Chapter 13: Strange Company - The Night Market

Leroux Tower had always loomed high over the skyline like a monument to power, but tonight it glittered. Floors 25 to 30, usually curtained in shadow, now blazed with soft golden light. Valets lined the crescent driveway at the base, bowing with sharp efficiency as sleek, expensive cars glided in one after another – Bentleys, Rollses, limos, Porsches, vintage Astons, and unsubtle blood-red Ferraris filled the night with throaty purrs of their engines. Almost all sported tinted windows. Guests congregated out, dressed like they’d stepped off a catwalk, their positions granted by old money and uncomfortable secrets.

A wall of security checked names, frisked bodies, scanned invitations with devices. Nothing slipped through the cracks tonight. Anything that could be considered a weapon was prohibited. Good behaviour was mandatory.

Elevators rose, each a hushed capsule of anticipation. Inside, guests murmured behind their masks of politeness, feet shifting, cufflinks gleaming, eyes darting subtly to size up alliances and rivals. A young bellboy in a black waistcoat pressed the buttons with a gloved hand. His smile was professionally vacant.

When the lift doors slid open, the real theatre began.

Floor 25 held a low-lit lounge, scattered with high tables and lush velvet chairs. Floor 26 boasted a garden terrace behind glass, where slow-spinning heaters kept guests warm as they drank beneath orchids and moonlight. The floors above opened into salons of crystal, chrome and candlelight. Live music – a quartet of piano, violin, cello and a smoky alto singer – drifted between rooms like perfume.

The thirtieth floor, however, was not a space for the casually rich or the merely connected. Here were the heads of Families. Their Enforcers. Their closest allies. The people who didn’t need to explain who they were.

It was here where Laik stood beside the bar, a quiet monolith in a tailored three-piece suit of midnight cashmere so dense that it seemed that the shadows around him appeared reluctant to leave. His hair was combed back, the usual jaggedness tempered, but his jaw was clenched in its familiar position for quiet calculation.

He scanned the room without turning his head, letting his eyes drift from one cluster of conversation to another. An oil baron from the Sable line raised a glass in toast to a tech magnate with a wrist full of arcane tattoos. Two artists – one painted with gold veins, the other with red mirrored lenses for eyes – laughed over blood-rimmed champagne flutes. Every clan, every style, some dressed like high fashion prophets, others like barefoot mystics. And vampires in between, as sharp and subtle as blades hidden in silk.

Everything appeared normal. But Laik had seen parties go sour before. He stood with arms folded behind his back, watching. Listening. Thinking. His eyes narrowed to an Enforcer of the Ode Family who had caught his attention: a thin gentleman, leaning against a pillar, stubble-clad with wavy short hair, a tan suit with a crisp white shirt beneath. Laik had noted he had already knocked back three blood Manhattans and was trying to catch someone’s eye.

His specifically.

Behind him, the band changed tempo – something slower, jazzier, sultry. The kind of tune you could dance to if you were in love with the wrong person. Or planning to kill someone.

Laik watched the ballroom from his post near the mezzanine rail; arms folded behind his back. Down below, Lady Concetta Cavendish floated like a queen across the ballroom, making the time for those who paid her a word, speaking niceties through power. Beside her was her husband – tall, silver-streaked hair, with disciplined eyes that his past life as an Enforcer instilled. They mingled with the elite, nodding politely, including Domonic Ode himself, who was dressed like an emperor, and with every reason to. The Cavendishes and the Odes had been on shaky ground the last few years. With most confrontations being regarded as careless mistakes, there were those who seemed content to capitalise on these misunderstandings.

The Ode Enforcer ahead flagged a waitress in passing for a fourth round. Laik tutted, hoping that this wasn’t the start of trouble to come. He had the distinct impression that it was going to be a long night.

Laik adjusted the discreet earpiece tucked against his jawline, the soft crackle of Enforcer chatter being background static. Names, floor numbers, updates. He listened with practised detachment, one hand now at his side, the other brushing a cufflink into place. Then came the familiar note of mischief.

‘Hey, Laik,’ Duncan’s voice broke in, the static fading away, ‘I got your sister here.’

Laik’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he didn’t lift his head. A long pause followed as he watched the crowd like a hawk surveying a field.

‘In what capacity?’ he asked, voice low and flat.

‘The one that means she’s nearby,’ Duncan said, half laughing. ‘I’m down on twenty-two, and man, is she ever popular with our guests. If I didn’t know better, I would say they were trying to whisk her away.’

Another voice inter-spliced an objection. Someone else dismissed this as being unfair.

A muscle in Laik’s jaw ticked. Across the room, the Ode Enforcer caught his eye as he took to his glass. As it was lowered, they were still watching him. Still waiting for something. Laik offered no reaction.

‘What’s your point?’

‘Point being,’ Duncan continued, ‘she’s floating around without a drink in hand. You gonna be put out if I put one there?’

The earpiece yammered with a number of broken hoots and laughs from other Enforcers. There was a mention of danger, of trouble. Not to mention Duncan’s brazenness being considered outright foolishness.

Laik’s response came with all the warmth of a winter morning.

‘Why should I care? She’s her own person. Knock yourself out.’

Static. A faint cheer on the other end of the line.

‘Copy that. Just didn’t want to step on your feelings. I’ll be the best brother-in-law you ever had.’

Laik didn’t answer. But as the channel clicked quiet, his eyes drifted upward, toward the shape approaching, the tan-clad swagger of someone drunk, but not from an excess of alcohol, just of ego. The Ode Enforcer slinked up to Laik and drew an olive from a cocktail stick that had been swimming in his dirty martini with a crooked smile.

Pepper moved with grace beside Viola, her waistcoat crisp, trousers tailored, and hair swept up in a knot that gave her an edge of professional detachment – less of an illusion and more personal armour.

She shook hands with people who made the city tick. A politician from Mayfair here, a blood-trader from Cairo there. Viola offered names and affiliations in a murmur beside her, each introduction stitched with the grace of a woman who walked the tightrope of social affairs and had no intention to misstep. Pepper responded with smiles, nods and carefully constructed compliments.

They found Quinn and Canis on opposite sides of the floor. Quinn had carved out a corner near a neglected balcony, gesturing dramatically with a cocktail straw as she monologued to a man whose glass had long since emptied. She was vibrantly chaotic in silk layers, combat boots, and what looked suspiciously like a corset designed during a drug trip. Canis, immaculate in his white suit and open red collar, leaned beside a plinth, speaking to a small knot of guests, his anecdotes making them laugh in all the right places. He made his excuses as Pepper and Viola approached.

‘Viola,’ Canis said with a hint of charm, ‘looking as stunningly competent as ever.’

Viola offered a half-smile and the smallest of bows. ‘Only as the occasion demands.’

‘Well, it should demand far more often.’ Canis’s eyes moved to Pepper. ‘And here we have Miss Montgomery. Look at you. You’re making quite the impression tonight.’

Pepper nodded politely. ‘Hopefully the good kind.’

‘The best kind,’ he replied. ‘Enjoying the evening so far?’ he asked, tone smooth but watchful.

‘I’m still figuring out what “evening” means here,’ she replied with a dry edge. ‘But yes. It’s . . . pleasant.’

That earned a faint smile. ‘Ah, very diplomatic. You’re learning quickly.’

‘Oh good, you’ve found each other,’ Quinn announced, like a thunderclap. ‘And no one’s screaming yet. That’s something.’

Canis exhaled a quiet sigh. ‘Dear sister.’

‘Brother,’ Quinn replied, cradling Mister Wiggles. ‘Are you entertaining the people?’

‘To the extent that they require entertaining. Yourself?’

‘I’ve been talking, but I’m not entirely convinced anyone’s listening. I did find the bar, but then I lost it again. I think someone moved it?’

‘I’m sure it’s exactly where you left it.’ Canis gave a small smile. ‘Did you want a drink?’

‘Oh, we’re not thirsty,’ she said breezily, then whispered something to her taxidermy lizard and giggled.

‘I’m sure you are.’ His gaze slid to Pepper. ‘Would you be so kind?’

‘Of course,’ Pepper said with a bow of her head. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Surprise us,’ Canis said, his voice velvet smooth.

Viola interjected, ‘Make that three, please.’

Pepper bowed once more. She crossed the polished floor, weaving past polite laughter and glittering gowns toward the bar where the queue was modest. She caught shards of conversation as she leaned on the counter – a financier explaining lunar influence on trading, a bohemian poet suggesting something scandalous to a married duchess. The bartender, a sleek-haired man who would have looked right at home in a jazz club, took her order and began working on mixing the drinks.

She secretly exhaled, letting the dull ache behind her eyes settle while the noise of the room sloshed around her. Snippets of gossip, the striking of crystal and soft-stringed music, threatened to overwhelm her.

‘I don’t suppose,’ came a voice, low and slick, ‘you’re taken?’

‘Only by dread,’ she replied dryly, mentally willing the bartender to hurry up.

‘It’s practically criminal to be at a party like this and not enjoy yourself.’

Pepper didn’t look at him right away. ‘I’m having the time of my life. Who says I’m not?’

‘You are. Your posture. Your face. The absence of a drink in your hand,’ Duncan had moved to her other side, ensuring he filled her vision. He effortlessly leaned against the bar in a way that implied that his life was somehow comparable to the guests’ to charm her, but it had the opposite effect. ‘That last one is a giveaway.’

‘I prefer a clear head. Besides, you’re an Enforcer, Declan. You’re on the job too.’

‘Duncan,’ he corrected gently. ‘And maybe so, but I wouldn’t use it as an excuse to not indulge in the finer things. But I enjoy my work. I get trusted to work closely with important people. Look after them. Protect them. There’s joy in that. It’s honourable, I would say.’

Oh my God, what is he doing? Pepper wailed in her mind.

‘Glad you found your calling,’ she said coolly, glancing at the bartender, asking God in her mind as to why this was taking so long.

Duncan eyed the three being prepared, then tapped the bar. ‘Two more of those, would you?’ he told the bartender, before turning back to her. ‘You’re a bit of a mystery around here, you know. Especially with that brother of yours. Laik’s got this reputation of not-to-be-messed-with. Been something of a lone wolf. I think he likes giving that impression. I don’t think you share any of that.’

‘As you know, he’s an asshole,’ she said flatly. ‘And I’m not fun to be around. That’s about the gist of it.’

‘I’m sure there’s more if I dug a little deeper.’

‘You don’t want to know me.’

‘I’m game if you are.’

The bartender slid the glasses toward her. She scooped up the drinks, her fingers curling tightly around the stems.

‘Unfortunately,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘I’m not down for playing.’

Duncan took up a glass and lifted it. ‘What should we drink to?’

Pepper rushed a response that made him know this was a wasted effort. ‘How about absent friends?’

And with that, she vanished back into the swell of the party, leaving Duncan staring after her, his hand still hovering, wondering what had just happened.

Pepper returned with the drinks after weaving through clusters of bodies just as Quinn was mid-theory, speaking with the confidence of someone who didn’t care whether anyone was listening – only that she had something to say.

‘I’ve never seen the need for oil,’ Quinn said, accepting her drink with a nod of thanks, barely pausing in her monologue. ‘So sticky. Bleeding the Earth never made much sense to me. But imagine a better alternative: cars running on water. Just picture it. Fuel from the sky. Basically unlimited. Pretty much free.’

The male guest, a polished man in simple black sporting slicked hair, offered a humourless smile. ‘Maybe one can dream. But the science—’

‘Oh, the science is there,’ Quinn cut in brightly. ‘You just use electrolysis. Split the water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen with a catalytic process using a conductive metal like platinum or iridium. Store the hydrogen, burn it clean. Boom, energy. Zero emissions. It’s not magic, it’s basic chemistry, silly.’

There was a moment of awkward silence.

The man blinked. ‘What?’

‘What?’ Quinn echoed innocently, wide-eyed. ‘Do I have something on my face?’ She dabbed at her cheeks with her fingers. ‘Anyway, water’s just the prologue. It won’t be a tick compared to what we’re destined to use.’

The woman beside him narrowed her eyes. ‘And what would that be?’

Quinn’s tone dropped to a whisper of reverence. ‘Why, the dead, of course, darling! Too many of them are just rotting in the ground where they cry. Listen to them, they’re bored! Give them something to do! Hand them the reins and they’ll keep on driving. Or sailing. Or flying . . .’

She glided her hand through the air in a lazy wave, like a toy plane riding invisible currents. Pepper watched in silence, trying to work her out. The strangeness was easy to mock, and clearly the couple didn’t know what to make of her, but Pepper was noticing a peculiar genius beneath the chaos. One that could be beneficial.

Canis raised his glass with an interruption to smooth out any unease. ‘My sister, the visionary! Logistics are not her strong suit, but every revolution starts in the minds of the imaginative. To brave ideas!’

They clinked glasses. Pepper inadvertently followed suit. The drink touched her lips before her brain caught up to the sharp copper tang at the back of her throat.

Blood.

Of course it was! If Duncan hadn’t interfered at the bar—

Her stomach lurched at the realisation, not from the taste but more from the horror. It was too late to flinch. Too late to do anything but swallow. It sank down her throat like a cannonball. Pepper steadied her breathing, feigning a cough, eyes flicking to the others. No one noticed as Canis turned with his signature charm, placing a hand on the individual’s shoulder to guide him away.

‘Now, please – tell me about this trouble with the union. Perhaps we can find a way to remedy the situation . . .’ He drifted off with the couple in tow, gliding toward an altogether different conversation.

Viola leaned close and whispered, ‘Can I leave you with Quinn?’

Pepper forced a dry smile. ‘Absolutely.’

The crowd pulsed around them in golden light and murmured music. Pepper glanced sideways at the woman beside her, staring into the bodies and silk and smiles beneath chandeliers like she was half lost in thought.

Pepper hesitated before finally talking. ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ she said. ‘The energy thing. Using the dead. Very . . . inspiring.’

Quinn quirked her head, eyes twinkling. ‘You’re lying again.’

Pepper smirked. ‘Alright. It’s crazy. But it’s bold. Like something from the future. And honestly? I’ve never heard anything like it. But if anyone could make sense of the impossible, it’d be you.’

Quinn blinked, caught off-guard.

‘There’s so much I don’t know,’ Pepper continued. ‘About us, in general. About this place. The Families. The culture, the history. And there are people here who’ve been around for centuries. I’m new by comparison. I feel like I barely understand anything. Just look at my brother – he’s older than me by a long shot. Knows fuck-all about stuff in general, but the, uh, vampire thing? He’s just useless. And then there’s, uh . . .’

She looked down, fiddling with the edge of her waistcoat. The locket around her neck shimmered in the moving light, providing inspiration for the ruse.

‘I don’t even know what it is, that, that monster inside him. I know he doesn’t deserve it. It’s terrible. On me, especially on him, because he acts brave . . . pretends that he’s fine with it all, says all the right things to try and put me at ease . . . But whatever it is, I get the impression that it’s killing him slowly. Eating him up from within. And it’s cruel that all I can do is stand by and watch until the inevitable happens.’ Pepper scrunched her eyes together, fighting the swell of guilt that gushed from a more honest place.

Quinn nodded her head, something shifting behind her eyes. ‘You don’t know? At all?’

Pepper looked up. ‘No.’

Quinn leaned closer. The stuffed iguana on her shoulder shifted as if listening too. Her face transformed, and her eyes softened.

‘Would you like to?’