Bloody Banquet Read online

  There, caught on a torn edge, was a small slip of paper.

  I pulled it out and examined it. It was a handwritten note, in English, and not in the handwriting from the notebook.

  It read:

  Fourth Key delivered to one

  Walter Keppler

  The 15th day of the month of long nights

  236th year of Ahinadab

  Beneath that was a signature not altogether unlike mine.

  Okay, fine, it was a decent forgery.

  Dammit, it was pretty much perfect.

  The date used on the note was exclusive to neckbiters. Ahinadab was the oldest vampire in the world and had been for two hundred and some-odd years. The month of long nights probably put the date in question right around December, but it was hard to be certain. When they were being hoity toitty, vampires used their own month system despite the fact that nobody else cared enough to bother learning it.

  I stared at the note for several long seconds, then lifted it to my nose and took a long, slow sniff. Then another.

  I smelled several Chimeric scents on the paper, but underneath those I could detect two more odors. One was that of a neckbiter. The other was mine.

  “How did they get your scent on it?” Simon asked from his kitchenette as he put together a sandwich.

  I sighed. “It's not as hard as you think. They just had to get their hands on something I'd had in my possession for a little while and rub it on the paper. It didn't need to be much, just enough so that if the chimera sniffed it they'd come up with the right scent.” I rubbed my forehead.

  “So which vampire is it?”

  “I don't know.”

  My brother grimaced and shook his head. “That nose of yours must be getting old faster than the rest of you.”

  I shook my head. “I'll be able to identify the asshole by his smell if I find him. It just happens that he isn't one of the... I don't know, eight bloodsuckers I'm already familiar with. For now, though, all I can tell you is that it's a male, and it's a neckbiter.”

  Simon nodded, thoughtfully. “You know, it may end up being a dead end. I mean, these guys chasing you, they came in from the east coast, right? Maybe Europe? It's possible that whoever gave them your name lives out that way.”

  “Why would someone out east give them my name?”

  Simon shrugged, carrying a plate with sandwich and chips into the living room. “Might be that someone from here called them, asked them to contact the chimeras.”

  I scowled. That was very possible, and if it was the case, the lead was going to dead end very quickly. Even if I could figure out where the chimeras had come in from, get enough time off work to head out that way, hunt down the little leech who'd done the deed and separate him from his coven for a nice, long conversation, I wasn't a hundred percent certain I'd be able to make him tell me who gave the order. For that matter, it would be completely in character for one vampire to fool another one into thinking he was working for someone else altogether. They liked making shit more complicated than it needed to be.

  I perched on the back of my brother's couch, resting my chin on my knees as I tried to think.

  I should have gone to bed after I got my peek into the manila folder, but finding evidence that someone was trying to get me killed had just gotten me too keyed up. I'd strongly suspected it before, but now I knew, for certain, that the chimeras were nothing but puppets. I needed to find the puppet-master, tear his stinking, neckbiting head off his shoulders and shit down his trachea.

  Visiting my brother to find out how my mother was doing was just a pretense; I needed to rant, to vent my frustrations.

  “But we are pretty sure it's that Gregor guy behind it, right?” My brother asked, as he thumbed through the pictures I'd given him.

  I sighed. “He was my first thought, and he's my chief suspect, but the truth is, it could be any of them. One of them might be trying to manipulate me into going after Gregor. Or one of them might be trying to kill me to gain favor with Gregor without having gotten his permission first. Or someone might want them to kill me so that Aldred thinks Gregor killed someone under his protection. Or someone might have just used me to get these chimeras in town for some random reason.”

  “Geez. Fucking neckbiters.” Simon set aside the photographs of corpses and started going through the photographs of chimeras.

  “Fucking neckbiters,” I agreed. “That said, the smart money is still on Gregor.”

  “So go see him. Push some buttons, see what happens.”

  I rolled my eyes and hopped off of the couch, pacing across my brother's living room. “You don't get it. I'm a ghoul, not a mage. If you want to arrange a meeting, you have official channels you can go through, people you can talk to, pressure you can apply. You can afford to push his buttons. A few of them, anyway. He's not going to kill you, not if you're there under the protection of the spell-slinger's guild. You can sit down in a room filled with those assholes, and everyone knows that if you don't go home that night, somebody bigger and scarier is going to start asking questions. I'm alone, an entity unto myself. I don't have the protection, and I certainly don't have the connections.”

  “You want me to talk to him?”

  “I wish it was that simple, but if you act on my behalf, that might make trouble for your guild, which could come back to haunt us both. The last thing I need is to have those assholes pissed at me.”

  “So what's your next move?”

  I ground the palms of my hands into my eyes and contemplated.

  “Gregor might have contacted someone from the east coast, maybe even Europe if he'd had to, but he would prefer to work through people that he knew were loyal to him. He might have sent one of his underlings. I need to get a whiff of his people. But I'll worry about that later. Right now? Right now....” I grimaced. “Right now I need to get that damned notebook translated.”

  “Oh, right, that.” My brother dropped the photographs and grabbed the red notebook, flipping it open.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It's Greek.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, to me too. Thanks for checking, though. I'll run it by mom or the Dead Man tomorrow, one of them might recognize it.”

  “No, I mean, it's Greek. Actually, Greek. You know, the language that I've been studying for the last three years?”

  “Oh! You have?”

  “I've mentioned it before, you know.”

  “Uh, yeah. When you start talking about your classes, I usually just zone out.”

  Simon pursed his lips at me in disapproval. “Anyway, it'll take me a while to translate it. My Latin is a lot better, but give me a couple of days and I should be able to get you something. Hell, if you want, I’ve got a buddy who’s a graphologist who can look it over.”

  “A what?”

  “A graphologist. He studies handwriting. He can whip up a rough psychological profile based on this notebook.”

  “Uh,” I stared at my brother for a few seconds trying to figure out if he was joking. “You seriously know a guy who makes profiles for people based on their handwriting?”

  Simon shrugged. “Sure. Actually, he’s a forger by profession. He sort of turned into an all-around handwriting expert over the years. I go to him when I need autographs verified, and shit like that, but he does graphology too.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll stick with the translation.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks, Simon, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “And I can't tell you how much I appreciate you loaning me Percy. That asshole really knows his way around death magic.”

  I grimaced. Percy teaching necromancy made me imagine what Percy would be like practicing necromancy. I didn't like to think about what Percy might do with real power. Thank whatever gods had the wisdom to make him magically impotent.

  “You know, there's a problem to the whole 'Gregor behind everything,' theo
ry, right?” said Simon, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “What's that?”

  “What happens after? I mean, your average half-witted neckbiter might call in these chimeras to take care of you without thinking to the next step, but Gregor's smart enough to know that once they've killed you off, if they haven't found their key, they're going to start trying to figure out who just played them like a cheap trombone. It isn't enough to get them in and aim them at the enemy, you've got to have a way to get rid of them, too.”

  That was a good point. “Makes sense. Gregor would probably have something set up, some way to point the blame at Aldred. That'd clear the way for him to seize the throne, so to speak.”

  “Speaking of Aldred, weren't we expecting him to kill Gregor by now?”

  I grimaced in distaste. “I asked Sherry about that. Apparently, Gregor didn’t manage to kill anyone under Aldred’s official protection, just a couple people he had relationships with, so he can’t actually sentence the guy, he has to take revenge on him. But for some reason, bloodsuckers don’t take revenge like normal people, they make it slow and symbolic to prove, not only that they’re more powerful than their enemies, but that their enemies aren’t even worthy of any real effort. Everyone knows that Aldred is going to kill Gregor, but nobody knows how or when.”

  “Jesus! Motherfucking neckbiters!”

  I nodded. “Motherfucking neckbiters.”

  We both shook our heads in silent bewilderment at the insanity of the vampire community at large.

  Simon sighed. “So, do you need a place to sleep tonight?”

  I raised an eyebrow and glanced towards my brother's bedroom, where the slightly ajar door allowed us both to hear some gentle snoring. “You don't think she'll be a little freaked out if I'm sleeping in the living room when she wakes up?”

  My brother snorted. “She's an undergrad. After all the things she's seen while making her way out of frat houses in the morning, you could be eating a dead horse and she wouldn't give you a second glance.”

  I smiled. “Be that as it may, I don't think I want a strange human getting a good look at me while I'm asleep. Besides, I've got some surprisingly comfortable coffins at work.”

  “Suit yourself. You want me to just give you a call when I get done?” He tapped the notebook meaningfully.

  “Sure, or when you get to something useful.”

  Simon nodded.

  I turned to leave.

  “Oh, wait a second.” He walked into his kitchenette and opened the cabinet under his sink. “I bought a bag of carrots when I first moved in, then forgot about them. I found the bag the other day and thought I'd save it for you.”

  He tossed it at me. The carrots were molding and squished as I grabbed them.

  I grinned. “Thanks!”

  Chapter 6

  Even after visiting my brother, I didn't think I'd be able to sleep any time soon, but I made myself climb into a coffin to try to get a few minutes of shut eye in. The next thing I knew, someone was pounding on the front door.

  A glance at the window told me the sun had just come up.

  I cursed whoever had woken me. Them and their mother. And the horse they rode in on. And their progeny, and anyone else I could think of as I climbed out of my coffin and made my way to the front door.

  To my surprise, I found that the door itself was unlocked, despite the fact that I remembered checking it before going to sleep that night. If it hadn't been for the coffin in front of the door, my visitor would have been able to walk right in.

  I made a mental note to look into better locks as I opened the door to reveal a vaguely familiar smelling thug who glared at me almost as hard as I was glaring at him.

  It took a concerted effort to get past the odor of recently consumed cocaine and alcohol emanating from his pores so I could put a name to the scent. “Johnny?”

  The man sneered at me. “Morning twinkle toes. The boss wanted me to bring the shit. I was gonna leave it on your desk, but you've got your door blocked.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced over his shoulder to be sure nobody else was approaching. “It's almost like I don't want people breaking in.”

  The thug snorted. “Yeah, but we both know better, don't we?”

  I felt a burning in my chest, and my teeth began to grind. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was supposed to be afraid of him.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled, unable to drum up enough energy to fake fear. I turned and headed back into the building, leaving the door open for 'Johnny' to follow.

  “This place ain't too ugly,” the oaf commented as he lurched through the door. He paused a few steps in, staring at the coffin. “That's what you had holding the door shut?”

  I rolled my eyes and ignored the question.

  Johnny shrugged and went back to looking around the place. “You know, it's possible I could steer a little business your way. A'course I'd want a piece of the action.”

  “I do just fine on my own,” I informed him.

  “Oh really?” The man's voice went from friendly to threatening in a heartbeat. “And what if things started drying up for you? You know, maybe your place gets a reputation as the kind of establishment where people have accidents. Or maybe somebody breaks in one night and spray paints the walls so it don't look so nice.”

  “Then I'll burn it to the ground for the insurance.” I grumbled.

  Johnny laughed, the menace gone from his voice the moment he realized it wasn’t accomplishing anything. “I know a guy who can help you with that, too. Hey, you get much cool shit off the dead bodies?”

  I sighed. “No. So, you have some 'shit' for me?”

  “Yeah.” A couple of baggies appeared in his hands. “Okay, you've got your blow, of course, E, smack, meth, and weed.”

  I raised an eyebrow at the baggie filled with joints that Johnny had pulled out of his jacket pocket. “I thought that was legal, now.”

  He shrugged. “Yes and no. It is legal, but not without a license, and not to sell to kids, and, of course, not after you dip it in embalming fluid.” He winked at me.

  “Fantastic.” I took the bags from him, immediately regretting getting my fingerprints on them.

  “And, of course, your bill.” Johnny pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

  I opened the slip and stared at the number. “That's quite a bit.”

  “That happens when you don't pay the boss back on time. Don't worry, if you move the product fast enough, you'll be able to pay off the principle in a couple of months.”

  “Fantastic.” I stared at him for several seconds. “Anything else, or do you want to get the fuck out of my place of business?”

  The thug's grin vanished and he stared at me hard. “You're gonna wanna watch that fuckin' mouth of yours. It's too big for your own good.”

  “It is a big mouth,” I agreed. “Now, if you'll please get the fuck out, I'd like to get another hour of sleep before I have to get up and paint an eighty-year-old woman like a French whore so her family can say goodbye.”

  Johnny stared at me for a moment, caught between emotions, before finally giving in and guffawing. “That's rich!” He turned around and headed out of the building, shaking his head and laughing as he left. “French whore!”

  I shut the door after him, locking it again, for all the good that apparently did, and jammed the coffin back into place in front of it.

  I stopped by the bathroom and flushed the contents of each baggy down the toilet one at a time before I headed back to my office and curled up on the cold, hard floor.

  It felt like I'd barely closed my eyes before I was awoken again, this time to the sound of the mortuary’s land line.

  “Oh come on!”

  I forced myself to my feet and grabbed my phone. “What?”

  “Hey, boss, I've been out front for half an hour. You think you could let me in?”

  “Percy?” I rubbed my face with my free hand. “What're you doing here early?”<
br />
  “Early? Boss, it's 10:30.”

  “Shit.” I hadn't finished work on Mrs. Coopersmith... no, Coppers. Copperstein? Shit.

  “So... you want me to go home, or are you going to let me in?”

  “Yeah, I'll be there in a second.”

  The next few hours went by in a blur. There are a lot of advantages to working in the funeral business. For one thing, a single sale nets a lot of money. Every job is a little bit different, so you don't get bored as easily, not to mention all the extra snacks I get on the job. But there are downsides as well, not the least of which is that you can never, ever, ever phone it in.

  People might or might not decide where to send their loved ones based on good experiences, but they will most certainly decide where not to send their loved ones based on bad experiences.

  Fortunately, I'm a lot faster than the average mortician, mostly because I can cheat.

  I was chewing on a tumor the size of a baseball, extracted from my eighty-year-old client, when I remembered that this was the day I was supposed to meet with a certain high school student.

  “Shit.” When did school let out? Four? Three thirty? I checked the clock on the wall and did some quick calculations. I had a couple of hours before she showed up. I needed about twenty minutes to move the already prepped body out of the refrigerator and to the viewing room, spruce the place up a little and arrange the flowers. Another half hour, give or take, to do all the shit I’d told Percy to do that he hadn’t. That meant, conservatively, I had at least an hour and a half I could spend working on the corpse for tomorrow.

  Oh, hell, was there something I needed to do to prepare for my meeting with the babysitter? I’d been too busy over the last couple of days to think that through. I knew what I wanted from the girl, but we weren't exactly on friendly terms. The last time she saw me, I bit her mother's head in half. Even given that the woman was abusive and controlling, devouring someone's kinfolk wasn't the foundation of a strong friendship.

  I sighed. I had too much to deal with at the moment to take the time and think this through. I'd have to focus on what was in front of me, and play the rest by ear.