Vintage Soul (33 page)

“Looks like your new friend is here to stay,” Amethyst said.

Donovan shrugged.
 
Asmodeus hopped to his shoulder, and the three of them hobbled out of the room.
 
The elevator still stood where Donovan had left it, and they stepped inside.
 
It operated with a set of only four buttons, and he punched the lowest of these.
 
The doors closed silently, and they began to descend.

Amethyst leaned heavily against him, and he knew that she was hurt more badly than she was letting on.

“Just a little more,” he said.
 
“We'll get out of here and to my place.
 
I can help you with those ribs once we're safe.”

She glanced up at the roof of the elevator, as if looking through the walls and floors to the room far above, and the circle.
 
She knew as well as he did that if Ezzel chose to try and break the circle and escape, they were not far enough away to escape the damage.
 
If he did that, the building would collapse around them and bury them in a mountain of steel and dust, and there was no spell, charm, or wards that either could call on to prevent such a thing.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and they stepped into a dark room.
 
Donovan whispered a word, and the buttons on his jacket illuminated.
 
They saw the outline of a door directly ahead, and made for it as quickly as they could.

“Neat trick” Amethyst whispered hoarsely.
 
“You'll have to show me how you made that work one day.”

“It's a promise,” he answered.
 
When they slipped out the door and closed it behind them, it disappeared into a perfectly white stone wall.
 
They stood in the outer lobby of the Tefft complex.
 
The five regular elevator doors were lined up down that wall.
 
They walked to the front of the building, exited quickly, and with Asmodeus flying high over head, started down the street as quickly as Amethyst's injured ribs would allow.

A few blocks away, Donovan led her into an alley, and after seven quick turns, they descended a short, dingy stair that opened onto the street across from Donovan's home.

~ * ~

In the circle, Ezzel worked frantically at the altar.
 
He tried charm after charm, but he was frightened, and the fear caused him to slip words in where they didn't belong.
 
He didn't have much with him, because he hadn't expected to need it.
 
The bowl threatened to explode and plaster him with the imperfect formula, but he held it in check, barely, with a continually more complex web of containment spells.

At some point, his wrist began to throb where the raven had cut it.
 
He ignored the pain and concentrated. He wished that Le Duc had been a better magician.
 
There might have been more in the journal on controlling this ritual, or an escape if things went badly.
 
There was nothing.

The throbbing grew more intense, and he glanced down impatiently.
  
When he saw his wrist, he screamed.
 
He clamped his other hand over the wound, but it was too late.
 
The cut had opened wider, and blood seeped down his arm to soak his robes.
 
He turned and lurched toward the portal, determined to try and break through at that one weak spot.
 
He took a step, then another, and then was lifted from his feet violently.
 
The wound in his wrist erupted in a geyser of blood.
 
The blood gathered in the air, whirled, and drained down to the bowl through an invisible tube of energy.
 
He struggled.
 
He tried to speak, but something gripped his throat and prevented it, and eventually the struggles weakened.
 

When the last of his blood drained away, he dropped headlong, breaking the bowl and shattering the stands and vials.
 
The wand he'd stolen from Alistair Cornwell cracked as it struck the stone floor, and the murky, sticky fluid in the bowl dripped slowly to the floor, forming a puddle that clotted, and then grew still.

The mist snapped from the circle as though inhaled by a god.
 
It was there, and then it was not.
 
There was no breeze, and no flame burned in candle or brazier.
 
Cold and dead as its owner, the room stilled.
 
Broken on the altar, the desiccated carcass that had been Lance Ezzel crumbled to dust.

It took several days before Donovan was satisfied that the hidden rooms in the gut of the Tefft Complex were cleansed.
 
When he'd entered the central chamber with Amethyst, Johndrow, and a select group of others, they'd found very little evidence of what had taken place within those walls so recently.
 
Most of the Council was there, or had sent representatives.
 
Vein was there escorting Johndrow, and Kali had come as well.
 
The rest of their group had bowed out, having seen more than enough of the Tefft Complex to last them several long afterlifetimes.

Joel arranged for the contents of all the rooms they found to be inventoried.
 
It had not taken long for the old banker to pull the proper strings and assume ownership.
 
It was agreed up front that the money earned would be split between Joel, Donovan and Amethyst.
 
Johndrow wanted only one thing from the place.
 
Vanessa's remains were carried out carefully, wrapped in silk.
 
The vial containing her blood was locked away in a safe.

Donovan did not recover the journal.
 
Everything that had been within the interior magic circle was gone.
 
The room was as colorful and filled with paraphernalia as ever, but that one bare patch, with its scorched braziers and inner and outer carved rings stood barren.
 
Even the altar was gone.

There was no question of escape.
 
Some part of what had been Lance Ezzel might not be dead, but he wouldn't be bothering anyone in San Valencez again, and though he might now survive the eternities he'd sought, they would not be pleasant.

The remains of the raven were a different matter.
 
Half of the familiar had been trapped within the circle when the portal snapped closed, and these were gone.
 
The other half of the bird, sliced cleanly and sealed as if it had been born that way, lay dead and cold on the stone floor.
 
There was something eerie in that bisected corpse that sent a shiver down Donovan's spine.
 
He needed no reminders of the power of the forces he worked with.

Amethyst still walked with a slight limp, but her eyes flashed bright with anger as she took in that space and her mind drifted back to the man who'd created it.

“It might happen to any of us,” Donovan said, laying a hand gently on her shoulder.
  
“I met him, remember?
 
I didn't suspect a thing.”

“I should have, though,” Amethyst insisted.
 
“I should have been able to detect something in his aura.
 
He handled my crystals, pawed through my secrets, and I stood back and smiled and patted him on the back telling him what a good job he was doing.”

“We all make mistakes,” Donovan replied, turning away and leaving the room behind.
 
“It's what we do with the lessons learned that defines us.”

They departed the room together and rode the elevator to the ground floor.
 
They stepped into the late night emptiness of the lobby and stood for a moment.

“I have one thing left to finish,” he said.
 
“I've promised it. When I'm done?”

“I'll be waiting,” she said.
 
“I think Cleo will let me in, and you still have to show me that trick with your buttons.
 
Besides, you have a much better bar than I do.”

Donovan chuckled.
 
“It's true.
 
I can show you a few more tricks with the buttons, if you like.”

Amethyst grinned, leaned in, and kissed him deeply.
 
“I can't wait,” she said.

Donovan grinned in return, then added, “And don't forget to feed that damned bird.”

Amethyst stepped out into the night.
 
Donovan stood in the lobby, alone, and a few moments later he was joined by Johndrow and Vein.

“It's time,” Johndrow said softly.

Donovan nodded.
 
The three stepped out of the building and climbed into a long, sleek limousine waiting at the curb.
 
When they were seated, Donovan noted that Kali was driving, and that Vein sat beside her in front.
 
He smiled.
 
He'd known Johndrow and Vanessa for a very long time, and the old banker, Joel, had been with his Ligaya for centuries.
 
It was almost as if Vein had heard his words to Amethyst and determined to make use of his own recent lessons.
 
Somehow, Donovan thought he was witnessing the beginning of a very long union.

They drove in silence, winding through sparse traffic and taking back roads whenever possible.
 
It wasn't really necessary to maintain a low profile, but this night, of all nights, none of them wanted to be detained for any reason.
 
Kali drove slowly and carefully, and before long they pulled into the private garage far below Johndrow's penthouse suite.
 
There were few other vehicles present, and only a single guard watched from the shack near the elevator entrance.

You couldn't see it with the naked eye, but Donovan sensed the level of security that cloaked the building.
 
Stine might not be around to supervise it, but his people had been working overtime.
 
Every possible contingency was blanketed in wards and charms.
 
The air crackled with the energy of it, and Donovan carefully avoided touching anything, lest he inadvertently set off some safeguard.

It was a somber group that piled into the private elevator.
 
Though Ezzel was destroyed, or banished, there were still clouds hanging over the city that would be hard to erase.
 
Johndrow and Vein had been through more in the past week than they'd seen in the past hundred years.
 
Kali bounced her mood off of Vein's, and held her peace.
 
She glanced at Donovan once or twice, her gaze calculating, but she said nothing.
 
All of the younger vampires realized what he'd done for them.
 
He could have fulfilled his obligation by entering the building and trying to save Vanessa, but instead he'd chosen to help them first.
 
They hadn't said anything too him – not even an apology for their earlier attacks and accusations, but they owed him, and all of them were aware of it.

The elevator stopped and they stepped into Johndrow's hall, where it had all begun.
 
There was no trace of Stine's death remaining.
 
The penthouse was as opulent and decadent in both décor and ambiance as ever.
 
Donovan had never been inside the home, and he stared about appreciatively.
 
It had taken a lot of years, and a lot of money to make a haven so comfortable, and so secure.
 
He hoped that the invasion and kidnapping would drive home the value of it all and keep Johndrow and his people attentive.
 
It was never wise to accumulate wealth you weren't willing and able to spend the time to protect.

It wasn't his concern.
 
Donovan had his own security considerations to look into once he'd completed the service asked of him.
 
He followed Johndrow down a long hall, through the main room, where he knew the party had taken place.

They stepped through another doorway and filed down a long, narrow hall.
 
There were doors to either side, but none was open.
 
There was no sign that light had ever penetrated here, and Donovan suspected that few who still breathed and still possessed their own blood had ever been admitted there.
 
The air was chilly, and he shivered.

At the far end they paused as Johndrow produced a key ring and opened a set of double doors.
 
He entered; Donovan and the others followed.
 
The doors were closed behind them.
 
The room was absolutely dark.
 
Donovan heard a rustle.
 
It might have been the material of a jacket, or pants legs rubbing together.
 
It might have been shuffling footsteps.
 
He waited, and though he did not believe he was in any danger, his heart pounded.
 
That pounding reminded him of whom he stood among, which increased his nervousness until it seemed like the blood was crashing through his veins, too hot and too loud to be ignored by those with the hunger.