To Kill a Sorcerer (6 page)

The other reason was the spectacle of the bouts. Vampires are brutal creatures, and they do not see the world the way humans do. I never found the “entertainment” enjoyable.

The interior of the warehouse glowed starkly in the artificial lights. It was an old brick building with high ceilings and skylights set into the roof. Damp cement made up the floor, and the large windows lining the sides of the building featured the grime of years of dirt.

The light came from large, temporary floodlights situated along the walls. They illuminated the crowd and the red-and-white boxing ring in the center. The seats were arranged in four blocks around the ring and were stepped stadium-style.

Aliena turned up one of the aisles and led us to our places. This was my least favorite part. I had to turn my back to the people sitting directly behind us. It was difficult to relax in that situation. My skin positively itched at the thought of four or five of them staring hungrily at my unprotected neck. I kept reminding myself that they respected one another’s rights, and that I was untouchable as long as Aliena was at my side.

We sat, Aliena on my right. The woman to my left was the same hideous-looking, crazy crone that always sat next to me. Her skin looked like fresh burn scars, and her eyes were feverish. She bared her fangs and leaned toward me, hissing.

Ah, hell
, I thought, throwing up my arm in defense. Would this never end? If I wasn’t being inhabited by a furious spirit intent on drowning me, ancient vampires were treating me like delivery pizza.

Suddenly the scarred woman slumped back. Aliena had her by the throat.

“Now, Liza, behave yourself,” Aliena said soothingly, releasing the old thing. “You know Sebastian. He has been here with me before. Leave him alone.”

The spectators near us laughed, a sound like tinsel in a grinder.

Liza squinted at me. “Oh, it’s him again. I should have known.” She gave me a hideous leer. “You smell so good. I am sorry.”

“Please do not concern yourself.” What do you say to someone who has just apologized for trying to bite your neck? “I understand.”

Aliena returned to her seat. Liza’s eyes remained fixed on my throat, burning with an age-old hunger. A small tear of saliva dripped from one of her fangs. I wondered why any vampire would give the preternatural blood to a woman in her eighties.

I leaned toward Aliena, looked at the delicate mole above her upper lip.

“Now I can relax,” I whispered. “Must we always sit next to her?”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.”

“I like that. I’m in an abandoned warehouse in east LA with five hundred vampires who want to suck the life out of me, and you say I’m being a baby when I’m sitting next to one of said vampires who just attacked me because she can’t remember me from a month ago. What if she forgets again and latches on to my throat in the middle of the first round?”

“She is very thin. If I cannot drain you, she certainly cannot.”

“You are
so
funny. I’d take you over my knee if you weren’t, well, you know, if you weren’t you.”

“You have an affinity for spanking, don’t you?”

“With some girls, it’s all I can think about.”

Marcus sat below and to our left, ringside, his legs crossed, his hands lying in his lap. I looked into his face. Eye contact is a force transfer, and the power of this being radiated across the room. I inclined my head very slightly. He did not respond. After a few moments, he turned to the activity in the ring.

The fighters for the first bout slipped inside the ropes. The vampire, a skinny little Latin-looking guy, boxed out of the red corner. His opponent, a large and muscular black man, stood in the opposite corner.

The master of ceremonies was a tiny black vampire with a crown of stiff hair, wearing a moth-eaten tuxedo with too-long pants. He walked to the center of the ring, picked a wireless microphone off the red mat, and held it to his lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our first bout of the night!” The crowd roared. “In the red corner, tipping the scales at one forty and a quarter, fighting for the Fourteenth Century, wearing the red trunks with red trim, with a record of two thousand forty-seven and oh, two thousand and forty-seven victories coming by way of Bite Out— . . .”

Aliena whooped.

“. . . is the ‘Barcelona Bomber,’ Mario de la Francisco Mejia!”

Mejia held up his gloves and twirled in a circle. The crowd roared.

“Wooooo, go, Mario!” Aliena yelled.

I had seen Mejia before. He was Aliena’s favorite fighter, an international vampire celebrity. His quoted weight of 140 pounds might be accurate—in a NASA pressure suit. He had greased-back hair under a net and a pencil-thin mustache, and his huge red satin boxing shorts hung past his knees. He did a girlish pirouette and waved to the crowd.

The geeky little night-biter.

His opponent stood in the opposite corner, a look of disbelief on his face as he watched Mario spin again.

“And fighting out of the blue corner, representing the Twenty-First Century, weighing in at two forty and a half, with a fight-to-the-death record of twelve and oh, is Terrence ‘Angel of Dread’ Shepard!”

Shepard was a big, tattooed man, and none of his 240 pounds resembled fat. He grinned at Mario.

It probably should have crossed Shepard’s mind that pitting him against a little guy like Mejia in a death match didn’t make sense. But money can make shrewd people overlook crucial details.

Aliena had explained it to me. The vampires employed an intermediary—usually a mortal—to acquire the human fighters. The agent offered the potential fighter $150,000, paid whether he won or lost. In the event of his death, the money went to whomever he or she so designated. Vampires are wealthy creatures, and as a coalition, represent the richest group of beings on Earth. They always paid off, and word had spread in the more violent parts of inner Los Angeles that this was a lucrative deal.

So far, no one seemed to care that every fighter who had accepted the match had disappeared—the beneficiary of the “prize” money least of all.

After delivering the introductions, the emcee pocketed the microphone and slid through the ropes, out of the combat zone. No referee hovered near the fighters. The fight lasted a single round—however long that took.

As soon as the bell sounded, the two fighters moved cautiously into the center of the ring. Shepard threw a powerful jab that snapped Mario’s head back. He stepped inside Mario’s weak jab and landed a straight right hand that shook the vampire’s body. Mario staggered into the ropes. The Angel of Dread moved in, crouched, ready to deliver a devastating combination. But Mario slipped to his left, under the man’s hook, and danced back into the center of the ring, his voluminous shorts swaying.

Shepard moved forward until he was once again toe-to-toe with his opponent. He jabbed; Mario slipped it. He threw a straight right that glanced off Mario’s temple and followed it with a left hook that caught the vampire flush on the right cheek and lifted him off his feet.

Mario flew into the blue corner and slammed into the ropes. When he landed on his feet, he quickly strode back to his opponent. The crowd cheered.

The first flicker crossed the Angel’s face. His tattoos and scars bore testament to his street toughness—he was not a man who lost fights. But he had to be confused about what was happening in the ring right now. He watched as Mario did another of his pirouettes, waving at the crowd. The Angel looked befuddled.

He had my sympathies. It must be a strange feeling to find that the tools you have used to success all your life do not work anymore.

Shepard knew how to fight though, and his momentary confusion did not stop him from stepping back into Mario as soon as the little fellow came near. After a succession of crisp jabs, he landed a crushing right hand that mashed Mario’s nose.

Mario was not a very good boxer.

Aliena jumped onto her feet, yelling hysterically.

The effete vampire staggered back, skinny legs shaking. After he slammed into the ropes, he straightened up. His nose repaired itself.

The Angel had been advancing, but now he stopped short, his expression wary. He could see that Mario not only remained undamaged from that last crushing punch, but that he hadn’t even bled from his broken nose.

Mario moved forward stealthily. Shepard took an uncertain step back. Mario moved with vampiric speed now, sliding under the big man’s left hook, punching him on the hips, chest, face, groin, and stomach in a fury of rapid-fire strikes.

Shepard staggered from the onslaught. Every time he turned, Mario flitted somewhere else. The big man threw punches that swung through the air, connecting with nothing. Whenever Mario did slow down to beat him hard on his midsection, the Angel gamely continued to thump his diminutive opponent. But his posture was that of a man who suddenly realizes he is in the winds of a hurricane.

The Angel of Dread raged, and he did not quit.

Mario continued his furious assault. Shepard finally sagged and went down as his preternatural foe pummeled his muscled body to the mat. Even on his back, the big man continued to punch weakly, never giving an inch.

With a flash stroke, Mario punched Shepard on the side of the face and then struck at him like a cobra, biting him on the neck. The Angel’s body went rigid, and the front of his shorts darkened. He wrapped his arms around Mario’s thin shoulders and tried to push the vampire off, but his strength had drained away. Mario’s head jerked as he fastened on for the final gulp. Shepard’s arms waved feebly in the air then fell away, his gloved hands making soft thuds on the canvas as his entire body went slack.

Aliena bounced up and down, applauding lustily. I took her arm.

“May we please go now?” I shouted in her ear. The sight of the big man on the canvas being drained by a skinny girly-vampire was more than I could handle.

“No! There are three more fights after this!”

“Aliena, you promised.”

“Please, just one more fight?”

“No.”

She stuck out her lower lip and looked at me from under her lashes.

“You think pouting will work?”

Her brown eyes flashed with anger, but she remained silent.

“Fine,” I said. “You watch the rest of the fights without me.”

Now that we were at intermission, many vampires looked my way. I did not wish to leave without Aliena at my side, but I would not let her hold me hostage here.

She made a face at me. “Oh, very well. There is another event on Thursday.”

We stepped past Liza. I kept an eye on the old bat to make sure she didn’t go for my leg.

Vampires continued to bare their fangs at me as Aliena led us toward the exit, her arm linked in mine. Watching them, I felt as I had the last time we had been at 49: as though I was her pet.

We neared the exit when a vampire stood in front of us and put his hand on my chest to bring us to a halt. He gazed at Aliena.

Marcus.

He stood a bit taller than I and wore his thick brown hair combed back off his forehead in the old European style. He was elegantly dressed in a blue suit and wine tie. By his youthful looks, I estimated he had been turned in his mid-twenties. His skin had that glossy sheen only the most ancient vampires have.

He was no being with whom to trifle.

“Aliena, you are looking lovely,” he said, removing his hand from my chest and gallantly kissing her on the knuckles. His desire for Aliena shone clear, but I was the reason he had accosted us.

“Thank you,” Aliena said.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“Yes. I have been.”

“Would you care to dine with me on Friday?”

I wondered what that meant. If he continued in this vein, I intended to interrupt him. Vampires crowded on all sides, but I didn’t care. He was old enough to know how to conduct himself as a gentleman.

“I will call you and let you know.”

“I will await you.” He frowned as the bell sounded behind us, and the emcee began introducing the next fighters. “You’re not leaving already?”

“As a matter of fact . . .”

“But you love the fights. You never leave early. You must have most vital matters to attend indeed.”

He knew very well we always left after one fight. He finally turned to me as if until that moment he had been unaware of my presence.

“You look like an interesting companion.” He sniffed. “Yes, very. Sebastian, is it not?”

I inclined my head. “Marcus. A pleasure.”

He stared at me, his face bland. I gave the stare back. We stayed like that for a few moments. His lips curved in the smallest smile.

“Aliena never talks about you.”

“Nor you,” I replied.

“We should become acquainted. You may remain with me if you wish to watch the rest of the program. I guarantee your safety,” he said, his arms away from his sides, his palms facing me, his gaze sweeping the vampires around us.

Having given his word, I knew he would not harm me, nor allow any of the others to attack. It represented an enticing offer. I was as curious about him as he obviously was about me. If I did not need so urgently to discuss the case with Aliena, I might have accepted.

Then again, I might not have.

“I would be delighted,” I said, “but I have a prior engagement with this young lady. I’m sure you understand.”

“Indeed I do.” He infused those three words with more innuendo than a massage parlor ad. I waited for him to move out of our way. He finally gave a small bow. “Your servant, sir.”

“An honor.”

He stood aside. We began walking to the exit, Aliena’s hand on my arm.

“Slowly, Sebastian,” she whispered.

Wednesday, December 22, 1:38 a.m.

“He is after you,” I said once seated in a cab headed back to Gladstone’s. The look in Marcus’s eyes required no experience to decipher.

His message rang equally clear. He had not accosted us out of curiosity alone. He had informed me that if I pursued Aliena, I had competition—and that he was the stronger of us. He had known her twice as long, which gave him the inside track, if you’ll pardon the expression.