My body could survive bullet holes and knife wounds, but my clothes couldn’t.

Any car I brought was also at risk in such an area.

As I drove off my property, I thought about my date. Aliena was a girl to make a guy’s head spin: physically gorgeous, intelligent, sophisticated—but achingly aloof. Although she worked for my forensics company, she was independently wealthy and did not assist me for need of money. Like me, she participated when the case interested her.

I turned off PCH into the Gladstone’s parking lot. After sliding the car into a well-lit space, I called a cab. Four minutes later, a yellow Chevy Impala with a taxi light on the roof cruised into the lot. I climbed into the backseat.

“Where to?” Young, with pink hair and a nose ring, my driver wore studded, fingerless black leather gloves, her peaked chauffeur’s cap—a nice touch. I gave her the address and settled back.

For over seven hundred years, I have assisted local law enforcement to catch and punish the men and women who murder in cold blood. Since relocating to Malibu, I have worked twelve cases with LAPD, including two with Hamilton and Gonzales. The circumstances of my participation have been a sore spot for them from the beginning. I sympathized.

The motion of the car lulled me. My mind conjured a daydream of holding Aliena in my arms and kissing her on the mouth, something I had not yet done. The vision had gotten to the point where I was slipping my hand under her blouse when the cab pulled over, rousing me.

The street loomed dark, in a deserted industrial area off Pico Boulevard. No other cars cruised the area. The surrounding buildings and warehouses looked like the forgotten relics at Göbekli Tepe. Few streetlights worked.

“You sure you want me to leave you here, mister?”

“Yes. This is where my AA group meets.”

I glanced at the fare, tipped her with a hundred. She drove off slowly, watching me in the rearview mirror, shaking her head

The shadowy buildings filling the block loomed like silent sentinels. I scanned slowly and spotted a warehouse with a glint of light in its high windows. I had just turned toward the structure when a figure materialized at my side.

Aliena liked to spook me. It worked occasionally.

I turned and kissed her on the cheek. “Did you have a pleasant vacation in Iraq?”

She took my arm. “Yes, thank you. I love that part of the world.”

“So you have told me.”

“You love it, too.”

“I love the entire world. When you are as old as I am—ouch!” She had squeezed my wrist hard enough to fracture the bone.

“Your age is a subject of conceit.” She held her phone up, tapping the forward key with her thumb. The screen displayed an image, a bright digital photo of a man and woman kissing. The woman had her arms wrapped around the man’s neck, and she leaned against him.

“I can explain that.”

She laughed a tinselly one. “Why should I care?”

“Exactly.” My wrist tingled. “Then why show it to me?”

She tapped her phone again, and now it showed a picture of me in a dripping tuxedo. “Isn’t this tonight? At her birthday party?”

I didn’t even wonder how she had received the photo. Her kind were everywhere once the sun set, and they were an affluent group, with entrée to the same parties I attended.

“A coincidence. I went there to meet Hamilton, as I told you earlier.”

“Did you kiss her again?”

“I didn’t even see her. And I did not kiss her the first time.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Stop it. You don’t care.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Physical beauty has nothing to do with my love for you, Aliena.”

“You always say I am gorgeous. Beauty apparently matters to you very much.”

“Yes, you’re gorgeous, but that is not why I love you.” This situation continued to frustrate. I loved Aliena’s soul, but it resided inside the hottest, sexiest body ever conceived by our Lord God, with a face only Raphael could have painted properly.

Her point was well taken, though. Having extreme physical beauty presented a problem similar to being rich: it was difficult to know if people loved you for the person you were inside.

She continued to gaze at the picture. “What happened to you?”

“A spirit inhabited me and tried to drown me in a pool.”

“What spirit?”

I cursed inwardly. “The spirit of a woman in a green negligee.”

“Another woman attacked you.”

“It was not like that.”

“Poor Sebastian. It must be tiring to have women throw themselves at you day in and day out.”

“Exhausting.”

She did not say anything to that, either.

I felt cautiously elated. Aliena was a bit of a princess, and it was possible her pique was not an indication of romantic interest, but rather a momentary opportunity to torture me by pretending to be jealous. Still, she had never done so before. I wondered if she had missed me as much as I had missed her this past month. Probably not, but the thought enticed.

We approached a working streetlight. As we entered its feeble circle, I disengaged my arm, turned toward her, and stopped. She faced me, leaning her weight on her left leg, giving her wide hips the wicked curve that made my knees weak.

Her honey-colored hair floated about her face, brown eyes wide-set, the whites porcelain. An indecently sexy mole sat above her upper lip, left of center. Cherry blossom cheeks provided evidence that she had dined recently. Hip-hugging gray suede pants were topped by a ruffled white blouse that fit her the way the peel fits the banana. Over that was a tight black hip-length hunting coat. The outfit reminded me of what she had been wearing the first night we had met, when she had been trying to kill me, or drink me, or whatever they call it.

“You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

We continued toward the warehouse. For a moment, it appeared she was going to explain her high complexion. I was glad she did not. I hated it when she told me about her feedings.

We turned down a short walkway. The main building bulked, single-storied and blocky, a long, windowless wall with a door at the middle. Behind this rose a four-story factory.

Aliena took my arm and pulled me closer as we neared the entrance. A woman stood outside the door, watching as we approached. She wore a long, strapless, sapphire-blue gown and elbow-length white gloves.

This was where my anxiety began. One vampire can drain me nearly to the point of death. More than one could probably suck the life out of me. The question of whether or not that was true was one I intended to investigate, but not at 49.

We started to walk past when the woman spoke.

“Hello, Aliena,” she said. “Nice outfit.”

“Hello, Rachella. You look lovely tonight.”

A sense of cats tensing up charged the atmosphere. Vampire women have claws, and it was clear Aliena and Rachella wanted to use them on each other—right here, right now.

“Thank you,” Rachella said. “I hear you and Marcus are an item these days.”

“You heard wrong.”

Marcus and I had not been formally introduced, though I knew him on sight.

“Who is your handsome friend?” Rachella gave me a fang-smile filled with malevolence.

“This is Sebastian Montero. Sebastian,” Aliena said with cold fury in her voice, “this is Rachella.”

Rachella held out her gloved hand. I took it, looked her directly in the eyes, leaned forward from the waist, and kissed her knuckles lightly. All the time, I was wondering if she was going to crush my hand, or bite it, or do something else to embarrass me.

When I straightened, she smiled mischievously—without the fangs. Exquisite, with auburn hair and sparkling green eyes.

“Haven’t I seen your picture, Mr. Montero?”

I looked at her inquiringly. She smiled more broadly. The little witch.

“Yes, that’s right. Same brown eyes and black hair, same strong jaw . . . on
Popwire
.”

“Ah, that.”

“Have you seen it, Aliena?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you might be dating Mr. Montero.”

“What does that mean?”

Rachella still held my hand. “If he kisses other women, maybe he’s not all yours.”

“He may kiss anyone he likes.”

Ouch.

“Of course.”

It would have been a pleasure to smack the smirk off Rachella’s face. She licked her crimson lips, winked. “You are one of the Eternals. Your movements are courtly. If you like to kiss women other than Aliena . . .” She gave me an air-kiss.

Ah, she was good. Decapitation. It was the only answer.

She released my hand.

Aliena and I walked to the heavy steel door. I opened it for her and looked back at Rachella.

As Aliena stepped inside, Rachella was suddenly nose-to-nose with me, her fangs extended, her eyes burning, her hiss wafting the smell of warm copper into my face. I gave a surprised yelp and stumbled back. Then Aliena moved between us, and Rachella stood in her original position.

“Are you hurt?” Aliena asked.

I glared at Rachella. “No, just startled.”

“Come.” She waited for me to walk inside first. I turned away, the memory of Rachella’s lupine face centimeters from mine sending a queer tingle along my spine. Aliena followed and closed the door.

“She needs a spanking,” I said.

“Stay away from her.”

“Jealous?”

“Not at all. She has a reputation for killing anyone from whom she drinks.”

“She couldn’t, not with me. You’ve tried.”

“When she tires of a man, she invites her friends over for a final feast.”

“I see.” So far, I had never met another immortal like me. I knew they existed—the same books that chronicle the history of vampires include tales of the Eternals and other immortal creatures, but they were vague about our beginnings and had few details about our differences. Of all immortal beings, vampires outnumbered the combined total of every other kind by a factor of one hundred.

I owned every book on the subject and had pored over them for clues, but I still knew little. Most importantly, I did not know how many of “us” there were, or whether any of “them” were aware of my existence.

“Sebastian, I cannot stress enough your need to avoid any contact with that woman. I know you are more dangerous than most, but Rachella is cunning and lethal. Her invitation tonight could not be clearer. She has marked you.”

Most vampires considered me a desirable companion. Immortal blood intoxicated them.

We walked down a wide dark hallway, our heels clicking on the concrete floor. No bulb lit our way—I could not see even a shadow of Aliena at my side. She kept her hand lightly on my arm, guiding us. Our voices became living things in the inky blackness.

“You think she will hunt me?”

“No. You are mine,” she said. “As long as—”

“What do you mean, I am yours? You sound as if you are referring to a dachshund.”

“I only meant that since you are already with me, she will not seek you out. At least I do not think she would do so.” Again, there was that indefinable intensity in her voice. “No vampire would attempt to take you away from me. It would be an inexcusable violation, and such an indiscretion would be punishable by death. However, if you were to seek her out, or indicate to any vampire that she was welcome, she would be within her rights to drink you to her heart’s content.”

Being a part of Aliena’s world thrilled, but the danger occasionally made me uneasy. It seemed I was asking for trouble by association, but I found the allure of vampire society irresistible. They were immortals, so they saw patterns in the world mortals did not have time to notice. That made them beings with whom I could compare notes on the centuries past.

I still avoided most gatherings of vampires out of prudence. But Aliena loved the bouts at 49.

“How would you feel about other women drinking me?”

Her hand tightened. I turned toward her. Eyes burned red, regarding me out of the dark.

“You can do whatever you like,” she said.

“That’s not what I asked you. How would you feel if I gave Rachella a drink?”

“No,” she whispered. “Never. I don’t want to share you.”

“Then I am yours alone.” She
had
missed me last month.

We turned down a short corridor. Light limned a door at the end. Above the lintel hung a pulsing, crimson neon sign that read simply “49.”

Wednesday, December 22, 12:18 a.m.

Whenever I enter 49, no matter where it is located, I notice a unique odor. It is the smell of dry tinder mixed with autumn leaves. Only at 49 have I encountered this earthy smell.

The guest list of this exclusive club was rarefied indeed, in that it consisted only of vampires. With one exception—me—no human had ever witnessed these gatherings. At least, none that lived to tell the
National Enquirer
about their encounter.

Aliena kept her hand lightly on my arm as we stepped into view of the crowd. Strolling next to her, projecting calm and looking curiously at the faces we passed, I felt neither calm nor curious. As usual, many faces in the crowd turned toward us.

There were two reasons I did not like coming to 49 with Aliena. This recognition by everyone that I was the only nonvampire was the main dilemma. Even from a distance, as soon as I entered the building, they could all smell me. More than once, when a vampire swiveled her head toward me, she did so with bared fangs.