The Marquis (The 13th Floor)

  1301 – THE MARQUIS

  By

  Christine Rains

  The Marquis

  By Christine Rains

  Copyright 2012

  Cover Design by Christine Rains Copyright 2012

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of our many distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  OTHER BOOKS BY CHRISTINE RAINS

  Fearless

  L’il Gal Al and the Zombies of Amarillo

  DEDICATION

  For my dad

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from 1302 – The Alpha

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Marc still had the power to smite new demons. Just barely.

  The blackened bones clattered to the ground and crumbled into a pile of dust. The stench of charred flesh was too familiar. Flames licked at old memories. One fiend down. One to go.

  “Kiral, get out of here.” Marc didn’t take his eyes off the remaining demon as he addressed his friend. When he didn’t hear any movement, he barked out one more word. “Now!”

  Marc heard a muttered “thank you” from Kiral before he left the alley in a stumbling run. Not the usual light-footed walk of the vampire. It was a bad night for him. Bad night for both of them.

  The demon stood tense and ready. His jeans were ripped in too many places and his expensive leather jacket was retro 1970s. His eyes flashed red, but he didn’t attack. He seemed to be waiting for Marc to make the next move.

  The two demons had pushed a drugged teen on Kiral, tempting the vamp to fall off the wagon. So they couldn’t be high ranking minions. The lithe teen tumbled unconscious to the ground like dirty laundry when Marc appeared.

  Light from the street didn’t reach into the alley. A chilly autumn breeze blew trash down the corridor. The walls amplified the scraping and crinkling. Marc stood at the mouth of the alley where the shadows started as if he might be their lord.

  “Tempting vamps, demonling? A waste of Hell’s resources if you ask me.” Marc folded his arms as he tried to assess the other’s power. He had him beat on height and muscle, but it wasn’t physical strength that mattered here.

  “What do you kno—” The demon frowned, breathed in deeply, and then grinned as the tension drained away from his body. “Ah, well now. The Marquis. Never thought I’d see you again. Especially not looking like a lumberjack’s grandpappy.”

  Marc bared his teeth and grit them. He exhaled with a hiss. The last thing he wanted was his former comrades to recognize him. His life now was far from what it used to be. He squinted and his psychic vision flashed, giving him the demon’s identity. He wished he had enough power to reduce the bastard to ashes too.

  “Vetis. What did you do this time to be reduced to pushing drugs on vamps?”

  Vetis leaned back against the brick wall, crossing one ankle over the other. He produced a cigarette from a pocket, flipped it between his fingers a few times, and lit it with a thought. He chuckled with his exhale.

  “What didn’t I do? These tech-loving mortals are too easy to draw into sin. One status update on Facebook and it leads to a string of suicides. I prefer a challenge.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “As for the vamp, Master’s orders. He wants his soul. But it’s too easy. Boring as tending to the fires. You know how that is.”

  Marc only grunted in response. He wasn’t here to reminiscence. Vetis had never been his friend. No demon had friends.

  “I think the better question is why are you here saving a vamp.” Vetis raised his brows and blew out another long stream of smoke. He pushed off the wall and stepped forward to give a little kick to the still hot ashes of the former demon. “You might not serve any more, but you know better than to interfere.”

  “The vamp is mine.” Marc didn’t expand on it. He would only bring further trouble if he said Kiral was his friend. They lived on the 13th floor of the same building in Carmine where Marc worked as a handyman, and more often lately, as a protector of his fellow tenants. He’d sat through many nights, talking or listening, seeing Kiral through ‘til dawn.

  “Does the Master know you’re using him as a plaything? Obviously you’re not playing rough enough if I was sent to tempt him.” Vetis’ grin widened. “You could come out of retirement. We could play with him together. Just like old times. We could make that worthless undead bastard suffer like those centurions. Remember how we made them march even after we plucked out their eyes and chopped off their feet?”

  “No.” Marc wasn’t someone who played well with others. He never enjoyed what he did like Vetis and most of the demons in their Master’s army. He’d served with the promise of absolution, which never came nor ever would. “Take your games elsewhere. The city is mine.”

  “Carmine’s yours?” Vetis snorted and flicked his half-smoked cigarette toward the street. “For what? To amass your flannel shirt and beard comb collections? This city is ripe. I can feel it.”

  The cigarette bounced off the sidewalk and met a crumpled newspaper in the gutter. The flames ate at the paper and held fast. A breeze picked it up and carried it through a nearby car’s open sunroof.

  “Get out of my city.” Marc’s chest rumbled. He reached for power that wasn’t there and growled again.

  Vetis furrowed his brows, studying him. Marc didn’t like the silence. He knew the demon loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Vetis had literally talked people to death before. Silence meant he was thinking. For a creature like Vetis, thinking was dangerous.

  “No, I don’t believe I will.” Vetis’ scruffy face was illuminated as the insides of the car burst into the flames. The alarm went off and somewhere a dog started barking. Someone yelled from down the street.

  There wasn’t any time left for threats. Marc had to make a move to scare Vetis off. He roared, using the tiny bit of magic he had left to amplify it and created the illusion he was growing bigger. Curling horns snaked out of his skull dripping blood, and his teeth elongated to form great serrated fangs as he charged. Illusions weren’t his strong point, but maybe it would be unexpected enough to work.

  Fear flickered across Vetis’ face. He leapt out of the way, landing near the burning car. He was quicker than Marc remembered. Or perhaps his senses weren’t as sharp as they’d once been.

  “Begone!” Marc’s bellow shattered the bulb in the streetlight nearest to him. Sirens crooned from several blocks over. Someone must have called 911.

  Vetis laughed. Low at first, but it bloomed into something more maniacal.

  “If you wanted me dead and you could do it, I’d be ash by now. But you can’t.” He snorted with his laughter. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Vetis stepped back closer to the fire. The man, who had shouted before, called out a warning. “Mighty you once were, an
d so many of us remember the Grand Marquis. A favorite of our Master. I do wonder what reward he’ll give me for bringing him your head.” He grinned, wide and toothy. “Yes, I do like that idea.”

  Trickles of sweat ran down Marc’s face. More from the memory of the heat of Hell’s fires than the one on the street. He stepped forward, but he didn’t dare get too close. Once he could walk through the flames unscathed, but these days, picking up a hot pot could scald him.

  “Your vamp, your city, and your head, they’re mine.” Vetis hopped into the core of the fire.

  Marc braced himself for an attack that didn’t come. Vetis disappeared, likely using the fire to return to Hell and gloat. He didn’t doubt for a second that Vetis would do as he said. No demon made such a threat idly.

  The sirens announced a fire truck was drawing nearer. More humans crowded the street, and Marc let go of his illusion. If anyone had seen him, they’d forget within a minute or two. What the human mind couldn’t comprehend, it wiped away before madness set in.

  Marc walked back to his street. He could hide in his apartment, but Vetis would reduce the city to a blackened ruin searching for him. His pride wouldn’t let him hide either. What damaged bits he had left of it.

  His bad night just got worse.

  He needed to think. He needed a plan. Marc set his sights on the little café a few blocks down from his building. Thinking required the proper beverage.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Three sugars. That means something heavy is weighing on your mind.” Mae raised her brows at him from behind the counter, wiping it even though it was clean. Marc reached out and stilled her hand. A hand that seemed so small and feminine under his. He pulled back when he realized he was lingering too long.

  “What’s worrying me is that you work these ungodly hours in this neighborhood by yourself.” Marc turned his attention to his coffee and raised it to his lips, hissing when he felt it was too hot. Too hot for a demon. His life had turned into one long joke.

  “My café. I can work any time I want. Besides, the neighborhood isn’t bad. Just a lot of working girls.”

  “Hookers packing more heat than the army itself.” Marc amended, his voice still dry and gravelly. “Very safe, indeed.”

  Mae swatted his shoulder and shook her head. Her black hair was hanging loose just past her shoulders. It made her look younger. The gray that usually peeked out when she wore her hair up was hidden. Marc couldn’t manage a smile for her tonight, but he wanted to.

  “The girls aren’t bad. Everyone’s just looking for a hot drink and someone to talk to.” Mae gave him a smile, though. Closed mouth and warm. “Besides, I think I can offer a word of wisdom or two to them. Maybe help them get off the streets. Or help someone taking in way too much sugar for this time of night.”

  Marc looked down at his coffee. If only it could solve all his problems. It had seemed so easy once upon a time. After he had served his time in Hell, he left his Master’s ranks with the hope of a reward that never came. Now he was neither welcome below or above. He was stuck on Earth and staring at his aging face in the reflection of his beverage.

  He blew on it, making the coffee ripple and disperse his pitiful reflection.

  “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Mae rested her hip against the counter.

  “You’re just figuring that out now?” Marc flashed her an amused look that almost contained a smile.

  “You know, for a while, I thought you were a pimp, but pimps talk too much. Then I thought you were a cop, but cops ask a lot of questions. I also thought you could be one of the girls’ fathers, but when you look at them, and it’s not often you do, you don’t see their faces. And you don’t ogle them like a customer either.” Mae pursed her lips and shifted, leaning toward him. “I can’t figure you out.”

  “Not everything here revolves around those girls.” He wasn’t interested in the other girls at all. No, he preferred the way Mae filled out her sweater and how her eyes crinkled up when she laughed.

  “It usually does.” Mae held his gaze for another few seconds before straightening. “You can tell me what’s on your mind, hon. I won’t judge.”

  Everyone judged, but there was only one that mattered. Marc wanted to believe her. She had such a good heart, but if she ever knew what he truly was, she’d run straight to the asylum and lock herself in. He wanted to give her something, though. He wanted her to feel good, and she felt good when helping people.

  “Tenant of mine, a friend, is starting to slip, go back to his old ways.” He didn’t want to tell her lies, but part of the truth would work just fine. “He was an addict. Been clean for a few years now, but it’s been hard on him.”

  “Ah,” Mae sighed and nodded. “Tough dealing with addicts. Only a few truly ever recover, you know? All your friend needs is for you to be there. Distract him from his addiction.”

  She didn’t get to say anything more as the door opened and three women walked in. They wore too much make-up and their skirts were too short. Marc took a mouthful of coffee. Still hot, but the taste settled heavily on his tongue. He swallowed, closing his eyes for a few seconds as he felt it make a trail of warmth down his throat.

  Mae greeted the girls by name and told them they needed something to eat with their coffee. She was making sandwiches before they could protest. Marc smiled against the rim of his cup.

  One of the girls came over to fetch the coffee. She wobbled slightly on heels that looked more like weapons than shoes. She flashed Marc a smile.

  “Hey, handsome. Looking for some company tonight?”

  Disgust roiled up in him. His upper lip curled just a fraction and his jaw hardened. He wouldn’t disrespect the woman in Mae’s establishment, but with one look, he made it clear he had no interest. He didn’t say anything and didn’t need to. She cringed and hurried with the coffees back to her table.

  Mae glanced over at him. He said nothing more. There was no fear in her eyes, not like the girl’s. Only here with Mae could he find temporary absolution. He never wanted to leave.

  He wouldn’t bring Vetis and the denizens of Hell down upon her, though. So he downed the rest of his coffee, set down a tip that was larger than his bill, and left the café.

  CHAPTER 3

  There was no point trying to sleep. Marc might have blamed the coffee on another night, but the reason tonight was Vetis. What was he going to do?

  He kicked back in his well-worn recliner and flicked on the television. The extra-large chair was just big enough to cradle him comfortably. A few gray hairs he refused to believe were his decorated the dent where he rested his head.

  The early morning news anchor droned on about a failed assassination attempt on one of Indiana’s governors. Marc paid little attention. That wasn’t the work of Hell, and certainly not of Vetis. It might be Hell’s luck that the governor survived, though.

  Vetis would do what he promised. If it were any other city, Marc would’ve pushed down his territorial instincts and left, not caring about the consequences. But Carmine wasn’t like any other city in the Midwest. She was a gem nestled halfway between Indianapolis and Chicago. More importantly, Mae lived there. She was born, grew up, went to college, and started her business in Carmine.

  Then there was Kiral. Marc couldn’t tie up the vampire and leave him in his apartment to keep him safe. There were times he wanted to do so, but Kiral could fight his own battles, and Marc had to trust he would continue to do so.

  There would be no running. There would be no hiding in his apartment. The 13th floor would protect him, but not Mae and the city.

  Marc didn’t have an army. He didn’t have the power he once had. He was old and tired, becoming too much like a human. The thought made his heart hammer in his chest. Maybe the Grand Marquis would have a heart attack and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

  It was an idiotic thought. A human fear. He shook his head.

  He would fight. He’d find something, or someone, that could help him
. Vetis would expect brute strength. Marc would have to use his wits.

  He felt sorely lacking in that area right now.

  There was a pounding at his door. Marc bolted out of the chair and instinctively reached for a sword no longer by his side. His fingers flexed.

  He shouldn’t be so jumpy. No one could access this floor except those who lived there, and he knew each of the five other tenants. Being the first one to live on the seemingly nonexistent 13th floor, he deemed himself the landlord even though the building itself seemed to be doing a good enough job keeping out those unwanted.

  It was likely Kiral, still itching for a hit. Sighing, Marc walked over and opened the door.

  Xanthus pushed his way in with a limp woman in his arms and laid her on the couch. Harriet was barely conscious, and she was smiling. Blood trickled down from a bite wound on her neck. A growl rose in Marc’s chest.

  “Where did you find her? Who did this to her?”

  “In the stairwell.” Xanthus’ tone was cold and clipped. He folded his arms with fisted hands under muscled biceps. “It was that vamp. I knew he was bad news.”

  “Damn him.” Marc’s fury bubbled, and he barely repressed the urge to hit something. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out. He squatted beside the young woman, taking her cool hand in his. “Harri, you okay? How badly did he hurt you?”

  “Kiral,” Harriet whispered.

  “Yes, I know. We’ll take care of him—”

  “No.” She squeezed his hand as her eyes fluttered wide open. “You let him be. He didn’t hurt me. He stopped in time. It was ... it was wonderful.” Her eyes closed with her dreamy sigh and another smile.

  This time the noise rumbling in Marc’s chest was more of a groan than a growl. The silly girl was high from the bite. Kiral must have found a junkie to snack on after Marc saved him from Vetis. This was unacceptable. He couldn’t let the vamp stay in the building if he’d fallen off the wagon.