Midnight's Daughter dbd-1 Read online

  I stared at it, ignoring the look on Louis-Cesare’s face. It said that he frankly couldn’t care less whether I liked it, and was about to go without me. Since wrestling him to the ground was the only way to keep him from doing so, and that hadn’t been working so well lately, I was resigned to dealing with whatever or whoever was waiting for us. But I didn’t have to like it.

  Not that I thought Drac would kill us, even if he was waiting inside. He enjoyed cat-and-mouse games, and he’d only begun to play. He’d want me to pay for those long years he’d spent in captivity, something a quick death wouldn’t begin to cover in his estimation. In the old days, he’d had people impaled on blunt, well-oiled stakes, ensuring that it took them a couple of days to die, and that was when he wasn’t even all that annoyed. I was pretty sure he had something much more inventive planned for me. But then, that was the problem with maniacs: you could never be entirely certain what they’d do. Maybe he was in a hurry to get to Radu and would mow us down at the first opportunity. I didn’t think it likely, but I wasn’t willing to risk my life on it.

  “We discussed this,” Louis-Cesare reminded me, more calmly than I would have expected. “We must contact Lord Mircea and inquire what he wishes to do.”

  I didn’t give a damn what Mircea wanted. My hand stayed on Louis-Cesare’s arm, just above the elbow, where I’d instinctively gripped him when he started to leave. “I think there’s a problem with the plane.”

  He tried to shrug off my hand, but I held on. “You are being ridiculous! That is the only secure line to the Senate available to us.”

  Actually, it wasn’t. We could drive out to MAGIC, the Metaphysical Alliance for Greater Interspecies Cooperation, and speak to Marlowe in person. Mircea probably wasn’t there, but I wasn’t nearly as concerned about keeping Daddy informed as Louis-Cesare seemed to be. Keeping my head firmly attached to my shoulders was more on my mind at the moment, and for that, I needed backup. Marlowe could provide it, and although he’d doubtless give me a hard time first, it was nothing to what I could expect from Drac. But Louis-Cesare didn’t want to leave the area where Dracula’s men had been sighted to drive all the way to the isolated canyon near Vegas where MAGIC was located.

  “I’m telling you, getting anywhere near that plane is a bad idea. They knew we were meeting at the Hog. Kristie could have told them we were getting there by plane, and that thing is hard to miss.”

  His lip curled back slightly from his teeth. It made him look more like the predator he was instead of Mr. January. “You’re afraid.”

  I shrugged. “Call it what you want, but I didn’t last five hundred years by being stupid. You go in there and you aren’t coming out.”

  “And this would bother you?”

  “Not especially,” I admitted, “except that I could use help stealing a car.”

  “For the last time, we are not driving to Las Vegas! It would take all day.”

  “Not the way I drive.”

  Louis-Cesare pulled away from me in an abrupt movement that almost left me lying on the concrete. I guess he was tired of arguing. He stepped out of the narrow strip of shade cast by the luggage van and flinched when the sunlight fell directly on him. “Stay here if you are concerned. This will not take long.”

  I watched him stride away, knowing I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. It was an unaccustomed sensation, and not one I liked. Damn stiff-necked vampire. If he was jumped when he got on board, there’d be no way for me to reach him in time. On the other hand, dying alongside him wouldn’t help either of us. I suddenly recalled all the reasons I hated working with vamps. Hunting them was a hell of a lot more satisfying.

  I watched him walk through the heat haze shimmering over the tarmac and tried to ignore the prickle of worry that had its teeth in my guts. For a moment after he entered the jet, nothing happened, and I began to think that maybe I was being even more paranoid than usual. Then he reemerged, dragging the pilot and steward with him. The steward was motionless, and I didn’t like the way his neck was lolling about. He was either dead or giving a good impression of it. The pilot was mostly out of my line of sight, having been slung over Louis-Cesare’s shoulder, so all I could see was his uniformed rear and a blood-soaked left pant leg.

  I was about to move forward when I noticed several other shapes doing likewise. Within a few seconds, the plane was surrounded by a group of dark figures that, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get my eyes to focus on. Mages, then, under a cloaking spell. This was not good, especially considering that Louis-Cesare had emerged from a Senate jet and the vamps happened to be at war with the dark mages. I thought about the irony of our being killed by someone else before Drac could find us, and bent to open the bag of contraband at my feet.

  My hand closed on a small, dark sphere about the same time that the first of the blurs reached Louis-Cesare. I took aim at the circle of shadows that were closing in, and the sphere landed in the middle of a group of them, exploding as soon as it touched the tarmac. A silver flash later, and three of the figures were on the ground. They did not much resemble humans, but considering that they’d just been hit by a dislocator bomb, that wasn’t surprising.

  One of them had had his head magically reattached to his thigh, and an arm now grew out of his forehead. Since the arm was the wrong color to match the rest of his skin, I assumed it had recently belonged to the figure at his side, who had acquired a new set of ears on his left cheek but lost his nose. Unlike these two, who were kicking up the kind of fuss you’d expect under the circumstances, the third shape lay still. I realized why as I approached, my remaining dislocator in hand. A large number of once-internal organs were now attached to his outside, and the heart, I saw at a glance, was no longer beating. He was the lucky one; the spell was not reversible, which meant that the other two faced an interesting future.

  I ran past them toward where at least six other blurs had reached the ramp and were climbing over a body that partially blocked the way. I hadn’t seen what happened, but Louis-Cesare must have killed his attacker, thrown him down the stairs and dragged the jet’s crew members back inside. Being Senate property, the plane was, of course, designed to resist certain forms of magical attack, but I doubted its defenses would hold for long against that many mages. Besides, how had the crew been injured unless a way had already been found inside?

  I stopped well short of the shapes surging up the ramp and tossed my other bomb. Only half of them managed to get shields up in time. The other three rolled down the ramp to land at my feet, puddles of displaced flesh that in two cases couldn’t even scream: they no longer had all the requisite parts in their proper places.

  One of the remaining mages, who was either really focused or completely oblivious, kept going for the jet’s door, but the other two turned to face me. I didn’t wait to find out what the closest one had planned, but rolled another little surprise up the ramp. It, too, wasn’t on the approved-magical-devices list, but unlike the dislocators, it was an old invention that I was hoping she wouldn’t have seen before or know how to defend against. Either I was right or her reflexes were slow, because the little red marble came to rest beside her booted foot. She instinctively pulled back, but not fast enough.

  A curl of crimson smoke engulfed her leg and quickly climbed up her body. An instant later, where a relatively young woman had stood, a wizened old crone remained, her life sucked into the smoke that was now returning to its container. She clutched a withered hand to her breast and sank to her knees as I bounded up the ramp, scooping up my now bright yellow marble as I went. I didn’t need the life it contained, but someone else would pay a high price for it, possibly enough to let me recoup my losses on this rescue. Dislocators aren’t cheap.

  The other mage, the one with leathery skin and a face like a fortyish prizefighter, yelled something. An instant later, what felt like a giant fist slammed into my face, picking me up and throwing me a dozen yards from the plane. I hit the tarmac with a thud, after doing a few disorienting fli
ps midair. The impact resounded all through me, causing me to bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. I looked up at the mage, who was vaulting over the banister toward me like some action-movie hero, and grinned. I never really got into a fight until there was a little pain.

  “Sopor!” the mage yelled, long before getting anywhere near me. I hadn’t known the other word he’d used, but this one was another story. I felt a surge of lethargy start to creep up my spine, threatening to send me off to see the sandman for the very last time, and turning my limbs numb and useless in the process. It might have worked except that I’d dealt with this spell before. I bit down hard on my shredded lower lip and the sharp pain caused the sluggishness to recede slightly.

  Fighting mages is never as straightforward as I would like. I prefer a nice physical contest where it’s mostly about strength, speed and who has the best moves. With mages, it’s about who has the nastiest toys. Considering that I was facing a dark war mage, I had no doubt at all that his toy collection rivaled mine, which was why I ignored the impulse to have some fun and just threw the knife I pulled out of my boot. The guy didn’t even flinch or try to duck, acting under the assumption, I suppose, that his shields would stop it. They would have, if I hadn’t paid a small fortune to have it enchanted.

  That’s the problem with magical protection—it’s only as good as the mage who cast it, and it is no help whatsoever if your opponent’s mojo is stronger than yours. Luckily, my spell had been worth the price. The last emotion on the man’s face before he hit the tarmac was surprise as he looked down at the blade that was sticking out of his heart.

  I retrieved my knife and ran back to the ramp, shaking my head to get rid of the last of the stupor, but the remaining mage had slipped past the ship’s defenses while I was preoccupied. I found him inside, engaged in a tussle with Louis-Cesare. I barely noticed them, or the ransacked state of the plane. My whole attention was focused on the battered pilot, who was staring in horror at a small box wired into the floor near the cockpit. It said 01:34 when I first glanced in his direction, and 01:33 a second later.

  The pilot’s legs were shattered, with a femur sticking out of the dark blue material of his once nicely pressed trousers. I grabbed him and glanced around. “Anyone else on board?”

  He blinked at me but didn’t answer. He didn’t appear to be in pain, which meant that either Louis-Cesare had given him a suggestion or he was in shock. Either way, I doubted he’d be much help, but figured it was worth a shot.

  I gave him a little shake, and pointed at the bomb. “Can you disable that thing?”

  “I don’t know.” He blinked dilated eyes. “If I had more time, maybe…”

  I took in the guy’s dull expression and pale, sweaty face. When I first met him, I didn’t think he looked like someone who should be working for a bunch of blood-sucking monsters, with his sandy blond hair, sun-reddened cheeks and heavy squint that somehow failed to clash with his open, friendly smile. He looked more the part now. “Let’s go,” I said, slinging him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. It left my hands free for weapons, and I assumed I’d need them.

  “Dorina! I ordered you to wait!” Louis-Cesare shot me a look while dodging a blow from the mage in front of him. It looked like a standoff to me, since the mage’s shields were deflecting the vamp’s blows, but Louis-Cesare was too fast for the mage to hit. The guy might have used something a bit nastier than the long knife he was carrying, had he not been in a magically sealed area. I couldn’t risk using my toys for the same reason—it was too easy for them to backfire given the wards the Senate had put up.

  “Leave him!” I yelled at Louis-Cesare. “We have to go!”

  “You go,” he replied, making another useless slash with his rapier. “Jonathan dies today.”

  I glanced at the mage, whose cloaking spell had dropped, since he was using all his extra strength to maintain his shields. The two men were nearly the same height, but the mage’s leanness and slim shoulders made him seem smaller. I cataloged him automatically: short white-blond hair, big gray eyes, even bigger nose, pale face; no, I didn’t know him. But then, I try to stay away from mages in general and dark ones in particular.

  “We have to get clear before that thing goes off or we’ll all die!” I gestured at the bomb, which now read 00:52. “Come on!”

  Louis-Cesare and his opponent both looked at the clock; then the mage decided on the better part of valor and bolted for the door. I didn’t try to stop him; I was too busy following hard on his heels. Louis-Cesare trailed after me, dragging the limp body of the cabin attendant with him, and the three of us ran full out for the chain-link fence near the runway. The mage, unencumbered by bodies, reached it first and vaulted over. Louis-Cesare dropped the steward and sailed after him, jumping across the eight-foot fence like it wasn’t even there.

  I dropped the captain beside his coworker just as the plane exploded in an eruption of orange flame and black smoke. Several white-hot bits of metal collided with my back after I moved to shield the captain. I was reaching for the steward when a flying piece of silver sliced through his forehead, scalping him before embedding itself in the fence post behind his head. I huddled over the captain’s still-breathing body and waited it out. Some days, it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

  Half an hour later, we were in a shiny new Mustang heading for Vegas. It had been chosen because of the heavy UV coating on the windows, but it also came equipped with a manual transmission. I had stared at it doubtfully after we located it in the rental office’s vast lot.

  “You should have let me steal something. I don’t drive a stick.”

  “I’m driving,” Louis-Cesare said, sliding into the low seat as easily as if he’d done it a hundred times. “You’re drunk.”

  I wished. “I had all of two beers, mostly for the water content.”

  “If you needed water, why didn’t you drink water?”

  “I don’t like water.”

  “Get in or stay here, Dorina.”

  I got in. I wanted to be there when he told the Senate that we’d destroyed a million-dollar aircraft in less than a day. I rode shotgun, while our two passengers took up the backseat. One was the captain, who had gone to sleep after a little suggestion from Louis-Cesare; the other was the only dark mage, other than Jonathan, to have survived the explosion. If you want to call it that.

  Louis-Cesare had insisted on bringing him along, but the guy was giving me the willies. The foot growing out of the side of his neck and the fact that he now literally had eyes in the back of his head probably had something to do with that. After five minutes of hearing him scream, I’d had enough and knocked him unconscious.

  “So, who’s Jonathan?” I asked, fiddling with the air vents to get them as wide open as possible. The sun was so hot I could taste it, and the road shimmered in front of us like an undulating black snake. It was the kind of heat that made newspaper headlines and started people making dire predictions about global warming. I had brought the rest of the six-pack along, but like me, the bottle in my hand was already sweating heavily.

  The only answer I got was a slight increase in speed. “If we are going to work together, we should know something about each other,” I quoted piously.

  “The mage is not important.”

  “You risked your life to try to kill him and he’s not important?”

  I received only stony silence for an answer. Louis-Cesare’s eyes were on the road, but I could see them clearly in the mirror. They were perfect receptors, showing every reaction in those vivid irises. His expression was blank, the planes of his face like those of a statue, cold and unyielding. But when he thought about Jonathan, his eyes were haunted.

  “I said, you risked your—”

  “It is not your concern.”

  “Really? Because that’s not how it looks to me. There was no reason for the Black Circle to hit that airplane. Yeah, it belongs to the Senate and yeah, there’s a war on. But they didn’t just attack it and leave.
They waited for us to come back. They waited.”

  “We already knew we have a traitor.”

  “Yes, but now we know—” I was interrupted by a gasp of agonized sound from the mage in the back. Considering his current state, I didn’t think pummeling him into silence all the way to MAGIC was a good idea, not if anyone wanted to question him later. I found a knockout dart in my backpack and ensured that he stayed unconscious for the duration of the ride.

  I turned back to find Louis-Cesare’s eyes on me. “Now we know something else, too,” I continued. “We have to conclude that Drac is working with the Black Circle, unless you think we have two leaks, one informing Uncle of our whereabouts and the other giving the same information to the mages. Personally, I find that a little hard to swallow.”

  “It is not impossible,” Louis-Cesare said stubbornly. “There have been cases recently where vampires, some sworn to first-level masters, have managed to break their allegiance. A few even attempted to kill their own sire.”

  My beer had left a ring of condensation on the knee of my jeans. I rubbed at it and tried to digest this new bombshell. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

  “The Senate is keeping it quiet. They are afraid that to do otherwise would encourage any vampire dissatisfied with his position to attempt to break their master’s hold.” He glanced at me. “You understand the risk?”

  I nodded numbly. One of the main things keeping the vamp world all nice and tidy—most of the time—is the near impossibility of any vamp breaking the control of his sire. Each master answers for his or her children, right up to the Senate level. The only exception to the rule, or so I’d thought, was vamps who reached first-level status. I wondered how many would stay loyal if they had an alternative. Why did I think it wouldn’t be a lot?