Sleight of Fantasy: Sasha Urban Series: Book 4

by Dima Zales

  I stop that line of thought, not wanting to fall apart. I need to focus on Lucretia now.

  My mind refuses to obey logic. Rose is dead. Rose is dead. The insidious whisper brings with it a crushing pressure to my chest and tear ducts, but the tears refuse to come out, no matter how much I crave the relief of a good cry.

  We come to a screeching halt on the corner of 57th and 12th, and Kevin unbuckles his seatbelt.

  “Where are you going?” I ask him.

  “With you, to deal with the dangerous Russian thug,” he says—repeating the euphemism that I used for Koschei when I left Nero the voicemail.

  “No, don’t. It will be very dangerous.” I unbuckle my own seatbelt and open the door.

  “That’s my job.” Kevin exits the car. “Whatever happens in 14N is nothing compared to what the boss will do to me if I let you get hurt.”

  There’s no time to argue and no way I can describe the unique nature of this danger without the Mandate making me bleed from all orifices. So I let him tag along.

  “This is my husband.” I nod at Kevin when we get to the security guard. “He and I are here for marriage counseling. Our therapist’s name is Lucretia Rossi. 14N.”

  “Husband?” Kevin gives me a look when the elevator doors close.

  I shrug. “I’m usually much better at lying.”

  He nods and pulls out his gun.

  I do the same.

  The elevator stops, and Kevin takes the lead.

  I sprint after him.

  We find 14N’s door broken in.

  Kevin does a TV cop imitation as he carefully rushes in with his gun raised. I do my best to mimic his actions and follow.

  There are signs of struggle all over, but Koschei is missing.

  “I’ll check the perimeter,” Kevin whispers into my ear. “You see if you can help her.”

  He nods at the couch blocking my view and hurries into another room.

  Heart sinking, I walk around the couch, already knowing what I’ll see.

  Lucretia is lying sprawled on the floor, her knife wounds identical to Rose’s and her Mandate aura missing.

  As if controlling my body remotely from some bunker, I dazedly step over the bloody rapier and kneel next to her to check what is already obvious.

  No pulse.

  No breathing.

  No Mandate aura.

  Numb, I collapse over Lucretia, embracing her dead body in a hug.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I don’t know how long I stay down there, draped over Lucretia’s still body.

  My thoughts are like squirrels on Red Bull, and the pressure on my eyes is beyond unbearable.

  Then one rational question crawls through the haze and confusion: how can Lucretia be dead? She’s a prevamp—a type of Cognizant who turn into vampires when they die. But then I recall something Ariel had mentioned once: if a prevamp isn’t powerful enough, they will not turn.

  Not unless they preemptively drank the blood of a vampire.

  It could easily be the case that Lucretia didn’t drink such blood—as a therapist, she knows how addictive that can be. Plus, Ariel also mentioned such a choice has an annoying side effect: the donor vampire becomes the new vampire’s sire and can control him or her for a decade.

  Koschei and Baba Yaga must’ve known about Lucretia’s vulnerability. Else why would they bother committing a crime that would only transform Lucretia into a potentially more powerful enemy?

  But hold on.

  At our recent session Lucretia mentioned that she drank blood from Gaius after some injury. She said she didn’t get addicted from it, that it was like getting a shot of morphine when you need it.

  So maybe she turned, but Koschei killed her twice, once as a regular Cognizant, then as a vampire?

  How does one kill a vampire?

  Suddenly, ice-cold hands grip my shoulders.

  Then there’s a sharp pain as Lucretia’s fangs penetrate my neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Lucretia.” I do my best to break her iron-like hold. “It’s me, Sasha.”

  She doesn’t let go, just sucks at the wound on my neck.

  I go for my gun, but she slaps it out of my hand, launching it across the room.

  “Snap out of it,” I hiss, kicking at my newly animated friend. “You don’t want to eat me.”

  “Let her go,” Kevin says from somewhere. “Or I will shoot.”

  “You will not shoot anyone,” says a familiar hypnotic voice.

  “I will not shoot anyone,” Kevin repeats, sounding glamoured.

  “Throw that gun away,” the voice says.

  Kevin tosses his gun in the same direction where mine disappeared.

  “Lucretia, dear, let Sasha go this instant.” The voice is dripping with honey-laced malice, and despite my shock and panic, I realize who this is.

  Lucretia releases my shoulders, and I struggle to my feet.

  “Where is Ariel?” I demand as I turn around to verify my suspicion, my hand unwillingly nursing the bite on my neck.

  Yep.

  The pretty face of the newcomer belongs to Gaius—the bane of Ariel’s existence.

  “Where is she?” I repeat, stepping toward him.

  “I heard you the first time.” Gaius’s eyes go from mirror-like to normal.

  Kevin stands rod-still.

  Lucretia rises on her elbow and looks around the room, her eyes wilder than drunk college coeds on spring break. Focusing on me, she takes in the wound on my neck and pales—a difficult feat since un-death has already made her paler than her usual bleached china-doll complexion.

  Speaking of un-death, she still has no aura—yet Gaius and other vampires do.

  Maybe it needs to be reapplied?

  I push the mystery away as she says to me, “I can feel how scared you are. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re still an empath after turning?” I blurt out, then realize there are any number of better questions I should ask, the majority of them a variation on what I already asked Gaius.

  “Indeed,” Gaius says with an almost fatherly pride. “She’s going to be invaluable to me.” He looks at my neck and adds, “You’re both lucky I came when I did—the newly turned have trouble controlling themselves.”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt Sasha,” Lucretia says, sitting up.

  “False,” Gaius says teasingly. “You could’ve easily killed her—which neither Nero nor the Council would’ve appreciated. Such things often happen to newbies.”

  “No way,” Lucretia says, but scoots away from me—as though she needs the distance to stave off the temptation.

  “You must feed,” Gaius tells her, nodding toward Kevin—who, due to glamour, shows no reaction to this horrific suggestion.

  “Wait a minute.” I take another step forward.

  “Can’t I just get a bag of blood?” Lucretia leaps into a standing position with the effortlessness of an Olympic athlete. “Drinking from a human is—”

  “My apologies for the misunderstanding,” Gaius says, the honey evaporating from his voice to leave behind pure malice. “As your sire, I command you to drink from that human.”

  Lucretia looks like he just rammed a truck into her brain. With a zombie-like determination, she comes toward Kevin.

  “Hold on.” I step in front of her. “Don’t do this.”

  “That’s right,” Gaius croons, ignoring me. “You will find it harder and harder to fight me with every command I give.”

  Lucretia shoves me aside with Ariel-like strength, and as I catch myself on the couch, a realization hits me.

  Of course. Lucretia is now Gaius’s virtual slave—and will be for a whole decade.

  “Gaius, please.” I rush forward as Lucretia bites Kevin.

  “Would you rather it be you?” Gaius steps into my path, his large body forming an impenetrable barrier.

  Behind him, Lucretia is feeding. Her throat moves reluctantly at first, but after she takes a few gulps, she starts sucking
more and more enthusiastically.

  “Lucretia!” I shout, futilely trying to go around Gaius. “Kevin isn’t a Happy Meal. You’re going to kill him.”

  With great reluctance, Lucretia pulls herself away from Kevin’s neck.

  The driver looks pale but otherwise normal—assuming you ignore the emptiness in his glamour-affected eyes.

  “I didn’t say you could stop,” Gaius says to Lucretia over his shoulder. “Drink from him, and stop only if I say stop.”

  Though it’s clear Lucretia tries to fight the command, she obeys quicker this time.

  Once she resumes drinking, she does it faster and faster, like she’s getting thirstier with every gulp.

  Kevin’s paleness begins to match that of the two vampires in the room—which can’t be a good sign.

  “Stop this!” I punch Gaius in the jaw, then shove at him, but he just lifts a perfect eyebrow.

  “Is violence really the answer?”

  If I could, I’d rip Gaius’s throat out right now. As is, I have to use misdirection.

  Feinting to the right, I pretend to go around him, then suddenly leap to the left.

  He chuckles behind me, clearly amused as I grab Lucretia and do my best to pry her head away from Kevin’s neck.

  I might as well try to break a cement block in half.

  Kevin’s body slumps in her arms.

  “No.” I tug harder. “Lucretia, stop it!”

  Odd slurping noises escape from her mouth as she keeps on sucking like a gluttonous leech.

  “There’s no more blood remaining in that body.” Gaius walks up to the bloody rapier on the floor, picks it up, and examines it appreciatively. “Let’s go.”

  Lucretia lets Kevin collapse on the floor and sprints after Gaius—who’s left the room so fast he must’ve used vampire powers.

  I dash across the room and get my gun, then run out into the hallway, unsure if I’m going to shoot them both or only Gaius.

  The hallway is already empty.

  Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t have enough energy to chase them.

  Closing the front door, I circle back to Kevin.

  Dropping to my knees next to his unmoving body, I check the vitals.

  Nothing.

  He’s dead.

  Just like Rose.

  I want to shout obscenities, but the scream is stuck in my throat.

  It was my fault. Again.

  A second person died today because of me.

  There will be two funerals.

  The pressure behind my eyes now feels like boiling acid.

  Facing away from the corpse, I cup my eyes with my palms.

  Dead.

  Did he have a family? Children?

  Did some poor woman become a widow tonight?

  The remnants of adrenaline that I was running on evaporate, leaving me utterly drained.

  Rose and Kevin.

  Ariel missing.

  Lucretia as a vampire bound to Gaius.

  It’s hard to breathe, impossible to think.

  There’s just that awful burning pressure and crushing emptiness.

  I don’t know how long I stay there, kneeling next to Kevin’s body, before I hear faint footsteps outside the door.

  I find it difficult to care.

  The door hinges squeak.

  I should stand up or at least ask who it is, but my legs and lips refuse to move.

  And then it’s too late anyway.

  The new arrival rushes toward me too fast for my eyes to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  He stops in front of me, and I recognize the prominent cheekbones on his face—a face contorted into a mask of fury.

  It’s Nero.

  He found me. Must’ve learned where I’d be from my voicemail. But he’s too late. If only—

  “Are you hurt?” he demands. “What happened?”

  Unable to form words, I shake my head.

  Nero doesn’t seem satisfied with my laconic answer. Crouching next to me, he pats me down, as if looking for damage.

  His gaze zeroes in on the puncture wounds on my neck.

  “Who did this?” He sounds like a T-Rex defending his turf.

  My adrenal glands come back to life, giving me the strength to croak out, “Lucretia. She was dead. Then she wasn’t. Gaius made her do that.” I nod toward Kevin’s body and feel a rush of dizziness.

  “I’m taking you home,” Nero states as though from afar.

  If I could speak, I’d warn him about being near me.

  I’d tell him that everyone who gets close to me is in danger.

  That everyone I care about is a target—and that I wouldn’t want him to die.

  That I would not be able to survive it if he were next.

  Strong hands lift me into the air, clasping me against a broad chest, and a clean, woodsy, masculine scent envelops me like a fluffy blanket.

  He carries me out of the building, and as he walks, the heat of his body leaches a tiny portion of my pain away.

  It doesn’t help much, though. There’s an ocean of pain where that came from.

  Distantly, I hear him bark orders into his phone. He wants someone to arrange a proper burial for Kevin, as well as make sure Kevin’s family is secure financially.

  He then places me into the front seat of the limo, and I lose sight of him as he closes the door.

  Without his proximity, the horrible emptiness inside me grows to the size of Jupiter, the pressure behind my eyes impossibly intensifying.

  Could it eventually cause blindness?

  Could my eyes pop out of their sockets, like—

  Nero opens the driver’s side door, gets in, and starts driving.

  “Can you tell me what happened in more detail?” he asks as we stop at a red light. “It might be important.”

  I sit, staring straight ahead as I hug myself.

  I feel as if I might fly apart if I start speaking.

  Eventually, I find the strength to mumble a delirious retelling of events under my breath.

  I must make some sense because Nero’s face is a kaleidoscope of frightening reactions.

  “So maybe the vision was that of Rose’s funeral,” I say unsteadily in conclusion. “Or maybe of Felix’s or Maya’s if I hadn’t saved them. Or maybe Kevin’s. Or maybe someone else will die next. Maybe—”

  I fall silent as we stop.

  I didn’t recognize the surroundings at first, but I do now.

  This is Nero’s swanky building.

  He took me to his home, not mine.

  Before I can process this development, I’m in Nero’s arms again, feeling the soothing effects of his touch.

  It’s especially nice when we get into the elevator, and Nero strokes my back as if I were a cat.

  I shouldn’t think of cats, though, particularly cats that look as miserable as I do.

  Too late.

  I curve into a tighter ball in his arms, my breathing ragged as my mind replays the sight of the poor cat who seemed to understand what had happened to her owner.

  We exit the elevator, and Nero carries me toward his penthouse.

  Once inside, he takes me to the kitchen, sets me on my feet, and cleans the wound on my neck. Next, he unpacks a small Band-Aid and gently applies it to the marks.

  Putting the medical kit away, he frames my face with his large palms, staring into my eyes.

  I can’t help but stare back.

  His limbal rings are record thick today, making the blue-gray of his irises that much more mesmerizing.

  It’s purely an illusion, but I feel like his gaze physically assaults the floodgates blocking my tear ducts.

  I sway forward, as if drawn to him.

  He lowers his hands to my shoulders and pulls me into an embrace, pressing my cheek against his muscular chest as he wraps his arms around me.

  I clutch at his sides, trembling all over as a lump in my throat cuts off my breathing and the pressure behind my eyes grows unbearable.


  “Shhh,” he murmurs. “It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  And as if it were waiting for him to say that, a sob breaks through my knotted throat, and the floodgates burst open.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At first, I cry uncontrollably.

  Nero gently strokes my back and rocks me with every wail, sob, and sniffle—which makes me feel a fraction of a percent better.

  When my voice goes, the sobs turn into hoarse gasps, and I squeeze Nero’s shirt with my last remaining strength.

  He massages my shoulders and whispers reassuring nothings into my ear.

  I don’t know how long we stand there like that, but when I eventually pull away, there’s a large wet spot on his chest.

  Oblivious to it, Nero strides to the chair nearest me, pulls it away from the table, and gestures for me to sit with all the grace of a maître d' at a fancy restaurant.

  I plop my butt down and wipe my face with my sleeve.

  As if in one of my illusions, a glass of water appears in Nero’s hand. He places it in front of me, and I gulp it down.

  Seems like crying and drooling on my boss is quite dehydrating.

  Nero walks up to the gigantic kitchen counter and fusses with the state-of-the-art teakettle sitting there.

  “Drink this too.” He puts a steaming cup in front of me. “It’s lemon balm and chamomile.”

  I gratefully pick up the cup with my icy hands, blow on the top, and take a careful sip.

  “It’s nice,” I say hoarsely. “Thank you.”

  Nodding, Nero heads for the industrial-sized refrigerator and takes out a couple of perfect-looking avocados, a bag of berries, and some leafy greens.

  My phone rings.

  I take it out and catch Nero frowning.

  It’s Felix.

  I pick up to yell at him for leaving the house.

  When I’m done, he yells back at me for going on another rescue mission by myself.

  We make peace quickly, though: he’s home and safe now, and I explain the strict deadline that I was working under.

  “I think you should stay with Nero until we figure out what’s happening,” Felix says. “I can’t think of a safer place for you to be.”