Hell's Belle (22 page)

CHAPTER 30

I stood outside the Biltmore's revolving doors, staring up at the dilapidated building. Was I out of my mind?

I suspected Ami Bertrand was holed up at the hotel. What other creep-a-
zoid would have the gall to call himself the Mayor when he hadn’t won the election yet.

I fiddled with the vials of Gregorian water looped around my neck by leather straps. I was going in unarmed, my weapons safely locked away at home. I didn't like the way he held my dad's knife the last time I saw him, like it pained him to give it back to me. I didn’t want to chance him stealing them.
Especially my spectacular crossbow. That was one of a kind and, thanks to Frankie’s blood, a unique and powerful weapon. It was certain to grab his attention.

But I didn't want to go in completely unarmed, so the Gregorian water was my only protection.

Not that my weapons would do me much good anyway. There was no way to kill a demon. Well, no way that we knew. Exorcism only made them temporarily go away. And we had ways to make their lives miserable. But to permanently disappear? Nope.

Luckily, there weren't many demons hanging around in the open. They were mostly the schemers of the underworld, preferring to stay hidden in plain sight while unleashing their misery through their conduits. Although impossible to prove, there were often demon tentacles attached to rogue vampires or rabid wares. Like any good politician, they excelled in keeping their hands clean.

So while Bertrand was definitely well suited to run for political office, it was highly unusual that he was doing so publicly.

Breathing deeply, I pushed at the revolving door and spun into the lobby. I pushed my way past a sweaty, balding man in a stained dress shirt. Drunk, he stumbled into me, and then grabbed my arm to hold
himself up. He reeked of cheap gin. I shoved him off a little too hard. He went airborne, landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps.

"Hey! Lady!" A skinny guy working reception stretched over the desk, as if that was going to stop me.

Ignoring his call, I nudged the drunk guy out of my way with my foot and bounded up the stairs, looking for the bellboy ghost. Suicide bride was doing her usual tumble down the staircase. Right behind her, the young man appeared.

"Please let the mayor know I am here to see him." Dutifully, the ghost turned and motioned that I should follow him up the stairs. I wished real people were that agreeable with me. I just hoped he remembered that I couldn't walk on or through walls.

He ushered me down a long, mirrored hallway. At the very end, he swung open ornate wooden double doors. I passed him while he stood, hand out for a tip.

"
Er," I reached into my pockets and came up empty. What do you give a dead bellboy anyway? "I'll getcha next time?"

"Very good," he snarled and slammed the door. It was almost like he was alive.

I was in a small anteroom, with another set of wooden double doors in front of me. For a split second, I considered turning back. But we had to have a chat. I gripped the handles and pushed.

I swept into a luxurious modern office. The dark cherry wood of the sleek furnishings was complimented by muted sandy beige and light moss green fabrics, giving the space an almost Zen feel. Ami was sprawled on a comfortable-looking sofa, his shoes kicked off, and files all around him.
Tavio was in a chair in front of Bertrand's large desk, nursing a Scotch and reading the Daily Racing Form.

"Gentleman," I said tartly, hoping I didn't look too wide-eyed impressed at the beautiful room.

Bertrand stood, removing his glasses and extending his arm to me. "Nina, what a lovely surprise."

I stepped back before he could touch me. My hand instinctively reached behind me for my gun, which wasn't there.
Tavio took note, and with his vampire swiftness, he was beside me before my next breath.

"I have to pat you down," he said. He sounded almost apologetic. "We can't be too careful these days."

I nodded and he ran his hands quickly around my body, checking for weapons. He drew back quickly when he neared the vials of water around my neck.

"Those?" He pointed, keeping an arm length between his finger and my neck. I couldn't tell if he was unwilling or unable to get closer. I suspected the latter. He would have removed them if he could.

"They stay," I said firmly. "I am not stupid enough to show up here completely naked. As it were," I added when I saw Bertrand's raised eyebrows.

"It's perfectly understandable," Bertrand smiled, his teeth perfectly straight and white. He motioned to an overstuffed armchair close to the coach. "Please, sit. Can we get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Blood?"

The offer of blood threw me off balance, and I hesitated just long enough for him to notice. He smiled wider. "Joking, my dear. Now what can we do for you?"

"I have questions about the knife and I'm betting you can answer them," I blurted out.
To hell with the polite formalities.

"Really?" He seemed amused. "I told you all I know."

I fingered the vials and looked at him. "I don't think so."

"What is it worth to you?" he asked smoothly, closing up a few files sitting on the cushions beside him.

"This is not a negotiation," I bristled, reaffirming that I was not willing to do a deal. "You are getting Marcello dealt with. There's your value. And if you want to see me come out of this the victor, I suggest you tell me what you know."

He leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch, Cheshire cat smile on his face. "You have five minutes. I have a campaign to run."

"How is he using multiple knives? How many of them are there?"

Bertrand raised an eyebrow. "Your father's was supposed to be the only one. I wonder if he made more without my knowledge."

"How did you spell it?" I pressed.

"You, witch novice, wouldn't understand."
He steepled his hands, staring at me intently with his black eyes.

"Try me," I returned his gaze. I felt my fangs shift and push through my gums. I let them show.

"Nina, your father betrayed me. I shared my information only because you are the only one who can put an end to these murders. If I thought killing you myself would put an end to it, I would. So if you think I am going to offer anything more without proper payment, you are deeply mistaken. Now, if are you done preening, I am a very busy man," he said with finality. He looked at me expectantly, grinning like a bored professor during office hours with a stubborn student.

"Yes we are done," I seethed. I stood quickly, but
Tavio was by my side before I had risen to my full height.

"I'll see you out," he said. Then he gently took my arm and escorted me into the anteroom.

"He won't tell you this, but your father wasn't the only one to betray him," Tavio whispered once the door was closed behind us.

"Then who?" I glared.

"Another demon. There was a second knife that had an incomplete spell. He stole it." Tavio slipped a stone in my hand.

"What's this?" I fingered it carefully. I felt carvings etched in it.

"Keep it close," he said. "It slows the blades effects. I see it already started."

"What are you talking about?

"The witch blade released the dormant gene, it tainted your blood," Tavio said, flashing his fangs. "The stone stops the poison when you hold it. You will be vampire once again."

"I won't take this," I pushed it back at him. I did not want to owe the demons any favors.

"No, no, take. Please." He held up his hands and backed away." Your DNA is at war. You will die. Bertrand needs you, Nina. I can’t let that happen."

“Demons require no assistance to get their vile work done,” I scoffed.

“Maybe hell needs an angel,” Tavio grinned slightly. “Or, at least, a beautiful woman.” Was he trying a charm offensive? That enraged me even more.

"I want nothing from you or your boss." And with that, I turned on my heel. Dropping the stone at
Tavio's feet, I stormed into the Biltmore's hallway. I was more comfortable dodging poltergeists than having this conversation with my demon-tainted vampire uncle.

I was who I was, dormant gene or not. I would not sacrifice my witch side to my vampire side, or vice versa. I'd figure out a way to find a balance. I refused to be a casualty of their pointless war.

CHAPTER 31

Of course the night we decided to hit Marcello was the night the nor'easter blew in. The country highway leading into the rural enclave of Chepachet was pitch black on a good night. With the heavy snowfall and whipping winds, it was treacherously foreboding. Frankie and I drove through it in a nervous silence, broken only by Dog's aggressive panting from the backseat.

I fidgeted around, and Casper was lying dormant inside my body, waiting to be called into action. I once again checked my weapons. I knew they were all accounted for, but it took my mind off of what we were walking into and the dull ache that Casper's possession left in my head.

Frankie reached over and squeezed my hand. "You okay?" He took his eyes off the road for a split second. "We're almost there." He turned off the dark highway and onto an old farm road. Shoving Max's Suburban into four-wheel drive, we plowed through snow that was already piled two-feet thick on the road.

"Where the hell did they go?" I muttered, looking behind us. Babe, Max and Dr. O were following behind us, but since Babe's little Fiat was crap in this weather, they couldn't keep up with us.

"They'll be along soon," Frankie said feebly. "We're here."

He made a sharp right turn, and, directly in front of us was a farmhouse. It was white. It was huge. It was old. Our headlights bounced off of grime-covered, leaded glass windows. The partial frame of an old barn, burned down by the fire that claimed both of my parents, loomed large behind the house.

Frankie killed the engine and we both climbed out of the car. Dog hopped down from the warm comfort of her seat into a snow bank. We all trudged to the porch. Frankie unlocked the front door and we stumbled in. Our footsteps echoed in the empty house, and Dog's nails tap-tap-tapped along the damaged wood floors. The air was thick with dust. Dog growled, her hair standing on end. I was happy I wasn't the only one creeped out by this place.

"Right, so here we are," Frankie looked warily around. He hadn't been here since the night my parents were killed. His trepidation betrayed his usual cool detachment. Shit. This was not the time for Frankie to get spooked.

I punched him lightly in the arm. "Yes, here we are. Now focus, please."

"Right." He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from his mind. "Look. There is a stream running directly under this house -- it's visible in the basement. Once we get down there, I won't be able to cross it."

"Why not?" I questioned. There was an old superstition that vampires couldn’t cross water, but that wasn’t actually true.

"I don't know," Frankie said. His patience was wearing thin and he looked ready to explode. "But I can't cross it, and your dad couldn't cross it. But your mom had no problem with it. So clearly it has something to do with vampires.”

A stream a vampire couldn’t cross. Odd definitely but, I didn’t have time to second-guess Frankie.

“So if you run into problems, get your ass downstairs and cross that stream," Frankie continued, pacing back and forth, his boots cutting through the dust on the floor. "You aren’t a true vampire, so you should be able to cross it. He shouldn't be able to catch you once you get to the other side. From there, take him down with the crossbow. That should weaken him enough so you can get in with the knife and finish him off."

I nodded. No point in questioning why vampires couldn't cross the stream. I could see that Frankie wasn’t in the mood to tell me. I decided to chalk it up to one of the great mysteries of the world and leave it at that.

"What if I use the Gregorian water?" I fiddled with the vials that I looped around my neck with a leather cord.

Frankie looked at the two vials thoughtfully. "I'd prefer to see those remain around your neck. They could deflect a bite."

"What if the witches show up?" I asked, staring out the window. With the blanket of snow over the wooded area in the back, the farmhouse was picturesque. But sadness weighed heavily on this place. I could sense restless spirits in the graveyard out back.

"Leave the witches to me," Frank said vaguely. In the dark, his eyes were orbs of brilliant blue light looking right at me. “You alright, Nina? You don’t seem yourself."

"Neither do you," I pointed out.

He acknowledged that with a short nod.

I looked out the back window, where I sensed the graveyard. "A lot of ghosts out there."

I watched Frankie's aristocratic profile in the dim light by the window. He had followed my gaze to toward the old cemetery. Neither of us could see it, but I could feel it. "Your mum put some sort of spell on the graveyard to hold them in. As long as they aren't released, they shouldn't overwhelm you."

"And I'm here if they try." Casper moved forward in my mind with a quick tightening at my temples, before receding back again. I winced a little at the pain.

"What the hell happened to our backup?" I muttered under my breath.

"I think we are on our own, Love." Frankie's vamp kicked in suddenly, and I felt a whisper of wind before he appeared at my side in less than a blink. My skin prickled. Dog's fur stood on edge. She let out a low growl.

"They're coming," Casper whispered, darting back into the recesses of my mind before the pain hit me full force. I gave him a small groan of acknowledgment.

"It's time," I said as I squeezed Frankie's hand then dropped it when the door blew off the hinges. A gust of freezing air and snow whooshed into the room. Marcello, holding a witch blade, stood at the
threshold, flanked by the two women he met at Babe's the night he attacked. Marcello's laughter reverberated off the walls. My body let out an involuntary shiver, which did not escape his notice. With that split-second chill, he caught my fear and held fast to it.

I released the blade on my left arm. The familiar sound of the metal sliding down the sheath calmed my nerves a bit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie double-fisting two silver-tipped stakes. He was in full vamp mode. Fangs out, his eyes were a vibrant blue.  He twirled the stakes effortlessly in each hand.

"Francesco," Marcello bowed his head slightly at Frankie. "I don't wish to kill you."

"No worries. You won't," Frankie snarled.

Marcello grinned and plunged the blade into the chest of one of the women. She shrieked, a mix of pain and surprise. The knife burned white hot, containing the magic that it extracted from her. Marcello twisted the knife, then exchanged the blade for his own hand, pulling out the heart. It was still beating when he sunk his fangs into it and let out a triumphant roar. The witch woman slumped to the ground. Her companion sank down beside her, holding the lifeless body. In the dark, I could barely make out two puncture wounds on her neck. Marcello had bound them. That explained why they were so docile while being attacked.

Frankie and I were too stunned to move right away, which was a dangerous mistake. Marcello flicked his wrist towards us. Frankie's head jerked away and, when it snapped back into place, he had streaks of blood running down his cheek. Four claw marks sliced through his porcelain skin.

"Hand over the girl, and this all ends," Marcello said ominously. He pulled his hand towards his body.

Frankie gasped and clutched his heart. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with a trail of blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

"Frankie!" I grabbed his jacket and tried hauling him away from Marcello. Casper forced himself to the front of my mind. I screamed when the sudden pain ripped into my head.

"Not much time," he huffed. "He pulled a lot of power out of the witch. Let me take over. Or your friend will die."

I gulped back tears and nodded. I pulled the blade back up into the sheath to give my hands the freedom for Casper to weave his spell. Casper's Spanish poured from my mouth. Frankie dropped to the ground and lay still. Casper pulled me away from Frankie, whispering, "He's alright. Needs a minute."

With our focus now on Marcello, Casper shifted into a Latin chant. But pulling Frankie out of Marcello's spell had left him too weak, and I was a poor conduit for his advanced witch powers anyway. I had a feeling we would have to do this the old fashioned way: with fists and weapons.

"Hang back!" I yelled at Casper. I could feel him weakening, and it was painful as hell. Casper slipped back quickly, and the pain in my head diminished so I could focus again.

"Finally, just the two of us," Marcello said as he crossed the threshold and reached out to me. My body involuntarily jerked towards him.

Panic, mixed with a good dose of anger, surged through me. I scowled and forced my body to stand its ground. Offing me was not going to be that easy. Screw that.

Determined, I willed my undisciplined magic. The wind began to pick up and swirl around me. I whipped around and faced off with him. Eyes narrowed, I reached my hand out and pulled at the air. Marcello was yanked forward with enough force that he hit the wall on the other side of the room, sliding down to the floor.

Not moving from his position, Marcello arced his hand over the air, chanting unintelligible words under his breath. My throat suddenly constricted and I gasped for air. Casper moved forward again, and with a quick yelp, my lungs opened up again. Before I could steady my breath, I reached for my holstered Magnum, and sent off a round in Marcello's direction. A silver bullet tore a hole into his stomach, but he laughed sinisterly while his skin knitted back together. Damn vampires.

Frankie stirred a little in the corner, but Marcello was too focused on me to notice. Whatever power he stole from the dead witch was running low, and he came after me with his fangs
bared.

Charging toward me at full force, he didn't notice -- or maybe he didn't care -- that Dog was still at my side. She leapt up, blocking Marcello. After a fearsome bark, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Reeling from the attack, Marcello still lunged forward, grabbing for me. But Dog pushed her teeth in further. With a bloodcurdling scream, Marcello gave Dog a brutal shove and she was tossed across the room like a stuffed animal instead of a 125-pound Hell Hound.  

Marcello grabbed the lapels of my jacket and threw me, headfirst, into the window behind me. A blast of snow blew into the house, and sounds of shattered glass ripped at my ears. I felt the unmistakable feeling of thick, wet blood at the back of my head a split-second before its coppery scent hit my nose. Marcello caught the smell too. He leered at me and licked his lips. Gross.

He charged me, but this time it was my turn to grab his lapels. I pulled him to the floor. Straddling him, I pushed the flat of my hand into his nose, giving myself a moment to enjoy the sound of it breaking. He pushed me off, and I scrambled to my feet before his vampire speed could catch up. 

Frankie was shaking off the magic blow. As he was getting to his feet, the forgotten witch snatched up one of his stakes. With an ear-piercing scream, she staked him from behind.

"No!" I shrieked, lunging after Frankie as he staggered forward.

"Run, Nina!" he screamed. He gripped my arms, blood smearing down my jacket. "Basement. NOW."

Frankie shoved me towards the cellar door, pushing me so hard that I nearly burst the hinges off the door as I fell through. I tumbled down the stairs into the cellar. The crossbow painfully cut into my back at each tumble, until I finally landed face down on the cold stone floor.

Marcello was right behind me. The door slammed shut, and I could hear Dog scratching at the door, whining.

I was still orienting myself after the tumble down the stairs when Marcello grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. As he moved in to bite me, I pulled the stopper out of one of the Gregorian water vials. He was ready to rip at my neck when I spilled the water out. It rushed down my neck and ran into his lips. I heard the sizzle of seared skin, followed by the scent of charred meat. Marcello released me, crying out in agony.

I spun into a roundhouse kick and made contact with his head, sending him momentarily reeling. But it was short-lived. Pissed off and determined, he came at me with a football tackle that took the wind out of me and knocked me off my feet. I swept my legs under him, and he came down beside me. I scrambled to my knees and brought my elbow down to his solar plexus. He rose up, grabbed me around the neck, and pulled me down on top of him. I rolled into a backward somersault, trying to get my neck out of his grip. I roared as I ripped my head out of his grasp. But he caught my hair again, and he slammed his other fist into my cheek. Dammit! I was so cutting my hair off.

The force of my head snapping back made him release my hair. I turned and swung, landing a punch directly on his ear, probably shattering his eardrum. I followed with a series of five uppercuts that pushed him back towards the stairs.

While Marcello shook off the punches, I ran across the basement, towards the sound of running water, hoping it was the stream that ran under the house. My foot splashed through a small puddle. It was so dark in the basement, I couldn't tell if I was safely across the running water or just caught a foot full of leaky basement. I turned and faced off with Marcello. I was just out of his reach, and he couldn't come any closer. I took another step back, breathing heavy.