Vintage Soul Part 4

Windham glanced at him, trying to read his intentions, then replied with a shrug.

"One." He said, dropping some of the secrecy. "There is only one such grave within a hundred miles. It's in the older section of the ShadyGroveCemetery, between here and Lavender. I'm sure you're familiar with the location."

Donovan nodded. There had been all sorts of strange occurrences at the particular graveyard Windham had named.

"That place is pretty well guarded," he said. "I can see how the job could be complicated."

"Are you looking, too?" Windham asked.

"I'm looking, but not for someone to do the work," Donovan replied. "I want to see to it that the one who is seeking it doesn't come into possession of this particular item."

"He won't get it from me," Windham said with a shrug. "I doubt he'll find a collector in the city who'd go for it. There's too much chance of getting caught, and the records for that section of the graveyard are sketchy. It might take hours just to find the right grave, and what if someone took him long ago? There's no way to tell without digging him up, unless you're a necromancer, and no one wants to attract attention."

"That's understandable," Donovan replied. "You're certain these bones ... meet the criteria?"

"Absolutely," Windham said without hesitation. "On that much the records are solid. The grave belongs to Father Antoine Vargas. He was one of the first priests to serve at the Cathedral of San Marcos, by the Sea. I'm sure you know the place?"

"I've seen it," Donovan said.

"Father Antoine was, apparently, very sensitive to demons. He was retired at an early age by the church for performing exorcisms. This would make him unsuitable, except that the first few of these ceremonies were sanctioned by The Church. The records I found show that he was unaccountably successful in these rituals, though the church never acknowledged it. He made quite a stir in other parts of the city at the time."

Donovan nodded thoughtfully. "Why is it so difficult to find his grave, then?"

"He was not in favor with the church for the last decade of his life. Apparently, despite the success rate his exorcisms claimed, The Church didn't like the idea that there could be such a concentrated, acknowledged burst of evil in one place. He was replaced with another and given a small cottage by the beach and enough money to live off of, which it seems he used little of before one of his rituals finally claimed him. The grave was paid for by paris.h.i.+oners a not by the church a and it is marked only with a flat stone. The inscription, according to my sources, reads simply 'Gone to G.o.d.'

"Of course, locating the grave is the least of the problems," Windham sighed. It was obvious he would have loved to accept this particular a.s.signment, and Donovan had to fight back the frown that threatened to crease his brow.

"You said the price for this job was high," he said, controlling his voice. "How open is the call?"

Windham glanced up at him sharply.

"You aren't thinking about horning in on the business?" he asked. His voice had grown suddenly shrewd, and sharp.

Donovan laughed and took another sip of his whiskey. He turned fully in his seat to face the thin, cadaverous man beside him.

"Not a chance," he said flatly. "I like what I do just fine. I have only two reasons for being here. The first is to see that this thief doesn't acquire what he needs to complete a particular ritual, and the second, if possible, is to find out who he is. If I had what he needed, he'd have to come to me again, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose he would, at that," Windham said, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm not going after this one, in any case. Security is tight on that graveyard, and though there are always ways around it, most of them are too costly and difficult to make it worth my while. I'd have to cut someone else in..."

He glanced at Donovan shrewdly.

"It won't be for sale when I'm done," Donovan growled.

It was Windham's turn to laugh. "Can't blame me for thinking about it. I'll keep checking, but last I heard, most of the collector's felt the same as I do. It's too risky. We figure he'll have to go out of state, maybe out of the country to get what he needs, and that could take a long time."

"He doesn't strike me as very patient," Donovan said. "My guess is that if he can't get someone else to collect this for him, he'll go himself. He's certainly got the skill. I don't suppose you'd just tell me who it is and save me the trouble?"

Windham drained his beer and stood.

"I'd love to help you," he said, "but the call that went out is anonymous. The instructions are clear, and payment is secured through a third party a one I won't be naming a but I doubt even he knows the face of the buyer. I guess your new friend knows you're coming."

"I'd be disappointed if he thought otherwise," Donovan said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded wad of bills. He peeled two off the end and held them between his thumb and forefinger.

"If you hear anything more about this, I want to know. If someone else takes the challenge, even if they fail, or if your contacts happen to notice a particular order going through channels out of state, I want to know about it. Don't wait, send a messenger. If the information is good, I'll double the usual fee."

"I told you," Windham said softly, slipping the bills from between Donovan's fingers and sliding them into the pocket of his trench coat. "I don't deal in information."

"Still," Donovan flashed a smile that wasn't quite a smile, and Windham nodded.

Donovan watched as the thin man turned away and scuttled to the door. It spun and he was gone. No one looked up at his pa.s.sing.

Donovan turned back to the bar and paid for the two drinks. He had what he needed, now it was time to put it to use before his window of opportunity a and Vanessa's a closed.

He turned to the door, but before he could step away from the bar, it swung open. A pale figure in a dark sports coat, mirrored gla.s.ses that mocked the shadows, and dark hair stepped from the booth. He was followed in quick succession by four others, each so much like the last that they might have been pressed from the same mold.

Donovan spared them only a glance, and then headed for the door.

"DeChance?" the thin, dark man said. It was inflected like a question, but Donovan knew better.

Donovan glanced up and, as he drew nearer to the man who'd spoken, he saw it was a vampire. More correctly, it was five of them. They all appeared to be in their early to mid twenties, but Donovan knew better than to make age a.s.sumptions in such a situation. He stopped and smiled as politely as he could manage while sizing them.

"I'm Donovan DeChance, yes," he said at last. "You are?"

"Just call me Vein," the slender young vampire said. "That's what everyone calls me."

"Vain?"

"You heard me." The vampire stepped closer, but Donovan held his ground. None of these had the aura of age that Johndrow and the elders possessed, and he suspected most of them were not long in "the blood."

"How can I help you...Vein?" Donovan asked.

"We know you've been hired to find Vanessa," Vein replied coldly. "We don't think much of that decision. We've decided to take the matter into our own hands, and we've come to find out what you know."

"Does Johndrow know you're here?"

Vein hesitated, and Donovan had his answer. "I didn't think so," he said. "Well, since he hired me a and you didn't a and I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are, vanity aside, I don't see how I can help you."

"Oh, you'll help me," Vein replied. "If you don't tell me what I want to know there are other ways I can get the information a and there are other uses for one of your...vitality."

Donovan chuckled. "You're kidding me, right? First off, son, even Johndrow knows better than to confront me like this. You are out of your league. In fact, what are you, a hundred? A little more? You aren't even old enough to address me without calling me sir."

Vein took a step forward, and the others spread out at his shoulders, glaring at Donovan from beneath their own dark shades.

"What are you guys, The Men in Black?" Donovan asked dryly. "Area 51 isn't too far...head down Highway 5 and cut across on Interstate 10 a you can't miss it."

"You're a funny man," Vein said. "I didn't know that about you."

"This is a lot of fun," Donovan said, steeling himself, "but I really do have to get going. I have a job to do, as you well know, and I doubt very seriously if the Council of Elders would appreciate you wasting their money by getting in my way. If you'll excuse me?"

The five who had spread out closed in around him and Donovan slid his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the crystal pendant coiled there. He hadn't expected such an encounter, and hadn't really prepared for it, but he always carried basic defenses.

A shadow flickered across the wall behind the five. Donovan followed the motion with his eyes, but didn't move his head. It happened again, and he breathed more easily. Vein and the others hadn't noticed, but behind them, to either side of the strange entrance to The Crossroads, hulking, shadowy figures had materialized. They might have stepped from the wall their entrance was so sudden, and so silent. Donovan wanted to know how they did it, but he knew better than to inquire into it too closely. It wasn't any of his business, and in situations like the one confronting him, it was a G.o.dsend. There would be no 'altercation' in the club today, or any day. It was part of the club's appeal.

"You'll think this is just a cliche attempt to get out of a bad situation," Donovan said conversationally, "but I really think you should look behind you."

Vein stared at him, unblinking, but one of the others glanced back and let out a startled sound. Vein turned, more slowly. He saw the bouncers gathered to either side, weighed their size against that of his followers, and glared.

"I wouldn't try it." Donovan said.

Vein turned back with a snap of his head, and his eyes blazed.

"I don't' need advice from you," he said.

Donovan shrugged and took a step back toward the bar to distance himself. Vein turned back toward the shadowy bouncers, who were closing in, and he scowled.

"Come on," he said to the others, as if it had been his purpose all along. "Let's get out of here."

The dark shapes stepped aside as the five vampires, one by one, stepped into the booth and spun out of sight. Donovan watched them go. Vein was the last.

"We'll see you later, DeChance. You can't stay here forever."

The booth spun, and Vein was gone. Donovan glanced around at the bar. The bartender was polis.h.i.+ng another gla.s.s and staring up into the rafters as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. No one else in the club had paid the slightest attention to the commotion at the door, or if they had, they'd managed to get their eyes directed at their tables before Donovan turned.

Donovan turned back to the phone booth, and found that he was alone. There was no sign of the bouncers. He hesitated. He thought about heading back to the bar for another drink. If he left them out there long enough, he figured they'd get bored and look for him later. He could always buy the seer a drink and spend a fun half hour avoiding her gaze.

There was only one way in or out of the club, unless you went to a lot of trouble and paid a lot of money, and even the more secretive exits could be watched. He didn't know if Vein knew any of them, but it didn't matter. He had no time to go looking for someone to let him out, and he wasn't inclined to run from such a ridiculous challenge.

With a sigh of resignation, he arranged his charms, gripped a dark, green crystal pendant in his right hand, and stepped into the booth. He lifted the receiver, and then placed it back in its cradle. The booth spun, and he stepped into the alley beyond the club and stopped. Vein and his followers stood waiting. The moon was rising, and there was no one else in sight.

"Hey fellas," he said, taking a step closer and smiling as he lifted the green crystal over his head, "did you miss me?"

EIGHT.

The narrow alley afforded little room to move. Vein stood dead center between Donovan and the streets beyond. The others formed two small phalanxes, ranks of two, on either side of the phone booth, blocking both ends of the alley. One end was, or at least appeared to be, a dead end, but apparently Vein was in no mood to take chances. It was likely he knew more about Donovan than he was letting on, though he didn't seem concerned.

"Always the funny man," Vein said. "We'll see if you can keep that smile in place. You are going to tell me what you know, or we'll make you wish you'd seen the light. Am I clear?"

"Oh, I understood you the first time," Donovan replied. "You know, inside the club, when the bouncers showed up and you all ran like whipped puppies? I was hired to do a job by your elders, and I intend to finish that job as contracted. You can get out of my way and let me proceed, or I will proceed through, across, and despite of you, and your elders will be informed of your stupidity. It's your call...Vein."

Maybe it was the thought of a living, breathing man, regardless of how old or powerful, giving him orders. Maybe it was the calm delivery, which Donovan had perfected over many years and much worse situations. Probably, Donovan reflected, it was the sarcastic inflection of his voice when he p.r.o.nounced the affectatious name. Whatever it was, the vampires lunged.

Donovan raised his hand, swung the green pendant in a slow arc, and chanted softly. Greenish light, matching the hue of the crystal, appeared in the air, trailing after the circling chain. The light crystallized, and the first two attackers met that barrier head on. Sparks flew, and they cried out, stumbling back. Donovan started toward the head of the alley. He lowered the crystal in front of him like a s.h.i.+eld and the s.h.i.+mmering barrier of light preceded him as he ran straight at Vein.

Young and foolish as he was, Vein was fast. He didn't back away from Donovan's attack, but instead leaped straight up. It was a graceful motion, like you'd expect to see in a bad kung fu movie, the leap taking him so high, and the whirling motion of his body so precise, that it gave the impression of slow motion. As Vein hurtled back to the floor of the alley and landed with his booted feet spread, already running forward, that illusion was shattered.

There was still one black-suited vamp between Donovan and the mouth of the alley. The s.h.i.+eld of light divided them, but Vein was coming up fast from behind. Donovan knew he had to think fast, and make no mistakes. He didn't have the strength or speed his adversaries could bring to bear, and he had to make a quick decision now and pray it was the right one. It would be hard to explain to Johndrow and the elders how he'd been ambushed and taken down by their own whelps in an alley.

Vein was moving much more quickly than he was, and Donovan knew he had no chance of reaching the other vamp blocking his way before he was caught from behind. With an odd gesture of his left hand, Donovan wove a character in the air. He spoke the name Pachacamac, and relaxed absolutely. He closed his eyes, blanked his mind and focused, and his body dropped like a stone to the floor of the alley.

Vein was moving so quickly that stopping wasn't even an option. He roared over the point where Donovan had stood and plowed into his follower full tilt. The other cried out and raised his hands, but it was far too late to provide any protection. The two crashed to the ground and fell, thras.h.i.+ng and fighting to untangle themselves.

Donovan floated within the stone and brick and soil beneath them. He felt the earth elemental's hold tighten, and with a quick mental push disa.s.sociated himself. While he lacked the innate agility and strength of the undead, Donovan was not weak. He arched his back, executed an admirable kip up and scanned the alley.

Vein was back on his feet, though his companion still sat on the ground, shaking his head. Their gla.s.ses had been knocked free, and Vein stared down the alley at Donovan in unfettered rage. His eyes glowed red and predatory in the dim light. Donovan glanced back toward the dead end and saw that any ill effects from his crystal charm had worn off. He had a decision to make. He could try getting past these three, who didn't seem overloaded in the brains department, and find his way up or through the walls at the far end of the alley, or he could give Vein a second chance, hope he got lucky, and sprint for the streets. Angry as they might be, Vein and his "posse" wouldn't dare to follow if Donovan made it onto the crowded streets. It would draw too much attention.

"That was a mistake, magic man," Vein said. His voice was low now, grating and dry like it had been filtered through charcoal. "I wanted to talk, now I 'm going to kill you."

This time there was no mad rush. Vein and his companion, who'd finally managed to get back on his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust of the alley floor, strode purposefully toward the phone booth. Donovan considered slipping back in and dialing, but he knew they were too fast. One or more of them would be in the booth with him, and in their mental state even the thought of the bouncers waiting inside wouldn't be enough to deter them from ripping out his throat. That meant he'd have to kill them, and he didn't want to explain that to Johndrow any more than he wanted to explain his own defeat.

From the other side, the three remaining undead mimicked Vein's slow approach. They spread out, like a dark curtain, so the only open s.p.a.ce was the blank wall directly in front of the phone booth. Donovan considered this, and frowned. He hadn't brought as much protection as he should have, and hadn't even considered his present danger, considering it was Johndrow who'd hired him. The danger was very real, though, and he had to think quickly, or he might not live to get back to his office and the charms he should have brought with him in the first place.

He could try the wall. If he were quick enough, he might summon another elemental, slip into the brick, and take his chances in its arms until they reached the far side of the wall. He didn't like it. The Elementals were unpredictable in allegiance, and in strength. If he caught the wrong one at the wrong time, he would spend the rest of his days embedded in that wall, the essence of his spirit joining with the elemental, and that would be the end. It wasn't the death he had in mind for himself a not that he'd give his preference much thought.

He could try levitating, but with the speed and agility of his attackers, he wasn't certain he could get out of reach before they scaled the walls and dragged him back down.

"Not so funny now, are you magic man?" Vein asked. His smile widened, and Donovan saw the fangs fully extended and the dripping, drooling hunger fairly foaming from that yawning, arrogant mouth.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His skin was clammy, and he knew his heartbeat thundered in the ears of his attackers. Even if they wanted to stop, it was beyond that point now. He knew enough about vampires to understand that, civilized as they appeared; they were a slave to the hungers that defined them. Once certain limits were reached, and exceeded, there was no turning back.

Then it hit him. Without waiting to gauge the wisdom of his actions, Donovan concentrated on his heart. He dropped his breathing into rhythm with that pulsing beat, and he incanted a short, monotonous chant, being very careful to match the inflection of his voice to that steady pumping of blood through his veins.

The vampires didn't hesitate, they surged forward. Vein's grin widened and his eyes filmed red. Donovan chopped one hand through the air, as if slicing his own words into equal pieces, and there were two of him standing in front of the phone booth. The vampires hesitated, mesmerized by the motion of his hand and the pounding of his heart, which he continued to magnify through the deep, sonorous accompaniment of the chant. He chopped his hand down again, and again. The six undead stood stock still, staring from one to the other of four flickering images. Donovan slipped forward, and before they realized what he was going to do, he joined the other three versions of himself in a slow, whirling dance.

"Kill them all," Vein whispered. His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and his gaze flicked first one way, then the other. The pounding heartbeat confused his senses, and with it magnified to such intensity, it was impossible to attribute it to one, or the other of the dancing Donovan DeChance figures whirling before his eyes.

Donovan knew it was only a diversion, and he knew it wouldn't stop, or fool them for more than a moment. As he reached the outer edge of the ring of images, he broke out around the far side of the slower vamp to Vein's left. As he moved, the images wavered, and seconds later there was nothing but a scent of acrid smoke floating in the center of the alley.

Donovan skirted the wall as closely as he could and sprinted for the mouth of the alley. He knew he had a second, maybe two, before Vein would recover. Maybe a bit longer for the others, but their leader was sharper than he'd first appeared, certainly more formidable than Donovan had given him credit for.

There was no sound, but he knew they were coming. The alley extended another ten yards, and Donovan ground his boots into the alley floor and launched forward. He heard traffic on the road beyond the alley's mouth, and the honk of a horn. He needed to stagger into traffic, fade into a crowd, something a anything a to distance himself from the red glowing eyes and starved fangs of the young idiot on his heels.

Someone grabbed his jacket from behind, and he drew his arms in instinctively, sloughing off the outer garment in a graceful lunge. As he dove forward again, he expected to feel strong, cold hands on his shoulders, or his arms, or the colder bite of ivory through the flesh of his neck. He prepared himself for a final curse, something to leave his mark in defiance.

Someone screamed. Then there was another. Donovan ran another step, frowned, and whirled, pressing his back to the wall of the alley. He gasped as he caught sight of Vein, gripped at the throat by long, slender, gloved fingers that held him easily, lifting him from the ground. Vein and one of his followers were held aloft by a tall woman with flame red hair and eyes that flashed like ice chips in the dark alley, despite the lack of light.

"Amethyst?"

Donovan grinned. His breath came in deep, heaving gasps, and he wanted to collapse onto the ground and clutch his gut, but he stood his ground. For some reason, this particular woman's presence made him want to appear strong and brave. He knew this was an illusion even he wasn't going to pull off in this situation, but he did what he could.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked. One of her eyebrows rose, and she smiled lazily back at him. "Men are never good at this sort of thing." She informed him.