"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 2 - Partners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

He tossed the cigarette to the ground and smashed out the butt with his heel. Checked his weapons and equipment again, glanced at Santini while the biker did the same. "Ready?"

"Yep."

At first, Haven had enjoyed the hunting, but lately all the fun had gone out of his current occupation. Somebody was going to pay for messing him over soon. But sooner than that, he was going to get Baker to teach him how to use a computer. Maybe holes and caves weren't the only places to look for the sons of bitches. Maybe he'd try the Internet. If Baker could use it how hard could it be?

Haven was almost bored when he said, "Let's go kill some vampires."


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Chapter 1
LATE NOVEMBER

PORTLAND



"Got a job for you."

Char didn't know whether to be pleased or worried when the man behind her in line whispered in her ear. She recognized his voice. Normally, she would have felt the approach of one of her own kind, but her senses could be forgiven for not picking up any scent of Istvan the dhamphir. Once she knew he was there, the trick was not shaking in her shoes. She didn't know if Istvan was officially the chief of all the Enforcers, but he was certainly in charge. She supposed that gave him all the clout he needed to order her around. As far as she knew, no one had less seniority than she did. And seniority aside, Istvan had the biggest fangs and baddest attitude of all. He scared anybody in their right mind to death.

"Didn't know you were in town." She was quite pleased that her voice didn't shake when she spoke.

"I'm not."

And who was she to question that? When a fingertip touched the side of her neck, Char managed not to scream, though she shuddered as she squeaked, "What?"

"The Council has decided to kill Jebel Haven. You're it."

The Starbucks was crowded on this rainy autumn night, but Char was certain no one but she had heard the dhamphir's words. She wished she hadn't.

She whirled around to protest the unfairness of such a dirty job being given to her, but of course the dhamphir was no longer behind her or anywhere in the coffee shop. The dead traveled fast and all that hyperbole. Where he'd come from she didn't know, where he went she didn't care - as long as it was somewhere far away from her. The woman who was behind her in line gasped as Char bumped into her, and Char stepped aside rather than offer excuses or apologies. She moved to the back of the other line and indulged in a bit of sulking while waiting to order her latte.

Why me? she wanted to howl into the night - though it would disturb the other patrons who'd come in out of the cold rain if she were to make a fuss. She did not go around disturbing people. Okay, occasionally she had to kill them, but she hated the idea of upsetting anyone she didn't have to. No reason the patrons of Starbucks should be burdened with the knowledge that she'd been ordered to commit a murder. The floor was wet and the windows steamy; the place was full of warm bodies and the rich scent of coffee. Jazz played on the sound system, barely audible over the buzz of conversation. The lines waiting to order stretched all the way to the door, and every spindly chair at every tiny table was full. Bodies brushed against hers, and the sound of laughter filled her ears, only serving to emphasize to Char how alone she was in the night. She liked to think of herself as serving and protecting. But then, she supposed, so did Jebel Haven.

Jebel Haven could not possibly be his real name. Come on, was anyone really going to be named something as wildly heroic as that? She knew all about Jebel Haven, or at least as much as was possible to learn from a long way away from the man. She'd made a point of following his career, which was probably why she'd been picked to eliminate him as a threat to the Strigoi. She could argue that she didn't see why he was a threat, but arguing with the Council would get another Enforcer sent after her, and eventually Jebel Haven was going to kill a strigoi, and mortals simply couldn't be allowed to do that. That was the Enforcers' job.

Jebel Haven was a good name for a crusader; Char gave him that. She was of the opinion that if you were going to be a superhero, you needed a cool name to go with the gig. Problem was, comic book writers had grabbed all the good hero names long ago. You had to do your best with what was available. Char wasn't exactly her real name, either, but Charlotte McCairn just wasn't a very good name for a vampire, especially not an Ehforcer, a Keeper of the Law, and a daughter of the Nighthawk line. She went by Char, as in burnt and blackened. Like charcoal rather than simpering, silly Char, pronounced Shar-bleah! She'd considered calling herself Cairn for a while but figured that at some point someone would call her Rocky, and she'd have to kill them.

Kill them. What an awful thing to joke about. One did, though, easily, and such casual references to murder made no sense. Committing murder was serious business and should be treated with respect. And handled strictly by hardworking professionals such as herself. Except that Enforcers were supposed to be involved with executions rather than indiscriminate violence... which brought her thinking back to Jebel Haven.

Char put murder out of her mind for a few minutes more until she picked up her order and left the coffee shop. Her original plan for the evening had been to settle down in a quiet corner and watch the world go by for a while. She had a copy of today's Oregonian with her in case there was no one interesting in the place to strike up a conversation with. If she didn't make direct contact with humanity, that was okay, too; just being out among people was a relaxing pastime sometimes. She knew she spent way too much time reading books and working with databases. Pity Istvan had put a hard, abrupt end to any semblance of normal, ungeeky, civilized behavior for this late-autumn evening in Portland.

The rain had slowed to a cold drizzle by the time Char stepped outside. She took some pleasure from the moist air while she walked. She walked a long way and eventually found that she was in her favorite spot in her favorite park. And what a symbolic and sentimental choice her subconscious had chosen, the place being a memorial to fallen war heroes. Truth was, she hoped it was the smell of witch hazel and roses that led her to the Garden of Solace, even though the scents were faint at this time of the year. Her sense of smell had become keener since she'd become a Nighthawk. Her wits, however - well, she worried about them a lot.

For one thing, Char now realized that she'd forgotten about her latte, though she still held the cold cup of coffee in her hand. She dumped it onto the ground and thought of libations and sacrifices and muttered, "Oh, come on, it's only a Grande from Starbucks, Char." Besides, the goddess, if the goddess had ever existed, would prefer blood to coffee. Char didn't, but it was a little late to mention an aversion to the stuff at this point. Blood had its place, of course, and could be delicious under the right circumstances. But never in her wildest dreams had she ever suspected she'd crave the taste of another living being's heart.

"I was a vegetarian once, you know," she said, though there was no one around to hear her. Char did that a lot - talked to herself. Came from being alone too much, she supposed. Of course, she'd never been very good socially. Being a vampire had helped her natural shyness for a while. Then she'd changed into a Nighthawk, and nobody wanted to hang out with her anymore. Nighthawks didn't have a lot of friends. Probably because they ate them under the right circumstances. That tended to put people off.