Stacked Deck Ch. 01

Prologue

You know at the end of any really good action thriller or really bad horror movie, the hero is sitting there amidst the smoldering rubble of a building he had to blow the hell out of just to give the baddies a proper send off? Then some gorgeous woman starts shoving her way through the crowd of onlookers so that she can embrace her poor knight in shining armor, while he lets loose a great sigh of relief?

The part they never tell you, is that you getpenalizedfor the destruction of said building. Or that you get to spend the next thirty-six hours in an interrogation room, trying to explain what the hell happened. Never mind that it all went so fast that you just don't know which end is up.

Oh, and that gorgeous woman?

Chances are she doesn't even exist, or she's in love with your best friend.

Hollywood is so full of shit.

Chapter One: "Know when to fold 'em"

"And so ladies and gentleman, I present to you your new Toreador Primogen. Sophia Davies." Diego St. Dior beamed proudly. There was a round of eager applause as every eye in the ballroom fell upon her. She gave a gracious bow and waved autonomously to the crowd. Diego positioned his arm possessively around her waist. "And I would also like to announce that she has graciously consented to be my bride."

Sophia's eyes darkened, if only for the briefest of moments, then twinkled with a congenial smile. They stepped down off the dais and commenced with the duties of handshakes and forged smiles.

"Do forgive me,darling. I'll be back in a moment." She whispered into Diego's ear and wandered off into the crowd. She slipped unnoticed into the second floor bathroom and locked the door behind her. Resting her head against the door, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and bit back a scream of frustration. Turning quickly on her heels, she went over to the sink and stared gravely into the mirror.

"Diego, you greedy son of a bitch. Howdareyou pull such an arrogant stunt? You will pay dearly for this," she whispered to her reflection. She checked her mascara and reapplied a fresh layer of burgundy lipstick, wiping away a smudge with the edge of her pinky. Straightening her cocktail dress and taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and re-entered the party. Her golden eyes searched the crowd and found Diego huddled in a corner, talking animatedly to Dimitri Chernovich.

Sophia slipped quietly out to the balcony of the mansion, the raucous din of the party pummeled hungrily against the glass behind her. She leaned against the railing and gazed wistfully out across the bay. Just upon the horizon she could see the silhouette of one of the casino boats. Positioning her chin on her slender shoulder, she glanced toward the downtown boardwalk. From here, all of the torches and lamps cast a pale golden aura upon the township she'd come to know and adore. She closed her golden eyes for a moment and concentrated on the sounds of the "Pirate Days Festival" that was now in full swing, the screams and laughter emanating from the carnival rides. She couldn't help but chuckle longingly to herself.

After several moments of collecting her thoughts, she drew a deep breath of the night air and turned to re-enter the gala affair. A flicker of movement on the roof caught her eye. Her gaze intensified in the gloom. She strained her ears for any sign of movement and thought she could hear a light rasping breath. In the blackness, two red eyes snapped open as the wispy shadow descended upon her. The scream caught in her throat as the shadow enveloped her.

Diego swept the curtain aside and searched the balcony for his fiancé. A glimpse of the grim reaper flashed briefly before him as it vaulted over the balcony railing and loped across the yard like a rabid beast into the surrounding trees. He quickly threw open the door and ran out. Bracing himself on the railing as he cried out her name in desperation. He pulled his hand back and gazed in horrid contemplation at the dark stains on his trembling hands. His voice stuck horridly in his throat. Wedged into the railing at his feet was a broken five-inch stiletto heel.

Thomas Ballentine strode cautiously through the twisted maze of back alleys behind the shops just off the central boardwalk. The laughter and screams of the annual pirate festival echoed forcefully off of the stone walls, through the dusk, modifying them into something almost surreal.

He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the little paper card. Glancing back and forth between the card and the inadequately hand painted sign above the door. He braced himself and moved up the steps, satisfied that this was the place. He could hear the faint sounds of an acoustic guitar coming from the short hallway as he opened the steel door before him. Gathering all of the feigned confidence he could summon, he straightened his dress shirt one last time and knocked on the door.

"Entrée." Came a voice as smooth as silk.

"Hi...um...Mr. Phantym?" Thomas stammered as he peered around the door. "My name is, uh..."

"Thomas Ballentine. I know. I sent for you specifically," the man said soothingly.

He set the guitar in its stand and casually rose from his chair behind the desk. Wiping his palm on his tattered jeans, he reached across the desk, offering his hand.

Ballentine shook his hand earnestly, taking note of its strength appraisingly. He cast a casual glance about the room, taking in the blatant disarray. The file cabinet drawers were randomly open and boxes were stacked in each corner. There was a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

"Jamus Phantym," the man declared brightly. "Pleased to meet you finally. I've been reading about you a lot in the tabloids of late. Apparently we've been moving through the same social circles for some time now. Odd, that we never actually met."

"Thank you, Sir," Thomas said timidly. "The pleasure is surely mine."

Jamus gestured toward the opposite chair. "Please, take a seat."

"And please, call me Jamie. I hate standing on formality, so you can drop that "Sir" shit," he said, lowering himself into his chair.

He swung his sandaled feet up onto the desktop, tilted his head back and his pale hands rubbed at his bleary eyes. He raked his fingers through the shoulder length mane of midnight black hair and let out a huge sigh.

"Alright, let's get right into the meat of it shall we? I'm sure you've at least heard the rumors floating around town about the string of missing people," he said, staring idly at the grimy ceiling tiles.

Tom nodded silently and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Tom...may I call you Tom?" he asked, gazing directly into his eyes. "Tom, I've been working on this case for someverydear friends of mine and, I hate to admit, it's got me stumped. I've been chasing my tail for three months now. To be quite frank...I need the help of someone who's not afraid to delve into the...let's say "darker" aspects of the paranormal. I need the area's best psychic, my friend. Ineedyou."

Tom stepped out into the warm night and tilted his face skyward. His nostrils were assaulted by the nauseating smell of salt air, gunpowder and soured alcohol. The conversation played again through his head as he stepped out onto the boardwalk. He took a left on Main Street and made his way back to his home on the Upper West Side of the island.

He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath as he walked up to the two-story stone dwelling, a remodeled remnant of Spanish occupation. A sudden breeze sent a shiver down his spine as he fumbled for his keys. He jammed the brass one into the lock and twisted the handle. A wall of cold air and the scent of sandalwood washed over him as he opened the door. Setting his keys on the long table by the door, he unbuttoned his shirt and walked to the phone.

He pressed #2 on the phone, the number of the Chinese take-out place a couple of blocks away.

"Hi Robert, can I get the chicken lo mien tonight? Delivery please. Thanks."

He hung up the phone and stepped into his bathroom, stripping off the pale blue shirt along the way. He tossed it into the hamper and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face. Looking up into the mirror he could see the dark circles under his eyes staring harshly back at him. He leaned his forehead against the mirror and swallowed hard. His mind's eye replayed again the vision he'd gotten from shaking Jamus' hand. The ship at sea, the cold darkness, the flash of teeth all came rushing in.And blood, so much blood.

He wiped his face with the hand towel and flicked off the light, stepping back into the hallway. Regaining his composure, he walked into the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. The faded and torn picture of Diana, his mother, smiled at him from its spot on the freezer door. A bitter-sweet grin played on his lips as he withdrew the carafe of chardonnay from the door. As he was taking a glass out of the cupboard, there was the timely knock on the door.

"Be right there, Donnie." He called out.

Upon arriving at the front door, he placed his hand upon it, instinctively. Fingers splayed across the cool iron, he could "see" on the other side. There was Robert's teenage son, Donnie, who made deliveries as a summer job. As usual, he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, impatiently. Tom opened the door and grinned at him, holding out the two twenty dollar bills.

"Did you pass the preliminaries this week?" He smiled.

The boy nodded and grinned impishly.

"And to think, your father still thinks that bike is a waste of time. Keep the change kid."

He returned the bow to the boy and watched as he made his way down the flight of steps, two at a time. Tom locked the door behind him and sat down on the floor at the small living room table. Opening up the container, he inhaled deeply the aroma of his hot meal, his mouth immediately watered and his stomach let out a snarl. He hadn't realized he wasthathungry. He glanced over at the clock on the VCR and grimaced, he hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was now 10:15p.m. Fixing the position of the chopsticks in his hand, he dug in.

Yumi leapt up onto the arm of the couch, reaching out, her delicate paw brushing his shoulder. Insistently she meowed in his ear.

"No honey, this isn't for you," he stated as he lovingly scratched the bridge of her nose. "I'll feed you in a moment."

He finished the last of the container and got to his feet. As he walked to the kitchen, Yumi skillfully looped between his feet, stating frantically that she washungry. He rinsed the plastic container in the sink, tossed it into the recycling bin and opened up the cupboard. He poured some dry food into her dish and set it on the floor. Crouching down, he scratched her behind the ears. She mumbled something very near English and crunched away at her food like it was her last meal on earth.

"I met a very odd fellow today, Yumi." He stated as he stood up. "I think I may go to work for him."

He cocked his head slightly and grinned. "He actually seems quite decent."

...For a Vampire.

Jamus was sprawled out at a booth in the back of the bar, dressed in pretty much the same clothes as earlier that night; jeans with the knees cut out, brown leather sandals and a painfully lurid Hawaiian shirt. His dark tresses were disheveled and covering most of his pale face. The shock of gray on the right temple caught the light in such a way that it was almost ethereal. He was skimming through the headlines of the local paper, catching up on the news that the editor thought was fit to print.

He winced as a woman sat down on the opposite side of the booth. Her golden locks barely concealing what her low cut blouse refused to.

"Nik," he stated blandly without looking up. "Whatcan I do ya for?"

She cast him an icy stare from across the table.

"You know goddamned well what I'm here for, sostopplaying coy. You don't pull it off well anyway."

"Hey, don't get snarky with me, Sparky. He'syourhusband." He carefully folded the newspaper and set it aside.

"Yes, but he'syourbrother." Her mercurial eyes started to well with the onset of tears.

He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lower lip.

"Look, Nik...it's like I told you last week. I haven't seen or heard from Jess in over 5 years. You know how well he holds a grudge. It could be centuries before he forgives me."

Jamus laced his fingers before him on the table and rested his chin on his thumb tips. His powder blue eyes gleamed in the dim light.

"Nikky, I love you both, but you've got to sort this shit out on your own. I think this is one case where blood isnotthicker than water." He sighed deeply.

Nikasha folded her arms across her chest and sat back against the booth. The corners of her lips started to quiver and she quickly moved her gaze to the candle on the wall. Tears started to stream down her pale cheeks.

"I just feel sohelpless. All of our friends are disappearing. And you, me...any one of us could be next. Something has to be done. You heard Seryn last night. We areallin danger." Her body started to tremble slightly. She swiped her hand angrily at the tears streaming down her face.

Jamus choked back his words. He'd never once seen her lose her composure in the near 150 years he'd known her. The events of the past month clearly had her shaken. She wasterrifiedto the core. They all were. Since the dawn of the "Breed," the only threat to them came from the humans who wanted them destroyed, and over the years they'd nearly succeded in making them an endangered species. But this was something new. Something different.Somethingdark and evil.

Nearly three months ago an ally had come to him to seek his help. His wife, one of the political hierarchs known as aPrimogen, had received an envelope, shoved under her door. There were no words written on it and all it contained was a tarot card.The Page of Swords.The next evening when he awoke, she was missing. A few weeks later, Cyril Diggs foundThe Knight of Swordsunder his door. He'd also disappeared. Six days ago they lost Sophia Davies, the new Toreador Primogen. At her apartment they'd foundThe Queen of Swords.0She was the betrothed of Diego St. Dior, the Prince of this providence. Jamus knew without a doubt that soon there would be another card, one for Diego himself. The timing was ripe, too. In two days would be more than a full moon; it was the fabled "Blood Moon." This was going to be bad,verybad. Whoever...whatever was causing these disappearances had ties into the old magicks. That much was glaringly apparent.

Now, his half-brother's spouse sat across the table from him quaking in fear. No, it wasn't fear. It wasterror. And he could absolutely understand why. Her lover and protector was nowhere to be found. If it could happen among their quiet little coven, it could be happening amongst any other. When last Jamus had heard from Jesse, he'd just been offered the position of captain to the Gangrel clan in Windstone Falls.

"Nik, maybe you should go up north too. You know, bewithhim. I never understood why you stayed down here when he got the call, anyway." He reached his hand across the table and set it gently upon hers. She looked up to him with her enchanting eyes and shook her head.

"No, up there I'm an outcast. At least here I have family. And I can find some way to help." She took a deep breath, relieved that this current bout of anxiety had passed and then took a sip from the jewel-encrusted bottle that she'd brought with her.

"Besides, you might actually stumble on to the truth of the matter and I'll have to bail your skinny ass out of trouble again." She forced a smile and he returned one of assurance. He was glad to see her smile; it had been far too long since the last one.

Tom winced as four feet pressed into his chest, seeming to weigh in at five pounds each. Golden eyes beamed quizzically as he opened his. Yumi pressed her face under his chin insistently and purred.

"Awright, I'm up...I'm up." He threw the sheets aside and she launched off his chest to the floor. No sooner had he swung his feet down, she was yeowling instruction at him.

"I'm under the impression that you're hungry again. Didn't we just do this?" He stumbled to the door, his head reeling.

"Yumi, why the hell did you let me drink the whole bottle last night? You were supposed to cut me off," he muttered.

As he trudged his way to the kitchen, Yumi worked on her game of speed bump, yowling all the way.

"You don't need to practice that... you are quite good at it already. I know... I know...I'm working on it. Gods."

Two hours later he was working on his second cup of coffee and perusing the file that Jamus had given him the night before. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He'd been staring at the same photograph for the last hour. He shook the cobwebs from his addled brain, stood up and stretched. The bones in his shoulders popped from disuse.

"Yumi my dear, you are on your own for lunch. I've got work to do."

He grabbed his gear, locked the door and stepped out to the road. Looking both ways, he reached out his arm and hailed a cab. After a few side trips for supplies, he gradually made his way to DarkWalk Investigations.

Ten blocks away a pair of battered cowboy boots shuffled down the steps of the bus. Devon Walker dropped down to the sidewalk of the bus station with a pronouncedthudand drew down the brim of his hat, glancing casually around he smirked.

"Why in the hell would a vampirechooseto live on an island?" he drawled as he squinted behind his aviator style sunglasses. He looked around, shrugged his wide shoulders and headed toward the boardwalk.

Tom knocked sheepishly at the large oak double door, looking around behind him cautiously as the twilight crept into place. When no immediate answer came, he knocked a little harder. A very tall, very thin man opened the door and leered at him.

"Yes, may I help you?" droned the man in a rather salacious tone.

"Yes. Sir. My name is Thomas Ballentine. I'm an associate for DarkWalk Investigations. I was wondering if I might come in and speak to..." He flipped the pages on his little notebook. "To Mr. Dimitri Chernovich?"

The tall man opened the door wider and ushered him into the massive foyer.

"Please have a seat in the study. I'll let Mr. Chernovich know you are here," he said, sweeping his long arms in an arc toward the second door on the left. Then he strode off up the cascading double stairs.

"Creepy Lurch-looking fucker," Tom muttered as he made his way to the study, taking his time to brush his fingertips along the priceless works of art along the way. Images of crusades and battles and thieves in the night filled his head.

"I guess there is money in being aPrimogen," he smiled whimsically to himself, meandering through another tall oak door. As he stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, he gaped in great interest at the amount of books on the high cedar shelves that rose to the high vaulted ceiling.

He adjusted his wire-rimmed frames on the bridge of his nose as he felt the presence of his host coming around the corner to the door.

"Mr. Ballentine?" The voice was cold and venomous. Tom turned toward the door to find a rather slight man, seemingly in his late sixties. He puzzled for a moment at how someone that looked so frail could pose such a threat as the dark aura he saw surrounding the man.

"Mr. Chernovich," he cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might have a few moments of your time?" He proffered his hand cautiously.