Death's Mistress

by Karen Chance

  It was a damn impressive trick, but I didn’t think he had another one. The resignation on his face said that clearly enough. Anthony had given up; he thought this was it. And I had no clue why.

  He should have been able to snap Christine like a twig, drain her, defend himself a hundred different ways from someone with little more power than a human. But he wasn’t. And that couldn’t be good.

  “The wood is showing through,” Christine complained, before I could figure it out. She proffered the gory stake. “I don’t understand. It worked last time.”

  “Last time being?”

  “Elyas,” she said impatiently.

  I walked over to take the stake, shedding dirt with every step and fighting to keep my breathing slow and steady. I didn’t understand what was going on here, and that was bad. But the unmistakable flicker of madness in Christine’s eyes was worse. If she wasn’t running on all cylinders, even a minor slipup could get me in trouble.

  And Anthony dead.

  I took the stake and examined it, crouching down beside Christine and her prey. I turned it over in my hands. “It looks okay to me,” I said. “Did you use the same type on Elyas?”

  “Yes,” she said fretfully. “I had them made to my specifications in Zurich by a silversmith. The shaft is apple wood, but I had him inlay a little silver tip, you see?” She pointed out the razor-sharp end with a nicely manicured nail. It would have been pretty if it hadn’t had part of Anthony caught underneath it. “It makes it go in easier.”

  “I bet it’s not as easily deflected by a rib, either,” I said, because she obviously expected me to say something.

  She nodded. “It isn’t as good as a knife, of course, but at least it doesn’t splinter.”

  “I tried iron banding once,” I told her, “quite a while ago, but I found that—” I broke off at a painful jab in my right calf. I glanced down to find Anthony’s hand gripping me. Right.

  “Uh, so. Why did you kill Elyas again?”

  She raised those lovely eyes from the stake to mine. “I’m sorry. Did you want him?” she asked politely.

  “Not particularly, no.”

  “I don’t blame you. He wasn’t much of a challenge.”

  “Unlike Geminus?”

  “Oh, no. He would have been interesting, but he wasn’t expecting it, you see. They rarely do.”

  No, I didn’t suppose so. I was standing in front of her, watching Anthony’s blood drip from her hands, and I was still having a hard time picturing her as the murderer. Her scent was off, but she looked the same as always: sweetly innocent and beautiful enough to turn heads.

  And then she plunged the stake back into Anthony’s chest, and it became a little easier.

  He did scream that time—a pathetic, mewling sound that had me grabbing Christine’s wrist before I thought about it. But she only crouched there, looking at me inquiringly. “Uh. You can’t kill him,” I said weakly, after a short hesitation.

  Her head tilted curiously. “Why not?”

  My mind raced, trying to come up with a reason, any reason, to save Anthony. It was a little difficult since I didn’t know why she wanted him dead in the first place. And then a voice spoke calmly behind me. “His death energy would bring down the ceiling on our heads. We would all die.”

  Christine frowned, and let go of the stake. She slowly rose to her feet, bloody hands smoothing her crumpled skirt. “Louis-Cesare.”

  “Christine.”

  I glanced between the two of them. Louis-Cesare looked vaguely sick, regarding the tableau with a terrible sadness. But he did not look shocked.

  He did not look surprised.

  “What the hell?” I demanded, standing up.

  He glanced at me and hesitated. But then his spine stiffened and he answered, “When I made Christine, it was as I told you. She had been drained of most of her magic, and with it, her life. She was close to death—so close, in fact, that I did not know if the process would take.” He paused to lick his lips. “When she awoke, it became rapidly obvious that . . . there was something wrong. She was lucid enough. She knew me, but she was . . . troubled.”

  “Troubled as in . . .”

  “She was violent. Disturbed. I put her to sleep, hoping it was merely the trauma of what she had been through. But the next night, when I went to check on her, she was gone. I tracked her to the abbey where she had been a novice and where she had once been whipped. I found it burned to the ground, and the abbess . . .”

  I suddenly remembered a vision of a burned-out building, piles of ash and a desiccated corpse, as delicate and fragile as an insect’s exoskeleton. “Christine?”

  He nodded, swallowing. “Others had been fed upon. I tracked Christine for miles, and finally found her with a group of pilgrims. Or . . . what remained of them.”

  “Oh, gods.” That was Anthony. I wasn’t sure if it was a cry of pain, or because he was slowly reaching the same conclusion I was.

  “She hasn’t done anything like that since,” Louis-Cesare said quickly, seeing the dawning horror in my eyes. “I kept watch over her, and she is easily enough restrained. Her power is minimal; she is only a danger to humans and she is not allowed—”

  “Minimal?” Anthony coughed, a harsh, wet sound. “She’s a goddamned first-level master. I should know!”

  Christine casually put a delicate little patent leather shoe through his chest. I heard ribs crunch, and he cursed. “You do not wish to kill him, Christine. Remember?” Louis-Cesare said sharply.

  “Oh. Oh, yes. I’m sorry.” She meekly withdrew the foot, leaving Anthony writhing on the floor.

  I stood there, feeling dizzy. “She’s a revenant,” I said numbly. Louis-Cesare didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either. He just stared at me, his face blank and pale like that of a man about to face the gallows.

  Or like a man who had sired a monster.

  It didn’t happen often, but occasionally a young master would feed off the same person too many times in close succession, thereby passing on the metaphysical virus that was at the core of vampirism. But because the feedings weren’t intended to be a Change, the master’s blood wasn’t also shared with the child. And thereby the link that power created was missing.

  Revenants also occurred when something went wrong with the Change, either because of a mistake on the master’s part or because of a problem with the subject selected—generally illness or age. If the subject was weak, the link formed was as well, and never provided the control needed to steer the new vampire’s development.

  However they were created, the newborn revenant was a problem from the start. They craved that connection with their master and the power it should have brought them. Without it, they went mad with hunger, attacking everything in sight, blindly searching for something they would never find.

  Occasionally, one would survive for a few months, maybe as long as a year if he was in a relatively isolated place, like a mountain range with plenty of hiding places. But I’d never heard of one lasting longer than that. Certainly not long enough to rise in power. It had never even occurred to me—or to anyone I suspected—that a revenant could rise in power.

  I guess the assumption always was that they were flawed mentally, so they must be flawed physically as well. And that was often true. The pale, hunchbacked, salivating vamp of legend, with fangs too large for his mouth and an unquenchable lust for blood, possibly came from sightings of revenants.

  But what if one did live, because she had a powerful protector? A protector so ridden with guilt that he couldn’t bear to follow the law and have her destroyed? And what if that revenant was highly functioning, enough so that, with careful supervision, she would appear merely eccentric rather than mad? And what if this farce had continued for three hundred years?

  What could a first- level master revenant do? Other than manage to camouflage her abilities, even from her own maker. Who, after all, hadn’t seen her for more than a century.

  I glanced at Anthony. I guess
I knew.

  “She is not . . . She does not have to be a danger,” Louis-Cesare said desperately. “She can be—”

  “She’s a fucking revenant,” Anthony coughed. “She’s a danger to everyone—you know this! Why the hell didn’t you have her put down when you realized it?”

  “How could I? I had already killed her twice! First when I handed her over to that bastard of a mage, and then when I made her into a vampire. How many times am I supposed to kill this one poor woman? How much damage am I to do?”

  I didn’t think that was the question. I thought it was: how much could he do? Like human children, baby vamps tended to take attributes from their sire. So much so that family lines often became known for having certain gifts. Mircea’s, for instance, was better than normal with healing, both themselves and others. Louis-Cesare had gained that advantage from Radu, but when he became a master, it was his own special gifts and interests that were passed to his children.

  And, as everyone knew, his strongest ability was in combat.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I watched as red lightning started to flicker across Christine’s palms and to coil up her arms. I didn’t think she liked being talked about as if she wasn’t in the room. I didn’t think she liked being given orders, either. She kept glancing at Anthony, and the hunger on her face was startling.

  Anthony didn’t notice, having let his head droop down to his mutilated chest. I couldn’t tell if that was deliberate—to hide the fact that his neck had healed—or if he was merely too tired to hold it up anymore. But looking at the way his skin was starting to shrink up against the bones, I was voting for the latter.

  Anthony had to get out of here and back to his family, and he had to do it now. But no way was he managing that on his own. I glanced at Louis- Cesare to see if he got it, and found him staring intently back at me.

  “Dorina?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin when the word echoed softly through my brain. “What?” I thought back instinctively, and felt a surge of profound relief that I knew wasn’t mine. I didn’t feel relieved. I felt creeped the hell out.“How long have you been able to—”

  “Can you do it?” he asked silently, cutting me off in my own head.

  “Can I do what?”

  He looked pointedly at Anthony. “I will not leave you here with her.”

  “You left me with her last night!”

  “It was almost dawn, and I thought she had the power of a child then. You cannot hold her.”

  No, I thought bitterly, I didn’t suppose so. I’d been getting my ass handed to me by vampires all day, and after seeing her with Anthony, I doubted this would be any different. But I also couldn’t drag an almost-deadweight through the landslide, across a debris- filled room and up a lengthy tunnel. And then fog the minds of the people on the other side when I was through.

  I thought that at him as hard as I could, and saw him wince. It had probably had the force of a shout behind it, but I didn’t have centuries of practice at this. The only other times we’d had any kind of mental link, I’d been too distracted to worry about it.

  I was plenty worried now, but other things took precedence. Like what I’d die of first, if Anthony went—the fire of his energy storm or being crushed to death as the tunnel collapsed. It wasn’t a palatable choice.

  “If Anthony dies, I’m dead anyway. And he’ll die if he stays here. Get him out!” I sent.

  “If she hurts you—”

  “She won’t. I’m her good vamp-killing buddy, remember? Just hurry back.”

  He sent me a slurry of emotions, intentionally or not, that had my eyes widening. “Do. Not. Die.”

  Yeah, well, that was the plan.

  “Christine!” My voice caused her to start slightly. “You’re draining Anthony. And if he dies, we do, too. Remember?”

  She stared at me, dark eyes bright, for a long moment. And then she slowly nodded. “I can’t die yet,” she agreed. “I’m not done.”

  It was amazing how three small words could cause gooseflesh to break out all over my body. “Not done?”

  “You asked why I killed Elyas. This is why,” she said, obscurely.

  “Because he was an evil vampire?”

  “Well, of course,” she agreed, pushing back a stray lock of hair. The heel of her hand brushed her cheek, leaving a red streak behind, like badly placed rouge. “But I could have killed him at any time for that.”

  “So why now? To avoid Alejandro’s executioner?” I knew before she answered that that wasn’t right. Whoever Alejandro sent would have had a rude awakening.

  “No. It was the rune.”

  “The rune.”

  “Yes. I knew Elyas had it.” She frowned. “Or I thought he did. I didn’t know about the necklace, you see, when I killed the fey. I checked his pockets, but I never thought to look there. And then I felt Elyas nearby and had to flee before I could look anymore. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t be discovered. It was too soon. But then I saw him coming out with the necklace in his hand, and I realized my mistake.”

  “How did you know about the rune? You weren’t at the auction.”

  I wanted to know, but I also wanted to keep her attention on me. Louis-Cesare had circled around behind her while we’d been talking.

  “Elyas could talk of nothing else. All day he was on the telephone to Lord Cheung, all but begging him for it. He was afraid that once Louis-Cesare left the European Senate, he would no longer be able to retain his seat without help. I overheard enough to realize what it was, and what it could do.”

  “So that’s why you picked up the carrier in the office.”

  She nodded. “I’d searched it when I killed Elyas. I’d remembered about the knives, not to touch them directly. But I’d thought the necklace wouldn’t show fingerprints because of all the ridges. I’d forgotten about clairvoyants.” She looked annoyed.

  “How did you learn to kill vampires that way? It isn’t common knowledge.”

  “I have had to learn many new methods in order to hunt.” She looked frustrated. “Louis-Cesare was so careful; it was almost impossible for me to do anything. And Alejandro wasn’t much better. He watched me all the time, afraid that I would run away. It was easier when I went to Elyas. He never noticed me.”

  Neither had anyone else, I thought grimly.

  “Why wait until the party to kill Elyas?” I asked. “You could have killed him at any time.”

  “But if I did it before the party, only the family would have been home,” she said reasonably. “There had to be other suspects, or everyone would have started to look at me.”

  “So you waited until the apartment was filled with people, and you could get Elyas alone.”

  “Yes. I didn’t mean for Louis-Cesare to be blamed. I knew he had an appointment for that night; I had heard Elyas telling the doorman about it. But it was for earlier that evening. I waited to kill him until I thought the master would have come and gone.”

  “But Louis-Cesare was delayed.” She nodded. “Is that why you killed Lutkin? To throw suspicion off Louis-Cesare?”

  “No, the mage was at Elyas’s party. I saw them talking together. It might have meant nothing; Elyas liked the races and Lutkin was a champion. But I thought there was a chance that a powerful mage could have stolen it.”

  I spared a thought for poor Lutkin, who had died because Christine thought there was an outside chance he had the stone. He’d probably never even seen it.

  “But Lutkin was killed in daylight.”

  “I have been a daywalker for two centuries.”

  Daywalker was the old term for anything above a third-level master, because they were the only ones who could stand direct sunlight for any length of time. It looked like Anthony had known what he was talking about.

  “How did you get in? The consul’s security is pretty tight.”

  “They let me in. Louis-Cesare’s name was still on the guest list, and I am his servant.” She shrugged.


  “So that left Geminus.”

  “Yes. I was sure he had the stone. He was at the nightclub that night. I saw him when I was leaving, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. And Geminus was at the party. But he didn’t have it, either.”

  “That’s why you used the wax-covered knife on him.” I had wondered. There were more efficient ways to kill people.

  “I wanted to be able to search him before he died and the reaction set in. And then Anthony came, and so of course I had to kill him, too. I didn’t mean to use a wax blade on him, but that was the one I grabbed first.”

  I made a mental note to tell Anthony: maybe the Fates didn’t hate him as much as he thought.

  “You killed him because he could have named you as the guilty party.”

  “Yes. I tied him and stabbed him and left, but when I didn’t hear a second death rumble, I knew something had gone wrong.”

  “Clever.”

  “I can be clever.” She glanced behind her, where the guys had disappeared through the fall. “I know they are leaving. It is all right. Anthony needed to go. I might have made a mistake with him here, and I can’t afford that. Not tonight.”

  “What’s special about tonight?”

  “But haven’t you realized? That is why it doesn’t matter if they stay or go. Tonight is when I kill them. Tonight is when I kill all of them.”

  “Kill who?” I asked slowly.

  Christine didn’t answer. Her gaze had fallen to her watch, and her eyes widened. “I didn’t know it was so late! I must go.”

  I caught her arm as she whirled and headed down the corridor, away from the landslide. I didn’t so much as slow her down; it was more like I got towed along for the ride. “Wait! You haven’t told me why you wanted the rune. It isn’t as if you need the protection.”

  “Oh, but I do. That is why I came here tonight. One last chance . . .” Her voice faded, but then came back stronger, more resolute. “But then, perhaps this is God’s way of telling me that it is enough. That once this is done, I will have redeemed myself at last.”

  “Once what is done?”