David blushed. “Thank you, sir,” he said in an awestruck whisper. “That means . . . that means more to me than you can imagine.”
“I do mean it.”
“I’ve watched and learned from you, sir.”
“A great compliment. Thank you. Now, enough of this seriousness. Join me for a cognac, and then I must adjourn to my office again, or I’ll be up all night.”
NICO WAS STILL warmed, his spirited lifted, by his conversation with David, when he slipped out of the house much later that night. He’d kept busy in his office, putting together documents for the young butler to find once Nico was gone, writing a list of things to do and people to contact, as well as a letter expressing his affection and appreciation.
He was eager to get back to the rented building and the vampires imprisoned there. He hoped the master vampire would be sufficiently weakened that the desire to live would motivate him to answer questions, as it had Greyson. And if not, there were other ways to motivate him. As for Greyson . . . well, Nico hadn’t decided yet what to do about him. He couldn’t simply release the vampire. Driven by the overpowering need to protect his Sire, he’d either attack straight out, or he’d run to the nest, gather more of his nestmates, and return in force.
The neighborhood was very quiet when he let himself into the building and went directly down the stairs to the basement. He paused outside the last door to do a magical scan of the room beyond, and then expanding outward to the building and the surrounding neighborhood. He didn’t want to mistakenly assume the master was incapable of summoning his blood-drinking creations to rescue him.
Finding nothing suspicious with his scan, Nico opened the door and stepped into the basement, closing and locking the door behind him. He took the time to reset his warding spells before removing his coat, then set his bag on the table. It wasn’t until he brought up a witch light that he caught sight of Greyson lying on the floor. The vampire didn’t look good at all. In fact, if he hadn’t been a vampire, Nico would have thought the man dead—he looked that bad. There was nothing to be done about it, however, since the only solution to his condition was blood, and Nico was done with providing it.
Going to the cabinet instead, he unlocked and opened both doors to discover that the vampire master was also rather diminished, though not on the edge of death, as Greyson was. The master’s eyes, in particular, still burned with a furious flame-bright light that promised a horrible death for his captor once he broke free. Such an escape would never happen, as long as Nico remained alive, but it benefitted him to let the master believe it might.
Once he had the master seated on the other chair, he opened his journal to a fresh page, and made a great show of preparing pen and ink, before using magic to remove the vampire’s gag with a quick flick of his finger. The captive’s eyes widened at that simple display of magic. He didn’t say anything, but just worked his jaw to relieve the stiffness. His gaze wandered to where Greyson lay unmoving.
“He’s dying,” the master said, moving only his eyes to study Nico’s response.
“Is he?”
“He’ll be dead very soon, unless he feeds.”
“Is he one of yours?”
The master turned fully to regard Nico. “He is my child, if that’s what you mean.”
He considered that. “Do you have a name? Greyson’s loyalty kept him from telling me the truth.”
The vampire glanced down at Greyson again, this time with what appeared to be true sorrow. “He was loyal, but he also suffered under certain . . . restrictions as to what he could reveal. You may call me Gauvain.”
Nico ignored the name, more interested in what else he’d revealed. “Are these restrictions magical in nature? Or simply linked to the blood you share?”
“Both, neither. It depends on the master.”
“I see. And will it pain you if he dies?”
The vampire’s pale lips thinned with anger. “I am connected to all my children.”
“That’s not what I asked, vampire. I want to know if you will experience sorrow at this one’s death.”
The hatred in Gauvain’s gaze was so fierce that Nico would have sworn he felt it like fire against his skin.
“I would grieve his death,” the master snarled.
“Surely he is already dead in some sense? His soul has fled.”
“Who told you that?” the vampire scoffed.
Nico fought to conceal his reaction. He didn’t know why he’d assumed vampires had no souls. He’d never been a particularly religious man, but perhaps his recent conversations with the cathedral priest had influenced him more than he’d realized. He wasn’t sure he knew what a soul was, much less who did or didn’t possess one. “You believe he has a soul? And that you, too, possess one?”
Gauvain gave him a pitying look. “All men are born with souls, fool. Do they teach you nothing in whatever barbarian place you come from?”
Nico found himself intrigued by their conversation, and a little amused at the description of his home world as barbaric, when he’d have described this world the same way. “All men are born with souls,” he agreed, “but you are no longer a man.”
“Neither are you, sorcerer. Do you think I can’t recognize magic when I see it? Or feel it,” he added lifting his manacled hands. “No ordinary cuffs could hold me. So, tell me, do you have a soul?”
Nico considered that. “The priest tells me I do.”
“Priests,” Gauvain snorted. “Self-righteous fools, most of them. I cannot speak for you. But for myself and my children . . . yes, we are alive. And we have souls.”
“Do you fear dying, then? For surely you will burn for eternity as penance for the many deaths you’ve dealt.”
“I didn’t ask to be made what I am. I do what I must to survive.”
He was about to respond when the master shot a sharp glance down at Greyson. Nico followed his gaze just in time to see the emaciated vampire shrink alarmingly inward, as if his flesh was collapsing onto his bones. A heartbeat later, Greyson was replaced by a more-or-less body-shaped cloud of dust, and then even that was gone, when the cloud fell to the floor to form a pile far too small to ever have been a full-grown man.
When Nico looked back, Gauvain’s eyes were closed, and a flicker of pain creased his face. “Why?” the vampire ground out.
“Why did he die?”
“Why did he have to die? Why did you kill him?”
Nico experienced an unexpected pang of something close to guilt, which made no sense. Vampires were monsters. He’d seen the effects of their evil in his own world, had felt the agony of his brother Gabriel when he’d begged for the release of death. Here in this world, he himself had been attacked and nearly killed for walking past the wrong alley at the wrong time of day. Why should he feel guilty that one of the creatures who’d attacked him was dead?
“I was attacked,” he said. “And my brother was made one of you against his will. He longed for death after what you did to him.”
Gauvain gave him a quizzical look. “Where are you from?”
“You won’t have heard of it.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“No. How do you feel?”
The vampire frowned. “Did you put these—” he lifted his hands, “—on Greyson?”
Finding the question intriguing, Nico said, “Yes.”
“His death was agonizing, then. He wasn’t strong enough to endure them.”
“But you are?”
Gauvain shrugged, clearly not willing to provide further information about himself, or the vampires he considered his children, vampires he had feelings for. Nico was reluctant to attribute true emotion to the vampire master, but what else was it?
Nico studied him, thinking about the people he loved and the danger they were in. They weren’t connected
to him by anything but emotion. While Gauvain’s “children” had been made with his blood, just as . . . . Fuck no! Nico couldn’t believe he’d almost fallen for that line of thinking. There was a world of difference between human children and the unholy things created when a vampire drained every measure of blood from a living human, and replaced it with his own.
Uneasy with his train of thought, Nico forestalled any further discussion by hustling the vampire master back into the cabinet. He could die there, he thought. Much easier that way. No more talk of souls or regret. He would return the next night to retrieve the manacles, and if necessary, finish off the master vampire. By then, it would be a mercy to grant his death.
He’d already done everything he’d promised the group, taking up the task of devising a better means of capturing and killing vampires. He had that and more now. The details he’d gathered from the master vampire, in addition to the effect of the manacles, should be particularly useful to Vital and the others. He’d turn over everything to Vital before he left, including the design for the manacles. Not the amber manacles themselves, though. He’d created those before he’d ever come to Paris. They were from his world, part of his life that was gone forever, and he wanted to keep them. Vital and the others would have to fabricate their own, and combine their magic to provide enough.
He frowned. His notes were all in his journals, which he definitely didn’t to want to leave behind. But he intended to provide the information they contained to the group. Damn. He considered the number of pages, and the sketches—which suffered from his lack of artistic talent but were still useful—and knew he didn’t have time to make copies himself.
There must be someone in this huge city who performed such tasks, and would do so quickly if paid generously enough. But how to find such a person? David was a fount of information when it came to the household, but this was different.
His banker was the one he needed, he decided. Though the entire matter was inconvenient. He might have to remain in Paris an additional day, or at least a morning. Mentally rearranging his plans to include an early morning visit to his banker, he locked up the basement, sealed the door, and the entire building with a protection spell, and headed home to accomplish what he could before sleep overtook him.
Walking down the empty streets, while considering everything he hoped to do the next day, he reached into his satchel for his journal, wanting to check a note he’d made. He found the journal easily enough, but what he didn’t find had him shoving his hand back into the satchel to search every nook and cranny, while his heart pounded in disbelief. Finding nothing, he proceeded to do the same with every pocket he possessed, even the tiny inside pocket of his pants that the tailor had suggested for such personal items as a gentleman might require when going out for an evening. Nico still didn’t know what the man had been talking about, and didn’t care.
Because he had a much bigger problem. He’d left the damn key to the manacles somewhere in the basement room. It was probably sitting on the fucking table, since he’d been about to question Gauvain and had wanted the key visible for the same reason he’d created the amber key. To torment the prisoner.
Now, he was the one being tormented. Should he go back and retrieve the key? He was already more than halfway home, and it was cold and late. Plus, he wasn’t going to get much sleep as it was. If he went back, he might end up staying awake all night to finish everything. Besides, the building was locked and magically protected, as was the basement door. Gauvain was the only living creature in the building, and he was in no condition to free himself.
He sighed unhappily, but decided not to go back. He’d return before sunset the next night, get the key, dispose of Gauvain, dead or alive, and be done with it. He picked up his pace, wanting to get home to finish what needed doing before he slept.
AT A SCANDALOUSLY early hour the next morning, Nico took a carriage to the bank. The banker was already there, though he was surprised to see anyone knocking on his door. Nico described his need for immediate and discreet copies of his notes. The need for discretion had woken him in the middle of the night, and made him question altogether his decision to copy the journals. But after a restless night, he’d finally cursed himself for a fool. His notes were in the language of his own world, which had no similarities to French. Nothing was the same, not even the alphabet.
His new worry then, had been that the language itself would be a problem. How could one copy a language he didn’t understand? But the banker had taken one look at the notes, and nodded, as if he received similar requests every day of the week. The copies, he’d explained, would be made by men with little to no understanding of French, which was the language they were most often tasked with replicating. Their lack of understanding was a guarantee of discretion, and they were accustomed to copying words that meant nothing to them. Since Nico’s papers were completely indecipherable, there would be no problem at all. The copies would be ready, and the originals returned undamaged by the end of day. And would Nico like them delivered to his home?
He considered the convenience of that, and agreed with one modification. He would have his own driver pick up the documents. The banker agreed, so they negotiated a very high price, which Nico paid in advance. After which, he returned to his home and the many tasks still waiting for him.
The night seemed to sink faster over the city that evening, due to heavy clouds which, he was told, promised snowfall by morning. Nico glanced overhead and quickened his pace, not wanting to return home in the snow. A few flakes wouldn’t matter, but David seemed to believe there would be a lot more than that. Hurrying down the alley behind the building he’d rented, he cast out his magic to unlock the door before he reached it. It was faster than using a physical key along with magic, since magic alone could disable every lock on the building. And since after tonight, he and his captives would both be gone, he’d no longer require any security on the building at all.
His hand flew out once more, using magic to unlock the door to the basement stairs. It creaked open and he shoved it wider, overcome by an unexpected sense of urgency that had him leaping down the stairs. His magic was already flying toward the locked basement door, when he saw that it was open. Changing his spell on the fly, he reached for the open door, and was almost knocked off his feet when a small woman rushed past him, the slender arm that slammed into him as strong and stiff as a battering ram. He sensed the magic powering the arm in time to defend himself if she attacked, but she was already racing up the stairs with inhuman speed.
Nico’s first thought upon seeing her frantic dash through the open door had been to protect her, convinced that Gauvain had gotten loose and lured the woman to him to feed upon. But her speed and the magic powering her attack against him told him he was wrong. She was a vampire, and not an ordinary one.
He’d fucked up.
Racing after her, he reached the upper level in time to see her yank open the door to the alley. He shot his power at her back, in a spell intended to freeze her in place, until he could catch up with her. And it almost worked. She did freeze, but no more than an instant. He was still three strides away, when the spell shattered with the sound of breaking ice, and she ran once more. He followed close after, not understanding how she’d managed to break his spell. He didn’t have time to think on it, however. He had to catch her first. He was bigger, taller, and a sorcerer. He’d have her before she reached the street where it met the alley.
A single length separated them when he reached for her, but despite his own inhuman speed, his fingers only managed to brush her sleeve before she glanced back, and with the manacles raised like a prize and a triumphant grin on her face . . . she vanished, leaving nothing but a trilled “Merci!” on the air to say that she’d ever been there.
Amazed and furious at the same time, Nico raced to look up and down the street, even casting a spell over the entire block, seeking some sign of her, but she w
as gone. Not just gone, but disappeared. He’d felt the touch of a powerful magic when she’d done it.
“What the fuck?” he growled, finally giving up and stalking back to the basement. What kind of creature was she to vanish so fast and thoroughly that he, one of the most powerful sorcerers alive, couldn’t locate her or even a lingering sign that she’d been there? Devastated by the loss of the manacles, and deeply troubled at having been bested by . . . whatever the hell she was, he remained in the alley for a time, casting spell after spell for some trace of her. She was easily the most powerful magic-user he’d encountered in this world, the only one who had enough power to demand a higher level of power than he’d been using so far. He’d become complacent, and it had cost him dearly.
Ultimately, he found nothing useful in the alley, which was no more than expected. He went back inside and down to the basement, where he again found exactly what he expected. There was a mound of vampire dust that had been Gauvain, still so fresh that particles lingered in the air above a pile of recognizable clothing. And an empty space on the table, where he’d so stupidly forgotten the key.
What the hell was the damn woman? Was she another master vampire? If so, she was one hell of a lot stronger than Gauvain. And if she’d killed Gauvain—which seemed likely—how had she known about the key? She might have simply figured it out for herself, or Gauvain may have told her, trusting that she would set him free.
But then, she’d taken the manacles, which were, to all appearances, perfectly ordinary cuffs. Again, either Gauvain had to have told her they were ensorcelled, or she had enough power of her own to sense their unique magic. Whatever she was, Nico would wager his fortune that she was no sorcerer. Her power had a different . . . taste to it.
Abruptly worried about the strange woman, and what she might do next, he abandoned the now empty room, and the building he no longer needed, and hurried home. There was no reason to believe she would attempt to break into his house, no reason to think she even knew where he lived. But he didn’t relax until he opened the back door and slipped into the kitchen, which was still warm from the day’s cooking, and the freshly-baked bread still cooling on the hearth. David was asleep upstairs, and the house was quiet. And the protections and wards on his home were far stronger than those he’d put on the empty building.
The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus Page 26
