Tales of the Otherworld (3 page)

Mostly, though, he thought about her when he was sitting in the corner of a bar or waking in an inn, surrounded by strangers, not daring
to say more than a word or two. For a man who’d always valued the company of others, this was the worst part of his new life: the loneliness.

Now and then, he’d hear a whisper or a rustle behind him, and he’d turn to look for her. Then he’d see the newspaper blowing past or the dead leaves scraping against a window pane, and he’d tell himself that what he felt was relief.

As the anniversary of his death approached, Aaron’s resolve didn’t falter. He enacted the final step of his plan, telling his mother that he was setting out for the New World, which she’d come to expect after his months of talking about it. Once gone, he couldn’t send a post and risk his father recognizing his handwriting, but his mother understood that, and bid him farewell with only a few tears.

He hated deceiving her, but given the choice between lying to her and breaking her heart, he supposed God would forgive him the falsehood. As for whether God would forgive the rest…well, Aaron refused to fret over it. He’d done the best he could with the hand fate had dealt him and, if God condemned him for his choices, that was his decision.

He was sitting in a tavern, enjoying an ale—a
good
ale, in a
good
tavern; surely he deserved that much in his final days. Most of what he’d earned doing odd jobs over the last year he’d given to his mother. One of his brothers had moved his family home to help with the farm, but Aaron still liked to contribute. On his last visit, though, his mother had given the money back and told him to put it to good use in the New World. So he’d donated most to charity, and was indulging himself with the remainder.

As the tavern door swung open, the tavern’s patrons turned to gawk and Aaron turned with them. The moment he saw that flash of copper hair, he couldn’t help smiling. He covered it with a gulp of beer as the red-haired vampire swept toward his table.

She cast a suspicious glance at the stool and brushed it off before sitting.

“Ale?” he said, lifting his mug.

She only arched one brow, as if she couldn’t believe he’d ask.

“They might have wine,” he said.

“If they do, I’m quite certain I don’t want it.” Her gaze locked with his. “You haven’t changed your mind, I see.”

“Nope.”

Again, that keen stare. “You aren’t brooding, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good, because there is nothing duller than a brooding vampire.” She adjusted her skirts. “Since we are to drink together, introductions are in order. Cassandra DuCharme.”

“Aaron.” He hesitated, then grunted. “Darnell. Aaron Darnell.”

She nodded and waited while he polished off a quarter of his mug, then said, “What if I were to offer you a way out?”

“A way out of what?”

“That vexing moral quandary you’ve mired yourself in. A way to take a life without feeling guilty about it.”

“It’s not guilt—”

“Yes, yes.” She fluttered her hands. “It’s wrong. Morally reprehensible. Violates the Sixth Commandment and all that. But what if there was a loophole? A way to continue living?”

“Not interested.”

Another soul-searching stare, then a sigh. “You are a stubborn one, aren’t you? Better than brooding, I suppose. Humor me, then. I believe I have found a way for you to live; at least do me the courtesy of hearing my suggestion, as payment for my earlier assistance.”

“It won’t change my mind, but you can tell me if you like.”

She recited an address. “Go there and take a look. I believe you’ll see something that would interest you. How much longer do you have before your anniversary?”

“Eight days.”

“Perfect. Take three. Spend some time at that address. Then meet me here again, at midnight.”

Three days later, she was already in the tavern when he arrived, and had a mug of ale waiting for him.

“Well?” she said.

He shrugged.

“What? You did see what I meant, didn’t you? It’s the home of a grave robber. One who supplies corpses to the medical schools. Very fresh corpses.”

“He kills people and sells the bodies.”

“And that doesn’t give you any ideas?”

“If you mean killing him, I might as well. If I’m already damned, there’s no harm in it, and if God has forgiven me for the rest, he’ll forgive me for that. Either way, the world will be better off.”

“Good,” she said, settling back in her chair. “So you’ll kill him and—”

“Oh, I’ll kill him. But as a man, not a vampire.”

The red-haired vampire slumped forward, looking ready to beat her head against the tabletop, and Aaron almost choked on his beer, as he struggled not to laugh.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I said I am resolved.”

“No, you’re stubborn, and I don’t know why I’m wasting my time trying to change your mind.”

“Because you’re bored? Looking for a challenge?” His lips curved in a slow grin. “Or because I look like something you might want to decorate your bed with?”

She gave an unladylike snort. “My tastes don’t run to farm boys.”

Aaron only leaned back, stretching his legs.

“Explain this, then,” she said, leaning closer. “You obviously feel compelled to do these acts of …” A shrug. “Charity, I suppose, perhaps through guilt or a misplaced sense of altruism. But you do them and you enjoy them. You will kill this grave robber to help others, yet you refuse to do it in a way that would prolong your life, and allow you to
continue
helping others. Does that make sense?”

He sipped his beer and gave a soft grunt.

“No, it does not.” She slapped her gloves on the table. “I would propose, then, that you take this grave-robber’s life, as a vampire, and live for another year, since you already intend to kill him.”

Again, Aaron only grunted. After a moment, he agreed to give it some thought.

Two days later, Aaron was in the grave-robber’s house, kneeling behind him, draining the last dregs of blood from his body.

“Make sure you take it all,” Cassandra said. “If you leave any, it won’t work.”

He did as she said, then leaned back, closed his eyes, and shuddered.

“And so you have another year,” she murmured.

He opened one eye. “But that’s it. Just one more.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “Now, come. All this bloodletting has made me hungry. Hunt with me.”

He watched her walk away, then rose and followed her into his new life…at least for another year.

T
HERE ARE MANY LIFE LESSONS MY MOTHER
never taught me, including how to deal with assassins. I’d been operating in the supernatural black market for less than a year, and already I had a bounty on my head. I hadn’t yet decided whether that was a sign of success or stupidity.

I’d spent the afternoon teaching defensive spells to suburbanite teen witches who’d be better off learning karate. Given that it took them five minutes to cast a successful binding spell, I really hoped they never got cornered in a dark alley. But their mommies wanted them to learn—and were too busy to teach the girls themselves—so I obliged…for a price.

But as happy as I was to leave the Stepford-family world of suburbia behind, it was a lot safer than my own neighborhood, where daytime gunfire added a nice touch of ambiance, but also meant that my corpse in the middle of the sidewalk wouldn’t be all that out of place. In the last few days, I’d discovered every alternate route to my apartment, and knew which would be cloaked by shadows at every time of day.

I took one of them now, casting sensing spells as I went and using my Aspicio powers to peer through corners before I stepped around them.

Each cautious step drove nails into my ego. If I was under siege, I had to fight back. And I would, if it was just some guy who mistook me for a helpless young woman. But this was Terrance Foley, boss of the nastiest half-demon gang in Chicago. When he wanted a supernatural dead, most of them just picked up a gun and saved him the trouble.

I wasn’t stupid enough to piss off a guy like that. Just stupid enough to do business with him and expect a fair deal.

He didn’t seem to have sent any goons after me so far. From what I’d heard, it was a closed contract, meaning he wouldn’t pay an enterprising freelancer to kill me. Which at least narrowed it down a little.

I was about to step out of the alley when a black BMW sedan pulled up in front of my building. I pulled back into the alley and watched the car through the wall. I’m a dual-parentage supernatural—a witch on my mother’s side, and an Aspicio half-demon thanks to my dad. If I had to pick one, I’d keep my witch blood—spells are a lot more versatile. My half-demon power is limited to sight, including a weak form of X-ray vision. Handy at times like this.

The rear passenger door of the BMW opened and a man stepped out. Midthirties, about six foot two. Broad shoulders not quite concealed by a perfectly tailored suit. Blond hair and bright blue eyes. An imposing figure. Good-looking, too, if you went for the cool Germanic type. I didn’t.

I’d never seen the guy before, but I knew who he was—or who his family was, at least. The Nasts. Leaders of the premier North American Cabal—a cutthroat corporation whose business practices made Terrance Foley look like a schoolyard thug.

I knew the Nasts had an office in Chicago. But while they might control the black market, they never dirtied their hands with it personally. And now a Nast was walking into my building. Without an entourage. Without even a bodyguard.

I was tempted to stroll in after him and satisfy my curiosity. But caring to live another day, I decided I really wasn’t
that
curious, reversed course, and headed back the way I’d come.

I’d just made it to the street behind mine when yet another black car pulled up to the curb, this one a Lincoln and a few years older than the Beamer, meaning someone a few rungs lower. And indeed, the guy who stepped out was a few rungs lower—on both the social and the evolutionary scale. Big bruiser. Ill-fitting suit. Steroid-induced acne.

He spotted me before I could back up.

“Eve Levine?” he called. “Mr. Foley would like to speak to you.”

The thug opened the back door and waved me in. I strode forward, but stopped short of “grab and abduct” distance.

“Did he lose my number again?” I said. “Here, let me give it to you. Got a pencil?”

“Get in the car.”

“I would, but the question is whether I’ll get out of it again. Tell Mr. Foley if he wants to talk to me, he can take me to dinner. Anthony’s. Five blocks over. I’m sure your driver can find it.”

His left eye twitched. Could just be a tic. Could be a half-demon tell, too, meaning he was about to launch his power. A binding spell kiboshed that plan. He froze, scowl and all.

“Don’t,” I said. “I may be the new kid on the block, but Mr. Foley knows I’m not stupid enough to get in that car. If he told you to make me, then apparently you’re expendable. My guess, though, is that he just told you to give it a shot. You did. I put up a fight. You decided that a public meeting was a reasonable alternative. Safe for me, and safe for Mr. Foley.”

I released the spell. He grunted something that could be agreement and got back into the car. I waited until it drove off, then hailed a taxi. An extra expense I couldn’t really afford, but under the circumstances, I’d budget it under health insurance.

Anthony’s was an Italian restaurant on the boundary between my neighborhood and respectability. Not fancy, but nice enough, with good home-style cooking. The kind of place once frequented by Al Capone. Foley looked right at home.

He started to stand as I approached, then stopped himself as he remembered that I was six feet tall and he wasn’t.

“Eve,” he said, and motioned for his guard to pull out my chair. “Gorgeous as always.”

I wasn’t gorgeous. I was young, and Foley was at the age where the two terms were interchangeable, which was where the problem had started.

His gaze slithered over me. “You should wear green more often. It brings out your …” He struggled for a way to end the compliment. Since I have dark hair and dark eyes, there’s no way to finish that line, so he settled for “beauty.”

“Uh-huh.” I sat and folded my hands on the table, leaning toward him and lowering my voice. “Still not interested, Mr. Foley. As I’ve said before, don’t take it personally. I don’t mix business and pleasure. Ever. If you’ve done your homework on me, you know that.”

“But our business has concluded.”

“No, when you finish paying me for that amulet, our business will have concluded.”

He leaned toward me and smiled, all teeth. “When you stop being such a stuck-up bitch, I’ll finish paying for it. If you’re going to charge that much for a cheap piece of jewelry, then I expect more in the bargain.”

“The Amulet of Bathin is a one-of-a-kind relic that’ll give your shamans enough juice to astral-project past the best Cabal security. I offered it at fair market value and you agreed to my terms. If it’s not performing as promised, then I’ll take it back and return your deposit.”

“I’ve misplaced it.”

My hands clenched under the table, nails digging in, reminding me to keep my cool. That’s never easy. I don’t deal well with authority. Never have, starting with my mother. She’d been seduced by a demon and forced to bear his child. At least, that was the story she told the Coven. Once, when she’d popped a few too many Valium, she admitted to me that she’d summoned my father herself, wanted his child. A single act of rebellion, quickly regretted, leaving me to pay the price.

Not surprising that I didn’t have much respect for my mother after that. Not surprising that I hadn’t seen much point in following Coven rules. Not surprising that I got kicked out on my ass as soon as I was old enough to leave. Not surprising that my mother didn’t lift a finger to help me when I did. And, not surprising that when every black market contact had told me not to do business with Terrance Foley, I ignored them. I was Eve Levine, dark-magic prodigy and daughter of the lord demon Balam. I could handle a middle-aged half-demon thug like Foley. Only I couldn’t. And if I wanted to live long enough to smarten up, it was time to swallow my pride.