Page 55 of Spooks & Specters

Okay, fine, maybe his heart wasn’t broken. It didn’t beat for that human, after all.

The elevator arrived, and Raven swept into it. Besides, humans were a dime a dozen. The feeder who had abandoned him for another vampire—abandoned him, of all people—had not been Raven’s only source. Of course he wasn’t.

Raven kept several feeders, although technically he did not need blood as often as a younger vampire. He was almost a thousand years old, so he didn’t need the life-sustaining substance as much as younger vampires. But just because he didn’t need it as often didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Besides, he liked a variety. Who didn’t? AB negative was particularly divine.

Raven strolled through the lobby of the Sky Tower, a business/apartment building he owned. This was where his coven was located. Several of his people worked there, thus the business portion of the building, and everybody lived there. Feeders included.

The building was warded too. One simply couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Several of his soldiers loitered in the lobby, waiting on him to arrive. Annabel swept toward him, outfitted in a lovely Victorian Goth gown in a deep purple and black. Her black hair was piled up on her head in some complicated updo.

“Master.” Annabel bowed her head slightly.

Raven’s title was Master of the City, or just Master, the city being San DeLain. This was his territory, and any vampire who entered had to report to him immediately or risk being hunted down and forcibly brought before Raven. It was just good manners. They were also required to notify Raven when they left his territory.

“Lady Annabel. You’re looking lovely as usual this evening,” Raven said.

“Thank you. A couple of us were heading to Club Nomadic. Is that where you’re going?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Excellent. We will see you there, then.”

“Of course, my Lady. I look forward to it.”

Lords and Ladies were the most experienced and influential members of the vampire society outside of the Master. Raven didn’t have an official council or inner circle, but he did depend on his Lords and Ladies for advice. But he had the final word, just like when he rendered a decision if a law was broken.

Lady Annabel was somewhere around six hundred and fifty years old, or so he thought. She wasn’t as old as him, of course, otherwise she would probably be the Master of her own city. He dreaded losing her—she was that good of a friend and nothing more. Her tastes ran more toward the female variety.

Raven stepped outside, then paused to take a deep breath, which he did not need, of course. He was the undead. His heart had stopped beating nine hundred years ago. Andwhile he did not need to breathe, he enjoyed sorting through the scents around him. The city was alive with a variety of smells—everything from humanity, cooking food, smog, and other paranormals.

But nothing triggered his sense of alarm. A soldier handed him his keys, and Raven settled himself behind the wheel of his latest acquisition. The machine was a thing of beauty and a beast.

He had other, more expensive vehicles, but this model had always had a soft spot in his heart. Why? Because he’d had a hand in designing the very first one. Raven had his finger in many of the human pies.

The engine roared to life, a subtle vibration underneath his ass. What a feeling. It was almost as satisfying as flying. Pulling out into the insanity that was San DeLain traffic, he took his undead life into his hands as he wove in and out between vehicles, his soldiers chasing after him.

RAVEN PARKED in front of Club Nomadic, got out, and tossed his keys to the valet. Of course these humans knew him—they belonged to him, as did every employee there.

This establishment was a well-known queer club in San DeLain and one of Raven’s favorite hangouts that he owned. The building was the size of a small warehouse and was actually very nondescript.

Inside was a completely different matter, with its exposed brick, concrete floors tinted black, open stairwells heading up to the second and third floors, awnings throughout, private nooks enclosed with drapery, heavy ornate black leather furniture, chandeliers, a rolling fog and dim lighting throughout, and a massive bar and dance floor.

The atmosphere was sexy and creepy, exactly what the patrons here wanted. Dress was pretty much anything goes—ten-thousand-dollar business suits to Victorian Goth like Raven was dressed and everything in between.

Raven nodded to several of his members as he walked inside.

The place was packed. The smell of salt and brine rode the air currents. Glancing about, he spotted a few merpeople. Their androgynous features marked their species. Like the vampires, they needed blood, but unlike the vampires, it didn’t have to be human.

A couple of magic users were there too. They tended to smell of ozone even when not using their powers. They blended in with the human crowd the easiest. A lone gargoyle sat at a table, his earthy scent tangy and fresh but also sharp. Seeing him was a surprise. They didn’t often leave their territories.

And there was also royalty in the house tonight—Hudson Redmond, King of the Fire Court of San DeLain. His trusted Right Hand, Conrad Turner, was with him. It was rare to see one without the other.

A few seconds later, Raven felt a gentle breeze as his soldiers appeared behind him.

“Dammit, Raven, you must stop doing that,” Felix complained as he came to a halt beside Raven.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Felix huffed.

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