Kitty in the Underworld

by Carrie Vaughn

  However, nothing fazed Kumarbis. “You show the power of Regina Luporum at every turn. You truly are her avatar.” He bowed his head, in a show of respect that I didn’t believe.

  Even rolling my eyes wasn’t worth the effort. Not that Kumarbis noticed my annoyance. He saw what he wanted to.

  I hadn’t thought about Zan, the wolf who attacked and infected me, in a long time. I thought about that night, sure, but I didn’t spend much time thinking about him, the person. I wasn’t sure I could remember what he looked like, man or wolf. He was a young guy, early twenties like I had been at the time, working odd jobs and trying to get by when he wasn’t being a werewolf, which he seemed to enjoy. Now, he was dead. So were Carl, Meg, and TJ, the old pack, the werewolves who took me in and made me what I am. That was a chapter I’d happily left behind, and my only regret was I hadn’t been able to take TJ with me. He’d died so I could escape. Him, I remembered clearly, gratefully. He’d had a chance to run, and he didn’t. He risked his life for me. Yes, I understood sacrifice.

  And if TJ were here, he’d probably kick my ass for not running away when I had the chance.

  That all seemed like such a long time ago.

  Kumarbis whispered to Zora, who nodded and began bustling around the antechamber, gathering up a bag of items she’d stashed against the wall, lighting candles, dousing the camp lanterns, until all that was left was flickering, natural flame. The handful of yellow will-o’-the-wisp lights left the rest of the place in shocking, complete darkness. When Zora moved her candle, the faces of the others appeared like misshapen ghosts. Their eyes blazed.

  “One more step remains in your initiation, before we can perform our ritual,” Kumarbis said.

  In the corner of my eye, I saw Zora, her back to the rest of us, take off her shirt and pull on a long white tunic. She moved quickly, searching her bag for more items, making additional preparations, letting loose her ponytail, adding chains and jewelry to her ensemble.

  The others lined up in front of me. “What?” I asked, wary. I thought that meant the ritual, the one they kept talking about, that Zora was obviously preparing to lead. But they weren’t making any motions toward the ritual chamber. So what else did they want? Did I dare ask?

  “You join your blood with ours,” Kumarbis said.

  Typical ritual stuff. Blood oath, I slice my hand, then what? My mouth was sticky, and instead of the snarky question I was thinking, I simply blurted, “How?”

  They didn’t say anything, but Sakhmet gave me the cue. Her brow furrowed and she winced as if embarrassed as she glanced at me, then at the vampire. Vampire, blood … he had to be getting it from somewhere. Shit. We take turns, Enkidu had said.

  Finally Zora turned back to us, and she had transformed herself. The floor-length tunic shone in the candlelight. Her blond hair was loose, hanging almost to her waist, and held back from her face by a gold-colored metallic band. She wore a New Age shop’s worth of amulets around her neck, arms, and waist. I had to admire her theatricality, but if she was trying to impress me, she failed. I’d seen Cormac work spells with bits of string he’d pulled from the pockets of his leather jacket. No more theatricality than changing a lightbulb. I knew which one of them I trusted more.

  But this wasn’t a spell, was it? It was a ritual. It was a lifestyle.

  I wasn’t one of them, I wasn’t with them, the taking turns didn’t apply to me, did it? But I had come back into the mine, I’d returned to help them … I was already shaking my head. “I only feed my friends, and only when they need it.”

  “We are your friends,” Kumarbis said.

  “I’m thinking we may have different definitions of the word.”

  “Then we are allies,” he said.

  Was he wrong? I didn’t know. I was cornered again, surrounded, with them making demands. My resolve was fading, after all that talk of martyrdom. I’d fed vampires before, wasn’t a big deal, and arguing was so tiring. But in my gut, Wolf was howling. This is too much to give …

  I lunged before I realized I was doing it, hands out, curled, open mouth aimed for Kumarbis’s throat. It wouldn’t taste good, but it sure would be satisfying …

  Enkidu and Sakhmet both rushed forward, grabbed my arms, yanked me up short, and held me fast while I thrashed, snarling.

  “Stop it, stop it! You’ll ruin everything!” Zora cried, hands pressed to her head.

  Sakhmet’s voice was next to my ear. “Calm, be calm, please. We need you for this. Please.” Her voice was soothing, like a purr. She and her partner had braced and weren’t going to budge. I could wrench my arms out of my sockets, and they’d keep hold of me. But she kept whispering, and Wolf settled, retreating back to her cage.

  I trusted Sakhmet. I listened to her.

  “We’re out of time,” Zora continued, pleading with Kumarbis now. “We need to do this now, or we’ll miss the proper phase and have to wait until the next full moon.”

  Sagging in the lycanthropes’ arms, I stopped struggling and stared ahead like the caged wolf I was. “I am not staying here for another month. We’ll do this now.”

  Zora stomped over to me, brave now that I was restrained. She brought herself close enough that I could have bit her nose off with a well-timed snap. I just grinned at her.

  She said, “If you want to learn about Dux Bellorum, if you want to see him destroyed, then you must be initiated of your own free will. If you want to see our true purpose, then this is the only door into that realm.”

  You must bring an offering of blood, if you wish to ask questions …

  I had to remember why I was here. I relaxed, straightened. Tentatively, Enkidu and Sakhmet loosened their grips. I had to focus. Refocus. I didn’t bolt.

  “I want to know about Gaius Albinus,” I said.

  Kumarbis said, “He is a force of evil, with plans for domination—”

  “I know that!” I glared. Kumarbis blinked, taken aback. He’d probably never had anyone interrupt him before. At least not for a bunch of centuries. “Tell me about the man. You turned him. You knew him when he was mortal. I want to know how you met. How you decided to make him a vampire. Can you tell me that?”

  Now he was in the same place I was—cornered, resisting. Having to give to get what he wanted. Good. Let him see how it feels.

  He licked his lips, drew breath in order to speak. “How—how do you know? Who told you that?”

  “I guessed,” I said, before Enkidu could fall on that sword and get himself in trouble by admitting he’d told. “You have his coin. You’re old. Very old. You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you?”

  I must have been just vague enough to make sense, because he nodded. His face sagged into a long expression of sadness as his gaze turned inward, to his own long, uneasy history. Then he gave his head a deep bow, a show of respect. “You have the insight of Regina Luporum. You truly are her avatar.”

  I did not roll my eyes. Guy could rationalize anything he wanted to. “Can you tell me about Gaius Albinus? I want to know what happened when you met him.”

  Seconds ticked on. The others stared, holding their breath.

  “Submit, and I will tell you,” he said finally. I expected him to leer, but he didn’t. He was making a deal, and he was serious.

  The tension in the place was at a constant pitch, so I didn’t notice it anymore. Like the smell of rock, the itch of silver. But I felt a spike, all of them watching, wondering which way I’d leap. My eyes burned, my gaze intent, haunted.

  I’d already gone all-in, hadn’t I, when I turned around and came back underground?

  Kumarbis nodded, and Enkidu and Sakhmet stepped away. Then, I stretched my arm to him. My left arm. When I’d done this before, she asked for my off hand, out of politeness. The memory of Alette sparked an image, a scent—I could almost smell her, clean and chilled, in the startlingly domestic setting of her Washington, D.C., townhome. The sensations were so visceral I almost choked. Maybe she’d come and rescue me from this.

&n
bsp; I clamped down on everything, every memory, every emotion, every reaction, so that I could hold my arm steady. Not so much as a tremor shook me. I set my jaw and stared, determined.

  Kumarbis stepped forward and took my hand. His touch was gentle, more gentle than I expected. As if he realized how close I was to losing it, to freaking out and giving Wolf permission to get us out of this. His skin was rough, calloused. I wondered—was the rough skin preserved from his former life? Or maybe this was part of him simply not caring about appearances. He wasn’t an aristocrat. He didn’t need to be an aristocrat.

  He moved so he was standing next to me, but at an angle to better cradle my arm, which he handled like it was a piece of glass, fragile and precious. Petting the skin, stroking his thumb along the inside of my forearm to warm it, to bring the blood to the surface. He knew what he was doing, to calm his … donor. Not victim. In other circumstances, his movements might even have been seductive. Some vampires I’d spoken to told me that a willing, aroused victim tasted better than one who struggled. That was why they did what they did, acted the way they did. Attracting, luring, rather than hunting. Most vampires I’d met were very good at it. I thought again of Alette, and wished I hadn’t. I didn’t want to remember her when I remembered him, and this.

  My stomach churned. I’d either eaten too much, or not enough. I looked away, squeezed my eyes shut. I hadn’t meant to, but it was either that or panic.

  When his lips, as rough as his hands, brushed the inside of my wrist, I almost decided that feeling him was worse than seeing him. His movements were amplified in my imagination. The lips stroked along the tendon, to the base of my palm, and back. He tightened his grip on my arm, tucking it under his own to stabilize it. His tongue darted, tasting my skin. I clenched my fist, tried hard not to yank away. His story had better be worth it.

  When he finally bit, I hardly felt it. I’d been so tense, waiting, so overwhelmed with anticipation, that the pain of his fangs in my skin lasted only a second. His lips closed over the wound, and he drank. I kept my eyes shut, my head craned away from him, and waited.

  He shouldn’t have needed much. Vampires didn’t need to kill their prey. They only needed a few sips to survive—more, to be strong. But I was a werewolf, and he could take a lot more from me than he could a normal person without hurting me. I was pretty sure he’d take advantage of that. I should have eaten more, so I’d get through this easier. Asked for another bottle of water. I should have done a lot of things.

  My sense of time was shot to hell. I didn’t know how long he drank from me. It seemed like far too long, but then any amount of time would have felt too long.

  His mouth lifted, and cool air chilled the wet spot on my wrist where his lips had been. I sighed, relaxing in spite of myself. Over, it was over. He licked the wound twice to speed the healing, then let go of me and moved away, until he was standing just out of my reach.

  My arm fell, dangling at my side. I sat slowly, because I was afraid I’d fall over. Cross-legged, I left my arms resting on my legs and sighed. Let the dizziness pass. I felt like a little kid getting a shot. I stretched, rubbing my arm to put some life back into it. It tingled. Blood loss—he’d taken a lot. But the wounds—two little circles, hardly bigger than bug bites—were already scabbed over, turning pink. Another reason vampires liked feeding from werewolves—rapid healing. Fast food. Ugh.

  Sakhmet crouched and put her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t even flinch away. I was too exhausted to feel anything. She offered me a bottle of water, which I desperately needed after this. As she’d well known. Den mother. I smiled at my own joke.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “I’m feeling a little drained,” I said. That choking sound was Enkidu, standing behind her, sputtering. He either thought it was funny or horribly disrespectful. Or both, that was okay, too. She only smiled, rubbed my shoulder, then left me alone. I drank, downing almost the whole bottle of water.

  “Your blood is now combined with all of ours, in me,” Kumarbis announced. Like I should be proud. “Now, our circle is truly complete, and we may perform our rituals.”

  This wasn’t over yet. Of course it wasn’t. Zora was lurking at the edges of the antechamber, scowling. Impatient, probably. I was holding up her party. Whatever.

  “I want my story,” I said. “If I really am part of the circle—I want to know what you know. You want me to trust you, give me the story you promised.”

  He closed his eyes, bowed his head, nodded. Then, he spoke.

  Chapter 16

  “I AM VERY old. I’m not sure how old. I have spent stretches of time when I was not as … aware as I should have been. Always, I managed to survive. But … I was not old, once.” Kumarbis spoke with something like wonder in his voice, as if he could not believe that he had ever been young. Though when he said “not old,” why did I think he meant a century or two? A span of time that would have been forever to the rest of us. “I don’t remember what it was to be mortal. My life then, who I was then, has not been important for a very long time. I feel myself a creature who came to being out of nothing.

  “I was made what I am now in the mountains of Anatolia. I was made, but not claimed. Attacked and abandoned. I could have been destroyed as a demon. Perhaps I should have been, times being what they were. But Fate took me in hand. I had a destiny. I must have had a destiny.”

  The others, even Zora, settled on the stone floor, gathering around the vampire in a semicircle, watching him with intense focus. Something about the warm light of the candles, the ancient scent of the granite, made me feel as if we had traveled back in time to those ancient mountains. Kumarbis’s voice itself had altered the flow of time, and we were in the ancient world.

  “When the Roman Empire rose and spread, it seemed new to me. I traveled, studying it. The Romans—they had very good roads. I traveled, looking for … purpose. I had so much power—I could have set myself up as a god in some small village. Others of our kind did so. But that seemed too obvious, too easy. If one of our kind was a god alone, how powerful would two of us be? Or all of us? A pantheon of the supreme undead. That is how we were meant to be. An empire of our own, like others that had come before, but this one would last, ours would be eternal, as we were. What Rome dreamed of but could not achieve. I traveled, spoke to others, tried to show them my vision. But I could not sway them. They were satisfied with their tiny, inconsequential kingdoms. I—I was not meant to be an emperor. But there was another.

  “Something … something guided me to Palestine and the Roman occupation there. Like a voice in the wilderness. That’s how the story goes, I think. A voice in the wilderness calling me. There were so many in those days putting themselves forward as prophets, as preachers, promising a better world to their followers. I thought one of them might be my worthy partner. But no, one by one they failed, they fell. Then I found this man, this centurion. He was one of hundreds, thousands of soldiers I had seen. I shouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a crowd. But I did. I saw him and knew he could be powerful. That feeling I had, that voice, had steered me true.”

  He smiled, triumphant at the memory. He had entranced himself into returning to that distant past. To distant glory.

  I had a million questions. What had those other vampires been like? The ones with the tiny kingdoms? How had he survived all those years, without a Family or a place of his own? Did he have rivals, with the same thought of gathering allies? Was this the start of the Long Game? What about this feeling, this instinct? I kept my mouth shut, because I didn’t want to distract him. I didn’t want him to decide not to finish.

  “I avoided the Master of Jerusalem, made my way through the city on my own. I met the man known as Gaius Albinus. Befriended him, even. He was a serious young man, ambitious. His career was everything to him, and he was destined for high rank, for accolades. The Empire was built on the shoulders of thousands of men like him, who worked for the good of the whole because it meant success for the
mselves.”

  So far, Kumarbis hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know about Roman. He was still serious and ambitious. But I did have a hard time thinking of him as young. Maybe all old vampires gave off that impression.

  “I knew, somehow, he was destined for more. He was greater. Everything in my being said so. I could make him immortal, and he would be invincible, unstoppable. Together, we could do … do anything.”

  The story had taken on the tone of a confession. He wasn’t just explaining, he was apologizing.

  “He … needed time. He required persuading. But he saw my vision, in time. Eventually, I convinced him.”

  “You attacked him,” I said. “He didn’t choose.”

  There was a long pause, made heavy by the silent weight of stone.

  “Yes,” he said finally, facing the ground. His head was bent, his shoulders slumped. He wouldn’t look at any of us.

  I could almost feel sorry for Roman, in spite of myself. A minute ago I would have said the guy didn’t deserve any pity at all. But this, imagining him as much a victim as any of us … No, I didn’t pity him, but maybe I understood him a little better. Him and his war.

  My friend Rick also had been turned against his will. Rick and Roman were nothing alike. Or maybe they were two sides of the same coin. Rick was still out there, fighting his crusade against Roman with the Order of Saint Lazarus of the Shadows, the Vatican’s order of vampire priests. I wondered if the order knew about Kumarbis. I had a feeling they didn’t. Everyone else had been tracking Roman himself, but I’d found the other end of the thread, and was following it forward to the beginning. Maybe the key to defeating Roman lay in his origin. This had been worth the blood the vampire had taken from me. Worth returning to the mine. But there was more.

  I wanted to shout at Kumarbis that this was his fault. The Long Game, Dux Bellorum, the man Roman had become. All his scheming, all the people he’d hurt, the vampires he’d made, the conspiracy he’d gathered to himself. It had all started here, and I had only one question.