To Kill a Sorcerer Page 5

  “Please do not concern yourself.” What do you say to someone who has just apologized for trying to bite your neck? “I understand.”

  Aliena returned to her seat. Liza’s eyes remained fixed on my throat, burning with an age-old hunger. A small tear of saliva dripped from one of her fangs. I wondered why any vampire would give the preternatural blood to a woman in her eighties.

  I leaned toward Aliena, looked at the delicate mole above her upper lip.

  “Now I can relax,” I whispered. “Must we always sit next to her?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby.”

  “I like that. I’m in an abandoned warehouse in east LA with five hundred vampires who want to suck the life out of me, and you say I’m being a baby when I’m sitting next to one of said vampires who just attacked me because she can’t remember me from a month ago. What if she forgets again and latches on to my throat in the middle of the first round?”

  “She is very thin. If I cannot drain you, she certainly cannot.”

  “You are so funny. I’d take you over my knee if you weren’t, well, you know, if you weren’t you.”

  “You have an affinity for spanking, don’t you?”

  “With some girls, it’s all I can think about.”

  Marcus sat below and to our left, ringside, his legs crossed, his hands lying in his lap. I looked into his face. Eye contact is a force transfer, and the power of this being radiated across the room. I inclined my head very slightly. He did not respond. After a few moments, he turned to the activity in the ring.

  The fighters for the first bout slipped inside the ropes. The vampire, a skinny little Latin-looking guy, boxed out of the red corner. His opponent, a large and muscular black man, stood in the opposite corner.

  The master of ceremonies was a tiny black vampire with a crown of stiff hair, wearing a moth-eaten tuxedo with too-long pants. He walked to the center of the ring, picked a wireless microphone off the red mat, and held it to his lips.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, our first bout of the night!” The crowd roared. “In the red corner, tipping the scales at one forty and a quarter, fighting for the Fourteenth Century, wearing the red trunks with red trim, with a record of two thousand forty-seven and oh, two thousand and forty-seven victories coming by way of Bite Out— . . .”

  Aliena whooped.

  “. . . is the ‘Barcelona Bomber,’ Mario de la Francisco Mejia!”

  Mejia held up his gloves and twirled in a circle. The crowd roared.

  “Wooooo, go, Mario!” Aliena yelled.

  I had seen Mejia before. He was Aliena’s favorite fighter, an international vampire celebrity. His quoted weight of 140 pounds might be accurate—in a NASA pressure suit. He had greased-back hair under a net and a pencil-thin mustache, and his huge red satin boxing shorts hung past his knees. He did a girlish pirouette and waved to the crowd.

  The geeky little night-biter.

  His opponent stood in the opposite corner, a look of disbelief on his face as he watched Mario spin again.

  “And fighting out of the blue corner, representing the Twenty-First Century, weighing in at two forty and a half, with a fight-to-the-death record of twelve and oh, is Terrence ‘Angel of Dread’ Shepard!”

  Shepard was a big, tattooed man, and none of his 240 pounds resembled fat. He grinned at Mario.

  It probably should have crossed Shepard’s mind that pitting him against a little guy like Mejia in a death match didn’t make sense. But money can make shrewd people overlook crucial details.

  Aliena had explained it to me. The vampires employed an intermediary—usually a mortal—to acquire the human fighters. The agent offered the potential fighter $150,000, paid whether he won or lost. In the event of his death, the money went to whomever he or she so designated. Vampires are wealthy creatures, and as a coalition, represent the richest group of beings on Earth. They always paid off, and word had spread in the more violent parts of inner Los Angeles that this was a lucrative deal.

  So far, no one seemed to care that every fighter who had accepted the match had disappeared—the beneficiary of the “prize” money least of all.

  After delivering the introductions, the emcee pocketed the microphone and slid through the ropes, out of the combat zone. No referee hovered near the fighters. The fight lasted a single round—however long that took.

  As soon as the bell sounded, the two fighters moved cautiously into the center of the ring. Shepard threw a powerful jab that snapped Mario’s head back. He stepped inside Mario’s weak jab and landed a straight right hand that shook the vampire’s body. Mario staggered into the ropes. The Angel of Dread moved in, crouched, ready to deliver a devastating combination. But Mario slipped to his left, under the man’s hook, and danced back into the center of the ring, his voluminous shorts swaying.

  Shepard moved forward until he was once again toe-to-toe with his opponent. He jabbed; Mario slipped it. He threw a straight right that glanced off Mario’s temple and followed it with a left hook that caught the vampire flush on the right cheek and lifted him off his feet.

  Mario flew into the blue corner and slammed into the ropes. When he landed on his feet, he quickly strode back to his opponent. The crowd cheered.

  The first flicker crossed the Angel’s face. His tattoos and scars bore testament to his street toughness—he was not a man who lost fights. But he had to be confused about what was happening in the ring right now. He watched as Mario did another of his pirouettes, waving at the crowd. The Angel looked befuddled.

  He had my sympathies. It must be a strange feeling to find that the tools you have used to success all your life do not work anymore.

  Shepard knew how to fight though, and his momentary confusion did not stop him from stepping back into Mario as soon as the little fellow came near. After a succession of crisp jabs, he landed a crushing right hand that mashed Mario’s nose.

  Mario was not a very good boxer.

  Aliena jumped onto her feet, yelling hysterically.

  The effete vampire staggered back, skinny legs shaking. After he slammed into the ropes, he straightened up. His nose repaired itself.

  The Angel had been advancing, but now he stopped short, his expression wary. He could see that Mario not only remained undamaged from that last crushing punch, but that he hadn’t even bled from his broken nose.

  Mario moved forward stealthily. Shepard took an uncertain step back. Mario moved with vampiric speed now, sliding under the big man’s left hook, punching him on the hips, chest, face, groin, and stomach in a fury of rapid-fire strikes.

  Shepard staggered from the onslaught. Every time he turned, Mario flitted somewhere else. The big man threw punches that swung through the air, connecting with nothing. Whenever Mario did slow down to beat him hard on his midsection, the Angel gamely continued to thump his diminutive opponent. But his posture was that of a man who suddenly realizes he is in the winds of a hurricane.

  The Angel of Dread raged, and he did not quit.

  Mario continued his furious assault. Shepard finally sagged and went down as his preternatural foe pummeled his muscled body to the mat. Even on his back, the big man continued to punch weakly, never giving an inch.

  With a flash stroke, Mario punched Shepard on the side of the face and then struck at him like a cobra, biting him on the neck. The Angel’s body went rigid, and the front of his shorts darkened. He wrapped his arms around Mario’s thin shoulders and tried to push the vampire off, but his strength had drained away. Mario’s head jerked as he fastened on for the final gulp. Shepard’s arms waved feebly in the air then fell away, his gloved hands making soft thuds on the canvas as his entire body went slack.

  Aliena bounced up and down, applauding lustily. I took her arm.

  “May we please go now?” I shouted in her ear. The sight of the big man on the canvas being drained by a skinny girly-vampire was more than I could handle.

  “No! There are three more fights after this!”

  “Aliena, you promise
d.”

  “Please, just one more fight?”

  “No.”

  She stuck out her lower lip and looked at me from under her lashes.

  “You think pouting will work?”

  Her brown eyes flashed with anger, but she remained silent.

  “Fine,” I said. “You watch the rest of the fights without me.”

  Now that we were at intermission, many vampires looked my way. I did not wish to leave without Aliena at my side, but I would not let her hold me hostage here.

  She made a face at me. “Oh, very well. There is another event on Thursday.”

  We stepped past Liza. I kept an eye on the old bat to make sure she didn’t go for my leg.

  Vampires continued to bare their fangs at me as Aliena led us toward the exit, her arm linked in mine. Watching them, I felt as I had the last time we had been at 49: as though I was her pet.

  We neared the exit when a vampire stood in front of us and put his hand on my chest to bring us to a halt. He gazed at Aliena.

  Marcus.

  He stood a bit taller than I and wore his thick brown hair combed back off his forehead in the old European style. He was elegantly dressed in a blue suit and wine tie. By his youthful looks, I estimated he had been turned in his mid-twenties. His skin had that glossy sheen only the most ancient vampires have.

  He was no being with whom to trifle.

  “Aliena, you are looking lovely,” he said, removing his hand from my chest and gallantly kissing her on the knuckles. His desire for Aliena shone clear, but I was the reason he had accosted us.

  “Thank you,” Aliena said.

  “You have been ignoring my calls.”

  “Yes. I have been.”

  “Would you care to dine with me on Friday?”

  I wondered what that meant. If he continued in this vein, I intended to interrupt him. Vampires crowded on all sides, but I didn’t care. He was old enough to know how to conduct himself as a gentleman.

  “I will call you and let you know.”

  “I will await you.” He frowned as the bell sounded behind us, and the emcee began introducing the next fighters. “You’re not leaving already?”

  “As a matter of fact . . .”

  “But you love the fights. You never leave early. You must have most vital matters to attend indeed.”

  He knew very well we always left after one fight. He finally turned to me as if until that moment he had been unaware of my presence.

  “You look like an interesting companion.” He sniffed. “Yes, very. Sebastian, is it not?”

  I inclined my head. “Marcus. A pleasure.”

  He stared at me, his face bland. I gave the stare back. We stayed like that for a few moments. His lips curved in the smallest smile.

  “Aliena never talks about you.”

  “Nor you,” I replied.

  “We should become acquainted. You may remain with me if you wish to watch the rest of the program. I guarantee your safety,” he said, his arms away from his sides, his palms facing me, his gaze sweeping the vampires around us.

  Having given his word, I knew he would not harm me, nor allow any of the others to attack. It represented an enticing offer. I was as curious about him as he obviously was about me. If I did not need so urgently to discuss the case with Aliena, I might have accepted.

  Then again, I might not have.

  “I would be delighted,” I said, “but I have a prior engagement with this young lady. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Indeed I do.” He infused those three words with more innuendo than a massage parlor ad. I waited for him to move out of our way. He finally gave a small bow. “Your servant, sir.”

  “An honor.”

  He stood aside. We began walking to the exit, Aliena’s hand on my arm.

  “Slowly, Sebastian,” she whispered.

  Ten

  Wednesday, December 22, 1:38 a.m.

  “He is after you,” I said once seated in a cab headed back to Gladstone’s. The look in Marcus’s eyes required no experience to decipher.

  His message rang equally clear. He had not accosted us out of curiosity alone. He had informed me that if I pursued Aliena, I had competition—and that he was the stronger of us. He had known her twice as long, which gave him the inside track, if you’ll pardon the expression.

  “He is not the only one.” She slid over, pushing her lush body against mine, and pressed her cool lips to my ear. “And not just vampires are after me, either.”

  Her breath triggered a tremor across my shoulder blades. “Must you always tease me?”

  “Yes. I must.” She gave her tinselly, girlish laugh. “You are soooo fun to play with.”

  Aliena often searched for her prey in LA’s nightclubs. Once, seeing her in the center of an admiring group of men and women, I had been envious, knowing that she would drink one of them later that night. She rarely killed, and though the blood loss caused weakness for a couple of days in the mortal body, men probably considered it worth it to get that close to her.

  I certainly did. With her somber brown eyes and delicate, exquisite features, in tandem with that indecently generous backside and wicked set of hips, Aliena was lavishly feminine, Aphrodite’s dark reflection.

  Her hand rested on my thigh, our faces close enough for me to see the smooth porcelain of her complexion, so different from the porous matte of most human flesh.

  “Have you and Marcus ever . . . uh, dated?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I will tell you a secret.”

  “What kind of secret?”

  “A real secret about me.” Her eyes grew ever more luminous as she looked into mine. The press of her breasts against my arm threatened to overload my senses. “About Marcus and the others . . . well, I have never been intimate with anyone.”

  “What?”

  “No.”

  “But you have been alive for over three hundred years. In all that time . . . ?”

  “There has been no one.”

  “You must have had many suitors.” Captain Obvious speaks up, thus dispelling the notion that he possesses above-average intelligence. What can I say? The girl does that to me.

  “Yes. But even vampire men can be detestable. And the pool of available lovers is considerably smaller for us than it is for humans.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “So far,” she said, breathing in my ear and running her fingernails along the back of my neck, “no man has excited me.” Her voice trembled.

  The cab seemed to float through the dark streets, warm and intimate. I ran my fingertips along her cheek. She closed her eyes, her lips parted.

  “Your skin is so warm,” she said.

  Her face entranced me, her beauty ethereal, skin aglow where there was no illumination. She was a child of the moon. Not even the lack of street bulbs in this area of town could dim the incandescence of her honey-colored hair.

  “Aliena, my darling Aliena,” I whispered and stroked her hair. I leaned forward, wanting only to kiss her upper lip and that sexy mole. She opened her eyes and placed a hand on my chest.

  “Slowly, Sebastian.” She gazed at me, and I could sense her indecision. She was tempted.

  I ached for her, beyond temptation.

  She placed her hand over mine and pressed it to her cheek. “You do not mind the cool of my skin?” she asked.

  “I find it delightful.”

  She closed her eyes again. I sat spellbound, watching her. We stayed like that for only a few seconds, but time seemed to slow down, extend, spin into a lifetime. Every detail of that cab ride remains etched in my memory. Finally, she pulled my hand into her lap and covered it with the other.

  “You know you are special to me. I need time to think.”

  “That is exactly what you do not want to do,” I said. “In any case, I have no desire to rush you. You will know when you are ready.”

 
She squeezed my hand painfully, nearly breaking my knuckles. “You might have said if, you conceited bastard. And now that I think about it, I am not sure you are up to the task.”

  “You devastate me.”

  She grinned wickedly, raised my hand to her mouth, and nipped the end of my index finger.

  “Ow.”

  She slowly licked the blood off with her smooth, icy tongue, all the while staring into my eyes.

  “You wouldn’t be doing this to tease me further, would you?”

  “I might be.” She released my hand and scooted back to her side of the cab.

  “You’re a devil, Aliena.”

  “Yes. For you.”

  Eleven

  Wednesday, December 22, 2:34 a.m.

  The cab stopped at Gladstone’s, and I drove us back to my place. Once inside, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, cracked the seal, and drained it. While waiting for the burn in my throat to subside, I watched the hypnotic sway of Aliena’s hips as she sashayed across the living room.

  She sat on the couch, pulled the computer to her, and began scanning the police files.

  I tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. A cigarette would have been a nice chaser, but I didn’t even consider it. Vampires have extreme senses and do not like the smell of burning things. Perfectly understandable.

  I had been loath to give up my smoking habit. My body could not become addicted, but the blissful memories of early rituals involving tobacco remained deeply ingrained in my psyche. Today’s smooth, clean cigarettes made the act a joy. Sometimes I would smoke continuously for two or three days. Quitting was in my future, I knew, because Aliena hated the stink, but letting go of those relaxing, pleasurable moments proved tougher than I had anticipated.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I leaned against the wall and watched as she studied the reports, marveling at the graceful curve of her neck, and the way the glow from the standing lamp caught the soft, golden spill of hair across her cheek.

  The clicking of the mouse stopped. She had reached the picture folder. The tapping resumed, with long pauses in between. After several moments, her dark eyes found mine.