Moon Child (3 page)
Ash screamed a few words of frustration in Greek, lunging for Genoveva again after having been thrown off. The vampire smiled, showing an impressive set of fangs. She didn’t even have to lift a hand to stop Ash and they both knew it. This time when the earth trembled, it was at Genoveva’s behest and it was phenomenal.
Stone chunks the size of kittens rained down all around them. Ash cried out for Tristan, frightened for him, but she knew it was futile. That last bit of stone he took to the head had knocked him out. She could still feel his life, hear his heartbeat and breath, but he was out cold. It was up to her now to make sure they both left the place alive. But as she looked into the face of her friend and foe, as the earth shook beneath them, as the power of her elder overwhelmed her, weighed down on her soul, crushed her physical being to bring her to her knees, she knew that it was a feat she would fail at again.
Ash shut her eyes and let the pain of defeat take her as she whispered, “All I ask is that you leave him alone, that no harm comes to that man.”
“You would give up everything to save this human?”
Ash opened her eyes again and gave Tristan a longing glancing, hoping that it wasn’t the last time she saw him. And even if she did parish at the hand of the mad vampire, he would at least live on to do his work—something she’d been reluctant to admit was very much necessary.
“Yes.”
The other vampire narrowed her eyes at Ash. She was trying desperately to probe the younger Master’s mind and failed despite their strong blood tie and Ash’s weakened state. The trouble with Ash, Genoveva had come to realize, that when someone was trained as vigorously to abstain such as she was, they learned to use their gifts to the their best advantage in such a low state of being. That said, Genoveva was sure the day they went head-to-head on equal terms might actually mean the younger—
weaker
Master Earth vampire would defeat her with an awe of skill.
Genoveva stood over Ash where she knelt and smiled darkly, thinking this day was not that day. Or ever. “And why do you think I will agree to this?”
“Because you only want me.” Ash was shaking now, but she refused to let the fear shut her down.
“You love that human.”
“I do. But he has nothing to do with this. Even if you use him to try and hurt me, it would matter for naught. You know how I am.” Ash held her breath, hoping that she was blocking her mind as strongly as she thought she was. She couldn’t afford Genoveva in her head. She couldn’t afford Genoveva to discover what Tristan really was.
The elder’s mouth curled into a disgusting grin. “Done,” she barked out in angry Arabic.
The world fell silent, the gasp before the scream and Ash shut her eyes, giving herself over to the only person who’d ever scared her more than Malik.
HE knew exactly how Wile E. Coyote felt whenever he took an anvil to the head. Tristan groaned, rolling over to his side. Then stopped. His left wrist throbbed and felt heavy. He managed to crack open an eye and bristled at the plaster cast. He bolted upright, looking around. The room was drowned with natural light. It was the middle of the day according to the clock—the clock he recognized in the room he and Ash shared in Karavostasi.
How did he get back to the hotel? Did Ash drag him back after he took that brick to the head?
“Of course she did,” he muttered to himself and turned his head to the side. His gun was lying on the pillow next to him and was only slightly harder to check the clip one-handed.
The door to his room was shut but it did little to block out all the noise from the other side. Music and voices—no, just one very dominant female voice singing out of key. It definitely wasn’t Ash. When he sat up he realized he’d been stripped down to his boxers and that they were damp. So was his hair.
“The hell?”
Moving slow as to not upset the bees of wrath inside his head, he shuffled out of bed. That’s when he noticed his feet. Both were wrapped in soft white gauze with some sort of weird design stamped into a bit of wax on top, like letter seals. Yeah, his feet fucking hurt too.
On the way to the door, he scowled at his dress shoes, resting in a puddle of water. “I’m going to burn you fuckers when I get back.”
They just sat there like loafs.
Tristan used the gun to push open the door and peeked out. There were two people, one was a girl dancing like she was on Speed at a rave. She was short and petite, almost smaller than Yukihime. Her thick auburn hair was wet and swung out from her head in her manic dance as if she were trying to air dry it—helicopter style.
The man watching her was dressed like something out of a high fantasy film, all golds and red, fancy embroidery, heavy brass hardware and sturdy leather. The only part of his outfit out of place was the sunglasses and hoodie—that was made of leather at least. His brand of skinny bordered on the anorexic side, but he seemed healthy enough and with a hand on a very nice looking sword hilt, Tristan hoped he was as frail as he looked.
Neither noticed Tristan as he slowly stepped out of the bedroom and into the main space. The tall one had his back to the door and the other was too busy dancercising the wet away. Finally, the girl made a rotation that put her face to face with Tristan, and his gun. Instead of balking, she put on a great big smile and waved emphatically before spinning again in her frenzied dance circle. The man turned and gave Tristan a hard stare. The hand tensing on the elaborate sword at his side didn’t go past Tristan’s notice.
“Who the fuck are you?” he called out over the bad ‘80’s music crackling from the room’s small radio. “Where’s Ash?”
The man went over and turned off the music, eliciting a huff and a pout. The woman stopped mid dance, panting and skin slightly damp. She swiped hands over her face, pushing back her tangle of messy hair. “Hello!” she said enthusiastically as if they were old friends.
When she moved forward to shake his hand, or a hug—he couldn’t tell which—Tristan lifted the gun to her head. This close he knew immediately
what
she was even if he didn’t know
who
. Granted, she wasn’t a threat, but he liked his space. Especially since she was obviously the one who patched him up with her magic, or whatever.
She stopped, still smiling. “Oh dear, don’t tell me you don’t know who I am?”
“Don’t really give a shit...”
Pythia
.
Tristan flicked a glance at the man, unmoving where he stood by the table. That hand still on the grip, glint of silver showing between the scabbard and hilt now.
She frowned though it didn’t fill her eyes. “That’s odd, I thought—” She waved her hands around in the air in front of her face as if swatting away bugs. “I’m Chrysanthe and this is my cohort, Silas.”
Tristan eyed the woman a moment and then said, “I know what you are, but not that one.” He nodded towards the man.
She flinched, looking a little surprised. “Oh, Silas? Just an elf.”
The elf in question grunted at his companion and Tristan spun to face the man.
No shit, a real elf. And he was nothing like the faerie. Ridiculously tall, sickly skinny, some shade of pink hair hidden under a cowl, a scattering of red freckles across his nose over dark, dusky brown skin. Nothing like the fae at all.
“Where’s Ash?” Did he have to ask it again?
“Ash? Oh dear, Asta then? Asta Moriakos?”
Moriakos
? Was that her last name? “Yeah… You’re not with that fucking freak of a vampire are you?” Just who was Genoveva?
Tristan had a lot of work ahead of him if he was going to find Ash alive by nightfall.
“Heavens no,” she replied and then turned. “Silas, love, would you?”
The elf gave Tristan a warning glance before turning away to go to the kitchenette-bar.
“Asta’s fine.” As fine as she could guarantee anyway. She could only count on Genoveva’s insanity rather than her word. “I don’t believe Genoveva—Vasco or whatever it is she/he calls themselves this century, will harm her. Not quickly anyway. I like to call them Genovasco, less confusion.”
More, actually
, Tristan thought. “‘Scuse me?” That monster, she took Ash?
Damn
.
The elf came up to him, glass held out in offering. He didn’t need to smell the alcohol to know what it was. Damn he wanted to take that glass from the guy… who was taller than him. Christ, the guy was nearly seven feet tall, maybe over. And he smelled like musk. Tristan curled his nose in disgust, ignoring the elf, but focusing his aim on the guy.
“Genovasco is an interesting creature.” Chrysanthe sat on the sofa. “Born as a hermaphrodite, the poor soul has the external genitalia of both sexes and perhaps even some internal parts as well. It was a sad fate that if he weren’t born royalty, would have meant immediate death back in his time. As it was, he lived well into his late teens and even hit the ripe age of twenty before Innokentiy sought to “fix” the poor sod.” She sighed and looked over to her shoulder to smile brightly up at him. “The MPD didn’t help the situation for either of them at all.”
“MPD… what, like multiple personality?” he asked, eyeing Silas again who was still trying to offer him that damn drink. Tristan sighed and motioned towards the end table next to the sofa with his gun. Silas didn’t even bat an eye behind his dark glasses and placed the drink down.
“Exactly right—sit.”
Tristan refused to sit. “Okay, and why are you so sure this Genovasco won’t kill Ash?” He shouldn’t have been dicking around here with these two like this. Daylight gave him a precious advantage to finding them. Not that he had any idea of where to start, save Ash’s old home.
“She goes by Ash now, then, does she? I like it.” She looked up to the ceiling. “Genoveva is unstable, mad and ruthless. But Vasco loves Asta—sorry, Ash, and will do anything to see her safe. Genoveva is the stronger personality but Vasco will fight to the death for those he loves.” She rotated on the sofa to face Tristan head on. “And that brings us to you.”
“What about me?”
“Oh dear,” Chrysanthe sighed. “You are the key.”
“To…?”
“To helping one another, of course.”
Tristan stared at the pair for a moment and let out a little laugh, lowering his gun. “It always starts like a bad joke, doesn’t it?”
“Uh…?”
“A pythia, an elf and an Uruwashi mutt walk into a bar…” It was once “a human, a jikininki and a vampire walk into a club…”
The elf raised a sculpted fuchsia colored eyebrow from his place standing sentinel at the far end of the sofa.
“Oh dear, Uruwashi mutt?” Chrysanthe asked. “A
mutt
, really?”
Tristan’s jaw flexed but he said nothing. Already said too much.
“No no, dear, not a mutt. A great—” She stopped, tilted her head. “You really don’t know what you are, do you?”
“Do you?”
She stared at him a moment, deep frown pulling all of her round features downward. “Please, come sit with me. I may be used to great towering men to look up at but it doesn’t make it any less of a pain in the neck.”
Tristan shot Silas a look but the elf didn’t respond. Keeping an eye on the man, Tristan inched around to the sofa. His feet hurt and moving any faster just wasn’t going to happen. He frowned at his wrist as he sat as far away from the couple as he could.
“Oh dear,” the pythia said. “Does it still hurt? I can give you another potion to help with that—”
“No thanks,” he said a little too quickly. He’d rather deal with the pain than the up and down rollercoaster that the pythia pain potions offered.
She frowned, but nodded, accepting his decision. “Silas set your wrist and I did my own magic on it. Should be good to use in a few hours. Just don’t overexert yourself with it.” She made a rather lewd gesture with her hand that made Silas blush, clearing his throat as he shifted uncomfortably.
“Hours?”
She smiled big. “Pythia magic is strong.” She got this semi-serious look on her face and put on a deep voice, “The force is strong with this one… teehee.”
He just blinked at her. Silas sighed, shaking his head, but there was a tiny smile in that dismay.
“Er, right then.” She dug in the folds of cloth that made up her skirt and withdrew a fold of paper. “I need you to help me find someone. Oh yes and this was left for you while you were sleeping—don’t worry I didn’t read it.” She held out both hands, the folded paper in one, an envelope with the hotel’s name printed on the front of the other.
Tristan looked at the paper held between her fingers and then snatched the envelope away. She huffed, dropping her hand into her lap again as he opened the note. “I’m not a P.I.,” he muttered as he unfolded it and then groaned to himself. Apparently Yuki had finally caught up with him, had something she needed help with, probably another bullshit hunt. He rolled his eyes and ripped the note in half to toss over his shoulder. Fuck Yuki and her “help”. Speaking of fucking off… “Find someone else.”
“Oh dear, there is no one else. You may be fresh to the job, but you are a hunter.”
He frowned at her, eyes flicking to the drink whispering at him to have a taste and then back to her again. “What do you know about me?”
“As much as Lilith has shared.”
This perked him right up, made him forget that damned drink taunting him for a moment. “You know Lilith?”
“Of course. All pythia know each other. Doesn’t mean we have to like one another…” Silas went to her and put a hand on her shoulder, having to lean down to do so. “Please, I need to find this man.” She waved the paper at Tristan again.
He sighed and took it, opened it. “Uh… not exactly a Rembrandt, is it?” It looked like a child drew it. It was in red colored pencil.
“I’m an artist with plants, not pens and paper. Silas helped.”
The elf made another uncomfortable noise before sitting on the sofa, placing himself between the other two.
“Who is he?” The crude drawing had the basics but lacked the finesse of a professional forensic sketch artist. The eyes and lips said Asian, but other than that, it was just a flat face with no character. How could anyone ID from something like this?
“Don’t rightly know.”
He huffed. “Name?”
“No clue.”
“The hell?” He threw the paper aside and picked up the glass without thinking. “How the fuck am I supposed to find someone that you know nothing about?”
“I found you.”
“Yeah, but you just said you knew me.” He took a drink, eyes shutting for a moment to savor the warm burn slithering down his throat. Holy. Christ. That’s some good shit right there. His eyes popped open when he heard movement and found Silas had moved back to the bar.
“
Of
you.” She smiled big. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Uh…” He blinked at her. She’d found him, saved him, fixed him up and brought him back to his room and didn’t even know his name. Then again, she had a big helping hand in the “finding” part.
“I could of course just call you Uruwashi but I find that so impersonal, like calling someone by their last name.”
The last thing he needed was someone else calling him by his last name—like his landlady back in Japan. It was always Broom-san this and Broom-san that. No matter how hard she tried the poor woman couldn’t pronounce the “L” clearly enough to get out a smooth “bloom”.
“Tristan Blum.”
“Very nice to have finally met you, Tristan Blum, the last of the Uruwashi.”
Christ, she really did know a lot
of
him. “Why do you want this guy?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Excuse me?”