Chapter 24 Orfeo
Orfeo
Every party these idiots throw is exactly the same.
German house music; champagne towers; men in balaclavas with their big, saggy balls out—as if any of them are so important that a grainy photo of them bearing sack would be worth newspaper ink.
Vampires spin around poles with their gorgeous, hairless genitalia on display.
Or they thrash and gyrate atop lit-up cubes, exposing all their holes.
The air smells permanently like bleach, blood, and cum.
Through the flashing lights and crash of bodies, I’ll eventually spy some uninspired thrusting.
The second-floor drawing room of the manor is packed with bodies—masked attendees and supernatural servers traveling with mirrored trays lined with bumps of cocaine.
I make rounds with bottles of champagne and smile dutifully when women with feathered lipstick slide their hands down the front of my chest.
But tonight I have Davìd at my side. It still feels impossible. But when I look down the bar, there he is. Grinning at me.
“Your woman,” he says to me in Italian, pressing his chin into my shoulder. “That ass of hers is divine. Do you still like to share?”
I smirk. “I don’t think I get to make that decision.”
“My little feminist,” he says, his mouth a hot balm against my ear. “When the demon blood starts flowing, anything is possible.”
“Hey, loverboys.” Misha appears at the edge of the bar, fangs extended and eyes glowing. She lifts her chin toward Davìd and then flicks it back toward the entrance. “Party.”
Davìd heeds the code word, dislodging himself from my shoulder and slipping his mask back down over his face. He melts into the crowd in an instant, just another toned body.
Across the room, the double doors that lead back out into the corridor swing open and Alfo enters.
In many ways, he has his own coterie; in many ways, he is exactly like Paolo.
A poisonous weed with a root system so strong that even after the head and stem are cut off, we will be fighting it for years.
Standing at his full height, Alfo is almost as tall as Leo and equally as broad.
The rumor around the club is that his mother was a living donor with a drug problem, attached to a strigoi who had corrupted her mind.
He’d left her to Alfo’s demon father when her blood was too polluted to keep feeding from.
There are moments when I find myself willing to feel sympathy for Alfo. But he is half-human only in name; in his nature, he has given over entirely to demonia. He would do to any woman as his father had done to his mother.
And that makes me want to smash his skull.
I finish a gin and tonic for an impatient woman with enormous breasts and a peacock-feathered mask, then slip out from behind the bar, heading directly toward Alfo and his gang.
“Nis.” I place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, cutting into the edge of the group.
He starts and flinches. “The fuck do you want, bloodsucker?”
“Echidna PD sent in an undercover. He’s trying to blend in but it’s beyond fucking obvious. He’s been trying to get into the library.” I jut my thumb toward Davìd who, as planned, is sipping a beer and keeping a suspicious distance. “I think he’s headed there now.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nisos turns to another demon and they immediately fall into their own angry whispered argument. Strategizing. Misha passes by, swinging a police baton.
I slide a hand around her hips and lean in at vampiric speed. My lips glance her ear. “Party.”
She smacks the baton into the palm of her hand with a satisfying thwack. She lets out a deep, throaty growl. “Party, indeed.”
I abandon the demons and cut across the writhing dance floor to the set of French doors that open out onto a narrow balcony.
Through the glass, I spy Sofia and the strigoi in the shadows of the building.
I knock softly at the glass using accelerated speed—their signal.
Then, I duck behind the bar, pull on my shirt, and tuck my weapon into the waistband of my jeans.
I slide through the crowd, pausing to dance with a human woman in case Nisos has eyes on me. She smells like tequila and onions. It is horrible.
Then, I squeeze through the doors into the library.
Davìd is already behind the desk, feet propped up on the surface, the night sky an endless expanse at his shoulder, and Misha is at his side, having abandoned her baton for her sickle.
She balances it on a gloved hand, spinning it expertly between nimble fingers.
“Bellissimo.” She smirks. “You made it.”
I don’t have time to reply. The doors bang open behind me and I spin around. Demons flow in, floating on a stream of laughter and shouting. It’s a mixture of Alfo’s soldiers and our plants. Some have no idea. Others play their part perfectly.
Alfo towers over his men, a cigar hanging from his mouth. His nostrils are red and enflamed, crusted with substances and mucus. He reminds me of a puss-filled, infected wound. Truly revolting.
“Where the fuck is this pig then, huh?” He yanks the cigar from his mouth and shoots an ungodly amount of smoke through his nostrils. “Let’s make this quick.”
“Hello, boss,” Misha purrs. She stills her weapon as Alfo comes to an abrupt stop.
“What the fuck is this?” He drinks her in, grabbing at his crotch. “You want me right now, baby?”
“Oh.” She tilts her head and smiles. “No.”
Then, Misha flings herself up into the air.
Her legs splay, her sickle glints. She comes crashing down into the demons, swinging her weapon hard.
The demons working with us know well enough to tuck and roll, but the others lose their heads in one single swift, clean cut that sends a jet of their putrid blood spraying across the room.
Misha jumps up from her crouch and then delivers two merciless kicks to the headless demons blocking her access to Alfo.
She grins at him. “Never that.”
Nisos’s face drains of color and he tries to stumble backward. Davìd and I grab his arms and haul him off to the sidelines. He thrashes against our hold. “Bloodsuckers. Fucking bloodsuckers!”
Alfo growls and lunges at Misha, swinging his fat fists toward her—but she’s too fast. Misha snaps out of his way. His hand collides with a display case, shattering the glass in a thousand directions. “Fuck. You fucking bitch.”
“Come and get me, scum.” Her voice chimes from just past the threshold, where the staircase is at her shoulders.
Alfo spins around and dives. The moment he passes through the doorway, we fling Nisos aside like a rag doll and charge at Alfo.
Misha throws back her head and cackles, once again disappearing.
We take off running and Alfo bolts. He’s afraid. Terrified.
“You, too?” he shouts back at me, his laughter echoing up the cavernous staircase, through the house. “Where the fuck is Leo? Someone fucking call Leo.”
I use my vampiric speed to glance past him, knocking my shoulder into his. Alfo stumbles over his feet before activating his own powers, catching himself on the iron railing before tumbling to his death.
He dives for the front door, but in an instant, Sofia descends from the ceiling, landing on the balls of her feet. Her fangs flash, her double-pronged tongue flicking viciously at the air.
“Ho fame,” she moans, rolling her head on her shoulders. “Dammi qualcosa.” She drags her hands through the carpet, tearing through the fabric and pulling up curls of wood with the strength of her claws. Her face contorts into a pained, sadistic smile. “Daddy.”
“You. I remember you.” He rears back and spits at her. “Puttana.” Then, he spins back toward Davìd and me, where we stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking his access to the staircase. “Let me guess—under that mask is your boyfriend?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Is that what you think he is to me? Someone I fuck? Is that how you see the entire world, Alfredo?”
His features warp with rage—his mouth twists, his muscles ripple.
He’s not smart enough, fast enough, or demon enough to transform himself or possess my mind.
All he does instead is splinter his veneers, the rows of sharp teeth they’d been hiding bursting forward, ripping through his gums. Thick black blood drips from his mouth.
“So much fucking confidence.” His fists throb and bulge at his sides.
His blood is heating, his human facade melting away.
He grows beastly before us. “And yet, you have nothing.”
I take a step forward. “Do I? Then why won’t you face me, here and now? Creature to creature.” I bear my fangs and reach for the silver blade at my waist. I unsheathe it in a swift yank.
Our demons scramble like they’re desperate to protect their master, crowding around Sofia and Alfo, hissing at me. We begin to move, our bodies working symphonically.
“Why would I waste a single fucking second of my time on you? You prostituted yourself for freedom once and you’ve fucking done it again. Who are you working for?”
“I work for myself.” I push forward, lunging with my blade. Alfo swerves me, swinging one of his enormous fists toward my face. I duck and lunge again, pushing him farther into the darkness of the hallway.
“Do you? Or do you work for that human pussy you’re so obsessed with?”
“Human pussy”—I kick a demon away from my feet, the toe of my boot colliding with their jaw in a dull, wet crunch. Like I’ve stomped on an aluminum can—“is delicious.”
Alfo throws his head back and lets out a laugh that turns into a deafening roar. His jaw unhinges and his fat, greasy tongue falls forward. His eyes burn white. He extends his arms and sends a blast of energy at me. The hallway is too narrow, I can’t dodge the wave.
It hits me square in the chest. I feel my feet lift from the ground. I feel myself falling backward, demon hands tangling in my hair, gripping at my neck.
I hiss and thrash, but there is no purchase. No ground beneath me, no walls for me to hold on to.
“Idiot.” Alfo’s voice is everywhere. As hot as a furnace in my face. As loud as if he lives inside my skull. “Do you know how powerful I am? In nomine Hades, you will never know freedom.”