Speaking of marks, I’d gotten a tip that my current target, a reclusive vamp, had been seen here in Druid Circle.
I wove through the milling crowd and tall tables to the bar, where I ordered a seltzer with lime from a curvy Fae woman with impossibly long and feathery eyelashes, a dead giveaway of her Sylph blood. I sipped from my straw and focused my senses, trying to zero in on all the vamps in the bar.
Hunting down criminal vamps was personal work for me, just about the only thing that tied me to the mother I never knew. A vamp had killed her not long after I was born. I was eight years old when my father, Oliver, revealed that my mother had been murdered by a vampire. Usually vamps targeted humans. But my Fae mother, who’d been troubled and vulnerable according to Oliver, had somehow gotten caught up with one and had paid with her life. He’d immediately regretted telling me how she died, because I began having nightmares about fanged, bloodthirsty killers. In my child’s mind, all vamps were powerful and monstrous, constantly on the prowl for their next victims. Later I learned that wasn’t entirely true; plenty of vampires led normal, peaceful lives. But the mental image of vamps as evil monsters still lingered.
Protecting other innocents from my mother’s fate was the best thing I could think to do to honor her. So, after graduation I’d moved out of Faerie into the Earthly realm so I could join the vamp-hunting division of the Mercenary Guild, an organization that came into being after magic went haywire following the Cataclysm. The Guild was formed to deal with the post-Cataclysm criminal activity that the pre-Cataclysm laws weren’t doing a good job controlling. Private citizens also sometimes hired the Guild for personal assignments.
Holding my glass, the only purpose of it to help me blend in, I casually turned around and leaned my back against the bar so I could survey the place with more ease. The music was pulsing, but not yet at the volume or tempo that would get the crowd moving. A group of Cait Sidhe girls who looked barely old enough to be out alone were the only ones on the dance floor. They gyrated their lithe bodies with sinuous, feline movements.
One of the girls raised her arms in the air and pitched unsteadily. A couple of her friends caught and righted her before she face-planted.
She raised her arms as if remaining on her feet was a huge victory. “Wooo!” she hollered in an eerily cat-like voice that carried over the noise.
I looked past the Cait Sidhe, refocusing on my assignment.
My mark was a male, one of the new generation of vamps infected by the VAMP3 virus that had spontaneously ripped through the population following the Cataclysm. VAMP3s could be aggressive, but the real danger was their persuasiveness. They could naturally walk in sunlight unharmed, and the Type 3 vamps had glamour abilities that bordered on hypnotism. Unfortunately, supernatural lawmakers in the Earthly realm hadn’t figured out how to enforce limits on the use of charm. And so far, vampire rights groups had managed to keep VAMP3s free of the docility implant requirement that befell the naturally bloodthirsty VAMP2s. The Mercenary Guild got a lot of jobs involving VAMP3s.
I knew the gender and name of my mark, but he tended to hide out in Faerie where cell phones and other communication technology didn’t work, and no one had managed to capture a photo of him. He’d been selling VAMP3 blood on the black market, touting it as a magical potion that gave the user a soaring high and also imparted some of the legendary VAMP3 powers of charm. Only problem was, after a few doses it was turning users into murderers. One or two highs seemed to be fine, but further exposure somehow flipped a switch, turning users into blood-hungry maniacs.
I distinguished five male vamps in the vicinity, all Type 3. I eyed the male vamp nearest me. His straight blond hair was slicked back from his forehead, and he wore a black leather jacket. He was chatting up the Sylph bartender with his glamour in full effect, but being Fae, she was holding her own against his charm. He didn’t appear particularly shady, and my instincts told me he probably wasn’t my mark. I could have pulled the bounty card on him, which would have magically identified whether he was the vamp I was after, but if I guessed wrong it would tip off anyone else in the vicinity. I’d check out the rest and come back to him if I didn’t get any hits.
The next vamp pinging my senses was above me on the balcony. I scanned the area with a casual glance. Large VIP booth with table service. Money and an entourage—possible signs of a drug dealer. I straightened and set down my glass, looking for the staircase so I could get a closer look.
“Petra Maguire?”
I twisted around at the sound of my name and found myself looking up into the face of Maxen Lothlorien. Full-blooded New Gargoyle. One of the most eligible bachelors in all of Faerie. Son of Marisol, monarch of the Stone Order to which I was sworn.
“Maxen?” I couldn’t cover my surprise. “What in the name of Oberon are you doing here?”
He was dressed in the official white and grays of the Stone Order. Usually his diplomatic duties took him to court in the Old World—the castles, palaces, and other strongholds of the Faerie kingdoms. What Order business could he have here in the Las Vegas-anchored territory of the Spriggan kingdom?
A smile broke out over his boyishly handsome face. “I knew it was you, even from a distance,” he said warmly.
He leaned against the bar, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that inspired palpitations in the hearts of many Fae women. Some men, too. His easy smile and good looks were disarming, and his warmth unexpected in a New Gargoyle. But underneath the charisma was a shrewd diplomat and a skilled fighter.
His eyes flicked to Mort’s grip, which protruded over the top of my right shoulder.
“Here for work, I see,” he said.
I gave a half shrug. “When am I not? Guild assignment.”
He tsked. “You should be at home, helping your people.”
I snorted. “You mean at home, following Marisol’s orders and popping out a few New Garg offspring?”
He tilted his head. “Not the phrasing I would use, but if that’s what works for you.” He leaned in a little and gave me a teasing smile.