Downside Rain: Downside book one (8 page)

I
walked the bridge five times: London, Victoria, Beijing and Madrid. Now my gaze
drifts over the Manhattan skyline. If Verity is not here, the Greché didn’t
take her to one of their strongholds. She is elsewhere in the world, lost to
us.

Each
time I crossed the bridge, I looked at the orange lamp outside The Station’s
door longingly, wanting to go through, back to Downside. Fear is a heaviness
inside punctuated by the erratic beating of my heart. I was not frightened when
I walked Upside with Castle. He never feared and I trusted him to lead me home.
Now, alone, I feel as if my right arm has been cut away. And a piece of my
heart with it.

Being
Upside, where different rules govern wraiths, is surreal. We are ghosts, or
something which parodies them. We keep what is on our body when we emerge Upside
- in my case clothes, weapons, the permit, postcards and a handful of coins -
but lack the substance to manipulate them. I can’t open my coat or grasp a
knife. And we are stuck like this, unable to shed flesh, nor let it fill us.

People
sense something unnatural is abroad. Their gaze drifts over and away, as if at
a fleeting distraction, a flicker at the edge of their vision which turns out
to be nothing. As though their eyes play tricks on them.

Yet
even here where we don’t exist to the human population the touch of another
wraith or a vampire makes us solid, real. The anomaly could validate my theory
there is an uncanny connection between wraiths and vampires because both were
once dead. After all, both wraiths and vampire families began their lives
Upside. But the mind can fracture when pondering conundrums like this, so I try
not to deliberate.

The
compulsion to run back to the shadows and Downside increases the longer I
remain. At times it becomes a throb in the back of my skull. Upside is too wide
open. Of the millions who live in New York City, over one million of them call
Manhattan home, and I am alone.

I
will be home soon if Verity is not in the Greché Manhattan stronghold. I saw
nothing to indicate she was ever at the other four houses. I don’t want to tell
Alain I failed. I imagine him stripped of the urbane façade, rage filling his
eyes and distorting his face.

He
told me about the marriage ceremony, a wedding of the blood, not of two people.
As many Greché as possibly can will drain Verity, taking her fresh red blood to
swell their thin veins.

My
gaze is tugged to a boy who leans on the wall across the street. A Goth boy,
looking at the café behind me. His straight black hair is unevenly chopped
halfway down his neck, strands curve over his cheeks, wisp over his forehead
and eyes with amethyst in their dark depths. Black hair, pale skin, like me. Tall,
lanky, the black calf-length leather coat, baggy gray T-shirt and black leather
pants hang slack on him. His face is gaunt with hollows beneath his cheekbones
and long thick lashes fringe half-lowered eyes.

He
is beautiful.

A
sense of regret worms through me, that I can’t be there, with him, leaning
against the wall at his side, watching the world go by.

I
give myself a mental shake and move along the sidewalk.

The
city bakes this evening. Most pedestrians wear lightweight clothing and
sandals, and those who must wear more formal attire for their employment look
hot and irritable. Commuters who stop for coffee as they head home after work
crowd the cafe. A few merchants are already closing their doors and rolling
metal grills down their storefronts. A man dumps a stack of newspapers on the
sidewalk in front of a kiosk. The air smells of dust, baked brick and gasoline.

I
turn down an alley lined with backdoors and dumpsters. At the end, on the far
side of another street, the vampires’ mansion towers, a gothic fortress.

Vampires.
I see Castle’s blank eyes, the stiletto in his neck. Vampires killed him. They
stuck him, and held him so he couldn’t lose flesh. Held him until it was too
late. I want to spit the nasty taste from my mouth.

I
refuse to believe a wraith killed him. It
had
to be a vampire. Alain grilling
every vampire in his enclave and sending feelers out to the other vampire families
is part of our deal, the money plus whatever information he can glean while I’m
Upside. I need to know who killed Castle.

I
need to kill them.

I
pause in the alley’s shadows to look over the mansion. The magnificent architecture
reminds me of Downside, a gray marble structure of five floors, the entrance
guarded by manticore mounted on pillars where the steps climb from the
sidewalk. Balconies face the street on the second and third floors and
crenellations surround the copper roof. Gargoyles look down, but like the
manticore they are made of stone.

I
could walk through the walls were I really a ghost, but no such luck. I can’t
risk trying to scale the wall which faces the street. Vampires don’t like to
venture abroad this early, but on the off chance one does emerge, he might spot
me before I get up there. Unlike the humans, Upside vampires can see us, although
as vague forms.

The
adjacent brownstone apartment block looks promising. It must have a back exit,
a backyard or a rear alley.

Someone
put a spray cap on a fire hydrant between the mansion and brownstone;
half-naked kids shriek in the jetting water, but they don’t detect me as I cross
the street through water which feels like a breeze on my skin, and walk up
three steps to the entrance. The entryway has a keypad and the door is shut.

Damn.
I can’t enter until a resident goes in or comes out but can’t wait indefinitely
for one to turn up. Old glass lamps either side of the entrance already glow
and dim light seeps through the door’s glass pane. The sun balances on the rooftops.
Night will fall soon, a dangerous time to sneak inside the Upside vampires’ lair.
I need another way into their house.

I’m
in luck. An elderly man with shaved head and ponderous chins slogs up the
steps, punches the keypad, opens the door after it clicks and walks inside. I cling
to his heels. He turns left in the long narrow hall and climbs a staircase. I
continue on in search of a rear entrance.

More
apartments occupy the rear, the exit is at the end of a passage which leads
north then east. And what do you know, a battered chair keeps the door open. I
step outside onto an elevated brick patio. The garden beyond is small and
mostly grass except for wilting plants bordering the wall. Plastic and wood
patio furniture huddles in the middle. The eight-foot wall separates this
garden from its neighbors to the north and south and an alley on the east side.

Scaling
the north wall is easy, I weigh so little, practically floating up.

Apart
from a few desiccated shrubs at the base of the wall, large slate slabs pave
the vampires’ backyard. Huge, empty ornamental urns perch at each corner and a
dry fountain is dead center. The former occupants must have installed the motion-activated
lights on the house walls above the porch and two windows, but they lack bulbs.
The Greché don’t want light as bright as day splashing them when they come outside.
I pull up the last few inches, flatten my length along the wall, roll over and slide
down. Hugging the shadows, I creep to the backdoor.

Great.
The door is shut and I may wait in vain for a servant to come outside.

Some
of the upper windows are open to let in the cooler evening air, probably for
the benefit of human servants. How convenient is that?  Pushing off with my
soles, I rise up the wall, guided by my fingers in cracks between bricks, alert
to the possibility an early-rising vampire might look from a window. Although the
likelihood they will look down the vertical surface is slight, I have learned
to be cautious.

A
narrow ledge along the wall’s width skirts below the balconies and windows on
every floor above ground level. I skim along it. What will happen should I
fall? Stands to reason if I don’t have substance, I can’t be hurt. But I won’t
experiment.

Curtains
are pulled back to let in the waning light. The first window looks into an
office equipped with ancient oak furnishings and modern devices. The second window
is to a bedroom, the third also. They must be for human servants. Yes, they
have servants, humans addicted to vampire blood, not employees. The vampires
probably rest below ground during the daylight hours. I rise to the next floor
with one hand on an old drainpipe.

After
easing over the balcony’s elaborate iron railing, I peer through double glass
doors into a huge ballroom which stretches the full width of the house. Two dazzling
crystal chandelier throw light on the glossy oak floor and make silverware,
china and glass sparkle as human servants position it on a long table clad in
cream damask cloth. The servants look formal in white: trousers, jackets with long
tails, vests and shoes. A string quartet is setting up on a small stage in the
corner. At the far end, where the wall faces the avenue, a big glass punch bowl
sits on a small table. Other humans move chairs from the edges of the room to
the tables. They seem to be preparing for a formal banquet.

I
shinny up to the next floor. I’ll have to get inside and check out the rooms at
the front of the house if I don’t find Verity soon.

The
first room I look into is another empty bedroom. Not a vampire in sight so far.
They must still be in their safe room, but they will be stirring, waking.

I
edge along the ledge to the next window.

Verity
sits in profile on a stool inside a cage, stunning in a fitted crimson dress
which blends into a froth of red lace below her knees. A high stiff collar
above a Queen Ann neckline cups her long slender neck; her black hair is pulled
back from her face and pinned on her head by a high comb from which a red lace
mantilla flows. She looks deceptively demure with her hands folded on her lap
and ankles crossed above red high-heeled slippers.

An
open window. How cruel; freedom so near, yet so far.

The
cage must be silver or silver plate over another metal. Silver is anathema to
vampires. Her enhanced strength doesn’t help Verity; she can’t break out.

Shit.
The banquet, the dress . . . tonight is the night. The servants are readying
the ballroom downstairs for the ceremony and reception. Today is Verity’s
wedding day. I have to get her out.

“Verity.”

She
swivels on the stool, slips off it and squints at me. “Rain?”

I
slide one leg over the sill. “In person. Sauvageau sent me.” My other leg joins
the first and I settle down on the board floor.

Verity
laughs, though quietly. “I should have guessed if he sent anyone it would be a
wraith. They can’t sense you and barely see you as you are now. Where’s
Castle?”

My
gut clenches. “Not here. Just me.”

Verity
moves nearer the bars, hands reaching, but hisses and lowers them before
touching the silver.

Kneeling
at the cage, studying the lock, I quietly curse. How in hells am I supposed to
get her out? “How did they nab you?”

“I
was stupid.” Verity huffs a self-depreciative laugh. “I was at The Medallion
with friends and met a considerably luscious man. He must have put something in
my drink. I remember feeling woozy. He offered me a ride home. The next thing I
know, I’m in my gilded cage.” No longer serene, Verity paces an angry circle. “Alain
sent you, so you obviously know more than I.”

“The
Station Master was in on it. He let you and the Greché through the doors.”

“I
hope he suffered before Alain had him ripped apart.”

“Afraid
not. He came Upside with the Greché.”

“Ah,
Gervaise Greché.” Verity fists her hands. “He has a lot to answer for.”

“The
main thing is to get you out of here and back Downside. Revenge is for another
day.”

Her
elaborate coif draws my gaze. “Verity, do you have hairpins?”

“Hairpins?”
She pats her hair and nods.

“I
may be able to use them on the lock. Toss a couple through.”

Her
fingers pluck; two long slender pins with diamond tips tinkle through the bars
and land on the floor.

“I
can’t handle them unless you touch me. Put your hand through the bars.”

Verity
eyes the bars. “I may be dainty - ”

I
snort.

“
- but they’re too close together even for my hand.”

“Yeah,
and vampires stink when they sizzle.” I push one knee against the bars; my
kneecap fits between them. “Try this.”

Verity
gingerly extends an index finger and touches my knee. I instantly bulk up, and
grin. “That’s more like it. You’ll be out in a jiffy.”

Working
on the lock, I sing beneath my breath. “Burn baby burn, la la la la, burn baby
burn.”

“Very
funny,” from Verity.

“Rain,”
she whispers urgently. “They’re coming.”

Hell
and damnation.
“How many?”

Her
eyes narrow. “Three vampires and one human.”