Of Masques and Martyrs Read Online Free PDF Page B

do a job that requires some brains,” the man snarled.
    The huge vampire began to change then. Fur sprouted all over his body, and his face elongated into a snout full of gnashing, flashing death. Hands lengthened into claws and Nikki got her first good glimpse of what a werewolf looked like.
    “You’re dead,” the wolf growled, in words barely decipherable.
    The man actually chuckled. “Ah, little cub,” he said. “If you had any idea how many times I’ve heard those words, even you would have to laugh at how stupid they make you sound.”
    That did it. Despite his obvious trepidation, the wolf could take no more. The huge, howling vampire launched himself at Nikki’s savior and admirer, claws extended, reaching, ready to rend and tear.
    Green light spilled from the man’s eyes and sprouted from his right hand. He moved so fast that if Nikki had even blinked, she might have missed it. The green glow blazed around his fingers and the man stepped forward, into the wolf’s charge. His hand slammed into the huge monster’s chest, shattering bones and ripping flesh.
    “This is how we deal with spies,” the man said.
    As he withdrew his hand, the dark-haired man stepped aside. The vampire, already changing back to his human appearance, crashed into an abandoned table and tumbled to the floor on his back. There was a steaming hole in his chest where his heart had once beat.
    Now it burned. In the hand of the man who had saved her, who had looked at her so enchantingly from across the room, was the black heart of the vampire. It burned green and bright for a moment, and then its ashes scattered to the ground. Nikki stared at them as they fell like snowflakes to the sticky floorboards.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice filled with warmth and concern.
    Nikki jumped, startled to find him there, next to her. Then she relaxed. She should have been terrified. He wasn’t human either, that much was clear. Vampire. Sorceror. Whatever he was, whatever insane things existed in this new world since the Venice Jihad six years ago, she ought to have run screaming from them. From him. But she didn’t feel afraid. She felt . . . safe. That was the only way to describe it. He had saved her life. And there was a kindness and wisdom that came through his every glance, his every word.
    “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking.
    “You sing beautifully, Nikki,” he observed by way of response, and smiled again, white teeth splitting his tightly trimmed goatee. “My name is Peter.”
    “Peter,” she repeated, tasting the flavor of his name on her lips.
    He reached out to her, his fingers lightly brushing against her hand. She ought to have pulled away. But she simply didn’t want to. Then, at the back of the club, metal stage doors clanged shut, the scraping clamor echoing through the room.
    “Octavian!” a woman roared from the dimly lit front entrance.
    There were five of them, all together. At least, five that she could see. A pair of lanky, slinking males approached from the stage door. At the front door, a long-haired Latino man and two women moved further into the club. The one who had spoken walked in front, apparently leading them. She was young and petite, a slight Asian girl who radiated a power that belied her size.
    “Nobody move, and maybe you’ll survive to be dinner another night,” she sneered, her beautifully sculpted face split by a sickening grin.
    “Hello, Tsumi,” Peter said coldly. “I haven’t seen you since Hong Kong. What was it, 1854? Or was it ’55?”
    The girl named Tsumi smiled. “I’m glad you remember,” she said.
    The five vampires continued to move in, obviously intending to encircle the other, to trap Peter between them. As they passed the bar, Sidney, the bartender, took a step or two away from them. The long-haired Latino grunted as his right hand extended into a horrible wooden pitchfork of a claw. As he passed the bar, he whipped his arm out and sliced cleanly