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  Storm rolled his eyes. “Kid, have you looked in the mirror? Women may go out like that where you’re from, but here, you’re a bit out of place.”

  “More out of place than the broadsword across your back?” Raven asked.

  Storm smirked. “What sword? Come on.”

  Raven allowed herself to be guided through the front doors and into a lobby that was even more opulent than it would be in the future. Persian rugs dotted the marble floor between pillars that were two stories tall. Older men sat in overstuffed chairs smoking cigars and discussing the news of the day. They took no notice of the strange pair and soon they were aboard the elevator, an antique cage-affair with a bellhop to operate the levers and switches. He looked Raven up and down, but didn’t comment on her disheveled appearance.

  The hop let them off on the twelfth floor, which consisted of a wide corridor decorated with wood paneling and light-colored wallpaper to make it seem brighter. Light sconces dotted the walls interspersed with artwork Raven didn’t recognize. Storm guided her to a suite in the middle of the corridor where he unlocked the door with a key from his jacket pocket.

  The inside was bigger than her first apartment. Even in the gloom, Raven could see two comfortable sofas, a wide wooden table laden with books, and doors leading to bedrooms and a spacious bathroom.

  Storm snapped on the lights and kicked the door closed with his heel. “I don’t use the spare bedroom, it has a private bath where you can get washed up and probably something you can wear in the closet. I’ll order a late dinner, the kitchen manager knows me.”

  Raven poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “Do I want to know why you have ladies’ clothing stashed in the spare closet?”

  Storm shrugged. “I’m immortal, not dead. Pandora left just a few days ago−”

  Raven choked and sprayed water across the room. When she could breathe she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Pandora…Pandora Tempeste? White hair, legs a mile long, annoying accent?”

  “You know her? I mean, she’s a vampire so…”

  He trailed off at the look on Raven’s face. “What?”

  Raven shook her head. “Nothing. I just know her, that’s all.”

  Storm cocked his head. “You said wife before, she isn’t, I mean, I didn’t−”

  “No. I’m going to go get a bath, have your friend send me up some tequila and a half dead steak.”

  She turned away and closed the bedroom door behind her. The bathroom was almost as big as her private sanctum back at the manor. It had a deep tub surrounded by a curtain of gold cloth, a side table laden with towels and candles, a vanity big enough for three Kardashians and of course a commode. Raven peeled off her wet and bloody clothes and examined herself in the standing mirror set beside the vanity. The wounds on her arms and abdomen were already healing, as was the wound in her back, but she was pale and would need a big meal to recover. Her body was already feeding on itself she could see her ribs sticking out against her skin.

  She found some Lustre-Crème shampoo in the cabinet along with a bar of soap and a comb left behind by Pandora. It would do, for now. She turned on the water and waited for the tub to fill. The water was hot and fragrant, the tub was deep and it promised to chase away the aches and pains. For now, it was more inviting than heaven.

  An hour later, feeling tired but clean and looking more human, she exited the bedroom wrapped in a silk robe with the hotel logo over her left breast. Storm was just uncovering a meal that consisted of two rare steaks, fried potatoes, some sort of vegetable steamed beyond recognition and what Raven recognized as a bottle of Claret from the Tempeste stock. Storm opened a beer and set it beside his plate before noticing Raven standing in the doorway. He blinked and looked away.

  “You do know that wet silk is see-through?” he asked.

  Raven shrugged and padded across to the table. “Nothing you haven’t seen before. There were no pants or anything in the closet, just dresses and some kind of underwear things that looked dangerous.”

  “You might remember, though your father I may be someday, I’m not yet. And you could learn a thing or two from that closet, it’s how women dress,” Storm said. He poured Raven a glass of Claret and motioned for her to have a seat.

  “Not likely. Where I’m from, women wear whatever the hell they want,” Raven replied.

  She plucked a French fry from her plate and nibbled the end, surprised to find it had a richer taste with a hint of butter. She dropped into her chair and reached for the glass of Claret. It tasted like blood, cloying with an aftertaste of iron and copper that made her stomach rebel. She swallowed it down and chased it immediately with a pair of fries she ate without even tasting them. When she finished she looked up to find Storm watching her.

  “What, did I dribble?”

  Storm smiled. “The blood. You don’t like it much, I take it?”

  Raven started cutting her steak. “No, it’s gross. For years I wouldn’t touch it, I tried to be normal.”

  Storm started on his own steak. “But that didn’t work out.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Raven looked up with a bite of steak halfway to her lips. “I used my powers and almost died. That doesn’t surprise you.”

  Storm shook his head. “No. Weird follows my bloodline around like some kind of disease. You can try to be like everyone else, but sooner or later you need the power. That’s when the darkness comes.”

  Raven put the steak in her mouth and chewed. It was surprisingly good, with flavors she didn’t recognize. It was also a small enough cut she could eat the whole thing without feeling she was going to explode.

  “How many siblings do I have?” Raven asked.

  Storm looked surprised. “Shouldn’t you know that better than I?”

  Raven smirked. “Okay, half-siblings then, I know almost everyone descended from my mother.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Storm said.

  He took a long draught of beer and stood away from the table, taking the bottle and a handful of fries with him. He crossed the living area and paused to look out the window. He seemed so young, which made no sense. From what she’d managed to get from his file before King shut her down, he was more than five-hundred years old and had wandered the Earth fighting wars, solving crimes and trying to help, all while keeping his head down and ‘dying’ periodically to hide his immortality. Was he able to change his appearance, as well?

  She ate another bite of steak, trying to ignore her father standing just a few feet away. He wasn’t her father, not yet. He had the same face, same voice, same mannerisms, but this was Mack Mason, not Mason Storm.

  Raven stood and carried another glass of Claret to the window, where she stood beside him. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

  Storm nodded. “Strange things follow us around, it’s in the blood. There is always something tougher, something darker, something you can’t defeat.”

  Raven took a sip of blood and forced herself to swallow. She was weak, but could feel her body healing, returning to normal. Food helped almost as much as blood.

  “That hasn’t happened to you, nor me.”

  Raven couldn’t read the look on Storm’s face. There was anger mixed with sadness, and something else. Remorse?

  “It will, it’s part of our destiny,” he said.

  Storm drained his beer and tossed the bottle in the general direction of the trash bin before opening another. “It’s getting late, you should get some rest. We’ll see about getting you some decent clothes and a one way trip home−”

  He was cut off by a knock at the door that rattled the hinges. He pulled his pistol, a .45 automatic, from his shoulder holster and approached the door. “Who’s there?”

  Raven considered retrieving her own weapon, but settled for one of the steak knives resting on the dinner table. Any action would be over befor
e the Automag cleared leather. Instead, she sat in a chair facing the door and waited.

  “It’s Archer, let me in, Wulf.”

  Raven could tell from Storm’s body language that Archer wasn’t someone he wanted to talk to. He tensed and gripped the .45 tighter. “What do you want?”

  “Business, Wulf. Open the door, you don’t want me and the boys to break it down,” Archer growled.

  Storm glanced back at Raven then pulled the door open. In the gap was a tall man dressed in black. He reminded Raven of a priest without the white collar. Behind him were two similarly dressed men that Raven clocked as young Embraced. Not fledgling, but only just.

  Archer entered and looked Raven up and down. Raven looked back and crossed her legs. “Can I help you?”

  Archer was tall and slender, with the hands of a pianist and piercing grey eyes in a ferret-like face that wore a sour expression like he’d just eaten a slice of lemon. Raven pegged him as Embraced, but Master-level and old.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  “Just a girl,” Storm replied. “Spill it or get the hell out.”

  Archer continued to stare at Raven, who found something unnerving about his pinched, face and slicked back hair. Embraced shouldn’t have such power.

  “If you are willing to discuss business in front of her, she is not ‘just a girl’, Wulf,” Archer said.

  He spun and flashed a smile so fast it almost wasn’t there. “Karayan has need of your services.”

  Storm folded his arms, but didn’t holster his weapon. “I don’t work for Karayan, he knows that.”

  Archer took off his spectacles, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are part of the community, which makes you part of the Totentanz. You will come or there will be consequences.”

  Storm’s eyes turned red, like the heart of a raging fire. “Are you threatening me, little man?”

  Archer smiled again. “You? Not at all. But think of all those people down at the precinct. Dear old George and his sick wife, young John, with a whole life ahead of him in spite of a bum leg, and that pretty little number you just took on to handle the switchboard? It would be unfortunate if anything happened to them.”

  He turned and flashed his snake-like grin at Raven. “And there’s this charming young lady, clearly more than she seems. You don’t want anything to happen to her, do you?”

  He reached out to touch Raven’s face. She caught his hand and squeezed until she felt bone rubbing on bone.

  “I don’t know who you are or what hole you crawled out of, but try that again and I’ll feed you your fingers one joint at a time, understood?”

  Archer blinked and looked over his shoulder at Storm. “Impressive. How is it there is a vampire I don’t know?”

  He paused and looked back at Raven. “No…not vampire, dhampyr. Fascinating. How did you not end up on the registry?”

  Raven let go of his hand. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Archer rubbed his broken hand and turned to Storm. “You and your pet will come with us.”

  Storm shook his head. “I’ll follow you, the girl stays here.”

  Archer clucked his tongue and the two Embraced spread out.

  “You can follow, but she gets dressed and comes with you. It isn’t negotiable, Wulf. She isn’t registered, it will only get worse if Karayan sends his collectors for her,” Archer said.

  Raven stood. “Fine. I’ll come with Storm. You bozos wait for us in the lobby.”

  Storm glared at her. “You aren’t coming.”

  Raven kept her eyes on Archer. “I can speak for myself, Mason.”

  Archer’s smile passed again. “Indeed you can. May I have your name?”

  Raven shook her head. “No. Get out and take your monkeys with you.”

  Archer stared at her a moment longer, then motioned to his men. They stepped outside and he followed, to pause just outside the door. “I’m curious. What were you going to do with that knife?”

  “Keep pushing and you’ll find out,” Raven said.

  “Fascinating. See you downstairs, the clock is ticking, Wulf.”

  Storm closed the door behind him and glared at Raven. “What was that?”

  Raven turned away, Storm’s power gave her the creeps. “Me standing up for myself. Excuse me, I need to find something suitable to wear.”

  Storm grabbed her elbow and she stopped. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Karayan is the Master of the City!”

  Raven looked back. “I know who he is, I’m not letting him or his thugs bully me.”

  “Raven, he’s dangerous. Why aren’t you afraid?”

  Raven pulled her arm free. “I stopped being afraid of the monsters when I realized I was one.”

  She stepped into the bedroom and kicked the door shut with her heel. Pandora had left an assortment of clothing, most of it A-line dresses, pencil skirts, blouses and gowns that looked so tight Pandora must have worn them with industrial-grade corsets. In a zipper bag, however, was something more Raven’s style. She smiled when she found it and tossed the garment bag on the bed.

  “Dad’s head is going to explode.”

  Half an hour later she stepped back into the main room wearing a pair of high boots, leather pants, a white blouse and the motorcycle jacket. Her knives were in sheaths on her thighs and her pistol hung beneath her left arm. She’d applied cosmetics left behind by Pandora and a hint of perfume that made her smell like vanilla. She leaned against the doorframe and waited for Storm to notice her. He was sharpening his sword and looking out at the city.

  “Took you long enough,” he said without turning.

  “The pants were a little tight, it took some time to wriggle into them,” Raven replied.

  Storm turned. “Pants? What pa−”

  His jaw dropped and he sputtered to a halt. Raven turned on one foot and grinned. “What do you think?”

  Storm closed his mouth and rubbed his eyes. “I think my daughter is going to hell. Where did you find that getup?”

  Raven plucked one of her fries from her plate. “It’s Pandora’s, probably for riding motorcycles and getting vampy. Are you ready to go?”

  Storm sheathed his sword and shrugged into his coat. “Let’s get this over with. Whatever Karayan wants, you can bet it isn’t good.”

  Raven followed him down the hallway. “Don’t be so negative, maybe he just wants a decent scone recipe.”

  “More than likely he’s killed a human and needs me to cover it up.”

  Raven stopped. “Would you?”

  Storm turned, exasperated. “Would I what?”

  “Cover up the murder of a human.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Karayan enforces the rules, vampires only prey on the sick, homeless and unwanted. Nobody will care if another useless sheep dies in the night,” Storm said.

  Raven’s monster rose unbidden and she slapped him as hard as she could. Storm fell with blood trickling from his mouth and nose. Raven stood over him, barely containing her anger.

  “Humans are not useless sheep! They’re humans with the same rights as anyone else! We’re the good guys, it is our job to care when nobody else does,” she roared.

  Storm dabbed at the blood on his lip. “Fireblast, woman! What are you talking about? Who taught you such nonsense?”

  Raven stepped over him and continued down the hallway. “You did.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Devil’s Backbone Avenue, Karayan Manor, Chicago, IL 1943

  The streets were silent, tomblike as they drove between the monolithic buildings of Chicago. The Packard handled well and Mason guided it around potholes and gullies in the old brick streets. Ahead of them were the two Cadillac sedans driven by Archer and his men. Each vehicle had a man on the outside riding the footboard, a Thompson gun under his arm. At this hour, any police on foot pa
trol were snugly in an alley or having coffee and flapjacks at an all-night diner, not watching the streets for guns.

  They stopped in front of a large Victorian house in what would one day be called The Dark. It was strange to see streetlights and well-lit windows here. Raven was used to a darkness so complete nobody entered at night unless they had no choice.

  Though it was lit, the area was no less frightening. Perhaps even more so considering the gargoyles and Gothic architecture were plainly visible, along with the scarred buildings and blood-spattered sidewalks. Even before Strohm, the Dark was a no-man’s land populated by the worst of the preternatural world. The city left it alone, either out of fear, greed or both.

  Raven climbed out of the Packard and unzipped her jacket. Though it was cold, being chilly was better than not having access to her pistol.

  Archer appeared with a Fedora perched on his head and a bandage around his hand. “Welcome to Schloss Karayan.”

  He offered his arm to Raven, who ignored him. She climbed the steps and waited, her breath coming in plumes that crystallized and fell to the ground.

  “You’re very impolite, Miss..?” Archer let the question hang.

  “Storm. Raven Storm,” Raven replied.

  Archer smiled and climbed the steps. “I thought so. Wulf is your father, is he not? It’s been some time since he used the name Storm, but you have his eyes. Interesting.”

  He knocked on the door, which was opened by what had to be a vampire, but his resemblance to a movie monster, from his fight-flattened nose to biceps that strained the seams of his jacket, was remarkable.

  “Miss Storm, may I present Serafino, Karayan’s manservant,” Archer said.

  Raven looked Serafino up and down. “Does he crush walnuts with his forehead?”

  Archer gave a wry smile. “With his toes, Miss Storm.”

  The hallway and foyer beyond were decorated in a strange mix of gothic and gore. The furniture was all old and stained dark, the walls were dark and where they weren’t wood they were painted the color of blood or covered with purple tapestries that rustled in the breeze from the furnace. Several display cases held skulls and an assortment of human body parts in jars, some so fresh they were still bleeding.