Dark Urban Rising Box Set

3. Saraha Dune

3Saraha Dune“Signorina!” Signor Bello, the bar manager hailed her as soon as she stepped inside the café. “Come sit here, please.”

He was a pure demon. Of Leech heritage, to better classify him. Vampires were the most common of the Leeches, but he was no vampire. This particular specimen had a deadly reputation for consuming female flesh. Oh goody!

He pulled out a chair for her at a small table right at the back of the bar. It was crammed in the space between the doors that led on one side to the restrooms and, on the other, to the kitchen.

Smiling her thanks, Tazia sat down. The manager took the seat opposite hers. It creaked under his weight and she scraped her own seat back, away from the table.

Bello wasn’t simply fat, he was of the sort of exaggerated obesity that featured in cheap magazine articles and chat shows. The dinner suit he wore strained to holster the rolls of flesh that protruded from him; and, apart from the occasional flash from his eyes, his features were indistinct, disguised by layers of flaccid, reddened, and sweaty flesh.

Tazia mostly contained the shudder, but her skin was itching again. His lack of charisma hit her along with the stench of rotting flesh and a smattering of lavender. Eyes watering, she no longer felt self-conscious about her own rather ripe aroma.

As he settled, she surveyed the bar: four steps to the kitchen door, ten tables between her and the exit, only one visible staff member, but no doubt a lackey of some sort, probably armed and concealed at the entrance to the bathrooms ready to act if necessary. It wasn’t a big leap to make. This was a setup, and she didn’t need her demon senses to smell it.

Instinctively, she felt for the Bowie knife always holstered on her thigh. Nothing. She’d dumped it before starting the climb from the cave, along with her sidearm. Great decision, Taz.

She’d have to rely on charm. Unfortunately, charm wasn’t Tazia’s forte.

Smiling broadly at him, and simultaneously batting her eyelashes, she said, “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, signor.”

Bello’s eyes barely flicked an acknowledgment over her face.

Okay, the eyelashes were overkill.

Trying another tactic, she extended her hand, this was a business transaction after all.

In reply, he stared hard into her eyes, but did not offer his own sweaty paw, something she was momentarily grateful for.

Tazia lowered her hand, her smile still planted. “My name is Sahara Dune.”

If he lifted his eyebrows in response to the rather unlikely pseudonym, she had no way to see it. The heavy creases of fat above his eyes gave him the look of a bald shar-pei with none of the adorable cuteness, and made his eyes almost immobile.

“I understand, signor Bello,” her own eyebrows raised sharply, this guy was no beauty, “that you recently engaged the services of myself and my partner, Soren Huxford, to eliminate the Abbot of Savoy?”

“Ahh, bella, call me Sergio.” His words were affectionate although his tone was not. In fact, the electrical charge that surged from him at the mention of the Abbot crackled and fizzed in the air between them. She hoped the anger was directed at her late father rather than herself.

“And where is signor Huxford?”

Avoiding his eyes, Tazia studied the sign to the bathroom for a moment, a little blue painted rabbit pointing the way. She looked back, “He’s… indisposed.”

Under the table she scratched at her wrists. Third rule, Taz…

“How unfortunate for him…” Bello gazed steadily at her.

Tazia blinked and changed the subject. “I have good news. The Abbot is dead.”

“Bella, may I get you a glass of wine… or blood?” Before waiting for her answer, he raised a finger toward the server who hovered at the bar, watching her boss’s every move.

“I said, the Abbot is dead, signor…”

“A drink?”

She bristled. The charm offensive was most definitely not working. “No, but thank you. I expect you wish to see the evidence?”

“And I expect you will be wanting to see the reward money, carina.” He gestured toward the inside top pocket of his jacket. “But for now, we will drink. You would not insult me by refusing again?”

This time, he shouted for the wine and accompanied his order with a few choice Italian curses.

Tazia heard the clink of bottle and glasses being rapidly prepared behind her, and fought to still the fingers her right hand drummed against her thigh.

When the wine was brought over to them, and Sergio had affectionately fondled the waitress’s behind in such a way that made Tazia’s stomach heave a little, he raised a glass. “To the destruction of blood-sucking mutant vampire scum. May their offspring suffer prolonged abuse and slavery at the hands of superior demons everywhere. Saluti!” He paused as he held his glass high, awaiting her agreement.

She gave it, albeit a little reluctantly. “Sure, yeah.” Tazia’s father hadn’t been popular in Turin despite his long history, but Bello’s hatred of him appeared extreme.

Before the Demon War, in the early years of the twentieth century, her father had extorted money from local businesses and families. His role then was tantamount to a feudal lord. Bello had a long memory.

He downed the full wine glass as though it was a vodka shot, a swift movement that left deep red trickles flowing down the folds of fat where his heavy cheeks met mouth and chin. From there, the wine splashed onto his white shirt, creating deep purple stains. They rapidly spread, saturating the surrounding cloth.

It gave Tazia an idea.

They were alone inside the bar for a moment. Acting quickly, she felt for the bag around her neck.

With a smile, she lifted it over her head, poured out the two fangs into her hand, and offered them to him. “The evidence, Sergio.”

Get ready, Taz!

Bello widened his eyes slightly. He opened his jacket to extract a small tin box and put it on the table in front of him. As he did so, Tazia got the glimpse of a brown envelope in his inside pocket. He then plucked the fangs from her palm and inspected them closely.

Casually picking up her wine glass, Tazia started to finish the contents, making the most of each drop, even licking the rim while she watched him.

Three—

He placed the teeth on the table and, while muttering a short Latin incantation, sprinkled the teeth with powder taken from the box.

Two—

As the powder came into contact with the teeth, they slowly began to take on an eerie pink glow which gradually intensified to luminous orange reminiscent of a burning candle wick.

One—

Bello gave a small tight smile, and his shoulders appeared to relax. The magic proved the ownership she claimed was true. The Abbot of Savoy was dead.

Go!

Stretching across the table, Tazia smashed her glass into his neck with as much force and speed as she could muster. As her right hand struck, she reached inside his jacket with her left and snatched the contents of his inner top pocket.

The glass shattered and a few long shards pierced deep enough into the blubber of his neck to just about reach the artery she was aiming for. Pressurized blue blood shot onto her arm, stinging her skin before he grabbed at the wound to stem the tide. The nick wouldn’t kill him, but it would be enough of a distraction.

As the pain hit, Sergio let out a piercing screech. The cry caught Tazia off guard and she took a step back, just as another noise sounded behind her.

Without looking, she kicked back her chair, heard it skid across the floor and collide with something that shouted a colorful Italian expletive before the chair clattered to the ground.

Tazia turned in time to see a lumbering goon finish his fall to the floor with a massive thud, his breath forced from him. The chair had halted his path.

Without waiting to see how each of her victims was doing, she leaped over the tables that impeded her passage to the door and out into the evening sunshine. A couple of gunshots echoed after her, but she was moving too fast and they whizzed uselessly past. The people in the piazza immediately dropped to the ground. It aided her escape, and she swerved her way through them.

As she pounded across the square and down a nearby alleyway aiming for the busy shopping district a few blocks away, she checked behind her. No one was chasing. She was safe, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that Sergio Bello, or whatever the hell his name was, would let the matter rest there.

Tazia had made another enemy. Go to the end of the line, signor!

When she reached the relative safety of the shopping district, Tazia wove her way through the evening crowds, taking a winding route back to another little passageway. It was quiet, private, and dark. She squatted against a wall to catch her breath, the envelope she’d taken from the demon’s pocket was still gripped tightly in her hand. Opening it, she counted out the contents. It was not enough, less than half of the amount promised to Soren who had set up the deal. For fucksakes!

She looked up and addressed the aged yellow brick wall opposite. “Well, what do you think? Will it do?”

Sighing, she put the money into her boot for safekeeping. It would have to work—she’d make it work. But first, the fourth rule: drink more tequila!