Absolution (15 page)

Mirren drove past the mill and parked around a corner, then doubled back on foot, moving with a stealth that came not only from his vampire nature but his training as a gallowglass warrior. Mirren wished he had Faolain, his favorite sword, with him, but it was too bulky to take on normal patrol. With its thirty-seven-inch blade and ornate ring pommel, it could take a man’s head with a single stroke and more finesse than the blunt work of his two-handed battle-ax. More often these days, he did his work with the .45 caliber Smith&Wesson.

He unholstered it now, its cold weight reassuring in his right palm. Eyes scanning for movement, he crept silently from shadow to shadow, hugging the sides of storefronts, blending in. A man’s voice wafted softly on the cool night air from behind the biggest remaining portion of the mill’s front outer wall. The intruder stood in the shadows, out of the reach of the dim glints bouncing off the ruins from the glow of the streetlights.

Mirren stopped and listened, lifting his head, scenting the air. Vampire, male, but not of the Penton scathe. He risked a glance around the crumbling brickwork. Dark hair, emaciated, average height, young, both in human and vampire years. And not too bright. He spoke on a cell phone with his back to the street, and before he’d even registered Mirren’s presence, the Smith&Wesson was pressed to his temple.

“A bullet in your brain might not kill you, but at point-blank, you’ll really, really wish it had.” The man froze, and Mirren reached around him and plucked the phone from his hand, holding it to his ear. The connection was still live.

“You want to talk, I’m all fucking ears.” The phone fashed call ended. “Guess not.” He pocketed the phone and pressed the gun barrel harder against the vampire’s temple. “Too bad. That means you’ll have to do all the talking.”

“I’m just hungry. Was told I could find a feeder here.”

Interesting choice of words. “Who might have told such a lie?”

Too bad the guy didn’t realize it was too late to shut up like a clam. Mirren pulled the silver cuffs from his belt, and finally, the guy’s survival instincts kicked in. He threw a leg back, hooked it behind Mirren’s, and tried to pull him off balance.

“Shit-for-brains.” Mirren wasn’t back up to his full weight, but he still had a hundred pounds on this loser. He grabbed the vampire’s arm and gave it a quick jerk outward with one hand, using his other arm as a piston to bend it at the elbow—the wrong way. It gave with a satisfying crack, and the man screamed. “Wanna try anything else?”

“No.” Loser fell to the ground, cradling his broken arm.

Mirren studied him. The vampire carried no bond of fealty, yet he’d given away that he was working for someone. Purely hired talent, and calling this guy
talent
was being generous. “Get up.” He nudged the man’s broken arm with the toe of his boot, getting a whimper in return. “Get up, or I’ll do it for you.”

“No, wait.” The vampire struggled to his feet, holding his broken arm against his body. Mirren thought it was mostly for show. It would heal in a half hour and had probably already popped back into place.

Mirren pulled the handcuffs out again and slapped them on the guy, twisting the healing arm enough to get a sharp intake of breath. “Move it.” He pushed the guy ahead of him. With the silver cuffs, the intruder would be no faster or stronger than human. Plus, the man was in no hurry. He’d lost the game, and he knew it. So he walked slowly, head down, mouth shut.

“You got a name?” Mirren nudged him to turn left and take the steps leading into a two-story white stone building with columns spanning its broad porch.

“Cal.”

Mirren pulled keys from his pocket and shook loose the one for the front door of the municipal building, which had been the city hall back in the old days. “Well, Cal, welcome to Penton. How things go for you here depends on how well you cooperate.” He unlocked the heavy wooden doors and shoved Cal inside, following him in and reaching left to flip on the lights.

“Sit on the bench in the hallway, and don’t even think about moving.”

As soon as Cal sat, Mirren sent a mental message to Aidan, then leaned against the wall opposite the bench, hands stuck in his pockets. “Who you working for?”

Cal raised his misery-filled eyes, which grew wide as if he were finally seeing Mirren and registering how much trouble he’d stumbled into. “It’s true. The Slayer’s back.”

Sometimes a bad reputation came in handy. “That’s right. You’re lucky all you’ve gotten so far is a love tap. Who you working for?”

“I don’t know his name. I swear. I’d tell you if I did.” Finally, old Cal seemed to realize he was in real trouble. He stared at the floor, eyes dazed, his left leg jiggling up and down in a nervous rhythm.

Aidan arrived in fewer than ten minutes.

“What’ve you got?” He strode through the front door, stopped in front of Cal, and gave him a measured look. “Bring him downstairs.”

Mirren smiled at the alarm on Cal’s face. “Yeah, you thought the cavalry was coming to save you. Think again. On your feet.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know who hired me. Please.”

Mirren wrapped a hand around his upper arm and dragged him down the hallway. Cal was going to provide exactly what he needed to get Glory off his mind—a little interrogation. “Come on, Cal. Let’s go downstairs and have some fun.”

He and Aidan had this routine down to a science now that rogue vampires were wandering into town. They’d put the poor, misbegotten vamp in a silver-barred cell, ask questions, and if they were satisfied the rogue was nothing more than some poor, hungry slob, they’d give him a supervised feed, wipe his memories, and drive him far enough out of town that he wouldn’t wander back.

Old Cal here wasn’t a random hungry vampire, though.

Aidan led the way down the marble staircase to the basement that housed four cells. One was currently occupied. Lucy Sinclair lay curled in a fetal position on a single bed that had been brought in to make the cell more comfortable, along with rugs and a few nonlethal decorations. She’d been tortured by Aidan’s brother until she finally broke, mind and spirit. Combative at first, now she was virtually catatonic, barely able to feed.

Mirren thought they should put her out of her misery. Only Krys’s pleading had kept them from doing it already. The time was coming, though. Lucy wasn’t ever going to be the feisty fighter she’d been before Owen got his hands on her.

Mirren shuddered. Better no life at all than one like that.

He glanced in the cell next to Lucy’s, glad it was empty. Until a few days ago, a young illegally turned teenage vamp who’d come into town with Owen Murphy had been locked up here. They’d thought they might use her as leverage to get Matthias Ludlam thrown off the Tribunal. Once Aidan had been forced to turn Krys to save her life, however, that moral high road got closed. They’d scrubbed her memories and put her on a fight to Cairo. And if the Tribunal ever found out about Krys, well, the Tribunal would have all the excuse it needed to rain holy hell all over their heads.

Aidan unlocked the cell across from Lucy’s, and Mirren popped Cal’s handcuffs and followed him inside. A bare cot stretched across the back of the cell, and a wooden table and chair sat in the middle. All they needed was a bare hanging lightbulb to have a classic interrogation space. The sound of the silver-over-steel bars clanging shut echoed throughout the concrete basement. Panic crossed Cal’s face when he realized he was locked in with Mirren.

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mirren leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Here’s how it works. Aidan asks you a question. You answer. If we like your answer, he’ll ask you another. If we’re unhappy with your answer, I will cut something off you’re really attached to, and that’s gonna hurt like a mother. Got that?”

Cal turned wide eyes to Aidan. “Please, I was approached in Atlanta by some guy in one of the vamp clubs. He asked if I was hungry and needed a feed and some cash, then gave me a cell phone. A man called it a few minutes later. The guy on the phone said if I’d come to Penton and scout around, I’d be able to feed. He never gave me a name. The other guy was supposed to meet me tomorrow at five with the payoff.”

“Meet you where?” Aidan paced outside the cell, eyes on the floor.

“Corner of Magnolia and Ross, downtown.” Cal approached the bars, getting as far from Mirren as he could. “That’s all I know, I swear. The guy who called me tonight to make sure I was here was the same guy from the club.”

“Sit down.” Mirren pulled a combat knife from his pocket and flicked it open. Cal looked to Aidan for help but got nothing in return but Aidan’s calm stare. The vampire sidled to the chair, eyes widening as Mirren walked toward him. “Are you right-handed or a lefty?”

“Wh…what? Right.”

“Put your right hand on the table, palm down.”

Cal’s dazed focus landed on his hand, then shifted to the table. What a wanker. Mirren grabbed the hand and slammed it to the table, then planted the knife neatly between the index and middle finger. “Aw, damn, I missed. That won’t happen twice.” A trickle of pale-pink blood welled on the side of Cal’s index finger where the knife had grazed it. Poor bastard was starving.

“Here’s my problem,” Mirren said, pulling the knife out of the wood with his right hand while his left kept Cal’s wrist pressed to the table. The man fisted his fingers as if he could retract them into his palm. “You admit you were sent here to scout, but you don’t say what it was you were scouting for. That doesn’t make me happy. I think that’s worth a finger, at least. Maybe a dick.”

“Please.” Cal addressed his plea to Aidan, who shrugged, tossed Mirren a key, and walked back toward the stairs to the first floor.

“Clean up when you leave, Mirren. I’ll trace the records on his cell phone. Call me if you learn anything interesting.”

“Will do.”

Mirren released Cal’s hand and went back to his spot against the wall. “Now, it’s just us, Cal. How you want to play it?”

Cal swallowed hard. “What are you going to do with me if I tell you what you want?”

What, he thought Mirren would shake his hand, feed him dinner, and send him on his way? “Depends on what you say. But I can tell you exactly what will happen if you tell me nothing. I’m going to lock you in, go home, and sharpen up my sword.”

Cal flinched.

“Maybe you’ve heard of it? I used it a lot when I was the Tribunal’s slayer. The
Gallóglaigh
had the finest armory. The blades have six facets, did you know?”

Cal shook his head, but his skin had turned a little green.

“Aye, fine workmanship. A one-handed swing and a man’s head will still be talking as it bounces off the floor near his feet. ’Tis a thing of beauty. I also still have my battle-ax. Works every bit as well—just a bit messier.”

“A girl.” Cal put his head in his hands, as if he could already feel it separating from his neck. “I was supposed to hang around, eavesdrop, see if I could hear anything about a new human woman who might’ve come to town in the last week. If I found her, the guy said I could have her as long as I completely drained her and brought proof to the drop tomorrow—a…an ear. She has a small birthmark on her ear, shaped like a heart. I bring the ear, I get the money.”

A thick gray rage filled Mirren’s mind. People always describe anger as hot and fiery, but true rage was cold and merciless. Matthias had hired this fool to come here and kill Glory.

He walked behind Cal and placed his left hand on the man’s shoulder. His voice was soft. “You aren’t going to make that meeting tomorrow, Cal.”

Mirren pulled the knife blade across the vampire’s throat before he could answer. Two more strokes and it was done.

Sometimes, one didn’t need a sword to take a head. Rage and a good, sharp knife worked just fine.

A half hour before dawn, Mirren left Aidan’s house and drove home. He’d given a complete report, including an account of the beheading and burial of the unfortunate Cal. He had to give Aidan credit—he didn’t finch or chastise him even though Mirren had realized, once the anger had died down enough for reason to surface, that sending Cal back to Atlanta with his memories wiped might have had the same results. Even if Matthias had managed to find Cal again, he wouldn’t know anything. On second thought, memory wipes on other vampires didn’t always work, and Glory’s life was too valuable to risk.

Mirren had killed his share of vampires since he’d left the life of the Slayer behind, but it had been emotionless, methodical, clean. He’d almost begun to hope the cold killer mind-set had disappeared, that living in Aidan’s scathe all this time had finally quieted the anger and violence that was his legacy. He’d outlived the time he was meant to live in. The very same qualities that had made him a good mercenary warrior and executioner had made him a pathetic excuse for a man.

He parked the Bronco in front of his house and studied the light seeping around the living room blinds. Surely Glory wasn’t still up. He didn’t want to see her after what he’d done.

He paused with his keys in his hand. Maybe he should go to another one of his daysleep spaces. Each scathe member had multiples in case one was compromised. He’d put his keys back in the ignition when the porch light came on and the front door opened. Glory stepped out, still wearing his damned shirt, silhouetted against the light of the stone house.