Redeemed

Marx supposed he should have taken the vampyre’s side and questioned the fledgling’s veracity. But instead Marx had felt an itch under his skin around Neferet, the same itch that had saved his ass more times than he could count out on the street. He’d liked Zoey just fine. There’d been no itch under his skin around her. Neferet, he hadn’t liked at all.

He’d asked his sister, who had been Marked almost two decades ago, about Neferet. A

Marx had hated that, hated not having his sister’s confidence. So he’d never asked about Neferet again.

Not even when the High Priestess had left the Tulsa House of Night and given a press conference, condemning mainstream vampyres in general and her old House of Night in particular.

Not even when Neferet had disappeared after her penthouse had been vandalized.

Not even when the Tulsa House of Night’s new High Priestess, Thanatos, had accused Neferet of the murder of Mayor LaFont.

Not even when an anonymous tip had come in through their Crime Stoppers line saying that a naked vampyre fitting Neferet’s description had been seen entering the Boston Avenue Church.

The last twenty-plus minutes had changed his mind about not questioning his sister.

“Here! Officer, down over here!” Marx waved his arms at the ambulance that had screamed up to the makeshift blockade he and the other officers were crouched behind. He glanced at Jamison. The guy was obviously a goner. The six bullets that had ricocheted from the invisible shield Neferet had erected had somehow conveniently hit him everywhere except the parts of his body covered by his Kevlar vest. How the hell had she done that? Marx added another to the long list of questions he was absolutely going to ask his sister.

More marked cars than he could count skidded up, parking in the middle of the streets surrounding the Mayo. The officers not ru

It was with a mixture of relief and regret that he saw Chief Co

Chief Co

“Detective, bring me up to speed,” the chief said.

“Neferet confessed to the Boston Avenue killing. She’s in there with hostages. She has them under her control. I can’t tell if it’s a spell, or if she’s just got them so damn scared they’re willing to do anything for her. But you wouldn’t believe the terrible things she’s got those people doing.”

“After seeing what she did at Boston Avenue, I don’t think there’s anything she can do that’ll surprise me,” the chief said grimly.

“See that body? That girl ripped her own throat open for Neferet while she said, ‘Thank you, Goddess.’” Marx nodded at the bloody mess that used to be a young woman.

“Any idea how many people are in there with her?”

Marx shook his head. “It has to be around a hundred, but best guess is all we have. She’s closed the restaurant and locked the building up tight. As far as we can tell, she’s not letting anyone out.”

“Well, she’s going to have to let us in.”

“Chief, I think we’d better get some kind of intel on the hostage situation. We don’t want a repeat of what happened at the church. She slaughtered those people, but the bodies didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen a vampyre do before. They were sliced up and chewed up and drained. Neferet’s power is like nothing we’ve ever dealt with.”

“Yeah, I saw them.” The chief shook his head. “How the fuck could a vampyre do that? I’ve heard of High Priestesses who can mess with people’s minds—do some control and even memory wiping. And I know they’re physically powerful, though not as powerful as their Warriors. But the slaughter in the church…” He shook his head. “That I’ve never heard of. What about you? Isn’t your sister a vampyre?”

“She is, and I’ll give her a call, but there’s something you should know. Neferet isn’t saying she’s a vampyre. She’s calling herself a goddess, specifically the Goddess of Darkness and Queen Tsi Sgili, whatever that is. She said she’s made the Mayo her Temple and she wants Tulsa to worship her.”

The chief made a derisive grunt. “Fat fucking chance. As soon as we’ve got the hostage situation pinpointed, we’re going in. Let’s see what our sniper’s fifty-caliber can do against her delusions of divinity.”

Marx nodded in agreement, but the familiar warning itch was back under his skin, giving him a bad feeling about how this thing was going to play out.

“Goddamned vampyres have lost their heathen minds lately. First killing the mayor, then those two men in the park, the church slaughter, and now this. I’m thinking we need to do more than just lock down the House of Night. I think we need to round them up and kick them the hell outta Tulsa!”

“Chief, about those two men in the park.” Marx frowned. He knew the anti-vampyre sentiment was ru

“Yeah, what about them? Wasn’t it you who brought in that fledgling who confessed to their killing? Hell, she could’ve killed LaFont, too!”

“Actually, sir, Neferet just confessed to the killing of the mayor and those two men. She bragged of it, as well as the massacre at the church.”

The chief blinked in surprise. “Well, then, what the hell was that fledgling doing giving herself up as a killer? Is she in league with Neferet?”

“I sincerely doubt it. Zoey Redbird and Neferet have a history of bad blood between them. It’s more likely that Zoey had a run-in with the men, she protected herself, and when she heard they were dead thought she must have killed them. She’s a good kid, Chief. I think she turned herself in because she was consumed by remorse. She didn’t even want any adult vampyre near her.”

The chief gave him a blank look. Marx stifled a sigh and explained. “If a fledgling isn’t around adult vampyres, there’s a one hundred percent chance her body will reject the Change and she’ll die. Zoey had tried and judged herself—and decided her sentence was death.”

“I forget how much you know about vampyres.” The chief shook his head in disgust. “Guess it doesn’t matter whether they’re human or fledgling—teenagers have no damn sense.”

Marx had opened his mouth to protest—respectfully—that he actually knew some teenagers who had some damn sense, and that would include Zoey Redbird, when the cry of a uniformed cop interrupted him.

“Oh my God! Look up!”

Marx’s head jerked and his gaze shot skyward in time to see creatures, grotesque black creatures that appeared to be snakelike, except they had no eyes—only gaping mouths framed with teeth that glistened wet and red—being hurled by some invisible force over the stone railing of the Mayo’s penthouse. The creatures carried with them an explosion of blood and guts, body fragments and gore. And as they fell, they expanded, changing from eyeless snakes to a dark, pulsing curtain, stained scarlet. The curtain clung to the stone façade of the Mayo, swathing it in darkness and blood as it unfurled downward.