Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper (19 page)

Dracula angled toward Rasputin and returned the bow.  “Do I know you, Sir?”

I made introductions.  “Vlad the Impaler, this is the Doom of

Russia, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin.  He’s the power behind the throne of the local vampire house.”

Hearing Drac’s name, Madison whipped out a stake, dropping Grace to the floor like an old habit. Her moth wings snapped open, fluttering on the way down.  I knew what was flashing through Madison’s thoughts: Vlad Dracula was the head of the “cursed” type of vampires.  If he died, those descending from his line would also expire.  One fell swoop could end the existence of hundreds, maybe thousands of blood-sucking fiends—at least, a lot of people thought so.  I blamed Anne Rice and her novel
Queen of the Damned
for this.  Killing Dracula would do nothing but deprive me of a paycheck. 

Fortunately, he didn’t need my help.  Dracula caught Madison’s wrist in a steel grip and pulled her in—for a passionate kiss.

NINETEEN

“I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person

who’s still alive after a round of cards.”

                                    —Caine Deathwalker

It was the one attack the slayer-in-training had not been prepared for by her school instructors.  Drac had a hand in the small of her back, offering support while he leaned her off balance, lips pressed tight to hers.  His other hand didn’t relinquish her knife-wielding hand.  No one really wants to die for love, though many bad songs have been written about it.  Madison had her eyes squeezed tightly shut so her mind couldn’t be rolled by the vampire.  Otherwise, she was too surprised to struggle. 

Then like a switch being thrown, she remembered that kissing vampires was bad.  Her head dipped even lower as she wrenched her face away.  Eyes closed against mesmerism, she whipped her head forward in a head butt that should have split his nose and splattered blood into the air.

But he’d drawn back as well, looking down at the floor from where a vicious, high-pitched growl arose.  He let go of Madison and she fell backward onto her lovely ass.  Dracula sort of danced on one leg while he shook the other.  A small winged fox had his ankle in a death grip.  The beast’s tail went every which way, a battle flag wagging with exuberance. 

The waiter that had been standing by knew this was above his pay grade.   He ran off, no doubt to summon the manager.

“Spirited … beast.”  Dracula kicked with more vigor.  “Someone want to … get it … off me?”

From the ground, Madison pulled out a vial of what I could

only assume was holy water.  She threw it at Drac’s face. 

I already had my gun in hand.  Squeezing off a shot sent a lead slug through the vial, exploding it before it reached its target.  The slug went on across the room, between two diners, burying itself in the wall.  Rasputin’s aura washed out in the wake of the slug, and the diners remained oblivious to the disruption of their meal. 

I pointed the muzzle at Madison’s leg.  “Stop, Grace, or you’re friend’s going to catch a bullet with her knee.”

Grace let go of Drac’s ankle, looked at me, and whined.

I glared at her.  “I don’t care if I am ruining your fun.  If I don’t get paid, you don’t get paid.  College fund, remember?”

Grace sat on her haunches and smacked the carpet with her tail, one last
thump
of impudence.

Madison stared daggers at me.  “Traitor!”

I smiled at her sweetly.  “You might want to go fix your face.  Your lipstick is smeared.  Oh, and Onyx is still in the art gallery, being seduced by an uber-hot vamp chic.  You better go save his virtue.”

Madison pointed toward the back of the restaurant.  “Sniff him out, Grace.  I’m right behind you.”

Grace gave off an excited yip and flounced away.

Boobs heaving spectacularly, Madison scrambled up and ran after her. 

“Uber-hot?” Rasputin said.

Vlad said, “Someone travelling with you has virtue?”

I turned my attention to Vlad.  “Need a Band-Aid?  Maybe a rabies shot?”

He shook his head minimally.  “The damage has already healed, but I am moved by your concern.  I am also grateful to have heard your comments on what the fox really was, or I might have shown less restraint.”

“You are indeed a hell of a guy.”  I gestured at the other end of the booth.  “Want to join us?” 

“If it would not inconvenience…”

“Please, do,” Rasputin said.  “I had hoped one day that chance might bring us together.”

Dracula locked glances with Rasputin.  “Kind of you.”

“Not at all,” Rasputin said.  “We were just sharing stories over food and drink.  Perhaps you have a tale that might prove entertaining, informative even?”

Vlad nodded gravely.  “First, let me assure you that I am passing through with no designs on your territory.  I offer my pledge of peace, if you will receive me as a humble guest under the protection of your house.”

“You are known as a cruel man,” Rasputin said, “one quick to take insult, but your honor has never been tarnished.  I believe we can rely upon your … peace.  If one of mine gives offense, allow me to mend the discourtesy.”

“Of course, but if actually attacked, I will defend myself rigorously.”  Vlad moved to the edge of the table.  Either Rasputin or I were going to have to move and take the center in the seating.  I didn’t budge.  I liked where I was.  Having to watch two superfast vamps at once was easier if I didn’t have to look to both sides of myself.

Vlad glared at me.

I glared at Rasputin.

Rasputin slid over to the middle spot.

I smiled in victory.

Vlad took the place Rasputin had vacated, and slid the cup of blood over to the Russian.  Vlad picked up the bottle and sniffed delicately.  One of his eyebrows rose.  “I do not believe I can identify the animal this came from.”  He looked about for another glass, as if one ought to magically appear just because he’d sat down.

I warned him, “I wouldn’t try that.  Rasputin can drink what you can’t; he’s still a creature of

Eastern Orthodox faith.  That makes his Blood of the Lamb as sacred as holy water.”

“Interesting.”  Vlad set the bottle down and slid it well away.  “So, we are telling tales, are we?”

“Your turn,” I said.

But we weren’t done with distractions: the manager appeared at our table, his eyes on Rasputin.  “Sir, is everything

alright?  I understand there has been some trouble.”

Rasputin furrowed his brow in puzzlement.  “No, I don’t believe so.  You may return to your duties.”

The manager inclined his head and backed away.  Another moment, and he was gone.

Vlad ran a finger across his upper lip, as if the thin mustache needed taming.  “Very well then, let me recount for you the tragic tale of a missing coffin and the mercenary band that took it one dark night from one of my secret lairs.”

Not so secret, apparently
.

Vlad’s voice acquired a dancing lilt as he got into the theatrics of the situation.  “I was ghosting across the sky, a sentient mist in the setting light of the moon, when I glanced down at a host of black vans tearing away from the country estate I was renting just outside of Denver. 

Ah, ha!
I thought.  This is suspicious.”

Rasputin was listening closely.

Me?  I was impatient for the punch line.  I’d heard much of this story already.

Vlad glared at me to make sure I was paying attention.  “With dawn mere moments away, I could not pursue the vehicles to sate my curiosity.  I settled into my violated home, still immaterial in case a nasty surprise had been left to deal with me.”

“Wait,” Rasputin said.  “You can truly shift your molecular structure to a coherent plasma state?  I’ve been attempting that for years with little success.”

Vlad’s voice took on a tone of condescension.  “Well, I am half a millennium older than you. 

The longer a vampire lives, the stronger he grows.”

I caught Rasputin’s eyes.  “You’re just a spring chicken hawk.”

“Says the baby at the table,” Rasputin said.

“If I may return to my story,” Vlad said.

I made a small flick of my hand, granting permission.

Vlad said, “A hasty search of my mansion assured me that no one had remained behind to stake me in my daytime sleep.  Nasty habit, that.  Anyway, I descended into the wine cellar, and there found chaos.  The shelves had been ripped away from the walls.  Wine had spilt.  Shattered glass crunched beneath my shoes as I reformed in full sartorial splendor.  Moving in, I’d had servants come and build a false wall behind which I’d hidden my favorite coffin, filled with the native earth I needed to properly rest.  Imagine the killing rage that burst from my noble soul as I found my coffin gone.  The villains had dumped out the plastic bags of dirt that had lain in within, a small mercy, but not one I could take advantage of.  Lying upon the bags in the cellar, lost in the stupor of sleep, returning thieves would find me helpless.”

Rasputin nodded, and drained his cup of blood.

I watched the food growing cold upon my barely touched plate, wishing I had a bottle of
Monkey Shoulder
triple-malt scotch.

Vlad pressed on, “Fortunately, I had foreseen such difficulty, having survived many generations of stalking by that damned Van Helsing clan.”

“Madison is one of the prize students at the Van Helsing Academy for Gifted Slayers,” I said.

Vlad looked at me.  “Really?  Perhaps I will drop in for a little visit when all this is done with.”

I nodded.  “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

Rasputin could stand the suspense no longer, reaching out, laying his peasant hand on Vlad’s arm.  “But tell us, what did you do to survive?”

Kindly, Vlad did not break the fingers daring to touch his person.  I guess everyone loves an enthused audience.  Instead, Vlad smiled and sank into his story once more.  “Whenever I set in for an extended stay, I always make sure of a doomsday contingency plan.  In this case, I’d buried a second—far less splendid—coffin in case I should be close to home, but cut off from rest at daybreak.  The second coffin was in the back gardens, buried several feet down, but with no betraying passage leading to it.  I swooped up through the building in mist form once more and located the spot.  No one was around and the ground was undisturbed.  With some confidence, I willed myself to seep into the earth while the gray of false-dawn was lightening the sky.  Before the true rays of the sun blazed in the east, I was buried and asleep.”

Rasputin clapped.  “Oh, well done.  Well done.  But tell me, is not one coffin much the same as another?  Is it not just the indignity you are concerned with?  The affront to your honor?”

“My honor is always a concern, but in this case, what I lost was very precious indeed.”  Dracula pulled a wallet out of his inside suit pocket.  He opened the leather pouch and rummaged inside a moment until he found several photographs.  He held these out to Rasputin for the man’s inspection the way a proud grandfather might flash pictures of a grandchild.

I groaned softly in the depths of my soul. 
Not the photos again. 
I’d seen them in L.A. when the Old Man and I first received Dracula, considering the job he offered.  They showed the coffin from various angles, lid up and down.  The wood was black oak, intricately tooled, and polished within an inch of its life.  The handles were solid gold.  The inner lining was the finest in purple-dyed silk, a quilted cushion guaranteed to cradle one in bliss.  The required bags of native soil were under the lining.  There were also LED lights and a miniature TV set inside the lid.  A wrap-around minibar had been placed at the head of the coffin, stocked with the blood of certified virgins. 

Rasputin perused the photos with great interest.  “A work of art, truly.  I can see why you want it back so badly.  It must be worth quite a lot.”

“True, but it is the principle of the thing mostly.  I can’t have people thinking that I’ve grown weak and can no longer protect what is mine.”

“With the celebrity value alone,” I said, “opening bid on the coffin will likely start around sixty-thousand dollars.”

Vlad shot me a pained glance.  “So little?”

I shrugged.  “It will probably go for a hundred thousand dollars by the time the auction ends, maybe more.”

Vlad brightened at the new figure I’d named.  “Of course, I am an undead legend, the only self-made vampire.”

“Not anymore,” I said.  “Rasputin also turned himself to form his own line, just like you.”

“Really?”  Vlad gave the other vamp an eyeballing.  “Then your people are free of the Grand Constraint I place on my children.”

Rasputin blinked.  “Grand Constraint?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “Those of Vlad’s line cannot enter a home without an invitation, or walk on holy ground for that matter.”

Rasputin said, “We respect holy ground, but it does not injure us.  As for entering homes, why such limitation?”

“Vampires are not good at restraint,” Vlad said.  “The human herd must have some protection, or it will be wiped out by the undead in a bloody feeding frenzy of epic proportions.  And without humans to sustain us, vampires would be reduced to feeding on animals, until that blood source, too, were wiped out.  When only vampires remain, we will perish under each other’s fangs.  At least, that was how I reasoned in the first days of having become Prince of Darkness.  I may not have been entirely rational in those early days, adjusting to vampirism.”

Who says you’re rational now?

A thought troubled me.  “Say, Drac, did you ever identify who these guys in the black vans were?”

“No, why do you ask?”

It seems to me—when I was first going into the art gallery next door—that I saw a very large number of black vans parked out on the street.”

He looked at me, but his eyes were vague, as if he were searching his memories.  “You know, I think you may be right.”