Jabril

by D. B. Reynolds

  "No."

  "Really, Raphael. If you care for the girl's feelings so highly, I'd think you'd want someone she trusts standing with her for this momentous decision."

  "Indeed. Do you have one such?"

  Jabril wanted to spit. “Very well.” He thought quickly, running through the list of his minions and finding no one of particular use to him in this matter. In truth, if he couldn't be there himself, whoever he selected would be nothing more than a witness in truth, so it hardly mattered. He picked a name almost at random. “Nasir, then."

  "Have your people provide the details and my people will meet him at the airport."

  "Done.” Jabril hung up without bothering to exchange pleasantries. He'd never liked Raphael, but then he didn't like any of his fellow Council members. He sent a mental order to Asim, who was waiting in the hallway outside. No doubt listening to every word, Jabril thought with disdain.

  The door opened and his lieutenant stepped inside, ducking his head respectfully. “My lord?"

  "Make the arrangements, Asim,” he said absently, thinking of his next move.

  "Yes, my lord."

  Asim turned to leave, but Jabril called him back. “Where's that investigator of yours, Asim? What's his name—Windle. Does he have anything useful to say about Elizabeth?” He didn't believe it would come to it, but if he lost Mirabelle, he would need to be certain of the younger one.

  "He reported in this evening, my lord, while you were ... otherwise engaged. He's confident he will have her in custody within days."

  "Excellent. Where does he believe she's hiding?"

  "Ah,” Asim said, obviously reluctant to impart this bit of news. He swallowed hard. “In California, my lord."

  Jabril rose from behind his desk, his rage breaking free at last. His power swept out in a torrent of fury, sweeping everything before it. Walls trembled, doors broke away from their moorings and flew down hallways, windows cracked and shattered, sending shards of glass flying to slice into every surface like slender, crystal stilettos. Vampires prostrated themselves on the floor, moaning in fear and begging for mercy. Across the compound, the servants’ quarters rattled as if an earthquake had struck, but the humans there knew better. They dropped to their knees, trembling, and prayed to whatever gods they had that they would survive this night.

  Jabril stood, eyes blazing, arms stretched out to either side, feeling the terror of his minions, the distant horror of the humans. He drank it in like the sweetest nectar, feeling it seep into his bones and blood, giving him strength, giving him power. He was more than Vampire, he was their lord and they would damn well bow before his majesty.

  He closed his eyes at last, bringing his arms together over his chest and hugging himself tightly, relishing the sense of fullness, the overwhelming rush of invincibility. He bared his fangs and opened his eyes to find Asim lying against a wall near the door, one arm obviously broken and blood seeping from a gash on his forehead.

  Jabril regarded him narrowly, knowing his eyes still shone with residual power. “I want Elizabeth found and I want her brought back under my control. Do you understand me, Asim? Hire whomever you require, spend whatever you require, but get her back here. Do not fail me in this."

  "Yes, my lord,” Asim whispered.

  "Now, get up,” Jabril ordered. “We have work to do."

  "Yes, my lord.” Asim staggered to his feet, pulling the shreds of his torn clothing into some order and sweeping his good hand over the bloody gash on his forehead, which had already begun to heal. He stared at the blood on his fingers for a moment and then raised them to his mouth and licked them clean.

  Jabril watched all of this with growing impatience. As if sensing his master's displeasure, Asim looked up and paled further as he hurried across the room. “How may I serve you, Master?"

  "I will require your assistance with the accountants. I doubt Mirabelle will find the courage to remain in California, but we must be prepared for the possibility. Raphael is no fool; he will see the advantage of keeping her for himself. Fortunately, I still have access to much of her wealth, which is only proper, but I want every penny we can get our hands on transferred out of the country as soon as possible.

  "Your will be done, my lord."

  "Indeed, Asim. Indeed."

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Malibu, California

  It was nearing midnight when Cyn pulled her Land Rover up to the front gate of Raphael's Malibu estate. The guard, one of six in obvious attendance, nodded to Elke and recognized Cyn, but he gave the truck a careful once over anyway, frowning when he saw Mirabelle sitting in the passenger seat. Raphael's guards were hypervigilant after last month's attack on the estate, and Cyn approved of their caution.

  "Alexandra's expecting us,” Cyn assured him.

  He glanced nervously at Elke who didn't say a word, just sat watching him with those pale gray eyes of hers looking almost white in the dim glow of the gate lights. The guard paused, then seemed to make a decision and waited until his partner got off the estate phone with Alexandra's guards before signaling the okay for the gate to open. Cyn heard Elke chuckling softly to herself as she drove onto the estate proper, and she realized the guard had been torn between following routine and giving them a pass because of Elke's presence. She took it as a good sign that the female vampire was amused. Although, come to think of it, if Elke had been offended, the guard probably would have been on his back and begging for his life. Elke wasn't a member of Raphael's inner security team for nothing.

  She drove by the expansive main house with its clean Southwestern lines and infinity pool, passed beneath an overhanging canopy of eucalyptus trees and entered the small clearing where Alexandra maintained her own residence. It was a French manor right out of the 18th century, complete with ivy-covered walls and blue-tiled roof. The drive swung around the side of the house, delivering them to the kitchen door, which was the only one anybody ever used.

  Cyn parked and one of Alexandra's security team approached the car as they got out. Elke walked over and conferred briefly with him before coming back to where Cyn and Mirabelle were waiting. “No more shopping tonight, right?” she asked. Cyn was taller than Elke by several inches and the female vampire was looking up at her with a forbidding scowl, as if daring her to suggest otherwise.

  Cyn smiled. Elke had been a good sport, but she was in no danger of becoming a shopaholic. “Not tonight,” she agreed. “Mirabelle's staying on the estate, either here or the main house."

  "Great,” Elke said, sighing in relief. “Mirabelle, we'll talk. Leighton...” She paused uncertainly, settling for, “Whatever.” She gave Alexandra's guard some sort of signal, and then she was gone, racing down the driveway and disappearing into the shadows beneath the trees faster than Cyn's human eye could follow.

  Cyn gave her own sigh. That was a neat trick. She could think of more than a few times it would really have come in handy. She turned to Mirabelle with a grin. “Come on, Mirabelle, it's this way."

  They went through the kitchen and down a long hallway to find Alexandra waiting for them, standing at the bottom of a wide staircase and obviously posed for dramatic effect. Cyn saw her and stuttered to a halt.

  When Alexandra had been kidnapped last month, she'd been wearing the very highest fashion of pre-Revolutionary Paris—an elaborate satin gown with lace trim and a skirt that stuck out alarmingly to either side of her tiny waist. Her long hair had been carefully coifed and curled, hanging in thick ringlets down her back. Everything about her had screamed 18th century. She had even eschewed electric lights in the house in favor of candles, with every room decorated—or overdecorated, in Cyn's opinion—in the style of Louis XVI and his doomed court.

  But things had changed. The Alexandra waiting to greet her this evening wore loose black trousers with a silk blouse tucked into that impossibly tiny waist and buttoned almost to her neck. The blouse was the deep red of a fine Cabernet and showed off the rich, lustrous black of her hair, which was still long,
but hanging loose behind a black velvet headband. Alexandra was petite, a little over five feet tall in heels, and could easily have passed for a well-kept Beverly Hills wife ... extremely well-kept since her face was that of a sixteen-year-old girl. She smiled and held out both hands in greeting.

  "Cynthia,” she said warmly. “I'm so happy you decided to visit. I've been asking Raphael when you would come."

  For her part, Cyn was somewhat taken aback. She didn't know Alexandra that well, had exchanged no more than ten words with her in their single previous meeting. But having been tutored in courtesy at the finest prep schools California had to offer, Cyn rose to the occasion and took Alexandra's proffered hands, giving them the requisite polite squeeze, before stepping back to draw Mirabelle to her side.

  "Alexandra, this is Mirabelle. Duncan probably told you something of her situation."

  Alexandra's black eyes, so like her brother Raphael's, shifted to regard the younger vampire, taking in the neat khaki slacks and tailored blouse which had replaced the ill-fitting jeans and t-shirt. “Mirabelle,” she said graciously, if not with precisely the same warmth she had greeted Cyn. “Welcome to my home."

  Mirabelle smiled shyly. “Thank you. I hope we're not intruding."

  "Oh, no. I welcome the company. Now that I've rejoined the living, so to speak,” she added with a meaningful look in Cyn's direction. “I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. The clothes alone would have been worth the effort.” She stroked the soft fabric over her arm. “So much more comfortable ... and no corsets! I can actually breathe.” She drew a deep breath as if to prove the truth of her words.

  "Come, let's go upstairs to the music room.” Alexandra placed a tiny foot on the stairs, pausing to tell Cyn, “It's still my favorite, though I have redecorated a bit."

  She'd redecorated more than a bit and more than the music room, Cyn thought as she and Mirabelle followed her up the stairs. The most obvious difference was the brilliant light dancing off a huge crystal chandelier and casting shards of color against the pale walls. Gone was the pervasive scent and smoky tang of old candle wax. Ornate satin wall coverings had been stripped away, the walls resurfaced and painted in a delicate color that was little more than a blush of warm gold.

  In the music room, the Steinway grand piano still stood in the place of honor, but the fragile antique tables and the satin and brocade upholstered settees and chairs that had so crowded even this spacious room were gone. In their place, a few well-chosen pieces accented a comfortable, overstuffed sofa and chairs. Fresh flowers graced the mantle and design magazines littered the low coffee table. Apparently Alexandra was still remodeling.

  Mirabelle gave a little exclamation of delight at seeing the piano and hurried over, pausing just before her fingers touched the glossy black finish. “May I?"

  Alexandra nodded in very much the way of a fine lady granting favors, and Cyn turned away to conceal her reaction. Some things, it seemed, had not changed. She wandered over to the piano, watching as Mirabelle ran her fingers somewhat stiffly along the keys. “My mother played,” Mirabelle said softly. “I took lessons as a child, before...” Her voice broke off, and then hardened. “Jabril refused to have a piano in the house; he said he couldn't abide the noise. Those are his words. He gave it away. My mother's piano."

  Cyn glanced over to see Alexandra watching.

  "May I borrow Cynthia for a moment, Mirabelle?” Alexandra asked.

  Mirabelle frowned, concentrating fiercely on her fingers as they picked out a series of notes.

  Cyn touched her shoulder and met Mirabelle's questioning glance with a quick smile of reassurance. “We'll be right back,” she said.

  Cyn followed Alexandra down the hall and into a room that was set up as a kind of home office.

  "My dayroom,” Alexandra said with a wry quirk of her lips. “The sort of room a proper lady would have used for keeping her household books or handling her correspondence. Not that I'm burdened with such things, of course. Raphael's people take care of everything.” She kept walking, leading Cyn all the way through the room and out onto a generous balcony overlooking the front of the manor.

  "You've changed a few things,” Cyn commented as they stepped outside.

  "Yes.” Alexandra smiled slightly. “A few things. I felt it was time. Past time, really."

  "You look good."

  Alexandra looked down at herself and back at Cyn, her mouth curving slightly with pleasure. “I do, don't I? I wasn't jesting about the clothes. I don't know why I struggled with those horrible dresses for so long.” She paused, listening to Mirabelle's enthusiastic piano playing, and made a moue of distaste. “She is a child."

  "She was fifteen when her parents died, when the courts turned her and her ten-year-old sister over to Jabril Karim. She was eighteen and a day when he raped her and made her Vampire."

  "I see. And does she want to stay here?"

  "I don't think she knows yet."

  Alexandra turned to study Cyn. She was a lovely creature, but with a smile that was less than genuine and somehow calculated, as if it could be turned on and off at will. “I like you, Cynthia,” she said. “You've no pretense about you, and my life has been nothing but pretense for too long."

  She strolled over to the balcony's edge and leaned delicately against the stone balustrade to gaze at the courtyard below. It was paved in black and white checked marble, surrounded by a tall privet hedge that prevented anyone from mistaking it for a usable entrance. Alexandra glanced back at Cyn. “Tell me,” she said, her gaze returning to the gaudy marble. “What do you think of this courtyard?"

  Cyn rested a hip on the stone and stared at the marble, wondering what to say. But then, according to Alexandra, she was the “no pretense” girl, right? “I think it's truly awful,” she said.

  Alexandra laughed, the first genuine emotion Cyn had heard from her. “So do I,” she confided. “Although, once it reminded me of a better time, but I think I only had it installed to see if Raphael would go along. I kept trying to find something he would refuse me."

  "Why?” Cyn asked bluntly.

  Alexandra thought about it. “Do you have siblings? A brother or a sister?"

  "A half sister. We're not close."

  "Raphael and I were. Close that is. We had two other brothers, twins who were much older and gone before I was old enough to miss them. It was always Raphael who took care of me, indulged me, protected me from our father's anger, and from the men on the surrounding farms who were bargaining with my father for a marriage before I'd even had my first blood.” She shrugged casually. “Our mother was beautiful; I resemble her, of course. So does Raphael, although he has our father's considerable stature."

  She glanced again at Cyn, gauging her reaction. “That terrible night so long ago, the night our family was attacked and Raphael and I were made Vampire. I don't know now if I would change those events even if I could, but at the time I hated what had been done to me. Hated what I'd become. I blamed Raphael for not protecting me as he should have, for not saving me from those creatures. For everything. I knew he was still alive somewhere, my vampire master taunted me with the knowledge, saying Raphael had chosen to serve his new mistress rather than be saddled for centuries with a useless little sister. It was a lie, of course. I know now that Raphael thought me dead along with our parents. But I believed the lie. Or perhaps it was only that I wanted to believe it.

  "Of course, Raphael did save me eventually, although it was quite by chance. He found me in a dungeon in Paris during the Revolution. There I was, little better than a whore, living on the streets, stealing, murdering, seducing men so my Sire and his other children could drain them, leaving me the dregs. And then Raphael appeared—powerful, elegant, a master in his own right. He had finally come to my rescue and I hated him for it, for never surrendering, for never falling as low as I had.

  She turned, placing her back to the courtyard and giving an elegant, little shrug. “So I made him pay. It was as easy as if we'd never
been apart. He was full of guilt that I'd been enslaved for so long, that I'd been living in the gutter while he'd dressed in fine clothes and slept on soft sheets. And he was desperate to make it up to me. There was nothing he wouldn't do; I had only to ask. Eventually, I began to test his devotion."

  "Did you ever find it?” Cyn asked.

  "What's that?"

  "Something he wouldn't give you?"

  "You know, Cynthia, I did. Very recently, in fact."

  "What was it?"

  "You."

  "What?” Cyn stepped away from the tiny vampire woman, suddenly uncomfortable.

  Alexandra laughed at her reaction. “I told my brother I was lonely. With Matias dead—he died trying to defend me, but you know that, of course—I had no one left. I admired you, your strength, your courage. I wanted you as my friend, my companion."

  "You could have called me on the phone,” Cyn commented.

  Alexandra gave a tiny, very pleased smile. “Oh no, you don't understand. I wanted him to make you Vampire so you could be my friend forever."

  Cyn froze, uncertain how to respond. But something must have shown on her face, because Alexandra laughed again, altogether pleased with her reaction. “Oh, don't worry, Cynthia,” she said breezily. “He said no.” She sobered then, gazing pensively over the marbled courtyard. “I don't think I've ever seen my brother as furious as he was that night, certainly never at me. He didn't speak to me for days, and then only to inform me that if any harm came to you because of me, he would personally stake me."

  Cyn's face must have shown her doubt.

  "He was quite serious, Cynthia. And he would be very unhappy if he knew you were here today; I don't think he quite trusts me yet.” Again that private little smile before she said brightly, “I'm told the contractor will be here tomorrow to rip out this ridiculous marble."

  Cyn forced a laugh, relieved at the change of subject. “Well, thank God for that."

  "He missed you, you know.” Alexandra said, giving Cyn a narrow look. “I've never known my brother to miss a woman, to miss anyone, as much as he did you when we were locked away up there in Colorado."