The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I will think on it for a day or two,” he agreed. “I do have much ground still to cover here in Paris.”

  Charron gave a regal nod of agreement, which didn’t exactly encourage Nico to get involved with him. But if he did—and that was far from set—he would be deciding what actions to take against the vampires. The day had never been, and never would be, when he was so weakened that he took orders from one such as Charron.

  “I will bid you good night, now, and be on my way.” Nico gave a bare bow of farewell. “Gentlemen.”

  THE REMAINDER of his trek back to the hotel was blessedly uneventful. It occurred to him when he was two blocks away that Charron probably could have provided a carriage to drive him back. But the convenience wouldn’t have been worth asking Charron for a favor. The man was the type to demand something in return.

  The clerk was absent from the desk when he entered the building, the first such absence since Nico had arrived. Ironically, he’d begun to suspect the man wasn’t fully human, since he never seemed to require sleep or a break of any kind. Tonight, however, another stood in his place, wearing a jacket identical to the clerk’s.

  “Bonsoir. Monsieur Katsaros, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Oui. Bonsoir,” Nico replied, but didn’t stop to chat. He went directly to the stairs and climbed to his suite, where he stripped off his clothes, poured a full glass of cognac, and slid naked beneath the sheets. Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply and took a sip of the lovely alcohol. He had to admit that the French vintners and chefs had taken the art of dining to a higher level than he would have believed possible. Even the food sold by sidewalk vendors tasted far superior to anything from his world. Not even Sotiris’s excellent cook was so skilled.

  “This world is your world now,” a quiet voice in his head reminded him. He wasn’t yet fully resolved to that truth. Nor was he completely certain it was the truth. Maybe he simply didn’t want to believe it.

  Two weeks later, his beliefs no longer mattered. Because events decided for him.

  Chapter Four

  NICO STROLLED along the boulevard, glad for even the weak winter sun after too many weeks of gray skies and snow. He’d been in Paris for nearly two months, and though he’d found no clear sign of any of those he’d lost to Sotiris’s curses, nor for that matter of Sotiris himself, he had moved from the hotel to a townhouse of his own. His search required both magic and the privacy to use it, which had been in short supply at the hotel. He’d taken David with him when he’d left, however, hiring the boy to be his butler. The new position didn’t require much more from the boy than he’d been doing anyway, but the working conditions were better, and the job paid more, too. Nico’s only requirement had been for David to live in, which he’d been more than happy to do. At the townhouse, the new butler had his own room and a bath that was mostly his, though in the event Nico broke from routine and had guests, they would use it, as well.

  Nico, of course, had a private bath and dressing room, as well as a large bedroom suite, and a balcony with a lovely view, when the air and sky were clear. Long before his arrival, the industrial trend had taken firm hold all over Europe, apparently. Nico appreciated the benefits, but he saw the price being paid every day in the toxic clouds darkening the skies, and blackening the buildings. If he’d had a choice, he’d have left Paris for the clean air and empty vistas of the countryside. Unfortunately, his quest demanded he remain. If he was ever going to find his people, or at least some clue as to their location, he had to unravel every element of Sotiris’s spell. And when his brain began to rebel against the complexities of that task, he’d set himself to learning as much as he could about this world. If the spell gave a name or location of the next place he meant to visit, for whatever reason, Nico wanted to have a good sense of where and what that place was.

  After studying the giant globe and other maps in the library, he now knew that this world had several large land masses. Most of these continents, as they were called, had a large number of people living upon them, just as this one did. He’d learned that France was part of the continent of Europe, and that there were several more countries just like it. Multiplying the number of people he saw every day in Paris by his best guess for all of Europe, equaled a staggering population. If that was true of the other continents as well, then his chances of finding his warriors and Antonia were daunting to the point of surrender. Unless he found Sotiris first and scrubbed every bit of knowledge from the bastard’s mind, including the truth about the people Nico loved.

  Whether he found Sotiris or not, however, he would never give up searching for them. He’d have done the same even if loyalty and love weren’t driving him to work harder, to find something, to uncover some small clue for him to follow.

  Today, for example, he’d met with a priest at the great cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris. The man had been more than willing to help, but could offer very little in the way of real information. Nonetheless, he’d given Nico carte blanche to access the cathedral’s records whenever they might aid his research. Nico didn’t know if the church records would help, but it was one more source that he could call on if the need arose.

  He hadn’t, of course, confided his true mission to the priest. Nor had he revealed that he was a sorcerer. Charron’s accusation of devil’s work at their first meeting was ever in the back of Nico’s mind. The sorcerer might have withdrawn the charge, if he’d ever meant it seriously, but the fact that such an accusation would be voiced reminded Nico that not everyone saw sorcery as a gift. He’d come upon records of ordinary men and women being persecuted, tortured, and even killed for not believing in the teachings of the Church of Rome. The simple accusation of such could still land one in prison.

  Nico held no beliefs from his upbringing. If any gods were worshipped, they were ancient and earth-based, or the stuff of mythology, which no one truly believed anymore. In this case, however, his lack of belief was a benefit, since he could take on the mantle of whatever religion the reigning church required, and shed it as easily once he left.

  The priest had listened to Nico’s tale of a lost cousin, and had been more than helpful. And so, Nico was happy to listen to the man in turn and learn what he could of the ruling faith. All knowledge was useful at some point.

  It was the great cathedral that he was returning from, walking, which he preferred to hiring a carriage. He had no fears for his own safety. His sorcerous power was fully restored, despite the diminished level of magic in this world, and the physical demands of walking the sometimes long distances were beneficial to the recovery of his strength and stamina.

  By the time he’d reached the outer edges of the neighborhood where he now lived, the sun was low enough in the sky that long shadows reached across the boulevard to create dark pockets between buildings. Nico shivered at what he thought must be the first touch of a cold night, but hard on that thought was the premonition of something much worse. He lifted his head instinctively, taking in the scent of the street, weeding out the cooking smells and the sewage, the oily murk of the street lanterns, and leaving . . .

  A man was suddenly in front of him, the smooth almost invisible glide of his movements making it seem as if he’d appeared from nowhere. Vampire.

  Nico pulled on his power, readying a defensive spell should the creature think to attack. Or should more of them appear. In his experience, vampires rarely travelled alone.

  “Your purse, if you please,” the vampire purred, his manner so polite that they might have been two friends greeting each other.

  Nico didn’t reach for his purse, which he had no intention of surrendering. Instead, he studied the vampire, curious but unafraid. “I carry no purse,” he lied. It was said that vampires could hear the lie in a man’s words. But Nico wasn’t an ordinary man.

  “Jewelry then,” the vampire snarled, no longer bothering with courtesy.

  He sighed. “I’
m afraid I don’t wear jewelry, either. He looked down at himself, as if searching for some random piece he’d forgotten. He touched the lone gold pin holding his cravat in place. “This is gold, but it’s rather small, I’m afraid.”

  “You think to toy with me human?”

  Nico didn’t answer the question, asking instead, “Who are you?”

  The vampire drew himself to his full height and snarled like a wild animal. “No more lies, scum. You have a purse. Give it to me.”

  He made an offended noise. “I might be new to this city, but even I know that refusing an introduction is terribly impolite.” He touched his chest again and said, “I shall go first. I am Nicholas Katsaros. And you are?”

  The vampire laughed. “Are you a fool? Or do you simply value your life so lightly?”

  “On the contrary. I value my life a great deal, just as I value every citizen of this fine city.”

  The vampire’s eyes flashed red in the growing darkness, and Nico was forcibly reminded of what he’d learned about this world’s vampires. Like those of his world, they could not tolerate sunlight. If exposed for too long, a vampire could easily burn alive. But the stronger the vampire, the more resistance he had to the sun. For this vampire to be not only awake, but preying on humans with the sun not yet fully set, meant he was very strong indeed. Unfortunately, Nico’s consideration of his vampire assailant was cut short, when two more of the creatures slid bonelessly out of the shadows and into the lamplight of the increasingly dark boulevard.

  One of the new vampires spoke to the first one, saying, “We heard your call, Master.”

  The exchange confirmed something that was only a rumor among the magic users Nico had met at Charron’s. The vampires in this world could communicate with their minds alone. He was sure the ability was somehow linked to their shared blood, and speculated that the blood must have some magical aspect to make that possible. His mind automatically wandered to the question of how such a thing had come to be, and how it was continuously passed from one to the other, when they survived by drinking the blood of ordinary humans. Were they the product of some sorcerous spell gone awry? Or were they part of the natural world, just as he was? That seemed more likely, since the trait was shared by vampires in both this world and his own, but—

  His attention was snapped back to the present danger when one of the new vampires leaped forward, teeth bared and fingers crooked like claws, with long, yellowed nails. Nico took a half step back, and glanced around, searching not for assistance, but for witnesses. His only hope of defending himself was his sorcery. But he no more wanted tales spreading about his magic, than he did of a battle with vampires. Seeing no one, he lashed out with a bolt of pure power, shoving the vampire so far and so hard that he flew past his friends and slammed into the alley wall, where he slumped to the ground.

  The others stared in shock for a heartbeat, and then attacked as one. Rage distorted their faces. Lips drew back from wet fangs gleaming yellow in the lantern light, and their eyes burned with red fire. They reached out not to wound, but to grab Nico and drag him deeper into the alley. They worked in concert, one to each side, with the first, stronger, vampire looping an arm around Nico’s neck and squeezing until a regular human would have been choked unconscious. Nico knew they would kill him right there in the alley, not worrying who might see, because they didn’t fear repercussions of society or church.

  He fought with his physical strength alone. He was a big man, and strong. And so he fought, not to spare the lives of the creatures attacking him, but to give himself the room he needed for an experiment of his own. He could have blown them away in an instant if he’d been willing to use magic, but it would have used too much power, and if too many more had arrived, he could be left without sufficient magic to take all of them out.

  Mindful of everything he’d learned from Gabriel, he instead manifested a simple wooden stake, sharpened to a knife point, and stabbed one of the attacking vampires in the heart. But even though he knew the stake was fatal, he still could only stare in horrified intrigue when the vampire froze in an instant of shock, and then crumbled to dust before Nico’s eyes.

  That stunned reaction to the complete disintegration of a living being almost cost him his life when the one he’d slammed into a wall earlier now joined his leader in a renewed attack. With the stake still in his hand, Nico stabbed out instinctively, striking one in the neck, while a reflexive blast of his power set the other’s clothes on fire. The injured vamp yanked the stake from his neck and dropped to the ground, and ignoring the sudden gush of blood, tried to escape down the alley, but Nico didn’t want his existence and abilities shared even among vampires. He reached out with a loop of power and grabbed the fleeing vampire, dragging him back until he was close enough to kill. Grabbing the stake from the ground, he thrust it into the vampire’s gut, and shoved upward into the heart. A moment later, his dust joined the dirt on the ground.

  There was no time to celebrate, however. The leader was still alive and uninjured, and probably summoning more vampires to take Nico down—enough to overcome his magic and kill him. Even worse than death would be if they took him alive and forced their blood into him, making him a vampire. Would his sorcery survive? And if so, would he become the deadly weapon that filled the nightmares of Charron and his magic users? Nico would rather die. He had to kill the leader and escape, before any more vampires arrived to witness his power and identify him to others.

  Summoning every bit of the power left within him, more worried about the present than some possible future, he raised his hands and filled them with the hilts of two magic-driven blades that arced with lightning as fierce as any storm had ever manifested.

  The vampire leader snarled at the sight, but didn’t back down. Bracing himself for attack, he stood knees bent and hands raised in claws before him, his eyes almost yellow with the intensity of the flames that danced there. Nico admired his courage, but wanted him dead. In a move so fast the vampire didn’t see it coming, Nico swung both blades at once, crossing each other as they sliced into opposite sides of the vampire’s neck, and removed his head. When the head tumbled to the ground, it fell into a dust so fine that Nico could see through it to the lantern lights beyond.

  And so he learned another lesson, another weapon to be used against this enemy. A stake through the heart was fatal. But so too, was removing the head. It was a lesson he’d remember to tell his fellow magic users the next afternoon, when he paid a visit to Charron to share the news that he would, after all, be joining their crusade against the vampires of Paris.

  NICO DIDN’T ADVISE Charron in advance of his intention to visit. He could have sent a message. It was the polite thing to do. But he wanted his decision to appear sudden, as if he’d been out walking and thinking, and had suddenly decided to join the crusade. When he knocked on the townhouse door, he presented his card and was told to wait on the front step. Standing outside the closed door, he thought it was a particularly rude manner with which to greet guests, but as he was unexpected, he supposed he couldn’t complain.

  When the door opened again, the butler apologized politely for the delay and invited him inside, gesturing toward the same sitting room where Nico had met Charron previously. The sorcerer was sitting in the same spot, just as unkempt in appearance, though the clothes were different and he was enjoying an afternoon tea, rather than dinner.

  Charron greeted him familiarly, but in a sour tone. “Nicholas.”

  Nico responded in a like manner. “Hadrien.”

  The sorcerer’s mouth tightened in disapproval. Nico didn’t give a fuck. If anyone was due respect here, it was him.

  Charron sipped his tea and asked, “Have you come to petition our assistance?”

  Nico laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Hardly. I’ve come to offer you my assistance.”

  The French sorcerer’s eyes lit with an avarice that he cou
ldn’t conceal, but all he said was, “What makes you think we require anything you can offer?”

  “Let’s not play games. I have more power than all of you put together, and far more experience in true battle, as well. I was attacked by several vampires —”

  A gasp from behind had him turning to find a woman standing there. Garbed in the latest Parisian ladies’ fashion, she was stunningly beautiful, with deep red hair and green eyes that gleamed like emeralds. She was too beautiful, actually—a fact confirmed when Nico slid a scan over her body, looking for magic, and found it. The scan was far too quick for anyone but a sorcerer of his caliber to notice, and he was confident she was unaware he’d done it.

  He nodded to her. “Madame. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

  She held out a graceful hand. “Mademoiselle Violette Bellamy.”

  Bellamy? Was this woman related to his friend Vital Bellamy? Not his wife surely. They didn’t . . . go together somehow. No. And she’d stressed that she was unmarried by correcting his form of address. “Nicholas Katsaros. Un plaisir.” He touched his lips lightly to the offered fingers.

  “Enchanté”

  Yeah, enchanted pretty much summed her up, didn’t it? But he kept the thought to himself, along with the question of her relationship, or not, to Vital.

  “Monsieur Katsaros has come to offer his assistance in our war with the vampires.” The words held a derisive note, as if Nico had nothing to offer, and Charron was only indulging him.

  “Ah.” Violette moved past Nico with a swish of fabric and a wave of some perfume. Sitting on the chair next to Charron’s, she gazed up at him with those artificially emerald eyes, and said, “And do you have anything to offer, Monsieur Katsaros? Your accent is very nearly perfect, but you are not, I think, from Paris. What do you know of fighting vampires?”