The Chronicles of the Immortal Council: The complete 10-book collection

by D C Young

  “I can't believe you won't try one of these croissants,” Allison said for the hundredth time, as she stuffed pieces of flaky bread into her mouth. “They're heavenly!”

  “I can smell the pounds of butter from across the table, Alli, I've found since regaining the ability to eat that large quantities of dairy disagrees with me.”

  “I don't envy you,” Allison replied picking up her mimosa glass.

  Suddenly, Sam's hand shot out snatching the glass deftly from her hands. Allison's face was a picture of surprise.

  “You've had two already,” Sam snapped. “Don't forget we've got a lot of work to do today and we're going to have to stay sharp if we plan to get this done.”

  Allison gave her an exasperated look, but relented. She knew Sam was right.

  “It's hard to keep work on the brain when you're in Paris!”

  “I know but you need to give it the good ol' college try... from me? Pretty please?”

  “Okay,” she replied smiling and stuffing more croissant and brie in her mouth.

  An hour later, the two women were walking briskly down the Rue de la Concorde toward the train station. According to Julia, they were supposed to meet Kullervo, a Scandinavian werewolf from the North Watch and Elisabeth Bathory, elder vampire of the Eastern Watch. As usual, the old Roman had given her no additional details, leaving the filling in of the blanks to what she considered Sam's superior skill and intellect.

  Deciding not to depend entirely on Allison's gift to recognize the two at the station, Sam pulled out her phone and searched for the pictures Veronica Melbourne had sent her. Veronica had gone to Europe a few years prior to delivering the Grand Duchess Anastasia and the Tsesarevich Alexei to the Elders of the Eastern Watch.

  Her nervousness about recognizing either Elisabeth or Kullervo was quite unfounded, however. A few minutes later, a booming voice called out her name over the din of the train station.

  “Samantha Moon.”

  Both Sam and Allison looked up to see the tallest, broadest man either of them had ever seen.

  “He's even bigger than Kingsley,” Allison said breathlessly.

  “I can see that.” Sam's eyes were as wide as saucers as the blond, bearded Russian approached them.

  “Dobraye ootro. Meenya azvoot Kullervo.”

  “Prasteete ya plokha gavaryoo pa rooskee,” Sam replied, blushing as brightly as a vampire possibly could. Kullervo smiled widely, showing off his large white teeth.

  “Oh, is that the case?” Allison asked sarcastically She'd mentally picked up that Sam was implying to their handsome new companion that her Russian was poor. Allison knew due to her federal agent days, that wasn't exactly the case.

  Kullervo was one of the Elder Weres; born and raised in Krelia and had spent all his centuries there as well as in the surrounding regions of Finlad, Kila and Ingria. He remembered when Vikings fished fjords of Lake Ladoga and he remembered the events of Bloody Sunday, the 22nd January of 1905, when the Russian Winter Palace was sacked.

  Nobody knew better how things went in Karelia, and he had been a trusted adviser to the Tsar on matters in the area; the same Tsar who had been Anastasia and Alexei's father.

  Kullervo had been a trusted adviser to the crown or a very long time but the forests of Karelia and the Grand Duchy of Finland had not been the biggest concern to the Tsar and his politicians. As thing slowly deteriorated in Russia, the invitations to discuss matters with the Tsar stopped coming. Until eventually, they had come to a complete halt.

  “Oh, never mind that Miss Moon. I did not expect you to respond even as fluently as you did. You are very kind to oblige an old Russian such as myself. Kullervo continued to smile as he turned his attention to Allison. “And who is your beautiful companion?”

  “This is my dear friend, Allison Lopez. Witch and Psychic extraordinaire.”

  “Wonderful,” Kullervo said, looking quite pleased. “We need a witch for the work we are about to do.” He looked around the station and shook his head. “Late as usual. These older ones never seem to be very worried about time.”

  “You mean Elisabeth?”

  “Indeed, she is late.”

  “No, I'm not!” a perky voice said suddenly from behind the small group. They all whirled around to see a woman dressed in a long red coat and black high heeled shoes standing there smiling at them. “It's lovely to see you again, Kullervo. But you, Samantha Moon, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you. Our mutual friend Veronica, has told me so much about you. Not to mention the children especially Alexei. He is very fond of you.” Suddenly, Elisabeth turned to Allison. “And you, my dear Miss Lopez, I could sense the power coming off of you from across the Seine. We are going to have so much fun together finding this vampire girl!”

  “Elisabeth!” Sam hissed. “Not so loud, huh?”

  “Oh, yes. I apologize, my protocols are rusty. It's not often I get to leave Csjte and walk among humanity. Come with me, let's all go over to the Hotel de la Marine. There's a marvelous dive for supernaturals in the basement that's open 24 hours a day. We'll be able to talk there.”

  The four walked briskly across Rue de Rivoli and entered the 18th century old government building which housed the hotel through an exterior basement door. A host, who Sam and Allison both instantly knew to be a warlock, greeted them cordially and led them to a booth in a dark alcove of the room.

  “I will be back shortly to take your orders,” he said quietly as he placed a set of menus on the table.

  Elisabeth made direct eye contact with him and nodded her agreement.

  Allison watched him leave.

  “Nice butt,” she said to Sam with a wink.

  Sam shot her a scowl and then joined her in a girlish giggle.

  “So, Bathory,” Kullervo started as he unapologetically chomped down on a huge slice of the bread and butter a waiter had delivered to the table. “What is the plan of action? I have only five days to spend with you lovely ladies in Paris and then I must be off to Uppsala for the thing.”

  “The thing?” Allison asked. Her face was a picture of confusion.

  Kullervo laughed. “The literal meaning of thing is a meeting of the free people. What I am attending next week during the full moon is a meeting all the were-people of the western European bloc. We will have political discussions, civil courts will be in session to solve disputes, there will be trading of goods and services with the artisans and many of the older men and women will have classes where they will teach the young ones some of the old skills.”

  “Sounds very interesting,” Allison replied. “We California witches sometimes have such get togethers.”

  “Indeed,” Elisabeth Bathory piped in. “These types of festivals are important to keep the communities of the strange both untied and informed.” She paused as their host, who had introduced himself as Patric, placed the dishes they had ordered perfectly on the table in front of them. “As for my plan, it is very basic but I believe it is the best course of action. Otherwise, you ladies might just end up chasing your tails and never finding Mademoiselle Nemours.

  “Fair enough,” Sam replied. “We're all ears.”

  A few hours later, Sam and Allison found themselves in a dark room inside the Chateau de Chaumont. The popular tourist attraction was about to close down for the day and the parlor they occupied, as well as that entire floor of the building, had already been cleared of visitors.

  The scene was entrancing.

  Candles were lit all around the room. The huge rug that covered the floor had been neatly rolled up to reveal a circle and five pointed star carved into the ancient wood of the floor. It had also been reinforced with salt and lit candles at each point.

  Elisabeth made no formal introductions between her party and the five witches present when they entered the room. Instead, she pointed to the chairs arranged along the far wall of the room and offered her own greeting to the women.

  “Descendants of Michel de Nostredame, we have come to you in your place of
ancestry to ask your assistance in locating Antoinette de Nemours. She was a favorite of Marie de Guise and Catherine de Medici and she has been violated and held against her will for many centuries. We can no longer free her soul but we would endeavor to free her immortal body and return her to those that have loved her the most in her lifetime.”

  There was dead silence from the witches for many nerve-wracking moments until the woman who seemed to be their coven leader replied, “We will help.”

  Bathory stepped to the center of the circle and immediately the spell casting began.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you quite ready, Your Majesty?” Antoinette asked, startling Marie out of deep thought. Being in the home where she had been raised had brought back many memories and she had found herself gazing out yet another window as those memories of her youth played through her mind. The home in Bar-le-Duc and the titles associated with it had been passed down to her brother Francis eight years prior when her father died.

  “I am almost ready,” Marie responded. Though she had been dressed and was, for all practical purposes, ready, she hoped to linger a bit longer by the window.

  “The carriages are waiting as are your mother and brothers,” Antoinette pointed out.

  “Tell them I will only be a moment,” Marie replied.

  The carriages were waiting to take them to the Alps and a Chateau where they had spent many summers when they were children. Though she was eager to relive those dreams as well, Marie hoped to linger a moment longer, knowing in her heart that she would never return to her childhood home.

  The path which had brought her back to Bar-le-Duc had been a rugged one. Having regained the upper hand on the rebellious Protestants with the help of Henry II of France, the Queen Regent had enjoyed no respite before the Regency Council of Edward VI had finally responded to the call of the Protestants and sent troops and a fleet to Edinburgh. Fearing for Mary as well as the future of Scotland, Marie sought out more support from Henry to maintain the tenuous hold on Regent Scotland.

  Politics came into play overriding personal dealings between the two and the Haddington Treaty was finally signed, which promised Mary's hand to the Dauphin of France, in order for Scotland to gain the support they desperately needed from France. It had come with little time to spare as Marie along with Mary and their household fled to Dumbarton Castle n the River Clyde on the Western coast. With the English pressing in on them, Marie had been forced to part ways with Mary and set her with the French fleet back to Paris where she was to be raised under the care of King Henry II. With her daughter safe in France, Marie continued to battle the English and Protestants with strong support from France until the Exchequer of England had finally exhausted his coffers and agreed to peace in 1551.

  Marie had enjoyed some short visits with her daughter each summer following, but much of the bond she longed for with her daughter was no longer possible given the vast number of issues to be dealt with, caretakers as go betweens and members of court that kept the Queen Mary of Scotland separated from the Queen Regent Marie much of the time. What she had longed for when she held her small child in her arms at Linlithgow so many years before had evaporated. Her only consolation was that she had kept Mary safe, delivered Scotland and ensured that the future of both was secure.

  “Marie,” her mother's voice spoke to her from behind. In spite of the fact that she was Queen Regent of Scotland, her mother had found ways to circumvent her staff and come to her daughter unannounced.

  Marie turned toward her smiling “I wish you had taught me your tricks so that I might have done the same with Mary.”

  Her mother, Antoinette, pushed the comment aside with a soft laugh. “My daughter is not the crowned Queen of Scotland and the wife of the future King of France.”

  “It all seems so unreal,” Marie responded.

  “Imagine how unreal it is to me,” her mother answered.

  “I suppose,” Marie responded returning her gaze to the scene outside her window.

  Her mother allowed some time to pass before speaking. “I assume you have been relieving a great number of memories while you have been here, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are memories which you will always keep, but ones you can relive whenever you like, I do not doubt. I am sure that Francis will always welcome you here to relive as many as you like and for as long as you like.”

  Marie began to laugh. She was well aware of what was going on. Her brother, Francis, was eager to be on his way and had sent their mother to hurry her along. “Was this an agreement made between you and Francis in order to get me to hurry up or did you come up with that on your own?”

  “He is anxious, but I came up with that on my own,” her mother laughed.

  “Let's not keep them waiting then,” Marie smiled, taking her mother's arm.

  The long ride in the carriage was broke up by stops and visits to various royal houses along the way, but it also afforded Marie plenty of time to look back upon the wedding of her daughter to Francis, the son of King Henry. Her own weddings had been beautiful affairs, but had paled in comparison to the splendor and childlike joy of the nuptials of the fifteen-year-old Queen of Scotland with the fourteen-year-old Dauphin of France.

  Having been raised together, the two were quite comfortable with each other and relied on one another to help calm their nerves as they looked out upon the vast crowds of two kingdoms. Notre Dame Cathedral, on its own, was intimidating, but to married in such a place at such a tender age had, no doubt, been entirely overwhelming. The two had performed their roles without a hitch.

  She had never seen her daughter looking lovelier since she had gazed upon her tiny little face and saw her as her only light in a very dark time. Mary's radiance had grown by leaps and bounds in those brief years. Her gentle, humble demeanor overshadowed a fighting spirit which Marie knew was yet to be revealed to the rest of the world. For the moment, she was a gentle, innocent queen living a fairy tale. Would the fairy tale continue? Marie hoped for her daughter's sake that it would, but she was all too familiar with the weight of royal responsibility. Yet she knew that the powerful spirit inside her daughter would come out of her when she needed its strength the most and she would rise above the challenges she faced.

  “You've wandered far away again,” her mother said, startling her.

  “I was thinking of Mary,” Marie admitted.

  “Such a lovely wedding and such a happy one,” her mother smiled. “They were at the same time innocent and regal; entirely precious.”

  “They were indeed. I have never seen such a wedding which paired two people so perfectly,” Marie responded.

  “Except your own wedding to Louis,” her mother pointed out. “The two of you were perfectly paired, as well.”

  “We were,” Marie smiled. “And James and I were well paired as well.”

  “You have been fortunate in both of your marriages.”

  Though she agreed wholeheartedly with her mother’s evaluation, Marie's expression turned to a grim one. “I've had the extreme misfortune of not being able to keep the most important men in my life alive.”

  Her mother had no response for that; no verbal response, though she took Marie's hand in her own and gave it a supportive squeeze.

  “I pray that Mary will not have to endure what I have endured.”

  “Of course you pray that, my dear. We all pray that.”

  “The reality is that the weight is a heavy one and it is made heavier by loss,” Marie returned.

  “And yet you have your father's spirit in you and Mary has yours,” her mother answered.

  “I hardly lent much to her, the credit must go to James I'm afraid and to King Henry's court.” There was a tone of regret in her voice.

  “You've sold yourself short, Marie,” her mother asserted. “There's more strength in her from the roots of her mother than you are probably willing to admit. She is alive, married and her future well laid out before her due to the efforts of he
r mother.”

  Marie had no response to her mother's assertion and she gave no response.

  “However, worrying over her and her future the whole time that you are supposed to be enjoying time with your friends and family in France is going to make you rather dull and gloomy company.”

  Her mother was right. Not a single moment of joy had ever been gained by worrying over her future or that of anyone else. She was in France for what would likely be one of the few opportunities she would ever have again. She was with her family and she was reliving memories that would always be hers to keep.

  “You're right, mother,” Marie responded. Besides, the breathtaking views of the Alps were making it harder for her to speak and lifting her spirits even as their path led them to higher elevations.

  There was a great deal more activity than she had expected taking place around the chateau when they arrived. No doubt, her arrival as a Queen Regent from an important ally had stirred up a great deal of it, but it seemed to go well beyond even what might be required to make a guest of her stature welcome.

  “You have outdone yourself preparing for me, Francis,” she called out as she was helped down from the carriage.

  “I would hardly put on such an extravaganza on your behalf, dear sister,” he chided. “There must be someone truly important coming.”

  Four years her junior, Francis rarely missed an opportunity to aim a barb in his older sister's direction. Though she was Queen Regent of Scotland, it was hardly an insult to her, but another lifting of her spirits. She fired a barb in return.

  “You would be lucky to have anyone even close to my status paying any attention to you, let alone visiting your chateau, dear brother.”

  “Touche, Your Majesty,” he responded in a mocking tone. “But you will find that it is I who will have the last laugh in this affair.”

  Under the magical spell of the splendor of the surrounding mountains, Marie could only laugh. The memories of youthful summers spent in those mountains and in the chateau were so thick that she was certain that she had been transported back in time and was reliving them again. She also did not catch the giggles while hiding a secret among all of the other members of her family.