Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante 1)

I slumped against my car, the chassis cold against my back as I lit another cigarette. Annoying that I wasted the first one on panicking over nothing, although it was probably best that I showed up when I did. I didn’t trust Vilmas to play nice. I didn’t trust him with much of anything.

He folded his arms behind his back, grinning sweetly as he sauntered down the path towards me. “It really is so lovely to see you again, Sterling.”

A stream of smoke left my lips, followed by my reply. “Get fucked, Vilmas. You showing up never means anything good. You’re a bringer of bad news. Harbinger of destruction.”

He chuckled. “Flatterer. And feisty as ever. It’s why you never did rise to any political prominence. Too unpredictable. Too mouthy.”

I took another drag of my cigarette, watching the ember glow bright as it burned, quietly wishing I could stub it out on his face. “We can stand out here flirting and sniping all night, or you can cut the bullshit and tell me why you’re here. The vampire courts don’t send out their greasy underlings to backwoods nothing towns for no reason.”

Vilmas stiffened, patting at the ends of his hair. “Hardly greasy,” he muttered. “But I’m only here to check on you, Sterling, see how you were doing out here on your own, away from the big city that you love so much.”

I squinted at him, restraining the urge to crush my cigarette into nothing between my fingers. The boys and I came from Valero, a much more populated part of California that had more than one boba place to visit, and certainly many more vampires in residence. Not all of us got along, and it was probably more common to make enemies than friends among our kind, but when it came down to it, vampires still looked out for each other.

There’s a grudging sense of kinship from knowing the struggles of the hunger, the bittersweetness of never being able to see the sun. We’re a subset of freaks, a niche within a niche. In a strange new town, tapping into the local vamp community can be good for finding your own little support network of likeminded perverts. They’re the ones who can tell you which weirdos in town are most willing to put a few ccs of liquid red gold in your collection plate.

But I’d done my homework. Silveropolis wasn’t home to very many of us. Sometimes, a gorgeous, if infuriating effete man in a crushed velvet suit is all you have to call a friend.

“How sweet of you to think of me,” I growled. “But that’s not all, is it? You bureaucrats are far too busy sucking up and sucking each other off.”

Vilmas feigned a pout, reaching for my cigarette. “I did miss your filthy mouth, Sterling.” He took a drag, leaving a shiny film of gloss on the filter, exhaling a little too close to my face. “You’re crass, but you’ve never been stupid. The Scepter has heard tell of an interesting artifact that may be hidden somewhere in your sleepy mountain town.”

I laughed, the sound of it coming out like a bark. “That old bat is still in charge?”

Vilmas frowned as he handed back my cigarette. “I wish you’d speak of her more respectfully. The Scepter has never held any ill will towards you.”

“Except for that one time she tried to have me staked.” I rolled my eyes, grimacing when Vilmas’s minty gloss smeared across my bottom lip from my final puff. “And I don’t know what part of that was disrespectful. She’s old, and she can turn into a bat. Facts.”

See, as a vampire, I had the cute little perks that came with being one of the perpetually thirsty undead. Exceptional strength and speed were par for the course. But the oldest and strongest among us had unlocked the secrets of the ancient blood. Not all the vampire legends are true, but some of that cool Dracula shit? Totally possible.

“Well,” Vilmas said. “The fact remains. I am loyal to the Scepter, and what she asks, I give. In this case, she desires information about this so-called Filigreed Masque.”

“That’s a silly-ass name for – for whatever that thing is.”

Vilmas grinned, pressing a finger against my cheek. It pushed a warm indentation into my skin, making a dimple. He’d just recently fed. More reason to hate him. I swatted his hand away.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, a mask sculpted out of delicate silver filigree. You are aware of the origins of this town, yes? Silver deposits, a burgeoning industry, and the rush of human inhabitants longing for a taste of wealth. Pitiful. Well, some of the more magically minded among them found other uses for the precious metal, had other, more arcane intentions. Can you guess what the purpose of the Masque is?”

I shrugged. “Moisturizes you while you sleep. I don’t know. Couldn’t give two fucks.”

“You might give at least one about this, Sterling. The Filigreed Masque protects its wearer from the light of day.”

6

My heart stopped. I thumped a hand on my chest to start it up again.

“You’re joking.”

Vilmas shook his head, grinning even harder when he noticed how intrigued I’d become. “It’s a very rare kind of enchantment, wouldn’t you agree? There’s a reason the Scepter wants it. Imagine the glory of basking in the sun’s light again. Imagine it, Sterling. Even for one day. Even for just one morning. What wouldn’t you give?”

I looked down at the back of my hand, at its unnatural pallor. There were alternatives, yes. Powerful lamps, brightly lit rooms, even arcane artificial lights specifically magicked to mimic the sun could be used to give a vampire a taste of life before death. It was one of those things I’d always taken for granted, the simplicity of stepping out bare-chested on a beach without running the risk of total incineration.

More than that, this alleged artifact, if legitimate, would let any vampire walk in daylight. We had all the time in the world, but realistically, you only got full use from the half of it that was shrouded in night. Sure, there were blackout curtains and tinted car windows. But the ability to walk among mankind completely unimpeded? That kind of power would be dangerous indeed in the hands of someone truly creative, and truly ambitious. The Scepter of California was both.

“I’d give my left nut,” I muttered.

Vilmas chuckled. “Well, perhaps you won’t have to. Folklore has it that the mask is still somewhere in Silveropolis. If you happen to hear anything about it, you must let me know immediately.” He tapped two fingers against his own cheek. “We can take turns wearing it before I hand it over to the Scepter.”

“Very cute, Vilmas. A little play date. What’s the catch?”