Dark Urban Rising Box Set

15. Screaming Ink

15Screaming InkConn made several calls from his room out back. As well as Patrick, he also contacted other colleagues in his network. It was a standard process for newcomers to the bar.

As Tazia promised, Patrick gave him the most information. He sent Conn the classified report he’d collated for himself way back when he’d first come across her twenty years ago. The organization he’d worked for had wanted a contract met on a retired prison officer now living an expat idyll in Tuscany. They’d wanted an unexplainable disappearance and no chance of failure, ideally wanted him torn limb from limb. They wanted a demon.

Patrick engaged a vampire based in Italy who offered the use of his daughter.

At first, he'd thought her too hot-headed to be an effective assassin, but her competency and accuracy with both gun and knife were second to none and she accomplished the hit without a hitch. The body was never found, but the photographs proved he’d suffered before he died. It was a job well done.

At the time, Patrick checked her out very thoroughly. He’d found sketchy records of her attending a weapons training stretch in North Africa which he validated with the officer who’d run the camp. A human, now way past retirement, he regaled Patrick with his memories of Tazia from that time. They were mostly positive. Though she’d shown a marked disrespect for authority, something he’d addressed with varying forms of discipline to keep her “in check.”

At Conn raised an eyebrow: why would a vampire ever submit to such treatment at the hands of a human?

From his other contacts, Conn learned that she was listed as dead or missing in some records, and in others as a possible mercenary. Her royal vampiric lineage was mentioned. Not unusual. Most vampires claiming heritage to one royal family or another. Her hybrid status was not listed.

More local contacts told him she’d only recently arrived in Detroit and had been seeking an introduction. By her actions, she didn’t seem to care who knew she was in the city, which was either a stupid move on her part or meant she had ulterior motives. Conn wasn’t fully satisfied by this last point. It was an unanswered question, and he didn’t like those.

He closed the emailed report and returned to the bar. The poker game was still going on and he watched the proceedings carefully.

Tazia seemed to be losing more hands than she was winning. She appeared to have only a minimum grasp of the rules and no ability to bluff. Though by the grin on her face her bad performance wasn’t preventing her having fun. She chatted away to Franky like an old friend and, despite his initial anger at her deception, he seemed to be coming round, giving her frequent smiles and even a quick encouraging squeeze on the knee when she finally won a hand.

After a while, Conn motioned her to a table, poured her another whiskey, and got straight to the point. “So, you said you had shotguns?”

“How many are you looking for?”

“Never-ending supply, darlin’,” he said with a grin and took a sip from his whiskey.

She took a slurp from her own. “I’ve got a job planned in the next few days. They’ll be old but tested.”

Since the Risings started, this was typical. Once the number of cities to fall entered double digits, the governments of the world realized there was little they could do to prevent the demons ultimately obtaining control. They’d withdrawn into high-security silos, taking with them as much of the military-grade weaponry as they could and had, for now, decided to hold out. The demons were left with depleted supplies. Older guns and antiquated hardware was in demand again. Low supply meant high-prices, hard-bargaining, and deals often resolved with violence.

“Sound good?” Tazia asked.

He could tell she was bluffing, but, for now, decided to ride it out. He nodded.

“You’ll be wanting a sample, I assume?” Her strange phrasing mimicked his own Irish way of talking. He noticed, but said nothing.

“Yep, bring me in a couple to look at when they’re ready and then we’ll talk money.” He was all ready to finish the chat now, even beginning to stand.

“Rather talk money now, Conn, if you don’t mind. I like to be up-front, then there are no surprises.”

He sat back down. “Call me Cuinn, Tazia. There’s only one person here calls me Conn.” He gestured toward Franky.

She was testing him; they both knew it.

“Fair enough. The guns are two hundred a piece.”

He sat back. “Ah, Tazia, there’s always a deal to be done, darlin’, surely?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“The deal.” She paused a little before winking at him.

He appraised her. The slight raise of her chin, the wink, now rapid blinking. She was off her patch but acting tough. This wasn't about the money, she just didn’t want to be seen as a push-over.

Conn raised his eyebrows and pushed on his chair so that he was balancing on the two back legs. He looked her up and down, again. “All sorts of ways to reach a deal. Some of my suppliers prefer to be paid in other ways. Blood’s always popular with the vampire crowd, or I can arrange for anything else you fancy…”

Tazia laughed. “Not interested in kink, Cuinn, or blood. And I told you before, I’m different.” She continued, serious now, but maintained her smile, “The deal’s two hundred a piece—take it or leave it. I can sell elsewhere.”

She finished up her whiskey in another gulp and made as though to leave. He put a hand on her arm. “Okay, Tazia, don’t rush off now. I’ll pay it if they look good. Bring me two samples and we’ll go from there.” He poured more whiskey into her glass and then raised his own. “Slainte!”

She relaxed in her chair, her shoulders sagging a little, and c*****d his glass with her own. A deal had been struck. He detected a slight change in her energy. The fierce red shards he’d noted when she’d come into the bar were now fading. In their place, a wave of orange floated toward him. She was still on guard, but now a little more amenable.

This girl, he decided, was an easy read and would be no trouble to him.

Conn studied her face. The unruly dirty blonde hair looked recently cut and stuck out at odd angles where, he guessed, she’d hacked it back with a knife to leave her eyes clear of obstruction. That made him laugh. He treated his own hair in a similar disrespectful fashion.

He noted her eyes, too, their deep brown gazed into his green, and darkened the longer she stared. He guessed there was experience in those eyes. Death, too. Lots of it. Her lips had a natural deep pink fullness about them which was charming, with a trace of a smile. What was that? A defensive trick to hide her nerves, or a genuine happy demeanor just below the surface? This girl acted tough and had obviously seen life, but he felt her vulnerability, too.

It awakened a protectiveness in him that he’d not felt for a very long time, and couldn’t explain. She could obviously look after herself.

Without any sign of shyness, he assessed her upper body critically. She held her neck proudly, and her shoulders and arms were well-developed with a natural strength. The curves of her breasts were less important though he could appreciate them well enough. Conn had experienced far too many pretty women to be affected by a well-proportioned anatomy. It was her eyes that kept drawing him back—relentless.

“If we’re going to deal, I need to check something else out, darlin’.” This was also standard procedure.

“I thought you’d already done your homework—and it looked like you were making a few observations just then, too.” Her cheeks had reddened, but she smiled broadly, apparently not in the least bit embarrassed by his attention.

“No more I’d say than you’ve done.”

She smiled, but said nothing.

“Did you know that Soldiers have a few special qualities, Tazia?”

She kept quiet and waited, her smile fading slightly.

“We have certain abilities. Can pick up on another demon’s more private intentions and desires. Not a tracking thing, more… instinctual.”

He paused again before going on. “Before I deal with anyone, I give them a once-over.”

“Will magic screw that little skill of yours? Cos the ink on my back fairly screams at me all the time, so I reckon it'll play havoc with you.”

“I can sense magic, yes, but the rest will still be there. Enough for me to be happy… or not.”

“Looks like I’ve got no choice.” She looked away from him, her arms crossing over her chest, and her foot starting to tap on the ground. The jagged red energy stabbed at him again.

Conn looked down into his drink for a moment, considering. He spoke again with a note of sympathy. “Look, darlin’, bring me the guns and if they’re good, we’ll talk more, okay?”

She regarded him, temper flaring. “And you’ll conduct your little experiment then? Do you think I’m screwing with you, Cuinn?”

His sympathy vanished. “Maybe. Plenty try it. But I hope that’s not the case with you, mo chroi, cos I’d rather you stayed alive.” Despite the tone, he smiled.

The conversation was over, and right at that moment, Conn was in control.