Billy the Kid & the Vampyres of Vegas (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5.5) by Michael Scott Page A
Authors: Michael Scott
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human who was reputed to be one thousand years old. Billy wasn’t sure he believed that; Black Hawk was a hundred years older than Billy, and delighted in telling him the most outlandish stories.
Quetzalcoatl returned to the table with a thick brown canvas sack. He shook the sack open and a handful of gnarled brown beans rattled out. “Hold this,” he commanded. Billy held the sack, coughing as the dry bitterness of cacao wafted up from the interior. Quetzalcoatl was addicted to chocolate and had the finest beans shipped in from all across South America every month. Lifting the pithos, the Elder carefully placed it in the sack and tied the neck with a strip of leather.
“I want you to take it to this address in Chinatown. Hand it over to the person there. I will call her as soon as you leave and tell her you are bringing it. She’s expecting it. And Billy,” Quetzalcoatl added with a ragged grin. “Do not talk to her. Don’t try to be smart or funny or clever. Just give her the pithos and walk away. Make sure you put it into her hands. And then forget you’ve ever met her.”
“Trying to scare me?” Billy raised an eyebrow.
“Trying to warn you.”
“Well, I don’t scare easy.” Billy the Kid lifted the bag. It was surprisingly heavy. “You’re sounding a little nervous there,” he teased the Elder. “Who is this woman?”
“No humani woman. This is the warrior’s warrior, sometimes called the Daemon Slayer or the King Maker. This is Scathach the Shadow, and she is deadly beyond reckoning.”
2.
“See you next week. Keep practicing.” The slender red-haired young woman with the shocking green eyes bowed as the last of her students left the dojo, then locked the door and turned back to the broad room. The artificial smile she always used when dealing with humans faded and her features turned sharp, almost cruel. She looked about seventeen, but Scathach had been born in the dark days after the fall of Danu Talis ten thousand years earlier. She had spent more than two and half thousand of those years on the Earth Shadowrealm. She had never been entirely comfortable among the humani; bitter experience had taught her not to get too close to them. She was always happiest when she was alone. And she had been alone for most of her long life.
Humming a tune that had been popular in the Egyptian court of Tutankhamen, Scathach opened a narrow cupboard and pulled out a broom, its head wrapped in a yellow cloth. Starting at the back of the room, she began to sweep the floor in long, rhythmic strokes.
The martial arts dojo was plain and unadorned, painted in shades of white and cream with black mats scattered across the gleaming wooden floor. Long beams of late-afternoon sunlight slanted in through the high windows, trapping spiraling dust motes in the slightly stale air. Four evenings a week Scathach taught karate classes, and every Friday morning she held a free self-defense workshop for women. Twice a week, she instructed a handful of special students in the ancient Indian art of Kalarippayattu, the oldest martial art in the world. None of her students realized that their teacher had been one of the originators of the ancient fighting system, which had inspired the Chinese and then the Japanese martial arts.
“I’d better go out and buy some food later,” she decided as she swept. Scathach was vampire. She had no need for food but had long ago realized that in order to blend in with the humani world, she needed to do what they did. In the ancient past too many of her clan had betrayed themselves through either stupidity or arrogance. And the most common mistake was being seen as not requiring everyday necessities like food—fruit, milk, tea. She’d made sure most of the shopkeepers in her neighborhood knew her. She even faked poor Mandarin or Cantonese to speak to them. She knew both languages perfectly but thought it would make her less conspicuous if she seemed to struggle.
When she’d finished
Quetzalcoatl returned to the table with a thick brown canvas sack. He shook the sack open and a handful of gnarled brown beans rattled out. “Hold this,” he commanded. Billy held the sack, coughing as the dry bitterness of cacao wafted up from the interior. Quetzalcoatl was addicted to chocolate and had the finest beans shipped in from all across South America every month. Lifting the pithos, the Elder carefully placed it in the sack and tied the neck with a strip of leather.
“I want you to take it to this address in Chinatown. Hand it over to the person there. I will call her as soon as you leave and tell her you are bringing it. She’s expecting it. And Billy,” Quetzalcoatl added with a ragged grin. “Do not talk to her. Don’t try to be smart or funny or clever. Just give her the pithos and walk away. Make sure you put it into her hands. And then forget you’ve ever met her.”
“Trying to scare me?” Billy raised an eyebrow.
“Trying to warn you.”
“Well, I don’t scare easy.” Billy the Kid lifted the bag. It was surprisingly heavy. “You’re sounding a little nervous there,” he teased the Elder. “Who is this woman?”
“No humani woman. This is the warrior’s warrior, sometimes called the Daemon Slayer or the King Maker. This is Scathach the Shadow, and she is deadly beyond reckoning.”
2.
“See you next week. Keep practicing.” The slender red-haired young woman with the shocking green eyes bowed as the last of her students left the dojo, then locked the door and turned back to the broad room. The artificial smile she always used when dealing with humans faded and her features turned sharp, almost cruel. She looked about seventeen, but Scathach had been born in the dark days after the fall of Danu Talis ten thousand years earlier. She had spent more than two and half thousand of those years on the Earth Shadowrealm. She had never been entirely comfortable among the humani; bitter experience had taught her not to get too close to them. She was always happiest when she was alone. And she had been alone for most of her long life.
Humming a tune that had been popular in the Egyptian court of Tutankhamen, Scathach opened a narrow cupboard and pulled out a broom, its head wrapped in a yellow cloth. Starting at the back of the room, she began to sweep the floor in long, rhythmic strokes.
The martial arts dojo was plain and unadorned, painted in shades of white and cream with black mats scattered across the gleaming wooden floor. Long beams of late-afternoon sunlight slanted in through the high windows, trapping spiraling dust motes in the slightly stale air. Four evenings a week Scathach taught karate classes, and every Friday morning she held a free self-defense workshop for women. Twice a week, she instructed a handful of special students in the ancient Indian art of Kalarippayattu, the oldest martial art in the world. None of her students realized that their teacher had been one of the originators of the ancient fighting system, which had inspired the Chinese and then the Japanese martial arts.
“I’d better go out and buy some food later,” she decided as she swept. Scathach was vampire. She had no need for food but had long ago realized that in order to blend in with the humani world, she needed to do what they did. In the ancient past too many of her clan had betrayed themselves through either stupidity or arrogance. And the most common mistake was being seen as not requiring everyday necessities like food—fruit, milk, tea. She’d made sure most of the shopkeepers in her neighborhood knew her. She even faked poor Mandarin or Cantonese to speak to them. She knew both languages perfectly but thought it would make her less conspicuous if she seemed to struggle.
When she’d finished
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