Demon Mistress
Page 4

My name is Menolly D’Artigo, and I’m a vampire. I’m also half-Fae and half-human. My sisters and I work for the OIA, the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. We were transferred Earthside to keep us out of trouble, but that’s when our problems really blossomed. You see, we promptly discovered that a demon lord from deep in the Subterranean Realms—Shadow Wing—plans on breaking through the portals that separate the different realms. He intends to lead an army of his demons to raze both Earth and Otherworld to the ground and set himself up as king of the land.
My sisters and I are on the front line of the battle. For a while, we were fighting alone, but we’ve been slowly gathering allies. The newly returned Queens of Fae—Earthside—are on our side. In a way.
The elfin Queen, as well as the new Queen of our home-land—Y’Elestrial—are backing us up as much as they can.
And we’ve gathered together members of the Earthside Supe Community and have their pledges of support.
But the fact is that no matter how many allies we count in our ranks, the enemy numbers in the thousands. And demons aren’t easy to kill. Bullets bounce off, they’re hooked on uranium, so radiation’s like a fix. Even bombs can’t wipe them out all that easily.
So here we stand, the brains of the resistance, trying to figure out how to save two worlds, one monster at a time. As a career move, this sucks.
Camille, my oldest sister, is a Moon witch whose magic goes astray too often for comfort. And now she’s delving into death magic, thanks to her youkai husband. Delilah, the second-born, is a two-faced Were, meaning she turns into a golden tabby when the Moon is full or when we’re squabbling. But she’s also recently discovered a second Were form, that of a black panther.
And me? As I said, I’m Menolly D’Artigo. I was an acrobat-slash-spy for the OIA until I fell off the ceiling and got caught by the most sadistic vampire who ever walked the realms. But I had the last laugh and sent a stake through Dredge’s heart. Which is a big no-no among vampires. Frowned-on behavior or not, it felt good. When Dredge realized he was toast at my hands, well, that was the best day of my second life.
So here we are, a small vanguard against a violent threat against all of Fae and humankind. Unfortunately, with friends like us, the world sure doesn’t need any more enemies!
CHAPTER 3
By the time I got back to the Wayfarer, my anger at Wade had retreated to a low boil, just enough to keep a grudge aflame but not enough to do anything about it. I gave Luke a thumbs-up and headed upstairs. Camille gave me a quick once-over and motioned to her chest. I glanced down at my shirt and grimaced. I’d been sloppy. Blood splattered my top.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I said, darting back down the stairs to the back storeroom, where I kept extra clothing. I slid out of the bloody shirt and pulled on a deep indigo turtleneck, checked my jeans to make sure they were still clean, and headed back upstairs.
Once there, I whispered to Camille, “Is my face clean?” I couldn’t look in a mirror to check, and it was hard to tell by feel.
She nodded. “As a whistle.”
“Thanks,” I said, sitting on the bench near the bed, one leg folded under me. “Good job,” I said, looking around. Most of the junk had been cleared out, and it was now apparent this room had been a bedroom. And then, because I knew I had to tell her, I added, “Wade kicked me out of the VA group.”
“Because of Dredge?” Camille sighed. “I wondered if they were going to. Fickle bastards.”
“I get it. I really do, but I’m so pissed that Wade didn’t even try to find another solution that I rescinded his invitation to our house. Don’t extend it again unless I agree, okay?”
“Sure.” Camille scooted over next to me and took my hand. Once again, I realized how completely she’d accepted my transformation. She never blinked, never grimaced, never gave any sign that my death and rebirth had changed her feelings for me. Delilah was still struggling, and I didn’t hold it against her. Kitten was a lot more uncertain about her place in life than Camille was. I squeezed Camille’s hand, gently, and gave her a grateful smile.
“Thanks,” I said, after a moment. “For being a wonderful big sister.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she said, then after another moment, motioned to the room. “So, what are we looking for?”
“The woman who lived here was named Sabele, and she was the bartender before Jocko. The OIA apparently decided she went AWOL and ran home to her family. I’m not so sure. For one thing, Iris and I found her music box and journal. Did she show you?”
Iris shook her head from over in the corner. “Didn’t have time. We barely were finished carting out all the trash by the time you came back.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.” I glanced at Camille. “You can read Melosealfôr, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“That’s what she wrote her journal in,” I said, hopping up to retrieve the diary. I handed it to her. “What do you think?”
She glanced through it. “You say she was an elf?”
“That’s what Peder says. And the clothing backs it up.”
“Hmm . . . that’s odd.” A curious look spread across her face.
“What?”
“It’s just that Melosealfôr is a Crypto language. While a number of elves understand a few words, few actually use it on any regular basis. Mostly Cryptos like unicorns, centaurs, dryads, and naiads speak Melosealfôr, along with all Moon witches pledged to the Coterie of the Moon Mother, but the language isn’t common.” She began to flip through the journal. “You say she vanished?”
“That’s what Peder says. I doubt if she’d leave her journal behind—or this.” I opened the music box and carefully lifted out the necklace, flipping open the locket to show her the photo and the lock of hair.
“Her boyfriend?” Camille frowned, stopping near the back of the journal. She skimmed over a paragraph, then flipped forward a few pages, hunting for something. I watched as she ran her fingers over the delicate calligraphy. “Okay, this is kind of creepy.”
“What?” I put the locket down.
“This,” she tapped her finger on one passage. “She’s talking about being afraid to walk home alone. That she was followed by ‘that man’ again. A few pages back, she wrote that she had the feeling she was being watched.” After a moment, she placed the book on the bench and shook her head.
“Sounds like she had some trouble on her hands. Any mention of whoever it was who was following her?” I had a nagging feeling that the OIA had never bothered to find out what had really happened to Sabele. They’d just assumed she ran off. And maybe they’d assumed wrong.
Camille shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll read through the whole journal by tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you then. Meanwhile, there’s another man mentioned here. Elf, I think, by the name of—”
“Harish?” At her surprised look, I added, “Peder remembered her boyfriend’s name. If you can figure out where he might be, so much the better. Her family name was Olahava.” I suddenly wanted to know what had happened to her. Was she off somewhere having lots of cute little elf babies, or had something bad happened? “What do you think about tracking her down?”
Camille smiled. “She’s gotten under your skin. I can tell. Okay, fine with me, and Delilah loves playing chase. It’s the cat in her.”
I glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. “You should be getting home. Take Iris with you. She looks beat.” The Talon-haltija had curled up on the bed and was softly dozing.
“Right. By the way, while you were out, Delilah called. She found a truck we can borrow tomorrow afternoon. We’ll come down and clear out the junk from the other room while you’re sleeping. She’s at home with Maggie right now.” Camille stood up, brushing off the back of her dress. She hefted the journal in her hand. “You’ve got me curious. And that can only mean one thing. We’re in for trouble.”
I flashed her a smile. “Aren’t we always knee-deep in a dunghill? I’ve had enough cleaning for one night. I’ll follow you down and give Luke a hand at the bar.”
With a laugh, she motioned to Smoky and Morio and gently roused Iris from her slumber. As they headed out the door, I followed. Vampire or not, there were times I was incredibly grateful for my family—both blood kin and extended.
It was five minutes past one when the door opened, and Chase Johnson wandered in. Head of the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations unit and chief of detectives, he was also my sister Delilah’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. I didn’t give them a snowball’s chance in hell to make it in the long run, but they were determined to try.
Their relationship was one for the Jerry Springer Show. I only say that because unfortunately, Delilah had forced me to sit through way too many episodes during her late-night trash-TV binges. But I watched the show with her because it gave us time together.
Chase sidled up to the bar. Last time he’d paid a late-night visit to the Wayfarer, he’d been covered in blood, and we’d been off and running on the hunt for Dredge. This time, however, he looked reasonably clean and relatively calm. He glanced around the room, then settled himself on a barstool.
“Club soda, no ice,” he said. “Have you seen Turnabout Willy lately?”
I snorted. Turnabout Willy was all human. Perfectly fine when he was sober, when he drank he thought he was Superman. He’d never put himself in enough danger for the courts to lock him up. At least not yet. But Chase worried about him. Why, I didn’t understand and hadn’t asked.
“Willy hasn’t been in for about a week. I think he’s back on the wagon, but he’ll fall off again. He always does. Just wait and see.”
“That’s what concerns me. He’s going to go on a bender one of these days and convince himself he can fly. I’m not looking forward to getting a call that he took a nosedive off one of the downtown skyscrapers.” Chase toyed with the soda. “Listen, I didn’t come here just to ask about Willy.”
“No shit, Sherlock. What do you want?” I gave him a toothy grin. Chase and I butted heads a lot, but we’d developed a healthy respect for each other.
“I’ve got a question for you.”
I wiped the counter with a clean rag. The Wayfarer was still fairly packed, but everybody looked happy. Chrysandra was the best waitress I had. I leaned over the counter.
“Sure thing. What’s up?” I said, refilling his glass.
“I’ve got a problem, and I wondered if you’d look into it. I’d ask Delilah—she’s the PI, after all—but this is more along your alley.” He glanced across the bar at me, his dark gaze meeting mine. It used to be that Chase wouldn’t even look at me. Now we were comfortable around one another. More or less.
“What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s actually anything or not, but here’s the deal. We took a missing person report a couple days ago. Now, normally, I wouldn’t think twice about bringing this to your attention, but the info came through the FH-CSI tip line, and the person who’s missing is a vampire.”
I stared at him. “Who made the report?” Vampires seldom ever approached the authorities about anything. Chase was right to be concerned.
“Don’t know. The line’s set up to provide anonymity. It was a woman’s voice, though. We couldn’t get a trace on the number. She had call block. Anyway, have you heard of the Clockwork Club?”
“I know of it,” I said. “I’ve never been invited to their meetings.”
The Clockwork Club was the opposite of the Fangtabula. A classy, upscale vampire hangout, they didn’t allow blood whores or vamping on the premises. Bottled blood only, and only blood taken from volunteers.
The club reeked of old money. The members had been among the blue-blooded crowd during their life. They ignored both the old-school vamps as well as the sloppier newborns who hadn’t learned how to cope. Elitist and determined to keep it that way, membership was by invitation only. From what I knew, the club’s roster stood at under two hundred along the entire West Coast. There were three branches: one in Seattle, one in Portland, and one in San Francisco.
“A member of theirs, a female vamp, disappeared five nights ago. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since she vanished. Apparently, she managed to pass in society.”
A few vamps struggled to hide their undead status to their friends and family. Some of them managed, at least for a while. Our friend Sassy Branson had kept up her charade for well over three years now. I didn’t consider it a healthy choice, but some vampires took longer than others to learn how to let go of their old lives. Hell, I wasn’t one to talk. Look at how long I’d carried the scars from Dredge before confronting him.
“What happened? You sure she didn’t walk into the sun? You know the suicide rate among vampires is astronomical compared to other Supes.”
Chase shook his head. “No. The woman who left the tip was positive that there’s foul play involved. She told us the name of the girl and her husband. The couple lives here in Seattle. Claudette Kerston was twenty-one at her death. She’s been a vampire for seven years. Apparently, she has a full life, if that’s what you call it. She’s married. Her husband’s still alive. I checked her out. Apparently, the Social Security office had no idea she was dead.” He arched his eyebrows.