Death Song (Episode Eight: The Nightshade Cases) Page 7

  The crowd let out in a rush of people, Benedict’s magic tied to Kinsey’s now so tightly he felt her moving through the club, into the bathroom, stopping at the door. Not like him to be so absorbed he missed he wasn’t alone any longer.

  His tall body tensed the instant he felt the presence of his brother. “Julian.” How quaint, this game his younger sibling played, sneaking about in the darkness like a fool.

  “Benedict.” Julian always managed to make his name sound like a bad word.

  Benedict didn’t turn around, though his being was now split—half with Kinsey, heading for the street, and half with Julian, hovering behind him.

  “You wanted something, brother?” It wasn’t like Julian to just show up, to expose himself. To sneak up on Benedict, yes, of course. To try to gain an upper hand in some way. But never to expose himself to the older, stronger vampir. Not when a turn and two steps would mean the end of his life.

  “Just wanted to see your face,” Julian said. “The face of the vampir who finally lost.”

  Benedict did turn then, keeping his face composed and quiet, observing the tension in Julian’s shoulders, the arrogant tilt of his head, the smirk.

  “You believe you know something I don’t.” Not a question. Benedict used his finest bored tone, flicked at his brother with his fingertips. “Shoo, fly.”

  Julian’s reaction was, at least, predictable. His rage flashed like a light, overwhelming him, making him weak. Benedict observed with satisfaction, though he listened all the more closely when his brother spoke.

  Spit flew from Julian’s lips as he did. “For once,” he snarled, “my masters are stronger than yours.”

  Benedict held still. “I have no masters,” he said.

  “That’s what you think,” Julian threw at him. “But the Nightshade League owns you as much as Orter and Paris own me.” The younger vampir trembled, fangs showing a brief moment, eyes glowing with a deep, unnatural light as he lost control of the power inside him. Benedict slammed his own cold magic into his brother and felt Julian retreat in sullen fury.

  “I’m done playing your game, Julian.” Benedict turned his back, spotting Kinsey on the street below. “Leave now, or I’ll kill you, no matter the orders I have from the League.”

  Julian hissed at him, the sound carrying, though he could feel his sibling leaving. “Dear brother,” Julian said, voice dying on the evening breeze, “watch your back. It’s not as safe as you think. And neither is she.”

  Benedict stood a long time, watching Gerri and Ray with his charge. Kinsey finally broke away from the pair, heading for a waiting taxi. As it carried her away, toward home, Benedict followed along rooftops, leaping with inhuman power and traveling at great speed.

  When the cab stopped at a red light, he retrieved his phone.

  And dialed.

  ***

  INT. – MARGOT’S CAR to MEYER’S HOUSE – EARLY MORNING

  Margot answered her ringing cell, knowing already it was Benedict on the other end of the line. He never called unless there was an emergency.

  Damn it, she had too much to worry about already without wondering daily—by the moment—if her granddaughter was all right.

  “Julian came to see me.” No preamble from Benedict, as usual. His concise conversations never failed to raise Margot’s irritation. But, this information settled her temper.

  “In person?” How interesting. Since Julian’s last attempt to murder his brother failed and he was brought up on charges of fratricide before the League, there had been an edict preventing him from even approaching Benedict, one sealed with power. “Did he get close to you?” That would mean someone broke the seal. And that things were moving far faster than she was willing to accept.

  There had been so much time, once. What happened to it all? She stared out the window of her car into the night as Benedict spoke.

  “He remained outside the zone,” he said. She sighed in soft relief. “But, the fact he risked exposing himself troubles me.”

  “And me.” She heard a rush of wind, a thud. “Where are you?”

  “Following Kinsey home.” He said it casually, as though it were nothing. And, she supposed, it was, considering it was his full time job since her granddaughter moved to Silver City. It had taken a bit of maneuvering to ensure Kinsey’s job at the college, but once that was done, manipulating Geraldine and Rachel into place had been simple. Now, if she could only protect them long enough to see an end to this madness.

  She’d retire. Eventually.

  “The time must be close for their move,” Benedict said. “The Collective won’t remain dormant forever. Orter’s desires drive him like any dervish. And he is worse than most.”

  How Margot longed to sit with Kinsey and ask her what she’d learned in Gideon Orter’s office the night she and Gerri met with him. Margot had only been there once, hadn’t been permitted past the old harpy who served as his assistant.

  She could have forced her way past. But risking an interracial and cross-League incident wasn’t in the books.

  “Let me worry about that,” Margot finally said. “Stay away from your brother, Benedict. That edict works both ways.” The damned Nightshade League and their sense of fair play. What was good for attempted murderer was good for the victim. If Benedict killed Julian, he’d suffer the same fate as if it happened the other way around.

  Sometimes, she hated the League.

  Margot hung up, knowing Benedict was already long gone, dialed a new number. It rang several times before a tired voice answered, rough and accented with the language of the Periqwai.

  “Mama Roan.” She had another name, a secret name, one Margot had uncovered many years ago. Not to use against her, but for the love of knowledge. Though the ancient medicine woman of the Pereqwai still held it against her.

  “Where is my granddaughter?” More worries on her shoulders. Margot sighed silently.

  “All is progressing,” she said. “You must trust me.” Though Margot had trouble trusting herself. This plan of hers, to send the young Panther into the line of fire, should it pan out could solve everything. But, if it failed…

  Margot wouldn’t consider failure an option. Not ever.

  “You put our entire tribe at great risk,” Mama Roan said. “What if she’s not strong enough?”

  “She’s your granddaughter,” Margot said. “She will be.” She had to be.

  The street light at the end of the lane was bright enough Margot could read the sign. She tapped on the glass dividing her from the driver, though she knew he had the address already. The car slowed and turned down the quiet suburban street as Mama Roan huffed into the phone.

  “If this ends badly for her,” she said, “I will make sure the Nightshade League pays for her loss.”

  “Mama,” Margot said as the car came to a halt, engine idling, “if this ends badly for her, the Nightshade League is done.” She hung up, the door opening, hand reaching in to help her to exit.

  Margot shivered in the chill of the Boston early morning, pulling her fur coat closer around her. The small, square, white house at the end of the driveway looked homey enough, if one was satisfied with such accommodations. She followed the large paving stones to the front door in the first light of dawn, pressing the doorbell and waiting, rather impatiently in the cold, for someone to answer.

  When the shadow fell over the pane of glass, she frowned, raising an eyebrow at him as he peeked at her through the thin window pane. When he pulled the door open at last, she didn’t hesitate, pushing past him into the warmth of the house beyond, the scent of bacon and cigars lingering in the air.

  He closed the door behind her, looming over her, graying hair still mostly red, green eyes troubled. Someone sang in the kitchen to the sound of the radio and the clatter of a pan and spatula, but they both ignored the woman’s voice as Margot tapped him in the chest with one index finger.

  “She’s too clever,” she said to Sergeant Dutch Meyers. “Geraldine knows.”
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br />   One hand rose to cover his mouth, eyes shining with tears uncharacteristic to him if you didn’t know him very well.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  ***

  EXT. – THE DESERT – EARLY MORNING

  Mama Roan sat behind her trailer in the chill breeze of the dying desert night, thinking of Wind and Cici and her tribe. He’d fought her, her headstrong and passionate grandson, when she’d given him his orders.

  “I won’t leave the tribe at a time like this,” he said. But the desperate edge to his voice told her he’d obey. He just needed his words heard. She remembered those days of youthful arrogance, long gone from her now.

  “Cici needs you,” she said. “Go to the city. Protect your sister. The tribe is safe with me.”

  For how long? Even Mama Roan couldn’t answer that. She shivered under her warm sweater, squinting through cataracts long left untended at the distant horizon, lost in the night. There was only one thing left to do, now that Wind was gone and she was alone.

  Calling on Toqwai to protect her and her family, she sat silently, breathing the sharp air as the flash of headlights began to arrive, washing over the scrub and dirt, lighting the side of her home, flaring with pain against the back of her eyes.

  The family came to her call. And, when this night was done, when her spell was cast, even Margot DanAllart wouldn’t be able to alter the course of fate.

  She began the low, soft chant to her god to the sound of footsteps approaching, voices joining hers, the throbbing drone reaching for the stars.

  ###

  Next time on The Nightshade Cases…

  When the new zookeeper of a private facility is found dead, Gerri is forced to face who—and what—she really is. But, will she turn her back on her bheast, or finally accept the help it’s been offering her all along?

  Look for Episode #9: Zoology 101, coming soon!

  Zoology101

  Teacher’s Pet

  Panic Room

  Bad Shoot

  Sicko

  Federali

  Witness

  The Hit

  Mimic

  The Maze

  Haunted

  Splish Splash

  Divided We Stand

  Don’t miss a single episode of Season One! Sign up for new release emails at www.bit.ly/pattilarsenemail.

  ***

  About the Author

  Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.

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