Serpent's Kiss (Elder Races #3)(6)

The Lear would be serviced and refueled overnight, and the ravens were headed back to New York first thing in the morning. Rune asked, “What are you guys going to do with your evening—have dinner out, take in a show?”

As they chatted about restaurants and touring Broadway shows, Rune gazed out at the panorama spreading out underneath the plane.

The San Francisco Bay Area was awash in gigantic sweeps of color, the bluish grays of distant landmarks dotted with bright sparks of electric light, all of it crowned with the fiery brilliance of the oncoming cloudless sunset. All five of the Bay Area’s major bridges—the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, Hayward-San Mateo Bridge and the Dumbarton Bridge—were etched in perfect miniature in the watercolor distance. The southern San Francisco peninsula sprouted skyscrapers like colossal flowers in some god’s back garden. At the other end of the Golden Gate lay the North Bay area, which included Marin, and Sonoma and Napa Counties.

Sometimes there was another land in the distance, sketched in lines of palest transparent blue. One of the Bay Area’s Other lands had started appearing on the horizon around a century ago. It seemed to sit due west of the Golden Gate.

The island had first been sighted around the mid-nineteenth century and had caused major consternation and a remapping of shipping lanes. Much research and speculation had gone into the singular phenomenon, sparking ideas such as a Power fault that might be linked to California’s earthquake faults, but no one really understood why the island appeared at some times and disappeared at others. Eventually an adventurous soul discovered that the island disappeared once ocean-faring vessels sailed close enough. After that the traffic in the shipping lanes returned to normal.

Soon the island became another Bay Area tourist attraction. Sightseeing cruises increased exponentially whenever the Other land was visible. People began calling it Avalon, the shining land of myth and fable.

But Rune had heard whispers of another name. There was another population in the Bay Area. It was not the population that took cruises, ate in restaurants or went to see touring Broadway shows. It lived in the corners of old abandoned buildings, and hid when night fell and all the predators came out. The crack addicts and the homeless didn’t call the land Avalon. They called it Blood Alley.

The island was visible now in the distance, the immense orange-red ball of the setting sun shining through its unearthly silhouette. A small colony of Vampyres reputedly lived on the island. Rune watched it thoughtfully, shifting his stance to take in the change in gravity as the Lear tilted into a wide circle that would bring it into a landing pattern for SFO.

As the seat of the Nightkind demesne, the Bay Area had many Vampyre enclaves, especially in Marin County where an extensive community surrounded the home of Julian Regillus, the official Nightkind King. As far as Rune knew, the street people did not whisper of Julian’s community with the same kind of fear as they did the island. Was that because of the island’s otherworldly habit of appearing and disappearing, or because of who lived there?

Alex the pilot heaved a sigh and said, “I am required by FAA regulations . . . blah blah . . . seat belt . . . blah . . .”

Rune burst out laughing. “If we wouldn’t lose all the shit that’s not anchored down in the cabin, I’d be tempted to just pop open a door and hop out.”

Daniel shot him a look. “Thank you, sir, for refraining from that action.”

“You’re welcome.” Rune clapped the co- on the shoulder and left the cabin.

Truth was, he wasn’t in all that big of a hurry, and they set down soon enough. When they had taxied into position and Daniel opened up the Lear, Rune thanked him and took off. He shapeshifted just outside the jet and, cloaking his Wyr form from scrutiny, he launched into the air and flew into the city.

He was undecided about where to land, since he wasn’t familiar enough with the location of 500 Market Street that he could locate it from the air. Finally he chose to set down near the west end of the Golden Gate Park. As he spiraled down toward a paved path, his shadow flickered over a slender furtive figure that stood in front of a sign and shook a can of spray paint in one fist.

Rune landed, changed back into his human form and let his cloak of concealment drop away. He slung his duffle bag onto one shoulder and watched as the figure tagged the sign. The brown creature looked like an anorexic humanoid female, with a skeletal frame and long spidery hands and feet. Her dripping hair had strands of seaweed tangled in it.

She glanced over her shoulder, caught sight of him and scowled. “What are you staring at, ass-wipe?”

He said in a mild tone, “Not a thing, my good woman.”

“Keep it that way.” She darted to a nearby trash can, tossed away the spray paint can and dashed across the path to dive into a nearby pond. Soon the quiet sound of brokenhearted sobbing came from underneath a weeping willow at the pond’s edge.

Rune walked over to the sign. It was one of the myriad signs that were posted throughout the Bay Area’s ponds, lakes and rivers that warned tourists: Please Do NOT Feed the Water Haunts.

This particular sign had one word blacked out with spray paint. It now read: Please Do Feed the Water Haunts.

Welcome to the Nightkind demesne, the home of water haunts, night elves, ghouls, trolls and Vampyres. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of several night elves trotting through the park. Unlike real Elves, night elves were typically slender and child-sized creatures, with large eyes and large bald heads and pointed ears, and they schooled together like fish.