Kitty Raises Hell Read online

  I called, “Hey, shut up a minute! I’m not finished telling you off! God, what a jerk.” I didn’t know if it understood English. But the same way I recognized its anger, I was pretty sure it recognized mine. Sure enough, it turned. Were those yellow shadows within the orange flames its eyes? The spots flickered at me, as if blinking.

  It may not have understood me. I was guessing not, since it fired back a stream of Arabic, probably with as much rudeness as I’d flung at it. We should have brought along a translator. I was a little sad that we couldn’t talk this out. Not that we ever had a chance of that.

  I didn’t wait for it to finish before continuing. “I don’t understand why something as powerful as you would let yourself be controlled by a bunch of idiots like the Band of Tiamat. Even if they are run by a vampire.”

  It chuckled. The light sound, like sparks crackling in a piece of wood, couldn’t be anything else. It was a condescending laugh, clearly suggesting I didn’t know what I was talking about. True enough.

  I focused on it. To even let my gaze flicker to the others to check their progress would be to draw attention to them. But it wasn’t like I’d ever had a problem running my mouth off at someone before.

  “I think you can’t possibly be such hot shit if you let yourself get trapped with a little bit of paint.”

  It roared, starting softly and letting the sound grow. The sound turned into a word.

  “Bitch.”

  Note to self: Never assume a person speaking a foreign language can’t understand what you’re saying.

  Tina started yelling, “Thus by a spark the power that binds you is destroyed. Be banished now and never bother us henceforth!”

  It was a formal, archaic, and definitely mystical speech, exactly the sort of thing found in a magical grimoire, and I had no idea if Tina had found the chant in such a place, or if she made it up, or if she was channeling some other spirit, some other power that she’d called on to help us here.

  She held a bottle—she’d finally decided on the kind used to hold powerful acids in a chemistry lab, pint-sized, made of thick brown glass with a heavy rubber cork—over the edge of the boundary, its mouth pointed toward the djinn. Jules put a lighter to a small bundle of hemp tied up with my hair, which he held over the mouth of the bottle with a pair of tongs. The fibers lit immediately, glowing hot red and sending up a tendril of black smoke.

  Tina repeated the chant, with variations but with the same meaning, commands of banishment, of release. The djinn turned to look, the flames surrounding it swaying in another direction, sparks licking out behind it. Jules blew on the smoke from the burning hair, so it drifted forward and mingled with the flames writhing around the djinn.

  An odd thing happened.

  The line of smoke from the burning hair shifted direction and began to move into the jar, as if sucked in by a tiny vacuum or draft of air. The flowing smoke began pulling the djinn with it.

  Realizing what was happening, the figure inside the flames flinched back, flailing its arms, like a swimmer fighting against a riptide. It shouted with its furnace-and-flamethrower voice, begging while it gasped.

  A burst of light threw me to the floor. I curled up, covered my face with my arms, convinced something had exploded and the house would now fall down around us, killing me, Ben, everyone. Our rapid healing wouldn’t help us if our whole bodies fried first. My nose was dead, unable to smell anything, unable to tell me where Ben had fallen. I thought I had seen him for a split second, holding the fire extinguisher up as a shield, flung away from the circle as I was, a silhouette against the atomic flare. The sound—this must be what the inside of a star sounded like, a constant nuclear explosion times a thousand.

  At least, that was what it felt like to my senses. Like the world had ended, like the djinn was ending it with his final scream, with blasts of fire.

  Then it all went away, and I sat up and looked.

  I had a feeling the room had been still for some time, it was so quiet. No fires burned anywhere, not even on the floor, which had been roaring with flames. The acrid stench of soot and sulfur, which should have been overwhelming, had faded. I could almost taste a hint of freshness, as if someone had opened a window.

  The circle drawn in blood on the floor was gone. The djinn was gone.

  Jules and Ben were picking themselves up off the floor, brushing off their clothes, shaking their heads as if dazed. Tina, however, knelt at the edge of where the circle had been, one hand clutching the bottle, the other hand clamped tightly over the cork, locking it shut. Far from being dazed, she held the bottle straight-armed, tense before her, staring at it in a panic.

  “You got it?” Jules asked finally. “It’s in there?”

  She nodded quickly. She had it and was obviously afraid to let it go, in case it escaped.

  “I can’t believe that actually worked,” Ben said.

  We looked at each other across the room and didn’t need words. A month’s worth of anxiety, and an equal amount of relief, filled the silence. He pursed his lips, and I smiled, and cried a little, tears slipping free. We crossed to each other in a couple of steps, and I nestled in his arms. We rested like that a moment, heads bent together, taking in each other’s scent, reassuring ourselves that our pack, our mates, were safe now. We were safe.

  He touched my hair, stroking lightly, and let out a sigh. So did I. He smelled like Ben. Maybe a little scorched, but still Ben.

  “You look awful,” he said, and I suspected he was right. My arms stung like a bad sunburn, my face felt scorched and sooty. But none of that mattered. I’d heal soon enough.

  “Funny,” I said. “ ’Cause I feel pretty good.”

  Gary and Detective Hardin burst in and pounded into the parlor, looking flustered.

  “Is everyone okay?” Gary demanded. Hardin had her hand on her belt, where she kept her gun holstered.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Jules said, his voice shaky. He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair. The hand was shaky, too. Soot smudged his glasses.

  “The video cut out—everything went to static when you lit the hair,” Gary said. “What happened?”

  None of us spoke. None of us could explain it.

  “Tina, you got that cork in?” Jules asked, kneeling next to the woman.

  The shocky look still gleamed in her eyes. Jules put his hands around hers and eased the jar to the floor. Together, they tested the lid. It was tight. Then they let it go. The jar sat by itself on the floor, inert, harmless. Opaque. I imagined the djinn inside, screaming in anger, beating fiery fists against the interior wall, trying to get out, sealed by magic, against all reason and the laws of physics. Or maybe it had been sucked into another dimension, a pocket universe, that the ritual had somehow opened. Maybe the ancients had understood the crazier notions of theoretical physics better than we did. I’d have to file that away to think about later.

  Tina heaved a sigh—she’d been holding her breath—and slumped into Jules’s arms. They hugged each other.

  “How am I supposed to charge a thing in a bottle with murder? How am I supposed to write this up?” Hardin said, looking lost. She said this sort of thing a lot.

  “Can’t you close a case without actually arresting anyone?” I said.

  “Say the suspect was killed in the course of arrest,” Ben said helpfully.

  “No and hell no. The paperwork for that sort of thing is even worse than the paperwork for . . . this.” She gestured vaguely at the aftermath of our trap. The whole place was covered with soot, scorched like it had been flash fried.

  “Besides, it’s not dead,” Tina said, still staring at the bottle.

  Well. Wasn’t that a cheerful thought?

  “Let’s get out of here,” I muttered and led the way out the door. It was still dark. Maybe I could get a few hours of sleep. The first sleep in weeks where I wouldn’t be worried about some creature of flames waiting to pounce on me.

  The fires in the yards up and down the street were ou
t. The sirens were off, but lights were still flashing, red, blue, and white flickering merrily, reflecting off pools of water in the street. Some people had wandered out in bathrobes to gawk at the commotion, and the police herded them safely out of the way. The yard at Flint House was blackened, and the air smelled of wet soot, thick ash, and puddles of dirty water. However, I didn’t smell any fresh flames or brimstone. Nothing that reminded me of the djinn.

  I spotted the figure on the sidewalk only because he was so pale, stark against the flashing police lights. He emerged from shadow, stepping toward me up the walk, regarding the scene with an appraising, military look. Like he was trying to figure out how to take it all apart.

  It was the vampire, Roman.

  Chapter 22

  A frown creased Roman’s face as he studied the house. He seemed to glance at me only as an afterthought, then said, “Usually, a house that stands empty as long as this one has, there’s nothing to keep me out. I ought to be able to walk right in. But there’s something here.”

  I stopped on the porch and stared, causing a bottleneck behind me. Just as well. I wanted to turn and tell them all to run, get out, get away from him. This couldn’t be good. But he couldn’t enter the house, the home. Something’s home. A ghost’s home? If the place really was haunted, did the ghost call it home? It made a weird kind of sense. It meant as long as we all stayed on the porch, or behind the door, the threshold, Roman couldn’t hurt us.

  “Upset because the ghosts won’t invite you in?” I said. He didn’t credit that with a response. He only smirked at me. Softly, I said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been following you. You know that. For longer than you think.”

  I took a breath and prepared for a battle of wills. “Oh, really?”

  “You saw me, even. In Dom’s penthouse. In the foyer outside the elevator. Do you remember?”

  I remembered . . . vampires standing guard. Part of Dom’s entourage. The one that looked like a linebacker, and . . . the other, quiet one, with the short-cropped hair, the cold gaze. He’d looked like a bodyguard. He’d blended in.

  When he came to Denver with his mission burning in his manner, I hadn’t recognized him.

  “Oh, my God,” Ben whispered behind me.

  I let anger cover up how off-balance Roman had put me. “You’re more than Dom’s bodyguard . . .”

  He chuckled. “Of course I am. I hold Dom’s leash.”

  “And the Tiamat cult?”

  His smile fell. “That is a tool that has outlived its usefulness, I think.”

  My mind tumbled over itself, and I started thinking out loud. “Dom’s a front, so no one will know who’s really running Vegas, and you gave the priestess—”

  “Her name is Farida,” he said.

  I didn’t break stride. “—a place to run her cult in exchange for . . . for her power? Her magic? What?”

  “She’s one of my soldiers. Or, she was,” he said, scowling at the burnt vegetation around him. “I’m impressed. You shouldn’t have been able to banish that spirit.”

  “I had a lot of help.”

  “Trust me, I’ve taken note of it.”

  I’d just put all my friends on Roman’s radar. What would he do to us? Rick was right all along, this was a conspiracy. I didn’t want this guy in Denver. But how to get rid of him?

  I felt Ben at my shoulder, Tina, Jules, and Gary behind me. Hardin edged around me, her gun drawn. Roman gave her a dismissive glance. His frown held contempt.

  “What now?” I said.

  “I suppose getting control of this city will have to wait, for the time being.” Now he turned a smile, a smugness born of supreme, unassailable confidence, earned not just by decades of experience, but by centuries.

  I swallowed against a tightness in my throat. Inside, Wolf was screaming, howling. Ben touched my back, his hand stiff. He touched for comfort, but it only accentuated our anxiety. His wolf was nearing panic, as well. We both recognized this man’s power.

  “Who are you?” I said, my voice hoarse.

  “Gaius Albinus, isn’t it?” a newcomer called. “A centurion with the TenthLegion stationed in Judea. First century, Common Era.”

  And there was Rick, standing on the sidewalk, relaxed, hands in his coat pockets, as close to Roman as Roman was to me.

  “Roman,” I murmured, understanding dropping like a weight.

  “It’s not his name,” Rick said. “It’s his nationality. A very calculating people. They kept good records.”

  The elder vampire’s smile turned wry. “The provincial cultures that came after the empire left a lot to be desired. Spain, for example.”

  Rick laughed. “I was never very patriotic, I’m afraid. I’ve always been happy with my own little piece of ground, wherever it happens to be. Unlike some people.”

  “You’ve come to face me. Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Roman said. But he didn’t face Rick. He kept his back to him, like he didn’t consider the other man a threat. Roman never looked away from me. He studied me, trying to see through me. His gaze made me itch, made me fidget. I clutched the seams of my jeans. He was waiting for my guard to drop, so he could catch my gaze by accident. But I kept looking at Rick. Concentrated on Rick.

  “No, it isn’t. I’m just going to ask you to leave Denver.”

  “All by yourself? You’re just going to ask me?”

  “No. Not all by myself.”

  Others appeared. They might have been standing ready the whole time and I just didn’t notice. Like every Master of every city, Rick had his followers. I didn’t know much about the vampires in his Family. There were men and women among them, some slick and fashionable, some a little more rough and tumble. But all were serious. Moving toward us along the street, from around the house, from behind trees, they converged on the yard of Flint House. Rick by himself didn’t have the age and strength to confront Roman. But a dozen vampires together? They might.

  Rick said, “While I stand, this city is protected. You have no power here.” The words had power. I didn’t know if it was real magic, like what we’d used to trap the djinn in the bottle, or if it was the power of words spoken by a talented orator. But the weight of them fell over us.

  And he was right. Roman had no power here. A vampire of his age ought to have been able to cow us all with a glare, but this wasn’t his city.

  I met his gaze. Just for a moment. Cold gray eyes, pale skin crinkled at the corners. A two-thousand-year-old gaze. Eyes that might have seen Christ walk the earth. If I thought there was any chance in hell he’d let me interview him on the air, I’d have groveled for it, but I didn’t even try to ask.

  “Wolf,” he said, and my skin prickled with the ghost of fur. “He’s right. Roman isn’t my name. But neither is Gaius Albinus. Everyone who called me that has been dead for two millennia. After all this, though, you’ve earned something. A true name: Dux Bellorum. And know this: You will see me again. Remember me, next time.”

  He turned away, and my breath caught. Ben clutched my hand.

  Roman—Gaius, or Dux Bellorum, or Dom’s Master, or whoever he really was—walked away, down the street. Staying out of the narrow rings of streetlamps, he vanished from sight quickly. Or maybe he just vanished. Nobody followed him. Like me, Rick watched him silently, and continued watching the space where he disappeared.

  “Rick?”

  “Dux Bellorum. Leader of wars. The general.”

  My mouth went too dry to even swallow. The general, commanding his army. When he’d asked me for my loyalty, had he hoped to add me to those ranks?

  “Holy shit. I hate those guys,” Hardin said, letting her arm with the gun drop finally. “How did you people get past my patrol? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Are we in trouble?” Tina asked, her voice small.

  “No,” Rick said. “As pawns go, you’re too small to bother with. Most of you.” And he looked at me.

  I jumped off the porch to face him.
All I could do was stare. His followers, a small horde of vampires, surrounded us, all of them glaring like they wanted to take a piece out of me. Ben stood at the end of the porch, reaching after me but hesitating. We all froze in tableau. And I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

  “I told you I’d learn who he was. It just took a little time,” Rick said, far too calmly. He raised a brow when I didn’t answer. “Speechless?”

  “The Long Game,” I said.

  He nodded. “The Long Game. The game of empire. Some people never lose the taste for it.”

  “What does he want with me?”

  “You’ve ruined a couple of his plans, which in his eyes means you’ve thrown in as a player. He’ll be keeping an eye on you. Not like that isn’t hard to do, celebrity that you are.”

  I rubbed my face. “Is it too late to quit?”

  “What, after all this work you’ve done to make yourself notorious?”

  I lost it. Not totally. However much Wolf wanted to Change and run howling to the hills, I kept that part of me together. But I lost the ability to think straight.

  “How can you just stand there? How can you be so calm? Two thousand years! Ancient Rome? What is somebody from ancient Rome doing in Denver? Doesn’t he have better things to do? Doesn’t it freak you out that he wanted to waltz in here and take over? And you just stood there and faced him down. Dude, you totally scared him off!”

  In the course of my rant, my panic had turned to awe. I suddenly understood why some werewolf packs would put themselves in the control of a strong Master vampire, if it protected them from the attention of vampires like Roman. I could feel myself blinking up at him with huge, gleaming eyes. I imagined it looked pretty ridiculous.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, ducking his gaze, almost bashfully. “There’s a lot to be said for safety in numbers.” His Family, his own pack, were still gathered. Lips pressed thin, he glanced around at them, nodded once. The vampires left, fading into the dark like Roman had.