Origins (A Demonkin Novel) (4 page)

"Demitri," one of the goons said and nodded to my delivery boy.

I hoped to catch his response to see if he had Russian ancestry as his name suggested, but he just nodded and handed me over to gangster boy.

"Is this her?" Demitri nodded. "Don't look like much. You two bring her to the boss." Goons two and three ushered me down the hall and up three flights of stairs to a solid oak door. I fought down the urge to laugh at the "private" sign; how cliché. There we waited for Goon one to catch up and knock.

I heard the muffled "come in" and Gooney opened the door. The elaborateness of the office shocked me. It comprised the entire floor of the building. Dark cherry wood paneling covered every wall complete with matching crown molding and base board trim. The floors even matched and gave the room a dark Elizabethan façade. A bar that could have been in any 1920's speakeasy lined one wall. Brass rails gleamed from natural gas wall sconces encircling the room and casting shadows across everything. Several leather couches ran the length of the opposite wall.

My eyes fixed immediately to the monstrous cherry wood desk facing the door. A complete matching bookcase lined the wall behind it and rose from floor to ceiling. An ornate brass gilded leather chair sat behind the desk, the vampire Cicero gazed at me through lidded eyes.

The goons prodded me forward and I walked the length of the room and stopped several feet away from the desk. I could feel Cicero's eyes give me a once over from head to toe. He seemed almost surprised by my appearance. If I had known I would be meeting vampire muckity-mucks I would have dressed nicer. Well maybe not. I don't own any nice clothes, but I would have worn jeans with fewer holes in them.

"You are Ashlyn?" His voice shocked me. I think deep down I expected a James Cagney voice. I became enthralled by the eloquent timbre of his tone. Before me was a man you didn't lie to, because you didn't want to, but mostly because you feared getting caught.

"Yes
,
sir," I replied meekly. At least I didn't whimper like I wanted to.

"You are the little girl who broke three sets of V-cuffs and rocked the very foundations of Gloria's little world. Here before me stands a tiny little thing, and the mighty Gloria trembles?"

I could hear the cynicism in his voice. He wasn't afraid. I would have smelled it on him. Of every vampire I had met tonight, his scent set my nerves afire. He smelled of fine vanilla and cocoa. I rolled his scent across my tongue like a fine Belgian chocolate. I have always wanted to try Belgian chocolate. Damn my whole inability to digest human food.

"Apparently I am, sir. I apologized for my actions at Mistress Gloria's establishment, and I asked her to let me leave, but she feared what you would do." Wow, I could be eloquent when I was scared shitless. I had made myself seem weak, and Gloria paranoid in one sentence.

"Frederick, snap her neck for me," I heard him whisper. I couldn't believe it. I spoke eloquently gods damn it! I heard Gooney swing his fist at me from behind, so I ducked. I spun to face him at waist level, and I watched him as if he moved in slow motion. I saw his arm descend in a sweeping arc and I raised my left arm to intercept. I didn't know the limits of my own strength, but I hoped it would be enough. As soon as my hand met the joint of his arm his swing stopped. I saw the look of surprise register on his face, right until I smashed his face with the heel of right hand. He didn't drop to the floor until he completed an arc through the air. I stunned myself when he landed six feet away from me.

I saw Goons two and three register the fate of Frederick and they turned to complete his orders. I watched again as time curiously slowed as they made their first steps. The slow motion effect also allowed me to see the silver stakes as they broke through two different windows and continue their trail straight into the backs of my assailants. I watched as the whole incident occurred without the sound of breaking glass and the wet thud you would expect from the tiny missiles impacting and penetrating through flesh. Those sounds came much later. They had almost made it to me when the sounds came and the shock of the impacts registered on their faces. The snarling rage morphed into disbelief and then a blank stare as they dropped to the floor.

I turned to look at Cicero to see if he decided to attack me too, but I watched him run from his desk and launch himself through the remaining unbroken window into the Chicago night. His office sat four stories up, but I doubt it mattered much to him. As I watched his feet disappear from view, the solid wood door burst from its hinges and a group of armed and armored men in black vests with the letters FBI stenciled across their chests and backs in yellow paint pour into the office and point their unusually shaped weapons at everyone and everything.

If I had been born a smart little non-human, I would have followed Cicero into the night and extricated myself from what I had no doubt would be a royal mess. However, I had little experience with FBI crime raids. I just stood where rooted to my spot and raised my hands into the air like I told to by a man with a matte black helmet and tactical mask which covered everything down to his lips. I didn't however register the fact he also had told me to get down on my knees and put my hands on top of my head. My brain became addled and I uttered the mantra, "Shit, shit, shit, shit". My lack of cooperation earned me a leg sweep from "get down" boy. I didn't register his movement until I felt his leg make contact with mine. Let's just say mine won. I heard the bones in his leg crack as the force of the sweep halted immediately. I looked down on the floor at his prone form and started to apologize as I became the center of a dog pile led by several other agents. This time I didn't win. I probably could have flung them off me, but I didn't fight back. I even let them bring my hands behind my back and cuff them together.

They left me on the floor as they cuffed Frederick and the two goons with silver stakes in their hearts. Their precautions seemed a little redundant as the two vampires were obviously quite dead. They didn't feel like master vamps in my head and to any other subspecies, silver through the heart it fatal. Maybe they just weren't taking any chances.

When the dust settled and all of the blood drinkers (including me) had been nestled snugly in our v-cuffs, the men started their radio communications. Yes the room was completely secure, no Cicero escaped, and they had four prisoners for transport. They raised me to my feet as they brought in stretchers for Cicero's men and led us out through the same stairwell and door I had come in, out into the back parking lot. I guess I never would find out the name of the club they dragged me into. My very first time to the city proper and I had no time for sight-seeing.

My new FBI friends unceremoniously dumped me in the back of a large armored transport vehicle and shut the door behind me. I guess the goons had travel arrangements with ambulance or the coroner wagon. The mental image of that made me giggle a little. At least I could still sit.

The trip lasted around twenty minutes and judging by the downward angle of the vehicle, we probably had pulled into an underground parking lot of some sort. I felt the truck pull to a stop and the rumble of the engine died only to be replaced by the tick, tick sound of cooling metal. I expected the doors to open right away, but disappointment reigned supreme yet once again. Apparently I got to stay in the vehicle while they arranged my accommodations. I had just considered the feasibility of breaking my restraints and kicking out the door when it opened.

My gaze met the muzzle of one of those unusual weapons I assumed shot the five inch long silver stakes. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those like the vampires from the club, so I waited for instructions.

They led me through a door from the garage into the building and down a linoleum floored hallway to a service elevator. Apparently prisoners don't get the front door and stainless steel and glass elevator ride. The fact I had become a prisoner kind of irked me. It irked me a lot. I hadn't done anything except defend myself from vampire henchmen, and now here I sat in FBI custody. I guess shit happens for real sometimes. At least I could take satisfaction that when they ran my prints they would come up with a big, "Huh?”

The elevator whined as it lifted us up three floors to our destination. They led me down another carpeted hallway and into a room with a two chairs, a table, and yes, you guessed it, a mirror running one length of one wall. I'm sure it wasn't so I could fix my makeup. Not that I wore any. I guess some television clichés often had basis in reality. My guard plopped me down on the cool metal chair and restrained me using actual manacles attached to the chair. They consisted of the same material as the V-cuffs, so I assumed they designed the room specifically for interrogating vampires. Two of my guards backed off to the wall behind me, and I could feel their spike shooting weapons being lowered and aimed at my back. The rest filed out of the room and they left me to sit in silence again.

Minutes later, a short balding man with wire rimmed glasses came in and took my prints. I guess the FBI was eager to find out who they had in custody and why they had found me in the Master of Chicago's office. He seemed to be a pleasant little man. He wore a white lab coat and used a colorless inkpad, so I wasn't sitting there with black fingers waiting for my interrogator. He finished his work quickly and exited the room and I heard a sigh of relief from one of my guards. I guess he thought I planned on eating the little lab tech or something.

"You can relax guys, I don't eat humans," I couldn't resist calling over my shoulder.

"Quiet, miss, you're in a lot of trouble," he responded.

I wasted my breath telling them I had done nothing wrong, and I had been the victim here, but they didn't respond. Here I thought I had been honest and told them something they probably hadn't heard a thousand times before. I can't believe they didn't believe me. Everyone's such a cynic these days.

I sat in silence until a hunk of FBI agent strode through the door with a file folder. He sat his six foot two frame on the little chair on the opposite side of the table, placed the folder on the table, and crossed his legs. He stared at me for what felt like a full minute before starting his questions.

"Name?"

"No thanks, I already have one."

"Name?” Apparently he wasn't a jokester.

I sighed and gave him my first name. I thought about giving him my last, but I decided it would be best to drop it. My last name had been given to me in a different life and I didn't want to tie anything back to the memory of my aunt. She couldn't get in trouble anymore for what she did, but her memory could be tarnished and she didn't deserve it. Raising the illegitimate monster of your dead sister might raise a few eyebrows.

"What's your last name Ashlyn?" He must have been a little psychic.

"I have no last name, sir, just Ashlyn."

"I am waiting on your prints to come back. I had the tech put a rush on it so I should have the results back in an hour. He's running them through Homeland, Interpol, VLAD, and the IDOLV. Are the results going to come back with anything I should know about? You aren't wanted for anything are you?"

"Nothing is going to come back, sir." I must have smiled a little at my own joke because his face hardened a little.

"Explain," he said sternly. Damn he had a knack for this. It probably gave him the leeway to be in here by himself. He played good cop and bad cop, so either he was very good at his job, or had multiple personality disorder. Maybe I should just try a little honesty. It hadn't worked very well with the vampires I had met tonight, but this guy seemed entirely human.

"Nothing is coming back, Sir. I don't exist according to anyone's records. I have no birth record, no death certificate, nothing. That's what I mean by nothing. This is the first time I have ever been in custody. I don't even have a driver's license!"

"This is going to be an interesting conversation, miss. Do you know why you are here?"

"I'm sure you have heard this like a zillion times, but I didn't do anything."I started and then thought about it. If honesty was my goal, maybe I should stick with it. "Alright, my hunger drove me to attack a vampire in a bar, but I hadn't eaten in a week and he smelled good. I got busted by the owner of the bar and I freaked her out a little because of my strength and the fact that I had no "master" or whatever it's called, so she sent me by force to go see the head vampire honcho Cicero. He had told his hired help to snap my neck when you guys showed up and put metal stakes in their chest cavities, so to answer your question, detective, no. I have no idea why I'm here." I breathed, but my body didn't do it to get oxygen to my brain. Mostly it had become a reflex action and to have air to force over my vocal chords to give me the ability of speech, so I have never been breathless, but after forcing out the entire chain of events of my night in once sentence, by the time I had finished I understood the expression.

"Special Agent Stone, Miss Ashlyn. Not detective. Cops are detectives; we're agents or special agents. Sorry I forgot to introduce myself, but it's not every day you find a vampire who looks like a teenager, hits like a Mack truck, and breaks the legs of FBI Agents."

Now I felt a little pissed off. I tried to keep the anger from my voice, but it didn't work so well. "Excuse me, Mr. Special Agent, but I didn't break his leg. I felt a little stunned by what happened back at the place of my assault by not only the vampires, but your agents as well. I didn't hear him tell me to get on the floor, so he kicked me! I didn't break his leg, he did, and just for your information, I am not a fucking vampire!"

When I saw his head snap in the direction of the mirrored wall, I realized I had carried my honesty probably a little too far. I considered backpedalling or even adding a feeble, "Who does bad things," to the end of my last sentence, but I figured it wouldn't fly.

I heard a "What exactly do you mean?" come from a little speaker in his ear, and I knew he had an electronic link with the people in the little room on the other side of the mirror, so I answered facing the mirror.