Downside Rain: Downside book one (5 page)

Black
blood sizzles on tile, eating in, pitting the smooth surface. What does it take
to bring this thing down?

I
lose flesh and scramble behind the kitchen island. Castle is solid again over
in the west corner, but the demon stands between him and his sword. I look around,
desperate for something I can use.

Knives
stick in a wooden block; clean, high-quality steel. Yelling something wordless,
I snatch up a filleting knife, flip it and rise up behind the island.

Risking
sliced fingers from the keen blade, I throw overhand. The steel punctures the
demon’s right eye.

Screeching,
it tugs the blade free. Mucus dribbles like discolored egg white from its eye
socket.

Castle
is behind the monster and he has his sword. With a roar, he chops at the
demon’s nape.

Keening,
the demon flails at its neck with both hands. It revolves and goes after
Castle. Who disappears.

Threshing
at air, the beast advances to where Castle had been as I realize . . .
Gods
dammit, I’m in a kitchen!
I rip open cabinet doors till I find the pantry. Raking
at the shelves, cans and packages hit the floor until I pull out a large white paper
package and tear off the top.

“Yo!
Big fellah!” I come from behind the counter with the bag in both hands.

It
faces me unhurriedly, head hanging, hands relaxed at its sides. I sense
amusement in its posture. Its voice is deep and guttural and grates inside my
head like sliding shale. “Little one.”

“
Little
?
Now you’ve
really
pissed me off.” I throw the bag; it bursts on the hellion’s
chest and salt sprays everywhere.

The
hellion roars again and shakes fists in the air as its body disintegrates,
becomes fissured gray matter, then dust which sifts to smoke and disperses.

Hellions
don’t die in the mortal realm, the atrocity has just gone back to where it came
from.

I
reach for the counter, miss, and smack on my butt. Panting, Castle falls to his
knees and lets his head hang.

We
inspect the wall before leaving. I don’t remember any sigils on it beforehand;
if there were any, they were obliterated. Only a wall with a hole blown through
it. No indication it was used as a portal to bring a hellion through.

The
lines of Castle’s mouth tighten and a muscle jumps in his jaw. He rubs his
forehead. “I’ll make an anonymous call when I get home.”

I
nod agreement.
Yes, let’s be long gone when the police turn up.

I
wouldn’t want to be the officer in charge of this case. The damage in the house
obviously resulted from one hell of a fight. The acid-pitted floor, ruined wall
and lingering taint of sulfur in the living space will point to a demonic
visitation. Then there is Tebbler. The man died in his bedroom surrounded by
the paraphernalia of a dark summoning.

We
don’t want our names linked to a sacrificial murder so make sure nothing which
could identify us dropped out of our pockets. Fingerprints are no problem, we
don’t have them. Hopefully, with how the rain is coming down, the neighbors are
snug inside with their drapes pulled and saw nothing. We have to keep our
fingers crossed nobody remembers Castle’s old car parked outside.

I’m
queasy now. Whoever sent the hellion knew Castle and I wouldn’t run and risk it
getting loose in the community. We were targets, meant to die.

My
feet splosh through puddles. “It was a setup.”

“Feels
like it.” With rain so heavy it blocks out the sky and the far side of the
street, Castle’s attempt to shake water off his hair is futile. “Tebbler was killed
soon after he called us.”

“Was
he part of it?”

“Dunno.
If he was, they double-crossed him
big
time. He might have made the call
under duress, or they made him think he had sprites and put our names in his
head. The summoning was complicated. They called the hellion and bound it until
our arrival triggered the release.”

“Only
a powerful sorcerer can do that.”

We
reach the car and Castle tosses his sword through the doorless side.

“Have
we pissed off any sorcerers lately?” I wrench open the front passenger door and
scoot in. My skin is wet beneath sopping clothes, my feet squelch in my boots.

“Not
that I know of.” Castle gets the motor running and pulls from the curb. He drives
hunched over, trying to peer through the smears made by the ineffective wipers.

The
drive is silent. Castle’s mind must be humming as much as mine, but neither of
us comes up with a theory, a reason someone sicced a hellion on us.

~*~

Alain
Sauvageau pushes a lock of unruly sable-brown hair off his face as he writes an
entry in the ledger. He lowers the lid on the cash box, locks it and leans back
in the padded office chair. A computer would be nice, and a cell-phone. And a
television bigger than a matchbox. HD television and a satellite dish.

Not
that he’s complaining about life Downside, but he’ll leave in the blink of an
eye should his Lord call him home. Less than a blink. But it won’t happen,
redemption is a fantasy. He shrugs. His life is comfortable. He could have
tried to end himself when he was cast out, or hidden. Like that poor sotted
thing in the tower, he could have tried to atone by abusing his body. Instead, over
the ages he adopted personas in many lands until he came Downside, where he learned
the secret of true unity with a mortal form and made a life for himself.

He
may well remain here forever. He has his small empire and his companions. The
vampires are more than loyal employees, they are friends and their
near-immortality means they won’t leave him for a very long time. This means a
great deal because he has had enough of starting over.

He
rises to take the cashbox to his wall safe and lock it inside. Returning to the
desk, he lounges in the chair again and his moss-green eyes dip to the ledger.
He ponders for a moment, then dials the rotary phone. Someone picks up after
two rings.

“Tybalt
here, Alain.”

“Tybalt,
send someone to have a word with Glorius Welks. His floor manager is still
abusing employees.”

“We
had a
word
with him last month.”

“Have
another. Reiterate that when workers cannot perform their duties capably it
ultimately results in lost production, which I find upsetting. Remind him he
was advised to dismiss Bluta, and as he cannot run his business efficiently,
this once I will do it for him and he will pay me for the privilege. I think
five-thousand drach is reasonable. Take Bluta outside the city limits, talk to
him about relocating, and break something. Not his legs, he will need those.”

“Right
you are. Consider it done.”

Alain
smiles, though it does not reach his eyes, as he settles the phone in the
cradle.

Carelessness,
minor accidents, plus workers calling in sick; all result in a drop in
production and most of the incidents are in the finishing department. Ninety
percent of the finishers are women with slim agile fingers for delicate detail
work. He did investigate but every occurrence appears to be legitimate. No one will
speak up, they fear losing their jobs. Intimidated employees make mistakes
which eat into his profits.

The
information from Rain is worth the money he paid. She deserved the bonus and he
enjoyed handing it to her personally.

His
smile morphs into something kinder. Ah, Rain. He shouldn’t have given in to the
impulse to discomfit her. He wants her to take him seriously. But her
expression was priceless! Alain chuckles.

He
has had many women in his long life. Some touched him deeply, but they
eventually left him. Most could be clones, all beautiful and desirable, they
melt at his touch. But they try too hard. As though his nature overwhelms
theirs, they are too pliant, too willing to do anything for him. They have
little personality.

Rain
is fiery, willful and intractable, although her stubbornness
doesn’t
work in his favor. She can be abrupt, impatient, rude and crude; hard as steel
one moment, compassionate the next. Rain is real, and exquisite to boot. She is
delectable.

She
has captivated him since day one. Over time, fascination became something
stronger which sank claws into his heart. He doesn’t think he has ever felt
quite like this.

A
sharp rap on the door and Clide crashes into the office before Alain can bid
him enter. “We have a problem, boss. The Greché came to Gettaholt and took
Verity Upside.”

The
Greché have as much right to be Downside as Alain’s Peralta vampires and his
secretary Verity is free to go where she wishes, although he cannot imagine why
she would want anything to do with the Upside vampire family. “Took? Perhaps
you’d better take a breath and explain.”

It’s
a joke, because vampires seldom breathe, but Clide is in no mood to laugh. He
paces back and forth in front of the desk. “Gervaise Greché and a buddy came
Downside last night and went partying. They were seen leaving The Medallion
with Verity. A couple of people said she looked loopy but the bartender told me
she didn’t drink much. They took her Upside.”

“Against
her will? You’re sure?”

“I
know it. They carried her through The Station, and the Station Master went with
them.”

Alain’s
nerves hum like swarming bees. The Station Master should have at the minimum
questioned why a Downside citizen was carted, unconscious, Upside. The man must
work for the Greché.

“How
do you know this?”

“We
got lucky. A guard took a bathroom break and came out as the Greché entered The
Station. Verity was unconscious, bound, and over Gervaise’s shoulder, yet he greeted
the Station Master like an old comrade and all three looked pretty happy. So the
guard ducked back in the bathroom.”

“He
didn’t try to stop them,” Alain states.

“We
should give the guy a break. He doesn’t know what’s going on and the man is his
boss. He puts his foot in it, he’s out of a job. He figures out something
underhand is going down when the Station Master heads Upside with the Greché,
but by then it’s too late. He doesn’t have the key to open the doors and go
after them, the Station Master took it with him.”

“They
would have killed him anyway.”

Clide
spins back to the desk, plants his big hands on the edge and leans over. “They
were talking about a wedding.”

Alain’s
muscles lock and his chair catapults him into the edge of the desk. “No.” Heat
boils through his body as anger he has not experienced for a long time consumes
him. Hands bunched, he forces down the rage with effort. He needs a cool head. Verity
will be lost to them should they not take immediate action.

“How long do we have?”

“No more than a week,
and that because the Greché will call in their people and make it a formal
affair. You know how they are with ceremony.”

“Put a team together.”

Clide’s head shakes
briskly. “Won’t work. They’ll plan a huge shindig which calls for using one of
their houses for all the guests. We approach the wrong one, they’re warned.
They’ll zip her to another location.”

Alain holds up one
hand, palm out. “Give me a moment.”

Clide bobs upright and
flings his long body into the chair which faces Alain’s desk.

Alain props his chin on
his hand, eyes slitted as he deliberates. It comes to him. He drops his hands.
“Tell me, what if we know where Verity is being held beforehand?”

“No way we can.”

Alain smiles again,
unpleasantly. “Call Rain and request her presence.”

Clide’s
eyebrows pop up. “Rain?”

“The
difficulty lies in not knowing where Verity is and our inability to search
their houses without their knowledge.”

Clide
grins. “But a wraith can.” He shoots upright. “I’m on it.”

~*~

Castle
drops me off outside my place. I get out of the car and lean in the window. “Can
I bring my laundry tonight?”

His
eyes flick up. “Take it to the cleaners, the self-service machines are free.”

“But
I hate sitting there for hours.”

He
faintly shakes his head as though vexed. “Bring your own detergent.”

I
don’t fancy the pastries anymore so toss the bag in a public bin on the street,
shuffle upstairs, unlock the door, go inside and am about to flop in the chair
when I remember I’m soggy.

The
phone rings as I head for the bathroom. I pause long enough for the machine to
pick up.

Clide’s
voice lacks its habitual drawl. “Rain, I hope you’re there listening to this.
You’re needed fast as you can, or as they say Upside,
stat!”

Like
hells
! Ten minutes later, after a hot shower, I dress in
the remaining clean T-shirt and jeans and head down to Angelina’s place.

Six
apartments occupy each floor of my building, except the ground floor which my
landlord Angelina has in its entirety. Angelina is very old and has been Downside
a long time. She refuses to say
how
long because it would indicate her
age and Angelina says a lady never divulges her age.

She
owns more than a dozen enterprises and could live in a mansion; perhaps she is
too lazy to move. Angelina knows many people of consequence and is privy to
information kept from the majority of Downsiders, and of more interest to me,
has an inner sense which detects disruptions in Downside’s magical balance.

I
buzz the intercom. Angelina replies immediately. “Yes?”

“Angie,
it’s me.”

“Come
in, Rain. I’m in the tub.”

The
door opens with the hiss of hydraulics. Angelina made some amazing
modifications to this floor to create a fortress and her personal little den of
iniquity. Half the floor is her living area of pale, barely there blues and
aqua greens accented with delicate rose and vibrant coral. Gigantic turquoise
fern burst from terracotta pots on the tiled floor. An archway in her reception
room leads to a small, comfortable living room and doors from there to kitchen
and bedroom. Splashing sounds come from another arched entrance on my right.

The
other half of Angelina’s space is designed for recreation and to accommodate
her special needs. Her
“tub”
is a glass tank the size of a public swimming
pool. Small round drains riddle the cool tiled floor. Angelina floats in water
made slightly murky by bath salts which infuse the air with the scent of
anemone and ginger. Her long, bright, gleaming copper hair cobwebs on the
surface. Overhead lamps like giant pearls bathe her iridescent scales as her
tail arches gracefully from the water.

She
lifts a milk-white arm and says languidly, “Rain, how nice of you to call.” Her
pale skin is flawless. Thick copper lashes dip over huge almond-shaped eyes the
color of a deep Upside ocean when sunlight first bursts on it. “
Entre,
my dear. Make yourself comfortable.”

I
need information, else I would not be here. I avoid Angie as much as possible.
She’s one of the most dangerous type of Mer: a Siren. Male, female, Angelina doesn’t
care. If she gets you into bed, you eventually leave it as a shadow of
yourself, both physically and emotionally sapped.

I
perch on a white leather stool. “How are things, Angie?”

“Fabulous,
darling.” She rolls in the water, under, over and up. “You look somewhat
tense.”

“I
do?”

A
flurry in the water and a male head and shoulders emerge. He thrashes his long dark-green
hair, scattering beads of water, and smiles at me.

“I
didn’t know you have company. I can come back later.”

Angelina
waves a slender hand. “Nonsense.” She glides through the water and puts her arm
along the guy’s shoulders. “Rain, meet Micah. Micah, meet Rain.”

I
know of Big Micah. He leads the Wain pod down in Belladonna. He doesn’t look
big to me, tall and slender, with marvelous hollowed cheeks and dark skin with
a barely perceptible green tinge, but I imagined a bulkier guy. “No really,
I’ll come back when you’re not . . . busy.”

Angelina
swims a few strokes from Micah. “Rain, you are so prissy.”

I
almost miss the glint in her eyes, but not her tail rising from the water.

“Angie,
don’t you dare!

I
dive off the stool as Angelina’s tail slaps down and water geysers everywhere.
On my belly on the tiles, drenched, watching water trickle over the floor and
down the drains, Angelina’s laughter tinkles in my ears.

I
can remain wet or fade out. But I’ll come back naked, which will delight Angie
and give Micah an eyeful, so I sit up and try to squeeze water from my hair. My
clothes cling like a second skin.

Still
chortling, Angelina glides to the side of the tank, grasps the top rail and
hoists up using the power of her arms alone. Although not a shifter, as in the
family of shapeshifters, Angelina and her people do change their physicality,
part lamnidae when in water but totally human on land. Instead of a tail, two slender
shapely legs support a sensual body. As she stands on the steps, water dribbling
off her trickles in thin rivulets from the top of her head down to her toes. She
is dry by the time her delicate high-arched feet step to the tiles.

As
rain is often my companion and I’m therefore frequently wet, I envy how water
evaporates from a mer’s skin when they are on dry land.

Angelina
walks down the three shallow steps as Micah surges from the water and hauls
himself out. Grinning at me, he steps over the pool’s rim and postures on the
top step.