Blood Sin (2)

by Marie Treanor

  He said, “That’s the reason I went after him. When I first began to look into the business world, too many roads led back to him. I looked deeper, and the further I went, the less savory his dealings. The vast majority of his wealth comes from oil, pharmaceuticals, and arms. He’s struck deals with some of the most brutal regimes in the world in order to harvest their oil. His companies sell drugs to the poorest countries at prices so huge they’ll never afford enough of them. He supplies arms to governments he professes publicly to despise, and to rebels and terrorists of all persuasions. The latter is not generally known, but it can be found out.”

  “All right, I get you.” She poured coffee into the mugs and sloshed some milk into one before picking it up like a shield. “He’s not a nice man. He has no morals or integrity in his business dealings. He’s hardly the only man in a position of power at whom we could level such accusations! Either now or throughout history! Why pick on him?”

  “Because he’s the biggest. And because I suspect he’s about to take a step that even you will feel compelled to prevent.” Saloman picked up the free mug and lifted it to his lips. It was always fascinating to watch him drink, to see those sensual lips draw liquid into his mouth. She had a sudden, shocking desire to see them fastened on her neck as he drank from her. She could watch in a mirror. . . .

  Involuntarily, her hand flew to her neck and she shivered. Desperately, she drank from her own cup and tried to think instead about what he’d just said.

  “What step? Why should you think he’s not perfectly happy as he is? He has everything he wants, it seems to me.”

  “Not everything. He’ll die.”

  Her gaze lifted again to his. “Why does he want the sword?” she said slowly. “Why does he collect paranormal objects? To find even more power. To make it last.”

  “Exactly. He wants the sword to make him invincible.”

  She caught her breath, staring at him as Mihaela’s e-mailed words came back to her. “If a human is killed by this sword and subsequently turned into a vampire, then this vampire will be stronger than all others. He wants to be a vampire!”

  Saloman said nothing, merely drank his coffee.

  “Would he be stronger than you?” she whispered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. But he does have the kind of forceful personality that would quickly overcome the problems of most fledglings. With that and my sword, he is liable to draw a following that will interfere with my plans. Particularly in America, where I am not yet paramount.”

  “Bringing the war and carnage that the hunters have been waiting for . . .”

  “They must be terribly disappointed,” Saloman mocked.

  “Surprised,” she retorted, picking up her phone from where it lay on the open newspaper. “I need to warn them about this.” She paused, suddenly uncertain. “But this is a huge leap of faith, Saloman. You have no evidence of any of this, except that he wanted the sword from Josh.”

  “Then come to America with me and we’ll find the evidence. And the sword.”

  Her breath caught, and as her gaze flew to his, everything in her yearned to go with him, to work with him.

  But he hadn’t come here for her. She was being used. She said flatly, “You want the hunters to get rid of Dante for you.”

  Saloman gave a beatific smile. “Oh, no. I just want my sword back. You and the vampire hunters can do what you like about Dante. Although I would recommend stopping him before he actually persuades one of my brethren to turn him.”

  Elizabeth pushed back her chair and stood up. “Then go and get your damned sword. Josh’s sword! I’ve got no time to jaunt across the Atlantic.”

  She didn’t want to storm out. She wanted to be dignified, and she succeeded pretty well. Until he said provokingly, “When he’s a vampire, Dante’s going to want the blood of the descendants.” Then she couldn’t help slamming the door.

  Work was slow. It was exam season, so there was little teaching. And since her post was about to expire, there was little point in preparing work for next year. Nevertheless, she made herself stay in the department all day, apart from one foray to the library to return some books. The flat drew her like a magnet, but she wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t go back to see if he was still there, and yet the thought of him sitting in her living room, reading her books, lying on her bed, twisted her insides with excitement.

  She spent most of the day going through her thesis, working out where and how it could be expanded to make a readable but scholarly book. Eventually, she left at five o’clock, turning down the offer of an impromptu departmental drink.

  Her heart seemed to thunder as she walked closer to the flat. She wanted him to be gone, to stop tempting her, and yet she longed for that temptation, even for the chance not to give in to it. Just to see him in her home again, to talk to him, argue with him. She’d thought she was managing all right, moving on with every aspect of her life—until he’d turned up again and made that full, busy life seem empty.

  Just be gone, she prayed, turning her key in the door.

  He was gone.

  Something of his scent lingered in the air, but his presence, the overwhelming knowledge of his nearness, was gone. She couldn’t even hope he was masking—the flat was too small to harbor many hiding places.

  Throwing her jacket on the kitchen chair, Elizabeth glared unseeingly out of the window. The calm she’d fought for and worked so hard to maintain had vanished as if the last six months had never been. He’d come back, churned everything up, and left, and now it was all to be built back up again.

  How often do I need to keep doing this?

  As she breathed deeply, the view of the sea and the beach came back into focus. Turning away from the window, she got a couple of eggs from the fridge. Scrambled eggs on toast would be nice. Wouldn’t they?

  Halfway through beating the eggs, she stopped and reached for her phone, suddenly desperate to hear Mihaela’s voice, as if to remind herself why she needed to keep rejecting Saloman. Besides, she needed to warn her about the possible danger presented to the world by Senator Dante. She found the hunter’s number and pressed connect.

  “Elizabeth.” Mihaela managed to sound both distracted and apologetic, as though she were still working and it had already been a trying day. “Sorry; I haven’t been able to get back into the library today.”

  “I know. You were chasing leads.”

  “I meant to, but in the end we’ve all wasted most of the day quarreling with various American hunters.” Her frustration felt palpable even through the phone.

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked, glad of the distraction and the opportunity to soothe her friend, if she could. She pressed the speakerphone button and laid the handset on the table so she could continue beating her eggs with a little more enthusiasm. “I thought you guys always had the same aims, whatever country you operated in.”

  “Same aims, different means,” Mihaela said ruefully. “There’s been an incident in New York.”

  “What sort of—” Elizabeth began, then broke off as another, more distant voice on the phone spoke Mihaela’s name in a distinctly warning manner. It sounded like Konrad.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mihaela said, muffled, as if she’d turned away from the phone. “It’s only Elizabeth.” Her voice became clearer again. “Big vampire street fight between the locals and an invading horde of West Coast vampires. Two humans died by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another is recovering in hospital, complete with ‘hallucinations.’ ”

  Elizabeth dropped the egg whisk into the sink. “Hallucinations about people tearing at one another with their teeth? And stabbed people exploding into dust?” she said wryly.

  “That kind of thing. There were other witnesses too. The American hunters have had a hell of a job covering this one up.”

  “It isn’t usual, is it?” Elizabeth asked, grabbing a pan out of the cupboard and setting it on the cooker. “To have public fights of that magnitude.”

  �
��Highly unusual. The Americans are, not unnaturally, scared shitless. Frankly, so are we.”

  “But I thought you said things were actually quieter since Saloman took control?” Elizabeth dropped a knob of butter into the pan before turning on the gas.

  Mihaela sighed. “I knew it couldn’t last. I knew it would come to this somewhere, somehow.”

  “What set it off?” Elizabeth asked, watching the butter melt and sizzle.

  “Saloman,” Mihaela said with loathing.

  “But Saloman isn’t—” Saloman isn’t in America. The betraying words that would have begun her confession were drowned out, for Mihaela was talking again. Elizabeth closed her mouth with guilty relief and listened.

  “There’s a rumor that he’s expected in the States any day,” Mihaela said. “I suppose it’s inevitable, since he’s in control of everywhere else. The LA vampires seem to have been trying to get advance kudos with Saloman by defeating Travis for him—Travis leads the New York community that opposes Saloman. Anyhow, no one expected a fight on this scale. The American hunters called us for an update on Saloman’s whereabouts. We passed on your info that he was in Scotland at the weekend.”

  “He still is,” Elizabeth blurted. “Or at least, he was this morning. But I think he might be on his way to America.”

  “How—” Mihaela’s baffled voice began, before Elizabeth interrupted with a hint of desperation.

  “How come you’re quarreling with the Americans?”

  “What? Oh, they don’t seem to get the issue of Saloman. They don’t realize how dangerous he is. And they didn’t like our advice on how to deal with their little vampire war.”

  “What advice?” Realizing the butter was about to burn in the pan, Elizabeth hastily turned down the heat and poured the egg on top of it. At the same time, she stuck a slice of bread in the toaster with her free hand, and reached for a wooden spoon.

  “Eliminate Severin at all costs.”

  “Severin?” Elizabeth hazarded. “Saloman’s supporter in LA?”

  “They won’t do it. For much the same reasons we all tolerate certain vampire leaders. Stability, the devil you know, all that. This is different, and they can’t see that. Severin’s gone rogue, and last night’s fight is just the beginning of the chaos. They’d rather eliminate Travis, for God’s sake.”

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked. “If Travis is against Saloman?”

  “He’s a much more dangerous character, apparently. Severin rarely gave them any trouble before now. And they’re determined to stand by him until something better comes along. Even though we explained that letting Severin survive would increase Saloman’s chances of winning the whole of the United States. And with it, the world.”

  A slightly bitter laugh echoed down the phone. “Sorry to sound melodramatic, but there it is. They’re unlikely to get to Travis; they won’t touch Severin, and in the meantime, battles will rage. God, if I were there, I’d take him out myself.”

  Elizabeth smiled lopsidedly and grabbed the toast as it popped up. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d be in trouble for encroaching on other hunters’ territory.”

  Mihaela sighed. “True.”

  A sudden rustle of commotion sounded through the phone, a quick babble of male voices in which the only word Elizabeth could distinguish clearly was her own name. As she poured the scrambled egg over her toast, Mihaela’s voice said impatiently, “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t ask her to do that. . . . For one thing, she can’t afford to go to America. For another it’s far too bloody dangerous! Besides, I thought we’d agreed not to—”

  Elizabeth picked the phone off the table. “Are you talking about me?”

  “Afraid so,” Mihaela replied, barely veiled anger spilling out of her voice. “Konrad had this bright idea that although we, as hunters, couldn’t go after Severin, you could go to America and do it for us. Unofficially.”

  “Single-handedly?” Elizabeth said, only half amused. “I really don’t think I’m quite up to that.”

  Or is it really that I’m not up to opposing Saloman with more than words?

  “Maybe I could go and take a look, though,” she blurted. “See what’s possible.”

  “Elizabeth—” Mihaela broke off. Elizabeth could hear the rustling of paper through the phone, as if someone had plunked a book in front of Mihaela and was turning the pages. Mihaela swallowed audibly. “Have you got the time and the money?”

  “Sure,” said Elizabeth. “Anyway,” she added, warming to her theme, “isn’t there another descendant over there who wouldn’t speak to the American hunters? A car mechanic?”

  “Rudolph Meyer,” Mihaela said doubtfully. “Descended from the nobleman Ferenc, who joined the conspiracy against Saloman. Maybe you could get through to him. After your success with Josh Alexander—”

  “What success?” Elizabeth demanded. “Josh doesn’t believe a word I say.”

  “Well, you can follow up with him again too,” Konrad’s voice said in the distance.

  Elizabeth laughed. “All right. And maybe you could look into Senator Dante? I’m afraid he’s chasing immortality by any—”

  “Sure,” Mihaela interrupted. “But I don’t like your being in America with no backup. Not if you’re going near Severin . . .” There was a short pause; then she added defiantly, as if someone, perhaps Konrad, were gesticulating at her for silence, “Look, Elizabeth, why don’t you sleep on this? Let us know in the morning.”

  Sleep. She needed to sleep to clear the jumbled thoughts from her head, but she was too restless, too churned up even to manage it. Somewhere, she recognized that at least part of this discomfort was guilt.

  As dusk began to fall, she grabbed her jacket and left the flat, determined to walk or even run on the beach until she was physically exhausted. At least then she’d be able either to sleep or think.

  Sleep would be best, she told herself as she strode off the road and across the soft, powdery sand to get to the damper, harder stuff that was easier for walking. Thinking would bring her back to Saloman and Dante and Josh.

  Josh, her very distant cousin, the megastar whom she barely knew, and yet who already seemed like a real cousin, someone she should look after and protect from the vampire and the vampire wannabe who were closing in on him. And even if they weren’t, she knew he wouldn’t leave the issue of the sword alone. For someone so easygoing he had a very determined streak—a little like her own, she supposed ruefully— that inspired him to hang on to something that’s only value to him was the fact that his beloved father had given it. If Dante didn’t seek him out, then Josh would look for Dante.

  And both of them would be walking into the middle of a vampire war.

  Saloman was going to America to assert his authority and to retrieve the sword. Would that stop Dante? Did she really believe all that stuff Saloman had told her? Some of it was undoubtedly true. She’d read up on it. And Dante’s interest in the occult was self-confessed. It wasn’t proof. But Saloman believed it.

  Alerting the hunters was a cop-out. She knew Josh and Saloman as none of the hunters did, and in spite of everything, when it came down to it, she knew she was the best protection from Saloman that Josh had.

  It was turning into a clear, starry night. The breeze was just enough to blow the hair back from her face rather than blasting her into the sea, as it sometimes seemed to attempt. In the distance a few students were celebrating the end of an exam with a shared bottle. A couple of dog walkers moved like pinpricks across her vision. Elizabeth strode in the opposite direction, wanting no companion but the salty wind and the sound of her own brisk footfalls crunching softly in the sand.

  Gradually, the knots in her stomach unraveled and her mind quieted. There was only the gathering darkness and the winking of stars, the lapping of waves and the smell of sea and salt. In peace, however brief, she let the thought of Saloman fill her until she almost felt his presence by her side, his long, predatory strides shortened to match her own.

  It took sev
eral moments to realize he was there in more than her imagination, and for once she simply accepted without question or fear. In silence, she absorbed his company, with no sense of waiting, and he seemed content to leave it so.

  At last she said, “Dante knows about you. He and his friends knew about the sword. They’d seen pictures in a book.”

  “It’s possible,” he allowed. And for a time, they said nothing more. There was pain in his presence, as there always was, but gladness more than made up for it, because he was here by her side when she’d thought he’d gone. He didn’t touch her, didn’t even take her hand—which was a pity. Ever since she’d first come to St. Andrews as a naive and romantic student, she’d imagined herself walking on the West Sands at dusk, hand in hand with a lover whose face was as vague as his name. It had never happened, and she wouldn’t make the move to let it now.

  Saloman said, “We could leave tomorrow night.”

  She gazed up at the growing number of stars in the sky, as if hoping the right answer would be there. It was as likely as anything else.

  She had little to lose by accompanying him. Her job here was more or less finished. She owed the hunters some research, even some effort to halt Saloman’s seemingly inexorable march toward world domination; and she owed Josh some protection. And if Dante was all Saloman said he was, then perhaps she owed the world some small effort to halt him. If those were the only reasons urging her to go to America, then she’d be on the next plane.

  But more urgent than all of those things was her desire for the man—the vampire—walking silently at her side. If she didn’t want to go with him so much, it would have been easier to say yes.

  “I can’t work out,” she said, “whether I’m perverse, or the world is.”

  “Does it matter?”

  She thought about it. The world mattered. Responsibility mattered. And beside those things, the peace of mind of one not very important woman didn’t really count for much.