Chicks Kick Butt by Nancy Holder, Karen Chance, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Vincent, Rachel Caine, Jeanne C. Stein, Susan Krinard, Lilith Saintcrow, Cheyenne McCray, Carole Nelson Douglas, Jenna Black, L. A. Banks, Elizabeth A. Vaughan Page A
Authors: Nancy Holder, Karen Chance, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Vincent, Rachel Caine, Jeanne C. Stein, Susan Krinard, Lilith Saintcrow, Cheyenne McCray, Carole Nelson Douglas, Jenna Black, L. A. Banks, Elizabeth A. Vaughan
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Because it was. It was deep inside me, like it had been inside Steve, until I’d cut it out of him. “It’s all about the hunt.”
MONSTERS
Lilith Saintcrow
Leonidas held court in a nightclub, a cliché come to life. I do not ever make the mistake of thinking such bad taste makes him any less lethal. The place was full of walking victims, predators, and the Kin. The guards at the door barely nodded as I stepped past, wild-haired and in a bedraggled blue velvet that was last fashionable when Her Majesty reigned. And the boots, heavy-soled and more expensive than a human life in this day and age.
Though mortal life has ever been cheap.
An assault of screaming and pounding noise met me. It was what they call music nowadays. No doubt there are Preservers who will cherish it as I cherished the liquid streams of beauty from my Virginia’s piano.
But I doubt they will be half as enchanted as I was. And Virginia’s song was gone forever. Even her recordings were lost in last night’s fire.
More smoke, of cigarettes. The taint of burning on my clothes and hair went unnoticed. Fragile warm bodies bumping against me on every side, islands of hard brightness that were Kin, the swelling nasty cacophony pumped through electronic throats buffeting the crowd. The bar was a monstrosity of amber glass, dark iron, and mahogany, the mortals behind it scrambling to slake various thirsts.
And there, across the wide choked space, red velvet ropes holding the crowd back. The baroque horsehair couches arranged in intimate little groups were exactly what they appeared to be—emblems of a king’s receiving room. Leonidas lounged on the largest, draped across it like a boneless toy. White-blond hair, the left half of his face a river of scarring, he watched his little sovereignty avidly. Behind him, a shadow moved.
Sallow, unsmiling Quinn.
Tarquin
. The only ugly thing Leonidas allows in his presence. The White King does not even allow a mirror in his domicile, lest it somehow show him his own shattered face.
The ropes parted. I do not stand on ceremony, even among Kin. Nevertheless, I inclined my head to Leonidas as I stepped onto the dusty red rug.
“Eleni.” His lips shaped my name, pleated ridges of scar tissue twitching. The noise swallowed us whole, like a whale.
And Leonidas looked
surprised
. It is not often a Preserver seeks out a Promethean in his place of power.
“I seek vengeance.” My tone cut through the wall of noise. “
You
will provide it.”
His fingers flicked a little, dismissing me. “What nonsense are you speaking?”
The noise was overwhelming. It sent glass spikes through my head. The smell of burning hanging on me spurred my fury.
Virginia. Zhen. Peter. And Amelie, my own heart’s child. All mutilated and burned. “My house.” I could barely speak. My fangs were swollen with rage. “My house, burned to the ground last night. My charges murdered. We had a Compact, Leonidas!”
“And we still do,” he murmured. The “music” came to a crashing halt, and static filled the entire building. My rage, Leonidas’s amused bafflement, and Quinn’s unblinking attention.
I should have been pleased that Tarquin paid such attention to me. He must have considered me a threat. Me, a lowly Preserver.
I did not begin as a Preserver. We all begin as something else, each and every one of the Kin.
“Come,” Leonidas said in the almost-silence, before the music started again. “Let us solve this mystery.”
* * *
Upstairs in a private office, he arranged himself behind a mirror-polished desk. I stood before him like a supplicant, but I was past caring.
“They killed Zhen on the stairs.” My throat was full. “My beautiful dancer. And Virginia in the library. She fought back. The young ones were in the cellar. Peter, and Amelie.” I swallowed grief like a stone. “They were burned. And
mutilated
. Stakes through their hearts.”
“Ah,” Leonidas said, and nothing more.
“What do you intend
MONSTERS
Lilith Saintcrow
Leonidas held court in a nightclub, a cliché come to life. I do not ever make the mistake of thinking such bad taste makes him any less lethal. The place was full of walking victims, predators, and the Kin. The guards at the door barely nodded as I stepped past, wild-haired and in a bedraggled blue velvet that was last fashionable when Her Majesty reigned. And the boots, heavy-soled and more expensive than a human life in this day and age.
Though mortal life has ever been cheap.
An assault of screaming and pounding noise met me. It was what they call music nowadays. No doubt there are Preservers who will cherish it as I cherished the liquid streams of beauty from my Virginia’s piano.
But I doubt they will be half as enchanted as I was. And Virginia’s song was gone forever. Even her recordings were lost in last night’s fire.
More smoke, of cigarettes. The taint of burning on my clothes and hair went unnoticed. Fragile warm bodies bumping against me on every side, islands of hard brightness that were Kin, the swelling nasty cacophony pumped through electronic throats buffeting the crowd. The bar was a monstrosity of amber glass, dark iron, and mahogany, the mortals behind it scrambling to slake various thirsts.
And there, across the wide choked space, red velvet ropes holding the crowd back. The baroque horsehair couches arranged in intimate little groups were exactly what they appeared to be—emblems of a king’s receiving room. Leonidas lounged on the largest, draped across it like a boneless toy. White-blond hair, the left half of his face a river of scarring, he watched his little sovereignty avidly. Behind him, a shadow moved.
Sallow, unsmiling Quinn.
Tarquin
. The only ugly thing Leonidas allows in his presence. The White King does not even allow a mirror in his domicile, lest it somehow show him his own shattered face.
The ropes parted. I do not stand on ceremony, even among Kin. Nevertheless, I inclined my head to Leonidas as I stepped onto the dusty red rug.
“Eleni.” His lips shaped my name, pleated ridges of scar tissue twitching. The noise swallowed us whole, like a whale.
And Leonidas looked
surprised
. It is not often a Preserver seeks out a Promethean in his place of power.
“I seek vengeance.” My tone cut through the wall of noise. “
You
will provide it.”
His fingers flicked a little, dismissing me. “What nonsense are you speaking?”
The noise was overwhelming. It sent glass spikes through my head. The smell of burning hanging on me spurred my fury.
Virginia. Zhen. Peter. And Amelie, my own heart’s child. All mutilated and burned. “My house.” I could barely speak. My fangs were swollen with rage. “My house, burned to the ground last night. My charges murdered. We had a Compact, Leonidas!”
“And we still do,” he murmured. The “music” came to a crashing halt, and static filled the entire building. My rage, Leonidas’s amused bafflement, and Quinn’s unblinking attention.
I should have been pleased that Tarquin paid such attention to me. He must have considered me a threat. Me, a lowly Preserver.
I did not begin as a Preserver. We all begin as something else, each and every one of the Kin.
“Come,” Leonidas said in the almost-silence, before the music started again. “Let us solve this mystery.”
* * *
Upstairs in a private office, he arranged himself behind a mirror-polished desk. I stood before him like a supplicant, but I was past caring.
“They killed Zhen on the stairs.” My throat was full. “My beautiful dancer. And Virginia in the library. She fought back. The young ones were in the cellar. Peter, and Amelie.” I swallowed grief like a stone. “They were burned. And
mutilated
. Stakes through their hearts.”
“Ah,” Leonidas said, and nothing more.
“What do you intend
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