“No, Eli. You’re a good soldier.” She got tired of always having to reassure him.
His smile grew bigger, and his eyes seemed to glitter with a look of satisfaction. “You have no idea.”
He was wrong about that. She knew exactly how good a soldier he was. After all, she’d made him and then molded him into a man who would serve at her side without question. She didn’t take on projects that would fail, so yes, she knew. With a sigh, she waved her hand in the air. Eli recognized the gesture and exited without another word. Good boy. He knew her moods, her signals, her unspoken commands. It was one of the reasons he was still at her right hand a hundred and twenty years after she’d noticed him harvesting in a Nebraska cornfield. Even then, with him in dirty work clothes and wearing that awful cap, she’d seen something in the young husband and father that had saved him. She’d realized he had potential, and in the intervening years she’d not been disappointed. He was a rare find, and that’s why she’d brought him into the inner fold. At this point no one would ever guess his roots were common because she had trained him so well he could pass for royal born.
Only the best of the best became part of her group. It had to be that way if they were to achieve their ultimate goal. She had been dreaming of this since the day she’d been turned and was finally going to make it a reality, this latest little complication aside. The annoying writer would be handled as they all were, and then…
Well, then the world would be hers. She closed the folder on the naughty writer and folded her hands on top of it. She breathed in deeply and centered herself in preparation for the night. Serenity filled her, and as it did, a familiar sensation came over her. She was hungry, and from downstairs the hum of voices whispered on the air. That made her smile. God bless Eli. He had such a way with intimate little gatherings. He managed to find just the right people, and Katrina never went away hungry. She wouldn’t now either. Tossing back her long, silky hair, she headed out of her office. She could deal with this latest pain in the ass later.
Tonight, she planned to party and to drink.
She intended to kill.
Chapter Two
Sasha was restless, and it had less to do with celebrating yet another birthday and more to do with what she anticipated: a war. It had been coming for a long time, a very long time, but to know that it would soon be a reality made her buzz with excitement.
She’d been a smart girl right from the beginning, and her parents had nurtured her intelligence. Even given her mother’s nearly all-consuming obsession with her brother, she’d nonetheless made certain Sasha and her sisters were afforded everything their wealth and position could provide. Sasha’s natural intelligence was honed to a fine point by the time…well, by the time everything changed. That early foundation had been critical in the years that were to follow, and she silently thanked her parents every day.
Her mind turned back to the day that was seared into her memory so deeply every detail was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The familiar fury rolled through her. She’d spent the first few decades after her change fixated on what-if scenarios. What if she hadn’t fallen in love? What if she hadn’t trusted the wrong person? What if she’d confided in at least one of her sisters? What if. What if. What if. It had nearly driven her insane. Finally, she let go of that way of thinking and focused instead on the one who had done this to her. It was the image of that face in her mind that continued to incite rage in her soul, and it kept her going year after year, decade after decade. That one would pay, and at long last, the time was nearly upon her. She knew exactly what she was going to do.
In her office, her computer pinged, and Sasha frowned. A glance at the clock and she shook her head. What human would be working at this time of the morning? Yet that ping told her that someone was searching names they shouldn’t be. Someone was digging into a past that could very well lead them to the grave. She’d managed to save a couple of such inquirers through the years, but far more paid for their curiosity. The way things appeared to be going, she might not have the time or energy to help this unfortunate soul. Still, she was curious who had made it past the firewalls and into the inner sanctum.
At her desk, Sasha sank into the chair and opened up the screen. It was amazing what the techs could set up these days. No one could slide through anything without her knowing. It was helpful enough that her company was an international leader in security, both physical and cyber, but those she employed were also at the top of their game. It gave her a reach that was worldwide and infinitely detailed, not to mention fun.
Like now. She was looking at the search history of one Dee Arkin. The name rang vaguely familiar, and it took her a minute to figure out why. Then it hit her, and she shook her head. The author whose face was often on billboards and television commercials had just blown through a carefully constructed security screen. The treasured jewel of the thriller genre, where her strong, female detective hit just the right notes with the male and female reading public, was more than just a storyteller. No doubt that fine touch had made her a multimillionaire. These more-money-than-brains people often caused her problems and had been the same throughout the decades. These people had both time and enough cash to gather information, so that’s what they did. Sometimes they got their hands on material they shouldn’t. That’s when Sasha had to step in and stop them before they were in too deep. The Consortium did not take kindly to humans who meddled in their business.
Most of the time she was successful in diverting the curious, and they went on their way without ever really knowing what had happened. Every once in a while, a person who was like a dog with a bone they wouldn’t let go of had an ending that wasn’t quite as ideal. If Sasha didn’t reach them before the Consortium scouts did, she couldn’t do anything to help. Timing was everything, and on occasion, hers sucked. The task of saving humans from themselves was a job that had no end date. She tried not to care. It didn’t work.
Her search pulled up a photograph of a woman with a pretty face and a stylish short hairdo with bright-blue streaks. Sasha shook her head. Why anyone would want to look like that, she didn’t know. It made her stand out and be noticed, and as she thought about it, she realized that was probably why. Dee Arkin obviously wanted to stand out and be noticed, which was one hundred and eighty degrees from what Sasha wanted. She liked to stay out of the spotlight. Actually, that wasn’t quite correct. She needed to stay out of sight, period.
When someone lived as long as she had, it was imperative to play games of smoke and mirrors. No one could really know she was the same person who had started the company in 1923 and was still at the helm in the twenty-first century. As far as the outside world was aware, her great-grandfather had started it, and she, of course, had posed as him because no one in the early twentieth century would take a woman seriously. From her supposed great-grandfather, the company had been passed along until she became the most recent of the Rudin family to run the company. The “family’s” skill in their trade was legendary, and no one else had ever been able to duplicate their results.
Of course, no one ever knew the true secret of her success and, by default, her company’s. When a company was founded by a vampire, run by a vampire, and employed the services of other vampires, well, it was bound to be successful. Immortality had its distinct advantages. Through much patience it yielded success both in terms of finances and revenge. She’d been enjoying the financial side for nearly a century. Now it was time to revel in revenge. It was coming; she could feel it.
Sasha got up and left her computer. She began to pace as she thought through the best way to deal with the writer, stopping when she reached the glass cabinet displaying many wondrous things she’d collected over the years. She opened the door and picked up the birthday present she’d purchased for herself and which had arrived by armed escort an hour earlier.
Thoughts of the problem writer disappeared as tears filled her eyes. Memories flooded her mind as she recalled the day in 1902 when Papa ha
d gifted the blue and gold Imperial Egg to Grandmama. He’d had it made especially for his mother as an Easter gift, and she’d been delighted. To hold it now after so many years was a miracle. She ran a finger across the delicate gold work and smiled. Papa would be proud of her persistence and focus. Since it had been listed as one of the lost eggs, it had taken decades to track it down and much persuasion before the private collector had been willing to part with it. She didn’t mind twisting arms, literally and figuratively, when necessary. Much of what had belonged to her family had been stolen. Some had been recovered and was now on display in museums around the world. Her goal for years had been to find the rest, those pieces like this egg that were listed as lost. She was taking back what was rightfully hers. If those private collectors cared to be reasonable, fine. If not, then she did what she had to.
Her attention was drawn away from the egg as she noticed a change outside her window. Carefully she returned it to the cabinet and walked to the doors leading out to a balcony off her office. She stepped outside and studied what moments before had been a clear night. Now a cool mist rolled toward her like a storm coming off the ocean. However, she was hundreds of miles away from the Pacific Ocean and three stories off the ground.
Closing her eyes, Sasha breathed in deeply, willing the sudden tension in her body to ease. Memories of the family and life long past faded as she centered herself in this moment. Her senses tingled in a way she hadn’t experienced in decades, and the alarm normally brought on by the sight of such a mist eased. It had been a very long time since she’d witnessed the mist or any of the visitors it heralded. “Why are you here?”
From the murky depths a woman floated out, her features coming into focus as she moved closer to Sasha. She was tall, with pale hair and sky-blue eyes, the blue so alluring it had broken more than one heart. She walked with the grace of a dancer, which wasn’t surprising considering she had once commanded the stage as a prima ballerina. She had lost none of the magic of body movement that had made her a star throughout the world. “He sent me to bring you a message.”
The rat bastard. He knew that now, of all times, they couldn’t take the risk. “I don’t need you.”
“Really? That’s how it’s going to be?”
“I don’t need you.”
Celine Hauer stepped close. She still smelled of flowers and sunshine, just as she had the first time Sasha had seen her on a summer night in Paris where she’d been a dancing vision in toe shoes and chiffon. That had been more than fifty years ago, and many things had changed. Now Celine wore leather pants, heeled boots, and a form-fitting shirt. The softness that had appealed to Sasha when they’d met was no longer evident. Neither was the flicker of emotional attraction that had kept them together for a decade. It had died right along with the softness. It was the second time she’d been seduced by words of love, only to discover the words were as hollow as the woman who spoke them.
“They’re going to come for you.”
Not such big news there. She’d been waiting for them or others like them for pretty much her entire life. “Tell me something I don’t know. Something, oh, I don’t know, useful?”
Celine’s eyes darkened. “You don’t understand. You never did. They’re more powerful than you can imagine, and they will kill you. They will kill anyone who doesn’t go along. She’s leading them, and she will not stop until everyone kneels in front of her. She wants you, more than anyone, on your knees.”
Celine was wrong. She could imagine how powerful they were. Their mistake was going to be underestimating her. Her mistake was to think she was the same young woman she’d been a hundred years ago. “I’ll never bow to them. I will never kneel to her.”
“Then you’ll die.”
Sasha squared her shoulders and locked eyes with Celine. “So bring flowers to my grave. Try to push out a tear or two. Make it look like you care.”
Celine closed her eyes and shook her head. “Why? Things could be so different if only you would listen. Why won’t you do the right thing? I’ve never truly understood why.”
“You don’t need to understand. Please, Celine, just go.”
“Let me help.” She almost sounded sincere. Sasha wasn’t fool enough to fall for it a second time.
It was her turn to shake her head. “I don’t need the kind of help you bring, and as long as you stand with them, you can’t do a damn thing for me.”
“I…”
“Please, just go.”
This time Celine dipped her head and backed away until the shadows swallowed her. She wasn’t sorry to see her go.
Sasha stood watching as the mist that had accompanied Celine disappeared, replaced by a curtain of darkness and a fresh breeze. A chilling thought raced through her mind as she lingered there, and she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She had someone on the inside, and for him to approach Celine, he had to think things were going south in a hurry.
She hit Rodney’s name on the contacts list and listened to the ring. He picked up on the third ring. “How close are they?”
***
Dee stared at the words and felt ice slide down her back. Threats weren’t all that unheard of in her line of business. One of the things she’d learned after becoming successful was how some people fixate on authors. Look at what happened to Stephen King. His wife found some weirdo fan standing in the kitchen of their home. Other big names had similar stories. She’d gotten some very disturbing mail herself, and it wasn’t anything she’d care to call fan mail because it was too creepy. She didn’t want that kind of fan, and she sure didn’t want to find anyone standing in her kitchen.
Maybe that’s all this was now, except she couldn’t quite wrap her head around that idea. All along, this project had felt different, and at the moment even more so. Whoever had sent the message might think they knew her, but they didn’t. If they thought they were going to scare her, they were mistaken. If they thought the note would make her stop, wrong again. She was more determined than ever to forge ahead.
The only thing she’d done different lately was to get into serious research on Katrina and Imre. Leave it alone? Not going to happen. She refused to quit until she figured out exactly what their story meant and why someone would try to scare her off. Something was buried beneath the pictures and the names, and she wanted to know what it was. Besides sating her curiosity, it was bound to give her tons of material for her new book. The answer to the reason behind the threat had to be there as well. Energy surged through her despite the late or, rather, early hour. Midnight was long gone, and she wasn’t even remotely tired.
Kicked back in her office chair, she stared at the results from her latest search. The more she pondered where to take it next, the more she wanted to call her best friend, Prima Moon. She’d so dig this latest twist and could probably give her some great insight. Prima was a real-deal psychic. People could be as skeptical as they wanted, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing. She’d seen it up close and personal since she was a kid, and Prima was as genuine as it got.
It would be very cool if Prima could put her hands on the computer right now and give her a feel for the message. She would likely say it wasn’t really her thing, but Dee was so convinced of her super powers that she figured Prima could pick up something just from the printed words. Of course, she could see the look on Prima’s face about the time she asked her to give her something otherworldly off the computer. She’d roll her eyes and tell Dee to get out. And then she’d tell her something amazing. She always did.
Dee picked up her cell phone and stared at it. The time on the display showed 3:15. No, she wouldn’t call. That would be all kinds of rude. The polite thing to do would be to wait until morning. Nothing here was critical enough for her to pull Prima out of bed. Yes, she’d call her in the morning. Then she hit her speed dial and let it ring. Her fingers tapping on the desk, she listened and waited.
“Really? Three in the flipping morning.”
“Quarter after three, actually.”
Dee smiled. Prima was the only person she knew who’d make a joke when she was awakened in the middle of the night. Most people would assume the worst, and maybe if it had been anybody but Dee, she might have. They’d known each other a long time, and it would take a lot to surprise either one of them. It also wasn’t the first time she’d called her in the wee hours.
“What’s up?” She could hear the resignation in her voice. Prima knew that she was going to tell her something that would banish sleep for her, just as it was doing for Dee.
“I need you.”
“Nice to be needed, but better to be needed after eight.”
“We night owls need you at all times, not just banker’s hours.”
Prima laughed. “You are such a weirdo.”
“My fans would be shocked to hear you say that. I prefer to classify myself as an eccentric writer.”
“Indeed. Well, let your fans be subjected to your insomnia for a few decades, and we’ll see if they still think you’re a cute, eccentric writer or if they side with me on weirdo.”
“See. You think I’m cute.”
“You’re a pain.”
“Details. Details. I’ll make you a latte.” She had a fancy-dancy machine in her kitchen that made killer espresso. The perks of making a nicer-than-average living were nicer-than-average toys.
“This better be good.”
“The latte?”
“Well, yeah, that too. But whatever has you scared, it better be good.”
“Who says I’m scared?”
“And who do you think you’re trying to bullshit?”
It was kind of dumb on her part to think she could bluff a psychic. “Touché.”
“I’ll be there in forty-five. Make sure that latte is hot and ready.”
Dee ended the call and headed to the kitchen, where the espresso machine waited to perform its magic on dark roast, water, and milk. She had her orders.
***
Drawing Down the Mist Page 3
