Keeper's Justice
Copyright© 2025 by Charly Young
Chapter 16
Quinn
It was full dark as Quinn and the amused assassin arrived at the vampire’s palace.
To his surprise, a pair of slender, black-skinned warriors guarded the entrance to the vampire’s mansion. The heat shimmer coming off of them and the glare of their red eyes identified them as afrits. They regarded Quinn with narrow-eyed suspicion.
These beings were new.
He cast a questioning glance at the assassin.
The Asrai murmured, “The vampire upgraded her security some time ago.”
Quinn wondered why. She must have a credible threat in her life to go this far for protection. The Djinn were not a common sight in Oldtown. Their colony lived deep down in the warm depths of the Desolate. It was expensive to hire them. Afrits did not like the light of day. But they were a good choice for guards. It was impossible to harm or suborn them; one could only banish them. He watched their nostrils flare when they caught his scent.
Fuck, he should have realized that the spell-crafted disguise wouldn’t cover that.
He quickly called out in Old Persian, “Hold, warriors. We mean no harm to any being in this house. I pledge my soul.”
The pair settled immediately.
“We note your oath, human,” the one on the right grated.
“Your mistress asked me to attend her.”
“Bide here. We check.” The pair exchanged glances. The leftmost one turned and disappeared into the mansion.
Moments later, it returned.
“Come with me. The assassin stays here.”
“He comes with me,” Quinn said firmly. “I pledge my oath he means no harm to this house.”
The two beings conferred again.
“Noted. Follow me.”
Quinn and the assassin followed the being as it stalked in front of them. Servants eyed them, then quickly averted their eyes and darted out of the way. Quinn didn’t blame them. Afrits were intimidating beings.
They were ushered into magnificence. The room’s coffered ceiling rose fifteen feet above the floor. Ultramarine-blue paint covered each deep-set coffer, and artisans adorned them with white-gold leaf stars, creating a spellbinding Milky Way illusion. One wall held a massive, vividly painted coat of arms boldly showcasing her family’s house.
Welcome to the Italian Renaissance.
Two Amazon bodyguards flanked the vampire. Quinn greeted them in ancient Scythian. “I see you, sister warriors; I swear pax in this yurt.”
The two females, six feet of lithe killing machines, each wore a braided horsehair cord with a small silver hawk emblem around their necks, indicating their rank and clan. “We see you, brother,” they replied politely. “Our sisters have told us of you.” Their cold eyes shifted suspiciously to the assassin.
He ignored them and calmly leaned against the wall.
The vampire Luciana Marinus sat behind an antique ivory writing desk. A classic Italian beauty with long midnight-black hair framing her fine-boned features, her large, expressive eyes—dark brown, almost black—radiated depth and passion above a hawk-like nose. On this day, she wore a high-necked ivory silken gown. Her gaze caught his. Her full scarlet lips gave him a smile rich with invitation.
“You are well come, Lachlan Quinn,” she purred in Italian. She gave the assassin a nod. If she was surprised to see him accompanying Quinn, she didn’t show it.
“Grazie, Signora,” Quinn replied in the same language. The vampire was big on security, and all discourse in her home was in her native tongue. “I understand you wished to see me.”
“When my watchers informed me you had crossed over, I confess I was taken aback. When the Shadow Walker appears in my city, chaos follows as surely as dawn follows night. Might I ask why you are here?”
Quinn’s smile was cold steel. “You can ask, Signora. I originally came on other business. However, after seeing the chaos in Eastmarket, I have decided to take steps.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh? Tell me more.” Her expression was inscrutable. “First, though, will you have some tea?”
“For me, certainly,” Quinn said. “My companion will not. He is fasting—religious holiday or some such.”
With the tea poured, Quinn sat back in a chair that no doubt had graced one of Louis XIV’s sitting rooms. He was careful not to touch the teacup.
“I don’t see your bella figlia, Helen,” he said politely. “Is she well?”
“I have no idea. She has disappeared.” The vampire’s voice was calm, her expression schooled, but Quinn picked up on the subtle signs of repressed rage.
“Ah. Betrayal is such an ugly thing.”
“We faced the world together for over five hundred years. She was ever ambitious. I suspect some being kindled a lust within her for more.”
“The dragon’s second daughter, perhaps?” Quinn watched for her reaction. The vampire’s mask-like expression slipped for just an instant, then resumed her usual iron-like control.
She knows the whole story. No surprise there.
He spoke again. “The pair of them certainly bear the blame for the deaths caused by the old dragon’s rampage in Eastmarket. However, their punishment, or lack of punishment, is not in my hands. Who now functions as your second? Would you call that being to attend to you? I would explain things to both of you.”
She whispered to one of the Amazons, who promptly left the room and returned with a tall, blond, stone-faced Amazon with a vicious scar bisecting her right cheek.
“This woman is Hera.”
Quinn greeted her formally with a fist to his chest. “I see you, sister warrior.”
She smiled and bowed her head. “I see you, brother.”
Quinn turned his attention to the vampire. “As I said, the past is the past. My concern today is the situation in Eastmarket and the lack of any effort to correct the problem. A revolution will soon blow up out of despair. I am surprised that beings with torches and pitchforks haven’t already shown up at your door. Now that I think about it, you must fear that as well, judging by the two beings who now guard your door.”
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