The Sad Rage

Dubh was standing outside International Arrivals at Vancouver airport when Estrada pulled up on his Harley at six o’clock the next morning. A blue-tattooed bearded dwarf, wearing a leather kilt and black tank, with his brown hair drawn up in a high ponytail, Magus Dubh was getting more than a few sideways stares. He pulled on his weathered canvas backpack and trotted toward the bike.

“What’s happening, man?” Dubh said, raising his arms to embrace Estrada, who sat on the bike nose-to-nose with him. The wee man kissed him on each cheek and then gave him one on the lips, just because. They’d saved each other’s lives in Scotland last summer and such gestures created lasting bonds.

“Things have escalated since we talked. Climb on. I’ll fill you in at the club.” The scene he’d interrupted last night tormented him.

With Dubh’s small hands clutching his waist, he cruised to Pegasus. He’d barely slept and prayed that Dell had followed instructions. The empty club was locked up tight. Estrada let them in the back entrance, and they walked through the hall toward the dressing room; his clunky boot heels slicing the silence, Dubh shuffling in high tops. If anyone was in the club, they’d be alerted to their approach. As he hadn’t heard from Dell, Estrada expected to find Michael still crashed on the couch in the same position he’d left him. But when he unlocked the door, the room was empty. The flush of adrenalin triggered a sweat.

“Fuck. Dell was supposed to text me.” Estrada pulled out his phone and called, but Dell didn’t pick up. He was either in the throes of his morning entertainment or sleeping it off.

Dubh stared at the blood smears on the black leather couch. “Was Michael critical? Perhaps, he’s taken him to hospital.”

Estrada growled and tried to think. “He was sick but— Fuck. I shouldn’t have left him here.” Blood pounded in his ears. Seeing the garbage can full of Zion’s ashes, he hoofed it across the room.

“What happened to him, mate?”

“I found him here with one of Diego’s thugs. The fucker was feeding off him and giving him his blood.” Estrada licked his dry lips. “Jesus, would that back and forth be enough to turn him?”

Dubh raised his hands and shrugged. “Not a game I play.”

The ash hung in the air like a mushroom cloud. “At least, I dusted it.”

Dubh raised his eyebrows and touched his mouth when he realized what was floating in the air. “How so?”

Estrada stretched out his hands. “I’ve acquired a new skill. When riled, I can refocus my anger through my core and discharge it through my hands as fire. Watch.” He focused his breath and flames burst from his palms.

“Remarkable.”

“Last night, after Zion’s dreads caught, I put a knife through his brain.” He opened his jacket to show Dubh his stash.

“Mercy. Things have escalated.”

Estrada took a breath and closed his jacket. “We need to find Michael.” He walked to the door, mind spinning, then paused and stared at Dubh. “Do you think it’s possible the vampires are connected telepathically?”

Dubh’s lips flattened. “No experience with vampires but you mentioned ravens.”

Estrada cocked his head. “Are ravens telepathic?”

“Likely. Many species use telepathy as a biological survival strategy. How else can they communicate when physically separated? Think of migration, food sourcing, schools of fish who turn as one.”

“If that’s true, Diego would have felt it when I dusted Zion. And if he knows what that bastard’s been up to here with Michael . . .” Estrada pounded the wall. “What if Diego blamed Michael for Zion’s death and came for him? He’s a vengeful son-of-a-bitch and his progeny mean everything to him. Where is he? I have to find him.”

Dubh grasped Estrada’s arm. “Easy, mate. One thing at a time.”

“All right. All right.” Estrada took a deep breath. “First, we check Michael’s flat. Then, we find these fuckers and exterminate them.”

When they drove into the driveway, Estrada felt a sense of déjà vu. The last time, he’d arrived here with Magus Dubh, they’d discovered the body of Nigel’s mistress on Michael’s front doorstep. Today was not nearly so eerie. The bright morning sunlight beat down on Nigel Stryker’s new silver Tesla and etched his Queen Anne home in gold.

Dubh whistled as he jumped from the bike and took in the gray stone house with its gleaming white porches and turreted tower, the tall pines, immaculate gardens, and Grecian statues. “Ach, no way. Who you trying to kid?”

Estrada had to laugh. “The house and car belong to Michael’s grandfather. Nigel grew up poor in London and now that he’s wealthy, he appreciates the luxuries money can buy. Michael lives up there in the tower flat.” He slipped his hand inside his jacket. Corvids were careening in the tall cedar hedge. He kept one eye on them and the other on Dubh, as they walked along the flagstone path to the back of the house.

When he saw Crimson parked in the lane with the roof up, he felt a sense of relief. Michael never walked anywhere if he could help it. The vintage red BMW was his treasure. If Crimson was here, there was a good chance he was too. Maybe he’d just come home to crash.

Dubh turned up a lip and made a clicking sound when he saw the stained-glass window set in Michael’s front door—a gothic design of black swords and blood-red teardrops etched in gold.

Estrada moved a low, loose brick and picked up the key. Unlocked the heavy oak door, and shoved it open. Despite the sunlight streaming through the stained glass, the entry hall at the bottom of the stairs felt as cold and empty as a crypt. Each stair creaked and groaned as they ascended.

“Mercy. I feel like I’m walking into an Ann Radcliffe novel,” Dubh said.

“Not quite an Italian villa but I get the reference.” Ann Radcliffe was the godmother of gothic romance novels.

As he stood on the landing, Estrada took a deep breath and withdrew one of his knives. He turned the brass knob and nudged the door open with his boot. The dry hinges squealed in the silence.

He touched a finger to his lips and the two men stepped inside. Nothing appeared out of place. Estrada scanned the living room, glanced into the kitchen, then went straight to the bedroom. The door was ajar. With the shades down, the room was a gray haze. Seeing something beneath the black satin quilt, he edged closer. Tips of bleached blond hair were just visible against the pillow. Jazz. He grasped the quilt and yanked it down.

They stirred and opened their eyes, then tried to cover their pale, naked body. “What the fuck,” they said.

“What are you doing here? And where’s Michael?”

“No idea.” They rubbed their eyes spreading dark shadow onto their fists.

“Get dressed.” Estrada walked out. The only thing amiss in Michael’s flat was Jazz. He walked into the kitchen, filled a glass of water from the cooler, and drank the whole thing. Then he refilled it. From what he’d seen last night, they’d be dehydrated, and he wanted them talkative.

Dubh stood at the living room window staring out into the backyard. “Are there usually so many corvids around?”

“I hadn’t really noticed them before. But you’re right, and there’s no way to tell the difference between them and the monsters.”

When Jazz wandered out wearing one of Michael’s black T-shirts, he handed them the glass of water. They gulped it down and slunk into the bathroom. When they returned, their makeup was slightly better.

Estrada sat on the couch and leaned one arm along the back. The other, rested close to his knives. “What happened after I saw you last night?”

They shrugged and sank into the chaise. “Too many blood clots.”

Estrada glanced at Dubh. “Ecstasy.”

“If I had a good feed of E, I’d be hooking up. It wouldn’t matter with who.” Dubh raised his eyebrows and waited.

Jazz licked their dry lips. “I really don’t remember.”

“Do you remember dancing with me last night?”

“I’d remember dancing with you,” Dubh said cheekily.

“I bought you a drink. Black magic.”

“Yeah, you cut me,” Jazz said. They looked down at their ankle, then ran a finger over the thin line. It was barely visible.

“An accident,” Estrada said.

“Could their drink have been spiked?” Dubh asked.

“I know the bartender and watched her mix it. Cerise would never drug anyone. But the blood clots . . . There were several trays floating around. It was eighties goth tribute night.”

“Sorry I missed that,” Dubh said.

“So, you have no idea how you arrived here? Got into Michael’s flat? Or into his bed?”

“I have a key.” Jazz shuffled back into the bedroom and reappeared holding a small, black, sequined clutch. They unzipped it and held up a shiny gold key. Newly cut.

“I didn’t realize—”

“I travel a lot, and I don’t have a place in Vancouver, so Michael said I could stay here when I’m in town. He gave me a key in case he wasn’t here when I arrived.”

Estrada felt a profound heaviness in his chest. Cernunnos was right about changing history. The Butterfly Effect was real. In the month he’d been gone, everything had changed. Michael had made new friends and got into the blood. His personalities were so distinct, he feared the melancholy man he’d met last week had been defeated by the far more dangerous Mandragora. He might never get him back. He leaned against the couch and stared at the bar. He wanted to drink a bottle of tequila, crawl into a cave in the bush, and stay there. But he couldn’t.

The coven was meeting this afternoon to create a strategy to destroy the vampires.

Leopold Blosch, an innocent vegan chef, had been abducted and turned into a vampire.

Michael was gone, and he could only assume he’d been taken by Diego as well.

And Conall . . . He had to make sure nothing happened to Conall.

If Jazz had played any part in this, they were just a pawn, an addict who craved the highs that Mandragora could produce.

Estrada stood. “We should go. If you see Michael, tell him to call me.”

Jazz cocked their head coyly and produced a thin cell phone from the clutch. “Would you give me your number in case—”

“Of course.” Estrada took their phone and typed his name and number in as a new contact. Then he sent a text to himself, so he had their number as well. “Be careful, Jazz. We’re dealing with some very dangerous people, and you might be a person of interest to them because of your connection to Michael. If I were you, I’d leave Vancouver. It’s not safe here.” He turned and walked toward the door.

“I see why he loves you,” Jazz said.

Estrada stopped mid-stride and swung back to look at Jazz, but they’d turned away.

“Come on, mate.” Dubh opened the door and followed him down the creaking stairs.

The sunlight hurt Estrada’s eyes, and he pulled his shades out of his pannier. Then he proceeded to Nigel’s front door. The worst was yet to come.

Dubh stopped in the driveway. “Should I wait outside while you talk to Michael’s grandfather?”

“Why?”

“Some people are bothered by my hue.”

Estrada shook his head. “Nigel Stryker is the closest thing I have to a father. He’s not some people, and you are not bothersome in any regard.”

“Fair enough.”

Estrada rang the doorbell and waited.

Nigel opened the door in his Sunday sportswear—a white polo shirt and shorts. Perhaps he had a tennis match.

“Sandolino. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Good morning, sir. Can we talk?”

“Of course. Come in.” He bowed to Dubh and offered his hand. “Hello. I’m Nigel Stryker.” He’d never lost his British accent or his love of formality.

“Magus Dubh.” The Wee Pict nodded politely and shook Nigel’s hand.

Estrada smiled. “Dubh is a good friend who’s come from Glasgow to assist with this vampire business I mentioned the other day.”

“Ah, yes.” Nigel walked down the carpeted hall, then paused at the kitchen door. “Can I offer you a drink? Juice? Coffee? Tea? I was just going to refill my mug. It’s a little early for anything else, unless you haven’t been to bed yet.”

“Coffee sounds good,” Estrada said. “Dubh?”

The wee man nodded. “I never turn down a cuppa.”

“I heard wonderful things about your new act, Sandolino. Head down to my office, and I’ll join you.”

As he entered Nigel’s wood-paneled den, Estrada’s gaze settled on the billiard table. The last time, he’d walked into this room, he’d been carrying Michael’s corpse in his arms. They’d laid him out on the green felt. Dubh had been with him that day too.

Dubh whistled softly and ran his hand along the back of the soft brown leather couch. “Braw,” he said, rolling his r.

“I gather you like it?”

“Oh, aye. The man has taste.”

Nigel’s huge wooden desk dominated one end near the shuttered windows and beside his leather armchair stood an antique table that housed his handmade Briar pipe and imported Cherry Cavendish tobacco. The scents of leather, tobacco, coffee, and Scotch permeated the room.

Nigel arrived with a tray of drinks and biscuits. Tea for Dubh, and coffee for Estrada and himself.

Dubh nodded. “You’ve a lovely home, Mr. Stryker.”

“Nigel, please, and thank you. But you haven’t come to banter. What’s the news? More problems with these . . .” His voice trailed off before he could name the vampires. Estrada wasn’t sure if he truly believed or not.

“It’s Michael, sir. I found him with one of them last night, one that’s infatuated with him.”

Nigel furled his brows.

“I’ll speak plainly. Michael’s been getting high on vampire blood for a while now. I’ve only tried it once, and it’s the most powerful drug I’ve ever encountered. But he’s addicted. Sick with it. Last night, I found him passed out in the dressing room at the club and this vampire was with him. Zion was letting Michael drink from him. He was also feeding off Michael.”

“Good God.” Nigel’s tanned face blanched as he covered his mouth.

“You need to know this, sir, or I’d spare you the details.”

“Go on.”

“I reacted as you might have, and destroyed the vampire.”

“Good. I hope it rots in Hell.”

“I instructed Dell to keep Michael locked in the dressing room to sleep it off. But when we returned to Pegasus an hour ago, he was gone. We just checked, and he’s not upstairs either. I’m concerned the vampires have taken him in revenge for the one I killed.”

“What do you need, Sandolino?”

“Just be on your guard, sir. Is Mrs. Stryker home?” Sunday was the only day Nigel breakfasted with his wife and he seemed to be alone.

“No, Bea’s in London with family.”

“Good. That extended vacation I suggested you take with Ruby? I think you should go now.”

“But what about Michael? How are you going to handle this?”

“The coven’s meeting this afternoon to talk strategy. Between us, I’m sure we’ll find a way to exterminate them. The only thing is, Michael may be among them. I suspect they’ll turn him just like they turned another man you know, Leopold Blosch. He owns the Ecos bistro.”

“Leopold? Good God. How did he get involved in this?”

“Zion wanted him, so he took him. They have no morals.”

“But they can be destroyed, and we know how to do it,” Dubh said.

“And once we get Michael and Leopold back, we can cure them,” Estrada added.

Nigel exhaled and seemed to brighten. “I can get whatever you need, Sandolino. Vehicles. Weaponry. An army.”

“I think we have it under control, sir, but I wanted you to know the truth of it.”

“I appreciate that. You have my private number. Let me know when Michael’s safe. If he needs a doctor or rehab, I’ll take care of it.”

Estrada nodded. “One other thing. Michael has a friend staying upstairs. Someone named Jazz. They have a key. I think they may be in danger too. We just spoke with them, and I suggested they leave town. Could you check before you leave yourself, sir, and make sure they got away?”

“Indeed, I will. And when you find my boy, you’ll let me know right away.”

“Of course.”

When Nigel opened his arms and embraced Estrada, his eyes were brimming with tears. “I know you love him, Sandolino, and I know you’ll bring him home.”

I wish I were as sure as you are, Estrada thought. Though he was trying to remain positive, his gut told him something was horribly wrong.