Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6) (7 page)

“I understand. How is Mason? Is he ready to apologize, yet?”

“Dad is fine, he’s in a healing coma. Can we skip the pleasantries? We have a case to work,” Sable said.

Marie set three cups of tea on the counter. “No, we cannot. I have not seen Rupert in some time and I would like to catch up. You will be patient, child.”

“The next person who says that is going to get shot in the face,” Sable growled.

Levac picked up his tea and sipped the aromatic brew. “How are things with the store?”

“Decent, business is slow this time of year, but will pick up after the holiday,” Marie said.

She offered Sable a cup of tea. “And you, Sable Branwen?”

Sable ignored the tea. “I’m bored and I wish my sister would stop being a wimp so I can go back to hunting. Happy?”

Marie set the tea back down. “Still an impatient child. Your sister is not a wimp, Sable Branwen. She has faced alone those things you take an entire team to confront. You were not there when Mason died. I was. I saw the pain she went through—”

“I felt it,” Sable grated.

Levac felt his eyes widen. “You what?”

Sable looked at him. “I felt her pain when Dad died. That’s how I found out I had a sister. Dad came to me about a month later and officially spilled the beans, but I already knew. My sister has been a wimp her whole life.”

Levac sighed. “I’m sorry you had to experience that, but I also remember her beating you in a fair fight.”

“She got lucky. Can we finish this up? We have a case to work.”

Marie set her cup down. “You will listen to me, child. I do not know you well, but I know your sister as if she were my very own. Her emotions and compassion do not make her weak, they make her who she is. Perhaps you should spend more time finding yours instead of attacking hers.”

Sable folded her arms. “Are you going to help us or spend the day defending my sister?”

Marie sighed and shook her head. “I will not help you, Sable Branwen. But I will help Rupert. What is it you need?”

“We’re investigating a case from 1939. The detective on duty said there was some ritual left at the scene and the victim’s soul was missing. Do you have any suggestions as to what we might be looking for?” Levac asked.

Marie frowned and began rummaging beneath the counter. “There are many so-called Satanic rituals, most are nothing more than fairytales. But one or two are the real thing. I know of one that expends a human soul.”

She pulled out an old book and placed it on the counter and began to thumb through it.

“What’s that?” Sable asked.

“The Book of Nine Gates,” Marie replied absently.

The book was old and bound in leather whose origin was questionable at best. There was no title, just an inlaid inverted pentagram painted with gold leaf atop a demonic face.

She found the page she was looking for and turned the book around. The page depicted an elaborate ritual complete with human sacrifice, flickering candles, ram’s skulls and inverted pentagrams.

“Is this the ritual?”

Levac pulled one of the drawings out of his pocket and smoothed it on the counter. Sandoval’s sketch was very similar, with the only difference being the position of Saylor’s body.

“They are close. What is this ritual supposed to do?” Levac asked.

Marie shrugged. “Rupert, Satanic rituals rarely come with exact results and the ones that work do not do what it says on the package. This ritual supposedly opens one of the nine gates to hell. What it really does I cannot say.”

“Great. Either we have no clue what it does or someone opened a Hellgate,” Sable groused.

Levac flipped a few pages through the book. The paper felt cold to the touch and made his skin crawl. “I don’t think it opened a Hellgate.”

“Why not?” Sable asked.

“We haven’t been up to our asses in demons for the last seventy years.”

Sable snorted. “Good point, someone would have noticed even in this city. Marie, could just anyone have done this ritual?”

“No. There are only a few copies of this book still around, the Church had them all burned during the inquisition, along with the author. I daresay there are only two or three in the city,” Marie said.

Levac sucked air through his teeth. “So we are looking for someone who owns or owned a copy of this book seventy years ago. Needle, meet haystack.”

“What are the odds the guy is even still alive?” Sable asked.

Marie closed the book and put it back beneath the counter. “Oh, if they have a copy of this, the odds are good.”

“Why?” Levac asked.

Marie met his eyes. “This book is very old, very powerful, Rupert. Only a handful of people know it exists, fewer still are able to keep it. If someone were able to cast the ritual, then they still have it.”

Sable leaned on the counter. “That begs the question, houngan. Why do you have it?”

“Bocor, Sable Branwen,” Marie said.

Sable blinked. “What?”

Marie looked at her. “I am a bocor, not a houngan. And I have the book because I know its evil and can keep it contained as almost no one else can.”

CHAPTER SIX

Elizabeth, New Jersey: Abandoned WWII Airfield: 4:00 p.m.

The flight from Seattle to New Jersey had been almost five hours of impatient torture. Raven had spent it pouring over everything she could find on the
Crescent Star.
The old news reports had been almost useless, the ship had left New York amidst much celebration and fanfare and crossed the Atlantic without incident. It had then spent two weeks in London before departing for New York again. Radio contact had been lost on the first evening, but no search was mounted as several vessels reported seeing her underway with no outward signs of distress. She vanished sometime on the third day and a search was mounted on the sixth; nothing was found.

The official reports, kept under lock and key since 1972, contradicted the news. According to Her Majesty’s Coast Guard, radio reports were received a full twelve hours after
Crescent Star
vanished. Most of the messages were garbled and the ones that had been transcribed made no mention of any disaster. The ship reported engine difficulties that had been repaired, minor issues with crew and some unruly passengers, but nothing that would indicate that anything had gone horribly wrong. Not until the last message, which was simply “God, Forgive Me.” Experts insisted the voice was not Captain DaSilva, but the second officer, Scout Reynolds. Reynolds had been one of the first women in a command decision aboard a ship of the
Star’s
size.

Raven now stood on the tarmac of an abandoned airfield just outside Elizabeth, New Jersey. Snow was piled against the chain-link fence that surrounded the field and the runway was surprisingly clean and well-cared for, thanks to Du Guerre’s operation. Raven had changed clothes during the trip and now wore durable black leather pants tucked into knee boots matched with a silk tank top and leather jacket. Du Guerre’s idea of rescue attire. She hadn’t been thrilled with it, but the gear the pilot had offered had more than made up for the leather. A katana made of Damascus steel, a selection of Thad’s ammunition, a Saiga-12 shotgun and everything from rock salt to silver buckshot loads. She’d also been given an assortment of explosives, almost enough to orbit Sly Stallone. Where Du Guerre had obtained C-4 on such short notice Raven didn’t care to speculate on. She hefted the gear bag and walked toward the hangar, where a limousine and several aircraft waited. As she neared them, Francois Du Guerre stepped out of the building dressed in clothes similar to Raven’s, though he had matched leather pants with a blousy white shirt and the red-lined longcoat he wore on special occasions. His Katana was hung across one shoulder and he sported a large revolver in a holster on his left thigh, as if he thought he was going with Raven.

He offered Raven a half-bow. “Good evening, Ravenel. I hope you found the equipment to your liking. More is waiting aboard the Osprey. If you will join me?”

“You aren’t going. Just get me on the helicopter and get out of the way,” Raven said.

Francois sighed. “Ravenel, your familiar is in trouble, Rupert and Sable are on assignment in Chicago and your father is in a Boston hospital. You need help and I am available. We also have much to discuss.”

Raven glared at him. “You’re not going.”

Du Guerre folded his arms. “If I am not going, you are not going.”

Raven’s mouth fell open. “You would do that? Leave Aspen to die because you want to talk?”

“Your familiar is not my concern. You are. If you want my help, I’m going with you.”

Raven closed her eyes and swallowed her monster. She wanted to tear his throat out, to bathe her hands in his blood, but she wasn’t going to. He was a bastard and she needed him. She hefted her gear and started past him.

“If you fall behind, don’t expect me to come looking.”

Du Guerre took her elbow. “Understood. The Osprey is this way.”

Raven followed him across the wind-swept tarmac to an open, well-lit hangar that looked like something out of World War II, which it probably was. An aircraft that looked like a transport plane mated with a helicopter was outside, one engine idling. A pilot saluted Du Guerre from the cockpit window and he nodded back. He stopped next to a narrow set of stairs that led to the side door of the aircraft.

“This thing is going to get us onto the ship?” Raven asked.

“This is an Osprey, capable of both traditional flight as well as vertical take-off and land. She is faster than traditional rotorcraft and can wait on station to pick us up. She takes a steady vampire hand to operate correctly, but she will get the job done,” Du Guerre said.

Raven looked at the aircraft and then back at him. Du Guerre smiled. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

Raven climbed the steps into the cabin, which was more luxurious than she had expected. Six captain’s chairs were arranged four to a side with tables between, the walls were paneled in thick white leather and the floor was plush with blood red carpeting. Two vampires waited inside; she recognized neither of them, though both bowed to her.

“Fürstin Ravenel, welcome aboard,” the female intoned. She had long black hair and Asian features mated with porcelain skin and black eyes. Her red cheongsam dress was so tight every move had to be done with exaggerated care.

Raven nodded in response and moved toward the rear of the aircraft where a wide door led to the cargo area that also contained a loading ramp. Rappelling lines were already coiled on the floor, ready for use.

Du Guerre stepped aboard behind her and both vampires said, “welcome, master,” in a sort of singsong that made Raven’s fists itch. He stepped close and put his hand on her shoulder. “We will rappel down once we are there. If you would care to tell the pilot where we are going?”

Raven shrugged him off. “Don’t touch me, Francois.”

She brushed past him and strode to the cockpit, which was open. Sterling and another vampire were at the controls. She handed them a slip of paper with the ship’s approximate coordinates then turned back. Du Guerre was stowing his gear while the two attendants set out glasses of chilled Claret and a selection of cheese. Raven dropped into one of the deep captain’s chairs and buckled the seatbelt across her hips. Du Guerre sat opposite and sipped from one of the chilled glasses.

“There was a time, Ravenel, when you desired my touch,” he said.

“That was before I knew you’d crawled out of the sewer,” Raven replied.

Du Guerre shook his head. “Will you never forgive me?”

“Will you ever drop dead?”

Raven looked away, then looked back, her eyes hot with anger. “How much of that was real and how much was your magik?”

Du Guerre sipped the thick Claret before responding. “I will admit, I used my abilities on you. Your talents lie toward the physical; mine are more subtle. I needed you to trust me.”

The female vampire offered Raven a glass of Claret; Raven ignored her until she set the glass down and walked back to her station.

“Why did you need me to trust you? Why not just kidnap me and hand me over?” Raven asked.

“I never intended to hand you to Strohm,” Du Guerre said.

Raven arched an eyebrow. “Oh no? It wasn’t part of your plan to hurt me and sell me to the highest bidder?”

“No!”

Raven glared at him. After a moment, Du Guerre looked away and fiddled with the tray of cheese beside him.

“No,” he repeated. “I didn’t even know he was alive, at first. I wanted to get close to you, to get to know you.”

“Why? Why did you need to get close to me?”

Du Guerre sighed. “Because I am in love with you, Ravenel!”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Bullshit! Lovers don’t serve each other up as sacrifices!”

“They do, Ravenel. When they have no choice, they do. Had I not, Strohm would have tortured me to get what he wanted. He would have found out about your sister, then both of you would have been in danger,” Du Guerre said.

The attendant returned with a glass of what smelled like raspberry club soda. Raven looked at it and then at her. The attendant smiled. “Lord Du Guerre has a detailed file of your tastes.”

“Of course he does. Can you go away, now?”

She bowed and vanished into the small kitchen beside the cockpit. Raven waited until she was out of earshot then turned back to Du Guerre. “You really want me to believe you sacrificed me to protect Sable, don’t you?”

Du Guerre finished his Claret as the aircraft began to move. “Of course. It is the truth and I would have told you two years ago had your mother not forbade it. No one was to know about Sable.”

“Why? Why protect her? She seems about as strong as I am.”

Du Guerre made a face. “Appearances can be deceiving. The truth is, your sister wasn’t just hidden from you and your father. She was hidden from almost everyone, anyone who could betray your blood to Strohm’s followers. I took her as a newborn and fled to Boston, where your mother had powerful, loyal friends. She helped put Caderyn in power and in return he protected me, Dina and Sable as we raised her. That, of course, changed when your father found out.”

Raven turned her seat and looked out the window as the Osprey taxied into position and rolled down the runway. “No. I’m not swallowing all of that. I get that you hid my sister and Caderyn helped raise her. But if Dad was with her, you had no need to protect her.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I’m not stupid, Francois, and your magik doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“I’m not lying, Ravenel,” Du Guerre said.

“Shut up.”

Raven leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She could feel Rupert, barely. Their connection had grown weak in the last year, but recently it seemed stronger than ever. He’d even used it, a time or two. If she concentrated, she thought she could feel Aspen, as well. But when she pulled on that thin thread, it faded. She didn’t want to think she was imagining it, but part of her did. Her annoyance with Francois wasn’t helping, either. She wanted to strangle him. Him and his lies.

The aircraft lurched and rose into the air, climbing with a speed that belied its bulk. It then banked and nosed out into the Atlantic, engines roaring.

Raven was awakened two hours later by Du Guerre’s touch. She opened her eyes and immediately recoiled.

“You smell like a butcher shop, get away from me!”

Du Guerre stepped back. “Apologies, Ravenel, I fed while you slept. We have arrived at your destination.”

Raven turned and looked out the window beside her. Below was the
Crescent Star
, all one thousand feet of her cutting a swath through the ocean like a knife through butter. Lights flickered along her sides, casting weird shadows on her blood and rust-covered hull. Nothing looked out of place save for the oversized cargo crane at the stern of the ship. It’s chain was still dangling in the wind, as it had for the last forty years.

There was no sign of movement, but Raven’s senses told her something was down there.

“Have you picked up anything on the radio?”

“Nothing but screams and static. Sterling tells me the screams are recorded and not real time,” Du Guerre said.

Aspen? Are you there?
Raven thought.

There was no answer.

Raven unbuckled her seatbelt and stood. “Tell the pilots to put us somewhere near the bridge companionway.”

“That would be unwise. Sterling suggests we rappel down amidships.”

Raven gave him a look. “Don’t get all nautical on me. Aspen was near the bridge, so put me there.”

Du Guerre opened his mouth to argue and thought better of it. Raven could see it in his face. Instead, he nodded and turned toward the cockpit. As he walked away, the male vampire touched her elbow.

“Fürstin, I have your tactical vest and harness ready, if you would come this way?”

Raven followed him into the cargo area. In contrast to the passenger cabin, the back of the aircraft was spartan, with only a pair of jump-seats bolted to the wall. Cargo straps and webbing hung on neat chains along the wall and the floor looked like it had been cleaned with a toothbrush which, knowing Du Guerre, was the case. The attendant held up a tactical vest with her name on the left side. Equipment dangled from hooks and bulged various pockets across the chest area.

“I have packed blood-packs, grenades, ammunition for your pistol and shotgun, 550 cord, a first aid kit, flares and a homing beacon,” he said.

Raven made a face. “Do I look like a GI Jane to you? Just give me the ammunition and a couple of the flares.”

“Lord Du Guerre advised you would need blood…”

“I will carry it for her.”

“I’m hoping not to need it,” Raven said.

“And I have watched you almost die because you didn’t have it with you,” Du Guerre said.

Raven ground her teeth and glared at him. But he was right. She snatched the vest out of the attendant’s hands and shrugged into it. He began to buckle it onto her and she looked back at Du Guerre.

“How long?”

“The Osprey will be on station in just a few moments. We will have three hours to find Aspen and get away before we are past the point of no return,” Du Guerre replied.

“Swell,” Raven muttered.