by Lisa Olsen
“You refuse me?” Jakob’s brows first came up in surprise before knitting together dangerously. “I could happily relieve you of your other concerns.”
“You want to fire me?” Bishop’s hands came up in surrender. “Go ahead. But good luck finding someone who’s as devoted to toeing the new company line. Most of the vampires with enough experience to be head of the Order won’t stop until they’ve seized back all the power we’ve given up and more. There are already rumblings among the ranks…”
Jakob waved his concerns away. “Let them grumble as they like, I care little for their feelings. I set the policy here, my word is law.”
“That’s great in theory and all, but the world’s a big place. You can’t be everywhere at once, especially when you haven’t established a new seat of power.”
“I will return to the West soon enough, never you mind about that,” Jakob said with a smug smile that made Bishop nervous enough not to ask about it.
“Fine, I’ll help you find Carys, but you have to do something for me in return.”
“You think to make demands of me, boy?”
Bishop tried not to let the boy dig wear on his nerves, someone as old as dirt like Jakob probably did think of him as a boy. “No demands, a request. Actually, a pair of requests. If I help you find Carys…”
“When we find Carys,” Jakob interrupted. “There will be no rest until it is done.”
There was no point in arguing that they might never find Carys. Regardless of the fact that they both knew Lodinn was capable of bullshitting them about Carys being alive, he knew Jakob wasn’t ready to give up that shred of hope yet.
“Whatever. I want you to let the Order back into England. It’s too big an area to be completely unregulated. I understand you were angry with Volkov’s actions, but you can’t leave Aubrey there unchecked. And not when we’re done finding her, now. It makes me itch to think about how far it’s deteriorated in the months since we left Vetis.”
“Fine, consider it done. And the other request?”
Bishop took a long breath. “After we find Carys, I want you to compel me not to love Anja anymore.” There, he’d said it. In a way he felt cleansed, finally voicing it out in the open. It might be decades or even centuries before Anja looked on him with anything but friendship, and he was weary of the loss he carried with him every day. If she ever turned to him with more, he could always ask Jakob to remove the compulsion, or more likely, he could easily see himself falling for her all over again. Maybe next time he wouldn’t screw it up.
Jakob took longer to consider this one, only speaking after pondering for long minutes while Bishop sat in uncomfortable silence. “This is a grave request. Are you quite certain it’s what you want?”
“I’ve had plenty of time to mull it over these past few months, yeah. I don’t want to forget the time we had together or how I felt about her, but I want the ache to go away, you know?”
“I do,” Jakob said softly. “Very well, Ulrik, I will do as you ask – after we find Carys.”
“Good,” Bishop said, his insides tightening as a wave of panic descended. Was he making the right choice? He set the fear aside, it was too late to second guess it now. “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to business. Tell me about where you’ve looked so far.”
“I started in New York, but found none with any knowledge of Carys.”
“Why did you start there?”
“Anja’s man, Gunnar, informed me of his task there by Lodinn’s request. I spoke to all at his permanent lodgings there, but none in the building had seen or heard of Carys.” Jakob went on to detail his travels to London, Paris, Stuttgart, Bern… all cities he had encountered Lodinn in before, but there was no sign of her.
Bishop listened closely, sifting through the mire of unnecessary description to find the pertinent details to the search. There weren’t many to be had and Jakob’s movements didn’t follow much of a logical pattern. He’d have to go back to the beginning and start all over again. “Alright, I say we start with New York, it’s our only real lead.”
Jakob waved the suggestion away dismissively. “Already I have searched New York, there is no point in going there.”
“No, you searched one tiny corner of it. We know for sure Lodinn had some business there and that he had a permanent residence, that’s where we start. He hasn’t been to any of those other places for hundreds of years as far as you know.”
“I already questioned those at his lodgings. No one knew Carys,” Jakob insisted.
“You’re going about this all wrong, asking the wrong questions and expecting the right answers. Of course you failed. All you’re going to get if we move on to another location with the same tactics are the same idiotic results.”
“Tread carefully, Ulrik. I grow tired of your insults,” Jakob bristled and Bishop started to lose his patience.
“Do you want my help or not?”
It was easy to see the snap of annoyance in Jakob’s scowl, but instead of exploding, he made an effort to calm himself. “Fine. What do you recommend?” he bit out.
Bishop made the effort to cool his temper as well. They wouldn’t get anywhere if they kept at each other’s throats. “You don’t ask where Carys is, you ask where Lodinn was. Do you see the distinction?”
“But Lodinn kept apart from vampire society, it has ever been thus these past five hundred years.”
“Don’t kid yourself. He was absolutely making contact with other vamps, I can guarantee it. His ego was too big to keep the glory of his Ellri-hood to himself. He was just good at hiding his tracks, something I think you’re a little familiar with.”
“And you think you can find his tracks?”
“It’s what you’re paying me for, isn’t it?”
“Am I paying you?” Jakob blinked.
“We’ll talk about that after I find her. Now let’s get going, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
* * *
The head of the Order and an ancient Ellri on the hunt for Carys in modern New York City. Worst buddy cop movie idea ever, was all Bishop could think as he stared out over the sprawling urban view. Anja probably would’ve gotten a kick out of it, but he hadn’t breathed a word of it to her in the letter he sent off before they flew out of Rome. After a heated argument, which was starting to be their standard form of communication, Jakob had agreed to keep their arrival on the discreet side with as little pomp and circumstance as possible. They were there on personal business, and the last thing he wanted to do was get caught up in local Order politics, particularly in Jennike Vendal’s territory.
Of course discreet for Jakob still meant a monster suite at the Plaza and a car service at their beck and call. Bishop considered striking out on his own, but Jakob had insisted, not wanting to be left out of any facet of the investigation. It was a continual source of irritation to him that the Ellri constantly loomed too close, interested in any computer searches, any phone calls, any contact Bishop had with the world that might lead to Carys’ location.
The worst part was trying to shake Jakob to go out and make inquiries on his own. Jakob didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle, and all the compulsion in the world couldn’t help you find the answers if you didn’t know the right questions to ask. While no one had direct knowledge of Carys, there were plenty of vampires who knew all about Lodinn. Lodinn was far more famous in death than he had been in life. And by proxy, Jakob, for having killed him.
With the compulsion gone, now everyone Lodinn had come into contact with was able to speak freely of the elusive and dangerous Ellri. And oh, did they have stories to tell. Bishop was treated to tale after tale of Lodinn’s atrocities. Boy, was he glad the guy was dead, or he’d have felt morally compelled to hunt him down and end him.
Slowly, a pattern of Lodinn’s movements began to emerge, and Bishop was able to identify his preferred hunting grounds, which were nowhere near the apartments Gunnar had lived in during his brief stay in Manhattan. In the end, he
straight up ditched Jakob, telling him he’d meet him at a café in SoHo while he headed to Brooklyn instead, to meet up with an old friend.
Bishop waited under the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Arch as agreed upon, his thoughts far in the past as he looked up at the old monument and remembered simpler times. Though he preferred the West coast, he’d spent a fair amount of time in Brooklyn in younger days and the Arch was one of his favorite spots. So many nights he’d meted out swift justice within its sight, without a care in the world. Simpler times, but just as empty, he reminded himself. The difference was, he hadn’t known it back then.
“Help a brother out?”
The familiar voice pulled him out of his musings, and Bishop turned around to greet the man who he’d come to meet. “Good to see you, Jet,” he smiled, holding out his hand.
He was a compact man, a few inches shorter than Bishop, lean but covered in solid muscle. Dressed in dark clothes, his dusky skin blended perfectly with the night, a benefit he’d learned to capitalize on, earning a reputation as a canny hunter. He’d survived abandonment at a young age, thriving on the streets of D.C. on his own until he was turned in the late sixties. He was smart and quick, talents that served him well in his years with the Order.
While he no longer sported the bushy afro and the wild threads of the seventies, some of the lingo still bled into his speech. “Hey, my man, long time no see.” Jet grinned wide, pulling him close for a one armed hug.
“It’s been quite a while, that’s for sure.” Bishop glanced up at the sculpture atop the arch. “I see they got Lady Columbia back into the chariot okay.”
Jet let out a hoot of laughter. “Damn, I almost forgot about that. How long ago was it?”
“1976 I make it. That was a crazy night.” They’d both barely survived it.
“Yeah, no harm no foul, man. It got blamed on erosion or some shit, we were in the clear.” Jet’s smile dimmed somewhat, his eyes more piercing. “So, you here to catch up on old times? ’Cause I have to admit, I’m surprised you didn’t want to meet at the chapter house.”
Bishop had been expecting that, and gave him a tight smile, tipping his head toward the park. “Walk with me.”
“It’s like that, is it?” Jet made no move to join him and Bishop’s hands came up entreatingly.
“Like what? We’re just two old friends out for a stroll.”
“If that’s the case, then why don’t you buy me a beer?”
“Fair enough,” Bishop shrugged. “How about Cavallo’s, is that place still open?”
“Naw man, it’s been gone for years. I got a good place though, over on Underhill.”
“Great, lead the way.”
They set an easy pace, chatting easily, as though it hadn’t been over thirty years since they’d last spoken. When Jet brought them to Bar Sepia, Bishop highly approved of the place. The high ceilings and exposed brick offered a welcome charm, and they took a seat in the back with a good view of the front entrance. Just in case.
Bishop kept up the simple conversation until after they had drinks in hand. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Bishop held up his beer and Jet clinked his glass to his.
“Amen to that, brother. As long as the beer keeps flowing, let’s hope they always do.” Drinking deeply, he settled back in his chair, eyes narrowing at Bishop. “So, what’s the head of the Order doing that has him avoiding the chapter house? This ain’t got nothin’ to do with that ass Corley being in town, does it?”
“Simon Corley is here?” Bishop’s brows rose. That was news to him. He’d known the guy had close ties to Jennike, but had figured he was too proud to sit at her right hand. “She’s not planning on making him Warden, is she?” That could prove awkward for Anja.
“Hell if I know, but I don’t see it. ’Course, I don’t see what he’s doing here at all. They ain’t fuckin’, I don’t even think he likes her type.”
“Corley likes women.” Bishop waved that assumption away. He’d kept his share of female feeders over the years. He preferred them young and broken, and they never lasted long.
“Nah, I mean her balls are bigger’n his, man,” Jett laughed.
“That’s cute,” Bishop smiled, taking another drink. “I think she’s probably one of the few allies he has left after Sylvius banished him from Vetis. As for what he brings to the table, you never know. Jennike’s tastes can be varied, but I’m sure his vast personal fortune has something to do with it. That has nothing to do with why I’m here though. In fact, if I’m lucky, I can avoid seeing them at all.” Technically he was supposed to go and pay his respects upon entering her city, as the head of the Order it was considered the polite thing to do.
His phone buzzed, Jakob’s text brimming with impatience. I grow tired of waiting.
Jet’s head craned to get a look at the screen when Bishop set the phone down. “Who’s that? You got a girl now?”
“No, it’s the pain in my ass,” he muttered.
“And here I thought you’d be free and clear of that shit, sitting on top of the Order.”
“This particular pain has been in my ass since I was turned.” It was time to get down to business. “Keep it on the down low, but I’m here with Jakob.” He nodded when Jet’s eyes stretched wider. “Yep, that Jakob, the Ellri.”
“No shit? You’re running with the big dogs, ain’tcha?”
“Lucky me,” Bishop breathed, taking another deep drink. “What can you tell me about Lodinn?”
“Lodinn? That cat is bad news, man.” Jett shook his head, gaze dropping to the bottom of his glass.
“He was bad news. He’s definitely dead and gone. Which is why you can talk to me about him.”
“Oh yeah, I guess I never thought of that,” he brightened. “You have something to do with that?”
“I was there. It was Jakob who tore his heart out though.” Bishop left out the part where he’d very illegally shot the Ellri in the back with ACBT.
“Right on, man. Consider me impressed.”
“I’ll be impressed if you can help me get a line on where he used to hole up in this neighborhood. Is that something you can point me in the right direction on?”
“I can do better than that.” Jet whipped out a pen and paper, and wrote down an address in Park Slope. “As far as I know, his creepy old dude is still over in his pad, taking care of the place like he’s waitin’ on him to come home any minute.”
“Creepy old dude?”
“Yeah, I don’t know his name, the guy never talks, but he’s Lodinn’s man alright.”
Bishop studied the address for a few seconds and sent it in a text to Jakob, asking him to meet there. “Cool, man, thanks for this. I knew I could count on you.” He held out his hand and Jet clasped it, pulling him into another one armed hug.
“I’m not even gonna ask what you want to know for, I’m just glad I could help.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“Stay strong, my brother.”
“Stay black,” Bishop grinned and Jet beamed, tickled over the old joke.
“Always.”
Chapter Eighteen
Bishop waited for Jakob to show, knowing it’d take him much longer to get there from SoHo with traffic. While he waited, he observed the neighborhood, a relatively quiet one for that time of night. The historic brownstones had all been converted to single or double family homes from the rooming houses he remembered back in the day. The prices skyrocketed as young urban families with money to burn infiltrated the once primarily Italian and Irish neighborhood. Gentrification, they called it, and he had to admit, it was nice to see the area improved from the crime and degradation of the seventies.
The house in question, the façade entirely comprised of red brick, was certainly one of the more expensive on the block. At the end of the street, it shared only one wall with its neighbor, rising four stories high with an attic above and probably a basement below. It was much too much house for one person by modern standards, but for
someone of Lodinn’s wealth and history, he could see the appeal.
He spotted Jakob coming down the street on foot and stepped out to intercept his path before he reached the house.
“This had better not be another wild goose chase,” Jakob warned, blue eyes snapping with anger. “I waited for you for over an hour.”
“I had a change of plans. A change that led me here.” Bishop waved to the brick house. “I have it on good authority that this is one of Lodinn’s homes.”
“What good will it do us, this empty home?” Jakob scowled, unimpressed. “The last one was no help at all.”
“For one thing, we can take a look around. For all we know he’s got her body tucked away in the basement or the attic. And, this house happens to come with its own servant. I’m thinking he might be able to help us out with where Lodinn had her stashed.”
“A servant?” It peaked Jakob’s interest and the pair strode up to the front door, which had been gouged and scratched over the years and painted a deep brown that covered but didn’t quite obscure the damage.
Bishop rang the bell, listening carefully for sounds of life. There was a heavy footstep approaching, slowly, cautiously, and he rang the bell again to hasten him. “Why don’t you let me do the talking, okay?” he suggested. “There’s no point in you scaring the guy half to death.”
“I am perfectly capable of being civil,” Jakob maintained, puffing out his chest. The sound of locks being disengaged came to them and he plastered a friendly smile on his face.
The door opened to reveal an older man, his face riddled with wrinkles. Long hair, more grey than blonde fell past his shoulders, as did the beard that obscured half his face. He wore an old pair of workpants, stained and pitted with holes, and a white tank style undershirt, clean, but yellowed with age. Bishop could easily picture him working an old fishing boat in a rain slicker and cap.
“Good evening,” Jakob smiled, his voice rich and smooth. “So sorry to trouble you at this hour, but I wonder if we might have a private word with you?”
