As Kiko told Natalia about all the hotels they’d hidden in, all the times they’d sat around while Costin had tried to tune in to the night, Dawn recalled how she’d wondered why their boss hadn’t been able to sense this possible London Underground before if these vampires were as careless as they seemed. But now she realized that, based on where Costin was at the time, he was more attuned to that specific area and nowhere else; he had to be in the proximity of a master to feel his effects.
This meant that, back in L.A., he’d probably sensed this most recent blood brother while the vamp was visiting the States. It was the only thing that made sense to them because, soon afterward, Costin had lost the master-level vibrations, only to find them again after picking up a trail that eventually led to London.
“We even spent time over in Ireland,” Kiko was saying, “visiting in and around Dublin, where Stoker spent a lot of his life. Then we went on to his haunts, just to get any insight about what he really knew about vamps. About Dracula, in particular.” He sighed. “Unfortunately—and I’ll quote the guy’s grandnephew, one of his biographers, here—Stoker’s ‘one of the least-known authors of one of the best-known books ever written.’ ”
“And that’s made all the weirder,” Dawn added, “when you consider his cause of death is sketchy.”
Kiko said, “Some sources say he had syphilis. But it does make paranoids like us wonder, don’t it? I mean, he hit a lot of nails on the head with Dracula, so a wild imagination might conjure up the theory that he was punished in some way for saying too much.”
“He did extensive research for the story, so maybe he just tripped over some truths during his studies. Some say that there’s no real basis for Stoker modeling Dracula on Vlad Tepes, but that could be a cover-up.” Dawn shrugged, kind of surprised she knew enough to add to the conversation. “Even though our Underground vamps come from the same source—Vlad Tepes—Stoker could’ve changed or invented details about his vampire. For example, our Hollywood vamps could see themselves in mirrors, but Dracula didn’t cast a reflection.”
“Chances are,” Kiko said, “Stoker was an innocent party in all this. But it was still worth checking out because we know that our individual masters develop different powers anyway. Then blood weakens their offspring from generation to generation—”
Frank interrupted, as if wanting to clear the room of the profound discomfort Tepes invoked.
“It was almost like Stoker was supposed to write a book about vampires in the scheme of things. He was a sickly kid, and his mom entertained him with scary stories. When he recovered, he played in places like cemeteries. Get a trend out of that?”
Dawn wondered what Stoker might’ve picked up among the graves, but she didn’t ask.
“I thought,” Natalia said, “he lived in London.”
“He did.” Frank again. “When he was an adult. He published stories for kids, continued a career in the theater and—”
“After that,” Kiko added, “we got Dracula. And, by the way, the count had quite the connection with animals, just like our schoolgirls.”
Dawn stood, antsy now. She could sense Breisi getting squir relly, too, her essence heading for the door.
“And he got younger as he drank blood,” Dawn added, “kind of like the countess. Guess what else? I read that her legend had a lot of influence on Stoker when he ‘created’ his most famous tale.”
“‘Created,’ ” Frank said, remaining seated. “The Underground vamps probably get a good laugh out of that one.”
Exactly, Dawn thought. The dragon. The guy—whether he was mostly creation or myth—who’d really, truly created Costin and his former blood brothers, then commanded them to form Undergrounds so he might control them after going belowground himself to an undisclosed location until he gathered enough strength to take over the world.
She glanced at Costin, who seemed to be in another place again, at least mentally. The intensity of his thoughts sent a buzz through her. Even if he wasn’t letting her in, she was still so achingly aware.
But it wasn’t hard to guess what he might be thinking. Initially, the dragon had made him into a vampire, too, yet Costin had accepted a deal from a mysterious being to gain back his soul if he could wipe out the dragon and his progeny. That’s when “The Whisper”—the name Costin had given to the force that had made him this offer—had shaped Costin into a Soul Traveler.
A creature with powers that had taken down many an Underground so far.
An idea prodded her.
“Costin?” Dawn said.
She felt him disconnect from his memories as he glanced at her.
“Yes, Dawn.”
She steadied herself in the undertow of his voice. “What if we could get a stronger, more direct read on this new master, if there is one? If you visited the blade room and the schoolgirls’ Orlando Bloom room, all under the ground, you might be able to sense the vibes of this master we’ve been looking for—if one lives near there and hasn’t been shielding.”
Back in L.A., he hadn’t been able to sense Benedikte aboveground because the master vampire had been careful about disguising and blocking himself. But what about now?
“You wouldn’t be blocked by the earth,” she continued. “You’d be right there to clearly feel if an off-guard blood brother is at that location. And I’m not just talking about Jonah going there while he’s in charge of your body. I’m talking about letting you be the dominant one—the one who gets everything firsthand. Then we’d know for sure that we’re dealing with more than just schoolgirl vamps.”
Caution, not fear—never fear, never from Costin, right?—skimmed his expression.
He didn’t want to risk it, she thought. Not when they were still unsure about security for him. Yet how could they be sure unless they made a move?
Damn it, she didn’t want to think he was being overly wary, but ...
Well, wasn’t it worth the risk, especially if Jonah had been right about being able to protect Costin if Jonah’s consciousness pushed Costin’s own essence deep down into their body?
Jonah could get him under the ground, then Costin could take over just long enough to use his senses....
He must’ve seen how Dawn was still doubting his willingness to take a shot, because his jaw clenched, his gaze hardened.
Then he pointed upstairs, toward their bedroom, and she knew it was time to make this a private discussion.
Or maybe he just wanted to feed.
As the team started to disband, Costin told everyone to get sustenance and rest as they required, while he weighed the balance of the day’s events and decided what course to take now.
The room cleared, and Dawn kept her gaze down as she ate her sandwich, sustaining herself for what was to come.
But as she finished up, she realized one person hadn’t left the room yet.
Natalia.
The new girl was holding that notebook in front of her like she was a secretary in secondhand clothing.
Again, Dawn held out her sandwich, offering.
“No, thank you,” Natalia said. “I believe I’ll eat what Eva made in the kitchen.”
“Have at it then.”
Yet she didn’t move.
That’s when Dawn knew it was mentor time. Yay.
“What’s up?” she said.
The great thing about Natalia was that she could be surprisingly straightforward. Dawn really did appreciate that, based on all the secretive crap that defined her life.
“Kiko,” the other girl said. “He ... he told me he was having trouble sleeping today.”
“He’s getting rest now, though, right?”
“Yes, he went upstairs. Through the hallway. With all the Friend portraits ...”
It hit Dawn. Natalia was trying to tell her something more.
“Friends,” Dawn said. “Is he using them to lull him to sleep?”
“I think so.”
Dawn cursed under her breath, or maybe it was above it. From the way Nata
lia hugged her notebook even tighter, it had to have been above it.
“I cannot be certain,” the girl continued, “but I thought you should know.”
Great. Kiko had seemed to be doing well off the meds, but there were always addictions to take another one’s place. Dawn could preach about that.
One hatred for another.
One mission for another.
“I appreciate you telling me,” Dawn finally said.
And ... still, Natalia didn’t leave.
Dawn gave her a too-polite, go-ahead-and-say-it look.
“Kiko and I have had discussions lately, mainly about our skills,” the new girl said. “Improving them. Consulting with spirit guides, perhaps, when we have more time.”
“Let’s cross our fingers that you’ll be available for that real soon.”
“I’m hoping ...” Another pause, but Natalia came out of it sooner than Dawn expected. “When we’re done, I intend to use my abilities to continue solving what the team leaves behind.”
Dawn looked away. At the beginning, when she’d started hunting, it’d seemed so wrong to leave all those victims—bread crumbs on their path to an Underground—behind in favor of pursuing the vampires.
Not so much now.
“Kate Lansing was murdered by the schoolgirls,” Dawn finally said. “Thanks to Della last night and Violet this morning, we know that for sure. Case closed.”
“But the other voices I hear ... Not Kate Lansing’s, because I haven’t been back to her burial site—”
“We can’t go back to Billiter Street.” That’s where Natalia had first heard the victim, the team’s initial lead.
It’s where the hunt had started going down, here in London.
“But I can hear so many others.” Natalia sighed. “They keep coming.”
Dawn tried not to imagine what it must be like, having to control some of what you received as a psychic.
Natalia traced the spiral wire of her notebook. “I want to attempt contact with Briana.”
Oh, God, Dawn thought. Briana Williamson, one of the schoolgirl vamps. She’d gone missing even before the team had come on the scene, and they didn’t know if she’d been terminated or had run away, as the status quo maintained.
When they’d contacted Briana via a Ouija, they hadn’t known if her soul, which the Underground vamps lost during the blood exchange, was in hell or if maybe they were talking to the real vampire girl herself.
Or maybe even something worse.
“Natalia,” Dawn said, her voice sounding deceptively cool. “Tell me you’re not crazy enough to really do this.”
The new girl was shaking her head. “No, not crazy. Not ... yet.”
Dawn fisted her hands, hating that she understood why Natalia needed to do this.
A mission, she thought. A purpose that was taking her over. Dawn could tell right now, just looking at the determination on her teammate’s face.
Dawn leaned forward, hoping her point got across and they wouldn’t have to discuss this again. “Keep any and all Ouija boards away from here, Natalia. You don’t know what you might bring in.”
“I—”
“No.”
Before Natalia could plead her case and break Dawn altogether, Dawn turned away and left the room, heading upstairs to Costin.
Where she would continue her own damned mission.
NINE
THE GOOD OF THE MANY
THE second Dawn got into the bedroom, she began to unbutton her shirt so she could pull the collar away from her neck.
She was in a hurry to get fe—
No, to feed Costin. To supply him with blood.
The light in the restroom was on, so she headed across the floor to it. She couldn’t shake Natalia’s worries about the victims, and maybe working it out right now with Costin might help. She didn’t want to be dwelling on this during the ...
Yes, she’d admit it. During the high that a feeding gave her.
“Costin, I was thinking,” she said. “Your contact in the City police force”—Detective Inspector Norton-“is still working on Kate Lansing’s case. With the Friends keeping their eye on him, we know he’s running into walls with the investigation.”
The good inspector had too much sense to talk to his colleagues about the possibility of something paranormal being the culprit in Kate’s murder, and real-life explanations kept setting him at a dead end in the case.
She added, “Do you think Norton’d be willing to come on board with us? In an unofficial capacity, I mean? He might be a good addition.”
No answer. Just ...
... breathing?
“Costin?”
She came to the bathroom door, finding him braced over the basin, a hand on each side of it as he panted.
She dropped her hands to her sides, her shirt gaping halfway open.
Jonah. He was probably ready to come out, and Costin was wrestling with him. Shit, it always seemed to happen at feeding time, too, where all the biting and rough intimacies that went with it lured Jonah most of all.
An ache clawed through Dawn’s chest, maybe because Costin’s black hair, unfurling over his high cheekbones and full lips as he leaned over the sink, made the vampire into something more like a vulnerable man.
So unlike the arrogant, powerful enigma she’d first met.
She worried about the color of his flesh—he needed to feed soon. Still, it was easy to ignore that when the rest of him was so diverting. Even though his skin tone was pale, its texture was be guilingly smooth, like the pearled marble they’d used to refurbish this bathroom from something old and crumbled into a place with golden handles and etched glass over the shower stall.
He’d been refurbished, too, Dawn thought. Before going vampire, there’d been self-inflicted, crisscrossed scars over his face, thanks to Jonah. But when she’d exchanged blood with them, Jonah’s soul had departed, leaving only his personality.
Then a preternatural healing had taken over, building their body into a room—a shelter—for Costin that came awfully near to perfection. But perfection or not, his body, his room, was a prison—not just for him but for Jonah, too.
Thing was, though, that Jonah loved this vampire body. He wanted to claim it while Costin only wanted out.
Over the sink, he steadied his breathing.
“You okay?” Dawn asked after a moment.
He glanced up, facing his image in the mirror. The Hollywood line of vampires could cast reflections, and sometimes Dawn didn’t know if it was a blessing or curse that he could look at a form that wasn’t really his own.
There was that feral burn in his topaz eyes. Hunger.
It was feeding time, a need that Costin only gave in to because he had to; otherwise, it repelled him and, boy, didn’t that make Dawn feel great, even though she knew it wasn’t really about her. Actually, he thrived on her blood, and that’s why he nipped it time after time while supplementing his diet with the bags.
That’s what she told herself, anyway—that his disdain for feeding had absolutely nothing to do with her technically being his master and his having to submit.
“I’d ask what I can do to help,” she said, “but we’ve been over this before.”
Costin’s voice came out as an abrasion. “He’s the one in charge recently. Jonah. I’m only still speaking with you because he hasn’t taken over just yet. But he’s there, waiting.”
And, last night, she’d been the one who’d made a deal with Jonah: work with him as a teammate and he’d stop causing Costin—and the team—such trouble.
Jonah was only keeping his part of the bargain by giving fair warning that he was en route, and if she wanted to help destroy all the Underground masters efficiently, she’d have to maintain her end, too.
Even Costin knew it was the only way, although he raged against being put in an even more submissive position.
Pushing down a twinge of betrayal, Dawn undid the rest of her shirt buttons. “Let’s feed before your hunge
r gets out of control and it’s a big bloody mess we’re dealing with.”
He was still a relatively new vampire, requiring nightly blood, and if he went without or got too excited about something, she had to restrain him. Add Jonah to the equation, and it’d only be worse.
But a shiver of yearning in the pit of her belly told her that, deep down, she enjoyed the challenge of taming them both. That it did something for her that regular sex never had.
Costin straightened from the sink, jamming a hand through his hair, grabbing at it. Yet then he let go, as if Jonah had backed off for now.
“Talk to me.” The Voice, a rasp. A dignified plea. “Keep me here, Dawn.”
She should say his name—it would help him to stay, she knew—but she’d made a promise to Jonah, and it was a vow that would help the team. Help their mission.
The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. That’s what Costin had told her so often in justification for using her, dangling her as a lure for the Master back in L.A.
But she couldn’t turn her back on Costin so easily.
“Queenshill,” she said. “We were going to talk about Queenshill.”
There. She wasn’t outright defying Jonah by calling Costin’s name to keep him here.
Costin nodded, knowing the thin line she was walking. Seeming to accept it a little more with every passing second.
“You think if I were to go to below the ground there,” he said, his tone defying a tremor beneath it, “it would truly benefit us?”
She grasped one of his hands, his skin so pale and cool. His breath caught, but she thought that might have to do with the scent of her healing gel, which he had a slight aversion to.
The aroma of her need probably got to him more.
“My gut,” she said, “tells me you should go down there. If there’s a master around, you wouldn’t be able to easily detect him aboveground because the soil separates you from where he lives ... or lived.”
The Path of Razors Page 10
