Stormwind (The Storm Chronicles Book 3) (2 page)

The man’s jaw slammed shut and Raven dropped into the car where Levac was stirring. Feeling guilty, Raven pulled one of the blood packs from the glove box and sucked down the contents, trying not to gag on the coppery taste. She shoved another packet into Levac’s jacket pocket then released his belt and pulled him from the car.  He was coming awake when she laid him on a tarp the driver had provided. Raven guessed his hospitality was an attempt to avoid spending ninety days in jail being careful not to drop the soap.

“How are you feeling, partner?” Raven asked.

Levac opened his eyes and looked around before focusing on Raven. “I’ve got a headache, but I don’t think anything is broken. What happened?”

Raven jerked her head at the smashed truck parked nearby. “That idiot T-boned you and you spun the Bass into a retaining wall.”

Levac rubbed his head. “How’s your car?”

Raven looked over to where the Bass 770 lay on its side. Levac followed her gaze and frowned.  “Oh God.  Will insurance cover it?”

“Probably not,” Raven replied. “Don’t worry about it. I was getting tired of it anyway. Do you think you can hold the fort until the scene is cleared? Creed is still on the run.”

Levac stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re being amazingly calm about your car.”

“You’re okay, that’s what counts,” Raven said. “It’s a car and like I said I was getting tired of it. GPS is overrated in a town you were born in. Now can you handle the blueboys or not?”

“Yeah…yeah,” Levac replied, looking at the crushed car. “You can explain later why I just have a headache from that impact. I should be dead.”

“I’d say it was the miracle of a safety harness and enough airbags to turn that thing into a cannoli. See you in a few,” Raven replied, turning toward the bike.

The Ninja’s engine sputtered to life and she accelerated past her destroyed supercar and down the alley. Sooner or later she was going to have to explain to Levac about being her familiar. This was the third major incident in the last few months and he wasn’t stupid. His comment made it clear he knew something was up.

“Later,” Raven muttered, accelerating again. “Much later.”

RAVEN WEAVED THE NINJA THROUGH traffic at breakneck speed, swerving between cars and trucks as they cruised sedately through afternoon rush. It didn’t take long for her to catch up to Creed who had slowed to a more normal speed. It also didn’t take long for him to spot the Ninja in his mirror. He took off like a frightened rabbit, swerving around a garbage truck and narrowly missing an oncoming Mercedes. Raven gunned the engine and accelerated, climbing the trash overflowing from the truck’s rear end. She rode across the top of the truck and jumped off, landing in a shower of sparks only a few cars behind Creed. She saw him grin in his mirror and downshift the Hayabusa which was much faster than the Ninja. He skidded around a corner and disappeared down a narrow alley. By the time Raven arrived he was lost in the maze of trash and narrow back alleys.

“Marvelous,” Raven muttered. “Frost isn’t going to be happy I lost our prime suspect.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER THE NINJA cruised slowly through Old Town. The supernatural section of the city had changed in the weeks and months since the fire. Most of the buildings had been untouched, but Club Purgatory, The Olde Curiosity Shoppe and Isle of Night had taken the insurance money and done some refurbishing. The Shoppe looked like something right out of a Dickens novel with a wide Victorian door, brass doorknocker, antique pillars and a pair of store windows imported from England. Isle of Night had been redone even more Scottish, though Angus had chosen to put gargoyles around the second floor and Club Purgatory had gone upscale with a modern sign, wide friendly-looking doors and a doorman who’d been hired for his skill and etiquette and not how muscle bound he was.

Raven’s gut told her that Creed would have tried to get lost in the nearest large crowd where he might find a victim. Levac’s profile indicated that Creed needed to kill in the same way a drug addict needed his next hit. It made him more dangerous than most psychos, but far more predictable.

Raven cruised past Club Purgatory and saw the Hayabusa very neatly parked in front where not even a blind man could miss it. She shook her head at his brass and turned the Ninja to the far side of Old Town where a second club had opened. She parked her borrowed Ninja next to a Bugatti Veyron near the door and walked toward the entrance.

The Night Shift was entirely new, constructed to replace the one lost in the fire. It had been built to look like a 1940s nightclub. The outside was a mixture of stone and antique wood framing imported art-deco glass and stone sculptures. The front doors, also made in art-deco style opened into a marble foyer that contained nothing but a reception desk, an attractive Asian receptionist who was always dressed in a white Cheongsam dress and a bellhop who would operate the elevator. The jazz club was on the floor above and Francois’ staff insisted that was all there was to the building. Raven knew however, that a set of hidden doors led to Francois Du Guerre’s private sanctum in the basement. A few bucks and a few threats had gotten her that information. Her father had always said, “Kid, don’t keep your enemies too close, but always know where the bastards lick their wounds.”

Raven pushed through the doors and smiled at Lim Yu who stood primly behind her desk. “Good evening, Lim Yu.”

Lim Yu bowed slightly from the waist. “Good evening, Detective Storm. Do you have a reservation?”

Raven shook her head and kept walking toward the elevator. “Nope, just here to pick up a scumbag.  Don’t worry, it isn’t your scumbag. This time.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Storm,” Lim Yu said, hurrying after Raven. “The Master said you weren’t to be allowed into the club without a reservation.”

Raven withheld a growl and turned toward the smaller woman. “Did the tall freak with green hair have a reservation?”

“No, Ms. Storm,” Lim Yu replied.

“But you let him in without any problems?”

Lim Yu gave another slight bow, her ears turning pink. “Of course.”

Raven smirked and turned back to the elevator. “Swell. Yu, tell your Master he’s an ass.”

The bellman looked at Lim Yu and at Raven, uncertainty in his grey eyes. Raven pulled the elevator gate open. “Don’t sweat it, kid. If Du Guerre fires you, I will get you a job at Purgatory, no problem.”

“Ms. Storm, I really can’t…” Lim Yu started.

Raven spun, her eyes glowing green. “Get in my way? Good, a girl’s got to know her limitations. This building is open for business, I’m performing my duty as a peace officer and I’ll go wherever I like. If you want to be helpful call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s a green-haired asshole upstairs, he’s resisting arrest and they should send an ambulance. And a spatula.”

Lim Yu bowed more deeply and backed away. Raven watched her for a heartbeat then stepped inside the elevator. The young operator closed the gate behind her and she cranked the handle, her gaze aimed upward.

She could hear music over the elevator’s whine before she reached the second floor. She recognized the Brian Setzer Orchestra and wondered if Francois had actually managed to get the band to work his club or if it was just a very good collection of wannabes. Knowing how tight-fisted Du Guerre was with his money, it was probably the latter.

The elevator stopped and the attendant at the top opened the gate. Raven stepped out and smiled at the young Embraced. He was a handsome man in his apparent twenties with slicked back hair, a pencil thin mustache and a black tuxedo. He looked surprised that the elevator operator wasn’t in the car, but took one look at Raven’s face and didn’t comment.

Raven’s eyes took in the marble foyer, art-deco chandelier in the shape of a giant icicle and the three sections of the club. To her left was the entrance to the dance hall where the Orchestra was doing a reasonable facsimile of
Jump, Jive and Wail
and a few dozen couples were swing-dancing with enthusiasm if not skill. To her right were intimate tables where couples could hear the music at a softer level and take advantage of each-other’s company. Raven’s nose told her more than a little claret had been spilled behind the velvet curtains.

Directly ahead of her was a spacious sound-proof bar where an antique jukebox that looked like an old Philco radio was playing Dean Martin. Raven spotted Creed’s green Mohawk seated in the corner of the bar and she walked toward his table. She was stopped just short of the entrance by Francois Du Guerre. He was dressed in a shiny black tuxedo with a pressed white shirt, black tie and burgundy cummerbund. He wore his blonde hair loosely around his shoulders and offered Raven a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Detective Storm, I gave instructions you were not to be admitted without a reservation,” he said, his French accent curling around the words.

“Yeah, your flunkies mentioned that,” Raven replied, her eyes still on Creed. “I told them you were an asshole. Are you going to move so I can go arrest a killer or am I taking you in for obstruction? Obstruction is my preferred choice, maybe with a side of resisting arrest.”

“A pleasure as always, my little Ravenel,” Francois said. “I have no wish to delay you in your duties, but you know my rules. Do you have a warrant?”

Raven’s eyes shifted to Francois’. “One, don’t ever call me your little anything. You lost your chance to call me pet names when you served me on a platter to my so-called sire. Second, this is a public building. I don’t need a warrant to arrest Creed unless you’re going to admit you have a coffin and fresh dirt in the basement in which case I will gladly go get a warrant and broadcast to every enemy you have that this is where you’ve been hiding since my brother tried to kill you.”

Du Guerre frowned. “I have not been hiding, Ravenel. I have been…recovering.”

“Whatever. Get out of my way, Francois or they are taking you out of your own club in a baggie.”

Francois’ face darkened, but he stepped aside allowing Raven to pass into the tavern. A long bar of polished cherry sat to her left, running the full length of the room. A barman dressed in period costume complete with garters on his sleeves and a bowler hat stood behind the bar, polishing glasses that were already sparkling.

To the right were tall tables made of the same dark cherry surrounded by handmade high-backed chairs. A handful of men and women were lingering over drinks and listening to the music. Raven knew a few were old-dead vampires pretending the blood in their glasses was Scotch or wine or whatever their drink of choice had been when they were alive. Others were clueless humans out to enjoy the ambiance of Old Town.

Raven ignored them and strode toward Creed who was cradling a glass of bourbon in his long-fingered hands. He looked up when she approached and licked his cracked lips.

“Hello, half-breed,” he said, his voice deep and tinged with a German accent. “I’m surprised you found me.”

Raven frowned. “No one can hide from me in my city. Care to explain that half-breed comment?”

Creed laughed. “It’s your scent, girl! Anyone with any sense of smell at all should be able to detect the death and blood that surrounds you.”

“You’re one to talk about being surrounded by blood, Creed,” Raven replied. “You’re under arrest for multiple murders including the attempted murder of Katherine Baker.”

Creed finished his drink. “So that’s who gave me away. I figured someone survived. A pity, I was having such a good time, too.”

“I’m sorry that reality has spoiled your killing spree,” Raven said, pulling out her handcuffs. “Get on your knees and place your hands behind your back.”

“Now, Detective, do you really think I am going to jail?” Creed asked.

“That’s the plan,” Raven replied. “Get on your knees, right now!”

Creed leapt up so hard the table fell over. Corpse-grey hands with inch long claws sprouted from his arms, tearing through his skin like it was tissue. He used one clawed hand to swipe at Raven, the other to peel the skin from his face to reveal his huge, tooth-filled maw.

Raven jumped back and drew her Automag. “Francois, get everyone out of here!”

She could hear Du Guerre’s melodic voice directing guests to the exit and relaxed. His hypnotic powers would make sure no one would remember anything other than Jammer Creed resisting arrest. At least the son of a bitch was good for something.

She fired three shots into Creed’s chest, staggering him. He snarled, venom dripping from his blackened fangs. “You can’t hurt me you stupid half-breed! I am immortal.”

Raven fired again, both shots hitting their targets. The skin-walker’s eyes exploded like bags of jelly and he reached for the now empty sockets, howling in pain. He staggered backwards into a table, crushing it beneath his weight and making Francois cry out as if he’d been struck.

The dhampyr didn’t give Creed any time to recover. She ejected the magazine from her pistol and exchanged it for one loaded with rounds designed to destroy supernatural creatures. She stepped forward and placed one booted foot on Creed’s chest, holding him in place.

“I wish things like you would do a little research before you try this kind of crap in this city,” she said. “I’m not just any half-breed. I’m the Childe of Strohm, Fürstin to the Mistress of the City and lead detective for the Chicago Police, 42
nd
District. This city is under my protection. And nothing, not even you, is immortal.”