“Toby,” Nick said, his voice deepening, “sit down.”
“Yes or no, Nick? Either way, I promise I’ll stay to hear your explanation. Just tell me the truth.”
Nick gazed into his brother’s eyes, measuring his resolve. Then he turned away and looked back out over the city again.
“Yes…it was all real.”
Toby took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. Then he strode over to the table next to Scott and slugged Jeremy in the face as hard as he could, knocking the former terrorist onto the floor. “That’s for trying to kill my brother, you son of a bitch!”
Scott looked at Toby, then at Jeremy who lay on the floor in a daze, and burst out laughing.
“Go, Toby!” Scott smiled. They ignored the other Sentinel as he slowly rose to his feet, righted his chair, and sat back down without saying a word.
“Why is he even here?” Toby directed his question at Scott.
“I wanted to be here for Nick and the rest of you, but I don’t trust Jeremy enough to let him out of my sight,” Scott answered.
“Fine. Keep him away from me.” Toby walked back to one of the tables on the other side of Nick and sat by himself. A moment later, the rest of his family joined him, his sister and his mother wearing identical expressions of apprehension. “Well, we’re all here now, so go ahead,” he told his brother.
Sighing, Nick gazed at the expectant faces of his family. “Did all of you see what happened in Los Angeles?”
They nodded.
“Then you heard what Scott and I said about the war between Sentinels and Nightwalkers, and the peace treaty in North America.”
“We heard it,” said Claire. “We also heard you say that you were one of these Daywalkers.”
“That’s right. I am.”
“You’re a vampire?” asked Faith.
“I’ve been redeemed,” Nick mumbled defensively. “I got my soul back.”
“Does that mean you lost it at some point?” asked Claire.
Nick met her eyes. “Yes.”
“When?” asked Toby. “How long have you been like this?”
“Over six years.”
June 2033; Castle Night, French Alps; Six years earlier
Nick picked his way through the rubble and flaming debris that littered the spiral stone staircase, breathing shallowly to avoid the acrid smoke. The white cloth of his short-sleeved shirt was stained with ash and blood. Reaching out with his mind, he scanned the main keep, starting with the lower levels and slowly working his way up, using a light touch that shouldn’t have been detectable by anyone less than a Third Order telepath.
A number of Triumvirate soldiers were scattered around the intersections of the major corridors, but the castle was so huge he was able to avoid them easily. He didn’t want to answer any awkward questions, and he knew that if he were caught, the Armistice Security forces would pin him down long enough for the Triumvirate to arrive and take charge. The soldiers would only be doing their jobs; he didn’t want to have to kill any of them.
To remain hidden, he kept to the shadows and back corridors, occasionally snuffing out the mystical white flames of the torches as he passed. He ignored the priceless tapestries that adorned the walls, as well as the bronze sculptures and marble statuary Luscian had plundered from every era in human history. His destination was one of the secret escape routes on the fourth level, and to get there he was reading from the map he carried in his mind—the one he had stolen from the vampire lord’s memories. It would lead him to a passage down the mountain and out of the layered jumper blocks Luscian had erected to keep unwanted visitors from teleporting into the fortress. Nick knew Luscian’s master codes to get through them, of course, but if he teleported through the blocks, it would leave a ripple in his wake that could be tracked.
He didn’t want to be followed when he left, nor did he have any desire to deal with the aftermath of the battle. Let the Triumvirate loot the place and burn it down, if they want. They deserve it for exterminating House Luscian. Good riddance. He idly continued his mental scan of the fortress up to the High Tower, where Takeshi had destroyed Luscian’s physical host, and found it to be oddly deserted. Then he realized a single mind waited alone on the upper battlements.
“Hello, Nick.” The unexpected voice boomed in his head.
Cursing to himself, Nick withdrew his psychic probes and tried to remain hidden.
“I know you’re there, Nicholas,” said the psychic voice in amusement.
Nick sighed and extended a tendril of thought out to the mind that had detected him. “Hello, Rory.”
“Come up and join me for a drink. You know where to find me.” Rory broke contact, leaving it up to Nick whether to accept the invitation.
Silently cursing himself for being overconfident in his new abilities, Nick changed course for the staircase up into the High Tower. He hadn’t detected anyone inside, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Plenty of Sentinels in the upper echelons of Armistice Security were strong enough to mask their presence from him. Takeshi was by far the best, and Nick knew that wherever Rory was, Take wouldn’t be far away.
Nick made his way up the tower stairwell to the roof, stepping into the open air for the first time since he arrived. Night was giving way to dawn, the violet sky fading to dark blue as the stars began to wink out in the face of the rising light. However, Nick could instinctively feel that sunrise was still almost an hour away. Looking around, he easily found Rory standing between the crenellations of the chest-high stone wall that ran around the rooftop. He was facing east, toward the rising sun, and wore a long-sleeved black shirt, black pants, and black fingerless gloves. God, he looks so young. He hasn’t aged a day since we first met.
Snow-capped crags reached for the sky all around them and glowed faintly in the reddish light, although they seemed brightly lit to Nick’s enhanced senses. With a grateful breath of crisp mountain air, Nick walked across the cracked, burned stone, his bare feet avoiding the worst of the bloodstains. Rory stood watching the flickering blue flames of three huge bonfires in the courtyard below.
“What are you burning?” Nick asked.
Rory continued to watch the flames, listening to their faint crackling. “The bodies of House Luscian. Once they’re completely consumed, we will commit their ashes to the wind and the sunlight.”
Nick nodded, unsympathetic to the fate of his brethren. “How did you know I was here? I was trying to be careful.”
Rory tapped the side of his head. “Anaba linked to me. She explained what happened after you rose to the third life.”
“Ah. Once a triad, always a triad, I guess.”
Rory’s striking green eyes seemed to glow in the light of the blue flames, which highlighted the dark auburn of his hair. “It’s the first time I’ve felt her thoughts in almost three years. Ana and Take don’t touch my mind much anymore. She only called to tell me you would need an amplified, fixed-point teleport gateway to jump all the way back from Hephaestus Station, and that if Luscian had one operational, it would probably be hidden somewhere in the castle. So I sent everyone away from the High Tower and extended my thoughts to cover the entire complex looking for you.” He paused for a moment. “What did you say to her? She seemed less hostile than usual. If I didn’t know her any better, I’d say she gave me the information as a peace offering.”
“We chatted for a while, once she stopped trying to kill me.” Nick shrugged. “Sorry about the Citadel, by the way.”
Rory laughed. “Yeah, she told me she leveled the place in an attempt to take you out. She’s already making plans to improve her original design when we start rebuilding.”
Nick picked up the open wine bottle from the wall in front of him and poured a generous amount of the crimson liquid into two flutes of Venetian glass that rested next to it, both inscribed with the crest of House Luscian. Inhaling the coppery aroma of fresh blood, he waved his hand to cast a warming cantrip over the two glasses and watched them steam as they rea
ched body temperature. He took one of the glasses. “What shall we drink to?”
Rory claimed the second glass. “To endings and new beginnings.”
Nick clinked his glass against Rory’s, the crystalline chime singing through the early morning air. They both drank, watching the funeral pyres for a few minutes before Nick broke the silence. “This stuff is good. What is it?”
“Tiamat, a brand of bloodwine produced only in Armistice territory.”
“It doesn’t taste like the stuff Luscian drank. It’s stronger, more powerful.”
“Most of the members of the Court of Shadows prefer human blood.”
“This is Sentinel?” Nick raised an eyebrow as he took another sip and rolled the wine over his tongue. “I can only taste the echo of one soul.”
“This is Single Voice. There are lesser varieties, but I wanted nothing but the best for you.”
Nick sighed and put the glass down. “Rory, it’s not your fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?” Rory’s voice tightened with anger. “Luscian went after you because you were my friend—the only human friend I let myself have since Jiao-long turned me. It was selfish of me to get close to you, and it cost you your life. I should have warned you.”
“You couldn’t have told me the truth.” Nick looked out at the lightening sky. “I wouldn’t have believed you without proof. And now I know why you could never give me that.”
Rory regarded his friend curiously. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“It was there in Luscian’s memories. When he attacked, he felt my Gift kindle. That’s why he didn’t kill me immediately. He waited until just before the change was complete before turning me.” He sighed. “Luscian did so love to collect hybrids.”
“And in the meantime, he indulged in a little recreational torture.” Rory’s words were laced with sympathy.
Nick shuddered, but tried to cover it by picking up his glass again and taking another sip. “I try not to think about that.”
Rory turned back to face the bonfires. “I was there at your house as soon as Ana said it was clear. I saw what he did. He left you to rise to the second life alone, in the dark, never knowing what had happened to you or why.”
“I know you were there, Rory. I heard you.”
“What?” Rory blinked. “No, you were dead, Nick. You must have imagined it.”
“You said you were sorry, and that you should have warned me,” whispered Nick. “Then you swore they would all burn for what they had done to me.” He stepped closer to the wall and looked down at the funeral pyres below. “And you kept your word.”
Rory was silent, following Nick’s gaze to the blue flames.
Nick leaned against the crenellated wall. “So, what now?”
“Now?” Rory paused and took a sip of bloodwine. “Now, you can do whatever you want. I can provide you with a supply of Tiamat, unless you want to hunt outside the Armistice Zone or find a willing donor. Daywalkers still need blood periodically, although they can extend the interval by psychic feeding.”
“Hunt?” asked Nick, looking at him quizzically. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
“The Children of the Dawn swear not to kill, except in self-defense, defense of another, or to defend their honor. But they all chose to become what they are and entered the third life willingly. You had it thrust upon you in battle. The rules don’t apply to you, unless you decide to take the oath. You’re a free agent.” Rory looked out at the horizon, where the smoke-filled sky continued to brighten. “It’s already been arranged.”
Nick considered that. “What about the Challenge of Kings? You called Luscian out and now he’s dead, although admittedly you used me as a proxy. Technically, House Luscian owes you a hundred years of service.”
Rory tilted his head and grinned back at Nick, his fangs showing momentarily. “Is that what you want—to swear allegiance to me and become Primogenitor Jiao-long?”
Nick shrugged. “Just stating a fact.”
“No. I won’t make you swear your honor to my service; that is, unless you decide you want to by your own choice.” He drank the last of his wine before setting down his glass. “Besides, are you sure you have the right? You were the most junior scion of Luscian’s bloodline. If any of the others survived, they would have first crack at the job.”
Nick shook his head. “They’re all gone, Rory. I can feel my connection to the bloodline, and it’s empty of any other voices.”
“I guess that makes you Nicholas Magister Luscian by default.” Rory smiled. “Soulkiller’s Bane.”
Nick snorted. “You better not let that name catch on. I have no desire to live up to any kind of legend. I’d just as soon not let the Court of Shadows know that any of Luscian’s scions survived.” He finished his bloodwine, then turned around and leaned his forearms on the stone wall, holding the empty glass as he watched the vermillion sky.
Rory copied him. “So, you’re the last House Luscian vampire in the world.”
“Yup,” Nick said with a nod. “They were a blight on the pages of history. Killing them did the world a favor. No one will miss them, least of all me.”
“What will you do now?”
“Nothing.” Nick stood again, setting his glass down and shrugging nonchalantly. “I just want to go home, back to my life.”
“Your life is over, Nicholas.” Rory stared at him, obviously appalled, then stood again and crossed his arms. “If you return to the life you knew, you’ll only endanger everyone you care about. Your family. Your friends. They’ll all be at risk if you try.”
“You don’t know that,” Nick said in irritation.
“I do know that, and so do you.” His eyes bored into Nick’s. “Luscian killed you before your Gift could give you the race memories that go along with it, so you probably don’t know, but in every generation, the four elemental powers of the Sentinel Gift are concentrated in four individuals, each of whom express one of the elements in its most powerful form. Those four individuals are genetically programmed to be the leaders of the Sentinel race, called the Winds. Takeshi, Anaba, and I are the Winds of Earth, Fire, and Air respectively for this generation. We’ve wondered for years where the Wind of Water has been hiding.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But you know, don’t you, Nick?”
“No,” Nick said in horror, shaking his head. “Oh, God, no. Rory, you’re wrong. You have to be wrong.”
“I’m not wrong, Nick. I knew the second I shook his hand—when you introduced me to Scott at your birthday party. Two powerful latents, linked in a dyad configuration even while dormant. Now that your Gift is awake, his will be primed. He’s probably already on the edge of kindling, just waiting for a spark to start the change. Sooner or later, you’ll drag him down into this world along with you.”
“I won’t let that happen!” Nick shouted.
“No matter what you do, someday it’ll happen. The two of you are at the height of your musical careers, just a few months away from touring worldwide. Were you planning to cancel all of your shows outside the Armistice Zone? How would you explain that to your record label, let alone your bandmate? No matter how careful you are, somewhere along the line, you’ll slip up, and he’ll be exposed. It’s inevitable.”
Nick’s shoulders slumped. “Rory, please, help me.”
“There’s a way you can protect him.” Rory put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “But only if you have the will.”
“How?”
“Walk away.” Rory’s voice hardened. “Let the old Nick Jameson die and find yourself another path. Quit the group and stay away from him. It’s the only way you can keep him safe. But it’s your decision.”
Nick swallowed. Pain and indecision burned in his eyes. Finally, he straightened and his expression grew stony. “Goodbye, Rory.”
“Where are you going?” Rory’s voice was calm.
“Home.”
“When the time comes, try to remember that I offered you a choice.”
Nick
looked at him stolidly, saying nothing before jumping away.
January 2040; The Citadel, Lunar Farside; Five hours after public exposure
Nick’s siblings stared at him incredulously before Faith snapped her head around to look at Scott. “How long have you known?”
“Twenty-thirty-four, near the end of our tour in Europe,” said Scott. “A Nightwalker named Zachariah attacked Nick while we were in London; that kindled my Gift, turning me into a Sentinel.”
“Is that how it works? You said on TV that the Gift becomes active under special circumstances,” Faith said to her brother.
“The Gift is activated by the presence of any Nightwalker who isn’t shielding himself from detection,” Nick explained. “As long as they remain within the Armistice Zone, Nightwalkers are required to shield themselves whenever they’re out in public, to prevent the accidental activation of latent Sentinels.”
“And you just happened to be a latent Sentinel?” Toby asked Scott. “Isn’t that kind of unlikely?”
“Not really. Latents tend to aggregate. They’re subconsciously drawn together into social groupings, based on complementary talents. When they are finally activated, their peer group often becomes a linked team of two to four members.”
“Linked?” asked Faith.
“Sentinel groupings are linked mind to mind,” said Scott. “Members pass thoughts and memories among themselves, maintaining the highest level of communication and teamwork during combat. Once a link is established, it lasts for life, so most Sentinels stick to stable peer groups.” He glanced at Nick, who was standing impassively at the edge of the observation deck. “Sometimes, when a peer group contains one or more very strong members, the link becomes partially active even while the group is dormant. In those cases, the composition of the team becomes fixed, bound together forever. That’s what happened with the two of us.”
“Two?” Toby looked at Nick. “You, too?”
“I would have been a Sentinel if I hadn’t been turned. My circumstances were special, so the link remained even after I was dead.”
Sunset (Pact Arcanum) Page 6
