Stormwind (The Storm Chronicles Book 3) (4 page)

The only sounds were the rustle of silk and satin as forty-nine heads nodded in unison and the muffled gagging of Choum as he tried to regrow his windpipe.

“Good,” Raven said. “As for my friend, Choum, under the laws of the night he has challenged my truthfulness and my honor. I choose the right of combat to prove my words.”

Choum’s eyes bulged and he shook his head furiously.

Raven shrugged. “You made the claim, Choum, and you know the law.”

She pulled her knife from his hand and stepped back, allowing Choum to stand.

Choum rubbed his hand and stepped away from Raven. “I misspoke, Fürstin Ravenel. Allow me to apologize…”

Choum had barely finished the sentence when a derringer popped from his sleeve and spat a 357 magnum bullet. The vampire-killing slug missed Raven by inches and embedded itself in the wall.

“Your apology needs some work, Choum,” Raven said. “It should start with ‘I’m an idiot and I apologize profusely, please don’t kill me like the worm I am’.”

Choum tried to fire again, but the tiny weapon had been spent. He threw it at Raven and looked wildly around the table for support. Even those loyal to Strohm looked away from the doomed vampire.

“You’re on your own, Embraced,” Raven said, drawing a second knife.

Without another word she stepped forward, ramming her knife up through Choum’s jaw and into his skull. His eyes bulged and he clawed uselessly at Raven. She ignored him; her second blade sliced cleanly through his neck and he exploded into ash that swirled around everyone at the table and settled on the Persian rug.

“Does anyone else want to challenge Lady Valentina’s right to the throne this night?” Raven asked. “I have plenty of knives.”

No one spoke, though Evangelina looked as if she wanted to. Raven glared at her for a heartbeat before returning to her spot at her mother’s elbow. She dropped the bloody blades on the table next to the Mistress, whispered, “Happy, Mother?” in a tone only Valentina could hear and made her exit.

Outside, Dominique had been waiting. She stood, her beautiful face creased with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Mom is safe, if that’s what you mean,” Raven said, walking past the blonde woman and turning toward the stairs.

“I heard a scream…” Dominique began, reaching for Raven’s arm.

“I did what you and Mom planned,” Raven replied, her voice like ice. “I made an example of some idiot defying mother’s authority, something she should have done if she wants to hold the throne. Now I’m going to my room to get out of this stupid thing and get some sleep.”

Raven started up the stairs feeling Dominique’s eyes on her back. She refused to turn around.

RAVEN ENTERED HER ROOM AND used one hand to tear the laces out of her corset; she was in no mood to fuss over them. She dropped the corset onto the floor, kicked off her boots and leather pants and slipped into the purple Batgirl nightgown Aspen had gotten for her before she left.

She dropped into the chair in front of her vanity and ran her silver-backed brush through her hair. The mundane activity always seemed to relax her. While she worked the knots out of her waist-length tresses of fire she let her eyes wander. Her room hadn’t changed much over the years. She’d added more photos of herself and Levac between the noir movie posters, added a gun case that contained two spare Automags, two Nightmare 1911s, a massive shotgun and her father’s original police issue revolver. It had only been fired twice; once at the factory and once to commit his murder.

The room now also contained a photo of her father’s Shelby framed with the charred ignition key, all that had been left of the wreck, a broken Katana and a framed picture of Aspen and Raven enjoying cranberry juice at Club Purgatory’s grand re-opening. The two women had become close after the events that saw the destruction of a several city blocks and Raven had to admit she missed having someone around who understood her, the vampire world and could do magik. Levac was a wonderful partner and her dearest friend, but he was never going to fit into the supernatural world. Nor did she want him to. The darkness had a way of devouring people and she wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

Raven set her brush aside with a sigh and turned toward her four poster bed. She was about to climb under the purple covers when there was a knock on the door. She turned and pulled the door open, not at all surprised to see her leather-clad mother standing outside.

“Hello, Mother. I trust someone found a dustpan for Choum?”

Valentina scowled. “His was a necessary death. These challenges to my power cannot be allowed to continue and it is your job to put a stop to them.”

Raven turned away and sat on her bed, one leg curled under her. “I know what being Fürstin means, Mother.  You’ve been drilling it into my head since I was seven.”

Valentina entered and sat next to her daughter, her satin-lined dress whispering around her legs. “Then why all this hostility, my child? What’s wrong?”

“This vampire baloney is your life, Mom,” Raven replied, pulling her Naugadoll into her lap. “Not mine. I’m a cop. What I just did still boils down to murder even if he was a bottom-feeding little twerp squirming on the end of Evangelina’s leash.”

“Raven, you know human laws do not apply within the Totentanz,” Valentina said. “We are above that, above mortals.”

“Murder is murder, Mom. I’m your champion, not your assassin.”

Valentina stood, her face darkening. “You are Fürstin of the House Tempeste and I expect you to act accordingly or as much as it pains me you will be duly punished!”

Raven snorted. “Go ahead and try, Mother. If you could even find someone stupid enough to try and punish me, how long do you think they would last? In seconds? You know none of the House can take me in combat and I’m not about to let you lock me up somewhere.”

“You would defy me, my daughter?” Valentina asked in a soft voice.

“Only when you’re wrong, Mom,” Raven replied. “There has to be a better way to consolidate your power than executing everyone who disagrees with you. That’s Strohm’s way. You and dad wanted something better, something human. You destroyed Strohm to get away from his madness and the dark world he was creating. I won’t help you make the same mistakes.”

“You are a very wise woman, Ravenel,” Valentina said. “Your father would be very proud of you. Goodnight, my child.”

“Goodnight, Mother.”

Valentina exited the room, closing the door behind her. After a moment Raven got up and locked the door.

*Morning rose over the city of Chicago, trading a pink moon for the bright pink and yellow of a new day that reflected off the distant city like a candle off of diamonds. Raven had watched the sun come up from her bed then taken a long hot bath. Her phone was ringing when she left the bathroom dressed in a mauve long-sleeved tee, belted jeans and a denim jacket. A pair of cream suede boots and matching endless scarf completed the outfit. Knives were sheathed in her boots and her Automag hung comfortably in its holster beneath her left arm.

She plucked her phone from the nightstand and slid her thumb across the screen. “Storm.”

“Detective?  Lieutenant Frost.  I’ve got a new case for you and Levac. A patrolman found a body hanging from a gargoyle in Old Town,” Lieutenant Frost said. “It’s got you two written all over it. Meet Levac and that new kid Pocock outside Isle of Night, pronto.”

Frost hung up before Raven could even reply. She shrugged, slid the phone into her jacket pocket and put her wallet and badge in the other. She’d given up carrying a purse, it always seemed to get dropped somewhere.

She left her room, locking the door behind her. She passed her mother’s room halfway down the stairs and paused to lay a hand on the door as she had a thousand times before. Mother was rarely awake during the day.

“She knows you love her,” Dominique said from the bottom of the stairs.

Raven closed her eyes. “And I know she loves me.”

“She is under a lot of stress, Miss Ravenel. Perhaps you could cut her a little slack? These are, after all, enemies of the house,” Dominique said.

Raven continued down the stairs. “But where does it stop, Dominique? With enemies of the house or do we kill everyone who questions or disagrees with Mother’s decisions?”

Dominique looked down for a moment and then her blue eyes met Raven’s. “Guide her, Raven. Don’t fight her. Be her conscience.”

“I’m not Jiminy Cricket,” Raven said, walking toward the garage.

Dominique smiled and walked with her. “No. You are your father’s daughter. She will listen. Temper her anger and fear with humanity, as he did.”

Raven shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll see you later, Dominique. Give Mom and ‘Dora my love.”

“Of course,” Dominique replied, holding the door open to the garage.

Raven ducked beneath the woman’s arm and walked into the dark, her heels clicking on the black and white tile.

A few moments later she was cruising into the city, the Shelby’s engine rumbling and the stereo belching out
The Peter Gunn Theme.
At such an early hour the roads were clear and quiet; she took advantage of the empty highway and unleashed the Shelby’s horsepower, reveling in the noise of the engine and the feel of the gearshift in her hand. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed her dad’s Shelby until she was behind the wheel of another one.

The roaring engine, hissing supercharger and squealing tires brought her to the edge of Old Town in record time and she parked the Shelby next to Levac’s rust on rust Nash Metropolitan. The battered old car was empty and she spotted the detective’s beige trench coat and messy hair within the crowd of uniforms in front of Isle of Night. She grabbed her kit from the trunk, silently thanking Dominique for remembering to put it in the car, and moved to join them. She put on a pair of Nitrile gloves as she crossed the courtyard. From here she could see six feet of rope hanging from a particularly ugly gargoyle on the second floor of the building. Blood was smeared on the brick wall just above the first floor window and it ran down the glass in thick rivulets.

Raven took it all in and slipped under the police tape to join Levac, who was slurping from a familiar-looking coffee cup. He glanced at Raven and handed her the cup he’d been holding in his free hand. Raven sipped it gratefully and smiled at her partner.

“So what do we have this time?” she asked.

Levac gestured at the chubby young man kneeling next to a brown tarpaulin. “Harvey and the boys lowered the victim a few minutes ago,” he said. “Apparently a male, killed by deep lacerations that cut through the arteries in his neck. He looks like he had the crap kicked out of him before death. but it’s hard to tell.”

“Why is it hard to tell?” Raven asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“Hey Rookie! Show Detective Storm what you’re playing with” Levac called.

Harvey Pocock looked over his shoulder. Sweat covered his chubby face and black hair spilled down over his eyes. He wiped his forehead with a cloth and shrugged. “Your stomach, Detective.”

He pulled the tarp back with a sound like tearing silk. Beneath lay a human body, carefully skinned down to the muscles. Some kind of reddish crust covered the whole body from hairless head to nail-less toes. Raven swallowed her coffee and looked the body over. “Judging by the musculature and narrow hips I’d say male. He’s lost a couple inches of fat, but he was probably over six feet tall. What’s that stuff all over him?”

“You know, the patrolman who found him left his breakfast around the corner,” Levac said. “You see this and all you do is start asking questions.”

“Death doesn’t bother me,” Raven replied, taking a swig of coffee.

“What does? Besides the morgue?” Levac asked, pulling out his notebook.

“All that ketchup you put on hotdogs. Nobody puts ketchup on hotdogs, it’s just gross. Why is our victim all crusty?”

“Salt,” Pocock said from his place next to the victim.

“Excuse me?” Raven asked.

“Salt,” Levac repeated. “Sea salt, to be exact. Whoever did this salted him down.”

Raven looked back at the body. “Tell me he was dead first.”

Two technicians lifted the body and put it on a gurney which then rose to its normal height at the nudge of Pocock’s toe.

“We don’t know for sure,” he said. “I can’t get an accurate time of death. Doctor Zhu can give you more later. For now all I can tell you is this guy bled to death, he didn’t bleed to death here and he was hung afterwards while he was still juicy. My guess is that he was salted after death as a sort of preservative and to keep him kinda dry during transit. Whoever did this wanted people to see him in all his skinned glory. His Johnson was even saved in his mouth. You get some weird cases, Detective Storm.”

The two technicians started off with the body. Pocock made to follow them, but Raven stopped him.

“One more thing, Harvey.”

Pocock blinked and glanced at Levac before meeting Raven’s eyes. “Yes, Detective?”

“The rope. What can you tell me about the rope?”

Pocock flipped through his clipboard. “I’ll have to do some more tests, but my guess is that it’s one and three-quarter inch Manila hemp. It was once used in train track construction because it shrinks when wet and burns like the dickens when set on fire. It can also be found on ships and in old mines.”

“Thanks, Harvey,” Raven said. “At least that gives us something to go on. Give me a call when you get the dental records back. I’d like to know who the victim was as soon as Zhu can get the molds done.”

“Will do, Detective,” Harvey replied.

Raven watched the chubby coroner’s assistant waddle off and again felt the distant ache of her missing friend.

“What do we do with rope?” Levac asked.

Raven turned and looked up. “Rope, salt and blood, Rupe.”

She reached out and ran a finger through the still wet blood. She sniffed it gingerly and then wiped her finger on the wall, something Angus was sure to be proud of. “He was B positive with a vitamin deficiency.”

“And that tells us?” Levac asked.

“That I need a donut,” Raven replied. “But we should probably poke around here and see if anyone saw anything last night, don’t you think?”

Levac looked around Old Town with its antiques, ancient structures hiding monsters he now knew were real and gothic wrought-iron fence and shook his head. “Personally, I’d rather go get the donut.”

Raven gave him a look and led the way around the side of the building. She lowered her chromed sunglasses and let her vampire eyes and sensitive nose guide her. Drops of blood led down the sidewalk and toward the eastern entrance to Old Town. On the far side was Club Purgatory and the old Warehouse District.

Raven started to pass through the gap, but her sensitive nose detected the coppery scent of blood. She turned and spotted a handprint on the iron gate. She held up her own hand and whistled at the size of the print.