Chapter 12
Centralmarket District, Oldtown
Katherine and Niamh walked up the cobblestone alleyway that switch-backed up the hill that formed central Oldtown. Horse-drawn wagons trundled by with their drivers loudly cursing at any pedestrians who impeded the massive draft horses pulling overloaded wagons. The pair had been climbing for hours toward city center along the twisting lanes and streets.
Townsfolk eyed them as they passed. Niamh told her to expect it. Strange beings in a neighborhood were automatically accessed for wealth and vulnerability. They must have seemed confident and capable, so after a quick appraisal, the predators ignored them.
Niamh had assured her that this was the way to the Dragon Bank. Oldtown's city center was built on a hill. Centralmarket district featured wide boulevards lined with ancient oaks and planted with profusions of wild flowers. Servants and tradesmen used the alleys so as not to inconvenience their betters.
Niamh explained that living space here was like gold and the wealthy liked to flaunt their success by devoting space to useless things like flowers and trees.
Katherine was only half-listening. Ever since Althea sent her to Oldtown, she felt like a duckling blindly following Niamh from place to place. She'd been feeling ignorant and vulnerable ever since she'd been assigned to partner with Niamh. She hated it. To make things worse, she hated this city. The smells and dirt were awful. The poverty absolute. Not to mention the actual psychic shock that came from the utter strangeness of the population. And that poor ragged little girl. Clover's reaction to M&Ms had cracked her heart and brought back childhood memories she thought were buried long ago.
"What's wrong with you? You haven't heard a word I've said."
"I was thinking about that little girl and her M&M's," she blurted out. Then took a breath and waved an apologetic hand. "Sweet Mother, I fucking hate this place. Ignore me. I'm in a mood. Tell me about the dragons. Kurt seemed nervous to be even talking about them."
Niamh laughed. "Don't you worry about that little munchkin. I bet it didn't take her more than five seconds to wrap Lan around her little finger."
Despite herself, Katherine smiled. "I won't take that bet. The big goof is so predictable."
"Most think that dragons are shifters like Kurt and I. They are not. They are beings of magical energy that can turn into humans. They are as alien as if they came from outer space. Their minds operate differently than ours do. They say the old one, the one they call The Bailong, the White Dragon, is a demigod. He might be for all I know. All I know is that he has a hoard that is the basis for Oldtown's currency. I do not know whether that's real or just legend, but since most beings believe it, that's all it takes for the bank's notes to be accepted everywhere as cash. His daughters run the day-to-day operations. Nobody messes with them. Beings believe even to talk of him brings bad karma. There is a neighborhood in the west that the contained headquarters of a guild that tried to cheat him. Now there are five city blocks glassed over, smooth as the surface of a pond."
They walked along in silence, while Katherine tried to digest what she'd heard.
"Katie," Niamh said. "Have you noticed that Lan's eyes change to differing shades of green, depending on his mood?"
"Oh My God, yes. I thought it was just my imagination seeing a trick of light or something. They do, don't they? I wonder why?"
"Who knows?"
"Have you spent any time with him?"
"How could I? Lately, all I do is go on monster hunts with you?"
"Oh yeah, I guess that's true. But I can tell you this. When this is over, that boy got some 'splaining to do. I'm fucking done with his stonewalling."
"Agreed."
That's when some being opened up with a crossbow from an alley. The only thing that saved them was the fact that the assassin was a terrible shot. The dart lodged in side of a wagon filled with sacks of flour.
Niamh hit the ground instantly. Saw Katherine standing frozen, gaping at her. Pulled her down just as another dart hammered into the wagon.
A muttered cantrip sounded and a ball of witch-fire floated above Kathrine's hand. "Where," she whispered savagely.
"The alley across the way."
She looked and saw a squat shape lining up for another shot. She instantly launched it. A shriek followed. Then the only sound was the bubbling snapping of melting cobblestones.
"It would have been nice to find out who sent him. Don't you know any other spells than full on melting?" Niamh grumped as the two of them cautiously regained their feet.
"So sue me. I get pissed when some being tries to kill me."
"Don't you have one of those shield spells that could cover us enough to figure out a counter-attack?"
Katherine gave her a glare. "Sure, if you want to wait five minutes for it to form. Mandy's the one who's good at that. You should have asked for her."
"Nah, she's too nice. Too soft-hearted. She'd be all 'oh my please don't hurt him'--besides she'd be all gooey eyed over Lan."
Katherine laughed. "Like you aren't."
"Bite me, bitch," Niamh said absently. She was thinking of the attacker. "Someone followed us from the tavern."
Katherine cursed. "Lan and his goddamn rolls of pennies. Sweet mother, this place is lawless. It's broad daylight."
"Come on, let's get up to the bank. The sooner we solve this thing, the sooner we can get back to Seattle. This place is on my last nerve as well."
Katherine nodded agreement. They walked on blithely, unaware they were still being shadowed.
Chapter 13
Northmarket District, Oldtown
The Vampire Luciana Marinus was a classic Italian beauty with long dark hair that framed fine-boned features. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but the darkness behind her big brown eyes belied that—she was far, far older than that.
In 966 AD, her father, the Duke of Naples, had married her off to a Magistros (high official in the Byzantine bureaucracy), hoping to secure favored trading rights. The ploy worked. Luciana was a political genius. She had cut her teeth on the twisted, vicious politics of the Italian city-states, so it came as no surprise that she soon manipulated her new husband into giving her his blessing to ply her art on his behalf. She soon made him (and her father) far wealthier than they ever dreamed possible and herself a major force in the murky politics of Constantinople until the day she made a misstep and found herself turned by a handsome Turkish vampire.
She ruled most of the gambling and prostitution in Oldtown. With a bribe here and a careful assassination there, she wielded power with a subtle deftness that New York's Tammany Machine could only dream of.
"Do you think he will come to your call?" asked her daughter, Hélène. While she lounged comfortably, utterly relaxed across the room on an ornate seventeenth-century settee, Luciana knew she was ready for any threat. Helen had five hundred years to acquire the skills to go along with her vampire strength and speed. Very few beings in Oldtown could stand against a fully matured vampire. The two of them had been together ever since Luciana had turned her after she found her near dead in a Parisian alley. One of Louis XIV's inquisitors had tortured her and left her for dead during one of the monarch's periodic purges.
The pair had moved around; the curse of immortality was constant relocation until they were lucky enough to stumble onto a half-forgotten thinning southwest of Paris in Vézère Valley. That portal led them to Oldtown. All roads lead to the ancient city.
"I do not know, if he will come." Luciana turned and asked her stone-faced Amazon bodyguard, "What do you think, Hera?" All of her inner circle conversed in Italian. Slaves had big ears. Paranoia was the norm in the Vampire's house.
Hera was a recent addition to her staff. A tall blond woman with a vicious scar bisecting her right cheek, she cocked her head to one side as if she were considering what to say. "I have never met him, but my sisters say that he said he would come. My people say that when the Shadow Walker says he will do a thing—he will do that thing or perish trying."
The Luciana saw Helene had doubts. She, herself, thought maybe-maybe not. Legends get overblown. She hoped he would come to her. She could use him.
When a servant ushered Lachlan Quinn into her study, she put down the ledgers she had been analyzing and studied him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd invaded her bedroom and tossed her a sack containing the head of her former associate, a slaver known as the Leprechaun.
She motioned for him to seat himself.
He nodded to Hélène, who looked back at him with eyes narrowed with suspicion.
