Rennata swallowed and exhaled a shuddering breath.
An angry mix of satisfaction and disappointment welled inside Tatiana as she twisted to face the madam. ‘The girl is dead then.’
‘So it appears.’ Rennata rubbed a knuckle against the corner of her eye.
The need for sleep pulled at the edges of Tatiana’s consciousness. Time to wrap this up before she went comatose where she stood. ‘Does the girl have any living family?’
‘We are all her family. No comarré knows her birth parents.’
Tatiana’s brow wrinkled as she fought the creeping fog of daysleep. ‘I am certain there was someone. A sister … or an aunt, perhaps … ’
‘Every comar and comarré of her age is a sibling. Every older comarré her aunt, every older comar her uncle.’
Tatiana’s frustration grew. ‘There was one. No longer with you.’
‘Not that we remember.’
‘Ah, yes, I forgot you have your own sort of anathema. Those who leave are never spoken of again, isn’t that right?’ She waved her hand through the air. ‘Stricken from all records, that sort of thing? While I completely understand the need to remove the weaker members of your family, this is vital information. I’m sure the council will find a way to get it out of you.’
Rennata’s jaw tightened for a split second. ‘There was an aunt. All record of her has been destroyed.’
Tatiana couldn’t help but smile at how easy that had been. ‘Very well. Lead me out. I’m ready to go.’ She’d have to send word to the Nothos, redirect them to search for the ring. They might balk at being used as a lost-and-found service, but not for long if they valued their undead lives.
When they reached the great hall, Tatiana strode past Rennata, stopping only at the front door. She stabbed a warning finger toward the woman. ‘Don’t touch that room. The council will undoubtedly wish to inspect it as well. Her death doesn’t make her innocent, only dead.’
Rennata bowed her head. ‘Yes, mistress.’
Tatiana pulled up her hood and slid her sunglasses into place before charging out and slamming the door. She skidded to a halt on the shaded side of the portico. Her driver was already out and rushing toward her, umbrella at the ready to shield her from the sun’s killing rays.
‘Home, mistress?’ He lifted the broad stretch of silk above her as she stepped off the portico toward the car.
Secure in a wide circle of shadow, she nodded, too exhausted to say anything. Staying awake this long had been draining but very worthwhile. Her hand found the locket around her neck, her fingers smoothing across the single ruby on the locket’s front. The original was gone, this one the closest replica she’d been able to find.
Painful memories kept her focused. She kissed the locket and tucked it away. Things were going to be much easier once the ring was hers.
That fool girl. Rennata slumped onto one of the window-front settees, peering through the sheers until Tatiana’s car wheeled away from the house and down the tree-lined drive. Finally. She stood, shoved her cane into the umbrella stand, and strode back to the great room. She clapped her hands. A trio of comarré came forth out of the shadows.
‘Put a few of Chrysabelle’s oldest robes in the closet of that spare room, perhaps add a few insignificant personal items to the dresser drawers, a book, a drawing, that sort of thing. If the council comes, they will inspect more thoroughly. The crest and slippers alone will not convince them.’
Saraphina nodded. ‘What of her suite?’
‘Leave it be. No one but us can touch it anyway.’
‘Yes, Madame.’ Saraphina and the other two bowed and headed off to the work at hand.
‘Jessika.’
The girl stopped. ‘Yes, Madame?’
‘Fetch me paper and pen and find me a messenger going to the Americas.’ Times like this she wished the comarré ignored the nobility’s edict that banned modern technology. She had to get word to Maris immediately. Tatiana’s history in dealing with those who crossed her was dark and bloody. Maris would understand. Chrysabelle could not be allowed to damage everything they’d worked so hard to establish. Maris had done the right thing once. Certainly she could be counted on to do it again.
Chapter Three
Hesitating at the door to her aunt’s house, Chrysabelle checked over her shoulder. Nothing moved but the water bubbling from the three-tiered fountain at the center of the circular drive. Satisfied she hadn’t been followed, she punched in the alarm code to unlock the entry.
The cab had dropped her off two blocks from the bridge into the private gated community of Mephisto Island, then she’d run the rest of the way, swimming the canal beneath the guardhouse and scaling the perimeter wall surrounding her aunt’s estate without incident. Ever since the occurrence at the hellhole otherwise known as Puncture, it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.
If she never set foot in Paradise City again, that was fine with her. For a town with such a lovely name, that place was remarkably deficient in anything close to perfect bliss.
The door slid open. She zipped in and punched the button to lock it again. Must be after 2 a.m. Hopefully, she wouldn’t wake her aunt—
‘You’re all wet!’ Maris’s iBot wheelchair was in balance mode, putting her at eye level.
Chrysabelle jumped, her heart thudding. ‘I swam the canal.’
Maris’s brows rose.
‘Don’t look at me that way. I’ll do what I see fit to keep you safe. Anyway, I was trying to be quiet.’
‘You were, love. Sorry to startle you.’ Maris grinned. Velimai, her aunt’s assistant, wavered behind her. Velimai was a wysper fae. Wavering was the closest she came to standing still unless she was in solid form.
Chrysabelle sighed. ‘But I still woke you and Velimai.’ Velimai signed yes.
Maris patted her side. ‘No, it’s this damn hip. Velimai, go on back to bed.’
Velimai signed good night and vanished into mist. Chrysabelle restrained a shudder. Wyspers were unstable creatures at best. The fae breed was small and wiry when not ethereal, light as a breeze and destructive as a hurricane. They could vocalize sounds but had no speech. Their screams were fatal to vampires, and clearly the reason her aunt employed one.
With the slightest twist of her upper body, Maris turned her iBot toward the kitchen. ‘Come on, you can tell me what happened over a cup of tea.’
‘Tea would be good.’ Chrysabelle kicked off her wet shoes and hung up her damp brocade jacket, then followed, her bare feet padding softly on the wood floors.
Maris flipped on the light. ‘I’ll put some whiskey in it.’
‘Maris, you know I can’t partake.’
‘You’re not bound by those rules anymore, my darling.’
‘Yes, I know, but adjusting to that will take some time.’ Just like not calling every vampire she ran into mistress or master. Not that she hoped to be running into any more. Chrysabelle went to sit, then thought better of it. ‘I’ll get the kettle.’
Maris waved her off. ‘Have a seat. This kitchen is set up for me, you’d just get in my way.’ She winked, then looked at her niece a little harder. ‘Didn’t go that well, I take it?’
Chrysabelle sank into a chair and leaned her arms on the table. ‘The man you sent me to talk to wasn’t there.’
Maris sighed as she took out two cups. ‘Jonas always has been a tricky one. You’ll have to go back tomorrow.’
‘No. I mean, I can’t. They … might have found me. I need to gather my things and go somewhere else.’
‘Already?’ Fear flickered over her aunt’s face for a brief moment, then vanished, hidden by a mask of determination just as her signum were hidden under a layer of foundation. ‘Don’t go yet. I’ll call Jonas. Make one more attempt. I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but I can’t see another way.’
‘He’s kine – I mean, human. I don’t know how you think he can help.’ Human and he employed a remnant, Nyssa. Her hybrid of wysper and shadeux fae had apparently rend
ered her mute. In the world of vampire nobility, remnants didn’t even register.
Maris tsked. ‘Jonas is a tremendous resource. You’ll see.’
Chrysabelle sighed. ‘I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.’
‘My darling girl, you worry for nothing. I can take care of myself and you.’ Maris added a scoop of loose tea to the teapot, put the pot and a sterling silver flask of single malt on a tray with the cups, and wheeled it to the table. ‘You should know that this house is as secure as money can buy, and thanks to my time at Primoris Domus and my talent for turning some of those comarré secrets into Lapointe Cosmetics, that’s an ungodly sum of money.’
Chrysabelle stretched out her hands, studying the backs of them – or rather the Lapointe foundation that still covered them. ‘That makeup certainly did the trick.’
Maris headed back for the whistling kettle. ‘Sometimes there are things about a woman best kept secret.’
‘Do you ever not cover yours?’
‘No. Never. I’ve put that life behind me. I don’t need to be reminded of it every time I look in the mirror.’
‘Sorry, I—’
Maris laughed softly. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound sharp. I just … I just don’t care to see them is all.’
Chrysabelle understood, a little. She knew Maris’s exit from comarré life had not been an easy one, knew that she’d chosen libertas, the comarré ritual of fighting for one’s freedom, but not the reason why Maris had nearly sacrificed her life to leave behind everything she’d ever known. Perhaps, like Chrysabelle, Maris had simply wanted more than a life of servitude. That was enough, wasn’t it?
They had their tea and chatted about the night’s events. Mostly about the human world and the club patrons’ desire to mimic vampires. Chrysabelle glossed over the vampire she’d stabbed, saying instead that she’d ducked out unnoticed when she’d seen him. She claimed he’d been fringe too, not the possible Nothos she’d encountered masquerading as nobility. Her aunt’s claims of security aside, Chrysabelle saw no reason to put Maris at unnecessary risk, especially if the hellhounds were already on Chrysabelle’s trail.
When they turned in, she resolved to give her aunt’s connection one more try, but after that she would move on, go underground if she could, and truly disappear until it was safe to return. Maris had been through enough in her life. She shouldn’t have to suffer through her niece’s troubles as well.
The next two nights, Chrysabelle barely slept. Every tick of the house, every breeze that sighed over the roof, every imagined footstep woke her. And every time she woke, she saw the face of the vampire she’d stabbed. The surprise in his dark, silvered eyes when her blade connected. The haunting look of disbelief. The pain – more than she’d expected, as if he carried it constantly within him. But worst of all, the hunger. That she’d not only seen, but felt the moment he’d laid his cold hand over her wrist.
He’d been five, maybe six nights without feeding. She hadn’t been comarré this long without learning to read temperatures. He’d probably planned to drink her dry, then take her body back to the council as proof. She should have killed him, but another death attributed to her would not help her cause.
And there was something about him that seemed broken. Not the way she’d imagined a Nothos at all. Nor had she ever imagined one of the Nothos to be so … so … magnetic. In the tales she’d heard, they were savage mutants, not the creature she’d met. She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she really just felt a minute hint of attraction to the monster that would have killed her? Maybe it was one of his powers. Just like the way he had changed his scent to portray himself as nobility. She breathed out. Yes, that was much easier to believe. Pretend he was Nothos. Lay the blame with him, not her fragile mind.
Light filtered in beneath the heavy drapes. Enough feigning sleep. She rose, donned her white cotton gi, and padded out to the balcony to begin her morning exercises. The sun glinted off the blue-green water of the bay. So peaceful, so beautiful. She pushed through each form, holding, tensing, feeling the strength in her muscles and taking comfort in her years of training. Slow and easy, but strong and exact. Now more than ever she needed the calm and center the movement brought to shut out the reality slicing toward her like an executioner’s blade.
Energized and sweaty, she showered, dressed in her usual white tunic and pants, and went out to start some coffee.
The rich aroma greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Her aunt had beaten her to it for the first time in three days.
Velimai’s diminutive form flitted about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Maris set her e-reader down. ‘You’re up early. I figured you were still programmed to nights.’
‘I am. Mostly. I didn’t sleep well. Again. Finally decided to stop fighting it and get up. How about you? I haven’t seen you up this early either.’
‘A late night turned to an early morning. I haven’t been to bed yet, but I was able to finally contact Jonas. He knows of someone who can help you.’ Maris pushed a piece of paper across the table. On it were an address and a few instructions. ‘Go to this location at any time during daylight, but not within an hour of sunset. Tell him Jonas sent you.’
‘Any time during daylight sounds good to me. I’ll go this afternoon.’ She took the slip. If this didn’t work, she wouldn’t be coming back here. ‘Maybe we could have lunch together first?’
Maris narrowed her gaze and smiled gently. ‘You’re making plans.’
Chrysabelle turned away to get coffee and hide her face. Maris was too perceptive. Farther down the counter, Velimai sliced cantaloupe as rapidly as a machine. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have. It’s a wonder there hasn’t been some sort of movement already. How do you know your source won’t give me up?’
‘For one thing, he doesn’t know any details, just that you need help. And for another, he’s left the city. I don’t know where he’s gone, but I wired him enough money to ensure it was far away. You’re safe, my darling, I swear it. And I insist you stay here with me.’ Her aunt sniffed.
A twirl of a spoon and Chrysabelle returned to the table. Her aunt’s eyes glistened with moisture.
‘I need you, Chrysabelle. I’m an old woman. I’m tired of being alone.’
Chrysabelle nodded toward Velimai. ‘You’re not alone. And you’re not that old.’
‘You’re my family. Please, as long as there is no immediate danger, stay.’ She reached across the table and clasped her hand over Chrysabelle’s. The pulse that beat beneath the hidden signum was strong, the skin firm, the joints smooth. Maris might consider herself an old woman, but by human standards she looked barely middle-aged. Granted, she was paralyzed from the waist down, but she’d been willing to pay that price for her freedom. Velimai set a crystal bowl of fruit salad on the table, along with smaller dishes of organic yogurt. Life here was good, luxurious to a fault, thanks to her aunt’s impressive cosmetics fortune.
‘I’ll stay. But if anything happens, anything that makes me think I’ve brought danger to your doorstep, I’m gone.’
Maris patted her hand. ‘Nothing will happen. You’ll see.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Although she wasn’t. Not at all. Nothing had seemed safe since that night.
Velimai signed something Chrysabelle didn’t quite catch. Maris nodded and the wysper left.
Maris turned back and stroked her thumb over Chrysabelle’s wrist. ‘Are you … taking care of yourself? Without a patron, the buildup can make you sick.’
Chrysabelle nodded, her thumb worrying the band on her right middle finger. A twist to the side and a flip of the tiny mechanism released a hidden blade sharp enough to open a vein. ‘I drained once in Paris. I feel fine, but I’ll probably do it again tonight when I get back.’ Or wherever she ended up.
Maris patted her hand again. ‘Forgive me for mothering you, I can’t help myself.’
‘It’s okay. It’s kind of nice, actually.’
&n
bsp; After a long breakfast, she packed a few things and dropped the bag out the window. Later, she’d skirt around and pick it up. Having a backup plan was never a bad idea.
She tried to read for a while but concentration eluded her. Finally, she excused herself to get ready. Back in her room, she strapped on her carved bone wrist daggers, then tucked a different blade into the sheath on her waistband. If only she had her sacre, but hiding a sword was a little trickier.
Saying good-bye to Maris without tearing up was difficult. Hopefully, the person Chrysabelle was going to meet would help her prove her innocence. Then her new life could truly begin and she could keep the only family she had.
She took a cab into the city, then walked a block over and up to a new street. There she hailed another cab to her final destination, satisfied she’d left no easy trail.
The cab wound through the marine district, past the small portion of the port still in use and into the depths of the shipyard where weeds sprang from the sunbaked concrete and warehouse doors hung off hinges. Finally, the driver stopped in front of a docked freighter that looked as though it hadn’t been to sea since the End War. Rust spotted the sides like a rash. Debris-free solar tiles sparkled on the main deck, the only indication the ship was in use. She checked the slip of paper.
‘Are you sure this is the place?’
‘That’s the address you gave me, sweetheart. You change your mind? Couldn’t say I blame you, the docks are no place for a woman like you. Nothing but skeletons and bad news down here.’
‘No, I haven’t changed my mind.’ Although she’d begun to have questions. ‘I will pay you to stay here and wait for me though.’
‘I hope you got deep pockets, ’cause I charge extra for ghost towns like this. Plus, I only got about three hours of running time after the solar juice disappears. You ain’t back before then, I’m gone.’ He buzzed the window down, turned the vehicle off, and fished a cigar nub out of his pocket.
‘Understood.’ Not really, but this was no time for a lesson in alternate fuels.
Blood Rights (House of Comarre 1) Page 3
