“You weren’t planning on trying to stop them, were you?” I said. Cormac used to hunt rogue werewolves. He had a whole arsenal of weapons and silver bullets, but since serving a prison term for a manslaughter conviction, the guns were off limits. Him getting into a hand-to-hand fight with a werewolf was unthinkable.
“I think I may have distracted them. Scared them off. Ben—you okay?”
Ben looked away.
Any chance we’d had to follow our attackers was gone. Maybe we could track their scent, but it would be easy to disappear in the city. Staying with Ben was my priority. I wrapped my arm around his, keeping him close.
“Did you get a look at them?” I asked Cormac.
“They had a van waiting,” Cormac said. “I got the plate, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do us. They looked like professional heavies to me.”
I shook my head. “Well, we got what we wanted and flushed them out.”
Cormac asked, “Do you think they were trying to kill you or just hurt you badly?”
“There are easier ways to kill a couple of werewolves.” My breathing had steadied, but my senses were still on trip wires. I took a moment to look myself over, and Ben. We were scratched and bruised, clothing torn, blood flecking our arms and faces. Our skin had gravel embedded in it from where we scraped along the pavement. We needed to wash up. We needed to get out of town—and maybe that was the point. Send a message, scare us off. “Let’s find someplace to sit down,” I said.
Ben retrieved his gun, which was lying hidden in the gutter, and we moved out.
We were in no shape for the nice sit-down seafood dinner I’d envisioned for us. My shirt would clean up with a little scrubbing in a restroom sink, but Ben’s jacket and shirt were ruined, torn and streaked with blood. We didn’t look anything like yuppie tourists now.
While we waited, Cormac ducked into a souvenir shop to find a cheap replacement. He returned with a black shirt with words in a white typewriter font printed on it: I ESCAPED ALCATRAZ.
“I suppose you think this is funny?” Ben said.
“I could have got the one with the big heart on it,” he replied.
“As in, ‘I left my heart in San Francisco’?” I asked.
“It was pink,” Cormac said.
Shaking his head, Ben tore off what was left of his old shirt and slipped on the new one. It looked obnoxious on him. I kind of liked it. He tucked the gun into his waistband, under the shirt, and left the holster in the car.
Back at the waterfront, we picked up clam chowder, sourdough, and sodas to go and ate them at a shabby bench off the sidewalk. Restless, wary, we kept looking over our shoulders. None of us were very hungry and ended up picking at our food, but Ben and I drained the sodas and went back for more. The fight had sucked us dry.
Cormac kept glancing at us, surreptitiously studying us. Making sure we really were calm and collected.
Ben stared at his uneaten food and smiled wryly. “I guess you’re used to shooting werewolves like me who can’t keep it together.”
“I’m not going to shoot you, Ben,” Cormac said, sounding tired.
“You kept it together.” I brushed my leg against his, hoping to transmit calm and reassurance. In turn, he shifted his leg to rest a little more firmly against mine. He’d be okay. “Now, what are we going to do about those freaks? Wait until they hit again or go after them?”
“They won’t hit again, not like that,” Cormac said. “Their cover is blown. If they just wanted to send a message, they already did that.”
“I have to say,” Ben said, pulling apart a chunk of bread, “this meeting with Anastasia is looking a whole lot more sinister than it did an hour ago.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. Roman knew that we were in town, and I had to warn her. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, and the voice mail came on. I hung up.
“She’s not answering,” I said.
“So something’s happened to her?” Ben said.
The sun was only just setting. She may not have been awake yet. Maybe she turned her phone off. I put my phone back into my pocket. “I guess we’ll find out when she shows up for the meeting.”
Or, when she didn’t show up.
Chapter 6
WE DROVE SOUTH a couple of miles, parked the car, and wandered into Chinatown. The neighborhood was identifiable, self-contained—the high-rises stopped at its borders. The streets narrowed. The buildings were mostly brick, three or four stories, crammed together, some of them topped with painted pagoda rooftops that would have been cheesy anywhere else. Signage in both Chinese characters and English announced restaurants, tea shops, souvenir shops, herb shops, import shops, and so on. Narrow alleys showed a forest of steel balconies and fire escapes. A couple of blocks had round, red paper lanterns strung over the street; I couldn’t tell if they were there for the tourists or if they meant something. After dark now, the crowds were thinning, and many shops were closing up, steel grates pulled over their storefronts. We kept a lookout for Roman’s werewolves, but no one was tracking us. I could humor myself that we’d scared them off, but I thought it more likely that they’d be back once they gathered reinforcements.
In true classic vampire fashion, Anastasia had given a complex set of instructions to find her in an obscure meeting place. The address was on Grant, in the heart of the touristy section of Chinatown, and led us to a storefront. The shop—a discount import place that was part souvenir shop, part dollar store—was an island of bright light on the street.
Inside, shelves were crammed with Chinese-style embroidered silk shirts, baskets of slippers, fancy lacquered chopsticks and tea sets, bags of candy labeled in Chinese, open jars of fresh ginseng, bamboo trays, porcelain rice bowls, paper lanterns, and so on. The smells here were rich and varied, both familiar and odd: cardboard, dust, old linoleum tile, too many people; and also strange teas, incense, scented tissue paper, and silk. I had an urge to touch everything, to stop and explore.
The Chinese woman—thin, short, her hair graying—behind the counter and cash register only glanced at us. All tourists coming into the shop must have looked this awestruck. Well, I was awestruck. Ben and Cormac stayed alert, gazing around, searching for trouble.
Stairs led down to even more shelves, boxes, and baskets filled with stuff. I wanted to look for tea sets to buy and bring back as presents. My mother and sister could use a Chinese tea set, right? Cute little pot and tiny matching cups, painted with stylized bamboo. Or maybe some silk jackets. Ooh, sake sets. Wait a minute, weren’t those Japanese? I pulled my attention back. We were on a quest. Shopping later.
Anastasia told us to come to the far end of the basement, that she would be waiting for us there. The place was cluttered, floor-to-ceiling shelves preventing a clear view, making it impossible to judge the room’s size or layout. The only exit seemed to be the stairs. Which meant it would be far too easy to stage an ambush here.
“Wait here,” I said to Ben and Cormac. “I’ll check it out.”
Instead, Ben followed me. “Cormac can watch the stairs,” he said. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
He brushed against my shoulder. Together, we moved forward into the maze of shelves and boxes.
Even with fluorescent lights on the ceilings, the stacks of goods cast shadows, making the room seem dim. My nose worked hard, taking in the air, searching for a chill, the scent of living cold, incongruous against the common background.
We turned the last corner, reaching the back wall, which had a plain door, maybe to a storage closet or another room. When we appeared, so did Anastasia, opening the door and emerging from behind it.
Her black hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head. She had Chinese features, skin as smooth as ivory. Her clothing was expensive without being ostentatious—a perfectly draped burgundy silk blouse over tailored black slacks, high heels, diamond stud earrings, and a simple beaded choker. She wasn’t tall. Slender, elegant, and wary, she gazed at us with dark eyes
and a thin frown.
“You came,” she said.
“I said I would. Ben, this is Anastasia. This is Ben O’Farrell, my husband.”
She studied him; he tensed.
“Hi,” he said flatly.
“It’s good to finally meet you. Kitty speaks well of you.”
He gave me a wry glance, and I managed to look innocent. “We need to talk,” I said. “Roman’s wolves attacked us.”
“Yes, I know. You’re covered in dried blood.” She brushed the collar of my shirt, and I managed not to flinch away from her. I wouldn’t meet her gaze—that hypnotic vampire gaze. “We should talk in private. Would you like to call your friend over?”
I’d been about to gloat that Anastasia hadn’t known Cormac was there, standing watch. But of course she’d known about him—she could sense his beating heart and warm blood.
Without being called, Cormac appeared from around the last row of shelves. He was tall, lean, a stereotypical tough guy in jeans. I couldn’t guess what Anastasia saw when she looked at him. After all our history together, I just saw Cormac.
He held his left hand at his side, closed around some small object. An amulet, probably. Maybe even a cross—defense against vampires. He hadn’t done that sort of thing before going to prison. He’d depended on brute force and firearms, before. Whatever amulet he held belonged to Amelia, really.
“And who is this?” Anastasia asked.
“Cormac Bennett. He’s a friend.” She must have noticed that he held something, maybe even suspected that he was a hunter with experience killing vampires. If she didn’t, I wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
Anastasia waited a moment, but Cormac didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect him to. He’d staked more vampires than he’d conversed with.
Finally, Anastasia nodded. “You have your own entourage, I see. The tables are turned this time.”
When I first met Anastasia, she was flanked by a young vampire protégé and her very handsome human servant. They were both dead now. I certainly hoped the tables weren’t turned. Not like that.
I masked my discomfort with a smile and an offhand shrug. “Yup. My own little wolf pack. I guess I expected you to have a friend or two along for this.”
“No,” she said. “Not anymore. From now on I think it’s best if I have only myself to look after. Why don’t we step inside?” She gestured through the doorway to what looked like an adjoining warehouse.
“Is there another way out of there?” Ben asked.
“Of course,” she said, arcing an offended brow as she led us inside.
Cormac took one last glance behind him before closing the door.
This was a good-size room, obviously storage for the import shop, but lots of cardboard boxes and wooden crates made the place feel cramped. Dim lighting didn’t help. Ben and Cormac were looking around, marking the lay of the land, the exit marked by a red light across the room.
“Do you own this place?” I said, gesturing around. The stuff showed a clash of cultures—rolls of an American brand of toilet paper stacked on top of cardboard boxes labeled in Chinese holding who-knew-what, exotic paper lanterns resting on shelves that also held mundane cleaning supplies, with mops and brooms propped in the corner. “Is that why we’re meeting here?”
“I’m calling in favors,” she said. “I used to have a lot of contacts here. Turns out I still have a few. We’ll be safe. Now, tell me what happened.”
“Ben and I were attacked. Werewolves. I tried to call you after it happened, but you didn’t answer.”
“You appear to have handled them without any trouble,” she said. Her expression didn’t change—I was looking for a show of surprise, of fear. That I didn’t see any reaction didn’t mean anything. I realized I’d have felt better if she’d found a new protégé or human servant. Anastasia by herself wasn’t worried about protecting anyone.
“That, or we got lucky.” I glanced at Cormac, then looked away. Anastasia caught the gesture.
She considered a moment, then said, “We can assume that Roman knows you’re here now.”
“Does that change anything?”
“No. We’re still ahead of him. Let him think we’re stronger than we are.”
I looked around. “Even though it’s just the four of us?” The four of us were pretty badass, but still.
“No. There’s one more.” Her twitch of a smile chilled me. “Kitty, what I’d really like for you and your pack to do is stay on the streets and serve as a distraction. Roman knows you’re here—we can use that. It will give me more time to find the pearl.”
Next to me, Ben bristled. I stared. “Cannon fodder. That’s why you called me here, so you could throw me in Roman’s path while you get away.”
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think you were capable,” she said.
I huffed. “There’s a saying: you don’t have to run faster than the bear, you just have to run faster than the other guy.”
She crossed her arms and glared, her dark eyes shining. “If you want to help me—”
“I can’t help you if you send me away.”
Vampires didn’t breathe—they no longer needed oxygen to survive. So when Anastasia sighed, it was on purpose, and a mark of her frustration. “As much as I would like to end Roman’s existence, and will if I ever have the opportunity, the pearl is more important. Keeping it away from him is my priority.”
“A pearl?” Ben said. “This is all about a piece of jewelry?”
Anastasia surveyed and disregarded him with a glance, which made me want to get in her face even more. How dare she diss my guy. An older vampire, Anastasia wasn’t used to werewolves talking back. I’d seen her get pissed off, and I wondered how far I’d have to push her before she got pissed off at me. Wasn’t going to find out this time. I eased Wolf back and stayed civil. “Anastasia, I want to know what we’re fighting for here. Tell me about this pearl.”
“The Dragon’s Pearl,” she said. “It’s an artifact of great age and power.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What’s it do?”
Cormac, who’d been lurking and nigh unto invisible, stepped forward and said, “It’s a bottomless container. The stories say you put it in a jar full of rice, the jar will produce an endless amount of rice. Or gold. The artifact itself was said to be a gem or a pearl, carried by divine dragons. But more likely it was a charm created by a human magician, probably as an imperial gift or status symbol.” On second thought, it was Amelia who said all that, but Anastasia didn’t have to know that.
“How do you know that?” Anastasia asked. Her gaze was narrowed, suspicious.
“I’ve been around,” he said. “Picked up a few things.” There. That was Cormac talking.
“Yes,” she said, skeptical. “Clearly.”
“Was it made by dragons or magicians? Is that important?” I said.
“It was created by a magician,” Anastasia said. “There’s no such thing as dragons.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. I never knew anymore what was going to turn out to be real and what wasn’t. Being a werewolf tended to give one an open mind. Or made one totally confused. “So dragons aren’t real but this thing that could possibly grant someone untold riches is?”
“Roman doesn’t need the money, though I’m sure he’ll take it,” she said. “He’s going to use it to try and replicate a spell—a magical copy machine, if you like.”
I looked at Cormac. “Would that even work?”
“Don’t know,” he said, studying Anastasia with interest.
Anastasia’s tone was serious, her expression grave. Even more grave, rather. “Roman’s followers wear a talisman. A coin that marks them—to Roman, and to each other. There’s a binding spell attached to the coins.”
The walls suddenly felt very close, and the room suddenly got very hot. “A coin from ancient Rome?” I asked. “On a leather cord?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised, suspicious. Cormac and Ben were lookin
g at me with startled expressions.
To think I’d wanted to write it off as coincidence.
I’d put the coin I took from the vampire in Kansas into my pocket because I’d wanted to show it to her, which turned out to be a pretty good call. I drew it out and offered it to her.
Her jaw tightened as she stared at it. “Where did you get this?” she said, with as much shock and emotion as she’d yet displayed.
“From a starving vampire in Dodge City.”
“Dodge City? Don’t tell me you found the vampire den that Wyatt Earp burned?”
“Oh my God, you know about that? Should I have called you first?”
“I wasn’t there, I only heard rumors.” Wearing a faint, twisted smile, she shook her head. “He uses those to mark his followers. He can make more himself, but the spell is time consuming and Roman coins in good condition aren’t as plentiful as they used to be. He’s going to try to use the Dragon’s Pearl to replicate not just the coin, but the spell attached to them.”
“He’s expanding his army,” I said. “Exponentially.”
Cormac said, “Kitty, if that thing is bound to him, that means Roman knew you were here before that wolf pack found us. He tracked you with that.”
I said, “We have to get rid of this.”
“Will defacing the coin work?” Cormac asked.
“The vampire who wore it is destroyed?” Anastasia asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Then it should.”
“I’ll need a hammer,” Cormac said.
Anastasia went up the stairs and called in Chinese to the woman at the counter. After a moment, she returned, carrying a hefty sledgehammer, which she gave to Cormac. He lay the coin on the concrete floor, raised the hammer over his head, and brought it down with a heavy crack, then a second, and a third. The thing sparked under the blows, bouncing. When Cormac moved aside, I picked up the coin—flattened, now. All the markings had been mashed, erased. It almost seemed a shame. I held it up for Anastasia to see, and she nodded.