Urban Enemies by Kelley Armstrong

  The European Mithrans were coming for the Americans, as soon as fifty years. They wanted his land, his Mithrans, his cattle. They wanted to rule the world; what better place to do so than from the United States of America? His land.

  He would not give it up.

  Leo dropped El Mago and, with an economical swipe of the sword, removed his head.

  Katie bent down, inspecting the body. "You killed him before we left for the Americas. Only someone powerful might have healed him from the mortal wound you administered." She tilted her head to Leo. "You have enemies. Will you grieve again, for his death?"

  "I will not." Leo pulled out the cellular phone and followed the instructions. "Pellissier Clan Home," a woman answered.

  "This is Leo. Send a cleanup crew to the Hemingway suite of the Hotel Monteleone."

  "Leo. The Master of the City?"

  "Of course. Who else would make such a call? And send a car to collect the heir and me. We shall be walking down Royal toward St. Louis Street. We require a male blood-servant and the human Margaret Coin, champagne, and privacy in the limo. And . . ." He considered the odd phrase he had heard his people use, "make it snappy."

  Leo Pellissier, Master of the City of New Orleans, dropped the cellular phone and held out his arm to his beloved. "Come. Let us take in the city before the sun rises."

  Together they left the Hemingway suite and the body on the floor of the bedroom. Perhaps this time El Mago--Miguel Pellissier--would stay down.

  Re-killing his brother was tiring.

  CHASE THE FIRE

  JON F. MERZ

  What if vampires weren't undead, but had evolved in secret alongside humanity, protected by an elite cadre known as Fixers? In the Lawson Vampire series, Lawson is one of the elite, constantly battling rogue vampires, terrorists, spies, and more. "Chase the Fire" is a glimpse at an insidious plot brewing from within the vampire governing body, one which Lawson will soon have to deal with.

  Amsterdam, Netherlands

  We found him in one of the brothels on De Wallen."

  Shiraz Aziz eyed the tiny man before him and smiled. As always, the temptations of vice worked for those who knew how to use them to their advantage. He scratched at his bristling beard, which he'd started growing to help conceal his identity. At day eleven, it was almost relentlessly itchy.

  But that would pass soon enough.

  The tiny man shivered in the cool night air, clad only in a flannel shirt and jeans, teeth chattering as he kept glancing around. Shiraz's men eyed him like he was already dead. But Shiraz gave him a warm smile.

  "And how are you tonight, my new friend?"

  The man looked up at him. "Do I know you?"

  "No," said Shiraz. "You do not. But I know you, and that is far more important. In fact, you might say that it's perhaps the most important thing of all." He smiled some more and then leaned forward to the man crouched on the floor. "I'm going to ask you some questions now. Be a good lad and answer them."

  The man said nothing, just continued to look up at Shiraz.

  "You are what is known as a Ferret. Is this true?"

  The man shook his head and stuttered a quick denial. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Shiraz allowed his smile to fade for dramatic effect and then looked at his men. "Perhaps we have the wrong man here? Maybe you got confused when I asked you to bring him to me? Maybe it is not really who I was looking for after all? Hmmm?"

  Hassan, his right-hand man, frowned. "It is possible, I suppose. There was a great deal of confusion when we arrived there. Clothes strewn about everywhere. Perhaps we were mistaken." He nodded toward the man. "But if he is not the one we want, then what should we do with him?"

  Shiraz waved his hand. "I don't care. Kill him, so no one tracks his location back to us." He stood to leave and almost immediately, the tiny man reacted as Shiraz knew he would.

  "No, don't kill me!" He grabbed at Shiraz's leg. "I'm the Ferret. It's true. Don't kill me. It's really me."

  Shiraz eyed him with mock suspicion. "And how do I know you're telling me the truth? You could just be saying that to save your own skin."

  The tiny man gulped and then looked back up at Shiraz. For a moment, he said nothing. And then the words tumbled from his lips. Guttural. A mongrel amalgamation of hundreds of forgotten languages. "Haz letand min shako."

  Taluk. The ancient tongue of the vampire race. And the Ferret had apparently given a recognition code that only another Ferret would know the answer phrase to. Shiraz did not know what the correct response was, but it didn't matter. The Ferret had admitted he was indeed one of the intelligence specialists assigned to work for the Council, and that was enough for Shiraz to ply him with questions.

  But he still made the small man wait another two minutes before resuming his seat. "Your name?"

  "Wilkins. Roger Wilkins."

  Shiraz looked him over. Unlike the Fixers--the elite spy commandos dedicated to preserving the secret existence of the vampire race--Ferrets were decidedly unremarkable. Wilkins looked like a rail-thin college professor with squinty eyes buried beneath thick glasses and a pimple-ridden face that defied his age. Tufts of hair sprouted at weird places on his scalp, but he was clearly going bald. As far as vampires went, Wilkins was about as un-bloodsucker-looking as you could possibly get. No doubt he never hunted, but just subsisted on the shipments from the Council for his daily allotment.

  "Very well, then. As I said, I am going to ask you some questions," said Shiraz finally. "Some of them I already know the answers to. Some of them I do not. You will not know which is which. Do you understand what this means?"

  Wilkins blinked. "You'll know if I'm lying."

  Shiraz smiled. "Very good, my friend. Very good." He clapped his hands together. The interior of the warehouse was cold, deliberately so. The more uncomfortable the environment, the easier it was to get someone to talk.

  "Where is the Fixer known as Lawson?"

  Wilkins didn't hesitate. "Boston."

  "He has several homes. Do you know which one of them he is staying in?"

  Wilkins shook his head. "No. I only know the locations of two of them."

  "And what happened when he returned from Syria? How did the Council receive his after-action briefing?"

  "From what I heard," said Wilkins, "he is not liked by the majority of the Council. But he is tolerated because of the results he gets. Ava, one of the leaders of the Council, despises him."

  "Indeed," said Shiraz. "And why does she despise him so?"

  Wilkins shrugged. "I don't know. No one seems to know why she hates him, she just does. She goes out of her way to make things hard on Lawson."

  "Interesting." Shiraz scratched at his face. "And where does Ava live? In Boston also?"

  Wilkins nodded. "Not technically Boston. One town over. She has an estate in Brookline."

  "An estate? How nice." They might have been chatting over coffee. "Is she married?"

  "No. I think he died. They had one daughter."

  "Fascinating," said Shiraz. "And you're absolutely certain Lawson is currently in Boston?"

  "The last time I saw the agent dispatches, he was listed as being in the city, yes."

  Shiraz leaned back. "How often do you see those?"

  "At least twice each week," said Wilkins. "I need to know who is available in case we have immediate action intel come through that requires a response."

  "Very good. And the last time you saw the dispatches was . . . ?"

  "Yesterday."

  Shiraz smiled. "I must say, this has gone far better than I thought it would. I halfway expected a man such as yourself would be loath to give up his secrets. And yet here you are, freely speaking with me as if we are two of the closest friends in the world."

  Wilkins rubbed his arms and looked around. "Well, you'd know if I was lying."

  "Indeed." Shiraz leaned forward. "And tell me one more thing: what do you think of Lawson?"

  "I don't mind him," said Wilkins.
"He's always been pleasant to me--"

  The word died on his lips as Shiraz stabbed him through the heart with a length of wood. He watched without interest as Wilkins's incisors lengthened and then retracted as death came for the reedy vampire. Wilkins took a final gasp and then slumped over to one side.

  "That was rather the wrong answer," said Shiraz. He looked at Hassan. "Get him out of here and then come back. We have a lot to talk about."

  Hassan returned an hour later. Shiraz eyed him. "Where did you dispose of the body?"

  "In the garbage compactor at the local junkyard. He won't be found."

  "In any other intelligence service, it wouldn't matter. They would assume Wilkins's vices had caught up with him. But the Council must always know what happens to its people lest they think they've been compromised and the humans know about their existence." Shiraz sighed. "They'll come looking for him."

  "They'll never be successful," said Hassan. "Are we leaving for Boston?"

  Shiraz smiled. "I like your enthusiasm, my friend, but this must be planned carefully. Lawson has not gotten to be as good as he is without many years of experience. He managed to squirm out of our trap in Syria and he no doubt knows that I will come for him."

  "But the sooner we act, the better. Our other plans . . ." Hassan's voice trailed off.

  Shiraz held up his hand. "I am well aware of the need to remove Lawson prior to beginning our other work. But again, if we move too fast, he will sense us coming."

  "Sense us?" Hassan sniffed. "He is only a Fixer."

  "And a seasoned one at that. While they might not have any supernatural abilities, he is combat hardened and his sensory perception is above what a normal vampire is endowed with. As I said, Fixers don't survive as long as Lawson has unless they are quite good at their job. Lawson is perhaps the best Fixer in history, even though much of the Council would disagree with that statement."

  Hassan shrugged. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

  Shiraz smiled at his trusted henchman. "We will leave for Boston. Our other work necessitates our presence there, anyway. And if the gods smile upon us, then an opportunity will present itself and we will kill Lawson."

  Boston, Twelve Days Later

  Shiraz's face was now almost entirely obscured by the beard he'd let grow in. As he sat on the park bench in the Boston Public Garden, he smiled to himself. He was sitting only a few blocks away from the Council building headquarters--the governing body of the entire vampire race--and if they only knew how close he was, they would summon every Fixer around to kill him.

  Well, perhaps not everyone on the Council would want him dead. Shiraz watched as a man in a wool overcoat made his way toward the park bench. He was careful not to look as though he was heading straight for the bench, but even still, Shiraz knew it was him immediately. He'd only seen him once before in person when they had hatched a plan together to ambush Lawson in Syria. That plan had failed and the man who was now sitting a few feet away had been forced to lay low for a while to avoid suspicion.

  "It is a beautiful day," said Shiraz. "One for the ages."

  "The leaves are in full bloom," said the man, "and the world is full of life."

  It was better and safer to speak in code than using Taluk. The recognition sequence completed, Shiraz held a phone up to his ear and pretended to speak into it.

  "You've been well?"

  "As well as can be expected," said the man. "The blowback from the failed op was harsh. We were all subjected to intense scrutiny. But I think they are satisfied that the leak did not come from me."

  "That is good. Then you are free to continue our work?"

  "Of course. I've never stopped planning. But in order to be successful, Lawson still needs to be taken care of."

  "He will be," said Shiraz. "But only when the time is right. If we act too hastily he will escape again. And we have other matters to attend to."

  Despite the warmth of the sun, the man next to him shivered in the stiff breeze. "What do you need?"

  Shiraz glanced around and watched as a couple of young lovers strolled by hand in hand. An older man picked his way across the path in search of used bottles he could recycle for a nickel each. Across the park, a child and his mother played.

  "One of your colleagues has a home in Brookline. It is an old estate, one of the oldest in Boston."

  "What about it?"

  "I need the layout. Floor plans preferably. Security systems. Computer network access. Any uninterrupted power supply systems, the like."

  The man said nothing for several moments. "You're asking for quite a lot. I don't know if I can get my hands on that information without risking exposure."

  "You're going to have to. The item we need to continue our work is buried beneath the estate."

  The man actually turned to face him before forcing himself to look away again. "How do you know this?"

  Shiraz smiled. "The Council tries so hard to keep its secrets hidden. But we're not so different from humans; many of us crave power and will do whatever it takes to acquire it. Pay off people in the know. Intimidate others. Even kill to find out what we need. I have done all of that and more in my quest. Rest assured I will not stop now. So please tell me you will be up to the task at hand. Otherwise, I will be forced to find someone else who can deliver what I need."

  "I can do it," said the man finally. "How can I reach you?"

  Shiraz stood. "You don't. I'll be in touch. Wait for my call." And then he walked away, leaving the man behind on the bench in the cool spring afternoon air.

  "I have it."

  It was three days later when Shiraz called the man. "Excellent."

  "How do you want me to get the information to you?"

  "There is a pay phone--"

  "A pay phone? Are you kidding? No one uses pay phones these days."

  Shiraz sighed. "And yet, despite the fact that we are in the twenty-first century, there remains a pay phone at the commuter rail station called Norwood Depot. It has been used as a dead drop for many years and still functions as one. That is one reason why it has never been removed. You will ride the commuter rail train to that stop, make a phone call from that phone and while doing so, deposit the material on the underside of the phone tray using a magnetic box that you can acquire at any hardware store. When you've made the drop, mark the ground with a piece of purple chalk, surreptitiously of course. Then ride the train back into the city. One of my associates will recover the dead drop. That is all I require from you at this moment."

  He paused. "I've never done any of this type of stuff before. Won't it look weird that I'm using a pay phone?"

  Shiraz sighed. "Not as much as you think. Just act natural and you'll be fine. And be sure you don't have any ticks on you."

  "Ticks?"

  "Surveillance," said Shiraz. "If you do, you'll need to lose them prior to making the dead drop."

  "Okay, I'll do my best."

  "Do better than that," said Shiraz. "Otherwise all of this will have been for naught." He hung up the phone and turned to Hassan.

  Hassan looked up from his laptop. "Did he get what we need?"

  Shiraz nodded. "Do me a favor and be a guardian angel to our amateurish friend, would you? While he claims the Council is done looking at him as a traitor, I would hate for him to have any unwanted attention when he goes to bring us the information."

  Hassan nodded. "What should I do when he has made the drop?"

  "Nothing. Let him go. We still require his presence in our plans. Once he has outlived his usefulness, then we'll dispose of him."

  Two Days Later

  The estate covered twenty acres in the midst of the city. Trees cloistered around the house like a protective shield, warding off any indication of urban sprawl. If you didn't know any better, thought Shiraz, you would simply assume you'd woken up in some place in the country.

  The long winding drive up to the house did a good job of hushing much of the noise, but Shiraz's ears were well trained and every
once in a while, he could make out the sound of traffic from the streets.

  Still, for a place that was a mere three miles from downtown Boston, it was hard to match.

  The floor plan showed that the house covered roughly ten thousand square feet, with seven bedrooms and an indoor swimming pool among its many amenities. Shiraz shook his head when he gazed upon the mansion bathed in the soft glow of exterior lights. Vampires might have to live in the shadows, but they certainly lived well in this house.

  The Council saw to that, of course. Vampire society had evolved from one of hunting to one of existing in prosperity. With vampires having infiltrated every portion of human society, they could steer plenty of money toward the vampire race. Whole blood banks existed to feed them; investments made years ago helped ensure future generational wealth. And blue-blooded Boston vampires--scions who had helped settle the new world and begin the governing body itself, especially aristocrats like Council member Ava--had the greatest wealth.

  Shiraz wondered what her problem might be with Lawson. Not that it truly mattered to him, although he was the curious type and he enjoyed knowing things. What mattered more to Shiraz at that moment was getting inside the house and down into the subbasement that lay underneath the basement itself.

  The estate was old. It had been remodeled and expanded in ensuing generations, its brick and mortar replaced and given a fresh look, but the framework of the place still dated back to the early 1800s.

  Hassan nudged him. "We are prepared to disrupt the power as soon as you give us the word."

  Shiraz nodded and looked at the moon above them. Ideally, this would have waited until a new moon for a better infiltration. But then again, time was of the essence and it didn't really matter since they now possessed the security configuration. He still did not know if Ava was inside. She had another home on Beacon Hill, steps away from the Council building. Perhaps she was staying there tonight.

  Or perhaps not.

  It mattered little. Shiraz nodded at Hassan. "Do it."

  Hassan spoke into his phone and within seconds, the floodlights illuminating the exterior went dark.