Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (20 page)

Kallistos stops abruptly and I almost walk into him.

“Do we wait for the others?” I ask.

“Lamont has informed the group that the other two are en route and fifteen minutes away. If we move now, we could have this wrapped up before they arrive.” His gaze shifts from me to Zack. “I say we move now.”

“How much farther is it to the entrance?” I ask.

Kallistos places his hand on a nearby boulder. It’s waist-high on me and at least four feet wide.

My mouth gapes open. “That’s it? When you said rock—”

“I told you it was sizable. Come.” He motions toward Zack. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

The boulder lifts. Rolls. Comes to rest. The two men stand back, casually brushing dirt from their hands as if they haven’t just moved a boulder that must weigh a ton.

I step close to the opening. As Kallistos promised, he’s given us direct access to the tunnels. It’s a deep, dark hole. Kallistos passes me and descends, feetfirst, landing as lightly as a ballet dancer and motioning for me to follow. I look down. It’s about ten feet to the ground and I don’t trust if I jumped, I’d land nearly as gracefully.

Zack understands my hesitancy. He takes my hands and lowers me down. Kallistos’ arms snake around my waist and he eases me the rest of the way. Zack follows with an agile leap of his own. The supernatural do have physical abilities to be admired.

It’s dark and the air dense and stale. We set off, Kallistos using hand signals to point the way. If his recollection is correct, and I have no doubt it is, we have two hundred and fifty feet to go before reaching the circle. About thirteen minutes before the arrival of the two remaining vampires and whatever escorts will be coming with them.

Kallistos moves with the silent grace of a panther through the tunnel. I follow. Zack brings up the rear. Suddenly Kallistos pauses, passing a hand over his face.

I fear Owen is saying something about the girls being harmed. “What is it?” I ask, my voice the barest of whispers.

Kallistos turns to face me. His eyes meet mine. With the help of the night-vision goggles, I see his lips move. I hear him through my earpiece. “They are preparing for the tasting. Carafes of blood are being brought out. Ten of them. The mood in the room is becoming frenzied. The two brothers and the prince from Mexico want to drink straight from the source, from the girls.” A pause. Then, “Owen fears he might have to participate.”

“Craig certainly would,” Zack says. “If Owen doesn’t, Lamont and his crew may get suspicious.”

I sense Kallistos’ hesitation and I understand it. Owen is in recovery. He’s come so far. Encouraging Owen to drink straight from the source is like giving a heroin addict permission to shoot up just this once. I want to tell him that we’ll all help Owen get through this. That it will
be all right. That Owen can easily get back on track. But I can’t give those assurances or make those promises. I can’t guarantee Owen will come through unscathed, and we all know it.

I say the only thing I can. “We can’t risk the operation.”

Kallistos bows his head. “I already told him to go ahead.”

“Has Owen seen the girls yet?” Zack asks.

Kallistos shakes his head.

My stomach clutches. We’re once again on the move. At a slight fork in the tunnel, Kallistos bears right. He pauses for a moment at the base of a short flight of stairs. He’s listening intently.

Zack reaches past me and grasps Kallistos’ shoulder. He holds up one finger, tilts his head toward the route we’ve just abandoned. A guard is coming. The sounds of his footsteps drift through the tunnels. He’s carrying a radio. Amid the intermittent static, a command comes across loud and clear. He’s been ordered to open the entryway from within the mission itself. He’ll be called again when the last of the bidders are five minutes out. Apparently Kallistos is wrong about it no longer being accessible.

Zack motions for us to stay back. I unsnap the catch on my holster and wrap my hand around the butt of my gun. Zack draws a wicked-looking wooden knife from a sheath at his thigh.

Kallistos wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me deeper into the stairwell. He continues climbing upward. I’m torn between staying to back up Zack and pressing forward to search for the girls. I close my eyes. Zack is
capable. Saving the girls is my priority. Decision made, I follow Kallistos, my weapon now drawn.

Before I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the distant sound of a brief scuffle, followed by the brittle rustle of disintegrating flesh and bone—vampires turning to ash. Zack rounds the corner. He takes the stairs two at a time and catches up with us, a pile of clothing and the guard’s radio in his arms. I heave a sigh of relief.

We’ve reached the top. Zack and I follow Kallistos into a chamber lit with torches. My skin crawls as I take in the surroundings. I remove the goggles and secure them to my utility belt. The room has been outfitted with ten cages. Small cages. Certainly not big enough for a woman or girl to stand. I touch the bars of one. My stomach turns, sickened by what the girls have endured and by the animals who have conspired to imprison them. This is where they’ve been kept. The cages are set on blocks. Each one has a water bottle inside. A bucket underneath. The smell of urine and human waste overcomes my senses. Nearby is a hose connected to a water supply and generator. Water drips from the end of it. Sections of the floor are wet. Did they use it to hose down the ground? The girls? In a corner, a heap of clothes lies abandoned along with purses and schoolbooks. A tennis racket leans against the wall.

Zack crouches down next to the assortment of skirts and blouses, jeans and sweaters. He buries his face in the pile, then scents the air. How he could possibly discern anything over the stench of filth, I’ll never know. With haste, he sweeps the bundle of clothes from the dead vampire into the bottom of the pile.

An open door in the far corner of the room draws
Zack’s attention. He moves toward it, his rifle in his hands and at the ready. The air is fresher here, and moving, indicating that either a door to the outside is somewhere close or that this area opens up onto the larger space Kallistos mentioned, the one where the tasting is set to take place. Either way, it’s clear Zack’s following a trail. He’s following the girls’ scents.

Zack crouches down low and moves through the doorway. An instant later, Kallistos follows. This time I bring up the rear. The vampire and the Were are waiting in the shadows, hunkered down behind a small outcropping of rock. I see a stairway to the right but I can’t tell where it goes. For the moment, it’s unoccupied. I take a slow, deep breath to clear my head, then cover the few remaining feet as quickly as I can. Voices drift up from below. I strain to listen. Something is said that causes a wave of laughter. Zack slides his cell phone from his pocket along with a USB cord. He plugs one end into the phone, pops what looks like a tiny cap on the other end. It’s not a cap. It’s a camera. The three of us huddle around the screen. We have a bird’s-eye view of the room below.

The scene is much as Owen described to Kallistos. I can see now that the stairway to our right leads down to the bottom of a pit, the room Kallistos had called the circle. A stage has been erected. It’s eight, maybe ten feet directly below us, six feet above the ground. A long table is in the middle, ten chairs on one side. Ten places. Each set with crystal goblets that sparkle in the light of dozens of torches.

If the time on Zack’s phone is correct, we now have eight minutes remaining.

Of the eight vampires seated at the table, I recognize only Owen—or
Craig
—none of the others. When I glance at Kallistos, his eyes seem to be focusing primarily on one. A woman. Moira, I suspect.

Zack moves the camera ever so slightly, providing us a wider perspective. Four vampires stand at attention at the foot of the dais. In front of them, carafes of blood are set on a side table. Each carafe is labeled with a number.

The sound of someone clapping echoes through the chamber. “Our remaining guests should be arriving shortly. Soon, we’ll begin pouring. Please refrain from sampling until everyone has arrived. Until then, we have a treat for you.”

From around the back of the dais, the vampire speaking steps into view. He makes a dramatic entrance, face beaming. He’s holding a large carafe in one hand, a glass filled with blood in the other. His appearance is greeted with a standing ovation from those at the table. I shiver in disgust.

“Lamont.” Kallistos hisses the name.

“Welcome, my friends.” Lamont’s accent is softly Southern, his voice low and throaty. “You have been singled out among all our brethren to partake in a unique opportunity. After all, how often is it you find ten virgins gathered together in one spot? Especially here in Southern California?”

The bidders laugh.

Lamont moves to the head of the table. His gait is smooth, his gestures grand. Like Kallistos, he’s tall and lanky. That, however, is where the similarities end. Lamont’s hair is close-cropped and white-blond. In fact, he’s dressed all in white—suit, shirt, tie. His skin is pale,
drawn tight as if shrink-wrapped over prominent cheekbones. But it’s his eyes, heavy lidded, reptilian, and his lips, too full and colorless, that make his face appear more animal than human.

“I have fasted for a week,” he proclaims, raising his glass. “Tonight we will feast!”

One of the vampires who have been standing at attention appears by his side. He takes the carafe from Lamont and begins to pour.

“A little something from my private stock to get the party going!”

Several of the vampires seated at the table lick their lips in anticipation as a generous pour is splashed into the goblets in front of them. Once the glasses are all filled, the server steps down off the dais and resumes his prior position.

Zack hands me the camera, moves onto his knees. He raises the rifle. Lamont is in his sight. Quick as lightning, Kallistos wraps his hand around the barrel. Zack glares at him. He’d had a clear shot. He could have taken Lamont out. Why didn’t Kallistos let him? Is Zack right? Does Kallistos want Lamont for himself?

Something is happening below. It draws our attention.

A door opens. Ford and another man—I imagine the one they call Cheng—usher in the ten missing girls. They are barefoot, dressed in white robes, their hair wet and dripping, though none of them seems to notice. They have no idea where they are or what is going on around them. They don’t even realize they’ve just been hosed down like horses after a race. Each and every one of their faces is completely blank, stamped with the thousand-mile stare of being in thrall as they line up in
front of the stage, then kneel in the dirt. Julie, Sylvia, and Hannah are among them.

Lamont describes the
product
he is offering as if introducing a new kind of breakfast drink. The vampires around the table burst into applause, coos, and whistles. Several of the bidders stand in order to get a better look at the merchandise.

“I share my bounty with you now. I trust you will share yours with me later.” He raises his glass. “Now, I know some of you may be uneasy. It could very well be your . . . first time with a virgin.” He smiles down at the captives before turning his attention back to the bidders. “This is Kallistos’ territory, after all, and he has strict rules about partaking from an unwilling source.”

I feel Kallistos tense.

Lamont continues. “But we are vampire, are we not? Not even your rulers should prohibit an act that is as natural to us as—well—not breathing.”

This time, the ripple of laughter is a little more subdued. For a brief moment, I hold out hope that mentioning their sovereign reminds these vampires of what they will face if Kallistos finds out what they’re doing. But then I look at the faces around the table, and I realize they are too far gone. Drowning in lust and hunger. And not only for blood.

Lamont drains his glass, then dramatically throws it across the room. Shards rain down and ricochet off the wall behind the girls. They don’t move or flinch even as the other vampires follow suit. Owen included. Whether he’s playing a role or succumbed to the barbarism, I can’t tell. Maybe I don’t want to know. What I do know is that he’s probably just tasted the most exquisite blood he’s
ever had and the battle raging inside must be tearing him apart.

I take advantage of the uproar. I’m watching the girls, immobile, unblinking as stone. In this state, they will be powerless to help themselves. We need a plan. I know of only two ways to break thrall. The vampire responsible can voluntarily release his victim. Or the victim is released upon the final death of the initiating vampire.

“Who’s controlling the girls?” I ask Kallistos.

Kallistos answers through fangs. His expression hard. His body tense with rage. “Lamont.”

“Then we take him out first,” Zack says, handing me the camera. He brings his rifle once again to his shoulder.

“No. He’s mine,” Kallistos hisses.

Then he’s gone. One second he’s standing beside me. The next, he’s launched himself over the wall.

I drop the phone and camera, then draw both Glocks, mine and Zack’s. They are loaded with bullets meant to take out vampires—hollow wooden points, with silver inside. Zack has already made short order of bringing down the four servers. I train my sight on covering Kallistos, who has landed squarely on top of Lamont.

The two vampires roll, then separate.

When Kallistos stands, he has something in his hands. Something he’s pulled from the pocket of his jacket, a braided silver chain. It’s about three feet long and half an inch thick. He unfurls it with a flick of a wrist. Like a whip, it wraps around Lamont’s throat. Blood drips down the Southern King’s neck, seeping into the collar of his pristine shirt.

The two brothers abandon their seats at the table. They leap toward Kallistos. I pick them off, first one, then the other. Their bodies explode in ash. The Prince from Mexico takes advantage and dives for the girls. Zack, however, has him in his sights. I blink and watch as a fine dusting of red powder falls on the heads of the captives.
They remain undisturbed, completely oblivious to the hell breaking out around them.

“I’ll cover you. Protect the girls. As soon as the thrall is broken, get them out of here,” shouts Zack.

I’m already on my way, racing down the steps. Cheng tackles me at the base of the stairs. We’re close to the wall. Zack can’t see us. Cheng is human, and unarmed. But he’s several inches taller and a good fifty pounds heavier. I hear the sound of my guns as they skitter across the floor. The wall breaks my fall. I don’t have time to think about the inevitable bruises. I push off and take aim. The steel toe of my boot connects with Cheng’s balls.

He doubles over in pain.

I follow up with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The momentum carries him backward. He falls hard. Tries to get up. Can’t. Probably because my boot is crushing his windpipe.

A distinctive scar runs the length of his left cheek. I have the feeling I’ve seen him before.

“Emma!”

I turn. Zack tosses me back my gun. He didn’t come down the stairs. Like Kallistos, he must have jumped. And he’s managed to subdue Ford, who is handcuffed to the bars of the door the girls passed through.

“Cuff them to one another,” he shouts, pointing to Cheng.

As I drag the still-stunned Cheng across the floor, I see one of the remaining vamps dive toward Zack.

With barely a glance, he points and shoots. “Anyone else want to die? Again?” He jumps onto the dais where Lamont has fallen to his knees.

Owen is beside him, on his knees, as well. He holds out his hands to Kallistos. “Please, forgive us, Your Majesty.”

“Yes!” cries the other male vampire. “Lamont tricked us. Lured us here under false pretenses.”

“Liar!” Lamont’s hands are at the chain around his neck; his feet scrabble on the floor seeking purchase. He struggles toward the vampires. “You came of your own free will!”

“No! He’s wrong, Majesty,” one of the females grovels, grasping at Kallistos’ feet. “We would never—”

Kallistos shakes her loose. His voice bellows across the chamber. “Get out. I want the four of you out of my sight.”

The female grasps the arm of the male vampire closest to her and they back away.

But Kallistos isn’t finished. “Do not mistake that this is over. I promise you. It is not. Next time I lay eyes on you, you will wish I had ended it here.”

Three are gone in a heartbeat. Only Owen hesitates, looking to Kallistos. Whatever message his sire sends, Owen nods in acknowledgment and obeys, following the others toward the tunnel.

Zack makes his way over to Lamont and Kallistos. “Don’t think I’ve seen one of these before.” He tilts his head toward the silver lariat. “Let me guess—the hooks on the inside are releasing silver into his system?”

Kallistos nods. “Along with a strong paralytic.” He draws the chain tighter again.

As I approach the stage, I see the smoke rising up from Kallistos’ hands, see that his skin is raw and blistering. Kallistos doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze is fixed on Lamont. “It’s over. Release the girls,” he commands.

Smoke is rising up from Lamont’s neck wounds. The silver hooks are biting into and burning his flesh. His movements are slowing. His breathing becoming calmer. His eyes, however, are still alert. They dart about the room, searching for allies. The two he has are chained and human. But a vampire doesn’t live as long as Lamont has by giving up easily.

I check my watch. “Let’s finish this and get out of here.”

“Release the girls!” Kallistos demands. “I will not ask you again.”

Lamont shakes his head, slowly. The defiance in his tone cuts like ice. “Why would I do that? Released from thrall, they will remember the details of their abductions. They might even be able to identify Cheng. We have been seen together. I have no desire to be drawn into a kidnapping conspiracy.” His eyes narrow. His fingers pull ineffectively at the silver noose. “Of course, I could be persuaded. If you let me go.”

“You have come into my territory and put my entire operation in jeopardy and I should let you go?” Kallistos’ eyes flash in anger. “You have to make restitution for this outrage. You must be punished.”

“You can’t punish me,” Lamont snarls. “Even you won’t risk an all-out war.”

Zack has Lamont covered with his rifle. I eject the magazine of supernatural specials from my Glock and replace it with regulation bullets. I’ll need to do the same for Zack’s before we call for backup and the troops arrive.

“We’ve only got about five minutes before the others arrive,” I remind Kallistos, inching closer to the stage.

As if on cue, a phone buzzes in Lamont’s jacket pocket. He glances down at it.

“That must be the last of them.” Kallistos leans toward him, his expression fiercer than I’ve ever seen. “You’re wrong if you think I will let you go.” He looks up, his eyes meeting my own. “Emma, get the phone. Tell whoever’s on the other end that the Southern King has fallen.”

“No!” Ford cries out.

I make the mistake of turning toward him.

I feel a rush of air. From behind me, Lamont’s hands wrap around my neck and squeeze, choking the breath out of me. The metallic smell of his blood and the acrid odor of cooked flesh assail my nostrils. I know I can’t be killed. Yet in the moment, the instinct to fight, to live, overcomes all else. Because I know if I die, when I return things will be different. I’ll have to go somewhere else. Be someone else. It’s Demeter’s way of assuring I don’t get too comfortable or too attached to a particular life. And I’m not done with this one yet. Not nearly.

I am slipping away but feel no panic. Blackness descends in a rush to block everything from my sight. I hear a voice, Zack’s voice, in the background. He’s calling my name over and over.

And Kallistos’ voice, too.

“I’ll find you, Emma,” he’s saying. “I’ll never stop looking.”

And then, nothing.

*   *   *

A blast shatters the silence.

I jerk free.

I rub at my eyes, swallow, and gasp at the sharp pain that rips at my throat like barbed wire.

Two men are kneeling in front of me. I shake my head,
try to focus on them, focus on something other than the impulse to scream every time I try to swallow.

Slowly, my head clears. Rational thinking returns. Zack has my right hand, Kallistos my left. I’m sitting on a chair.

Ford’s cries are more insistent now.

The phone is no longer buzzing. The chain that Kallistos had been holding is now on the floor at my feet, covered in gore. It lies atop Lamont’s clothes, under a blanket of red ash.

I look at Kallistos’ damaged hands, torn and bloody from the chains. I can see clear to the bone.

Instinctively, I pull off my gloves and offer him my wrist. “Drink. It will help you heal.”

Zack pushes my hand down. “Emma.”

I shake my head at him and again offer Kallistos my wrist. Fangs gently pierce my flesh. Tongue circling, lapping, sucking. His arm wraps around my waist, he pulls me closer.

After a moment, Zack says roughly, “Stop. You’ve taken enough!”

Surprisingly, Kallistos releases me. “Not nearly,” he whispers, licking the wound. “It will never be enough.”

Zack nods toward the table holding the carafes. “You’ve probably got a gallon of fresh YBV going to waste. If you need more, drink that.”

Kallistos does. He downs one, two, three of the small carafes in the space of a heartbeat. He’s reaching for the fourth when Lamont’s phone buzzes again.

I pick up the coat, red ash falling like a fine powder when I pull the cell from the pocket.

Kallistos snatches it from my hands. “This is Kallistos
Kouros.” The words echo in the chamber. “Your King is dead.”

Suddenly, I become aware of the girls—released from thrall by the death of Lamont.

The fog has cleared and they are screaming and crying, some huddled together, a few making a run for the staircase. Zack blocks their path. He’s holding his badge out in front of him. “We’re with the FBI.”

Kallistos steps to them, and in the blink of an eye, the girls fall silent again. Their minds are restored for one fleeting moment, taken in the next.

Kallistos is next to me.

Then he’s not.

He’s in front of Ford and Cheng.

My gun is missing from the holster. Kallistos has it.

“Long live the King,” he says.

“No!” I run to him.

A rose blossoms on Cheng’s chest and he drops. Blood like a red mist splashes my face.

I grab his arm. “You shot Cheng! Why?”

But Kallistos has bent his head to Ford’s neck and is breathing in his scent. “Fear.” He bares his fangs. “It’s been centuries since I had a blood slave. What is it they say? To the victor goes the spoils. I want to see what makes his blood so special.”

I want to believe Kallistos is putting on a show. But it’s not a show. It’s real. Cheng is dead on the floor. Ford is howling in pain as Kallistos’ fangs ravage his neck. Kallistos sucks, hungrily, at the gaping wound. Blood drips down the front of Ford’s shirt.

“Kallistos. No.” I grab his arm. “Ford is human.”

When Kallistos looks at me, I hardly recognize him.
His features have become feral. His eyes shine with unrestrained lust. A low rumbling emanates from somewhere deep in his chest. “You forget yourself, Emma,” he says. “I warned you. I told you I would do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine. This is who I am.”

I refuse to be intimidated. To give up. “This is not all you are,” I say softly. “Or we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He considers my words. Nods. His fangs retract. He gives Ford’s neck a tentative lick, then another, and another. The wound begins to close and heal.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Zack unlocks Ford’s cuffs.

Weakened, Ford slumps against the door.

Zack kneels down on the floor and releases the catch on Cheng’s cuffs. He turns Cheng’s face to the side. “Does he look familiar to you?”

Recognition hits. “The last picture I saw of this guy was on a poster. He’s wanted for human trafficking.”