by Keri Arthur
Her grin was fierce and toothy. “And not afraid to voice an opinion. I like that. Why do you bring death into my presence?”
“He’s my insurance policy.”
“Ah. You do not trust me?”
“Not you, and certainly not Hunter.”
She laughed, but it held an edge that was not altogether sane. Concern flicked through me. If the attack had sent Pierre Boulanger mad, then it more than likely would affect Catherine Alston the same way. And the last thing I needed was an insane vampire—even if I had Azriel watching my back.
“I am not about to attack you,” Catherine snapped. She sat back on her chaise lounge again and crossed her legs elegantly. “It took a week for Pierre to be fully affected. I have six days left, and Hunter assures me you will have tracked this thing down by then.”
Her tone implied it was already too late for Pierre. Did that mean he was now dead? I very much suspected it. Neither council was likely to let a madman survive very long. “So tell me what happened.”
“If I knew that, you wouldn’t be here.”
I bit back a rush of irritation and wondered what the hell I’d done to deserve being surrounded by so many question-phobic people. “When did you realize you were also being attacked?”
“Yesterday evening, and I rang that dark-haired bitch straightaway. It took you long enough to get here.”
I ignored the impulse to point out I’d only just been told, and said, “So you woke up at dusk and then what?”
“I looked in the mirror and saw this, of course.” She waved a hand toward her face—a face that was still relatively free of wrinkles. And her dark hair had little in the way of gray.
“If you don’t mind me saying, I can’t actually see much of anything.”
“Well, of course not,” she said crisply. “Do you think I’m about to advertise the fact that I’m being attacked? Makeup and hair dye were invented for a reason, young woman.”
I guessed so. “Then how bad is the aging?”
“There are crow’s-feet and lines around my mouth, and my hair is salt and pepper. I can live with both, but I do not wish it to get any worse. You will stop it.”
It was imperiously said, and amusement played about my mouth. While I had no doubt that Alston was every bit as dangerous as Hunter, she didn’t emit anywhere near the same level of scary.
“Where did the attack take place?”
“In the bedroom, of course. Where else does one sleep away the tiresome daylight hours?”
“I shall check it out,” Azriel said, and winked out of existence.
“And where has your dark defender gone?” she said. Maybe she was a little hard of hearing, because Azriel hadn’t whispered. “If he steals anything, there will be hell to pay.”
“Reapers don’t steal,” I said patiently. “And he’s gone to see if your attacker has left any sort of scent trail in your bedroom.”
She harrumphed. “I’ll check, you know.”
“Check away,” I said, rather rashly, then added, as her gaze narrowed a little, “And nothing disturbed your sleep? You had no unusual dreams, felt nothing odd, have no strange marks or bruising on your body?”
“No. I did get Bryson to check when I realized what had happened, but neither of us could find anything.”
“Bryson being the armed fellow who is standing behind me?”
“No, that’s Ignatius. Bryson is my butler.”
Which was another word for “dresser, lover, and food source,” if her slight smile was anything to go by.
I cleared my throat, oddly sickened by the thought that this woman had spent centuries loving and feeding off her men. I mean, what sort of life was that for them?
“A good one,” she snapped, more angrily this time. “And mind your thoughts, young woman. It is possible to push me too far.”
I smothered my instinctive curse—if only because swearing wouldn’t actually get me anywhere—and said, “What about the magic that protects your elevator and apartment?”
Her surprise rippled through the air. “You felt that?”
“Azriel did, although he could not tell what sort of protection spell it was.”
“It is designed to guard against ill intent.”
“So why didn’t it work against whatever is responsible for these attacks?”
“Because it is flesh-sensitive. If what is attacking doesn’t wear flesh, then it will not stop them.”
Which didn’t really narrow the field all that much. We’d already guessed this thing wasn’t a flesh being—both Alston and Boulanger would have sensed such an approach. “Did you set the spell?”
“Do I look like a magic user, young woman?”
Her tartness had my grin rising again. “I didn’t realize magic users had a specific look.”
“Well, they do. And obviously, I am not one of them. I hired a woman to set the spell when I purchased this place.”
“Her name?”
“Adeline Greenfield. She came highly recommended.”
It wasn’t a name I was familiar with, but Ilianna might know her. Either way, she was worth talking to, if only to uncover the extent of the spell.
“The fact you’re the second councilor to be attacked suggests this might have something to do with the council itself. Has there been a decision or action taken recently that was met with opposition?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Council decisions are always controversial. There’s rarely one hundred percent agreement in the vampire community at large, let alone on either of the councils.”
That’s because the vampire community as a whole is—
I stopped the thought cold when her gaze narrowed again. The sooner I got to Stane’s and had those damn nanowires fitted, the better. “So there’s no one decision that sticks out as worse than the rest?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Then why do you think you and Boulanger have been targeted this way?”
She shrugged—a movement that emphasized the thinness of her shoulders. “The two of us are council elders—there are three in all—and therefore have the controlling votes, but I cannot think of anything we’ve overruled recently that would merit any sort of retribution.”
“Meaning there’s been stuff in the past that might?”
“It is possible. We are not angels.”
I snorted softly. That surely had to be the understatement of the year. “I don’t suppose you could write a list of people who might hold a grudge against the two of you? It would give us something to work with.”
“Such a list would only be useful if Boulanger were able to write one. He cannot.”
It was interesting that she continued to avoid referring to Pierre in past tense. “Maybe not, but I’ve asked Hunter to see what she can come up with.”
“Oh, I can just imagine how well she took that.” She chuckled softly. “Still, it will be interesting to see if we come up with the same names.”
If they did, then those vampires had to be next in line for questioning. And if I was going to be the one doing the questioning, then Azriel was going to be watching my back. Not that he was doing such a good job of it right at this moment.
“On the contrary,” he said softly, suddenly appearing beside me. His gaze met mine, oddly full of censure. “I am aware of everything that is going on in this place. Do not doubt that, even if you doubt me in general.”
I frowned. “Did you discover anything?”
“Yes.” He glanced at Alston. “The thing that attacked you is a Maniae.”
“And that is?”
“The Maniae are the spirits of madness and death. They are related to the Erinyes, the deities of vengeance.”
Holy cow, I thought, blinking. We weren’t just dealing with ordinary, everyday bad guys here, but old Greek gods!
Could the day get any fucking worse?
Chapter Three
“YES, IT COULD,” AZRIEL MURMURED, AMUSEMENT crinkling the corners of his eyes,
“because they cannot be killed.”
“Oh, fabulous.” I raked a hand through my hair. Hunter was not going to be pleased.
“Could someone please explain what the hell a Maniae is?” Alston said irritably.
He glanced at her, expression noncommittal. “As I said, the Maniae are spirits—daemones—of madness or death. They, like the Erinyes, can be summoned by those seeking vengeance for crimes against the natural order.”
She glanced at me. “Does death always speak in riddles?”
“For as long as I’ve known him,” I said, and felt amusement swirl through him.
“Crimes against the natural order can mean anything from murder to unfilial conduct,” he said. “And usually the only way to stop the attack is by uncovering the perpetrator of the curse and having them either perform a rite of forgiveness and purification, or complete of some task assigned for atonement.”
Her snort was less than regal, and really said all that needed to be said. “Unfilial conduct? I am an old vampire and my maker is long dead. I hardly think it would matter to anyone else if I was an undutiful daughter.”
“That would depend on whether the term is used strictly or loosely,” Azriel commented. “Maybe it is simply a matter of engaging in conduct unbecoming a vampire.”
“All vampires engage in conduct unbecoming,” she snapped. “It is the nature of the beast.”
I’m glad she said that, because if I’d pointed it out, she’d have gotten pissed. “Conduct unbecoming wasn’t the only point mentioned, Catherine.”
Her gaze flicked to me, her eyes steely black. And I’d been wrong before: Alston could do scary every bit as well as Hunter if she wanted to. “I have not murdered anyone in a very long time, young woman. Although right now I will admit the itch is rising.”
“Murdering me isn’t going to help catch your attacker,” I replied calmly enough—though she no doubt noted my accelerated heart rate.
“No,” she agreed. “Although Hunter would not be pleased, and that in itself would almost be worth the cost. Perhaps it is just as well you have your dark guard here.”
And why Azriel would be by my side the next time I had to visit her. I was beginning to trust this woman even less than Hunter.
“I would suggest that you avoid sleeping for the next couple of days, as that seems to be when the attacks occur.”
“And why do you think I am here rather than lying wrapped in Bryson’s warmth?”
“You don’t need to sleep to enjoy Bryson’s warmth,” I couldn’t help pointing out. “Nor do you need a bed.”
“I am not a young woman,” she remarked haughtily. “And I tend to be old-fashioned when it comes to sex. You, obviously, are not.”
I certainly wasn’t—and thank the gods for that. The real spice of life—and sex—was variety. I restrained the urge to smile and said, “Please call me when you have the list compiled.”
“Ignatius will call you. Better yet, I shall have him deliver it.” Her gaze flicked to Azriel. “The less I see of him, the better I shall feel. Good-bye, young woman.”
Summarily dismissed, I turned and walked out. Ignatius was back at the glass door, waiting for us. It was almost as if they couldn’t wait to get rid of us. Even the elevator was waiting.
Once the doors had closed and the elevator was on the way back down, I said, “Did you find anything in the bedroom?”
“A reaper.”
My head snapped around. “What?”
The corners of his lips quirked, and I had a sudden suspicion that he liked surprising me. “Catherine Alston is slated for death, and nothing we do can stop it.”
“When will she die?”
He shrugged. “Soon.”
“From the Maniae, or through something else?”
“The Maniae will attack again, because she will forget your warning and sleep. That attack will weaken her greatly. She will fall onto some furniture, break it, and in the process stake herself through the heart with a stray piece of wood.”
I reached for the STOP button, but Azriel caught my hand. His grip was gentle, yet steel lay underneath it, ready to react should I fight. “Even if Alston heeds your warning, she will still die. Sometimes you can save them, Risa. This is not one of those times.”
“But we can at least try—”
“Then try with someone worthy of salvation. Catherine Alston is not.”
“Many vampires are not,” I said irritably, ripping my hand from his. Warmth lingered where his fingers had rested. “But that doesn’t mean we should just give them up to fate.”
“Fate does not like being thwarted too often, and she exacts consequences if she is. Alston’s death will be quick. If we change the timing, her next one may be long and painful.” He hesitated, then added softly, “Your mother knew that.”
“Don’t you dare bring my mom into this!” I snapped, clenching my fists against the sudden rush of anger and futility.
The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. I stormed out, desperate to get away from Azriel. Desperate to ignore the confirmation of what Mom had already told me, and what I knew deep down to be true. Because it didn’t make me feel any better right now to know she couldn’t have been saved no matter what I’d done. Which was totally irrational given that the same knowledge had made me feel better earlier.
But I guess it was an irrational sort of day.
By the time I’d gotten back to my bike, I’d calmed down a little. I took a deep breath, released it slowly, then said softly, “I’m sorry, Azriel. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.”
He reappeared beside me, one dark eyebrow raised. “Jumping down someone’s throat is a difficult task at the best of times. I certainly would have noticed if you’d done it to me.”
I chuckled softly and shook my head. “Two funnies in one day? Be careful, Azriel, or I might just begin to think you’re not as emotionless as you let on.”
“Just because I am not created the same way as you doesn’t mean I am emotionless,” he said, with a hint of censure in his voice. “We are not the Aedh.”
No, he certainly was not. Although Lucian—the full blooded Aedh I was spending time with—not only had a somewhat wicked sense of humor, but he could and did enjoy sex with humans. Then again, he’d spent a whole lot of time—centuries of it, in fact—trapped here on earth. Which must have knocked some of the emotionless edges off him.
Reapers didn’t have that sort of interaction with us, however, and I couldn’t ever imagine them thinking about sex, let alone doing—
The thought stalled as his eyebrow lifted again. Heat seeped into my cheeks. Damn it, I really was going to have to watch what I was thinking around this particular reaper—especially when my thoughts headed in that direction.
I shoved on my helmet and said, “I’m heading home to get the locker key, then into Melbourne to check out the locker. You’d better keep your distance, just in case my father changes his mind and decides to turn up.”
“You will call if he does?”
“Trust me, I have no desire to be thrown about like an old rag a second time.”
“As you wish, then.”
He winked out of existence. I climbed onto my bike, then headed home. Our place was a square, two-story brick building situated in the heart of Richmond, and its somewhat bland gray exterior belied the beauty of its internal space. Ilianna, Tao, and I had purchased it fresh from college and had renovated every inch of it, filling it with the latest and greatest in technology and design. And that included the latest in security, although it wouldn’t keep me safe from a determined Raziq.
After parking in our garage, I ran up the stairs to the thick alloy door that was both fire- and bulletproof and looked into the little security scanner beside it. Red light swept across my eyes, and a second later the locks tumbled and the door slid silently open.
The huge industrial fans that dominated the vaulted ceiling were on full, creating such a breeze that it whipp
ed my hair out of its ponytail—although it didn’t do a lot to erase the two voices harmonizing, or the sharp scent of roses, honey, and rum.
I knew that scent and stopped cold. Ilianna and Mirri were making love potions in the kitchen again, and there were certain moments in the creation of such potions that you really didn’t want to walk in on. Not unless you wanted to fall hard for the next male—or female, if your tastes ran that way—that you met.
Although a lot of people might still mock anything connected to witches and magic, Ilianna’s potions and charms were extremely popular simply because the damn things worked. Ilianna was a witch in the truest sense of the word, and she’d been trained in magic since she was very young. I might not have tried a love potion—and had never actually wanted to—but I’d always relied heavily on the charms she made to keep me safe while walking the gray fields.
Of course, these days I supposedly had the Dušan to do that, but the dragon had so far been untested. And even if it had been proven, I think I’d still wear Ilianna’s charms. In my opinion, you could never have enough protection when walking a place as potentially dangerous as the fields between life and death.
Even now the simple charm—which consisted of a piece of petrified wood to connect me to the earth, and small pieces of agate and serpentine for protection—was nestled between my breasts. And right beside it was the gold filigree droplet that my father had given to my mother on the night of my conception. It was shaped like two wings, and very much represented my heritage.
“Hey, ladies,” I yelled. “Is it safe for me to come in?”
Mirri’s head popped into view as she leaned around the kitchen doorway. “Totally,” she said, her smile bright against the richness of her skin. “Or at least, it is for you. We’re brewing potions aimed at men seeking men.”
“I didn’t know you could make gender-specific potions, let alone preference-specific.” My boots echoed on the wooden floors as I walked toward the kitchen. “And I hope you’ve forewarned Tao. He’ll be totally pissed if he gets caught in the backlash.”
