by Karen Chance
You know, too often.
Although I’d never seen one quite this bad.
“Traumatized by what, exactly?”
Jules handed me a glass and then sat on the edge of the cabinet with his own. He didn’t offer the vamp any. It would have been a waste of good whiskey; at that age, everything just tasted gray.
“Like I was saying, he came into contact with someone with power, right?”
I nodded. “Mircea.”
“Hoo boy. Yeah, that would do it.”
“Do what?”
“That,” Jules said dryly, pointing his glass at the vamp. “Let me guess. New guy here was bugging the shit out of Mircea, who told him to be quiet, right?”
“More or less. How did you—”
“Had it happen to me once, as a newbie. Always liked to talk too much. And there was this guy—Roberto. You met him?”
“No.”
“You haven’t missed anything. He loves to torment the new arrivals, or he did. Mircea lent him out to another master a few years ago, and we’re all hoping it’s permanent. Anyway, someone told him my last name was Fortescue, and he thought that was funny as hell. Told me to ‘keep a stiff upper lip, old chap,’ laughing the whole time. I didn’t know why. Till I realized: I couldn’t move the damn thing at all.”
“Move what?”
“My lip. Spent two days sounding like I had a serious speech impediment until someone figured it out and countermanded the order.”
“But it wasn’t an order. It was a figure of speech—”
“Not with power behind it,” Jules said sourly. “He meant for that to happen. Like I said: dick. Mircea, on the other hand, sometimes just forgets how powerful he is. He spends too much time around upper-level types, where he doesn’t have to watch it. He’d probably apologize if he realized, but he’s kind of stressed right now, so I hate to bother—”
“Kind of stressed?” I felt my own blood pressure start to rise. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Jules blinked at me. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously!”
“Well, let’s see. You almost died this morning. Then you disappear all day and nobody knows where you went. The consul’s own home was attacked, and half of it’s in ruins, which is making it hell for me trying to find space for all the newbies, by the way. The rooms that are intact have mostly been claimed by senators and their retinues. I’ve managed to pawn some of them off on Louis-Cesare—new senate member, has a house near here—but it’s still in progress and—”
“Jules.”
“Oh, right. Well, on top of all that, Dante’s is trashed, and currently closed for business, the consul’s in a mood, and Mircea’s just been named Enforcer—”
“Enforcer?” I frowned.
“The senate positon. You know?”
I shook my head. I knew that the senate had been devastated by a series of attacks early in the war—like before anybody knew we were in one. And what with everything happening fast and furious ever since, they’d only just gotten around to filling the vacant seats. I’d even heard that some shuffling of roles was taking place, since the newcomers didn’t always slot cleanly into the old positions.
But Enforcer?
“Why Mircea?” I asked. “The Enforcer acts like a beat cop, dragging back misbehaving masters. Sure, he could do that, but what a waste—”
“It’s not a waste.”
“How? He’s a senior diplomat—the senior diplomat. How is that not—”
“The Enforcer also has another role in wartime,” Jules told me gently. “You probably haven’t heard about it, since it’s been centuries since anybody used it.”
“What other role?” I asked, confused.
“General.”
Chapter Thirty-three
We were on the move again, at my insistence. The mute vamp seemed pleased, however, despite carrying me, since I probably weighed the same as a feather to him. And since he’d finally figured out that we really weren’t going to ask him questions he couldn’t answer, or send him back to work, where he’d probably have someone else do the same thing.
That would be bad, since it would directly contradict his former instructions to accommodate guests in any reasonable way. And clashing orders apparently did bad things to baby vamps’ minds. So we needed to get the mute command rescinded ASAP.
But that wasn’t the only reason we were headed to the basement.
“That’s all I know,” Jules said, keeping pace with the vamp’s long strides. “Mircea’s been named Enforcer, not just of our senate, but of the combined forces of all six senates.”
“What?”
“I know.” He nodded. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that the senates do anything but claw at each other. But now that they have, it makes sense that they’d need a ruling body to govern the actions they do as a group. He won’t have anything to do with the Enforcer’s role in, say, India. That’ll be up to the South Asian Senate, since it just involves their turf. But if the combined forces are doing something, then it’s his baby.”
“Then they’re arguing about who’s going to be . . . on the senates’ senate?”
He nodded, and dodged a guy in a flowing djellaba, surrounded by half a dozen flunkies. “That’s the rumor. Our consul’s the leader. That’s already been decided, but the rest of the roles . . . Well, from what I hear, the conversation’s getting pretty heated. But Mircea was an obvious choice, with his war experience—”
“His war experience is five hundred years out-of-date!” I snapped because I didn’t like this. I didn’t like this at all. Human generals, okay, they sat in nice, air-conditioned command centers, well out of the fighting. But vampires . . .
Why did I think that wouldn’t apply to vampires?
Maybe because it wasn’t that way when they fought—at any level. Even those who would be consul had to fight for the job, defeating whoever already had it. Or, if he was dead, competing with all the others who wanted to try for it. The whole culture was built around personal power. Leading from the rear just wasn’t a thing.
Which meant that vamp general might just be the most dangerous job on the planet.
“He’s led vamp forces, too,” Jules said. “Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“It happened a couple of times. Not everybody was thrilled when the current consul came to power, back in the fourteen hundreds, and there were rebellions off and on for a couple centuries. The big ones were dealt with pretty quick, but the smaller ones were harder to stomp out, or even to find. Groups kept getting together, and holing up in the mountains—including some in the master’s old stomping grounds.”
“Romania?”
“Well, it wasn’t called that then. But yeah, the Carpathian Mountains are a bitch if you don’t know them. Or the language. Or the customs. And these guys were locals, meaning they had every pass watched, every cave booby-trapped, every town filled with supporters—”
“Why not just leave them there, then? How much trouble could they make in the Carpathians?”
“Plenty, as it turned out. That was just their base, because it was hard to get to. But they sent people out all the time to hire assassins, buy mercenaries, even talk to other senates, offering to start up a rebellion if they’d invade and take out the new regime. Something had to be done.”
“And that something was Mircea?”
Jules nodded. “He and the consul met back in Venice, when he was really young. I don’t know all the details, but he must have made an impression. ’Cause when the whole thing in Wallachia started up again, she thought of him.”
I frowned, wondering why I’d never heard about this. But then, there was a huge amount about Mircea I’d never heard. Part of that was down to the whole never-having-time-to-talk thing. And part was vampire reserve, which
I swear he’d made into a fetish. Prying any information out of him was a serious challenge.
Especially when he was so very good at changing the subject.
And his vamps had mostly taken after their master. Those less skilled in diplomacy had perfected a wide-eyed innocence or a stony silence, neither of which did me any good. But Jules wasn’t a vamp anymore, so . . .
Jules wasn’t a vamp anymore.
“Tell me about it,” I encouraged him, and he grinned delightedly.
Maybe because people usually spent their time trying to shut him up.
“Of course, he was a lot younger in those days, so he was mostly there as an adjunct to Anthony,” he said, talking about the current European consul. “Did you know he and our Lady were co-consuls back then? They ruled Europe together.”
I nodded.
“Well, her job mostly involved sorting out the political mess her predecessor had left, by basically not doing a damn thing for years. Except taking bribes to let his masters do whatever they wanted, while he almost never even visited his own territory. He liked to live out in the desert, somewhere in Africa, I heard. But the result was a government that basically didn’t govern.”
“Which is why everybody was rebelling.”
“Not everybody.” Jules shook his head. “A lot of people liked the idea of a little law and order for a change, but those who’d been profiting off the old system weren’t so happy. Some masqueraded as supporters, waiting to slip in the knife at the first opportunity. Those were the Lady’s problem. Anthony’s job was to root out the ones in open rebellion, and for that he needed somebody who knew the area.”
“But if Anthony commanded before, why not have him do the same thing now? Why does Mircea—”
“Because he did just as much of the fighting. He didn’t get the praise, of course. You know Anthony—or maybe you don’t,” Jules said, seeing my face. “But trust me, it’s not his style to let someone else steal the glory. But the master did get a senate seat out of it, later on, after the Lady found out that one of the knife-and-rib guys was her closest adviser, and personally eviscerated him.”
He grinned suddenly.
“What?”
“They say she did it at dinner, gutting him and serving up his still-beating heart on a silver salver, right there at the table! What do you think goes best with a dish like that? Mustard, or a nice wine sauce? Or maybe mint—”
He stopped, because the baby had started making those noises again.
“What?” Jules asked, and then remembered. “I didn’t mean it,” he said quickly, although it didn’t help this time. We’d stopped dead in the middle of the concourse, and were in danger of being run over.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jules demanded, prodding the vamp.
“What’s wrong with him? You just told me he died maybe a couple weeks ago! And now he should be somewhere quiet, where he can absorb everything and rest. But instead he’s here”—I gestured around—“in the middle of crazy, scary vamps, one of whom is telling stories about beating hearts and salvers!”
“I’m not a vamp anymore—”
“Jules!”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.”
“Tell him.”
“It’s—that probably wasn’t true,” he said to the terrified vamp. “It was just a story I heard. And I thought it sounded unlikely—”
“See?” I asked the vamp.
“—cutting it out and sending it to his next of kin is really much more her style—”
“Jules!”
“—but it doesn’t hurt to advertise, just in case anybody else has the same idea. So that was the story they put around. See? Nothing to worry about.” Jules clapped him on the back.
The vamp looked tragically at both of us, like meeting us had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him, including death. But at least the noise had stopped. And a moment later, we started to move again.
I turned my attention back to Jules. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why was Anthony not named Enforcer instead? I know he’s a consul—”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Most of the choice seats in the combined senate will go to consuls. You think they’re going to let their own subjects decide policy that they have to follow?”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Jules shrugged. “Everybody hates him? He’s had two thousand years to make enemies. From what I hear, he’s done a good job.”
“And nobody hates Mircea?”
“I wouldn’t say nobody; you know how vamps are,” said the guy who had been one a week ago. “But he’s got more friends than the reverse, which is kind of unusual. And even more people think he’s sort of trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy?” I didn’t think vamps knew that term.
Jules smiled. “Meaning he’s slightly less likely than the next guy to screw their forces over, to give his senate an advantage once the war ends.”
“Trust vampires to think of that now,” I muttered.
“You have to look ahead. Everyone else will.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he had to agree. He’s done enough for the alliance!”
Mircea was the consul’s chief adviser and go-to ambassador. The one people had started calling a miracle worker after he successfully achieved a union—if only for the war—of the six vampire senates. No other vamp alive would have even tried that, and he’d pulled it off. And this was the thanks he got?
“I’m not sure it was exactly a choice,” Jules said dryly.
“Mircea isn’t a baby vamp! He’s a senator who has put his life on the line more than once. He could say no if he felt like it—”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Simple or not, it’s better than dying!”
“Turn in here,” Jules said abruptly, pulling on my ride. And redirecting us into a small alcove with a phone.
“Silence spell,” he said, gesturing around. “On the outside. Which doesn’t mean the phone’s not tapped, but we’re not using it.”
“So why are we in here?”
“So I can tell you to shut up?”
I scowled at him. Jules scowled back. “Step outside,” he told the baby, who started to leave, taking me with him. “No, just you!”
The vamp put me down and did as he was told, and I sat on a marble ledge poking out from the wall, to spare my feet. Jules stood, arms crossed, until he noticed that the curtain was still open. And swished it closed.
That left us largely in the dark, since the alcove still had a roof. The main corridor, which mostly didn’t, had been a lot brighter. As it was, I could barely make out Jules’ perfect profile as he watched shadows passing outside through the fabric’s thin weave.
“What?” I said.
“The walls have ears around here—along with who knows what else?”
“And? I didn’t say anything I wouldn’t say to his face—and will, as soon as I find him. This is bullshit.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“They wouldn’t even have an alliance without him, so they’re what? Repaying him by making him even more of a target? Someone tried to murder him yesterday—”
“And will again. And maybe that’s the point.”
“What?”
Jules ran a hand through thick, wavy blond hair. “Look, I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this—”
“Oh, you’re going to tell me.”
“Yes, I am,” he agreed. “But only because you forced it out of me. I’m only human now, and can’t be expected to stand up to—”
“Jules!”
He grinned, a quick flash of teeth. “That’s just in case you ever slip up and say where you heard it. It helps to have the defense prepared.”
“You’re paranoid.”
&nbs
p; “And then some. But I doubt you’ll be asked; it’s common knowledge that the consul’s worried about Mircea.”
“Worried?” I frowned. “What do you mean, worried?”
“I mean, people aren’t taking bets on which one of them will survive yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
I stared at him. “What?”
He sighed. “Look, this always happens when a servant gets really strong, okay? Consuls need allies, but as soon as someone gets a little too capable, they have to start worrying. Is he gunning for my job? Is he planning to make a move? Does he have the power to challenge me? And in Mircea’s case, lately, the answer to that last question has been looking more and more like a yes.”
“And the first two?”
“Are assumed.”
I shook my head. “But . . . she can’t really believe he wants to kill her!”
“Can’t she? How do you think she got the job? Consuls don’t retire, Cassie. She killed her own master for the top spot; why would she think he’d balk at taking out a mentor? Mircea was already more or less ready, if he’d wanted to make a challenge, but lately . . .”
“Lately?”
For the first time, he looked conflicted. “A lot of things have happened lately, not all of which I can go into—no, I can’t,” he said, seeing my face. “That’s the master’s story to tell, if he chooses. But you don’t need all that. Let’s just say that he was pretty damn powerful already, although he was keeping it under wraps fairly well—”
“Under wraps? But everybody knows—”
“But they don’t know that they know,” Jules said cryptically. “Vamps still have a lot of human prejudices, right? Have you ever noticed that the guards people choose always look the part? Take Marco. He has a good brain, better than most. But he looks like a tough guy, so he spent centuries doing muscle work, even though a ninety-pound weakling at the same level could do as much damage—”
“I know that.”
“But you may not know that the master used a variation on the theme, to fly under the radar for years. Who looks twice at the too-smooth, Armani-clad diplomat, with a woman on his arm and a drink in his hand? Especially when he’s smiling and flattering and telling you how powerful you are . . . somehow people never think to wonder the reverse. Or not enough people. Even otherwise very smart people—”
