In a stiff voice, Fabbri said, “One of my assistant managers recognized them from a dance class. Since they were already halfway through their meal, I allowed them to stay.”
“Only so you could collect their bill at the end of their dinner.” Lena’s tone dared Fabbri to argue.
“At least be consistent in your prejudiced policies, Fabbri,” Victory said. “Otherwise no one will respect you.”
“That’s it.” Fabbri stepped back from the table and pointed at the door. Her raised voice attracted the attention of most of the diners in the restaurant. “Get the hell off my property. Or I’ll call the police.”
“I’m insulted!” Victory’s sarcasm was on full force, maturity be damned. “You’d preemptively call the police on my daughter, a partially trained warrior-mage, but not on me, the vampire Master of the City. Lena, shouldn’t I be insulted?”
“You should definitely be insulted,” Lena said. “I don’t believe Ms. Fabbri has the proper respect for your strength.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Fabbri said. “Because I will call the authorities and have both of you arrested.”
Victory slid out of the booth. “Don’t bother. We’d be long gone before they got here anyway.” She held a hand out to Lena, who levered herself to her feet. Pitching her voice so it carried to the rest of the diners with attentions riveted on the unfolding scene, Victory said, “Have a good evening, Ms. Fabbri. Next time, we’ll be sure to come back when you do have fresh carrot cake. I was so looking forward to it.”
She walked past the tables and toward the entrance. Victory was sure the poison-barbed long spears had now turned wooden and fought each other for a place through her heart. She imagined Fabbri smashing a chair and attacking her with one of the table legs, but then dismissed the image as too direct for the human’s subtle hatred. Evidenced by her call to the police when confronted with an angry Toria, she was much happier allowing others to do her dirty work.
Soon they were ensconced back in the town-car. Victory was deep in thought, frustrated by the woman she was forced to work with.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Lena said. “You didn’t even lose your temper.”
“Oh, it was tempting.” Straightening in her seat, Victory scrubbed her face a few times. “I am not looking forward to facing her tomorrow night.”
“Neither am I. Shall we make some calls in the morning?”
“If you take Daliana and Lorus, I’ll get in touch with Max, Tristan, and Genevieve,” Victory said.
Lena could handle the representatives of Limani’s elves and other werecreatures. Victory would deal with the head of Limani’s Mercenary Guild and the much higher-strung wolf and panther representatives. The panthers were still touchy regarding politics, terrified of losing their hard-won council position.
“Not a problem.”
“I want to call Tristan before it gets too late,” Victory said, turning the key in the ignition, “and I’ll see whether I can get Toria or Kane to call Max for me. Ugh, it’s going to be an early day tomorrow.”
She caught Lena’s small smile, then pulled back into the street. At this point, she just wanted to go home and gather her family for a much-needed conference. Now that she had firsthand evidence of Fabbri’s behavior, she wanted to compare notes with Toria and get Mikelos and Asaron’s thoughts on the situation.
Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise when the werepanthers had rallied years ago. No time to think then, just to act. She and Asaron had grabbed their swords and headed for the trees to stop the major wave of fighters. Mikelos, Toria, and Kane had held the house and defeated the ringleader who hunted for Victory’s blood. Then, the enemy had been clear. Now, things were much more muddled.
The buildings of downtown Limani faded into dark trees, the gradual change from city limits to surrounding countryside marked by a lone sign indicating JARIMIS UNIVERSITY—3 MILES. Every time she and Mikelos considered downsizing to a smaller house within the city, this drive reminded her of why she could never leave the manor. Her traditional title might have been the Master of the City of Vampires, but it was all of Limani that was hers.
“Come on, kid.” Fosca circled Toria’s prone body. “What have they been teaching you in that fancy school of yours?” The middle-aged woman was a traveling mercenary based out of Limani. She had accepted Max’s request to work with Toria with uncontained glee.
Being called “kid” stung. Toria began to regret her rash quip concerning their respective ages at their first bows. The bruises now decorating Toria’s body from the flat of Fosca’s practice blade drove home her mistake. If Maximillian Asher had been surprised at the unexpected appearance of two of his more errant Guildmembers when they’d asked to borrow wheels from the Mercenary Guildhall’s garage, he hadn’t shown it. Instead, he had extracted a promise from them to return as soon as possible for training. When they had arrived as promised, he’d set them to spar with a few older members hanging out at the Hall on this lazy summer afternoon. Max never let her spar with Kane, claiming they got enough practice together and that he didn’t want them to get too complacent.
“I’m majoring in Chemistry.” She wished herself safe in a lab right now. Pain shot through each limb, and she staggered back to her feet once again. It was true—she was more out of practice than she liked to admit.
“And you think you’re gonna be a warrior?” Fosca snorted and launched back into the attack.
“I. Already. Am.” Toria retorted with each parry, defending herself. But two blows later, Fosca knocked Toria’s feet out from under her once again. “Ouch.” That had wrenched her ankle something fierce.
“Sure you are.” Fosca knelt next to her. “When I was your age, I was earning a living with my sword. Not playing grown-up.” She gripped Toria’s wrist and helped haul her to her feet once again. Then, without bothering with a formal end to the bout, Fosca turned on a dime and sauntered across the training floor toward the locker room.
Okay, so she was out of shape. She’d spent the last semester juggling four classes and an independent study. Some things slipped to the wayside, such as her daily practice spars with Kane, who had also been dealing with his own overloaded schedule. When they had sparred, it had been at the college’s athletic center. Neither had been to the Hall in almost two months.
Toria started her cool-down stretches, replaying the disastrous sparring match in her mind. She and Kane had work to do. If trouble was coming for Limani, they needed to be ready.
Though Victory had been teaching Toria the art of the blade since she could barely walk, and had been their primary weapons teacher after Toria and Kane bonded, she had allowed Max to lure the coveted pair into a Mercenary Guild apprenticeship while they were in high school. The beginnings of their journeyman phase had been completed the summer after high school graduation when they accompanied Asaron through the edges of the British Colonies and into the Wasteland. Now their official Guild training was on hold while they attended Jarimis University, but Toria knew after those four years, they’d be sent out on their own. Kane kept pushing for going south to the Roman Colonies, but Toria had her mind set on Old Europa and visiting Victory’s stomping grounds. The debate still continued.
Toria turned half an ear to the spontaneous hand-to-hand combat lesson Max was giving Kane on the other half of the training room floor. If Toria was out of shape, Kane was even more so. He would always be able to run rings around her with his formal magic skills, but she had years more combat training.
If Fosca could knock her around that much, then Kane was sure to need some serious work. They would have to buckle down this summer.
Toria heard the mini-lesson end while she attempted to plan a summer training routine Kane wouldn’t hate. She included a little magic-focused time to appease him, though the real reason was so she could continue work on her new swo
rd. He could help recast all the offensive and defensive spells that had decorated the old one.
“Having fun?”
She opened her eyes to find the partner in question standing over her, a wide grin on his upside-down face. “Always.”
“I wish I was as bendy as you are. How do you even do that?”
“Very, very carefully.” With measured precision, she raised her legs from where her feet touched the mat above her head until they pointed straight at the ceiling. Rolling back on her shoulders, she used her momentum to push off the ground and land on her feet. “I think I’m part cat.”
“That would explain your love of naps, but not your fear of mice,” Kane said. They set off across the mats, giving a wide berth to two men sparring with long staffs.
Toria stepped on her left foot with care and rubbed at the bruise forming on her right shoulder. “Damn, she really got through my guard a few times.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I think Fosca was spoiling for a fight,” Toria said. “Either that, or Max wanted to teach me the evils of falling out of shape.” That still didn’t justify Fosca accusing her of being a spoiled child.
Kane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting go when she winced. “Poor girl. By the way, Max wants to see us.”
“He beat us to the punch,” Toria said. “I was all set to march to his office after we got cleaned up.”
“I think we still have time to shower.” Kane wrinkled his nose at their sweaty clothing. “And I’m sure hot water would do you good.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t do to meet the head of the Guild looking like this.” She traded a mournful look with Kane outside the women’s locker room before heading inside.
Toria beat Kane to the lounge by scant seconds. She still made a show of relaxing on one of the deep couches, reveling in her uncommon punctuality. She received a gentle bat on the back of her head for her efforts.
“C’mon, Max is probably waiting,” Kane said.
Toria followed him out of the front lounge of the Hall and up a secluded flight of stairs to the administrative section of the building. They emerged in a hallway right next to Max’s office, startling the retired merc who acted as his aide-de-camp by their sudden appearance.
Shaking her head at them, the aide waved them toward the door. “He’s there, go ahead and knock.”
“Thanks, Liliah.” Toria rapped her knuckles against the wood, Kane lurking behind her.
After a muffled welcome, the pair pushed the door open to be confronted by a large empty desk in the center of the room.
“Over here.” Max had also showered and changed back into street clothes; his damp silver hair still clung to his scalp, revealing the small pointed ear tips that reminded Toria of his own mixed heritage. He stood off to the side of the room at the large picture window overlooking the training room floor, studying a pair of men sparring with wooden practice knives.
“You wanted to see us?” Toria said.
“I believe it was the two of you who first wanted to see me.” Max turned away from the window and gestured to two couches on the other side of the room, ignoring the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Would either of you like a drink?”
Max plucked a bottle of water from a small refrigerator hidden in a sideboard. Kane accepted it with thanks and settled next to Toria. Max took a seat on the couch across from them.
After stealing a sip of Kane’s water, Toria said, “You’re right. Mama asked us to speak with you about some problems that might come up tonight at the council meeting.”
“I figured you two didn’t just show up out of the blue today to get some random practice in,” Max said, “but you did need it. And you got into a fight with Fosca, why?”
“She started it!” Toria backed down from Max’s smirk. “I don’t know what happened, sir. She accused me of being a spoiled brat and not being a real fighter.”
“You’re not a real fighter,” Max said. “You’re barely a journeyman. You’d do best to remember that.”
“Yes, sir,” Toria said. “We’ll be back more this summer to train.” Kane nodded agreement.
“Good. Then I presume the real reason you’re here is to speak with me about that little incident at Emily Fabbri’s restaurant the other night?” Now an amused glint appeared in Max’s eyes.
Toria groaned. “So the stories have started spreading already?”
“Not stories, necessarily. Let’s just say that had you gotten into any physical trouble with either Fabbri or the police, you had some friends in that restaurant with you,” Max said. “A few of the Guild were there eating a late lunch. They came straight to me afterward, to warn me both of that detestable sign out front and about your confrontation.”
“That’s good to know,” Toria said. “I’m kinda glad it didn’t turn into a fight. I was way too tempted to smack Fabbri. She’s lucky she called the cops on me.”
“But have you heard about what Victory and Dean Joensen did last night?” Kane said.
When Max shook his head, Kane outlined Victory’s experience with Emily Fabbri the night before. “So now everyone’s pissed off, and council tonight should be lots of fun.”
“To be a fly on the wall,” Toria said.
“And to think that last month I was bored and wishing for a distraction. Like when the werepanthers attacked the building.” Max tilted a knowing eyebrow at the warrior-mage pair. “Wasn’t that the last time you two tried to come to a council meeting?”
“Hey, our luck isn’t quite that bad,” Toria said. “But since the dean dragged me into this, I’m curious to find out what happens.”
“I still have the mini-recorder I borrowed from Jordon for the interviews I had to do last month for my English class,” Kane said. “We could give it to Victory and have her sneak it in for us.”
“I’m not hearing this,” Max said. “Council sessions are closed.”
“And when have you known us to do anything wrong?” Toria said.
“More times than I care to count, yet you two always seem to wiggle out of the consequences,” Max said. “I wish I had half your luck.”
“Unfortunately, I think it comes with her,” Kane said. “None of it’s managed to rub off on me.”
“But at least she’s entertaining. Another question: do either of you know when Asaron will be back in town?”
“He’s here now, actually.” Toria’s turn to play storyteller. She recounted how her parents rescued her grandfather.
“Good. A few journeymen finished their rotation in the Roman Colonies and brought back word of recent military activity.” Max placed his empty water bottle on the floor beside his seat. “It could just have to do with one of the nasties that keep coming out of the southern Wasteland, but I wanted to speak with Asaron about it. See whether he’d been in the area recently and get his opinion.”
“What’s going on?” Kane said.
“I don’t really know,” Max said. “Apparently I need to include more training in group tactics. The kids could only report a few groups of soldiers heading north. They didn’t actually see the groups, so I don’t even have numbers to work with. I was hoping Asaron might have heard something.”
“I don’t know when Grandpa was down there last, but it never hurts to ask,” Toria said. “Come over for dinner tonight and ask him. That way you can talk with Mama before the council meeting, too. You could show up together. That would really get Fabbri pissed.”
“Devious child.” Max shook his head. “You take after your mother. Remind me never to cross you. I’m sure you’ll get worse with age. But I will accept the dinner invitation. We have work to do.”
Dull. Dull, dull, dull.
Victory had expected this meeting to begin with a bang, but instead everyone tiptoed arou
nd the issue at hand. With fifteen councilmembers, the tiptoeing resembled a herd of elephants in a crystal shop. Two of the elected human members hadn’t even known about the current situation. Genevieve and Tristan, pack leaders of the leopards and wolves, respectively, hadn’t before she called them. Lena took control when the head of council requested a rational explanation of recent events, and Victory was content to sit back and try to ignore the broken spring in the seat of her chair.
She zoned out, rather than jumping in and giving her own two cents—or three, or four, she had plenty—and risking the impression of being too close to the subject at hand. Instead, she set her eyes on Lena and let them glaze over, to drift to the end of the council hall where the seal of the city of Limani was painted in luscious colors on the far wall.
Two boats brought the first colonists to settle Limani over five hundred years ago. Now the golden Toxo and Peristeri rested on a background of blue seas and silver sky. They brought freedom and civilization to the shores of New Europa when the settlers established a city-state in the style of their Grecian counterparts. For the most part, the spirit of independence and community ran strong in Limani.
But as Victory knew from over a century of living there, it wasn’t always the case. Once Lena finished, the opening riposte was presented.
“This behavior is unacceptable.” The barest hint of a low hiss, evidence of his reptilian other self, underlay Lorus’ pronouncement. The council’s representative of werecreatures other than wolves and panthers curled his hands into fists on the table.
Emily Fabbri sat opposite him, staring back in matching fury. “I have received multiple complaints from my constituents, and every single one of them demands something be done about your blatant offenses against Limani’s community.”
From her seat farther toward the head of the table, Victory could see Lorus’ elongated pupils. Soon he would be flashing fangs even longer than hers. It looked as though she would lose the bet with Max made over dinner. She had expected Tristan to lose his temper first. Limani’s most powerful male werewolf did not get his position in pack hierarchy by taking things lying down. Of course, Max had bet Victory would be the first to lash out, so perhaps now she could keep her twenty bucks.
Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) Page 6
