The Den of Shadows Quartet by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
“Sounds fun,” Ravyn acknowledged, scraping away a speck of blood she had just noticed on one of her burgundy nails. “With luck, we won’t have to worry about the rematch, either,” she added to Turquoise.
Turquoise shrugged. This job was worth too much to turn her back on. Besides, she had never met a vampire she couldn’t beat. “You say get inside,” she inquired, tacitly accepting Jillian’s terms. “How?”
“That’s one of the reasons the job isn’t cheap,” Jillian said, a slight smile on her face. “You’re on your own to get into Midnight. You’ll have to use any means necessary, Turquoise.”
Turquoise knew what Jillian was hinting at. “I need to make a call.”
An hour later, Turquoise found herself in yet another hotel room, this time with a fairly attractive, dark-skinned gentleman three or four hundred years old. It was hard to tell exactly, since in appearance he was twenty-five at the most. As broaching the topic of any vampire’s past could be dangerous at best, Turquoise had never asked.
“Milady Turquoise,” he greeted.
“Nathaniel, always nice to see you,” she responded sincerely. Nathaniel was a vampire, true, and that was not his only flaw; he was also a mercenary and an assassin, as necessity dictated. However, since Turquoise also fit most of those descriptions, she did not hold Nathaniel’s profession against him.
Luckily, Nathaniel’s line thirsted more for money than for blood. If anyone thought it strange that a vampire and a human had a close business relationship, no one had spoken of it. Nathaniel had taught Turquoise most of what she knew. He had taught her what a mercenary was, the value of her talents — among them hunting — and most importantly, where to find buyers for the skills she was willing to sell. He had also once saved her life, not to mention her sanity.
“I don’t suppose this is a social call,” Nathaniel stated. “You on a job?”
She nodded, debating how much she needed to tell him. Though he would offer her a chance to buy his silence, Nathaniel would be willing and able to sell any information she gave him.
“I need to get myself and another woman into Midnight.” The slight widening of Nathaniel’s eyes was the only sign that she had surprised him. “And I need to do it without getting tied up or beaten bloody.”
Nathaniel sighed and leaned back against the wall. “You don’t ask for much, do you, Turquoise?” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
She frowned at the tone of his voice. It was unlike Nathaniel to object to anything someone else was doing, especially if he was likely to get paid for it.
“Will you get us in?”
“I could sell you in,” Nathaniel responded bluntly. His gaze flickered down and up her body, a critical sizing up. “You would fetch a high number, I’m sure. Attractive, healthy, strong, intelligent … or I thought you were. Are you really so anxious to sell yourself back into slavery, Turquoise?”
No. She had been in once; she had no desire to return. However, to return with a knife, as an experienced hunter, was a great deal different than returning unarmed, as the innocent she had once been.
“Is there any other way?”
Nathaniel shook his head, and inventoried her price in a cool tone that sent shivers down her spine. “The scars on your arms will lessen your value by a couple hundred. Unless you would like me to offer you to Daryl? He would pay dearly.”
She recoiled as Nathaniel said her once-master’s name.
Gathering her pride, she stated, “If he’s involved in Midnight, I’m definitely going in. He’s deserved a knife for a long time.”
“You weren’t always so tough, Turquoise,” Nathaniel said softly. He had been the one who had given her the name Turquoise Draka, a new identity to replace the one Lord Daryl had destroyed. He had provided her with contacts to Bruja, and had taught her about fighting back instead of cowering. He had never told her why, and she had never asked. “I’ve seen you pull stunts that left me wondering if you had a death wish. You push yourself hard enough to kill a weaker human, and accept jobs that should be suicide missions just to prove you can handle them.”
She shrugged, and found that her shoulders were painfully tight. “I’ve never lost,” she pointed out. “And I’ve never known you to argue with me before.”
Nathaniel just sighed. “It’s your life,” he finally relented. “You know the slave trade better than most freeblood humans will ever imagine it.”
He paused, and then named his price. “Forty thousand, in advance. And I’ll take whatever I can get for selling the two of you. I haven’t dealt in flesh since the old Midnight was destroyed, but I’ve had enough pressure to return to it that my selling a couple of humans for a profit won’t surprise anyone. Deal, milady?” Nathaniel had returned to his usual cool composure, and the familiar tone helped soothe her jangled nerves.
She nodded. “Deal.”
“Shall we find your companion?”
Again she nodded. They walked down the hall to the room where Ravyn and Jillian were waiting.
A few paces from the doorway to Jillian Red’s hotel room, she asked, “Why does Midnight scare you so much?” It was not a polite question. Asking any vampire about his fear was like asking a parent why his child was diseased.
She half-expected him to clam up, but instead he leveled a dark gaze in her direction.
Then he looked away, flashing a handsome smile at some memory as he stepped toward the doorway. “Because I was part of it once,” he answered. “I know Midnight and the woman who once ran it better than you could ever imagine; I understand what went on inside. And while I’m not nearly so mad as the people I surround myself with, I seem to have a rather unprofessional desire not to see you kill yourself.”
Turquoise was still trying to decide whether that last bit was an insult or a compliment when Nathaniel knocked on Jillian Red’s door.
CHAPTER 3
RAVYN HAD SEEMED to be thoroughly amused when she learned of the masquerade she would have to play in order to earn her money but as they went over the finer points of slavery at a Chinese restaurant along the way she became decidedly less delighted.
Nathaniel spoke between sips of tea and polite bites of sesame chicken. Turquoise wondered whether he liked the taste, or was just willing to eat so they would look normal, as the vampire certainly did not need the human food.
He explained calmly, “If you don’t want to be bound and thrown into a cell, you’re going to need to pass for a tamed slave. No trainer will believe you are broken, but if you’re careful, he might be satisfied that you’re smart enough to be obedient. I’ve heard that Midnight isn’t as brutal to its slaves as it once was, so a bit of servility should buy you enough time for your job.” For Ravyn’s benefit, he elaborated. “Your master is more than your owner — he is your life, the only thing that matters. Nothing comes before his wishes. What he says, you do, without hesitation. Until you’re sold, that master is me. When we get to Midnight, keep your eyes on me. If someone tells you to do something, look to me. If someone asks you a question, look to me. Once you’re sold, the same applies to whoever your new owner is. A slave isn’t supposed to think; she just obeys.
“Never address the vampires by name unless given permission to do so. I know of very few who would hesitate to give a slave a beating if she forgot a title. In general, address any of my kind as ‘milady’ or ‘milord’ until told otherwise.”
He paused. “The present Master of Midnight is named Jaguar. He was a trainer in the original Midnight — one of the best. Avoid him as well as you can, because he’ll see through your act quickly.”
“Tell us about this Midnight,” Turquoise pressed, when Nathaniel paused again.
“I have avoided this new Midnight so far, but I knew the old one too well,” Nathaniel answered. “I’ve seen humans bred like cattle, beaten bloody for meaningless trifles. Worse, I’ve seen freeborn humans as strong willed as you two reduced to the servility of well-trained pets.” H
“Once I sell you in, you’re on your own. None of Midnight’s followers will go against a claim of ownership, so even if you want to pay a mercenary for help escaping, he won’t be able to take you out.”
Nathaniel was giving them one more warning. He had been the one to remove Turquoise from her first master’s possession, but only after Lord Daryl had thrown her away in a rage and ordered the mercenary to take her.
“It won’t be a problem,” Ravyn replied, though Turquoise could hear strain in her voice. According to Jillian’s recital, Ravyn had found herself once before in the uncomfortable situation Nathaniel was describing. The hunter was putting forward a brave front. “Tell us more about this Jeshickah you mentioned.”
“Jeshickah …” Nathaniel shook his head. “She gathered her trainers and taught them their trade. She picked the slaves who would be bred and the slaves who would be culled. After her Midnight was destroyed, she withdrew from vampire society.” He continued, “So far, she doesn’t seem to be involved with Jaguar’s project. Jaguar was Jeshickah’s favorite — brutal, and perfectly obedient to her. It isn’t surprising that he would attempt to re-create the environment in which he had power.” He turned to describing the trainer instead, leaving Turquoise unable to press about Jeshickah without revealing that she was their target. “Don’t trust Jaguar, and don’t irritate him unless you are willing to take a beating for it. It takes a lot to get his temper riled, but once it is, you’re in trouble. In general, don’t give him any reason to touch you, especially in anger, but don’t fight him if he does. Never raise a hand against a trainer, not unless you know you can kill him.”
“Is he usually armed?” Turquoise asked the question out of habit. Both hunters were leaving their weapons behind; there would be no way to explain if someone noticed they were carrying when they entered Midnight. However, there were always ways to find weaponry, especially if one’s prey was wearing it.
“Jaguar rarely uses a knife,” Nathaniel answered. “He favors a nine-foot leather whip, which he is an expert with. I’ve seen him slice open the arm of another vampire, then pull a bird unharmed from the air with the back snap.”
Ravyn shook her head, sipping her water in contemplation. Turquoise found that burgundy gaze risen to meet her own. “Something wrong, Turquoise?” she drawled. “You look a bit pale.”
“Just annoyed,” she answered briskly, forcing her composure to return. Knives, crossbows, swords, staves … why did it have to be a whip?
It’s practical The voice in her memory was Lord Daryl’s, answering that question, asked three years earlier. A knife is more likely to scar, or do greater harm than intended. It is easier to establish discipline with a more versatile weapon.
Lord Daryl had been able to snap a whip softly enough to sting the flesh, or hard enough to draw blood, depending on his mood.
Nathaniel’s gaze met hers across the table; he no doubt knew what she was thinking. Then he looked away, his eyes rising to flirt with the waitress who had just returned to refill their water glasses.
As soon as she was gone, Nathaniel continued. “Turquoise, you might want to go back to using your birth name; it will make it easier to convince anyone you see that you have been bounced around inside the trade the last few years. Either way don’t use Turquoise Draka — it’s too easy to trace. Ravyn, how likely are you to be recognized?”
Ravyn shook her head. “All the vampires I’ve ever known are dead.” Nathaniel gave her a look that said he heard both the implied threat and the lie, but Ravyn volunteered nothing more.
Nathaniel took another sip of tea. He held the liquid in his mouth a few moments, as if thinking of something else. “I normally don’t make a point of arguing the plans of someone who is paying me, but you both know this is insanity don’t you?”
“Insanity makes the rivers flow,” Ravyn replied nonsensically.
“Any more advice you’re willing to share?” Turquoise asked, ignoring Ravyn as well as she could. She bit back a yawn, and then frowned at her watch. It was only noon. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that even she had limits. She had been up since three in the morning, and had spent much of the time fighting Ravyn. Still, there was enough adrenaline left in her system that she had expected to be wired until next Tuesday.
Nathaniel paused. “None that’s going to mean much to you. With luck, you won’t have any trouble dealing with Jaguar. He’s probably stronger than the vampires you’ve faced before, but he’s weak compared to Jeshickah. If Jeshickah or Gabriel are there, pray you don’t run into either of them.”
Ravyn’s gaze snapped up from what had been a sleepy-looking contemplation of her chopsticks when she heard the second name.
“Something wrong?” Nathaniel inquired.
She shook her head. A frown crossed her brow briefly and Turquoise saw her stifle a yawn. As always, the yawn was contagious.
The waitress had returned with their check. By the time Nathaniel had taken the appropriate number of bills from his wallet, Turquoise was taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep awake.
One foot in front of the other, Turquoise ordered herself as she followed Nathaniel to the car. He opened the two passenger-side doors before walking around to the driver’s side. The passenger’s bucket seat sank beneath Turquoise invitingly.
Turquoise was nearly unconscious before she turned her doubling vision on Nathaniel.
You drugged us? It took two tries to form the thought coherently, and then her lips seemed too dry to say it aloud.
Sleep, Turquoise, Nathaniel returned, speaking with his mind as he started the car. It’s a long drive to Midnight, and there’s no reason for you to know the way.
But…
Sleep.
CHAPTER 4
THERE WERE THREE cartoon characters to choose from, though of course the best ones were on the square bandages and the tiny ones, the ones no one ever had a use for.
“There, all patched up,” Cathy announced. “You take care of Bert for me,” she commanded. The eight-year-old boy grinned, any pain from the scrape on his shin forgotten in the swath of Sesame Street bandages, and kissed his sister on the cheek before hopping down.
Tommy scampered off about the time that her dad descended the stairs. “That boy gets into more trouble in one afternoon …” He shook his head, still smiling. “He’s lucky to have you. Most fifteen-year-old girls have better things to do than take care of their brothers.”
Cathy shrugged. It sounded like Mr. Minate was about to launch into another of his inspirational talks.
“Honestly.” Right on cue. “Some people only care about themselves. They use things; they destroy. You’re … you’re a creator, a builder. A healer, not a user.”
Cathy shook off the words using the traditional “nod and smile” approach. Her father seemed to realize he had descended into the depths of hokey advice again, and gave her an impulsive hug. “Don’t let anyone change you, Cathy.”
The dream crumbled, and Turquoise wrenched herself away from sleep, trying to gather her bearings. You are not that innocent girl anymore. You are Turquoise Draka, a high-ranking member of Crimson, and a vampire hunter — one of the best. She pushed the memories away.
She was on a job. Memories had no place here.
She was sprawled across the passenger seat of Nathaniel’s car, with a kink in her back where someone seemed to have tied the muscles into a square knot. She rotated her shoulders, cautiously peering out the car’s window as she pushed the remnants of her dream away.
They were parked at a gas station. Throug
Flirt, Turquoise thought without bitterness, as she saw the cashier leaning forward, giving her customer an excellent view. Her hand lingered, fingers brushing over Nathaniel’s as she handed him his change.
Turquoise heard Ravyn starting to come to, as she waited for Nathaniel to get back in the car so she could grill him. It was dusk already; she wanted to know when they would arrive in Midnight.
She had just reached for her door handle, ready to confront the vampire, when she saw how the cashier’s flirting had paid off.
Nathaniel was holding the girl gently, almost in an embrace, one arm around her waist and his other hand on the back of her arched neck.
Turquoise stretched, turning away from the scene, and then fumbled with the radio dial for a few seconds, finding only static. Nathaniel was too discreet to kill the girl, and he had to feed sometime.
Ravyn grumbled a curse. “What the hell?” she snarled. “That —”
“We didn’t pay him to tell us where Midnight was,” Turquoise interrupted the other hunter. She had worked with Nathaniel numerous times; she knew how he thought. “And most likely, someone is paying him not to give Midnight’s location away.”
Ravyn grumbled an insult that Turquoise pretended not to hear. “What’s all the drama about this job? I’ve killed older bloodsuckers than this Jeshickah. She might have a bad rap, but that will all change once she’s got a knife in her.”
Turquoise did not respond except to shake her head. Nathaniel obviously did not know that Jeshickah was back. Jillian had said her return was very recent, and since Nathaniel had been avoiding Midnight, it was not surprising that his information was out of date. However, it was always worrisome when a prime source of information was wrong.
She sat back, forcing herself to relax. She could plan once she knew the score; until then, worrying about details was pointless.