The Marquis (The 13th Floor)

Chapter 4


Marc kept his distance from the crowd and watched as the EMTs carried out the bodies. They moved like ants in a line, focused and with purpose. Though sheets covered the corpses, the stench still crept out above the throng of living people. Some bodies bulged oddly in places and others weren’t bumpy enough.

The fire had been extinguished, but the row of townhouses was devastated. Most of the bodies came from the house on the end. Reporters shouted questions if it was a house party gone bad or a big family of immigrants who were crammed into a small home. The only answer anyone received was “no comment.”

Walking around closer to one of the ambulances, Marc breathed in deep. Fire and charred flesh. More particularly, charred dead flesh. It had a different smell.

It hadn’t been a house party, but a vampire nest. Hunters were careful these days. Whoever did this wanted to attract attention.

Marc grunted. Vetis. The bastard had started his quest already. No rest for the wicked.

At least he could be assured that Vetis wouldn’t catch Kiral during the day. Marc would have to make sure Kiral didn’t go wandering at night, either. Not only to protect from Vetis, but if his former Master wanted the vamp too, he’d have to lay low.

He cursed himself for not saying anything earlier. Yet he knew he shouldn’t interfere. Marc was no longer bound, but old habits where hard to break. And he was an old dog.

Shaking his head, Marc left the scene. Carmine wouldn’t hurt from the loss of vamps. Ones that gathered in groups were usually bad news. Vetis did him a favor ridding the city of them. Marc hadn’t known there was a kiss of vampires in Carmine. Perhaps he didn’t know his city as well as he had thought.

He’d been spending too many nights at Mae’s café. Now that would have to stop until he found some way to rid himself of Vetis.

Marc prowled the neighborhood before heading back downtown. His thoughts felt sluggish. He hadn’t had to think of strategy in several years. Memories of battles flitted through his mind, but they had grown foggy with time. None applied to this situation any which way.

He had to take out Vetis himself. Vetis was a trickster demon, an overgrown imp. He rarely fought with his fists. Words were his weapon of choice. Vetis was wily, but overconfident and not the brightest demon in the underworld.

A trap might work. A spell would be even better. Something so Marc didn’t have to go face to face with Vetis.

The fact he was thinking like that frustrated him. He never hid behind his minions or his Master during a fight. He once had strength, skill, and power. Now he had a soft body, gray hair, and only enough mojo to smite a new demon.

Weak. He was useless. Perhaps he should let Vetis have his head and then maybe have a bit of glory in those that remembered him when it was presented to the demonic court.

Walking by a coffee shop, he breathed in the rich aroma. The scent always brought him back to Mae. Mae and her big brave heart.

A human body he might have, but he was not to be underestimated. That’s what Vetis would do. He wouldn’t expect Marc to fight any other way than he used to. Marc would find a way and prove that he was still superior to that bastard.

He nodded, back straight and chin up.

Harriet might know of a spell, if she didn’t end up screaming that he was going to die. Or perhaps Meira, the harpy in apartment 1304. She’d been around long enough and demons were no strangers to her boss.

“I’ve had days like that too.”

Marc startled at the voice, tensing up ready to fight. How could he let someone sneak up on him in broad daylight? He was making Vetis’ job much easier for him.

He sucked in a breath when he saw Mae. He shook his head and let loose the air in his lungs. His hands unclenched and his shoulders dropped. A different feeling kept his stomach tight. “Days like that?”

“Days where so much is on my mind, I’m walking blind.” Mae smiled as if determined to drive his worries away. Another day, he might’ve let her.

“Is it that obvious?” His pace slowed to match hers without thinking. She was dressed in some sort of stretchy pants that hugged her hips and rear. Her ponytail bobbed with her steps as if tempting him to touch it. Beautiful, sweet, and playful.

“I’ve been walking beside you for nearly a block.” Mae chuckled. “I’d suggest you come running with me, but I don’t think you’re a runner. You seem to me more the type to work out your troubles lifting some weights or hitting a bag. You’ve got big hands.” She tapped the back of his closest hand with a finger. “Did you box?”

“I did some fighting in my younger years.” Not the sort she was thinking. Marc’s punch once carried the force of a wrecking ball.

“You have that look.” Mae nodded and nudged him with her elbow. “I’ll have you figured out sooner or later.”

He couldn’t stop a grin. “I actually think you might.”

They shared a look for a few steps. She crinkled her nose cutely and looked away first to dodge a post. Marc wanted to hold her hand. She didn’t have pampered hands, but he knew they were softer than his. Warm and accepting.

Stopping at a corner to wait for a light, he turned his head away from her to glance across the street. Vetis grinned and wiggled his fingers at Marc. He waggled his eyebrows, pointed at Mae, and made a lewd gesture.

A growl rumbled in Marc’s chest. No. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t let it happen.

A truck rattled by, blocking his view, and when it was gone, so was Vetis.

“Marc?” Mae’s hand rested on his elbow. “Is everything all right?”

No, he was damned. He shook his head. He wouldn’t let her become a part of this. The world needed Mae Hopkins. He needed her to live.

“I just remembered something. I have to get some stuff done at the building before I leave town for a while.” Forever. Even if he managed to beat Vetis, he couldn’t stay in Carmine. Others would come after him. Vetis probably bragged to half the demons in Hell about what he was going to do. Marc wanted to smash the bastard into the ground, make him less than a pile of dust.

“You’re leaving town?” There was sadness in her voice. His chest tightened. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know.” Marc scratched at his beard and tugged on it. “It’s complicated.”

The light changed and they walked across the street. Mae was silent for another minute before speaking, “Well, you know where I am. I’ll always listen.” She hesitated and then took his hand into hers. “Come see me before you leave? Just for one cup?”

The way she was looking at him, Marc couldn’t do anything but nod. He was an idiot. “One cup.”