Aspen (6 page)

“It is agreeable to see you again, Lady Tempeste. Welcome to the House of Blackwood.”

Aspen returned his bow. “And you, Bruno.”

He straightened and opened the portcullis. “Lady Blackwood, the Mistress awaits you.”

“Thank you, Bruno. Please have Lydia send down some warm Claret and a pot of tea for Faramo Tempeste,” Rowan replied.

Aspen let herself be guided through the portcullis and down a short hallway. Beyond a pair of doors that looked more like they belonged in the den of a dominatrix than an antique mansion was the throne room, one more opulent than even Valentina’s. The walls had been cut from the native rock and polished to a mirror-like sheen. The floor was covered in plush carpet the color of blood and mirrors adorned the ceiling. They reflected the light of hundreds of candles and could still do nothing to chase away the chill darkness of the chamber.

Three black-lacquered coffins sat at the far end of the chamber behind a tall throne made of black wood and red leather. An attractive woman in her early thirties sat in the chair wearing nothing but a nightgown that did nothing to hide her curves and left her long, tattooed legs bare. She was scrolling through a tablet with one leg draped over the throne’s arm.

Rowan crossed the room and knelt beside the throne on a pile of cushions. The occupant stroked Rowan’s face absently and raised her eyes to look at Aspen.

“Ah, Lady Tempeste, welcome to my home. I am Mistress Blackwood, though you may call me Shirina. Approach, please.”

Aspen crossed the room with feet that felt like lead. Visiting the Mistress of St Louis wasn’t in her plans when she’d decided to take a break from her life in Chicago. When she reached the throne she gave a partial bow.

“Aspen Kincaid-Tempeste, familiar of Fürstin Storm and servant of the House Tempeste,” she said.

Shirina nodded once. “Well met, Aspen. I must admit I was dismayed to hear an emissary of House Tempeste was within my borders and did not present herself, but you are here now and no harm done.”

Aspen straightened. “Apologies, Mistress Blackwood. I am not here formally, I am working on a case—”

“Yes, the death of Kristof Martel, Bruno told me. Surely Valentina or Fürstin Storm told you protocol requires you to acknowledge the local Mistress, if there is one, upon entering their domain?”

Aspen blushed. “Mi ‘lady, my Fürstin isn’t much for rules, as I am sure you are aware. I was not told, nor did I think it was necessary. I am flying under the radar, as it were.”

Shirina stopped petting Rowan and stood. To Aspen’s surprise, the vampire was just a shade over five feet tall. “I see. Well, you should know that not all of the Court agrees with Fürstin Storm’s attitude toward the Totentanz. While within my domain I expect you to behave accordingly and swear fealty to me. Is that clear?”

Aspen met Shirina’s eyes and wasn’t sure what to think. Was this a test? Or was the vampire really trying to force her to swear fealty?

“With respect, Shirina, my loyalty is to Raven and Lady Valentina. My business here is not privy to the Totentanz nor do I owe you fealty,” she said.

Shirina held her gaze a moment longer, then her delicate features broke into a wide smile.

“Well done, Faramo Tempeste! Well done.”

She sat and crossed her legs, gesturing at something Aspen couldn’t see. “Here is Lydia with the tea. I assume you prefer that to Claret? Share a cup with me and tell me what you know of this Martel.”

Aspen turned to see an older woman in a Victorian maid’s uniform. She was pushing a cart laden with a silver tea set and a carafe of claret. She stopped beside Shirina and began to serve while Rowan placed more cushions for Aspen to lounge on. Aspen sat cross-legged on the cushions and accepted a silver cup filled with a warm, aromatic brew. A brew her nose told her was not entirely tea. She held it, but was careful not to touch or sip from the cup.

“I don’t really know much. I found Mr. Martel’s corpse and started an investigation into what killed him. As of now there isn’t much to go on, I tracked him to the Four Seasons where I met Bruno and that is about all I know. My investigation will continue from here,” she said.

Shirina took a cup of claret from Lydia. “I see. And where did you find Mr. Martel?”

Aspen spread her hands. “I promised I wouldn’t share that information, or the location of his remains.”

Shirina arched an eyebrow. “Really? Well, I suspect it is at that fleabag hunter motel or somewhere close by. Regardless, I am not interested in the disposition of his remains. I want to know why one of my lycans was found dead in his Colorado apartment.”

Aspen blinked in surprise. “One of your lycans? How did he die?”

“His throat was cut, similar to the man you found in his hotel room this morning. At first, I thought Martel had done it, but now I believe that to be unlikely. Perhaps whoever killed Martel was involved. How did Martel die?” Shirina asked.

“I don’t know,” Aspen said. “He had no visible injuries, it was as if he just wasted away.”

Shirina leaned forward. “Was he human? Could he have killed my lycan?”

“He was human and no, I doubt he could best a lycan. My research indicates he didn’t even believe they exist,” Aspen replied.

“The tea is not to your liking?” Lydia asked in a quiet voice.

Aspen kept her eyes on Shirina. “Flunitrazepam isn’t to my liking. I prefer to keep my wits about me, especially in the company of new friends.”

Shirina’s face was dead for a moment, then broke into another charming smile. She laughed and leaned back in her chair. “I see now why Ravenel has chosen you. You are smart and far more than the simple human you appear.”

She snapped her fingers and Rowan pulled a piece of paper from inside her corset. Shirina took the paper and offered it to Aspen.

“These are our findings from the Four Seasons. Nothing much, though an organic substance was found in both wounds,” she said.

Aspen took the sheet, which was a series of lab tests run on the claw fragments. The results didn’t make much sense, though.

“Is this right? According to this the weapon or claw that killed them was over two thousand years old,” she said.

Shirina nodded. “That’s correct, I made the lab run the test twice. The weapon is at least two thousand years old and doesn’t match anything in the Totentanz database.”

“So something we haven’t encountered before, or at least don’t know we’ve encountered before. Fascinating!” Aspen said.

Shirina’s face was blank. “I don’t think ‘fascinating’ is the word I would use, Aspen. Tell me, what do you intend to do next?”

Aspen couldn’t take her eyes off the test result. The composition of the material was all wrong. It was part bone, part skin, part something the mass spectrometer thought was an organic based compound similar to steel, which was impossible. Steel was steel, organic was organic. But there it was in black and white.

“I have a man to find and interview. If that doesn’t pan out, I thought I would go out to the last place he went before all of this happened,” she said.

“Interesting. And where is that?” Shirina asked.

Aspen looked up from the lab results. “I’m sorry, Mi ‘lady, that’s classified, at least for the moment. I can’t have Bruno traipsing all over my crime scene like he did at the hotel.”

A shadow of anger crossed Shirina’s face. “You forget yourself, Faramo. You are not in Chicago and I expect you to answer my questions.”

Aspen slipped the lab sheet into her pocket. “No, ma’am, I won’t. I’ve been polite and I’ve let you bully me into coming here. Since my arrival you have tried to drug me, use your abilities on me and push me around. I am not just Raven’s familiar, impressive though that should be. I am the Magi of the House Tempeste.”

Inside, Aspen was terrified. She was standing up to the Mistress of St. Louis, a vampire as powerful as Lady Valentina. If she got it wrong, Raven would be taking her remains home in a shoe box. She inhaled through her nose and stoked the fire of her magik, all the while fighting to keep her fear in check. She could feel her power glowing in her eyes and she smiled at Shirina, who looked as if she’d been slapped. Flame erupted from the candles that lit the room where it rose to the ceiling and swirled into an inferno that circled above their heads.

“I suggest you let me go about my business without further interference,” she said calmly. “I would hate for anyone here to have an accident.”

Shirina watched the flame and took a sip of her claret. “Impressive, Faramo Tempeste, impressive. As you wish, I will leave you to it, then. But I expect to be kept apprised of your progress. Rowan?”

Rowan glanced at the flames with a mixture of fear and jealousy on her face. She then stood and pulled a slim piece of metal from the purse at her waist. She ran a thumb over the engraved front and held it out to Aspen.

“This is my private cell number. When you have news, you may contact me directly.”

Aspen took the card and added it to the others in her pocket. “Of course. Now, if someone will see me out, I have work to do.”

Shirina stood and beckoned to Lydia, who straightened. “Lydia will see you out. I look forward to our next meeting, Faramo Tempeste.”

“Likewise, Lady Blackwood.”

Aspen turned to follow Lydia, feeling relief flood through her. An eldritch flame spell looked far more impressive than it actually was.

“Faramo Tempeste?” Shirina called.

Aspen looked back and Shirina gestured at the still roiling flames. “Would you mind?”

Aspen smiled and waved a hand at the flames, which faded away at her command.

“Most kind,” Shirina said.

Aspen half bowed and continued up the stairs. A few moments later she was securely in the SUV with an unnamed lycan at the wheel.

“Back to the diner?” he asked.

His voice sounded as if it was stuck somewhere, perhaps in his lower intestine.

Aspen shook her head. “No, thank you. Take me to the District.”

The lycan bowed with his head and started the vehicle. Aspen watched him for a moment then sat back in her seat. Part of her was proud she’d stood up to the Mistress. Ordinary lycans and vamps were one thing, a vampire that could hold an entire city in the palm of her hand, that was something else. Master-level vampires tended to be vindictive, power-hungry psychos. Even Lady Valentina, who was one of the less psychotic, would still do anything to hold her city. Which was why the other part of her was terrified of what might come next.

CHAPTER FIVE

District House One, Chicago, IL, 11:30 a.m.

The District One office hadn’t changed much in the time Raven Storm had been assigned there, first as part of the Narcotics Division and later as lead detective in Homicide. It was a brick building that faced the street, with a small courtyard surrounding a flag pole acting as a buffer between cars and foot traffic. Homicide was located on the second floor and consisted of two ‘pods’ surrounding Lieutenant Frost’s office. The arrangement allowed him to keep his eyes on all ten of his detectives with but a turn of his head. He’d explained the arrangement to Raven more than once; he considered it one of his better ideas in the same breath he considered promoting Raven as one of his worst.

Raven sat on her 1940s era desk in the center of the homicide squad room. She’d changed into a clean white tank top that had belonged to Aspen, a blue long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans from the bottom of her desk. From where she sat, she could hear Frost talking to the chief and didn’t envy the conversation. Witnesses had heard Raven’s altercation with the unknown thug and worse, had heard multiple gunshots. It had been all she could do to make sure Thad’s people were involved in the crime scene clean up. If Harvey or Ming got ahold of the remains, there was no telling what sort of hell would break loose.

“So what next?” Levac asked.

He was chewing on a cheeseburger from the new restaurant down the street, a place called Mondo Burger, with every sign of enjoyment.

“You mean after I get my ass chewed by Frost?”

Levac took another bite and spoke around it. “Yeah, I mean technically the Starr case is closed—”

“Except we have no body and no way to give Nina any closure because I can’t explain where it went without exposing the preternatural world to the humans,” Raven groused. “I’m going to ask Thad if we have anyone in storage who is a close enough match. Nina’s family deserves that much.”

Levac swallowed so loud Raven could hear it. “You have people in storage?”

Raven nodded and looked at the threadbare carpet. “We keep a selection of Doe’s on hand in case we need a body in a hurry. Thad prefers other methods to dealing with the deceased, but the cooler is still in operation. If we have a Bailey lookalike he’ll find him and we’ll set up a crime scene.”

“Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, under handed?” Levac asked.

Raven raised her eyes. “It is and I hate doing it, but I’ll be damned if I am going to let Nina Starr’s husband think her killer got away when I know damn well he’s dead.”

Levac tossed his burger wrapper in the general direction of a wastebasket. “I see your point. What do we do until then?”

Raven’s reply was interrupted by Frost’s bellow. “Storm! Get your ass in here!”

“Hold that thought,” she said.

She slipped off the edge of her desk and turned to see Frost standing in the door to his office. Normally he looked like an amiable Dick Van Dyke clone, but today his tie was at half mast, his hair was disheveled, and his face was red. Raven brushed past him and took a seat in one of the chrome and leather chairs that faced his desk. He closed the door and dropped into his own chair. He glared at her and picked up a pair of rubber bands that he began to fidget with.

“What the hell happened in Millennium Park? The truth.”

Raven knew he wasn’t ready for the truth. It had only been a few months since a poppet had been used to blind him to the truth and he hadn’t quite recovered.

“Like I told you, Chris, Thatcher led me into a trap. When I cleared the hedge he had several men waiting. I took cover behind a tree and we had a firefight. You can see the bullet holes in my jacket and pants. You know, the ones you made me give Harvey?”

Frost snapped one of the rubber bands. “Where are the bodies?”

Raven’s face was blank. “What bodies?”

“You know what bodies, Storm!” Frost roared. “It isn’t like you to miss and there was blood at the scene! Where are they?”

Raven stood and leaned on the desk so her face was level with Frost’s. “There are no bodies. I got shot three times and they got away, like I said in my report. I’m sorry the chief doesn’t like that I discharged my weapon in Millennium Park, but it was self-defense. If you’re done shouting, I’d like to go out there and find the bastards before they hurt someone else.”

Frost glared at her another beat then sat back. “Fine. If IA wants anything else, I’m sending them to you.”

Raven blinked. “What does Infernal Repairs want with this?”

“You were shot and discharged your weapon multiple times without any bodies or any eye-witnesses. The only witnesses on scene heard you talking with someone, but no one saw anyone but you leave the scene. What don’t they want with this? You better pray your story holds water,” Frost said.

“Marvelous. Anything else?”

Frost leaned forward again. “Wrap this up, Raven. Make an arrest or bring in a body before IA digs too deep.”

Raven stood. “Will do, Chris.”

“Good. Then get out of here.”

Levac was still waiting in the squad room, a fresh cheeseburger in one hand, his phone in the other. He was talking so excitedly that meat and cheese was flying across his desk.

“What’s up?” Raven asked when he finished.

Levac grinned. “I’ve got a new line on Thatcher. It seems Bailey was staying at an old flop house not far from Old Town. The proprietor says he was sharing one of the common rooms with eight others—”

“Which means one of them might know why he killed Nina Starr and why they are after Aspen. Nice job, Rupe,” Raven said.

Levac scarfed down the last bite of burger. “I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

Raven snatched up her gear. “Probably get to finish my own lunch. That was my burger.”

Levac tossed the wrapper into the trash. “I was hungry!”

Raven laughed and walked toward the stairway door. “You can buy me another one. Come on, let’s go shake some trees.”

Hadley Street, Old St Louis, MO: 11:30 a.m.

The District, as the preternatural zone was known in St. Louis, was set in the heart of what the locals called Old St. Louis. It stretched from Cass Avenue in the south to Palm Street in the north. Though the area formally called Old North St. Louis ended at the edge of I-70, preternatural businesses extended along Branch Street all the way to the river. Some dated back as far as the Civil War and had been constructed by vampires fleeing the aftermath.

The SUV let Aspen off at the end of Hadley Street in front of a wrought-iron fence that extended around the heart of the district. Aspen had never understood the preternatural fascination with cold iron, it only worked against the darkest of Fae, but it made it easy for those who knew what they were looking for to identify preternatural zones all over the country.

She passed beneath an archway that read “Welcome to St. Louis” and walked along Hadley Street past buildings that looked more like they belonged in gothic Prague than a Midwestern city. Grey stone buildings with gargoyles and high-arched windows lined the street mixed in with the orange brick construction of the 1860s. It was less homogenous in construction than Chicago, but no less impressive. Between the buildings and the hint of danger and mystery that clung to the area, it was a vampire groupie’s dream.

Aspen found what she was looking for near the middle of the street. It was a small storefront between a nightclub called Silken Blood and a restaurant with the unlikely moniker Threnody’s Velvet Slice. The gold lettering on the window read, “Nick’s Knacks, Books, Candy and More!”

Aspen pushed the door open and stepped into a gloomy interior that smelled of old paper and candy that was sweet enough to rot your teeth just for looking at the wrapper. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden gloom; as they did, she picked out details such as the long shelves of musty books, the glass case full of arrow heads, shark teeth, and a collection of polished stones, the small humidor in the back corner and the shelf of ‘shrunken heads from darkest Africa’ that were more than likely made in a dingy back alley a few blocks away.

A small man with white hair, a close-cropped beard and a Churchwarden pipe that was almost as long as he was tall stepped from the back room and walked up the ramp behind the counter. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbow, slacks and a leather vest with so many pockets Aspen couldn’t count them all. He set his pipe aside and leaned on the glass.

“Good morning, young lady. What brings you to Nick’s Knacks? Can I offer you a sweet? I have a fresh batch just coming off the rack,” he said.

His words were kind, but the kindness was forced. Gnomes just weren’t nice people. They didn’t see the point in being polite to a race of creatures that lived less than a century.

Aspen smiled and leaned against the counter, putting her face on level with his. “I’m looking for something a little harder to come by.”

“Such as?” the gnome asked.

Aspen used two fingers to push her hair behind her ears. “Faerie dust. Darkwood area, if you have it, but I’ll take whatever you’ve got, I can’t be picky.”

The gnome smiled, and this time it was genuine. Faeries and gnomes had long lived in harmony. “As I live and breathe, a Darkwood Fae! What brings you out of the Faewild?”

“It’s a long story and not something I can share right now. Perhaps another day, over a mug of mead. Do you have the dust? I can pay.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m sorry, girl, I don’t. That stuff is hard to come by and is selling for more than a ha’ pound of gold per ounce. It would cost you an arm and a leg even if I got my hands on some.”

Aspen’s face fell. “That much? That’s crazy!”

Nick shrugged. “They’ve clamped down on the stuff ever since the queen died.”

He spit on the floor and glared at it. “The regent is a bastard, and no mistake.”

“You have no idea,” Aspen said. She shook her head and turned away. “Thank you, anyway.”

Nick hurried around the counter and took her hand. “A moment, faerie. I can tell you are in need, what is the dust for?”

Aspen turned back. “To help with my magik. I am a caster and I might be in a little trouble with the Mistress of the City. I was hoping to hold onto some dust, just in case.”

Nick frowned and turned Aspen to face him. He looked her up and down and made a face Aspen couldn’t read.

“Girl, you have no idea, do you?” he asked.

Aspen was blank. “Idea about what?”

Nick raised his glasses and examined her palm. “What you carry. The blood that courses in your veins. You’re a familiar, are you not? Blood bonded to a vampire?”

“Yes, to a Fürstin. How did you know?” Aspen asked.

Nick straightened his glasses and smiled. “I was reading auras before your granny was born. I know a thing or two about familiars. If you need magik, why not tap into the bond? Faerie dust is perfect for small enchantments, but for raw magikal potential a blood bond is far stronger than a pile of shiny dust.”

“My bond with Raven is magikal? I mean, of course it is magikal, but magik I can use?”

Nick let go of her hands and moved back behind his counter. “Of course. You are fae, you can tap almost any source of magik. The trick isn’t in the if, it is in the how.”

He rubbed his chin and looked at the shelf of musty tomes behind him. “Let’s see, bond magik, bond magik…”

He trailed off and looked back at Aspen. “Did you say Raven? As in ‘Fürstin Raven Storm’?”

Aspen’s brows knit. “Yes, she is my Mistress or whatever you call it. We don’t use terms like that, but close enough. Why?”

Nick turned away again. “Because it explains the power I see in your aura. I haven’t met Raven yet, I only know of her. Her father, on the other hand, is a friend from the Old Country. I’ve known Mace ooooh, a long time. It is his blood that runs through you, along with hers.”

“What does that mean?”

“That isn’t for me to say, Mace plays things close to his chest. When the time is right he will tell Raven what he needs to, and in turn Raven will tell you,” Nick said.

Aspen sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t think Mason Storm is going to tell her much of anything, Nick. He died about fifteen years ago.”

Nick pulled an antique folio off the shelf. “Did he now? Interesting, I hadn’t heard about that.”

He turned and placed the folio on the counter. Aspen read the title and frowned. “William Shakespeare?”

“Indeed,” Nick said. “He was the familiar of the Third Earle of Pembroke, William Herbert. Old William was quite the magi back in the day.”

Aspen made a face and Nick laughed.

“My dear, do you think he could have gotten anyone to read all his plays if he hadn’t had the magik touch? Please, much of his early work is pure rubbish. This is his treatise on blood magik, one of the unique abilities that blood-bonded fae may possess.”

Aspen turned the folio and flipped through the pages. It was old, with pages that smelled of age and mildew, but the ink was as clear as the day it was penned. Much of it was spells written in a sort of shorthand that made them seem like odd sonnets, but there were detailed sections on tapping the power of the blood bond. It looked far more complicated than Fae magik and she said as much to Nick, who put the folio back on the shelf.