Zombie Rising: The Fourth Kelly Chan Novel Page 3

  “You’ve got a key, don’t you?” I hated the words as they came out of my mouth.

  “For the time being, I do.”

  “And for the foreseeable future. Now get over here. I actually miss you.”

  “Even if you’re jealous and don’t trust me?”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I hated feeling like this, hated fighting with Brand over stupid drama shit. I hoped it was related to whatever happened to us at the rave and not a growing trend.

  “I’m not jealous and I trust you. Come over and I’ll fill you in on what Amanda found. We’ll go from there.”

  Chapter 6

  Brand discovered the same thing Amanda did – Daphne had bought the drug off 11th Hour. At least Trixster Thirteen wasn’t involved. Or that’s what I thought until Brand informed me that the DJs were an item.

  “So did you already know that Eleventh Hour’s a witch?” I drove toward the Highlands, where the DJs lived together. Brand had ridden his motorcycle over, and as much as I love riding with him, it’s impossible to talk with the wind whipping around you.

  “No. And we don’t even have proof she’s a witch. Eleventh Hour might have bought the drug off someone else, then resold it. She wouldn’t do this on purpose. Not to Daphne, not to anyone else.”

  “So who would want to put a bunch of mundanes into a magical coma at a rave?”

  “I don’t know.” Brand watched the streetlights out the window. I’d never seen him so moody.

  “We’ll figure this out, Brand. We’ll get justice for Daphne.”

  Brand rubbed his face. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “I don’t understand. But that doesn’t matter. It’s important to you, so it matters to me, too.” I reached over and touched his shoulder. He gave me a half-smile and took my hand.

  “We met in a class.”

  “You and Daphne?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like, in school?”

  “No, not school. It was…after I got back.”

  From Afghanistan. And that’s where I hit the wall with Brand. He didn’t say anything after that and I knew better than to push.

  I parked on a hill in front of a classic Denver Square, with its deep porch and dark-brown brick, twin stained-glass windows on the second floor like eyes peering out across the Highlands neighborhood to the lighted roller coasters at Elitch’s. The house looked cozy, not very hip and cool considering who lived there. Serious money had gone into restoring the place. I wondered how much a couple of DJs could make on raves alone. I didn’t think it was enough to support something this nice.

  The inside of the house was dark.

  “I don’t think anyone’s home.” Brand looked up and down the street.

  “They might be in custody, or at least down at the precinct for questioning.” I could put in a call to an officer I knew, but I didn’t want to turn him down for a date. Again.

  “Or not. Look over there.” Brand pointed to a nondescript car across the street. Two figures sat in the front. Undercover cops, waiting for the DJs to show. We’d have to go in a different way. Then I looked closer. Their chins rested on their chests.

  “Are they asleep?”

  “Looks like it. Just can’t find good help these days.” Brand opened the truck door quietly. “Let’s have a look around then.”

  We walked up the steps to the door. Brand knocked and waited. No sounds inside. He glanced at me, pulled out a set of slim tools, and went to work on the lock. After a couple of minutes, the door swung open and we entered.

  The house was even nicer inside than out. Persian rugs covered polished hardwood floors with intricate inlays. Antique furniture filled the room, and none of it beat-up or even close to shabby chic.

  I frowned at Brand. I thought we must have the wrong house, but the giant Cirque Du Soleil poster on the wall next to the velvet Elvis painting said maybe not. Under the velvet King was a small table covered in votive candles, sheet music, a jar of peanut butter with a plastic banana resting on it, and a toy Cadillac.

  The next room confirmed we were in the right place. What was once a breakfast nook had been transformed into a studio. Equalizers, drums, turntables, racks of vinyl, keyboards, computers, a lovely old Gibson guitar, a collection of wooden and bamboo flutes in a velvet-lined case, and a wall of electrical equipment I couldn’t even begin to identify.

  I ran my hand over the Gibson. “They’ve got to be dealing, big-time.”

  “No way. Trix likes to say he’s straight edge hard core, like his old man.”

  “The less of your product you take, the more you’ve got to sell.” I thumbed through the vinyl, full of artists I’d never heard of, except for Moby. “Besides, they might be dealing in more magic than drugs.”

  “Let’s keep looking.”

  The rest of the house was what I expected. An eight-burner Viking stove in the kitchen next to a pantry full of mac and cheese. A marble bathroom with a double walk-in shower full of red and black devil-horned rubber duckies – some of which vibrated when squeezed. A master bedroom with French doors opening onto a small balcony, and a walk-in closet the size of my apartment full of concert t-shirts, moto jackets and black jeans.

  The only vaguely magical things we found were a few New Age books on the nightstand next to the vintage Magic Fingers vibrating bed, complete with quarter slots.

  The bed worked. Brand dropped in a quarter and tested it.

  “Oh, baby, we need one of these.” He stretched his arms above his head and groaned. I was busy rummaging through the dresser across the room, looking for hex bags or at the least, pills, tabs or weed. Nothing. The mirror above the dresser had a signed photo of Stevie Nicks and Chrissie Hynde tucked into the frame.

  “Whoa!”

  In the mirror, I watched Brand fly off the bed like a rag doll. He took down the nightstand and books flew everywhere. But he landed well, rolled, and sprang to his feet. He whipped out a knife and faced something I couldn’t see. A poltergeist?

  Then a voice. “You won’t find anything here. Good evening, Miss Chan. And friend.”

  I could hear the sneer in that last word. I didn’t have to turn around to know who spoke and why I couldn’t see his cold, perfect face in the mirror. The voice was far too familiar. But I reluctantly turned anyway.

  Victor Pavlenco stood in the middle of the bedroom, squared off against my boyfriend. Who obviously had no idea what he was up against as he launched himself at the vampire.

  Chapter 7

  Victor caught Brand mid-air and snapped back the wrist holding the knife. At the same time, Brand slammed his knee into Victor’s solar plexus, which might have done something nasty if vampires needed to breathe. Victor went with Brand’s momentum and let the Sekutar hit the floor.

  “Stay.” Victor pinned Brand with his gaze.

  Brand struggled to get up but couldn’t. “What the fuck?”

  “Let him go, Victor.”

  Brand looked at me from the floor. “You know this asshole?”

  “Unfortunately. Brand, this is Victor Pavlenco. He’s a vampire. That’s why you can’t move. But if he keeps you pinned one second more, he’ll be a headless vampire.”

  Victor laughed. “Your kata—”

  “Time’s up.” Two shuriken embedded themselves in Victor’s throat. He caught the other two between his fingers. Damn, I just wasn’t the same since regaining my powers.

  Victor plucked out the shuriken. His wounds closed almost immediately. He ran his finger along the twin red ribbons of blood staining his skin and stuck it in his mouth, then pulled it out clean with a smack of his lips. “I’ve missed our tête-à-têtes, Miss Chan.”

  Brand raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

  The vampire went on. “All the same, if you try that again, I’ll pinch your friend’s windpipe shut like a McDonald’s drink straw.”

  I leaned back against the dresser. Anyone who didn’t know me might think I was relaxed. But Victor did k
now me so I watched him tense up just the slightest bit. “What are you doing here, Victor?”

  “Oh, the same as you, I suppose. Looking for the missing scoundrels, trying to find a cure at the very least.”

  “Why do you care about a few sick humans?”

  “I don’t.” His smile reminded me of a mischievous boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Truth is, I care little for the vampire they’ve managed to sicken as well.”

  I crossed my arms. This just got interesting. “Really?”

  Victor nodded. “He was to attend a council meeting just past sundown. When he didn’t appear, we dispatched a Watcher to investigate. She found him in quite a distressed state.”

  Brand perked up. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Victor sneered as he looked down at Brand. “Hush, boy, grown-ups are talking.”

  Brand tried to speak again but couldn’t. His face turned a disturbing shade of purplish red and his eyes shone with pure rage and hatred. Victor had the tiger by the tail, or maybe the Sekutar by the sword. If he let Brand go now, my money was on my boyfriend. Especially with my help.

  At this point, the old Kelly Chan would have tried to kill Victor again. But my students evidently taught me patience while I taught them how to disembowel a man five different ways. I’d get further by keeping Victor talking. “The doctors are denying a weird skin condition—”

  “And they are correct. It’s more like, well. A sort of…chrysalis.”

  “Like a cocoon.”

  “Yes, but hard and opaque. It began with an oozing from the skin but has since expanded into a shell. There’s a sort of tobacco color to it. We can barely make out the poor chap inside.”

  “Have you tried breaking it open?”

  A condescending smile spread across Victor’s face. “Indeed, it was our first course of action, Miss Chan. But it quickly became apparent that the attempt would cost the fellow his afterlife. Curious, you know. There isn’t much that kills us. Now, we’re observing the effects.”

  “How did you know to come here?”

  “Well, the vampire in question displayed some rather sloppy table manners. Disgraceful, really, and quite unlike him. Usually, he takes a discreet bite in public and moves on, as many of us do. But in this case, he did a takeaway and left the remains of his dinner in a corner of his room. And nary a ghoul to clean up afterwards.” Victor made a tsking sound. “We quickly searched what was left and found evidence that the meal had attended the same rave that’s being investigated on the telly. Which led me to this lovely home. I’d hoped to find something that might cure him, or at the very least, to bring the scoundrels back for judgment.”

  Brand flinched and I remembered that we were talking about one of his friends. The movement caught Victor’s eye. “Now it’s my turn to ask what’s brought you here, Miss Chan.”

  “Business. I’ve been retained by an interested party to do the same thing you are.” It wasn’t quite a lie. But now I would have to dock Brand’s pay to make it true.

  Victor glanced at Brand. “And I see you’re multitasking by taking your dog for walkies at the same time.”

  I smiled. It didn’t reach my eyes. “Keep talking about my boyfriend like that, and they’ll have to send a Watcher out for you. But your death won’t be a mystery.”

  Victor smiled back until the skin around his eyes crinkled. That merry effect was ruined by his glistening fangs. “Interesting. Brand, as the kids say these days, why don’t you ‘peace out.’”

  Brand’s eyes closed and his head slumped forward. His soft snoring told me he was alive. He may never wake up, but he was alive.

  Victor’s smile disappeared. He looked pained. “Kelly. I never expected you to go slumming with the help.”

  “Fuck you. I was the help.”

  “And you rose so far above your station.” He took a step toward me, then another. I reached behind my back for the katana strapped there and Victor shook his head. He put a finger to his perfect lips and jerked his chin back toward Brand. “You don’t want to go doing anything foolish now when he’s like that. Or he may stay that way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then stop right there.”

  Victor did, inches away from me. I could feel the cold of the grave pouring off his pale skin. “I’ll honor that. You’re so—” he raised a hand to touch my cheek but my glare stopped him “–so perfect, Kelly. So, very, very perfect. A living killing machine.” Victor dropped his hand. “But just help me understand one thing. Why him, and not me?”

  “I don’t sleep with dead things.”

  Victor smiled until the crinkles returned. “I understand. Clammy skin can be a bit…off-putting for the living.” Then I watched Victor do something I’d never seen a vampire do.

  He started breathing.

  And with every breath he took, his skin grew pinker and the cold disappeared, until he felt like any other living man standing in front of me. Even his heart beat in his chest. He was absolutely gorgeous, and in that moment, absolutely mine.

  I leaned into him until our lips nearly touched. He parted his and his words were barely a whisper on warm, sweet breath. “Oh, Kelly.” He closed his eyes and closed the gap.

  “Nice try.” I leaned back. “Now drop the glamor, stop roofie-ing my boyfriend and get out of my way. I’m done here.”

  Victor opened his eyes and in an instant the illusion of a beautiful, living man disappeared. Bone-deep cold enveloped me, along with the stink of decay. The vampire stepped backward with a mocking bow.

  “One day you’ll realize, Kelly, that we’re meant to be together. When your body continues to renew itself as the ones you love age and rot around you,” he looked back at Brand, “even that one. Then you’ll want me. You’ll beg for me, because I’m the only one you can hold on to in a life that will become painfully long, who will not weaken and ultimately fail you.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. Oh, wait.” I batted my lashes at him. “That’s right, you can’t help it.”

  “Until next time.” Victor dropped into his own shadow. As soon as he disappeared, Brand woke up and looked around, his eyes bleary and unfocused.

  “Kids don’t say ‘peace out’ anymore, do they?” He looked around for Victor and saw me. “What’d I miss?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I told him. “Now let’s go home.”

  Chapter 8

  I helped Brand get to his feet.

  “Son of a bitch. So that was a vampire. Are they all like that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Care to tell me how you guys met?”

  “Sure. Just tell me more about you and Daphne.”

  Brand gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Later. We’ve got to find Eleventh and Trixster before the vampires do.”

  “Or the wizards, if Amanda’s filed her report already.” Though we probably had until morning, considering her plans with Juke. “They’re your friends, so where do you think they’ve holed up?”

  “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be standing here. I’m not that tight with them. Not like Daphne was…is.” He looked down at the books sprawled around our feet. Raymond Buckland, Sparrowhawk, Z Budapest, Book of the Hopi. He reached down and picked up a thin black book with The Necronomicon written in gold Gothic letters on the spine.

  “Wait. This is, what, Lovecraft? I thought The Necronomicon was made-up.”

  “It is. That’s a 1978 edition put together to satisfy all the idiots who thought Lovecraft actually owned a grimoire bound in human flesh.” The book brought back memories. My old friend Jonathan Shade worked as a PI specializing in magical cases. He’d had a copy lying around his office as a joke and a kind of litmus test. If a client picked it up and laughed, Jonathan knew he was probably dealing with a practitioner. If they thumbed through it with a knowing look, he had a poseur on his hands and the money better be good.

  Brand flipped the book open to the Tolkien-like writing on the inner cover. “I wonder why they’d have a copy. And whic
h one was reading it.”

  I spotted a blank slip of paper on the floor. “I’m sure it’s nothing. This, however,” I picked up the slip, “might be the real deal.”

  “A bookmark?”

  “We’ll see. But I have a hunch.” I held the paper up to the light coming through the French doors. Most of it was from a streetlamp across the back alleyway, but the setting moon was low enough that it shown through, too. “Alice’s restaurant burned the turkey.”

  “What?” Brand set The Necronomicon on the bed.

  “Activation words.” Letters gradually darkened on the slip of paper, along with a big “T” at the top, written in fancy script.

  “Cool. So what is it?”

  “A receipt. They were stupid to hang onto it. Of course, Tally’s is stupid to give them to mundanes in the first place.”

  “Tally’s?”

  I looked at Brand. “You don’t know them? They really kept you in the dark at DGI, didn’t they? Tally’s is a place over off Colfax where you can get anything you want, and I mean anything.” Like werewolf-killing bullets and dead girls in boxes, some assembly required.

  Brand shook his head. “Damn. So, maybe this Tally’s place sold Eleventh Hour the magic-laced drugs. I guess I’m going to have to kill her after all.”

  I studied the receipt and smiled. “I think this might also be a claim check. That’s why they kept it.”

  “Claim check for what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s coded. The whole transaction is. That’s all I can tell.” I started to put the paper in my pocket and the words faded as soon as they were out of the light. I took it out again. “Wait. Do you have your phone?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I held the slip back up and the words darkened again. “Take a picture. We might not have any handy moonlight the next time we need to read it.”

  Brand pulled out his phone. “Will this work?”

  “We’ll see.”

  It did. Brand snapped a picture and we could read the words clearly. I tucked the paper away. “Time to collect.”