Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante 1)

He stopped muttering, but opened his eyes, the sockets of them filled with the familiar sickly green of necromantic magic. Asher passed a hand across the obelisk, never touching it, but still leaving traces of his power drifting across the stone. Wisps of green energy filled the spaces of the engraved letters, lighting them up like a computer display. We could see the writing more clearly now. Gil squatted low to the ground, reading from Uriah’s gravestone.

“Here lies Uriah Everett, founder of this great community of Silveropolis. A kind soul, a proud leader, and a man of many faces.”

Underneath it listed the dates of Uriah’s birth and death. I pursed my lips in admiration. He lived pretty long for someone of his time. Eighty-plus years wasn’t something to be sniffed at.

The pale green letters faded, and so did the light from Asher’s eyes. “That lines up with what it says in his journal. Well, it’s a phrase that shows up a couple of times, at least. A man of many faces. Uriah was pretty popular with his people, it looked like. He wore many hats, did a whole lot for the community.”

I frowned down at him, then at the journal in his hands. “You’ve read that far into it already? Nerd.”

He frowned back up at me. “I only had to skim it. It’s not that hard, Sterling. It’s called reading? You should try it sometime.”

“Gimme that.”

Asher yelped when I snatched the book from him. It was both coarse and cold to the touch, its leather wrinkled and nearly brittle from age, the engraved brass clasps and hinges on its cover and spine like smooth shards of ice. I turned it over in my hands, peering at it suspiciously.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that this thing was a book of shadows. Uriah’s personal grimoire.”

Gil rubbed his beard. “You think so? There’s no evidence that he was a magic user. Not that Olivia would know. Uriah would have been careful to keep things to himself. Plus, this thing’s just one copy of several. A book of shadows is too personal to be reproduced like that.”

Asher grabbed the journal back from me. I cocked an eyebrow at him, impressed by both his vengeful rudeness and his speed. “Maybe it’s written in code,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he looked down at the cover. “Or maybe it’s hidden somewhere in the pages. Invisible ink, I mean. I can’t wait to try a couple of things on it when we get back to the cabin. I mean, it all hangs together, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” Gil said. “This is the first we’ve considered the possibility that Uriah was a mage himself. Have we agreed on whether or not he had anything to do with the Filigreed Masque as well? He could have crafted it himself.”

“Anyone could have crafted it,” I said, throwing my arms up. “Silver mining boomtown, remember? Of course they had artisans all around. So Uriah wore many faces, but was he also a silversmith? A jeweler? Whatever. And on top of that, was he an enchanter, as well?”

Asher’s forehead creased as he looked down, though I couldn’t tell if he was staring at the journal or at the grass. “Whoever’s behind the killings happening now, do you guys suppose they’re also looking for the Masque? Cripes. Is the Masque itself sentient and ripping people’s faces off? Don’t forget what Bastion said about it.”

“Or the fact that there’s a potential other part involved,” Gil said. “Those bundles of twigs didn’t just show up on their own. Someone’s been planting fetishes throughout the woods. The question is why.”

“It feels like we’re getting a bunch of mixed signals all across the board. Nothing connects to nothing.” I paced a small circle in the grass, until I decided to sit down in the same patch I’d flattened. I pulled my knees up to my chest, frowning at nothing. “It’s a lot of crap thrown together. I’m more confused than anything. So now we’ve got dead bodies, a killer artifact that potentially, possibly, maybe ripped the faces off those dead bodies, and some twiggy person who’s putting down toothpick sculptures for – for what, exactly?”

Gil scratched his fingers through his beard, up his sideburns, then all the way up to his hair, groaning. “I need a drink. Several, if I’m honest.”

Asher pressed his lips tightly together, like he had something to say that we wouldn’t like. He looked between us, then decided to spill after all.

“We could try a communion.”

I rolled my eyes, then fell backwards into the grass, stretching myself out. “Absolutely not,” I said to a sky full of stars. “Out of the question. Last resort. I owe Vilmas this thing, Bastion thinks we owe him that, and now we’ve got to owe some all-mighty immortal being a favor, too? Pass.”

Gil remained perfectly quiet. That made me nervous. He was probably considering the idea.

“Fine,” Asher said. “I was just floating a suggestion. It’s not like we have a ton of other ideas. I’m hoping old Uriah here at least has some answers for us.”

He leaned forward, this time pressing his open palm against the obelisk. Asher shut his eyes, little rays of green light escaping through his lashes, but his forehead wrinkled in confusion. His eyes flew open, normal and brown.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured.

I sat back up, brushing blades of wet grass off my jacket. “Hmm? What’s up?”

“It’s Uriah Everett. He isn’t here.”

19

“Some spirits move on,” Asher said. “And others just aren’t talkative. Uriah, though? I couldn’t feel his pres

ence. He just wasn’t there. I don’t think his body was under the obelisk, either.”

“The plot thickens.” I took a drag of my cigarette, the smoke merrily stinging at my insides, then exhaled, slowly. We were back at the Everett House, loitering in the driveway, mulling over our next move. “So what you’re saying is that Uriah Everett has moved on?”