Heroes (10 page)

“You’re hyperventilating,” Sterling said. He was smiling quite cheerfully. “Does the idea of a non-Enforcer Nighthawk upset you that much?”

She waved her hand at him, and looked around almost nervously. “Shhh. You shouldn’t talk about that. You shouldn’t admit to it.” Her nerves turned into an angry glare. “In fact, you shouldn’t
be.
Who made you? Why haven’t you—?”

“Long story,” he cut her off. “My story.”

“It isn’t allowed.”

“It’s a free country. I don’t have to go into the family business if I don’t want to.”

“Free—? How can you say we’re free? We have obligations.” Char realized she was sputtering with indignation, and hated the way Geoff Sterling simply stood there and looked at her. “Stop being so condescending.”

“I haven’t said a thing.”

“Your eyes were laughing.”

He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I might,” she threatened.

A flicker of fire in his eyes reminded her they were vampires. “Do you really want to hurt me?” The challenge was there, under the mock hurt in his voice. He took a small step closer to her. “Of course, a bit of mutual hunting might be fun.”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t mean—”

“You did. The Heart of the Hunter is the greatest prize. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Hasn’t the Council decreed that all Nighthawks must serve them? Isn’t it a killing offense not to comply?” He glanced toward Jebel and the rest of the mortals. Whether it was a threat against her friends, or a reminder of the irregularities in her own life, she wasn’t sure. “You going to report me?”

She was glad he didn’t ask if she was going to hunt him. As far as she knew, no Nighthawk had ever killed another Nighthawk. She wasn’t even sure it could be done, and she’d researched everything she could about vampires. A
dhamphir
could do it. Istvan, the Enforcer’s Enforcer, was a
dhamphir.
If she reported Geoff Sterling’s existence to Istvan—

But how could she rat out one of Jimmy Bluecorn’s kids?

“You’re having an ethical dilemma, aren’t you?” He gently took the champagne glass from her hand and set both their glasses on the nearest table.

“How can you tell?” she asked when he turned back to her. “Is smoke coming out of my ears?”

“That was last day,” he said, and took her by the arm.

“When I was on fire.”

“When I saved your life.”

“That was a dream.”

“You didn’t think so at the time.” He moved with her toward the door.

She was aware of Jebel tensing behind her, but she could not take her attention away from Geoff Sterling. She didn’t dare take her attention from him. He was a loose cannon. He had to be up to something. He put on his sunglasses.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

“All right,” she said, and went out with him into the night.

Baker put a hand on Haven’s arm as he started to go after the vampires. “What’s with that guy?” Baker asked. “I couldn’t get near them. I couldn’t hear them. Was he using some kind of vampire force field? Can they do that? Or was it your girlfriend?”

Haven shook off Baker’s hand, but he turned to the other man rather than follow his impulse. “I don’t know,” was his answer to all Baker’s questions.

Had Sterling exerted influence on them? Everyone in the room had psychic ability to one extent or another. Baker and Santini’s gifts were very low level, but they had enough to be exploited by vampires.

“Della and Santini weren’t paying attention to Char and Sterling. And I was being polite,” Haven finally concluded.

“I wasn’t,” Baker answered. He put his big, broad frame in front of Haven. “What’s Char doing with that vampire? Where are they going? Hunting?”

“She doesn’t hunt humans,” Haven reminded Baker. “You know that.”

“Do I? Really? Do you?”

“The girl thinks she’s a superhero, a protector of humanity. Why won’t you get that through your head?”

“My head’s on right, yours never has been. And you’ve gotten worse since you started fucking the dead.”

Haven didn’t answer that crack. He did not want this confrontation, wasn’t going to take any bait. Restraint from him? Who’d have thought it possible? Today he’d found out he needed to protect Char from vampires. He hated the thought of having to protect her from one of the few humans he called friend. There was no question he’d take out Baker if he had to, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think about it.

And where was Char when he was faced with a pair of crises? Off somewhere with another vampire, a Hollywood-handsome, smooth-as-silk, way-too-full-of-himself asshole who had a look in his eye Haven definitely didn’t like.

It was a good thing for everyone involved that vampires didn’t fuck each other. If they did, Haven would let himself be more jealous than concerned about Char going off with the stranger.

“I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t like anything about this trip,” Baker said.

Haven wondered where the vampires were going, and only one place occurred to him. He’d been planning on checking the place out anyway. And Char might need backup if she went in there. Shit! She didn’t know about the vampire plot against the Enforcers.

“You thirsty?” he asked Baker.

Baker still looked pissed off, but he nodded curtly. Making the assumption that Haven was up to something, he abandoned the argument. “Champagne’s never been my drink.”

“Good. Let’s drop the bride and groom off at their hotel, then head for a bar at the Silk Road.”

 
The bar was called the Caravanserai, of course. Three steps and a half-circle of arches and pillars separated it from the casino floor. A fountain played in the middle of the room, the tinkling of water counterpoint to the song of the slot machines not too far away. The Caravanserai was decorated in blue and white tile and Persian rugs, the tables were low, carved, and inlaid, with colorful cushions piled around them rather than chairs. The cocktail waitresses were dressed in short, clinging red silk costumes, with silver belts and anklets that jingled when they moved.

At this time of night the bartenders on duty were usually a pair of vampires, but Ben noticed that mortals had taken the late shift tonight. Martina’s nest was slacking off. Ben didn’t really mind, as he didn’t want to be around any of her crew. Maybe he’d complain to Ibis about it. Or maybe he’d let it go, since this might not be a good time to have the ancient vampire’s attention on him.

He sat with his back to the wall and a clear view of the entrance and took a good look around the place, all out of long habit. There were a few empty tables, but business was all right. No one had noticed him enter, and the mortal tourists paid him no mind as he sat nursing a drink made of Kahlúa and strong coffee. There was a certain amount of psychic energy in the room, normal, low-level stuff. Any crowd had a few with the gift, but Ben felt no indication that anyone in the place had ever tasted a drop of vampire blood.

No spies, he decided. No one watching. He didn’t expect any, but he’d found in his mortal life that paranoia was a good trait to cultivate. He liked to keep his business private.

He placed several objects on the shining tiles of the table, and waited. It wasn’t long before he felt Reese approaching. Keeping his gaze on the large red stone, Ben allowed anticipation to build as the fireball of magical energy grew closer. He didn’t look up until Morgan Reese was at the entrance.

Though he was nearly blinded by the glow of psychic power, Ben didn’t see Reese immediately. A pair of men entered the bar first, one black, one white, both large, blocking the sight of the smaller man. Reese was only a step behind, and when the two men moved aside to find a table for themselves, they seemed to take some of the energy with them. Ben frowned at this, but quickly forgot the mortals, concentrating on Reese as the magician came up to the table.

He gestured for Reese to have a seat.

Reese gave Ben a moment of stubborn resistance, then settled down on a cushion. “This place is stupid,” Reese announced. “If you’re going to keep forcing me to meet you, pick some place with chairs next time.”

“Fair enough.” Ben waved over a waitress, and waited for Reese to order before he pushed what he’d brought toward the magician. There was the faceted red stone the size of an egg, a gold chalice etched with strange symbols, and a blue three-ring binder. “Presents.”

Reese gave a sneering glance at the stone and the cup. “I can get these in the gift shop.”

Ben smiled. “Touch them, then tell me you can.”

Reese put a hand out, and a pulse of energy spread out in a hot wave from the ruby even before he touched it. Reese pulled his hand back.

Nearby, someone said, “Holy fucking shit!”

Ben chuckled, agreeing with the assessment of the unfortunate tourist who had enough talent to feel the power surge. “Real magic,” he whispered to Reese, leaning closer to the magician. “Real artifacts. Real tools.”

Shock, pleasure, greed all washed through Reese. He looked at Ben with shining eyes. “Implements for performing ritual magic. From the museum.” Ben nodded. “For me. You’re giving them to me.”

There was no surprise in his tone, and very little gratitude. Morgan Reese believed that he deserved everything, and Ben agreed with him. He would give Reese everything, because Reese belonged to him.

“Power is for taking,” Ben told Reese. “For using.”

Reese nodded, then he finally looked at the binder. “What’s in the book?”

Chapter 9

“WHERE ARE WE going?”

Geoff Sterling answered her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”

“The Silk Road, of course. But . . .” Char looked around nervously.

She half expected the Enforcer of the City to step out of the shadows and demand to know what they were doing here. Overhead the stars didn’t have a chance of showing against all the light thrown up by the city. But a nearly full moon was out, shining down on the tower of the nearby Stratosphere. Heavy traffic moved in the street, though the sidewalk where they stood was relatively empty. Wedding chapels lined the street, lights and music and joy spilling out from many of them.

“Romantic place,” Sterling said. “Let’s get out of here. Why the Silk Road?” he asked as they began to walk.

Char wished she wasn’t wearing high-heeled shoes. Not that they hurt the tough skin of her feet—vampires didn’t get blisters—but she wasn’t used to walking in anything that tilted her legs and hips at such an awkward angle. It’d been a while since she’d done the girly girl thing. Jimmy Bluecorn liked her in spiked heels and short skirts, back in the ’80s when they went to a lot of Heavy Metal concerts. She missed the ’80s, but not the shoes.

“Why the Silk Road?” she replied to Sterling’s question. “To check out the casino, of course.”

Sterling took her hand in his as they walked, and for some reason, Char let him. “You don’t seem the gambling type.”

“To check out my investment, then.”

“You too, huh?”

“Well, no, actually.” She was, she knew, an inveterate truth teller. “I heard about the investment opportunity, but—”

“You don’t earn much on an Enforcer’s salary,” Sterling finished for her.

“If you were an Enforcer,” she informed him, “you would know that one does not actually get paid for serving and protecting the community.”

“Except in fresh corpses.”

Char looked around, though she didn’t really expect them to be overheard. “Yeah.”

“Go on,” he urged. “Tell me more about the Silk Road. Is that where you were trying to get last day?” he added. “Or were you just trying to fly into the sun?”

“Speaking of the sun,” she asked, “why are you wearing shades right now?”

“I’m from L.A.,” he answered. “Even worse, I’m from Hollywood.”

“That’s where you went, after you left Seattle?”

“Where’d you go?” he countered. “After you left Seattle?”

He hadn’t answered her question about the sunglasses, but she answered him. “Portland first. Now I live in Arizona.”

“And you’re in Las Vegas for the wedding. Only for the wedding?”

“And you’re in Las Vegas for what? The film exhibitors’ convention?” she said. “I remember hearing about that. Are you really in the movies?”

“Production,” he said. “My partner and I have done a couple of projects. You see
If Truth Be Told
? That’s one of ours.”

“I’ve seen it.” She hated to admit it, but like most vampires, she loved vampire movies. They were the ultimate guilty pleasure. It was rather delicious to think that a vampire had produced a vampire film. “It was a terrible movie,” she added.

“I know. Straight to video. It would have been great if Selim had let us use the original script. But no, he had to protect his ass.”

“You know Selim? The Enforcer of Los Angeles? Selim knows there’s a rogue Nighthawk in his city?”

Her shock made him laugh. “Girl, you are so cute.”

She suspected that by cute, he meant naïve. Fine. He could believe that if he wanted to. To pull her hand away from his would have been petulant.

“Selim takes good care of his city,” Sterling assured her. “If it makes you feel any better about me, I’ll admit that I did help him thin an overpopulation of strigs a while back. He knows all I want is to be left alone.”

Okay, she’d buy Sterling’s explanations for now, and check with Selim when she got back home. Sterling still had no business being an undeclared Nighthawk. She was very far from knowing what she should do about it. She wasn’t exactly the most action-oriented queen of the night.

“I do research,” she said. “That’s the real reason I want to go to the Silk Road.”

“Going to waltz in and ask to look in the vault?”

“Of course not!” She gave him a hard look. “You know about the vault? You’re interested in the old knowledge?”